desert, sixth day

In my night drive, I had unknowingly crossed a threshold, until now I have always driven in busy roads with lots of vehicles around and urban and suburban areas, east Texas was not different. But today as I rejoined the I-10 around miles 450 I found myself in a different universe altogether: sparse cars on the highway, but above all I was now surrounded by a sort of desert landscape, not like the Sarah, but a desert made of shrubs and weed. The bright green of southern Louisiana had given way to darker tonalities. Finally the west I thought, another signs told me of the changed universe, in Mississippi and Louisiana, as part of the southern symbolic order I had noticed the many sport motorbikes, here they have disappeared and a different masculinity has taken that space, that of the Harley and cruiser drivers, the stereotype of the American biker.

Speed limit on the highway is 80 miles/hour, about 135 km/h finally I can boost the engine above the 3000 revs and enjoy a decent European speed. However, yesterday drive off the highway has taught me something. With a European and East Coast reflex I assumed that if you need to travel fast you need to use the highway, however, in Texas limits on State roads are very similar to highway one. Thus, in my way towards a more northern route I design a journey that takes me off the highway. Thus after about 200 miles on the I-10 I get the 285 and I will follow it the entire day, for 600 miles, up to Santa Fe and beyond.

The desert areas is not a flat or homogenous, one stretch of 20 miles follows another, you get to the next valley and there is another one, and then the next, and it seems to be never ending. Disconcerting. And you turn around and for an entire day you see nothing else than this mighty drought. And they fought a war with Mexico for Texas.... I cannot imagine how the pioneers must have felt in their caravans and their trailers. I remember one of the scenes of the Grapes of Wraths, the movie, when they finally see California, but at least they knew it was there. The pioneer must have felt in a sort of desperate repetition.

In a desertic area in Texas what you expect to see? the oil wells, the long trains. Nothing. I drive and drive they are not there. A strong wind is coming from west, the sky at least is changing. Windmills for production of electricity far in the horizon, irony of fate?

When I leave I-10 I finally see them the oil wells, one, than another, than many, not the plantations like in James Dean The Giant, but tens and tens. The first inhabited place on the 285 is Pecos, from the river I believe home town of Pecos Bill, and home of the first rodeo. I stop at the local museum. It is an ex saloon right at the crossing between the main road and the railway. A man has been shot at the entrance and a plaque records it.

As I travel North, I see the desert changing several times around me. First it was a high shrubs, and green weed, the shrubs shrank with the miles north, and the green is substituted by a yellow straw. A sort of cactus, that look like a submarine branched seeweed has taken the place of the shrubs, for 50 miles, or a 100, then disappears. Men's places look destitute, the last city in Texas, Roswell, or was it Carlsbad?, is full of ET shops and places, and inflatables green mans are sold in shops. The aliens are from here. When I enter New Mexico a sing say, "extreme fire danger"The wind blows strong, rolls of dried shrubs cross the road. So this is the land of the bull. Probably, Millions of them, they would move from one valley to the next. Now here and there small groups of cows stand accross the barbed wire, a cult object in this area, in the museums they had collections of the various sorts. Caws however look disconcerted in the vastness and often they look across to the passing cars. How do they feel?

Desert brings me luck, a long long train proceeds slow, two locomotives on both ends, another one of those cult images of America.

As I approach the Santa Fe, I realize with some regret that I will soon change environment, back to human and to the mountains. We travel too fast, the odometer tells me, I have passed the three thousands miles since my departure from Farmington, CT.

I arrive to Santa Fe through the Old Pecos Trail. It is a lovely centre, well maintained with its architectural style.