Day 5: Tucumcari, NM/Allen, TX

Today we left New Mexico and headed into Texas, through Amarillo and Wichita Falls to Allen, a suburb of Dallas. Paul's dear friend Judi Lynn lives there, and we'll be staying with her family for a couple of days before heading up to Arkansas to see Paul's parents.

The Texas panhandle is still very green this early in the summer, and the drive was easy and quite scenic. Flat, wide-open, and never-ending, but beautiful nonetheless. From Amarillo, we headed out on Hwy 287, a two to four-lane road that runs through many small towns that look like they've had some hard times. We saw a lot of empty storefronts, deserted sidewalks, and old Dr. Pepper signs rusting outside of auto shops. In one town, we passed a store selling larger-than-life black, metal silhouettes to decorate your yard, and they had their wares spread out along a fence at the roadside. Forty or fifty figures at least, including a full nativity scene arranged right next to a hunter, who was down on one knee aiming his rifle. Thankfully, he was taking aim at the metal deer on his other side, and not at Joseph or one of the camels.

We actually saw a group of flesh-and-blood camels later in the afternoon. Not something I associate with Texas, but hey, if you can keep llamas, why not camels? The benefit is not immediately apparent, but who knows? Maybe the rancher is going green and plans to trade in his 4x4 truck for a more efficient means of transportation.

About an hour west of Wichita Falls we stopped near the town of Vernon, where Paul's mother Sara grew up. Paul spent a couple of weeks out here most summers, and today we left the main road heading north to find the old homestead, which is no longer lived-in, but is still in the family. On the way out to the farm we passed the Fargo Cemetery, where Paul's grandparents and great-grandparents are buried. We climbed the fence and found the family plots while Simon explored to his heart's content, chasing a bird or two.

The farm road Paul remembers as red clay road is paved now with blacktop and gravel, and once we turned off it was just another couple of minutes' drive to the four-room house where Paul's Mommie-O and Daddy Roy raised their nine children. There was a shed out back where some of the boys would bunk once they got a little older, but otherwise we were looking at an eleven-person family home that was probably smaller than the first story of my grandparents' farm house in Wisconsin.

Paul isn't quite sure whether Roy farmed himself or rented out most of the land, but he remembers it mostly planted in cotton. The house is boarded up and overgrown now, but Paul painted a vivid picture for me from his summers with his grandparents: the front sitting room with its swamp cooler; the attached kitchen, which of course added to the summer heat; the trees out back where Paul would retreat to the hammock with a book and his Snoopy dog; the store down the road where Daddy Roy would treat the kids to a Dr. Pepper or an ice cream bar. Further down the road, there used to be an historic adobe house, one of the first family settlements in the area, but the original house is gone now - only a more recent addition remains. We also saw a monument to the early settlers: a stone pillar engraved with the names of local ranching families and the brands used to mark their cattle.

The clouds were getting heavy as we left the area, spreading across the sky like shredded cotton or vast herds of fluffy sheep. Ah, I miss clouds like that!

The scenery changed a bit as we got back on the highway and passed a XXX Bookstore and Video Arcade just a mile or so out of Vernon. We figured there must not be much else to do out here, because over the course of the next 60 miles we passed two more: one advertising free coffee and another, beef jerky. No shit! We were shocked to learn that blue movies and masturbation could be such a widespread pastime in George W.'s home state, but at least they do it with celebrated Texan hospitality. I doubt you'd find free coffee at such an establishment in San Francisco.

I REALLY wanted a picture of the XXX Video Arcade/Beef Jerky stand, but Paul vetoed my turnaround request. I didn't clamor enthusiastically enough. We learned our lesson, though, and made a u-turn for this sign:



We all know that the devil is synonymous with modern advertising, but who knew he'd gone direct? Have they let him into the local yellow pages as well?

Dinner tonight was a special occasion: real chicken-fried steak at the Armadillo Grill, a truckstop restaurant in Bowie. Judging by the immense size of most of its patrons, we figured the food must be well worth the stop. (We were right, but I did find myself wishing Paul hadn't pondered the point out loud.) The chicken-fried steak was fantastic! You could almost cut it with a fork, and batter was crispy and flavorful. Topped with peppered gravy the consistency of elementary-school paste and served with a side of fried okra, the meal was a delicious reminder of why we only indulge every couple of years. Have you ever felt your arteries clogging as you ate?