I hit the Llano Estacado around noon today in eastern New Mexico, a part of the southern Great Plains that covers much of Texas and gives it some of its loathsome character. The Llano Estacado goes on and on and on deep into the panhandle and west Texas. It was a balmy 93 degrees when my drive changed today abruptly from enchanting to barely tolerable, a temperature I was grateful for because I have driven through west Texas in the past when it was unrelentingly over 100. Since noon today, I've traveled for around 300 miles with only trucks and cows and the shapes of clouds for distraction. I don't count Amarillo, since no one in their right mind would count Amarillo. And tomorrow shall be the same drive for approximately another, oh, 500 miles. The same is: hot, flat, airid, without trees, shrubs, relief, or any points of interest for the hapless traveler other than speculating whether or not a tumbleweed will break loose or a tornado will blow up. Mile after mile after mile.
But I don't want to paint with too broad a brush the banality. There are some high points around here. Some guy has Cadillacs buried in the ground in a row on a ranch off I40. (I didn't photograph this because I find it boring now...I've seen it so many times.) You can, however, if you choose to do so spray paint, mark-up, or otherwise deface a Cadillac buried on a ranch. Art. Yay. Another group of folks built a 250 foot aluminum cross with around 200 - 300 other crosses piled at the bottom on a big mound of red dirt. Folks like to make clear which side of the Christianity issue they're on around here, and it's quite plain which side Shamrock and Old Mobeetie, Texas are on. They are on Jesus' side alright. There's also roadhouses, where you can stop and get a tasty flat-iron steak (a rib-eye seared in butter in a cast iron pan the way they ought to be) and a Lone Star on Saturday nights. The waitresses will be friendly, and you won't go to hell for eating either the steak or drinking the beer probably.
You still might die of boredom, however. I swear if you ever make this drive once, you will have a new definition of hell. But don't take my word for it. Here's a couple quotes from Wikipedia about this place. I tried to take a fair picture that shows you just how flat 800 miles or so can be...just how bad a drive can become. The colors are nice...the sky is big...and the drive, eventually, will end. Tomorrow and not a moment too soon.
From Wikipedia:
Spanish conquistador Francisco Coronado, the first European to traverse this "sea of grass" in 1541, described it as follows: "I reached some plains so vast, that I did not find their limit anywhere I went, although I travelled over them for more than 300 leagues ... with no more land marks than if we had been swallowed up by the sea ... there was not a stone, nor bit of rising ground, nor a tree, nor a shrub, nor anything to go by." General Randolph Marcy, after his expedition to explore the headwaters of the Red and Colorado rivers in 1852, agreed: "[not] a tree, shrub, or any other herbage to intercept the vision... the almost total absence of water causes all animals to shun it: even the Indians do not venture to cross it except at two or three places."
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