April 7, Tuesday, Ft Stockton, Texas

Again at first light the team was hitched up and out of the huge campground we fled. It was cool and fun to drive that first hour, then it became the mile after mile of straight road with only the Border Patrol out sniffing again. “Inspection Station – Stop!” He was only a kid but big guy was standing next to the mobile field office. Questions, look around the outside. “Thanks. You can go. Have a nice day.” On to Marathon. I stopped for breakfast at Ron’s Dinner ten feet from the wagon seat. But it turned into a day-at-the-office. I couldn’t get on the Internet at either National Parks and it was the first of the month so an hour of paying bills, updating entries, checking on-line banking statements. I was doing what I do at home but in the middle of absolutely nowhere – sorry Marathon.
As I drove toward Interstate 10 I realized that I was abandoning my blue routes for the crush of the Interstate. I enjoyed driving the back roads but wanted to move east now. It had been five weeks of arid landscape. I longed for some green and shade.
I noticed that Snee Oosh needed some attention in the way of an oil change – wow 3,000 miles since Mt. Vernon, Washington! I stopped at a Chevron jobber outside of Ft. Stockton and asked where I could get an oil change. In her sweet Texas draw she pointed out where she and her husband got their truck oil changed. Good enough for me and within ten minutes Snee Oosh was getting a new shot of high priced juice at a down and dirty lube joint. I loved it.
What I didn’t love was .. the 93 degree temperature and the raising humidity.
God, I’ve got to stop driving. Getting on the Interstate was the last thing I wanted to do so I started looking for an RV park. I pulled into what I thought was one even though it looked like a loser. It was a construction worker trailer park and rather than push through it, I stopped and talked to a tattooed guy about staying. He said he would talk to the owner. When he re-appeared, he said the owner was going to stop by and talk to me. A white Ford pickup with three sets of deer antlers in the back stopped next to my rig. The man in his white cowboy asked me what I wanted. “Just a place to spend the night. Just passing through going east. Need no hookups.” “Sure find a spot down at the end” “What’s the charge?” “No charge”
I backed onto a mix of hardpan, grass and broken bottles and shut down. It’s 8 and it’s still 93. For the first time I ate with no shirt on. I can hear some country western music softly playing and the smell of cigarette smoke; kids laughing.
Good night Fort Stockton.