Dour, 電通-controlled, family-centric Belgian Neocolonialism, enthusiastically jaded observations, support for state-owned neoliberalist media and occasional rants from the twisted mind of a privileged middle-class expatriate atheist projecting some leftist ideals with my ridicule of Tucker Carlson (from The Blogs Formerly Known As Sponge Bear and Kaminoge 物語)
*see disclaimer below
With one notable exception, today was a day to cover distance, with most of it spent inside a moving vehicle as we traveled from Amarillo in Texas to Gallup, New Mexico, a city of 22,000 souls just a stone's throw from the Arizona state line (that is, if you can hurl a rock a little more than twenty miles). Of course, we did stop from time to time in order to answer nature's call, satisfy our Honda's thirst for fuel and to fuel up ourselves with lunch. Competition for customers along Interstate 40 can be fierce - Russell's Truck & Travel Center in Glenrio, NM holds out the prospect of a free car museum to entice drivers to stop and have a look. Which we did:
My daughter was shocked to learn that gas could once be purchased for only 30¢ a gallon; I was shocked that I'm old enough to remember such a time. So far the most we've paid on this trip has been around $4.60/gallon, but California is looming in the not too distant future:
After being on the road since last Friday, we finally reached the desert, though it wasn't the cactus-filled arid land my wife has been expecting. While Shu-E drove throughout the morning, I tried to capture a few of the scenes from the front passenger seat:
It was when we reached Albuquerque in the early afternoon (helped by the change from the Central to Mountain time zones, which gave us an extra hour to use) that we stopped to get out and really stretch our legs. The Petroglyph National Monument is home to more than 20,000 rock etchings carved by Native Americans and Spanish settlers between 400 and 700 years ago. We paid a visit at the visitor center to determine which trail best suited our schedule:
On the advice of the friendly ranger there, we settled on Boca Negra Canyon, home to three short trails:
More than a hundred of the petroglyphs can be easily seen here. Though some are obvious (animals and people, for example), others are difficult to decipher, and the intentions behind them remain known only to the carvers:
Standing at the top of the hill, a mile (5280 feet/1609 meters) above sea level. In the distance the Sandia Mountains crest at 10,678 feet (3255 meters), while below lies the Rio Grande valley, with a history of human habitation going back 3000 years:
A stylized Christian cross carved by Spanish sheepherders:
Back on the road, and the scenery became ever more beautiful and spectacular. Amber and Shu-E took these photos while I drove further west, getting closer to Arizona. The American southwest can seem like a desolate and harsh region, but I can understand why some choose to live there:
Tonight we're staying in Gallop, the city with the highest violent crime rate in the state of New Mexico. For our evening repast we dined at the Oasis Mediterranean Restaurant, where my daughter and I both had the shawarma chicken:
The baklawa for dessert was the perfectly sweetened way to end the day:
No wrong turns at Albuquerque for us today, but what about tomorrow?
Texas. As a friend pointed out, it looks pretty plain
On the morning of April 19, 1995, Timothy McVeigh, a right-wing nutbar, parked a rented van packed with explosives outside the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. The ensuing blast resulted in the deaths of 168 innocent people, 19 of whom were children who were killed in an onsite day care center. This country's worst incident of domestic terrorism is poignantly told in the Oklahoma City National Memorial Museum, which we visited this morning. The displays are laid out in chronological order, and the exhibits (and those who were part of that terrible day) are allowed to speak for themselves, without any mawkish appeals to visitors' emotions. The federal building can be seen in the bottom of the photo on the wall:
Paranoid white supremacist publications influenced McVeigh and co-conspirator Terry Nichols:
If anything, hate has since moved into the mainstream, thanks to the likes of Breitbart, Fox News, MAGA et al:
The most terrifying part of the exhibit is an audio recording of a meeting that was taking place in a building across the street that was interrupted by the blast. TV screens show the first images broadcast on local stations:
Heart-wrenching:
The license plate recovered from the rented van:
The shirt McVeigh was wearing at the time of his arrest:
One of the most riveting exhibits is the actual car McVeigh was driving when he was arrested. An Oklahoma State Trooper noticed the 1977 Mercury Marquis without a rear license plate, and pulled the car over. When he discovered McVeigh was carrying concealed weapons, the officer placed him under arrest. This took place only 90 minutes after the bombing:
McVeigh was executed by lethal injection in June 2001. Nichols was sentenced to life in prison:
The site of the Murrah building is now a memorial park:
168 empty chair sculptures sit silently facing the museum:
It was a very sobering morning:
Life goes on, and so we left Oklahoma City and resumed our westward journey on I-40. We stopped for lunch at Sid's Diner in El Reno:
El Reno is home to the fried onion burger - I had mine with bacon and cheese, and washed it down with a banana milkshake. Comfort food for the road:
El Reno and Sid's Diner are located on the fabled Route 66, the road that connected Chicago with Los Angeles in the days before the interstate highway system was built. Oklahoma has more miles of the original route than any other state, and several times we left the freeway to drive on short stretches of the iconic highway:
This particular stretch between Hydro and Weatherford dates from the 1930's and feels like it hasn't been maintained much since then:
As we approached the Texas border, Shu-E found an interesting site on her phone - a tiny, one-roomed cinderblock jail built at the end of the 19th century. Inside were some photos of famous Old West outlaws, none of whom were ever guests of this establishment:
Propped up against the front is a slab dedicated to the Texola High School Class of 1938:
Texola, with an estimated population of around 35, is on the verge of becoming a ghost town. Opposite the jail is this creepy-looking property. With all the hallmarks of a Stephen King story (lacking only a Maine setting), we quickly returned to the safety of Interstate 40:
Soon after crossing into Texas, my wife's backseat research efforts led us to the Leaning Tower of Texas:
Pausing at a rest area and taking in the vastness that is the largest state in the Lower 48:
Despite the warning signs, I made my daughter join me in climbing up to the top for a better view. To her relief, we didn't encounter any rattlers going up or coming down:
It's good to be home (see below):
Soon after 1730 hours, we reached Amarillo and decided to call it a day. The hotel where we're currently ensconced has helpfully provided some fun local facts:
We ended this day by visiting the Cadillac Ranch, ten classic American cars which have been embedded in the ground in Amarillo since 1974:
Most of the visitors there were adding their spray-painted contributions:
So why does this Californian feel he's "back home" in Texas? Well, after living the first three years of my life as an army brat in West Germany, Fort Hood in Killeen, Texas became my first stateside residence. During the year or so we spent there, to my mother's horror I came home from preschool saying "y'all", in the process swapping my English accent for a Texan one. Whatever Lone Star identity I had developed by the age of four wouldn't survive the subsequent family move to civilian life in sunny southern California.
