West of the Pecos!
I crossed the Pecos High Bridge. Or is it the Pecos Highway Bridge? Who cares?
Panoramic view of the Pecos River and the High Bridge. The remnants of a previous road can be seen, trailing from right to left from the highway down to the river bed.
Tuesday, May 17, 2022
I did not get to take in the healing waters at San Felipe Springs last night, but I did luxuriate in my hotel swimming pool, watching the sun set and the sky turn to pink and gold and violet.
I set out this morning westbound on Highway 90. Between Del Rio and where it meets up with I-10 in Van Horn, Highway 90 passes through some of the most beautiful country in Texas.
The Amistad Reservoir, which brackets Del Rio to the north and west, is looking pretty thirsty these days. This shot was taken at Governor’s Landing west of town:
The Highway 90 bridge across Amistad Reservoir. I’m standing just above what was, in wetter times, the shoreline.
Continuing west for a few miles, I reached the Pecos River High Bridge,[1] an iconic West Texas sight (and site). The highway bridge stretches 1,310 feet across the canyon and is about 273 feet above the river below. A roadside park on the southwest corner provides a magnificent view of the High Bridge and the Pecos River Canyon just before it enters the Rio Grande.
Crossing the Pecos is always a pleasure for me. For years, I have copied my friend Harold Cook’s practice of announcing when he was “West of the Pecos.”
A few miles further on is Langtry, home of the Judge Roy Bean Visitor Center. Roy Bean was, of course, famously the “Law West of the Pecos.” The Visit Center houses one of Texas’s 12 Travel Information Centers. Alert readers know of my grumbling about the lack of Texas highway maps in service stations and other locales along the road. Well, the Travel Information Center had a generous supply of official Texas highway maps, complete with the Governor’s mug shot.
Thus psychically restored, and armed with information I knew would benefit me, I motored westward through the stark Chihuahuan desertland. The land is sere and rocky, flecked with cactus and broken up by steep canyons — truly, no country for old men. The Indians who lived here centuries ago avoided these harsh plateaus and built their dwellings down on the Rio Grande and the Pecos and Devils Rivers. Their elaborate caves, with stunning rock art, bear profound witness to the sophisticated social and religious cultures they created.
Forty miles on is Dryden – itself almost a ghost town – and then Sanderson, where I took my next county seat selfie at the Terrell County Courthouse.
I checked to see if Sheriff Ed Tom Bell was around, but he was not.
I dropped by the Ferguson Motor Company and met the proprietors, Hannah Harper and Jack Zollie Harper II. Ferguson Motors is Sanderson’s premier coffee shop/art gallery/live music venue/food truck destination/community hub, which is good news for Sanderson. I imagine I’ll be going back there some this summer.
Another 60 or so miles and I arrived in Marathon, my base for the summer. Marathon is home to the Marathon Motel, a classic old motor court with a beautiful courtyard and a “sky park” with telescopes that peer up at some of the darkest skies on Earth. It is also home to the Gage Hotel, the French Co. Grocer, and the friendliest people you’ve ever seen.
The motel, hotel and grocer all have in common that they are innovating, coming up with new ways to serve their tourist clientele – and to be more engaged members of the Marathon community.
I was a little surprised by the temperature when I arrived – about 110 degrees at 4:00 in the afternoon. I spent the evening unloading/unpacking and re-hydrating. I had dinner at the White Buffalo Bar with a friend on a motorcycle trip to Pacific Northwest.
Today, I took it easy and decompressed from two days on the road. Life is good.
[1] Among the picayune, there is some dispute over this nomenclature. The “Pecos River High Bridge” was originally a railroad bridge, now located five miles upriver from the highway bridge and an engineering marvel in its own right. But over time the phrase has come to refer to the highway bridge as well.