Oblivious to the fact it was July 4th, I woke before seven, worked on routes and logs on the computer, then did a 45 minute fast walk. I tried to get into the town's IHOP but the greeter was inept and rude, and kept me waiting for ten minutes although I could see a number of empty tables. I finally determined the restaurant was short servers, so I bolted and got an Egg McMuffin instead of the IHOP three stack with blueberry syrup I had yearned for.
The country around Ft. Stockton is pretty flat but soon it got interesting.
A wind farm of 50 or more giant turbines appeared ghost-like in the distance. When closer, I could see that they were strategically placed to take advantage of the irregularities of the terrain. Seeking a diversion, I let a portion of my brain rhapsodize for a moment: Several dozen turbines were spread uniformly across a large mesa, like the main body of a chorus. A group of five (with exceptional voices) stood on a smaller mesa nearby with music folios in hand, and perched on a sharp butte protruding between these choral bodies, two turbines performed their own special duet.
Once again focusing one hundred percent on the endless strip of concrete ahead, way off in the distance I could see the shapes of mountains shrouded in haze. Before long, at 85 mph, the mountains became sharp and bold. They were the most impressive I had seen so far. They were craggy and striated and clearly masters of the area, not to be challenged by mere mortals.
Every so often I spied an old fashioned windmill whose purpose once was to lift water to the surface, probably for cattle. I didn't see any with blades rotating so suspect they are no longer utilized. Back in Louisiana I did see windmills lifting water for crop irrigation.
Rest stops with bathroom facilities were almost 100 miles apart, with picnic stops offering sheltered tables every 30 or so miles. Like yesterday, at one rest stop I grabbed 20-30 minutes of zzzz on a picnic table bench. Although the temps were in the high 90's, a steady breeze and lack of humidity made the resting opportunities pleasant (although I did notice the back of my shirt was damp with sweat when I sat up).
The land to the south changed from brown to green as the Rio Grande neared. Before long I had entered El Paso city limits and I was thrust into a bustling metropolis. Once out of the city, the route turned northwest and in about 50 miles I reached Las Cruces (The Crosses). With the help of my nuvi, I found the Teakwood Motel, then Furrs Buffet where I jotted notes for this writing, and then a welcome bed.
Tomorrow's trip of 7-8 hours will lead into the Arizona Desert (and Scottsdale at last) so I will try to get a much earlier start.
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