Come Along For A Ride On The Most Boring Road Trip in America!

I’ll make it worth your while

Tumbleweeds skip across the road to reach the pile where the others are stacked fence high.

For as far as the eye can see, there is nothing. However, a few trees and an old broken windmill mean there used to be a house there.

Ranchers have left as there is no grass for their herds to graze, a victim of the megadrought. Instead, it is mostly yucca, ocotillo cactus, and dirt.

What grass exists is in small depressions, where antelope are often seen.

Dust devils, “little tornadoes,” dance in almost every direction.

This land has a name: the Llano Estacado, or the “Staked Plains,” so called because early travelers left stakes so that others could find their way. There were no landmarks!

There are still no landmarks. Except for one. Well, two.

The piece of road between Vaughan and Roswell, New Mexico, is remarkably void of anything to look at except for the sunrise and sunset. However, about 73 miles north of Roswell, you’ll come across these two on either side of US 285:

These 18-foot full-color wooden cutouts are modeled on the two cowboy brothers who own the land. Unfortunately, the gentlemen appear to be in an argument, and you get to drive right through it!

This is southeastern New Mexico, and it’s not known for its scenic properties.

We’re on a road trip to see Mom in San Angelo, Texas. It is an excruciating eight-hour drive. But, beauty is in the eye of the beholder because the land doesn’t give it to you easily.

We’re on I-40 for the first sixty miles east of Albuquerque. That’s the only piece of Interstate we’ll be on. We then exit into no-man’s land. (Actually, there is a no-man’s land in the Oklahoma Panhandle. This comes in a close second.)

Interstates were never built through towns on this route because there was insufficient traffic, and the towns at the beginning and ends of the roads weren’t big enough. So we’ll see towns like Vaughan, Fort Sumner, and Tatum in New Mexico. The weather is eroding each one away as if they were another landform. They are towns the world left behind.

Roswell, with a population of 48,422, is the only town of substance we’ll go through. Legend has it that a UFO crashed in the area in 1947, its occupants (aliens) were captured, and the military covered it up. As a result, the city has made an industry out of UFO and science fiction tourism. It is also a television series (cleverly called Roswell, New Mexico) on The CW. It is currently in its last filming season but was shot mainly in Albuquerque, Santa Fe, and Las Vegas, New Mexico.

From Roswell, we head east, through Tatum, with a population of 829. There we have Tiny’s, which is said to have the best green chile cheeseburger in New Mexico. Quite frankly, I can’t tell the difference from any other. To me, the only difference in green chile is the heat level. People in New Mexico put green chile on everything. You often have to request “no green chile” on your pizza.

Soon, I watch the clock change from Mountain Time to Central Time. This amuses me to no end.

And you thought it couldn’t get worse! Now we’re in the Southern Panhandle of Texas. This year, it is a land where fields are primarily fallow. There wasn’t enough rain to start the cotton, and there hasn’t been since. This is a prime cotton growing area; the harvest will only be about 50% of last year’s crop due to the drought.

We will see forests of oil pumpjacks amidst mesquite trees (which ranchers often burn off because they suck up precious water needed for the grass to grow for cattle) before finally reaching San Angelo, population 101,231. Because a river runs through it, I will credit it for being “kinda” pretty in places. It sure beats my hometown of Abilene in the beauty category.

Rarely do I have a hard time amusing myself, but San Angelo is challenging. My leading entertainment consists of what they have at their grocery stores as opposed to those where I live, discovering new plants at the local garden centers, and finding the best chicken fried steak. Every restaurant has it on the menu, even the Mexican and Tex-Mex places. (Living in New Mexico, I don’t consider those eating establishments ethnic anymore.)

It is a red city in a red county in a very red part of Texas. I feel like a wuss driving my Hyundai Sonata amongst the F-150s and Silverados. But imagining all those small dicks puts a smile on my face. There are no gay bars here, but according to the hookup sites, there’s plenty of cheatin’ going on.

There are two stores in town where you can buy liquor, and they’re closed on Sundays. Everywhere else is just beer and wine. I have to remind myself that not long ago, you couldn’t buy anything within the city limits.

Since my legs are my last best part, I usually wear pretty short shorts in the summer. However, when I wear them there, I always feel like I’m going to be gay-bashed. But I’m 64, damn it. I shouldn’t have to worry about such things!

I usually stay at a hotel when I’m there. It is next door to the retirement home where Mom lives. I like having my own digs no matter where I go — I rarely stay at other people’s homes. Unless they have a swimming pool!

The best part is spending time with Mom and enjoying her gourmet cooking and baking! She is 90, so I appreciate every bit of energy she still has to do and enjoy such things.

But after five days, I am climbing the walls with boredom. I get the blues thinking about the drive home. And at this age, I always have to wonder — will she be here the next time I come?

There is one rest area on the entire route, about 40 miles east of Roswell. I always stop there and do a phone check because there’s a cell tower. Most importantly, there’s a decent restroom! The trees were in bloom during the last stop there. They provide what little shade there is on the high plains.

Just a few miles from the rest area, I found the sand dunes below. Random!

From here, the object is to haul ass for the remaining 250 miles to Albuquerque. The only deviation I would make would be to go to Sitting Bull Falls outside of Carlsbad. Although they’re spring-fed, it’s best to go in May when the flow is strong, on a weekday, before summer crowds. The water cascades into several pools on its 150-foot descent to the bottom of a small canyon.

Never mind it’s a boring trip. It’s to see Mom.

More from Arthur Keith in Illumination:

Like what you’re reading? Consider subscribing to Medium. For the price of a monthly magazine ($5/month), you’ll have access to all of my stories and thousands of other writers. And I’ll get a wee bit! Just click the link below.