Back to the Border

Outside of Alpine, visibility extended about 200 feet, and we couldn't pick up a GPS signal.
"I'll attribute that to the contrast in temperature," I told Andy. Frost coated grass and dagger yuccas by the roadside, but fog shrouded everything beyond.
"When I loaded the car this morning, it was coated with ice," said Andy, "and the motel thermometer said 25 degrees."
"That explains the fog," I answered. "Cold air hits warm land. You had shorts on yesterday and a short sleeve shirt."
A little higher outside Alpine, the fog disappeared. We passed through chains of high rolling mole hills covered with grass and creosote. "This hasn't changed much since the 70's," said Andy, "but I don't remember the mountains so high or so expansive."
"It's pretty," I said. "Even with the yellowed grass, it doesn't feel burned out and dead like I remember the summer."
"Sander-son, Texas. That's the town where I jumped in the swimming pool with all my clothes on in 1974," said Andy.
"And your wallet in your shorts pocket," I added.
It's a Budget Inn now. Sanderson, the cactus capital of Texas, had served as a railroad junction, with trains now relocated. The saving grace for Sanderson is a mine on the northwest side of town with one or two brand new buildings. Otherwise, For Sale signs and abandoned businesses predominate. In Sanderson we left the sun and the mountains behind. Here Texas is flat. Heavy grey clouds hid the sky. "It could rain," said Andy.
Between Sanderson and Langtry we passed five Border Patrol vehicles. Two had old tires chained to the backs of the trucks. "It could be a crude way of smoothing out the ruts on the gravel road," said Andy, "or maybe it's a way to track illegals. By wiping out their own tracks, the agents can tell if someone else walked or drove by."
"We haven't seen this much action in a month," I added.
At Judge Roy Bean Visitor Center travel hostess Marcia confirmed our suspicions about the tires. She said that Border Patrol catches illegals from the footprints but not too many cross in this wilderness area. "It's just too far on both sides of the border," she said.

The Visitor Center included a manicured Chihuahuan garden with labeled plants and an authentic windmill; the simply furnished home of Judge Roy Bean, the West's most colorful justice of the peace; and the Jersey Lilly Saloon, where Bean maintained "the law west of the Pecos" from the time he was named in August of 1882. Fascinated with English actress Lillie Langtry, internationally known as "the Jersey Lily," he named the saloon after her, but an itinerant sign painter misspelled the name. He also called his home "the Opera," probably in hopes of attracting her attention. She visited only once, the year after his death in 1903.

Socked in with clouds, the Pecos River Overlook looked grey and gloomy at noon.

"But it's not raining," said Andy.

We watched trucks crossing the bridge, the highest highway bridge in Texas at 273 feet above the river.

"They weren't fooling around with that one," I told Andy, after reading the plaque. Five bridges before this had been washed out in floods. As we sat at the overlook for half an hour having lunch of apples and granola bars, four Border Patrol vehicles and a sheriff pulled in and out.

We snapped a few pictures of the boat ramp at Amistad National Recreation Park, probably gorgeous on a sunny day. A state historical park nearby featured 4,000-year old pictographs, but the tour was only available at 3 p.m. in the winter.

The Border Patrol road still paralleled Route #90 on both sides. "What a different world," I said to Andy, "a world in which trucks drag tires to check for footprints."

We drove to the check point on the dam, only feet from Mexico.

"I think we could go a little farther out to the flag," said Andy.

"No, this will do," I told him. "We don't need to cross the gate." A raw wind blew across Amistad Reservoir, the lake formed by the Amistad Dam on the Rio Grande River.
From Governors Landing we took pictures of an area where we had camped at least 25 years ago. The raw wind whipped across the water under a totally overcast sky. The temperature in town read 54 degrees, but it felt colder. If tomorrow delivers sun, we'll drive back from Del Rio to see what should be beautiful scenery.

Val Verde Winery, oldest bonded winery in Texas and in single-family ownership for more than 125 years, grew grapes right on Qualia Drive in Del Rio. The clerk invited us to browse in the cellar and tiny gift shop, but 15 minutes later she still served the four earlier visitors.

Water is certainly not in short supply here currently. Over its banks, the Amistad Reservoir has flooded all the spur roads.
We pulled into Diablo East, a national recreation site and boat launch area. Boats on trailers, most hitched to trucks, lined the parking lot, probably 100 of them. Men in camouflage gear and blue jeans, and bundled in heavy jackets, stood around colorful tents and awnings.
"It must have been a competition," said Andy.

"The tent said 'fishing,' I think," I told him.

"I just can't believe there are so many here on such a miserable day," he responded, "but I read that winter is a busy time at this park. Can you imagine what this must be like in the summer if there are this many here today?"
"I don't want to," I said.