West Texas solitude

We are at a picnic area on a remote stretch of US-90, east of Marathon (map). Now that we are in the unpopulated part of the state, these kinds of stopping options are actually more plentiful, and we decided on a early stop yesterday to catch our breath. We were off the road by 2:30.

It was nice to have a relaxing afternoon at home, catching up on email and taking care of some business. I made marinated skirt steak for dinner. And while this particular picnic area is only a couple dozen feet from the highway, US-90 here is lightly traveled, with perhaps four or five vehicles an hour, and almost none at night. I would guess the few pickups that whizzed past in the wee hours to have been Customs and Border Protection.

The sky is incredibly clear and dark here at night, the reason why the McDonald Observatory is located not far from here. When I stepped outside to walk Opal last night, I was overwhelmed by the stars; I had almost forgotten what they are like in such a remote, dark place. There is almost no hint of civilization here for miles in any direction, despite power lines running along the road, and a pole barn visible in the distance (no lights, though).

I suppose the dark and the quiet is what calls us so often to west Texas. At night, the only sounds to be heard are the occasional distant howl of a coyote, or maybe the sounds of cattle in some spots (not here, though -- we haven't seen a steer for miles). Often the loudest thing I can hear is my own tinnitus, a fact that sometimes necessitates me having to put on headphones and listen to music or the TV.

In a few minutes we will wrap up at this nice spot and continue west through Marathon and into Alpine, where we will turn south on highway 118 to visit our friend Ara, halfway to Terlingua.