Palo Duro/South Plains Odyssey :: March 2003
A Spring Break trip gone strangely awry. This was supposed to be my original Western Odyssey, until this was postponed. Intentionally driving abandoned, West Texas highways where a flat tire means help from god-fearing, overly-paranoid-but-not-stoned farm boys. Caprock Canyons and her metal buffaloes were abandoned due to lack of funds. An attempt to sneak in was thwarted by a 10-foot fence. Palo Duro, the lighthouse, the cold origins of the Brazos. It carries on for miles, but in this one place, where the green, irrigated plains suddenly drop into the red, inhospitable womb of Texas, the canyon is at its most beautiful. It is endless, seemingly moreso than any other mountain range I've seen. The drive back was equally anti-social. Sitting down in the middle of a quiet, isolated farm road. Sleeping in the crux of the Metroplex. Attempting a steer towards the rain-soaked flea market site. And a long, soggy haul down a trailer-trash by-way to a place called "home for now." This trip made me fall in love with Palo Duro, and even the simplistic thoughtfulness of the South Plains.
Pictures >>