Fall

The past few months have put a couple thousand extra miles on the odometer. Luckily, I get almost all my clear thinking done when I'm behind the wheel out in the sticks, so the past weeks have seen my mind running like a well-oiled Chevy big block.



Said engine in a pretty dress, Highway 71.



North of Eden.



Colorado River at Dawn.



The best route to Lubbock from Austin.



Audrey and Bubba out FM 521 from Houston.



Sun sinks low South of Sweetwater.


I hear in some places Autumn is an actual season, not just Summer's slightly less-hot twilight. That's cute.

There and back (part 2)

I was going through pictures and found this one. Sums up miles 0 through 1800 or so.

There and back

I recently drove 3489.6 miles through five states with some friends and did a lot of interesting things (watched a football championship, drove Mulholland drive, walked the Vegas Strip, slept at the Grand Canyon, etc). What topped the list? Ten Cadillacs buried in the ground.


Cadillac Ranch is located just west of Amarillo along Interstate 40 (Old Route 66). Hours earlier, we had risen with the New Mexico sun to set out from Albuquerque on our way back from California. Thousands of miles had been driven. The Truck needed an oil change. Tensions were strained. The last few hundred miles were going to be the hardest of the thousands we had covered.

L.A. was interesting - like a bigger Houston without feeder roads on the highways. There is also an ocean and some mountains.


Vegas was too much. Too many lights, too many drinks, too many ways to spend money. One of our party was unaccounted for between 4 and 6 am. He came back with hundreds of dollars less than he had left with and does not remember much of that particular outing. His credit card statement served a harsh reminder of his whereabouts, but I'll leave that story for him to tell.

I did enjoy Vegas, though. Had I not won a few hundred dollars at blackjack, my thoughts on the town would far less favorable.


The above image kind of sums up Las Vegas - glossy business cards for hookers. They found there way into a gutter. Poetic. And convenient for those looking for the right match.

The Grand Canyon lived up to its name. I wish we had had more than a few hours of daylight to enjoy the place, but time was not on our side.


Like Vegas, the canyon's scale is hard to comprehend. The challenge at a place like that is to take a picture that isn't already on a post card. Before we left, we learned that the canyon suffers from year-round haze courtesy of urban areas west and south. Pretty lame.

So when we finally did make it back to Texas, there was something oddly friendly about Cadillac Ranch. The open Texas panhandle felt inviting; the horizon spread its arms out to welcome us in. Ten Cadillacs buried in the ground was perfect. A rusting Stonehenge with a chameleon-like skin of ever-changing graffiti set against a stark Amarillo sky. Beautifully simple, endlessly debatable, and like most good things in our state, only made better with a cold beer. St. Peter might as well have met us there with a sixer of Lonestar.

New Year

If the engine on your two-ton truck only applies power to half of its wheels, avoid mud, or said truck essentially becomes the biggest paper-weight you've ever owned.


Heading back to Austin from family and Houston on an early Sunday morning, I pulled a 180 degree turn for a photo-op, as I often do on the open stretches of FM's (farm-to-market's) and highways that get me from A to B in Texas. A U-turn is oftentimes nestled between spotting the picture and taking the picture when on the road, as it can take me up to a quarter of a mile to decide whether what I passed was worth the shot. Normally, I'm pretty careful about what I pull my truck into, and the grass on the side of FM 955 to Fayeteville (see below) appeared safe enough.



The recent rain that had come with a cold front escaped my memory just long enough for me to become very much stuck on the shoulder. I gave the gas one good punch trying to get out, knowing the more I tried the deeper I'd get. Not only was I stuck, the friction of the tires against the grass caused some of the vegetation to start smoldering, which required some frantic foot stomping. Now what?

On a desolate Texas highway early Sunday morning, it took all of 90 seconds for someone to first offer assistance. A kind old man in a truck rusting at the seams offered to pull Betts (yes of course that's my truck's name) and I out. We chained the two vehicles together and I was released from my muddy bonds. For a few minutes we sat and talked and he told me about the acres he owned and the money he'd made of an oil well that helped put his kids through college. I thanked him and we went our separate ways.

The whole operation took no more than 10 minutes, and during that time we had 3 more offers for help.

In a brief story that seems ripe with symbolism and allegory, I laugh at one absolute truth: no matter how big your truck is, around here there will always be a bigger one.

The Bend

Recently, I got in the truck and went out to West Texas to work on a project for school. I've been going out that way for years, but this was my first time into the 10,000 square miles of Brewster and Presidio counties alone. This worked out pretty well because a road trip with me entails a whole lot of pulling over for photos.

The following are just a few images out of the tons I took. The project I alluded to is for a black and white film class and focuses on Marfa, Texas. I'll post more on that when it is done.

Windmill, 16 second exposure taken at 9:30 PM, Highway 67, Brewster County

I got in pretty late but managed to squeeze some shooting in. The above shot was taken on a tripod with the last glow of available sunlight.

A few days earlier I had made reservations at the Motel Bien Venido in Alpine. For 36 bucks a night, I didn't really know what to expect. Other than a light odor of body lotion and no remote for the TV, the place turned out to be pretty great. I got up the next day with no real plan except to take pictures.

Motel Bien Venido, Alpine, Texas

Cemetery, Shafter, Texas

The sky is bigger out there. I don't think there is any sort of science to it - the sky is simply larger. It's a hell of a backdrop.

Mountains, Farm Road 170

The above image is actually 9 or so images hastily stitched together. If the pictures seamlessly flowed together I don't think any sense of scale would really be conveyed.

Farm Road 170

18 second exposure at 9:50 PM, Study Butte, Texas

The only time I really felt alone out in those 10,000 square miles was at night on the road. There was no moon during my stay, and when there isn't anything around you for 30 or 40 miles exept dark desert, it's an eerie feeling. I took the above picture before starting the hour and a half drive from Study Butte/Terlingua back to Alpine. Just over halfway into my journey, a Javelina ran in front of my truck. Without thinking, I gave the brakes some pressure and moved into the opposite lane's shoulder, careful not to over-steer. I caught the poor guy with my right-front tire, and my truck scored her first real kill.

My last night out there, I was pulled over by the Highway Patrol in my hurry to get back to Alpine from Marfa. The officer was professional and polite (as most Texas Highway Patrolmen I've met have been), and after I explained I was out taking pictures, he confessed that I hadn't really been speeding that much. That close to the border, with all the drug trafficking going on, law enforcement is suspicious of lone drivers at night (I had already talked with the Border Patrol a few times in the past few days). He asked where I was staying, and I told him the Hotel Bien Venido. He chuckled and asked 'really?'. All I could offer in response was a nervous laugh and a 'yeah'. I probably don't want to know what he knew. He gave me a warning for my speeding and wished me a good night.

Train, Highway 67, Presidio County

If you still don't believe me about how big that sky is, get out there. I know a good place you can stay.

Lubbock

Note: The following photos of University of Texas Football are copyright Texas Student Media. Even though I took them.


Cotton, oil and football. Boiling an entire state down to two commodities and a sport may seem a bit unfair, maybe even lazy. But when you are driving through the first two on your way to the third via a seven-hour, nine-highway, 400-mile trek, it’s tough to remember just what else matters in Texas.

This past weekend, our Texas Longhorns visited Lubbock to play Tech’s potent Red Raider football team. I secured a press pass using my UT credentials and dug up an old state atlas, a resource I hadn’t used in a number of years. This would be my first trip to ‘The Hub’, and after I had a good friend from Lubbock recite to me his favorite route from Austin, I realized that I’d be spending game day somewhere between Abilene and San Angelo without the aid of a decent map.

A motley collection of state highways, interstates and farm-to-market roads (71, 87, 83, 158, 2111, 153, 70, 20 and 84) got me to Lubbock in about a tank and a half of gas. I had to frequently resist the urge to stop and take photos, keeping in mind that not everyone in the car shares my passion for standing alongside roads taking pictures of nothing. This is a route I will have to travel again soon so that I can get it on film.

The sun set as we drove through cotton fields, oil fields and wind farms. The glow of Lubbock got brighter and brighter until we found ourselves just outside the city limits, the last place to purchase liquor. We stocked up and headed into town. I got to my friend’s house and we passed the 20 hours until kick-off in what appeared to be the same fashion as the locals: drinking and talking football.


Offensive tackle Tray Allen takes a few seconds for himself in the North end zone minutes before kickoff.

On paper, Jones AT&T Stadium (also known simply as 'The Jones') holds 53,000 people. That night, a record 56,333 found their way in to watch what many were predicting to be the biggest football game ever played in Lubbock.

This game wasn't just one university playing against another. This was the entire population of Lubbock against the dreaded Longhorns from ass-backwards Austin. In terms of community support and excitement, this game fell somewhere between the biggest high school football game of all time and a religious holiday.


Defensive tackle Roy Miller puts some serious pressure on Tech quarterback Graham Harrell. Harrell put on a clinic that night, converting what felt like every third down he met. Our defense played as hard as I've seen them all season, but between an officiating crew that seemed hell-bent on ignoring every instance of holding and a Texas offense that couldn't manage to stay on the field too long, their grit couldn't stop the Red Raiders from moving up and down the field.

The reasons for our offense's inability to get in their regular groove that night could be debated endlessly. But standing on that field, I can safely say that the roar of those Tech fans sounded something like a cross between an F-18 at full afterburner and a Rolling Stones concert. As level-headed as Colt and our offense undoubtedly are, I don't think they had been in hostile territory like that all season.


Defensive end Brian Orakpo is helped off the field after suffering a knee injury in the third quarter.


Miller gets ready to head back out on the field. Roy has proven to be pretty photogenic for me this season.


Head coach Mack Brown watches as Tech's offense moves towards the end zone with less than a minute remaining. Despite an impressive second-half comeback, the Longhorns would not be able to secure the win.


As the clock wound down, Tech fans stormed the field. I camped out behind a small barrier to avoid getting knocked down. I got a few shots before climbing off the field level and finding my way back into the brisk Lubbock night.

We drank and talked football again until sunrise. What went wrong? Where was the officiating? What would happen next? We found no answers, but determined that it's better to lick your wounds in good company and with some alright whiskey.


As we made our way down 84, 20, 70, 153, 2111, 158, 83, 87 and 71 towards Austin, I had plenty of time to think about my first trip to Lubbock. This loss hurt. Really bad. But at the same time, that twisting and turning we felt in our chests that Saturday night reaffirmed just how much we care about our football team. Those are our peers, and an upset in the panhandle is nowhere near enough to keep us from coming out next week.

And as for Lubbock, I didn't mind it too much. Beats the hell out of Dallas.