The sun rose early and warmed up quick, one thing about sleeping in what is essentially a pimped out tin can is there ain’t no late lie ins, no matter how lazy you might be, heat will overpower you.
We decided to save ourselves $600 and ignore the air conditioning install for Big Blue, which in
all honesty is completely
kosher, as long as the van is moving, the wind is blowing and you’re good in
your gitch. I took some style notes from my 18-month-old nephew and threw on
some Osh Kosh B’gosh’s my friend Mignon gifted me when we rolled into gas
stations and towns.
Marathon was our first find, a sleepy town
full of artists, including Eve, owner of a completely unique Organic Bed and Breakfast, who welcomed us warmly to tour her lush indoor gardens and creatively designed hotel rooms.
We took advantage of The Gage Hotel’s
air conditioning for a bit, pretending to peruse the drinks menu, while marvelling
at their bijou Texas décor. One Marathon resident with a strong New York accent
and wild grey hair, wandered up to us, excitedly sharing stories about his
journey through life, which led him to his Marathon retirement. I listened
politely though his monologue seemed to be directed at Shane. He looked like
the love child of Rod Steward and 'Doc' from Back To The Future and I found
myself distracted by this thought, unable to discern between what he said and
what I thought a man like him might say.
As I sat there half-in-half-out of the
moment at hand, his artist wife shot exasperated looks at him from afar with a
controlled patience I’d never seen in human form. She wore a tight bun and
reminded me of Geena Davis in A League of Their Own, and I could tell from
where I sat she was strong willed and witty, she was a woman of few words but
great impact, the type you’d want to cast as a character in your next novel or play.
Randy bid us adue at the precise moment the
waiter’s patience with us began to dissolve, we left promptly and wandered to a
dusty grocery store nearby, somehow spending the $10 we’d saved not buying a
drink at The Gage on two oranges and a tepid Topo Chico.
We stopped to fill up with gas soon after.
Shane made friends with a jolly local named Pepe who sat laughing and sweating, half shaded by the canopy of the gas station. Shane eventually convinced him
and Ernesto, the gas station attendant, to allow him to take portraits of them.
They both chattered without interrupting the other, Pepe in an English
high-pitched drawl, Ernesto in a slow smooth Spanish.
We departed, weaving out of the tamely
sized town and onto the last leg of the drive to Big Bend. It was the first
time the beauty and vastness of the desert hit us, arriving into the arms of
the park just as the sun set over the silhouette of the mountains.
We slept, illegally as we later found out,
in a picnic spot called Fossil Bone. In contrast to the previous evenings, this
night, the moon, stars, and all the planets lit up the sky with brilliance and
we basked, surrounded by desert under the night sky.
In the distance an electric storm housed
within rolling pink clouds locked in a mountain valley fired lightning in a way
I’d never seen. Around us, the air was smooth and calm as if to balance the
violent beauty we witnessed beyond us.
We fell asleep with the doors and windows open letting the cool air comfort us under the watchful eye of the majestic moon.
We fell asleep with the doors and windows open letting the cool air comfort us under the watchful eye of the majestic moon.
all photos unedited. copyright Shane Woodward
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