road trip, part two: nm, tx, la. 5.27.7 - 6.2.7.

Roswell, NM.

From Albuquerque we took US-285 through endless fields of purple flowers in a semi-arid semi-prairie landscape, past Roswell and got to a hotel in Pecos, TX, long after dusk. I asked the very large receptionist at the hotel how she liked living in Pecos and what there was to do there. She told us she hated it, and that the only fun things to do there are drink and go to the Wal-Mart Supercenter at 3 AM, especially to try on costumes. Katie and I later debated whether or not Wal-Mart would even have her size. The next morning we went to the Pecos Wal-Mart, the first of many on our trip.

Mentone, TX. At the gas station.

From the Pecos Wal-Mart we departed northward past "nodding donkey" oil derricks to Loving County, the least populous county of the U.S. In Mentone, the only town in the county, two main roads intersect, the only intersection in town, no grocery stores, banks, hospitals or cemeteries, just a gas station on one corner, the county courthouse on another. We scavenged around these properties by foot and eventually settled in front of the courthouse to eat sandwiches. Pretty soon, a large woman with one arm twice the size of the other comes out to show us a dead snake lying in the grass close to our standing picnic. We photograph it, and then the woman introduces herself as Beverly Hanson, Loving County clerk and district representative. Within the first ten minutes of conversation, she tells us about her ex-husband who beat her, and how she has suffered from chronic bronchitis, several heart attacks, a stroke, and how 25 of her lymph nodes were removed, which caused her right arm to swell to an enormous circumfrence.

Mentone, TX. Loving County clerk and district representative Beverly Hanson shows us around the courthouse.

Dallas, TX. At Brett's house, Evangelicals on tv told us to go get a drink.

We said adieu to Brett in Dallas, and proceeded onward on our adventure. In Waco, not far from the president's ranch in Crawford, we passed a Bush's Chicken restaurant (see it on my roadtrip photos page) whilst on the hunt for the site of that Branch Davidian building that burnt down in 1993. I went into a gas station and asked the guy ahead of me in line where "the cult place" was. He said, "God, I can't remember, I haven't been there in, well, at least six months." Katie went into a KFC to ask the same question, and the cashier had a tear tattoo under her eye and had never heard of the Branch Davidians. Driving away, we debated whether the tattoo meant she killed a man or had merely been to prison or was just being fashionable. We eventually found the site, and walked around the gravestone monuments for each of the deceased. There were even gravestones for unborn children, named "Little One Jones" and "Aborted Fetus Gent." (Also on my roadtrip photos page.)

Waco, TX. Mailbox for the Branch Davidians.

Stayed in Austin several days with Katie's friend Rose. She wears elaborate outfits and works as a stripper at The Yellow Rose. We met up with my old friend Richard, one of the first people I met in LA, and went to a theatre showing "Ladies of the 80s," a singalong/dancealong to music videos. The theatre had long thin tables in front of each row of seats so that one could eat. During "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun," the more hyper half of the audience formed a conga line and went through each row. Then, the audience inflated and then popped 99 red balloons. Later, we explored Austin's hyperactive nightlife and live music scene, watching a band play "My Sherona," and then got bored at a gay club called Oilcan Harry's. Austin reminded me a lot of Albuquerque, in terms of size, demographic and liberalism.


Swamps between Lake Charles and Baton Rouge, LA.

Lake Charles, Louisiana, 1.30 AM, we drive by a bar still open on the way to a public campground, and I contemplate to myself what kinds of interesting fellas we could have met in that place. We drive over long bridges above wide rivers through thick fog, eventually finding the campground, its gate locked. We were so tired at this point, we went back in to Lake Charles to find a cheap hotel. At that late hour, the only other cars on the road were really fancy convertibles painted red or a sparkly gold driven by young black men. At one hotel with a giant billboard built on top of it, the receptionist explained they had no vacancies because they had the amenities of a five-star hotel. The next morning, at the Lake Charles Wal-Mart Supercenter, I asked a lady there how she liked living in Lake Charles. She said, "I guess I like it. I've never lived anywhere else." And then she told us she had never been out of Louisiana or Texas, and she had never even been to Baton Rouge or New Orleans, only two hours away.

New Orleans, LA. Hurricane-wrought store, above-ground tomb, residential architecture.

In New Orleans, I made eye contact with a fellow balancing a beer can on his head, and then he chased me down the street trying to get me to try it. For dinner, Katie and I split a meal of the quintessential New Orleans foods, Jambalaya, Crawfish Pie-ah (like the Carpenters' song!) and beignets. In a Walgreens, I asked a black lady standing with us in line what it is like living in New Orleans. She told us it's gotten really dangerous, and how she plans on leaving. She also told us she's a fortune teller and that we should visit her at her work and also see New Orleans' most famous church, but we didn't visit her.

New Orleans, LA.

New Orleans, LA. St. Louis Cathedral, near where the fortuneteller lady works.

See the rest of the photos of the trip.