The departure was typical, the city holds on as long as possible, the stops and starts of morning driving. We zoomed west, my favorite daughters and I, on Interstate 20 after Ft Worth-- 78 MPH, then 83 MPH, then 88 MPH. "Eight you're great, nine youre mine," a State Trooper once told me. We saw 3 wrecks, all involving semi trucks, we popped and swayed to the radio, we talked and listened and listened and talked, we took turns, I mostly listened. I assured them, I encouraged them, laughed with them, drove like an expert, maintaining highway space at all times, left, right, front, back, continuously scanning, darting my eyes.
The Sand Dunes of Monahans was our initial destination. The impressive mounds of sands, the wind whipped waves, ever photogenic; then a charcuterie board picnic of meats, cheese, granola bars, cherries, carrots, and Sun Chips. "To me, sand is like gold," I cried. It was a nice stop, both my favorite daughters were shook, they began to understand the lure of this crazy landscape in far west Texas, we had arrived at the edge. From there, we turned South on FM 1776, Revolution Road, abandoning the Interstate, flying.
Faint outlines became mountain scenes quickly, the ooos and ahhs began 96 miles from Alpine, they had no idea, they were bewildered, confused, enchanted, lit. Then I realized the low gas alert was alerting, our last fill-up was east of Abilene, there was nothing around, we had 16 miles of gasoline left the alert indicated. My favorite daughter GPSed our position, Alpine was 11 miles away, we were all quiet and calm, we cruised into Uncle's convenience store on fumes. Anyway, they say you have two gallons of gas left after the needle hits empty, I'm not so sure. Running on empty always seemed dumb to me, no reason to cut it so close, no reason to sweat it, I apologized.
