plenty of nothing

We are up early and take off in the cool dark to retrace our way to Ratan. Then we keep heading south in New Mexico. Dad assures me that I'll think the Texas road we went on was positively urbanized. He's right. There are miles of nothing. A coyote trots across the road and eyes us suspiciously. There are even that many road kills. We see some buffalo and llamas. Then we turn off the main road. On this smaller road we drive the straight two laner with no cars visible in front or behind. We are warned that gas is seventy miles away. We arrive at the tiny town where there is no gas, Trujillo. We pass by hovels and shacks with no signs of life and dive off the mesa down a few thousand feet of elevation. Then the road is less boring or, at least, what's beside it, as there are rock outcroppings and hills. Still not much sign of mammals until we see a hiker trudging west. He could be, as Dad will later describe him, a hitchhiker. But with whom would he hitch?

Finally we reach the relative civilization of Tucumcari where gas and Pepsi is available. Back to Texas. Oil and cotton and we arrive in Denver City. We find my aunt and uncle's rental. They have sold their house here and chosen to rent a smaller one and stay here. The air is pungent with petroleum. My aunt serves takes me a block or two to the Denver City Motel where she's made a reservation for me to stay. She has one spare room for Dad. She feeds us fried okra, chicken strips, corn. We play a domino game called Spinners. My Uncle Johnny is failing. He was a school teacher. An educated man, teaching ag to farmers' and ranchers' kids. Sometimes he still gets the game, sometimes the spots and the point eludes him. He thinks he sees a dog in the room.