The Devilish Duststorm

 

10-29 

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I woke to another picturesque day, and slowly set about packing up camp. I was loathe to leave, because leaving meant that I would have to get back on the highway, and getting back on the highway meant that I was starting the final leg of the long run home.

But, I couldn’t delay too long without screwing myself out of a place to sleep for the night, so eventually I got all of my stuff together and took off. A piece of Mata Ortiz pottery – heavily encased in bubble wrap and all kinds of padding – sat in Jane’s floorboard, the first of my new collection. I have always admired pottery from southwestern and Mexican pueblos, and now seemed as good a time to start the collection as any.

We headed west and then north out of the canyon, the golden plains unfolding around us and the mountains fading in the distance, as others rose ahead of us. It was a perfect day, cool and crisp, the crystalline azure skies streaked with fantastic clouds.

This view reminded me very much of Highway 50 in Nevada

As I neared the interstate, the clouds drew closer, shading our passage wonderfully as we descended into the hotter flatlands. In short order, I turned onto I-10, and we struck east at our usual speed. Much as I love cruising around the peaceful surface roads, it is always glorious to open up that 289 to let it howl on the highway. Jane gave no indication of valvetrain trouble, so I resolved to forget it for the rest of the trip. It took us no time at all to reach the New Mexican border.

We arrowed through Lordsburg, then Deming, the spectacular scenery whizzing by. I didn’t stop this time – but maybe the next trip will be a New Mexico special.

Not too long after passing Deming, I saw a haze in the distance. We approached it, and the haze solidified into a massive dust storm.

Ah, wonderful

I rolled up my window and made the best of it. Not that rolling up a window in a vintage Mustang does very much to keep the dust and sand out. At first, the dust rose from the plains on all sides in an ominous cloud, seemingly defying gravity as it swirled into the air lazily. Then the wind began to blow, and the sand whipped across the road in rivulets and streams, while the dust obscured everything further than 10’ away from the car.

Truth or Consequences, indeed. I believe I see some Consequences now...

There was nothing I could do but drive through it. That’s kind of just how dust storms work in the Southwest. They can span tens or even hundreds of miles when the wind is whipped up right, and they can last for minutes or hours or days. Pulling over and stopping is dangerous, and you’ve no guarantee the storm will lapse in any reasonable time. So the best you can do is just slow down and do your best to not hit anyone in front of you.

I squinted into that storm for fifty miles.

Maybe the next trip will NOT be a New Mexico special.

Then, just as suddenly as I had entered, I came out the other side, and found myself in Las Cruces. I stopped for gas and an attempt to wash the dust from my face (a losing proposition). Jane, of course, was right as rain, if a kind of unique type of dirty that we don’t often experience. She looked a bit ghostly, in fact.

Check out these neat "speed stripes" behind the hood lettering

Real look at how dirty the car is - that is a very very very fine coat of silica dust coating the entire car (inside and out, of course)

We pressed on, and by midafternoon we found ourselves in El Paso, a most unwelcome change. The I-10 route is probably my favorite to cross West Texas, but El Paso always seems to be undergoing horrific construction, and the scenery is terribly ugly from the highway. Today was no exception.

Wow, what a great invitation to the state... haze and grossness

Depressing haze, concrete barriers, and construction: the El Paso special

But with the power of Google Maps, we got through in a reasonable time, coming out the other side and accelerating with a triumphant roar. Now that we were able to go Texas-sized speeds, the asphalt ripped by under Jane’s tires relentlessly, and the surrounding plains were reduced to a blurred abstract art.

The weather remained clear and beautiful as we completed the last leg of the day’s journey, and we coasted into Fort Stockton just past dusk. I’ve stayed in Fort Stockton before with miserable results – their campgrounds are not really campgrounds so much as RV parks, and the storms that ravage the town are frequent and unpredictable – so this time I booked myself into a cheap hotel. A walk to and fro across the Walmart parking lot and a mediocre steak later, I settled myself in for the night. My trusty steed waited outside, patiently awaiting the last day’s drive.

Until then, Kelly signing out.