MY 50-STATE STRATEGY

THE CYCLE OF A LIFETIME: A new acquaintance takes a well-deserved breather at the Marfa Mystery Lights viewing area.

RITES OF LIGHTS

FIFTEEN OR SO HARDY SOULS HAD gathered in the dark eight miles east of the outskirts of Marfa, Texas.
On this clear, but unseasonably chilly evening, the Milky Way twinkled, filling the night sky, but the shimmering stars were not the lights those assembled had come to see. They had come out here for the mystery…
Marfa’s Mystery Lights.
Since 1883, when a cowboy herding cattle thought he spied Apache campfires while the Apaches themselves assumed they saw stars falling to earth, these mystery lights have beguiled seasoned observers and to this day still, each time a clear night beckons, manage to baffle new ones.
A local family donated the land and so, in 2001, a circular stone, brick and stucco edifice was erected on this spot to facilitate the cottage industry that draws tourists and true believers alike to this seat of Presidio County in southwest Texas. Marfa lies 59 miles north of Presidio itself – the border town with Mexico that lays claim to being the oldest settlement in America.
Traveling west late in the day, I had located this solitary structure on the south side of dusty Highway 90, next to the Union Pacific rails carrying freight to-and-from El Paso. I quickly familiarized myself visually to the area in the daylight, so later that evening I was able to attest to the absence of anything at all to the south - the direction where these lights appear. It’s a flat barren stretch of the Chihuahuan Desert, empty save for a few cactuses and low-lying bushes all the way out to where the Chinati Mountains rise out of the sands.
Convinced then that this spooky phenomenon rated, at the very least, some modern architecture out on this dusty stretch of road, I continued west into town, intent on returning later for a first-hand look.
After dark, the footlights that mark this building shine white facing the road and red at its rear - all focused downward, so as not to distract viewers. As I pull up just after 10 p.m., a RV, several pickups, a van and, oddly, an oil truck are clustered around the parking area. On the south-facing platform, a small, but boisterous crowd waits … and then waits some more.
A red beacon has been placed off in the distance to mark the area of the light’s appearances near Paisano Pass, an old wagon train route.
The crowd soon perks up as a single small yellow light appears, hovering, and then zigzagging about.
It soon disappears, only to be replaced by two similar illuminations, floating together then drifting apart. They disappear, then re-emerge, alternating, sometimes solo, other times in tandem, as onlookers shout out the colors they can identify – “Yellow! … Blue! … Oh, look …Purple!”
The lights halt for a short spell, and a section of the crowd slinks off into the dark, only to be replaced by newcomers. Soon, another set of these floating illuminations charm those assembled. Satisfied, though still perplexed, I soon join those departing. Stopping to re-read the possible explanations on the lighted plaque out by the road, I shake my head: Ghosts and goblins or just a good old fashion put-on? I know as much now as when I arrived this afternoon.
Could it be space aliens?
Or swamp gas?
Or just some kids playing with matches?
Still a mystery to me …
Marfa’s Mystery Lights.

Borderline Bostonian
Cruising north from Big Bend, I was stopped by the Border Patrol at a checkpoint just south of Alpine, Texas. The short stocky officer, peering at me from behind dark sunglasses, asked if I had “Been working down south?” I answered that I had been at the Big Bend Park. He then asked me where I was from? I said, “Florida,” to match what my license plates had already revealed. Amused, he said, “You sound just like you’re from Boston.” Amazed, I asked him what gave it away? He said, “Paaahk” I admitted that I was born and raised near Beantown and had lived in Florida only just recently. Then I asked him if he needed a peek inside the trailer. He replied, “Nah, Boston, you don’t look much like a terrorist.”
Or sound much like a Floridian either.

What’s next, a ski jump?Alpine, by my estimation, seems a strange name for any desert town. However, after rolling up the slight elevation into this community, I discovered its hillsides and fields filled with evergreens – spruce, pine and fir, rounder, closer to the soil, but evergreens nonetheless.
Along with your occasional cactus …

Where rubber meets the road
Upon arrival at the Mystery Lights viewing platform, I met Cathy. She was a fellow traveler … sort of. Recently retired from a tech support position on Wall Street, she’s currently touring interesting parts of America - by bike.
After bicycling across the country last year - from San Diego to St. Augustine, Fla. - with a group of friends, she decided on this solo trip to celebrate her 60th year. She had bought her bike New Year’s Day and it already has over 2,000 miles on its odometer. This odd-looking cycle trails a squat, wheeled cargo container behind it (see above).
Cathy rides the Amtrak to cover any overly large chunks of territory between her desired destinations, and otherwise lives in her small tent. When she boards the train, she folds her bike up into the cargo case, packing her other possessions in a cloth bag.
Coming from Arizona, she was bound for Big Bend. We exchanged tips, shared some advice and consulted maps. Then, off she went to locate a spot nearby where she could pitch camp and await the light show.
It takes all kinds …