MY 50-STATE STRATEGY

SHIVERED MY TIMBERS: During the severe storm the other evening, this tree limb came down just a few yards from the trailer. On the left (foreground) you can see the bottom of the grille; to the right, a corner of the picnic table; and upper left-center (background) the trailer peeks out from behind the downed tree bough.
NOW, THE WEATHERSHORTLY AFTER DINNER THE first evening I was at Big Bend, a ferocious storm, with very little warning, welled up and roared around the park. Truly scary: first a wild dust storm, then driving rain and hail, punctuated by loud thunder and continuous lightning. About 55 minutes of “WOW!” The wind is shaking the trailer down to its axles. It arrived right after sunset, howling like a hurricane. Incredible!
Even this nasty bit of business cleared up something about the trip down here which had been nagging me: there were a bunch of plastic bags, like the ones in which you bring your groceries home, strewn around the roadside, blowing about, some caught in fences and on cacti. There were no people to be found. How did the bags get there? Couldn’t understand it. Now I do. As the storm started I went outside to secure my trash barrel just as the barrel flipped and sent my own grocery bags, along with some other trash, out and then up into the whirlwind, bound for far away places.
It’s now apparent that when these sudden storms start down here, you just have to seek shelter and get out of the way. You can’t be chasing after things blowing in the wind, because if you do, you may join them in the tempest – it felt that powerful. Anyway, the bags I saw lying about on the trip down here reminded me of tumbleweeds, blowing to-&-fro across the desert. So let me pose a question: Are plastic grocery bags turning into the 21st century equivalent of tumbleweeds? Just a thought…
After the storm, the air got very cool, clean and smelled, strangely, like cinnamon. Later, around midnight, the winds returned to rattle the trailer again for about three-four hours, greatly disturbing my much needed sleep. But a least the air remained cool the rest of that night.
A last item about the storm: When I checked in to the campground, the gatekeeper told me there was a picnic table at my site (telling me some folks want the tables, others prefer the open space to spread out their own furnishings). And, when I pulled in, there was the table on the grass about 20 feet away, right under a mesquite tree next to standup grille – a dandy setting and pretty handy, although I would be too busy to take advantage of it. It wasn’t until sunrise three days later, when I was chasing around that roadrunner for a picture, that I realized the table was gone. Not gone, necessarily, but out of sight. The strong winds had cracked a limb of the tree and brought it down right on top of the table and grille, hiding them from view. I got out a tape measure and gauged the circumference of the busted branch. It was 23-and-one-half inches. Didn’t even hear it crack during the storm. That was some wind!

And it’s Hot! Hot! Hot! down here, even deep into the night. At lunchtime one day, according to the thermostat I installed outside the trailer, it was 106 degrees in the sun, and then 99 in the shade when I check.ed over at the ranger station. Even with the humidity low at only 40 percent, 106 is HOT! By 9:30 the third evening, it had finally cooled to 84 degrees.
Also cleared up for me has been the mystery of the 10-gallon hat: why are they so popular in these parts? With heat and sun like this, a man's just got to bring along his own shade. You might be toast without one.

After blowing in the 20s most of my last day at Big Bend, that night the wind roared again, giving the trailer a shake-or-10. Great sleeping weather though later on - just 68 degrees with clear skies and plenty of stars. No matter where I see the Milky Way on this continent, I am often reminded of Burt Lancaster' comment to Susan Sarandon in the classic flick Atlantic City. As the pair walked along the boardwalk chatting, Lancaster looked out at the rolling ocean and said, "Ah, the waves. Ya shoulda seen 'em on the old days." I always laugh at that because generations come and go and the little things may change, but the big ones like the stars and the sea, they never change.

Lastly, I can definitely feel though why some people find the desert heat to be so therapeutic: the nasty cold I had last week has all but disappeared and my muscles and joints feel remarkably supple and limber, sort of like a kid again. I don’t think I could go out and play a game of full-court basketball, but it sure feels good.