MY 50-STATE STRATEGY

TEETH & TECHNOLOGY: A rattler bares his teeth (above), while two technological marvels (bottom), one of the world’s largest telescopes and one of the world’s smallest trailers, size up one another.
STARS & … SNAKES?

I HAD DECIDED THAT MY NEXT stop after Marfa, Texas would be Mt. Fowles, high above the town of Fort Davis, Texas, about 20 miles or so north.
Fort Davis, the fort, is a historical site now but a stronghold in the Indian Wars then. It was the first garrison of the Buffalo Soldiers, America’s hallmark company of black soldiers and, ironically, the fort was named for 1850s-era Secretary of War Jefferson Davis, later the Civil War president of the Confederate States of America.
I had another destination in mind when I rolled through town. But when I passed this old gas station, newly painted with a large sign reading Rattlers & Reptiles, I just had to stop.
I peeked inside, and that’s when I made two new friends, Barry and Jerry – some good ol’ boys.
This “museum,” which bills itself as the “Largest Rattlesnake Exhibit on the Planet,” is great! (For those of you who have been around the Key West, Fla. bight for one reason or another: up until a couple of years ago, think of the Bait Shop & Live Bait Lounge, without the beer taps but with all the gimmicks and gadgets, except a lot of thesee are alive.)
And these guys are hysterical. Real characters!
The owner, Buzz Ross, was absent, so Barry was in charge (or, at very least, he was the guy behind the counter). But Jerry, who lives in Louisiana but considers this snake house his “second home,” showed me around.
Buzz had constructed 20 stone-like cages out of newspaper, wire, cement, glass and gray paint and inside them he had some incredible asps. According to Barry, there are 33 types of rattlesnakes in the world and Buzz had 15 different kinds on the premises.
Some of the snakes were sleeping, some were slithering, some were rattling, but all were fascinating. Too many varieties to describe here, but this collection ran the gamut of sizes, lengths, colors and patterns.
Jerry, who insisted I call him “Coon-Ass,” was a bayou boy for sure. He showed me which particular ones had the most rattles, the prettiest skin patterns, longest length, widest girth and so forth. He also pointed out the most deadly (the smallish, but irritable Mojave rattlesnake). I asked him how he learned so much about rattlers, and he said, “I don’ know nothing’ ‘bout ‘em. Just like ‘em is all.”
I described my encounter with that rattler at Big Bend over the weekend and he led me over to the cage of a large Western Diamondback (I feel so much better just knowing!).
There were also some large multi-colored lizards, a Black Widow Spider, a tarantula and many other assorted creepy-crawlies. Barry said that Buzz, so nick-named after his birth in London during a WWII “buzz bombing,” also keeps a 100-or-so “emergency back-up snakes” at his house behind the shop.
As I was getting ready to leave, the boys asked me if I wanted to see some rattlesnake eggs. When I said sure, they pointed out an envelope on the counter. I picked it up and it snapped in my hand. I must have jumped a yard straight up. (The envelope contained a jury-rigged trap, made of a paper clip, elastic and a metal washer.) We all laughed pretty heartily at that – although they enjoyed it little more than I did.
Interested? Call Buzz at (432) 426-2465.

Back in the truck, I made for the hills – Mt. Fowles (all 6,659 feet of it above sea level), that is.
On these mountains is the site of the McDonald Observatory, a University of Texas and Penn State collaboration. There are four telescopes housed in domes on these hills, but the instrument I was interested in, the Hobby-Eberly Telescope is on Mt. Fowles. One of the world's largest optical telescopes, its revolutionary design along with the clearest and darkest skies around make for excellent star gazing.
After a tough slog uphill, trailer in tow, I arrived, joining a party of Texas Star Gazers, who are in town for an annual event at Fort Davis State Park. And this gang was green with envy.
From inside a glass enclosure, we watched as technicians worked on this behemoth. It weighs 80 million pounds, giant mirror and all, but it floats as it revolves, on hydroplane-like technology. When the folks working there opened up the impressive dome and rotated that, audible gasps and sighs of adoration came from the Star Gazers.
Like Jerry the Snake Lover, I don’t know much about telescopes, I just like ‘em is all!
True Confession Time: I had a small telescope when I was just a small kid and the Mercury, Gemini and Apollo astronauts were my idols. In retrospect, after the Jack Kennedy assassination, I think the Space Race was much of the glue that held America together during very tough times. I knew the astronauts’ names, faces and facts like kids today know the WWE wrestlers. But the astronauts were real-life heroes, bravely facing a true unknown, not some frauds running around in makeup and tights. There is a real difference. Nowadays, that cannot be said enough …

Brother, can you spare a tire?
Finding that you got a flat tire is never any fun. Trust me, it’s much less humorous when you don’t have a spare.
"Well," you say, “Serves you right, moron!”
I reply, “Here’s my story … And I’m sticking to it!”
Before I left the Boston area for Florida last fall, I took the trailer over to Kelly’s Tires, a wholesaler in Revere, Mass., seeking a spare. The guy in charge at Kelly’s told me that the tires to fit this trailer weren’t available anymore. He didn’t know why. But, after examining the trailer’s rubber, he said I shouldn’t have any trouble, closing with, “Get a can of Fix-A-Flat, you know, just in case.” I did just that, and off I went.
No problems until Marfa, Texas.
After finding the trailer leaning heavily over to one side, I tried the Fix-A-Flat. Nah. I then called Triple-A (the best deal in America, by the way). They dispatched a couple of fellows over from Alpine, who found it to be a slow leak, reseated the tire and refilled it (I had bumped over a upraised railroad crossing the day before; that must have done it).
I asked the boss mechanic if he knew if I could get a tire that size. He said, “Sure, they make ‘em still.” (Confused? I’m just getting started. They were both right.)
Ready to roll again, the boss mechanic told me that rubber and rim seemed OK and I should be too, for a while at least, but “Get a can of Fix-A-Flat, in case you need it.”
Ignoring that piece of advice, once again, off I went. After stops for the snakes and the stargazing, it was approaching dinnertime. I was rolling about 50 miles north of Marfa, on the outskirts of Belmorhea, Texas (pop. 527), when the tire blows – this time for good (it looked like overcooked spaghetti!).
Releasing truck from trailer, I drove into town looking for help. And I found it - in spades. People in Belmorhea are nice, so nice they’ll jump through hoops to help a complete stranger.
Soon, I had five people surrounding me, including the deputy sheriff, all with their cell phones out, all searching for my tire. After striking out with garages and dealers, again and again, we finally found out why. Yes, they still make that size tire. But no, you can’t buy one: U-Haul has the exclusive rights to that size tire, and they won’t sell to the public.
All right then. I reluctantly had to go to Plan B: two new tires, both a size larger.
I finally got a tire shop in Pecos, about 30 miles north, to send a guy down to help. He brought some different size tires to try, but no go.
He took a rim, went back to Pecos, and found tires to fit. He returned several hours later with one mounted on the rim but, for the other tire, he had to strip the old one off the rim and field-mount the new one (back-breaking work, without the shop equipment).
After his 16-hour day, I knew this guy was dedicated, but I think I heard some swearing in Spanish from under his breath. And the second time he came, he brought his wife with him, and she was none too happy to be there, further aggravating him.
Still, I learned a valuable lesson. How valuable? $441.06! (Along with a double-sawbuck tip for my new pal from Pecos.) What’s the lesson? Well, that Fix-A-Flat doesn’t cut it, of course.
It was after midnight when I got back on the road headed for Pecos, my next destination.
Pecos is a town of just under 10,000 and it’s a railroad nexus. It was late and I was searching for anyplace to crash. I finally found the well-lit, empty parking lot next to the West of the Pecos Museum/Texas Rodeo Hall of Fame, which I had intended all along to peruse in the morning. I pulled in there to take a nap. Unfortunately, I soon found out, it was right next to the railroad tracks.
The first train came by just as I nodded off. It was about 40 cars long, with horns blaring like biblical trumpets. Oh well, just more in a string of bad luck. Too tired to move, I drifted off again. Then the second train, and then the third, came by - one right after another – both well over 100 cars. And those horns!
All right, all right, I give. Uncle! I hit the bricks, finally located that city’s elusive WalMart, parked there and finally hit the hay just before dawn. Ahh, one restful night.