Road signs en route today. I ain't making this up:
1) If You Smell Gas Leave Immediately (But where am I to go?)
2) In A Sand Storm, Pull Off The Road and Turn Off Your Lights.
3) Watch For High Winds. (What do they look like?)
4) Prison Zone Pick Up No Hitchhikers. (In zebra pajamas,)
Yesterday evening I met Perry, in a '53 Scotty, "Tiny Boy" trailer painted with peeling latex--the rear end recently side-swiped. He was older than yours truly and going blind--proclaimed, the day before, that he had come to the desert while he could still see it. In his old Chevy he had a Yamaha dirt bike with a rifle holster attached. Said he used to hunt on horseback till his eyes got bad. No, I didn't ask him if his bad eyes enhanced his motorcycle riding. Then, there was Bullet--"Yep,that's my name." in a pop-up. "Bet your pappy liked to hunt; that's why they named you Bullet." I said. "Yep, that's my name. You want a Natural Light? It ain't much, but it's cheap. Hee-hee--hee." "Sure, that'd be nice," I say. Then, there was P.S. Dean who's Great-Grandfather was killed during Pancho's raid--called him a terrorist as bad as Osama Bin Ladin--"...matter of fact, proportionately, he killed more here in Columbus, N. Mexico than Osama did 9/11. I'm working like hell to get Pancho Villa St.Pk's. name changed before 2016--the 100th anniversary.." P.S. was mumbling something under his breath like that sounded like"GD Mexican terrorist." His eyes were glowing like something you don't want to see in the bushes at night while you're hustling to the bathhouse.
Here at Roper St. Pk, lots of yapping dogs--mostly lap dogs-- and a father or two snapping at their kids--the real reason for their anger being that the father can't figure out how the hell to put up the tent.
Note photos. Later....
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