I hit loose gravel on a lonely stretch of road and nearly gave up the ghost. It was Co. Rd. 720, a narrow two lane stretch over weak rolling hills; the last vestige of geological activity before settling into Texas' unbelievable flatness. It took some time to regain my composure and my feet hurt from putting them down at speed. As I cruised along, overly cautious, a spec appeared and grew in front of me. The spec eventually became a full sized truck. Considering the desolation I stopped to offer help. A very elderly rancher appeared with a shotgun and said he was shooting cows. Or that's what I thought he said through the muffle of my brain bucket. Helmet off, he clarified; he was picking off coyotes that were eyeballing his cattle.
His name was Tom, and after a few friendly minutes I was back at it. The archetypal bullet ridden signage welcomed me to Texas. Minutes are hours on roads this long and when I finally found Monahans Sandhills State Park I was fully surprised. If White Sands challenged what I though I knew about the desert, I realized I didn't know anything as I hiked up the lonely dunes and looked out over the entire state of Texas.
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