Day 6, Part 2: Thursday, April 27th, 2006
El Paso, Texas to Tucson, Arizona

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A few dusty towns and many miles later, I make it to Hachita, where I can take the cut-off south into the Boot Heel.

This church stands on the south end of town. Right next to it is a house that is marked by two signs, one saying "Overnight Parking: $2", and the other proclaiming that this is a "UN-free zone." The irony of the fact that this house is closer to the international border than any other house in the state seems to be lost on whoever put that second sign up there.

The other sign--about the overnight parking--doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me, either. Why would anyone park their car in town when it would be just as easy to park in the miles and miles of emptiness surrounding the town for free?

Speaking of which, I look south from Hachita into the desert wastes and face a gut-check moment. Do I really want to drive the 45 miles to Antelope Wells, just to get a picture that proves that I've been to the one and only town in the Boot Heel of New Mexico? I haven't told anyone that I'm going in this direction--and I said goodbye to cell phone service when I left Texas--so, if something should go wrong in between here and there, I'd be stuck out in the desert on my own. If I had any sense, I'd keep heading down the road to Tucson, where my friend Jeff and his dog Hudson are waiting for me to arrive.

But when will I ever be here again?


Years ago, I read an article in the National Geographic about the Boot Heel. It featured a picture of an Open Range sign that had been completely littered with bullet holes. The lure of seeing such things pulls me on towards the border.

But the first such sign I see looks completely new. Has somebody at the New Mexico Department of Transportation been reading the National Geographic?


Up ahead, things don't look entirely right. The clear, desert sky has been replaced with a swirling haze on the horizon, over which the forgotten mountains of the Boot Heel loom ominously. I suddenly get the romantic sense that I'm entering some sort of portal to Hell.

A dead cow on the side of the road does nothing to settle my mood.

Within minutes, I drive into a full blown dust storm. I've never experienced anything like it before. It's a blizzard of dirt that cuts my visibility down to about 50 feet. As I keep pushing forward, I start to wonder if my car's air filter will get clogged up, and what would happen if it does. Would the engine suddenly choke up from lack of oxygen and die? And what if I hit a wayward cow out there in the howling sand?

Once again, I think about turning around and heading back the way I came. But momentum carries me through and, before long, the dust backs off from the road, revealing a new range of ornery mountains and a vast amphitheatre encircled by the dirty shadows of the wind's fury. While the storm is pre-occupied with other things, I grit my teeth and drive all the way to Antelope Wells.


Antelope Wells turns out to be not so much a town as it is a Border Patrol station. I quickly snap the picture that I've come all this way for, but forego the opportunity to visit Mexico in favor of heading back to Hachita. With the wind at my back the whole way--and the angry storm still looming in the background--I find it harder to drive any slower than 90 miles per hour on the return trip.

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