Permian Basin Blues

Southeastern New Mexico and West Texas is oil country. Black gold. Compact pumpers, tall drilling rigs, and squat storage tanks crowd the desolate beige landscape. At night the drilling rigs are lit up like Christmas trees, which is what they are called in the business. We were sailing slowly down Route 285 intending to stay on it all the way to Ft. Stockton where we would spend the night. When we drove through Carlsbad, though, Miss Charmin Garmin decided to take a nap and I, the backup navigator, was playing with my phone. Consequently, we missed our turnoff to 285 and found ourselves 15 miles down the road to El Paso. Back we went all the way to Carlsbad because I didn't trust the county roads we passed to take us over to our road. Our highway that had been 4 lane and new turned into a rough 2 lane swarming with oil field trucks, and it began to get dark before we reached Pecos. We hoped to stop there but knew that the town would be full of oil field workers so accommodations might be scarce. And they were. We managed to find a cheap hotel room, though, cheap in every sense except the price. It had two appreciated amenities, an on-site restaurant and bar. We took advantage of them both.