Day Ten: Austin to Lubbock, TX

Drive West out of Austin, and the landscape flattens out right quick. The cactus grow more prevalent and foreboding. The number of cows multiply. A few mesas rise majestically in the distance, an army of white wind turbines standing at attention atop. Rusting oil pumps peck the ground like some kind of giant prehistoric roadrunners. The houses, spread further and further apart, almost all cower in the shadows of corrugated metal carports, underneath which are parked the rusted-out, broken-down hulks of old cars and trucks. Indeed, piles of scrap mufflers and discarded engine blocks litter the roadside everywhere. Vast junk yards and tire piles advertise car parts unneeded and unwanted in backyards of hopeful mechanics. It smells a lot like someone overfilled their gas tank. 

There is not much money out here. The homes are small and often in some state of disrepair, tarps over a section of roof or a window boarded up, satellite dish pointed toward the sun. Most of the fences are chain link, and the busiest spot in town is either the gas station or the Whattaburger, where sodas come in XL and XXL only. Driving through Muleshoe, store fronts are shuttered and it smells like an outhouse, but a large billboard along the side of Route 84 celebrates the high school football team’s 2008 state championship.

Many of the small towns we’ve seen in Louisiana and Texas have one thing in common: The two nicest and most modern buildings in town are a church and a high school football field with Friday Night lights rising out of the cotton fields or cow pastures like beacons. With nowhere to go and nothing to do, the locals find in these institutions cheap entertainment and priceless camaraderie in a clean, safe environment where grandkids and grandparents alike can enjoy an escape from the unending flatness of life. Hallelujah.