Marfa

2022-09-26
To Georgia and Back Series: Pt.16
We have left Garner State Park, needing to leave earlier than we did. It will be a long slog to Marfa Texas, unless we happen upon a good spot to camp. Garner, a friendly park, has been a naturist’s frustration and that continued this morning.
We’ve been getting into some wide open spaces, flat plains and some desert on our way to Marfa. It is a long drive across this state.

I want to make a point to check the famously super blue waters of the river in the Amistad Recreational Area. There is supposed to be something very special about their blue. They do reflect the clear sunny sky, as we cross on the extensive bridge system, near the Rio Grande at the Mexico border.

It is lunch time and a spot by the lake sounds good. We pull off the highway, but soon enough, discover that it is several miles to the lake, the boat launch and we can’t be sure what else. It just doesn’t have the vibe that says undeveloped, skinnydip in the refreshing clear waters. There appears to be many opportunities on Google maps, but not for a Honda Civic and a tent.  It is perhaps a nude boaters paradise.  Perhaps a stealth dip at night.
A simple roadside sun shelter presents itself on this small road to the boat docks. It is an opportunity to continue our day nude. Traffic has demonstrated itself to be nil here. 

We sit naked near the very quiet road. We are in a dry desert, sheltered from the now distant trans-state highway. I unwrap my kilt, sitting on the picnic table’s bench. DF gathers a lunch of left over snack foods, like chips and hummus, sliced veggies and hard boiled eggs.

For some reason, DF delays slipping her dress over her head, then a woman on a fat tire bicycle goes by, waving to the only other occupants on this quiet road. We share a kinship as the only neighbors.  I find no time to cover back up. I don’t know if she even notices as she passes. I’m sitting down opposite her under a table’s shadow. A car, DF and other distractions are cluttering her view. No problem, apparently.
We are both surprised by the silent rider, when she comes back. In this stillness a vehicle would be noticed at a distance, but not the motorless bike. DF is not showing any surprise, but the biker gal’s eyes wander to the rest area and sights a bare back and its bottom. DF can’t do much but grin and bare it. All I have to do is to flip up my kilt around my waist, if it matters.

She just doesn’t seem like one to complain, and her ride back, if to find an authority is distant and remote.
Langtry:
Judge Roy Bean had a different way of looking at law than that of San Antonio’s sophisticates of “blind justice.” There were statutes back in his day. He however was the law west of the Pecos River.  Essentially there was “no law west of the Pecos and no God after that” as the legendary quote goes.
Other gems come to recollection as we pull off of the highway to visit “his” town. “A decent cowboy does not take what belongs to someone else and if he does he deserves to be strung up and left for the flies and coyotes,”” I find this corpse guilty of carrying a concealed weapon and I fine it $40,” His reputation after over 100 years still haunts me, as I pull into the dusty mini hamlet. I decide to forgo my unconventional kilt and place pants on myself, as if I might get an unexpected arrest by some made up whim of a law.

Across the street the bar is closed. There are no authentic cocktails, nor ice cream. I step up to the museum/shack where the Judge’s law once reigned supreme and he ran a freight line of oxen across this desolate rugged terrain.

Hands in Imaginary Levis

“Don’t interfere with something that ain’t bothering’ you none,” but what bothers a subjective mind can be a surprise. The sense of the judge’s spirit remains. On the corner of Langtry, named after Lilly, there is a rugged individualist, or maybe a nut job with a sense of humor involved with his vision. Maybe, he is a reincarnation of Mr. Bean.

We head out naked, once again in the warm dry air on a two lane road with a surprising 75 mph speed limit, cruising at 80 and 85. It all feels like common practical sense. It is a long haul, as we slowly pass a mile long train, the only mobile life out here, other than a jackrabbit. Perhaps there is now a God out here, at least for this creature.

We have been traveling through an enjoyable landscape before this. My past experience has been the boredom of Interstate-10, which runs further north.
This highway has been charming. It passes through several little and some very little towns. These were settled way back when pioneers sprinkled themselves wherever water was found. Each has old structures, revisions often ge …

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