County Quest: California to Texas

Apologies for the delay in this newsletter going out. I’ve been on the road for the past month and a half and my discipline went out the window. Thankfully, I’m settled for the next three or so months so the newsletters will be regular and on time :)

After my winter in San Diego, it was time for a road trip back home to Texas. As time has gone by, the routes I take on my road trips have become somewhat chaotic and unpredictable. If you traced them all out on a map, it would look like a bowl of spaghetti — full of illogical twists, turns, and overlaps, never knowing where one ends and another begins. I’ve transformed three-hour drives into thirteen-hour odysseys, heading north when my destination was south, thoroughly enjoying every extra mile.

My trips weren’t always like this. In the beginning, they were practical — moving from Point A to Point B and never straying far from the Interstate. Over time, as I detoured to visit nearby National Parks, I realized that all of the best moments and most beautiful drives were on the small county roads away from everything else.  Along these routes, I’ve encountered some of the most awe-inspiring landscapes I’ve ever seen. Desert dunes bathed in golden light. Cataracts carving canyon walls. Villages dwarfed by snow-capped peaks. Extinct volcanoes marking the border between plains and mountains. And most of the time, I’ve had these places completely to myself.  There’s no reason to be on those roads except for curiosity. And with every twist and turn, it grows stronger and stronger.

Once I had the idea to track every county I’d ever been to, my road trips morphed into their present form. I’ll drive hours out of my way to check off a single county in a random state. This has led to some of the best experiences of my life, and moments of pure ecstasy. The excitement of discovering new places I’ve never heard of is intoxicating, and I’ve found some of my favorite places in the country as a result. On this specific road trip, I visited 37 counties, of which 18 were new. These were my favorite moments and discoveries:

I’ve been dreaming of visiting the Salton Sea since the first time I saw it on a map. It was formed by accident in 1905 when some irrigation gates on the Colorado River burst. What was then planned to become the Mediterranean of the Californian Desert by some enterprising fellows quickly spiraled out of control as the leak was fixed and water levels decreased, leading to increasing salinity, algal blooms, and the deaths of millions of fish and birds. Now, with the water retreating and farm runoff increasing, toxic dust storms regularly form in the area. I found it breathtaking. It was a bit of a trek to get to the lakeshore from the parking lot, since the water has retreated so much. In that distance, I hiked over sand, mud, salt crusts, and billions of shells. When I got to the waterline, I stopped and looked out over the sea as the sun went down. There was a distinct smell, although not nearly as bad as I had been warned. Small birds ran around the shallows, dwarfed by the mountains rising on the far shore. The sun painted the clouds gold, then pink, then indigo as dusk settled. It definitely wasn’t what I had imagined. In my head, what I had pictured before oscillated between a toxic sludge pit and an idyllic lake. Yet the Salton Sea was neither. Now it stands to me as a testament to nature’s resilience and adaptability in the face of the destruction we’ve wrought on this planet. Still, it has to be the most beautiful man-made disaster I’ve ever witnessed.

This was a thoroughly unexpected adventure. Recommended to me by one of my Instagram followers, this 16-mile hike follows an abandoned railroad track through a desolate desert valley. The San Diego & Arizona Eastern Railway used to run here, connecting San Diego with the Imperial Valley. Decommissioned in 2008, the route has now been taken over by hikers and cyclists who want to cross the largest wooden trestle in the world. And boy, is it worth the hike. With eight trestles to cross and eight tunnels to pass through, this is a hike like no other I’ve ever done. I passed abandoned passenger cars that were covered in art, burned up, or crashed into the valley floor below. I held my breath as I crossed trestles full of rotting wooden beams. I listened for my echo as I yelled into the tunnels and the valley below. And I saw such a huge variety of life filling this seemingly empty canyon from jumping cacti to yucca to agave to grasses. All of this to reach the Goat Canyon Trestle, which is a sight to behold and a fright to cross. The key is to go slow and steady, and—Don’t. Look. Down.

Chiricahua National Monument is the most beautiful place I’d never heard of. As I was on my way to cross off Santa Cruz County in Arizona, I noticed Chiricahua on the map. I’d never heard of it before and had never seen any pictures of it. I just decided to go on a whim. I figured at the very least, I could get a nice three-mile hike in before heading on my way. I was not expecting to have one of the best hiking experiences of my life. I parked at the Echo Canyon Trailhead and within half a mile of hiking, my jaw was on the ground. Thousands of wind-carved hoodoos rise up from the temperate forest of this sky island in the middle of the plains. I had arrived in the evening. Golden hour was dramatically highlighting the hoodoos’ lime and silver lichen and casting the spaces around them in deep shadow. I couldn’t comprehend the beauty I was seeing. I couldn’t believe that there could be a place this beautiful that I’d never heard of or even seen a picture of. I hiked the three miles in a golden reverie, soaking in each step, excited to round each bend. By the time I got back to my car, I knew I had to come back. I found a hotel nearby and returned the next day, hiking another 12 miles throughout the whole monument, retracing some steps, entering the Heart of the Rocks, and emerging with a full heart of my own. It was the first time in my life I ever cried tears of gratitude, overwhelmed with thankfulness that this is my life and that I get to see these awe-inspiring places. If you’ve never been to Chiricahua, I urge you to go. It will likely be upgraded to a National Park in a few years and the crowds will descend. Take the opportunity now to see it with only the hoodoos as your companions.

My final stop on the way home was Big Bend National Park. Although I’d been here once before when I was 13, this felt like my first time. Before, I was too young to fully appreciate the wild beauty of this park. I arrived in the evening and hiked up the Lost Mine Trail as the sun dipped towards the horizon. Much to my pleasure, I had the top of the mountain all to myself. I found a comfortable rock and sat on top of the world, looking down into the basin and south into the Mexican desert. It was one of the most peaceful experiences of my life. I sat there silently, trying not to move, taking in every last detail of the park around me, sinking my roots deep into the mountain. The stillness was complete, only to be broken by the wind gently greeting me as I observed its domain. It was one of the rare places that I’ve experienced true stillness and peace, and it made me look forward to returning to my fortress of solitude at the fire lookout this summer.

Thank you so much for bearing with me as I’ve worked on getting into the habit of creating these newsletters and sending them out regularly. I’ll improve this summer. I hope you enjoyed this little taste of my road trip home. There’s more to come from the fire lookout.

Love always,

Ben

My views are my own