January 28, 2016

About an hour and a half south of Chilecito, I pull into the small town of Patquia. Everything about this fork in the road looks, feels, and smells like west Texas. It’s like I’m in a Twilight Zone episode, and I’ve somehow ended up in Texas, and while the people look like the people I would expect to encounter in west Texas, they speak alien.

It’s hot and dusty. I buy an ice cream and a fruit drink, and sit down under the awning, in a Coca-Cola chair next to a Coca-Cola table, just to watch the world go by. Turn down the sound, and this is somewhere east of El Paso, somewhere west of Junction.

When I’m finished, I get up to walk back to the bike. A white SUV pulls alongside of me in the parking lot. The driver is a man in his late 30s or early 40s, dressed in pressed khakis, a polo shirt, and RayBan sunglasses. He lowers the window. “Lo siento. Estamos perdidos. Estamos tratando de llegar a Los Rincones. ¿No puedes ayudar?”

Two seconds of silence follow. He is staring at me. I am staring back, mouth half open. The woman sitting in the passenger seat, dressed in a flowered sundress and matching RayBans, leans over, placing her left hand on his right shoulder.

“Honey, he doesn’t understand us”, she says in perfect english. “We’re lost. Can you tell us how to get to Los Rincones?”*

I just smile and shrug. “Sorry, I’m not from around here.”

They both say “Thank you very much” in english, and drive over to another person in the lot, to begin the same conversation again.

I mount up and ride west through Patquia and out into the desert on Rp 150, a road that looks, feels, and smells exactly like FM377 heading out of Rocksprings, Texas.

And I swear I can hear Rod Serling behind me.

*I did actually understand what he said. My hesitation was in trying to prevent myself from being myself: that is, sarcastic. I wanted to reply, “Are you serious? Out of all the people in this place, you pick the Gringo on the fully loaded motorcycle to ask directions?”