White’s City, New Mexico is the last oasis along U. S. Highway 62/180 between Carlsbad, New Mexico and El Paso, Texas. With our appetites temporarily appeased with delicious servings of genuine Tex-Mex from the Velvet Garter Restaurant in White’s City, we mounted Ole Red and headed farther west. We were riding into some of the most deserted desert wastelands in the U. S.—the Texas badlands. It is approximately 110 miles across the desert “ghost land” before coming into civilization again in the outskirts of El Paso, Texas.

There are absolutely no gas stations, restaurants or other services between White’s City and El Paso. Before hitting the trail, we stocked up on water and other supplies and saw that Ole Red had plenty of “food” and octane booster. We had been warned that no one lasts long in the desert without water.

There are a few “rest areas” with picnic tables along the highway but with no facilities. Believe me, when you are on this road you are indeed off the beaten path. There were few vehicles beside us on the road. We stayed on the straight and narrow and let Ole Red have the full benefit of the 80MPH speed limit through the barren desert. We passed some sandblasted, sun-parched ruins that appeared to be a long-abandoned motel. An ancient water tower stood ghost-like next to the old motel.

As the feisty Mustang bounded across the badlands, signs began appearing beside the road: DANGEROUS CROSS WINDS. BE PREPARED TO STOP. DUST STORMS POOR VISIBILITY. TURN ON HEADLIGHTS.

We could tell that the crosswinds were intensifying and making it harder for Ole Red to maintain his pace. (This was bad on a road without facilities.)

Suddenly, B. J. pointed ahead and asked anxiously, “What in the world is that?”

I squinted through the windshield and saw what appeared to be huge lakes of water on both sides of the road. “Lakes, I replied. “They look like big lakes.”

“Lakes? Out here in the middle of the desert?” B. J. promptly questioned.

As we drew nearer, we could see shimmering reflections emanating from the “lakes”.

“Aw, it’s a mirage,” I commented confidently. “Mirages occur in the desert all the time.”

B. J. didn’t reply. She just kept her eyes focused on the ghostly spectacle taking place before us. Then we noticed a dust-like substance being lifted from the surface and blown across the road by the wind. The white stuff did not seem to fit the typical desert scene.

“Is it snowing in the desert?” B. J. asked excitedly.

“I don’t think so.”

About the time we got into the middle of the matter and saw all the gleaming white sands around us, we remembered some of the material we had read about this. We were crossing the West Texas salt flats.

We were witnessing one of Texas’ most curious natural wonders. Winds whip across the salt flats and pick up crystals of snow-white gypsum like a broom sweeping a dusty floor. When the breezes hit the mile-high wall of the Guadalupe Mountains, they deflect upward and dump their load. Then giant white dunes of the jettisoned sand arise dramatically from the desert floor, similar, though smaller in scale, to White Sands in neighboring New Mexico.

Ole Red, somewhat subdued by the wind and dust, gallantly kept his head in the wind and moved along like a good trooper.

The miles passed and before long, we began to see signs of civilization again. There was a gas station, a fireworks stand, junkyards, homes and businesses. Then we saw a sign that read: EL PASO TEXAS CITY LIMIT. We saw planes taking off and landing at a nearby airport. I wondered if it was the same airport that I had landed in when I was passing through here several years ago on the way to Mexico on a mission trip.

I looked over at B. J. and remarked, “Baby, we are just about as far west in Texas as we can go.”

She looked at me and snapped back, “If you don’t stop at the next 7-11, there’s going to be a flood in this part of Texas!”