We've been in Texas for about four hours now, about four hours too long. Something needs to be done to break up the monotony of this place, like a mountain range or moving one of the spare great lakes down here. The landscape is flat scrub broken occasionally by slightly hilly scrub.
The speed limit is eighty, which seems nuts. But if you don't do it you'll be run down by a three-quarter ton pickup with the biggest brush guard you've ever seen.
So far I haven't seen a long horn or a cowboy, but west Texas had a damn lot of oil wells surrounded by Halliburton trucks.
Seems to me, you'd have to be a little slow to give up the Ivy League life of a Boston brahman and Maine summers to move out here to pretend to be a cowboy.
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