That was Sunday of the Labor Day week-end. We had been warned at home to beware of traffic at that time, but we didn't have a quieter day in all the trip. Trucks were off the highway for the Sabbath, the weather was hot and brilliant but every one who was going anywhere (but us) seemed to have got there. Before we got out of Texas, buttes suddenly appeared and we began to get a variety of scenery, endless plains, then this more rugged conformation. We saw great herds of grazing cattle, and a few antelope came close to the road once or twice.
When we got past Tucumcari we had a new type of adventure; we were eased off the road by a traffic cop. We couldn't imagine what we had done wrong, but it turned out he suspected us, he said, of being one of a caravan of cars being sneaked across the state without paying an entry fee. He based his suspicion on the fact that our rear license plate was wired on instead of being bolted on. That had happened back in Missouri when we noticed that one corner had broken loose from its bolt, and finding a wire near-by and having no tools at hand, we had simply wired it into place. Then it turned out that the front plate was also wired on, which we hadn't noticed before. That probably happened because my sister had bolted on the plates herself and must have left them too loose, and when a nephew had driven her car to Chicago lately, he must have lost a bolt or two and wired the plate in place without saying anything about it. In Illinois it hadn't made any difference, but here they were more strict. It seemed odd to us that any one who wanted to smuggle a car across a state wouldn't be smart enough to bolt the license tags in place and make himself as inconspicuous as possible. And it seemed especially odd that any one would smuggle a car across which was a year old. However, we had been suspected. Of course our papers were in order and we had plenty of proof of our legal ownership and so on. The officer was convinced but suggested we had better get the bolts in as soon as we could. And there being a sort of blacksmith shop and garage across the road, he sharply summoned a man standing there to come across. It turned out that the innocent fellow was a tourist in trouble himself, not the proprietor. He had had three flat tires in a day and a half and was at that moment having some broken part welded in that shop. But being ordered over by a cop he came forthwith, and was kind enough to go back and borrow some pliers and a screwdriver, and even some bolts for the front tag, and in short order he had us fixed up. The cop had bade us a pleasant farewell and gone merrily on his way, whistling down half a dozen cars for speeding before he was very far away. What I mean, he was a public servant really on duty that day! As to the guy who fixed our bolts, we felt quite a friendly feeling for him. He had one kind of trouble and we had another, and while he was a westerner at the present time, he had once lived or visited in Illinois.
As we went on we speculated on how long our plates had been noticed, whether we were being followed by detectives across several states and so on -- for that morning at Amarillo, when we set the suitcases out the door quite early, ready to pack in the trunk, a police car had slowly and silently and darkly glided around the circle looking at the cars parked there. Ours was the only Illinois license (in fact we saw but one or two such on the whole trip, though Illinois folks are reputed to be great travelers, because, as some other states think, we have a good state to make money in but have to go away to enjoy it). At the time we had thought the police car was making a routine inspection and wondered if they made the rounds of all the motels every night; or if they might have been searching for a certain car to notify travelers that some trouble had developed at home -- and so on. But this experience made us wonder if we were under suspicion even then and had been eyed with distrust by who knows how many eyes. Not very many probably, in any case, for we never saw another traffic cop the rest of the way.
By the time this incident was over and we had exercised our imagination on all its aspects, we noticed that we were climbing higher and higher and hills were turning into mountains. Sometimes we swept around great curves but oftener we went up and down straight horrifying giant coasters. We thought to ourselves, well, today brings us to the highest elevations of the trip, and if we can just live through today we can surely face that one more hazard of the desert, and our troubles will be over. We stopped at some of the highest points, truly windswept heights. Of course 7,500 feet isn't very high compared with those peaks of the real Rockies farther north, around Denver, say, or in the Tetonos; but it's a whole lot different when you are doing the driving yourself for the first time, and we really felt we had achieved wonders. We felt so fine and got along so well that we went on farther than we had expected to, and put up at a most attractive Spanish type motel at Gallup, N. M., all white and pink plaster walls, with bright turquoise doors and window frames; with a vine-covered pergola at our front door and a lush inner court. We dined in state at El Rancho, a typical western lodge of logs hung in the foyer with Navajo rugs, something like the lodge at Starved Rock and at Yellowstone.
No air-conditioning here, nor from here on over. None is needed, for hot as the day may be, the nights grow cool giving blessed relief. The plaster walls hold out the heat of the sun, so the rooms seem cool even before daylight ends. Then suddenly comes that great restful chill, and the stars and moon seem near enough to touch. We slept in Gallup with the innocence of babes, with no foreboding of the morrow. We rested in the confidence that the worst was over, that we had fought a good fight and won.
Perhaps it is well that we can not know the future. We might not have slept so soundly that quiet Sunday night. But on the other hand, we wouldn't have been so well fortified to meet it. -- Hope.
(Take another jaunt with Hope tomorrow.)