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The weather continued to warm as we drove westward on I-20 from the Panhandle Plains into the Big Bend region of Texas. Even though it was late afternoon the temperature was well into the 80s, not that we were complaining. The higher numbers meant we were getting closer to the place we will always consider home: Tucson, Arizona. But we weren’t there yet. Texas is not small, and since we were cutting through the state diagonally, it meant another stay in the Lone Star state.

Our road took us past Midland and Odessa, two cities that are synonymous with petroleum. Midland was founded in the 1880s as Midway, a water stop for the Texas and Pacific Railway. It was given the name because it was located mid-way between Ft. Worth and El Paso; at some point the name was changed to Midland because of confusion with another Texas town. Midland and its smaller neighbor Odessa are in flat, barren and seemingly godforsaken country. Although I will admit that my opinion of the area was formed from the road, where the surrounding land has been overgrazed, punctured by pumpjacks, and sullied by the hulking castoffs from the petroleum industry.

Both Midland and Odessa are near the center of an area known as the Permian Basin which was once at the bottom of a large sea. The sedimentary rocks under the desert floor are the thickest Permian age rock layers in the world and they contain vast deposits of oil and natural gas. The Permian Basin petroleum deposits were first discovered in 1921 by a man drilling a water well. This area of Texas supplies one fifth of our nation’s petroleum production. Currently, Midland’s claim to fame is as the home of George W. Bush, Laura Bush and their twin daughters who were all raised in Midland.

An hour or so later, we pulled off the interstate and into the entrance of Monahans Sandhills State Park. At first the park’s proximity to the busy road and railroad tracks concerned us, would we be kept up all night by the sound of traffic and trains roaring by? Thankfully, when the park was established in 1957 the planners put all the campgrounds and picnic areas a couple miles back from I-20, tucked in the middle of huge sand dunes. The dunes—which stretch for 200 miles from west Texas into eastern New Mexico—are the reason the park exists, towering hills of white sand interspersed with small green oases of plants. While impressive, they are not the only amazing things in the 3,800 acre park.

Also stretching over 40,000 sandy acres is this country’s largest oak forest. The Havard oak is also known as Shin Oak because it rarely reaches heights greater than three feet. The diminutive oaks are not to be underestimated, most of their growth occurs under the surface with roots exceeding 70 feet in length. The oaks are a hugely important part of the ecosystem in this area, not only do they provide much needed food and shelter for wildlife, they also serve to anchor the ever shifting sand.

This apparently inhospitable environment sustained a tribal people known as the Jumanos for several thousand years before the Spanish traveled through in the late 1500s. The Jumanos lived a nomadic lifestyle, wandering through the dunes, from one water hole to the next. Their sandhill home proved to be such a barrier to other tribes and incoming settlers that the Jumanos maintained a presence in the dunes until the mid-1800s.

The first successful settlement was the Sandhills Section House built by the Texas and Pacific Railway in 1881. The foreman, his wife, and crew were responsible for clearing sand off the tracks and providing water, food and shelter for the train passengers. In a nod to the area’s history, the old section house was spruced up and moved into the park and now serves as a group meeting area. A ranger kindly let me in to admire the old building. The wooden floors creaked but the structure was sound and even retained a few of the homey touches which must have been so appreciated in the wild west.

We did not waste any time in tackling the dunes. We rented a sand disc from the Visitor Center and set off across the sand to the highest dune. At roughly 60’ tall, these dunes are nothing to sneeze at, and I admit we were slightly apprehensive at flinging ourselves down the steep side. It was decided that I would go first, since I have sandsurfed before. So, I laid down on the disc, Lance pushed, and head first I slipped down the dune. It was a blast! Like tubing in the snow only not as cold. I think I had the most fun watching Lance slide down. He was too big for the disc and invariably ended up falling off and rolling the rest of the way.

Towards the end we both gave up on the disc and just rolled down the dunes, like that scene in the Princess Bride where Buttercup pushes the “Man in the Mask” over the edge, then she realizes that he is her long lost beloved Westley and she flings herself over too. Except that I wasn’t wearing a dress and they didn’t get sand everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. We literally had sand coming out our ears for days.

That was enough sandsurfing for us. The rest of our stay in the sandhills we simply explored the dunes. The variety and amount of wildlife in the dunes meant that every evening we had some kind of close encounter. Whether it was a Greater Roadrunner, American Kestrel, Northern Harrier, Loggerhead Shrike, Scaled Quail, Mormon Cricket, Coyote, Gopher, Striped Skunk or Javelina. All this life is sustained in the shifting piles of sand by the oases that exist in the valleys between dunes. Down in the valleys it is cooler, plants and small trees provide shelter and food, and in the rainy season or with a little digging, water can be found. The park ranger told us that the cool, clear water we were drinking in the park came from wells that are only twenty feet deep. That’s amazing!

During our nightly forays into the dunes we came across some unusual dark, wet-looking spots in the sand that were dry to the touch. After watching one of our cats relieve himself in the sand (don’t worry, we cleaned up after him) it occurred to me what those spots were—animal urine. I was really excited to have figured it out, Lance was not. In a desert environment the animals drink very little water so they have less to eliminate and as a result their urine is highly concentrated and acts like a glue. I thought it was amazing as it provided another clue into animal behavior.

Not only could we follow their tracks but now we even knew when they took a potty break—how cool is that? Speaking of tracks, the wind blown sand particles are so small and rounded that even the smallest details of a print were preserved (provided it wasn’t windy, of course). We followed Striped Skunk tracks that were so clear we could even see the stippling on the bottom of its feet.

It was a beautiful time of year to be in the desert, not too hot yet still warm enough to get outside and play; plus we practically had the place to ourselves. It was almost a shame to leave but we knew family, friends and our favorite old haunts weren’t that far away so on we pressed. Shortly after leaving the park I-20 joined I-10, the road that would take us all the way to Tucson.

The only thing we dislike about that stretch of I-10 is El Paso. The sprawling, polluted city shares the valley with Ciudad Juárez which lies just across the Rio Grande and the U.S. border. El Paso is the sixth largest city in Texas and Juárez is Mexico’s largest border town. Together they have transformed this once beautiful agricultural valley into a traffic and smog filled depression.

It’s not as though we can avoid it either, El Paso is Spanish for “the pass” and it is the only way to get through the Franklin Mountains. Usually we can’t drive through El Paso fast enough but as we discovered on this trip, the city has two redeeming qualities: one, Rudy’s Country Store and BBQ and two, the margarita was invented there in 1945.

On our way through the city we saw a sign that made us pull off I-10 on a Friday during rush hour traffic: Rudy’s. Last winter, while we were in San Antonio, my Aunt Coralie—once a long-time resident of the area—recommended we eat at Rudy’s, so we did. It was love at first bite and we lamented the fact that our return trip did not take us through San Antonio. Luckily for us, Rudy’s has expanded to different locales throughout Texas and El Paso is one of them. A short time later we were back on I-10, heading west, our tummies full, singing “El Paso” by Marty Robbins at the top of our lungs.

Photos: View our photographs from Monahans Sandhills State Park.

Notes: We stayed in Monahans Sandhills State Park from 10/27/07 top 11/02/07.