We go in search of the Rio Grande. We know it is between us and the
mountains. So we exit Interstate 10 southeast of El Paso, Texas, onto
a washboard dirt road that kicks up dust and gravel and rattles the
contents of us and Otto.
We head toward the Rio Grande. We know it is there. We want to sit on
the banks, dip our toes in the water. Say we've been there.
Silly us. After fording a dry landscape of cotton fields, ghost towns
and abject poverty, we find a border crossing with high wires and lots
of signs blocking our view and access to what must be the Rio Grande.
We stop. Turn around and pull off to the side. We take pictures. The
guards are watching.
Several hours later, we come to a multitude of flashing lights forcing
us and all traffic into a border patrol inspection station on I-10. Is
it possible they are looking for us? Could they possibly have decided
that our behavior at the border crossing was suspicious?