We left Roswell, New Mexico, headed for Texas, where we would be the aliens. On iTunes, it was time for another round of silly songs, beginning with Lyle Lovett:

That’s right (you’re not from Texas)
That’s right (you’re not from Texas)
That’s right (you’re not from Texas)
But Texas wants you, anyway!
Nobody writes songs about New Mexico, Arizona, or our home state, Washington. But we found plenty about Texas! After Lyle Lovett came the Austin Lounge Lizards, singing “One more stupid song about Texas” and Clarence Gatemouth Brown, singing “They kicked me out of Texas, like a dog without a bone.”
And finally, David Lindley seemed to sing about our specific Texas adventures, in his “Texas Tango”:
When I was driving to El Paso, that’s when my truck ran out of gas-o
I fought a man to get that gas-o, as I was driving to El Paso
OK, this was actually after we left El Paso. I forgot to flip the switch on the gas tank, and we ran dry in a godforsaken parking lot in the Guadalupe Mountains. For 10 minutes, I tried to restart the engine, cranking and cranking and wondering if we would end up sleeping in this parking lot. Meanwhile, a park ranger sat in his truck at the other end of the empty parking lot, staring at us. What was wrong with these strange people in the big blue van with the weird wooden box on top? Should he call for a tow truck? I finally got the air out of the lines, started the engine on the second tank, and we drove away, waving at him sheepishly.
I met a man in Amarillo, he made me wrestle his gorillo,
He fluffed me up just like a pillow, as I was down in Amarillo.
This refers to the hours we spent circling Amarillo, looking for a place to sleep. Many motels advertised sub-$30 rates, but those rooms were never available when we asked. We finally gave up and drove about 20 miles east, to an interchange with an old but clean motel. No gorillos, just a penny-pinching innkeeper.
In the morning, we awoke and discovered that luck actually was with us: We were on old Route 66. And right outside our motel was, not Cadillac Ranch (we’d seen that 15 years ago), but Bug Ranch, five Volkswagen Bugs buried, nose end down (that would be the trunk on a Bug, right?) in the dirt. Even the graffiti was pretty, so we took lots of pictures and enjoyed this little find before we took off down the road.
Our next stop won’t involve recorded music, it will involve the Real Thing. Stay tuned, as we get our Kicks on Route 66!