I have a gnawing obsession that draws me towards quiet, distant places with strange significance. And I have a brain that struggles to stay quiet, even when it’s seemingly occupied. I find respite and some sense of meaning spending hours pointing a truck nose between a yellow and a white line, or down narrow, overgrown double track that leads to even more overgrown dead ends. After a turbulent year, I decided it was time to cut ties and jump tracks in search of a fresh start. So, I quit my job, moved out of my house, and sold most of my non-essential/sentimental belongings. And then I embarked on a 4(ish) month road trip from Austin to the Arctic and back again, in my 1989 FJ62 Land Crusier with my dog, Hank, 3 fly rods, 2 cameras, 2 bikes, and 1 pair of jeans.
The first few days involved trying to cover familiar ground relatively quickly. I cruised up to my hometown of Fort Worth for an overnight, to drop off a few more odds and ends I couldn’t carry but didn’t want to sell, and to be within good striking distance of Amarillo the following day (cue George Strait). The subtle, flat beauty of the Texas panhandle appeared more enticing than ever before from behind the wheel of my first truck. Every random farm road and gravel path was something to explore, the stiff and warm cross breeze made me laugh as it tried to blow my truck clean off the road and utterly prevented me from reaching the 75 mph speed limit. I pulled into Amarillo in time to have homemade pizza and beers with a dear friend while our dogs ran off some P&V in the backyard. A preview of things to come on my journey, we sat at the dining table and talked and drank until I realized my alarm clock would chime less than six hours later. I was trying to cover more ground than normal, because I had family hanging out in Western Colorado and I wanted to spend a few days in the Rockies before kicking off the truly rugged and unknown trek that laid beyond the Colorado-Utah border.
_DSF0214 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0248 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0217 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0131 by John Montesi, on Flickr
The next morning we woke up early and hit the road straight away. I stopped for coffee and a quick knockabout in Clayton, where I studied the map and noted lots of promising faint, dotted lines throughout the plains an hour or so down the road. I had no idea just how spectacular it would be to follow gravel ranch roads a dozen miles into the grasslands, and I was completely floored by the pronghorn antelope, prairie dogs, bald eagle(!), and coyote that I encountered while romping around the open range.
_DSF0462 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0425 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0360 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0459 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0331 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0280 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0276 by John Montesi, on Flickr
I got a bit carried away observing the pronghorn, mingling with the cattle, and following every gravel road spur to its fizzled ending in some ranch’s back field. Eventually we made our way back to the lonesome highway and continued onward toward Raton, New Mexico, over the pass, and into Colorful Colorado.
_DSF0468 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0519 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0478 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0528 by John Montesi, on Flickr
The first few days involved trying to cover familiar ground relatively quickly. I cruised up to my hometown of Fort Worth for an overnight, to drop off a few more odds and ends I couldn’t carry but didn’t want to sell, and to be within good striking distance of Amarillo the following day (cue George Strait). The subtle, flat beauty of the Texas panhandle appeared more enticing than ever before from behind the wheel of my first truck. Every random farm road and gravel path was something to explore, the stiff and warm cross breeze made me laugh as it tried to blow my truck clean off the road and utterly prevented me from reaching the 75 mph speed limit. I pulled into Amarillo in time to have homemade pizza and beers with a dear friend while our dogs ran off some P&V in the backyard. A preview of things to come on my journey, we sat at the dining table and talked and drank until I realized my alarm clock would chime less than six hours later. I was trying to cover more ground than normal, because I had family hanging out in Western Colorado and I wanted to spend a few days in the Rockies before kicking off the truly rugged and unknown trek that laid beyond the Colorado-Utah border.
_DSF0214 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0248 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0217 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0131 by John Montesi, on Flickr
The next morning we woke up early and hit the road straight away. I stopped for coffee and a quick knockabout in Clayton, where I studied the map and noted lots of promising faint, dotted lines throughout the plains an hour or so down the road. I had no idea just how spectacular it would be to follow gravel ranch roads a dozen miles into the grasslands, and I was completely floored by the pronghorn antelope, prairie dogs, bald eagle(!), and coyote that I encountered while romping around the open range.
_DSF0462 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0425 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0360 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0459 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0331 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0280 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0276 by John Montesi, on Flickr
I got a bit carried away observing the pronghorn, mingling with the cattle, and following every gravel road spur to its fizzled ending in some ranch’s back field. Eventually we made our way back to the lonesome highway and continued onward toward Raton, New Mexico, over the pass, and into Colorful Colorado.
_DSF0468 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0519 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0478 by John Montesi, on Flickr
_DSF0528 by John Montesi, on Flickr