Many moons ago, I posted a blog called “Where the West Begins.” It pointed out that at one time or another, just about every town west of the Mississippi River has claimed to be the jumping-off point for a trip through that immense region of romantic legend.
My choice was Fort Worth, Texas, since, as I wrote then, “Fort Worth emerged from the prairie sod as a classic ‘cow town,’ a cattle-drive stockyards stop on the great Chisholm Trail. And even today, Fort Worth’s ‘uptown cowboys’ in white and black Stetsons still holler at rodeos and ride mechanical bulls and line dance to the ‘Boot Scootin’ Boogie’ at clubs like Billy Bob’s” — in stark contrast to the sophisticates in Dallas, just to the east.
Throughout West Texas, huge stores sell nothing but hats and boots, belts and western shirts, jeans and even saddles. In places like Amarillo, the hub city of the panhandle-shaped protrusion of northwest Texas, folks wear their broad black or white hats just about everywhere but church. The wind’s usually blowing there, and I asked a cowpoke how he kept his big hat on. “I make sure it’s good and snug and fits ever’ crease of my head,” he replied.
If you draw a straight line from Fort Worth up to Canada and down to the Gulf of Mexico, the West takes up about half of the United States. That’s about four million square kilometers (3.1 million square miles) of breathtaking rock formations, arid wasteland, snow-covered peaks — but also ubane metro areas.
To give you a sense of this enormous and diverse place, I’ll relate a few stories from my travels. It will take me more than one posting to do so.
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Read – The Endless West II
Read – Where the West Begins
Source : Ted Landphair’s America