The many hours and the endless road to nowhere were worth it because the entrance was grand. We had arrived; we made it to Big Bend National Park. On every side the precipitous plateaus were violent, casting their jagged shadows far and wide. Prickly greenery set the foreground while sepia mountains cut into the blue sky. Nicholas and I looked left and right, pointing, peering, trying to take it all in.
Our stupefied wonder, however, was shattered by a WOOP-WOOP. Lights flashed as a ranger vehicle tailed behind us. Yes, only minutes after arriving in the park, we were pulled over.
The ranger approached and looked at Nicholas, who was driving, and glanced briefly at me. "Hi, sir, have you been drinking?" the ranger asked flatly. Nicholas's stutter amplified under his nervous reply of "N-n-no." "Are you aware, sir, that you were swerving and crossing over the yellow line?" Nicholas explained to the ranger that we were enthralled by the park's beauty and forgot to pay attention to the road. The ranger gathered that we were truly not inebriated, but simply enthusiastic tourists.