Arrival in Archer City (population 1848)

The temperature had still not managed to drop below 103F at 7.30pm when we arrived in the rural west Texas home of author Larry McMurtry. No need to say the town is small. How could it be otherwise this far from anything at all of size, or anywhere of note? Not to suggest the place is insignificant, just a bit out of the way and insubstantial is all.

The Spur Hotel might be the only inn in the state that leaves keys out for guests – who have to book in advance – as no one will be there to check them in. The front door is open, the kitchen at our disposal and keys to the suite in an envelope with instructions where to leave a cheque when we leave in the morning. Trusting, but then who would drive six hours to nowhere just to rip off a hotel?

The Spur is as TandS remember, except its had a make over. Probably something to do with it being for sale. Its one of a number of attractive older buildings around the town centre. Three storeys of solid brick at the side of a wide windy through highway. Behind it stands an old jail house, now a museum. Its closed of course, but displays enough history on the outside for that not to matter much.

It used to be a jail house with a hanging room inside. Heavy metal bars protect the locked tight front door. Less ominous remnants of the sand stone structure's past include a fossilized tree, a centuries old fern etched in stone and an ancient Indian stone tub used for doing something – I can't remember what - to corn.

Half a block away stands a county court house of suitably stately character and construction. The town centre is marked by cross roads with a few old shops, a library and a couple of corner gas stations. One is still operational, the other derelict with a large decaying snake's body squashed on the forecourt.

The Spur's owner shows up as we leave to go to the only restaurant in town for dinner - if the Dairy Queen chain and its culinary offerings can be so grandly described. As well as the owner of a not so busy hotel, Abby is a hunter of large wild pigs. A TV documentary told us just a couple of days ago that this area breeds them bigger and better than anywhere else in the state. The hunters featured in the doco claim to have caught one as big as a man, and have pictures to prove it. Locals are somewhat skeptical as no one actually saw the beast, and anyway, the camera crew was from out of town. Hunting is most definitely popular though, as the stuffed deer heads and wildcat bodies adorning the lounge and the antler chandelier in the dining room bear witness.

This dining room offers no service tonight, and the choice is somewhat limited. Eat or don't eat is about the sum of it. As the pattern of this trip is already well established, we decide to feel the fear and do it anyway. Dairy Queen is an experience probably best avoided except for the close up view of local culture it offers. When we arrive it looks closed, and only trying the door to the seemingly deserted, and dimly lit 'chain restaurant trash' style kitchen / diner proves otherwise.

Within minutes of placing our order, a large red pick up pulls up in the parking lot. Then another, and another. Red must be 'the' colour. A cross section of the town's population soon joins us inside. Moms with kids, mature men with younger, apprentice men, a group of skinny teenage girls parks outside and giggles helplessly when we walk out, but does not make eye contact or acknowledge the presence of strangers, although this must be screamingly obvious. Specially give the car that is neither red nor a pick up, but does have bright yellow and crimson flames painted across the front and licking up the sides.

A drive around the block on the way back to the Spur is graced by a beautiful sunset and a surprising close up of some of the equipment that made Texas rich - oil rigs. Being more used to the kind that get towed out into the north sea on platforms- these seem implausibly small.


Although the town may be small there is much to be said about it. Breakfast at the Wild Cat Cafe and more than half a day browsing Mr McMurtry's second hand bookstores that have all but taken over the town centre feature in the next installment.