Lobo appears as a dot on the map in a long, long empty stretch of road as I am plotting logistics for a west Texas road trip.
From my internet research, I quickly rule out Lobo, Texas as a possible refueling stop. It seems this one time significant railway rewatering station, which collapsed as a community when the aquifer dried up, and was completely abandoned by 1991, is now a privately owned ghostown.
Most accounts have it that a trio of desert loving German nationals currently hold title.
Today there's no walking around the remains of the town named for the Mexican wolves who are now too largely ghosts in the area.
One can, however, pull off on the side of the road, opposite a pecan orchard, to view the crumbling buildings through a serious chain link fence with impressive locks and signs with blunt assertions of one's lack of welcome.
The irony of the plea on what looks to me was once a petrol station strikes me as I stand at a tall and robust chain link fence on a deserted desert highway, chill winter wind ruffling my scarf.
A lonely place in a cage.
This could be heaven this could be hell.
But then west Texas does irony well.
... we are all just prisoners here of our own device...
Hotel California. Not.
On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself
'This could be heaven or this could be Hell
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor
I thought I heard them say
Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the Hotel California
Any time of year (any time of year) you can find it here
Her mind is Tiffany-twisted, she got the Mercedes bends
She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys, that she calls friends
How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat
Some dance to remember, some dance to forget
So I called up the Captain
'Please bring me my wine
He said, "we haven't had that spirit here since nineteen sixty-nine
And still those voices are calling from far away
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say"
Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
They livin' it up at the Hotel California
What a nice surprise (what a nice surprise), bring your alibis
Mirrors on the ceiling
The pink champagne on ice
And she said, 'we are all just prisoners here, of our own device
And in the master's chambers
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives
But they just can't kill the beast
Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back to the place I was before
'Relax' said the night man
'We are programmed to receive
You can check out any time you like
But you can never leave!
Lyrics written by The Eagles band members: Don Felder, Glenn Frey and Don Henley, first recorded 1976 .
These lyrics are copyrighted. To someone and not me even if I did once long ago and far away in another country call the little house at the end of town with ringside seats on the revolution, Hotel California.