Day 12

March 12, 2004 New Mexico

Still raining, and the streets were flooded in many places. We took a layover day in Hatch.

Day 13: Hatch to El Paso

March 13, 2004 New Mexico

Set off at 7:47 am into a thick fog. At least the streets had mostly dried, and cars were few. The morning was chilly, but we were working hard and needed to minimize our clothing layers to reduce sweating. The initial ten miles went through desert terrain, generally following the Rio Grande, but which kept well out of sight. We peddled past a few ranches, characterized most predominately by dogs that came charging out to chase us.

The farther we went, the more the land became agricultural and ranch land. At one point the road led right to the riverbank, and we were surprised to find the river voluminous, but also quite turgid and largely covered with foam.

The road led past this huge levee - extending the full width of the photo - an earthen dam built across a side canyon. It was the first of its kind we had seen. Obviously, in a flash flood the levee would retain the storm water and prevent it from discharging into the Rio Grande.

The tailwinds were long gone, still we made excellent progress because of the flat terrain, which sometimes sloped gradually downhill. The road led through Radium Springs which was a small, spread-out town with no amenities for the cyclist. Then another 18 miles to Las Cruces. This section was very flat and reminded us of the road we had trained on. Las Cruces was heavy with traffic, and we had to be very careful with cars pulling in to and out of store parking lots. Just before the underpass of Interstate 10, we stopped at a convenience store with a grill, and sat at a booth for 15 minutes eating lunch.

In another few miles we crossed over the Rio Grande again, and here it was completely dry, only a sand bed. Through this region we peddled through small towns, with lots of agriculture and also a great many pecan orchards.

Today we saw a few other bicyclists, more local types it seemed, out for a Saturday spin. At one point we were resting alongside the road when a fellow passed us going our way. He was obviously touring, and by all appearances was not a local, for he rode a small mountain bike with small wheels and large, bulging panniers, and on his back carried a sizable backpack in addition to a front pack.

Starting off again, we didn't want to pass the fellow, but he was going much slower than we, so we pulled alongside and asked where he had started. Las Cruces, came the reply, by which we understood he did not want to talk. A few miles back we had seen his bike parked outside with a couple of others at a pecan stand. So we figured he must have been talked out for the moment. Judging by his looks and speech, he could have been Austrian, so might have been the "Australian" the postmistress had mentioned a few days ago in San Lorenzo. He asked us if this was the shortest route to El Paso, and we said we thought it was. The oncoming traffic was nearly upon us, so we wished him well and carried on.

Where 273 leaves 28 we decided to leave the map's route, since it appeared several miles longer. Instead we followed Highway 20 directly toward El Paso. This was busy with traffic and lined with innumerable Mexican type businesses, giving the impression of being in Mexico. However, most of the license plates were Texan, and this is when it dawned on us that we had indeed left New Mexico and crossed into Texas.

Highway 20 had a wide shoulder, so the riding was easy. But where it led over Interstate 10, this is where the Mexican type ambiance gave way to the modern American shopping mall type. Now the road was three lanes going each way, and plenty of traffic, and the shoulder was practically zilch. Cars squeezed barely past us, others cut us off as they came and went into the various mall parking lots. This is where our nerves began to fray. So we stopped at a Subway sandwich shop.

We were just finishing our sandwiches when the fellow peddled past. What he lacked in speed, he made up for with endurance. He must have pulled off somewhere soon thereafter, though, because we never saw him again.

The further we went, the more severe the traffic. This was not a good place to be riding a bike, and it seemed curious because we were now back on the official route again. Eventually the route led past the university and smack into downtown El Paso. Here we missed a turn and went about 5 blocks the wrong way. The street, shown on the map, changed names just there, so we had been looking for the wrong name.

Now following Delta Drive through residential areas with almost no traffic, the going was easy. This part of the route paralleled the Mexican border, here delineated by a couple of tall chain-link fences topped with barbed wire. As we reeled away the miles, the traffic grew exponentially thicker. In a few places, road construction squeezed the traffic into one narrow lane going each way, with no extra space for a bicycle. These places were not much fun because a few of the drivers showed very little patience. But in all fairness, most drivers were very courteous to us, as had been the case all day long.

We turned left on Yarbrough and peddled a mile and a half north, off-route, toward Interstate 10, and this is where we reached our third milestone of the day. The first was when we had crossed from New Mexico into Texas. The second was when we finished our first map, which we had been using since Day 1 of the trip, and switched to our second map. And now this third milestone was our first-ever 100-mile day of cycling.

Near the Interstate we checked into a motel at 5:00 pm. Day's mileage: 101. Time on the bike: 6 hours.

Day 14: El Paso to Sierra Blanca

March 14, 2004 Texas

Setting off 8:30 am, we enjoyed a fast 1.8 miles downhill to rejoin the route on North Loop Road. The weather was a little iffy, with some cirrus and a bit of contrary wind. Our timing was good though, for the Sunday morning traffic was at its least. The town went on for miles, one suburb after the next, with shopping malls galore. Later in the morning we left the city behind, and now peddled past cotton fields and through various run-down Mexican towns.

At one point, a couple of illegals dashed across the road directly in front of us, failing to hear the bicycle heading their way, and easily giving themselves away with their odd behavior. Their smartly dressed x-mart style had drugs written all over it. Altogether during the day we saw about a dozen border patrol vehicles patrolling the highway, but we also passed thousands of excellent hiding places including old, abandoned houses and outbuildings surrounded by thorny vegetation so thick the border patrol would not have likely bothered to penetrate it.

Far out in the desert we went past a moto-cross event, and saw bikes flying through the air in front of spectators. We also went past a few reservoirs, one of which had campsites along its shores at regular intervals, with several families with tents enjoying the lakeside ambiance.

The wind was growing stronger and unfortunately blowing directly at us. This cost us quite a few miles and energy expenditure for the day. A few times we even had tumbleweeds blowing along the road toward us. Such conditions are to be expected once in awhile on a trip like this. Fortunately, the wind was not so strong as to slow us below 10 or 12 mph. Sometimes the wind slackened and allowed us to pick up more speed.

Altogether we saw probably about a dozen dead skunks on the road, and a few rabbits. The most common animal by far was the vicious dog. Almost every house seemed to have at least one. What kind of a society are we, having to rely on savage dogs for protection? And how does a dog's personality reflect that of its owner?

Basically, our route followed 76 to Fabens, then highway 20 until it ended at McNary. From there, 192 led out into the desert on a seldom traveled and roughly paved road. In fact, we saw only one car in the next 19 miles. We thoroughly enjoyed the absence of traffic and the wonderful silence. As for wildlife, for the past few days we had been seeing white-winged doves, one of the more beautiful types in our opinion. We had also seen a few great blue herons near the canals. Today we saw these, along with one cattle egret, and one flock of seagulls that looked rather like kittiwakes.

Road 34 led back to Interstate 10 and a gas station/store/restaurant Location. Apparently not much freeway traffic stopped here, for things were pretty quiet. We parked the bike outside a window, then went in and sat in a booth adjacent the window. Surprisingly, the food served here was outstanding. We ordered salads, the best we've had for a great long while. The salad bar also came with home-made soup, the best we've ever tasted.

A couple of suspicious looking characters were milling about in strange clothing, dirty and unkempt, making us wary about the bike. But as we were leaving, they were at a booth eating lunch with two other people of about the same age, early 20's perhaps, and they asked us about our trip. Once we started talking with them, we realized they were very nice folks. The two strangely dressed fellows said they had tried to hitchhike for 4 days without success, so had walked 20 miles a day alongside the highway. They rattled off all sorts of wildlife they had seen: coyotes, jack rabbits and cottontails, skunks, ground squirrels and so forth, and also described some of the vegetation and terrain. They seem to have actually enjoyed their hike, and were quite proud of the accomplishment. The other two people sitting here at the booth had picked them up, and the four had become fast friends, and were on their way out west somewhere.

We set off again - and here the nature of our day's ride changed abruptly. For the next couple of miles the official route led directly on Interstate 10. The shoulder was about six feet wide, with a deeply cut rumble strip offering at least some measure of protection, or at least warning. The surface we rode on was smooth concrete, which made for fast and easy peddling - if one didn't mind the endless stream of semi-trucks whizzing past. The trucks actually tended to block the wind and almost suck us along behind them. Freeway bicycling can be problematic, though, because of the small wires left by blown truck tires. These wires can easily puncture a bike tire.

Our route left the freeway and followed a frontage road which was a good paved road in its own right, though not nearly as smooth.

Nine miles further, we took a break at a rest area. then carrying on, I took a short cut across 20 yards of dirt and gravel. Before long, the front tire went flat. On examination, we found a sticker. We also found one in the rear tire, but managed to extract it without loss of air. We carried the bike to a wash to help hide us from view, and removing the front wheel we replaced the punctured tube with a new one.

Soon we were back on the frontage road, peddling strong.

Again our route put us back on the freeway, and now we peddled doubly hard since daylight was beginning to fade, and we were still seven miles short of our day's objective, Sierra Blanca. Suddenly the front tire again went flat. We dismounted and started walking the bike off the shoulder to a safer area, when the front tube exploded with a loud bang. So we carried the bike 30 yards along the shoulder, then up into the brush. This is when things started to seem a little grim, because we now realized we were not carrying the second spare tube as we had originally thought.

Two blowouts in all, both caused by the tubes pinching inadvertently between rubber tire and alloy rim. Curiously, this blowout occurred in about the same place as the first one, 10 inches from the valve stem. We didn't know if this was coincidental or a problem with the wheel in that area. Like the last one, this blowout split the tire for about 8" of its length. Using our repair kit, I patched our only remaining tube, then with extreme care we reinstalled it, checking every inch around the circumference for a possible pinch, pumping a little more air, re-checking, and so forth, until finally inflating to 85 pounds and hoping for the best.

One more mile of peddling brought us to a border patrol check station, which bicyclists on the Southern Tier are required to go through. The fellow asked if we were US citizens, then wished us a good trip and advised us to be careful.

Now riding in twilight, on the freeway, in another five miles we followed an off ramp, and nearly in darkness peddled into the ramshackle town of Sierra Blanca, population 533. Here we found a room at the Sierra Lodge, actually a small motel with a historic Tex-Mex flair. As one example, the room came with an old saddle on a rack, decoration for the regular European tourists, explained the owner. At any rate the room was clean and warm, and we appreciated the solace. For a leg stretch we walked half a mile in the chilly, breezy night, to a gas station mini-mart which to our good fortune carried a selection of fresh fruit.

Day's mileage: 91

Day 15

March 15, 2004 Texas

Waiting for tubes to arrive.

Day 16

March 16, 2004 Texas

Waiting for tubes to arrive.

Day 17: Sierra Blanca to Marfa

March 17, 2004 Texas

After two days waiting for tubes to arrive from home base UPS overnight, we set off at 6:50 am, peddled through the small town and out along the interstate's frontage road. This was paved with a small amount of high-speed traffic of trucks, from pickups to semis, mostly highway workers. The morning was chilly, made especially so by the added wind of the bicycle. Still, for the first time on the trip we did not wear our shell jackets.

The crews were laying a slab of reinforced concrete atop the existing pavement, and it amazed us how much rebar was going into the project.

A B1 bomber thundered past, flying low, and obviously on a training mission. This was the first time we had seen this type of aircraft, and it was certainly impressive. For the past couple of days we had been hearing these planes, so they are possibly based somewhere nearby.

In twenty miles the frontage road gave out, and the route then put the cyclists on I-10. But we continued straight, peddling half speed along a very rough, old road that was fast returning to the desert, and which led farther from the highway with every mile. Eventually this gave way to gravel, and led past a chemical plant. Just past the plant we followed its access road back to the highway, where we found another paved frontage road. This climbed a few miles, and ultimately dead-ended, so we found ourselves on the interstate. This left us with ten miles of interstate to go, rather than the initial twenty specified on the cycling route map.

Peddling along the interstate was nerve-wracking because we were going fast down hill and the shoulder was only four or five feet wide and littered with debris. I had to focus all my attention on avoiding the debris for about half an hour. Finally we pulled off on the first exit into Van Horn, and followed the frontage road towards town. We bypassed a nice looking café because it had no place to park the bike within view of the inside seating, and opted instead for a fast food restaurant which did.

Continuing east along the frontage road, we came to the junction with highway 90, and stopped at a convenience store to fill our water bottles and buy an additional quart of water, plus a few more pieces of fruit. The next stretch was seventy eight miles between services through the expansive west Texas desert.

This part of the trip posed a challenge for both body and mind. For body because we were bucking a 10 mph headwind, and for mind simply because of the vastness. We love the wide open spaces, and the fewer the outposts of civilization the better. But on this bike trip the rules have shifted somewhat. Here we are essentially a part of the highway traffic, not by choice but by virtue of our wheels that depend on the pavement, same as the cars. As such, we tend to focus on the highway, at least myself because I have to watch constantly to be sure we don't run over anything that could damage the wheels or puncture the tires. On the bike we travel many times faster than we could hike, but the speed comes at the cost of missing a great deal. Nevertheless, what a grand way to see this beautiful part of the country. Hiking through here would be an ordeal due to lack of water. But the bikes allow us to reach the water sources, and so we count the compromise entirely worthwhile.

Case in point, in the middle of nowhere I felt compelled to stop, and as we stood there alongside the highway, resting, we noticed a small herd of antelope 100 yards off the highway. We had just peddled past them without noticing. Antelope will usually bound away at the first sight of humans, but these just stood there grazing, with some even lying down. There were eight altogether; about half of them were watching us - but without any sense of alarm.

In those 78 miles the road led through two small towns. The first one, Lobo, was 99 percent defunct, and the second one, Valentine, was about 60 percent defunct. Neither had any amenities, save for Valentine's post office. All along the way we have passed through defunct towns with their abandoned, crumbling buildings. The small towns seem to be on their way out. But the expanse of Texas that we are peddling through is phenomenal in its beauty and scope. Huge valleys, rugged stands of mountains everywhere you look in the distance. It certainly has a lot of appeal, and it is remarkable how much open, undeveloped land is here, and that so few people are interested in it.

Highway 90 was practically made for bicycling. It was well surfaced and had wide shoulders on each side. The traffic was light, but also traveling at very high speed, with a 75 mph speed limit, so we had to be very careful. Straining into the wind, we were averaging only 12 mph. Because of the wind, it was a very tiring day. We took a number of rests. The day was also fairly hot, so we always tried to find shade to rest in. Every time we rested we laid flat on the ground like a couple of rag dolls. At two of the rests I even fell asleep. South of Valentine the road started curving gradually eastward, and this began putting the wind more on the beam. So for the final few hours we had sometimes a slight boost.

Twice more we saw antelope, and we also saw western meadowlark, kestrel, ravens, and a few unfortunate road-killed coyote, raccoon and skunk.

The last 10 miles to the city of Marfa were quick and easy, because the highway continued curving east and put the 15 mph wind at our backs. Also the road was downhill in several places. Reaching town, we found a motel and within minutes were luxuriating in the shower, washing off the day's sweat and grime. Immediately following we went for salads, of which I had two.

Marfa is an odd name for a place, but apparently came from a Dostoevski novel. The place is famous for the "Marfa lights," which is said to be an unexplained phenomena that anyone can see most evenings at dusk, 9 miles east of town. Apparently the lights appear in the distance, rather near the ground, in ones, twos and so forth, and sometimes in large patches or streaks. Unfortunately we were not able to visit the area and see them for ourselves, though we did see a few photos.

Day's mileage:114

Day 18: Marfa to Camp

March 18, 2004 Texas

Set off at 8:30 am, for the first time wearing lycra shorts instead of long pants, knowing that the day would be warming soon. Nine miles east of Marfa we stopped at the official "Mystery Lights" viewing area, complete with restrooms, and various signs describing the history of the area, the flora and fauna. Strangely, there was no information about the mystery lights themselves - as though the whole idea is to keep it a mystery.

The road had a fair amount of traffic, but the shoulder was wide, and most drivers gave us a wide berth. It climbed and descended through dry, rolling hills.

Reaching the town of Alpine, we happened upon a bicycle shop, so stopped to see if the fellow could tighten our timing chain. But he was not familiar with that job, so we left him on the phone explaining to someone that he repaired bikes. We also wanted to stop at a café for a sit down, decent breakfast, but could not find one. There were plenty of taco shops and bars, but no cafés - at least not along highway 90.

Continuing across the Chihuahuan desert, the next stretch to Marathon was quite pleasant. shortly after we left Alpine, seventy five percent of the traffic turned north. We saw more antelope, and a large and beautiful wild turkey ambling about the railroad tracks. Again, the road wound gently up, over and around the dry hills. Juniper was common along the way, and in the ravines were walnut and oak. The day grew quite warm, the sun intense, and our sunburns became more red. But the going was easy and soon we could see Marathon in the distance. We wanted to stop for the day in Marathon, but when we reached the first motel at the west side of town, we learned that all of its rooms were booked. Seems that the town was a popular tourist destination, in addition to being fairly close to Big Bend National Park. And this was spring break.

At the historic Gage Motel we got the same story, same with the Adobe Rose B&B. The town didn't have too much more to offer the likes of ourselves, so we decided to carry on, and find somewhere to camp later in the afternoon. On the east end of town we stopped at the final gas station, which sold a meager selection of food items. We bought two 1.5 liter bottles of water, topped off our two 1 liter bottles, bought a modest selection of food, then set off once again.

Highway 90 climbed gradually into the rugged hills. At one point we saw a couple of cyclists heading toward us, and as we were about to cross the highway to say hello, they crossed over to our side. Ted and Colleen Garringer from Connecticut were on single bikes, his pulling a trailer, and hers loaded with panniers. They called themselves "Fools on a mission" and said they had been touring since early 2003, mostly in the eastern states and eastern Canada. This particular trip they had started in Georgia, and were on their way to San Diego. They were very friendly and we chatted for some time, exchanging route information and talking bikes.

We wished each other well, and soon they were far behind us. We, however, weren't going anywhere for a while, because while climbing onto our bike we discovered a low tire of the slow-leaking sort. We carried the bike off the shoulder and leaned it against the ubiquitous road-side barbed wire fence. Inspecting the tire after we had removed it from the bike, Jenny found two tiny wires from broken truck tires. We pulled the wires from the tire, and replaced the tube with a new one, with plans of patching the punctured one later.

Soon we were on our way again. The countryside was very pretty in the late afternoon light, and we thoroughly enjoyed the ride, even though it was a gradual uphill, with light headwinds. At the top of the grade we stopped at a roadside picnic area where we rested in the shade on a picnic table and ate a few snacks. We were ready to stop and make camp, so when we set off again twenty minutes later, we were on the look out for a hidden site, off the road. The problem was that the barbed wire fence stretched on for mile after mile. We passed by several gates, but each was locked.

We came to a road construction area that Ted and Colleen had warned us about, but the traffic at this late hour was light, and we only had to wait for the OK to proceed by ourselves along the one-lane road. Once through the work area we peddled on, scanning the fence line for some way to get through. We saw a lone deer, and several turkey vultures.

Finally at 6:40 pm we found a turnoff, and to avoid a puncture we carried the bike 200 yards away from the road and into the creosote scrub brush where we made a private and most comfortable camp. The afternoon sky had been filling somewhat with cirrus and some scud, so as a precaution I pitched the tarp in case we had to duck under it in the night. Lying in the open, upon our groundsheet and small foam pads, we watched the first stars appear, which in this case were planets: Jupiter in the east, Saturn overhead, and Mars in the west. Soon Orion and its neighbors appeared above us, and before long the sky was so flooded with brilliant stars that we could scarce identify any of them.

Just before falling asleep we found dew already starting to soak the quilt. So we relocated under the tarp, and had a very nice night's sleep.

Day's mileage: 100

Day 19: Camp to Langtry

March 19, 2004 Texas

We awoke to a sky filled with moiling clouds, and very high humidity. We knew that further east we would encounter greater humidity, but had not expected it here in west Texas.

We packed up, then I carried the bike over my head to the highway while Jenny carried the gear bags. On the paved shoulder we loaded the bike, then set off at 7:30 am. The scenery was superb, with wildflowers along the road's margins and on up the slopes. The yucca was sending up their stalks of candlestick flowers, and different kinds of cactus were dotting the hillsides. The road was a roller coaster, up one ridge, down into the next wash, up to the next ridge, with a five to ten mph headwind slowing progress somewhat.

We kept expecting rain, but the humidity had us equally drenched. We made reasonable time and peddled the 19 miles to Sanderson, arriving at 9:15 am. There we stopped at a convenience store for breakfast, and to fill our water bottles.

Ahead of us now was a 60-mile stretch between towns, so we set our resolve and started off. Here the headwinds picked up in earnest. The farther we went, the stronger the winds blew, some gusts in excess of 25 mph, and rarely below 20. Riding into this wind took quite a bit of effort. Even on the downhill stretches we had to peddle to maintain speed.

But the terrain was absolutely beautiful. It seemed every 5 miles was a new type of wildflower blooming. We stopped every now and then to take photos of the flowers. We also stopped at one of the roadside rest stops.

For this stretch we had to share the road with hundreds of motorcycles. Altogether 3,000 bikers, we later learned. Most of the bikes were without mufflers, and were terribly noisy, and as they roared past in groups of ten or twenty, the noise was nerve-shattering. The bikers themselves were fiercely rugged looking, not quite hell's angle types but along the same lines. However, most of them were also friendly, returning my waves with hearty waves of their own. Jenny and I agreed that in twenty years we will repeat this trip by motorcycle, but one with a large muffler.

The final 15 miles to Langtry seemed to take forever, battling the headwinds. The road led down into each draw, and up to the next rolling ridge where the view of the highway ahead seemed to extend away to forever. All the while the wind blasted us, trying to push us back west.

Eventually we cranked up the last hill, and reached a tiny store/gas station. There we sat at a picnic table in the shade of the small building. Half a dozen motorcyclists were parked nearby, and we greeted each-other cheerfully. They were complaining of the wind also, though it did not seem to slow their powerful bikes.

The proprietor was a small lady with a big cheerful attitude on life. She said she had retired from the FBI, and settled here after having visited most countries in the world. She said 90% of the customers who stopped here were very friendly, and also that she sees a lot of foreign visitors and when she tells them she has been to their country they are pleased. We selected BBQ sandwiches from the cooler, and she kindly heated them in her microwave for us. I asked about the weather, and she said the wind always blows here. She said the forecast for tomorrow was for more wind, but hot. So we were thankful for today's cooling cloud cover.

We were sitting at the picnic table eating our sandwiches when a couple walked up the side road from town. By their outdoor look, we wondered whether they might be bicyclists. Gary and Faith introduced themselves, saying they were peddling from Phoenix to Maine. Very pleased to meet them, we said we had read their entry in the guestbook back at Hatch NM. The four of us compared notes on the same places we all had been. They asked where we had stayed the previous night, and could hardly believe we had peddled 80 miles in today's wind. They had been here all day, saying they are experienced enough to know not to peddle into the wind.

Langtry had very little to offer in way of amenities - only this store, a smaller one down the hill, along with camping at the community center with water spigots. But today's headwinds had been enough, so we decided to stop for the day. It was 4 pm when we bought cold juice, two more BBQ beef sandwiches, and 3 tins of vegetables, and rolled on down the hill to the camping area.

Here we met three more cyclists who had just pulled in, going west. One Cora and two Johns from the UK, on a charity ride for hospice they said, along the Southern Tier from Florida to San Diego. From the same bicycle touring club back in Manchester, they were about as amicable as could be, and told us many stories of their five weeks on the road, saying they had learned to stay at churches most nights - the secret was their British accents. They told us about one pastor who would not drink beer on Sundays, but had no qualms about hunting - "killing animals" on the holy day. They joked that in the UK they don't have churches everywhere like we do - instead they have pubs. We asked about Louisiana and the states further east, and they told us to watch out for the dogs, which they said are everywhere. Over all, however, they were having a fabulous time, and they thought it a pity that most people travel by car, when they could be enjoying the countryside by bike.

The other two returned from the store, and all seven of us sat in the lee of the community center for its shelter from the wind, talking well into the night. Of all the bikes present, all were mountain bikes save for ours. And all were loaded to the gills with gear. Gary and Faith were by far the most experienced cyclists of the group, having made several summer-long trips by bike, as well as hiking the AT. Judging by their questions they eventually deduced who we were, but were kind enough not to make a fuss about it; which we greatly appreciated. On this trip we are bicyclists like everyone else - nothing more, nothing less.

One thing Gary and Faith told us that we found lamentable. They had thrown out all their trip journals, and no longer write them, nor take photographs, as they go. Thirty years ago I had been the same way, not journaling or photographing my climbing adventures. Today I regret it. So many precious memories lost by not writing them down. Never again will I be slack in that manner.

Leaving the others still chatting, Jenny and I retired to our tarp, pitched in the lee of a nearby shed, and enjoyed a good night's rest.

Day's mileage: 87

Day 20: Langtry to Comstock

March 20, 2004 Texas

The wind was still rattling the trees when we awoke at 5:45 am, and the sky was pitch black. At least the rain was holding off. It was not the best day for traveling by bike, at least in our intended direction, but we had no desire to remain here for the day, and anyway we needed to collect a parcel from home base, 30 miles ahead in Comstock. And since the post office there closed at 10 am Saturdays, we needed to get moving. So we packed quietly and set off, leaving the others presumably fast asleep.

We spent the morning battling along the highway, dodging the occasional guided missile on wheels, the big semis being among the most unlikely to pull away from our highway shoulder - not maliciously but only slow to react it seemed. The wind was again strong and contrary, and now laden with a mist that wet the road and soaked us through. Curiously the day was not very cold, so we cycled in only a thin jersey and pair of shorts each. But occasionally we had to stop to clear our eyeglasses of the splatter.

Here again the highway led up and down an endless succession of hills. While zooming down one hill at an impressive 14 mph into the wind, we passed another cyclist heading east. Like the others he rode a heavily loaded mountain bike. We were surprised to find someone else mad enough to peddle into the wind and drizzle on such a day. We exchanged quick greetings only, regrettably because he seemed quite friendly, but Jenny and I were trying to make the post office before it closed.

Reaching Comstock with a few minutes to spare, we stopped first at the town's only motel, and to our good fortune the owner had plenty of available rooms. Nora Ross said our room would be available shortly, and meanwhile she invited us to drive her truck to the next town for breakfast. Friendly to say the very least. We did not want to drive someones vehicle, but we did thank her very much.

We walked back to the post office, and there met the post master Jim Roe, another friendly sort. In fact, we noticed a few pictures on the wall of him skydiving, and to our amazement he said he had recently retired with 5,500 jumps. Jim had started parachuting in the military in the 60's, and for many years had owned and operated the DZ in Del Rio. Also of note, perhaps, is that Jim is somewhat handicapped. During our own skydiving careers we had jumped with handicapped people and found them truly amazing. Not to demean anyone, but it almost seems that those who have not skydived are the ones handicapped - by fear or simple lack of interest usually. Which is only to say that it is a very fun recreational activity.

Back at Nora's we listened to her stories of people she had met and the places she had lived. Her husband was an engineer at Langley, and after living in the throngs for 30 years they had retired to the quiet life here in Comstock. Since then her husband passed away, and now the place seemed too quiet for Nora, and she wanted to sell the motel and return to California. Another motel in another seemingly dying town, soon to bite the dust. We were glad it was here for us. And we were also very grateful that Nora let us use her washing machine.

Nora spoke with just a hint of Mexican accent - perhaps acquired from living among the people of this area - but said she was of German stock and proud of it. She had one dog, a diminutive creature that considered itself a ferocious watchdog, a huge cat that considered itself owner of everything here including the dog, and four birds, the largest of which clung to its cage upside down for attention. Nora said it often opened its cage, then opened the cages of its smaller buddies as well.

The streets eventually dried, but all day the wind continued unabated. We enjoyed an afternoon of welcome rest.

Day's mileage: 30

Day 21: Comstock to Uvalde

March 21, 2004 Texas

Set off at 7 am. The sky was very cloudy, and the pavement was still wet from recent rain. Thankfully, the headwinds were light, and this allowed us to ride along at quite a good clip. The morning air was fresh from the rain, and from the profuse blooms of mesquite and ceanothus that filled the air with their fragrance. At one point Jenny spotted a brilliant, red cardinal perched on a tree top. Ahead, the sky looked dark with rain clouds, but we managed to skirt between the rainfall.

Soon we were passing along the huge Amistad Reservoir. Hundreds of trucks pulling fishing boats and water skiing boats coming and going on this Sunday morning, or were parked at motel parking lots. We continued on into the outskirts of Del Rio, followed our bike map's route as it bypassed the main drag which was very busy, then stopped at a fast food restaurant for breakfast. We sat by our bike, watching the wind strengthening and the sky darkening to the east. From the vantage of the air-conditioned restaurant's interior, outside looked positively foreboding. But when we stepped outside, and realized how warm the air was, we quickly decided that we would not need our rain jackets. If we did get some rain, we would simply get a little wet, but not too cold.

We set off again, still on highway 90, but now into much stronger headwinds. The rain lasted 20 minutes, though not heavy. However the wind continued quite strong for the rest of the day. We saw a couple of small, whitetail deer. The terrain was not quite as hilly as the previous couple of days, so we made fairly decent progress.

We caught up to a solo woman cyclist, Lou Bohman from Wisconsin. Her husband was driving their van as sag wagon for her. They had started in San Diego and were headed to Florida. Lou said she was in her 50s, and she looked quite fit. The shoulder was wide, so we cycled along side by side. Jenny and her chatted about the other cyclists we had met, about the weather and the scenery. Finally Lou stopped at her sag wagon, so we wished her well and continued on.

In the town of Brackettville we pulled off for a lunch stop at a small store that had a few tables inside. We saw Lou peddle past; she had said they were going to stay in Brackettville tonight. Despite the strong headwind, we wanted to cycle on into the afternoon. Traffic was heavy and frenetic, with weekenders headed back toward San Antonio. Nevertheless, the ride was enjoyable and the terrain ever flattening. We stopped to rest under the shade of three mighty oaks that lined the road. Here we were surprised to find squaw bush. Rather than lean the bike against the trunk of one of the trees, I used a branch to prop up the bike, like an overgrown kickstand.

Although we were getting tired, we wanted to reach Uvalde, even though a flat tire waylaid us for 15 minutes. Once again, it was a tiny but vicious wire strand from a blown truck tire that had pierced our front tire and tube. Jenny checked the inside of the tire, and after finding the culprit and pulling it out, we installed a new tube. The punctured one we would repair later that evening.

As we neared Uvalde we peddled past agriculture croplands, which seemed incongruous with the cactus, yucca and creosote land just a few miles back to the west. The land adjacent the road was lush with spring grasses and wildflowers. We had to remind ourselves that this was still Texas.

On the last of our legs, and with sore bums, we cycled through Uvalde and stopped at the first motel we came to, arriving here at 5:00 pm. Jenny cleaned and oiled the bike chains, gears, and sprockets, while I worked at the computer.

Day's mileage: 104

Day 22: Uvalde to San Antonio

March 22, 2004 Texas

The sky was again overcast when we set off at 7:30 am. The wind was on the nose, but not too strong, though the day certainly was chilly. And within half an hour we began to get a few dollops of rain. We thought we were going to miss the actual rain burst, but that was not to be. By now we were sufficiently warmed from the peddling, so did not put on rain jackets. When we arrived at a small café in the small town of Sabinal quite wet, we were ready for a rest and some breakfast.

By the time we reached the next town, D'Hanis, the rain was well behind us, and the pavement was starting to dry. Here we took another rest, and while Jenny made a phone call, I talked with a local fellow who was sitting in a nearby booth sipping coffee from a plastic cup. He said that he had owned this land before they built the gas station, and that he used to grow maize and other crops here. He pointed to a lone pecan tree alongside the parking lot, and said there was a nice row of those here too before they cut them down. I asked him many questions about pecans, since we had been seeing occasional groves for many hundreds of miles. He said he has 300 acres of pecans, and that each tree produces between 10 and 75 pounds of nuts per year, depending mainly on the year. An acre pays about $300 in nuts, on the average. He harvests the groves by himself in July, using a machine that attached to the back of his tractor, wraps around the tree and shakes it hard enough to knock all the nuts onto the ground. Then he has a lawn mower type of machine that he pushes around by hand, and this sweeps up the nuts. It takes him about five minutes per tree to pick up the nuts. He drives the nuts whole to a nearby candy shop. They buy all that he can produce because his are premium quality. They have the machinery that shells and cleans the nuts. He kept saying that the pecan groves were his hobby, which I understood to mean more like his baby, in other words he was very fond and proud of his pecan trees, and that he was very connected to his groves - that is, they are an important part of his life. He said he irrigates the groves during the growing season, April-May-June. The rest of the year the trees stand dormant. Also, he has to spray them because of a certain type of worm, he didn't know the name, that lays its eggs inside the nuts.

Also, I asked him about the weather, whether the constant cloud cover and wind were normal for this time of year. He replied, "Oh yes, our March wind."

We continued east on highway 90, through more farmlands interspersed with rangeland. Some of the rangeland had cattle, others sheep, and some had goats. We rode past dead opossums on the road's shoulder, by the end of the morning the count was up to four. We also rode past a very large and beautiful red fox, inadvertently killed on the road's shoulder.

We had decided the day previously to leave the official bike route, and for expediency to make our own way across this part of Texas. What a sense of freedom this gave us. The day's peddling was still strenuous, especially into the headwinds, but at least we felt more in control of where we were headed. Highway 90 was taking us smack through the middle of San Antonio, but we figured we could negotiate our way through the maze of city streets and reach the other side before nightfall. Our road divided, then later merged with Interstate 10. The traffic whizzing by didn't bother us too much, but it was the on-ramps and off-ramps that caused us concern. Unless the oncoming drivers used their turn signals to let us know their intentions, we had no idea whether they would be turning off or not, just as we were crossing the off-ramp. These difficulties increased every few miles, until we found ourselves waiting at each off and on-ramp for a break in the traffic, before dashing across. Eventually the traffic became too intense for sanity, and fortunately it was not long until we came to a frontage road, which got us away to safer ground. (We left the interstate here.)

We took a lunch break at a gas station that had a sandwich shop inside, and in addition to sandwiches and juice we also bought a San Antonio street map. Now we could make our way through the remainder of the city unscathed. We studied the map, found a very circuitous route through, then set off. With me dodging traffic, Jenny rode along with one hand on her handlebar and the other clutching the map, calling out the approaching cross streets and directing me which way to turn, and when. Thus we cruised through poorer Hispanic parts of town paralleling Interstate 10, then through an historic area, right past the old Concepcion Mission, and then through a black neighborhood. Ironically, all along the way we received waves, smiles, thumbs ups, and cheerful greetings. Seeing a tandem bicycle passing through their neighborhoods was unique for them, and their smiles certainly made our day. In fact, the afternoon's ride through the city was the most fun of the trip thus far, due mainly to the challenge, and to the friendly people.

Our zigzagging route generally paralleled Interstate 10, and eventually put the bulk of San Antonio behind us. Finally making our way back to the interstate's frontage road, we stopped at a convenience store for a rest. Nearby was a cluster of national motels, so Jenny asked the clerk if there were more motels east of here. The reply was that, no, these are the last for a long, long ways. So we took a room for the night, stopping at 5 pm.

Day's mileage: 97

Day 23: San Antonio to Schulenberg

March 23, 2004 Texas

Set off at 7:40. The morning was again cold, cloudy and windy, and again the wind blew directly at us. We followed the Interstate 10 frontage road several miles until it stopped at the intersection of another freeway. The only expedient way to get through here was to carry the bike over the grass embankment areas and on to the shoulder of Interstate 10. The morning traffic was heavy, but we basically ignored it and soon were on the other side of this intersecting freeway, where we carried the bike back over to the new frontage road and continued peddling ahead.

The next 27 miles were mostly on frontage roads but once again, every time we met an obstacle and the frontage road ended, we simply carried the bike to the I-10 and peddled determinedly ahead. Then at the next opportunity we got off the Interstate and back onto the frontage road. By far, we made our best time along the Interstate because its surface was smooth and fast, it led directly, and was much better graded with fewer ups and downs. Of course the two negative aspects were the debris on the shoulder, some of which was the tire puncturing variety including that which was too small to see from the vantage of a bicycle seat; and the massive missiles of metal and glass whizzing past at 70 plus miles per hour.

But it was a beautiful ride. The wind was about 10 to 15, not quite so intense this morning. The foliage along the roads was gorgeous, rich and green, certainly not what we had imagined Texas would be like. We thought all of Texas would be like the far western part - arid desert. Also, the wildflowers were out in their full colors in many different varieties. What the Texans call Blue Bonnets, actually their state flower, in places carpeted the ground in huge patches of resplendent purples and blues. This same flower is what we western types call lupine.

Another "advantage" of peddling, or even hiking, along a road, is that by looking at the road kill you get an idea of what kinds of animals live in the area (or at least what used to). We saw the usual flattened skunks, squirrel, rabbits, birds, one coyote, and a couple of turtles. And something new to us: an armadillo - most unfortunately smashed into a dozen pieces.

Another advantage was arriving at the frequent gas station/convenience stores. These were well represented today. We stopped at a couple for hot chocolates, which took the nip out of the morning. Something else, and I don't know if it was specific to this area, but the overwhelming majority of drivers were courteous to us. Of the thousands of cars and trucks that passed us, almost all of them pulled over at least a little bit - we were of course peddling along the shoulders, so the only times we actually needed the vehicles to steer away from us a little was while crossing the old and narrow bridges where the shoulders were sometimes zilch.

The countryside was rolling and open, with lots of farming, and where the soil was bare from recent plowing it looked excellent. Where the land had not been cultivated it was covered with dense foliage: a lot of oak, mesquite, and many other varieties of bushes and shrubs and trees. We would loved to have spent more time studying it all.

At the junction with highway 183, we stopped at an absolutely huge gas station/convenience called Buc-ee's. We had never seen anything like this. As just one example, they had a wonderful deli, where the cook was making fajitas, pressing fresh the tortillas and cooked them on a grill.

From there, we soon found ourselves on highway 90 once again, going through small towns such as Harwood. This road got us away from the din of the interstate and into some beautiful rural areas, although the road was extremely rough. It was hard enough sitting on the hard seats of the bike on smooth pavement.

Crossing one of the hundreds of small creeks, we stopped and wandered around just a bit, admiring the lushness of the trees and plants. Jenny came upon some armadillos and called me over. There were five of them, rooting around in the soft, moist soil for grubs, insects and roots, digging with their front feet and sniffing everywhere with their little pointy snouts. To our delight they were not alarmed by us in the least. We stood about ten feet from them, and watched them for five minutes until they eventually moseyed around the hill out of sight. They were absolutely delightful animals, about 18-24 inches long including the pink colored, stubby, rat-like tail. The carapace was intriguing, and even the tail seemed to have a bit of shell around it. The animals probably would have let us approach them closer but we couldn't get through the foliage. Not because of the thorny shrubs, but the poison oak. We scouted around the general area a bit more, and found what looked like their den, a hole burrowed into the side of a small hill, hidden by dense underbrush. Jenny said it reminded her of a proper hobbit hole.

Highway 90 led through a few small towns. Now in the afternoon, the headwinds grew stronger, laying the grasses over and of course slowing our progress further. I remembered something the last bicyclist we had met had said, when she described that first day of wind which had been so strong. She said it was "brutal" and that her whole day had been a battle. Ultimately, she could not reach her destination, so her husband picked her up in his van. That same day we had peddled nearly 90 miles, into the same wind. The difference was in attitude. What you focus on becomes your master, and it can and will defeat you. The past week we have experienced these strong headwinds, but have not battled them, nor tried to change them. We are not here to change anything; we are here to experience. And we are here to learn what nature has to teach us, and what the journey has to teach us. This difference in attitude is like night and day. When I mention the wind, I am making an observation, not a judgment. Most people tend to judge everything when they go into nature. Judging means comparing it to what they think it should be. And when you do that, you give it your strength and your power. We punch through this wind because we do not give it our strength. For us it is not brutal because we are not in battle.

On the humorous side, one of the towns we peddled through was called Flatonia. Surely every bicyclist who peddles through here must chuckle. By the way, despite the hammering this part of highway 90 was giving our tires, they were performing beautifully. We were not peddling, however, as fast as we could go because the road was very rough and we did not want to break a spoke.

Eventually we reached the intersection of highway 77 in the town of Schulenberg. This was 100 miles from where we had started this morning on the east side of San Antonio. So we turned north and peddled to Interstate 10, and on the other side found a nice motel. There, at 5:30 PM, we stopped for the day.

Day's mileage: 103