The Awkward Pose

February 4, 2016 – Sunny, 60 degrees

Miles Today: 11

Miles to Date: 11,390

States to Date: 28 

I finally broke down and bought a gun. Not from Adam Turcotte, General Manager of Ranger Firearms, who spent an hour with me this morning discussing the gun business and what it heralds for tomorrow. I bought one from Valerie, proprietress of the San Antonio General Store, one of the many souvenir shops opposite the Alamo. It doesn’t shoot bullets. It shoots water.

Many people along my route have counseled that I’m foolish to cycle through this great land unarmed. I have two responses to their warnings. First, I don’t feel unsafe. Second, even if I did, having a gun wouldn’t make me feel any safer. I shot a gun once (in Texas, naturally). I acknowledge how few talents I have in that department.

Many cyclists along my route have discussed the trials pedaling the South, a region famous for roaming dogs. I have solicited advice from anyone who’s ridden Mississippi, Alabama, Tennessee or Kentucky. Some outrace the dogs. Some dismount and put the frame between themselves and the beast. Some spray mace. Last week a couple that traversed the South told me they sprayed dogs with water bottles, a harmless shock that stopped the dogs cold. I like their strategy and upgraded it – to a squirt gun. So watch out, Fido; Tex here is coming your way fully loaded.

In addition with dealing of all manner of guns today, from water pistols to assault rifles, I played San Antonio tourist. I visited the Alamo, strolled the Riverwalk, and the Milam Building, where air conditioning was born.. There are few visitors mid-week in February. Nothing was crowded, yet the weather was perfect for sightseeing.

February 3, 2016 – Sunny, 60 degrees

Miles Today: 91

Miles to Date: 11,379

States to Date: 28

Today it was just me and the bike and the last of the wide-open spaces before I reached San Antonio. The small towns along U.S. 90 came more frequent. Each reflected some aspect of history, geography or commerce. Sabinal had gorgeous cottonwood trees lining the river. D’Hanis was full of Dutch surnames. The cafes in Hondo welcomed hunters; the markets hawked Deer Corn. Castleville has a district of traditional Alsatian buildings.

In mid morning the sky began to cloud. I watched moisture form into white wisps. The air I inhaled, tinged with humidity after so much desert, felt heavy. It smelled like a laundromat. Small changes are perceptible when traveling slow.

I rode by several taxidermy signs. When I passed a large shed with an open garage door displaying a giant elk, I decided to investigate. Joe Schneider of Realistic Taxidermy and his assistant Amanda explained the taxidermy process while they toured me through their showroom and workshop. The extent of hunting in this region and the range of animals that hunters want to display surprised me.

Facing a long ride with the wind often against me, I took several short breaks to keep my energy up and still make good time. I mixed traditional peanut/almond/raisin/M&M trial mix with dried cranberries. That makes a high-energy combination.

Texas roadsides are full of urgent messages, mostly political, strung out in multiple signs so speeding motorists can absorb their full intent. Ben Carson 2016: How to irritate most liberals. Enforce the Constitution. Believe the Bible. Have a job. After the Iowa caucuses, the person living in that trailer can’t be too happy.

I reached the outskirts of San Antonio by 3:00 p.m. But since I entered from the southwest and was staying in the northeast I faced twenty-five miles of bicycle treacherous sprawl.

After eight days in small towns and rural outposts, riding past new subdivisions was dispiriting: so many houses, so many cars, so little environmental regard, all in service of such an unappealing way to live. San Antonio is sunny and warm. Why do the houses have dark roofs that absorb heat? Why are they packed across the landscape without regard to solar orientation? The rows of beige boxes with windows punched at random and roofs that slant toward nothing in particular sapped my enthusiasm; what people endure to escape city taxes and claim a scrap of private property numbs me.

There’s no place for pedestrians or cyclists along this stretch where gas sells for $1.45 a gallon, a new low in my informal survey of tumbling oil prices. After a few nasty honks and much defensive riding I arrived inside the I-410 loop. Post World War II San Antonio is less dense than the exurbs; a city of ranch houses and expansive trees. Yet beyond the exclusive enclaves, affluent people have abandoned the city proper. Neighborhoods are falling into various degree of deterioration. Still, cycling within the loop was better. Traffic is more dispersed; there are even a few marked bike paths.

I arrived at my host’s before dark, invigorated by the accomplishment of traversing West Texas on my bike; ambivalent about returning to urban America.

February 2, 2016 – Sunny, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 74

Miles to Date: 11,288

States to Date: 28

The earth stretches out from Del Rio toward San Antonio. The desert brush gets dense. Plants with leaves emerge, actual trees. The creeks run in trickles, the rivers run green. The land begins to undulate, to fold. I see my first spring green, tiny leaves tinged with a base of gold flutter in the breeze. I spin out of West Teas’ canyons, and enter Hill Country.

I left early, leery of whether the wind would be friend or foe. I passed Chapa’s Bakery in Del Rio; of course I had to carb up on Mexican pastries The young man behind the counter was friendly; we discussed my trip while he waited on other customers. The rhythm of a place like Chapas in a town like Del Rio, which is 90% Hispanic, is so much less rushed than the typical drive through Dunkin’ Donuts back East. People take their time choosing which pastries they want and placing them on round trays. They chat while they pay. One particularly ample Gringo omitted Mexican pastries from his tray: only traditional donuts to fill his gut.

The robust wind pushed me along more than it braked my progress. I passed many huge ranches with elaborate gates. Lonesome Hill was suitably spare. There were no cattle beyond the gate, however, but acres and acres of solar collectors. A new type of ranch. I took a break at one of Texas’ lovely roadside picnic spots, and pedaled into Uvalde by mid-afternoon.

February 1, 2016 – Sunny, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 34

Miles to Date: 11,214

States to Date: 28

 A short ride but plenty of exercise, as the wind was in my face the entire route. Ten miles outside of Del Rio, The Amistad Reservoir spreads out across the US and Mexico. The U.S. and Mexico dammed the Rio Grande to control floods in Del Rio and its larger neighbor, Ciudad Acuna. Flood gauges still line local streets, despite no floods since the dam opened in 1969.

I stopped at H-E-B for lunch and supplies. JC and Israel, two of the guys serving up roasted chicken with rice and beans, fried onions, jalapenos, and fresh tortillas, topped off my order with proclamations of our world vis-a-vis the predictions of The Book of Revelation. Then they gave me my meal for free.

Del Rio is a town of big commercial strips. Main Street is not a commercial center. Rather it’s a residential boulevard with gorgeous examples turn-of-last-century residential architecture.

My couchsurfing host Kevin requested I arrive early since he had to teach a Monday evening class. He invited another long distance cycle friend for an early supper with his family, which left lots of time for playing cards and more talk when Kevin returned.

January 31, 2016 – Sunny, 86 degrees

Miles Today: 88

Miles to Date: 11,170

States to Date: 28

86/88/90: eighty-six degrees for eighty-eight miles on U.S. 90: what a sweet day. The wind was my friend, pushing me east and keeping me cool as I climbed in and out of gorgeous canyons all day.

Texas loves Historical Markers. They line U.S. 90 as often as Border Patrol vehicles. They herald Yankee financiers who built the railroads, bandits who robbed the trains, former Confederates who founded towns turned ghost, and the natural wonders of the Pecos. They’re a physical encyclopedia. I stop at most of them.

I detoured to Langtry to visit the site where Judge Roy Bean was the Law West of the Pecos. The site is run by the Texas Department of Transportation and boasts a snazzy visitor center, though there were only five us this afternoon – one being the jocular employee, another being a neighbor woman from across the road. No matter, they had lots of good stories to tell of murder and escaped convicts holed up in Langtry, from the Judge’s time to the present. Upstanding citizens don’t get much airtime here.

No matter how good you are at something, you can always improve. Today, I reached new plateaus in bike riding. Six months ago my anxiety and balance peaked when coasting downhill at 26 to 28 miles per hour. I would sit up tall to block the wind and ease into the brakes. With todays perfect conditions and so little traffic I could often claim the road, I commanded those speeds in a crouched position and surpassed 30 without hesitation. Top speed: 39 miles per hour descending toward the Pecos River. My fastest cycling ever.

No place for breakfast in Sanderson, no place for dinner in Comstock. I managed to snag a BBQ sandwich and Gatorade in Langtry, but dinner was peanuts and a chocolate bar. I’ve become enchanted with Chocolove bars – dark chocolate with raspberries is my favorite. I recommend them to anyone, but only after you’ve ridden your bike 88 miles. How am I ever going to get back to modest eating when this ends?

January 30, 2016 – Sunny, 75 degrees

Miles Today: 55

Miles to Date: 11,082

States to Date: 28

I slept fitfully; preoccupied by the night noises of my heavy-set cabin-mate Tom and the half-hearted allusions he made yesterday to pedal out with me today. I knew the guy wasn’t going anywhere. Still, I got up early, left La Loma del Chivo hostel before anyone else woke, and was back at Oasis Cafe when it opened at 7:30 a.m.

I’m on a new riding schedule here. The mornings are dark and cold this far west in the Central Time Zone. The sun warms things up after nine in the morning, and its light ‘til past six. So, I spent two hours in the cafe. By the time I rolled out, the weather was fine.

Actually, the weather was more than fine. It was perfect; a light breeze on my back, not a cloud in the sky, and seventy degrees by noon. Despite terrific conditions I was sluggish. Enchiladas with two sunny-side eggs and beans had been tasty but not a bike-size portion. I stopped for a snack five miles out, and again twelve miles out, trying to get my mojo. Just past twenty miles I reached a crest, which coincides almost exactly with the mid-point between El Paso and San Antonio. I began the longest downhill of my trip – a full thirty miles into Sanderson It was great fun going fourteen, eighteen, twenty miles per hour mile after mile.

If yesterday was about assorted people, today was about assorted rocks, and I was content to contemplate less complex things. The geology of Big Bend encompasses three distinct periods. There are vertical up thrusts, the Ouachita fold, that date back more than 250 million years, before the Permian Sea submerged this area. Limestone reefs laid over the folds 125 million years ago and lava layers from volcanic activity a mere 25 million years ago infill some areas and erode others. The result is a variety of jagged, sharp, and worn landforms juxtaposed against each other.

I arrived at Sanderson, the cactus capital of Texas, well before three and enjoyed the outdoor museum where various cacti were planted in and around rocks with faux primitive paintings that illustrate various stages of local history; so much more engaging than an indoor museum on such a nice day.

U.S. 90 is part of Adventure Cycling Association’s ‘Southern Tier’; there is quite a bit of bicycle touring activity. I had been told that Danny, manager of the Budget Inn, was particularly nice to cyclists. That is an understatement. He welcomed me to the office, gave me energy bars, asked about my trip, and showed me photos of other cyclists who’ve stayed there, including Georgia and Mark whom I met yesterday.

There is nothing open in Sanderson on a Saturday night. In the evening Danny brought me a silver tray with a pungent potato soup, curried rice with vegetables, and a delicious papadam, then satyed for nice conversation. All for $45 a night!

January 29, 2016 – Sunny, 65 degrees

Miles Today: 31

Miles to Date: 11,027

States to Date: 28

West Texas was sunny and bright today, the desert jagged and brown, the people as varied as any I’ve met during my trip.

I started at Sul Ross State University in Alpine, where I had a conversation with Andy Cloud about the archeological work of the Center for Big Bend Studies. By the time I rolled downhill from campus the day was already warm, almost summery. Ten miles out I met Georgia, Mark, their two dogs and over 200 pounds of gear, including a dog trailer, on a 10,000-mile trip with a route as circuitous as mine.

U.S. 90 parallels a major railroad line, Half-mile long freight trains pass several times a day, an Amtrack Silverliner slithers by daily, and I hear train whistles all night long. Giant snakes of containers stacked on the flat beds; often bright blue, red, or green; move across the monotone landscape like cubes of modern art. Of course, due to the Marfa effect, there are also conscientious pieces of landscape art here, the most recent being the Target outside Marathon.

I pedaled into Marathon a few minutes before three. A woman sitting beneath the covered walk that connects the storefronts flagged me down. “Oasis Cafe closes at three. Get in there for the best burger in West Texas.” Of course, I complied. Phoebe, my waitress, is one of the most patient people on earth. “I’ve got plenty to do here. Enjoy your lunch. Use our Internet. Take your time.” By the time I was finished Phoebe was mopping up. “You can move outside, our Internet works there as well.”

I checked in at San Rosendro Crossing, a collectibles shop next door. JJ, the proprietress, said, “Sit here as long as you like.” In a few minutes Carol came by with a pair of longnecks between her fingers. “Its beer-thirty, want one?”

Suddenly, I was in a group of eight people, including Carol, JJ, Phoebe, and Phoebe’s cowboy friend Howdy drinking beer and smoking Marlboro’s along Main Street. The conversation probably doesn’t vary much from day to day: the merits of the candidates running for Sheriff, a murder in the next town, a local brush fire, Border Patrol hassles, how to draw a red circle around Marfa and delete it from the state of Texas. Carol’s husband Charlie stopped by. “Lord, I cannot hide from that man.” I reminded here she was sitting smack dab on Main Street. She got up and gave the guy a kiss.

When the sun slung low I pedaled to the locally famous hostel, La Loma del Chivo, a remnant of hippie days that welcomes itinerant cyclists. Hostels are odd places; purposefully disorganized. La Loma has a wonderful, warm host, Ingrid, aka Goat Queen. The gestalt of the place probably changes every day. This night, a profoundly quiet German couple kept to the edges while Tom, an obese former lawyer fresh from a Wal-Mart grocery run who claimed to be a long-distance cyclist filled the silence. He was engaging until I distilled he’d been drifting within a hundred miles of here for nearly a year. We were a disparate group of guests. Nevertheless, I enjoyed strolling around the bizarre place, taking in the perfect sunset, followed by amazing stars. Since the longer-term guests had claimed the bunks, I slept on a comfy sofa beneath heavy quilts.

January 28, 2016 – Sunny, 65 degrees

Miles Today: 28

Miles to Date: 10,996

States to Date: 28

 I enjoyed a beautiful, easy day of bicycle touring. US 90 from Marfa to Alpine is a gorgeous stretch with vast vistas. About ten miles outside of town is a striking pavilion built to watch ‘Marfa Mystery Lights’, fantastic light displays of undetermined science that occur a few times a year. There was nothing but bright sky this morning. Fortunately, a musician was there who had seen them. What he described was magic even in daylight.

Paisano Pass was a nice climb that introduced varied terrain all the way to Alpine. I got to town and indulged in Chinese Buffet: vegetables, sushi, and sweet cakes. I stayed about three hours, catching up on writing and planning my foray into San Antonio before exploring Alpine and checking into a sweet Patel-motel.

I took an evening stroll through the downtown strip. Alpine has a movie theater that projects two shows every weekend, a bookstore, and a former gas station turned coffee shop / laundromat. Perhaps not the most exotic commercial, but mighty pleasant under the amazing stars of Big Bend.

January 27, 2016 – Sunny, 50 degrees

Miles Today: 77

Miles to Date: 10,968

States to Date: 28

Is Marfa, Texas ironic or prophetic?

I will ride along U.S. 90 more than any single route of my journey. I was pleased that my inaugural morning, heading east from 90’s Van Horn terminus, was clear and calm. Thirty-eight miles on I pedaled through Valentine. The sign said 217 souls call it home, but aside from the world’s most adorable public library, there was no sign of life in the deteriorating buildings that lined the road. This town is dying.

Less than ten miles further on, in the middle of a vast plain, I came upon Prada Marfa; a pristine, non-functional box with an assortment of Prada fashion goods. This art is thriving.

Later, a pinkish balloon appeared on the horizon. More art, I thought. Until I got closer. Turns out its Border Patrol’s Tethered Aerostat Radar System. Miles before I reached the world-renowned rural Art Capital, I was already confused about contemporary art, abandoned commerce, and ubiquitous surveillance.

Once I reached town, the contrast continued. Slab a coat of turquoise paint, plant a bunch of cacti, and the same motel I paid $39 a night for in Van Horn charges $119 here. One gas station is full of broken down cars, another has been refurbished into an art moderne statement. A dilapidated cottage that would be abandoned in most West Texas towns is ‘under contract’ and many have been transformed into sharp angled adobe galleries and second homes for affluent artists. The grocery store was full of heavy-set Mexicans in polyester shifts just like any other town around here. But Highland St, the main thoroughfare leading to the stately courthouse, is lined with boutiques full of merchandise those locals don’t need and can’t afford.

Marfa has a knack for reinvention. The 1883 ranch town boomed in the early twentieth century on the cusp of an oil boom that went bust. The area was used for internment camps during World War II. When that base was purchased by artist Donald Judd in the 1980’s, the town’s latest incarnation as a hip art center was born.

So the question remains. Is Marfa – a town where wealthy oil tycoons fly in to shake their heads at art they find bizarre – an ironic bit of whimsy? Or, is Marfa a prophetic view of life once machines liberate us from the tedious tasks of daily living and we celebrate our creativity in whatever direction the West Texas winds blow. Either way, it’s great fun and wicked cool.

January 26, 2016 – Overcast, 40 degrees

Miles Today: 68

Miles to Date: 10,891

States to Date: 28

No way was West Texas going to let me off the hook with a week of cool nights, sunny days, and gentle winds. I will be pedaling from tiny map spot to tiny map spot for the 600 miles between El Paso and San Antonio. That’s a long stretch with few people; desolate as the Dakotas. Just as those were strategic and often difficult riding days, so too was today.

The day started cool and overcast and only got cooler and cloudier until it was downright cold. The route was one-third near I-10, one-third on I-10 frontage and one third on I-10 shoulder. At one point the frontage road (parallel to west bound traffic), ended abruptly and sent me facing the direction of westbound traffic. Thankfully, within a mile I found a culvert that crossed under the interstate and got me on the right side of the road.

Climbing a grade with trucks whizzing by at 80 mph (the Texas speed limit) with the wind in my face, my fingers numb, and the temperature dipping into the thirties, I had plenty of time today to be thankful for all the things that didn’t go wrong. No rain, no snow, no flats, no accidents. Not much fun either. I left one ugly Texas town, ate a mediocre lunch in another, and seven hours later I landed in a third. West Texas is a place to be respected and persevered.