Looking Back I: Road to Terlingua

Looking back, it's been a while since I've written. Much of the time between then and now, I've been focused on doing. I stowed my journal and camera. Much I've done and learned in the last two months. I'll just back up, pick up where I left off.

2/17
I left Portal and Rodeo many adventures ago. A-bike and light-hearted I hit the open road, on to NM 9 after a mile or so. I left the San Simon Valley, climbing up through Animas Pass, leaving the high desert grasslands behind. Crumbly weathered Peloncillos soon were behind me. So too was the small town of Animas. Across the Animas Valley, creosote and yuccas replaced grasses. I was returning to the desert.

By the time I reached Columbus, NM and Pancho Villa State Park I was certainly in a Chihuahuan way. I'd ridden longer than any previous day, about 85 miles with a chilly dry tailwind at a faster rate than any other day's ride. I met yet another Lonny - this one I call to myself "biker Lonny" - as he stopped twice to tell me what was closed and open in town. We sat down to some tacos together at the deli. Mexican food keeps getting better.

The state park is an RV park with a nice landscaped hill. Apparently Pancho Villa's troops attacked the town of Columbus and so we sent the army to go camp out in the desert and try out all their new mechanized equipment. Grease skids - among the first built - and an old airstrip remain from 100 years ago. The hill around which ole Pancho's band snuck up on the sleepy little town is filled with cactus, placed by loving hands. The tent camping area is a little patch of grass, cottontail munch turf. As I faded to sleep the bunnies congregated around my tent, slowly forming a ring around me. As they'd edge closer I'd shrug or grunt or fart and scare them off. Then dumb little bunnies would gather again, have a little rabbit talk, and then spread out again round me. This game continued until I fell asleep.

2/18
After a hot shower in the early twilight, I sought Mexican food in town, stopping at the Pancho Villa Cafe. Biker Lonny was there already, and so I sat down with him to breakfast. We talked widely about travelling, Arizona and Washington, and then at length about his out of body experience. Do I tell someone that I generally don't buy what they believe? No, now I listen, and the more I listen the more I wonder. And so we parted ways, Lonny insisting on my tab.

From Columbus to El Paso was one of the emptiest stretches of road I've seen. East of town the ground gradually rose to low hills made of sand. Large stands of grass vanished. After sand came slow rollers through lava rock in barren creosote-filled desert. No sign of man for miles, then a pile of rocks by the road, as if someone who stopped couldn't handle the emptiness - the lack of man. And for several miles then, rock jenga on one side of the road or the other. No traffic, only Border Patrol. And then more cars in the afternoon coming from Texas, and more and more Border Patrol.

And the Franklin Mountains came into view and the long road up through the pass. Soon enough I was dropping into NW El Paso, across the pitiful trickle that is the Rio Grande there, and into Texas. Into Texas at long last, after nearly 4 months of travel. And there off the highway, near my motel, was Rudy's BBQ. And it was good.

2/20
After a day of rest and groceries and even better Mexican food and lazing north of El Paso, I set off early the next morning climbing slowly up and over the Franklin Mountains. My cough from Portal returned, racking me silly on climb up. Not too demanding once I got up there, and a helluva descent, through near-vertical block faulting of old limestoney peaks. Down and down the trans-mountain highway and then huge sweeping beltway around NE El Paso. Highways with marked bicycle lanes are a welcome change. East on 180, through the junkyard heaven of western EP.

In the afternoon, civilization disappearing behind me, I got the second flat of my trip. It was up front, and was an echo of my blowout weeks before. The thin tube up front had worn against the sidewall patch, weakened, and flatted. After a quick swap, pump and snack, I rolled the last 15 miles into Hueco Tanks State Park. I watched the orientation video and dropped gear at my assigned campsite. Mountains, highway, rough roads, flats, dirt roads - none got in the way of a great day's ride.

I wandered over to a nearby campsite with younger campers coming and going. I thereby spent the evening of the lunar eclipse with a group of twentysomething climbers who'd been camped there most of the winter. It was a joy to spend time with folks who'd already figured it out: they were engaged in an activity they loved, respectful of the outdoors and its wonders, and learned along different lines. Conversations rambled into the night, until clouds swallowed the moon reemerged.

2/21
The red dawn let me know that the winds weren't dying, and that I should follow the front to and up the Guadalupes. I bid farewell to newfound friends, and hit the road earlyish. I was coughing the night before, hoping it was just a tickle and not a return to the funk I caught in Portal. I left in gray morning, buffeted by strong crosswinds. I turned onto the highway again, headed East up and over the Hueco Mountains. It wasn't easy, and the canyoney road shifted the winds to most directions but aft. I finally got the expected push as I climbed out of the arroyo and over the pass.

I stopped rarely on the long gradual descent to the foot of Guadalupes. Over 50 miles gradually downhill with a 20-35mph tailwind, I had little inclination to do so. I spent most of my time spinning in gear 14, flying loaded 22-29mph. My lower back hurt all day, and this and hunger inspired a couple of breaks. At the turnoff to Dell City, I stopped at the mini mart for birthday treats for the morrow, and BSed with the proprieter a bit. I dreaded what was to come, and so was adding sugar and caffeine and water and carbs to steel myself for it.

The Guadalupes are an awesome range, the southern end sticking into Texas, providing its tallest peak. The range is an uplifted reef, and hiking the mountains in the past has shown me hundreds and hundreds of fossils. The wind always howls there, providing some of the longest dustiest dawns and dusks I've had the pleasure to see. I was really excited to go camp up there, and lucky to time it for my birthday.

On the other hand, I'd just ridden over 80 miles with all my gear on a rough surface road. My lower back hurt. I was wracked by coughing fits a couple of times so hard I wanted to puke. But here I was, ready for my dragon. After 56 peeled away to the South, 180 started climbing in earnest. I stopped to sugarade-up before the 2000' I had over the last 10 miles.

I turned North and began switchbacks, up impressive grades. I turned the big beat playlist up and got low in the wind and low in gear and spun fast and steady. The wind gusted at me, bouncing off cut walls, pushing me back. I ground hard in gear 2, too proud to kick it down to 1. I turned East again and had a little surge, and managed to stand and dance from time to time in my pedals, in gears 6 and 8. I could feel the end near and the big dirty beats, house music, were carrying me uphill. I still had miles of climbing in the wind, and music again kept me focused, kept me breathing, kept me from breaking down.

When the road leveled off, about 2 miles from the end, I was yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs, crying with joy. I've never been so overcome with emotion at something I'd done. It was my Chariots of Fire moment. I put myself through the crucible and I came out a harder thing.

2/22,23,24
Of course, I broke myself. I was near delirious when the sun set and cold wind came. I managed to make hot gatorade and instant mashed potatoes and fell promptly asleep. I woke up through the night, sick, full of snot, coughing. I worked myself back to sick, and it was the middle of the night for a long time and I was being 31 and not at all disappointed.

I made myself coffee with evaporated milk - glass and canned goods a luxury I'll only carry for my birthday weekend. I lounged around drinking coffee, writing and reading. I visited the Visitor Center. I was wiped out and so I napped. The sun shone and the winds roared against my wee palace. I did some more reading, then went out to meet the local campers.

I met Debbie, out walking her dog. I learned that she was the one with the converted military Thomas/International bus. She works as a database designer and back end programmer, and was easy to talk to. Debbie lives on the road, working remotely as a consultant. Not only could think and talk likewise engineeringly, but also had been bitten sometime by similar desert wanderlust.

Later in the evening I met Clare, another RVer, who asked if I were the cycle tourist. She'd seen me and Ziggy and our camp. I learned that she and husband Bob had done a number of cycle tours together, and more recently many motor miles. We parted that afternoon expecting to see each other around camp in the coming days.

My birthday morning, I made myself coffee with evaporated milk. A rice crispy treat served as cake. I was pretty sick, full of snot, with a wracking cough. But dawn was beautiful, the sun was up, and the wind was moderate. I hung around camp, smoked the bday hooter I'd saved, lounged, read, napped. I spent most of the day not coughing, not moving enough to breathe deeply. It was wonderful, up in the desert mountains, sick or not, proud of how far I've come, looking over the vast dusty dusky desert.

I split cooking with Bob and Clare for my bday dinner. I made them my ziplocful of mac and cheese with vacuum sealed chicken and powdered milk, powdered cholula. They made black eyed peas and collards, both from cans, spices added. We showed off our bicycle camp cooking favorites and talked many hours. They wanted to know what had happened to my generation (and those younger). Why weren't we protesting all the BS currently going on in the world, the US, etc.? Well, having been at a liberal liberal arts college that promotes activism, I'd say that much whining does little good. We saw the hippies all turn into golf playing, SUV driving suburbanite consumers. Or something along those lines. And so we spent a while discussing values, ethics, politics, and history. Bob was very challenging, Clare inquisitive. They shared travel tales from their over 40K miles of cycle touring together. I had a wonderful engaging bday dinner with folks I grok, able to talk to them widely, longly.

I arranged with Debbie to get a lift down to Marfa, as winds were picking up from 30s to 50s mph. On the 24th we left in the early afternoon; Debbie drove down the mountain I'd ridden up, and we proceeded South towards Van Horn. Sad to be moving fast again, trying to take in the terrain at a hurry up. Glad to be out of the wind, able to breathe shallowly, and rest. We talked more in a hour than we had in the previous two days in the campground. We passed Blue Origin and realized our common spacial interests. We drove through the valley between the Sierra Diablo and the Delawares, a volcanic mesa starboard and limestone mountains to port. These petered out into the Apache Mountains and some small range and then Van Horn.

We stopped just South of I-10 at wendy's and had good gross food, at least a little. Frosty's were key, even though it wasn't too warm. I took over the driving, and the terrain changed from desert to high grasslands as we swept Southeast around the Davis Mountains (the Alps of Texas). Many shacks were run down rusted out and abandoned. The town of Valentine was mostly shut down and much deserted. We left the Davis Mountains behind and rolled over a hill into Marfa.


02/25-26

Marfa is growing, with many incoming Austinites. It's trendy and quaint. The best food were tamales from some random Mexican peddling red chile pork corn tastiness by the dozen. Sunsets were amazing, and cribbage with Debbie much fun. I was still sick though, and resenting it. The library allowed for some internetting. It'd been a while, and I missed it. I was still sick, and Debbie was inclined to check out The Big Bend at this point, so we motored on.

The drive from Marfa to Presidio is flat grasslands at first. Then the terrain drops. And rises. And shrubby desert plants appear again: creosote, then ocotillo and cacti. The Chinati Mountains loom large and show green of trees or juniper on top. The town of Shafter sits at a turn in Cibolo Creek, beautifully sculpted desert hills backdrop for the old mining town. And we pull into the motel in Presidio. Smog hangs above OJ in MX. And I rest, 'cause I'm sick.

02/27-28
I rode Ziggy out of Presidio, unloaded, but with snack and 1.5L water and toolbag for the 35 mile ride out to the Saucedo in Big Bend Ranch State Park. I rode the ten or so miles on the road, tired. I then turned onto the dirtroad to the park, and really had to work. Hacking convulsions returned. Suck. Try to find a good speed that's slow enough to breath but fast enough to post over washboard. I stopped at the shade shelter at the park welcome sign, and waited for Debbie.

We drove into the Bofecillos, offroad in a schoolbus. Lava rock loomed high, and lush desert surrounded us. There was an incredible variety of species: lechugilla - telling us we're here in the Chihuahua, creosote, strawberry cactus, pitaya, ocotillo, guayacan, barrel cacti, and more types of prickly pear than I could care about. In nooks and crannies grew bright green cottonwoods. Newly greening mesquite lined arroyos. This desert was very lush, impermiable lava rocks trapping water in hundreds of places across the hundreds of thousands of park acres.

We stayed two nights in the park, camping near the Sauceda and then nearer the entrance at Rancho Viejo. The first night, after dinner and cribbage in the bus, we had to scare two javelina away from my bivvy. I rode my bike during the day some each day, and it hurt my chest. We ate well, as Debbie had supplies but loathed cooking. I enjoy cooking, and was happy to have an audience again. At Rancho Viejo, the old windmill whined and whirred all night. I really wanted to ride the river road out, but knew I couldn't do it.

02/29
Along el Camino del Rio I drove the bus. This is a fantastic road, beautiful. By tall cornflower bluebonnets and yellow to green canebrake, up and down, winding into desert and down to the river. We got out of the bus near Colorado Canyon, and it smelled like home in some outdoor-is-familiar sort-of-way. Driving on, the view opened up at the top of BIG HILL and I saw the Chisos again, the river pointing the way -> green for miles. Soon we made it into Terlingua, and decamped at the Easter Egg.

There we met Mark and Christina, just arrived. A couple about my age, they were on their first camping vacation away from the kids. The four of Debbie, Mark, Christina and I went out to Rio Bravo for some Mexican. Mark BOOBeer, havin' thunk ahead. We talked about the world and people and places and values and life and enjoyed company all around. Guac' was good too.

03/01
I spent much of the day reading Texas I'd had to bail on going out to la Kiva for music, still tired from sick. The four of us had breakfast burrito's at Kathy's, best breakfast ambience in town. Mark and Christina left to go up into the mountains. Debbie worked some. I slept some. We went out for Mexican again, not branching out, kinda travelled out. As usual, talk was easy and good with Debbie. We've both got engineering minds, and so we like to focus on minutiae and fill the converstation stack up with new topics and tangents.

03/02
Debbie left in the morning, and it wasn't sad much, because we're both travellers, online, and believe we'll see each other down the road. Debbie aided me immensely in continuing my trip and allowing my convalesence. Camping and cribbage and computers and so on were good times. And we saw such beautiful country between there and here: deserts, river and mountains, plains and sunred skies.

Mark and Christina returned, fleeing cold weather. We went out to the Long Draw pizza house and had a Pancho Villa and a few pitchers of Shiner. It's good to be in Texas. These are folks I so easily relate with, genuine fun loving adults concerned about making the world better. They read and write and have kids and do healthcare and love this place like I do. We get along well.

Today I scheduled a river trip for tomorrow. I want to get down to Santa Elena and actually see the canyon where the water is, not just look from the edge at the mouth. I went to Big Bend River Tours, having met a guide along the way who worked for them. Now I go into the park in a whole new way.