Crossing West Texs

People say that Texas goes on and on forever, even if crossing the state by car. In a guestbook we read in Louisiana, eastbound riders sang praises of the day they finally made it out. But here in El Paso, where Texas meets Mexico and becomes the southwest, I can't figure out what they were moaning about. The Texas we've experienced on our bikes has been a varied, beautiful, and interesting place--from boiled crawdads to lush rolling ranches to scrubby, mountainous deserts, and border towns. The Texas of my imagination was an image of sagebrush rolling across a ghost town crossed with thoughts of George W. Bush. How wrong I was, from Austin to San Antone to El Paso.


Desolate Days

The driest, most desolate days of our trip are now behind us--one 60-mile stretch and one 55-mile stretch with no services. Record highs have been scorching the Texas winter, and nothing dries you out like 90 degrees and a headwind. John and I were each carrying at least 5 bottles of water, but that wasn't enough. We realized that 30 miles in, we had already drank more than half of what we budgeted. Even though I'm sure we could have got to Marathon just fine, having only minimal water and knowing full well that there's none to be had around you, had a profound psychological affect on me, setting off a domino effect of worry. That paired with the same dry brown hills, over and over, with no sign of life but the occasional buffalo, made it a mentally taxing day. Luckily, a kind buffalo rancher named Gordon--who lived in the only ranch easily accessed from 90--let us in to top us our bottles in his kitchen sink, just as the last of our supply was depleted. I am glad that John did not attempt to siphon some off from the buffalo trough.

Such drama made a visit to the White Buffalo bar all the more rewarding. John and I discovered this cozy pub in tiny Marthon, Texas, in the back of the elegant Gage Hotel. Honestly, an elegant hotel and tavern was the last thing we were expecting in this sparsely populated region, but Marathon (population 400) has a great little bakery (the Burnt Biscuit), French grocery store, and spa--maybe that's because it's en route from the Interstate to Big Bend. Anyway, we met a bunch of Marathoners, many who had moved to town from elsewhere to retire, and celebrated Mardi Gras with a few drinks. Ray was a carpenter who grew up in Pilsen, and we had a great chat together. If there was one piece of advice Ray gave that I will remember, it is that, "Women love kitchens and bathrooms." It's true--nice tile work and a towel warmer. Mmm.

The next day, we ran into Ray and his white pickup twice on the way to Alpine. He pulled up and stopped both times to give us the best wishes on our trip. It seems like living in a warm climate does some folks a world of good.

Party Animals
We camped at Davis Mountains State Park the night we began our first big climb. The park was beautiful and remote, but unfortunately, we chose a site next to a school trip group of 80 eighth-graders. I swear there were at least 20 in the bathroom at any one time, and both John and I had to deal with calls of "Hey, who's in the shower?" and other other annoyances, but it was kind of funny in the end. Earplugs work wonders.

The real party animals of the night were the javelinas--wild, spiky-haired, pig-like animals that come out at night in droves to raid dumpsters and campsites. In spite of their cute appearance (their head is about one third of their body size), they are called javelina for their razor-sharp tusks/fangs. And, man, even though they are smaller than your average hog, they snort like you wouldn't believe.

When I awoke the next morning, John told me that during the night, he had awoke to snorting and heard my bike tumble to the ground. Apparently a "javelina party" of eight or more hogs had gathered around my bike, presumably to extract a jar of peanut butter I had forgotten to hang with the rest of the food.

Earth and Sky
Our biggest climb to date--though small potatoes compared to what's ahead--was from the stat park up to UT's McDonald Observatory, which houses the Hobby-Eberly telescope, the fourth-largest telescope in the world, with a primary mirror of roughly 9.2 meters. A telescope built for spectroscopy, it's about to be used in one of the biggest dark-matter experiments to date. Our guide at the observatory was a very brainy woman named Judy, whose husband is one of the primary telescope repair technicians. They live up on Mount Locke with about 70 other staff and researches, along with the visiting scientists who come to observe and crash at the astronomers' lodge. We would have liked to catch a glimpse of some astrophysicist, but they were all sleeping away the sunny and windy day. Their work begins when ours ends.