Round the (Big) Bend

29th March

Woke to a wet Monday morning. Never mind – it’s forecast to clear later in the West, and that’s where I’ll be heading. I pack the bike and say my goodbyes to Arch. Julie left for work early and has left a note and a ‘peace’ medallion to take on my trip – I’m very moved by this gesture. Julie and Arch – and Warren – have been fantastically hospitable to me and I’m very sad to be moving on. They have become firm friends and I hope we’ll one day meet up again…

I ride off into a light drizzle and get on Interstate 10 – the highway which runs EW across the entire country, from Jacksonville, Florida to Los Angeles. I’m once again struck by the sheer scale of Texas. If I were to ride, now, from Houston to Los Angeles, the halfway point would be El Paso – 750 miles away – still in Texas…

I stop at Sealy to fill up with fuel and have lunch at a truck-stop.



…where I order the special from Bonnie (really!) the waitress (wearing the pink top, above)…



Chicken fried steak (not chicken, but beefsteak fried in a chicken flavoured batter), fried okra, macaroni cheese – and ‘sweet tea’ which is iced tea with sugar in it – the staple cold drink in the southern USA.

I get back on I-10 and keep pressing West. I get off at Luling. Something tells me that they farm Watermelon around here…



…I ride on North-West, passing a somewhat disconcerting advert for a skydiving school (slogan - “There’s no such thing as a perfectly good airplane”)…



…until I get to San Marcos Airport, where I visit the Mid Texas Squadron of the Confederate Air Force. Weirdly the CAF has just been re-named the Commemorative Air Force – apparently this is more politically correct



These guys restore and fly old aeroplanes – lots of old aeroplanes. I remember hearing that they are something like the 12th biggest Air Force in the world… They have a B29 Superfortress, a B17, a B24, as well as this B25 Mitchell and simply dozens of other WWII ‘Warbirds’. The San Marcos detachment has about 8 or 9 aircraft and a small museum, mostly commemorating the B25 Doolittle raid on Tokyo in 1942. They also have a couple of Japanese aircraft, which took part in the film ‘Tora! Tora! Tora!’



I ride on – the weather has cleared and it’s now a beautiful day – bright sunshine and 72º F. I ride along Highway 80 “The Devil’s Backbone” – a well surfaced road of long sweeping bends.



The landscape here has changed. The climate is more arid and the vegetation includes cactus and mesquite bushes. I stop at a picnic area – the covers over the tables demonstrate how powerful the midday sun in summertime can be. If you leave your car parked in direct sunlight, it can buckle your dashboard…



I approach Kerrville to stop for the day.



And check into the Best Western. Tomorrow I’ll be starting to head South West towards Big Bend…

30th March

I wake feeling thoroughly refreshed. Today I plan to do some riding in the local area – there are some excellent and scenic roads just West of Kerrville – then start to press towards Big Bend.
I eat the complimentary breakfast in the diner next door and wonder whether people are over-tipping the waitress – this is her car…



I’m on the road for 0900. It’s a beautiful morning, with hardly a cloud in the sky. It’s already 72º F and it promises to reach 85 or so later in the day. I ride through pleasant undulating roads. The region is semi-desert and it reminds me very much of countryside I’ve ridden through in southern Spain. March has been an unusually wet month, however, and the desert plants are taking full advantage of it with vivid green coloured new growth everywhere.



I soon start climbing into the hills. The road is cut into the side of the slope and I’m having great fun flinging the Adv about.



I notice that someone has set a church into the side of a hill – it perches precariously above a dried river bed, some 50 feet below…



…when suddenly I meet someone coming the other way, having as much fun as me!



This is Mike Hoskins, from near Chicago. He comes down here each winter to do some riding – he’s just come from Big Bend, my eventual destination, and says I’ll not be disappointed. We examine each other’s bikes, bullshit a little, and then go our separate ways. Just before Mike rides off, a deer wanders across the road ahead of him…



…I carry on following the route that Arch and I worked out on Sunday night. I arrive at Bracketville at 1300 and have a Mexican lunch in the town’s diner. Del Rio is only 24 miles up the road, but I don’t feel tired and I’m really enjoying the riding. It’s 86º F, but the heat is dry and therefore manageable, so I decide to press on towards Big Bend, some 260 miles distant, and see what happens. I join Highway 90 and head West. 90 is an excellent road – it has a 75mph speed limit, but I found myself riding with the needle pointing at the road number, rather than the limit. After half an hour or so, a flurry of signs and cones makes me drag the speed down and then stop at a check being conducted by the Border Patrol…



They are very polite and examine my passport and visa before wishing me a safe onward journey. Since I have their attention, I ask whether it’s going to be possible to re-new my 6 month visa in Canada and re-enter for a further few months. Apparently it is, and I should have no problem doing so – excellent!
I continue and, a little while later, cross the Pecos River…



…to the home of one of the Old West’s most colourful characters, the self-styled ‘Judge’ Roy Bean. An eccentric saloon owner, Bean appointed himself as the ‘Law West of the Pecos’. His reputation is as a ‘Hanging’ Judge, but this seems to be largely legendary, as there is no record of him hanging anyone. He developed a fixation on a music hall singer and royal concubine, Lily Langtry. He went as far as building an ‘Opera House’ (= hut ) to entice her to visit, as well as re-naming the town Langtry. Remarkably, in 1904, ‘Jersey Lily’ actually came to visit the town, but they never met - Bean died less than a year earlier, having contracted pneumonia in his mid 70s…



There is now a free visitors centre at the site of his preserved ‘Courthouse’. It’s well stocked with various Old West memorabilia and manned by very knowledgeable staff.
I’m still feeling great, so I press on to Sanderson where I stop for a drink & re-fuel. I decide to press on all the way to Big Bend. It’ll mean a long day, which I’d not planned for, but it feels right and changing destinations like this is one of the main advantages of travelling solo. 90 is almost deserted now, and I keep up a steady 90 towards the lowering sun.



Soon I’m turning left towards Big Bend, down Highway 385. The booth at the entrance to the National Park is closed, but I slow to the posted 45mph speed limit and lift my visor. There is a sudden smell of honey – the recent rain has caused the wildflowers and cacti to blossom and their scent as evening approaches is amazing…



I crest a rise and see 3 wild pigs, which have been rooting around at the side of the road, take to their heels and disappear into the brush as I approach. The distant hills are suddenly getting close and they are spectacular…



I ride up to the Chisos Mountain Lodge, not holding out much hope that they’ll have a room as I haven’t reserved one and, as expected, they’re full. I get back on the bike and, narrowly missing a jackrabbit - it’s getting close to sunset and the wildlife is becoming active - ride the 22 miles to Study Butte (pronounced Stew-dee Beaut), where I get a room in the Mission Lodge for an exorbitant $70. I turn the engine off and work out the mileage as the engine ticks and plinks its way back towards a more normal temperature… 511 miles – I feel like I could do it again, but settle for a shower, a cheeseburger and a quiet beer instead…

31st March

Another great day. Woke before 7 and went outside to be greeted by a gin clear day with no cloud. For breakfast I order ‘Huevos Rancheros’, a Mexican dish which, like most food from that country, looked like it had been travelling at high speed when it hit the plate. It’s very tasty, however, and it sets me up for the morning’s ride. I set off at 0815 and head North up the 118 – I’m heading for Terlingua Ranch, which has been recommended to me by Arch, Julie and Warren as the place to stay around here. The only reason I didn’t try for accommodation there last night is that it’s a bit remote. Eighteen miles up the road I turn right and start heading East towards the Ranch. The road is rough asphalt, but I can maintain 20-30mph quite happily on it. 3 miles from the Ranch, the ‘pavement’ ends abruptly and I’m riding along a rough stony track, with washboard corrugations. After a while I arrive at the office…



Yes, they have a room, $42 per night – excellent! I book in for 2 nights. The rooms are set out in fours as separate cabins – I’m in No 32 and I ride up the track to empty the contents of my panniers into the room before leaving. I ride back down to where the pavement starts, but instead of carrying on to the 118, I turn right, down another dirt road. Arch has told me about this road – it runs for 23 miles and joins the road from Marathon, Highway 385, which I came down yesterday evening.



At first the going is relatively easy, if a little rough from the corrugations. I see plenty of wildlife, including a coyote (which looks like a large fox) which runs parallel to the road for a few seconds. Soon, though, the going starts to get a little rougher…



…as soft sand begins to make an appearance. Now I’ve no doubt many of you off-road gods reading this are wondering what the problem is, but, as an off-road novice, the front wheel washing out scares the poo out of me. I slowly paddle my way through several stretches of soft sand – it’s clearly areas where a temporary river has formed in the recent rains. After a while it becomes easy to spot the areas of sand in advance, and I’m able to make relatively good time. It’s getting warm and the exertion is making me sweat – time to try out my latest purchase, a ‘Camel-Back’ water carrier – carries 2 litres of water in a small haversack with a drinking pipe which sits on your shoulder. It works as advertised and I continue to use it throughout the day. Eventually, I’m back on the 385 and smooth tarmac, feeling rather pleased with myself at not dropping the bike…



After a short breather I turn right and head, once again, towards the National Park visitors centre which I visited last night.



I arrive, looking like a character from a Western, and clump my dusty way to an available table in the café. The waitress immediately asks me what I’d like to drink. I ask her for ‘Sweet Tea’ and she brings me a glass and a jug “You look like you’re going to need that, honey” . I eat an a unmemorable lunch, during which time I discover that the wild pigs I saw yesterday were, in fact, Javelina (pronounced Hah Veh LEE Nah) and are not related to pigs, but are a separate species, having fewer teeth and straight tusks. So now you know too. I get back on the bike and ride down towards Rio Grande Village…



…a campsite 20 miles to the South. It’s very warm now – the thermometer at the café was registering 88º F. Three Mule Deer cross the road at a leisurely pace just ahead of me. The road South is fantastic, with the distant cliffs on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande a spectacular backdrop.



The cactus are still in bloom and their scent is everywhere. Eventually I reach the end of the road, Boquillas Canyon.



I sit for a while, listening to the complete silence, broken only by the irregular tinkle of the engine cooling and the occasional buzz of a passing insect. The temperature soon reminds me it’s time to be moving, though, and I head back the way I’ve just come from. As I pass the turning to the visitors centre, I start down the road I travelled last night. It’s a completely different view in full daylight and I stop to marvel at how far I can see. As is always the case, the photo doesn’t come close to capturing the grandeur of the scenery…



As I continue towards Study Butte, a coil of wire lying in the middle of the road suddenly uncoils, straightens and winds off into the scrub on the right side of the road in a flash of reddish copper. I stop to refuel at last night’s motel and buy a cold six pack of beer, before pressing North to Terlingua. I turn up the rough asphalt road and note with some amusement, that I’m now doing 50-60 mph, as opposed to my 20-30 this morning – the off-roading has clearly done my confidence some good. I eventually get to my cabin after 200 miles riding and, whilst waiting for the shower to reach the right temperature, open a beer.

Note to self: Always allow tinned beer to stand after riding over corrugated roads…

1st April

Didn’t surface until 10ish. For some reason, there’s a Mariachi Band playing in my head. Oh yes – it’s all coming back to me now… The power went off at 1830 yesterday, so I wandered down to the restaurant to find out what was happening, to be told that the whole valley was out. The chef, Jason, offered to make sandwiches and, in company with Chris, from Rhode Island, and his family, I agreed. We sat outside as the evening drew on, when we suddenly discovered that the draught beer was still on. After several pitchers of cold Bud, Jason, unexpectedly finding himself with a night off, went to his trailer and brought back some tequila and scotch. My recollection gets a little hazy after that…

Never mind – a couple of Nurofen and a shower get me feeling better and, after a Texas Omelette (like an ordinary one, but bigger) I’m riding the dirt road down to the 118. I turn right and head North towards the town of Alpine, some 60 miles away. The weather has changed and, although it’s still warm, a breeze from the South is keeping it bearable. The road runs as straight as an arrow for miles, but the clouds on the distant horizon look threatening…



After some excellent curves, the road suddenly drops to the right and Alpine appears on the flat valley floor below.



I ride through the town and push East towards Marathon, where I turned off for the National Park 2 days ago. To my left the clouds I saw earlier are depositing some serious rain 15 miles North. I get the occasional couple of drops and put the ‘shower cap’ on the tank-bag as a precaution. Thankfully the wind is from the South, and I don’t get wet. After filling up with fuel at Marathon, I ride South down the 385 again, but, just before entering the park, turn left down the 2627.



This road leads to an abandoned mine, 29 miles away…



…which is on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande. Post Sep 11th, security precautions have dictated that the bridge across the Rio Grande now be closed…



…making this a 29 mile dead-end. By the bridge is a payphone. Without much cause for optimism, I pick up the handset and, to my surprise, get a dialling tone. I ring my girlfriend - trying to describe where I am…



I ride back to the Ranch – on the way, just before the junction with the 385, a snake chooses to slither in the wrong direction as I approach, and I run it over. I’m not sure what kind of snake it was (reddish copper in colour, about 3 feet long – similar to the one I saw yesterday), but prudence dictated I didn’t go back and check to see if it was OK…

2nd April

Woken by a massive crash of thunder some time in the early hours, followed by a downpour of rain that lasted under a minute! By the time I got up at 0900, the only trace that it had happened were the rain marks in the dust on my bike. The sky is cloudy, though and, over to the West it looks threatening – and West is where I’m heading – I put on my waterproofs as a precaution…

I settle my bill at the Ranch office and head off, riding the access road more slowly on the now fully loaded Adv. I stop at the Longhorn Café for a gargantuan breakfast, before filling up at $2.08 per gallon and heading off down Highway 170 towards Presidio. The road first takes me to the ‘Ghost Town’ of Terlingua. It used to be a mining town and, when the mine paid out, the town dried up & died. After a while it became a tourist attraction and, as is the American way, people started setting up businesses there. So now, it’s a ghost town with nearly every building occupied…



Still, I’m rather taken with what one resident has poetically decided to name his property…



The road is spectacular, even by Big Bend standards. It follows the Northern bank of the Rio Grande, which marks the border between the USA & Mexico. The road often crosses dried river beds running South towards the Rio Grande. There are occasional puddles showing that these rivers were probably active last night, during the squall that woke me…



The wind and weather has carved the rock here into strange shapes…



The local tourist office has tried hard here – this picnic area has fibre-glass tepees in place of the flat board roofs normally used.



Here I meet up with Jürg & Janet Gertsch, who are over from Switzerland riding their Softail Harley from Miami to Los Angeles. They arrived about 4 weeks ago and will be departing from LA in 5 weeks time. We chat for a while, then exchange Email addresses and ride on.



The road continues North-West, maintaining its spectacular vistas…



Until I stop photographing them – I’m in danger of experiencing it all through the viewfinder of a camera…



This is cattle country and I often ride over cattle grids (called cattle guards over here), with a difference – they’re painted on the road…



…apparently the cattle won’t cross them…
I reach the desert town of Presidio. The main street is dominated by the elegant City Hall.



I press North towards Fort Davis. Just before the Fort, I turn left down the 166 and ride the Davis Mountain Scenic Parkway. Predictably, it’s beautiful



It winds its way through a loop of about 80 miles, ending up as Highway 118, back at Fort Davis. Just before it does, you get to see the McDonald Observatory



built at the top of the highest road in Texas. The views are pretty impressive.



I go into Fort Davis to fuel up, then retrace my steps along part of the same loop, before heading off to the hateful Interstate 10 West. I ride the 37 miles to Van Horn (just down the road from Lorry Headlight) and check into a Best Western, where I manage to access the Internet for the first time since Monday. The computer link is in the lobby, however, so I just upload my pictures and will leave the journal updates until tomorrow night, when, if things go according to plan, I should be in Roswell…

But things never do go according to plan, do they?

I wake to find the weather has changed severely. There's a thick overcast over Van Horn and it looks worse to the North, where I'll be heading. My initial plan was to head for Carlsbad, some 100 miles North, and visit a series of caverns there. I'm tempted to discard this idea, as I've just realised it's Saturday, and the caverns are likely to be very crowded. No matter, I'll press on towards Roswell, 70 miles North of Carlsbad...

I get fully waterproofed up and set off at 1000. The clouds which shroud the tops of the beautiful Sierra Diablo Mountains are threatening, yet oddly alluring - a bit like Helen Mirren being angry with you*...



I soon start climbing into the Guadaloupe Montains and it starts to drizzle. Soon the visibility is down to under a mile and, on the arrow straight road with flat scrubland to either side, it feels like riding over Dartmoor.

I enter New Mexico at 1130 and the drizzle continues. New Mexico's tourist office certainly knows how to make a place sound attractive though...



I decide to stop for the day - riding in these conditions when you have no schedule to keep is like practice bleeding. I stop at Carlsbad and get a room at the Days Inn with 'free high speed internet access in all rooms' - great! The rain beats against the window as I write these words - tomorrow is forecast to be fine, though - which will be nice

*Sorry - I've been on the road a long time...

4th April

So I got up this morning, looked out of the window at the rain coming down like stair-rods - just like it had all night, although this morning it isn't punctuated by the crash of thunder...

I ring reception to extend my stay for another night - the room's comfortable and not exorbitantly priced, has high speed internet access etc etc - why not?

Carlsbad Caverns are just down the road, so I ring Carlsbad Transit (the local bus company) to ask how much it would be for a return ticket - the girl at the other end tells me that there are no services today - she doesn't think the roads are open - the only reason I've managed to talk to her is that she's organising evacuating families from flooded houses....

Think I'll stay in & watch HBO...

Also found out it was an hour earlier than I thought - I'm now on Mountain Time (UK + 8 hrs)...