I was up at sunrise. Troy was right: the sun doesn't rise above the mountains until 8am, and then the rustic buildings around me lighted up in their morning colors. There were only two RVs in this park. All the others, I found, were further up the road in town at the Terlingua RV park where for $2 one can shower, and that's where I went. It was one of the more much-needed showers of my trip.
Bob was up as I left, greeting people stopping to tank up before heading into Big Bend Park. The sand-colored mountains were around me. I was on TX118, part of the Texas Mountain Trail. The first Bluebonnets were already in bloom along the roadside. (It is here in the Big Bend region where the flowers bloom first in Texas)
Rustic roadside restaurants had "Bikers Welcome" signs on their front doors. Terlingua is a popular stop-over for bikers riding these desert roads. I stopped to photograph the buildings and the bandaned bikers waved back at me. Rock shops, outfitters and antique shops lined the roads, but what most intrigued me were the many small adobe buildings left to crumble in the sun.
I knew Kevin would like this area, this half-forgotten part of society hidden in Big Bend country, where many outcasts live and where many wealthy people travel to for a fix of the desert. It is this combination of mountain men, desert dwellers and wealthy travelers mingling for a few hours that make the chemistry so appealing to any passer-by. It's the locals who benefit the most as they live in this beauty year-round.
I drove back toward the Ghost Town where we ate last night at the Starlight Theatre. People weren't eating yet as it was a mere 10am but the sun was already out and hot. The parking lot was empty. But all around mere were old adobe buildings of a long-gone era, and I was driving on property that now belonged to Ghost Town, and on a road that required a small fee. (I didn't see any signs indicating that).
An older man, dressed in era clothing, came out from behind an adobe building. He lives in this little shack, and with a toothless smile welcomed me to the Ghost Town. It was here were people mined for quicksilver and here where the miners lived. Old shafts were gated shut, but many of the old adobe remain as they were in their prime, eroding slowly in the West Texas desert.
"People come here and spend a lot of money, but then only spend 15 minutes in this place" said the man, pointing to the old adobe around us. "This place needs more time. You need to take your time to enjoy all this beauty around you!" he added. He was right. And even though I had several hours to spend before meeting up with the guys at 3pm, I knew I could easily spend all day walking around this region. I liked it. My only complaint was that the locals who lived around here needed to do a better job policing up their trash: seeing Budweiser bottles leaning against an historic adobe building somehow doesn't add much beauty to the entire scene.
I drove around Ghost Town, saw a sign that said "Espresso" and drove up to the small adobe building of the Posada Milagro Guesthouse. Then I saw the "WiFi" sign and knew I was going to be here for a while. In front of me where the Mule Ear peaks and the edge of Santa Elena canyon.
The cappuccino I had was excellent. The young blond server, a native of Alpine who spends his summers in Salida, Colorado, told me his story of life in the desert. After a dead-end relationship he decided to live his dream and move between Terlingua and Salida. Now he hikes, backpacks and cycles like never before. "It took me a while to appreciate this place" he said as he left to go home; the Posada coffeshop closes at 11am in the off season but he assured me I could stay as long as I wanted to. "We encourage people to come down here at night and drink beer. An electric plug left outside under the shaded patio is for anyone wanting access to the WiFi.
The Posada rents out four adobe buildings that were renovated into upscale hotel rooms. They are small but decorated in old west style. One adobe with four bunks rents for $140 a person. A more private adobe with its own bath rents for $220 a night. I still prefer my more affordable van.
I drove on north on TH170, a Farm road hugging the river. I drove to Lajitas, once a cavalry outpost with a trading post for border dwellers and home of a failed resort complex started by Houston oilman and then sold when the profits weren't big enough: built for the wealthy, the resort, complete with golf course and airport, didn't bring as many wealthy as he had hoped. The story behind the resort and the man who started it all was painfully desctibed in Dayton Duncan's 1990 book "Miles From Nowhere: In Search of the American Frontier." Duncan wrote in such detail about the country's remotest counties that I had to see it for myself.
Lajitas is nothing but the resort now, and a few isolated homes in the distance. The resort is modeled after an old western town, complete with courtyard and wooden sidewalk and an upscalre restaurant, the Candilla ("where TexMex food began") overlooking the golf course. Flora of both the desert and the Hill Country intermingle outside the restaurant, from blooming Texas mountain laurel and sage to eucalyptus trees next to palm trees and cottonwoods. A stray dog walked around the tables wanting hand0outs.
What I liked more than the resort, which somehow seemed out of place along the river here, was the old Lajitas cemetery across the street from the resort, a combination of rock-piled graves and simple iron-wrought crosses baring no names of the people burried below.
TX170 is a beautiful road here, curving along the river here to Presidio. It's hard to imagine the river being the international border as it disappears and comes back to life around road curves and mountain passes. Horses graze on the Mexican side. The higher mountains are on the Mexican side.
I made it past the Big Bend state park and Contrabando Creek and the old movie set before turning around to meet the boys back at the RV site for a hike into Indian Head Road, part of National Park property little used as it's out of the way and unmarked. It's the place to look at Indian pictographs and arrowheads and flakes, and to walk on ancient ash mounds around igneous rocks.
Before making it back to the RV park I made a quick stop at the "Passing Wind" lot, which I thought was a small RV spot but instead a New Yorker's, Jim from Fire Island, private property. He had a painted dolphin from Port Isabel on his property, a replica sailboat and is currently working on a stage. He hosts parties for bikers.
I got back to the park at 2:30pm and just had time to download my pics when we all departed at 4pm to Indian Head. I rode in the back of Davis' pick-up with Rich, Troy rode inside with Davis. We stopped at a drive-through liquor store (those places always amaze me) so that the guys could get cold beer for their cooler: Davis bought some Sierra Nevada Pale Ale which they started drinking before the hike. I refrained as I was feeling dehydrated already.
The Indian Head trail was amazing. This is part of the National Park but we didn't see any rangers. It's one of the more remote trails of the park and the rangers are more concerned with the busier trails where people go and get hurt.
We didn't go far because we spent more time exploring the igneous rocks, the petroglyphs and the drawings. Davis jumped from rock to rock yelling out "Monteca!" whenever he came across a motar where the natives ground seeds into flour. Troy read the petrogylphs with ease. He is part Native American from his dad's side and understands the culture; his passion and animation was on full tilt during the hike. Rich and I walked around on our own, but he later showed me a drawing of "An Indian with a big wanger. That must be part of a fertility drawing" as the guys also found a drawing of a shaman and a woman giving birth.
Views of the Chisos were to our distant east. The Window and Casa Grande dominated that range. According to Troy, from these closer mountains one could hike up a lower pass and be in the "Keyhole" which, when standing at the right angle, fits into the "Window."
I saw many flakes on the ground, and much calcite. The ancient ash, the dried lava glows and the red rocks were all somehow scared to me. This is were America's first peoples lived.
We even came across a small memorial made from local stones that contained the remains of someone. The stones faced the rocks. The remains were probably from someone who either loved these mountains, or who often came here to hike and explore.
Unfortunately, these kinds of memorials containining human remains are not authorized on national parks.
We sat around Rich’s “space” after the hike, debating where to eat. The concensus was the local TexMex restaurant. JoAnne, who works with Rich at the Far Flung Outfitters, came along. She also lives in a trailer behind the RV park, but is moving to her own place tomorrow. Most of the guys were recruited to help her move.
We sat outside. Troy bought another case of Lone Star beer. Again I accepted a can. He drinks that beer like water, though, and for the rest of the night I never saw him without a can in his hand. JoAnne, Rich, Davis, Troy and I sat at a round table as we chatted over our burritos. I wanted to know who they were going to vote for in the upcoming Texas primary. Rich replied that “I won’t vote for a woman!” and admitted that he only votes in local elections since it’s the local elections that affect him directly. Troy isn’t registered to vote and doesn’t care, although he admitted “I used to be a Republican” and both JoAnne and Davis said they’d vote for Obama.
I asked about the Enplada, the Mexican-Canadian free-trade highway proposed through this region, which I see mentioned on various flyers around town. All were opposed to it, especially if it meant having to pay for it somehow.
I went back to the RV park with Rich who drove his faithful Toyota Runner. He is a very trusting person who looks out for Troy. I think he knows that Troy has a problem with alcohol and watches over him. Rich also looks out for Larry.
“Larry seemed rather grumpy tonight. He found out he has blood in his urine” Rich said as he drove.
“That could be anything, from prostate cancer to colon cancer to just too much fiber in his diet” I reassured Rich, but I couldn’t help wondering myself. I like Larry.
We talked for ma little while but I didn’t want to bother Rich. He went back to his Space to rest, I threw the ball endlessly for Duke who would whimper if I waited too long between throwings. I was in my van also trying to work on my photos.
At 10:20pm I drove back to the Starlight Theatre. I had promised JoAnne that I would come by later that night. She was between two bars, both the Starlight and the Boathouse. Both are owned by Chad the Starlight bartender, and his wife Summer, who waitresses there as well.
I didn’t dance with Troy and JoAnne but I did get to talk for a while with Chad, who admitted to being in the Navy for four years, from 1986 to 1990. He got out just before Desert Storm.
“I had it good then. I learned responsibility real fast. Look at these kids today, they have no work ethic.” He said. It helps that his father was also in Vietnam and bestowed in him a work ethic I wish my own kids had.
“I got to see so many countries. Really, the Navy is the safest of all the services. If my kids would join, I’d encourage the Navy. Chad chatted as he wiped down glasses, put things away and filled tabs. He kept busy and continued talking.
“I am a happy man” he went on. I have a beautiful wife, four great kids and a good business” He got into the bars shortly after leaving the Navy. His wife Summers, a petite brunette, hails from southern California. She joined the conversation for a little while, but was busy tending to tables as well.
Two portraits of the family adorn the bar’s walls. Summers doesn’t look old enough to have three children.
I stayed at the bar until JoAnne and Troy left, then resumed the internet and was up until 3am. I don’t know why, but I kept finding things to surf for, as if I hadn’t been exposed to any news in weeks.
We sat outside. Troy bought another case of Lone Star beer. Again I accepted a can. He drinks that beer like water, though, and for the rest of the night I never saw him without a can in his hand. JoAnne, Rich, Davis, Troy and I sat at a round table as we chatted over our burritos. I wanted to know who they were going to vote for in the upcoming Texas primary. Rich replied that “I won’t vote for a woman!” and admitted that he only votes in local elections since it’s the local elections that affect him directly. Troy isn’t registered to vote and doesn’t care, although he admitted “I used to be a Republican” and both JoAnne and Davis said they’d vote for Obama.
I asked about the Enplada, the Mexican-Canadian free-trade highway proposed through this region, which I see mentioned on various flyers around town. All were opposed to it, especially if it meant having to pay for it somehow.
I went back to the RV park with Rich who drove his faithful Toyota Runner. He is a very trusting person who looks out for Troy. I think he knows that Troy has a problem with alcohol and watches over him. Rich also looks out for Larry.
“Larry seemed rather grumpy tonight. He found out he has blood in his urine” Rich said as he drove.
“That could be anything, from prostate cancer to colon cancer to just too much fiber in his diet” I reassured Rich, but I couldn’t help wondering myself. I like Larry.
We talked for ma little while but I didn’t want to bother Rich. He went back to his Space to rest, I threw the ball endlessly for Duke who would whimper if I waited too long between throwings. I was in my van also trying to work on my photos.
At 10:20pm I drove back to the Starlight Theatre. I had promised JoAnne that I would come by later that night. She was between two bars, both the Starlight and the Boathouse. Both are owned by Chad the Starlight bartender, and his wife Summer, who waitresses there as well.
I didn’t dance with Troy and JoAnne but I did get to talk for a while with Chad, who admitted to being in the Navy for four years, from 1986 to 1990. He got out just before Desert Storm.
“I had it good then. I learned responsibility real fast. Look at these kids today, they have no work ethic.” He said. It helps that his father was also in Vietnam and bestowed in him a work ethic I wish my own kids had.
“I got to see so many countries. Really, the Navy is the safest of all the services. If my kids would join, I’d encourage the Navy. Chad chatted as he wiped down glasses, put things away and filled tabs. He kept busy and continued talking.
“I am a happy man” he went on. I have a beautiful wife, four great kids and a good business” He got into the bars shortly after leaving the Navy. His wife Summers, a petite brunette, hails from southern California. She joined the conversation for a little while, but was busy tending to tables as well.
Two portraits of the family adorn the bar’s walls. Summers doesn’t look old enough to have three children.
I stayed at the bar until JoAnne and Troy left, then resumed the internet and was up until 3am. I don’t know why, but I kept finding things to surf for, as if I hadn’t been exposed to any news in weeks.
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