Day 19--Terlingua and Indian Head Trail

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.

http://www.amazon.com/Miles-Nowhere-Americas-Contemporary-Frontier/dp/0803266278

http://www.lajitas.com/

http://ww.uniontrib.com/uniontrib/20060319/news_mz1h19lajita.html

http://www.texasmonthly.com/travel/bigbend/whattodo/2/lajitas

http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,967347-1,00.html

http://www.laposadamilagro.com/la_posada_milagro_001.htm

http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9E0CE7DA133BF936A3575BC0A9649C8B63&sec=&spon=&pagewanted=1

http://www.roadsideamerica.com/attract/TXLAJgoat.html

Driving the paved roads of Big Bend: Rio Grande Village, Castolon and the Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive

Once the van got going I had a better day, although I never forgot about another possible stranding in the middle of nowhere, and today was a hot day.

Rio Grande Village was my first stop, a small camping area along the Rio Grande on the park's eastern side. The camp store attendant didn't seem too friendly but he told me where Boquillas Canyon was and that it was closer to the store than the Hot Springs. I opted to see both.

I didn't do long hikes today because of the heat. It quickly climbed into the upper 80s by early afternoon and I had to change into shorts and sandals.

I climbed up to the overlook of the Rio Grande at the camping area. The river was shallow and narrow here, and there were spots where one could easily walk across the wet gravel to get to the other side. How easy it would be to cross over undetected...

But the views were beautiful. Toward Boquillas the canyon walls rise again on either side and the rio takes a bend and disappears between the limestone walls.

The casual river crossings are no longer allowed since 911 and the Mexican village of Boquillas has been suffering from the cut in tourist trade. But now the villagers have gotten smart: instead of hoping for Americans to cross over, they cross over to our banks and leave their souvenirs for us to look at. Money is placed in a plastic bowl: $6 for a walking stick, $10 for petriefied wood, $5 for a chunk of crystal rock. A few men, a red-shirted man in particular, watched me as I walked down toward Boquillas canyon. I could tell he had binoculars.

A man's voice echoed in the canyon. It was the "Singing Mexican," Victor, who was on the US side singing. His voice was lovely but he stopped and excused himself as he walked across back to the Mexican side through the river that just came up to his knees. What was it about me that scared him? That I had a camera?

I didn't bring any money with me on my hike (I never bring money, just an ID in case something happens to me) but I would have bought something from the people. A reed hut was on the banks of the Mexican side where the men waited for tourists, but they watched us first for possible sales.

Mexicans who are caught crossing over are deported back via Presidio, a 100-mile voyage. Americans who cross into Mexico here and are caught re-entering the country can face up to a $5000 fine and two years in prison. Somehow I don't find the punishment equal.

The canyon was pretty and watching the Mexicans was nice, too and somehow I felt a little drained that I couldn't help them financially. There was nothing I needed or wanted, but I should have plucked in a dollar or so into the plastic bowl. Boquillas is practically a ghost town now that the casual border crossings that were so traditional in Big Bend Park (and which older tour guides even suggested doing) are no longer allowed. These casual meetings of North and South help cultures unite and understand each other better, and what better place than in Big Bend to come together, just like the river does to the natural surroundings?

I saw pretty dune flowers, a few lizards and talked to Canadian cyclists before I headed back out toward the Hot Springs. Boquillas Canyon at one point was a popular spot for Americans to cross into Mexico for cheap tacos into town, but now signs warning of illegal entry are everywhere, and the USBP patrol the park's roads.

Hot Springs was another nice stop: to see the old canyon store and post office and to walk down to the white banks of the hot springs area. The sand here is coated in white from the sulphites. The springs itself are warm and lack the smell of rotten eggs, but the spring isn't very big. A party of six would crowd the bricked-off warm water before it flows into the river. A few hippies hung out at this rest area and I didn't linger for long as it was getting too hot and there was little shade away from the river.

The van had started successfully four times now and that gave me courage to drive on. And boy did I drive. From Rio Grande Village to Castolon it's over 60 miles one-way. I turned off on the Ross Maxwell Scenic Highway to see some of the most spectacular desert views sofar in Big Bend. The lava formations of the Chisos Mountains are obvious here. The red bands of rock uplift, the rock dikes, the ancient ash flows and the broken magma are visible along the road.

There are plenty of turn-off on this road for drivers to pull over and read historical markers or to hike a short trail to a canyon view or vista view. The 30-mile drive took me over an hour before I made it to Santa Elena.

I got to Santa Elena at 4:30 and the sun was dropping low over the Mexican side. Canoers and kayakers were still floating down the river. I found the trail that went into the canyon and disappeared for another hour to find photographic marvels amiong the rock. Just as the hiking guide mentioned, this 1.7 mile round-trip hike is "the prettiest in the park"

I was alone here. Malards and ravens flew overhead, their sounds echoing off the canyon walls. It was peaceful. I waded a few feet into the river to get a few good river shots. Then I turned around and walked out. I felt newborn, like after a baptism. This river truly is inspiring in all its colorful splendor. It's a must-see for any Big Bend visitors.

I got to witness the sun set over Big Bend with the Chisos to my north. It was dark when I got back on the road to Study Butte, and made a left turn here toward the town, officially leaving Big Bend after three days of adventure and thrill. I had heard wonderful stories about Terlingua, Lajitas and Presidio and now wanted to see the rest of West Texas.

I pulled over into the first RV park I saw, which was at the edge of town and next door to the town Deli. A white dog sat in the parking lot and didn't budge at my arrival, neither head lights nor vehicle made him move. He only twinkled his eyes. I didn't want to travel any further in the dark and miss the rest of West Texas. I was going to spend the night here somewhere, anywhere.

I stopped my van at the RV park office and asked if I could stop here for the night. The owner, who was on the proch drinking beer with a few other guys, said "Sure, I'll charge you $5!"

What a deal that was, and the evening for me had just started. Even though I felt grimy and desert dirty, these guys welcomed me to their porch.

"Wanna beer?" asked Troy, the blonde bearded guy in the corner who is the grounds keeper, and before I could say sure I had a beer in my hand.

Scott, a leather-faced Marine from the Vietnam era, heard I was an Iraqi veteran and got into VA and current politics with me. I didn't want to talk about the war, but all the men were in awe of me and thanked me for my service. That certainly was an uplifter, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life referring to myself as an Iraqi War Veteran. (There are other tags I'd rather be known for). Nonetheless there is an invincible bond among veterans of all wars that I feel honored to be a part of. Tonight I was a part of this bond.

Scott left but I stayed to talk to Troy and Rich, a Vince Vaugn look-alike from Maine who comes down to this part of Texas in the winter. He works with disadvantaged girls and takes them on advetnure camps. All the men tonight, from Scott and Troy and Rich, all fell in love with the town and stayed. Scott stayed after visiting an old girl friend's parents in Terlingua. The relationship didn't last but his love for this open desert did, and he's been here for six years.

"We're going down the street to the Starlight Theatre bar for margaritas and burritos, would you like to come along?" asked Troy, and I went along.

The Starlight Theatre is a stop-over for tourists. A large crowd was inside, including one man wrapped in a long-length robe who reassured me he had pants underneath that robe. Women dressed in fine dining clothes stood on the patio, and here I was in two-day old clothes and hair and fit right on. I was now part of the underground local scene. I loved it!

Davis was the bartender, a 30-ish man in a French hat and brown t-shirt who quickly served everyone. He was in a chipper mood. The youngest of five children born of a Marine, he knew as a kid he would never join the military. His dad is now 67 years old and lives in Texas, but Davis travels from Oregon to Alaska to West Texas to work as a bartender or whatever brings in the money. He is a free spirit.

Troy showed me his dog's puppies, little border-collie/Heeler mixes that surely will make beautiful pets as adults. If I didn't already have two dogs I'd have taken the one male resembling a border collie, but they are super active dogs that need constant attention and exercise. And I already have two dogs and if I ever get a third dog, it would be a German shepherd dog I could train as a pup for search and rescue operations.

There are six dogs in this RV park/restaurant complex. The white dog I met in the beginning, "Bob," was abandoned here three years ago but has stayed on. Scott said he loves to hike with anyone who asks the dog if he wants to go along. What is Troy going to do with these six puppies?

"If I can't find them homes, I'll give them to the Mexicans who will take them into their own packs."

Rich and Troy showed me where they live: in the open air under a tin roof. Rich's bed is a sleeping bag on a mat. Troy lives the same away on the other side of the hut, with his dog and puppies in yet another separate kennel. All live under the West Texas Stars.

Beore the night was over I was invited to join the guys for a hike tomorrow afternoon and I consented. That would give me time in the morning to explore the towns along the way and take pretty photographs of the rustic buildings.

Day 18--Stranded

It was a cold night. I tucked myself into my blanket. Not a sole drove by the parking lot once the lodge closed at 9pm. I was expecting a ranger to make his rounds but none ever came.

The first cars began pulling up by 6am, and the first customer came by 20 minutes later. She didn't have any jumper cables and I couldn't find my own. I ransacked the boxes of my van looking for my jumper cables which I never found.

A young couple from Illinois helped me with their jumper cables but the van wouldn't take a charge. What was going on? Was there something draining the battery? In fact, the battery was more dead after the charge than before. I didn't want to waste these people's time and went inside to ask for help.

"Maintenance doesn't come in until 8:30am, you can try then" said the young blonde woman at the camp store. It was 7:30am and I had an hour to wait. That gave me time to sit on the lodge patio and watch the warblers jump about.

Marcus saw me standing outside and asked me in. He invited me to breakfast. What a lovely gesture. I was more nervous about my van not starting and had thoughts of being stranded while waiting for professional help, an expensive repair and towing bill to enjoy a hearty meal, and ate two biscuits with some gravy, and had two cups of coffee. Service was slow but the conversation was intersting. We exchanged email before we departed. Marcus and Elizabeth are now on their way to Austin and will fly out of Dallas in a few more days. They wanted some suggestions and there is just too much to suggest for one day in Hill Country.

At 8:40am I approached Brian, a receptionist who was very willing to assist me and my van. He called over two mechanics who jumped my van and it started up! What a relief. I finally left the lodge complex at 9:34am.

"Make sure you drive to Alpine and don't turn your engine off!" he said. But I had other plans.

This van's electrcal problems are really starting to get to me. Van Go is a mere four months old and has needed three jump starts now. The "Malfunction Indicator Light" has been on for two days and according to the manual the light could indicate something as simple as a loose gas cap to something more serious. Whatever the reason, it's going to be a waste of my time to take it to the dealer to get something fixed that should have been done right the first time.

US automakers complain of slumping sales and don't realize part of the problem is shoddy worksmanship by the automakers. If the automakers made affordable, reliable cars American consumers wouldn't be buying so many foreign models.

I drove over 168 miles today always with the fear that starting the engine up again may fail, but I had no other issues.


From the lodge I drove east to the Rio Grande Village to walk the Hot Springs hike, walk along the river and then check out Boquillas Canyon. It was 74F at 11am.

Day 16- First day in Big Bend

It was 44F when I woke up this morning in Marathon. At 6:10am I left town to start my drive to Big Bend, driving purposely slower than the 55mph speed limit so that I could catch the sunrise over the mountains. The northern park entrance is 69 miles south of Marathon.

An hour later and still away from the entrance, the sun still hadn’t risen. It didn’t peak over the eastern peaks until 7:30am as I got on the Dagger Flats trail, where a panicked coyote ran ahead of me down the dirt trail. His gait reminded me of Sammy’s gait.

Then I realized that part of the problem was the smoky haze from the grassfires in Snyder/Odessa/Midland. When the sun poked over the horizon I was greeted with an ugly sunrise of reddish brown haze that lingered in the vallies. There was nothing glamorous about the sunrise and I almost regretted coming to Big Bend. I could smell the grass in the haze.

I made it to the Central Visitor’s center at 9:45am. I bought a patch and a map of the Chisos mountain trails and was convinced that I should hike the Lost Mine Trail first as a warm-up to the elevation and hiking again. It’s listed as one of the more popular hikes in the park.

Popular was right, as the 16-car parking lot was nearly full when I arrived, and I still had to get my backpack packed and my pants put on (I was still in shorts). Several couples had already gotten to the trail head after me but had already started the hike. I’m always afraid I’ll forgot something and today it was the trail map. I started my ascent up the 2.4-mile trail at 10:20 and made it to the top in just under an hour.

I met up with a young German couple sunning near the top. They were from Berlin, which of course got me talking abut my days in Berlin and running the Berlin
Marathon in 1994. Running under the Bradenburger Gate was heart-warming for me and something I’ll never forget, being a child of the Cold War.

A school group was leaving as I arrived at the summit of Lost Mine Trail with a view of the East Rim. I was alone for a few minutes until a father-son duo, Derrill and Joshua, followed from behind. Joshua stayed to himself near the overlook but Derrill, the father, made himself comfortable right next to me. He was another talker. He’s retired, originally from TX but now living in South Carolina. His son still lives in Kerrville. Both are avid hikers/runners. Joshua is no 27 but when he was younger he’d come to Big Bend and race his dad up summits.

”Big Bend is my favorite national park because it’s so remote” said Joshua. Remote? There were more people on this trail than I’ve seen in quite a while. Yet Joshua rattled off trails he’s been on over the years that I haven’t seen in hiking guides.

Derrill is now 63 but he has a slender body of a 43-year-old. He runs or walks every day and lifts weights three times a week. “Sometimes I spend all day at the gym” he confessed, something I know I’ll never do. I’d rather get my exercise outside.

I ended up talking with the two men longer than it took for me to hike up the summit. We left as a trio at 12:37 but Joshua’s back was hurting so Derrill stayed with him while I went on.

The brown haze had cleared up enough to see the valley below, the distant Chihuahua desert of Mexico.

There were still nine cars in the parking lot when I got back at 1:30pm. I drove to the next trailhead, the Window Trail near the Chisos Lodge and campground, parked at the overlook and snacked on cookies and worked on my photos before doing my second hike.

I began the second hike down to the Window Trail, a scenic 4.4 mile down along a wash with an overlook of the Basin. Cottowoods and maples lined this trail, along with yucca and prickly pear cacti. The brochure said this was a photographer’s delight. I felt good and ready for another moderate trail.

I soon met another young couple, Sara and Brent from Austin who are here for ten days to backpack the hinterland. They had arrived today and like me were warming up. We chatted together until the trail split; I went down the scenic Window Trail while they hiked up the Oak Springs Trail. I caught up to them an hour later as they were coming back from the Oak Springs Trail. They didn’t hike all the way down, but after a short decision I opted to go down to at least the lower level to see the Window from the front valley view. It was spectacular. I finally convinced myself to turn around at :4:45 because it was mostly uphill going back and I wanted to make sure I was back before the big animals were out hunting. The sun sets early in the mountains.

I got back to the van at 5:40, picked a camp site, then went up toward the camp store to watch the sun set over the Window View Trail, a short, paved loop and a popular sunset overlook. I met another couple, one I originally met on the Lost Mine Trail, and chatted with the wife on a bench overlooking the sunset. The wind had kicked in again and brought in a slight chill over my still worked-up body from the two hikes. She was keeping her head inside her hood and shivered with me. The husband was out taking photographs. They drove to Big Bend from their home in Iowa and are staying in the lodge. She was a lovely woman to talk to.

They are heading back to Iowa tomorrow via San Antonio, but we all agreed that this winter has been an especially long and cold winter in the Midwest and it doesn’t look like its going to warm up any time soon.

They left for the camp store, I left to eat at the lodge, a pleasant meal of chicken tacos and a beer ($15.00). It was dark by the time I got to the camp space and already down to 40F. I felt tired but I have two more days of hiking. I got in a tad over nine miles today. Tomorrow it will be 13-14 miles. My legs felt today's work-out as I got ready for the night. I bundled up in my down feather comforter and slept splendidly until 4am when my bladder got me awake. It was just above freezing...

Alpine, Texas and the Holland Hotel and brewery

What a lovely town! At 4400' elevation it's just a tad lower than where our home is in Arizona. And boy, am I glad I made it early.

Shortly after leaving Marathon I was pulled over by a Texas State Trooper for driving 75mph in a 70mph. I never dispute my speed as I seldom look at the speedometer (although I really ought to start doing this, as this is the second time in seven weeks I've been pulled over for speeding). I knew my fatigue was a big factor in my speeding, but I also knew that in Big Bend Country everyone is pulled over for going only a mile over the speed limit so that law enforcement personnel can better find illegals. I can't blame the boys in blue for this tactic as that is how many illegals are caught.

The trooper, who looked Native American, was as courteous as can be. He even thanked ME for being so courteous! He gave me a warning, I promised not to speed or at least watch my speedometer, and slowly cruised into Alpine at 2:30pm. It wasn't a minute too soon as the long desert drive had tired me. This was the most exhausting drive yet on my long vacation. The heat and highway boredom got the best of me, even though the Trooper said "Ma'am, you're from Arizona, you should be used to this heat!"

Yes, I AM used to this wonderful dry desert heat but not in late February! And after the awful humidity of The Valley and then the cool climes of the Texas Coast this dry heat is hitting my body and psyche like a Mac Truck. It's slowing me down and tiring me even more so. And that worries me as I have three exhausting days in Big Bend after today and I better make those hikes!

Alpine, TX is a small rest over town of around 5700 people. The Holland Hotel, from where I'm typing this, is in the historical part of town...which isn't much. Still, it's more than what Kevin and I saw of Alpine in 2004 when we first drove through because we took a north turn off Hwy 90 to head toward Fort Davis. The old part of town is west of all that.

I already stopped at the local IGA grocer for some food for the next few days: Swiss Cheese, tortillas, chips and salsa and even some chocolate, but I know I need to go back there for more water and candy.

The Edelweiss Brewery in the Holland Hotel claims to be owned by Harry Mois, who hails from Schwandorf, Bavaria. German and American articles are framed on the backwall, showing a rather chubby middle-aged man with balding hairline (tpypical of Bavarians) as the owner. He moved to this part of Texas and made it home, although he's allegedly looking for a few more brewmasters from Germany.

When I asked my server if Harry Mois was on the premise, my response was "Oh, he doesn't own this place anymore, it belongs to his ex-wife!" I was, admittedly, taken aback. So does that mean Mois no longer brews the beers here?
"He trained a girl [I'm sure she meant "woman"] to brew the beers after his recipe" said my young red-headed server.

I must admit, although the Mushroom-Swiss Cheese burger was excellent although it took almost 30 minutes for my well-done burger to arrive; the two lagers, both the light and the dark, were rather flat. The beers lacked body. And neither were served with any head, which always puts me on alert as a headless beer to me means a bodyless beer. The beers did not live up to their write-up in the Texas Monthly article of October 2007 or the many dateless German articles plastered on the back walls of the restaurant. I'm still I came to this place, though. It's a good place, just not a great place.

Dan Blocker, who played Hoss in the late 1960s/early1970s western "Bonanza" hails from Alpine. His likeness in on a town mural.

http://www.edelweissbrewery.com/brewery.html

Marathon, Texas

I drove into town at 1:30pm. I am exhausted and hungry and in desperate need of a pick-me-up. Yet I will go on to Alpine 30 miles away, a decent-sized city where I can stock up on food for my three-day trek into the Big Bend Wilderness.

It's86F as I write this in the early afternoon. A cold front is supposed to hit the region tomorrow with lows in the 30s or 40s. I have plenty of cold-weather clothes left still waiting to be worn. I never did do laundry at the Laughlin AFB as planned.

Marathon is the host city to Big Bend National Park where gasoline today is selling for $3.36. The park is 70 miles due south of here. I've been doing a lot (too much at times) of in-and-around driving, and the park is big enough I could easily use up a tank of gasoline in three days.

Marathon has all its good restaurants on the main street, Highway 90. There's the upscale Gage Hotel and restaurant, modeled to look like an adobe mansion. There's also the plain Motel on the west side of town, the Cottonwood Cafe and the French Grocer a block north of the Cafe. The rest of town is a collection of small tin shacks or crumbling adobe.

I can see the brown tops of the park, but I can hold in my excitement because tomorrow morning I will be here by 10am to hike the first of at least three hikes. It will be mid-week and the only people I should encounter are all the RVs I passed driving north. There's a convoy of three Canadians from Quebec somewhere east of me on Highway 90.

The Holland Hotel is my goal today, plus a lot of walking in Alpine, TX. Kevin and I were here before, but missed the Hotel entirely. Instead we ate at a pizzaria and headed on to Fort Davis State Park north of here. We bypassed Big Bend entirely because we had three cats with us.

Day 15--Highway 90 into Big Bend Country

The aroma of creosote and sage welcomed me to the desert as I awoke. What a beautiful aroma that is.

I showered on base at the new LogonaFitness Center which almost tempted me to do some bench presses, but I had a tight schedule to follow, at least for the first eight hours.

Amistad National Recreation Center is just 20 miles northwest of Del Rio. I stopped there to hike most of the Sunset Trail, a 2.1 o/w trail across desert terrain that takes hikers to a campsite and along a part of the man-made lake. It was at the lake and Spur 424 where I turned around, making for a 3-mile hike that lasted just a tad over an hour.

Canadian RVs were on the highway moving slowly back north. They were driving 50 in a 70, but of course I realize they can't go as fast as a car or a crazed van driver.

As soon as I came up to the beautiful Pecos River, a river I've crossed everytime I've driven home to Arizona from Texas, I get sentimental. It's Texas' own Colorado River, the way it cuts through the ancient rock until it flows into the Rio Grande at the look-out off the highway.

I stopped there for a breather, then drove down to the boatramp to get a boater's eye view of the river. A yellow sign warning boaters of illegalborder crossers and drug smugglers was posted at the boat ramp.

Across the river a goat family was traipsing along the brittle rock. A young kid was crying for its mother that was a bit away with the rest of her three kids. The mother tried to get to her kid's cry but I didn't stay long enough to see if there was a happy ending. Kids. They are something else!

The mountains from Mexico were coming closer and closer into view. The desert smells were getting stronger. This is my home. I felt refreshed the way Sammy gets excited whenever we approach our town and cross the San Pedro River. He smells home ten minutes before we get home, yet to him getting home is an excitement he plays out with the same enthusiasm every time he comes back home from a weekend road trip.

I stopped at Langtry, Judge Roy Bean's house and the Jersey Lilly but didn't go inside. Kevin and I had already done the tour around the old village on our first trip here. I only stopped because the travel center had free wireless internet. It was 11:15am when I stopped for 30 minutes, and it was already 73F outside.

Piedras Negras, Mexico and Del Rio

These Mexican border towns have taught me a geography lesson about our neighbors to the south. Matamoros is in the state of Tamaulipas. Nuevo Laredo is in the state of Nuevo Leon, which I never visited (too crowded). Now the border state is Coahuila, a word I can barely spit out.

I couldn’t see much difference between the three towns I’ve visited so far. All have tall palm trees, town squares with historical Mexican statues, and places for people to gather and sit in the shade. No one harassed me although I got a few catcalls (!) as I walked by, and prompted a few older men to ask me what I was doing walking around with a camera. One man about my age, who spoke good English, asked me what I was doing.
“I’m photographing the old, pretty buildings”
“You should go down to the square, there are buildings there from ‘54” he said as he squatted against the building. His brown teeth were visible.
“1854?” I asked back
“1954.”
Oh, I thought. Well that’s not very historical I thought.
“You can go to the east side and see buildings built in 1924.”
“I saw those, by the train station. What were they?” The buildings looked like part of an old fort.
“Those were used by horses to corral.” This man knew his history.
There wasn’t much to see along the border after my first hour, but I’m starting to like the small Mexican border towns for all that is within them: stray animals, old people on rusty bicycles, children in empty lots playing soccer, old drunks staggering down the street after an afternoon at the corner bar drinking tequila, and every now and then a nice home secured by iron-wrought gates and window bars. Orange trees bloom in the gardens, along with tall Texas Mountain Laurel and their big blue blossoms that attract bees, taxi drivers cruising the side streets looking for takers and honking to let prospective takers know a taxi is nearby, street-side juice/taco/corn vendors.

I was hungry after my walk and needed a quick meal. Sam’s Restaurant along a side street looked good enough, and the waiter spoke good English. The food was good, too: I had chicken and broccoli, something spicy with beef tips, corn and beans and a very spicy salsa with chili-topped chips. I tried an Indio beer (OK) followed by a Sol (better). The bill was $9 and I gave the waiter $2 of which he gave $1 to the other hostess. Soft rock songs, including "American Pie" by Don McClean, played in the background. I still prefer that music to loud Mariachi.

I am really starting to appreciate Mexico and realize with each day I am on this trip that I need to learn better Spanish. The international sign language of pointing at things and getting frustrated only lasts so long before frustration sets in.

I walked a bit more toward the western side near the town’s river edge and saw more of the same: families gathered outside their doors that bordered right on the edge of the street. On one street a hapless dog, another female, walked along, looking lost but most likely looking for a meal. She looked tired and in need of a good meal. The poor critter followed me a while, and seeing her broke my heart again. I have five more cans of dog food in my van and I am too far away from her to help her now. As I walked away from the nearby family the dog started following me, but I rounded the corner and got back on the bridge back to the US. With my near bad luck earlier today, crossing back into the US with a stray dog from Mexico is not a good idea.

It was after 4pm when I got back to the US side. I gave the border inspector my drivers license (he didn’t even look at my birth certificate)
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’m traveling through Texas and visiting the borderland.” I replied. “I find the Mexican towns so much nicer than the American towns”
The inspector, who wore a Hispanic name plate, agreed.
“The Mexicans keep their towns a lot cleaner than we do” and again the agent agreed. There certainly are things that we Americans can learn from our southern neighbors.

I had a good hours of daylight still ahead of me. There was nothing much in Eagle's Pass for me to see so I ventured off on Hwy 277 North to Del Rio.

Shortly after getting on Hwy 277 the distant mountains to my west broke into view. That site reminded me of Kevin telling me over our walkie-talkie radios while driving west from San Antonio to our new home in Arizona, "Honey, we're home!" I have now left the South Texas Plains and have entered Big Bend Country. This is my final week in Texas, and it should be the most dramatic.

Kevin and I stopped in Del Rio on our trip west that September of 2004, and many of the sites were familiar: the Del Rio Bank, the tallest building in town, the Brown Historical site, and the streets of the historic downtown. Nothing was open this late Sunday afternoon but the memories came back. I remember walking these streets with Kevin and having a good time. The cafe that had recently opened in the 1916 Hacienda, however, was no more and a restaurant had taken over.

The sun set over Del Rio as I drove off, but not before I stopped at the town's mall for an hour to write today's adventures, and a few minutes later at Rudy's, a chain BBQ restaurant that really impressed me. Not only was the place spacious, the staff was friendly and I ordered two beers for $4.01, Landshark Lager brewed in Margaritaville, FL. Country music blared from the speakers while sports--race car stuff--played on the flatscreens above me.

I like Del Rio, even if it is not even on the Rio and there is no town across from it to walk into. This town has character. It's small even to be interesting and yet big enough to have all the amenities like WiFi and decent eats for the road-wary.

Tonight I am going to spend the night at the nearby Air Force Base east of town. Tomorrow will be a long drive to Alpine where I will hopefully post my next day's adventures from the Holland Hotel. That place has its own brewery. And from Alpine it's back down to Big Bend for three days where I know I won't get the internet. I can't wait.

I love the ocean, I love the river, but it's the mountains that always call me home.

http://tourtexas.com/delrio/

Carrizo Springs and early voters in Texas

It wasn’t a bad drive at all once I calmed down after the aircraft incident. There was enough to see along the way. Carrizo Springs was only 64 miles away, but the small ghost town before that, Catarina, had an Indian Trading Post and, more interesting, an abandoned luxury hotel with a palm grove in its small alcove which had dead pronds falling in the court yard. No one stops here now, but this was one of the cross overs of the Camino Royal under the Spaniards (even the Spaniards avoided Laredo!) There were no historical markers on this hotel although there should have been as the hotel was still in good shape foundation wise. Now Highway 83 runs right in front of its front doors.

Carrizo Springs was a small county seat on a hilltop, with gasoline selling for $3.09, the highest yet on my trip but gasoline which I couldn’t refuse. Up at the courthouse early voting and registration was taking place, and the many candidate supporters were lined up around the courthouse hoping for last-minute voters. By law none of the supporters were allowed to solicit brochures inside the courthouse or near the voting booths—police made sure of that—but there were many lunch time BBQs going on around the square by the various supporters. Texas Early voting lasts from 19-26 February.

My next stop was Quemodo and finally Eagle Pass which I got to at 1:15pm. Again it was quiet, and most shops were closed today. There wasn’t much to see besides the pretty palm-lined orange courthouse, and I went right into the Mexican town of Piedras Negras. I spent four hours here walking around and eating an affordable Mexican buffet at Sam’s Restaurant.

Driving northwest on US Highway 83

I was out of the Laredo area by 10am and on Hwy 83 driving northeast on by now familiar south Texas Plains. This is my least favorite terrain of Texas, however, the many historical markers and places along the way make driving through this land interesting and worthy of many short stops to look around.

I knew I was going to get a lot of mileage in today, with no goal other than getting to Eagle Pass, stopping in Carrizo Springs and whatever other small towns along the way.

Shortly after getting on Hwy 83 I hit an inspection station with one lone agent outside. I gave him my IDs, rolled down my back window so he could see that I was alone with my baggage and his response was “Are you moving?” and that’s when I realized that yes, in a way, I was moving. I am taking the slow road from Texas to Arizona along the scenic route.

The terrain became gently rolling as I drove ten miles north on Hwy 83. Then I noticed a small fixed-wing plane flying low, out and back and making small loops. Oh, I thought, someone’s out for a test flight, and lookie there, there are people pulled over in their cars watching!
But as I got closer I realized that that small fixed-wing plane was really a USBP plane and the cars below were USBP vans and a sheriff’s car. Whoa, something big’s happening, and it’s most likely involving illegals the USBP caught crossing the river. I'm used to seeing rotary wing in Arizona by the USBP and this is the first time I've seen fixed wing.

I had barely passed them in my van when I saw a crested caracara sitting on a highway post. Oh, I had to stop and photograph it! I made a U-turn and stopped, and just as soon as I did that, realized I had done a major mistake. I was within visual range of the USBP and sheriff up the hill, and sure enough,a sheriff’s car came right toward me. I knew I couldn’t leave now. A big sheriff approached me, I handed over my photo IDs before he could ask, and told him why I was stopped.

“I stopped to photograph that crested caracara” I told him. I knew that sounded mundane, but it was the truth. To even make that point, I took my sunglasses off so the old man could see my eyes.

“You realize you are stopping in a bad area, we are after a bunch of illegals in a stolen car and you looked like the van picking them up.” Said the sheriff. Oh shit, that didn’t even sound good at all.

Anyone looking at the back of my van would know that that van is not decorated as a run-away vehicle. It’s much too cluttered. In fact, after the sheriff left I l realized my dark blue underwear were in clear view if he had looked in the back. Blankets, two duffle bag of clothes, a road bike on its side and two cardboard moving boxes fill in the rest. Where would a van load of Mexicans fit in all that?

Still, I was shaken with fear of the unlikely event I could have been taken away as a suspect accomplice. I did a stupid thing pulling over so close to law enforcement officials.

“Well, get on the road and don’t pull over until you get to Carrizo Springs” said the sheriff, and I complied.

Sort of. A few miles later I spotted yet another caracara sitting in a tree top, and I couldn’t let this bird get away. This bird was even closer, and its red crest was more visible. Yet my hands were still shaking from the incident. Shortly after my second stop yet another white USBP van came up behind me and followed me until I pulled into a picnic area. The van pulled in behind me, but then drove past me, looked inside, and drove out and back from whence it came. Really, how many blonde middle-aged white women smuggle illegals into this country or help steal vehicles for the illegals? I didn't want to be the first and was glad to see that USBP van drive away.

I am glad now that I did not opt for the FM roads along the river. “All Farm-to-Market roads are paved” said the tourism man at the visitor’s center, which meant that long road in the middle was gravel road most likely closed and only for USBP use. I would not have had much fun running into a van load of illegals in a stolen car, and from here on out was happy that I was a few miles away from the river and on hard pavement.

http://www.lmtonline.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=19245293&BRD=2290&PAG=461&dept_id=569392&rfi=6

http://www.banderasnews.com/0801/edat-stolenpickups.htm

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2006/04/28/wus28.xml

Day 14--Leaving Laredo, Texas Travel Centers

I spent the night at Casa Blanca State Park, a park for fishing and boating more than for hikers, although joggers and dog walkers used the paved road for their needs. The lake's shore, as expected, was littered with trash but that didn't stop the grackles. They were everywhere in the brush when I walked to the shore.

I am typing this from the Texas Travel Center off exit 18 on I-35, my first stop at such a center along this trip. They offer free WiFi for all travelers, and this center even has a separate TV room with CNN Headline news where I am sitting. The center is new and resembles an old Spanish mission, but inside there are informational brochures for every Texas town people may travel through. The information is impressive, and the staff as usual, helpful and knowledgable.
http://textreks.com/

The news is about McCain's alleged usage of lobbyists and an unethical affair with a female lobbyist, the Turkish invasion of northern Iraq, the new leadership of Cuban Raul Castra, wildfires in the Texas Plains town of Snyder, and the momentum of Senator Obama in the Democratic race for presidency. Governor Huckabee was on Saturday Night Live last night making fun of his own losing race for the Republican nomination. (What a shame, I think he'd be another fine candidate).

So many fascinating things always happen when I am on the road. I called Kevin as I left the state park and we both realized we've missed each other. I've missed his companionship on this trip, although he probably would have been bored with the birding I've done. He's more into the historical stuff, stuff that goes back to the old Indian-Mexican-Civil War battles.

Day 13: Driving to Laredo

Leaving Roma yesterday was the end of the subtropical climate. I was now clearly back in the desert, and it was rising ever so slowly.

I opted to take my time driving north. Laredo was only 90 miles away according to a highway sign, and that gave me time to explore. I stopped at every historical marker I could find, drove around historical districts that weren’t too far away, and stopped at some of the birding sites along the way.

I wasted some time in Saninero, just outside the state park, to find the birding site May talked about. Instead all I saw were run-down little homes with beautiful flora but cluttered yards and mutts that all resembled mutant Chihuahuas. To add to my frustration every street had a speed bump at every corner. Who would want to speed through this little dump of a town? I didn’t see my first bump and hit something underneath the chassis. I drove ten miles an hour after that but never found the birding site, just several abandoned homes used as dumping sites for the locals. I couldn’t wait to get out of that hole.

My first stop was Zapata, 30 miles north of Falcon SP but a bit of a disappointment. According to the map Zapata was right on the Rio Grande, but the river was really a few blocks west and no longer accessible. What I hoped were wetlands to explore were blocked-off dead ends.

I stopped at a funky-looking Frontier Museum at a corner, a wooden structure that beckoned for people to check it out. I went inside and it was mostly a gift shop, but stuff made allegedly locally with local items, according to the owner David Merkens, a wheelchair bound older gentlemen dressed in western regalia: complete with red bandana and full beard.

His museum was full of eccentricities: a talking buck head singing some songs, a real Diamondback rattler that went into hissing mode as soon as I rounded a corner and entered his territory (luckily he was behind a window). Most was authentic stuff but some was truly odd, like the section of stuffed rats, rabbits and even a deer dressed up as farmers and sitting around a table doing farming chores.

I got to talk a bit with David and how he amassed his collection and he was willing to tell me his life story and the history of this part of Texas. He came to Zapata 36 years ago “back when it wasn’t developed like it is today” and fell in love with the area. He and his wife Jenny never returned to northwest Minnesota. Instead he has completely adopted to his new neighborhood, to include learning the history of the Spanish who settled here, the Indians and the story of the Rio Grande. Back in the late 1960s the river easily flooded or dried up; every year was a new water level. The dam nearby was built in 1953 that destroyed five towns, four of which were on the US side. Historical maps still depict these drowned villages now.

David loves history and he loves sharing his knowledge with others, too. In his spare time he likes to walk around to look at historical sites, both in the ground and in cities. Most of what he has amassed he has collected himself, but some things “mysteriously” show up at his front door or are left behind on the picnic table behind his museum.
“If you asked my mother she would tell you I was born a packrat” said Dave proudly.

He gave me some sound advice about some of the neighboring towns, such as what to see in Ygnacio, the small town north of Zapata, and the many picnic areas on Hwy83 that overlook bluffs and view of Mexico and the ever-rising shrubby hills.

Everything he told me was worthwhile, too. I stopped at Ygnacio to look at the old buildings, stopped briefly at the local birding site but it was still being developed and the groundskeeper, Joel, smilingly welcomed me into the yard anyway. This little patch of land was someone’s private property that they have opted to turn into a $5-a-person bird sanctuary along the Rio Grande. I heard plenty of birds but saw only grackles. I didn’t stay long. It was 1pm and I needed to get some mileage behind me.

I made it to Laredo at 2pm, the middle of the hot time of day. I pulled over to take a photo of a pretty courthouse, found that I was in a metered spot with 47 minutes left, so I decided I had time to explore parts of Laredo.

It’s a tough town. A lot of homeless people loitered about. I couldn’t find too much historical, although the old part of town is a tree-lined section of about two blocks. The rest of Laredo is a shopping mecca for Mexicans who come across the International Bridge to buy cheap Chinese goods en masse. A quick trip across to Nuevo Laredo would have been nice had the line not been so long, and I didn’t want to stay in the heat any more than I had to. Despite the water I could feel dehydration set in again.

I was a little disappointed in the city only because it was almost all Latino and the Latinos stared at me. Maybe they stared because I was walking around with a camera, and I wasn’t dressed to the nines like most Latinas dress. (I dress rather frumpy while on the road and on the trail)

I used the time to find an oil-change place and pulled into Mr. Frog’s on Saunders only to be approached by a young man who spoke only Spanish. I understood he wanted me to give him the keys and wait in the office. I wanted to stay in my car and work on my photographs like I’ve done at other quick oil changes. He brought in another worker who spoke some English, told me getting out of the car was policy, so I went elsewhere. Yet I couldn’t find a oil-change place.

I was hungry and needed a quick bite to eat, so I pulled into a Jack-in-the-Box for my usual chicken sandwiches. The woman ahead of me in a full-sized SUV had her truck parked in the middle of th drive-out lane, blocking me and another man behind me. I was working on my photos and was in the shade so I didn’t mind the wait, but the man behind me was clearly impatient and honked his horn the way I’ve heard the Mexicans honk their cars do. That warning got the woman to leave and clear the way for us. But why would she stop her car and purposely block the road for the people behind her?

I stopped briefly at the Casa Blanca International State Park that has camping, then drove north on I-35 until I found a Walmart, of all places, to have my oil changed. It took me 90 minutes but at least I got the photos downloaded and today’s entry written so sitting around wasn’t a complete waste. A family with four kids sat next to me chatting in Spanish. The three younger kids were allowed to walk all over the folding chairs and bother me. The heat had already given me a headache and I had to bite my tongue to be nice to these people. They were waiting on their car service, too. The Mexican culture is so kid-oriented that kids can do no wrong. I bought some water and a toothbrush and when I asked the young female stocker if I could pay for the things in the Tire-Lube section, she only responded in Spanish and didn't understand what I was trying to say. I get frustrated not in just the Mexicans not speaking English, but in my poor Spanish. I can get the gists of what they are saying, but don't have enough of a vocabulary to respond intelligently in kind.

It reached 94F in the van today, three degrees hotter than yesterday. At this rate I’m going to be melted away and need to watch my water intake. I dread the drive tomorrow in the barren desert. Even my Lonely Planet tour guide of Texas from 1999 says that it’s hot in Laredo and there’s nothing around to gas up in for fifty miles in any direction. I better watch out and buy plenty of fluids. This town is hotter than Phoenix in the summertime, and definitely not traveler-friendly. This town is a home to many Mexican-Americans and its culture is rich and lively, but here I feel like an outsider.

A sign on I-35 where the Walmart was showed a distance to Houston as 307 miles, and a distance to Corpus Christi as 154, yet my tripometer is over 2053 miles. I drove 167 miles again just today.

Day 13--Falcon State Park

My night was peaceful again, and the cooler lakeside temperature made for very comfortable sleeping weather again. But this morning the sunrise was unspectacular because of the overcast skies and cooler temps (63F at 6am). I almost felt chilled.

I showered a hot shower for the first time in three days. Boy did that feel great. Too bad I was accidentally in the men's shower room and not the women's! Luckily the young man who walked in on me was courteous and waited for me outside while I quickly got myself wrapped up--he caught me while I was getting dressed so I was almost done anyway--and went to the correct room afterwards. How could I have missed the sign? The signs were above the roofs; I looked at the walls and outside the buildings, but not on the roofs.

Many fishermen were already out fishing when I drove around. I could clearly see into Mexico but with the grey skies it was a rather dull view. On a hot day, like two days ago, this dammed part of the Rio Grande that provides recreation for both countries, is a haven.

Today I will drive toward Laredo, 90 miles away, and stop in Zapata and wherever there are historical markers. I need an oil change badly and will hopefully find a place in Laredo. I also need to get water and a new toothbrush. I don't know what happened to my toothbrush. I last used it in Pharr. I never feel human with dirty teeth.

Ipaid my $4 camping fee (what a deal!) and hiked the 3.1-mile Nature Trail that takes birders/joggers around the park perimeter but never actually to the lake itself. I spotted mostly raptors besides the obvious and loud grackles. I finished the loop in 65 minutes witha sky that just started bluing up for the day. It was also warm enough now to take my fleece off, the fleece I hadn't worn since leaving SPI.

US Highway 83 to Roma, TX

I would have stayed longer at the café talking to May but then a group of uppity, loud Seniors came into the building, with a woman who reminded me physically and personality-wise of Nancy Reagan: bossy and loud. I had to leave and left without wishing May well; she was busy making special order smoothies for the Blue Hair Brigade.

It was just at 4pm when I drove off, allowing me enough time to get to Falcon State Park before sunset…if I didn’t get side-tracked like I have so many times. I was nursing a two-quart plastic jug of flavored water to get rehydrated; I could feel the sun zapping my energy today. I need to watch that.

Highway 281 turns north at Pharr and my route now went further west on the Texas Tropical Trail via Hwy 83, along the Rio Grande. It was stop-and-go all the way through Mission, Sullivan City, and past several wildlife refuges (natural tracts of land). I drove to one such refuge but it was gated with an “Authorized Entry only” sign so I continued west on a dirt road that turned out to be the Old Military Trail. One lone Mexican walking west on this gravel road waved at me and smiled. Was he an illegal? How does one tell?

Highway 83 drove past Rio Grande City (which actually had a pretty little historical section) and Roma, where a directional sign pointed me to yet another World Birding Site off the Roma Bluffs. This I had to see.

The river here is scenic from the bluffs, overlooking the Mexican border town of Miguel Aleman. Miguel Aleman has a riverfront park where kids were playing, a truck was parked at the banks with a man in an orange tshirt walking up and down the banks, and dogs barked in the distance. Two men fished off the river's shore. It looked like a pretty little town to wander through at sun set.

The Roma side also has a few blocks of old buildings of the 1880s, some with fainted signs in Spanish advertising for groceries, fruits. I liked this place. The Mexicans cleaning their yards waved at me. This town had a friendly attitude which I appreciated. An informational sign at the overlook stated that Roma, TX is halfway between Brownsville and Laredo. That means I have one more day in the Rio Grande Valley before the desert begins and I start gaining altitude to get prepared for the 5000’ mountains. From Roma north the Rio Grande flows more in a north-south direction.

The Rio Grande at this point starts looking like a respectable river, much like the Mississippi in Minnesota or Wisconsin. It is wider here than at the Bentsen-Rio Grande Valley SP.

I knew I needed to eat something before driving on to the state park 10 miles away. I had only had a candy bar at the state park and some cereal in the morning.

It was around 5:30pm when I decided, rather impromptu, to walk across the Puente Internacional into the small town. I paid my fifty cents, walked halfway across and noticed a small rowboat of Mexicans, one with a man wearing a bright red tshirt, float across to the US side. The man in the orange tshirt stood on the banks watching the boat float to the US side. Was he a spotter? The boat floated a little bit, but the four passengers eventually touched ground and disappeared into the brush undetected. Seeing that blatant disregard of immigration law always angers me. Don’t we have sensors along the shore that can detect illegal crossers? And where were the USBP? I had seen one USBP van parked near the overlook just an hour earlier when I walked by. There go four more illegal immigrants to our already 12 million undocumented workers…

Again there were Mexican soldiers posted on the Mexican side of traffic.

I liked the town on a bluff. It wasn’t big, it wasn’t fantastic and it didn’t cater to US tourists. It had character. I walked about ten blocks into the town to the square and city hall, and turned around. There were a few taquerias but I didn’t try my luck. I also didn’t have any small change with me to afford a real burrito meal.

I told the US Border inspectors about the boatload of illegals I saw cross over to the US side. One agent just rolled his eyes and said “They know when we have shift change and that the border patrol won’t be watching. They do this every day.” So if they know when the shift change is, why not have a intermediate shift to handle the change for that hour inbetween? Or how about staggering the shift change every day, an hour here and there? If we have the same time schedule day in, day out then anyone can eventually learn when our vulnerable times are across the border.

Not even an hour later I was back on terra Americana and walked right to the nearby Jack-in-the-box for another cheap meal. I tried calling Kevin but again he was unavailable and after tomorrow I don't know when I'll have cell phone or internet connectivity. A stray cat walked along the sidewalk next to "CG's Snack Shop," a little candy store that put a smile on my face because Kevin calls me "CG" all the time.

It was dark as I drove off from Roma to Falcon State Park, but it wasn't a long drive at all. The road gained elevation as soon as I left the town's lights, I could see the lights along the lake on the Mexican side. This is where I pulled into to camp for the night, under the stars under a waning full moon. Sites with just water were only $4 a night. What a deal! They were $18 at Bentsen-Rio.