Day 37-38: Rebirth

Rebirth is a band, a staple of New Orleans since 1984, started in 1982, brass, of course, and rad.  But my first few hours there felt a bit like a being reborn process for me.  That knowing, that I'd found another home, spoke to in my last post.

The band, though, the band.  Wow.  They are gods of music.  I thank my host, Dain, for taking me to see them this, my second night.  They play every Tuesday they're in town at the Maple Leaf, in the Carrollton neighborhood of Uptown (they are almost on a constant tour of North America and Europe, very prolific).  A longstanding, classic, and heavily attended event, it is considered a good intro for newcomers to New Orleans nightlife and music, but also loyally attended by locals, and super, SUPER, fun.  I stood in that crowded little bar, dancing throughout the while, for hours, jaw dropped at the performance before me.  And the loving-life around me.  That's the thing about New Orleans, that I noticed.  No one was sitting, moping at the bar or standing round the edges--everyone, it seemed, had a smile on their face or were laughing, bouncing, talking boisterous, whether it was at a show or dive bar.  R Bar, where we went later--"R" for Royal St, at Frenchman-- is a real down-home watering hole, where I felt instantly comfortable and made lots of friends.  I went again the next night just to write and hang out and ended up rallying and running around with some folks to see mas musica on the outskirts of the French Quarter.

I did a couple of other predictable, but delicious things, like getting a coffee and beignets (French doughnuts of fried bread and powdered sugar) at Cafe du Monde, and eating gumbo.  But the latter my friend made, and the truth is, most people do make and eat a lot of the traditional foods of the area.  They're proud, and participate, still, though there's plenty that goes beyond that.

On the third day, my second full day, I walked around in the CBD, or downtown, used the library, and ended up at a concert in the park.  Cops passed by as people swirled each other on moving sculptures in a square nearby, and beads were to be seen everywhere tucked in corners.

There was a lot of poverty; buildings, people, processes, that need to be addressed.  But, even as I contemplated moving there, it did not seem as hopeless and depressing as the increasing disparity of wealth which I've seen in nearly every other city.  It's going through rebirth, it's got energy.  And I want to be there.

Day 35, 36: The magic of the bayou, Morgan City through The Atchafalaya basin to New Orleans

Day 35:  I set out from Lake Arthur early in the morning and by mid-day covered the 50-odd miles to New Iberia.  I stopped off at the Visitor's Center, to get out of the heat, and get a read on a camp.

Two hours later, I was still there.  I simply could not leave the little rocking chair, on the porch, where I was reading a local magazine.  But, by four I knew I needed to eat and hit the road again.  Where to camp?!! There was a state park twenty miles out of the way, where they didn't allow tent camping, but I could put a tent up outside the gates, for free.  Then there was Morgan City.

I go through town, towards both highways, and at the fork, go straight.  I was trying to be smart, go towards the state park.  But then something compelled me to turn around, continue on track down the 90E.  (Again, I think I'm just stubborn, and I can always find a grove of trees.  Though, I thought, there are lots of alligators and snakes.  Oh well, this is an adventure, isn't it?)  There were 40 miles to cover to a campground at Morgan City, then I'd just have one more day to New Orleans.

It was a good road, but after about forty-five minutes and ten miles, I hit construction, the sun was beginning to slip and I knew it: flat tire.  I was on a frontage road, no shade, really beat, so got off the bike and thought I'd walk a few minutes.  At least find a tree to get under.

Not two minutes and I heard a quick bleep, a sort of truck siren, and a white truck was coming towards me.  A young man hopped out.  Showed me his ID; said he and his girlfriend, were headed to Morgan City.    

Wowee, am I lucky!

It didn't feel at all like cheating.  But especially because of what happened later.  Without any solicitation, again, these good samaritans and kind Louisianans, took me off the street.  I'd been wishing there was some way I could go out on the water, and again, without me saying a word, expecting to be dropped off at the camp, the couple decided they wanted to pick up their ski-doo and take me out on the water.  An hour later, I was riding, at seventy-miles an hour, across the waters of the bayou, smiling wide, but also stunned.  How could this be happening, how and why are people coming out of the woodwork, being so good to me?  And how, how does anyone live anywhere else besides this, this beautiful place?

more pictures later, or let your imagination run wild, to do it justice

We stopped at a bar, called the Mosquito, had a drink, talked it up with the other barflies and the lady owners. Then we went into town to help his family move some furniture.  They were getting the floors waxed the next day.  

We had a late meal at an old diner and, super exhausted, all of us, passed out in his home on stilts, right next to the water.  It was like sleeping in a tree.

36:

Woke up late.  Cool, dark, air-conditioning.  But I was eager.  I couldn't believe it.  Today I would make it to the Crescent City.

They were all kinds of helpful in getting me situated for the ride.  They even wanted to run me over to the local Walmart for a fresh tube, but I declined.  I was kind of attached to my tube, with all it's patches.  And somehow, I knew, the flat queens would be good to me.  I would make it.

I'm riding, making good time, thrilled by the ride on the raised waterways over the Atchafalaya basin.  Then I checked my phone.  I had a text message, had forgotten my tire lever.  They wanted to bring it to me!  I was about thirty miles out by that time and called, "Please, please, don't worry, I can't put you out like that."  But they were insistent, and excited to be a part of this big day.  There was something in the air...

Heat.  No, I kid.  But they did meet me.  They drove past and yelled out, "Meet us at Spahrs!"

I had told them I'd yet to have good seafood and they wanted to make sure I had some.  It was the perfect spot.  Literally dripping, my calves and shins covered in mud, my face red as a beet and my shorts and top wet with sweat, I slipped into the bathroom of this casual, but nice, spot, on the water, where you could look out at birds and alligators, and cleaned up.  I was in the riding zone and felt a little out of place, but it was a fantastic, giant meal of catfish and shrimp and I couldn't have been set more straight for the day.

We said goodbye again, with the possibility of meeting later, in the city.

I arrived, at the outskirts, two hours later, and both my body and mind immediately breathed easier.  I loved the architecture, even on the West Bank.  Then the ferry ride...well, let's just say it was a mile marker.

There were only a few of us on board, and the other set was a family, the father a professional photographer and cyclist.  It felt like another of those fated things, or just a pleasant coincidence.  We chatted it up, then I let the wind and the spray of the water cool me as I watched downtown, and the famous/infamous French Quarter come into focus.

It was a short ride, from Gretna boarding station a few miles across and down the banks of the Mississippi.  I disembarked and felt like I was tumbling, into the energy of Canal Street.  The balconies, flowers, uneven, brick and cobble and asphalt streets, the rogue beads (which, actually, I would see along the road all the way through Mississippi, Alabama, and Florida, and had seen on my way in); it was all as they say it is.  But they can't tell you how it feels.  That is, how it hears.  I've gushed enough, you know it, the music of New Orleans.

This fall, I'll be moving there, for awhile.  And I knew it that day.

Day 34: Vinton to Lake Arthur, via "The Bridge Crossing" of Lake Charles

This morning started at Nibletts Bluff Park, from there I headed down the beautiful, shady county road, then was back on the main highway, 90E towards Lake Charles. 


The roads got even worse than they were the day before, just covered in debris and very confusing around the water.    By 8am it was well over 90 degrees, 76% humidity, and I had to get to Lake Charles (the township) within a few hours.  Trying to get across the lake was proving nigh impossible.  But, one lady at a truck stop said she was training to be a cop and the law states one can walk across the interstate bridges (which was the only one, distance around 3/4 of a mile), pushing the bike, but not to get on it.


As I approached the bridge, I was terrified.  It was non-stop, huge truck traffic, and the noise was deafening.  But, it was around a hundred and there were no signs stopping me, and a narrow raised sidewalk.  There was nothing to be done, I hopped off the bike and hopped on it.  Those were some of the more terrifying twenty moments of my life.  I'm a tiny bit afraid of heights, the bridge rumbled constantly, and one slip or tilt of the bike and I was a gone-er.  But, it really wasn't that dramatic.  I mainly just felt a little stupid.


See, most of the folks that cross Louisiana via the Southern Tier route do so farther north.  So, I felt, again, I might have been too independent.


Later that night, I changed my mind.


Lake Charles was a low point, I didn't think I could go on.  The heat, the bad food, my dwindling budget.  All the weird people loitering at the grocery store, the library, leering, but not talking to me.  The bad riding, and walking made me feel isolated and weary.


Lake Charles actually had quite a nice downtown--historic, but happening, lots of fun restaurants, cool shops, the like.  But, I'd become quite un-civilized by that point, and had no part of it.  I was wiped out, but, there was nothing to do but ride.


I couldn't bring myself out to ride again, though, until 5:00pm.  There were no campgrounds, nothing really but rice paddies and swamp-ground for something like 35, forty miles.  But it was flat, and the road was a scenic one, for Louisiana, fairly nice.  (LA, I adore, but the roads aren't notorious for nothing.  Though I don't blame them down there; they have way more to fight.  That water factor is monstrous.)  I found my third reserve of fuel, got into a rhythm of faster, and with the sundown cooling, and a fear of alligators eating me, rode to Shady Shores, an RV Park, outside Lake Arthur, in a two-and-a-half hours.


Now this place was shady, and swampy.  Bugs crawling up and down the walls of the bathroom, trees growing out of the water.  Old boats parked on the lawn near a rickety dock.  But it was absolutely beautiful, magical even, all this under a reddening sun over the silver-gray swamp-water...


Then the mosquitos started biting, and I quickly located a resident, who happened to be the host.  Tommy, who pointed a few hundred yards over to where I could put up my tent, and after I asked about food, said there wasn't any nearby, but would I like to come in for Hamburger Helper?  (Note: I had emergency rations, but I was so tired of eating, and especially eating those, that I'd just as soon have gone without, and often did.  When I arrived at a camp, though, I always asked about nearby possibilities, just to see if I could spark some interest.  I'd really lost my appetite in general by this point, so hot and tired and sick of gas stations and minimarts.  But, you know you have to eat.  Like not putting gas in a car, someone told me, you'll just plum putter out.)  I said, "Golly, thank you!" and, though I was tired, try not to miss out on the opportunity to meet and talk with people who live in the areas I'm traveling.  I agreed to shower and put up my tent then come over.


Turns out, he was being quite the gentleman, or his wife sent him, and pulled the truck over to pick me up (remember I told you how it was about a 1 minute walk.)  I couldn't believe it, in that short time, Christine, his wife had prepared a gigantic bag (really, actually, so much I had to give some back, I couldn't carry it) of cookies, chips, and candy--"I made you a care package!" she said, and hugged me, not once, but twice, as I entered.


Their place was tidy, but full of life.  Christine has a ballcap and trucker/hunting hat collection, and that covered part of one wall.  They rescue cats, and had two at that present.  We hung out, drank Busch Light, and they served me up that super salty, carby Helper, two servings.  And we talked for an hour: about my ride, their other drop-ins, and their lives and families, being raised in the area, relocated a couple times by hurricanes.   I glimpsed overall just a scoch more of what it is to be Cajun.


It was getting late, and Christine was getting tired.  They took my information and I theirs, making me promise to call when I made it home.  In one last incredible stroke of generosity, Christine called her work, the Tiger Mart, and left a message for the woman who'd be working in the morning: Michele is coming in.  She's a traveling cyclist.  I'd like to buy her breakfast.  Give her whatever she wants.  Put it on my account."


I awoke to the most serenity I've experienced in awhile.  

I stood out there on that dock for as long as I could, the mysteries of swamp life--both human and other-worldly biological--until the sun and my stomach started growling.

Wet tent packed up, wet bike, I rode the few miles to Tiger Mart:






I had a sausage biscuit, orange juice, and coffee, sat and talked with more locals for a minute, then headed further southeast, to New Iberia.


The trip had gotten awesome again, my travel energy renewed.

Day 33; Texas, please, let me go...into the Bayou and the rain

Today was another long one, the roads despising me.  Hot, and difficult to find my way around the metropolitan area of Beaumont, across waters with supposedly impassable bridges.  It was hellacious.  Until it rained.  That was a glorious rain, a real shower, cooling my head and my heart.  I passed into Louisiana on the 12E, into the swamps, otherwise known as the bayous, and despite having another slow leak, enjoyed the winding road to Niblett Bluff Park and truly reveled in the night of loud noises, muggy air, and mosquites.

I woke up drenched, my tent soaked, and everything I had to put on, already wet, nevermind me sweating.  But at least I was in Louisiana!

32: Cleveland, TX; Flat tires, a young guitar player, and many more biscuits and gravy

This was another one of those days.  Hot air and flat tires and being cut-off early.  But, also, for making connections.

So, I start out brilliantly, with a great breakfast and good people in Montgomery.  I make great time and start riding through the trees.  45 miles in like two and half hours, so I stop at a gas station after going through Cleveland town proper, to get a drink and some icecream.  I have a great conversation with the Pakistani owner, who gives me my refreshments on the house.  I had a long day planned, and feel the kick, that I'm going to make it.  About ten feet from the turnoff to the station, my tire goes flat.

I accept it, this is the name of the game on this trip, the flip from bad to good in mere seconds.  I'm getting better at dealing with the rollercoastering.  So, I simply get off the bike, walk back to the shade on the side of the building and, though I pretend to be stoic, somewhat grumbling, investigate.  A fish hook!  Of course!  This was also a bait shop; in the fridge next to the red bull were containers of live worms and on the aisle across from the candybars flys and rods and hats.

Covered in grease, patch applied, I struggle to get the tire back on, finally do it when a man on his way out asks if I need any help, says he's sort of the local bike guy.  I tell him thank you, thank you, but it looks like I might have got it.  I reunite with the station attendant, who thought I was long gone, not out causing trouble in his parking lot, wash me hands and set off again.

So proud to have successfully managed the change in under thirty minutes, I'm almost singing, though drenched in sweat from the thickening humidity, when I turn onto a new, even sunnier highway and about five miles later feel the wobble again.  Oh, this is going to be unpleasant, I thought; I knew I'd probably pinched the tube or something (though how it could have held up for fifteen miles if that was the case is hard to say.)  Anyway, I start to change the tire again.  I find two other holes, patch them, and am wrestling the tire on, when a car pulls up.

"We have to stop meeting like this," the man says.  It was the same fellow from up the road.

He and his wife step out, introduce themselves, and say, "Come on, get in, we live a couple miles down the road.  Let's take the bike, get out of the heat, have something to eat and we'll get you off and running again.  This time, I take them up on their offer.

Juan and Marsha Beltran, and their brilliant son Jacob were such cool cats when they asked if I'd like to just stay for the night, start out again early, I, again, took them up on it.  Plus, I was feeling a little ill.  Sometimes I think Texas was a big monster trying to eat me, and it was quite nice to hide from him.  Besides, I never knew how, but at the start of each leg (roughly each week), I planned for an unexpected half or full day's break somewhere in the middle.

Jacob and I hung out, he played me some music, showed me his wall of fame--personal fame, or the little things he'd found iconic in his life.  He took my patchy, useless bike tube (we bought a fresh one), and put it up there.  I was so honored, so amused, so touched.

I hope I get to see those guys again, maybe at one of Jacob's concerts, when he's famous!

Day 31: 105 miles into Texas forest country

Due to resting up and the short ride before, I was able to cover some ground today.  And it was a gorgeous ride, very green.  Lots of farmland, cows, trees, and at the end, the smell of pine trees, which always calms me.  I was worried I wouldn't make it to the state park to camp, but I couldn't get too worked up because the sunset, the cooling air, and the feeling of being in the mountains was too serene.

When I arrived in Montgomery, I thought I'd look around for a city park, instead.  First stop, groceries.  I asked there about the local rules on camping, or if anyone knew of a nearby place, but there were mostly blank stares.  Then there was talk of a nearby KOA, but as they are so overpriced, the checker had another idea,

"Ask the fire department.  They're just down the road."

I didn't see anyone outside, and I was tired, it was getting late, I kept on going, not knowing exactly how far I had to go to reach the KOA.  Then something hit me, a burst of confidence, I suppose, and I turned back around.  I pulled my bike up to the front, then around by the garage.  Still nobody.  I was about to ride away when two young guys came out.  I apologized for bothering them, but explained my situation.  They, too, directed me to the KOA, but said it was only about a mile.  I would make it, no problem.

I thanked them, crossed the highway, and pedalled up to the indeed very close by registration.  Then, a fire truck, a small one, pulled up behind me;

"Hey there, uh, we ran it by our Captain and he said over in Navasota [the town before them, to the west, on the same highway] they do it all the time, take in cyclists.  You're welcome to stay with us."

And I rode back into the sunset.  Another lucky break.  Another swell of human kindness to which I am greatly indebted.

The fellows on the nightshift had made barbeque chicken and potatoes and graciously served me some after I'd had a shower and got situated in my little room/office with a murphy bed.  I got a tour of the complex and some area history, especially around the procedures and recent dealings with natural disasters (ie Hurricane Ike and Rita.)  I slept soundly except for one call in the middle of the night that started the sirens.



In the morning, it was the next shift, and they insisted one must have some grease to get started.  It was a deliciously filling biscuits, gravy, and bacon that got me, again, on my way.

Thank you, thank you, to the Montgomery, TX Fire Department, especially Larry, Joseph, and Captain Devon.

Day 30: Leslie Barbour is awesome!

It was very very nice to be on the road again.  But getting out of Austin felt like pulling velcro from my skin.  The city's boom in population and the resulting insufficient infrastructure, especially roads, made it overwhelming on the heavily trafficked outskirts.  I rode away on Hwy 71 East around 9am and it was already well over 90 degrees.  But I didn't have too far to go, and I was really looking forward to my destination.

An old friend, from high school, whom I did not know was out there, contacted me a week or so before as she'd heard of my adventure on the facebook.  She invited me to stop by and splendidly enough, though I wouldn't made changes, it was already on the way.  She, Miss Leslie Barbour, lives 65 miles to the southeast.  So I headed there, for a bit of a warm-up ride after the four days off, to the neat and bluffy little township of LaGrange.

We had a lovely dinner at one of the two local restaurants, and I thoroughly enjoyed the fresh Texmex, which I hadn't really tried, yet.  Then we watched the game-- everyone, basketball lover or not, seemed to be stoked for Dallas in the finals--played a trivia board game, and got to bed early.

Another early morning, trying to beat the heat.  Goodbye for now, darlings!

27, 28, 29; Hot Dallas

The day I arrived in Austin, I had hustled and made it into downtown with plenty of daylight.  I met up with my friend, Mokis, we'll call him, at the condo he was staying at with a friend.  There were a few of us crashing there, let's say, in transition, and we spent the weekend as a bit of a posse.  Austin is hot, so swimming is a priority.  Fortunately, but surprising to me as most of Texas was so dry, there is a lot of water around the city.  They are in a drought, but from the dog park pool down at Barton Springs, to a shockingly beautiful riviera-like setting at The Oasis above Lake Travis, to the pool at another friend's apartment, you wouldn't know it from my weekend.

We weren't exclusively in Austin, though.  Mokis is a very good uncle, and has a rad family, so he invited myself and our other friend, Sith, to make the drive with him up to Dallas for a couple of family parties.  I was eager to stay down for a few days, but the 8 hour round-trip drive was well worth the heat and worry to see Dallas, and this very sweet side of my friend.

Cake in the face, a bounce house, a lone walk through downtown Dallas, and a last night's escape to a girlfriend's cabin, back in Austin, to get a little rest in, made it a well-rounded introduction to the area besides its wildly cultivated debauchery :)

Day 37 oh the music: I'm in New Orleans !!!

This is a side note, not to get you out of order, but I am just tripping over myself, here.  Partially, because I'm exhausted.  I rode about 80 miles yesterday, then came and drank and walked about 4 in New Orleans' French Quarter and Bywater.  I've come 2145 miles, five-hundred and thirty in the past week.  It has been hard, and both mind-numbing and bending.  And, like I said, just plain tiring.  But SO SO awesome, the land and people so surprising, I just can't understand, this beautiful and f'ed up world we live in.

Now I'm in New Orleans, and I didn't realize how much it would, but in the first five minutes it all made sense.  I've only been here a day, not even, but it was an instant feeling.  Crossing the ferry, and that humbling-huge Mississippi, the music, even the tourists; walking home late last night barely carrying myself, I relaxed.  For the first time in a long time, I feel at home where I am.

And I wish you were here.

***

23, 24, 25, 26; Abilene, Brownwood/Bangs, Bend to Austin

So, I came it into Post on Day 21 and was sort of stuck there (interestingly and well-fed) for 22.  I left on 23 and made it to to Abilene.  There's honestly not much to say there, except that the road scene started to get green, and along with that came wildlife, and, rather awfully, the most roadkill I've ever seen.  But, I did meet Dusty, a young lass at an Allsup's convenience store who took me the rest of the way to Abilene.  My tubes weren't holding up, and they were the nearest town with a bike shop.  The mother of three, her husband didn't want to come, so we took each other out, had dinner at an IHOP.  She left me at the cheapest motel (not cheap), I went to Biketown in the morning and then back to IHOP.  It's nice, in this wearying, traveler's way, to have some of the same thing.

24: Now this one's a doozy.

Bangs, TX

I wake up at the motel, completed unrested, but getting used to this.  How you charge forty-two dollars for a place four feet from the highway, no locks, with stained towels and bedding and covered in ants is beyond me.  It's highway robbery, literally.  Still, I knew I had a coupon for a free stack of pancakes.  So, I was holding up and holding out.  A quick stop at Biketown for some heavyweight tubes and a kick in the pants.  Then, IHOP on the way out.  Rather curt, and cranky still, the ladies across the aisle were eavesdropping when the server bounced over and talked to me.  And I'm sure glad they did.  They were from Brownwood, Texas, a mother and her daughter, Kim.  And I was headed their way.

I got a real late start, and can't believe I made it, but again.  Kim works at a spa, and had contacted her boss, Maryanne.   They both treated me like a queen.  I arrived to a fruit platter and ice and gatorade.  There was a shower in the main building, and Kim let me in.  She waited there while I indulged and then showed me to the separate massage room where she and her daughter, had made me a bed.

I slept soundly until late in the morning, because they said I should, amid music and the cool of the air-conditioning.  I awoke to their buying me lunch.  And I couldn't believe it, that wasn't it!  A woman from the local paper, the Brownwood Bulletin, came in to "do the story."  Then, I got a foot treatment and reflexology massage from Kim!

Amid all this, they washed my clothes.

Spa on the Creek, Brownwood, TX

Thank you to all the ladies, and most especially, Mary Anne and Kim!!!



Day 25

Day 26:

After that treatment, it was a little easier, and I made it all the way to Colorado Bend.  I spent a restful night at an enchanted lake and awoke excited, anxious, to make my last leg.  I got a ride from a nice young man back to the highway, and over hill and dale and then freeway, made the last grueling miles to Austin.

From Barton Springs, right in town, to free nachos and margaritas, to a lot of late night partying from which I had to duck out, to a lot of urban grit, Austin is intense.

Post, TX

Day 21: 

Post, TX

I'm a baby when I don't sleep.  I just whine and cry.  But, luckily, on the road, I can keep anyone from hearing me.

I rolled through downtown that morning and decided on a back highway, 380, heading east.  It was nice, quiet, fresh and green.  But then the flats started coming.  After twenty miles of leaden legs, tired the three days hard riding and two days of pumping up tires, slowly deflating, I saw the first shade tree and decided to stop, rest, eat, and change them. 

It was a very unsuccessful mission.  I struggled with the brand new tires--getting them on and off--and broke two levers in the process.  After two hours, some guys pulled up in an old van, to come to the rescue.  I thanked them kindly, but refused their offer.  I was tired, I was ornery, and I was almost out of water.  But, I had the tubes and tires on, was pumping them up, and I thought, "I got this."  They drove away and, suddenly, well below the psi, the tube popped.  Well, it had been my last one and something had run off with my patches.

"I'm screwed," I thought.

I was just so hot I didn't really know what I was going to do.  It's hard to explain that kind of dim-witted desperation, where you're just exhausted and at a loss.  But, I'm sure you've all had it.  Phone service spotty, too far in the too hot to walk, I sat down and leaned against my bike.

Like out of a mirage, though I had 411-ed and called their boss who called them--they told me they worked for a towing company in Post-- Reggie and JD appeared forty-five minutes later.  They had a six-pack of glistening bud, and no seat in the back, so we put the bike in and I hopped in front of the car, squeezed in next to Reggie.  I thanked them, took one, and guzzled it.  It was Memorial Day Sunday and too late, too stupid to press on to nothing and nowhere, plus, JD had a brisket on, so we went back and celebrated.

And what a night it was.  A small gathering, with lots of dogs, JD's wife, Annalee, and Reggie's Mom, Victoria, and I really got on splendidly.  After dinner, JD took me over to his shop and we got some material for patches.  Just as were off, around 11pm, there was a fire-call and he thought he might have to go off.  There were great-Pyrenees and huge trucks, and it was all rather terrifying and enchanting.  But JD didn't have to go out on the call, and we went back to his house and patched the tubes up.  We hoped they'd hold on 'til morning. 

They did, and JD and his wife, Annalee, insisted I get dropped where I left off.  So we drove out there and with a kiss and a hug, I rode on, feeling the bittersweet again.

Thanks, you guys!!!

TEXAS: Day 20 (05/28); Heat, Humidity, and Wind

It was not nearly as easy getting out as getting in.  Texas is big, there's no doubt about it.  And windy.

I came down south from about midway northwest of the panhandle border, if that makes any sense.  Through Lubbock, and Abilene, the next biggest town, Lampasas.  Southeast along Hwy 84, 380 and 183 into Austin.  Took me 4 1/2 days of riding and two half days of rest.  

Outside of Muleshoe, which I left with bittersweet nostalgia and regret--they have an ode to the mule and all its causes-- came into cotton country pretty quick.  Red dirt in rows, with clumpy white stuff, and fences.  Texas is big, let me say it again.  And let me demonstrate:

 

Now, any landscape photos might just bore you, though the plains still have their pretty.  I just don't have the best camera.  Lots of cows and dogs and roadkill, and a few sparse farming towns.  First day out, halfway point was Lubbock.

I stopped there, because it was well into the nineties, and out at some archaelogical spot/sports complex, took a sprinkler shower.  Then I decided I'd wait for two hours, go to a Walmart and use the library.  That's my standard 2:30-4:30pm middle of the day avoidance of riding insanity, or at least the appearance of it.  Walmart was shocking.  I'm always put off by their massive consumeristness anyway, but you really start to feel like you're on another planet when you're out there in the wide open, and then to be thrown into that, on a Saturday...  I mean, I don't blame anybody, it was the only "market complex" for miles, and you gotta eat.  And get shoes...and...?  Well, I got cucumber sandwiches and peaches.  The bulk fixin's for them anyway, which I ate for the next two days.  It may not seem like a road-worthy meal, but sometimes with all the grease and sweat, you just need something fresh.  I do like the grub in Texas.  But, I'll admit it, I'm a California girl, and I like my granola and hummus.

It was so hot it was 6 o'clock before I could even think about riding.  There were thirty left to go before my destination at an RV Park in Post, but about ten miles out I had to stop.  Got an iced coffee and experienced some wild rodeo-clown locals, plus the scoop on the town's recent changes while I worked back up to the ride.

Unfortunately, I set back out to cover 25 miles, into the wind, after the 145, and then 85 already today well past 7 o'clock.  I knew it'd be after dark and I'd still be on the highway.  There I was in the moonlight, terrified at hitting something coming down high speed off the cap rock, and then facing a pack of dogs, but I arrived at the RV Park none but a bit shaken.

The lady who owned it thought I was bat-crazy, but she was civil, as I had called, charged me fifteen dollars and directed me to a spot.  It was one of the worst nights of sleep I had, under bright lights and hot, shooing a mangy cat off and hearing it meow rather constant.  I got up early, and kept on.

I didn't get very far...

Now, THIS was the greatest day: Day 19/ Muleshoe, TX

It's six am and it's already getting hot.  I slept naked in my tent, and got out and walked out, no one around.  Packed it up, oatmeal, tea, and back down south.  Hit the highway towards Fort Sumner, past the grave of Billy the Kid, and then knew there'd be nothing again until I got close to the border.

The border of Texas, that is.  I camped 110 miles from Clovis and thought I'd have a rough time making it there.  This was the one and only day, though, much to my chagrin, that I had a friend.  It had my back, 20-30 miles an hour.  So by three o'clock, I'd really been flying and was only 25 miles away.  There I hit the Tin Barn in Melrose at the only place for probably 60 miles where I could stop in.

I got a barbeque pulled pork sandwich and sat at one of two tables, catching up on some notes, talking to the locals, and waiting out the heat.

4:30 and I was excited.  I went back out.  Like an oven, you know the feeling, especially with all the air-conditioning.  Sun started going down, though, and it was awesome.  I stopped at an RV Park to talk to a nice young woman who I'd been on the phone with, drank a powerade and left (everywhere I go, people give me free drinks!)  She ran out after and said if I wanted, I could stay for free.  I thanked her profusely, but kept on going.  Three hours later, I wasn't sure how far I'd gone, but way past the border and into Muleshoe.

That's when I found the Morton's.  It was late, but they took me in.  Former cycling hosts, but not, apparently, warmshowers or anything, I'd been given their contact information, just in case.  The campground that was supposed to be there wasn't, and two other cyclists were no help.  Motels were like seventy-bucks and I just couldn't do it again.  It was brazen, but I took the chance.  On nothing but their gut instinct, and kindness, Mark and Eileen opened their door to me, said sure, I could stay with them.

An hour later, as I lay in this very cool house, about 3 seconds from sleep, I googled it: I had gone 145 miles.  And now I was laying in a strangers bed.  I slept soundly, got up the next day and prepared to do it again.

Day 18/May 26: Cops, jumping in a Blue Hole, and Santa Rosa

So, there's not a whole lot out there in Eastern New Mexico.  But, I'm beginning to realize (as I get into more density again down south), that's the real beauty of the state.  The Herreras- Alanna and fam-and I decided it would be wiser for me to get to some place for my first day back out, and not be stuck in the middle of nowhere with no water or food.  Not that I couldn't go prepared, but this trip I am trying to be relatively safe.  Anyway, they took me to the way outskirts of town, a place called Moriarty, and I was on my way.  It was maybe 11 thirty and I had about 90 miles to go. 

Again, I made it, on a wish and a prayer, to Santa Rosa, well before dark.  I skipped around this somewhat sad little town trying to figure myself out for groceries and a sleeping place.  It was sad because of the wind, I think, and the drought.  Not because it wasn't great.  It abutts the Santa Rosa Dam, and then there's more water in town, called Blue Hole Lake.

I practically flew across the first sixty miles of ground, most of it on the interstate.  Then I ran up against some wind and kept pushing.  Out of the corner of my eye I notice a highway patrol man flip on his lights and turn around.  He comes up behind me, about twenty yards away.  I stop, turn around, and say, aloud;

"Is this really happening?"

Well, I didn't get a ticket.  But he was firm, and very concerned.  It was like being back in L.A., with him not knowing where and what the actual signs and laws are for bicycling in the state.  I guess you'll find that everywhere.  After I convinced him it was not my sole idea of fun to be riding alongside 18-wheelers and that I had entered by way of a ramp that specifically said, "Motorcyclists, Pedestrians, and Motor-driven cycles prohibited" and one below it that had a bicycle icon, underneath, "Stay on Shoulder," and that he should, please look it up, he backed down.  He took my information and said that come tomorrow, if he found me up there again, he would have to ticket me.  Then he really backed down and started to tell me about his town, that I simply had to jump in the lake.  It was bottomless, it went to nowhere, and would definitely be good for my joints.  Oh, and the campground, it was "very restful and safe."  Was this fellow turning into my grandpa?!  I shook his hand, out there on that windy highway, and faced into it again.

Then I did, I jumped in the lake and went all the way to China.