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I need a Ural with side car so I can take the kids 
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Desert Solitude
- Thread starter TexasShadow
- Start date
I hope to make it my home sometime sooner than later.
Next chapter: Black Gap Wilderness
Or "Is that cow mad??"
narrated by Wiley and TexasShadow
with some sand thrown in.
Maybe some thorns, too.
Or "Is that cow mad??"
narrated by Wiley and TexasShadow
with some sand thrown in.
Maybe some thorns, too.
Hah! I missed your post until now!Tourmeister said:I need a Ural with side car so I can take the kids
I was thinking the same while we rode on those desert roads (not on the bikes). *That* would be the desert ticket! I know they were used to ride the deserts in Africa and the Middle East. If they can navigate those rocky desert roads.......
Let's see, V-strom for street, Sherpa for exploring, Ural for gathering rocks, groceries, deer hunting.........
It's a small world.....We spent some time yesterday sitting around the fire at the ranch with Stromboy and swapping stories.....
I'm envious. I'd much rather be in the desert right now than here in snow.
Re: Desert Solitude: The River Runs Through It
(Note: the Black Gap post has been postponed; it resides on my desktop at work where I composed it at 1:30 am and forgot to email it home. The brain at wee hours of the morning doesn’t function too well. So I am skipping ahead one day.)
The River Runs Through It
Or “Oops, I’m really sorry about that.”
Welcome to Rode Report Two: the famous scenic river road that runs from Study Butte west to, well, points west of Study Butte.
It was a clear blue day; a fantastic day for a ride. And I was ready to ride! Gathering up bike gear again, we drove to Brent’s to pick up the bikes again. And off we went down miles of dirt road.
Standing on the pegs and peering over the dust trail Randy left behind, I was enjoying the scenery and just cruising along when suddenly a deer leaped out in front of me from my right. There’s that millisecond when adrenaline surges into your veins and spreads out along your chest, neck and arms; your eyes get big and heart flutters and the lizard brain in your head vascillates between freezing still or running like ****.
And then the rest of your brain kicks in and there’s an instantaneous internal dialogue:
‘Whaoh there! Don’t panic…’
‘If we collide while I’m standing on these pegs, I’ll go flying over the windshield and land on the dirt rocks or in the cactus full of thorns!’
‘Then gently roll off the throttle, don’t brake hard and for Pete’s Sake, use your rear brake!’
‘Okay, but I’m gonna sit down now.’
Deer glanced at me and leapt to the other side of the road.
‘Whew; that was a close call…..
Okay, time for Cyborg mode, slow down and scan both sides of the road instead of lollygagging at the magnificent and peaceful views.’
Randy was way ahead of me by that time. Eventually we rolled into a gas station in Study Butte to top off the tanks and headed west on Hwy 170.
After stopping again at Kathy’s Kosmic Kafe to say a “Hello” and eating a grilled cheese sandwich, we proceeded west on our V-stroms.
Our first stop was the Barton Warnock Environmental Center, a few miles east of Lajitas. The building is typical Spanish architecture, which I have a fondness for: wide overhanging and tiled roof, large wooden posts, double vertical wooden panel doors with cast iron fixtures, wooden shutters covering the windows, flagstone and tiled floors inside and out.
The design included another tradition: a courtyard. This one was planted with cacti and other plants found in the desert. The colors splayed out before me in the sun was candy to my eyes. And contrasted with the darkness and cool of the shadows from the overhangs.
Inside was a book and gift shop, an excellent selection of books covering everything from the history and geology of the desert and the Trans-Pecos region of Texas to plant, bird and animal guide books and.......... Being a book-aholic, I could have walked out of there with an armload.
While standing at the counter and chatting with the knowledgeable clerk about the geology of the immediate area, another visitor tapped me on the shoulder and said,
“Um, sorry to interrupt, but I think you sprung a leak.”
Not understanding at all what he was referring to, I looked at him quizzically and he pointed at the floor. At my feet was a huge puddle of water running along the bottom edge of the counter and floor. Apparently while I was leaning up against the counter and immersed in discussion about how volcanoes implode before they explode and calderas, the nozzle on the hose of my CamelBac was pinched open between my ribs and the counter. And prolifically leaked all over the floor.
Rarely am I embarrassed, but this time I was. I felt like a happily frolicking puppy that had gotten caught inadvertently piddling on the floor. And it certainly looked exactly like that. Randy vocalized the same association while I apologized over and over and asked for something to soak up the water. The clerk tried to shrug it off but I insisted on wiping up my puddle. I commented I always clean up my own messes.
Then I tried to excuse myself from the building as soon as I could.
Meanwhile, Randy endowed Wiley with a traveling companion: a multi-colored kokopelli. He rode on the back of Randy’s bike next to Wiley and they became good buddies. Although at first Wiley was a bit unsure of his new traveling companion. They seemed to do just fine behind Randy the entire way.
After Lajitas the road paralleled the Rio Grande and we were afforded glimpses of the river from the road. I struggled to keep my eyes on the road with all of the fantastic scenes of multi-colored canyons and the meandering arroyos tempting me.
As the road rolled like a roller coaster and the bends got tighter, I settled into riding mode; dipping, leaning, shifting and wondering what lay beyond the crests of the hills as the bike and I pranced up them like a fleeing antelope. Not knowing the road at all and what to expect, I exercised some caution approaching the crests of the hills, not knowing what the road did on the other side.
But that thrill kept me wanting more.
And more than anywhere else, Whee and I were flying in a blue dream!
Several miles west, riding into a canyon pass along the river, I spied the infamous tepees. Of course we had to stop! I needed to catch my breath anyway.
Shedding the jacket, sipping from the CamelBac and camera in hand, I found a rock ledge jutting out for a nice relaxing rest and a river view.
If you look closely, you can catch a glimpse of the road climbing up the pass:
Part Two: Back to Someone’s Future
(Note: the Black Gap post has been postponed; it resides on my desktop at work where I composed it at 1:30 am and forgot to email it home. The brain at wee hours of the morning doesn’t function too well. So I am skipping ahead one day.)
The River Runs Through It
Or “Oops, I’m really sorry about that.”
Welcome to Rode Report Two: the famous scenic river road that runs from Study Butte west to, well, points west of Study Butte.
It was a clear blue day; a fantastic day for a ride. And I was ready to ride! Gathering up bike gear again, we drove to Brent’s to pick up the bikes again. And off we went down miles of dirt road.
Standing on the pegs and peering over the dust trail Randy left behind, I was enjoying the scenery and just cruising along when suddenly a deer leaped out in front of me from my right. There’s that millisecond when adrenaline surges into your veins and spreads out along your chest, neck and arms; your eyes get big and heart flutters and the lizard brain in your head vascillates between freezing still or running like ****.
And then the rest of your brain kicks in and there’s an instantaneous internal dialogue:
‘Whaoh there! Don’t panic…’
‘If we collide while I’m standing on these pegs, I’ll go flying over the windshield and land on the dirt rocks or in the cactus full of thorns!’
‘Then gently roll off the throttle, don’t brake hard and for Pete’s Sake, use your rear brake!’
‘Okay, but I’m gonna sit down now.’
Deer glanced at me and leapt to the other side of the road.
‘Whew; that was a close call…..
Okay, time for Cyborg mode, slow down and scan both sides of the road instead of lollygagging at the magnificent and peaceful views.’
Randy was way ahead of me by that time. Eventually we rolled into a gas station in Study Butte to top off the tanks and headed west on Hwy 170.
After stopping again at Kathy’s Kosmic Kafe to say a “Hello” and eating a grilled cheese sandwich, we proceeded west on our V-stroms.
Our first stop was the Barton Warnock Environmental Center, a few miles east of Lajitas. The building is typical Spanish architecture, which I have a fondness for: wide overhanging and tiled roof, large wooden posts, double vertical wooden panel doors with cast iron fixtures, wooden shutters covering the windows, flagstone and tiled floors inside and out.
The design included another tradition: a courtyard. This one was planted with cacti and other plants found in the desert. The colors splayed out before me in the sun was candy to my eyes. And contrasted with the darkness and cool of the shadows from the overhangs.
Inside was a book and gift shop, an excellent selection of books covering everything from the history and geology of the desert and the Trans-Pecos region of Texas to plant, bird and animal guide books and.......... Being a book-aholic, I could have walked out of there with an armload.
While standing at the counter and chatting with the knowledgeable clerk about the geology of the immediate area, another visitor tapped me on the shoulder and said,
“Um, sorry to interrupt, but I think you sprung a leak.”
Not understanding at all what he was referring to, I looked at him quizzically and he pointed at the floor. At my feet was a huge puddle of water running along the bottom edge of the counter and floor. Apparently while I was leaning up against the counter and immersed in discussion about how volcanoes implode before they explode and calderas, the nozzle on the hose of my CamelBac was pinched open between my ribs and the counter. And prolifically leaked all over the floor.
Rarely am I embarrassed, but this time I was. I felt like a happily frolicking puppy that had gotten caught inadvertently piddling on the floor. And it certainly looked exactly like that. Randy vocalized the same association while I apologized over and over and asked for something to soak up the water. The clerk tried to shrug it off but I insisted on wiping up my puddle. I commented I always clean up my own messes.
Then I tried to excuse myself from the building as soon as I could.
Meanwhile, Randy endowed Wiley with a traveling companion: a multi-colored kokopelli. He rode on the back of Randy’s bike next to Wiley and they became good buddies. Although at first Wiley was a bit unsure of his new traveling companion. They seemed to do just fine behind Randy the entire way.
After Lajitas the road paralleled the Rio Grande and we were afforded glimpses of the river from the road. I struggled to keep my eyes on the road with all of the fantastic scenes of multi-colored canyons and the meandering arroyos tempting me.
As the road rolled like a roller coaster and the bends got tighter, I settled into riding mode; dipping, leaning, shifting and wondering what lay beyond the crests of the hills as the bike and I pranced up them like a fleeing antelope. Not knowing the road at all and what to expect, I exercised some caution approaching the crests of the hills, not knowing what the road did on the other side.
But that thrill kept me wanting more.
And more than anywhere else, Whee and I were flying in a blue dream!
Several miles west, riding into a canyon pass along the river, I spied the infamous tepees. Of course we had to stop! I needed to catch my breath anyway.
Shedding the jacket, sipping from the CamelBac and camera in hand, I found a rock ledge jutting out for a nice relaxing rest and a river view.
If you look closely, you can catch a glimpse of the road climbing up the pass:
Part Two: Back to Someone’s Future
Re: Desert Solitude: River Road, Part Two
Part Two: Back to Someone’s Future
Glancing back along the road we just rode on, I saw a familiar juxtaposition and sadly chuckled inside: the contrast between the beautiful landscape and vistas and the imposing human-erected signs. We seem to have this obsession with signs to communicate every single thing we can think of to the point that no one really ‘sees’ (or reads) them anymore.
I sometimes, well, almost always, have this Edward Abbey-ish response of wanting to rip out all the signs and their posts and leave well enough alone. It’s an internal battle of wanting to preserve an unblemished view, refusal of the overwhelming information of which 50% of it is needless, and the acknowledgment that us humans have to be reminded of rules of the road. Or we would kill ourselves and each other.
I always pass them or look away with a sigh of resignation.
Back on the bikes, we rode along more scenic gaps, canyons on both sides and into valleys where over thousands of years the river cut through mountain ranges.
We were now in Big Bend Ranch State Park, natural reserve covering 300,000 acres with only one paved road. And we were on it.
After several miles of winding roller coaster road, we were ready for another break. Riding such roads on a motorcycle demands constant vigilance and concentration. Adding all the scenic views competing for a rider’s attention can be…….. well, just plain overload. Add a dose of hot sun and breaks are welcomed.
Since I was leading, I pulled off into what appeared an area to get off the bikes and possibly find a spot to relax beside the river. Carefully navigating gravel, we found several vehicles also pulled into this spot. Judging from the canoes and kayaks, it was a state-maintained facility for river access: the Colorado Canyon access and camping area.
Plopping down on the grassy banks, we watched several people push out from the bank and into a section of mild rapids. A quick perusal to the west revealed that the river traversed through a canyon of tall black igneous and volcanic rock. It also was, as we discovered after getting back on the road, where the road passes through the mountains with a 15% grade. I could see a glimpse of what we were in for while scanning the canyon from where I sat.
Time to ride on and we regretfully made our way back to the bikes. It was pleasant laying on the grassy bank next to the river with the canyons as our bedfellows.
We found the bikes cavorting in the grass. Naughty bikes…….
As is my usual approach to any stop, I always do a quick assessment of the grade and all obstacles in and around the area I ride into. The simple fact is I’m vertically challenged and I ride a tall bike. There are times when I can’t back the bike with my feet/legs and it doesn’t have reverse. So I’m careful where I pull into and where I park.
On this occasion, as well as a few others on these rides, I misjudged or just plain couldn’t get out of a spot I was in. One day my legs were just too tired from hiking and climbing. There was no ‘push’ in them. This time I considered riding around a parked car on the grass and back onto the gravel. On closer inspection afterwards, I noticed a pile of mesquite brush, loaded with thorns, next to the car. Too much of a chance of rupturing a tire, which would not be a good thing on this ride.
So Randy graciously, again, offered to do the alternative Whee Reverse: grab the luggage rack and pull the bike back while I steered to where I could safely pull out. After getting stuck for too long at my campsite in Palo Duro many months ago, I learned to bite my ego back and accept a push or a pull to back up. (now you know why I was grinning so lividly that Canton Tech Day, Squeaky ☺
Near the end of the 60-mile river road we pulled off into Fort Leaton, a historic site that was built in 1848 as a fortified trading post. All the structures are adobe and enclosed. Having a love affair with adobe-style buildings since I was a kid, I was in heaven. And this place demonstrated why they are so fitting to the land and climate in these areas.
Not only do the traditional adobe and Spanish structures efficiently utilize local building materials, but the features offer magnificent opportunities for texture, shape and color. Having a penchant for shadow play, I was drawn to the contrasting shadows cast by many different features of the buildings and the harsh bright sun. I went nuts with the camera; there were so many fantastic images I wanted to capture.
I am drawn to multiple doorways, their shadows and the image that lies beyond and through. Many of these opportunities were there:
The cascade of the adobe lines:
A common feature of traditional desert design and function is integration of surrounding resources, such as stalks from ocotillos that are laces and woven to form fences, gates, even a roof to provide shade. Sometimes they take root if they are stuck in the ground.
There were two major courtyards in this post. One housed an oxen cart. It was huge! It seemed as though only Paul Bunyan’s ox could haul this enormous cart. And wooden wheels…… those alone were almost as tall as I was.
Time to explore the rooms:
The kitchen. The telltale sign was the kiva jutting out from the wall. Round fireplaces are much more efficient than square or rectangular fireboxes. Think about hot air and convection. There’s a reason smoke seems to ‘curl’.
Judging from the smoke on the wall, it was used as an oven.
With a regular fireplace on the opposite wall.
f
All the rooms with a door or a window had plenty of shadow play in them.
Randy relaxing near a window…..
Opposite the door to the courtyard.
We found the blacksmithy area:
Partially roofed over, and with it’s own doorways.
We also discovered a room deep inside the complex, no windows, and one door. Only thick adobe walls. Stepping inside, the temperature was easily 10 degrees, if not more, cooler. A good place to store preserved food and water barrels.
We walked through long meeting halls that ran the length of one courtyard, windows looking out over the yard; small rooms that probably served as bedrooms, a stable or livestock area judging by the adobe wall and ocotillo gate, and a chapel room. There was more left that we had not explored.
This indeed was someone’s past, and another’s future.
Back outside in the courtyard, I found two places where I would prefer to relax and spend a hot afternoon in the shade, or sip coffee in the morning hours, or share a glass of wine in the evening setting sun.
I would not mind living there at all!!
Part Three: “I can’t believe we ate the whole thing!”
Part Two: Back to Someone’s Future
Glancing back along the road we just rode on, I saw a familiar juxtaposition and sadly chuckled inside: the contrast between the beautiful landscape and vistas and the imposing human-erected signs. We seem to have this obsession with signs to communicate every single thing we can think of to the point that no one really ‘sees’ (or reads) them anymore.
I sometimes, well, almost always, have this Edward Abbey-ish response of wanting to rip out all the signs and their posts and leave well enough alone. It’s an internal battle of wanting to preserve an unblemished view, refusal of the overwhelming information of which 50% of it is needless, and the acknowledgment that us humans have to be reminded of rules of the road. Or we would kill ourselves and each other.
I always pass them or look away with a sigh of resignation.
Back on the bikes, we rode along more scenic gaps, canyons on both sides and into valleys where over thousands of years the river cut through mountain ranges.
We were now in Big Bend Ranch State Park, natural reserve covering 300,000 acres with only one paved road. And we were on it.
After several miles of winding roller coaster road, we were ready for another break. Riding such roads on a motorcycle demands constant vigilance and concentration. Adding all the scenic views competing for a rider’s attention can be…….. well, just plain overload. Add a dose of hot sun and breaks are welcomed.
Since I was leading, I pulled off into what appeared an area to get off the bikes and possibly find a spot to relax beside the river. Carefully navigating gravel, we found several vehicles also pulled into this spot. Judging from the canoes and kayaks, it was a state-maintained facility for river access: the Colorado Canyon access and camping area.
Plopping down on the grassy banks, we watched several people push out from the bank and into a section of mild rapids. A quick perusal to the west revealed that the river traversed through a canyon of tall black igneous and volcanic rock. It also was, as we discovered after getting back on the road, where the road passes through the mountains with a 15% grade. I could see a glimpse of what we were in for while scanning the canyon from where I sat.
Time to ride on and we regretfully made our way back to the bikes. It was pleasant laying on the grassy bank next to the river with the canyons as our bedfellows.
We found the bikes cavorting in the grass. Naughty bikes…….
As is my usual approach to any stop, I always do a quick assessment of the grade and all obstacles in and around the area I ride into. The simple fact is I’m vertically challenged and I ride a tall bike. There are times when I can’t back the bike with my feet/legs and it doesn’t have reverse. So I’m careful where I pull into and where I park.
On this occasion, as well as a few others on these rides, I misjudged or just plain couldn’t get out of a spot I was in. One day my legs were just too tired from hiking and climbing. There was no ‘push’ in them. This time I considered riding around a parked car on the grass and back onto the gravel. On closer inspection afterwards, I noticed a pile of mesquite brush, loaded with thorns, next to the car. Too much of a chance of rupturing a tire, which would not be a good thing on this ride.
So Randy graciously, again, offered to do the alternative Whee Reverse: grab the luggage rack and pull the bike back while I steered to where I could safely pull out. After getting stuck for too long at my campsite in Palo Duro many months ago, I learned to bite my ego back and accept a push or a pull to back up. (now you know why I was grinning so lividly that Canton Tech Day, Squeaky ☺
Near the end of the 60-mile river road we pulled off into Fort Leaton, a historic site that was built in 1848 as a fortified trading post. All the structures are adobe and enclosed. Having a love affair with adobe-style buildings since I was a kid, I was in heaven. And this place demonstrated why they are so fitting to the land and climate in these areas.
Not only do the traditional adobe and Spanish structures efficiently utilize local building materials, but the features offer magnificent opportunities for texture, shape and color. Having a penchant for shadow play, I was drawn to the contrasting shadows cast by many different features of the buildings and the harsh bright sun. I went nuts with the camera; there were so many fantastic images I wanted to capture.
I am drawn to multiple doorways, their shadows and the image that lies beyond and through. Many of these opportunities were there:
The cascade of the adobe lines:
A common feature of traditional desert design and function is integration of surrounding resources, such as stalks from ocotillos that are laces and woven to form fences, gates, even a roof to provide shade. Sometimes they take root if they are stuck in the ground.
There were two major courtyards in this post. One housed an oxen cart. It was huge! It seemed as though only Paul Bunyan’s ox could haul this enormous cart. And wooden wheels…… those alone were almost as tall as I was.
Time to explore the rooms:
The kitchen. The telltale sign was the kiva jutting out from the wall. Round fireplaces are much more efficient than square or rectangular fireboxes. Think about hot air and convection. There’s a reason smoke seems to ‘curl’.
Judging from the smoke on the wall, it was used as an oven.
With a regular fireplace on the opposite wall.
All the rooms with a door or a window had plenty of shadow play in them.
Randy relaxing near a window…..
Opposite the door to the courtyard.
We found the blacksmithy area:
Partially roofed over, and with it’s own doorways.
We also discovered a room deep inside the complex, no windows, and one door. Only thick adobe walls. Stepping inside, the temperature was easily 10 degrees, if not more, cooler. A good place to store preserved food and water barrels.
We walked through long meeting halls that ran the length of one courtyard, windows looking out over the yard; small rooms that probably served as bedrooms, a stable or livestock area judging by the adobe wall and ocotillo gate, and a chapel room. There was more left that we had not explored.
This indeed was someone’s past, and another’s future.
Back outside in the courtyard, I found two places where I would prefer to relax and spend a hot afternoon in the shade, or sip coffee in the morning hours, or share a glass of wine in the evening setting sun.
I would not mind living there at all!!
Part Three: “I can’t believe we ate the whole thing!”
Voni
0
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- Glaves
Wow! I live here and haven't seen all that you are sharing so very well. I'm glued to this thread ; )
Thanks for taking the time to paint this magnificent canvas of yours.
Voni
sMiling
Thanks for taking the time to paint this magnificent canvas of yours.
Voni
sMiling
I uploaded adobe pics to a tabblo: Adobe at Fort Leaton, TX
It contains some photos that are not posted here.
It contains some photos that are not posted here.
Tsk, tsk.
If I lived down there I would NEVER be in the house!
(is there an emoticon for hikers??
)
Voni
0
- Joined
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- First Name
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- Glaves
We rarely are.
A piece of heaven.
I've never seen a spring like this!
Voni
sMiling
A piece of heaven.
I've never seen a spring like this!
Voni
sMiling
Re: Desert Solitude: River Road, Part Three
"I can't believe we ate the whole thing!"
Leaving Fort Leaton we continued west to Presidio. By that time we were both hungry and ready for relaxing somewhere in the cool of a restaurant. Randy mentioned finding a place to eat that was recommended, so he led the way.
Pulling into Presidio immediately brought to mind a ballad much older than I am and residing in my memory as long as I can remember: "Streets of Larado."
"As I walked out on the streets of Laredo.
As I walked out on Laredo one day,
I spied a poor cowboy wrapped in white linen,
Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay." [1]
I was humming it inside my helmet as we searched for a place to park the bikes out of the way in the main street full of dusty trucks of all sizes and full of cowboys, desperadoes, their wives and children. The old and rich history of Presidio silently spoke for itself by the people living and working there: mostly Hispanics with weathered skin and dusty boots, hats and clothes. I felt like the outsider that I was, self-conscious of my relatively newer and cleaner bike gear and riding a bike rather than the pickup truck I have at home which looked similar to those surrounding me. Despite my Cherokee heritage, I don't look Indian enough to pass unnoticed amongst them.
I'm a Gringo.
Walking inside the restaurant the cool air was refreshing as was the seat I plopped down on. Still wearing my bike over-pants, I unzipped the bottoms, unfastened my touring boots and slid my feet out. I was polite enough to warn Randy, but my feet were sweltering inside my boots and I didn't care what anyone thought about seeing stocking feet. Ventilation was enhanced by pulling the top side zippers down about six inches for air flow. I felt my body cooling off to a more comfortable temperature.
Looking around at the patrons inside the Mexican food restaurant, all were Hispanic. A good indication that the food was at least acceptable to the locals. The music amused me; rather than the expected Mexican music was generic elevator Muzak noise. Randy and I chuckled on that observation while perusing the menu.
On road trips I typically avoid eating too much and choose food that is 'light' rather than that which sits in your stomach like an anvil for hours. I usually graze or nibble instead of sitting down to eat an entire meal. I was hungry by that time and the tostadas appealed to me; they are usually light fare and enough to satisfy my hunger.
After downing a tall glass of ice tea and requesting another, the tostadas arrived and I was pleasantly surprised at how atypical they were! The tortillas were shaped like little round boats topped with chicken, shredded lettuce, diced beets and carrots, and guacamole. They were absolutely delicious! And there was more than I could eat. Against my better judgment, I ate all but one of them; they were just too good to waste. Randy also left some of his meal unfinished; we both were full.
After sneaking bootless into the restroom and back I put myself back together and we decided to return towards the ranch rather than proceed west as originally planned. The day was passing faster than we anticipated and the heat was starting to sap our energy.
Turning around to head east, I led the way and, of course, missed a turn out of town. It was one of those instantaneous "Oh, crap! I should have turned there!" moments, and realizing my mistake glanced back in my mirror to see Randy parked on the side of the road before the turn. I half chuckled inside wondering if he was asking himself what the **** I was thinking of.
The road I turned onto changed to gravel several yards beyond the main highway and while approaching a side street I realized I was going to have to execute a U-turn. A quick scan revealed the side street was wide enough that I could do a wide U-turn, and shifting down to first I executed what I normally avoid: U-turns on the Whee-strom. Heading back out to the highway and turning left I signaled to Randy an 'Ooops!' and led on.
Back on the winding roller coaster highway, I soon remembered why I avoid eating anything more than small nibbles while riding. I realized that I had to literally struggle to concentrate on riding the road. It was as if half of my brain shut down or took a siesta. My attentiveness was half of what it should be and almost unable to anticipate turns, dips, vehicles, and other road conditions. I felt as if I was half asleep and fighting to stay conscious.
Discovering that I was sweating from eating and the energy to concentrate on the road and riding it safely, I pulled over to rest and gather my wits together. Randy detected that I wasn't quite 'with it'; he had to pull ahead of me on the highway, signaling me that we needed to let cars pass us. I hadn't even noticed them behind us.
Angry at myself for allowing this to happen when I knew better [2], I relayed that I needed to ride the return trip at a slower pace in order to be safe. He agreed and offered to lead so that I could gauge the changing elevations and direction of the road by watching his bike ahead. We sat for a while in the shade and I emptied nearly half of the remaining water in my CamelBac before we remounted and rode on.
Needless to say, all of my attention was directed at navigating the road on the return trip. No scenic gawking on the way back this time. And no photos.
We pulled off the main highway and rode up to the Terlingua store area for a refresher and a break. I drank a cold Cola while wandering through the tourista store and what should I see, but the real Wiley Coyote sitting in a buggy! Little Wiley had to meet his namesake and he did; sitting next to Big Wiley and both posing for a photo!
We got some strange looks from other patrons in there, but I overheard a little girl giggle, so I giggled, too. What the heck; we all have to have a little fun in our lives, right?
Sitting outside on the porch filled with touristas and locals, I watched in silence while a white supercell formed over the mountain ridge on the horizon. It was as if it was alive and growing. I enjoyed watching it change. Amazingly, it seemed so clear and close, yet I knew it was many miles away.
While lazing away on the porch people watching and supercell watching, bikes started rolling in.
Of course, many of the locals ride bikes, too.
But ours were the nicest bikes. With a good dose of bias, naturally.
As the sun began to drop, we decided escape the crowds and ride back home. Now feeling robust again, I was ready for a fun ride. So I played 'catch' several times with Randy's more powerful V-strom and did quite well, I thought. I don't think he had a clue I was playing behind him, though.
My payback was to come shortly.
Riding the well-packed dirt road for several miles, I was on alert for deer. The dust kicked up by Randy's bike ahead of me was so bad, I could hardly see. So I fell back and was satisfied to stand on the pegs and play hide-and-seek with the potholes and large rocks.
I knew the turn for the next road was coming up, so I slowed and shifted down, maneuvering the turn standing. A few yards down the road, all of a sudden my front and rear tires were going squirrelly whirly and the handlbars were jerking around in my grasp. It was as if something or someone had grabbed both wheels and were trying to whirl us off the road and into the air.
Lizard brain kicked in again, I gasped and my eyes got very large. I could hear myself uttering loudly "Holy ****!!". All I could repeat in my head was "I am NOT going to drop this bike!" "Oh man, I hope I can keep this bike up....." That was squelched by the rest of the charged brain intervening and whispering firmly;
"Do not touch the brakes! Do not turn the throttle forward or back! Do not turn the front wheel! Do not pass Go or collect insurance payments! You will make it; just keep the bike balanced and get out of the freakin' pea gravel!"
I made it out of the deep loose gravel and started to sigh when...... Oh No! I'm back in again!
Lizard brain cowered while the big brain went through the same instructions, and I was still muttering "Holy crap!" and telling myself I was not going to let this bike go down.
Finally out of Gravel Dump No. 2, I steered over to the far edge of the road to avoid any such quickgravel pits again. I found myself sweating from the adrenaline surge and laughing at the same time. And relieved and rather proud of myself that we made it.
By the time I pulled in, I was still sweating and too weak to stand on the pegs anymore.
We put the bikes to bed, loaded our gear in the truck and drove the long desert ride back to the ranch in silence. I was too tired to talk and was enjoying the silence anyway.
Zeke was happy to see us, I was happy to be back and we were both hungry. Now I could eat and just fall asleep.
Safely.
[1] It was originally an Irish ballad. From the immigrants to the Appalachians, the ballad arrived in Texas after changing to many forms and, in 1876, Francis Henry Maynard changed the lyrics to fit his cowboy circumstances.
[2] Some people are sensitive to carbohydrate consumption, especially coupled with protein. The rapid increase in blood glucose and in the presence of tryptophan from meat protein (and milk) raises brain serotonin levels. A rapid increase of serotonin can render some people sleepy and induce loss of acuity.
I'm one of those; I call it the 'Zombie State.' And I try to avoid it when riding, driving or operating heavy machinery (pun). I also have a strong post-prandial thermogenic effect of food, breaking out in a drenching sweat after a meal. Common amongst Type 2 diabetics.
Solution: eat small amounts of food often, avoid too many carbohydrates, drink copious amounts of water.
"I can't believe we ate the whole thing!"
Leaving Fort Leaton we continued west to Presidio. By that time we were both hungry and ready for relaxing somewhere in the cool of a restaurant. Randy mentioned finding a place to eat that was recommended, so he led the way.
Pulling into Presidio immediately brought to mind a ballad much older than I am and residing in my memory as long as I can remember: "Streets of Larado."
"As I walked out on the streets of Laredo.
As I walked out on Laredo one day,
I spied a poor cowboy wrapped in white linen,
Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay." [1]
I was humming it inside my helmet as we searched for a place to park the bikes out of the way in the main street full of dusty trucks of all sizes and full of cowboys, desperadoes, their wives and children. The old and rich history of Presidio silently spoke for itself by the people living and working there: mostly Hispanics with weathered skin and dusty boots, hats and clothes. I felt like the outsider that I was, self-conscious of my relatively newer and cleaner bike gear and riding a bike rather than the pickup truck I have at home which looked similar to those surrounding me. Despite my Cherokee heritage, I don't look Indian enough to pass unnoticed amongst them.
I'm a Gringo.
Walking inside the restaurant the cool air was refreshing as was the seat I plopped down on. Still wearing my bike over-pants, I unzipped the bottoms, unfastened my touring boots and slid my feet out. I was polite enough to warn Randy, but my feet were sweltering inside my boots and I didn't care what anyone thought about seeing stocking feet. Ventilation was enhanced by pulling the top side zippers down about six inches for air flow. I felt my body cooling off to a more comfortable temperature.
Looking around at the patrons inside the Mexican food restaurant, all were Hispanic. A good indication that the food was at least acceptable to the locals. The music amused me; rather than the expected Mexican music was generic elevator Muzak noise. Randy and I chuckled on that observation while perusing the menu.
On road trips I typically avoid eating too much and choose food that is 'light' rather than that which sits in your stomach like an anvil for hours. I usually graze or nibble instead of sitting down to eat an entire meal. I was hungry by that time and the tostadas appealed to me; they are usually light fare and enough to satisfy my hunger.
After downing a tall glass of ice tea and requesting another, the tostadas arrived and I was pleasantly surprised at how atypical they were! The tortillas were shaped like little round boats topped with chicken, shredded lettuce, diced beets and carrots, and guacamole. They were absolutely delicious! And there was more than I could eat. Against my better judgment, I ate all but one of them; they were just too good to waste. Randy also left some of his meal unfinished; we both were full.
After sneaking bootless into the restroom and back I put myself back together and we decided to return towards the ranch rather than proceed west as originally planned. The day was passing faster than we anticipated and the heat was starting to sap our energy.
Turning around to head east, I led the way and, of course, missed a turn out of town. It was one of those instantaneous "Oh, crap! I should have turned there!" moments, and realizing my mistake glanced back in my mirror to see Randy parked on the side of the road before the turn. I half chuckled inside wondering if he was asking himself what the **** I was thinking of.
The road I turned onto changed to gravel several yards beyond the main highway and while approaching a side street I realized I was going to have to execute a U-turn. A quick scan revealed the side street was wide enough that I could do a wide U-turn, and shifting down to first I executed what I normally avoid: U-turns on the Whee-strom. Heading back out to the highway and turning left I signaled to Randy an 'Ooops!' and led on.
Back on the winding roller coaster highway, I soon remembered why I avoid eating anything more than small nibbles while riding. I realized that I had to literally struggle to concentrate on riding the road. It was as if half of my brain shut down or took a siesta. My attentiveness was half of what it should be and almost unable to anticipate turns, dips, vehicles, and other road conditions. I felt as if I was half asleep and fighting to stay conscious.
Discovering that I was sweating from eating and the energy to concentrate on the road and riding it safely, I pulled over to rest and gather my wits together. Randy detected that I wasn't quite 'with it'; he had to pull ahead of me on the highway, signaling me that we needed to let cars pass us. I hadn't even noticed them behind us.
Angry at myself for allowing this to happen when I knew better [2], I relayed that I needed to ride the return trip at a slower pace in order to be safe. He agreed and offered to lead so that I could gauge the changing elevations and direction of the road by watching his bike ahead. We sat for a while in the shade and I emptied nearly half of the remaining water in my CamelBac before we remounted and rode on.
Needless to say, all of my attention was directed at navigating the road on the return trip. No scenic gawking on the way back this time. And no photos.
We pulled off the main highway and rode up to the Terlingua store area for a refresher and a break. I drank a cold Cola while wandering through the tourista store and what should I see, but the real Wiley Coyote sitting in a buggy! Little Wiley had to meet his namesake and he did; sitting next to Big Wiley and both posing for a photo!
We got some strange looks from other patrons in there, but I overheard a little girl giggle, so I giggled, too. What the heck; we all have to have a little fun in our lives, right?
Sitting outside on the porch filled with touristas and locals, I watched in silence while a white supercell formed over the mountain ridge on the horizon. It was as if it was alive and growing. I enjoyed watching it change. Amazingly, it seemed so clear and close, yet I knew it was many miles away.
While lazing away on the porch people watching and supercell watching, bikes started rolling in.
Of course, many of the locals ride bikes, too.
But ours were the nicest bikes. With a good dose of bias, naturally.
As the sun began to drop, we decided escape the crowds and ride back home. Now feeling robust again, I was ready for a fun ride. So I played 'catch' several times with Randy's more powerful V-strom and did quite well, I thought. I don't think he had a clue I was playing behind him, though.
My payback was to come shortly.
Riding the well-packed dirt road for several miles, I was on alert for deer. The dust kicked up by Randy's bike ahead of me was so bad, I could hardly see. So I fell back and was satisfied to stand on the pegs and play hide-and-seek with the potholes and large rocks.
I knew the turn for the next road was coming up, so I slowed and shifted down, maneuvering the turn standing. A few yards down the road, all of a sudden my front and rear tires were going squirrelly whirly and the handlbars were jerking around in my grasp. It was as if something or someone had grabbed both wheels and were trying to whirl us off the road and into the air.
Lizard brain kicked in again, I gasped and my eyes got very large. I could hear myself uttering loudly "Holy ****!!". All I could repeat in my head was "I am NOT going to drop this bike!" "Oh man, I hope I can keep this bike up....." That was squelched by the rest of the charged brain intervening and whispering firmly;
"Do not touch the brakes! Do not turn the throttle forward or back! Do not turn the front wheel! Do not pass Go or collect insurance payments! You will make it; just keep the bike balanced and get out of the freakin' pea gravel!"
I made it out of the deep loose gravel and started to sigh when...... Oh No! I'm back in again!
Lizard brain cowered while the big brain went through the same instructions, and I was still muttering "Holy crap!" and telling myself I was not going to let this bike go down.
Finally out of Gravel Dump No. 2, I steered over to the far edge of the road to avoid any such quickgravel pits again. I found myself sweating from the adrenaline surge and laughing at the same time. And relieved and rather proud of myself that we made it.
By the time I pulled in, I was still sweating and too weak to stand on the pegs anymore.
We put the bikes to bed, loaded our gear in the truck and drove the long desert ride back to the ranch in silence. I was too tired to talk and was enjoying the silence anyway.
Zeke was happy to see us, I was happy to be back and we were both hungry. Now I could eat and just fall asleep.
Safely.
[1] It was originally an Irish ballad. From the immigrants to the Appalachians, the ballad arrived in Texas after changing to many forms and, in 1876, Francis Henry Maynard changed the lyrics to fit his cowboy circumstances.
[2] Some people are sensitive to carbohydrate consumption, especially coupled with protein. The rapid increase in blood glucose and in the presence of tryptophan from meat protein (and milk) raises brain serotonin levels. A rapid increase of serotonin can render some people sleepy and induce loss of acuity.
I'm one of those; I call it the 'Zombie State.' And I try to avoid it when riding, driving or operating heavy machinery (pun). I also have a strong post-prandial thermogenic effect of food, breaking out in a drenching sweat after a meal. Common amongst Type 2 diabetics.
Solution: eat small amounts of food often, avoid too many carbohydrates, drink copious amounts of water.
Since the remainder of the Big Bend excursion did not entail riding bikes, subsequent posts will appear on my blog site. I'm sure you've all had enough of this anyway 
Posted:
Black Gap Gasps
Or “Is that cow mad?!?!?”
(narrated by TexasShadow and her mascot, Wiley)
and
Black Gap Slideshow
Clicking on the label 'Big Bend' at the bottom of any of the Big Bend posts will search and show all posts in that category.
Posted:
Black Gap Gasps
Or “Is that cow mad?!?!?”
(narrated by TexasShadow and her mascot, Wiley)
and
Black Gap Slideshow
Clicking on the label 'Big Bend' at the bottom of any of the Big Bend posts will search and show all posts in that category.
I honestly don't know. If Randy reads this, perhaps he can provide an informative answer.
But I'd like to find out
I'll be in CO and Moab in September; otherwise, I'd probably be in BB for more exploring
I will, however, be down there around Xmas this year.
Hey Joan,
For riding I would pick October. Plenty warm during the day and pleasantly cool in the evenings. (Jacket weather.)
Randy
Sounds like a good suggestion. I was out there this past Thanksgiving and all of the campgrounds were full and it got pretty cold at night.
Wiley says that any time of the year is fine with him.
He and Koki like it there. They're watching the descent into the town of Alpine, N of BB.
And so am I.
In fact, Wiley keeps whispering in my ear to submit my cv and resume to the biology dept on this campus in that town that is rich with history and close to BB.
After the day I had today, I'm going to follow his advice.
Than I can go here anytime I want.
And see this
Steep
0
Yep, Big Bend is something! And it is slowly not staying a well-kept secret. I appreciate the "keep it to yourself" thinking, but it is so spectacular, it's hard not to talk about.
The wife and I like it so much, we bought a little spread out near Terlingua Ghost Town ten years ago and plan to spend several months a year out there when we start the retirement program. We still get excited every time we point the noses west and head out to see a very special place and very special friends.
Steep
The wife and I like it so much, we bought a little spread out near Terlingua Ghost Town ten years ago and plan to spend several months a year out there when we start the retirement program. We still get excited every time we point the noses west and head out to see a very special place and very special friends.
Steep
Yes, he is indeed, but he's also a very restless little coyote pup. He badgers me about it every day
I promised him I would find him a spot to ride on the Sherpa, but he's going to get dirty! Sherpa Sweetie can't wait to get down there and taste some BB dirt.
You've had a place there for 10 years and you aren't living there yet???
Man, I'd be there in a heart beat.
Need a caretaker?
You got the Sherpa?! WooHoo! Now let's see... spare tubes, Cyclepump, first aid kit, tools, bug cleaner for teeth and lotsa maps. Won't be many places you can't poke your head into now. I'd better warn the locals.
Randy
Randy
Soon as I sell the Shadow (up for sale shortly).
Don't warn the locals; I like being incognito. Except maybe Uncle Roger; we can do a 'The Sherpa Twins' ride.
We might even let a big KLR join us.
