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Feel free to hang out and lurk as long as you like. However, we would like to encourage you to 
I can still hear the coyotes yipping, feel the cold wind and dust on my face and hands, pick the sand out of my nose, eyes and swipe it off my goggles, see the glittering stars overhead, and feel the growl and clicking of two wheels on the sand, rocks and dirt.
I knew this would happen: sitting here back in 'this place' wishing I was 'back there'. Wanting to bear the harshness, timelessness, freedom, sun, sand, dust, dryness, dirtiness, coldness, nothingness. Willing to walk away from, give up, hand it all over, chuck it all here, to go back to riding on those sandy rocky trails, crashing on the way up the rocky inclines, standing on the pegs riding the crest of the hill when you are suddenly engulfed by everything that lays out before you, swallowed by the desert whale; where you feel so minuscule that you find your heart beating in your ears with maniacal laughter echoing because you realize you are so stinking small and don't mean a thing to anything else out there.... and don't care because you are there. Being it. A part of it. It..... you feel alive.
And that's all that matters.
I had the best time of decades out there in the Big Bend Desert. With roads, trails, riding buddies, food, sun, wheels, mountains, cactus, everything. I can't thank enough of all of you that were there with me, that made this possible. And I hope we all do it again.
But............
.... the double secret trails.
Are OURS!!!!
It began with a full moon, Odie and us howling at the moon. He's a very good guard coyote.
There's a place, a secret place, we call.....Moon Valley.
The not so secret Lodge at the Basin with rewarding delicious cobbler and ice cream. Necessary fodder for hungry dust riders that walk in amidst Clint Eastwood harmonica and a lone guitar, our boot cleats clicking on the flagstone.... Beware and hold your children close.......
Base camp was a mixture or trailers, trucks, tents, bikes, chairs, logs, bikes, rocks, and hammocks. We Desert Rats live where ever we find a way to plop or hunker down. And we tend to gnaw a lot on various food stuffs.
And when night falls over the desert the light of the campfire makes our beady little faces glow while we titter and giggle, sharing stories and tales, legends of our own making, or others, memories to share, some growing in size fed by desert antifreeze.
The white globe that makes our blood run, we find ourselves sometimes crawling on all fours, whiskers swishing, tales wagging, howling with the coyotes at night, fattening the quail by day with chicken scratch, just like Hansel and Gretel.
We, the Desert Rats, led by our fearless leader Roger Rat (he ate Roger Rabbit), explored many secret, some double secret trails: the DSDST. (aka Double Secret Dual Sport Trails). Our tires ate dirt, sand, dust, rock, water, more than asphalt. We would return covered in gray, blowing gray sand from our noses, wiping gray sand and dust from our eyes and faces. Gray to the bone, we were.
We rode flat trails, creeks, rocks, hillsides, down banks....
We dared ride where no rat has gone before......
over and over.
We had fine, fine food...
sometimes sat and contemplated in Posthenge or other places....
and saw what others never see.
Sometimes we gave ourselves to the asphalt and ran where the wild things run.
To be continued....
I knew this would happen: sitting here back in 'this place' wishing I was 'back there'. Wanting to bear the harshness, timelessness, freedom, sun, sand, dust, dryness, dirtiness, coldness, nothingness. Willing to walk away from, give up, hand it all over, chuck it all here, to go back to riding on those sandy rocky trails, crashing on the way up the rocky inclines, standing on the pegs riding the crest of the hill when you are suddenly engulfed by everything that lays out before you, swallowed by the desert whale; where you feel so minuscule that you find your heart beating in your ears with maniacal laughter echoing because you realize you are so stinking small and don't mean a thing to anything else out there.... and don't care because you are there. Being it. A part of it. It..... you feel alive.
And that's all that matters.
I had the best time of decades out there in the Big Bend Desert. With roads, trails, riding buddies, food, sun, wheels, mountains, cactus, everything. I can't thank enough of all of you that were there with me, that made this possible. And I hope we all do it again.
But............
.... the double secret trails.
Are OURS!!!!
It began with a full moon, Odie and us howling at the moon. He's a very good guard coyote.
There's a place, a secret place, we call.....Moon Valley.
The not so secret Lodge at the Basin with rewarding delicious cobbler and ice cream. Necessary fodder for hungry dust riders that walk in amidst Clint Eastwood harmonica and a lone guitar, our boot cleats clicking on the flagstone.... Beware and hold your children close.......
Base camp was a mixture or trailers, trucks, tents, bikes, chairs, logs, bikes, rocks, and hammocks. We Desert Rats live where ever we find a way to plop or hunker down. And we tend to gnaw a lot on various food stuffs.
And when night falls over the desert the light of the campfire makes our beady little faces glow while we titter and giggle, sharing stories and tales, legends of our own making, or others, memories to share, some growing in size fed by desert antifreeze.
The white globe that makes our blood run, we find ourselves sometimes crawling on all fours, whiskers swishing, tales wagging, howling with the coyotes at night, fattening the quail by day with chicken scratch, just like Hansel and Gretel.
We, the Desert Rats, led by our fearless leader Roger Rat (he ate Roger Rabbit), explored many secret, some double secret trails: the DSDST. (aka Double Secret Dual Sport Trails). Our tires ate dirt, sand, dust, rock, water, more than asphalt. We would return covered in gray, blowing gray sand from our noses, wiping gray sand and dust from our eyes and faces. Gray to the bone, we were.
We rode flat trails, creeks, rocks, hillsides, down banks....
We dared ride where no rat has gone before......
over and over.
We had fine, fine food...
sometimes sat and contemplated in Posthenge or other places....
and saw what others never see.
Sometimes we gave ourselves to the asphalt and ran where the wild things run.
To be continued....
I have certainly "never" posted a pic w/o willing to give up it's location [not that I've ever had that fine of a pic].
see you decided to come back after all. Although My trip was short, twas an epic ride from the Gulf coast out to Big Bend and back.