Friday May 29, 2008
A few of the following will be included in this story when I have time to write it.
I loaded the new 3L of water onto the rear rack of my bike in preparation for long stretches of desert without stores, etc. It beat spending the money on a Camelbak ($40) and trying to keep it clean (I have seen pictures of what those things looked like inside after a cross country ride, very moldy). My cost was simply $1.50, but it gave me some security (and extra weight) as I started this stretch.
Not far down the road, before Comstock, I reached a Border Control checkpoint. They stop cars and ask questions to verify your citizenship, etc. As I rolled up, the agent said "Are you crazy???!!!" "Maybe", I told him. He offered water stating "most cyclists ask for it here", but I was fine, even without my new 3L stash. Instead I went in to the trailer to use the bathroom. Three agents total... two males, one female. She was in the bathroom before me, and didn't look pleased to see me as she came out. Not knowing why I got that from her, I stepped inside. I think it would be cruel and unusual punishment if they could bottle that smell and use it against illegal immigrants, but it explained why she wasn't happy to see me going in there right away. A few photos of their vehicles later (photos of agents are not allowed), and I was back on the road.
Comstock TX: a small unincorprated place with a unique little store named Holley's. I believe Holley is a widow having told me her husband had a service garage here. When she would go into Del Rio, 30 miles away, she started buying 2 of what she needed and kept 1 of each item for sale. It worked, and her husband's garage turned into Holley's little convenience store. Remnants of the service garage are still existant. Though Holley intends to clean up the other half of the former garage site and expand the store to sell more "curios" as she called them (knick nacks), she was seen packaging used tires for sale and was marking the price on them while I warmed up my homemade brisket sandwich. She also explained that the gas pumps haven't been working for a while, and she is frustrated that the people haven't come to fix them because people pull in for gas and then she can't help them.
The diesel pump works, but because the price has escalated beyond the level anyone who made these pumps ever expected back then, she sells it by the half-gallon. You pay twice the total price you see on the pump.
I crossed the Pecos River on the way to Langtry. Some use the Pecos River to define West Texas. The PEcos River there is beautiful and I snapped many photos. While doing so, a tarantula walked past me. They say they are harmless to people, but man, they sure don't look nice.
Langtry, adjacent to a bend in the Rio Grande, was a challenging 60 miles from the start. 60 miles filled with elevation gains only to be followed by canyons where you gave it all back. Glad to be at the halfway point to Sanderson from Del Rio (the two places with more than a couple houses), I came to the Judge Roy Bean Visitor Center. There is little here besides the JRB Visitor Center, but Judge Roy Bean was such a prominent figure in Texas history that they preserved his saloon/justice hall as well as his house and an Opera House he built in hopes of luring to town a theatrical dame he was hooked silly on. The Judge was nothing more than a soloon owner with hopes of getting rich off the railroad workers. But then crime peaked to a level that the railroad demanded a lawman be appointed in that area of Texas. Roy got the call. He held court in his saloon and had his own brand of justice. For example: Gunfights were illegal. After one of the men died, he went to the body, found the gun under his collapsed frame, checked his pockets and found $41. His verdict was quick: For the crime of the concealed weapon, based on the evidence found, the fine was $41. Of course he kept the guns and money for himself. Although some might think he was a hanging judge, he never did. Instead he would take the gun and money of any evil-doer, anbd send them out of town to never return again. Getting around back then without a gun or money was a death sentence in itself. I've got more tales about Judge Roy Bean I'll share in person soemtime.
The Visitor Center allows long distance cyclists to use their restrooms while camping at the Community Hall across the road a ways. Trick is the Visitor Center closes at 6pm. After that, you better tighten up. Seeing a store across the street, I thought I would do a bit of recon. The store closes at 5pm. The post office (hard to believe they have one here), which is a single room with a locking door attached to the store, closes at Noon, and, despite my intent to send postcards, it was closed. After a quick burger at THEE gas station & restaurant (also closes at 5pm) where Mary Ann made me a burger while her mom, Joan, made small talk, I left the Visitor Center to set up camp. Finding the right spot for the tent wasn't difficult. There was only one shaded (but super windy) side at 7pm, and there were piles of goat droppings to avoid. As I set up the tent, a young dog from the neighboring house came over barking. Having enough of dogs on this trip, I charged him full speed and he ran away, but the barking got the attention of one of the 7-pickup-truck-owners who lived in the house nextdoor. I gave him a small wave that indicated "yeah I see ya, but I don't want to talk to you". He did the same. After I got the tent set up in crazy winds, I crawled inside my 95-degree home and just spread out. Shortly after, being Friday, the fellas from the 7-truck-house, came outside to drink beer and tell stories. All were Mexicans. They stayed out there well after the sun went down, turning on a porchlight ridiculously bright, almost to be considered a beacon. I think the temp cooled off around 10pm, and they went inside around 11:30pm. Finally, I fell asleep. At 1:30am, new voices emerged. There was no new vehicle, but new voices. They threw a can at the door of the 7-truck-house, and a man emerged probably expecting it was me. "What's up?" he said in English. Then the spanish flowed for the next 10 minutes, followed by all of them getting in one truck and heading off without lights on. From the spanish I could understand, I think a deal was being brokered to drive the "new arrivals" inland. I rolled over, struggling to get any sleep, and awaiting dawn.
start time: 7:21am
end time: Noon-ish (but too late to mail a postcard since the Post Office closes at Noon)
time on bike: 3:28:59
mileage: 49.15 miles
avg speed: 14.11 mph
max speed: 37.66 mph (I wonder what the speed rating of my helmet, or my skull, is)
calories: 3,708
conditions: Deep canyons between Comstock and Langtry swiping the elevation I worked so hard to gain, only to make me have to earn it again. Hot!!!! 95F
Elevation: I think around 1,500 ft
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