The Post Dance lasted officially til 1 am, but after being a wallflower I left about 11pm and headed back to the hotel for some down time. I was a bit hungry and let me tell you there ain't even a vending machine in Marathon after 10 pm.
I came into the lobby of the Gage to sit down and finish the ride blog, the only place they had wifi in the hotel, and asked the desk clerk if she knew of any place I could find a vending machine since I hadn't had supper. I tried to look extra emaciated but it just doesn't work since I'm not. She said "hang on a sec..." and in a couple of minutes appeared from the Quail Tongues kitchen with two goodies for me. She dropped them in my helmet and gave a belly laugh, saying "They'll never miss 'em!"
I thanked her profusely and upon inspection in the room found one to be a chocolate muffin and the other a small travel size pecan pie. Woohoo! Nothing like a late night sugar rush when you need to sleep.
Figuring the pecan pie had too much sugar, I scarfed the chocolate muffin and washed it down with a complimentary bottle of water from my nightstand. It was right next to the complimentary earplugs. More on that later…
Well, the chocolate muffin had it's revenge. I had a horrible nightmare in which I was sitting on a couch next to Tommy Lee Jones. He sat at the other end of the couch and stared at me with an angry look. It was a huge eternity of silence while he looked at me over his folded newspaper and I couldn't think of anything to say to him. This went on forever it seemed. I realize Tommy always looks angry, but he was not a conversationalist. Maybe I had a near-death experience and went to Hades for a moment. Shudder.
Anyway, I actually like the Gage Hotel - it's a beautiful place and decorated nicely. You should stay there at least once if you get the chance. One word of caution, the floors squeak like you wouldn't believe and the walls and doors are paper thin. Toilet paper thin. About 1 am when I finally made it to the room, I was painfully aware of all the folks sleeping and tried to be quiet. Of course I had to go from the bed to the potty right before sleeping and I blanched, thinking of all the noise my footsteps would make. I tried to tiptoe quietly, but each step sounded like 2000 sweaty thighs sliding on naugahyde and vinyl. My God it was noisy. It seemed to take an eternity to make it to the bathroom and back.
I thought maybe the earplugs were for the squeaky floors, but later realized they were for many things, including the trains across the road.
The bed felt good for a while, until I realized my 6'4” body was in a 6' bed frame with footboard. I wrestled with it all night eventually sleeping diagonally across the bed. Damb those old historic hotel beds! When I finally woke up and sat up, I actually heard the person in the room next door putting on their jeans and could hear the zipper zipping. Yikes! God only knows what he thought when I put my boots on... hearing huge patches of velcro ripping and the snapping of many buckles...
I carried my gear through the lobby, my big ziplock bags of clothes stuffed proudly under each arm and one held between my teeth (both arms were full). Outside it was threatening rain and very cool and my instincts told me to eat breakfast. I stuffed my gear in the side cases and headed into the Quail Lips Cafe for breakfast. The menu featured no exotic breakfast fare - much to my disappointment, so I ordered the Biscuits and Wild Sage Sausage Gravy with fruit side.
All I gotta say is "You can't fool momma's little biscuit eater". Beneath the free range sage gravy lay two pre-made biscuits like the ones that come from Sam’s Club. With the reputation of the chef there, I was expecting at least handmade biscuits. Man my life sucks sometimes.
All foolishness and stupidity aside, the Gage is a cool hotel and a fun place to stay...
I filled up at the Shell station in the drizzle and cool wind. The horizon was ominous and threatening rain. A front had blown in from the Davis Mountains to the north and since the elevation of Alpine and Marathon was around 4000’ it was usually cooler than Terlingua and the desert of Big Bend.
Heading out for Sanderson, there was a chill in the air and spats of rain. I didn't see a single car for miles, instead enjoying the fantastic scenes made by light and shadow on the hills around me. I really felt like I was in New Mexico or Wyoming. A very surreal ride but enjoyable despite the threatening rain.
Somebody tell me I'm in Texas...
The thing about rain is it has a tendency to suck you in until it's too late when you’re on a motorcycle. It sprinkles then stops, sprinkles then stops, sprinkles then stops until you are drawn into the "maybe I don't need to stop and put on my rain gear cause it might not last" syndrome. Miles later you are shivering from hypothermia, finally stop and put on all your gear, only for the rain to end.
Guess what...
I finally suited up and was glad I did this time. The rain came in spurts and stops, stinging my face at 75 mph in the open face MX helmet. The ride to Sanderson continued the surreal atmosphere, surrounded by billowy grey clouds just above ground level.
Gassed up in Sanderson, where fuel prices were a bit better than further west. It's a busy little town for such a small place.
The obligatory shot of someone taking the obligatory shot.
This old motel in Sanderson played a bit part in the Coen Bros movie “No Country For Old Men”
I had been traveling east on Highway 90, my preferred route though slower than I-10, but decided to cut north up to Sheffield and see Fort Lancaster from Sanderson, so I headed north on 285. About a mile out of town, the rain got a lot stronger and lasted for miles until I reached FM 2400 to cut east towards Sheffield.
Nothing warms my heart more than seeing a sign like this when it's raining and you've got 39 miles to go on a road you've never ridden...
Each of the dips and wash crossings were fresh with signs of recent flooding - piles of rock, dirt and brush that had been pushed off by road crews. Apparently they'd had some serious flooding earlier in the week. I stayed on my toes for the ride, since it continued to rain and it's easy to hit unseen standing water in the dips. After about 30 miles, the sporadic rain stopped and it dried out a little.
The road is a nice winding road with zero traffic - a good alternative as a cut down to Big Bend for someone wanting a back road trip. All I gotta say is out there is a whole lotta nada, a whole lotta notta-lotta out there.
I caught up to my first car as I turned north on 349 for Sheffield.
As I came up to the car and made a pass on a long straight, I saw a single buzzard sitting on the yellow line nibbling on something (ancho crusted quail probably). The stare down began, and since my speed was high from just passing the car and I couldn't hit the brakes hard, I watched in slo-mo as his brainless beady-eyed and nasty red head tracked me.
Sure enough, 20 feet from me, he launched directly at my front fender. I dove against the tank bag and felt his wings brush over me. Good gawd I can't believe he didn't hit me... I'm sure the car behind me was enjoying the show but I wasn't. Last summer I had a pigeon hit dead center on my face shield on a busy freeway and I saw double and almost blacked out from the impact. I hate to think what a big buzzard would have done had it smacked me in the head at 75 mph.
Thankfully, I carry spare shorts for just such occasions and now wide awake, I rode on for Sheffield.
Sheffield was a simple, old oil field type town with not much there. I continued west on Highway 290 for Fort Lancaster.
I had only ridden a short time before my next animal test appeared.
Multiple Choice Question for Motorcyclists:
Do you:
A. Swerve left to avoid the steer with horns on the right?
B. Swerve right to avoid the steer with horns on the left?
C. Hope the two cows hidden by the branches don’t go insane?
D. Stay straight and challenge the hyper-acting steer with horns on the edge of the roadway?
E. Curse Mr. Buzzard for his horned friends?
F. All of the above
Anyway, I slowed quickly and the squirrelly cattle began acting squirrelly. The ones on the side bolted differing directions generally away from the road, but the crazy one in the middle ran to right, then immediately looped back onto the road in front of me, where he then ran for a ways in the middle of the highway before going left into the ditch and running alongside me for about 100 yards before heading off into someone’s driveway. The joys of riding.
By this time I was tired of chasing cows, buzzards and rainbows and needed a butt break.
Fort Lancaster State Historic Site came up soon after.
I was the only person at the Fort and the lady working there wasn't too friendly. I wandered through the exhibit, which seemed focused on one thing mainly:
Now known as riding a KTM...
For BMW riders it’s like wearing non-BMW branded gear...
An old Boy Scout trick...
Some might say… marriage?
Now they make you watch videos of Hillary Clinton telling jokes
I hope you found that as interesting and informative as I did.
From learning about punishment of wayward soldiers, I wandered outside and onto the old fort's parade grounds.
It required much imagination.
It's cool to see the old remains, but it ain't exactly an exciting place to wander.
This centipede and I were the only visitors. Sadly for him, it’ll take a lot longer to do the tour than it did me.
This reminds me of a motel I stayed at in Cody, Wyoming...
The time seemed right to eat my lunch and tank up on water. It just so happened that I had a travel size pecan pie from The Gage Hotel riding shotgun. Poor guy.
Post pecan pie and fueled by a health food of sugar and pecans, I headed for I-10, briefly stopping at the overlook at the top of the hill for a snapshot. Nice view of the area.
The sun came out just as I eased onto the Interstate and hammered the throttle for Kerrville. The weather was definitely weird though - clouds and spattering rain alternated with bright sunshine from Sheffield all the way to Ozona, where I whipped in for gas.
After topping off, I headed downtown to see the place, circling the square and eventually pulling up to a statue of Davy Crockett, his quote of "Make sure you're right then go ahead" carved along the bottom. I pulled out the camera for a shot, still wearing my Darth Vader helmet. As I turned back straight, I was shocked to see the Sheriff sitting right alongside me with his window rolled down, saying something to me. I yanked my helmet off to get my earplugs out, forgetting I had my sunglasses on and launching them to the ground under his truck. He laughed and apologized, then asked me if I'd noticed the dark area on the statue. He then told me some teens had napalmed Davy Crockett's crotch and burned that area of the statue black the previous year but now it was mostly gone.
He asked where I was from and where I was heading.
I told him I'd never seen Ozona before and had swung off the freeway. We ended up talking a long time - he gave me the history of the town, which isn't really a town since it was never incorporated. He pointed out the old jail with its hanging pole still intact. He said the county was 3000 square miles and a very interesting place to live. I enjoyed talking with him and he told me some routes to ride in the future. He also said the non-town had grown up around an old well which overlooked the area and suggested I ride to see it. He genuinely told me to be careful and try to stay off I-10 if possible. I wished him well and offered the same blessing to be safe and I hoped to meet up with him again.
The old jail and current Sheriff's HQ
I found the old water well site and though it was nothing to really see, it did have somewhat of a view.
Back on the freeway, I burned premium towards Sonora and then on to Junction. The bizarre weather continued, with gusts of severe winds from the south.
About 30 miles outside Junction, two ominous black storm clouds billowed ahead with pouring rain. As I hit the rain, I pulled off the highway under a tree to suit up in rain gear. Not particularly safe but there were no exits anywhere close...
After riding in the rain a few minutes, the sun came out, of course and I sweltered until Junction and a gas stop where I could get out of the rain gear.
The classic Isaack Restaurant and “The Hills” motel in Junction where I’d stayed in the spring for the Two Wheeled Texans Dual Sport event.
From Junction on to Kerrville, there was no more drama other than high winds and the realization my 3 day 4th of July weekend was now history.
I rolled into the Shell station where I'd gassed up Friday morning in Kerrville, just as the odometer rolled over to 1002 miles for the trip. Add another 12 to my home and call it done!
it was a fun and funky weekend in Big Bend!
Thanks for reading and stay safe my fellow travelers…