Having lain awake in the tent too late, pondering the evening's events and especially the blacked out trucks, I awoke tired, crabby and draggy. Since it was March, the nights were pretty cold in the canvas safari tent, however the queen size bed featured a heated comforter so I was able to stay toasty warm with only my nose protruding to remain in the high 30’s.
The lobby was quiet this morning and I was the solo coffee hound, at least as early as I had gotten up. It was time to move on to the Chinati Hot Springs and a change of place. I reminded myself I was in no hurry and had no agenda, except riding and shooting whatever I felt like. I tend to be purpose driven, having been self-employed all my life and I’ve been trying to learn to slow down and just enjoy the moments in life I passed so quickly before. So I took my time before packing up the camping gear and loading the bike. I checked out and was gearing up when I saw the stylish French couple rolling their wagon down the gravel walkway from the trailers to load their car. Such an incongruous image, and yet it captured the entire Marfa enigma in one moment.
I checked out to the complete disinterest of the hippie chick, then rode around to look at other places to potentially stay in the future, including a motel nearby that was restyled in modern metro, but the girl behind the counter couldn’t have cared less that I inquired about rates, so I wandered on back to the downtown area to stretch my legs a bit before heading out. What’s up with the lack of Texas friendly?? Damn New Yorkers already influencing the youth… grrrrr.
As I wandered about, I saw a young, tragically hip couple wandering about on the opposite side of the street, he dressed in skin tight black jeans and skin tight black shirt with a huge bushy black beard and sneakers. I had seen them each day downtown, both morning and evening and they were always dressed exactly the same, wandering as I was, trying to find any place open or discover the magic key to Marfa’s fame. What a tragedy.
It was yet another sucky sky day, and I began to wonder wtf was up, as the skies out west were almost always clear and blue. I was still having trouble waking up and decided to hang out for a while, moseying and being nosey until the small sandwich shop across from the courthouse opened. I had lunch there since I hadn't eaten breakfast and talked with a couple of folks on the patio, enjoying a delicious sandwich, feeling fat, happy and sleepy. I decided I'd forego any shooting today and fired up the bike for the Hot Springs. The more I’d thought about it, the better a leisurely soak in the springs sounded.
Chinati Hot Springs
I eventually arrived at the hidden place and checked in with the manager, the lady I'd spoken with a couple days before. She told me a room had just come available if I wanted one. Having stayed in a tent the last few days I decided to take it for the night. It turned out to be a great little adobe abode and I had the chance to spread out my gear, clean out the dust and charge all my batteries.
Mi adobe abode
My Sidi Adventure boots smelled so bad they could have killed Bin Laden and his entire compound, so I left them outside along with my riding pants. Sheesh they smelled.
The room was great, the bed was good and the hot pool was even better. It felt good to just relax in the deafening silence of the evening with the stars overhead.
The Chinati Hot Springs had, of course, in ancient times been an Indian camp and sometime in the 1800's were taken in by a ranch. They have had a couple of owners, including the artist Donald Judd, and are tucked away in a small canyon devoid of cell signals and wifi and far enough from Presidio to take away any desire to search for either. It is a genuinely quiet, peaceful place to hide from the world. The manager told me they have worked very hard to keep it that way, and due to the lack of water they are very careful as to how many, and when they allow folks to come. They say not to show up without advance reservations, and I can assure you they will turn you away otherwise. I had initially gone by just to see the place, having read about it and circled it on the map for years, not expecting to be able to stay. I was lucky when she said camping was not a problem and then the timely cancellation for the days I was there. A couple of other folks arrived later, but I went out like a light in the comfort of the bed.
The next morning I took my kit to the common kitchen area, and boiled water for fresh coffee and my Mountain House scrambled eggs pouch.
The dining area and kitchen with everything you need. Two fridges for guests.
Sitting on the porch alone, I enjoyed the rising light of the sun in silence. It was going to be a clear and gorgeous day.
A quiet morning arising
I spent the day on the bike, riding and enjoying the scenery, shooting stills and some more video. But most importantly, enjoying the solitude that purges my mind and gives me clarity again.
I saw one other motorcyclist that day, a guy on a DR650 who'd ridden up from Terlingua. We talked a while, then moved aside as a Border Patrol truck rumbled past, each of us waving. He continued on north for Marfa and I continued putzing with my video rigs until another two riders came by. They stopped briefly to see if I was ok, advise me that my GoPro was mounted in the wrong place, then tore off on their KTM's with their race faces on.
At one point high up in the mountains, I stopped for a breather and to cool off a bit. The afternoon sun was dropping and I took my helmet off to feel the wind. I sat with eyes closed until I heard the far off sound of a jet and turned to look, just as a roaring black B1 bomber came low over the mountains from behind me on the plateau. I was amazed to see it so low and so close, maybe a mile or less away and rocketing low over the valleys. I was thunderstruck for a moment, not realizing that we still had B1 bombers anymore, watching as it banked and turned south. As I watched, suddenly a second B1 came rocketing behind it, mirroring the moves of the first. I was so surprised and enthralled I didn't even think of trying to catch a pic, but they were gone almost as fast as they came. A very cool sight to see.
That was a good cap for this beautiful day, and I was hot, tired and beat as the sun sank low. I headed back south, into a setting sun and mild dust storm, thinking of the hot springs and a good shower. Here and there I had to stop, the light creating interesting images at each turn it seemed.
I stopped to watch the sun set over the mountains across the Rio Grande in Mexico as I exited the mountains into the river valley, dust coating my face like fine talcum powder in the wind.
I took off my helmet and looked around, the winds whistling in the brush and the clouds moving rapidly, at times imitating the silhouetted mountains to the point one wasn't sure which was cloud or which was mountain.
As the sun finally dipped behind the range, I headed on into the darkness, riding slowly to minimize the front wheel washout in the random sandy creek bed crossings.
I got back to the room, truly exhausted, and took a long shower in the hot spring shower rooms, before getting in the hot springs and having a long conversation with a young couple from San Antonio. I made it back to the room, crashing on the bed, too tired to mess with batteries, downloads or much of anything.
It had been a great day, with images and sounds forever printed in my memory.