Slept well and headed for the community kitchen for morning java and a bit o' breakfast, having company in the kitchen, a couple from New Mexico who'd camped a couple nights. Nice folks who were retired teachers and a looked to be old hippies gone straight, still in a VW van however, only a late 80's Vanagon version.
We talked about things in general and they shared how much they liked Texas and thought of moving to the state. Eventually the conversation rolled around to politics, wherein the subtle innuendo of our ignorance and backward political thinking came forth. Being the courteous Texan that I was raised to be, I bit my lip and said nothing. After a life of watching people move here from other states, which they’ve made unbearable by their “enlightened” political choices, who then arrive to tell us poor idiots ho wrong we’ve done things has gotten pretty damn old.
After they left, I was wishing I'd given them some 8 year old teabags. Anyway, the manager came in to clean a bit and scope things out and we ended up talking while he leaned on his broom. He and his wife had moved to Ruidosa years before, after he'd retired from a large defense contractor in Fort Worth. He discussed the area, the few folks who'd moved here, just as they had, to get away from life's BS and to be free to live the life they wanted. He discussed the history of Pinto Canyon road and its use as a smuggler's trail throughout history, having been used for rifles, whiskey and even candle wax when it was prohibited by the Mexican government.
He said the recent appearance of the Border Patrol and it's mandate had of course led to issues with treatment of locals, and certainly the destruction of some families and children who used to attend school in Candelaria, living 75 feet across the Rio Grande. He went on to share that he and his wife drove to Presidio and Ojinaga on almost a daily basis, and one day recently a new BP officer decided to be a smartass with his wife. He said "I'm not anyone special, but by God having worked in the defense industry I did know some. I made a call to a friend in Fort Worth and at 9 a.m. the next morning there was a knock at our door. I opened it to find the head of the Border Patrol and a few officers standing in the yard. The head man officially apologized to both me and my wife and said the offending officer had been dealt with."
Score one for the little guys. He then said he's been greatly disturbed by the continuing buildup of government agencies and the kids they hire to carry a gun. He said one of these day the U.S. will be just like Mexico, where only the Federales and Banditos have guns with us as the innocent peasant population cowering between.
But I digress. My only real agenda for the trip was to make it into Ojinaga to get my temporary vehicle permit canceled for the bike before the 6 months expired from my last trip into Mexico. I had a couple of days left til it was due and I planned on coming back to Presidio before heading home, so I bypassed the crossing into Ojinaga and hit the local grocery store for something to toss in the tank bag, coming out with a pack of tortillas and a couple of bottles of water. As I began gearing up, I was approached by a tatted up girl who'd been sitting under the awning with a couple of other characters who seemed a bit dirty and somewhat “meth-heady”. I normally have no issue with anyone and enjoy talking with the various characters I meet on the road, but this didn't feel right nor did the two guys watching her. I've learned through some dangerous events in life to trust the gut and my gut said "git your ass outta here." I acted like I couldn't hear her since I had my helmet on, and proceeded to fire up and take off. Don't know what was up but didn't matter, cuz I didn't stay to find out anymore.
Didn’t stay here - but I bet it's cheap…
From Presidio east to Lajitas is one of my favorite motorcycle roads in the world, Highway 170, and known as "the river road" to "the hill" where it crests a high rise in the peaks, winding its way right against the Rio at times. It was a clear day and the road didn't disappoint, passing historic Fort Leaton without stopping, as in all times previous, then the flatter desert area disappearing a little after Redford and the curves and scenery increasing by the mile.
I rode for a while then stopped at an overlook to eat my plain tortilla brunch. I'd been there shortly when a van pulled up and a couple got out with a big, older boy who had Downs Syndrome. The boy walked over and looked at me and I started to offer a tortilla but the dad came up quickly and gently dismissed my intentions without a word between us. The boy then turned and began taking photos of everything, and I mean everything, continuously. He wandered away just going "click, click, click, click, click, click" with the camera. I can't imagine how many thousands of images his dad would have to go through later.
The father sat down as did his wife, so I offered a tortilla to them. They were from Canada and had been traveling and staying in Big Bend for almost 6 months. He thanked me for the tortilla offer and said he didn't mean anything by his glancing my earlier offer away from his son. I knew he meant it could have started something they'd have to deal with. They told me that they had been given the opportunity to be the caregivers for their son under the Canadian medical laws, rather than institutionalize him, and if I remember correctly he said they were given equivalent monthly income that matched what the cost of an institution for the government would be. It was sort of a form of retirement. He said they loved Big Bend and were able to come stay each year for a certain length of time, having done so for years.
When I reflect on life, it’s folks like these that I consider unsung heroes, as they, like many people, suffer their loss of dreams in silence but continue on.
I continued on 170, the rollicking road soooo much fun. No matter how many times I've ridden that road, I always manage to pinch the seat vinyl a few times on the surprise off-camber drop away turns just as you crest a blind hill. Finally, over "the hill" and past the roadside rest stop Tee Pee's to Lajitas and then Terlingua and the porch.
Time for a cold Mexican coke and some wifi
The Three Wise Men of Terlingua
“Uh” Clem, in red, suggested I pay his modeling fee with a beer, which sounded reasonable to me
I ended up camping that night at a friend's place, listening to the coyotes some distance away as I fell asleep, slowly sliding downward in my tent against the bottom. Dammit. The spot had looked level when I set up the tent.
The next morning I was ready for coffee and a couple years later, I'm still bummed that Kathy's Kosmic Kowgirl Kafé no longer existed. Best breakfast, best company and best fire ring around. Kathy is the hardest working woman I know, so if she closed her place it was for a good reason. Kathy babe, you know I love you girl but you're killing us!
My early morning buddy
Lamenting “no more breakfast at Kathy’s ritual”, I had coffee at the little place across the lot from the General Store - can't ever remember the name - and sat with a couple or three of the local retired sages staring down the road towards the cemetery. It was quiet and enjoyable.
In short order, a white Jeep SUV came racing down the road at enough speed to know it wasn’t a local, zipping into the parking lot and pulling straight in to the lone available space directly in front of us, a billowing cloud of dust rolling over us, the silent patio coffee dwellers. It was a bit uncouth, however we assumed it was a tourist since anyone who lives in dusty areas generally is thoughtful about the dust clouds.
A man bolted out of the Jeep, pasty white from a lifetime’s lack of sun, yet wearing the typical adventure tourist’s outfit of cargo shorts, Columbia fishing shirt and goofy looking boonie cap. His face was slightly darker than his snow white legs and he was a nervous type - sort of a chubby version of Don Knotts - excitedly and loudly asking in a definite northern accent "Where is the local carwash!?"
As the words exited his mouth, his wife exited the car yelling "I told you you were driving too fast" at near the top of her lungs. To describe the contrast of a quiet peaceful morning, trying to wake up, surrounded by classic quiet, thoughtful Texas boys and suddenly being hit by a high pitched, nervous tourist tornado is difficult at best. In the long ensuing silence to his somewhat demanding question, I started to chuckle inside, wondering what response would come forth from the stone-faced and silent weathered warriors on the patio, knowing that their minds were busy despite their lack of emotion.
After he'd looked quickly back and forth at each person, his white triple chin wobbling like a rooster's wattle, a voice went forth stating calmly "We don't wash our cars around here." He looked slightly stunned, then said loudly "I need to wash my car!" The voice from the patio then spoke again, "We don't wash our cars here. It's dusty all the time and we don't waste water." He just stood blankly and then the voice said, "The closest one is in Alpine", to which he asked where that was. The response of “a couple of hours north” disillusioned him, and then he began explaining why he needed to wash the car. His wife again yelled out "I told you you were driving too fast." Again I chuckled inside trying to imagine the thoughts rolling in the heads around me.
He went on to explain that they'd flown in to San Antonio from upstate New York the day before, arriving about 3 pm and when he looked at the map to Big Bend, he told his wife they didn't need to spend the night in San Antonio. Instead he decided to drive, thinking they'd be there in a few hours. Rookie mistake.
The pair finally reached the region sometime very late at night and he was driving very fast trying to get here when a herd of javelinas had run across the road and he’d plowed into them at full speed in the white SUV. He simply said “It was horrible” and that he needed to wash the car.
Everyone's head turned to look at the grill and bumper and indeed, there were a couple of strips of pink meat and brown hair embedded under the engine, but nothing particularly gruesome. Again, the voice from the patio said "Just leave it sitting here a while and the dogs will take care of it."
Whitey Touristy looked around breathlessly and said "Is this a breakfast place?", then told his wife that they could eat here and they both disappeared behind us at the order window. Eventually they settled down a bit and his voice quieted some while they ate and drank coffee. The silent sages and I continued our silent stares towards the road and the distant peaks, until the couple got up and expressed their thanks, telling us they were here for a week in the park and surrounding area.
The silent ones smiled and said "Enjoy the time", at which point the couple backed out in the Jeep. As the car turned while backing out, the passenger side of the white SUV was exposed to the patio observers. A loud roar went up from the patio as the silent ones exploded with laughter, now understanding why he so desperately wanted to wash the car.
Somehow, during the javelina herd incident, one of the victim pigs had sprayed a gigantic stripe of green diarrhea all over the passenger side of the white car, even covering the side door, window and rear quarter panel window in an organic and odorous green paint job, now well dried. We all looked at each other and still chuckling, shook our heads.
Several hours later as I rode through the park on the motorcycle, I thought about the whole scenario and began laughing so hard I had to stop in the road and lay on my tank bag until I could breathe again. To this day I have the vision of a portly woman wearing a boonie hat, sitting in the white Jeep with fully 1/3 of the side covered in dried green poo. It was even funnier, that for an entire week they'd be driving around with the car looking that way since there was no way to wash car there.
I took it easy, riding into and playing tourist in Big Bend National Park, stopping here and there until I got hungry late in the day and stopped at the remote Castolon Store for a coke and snack. Come to think of it, everything and everywhere in the park is “remote”. I grabbed some chips and one of only two deli sandwiches from the chiller, asking the clerk if they were fresh. She said "I ate one and I'm fine" and laughed.
I sat outside under the ocotillo roof shade and chilled out a bit.
The slow ride back to Terlingua at dusk was good, the park such a beautiful place I never tire of it.
Dust. It's what's for dinner.
I ended up at the Starlight late that evening and signed up for a table, wasting an hour outside as the seating dude simply left and went home. I went in a bit miffed and Kathy saw me from behind the bar, motioning me over. She asked if I'd been waiting long and apologized, then poured me a big, strong bourbon and coke for my troubles. She ran into the kitchen and shortly produced a huge sandwich with some other goodies for me. God I love that gal - bestest woman in the west!
I returned to the camp, where my friend Roger had graciously invited me to let me sleep in his guest trailer that night. I’d been asleep about an hour when I felt it. Yep. That deli sammich from Castolon.
Let’s just say, for you squeamish types, that I transformed into The Growling Splash Monkey. I sang the Technicolor Yodel. It was the Honey-baked Howl, Clams on the Lam and Liquid Scream all rolled into one. I Barked at Ants. I talked to Ralph. I was the Big Bird Feeding My Young. Roger’s trailer had become Regurgitation Station. In short, I threw up. It was so bad I asked God to kill me.
That morning there was a knock at the RV door and Roger invited me to coffee, unaware of my condition... it was everything I could do not to spew at him like Linda Blair in "The Exorcist".
It was a brutal 36 hours of barking and sleeping. You know it's bad when coyotes start howling back at you at 3 a.m. when you’re out in the dark doing your gurgle. That is the sickest I've been in I can't count how many years.
By the time I came out of it a day and a half later, I was weak and never wanted to eat again. I got up early and decided to tenuously try some coffee at the place by the porch. It stayed down ok.
Beat to a pulp, I spent the day on the General Store porch and in the old church, half-heartedly shooting a few photos and a little video here and there. I was asked by some German tourists if I'd shoot a pic of them on the porch on a bench. I pointed out the bullet hole in the wall next to them, which got their excitement up a bit. I had to mime shooting the hole since they didn't speak English, but laughed when they understood. One of them, a younger guy with long hair came over to look at the Beemer and laughed at the concept of a guy in west Texas on German bike.
I was still weak and woozy, but explored around the old store, ending up in the mission church of St. Agnes. I spent the hot afternoon sharing the peace and quiet of the old chapel, the only sound besides the wind being a swallow who’d nested inside, filling the room with chirps and trills.
Inside the old church
I sat in the quiet, hitting the video record button on the camera and documenting the place and the peacefulness I felt.
I’d hung out most of the day in the Terlingua Ghost Town and retired early that evening, bravely downing a lone tortilla from my tank bag and going to sleep gingerly.