March 25, 2018

I can’t be quite sure what is happening to the economy in this part of the country. Either it is on its way back from a deep decline or it is down and striking for rock bottom. It seems every small town is just a single soul away from becoming a ghost town. Some are far healthier than others but all are looking quite shop worn. Each is interesting in its own way and the people you meet are friendly and eager to offer whatever assistance they can. Judging by the people alone, these communities are on their way up.

We started today with a birthday. Pete, turned the calendar page to another year on this planet and there was a cake, balloon and many well wishes to celebrate. Afterwards we were off on another jaunt over a lot of road with no services anticipated until the town of Marfa, 75 miles away. The scenery was much the same as we have been looking at the past few days but along the way was some interesting roadside art. First were some metal sculptures in a front yard which seemed right at home in Texas. However, the next installation was completely out of place. Somewhere between Van Horn and Marfa, Texas, in an area best known for its complete and utter desolation, you will find rising from the dust and tumbleweeds, Prada. Complete with display windows and merchandise this non operational store front is there solely to make an artistic statement. What that statement is I can only guess but to me it spoke, Prada in the middle of nada.

March 29 & 30, 2018

On a bicycle the quality of the road conditions can make the difference between a great ride and something to be endured. Smooth, with wide, paved shoulders and light traffic can make the miles fly by. However, make the surface rough, bumpy and the traffic heavy and fast and a ride can become a drudge. Such is the contrast between the past two days. The first half of Thursday was great; little traffic, smooth road and a tail wind made the first 40 or so miles of an 80 mile day just fly by. However, the holiday weekend traffic began to build in the afternoon and the road surface turned to rough gravel chips partially embedded in an oil tar surface that transmitted every bump through the frame of the bike and into arms and shoulders. The miles started to grow longer. Good Friday was much the same as the latter part of Thursday only with more traffic, the same sort of road surface and a head wind to make the 75 mile journey one to be endured rather than enjoyed. Days like this are the price we pay for the great rides that far outnumber them.

The great thing about riding a bicycle across the continent is that you get to see local sights up close and personal. Unless you you want to slow your car down from the 70 mph or greater speed limits in this part of the country, it is just not possible to do so from a motorized vehicle even if you like to stop frequently. On a bicycle the world rolls by at a much slower pace, one more attuned to bring out the wanderer in us.

Along the way I encountered two still life scenes that seamed to shout TEXAS to me. Both were staged by someone but seemed quite natural in the overall setting I found them in.

You also encounter a flavour of the local history along the way. At 70 mph you almost never get a chance to stop and read the historical markers that accent the highways but on a bicycle your curiosity can easily cause a pause to read them. Near the almost non existent settlement of Dryden was such a plaque telling of the last armed train robbery in the United States. In 1912 two remaining members of Butch Cassidy’s Hole in the Wall Gang stopped and boarded the Union Pacific as it slowed to take a sharp bend just outside of the town. The entered and began to ransack the baggage car when they were surprised by a railroad employee who bashed one of them in the head and subdued the other. Both were tried and hanged in nearby Sanderson. Seven years later just a few miles up the road the US government built one of the first aerodromes in the southwest. From train robbers in the old west to flying machines in less than a decade.

Down the road another 40 miles is the town of Langtry, home to Judge Roy Bean, the law west of the Pecos. Here Judge Bean set up court, performed weddings, divorces, served as a Notary Public and dispensed a raw justice for misdeeds both great and minor. Sometimes he would stop a trial to serve a round of drinks his bar also being the court house. He was infatuated with Lilly Langtry, a well known performer also know as the Jersey Lilly and he often boasted of having had an affair with her even though he never personally met her. He wrote he frequently and tried ever enticement to get her to come to the town he named in her honour. Alas, she did finally come but it was too late for Judge Bean. He died a year before she arrived.