Day 22. 1,402 Miles. Winds of Change.

After we dispense a fierce hammering on the motel toilet, it’s early morning and Damon and I are now in the Del Rio United States Post Office. This is my first time shipping unneeded stuff home from a tour. I’m a little shy about it but it doesn’t hurt as much as they said it would. The USPS is one of the things that still makes the USA a commendable nation on Earth. Postal workers are my heroes. I get a Priority Mail box, it costs $15 for me to ship any weight to anywhere. And weight is the name of the game for me. I shed a good five pounds. A shake for breakfast, one for lunch and some guy in line in front of Damon receiving live chirping chicks in the mail. Damon is disturbed. But the Postal employee is fantastic. She nails the job. Five stars. Fund the USPS. Give the good workers wage raises and better pensions.

Coffee pouring when the winds up. Skills.

The winds of the last few days have shifted direction, but of course now so have we. We get the return of a tail wind out of Del Rio; greener pastures, too. An actual tree!! Big change and it motivates me to move it. The first thirty as smooth as Silk. Freak me baby.

After Bracketville my spidey senses tingle and indicate climbing ahead. Indeed, this may be the start of the hills. Headwinds return and the climbs continue. It’s tough work but the new scenery has me determined. No destination planned. We resolve to get where we get.

With a few hours left on the day, my rear tire is going low. How low can you go? The slow leak is no longer very slow. I’m guessing the patch I tried on the seam didn’t hold. The sun is getting low. I don’t feel like changing the tube out and there’s a small town in 20 miles, so I stop and put 200 hand pumps in. Ride another 4 miles. Repeat. At least I’m getting upper body exercise. Is this cross training? I hope so. Wait is it cross fit? I hope not.

My back tire is flopping all around and I bounce into this little town called Camp Wood. The county it is in is Real. That really real shit. We head to the camp ground listed. It says open March 1 but when we approach the office, music begins blasting and whoever is in there won’t answer the phone, so we assume the camp ground is closed. We head back into town and set up the tents in their small town park after dark. Eat and drink at a gas station. Call it a night.

About tonycaferro

Entrepreneur, Citizen, Marketeer, Fire Fighter / EMT, Bicycle-Tourist, Booking Agent, Youth Mentor, Activist, Agitator, Coffee Addict, Foodie, Social Media Nerd, Amateur Film Critic, Son, Brother, Uncle & Rust Belt Representative. Follow me on Twitter @dtr45
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