Hoping for a Tail Wind

I’m in a suburban strip mall plaza on the outskirts of El Paso. If everything is bigger in Texas, why isn’t there a whopper this actual size yet? I mean, people would eat that shit up. Literally. Spend all week on their couch gnawing on it like a vulture on a carcass. Maybe even cuddle up with it; becoming one with that processed chemical beef patty. What could be more American than that? Seems about right for the times. But on the other hand, the Family Dollar has their finger on the pulse of the nation and is totes lit. They’re advertising “now serving game blunts” and “now serving beer”. I didn’t get a picture, but I did park in a fire lane.

Anyway. The distances between towns is definitely bigger in Texas. Though I expect the blogs to get smaller in Texas. At least for a bit. There’s less services and less stops. Which means more time riding and less time writing. But we’ll see.

Once I clear the ring of suburbs, the scenery goes back to farmlands, deserts and stupid border walls. Has anyone in favor of the wall ever been to Mexico City? It’s amazing. A wonderful place with wonderful people. I could retire there. I imagine very few people there — if any — want to come to America and deal with all our crap. Shit, my friend from college Loki, relocated from Brooklyn to CDMX; that speaks loudly to how short-sighted and ill conceived an expensive and futile wall is. Eventually the farms and wall give way to nothing…

Yes real nothing. Rolling through western Texas is rolling through a lot of nothing. For miles and miles and miles. Miles and miles. Miles. Damon and I get our chats on. But there’s not much going on around us. So we just ride. Ride and ride. Ride some more. Come into a dusty truck stop that is literally the only thing for 50 miles in all directions. Store. Restaurant. And we can camp here. I eat a burrito before anything.

It’s a getting later in the day, but despite the luxuriously dust flat section of dirt we’ve graciously been granted by Don Julio — I’m serious, the cashier addresses him as such when procuring permission — we make a snap, post-burrito decision to keep going. 22 more miles until the next town. It’s turns out to be uphill and a little upwind. And the first chunk of it puts us back on Interstate 10. My old nemesis. Like a toxic relationship, I just can’t give up the 10 even though I can’t stand it. It sucks once again, two states later. I’m pedaling and breathing as hard as I can; I’m only moving 7 mph as trucks whip by. As the sun begins to sets, we jump off and cruise down a frontage road. The sun, which has been behind clouds all day, dips out below the clouds yet above the mountainous horizon. It yields a spectacularly impressive light show, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. No filter needed.

The terrain declines so I finally pick a little speed and a little steam. We get into what is mostly a ghost town. Abandoned old buildings are falling apart; tumbleweed appears to be the majority of the citizenry. I’m why we pushed on to get to this just as absolute darkness comes in. Fortunately we find a cheap motel with a quirky Mexican-American owner/manager. I really wanted to hang and chat with him more. Butt. Too much tired. Must sleep.

Down El Paso way things get pretty spread out. People got no idea where in the world they are. They go up north and come back south. Still got no idea where in the world they are. -Talking Heads, “Cities”.

After a late start out of Tyler and Mallory’s — and mucho gratitude for an awesome breakfast — we’re coming up on El Paso. As I’ve previously detailed, ad nauseum, my disdain for riding through cities — primarily because of the border walls surrounding them that we call suburbs. I almost always prefer to stay rural and go out of my way to avoid suburbia. It takes a lot of time and navigation to go anywhere near suburbs or cities, not to mention the typical lack of bike infrastructure and traffic frequently found zipping around suburban plazas and strip mall. In the case of El Paso De Norte, the ACA route has an option “to avoid city traffic congestion” – it’s called the Anthony Gap Alternative. Which, incidentally, just became the name of the genre-defying musical ensemble I’m starting when I turn 65.

The alternative is five miles longer but worth it. Anthony is apparently a town located both in NM and TX, population 9,360. There’s also a gap in the nearby Franklin Mountains called Anthony Gap. We go past that well-named town and through that well-named gap. It’s scenic and quiet. All is well. Then we make a right turn and few miles later…

Tay-Haas!! Sort of. Apparently even after Texas was admitted to the union, this part of it was so remote that it was still Mexico for a while. Maybe that’s why El Paso is also still on mountain time and operates on the national power grid. In my opinion it still is Mexico anyway. Either way Damon and I are amped to be in another state. A big ass state. We’ll be here for a couple weeks, going end to end. The condition of the shoulder goes from gravelly to paved right at the border. Nice!

Butt.

A few miles in we jump on a road called Loop 275. Walk Purple Heart Blvd. Not much of a boulevard if you ask me. But why would you ask me that? Anyhoo. It’s a four lane highway that runs through a military reservation, so basically it runs through nothing. We have a nice wide shoulder, but it’s got Texas portions of debris all over it. Lots of gravel, nails, tires all over this smoothly paved shoulder. There’s black garbage bags with animal parts hanging out of them in the side of the road. Multiple bags of this. Not just one. I’m not shitting you. Does Texas have a DOT? Because someone has the nerve to paint bike lane signs on this thing but only clean the motor vehicle portions of the road. Save the money for paint and clean this goddamn shoulder every once in a while. It’s rush hour around the outer ring of El Paso and we get a Texas-sized dose of traffic volume. Like tons of cars. Non stop. One after the other zooming by. It’s loud and the entrance and exit ramps are more a threat to our lives than they were on I-10. As we attempt to cross an entrance ramp, I give the right arm signal and look over my right shoulder at a pickup truck a good ways back. He’s just coming up the entrance ramp. I go to make my move to get over to the right and he does not yield. The pickup increases speed and zooms around me like the impatient asshole he apparently is. Because his life is more important than mine. I barely avoid nearly certain death by game of chicken with a redneck in his natural environment. I’m thankful for the previous lessons provided by Tucson Ted.

Shortly after not having a physical termination, a mechanical issue rears its ugly head. I hear a click click click click in my front wheel. Hopefully it’s not a busted spoke. Doesn’t sound like it. Pull over. Sounds like a rock or something stuck in my fender. No ma’am. This little spiral fuck is trying to be the end of me. It is jammed right into my tire. I contemplate the possibilities of roadside surgery. Maybe it’s not surgery. Maybe it’s chess; I’m thinking three moves ahead. I think. Whatever, yo. Option 1: remove via leatherman tool, it comes out and no further problems. We ride as scheduled. Option 2: remove and my tire goes flat. I then have to repair it as rush hour traffic whirls by and the daylight hours dwindle. It’s still a good 18 miles to the next hotel or campsite. Option 3: leave it in and offer a sacrifice to a seven headed tube deity later. Hmmmmm.

I go with numero uno. And que suerte! No problemo, hasta la vista highway!! After about 12 miles, we exit the 275 and are now along a frontage road for maybe 8 more. At a traffic light I look at Damon and see that his face matches my current emotional status. Some intense shit just happened. Nails. Glass. Gravel. Rocks. Wires. Tires. Pipes. Stranded motorists. Dead animals. Semi trucks. Pickup trucks. A greatest hits of shit. We are both surprised to not have a flat or a busted wheel or not have our internal organs busted open all over the road. He sees it in my face too and says “that was some final boss shit”. I’m not much of a gamer, but I catch the reference and agree wholeheartedly. Welcome to Texas.

I don’t like riding in the dark while out on tour. But here we are, the sun starts setting as we weave through the outskirts of El Paso. Then it sets. And now it has set. And it gets dark quick as fuck right away out here. We make a couple wrongs turns with only my back light working. Finally we find a cheap motel 6. It will have to do. We check in and everyone is maskless, despite the signs indicating the opposite is required. I handle the interactions to cover for my unvaccinated pal. Fuck the pool is closed and they don’t have breakfast because of covid, but no one is covering their mouth and nose? We level up our way to room 112 for much earned calories and sleep.

Long distance bicycle travel is about a lot of things for me. Physical and mental health, to start. Touring and site seeing. A sort of battery recharge for sure. It also really about the people you meet along the way… their insight and generosity and wisdom and hospitality. Today’s episode of my bike riding adventure is purely about a few of the people.

I sleep fantastically. Wake up and lay there a little longer. It’s still pretty chilly at night and I’m cozy in the sleeping bag. Eventually I motivate. Damon has his tent broken down and packed already. Lindsay is up making coffee. I follow suit and fire up my JetBoil. Damon and I sip and start to pack. Lindsey and I continue the COVID chat and wade into politics as well. Not just normal politics, but pandemic politics. Which is even more volatile, because they shouldn’t even be a thing. We got different vaccines but are equally encouraged by the development of them; I imagine we’re both very ready for everyone else to hurry up and have their shot at shots. I feel like once everyone can say yes or no, we can move on the hugging strangers again. A few minutes later and Court emerges. Parker follows last. Then Dave comes by and takes out his horses. I’m in the middle of this little community and it feels great. Haven’t felt it yet this trip. We make oatmeal. I take so long packing up that two of the dogs pee on my tent. I pack it up, say adios to our new amigos and hit the road, destination Las Cruces.

20 miles in and the road is closed. Checking my phone maps, it appears we have a lot of backtracking to do. A woman come out of her house and says basically the same thing, plus we have to get on the interstate. I decide to coast up the worksite and one of the guy sees us and waves us on. He talked to his boss and they are letting us walk our bikes the 500 feet to the other side of the bridge they are rebuilding. The construction worker asks where we headed and I yell “Florida!” He responds “alright!”. Didn’t get his name, but shoutout to that guy and his trail magic. He saved us hours of time with just a little bit of appreciated effort on his part.

Pedaling hard in plenty of headwinds to get to Las Cruces, we breeze right through Hatch, NM — which apparently is known for two things pecans and chiles. If we had more time I would have stopped to indulge. If there’s two things that I am, it’s nuts and spicy!!

It’s now later in the day than we’ve ever been out. Headwinds are still there but dwindling a bit as we roll into Las Cruces just before sunset. We meet Tyler, who is graciously hosting Damon and I for the night. An avid warm showers host, Tyler and his gal Mallory have the cutest four month old baby names Wilhem. They’ve set up two beds for us in the spare room. There’s showers and laundry and lasagna. I do all three of those things, in that order. I get to meet Tyler’s mom, who says “oh you’re crazy too, like my son?” To which I reply, “yes, I am definitely crazy”. Tyler and Mallory have bicycled across Japan and he’s also done a bunch of solo touring across the western USA. We chat for a while about our travels, and I probably pass out by 8pm.

In the morning Tyler hooks up the pot of coffee, plus potatoes and eggs and tortilla for breakfast. We feast!! The hospitality provided by Mallory and Tyler is top notch, they truly know what it’s like to be out there on bike. I insist they visit Buffalo soon so I can repay the hospitality. We dig into a second pot of coffee and enjoy this little bit of comfort before we make moves into Lone Star territory.