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The hills of central Texas, rain showers, roadkill, and forests. We’re out of the desert: Day 26-30


Day 26

(74 miles; 2998 ft gain, Strava map)

We woke in the morning without any problems from migrants in the night. Mike was out helping border patrol until 2 AM, and they tracked down a group of 8 that were nearby. Border patrol did laps back and forth on our road because they knew we were sleeping there, so it felt pretty safe.


Tanna made us breakfast burritos, including a special vegan burrito made for Casey (tortilla with some freshly picked weeds from the backyard). We had coffee, and Tanna gave us some tips for the day: ride in the center of the road when possible, don‘t talk for a while, and pedal really fast if anyone emerges from the bushes; don’t stop for any of them.

Luckily, Casey and I didn’t have anyone try to intercept us in the way that Marshall and Dave did. We didn’t even really see anyone, except one person walking out in the field. We were nervous for this section of the ride, so we were grateful that no one approached us.


The hardest part of the day, however, was the heat! The temperature reached 103 degrees plus humidity. My handle bars were hot on my hands, and our water was like a hot tea. We were sweating for the second time this whole trip, the previous day included. Heat was billowing over us in waves from the black highway, and our clothes were sticking to us with sweat. Not to mention, many animals were dead on the road including coyotes, buzzards, skunks, and even an armadillo. They were all rancid and rotting, creating a putrid smell that either hit us in the headwind or followed us in the tailwind. Comstock couldn’t come fast enough.

We made it to Langtry and stopped at the store to pick up anything cold with electrolytes. Here, we met Jesse, an older (70s) latino gentleman who had been living in Texas for a long time. I could understand about 80% of what he was saying as he mumbled everything he said and chuckled afterwards. He ran the store and the connected small hotel all by himself and asked multiple times if we wanted to stay and work there. I won’t ever forget him saying, “You’re gonna laugh, but if someone has a large forehead, I like to smack it. HEH HEH HEH”. He was also obsessed with Casey and her petiteness, asking frequently if he could “adopt the tiny one”. He also said a lot of questionable things that are borderline harassment, which I will omit from here. However, he was very generous, giving us fresh fruit, beer, and homemade tamales (that were delicious!), trying to make us sprite and coconut rum cocktails (“We still have to bike 30 miles, we can’t have liquor!”), and wanting to give us $20, but we declined.


Comstock arrived in the heat of the day, and it was painful to get to the finish line. We arrived at the J&P Bar, but it was closed for Easter. We headed to the one-pump gas station where we bought cold water and then collapsed in the shade in the gas station’s adjacent warehouse. We stayed there nearly 3 hours since they wouldn’t kick us out, just to avoid the heat. Here, we prepared our Easter dinner next to the dirty mop bucket on the cement floor: beans, tortillas, and pineapple chunks.

While we were sitting there planning our sleep at the local church, a bunch of middle-aged guys came into the warehouse, clearly the local hangout spot. They were the bar owners (Jason and Justin who were self-proclaimed “limpies”, each having a limp from vehicle accidents), the motel owner, and another “world champion roper!” Every one of them had strong southern accents, and they were all cracking jokes the whole time.

“My name is Jason, ma’am,” the J&P bar owner, Jason, took off his hat and shook my hand. I’ve been called ma’am more in these two weeks than in my whole life. Quite frankly, Casey and I kinda like it. “We hear you’re going to sleep at the church. You’re welcome to sleep behind the bar; we’ve got water, Wi-FI, outlets, and a stage to sleep on.” “If ya need a shower, I’ll hold the hose, hahaha!” The motel owner chuckled to the boys.

“You wish!” Casey retorted.

The guys all drank beer until the gas station closed at 7. In the meantime, I watched some sheep get vaccinated in the back of a trailer outside the gas station. “Wanna see something funny?” Jason smirked to me as we watched his 20 year old son, Caleb, try to wrangle the sheep to vaccinate them. Casey was talking to JJ in the back of the warehouse, when one of the guys exclaimed, “Hey, there’s a lady on the feed!”

“Where are the rest of the women?” I asked Caleb.

“There ain’t any,” he laughed.


Caleb, Justin, and Jason showed us to the backyard of the bar. It was an open plot with few trees, a large stage, and some chairs and tables for people to dine at. Immediately, Jason had Caleb wrangle a bucket of beers and then refill it when we all emptied it in record time. In 100+ degree weather, man, cold beer hits the spot. We talked till after 9, but mostly we laughed. The dudes were so freaking funny. They invited us to join their Annual Catfish Fry on May 7th, and I’m sad to miss it! This particular event was featured in the graphic novel "You & a Bike & a Road" which is about a lady who bikes part of the Southern Tier. I couldn't believe I was actually meeting (and drinking with) the guys who hosted the event in that book!

In the morning, Caleb kindly said his goodbyes as he was getting ready to food prep for the restaurant. “You know where to find us if you need us again.”


Day 27

(31 miles; 547 ft gain, Strava map)

Casey and I were gross. Our clothes were salty and stiff with sweat, we had used all the clothes that we had, so nothing was clean, and we hadn’t showered for days. The last time we washed our clothes with a washing machine was at the KOA in Lordsburg, on Day 14. On Day 20, we rinsed our clothes in the bathtub at Fort Hancock. We fall asleep in the clothes we bike in and wake up and bike in them again. Over and over. Basically, we felt and smelled disgusting.


We were planning on biking to Brackettville for a 60 mile day. On the way, we met Eric, a Westbounder who was biking for charity. His girlfriend was following behind in a van for support, and he gave us cards that read “You’re awesome!” Otherwise, the ride was boring with a headwind.


When we got to Del Rio to have lunch with Dave and Marshall, our plans changed. They had a hotel at the Holiday Inn and offered their shower and the hotel’s washer. Marshall informed us that we had the lovely “biker’s glow” (i.e. the grease sheen), which was the kindest way he could describe us. We all ordered Panda Express to the lobby, and I fell asleep on the hotel couch while Casey stretched and did some exercises.

It turns out that Casey and I never found motivation to leave the hotel and bike another 30 miles to Brackettville. So we stayed and got a room to ourselves. Oops!


Day 28

(73 miles; 1695 ft gain, Strava map)

After filling up on hotel breakfast food in Del Rio at the Holiday Inn, we avoided downtown by skirting around the city. It was mostly free of traffic, and we didn’t see much.


There was a fierce headwind the whole way to Brackettville. We couldn’t be too upset because we had lucked out on wind most of the trip so far, so we figured it was due. We just put our heads down and powered through it for a couple hours. By the time we reached Brackettville, though, I was in much need of a break.


Brackettville was a tiny town with a few small shops tucked in the trees. It was great to finally be within a green environment again, even though the humidity was noticeably higher. We had lunch in front of the library across from the neat Kinney County mural with Dave and Marshall. They were biking separately from us, but we would periodically see them throughout the day.

I’ve been pretty concerned about my hands, and I realized my decreasing finger strength was linked to my elbows. It felt like there was a pinched nerve that was making my fingers (and mostly pinky) weak and tingly. I struggled unbuckling my panniers, turning faucets, shifting gears, and clipping my fingernails. I made the mistake of asking about this on Reddit, and nearly everyone told me to 1) stop the bike trip immediately, 2) see a doctor, and 3) hope I didn’t do permanent nerve damage. Oh, and I was “an idiot” for even asking. It definitely didn’t feel that extreme, and I was pretty sure it was related to my handlebar fit. So, I decided to ignore everyone and switch up my hand positions on my handle bars while taking more time to stretch while biking. This seemed to help a little.


Then, there was thunder. The overcast day opened and unleashed fat, stinging rain drops that were actually painful. “They’re attacking my engine!” Casey exclaimed, referring to her legs. It rained for the next 5 hours. Periodically, there was a horizontal lightning bolt and a grumble of thunder, but it wasn’t concerning enough to stop moving. There wasn’t anywhere to stop and seek shelter anyway. We became soaked, but it honestly felt good. All of our important items were in waterproof bags, and it didn’t matter that we were wet because we had been sticky with sweat. After a while, the rain eased into a light shower and then a sprinkle.

There were 54 dead animals on the road this day. Most were fawns and adult deer, but there were also some boars, armadillos, turkey buzzards, and some small rodents that I couldn’t identify. The forests support many more species, which is probably why there has been more roadkill. It can be unsettling to see so many animals in different stages of decay, some freshly killed, some with maggots and sunken-in skin, and others just a pile of bones. It’s gross, but you can also appreciate the stages of decay and how the environment works to turn the animals back into earth. Not to mention, roadkill is a food source for many other organisms. You can also see the process that you, yourself, will take after death. (We have a lot of time to think about things).

Our WarmShowers host for this night was Alice, a cheery and emphatic, curvy, middle-aged, southern woman with bright blue eyes and short gray hair. Her property was adorable with stringed lights, multi-colored chairs, and a big creek in the backyard. Casey and I shared the downstairs guest room while Dave and Marshall had the upstairs. Alice came out in a patterned apron informing us that she was making dinner and to make ourselves at home; Southern hospitality has treated us well on this trip. She made us salad, chicken piccata, and pasta. Later, she brought out 5 different tubs of ice cream, all partially empty, and required that we finish them off- we did. When asked to take her photo, she said in her southern accent “Oh of course! Let me just lip up, or I’ll look like a corpse!”

During dinner, I really struggled with handling my fork and using a knife to cut the chicken. I simply didn’t have the hand or finger strength to perform the actions well, and it was making me emotional. When Uri called towards the end of dinner, I excused myself to chat with him, and I cried. Maybe the internet folks were right, maybe I was going to do permanent damage to my nerves and that I should quit the trip.



Day 29

(46 miles; 3400 ft gain, Strava map)

We had a late start. We spent the morning drinking coffee, stretching, slowly getting ready, and petting Kitty Rodgers, the chubby outdoor cat. I worked on some arm strength exercises, and I moved my elbows and fingers frequently to stretch them. I was going to do my best to move these muscles all day to keep them from pinching, and Marshall gave me some incredible CDB topical pain relief ointment that seemed to help.


Dave was impatient to get out the door, while Marshall was easing into the day. I think meeting each other for the first time for this trip revealed some clashing personalities, but they are good natured enough to work through it. They left before we did, and we didn’t see them for the rest of the day.


When Casey and I made it to Camp Wood, about 9 miles from Alice’s house, a man at the gas station stopped us. “Where y’all coming from?”

“San Diego”

“No, I mean on the bike.”

“… San Diego.” Apparently we are far enough along that starting from San Diego was unbelievable.

And the day was gorgeous. We were surely in a different landscape than we previously had been because now there were many trees, even deciduous ones. It almost resembled West Virginia, and it felt like it too: breezy and cool, yet humid. Just like the east coast in Spring.


The day was a roller coaster ride with mega hills. It was tiring to engage and disengage your quad muscles so frequently, but riding down the descents was a blast, especially because the road weaved through the forest, and you periodically had gorgeous overlooks. Being in a more humid environment, however, meant that you were now dripping with sweat at every mild incline. We were soaked, to say the least.

After the last big hill, we coasted down and ended in Vanderpool, stopping at the Lost Maples Country Store. Marshall and Dave were already sitting outside with recently purchased snacks, having only arrived shortly before us. Casey and I decided to stay the night because they had tenting sites behind the store (and a shower!). Marshall and Dave were planning to go an extra 5 miles to a campground but changed plans- it was tempting to not bike anymore.


It’s been great not knowing where we are sleeping until we get to town. So far, something has always worked out, and people are friendly enough to help us out, though we never rely on that. We’ve slept in public parks, at fire stations, behind churches, behind bars, in campgrounds, and at hotels. There is so much open land that finding a spot isn’t hard. We were going to sleep at the church when we discovered the tent sites right by the country store. So, plans change, and it’s awesome to see what happens next!


Day 30

(54 miles; 2684 ft gain, Strava map)

It’s been 30 days on the road! Everyday, the miles seem to drag, but the days have been speeding by. We really can’t believe we have been living out of our bike for an entire month.

We had one remaining hill to climb over that we didn’t finish the previous day, but hitting it first thing in the morning was pretty easy. And BAM, back to being sweaty.

Casey and I pulled up to a stop sign and saw Marshall across the road with his bicycle next to a group of motorcyclists.

Marshall: “These guys thought I was crazy for biking across the country, but then you girls showed up!” We took some photos, they asked us questions, and the man in the Trump hat rummaged through his bags to give us granola bars and muffins. Eventually, we pedaled away while they revved and sped off.


There was a very ritzy part of the road leading up to Hunt and Ingram that followed the Guadalupe River. The roads were quiet and sleepy, birds were chirping, and the vegetation was lush. We could see the water flowing slowly beside us, and expensive cottages were tucked in the trees. Flowers were blooming along the road, yellow and purple ones mostly. A wooden fence on either side of the road had a boot on top of every post.

We arrived to Kerrville and all but Casey had a bike repair request at the bike shop: Marshall and Dave got new chains, and I had my handlebars fixed. I also bought some padded biking gloves that will take pressure off the nerves in my hands. Hoping this works!

Casey flipped open the Adventure Cycling magazine to a random article, and the store owner, Adam, said passively about the page she turned to, “Do you know who that is?”

“No.”

“It’s me!”

The man took three years to bike all over the world, and the article featured his time in Namibia. Marshall actually had a copy of the article that he had been carrying this whole time, and he got Adam to sign it.


We snagged some food across the street at the cafe and ate it in record time. We then took the opportunity to go to the library and read! I set Casey up with The Little Prince and she gave me The Midnight Library. We were kicked out at closing time, and we landed a cozy camping spot in the median at Harbor Freight.





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