So let's start at the top and work our way down.
Our Texas journey started at Eisenhower State Park. We managed to score the very last rustic camp site on a very busy evening. In fact, the reason our spot was still open was due to a large bee nest hanging from the tree that dominated the spot. I did a quick Google check to determine that bees really don't do a whole lot at night, so we were safe. I whipped up a quick salad on the floor of the van, in the dark, while the scent of fire-roasted wieners teased me with decadence that was beyond my reach.
We chose, of course, the longest and most difficult trail. The Ike's Bike and Hike Trail really wasn't that hard as a hiker, but finding it was a challenge. Thankfully, I've got an app that tracks my hikes, and we were in the woods in no time, marching right along (ok- there were a few delays. Like talking to my mother. It was Mother's Day, after all!).
In the last photo, we had hiked as far as the swimming hole, and although we are smarter than we appear and started our hike early in the day, it was getting very hot, and that cool, cool water looked awfully tempting... so we hustled back to Vincent, changed into our suits, and buzzed back to the swimming hole, which was a lengthy hike from the parking lot!
The water was so, so cool and refreshing, and nice and deep. Not a lot of fish nibbled at us, but there was a problem of children throwing rocks... so we cut our swim short and headed out after a quick de-sanding in Vincent. I also stepped in chewing gum and taught some young children new words.
Ryan wanted me to see Dallas, since I've never been to Texas before, so I played the Dallas theme song non-stop until we got there. Honestly, aside from a lot of traffic and some tense moments in which Vincent threatened to overheat, I don't feel like I've missed anything. They do have good burgers, though. I fully recommend Rodeo Goat if you feel like a big, greasy, flavorful, unusual burger and ice cold beer.
Then it was on to Austin. You'd think that on a Sunday, especially Mother's Day, the roads would be kinda quiet. In Texas, they were chock full of people wheeling and cussing like they had someplace to be. We did, too. Jester King closes at 9pm, and they're only open on weekends.
We made it just in time for a sunset and an unusual brew aged with mushrooms, called Snorkel. It was very, very smooth and earthy, and I was finally at peace with Texas.
Since Vincent had been acting a fool since Arkansas, Ryan wanted to have him see a doctor, so we planned to stay two nights in Austin. This was fine with me, 'cos I had people to see. A dear, dear friend of mine for years and years and years and her daughter live here, so we arranged to meet them and have lunch with them the next day.
I, of course, whined about the heat the entire time, but we had a long lunch at Torchy's Tacos (I aspire to actually own one someday- the elote is *muah* and the hidden menu is *gasp*), and stopped by an auto parts shop so Ryan could try to do what he could with Vincent. He knew a lot about VWs before this trip, but now he's pretty solid on VW engineering.
Now, it was 48F when I left Ohio, and on this blissful day, it was 94F. I was not prepared. I ended up taking a long shower, a long nap, and waking around 6 to Ryan begging me to PLEASE LET'S DO SOMETHING. Since the sun was headed down, and Austin looked like a pretty cool place, I relented.
We first wandered along the river, where we literally paled in comparison to the buff, tan joggers who obviously frequent the place. During lunch, my friend had mentioned "Sixth Street" enough that I was curious about it, so we wandered in that general direction, stopping once we found an outdoor patio with misting fans. This just so happened to be the Rustic Tap, and I got to enjoy my first Mexican Martini, spicy style.
I'm not entirely sure what's in them, but I can fully assure you they are 100% delicious and worth it. This Begot That, as they say, and soon Ryan and I were Tequila Hopping on Sixth Street. Our second stop was at Irene's, where Ryan tried to convince me to eat something. I was still too hot to eat, but I have this weird obsession with pimento cheese... especially "House-Made Pimento Cheese," so I did have some nibbles with my Tequila Grapefruit Punch.
As a tip to anyone who bar hops in Austin, I will advise you to turn over the menu. You'll look at a menu and think they just have drinks, but if you turn it over, VOILA! there's the food. Now you know.
Our next stop was chosen as a bit of a joke. Ryan is always saying "Easy Tiger," because he's stuck in the 80's somewhere, so when we discovered there was a bar by that same name, we had to go. Bonus: they are renowned for their house charcuterie, and I happen to have another weird food obsession, which is, of course, the arrangement of cured meats and cheeses on a board with mustards, jellies, and toasts.
They also happened to have an outdoor patio that appeared to be in a cave (?), an extensive beer list, and a very tasty tequila drink called The Rosalita.
Before we headed back to the hotel, we stopped by the Austin installment of Voodoo Doughnut. Ryan chastised me for ordering a $5 doughnut, but let's pause and appreciate that it was a banana fritter topped with bananas, peanut butter, peanuts, and chocolate, known as the "Memphis Mafia." Also, it was the size of my face.
The next day, Vincent had his appointment to see the doctor, and it just so happens that there's a very well-respected VW doctor in Austin who just so happened to have an open appointment. While Mike & The Mechanics (and Ryan) worked on Vincent, I sat in the very air-conditioned waiting room, watching Netflix on my phone like the not-a-car person I truly am.
It really didn't take too long to get Vincent back to health, and we were back on the road. To be fully honest, I was grateful, because our journey was going to be far, far from civilization as we headed south, and I didn't relish the idea of turning into bleached desert accessories, like the cartoons of my childhood warned.
But first- Texas BBQ. I really don't know how Ryan found this place, but Slow Poke's BBQ Shack is the place to stop if you've spent all day in an auto repair shop and you're late for the desert. They serve two things: brisket and ribs, and the ribs weren't done yet. We enjoyed chewing our way through some soft, smokey brisket topped with tangy red sauce, and we made a new friend.
This is where things kinda went to pot, briefly. Being unaccustomed to the heat, I overheated on the trip south, and passed out and almost got sick and all that lovely stuff, so we stopped in San Antonio for the night instead of sliding through. The good news was that we got to see the Alamo. The bad news is that San Antonio is suuuuuper touristy, and we got stepped on, shoved, and insulted in our brief stay.
The Alamo was very, very beautiful. Rich in history, and if you can visit at a non-peak time, I recommend it fully. Also, it's nothing at ALL like Pee-Wee's Big Adventure. There are no Paco, Pedro. Maria, and Inez. No "adobe" and "tortilla." It's a small building with a huge history, so make sure you can read all the signs. Also, self-guided tours are free.
We had strict orders to try Henry's Puffy Tacos before we left San Antonio, and stopping for lunch was a brilliant idea. At the time, it was just another meal- a respite from the baking sun and some delicious food we can't get in Ohio. It was also our last full meal for awhile.
There was so much driving. The drive from San Antonio was our longest push to date, and it gave me plenty of time to build up a really good panic attack as we departed civilization and headed into the scrub at a brisk 55mph. It was just so... barren. And hot. And bright.
But then... then the rocks became boulders, and the boulders became ledges, and the ledges became buttes, and the buttes became formations. The desert turned a pink-lavender color, and I knew what that meant - it was time for the desert's very best show.
The temperatures cooled immediately, and I was filled with a sense of peace as the last drops of pink and orange and periwinkle dripped below the horizon.
Then I saw the sign that said we still had 120 miles to go to Big Bend, and immediately lost my calm. If the desert is panicky during the day, I was not prepared to experience it at night. Not while in motion. Not without a landing plan.
And that's when we found the town of Marathon. Marathon is a... well, a ghost town, I guess? It did have an espresso house, but a lot of the store fronts were closed. The best part was they have a combined cabins/RV parking/campground where we could park Vincent for the night while I gathered my wits. They are also the darkest part of the contiguous US, and the star show that night was unbelievable. Ryan and I stood in the parking lot, craning our necks to take in the glittering night sky until we grew too tired to stand, and then we popped Vincent's hatch and stared out the back from the bed... eventually falling asleep with all the doors open, until common sense woke us up and reminded us that deserts have critters, too.
The next morning, I awoke unamused, but ready to head even further south into Big Bend National Park.
Big Bend offers both desert vistas, and mountain views. It includes wildlife, and fossils, and civilization, and some wild backcountry. I actually took over driving at this point so I could a) stop at all the things I wanted to see, and b) so Ryan could research how to best spend our time in the park.
Now, we ended up driving in circles the first day, mostly to get our bearings and a good plan. Somehow in conversation, Ryan and I decided it would be just swell to canoe on the Rio Grande, because that just sounds incredibly exotic for two people from Ohio. I guided Vincent around the switchbacks of the desert to a town called Terlingua, where the canoe liveries conduct business. Yes, in the desert. There's even a ghost town in Terlingua, as well as ruins, and a pioneer cemetery. There's also possibly the best BBQ I've ever eaten at Rustic Iron, and I guess this could kinda count as a meal, but I was too hot to eat in the desert sun, so most of my food went into Ryan.
We then bopped up to the Chisos site, which is inside the mountains. This drive was incredibly fun for me, and nerve-wracking for Ryan. The switchbacks were on a 15% grade most of the time, which was pretty much what we tackled in Kentucky. Only then, Ryan was driving. This time, he got to enjoy the fact that the passenger seat slides with centrifugal force, causing the passenger to clutch the side of the van and mutter obscene language.
It was cooler in the mountains, of course, but the campsite was sold out, so Ryan picked a backcountry site based solely on the fact that it had the shortest in-route. I flat-out, solid, 100% refused to hike in 100F desert heat with unrelenting sun, especially given that I had overheated just a few days ago. We dinked around in the camp store a bit, then headed off for the backcountry site.
Good vibes were with us, because Vincent easily bumped down the gravel road to the site, which consisted of a parking spot and a short walk to a flat spot (with a food box to prevent invasion of bears and javalina). We popped all the doors open, and took turns sponging off with water from the melted ice in the cooler. I read, and Ryan worked on his journal. Suddenly, I heard a low grumbling noise break the deafening silence of the desert.
"Was that thunder?" I asked.
Ryan, deep in his journal, didn't respond, so I poked my head out of the van. It most surely was thunder, heading over the mountain range we had just visited. As I stood by Vincent's sliding door, clad only in a t-shirt and underwear, I noticed it was significantly cooler, with a breeze. Inspired, I flipped on some sandals, grabbed my phone, and took a few pictures.
Being that we're people from Ohio, we thought it would be a great idea to take a quick walk before the rain rolled in. I put on some shorts and my actual hiking shoes, and we headed up the trail. As a note, it had "cooled" down to 83F or so at this point, so my whiny self was willing to put some effort into it.
We breezed up the trail and caught some gorgeous views along the way.
Eventually, the lightning and thunder crept close enough to inspire caution, so we jogged lightly back to Vincent. The winds kicked up from the storm were delightfully chilly, and the smell of light rain on the scorched desert floor gave off a perfume I hope I never forget. We stayed up late, watching the lightning show bouncing around the surrounding mountains through the open doors, and fell asleep covered in moths and grit. Around midnight, I awoke to a brilliant star display, but I convinced myself not to stay up all night, since we had to be at the canoe livery bright and early.
The next day dawned a calm 75F, so we were filled with energy and excitement at hitting the river. First, we had to drive back to Terlingua. Then, we had to hoist our rented canoe atop Vincent. Next, drive to the river put-in by the canyon, followed by a 150 yard hike with the canoe down to the river.
The crew at the livery seemed more impressed than I expected that I could lift a canoe, so maybe, just maybe, I was gloating a bit as we drove to the canyon. That gloat was quickly squelched when I noticed the red squiggles on the road. They were millipedes- ranging from nearly a foot long to just a couple inches, and they were EVERYWHERE. Birds were hovering above the road to snack on some tasty baked millipedes, and though Ryan swerved valiantly, a few popped and crunched under the tires.
After a good hour of crunchy travels, we were at the Santa Elena Canyon. We packed our backpack with food and drinks. We hosed down with sunscreen. We organized our paddles and life vest. And then, as we were lifting the canoe off Vincent's roof, Ryan lost his grip, and it came crashing down, smashing my right wrist in the process. I stared at it, dumbfounded, while it throbbed and groaned. Maybe I was groaning, but in any case, it really hurt, and we still had to carry the canoe 150 yards.
To his credit, Ryan issued a very appropriate amount of concern. At first, he thought it was broken, but I was very, very certain that it was just ouched. I insisted we pick up the canoe and go ahead with our plans.
It is really, really hard to carry a heavy fiberglass canoe 150 yards in quickly climbing heat with a bum wrist. I felt bad for Ryan, because I had to keep stopping while the canoe handle slipped out of my sweating grip. I'm sure the hike was faster than it felt in my misery, but we eventual put in and set out on the Rio Grande.
So, interestingly enough, they make you wear life vests, even though the water is only about a foot deep at best. In some places, we had to get out and drag the canoe across rocks and sand, so we weren't dealing with rushing rapids and deep swirling pools.
The canyon air was cool and sweet, though, and the views were... well, Ryan put it best when he said, "this is intimidating." The canyon just swallowed our little canoe. On the left side is Mexico, and on the right, the US. We were warned strictly and repeatedly not to get out on the left side. Mexico doesn't like it when you do that.
We stopped at a cave to eat lunch, but it was far too hot for me to eat. Instead, I enjoyed a Gatorade while Ryan pounded a sandwich, chips, and almost an entire packet of Sponch cookies. He then wandered up the river while I took pictures, and then we hopped back into the canoe for our trip back upstream.
Coming out of the canyon was rough. We'd been in the canyon about two and a half hours, during which time the desert had a chance to reignite those blistering temperatures. Carrying a heavy fiberglass canoe uphill 150 yards, in the heat, after paddling upstream, with sweaty hands and a bum wrist is even harder than bringing it down, but thankfully, loads of people wanted to chat with us on the way up, so we had excuses to stop every few feet.
There were absolutely no millipedes on the road back. It was over 103F.
We dropped the canoe off, loaded up on Topo Chico (which is our new favorite drink that we'll never get again), and headed back north. We had learned in Big Bend National Park that there is a brewery by the same name in Alpine, Texas, which is on the road to New Mexico.
On the way, we got to pass through Boarder Patrol. As we have a large, storage-capable van, we were stopped for an interview. Our agent seemed cordial enough, shining a flashlight in the back, and confirming we were from Ohio, born in the State, and we'd just been hiking and canoeing at Big Bend. Nope, didn't go to Mexico. With a wave and a "Have a Good Day," we were back on the road. As we drove away, Ryan glanced in the back and cackled mightily.
It was a disaster. The trash had upended, so there were takeout containers and bottle and cans strewn about. I could count at least two bras, and dirty and wet clothes hung everywhere. "We probably would have tidied if we were having company," Ryan joked.
We were also covered in river silt, sunburnt, and had crunchy river hair from being sun and wind dried over the course of three days. And yet we still walked into a brewery. I changed shirts first, at least.
Big Bend Brewing has some very juicy, very delicious, cold, refreshing brews on tap. They also have the mascot sofa of the 80s. We ended up swapping desert stories with some of the regulars, who were less alarmed by our appearance/stench after they found out we'd quite literally just come off the river.
We then headed to a town called Van Horn, which sits just outside the New Mexico border. I'm not sure what Van Horn has, except many affordable hotels and a lot of Topo Chico. Well, less Topo Chico than they had a few days ago. We really, really like that stuff. Ryan wanted to see if we could push to New Mexico, but after I emptied some gravel from my bra, he agreed that we should take a shower. We've stayed in a lot of hotels in Texas, but the good part is just starting- there are a lot more starry nights in store for us.
Next, we'll wander even more barren desert to see what New Mexico has in store!
No comments:
Post a Comment