Easter Hill Country Tour 2008

MLB and I returned Sunday from our annual pilgrimage to Fredericksburg, where we participated in the 35th edition of the Easter Hill Country [Bicycle] Tour. We haven't been cycling for 35 years – although it sometimes feels as if we have – but we've missed only about a dozen of those events.

This year's EHCT was sponsored by the Fort Worth Bicycling Association (pronounced "Foat Wuth" for the benefit of my dear non-Texican readers), and the ride was well organized, with one glaring exception that I'll address below. Unfortunately for MLB and me, we had managed to ride a total of 23 miles this year leading up to the event, not exactly a desirable training base for bicycling in what is arguably one of the toughest regions in the state. But we exercised uncommon (for us) good sense, picked some shorter (although not necessarily easier) routes, and managed to survive another year.

Here are some observations from our visit to the Hill Country:

• It's not all about the wildflowers - With Easter coming so early, coupled with the lack of rainfall, we weren't surprised that there were no wildflowers to be viewed anywhere we rode or drove. However, that didn't seem to affect the size of the mob that invaded Fredericksburg for the long weekend. The sidewalks were just as packed as ever. This was probably due to the fact that many schools were out for spring break, although F'burg is not the greatest destination for kids.


• Wildflowers are on their way - If you have your heart set on a wildflower tour, don't despair. Within a couple of weeks, you should start seeing a great crop, as we saw the first bluebonnets popping out on the Sunday drive home. Check this website for flower sighting reports and maps of good viewing areas.


• One is not enough - As I mentioned earlier, the FWBA did a good job of organizing the tour, but dropped the ball badly in one important area. At the first rest stop of the first day's ride, there was only one Port-A-Potty. That's a serious logistical oversight, especially considering that all of the day's routes included that rest stop, and that most of the hundreds of riders were by that point dealing with a serious need to offload the morning's pre-ride coffee.


• Bambi gets revenge - We were able to return to our favorite B&B which is located a couple of miles outside of F'burg, out in the woods. Our friends, Tommy and Toni, flew in for the weekend, staying at the Hangar Hotel where they could park the plane less than 100 yards from their room. Tommy brought his new night vision binoculars and we tried them out on Friday. Here's a tip. If you have an active imagination, and if you've watched The Blair Witch Project and found it terrifying, then it's probably not the best idea to peer through night vision goggles into thick woods just beyond your little house in the country, and see gleaming eyes of...something...peering back at you, right before bedtime. Just sayin'.


• It's the gearing, not the engine - Even though we picked shorter routes to ride (43 miles on Friday, 25 on Saturday), owing to the aforementioned lacking of training, we found that shorter doesn't always mean easier. Friday's challenge was weather: temps in the 50s and 20mph+ winds (headwind coming back, of course). Saturday's ride included a hill we'd never ridden before, and felt fortunate to survive. There's a ride that leaves from Kerrville, heading toward Ingram, that includes a stretch of Bear Creek Road (there's a Bear Creek Road outside of F'burg also). We've ridden that road many times, and it's a pretty route. This year, though, we were instructed to turn onto a road called Freedom Trail or Trail of Tears or Bataan Death March Redux or something similar. The first half mile or so is uphill...waaaaaay uphill. My wife's GPS gently informed us at one point that we were pedaling up a 16% incline. For comparison purposes, if you've ever driven up to McDonald's Observatory outside Fort Davis, you'll no doubt recall that you feel like you're going vertical; most cyclists will swear that that's the toughest road to climb in the great state of Texas. That incline is, in fact, 17%. But, I'm proud to say that we made the climb, albeit at a snail's pace, thanks to our granny gear and a desperately illogical passion to avoid joining the overwhelming majority of our fellow cyclists who had succumbed to pedestrianism.


• Jason knows pickles - By the way, if you ever find yourself just on the edge of muscle cramps, due to, say, riding a hill you had no business tackling, and you come to a sag stop and the volunteers are handing out 8 oz bottles of something sickly green and called "Pickle Juice Sport," take the advice written on said bottle and just drink it. You might be amazed at the difference it will make.

That's my report, and I apologize for the lack of photos. We had two cameras, and in four days we took exactly one picture (and that was of the line in front of the lone port-a-john at the rest stop). After riding a few thousand miles through the Hill Country over the years, the scenery is still as beautiful as ever but the absence of flowers makes it less photogenic.

Oh, one last thing. A mile or two out of Fredericksburg, on FM 2093, there's a new but somewhat nondescript warehouse-looking building with a sign referring to "muscle cars." You might be tempted to pass it by, thinking it's a parts store or perhaps a mechanic's shop. But you need to stop and go inside, and be amazed.

Aggieland Report: Day 2

It was a productive day, for the Nephew, anyway. He got his dorm and room assignment, has a squadron, got his stuff moved into the dorm, and put down a deposit for his Senior Boots.

Yep, that's right. Class of 2011, and he's putting down money for footwear that he'll not pick up for three years. Interestingly, if you want to have your boots made at Holick's (which has been around since 1932), that's the lead time that's required. Also, he's not really supposed to even know about Senior Boots, so don't tell anyone else. It'll be our little secret.

Moving him into the dorm took about 15 minutes, which is a benefit of two things: being male, and being a freshman in the Corps of Cadets. Boys just naturally require less in the way of things like clothes and "maintenance items," and freshman don't have any privileges for extras like rugs, floor lamps, etc. Of course, he's on the fourth floor (no elevators) and so we had to lug his footlocker up three flights of stairs. Did I mention how hot and humid it is down here?

His dorm was built in 1939, no doubt in the euphoric afterglow of A&M's last (and only) national football championship. It looks pretty much how mine looked back in the 70s, although the bunks are now set up as individual beds with the desks underneath. But the a/c works, and there are ethernet connections (the wireless network is only in the common areas of campus), so that's as modern as you need, I suppose.

His squadron's CO is female, another sign of how things have changed in the centuries since I was a student.

We did get a little good news when we discovered that the scholarship he'd qualified turned out to have a longer term than we expected. It's not a lot of money, but every bit counts – and he's still in the running for one additional grant. With any luck, I won't have to put out a Tuition Tip Jar on the Gazette.

We're heading back to Midland in the morning (the Nephew is spending the night in his dorm room; it'll be interesting to get his report at breakfast). The weather forecast has a 100% chance of rain; I hope it follows us all the way back to West Texas.

It's been an interesting few days. We've had more time to look around and get re-acquainted with the area. One thing I can tell you with certainty is that if you spend much time in College Station, you'll never again complain about the traffic lights in Midland. For a city housing the university that hosts the Texas Transportation Institute, the traffic patterns are wack.

And, in case you're wondering, I didn't go for a run today.

Mad Dogs and Aggies

I opted out of the New Student Conference today, choosing to stay at the hotel while the Nephew, his mom and my wife went through the orientation. I couldn't decide which might be more humiliating for the Nephew: showing up with three family members in tow, or being marked as "that kid with two mommies," but the prospect of the second made me laugh, and that's the one I went with. Anyway, I had work to do.

I also wanted to do something that I hadn't done voluntarily in more than 30 years, and that's run around and through the A&M campus. The last time I did it, it was under duress and I was wearing combat boots.

I worked until about 9:30 then put on my running gear and drank half a bottle of water and walked out into the blast furnace. They were forecasting a high of 104° (that doesn't count the heat index) and I had no reason to doubt them.

Our hotel is just a block from the northeast corner of the campus, so I walked to the intersection of George Bush Drive and Texas Avenue – one of the busiest intersections in town, and the scene of ongoing construction that started in the Roosevelt administration (Teddy, that is). I was already starting to sweat, and I hadn't actually made it onto the campus.

What follows is a brief list of the main points on my route, probably of interest to no one except those familiar with the campus. But you can follow along on this Google Map if you have nothing better to do.

• I started running along George Bush Drive, heading southwest, along the golf course. People were playing golf, but I was the only runner in sight.


• I had generally remembered that College Station is flat. It's not.


• Continuing down GB Drive, I passed the drill field where the bonfires were held when we were students, and the Band Dorm where I spent the longest two semesters of my life.


• A half mile further down the road and I was alongside Kyle Field, which I'm sure would have been an impressive sight had I not been blinded by sweat. Still no other runners.


• I turned right at Wellborn Road and ran past the two indoor football fields. Across the road was the baseball stadium (Olsen Field). This was a good direction to run, because there was a slight cooling breeze and sporadic shade.


• Moving along Wellborn Road brought back memories, some of venues and buildings that no longer exist, like the outdoor pavilion where students gathered for impromptu rock concerts and movies.


• I made the corner at University and Wellborn, heading back northeast and enjoying the temporary shade of the USDA building. Just past that building was my old dorm, Crocker Hall, renown at the time for its hippie leanings. Not that I would know anything about any of that. Nosiree. Today, all I could smell was the odor of cheeseburgers wafting from the Dixie Chicken, which brought an unusual combination of hunger and nausea. I glance past the Chicken and see a huge edifice a block or two behind it with a big sign designating it as "The Tradition." I'm guessing it's fancy off-campus student housing, and it strikes me as amusing that something so new would be referred to as a tradition.


• Running past North Gate, I flashed back to the location of the jewelry store where I bought the engagement and wedding ring set for my then wife-to-be. I think I paid around $300 for it, and that was just about the most money I'd ever paid for anything in my life. The jewelry store is long gone, but she still wears the rings.


• I continue down University, and I'm starting to feel the humidity. Still haven't seen another runner, and the few pedestrians I pass on the sidewalk eye me with skepticism, as they might a rabid dog. I draw even with the Chipotle at the corner of University and College (I know; it sounds redundant to me, as well), and decide to run through campus over to New Main Drive, where there are trees. And shade.


• I run east on Bizzell and then loop around on Ross. The administration building is where I worked as a multilith operator (look it up) for the Agricultural Extension Service.


• I hang a left onto New Main Drive (I forget what it was called when I was a student, but I don't think it was that) and run past the Bonfire Memorial, a beautiful and moving tribute to the students who lost their lives in 1999 when the stack collapsed. I worked on the bonfire when I was a freshman. It was an amazing experience.


• Thirty minutes have passed since I started running, and I'm fried. I walk the rest of the way back to the hotel, probably about another mile. I finally pass another runner, coming toward me. He looks a lot like Brad Pitt, and I remember thinking, great; why couldn't it have at least been Angelina?. I'm also trying really hard to keep from weaving on the sidewalk, and I try to do a math problem in my head to stay focused on staying conscious. I tried to figure out what percentage of the radius of a circle is traveled when you run a quarter of the circumference. I can visualize the equation in my mind (c/4 = 2πr – or something like that), but I can't quite work it out.


• I make it back to the hotel room where the a/c has kept things frosty, man, and I immediately throw up four times in succession. Just kidding. It was only two. Just kidding. After I regain consciousness on the floor, I saw no signs of pukitude, so I'm pretty sure I didn't throw up at all. Just kidding. I did drink a bottle of water and spent another 30 minutes sweating, but otherwise I felt no ill effects. At 10:45 a.m., the temperature was 94° with a heat index of 99.

The best thing about this experience is that I don't have to repeat it. Unlike a certain freshman I know.

Back in College Station

We're back in east Texas, getting the Nephew delivered to freshman orientation, dorm check-in, and all that good stuff. And, man, is it hot and humid down here! The heat index is over 100 (at 6:30 in the pm).

The good news is that MLB and I are both hooked up to the web wirelessly, thanks to the AirPort Express I brought with me following last month's fiasco. Since this is not a vacation for either of us, this will help us get some work done while the Nephew and his mom are getting indoctrina...um...oriented.

I'll try to find time to post a few more things than I did last trip.

A Dozen Texas Places

I guess a meme is as good a way as any to return to the 'sphere after a brief layoff (layout? layover? lay down?). Jimmy's originated one that's got a good Texas theme: ...find out from as many bloggers as possible just where they'd like to be in the state of Texas if they could choose A Dozen Places. Six of those would be places they've been before; six would be places they've never been.

He's got some good ones in his lists. I've actually been to a couple of his "never been" locations (top of Enchanted Rock; White Rock Lake).

I'm going to accede to his pleading request to participate, in spite of one highly offensive entry on his list, as I recognize that he's still recovering from Blogathon and is thus insane. But I'm also adding another dimension to my "would like to be there again" selections – time. Some locations are no longer what they once were (same goes for people, but that's another meme for another time). Anyway, here are my lists:

6 places I've been in Texas (where I wish I could be again right now)

• Tubing the Frio River just outside of Leakey, upstream from Garner State Park, in 1971. Back then, you could actually climb onto the bank of the river, or dive off the cliffs, without someone calling the sheriff or drawing a bead on you with a 12 gauge.


• Bicycling the 75-mile Fort Davis loop with "Chet" and "Natalie," 1984. This selection proves that time heals all wounds, even if it might leave you with a commemorative limp.


• Listening to dixieland jazz at The Landing on the River Walk in San Antonio on a cool October evening, following a meal at The Little Rhein Steakhouse.


• Scuba diving in the natural-bottomed swimming hole at Balmorhea State Park, chasing catfish and turtles and watching the sand boil where the springs feed the pool.


• Riding my 70cc Honda dirt bike through the pasture west of Fort Stockton, ca. 1966, following a summer shower with the fragrance of the flowering greasewood infusing the air, and the jackrabbits scattering before the tinny onslaught. That pasture is now mostly homes and other development, with fences that strangle the aspirations of young wannabe Wild Ones.


• Eating dinner at The Herb Farm in Fredericksburg during peach season, in order to enjoy their peach vinaigrette salad dressing and the cobbler for dessert

6 places I've never been in Texas (where I wish I could be right now)

• Bicycling the Houston MS 150 with Bret and family, or doing a fast training ride anywhere in north Texas with Foo.


• The Apple Store in Plano. Or, really, any Apple Store in Texas.


• NASA Headquarters, Houston


• The Ballpark, Arlington (World Series or not)


• Running to the top of Guadalupe Peak and back (this is semi-cheating, as I've been to the Peak a couple of times, but I've seen guys running the trail and it would be "fun" to try it someday)


• That bookstore in Archer City that Jim keeps trying to put in West Texas.

OK, I think that about covers it. I'd tag someone else for this, but it's too much trouble so you have to tag yourself. Still, it's a good meme, and I congratulate the Jimster on coming up with it. Perhaps he needs to get less sleep more often.

Reporting from Aggieland

We're coming to you from the Clarion Inn in lovely midtown College Station, where the humidity matches the temperature and both are excessive. The rooms here have internet access (duh) but not the wireless variety, so MLB and I have to take turns using the ethernet cable (had I but known the situation, I could have brought an AirPort Express, although I can successfully configure it for such uses only about one time in ten).

Oh, here's one thing to keep in mind if you decide to drive from Midland on a Sunday, and think that it would be a keen idea to eat lunch at Underwood's in Brownwood. It's not. At least, not if you want to stand in line for less than an hour or so. We ended up moving over to the carryout section, and eating BBQ sandwiches at the city park, while eyeing the approaching thunderstorms.

I realize that it borders on blasphemy to say that Texas has had enough rain, but we're just about at that point. We ran through rain showers on the Midland side of Santa Ana, and they continued the rest of the day. Just west of Evant, the water was running over the highway, and a sheriff's vehicle was parked on the shoulder, lights flashing, warning traffic. In Evant we saw at least one house completely isolated by the water as it had swept away the driveway. (I understand it's been raining in Midland, too, although that still qualifies as a Good Thing. Unless, of course, it's swept our house off its foundation.)

On the other hand, the countryside is as green and lush as I've ever seen it, all the way from west Texas to east.

Bryan-College Station is vastly different than when we were here last...twenty years ago. And yet, much of it is the same (as with any college town, I suspect). We went by the duplex where my wife lived after she transferred to A&M, and by the apartment complex we lived in after we got married, during our last two years at school. Both were in deteriorating neighborhoods – but perhaps they were back then, too, and we just didn't realize it.

Tomorrow's a big day, as the Nephew will meet with an advisor and, we hope, get his class schedule lined out. Then we'll try to take care of some of the other administrative things associated with starting college, and also get a more leisurely tour of the campus. But, for now, I'm feeling the 400 mile drive, so I'll sign off.

Checking in from Waco

Did I mention that we're in Waco? And did I also mention that Waco is hot, humid, and has mosquitoes the size of chihuahuas?

Easter Hill Country Tour 2007

For the past 20+ years, we've spent Easter weekend in the Fredericksburg/Kerrville area of the Texas Hill Country, participating in the aptly named Easter Hill Country Tour, a bicycling event jointly sponsored by the bike clubs of Fort Worth, Lubbock, San Antonio, and Houston. This year's event was the 34th annual tour, and will go down in history as one of the most interesting, thanks primarily to the wintry weather conditions.

Over the years, as we've, um, matured (read: grown wiser), this event has become less about the bicycling and more about enjoying our time together. In the beginning, we were avid (read: stupid) cyclists and rode a couple of centuries -- or, to the uninitiated, 100 mile rides completed in one day. I'm sure there are more difficult feats that the average non-athlete could attempt, but I'm not interested in confirming it.

Nowadays, if we ride 100 miles in three days we're quite pleased with ourselves, and we've found that we can eat just as much -- the real reason people cycle -- plus there's the added bonus of actually being able and willing to get back on the bike without waiting a month.

However, this year's trip holds the distinction of providing the lowest cycling/driving mileage ratio of any that we've taken: almost 800 miles of driving in order to ride 42.4 miles on a bike. More on that later.

Because I'm such a considerate and thoughtful host (read: OCD), I've organized this report into sections, and you can use the following links to skip to the one(s) you find potentially interesting. (I've not, however, provided a link to the bottom of the post so that you can skip the whole thing. Shame on you for even thinking that.)

Sections: The Riding | The Eating | The Bedding & Breakfasting | The Nature Gazing

The Riding

As with most EHCTs, the schedule for the three day weekend consisted of several routes on Friday leaving from Fredericksburg, several routes on Saturday (including the traditional century) leaving from Kerrville, and a couple of relatively short rides on Sunday morning to wrap things up.

We normally try to arrive on Wednesday afternoon in order to do a self-guided ride on Thursday, but MLB's work schedule didn't allow us to leave until Thursday after lunch. Thus we weren't able to get on the bike until Friday morning around 10:30, when we departed from the Fredericksburg courthouse and headed north out of town. Our route took us up Lower Crabapple Road, then to the west within glimpsing distance of the amazing Enchanted Rock, and finally back south into town on the Old Mason Highway until it met up with Highway 87. We could have stretched the route to almost 60 miles with various optional additions, but since our tandem training mileage this year totaled on 130 miles, and despite our realization that the weather forecast didn't bode well for the rest of the weekend, we decided that discretion was the better part of valor.

The ride was enjoyably challenging, hard enough to feel a sense of accomplishment without ever having to resort to on-bike crying (never a good sign). We rode all the hills (not everyone did, but being 70 years old is always a valid excuse in my book), and had some interesting conversations at the rest stops. Our recumbent tandem usually guarantees that we'll get to visit with a few people who are fascinated by the contraption.

We finished the ride feeling as though we could have gone further, but not regretting stopping when we did, particularly since the clouds were beginning to thicken, a precursor to the front that was about to hammer all of Texas.

Here are a few photos snapped by MLB from the back of the bike during the ride; click to view a full-sized uncropped version. From left to right: a view of Enchanted Rock on the steep downhill section of Welgehausen Road, just west of Hwy 965; bluebonnets along Welgehausen Road; more bluebonnets.

The Eating

"Eat to ride. Ride to Eat." That's the cyclist's mantra, and it works remarkably well, even when moderation is exercised on neither account.

Fredericksburg is home to some excellent restaurants, and even though our stay was shorter than usual, we made sure to patronize two of them. We ate dinner Friday night at the restaurant at the Fredericksburg Herb Farm, a cozy little eatery surrounded by all manner of flora, much of which makes it into the dishes the chef prepares.

We took a chance and walked in without reservations -- we tried to call ahead but our cell phones weren't playing well with the local service -- and waited while the hostess consulted with the chef to make sure we were worthy of the honor. I assume we looked sufficiently solvent, and so we were seated, and at one of the prime tables at that. Never underestimate the value of wearing a Fire Ant Gazette hoodie into the finest dining establishments. (Kidding. Really.)

MLB had a fine talapia cooked en papillote, prepared with "Mexican herbs" and served with green rice. Muy delicioso.

Not to be outdone, I had one of the off-menu specials, something you don't normally find in a sit-down restaurant with white linen tablecloths: cabrito. I'm here to tell you that if you ever have a chance to eat cabrito in that setting, don't pass it up. I didn't catch the waitress's explanation of the herbs used in the preparation, despite asking her to repeat it (there was something about "root beer flavor, but very mild"), but that was the best goat I've ever eaten, falling-off-the-bone tender and juicy in that way that only cabrito can be. Normally, Abbye would have benefited from a few carryout scraps, but she was out of luck that night. (I'd ask you not to tell her, but she sniffed my fingers as soon as we got home, and she knew. She's still not speaking to me.)

The only disappointment of the evening was dessert (and, really, that's major). We split a serving of Lemon Verbena Peach Cobbler (with homemade vanilla bean ice cream), and it wasn't up to the restaurant's usual standards. Of course, the last time we had their peach cobbler, it was in the middle of peach season so the fruit was fresh off the tree. Still, the crust was too doughy, and the lemon verbena was...weird. I don't recommend it (but if they have plain cobbler during the summer, go for it).

Pricing? Ooh, you don't want to know. We were pushing $100 and that was without wine.

Our dining destination Saturday night was our Plan B from Friday, in case we were turned away. Pasta Bella serves some of the best Italian food around, and it's a gem of a find right in the middle of this German community. There's nothing fancy here, just basic pasta dishes, and the usual parmigiana entrées. Again, we arrived without reservations, and we did have a short wait, but it was worth it. Normally on a Saturday night, you'd want to call ahead, but keep in mind that we were out in the middle of an ice storm, and that kept the crowd down a bit.

The food was typically good, tasty and filling, and much more reasonably priced than the night before. We were too full for dessert, and the total check was around $20.

Now, since we stayed in a bed-and-breakfast, you're probably wondering about our morning meals. I can sum them up in one word: awesome. I'll tell you more about the B&B a bit later, but I can tell you that the family that owns this one also owns another one on the other side of F'burg, managed by their son and daughter-in-law, and they both pride themselves on their excellent breakfasts. We've stayed in B&Bs where "breakfast" was a couple of cold muffins left on the kitchen table the night before, and whatever you could find in the mini-fridge.

This place, on the other hand, delivered a full hot breakfast each morning. Day one was an oven pancake, bacon (cleverly folded in a way to resemble flowers) and fresh fruit; day two was baked (!) eggs, sausage, made-from-scratch biscuits and fresh fruit in yogurt dressing; day three was a breakfast casserole (eggs, sausage, cheese, bread and mushrooms) and more fruit. We boxed up half the casserole and had it leftover when we returned to Midland -- the servings were not skimpy.

Earlier, I computed our driving-to-cycling mileage, because I'm a numbers guy, like it or not. However, I refuse to calculate (or even think about) our calories-consumed-to-cycling-mileage.

The Bedding and Breakfasting

Well, I've already covered the Breakfasting, but here's the skinny on the accommodations. The B&B is called Clear Springs Log Cabin, and it's owned and operated by Vernon and Bernice Fluitt (their son and his wife, Nelson and Sharon, manage another excellent B&B called the Country Quiet Guesthouse, which we also recommend highly). Clear Springs is located on a working ranch eight miles north of F'burg on Highway 16, and the main living area of the house was built in the 1850s. It served many years as a barn, but the Fluitts recently made it over into a B&B, adding a bedroom, bathroom, central heat and air, and other modern amenities.

The walls of the log cabin are at least twelve inches thick, highly reminiscent of adobe buildings found throughout west Texas. One section of the original log-and-mortar has been preserved behind glass (see image at right; click for a larger version), but the remainder of the walls have been re-mortared. We found the room to be pretty well insulated, but the HVAC system was also quite effective in dealing with any shortcomings in that area.

The bedroom is equipped with a very comfortable queen-sized bed. However, the room is lacking in storage space, especially for hanging clothes. The large antique wardrobe is more for show than function and will accommodate only three or four hangars.

The bathroom is very spacious, with a large jacuzzi tub (no shower, but the tub has a gooseneck spigot that's a fair compromise) and the only deer antler toilet paper holder I've ever seen. In fact, antlers were used everywhere in place of towel racks.

The kitchen is functional, but not luxurious, although the fridge appears new and works very well. There's no oven, but there is a stove, a microwave, and a countertop toaster/convection oven. We used only the fridge, microwave and coffeemaker. This was, after all, a vacation.

The weather wasn't exactly cooperative -- more about that below -- but the compound has several places that would be wonderful for al fresco coffee and snacks or book reading (a euphemism for napping, of course) in more temperate conditions.

I mentioned that this is a working ranch, and it's thus replete with the typical farm fauna: cattle, chickens, horses, geese -- and, of course, llamas. It's also got a couple of ponds, at least one of which is apparently stocked for fishing, if you care about such things.

It's also very, very quiet. Even though Highway 16 is a very busy road, the B&B is located more than a mile down an unpaved road (and over a couple of hills), and there are no neighbors within sight, other than the hosts' home (which is a couple hundred yards away). The log cabin has its own fenced yard, great for pets (although if you have a dog that doubles as an escape artist, you'll want to keep it leashed), and is imaginatively landscaped.

The Nature Gazing

The same vicious cold front that blasted much of the nation also dropped down into the Hill Country, with the worst weather blowing in early Saturday morning in the form of rain, sleet, and a bit of snow. Sunday morning's view of the woods surrounding the B&B was punctuated with breaking limbs falling under the weight of the ice, although most of what I saw were from the dead trees that polka-dot the landscape thanks to a recent onslaught of oak wilt throughout the Hill Country.

In the wee hours of Sunday morning, we were awakened by total silence combined with complete darkness. Funny how that works, isn't it? We never got an explanation of the power outage, but it lasted only a couple of hours, and it gave us an excuse to snuggle deeper under the blankets.

We discussed the outage with Vernon when he brought breakfast. He said that as soon as the power went off, he called the power company, and he and his wife started worrying about how it might impact us. Bernice was worried about how she'd fix our breakfast; Vernon wasn't worried about that as much as how we flush the toilet (the water system relies on electric pumps). I guess it's a guy thing, but that's also one of the first things that occurred to me at 3:00 a.m. when the power first went out.

Here are a few photos capturing the cold beauty of weather's aftereffects. Click on the thumbnails to view larger uncropped versions. Note the ice on the back of the reclining llama in the third photo. Think those guys aren't protected by their fur?

We had one final weather-related challenge, and that was driving through the ranch and back to the highway for the trip home. With our bike on top of the SUV we need about 12 feet of clearance, and the ice weighted the tree limbs lining the dirt road to the point where I was weaving like a drunken driver, trying to thread my way past the lowest branches while avoiding getting stuck in the bar ditch. Fortunately, I've had plenty of practice at this since That Thing Happened and we made a clean getaway.

Despite not getting in our usual quota of bicycling, this was a weekend to remember -- and almost all of the memories will be good ones. It's hard to ask for more than that.

Hill Country Trip Report Forthcoming

We made it home without incident this afternoon and I hope to have a complete report of our weekend posted within a day or so. Those of you who enjoy visiting the Fredericksburg area might want to stay tuned, because we (well, MLB, to be precise) found an absolute gem of a bed and breakfast that's far enough off the beaten path that you may not know about it. Yet.

Here's a teaser: picture a 150+ year old log cabin equipped with a jacuzzi tub, satellite TV, and -- as you've seen -- its own herd of llamas. Oh, and no telephone.

Heading home...

We're still about 2 1/2 hours from Midland, but I've always wanted to post from a rest stop on a Texas interstate. So now I have.

Very funny, Mother Nature...

I'm reporting live on the road from the little German town in the Texas Hill Country, Fredericksburg, where it's been raining, snowing, and sleeting for the past 12 hours. Good thing we got a long bike ride in yesterday, because that will do it for the weekend.

In the meantime, here's one of Abbye's new friends from the B&B we're calling home for a few days:

There's a small herd of llamas living out back, and they're fascinated by Abbye. They ignore us -- the humans -- but as soon as she appears in the back yard, they coming running from the pasture up to the fence to investigate her.

As far as I can tell, they couldn't care less about this weather.

Weekend Wrapup

We made a quick trip to Fort Stockton this weekend for my brother's birthday, and we seemed to pack a lot into a relatively short period of time.

On Saturday morning, MLB and I rode the longbike down the I-10 service road west of town, out to the Firestone Test Track and back, which is about a 23 mile round trip. We invariably see interesting things on this route, and this day was no exception, as we spotted some dots on either side of the road close to the overpass marking the highway that leads to Alpine in one direction and Coyonosa in the other.

As we drew closer, I determined that the dots were a group of five javelinas foraging on both sides of the service road. My wife pulled out her little Canon digicam and I tried to steer and pedal us as unobtrusively as possible in their midst, recognizing the risks to doing so. After, these animals have been known to overturn pickup trucks to dispose of the occupants, and their razor sharps tusks will peel sheet metal like a paring knife on an apple. OK, just kidding. Javelinas pose little to no threat at all, unless you happen to startle them in high brush or get between a momma and her piglet or come across a big male with a bad attitude or...well, anyway, we were in no danger. They do look mean, though:

As soon as they spotted us, they headed under the fence and disappeared into the adjoining pasture. We didn't see them on the return trip, but we did spot a red fox the size of a coyote running at full speed from the pasture on the north side of the interstate, across all four lanes of the highway, and into the pasture on the south side, without breaking stride but coming that close to a nasty encounter with an 18-wheeler. It was cool to see him from a distance, but at least one Fort Stockton resident has been bitten by a rapid (Ed. OK, he was fast, as well as being rabid!) fox this year already, and my brother shot another one a couple of weeks ago at their place. I'd just as soon keep them at a distance.

Later that afternoon, we gathered up the family arsenal and did some target shooting. We also took turns on my brother's new/old dirt bike, which he acquired for the princely sum of $300. It's a 250cc Yamaha of indeterminate vintage, cobbled together with mismatching parts, but by someone who knew what they were doing because it gets up and goes.

It had been a couple of decades since my wife had ridden a motorcycle, but, as they say, it's just like riding a bike...sort of.

Nothing but pride was harmed in the process, and she was having too much fun for even that to be an issue.

That evening, we witnessed another somewhat unusual occurrence, as a large flock of buzzards arrived to roost in the topmost part of a neighbor's pine tree. They've apparently been doing this each evening for a few days, having arrived from Mexico as a part of their seasonal migration. It's a bit rare to spot a whole group of buzzards nesting like this (and it's a bit eerie to be around them, because they're so quiet...unlike those ridiculous grackles).

Ranchers claim that you'll never see buzzards north of I-10 until after the last freeze of the spring (giving us yet another harbinger of warm weather to go along with scissortail flycatchers and leafy mesquites). We had a discussion this weekend about what the buzzards did before the interstate was built.

It was a good weekend, and a good reminder why we'd really prefer to live nowhere else than west Texas.

Oh, and if you're wondering what happens when a thousand dollar wheelgun meets up with a can of Big Red, here's a clue:

I'll be the first to admit that my scowl needs work.

Santa Fe Scenes

A few random images from our recent trip:

Another ant sculpture on Canyon Road

I thought there might be a joke about flatulence here, but couldn't make it work in the end.

This was actually in Taos, at the Visitor's Center, a very nice facility complete with free WiFi and a loaner computer.

It was tempting, but we elected to forgo the mental clarity.

All photos courtesy of MLB

Texas Hill Country 2006: Hilly, Windy, Hot & Wormy

Some random observations from the little burg of Fredericksburg, during our participation in the 2006 edition of the Easter Hill Country Bicycle Tour, hosted this year by the Lubbock Bicycle Club...

• There must be some kind of city ordinance in this German community that prohibits the spelling of the word "house" in any fashion other than "haus." The Pool Haus. The Guest Haus. The Haus of Kraut. (OK, I made that one up.)


• Willie Nelson singing a Beatles song is just wrong. And I don't care how cowgirl-foofy the dress shop, they shouldn't be providing him an outlet for such "music."


• You never know what you're going to encounter on a back country Texas road (in case you're wondering, the bike is ten feet long):

• Spring has not been kind to Texas wildflowers, which were a no-show around Fredericksburg and Kerrville. What we lacked in floral scenery we more than made up in sweat and worms. This was the hottest weekend of the year, with temps hitting the low 90s on Saturday, during our longest ride of the tour (around 50 miles). Strong winds were a mixed curse; they did seem to mitigate the heat somewhat, but made us work the bike that much harder. But the worst part of the weekend was the worms.
  
  Well, technically, they aren't worms...they're caterpillars, commonly known as "oak leaf rollers." For a brief time in the spring of most years, these icky creatures descend by the millions from the foliage of live oaks and other similar trees, dangling by a slender thread that might be 30 or 40 feet long. I snapped a photo to give you an idea; see below. These things are about six inches long and as big around as a bratwurst and deliver a nasty bite that can easily become infected. OK, I lied about all of that. They're only about an inch long or less and don't bite. But they do have a tendency to sway with the breeze and land on your clothes, your hair, your car, your bike, your dog and anything else that you'd normally wish to be caterpillar-free. They're messy and yucky and we hates 'em. And they were out in full force this weekend. (One night during dinner at a cozy little Italian restaurant in F'burg [Pasta Bella, if you must know] I glanced over at a rather large fellow sitting at the next table, and was mesmerized by the sight of one of the caterpillars making its way up his neck, heading for his ear. He never made it, but the whole scene was quite entertaining.)

• We did a bit of shopping in F'burg. Here's a word to the wise: don't go there looking for a grapefruit knife. But we did score some appetizing foodstuffs, and I found some things that seem to be perfect for Blogathon 2006 contest prizes (and, yes, they're what you think they are):

• Unlike 90% of the people who travel from Midland to the Hill Country, we drive I-10, coming and going. We're not interested in doing much other than getting there, and getting back. We make two stops going (the first at the Town & Country in Iraan for driving victuals -- Cheetos and Diet Dr. Peppers; the next at the rest stop outside of Sonora). On the return trip, we hit the same rest stop, and then stop in Ozona for either a snack or a coke or both. But that's neither here nor there. What I really want to do is make a totally objective but unquantified observation. Over the past xx years of traveling the interstate, it's been my belief that the most common out-of-state license plates belonged to either California or Florida. This year, there was a noticeable difference. By far the most prevalent non-Texas license plates I saw were from Mexico, primarily the states of Chihuahua and Coahuila.


• The other thing I saw this weekend was way too many older-than-middle-aged guys riding Harleys. That's not overly annoying; we'd rather share the road with motorcycles than cars, as they have almost as much to lose by tangling with a bicycle as the bicycle itself. No, the annoying thing is the apparent contractual obligation that requires that every visible piece of clothing worn by those riders must sport the Harley-Davidson logo. Guys, here's a fashion tip: the Harley skull-cap doesn't make you look dangerous, except perhaps to that platter of schnitzel at der Auslander (where, by the way, the Kinkster himself was pressing the flesh on Friday night).

All in all, it was a good long weekend, even without the wildflowers and even with the worms. But it was also good to get back to the wide open spaces of west Texas, where the wind is supposed to blow.

Technorati tags: Easter Hill Country Tour | Texas Hill Country | Oak Leaf Rollers

Risky Business

It's a mystery as to how the tree limb came to rest in that odd position, sneaking out of the snow at a 15° angle, perhaps three feet of exposed wood and who knows how much buried. Another six inches of snow would have safely covered it; six inches less would have made it more obvious. The limb was stripped of bark, smooth and as big around as a man's leg...the part of the leg just below the knee joint. The upper part of the tibia, to be more anatomically specific, because sometimes specificity matters.

I suppose that we all undertake activities that others might consider to be risky, and we mentally chide them for being so timid. Perhaps we've done those activities so often and so successfully that they are no longer risky in any practical sense or we simply don't view them as dangerous. Or we've grown comfortable with the "worst case scenario."

Only thing is, the worst case scenario is something that, well, happens to someone else.

Tom and I had been skiing together for the better part of a decade. He's a better skier than me -- unlike him, I have no natural athletic ability -- but not by much, and we've been able to keep one another challenged but not humiliated. (You guys may understand that better than the girls.)

Over the past few years we've developed a fondness for skiing between the groomed runs, which, if you've spent any time on a ski slope you'll understand to mean "through the trees." We're not fast in absolute terms, but we are quick and [generally] precise, the latter being measured by some arbitrary scale that involves the avoidance of contact with immovable objects. We both enjoy the thrill of picking out a line through a forest and improvising when that line proves to be impractical. The trees are usually much less crowded -- sometimes, our tracks are the only evidence of human intrusion -- and a bit less noisy (we would confess to being skiers of the shouting persuasion).

And so it was that on our first morning of skiing at Lake Tahoe's Heavenly Mountain Resort we naturally gravitated (clumsy pun intended) to the line of trees separating two intermediate runs named Liz's and Jackpot (the latter actually has an exclamation point but that's too cute to type), and another line separating Liz's from a black diamond run called Express Line.

After three runs, we were getting warmed up (meaning that I was growing accustomed to falling) and also getting our bearings on a mountain which was completely new to us. (As a parenthetical note of self-defense, let me say that my propensity for falling is not my fault, not really. In its natural pose, my right foot makes a 45° angle to whichever direction I'm facing, and I couldn't stand straight and touch my knees together if my life depended on it. These peculiarities are simply symptoms of the way my bones developed as I grew up, and, frankly, it's amazing that I can ski [or run or bike] at all. Just wanted you to know that.) The sky was that deep blue color you can see only at 10,000 feet of altitude; the snow was packed and occasionally icy, with the last deposit more than a week old. It made for fast and sometimes tricky maneuvering.

Does God have an opinion about our risky activities? Are we exercising faith or are we failing to use the intelligence He blessed us with when we undertake potentially dangerous business? Is it OK to pray for safety before setting out on such things? How should we react when the answer to such prayers is "no"?

Tom and I alternate leading ski runs. It's generally easier for the one following, if only because fewer decisions are required. We're close enough in ability that if I see that he can make a certain turn or clear a certain obstacle, I'm confident that I can as well...all other things being equal. Sometimes the leader can warn the follower about a potential hazard, but that's rare. We try not to follow so closely as to lose escape routes.

I'm leading the fourth run down the mountain, and I'm beginning to exercise a bit more command over that wayward right ski that often seems to have a mind of its own. Sure, I've fallen four times already, but all but one came in the middle of groomed runs, not in the trees. Anyway, like I said, I'm leading...but Tom's not following. He wants to follow, but the newness of the runs has caused us to periodically lose contact. At one point, I see him on the other side of Liz's; he's in the trees, but not the same ones I'm in. I yell at him, he slows up and we regroup. This scene plays out a couple of times. It's not our usual mode, although it's also not a problem.

The run named Liz's winds to the left but if you keep going straight, you find yourself in a steep chute called Sky Canyon. It's smooth and icy...and for some reason, we've never noticed that we've missed the bottom part of Liz's and instead ended up on a black diamond run. Did I mention that the trail signs at Heavenly are sometimes confusing? But that's neither here nor there. What's relevant is that on this particular run I'm approaching the end of the trees on the right side of Liz's, and I've already decided to pull up once I'm in the clear to contemplate continuing onto Sky Canyon.

As I approach the open area, I spot no obstacles that serve as a warning to slow down, so I keep my ski tips pointed downhill. Just as I'm starting to relax and prepare to turn to the left and start slowing up, I see a tree limb inexplicably coming up from the shaded snow, the thick broken end pointed left and rising to a level approximately even with the ankle of my boot. I reacted -- twitched, spasmed, whatever -- and somehow willed my left ski tip up over the limb at the last second. I instantly realized I had dodged a bullet, so to speak, and my heart was pounding as I came to a stop some twenty yards away and down to the left. I turned around to see if Tom had stayed on my trail, or if he was again improvising somewhere else.

The Heavenly ski area is a monster: 4,800 acres spanning two states (Nevada and California); a max top-bottom descent of more than 5 miles; 92 runs and 30 lifts; 7 on-mountain lodges. More than a million people ski at Heavenly each year, and its lifts can carry more than 50,000 people per hour to the tops of its peaks.

Heavenly also has a fully-equipped medical clinic complete with x-ray machines at its base. The clinic is associated with South Lake Tahoe's Barton Memorial Hospital, and it has its own television ad campaign. Something along the lines of "we hope you don't need us, but if you do..."

I turned and looked back uphill just in time to see Tom left leg slam into the protruding limb. His momentum lofted him headlong while the limb sent him into a 360° flip. His skis flew off somewhere around the 90° point. He hit the ground -- not hard, thanks to his forward momentum -- and he slid down toward the point where I was standing. He was clutching his leg even as he slid to a stop. I yelled, pointlessly but without thinking, bounced off my skis and ran to him.

There's no point in laboring through the rest of the day and the week. My friend had sustained a compression fracture of his tibia. In effect, the bone had been driven up, past the knee into the femur, which sheared off one side of the tibia, and sent a fracture line all the way across it. The laceration of the tree limb against his skin was not serious but it had the unexpected and unwelcome effect of delaying the necessary surgery until it heals, which will be another week. In the meantime, he has to live with a broken leg, and the understanding that he will likely never ski again.

It was his only fall of the day.

This shouldn't be about me, but I can't help it. There are so many "what ifs?" Some of them I couldn't control -- What if he'd been just 12" higher or lower on the trail than I was? What if he'd been closer and had seen what I did to avoid the limb? But some of them still haunt me, justified or not. Here's the biggie: What if I'd had the presence of mind to yell out a warning to him?

Skiing is an inherently dangerous sport. You have to sign a piece of paper acknowledging that fact before you can even rent a pair of skis. At times it seemed as if half of South Lake Tahoe was wearing a cast, a brace, a bandage. The emergency clinic had five injuries before 9:00 a.m. on that Wednesday. Theoretically, the mountain doesn't open until 9:00 a.m. In the global scheme of things, a broken leg is not a matter of life and death.

But, I gotta tell you, it sure seemed like it at the time. Still does, for that matter. That was Tom's last ski run...and mine, too.

Well, that was awful...

We're back in town but far from settled. Thanks for stopping by periodically to make the place look lived in while we were gone.

I hope to have some details and perhaps even some photos from our trip to Lake Tahoe within the next day or so, provided I can dig through the scores of client emails, but I'll leave you with this as a teaser. This was the "Lunatic Texans on Skis Tour" swan song. It didn't start out that way, but something happened last Wednesday that redefined our future winter vacations.

Anything new with you guys?

The Recognition We Deserve

Lake Tahoe beckons, and next week we answer its siren song. And so I'm pleased beyond words (almost) to note that someone just came to the Gazette by Googling "Lunatic Texans on Skis", a captivating phrase for which the Gazette is now and evermore shall be #1 (if there's any justice in the world).

If you're late to the party, here's the origin of the phrase, which fits so well it's scary.

Swimming with Sharks

The death of Jaws author Peter Benchley turned my mind to sharks, which I suspect isn't an uncommon occurence at the mention of Benchley's name. However, unlike the rather scary associations that sprang from the movie, my shark thoughts were much more pleasant.

In 1989, MLB and I traveled to the tiny Caribbean island of Saba. Saba is one of Windward Islands in the Dutch Caribbean and is little more than a thickly forested mountain jutting out of the sea. It's also a coveted destination for scuba divers, which is why we and a traveling companion named Flo found ourselves on the island during the first week of July.

We did encounter some remarkable diving during the week, but it was on the fourth of July that the truly memorable dive took place. I hauled out my travel journal; here's the description I recorded later in the evening.

Contrary to the picture painted in movies like Jaws, sharks are a welcome addition to almost any Caribbean dive experience, and sightings are actually pretty infrequent. I've never yet met a diver who wasn't exhilarated by a shark sighting, and they're much less threatening when you're down there with them than when you're floating on the surface, letting your imagination run wild.

Saba is also where I found myself in the middle of a Sunday evening street dance wearing nothing but flip-flops and a Speedo...and the only white skin (other than that of my companions) in sight. Sorry to leave you with that mental image; another time, perhaps.

LTOS Tour Moves to Tahoe

I'm pleased to announce the finalization of plans to move next February's Lunatic Texans on Skis Tour to Lake Tahoe from its previous destination of Santa Fe. And I categorically deny the reports that we were asked by the National Park Service to give the trees in the Santa Fe Ski Area a break (no pun intended).

Since none of the participants have ever been to the Lake Tahoe area (or if they have, they don't remember...that seems to happen a lot nowadays), we're now accepting tips and advice from those of you who have been (or remember being there, even if you weren't). We'd specifically like to have the locations of a few good restaurants and the best ski, snowshoe and hiking areas. Oh, and emergency clinics.

We'll keep you up-to-date as our plans become more firm, and we hear back from our insurance agents.

A few more photos

Update: I meant to provide this along with the original post and forgot, but here's a satellite shot of Guadalupe Mountains National Park courtesy of Google Maps. (OK, it also could be a macro photo of a leaf of lettuce, but that's neither here nor there.) As best I can determine, the park visitor's center is near the upper right corner of the page; El Capitan is near the lower left corner, and Guadalupe Peak is a few inches higher on the page above El Capitan. This series of satellite photos is also interesting in that it seems to be a patchwork of images taken at different times...perhaps even in different years. It shows the difference that some rainfall can make in the desert.

A number of you have asked for more photos from our recently completed tour of the mountains of west Texas, presumably not because of my superior picture-taking skills but under the mistaken assumption that more photos equals less writing. Ha. You hopeless dreamers. Nevertheless, ever-willing as I am to give the Gazette's loyal nanoaudience what it requests (up to a point), here's some more visual stuff.

Same drill as before...click on the thumbnail to see the larger image, which will be in the 75-150kb range, size-wise.

Above: Views from a point near the summit of Guadalupe Peak.

Above left: Looking in the general direction of El Paso from the summit of Guadalupe Peak.
Above right: Nature can be unforgiving in this part of the country, but even in death, these trees have a certain beauty.

Above left: Life has a way of fighting back, however. This tiny pine tree seems to be flourishing, even on a footing of solid rock.
Above right: The highway from Fort Davis to Marfa is wide and sparsely-traveled...ideal for a day-trip via bicycle.

Above left: This is a view of the living room in the Carriage House of the Veranda Bed and Breakfast in Fort Davis. Not exactly rustic, is it?
Above right: The porch, complete with rocking chairs, looks out into an enclosed courtyard at the Veranda. This courtyard is also the B&B's wifi hotspot, being in close proximity to the Fort Davis newspaper's unsecured wireless network. Not a bad place to check email...

Technorati tags: Guadalupe Mountains | Fort Davis | Marfa

Mountain Getaway

I started to document last week's trip with a mind-numbingly detailed account of each day and then I came to my senses. The only thing more boring would be for me to recount my last surgery (which, thankfully, was several years ago...although the scars are still there, and you would not believe the pain...let me tell you, if I ever again have to...um...never mind...). So I had this brainstorm. Everyone likes lists, right? Letterman has built a career around them. Even the most mind-numbingly detailed accounts can be presented in a relatively non-snooze inducing list, if done properly. Unfortunately, I have no idea what "done properly" means, but here goes, anyway...

Click on the thumbnails to see the uncropped full-sized images, some of which are up to 150kb in size.

• October weather in west Texas is unpredictable, especially around the Guadalupe Mountains National Park. But, for the third consecutive year, we were blessed with beautiful conditions for our outdoor activities: warm-but-not-hot, calm and clear.


• Given those great conditions, we were surprised to be the first hikers on the trail to Guadlupe Peak. In fact, we didn't encounter another human on the 4.2 mile trek up the mountain, and we had the summit to ourselves for twenty minutes before another group of hikers appeared.


• For you non-Texans, Guadalupe Peak is the highest point in Texas at 8,749'. The 8.5 mile hike to the top has an elevation gain of about 3,000'. It's not a particularly taxing climb -- thousands of people make do it each year -- but there are sections that are steep and/or treacherous enough (due to loose rock) that it's not something to undertake without some preparation. We made it up the mountain in 2.5 hours and cut 30 minutes off that time on the way down.


• The view from the top is amazing. The photos at right show the view from the peak and the trail. The large hunk of rock MLB is overlooking is El Capitan; the cliff face on the other side can be seen from fifty miles away.


• We finished our hike mid-afternoon, and after fortifying ourselves with chicken salad sandwiches and M&Ms, headed for the next destination: Fort Davis. The drive from the national park to Van Horn was lovely in the desolate way you'd expect from a road that runs along a range of mountains known as Sierra Diablo. The road construction from previous years was completed, but it's still a rough drive. We noted evidence of fairly recent flash flooding across the roadbed. The relative verdancy of the countryside testified to the abundant rainfall the region had finally received following more than a decade of brutal drought.


• Van Horn is just a wide spot in the road, snuggled up next to I-10 (but the people there are great!). I pulled into a gas station to top off the tank, figuring prices would be better here than in Fort Davis. But, how spoiled am I? There was a sign on the pump informing me that "Pay at the Pump is unavailable; please pay cashier inside first." I left without getting gas; I don't need no steenkin' "pay inside first" routine. (As it turned out, prices were just as good elsewhere. So there. I still got The Look from MLB, though.)


• The next leg was interstate mileage -- nothing to note except that very few people were exceeding the speed limit and most, including big rigs, were driving under the limit. Gas prices? But we hit the turnoff at Kent around 5:00 p.m., just as the sunlight was getting juicy and the backside of the Davis Mountains was picking up that golden glow that I've never seen even the best photographer do justice to. The grass covering the hills was eye-high on a steer and simply driving through that countryside made you feel like you were where God intended you to be.


• Twenty miles from our destination we encountered a truly amazing thing, although you have to be from west Texas to appreciate it. The low water crossing coming up out of Madera Canyon actually had water in it...a lot of water! I've never seen water running across the highway in that spot. People were setting up lawn chairs next to the creek, I assume in anticipation of the wildlife that would soon come down out of the hills to drink around dusk. According to the locals, there's now a herd of elk in those parts, after who knows how many decades of being absent.


• We arrived in Fort Davis around 6:00 p.m., tired and hungry. Eleanor was waiting to give us the tour of our accommodations at The Veranda -- a tour was apparently in order since we were staying in The Carriage House, a two-bedroom dwelling with two-foot thick adobe walls and hardwood floors. We didn't necessarily want The Carriage House, but it was the only available lodging in the whole area, thanks to the presence of the members of the Native Plant Society of Texas ("NPSOT"), whose annual meeting was being held at the Mitre Peak Girl Scout Camp between Fort Davis and Alpine.


• The Veranda was built around 1883 and is one of the oldest bed and breakfasts in the state. Kathie Woods has owned and managed it for the past decade or so, and her gourmet breakfasts are the highlight of the stay, but the beautiful grounds and charm of the compound itself run a close second.


• After a quick clean-up, we had dinner at the Limpia Hotel, where I indulged in a chicken-fried tenderloin (!) with grilled jalapeños, and MLB had the muy piquante meat loaf.


• We were joined at breakfast the next morning by a woman whose husband was attending the NPSOT meeting, which had its own catered meals. In the course of visiting with her and Kathie, the B&B owner, we learned that she was on a quest to find somewhere to print a document that her husband needed to sign and Fed Ex somewhere in order to finalize a consulting gig he was about to undertake. He is retired military and the document had something to do with his security clearance. Anyway, she had the document on a USB flash drive, but hadn't been able to find a computer that would read it. Kathie was running down the rather short list of publicly available computers in Fort Davis that might accommodate her when I offered one of the two laptops we had brought with us. I pointed out that if we could use Kathie's printer, we could take care of the chore in a heartbeat. I retrieved MLB's ThinkPad from the room and while I was connecting the old SCSI laser printer, the woman noticed my Hero Bracelet which I wear in honor of SSG. Will. She said that her son was also now in Iraq, with the Texas Army National Guard. I asked if he was deployed out of Fort Hood; she said yes. She looked at the bracelet again and said "he's in the 3/112 Armored Division, too!" The world kept getting smaller. "In fact, he's company commander for Alpha Company, and is currently located at the Talil Airbase south of Baghdad." Well, if you've been paying attention, you know that Talil is where Will is now deployed, although he's in Charlie company. But, still...how amazing is that? I need to write Will and ask if he knows the guy. Anyway, after all of that, we had her document printed in mere seconds and instead of using the whole morning trying to get that chore accomplished, she could now do some fun stuff.


• Our plans for the day centered around a 20-mile bike ride to Marfa to eat lunch and look around at the little town that's starting to attract some national attention as a "regional arts and culture center" (whatever that means). We left about 10:30 and stopped a couple of times to take photos, including some great shots of the small group of antelope that was grazing next to the highway. If you click to the large photo, you'll note the lone buck in the background; he serves as the lookout for the group. Every herd has one, standing off by himself, full of self-importance. We obviously weren't deemed to be threats, judging by the herd's unwillingness to stop grazing in order to give me the time of day. We saw a number of other antelope along this stretch of highway, along with some big mule deer. One advantage of traveling by bicycle is that you're moving slowly enough to notice such things, and it's convenient to stop to check them out.


• Marfa seemed to be a little more subdued than we remembered, although there was a fair amount of construction (remodeling) going on, and several new restaurants and stores, mostly of the "too cute and trés chic" style. We had pizza and salad for lunch at an old converted service station which is now named "The Pizza Foundation." The food was excellent.


• We returned to Marfa that evening for dinner (traveling by car this time), having scored last minute reservations at Maiya's Restaurant. I had a ribeye and MLB had halibut; we shared a pear crostata which was served with crème anglaise and vanilla bean ice cream. The bill for dinner worked out to about 4 cents for every resident of Marfa, which is small but not that small. Was it worth it? Well, I've never had a meal that I thought was worth $100, in and of itself. I enjoyed the endive salad with toasted walnuts, gorgonzola, pears and Dijon vinaigrette, but I'm equally at home with a chicken strip basket and a Blizzard at Dairy Queen. But I guess it's the whole ambience thing, the "we're on vacation so who cares" thing. But I still couldn't shake the feeling that most of the crowd that night was really pretending to be in Santa Fe, if you know what I mean.


• Oh, here's a travel tip: if you're going to look for the Marfa Lights viewing area after dark, have a general idea of which direction to head. Because, otherwise, you could find yourself driving to Presidio on a highway with a narrow shoulder and a long line of cars and trucks behind you with no way to pull over and turn around. Not that I'd know about that or anything. I'm just saying.


• Saturday was the scheduled death slog up to the McDonald Observatory Visitor Center. It's just over fifteen miles from the B&B to the Center, and it's pretty much uphill all the way, with grades of 6-10% for most of the latter half of the ride. As you can imagine, the return trip is much quicker, unless your stoker (that's the rider on the back of a tandem, for you non-tandeming readers) has control of the rear wheel brake. But, we did take the time to get a photo or two from the scenic overlook.


• Remember, way back at the beginning, how I was talking about the weather being unpredictable in October. In 2003, when we last made this trip, we went through shirt-sleeve and shorts weather until we awoke on the last day to six inches of snow. This year, we also experienced a drastic change in weather as a front blew through just as we left Fort Davis to head home. We didn't get any snow, but the gusty winds and low hanging clouds made us grateful for the beautiful conditions we had for our outdoor activities in the previous days. The front also provided some great photo ops.

If you're still with me, well, bless your heart. I had to leave out some good stuff, like the crashed iPod and the pirated wifi hotspot and the description of a night sky that's so star-filled that I wouldn't even bother trying to describe it to you. Oh, and the fact that one of the other guests at the B&B is the brother of one of MLB's co-workers, and she serves on a board with another of the guests. But if I had included details like that, this would have been mind-numbingly detailed, and we wouldn't want that, would we?

In conclusion, I'm working on a detailed hand-drawn map that will bring a new perspective to all of this. Stay tuned for that striking development. And if you're ever at The Veranda in Fort Davis, tell Kathie we said hi.

Update: Following literally minutes of painstaking research and toil, the map is now available and you may view the full sized version in all its glory by clicking on the thumbnail at right.

Technorati tags: Davis Mountains | Fort Davis

HarvestFest in FS

This weekend is the annual buckaroo bacchanalia in Fort Stockton known as "HarvestFest." We'll be doing the 52 mile round trip bike tour out to the winery (I keep trying to type "refinery"; I guess it is, in a way). We're told they're having a grape stomp this year, and we'll try to conjure up the spirit of Lucy Ricardo.

I may have some photos to bore you with, but don't look for much else in these parts over the weekend.

Besides, you need to be out playing in the lawn sprinklers while the weather's still nice. And close the door behind you; you're letting out the A/C!

Holiday Weekend Roundup

One word will forever define The Weekend of the Fourth, 2005 edition, as experienced in bustling Fredericksburg, Texas: heat. Oh, and let's throw in "humidity," just for good measure.

Yeah, I know. It was hot everywhere in Texas this weekend, but we were in Fburg, where everything is a little more intense. A town with a purported population of 9,000 and change was not meant to hold another 20,000 in 104° weather. We're usually here every Easter weekend, and so experiencing the teeming masses is nothing new, but this weekend's masses were markedly more sweaty and grim-looking than those others.

Still, it was a good getaway, as we set up our remote headquarters in a new (to us) B&B located four miles north of town, on Lower Crabapple Road if you're familiar with the area. The B&B had the unimaginative name of "The Country Haus" (Traveler's note: view with suspicion any Hill Country B&B which incorporates the anglicized "House" into its name; the Germanic variation bestows accomodational legitimacy), but it had a great bed, a full kitchen with well-stocked pantry, satellite TV and a fully functional air conditioner. Herds of deer wandered through the yard, requiring Abbye to stay in high alert mode, and the nest of adolescent barn swallows on the front porch kept us entertained as they did perfect imitations of human teenagers, sleeping late and expecting the parents to feed them even though they were obviously old enough to fend for themselves. And, of course, the parents obliged because, well, that's what parents do.

We brought the long bike with us (photo below), intending to put in a few miles each day in the hills. The heat caused us to ride early, but even finishing before noon we were still riding in temperatures in the 90s. This was one weekend where we didn't complain about the wind...the cooling effects of the breeze was more important than any impediment to our cycling progress. We rode just over 30 miles on Saturday morning (out to Enchanted Rock State Natural Area) and almost 40 miles on Sunday morning.

This morning, we got up earlier than usual for breakfast, then drove back to Enchanted Rock where we hiked to the summit of that amazing chunk of granite, then down the other side to the beautiful-but-tiny Moss Lake (Traveler's note: I didn't look it up, but I suspect there are another 6,000 other bodies of water in Texas named "Moss Lake" or some variation thereof). The climb isn't normally strenuous, except we elected to blaze our own trail on the way back, and the GPS recorded a pitch of over 35° in places. We were literally climbing the rock using our hands like Missing Links; fortunately the granite provided excellent traction for the soles of our boots and there was no slipping and sliding.

Above: Early morning view from atop Enchanted Rock
Below: MLB poses next to a dead tree on the summit of Enchanted Rock

Here are some miscellaneous observations from the weekend, primarily for those who occasionally travel to Fredericksburg.

• We ate dinner Saturday at the Herb Farm and it was wonderful. If you're there during peach season (which usually begins around mid-June and runs through the summer), look for the salad dressed with fresh peachs, and don't pass up the peach cobbler with homemade ice cream.


• Speaking of peaches, we accomplished one of our goals for the trip, which was to bring back as many peaches as we could pack into our Durango (about $100 worth, to be exact). MLB is already busy slicing and preparing them for freezing so we can enjoy them for months to come. We found the best peaches around Blumenthal, ten miles east of town on Highway 290, from the Vogel and Engel orchards. But, as they say, your mileage may vary. Note that freestone peaches don't normally begin to ripen until near the end of June.


• If you can't bear to be offline while traveling, you'll be pleased to know that even little Fburg has an almost continuous string of WiFi hotspots along its main drag. Several shops have window signs advertising "free highspeed internet" and my Canary Wireless Digital Hotspotter identified many other open wireless networks, presumably from the back offices of stores who either didn't know or care that their connection was unsecured.


• The Hill Country is starting to look drought-striken again, after a wet 2004 and early-2005. We can handle a month without rain here in west Texas, but it's a different story as you head east.


• It also appears that half of Gillespie County is for sale. I suppose it's the overall strength of the real estate market: relatively low interest rates and lots of oil money, but it seemed like every other lot, house and ranch we passed had a realtor's sign stuck on it.


• The annual 4th of July parade in Fburg must be a big deal. We just missed it, but it took us twenty minutes to drive through the aftermath on our way out of town. In a scene that's replicated in thousands of small towns across our nation, the main street was lined with pickup trucks with beds crammed full of lawn chairs, and the sidewalks were full with families turned out to watch the farm implement-based floats and the junior rodeoers on horseback and the best of the new cars from the local dealership carrying various city dignitaries and honorees. It's a shameless display of patriotism and civic pride, and as aggravated as I was to be in a traffic jam in Fredericksburg, Texas, I couldn't help sharing their pride and thanking God for the unmitigated blessing of living in such a great nation.

Technorati tags: Fredericksburg | Enchanted Rock

Easter Hill Country Tour 2005

We're back from our annual pilgrimage to Fredericksburg (hereinafter referred to as "Fburg") and Kerrville ("Kville") to participate in the Easter Hill Country Tour, a series of supported bike rides through the Texas countryside. While there is no theme for each year's event, the 2005 edition can legitimately be labeled as a Wash-Out. This made it a bit of a disappointment in some ways, but overall the long weekend was quite nice.

Due to the early arrival of Easter this year (here's some related trivia; according to this website, Easter has fallen or will fall on March 27th only five times during the 250-year span from 1875 through 2124), the fabled Hill Country wildflowers were a no-show. We saw a mere sprinkling of overachieving bluebonnets scattered about, a far cry from the literal blankets we encountered last year. Judging from the way the flowers were budding, I'd guess that the view will be spectacular in about two weeks. Lord knows they've gotten enough rain.

Which brings us to the literal washout, which occurred on Saturday...which is the big riding day of the tour. The weather forecasts had been predicting the arrival of a cool front and a chance of rain and when we arose on Saturday morning the skies were threatening. We had to make a decision: take a chance and head to Kville for the formal ride, stick closer to home and ride around Fburg in order to bailout if the weather turned really nasty, or just call off the whole thing. I always hate canceling a ride, especially when we've come so far, but I hate riding in bad weather even more, so we decided not to chance it. Perhaps we could get in an afternoon ride, since the front was supposed to be moving fast.

Good call. About 10:00 the skies opened up, first with rain, then with hail, then with really heavy rain. We'd have been miserable, if not in actual pain, if we'd taken a chance. It continued to sprinkle on and off throughout the day, the wind stayed up, and the temps never got past the mid-50s. It was a good day to walk around town and generally veg out.

We did manage to get in a self-paced 30 mile ride on Thursday, before the formal tour began, and we had a very enjoyable 47 miler on Friday, over various ranch roads north of Kville. Seems like there was more interest than usual in our 10' dual-lounge chair bicycle; we spent a lot of time at the rest stops answering questions about it.

Since there weren't any wildflowers to speak of (other than blanketing the countryside for a solid 90 miles from Midland to Iraan, of all places! I'll provide some photographic evidence in another post.), I have no breathtaking photos to share with you. However, here are a couple of pics that capture some of the flavor of the weekend. The first one is a view from the front porch of our B&B. If you look closely, you can make out the layer of mist into which the dirt road disappears. Very spooky. The second photo is taken from an ant's eye level...a fire ant, to be exact. That's a fire ant mound in the foreground, probably 10" tall. MLB is astride the longbike in the background, along with the south end of a north-facing cow who was, apparently, a bit camera-shy.

This will not go into the history books as our best EHCT ever, but we stayed safe and healthy, and the countryside was still beautiful even without the wildflowers. (Never underestimate...or take for granted...the blessing of the color of green in the Texas landscape.) We had lots of good food (dinner at the Herb Farm in Fburg was a highlight), although it remains a mystery to me why you can't get any decent TexMex in a town that's only 60 miles from San Antonio. Abbye got to play like a farm dog (which is OK except for those blasted falling leaves!), we lingered in the hot tub under clear blue Texas skies on Friday, and we got to spend some quality time with my parents (who stayed in the Hangar Hotel which is right on the Fburg municipal airstrip). So, in the end, it was a good way to spend an extended Easter weekend.

Technorati tags: Texas Hill Country | EHCT | Bicycle Tours

Back in the saddle...very gingerly...

The 2005 edition of "Lunatic Texans on Skis" had a successful run, and I'm told that the scarring will be minimal if any. And any rumors you might have heard about a rented snowmobile going over a 600' cliff outside of Taos are greatly exaggerated.

I hope to return to regular posting as soon as I can figure out a way to comfortably prop my right arm so that I can reach the keyboard with the three fingers that are still operating. But for now, I'll leave you with this simple observation: Santa Fe is a city in which, to all outward appearances, time froze on November 1, 2004, or, perhaps, 6:00 p.m. on the 2nd, when the first national exit poll numbers began appearing. The entire population appears to be waiting for confirmation that their candidates did, indeed and after all, win.

Now, where the Aleve?

I'm kidding about much of this, of course. It's called "literary hyperbole" and it's an oft-used technique by writers wishing to compensate for an absence of actual talent. I've gotten very good at it, I think.

But I'm not kidding about Santa Fe.

Hiking El Capitan

A year ago, MLB and I hiked to the top of Guadalupe Peak, which at 8,700' and change is the highest point in Texas. We were exceedingly fortunate in that the weather was beautiful -- clear, calm and cool -- something that cannot be counted on in that part of the country during this time of the year.

We decided to return this year and try a different challenge: hiking the 11 mile El Capitan trail. The limestone face of El Capitan provides the trademark image of Guadalupe Mountains National Park; it's recognizable from more than 50 miles away by observant travelers on Interstate 10, and it's flat out imposing up close. El Capitan is not as tall as Guadalupe Peak, giving up about 700' in elevation, but it's more famous.

You can't actually hike to the summit of El Capitan, and as far as I know, climbers are not allowed on the rock face. Given that the hike simply takes one past the base of the mountain, we figured this to be a fairly easy walk in the park...literally. We were, of course, wrong.

We overnighted in our home town of Fort Stockton, leaving Abbye with MLB's dad. We were on the road at 6:00 a.m. the next morning, intending to get a quick breakfast at the McDonald's in Pecos (and also supplementing our Clif bars, homemade trail mix and other assorted munchies with a few extra McMuffins for a post-hike snack before heading back home). Imagine our surprise -- nay, shock! -- to find the McDonald's boarded up. Ditto for the Pecos Dairy Queen. (How do national chain fast food joints located on interstates go out of business?) We ended up having a very good breakfast at the Swiss Clock Inn, but couldn't follow through on our afternoon snack plans.

Despite the minor setback, we were buoyed by the beautiful weather as we drove on through Orla (pop. 5? 10?), where one turns left (west) and approaches the national park. The thermometer in the Durango read 40-42°, but the winds were relatively calm and the sky was crystal clear. We began to re-think our dressing plans, which originally involved several layers of light clothes topped with windbreakers, and accompanied by gloves and earmuffs.

We arrived at the trailhead around 9:00 a.m. and the temperature had risen to the lower 50s (which, by the way, was the forecast high for the day, according to the what-do-they-know-anyway TV meterologists). That was enough to convince me to go with a lightweight long-sleeved Capilene top, a windbreaker stuffed in my CamelBak for insurance, and no gloves or muffs. That proved to be one of the better decisions of the day.

We hit the trail around 9:30, a half-hour ahead of my mentally-computed schedule. I noticed that we were the only hikers who had signed in for El Capitan for the day; most people come here to climb Guadalupe Peak. That was fine with us. A crowded trail takes some of the fun out of the experience.

The El Capitan trail is relatively flat at the beginning, a little downhill even. MLB later admitted thinking to herself, after about 15 minutes on the trail, "well, this certainly isn't very challenging...or fun!" She would later rethink that thought.

This area of the country, like most of west Texas, has received abundant rainfall this year, especially during the late summer and fall months. Every draw we passed from Orla to the Park had water running or standing in it, something I've never seen before. The result of that rainfall could also be seen in the thick and tall prairie vegetation which crowded against the trail and occasionally obscured it. This was a mixed blessing. The scenery was grander than usual, but the plant life was aggressive in attaching itself via various adaptations to one's clothing (and skin).

Word to the wise: don't do this hike in shorts, unless you have the hide of a rhino. Besides the mostly annoying pasture grasses, the trail is crowded with seriously sharp things like cholla, prickly pear, century plants, Spanish daggers, mesquite and yucca. Long pants are recommended and, in fact, the longer the better, to help keep your boots or shoes free of sticking seed heads.

And, as long as we're sharing warnings, here's a couple more. If you are a mad dog or Englishman and feel you must do this hike in the dead of summer, pack more water than you think you'll need, then add some to it. There's almost no shade to be found on much of the trail, and no reliable sources of water. One guidebook referred to a natural spring in one location, but we didn't find it.

I carried a 100 oz. CamelBak backpack and MLB had a smaller one configured as a fannypack. Even in the cool weather, the low humidity, strenuous activity and direct sun had us sweating and guzzling all afternoon. We ended the hike with about a pint of water to spare.

Make sure your footwear is top-notch, and by that I mean that it offers good ankle support and has better-than-average protection for the bottoms of your feet. The trail is exceedingly rocky and in places the footing is quite iffy due to the shale that shifts and slides under your feet. We both have quality hiking boots (hers by Tecnica and mine from Salomon, both being highly-regarded makers of ski boots), but by the end of the day our feet were aching miserably due to the rough terrain. I'm not sure what would improve the situation if we do the hike again...perhaps some thicker gel insoles?

The route itself is complicated, winding around, up and down hills, through and across arroyos, circling back on itself several times. Interestingly, you're hardly ever out of sight of US Highway 62 that runs west all the way to El Paso. There's no danger of getting lost, even if you somehow manage to lose the trail. But it's almost impossible to anticipate where the trail goes next. At one point, atop one of the taller hills on the route, I looked down and saw what looked like a tangle of trails and thought, "man, you've got a lot of choices for hiking around here." I later realized that we would be walking every inch of every one of them, "them" being one snaky trail...the one we were on.

We didn't see a lot of wildlife, as least not the sensational kind. We did meet the guy (gal?) shown at right, clambering up one section of the trail as we clambered down it. Apart from a portly rock squirrel (looked more like a marmot, really), there were no other mammals to be seen, although there were plenty of droppings along the trail to indicate that the countryside wasn't as deserted as it looked.

The scenery was grand enough to distract us from the narrowness of the trail (hardly ever wide enough to walk two abreast) and the unsteady footing. The panoramas in this part of the world are awe-inspiring, with a desolate beauty that I don't have words to describe (and my camera doesn't have pixels to capture). This landscape isn't for everyone; you either acquire the taste for it or your brain fires in a peculiar fashion to allow you to process the beauty. But if you fall into either of those categories, this is a place you need to go and be in for a few hours.

Just don't count on any Egg McMuffins at the end of the day.

Checking in...

Just dropped in to leave a quick update. We had a good (read: no one died) hike yesterday, 11.8 miles -- as the GPS wanders -- through some rough and ruggedly beautiful terrain in Guadalupe National Park. For the second consecutive year, the weather was uncharacteristically mild and calm; I'm afraid we're getting spoiled. We saw just one other person during almost 6 hours on the trail.

I hope to have a better report later, with some photos. In the meantime, here's a teaser. This is a view of the face of El Capitan and, yes, that's the moon peeking over the crest, at around 11:00 a.m.

Heading West...

Light-to-no blogging starting now, as we're heading for Guadalupe National Park to hike up El Capitan.

I realize I owe you a report from last weekend's trip to Weed, NM, and I will make good on that. Actually, I got 90% finished with it, then the server burped, I lost most of it and I haven't found the motivation to re-create it. But I will.

In the meantime, if you want to see some unedited photos from the Weed trip, you can view a Photoshop-generated web album