The Texas Perimeter Hike

For Those Just Tuning In...

2010-12-18T07:43:00.000-08:00

This site represents a very long year's worth of blogging. For those of you just coming to it, I've put together a few page links below which will give you a good smattering of my trek around Texas.
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I get asked a lot of questions about people, animals, weather, and more with a certain amount of frequency. The following blogs will address these issues with a specific story.
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The Scary Incident at the Beach
The Panther's Scream
The Ice Storm in the Lower Panhandle
The People of Muleshoe, Texas
Big Bend National Park Thoughts
The Funkiest Hostel in Texas
My Nighttime Border Stretch
Sneaking into a State Park
Reflections
The Final Map
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Faces of Texas was a recurring blog post about the people I met along the way. Click on the region to see who I met and what their stories are. There will be some overlap between regions, but by and large, it'll be accurate. Also, when a region is mentioned multiple times, just keep in mind, I was walking, not driving, through these places. I spent a LOT of time in each corner of the state.
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The Gulf Coast
The Gulf Coast
The Gulf Coast
East Texas
East Texas
East Texas
North Texas
The Panhandle
The Panhandle
The Panhandle
West Texas
West Texas
South Texas
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Finally, here are my days and miles with journal entries mixed in. It's basically a log of how much I'd done for the day with pictures of things I'd seen.
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Days 1-8
Days 9-22
Days 23-32
Days 33-47
Days 48-85
(Break for Toe Fracture)
Days 128-145
Days 146-185
Days 186-231
Days 232-290
Days 291-359
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Hope this works out for everyone. If you have any questions or additional comments, please feel free to write me at smattathias@gmail.com. You can also find me on Facebook under Steven Matthew Read.
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Enjoy!

The Final Map

2010-10-26T07:11:00.000-07:00

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This map has been LOOOONG overdue. All the green dots are where I either camped, stayed in a hotel/motel/someone's house, or stopped for the day (and didn't sleep there). You can see the places I went slowly and the places I went fast. I think the biggest stretches I covered were in the last push to Corpus.
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It's wild to see the map of the trek. Of course, I'd been updating along the way and regarding it, but somehow seeing it all together like this is a different experience.
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While I have forgotten a handful of my campsites, I remember so many of them vividly, which side of the road I was on, how high the grass was, the temperature of the evening. I don't remember even a quarter of my camping spots on the Appalachian Trail.
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So there you have it. Mission accomplished. What's next is in the making, so until then, follow your dreams.

In the News...

2010-10-04T22:37:00.001-07:00

My final Caller-Times column is here. No further explanation is needed.
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So I was wrong about this blog being done. I guess there's always more that can be written. A few days ago, I got a gig for 2011 with the Austin American-Statesman! So there you go.
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Until whenever!

St. James Classroom Visit and Mrs. Linda Stalmach

2010-10-04T21:51:00.000-07:00

Throughout most of my hike, I corresponded with a group of fourth grade students at St. James Episcopal School. I sent postcards to Corpus, and on occasion, I'd receive a huge package of letters from the kids filled with questions about the hike and updates from their lives. This back-and-forth was one of the highlights of my trip.

I wrote about it as well in a Caller-Times article several months ago. You can read that here.

Their teacher was Mrs. Linda Stalmach. On the morning of my departure, my friend's mom Tommie Nattinger mentioned that Mrs. Stalmach had expressed interest in my project. I immediately said that I'd be more than happy to write the class, though I hadn't spoken with Mrs. Stalmach directly.

I wrote that very day. Then I wrote once or twice a week for the better part of a year. When they wrote a bunch of letters, I did my best to reply to every one of them.

Little did I know, Mrs. Stalmach was teaching her last year in a wheelchair. She had been diagnosed with ALS or Lou Gehrig's disease and had lost the use of her legs. This didn't keep her from doing a superlative job, though. More than one student mentioned that they had the greatest teacher on earth.

When I came back, the details of her condition came to me bit by bit. I was going through my own wind-down, and on top of that, I didn't think it wise to go over without permission. I had asked a couple of times through postcards if she'd like to meet. By that time, however, she had lost a lot of weight and was having trouble breathing, let alone writing.

I was oblivious to her rapid decline. Instead, I said yes to a classroom visit at St. James. I'd been excited to see the kids and see what they were like.

The talk went well. The kids asked a lot of questions, played with Raisin, and tried on my backpack (some fell backward, though many stood straight). Afterward, we took a group picture, shown above. It was a lovely way to start the day.

The teachers and admin employees informed me that Mrs. Stalmach was doing extremely poorly. They encouraged me to call and go over. So I did.

After getting the number from Tommie, I called and was given the OK by John Stalmach. I asked my friend's mom to accompany me, and she accepted. As we were driving over, she tried to prepare me for what was coming, but really, nothing short of direct experience will give you what you need to know.

My former teacher had disappeared. In her place was a much smaller woman, sitting in a wheelchair, whose arms and hands moved slowly, whose voice was barely a whisper. We both gave her awkward hugs.

Tommie lead the conversation, talking about whatever snippets she could discern from Mrs. Stalmach. There were times when it was clear Mrs. Stalmach was a little confused, not responding to our prompts or muddling up what we'd just said.

However, in these difficult moments, Mrs. Stalmach asked if I had seen the kids. We had told her earlier in the visit that I had, but in the haze of her condition, she hadn't understood. But now she was asking. She was dying, could barely talk or understand, and was still thinking about her students.

Mrs. Linda Stalmach died the following day.

It's been my privilege to have worked with Mrs. Stalmach and to have been a part of her last year of teaching. She will be missed by everyone.

In the News...

2010-09-09T00:40:00.000-07:00

I didn't think I'd be posting any more, but I suppose there's always more.
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I've got three articles left, two of which I'll post here. I've concluded my self-syndicated column series with the following newspapers: the Booker News, the Bowie County Citizens Tribune, the Brackett News, the Brownfield News, the Canadian Record, the Clay County Leader, the Eden Echo, the Fairfield Recorder, the Jefferson Jimplecute, the Lone Star Iconoclast, the Lufkin Daily News, the Pulse, the Seminole Sentinel, the Vernon Daily Record, the Victoria Advocate, the White Oak Independent, and the Wise County Messenger. I thank the publishers and editors of these papers for trusting me with this year-long writing project and for inviting their readers along on the journey. Without you, this walkabout wouldn't have been possible.
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Click here for the last syndicated article.
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The Corpus Christi Caller-Times publishes a separate column series, also about the Texas Perimeter Hike. Due to a clever early decision by Cynthia Arbuckle, the paper publishes my columns a month after I submit them, so as to form a safety net of one column. They only recently published the 11th article and will this month publish the finale. Though some themes may be similar between the two column series, this one is entirely independent of the self-syndicated series above. Thank you to Cynthia and the newspaper staff for their interest and support.
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Click here for the 11th article in the Caller-Times.
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I dug up a few interviews from Beaumont and Lubbock that I'd forgotten about after the panhandle. Unfortunately, the Beaumont paper doesn't put the entire article online, but you can still see one of my blog photos here and a bit of the text:
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Click here for the half article in the Beaumont Enterprise.
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The Lubbock paper on the other hand has posted the entire article online. The reporter Alyssa Dizon was amazingly thorough. She not only interviewed me but also my supervisor at Caprock Canyons State Park and a family I stayed with in Muleshoe. Incredible! No other reporter did this much work for a story. The Lubbock paper would be wise to trust Alyssa with more assignments and a commensurate raise!
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Click here for the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal article.
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Until next time? There's always room for another, I suppose. Keep checking!

The End

2010-09-05T11:12:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, August 21st, 2010, Raisin and I arrived in Corpus Christi, completing my circuit around the perimeter of Texas. With my sidetrips, I estimate I've walked around 3200 miles. Raisin must have made some records too breaking 1000 miles traveled, herself walking about 700 miles of the distance.

Several people accompanied us in the home stretch: my cousin Ted walked over 5 miles from Ennis Joslin in flip-flops, his dad Tony joined us about 3 miles out, and three neighbors, Tony, Alicia, and Nora, jumped on about 2 miles from home. Several other neighbors came out to the corner including a busload of children (or so it seemed), and my mother forced a big American flag into one of their hands (a flag of Texas may have been more appropriate, I don't know). Pictures were taken, smiles and handshakes flew, and then we retired to home.

Some surprising details: Mrs. Perez (Alicia) who had had some kind of internal surgery last year was the fastest walker (faster than me!) and was practically skipping. My uncle Tony, an athlete in his youth, overheated in the sun and had to cool off with ice water and a wet towel on his head. Ted got blisters from the flips. And Raisin, who had walked 100 miles in 4 days, had gone lame, so I had to carry her home.

At my parent's house, there were even more relatives and another neighbor, and we all sat down to eat some tamales my mother had made especially for the homecoming. (Actually, I slipped away and took a quick shower. I weighed just under 140!) An hour later, everyone was full and tired and went home to clean up and relax.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It's been two weeks now. I got sick some time around Laredo and was hoping that the Airborne I took from Becky Garcia would help me out. Nope. If anything, the whole thing lasted even longer. I walked with this chest infection for the better part of a month, and only today finished off a five-day antibiotic treatment. Ironically, my friend and doctor believes I've had walking pneumonia!

Perhaps as a result, I've found myself sleeping and goofing off. It's easy to fall head first into the ocean of the internet. I was late with my last syndicated column and still have one more Caller-Times column to write. Maybe I don't want this thing to end.

Raisin, on the other hand, has wiped her paws of the whole hike. Since finishing, I've taken her on two short walks, but she's acted suspicious and uncooperative the whole time, like we could hit the road any minute. She's a 14 lb dog, in general a little thing, and that last 125 miles really took it out of her. Raisin's doing great now, her disdain for walking replaced with a disdain for the bathroom and baths.

Have I learned anything from all of this? Am I a changed person? The answers to these questions will always be yes because there's no way to undo the past. Yes, I've learned a thing or two, tons of things actually, and yes, I've grown in the last year. But it doesn't end there. I expect my experiences to have a profound influence on the rest of my life. However, I could have said the same thing about elementary school, the Peace Corps, or my first girlfriend, whom I affectionately refer to as G-1.

Life builds on top of life. Any given experience exerts its influence both up and down in time, illuminating past events and making it easier for a person to navigate future ones (in theory, at any rate). My project, while unusual, is no different in this respect than any other ways in which people choose to spend their time.

On the other hand, perhaps the questions demand a little less philosophy and a little more straight talking. Though it goes against my general principle of avoiding the dissection of a life event, I will nonetheless list ten things that I've learned in the last year:

1) I shouldn't fear a homeless person any more or less than I do another person on the street.
2) There are more good people in this world than bad.
3) Walking on sand for more than an hour is a brutal way to treat feet.
4) There's a lot more in the Texas Panhandle than open space.
5) Visiting my dad's childhood friend was the best way to learn about my dad.
6) The value of a handwritten letter in the middle of nowhere is inestimable.
7) God is out there and right here.
8) 115 degrees is really hot.
9) A kindness to a stranger can be as simple as a conversation.
10) Texas is really big.

Take from that what you will.

As per me, I have several writing projects left which will keep me busy for a few weeks, and then... who knows. There's a bicycle in my future which - given my history with my legs and feet - is my parents' worst nightmare. I want to learn to speak and write Spanish, swim better, make a business teaching boardgames to families, and solidify a career in writing.

One at a time, though. First, the bike.

Until next time, travelers...

Days Two Hundred Ninety-One to Three Hundred Fifty-Nine

2010-09-01T07:59:00.000-07:00

A week and a half ago, Raisin and I arrived in Corpus Christi. It still hasn't sunk in. This stay with my folks has been like any other, wide open and laden with time. The way it feels we could have just come back from Guinea, Montana, New Mexico, or any other place I've lived.

There's so much to say I want to say it in its own space. So for the last time, at least in a long while, scan the mileage, look at the photos, and read these little snips of thought. Enjoy.

Days 291-293: More zero days in Terlingua Ghost Town

Day 294: Just inside Big Bend, about 5 miles

Day 295: Near Castolon, BBNP, about 19 miles

Days 296-297: Two more zero days in Castolon (did day hikes around BBNP)

Day 298: River Road, BBNP, about 18 miles

Day 299: Mariscal Canyon Trail, BBNP, about 21 miles

Day 300: Juniper Canyon Trail, BBNP, about 30 miles

Day 301: Grapevine Springs, BBNP, about 17 miles

Day 302: Hwy 385, BBNP, about 20 miles

Day 303: Hwy 385, about 15 miles

Day 304: Hwy 385, about 9 miles

Day 305: South of Marathon, about 17 miles

Day 306: Marathon, about 14 miles

Days 307-311: Several zero days in Marathon during hurricane

Day 312: Hwy 90, about 10 miles

Day 313: Hwy 90, about 20 miles

Day 314: Hwy 90, about 19 miles

Day 315: Sanderson, about 5 miles

Day 316: East of Sanderson, about 3 miles

Day 317: Dryden, about 17 miles

Day 318: Hwy 90, about 15 miles

Day 319: Hwy 90, about 16 miles

Day 320: East of Langtry, about 15 miles

Day 321: Seminole Canyon State Park, about 16 miles (1 mile to get there off road)

Day 322: East of Comstock, about 21 miles

Day 323: West of Del Rio, about 13 miles

Day 324: Zero day at Broke Mill RV Park outside of Del Rio (second evening here)

Day 325: Hwy 277, about 15 miles

Day 326: Hwy 277, about 15 miles

Day 327: Normandy, about 12 miles

Day 328: Eagle Pass, about 17 miles

Day 329: Outskirts of Eagle Pass, about 6 miles

Day 330: Southeast of El Indio, about 16 miles

Day 331: Old Mines Road, about 20 miles

Day 332: Old Mines Road, about 20 miles

Day 333: FM 1472, about 20 miles

Day 334: Laredo, about 25 miles

Days 335-338: Four zero days in Laredo

Day 339: Southeast Laredo, about 12 miles (3 miles were made just to get to starting point)

Day 340: Hwy 83, about 16 miles

Day 341: South of San Ygnacio, about 13 miles

Day 342: South of Zapata, about 16 miles

Day 343: Just past Falcon, about 20 miles

Day 344: Hwy 83, about 18 miles (visited Falcon Lake State Park)

Day 345: Hwy 83, about 12 miles

Day 346: East of Rio Grande City, about 15 miles

Day 347: East of La Joya, about 20 miles

Day 348: Mission, about 10 miles

Day 349: North of Hidalgo, about 12 miles

Day 350: Old Military Hwy, about 20 miles

Day 351: Los Indios, about 15 miles

Day 352: Brownsville, about 21 miles

Day 353: Northeast of Brownsville, about 12 miles

Day 354: South Padre, about 20 miles

Day 355: South Padre, about 30 miles

Day 356: North Padre, about 21 miles

Day 357: North Padre, about 29 miles

Day 358: North Padre, about 19 miles

Day 359: Home, about 16 miles
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(I haven't added up my miles. I'll have a rough estimation soon.)

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Day 300: Got a really early start. I'm behind on my schedule and need to finish by tomorrow. That means a 30-mile day today. I gots to get crackin'! [If a hiker, especially a solitary hiker, doesn't check in to the Big Bend Headquarters when he/she finishes, the rangers send out an alert and go looking for you. Didn't want that to happen, and the likelihood increased a bit because I added a 20-mile detour to wrap over Mariscal Canyon.]

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Infinite, Brewster County, Day 301

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Day 301: Reunited with Raisin! Patricia drove little Raisin out to me and was a real sweetie, even offering to take her. Nope! Raisin and I are out of here! [Patricia and husband Jim took care of Raisin while I hiked around the park. Though having a puppy around mixed things up, especially for their older bigger dog, the family warmed up to Raisin by the end of the few days.]

[There are millipedes all over West Texas. Raisin would sniff and bark at them, but they would often curl up in self-defense like the picture above. They are harmless and should not be confused with a centipede, which has about a dozen segments to the body and longer legs, and is dangerous to the touch. I saw both during the trip.]
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Fireman, Marathon, Brewster County, Day 309

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Day 309: Chopped chicken breasts, then rode and drove a fire truck! Ali had to do some fundraising. [In Marathon, I was volunteering quite a bit with the local fire department. I helped with food prep and clean up, drove a fire truck which was crazy big, and also judged two chili cook-offs. Daniel, the fire chief, was happy to have the help, and I was happy to be part of a group. I got involved through the volunteers at La Loma del Chivo hostel who were also fire department volunteers. Working for free and being part of the Marathon community for a few days was one highlight of the entire trek.]
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Pretty in Pink, Brewster County, Day 312

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Day 315: [Stayed at a motel. Manager asked me the following:] "Do you smoke?" "No." "Do you drink?" "No." "Do you pray to Almighty God every morning?" "No." "Then what do you do?" [She was incredulous that I didn't have any vices that she related to. I told her in response to her last question that I walk.]

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King Me, Sanderson, Terrell County, Day 316

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Wisdom, Dryden, Terrell County, Day 317

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Day 317: Then Mike - who also got invited to eat [at the store] - invited me to crash on his couch. He had heard about me from Marfa! [Imagine walking for nearly a month, then having someone recognize me through word of mouth! This is what happened in Dryden, and I am still shocked by it. I guess not too many people walk around the area and never in the summer.]

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Lozier Canyon, Terrell Canyon, Day 319

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Day 319: Found an awesome canyon after sunrise. Decided this would be better than a picnic area. Fenced off. Went down anyway. We ate, I read, played in the running stream, cleaned up, washed clothes, finished The Devil's Highway by Urrea, finished Charlie's article on George Schaller, are more, relaxed with Raisin, moved on to Dead Man's Walk from Mike & Sandy. Enjoying cool white rocks and the breeze. The overhead traffic is 30 ft above us and mostly drowned out by the rapids. [I was told later that the canyon is usually dry!]
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Under the Bridge at Lozier Canyon, Terrell Canyon, Day 319
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Judge Roy Bean's Place, Langtry, Val Verde County, Day 320

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Make it a Double, Langtry, Val Verde County, Day 320

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Purple Sage, Langtry, Val Verde County, Day 320

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Day 320: Shrubs with purple flowers are everywhere now. So pretty. [The purple sage turned the countryside into a painter's palette. The purple stretched to the horizon, splotches as far left and right as I could see.]
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Prickly Pear Fruit, Langtry, Val Verde County, Day 320

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Country Humor, Val Verde County, Day 320
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Border Patrol Drag, Val Verde County, Day 320

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Day 320: [The above contraption is known to the Border Patrol as a 'drag.' There are dirt roads that run parallel to the border which are 'dragged' every day or two or three. The tires smooth the road and make it possible for agents to 'cut sign' and see exactly where people are crossing.]
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The Pecos, Val Verde County, Day 321

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Seminole Canyon, Val Verde Canyon, Day 321

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Day 321: [Raisin and I snuck into a forbidden canyon. We played in the water for hours before finally camping out on a ledge at night. People probably hadn't slept on that ledge for over 150 years. I tried to make a fire from sticks and failed. Even so, the evening felt sacred.]

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Hesles Motel, Eagle Pass, Maverick County, Day 328

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Day 329: Talked with the owner Mr. Hesles-Shroeder about a work exchange. We had started the conversation yesterday. I wanted to work by the hour $10/hr and quit after 2.5 hrs. He wanted the job - weeding - done in its entirety. What if it took 5 hours? No way. "Mr. Read, I don't think anything can be arranged." There you have it. "This is a border town, Mr. Read. This isn't Montana." While interrupting me, he added, "I can find many more people like you who will do the job." Like me? What irked me is that he wasn't paying me, per se. It was a barter. After receiving the world's trashiest room, all of a sudden he has standards? I would think that 2.5-3 hrs was a good deal, but he obviously didn't. Raisin and I checked out 30 min later.

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Nest Egg, Laredo, Webb County, Day 339

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Day 339: [I watched a spider guard her egg for thirty minutes while Raisin and I were waiting out the heat inside a culvert. The images I took are big and bold, though the actual spider was no bigger than a quarter. Fascinating creature.]
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Hot and Spicy, Falcon Lake SP, Zapata County, Day 344

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Day 344: [I've seen grafitti the entire trip, but this person made a special effort for his/her writing to stand out. I found this underneath a picnic area roof at Falcon Lake State Park.]
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Lady Dog Dog, Rio Grande City, Starr County, Day 346

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Day 346: Dog 2 was there in the morning! Actually, I knew she would be because Raisin barked at her movements throughout the night. Crazy thing: this Dog 2 does not make any noise! [I later named her Lady Dog Dog and because of her behavior and disposition I decided to try to get her to a humane society. The poor thing was so hungry, that she stuck with us for two days with no encouragement from me. I finally caved and poured some dry dog food on the ground in front of her and Raisin. During the last few weeks, I had noticed Raisin getting uppity about dry food (as opposed to wet dog food or yummy human food), but when Lady Dog Dog started inhaling the dry food I'd put out, Raisin, who was momentarily shocked that any dog would eat dry dog food so fast, got possessive and started barking "Hey, that's mine!" (or so I believed). Sadly, a day or two later, Lady Dog Dog got hit and killed by a car in Mission. I had called two humane societies that morning - both closed.]
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Charlie, Hidalgo County, Day 349

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Days 349-350: [My brother Charlie hiked with me. All told, we did about 20 miles together in 6-7 mile chunks. Our conversations traveled all over, which was reflective of the lifestyle, but we had a good time. We took a short-cut along some run-off created by the hurricane several weeks before. We got away from the traffic for a little bit and didn't have to scream to be heard. A good stretch.]

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Runoff, Hidalgo County, Day 349

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My Parents, Hidalgo County, Day 350

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Day 350: [My parents Nolan and Esther were real troopers during the hike. They visited in the first couple of months as well as the last month. Everything in between, they checked the blog like everyone else. This picture is so them.]
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No Wall, Hidalgo County, Day 351

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University Campus, Brownsville, Cameron County, Day 353

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Day 353: [The campus of the University of Brownsville is one the prettiest academic places I've ever seen. I received a tour from Professor Medrano, who teaches several history courses about the border, the general area, and Mexico.]
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Homecoming, Brownsville, Cameron County, Day 353

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Amigoland!, Brownsville, Cameron County, Day 353

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End of the Wall, Brownsville, Cameron County, Day 353

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Day 353: [The wall, as in other places along the border, just ends. The river was to the left, a small developed park area to the right. We saw a border patrol vehicle parked in some shade directly behind where this picture was taken.]
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Sand Pyramid, South Padre Island, Cameron County, Day 354

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Unidentified Grounded Object, South Padre Island, Cameron County, Day 355

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Sand Crab, South Padre Island, Cameron County, Day 355

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Day 355: [Raisin loved chasing these little suckers. They're pretty fast, too!]
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Design, South Padre Island, Cameron County, Day 355

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Day 359: [Padre Island will forever be a place of blisters and sandal sores. It was five days of pure pain, every step a shock. It didn't help that I pushed for home either. Luckily the weather was on our side. Easily ten degrees cooler than places inland, the island also had a breeze which made it very pleasant in spite of my injuries. Raisin too got chaffed and was walking at an angle for several miles. Felt bad about that. I pushed her so hard that I ultimately had to carry her most of the way home on the last day. But we made it.]
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More is coming, but not much more. Stay tuned...

Faces of Texas

2010-08-30T12:28:00.001-07:00

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"Well, there's me, my wife, my son, my daughter. Four."

- Joe Martinez, owner and operator of Smoking Joe's BBQ, on the population of El Zacatal. I met 75% of the community on a hot, humid South Texas day. The kids and the family's several dogs were playing in a boat while Joe was working his barbeque stand. I hadn't really considered getting anything hot, but Joe was a friendly, talkative salesperson who convinced me to go for a brisket sandwich. While I ate my mouthwatering meal, we chatted, and I found that his children are the family's fourth generation at that very location. Joe told me that there were supposedly three wagons of gold buried somewhere on his property, a treasure tale passed down from the early days of El Zacatal. He smiled and assured me that he hadn't spent any time looking for them. "This is my gold mine," he said, gesturing to his barbeque wagon. After watching several customers come and go and polishing off my own sandwich, I knew he wasn't exaggerating.

El Zacatal (east of Progreso), Texas

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"I'm blessed to have a great wife, wonderful sons, and a job in which I've accomplished most of my career goals."

- Dr. Manual Medrano, standing next to his wife Chavela and sons Estevan (left) and Daniel (right), on a life lived almost entirely in the Rio Grande Valley. A history professor at the University of Texas at Brownsville, Dr. Medrano was kind enough to open his doors to me and give me a tour of campus and town. His knowledge of the area was vast, and he seemed familiar with just about every subject I could think to talk about. Aside from teaching at the university, Dr. Medrano has also published half a dozen books in ten years, the most recent about friend and colleague Americo Paredes. When I asked him if Brownsville had treated him well, he was quick to cite family as his first proof, then his job as his second. It's a telling detail. As many hours as Dr. Medrano has put into his career, he defines himself first and foremost as a husband and father, as someone surrounded by love.

Brownsville, Texas

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"Anyone can put themselves out there, but you have to make a special effort to stand out against the crowd."
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- Producer/Reporter/Cameraman Joseph Fenity on the competition in his field. Based out of Austin, Joseph has worked in broadcasting since he was a teen. He contacted me several months back, and during the hike, he interviewed me twice by phone. Determined to get video footage, he drove down to South Padre and met me going north. Armed with an assortment of gadgets, Joseph managed to get over an hour's worth of footage and audio. He is in the process of creating the first few episodes of a homegrown news program, due out in September, and is excited about starting something different. His attitude was pure positivity and optimism. He added, "Hey, if Oprah can do it, why can't I?"
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South Padre Island, Texas
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"Three weeks. That totally sucked."

- Jordan Thompson on his former girlfriend's inability to break up in a timely manner. A recent college grad traveling the country from temp job to temp job, Jordan took one look at me and Raisin at the Padre Island National Seashore Headquarters and knew that we were hurting. Though he saw us eating, he offered up the second half of his own meal. When I declined, he offered up his story which I gladly accepted. We spent the next few hours in happy conversation, trading backgrounds and girlfriend woes. In the above story, he mentioned how his girlfriend had traveled abroad to study and how he had remained faithful during the six months apart. In the final month, she broke off the relationship, leaving Jordan feeling like he'd just got back from a five-and-a-half month visit to the cleaners. He made light of it, though, and what's more, it made for a good lesson in life.

North Padre Island, Padre Island National Seashore, Texas

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Mission, McAllen, and My Family

2010-08-12T05:53:00.000-07:00

My parents and brother showed up in Mission the day before yesterday. They are a funny trio, prone to excitement and chaos. It's a constant battle in the car over simple things like speed and direction, but I'm glad they came. Raisin, having already met my parents in Laredo, was delighted.

My parents are both retired, my dad a former lawyer and my mother a former CCISD employee, and my brother is going strong as a computer programmer in Silicon Valley. There's a lot of potential there for enlightening conversations, but there's no sense bringing up what might possibly BE because what might possibly BE is accompanied, inherently, by what might possibly BE NOT.

Said another way, we yell a lot.

But all is well in the Read family history. It's loud, yes, but loud in this family is par for the course. It just wouldn't be the Reads if we could only whisper.

Charlie walked with me yesterday, part of the point of his visit to Texas. We got dropped off at the Speer Public Library in Mission (this library was like a palace with computers everywhere) and walked to a point a couple miles north of Hidalgo. We went from 9am to 12pm and 6:30pm to 8:30pm. He's atheletic and had no problem with the pace (not that I walked fast).

During the first segment toward the end, I was about ten degrees away from feeling miserable, but Charlie was in the midst of his limit. California's made him soft, I guess. The weather had put the temperature around 95 degrees with a heat index of 110, but I'm told the weather peaks between 2pm and 6pm. I wasn't yet at my limit, but both Charlie and Raisin were ready to when noon rolled around.

We slowed down for two spots along the way: the McAllen Nature Center and a US Border Patrol Headquarters on the old Military Highway in the south of the state. The nature center was a maze of paths in a wooded area, very green and very quiet. It helped that it was closed to visitors for we had the place to ourselves. We snuck in through a separate open entrance.

The US Border Patrol Headquarters was a little different. We got as far as a little lobby. We wondered who would visit the headquarters, but sure enough, the visitor registration sheet was filled with signatures. I got some cold water from a fountain, said hi to the man behind the glass (who was completely unimpressed by the way), and we continued on our way.

The evening hike was a little different. Raisin sat this segment out, something she hadn't done since Big Bend National Park, and Charlie and I continued. When we got to what looked like a big river, we started hiking along side of it.

The river, it turns out, was the flood waters that are still coursing through the area. Several north-to-south roads which dip low are covered in water and are closed to the public. The massive flooding was a few weeks ago, but the flow here was still a couple of feet deep. We saw a few people fishing on the road who reported a small bass catch. It was so nice to get away from the traffic.

Today, Charlie and I will hike a bit more, then he and my parents will take off. Raisin and I will be left for the final stretch home. Whether that will be on Padre Island or the parallel road is up to the fates.

Until next time...

Laredo, San Ygnacio, and Zapata

2010-08-04T14:57:00.000-07:00

Laredo was one big place. It's supposedly the biggest inland port in the USA, which is believable considering the amount of traffic this supposedly small town has. Raisin and I spent a happy few days with my folks in a hotel, then with my friend Becky Garcia at her home. All this heat and humidity makes A/C all the sweeter.

I had no one to talk to after seeing Inception with my parents. The movie was just too much for them, and they had lots of questions like "Was the wife dead or alive?" and statements like "I just didn't like all that floating nonsense." I can see how the movie was a bit difficult to follow, but it explains itself perfectly with enough holes to inspire subsequent thought and conversation.

My folks and I ate at a little hole in the wall called "El Something-Or-Other." I remember it meant "The Hunter." It was right next to a closed down restaurant called El Metate. I don't pretend to understand why I can remember the shut-down place that we walked by and not the place we actually ate at, but there you go. It was delicious food. I ordered pozole, or meat stew, and it was thick and wonderful. My mom got some caldo, or soup, and was pleased; my dad ordered a side of beans, which he claimed only had ten or so, and was thus disappointed. Their presentation sucked - we were served in on styrofoam plates and bowls and cups - but the flavor and consistency of the food was superb. And the name? For all you know, I'm keeping this one to myself.

I did a little bit more historical investigation of Laredo with Becky. The area is the only place in Texas which can claim that SEVEN FLAGS have flown over it (once upon a time, Mexican insurgents created The Republic of the Rio Grande which lasted less than a year). As such, it has some very old stories which survive in family histories and - as I was soon to learn - in the buildings themselves.

Casa Ortiz (in the previous post, I mentioned Jesse Gonzalez and Casa Ortiz) is one such place, among the oldest houses in all of Laredo. There was a sizeable courtyard which had a thick staircase which made cutbacks all the way down to the river. Jesse, who lives there and gives tours, told us that the cutbacks were intended to slow down invading indians and give the family enough time to hide. You can say with accuracy that they don't make em like that anymore.

We could see the Rio Grande from the elevated grounds, and the damage from the recent flooding was evidenced by several bent or broken light poles. The river apparently covered a part of Laredo's International Bridge Number One (there are four) and came close to reaching the top of Number Two. Crazy!

After parting ways with Becky, Raisin and I took a few days getting to San Ygnacio. San Ygnacio is made up of a government building (library included), two gas stations, and one restaurant. I hit up the restaurant for an agua fresca (she just had lemonade, which was good), and then later for a meal. There were only two choices on the menu, so I chose the first one: picadillo a la Mexicana. As can be imagined with just a couple of options to focus on, it was fabulous. Soup for starters, corn tortillas and salsa (you had to break up your tortillas to make chips), and then homemade tortillas to go with the meal. Yum! Beans looked to be out of a can, but the meal as a whole was really delicious.

The kids I spoke with in San Ygnacio had a lot to say. One claimed to be seventeen but had the voice of a kid barely thirteen. He asked me about my trip, and I asked him about the Border Patrol. Specifically, did they bother the townspeople? He nodded, and I asked why. Any cars that are too full or hang too close to the ground are suspect, he told me. I had gotten carded earlier that day just hanging out at a picnic area, so I understood completely. He didn't elaborate, and I didn't push, but the entire issue felt like I was touching a local sore spot. An older kid taking a few courses at Laredo's TAMIU showed up and confessed he was doing community service for 8 unpaid traffic tickets. He complained about the lack of things to do in town, confused by the disbanding of a local rec center, and longed to get out. I was impressed with the level of conversation and interest.

The librarian gets a quick mention here. She showed up late and closed up early, BUT she let Raisin relax inside in the air-conditioned room. She gets points for the latter.

Now, we're in Zapata. A few people honked coming into town, possibly because they saw the Texas Country Reporter last week. Makes me smile.

I spoke with a lovely couple at the first grocery I saw. The older gentleman told me about his days as a migrant worker, bouncing around and doing all the picking and digging jobs that machines do now. His wife, who was tending the register and doing the work of the store, listened and commented occasionally. We talked about obesity, charity, and prosperity. We talked about the USA. Again, there was a real sense that the times have changed in this country, some things for the better and some for the worse.

Until next time...

Books on the Edge

2010-08-03T15:46:00.000-07:00

. . .

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The Devil's Highway by Luis Urrea details the disastrous border crossing of some two dozen Mexicans in the Arizona desert. Wherever you stand on the issue of illegal immigration, Urrea's book delves into the details of the entire operation, from the men both young and old who look north for an answer to life's troubles, to the smuggling chain of command, to the Border Patrol and their methods for handling this unending assault. In his retelling, Urrea has a somewhat annoying habit of driving home a point using extremely colloquial language, but his eye for detail and drama make this an essential read for understanding the border conflict. A reviewer on the back of the book said something like "Read this book now." I thought at first that this was just the kind of garbage that publisher's love putting on books, but he was right. You need to read this book right now.
. . .

. . .
Dead Man's Walk is the first of the Lonesome Dove tetralogy detailing Gus and Call's beginnings, both as friends and Texas Rangers. It's a light read, full of everything you might expect from a non-Lonesome Dove novel. The bad guys range from the indomitable Comanches and Apaches to the Mexican army, and the good guys count among their numbers the famous Texan Bigfoot Wallace. You also get to read the first few moments between Gus and Clara (frankly, I read the story mainly for these passages). It's good fun, more popcorn for the LD fan, but perhaps less meaningful for someone unfamiliar with the original story.
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A side note: My longtime friend admitted to me that he had neither seen nor read Lonesome Dove. If you are a born-and-raised Texan, you have got to carve out some time to experience this story. You'll get more out of it by reading the 900 page epic, but the 6-hour miniseries was so well done that the whole thing's become a toss-up. Fiction at its best.
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The Tecate Journals is Keith Bowden's thru-adventure down the Texas section of the Rio Grande river. Sometimes with friends though mostly alone, he bikes and paddles every mile of this no man's land, spending time on both sides of the river and seeing the spectrum of humanity through everyone he meets. While the book does have its moments, there's a lot left to be desired. I got tired of reading that a couple of beers hit the spot or that some interaction was superlative in some way or another. There's a lot in the book for the canoeing enthusiast, especially if you're about to tackle little known sections of the Rio Grande, but the book falls short of the mark for the rest of us.
. . .
Until we meet again...

Faces of Texas

2010-07-31T10:09:00.000-07:00

. . .
. . .

"It was 40 miles of tarantulas. I've never seen anything like it."

- Robert H. Lee on riding a motorcycle in West Texas after a heavy rain. I met Robert on the Terlingua porch in the middle of one of his motorcycle roadtrips. Originally from Texas, he told of a heavy rain that slowed down a bike trip for him and his buddies. When they finally resumed the ride, they discovered that the road from Presidio to Marfa was inundated with tarantulas trying to stay away from the heavy water. With nowhere to go but onward, they drove the spider-filled road for an hour, covering their wheels with a thick layer of smelly arachnid guts.

Terlingua Ghost Town, Texas

. . .

"I still log on about six hours a month, say hi to people, shoot some fireballs, gain some experience, whatever."

- Brian Alexander on his post-"everything's about my on-line adventure game" life. I met Brian at the La Loma del Chivo hostel in Marathon while he was visiting his friend Ali. We worked together building a goat shed, volunteered for the fire department chief, judged the chili cook-off. After my week there, Brian walked with me for a few miles and talked about his former intense obsession with Everquest, an on-line adventure game. He was years into it when he realized that it might be better to branch out. His visit to Marathon only served to reinforce the decision he had made several years prior, but he still makes time to dish out the occasional fireball.

Marathon, Texas

. . .
. . .

"So is this some kind of free-loving hippy place?"
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- Dan, a cross-country bicyclist, on the hostel La Loma del Chivo. Dan only stayed one night in Marathon, but we had a couple of long conversations before calling it a day. He was recently out of a career, a marriage, and a subsequent relationship, and was literally rebuilding himself as he biked across America. Dan confessed that he had never experienced the kind of intensity of the road that allowed total strangers to become close in a relatively short period of time. When the hostel caretaker told him that bikers weren't required to pay, Dan couldn't believe it and spouted the above question. He followed that with, "Hey, this is all new to me."
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Marathon, Texas
. . .
. . .

"From the courthouse [in Sanderson], the nearest traffic signal is 65 miles."

- Mike Millican on the remoteness of the entire region. I met Mike in Dryden over dinner at the grocery store (we were both invitees). His friends in Marfa had told him I was coming some time ago, so he wasn't surprised at all by my arrival and invited me to crash on his couch. During the evening and following morning, he told me about his plans to create a primitive bicycle campground, something that would break up a 150-mile stretch of Adventure Cycling's southern route. He even had a name picked out: El Escondido. With nothing in all directions, "The Hideout" seems like a perfect fit.

Dryden, Texas

. . .
. . .

"When I'm here, you know they can't find anybody else."

- Keith Mann on working at the Lillie Langtry gift shop. Looking at the picture, it might not seem like Keith was working, but he most certainly was. Sitting comfortably on the porch and facing the not-so-busy Judge Roy Bean museum, he only went inside when there was a customer or two, which on this particular day happened at a rate of once per two hours. Keith lamented not being able to work on his porch on an overcast day, but there were moments playing his music when he didn't seem to mind. "This is my little Spanish guitar," he told me. Then he'd gently play another tune, looking off to see who might be blowing through his lonely West Texas town.

Langtry, Texas

. . .

. . .
"My son said, 'Daddy, who's that girl over there in the purple dress?'"

- Jesse Gonzalez on his son's witnessing an apparition in his home. Jesse lives in Casa Ortiz, a historic house in downtown Laredo. One of the first questions I asked him was if it was haunted, and he answered 'yes.' Stories, we agreed, usually have a logical explanation, but there was no explaining his son seeing another person in an otherwise empty house. Jesse gave me and Becky Garcia a tour of the house, going through all the rooms with extra history thrown in for fun, but I didn't see any girls in purple and didn't feel the air go cold. Of course, I wasn't there at night.

Laredo, Texas

In the News...

2010-07-30T11:05:00.001-07:00

I just posted a big blog below, but I also have a couple of articles that have just come out across the state.

Click here to see my Corpus article on my Marathon Border Checkpoint woes.

Click here to see my self-syndicated column in the Victoria Advocate about solitude.

Sorry there's not more information, but the columns are self-explanatory once you get into them!

Until next we cross paths...

The Border Patrol and my Daytime/Nighttime Strolls down Old Mines Road

2010-07-29T05:17:00.000-07:00

I just finished a stretch between Eagle Pass and Laredo. Twenty miles after the former, I passed a town called El Indio, an aerostat radar unit a few miles after that, and then a whole lot of nothing for the remainder of the walk. The pavement petered out, and Raisin and I walked Eagle Pass Road, though nobody calls it that. People call it the Old Mines Road, and it goes all the way into Laredo.

We met TONS of border patrol agents on this road, and because they don't communicate too much with one another and not well at all between regions, I had to introduce myself countless times. As a benchmark for comparison, anywhere else but the border I might have met one law enforcement agent in 100 miles. On Old Mines Road, I met a few dozen in 50 miles.

The BP agents all do a double take. Several pass us, then turn around to ask questions. It's usually the same conversation, but there are notable exceptions due to the agent or circumstance.

On the first day off the pavement, some agents stopped and got out of their car (You never know. Sometimes they stay in and talk to you from the comfort of an air-conditioned car; other times they get out and meet you halfway.). I thought, "Here we go again," but they didn't approach me. They were bent over something by the side of the road. When I got closer, I saw many many foot prints, fresh and about a half-inch to inch deep in the somewhat firm mud. They were trying to learn as much as they could from the prints before continuing any kind of search. I didn't stick around, but thought it was pretty interesting.

Raisin and I hunkered down in the shade on the same day and were resting when several cars passed us on the road. There were BP cars, sheriff cars, fire rescue vehicles, EMT vans. There might have been ten in all. On a lonely dusty road, ten cars turn your head.

A bit later, a couple of BP agents stumbled upon our resting spot while doing a drag pull. The Border Patrol have a system with which they identify the general location of a hiker or hikers. There are several dirt roads on which they drag several huge chained-together tires to make the road flat and mainly smooth. If a walker disturbs the road's dust and stones by crossing it, the BP agents are trained to spot the trail he leaves. This is called cutting sign. By monitoring which roads have been crossed, they can specify the general location of a hiker or hikers.

So the agents were dragging a couple of tires, and I flagged them down to ask about all the cars. Apparently, an 18-wheeler collapsed on a man changing a tire. On the 18-wheeler was a house. Yeah, think about it. All of that came crashing down on a man who, believe it or not, may have survived. But in what condition, I'll never know. Other 18-wheelers were brought out to disassemble the house and lighten the load so the emergency personnel could do their job and get the guy out.

That was day one. At the end of it, we found a decent camping spot hidden off to the side of the road. Little did I know I would be betrayed by my own.

At 2:30am, I could hear a BP truck driving slowly down the road, looking for signs of a crossing. When it got close and the slow grinding of their tires on the caliche road made the rubber growl, Raisin started barking. The car stopped, and a flashlight beam cut through the night. I called out to the men, and the first thing the driver said to me, keeping in mind that we hadn't yet seen each other, was "Do you need any water?" These guys were looking out for me, and though I think Raisin has a lot to learn about stealth camping, I felt good about the encounter. We had a brief conversation, and then on the flip-side of their tour of the road, they stopped to talk for a bit longer. It was bizarre to be having a conversation in the middle of the night while I was in my sleeping bag and these armed agents were standing nearby, but Raisin wasn't intimidated. She was wagging until they left.

The mosquitoes, by the way, were bad on Old Mines Road. They weren't terrible, but it only takes a handful to make your nighttime sleep a little harder to hold onto.

Once the guys left, I got attacked again. I hid under the sleeping bag which was rated at 20 degrees Fahrenheit and way too hot for South Texas hiking. I lasted a couple hours, then got up and took off, saving both our breakfasts for later.

I started the hike with about nine liters of water and knew that I'd have to rely most likely on either mud puddles or the Border Patrol. Since the BP agents usually keep their water cool, I preferred theirs. All the agents I encountered were very helpful with the water resupply, even giving me food in the process. Between Eagle Pass, Carrizo Springs, and Laredo, they've got a really nice team of men and women working for them.

We got stopped again, though Raisin never officially got carded. It's a good thing, too, because dogs have to have a chip in them in Laredo - city ordinance. I didn't understand the sentence, "Are you a US citizen?" due to various factors, the main one being that some agents choose to ask the question all of a sudden. Like this:

"So you're just walking?"
"Yep."
"Where'd you start?"
"Corpus."
"Where are you going?"
"Corpus."
"Where are you from?"
"Corpus."
"Are you a US citizen?"

The question is not a natural extension of the conversation and has tripped me up because of its inherent awkwardness. The majority of agents will ask, so I know it's coming. Still, I sometimes flub it, like going up a staircase carrying something big and thinking there's going to be another step.

So I flubbed, and this raised their suspicions. They asked for my ID, which I gave, and they soon realized I was telling the truth. During this time, another BP car pulled up, and the drivers got out. They walked right up and said, "We got one."

A man had been abandoned by his coyote group and wandered around for five days, totally lost. He was hungry and thirsty and needed to give himself up to survive. So he sat on the road and waited for a BP truck, which given enough time will always come.

I really wanted to see him but refrained from asking. The guys were friendly, gave me some water and a few power bars, and then the same fellow who had spoken of getting "one" warned me of the emptiness of the upcoming stretch of road: "The only people who use this road are oil men, truckers, Border Patrol, and the wets."

It's weird to hear that word "wets," but I know the crossers are using similar terms to describe their hunters like "gringos" and "migra." So strange that with just one word, hundreds of thousands of people can be summed up and brushed off, divorced from their humanity. The fact that it happens in both directions does not make it any better.

The following morning, I woke up at 2:30am again, this time from the mosquitoes alone. I packed up and left, disgusted with my inability to wipe them out (I usually fight them. I've got good techniques, too.). We hit the road and after 30 minutes or so saw the lights of a BP truck coming our way. We walked directly into the light.

While I have a hard time understanding people's general weariness of me when I show up during the day, I have absolutely no problem understanding how unusual it must have been for these men to see a hiker at 3am on a road heavily used by illegal migrants and drug-runners. They rightly had a hard time believing me. I got carded, as usual, but gained their confidence once I cleared. They gave me a refill on water and an MRE, a military "Meal Ready-to-Eat" ration. (One hour later, Raisin and I sat down to our first meal like that. We gobbled it up.) In parting, one agent said, "See you in the morning." And we did, a few hours later with the rising sun.

I was hoping we'd be done with the mosquitoes in the evening, but it just wasn't in the cards. For the third day in a row, I got up at 2:30am to 3am, and started hiking, Raisin by my side. This time, we didn't see Border Patrol for several hours. What did happen took me off guard.

We were walking by moonlight and could probably be seen for quite some ways. I know this because a vehicle honked at me. I stopped and looked off to my left and could see the brakes of a car come on and off. They were telling me, "We're over here. Now come on up." I got very tingly and continued walking, all the while glancing at the hill. They never honked again.

When we finally hit the pavement again, I felt as if several days had passed when in fact I'd only been out of touch for two and a half. We walked a few miles then sat by the road for a break from the heat. A few moments later, a BP car pulled up with a cameraman in the passenger seat. He was videotaping me! From his seat, the agent asked me a few questions, then got out and came over to us. The cameraman and two others got out, and they crowded me and Raisin all while the BP agent was giving me information and asking questions.

Turns out, the non-BP passengers were from National Geographic! They were doing a story on the border on the stretch of road I had just hiked. They asked me some questions, videotaped Raisin drinking some water, and were full of pure energy. During this time, three other BP vehicles showed up, everyone clearly excited about the presence of National Geographic. I asked the first agent about the honk that had happened earlier, and he explained that it was likely a coyote, not a drug-runner, who had called me over and that it was a common technique.

Then just as soon as they had appeared, they were off!

Raisin and I took another day to reach Laredo and stayed with my folks in a hotel for a couple of nights. We're now with a childhood and high school friend named Becky Garcia, and she too is giving us a healthy dose of Texan hospitality. R&R! Read & Raisin!

And that is that. Until next time, folks...

Del Rio, Quemado, and Eagle Pass

2010-07-21T14:45:00.000-07:00

One of the exciting things about being on the southern boundary is the inundation of Mexican food. To be fair, though, I started noticing a lot of authentic Mexican restaurants from as far back as the north-central panhandle (yeah, think about it). As unlikely as it seems, I've been eating good Mexican food for about 1500 hundred miles.

However, facility and ease are important to me, especially being on foot. Before hitting El Paso all the way until now, I had to sort of take the Mexican food whenever I chanced upon it. I got burned a couple of times, but I also found some real gems in the desert.

In Del Rio, locals and tourists alike really enjoy Fisherman's Headquarters, a little bar-restaurant attached to a gas station. For me, I could walk there from the Broke Mill RV park where I stayed on Hwy 90 (which, as far as RV parks go, is a swank place; I still can't believe the owner Mike cut me a deal at $12 bucks a night). I've been on a chicharron kick lately (also known as 'pig skin'), and this place did a pretty good job.

In Quemado, I couldn't figure out what locals most enjoyed, but I went to a little grocery which also had a restaurant. I missed the name, but it's the only place in the north of town (and it's a really small town). I wanted some quick tacos, but they didn't have chicharron. All they had was barbacoa (barbecue) and chorizo con papas (hot sausage and potatoes). I didn't care too much for the former, but the latter was fantastic. I got the last of it, and I was glad for it. I got Raisin a scoop of barbacoa, and she was really really excited (Quick disclaimer: I'm not saying it was dog food. It was good, just not as good as the other.).

Smack in between Quemado and Eagle Pass was a little place called M&M Cafe. There was literally nothing around it, not in the way of development. I stationed Raisin in some shade and went in. It was mom and pop operation, and I greeted the woman in English. She wouldn't have it. She replied in Spanish, saying - and I'm guessing here - "Now, now. We'll have none of that in here. Why don't you speak Spanish to me?" I obliged and asked her how she was doing. She smiled and asked what I would like. Chicharron, I said. Haven't these people figured this out by now? She brought it out about ten minutes later, a single perfect taco of pig skin. The skin was crispy and mixed with eggs, and there was salsa on the side. I carefully put some aside for Raisin (if she's going to hike with me, she's going to eat pig skin). Delicious. Outside, Raisin looked at it and was skeptical at first, but in a moment devoured what I'd given her. My kind of dog.

In Eagle Pass, I foolishly filled up on camping food on the outskirts of town. I'm also wondering what happened to my infinite appetite. While I'm processing trail mix and what not, I'm keeping an eye out on every place I pass, and I've passed several. To borrow a phrase from Clerks, I feel like a salsa shark.

Anyway, we're having a good time and enjoying all this good food. Andale, perro!

Until next time...

In the News...

2010-07-20T11:29:00.000-07:00

I'm at the Quemado Public Library. I tied Raisin up outside, but because of the amount of slack I had given her, she managed to slip inside to the air-conditioned room. I hadn't known this until I turned around and saw her lying down on the floor, being good, like she was supposed to be there. I just laughed and let it slide. The librarians haven't said anything yet.

If you're into Raisin anecdotes like the one above, you might like this. I wrote a Raisin article some time back for my self-syndicated column. Click here to read it.

Also, the Texas Country Reporter did a segment on me when I was hiking from Presidio to Terlingua. Click here for a blurb and possibly when the show will air in your area. By the way, I make no promises here. While I hopefully sound somewhat articulate, I'm scared I won't. It's a little nerve-wracking to be speaking off the cuff with a big camera in your face.

That's all for now. Until next time...

Seminole Canyon State Park

2010-07-18T14:48:00.000-07:00

While this post should have some pics, I'm specifically not going to post any as they could potentially be submitted as evidence in a court of law. Oh no, you might be thinking, what's this rascal gone and done now? Not much admittedly, but there were signs saying to do otherwise, thus the picture ban.

Raisin and I showed up at Seminole Canyon State Park after hours. I had wanted to stock up on food, read a few interesting displays, get to know the park. Not this visit. So we hung out while I read a book and contemplated our next move.

As the sun approached seven o'clock, I decided to go into the canyon. Raisin was game. But the signs prohibit such action. "Canyon Open to Guided Tours Only." That's pretty clear to me. So I asked Raisin if I could guide her down, never mind that she's a puppy, and she said 'woof.' Done.

We went down the stairs to the bottom of the canyon and paused. It was pure magic.

The beauty was astounding. Pools of water, a wide canyon perfect for walking, trees, cool air. We went back several miles toward the Rio Grande. It was like walking through a wonderland, where every step provides a new picture perfect view.

We checked out the wall paintings, the reason the canyon is off limits, but the natural beauty of the place quite frankly put them to shame. We swam, played around, and as it got quiet and dark, found a nice overhang to camp in. The night was crisp, mosquitoless, and perfect.

I love this place.

Until next time...

A Hostel in Marathon: La Loma del Chivo

2010-07-08T15:08:00.000-07:00

Raisin and I walked into Marathon, Texas, population roughly 450. Having seen and experienced dozens of small towns about this size, there was no reason to expect anything out of the ordinary. However, West Texas has a few tricks up its old dusty sleeves, but we didn't know that. Not yet.

After walking into town and sharing a few treats at the Burnt Biscuit, we headed for the library. I got some work done while Raisin took a nap outside (Just for the record, she hates libraries for the simple reason that she must wait outside.). From there, we hit the grocery store, The French Grocer, and while choosing cans of beans and bars of Snickers, our fates would become intertwined with the Hill of the Goat.

A man named Daniel Eaton noticed I was traveling (with a huge backpack, it's hard not to.). He was nice enough and recommended I check out a hostel a few blocks away, even offered to drive me. He told me its name fast, then repeated it slowly: "La Loma. Del Chivo." I declined the drive but made it out there anyway.

This is what I saw:

. . .

The fairyland quality of this place is the first thing that hits you. I could see the bright colors from several blocks away. We didn't find anyone at first, and because I'd had a short conversation with Ali on the phone, Raisin and I made ourselves comfortable in the above abode.

There's a lot of construction going on. I have taken a couple of shots of places that are pretty much done, but many more cool buildings are on the way.

The owner and manager do not call it a commune, but as far as definitions go, it basically is. Three people live and work there, 20 hours a week, in exchange for a monthly stipend and all rent and utilities paid. Their job ranges from welcoming clients, answering the phone, working in a garden, managing building projects, and general clean-up.

. . .

The above building is a bathroom. Just an FYI. If you want to put on a princess dress before entering, that's up to you.
. . .

. . .

This is Mike. Give him a good look over. He's probably the smiliest, laughiest person of the three, and for good reason: he lost much of what he had spent his life earning in the economic crunch and has made a home here at La Loma. He has three dogs, his own place, and contributes by doing lots of stone and building projects.
. . .
. . .
This is Ali. She greeted me on the phone and made me feel at home before I even got there. She's not actually sitting in La Loma in the picture (she's in another wonderful place in town, a B&B called Eve's Garden), but she is an animal lover. (Her dog Piper runs all over La Loma and played a sort of Big Brother-Big Sister role for Raisin.) Ali is a total sweetheart and loves the quiet of West Texas, a stark contrast from her native Houston. She's figuring life out from the safety and security of a small town, and even invited her best friend Brian from Houston to experience some of the same.
. . .
. . .
This is Jerot. I'm not even sure I'm spelling his name right, but I know it ends in a 't.' He too is figuring out what comes next in life, but for the moment, he's doing great. His dad and brother came out to visit him and after his dad left, Jerot was charged with taking care of Logan. Logan turned 16 while he was there and thoroughly enjoyed his visit.
. . .

. . .

This is Billy, La Loma's new mascot. It makes sense, obviously, to have a goat, but it makes even better financial sense. I think it's a ride-off.

I had a great week and already miss it. I shall return, hopefully to some of the same faces, in the future.
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Until next time...

. . .

Faces of Texas

2010-06-29T13:53:00.000-07:00

. . .

"After the Beatles, everything changed. And the war."

- Lorenzo, pictured with his grandson, on life in the United States in the 60s. I met Lorenzo in Clint, and while his grandson played in the parking lot, we chatted. He recalled the sort of cultural revolution that occurred in the states, led, he believed, by the popular music quartet. Later, Lorenzo was drafted, like many others, and did a tour in Vietnam. When he came back, he recalled the looks that people gave him in uniform, like he was a baby-killer, scum of the earth, and he shriveled inside. Lorenzo got quiet for a moment, remembering those stares of hatred, shaking his head. The memories still burned.

Clint, Texas

. . .

"Does the border look secure to you?"

- Mary Miller, seated next to husband Craige, on the security of the region. The couple gave me a night's stay at their place in Fort Hancock, and we talked for an hour before going to bed. A huge hole in the border used to exist directly behind their land, a mere stone's throw away. Illegal migrants used to cross right by their home at all times of the day. They would call the border patrol who often came too late to apprehend the crossers, long gone in a vehicle.

A fence has since been erected south of Fort Hancock, but it is not continuous. A gaping hole now exists several miles to the west, forcing the same problems on those closest to the gap.

Fort Hancock, Texas

. . .
. . .

"I couldn't destroy something beautiful to accommodate mediocrity."

- Former teacher Carmen Ganser on her teaching curriculum. A six-year LA veteran, Carmen developed a multi-media course to engage an apathetic classroom. When new requirements adopted by the district became mandatory, she elected to get out. It was too much to redesign her class, to throw out everything she had worked years to create. She went on what she calls "a working vacation," joined her father in Terlingua, and though he went back north for the summer, has lived in Terlingua ever since.

Terlingua, Texas

. . .

. . .

"Life. Ain't it beautiful?"
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- Jean, an Appalachian Trail thru-hiker, on our serendipitous encounter. I was sitting at the Study Butte grocery store, waiting for the heat to die down before going into Big Bend National Park, when Jean pulled up. I wouldn't have seen the Appalachian Trail decals on the back his vehicle, but he parked backwards and went in. When he came out, I asked him if he had hiked or worked on the A.T. He said one word: "Ballpahk." I stood up, mouth gaping.
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I met Jean in 2003 when he gave me a ride to Trail Days, an Appalachian Trail festival for hikers. He had hiked the A.T. in 2002 under the trailname "Ballpahk" (he's a baseball fan from Boston, MA). Jean later picked me up in Maine and treated me to a meal and conversation.
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After he said his trailname, I said mine: "Rubberband Man." Smiles all around. We gave each other a big hug and caught up on our lives.
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Study Butte, Texas
. . .
. . .

"I didn't urinate for three days."
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- Brennan Black, a Big Bend seasonal employee, on the aftermath of his first case of heat exhaustion. Brennan, who is approaching his last semester of college at Ohio State University, wanted a break from all the people, so he opted to live and work in Big Bend National Park, one of the most remote places in the lower forty-eight.
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A serious runner, he never ran with more than a liter back in Ohio, one of the coldest, snowiest places in the USA. After moving to West Texas, he hadn't considered changing the practice and took off for an 8-mile run with his usual liter. The run went by without a hitch, but shortly after getting into his car and driving off, he started halucinating and shaking. Brennan saw the world change shape, spoke with friends and family that he knew weren't there, and started losing muscle control in his arms and hands. He pulled over to the side of the road, tried to take in more liquids, vomited, then ripped out an emergency IV (he had previously received EMT training), and hooked himself up (he missed his artery the first two times because of the shaking and involuntary muscle movements). For the next eight hours, he would stay in his car by the side of the road, waiting for the symptoms to subside.
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As you can see, Brennan's made a full recovery.
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Pather Junction, Big Bend National Park, Texas
. . .
. . .

Books on the Edge

2010-06-29T12:23:00.000-07:00

Don't be surprised here by the number of books. One's a comic book, another is really short, and I'm not yet done with the last one (but I'm getting there). There is a wide variety of genre and subject matter represented, and I like it that way. Enjoy.

. . .

That Old Ace in the Hole by Annie Proulx was, to be brutally honest, a letdown. Her story takes us into the heart of the Texas Panhandle, a region that I thoroughly enjoyed on my trip, but doesn't quite touch the real beauty of the place. I recognized several names from the Acknowledgments, and that was exciting. But it was all pretty much downhill from there.

Bob Dollar is paid to investigate potential sites for hogfarms, on behalf of a big corporation, in the panhandle of Texas. It doesn't sound like much of a plot (and it's not), but that's not the problem. Bob is unbelievable, a paper thin shell of a character, who never really makes the reader gave a darn about what happens to him.

The novel is propelled primarily by speech, and I smiled more than once at the way people talked. If Proulx did one thing right, it was in imitating the cadence and word choice of people in the region, but this skill does not and cannot hold the book up. Lovers of the panhandle might find some comfort in her talent, but they will have to dig much deeper to enjoy other aspects of the story.

Enough. The panhandle deserves a great book about its hardy population. This book is not it.

. . .

The Tortilla Curtain by T. Coraghessan Boyle is a fast-paced and enjoyable look at illegal immigration through the eyes of an upper-middle class family in California and a dirt-poor Mexican couple who just illegally immigrated to the same area.

There is no plot, per se. Events keep happening to each family which both directly and indirectly combine their fates. A California man accidentally hits the Mexican man with his car. Thus starts a whirlwind of related events, both understandable and tragic, distinct yet interconnected. Each man negotiates the ups and downs of his individual life, grappling with prejudice against the other and the injustices of life.

Boyle tears into the American family with sarcastic and searing remarks, and while it made me laugh, it also seemed a little unfair. He treats the Mexican family much gentler, tries hard to make them seem normal and hardworking, which they are. But the presence of judgment against the California residents and the absence of judgment against the illegal migrant workers is highly noticeable. There are a few nasty Mexican characters, yes, but it isn't judgment. Boyle mocks his white characters and their hardships while seeming to protect his Hispanic characters from the same narrative injustice.

I'd definitely recommend this book. Sure, a plotline was left unfinished, the ending is more poetic than final, but the story reads like a thriller. I couldn't put it down (not that I had a table) and laughed out loud many, many times. The author's prose is crystal clear, his pacing enjoyable, and as per the discrepancy between how he treats his characters, well, that's his choice.

. . .

Tales from the Terlingua Porch by Blair Pittman is a collection of stories, maybe a lot of hot air, from the many, many characters who visit the Terlingua Porch season after season. I read this book in an afternoon and was charmed by some of its informal tales. Pittman isn't J. Frank Dobie (who is?), but you get the feel for what people talk about in Terlingua Ghost Town. You might even learn a thing or two about life. There's a Part II, as well, if you can't get enough.

. . .
. . .

Night of the Grasshopper Mouse! by Chris Ruggia is a short, interesting comic about an aberration of nature, the cruel and unusual grasshopper mouse. Unbeknownst to me, a very small portion of mice turn into meat-eaters and attack their own kin. The comic details one such tale. This little story doesn't really target adults, but I think older elementary kids would like it.

. . .

Coyotes by Ted Conover is a first-person account of the trials of Mexican migrants crossing the border and finding work in the United States. Conover's tales are not information heavy, but they are fascinating nonetheless. He travels to Mexico and crosses multiple times as one of the millions who do so illegally every year, using coyotes and later experimenting with the coyote lifestyle himself (briefly, I might add). He makes friends, slaves away in orchards, crosses the USA in the worst kind of vehicles, and documents all the little details along the way. He was very sympathetic to his Mexican friends back in the 80s when he wrote this book and still seems very much on the side of the men and women who just want to make a living, even if that means breaking the law. Like Boyle does in fiction, Conover puts a human face on these individuals, which to me far outweighs any bias he may have imposed on the telling of his tales. A good read.

(Notice the cover, by the way. This book got completely soaked in Big Bend.)

. . .

Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey chronicles his six-month stay in Arches National Monument. I'm not actually done with this book, but I've read enough to comment a bit. Abbey is a hardnose environmentalist who admires nature and all its harshness and glory and relates more to the past than to the realities of today. It's a wonderful read (that is, full of wonder). What I like about Abbey is what Republicans liked about George W. Bush: he makes a statement or opinion and then defends it until the end of his life. (The Democrats could stand to learn a thing or two from this kind of hardlined perspective.) Abbey rips into the National Park Service, the condition of the modern Native American and cattleman, and even into his own capacity for hard work. If you want to read a book by someone who fiercely loves life and nature, who doesn't cower when he has to give a difficult-to-hear opinion, who represents much of the aggression that the rest of us lack, then pick up Desert Solitaire.

(Notice this cover, too. On one particularly feisty night, Raisin got her teeth into this one.)

. . .

Enjoy! Until next time...

The Marathon Border Checkpoint

2010-06-29T11:27:00.000-07:00

For those of you not accustomed to traveling through the bottom part of the United States near Mexico, allow me to be the first to tell you that there are checkpoints. What I mean is that if you are entering the US from Mexico, there is one checkpoint directly on the border and an additional checkpoint some 30-50 miles up the road.
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Every route has a second checkpoint. There is no avoiding it if you want to visit the rest of the US. The second checkpoints operate in a similar capacity as the first checkpoint: looking for illegal crossers, scouting out drugs, weapons, and other contraband, trying to detect anything illegal.
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I have now crossed four checkpoints. One going into El Paso, one exiting El Paso, one between Marfa and Presidio, and this last one near Marathon. This story comes from the last one which I crossed twice.
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How can someone traveling on foot pass a checkpoint twice? Simple: Catch a ride with a friend who wants to make sure you get a good lunch, restock your food bag, and refill your water; then get dropped off where you stopped hiking. It seems in some ways like a bit of a cheat, but when people tell you they thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail or Pacific Crest Trail, I assure you they took full advantage of similar situations.
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So a new Terlingua friend agreed to meet me on Sunday and do all of the above. Unfortunately for us, she had contraband on her in the form of 1/4 oz of pot. Legal in California where she was a few months ago but illegal in Texas, she has yet to conform to the region.
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Claire found me on the road and took me to Marathon. Only we didn't make it. The good folks at the checkpoint had a dog who "gave indications" that there might be contraband material in the car. I got out, hoping she didn't have any, and sat on the station seats. Though I wasn't around to hear, the agents asked her if she had any drugs and she told them the truth, that she did. Some agents escorted her indoors, past my seat, and that would be the last time we each other for five hours.
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All the agents were exceptionally professional, courteous, and for the most part, pretty darn friendly. I struck up conversations with several, not really knowing what was going on (but figuring it couldn't be good), and found out some interesting things.
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None of the agents are allowed to share any opinions, personal or political. As a former Peace Corps volunteer, this seems pretty standard, but it was good to hear it. That said, one agent vaguely shared that he understood the point of view of the illegal migrant much better now that he was a border patrol agent. He didn't say anything else, but I got the feeling that a comprehensive view of the border issues would lead one away from a hardline position.
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I joked around with all the agents. It was pretty hard to get them to break their reserved demeanor, though. I had no idea that at this time they were reading Claire her rights. Shortly thereafter, one agent came out to me and told me that while they weren't charging me with anything I was still being detained. "So what you're saying is," I started slowly, "I'm a detainee?" I was really excited. "Where's my white hoody?" I added. I didn't add anything about doberman munching on my privates because, quite frankly, that would be the end of my fun.
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I tweeted a lot, read my Desert Solitaire book (I'm sure Abbey would have LOVED that.), and just waited. The wait, while exorbitant for US standards, was nothing out of the ordinary for someone who's lived in Africa. I once waited three days for a cab ride that only went 70 miles (I could've walked that in the same time.). However, five hours can kill a day, and that's just what it did.
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A deputy sheriff showed up, a real good 'ol boy who had a really jubilant attitude. When he saw my knife (a standard camping tool), he asked if the rust on it was blood. He didn't wait for an answer. "Boys," he said to the agents in the room, "we got the Rest Area Killer here!" Fun and games in Brewster County.
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The deputy sheriff then explained that he was considering giving me the same citation that he was giving Claire. Um, what? He gave the following example: "I didn't rob the bank, but I was driving the vehicle." Um, huh? I reminded him that I got picked up 15 minutes prior and that I wasn't aware of any contraband in the vehicle at that time. He reconsidered.
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Ultimately, Claire got a $300 dollar fine and a Class C Misdemeanor for possession of marijuana. I got nothing but a five-hour wait and a bad name (A day later, another deputy sheriff asked me, "Are you the one the sheriff picked up a day ago?" Great. I've run into half a dozen law enforcement officials in one day, none of them having communicated to the others that I was walking around the outline of Texas. But I get detained with someone who gets a citation, and now everyone knows about me.).
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We followed the deputy to Marathon and went to the judge's house to finish the business. The judge, operating out of one of the messiest home offices I've ever seen, was a kindly looking older woman. She signed the fifty plus pages of paperwork required to charge Claire (1/4 oz of pot, I remind you) and then gave her a receipt for payment.
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The deputy sheriff walked us to our vehicle, happy as ever. "You'd just as soon laugh as cry," he said, trying to make up for the lost day. I can't fault him for attitude. He was a gentleman until the end.
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Until next time...

Big Bend National Park

2010-06-29T10:08:00.000-07:00

Big Bend. The name refers to the bend of the Rio Grande, but it has come to connote mountains, desert, beauty, ruggedness. I came here during my junior or senior year in college for spring break, but I made one mistake: my traveling companion wasn't really a hiker. We drove 500 miles in 10 hours and didn't hike but half a dozen miles. This time around, I didn't intend to make the same mistake.

I hiked over 100 miles of Big Bend National Park, about 50 of those with Raisin, canoed Santa Elena Canyon, visited the Rio Grande hot springs (via car), and visited Mariscal Canyon. I drank from mud puddles, hiked through 30-40 mph winds, startled a rattlesnake, spied two bears, and climbed a vertical mile in a single 30-mile day. I washed my face with water from the Rio Grande and night-hiked up a canyon trail while shining my light into the trees looking for lions. In almost every way, I tried to do the opposite of my first trip to Big Bend, and I do believe I succeeded.

. . .

South Rim Vista, BBNP, Day 301

. . .

There's a lot more to say, but I'd prefer to hang on to some of it for an article. I want to add a few scattered notes, though: 1) The No-Pet-on-the-Trail Rule. Not my favorite rule, but it makes sense. Between Terlingua Ghost Town and Terlingua, I stayed up half the night thinking Raisin was being hunted by local fauna. At one point, I heard a semi-circle of coyote yelps around us, and they were close. So not allowing pets into the hot zone of Big Bend protects both the pet owner from loss and the indigenous predator population from depending on imported meat. It put me in a big bind, of course, but with a little luck, it worked out. (Thanks, Patricia and Jim of Castolon!) 2) The Desert and Water. I packed out 11 liters of water yet found myself needing more along the way. The big storm I mentioned outside of Castolon filled various spots in the desert with fresh rain water. I stumbled upon three decent water holes (clayish earth which acted as a natural cachement) in the first 20 miles. I skipped the first two but thankfully thought better of it at the third and filled up. I treated my water with Grapefruit Seed Extract (better known as GSE) which is an unofficial water purifier. It makes the water really bitter, but after seven years of using it, it's not so bad to me anymore. The desert really took it out of me, slowing some of my walking to a snail's pace, but I was able to bounce back with the water. I was most proud of finding a little water hole at the start of Mariscal Canyon Trail (I was looking). I needed it, and there it was. 3) Solitude. I didn't see anyone for 72 hours. It was during this time that I saw some of my most amazing views, drank mud water to get by, and saw two bears. It was an altogether splendid stretch.

. . .

Chisos Basin Vista, BBNP, Day 301

. . .

Even casual views of Big Bend are like this one: vast, beautiful, perfect. This shot was taken from a paved road and was shared by all that day. However you feel about the road network (I'm currently reading Edward Abbey who has some choice things to saw about the roads of the national parks.), the natural beauty of the place will get your attention and keep it. It is a wonderland.

. . .

Panther Junction R&R, BBNP, Day 302

. . .

Like all trips, you need time to recuperate. Ours is no different. Even though Raisin spent most of the time eating, sleeping, and enjoying A/C, even she needed to recharge after her first few miles back. We rested and then at 5 o'clock got back up and headed north toward Persimmon Gap and the park exit.

And we're still going.

Until next time...

. . .

In the News...

2010-06-15T17:23:00.000-07:00

After that monster post, it's a small pleasure to just link to things. Below you'll find a couple of news items and links to a couple of articles. Enjoy.

I passed through Marfa briefly but made time for the Big Bend Sentinel. I had a great conversation with their staff before continuing along my way south to Presidio. Raisin was a hit too, though she was mistaken for a he. Oops! Click here for the article.

In Presidio, I found Bob Phillips and his Texas Country Reporter crew. They put up a short teaser picture on their Facebook page with a few lines. Click here to see, then scroll down.

Rewind just a bit to my trek down the southern panhandle. You can read a few more observations from my article in the Corpus Christi Caller-Times. Click here for the article.

Continue west to El Paso and Fort Hancock and my first real taste of the border. I wrote about them here in my self-syndicated column, this time in the Lone Star Iconoclast. Click here for the article.

And that's all the news that's fit to link.

Until next time, clickers...

Days Two Hundred Thirty to Two Hundred Ninety

2010-06-11T15:30:00.000-07:00

There's really no excuse for the delay in this post, which is more or less the equivalent of two or three posts. However, the reality of hiking without a computer has made writing and blogging in West Texas somewhat of a challenge. If I have an article due, then I spend my time doing that and ultimately neglect my blog. I could spend more time in one spot, like I am now in Terlingua/Study Butte, but that comes at the sacrifice of distance and days.

As always, here are my mileage estimates and stops with scattered journal entries. Enjoy.

Day 230: Zero day in Muleshoe

Day 231: Highway 214, about 18 miles

Day 232: Enochs (with a short side trip to the Muleshoe Refuge), about 11 miles

Day 233: Beyond Lehman on Hwy 125, about 19 miles

Day 234: FM 769, about 22 miles

Day 235: Just outside Plains, about 26 miles

Day 236: Just beyond Plains on Hwy 214, about 6 miles

Day 237: Beyond Denver City, about 15 miles

Day 238: Outside of Seminole, about 15 miles

Day 239: Hwy 385, about 9 miles

Day 240: Andrews, about 21 miles

Day 241: Highway 128, about 23 miles

Day 242: FM 1218, about 20 miles

Day 243: Kermit, about 13 miles

Day 244: Zero day in Kermit.

Day 245: Hwy 302, about 10 miles

Day 246: Mentone, about 22 miles

Day 247: Hwy 285, about 14 miles

Day 248: Orla, about 12 miles

Day 249: FM 652, about 12 miles

Day 250: FM 652, about 18 miles

Day 251: Hwys 62/180, about 30 miles

Day 252: Backcountry, Guadalupe Mountains National Park (also started hiking on park trails), about 11 miles

Day 253: Dog Canyon, Guadalupe Mountains NP, about 18 miles

Day 254: Park Headquarters, Guadalupe Mountains NP, about 15 miles

Day 255: Williams Ranch House, Guadalupe Mountains NP, 9 miles

Day 256: Williams Road near Dell City, about 20 miles

Day 257: Dell City Junction (by way of Dell City), about 20 miles

Day 258: Hwys 62/180, about 20 miles

Day 259: Hwys 62/180, about 24 miles

Day 260: El Paso, 35 miles

Days 261-262: Two zero days in El Paso

Day 263: Anthony, about 22 miles

Day 264: El Paso, about 15 miles

Day 265: Zero day in El Paso

Day 266: El Paso, about 18 miles

Day 267: Fabens, about 18 miles

Day 268: Fort Hancock, about 22 miles

Day 269: I-10, about 15 miles

Day 270: Sierra Blanca, about 20 miles

Day 271: I-10, about 12 miles

Day 272: Outside Van Horn on I-10, about 19 miles

Day 273: Hwy 90, about 18 miles

Day 274: Outside Valentine, about 20 miles

Day 275: Hwy 90, about 19 miles

Day 276: Marfa, about 19 miles

Day 277: Hwy 67, about 15 miles

Day 278: Beyond Shafter, about 25 miles

Day 279: Presidio, about 20 miles

Day 280: Zero day in Presidio

Day 281: River Road, about 7 miles

Day 282: River Road, 12 miles

Day 283: River Road, 12 miles

Day 284: FM 170, about 20 miles

Day 285: Just beyond Terlingua Ghost Town, 8 miles

Day 286: Terlingua, about 3 miles

Days 287-291: Five zero days in Terlingua

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The World's Biggest Muleshoe, Muleshoe, Bailey County, Day 230

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Day 232: Camped in Enochs at a cotton gin! [A trio of men approached me and inquired as to what I was up to. I told them and we shot the bull for quite some time. One of them told me to just go ahead and camp at the gin if I wanted. I told him that I didn't really like to trespass if I didn't know for sure, and he said, "Shouldn't be a problem. I'm on the board of the coop!" I love small towns.]

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Clarity, Bledsoe, Cochran County, Day 234

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Day 235: Nothing in Bronco. Chatted with old woman at store. [It's amazing how vague I can be, even when I'm my own audience. I ran out of food in the morning and hiked into Bronco hoping for some grub. The store was closed, but I knocked anyway. A squat older woman answered, and I asked about food. Unfortunately, she only took cash. So I continued my trip into Plains and knew that I'd get food in the morning. Sure, I was hungry, but a 26 mile hike on a little trail mix and a health bar is no big deal. I still chuckle at the terseness of my journal entry, though. It's a good reminder that there's usually a lot more going on than a person cares to explain.]

Day 236: So walking out of Plains from the library, I was talking on the phone, and an older hispanic lady was walking my direction [on the opposite side of the street]. She stopped to cross the street - no cars, nothing - but didn't go because that would have put her near me. It's bizarre to be having a nice conversation with someone and to simultaneously be feared by someone else.

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Memorial, Gaines County, Day 237

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Food for Thought, Gaines County, Day 239

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Day 240: I've now read about 700 pages in 5 days, or 1000 in 15 days. That's a lot for me, far more than average. True, I'd already read [one of the books], but the other two were new. Am I tuning out my hike? [Note: I'd like to think that I'm coping for the lack of mental challenges out here. Physical, emotional, and spiritual challenges abound, but sometimes you just want a good book or puzzle.]

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Dunescape, Andrews County, Day 242

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Day 242: [An interesting side note to these Winkler County days: My brother Charlie was looking at Google maps before I entered this section and was worried by all the blank spots on the map, the blankness being sand dunes. A lot of the desert plants had grown over the terrain, but it was crazy to see a few miles of land that looked like it was imported from the Middle East. Long story short, it was no big deal, but some of the technology available to my family and friends is sometimes a little less helpful than they'd like to believe.]

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Bottom-left Corner of Texas Panhandle, Winkler County, Day 242

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Unidentified Object in Bag of Peanuts, Winkler County, Day 242

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Day 242: [I bought Spanish Raw Peanuts from the Ellis Pecan Company in Andrews, Texas, but took the picture a day or two later in Winkler County. I found the above object in my bag, and it was a little disconcerting, to say the least. I wrote the company and received a pat answer, that it was probably a root or something. I don't claim to know what this is, but it's hard, really hard, and I find it difficult to believe that it's a root. That said, I have to take the company's word while I'm out here and look into more thoroughly later. I like their product, but if I find out that this is something less benign that root matter, I am going to be one unhappy camper.]

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Lined Up, Loving County, Day 246

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Tan Lines, Loving County, Day 249

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Day 249: [I realized my farmer's tan was intense when it looked like my feet were put on. Had to share.]

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Beginning of the Day, Reeves County, Day 250

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Roadside Minutiae, Culberson County, Day 251

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Guadalupe Peak, Culberson County, Day 252

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Guadalupe Mountains National Park, Culberson County, Day 252

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Day 254: Might have camped at Pine Top Campground, but there was a loud obnoxious family there. Kids out of control. I was 3.6 miles from headquarters with the sun 30 minutes from setting, and I went for it. Arrived at night. Found an M&M and a Rice Crispy wrapper on the way down. Hmm...

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The Cairn Sentinel of El Capitan, Guadalupe Mountains National Park,

Culberson County, Day 255

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Sunset from Williams Ranch Home Porch, Guadalupe Mountains National Park,

Hudspeth County, Day 255

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Day 256: When I made it to the main road, I entered the world of sand and dust. The wind had started back in the dunes, but out on the road, the conditions got nasty. It's not the big granules that do it; it's the little ones. They cover everything and make it hard to open your eyes. And the little ones are never-ending. They're on my hands as I write this, on the notepad, on my mat, shirt, hair, everything with the possible exception of my mouth, but when I eat or drink, that will be another casualty.

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Looking Back, Hudspeth County, Day 257

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Oasis, Cornudas, Hudspeth County, Day 258

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Sunbather, Hudspeth County, Day 259

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Day 259: Checkpoint. Chatted with two officers; both reluctant to talk about border.

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Western Corner Marker of Texas, El Paso County, Day 263

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Checkpoint, El Paso County, Day 266

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Mission of Corpus Christi, El Paso County, Day 267

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Enter the Raisin, El Paso County, Day 268

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Day 268: Made it to Fort Hancock... with a dog! I found a small, dark, and dehydrated terrier mix puppy in Fabens, and she put her stock in me. I fed her a little peanut butter, then trail mix, and loads of water. She was tick and flea infested - no telling how long she's been out. She walked with me, complaining along the way until we reached Clint. She was begging for food from everybody, not yet attached to me. I got her some rice and chicken (after a conversation with my cousin Cat) and she ate well. I call her Raisin d'Etre, or Raisin for short.

Day 271: I met I guy earlier named _____. He drove me to the courthouse [in Sierra Blanca]. Kind of a nut. Talked about black ops, having two PhDs, knowing the president. I just let him ramble.

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Cloud Cover, Hudspeth County, Day 272

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Beware of Fish, Hudspeth County, Day 272

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Hiking for Love, Culberson County, Day 273

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Day 273: [I found this little popsicle cross beside a roadside marker made by Carol Cruise. Ms. Cruise, wearing a prosthetic leg, is walking around the entire United States. She started in 2002 and is hoping to finish this December. She is a reverend and is reminding people of God's love. Notice that her odometer stands at 8,592 miles. By now, she's in central Texas.]

[In Van Horn] people kept complimenting Raisin, and she ate it up. One woman gave me a leash! She had a spare and was heading to Arizona. She thanked me for "saving another one."

Day 275: Took a break under a train trestle. NOT the most peaceful place when the train rolls by at 40 mph.

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Street Jesus, Marfa, Presidio County, Day 277

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Country Art, Presidio County, Day 277

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Day 280: [Bob Phillips and his Texas Country Reporter crew showed up in Presidio. I spoke with Bob about recent developments in his life (he got married two years ago), and we chatted about my hike and Raisin. I spent the bulk of my time with one of the producers Mike and the cameraman Dan, both really nice fellows. The show comes out in mid-July.]

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Mary, Redford, Presidio County, Day 282

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Day 282: Found a church in Redford and got water... later found out that it tasted like rubber because of the water hose. Ahhh!!!! [I lost two liters to this mishap and lucked out by finding a water hole in Closed Canyon, shown two pictures below.]

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View from the Ruins, Presidio County, Day 282

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Closed Canyon, Big Bend Ranch State Park, Presidio County, Day 283

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Another Roadside Attraction, Presidio County, Day 283

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Day 283: [Annie sent me a book called "Smile While You're Lying" by Chuck Thompson. There's one line in it that haunts me: (paraphrased) "We revere what we destroy, but we destroy it first." The teepee rest stop seems to illustrate this perfectly.]

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Contrabando Set, Presidio County, Day 284

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Day 284: Strange to visit the Contrabando movie set after already having seen it three days ago [with the Texas Country Reporter crew]. Maybe I'll watch Streets of Laredo. [Contrabando was a B movie set in the old west, filmed about 20 to 30 years ago. They abandoned the set which was later adopted by the park service. It's kind of neat in its own way, but a bizarre sideshow to the area. There are only a few buildings, all constructed for the purpose of making one movie and later adopted by other movies. It's not real, and yet people, myself included, stop to investigate it.]

Found a camping spot called Rancho Topango. After mild negotiations, I secured an indoor place and shower and hard-boiled eggs for $13. I didn't know what to expect [when I showed up]. When I started calling out "Hello? Hello?", no one answered. Then I found an older fellow sitting down looking at me. I said, "Hi, how are you doing?" and he continued to look at me saying nothing. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, and he cut it off before it became weird. "What can I do for you?" he began.

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Ghost Town Art, Terlingua Ghost Town, Brewster County, Day 285

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Terlingua Local, Brewster County, Day 285

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Day 286: I arranged with Greg and his maintenance man Mike to do some work for a river trip... only not immediately. [The trip has kept me in town for several days now. I just went yesterday on Day 290.]

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Art for Sale, Terlingua Ghost Town, Brewster County, Day 287

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Day 290: [Beautiful day. There was a group of about ten of us and two guides, and we hit the water by nine o'clock. We canoed up Santa Elena Canyon. The water felt great, and the upper body exercise was good for me. There were five kids in the group, and they kept us adults in check, fooling around in the water, jumping off rocks. There was one boulder in particular that stood just a bit back from a large pool of water. The kids were afraid to jump because of the distance, but I went for it, hitting my legs against the shallow bottom. I warned them, but it was too late. Several more went for it, enjoying the challenge and scariness of it. I love being an instigator.]

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That's all for now. Until next time...

Raisin the Dog!

2010-06-03T16:13:00.000-07:00

Say hello to my little friend.

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I found a little dog on the outskirts of Fabens, Texas on the morning of May 22nd, and I decided that she would be my birthday present. She was small, dark, and dehydrated, so I called her Raisin. Upon further reflection, I named her Raisin d'Etre, a pun on 'raison d'etre,' a reason for being here.

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Raisin is little and very cute. She chases butterflies and barks at antelope and beetles. When I caught a butterfly in my hands and let it out in front of her, Raisin wagged her tail. In the morning, Raisin wakes me up by licking me, and I like to think she's excited about the day, though she's probably just hungry.
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Raisin is headstrong and likes to get her way, but we are learning about one another. This is a tough hike for her, and she gets worn out pretty quickly (Although on some milder days, she's surprised me with how much she's walked. Her one-day record is around 19 miles!). In the short time we've been together, she's grown on me, perhaps me on her too.
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Enjoy the pictures.
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Until next time...

Guadalupe Mountains and the Trek to El Paso

2010-05-19T23:11:00.000-07:00

When I finally arrived at the Guadalupe Mountains National Park, one of the park rangers joked that he'd already eaten my cookies. My parents had sent a care package to me, which had arrived a few days before my arrival, and the sheriff from Mentone had called ahead to let the park staff know I was coming. Both of these facts led the staff to wonder just who was showing up and when. What held no mystery was my appetite.

I got a backcountry permit and headed up Guadalupe Peak, the highest elevation in Texas at 8749'. I figured that I could go cross-country to Bush Mountain in the same day. This is perhaps possible with better planning and a better understanding of the terrain. I had neither.

Getting up Guad Peak was easy enough (aside from my pack being as heavy as a sack of potatoes from all the water and food), and the first half a mile of bushwhacking was straightforward as well. That's all the freebies I was going to get.

For the next four hours, I whacked bushes. Sharp thorny bushes. There were shrubs that weren't even especially dangerous, but because they were growing right on top of one another, they became a veritable briar patch of ouchies. I say ouch, but the truth is that I sometimes screamed in pain.

I could've turned around, but I didn't want to give up so soon into the journey. Then after a couple of hours of barely making much headway, I didn't care what it took to finish. I was going cross-country to Bush Mountain even if my legs looked like a whipping boy's.

I remember crouching like a skier on the ridge, the wind blowing tumultuously around me and the trees and brush. Only I wasn't moving. At times the gusts must have been 70 mph. To move would have meant to cascade uncontrollably down the mountain. Unfortunately for me, that happened anyway. Without the cascading, that is.

I was negotiating some shrubs and rocks and had leaned too far forward. I caught myself with my hiking sticks, but because I hadn't fastened my waist belt (the heat was causing a rash on my hips), my backpack kept going. I flipped. Down a mountain.

But I stopped. My arms and legs were pointed to the sky. I was like a flipped turtle. I squinted in the sun, got my bearings, and slowly edged out of my backpack. My shirt was shredded in the back, I had a cut or two, but otherwise I was fine. The vegetation I'd been cursing had saved me from a very nasty fall. Even steven.

That night, I camped in a dry run-off area. I hadn't even made it to the top of the next mountain. That took four hours. The next day, it took an additional six to get to Bush Mountain. After that, I stayed on the trails.

I hiked to Dog Canyon that evening. The next day I hiked back to park headquarters (I had run out of food). Along the way, I met a great fellow, Kevin Wass, who was happy as can be being in the mountains. A Texas Tech music prof, he had gotten his grades in and hit the mountains within 18 hours. I think he was in better shape than I am, too, as he had hiked in with 30 pounds of water (I had only done 15!). We had a long conversation before I continued down to park HQ.

I arranged for another excursion, only this time I wouldn't be coming back. A state trooper had been nice enough to pick me up some groceries, so my food resupply was waiting for me when I got there. I planned a trip along the El Capitan Trail and northwest along the old Butterfield Stage route. I was off again.

The El Capitan Trail is now my favorite in the Guadalupe Mountains. Rated as a moderate hike, it skirts the outside edge of the range, allowing for wonderful views of the countryside and the mountains themselves. I only saw two other hikers on this hike who stopped halfway and turned back. Since the trail is a dead-end, it's understandable but also a pity. I felt like the visually bolder parts of the trail were in the second half.

I camped at an old restored cabin at the base of the mountain. It had been built by a man named Belcher about a century prior, a present to his new wife. I suppose she didn't like it because she only stayed a night! The isolation might have been a little much; there is nothing around it, no civilization for miles. I sat on the porch and watched the sunset, and I couldn't imagine a better way to end a hard day.

The next day proved to be hot and long, though in looking at a map, I might not have cleared much more than fifteen miles. I crossed the Salt Basin Dunes, part of the Chihuahuan Desert. Cacti, flowers, brush, yucca, grasses, and sand covered my path. There were stones too, where water used to flow and perhaps still does when it's a wet year.

Using a topo xerox that a ranger gave me, I found my way across the desert. I may have walked a little on the old Butterfield Stage route (first coast-to-coast route in the USA, connecting a well-used route to St. Louis to destinations in California), but I never actually found a road for it. Everything was one big desert. I could see the water tower of Dell City, some 30 miles off, but I realized after a little hoofing that it didn't matter if I walked that historic route or not. I needed to focus on getting to Dell City, and so I did.

I avoided tall grasses and was constantly looking around. Even basic glances become more trying the hotter it gets. The wind picked up, so I walked often with my head down, letting my hat field some of the wind and grit. I was a little nervous because of the heat (not even yet extreme by Texas standards; probably in the 90s). The whole thing felt like a toaster oven, like I was being burned alive between the sand and the sun. But I eventually saw electricity poles, and using those, I made my way to town.

The wind was something else, at least for me. There were gusts in the 30s to 40s range and big clouds of sand and dust. I walked a lot with my eyes closed, feeling my direction with my sticks. When I saw a sort of lean-to, I went straight to it, even though it was on a fenced-in section of land (it was strange; the building was on a 20'x20' parcel of fenced-in land). The wind blew for hours more, and I ended up staying the night.

Dell City, Dell City junction, Cornudas, Hueco Village. I passed all of these places on the way to El Paso. The mountains were by now a common occurrence, and my attention drifted toward finding good Mexican food. But you can't escape a mountain's presence.

Walking I finally reached El Paso, I looked around: I was surrounded by mountains. The name literally means "the pass," the route through the mountains that people traveled to reach what is now known as New Mexico. They were probably a massive pain to someone walking or riding a horse and, during the wrong time of year, extremely dangerous. I see them as tall and elegant, a destination in and of themselves. I don't see these mountains as an obstacle that I must find a way through, rather something I want to find a way into.

I saw my first West Texas mountains from over 50 miles away. Walking slowly toward them has been one of the pleasures of my trip, perhaps of my entire life. I'm surrounded by mountains now, and will be for several weeks, but I'll remember the Guadalupe Mountains, how they rose from nothing and ushered this weary traveler into their world.

Until next time...

Flowers of the Guadalupe Mountains & Chihuahuan Desert

2010-05-16T19:19:00.001-07:00

When I was approaching the Guadalupe Mountains, I started taking pictures of flowers and cacti of the Chihuahuan Desert. I entered the mountains and continued the practice, trying to capture just how vibrant some of these desert and mountain plants really are. Below is a sample of the beauty of the region. If I knew my flowers, I'd include their names, but I don't. Enjoy them as I did, as colors and shapes against the sand and sky.

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Until next time...

Faces of Texas

2010-05-16T10:23:00.000-07:00

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"I'm going to be your mom for a minute. Go sleep at Annette's place."

- Magann Rennels, and her son Gil, giving advice to me in the evening. Magann and Gil run a local news program and were tipped off by Annette Orozco that I had come to town. They came by and did a quick five minute interview. Magann didn't use notes, yet her questions came rapid fire. At the end, she still made a minute to be my mom.

Muleshoe, Texas

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"I told Roper to come over for an interview, and he said, 'But I won't miss any school for this.'"
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- Terry Brewster of the Muleshoe Journal, pictured with Roper Kerby, a high schooler, on being shadowed by a student. The interview (arranged by Annette below) occurred during the evening, outside of school hours, so Roper had to sacrifice his own time. The pair were a fun team and the only double interview of my entire trip.
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Muleshoe, Texas
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"Everybody else has internet. We have An-nette."

- Cliff Crabtree on the interconnectedness of the family. Cliff's sister Joyce is the one that arranged our meeting. She called Annette who organized dinner and everything else and told all the key players. Cliff's remark was right on, but he also had a great sense of humor. On the day I left, he drove out ten miles to see how I was doing. He stopped smack in the middle of the road, partway on both sides, and we had ourselves a conversation. Without even trying, he was making me smile.

Muleshoe, Texas

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"He came up to me before bed and asked, 'Mom, could you learn how to play chess?'"

Annette Orozco, pictured with son Reese, on her son's interest in chess. Annette and her husband Rudy invited me to couchsurf at their house before I continued hiking in the morning. I gave Reese his first chess lesson and later told Annette how well he did. Already calculating that he needed a chess partner, Reese roped his mom in before going to bed.

Muleshoe, Texas

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"You ever heard a rattlesnake scream?"

- Rudy Orozco on his extreme encounter with a rattler. Rudy and Cliff were riling me up with rattlesnake tales, but this one was different. Rudy had been out on a hike with his son Reese and had stepped around the edge of a rock. He unwittingly stepped right on a snake, which then screamed. Rudy had stepped far enough up on the snake that the reptile couldn't reach back to bite him, though it repeatedly tried. He pivoted, took one big step with his other foot, and ran.

Muleshoe, Texas

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"Get over here, Mary Jane. He wants something he can throw sticks at."

- Red Ryder, pictured with wife Mary Jane, on the photo I was about to take of them. I met the couple and their daughter Leona at Meme's restaurant in Denver City. We talked the entire meal, of Red's West Virginia origins, of Leona's music degree and subsequent year on the east coast trying to jumpstart a career. I enjoyed their descriptions of east coast life, relating to the Texan point of view entirely. Though this was not the most profound thing Red said, it made me laugh and put me in a good mood for days.

Denver City, Texas

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"People that ask that don't understand what you're doing."

- John Reed, owner and operator of The Winkler Post, the area's online news source (http://winklerpost.com/), on the question 'What have you learned?' John and I had a great conversation and interview, and when it came to a close, I mentioned that several interviewers had asked me what I had learned. He took offense to the question. John later met me in Orla and informed me that he had left three quarts of water along my path. His interest in and comprehension of my project made him a real pleasure to work with.

Kermit, Texas

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"The barbecue is my life; the kids is my joy."

- Christine, owner of Christine's Blues-N-BBQ, on work and family. I had the pleasure of meeting Christine and her partner Thomas (he doesn't do pictures) while eating at the family business. Thomas handled the barbecue preparation while Christine did customer service. The records and album covers hanging up all over the restaurant belonged to Thomas who took the time to tell me about the music he grew up with and its history. Then Christine told me about their three kids and seven grandbabies. They're not babies anymore, corrected Thomas. Christine agreed, but you could tell, she still thought of them as her babies.

Kermit, Texas

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"There's not a coyote, rabbit, or rattlesnake that moves that I don't know about."

- Ben Klein, a retired navy medic, on the happenings in the area. Ben lives by himself on a long stretch of desert between Mentone and Orla and runs a little shop he calls K&K. I stopped by his shop of odds and ends, looked at the hundreds of signatures that visitors had left on the porch of the building, and perused his used books, models, and trinkets. Ben liked to say he knew everyone for fifty miles around. Before nightfall, we checked up on a driver whose vehicle had broken down not far from K&K. He and the tower were a little surprised to see us, but Ben treated them like they were old friends.

Hwy 285, Texas

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"That is a good man."

- Jeanette Scott, postmaster of Orla, on her husband Ronnie. When Jeanette showed up to the post office in the morning, I was already there. She screamed. Jeanette quickly realized who I was (she had been receiving mail for me for some time), and she and I had a running conversation throughout the day. Jeanette introduced me to every customer that came in, told me about her family, recounted the loss of a daughter, asked about my trip. She also called her husband and asked him to bring me a couple of cedar posts for walking sticks, which he did. A quiet man, Ronnie asked just enough to be polite, then headed off to work. Jeanette watched the door close and spoke as much to me as to herself when she said the words above. It was my favorite moment of the morning.

Orla, Texas

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"That's a Texas Horned Toad. We used to play with them as kids."

- Deputy Sheriff Chris of Mentone on an unidentified picture I showed him on my camera. I had met Chris just as I was leaving Mentone, and he hooked me up with internet at the courthouse and let me stay the night there, too. (Locals later told me that thought he was locking me up.) When I saw Chris this day, I was just past Orla (about 30 miles from Mentone), and he was checking up on me. When I asked about the picture, he told me that he and his friends used to stage massive battles with little green army men, then introduce a Texas Horned Toad as an attacking dinosaur. He hadn't seen one in a long time.

Ranch Road 652, Texas

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"But I don't wanna be the dinosaur!"

- The Texas Horned Toad (or Lizard) on playing war with little boys. Though I didn't touch it or place it amidst several platoons of green army men, I later read that when threatened the Texas Horned Toad can squirt blood out of the corners of its eyes or mouth up to five feet away.

Ranch Road 652, Texas

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"Everyone I know who has stuck with what they wanted to do -- art, music, writing, etc. -- is doing it."

- Kevin Wass, Associate Professor of Music at Texas Tech University, on staying true to your dreams. I met Kevin at the Tejas Campground on the Tejas Trail at Guadalupe Mountains National Park. He explained that he had gotten his Doctorate of Music Arts with a specialization in the tuba. All sorts of people tried to dissuade him, but with support from his wife and mother, Kevin went back to school for a degree that would qualify him for one of about sixty positions across the United States. After graduation, he got one of them.

Guadalupe Mountains National Park, Texas

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In the News...

2010-04-28T22:25:00.000-07:00

Quick post! Below are a few articles that have come out in the past month.

In perhaps my first unedited Caller-Times piece, I wrote a little about the more spiritual side of the hike. Click here for the article. I don't write the titles, by the way.

In my syndicated column, I wrote about the Texas Panhandle hospitality and contrasted it with a now outdated XIT rule of conduct. Click here for the article.

Finally, a local Kermit publisher/editor/reporter/writer of the online Winkler Post did an interview with me. Click here for the interview with photos.

Until next time...

Kermit, Texas

2010-04-27T14:09:00.000-07:00

Kermit, Texas is so named for a Roosevelt, son of our former president Teddy. The county wraps around the bottom left of the Texas Panhandle, and I've decided to stop here for the night to get some work done.

A quick note on the corner: I may or may not write about this in one of my columns, so while I can't say much, I will say this: it's at the only sign not facing the road. I know, hard to believe. But it IS there on 1218 within the confines of Flying Pan Ranch. You can find it, point-seekers!

After a quick bite to eat at a Mexican carneceria and bakery (It's on the northern end of town on Hwy 18. Good hot asado burrito. Finally, the food had some kick to it! Everything's hotter in West Texas, I guess.), I entered the heart of Kermit. I mailed some books out at the post office and dumped a ton of trash. My bag feels like a normal weight for the first time in several days. Alas, with the huge empty stretches ahead, this will be a short-lived victory.

My friend Darren just informed me that Orla (my next PO drop) is a ghost town. Hoowee. Really takes the wind out of you, hearing something like that.

Welcome to West Texas. There is more to come.

Until next time...

Muleshoe, Texas

2010-04-20T14:23:00.000-07:00

I got most of my work done at the Muleshoe Public Library, so I really didn't get to post about my time in the town itself.

The very first store I went into was the Williams General Store, specifically to buy socks. I met the owner, a very friendly lady named Dawn, and she showed me their sock selection. I was pleased to have more than one choice at all. It's very unusual to have a specialized store in a town of 4000 to 5000 people. (A quick note: Yes, it's called a "general" store, but it focused on outdoor apparel as well as athletic gear.)

After I picked out a couple of thick Thorlos, Dawn and I chit-chatted a bit. She was very curious about my trip, and I asked her a few questions about life in Muleshoe. Then in walked Steve Friskup, her cowboy church pastor and proprietor of a line of cowboy hats (the hats take up an entire wall of the store). We shook hands, and Dawn explained what I was doing. Again, friendly chit-chat.

[I want to step out of the story for just a second. I'm making a big deal about this because it's highly unusual that the very first person I come into contact with is so nice and talkative. Usually, I have to fish for hours, that is meet a whole bunch of people, before I find one person who is willing to just talk. I have a suspicion that while the backpack is partly to blame, so are the times. Back to the story.]

Dawn invited me to leave my backpack while I wandered around town. Again, very thoughtful and perceptive. I accepted and asked about food. Dawn gave me the low-down of the town's food options, and my ears perked up when she said you didn't even know what you were ordering half the time at this one place. Cha-ching. I thanked her and headed off for said place.

Taqueria Guadalahara. There were just Mexican-Americans inside. Or maybe just Mexicans, I don't know. The waitresses had the usual huddle-up to decide whose English was good enough to handle the gringo patron before one came over. I ordered one gordita and one taco. While the taco tortilla didn't seem homemade, the gordita certainly was, and both went down like lemonade on a hot day. I ordered some sopapillas afterward which were a little hard for my taste. What's up with hard sopapillas? I swear New Mexico's got a monopoly on good, soft sopapillas. Still, hot sauce was served with the meal, and there were already two or three hot sauces on the table! Boy, they had my number. Overall: 4 out of 5 stars.

I then wandered off to the library, did some work, and headed back for the Williams store. When I got there, I met Roger, Dawn's husband, another friendly face. They informed me that their pastor offered to put me up in a motel! Done. This happened to coincide with a little money tightness, so it couldn't have been better timing. Roger helped me get settled there.

On the way over, Roger asked me, "Have you met any other homeless people in your travels?" Huh, was my first thought. I said that by and large I haven't met many people out on the road, but I knew that we were on separate pages, maybe even in different books. I had to straighten this out.

This isn't always the easiest thing to get across. I'm homeless like a scuba diver is a marine animal. The lifestyle serves the project but isn't a permanent thing. But given the duration of what I'm doing, it's a fine distinction.

One thing that's worked is the line, "I get paid to do this." When I'm talking with people, much of what I say either doesn't get heard or doesn't get internalized. This line cuts through all that. When I've shared this line with people I've met, some have literally bounced, like I slapped them with the words. I decided to go in this direction.

I told Roger about the columns, which nearby papers were running them, about deadlines and invoices. I could see comprehension on his face. He didn't mention "homeless" again.

The night was fine. As usual, I got suckered into too much TV. ('The Office' is really good stuff.)

In the morning, I went back to the library to get work done. Oddly, I had a date in Muleshoe. The night before, my dad's friend from long ago called. Joyce Shoup found out about my trip after my time in her home town of Turkey, Texas. She had written a few emails to me earlier, but this time she called saying that her niece and brother who lived in Muleshoe would be happy to host me for dinner. I wasn't about to turn down dinner and good company.

The first people I met were my dad's friend's niece's husband and son. This, as you might imagine, was a very loose connection. I want to point out that this wouldn't be at all unusual in Africa because of their social structure, but the question remained: would it work in Texas?

Yes, like a charm.

I met Rudy and Reese, the latter giving up his shotgun seat. We chatted while Rudy drove us to Joyce's brother's home. When I got there, I met the whole family: Cliff (Joyce's brother), his wife Jimmie, Annette (the niece that Joyce called and Rudy's wife), Cheryl, and Bruce (the latter three being siblings). I also met John, the physical therapist! They were a very friendly bunch. We ate dinner, and I asked each questions about their lives.

After a few people left and dinner was settling in our bellies, Annette asked the casual, "Did you go to the local paper?" I said I had and reluctantly told them that the editor snubbed me. Annette's first reaction was "Where's the phone book?" She called people for ten minutes, and at the end of it, she announced that a member of the paper was coming over and that the local news crew (a family operation) would be over as well. "Thank you" didn't seem enough, but I said it.

In half an hour, the house was crowded with media. Terry Brewster of the paper and her high school shadower Roper Kerby came (It might not be appropriate to put Roper's whole name, but let's face it: he's got a fantastic name. I put it up there with Ferris Bueller.); Magann Rennels with Channel 6 and her son Gilrobert Rennels showed up as well. Lots of friendly banter (the crowd loved teasing Roper) and tons of questions ensued.

I was most impressed with Mrs. Rennels. Without the aid of any kind of notes, she shot question after question at me while her son filmed us in the dusk. Amazing!

These goings-on lasted well into the evening. When things were finally wrapping up, I was still planning to hike a few miles out to get a head start for the next day. After all, I'd spent a day and a half in Muleshoe. Then Annette stepped forward and offered to let me crash on her and Rudy's couch. I hesitated, still thinking of miles. Magann intervened and said, "Matt, I'm going to be your mom on this one. Stay with Annette." So I accepted.

When Rudy and I showed up at the house (Annette and Reese had taken off before us), I thought the evening was over. Nope! Reese asked if I knew chess, and I said that I did. Apparently, no one in the house knew the game, and he'd been curious about it for a while. So I gave Reese his first chess lesson!

I've been teaching chess since I was a Peace Corps volunteer, so I have my methodology down. Reese was a natural player, so together, we had a really successful lesson. Later, I spoke with his parents about the lesson, and both said basically the same thing: "We heard you asking him question after question after question, and he kept answering them all. We thought 'whoa.'" Later that evening, Reese asked his mom if she would learn the game so they could play together.

I haven't met a chess player who's ever remembered the exact day they started learning the game, but in Reese's case, it's easy: April 14th, 2010, the 75th anniversary of Black Sunday, the single worst day of the Dust Bowl. What a day for a panhandle kid to learn chess!

I hiked out the next morning with a hug from Annette, a handshake from Reese, and breakfast and a handshake from Rudy. It was a really nice visit.

I like to think about the people I've met while I walk, the freshest memories always in the forefront, so it was a little surprising to see Cliff pull up in his truck. Cliff stopped smack in the center of the road like it was a parking spot. He told me, "I thought you'd be right about here." He wanted to make sure I didn't need anything, and I told him I didn't. "Well, okay then." He wished me luck and turned around and took off. What a family.

All in all, I'd say my Muleshoe visit far exceeded my expectations.

In the News...

2010-04-16T12:58:00.000-07:00

Here's a column from the Amarillo Globe-News! Enjoy!

Click here for the column. Until next time...

Days One Hundred Eighty-Six to Two Hundred Twenty-Nine

2010-04-13T14:06:00.000-07:00

Okay. So I didn't post my miles for nearly a month and a half. So kill me.
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While looking through this, there are two numbers to keep in mind: the actual distance around the state of Texas (2842 miles according to a Texas textbook) and how much I have actually covered (my total miles are probably in the 1600 range). I haven't sat down and added everything up, but I'm confident my ballpark estimates are close nonetheless.
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Miles first, this time, then pictures and journal entries and thoughts. Enjoy!
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Day 186: Near Turkey, 10 miles
Day 187: Parnell Station, 22 miles
Day 188: Intersection of Ranch Rd 1619 and County Rd K, about 20 miles
Day 189: Hwy 83 south of Wellington, about 15 miles
Day 190: Hwy 83 north of Wellington, about 16 miles
Day 191: Hwy 83 south of Shamrock, about 15 miles
Day 192: Hwy 83 north of Shamrock, about 15 miles
Day 193:Hwy 83 north of Wheeler, about 13 miles
Day 194: Canadian, about 28 miles
Day 195: Zero day in Canadian
Day 196: Marvin Lake, about 14 miles
Day 197: Higgins, about 25 miles
Day 198: Lipscomb, about 20 miles
Day 199: FM 1454 south of Follett, about 20 miles
Day 200: Top-Right Corner of the Texas Panhandle, about 16 miles
Day 201: Old Railway Path which parallels Hwy 15, about 16 miles
Day 202: Past Booker, about 18 miles
Day 203: Perryton, 15 miles
Day 204: Waka, 17 miles (I walked the first mile in Perryton looking for the church below.)
Day 205: Zero day in Waka
Day 206: Beyond Hansford, about 17 miles
Day 207: Intersection of Farm Rd 1262 and FM 2535, about 17 miles
Day 208: Texhoma, about 26 miles
Day 209: FM 2677 (I walked due west of Texhoma and came down), about 21 miles
Day 210: Northwest of Stratford, about 8 miles
Day 211: High Lonesome, about 21 miles
Day 212: Thompson Grove, about 19 miles
Day 213: Top-Left Corner of the Texas Panhandle, about 18 miles (9 to Texline, 8 to the corner, and 1 bouncing between the corner marker and the tri-state marker)
Day 214: Hwy 87, about 16 miles
Day 215: Dalhart, about 28 miles
Days 216 to 218: Three zero days in Dalhart
Day 219: North of Hartley, about 14 miles
Day 220: Channing, about 15 miles
Day 221: Hwy 385, about 15 miles
Day 222: Vega, about 20 miles
Day 223: South of Adrian, about 18 miles
Day 224: Hwy 214, about 20 miles
Day 225: Hwy 214, about 19 miles
Day 226: Beyond Friona, about 16 miles
Day 227: Hwy 60, about 22 miles
Day 228: Past Lariat, about 13 miles
Day 229: Muleshoe, about 12 miles

. . .

. . .
Taking Back the Land, Collingsworth County, Day 190
. . .
Day 190: Hiking sticks gone! After looking around the library, I found one broken, half in the garbage can and half on the ground.
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Day 191: Woke up in the middle of the night and peed off to the side of my sleeping area; got a bag strap and my mat! Ah! I sprinkled sand on everything. [Note: I literally urinated while lying down. When it was cold out, I hated getting up and losing my warmth. I acknowledge the gross factor here, but before you judge, go spend a night out in the cold.]
. . .
Mural, Shamrock, Wheeler County, Day 192
. . .
Day 194: Hiked to Canadian ~28 miles; tough walking against the wind ... went to a meal at the Cattle Exchange with Tamera Julian, Director of the Community Development Center, her sister, parents John & Lee Ann, and family friend Dawn Webb. Lots of questions! [Tamera, whom I had spoken with earlier, had kept the entire party a secret from me, so having dinner at a full table was an unexpected surprise. The evening with her family and Dawn was the perfect end to a rough day. Then Tamera put me up in a Best Western for a couple of nights!]
. . .
First Day at School by Norman Rockwell, The Citadelle Art Foundation, Canadian, Hemphill County, Day 196
. . .
Day 196: Went to Citadelle Art Foundation in morning; met Sue and Wendie. [Such a plain entry for such a great place! Wendie is the Director and is rounding the end of the foundation's first year. Given what I saw, she's done a great job. Sue Cox volunteers once a week at the foundation and gave me the run of the place. The collection is wide and varied with paintings, sculptures, photos, even a cross blessed by a pope. These three shots are my favorites in the collection.]
. . .
Sweet Sixteen by Christian Vincent, The Citadelle Art Foundation, Canadian, Hemphill County, Day 196
. . .
. . .
Twins by Jono Rotman, The Citadelle Art Foundation, Canadian, Hemphill County, Day 196
. . .
Day 196: On the way met Tray Webb, brother of Dawn; he stopped and shook my hand ... When I finally reached Marvin Lake, I met Sue again from the art museum! She offered me a night in; I accepted ... had some really nice conversations with Sue and Lonnie Cox, both in the ranching business.
. . .
Day 198: In Lipscomb. Tiny place. Staying at Naturally Yours thanks to Debby and Jan.
High Plains Recycling, Lipscomb County, Day 199
. . .
Day 199: I met Boone Tyson of Tyson Ranch. He was youngish, red pick-up, backward cap. I complimented the panhandle, and he said simply "It's home." We chatted a bit, then he took off. In leaving he said, "I will be praying for you."
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Before meeting Boone, I met another man who stopped to see if I needed a ride. But there was more. He invited me to a meal and a prayer group. I turned all three down. I tried to explain I was in the middle of a project, but he couldn't hear me where his mind was. I thanked him, and he took off. Later, he passed with his wife and daughter and offered again, this time only mentioning the food. I declined, smiling. They looked like they were ready to adopt me.
.
The difference between these encounters is stark. Boone asked my name, gave me his, and shook my hand. We were equal. The other fellow just saw me as a bum to be saved.
. . .
The Panhandle's Top-Right Corner, Lipscomb County, Day 201
. . .
Day 201: Woke up near corner; hopped fence and found marker. [Back in Follett, everyone was asking me about the marker. Men who'd lived there their entire lives had never seen it. My little expedition got them all excited about it.]
. . .
Going Rates, Booker, Lipscomb County, Day 202
. . .
Day 203: Frost again! Everything covered. ... Hiked into Perryton; scared up several pheasants and rabbits; took a lot of breaks, too; problem? ... I went to the library and posted a blog; bought a book by Plato for 25 cents; wisdom is cheap. [Donnie Dendy, whom I met in Lipscomb, put me up in his future home this evening.]
. . .
Key Heights Baptist Church, Perryton, Ochiltree County, Day 204
. . .
Day 204: Wild goose chase; in Perryton trying to find my old pastor's old church before he came to Corpus; First Baptist Church was a bust; the secretary was scared even. ... Accidentally found Donnie at a restaurant with two women; one had known of my old pastor, so I was able to find the above church!
. . .
Batman Grains, Ochiltree County, Day 204
. . .
Day 205: Nice night under a warm Ecuadorian wool blanket. [For two evenings, I was hosted by Mike Ladd of Waka. He's a former Peace Corps Volunteer, so we exchanged a ton of stories. The blanket was a Peace Corps byproduct.]
. . .
Windmills, Spearman, Hansford County, Day 206
. . .
Day 206: Walked to a small canyon; Bud the dog followed me from a few miles back. [Several dogs have followed me along my trek, for a mile or two or three. Most turn back after a bit, but Bud stayed true. At my campsite, he dug up a rat for dinner, ate it and puked it up in the middle of the night. Bud stayed with me underneath my tarp, growling from time to time throughout the night. In the morning, I gave him some jerky, called his number on his tag, and his mom came and picked him up. She told me that collies can be very protective.]
. . .
My First Snowman in Texas, Hansford County, Day 206
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. . .
Grandpa's Tree, Hansford County, Day 208
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. . .
Target Practice, Sherman County, Day 208
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. . .
Five Miles to Go, Sherman County, Day 210
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. . .
Bloody Toe, Sherman County, Day 210
. . .
Day 210: I'm getting the homeless vibe again. My waitress could hardly keep a straight face, part giggly, part embarrassed. Ah, to be known... [I had camped out in the snow and wind, so I probably didn't look too great. Take my feet, for example. I walked into Stratford in the shoe you see above. My toenail on my foot had buckled to the pressure of walking everyday. As a result, I bled a lot, straight through my sock and shoe. I later went to a laundrymat and washed the whole thing.]
. . .
I'm Sure You Will, Stratford, Sherman County, Day 210
. . .
. . .
Where the Antelopes Play, Rita Blanca National Grasslands, Dallam County, Day 211
. . .
Day 212: Wind! The wind actually started last night as I was settling in; lasted all night and all day. Tore apart my tarp in different spots. Wrecked the Hilton [My tarp set-up had been extra-spacious that evening, and I called it the 'Hilton.'], though the stakes held. Stayed in bed till 10:30am!
. . .
The Builder, Dallam County, Day 213
. . .
Day 213: [The above was on an abandoned well in the Kiowa National Grasslands in New Mexico, just north of Texas in the northwest of the panhandle. I was looking all over for that corner marker and stumbled upon this well. It is nowhere near the corner, but what a neat thing to see.]
. . .
The Panhandle's Top-Left Corner, Dallam County, Day 213
(Close-up below)
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. . .
41.19 Feet to Corner, Dallam County, Day 213
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. . .
The Other Marker, Dallam County, Day 213
(Tri-State Marker of Texas-Oklahoma-New Mexico)
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. . .
Sunset on the Top of Texas, Dallam County, Day 213
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. . .
Dalhart Consumers, Dalhart, Dallam County, Day 215
. . .
Day 215: Finally made it Dalhart. After meandering with a pint of ice cream in hand, I made it to downtown and met my couchsurfing host Nate French. I also met his dog Mr. Lambert who was wearing a glittering collar and a blue shirt that read Cool Pups in sequins. We talked, I cleaned up, and we went out to eat. Nate also gave me an impromptu tour of the town. ... Great host, great guy, nothing but helpful and nice and giving.
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Day 220: In trying to find Randy's yard [where I was going to be camping for the evening], I met Pastor Tim Hooten. He let me use his computer to post a blog. We talked quite a bit. He would frequently go into sermon-mode, but it wasn't so bad. He gave me a Bible and prayed for me. "God, this is my new friend, Matt." I smile at that.
. . .
Billy the Kid's Old Hangout, Oldham County, Day 221
. . .
. . .Farming the Wind, Oldham County, Day 222
. . .
Day 222: Phyllis from Gruver gave her son Scott Atwood the heads up that I'd be going through Vega. I met his wife at the grocery store, and we chatted. A little bit later, I met Scott at the Shell station. We talked a little bit, then parted amicably. [I went to the Shell station, bought a shower, and cleaned myself up. When I came out, there was a note in my backpack inviting me to stay at the Atwood's house!]
. . .
Alex Jones Supporter, Oldham County, Day 223
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Day 223: [If you're not familiar with Alex Jones, you may want to know in advance that he means what he says and says what he means. I read an article about him in Texas Monthly, I believe. He's tagged as a conspiracy theory fellow, but he backs his stuff up with quotes. The article was compelling, and to some degree, so was the man himself.]
. . .Short Circuit, Dallam County, Day 223
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. . .Midpoint Self-portrait!, Adrian, Dallam County, Day 223
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Day 223: Went to Adrian; MID POINT. I ate a burger and fries and two slices of pie at the Midpoint Cafe! [I was in the vicinity of my midpoint, having certainly traveled the requisite 1421 miles, so I celebrated big. The burger and pie were amazing.]
. . .Carpe Diem, Adrian, Dallam County, Day 223
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. . .Old Bull, Deaf Smith County, Day 224
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Day 224: [Didn't journal about this bull, but I liked this guy. When you're walking, cows will come up to you in a herd, wondering if you've got food. The quickly figure that you don't and stamp away in a cloud of dust.
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This old bull didn't budge an inch. I had picked up two dogs which the bull eyed warily. Didn't seem in the least bit interested in me, to tell the truth. I was able to snap several shots while he watched the dogs scamper around, but I was careful to stay clear of those horns.]
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Day 225: Started talking to an old man in a jeep. Very friendly fellow named Mr. Rucker. We were chatting about his family when another vehicle pulled up and the driver got out. It was Sandy Drake of Waka, Texas! She had been to a quilting fair in the area and brought me cookies, Nature Valley snacks, and a book with a letter in it! Incredible!
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Day 228: Turned phone on and chatted with John Mark Beilue of the Amarillo Globe-News. He has my ideal job - full-time columnist! We talked while I walked. [Note: nature called at the same time, but I was able to accommodate both.]
And with that, I leave you! I hope I have appeased the photo hounds.
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Until we meet again...

Books on the Edge

2010-04-13T13:53:00.000-07:00

I do a lot of reading out here, usually at breaks and before sleep but on a nice day you can find me reading while walking. I have tried to read what might enrich my walk around Texas, though I change it up from time to time. As per books that pertain directly to the state, I present the following:

. . .
. . .
In Brownsville, Oscar Casares presents nine fictional stories about life in Brownsville, Texas. Why then, you might ask, is there a really long tail on the cover of the book? The tail belongs to the collection's only monkey, which makes an entrance in just one tale, though in the story, only the monkey's head plays a role. I had my doubts, reading about Bony and his bizarre obsession with the monkey's head which ultimately puts him at odds with his parents, but Casares made the darn thing work. In fact, I found myself getting into the lives of his characters more than I thought I would: a boy who gets a job working at a fireworks stand, a female bowler whose lucky ball gets stolen, a father whose son isn't tough enough for him. The prose is simple and straightforward, the commentary on life and purpose profound. And when there's a joke, which Casares works in form time to time, it's a long, hard belly laugh. Enjoy.
. . .
. . .
Ron Hall and Denver Moore (with Lynn Vincent) share the tale of their friendship in Same Kind of Different as Me. Set in and around Fort Worth, a homeless man (Denver Moore) eventually runs into a wealthy couple (Ron and Deborah Hall) trying to spread some love at the local homeless shelter. After a vision, Deborah is convinced that Denver is important to their lives and that they need to reach out to him. Eventually, Denver reaches back, and during the rest of the story, they all learn about friendship, devotion, spirituality, and love. A quick, uplifting read.
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Though no doubt true, it was a little happy-happy joy-joy for me. I have a new perspective on the whole thing after being out here on the road. I can sense the difference between pity and a genuine helpful attitude. Both come from the same place, and while it's easy for a recipient to see the difference, it seems to be extremely hard for the giver to differentiate. I'm not the only who understands this either. A store owner back at the start of the panhandle commented on his assistant who gave me a candy bar before he clocked out for the day. After the guy left, he said, "See that? He thinks he's better than you, like he's the big man helping out the poor. All he sees is the backpack." I'm not saying that's what happened in the above book, but my experiences have allowed me to read it in a different way, perhaps the same kind of different way as you.
. . .
. . .
The Worst Hard Time by Timothy Egan is still a book I'm working on, but it is fantastic. It details the general story of the Great American Dust Bowl while bringing the whole disaster to life with the personal tales of survival of about half a dozen main characters. I'm 200 pages into this 300 page book, and all the details have come together beautifully. I'm shocked. I don't remember enjoying Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck at all (that was in high school, though). It helps that I've walked through some of the towns he mentions (Follett, Oslo, Darrouzett, Texhoma, Dalhart), but the story stands on its own. The Worst Hard Time is fascinating and wonderfully told. Read it, read it, read it. While the cover quote is a little cheesy ("This is can't-put-it-down history." - Walter Cronkite), it is so so true.
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(Side note: Today is April 14th, the 75th anniversary of Black Sunday, the worst duster in the history of the whole mess.)
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. . .

Until next time, readers...

Dear Perimeter Hiker

2010-04-13T12:19:00.000-07:00

Now it's time for another installment of "Dear Perimeter Hiker." Let's go straight to the questions:

* * *
* * *
* * *
Dear Perimeter Hiker,

You've been a little light on the blog. What gives?

Surfing for Blog Posts
* * *
Dear SfBP,

I apologize to you and the other faithful readers who have had to get by on the 140-character tweets that fly from my phone on occasion. I don't carry a laptop and have had to make due with whatever computer time I get, whether in public libraries or at a friend's home.

I also have to obey various restrictions from place to place. In many instances, this has meant that I can't upload photos or files of any kind. This should explain the many picture-less posts I've put up.

I am currently at the Muleshoe Library, and the entire Facebook site is blocked. Imagine Facebook being blocked! That's like punching in google.com and being denied. What is this, China?
* * *
* * *
* * *
Dear Perimeter Hiker,

How have you handled the panhandle winds?

Please Take Them with You
* * *
Dear PTTwY,

I'm from Corpus Christi, and the winds can get pretty nasty there. There's a big windsurfing competition every year to give you an idea. Down in Corpus, I've probably walked or rollerbladed at most a few miles in the wind, and I mean that for my entire life.

The winds in the Texas Panhandle are an altogether different beast. They come in through New Mexico or down hard from the northern plains. They have nothing to buffer their intensity for hundreds of miles in all directions.

There were several places I had to endure the wind. Walking into Canadian, while doable, was an exhausting affair. The wind plowed into me for hours, perhaps 30 to 40 mph with occasional big gusts. Hiking from Texhoma to Stratford proved to be doubly difficult because it was windy AND snowy. The weather stayed warmish (as warm as wet snow can get at any rate), but the moment I felt the temperature drop, I had to break for camp. By the time I got my sleeping bag out, my fingers had become numb. And in Dalhart, I just plain lucked out. It was windy when I walked into town, but nothing compared to what struck a couple of days later. While I was staying with my couchsurfing host, the wind was around 50 mph in town with gusts even faster!

While I can't take the winds with me, I promise put up some resistance with "winds" of my own. Not sure if that will help or not...
* * *
* * *
* * *
Dear Perimeter Hiker,

Are you nervous about hiking the border?

Concerned about You Vato Loco Perimeter Hiker
* * *
Dear CaYVLPH,

Yes, I'm nervous.

I was just told that Fort Hancock, Texas got taken over by a Mexican cartel. In case your geography's not that great, Fort Hancock is smack on I-10.

This is just a rumor, mind you. Something like that is likely to be all over the news. However, I don't really want to know what part of the rumor comes from fact and what part comes from fiction.

I'll be introducing myself to the law enforcement agencies that govern the border region when I reach El Paso. That may take a while, as several government agencies and homegrown agencies have stepped up in recent years to patrol the area. I hope to get some good advice from these folks.
* * *
* * *
* * *
Dear Perimeter Hiker,

When do you expect to finish?

Waiting in Corpus Christi
* * *
Dear WiCC,

I'd like to finish by July, August at the latest. I pitched both my columns as a year-long, twelve-part run (with an introductory column), so that's part of what's guiding me in.

If the walk takes longer, though, I'm committed to taking as long as I need to take. I'm especially sensitive to safety concerns and will be taking every precaution.
* * *
* * *
* * *

Until next time, folks...

Faces of Texas

2010-04-03T10:02:00.000-07:00

. . .

"Take care of the land, and it will take care of you."

- Minnie Lou Bradley, owner and operator of Bradley 3 Ranch in the Memphis area north of the Red River, on her general philosophy of cattle ranching. It was recommended that I go visit Mrs. Bradley by Cody Bell of Turkey, so when I was in the area, I looked her up. She spoke to me of her business, which started in 1955, of the ways ranching has changed in modern days, of the Land Stewardship and Environmental Award that the ranch won recently for the Texas-Oklahoma-Arkansas region. Mrs. Bradley was passionate about her work, and it was wonderful to hear her perspective. She was also a gracious host. While speaking of the cattle industry, she gave me a bowl of beans and crackers before sending me on my way.

Memphis, Texas

. . .
. . .

"My rearview mirror wouldn't stay on. My system was awesome."

- Reynaldo "Ray" Villalon, a park maintenance worker north of Wellington, on the sound system that he and his family installed in his car. I met Ray at the park after I pulled off the road to use the restroom and clean up. We talked about the weather, his family, and my trip, probably for a good two hours. When Ray spoke about his car, he beamed with pride. He said when he cranked it that the change would bounce out of the ashtray, and on one long trip, the screws on his friend's shades came up, causing the lenses to pop out.

.
Hwy 83 North of Wellington, Texas
. . .
. . .

"I've got too much invested in my cars to go walking."
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- Lonnie Cox, standing next to wife Sue, on his capacity to do what I was doing. I met Sue in the previous morning at the Citadelle, Canadian's art gallery, where she works as a volunteer. In the evening as I was approaching Marvin Lake, a car slowed down, and lo and behold, it was Sue! She invited me to stay the night in she and Lonnie's home, and I accepted, grateful to get out of the wind. Lonnie is a cut-up, and we spent the evening watching "The Marriage Ref." In the morning, Lonnie squeezed in one last joke.
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Marvin Lake, Texas
. . .
. . .
"It's a different kind of dancing. You have to pick up your feet."
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- Debby Opdyke, owner of Naturally Yours Gallery and Dance Platform, on how to dance on a wooden platform of this kind. Debby explained to me that when settlers were moving out here and building structures, that people would hold impromptu dances on the lumber before the erection of their homes and churches. She tried to recreate the experience with Naturally Yours. For fifteen years, she's held summer dances in Lipscomb, one per month, that extend well into the evening. This is their last year, and if I can get myself to Corpus in a timely manner, I intend to go. June 19th, July 17th, August 21st, September 18th, at around 7pm. Don't forget to pick up your feet.
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Lipscomb, Texas
. . .
. . .

"I'll say, 'Hey, I gotta text somebody. Meet me at 'Service.''"

- Landry Caldwell, a Follett Junior, on the difficulties of getting cell phone reception in the area. Landry explained to me that there was a single hill near town whose elevation was such that cell service was good. As befitting, all the students dubbed the hill "Service."

Follett, Texas

. . .
. . .

"Sasha could get anything, so about a year into my [Peace Corps] service, I said, 'Sasha, I want Dr. Pepper.' And Sasha said, 'No problem.'"

- Michael Ladd, a returned Peace Corps Volunteer in both Kyrgyzstan and Ecuador, on his service in the former. As an RPCV myself, I thoroughly enjoyed swapping stories with Mike, which we did for several hours over the course of my two-night visit. In the above story, Mike asked his friend to get him some Dr. Pepper. His friend then contacted his sister in Moscow, Russia who bought said drink and put it on a train south. Sasha met up with the train and brought the Dr. Pepper to Mike in the middle of nowhere. Mike then asked Sasha for an entire statue of Lenin, some of which are still standing around the country. Sasha's still working on that one.

Waka, Texas

. . .
. . .

"He's had five bypasses, two congenital heart failures, and one stroke, but he's doing just fine."

Phyllis Atwood, owner of El Vaquero in Gruver, on her husband Harvey. Phyllis was warned that I was coming by the above Michael Ladd. She stopped in front of me on my way into town and introduced herself. I made it to her restaurant and had a plate of good homecooked food. While I was eating, she entertained all her clients by sitting down and swapping stories, and when Harvey came by after the lunch rush, she sat next to him as he ate. Sweet as pudding, she made me feel right at home.

Gruver, Texas

. . .

"You're in the middle of freakin' nowhere is where you're at."

- Walter M., panhandle rancher, on my exact position in the world. While I was hiking north toward Texhoma, Walter had to stop and meet the lone walker trudging through his heartland. About the only hippie rancher around, Walter sounded like 'The Dude' out of Big Lebowski. He said that I could reach either Canada or the west coast from where we where before I could reach Brownsville. Google maps disagrees, but I will say this: we were in the middle of freakin' nowhere.

FM 1262 southeast of Texhoma, Texas

. . .
. . .

Texline, Texas

2010-03-29T12:20:00.000-07:00

I'm at the very small library in Texline, Texas. It's a small miracle they even have one considering the population of the town is somewhere just above 500. Someone really had to push hard to get this place going, and I am grateful that he or she did.

To get to town, I cut across the Rita Blanca National Grasslands from Stratford. I couldn't remember which county road to take, so I texted my friend Darren. I received about 10 texts in response, each a separate instruction about how to get across the land. It all started with County Road I, which meant I had to backtrack a touch, but soon enough, I jumped in.

The start of the grasslands was a little tough. I had to hike a few miles along muddy roads which was less about the slipperiness and more about the accumulation of heavy mud on the bottom of my shoes. Not surprisingly, I didn't see one car on this stretch. Some of the plots of land around this first section had nice tall golden grass (pictures forthcoming, be patient!), and I started seeing antelope in small herds of four to eight, though I did see one group of fifteen.

I saw one sign for Rita Blanca, but a lot looked like private land. Everything was fenced in with barbed wire, so it all looked alike. Occasionally I'd see a small little yellow sign for the grasslands.

It was a little confusing. My road map, which is admittedly not very detailed, showed Rita Blanca to be a huge area. So when I got to a point where Darren's direction told me to go south two miles, west nine miles, and north two miles, I decided to cut out the up and down and just shoot straight across.

This turned out to be nine miles of private land. Well, this isn't entirely true, as I started seeing Rita Blanca signs in the middle of this stretch; however, if the grasslands have private land around them, they might as well be private too.

Luckily, I got through with just a mild warning. A fellow on a four-wheeler asked me a few questions, ascertained that I really was just walking through (and not sizing up the ranch), and left me with the following comment: "Just be careful. Everybody isn't as nice as we are. I mean, this is Texas."

Once I made it across the land and onto High Lonesome Road, I found a parcel of Rita Blanca and called it a night.

The next day, I started realizing that the Rita Blanca National Grasslands are not at all what they seem. With grasslands, you expect to see what I saw in the beginning: lots and lots of grass. But the more I hiked through, the more I realized that this was the exception. Much of the land had been grazed. The grasslands had cow patties everywhere, a telltale sign of four full stomachs. Full of my grass!

I don't have any facts here, just observations, but I wonder if the National Forest Service leases their land to cattle ranchers. After all, they strike deals with the timber industry in national forests. Upon exiting High Lonesome Road, there was a sign that read: RITA BLANCA NATIONAL GRASSLANDS, PUBLIC LANDS, YOUR HERITAGE.

I passed through Texline and with some kindly advice made it up to the top left corner of the panhandle (For those who would like to repeat the process, I went to the northern edge of Texline on 87, took a right/east, went five blocks, then turned left/north on Shamburger Road. I traveled until the end of the road, which Ts. This east/west road is the northern boundary of Texas, also known as Rickens, I believe. I went left/west and followed it for another half mile until it hit the New Mexico highway. From here, I wandered all over. Read on.). I called my brother who led me through the process step by step using satellite imaging. However, we were unable to locate anything.

That is, until I looked down.

I had called Annie and was balancing the phone while also putting my pack on. Between the highway and a private fence was a little wooden stake. Next to the stake was a very small survey marker saying that the corner of Texas was 41 feet away. I counted out the 41 and found that it hit the very edge of the highway. Ta-dah!

My next trick was much easier. I retraced my footsteps and went about a mile or so until I found where Texas, Oklahoma, and New Mexico meet. This marker was huge by comparison and warned that taking the marker could lead to a penalty of $250. Hmm. If Dr. Boeker were still teaching, this would present an interesting option. But alas.

I camped in the Kiowa National Grasslands for the evening which was just north of the T-junction of Shamburger and Rickens. The place looked mowed and sad.

I'm back in Texline just for a moment on my way to Dalhart. Expect much more!

Until next time...

Follett, Darrouzett, Booker, and Perryton

2010-03-18T14:10:00.000-07:00

I've had a great time saying things like "Telephone, Texas" and "Turkey, Texas," but right now, I love saying that I'm on the top of Texas. I can't get enough of it.

I hiked into Follett with the express purpose of grabbing a bite to eat and continuing to the very corner of the state. Not a single person at the IMO's convenience store had ever seen the corner, and only one of them had heard of someone actually seeing it. A high schooler who had lent me his computer was telling me that he was only familiar with a different survey marker, one that had a dead armadillo holding a beer can near it. The leads were drying up. I imagined that no one had seen the actual marker in a hundred years. In my head, I could hear the theme song of Indiana Jones.

The men in the cafe had iPhones, not exactly a signature feature of an Indiana flick, and before I headed off, they had pulled up Google maps and zoomed up close on the corner. (Just an aside: It's a little embarrassing that these older fellas know more about modern technology than I do.) They gave their best guesses, and I went for it.

Well, downtown Follett to the corner is approximately 10 miles. I know this now. I had thought it was going to be less, but as the sun started setting, I knew I was nowhere near my destination.

The path was a hard packed dirt road, very hilly, and before long, I had to pull out my headlamp to see where I was stepping. The stars came out boldly, filling the sky, and the sounds of the city were muted and a long way off.

So it was somewhat of a surprise to see a couple of cars slowly coming down the road where I had come from. It was even more of a surprise to see the drivers shining a spotlight on either side of the road.

They came, then turned around, then turned around again. It was easy to see what they were doing because of the hills.

Spotlights generally mean cops or rednecks, and I didn't want to take my chances with either. I called 9-1-1 and spoke with the dispatcher, identifying myself and my location. She put me on hold for a second. I could hear the dispatcher speaking directly with the policemen, a subdued laugh underlying her speech. I think she thought it was funny that I had called myself in because they couldn't find me.

The policemen eventually came my way, and we exchanged a few polite words. A farmer had called me in because it was unusual to see someone hiking so late. Fair enough. I hate walking this late myself and do my best to avoid it. The cops told me it was just a bit further and let me on my way.

They were right. The first survey marker (no dead armadillo in sight) was there, so I continued to the east. It was late, so I broke camp without further adventuring.

In the morning, I broke a cardinal rule of this trek: I crossed into private property. I don't know why seeing this corner marker was that important, but it was for some reason. I went due east first following my compass. Nothing. Then I went south. Again, nothing.

I stopped and looked around. Something in the landscape didn't look quite right. I got closer and found ...

... a bucket filled with cement. Well, it wasn't exactly a bucket. More like a metal cylinder. But when I say "bucket," I think the idea comes across a little more clearly.

Placed in the center of the cement was a metal placard. "Triangulation Station" read the top line. Surveyors have to get their kicks, too, I suppose. There were a couple of Oklahoma signs warning not to tamper with anything, and that was it. No boulder rolled down on me, and there were no poison-tipped arrows or golden statue.

But it was the top of Texas. The TOP RIGHT of the Texas Panhandle, to be precise. I started singing to myself, not the Indiana Jones theme but my own tune:

"I'm waiting for the sun on top of Texas,
a windmill beating time against the wind.
I'm waiting for the sun on top of Texas,
lets me know just when this day begins."

I hiked back to Follett, where a local woman picked up my cafe tab! A fellow cafe patron told me that an old rail path had been discontinued and all the rails were ripped out for a long way. I easily found the path and started hiking it, the perfect trail where there are no trails. I camped on it six miles out from Follett.

The next day, I pulled into Darrouzett and had a fifty-cent hot cocoa at the Corner Drug Cafe. Fifty cents! I almost had another. I continued to Booker where I chatted with the Booker News owner Kayla Parvin and her editor Shelby. After visiting with them, I grabbed a specialty coffee drink down the street at Common Ground Coffeehouse. My drink was eight times as much as the cocoa, but it was so worth it. Delicious! I hiked off again and camped a mile outside of Booker on the train path.

This train path is amazing. Truly. It's overgrown, which is not ideal, but it's off the road by a substantial margin, and there's actually wildlife along side of it. I keep accidentally startling really fat pheasants from their cubbies, as well as jack rabbits and a couple of cottontails. Beautiful creatures. To see a red and green pheasant squawking and flapping in flight or a rabbit cover a quarter of a mile in seconds is a great treat.

I walked into Perryton today and had some wonderful Mexican food at Country Gorditas. It gets my gold seal of approval. The owner makes homemade gorditas and tortillas. Love it.

So far the top of Texas has been a quiet adventure with some great people and good finds. Don't bother cueing the themesong. The Indiana Jones in me is doing just fine.

Until next time...

Canadian, Texas

2010-03-11T08:35:00.000-08:00

This is really just one big post divided into several little bitty ones. I have a love-hate relationship with HTML and Blogger, but in the end, they get the job done.

A big thank you to Laurie E. Brown, Tamera Julian, and John McGarr for making my stay in Canadian and relaxing and enjoyable experience. Thank you too to the citizens of Canadian for such a warm welcome. You have a wonderful town, a really well-done local museum, and a great paper to boot. I'm already excited about my next visit.

Best of luck to you all.

Until next time...

Canadian, Texas: Audio-Visual Part 4

2010-03-11T08:33:00.001-08:00

Canadian, Texas: Audio-Visual Part 3

2010-03-11T08:31:00.000-08:00

Canadian, Texas: Audio-Visual Part 2

2010-03-11T08:29:00.001-08:00

Canadian, Texas: Audio-Visual Part 1

2010-03-11T08:26:00.000-08:00

Canadian, Texas

2010-03-11T07:52:00.000-08:00

I had a tough time coming into Canadian, Texas. I camped out about six miles north of Wheeler on Hwy 83, and not knowing what I would be up against the next day, I decided to make it to Canadian.
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In the morning, the winds were between 30 and 40 mph, coming diagonally into me. I walked like that for hours, almost leaning into the wind. I'm just glad it wasn't stronger. The night before, a tornado had hit just 30 or so miles east of my position, over the border into Oklahoma.
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Getting closer to Canadian, people started honking and waving at me. Very nice welcome. One woman even stopped and introduced herself. After talking with the editor over the phone, I learned that the Canadian Chamber of Commerce would be offering me a night or two in a hotel and food accommodations. After 28 miles of walking into the wind, I was only too happy to accept.
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I'm trying something new with some audio clips. There's an issue putting the words and audio on the same page (I'm no HTML expert, but I know it's not working.), so I'm separating my commentary from this new thing I'm trying. Enjoy!

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Until next time...

In the News...

2010-03-10T06:05:00.000-08:00

While I'm in Canadian, I can try to catch up on a little blog posting.

Here's my most recent syndicated article, published here from the Lufkin Daily News. Click here for the article. It's about my stay at Caprock Canyons State Park and Trailway.

Here's my most recent article published in the Corpus Christi Caller-Times. Click here for the article. This one's about couchsurfing in Wichita Falls. Again, several small changes and some that I would consider major have been made. What's a writer to do?

Until next time...

Wheeler, Texas

2010-03-08T14:05:00.000-08:00

I am in Wheeler, Texas, finally. I had a rough morning of rain and wind both of which lasted right up until noon. I rolled around in my tarp, ate my entire bag of Wheat Thins, read Thoreau's Walden (no one ever told me Thoreau was totally full of himself), made a few calls, and watched the rain come down.

It was a slow morning.

The birds were much more optimistic. They were chirping a solid hour before I even ventured out of my tarp. The tarp, by the way, did tolerably well, but did nothing to block the fog that rolled through the area nor any wind-driven raindrops. The top half of my sleeping bag got moist as well as part of a fleece blanket, but most of this dried out by the time I broke camp. I didn't see why the birds were so happy until I saw the sun off in the distance.

So I walked into Wheeler and went straight to a restaurant featuring homecooked food. I ordered all kinds of fried food and with encouragement from the owner added a few vegetables for color. I also ordered a nice slice of cherry cheesecake, and though I could've eaten more, I decided to call it. While chatting with the owner, she gave me a batch of cookies! She confessed that she was a mom and felt better knowing I had food. It did no good to tell her that I was getting paid to tromp around Texas. So I thanked her and packed the cookies.

The pole fiasco in Wellington was what my brother Charlie would call "a bummer." I deliberately leave my poles outside as a courtesy to the businesses I frequent. I have probably left them outside over a hundred places for several hundred miles. Unfortunately, their library was right next to the local high school, so perhaps I could have taken that into account.

I have hiked reasonably well without my poles, though I wonder about my speed and balance. I'll continue like this a little bit longer and see what it feels like. I hiked both with and without them during the first few hundred miles. I made them a permanent addition after I fractured my toe in Texarkana. However, the toe has healed, so maybe I can do without. A few hundred more miles ought to settle it.

Now I'm off to more plains. It's not entirely flat as folks tend to say, but it's flat enough. It stays light well after sunset which has made the timing of my evening routine a little off.

Until next time, sunset watchers...

Caprock Canyons: A Photo Essay

2010-02-15T12:52:00.003-08:00

I've written a syndicated column about my time in Caprock Canyons State Park and Trailway, so as not to infringe on my writing obligations, I have made a photo essay of my time here. The photos were not taken in chronological order but are grouped based on subject and weather. Enjoy!

. . .

Canyonland, Caprock Canyons SP

. . .

Holmes Creek Canyon, Caprock Canyons SP

(Volunteer Dave Foley on left, Park Manager Donald Beard on right)

. . . . . .

Gypsum Strata, Caprock Canyons SP
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Lone Juniper, Caprock Canyons SP
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Zig-zag, Caprock Canyons SP
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Red Mud Hiker, Caprock Canyons SP
(Dirty Hiker Karma Jones)
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Los Lingos Bridge, Caprock Canyons Trailway
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Buffalo and the Syrup Tub, Caprock Canyons SP

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Singin' in the Snow?, Caprock Canyons SP

(Karma Jones)

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Snow Camping, Caprock Canyons SP

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Haynes Ridge in Snow, Caprock Canyons SP

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. . .

Snowy Days, Caprock Canyons SP

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Clarity from the End of the Tunnel, Caprock Canyons Trailway

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Under a Natural Bridge on Eagle Point Trail, Caprock Canyons SP

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Hiking Tools Presentation, Caprock Canyons SP

(I'm kneeling with guests Matt (with cap) and Michael;

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. . .

Until next time...

Faces of Texas: Caprock Canyons State Park & Trailway

2010-02-15T12:52:00.001-08:00

. . .

"These are the kinds of hikes I like, the ones where you get off the beaten path."

- Donald Beard, Manager of Caprock Canyons State Park & Trailway, commenting on the joys of bushwhacking. Donald, park host Dave Foley, and I meandered through the Holmes Creek Canyon for several hours, spying wild pigs, deer, and several birds. Not normally encouraged, the off-trail hike was considered official business.

Quitaque, Texas

. . .

"The open road."

- Dave Foley, Caprock Canyons State Park Host and Volunteer, on his upcoming plans. Dave's been hosting at the park for approximately 9 months now. When campers have immediate concerns, he's the go-to guy. He loves the hikes, the views, and the pure air, but he's been feeling the itch to hit the road. Dave doesn't know where he's going yet, but I believe he has a plan nonetheless. When he says "the open road," he almost bellows it, hitting his high on the word "open," coming down again on "road." He repeats it again when we hit a lull in our conversation. It's a three-word song that fills the silence.

Quitaque, Texas

. . .

. . .

"My dad's family had a trooper in Colonel Mackenzie's army in the Battle of Palo Duro Canyon, and my mom's family had a member in the village that was attacked."
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- Rebecca Miller, Caprock Canyons State Park Ranger, on her family's history in the region. Before serving at Caprock Canyons, Rebecca put in a few years at Palo Duro but eventually left for this quieter setting. "We're more of a family here," she tells me of the staff, "because we have the time to be." In a land her distant relatives had once claimed as their own, Rebecca sees herself, until the end of her days.
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Quitaque, Texas
. . .
. . .

"My mother is almost 99 years old. She still has a garden and works the yard. She still mows the lawn."

- Joyce Price, Caprock Canyons State Park Clerk, on her mother's health. Joyce moved back to the area to be close to her mother in her old age, but acknowledges that her mother has been living the same way her entire life. Joyce found the clerk job a few years ago, which was almost too good to be true, jobs being hard come to by in this part of the state, and prides herself that she beat out the competition at age 68. It appears that the work ethic didn't fall too far from the tree.

Quitaque, Texas

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. . .

Days One Hundred Forty-Six through One Hundred Fifty-Nine

2010-02-15T12:11:00.000-08:00

I'm changing things up a little bit here. Photos are coming first with journaling and thoughts, and the stats are at the end. I'll be updating the map soon, too.

I walked from Wichita Falls to Quitaque. Along the way, I met new friends, walked into an ice storm, and hiked along a state park trailway. Here's the trip in pictures and words:

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Day 146: I left Wichita Falls in the afternoon after doing a ton of work on Katrina's computer. I only made it a few miles before I found a Mexican restaurant on the outskirts of town. I stopped without question, ordered big without hesitation, and spent my last hour in town chowing down.

Day 147: I met a library volunteer named Ardis Jensen who invited me over for the evening. I met her husband Roger, and all three of us spent the evening chatting away. They treated me to dinner, a night in a bed, and breakfast the next day. Ardis even baked some cookies for me right before I left!

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Little House on the Prairie, Wichita County, Day 148

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Final Resting Place, Wichita County, Day 148
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Bragging Rights, Wichita County, Day 148
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Day 148: I got mobbed on my way out of Electra. I was on my way out of a Subway/convenience store when I was recognized by some fellows in a truck. There was a little girl trying to sell them some tickets to a barbecue (I know this because I had given her a little money earlier), but when they saw me, they started talking to me. One of them had read the article in the Wichita Falls paper (I know this because at some point in what followed I heard, "Hey, I'm the one that actually read the article!"). I started to leave, but one asked if a photo would be okay. I said sure, and before I could say Wichita County I was surrounded by several men opening their cell phones, trading places, the giddiness and excitement filling the space. Even a guy who had no idea who I was came over and started opening up his cell phone to take a shot. Suddenly, the show was over as quickly as it had started. I walked away chuckling, the words of one fellow replaying in my mind: "All these people say they want to backpack around Europe, but you said to yourself, 'I'm gonna backpack around Texas!'"
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Streak, Wichita County, Day 148

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Bells and Whistles, Wilbarger County, Day 148

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Idiot Box, Wilbarger County, Day 149

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Day 149: Camping in the rain - more specifically breaking camp in the rain - tests the resolve of the traveler. You move quickly because every moment spent preparing your sleep set-up is one less moment inside of it. Things go wrong. You curse the weather, your powerlessness. But the sleep is sweet when you've fought for it.
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Tarp Tent, Wilbarger County, Day 150

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Day 150: This is my basic tarp set-up. I tie the center grommet to a tree on either side and stake down the corners. If I only have one tree or post, I wrap the string around a hiking pole and stake that to the ground in addition to the corners. It works great, but strong wind tends to tear the grommets out. The fresh air and weight makes the whole thing worth it to me (and there are even lighter tarps out there!).
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Evening Sunset, Hardeman County, Day 151

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Day 151: For several miles, there was no where to camp, and the only space between the road and private property was the shoulder plus another ten yards of grass and mud. I hadn't planned on hiking as much as I did (about 20 miles). However, since the sun was up and no great campsites presented themselves, I kept moving. When I finally found a place, I placed tumbleweeds around my area to make me invisible to passing vehicles.
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Medicine Mounds, Hardeman County, Day 152

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Day 152: Thanks to the behind-the-scenes efforts of Carol Whitmire of the Quanah Tribune-Chief, Bertha Woods and the Quanah Chamber of Commerce extended a welcome that will be hard to equal. A hotel, shirt, cap, museum pass. She also placed me in touch with the fine folks at K&R Kitchen who not only fed me the best steak dinner in Texas but offered to feed me breakfast the morning after!
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Tribute to a Chief, Quanah, Hardeman County, Day 153

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Quanah Depot Museum, Quanah, Hardeman County, Day 153

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Day 153: Before leaving Quanah, I visited the local museum, an old train depot, and saw the handiwork of Scarlett Daugherty, Museum Curator. This was not the Smithsonian, but it's charm was irresistible nonetheless.
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Icy Conditions, Childress County, Day 154

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Day 155: Yesterday, I woke up to an ice storm and hiked into Childress. It was freezing rain, and even blades of grass were covered in an inch of ice making hiking on them near impossible. When I got to a hotel, I discovered sheets of ice on my jacket and pack. Thank goodness for hiker heat. The rain stopped during the night, and the walk into Estelline and the Caprock Canyon Trailway was smooth and enjoyable.
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Turkey Hotel, Turkey, Hall County, Day 158

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Day 158: I was heading back to the trailway when I struck up a short conversation with some people in front of the Turkey Hotel (built 1927). As I started to continue along my way, one of them suggested I stay at the hotel. I guess I had been more interested in it than I had known. The owner cut me a great deal, and for several hours, I was the only client in this huge two-story building. It was the warmest night I've had all winter.
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Service Station, Turkey, Hall County, Day 158

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Welcome, Quitaque, Briscoe County, Day 159

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Day 159: I met my volunteer coordinator Karen Lanier, then hiked into Caprock Canyons State Park. The daylight was just leaving as I was setting up camp.

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. . .

My stats are organized the same as always: where I hiked to followed by how far I walked. (Most of the short days are due to a late start or a generous invitation to stay the night.)
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Day 146: Pleasant Valley, about 6 miles

Day 147: Iowa Park, about 5 miles

Day 148: Past Electra, about 20 miles

Day 149: Past Oklaunion, about 14 miles

Day 150: Past Vernon, about 8 miles

Day 151: Hwy 287 Reststop (between Chillicothe & Quanah), about 22 miles

Day 152: Quanah, about 6 miles

Day 153: Hwy 287, about 14 miles

Day 154: Childress, about 15 miles

Day 155: Estelline, 16 miles

Day 156: Parnell Station on the Caprock Canyons Trailway, about 10 miles

Day 157: Past Tampico Siding on the Caprock Canyons Trailway, about 15 miles

Day 158: Turkey via the Caprock Canyons Trailway, 7 miles

Day 159: Quitaque via the Caprock Canyons Trailway, 13 miles (to the state park added 3)

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Until next time...

Faces of Texas

2010-02-12T18:36:00.001-08:00

. . .

"One second. My whole life changed."

- Abdul Saleem, owner of a convenience store called The Panther Pit, talking about the death of his son. Abdul had had a successful wholesale business in Pakistan but left everything behind when a local doctor told him his son needed treatment outside of the country. He brought his son to the United States for medical treatment, but shortly after arriving his son died. With a few thousand dollars in pocket money, he remade his life here, refusing to return to a country and a life that would remind him of his son.

Saint Jo, Texas

. . .

"It's mainly just remembering to feed him and run him on the weekends."

- Twelve-year-old Austyn J., a Clay County Junior Livestock Show 2nd & 3rd place winner, on the secret of his success. I ran into Austyn in the animal corral section which was situated behind a large auditorium filled with people. He was in line to show his animal up front where locals and business owners would bid a premium on the animals, the proceeds of which went directly to the animal raiser.

Henrietta, Texas

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. . .

"That's him! The guy on the front page of the paper!"

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- Couchsurfing host Katrina Morgan pointing me out to other customers in a convenience store. Katrina and her roommate hosted me for two days, introducing me to friends and giving me much-appreciated access to a computer. When I learned that a local interview had been published, Katrina and I went to a nearby store to pick up a copy. Katrina's excitement at seeing the story on the front page rose to an unanticipated level.
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Wichita Falls, Texas

. . .
. . .

"I came here as a little girl with my father. I remember thinking how much fun it would be to rollerskate on the second floor. For some reason he didn't think too much of my idea."
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- Gayle Cleghorn, library assistant at the Tom Burnett Memorial Library in Iowa Park, on an early experience with the building. The library is a beautiful two-story renovated home in the center of an entire city block sharing the land with only two other buildings, all of which had belonged to Tom Burnett. The building was later donated to the city for the explicit purpose of being the library.
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Iowa Park, Texas
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. . .

"I had my husband dig out the barbecue pit from the snow and set it up in the laundry room, so I could make Christmas Eve supper."

- Ardis Jensen with husband Roger on how they handled the blizzard that hit North Texas around Christmas 2009. The snow came down so heavily it eventually led authorities to close down a stretch of the highway. Many travelers had to spend the night in their vehicles, arriving on or after Christmas to their destinations. Several inches came down and power went down in parts of the entire Wichita Falls and surrounding area. Undeterred, Ardis employed a very Texan solution to address the problem.

Iowa Park, Texas

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. . .

"I thought it'd be real casual. Maybe a customer or two.

I'd make their food. We'd talk."

- Kerry Pruitt, owner of K&R Kitchen in Quanah, on his expectations before the business opened. Both he and his dad were laid off from the oil industry and decided to try their chances in food service. On the first day, there were so many people that the wait was upwards of an hour. Kerry and his family treated me to a steak dinner after they heard I was passing through town. It was the best steak I've ever had. The restaurant was busy, and I watched Kerry bouncing from table to table like the General Lee on the dirt roads of Hazzard. What's more, he still made time to talk.

Quanah, Texas

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. . .

"Every town is 30 miles away. It's the distance a wagon could do in a day.

At least, that's what the old-timers say."

- William Reece Manuel, convenience store owner, on the layout of the land. When I first came in, he said, "It's our highway skier," a reference to my use of hiking sticks. Right off, Reece told me that he wasn't put off by my pack and that he knew I was out here hiking on purpose. This understanding gave way to a great conversation that ranged from the local economy to local history. We chatted for over an hour.

Estelline, Texas

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. . .

"We're as local as you can get."

- Dale Redd, owner of the This "N" That convenience store, to me when I expressed an interest in shopping local. His store contained a wide variety of things from glass collectibles to hot Mexican candy. I bought graham crackers.

Turkey, Texas

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. . .

"Here, everybody knows everybody, and they all look out for each other. That's why we stayed."

- Marsha Valdez, manager of the Turkey Hotel, on the advantages of small town life. I stayed at the hotel which was built in 1927 and hung out mainly with her father-in-law Albert who sent me on my way back to the Caprock Canyons Trailway with a sack lunch of biscuits, sausage, and bacon.

Turkey, Texas

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. . .

"People have asked me about encounters with wolves and what it is really like, and I have answered honestly that it is an unique experience but the sort of thing that gets less surprising each time."

- Charles Goodnight on his experiences in the wild. Often referred to as the "father of the Texas Panhandle," he was a legend in his own time and the inspiration for Captain Call in Lonesome Dove. Goodnight managed the JA Ranch, part of which later became Caprock Canyons State Park.

Quitaque, Texas

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. . .

In the News...

2010-02-08T20:17:00.000-08:00

I got interviewed in Galveston quite a while ago and wasn't aware the interview was net-accessible until now. I have a couple of good quotes, but then there is a completely bizarre statement (See if you can find it!). Though I can't remember saying it, I can't deny that I said it either. I really hope it was just an error. Click here for the interview and a couple of pictures.

I submitted another article last week which papers have just been publishing. There's a picture of a collapsed tarp, too! Click here for the whole thing, published by The Lone Star Iconoclast.

And that's the news!

Until next time...

The Caprock Canyons Trailway

2010-02-07T11:40:00.000-08:00

(The Caprock Canyons State Park & Trailway's office is located at 850 Caprock Canyons State Park Road, Quitaque, TX 79255. Their number is 806-455-1492, and the current park manager is named Donald Beard. While I am a volunteer at Caprock Canyons, I do not speak for Caprock Canyons. The story below represents my thoughts, actions, opinions alone. Before planning a trip, please consult the park office for prices, instructions, and advice.)

. . .

When I first read the phrase "Caprock Canyons State Park & Trailway," I naturally imagined that the trailway was within the park's boundaries. Not so.

There are in effect TWO state parks, both under the Caprock Canyons label. One of these parks is 15,000 acres in size and located three miles north of Quitaque (pronounced KID-UH-KWAY). The other is a 64-mile long rails-to-trails path extending from Estelline to South Plains, with several access points along the way. I used the latter to reach the main park.

As the trip to Caprock Canyons was a rather long detour away from the Texas perimeter, I was grateful for the 64-mile reprieve from the roads. While the trailway does run close to some roads and crosses several properties due to the path that the old train tracks took, I felt I was walking across the land in virtual privacy and away from the lights of civilization.

The Caprock Canyons Trailway is divided up into several doable segments, though hikers can do whatever mileage suits their abilities and temperament. I did the following schedule for no particular reason, though knowing what I do now about the location of landmarks, water availability, and the location of the state park, I would probably do things a little differently in the future.

Every trail segment has a name, and every access point has a name. To simplify matters, I'm omitting the trail segment names and using exclusively the access points as reference points, followed by how many miles I did that day.

Estelline Terminal: Camped near start (Day 155).

Parnell Station: Camped just before I got here, about 10 miles (Day 156).

Tampico Siding: Camped three miles beyond this point, about 15 miles (Day 157).

Turkey Depot: Stayed in Turkey at the Turkey Hotel, about 7 miles (Day 158).

Quitaque East: Camped at Caprock Canyons State Park, about 10 miles (Day 159).

Quitaque Depot, Monk's Crossing, South Plains Terminal: Got dropped off at QD and picked up at SPT, about 22 miles (Day 162).

These are the basics. Of course, I'd never leave you with just the basics.

At Estelline, I had a really nice conversation with the owner of one of the two stores there. He told me how to find the trailway (it's just north of town, outside the city limits), and we chatted about his workers, the changes in the economy, his girlfriend, my project, and life in general.

Then he tells me this: "You passed Kirkland back there, right? That's where the Texas Chainsaw Massacre took place." He didn't know much beyond that, and our conversation drifted back to more pleasant topics for the rest of the evening.

I stayed there for over an hour. I had arrived in Estelline at night (not my usual M.O., but that's what I did) and left the store around 9 pm. After a few minutes, I got to the northern end of the trailway at Estelline Terminal and looked around. There was a huge empty parking lot covered in snow. I was relieved not to see any other footprints across the parking lot, but then I got to thinking that I was leaving tracks everywhere, a nifty easy-to-follow trail for the weekend chainsaw enthusiast.

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Estelline Terminal at Night, Day 155

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I had been talking with Annie up until the entrance, but when we hung up, I realized how quiet everything was. So quiet. Maybe the occasional car off in the distance. Then quiet. Then the crunch of my steps. I look behind me. Still quiet. Then an imagined sound. I stop. More quiet. I crunch again, I stop. Only quiet.

(While the picture above may make it look like it wasn't so bad, the one below is much closer to what I was actually seeing.)

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Estelline Terminal Kiosk, Day 155

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I was freaked out. I started looking for a place to camp, hoping a little shut-eye might calm me down. When I found a latrine by the side of the trail, I didn't think twice about what to do: I went inside, locked the door, and broke camp right next to the crapper.

The next day, I woke up in one piece and never looked back.
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Mile Marker 238, Day 156

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My subsequent days on the trail held nothing of the self-created fear of that first night. I passed trees and brush covered in snow and ice, lots of critters who just wouldn't stay still for a photo (at least, not after I made a move for the camera), farm land, and of course, the canyons.

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'W' is for 'Whistle!', Day 159
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At first, I thought all the 'W' signs I saw were water spots (I didn't see this particular 'W' sign above until a few days later, but they were all over the trail). Water is not available along the trail during the winter time. Since the weather was freezing, I simply didn't pack any water. I drank back in Estelline and figured I'd muscle my way to Turkey or Quitaque for a refill. The idea itself wasn't terrible given the mildness of the winter sun, but I hadn't counted on the difficulty of hiking in the snow.
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The first day out was really tiring. Though I had eaten a few snacks, I chalked the fatigue up to the lack of water. And every time I saw one of these 'W' signs, I swore at the summertime hikers who had it so easy. I later learned, however, that the 'W' signs were reminders to the train conductors that the train was approaching a public crossing and that they needed to blow the whistle as a warning.
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Icicles, Day 156

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During the next three days, I took to eating icicles. It takes a lot of icicles to make even a few ounces of water, but I would patiently pop them off plants or trees and crunch away. I'd think how easy it would have been to pack a little water and sleep with it in my sleeping bag to keep it from freezing. Then I'd pop some more icicles.

I saw wild pigs all throughout my first few days and saw where they had rooted up the earth even more. I thought they were nocturnal, but I saw them during the day wandering around in packs. These guys are everywhere.

What came as a real surprise was camping near a turkey roost. I heard all the turkeys going up into some nearby trees at night, then coming down the next morning. I camped about a quarter mile before Parnell Station. There were well over a hundred wild turkeys, and in the morning, they gobbled and swooped down just ten yards away from my spot.
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Mile Markers 255, Day 157

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I was eating peanuts and bread and icicles, and in spite of the snow and dreary sky, I really put some effort into the second day. These mile markers do wonders for the psyche, as they are posted every mile. The big signs are the old train signs; the smaller ones belong to the state park. I'd see one or the other the entire time and gauge my progress accordingly.
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Canyons!, Day 157

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The land had been mostly farmland with tree groves along the way. Then beautiful snow crusted canyons appeared from nowhere. The sight invigorated me. I had read about how the Comanches would escape into the canyons of the Texas Panhandle for decades and winter there to escape the winds. I tried to imagine the tepees clumped together on the canyon floor, wisps of smoke rising into the sky. I wish I could have been there. Though I was more than a century late, walking through the land made me feel that I had connected with that distant past just a little bit.
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Farmland!, Day 157

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While I would have preferred diving into the canyons, I knew the trailway continued along more farmland. With the snow, many of the fields took on a strange psychedelic look, whimsical even.

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Redberry Juniper, Day 157

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The small details as well as the large were stunning in all of the snow and ice. As Redberry Junipers (or Pinchot Junipers) started becoming more numerous, I noticed that the ice froze differently on them and tended to make large clumps instead of icicles because of the shape of their leaves. This affected me because, while pretty and different, I couldn't eat the ice as easily.

Luckily, I pulled into Turkey, Texas not long after. I sat down to a meal at the only open restaurant in town, Galvan's, and had a big Mexican platter with lots of water. Later, as I was leaving town, I got lured into the Turkey Hotel which is just a few blocks from the trailway. I got quoted a great price, breakfast included, and just went with it.
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Wilddeath?, Day 159

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As I was hiking into Quitaque, I stumbled upon this hog skull. This is no 'akunamatata' animal. While most of the live ones I saw ran away from me, a hungry hog is something to stay away from. The farmers and rangers out here are sick and tired of these guys. It's the same story all over Texas. They cause a ton of damage and are very hard to control.
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The Plains, Day 162

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I made it to Caprock and holed up for a few days. During that time, it rained and snowed and was generally cold. When the sun finally made a cameo, I dashed through the rest of the trailway, all twenty-two miles of it.
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Los Lingos Bridge, Day 162

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This is the longest bridge on the trailway. I was cruising and stopped only to take a quick picture.

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An Ephemeral Trail, Day 162

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Bat Tunnel, Day 162

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During the summer, the Clarity Tunnel, shown above, attracts many visitors to see the exodus of a large group of Mexican Free-Tailed bats. The bats migrate during the winter, so I was left going through a 580 foot tunnel with the smell of guano in my nose. They say smell is directly associated with taste, but at that moment, I didn't want to think about it.
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The Light at the End of the Tunnel, Day 162

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The Clarity Tunnel is not that long, but it felt like I couldn't finish it fast enough. My eyes were dilating and adjusting, and I couldn't see if anything was along the sides of the tunnels. Someone could have been standing next to a wall, and I wouldn't have seen them.
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Wide Open, Day 162

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South Plains Terminal, Day 162

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My Caprock Canyons supervisor Karen Lanier was nice enough to pick me up at the end of the trailway. She took this shot of my glorious finish.

The Caprock Canyons Trailway was a wonderful way to spend a few days. If you plan well, you can cruise through all 64 miles with relative ease. The grade never varies from 2% (because of the old train regulations), and the most difficulty I had hiking was from the snow and mud. It's a great trail for getting away from the hubbub of city life and allows for ample sight-seeing and learning.

(Don't make my same mistakes! You can get food and water in Estelline (at the store before 9pm), Turkey (convenience store, hotel, restaurant durign business hours), and Quitaque (in town or at the park). Hotel accomodations are available in Turkey (Turkey Hotel: 806/423-1733) which is the halfway point.)
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Until next time, trail walkers...

In the News..., Next Mail Drop & Caprock Canyons State Park

2010-02-01T12:45:00.000-08:00

I am currently in Turkey, Texas (I love saying that!). I have hiked about 32 miles of the Caprock Canyon Trailway (click to see it), a rails-to-trails route from Estelline to South Plains. More on that in an upcoming post.

Here's a little something that came out in the Corpus Christi Caller-Times a day or so ago. I want to make one change, though: I never wrote that Sam Bass had robbed a bank in my mom's home town in Mexico. The sentence was not supposed to be written with those last two words "in Mexico." It's a tricky sentence because I wanted to say he had robbed a bank in her home town but to show somehow that neither she nor my grandparents had been living there or even alive for that matter. Sam Bass didn't wave adios to my grandmother, but he left his mark on the town nonetheless. It's a minor point in the story, but I just wanted to correct it. Click here for the column.

My next mail drop is officially in Higgins, Texas (You see? It's not as much fun as saying "Turkey, Texas."). However, I'll be volunteering at the park. I probably won't reach Higgins until some time during the first two weeks in March. Still, if you're curious how, here's the address:

S.Matt Read
c/o General Delivery
116 N. Main St.
Higgins, TX 79046-9803
***PLEASE HOLD FOR PERIMETER HIKER***
***EST. ARRIVAL: MARCH 20, 2010*** (It's a good idea to allow for more time.)

I am very very close to Caprock Canyons (the main part of it; click to read more)! I'm excited. I've been told some ideas about what I'll be doing there, but it will all be made plain to me in a day or so. And I will definitely be posting more from there.

Until next time...

Childress, Texas

2010-01-29T07:15:00.000-08:00

Childress is white. White sky, white roads, white everything. What was walkable terrain yesterday is now likely a lot of ice, and that means finally using my Yak Traks. The Weather Channel has predicted flurries from the system moving through the region, and from the looks of the day, they're probably correct.

Night before last, I camped in this weather. I wanted to know what it was like to be in an ice storm. The day had been in the 60s and 70s, and when the weather's good, it's hard to feel anything but confident. While nothing much happened, this is obviously a dangerous attitude to have.

I rigged my tarp up between two bushes and staked the corners. This worked fine until the wind started blowing hard. After about an hour of trying to manage this from the inside of the tarp, I got up, didn't bother putting on pants, put my shoes on with no socks, and tackled the problem from the outside. Had it been raining, I wouldn't have been so careless, but the temperature was probably still 40s at this point and not unbearably cold. I made several new stakes and made sure there was something in every grommet. This, I felt, would do the job.

While I was working, I could feel the temperature dropping. Some people are naturals at knowing about what the temperature is, and while I've never been good at this, I've gotten a lot better on this trip. Five degrees can make a world of difference. I hurried my work, then got back in my sleeping bag and tarp before the rain started. I was dry and warm, and while I would remain such during the night and morning, things started to go very very wrong.

I got a few hours of sleep before a corner of my tarp whipping back and forth in the wind woke me up. I was a little frustrated. How many stakes would this job take? I wondered. As the night wore on, more and more stakes started coming out due to this strong wind. I would put them back in, albeit in a different spot where the ground wasn't loose, and weigh them down with my shoes. Fifteen minutes later, I'd have to repeat the process. I could've started a farm for all the tilling I'd done.

During all of this, not much of my stuff had gotten wet. I was still warm, dry, and in good spirits. My tarp structure had been reduced to junk, but I had not. When the sky turned from dark to white, I ate some ash bread I had made the night before and snacked on some trail mix. Whether you're home by the fire or in the middle of nowhere, life seems pretty good when you're eating homemade bread.

Then my body started churning. The party was over. I knew that sooner or later I would have to go out in the storm.

So I changed positions and procrastinated as long as I could. Trains went by in the background, likely carrying several nice bathroom facilities with them. The wind and rain continued like an inexhaustible orchestra. One last gurgle, and I got dressed.

From the outside, I could see what had happened. The freezing rain had coated everything with an ever-increasing layer of ice. The ice had weighed down the mesquite bushes I had tied my tarp to. This created slack in my tarp which the wind started blowing into like a kite. And that's why the stakes kept coming up.

My tarp was almost completely collapsed. While I had enjoyed a certain measure of warmth and dryness from the inside, I'm not sure how much longer it would have lasted. The side of my tarp had accumulated lots of water and hail, which was turning into a huge slab of solid ice, and after I had done my personal business, my rain gear was a little wet too. I decided to hoof it.

The rest you can guess. It was a long fifteen or sixteen miles to Childress, though I walked fast. My gloves and shoes, which both had claimed to be waterproof, were not. My hands which at one point had started to heat up, lost all their warmth and started to go numb. I took off the gloves, put my poles on my pack, and stuck my hands in my jacket. I could feel the water in my shoes, but because I was walking, my feet generated enough heat to be okay.

Perhaps the most important thing I did was an assessment every twenty minutes or so. I'd go through each of my body parts and say how cold or warm they were and whether this was an improvement or not from the previous assessment. Then I'd assess my spirits, my will to continue. While my levels of warmth fluctuated due to weather or gear, my overall attitude never faltered.

I made it to Childress. Half the city lacked power, so I continued until I found a motel with the lights on. When I took my pack off and looked at myself, I found ice all over me. When signing my name, I lacked the finger dexterity to make it look like my signature.

From all I've heard, I'd say it was an appropriate introduction to the Texas Panhandle.

Until next time...

Quanah, Texas

2010-01-26T15:13:00.000-08:00

I am in Quanah, Texas, by far the best-named town in Texas. Taking its named from the last great Comanche chief Quanah Parker (son of Cynthia Ann Parker, a frontier woman captured and taken in by the Comanches), Quanah pays tribute to its namesake via a local museum, memorial, and the local football team (as I was coming in to town a sign read "YOU'RE IN INDIAN TERRITORY").

(Short biographical note: Quanah Parker was a leader of the Comanches during the difficult transition years (as a warrior chief before 1875 and afterwards as well, when the Comanches surrendered and agreed to live on the reservations). He had the foresight to understand that the survival of their race depended on their cooperation with the whites.)

Today, I walked in to Quanah a stranger, but thanks to the Tribune Chief's newspaper manager Carol Whitmire and the Chamber of Commerce's Executive Secretary Bertha Woods, I will not be treated as such. After being tipped off by Mrs. Whitmire, Mrs. Woods met me at the library with an invitation to stay at the local Best Western and a meal out at a local establishment, both compliments of the city. In addition (what there's more?), I received a cap, a shirt, a postcard, and a paper describing the history of the town and personalities. Incredible!

A big thank you goes out to these women. I'm still in shock. I'll tour Quanah a bit more tomorrow, then head off into the sunset and the bad weather that is supposedly on its way. By then, I'll be thick on food and thin on adventure, so everything should balance out just fine.

Until next time...

In The News... and Some Silly Photos

2010-01-26T14:08:00.000-08:00

My couchsurfing hosts in Wichita Falls Katrina and Christina deserve a standing ovation for how much they helped me out. It didn't stop at a couple of nights' sleep on a couch won on The Price Is Right. Oh no. Katrina went ahead and contacted her friend Katie who is a TV reporter for the local NBC affiliate in Wichita Falls. Click here for the news clip. Crazy!

Now I'm in Quanah, and the folks here deserve their own post for how hospitable they've been. So I'll keep that a temporary surprise and tide you over with some silly photos. Enjoy!

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I've always wanted to take a picture like this!

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My mom sent me some mittens which I picked up at the Quanah Post Office. By my mom's admission, the thumbs were "a little long." A little long? In each of these photos, I'm making a fist with each hand! My thumb barely even touches the thumb sleeve! I look different enough as it is; now they're going to pick me up for hitchhiking!
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Is it a red cactus? A pac-man ghost with a question?

What Rocky wears in the off-season?

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This is obscene, really. Even though nothing's exposed, if I wore these as is, I'd turn myself in. I give up! My mom made me do it! Forgive me Lord for I have sinned!

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A shot only Wayne and Garth could be proud of. One thing's for sure: you haven't really given a winter thumb's up until you've worn these babies.

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Hope you had a good laugh. Keep reading!

Until next time, my sillies...

The Updated Route and Map

2010-01-21T16:38:00.000-08:00

I am finally up to date on the map. My brother Charlie (whom I tweeted about when I was in Charlie, TX) has made it possible for me to label my path across Texas. There is no legend as of yet, but I've written one here to make things easier.

LEGEND

--------------------------

Yellow Man - Last logged camping spot and/or stopping point

Green Dot - Logged camping spot and/or stopping point

Blue Teardrop - Mail drops with addresses

You can click on any Man, Dot, or Teardrop for more information, with days and notes attached. In addition, double-clicking the hand cursor will enlarge the map.

Click here for the map.

From the blog, you can always find a link to this map on the lefthand column under "Progress Map & Mailings."

I think what my brother came up with is visually stunning, and I invite you to take a look.

I've stopped in Iowa Park for the day. Though I haven't covered much ground, I finished up the data entries for the map and have met a ton of nice people, one of whom invited me to spend the night (a library assistant named Ardis). Life is good.

Until next time, cartographers!

In the News...

2010-01-20T11:19:00.001-08:00

Wichita Falls has been good to me! I had an interview with a local newspaper reporter, Marissa Millender, and we must have talked for about an hour. She had almost 20 pages of notes by the end of it. She wrote about the interview that evening, and it made the front page yesterday! Here's the article in full. Don't be confused by what seems to be cut-off paragraphs; they're actually subheadings that got put into the same font as everything else.

Times Record-News article

To top it off, I just got interviewed by a TV reporter! A friend of one of my hosts contacted me this morning, and we just finished talking not an hour ago. She said it's going to air on the evening news.

I have to pack up and move out now. On to Caprock Canyons!

Until next time...

Days One Hundred Twenty-Eight through One Hundred Forty-Five

2010-01-19T17:10:00.000-08:00

My aunt and uncle dropped me off in the Ivanhoe area on January 2nd, 2010. It was cold then, and in the ensuing days, it got colder. For a while, I simply did not want to bother with taking out the camera, writing things down, and keeping the kind of notes that make a trek like this interesting. The cold is a beast all its own. Taking a photo or jotting down notes means stopping and losing heat, taking off my gloves and feeling the bite of the cold, and ultimately trying to regain whatever semblance of comfort I had just enjoyed.

I had to tough it out though. My body adjusted (somewhat), and I got really fast at getting the gloves on and off long enough to take a picture. Below you'll find my efforts.

Once again, I have included a brief summary of the miles I've done and the places I've visited, followed by photos from this time. The day comes first, then the place I reached, followed by an estimation of the miles covered (all miles are included whether they contributed to the overall goal or not; my feet don't know the difference). Journal entries are interspersed throughout. Please enjoy.

Day 128: Ravenna, about 6 miles
Day 129: FM 1753, about 6 miles
Day 130: Denison, about 15 miles
Day 131: Denison, about 4 miles (I tromped around town, then camped just south)
Day 132: Just past Sherman, about 11 miles
Day 133: Hwy 82, about 10 miles
Day 134: Just past Whitesboro, about 8 miles
Day 135: Just past Gainesville, about 14 miles
Day 136: Just beyond Muenster, about 15 miles
Day 137: Just past Saint Jo, about 9 miles
Day 138: Just beyond Nocona, about 12 miles
Day 139: FM 2332, about 20 miles
Day 140: FM 2332, about 12 miles
Day 141: Just outside Charlie, about 19 miles (I went to Charlie and backtracked a little that evening, repeating mileage)
Day 142: Henrietta, about 22 miles
Day 143: Hwy 82, about 17 miles (6 of these miles was a walk in Henrietta itself)
Day 144: Wichita Falls, about 1o miles
Day 145: A zero day in Wichita Falls

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Day 128: I'm alone again. Thirty-six hours ago I was in Baltimore with Annie watching Groundhog Day. Now I'm camping alone by the road in some quixotic quest to walk around Texas. The weather is colder now, 30s 40s, and will get colder before the season is through. It's hard to figure why I've swapped comfort for this.
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Dwight, Denison, Grayson County, Day 130
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Day 130: Freezing morning. Somewhere between the mid-20s to low 30s. I had to keep sticking my hands in my arm pits every few minutes just to have the dexterity to pack!
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Day 133: Been drinking water from puddles and streams and treating it with GSE (Grapefruit See Extract). So far so good. The puddle in front of me was partly frozen. Soon enough, these water holes will no longer be options.
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A Kindred Spirit, Whitesboro, Grayson County, Day 134
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Day 134: Library for four hours! Email & letter to Caprock, Facebook stuff, etc. The librarians were so nice. Asked if I was camping out in the cold. Small talk like this is not common. One shelver even smiled at me!
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Pump Jacks For Sale, Gainesville, Cooke County, Day 135
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. . .Muenster, Cooke County, Day 136
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. . .City Facilities, Nocona, Montague County, Day 138
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. . .Birds' Nests, Clay County, Day 139
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. . .Self-portrait, Clay County, Day 139
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. . .Tolerance, Clay County, Day 139
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Day 140: Nice night. (I'm referring to the night before.) Heard animals sounds all night, though I slept through much of it. Lots of coyotes. I spread hot coals around my sleeping area [just in case].
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Day 140: Camped in a field and set up tarp. As I was setting up, a truck and trailer stopped nearby. They stayed there several minutes, so I figured I'd introduce myself. The driver was a real cowboy! Young but confident, big hat, boots, blue jeans, spitting every so often. We talked for ten minutes or so, him encouraging me to make a fire and seek shelter. I confessed my fear that I was on someone's property, and he said, "Shoot, you ain't hurtin' nobody." It wasn't his property, rather his ex's, yet I sensed an ownership of the land nonetheless. He cautioned me about the snow and the winds that go 50 to 60 MPH in the panhandle, saying that he lived out that way. Also said that everybody knows one another from here to there, that it's a small world. He said that if I needed anything, he'd be down the road. Finally, we said good night, and I snuck into my tarp. It was a warm night.
. . .Maddox's Arrow, Clay County, Day 141
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. . .How Now Brown Cow?, Clay County, Day 141
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. . .Charlie, Texas, Clay County, Day 141
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Day 141: Hiked to Charlie for fun! Added about 18 miles to the trip.
. . .Frontier Jailhouse (circa 1890), Henrietta, Clay County, Day 142
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. . .Junior Livestock Show Auctioneer, Henrietta, Clay County, Day 142
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Day 142: Matt Kelton, the editor and part owner of the Clay County Leader, invited me to the Clay County Junior Livestock Show. I'm here now. Cowboys galore! The kids raise an animal for a few months to a year; then the animal gets judged and ultimately gets a premium for the children's efforts.
The emcee is amazing! I've never heard anything like this. It's like Max Headrome on uppers. A pie just went for $475! The man sounds like a hive of angry bees spewing invectives against multiples of twenty-five!
This is the place to be. Hundreds of people fill this space, part of the local high school. I see kids, teens, adults, elders. Lots of people have programs and are keeping track of the bids and buyers even though many are not participating. One woman told me she does it "just cuz." It interested her to see which animals fetched which prices.
. . .Junior Livestock Show Pig, Henrietta, Clay County, Day 142
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Support System, Wichita Falls, Wichita County, Day 144
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Day 144: Met up with Katrina and Christina, my couchsurfing hosts, in Wichita Falls. Met their friends, too. Everyone was so nice. And I slept on a couch won on the Price is Right!

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That is all for the moment. Until next time, folks...

Nocona, Texas

2010-01-12T13:30:00.000-08:00

I strolled into Nocona, raised a few eyebrows with my large pack, and went straight for the post office. The building was one of the nicer post offices I've ever been in. The postal worker was nice, even mentioned the letter from Cheryl that she sent back (I was on my rather long break at the time). However, I did get two correspondences from Annie, and I am saving them to go with my evening meal. The worker was nice, asked a few questions, and smiled a lot. I left the post office feeling good.

I'm at the library now. I'd show some pics of town, but there's a big sign that reads "NOT ALLOWED: Flash Drives (Memory sticks, Zip drives), Ipods, MP3 Players, Cameras." Might as well say no technology from the 21st century and get it over with. Maybe it's not surprising, though, as I saw an old-fashioned outhouse in front of the Nocona City Hall.

Thanks for all the Facebook comments, as always. I really enjoy receiving all the notes, letters, and comments.

My next mail drop is the following:

S.Matt Read
c/o GENERAL DELIVERY
219 W. 3rd St.
Quanah, TX 79252-9998

***PLEASE HOLD FOR TEXAS PERIMETER HIKER***
***EXPECTED ARRIVAL:____________***
(Add a guess as to when I might arrive. Give me lots of time.)

Stay tuned!

The Cold

2010-01-08T12:05:00.000-08:00

It has been a long time since I've posted, but I wanted to let you know that I am alive. I wish I could say more.

I am in Whitesboro, and one bank sign said that it was 23 degrees Fahrenheit. Considering that the coldest it had been prior to leaving last November was around 40 degrees (and then, that was just one weather snap), this is a pretty drastic change for me. I expected it, obviously, but expecting it and getting it are two very different things.

This reminds me of a random tale. I once invited Erin Mahoney and Mesbah Motamed to punch me in the stomach. We were in the library of all places (and let the record show that this was years before Fight Club). Erin hit me, but the punch was slow-coming and my muscles clamped down before it landed. Mesbah on the other hand had a different take. He felt bad about punching me, talked about, wavered, all the while I was encouraging him to just do it. Then out of the blue, he smacked me, sending all the wiry force of his little Iranian frame straight through me. I started to crumble, and both he and Erin grabbed me and eased me to the floor. It didn't hurt so much as completely knock the air out of me. I couldn't believe how weak I felt for those moments. For me, this illustrates the above principle: expecting it and getting it are two very different things.

I don't have a picture to illustrate any of this unfortunately, but the sensations are never-ending. Each morning, I'm surprised to hear the birds chirping. What's there to chirp about? I've spent most of the last several nights twisting and turning, rarely comfortable, and surprised when the day starts again. I must be getting some sleep in there somewhere, but I really don't recall going down at all. The sunlight and sunrise are difficult to believe in, so hard were the moments without them.

I decide early if I want to stay in my sleeping bag and let the world heat up a few degrees (which means a several more uncomfortable hours until around 11am) or just get up and deal with the cold burning my toes and nose and fingers. What's worse is that I know this is mild in comparison to what's coming up 200 miles west of here. Maybe it's better actually. After all, I'm not there.

And that's all for the moment. I've applied for a volunteer position at Caprock Canyons State Park. More on that soon. And now it's time to hit the trail again, cold weather or more.

Until next time, cold weather watchers...