Why do I have this blog, take these pictures, and write these stories?
…because motorcycles are fucking cool, that’s why.
I had planned an 11 day motorcycle trip, riding into Big Bend and then onwards to New Mexico. I’d see my high school buddy in Cloudcroft, my sister in Albuquerque (thankfully spelled ABQ for the rest of this story to save my spelling skills), then ride on back to Austin, TX.
I wrote about my experiences last year, but ‘Around the Bend’ is an annual motorcycle rally held in Terlingua, TX on the west side of Big Bend National Park. Read that to set the stage, because this year I’m getting straight to the story, that’s why we’re all here.
Just me, the motorcycle, my gear, and a small, small bag of snacks:
I loaded the bike up early and departed Austin around 08:00am. 540 miles to go to Big Bend via the southern route. I’d ride through Blanco, Fredericksburg, the Hill Country, turn right at Del Rio, and follow the border to Big Bend.
It took me an hour of weaving through all the going-to-school traffic before I was in the Hill Country. The ranch roads, rising sun, warming air, and gentle winds made for uneventful riding. Finally free of the city, I could fart with abandon, the rumble of my noble steed masking the forte of my flatulence.
If you were to follow me on one of these long hauls, you’d wonder why there was a yoga instructor running a class on his motorcycle on the highway in South Texas. I can half-stand on the rear pegs and get a good downward dog, cat/cow pose, squat with my knees out, just a wonderful Vinyasa flow. It works a treat at the expense of looking ridiculous, but I have no shame and a limber body during the ride, so everyone wins.
The Pecos is always the first sign of ‘Hey, we’re getting into the West Texas desert!’. A large canyon, winding rivers, and vistas that start to stretch more than usual, it’s the first sip of what drinking in the Big Bend area feels like. Figuratively of course. If you’re really drinking in the Big Bend area, you’re drinking tequila.
The miles continue to pass by, the desert stretches, the sky slowly turns more blue, and time rolls on. I use a Cardo headset with electronic dance music as my primary motorcycle playlist. However, when the trip is long, you have to also be prepared with some Rush, the Lumineers, the Guardians of the Galaxy soundtrack, and whatever else Spotify decides would go along well with riding an iron steed cross country.
Apparently driving near the border is dangerous, you might get hurt without a seatbelt. If you are a traffic sign, you may even be shot!
I think I really spaced out, because after 6 hours I suddenly found myself riding through a painting.
As I said before, this route is just loaded with traffic. You’ll be dodging cars left and right, stuck in bumper to bumper traffic absolutely despising all the people out here. It’s basically a metropolis of activity.
At this point I’m six hours into not talking to anybody. Most of my friends and family call me an extrovert, but when they aren’t looking I quickly run away and get back to listening to my brain monologue ad nauseum. I find you can sort of get in a trance on a long ride, and for me it’s 100% a form of meditation. Instead of running through 100+ things, I can just keep repeating a thought in my head and letting it sit there. Repeat, consider, observe, repeat.
No distractions, just the mild level of focus required to keep the front wheel playfully drifting back and forth between yellow stripes and a solid white.
Thought, consider, observe, repeat, thought, consider, observe, repeat…
This Zen is still punctuated with the occasional toot. Not from my horn, if you get my stinky drift.
Sometimes I struggle to plan a trip, to make a packing list, go over the bike mechanically, check my routes, see if I need to do any detours for landmarks I may have otherwise missed, make schedules, make sure everything is taken care of before I leave, etc. Some people thrive on trip planning but I always procrastinate and worry. 6+ hours into a multi day trip, the road and vistas command an immediate focus that makes all of that go away.
Oh my gosh am I having fun?! Am I on vacation?! Is this living the dream that everyone talks about?!
I turn the throttle harder because the cops are back in Del Rio telling everyone to stop shooting seatbelt signs. Suki the little V-Strom smoothly rumbles upwards to 85-90mph and feels wonderful. I can feel the tarmac through the handlebars, and as I dance and cut the cheese around my seat, the bike dances right back, exhausting her spent fumes rearwards just as I.
A rider and bike in unison is a beautiful thing.
The scenery picks up more, but I’m on a tight schedule to arrive for dinner and be able to set up camp before the sun sets. I get to Alpine, turn south, and find myself rolling into Terlingua just in time for dinner at the Starlight Cafe.
My fellow two wheeled Texans rejoice, and Vic immediately recognizes me from my 38 degree freezing rain ride last year. “Hey this dude is still alive!”
I roll into camp on a full stomach and meet the other inmates I’ll be riding with this trip. The usual suspects, a converted school bus, some RVs, and ambulance trailer (yes a trailer). We all are people of the land. The common clay of the west. You know…
I set up my tent, inflate my sleeping mat, blow up my camp pillow, and promptly pass the frick out. Day 2 awaits, with a ride to Presidio and some unexpected sand…
Enjoy the gallery for full resolution pictures:
