Bikepacking Big Bend National Park

  This past weekend I made the 12 hour drive to Big Bend National Park in west Texas, where I spent about two and quarter days soaking in my first “true” bikepacking adventure, and it was an unforgettable experience!  The Big Bend area is a mountainous desert region of great beauty and (potentially) even greater danger.  The rugged terrain, extreme climate, and geopolitical concerns of this national park (its southern boundary also serves as the international border between the United States and Mexico) could make life perilous for any lone bikepacker who left  his or her wits at home!  However, for all its unforgiving beauty, Big Bend’s biggest claim to fame is that the majority of Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote cartoons were filmed there.

With the Tour Divide less than two months away, I knew I needed to take my training up another notch.  I’d been spending my previous weekends traveling from my home in southeast Houston to different points in hilly central Texas where I could ride more challenging and less traveled roads.  The weekend before Big Bend, I did a 137 mile loop between Lake Somerville and Bastrop with full TD gear, which was my farthest ever in one day.  My mind, though, was already on greater conquests!  I needed elevation, long climbs, terrific scenery, and complete solitude to really give myself a test.  Big Bend was the only place that fit the bill, since it was the closest place I could drive to without taking off too many days of vacation (I need every bit of vacation time for the TD!).  However, going there alone was not by choice.  A continual sequence of star crossed circumstances has left me partnerless on my training rides for many weeks now, and this trip was no exception.  I was Hall without Oates.  Cookies without cream.  Kim Kardashian without a jungle rump (note to self: find out who Kim Kardashian is) (second note to self: meh, who cares)  Training for the TD has been lonely business indeed, but such is its very nature.  I suppose its best I just get used to it!

The loooooooooong drive there was uneventful except for the fact that I was stopped at a border security checkpoint just west of Sanderson, TX.  In fact, the further west I got, the more border patrol vehicles I saw scouring the roads.  It hit home the stark reality of this excerpt that I’d read on the Big Bend web site:

Visitors should be aware that drug smuggling routes pass through the park. If you see any activity which looks illegal, suspicious, or out of place, please do not intervene. Note your location. Call 911 or report it to a ranger as quickly as possible.

Each year hundreds of people travel north through the park seeking to enter the United States. It is possible you could encounter an individual or small group trying to walk through the park with little or no water

The drug smuggling thing did make me just a tad uneasy, knowing that I was going to be traveling alone on my bike along primitive roads where these guys might decide to show up.  I was frustrated with the lack of detail on the web site.  Were these smugglers typically armed?  Had there been any previous encounters with tourists?  What places should I avoid?  I determined that I’d press the park officials for more detail when I got there.

I also mentally placed myself in morbid situations, like what would I do if I encountered a group of immigrants out in the desolate region north of the Rio Grande, and they had no water, and they were withering in the 100 degree heat, reaching out to me as I rode by?  ”Agua, por favor, agua,” they would beg, but I’d only have just enough to get myself out of there alive.  I’d have no cell reception, no way of getting help for them or for myself.  Would I leave them there?  If I stopped and produced my water, they’d all want some…they’d all want as much as they could get.  It may even turn violent.  They’d endanger my life, but if I just ignored them, they could die. 

Ugh.  I drove myself crazy for a while thinking about it to no avail, and eventually just banished all such thoughts from my brain.  If shit happened out on the trail, I reckoned I’d find out real quick what I would do.

DAY ONE – 20 miles

OK, enough with the unintentionally tasteless appetizer!  On to the juicy meat!  I had hit the road at 4:00 AM Thursday morning and arrived at Big Bend at about 4:00 PM.  I entered through the north entrance and drove 67 miles directly into Panther Junction, and as I stared in wonder at the rocky desert landscape and the Chisos Mountains looming overhead, I had to consciously spur myself onwards.  I was itching to knock the molasses of that 12 hour drive out of my body by getting into the saddle and exploring my new playground. 

First, though, I had to visit headquarters and obtain my backcountry permits.  I’d already planned my itinerary, and figured I shouldn’t have trouble getting the campsites I wanted since I arrived before the weekend crowds.  At the desk, I gave the nice lady my itinerary, made a small change due to one site already being booked, and asked where I could leave my truck for a few days, as I was going to be riding my bike to all my backcountry sites.  This question set off a firestorm.

The lady was very concerned with the distances between my chosen camps and the fact that I wanted to cover those distances on a bicycle (gasp!).  Seeing about 51 miles between my first and second nights camps, she asked “Do you know how far that is by car?!”  I reckoned it was precisely the same distance by any other mode of transportation, including bike, but I took her drift.  I assured her that I routinely cover that kind of mileage before she eats lunch, and did not tell her that I had side excursions planned that would extend that day’s trip to nearly 100 miles.  When she saw that I would be riding the hot and desolate River Road all the way from west to east on days two and three, she called John over.  In an “I don’t want to take responsibility for this” type of tone, she informed John about what the crazy guy on the other side of the counter wanted to do.  John viewed me over the rim of his glasses, scanned my itinerary, and gravely asked, “Do you know how far this is?”

“Dear sir,” I replied, “six days ago, I rode 137 miles on my bike in one day with full gear.  Seriously, 50 miles is not a big deal for me.”  This didn’t assure John, and John proceeded to interrogate me on my inventory, how much water I was carrying, did I have spare tubes, had I filled out my Census form, did I have any cavities that need filling, etc.  I decided to cut to the chase by pulling down my britches and shoving a flashlight in my hind end.  Finally, John reluctantly blessed my itinerary and turned me back over to the original lady, who then said “I have other things to do,” and called over a young fellow by the name of Tim, I think?  I looked at the clock…30 minutes had gone by.  Sheesh.

Tim reviewed my plan, and guess what he asked me right off the bat?  All together now: “DO YOU KNOW HOW FAR THIS IS?”  I ran outside and chucked a rock at a cactus, then came back in and assured Sir Timothy that I knew exactly how far it was and can he please get on with the bloody task at hand.  Tim informed me that a black bear lived in the area of my first backcountry site at Paint Gap, and he asked how I planned on securing my food at night.  “What,” I asked, “there’s no bear box at that site?”  No, he said.  Hm, a bear is known to inhabit that area, but there’s no bear box.  OK.  So I told him I’d hang my bag from a tree some distance from camp.  “This is a desert,” he said, “we don’t have trees here.”  Uh, I’m pretty certain that I saw quite a few trees along the road to this building.  Gnarled and fit for the haunted woods, for sure, but they were trees.  Whatever, I said, no bear box, no trees.  I will come up with something.  Remember this conversation….there’s a doozy coming later. 

I’ve taken a frustrated tone in the story above, but honestly, I don’t begrudge the employees for the hour I lost in that headquarters getting my agenda squared away.  They were merely concerned with my safety, and I appreciate that.  But now it was 5:00 PM, and I was dying to ride!  I figured I could squeeze in 30 miles or so and be at my campsite by dusk.  However, as I always do, I underestimated how long it would take me to transfer all my gear from my truck to my bike, organize everything, and run down all my mental checklists.  Another hour had passed by the time I placed ass to seat.  With the 12 hour drive and the aforementioned itinerary hassle, it had been an excruciating 14 hours.  Now, finally, I could RIDE!

From Panther Junction, which contained approximately zero panthers, I took the paved road west with no particular destination in mind other than my campsite sometime later on.  Maintaining a leisurely pace and soaking in the view of the magnificent Chisos Mountains, I could feel myself decompressing with each turn of the crank.  The air was crisp and the temperature was cool as the sun had begun its steady descent towards the horizon.  The lengthening shadows cast an eye-teasing display upon the rugged faces of the rocky slopes.  I marveled at the reddish brown landscape and the hardy looking foliage, and imagined that I was cycling on the surface of Mars as it may have existed some eons ago.   I kept my eyes out for wildlife, but saw nothing save for birds. 

After I’d spent a couple hours meandering around and learning to use my new camera on the fly, I rode to my campsite for the night, Paint Gap, some 13 miles north of the Chisos Basin.  The dirt road into camp was rough and wash boarded, but it didn’t bother me much.  I was thrilled at just being there.  When I rode into camp just as dusk was beginning to settle in, I could but shake my head and chuckle.  There, in the southern corner of the site, was a bear box.  And just to the right of it…..A TREE.  Oh Tim, you rascally desert scallywag.  I should return to your station tomorrow with a picture of what you say does not exist.  Perhaps then, you can tell me that sand has no home in the desert. 

An SUV pulled into the camp adjacent to mine, but I never saw the people get out of it.  They seemed to be happy sitting in their car seats and gazing at the emerging stars through their windows.  “Way to suck the very marrow out of life,” I thought.  I laid out my sleeping kit (REI Minimalist bivy + North Face Beeline sleeping bag + inflatable Thermarest Sleeping Pad), took care of my particulars, and secured my food in the mystical Bear Box That Wasn’t There.  Then, I waited.  I had learned that dusk is when the desert “comes to life,” as the heat of the day recedes and the animals begin venturing into the night to dance in the circle of life.  I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye, and a kangaroo rat (?) darted off as I turned to look.  “It begins!” I thought.  But after that…nothing!  I waited for some time, listening, expecting.  The full darkness of the night fell  over the land, but I never saw or heard anything the entire rest of the evening.  So much for my fantasy of seeing a black bear and a mountain lion squaring off while my infrared video recorded the whole thing, to be sold for millions of dollars to the Discovery Channel. 

DAY TWO – 87 Miles

When I awoke, it was cold.  Though quite toasty in my sleeping bag, a quick fingertip test to the outside world told me it was in the low 40’s.  I checked the time…5:30 AM.  Dang…I’d wanted to be riding by then.  But I was tired.  I’d only slept a few hours the night before, so I allowed myself to drift back off and await the dawn. 

At 6:30 I emerged from my cocoon, checked my shoes for critters, and geared up.  My plan for the day was to backtrack and make the brutal ride up into the Chisos Basin, eat breakfast there at the only restaurant in the park, then double back again and take the Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive down to Costolon, where I would resupply before taking a detour out to Elena Canyon.  Then I’d backtrack and ride River Road West to my second night campsite at Johnson Ranch. 

Everything was going swimmingly until I got about halfway up the steep and curvy road into Chisos Basin.  It was only a 6.3 mile road, but it gained more than 3500 feet of elevation from Basin Junction to the highest point near Casa Grande before screaming back down to 5400 feet over the last mile into the Basin.  This lowlander’s lungs could not do enough with the oxygen they were taking in.  I’d had almost no acclimatization time, and so I found myself engaging in my first hike a bike of the trip.  It would not be my last!

It was not frustrating though.  The beauty surrounding me demanded attention, and I was very happy to be gazing on it, even as I labored up the wicked slope.  With craggy towers of red rock reaching heavenward and throngs of green trees lining the road (yes, Tim…treeees), I did not mind taking my time with a nice walk here and there.  When I reached the highest point of the slope, I saddled back up and rode my brakes for the mile long, treacherously curved descent into the Basin.   Later, an old fella on a Trek who said he was out here all the time told me that I was the first person he’d ever seen ride up into the Chisos Basin, let alone with all the gear.  Yep, I said, I’m the only idiot dumb enough to attempt such tomfoolery!

I followed my nose to the restaurant, having worked up a downright murderous appetite, and tried to enter, only to be promptly told that the restaurant closes at 10:00 AM and reopens for lunch at 11:00 AM.  I glanced up at the clock.  It was 10:01 AM. 

Have you ever seen “What About Bob?” starring Bill Murray and Richard Dreyfuss?  Or “Captain Ron” starring Kurt Russell and Martin Short?  Or as I call it, “What About Bob on Water?”  At that precise moment, Tim was my Bob.  Tim was my Captain Ron.  For I had asked him yesterday “So the restaurant opens at 7:00 AM, right?” He said “Yes.”  That’s ALL he said.   You read me?  That’s ALL he said. 

Oooh, Tim, you gremlin of the sandy wastes.  How I’d love to stand behind you and force you to ride a fixie up that slope.  I shall work that jelly roll off you, Timothy, and I shall smile a black toothed grin while doing so.  I don’t know why my teeth will be black, Tim, but worry you not over that.  Just pedal, you imp!

It had taken me longer than I’d planned to awaken and get into the Basin, and now I was going to be delayed another hour.  I had a feeling I was going to have to nix my side trip to Elena Canyon later.  I used the unexpected time to take pictures, write notes about my experiences thus far, and fiddle with my GPS settings.  I have a Garmin Dakota 20, which I hadn’t used since I arrived.  There hadn’t been a need yet.  It would turn out to be unnecessary for navigation.  I just checked it here and there for assurance and for elevation readings. 

When the restaurant opened back up, I said a prayer wishing for Tim to receive a wart on his nose and then demolished a double cheeseburger and a double order of fries.   Then, as I made my way back to the bike, I was stopped a few times by people interested in my rig and what I was doing.  After chatting a bit, I rode (and walked) up the single steep mile out of the Basin before hitting the exhilarating 5.3 mile descent.  Fear and elation coursed through my veins as I shot down out of the Chisos, reaching speeds of over 40 mph several times.  I recalled that scene in the first X-Men movie where Wolverine took Cyclops’ motorcycle and grinned in wicked delight as he scorched the pavement.  That was me!  But without the power of bodily regeneration should I crash!  Eh, that thought had me riding the brake a little bit more. 

Many cars passed me on the way up that climb.  None passed me on the way down it.  When I reached the bottom, I turned west and hit the road to Costolon via the Ross Maxwell scenic drive.  This was the most pleasant ride of my entire trip.  A cloudy overcast kept the heat of the desert at bay, and a gentle breeze kept me nice and cool.  The road was paved the entire way, and after a long scenic climb, I was rewarded with a long, scenic descent.  I was extra careful to work the brakes on that descent, because a bit of carelessness on some of the turns could have seen me rockin’ an unintentional Thelma and Louise off the cliffside.  The Sotol Vista Overlook and the Mule Ears Viewpoint yielded wonderful views, but every bit of the road was chocked full of magnificent views.  The “Scenic Drive” moniker was well-earned indeed. 

I reached the Costolon visitor center just before 6:00 PM.  The little store there didn’t have much (I was looking forward to some chocolate milk and hot food….denied!) but they did have the essentials (read: beer).   I chugged a cold one, refilled all my water stores, and added a lemonade to my pack.  I knew my fluid supply at this juncture needed critical consideration, because I was about to enter the desolate River Road West, and I would spend the next morning and part of the afternoon in hot desert solitude along the Rio Grande as I made my way up to River Road East to Rio Grande Village.  Due to the described road conditions, I reckoned that the whole trip along the combined river roads would be a crawling, 46 mile journey with possible temperatures at or near 100 degrees.  No time to skimp on water. 

Now is a good time to mention that I had little or no cell phone reception during the entire trip thus far.  However, I could send and receive text messages in some areas.  Costolon was one of those areas.  Good thing too, because the pay phone there was not working.

As I was having a text conversation with my wife, a truck with Alaskan plates pulled in (and I thought MY drive was a long one!). I couldn’t help but notice the Moots in the truck bed.  I spoke with the couple that emerged, and they were pretty disappointed at the park’s lack of available singletrack.  Bikes were not allowed on the hiking trails in and around the Chisos.  I’d already known this from reading the web site, and I agreed that we were gettin’ robbed.  I’d read somewhere that the IMBA was working with the national park service on a plan to build new singletrack in Big Bend, but for now we restricted to the roads only.

Satisfied that I had enough water to make it until Rio Grande Village tomorrow afternoon, I saddled up and headed back up to River Road West, trying to cover the 15 miles to my campsite before dark.  I had my bright Black Diamond head lamp, but still, riding a washboard road in the pitch black of the desert night did not appeal to me. 

At the entrance to the road, there was a sign reading “Prevent theft.  Lock your valuables in your car. This area rarely patrolled.”  At that moment, I began to get a little nervous, and I realized I’d forgotten to ask the park officials for more details about the drug smugglers and their routes through this area.  I was alone, I was unarmed, I had no way of locking up anything, and I was loaded with “valuables.”  If anything was to go down out here, it’s very possible I wouldn’t be found for many days.  Ooh Tim, you precocious rapscallion.  Your hatred of sharing accurate information is screwing me yet again.  You saw my route, Tim, and you said nothing.  If my blood should spill, Tim, it will be on your hands! 

I sat there for several moments, looking at the sign and calculating my risks.  I considered turning back and finding an unoccupied backcountry site for the night.  Was I worrying about nothing?  I mean, if it was as bad as my imagination was making it out to be, they’d close down this road, wouldn’t they?  Yes, I decided.  There’s no way they’d keep this road open if unfortunate encounters were frequent back here.  I pressed on.

The road was just as I’d read.  Rough, washboarded, sandy in places, and very rocky.  If I let myself get going too fast on the descents, various gear would start ejecting itself from my rig.  One such fatality was one of the water bottles affixed to my forks.  At some point unbeknownst to me, it committed suicide, launching itself from the cage and busting open on a rock. By the time I realized it was gone and backtracked to find it laying in the dirt, most of the precious water had spilled into the ground.  DAMN IT, TIM!  This is somehow your fault!

The scenery was up close and terrific as I continued onward, though I could only look at it for split seconds at a time on rare spots of smooth(ish) road.  Much to my surprise, I was rounding a long bend when I came face to face with a pack of wild horses!  During my initial shock, I thought I’d stumbled upon a band of horse riding drug smugglers, and my heart jumped into my throat.  I mean, in all the material I’d read before coming here, nothing had mentioned that wild horses inhabited the area.  But these horses had no riders, and there was a colt among them as well.  It was legit…my first real “wildlife” sighting!  I snapped a few pictures, then shooed them off down the trail, though one of them retaliated with a heap of fresh leavings in my path. 

As I followed the road, I would sometimes catch a glimpse of the Rio Grande river down below to the south.  Each time I saw it, I was unnerved to see that it was nothing more than a wide trickle.  People could easily traverse it.  People with drugs and guns.  I knew that my camp site at Johnson Ranch was right by the river, and I become more and more nervous every time I saw the “mighty” Rio Grande.  As I was passing the road to the Buenos Aries campsite, I saw a cairn about 50 feet off the roadside.  Why was it there?  It unsettled me even more.  I got off the bike, walked over there, and kicked it over.  Then I hauled ass as if I’d just pissed someone off. 

Pressing onwards, I soon came upon a coyote in the road.  He ran off before I could snap a picture.  Eventually I came to Johnson Ranch, which was little more than a few bricks and half a shell of a rusted old car.  I followed the road down into my campsite as darkness crept into the sky, and loe and behold, I saw a truck parked in the campsite next to mine, with a tent popped up beside it.  People!  It was a fine discovery, indeed, as I’d seen no one else on the River Road that day, and I was convinced that I’d be alone through the night, at the mercy of whoever may have walked from Mexico right into my camp.  I rode over to say hello, but no one was about, and I heard no voices or sounds from inside the tent.  Were they already asleep?  Even if they were, I felt better about not being alone. 

I rode 60 yards away to my own campsite, which was sort of hidden in a copse of trees (Tim). I turned on my headlamp and began my evening ritual as the night settled fully over the valley.  I was somewhat disturbed to find a trail leading from my site right down to the river.  It seemed to be more of an animal trail than a heavily traversed human trail, but it still made me nervous.  I considered going and rousing the other camp occupants and asking if they’d mind if I crashed at their site.  However, a heavy wind had been blowing into the valley for some time now, and I smelled rain in the air.  I liked that.  People wouldn’t cross the river in the dead of night in a rainstorm, would they?  I felt somewhat reassured. 

Some minutes later, I heard male voices from the other camp.  I couldn’t see over there directly from within my tree lined camp, and I couldn’t make out what the voices were saying, but I detected an alarmed tone.  Having been on edge for hours, this alarmed me as well.  I determined to wrap up what I was doing and walk over there to see what was going on.  Next thing I knew, their truck was hauling ass out the campsite.  Within seconds, they were gone.  It took me a few moments to realize that it was because of me….I had spooked them.  I wagered they saw my headlamp bobbing around in the darkness, and they hadn’t heard a vehicle pull up.  They were probably just as nervous as I was about this area.  Maybe they pegged me as some shadowy figure up to no good, and so they split.

SHIT!!  So much for the small feeling of safety I had from their presence.  I cursed myself for not calling out to them when I first heard their voices.  Tim, you jackal!! 

I tried to sleep, but laid there for two hours without success.  Critters were scuttling around, and thoughts of banditos were running through my brain.  I considered packing back up and riding while I had the coolness of the night, but I’d have made terrible time on that road in the dark.  Eventually, I nodded off.

DAY 3 – 60 Miles

Another night, another morning where I just could not get out of my bag by 5:00 AM.  For the Tour Divide, I really want to get up early and get moving, number one so I can be sure to get to a town before its restaurants close down that night, and number two so I can stay out in front of whoever is behind me.  So I have been trying to train my body to wake up and get crackin’ at or before 5:00 AM.  FAIL.  The human body is just not meant to see the world before sunrise.  However, I was thankful to have been unmolested during the night, except by the many bugs crawling around in my bivy sack.

I hit the road sometime after 7:00, and made slow time thanks to the rough and rocky condition of the road.  As the sun crept higher and higher into the cloudless sky, I took care not to suck down water too fast, and not to overly exert myself.  I walked most of the steep climbs.  Although it didn’t feel scorchingly hot, I knew the desert heat could be deceptive.  I found out later it was 100 degrees that day. 

The scenery was fantastic.  I’d never been amid anything like it before.  I’d stop once in a while to stare at something and take pictures, but never for too long, as I didn’t want to just sit there and bake in the sun.  Looking about during one of those stops, it kind of just hit me.  I am out here in the middle of this big, beautiful, dangerous vastness, and I am completely alone.  I’d seen no one that day.  I have no cell reception, no contact whatsoever with the rest of the world.  For a national park, it felt incredibly desolate.  It was amazingly surreal….I was riding in a dream.   I shouldn’t be here in this dream.  It wasn’t meant for humans. 

On the heels of that thought was the stark reminder that my survival was in my own hands.  There was no one who could help me if I needed it.  I realized how much of an idiot I was for taking this road alone.  Fucking Tim. 

I forcibly banished those gloomy thoughts and pushed on, mindful of my food and water intake.  I was quite happy to reach River Road East and take the northeasterly turn towards the Rio Grande Village, where there would be people, food, and showers.  Only about 10 more miles to go until I reached pavement.  A couple miles in, I saw a lone horse trotting about.  Or something.  It wasn’t as big as a horse, and not as small as a mule, and its ears were a little longer than a typical horse.  It proclaimed its indignation for being disturbed as I ordered it out of my way.

By the time I made it to the paved road leading into the village, I was out of water and more than a little dehydrated, and I was thankful to have made it out in one piece.  The suddenly smooth ride made the after effects of the previous brain-flogging much more pronounced.  I felt around my mouth with my tongue….yep, still had all my teeth.  Later that day, I was supposed to ride my bike into Pine Canyon along the same kind of road, only much steeper.  Yeeeah, no.  I don’t think so, not anymore.  I’d had enough of that shit.

Stopping off at the visitor center to get some water, I could smell myself emitting aromatic crimes against humanity.  The layers upon layers of sweat, sun block, dirt, and raw manliness were killing off bugs and small plants as I strode by them.  I wondered what peoples’ faces would look like when they got near.

The opportunity to find out quickly arose as a clean cut dude walked out of the visitor center and eyeballed my rig.  He asked me something, and I was surprised by my own raspy voice when I answered.  We chatted for awhile, and he asked where I camped last night.  Johnson Ranch, I said, to which he replied that he and his partner had been at Johnson Ranch last night as well…

“Are you the guys I spooked off?!”

“Yep, that was us!”

We both started laughing, and he confirmed that my silent appearance and bobbing headlamp in the black night gave them quite a scare.  They’d been hiking by the river when I pulled into camp, and when they returned, they saw my mysterious shadow doing who knows what.  Was I a drug smuggler who had just traversed the river?  Best not to wait around and find out!  They drove six miles or so to the next available campsite to escape my devious intentions.  His buddy emerged from the restroom and we filled him in on the imbroglio.  We all had a good laugh, and they invited me to stay in their camp that night at Ernst Tinaja, promising as much beer as I cared for.

From there, I headed to the store and ate two microwave pizzas and two chili dogs, washing it down with chocolate milk and plenty of water.  I bought a bar of soap and took a coin operated shower ($1.50 for five minutes…drip dried!) and changed into my spare clothes.  I was human again. 

It was 100 degrees outside, and I just did not feel like getting back out in it.  I resolved to wait until 7:00 PM or so when it was beginning to cool down, and when I had sufficiently recovered from my bout with dehydration.  Then I’d ride back up to Panther Junction, load everything into my truck, and drive into Pine Canyon.  I would head home early the next morning.

While waiting around, I spoke to many people coming in and out of the store.  They had lots of questions for me, and I got numerous offers to come and camp with them that night if I didn’t feel like making the 21 mile climb to Panther Junction.  I was offered beer, whiskey, food, and spots in RV’s to crash in.  I felt like a celebrity.  I gave them all a firm “maybe.” 

At 7:00, I saddled up and headed out.  I could feel that I was still a little out of it from the day of hot toiling I’d had, so I took it as easy as I could while climbing the entire way back to my truck.  Darkness fell sometime during the long ride, and for the first time that trip, I experienced the magic of riding the desert at night.    The stars over the Chisos Mountains were brilliant, and I couldn’t believe how much they twinkled!  In Houston, star gazing is a pointless act thanks to light pollution, and the vibrancy of the few twinkling stars you may see is greatly diminished.  Out here, you could practically see the solar flares firing out into space.  I was awestruck.  For a while, I turned off my headlamp and rode in the pitch black, just looking around in wide-eyed astonishment. 

I got back to the truck, changed into my “civies,” and drove into Pine Canyon.  The road was horrible!  I was immensely glad I’d decided against riding it.  Regrettably, I never saw my Pine Canyon campsite in the light of day, as I left before sunup the next morning (oh, NOW I get up at 5:00 AM…figures!).   Looking around the site in the darkness, I could tell that it was a stunning place to be.  During the day, I wagered it was a prime spot for taking photos and soaking in the beauty of the desert.  Oh well.

DAY 4 – Conclusion

I was out of Big Bend and making the 12 hour trip home by 6:00 AM.  My total in my 2.25 days of riding was 167 miles, some of them being the most difficult miles of my life under that 100 degree sun.  It was great experience for the Tour Divide (Great Basin?), and a fine trip on its own merits.  One thing I’d like to mention is my continued slurring against poor Tim.  I’m just having a little fun with him, and I don’t truly bear him any malice, and I don’t blame him for anything.  I used (abused) him only for comedic relief.  Thanks, Tim!  This is for you:

tree  –noun  1.  a plant having a permanently woody main stem or trunk, ordinarily growing to a considerable height, and usually developing branches at some distance from the ground.

 And here’s the whole picture set:

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