Riding in Big Bend National Park, Texas; 1997 & 1998

 Back in 1997, 1998, and 1999 for Christmas and New Years, I toured the Big Bend region solo. In 1997 I went out of desperation and sadness, 1998 I went for jubilation, and 1999 I went for Y2K. Big Bend is one of my favorite spots in the world and these trips confirmed that. I have a special bond with the place. I haven't been there in post 9-11 America and I'm sure its changed some.

Today we were cleaning out the file cabinet, purging old papers that didn't need to be in there any more and I came across these photos. I took these on my 1998 trip, a completion of the 1997 trip. 

I took a similar pic in 1997 at the Black Gap road junction and I wanted to repeat to see how I changed in one year. In 1997 I was still mourning the death of my dad and failure of my business. I was fed up with everyone in my family, especially after a fiasco during the Thankgiving holiday, so when I got my Christmas break (I was teaching again) I drove the 6 hours to Silver City, still had the key to my brother's house, so I got in and got my camping gear stored there, made a sandwich, got a Coke, and left without seeing anyone.


It was cold; a arctic cold front had settled in the Southwest and I was still in my mucks when I left Silver City. I didn't take off my cold weather gear until I got to Las Cruces. Its a 12 hour drive from Silver City to Terlingua and I got there right when Desert Sports was closing. My friend Mike Long was surprised to see me and invited me for Christmas dinner (it was Dec. 24) with his parents. They were full-time RVers and we drove down to Lajitas and 7 people were crammed into a 5th wheel travel trailer. It was cozy but really good!

The next day, Christmas day, I headed to the park. I got to the visitor's center 5 minutes before closing (at 12:00 noon) and got my back country permits, loaded my bike with gear and took off. Each day was something different. Riding was cold. It was spitting snow a lot, and I did not have a tent to hunker down in. All I had was a bivy sac and my sleeping bag. Anyway I met all sorts of characters and people in the desert. It was really therapeutic and I feel I was healed of my funk while riding my bike.

On the last day, I rode up the Black Gap road to get back to the VC and my car. When riding up the Black Gap road, it kept climbing and getting into more and more remote country. I starting thinking of "The Heart of Darkness". This thought just kept coming to me and I kind of started freaking a bit. Finally I reached a pass made a turn and got off the Black Gap road and headed back to the highway where I could ride to the VC.

When I got back to Desert Sports, I told Mike of my trip. I told him about "The Heart of Darkness" and his jaw just dropped. He said something like, "Boy if there's anyone who needs to live down here, its you! You're tuned into this place. That is exactly was we call that place, "The Heart of Darkness". Trippy!

I finished up that 1997 trip across the border in Mexico where I camped and in the morning met a little girl named Marina and her little sister Serina. In 1998, I met them again, took them Christmas gifts in my panniers and was invited to stay with the family for a couple of days and nights. It was really neat. They heated their home with a tiny stove made from car rims. They were proud they had running water.

My Ride with Lance Armstrong

It was February in the Big Bend country of Texas in 1991. (I would be 30 years old then but a racing age of 31.) I was on Merlin #1 with its rigid fork. I was feeling good and having a good race. I had already passed the 1990 World Downhill Champion, Greg Herbold on the start of the climb. He was suffering. After Herbold, there didn't seem to be many riders in front of me. There were a few up ahead, and I'd do my best to reel them in. I was in the zone, mostly riding alone, enjoying the desert and the ride.

As I reached the summit of Tres Cuevas (Three Caves) Hill, I saw Armstrong in his Motorola jersey. He was the buzz all weekend...the new kid...he's really good...some kind of prodigy...When I saw him, I thought to myself, "That's that guy! He's supposed to be really good!" He was just getting back on his bike after fixing a mechanical or flat. I pedaled faster to catch him before he got away.

It was a two track "jeep road" so we rode side-by-side, me left, him right. We exchange greetings, and I asked him if he'd ever gone down Tres Cuevas before. His reply was no. I told him to be careful because it gets really steep.

We did a couple of little stair-steppy drops still side-by-side, and road got steeper still. We soon came up on a guy wearing a Wild Oats team jersey who was obviously a roadie...this guy was flailing...literally. I was still on the left line, Armstrong on the right. We split and passed the guy, going around him on either side.

About a 100 meters ahead was the first switchback. Armstrong told me to take the lead. I lead the way through the hard right-hand turn, popped over a little berm/rock outcropping in the road, and set up for the second switchback coming up, a left-hander. A few meters down from this point is a ranch house on the left with its barn on the right. I knew the road was smoother and improved here so I got into my best aero tuck and took my hands off the brake levers. I maintained this position as long as possible. I couldn't pedal any faster. I must have hit about 40 - 50 mph...fast for a full-rigid XC mountain bike.

The road gets to the desert floor where it is a series of small rolling hills. It was here where I dared to glance behind me and saw Armstrong at least 200 meters behind me. I pedaled like crazy in my biggest gear.

I reached the final check-point at the final major turn of the race. 9 miles to go!

As I went through the check-point I refused water and just wanted to stay ahead of Armstrong. I was hammering hard when Armstrong pulled up next to me. He said, "That was fun! Let's ride in together." I replied, "I can't...my legs are spent...you go ahead." and he did. He dialed it up to the next level and left me in his dust.

The next 7 miles was single-track through the Chihuahua desert. Really beautiful stuff, and all I could do was try and keep Armstrong in my sights, which I did for about two or three miles. The final 2 miles parallels the landing strip and on to the finish line in Lajitas. When I got there, about 2 minutes behind Lance, he was still there talking to someone. I rode through the finish, then coasted over to him, shook his hand and said, "Good race!" He said the same and said thanks for leading him down the hill and that it was fun!

It was one of my better expert category races. I don’t remember my placing…in the top 20 though.

Funk

Tomorrow is the 12th anniversary of my dad's death. He died alone at home. I am the one who found him about 12 hours later. That was really sucky! One of the worse days in my life. One of those days where everything changed for me.

I went into a weird funk, and it took me nearly the year to get over it. This funk included hiding from creditors in L.A., shutting down my business after filling out my largest, final, glorious purchase order...from R.E.I. no less! Escaping L.A....circumnavigating the shiprock in NW New Mexico by mountain bike (my Merlin...maybe one of the few people to do such as journey around that volcanic neck) and seeing an eagle (I took it as a positive sign that I needed to return to the Rez)...living in a 1972 VW Westfalia van because I had no money for rent...got back on my feet financially by landing a new job on the Navajo Indian Reservation...having the worst Thanksgiving ever (completely orphaned...mom left town without a word, dead dad, brother out of town and sisters live out of state)...Christmas rolls around and I finally say fuck it about family time and commitment, I am going to do something that makes me happy.

I drove 6 hours down from the Rez, made a stealth raid on my brother's house where I had some of my touring and camping gear stored, made a sandwich, got out the door before anybody got home, and headed to Big Bend National Park in Texas.

****

I finally started feeling better about everything after 7 days alone in the chihuahuan desert. My funk began to disappear. I toured on my Merlin from Christmas day (1997) till New Years Day (1998). An arctic cold front swept across the west and reached far down into Big Bend territory. It was really cold!

Each day was an adventure. First night, I was laying on the ground in my bivy sack/sleeping bag (no tent...too heavy). I was trying to read when I heard a twig snap...I lift the hood of the bivy sack, shine my maglite outside and I was face to face, about a meter away, to a little grey fox. He kind of blinked his eyes from the light turned and pranced back into the desert.

On day 3, after a very cold day on the bike, I left my stuff at my campsite, I rode my unloaded bicycle from Ernst's Tinaja campground to the hot springs (about 10 miles one-way). When I got there, I was the only person there. I stripped off my clothes and jumped in the hot water naked. It was blowing snow flurries! It was great! I was cozy warm in the water, the Rio Grande flowing just a couple of yards away, Mexico just on the other side. It had a real romantic/rustic/adventure feel about it. I had the place to myself like that for about 1 1/2 hours, then some guy came...probably from Alpine, and he ruined the experience for me. Of course he wanted to talk. After a few minutes, I decided I better get going, so I got out, dried off quickly, got dressed in my smelly bicycle clothes, and took off. No need to warm up the muscles because of the soak in the hot spring. I got back to my camp just before the sunset. It was cold! I crawled into my sleeping bag and bivy sack, cooked some ramen noodles while laying down in my bag. Ate, then hunkered down from about 6:00 PM till 8:00 AM. It was too cold to do anything else.

The desert was kind to me...on day 4, I was riding down the River Road when a couple from Austin in Toyota 4-Runner stopped to talk to me. They gave me a smoked salmon that they had got for Christmas. That was great! That evening I camped with a couple from Albuquerque where we shared the salmon, they made spaghetti and had a bottle of wine.

Eventually I crossed the river (paid $1.00 for an old man to paddle me across in his boat) rode into Mexico for a couple of days where I eventually met a nice family. I stayed in touch with that family until I moved overseas. I still think of them from time to time, but I doubt I'll ever see them again due to 9-11.

My point of my rambling story is, this is how I finally got over my dad's death. It was all very personal and internal. Going to places like Big Bend is way better than going to any church or cathedral. I am not a churchy or religous person, but I enjoy beautiful places and feel a real connection to certain places. Shiprock, the Rez, and Big Bend are places I love and feel a connection to.