30 October 2008
West of Bryan, you enter Lee County and the Hill Country of central Texas. The area has a rich German, Czech and Wendish tradition. My great, great grandparents were of the latter, immigrating here from what is now southeastern Germany. My grandparents lived here, and this place feels like home.
I first stopped for some kolaches, sweet bread filled with fruit. My grandmother made a poppy seed kolache, unrivaled and unreplicable. Just past West Yegua Creek, in Lincoln, is the land they tended when I was a young child. My first memories are in this place. They include a rusty gate, a barbecue pit, a peanut field, a series of barns, a nail on the top of a tin chicken coop, flying cow patties, creaky stairs, feisty geese, the creek, an olive tree, many oaks, cousins and family. Much of the place is still as it was, though in greater disrepair, and I wandered the fields by the dry creek as sunlight filtered through an oak arcade.
Just to the south is Giddings, where my grandparents moved as they grew older. I stopped at the City Meat Market for some barbecue. Texas barbecue is charred in deep, brick pits. The heat and smoke is convected in from a fire built outside the pit. The walls are covered in soot. The meat is smoked long and tender, and served on butcher paper that quickly saturates in grease. Tastes of childhood. My grandparents lived here until I left Texas after high school, and my memories are clearer, including dominoes with my grandfather and great uncle, working with him on the house, tending the garden, pickling and preserving and baking in my grandmother's warm kitchen.
I rode back roads through Serbin and Northrup, Wendish settlements, full of oaks draped with Spanish moss and rolling ranchland. It was night when I climbed the unlit road to the Lost Pines. The next day I strolled the back road that connects Buescher and Bastrop, where I came out on the final highway into Austin.
Apparently your body knows when you have almost finished. For almost the entire ride, I felt invincible. Sure, tired at moments, but never impaired. I never needed to fight malady to accomplish a goal. The knowledge of impending arrival must release the mind from its guardianship over the body. I was now free to be exhausted. Add to that several flat tires, questionable food and water choices, and treacherous highway interchanges. My leisurely and triumphant ride home became a hellish fight to muster the energy needed to find haven.
However, arrival overcomes the preceding difficulty. Austin rolls along steep hills. I climbed one more, coasted into my sister's driveway, yodeled for my niece and nephews, and submerged exhausted in the grass under the oak's speckled shade.
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Monday, November 24, 2008
The Possum Whisperer
28 October 2008
Coming into Bryan, Texas, my sister arranged for me to stay with her friend's family south of town. I called Kathy, who after assuring that I wasn't an axe murderer, and giving me strict instructions on how to kill her if I were, generously offered her home.
I arrived. We chatted. She gave me some fantastic spinach cornbread. She'd ask for details on the trip. "You're nuts," she would say.
She showed me a little doll-sized baby bottle. "Guess what animal this is for." I hazarded ridiculous guesses.
"A parakeet?"
"What kind of answer is that? Karli! This guy thinks it's for a parakeet!"
"An iguana?"
"Now he thinks it's for an iguana!" she announced to her family tauntingly.
"Um, a mouse?" This answer was apparently more acceptable, though still incorrect. My three guesses expired. It was for a squirrel, one of a long line of rodents and other animals that Kathy has rehabilitated. The squirrel was named Tina, because Hurricane Ike knocked her out of her tree. Kathy also had a possum. When you see them in full light, possums are much cuter, though still in a skeletal sort of way. She tried to get me to take him.
"Imagine how awesome you would look riding into Austin with a possum on your shoulder." I admit, this would have been very cool. "You'd be the best uncle ever if you showed up to your niece and nephews with a possum." Also very true, but maybe not the best brother. She let the possum roam around a little. He was very gentle and shy. I would definitely take him once I had my own place. She brought out Tina as well. This she-squirrel was feisty. She would stand on her hind legs and box with Kathy's husband, then scamper wildly.
Kathy asked me more about the ride. I'd give her some details, and she would declare my insanity. "How many miles? You are nuts." The squirrel ran up her shoulder, onto her head, rustled through her hair, and down the other side. "You'd sleep in city parks?! You're crazy," she said definitively. The squirrel jumped from her knee onto my back, climbed down my leg and thought about running up into my shorts, before leaping back to Kathy and burrowing inside her shirt.
"You are a loony," she would say.
.
Coming into Bryan, Texas, my sister arranged for me to stay with her friend's family south of town. I called Kathy, who after assuring that I wasn't an axe murderer, and giving me strict instructions on how to kill her if I were, generously offered her home.
I arrived. We chatted. She gave me some fantastic spinach cornbread. She'd ask for details on the trip. "You're nuts," she would say.
She showed me a little doll-sized baby bottle. "Guess what animal this is for." I hazarded ridiculous guesses.
"A parakeet?"
"What kind of answer is that? Karli! This guy thinks it's for a parakeet!"
"An iguana?"
"Now he thinks it's for an iguana!" she announced to her family tauntingly.
"Um, a mouse?" This answer was apparently more acceptable, though still incorrect. My three guesses expired. It was for a squirrel, one of a long line of rodents and other animals that Kathy has rehabilitated. The squirrel was named Tina, because Hurricane Ike knocked her out of her tree. Kathy also had a possum. When you see them in full light, possums are much cuter, though still in a skeletal sort of way. She tried to get me to take him.
"Imagine how awesome you would look riding into Austin with a possum on your shoulder." I admit, this would have been very cool. "You'd be the best uncle ever if you showed up to your niece and nephews with a possum." Also very true, but maybe not the best brother. She let the possum roam around a little. He was very gentle and shy. I would definitely take him once I had my own place. She brought out Tina as well. This she-squirrel was feisty. She would stand on her hind legs and box with Kathy's husband, then scamper wildly.
Kathy asked me more about the ride. I'd give her some details, and she would declare my insanity. "How many miles? You are nuts." The squirrel ran up her shoulder, onto her head, rustled through her hair, and down the other side. "You'd sleep in city parks?! You're crazy," she said definitively. The squirrel jumped from her knee onto my back, climbed down my leg and thought about running up into my shorts, before leaping back to Kathy and burrowing inside her shirt.
"You are a loony," she would say.
.
The Long Haul
27 October 2008
The Buffalo River winds around limestone bluffs and caves and ancient homesteads, and a blue haze lingers over its wooded banks. The first run of the Ozarks climbs steeply between the Buffalo and the Arkansas rivers. Essentially a plateau, its corrugated ridges stretch toward the horizon in a smoky violet green. They rise again between the Arkansas and the Ouachita. I passed through Hot Springs, a town where Victorian roots, criminally organized infrastructure and hipster accents collide mercilessly.
During the climb into the Ozarks, and especially on the descent, my mindset shifted. I had been content to wander, I was now intent on home. For the next week and a half, I simply rode. Sleeping briefly in city parks and roadside hideaways. Rising, riding, rendering, resting and rising. Neither rushing nor lingering. Observing intently, but not meticulously. Pearly dawns. Migrating shadows, long westward, underfoot, stretching east, dissolving in the burnt orange falling sun. Following dusky road lines and constellations to the next wayside camp.
.
The Buffalo River winds around limestone bluffs and caves and ancient homesteads, and a blue haze lingers over its wooded banks. The first run of the Ozarks climbs steeply between the Buffalo and the Arkansas rivers. Essentially a plateau, its corrugated ridges stretch toward the horizon in a smoky violet green. They rise again between the Arkansas and the Ouachita. I passed through Hot Springs, a town where Victorian roots, criminally organized infrastructure and hipster accents collide mercilessly.
During the climb into the Ozarks, and especially on the descent, my mindset shifted. I had been content to wander, I was now intent on home. For the next week and a half, I simply rode. Sleeping briefly in city parks and roadside hideaways. Rising, riding, rendering, resting and rising. Neither rushing nor lingering. Observing intently, but not meticulously. Pearly dawns. Migrating shadows, long westward, underfoot, stretching east, dissolving in the burnt orange falling sun. Following dusky road lines and constellations to the next wayside camp.
.
Monday, November 10, 2008
The continued learning
-Don’t read Cormac McCarthy novels when you’re camped off the side of some obscure highway.
-Sausage and kolaches alone do not provide for an energizing or sustaining meal.
-When you reach a moment of euphoric and rhythmic riding, expect a flat. This may have something to do with the fact that you are gleefully looking up, basking in the wind and sun, and not at the road.
-Helmet-mounted bicycle rearview mirrors are a waste of money and may even create more hazard than they prevent.
More to come...
-Sausage and kolaches alone do not provide for an energizing or sustaining meal.
-When you reach a moment of euphoric and rhythmic riding, expect a flat. This may have something to do with the fact that you are gleefully looking up, basking in the wind and sun, and not at the road.
-Helmet-mounted bicycle rearview mirrors are a waste of money and may even create more hazard than they prevent.
More to come...
The Bardo’s Rules of the Road
-If two routes seem comparable in distance and safety, you pick based on how cool the town names are. For example, a route that passes through Lone Star and Daingerfield must be infinitely better than one that passes through Linden and Maud.
-Take local advice with a grain of salt. Locals often don’t know, especially in regards to steepness, distance or bike-friendliness of any given route. They also are often unaware of the existence or quality of local restaurants. Not always, but often.
More to come…
-Take local advice with a grain of salt. Locals often don’t know, especially in regards to steepness, distance or bike-friendliness of any given route. They also are often unaware of the existence or quality of local restaurants. Not always, but often.
More to come…
The True Hardcores
As you bike, you hear stories of other rides and riders. Like any endeavor, people are eager to share stories, both first and secondhand, of similar enterprises. An acquaintance of mine, Graham, during a long distance cycle, would put some brown rice in a tin with some water on the back of his bike in the morning. It would “cook” during the day and this is essentially all he would eat. A bike shop employee told me of a rider he knew who cycled in Montana in the winter. He would ride during the night and sleep in the midday sun in order to stay warm. He sustained himself on sprouts that he grew during the ride by hydrating a backpack full of soil and seed in any stream or pond he passed. Compared to these burly men, my ride was incredibly posh and ninnified. And, of course, they probably built their own bikes from spare parts scavenged from the roadside. If I remember correctly, for his long cycles, my friend Peter built his bike out of spider webs and spit and would make any spoke or cable repairs with woven strands of his own hair. I only aspire to such self-sufficiency.
.
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Thursday, November 6, 2008
The Why
Occasionally, after bike commuting in harsh conditions or at great length, others have asked, earnestly, “Do you enjoy biking?” Lest you think that I’ve been overwhelmed by masochism or cognitive dissonance, I will answer.
Yes.
Especially for transportation.
Cycling, I...
...feel engaged into my surroundings and more highly perceptive.
...feel stronger, mentally, physically and spiritually, disciplined and focused.
...save money, build energy, avoid stress and often save time.
...feel healthy in my relationship with the Earth.
...feel the rush of effort and speed, of work and reward, stress and recovery.
And it’s fun.
Do it.
.
That Old Story
21 October 2008
Evening rode quickly across the Buffalo River to the Little Buffalo River, at the foot of the Ozark plateau. Vic stopped me to rattle off a few questions about the ride, snagged Johnny as he was walking by, and Johnny said I could camp out in front of his trailer. Johnny was selling everything he had to go bicycle around Hawaii. After grabbing a bite, I returned to Johnny’s place, rooting around vainly for a comfortable arrangement. Vic must not have felt at ease with me at Johnny’s, as he shuffled over to open up his place to me in case I wanted a shower or to camp in his patio.
Vic had a kind of jittery and prolific energy, bouncing from leg to leg as he spoke like a young child and talking for hours in a sort of stream of consciousness…
“You see we retired here years ago I knew I wouldn’t be able to get Linda any further west and this place gets all sorts of folks there are a bunch of Buddhists north of here and then you got the folks out on Mt. Judea they’re a little bit what you might call angry and crazy you know I mean you know what I mean they don’t much like people coming round over there so we mostly let them alone you know that old story” (umm, I guess so) “and then in the 70s Willie Nelson said the best weed he ever smoked was from here from Murray Valley and so all these hippies moved into Murray Valley and started growing their stuff and it’s so far back up in there that the law don’t try and do much about it and even when I moved in everybody thought I must have been a narc and then they realized that I wasn’t and they figured I must be a grower and now they’re not too suspicious anymore but these hippies they keep growing over there but they didn’t much count on the elk you see the elk they’re rather fond of pot you know that old story” (umm, not really) “and so they had to keep the elk out of their crops and even in some places it was made legal to take an elk on your property but a lot of the hippies started growing organic blueberries along with their pot” (at this moment, Linda was making divine muffins with these blueberries) “and you see we got the river here too that brings a lot of people around it was one of the first protected rivers in the country which is good but sometimes the Park Service goes a little overboard and they want to throw away the key I mean you know what I mean so we kind of have a running battle with the park service you know that old story” (actually, yes) “and we’ll run the river when they don’t want us to but they can’t ever quite seem to catch us you know they want to lock up some of these roads but we need these to get down to run the river and so you know we’re kind of in a running battle and sometimes they want to take a piece of land for the river and eminent domain it and they tried to do that with old Fawn Cash but he’s an angry old ball of lead and everyone told them that he would literally kill them if they tried to get anywhere near his land and the Park Service kinda didn’t pay them any mind but they got run off the property and had themselves a little scare you know that old story” (eh) “and so you know it’s kind of lawless out here and they don’t try and do much about all the weed oh they’ll sacrifice a gringo every year or so you know that old story” (huh?) “oh you know they won’t turn over a local but you got these flatlanders coming in and they’ll sacrifice one of them every year or so to keep the law happy and then you got the folks that Y2ked themselves up here and they got these extreme homes like fortresses in all these limestone caves they’ve got around here and don’t you know they keep finding these new caves and I tell them don’t tell the Park Service about it they will lock those caves up and keep you out and so they finally learned and stopped telling the rangers about the caves you see we have this kind of running battle with the Park and anyway this one guy built himself a fortress down in one of these caves and I mean a fortress but then you know Y2K never amounted much to anything and now this guy wants to bring in white rhinoceros to live on his estate and what are you going to do with a rhinoceros in a cave you know and you gotta have some of Linda’s hot chocolate it is unbelievable and sometimes people get lost down there by the river and in these caves you probably heard a few years ago that little girl that got lost yea she got angry cause her grandpa wouldn’t let her go in a cave and they were hiking and so she kind of wandered off she was so angry and they spent four days looking for her and the Park Service is out there looking of course they’re all fools and they couldn’t get anything done but they wouldn’t let the locals go in certain places even though everyone’s out there wanting to help look and finally a couple locals said hey this girl is gonna die and so they went and found her near a cave and she was still angry she was an ornery little cuss she didn’t even seem to care she had been lost all full of hellfire and that river gets high in the spring especially all this water we had last year and we decided to run it of course the park wanted to lock us up for it but we ran it anyway and all these little rapids had turned into class six holes that would fold your canoe in half and the water was so high we were up in the trees and this one guy got snagged up in a branch and ripped right out the boat just hanging up in the branch by his clothes and the one thing we didn’t count on was the water moccasins, they got flooded right out and you know that old story…”
.
Evening rode quickly across the Buffalo River to the Little Buffalo River, at the foot of the Ozark plateau. Vic stopped me to rattle off a few questions about the ride, snagged Johnny as he was walking by, and Johnny said I could camp out in front of his trailer. Johnny was selling everything he had to go bicycle around Hawaii. After grabbing a bite, I returned to Johnny’s place, rooting around vainly for a comfortable arrangement. Vic must not have felt at ease with me at Johnny’s, as he shuffled over to open up his place to me in case I wanted a shower or to camp in his patio.
Vic had a kind of jittery and prolific energy, bouncing from leg to leg as he spoke like a young child and talking for hours in a sort of stream of consciousness…
“You see we retired here years ago I knew I wouldn’t be able to get Linda any further west and this place gets all sorts of folks there are a bunch of Buddhists north of here and then you got the folks out on Mt. Judea they’re a little bit what you might call angry and crazy you know I mean you know what I mean they don’t much like people coming round over there so we mostly let them alone you know that old story” (umm, I guess so) “and then in the 70s Willie Nelson said the best weed he ever smoked was from here from Murray Valley and so all these hippies moved into Murray Valley and started growing their stuff and it’s so far back up in there that the law don’t try and do much about it and even when I moved in everybody thought I must have been a narc and then they realized that I wasn’t and they figured I must be a grower and now they’re not too suspicious anymore but these hippies they keep growing over there but they didn’t much count on the elk you see the elk they’re rather fond of pot you know that old story” (umm, not really) “and so they had to keep the elk out of their crops and even in some places it was made legal to take an elk on your property but a lot of the hippies started growing organic blueberries along with their pot” (at this moment, Linda was making divine muffins with these blueberries) “and you see we got the river here too that brings a lot of people around it was one of the first protected rivers in the country which is good but sometimes the Park Service goes a little overboard and they want to throw away the key I mean you know what I mean so we kind of have a running battle with the park service you know that old story” (actually, yes) “and we’ll run the river when they don’t want us to but they can’t ever quite seem to catch us you know they want to lock up some of these roads but we need these to get down to run the river and so you know we’re kind of in a running battle and sometimes they want to take a piece of land for the river and eminent domain it and they tried to do that with old Fawn Cash but he’s an angry old ball of lead and everyone told them that he would literally kill them if they tried to get anywhere near his land and the Park Service kinda didn’t pay them any mind but they got run off the property and had themselves a little scare you know that old story” (eh) “and so you know it’s kind of lawless out here and they don’t try and do much about all the weed oh they’ll sacrifice a gringo every year or so you know that old story” (huh?) “oh you know they won’t turn over a local but you got these flatlanders coming in and they’ll sacrifice one of them every year or so to keep the law happy and then you got the folks that Y2ked themselves up here and they got these extreme homes like fortresses in all these limestone caves they’ve got around here and don’t you know they keep finding these new caves and I tell them don’t tell the Park Service about it they will lock those caves up and keep you out and so they finally learned and stopped telling the rangers about the caves you see we have this kind of running battle with the Park and anyway this one guy built himself a fortress down in one of these caves and I mean a fortress but then you know Y2K never amounted much to anything and now this guy wants to bring in white rhinoceros to live on his estate and what are you going to do with a rhinoceros in a cave you know and you gotta have some of Linda’s hot chocolate it is unbelievable and sometimes people get lost down there by the river and in these caves you probably heard a few years ago that little girl that got lost yea she got angry cause her grandpa wouldn’t let her go in a cave and they were hiking and so she kind of wandered off she was so angry and they spent four days looking for her and the Park Service is out there looking of course they’re all fools and they couldn’t get anything done but they wouldn’t let the locals go in certain places even though everyone’s out there wanting to help look and finally a couple locals said hey this girl is gonna die and so they went and found her near a cave and she was still angry she was an ornery little cuss she didn’t even seem to care she had been lost all full of hellfire and that river gets high in the spring especially all this water we had last year and we decided to run it of course the park wanted to lock us up for it but we ran it anyway and all these little rapids had turned into class six holes that would fold your canoe in half and the water was so high we were up in the trees and this one guy got snagged up in a branch and ripped right out the boat just hanging up in the branch by his clothes and the one thing we didn’t count on was the water moccasins, they got flooded right out and you know that old story…”
.
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