Day 26: San Antonio, TX

West Texas is a profoundly lonely place. I'm glad to have made it to San Antonio.

Yesterday I woke up in El Paso and headed east, then north, through the Guadalupe Mountains up toward Carlsbad. I had a small picnic lunch under the massive cliffs of El Capitan. I got to Carlsbad Caverns in mid afternoon and opted to walk down through the natural cave entrance. The mouth of the cave is large, but actually smaller than I expected. It's pretty spectacular though, with cacti and desert brush growing out of the cliff face, and dozens upon dozens of cave swallows zipping around, darting in and out and around the mouth of the cave in a dizzying frenzy. The chirping and chirping echoes and reverberates into quite an impressive ruckuss. It's a fairly long and steep descent, and about half way down my feet started to hurt. I was certain I'd have blisters by the time I was done. Next time I'll be smart enough to put my sneakers on first. The caves themselves were bizarre and spectacular, although not as eerie and dissorienting as I was hoping it would be. The paved walkways and handrails are nice, but it takes away a lot, if not most, of the fun and adventure inherent to exploring a cave. To be honest I had more fun crawling around and exploring the lava tubes southeast of Klamath Falls with nothing but a flashlight, even though the caverns and formations themselves weren't nearly as interesting. It was a good experience though, and I can't say I didn't enjoy it.

I made it back up to the surface in the late afternoon and continued on to Carlsbad, NM, which is an odd little town about 20 miles north of the caverns. I bought some snacks and lunch items for the road, then followed a recommendation to a local restaurant hidden behind a drive-in movie theater, completely unidentifiable from the highway. They had good barbacoa tacos, and excellent salsa, but I expected a little more from the mexican food in New Mexico. I thought about heading out to Dog Canyon to camp for the night, but I was afraid it would get dark before I had a chance to set up the tent, so instead I turned back toward Texas, where the beer is cheap and the speed limits are high.

I ended up spending the night in Pecos, Texas, which is about the saddest town I've ever seen. There was a town before I reached Pecos named Orla. Orla consists of about 25 buildings, and only three of those appear to be inhabitable. Of those three, only one seemed to actually be in current use. Pecos, on the other hand, is a town that seems to be desperately clinging to life, despite having spent the last several decades in decline. I found a dilapidated old bar advertising Disco Dances every Thursday through Saturday. Something tells me there hasn't been any disco dancing in Pecos since I was three years old. There were more broken down and dying buildings than I have ever seen, and some of the buildings that were actually lived in looked like they definitely shouldn't be. Purely by chance I ended up spending the night in the nicest motel in town, which for an extra five dollars was considerably nicer than the Motel 6 I stayed at in El Paso. The shower I took convinced me that I wouldn't be drinking any of the water in Pecos County, so I walked down the street to a gas station to buy a bottle of water. While I was there I ran into a friendly Mexican man who looked like he had personally killed three people and was responsible for the deaths of up to three more. He offered me some advice, and that advice took me to a bar at the other end of town. At the bar I met an incredibly freindly cook who claimed he made the best hot wings in Texas, and that he was living in Pecos on account of a few warrants out for his arrest in his home state. He later offered me his own advice: never trust any of the Mexicans in Pecos. Since I had been offered conflicting advice from two different felons in the same evening, I decided I should just get a good night's sleep and move on in the morning.

Today was relatively uninteresting, aside from a few small points: I saw the first patch of green, natural grass since leaving San Diego a week and a half ago. I nearly hit a flock of vultures that was startled away from its road kill; I had to swerve and duck to avoid getting a face full of tail feathers. I rode through my first Texas thunderstorm. It stung, and I was soaked, but I saw some pretty spectacular lightning, and half an hour later I was dry. I never knew it before, but parts of Texas are nearly as pretty as California. The entire area surrounding San Antonio looks almost exactly like central Oregon, except it's sunny and warm. The days in Texas feel significantly cooler than the days in Tucson, but the evenings seem much hotter and less pleasant. I think it's the humidity. About 60 miles outside of San Antonio I started to feel my chain slip occasionally, mostly when I'm slowing down quickly. First thing tomorrow, before the Alamo, before the barbecued ribs, I'll have to get my chain replaced. I'm due for an oil & air filter change anyhow. Hopefully I won't need a new sprocket to go with the chain, but I'm not holding my breath.

I just drank my first ever Lone Star Beer. Not so good, but not so bad that I wouldn't drink it for 82 cents. It's about on par with Old Milwaukee, or Milwaukee's Best. Better than Schmidt Ice, but not as good as Schmidt. Better than Camo.