Langtry, TX to Del Rio, TX

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Shawne and Jo say...
Day 36
Miles Today: 58.25
Total Mileage: 1,510.85
Flats Today: 2
Total Flats: 42

What started as a simple restroom stop turned into an educational experience as we entered the Judge Roy Bean Visitor's Center first thing this morning. The Judge labeled himself "The Law West of the Pecos" in the late 1800's. He had one law book which he never opened, and he dished out 'justice' as he saw fit. We toured the "Jersey Lilly", a combination saloon/billiard hall and courtroom that, along with the town, Judge Bean named after Lilly Langtry, a famous English Actress.
Jo loved the Judge instantly. See, the Judge was madly in love with Miss Lilly, and even called his own house and "Opera House" to try to lure her to the area. He wrote her letters regularly, and she actually did write one back, stating that if she was going to travel that far to see a town, it needed to have a water fountain. He wrote her an answer stating that while he could appreciate her needs, the one thing the people of the town of Langtry didn't drink was water. Jo's dad is a big fan of Judge Roy Bean, and we could see why. He held court on the porch of the bar, and all the fines he issued were money that went directly into his own pocket (typical politician, right?).
Jo's favorite story read that there was a gunfight outside and everyone ran out of the bar to investigate, finding a man lying dead on the street with a pistol still in his hand. Judge Roy Bean immediately proclaimed that it was illegal for a dead man to be in possession of a weapon. The Judge went through his pockets and took out the man's wallet. It had sixteen dollars in it. The Judge then announced that the fine for carrying a weapon while dead was sixteen dollars. He pocketed the money, and "confiscated" the pistol as well. Yes, the Judge became a very rich man while in his position. He also held a boxing match by building a bridge from Langtry across the river to Mexico. The boxing match was illegal in the U.S., and the Texas Rangers threw a fit while the Judge charged citizens to cross the bridge and watch the match on Mexican land. What an entrepreneur!
We walked through the Cactus Garden Interpretive Trail of Southwestern Flora, which was very informative. Shawne found the names of several plants and cacti he'd been wondering about. Each specimen in the garden was accompanied by Indian and Pioneer lore regarding the plants. The labels showed traditional medicinal purposes; nearly everything seemed to cure stomach aches, and it all seemed to be named "Devil"-something. Jo found out that her favorite Ocotillo plant is called "The Devil's Cane". It was a beautiful facility, and we highly recommend stopping by if you happen to find yourself in the middle of nowhere, TX...just off I-90.
As we crossed a bridge over Eagle Nest Creek, Shawne noticed what seemed to be a vehicle off in the distance. It was south of the highway, down a dirt road about two hundred yards away. At least a hundred vultures stood on top of, and to the side of, the vehicle. We were less than a mile from the border at that point. Shawne imagined that it was a van full of illegals that may have met an unfortunate end out there in the desert. We parked our bikes and climbed an old steel gate to access the dirt road. We tried to stealthily approach the vultures and snap some pictures. Shawne was trying to stay ahead of Jo so that, upon the first sign of dead bodies, he could turn her away and have her call the police. He didn't want her to see the gruesome sight that lay just ahead. Though we didn't speak of it, Jo was trying to stay behind Shawne for exactly the same reason.
As we got within a hundred feet, the vultures became spooked, and took flight. The large birds quickly gained altitude and began circling overhead. With the view unobstructed, Shawne realized that the vehicle was a trailer, made from a pickup truck bed. As we walked closer, we could see a large tank in the trailer and metal troughs in the dirt behind it. Water slowly dripped from the tank into a trough full of filth and feathers.
"It's water.", Shawne said to Jo, "They were just here for the water."
We breathed a sigh of relief as we laughed about our previous assumption of why the birds were gathered there. After hopping back over the fence, we climbed back on our bikes and headed toward the Pecos River.
The bridge was tall and long; we stopped to throw rocks and squirt water out of our water bottles into the river below. It was a long way down; the short railing offered little comfort when the structure vibrated as vehicles passed. We were getting hungry and pushed eleven miles to the next town of Comstock.
We stopped at a small, run-down cafe where two old women sat inside talking and chain-smoking cigarettes. One of them seated us and took our orders. Another cheeseburger...whoopie-doo. We must have swallowed two gallons of iced-tea by the time we finished our meals. While we stood at the register to pay, we looked down and noticed a bumper sticker pasted to the counter underneath the register. It said "I WASN'T BORN IN TEXAS, BUT I GOT HERE AS FAST AS I COULD". We will happily put one of these on the car the minute we move to Alpine.
It was hot outside, and Jo once again convinced the store owner to fill our water bottles with ice before we departed. We stopped at a small market to purchase more energy drinks. As we stood at the register, we noticed a small cabinet with individual compartments, all containing a carbon-copy style receipt book with different names written on each spine. The old woman running the store explained that they were tabs written out to all the local townsfolk. It seemed a very dated way to keep track of money owed, but she told us that is was how her husband did things. Since he passed away, some twenty years ago, she hasn't changed anything.
We were halfway to Del Rio. Another thirty miles would take us to the next bike shop and a real grocery store. As we pushed up and down more of the Texas Hill Country, we were happy that at least the pavement had become somewhat smoother. That was, until we passed the intersection at Box Canyon Road. For some reason, the asphalt took a turn for the worse as our old friend, Mr. Chipseal, showed up once again,. Another flat, this time on Jo's bike, put us up against the guardrail at a standstill. As Jo made the repair, Shawne walked the shoulder picking up large shards of broken beer bottles that littered the way.
"Why do people do this?", Shawne asked himself. "I would never throw a beer bottle out of the window. But then again, I wouldn't be drinking beer while I drove down the road either. I can't figure it out."
Back in motion, we approached a bridge spanning the Amistad Reservoir. The border runs straight through this body of water. We wondered how the Border Patrol keeps people from simply floating into the U.S. on an inner tube in the night. The bridge was 3/4 mile long with no shoulder. Somehow our timing was perfect, and not one car crossed the bridge in our lane while we huffed across. The sun set over the water, making a beautiful sight. We passed by half a dozen campgrounds as we cranked out the last eight miles to town. We wanted to be somewhere fun and festive for this Halloween Night.
We decided to get as close to town as we could before we set up camp, so we would be near some sort of celebrating. Stopping at an RV Park, the woman running the place informed us that there was no night life anywhere within walking distance. She recommended a hotel down the highway that ws only $35.00. We jumped back in the saddle and rode into the darkness.
Once at the hotel, the rate jumped to $47.00. We were there, though, and there was a bar directly across the street. We certainly didn't want to ride back to the RV Park, so we reluctantly checked into our first self-purchased hotel room. After a quick shower, we couldn't decide if we were going to dress up like "geared-up" cross-country cyclists for Halloween, or go as "casually dressed" cross-country cyclists. In the end, we opted for casual outfits and crossed the highway to see what fun awaited us. We figured that, if we wanted to, we could just go back to the hotel and change into our riding gear if a costume was necessary.
Once inside the bar, we saw that nobody was dressed up at all. A band played on a small stage in the back as a full house dined on holiday dinner. The band members seemed very young. We guessed that they must have all recently turned twenty-one, and that they looked young because we were getting old. We bellied up to the bar and ordered a couple of beers. Jo went back and forth, trying to decide if she was hungry or not. The loud music didn't make for good conversation. We found ourselves staring at the television above the bar, watching Headline News.
The band finally reached the end of their gig. They finished by introducing themselves. To our amazement, they were all 12 to 16 years old! We laughed at ourselves, thinking that 21 sure looked young these days. Because this place served food, minors were allowed inside. With the band finally silent, we could strike up some conversations with the locals.
We talked with a group of older men for quite a while about the area, immigration issues, and Wal-Mart. We spoke of our despise of Wal-Mart and their mistreatment of employees. We mentioned all the small Mom & Pop stores that have been put out of business and how we dislike shopping at Wal-Mart. These guys actually argued FOR Wal-Mart! We were amazed! Everyone else we've talked to about this issue shared our feelings. It made for some interesting conversation.
We walked back to our hotel room, disappointed that our Halloween celebration turned into just another night at a bar with a lame band. But, at least we had a warm shower and a comfy bed that night. Tomorrow we would be spending even more money at the bike shop, which we didn't really look forward to. These new tires better live up to all the hype we've been hearing from other cyclists. We shall see...

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Photos

Something dead?
So we thought....

Now we are EAST of the Pecos
Take that Judge Roy Bean!

mmmmmmm
Cheeeeeeseburger.