Del Rio, TX to Fort Clark Springs, TX


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North America » United States » Texas
November 1st 2006
Published: January 17th 2007
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OK...OK...OK...OK...OK...OK...

We finally purchased the "Super Tires" we've been hearing about.
Jo and Shawne say...
Mileage Today: 38.8
Total Mileage: 1549.65
Flats Today: 0
Total Flats: 42
Day 37

We slept in, and made the most of our first purchased hotel room. It was a free continental breakfast, so we ate...and ate...and ate some more. Jo had a flat tire before we even left the room. The sun was high, and it was hot and muggy by the time we left the hotel. We'd run into our first bout of humidity yesterday, and we doubt it will stop until we get back to Nevada.
We headed to the bike shop, in search of Armadillo tires, which according to other cyclists we've met, are impenetrable. After much discussion, we decided to purchase four new tires for $35.00 each. These tires are a bit wider than the ones we've been using, and they seem markedly stronger.
Shawne was interested in purchasing a headlamp, but the only one they had left was the display model. The owner of the bike shop said that he would give us a "smoking deal" if we wanted the light, because he no longer had the box or directions. He came back after a moment, stating he'd looked it
New kicks for my whip, yo!New kicks for my whip, yo!New kicks for my whip, yo!

(aka new tires for my ride) they better be worth the price!
up online, and they were selling for twenty dollars. He proudly announced he would sell it to us for eighteen. Glancing at each other, we decided we'd take the "smoking deal" and added it to the items to be purchased.
There was a large scale in the bike shop, and we became excited about weighing our gear. We brought Shawne's trailer in and weighed it...88 pounds. We brought in his bike and weighed that...42 pounds. We looked at each other in shock. We knew we had a bunch of gear, but we didn't realize Shawne was pulling 130 pounds! We took Jo's trailer off and weighed it...70 pounds! Her bike...39 pounds! She was pulling 109 pounds! We decided it was a good thing we didn't weigh our gear before this point. If we'd had those numbers in our heads while we were pulling mountain passes, we probably would not have stubbornly refused to send gear home.
We walked out of the bike shop, and before we even got out of the parking lot, we saw a cyclist on a recumbant, heading West. We waited, and waved as he got closer. He was staring at the road and didn't see us
Camp CreepoutCamp CreepoutCamp Creepout

This place had Cult Compound written all over it.
until he was right next to us. He slammed on his brakes and pulled into the parking lot.
He had a thick gray beard, red riding shorts, and the hairiest legs we've ever seen. He said he'd left St. Augustine, Florida, fifteen days ago. We showed him the newly purchased tires and told him how many flats we'd endured. He said, "Wow! I need to go to a bike shop! Where did you get those?"
We pointed to the bike shop we were standing in front of...he said, "Oh there's a bike shop!"
He told us he hadn't seen any cyclists since he left. He also said he threw the maps away because there were quicker ways to get from point A to point B. He'd gone through Louisiana, and there were "piles of Katrina" on the roadside. He'd actually run into a pipe which was lying on the road, and wrecked. He showed us the road rash on his arm and pointed toward the bandages on his thigh, hidden by his shorts. He was quite animated, and said that the road rash looked like Kinky Friedman's face (Kinky is running for governor of the great state of Texas!). As
Oh! Showers?Oh! Showers?Oh! Showers?

How nice....WRONG!
he spoke, he waved his arms wildly in the air, and Jo watched his leg hair come to life, curling and dancing upward, over the bottom of his shorts.
He insisted that all the roads were smooth from here on out, so we warned him that the roads the other way left much to be desired. He was in a great rush, because he wanted to get as many miles in as possible (which, we assume, is why he didn't see any cyclists before us, or for that matter, the pipe in the road). We waved as he leapt onto his recumbant and disappeared down the road without going into the bike shop.
Shaking our heads and chuckling to ourselves, we headed to the grocery store for food. After all, what's a few more pounds, right? We bought tortillas, peanut butter and jelly, Nutri-grain bars, and cereal (they didn't sell trail mix). Since the afternoon was wearing on, we decided to leave Del Rio.
We hit a construction zone, and they let us through without stopping. There were flaggers at either end of about a five mile stretch of road. This turned out quite in our favor later on. Apparently
Soap?Soap?Soap?

We don't need no stinkin' soap!
in Texas, the shoulder of the road is a common place to drive. We think it may be an indicator, requesting the driver behind to go ahead and pass. We'd be able to ride side by side, worry-free, for about three miles, then we'd stop for the set of cars released through the construction zone. When the flood of cars passed, we'd continue riding.
Several state troopers passed us, waving to us as they went by. We laughed at the cowboy hat which rested in the back window of each car.
We stopped at a historical marker which read of the largest land owner in Texas in the late 1800's. It stated that he had 70 million acres of land, and tried to start his own settlement. He brought 59 people with him to start a community, but his idea was short-lived. All but seven were killed by Comanches and his dream died with him.
We wondered how one would acquire a tract of land that large, and we wondered too if it was absorbed by the state upon his death.
The roads were clean and wide, and for once, we were riding on real asphalt instead of a chip-sealed
Don't worry,Don't worry,Don't worry,

they never run out of hot water, 'cause they don't have any! Single valve shower.
nightmare. Shawne had all four new tires strapped to the top of his load, and looked lopsided as he rode. We saw lots of roadkill, but no interesting animals...strictly deer.
Border Patrol is still evidently active in this area. We originally noticed there were dirt side roads running along every road we've been on, but we later realized they are monitored by Border Patrol. Often, we saw three tractor tires chained together, lying by the road. Shawne explained to Jo that they are pulled behind a Border Patrol vehicle. Border Patrol then monitors the road for the footprints of illegal aliens. Jo said that method was too little too late.
In the paper today, we found a Border Patrol blotter similar to the Police blotters at home. It stated that on Monday, ninety-two people were arrested for illegally crossing the border, and 547 pounds of marijuana were confiscated. This blotter covered just the Del Rio section, or approximately 210 miles of the border to Mexico. In ONE DAY! Shawne noted that those were just the people who'd been caught! So, in one section of the border alone, approximately 35 thousand people deported per year. Is there any doubt we need a better border? Good fences make good neighbors, right?
We inched our way to Bracketville, TX, and our campsite for the night at Fort Clark Springs. We pulled in just as it was getting dark, and were surprised at the amount of people heading into the gated area. The security guard at the gate gave us a map and told us the campground was still a mile and a half away. Having no other option, we headed inside.
What we found left us speechless. There were dozens of deer immediately to our left, and the buildings still looked like an old fort. Something wasn't right, though. It was perfectly quiet, and inside each old structure, there were lights on. We caught glimpses of moden appliances and an occasional television. It looked like a historical place, but it was inhabited! As we rode on, the streets curved, and we saw that the street signs were constructed of plain browned wood with yellow writing.
Huge, open fields were well-manicured, and each front yard had only a small touch of personalization...a tiny water fountain here, a teeny flower bed there. Children walked down the sidewalks and looked guardedly at us, as though they'd
Cold shower?Cold shower?Cold shower?

Shawne decided to stay stinky.
never seen 'outsiders' before. Some clung to one another as we passed by. We took a left, noting that it was difficult to read the sign on 'our' street because there were no street lights at all.
It was quiet...too quiet.
This place didn't seem right. We rode by streets whose entrances were marked only as "Unit 3" or "Unit 7", and though some people were strolling down the streets in the dusk, no one offered a hello...even when prompted by our own greeting to them.
Just when we were convinced we were in the wrong place, we saw the RV Park. A stiff-looking woman dressed in crisp clothing, topped with a grey beehive of hair appeared from behind the office and took us inside. Jo tried asking about the area while she wrote up a receipt for our $10 campsite, but she'd only answer with vague bits of information.
"So, does this pamphlet give information about the Fort Clark Springs area?" Jo asked, holding up a glossy brochure full of misspellings.
"Well, it's got some pictures in it," was her reply. She gave Jo a long form and instructed her to fill out all personal information. Jo apprehensively did so, abbreviating when possible. The woman reviewed the information, and demanded complete information where she'd abbreviated. Due to the woman's demeanor, Jo filled in the rest of the information with fabrications, and slid a ten dollar bill across the desk. Jo looked at Shawne, who was inspecting the postings on a bulletin board.
SLAM!!! Her hand hit the top of the stapler, disrupting the stillness of the office, and we both jumped.
SLAM!!! Again, we both jumped. She handed us a handwritten receipt stapled to the camping permit and stood up, signaling that our conversation was over. She told us that the camping area was back down the road, and said there would be a sign stating 'Wilderness Camping Area'. She casually mentioned that there were only cold-water showers as she backed us out of the door. Outside, the bristly woman disappeared into the darkness around the side of the clubhouse (which we were clearly forbidden to use). We stood in the parking lot, convinced we'd wandered into a cultish compound of some sort. Shawne said the bulletin board inside said there were warning sirens. One blast is a "test", it explained, two short blasts repeated means "fire", and three blasts means "attack". Confused, we headed toward camp.
We found the camping area, and the restrooms. The restrooms were corrugated steel rooms with no doors. The shower stalls started about one foot off the ground, and there was simple plumbing. A shower head was stuck on the end of an exposed pipe, and a single valve turned the cold water on or off.
We followed the woman's directions to the restaurant. Over the bridge, we took a left on Pecan Road (we read the sign with our headlights). It was a small path, and was not wide enough to comfortably ride side by side. It was mostly dirt with occasional patches of blotchy asphalt. The "road" wound through the woods, and seemed like it was designed more for golf carts. We came around a bend to find several large homes. A woman yelled as we passed by, but her words were indecipherable. Soon, we disappeared into the black shadows of trees again. Suddenly there was a stop sign on the path at a miniature intersection. This truly was an odd town, and we were feeling more uncomfortable by the minute.
We saw the restaurant and headed left at the Y, over a footbridge, and parked. The restaurant was large and open, and there was a Mexican buffet for dinner. There were tables of men dressed in camouflage, and we learned that hunting season opens this weekend. We'd seen hundreds of deer since coming into the Fort, and we wondered if these men hunted here, or somewhere nearby.
Quite pleased with the meal, we nervously followed the unlit path back to our campsite while deer stared at us from all sides. The deer must have been a nicety many years ago, but there are so many now, we assume they've become a nuisance.
As we built a fire, we discussed Alpine, Texas, again. We talked about how great it would be if we could convince our families to move there with us.
We're wearing our earplugs tonight because we're afraid the deer will keep us up all night. Before falling asleep, we decided that the next time we find a normal place to camp, we're taking a few days off to rest and relax.

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