Texas Hill Country To The Border

After the unexpected tour of the Lyndon Johnson ranch we arrived in Fredericksburg around noon on Sunday and we were not impressed. It was our fault partly. A sunny Sunday in the holiday season and the sidewalks were packed? Amazing! It looked like Duval Street during Fantasy Fest (except everyone looked respectably dressed) and it was clear taking. Rusty stroll and window shopping was not going to be relaxing and enjoyable. I hope the good people found their stocking stuffers.

I had been looking forward to Fredericksburg as an unusual outpost of Germanic culture but what I found was a four lane highway driving through downtown with all the intimacy of a freeway. Sidewalks crowded and fast cars pushed us to get on with it.

I think Layne nailed it when she said we need to come back in Spring for wildflowers which are said to be astonishing, or Fall after schools get busy and devote some time to the area. Part of this journey is exploration and we are taking notes on places we want to see next time around.

I was surprised by a couple of things about the bits we did see of Hill Country, and that was the total absence of billboards on the highways, no neon advertising and not much of anything between towns. Someone has been taking care of the tourist attractions here because the roads are broad and smooth and the towns are focused on local business and local stores. Clearly this is a valued attraction for Texans and I felt lucky to get a small look in on the place.

Outside Fredericksburg we were driving southwest to a distant point on the Rio Grande about three hours away. I don't know if the countryside was technically desert because there are tons of scrubby little trees that look like live oaks to my mediterranean mind. Without doubt it was deserted.

Texas is not a popular RV destination for people looking for deserted boondocks, informal camping on broad swathes of public land, minimal impact no facilities, open skies and all that back to the wilderness stuff. There is no Bureau of Land Management land in Texas and National Forests are sparse and small so most of the time the highways through all this open space look like fenced in luge tracks, we were in a sled sliding past a whole lot of nothing but unable to get off the road. Until we could.

It was where Interstate 10 crossed our highway and there we found an old roadside stop that had seen better days. Not too scenic but it was unfenced which worked for us, and for Rusty.

I don't know when Texas last saw regular gas at $1:45 but this place looked like it had been shut down for a while. I don't suppose the arrival of the freeway helped.

Layne heated our savory kolache buns from Austin while Rusty wandered around being a dog. We had a decent Verizon signal much to our surprise so we weren't as lost as we felt. That changed.

The road went on and on shedding miles and cell phone strength as we went. The gas gauge said we had 109 miles of gas but Del Rio was 139 miles away. The numbers did not add up. "Well," I said, "We are bound to find a gas station somewhere." Layne stayed silent. The little blue dot kept tracking our progress and I was reminded we had paper charts in the attic, a shelf above our heads.

We did find gas eventually at a highway intersection. We stopped and looked. "That's going to be horribly expensive," I said. It was a run down convenience store surrounded by All Terrain Vehicles and men grouped in camouflage hunting clothes  looking very butch. In my own head I could see myself showing up in great big box with my goofy accent, a pansy mask and a dog more at home in a salon than out tearing out the throat of a wild boar. "I'll bet that place is full of Omicron Covid," I tried playing my ace. All I could see was me being strung up by my knackers and getting slow smoked for dinner by hunters who had suffered a fruitless hunt. I couldn't see any dead game draped artfully across their machines. "If you're sure we'll find gas," my wife said. Say no more, I put the poofy van in gear and we continued rolling like the pioneers of the wild frontier we fancied ourselves to be, Conestoga prairie schooner catching the wind as we went. Yea-haa!

I found a Shell station when the gauge showed 20 miles to empty. Layne had discovered in Rocksprings, a cell phone oasis, that gas in Del Rio costs $2:56 a gallon. That was fatal. We loaded up with the bare minimum at $3:10 a gallon and set off full of optimism. The road did not get more inhabited. It went on and on like this:

Or this:

Google sent us left when we had no signal so I stopped and pulled out Mr Rand McNally's great paper invention. I flipped the pages and founds on the paper. I made an executive decision. "We are not turning left," I said with authority. Rusty was reluctant to get back aboard the capsule, the life support system in this wilderness.

The fences around here are huge and I couldn't make up my mind if they were to keep deer out or in, or to keep lost Mexican migrants out or what. We drove for miles  and miles alongside  eight foot fences in perfect order. We meet a couple of stags alongside the road with huge racks of antlers and an astonishing turn of speed when they ran alongside us unable to escape across these massive fences. 

It was warm, in the upper 60's windless and very dry, not an unpleasant afternoon but the gauge was dipping again and there was absolutely no sign of a town anywhere. Mathematically we were safe with 80 miles in the tank and thirty miles to go. But still...

I had ants in my pants because we couldn't stop, we had lost the power to decide, the road had no shoulders, no pull outs, no picnic areas, no parks, no scenic overlooks. We rolled along at forty miles an hour staring at nothing at all. This was like sailing when you get caught up in the shape of the waves and the little bubbles on the crest as they pass under the hull, and your mind goes blank. I settled back and let my mind go blank, I put aside the desire fo an empty dirt sidereal to drive up and park for the night here, where there would be nothing but stars.  The impenetrable fences pushed us on, squeezed us like toothpaste out of the tube.

We arrived of course, welcomed to the county seat of Val Verde County by two portapotties in a dusty empty lot. We greeted them like old friends and took advantage to empty our own tank while Rusty welcomed himself back to civilization with a quick tour of not very much. We turned onto Highway 90 and Del Rio made itself known to us, an all American city with cheap gas and every fast food outlet and box store known to any American.

We had bought a hotel room for the night, a Hampton Inn on Hilton points so it was free and thus much cheaper than a night in a full service campground. The showers, laundry and central heat were welcome and a quick check of my Google maps put us 7.7 miles from Ciudad Acuña in Coahuila State. Del Rio seems a world away from the Port of Entry and the whole other world we want to see. That will have to wait till Arizona; family obligations call us west, but north of the Rio Grande.

Into Texas

It felt odd to find ourselves suddenly sliding into the world of strip malls, national box stores and familiar brands brightly illuminated by the afternoon sun in primary colors. Shreveport Louisiana was illuminated by neon. It felt as though we had spent half a lifetime in the back roads and small towns of Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana so to suddenly come upon Panera and Best Buy and bright red fast food signs was a jolt. I know I'm not supposed to, because we all prefer regional variety etc... but I was quite happy to feel like I was back in a familiar corporate world. We did our shopping, vegetables at Whole Foods and other stuff at Target and me wandering Lowe's looking for my cheater bar to change my own wheels in the future... Soon enough we were on our way with a tank full of gas at $2.64 a gallon and expectations of an easy park for the night 45 minutes away.

Highway 79 departs Shreveport in a southwest direction aiming at Austin, the capital of Texas, about eight hours away, coincidentally our approximate target. It's a mixture of two lanes with some four lanes and all of it covered by racing eighteen wheeler trucks that would just as soon run you down as pass you. The speed limit is 70 miles per hour so my choice was go 60 and save gas or go 75 and save my life. As you can see above we arrived safely at the picnic area. 

Rusty liked it as empty as it was. We shared the night with two 18 wheelers whose drivers we never saw, nor did I go looking for them. In the morning with 45 degrees outside none of the three of us snug aboard Gannet 2 wanted to get up, not even Rusty who was curled up alongside my legs snoring happily. I had a plan so I got Rusty outside and we went for a stroll in the picnic area. A few pick ups came and went, one guy walked into the bushes presumably either to go bird watching or to relieve himself discreetly, I wasn't sure as I didn't watch too closely. There was a van across the way and as we walked inexorably closer the driver got out and lumbered toward me. "Can you give me a jump?" he mumbled shyly. What could I say? Bugger gave me a hand when I needed it and as a general rule I'm happy to help anyone out. This guy was huge, and taller than me, dressed comfortably, as it were, and my wife was still snugly in bed back at Gannet 2. I was sure she was ready to greet the day by saying Hi to a shambling stranger first thing. "Sure," I said and went to get my machine. Layne was surprisingly calm and stayed right where she was as her idiot husband shuffled around saving strangers.

I turned Gannet 2 round in a tight three point turn and we set to the business of getting him going. His name was Randy and he lived "about five miles away down by the Sabine." I looked puzzled because he said that as though everyone knew that the Sabine River flowed here. I had heard of the river: actually I'd anchored in Sabine Lake near Port Arthur thirty years ago so I wasn't doubting him. The day before I had simply been following Google's blue line so I had no idea the river was nearby. He told me he was 18 and was a licensed driver  for just the past six weeks. His mom wouldn't let him drive her van and he had to use the old beater as she insisted it was "character forming," as he put it ruefully. At least you aren't in a VW van I said, thinking back to those many long hours I had spent. stuck by the road. I'm not sure he'd ever heard of hippie Volkswagen vans of notorious unreliability so my allusion to my lost youth went right over his head. VWs are cult objects now but I much prefer my Promaster thanks. 

We waited for his battery, which looked brand new, to take a charge off Gannet 2 and he petted Rusty and told me about his rescue pup of uncertain breed that is scared of everything. His step father came into the picture as Randy now wished out loud stepdad had chosen to go to the post office to pick up the mail instead of sending Randy into this uncertain fate. He called his Mom on my phone (his own was discharged naturally) and told her he wanted to come home as the tow truck had said if he left the keys they would deal with the van. It had become obvious to both of us his old Chevy wasn't going to start. He cranked it and the engine turned over but refused to show any sign of firing at all. I told Layne, still in bed, we had a passenger and off we went.

We drove down Highway 79 dodging trucks -"They don't give a shit" my passenger agreed with my assessment of the danger level driving the highway but said his mother took him on a road trip to Houston the day after he passed his driving test and made him drive. How was that I asked, appalled..."A bit rough" he admitted with stoic understatement. Dude I said, I've been driving forty years and these people scare the pants off me. I nearly dropped the van into the ditch as I made another u-turn on the narrow lane in front of his home. Randy pointed to a white structure surrounded by weeds and not much else, "A nice fixer upper," he said wryly. I said nothing about the rainbow flag in a window figuring it wasn't his stepfather or his dog that were flying it. He shambled off and disappeared. In my head I wished him well but wondered about his prospects.

We pressed on with a choice ahead of us. The weather wasn't promising great heat but the rain had apparently passed on south of us. I suggested we stop in just half an hour at Lake Murvaul in a park flagged on the iOverlander app.

The approach road was a bit torn up as advertised and  of facilities there were none except picnic tables and trash cans. We had previously emptied our portapotty in a pit toilet at a nearby boat ramp so we were set for a couple of days of no driving. And we had this place to ourselves! Free, gratis and for nothing. There weren't even any rules posted so we applied the universal rule of common sense. There wasn't even much trash outside the cans. 

As you can imagine Rusty loved it. We walked together for a while and he sat around and watched the birds in the air, the boats on the lake and the sound of the breezes rattling the leaves. 

He gave me a big kiss before we set off for a circuit in the afternoon so I know he really liked this place, as that is how he shows joy. 

Yesterday started out overcast and breezy and cool but we decided it was time Gannet 2 got a proper clean so we declared it a make-and-mend day in the tradition of the Royal Navy and we spent the middle of the day scrubbing and brushing removing dog hairs from every conceivable orifice. We planted the portapotty in the light of day and scrubbed the shower compartment and the mats and so forth. It felt really good.

Layne checked her supplies and discovered Rusty is living high on the hog so we need more food for him. He is adapting to van life even though travel motion itself doesn't seem to agree with him. He loved the freedom of Rosie Jones Park.

Mind you it doesn't take more than two hours to do the deepest clean on 70 square feet. A brush, a vacuum cleaner and some spritzing and rubbing and it's done.

Rusty kept watch for us.

Layne has lined up a couple of harvest hosts, olive oil and cider related  around Austin with the possibility of checking out some barbecue to go. I like Austin from previous visits  but we are still being cautious about indoor dining and being around music crowds so our route is mostly rural for this part of the journey. Personally I'm looking forward to seeing Rusty's reaction to the deserts of the southwest. I'm betting he'll like the open spaces. For now there is no hurry, we're retired.

Induction cooking underway at 60 amps with burritos for dinner I'm told. Happily our batteries hold ten times that and after all the driving we are fully charged. 

I really like van life.

A Break In The Forest

The woods were silent and it was easy to fall asleep inside the van which even to us felt warm despite the 45 degrees outside. Rusty woke in the dark and starting yawning to encourage me to do my duty. 

It was dark outside and cold. Rusty started out keen running down the road between campsites sniffing as we went. 

There came a point where the steam ran out of my dog.  He stopped as though up against an invisible force field. With a wiggle he was out of his collar and trotting back into the darkness. I knew where he was going and followed as swiftly as I could.

He just wanted to sit and watch the sunrise so I pulled out my Pico camp chair and sat alongside him.

Later I figured it was light enough and he would be ready to go for a walk and lo and behold there was a trailhead right behind our spot number 14. We were alone and away from the campground and I could let him off the leash in the national forest.  So I did. 

It didn’t last! He ran up to me and trotted alongside me then he stopped to pretend to sniff and sat in the trail telling me no more sinking ever deeper into these mysterious and scary forests. He’s the master of the mangroves, at home there as anywhere and never afraid.  These woods were not anything Rusty felt at home in, even alongside me. We returned to base and he settled alongside the van on his 30ft tether bought expressly for organized campground use

I took my outdoor camping chair again, put my laptop in my…lap and switched between typing and watching the sunrise with Rusty alongside.  A man with a big black dog came by which set Rusty off, his fur on end his little body arched and ready for anything. Above the staring eyes of our dogs who were more curious than aggressive we chatted.  He was from Michigan retired eleven years so he and his wife spend winters in warmer climes with their camper. We plan to return to Michigan next year after Alaska so we talked about the Upper Peninsula. He had seen the winch on the front of the fan and wondered about it. I explained the last ditch principle of winching the van through mud and sand but he thought the heavy van would winch trees out of the ground so I figured he was not one of life’s optimists, and cut my cloth accordingly.

He mentioned Alaska and bears so I mentioned YouTube and bear spray, in the manner of one has given the problem some thought, but he dismissed my plan as ineffective and recommended  a shot gun. That’s a non starter for a klutz like me, more likely to shoot my foot off than anything else, and a bureaucratic hassle to get through Canada and prohibited in Mexico but I kept my peace. 

He tried to take a political tack but I demurred saying I’m retired and have no interest which is closer to the truth than I might want to admit to people who know me.  Let the next generation fight the battles to keep the country sane while we’re gone. I said we were going to Texas and he started on about Haitians flooding across the border which I find interesting as they had emigrated to South America and got the boot. They’ve been stopped at the border and are not flooding anywhere but I think the subtleties of Haitian history are not of interest to a man who would no more travel outside his country than he could understand the travails of a Haitian struggling to find a life anywhere in an uncaring world. People think I’m crazy for voluntarily planning to travel with time money and a decent vehicle to Chile but have no respect at all for impoverished peasants making the reverse trip out of pure desperation  with no means at their disposal. 

I did not dare mention our desire to go to Mexico a land filled with people waiting to fleece Americans as soon as they enter the country where all Americans are viewed as rich and therefore worthy of robbing.   Of course he may be right and we may end up naked and dead by the side of the road.  But I wasn’t in the mood for a well meaning lecture on the perils of Abroad. So I enjoyed his company. I’d like to think I’m maturing as I’m not inclined to think my opinions matter much compared to the needs of the young and intense!

I know most people traveling in campers see The West as the best possible part of the country, thanks to wide open spaces, millions of acres of public land and lots of boondocking possibilities.  The East Coast is much more populated like Europe perhaps with less public land and so forth but I have to admit I enjoy the variety of landscapes, the historic cities the winding wooded roads.  I wish Rusty had been ready to go further down the trail but there was beauty to enjoy:

I’m pretty sure the little tyke will get more adventurous as he adapts to this life. I remind myself it has taken us time to adapt and we aren’t done learning t(e nuances yet, by a long way. It would be a lot to expect Rusty with all his abandonment baggage to adapt instantly! It’s enough he likes being with us and is enjoying the van though I do wonder if he expects us to “go home” soon.  

I enjoyed the woods, the cool air, the realization that we really aren’t going home. This is home and the road has only just started to unspool. It is an astonishing privilege to be here. 

We are going to spend a week with my sister-in-law in the mountains of North Carolina which my wife pointed out was expected to be 26 degrees by night this weekend. So what? I replied. Then we both collapsed laughing.  I have no idea how is will this will go but you know what? We’ll live.

By the way this campground has the cleanest best smelling pit toilets in the Western World. The whole place is maintained like a park by two old men working in a pick up truck and whom I approached to thank for their work.  I trust they will one day pause to enjoy their Federal pensions from the US Department of Agriculture because they deserve them.  

I like this sitting still lark. I could get used to this.  I may have to.