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flash bulbs are startling. The thunderous applause is deafening. Why such a Media Circus
to see me off on my weekend motorcycle trip? I’ve been to the Texas Hill Country,
land of the Apache, land of the Comanche and the Kiowa, and no one noticed that I was
gone. There’s been only minimal interest among friends of my previous motorcycle
excursions. Why such an interest in my adventures now? Maybe, just maybe it’s that
for the first time, Vicki and I are taking separate vacations.
This year, the 4th
of July, Independence Day, falls mid-week on a Wednesday. Vicki is taking advantage of the
holiday, combined with two days of vacation, to visit relatives in Tennessee and
Mississippi. She left early Friday morning, taking the youngest daughter Kristin, to see
family members that were unable to attend Kristin’s recent high school graduation.
While they are away, I’ll take a quick trip to San Antonio, using my hotel as home
base, for a few days riding the scenic back roads of the Texas Hill Country Area.
I packed most of my
things and loaded them on the motorcycle last night, planning an early get away. Now,
I’m in that half awake, dream-like state, anticipating the sound of the alarm, so I
can heave myself out of bed and get rolling at first light. First lights…
First lightning…
LIGHTNING! AND THUNDER! That’s not the newspaper outside my window; it’s about
to storm! Great! Pop goes my early morning dream of stardom.
I hop out of bed, flick
on the television and after showering, I stuff my toiletries into a plastic bag and into
my black duffel bag. The Weather Channel shows a line of thunderstorms heading into Fort
Worth from the north. I live near DFW airport and under the traffic pattern of arriving
and departing airliners. My general rule is that as long as jets are still taking off and
landing, thunderstorms are not an immediate danger to my neighborhood. Rolling from the
garage and out onto the street, I can see and hear that the airport traffic pattern is
starting to change. I hustle through the residential streets and up onto the freeway,
hopeful I can out-race the storm south and not get wet.
Thirty miles south of
Fort Worth on Interstate 35, I wheel into a rest area to rearrange my packing job. In my
haste to beat the storm out of town, I’m not faithful that I truly secured the load
to the bike. I ease my mind that four days clothing in a small black duffel bag is bungee
corded to the rear seat. A small Igloo Playmate cooler and a camera tripod are strapped to
the luggage rack also using factory fresh bungee cords. Satisfied, grin on my face, I pull
back onto I-35 heading for my first turn off, State 1431, just north of Austin.
Twenty more miles down
the road, I feel a huge "Pop" and instant pain in my lower left back. First
thought flashing through my mind… Road Rage! I’ve Been Shot! I quickly pull to
the left and aim (no pun intended) for the shoulder. With my left hand, I reach back,
under my leather jacket, expecting to find a bloody hole in my ribs. I feel no hole.
Holding my hand up to my face, I see no blood. Then what the hell was that? From the
corner of my eye, I see a black duffle doing an "Exit…Stage Right!"
Quickly, I switch hands on the bars and I reach back to the right for my departing bag. I
touch it! But that was all I could do. Bobbing my head from side to side and scanning my
mirrors I can see my bag imitating an Air Hockey puck, rapidly ricocheting off three
different cars. A fourth car tags the bag dead center with its oil pan area. I made it to
the shoulder and as I’m dismounting, I hear the bag scraping by me on the pavement,
spewing blue jeans, socks and bright white Fruit of The Loom briefs along the inside lane
divider of I-35.
It must look as though
I’m practicing my Country and Western Line Dancing the way I’m skipping in and
out of Interstate traffic to recover my laundry. The new pair of jeans, all my socks,
underwear, and most of my t-shirts are shredded into grease rags. My new BMWRT.com
t-shirt, still in it’s mailing package, is miraculously unscathed. Scooping up all my
damaged goods, I roll them up in one of the legs of the jeans, roll that into the remains
of the duffel, and strap it back on the bike seat. I find the source of my gun shot wound,
now just a huge red whelp. A bungee cord broke. It didn’t break where one would
normally think a bungee would break, the elastic didn’t break, the wire hook snapped.
A 24hr. Walmart store in Waco sells me new clothing and erases all thoughts of a jinxed
ride and a sad return home.
Long distance riders look
to the Iron Butt website for hints and tips on traveling. One tip states that you should
refrain from making changes to your bike or routine just before a long ride, lest
Murphy’s law will soon apply to your trip. I will avow that the list must include new
bungee cords! I wonder if it includes new socks and undies. I’ll keep a wary eye open
to keep wayward Fruit of The Looms from scuttling any future fun.
Good grief! A stop for
McBreakfast in Waco is the fourth stop in two hours. I’ll never make any headway at
this pace. Though I have five free days to play with, I’ve been to Waco many times;
it’s the Hill Country I don’t often get to see. I want to be there now!
North of Austin, near
Round Rock, it’s time to exit I-35 and head due west on State 1431 to Marble Falls.
1431 is the closest Hill Country scenic drive to my home, is one of my favorites and thus
have ridden it on several occasions. As I get closer to Marble Falls, I see the urban
sprawl from Austin is affecting this area. Several new housing additions are appearing.
The sad part is that with new development comes new infrastructure. As you approach Marble
Falls, someone is rebuilding 1431. It looks as though increased Sight Lines are the goal,
because hills are being lowered and curves widened or straightened. Someday it may make
for faster sweepers but for now it’s making this "Old School" guy just a
little sad. A quick cheer up is for lunch. I stop at the famous Bluebonnet Café in Marble
Falls. I’ll have the national lunch of Texas if you please…Chicken Fried Steak
and Tea. When in Texas do as the Texans do and just say "tea" for iced tea. We
only know one kind.
I hate it when the
television weather experts hit the nail on the head with their predictions of rain. The
week before my Hill Country ride, the Weather Channel talked of an abnormal low pressure
system coming in from the East across the U.S. and bringing showers in, to linger in Texas
throughout the weekend. I’ve been dodging isolated storms all afternoon since leaving
the Bluebonnet Café. I have my rain suit, but this is not a cooling rain and the suit is
making me sweat and I’m getting damp, whether I have the suit on or not. Between
showers, I’m becoming a quick-change artist, jumping in and out of that sauna suit. A
few times the rain has become heavy and I’m being forced to duck into a roadside park
and under the picnic table cover to either wait it out or jump into the rain suit again.
While waiting this
downpour out, I check a roadside historical maker near my improvised shelter. The Texas
Hill Country Area, now a tourist destination full of river recreation resorts, dude
ranches, church and youth camps, and scenic drives was once a very dangerous place to
live. I’m staying nice and dry on the site of the 1881 McLauren Indian raid. Two
Mclaurens were killed in the last recorded Indian raid in the Frio Canyon. Texas soldiers
from Fort Clark followed the Apaches into Mexico and killed all but two. Another area, now
a Girl Scout Camp, was the site of a major battle between Apaches and Spanish soldiers in
1790. Yet, another site I saw was twice as dangerous. In 1720, Apaches twice attacked
Spanish soldiers in three-day battles. On the same site, over 100 years later, in 1842,
100 Comanches attacked a combination of 40 Texas Ranger and civilians. The Rangers
prevailed and the battle made several of them famous.
I’ve ridden over 300
miles today, exploring in the rain, and as the day winds down, I still have about 70 miles
yet to cover to reach my hotel reservation in San Antonio. I will sleep well tonight
knowing the Texas Rangers make the area safe for a 21st century motorcycle
traveler.
The first day of riding
is eventful and has worn me down. I pull into the hotel, as the sun is also giving up for
the day. As if to continue along with the day’s weird events, I get to the room and
the electronic key doesn’t work and I’ve already unpacked the bike and stacked
my stuff in front of the door. Not wanting to leave my things out on the sidewalk,
I’m sure I look pretty silly packing everything back on the bike and riding back
around to the front desk to get another key. The desk clerk puts the plastic key into a
machine and resets my room number assuring me that it’s right this time. Not to be a
fool a second time, the bike remains packed while try the door. Yeah! The key gives me the
green light and allows me into my home for the next four nights. On a good note,
housekeeping left the air conditioner on high when they made the room. Things, even small
things are looking up!
I feel lucky to have a
nice place to stay. My procrastination, and waiting for Vicki to decide on her trip,
almost found me a booked up San Antonio. I spent a long frustrating time on the Internet
finding a non-smoking room that didn’t have it’s rate jacked fifty dollars for
the holiday weekend. The Red Roof Inns Airport location made room for me and on an
Internet Special to boot. Airport Location? Hmmm…
I find that my fears of
low flying airplanes keeping me up at night are unjustified because the Inn must have some
kind of soundproofing. Even the people upstairs don’t bother me as with some other
hotels.
Tonight I’ve decided
to have my meal the fast food way and ride a couple of blocks to the Taco Cabana. I pick
the sour cream chicken enchiladas and a frozen margarita. I know. I shouldn’t have
the drink and ride the bike, but this time I break the rules, having one. While at the
Cabana, I try to reflect on the day, hoping I can remember enough for a story and to see
if anyone will read it. I know it’s going to be hard. I fully intend to keep a log of
my ride these next four days, but it’s been raining so much I thought it would melt
and I’ve blown the diary off. I am often amazed at some rider’s ability to put
so much detail into their ride stories and I want to try my hand at it for this trip.
Sunday morning I awaken
to the alarm so I can get an early assault in those Hill Country roads. I left the air
blowing full blast all night and now it’s cold in my room. Heading to the parking lot
to uncover and unlock the bike, I discover it’s unusually cool for Texas in July.
It’s rained during the night and left the air temperature in the sixties. Very
unusual for Texas in July! I think I’ll take my jacket along again with my rain suit
to enjoy this coolness. Inside the room, I have the Weather Channel on again and it’s
warning of scattered showers today also. I never can remember which is more likely to
produce rain; isolated showers or scattered. I think they should skip the double talk and
tell me whether I’m going to get wet or not.
I should take notes on
the wording in weather reports. I’m either getting isolated or scattered on fairly
often and keep my rain suit on almost constantly. For the next two days, I don’t have
much story to tell. It’s raining too much to keep notes. It’s also raining too
much to take pictures. I have my EOS Rebel with me and don’t want to get it wet. I
should’ve picked up one of the waterproof one-use cameras at the Wal-mart that I used
to re-supply my clothes.
I just ride, refuel, and
eat for the next couple of days. I pick a road and follow it until it starts sprinkling
and I turn around and head in another direction. This is not a very successful plan for
dodging rain showers but I surely did find some interesting back roads. Some of them are
great motorcycling, curvy roads. Some start out as great curvy roads with high-speed
sweepers and without warning, turn into dirt roads. I guess it would help to look at a
Hill Country map or either be a local.
I’m riding one of
the dry sections when I come upon a T-intersection clogged with emergency vehicles. A
Texas State Trooper and a County Sheriff are flagging me down. I’ll have to wait here
for a time while they clean up a bad traffic accident. Someone, attempting to turn across
oncoming traffic at this T-intersection, changed his or her mind halfway through the
maneuver. They managed to head-on an oncoming 1-ton pickup truck, wiping out the front and
left side of their own car. The crash tore the drivers side wheels off the front wheel
drive car and sprayed the road with brake fluid and transmission oil. As cars are starting
to stack up behind me the sun pops from behind a cloud and it’s starting to get hot
sitting in the middle of the road. The trooper that flagged me down asked if anyone would
like to turn around and head back the other way. A few cars take the offer and we wiggle
to the grass to let them by. In about thirty minutes, the road is clear and I’m on my
way, saying a little prayer for the people carried away from the scene by ambulance.
I look to the rear while
making it through the scene, and notice a very dark cloud approaching. The delay at the
accident site has given time for another storm to catch me. I don’t have my rain suit
on and can’t pull over to put it on. The road I pick to try to outrun the storm has
no pull off area. It’s just pavement, then drop off. I’ve got the windscreen
full up, trying to protect myself and it’s working pretty good, with just the outer
edges of my arms and legs getting wet. Then the bottom drops out of the storm and it
really gets nasty. Heavy rain is making it hard to see and a strong wind has come up,
blowing me all over the road. I’m getting soaked! I finally find a scenic overlook
area with a parking lot and a covered picnic table and pull the bike under the cover. I
not going to get any wetter so I pull off my wet clothes and hang them in the framework of
the table cover and put on just my dry rain suit. The rain suit blocks the chilly wind and
feels pretty comfortable and toasty. While waiting for the rain to stop, I’ll give my
clothes a chance to dry in the breeze and I’ll take a nap on the table. Unaware of
the time lapse, I’m awakened three hours later by an elderly couple visiting the
scenic lookout. The older gentleman tells me that most of the road has been dry for about
half an hour and farther down the hill, the puddles are almost gone. Nice old guy even
talks "motor-cicles" for a few moments before wandering down to the canyon
overlook platform. While the couple are down at the lookout, I put my dry but cool clothes
back on and head down the hill.
Other than dodging rain
showers, the soaking and the nap are the only events in my ride for the next two days.
Back to ride, eat, repeat for the next two days.
One quick mention of
eating. In the first three days, I’ve eaten at four places that have Mom in the name.
Mamma’s Café, Mamma’s Kitchen, and Mammacitas’ or something like that. Cut
me and I’ll bleed mamma’s Tex-Mex food.
Day four.
Again, I start with the
alarm and wheel out of the parking lot before the sun rises. The roads are dry this
morning and I’m backtracking the best ones from the last couple of days. This day is
the showing the weather I want year round. The sun will be out, just a few puffy clouds,
and the high is to top out in the low eighties. The first run I make is the River Road
near New Braunfels. This stretch runs along the Guadalupe River and past many, many
waterfront campgrounds usually packed with holiday "Toobers". Inner tubing the
river is the main tourist attraction here, although this holiday the river is
comparatively empty. Running this area would normally would be an exercise in frustration,
due to heavy traffic but I’m guessing the last few rainy days have run everyone off
the water.
From the River Road
it’s just a quick squirt up to Farm Road (FM) 32, popularly known as "Devils
Backbone", that runs from the Wimberly area to the vicinity of Blanco. Touted as
hilly, curvy, scenic road; I’m disappointed with it compared to others in the area.
It’s fun, but just not worth the notoriety, it gets. Next I roll north through
Johnson City, hang a left on FM 1323 and scoot west to Willow City. North of this little
town, is what I think is the best kept secret of the Austin-CenTex area… The Willow
City Loop. The Loop is a private access road for the locals to reach their ranchettes and
is open to the public (with restrictions). The road is very narrow and there is no
shoulder, thus Any traffic is heavy for the loop. There are signs warning travelers not to
stop or park anywhere on the thirteen mile loop, lest you face prosecution. I can
understand why. This is their driveway and it’s so small, any drivers stopping to
gawk at the scenery block their only path to and from their homes. That said, I’ve
never ride the loop fast. I usually do a slow roll and gawk at the scenery myself.
From the Loop,
Fredericksburg, a crowded, minivan-mom, antique/nick-knack kind of place, is just a few
miles south. I wade through the traffic and go back to the east, cut off to the right on
FM 1376 to pay motorcycle homage to; and drink a beer at; the worldly famous Luckenbach
Texas. Since this is Tuesday, there’s not much going on in the mid-day hours. I see
three Harleys, and one Royal Star and a few cars. Jimmy the bartender sells me a Coors
Light, re-supplies the Harley guys with a Bud, then comes outside to play a little bit of
six-string guitar and sing some ballads. The guy’s not bad if you like the
"Cowboy n’ Indian" type stuff. The one he does about fending off arrows and
pulling his pistols, is the one I like the most. The Coors Light is very cold and goes
down quick, so, it’s not long and I’m rolling again.
If you can make it to
Kerrville Texas, you can start my favorite Hill Country circuit. It doesn’t matter
which way it’s run, clockwise or counterwise, it’s wonderful both ways. I like
to run south from Kerrville on State (ST) 16 to Medina, west on FM 337 to Leaky (Lay-kee
by the locals), north on US 83 to ST 39, east on ST 39 back to Kerrville. There’s a
farm road, FM 187, that dissects my loop, is just as wonderful, and I sometimes us it to
"figure-eight" the loop. On this road is a nice State Park, Lost Maples, which
makes this run an excellent fall sight seeing trip. The autumn colors of the tall maples
in and around the park make this area a top of the list for visitors. Also in this area
are some strange sights to see. I often wonder what these farmers grow around here and if
they partake of the harvest. Near Hunt, on FM 1340 one such farmer built a replica of
Stonehenge and two Easter Island idols in one of his fields. In yet another place I find a
fencerow with boots and shoes mounted atop every post. Yet another I found a concrete
block fence with glass bottles, broken at their tops, setting upright on the fence as sort
of a security device. On the other hand, maybe just decoration, I don’t know.
Today I’m in the
middle of my second "figure eight" run and taking a break at a small store on
the intersection of FM 337 and FM 187 near Vanderpool. I have to get my fix of Mountain
Dew and Peanut M&Ms. Taking it easy under a big shade tree I see four
"Squid" on sport bikes whip the corner and pull up near me. Not wanting to be
unfriendly, I wander over to say hello. Three of the guys are in their early twenties, one
is more my age, pushing or in his fifties. All except the older one are in Squid attire.
Shorts, Tees, two with Sandals, one with tennies , complete the uniform of the day. None
have helmets. Rich rides a CBR 600, Mike a Katana 600, Jim a ZRX 1100, and Charles,
Rich’s father in law, an old 500 Interceptor. Of course, all are bragging how
they’ve just taken all the sweepers at 123 mph and wheelied out of most of them.
I’m smiling a lot, for these guys are pretty amusing. I haven’t heard such
boasting since I was a Squid. One thing that really caught my attention was their comment
that they wanted to make a run south through Uvalde down to Eagle Pass on the border. Ah
Ha! A run for the border. Sounds like a Taco Bell commercial. Funny thing is…I want
to go with them. I hope I’m not chastised later for being on a BMW and running with
Squids!
An hour and a half later,
I’m being Squidly and walking across the International Bridge to Mexico. Piedras
Negras is a little border town with a few shops and cantinas prime for Squidly adventures.
Ah to be twenty something again. No worries! No Fear! I have fear though, and I only drink
three beers and cut myself off. I think the Squids cut themselves off at six. We wander
around for a couple of hours, shopping for trinkets and then head back to the bridge. Back
on "our" side, I rapidly Un-Squid myself and peal off to Uvalde, splitting up
with my new friends and work my way back to San Antonio ala the western route. I must
confess now that I actually had fun turning back the clock and being twenty something for
a few hours.
I’ve come to the end
of my last day of touring the Texas Hill Country and I stop for one more TexMex dinner in
San Antonio just as the sun "sinks slowly in the west". I have one more night in
San Antonio and it’s up early for the five-hour ride home. The winding down of the
trip is the part that always makes me blue. I love the vacation ride and I would love to
be able to just ride and be a tourist and not have to work. Nevertheless, that is only a
Lottery dream and I must return to work Thursday. Then again, work pays for play, so
I’ll muddle through work with daydreams of again riding the Hills of Texas.
Yeeha! Stephen
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