Yes, Another Hotel...

Riding Day 13

We rolled out of bed at 6am today, intent on getting back on track and finding our flow. We’d been camped in this same spot for two night and had been befriended by the camp feline, a smallish kitty with a beautiful coat and easy purr who would frequent our site when we were there. But during the night we’d heard that blood curdling wail that cats make when things are deadly serious. She didn’t appear this morning, which was strange, because she had seemed to prefer us or our site over all the others. It felt weird and sad to leave not knowing if she was okay…

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Bob was going to drop the OREM off at the Toyota dealership by 8 for repairs, and Odie and I planned to mount Hank around the same time and head toward El Paso, a comparatively short ride of 51 miles. The camp breakdown went smoothly, I had prepped Hank and our paniers the night before, and we all departed the KOA in Las Cruces around 7:30.

Odie and I had to ride about 5 miles to rejoin the route, and other than one busy street near Interstate 10, it was pretty straightforward and in no time at all we were moving south along the New Mexico-Texas border. The first 30 mile were on quiet roads that snaked through endless pecan groves where the trees were so large the branches formed an arch over the road, inducing feelings of tranquility and awe. The few cars that passed us did so with great care, the drivers waving or honking us a greeting. It felt pastoral, elongating time in a good way, and I marveled at how the stereotypes I had about this part of the country were getting upended with each pedal stroke. The navigation was simple, and for the first time in days, I allowed myself to relax and literally enjoy the ride. I checked in with The Bob on our first break around mile 16, and he reported that the OREM was up on the rack and getting worked on. In fact, he said that they were waiting for him when he arrived at the dealership, which was great news.

At the 32-mile mark, Odie and I entered a bike path that paralleled the Rio Grande and would take us into the fringes of El Paso. The river was completely dry, but the path was smooth, wide, and mostly deserted. We stopped after a mile or so to hydrate and have a few snacks, and tried to figure out if we were already in Texas. Two older couples out for a walk were approaching us, and I asked them if we were in Texas yet. One of the men said we were and asked where we’d come from. I said, “San Diego,” which elicited more questions, and soon I had told them the who, how and why of our journey. The wives started taking pictures, and one of the men gave Hank a closer look and started asking questions that only another bicycle rider would ask. Their collective interest was invigorating, and it felt good to be connecting in the way we were. We eventually said our goodbyes, but as they were walking away, one of the wives turned around and started walking back toward us. I thought she was going to give us a hug, but instead asked us if it was okay if she and the others prayed for us. I said, “sure,” because there no such thing as too much positive energy flowing from one person to another. The others walked back to us as well, we all formed a circle, then joined hands, and right there under a yellow sun in a faded blue sky and next to a river run dry, they prayed for us, that we remain safe throughout our journey, that we return home to our loved ones and share our stories…I don’t remember their names, and I’ll most likely never again see them in this lifetime, but what they shared with us for a few brief moments out of all the moments that have ever been and will ever be, was divine.

After the bike path ended, we turned right onto State Route 20, which is a super-busy, 3-lane road without shoulders or bike lanes that runs through central El Paso. It’s hilly and has a stoplight every few blocks, and the drivers who plow though the city on this particular ribbon of tired asphalt don’t take prisoners. What had been a sublime and seductive ride up to this point morphed suddenly into combat riding. My urban riding technical skills have improved dramatically since we departed San Diego, and I needed them all to traverse these last 10 miles. Odie and I were constantly shouting to be heard above the din, and we nailed our starts and sudden stops as we could rarely get through the traffic lights unhindered. Hank’s gears shifted flawlessly, Odie reacted and responded on cue again and again, and I kept us all compressed into an 18” wide line of travel, which was all we were seemingly allowed, even though this route is designated for bicycles. I sighed with relief when the route led us off this demon of a road and onto quieter streets that ran through the University of Texas El Paso campus. We ended the day’s ride at the intersection of Oregon St. & Yandell Rd, which is also where the Holocaust Museum of El Paso is located. Odie and I dismounted, pulled the bike onto the sidewalk, and sat down on a broad wall made of brown stone that ran along the front of the museum. We were tired, and as we sat there collecting ourselves, I could feel myself steeping in the history and human suffering the museum represented.

At this point I called The Bob, and he said he was just leaving the dealership and that the OREM was finished and the warning lights were out. He arrived about 40 minutes later to retrieve us, and we drove to the hotel I had booked for the night. Yes, another hotel with hot showers, indoor plumbing, soft beds and free continental breakfasts. Yes, because once we leave tomorrow and head for Van Horn, TX, we’ll be camping almost every night, with lows in the 30’s projected for several days, no showers and no indoor plumbing…check the map for yourselves, because the real journey is about to begin as we’ll be pedaling across a seemingly endless brown tableau of rolling hills and unanswered questions. Yes, another hotel…