15.) Insecurities of the God's.....Evasive Maneuvering Options......Commitment to a Joke...

     My run in with the border patrol puts a bitter taste in my mouth as I flee Big Bend National Park. What should be exciting, finishing up my first park and setting out to my next adventure, is now clouded in doubt and resentment. Par for the course really, when I think back over the majority of time I’ve spent in Texas.  
Jesus Christ I’m a cry baby, I think to myself and make a mental note to better attempt not sweating the small stuff. Then I point the Jeep west toward Route 170 along the banks of the Rio Grande. The ghost town of Terlingua shrinks in my rearview and the broken yellow center stripe zips passed my tires in a blur.  Windows come down and the roof slides open as I jam the pedal to the floor.  A pristine blue sky already impossibly wide continues to grow as the canyon narrows. It’s far too beautiful for the resentment to maintain it’s grip and it begins it’s slow decent into obscurity. By the time I pull to the shoulder and park at the abandon little village, it’s barley even a memory.
It looks like a dusty old western town straight out of a movie; probably because that’s precisely what it is. An old movie set built in 1985 for the movie “Uphill All the Way”. I’ve never heard of it or any of the 8 other movies that have shot at this location. Not even the most recent, “Journeyman” which came out in 2000 according to the sign out front.  A dusty path leads me through the center of the village.  All the buildings look authentically dilapidated and with the Rio Grande continuing is ceaseless journey toward the coast just out the back door, the illusion is total.  Everything seems to built right out of the land. Adobe? stucco maybe?  It looks legit until I step through an open doorway.  Most are just storefronts with nothing inside but the bare minimum; the skeleton of a building.  The phrase “Movie Magic” floats through my mind followed quickly by the phrase “or lack there of”.  Most are nondescript buildings that, with little dressing, can be made to serve any purpose.  

Painted white with it’s small arch topped with a cross, the church is the only one that stands out.  Churches are like that a lot.  Stained glass in the windows, ornate steeples to catch the eye, oversized bells to declare it’s presence for miles.  They are desperately begging for your attention.  Like when an insecure frat boy who’s about as exciting as a dial tone gets a big loud truck and cruises around town squealing his tires. Hmmm...Maybe god’s got a baby dick too.  
The thought makes me chuckle to myself but the day dream quickly evaporates when I hear a soft rustling at the side of the path.  A desert lizard of one type or another scurries erratically across the road and disappears into the dry brush. I look at my bare feet stuffed into my crocs and then around at the landscape.  Dry and rocky, perfect for rattlesnakes.  I figure I shouldn’t press my luck so I take a last look around and head toward the Jeep. Being very deliberate with each step to avoid any and all reptile bites another thought surfaces.  If god sends a rattlesnake to poison me because of one little dick joke, it would kinda prove my theory about the churches.

Back in the Jeep, the road begins to climb, hugging the side of this ridge.  Mountain to my immediate right, canyon immediately left. It’s already one of the most beautiful drives I’ve ever taken but when I reach a high point I unconsciously shake my head at the view.  It’s tough to believe it’s real.  It’s tougher still, to believe it’s in Texas. I lean into a heavy wind and stare slack jawed at the blue-green ribbon stretching into the distance.  “It’s a fucking postcard,” says the old man taking in the view next to me.  All I can muster is a single syllable that vaguely sounds like ‘yeah’ as I nod my head.
All along route 170 are bright yellow street signs that say ‘Falling Rocks’ and others with a picture of rocks tumbling down a steep grade.  Some even have a little cartoon car with rocks falling from above  just to really drive the point home.  I’ve seen these signs before in different parts of the country but never have I seen a falling rock or the aftermath of a rock slide.  Until today!  I come around a bend and there it is, a pile of rocks in the road.  Now they don’t cover too much ground and the largest are only about the size of softballs but I’m still forced to swerve out of my lane to make my way around. From now on I will be always vigilant as I 'Watch for Falling Rocks’ just like the signs tell me to.  But what really are my options if I do see any rocks hurtling towards my path?  
I could speed up in hopes of ducking underneath them before they reach the road.  But then I run the risk of losing control and swerving into the canyon. Or misjudging the distance to the rockslide and the acceleration ability of the Jeep resulting in a full bore head-on collision. I could slow down or even stop given enough space, and hope the rocks don't bounce toward me.  This option could also result in crushing, just from above instead of ahead.  None of the choices seem like good ones and I doubt I'd have sufficient reflexes to react anyways.  The point, if there is one, (there isn’t) is that ‘Falling Rocks’ street signs are a waste of money….or maybe the point is that I’m excited because I saw my first rockslide. Doesn’t matter.  
Further up the road is another inspection point.  I’m an old pro by now.  Are you a U.S. citizen? Where you comin’ from? Where ya goin’?
Yes. Big Bend. Guadalupe Mountains.
Have a good one. Then a hand motion toward the road beyond.  
A look at my map shows that the road beyond leads through Marfa, TX.  I’ve heard many stories about the 'Marfa Lights'.  Strange unexplained orbs or circles of light in the desert a few miles outside of town. People claim the sightings date back to the 19th century. Many different colors, sometimes just a flicker in the distance. Other accounts say sometimes they zip back and forth through the darkness.  They have been seen in all seasons and all weather conditions.  It seems the only thing they depend on is darkness and since it’s late morning when I arrive I don’t stick around long.  The town does exude a kind of creepiness intensified by the lack of people.  Pulling into town I see not one person.  I stop at a gas station to use the bathroom but through the windows I can see the place is deserted. Torn to shreds inside.  Entire shelving racks overturned on the floor along with debris from the ceiling thats caving in from above.  The doors are all padlocked, tall weeds grow from cracks in the destroyed sidewalk, and everything inside appears to be covered in a thin dusty film.  This place hasn’t been used in a long time.  I pee in the overgrown lot behind the place convinced that any second now, some sociopathic Stephen King character will materialized and tear my arms off or set me on fire.  I’m quickly back in the Jeep and through the entire town without seeing a single human being. 

Next stop is the Fort Davis Historical Site.  The fort was built in 1854 to help protect mail coaches, emigrants, and other travelers on their way to California on the San Antonio - El Paso road.  It’s a charming little place with restored barracks, officer quarters and other exhibits to wander around and kill an hour or so. A good way to break up a long drive but not terribly exciting.  Things are fairly spread out so you’ll do a lot of walking but whatever you do, don’t bring something to drink with you. They get real mad. If your reaction to them screaming about ‘no drinks allowed’ signs is to continue your sucking on an oversized straw while you stare at them, they get even madder. If you keep looking them in the eye with no change in facial expression until your straw starts making that ‘cups almost empty’ noise, and then keep making that noise for the next 25 to 30 seconds they’ll very nearly lose their shit.  But if you finish with an exaggeratedly refreshing ‘AAAHHH’ and toss your cup in a nearby trash can, they’ll  stomp away from you without a word.  You will have to throw away a perfectly good cup for the sake of a joke but if it’s the big haired old lady with the giant rings and too many necklaces, it’s totally worth it.....

14.) Aquatic Chaffers.....Heavy Artillery......Flawless Logic....

Five bucks to a Mexican in a rowboat gets me across the Rio.  I pass on the offer of horseback rides and choose to walk the mile into Boquillas.  It’s a tiny little border town, dilapidated and run down with as many burros as people, but charming nonetheless.  I grab a Tacate at the open air restaurant in town and strike up a conversation with the waiter.  He says that today is a very big day in town.  First, the government is in town for the ribbon cutting ceremony on a newly built hospital.  This is big news in itself, but my waiter friend is even more excited because the government is also here to present the residents with all the paper work they need to make their home ownership legitimate.  He tells me that everyone in town knows what house and what land belongs to whom, but with this paper work it becomes official.  They can even legally sell their houses if they so choose.  
The whole town turns out for this event.  Theres a covered pavilion with a P.A. system and everyone is waiting for their names to be called, even my waiters wife is somewhere in the crowd.  I walk over to get a closer look at the festivities.  I understand none of it because it’s all in spanish of course, but there’s still an excitement in the air and I’m happy for these people.  It’s an odd juxtaposition, this happy scene next to a number of military jeeps and humvees. There are personnel scattered throughout the crowed as well.  Some in desert camouflage others in head to toe black, complete with bullet proof vests, ski masks stretch from the bridge of the nose to the neck line.  Dark sunglasses obscure the last of exposed skin and finish off the whole covert-ops look that is apparently all the rage this summer south of the border.  All the soldiers, for some reason, are armed…heavily. It’s slightly unsettling to me, but the towns people are all too excited for the presence of soldiers or heavy artillery to dampen the mood.  
     Two young boys, maybe 4 or 5 years old are clinging to the fence that surrounds the pavilion.  I make faces at them and poke their fingers through the fence.  They think this is hilarious and get a little too loud while announcements are still being made over the loud speaker. I laugh with them, then raise an index finger to my lips and move on.  This gets me thinking however.  These kids aren't staring zombified at the screens of iPhones or xboxes, but they’re happy as can be, playing and laughing in the sunshine.  All the adults are excited beyond belief about the prospect of officially owing their homes while people back across the border are complaining about having to wait a week for their Amazon orders.  It’s repulsive the things that we as Americas whine about these days.  The people of Boquillas are wise to it however.  They know theirs is a tourist town and the residents not at the ceremony are out hocking their wares.  Bags, t-shirts, walking sticks, and trinkets of all kinds are for sale pretty much everywhere you look.  I opt for one more beer and then make my way back to the river and my rowboat chauffeur.
The next day I stop to make lunch at Castolon, an old ghost town that has been renovated into a small general store and historic site.  While I’m tossing some eggs and cheap ham slices into the pan on my camp stove, families stroll the grounds around me.  An old man with a hunched posture that suggests a lifetime of manual labor limps over to my table and hold out an ice cream sandwich.  “Here you are young man, I bought it for my wife and she refused to eat it,” he states in explanation as he rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders. I thank him profusely and with wide eyes as I accept the treat as if it were a bar of gold.  “No worries, enjoy!” is all he says as he turns and continues his slow, uneven gait toward a car with an ornery looking woman sitting in the passenger seat.  I shout one more chocolately fudge covered thanks in his direction, without turning around he raises an arm into the air as acknowledgment and climbs into the car.  I’m not usually one for chocolate but it’s cold, and refreshing, and best of all free.  It’s also completely gone even before my eggs are ready. Today’s gonna be a good one.  
After lunch I hike into the Santa Elena Canyon.  I don’t use the word amazing lightly.  If you refer to the ruben you had last week as ‘amazing’ you’ve really left yourself no room for upward mobility…..adjective wise.  But ‘amazing’ is apt in the case of the Santa Elena Canyon. 1500 foot sheer cliffs on either side cut by the Rio Grande over millions of years.  Massive boulders litter the small strip of land between the river and the cliff face.  Along with a few other hikers I marvel at their size and try to imagine what it would be like to witness one break free from high above and slam into the canyon floor with enough force to embed them in place; most likely to remain there long after all us hikers cease to exist.  I am, once again, humbled by nature.  No matter how incredible Man’s next “Big Thing” is, it will never compare to the amazing things the Earth does all on it’s own. 
Venturing deeper into the canyon, I reach the trail’s high point above the river.  I heave a rock out over the abyss and count a full 4 Mississippis before it hits the water.  When it does the splash is epic. KER—SPLOOUSH! Theres an audible pause between the KER and the SPLOOUSH, the sound resonates in my chest as it echoes all around me.  
The sun is beginning to set and as I make my way back toward the trailhead I turn to look back and take it all in.  The low angle of the sun rays project them down the canyon’s length and causes a mist-like phenomenon.  A soft glow that makes it seem as if angels are about to round the last bend in the river to join us here on the small sandy beach at the canyon’s entrance.  It’s quite a sight, and difficult to pull myself away from but it’s getting dark and I need to find a place to bed down for the night. 
Castolon isn’t far so I pull the jeep into the parking lot and find an out of the way spot behind the general store.  I climb into the back and get myself situated to read for a bit before I turn in.  I’m not even a full chapter in when headlights fly into the parking lot, swing around the general store, and come to rest on the jeep essentially blinding me.  I can hear a car door open and shut. “Shit” I think to myself while attempting to squint through the headlights to see what I’m dealing with.  At this moment, more headlights swing around the building from the other direction, behind my jeep, and come to rest on the other vehicle.  It’s the border patrol.  This turn of events is a double edged sword.  While I’m relieved it’s not some sort of Mad Max-like band of desert hooligans hell bent on chopping me into little pieces, dealing with law enforcement officials is only a slight improvement. 
It’s still difficult to see through the headlights so I stand up through the sun roof in the jeep and I can see 2 officers slowly approaching with hands on their sidearms.  “Hey guys, what’s happening?” I ask, in an attempt to avoid being shot at.
“What are you doing back here?” responds the nearest officer.
“Reading,” I answer with a shrug.
“Reading?! What do you mean reading?”  The book is still in my hand so I shake it at him for emphasis while he begins shining his flashlight around the back of the jeep.  What ensues is a Q & A where he’s trying to find something to bust me for and I’m trying to avoid admitting that my plan was to sleep back here.  With my sleeping bag and bed roll laid out in the back, it’s a lost cause.  
“You caused quite a ruckus down at the station.”  “We got a bunch of phone calls about a suspicious vehicle.” “You know how close you are to the border?!”  
“Um….I’m reading. I thought I’d be outta the way back here, that’s all.”  (ProTip: When dealing with any type of government official, the wrong thing to do is to insinuate a gross overreaction on their part.)  He takes my license and insurance card back to his car, in the meantime I make small talk with his partner with hopes of him realizing that I’m no threat and a decent guy; and let me off with some sort of warning.  To no avail.
The first officer comes back with my cards and tells me he’s going to write me a citation for camping outside the designated areas.  My suggestion, “Well how bout I just leave? Then I won’t be camping and you won’t have to waste one of your citations,” is met with blank looks.  
He counters. “If you robbed a bank and we caught you so you gave the money back, that bank wouldn’t be robbed anymore, but you’d still go to jail.” I blink at him dumbly for a moment.  I admit, it’s a valid point. However I believe the difference, in degree of intensity, between that hypothetical and what’s actually happening here should be taken into account.  He still gives me the ticket which proves there is no reasoning with law enforcement no matter how flawless your logic.     So now, I’m the not so proud owner of a $75 ticket AND I have to find somewhere else to spend the night.  I decide to leave the park, my reason being that if I just crash out somewhere else in the park and these guys find me again, they’ll fail to appreciate the humor as much as I do.  Less than a quarter mile down the road, I see a car parked in one of the road side pull-offs just like I had been the previous two nights where I was never hassled.  I shake my head in disbelief while I think, “woulda made a better story if it WAS the Mad Max guys…” 

13.) Racist Anagrams.....Scaredy Asians......Indian Mutiny

     When I return to the jeep, I can see the preparations for the birthday party are well underway.  A decent sized group has already congregated in the little park across the parking lot from the Starlight.  There’s horseshoes, fire pits, and picnic tables. People are unloading firewood from truck beds and carrying in grocery bags full of food.  A chubby girl in a rainbow wig distributes brownies, first to herself, then to a guy in a full length, leather duster jacket, and finally to another young man in tri-point pirate hat.  I overhear the term “magic” used in someones description of said brownies and it solidifies my opinion of the town.  Overwhelmingly positive.  It’s like stepping back in time.  There are no fast food joints, no warehouse sized everything stores, I don’t even think I’ve seen a gas station in town.  The Starlight Theater is still the local hangout, in a town for outcasts and misfits.  On it’s porch, guitars haven’t stopped playing since I arrived.  Residents and visitors alike, drinking and singing. Friendly people out to just have fun living life.  My soft spot for this town continues to grow until I grab a beer on the porch and listen to the conversation taking place in the group next to me.  One of the participants uses the word ‘ginger’, only with the letters in a different order, followed by “they told me not to say it anymore so I told them I won’t be coming back.”  Then he and the guy next to him clinked glasses in a “cheers to that” gesture.  I’m sure the “They” he was referring to were more than pleased at his announcement and I instantly decide that this guy is not from this quaint little town where impromptu parties are thrown in the park while a soundtrack is provided by a porch full of old hippies with guitars whose liquid courage has them singing along with the confidence of the fat lady at the opera.  
Upon my return to Big Bend, I find there are no campsites available with the upcoming week being spring break.  “Busiest week of the year” a ranger tells me proudly.  I was told the same thing a few days ago and didn’t really buy it.  No big deal, I can just sleep in the car outside the park, and with my plan solidified I head back into the Chisos Basin to the Window Trail.  

The Window.  200 foot drop past that ledge.

The ‘Window; refers to the low point in the basin.  What rain does happen to fall here exits the valley via the window.  The trail begins at the campground and descends all the way to the window itself.  Along the way, the trail is sporadically littered with debris from the last significant rain. Tree limbs, bushes, even boulders snake back and forth across the trail, deposited wherever they happen to be when the water levels drop too low.  All is dry now, having not rained for the duration of my visit.  Towards the end of the trail, stairs have been built with flat rocks and cemented in place to form a path, quite a feet of engineering all the way down here.  It’s 3 miles or so to the window itself, solid rock on all sides; and immediately followed by a 200 foot drop to the desert floor.  Nothing remains here long, the force of the water after a considerable storm being too much for anything to hang on.  The power of water is so great that it has smoothed all the rock surfaces to the slick finish of marble.  I get as close to the edge as I am willing which isn’t terribly close. I snap a few pictures, exchange pleasantries with a family that has also made the trek and head back up thinking what a terrifyingly powerful thing water can be.  
Back in the jeep I find a secluded spot on one of the roadside pull-offs and bed down for the night.  With the roof open, laying in the back looking at the night sky I contemplate.  Spending all day wandering around the desert makes you realize how small and insignificant you are in the world as a whole.  Then at night, staring at the starts and a moon so bright it keeps you up, you realize how small and insignificant the earth is in the universe as a whole.  It has a tranquilizing effect and your troubles become less significant and easier to deal with.

      I sleep through the night without a hassle and spend most of the morning reading the in back of the jeep.  Afterwards I head to the Lost Mine Trail.  The story goes that Spanish explores found a rich silver mine near the summit and forced indians to work it. Shortly after, the Indians rebelled, killed the explorers who enslaved them, and sealed the entrance to the mine so it would remain lost forever.  After about 3 miles I reach the top and am rewarded with unbelievable views in every direction.  Unspoiled beauty, thick luscious forest, and valleys as far as the eye can see.  I munch on a snack of mixed nuts and watch blue jays hop in and out of the bushes.  On my way back down an Asian man strikes up a conversation and he mentions that last night was the first night he’s spent in a tent. He’s been doing whats referred to as ‘zone camping’.  Since no sites were available because of spring break, he was forced to chose an area, hike at least a mile from the road, and set up camp there.  He suggests that maybe, since I don’t have a place to stay either I follow him. The previous night he only spent a few hours out there alone before he lost his nerve and retreated to his car.  “Too scary by myself” he says.  I thank him, but tell him that I’ll probably just sleep in my car again.  He warns me that if a ranger finds me sleeping in my car I’ll receive a ticket but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.  I wish him safe travels and head back to the jeep.  The pain in my back seems to be dissipating with the more hiking I do. Hopefully, if I keep it up, the spasms and soreness will be no more.

The following day, after another night spent in the jeep with no hassles I leave the Chisos Basin and head back to the east side of the park and into the Rio Grande Village Campground.  I wander the mile and a half through the nature trail.  It’s both peaceful and gorgeous.  The sun dances across the surface of the Rio Grande and the village of Boquillas, Mexico sits sleepily in the distance.  Further still, the Sierra del Carmen mountain range looms ominously as an idyllic  backdrop and has a calming effect.  The trail has a floating walkway through an eddy of the Rio Grande complete with large schools of fish, turtles, and a blue heron standing motionless in the tall grass.  It’s a fine place to spend the morning but it’s a short trail and quickly I’m moving on.