Circling the U.S. Chapter 68: Sanderson, Texas - The Heart of the Artichoke

If you were to drive through Sanderson, Texas, on the main highway, Route 90, unless you needed to stop for gas or to use the bathroom, you would likely keep going. You might comment on the rundown motel and the boarded up businesses and think, this is a dead town.

Wednesday, January 15 - Friday, January 17, 2020

After arriving at Liz's casita on Wednesday afternoon we went across the street to introduce ourselves to her sister, Rebecca. She was expecting us. We sat and talked for a bit, then she went to her freezer and pulled out some leftovers that we could heat up for our dinner, lasagne and beef strogonoff.

We knew we'd probably be staying for a few days. The weather forecast called for rain and thunderstorms through Friday. Getting struck by lightning in Texas was not how either one of us wanted to die.

Staying in Sanderson wasn't a worry. We had a comfortable place to stay. (Liz had told us we could stay in her Sanderson casita as long as we needed.) We had enough food (not a trivial consideration as Sanderson only had a convenience store and one restaurant, not open for breakfast). And we still had a couple days of cushion for getting to San Antonio in time to meet our children on January 25.

But what would we do with ourselves during that time? What did Sanderson have to offer bicycle tourists like us? After we settled in on Wednesday afternoon we set out on a tour of the town to find out.
The little guest house on the left was our home for three nights.
We walked down the residential street where Liz's house sat. Her house and Rebecca's were both modest homes with small well-kept yards, typical of the neighboring houses. But further along, as we took a right turn and approached the main street along the highway, the neighborhood quickly degraded. Many of the houses desperately wanted a paint job and repairs. Old bicycles, wrecked cars, and trash littered the front and side yards. I thought, "Don't people care?"

We were struck by the number of houses that were not only abandoned but in complete ruins. They had collapsed roofs and trees and shrubs growing inside. These were not fixer-uppers.

The highway was lined with businesses marked by faded signs and boarded up windows. I thought, "This town was once something. There's a story here. I wonder what it is."






Darkness was settling over the town as we approached the convenience store that also served as a gas station and truck stop. We wanted to pick up a couple beers. As we crossed the highway we were accosted by a man who looked to be about our age sitting in a golf cart on the edge of the parking lot. "Are you finding your way around okay?" he asked.

We walked over and struck up a conversation. I said, "There must be a story behind all the closed businesses."

"I've lived here for 62 years," he said. He told us about two tragedies that visited the town during his residency. In 1965 a wall of water came down the canyon in the night and killed 26 people. (http://terrellmuseum.info/flood/) In the 1990s two freight trains collided, killing four people, one of them his father. He said it could just as easily have been him. He worked as an engineer on the freight trains when they had a regular stop in Sanderson.

Ranching and the railroad were the major drivers of the town's success. When the federal government stopped paying subsidies to the ranchers (goats and sheep), ranching went downhill. When the railroad shut down its operation in Sanderson in the 1990s and made Alpine the maintenance stop the town lost another major employer. Since then the town has struggled but it hasn't lost its sense of community. He told us, "If you need anything, ask anyone for Sarah or Jim Davis. We've got your back."

That made two people looking out for us in Sanderson, Texas.

Staying in a new town for several days is like peeling the layers of leaves off an artichoke. Like the first, outer leaves, our initial impression of Sanderson was bitter. Meeting friendly souls like Jim Davis and Rebecaa and learning more about the town's history gave us a sweeter taste.

We would have two more days to keep pulling away layers and get to the heart of the town.

Thursday morning we slept in and I read a book I found in the casita, Where the Red Fern Grows. We had no internet access, the library didn't open until 2:00, and it was too cold and windy, with rain threatening, to go for a walk. We went across the street to see Rebecca and find out what else we could learn about the town.

Rebecca didn't grow up in Sanderson but her family ranch is nearby so she is well-acquainted with the area. She decided to settle here in her retirement about a year ago because, she said, it's affordable and quiet and she loves the wide-open country.


Rebecca is enjoying her retirement in Sanderson, Texas.

Rebecca told us that the problem with abandoned properties is that often they get tied up in trusts and it becomes difficult if not impossible to find out who the owner is and who has the legal ability to make the sale. So the property just sits.

Somewhere else someone told us that there are owners who don't want to sell because they have an emotional attachment to their property. I guess they are akin to people who let stuff accumulate around them. They don't want to get rid of anything because - who knows? - they might need it someday. Maybe that's the way it is for some of these people who have junk engulfing their yards.

In the afternoon we set out for the library, a ten minute walk down the street, so cold and cloudy I expected to see snow flurries scattered by the harsh wind. The library, in a modest building, is open five days a week, from 2 to 6 p.m. It had four computers, two of them occupied. Rob and I were able to use the other two for four hours while locals came in and out, visiting with the librarian. It was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.

Then Rebecca picked us up and we went to dinner at the Ranch House, the only restaurant in town, where they don't have a liquor license and the waitress packs a gun. I ordered the fried catfish with a side salad, Mexican rice, and Texas toast. The fish was tender and moist, the toast thick and buttery. It was all delicious, especially the homemade tartar sauce. I was curious about how the mesquite beef brisket would taste. Rob wouldn't order it but Rebecca did and shared with us. It had a pleasant smokey flavor, if a bit dry. Rob had pork chops.

Later I asked Rob why he didn't want to order the catfish. He said, "I can't stomach eating such an ugly fish."

I said, "It is ugly, But at least it wasn't served with the face attached."

We'd hoped to get back on the road on Friday, but we woke up to rain so we stayed in bed and slept for another couple hours. By then the rain had stopped and the sun was out, but it was too late for us to leave for the 88 mile ride to Comstock. Instead we went for a walk, starting with the streets up the hill, away from the highway.

Set up against the foothills we found the high school football field and track. We saw hiking trails going up the mesa on the edge of town. Then we discovered the affluent part of Sanderson, modest houses that were well-cared for, and further along a town park with a playground and swimming pool. Nearby was the high school. We passed a number of small, simple Protestant churches. Walking along the highway we checked out the local hardware store.

We visited a beautiful memorial garden dedicated to the 26 people who lost their lives in the 1965 flood. I looked at the list of names. "Rob, this is so sad," I said. "So many people have the same last name. Whole families died."

Behind the memorial garden sat the old train station, alone among weeds, no longer in service.
It's natural to compare a town you're visiting with the one you live in. Rob and I were both impressed that this town with obvious economic challenges had a high school track. It took Rob and a group of several other folks over twenty years to convince our relatively affluent town to build one.

The football field sits next to the track.
It's only right that I include a picture of a modest, well-maintained home as a counter balance to the abandoned one featured above. Clearly, there are people living in Sanderson who care very much about their home and community.

When we told Rebecca we might be needing some fuel for our stove she suggested we stop in here. All the lawn art stays outside overnight. Evidently nothing is stolen in Sanderson, Texas. Inside, we made our way past aisles crowded with more lawn and garden decorations and trinkets before coming to the heart of a hardware store, packed with just about everything a small town might need. But no fuel for our stove.


The train station's days are in the past. Amtrak stops in Sanderson, but you have to be out on the track and ready to flag it down.


We saw many of these storm drainage ditches in lieu of sidewalks. We assumed they were put in to mitigate the effects of another major flood.

Traveling by bicycle we don't just pass through towns. Rather, each town we come to is an opportunity to get off our bikes. We'll remember a town not for what might be listed in a travel guide (if the town is listed at all) but for the diner where we had a second breakfast, or the town square where we ate lunch. Or maybe it will be the bridge we crossed, or the cup of tea and delicious pastry in the local coffee shop.

When we park our bikes people aren't shy about asking us about our adventure and we, in turn, aren't shy about asking them about their town. What do you like about living here? What makes your town work?

Sometimes we've been forced to stay in a town longer than we might have chosen, forced by saddle sores, wildfires, headwinds, or rain to stay put for a couple days. We don't choose the town; it's just a random place where we happen to land. But while we're there we peel back the layers of the town, try to find the heart of the town, what makes it a place where people choose to live and work and play.

When we returned from our walk on Friday morning Rebecca's next-door neighbor was outside. We stopped to talk. Jack bought his Sanderson house recently. Although he's of an age to retire, he still runs a business and can do it from his new home. And Rebecca told us someone just bought the house up the street that needs major repairs. He plans to fix it up. People are moving to Sanderson, Texas.



Circling the U.S. Chapter 67: West Texas - The First Half

Thursday, January 9 - Wednesday, January 15, 2020

We didn't play tourist in El Paso; we had business to take care of. Before beginning our trek across the great open expanse of West Texas we needed to make sure our bikes were in good working order. I wanted a new front tire and we thought it would be a good idea to have our chains and my brakes checked. The young mechanic was very helpful, changing my tire, checking my brakes and making adjustments to my rear gear cable at no charge. He told me I needed new front brake pads, but didn't have any in stock and I hadn't thought to bring my spare pair. But he said they'd probably last until San Antonio. I hoped so.

I also got a haircut; we did laundry and stocked up on food. What we saw of El Paso in our brief meanderings did not shout to us for a return visit.

Podium Finish Sport Boutique and Cafe
What a great concept - a bike shop and cafe all in one. After spending money on our bikes, we spent money on lunch. I had a salad with sushi style ahi-ahi and Rob had a chicken wrap. Both our meals had a kick which neither of us tolerates well. We're becoming cautious about what we order in these border town restaurants.

Hayley, our Warm Showers host, is a fascinating and gracious young woman. She comes from Great Britain, but met her American husband while she was living and working in Germany. Her husband is in the military, presently deployed, while Hayley is holding down the home fort in El Paso, working on a degree in nutrition. Coincidentally, she and her husband had a private wedding ceremony on Flagstaff Mountain in Boulder, Colorado, following that up with dinner at the Dushanbe Tea House, our son and his wife's favorite restaurant.



Friday, January 10, we got off to a good start on our 600 mile adventure to San Antonio. With a tail wind pushing us along on flat roads we arrived in Fort Hancock after 54 miles in four hours, just ahead of a massive thunderstorm. 

We passed plowed cotton fields and pecan groves, nothing else of interest.

When we arrived my first thought was the motel had gone out of business, except that Rob had already called ahead and confirmed that they were open. Rob said, "It's a good thing we got here when we did or we might not have gotten a room." We checked in at 1:00, showered and took naps. I slept through the storm. (Given the blue sky, I must have taken this picture as we were leaving the following morning.)
We went across the street to the small diner to see if we could get a salad to supplement our coos-coos and tuna. There were no other customers when we arrived. After consulting the menu, I asked the woman at the cash register, "What is in your side salad?"

She said, "I don't know."

I said, "Could you ask your cook?"

She said something in Spanish to the cook and said, "She doesn't know. She's never made one."

I said, "Well, would you ask her, if we order one, what would she put in it?"

We decided to give the salad a try. It had lettuce, a few shreds of carrots, and several cherry tomatoes.

The sky cleared and the sunset over Fort Hancock was beautiful. When we heard about the damaging winds and tornadoes that blew through parts of Texas we felt really lucky that we hadn't been out in the storm.
Bicyclists often talk about what to do when chased by a dog. One suggestion is to let the dog get close then spray it with your water bottle. I thought about that early on Saturday morning, January 11. 

I didn't even see the dog coming; I heard it. I looked back. It wasn't a big dog, but it still had teeth. I rode all over the road trying to get away from it, heading into the left lane. I needed both hands on my handlebars to stay upright; I didn't have a free one to grab a water bottle. My best strategy was to out ride the dog, hoping he'd lose interest. 

This was actually the second dog that had come after us. The first one went for Rob, not me. 

When we'd started out just ten minutes earlier the temperature was below 30 degrees. Thanks to the dog I wasn't cold for long.

Maybe I am over reacting, but dogs really scare me. I worry about a large dog knocking me off my bike and then tearing into me. Or Rob. We have nothing handy to tackle it with, just our bare hands. In bear country Rob had a cannister of bear spray he kept in his handlebar pack, but now we don't have anything. I think we should buy a pepper spray, but I always forget when we are in a city.

We came to a choice between riding on a country road or on the interstate, which was about six miles shorter. 

"Chances are we won't run into any dogs on the interstate," I said. "What do you think?"

"I agree," said Rob.

We'd made a good choice. The shoulder was smooth and fast. We stayed on the interstate, climbing about a thousand feet, until lunch. Traffic was sparse.



Then we had 24 beautiful miles on a smooth frontage road. West Texas is indeed vast and desolate. With a tail wind and mountains to break up the monotony I was having a tremendously good time. We rode 67 miles to Van Horn where we stayed at a Red Roof Inn on the outskirts of town.

Sunday, January 12, the count was four chasing dogs and one just came out to look. Rob bears the brunt of it. Three of them only went after Rob; I just heard the excitement. We figure that when I ride by I wake them up; then when Rob gets close they're ready for the chase.

Our route often takes us alongside railroad tracks with busy traffic. Sunday two of the engineers blew their whistle at us. Rob, a connoiseur of simple pleasures, loved it. He said it made up for the dogs. 

Early in the morning we passed this house with its enormous array of lawn sculptures.

Rob took this closeup of a larger-than-life armadillo, part of the collection in the picture above. We both wanted badly to see a real one, and people told us they are often seen along the road. Unfortunately all we've been seeing are dead ones. (Every time we pass one we are both reminded of our ill-fated whale watch.)
The Marfa Prada art installation west of Valentine was the perfect place for lunch.





At least five cars stopped and disgorged passengers who took pictures while we were there. Most were traveling to or from Big Bend National Park. This group of young women had just spent the weekend in Marfa. They recommended a coffee shop/bakery on the edge of town. It was closed.
Valentine's sign says pop. 217 but given the number of abandoned buildings it has to be less. Valentine has no services, just loose dogs. But it does have a post office which gets very busy on February 14. Evidently you can mail your mail there and they will stamp it for you and send it out with the Valentine, Texas, postmark.

With a tailwind and only a very gradual uphill grade, we easily covered 75 miles. We'd left I-10 for Route 90, a two-lane highway that would take us all the way to San Antonio. It started out very smooth. Then we crossed a county line and it was rough chip seal. Then we crossed another county line and the road got even worse. We'd been warned. The shoulder was so rough we couldn't even ride in it. Fortunately there was scant traffic so we were comfortable riding in the rightmost wheel track of the cars where it was reasonably smooth. (I should also note that the cyclist who warned us about the rough chip seal in Texas suggested that we double up our handlebar tape. That has helped calm my tingling and numb hands.)

Rob wanted me to take a picture of one of the many ranch entrances where you see nothing but emptiness stretching out forever. There's never a house to be seen. Sometimes we'd see a sign on a dirt road to a ranch 16 or 24 miles away.

We were looking forward to spending time in Marfa, with its reputation as a funky artsy town. Too bad our timing was off.


The tent set up and dinner cooked, we had time to relax at El Cosmico Resort in Marfa, where we could have stayed in a furnished RV, a yurt, a teepee, or a safari tent. We peaked our inside a teepee the next morning. There was a gas fireplace and sofa inside. The safari tents had electric blankets. But we chose the least luxurious option, pitching our own tent, sleeping out in the cold. What sold us on camping here was the availability of a lounge with heat and wifi that was open until late at night.
We'd heard that Marfa is a quirky, artsy town so we planned to spend some time in the morning on Monday, January 13, perusing art galleries and popping into a coffee shop but, alas, everything was closed. Most galleries and shops seemed to only be open on weekends. 

We did find an art gallery open in the Hotel Paisano, but even the restaurant had limited hours.
Rob and I have a marriage based on many agreements. When we travel we often find a luxurious historic hotel where we would like to stay when we return to a town or city. When we come back to Marfa we've agreed that we'll try to stay in the Hotel Paisano; we'll make sure it's on a weekend night.

One of many art galleries in Marfa.
Closed on Monday.



We only had 25 miles to get to Alpine where we had a Warm Showers place to stay. We saw some interesting rock formations along the way, and a long downhill into Alpine. 

Liz, our Warm Showers host, invited us to join her and Shane, her colleague and friend, for dinner. Both are native Texans. Liz grew up in west Texas and Shane is from Houston. They both love the small city feel of Alpine and the wide openness of west Texas. They are also both criminal defense lawyers who spend a lot of time trying to help immigrants. When I told them about the work my friend does in the local jail in New Hampshire helping immigrants they said to send her down here. They need her.

We stayed next door to Liz's main house in this little casita, or guest house. It had everything we needed for a comfortable stay.
Liz and Shane assured us that we would find no sizeable grocery store before Del Rio, at least four days  of riding away, and a few more days if weather kept us in Sanderson. After stocking up on food Tuesday morning, January 14, we headed to Marathon.





I'd heard about the Prada store, but didn't know there was also a Target out in the middle of West Texas.

The ride to Marathon, even though only 31 miles, was not a slam dunk; we had headwinds starting out. Then it got easier and I coasted to the Marathon Motel, leaving Rob behind for the last couple miles. I waited for him at the entrance to the motel and got talking to a woman who told me she and her husband were "work campers." They worked part-time at the motel and, in addition to an hourly wage, camped for free in their RV. They were about our age and chose to spend the winter in Marathon so that they could explore Big Bend, about 80 miles down the road. They'd already gone on two backpacking trips there.

I began to worry when Rob didn't show up and Twila offered to get her pickup truck and go looking for him. And, sure enough, he'd had a flat. Unfortunately after he'd put in a new tube it still wouldn't take air. We got there just in time to rescue him from his frustration.

Twila insisted that we stop by for a beer before setting up our tent in the campground. We enjoyed meeting her husband Mike while we fixed Rob's tire. 

When I was loading Rob's panniers into the back of Twila's truck, I noticed a Bernie bumper sticker. Mike told us their sons were responsible for their transformation from Rush Limbaugh followers to Bernie supporters. After hearing that and thinking about the Bernie supporters we met in Minnesota and California (we didn't see anyone out campaigning for the other candidates), I decided that Bernie is the one to generate enough excitement to beat Trump and deserved my vote in the upcoming New Hampshire primary.

Mike and Twila invited us over later in the evening to watch the Democratic debate, when they plied us with wine, a sweet and spicy snack mix, and ice cream. After the debate it was hard to leave as we found we had much in common. Their next work camping gig is in Wyoming this summer where Mike will be working in a bike shop and Twila in a visitors center. We're hoping they'll come visit us in Boulder.

Mike and Twila are full-time RVers supplementing their retirement by finding temporary part-time work in beautiful places they want to explore. Working at the Maraton Motel and RV Park allows them to spend time hiking in Big Bend National Park and helping bicyclists like us.

As soon as we woke up on Wednesday, January 15, Rob checked his rear tire. It was soft again. We'd have to wait until the sun came up to fix it. Then, just as we were packing up, Mike came along with his standup pump. When we told him about the flat he said, "I'd be happy to fix it for you." 

Rob said, "No, that's okay." 

I said, "That would be wonderful." 

Mike checked the tube and found that the valve was leaking. He fixed it and we were ready to go at 9:00. 

The riding, 55 miles to Sanderson on U.S. 90, went by quickly. The morning sky was beautiful with the sun shining through soft clouds along the horizon over the mountains. We were both enjoying riding through this part of the country, really glad we hadn't rented a car and driven it.


The highway has picnic areas spaced at about 20 mile intervals which we very much appreciated. I'd been checking for signs that say no camping, just in case. We had a long stretch of nothing between Sanderson and Comstock, 88 miles. In case we didn't make it, it was good to know we'd have a back up. Most of the rest areas don't have any signs, or they say you can't stay more than 24 hours and you can't set up a tent. But the fine is only $1 - 200.  



With 10 miles to Sanderson Rob noticed that his tire was soft, again. We pumped it up, hoping it would hold until we arrived at our destination. It did.

Liz, our Alpine Warm Showers host, also owns a house and casita in Sanderson that she lets bicyclists use. We didn't need a key. She said, "It's okay to lock the door when you are inside, but don't lock it when you go out. I don't have a key." 

We sat outside with cups of tea on the back deck of the house and tackled Rob's flat tire. After much searching I found the metal wire that caused the flat. We hoped we were done with Rob's flat tires, but we weren't.

We stayed in Liz's casita during our time in Sanderson which stretched out longer than we would have liked. We had a stretch of 88 miles ahead of us with nothing but open country along the way and bad weather moving in.









Circling the U.S. Chapter 66: Just a Touch of New Mexico


In our youth I'm sure we would have checked New Mexico off our list in two quick days. But the caution, tired muscles, and chronic diseases that come with our elder years made New Mexico a five-day adventure.

Friday, January 3 - Wednesday, January 8, 2020

So much about self-supported bicycle touring is serendipitous. With 90 miles and some hills between Rodeo and Columbus and only a little town with just a convenience store in between, we thought we'd have to take a detour north and ride the interstate to El Paso, not a plan we were looking forward to. But when we checked in to our room in Rodeo, the proprietor mentioned that he'd had a cyclist stay the previous night who was planning to take the rural highway directly east and stay in Hachita, the little town with just a convenience store. Apparently cyclists could stay in the community center. We called the convenience store to confirm. That sounded good enough for us.

Rodeo sits just over the border in New Mexico. The only open business in town was the Mt. Valley Lodge and RV Park. Everything else was boarded up. It was a good thing we'd brought our dinner along.

The proprietor said they didn't have tent camping so we stayed in this tiny cabin that just had a fold-out sofa bed, microwave, and fridge. It was very cozy. There was no bathroom - we had to use the shower and toilet in the laundry room. Not really a bargain for $64, but it was the only game in town. Then when Andrew, a solo cyclist, pulled in, the proprietor gave in and let him set up his tent in one of the RV spots for $20. Frugal me was a little miffed, but it was cold enough that we were glad to be inside. We were doubly glad when we found out that several javelinas visited Andrew during the night. He wound up pitching his tent on top of a picnic table. (I should note that he had food stored in his tent.)
We invited Andrew to stop by our cozy cabin for visit. He'd begun his journey in Florida and was heading west to San Diego. We shared tips on places to stay. He told us there was a Warm Showers host in Columbus who had an incredible setup where he got to sleep in a refurbished school bus. He talked it up so much we decided we needed to check it out. And we found out that we clearly have different ideas of what is the ideal accommodation.

Andrew also raved about riding across West Texas, but when we showed him pictures of where we'd already ridden, he said that maybe West Texas would be more of the same. So we were still on board to rent a car and drive to San Antonio.

When we parted ways the next day, we knew that a tailwind for us would be a headwind for Andrew so we could only wish each other no wind.

After all the hills of the Pacific Coast we were happy for flat riding.

Other than headwinds, no complaints from me about the day. Mountains in the distance, the road mostly to ourselves, cruising along under a giant blue sky with a perfect riding temperature, neither hot nor cold.

Just a little climbing, up and over the Continental Divide.


Without the sign we wouldn't even have known we were crossing the divide. It was pretty cool to think we'd crossed it twice, in the far north and in the far south of the United States.

The headwinds died down on the other side of the divide.

Your tax dollars are working hard. I watched as they cranked up this high-powered camera overlooking our southern border. Not border patrol working here; it was the military.
The Continental Divide National Scenic Trail is fairly new. I took this picture and the following two for my daughter and her boyfriend. They're saving up to through-hike it in a couple years.
Here's to you, Kylee and Matt, the view heading south, with just a few more miles to the Mexican border!

Then again, if you're heading north, cross the road and keep going...

From the top of this rise we could see what looked like a town way off in the distance. Rob thought it was Hachita. I thought it was too close. We still had five miles to go. We were both right. The tiny town actually had suburbs before we arrived at the convenience store and community center.
The Hachita community center had no heat and no shower, but it had a kitchen and we found a futon in the back room that we dragged onto the stage for a cozy night's sleep.
The convenience store in Hachita, New Mexico, has free WiFi (see the sign in the window?) and stays open until 10 p.m. There are old diner booth benches where we could hang out and work, plus a microwave where we could make some tea. We weren't the only ones spending our evening here; a group of Mexican women was also hanging out, visiting with each other. That's Jeff, the owner, in front of the store. He took care of checking us into the Community Center. I got the impression he runs the store as a way to take care of the community, providing a gathering place. I don't think he makes a living running it. We bought packages of bologna and American cheese, Campbell's soup, a dozen eggs, a loaf of bread, and a couple bananas. The bill came to ten dollars. As an interesting aside, last year Jeff rode his mountain bike the entire length of the Continental Divide bike trail. 


Well rested after our night in the Hachita community center, we rode 50 miles on Route 9 to Columbus, New Mexico, on Sunday, January 5. We had no reason to stop anywhere along the way, because there was nothing along the way. The road was in good shape and traffic was sparse. I stopped every five miles to wait for Rob. Every time I stopped I noticed how quiet it was. 

We met a pair of cyclists coming towards us and stopped to chat. They were a couple of young men (younger than us, at least) out for their first tour, having left El Paso the day before. They told us they'd met an older gentlemen just ahead of us who was cycling around the world. We'd already heard about Bill from Andrew and hoped to catch up to him. They also highly recommended the Los Milagros Hotel in Columbus, said that the owner let them use the kitchen to cook their dinner. We were very happy for that piece of information after we checked into our Warm Showers accommodation.

Here is another example of your tax dollars being put to good use. The border patrol keeps busy with all sorts of tricks to catch drug smugglers and people crossing the border in search of a better life. Here they are dragging truck tires across a dirt frontage road. What a boring job. My guess is they use drones to inspect for footprints. (I was tempted to get off my bike and tramp across. But I didn't.)
The riding was fairly easy and by mid-afternoon we arrived at our Warm Showers destination just north of the main residential part of Columbus in an intentional community called the City of the Sun Foundation. Fran's place was without a doubt the most unique Warm Showers accommodation of our journey.


Fran greeted us warmly, and showed us around her place. She had built her own house and has a number of other building projects partially completed with random building materials, old chairs, and other stuff strewn everywhere around the property. If one person's junk is another's treasure, then I imagine that Fran considers herself as wealthy as the Queen of England.


Fran lives here.

Fran was very specific in explaining the idiosyncrasies of how things worked. She showed us the outhouse and asked that we only use it for number two, and to put the toilet paper in the bucket next to the seat. Habit got a hold of me the next morning and I disobeyed orders. There's also a bucket with dirt, so I poured some of that in to cover up my misbehavior.


She also asked that we pee in a random location outside and drop the toilet paper in the fire pit. The shower was a community shower a couple blocks down the street. (It was actually very nice and mostly clean.)


The community showers and laundry
We were to put a dollar in the box for each shower. I should note that none of this was mentioned in Fran's profile on the Warm Showers website. She just checked "private room & shared bath." We were a little taken aback.
We had several sleeping options, the converted school bus being the one we chose since it provided the most shelter for the cold night. The tires on the right lead to a ladder that provides access to the roof of the bus. The brown metal container in the lower right corner is the fire pit, also where I deposited my toilet paper after I peed. It was pretty full; no need for newspaper to start the next campfire.
The bus had no heat, no electricity, no sink or running water. The running water was an outside hose. There was a wood stove set up inside the bus on a wooden floor. Fran told us that no building codes are enforced in her community. How would you feel about starting a fire in that wood stove? The bed on the bus was comfortable enough, with blankets but no sheets. We slept in our sleeping bags and tried to stay warm.

The bed on the bus was very cozy.
The rest of the bus was a little too cozy for two with all our gear.

This ladder leads to the roof of the bus where we could bring a chair and sit in the sun during the day or watch the sunset or the stars at night. But it was too cold for that and, besides, we weren't staying. Fran's place was just a tad too rustic for us.

These are a couple of Fran's many ongoing projects. The dome on the left was one of our sleeping options. The roof is open to the sky and people have left feedback about how much they enjoy sleeping under the stars. There is a bed inside and several other pieces of furniture. The floor, where it exists, is a metal grate. Half of the floor is nothing but air, dropping down about ten feet to the bottom level. When I asked Fran about how safe that was, she pointed to a bar about chest high that would prevent someone from accidentally stepping down to the basement level. Right. The structure on the right is going to be a room to escape the summer heat.

Another of Fran's partially completed projects is a wall, made from glass bottles, to serve as a windbreak next to an old clawfoot bathtub sitting outside.
Fran let us know that we could use her kitchen if necessary, but we had nothing to cook and opted for an early dinner at the only restaurant in town that was open. While in town, we checked out the two other lodging options and booked a room for the following night at the Los Milagros Hotel. 

When we returned from dinner, Fran chatted with us a bit but didn't invite us in for a visit. It was still pretty early but getting dark. We had nothing to do but go to our cold school bus and crawl into our sleeping bags for an evening of reading. 
One of Fran's neighbors has built this tinker town structure. Fran didn't believe anyone lives there. It's an interesting community. I think they have a lot in common with the Free Staters moving to New Hampshire.

By this time we'd become obsessed with the wind forecast. We had over 80 miles of riding to El Paso with no place to stop. We knew we couldn't make that in one day if a headwind slowed us to eight miles an hour. The weather forecast predicted an eastern wind for the next two days. Then it would be coming from the west for the foreseeable future. We decided to wait it out. We also decided to bicycle, not drive, to San Antonio. Why not? The wind would help us along.

Monday, January 6, we left Fran's school bus and took ourselves out for breakfast, where we ran into Bill, the 70-year-old cyclist riding around the world. He joined us for a bit, describing his planned route and telling us about his many other adventures. We continue to meet so many cyclists whose travels dwarf ours. Bill was a solitary sole and happy to camp anywhere he could along the side of the highway, so he didn't mind venturing out on the road to El Paso with a headwind. He'd stop whenever he got tired.

After breakfast we went to the library. Like many of the libraries we've visited this year, it had convenient hours and was comfortable and well-equipped with computers. On a lark I sent an email to our local paper in New Hampshire, telling them about our trip. They responded within an hour and the next day a reporter interviewed us. Here's the link to the story: 
https://www.fosters.com/news/20200111/ordinary-seacoast-couple-hoping-to-inspire-compassion-dreams-through-yearlong-us-bike-tour

This charming little hotel would be home for our next two nights in Columbus while we waited for the wind to shift. It had a courtyard in the back and several common rooms inside. The owner had decorated it in a Mexican Victorian style. He always had a variety of snacks and tea available, perfect for hungry cyclists. There were only six rooms. During the week three of them were rented to truck drivers working on the Wall.

There wasn't a whole lot to do in Columbus. After visiting the library we checked into the Los Milagros Hotel, clearly a diamond in the rough. The only grocery store in town didn't have much in the way of anything and we only found one restaurant open which served mediocre Mexican food. But that was all okay. We were happy hanging out at our hotel. Keeping up with this blog takes a lot of time and I am having a lot of fun with it.

We popped into the Columbus history museum where we learned about the March 9, 1916, attack on the community by Mexican outlaws.

After riding around the country and seeing so much of our history defined by men, with women mentioned only as  "madams" or "soiled doves," it was really nice to see this.


On Tuesday, January 7, we bicycled three miles to the Mexican border and walked to Palomas for lunch. The town is filled with dental offices. People travel from all over the United States and cross the border for low-cost dental care. One of the women in the Columbus visitors center said she retired to Columbus so that she could easily go to Mexico for dental care. And we're building a wall? Something here doesn't make sense.

Everyone talked about The Pink Store as the place to go for lunch in Palomas so we had to check it out. It is filled with everything Mexican for sale. I love all the colors. The food was okay.

On 
Wednesday, January 8, we set out to cover the 84 miles to El Paso, Texas.
The Wall, being built before our very eyes.


With a slight headwind, mostly flat terrain, and nothing along the way to distract us we arrived in Texas and our Warm Showers accommodation after 9 1/2 hours.