DAYS 21-23: 10/10-10/12 Alpine, TX to Sanderson, TX to Comstock, TX to Bracketville, TX

10/10-10/12 Alpine, TX to Sanderson, TX (84 miles); Sanderson, TX to Comstock, TX (89 miles); Comstock, TX to Bracketville, TX (63 miles) –

These 3 days had a similarity to them that is the challenge of West Texas: bumpy chip and seal paving, long stretches between any food or drink services, hot afternoons, and endless nothingness. That meant lots of time for mental gymnastics aka mind games, contemplating life, and what I’ve come to think of as cycling therapy. 

Typical road look for three days

Leaving the cabin in Alpine unlocked as instructed by our host, and as it was when we arrived, was quite foreign to my “lock-the-door” mentality I grew up with. Can I change my mindset or am I programmed for life? 

It was very hot early on that I felt myself perspiring heavily after just 5 miles at 8:20am. The local idea of a “rest area” was pretty basic, but at least offered shade without resorting to lying next to bales of hay. We came to appreciate the few that existed. 

Shade at rest area

In Sanderson, the one restaurant in town was closed, so we ventured to the gas station across the street to buy dinner as well as breakfast and lunch for the next day as there was NOTHING for the next 89 miles until Comstock. 

Like the sign says: Fuel Up and Fill Up. 

We ate an unglamorous dinner in our unglamorous motel room. 

As I often remind Heather, I promised you a life of adventure, not comfort

My white fudge Flipz had melted in my paniers and reset as one huge mono pretzel. 

Mono-pretzel meltdown

My breakfast purchase was a terrible mistake. I went for the chocolate milk because it was 1% and I thought it was healthier than the 2% white milk that Heather bought. As they used to say on TV, “kids, don’t try this at home”. It was gross. (And I’m a guy who ate Frosted Flakes with Coca Cola when I had to wake up for work at 4am for a former job.)

A bad breakfast combo 

For weeks I had loved riding straight east into the rising sun of early morn. Today maybe because I wore contact lenses (for the first time in over a year, remember I had lost my glasses), I saw something additional. While I was squinting, and straining to see oncoming traffic, I struggled to see Heather in the same sun. It hit me that over all these past mornings, it was easy for a driver to accidentally hit us.  When the road is most beautiful it may also be the most dangerous.

Riding in this region, you pass various animal carcasses on the roadside in various stages of rot, having been eaten by insects and birds. Some are right down to the skeleton. They are not cleared away by public services, but instead left for nature of the desert to run its course. Depending if a headwind or tailwind, the stench of the animals either greets you before you see it or follows you after you pass by.  I posted some photos of such to our family chat group and was reproached, so will spare you here. 

Around the 70 mile mark, we faced our toughest headwind to date. It felt like I was making zero progress. Typically I measure progress through a day and set mini goals in multiples of 10 miles. Sometimes on tougher days, that may become measuring progress by single miles. Prior to this trip, that was it. A couple of times thus far in our trip, I actually measured by tenths of a mile. But today I had to do a double take when I found myself measuring forward motion literally by the hundredths. 72.02. 72.03. 72.04. And onward. 

Heather’s comments included: “I’m miserable. I did not sign up for this. I’m not used to huffing and puffing DOWN a hill.” We have learned the condition she hates most are severe headwinds, whereas mine is severe heat. 

The Comstock Motel was clean, safe and as basic as can be. It was also conveniently across the street from Quik Stop, where we bought the next day’s breakfast and lunch, and 100 yards from the only restaurant for dinner. 

Comstock Motel

The sign below in our room didn’t seem applicable to us. 

No need to worry, Heather’s allergic :)

Quick Stop for breakfast and lunch

J and P served up a hearty and tasty dinner. I had been eyeing a Texan specialty on the menu at various places and finally ordered what any Texan might just call a CFS, or in full a chicken fried steak. It is beefsteak, breaded and fried. And has zero chicken, so confusing. Tastes great and certainly a spike to my cholesterol. Definitely add the mushrooms and onions! 

J and P Bar and Grill

J and P “dining” philosophy 

On the ride to Bracketville, we had what is likely the most white-knuckled ride to date. We rode across a bridge over the Amistad Reservoir that ran one lane in each direction, had little shoulder and, here’s the crazy part, the guardrail sits lower than a cyclist, so if you fall that way, you likely go over it. To top it off, the railing was broken and missing for a stretch! The last time, I experienced fear like this was bungee jumping. I was never so nervous on a bridge and fully assumed Heather would walk it. Yet the Rock surprised me and rode across it as well. 

Try being passed by that on this bridge 

She did!

As we entered Del Rio, the air dancer we saw bent to a horizontal position gave an indication of the wind. Unfortunately, blowing against us. 

Air dancer as wind gauge

As I approached Bracketville, Heather had rode ahead to our lodging. I came to a fork where going straight was about a mile to our destination and veering left would add half a mile but take me through town. I opted for town. What a mistake!  After a few minutes, a beautiful rust colored dog gave chase of me. He was on my right, barking and I could not believe how fast he was. I’ve never seen a dog in full gallop. All 4 legs fully extended then turned in, then extended again. I think he was an Irish Setter. He pulled even with me, then even a few feet ahead of me. And then I realized that despite my terror, I admired this dog’s athleticism. And somehow he never left the grass to enter the street. Perhaps he was trained to not enter the street? I surged ahead eventually. Since I realized he could have gotten me if he wanted, I decided to call this one a draw. My record now stood at 3 wins, no losses, 1 tie. A question I was left to ponder was: is this just fun sport for dogs to chase cyclists or do they want to really attack?  (Author’s note: since publishing this, I’ve learned it sadly can be the latter, but will leave that detail for another blog.)

Having chosen one path at the fork instead of the other, it got me thinking about Robert Frost and his famous saying, choosing the path less traveled making all the difference. I bet good old Robert never got chased down by Rusty the galloping Setter!

I got through town only mildly shaken, and treated myself to a recovery shake. When you arrive at a local road stand with the word shake in its very name, it’s almost mandatory to sample. 

Vanilla shake recovery from ride and from Rusty 

Arriving at our lodging, the Fort Clark Springs Motel, I was awestruck by its history. The motel is in the original stone cavalry barracks of the US fort that was in operation for 100 years from 1852 to after World War II. General George Patton was just one of the many leading military figures who served here. 

General George slept here, too

© Copyright Mark Segal 2021.