The Cheese Weasels Do Big Bend, Texas

[Banned_imp]

Why do I have Judas Priest's Breaking the Law playing in my head when I look the picture of the "border jumpers"??

[Stichill]

Why do I have Judas Priest's Breaking the Law playing in my head when I look the picture of the "border jumpers"??

[Blockhead_imp]

Why do I have Judas Priest's Breaking the Law playing in my head when I look the picture of the "border jumpers"??

...and I had the skinny dipping scene from ‘Wild Hogs’ in my head when I first saw the river pictures.

Great stuff Stichill!

[RockHop_imp]

Spectacular scenery. Never seen anything like that in Texas. Where's all the cactus? lol

The short answer is ... everywhere. The prickly pear cactus is the state plant and Texas has more species of cacti than any other state. The most variety (around 100 species) is in the Big Bend area. The statuesque and often photographed Saguaro cactus, however, is native to Arizona.

[Stichill]

It was so hard to leave the cool waters of the Rio Grande, but the sun was getting lower in the sky. It was about 5:30pm and and we had to go more than 80 miles to reach our lodgings for the night near Study Butte-Terlingua. More than two hours by GPS (the park speed limit is 45 mph and doing much over 50 mph is likely going to nab you a speeding ticket). And, we needed a fuel / water / caffeine stop and we also wanted to swing by the Santa Elena Canyon Overlook at the southwest end of the park. With sunset coming on by 8:15 pm or so - and anecdotes of donkeys, javelinas, jackrabbits, antelope, and deer roaming the roads after dark - it was time to ride.

Coming up out of the river valley, the temperature climbed to 98 °F / 37 °C. We swung into the park gas station / convenience store at Panther Junction and filled our tanks, hit the head, and slaked our thirst. The temperatures moderated somewhat at the higher elevation, falling to about 85 °F / 29 °C. As we rolled out and turned the bikes west, the sun partly slipped behind a thin layer of clouds, initiating the evening enchantment of the Golden Hour.



So began one of the most serene and pleasant rides of my lifetime. It was a moment when all was simply right with the world: a lovely evening, an open road, a beguiling landscape, a motorcycle, and the time to soak it all in. I decided not to stop for pictures, preferring instead to just live in the moment and enjoy. One of my companions kept a point-and-shoot on a lanyard, so credit him for capturing these scenes.






Dabs of sunlight playing on the jagged slopes...







As we approached Santa Elena Canyon, we could see the gigantic upthrust of the Sierra de Santa Elena, formed at a fault where the layers of rock split and the southern section pushed up over the northern side. I finally pulled over to grab a shot.



I looked back and saw this stately butte that we had just ridden past.



We pulled into the first Santa Elena Canyon Overlook and were stunned at the size of the Sierra de Santa Elena upthrust. It's hard to describe the sheer immensity of the formation. Looking up at it, your eye lingers over the innumerable crags and crevices on its northern face.








Santa Elena Canyon of the Rio Grande. Mexico on the left, U.S. on the right.

Spectacular scenery. Never seen anything like that in Texas. Where's all the cactus? lol

The short answer is ... everywhere. The prickly pear cactus is the state plant and Texas has more species of cacti than any other state. The most variety (around 100 species) is in the Big Bend area. The statuesque and often photographed Saguaro cactus, however, is native to Arizona.

Route from Rio Grande Village to Santa Elena Canyon.

[RockHop_imp]

Great road report and awesome pictures Stichill.

Although taken in March, feel free to post your Langtry windmill in the photo challenge for the official and highly coveted "precognition" award

[Stichill]

Great road report and awesome pictures Stichill.

Although taken in March, feel free to post your Langtry windmill in the photo challenge for the official and highly coveted "precognition" award

Day 3 - Sunday 25 March 2018 - Santa Elena Canyon to Study Butte-Terlingua

We lingered at Santa Elena Canyon, but then the setting sun told us we needed to get back on the road and head to the barn. Fortunately, it was only about a 40 minute ride. We'd be getting in right around or just after dusk.



One thing we didn't realize: 40 minutes to go just 16 miles? What's up with that? Here's what:





The road north was a dirt & gravel road. My GPS didn't catch it, nor did my routing software (Tyre to Travel) nor Google Maps. The road surface was decently passable. It was well-graded, level, rut-free, and solid. However it was a washboard surface just about everywhere. We stopped to consider our options. Heading back the long way looked like this:



We had the fuel, but we didn't have the daylight to go back around. It was a choice between the hazards and hassle of slow speeds on a washboard gravel road in fading daylight, or the hazards of wandering animals in darkness at highway speeds.

I was for pressing onward over gravel. Another guy was game for it as well, yet another was tentative but concerned, and the fourth didn't register an opinion. So, on we rode.

Our most experienced rider went out front to set the pace and pick the lines, with me behind him. I became uncomfortable with the slow riding. I felt like I was at more risk of stalling or dropping the bike. I found that the going was marginally smoother at the extreme left and right, so I picked a line and surged ahead. I was generally running in 2nd around 18-25 mph and on some stretches in 3rd between 25 - 30 mph. The bike felt steady and sure-footed. Its mass propelled it forward despite irregularities that would bump-steer a lighter bike. In some spots the washboard was more pronounced, and I slowed to 12 mph or so to prevent beating the bike to death. Still, the washboard was almost everywhere and the bikes received a pounding.

My companions' headlights were receding in my mirrors, but I was afraid to stop. I wasn't sure of my footing and I started to wonder if the bike would overheat. There was no temperature gauge on the Harley. I'd heard that the computer will shut down the rear cylinder but I didn't want to find out what that was like out here in the darkening desert. So I pressed onward. Eventually, I was riding alone across the empty wasteland. The total distance on gravel was 13 miles, and I was about 5 or 6 miles in. At some point, it made more sense to press on than to turn around, as the distance either way became moot.

I heard the occasional tink! of rocks hitting metal under the bike. My main concern was the oil cooler...if that got punctured it was game over. It is positioned in the worst possible location: right behind the front tire, down low. The fins are exposed and there is no protective mesh.

But the Harley motored on. Riding alone out there, your mind starts to conjure possibilities and contingencies. There was nothing and nobody out here except me. Nothing but me and...outlaws? Banditos? Mountain lions? I didn't want to cross paths with any of them. I thought about what I'd do if a tire blew, a rim cracked, a rock flew up into the belt, or I washed out and dumped the bike, unable to get it back upright by myself. Well, I had plenty of warm clothes. I had plenty of water. And I had food to eat. I could just camp out under the open skies and hope no pumas or bears took an interest in me while I slept. Or, for that matter, rattlesnakes and scorpions. Hopefully, my buddies would come along and I could ride out on the back of one of their bikes. Or, I'd make it through the night and a friendly park ranger would locate me the next day and take me into town to arrange for the bike to be picked up. Or, failing all that, I could just walk to town. 10 miles at 3 miles an hour? I'd be there in a little more than 3 hours.

I shook off these thoughts as premature. I was riding well and the bike was running fine. I started to just relax and enjoy the adventure of it all. Too, I realized that I should press on and try to get through. Then if my buddies didn't show up on the other side, at least I could go into town and organize help to go back and find them. So on I rode.

I crossed some dry river beds, first rolling downgrade and then upgrade on the other side. The only moment of concern regarding bike control was an uphill blind slope. Cresting it, the road suddenly dipped left. I was rolling a little too fast for comfort and I wondered if I had the traction to get the lean angle I needed. I applied rear brake lightly and ran as wide as I dared, making the turn without incident.

Eventually the GPS indicated I was a mile short of asphalt, so I decided it was safe to stop and take a picture to record the moment.



I soon hit the pavement and parked in a small rest area lot. When I got off the bike, I realized I'd had a death-grip on the bars and my shoulders were tense and tight. I walked around and stretched, and looked back up the road for three more headlights.





Within a few minutes, I heard the rumbling of the Harleys before I saw three headlights piercing the dust in the distance. Everybody made it through unscathed. No damage to bikes or riders, but everyone and everything was blanketed in a layer of dust.

As we rode the remaining few miles into town, it became dark. It was very hard to see down the road, and I rode between 35 and 40 mph, keeping an eye out for animals in the road. It was nerve-wracking, and I was glad that we had taken the gravel road rather than deal with three times the miles on the highway in the dark.

We reached our overnight accommodations, Big Bend Resort & Adventures Motel & RV Park. We rolled in a little after 8:30 pm, right after the restaurant closed. There were a couple of bars back in town that might have had some food, but nobody wanted to get back on the bikes. We opted to grab some packaged food at the convenience store before it closed at 9:00 pm. We made a meal of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, baloney and cheese sandwiches, tuna fish on crackers, Vienna sausages, Doritos...and tequila.

[redbirds_imp]

Stichill, what a fine write up. I feel like I'm there with you guys. That road to the canyon was much worse when I drove a rental car on it in 1987; it's been improved much and am glad for your sake as it was mostly baseball sized gravel back then.

[the Ferret]

"My companions' headlights were receding in my mirrors, but I was afraid to stop. I wasn't sure of my footing and I started to wonder if the bike would overheat. There was no temperature gauge on the Harley. I'd heard that the computer will shut down the rear cylinder but I didn't want to find out what that was like out here in the darkening desert. So I pressed onward. Eventually, I was riding alone across the empty wasteland. The total distance on gravel was 13 miles, and I was about 5 or 6 miles in. At some point, it made more sense to press on than to turn around, as the distance either way became moot.

I heard the occasional tink! of rocks hitting metal under the bike. My main concern was the oil cooler...if that got punctured it was game over. It is positioned in the worst possible location: right behind the front tire, down low. The fins are exposed and there is no protective mesh.

But the Harley motored on. Riding alone out there, your mind starts to conjure possibilities and contingencies. There was nothing and nobody out here except me. Nothing but me and...outlaws? Banditos? Mountain lions? I didn't want to cross paths with any of them. I thought about what I'd do if a tire blew, a rim cracked, a rock flew up into the belt, or I washed out and dumped the bike, unable to get it back upright by myself. Well, I had plenty of warm clothes. I had plenty of water. And I had food to eat. I could just camp out under the open skies and hope no pumas or bears took an interest in me while I slept. Or, for that matter, rattlesnakes and scorpions. Hopefully, my buddies would come along and I could ride out on the back of one of their bikes. Or, I'd make it through the night and a friendly park ranger would locate me the next day and take me into town to arrange for the bike to be picked up. Or, failing all that, I could just walk to town. 10 miles at 3 miles an hour? I'd be there in a little more than 3 hours." ...... Stichill

I loved this part. The trepidation of a guy in a strange place, alone, on a strange bike, on a less than ideal road. What could have been a harrowing experience, turned into a great adventure with a happy ending. Love it.

For the record I am a worrier like that. I have a good friend, been on many adventures with him in some really wild places bow hunting & fishing (deer, bear, wild pigs, and javelina). His wife says we make perfect partners. She says, I am always worried that something is going to go wrong, even though most times it doesn't. He is always convinced that everything is fine, even though sometimes it's not.

He doesn't ride motorcycles though, thinks they are dangerous lol.

[Stichill]

"My companions' headlights were receding in my mirrors, but I was afraid to stop. I wasn't sure of my footing and I started to wonder if the bike would overheat. There was no temperature gauge on the Harley. I'd heard that the computer will shut down the rear cylinder but I didn't want to find out what that was like out here in the darkening desert. So I pressed onward. Eventually, I was riding alone across the empty wasteland. The total distance on gravel was 13 miles, and I was about 5 or 6 miles in. At some point, it made more sense to press on than to turn around, as the distance either way became moot.

I heard the occasional tink! of rocks hitting metal under the bike. My main concern was the oil cooler...if that got punctured it was game over. It is positioned in the worst possible location: right behind the front tire, down low. The fins are exposed and there is no protective mesh.

But the Harley motored on. Riding alone out there, your mind starts to conjure possibilities and contingencies. There was nothing and nobody out here except me. Nothing but me and...outlaws? Banditos? Mountain lions? I didn't want to cross paths with any of them. I thought about what I'd do if a tire blew, a rim cracked, a rock flew up into the belt, or I washed out and dumped the bike, unable to get it back upright by myself. Well, I had plenty of warm clothes. I had plenty of water. And I had food to eat. I could just camp out under the open skies and hope no pumas or bears took an interest in me while I slept. Or, for that matter, rattlesnakes and scorpions. Hopefully, my buddies would come along and I could ride out on the back of one of their bikes. Or, I'd make it through the night and a friendly park ranger would locate me the next day and take me into town to arrange for the bike to be picked up. Or, failing all that, I could just walk to town. 10 miles at 3 miles an hour? I'd be there in a little more than 3 hours." ...... Stichill

I loved this part. The trepidation of a guy in a strange place, alone, on a strange bike, on a less than ideal road. What could have been a harrowing experience, turned into a great adventure with a happy ending. Love it.

For the record I am a worrier like that. I have a good friend, been on many adventures with him in some really wild places bow hunting & fishing (deer, bear, wild pigs, and javelina). His wife says we make perfect partners. She says, I am always worried that something is going to go wrong, even though most times it doesn't. He is always convinced that everything is fine, even though sometimes it's not.

He doesn't ride motorcycles though, thinks they are dangerous lol.

Exactly this! As riders, we're inherently willing to subject ourselves to a bit more risk and inconvenience in exchange for the thrill and adventure of the experiences we gain.