After being awoken by the soft tones of Acker Bilk’s clarinet yesterday, this morning’s alarm call was rather more brutal – the 5.30am freight train passing within a few hundred yards of our tents and blowing its horn all through town. If the train driver had to get up early for work he was going to make damn sure everyone else knew it.
Unfortunately though the pre-dawn alert didn’t materialise into the early cycling we’d planned – although it began well enough. We were up and out of the tents while it was still dark (and very cold) and by 7am we cycled back into Marathon for breakfast, opting for the cafe where we’d enjoyed lattes yesterday.
“We really ought to buy Levi’s, cowboy boots and a Stetson to blend in with the locals”.
It seems we weren’t the only ones – even at that early hour there was already a queue – and soon, as so often happens, there seemed to be a never ending line of people wanting to chat with us about our ride. We really ought to buy some Levi’s, cowboy boots and a Stetson to blend in with the locals and perhaps they’d stop talking to us. But then we’d miss out on a big part of the trip – just cycling through and not interacting is not only pointless, it’s also impossible.
We sat eating our posh (and expensive) breakfast (all advocado and yoghurt parfait) chatting to Kevin, who had gone back to university in Austin to study law, but had bunked off a day of lectures to visit Big Bend National Park. Then, just as we were leaving, we met a man who had cycled the TransAm in 2014 the same year Terry and I. We eventually got going just after 9pm, more than three hours after we’d got up. Our early start on the day was completely blown.
Sense prevailed when we eventually tore ourselves out of the warm cafe and into the cold weak sunshine. We’d decided to go off piste today, in order to ride a more direct route to Martha. On the TransAm going AWOL from the Adventure Cycling Association maps was never advisable, but the Southern Tier maps seem to have a few issues (as we’d discovered in Florida) so we were less wary about heading off the page – besides which they really wasn’t any choice.
The official ACA route takes you west via Fort Davis through the Davis Mountains State Park and then up a steep climb past the McDonald Observatory before dropping down to Van Horn. The mountains looked spectacular and the mountain top observatory would be a good stop, although we’d not be there in darkness to enjoy any star-gazing.
“I’m usually resistant to any off-route excursions but agreed wholeheartedly with Terry’s idea of a detour”.
However, taking this route would either have meant riding a 90 mile day, or covering two 45 mile days with no services inbetween. So we’d have to carry enough water supplies to last up to two days, including a steep climb, in temperatures topping the 80s. I’m usually resistant to any off-route excursions but agreed wholeheartedly with Terry’s idea of a detour. In this desert landscape with sparse settlements the upland route just wasn’t feasible, or sensible. The observatory would have to wait for another day – or ideally night.
Besides which we were already being treated to a geological smorgasbord, sedimentary rocks, igneous rocks, this ride had it all and there were some really helpful information boards along the route to help explain what we were seeing.
As we’d deduced yesterday much of this area was once under the sea with mountains formed of limestone reef beds deposited in Cretaceous and Permian Seas about 135 million and 250 million years ago. But there are also much younger volcanic deposits, layers of lava and rocks formed between 25 and 35 million years ago and thrust upward and into the older sedimentary layers. Imagine coming here for your Geology A-level field trip!
In some roadside cuttings you could plainly see the now vertical, shattered bands of limestone with a layer of laval flow above. Several sections of the volcano’s caldera (a crater caused by a collapsed volcano – we are beginning to sound like geologists!) were possible to make out in the distance (especially once they’d been pointed out by the useful info boards!)
Spotting a 24/7 chrome-plated diner in Alpine we stopped for strawberry milkshakes which were far more ice-cream than milk, and really hit the spot. “How do they get the pip out of those cherries they put on top and leave the stalk attached?” asked Terry, giving us something to ponder over during the miles ahead.
Leaving town we then avoided the 118 heading north and instead took the 90 west. Our new route would see us riding a 50 plus mile day to Marfa followed by a 74 mile today to Van Horn tomorrow with some services inbetween. The road was wide, well surfaced and quite quiet, the only downside being that there was no shade – but that’s west Texas for you.
We quickly discovered we weren’t the only ones to dump the ACA maps. In fact we saw more Southern Tier riders today than any other so far, excluding the Pampered Pedalers.
We passed six cyclists heading east, including Ronnie and Jim from Washington State. “You’ve almost made it!” remarked Ronnie as we pulled across the road to say hello. Not quite – we still had more than a thousand miles to go!
We swopped tips on the route and overnights ahead and then pushed on, taking only a very short break for lunch (peanut butter sarnies again) to try keep the time spent riding in the intense heat of the late afternoon to an absolute minimum.
We’d begun the day pushing into a headwind but now the tailwind arrived and we flew. Cycling alongside the railway line we waved at massive trains, hauling freight across the Chihuahaun desert to be rewarded with multiple blasts on their horns. By the time we reached the outskirts of Marfa the wind on our backs was so powerful we were being buffeted along a 21mph, while seemingly putting very little effort into at the pedals.
By the time the train had gone by, we were at the Marfa Lights Observation Station. The Marfa Lights are an unpredictable atmospheric phenomenon akin to the Northern Lights, but over a certain area of the vast Texan plains. They were ‘discovered’ in 1881 by a passing cowboy. “Yeah, right. I don’t suppose the local Indian tribes had ever noticed them?” Terry remarked and we once again reflected on how the Native American experience has almost been wiped off the map in large parts of the States.
The lights, coupled with nearby UFO sightings (Roswell is just 250 miles north from here, a short hop for little green men in a flying saucer) made Marfa a popular place in the hippy 60/70’s … and it still has that Boho feel today … but with money. There are lots of little art galleries, studios down dusty side streets and quirky cafes, all with annoyingly random opening times.
“El Cosmico takes its inspiration from nomads and bohemians living a life of self-determination”.
Marfa’s campsite … El Cosmico … as it’s name suggests … is a bit of a hippy joint and takes its inspiration from nomads and bohemians living a life of self-determination. Dead cool, with teepees, yurts, military canvas tents and colourfully painted airstream caravans to rent.
Sadly on the night we visited there was a wake taking place, which meant an evening of live music had become a memorial service, so after putting up our tents and taking an al fresco shower (and desperately trying not to reveal ourselves to the mourners) we got back in our bikes and cycled out to Mandos, a local Tex-Mex restaurant for a carbo overload of tacos, enchiladas and refried beans.
It’s perfect cycling food, although, after five days continuous riding since Austin, we’ve decided to take the day off tomorrow, intrigued by this curious artististic Texas town plonked in the Chihuahuan Desert.
Today’s miles: 57.84
Miles since Anastasia State Park: 1,876.45
