Tommy,                                                                                                                                You left us way too soon.  There’s a hole in the world where you were.   But know that we who are left behind are not only sad at your passing but rejoice as well.  We celebrate our knowing you.

I will miss you greatly.

In loving memory of my dear friend Tom Streefland.

Ok, so a critical piece of equipment when you own a pop up camper is the crank handle that you use to raise and lower the top of the camper.  This crank fits into a receiver of a winch that is mounted on the tongue.  All through this trip I’ve been a little paranoid about keeping track of this crank handle.

After leaving the Carlsbad area and arriving at my sister’s in Las Cruces, I was going to do a couple of repairs that required opening the camper.  You guessed it, my crank was nowhere.  Well, it was somewhere, probably laying on the ground in or near Brantley Lake campground.   Thinking back, I remembered that I was almost ready to leave, had closed up the camper, and had the crank in my hand, when I received a text.  One that I wanted to answer right away.  I laid the crank on the tongue of the camper. Yup, that’s what I did.

It has been my habit when leaving a campsite to pull out of the site, stop on the road and walk back around the site to make sure nothing was laying under where the truck or camper had been. Unfortunately, the crank did not fall off the tongue when I did this. But of course did fall off sometime later.  Yikes, what a dummy, especially in light of the fact that I had been so aware on this trip of taking care of that crank handle.

First I called the only RV dealer in Las Cruces. He said he didn’t carry anything like that but referred me to a company in Michigan where he would order it from if someone wanted him to.  I looked up the closest Palomino dealer (my camper make), which was in Tucson. Before I called them I did a web search of “palomino camper crank”. A link to both ebay and Amazon popped up. I clicked on the ebay link and sure enough there was a picture of my crank. The source was listed as Fun RV and Boat Center, Anthony, TX.  Folks, Anthony, Texas is right on the Texas/New Mexico border 18 miles from Las Cruces. You can’t make this stuff up.

My web search had brought me back to a mere 18 miles away.  The next day I drove over to Anthony and picked up a new crank.  God looks after fools.

But the other end of this story is kinda cool too. The guy who runs the parts counter at Fun RV is a great young kid who listened patiently to my story with a smile.  He told me he gets lots of calls about cranks.  He also told me that he had started the web based parts service.  He takes classes at New Mexico State in Las Cruces and after taking a class on web marketing pitched the idea to his owner.  He talked to some of his fellow students and his instructor and began to keep track of all the things they would get calls about. He would propose to his boss investing in inventory of various products and selling them on line.  He proudly told me, “We now sell over three times as many parts on line as we do over this counter. And we continue to add more.  I’m kind of a hero around here,” he said.

Great story, great young kid.

If you’ve been to one cave have you been to them all? I don’t know. I remember that I went to Crystal Cave in Spring Valley, Wisconsin with my mom, my aunt, and my sister and cousin. I only remember that it was cold. I was probably 9 or 10.

What I would say to anyone about Carlsbad is that it’s worth the trip. If you’re traveling in the southwest it’s worth the trip to get there, and once there, it’s worth the trip down. Why do I say it’s worth the trip down? Because it’s a workout. And, in my opinion, not for the faint of heart both in the literal and figurative sense. The elevators at Carlsbad have not been functioning since last fall and probably won’t be functioning again until this summer sometime. What that means is handicap people and elderly folks are out of luck. There are areas of the caverns that are handicap accessible if they can get down to the bottom of the cave by elevator. Without the elevators each visitor is faced with a steep 800 foot vertical walk down on a switchback path. And a return trip up the same steep path. As I said, it’s a workout but I’m glad I made the trip because it’s like no place I’ve ever seen and I think that would be true for most.

Trying to take pictures down in the caves was a trick I couldn’t figure out. The lighting that has been developed in the caves to allow and enhance the viewing and enjoyment of this unique place plays all kinds of tricks on your flash. Honestly, I took a lot of pictures in the caves and deleted most of them. Here are a few that “survived” for your amusement.

Lucky for you there are tons of great photos on the web. The place is amazing.

Brantley Reservoir State Park outside Carlsbad, NM.

First light of morning.  Down in the trees is where the campground is.  The building in the distance is called Indian Lodge.

While driving north today I spent most of my time thinking about two things.

I replayed my afternoon at the Cowboy Poetry gathering and I realized something that felt significant to me.  I don’t own a cowboy hat, or boots.  I don’t dress like these folks and come from a completely different environment.  I have a pair of jeans in the bottom of one of my clothes totes that probably won’t see the light of day this whole trip.  I’m living my life in sweatpants.  But I felt completely at home with these people.

Now I did see a couple who looked like they went out and bought whole new outfits from Rodeo Drive (Ro-day-O) or Madison Avenue Western Wear if there is such a place.  There were guys who had the boots, but they were polished and their jeans were creased.  But those were exceptions.  Most of the folks at this event struck me as people who are grounded in ways some can’t even imagine.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think they have the corner on that.  I felt an admiration for them, an affection, performers and attendees alike.

Driving along I felt a certainty that I would be back.  Oh, and I’ll spend more time in the Terlingua Ghost Town too.

Change of gears.

The second part of this post, which started during yesterday’s drive, is still trying to write itself this morning at 5 AM.  So it’s now Monday, but it’s really 6 AM to my body ‘cause I changed time zones.

“Stop judging and evaluating yourself, for this is not your role. Above all, stop comparing yourself with other people. This produces feelings of pride or inferiority; sometimes a mixture of both.”

Makes sense right? These were the opening lines of yesterday’s page in Jesus Calling. The meditation went on to challenge us to not seek affirmation from others, but from Him.  My mental wanderings eventually brought me to; how does this square with our work lives?

Yup, I’m thinking about work, can you believe it?

I spent the greater portion of my work life in management, both on the sales side and on the operations side.  In business, the performance of the individual drives the performance of the team or group, which ultimately drives the performance of the company. You can have good systems in place but in the end how individuals perform within those systems is where the rubber meets the road.(oof da, clichés, they’re the bane of our existence)

In my opinion, good managers and supervisors should always be trying to enhance the strengths of people while helping them strengthen their weaknesses. AND, they should always be affirming their people. I wish I would have been that good all the time. The point is their jobs are to constantly be evaluating, “judging”, correcting, and affirming.  AND, turning that light on themselves when needed.

So, is business the exception to what makes sense in those opening lines? Are we to have a set of rules for our work life, another for our social life, and yet another for, say, our competitive lives?  Nah, that can’t be right.  That which is our spiritual life can’t be just it’s own compartment.  Whatever it is that is greater than ourselves that guides us, in my case belief in God and trust in Jesus as the example, the trick is to make sure it is evident in all parts of our lives.  I wish I thought I was really good at that, but my life trashed perfection a long time ago.  How is that for ignoring the message?  We are all works in progress are we not?

The sky over my left shoulder is getting very orange.  Huh, that’s where this post started. 🙂

Saturday, February 27^th, Alpine, TX

After spending a relaxing morning reading, showering, and chasing down a propane refill in town, I once again headed south from my camp, but this time to a destination less than a half hour away.

You snake your way through a canyon that splits a long line of buttes and ridges. When you come out the other end, you cross a long flat basin down to Alpine, TX.  I mention all of that because while crossing the basin it was the first time this whole trip that it was hot enough to make the oncoming headlights wink and dance from the heat radiating up from the pavement. It was a mere 55 degrees warmer than when I drew my first cup of coffee this morning.

This was the 30^th Annual Celebration of this Gathering and I can’t say enough about how delightful this experience was.  Songs and poems landed gently on my ears all afternoon. I laughed and I cried and I suspect most others did too.

The performers come from all over the western US and Canada and almost to a person they all are living, or grew up living the ranching life.

The Gathering takes place on the Sul Ross State University Campus. Individuals and businesses sponsor the performers to come and they are not paid. They all spoke glowingly of their sponsors and the privilege they felt to be there. There are some parts of the event that have admission, but most of the sessions are free and take place in classrooms in small groups. I sat in on one full session and parts of three others.  In all I heard seven women and eight men spin tales in song and verse about old horses, older dogs, the precious resource of water, grandpas, broncos, the loneliness of the range, stubborn cows, ranch queens, and the cook who first dreamed about and then “invented” the chuck wagon. And that’s just a sample.

Driving back I felt just overwhelmed by the good fortune that I happen to be in this area on the weekend of this event.

Tomorrow is pack up, church in Ft. Davis, and then north to Carlsbad Caverns. After that, it’s on to my sister and brother-in-law’s in Las Cruces. I’m looking forward to my visit with them.

Once again I thank you for tuning in and keeping me in your thoughts and prayers. Peace to your day.

You can travel to the Terlingua Ghost Town if you exit Big Bend on the west side of the park. This is a ghost town but people actually live here. It almost gives the impression as though it’s become something of a commune. It appeared to me that people have worked on parts of old buildings and turned them into shelters suitable for living. There’s an old building that’s a coffee shop with a big wooden sign on the roof that’s roughly painted with the word Internet on it. I saw a guy sitting on the porch of another meager looking structure that identified it as an art gallery with a neon sign in the window that was flashing “Open”. It was all kinda surreal.

The cemetery of Turlingua is on the National Historic Registry. You can’t make this stuff up. This wasn’t at the end of my day’s journey but it sure left a lasting impression on me. I smile every time I start to think about it. Writing about it makes me want to go back but it’s just too far away.

As I approached the park from the north in the early morning, I was surprised by the silhouettes of the mountains that loomed ahead of me off in the distance. Not as high or as numerous as the Rockies in Colorado or Wyoming but every bit as rugged looking as any I’ve seen.

The Chisos Mountains are the only mountain range in the U.S. that is entirely contained in the boundaries of a park.

Big Bend has three distinct ecosystems; the desert, the mountains, and the river.

The entire southern boundary of the park is the Rio Grande River.

This is the Boquillas Crossing although you can’t actually cross here. You can just barely make out through the trees the town of Boquilles del Carmen, MX. Legend has it that this was a favored crossing for Pancho Villa because of the cover that the hills, canyons, and arroyos offered. The historic Ft. Davis, near where I’m camped, and the old military installation in Marfa, which incidently is now the grounds of The Chinati Foundation, are there because this was the main area where the U.S. Army prosecuted it’s “war” with Pancho Villa.

I was standing near the entrance to the Boquilles Canyon which was off to my left.

In this picture the river makes a hard right turn and passes right below.  The trees, grassy ground and sand bar are Mexico.  There were men fishing and grazing their horses.  I could see people sitting under the trees.  It caused me to think about people crossing even though I assumed the people I saw were family members of the men along the river.  In the park and out, I traveled a long section of the river and saw lots of places where crossing would be easy.  But the country is so rugged it would take a herculean effort to cross and penetrate deep into the US while avoiding the roadways which are full of park rangers, Texas Rangers, State Patrol, and Border Police.  Without getting too political, I think that a lot of people who want a wall haven’t been down here.  In my opinion a wall would be a speed bump compared to the hardship and risk of just making the trip.  I ain’t sayin’, I’m just sayin’.

I’ve visited friends in Tucson and my sister and brother-in-law in Las Cruces, both cities in the desert southwest. In my experience it takes some time to get passed thinking of the desert as a bunch of rock, gravel, prickly things, and rattle snakes. It takes a practiced and accepting eye to finally begin to embrace the beauty that the desert contains. No doubt is takes some time and study to learn the timing and the conditions that make all of the desert plant species bloom when they do.

Having said all of that, I’m under no illusion that my little photographic offerings even begin to do justice to the beauty of the area I drove and hiked in today. By the way, in an earlier post I used the term beavertail cactus. I only used that because I didn’t really know what species they were and described them as I saw them. The leaves look like beavertails with spikes on them. I now know they are called prickly pear cactus and I feel suitably embarrassed that I didn’t know that, because they are one of the most common of all the cactus plants.

It was a long day on the road but well worth the trip.  I don’t know if I’ll ever come this way again.  I think that the best Big Bend has to offer is lots of remote and rugged hiking.  i’m going to admit something that I think about a lot.  I’ve spent my life going into the BWCA, several times by myself.  Now I’m getting less and less inclined to put myself out there in the remote wilderness, particularly when I’m by myself.

I am well and hope you all are too.

So I have this friend from Stogies, the cigar shop I frequent. His head is jam packed with obscure facts and anecdotes. Seriously, the guy is very well read.

Late last fall sometime he and I were talking about my upcoming trip. When I was talking about Texas, he asked if I was going to be anywhere near Marfa. “I don’t know, where’s Marfa?”

“I don’t know either but it’s this little town in Texas and the Chinati Foundation Museum is there.” Can you see me smoking a cigar and my eyes are glazing over?  We Google mapped it and sure enough it was north of Big Bend National Park where I hoped to stop.  So that’s the backstory of going to Marfa.

There’s lots I could write about the Chinati Foundation and it’s founder Donald Judd. But really folks, that’s what Google is for. Judd is a well known artist (read that well known in art circles). Guys like me know Monet, and DaVinci, and Rembrandt, and guys like that.  Oh, and Russell.   Not Donald Judd.

I don’t even know how to finish writing this post. I’ll just say that I’m glad it was less than a half hour off my path and not more. I should be writing about my laundry adventure, but I’m not going to go there either. Here’s some pics.

I know, right?

Yesterday I made my way across a big chunk of the expanse that is west Texas. I don’t quite know what to say about it other than Leon Russell, David Byrne, and a couple of Divine Mercy Chaplets got me across. The rest of the time I rode along in silence. At one point I tried the radio mostly out of curiosity. It scanned through the whole FM dial without stopping. The AM dial stopped once on a barely audible signal playing mariachi music.

I want to write this without sounding denigrating. But west Texas, ……..

Even if you’ve never been across it, you can probably picture it fairly accurately in your head. Scrub cedar, beaver tail cactus, dead brush, and wind. There are lots of the old style oil well pumps, and the old style windmills pumping water for the cattle. Oh, did I mention there was cattle for company. There’s also lots of table top bluffs with the new kind of windmills, the kind that feed electrical power to the grid.

I landed in a place called Davis Mountains State Park. This became a fall back destination because I couldn’t get a campsite in Big Bend National Park. It’s more popular this time of year than I thought it would be.

Instead I’ll day trip down there. I can’t get this close and not at least see it for a day. But not today. It’s two hours down there and two back and I had enough of the truck yesterday. Today I’m going to do laundry and drive down to Marfa, which is about 25 minutes down the road. More on that later.

One more little note; Last night I found myself cocooning inside my sleeping bag AND under a comforter, something I haven’t done since Alabama. This morning I walked up to a building where there is a wifi signal. There’s no cell service here, the canyons are too deep. It’s 26 degrees here this morning. Even though there is heat in my camper, I have on my fingerless gloves as I’m typing this post. 🙂

Last night (Monday) was a night of thunderstorms. It seemed like it was raining every time something woke me, so I think it rained quite a lot. Sometimes I think that God’s creation is there for the sole purpose of making sure we use all of our senses.

This morning when I emerged from my camper my nose was greeted with a new and wonderful smell. It immediately brought me back to walking out the back door of the house I grew up in and smelling lilacs having their coming out party. This smell was not near as overwhelming as blooming lilacs can be, nor as sweet. It was far more subtle but left no doubt that something was in the air. My first thought was that the rain had caused something to bloom. As if knowing my need, a park ranger came rolling through the campground in his pickup.  We were the only two moving. He rolled his window down and I asked him about my blooming theory. “No, we don’t have anything blooming this time of year. That’s just the way the sage and the cedar trees smell when they get wet.” I wish I could put that in a bottle and pass it around to all of you. Instead you’ll have to come to the cedar covered hill country of Texas and chase thunderstorms.

The trip into San Antonio was far less adventurous than yesterday morning’s wanderings. Go in on Hwy 281, get off at Commerce Ave., take a right and park in the River Center Mall parking lot a few short blocks from the Alamo. Simple right? Almost. The Mall had no parking lot but there was a small public parking lot right there between a Denny’s and a La Quinta. The small public section had two spots left.

The rest were posted by Denny’s that a plague would be visited upon you if you parked in one of their slots. Ten bucks in the kitty, a couple of pumps of air in each tire and I was off.

I must say I loved downtown San Antonio. So much of the old architecture has been preserved or replicated. It still has the feel of an historic town. The day was partly sunny, cool, and very windy, so the relative protection of downtown worked.

This is the picture that everyone who visits San Antonio has to take, the city’s ultimate heritage, the Alamo. The grounds inside the Alamo site are very beautiful and there is plenty of information about the place and people. I only took one other photo thinking that if your interested you can find all kinds of very good photos online.

This is the other picture I took. This tree was the first mature tree ever to be moved in San Antonio. It was moved in 1907 when it was 40 years old and has been on the Alamo grounds and thriving ever since. They said it couldn’t be done.

Maybe the most talked about part of downtown San Antone is the famed Riverwalk. It winds and loops through the city below street level like an aquatic subway. It is indeed unique and beautiful and you could spend the entire day down there walking, eating, drinking, and shopping and never come up for air. It’s like no place I’ve ever been. Maybe people who have been to Venice would liken it some to that. I don’t know.

The Riverwalk has an outdoor theatre.

This is the San Fernando Cathedral in the Main Square.  Travis, Bowie, and Crockett are interned just inside the door on the left.  The square is laid out in the old tradition; Cathedral on one side, courthouse and government offices across from each other, and places of business across from the Cathedral.  The Parque Centro in Antigua, Guatemala is laid out exactly the same.

It was well after lunchtime and I was hungry and needed water.  I’d walked past a dozen or so cookie cutter restaurants.  I was ascending a staircase back up to street level with my bike on my shoulder.  A man with an official looking hat and shirt was coming down and said, “Good day sir, can I help you find anything sir?”  I asked him where the locals go downtown for good Mexican food.  Without hesitation he told me the Blanca Cafe.  He told me where it was and said they were only open for lunch during the week but they closed at 3 and I could just make it.

The place was packed, with a din of noise.  I had to put my mouth near the ear of the gentleman wanting to seat me when I said, “This must be the place to be.”  “This is where all the locals come,” he replied with a proud smile.  There wasn’t a touristy looking person in the place.  Great chicken enchiladas with rice and beans.  At the table next to me were to older gentlemen and one of them looked like an 80 something version of Garrison Keillor; sport coat, bow tie, funny glasses.  I could tell they were talking about politics but I didn’t listen.  I didn’t want to spoil my day. 🙂

Did I mention that I loved downtown San Antonio?

I am well and hope you all are too.