Friday, October 9 - Boston to Bar Harbor

We awoke after a pretty good sleep and went downstairs to avail ourselves of the complimentary “breakfast” served by the hotel. What they offered was no different from all the other hotels like this that serve insipid cardboard cutouts of real food to make you think you are getting something worth eating. Most of the stuff was in the form of cereals, unripened fruit and something laughingly called rolls and pastries. I am convinced these hotels give contracts to bakeries with instructions to make their products attractive looking but as completely devoid of taste as possible, so as to discourage the guests from taking more than, well, one bite. But, no biggie, I thought; I never cared much for breakfast anyway.

We returned to the room to await checkout, which we delayed until 1:30 p.m. I spent the morning working on the blog while Sandy spent the morning, uh, “getting ready.” I’ve never really understood this elaborate ritual of hers, but I have learned over our 33 years together that analyzing it is futile and perhaps even dangerous.

Amazingly, we departed the hotel in our taxi at the appointed time and became the captive audience of a cab driver who was a native Bostonian and whose indigenous accent was as thick as any we had heard—a native dialect totally devoid of the letter “r.”  The cabbie was eager to talk about his hometown, and we would not have been unhappy to hear it, except for the fact that we understood very little of what he was saying.

After waiting an hour in the obligatory processing line with 1,668 other passengers, we finally boarded the Norwegian Spirit, a large vessel about 900 feet long and weighing 75,000 tons, much of which was our luggage. We wandered around the place for a while and eventually found our stateroom, which I think was in steerage. The room was quite small, much like the one we had on our last cruise to the Caribbean a few years ago on Royal Caribbean. We were quite apprehensive about the bed this time, as the mattress on the Royal Caribbean ship was nothing but thin foam and very uncomfortable. This one, however, seems much better. Looking around, we remarked at how Homer, our fifth wheel RV, is a good deal roomier! The Norwegian Spirit was built in Germany and, as a result, seemed a little over-engineered; all the structures and appointments seem very sturdy and well-crafted, but that’s not necessarily a bid thing when it comes to something like a ship or an airplane.

Since we had had nothing to eat since attempting to ingest the fake food at the hotel, we were starved, so we found the ship’s buffet, which was one of eight restaurants that were available. As with any buffet, some of the food was quite good and some was, well, meh. I had some outstanding sauerkraut and Sandy had some pork patties and stir fried vegetables that she said were quite good.

After we ate, all the passengers were directed to designated assembly areas on the promenade deck, wearing our life vests for an emergency drill. Each assembled group had an attendant who attempted to shout instructions we would need in the event we needed to escape the vessel. The area was very noisy and, since the attendant had a heavy oriental accent, we didn’t comprehend much of what was said. I’m thinking that it wasn’t very important, however, because we got the vests on, saw our gathering point and identified our lifeboat. What else do we need to know other than where to put our sack lunch and Sandy’s makeup?

Shortly thereafter, the Spirit’s horn blew three times and cast off the lines. We were off, uh…backing up! Yes, the captain backed this thing out of its berth and out into the harbor without a tugboat in sight. Modern ships don’t need them, of course, because of the thrusters now incorporated into the bow and stern; what will they think of next?  We went to the stern of the ship and watched the city of Boston slip quietly into the sunset as the great ship headed into the open sea.

After roaming the ship for a while, we decided to have a late dinner and went back to the buffet, where we had among other things, bean salad, flank steak, asparagus and fried rice, all quite good.

Next, we went to the ship’s theater, a huge place that we thought was larger than the one on our Royal Caribbean ship. The variety show was quite good and lasted just a little more than an hour, which we thought was just about right. As you might imagine for an excursion to enjoy fall foliage, most of the folks on this trip were on up in years. In fact, we were asking ourselves what we were doing on this ship with all of these old people? You gotta give them credit, however, for getting out and staying active. We believe you’re only old if you think you are!

After the show, we were pretty tired, so we turned in and had a fairly decent sleep, sensing the faint rocking of the ship as we smoothly sailed along.

Thursday, October 08 – The Fall Foliage Cruise Begins in Boston

Yes, we’re back on the road…uh…back in the air and on the water, that is. Since our last outing to Big Bend last March, we’ve had just a little going on in our lives. Mindy and Tyler became parents to Mason Michael Girard, our first grandchild! He is beyond brilliant and handsome and, when Sandy and I see him, we make total fools of ourselves as we gush over his every move and facial expression. Of course, we would never want any of our friends to hear what idiotic things we say to him or the completely inane contortions of our faces as we’re fawning over him. All of this theater, alas, is wasted, as Mason is only four months old and won’t remember any of it. (Unless the very puzzled look on his face means something; I just wonder…)

We had wanted to do the fall foliage cruise ever since our friends Terri and Jim made the trip a couple of years ago and highly recommended it to us. With the downturn in the economy and all, the prices finally got down to where I couldn’t turn it down.

So, here we are in Boston, having flown here uneventfully this morning to spend the night before we sail at 5:00 p.m. tomorrow. We were starved by the time we unpacked in our hotel room, so I fired up the computer and immediately went to yelp.com, my new favorite foodie website. As usual, we were looking for mom and pop joints that all the locals know about, and Yelp has been very helpful with that. With just a few keystrokes, we could see that Belle Isle Seafood was not very far away and had killer reviews. And, judging from the photo accompanying the reviews on Yelp, Belle Isle Seafood was clearly a dump, so that really settled it for us! Hailing a taxi, we were off!

It didn’t disappoint! This is a tiny seafood market that backs up to Boston Harbor near the airport, definitely a blue-collar place that will cook your seafood for you, with the menu on a dry-erase board behind the refrigerated display case. There are about ten chairs at an eating bar, if you just can’t wait until you get home to eat your freshly cooked seafood. A constant stream of folks pulled up along the curb and fetched their dinner, obviously having called ahead their orders to go.

Sandy ordered a grilled shrimp dinner and I ordered a fried combo platter comprised of haddock, scallops, shrimp and clams. Oh, yes…and onion rings, French fries and coleslaw. This platter was huge! It would easily have fed both of us…and most of east Boston, for that matter. And yes, it was all stupendous in its flavor and freshness; Sandy’s shrimp were not shrimp but big prawns and perfectly grilled.

And, best of all, our bill was perhaps a third of what it would have been at the hoity-toity restaurants downtown! Sadly, we couldn’t begin to finish everything; I think a French fry had to be tossed at the end.

After this exercise in gluttony, we dropped into a shoe store near our hotel. Sometimes for Sandy, a little shopping will help bring closure to a good meal just as nicely as, say, key lime pie. And yes, she found a nice little dessert for her feet!

Big Bend National Park

This was the day we were to go to the Big Bend National Park, the entrance to which is some 110 miles or so south of Alpine. While Sandy was getting ready, I spent a little time downtown this morning trying to get some help with my computer’s photo uploading problem. I found a guy named John who runs a Pack and Mail/Computer Repair business just south of the courthouse. He was about my age, friendly enough, and quick to tell me that his store was the only source of computer assistance for a 150-mile radius. I didn’t have any reason to doubt him, and the appearance of his store led me to believe that he was much more into computer repair than Pack and Mail. There were derelict computers and pieces of computers strewn everywhere, obviously waiting for repair, with no discernible means of identifying the respective owners. I thought of the epitaph on the tomb of the Unknown Soldier, “known only to God.” In the case of the owners of this equipment, they are probably “known only to John.”

Near the front door was a geeky young man of about 19 who obviously worked for John and was engaged in an animated conversation with a woman who had entered the store just ahead of me. She was a pleasant, grandmotherly type who looked to be around 70. She politely asked the lad a question about computers (I couldn’t hear what she said). He introduced himself as a Sul Ross student and immediately began a lively monologue that was uninterrupted for the entire period of my stay, which was about 20 minutes. The young man seemed to be regurgitating everything he knew about how computers worked, and he knew a lot. His enthusiasm for his subject was so great that the formation of his words couldn’t quite keep up with his thought processes, and he truncated some of them as they spilled out. It was almost as if he were speaking in acronyms. The woman just stood there, mouth agape, as if she were in the presence of an alien from another galaxy.

About this time, John advised me to fire up my laptop, disable my wireless air card and plug in an Ethernet cable that he handed to me. He fiddled with my computer for a little while, and I could tell that he didn’t know much more about computers than I did. The geek talking to the grandmother was obviously the resident expert in his business. John said that my problem may be caused by my use of the air card to do the photo uploads. After bringing up the internet on my computer, I was surprised to observe that his wired internet service was actually slower than my air card! Meanwhile, John had disappeared into a back room shop area, where he was engaged in conversation with several local citizens, obviously friends of his, who had just come in and strolled past the counter where I was standing.

At this point, I knew I needed to move on, as the only two obvious sources of assistance were otherwise engaged, and Sandy and I needed to get going on our long drive to BBNP. John was more interested in the morning confab with his buddies, and the Sul Ross student was not yet finished with his lecture, even though the grandmother was now looking furtively from side to side, as if trying to determine a swift means of escape. I unplugged the cable and quietly left, oblivious to John and his friends in the back room.

Even though I didn’t get the computer assistance I needed, I must confess to having enjoyed my observation of this little vignette of small-town life, where business takes a back seat to relationships. Perhaps this is as it should be; it seemed entirely appropriate for Alpine.

Before leaving on our long trek, we had to have provisions—something high in calories and carbs, so we could keep up our energy for, uh, riding. We stopped by the Bread and Breakfast Bakery and Café in downtown Alpine. This was a storefront opening to the eastbound lane of U. S. 90, near the historic Holland Hotel. (U. S. 90, the main thoroughfare through Alpine, splits into one-way lanes, a block apart, near Sul Ross University on the east side of town and then rejoins at the western edge of the city.)

Bread and Breakfast Cafe













Hippie Sign















Placed in the window at the front of the cafe was a large blue sign that read, “Hippies use the back door. No exceptions.” I rather liked that, so my opinion of the place was already positive before we entered. They appeared to be between the breakfast and lunch service, and there were quite a few patrons seated around perhaps ten tables in the room. We ordered some doughnuts, cookies and a pecan roll, surely thinking that we would run into some homeless person with whom we would share our excess. Didn’t happen.

While waiting for our order, we took note of the fare going out of the kitchen to the diners and were very impressed with what appeared to be some well-crafted sandwiches and hearty soups. Although we were saving ourselves that day for another of the wonderful hamburgers at Alicia’s, we made a mental note to come back to this place for a meal. We’d have to make it breakfast or lunch, though, because they close at 2:00 p.m.

As I mentioned, we had some more wonderful hamburgers at Alicia’s, and this time we were seated next to some Brewster county sheriff’s deputies. These were classic western lawmen, dressed in blue jeans and starched uniform shirts, displaying a round badge with a star in the middle. They were wearing wheat-colored cowboy hats, which they didn’t remove during their meal, and what appeared to be .45 caliber pistols holstered on tan leather gunbelts. They were very friendly and talkative, and told us how much they appreciated our visiting their town. We greatly enjoyed this chance encounter and the feeling that criminals don’t get away with much around here.

The 80 miles to Terlingua went by quickly on the wide and smooth highway 118. As usual, there was very little traffic. We noticed, however, that the visibility was markedly decreased because of dust in the air from a strong cold front that had blown through the area in the early morning. This was a disappointment, because we had gotten used to the wonderful long views across the vast landscape. It wasn’t too bad, however; the visibility was maybe 35 miles rather than the usual hundred or so.

We filled up with diesel in Terlingua (Beware: it’s about 20 cents higher than in Alpine) and motored on down to the park entrance a few miles away at Study Butte. The fee for a seven-day pass was $20.00. Past the park entrance was an excellent two-lane road over relatively flat land dotted with millions of cacti for about 20 miles before reaching the boundary of the Chisos mountains, which were very imposing and rocky, formed by volcanic activity some 30 million years ago.

Desert Beauty in BBNP











Colorful Cactus Blooms












We turned off the road when we reached a sign pointing to the Chisos basin and began a long climb up the mountain that was surprisingly minimal in the use of hairpin curves and switchbacks. At the upper elevations, pine trees began to appear, increasing in number to where the area appeared quite forested. This was a real change from the scrubby desert vegetation that was prevalent below for hundreds of miles in all directions.

Trees Begin to Appear on the Climb to Chisos Basin











Beautiful Forested Area Near Chisos Basin











The drive up the mountain was lovely, and it culminated at a ranger station where there was a hotel, store and café (but no fuel). The main attraction for this area was a void in the moutaintops ringing the basin that revealed a breathtaking view to the northwest toward El Paso. The void, which is a v-shaped opening that frames the view, is famously known as “the Window.” A paved circular pathway invites visitors out to two viewing areas, and the view is indeed worth the short walk. On our walk, we even paused to let a family of deer cross the path in front of us.

"The Window"











Another View of "The Window"











This is an area much used for hiking, and there are many marked trails of every length and difficulty described on a panel nearby. We also observed perhaps a dozen vehicles carrying hikers in their gear. If you’re into hiking—or even walking—this would be a perfectly beautiful place to do it, as you could choose a path that would easily match your ability.

Soon, we started back down the mountain to the turnoff, where we could have chosen to turn right to the park headquarters and Rio Grande City, the only other visitor venue in the park. However, time was becoming an issue, and we decided instead to go back the way we came to another cutoff that would take us to the Castolon campground and Santa Elena Canyon. We had no idea what to expect at Santa Elena Canyon, as I had not been diligent in reading ahead in my “Roadside Geology of Texas.” I was wondering if it would be worth the trek, which wound about 30 miles to the canyon and 30 miles back. It turned out that it was, as the scenery along the way was gorgeous and rich with geological formations that are so well explained in the book. (We had the book open by now, reading about the fascinating remnants of the volcanic action so long ago.) If you don't have such a book, there are several turnouts along the way with narratives that describe what you’re seeing. The road was in excellent shape, and there were almost no other visitors to bother us anywhere. It was almost as though the park was there just for us.

On the road to Santa Elena Canyon, eroded volcanic hoodoos appear to be sentinels encircling the rock.











Santa Elena Canyon was something else to see. The canyon itself is an aperture in an immense monolith of limestone that runs for miles on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande. This plateau is probably 2,000 feet high and has flat sides that made it appear like a sheet cake that had been laid on a dining table. This plate was heaved up over millions of years at the Terlingua fault line, which runs along the riverbed.

Limestone Uplift at the Terlingua Fault; Rio Grande is in the foreground.











The Rio Grande cut a fissure into the monolith and left Santa Elena Canyon, which was breathtaking in the shadows created as the sun sank in the late afternoon. At the very end of the road, there is a nice turnaround with restrooms, and visitors can walk out onto a huge beach-like apron of fine white sand that will take you right down to the river and some spectacular views of the canyon. We thought this was well worth the 60-mile round trip, and we highly recommend it to anyone.

Distant View of Santa Elena Canyon










White Sandbar at Santa Elena Canyon










Multiple Volcanic Eruptions Created Colorful Striations in this Rock (Photo doesn't do it justice.)











Volcanic Ash Deposits Near Santa Elena Canyon











After this, we drove back the way we came, out through the park entrance at Study Butte, and found ourselves back in Terlingua at dinnertime. We stopped at the Chili Pepper Café, another hole-in-the-wall joint that we tend to favor. Here we had another good meal! Sandy had beef chalupas, and I had a combination of chicken and beef fajitas. These were really good, with some excellent guacamole, chips and salsa and homemade flour tortillas. Yum! Well worth the stop. Toward the end of our meal a group of about 15 upscale bikers came into the restaurant. These were clearly not bikers of the longhaired, tattooed and dirty variety, but professional-looking folks who just liked to ride Harleys. They were very friendly and talkative, and we learned that they, too, were from the Fort Worth area. They looked like they were having a good time, so we wished them safe travel and went on our way back to Alpine.

I had wanted to pick up a few large rocks as souvenirs to take home for our xeriscaped yard, but signs in BBNP forbade any removal of rocks or plants. However, not too far north of the Chili Pepper café, we noticed, at a cut through one of the hills, that part of a rock face had collapsed, spilling some very colorful rocks onto the shoulder of highway 118. We stopped, and I picked up four very nice sandstone specimens which will adorn our yard on Sunday.

This seemed to put a period at the end of our trip, and I felt we had done a really good job sampling this wonderful place called Big Bend. We didn’t see absolutely everything we could have seen, but we are very satisfied that we saw the best of the best. What a place and what a great experience! I can’t believe we waited so long.

Big Bend: A Day Off in Alpine!

After burning up the roads every day since leaving on this trip, we needed a break; the old stamina is just not what it used to be sometimes. Sandy fixed a great breakfast and we took our time getting ready for the day. I spent the morning messing with this blog, trying to figure out why I can’t get my photos to upload to Blogger. Desperate, I tried uploading to other sites, and that isn’t working, either. I’ll guess I’ll try again from the desktops at home when I get back. I’ve been looking for an excuse to change to a Mac, and this may be it.

We decided to try yet another restaurant here in Alpine for lunch, and we chose Alicia’s, which had been recommended by the office attendant here at the Lost Alaskan RV Park. I’m happy to report (especially for Ed and Marilyn’s sake, considering their upcoming journey to these parts), the first ‘thumbs-up’ in our quest for good restaurant food.

You’ll have to be prepared to be unimpressed with the exterior of this little place. Alicia’s, at 706 E. Gallego—a short distance south of downtown—is, well, a dump. But the food made us forget the ambiance entirely. Sandy had a killer hamburger, just the way we like it, with buns browned on the griddle while the meat cooks and a big, hand-formed and perfectly cooked meat patty hanging out around the edges. The French fries were fresh and hand-cut, still sizzling when they arrived at our table. I had a Mexican combo plate, which was all good, but it included a serving of chili verde that was to die for. (FYI, the Mexican dishes are a little spicy here; they haven't been tamed for the gringo palate.) These folks know how to cook, and we feel relieved that we have finally found a decent food emporium.

Alicia's Restaurant












We strolled around downtown after lunch. In one of the shops, Sandy found a pair of earrings she liked and left for me the financial transaction, a chore for which I have had more than a little practice.

After a while we drove back to Homer, where the little woman took a nap and I read some of the blogs we follow. The longer we find ourselves in Alpine, the more I think I may have judged it a bit prematurely in a previous post. The friendliness of the local residents is really contagious, and this has the effect of suppressing my initial impression that the place was dull and unremarkable. I’m very happy we chose Alpine as a base while we toured the Big Bend area. Also, having checked out the other RV parks here, we are convinced the Lost Alaskan is the best by far we could have chosen.

Reading Ed and Marilyn’s blog, I picked up on a question Ed had about cell phone service. Well, surprisingly enough, almost every town we visited has cellular service. Even tiny Terlingua had a good signal! That is not to say that the coverage extended too far beyond the city limits, mind you. Obviously, you won’t have any capability at all when you’re out in the desert a hundred miles from nowhere.

Another thing occurred to me about traveling the river road (highway 170 between Presidio and Terlingua) described in the previous post. To ensure the best light for photography, you probably would want to keep the sun behind you. With that in mind, I would recommend starting a morning trip from Terlingua or an afternoon trip from Presidio. On the other hand, if you wanted to skip Presidio altogether (which is not a bad idea), a better choice would be to start the journey from Terlingua and then turn around and come back when you run out of scenery. That way, you would see a completely different visual treat each way. That is undoubtedly what we would do if we had it to do over again.

Oh, and one more thing: You can get diesel fuel in both Presidio and Terlingua.

After Sandy’s nap, we motored downtown to the Museum of the Big Bend on the Sul Ross University campus. There were some fairly decent exhibits, but the big attraction for us was an art exhibit in the north wing of the museum. Shown there (for sale) was some outstanding work of some really exceptional western artists. The pieces were mostly out of our price range, but the talent represented in this exhibit was just incredible. We thought it was well worth the trip. Frankly, the museum was not what you would call a must-see, but if you have any appreciation for art—especially western art—this stop would be worthwhile.

Since it was nearing dinnertime, we elected to try yet another new restaurant we found here in Alpine. This was Texas Fusion, at 200 W. Murphy, and yes, it was another dump. But, like Alicia’s, it was a keeper! Sandy ordered steak fingers, and I had a barbeque beef sandwich. The steak fingers were not the usual pre-breaded, pre-formed frozen planks that could be alternately used as leveling blocks for your fifth wheel. These were hand-cut pieces of quality steak, hand-battered and fried for each order. Served with cream gravy and French fries, these were divine. My sandwich was also good, as the plenteous brisket was obviously smoked for today and not left over from a previous day, as was the case with Alpine City Limits. So, another thumbs-up for Texas Fusion! Great cooking and cheap prices are what we like.

I also found a local radio station at 1240 AM that plays music I like—you know, the old timeless standards, big band numbers, show tunes and ballads that the younger generation despises? Frankly, I stopped listening to popular music about 30 years ago because I think songs should have a melody, and I haven’t heard many of those since about 1975. Frankly, I don’t think I’ve missed a thing.

After watching a little TV, we talked on the phone to our daughter, Mindy, who is in College Station, Texas, then turned in for the night. We had to be ready for the next day, when we would actually visit Big Bend National Park for the first time.

Presidio, Big Bend Ranch Park, Lajitas and Terlingua

This day was devoted to a day-long road trip to traverse highway 170 between Presidio and Terlingua along the Rio Grande. We had read that this was one of the ten most scenic drives in the U. S., and we wanted to see for ourselves. This required the excursion of a 250-mile triangle from Alpine through Marfa to Presidio, where highway 170 begins its journey following the river southeastward. The drive to Presidio was along U. S. 67 which, as we have come to expect for the roads in this region, in excellent condition with little traffic. The weather was clear, and the hundred-mile visibility allowed unimpeded views of the vast desert vistas ringed with mountains tinted in blue, purple and plum colors. I had the Hornet’s cruise control set on 75 (the speed limit in most of west Texas) and the trusty Cummins diesel hummed along contentedly at 2,100 rpm, taking the occasional hill with only a slight increase in EGT. (Jet pilots and diesel drivers with the appropriate engine gauges will know what that is.) A road trip just doesn’t get much better than this, I thought, as I beheld God’s creation before me. Speaking of topping hills, I was reminded of my days flying airliners over areas such as this in clear weather. The enormity of the landscape viewed from the top of a mountain was not unlike the visual impression from the cockpit seven miles high. It was already a wonderful drive, and I didn’t even realize then how much better it would get.

As we rolled into Presidio, I wasn’t quite prepared for the impression I got that I had already left the U. S. and arrived in Mexico. I had always heard Presidio mentioned on the TV weathercasts as having record high temperatures during the summer, and I had expected a heavily Mexican influence due to its location on the border. Well, the outside temperature on the Hornet’s display read 93 degrees, and it is only March! I wouldn’t want to be here in July or August, that’s for sure. But the more striking element of the city is that we thought we were driving in Mexico. The houses and buildings are largely ramshackle affairs painted bright colors of turquoise, pink and yellow, and if there was any zoning in the city, it was largely ignored. While the road signage was in English, almost all the signs on businesses were in Spanish only. We stopped at a local grocery store to get some fruit, and the signs in the vegetable and fruit section were in Spanish. All the conversations we overheard were also in Spanish, as was the background music. Driving through some narrow streets with junky cars around, I really thought I had taken a wrong turn and had accidentally left the U. S. I actually had to audibly tell myself that I was being illogical—I couldn’t just drive into Mexico without going through a guarded customs entry point or crossing the Rio Grande! With this in mind, I regained enough mental stability to find my way to F. M. 170. We didn’t stop for food or water, probably because I still had the irrational subconscious thought that we might get Montezuma’s revenge. So was our impression of Presidio, which actually should be worthy of some respect, as it is billed as the oldest continuous human settlement in the U. S. Maybe so, but I still wouldn’t want to live there.

Soon after turning onto highway 170, we saw a flashing road sign that announced a detour six miles ahead and that there was no through traffic allowed. I had already turned around to go back to Alpine when Sandy suggested that I get clarification of the sign. What a good idea! Nearby we spotted an equipment depot and office of the Texas Dept. of Transportation, so I pulled in there to ask about the sign. They knew about the sign and said that I was not the first motorist to ask about it. They told me the sign was misleading, because through traffic was indeed allowed, although via a 1.8 mile detour over a dirt road that was wide enough for two-way traffic. Great! We were off, and found the detour exactly as advertised. The posted speed limit for the short dirt leg was 20 mph, and I certainly didn’t exceed that, as the Hornet’s stiff suspension didn’t exactly absorb the rub board effect of the rocky detour. We also left a cloud of white dust, even at the slow speed, that I knew must have choked the three motorcyclists following us.

Detour Near Presidio












Back on the pavement, we found highway 170 to be a very good road—not quite as smooth as the U. S. highways we had been traveling, but plenty nice. We didn’t see a single pothole or even any evidence of one that had been filled. This was amazingly better than we expected.

The first twenty miles or so after leaving Presidio were really not much to look at, scenery-wise. We could see some mountains in the distance on the Mexican side, but highway 170 at this point involved driving up and down over a series of dunes that looked as though they may have been deposited there in the eddies of an epic flood eons ago.

Dunes in the foreground, mountains in the distance on the Mexican side










After leaving this area, however, our visual sensations were increasingly rewarded, as rounding every curve and topping every hill revealed a grander and grander view of some of the most outrageously beautiful terrain we had ever seen!
The Rio Grande was flowing rapidly on the right below us, and the water a clear aqua color—not the muddy stream we had expected. Arising from its banks were huge mountains on the Mexican side and giant monoliths and escarpments on the U. S. side. The sheer rock faces were not unlike smaller versions of El Capitan in Yosemite, except much more colorful. The variety of the rock layers and formations cut by the Rio Grande revealed a geologist’s paradise. The earth’s carcass had been opened up to reveal every texture imaginable and every color in the spectrum, complete with hoodoos and outcrops of countless strange rocks, smoothed and shaped into both amusing and grotesque figures through millennia of erosion. Adding to the show was the desert backdrop itself, serving much like the skirt at the bottom of a beautiful Christmas tree. It was composed not so much of sand, but of pebbles, rocks and boulders of every size, festooned not only with the ubiquitous prickly pear cacti, but with dozens of other varieties of cacti and succulents, some of which were blooming in colors that were almost alarmingly intense. (I took lots of photos, but they don’t begin to do justice to what we saw, due to the limitations of my camera and its operator.) A photography buff would be in absolute heaven here. (Gordon, I’m thinking of you.) There was no dirt, or mud, or dust to detract from the order and cleanliness of the desert artistry. It looked for the world like it had all been professionally landscaped (and I suppose, in a way, that it had, by the great Gardener Himself). Sandy and I were completely mesmerized and totally amazed that such a beautiful place existed in my very own home state, and we didn’t even know it! It certainly lived up to its billing as one of the most scenic drives in the country.

Blooming Cactus











Another Cactus











View of Rio Grand at beginning of very scenic area










High View of Rio Grande











Teepee Shade Structures at Roadside Park on Highway 170










We drove through Lajitas and spent a little time at the upscale resort there. This was a very unusual and quaint place, complete with a shopping area that mimicked a frontier town in the old west, and we vowed to come back and investigate further.

Lajitas From a Distance










Lovely Open Air Patio at Lajitas Resort Restaurant










Resort Shopping Area from Entrance to Restaurant









Badlands Hotel at Lajitas Resort











Old Volcanic Rock on Outskirts of Lajitas











Highway 170 ended for us at Terlingua, the site of the famous chili cookoff and home to a few eccentric types, including what appeared to be a small colony of hippie dropouts from the sixties. There were a few outdoor cottage businesses along the highway, one of which even included a brightly-painted old rusting school bus with flowers painted on the exterior—something you might have seen, say, at Woodstock. (Memo to these folks: It’s over; let it go.) A hand-painted sign at one of these junky places advertised ‘cosmic hamburgers’ but we really didn’t have much motivation to stop and find out why they were cosmic.

The last 86-mile leg up state highway 118 from Terlingua back to Alpine was just as nice as the earlier drive from Alpine to Presidio. The unlimited visibility allowed us to enjoy the grandeur of the mountains, mesas and buttes from very long distances as we approached them on the nearly empty highway. While this was admittedly a long day trip, it didn’t seem so because there was so much to see.

Upon returning to Alpine, we had dinner at the forgettable Oriental Express, which I wrote about in the Alpine post a couple of days ago.

After dark, we drove up highway 118 north of our RV park, pulled off on a deserted side road and did some stargazing. With the high elevation and clear, moonless skies, we could see the breathtaking panoply of countless stars, planets and constellations, as if we were in a planetarium. The temperature was perfect—only a light jacket was needed—and the wind dead calm. It reminded us of how infinitesimally insignificant we are in the whole of the universe, yet how important we are to the Creator.

The only interruption of the utter quiet was a nearby cow, who suddenly was clearly annoyed by something and began voicing her disapproval. We laughed, as it was so predictable for us that such a meaningful moment would be accompanied by something as humorously incongruent as a mooing cow.

Bessie calmed down after a few minutes, and we lingered a little longer. Orion was just to the west of overhead, and we thought we could almost reach out and touch his shoulder. It’s not often that circumstances align so as to allow us humans to pause and behold such a show, and it didn’t cost a penny!

On the Road to Big Bend: Fort Davis and Marfa, Texas

We did indeed sleep well last night, arising uncharacteristically late at nearly 8:00a.m. After a leisurely breakfast, we lounged around and finally made it outside just before noon! This is what retirement must be like, I thought to myself. I could adjust to such a laid-back lifestyle in, oh, about 30 seconds.

Today was to be occupied with a trip to McDonald Observatory, near Fort Davis and about an hour’s drive north on highway 118. The drive was very picturesque, and we stopped for lunch at Cueva de Leon, a very adequate, if modest, Mexican restaurant in Fort Davis. The staff was very friendly, and we ordered for sharing a combination enchilada, chalupa and taco plate off the menu. I even purloined a piece of smothered steak from the lunch buffet, for which the proprietor didn’t charge me, even though I offered to pay. (The steak was good; I wish I had taken a couple of them.)

Sandy found some turquoise jewelry in the restaurant lobby that was made by a local artist. After assessing the pieces for a few minutes, the artist became quite a bit richer and I became quite a bit poorer. So much for eschewing expensive restaurants; this “inexpensive” meal cost me more than would have the pretentious Reata back in Alpine that I ranted so much about in the previous post. Oh, well, that’s what vacations are for, right?

We motored on up to the top of Locke Mountain, driving on the “highest public highway” in Texas, according to the observatory information. I must have been true, for at about 6,800 feet, the views were breathtaking. The visitor center was new and beautifully done, complete with a restaurant and lecture hall, where we sat through a 45-minute presentation by Rachel, a very knowledgeable and intelligent guide who had an excellent speaking voice and used perfect English (a rarity these days). We were even able to see a real-time video image of the sun via a remote display from one of the telescopes on the mountain. We could see the “prominences” (scientific term) which were gaseous emissions at the sun’s surface thousands of miles high. Sandy and I agreed that we probably learned more about the sun from this presentation than in our entire previous education. After this, Rachel led the group of about 30 visitors to the largest white dome, housing a 107-inch telescope, where she demonstrated the workings of this giant instrument for another 45 minutes. From there, the group went over to another smaller telescope a short distance away. We opted not to follow to this one, as we had done a good bit of uphill walking and standing, and we didn’t think we could absorb any more information anyway. We thought this was time and money (eight dollars per person) well spent, and the views from the mountain alone were worth that. One downer for me was that the weather was not cooperating to enable viewing of the night sky from the telescope at the “star party” to be held that evening. I had eagerly anticipated coming back up the mountain for that event but, by evening, a thin overcast had spread over the area, precluding any stargazing, unfortunately. These star parties are held only on Tuesday, Friday and Saturday nights, so I guess I’ll try again next trip.

Fabulous View from Mt. Locke










Telescope Domes at McDonald Observatory









107-Inch Telescope at McDonald Observatory











We drove back down the mountain to Fort Davis, where we could have toured the old western Army fort for which the town was named. We were a little too late to take a tour, but we did see some of the preserved structures and restored buildings from a distance. This probably would be an interesting place to visit for some folks (our friend Jim G. comes to mind), but I guess I’m not too much into the frontier Indian/cowboy/cavalry thing. It was easy to see why the fort was built where it was, in a box canyon that would afford protection from Indian attacks. We would like to have visited the 500-acre desert nature center not far from Fort Davis, but that had to be prioritized downward, unfortunately. Oh, to be retired and have time to do all we would like to do!

Jeff Davis County Courthouse at Ft. Davis











Historic Ft. Davis Bank












We decided to drive the 21 miles from Fort Davis to Marfa. We intended to make this trip on Wednesday but, as our star party plans at the observatory went south, we thought we would go ahead and get a start on this next adventure. The 21 miles went by quickly, with excellent mountain scenery passing by. It is remarkable how good and smooth the roads are in this area; I guess it’s because there are so few vehicles to wear them out!

Marfa, frankly, was a big disappointment. We had read articles in the newspaper and Texas Monthly that described this as an up and coming destination for artists and craftsmen of all kinds and that real estate values were being inflated by the influx of wealthy folks to the next “in” location for a first or second home in a good climate. Well, I think the boom has gone bust. There are a few little artsy venues around, but many of the shops that obviously housed quite a number of galleries and boutiques now sit vacant or boarded up. The downtown is now very sleepy, with the near-vacant (but lovely) courthouse standing vigil on the north end of the main street. Only the legendary El Paisano Hotel showed any activity at all. This was indeed a marvelous newly-restored structure designed by Trost and Trost architects (legendary in architectural circles) in the 1930s. This was the hotel used by Rock Hudson, James Dean and Elizabeth Taylor, along with the rest of the cast of the movie “Giant,” filmed near Marfa in the mid-fifties. The architecture of this hotel would not have been unfamiliar to these Hollywood stars, as it was reminiscent of much of the Spanish-Italianesque villa style seen in many places in California. It was fun to look at the memorabilia and photos the cast left behind and to imagine what Elizabeth Taylor’s opinion really was of this tiny, dusty Texas town in the middle of nowhere.

Downtown Marfa










Magnificent Presidio County Courthouse, Built in 1865 for $60,000. (Yes, I like old courthouses!)









Another crisis for visitors to Marfa would be places to eat. There was a Dairy Queen and a Subway, plus a very seedy-looking bar named Agate Moon, whose hand-painted sign outside advertised barbeque as, presumably, a chaser for the beer. Frankly, from the looks of the place, I wouldn’t have dared venture in there without a gun on my hip. I’m pretty sure all the other patrons had one, too.

The Hotel El Paisano had a restaurant, aptly named Jett’s Grill, after the character played by James Dean in “Giant.” We took a look at their menu, however, and discovered the owners had the same elevated opinion of their restaurant as the owners of Reata in Alpine. The prices seemed way out of line for this little town that has obviously fallen on hard times. Having seen really all there was to see, except for the Marfa lights, we decided to go back to Fort Davis for dinner. We had spotted a restaurant at the historic Limpia Hotel there, and we wanted to give it a try.

El Paisano Hotel Lobby









El Paisano Hotel Patio and Entrance to Jett's Grill











The 21 miles back to Ft. Davis went by quickly, with the theme from “The Big Country” playing appropriately on the Hornet’s XM radio. We parked parallel in front of the Limpia, and we could just as well have pulled up in a buggy and tied up our horse, given the quaintness of the Ft. Davis downtown area, reminiscent as it was of a western town of, say, 1880. We entered the Limpia dining room and were greeted by an officious, unsmiling woman with menacing facial features that would have caused a bulldog to jump off a meat wagon. Looking over her spectacles, she sniffed,
“Do you have a reservation?”
After looking around at perhaps ten empty tables, I turned to her with a smirk, and said,
“Uh…no, we don’t; how big a problem can that possibly be?”
She probably didn’t appreciate by smart-aleck retort, as she wrinkled up her nose and said,
“Well, I’m sorry, but we won’t have anything until later in the evening. We’re expecting a busload here in a little while.”

Busload, my rear end, I thought. This woman needed a fierce beating with Sandy’s purse strap, but I couldn’t talk my bride into doing it.

So, there we were, the little woman and I, rebuffed, humiliated and hungry. I had a vision of swinging doors on the Limpia and my being tossed out into the dusty street by a couple of cowboys. I picked myself up, helped Sandy into the buggy, and untied the brown mare. (Wait a minute; the imagery is getting out of hand again. Pardon me while I do a quick reality check.)

Okay, I’m back now. We hopped into the Hornet and drove around looking for another place to eat. We found the café on the south end of town where we had earlier seen the sheriff’s patrol car parked—a good sign, we thought at the time. Unfortunately, the building was locked up tighter than Jackie Gleason’s Speedo. We were left only with a little place called Murphy’s Pizza Cafe, where we had what would have been a fairly edible pie if the crust hadn’t been undercooked and soggy in the middle. We didn’t eat that part, so what we had amounted to, well, a pizza doughnut. (I can’t make this stuff up; it just happens to us.)

Fort Davis, like Alpine and Marfa, seems to have its share of issues for visitors looking for a place to eat. However, we liked the town a lot. It was attractive in its own quaint and rustic way—sort of what we were expecting in Alpine or Marfa but didn’t see. We learned that the 1986 movie, “Dancer, Texas-Population 81” was filmed here. I have requested it from Netflix so we can see this cool little town in the movies! We wouldn’t mind spending more time here some day, to check out the attractions we missed and see if someone nicer is greeting customers at the Limpia dining room.

After eating our pizza, we drove back to Marfa. It was getting dark, and we wanted to see the Marfa Lights. These are the mystery lights that are supposedly visible on clear nights on the south side of U. S. 90 about nine miles east of Marfa. They were first reported in the mid-1800s by a cowboy who thought they may have been Apache Indian campfires. According to information we read, they generally are seen as two lights that dance on the horizon, turn different colors and perhaps merge and appear to be coming toward you.

We arrived at the viewing point just before it was fully dark. The Texas Highway Department has erected a very nice viewing center with a large parking area and restroom facilities on the south side of the highway. The lights around the viewing apron were subdued and red-colored, so as not to interfere with observers’ night vision. Since this was a moonless night, the area into which we were looking was as dark as ink, except for two lights on the horizon very far away, which appeared to me to be yard lights, perhaps at two remote ranch houses, I thought. We were told, however, that there isn’t any structure or electricity in that area, a fact I found hard to believe. I would very much like to have flown in a helicopter toward the lights, because I was convinced they were real electric lights. After looking at the lights for a long time, I began to think I could see them moving up and down and side to side. I passed this off as a phenomenon caused by staring at the lights too intently and for too long a time. Sandy had the same experience, and the bottom line is, we saw something out there, but we remain skeptical.

Marfa Lights Viewing Station












After our encounter with the Marfa Mystery Lights, we drove the 16 miles into Alpine and to Homer, where we watched a little TV and hit the sack, tired but satisfied with our full day’s activities. Tomorrow we’re off to Big Bend Ranch State Park and a very long drive through a very large and, hopefully, scenic area.

Postcript: Still unsettled by what we presumed to be the Marfa lights, we drove back by the viewing center the next morning to look at the area in the daylight. Using a pair of binoculars, I looked across the wide basin towards a mesa perhaps 20 miles away that was the approximate location of the lights we saw the previous night. I was able to see to the horizon quite clearly through the binoculars, and I saw no evidence whatsoever of civilization. I didn’t see anything but desert badlands. There was no place in the remote area where a dwelling would likely be or, for that matter, where an electric power line would conceivably run. So, I am now more mystified than ever. I presume that the two lights we saw last night were indeed the Marfa mystery lights, for they are, for sure, a mystery.

Daytime view of area where lights were seen; what's out there? No sign of life.

On the Road to Big Bend: Alpine, Texas

The trip from San Angelo to Alpine proved to be about a six-hour drive through some of Texas’ least attractive topography. We saw a lot of oil well pumps sticking up out of the scrubby vegetation for a hundred miles west of San Angelo, so the owners of that land probably think those parcels are quite beautiful when their royalty checks arrive.

The only towns of any size we traversed were Big Lake (population about 2,500) and Fort Stockton. Approaching Fort Stockton and beyond, the grand vistas really opened up in the sparkling clear air. The mountains near Alpine were clearly visible from a hundred miles away. Before we departed on this trip, we had ordered a couple of books, Roadside Geology of Texas and Roadside History of Texas, and these have proved very interesting companion reading during our journey. For example, we learned that the large mountains at the intersection of U. S. 90 and U. S. 67 east of Alpine are part of the Permian limestone uplift and much different from and older (by hundreds of millions of years) than those like the well-known Ranger Mountain and the Twin Sisters, which are part of the Presidio volcanic field west of Alpine. The geology book contains descriptions and photographs of many unusual formations clearly visible from the highways. If you have any interest in the history and geology associated with Texas travel, I highly recommend these books for your RVing library.

While I’m on the subject of history, readers may note that I don’t tend to include lengthy historical narratives when writing about the places we visit. The reason for this is simple: This blog is not meant to be a history textbook. While I love history and historic places, I find blogs that present a lot of historical detail a trifle boring, frankly. With the advent of the internet, I can find, with a few mouse clicks, as much history as I desire about a place. This blog is about impressions—what a traveler might see through our eyes and experience through our reaction. We humans are always more interested in what other humans do, think and feel. This helps readers imagine they are living the experience themselves through the story—even though the story may be simple or the experience mundane. Writers who understand this will always favor the readers by engaging them on a personal level, thereby meriting their readership.

Because towns of any size are far apart in this area, I highly recommend keeping your diesel supply a little heavier than usual. I really wish I had an aux tank for areas like this. (This reminds me of my flying days; pilots generally think the only time they have too much fuel on board is when their aircraft is on fire.)

Our park of choice in Alpine was the Lost Alaskan RV Park. This is a well-run and clean facility near the Alpine airport with fairly level pull-through spaces and full hookups, including 50 amp. The park staffers were friendly, and a caretaker came by when we parked to see that we had everything we needed. The only downer was that all the formerly gravel roads in the park are being paved, and the graders and rollers were a little noisy during the daytime. Around the first part of April, the paving will be complete and will really be a nice feature for RVers. There isn’t any park cable, but we really didn’t need it with our DirecTV satellite and the automatic TracVision antenna. (We’re still tickled with this system; it was worth every dime of the investment, in my view.) We were having a bit of trouble with the park wi-fi, however. The signal was a trifle weak, so we just abandoned that in favor of the AT&T aircard, which worked well for our internet connection.

Lost Alaskan Entrance












Paving Machines at Lost Alaskan RV Park







We have to confess to being a bit disappointed with our initial observation of Alpine. It is surrounded by fairly low mountains, but no one could confuse these hills with the majestic European Alps, from which the town gets its name. And, we were expecting a degree of quaintness, but this was not always the case. South of the downtown main drag, U. S. 90, there was a surprising degree of rundown and unappealing houses, buildings and other structures. To the north and west, the residential areas were much more well-kept and somewhat more prosperous-looking.

The elevation—nearly 5,000 feet—makes for a fine outdoor climate. Although the temperature was around 85 degrees during the day, the nights were very cool—between 40 and 50. We definitely had to turn on the heater in the early mornings. I think this might be a healthy climate, too. I seem to be relatively free of the allergy and sinus problems that chronically plague me back in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. In fact, the attendant who checked me in at the Lost Alaskan RV Park told me that she had moved to Alpine from Euless (a stone’s throw from where we live near Fort Worth) to escape her respiratory problems.

Sul Ross University has a larger-than-expected presence on the eastern outskirts of the city. The buildings are very nice and modern-looking, and we understand the school has excellent programs in agricultural and animal science. (I hadn’t realized that Sul Ross, the university’s namesake, was a former governor of Texas.)

Alpine is in a Basin With Sul Ross University Prominent at a Higher Elevation










Brewster County Courthouse in Alpine Built in 1873










Quaint Architecture in Downtown Alpine; Stucco and New Mexican Styling is Popular










One curiosity expressed by Sandy was where the students hang out when they’re not in class. There is no movie theater, no mall, no Wal-Mart (perhaps a good thing, in Alpine’s case), and few fast-food joints. We found a McDonald’s, a Subway, a Sonic and a Dairy Queen, but that’s about it for fast food. There are a couple of pizza places, including a Pizza Hut, but no other chain restaurants of any kind. (Not that it mattered; we usually avoid these.) We figured the college students must all get good grades, because there’s little in Alpine to distract them from their studies.

We had dinner at the Longhorn Steak House just down the road from our RV park on highway 118. It was absolutely insipid. The owners should be flogged for serving what they thought passed for food. We simply couldn’t eat it and left hungry. Nearer to downtown on the same highway was the Reata restaurant, redone from an old house and serving upscale western cuisine, but the menu was rather ridiculously expensive. Perhaps for this reason, the restaurant was also relatively empty. I guess price shouldn’t be such an issue, because we can certainly afford a nice meal, but it just galls me to pay thirty dollars for a steak in a restaurant about which I know nothing, especially when all the side dishes are priced extra. After reading the menu posted outside and determining that our meal would have cost the better part of a hundred bucks, we elected to look elsewhere. Perhaps the food was good, but this was Alpine, Texas, not New York City. The owners need to return to earth.

We drove a few blocks to Alexander’s Grill, a Mexican restaurant. Only one other couple was occupying a table, but no one came to seat us. We noticed an employee on the phone nearby, but he appeared clearly annoyed that we had come in, so we obliged him and left. I continue to be amazed at how many restaurants are poorly run; it’s no wonder their failure rate is so high.

We stopped by the local market and picked up a few grocery items, then we returned to Homer, where we had a couple of hot dogs. We were tired after the day’s journey, and we knew we would have a full day coming up, so we retired early, anticipating a good night’s sleep.

Foodie postcript for Alpine:

Within a day or two later, we tried two more restaurants—Alpine City Limits, appropriately located near the western city limits, and the Oriental Express next door. ACL was a newer restaurant, well-appointed, with an eclectic, moderately-priced menu. Service was fast, friendly and attentive. I ordered fajitas, and Sandy ordered a barbecue beef sandwich with cottage fries. Let’s just say the food was edible, but definitely not memorable. The fajitas had been warmed up from being left over, and Sandy’s sandwich was very dry. It tasted as if it had been warmed up from leftovers as well. The Oriental Express was run by a very serious gentleman of oriental descent, and his daughter was performing waitress duties. We ordered lemon chicken and a vegetable plate, and these, too, were just barely mediocre. The waitress never came back to our table after delivering the food, so I had to get up and search around for things we needed. I hasten to report that her tip was reflective of her indifference.