Big Bend National Park is another one of those national parks that you really have to want to go to. Tucked way down in the far western corner of Texas along the Mexican border, it isn’t on the beaten path to anywhere. I’ve always eyed this elusive expanse of land, but could never make all the logistics work to justify visiting. Until now. With a modicum of hammering from Houston, I figured I could fit in a brief visit and still make it back to California in time.

Self Portrait

As an added bonus, once I rode past San Antonio, the desolate but delicious Route 90 appeared to be the most direct route I could find to the park. I’d ridden parts of Route 90 once before, and knew it to be a wonderfully deserted stretch of asphalt, surrounded by some beautiful West Texas scenery.

To make up for my past two days of laziness, and celebrate an amazing concert the night before, I decided to shoot two Ghost Rider tribute photos on this first day heading west.

Ghost Rider Tribute – Day Five, Number One

I rode for hours through the beautiful and barren West Texas scenery, which seemed to have been put there just for my enjoyment. Again I started to wonder what would happen if I had an unfortunate high speed dismounting incident out here in the middle of nowhere. I shoved those thoughts deep down and concentrated on the rugged yet serene tranquility surrounding me. Hours passed and I never saw another vehicle, until I got close to the Mexican border. Suddenly, green and white Border Patrol vehicles swarmed like angry ants; driving up, over and around everything in their never ending, vigilant quest to keep our borders safe from extraterrestrials.

I had to pass through a series of US Border Patrol checkpoints along the way. At one checkpoint, I asked the officer which upcoming town, Sanderson or Marathon, would be a better choice to spend the night. He thought for a second, then replied, “Well dude, to be honest both towns are shitholes that are stuck in the year 1973.”

I continued toward shithole town number two, because it was the closest shithole town to Big Bend with a hotel. The sunset can only be described as glorious. I realize that using the word glorious in a ride report makes me sound like I also joined the West Texas Knitting For Douchebags Club, but with a gigantic, well defined halo and parhelion surrounding the setting sun, I think the word fits, so just deal with it.

I stopped on this deserted road to take my second Ghost Rider tribute picture:

Ghost Rider Tribute – Day Five, Number Two

On the way, I also stopped to punch a few bulls, crushed a beer can on my skull and shot up some road signs, just to prove that my glorious application to the West Texas KFD club would never be accepted.

Located sixty miles from the entrance to Big Bend, the Gage Hotel seemed like it would be a bit above my modest price range for a room, but was not. For $70 I was allowed to spend the night in an authentically decorated Western room, including an authentic cow skin rug on the floor. And by authentic cow skin, I mean it looked like someone had skinned a unfortunate cow and with a minimum of work turned the hide into a cow shaped rug.

Donning my one good shirt, I aimlessly moseyed on over to the only restaurant in town. Within minutes I was happily tucking into another delicious and very juicy slab of beef. Within minutes after that, my one good shirt doubled as a napkin. It never fails. After dinner, I ambled over to the nearest watering hole saloon to toast the Best Day Ever. Sitting by myself at the bar, I noticed one of the things that makes small town Texas bars great. In these small bars, dogs can and often do sit in the kitchen furiously licking their balls and nobody seems to care.

Big Bend National Park was far away from everything, the road in was long, and that morning’s ride was all worth it. This park would require several days and a sturdy dirt bike to fully explore, but what I saw of the place with my limited time, I liked. And nearby Big Bend Ranch State Park was even better, with an awesome, gravity defying roller coaster of a road that snakes along the Rio Grande river.

Glorious!

After passing through several more exotic non-citizen visitor checkpoints, my Best Day Ever ended in the hotel town of Deming, NM. I noted on my analog map that Deming is only fifty miles south of Silver City. With a big grin, I realized I might be able to unravel the luscious Route 152 after all.

But, sadly, that grin abruptly deflated as I was unloading Rain Cloud Follows for the night. While carrying my dirty clothes into the hotel room, I noticed this cliffhanger-in-the-making that would completely ruin that plan.

How will it all end? Will our Hero rescue the damsel in distress? Will the bank foreclose on the farm? Click here to read the stunning conclusion!

Author: frenchy