It could be ^that ^ which motivates, but that is only if I am playin’ all high-fallutin; putting’ on “airs” and such. I have told myself that it’s the bucket list that pushes me to reach out, and partly true though it is, it is really something more primal and earthy. The fear of death? Ahhh, not quite, but the envy of not doing it all, gettin’ greedy. The Envy of Living.
Screw the half full half empty. I want it overflowing. More than once. Make a mess. A bard once said: Nothing succeeds like excess. How true that is.
Down South we have dingle the size of skateboards. We’d kill them with a stomp, but to hear them crunch, well, better living through chemistry, right?
We hit them with RAID. Once hit, they run all berserkoid, often into the face of DANGER, then go to obscure places, lay on their backs and with great swagger and vigor, radiculate their legs like krazy in the air, in mortal combat with the reaper himself. (Aside: it is important for your household, but not for my metaphor, to kill them DEAD right then because as the guy on Chef Menteur Hwy, who was changing the oil on my Harvest gold 1970 Chevy Impala coupe, told me-in truth about flies, but it applies to roaches, “They have great recuperative powers.” How true that is, too.)
Life is that can of RAID. I am that roach, and if I’m not killed, I flail about the country in obscure places, wheels spinning, “woo hooing,” and livin’ large.
Enough preamble.
Blanche DuBois was now over a year in my possession and I felt I had worked out her problem of depending on the kindness of strangers (with gas cans) over the 15k miles she and I spent together
Two weeks off in January and Big Bend beckoned, though my fear was Big bend beckoned as Ahab did. I watched and watched the weather and though there were a smattering of days in the 20s and 30s, there appeared a warmup on the radar just when I would be off. It was now or never. I lucked out and the weather held until the last day on the ride home. Cool in the mornings and 60s-70s during the day. Sunny and dry until the very end.
In the early morning, Zero Dark 15, I departed New orleans, making tracks. I knew I had to slab it, and I would not, as usual take the alternative to the barbaric crassness of I 10, US 190. It was out of my way. Miles and miles were on the menu today. That first night I landed in Seguin, Tx, and old town outside of San Antonio. I saw none of the history in this "cradle of the Texas Rangers." I still had to move.
I stayed at the Best Western (it wasn't the Best western). Here was where I started a file that has been very useful subsequently. That file, "note" really on my phone, is entitled "things easily forgotten." The first item on it is a USB cable--I travel with technology. I have the list of all the stuff I want to take, eg 4 pairs of socks, scotch, etc, but even with the OCD of doing one of these rides, things can still be forgotten, hence that list. It works.
Early the next morning I depart now heading away from the abomination of I 10, going south, and on backroads.
123 to 97 to 85 to Corrizo Springs then 277 to Eagle Pass on the border for lunch where I stop at Danny's
From TripAdvisor
#21 of 64 restaurants in Eagle Pass
3 of 5 stars 5 reviews
“Badtaste!” 10/27/2013
“Nothing to brag about” 03/14/2013
Cuisines: Mexican
I didn't see that before I stopped, otherwise I may have ridden on, but that was NOT my experience at all. I thought it was good, esp considering it was just road food and I needed to move--I am sure some wag is going to suggest that stopping at such a place could very well result in "movement" of a different sort, that though I had to run, I didn't want to run in the third definition of the word. None of that happened. My guts and I agreed and nothing ill came about. This is the place where I started to be called Senor and would be for the next week. English was a second language now and blondes were in short supply. The people could't be nicer.
I hit the road after lunch on my way to Alpine. and I get on one of the best roads of the trip. It may be that it was the best road "so far" on the trip though. 277 to Del Rio and then US 90, that at home is Gentilly Blvd and Claiborne Ave, into Alpine. US 90 is also part of the Old Spanish Trail.
Del Rio is a place that lives in yore for those of us who grew up in the 50s and 60s. It was the home of
X E R F DEL Rio, Texas and the Wolfman, Wolfman Jack.
from Wiki ( and the way I remember it )
Wolfman Jack (1962 to 1964)[edit]
With the birth of rock and roll and its promotion by disc jockeys such as Alan Freed, a new interest was taken in the unrestricted superpower airwaves that were available in Mexico. Alan Freed had originally called himself the Moondog after hearing the name used by an experimental street musician in New York City. Freed not only adopted the name but used the recording of a howl to give his early broadcasts a unique character since he was featuring African-American music that was getting a great reception from America's White teenagers.
One of Freed's fans was Bob Smith, a disc jockey who also adopted the Moondog theme by calling himself Wolfman Jack and adding his own sound effects. Smith took his act to Inter-American Radio Advertising, who sent him to the studio and transmitter site of XERF. It was here that Wolfman Jack invented his own style of border blasting by turning the airwaves into one long infomercial featuring music and off-the-wall products.
Wolfman Jack gained a huge audience which brought in enough money to not only pay the bills, but to cause bandits and corrupt officials to also take enough interest in taking over his promotions for themselves. As a result Smith began to pay his own security force to protect him, because although he lived in Del Rio, Texas, because of the Brinkley Act he had to actually broadcast from the station itself in Ciudad Acuña in Mexico.
Lawlessness and death[edit]
According to Arturo Gonzalez there was a shootout in 1962 in which one person died. In another incident in 1964 two people died. No one was ever held accountable for the deaths. It was following the second gun battle when Bob Smith decided to leave for XERB, another border blaster located across the border in Tijuana, but within earshot of Los Angeles, California. It was this station that George Lucas featured in the 1973 movie American Graffiti.
The Wolfman himself
The Wolfman passed in North Caroline in 1995. Sic transit The Wolfman.
The memory of his voice and late nights listening to him before falling asleep... I will never forget, so being so close, I ride through Del Rio, looking for billboards advertising XERF.
I see none.
I expect dusty potholed streets glinting in a mid winter sun.
I see that not.
I see what looks to be a town on the move up??? Lots of new construction and good roads through town. I see no local color. I am sure that a block or so off the beaten path I will see what I stereotypically imagined it would be, but not from my Get-To-Alpine-This-Afternoon vantage point.
I leave Del Rio on 90 and was not expecting what I found. US 90 was terrific fun. It weaved and swerved and was deserted for much of the way to Alpine. We're talking 85-90 mph. The elements of law enforcement I saw was the Border Patrol, no other, and they were frequent and could care less about me.
I rode on and landed in Alpine for the evening, a very cool little town, and a very nice dinner at the Reata Restaurant. I stayed at the Maverick inn and it was very nice with an AWESOME breakfast of hand baked goodies--nothing Best Western about this place.
Sleep is restful and quiet, though some complain of the train traffic through town. It was no big deal, and to me the sound of a train in a south Texas town during the night only adds to the appeal of ride.
Chappy Dent (from Happy Texas): Three most romantic sounds in the world: plane engine, a ship's whistle, and a locomotive's horn. Somebody once said that. Or maybe it's the three loneliest sounds
MLW approves and that's a very good thing
Really.
