Texas finally got to me today. I have been ignoring a number of things but today the straw broke the camel’s back. I’ve been trying to ignore the virtual army of US border patrol vehicles parading back-and-forth hour after hour in a charade of defense and strength. I put little import in Alpine to the comment the bike shop owner said about 47% of locals being on some sort of dole. I’ve looked the other way with all the Bubba’s who have their shirts outside their pants because they can’t keep them tucked in or around their seemingly pregnant bellies. Or the numerous businesses that only accept cash (but do collect tax from you – they just don’t pass it on to the the gub’ment). Or the pickup loads of bagged “deer corn” so that they can salt and chum around their hunting blinds. They feed the deer, which become like livestock – which they then hunt as wild game.

But while we are at a historic marker rest stop, a Marlboro Man driving a brand-new shiny. king cab four-wheel-drive pickup, steps out of his truck, with his Wrangler jeans hiked up around his waist, a crisp long-sleeve button-down one-tone muted pink oxford shirt and sporting a white cowboy hat, looks furtively around and reaches into the bed of his pickup – takes a bag of household garbage and calmly places it next to the highway department litter trashcan with a sign above it saying “no household garbage – thousand dollars fine payable.” He looks around again before stepping back into his fancy truck, and drives off..

I guess he just forgot to give that bag of trash to his kids before they got on the school bus today, so they can drop it off at school. Just why does this modern Texas cowboy (and the 10 other households of trash stacked around the litter barrel), think they have the right to place trash so that the highway department needs to deal with it? Or worse, if the bag breaks open, then all the nice “adopt a highway” folks need to go around picking up after them. Is this why all the rest stops looks like trash transfer stations?

Maybe it was just the road conditions that sent me reeling. I spent over an hour trying to figure out why Texas can’t afford oil or asphalt to go along with the grit they spread on the highway. It can’t be good for the tires and this kind of roadway is the noisiest I’ve heard. Ivan, behind me, sounds like a passenger car; pickups like tractor trailers. The smoothest part of the highway is the narrow white line and that’s hard to ride true.

We’re currently in Bracketville at a former military outpost – Fork Clark – now transformed into a golf resort/RV park and motel. There are nicely preserved grounds and officer’s barracks that have been converted into motel rooms. Very comfortable and picturesque.