Getting my Calcium

The surface of our planet is subject to all kinds of weather. Sometimes, like today, it's the ugly kind: a gray, curdled sky, northeast wind blowing 40 MPH and gusting to 50, rain spitting sideways.

But the weather in Carlsbad Caverns, 750 feet beneath the surface, is remarkably stable all the time.

I mounted up as early as I could after the work meetings this morning and navigated the streets of Carlsbad as big pickup trucks splashed up muddy puddles. I hauled ass out to the Caverns so that I could see them and still get back to the motel by the 11:00 checkout time. The sweeping plains were beaten flat by the wind. I rode up the fun, curving road to the ridge where the Visitor Center is located, and I was the first one down in the elevator that morning. For perhaps half an hour I had the Big Room to myself. It's a convoluted cavern that covers about eight acres and rises as much as 370 feet from pit floor to ceiling, although it's mostly about 100 feet high. It's all formed of calcite, calcium carbonate. It's incredible what forms dripping water can produce. I didn't snap pictures; let me give you a link instead. The Big Room

OK, I know Carlsbad Caverns is a cliche, but it's awesome. It's exquisite, both massive and delicate. Jaw-dropping. Mind-blowing. It gives you a sense of the age and immensity of the earth. The Caverns are in the middle of nowhere between two ugly towns (El Paso and Carlsbad) but they are definitely worth going out of your way for. I jumped through some hoops for this, and I am really glad I did.

I came back up top to shrieking wind and rain. I couldn't do more than 65 MPH flat-out into the teeth of a headwind, and I got back to the motel 10 minutes before checkout. I loaded the bike and headed for Presidio, on the Rio Grande 250 miles away. Same muddy streets, same crowded highways. By far the most common vehicle was the vacuum truck, which sucks up oil from scattered rigs miles apart and transports it to centralized collection facilities.

The run from Carlsbad to Pecos, TX went through vast plains regularly punctuated by oil rigs, sometimes with flaming gas flares 10 or 20 feet long, streaming horizontally in the wind.

Surprise, Surprise, Surprise

After Pecos, the run down Highway 17 toward Balmorhea was less crowded and and a little prettier. Some irrigated fields appeared. Mountains loomed in the distance. To the west, intense rain showers poured from a bank of angry crowds. I rode faster, trying to get far enough south to dodge them. At Balmorhea I glimpsed the surprising fresh-water spring that feeds an enormous swimming pool: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Balmorhea_State_Park

Then I headed through the Davis Mountains. These were lovely! What a surprise! In California they would be a national monument or some other cherished designation. I didn't take any pictures in the heights of the mountains but as the rain eased on the far side I passed these horses and decided to stop. They wondered what to make of me.

After the Davis Mountains came Fort Davis. This was a beautiful little town with a well-restored historic fort. It was kind of a boutique town, but not in an obnoxious way, and the setting was lovely. I was surprised!

I rode on another 20 miles. Along the way I spotted, of all things, a flock of 30 American White Pelicans trying hard to get north against the headwind. What were they doing here over the Chiricauan Desert? Eventually I reached Marfa.

I took this photo in honor of my sister-in-law, Martha. I'm a sucker for dumb humor. Hi, Marfa!

My original plan had been to continue on to Presidio but... there was something different about this town. Heck, there were a lot of things different. Art galleries were everywhere. Genuine hipster vehicles roamed the streets. An encampment in the south side of town was like a permanent, small-scale Burning Man. Here, see what I mean. What a surprise! to find something like this in such a backwater part of the state.

I found a room at the Riata Inn, on the very eastward fringe of town. After I unpacked I wandered off into the nearby field, toting binoculars to look for birds, and suddenly realized there was a pronghorn antelope buck several hundred yards out. I went back for the camera but it was too far out for a good photo. In the photo below, the view from my room, it was in the exact center of the photo. I love pronghorns. Score.

As I write this, there's a sliver of rainbow on the horizon, right above the spot that the pronghorn appeared. I'm off to get some grub and check out the hipsters.

It's Like I Never Left L.A.

In Marfa all but two of the restaurants close on Monday night. I ended up at Jett's Grill at the Paisano Hotel. It was completely full. I swear, I could have been in Santa Monica. All correct hairdos (the men, too), industry talk, and killer shoes. Not even a trace of a cowboy hat in this West Texas restaurant. The Paisano is a gorgeous hotel – it would be in the top rank of boutique hotels in, say, Palm Springs. It got me to wondering; am I just the last to know about Marfa? Before dinner I had a beer at the working-class Lost Horse Saloon just down the road from my motel. I fell in with some genuine locals who knew this town before it got artsy. They told me that stars like Johnny Depp come here because no one knows who they are, and the stars really like that. Hugh Hefner was here with a Playmate of the year, to visit a Playboy-themed piece of installation art that was eventually taken down for lack of a building permit. Oh, brother. Maybe I'll get back to Just Plain Folks on Wednesday.