To Better Days

Well. Yesterday was not a good day. I was wet through and cold, and then had a crash that made me forget all about that discomfort, which I had though was so important moments before.

But the bike, although a little uglier now, was still running well. My body, except for the strained muscle in my calf, was fine. The day dawned gray, but not foggy or rainy. I got my act together and got on the road a little after ten. The dry pavement was like a blessing and the good visibility perked me up. I went to Woods Cycle Center, to the dealer who had provided moral and practical support the previous evening. I needed to get my chain lubed and adjusted, and in the process they discovered that I needed new rear brake pads, so I got that done as well.

The previous night my girlfriend had asked me to visit Bremond, a tiny town north of College Station where her father had grown up. Since I didn't have a strong target for today's destination and since I love my girlfriend, I left the dealership about 1:00 and headed for Bremond, crossing my fingers that the good weather would hold.

After some downright urban traffic around New Braunfels, things got much lighter and more interesting as I turned onto Old Bastrop Highway, which was signposted as the original El Camino Real. Huh? I knew that there was an El Camino Real in California that connected all the Spanish missions, but I didn't know that Texas had one. Live and learn. That road meandered through some nice countryside, crossing the pretty little San Marcos River, which on this Saturday afternoon was littered practically bank to bank with young people in float tubes, sipping various beverages.

Eventually I hit highway 21 and followed that northeast for quite a long time. It's surpirsing to me, the speed limits that are set in Texas. This was frequently a two-lane, heavily traveled highway with limited passing opportunities, with intersections and driveways and the occasional pedestrian. Yet the speed limits were 70 or 75 MPH. Most drivers I know would have to rely more on luck than skill to handle those speeds in such an environment. I fell in with a group of about eight vehicles all doing the limit. A car came up behind me, apparently unhappy with the pace, and tailgated me. I'm thinking, OK, there's a car right in front of me, buddy. What the #%&@ do you want me to do - tailgate THEM? I've seen a fair amount of that in Texas. At one point I turned around for a long few seconds and stared at them. That got them to drop back, for maybe five minutes.

But other than little problems like that, it was a great ride. The beautiful countryside swept by; the weather was still gray but clear. I only had to stop once to check the map. Things got increasingly prettier as I passed through Bastrop (nice old downtown) and Rockdale and Hearne (well, OK, maybe not so much Hearne.) The ride from Hearne to Bremond passed through country that looked like one big manicured park. The bike handled great and I felt privileged to experience this country this way.

Bremond is a Polish town. Other towns in Texas are German or Czech; Bremond is Polish. It's a small town that has contracted from its glory days as a railroad hub. I stood in the middle of Main Street to take a picture, confident that I was not in danger from traffic.

That brick-red building down there on the left is the Dry Bean Saloon. It was the only place that looked to have anyone in it, so to fulfill my duties I ventured in and ordered a beer, a rare exception to my ethanol-free riding protocol.

There are thousands of names written on the walls of this saloon and now my name, and Deni's name, are written there.

I chatted with the bartender and, later, the owner, and learned that besides the original Polish emigrants who were recruited in their homeland to come here, part of the population arose from the "orphan trains" of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. That's a fascinating story in itself. Orphan trains came to Bremond and children were adopted there.

After fulfilling my responsibility in Bremond, I headed back south toward College Station, a town with a lot of motels. Sitting in a McDonald's in adjacent Bryan, I tried place after place, only to be told that they were full or their remaining rooms were $150 or so. I had stumbled into Parents' Weekend at Texas A&M, so finding a room was a bit of a struggle.

But I finally found one, virtually next door to Soladak's Beefmasters restauarnt. With a name like that I had to try it.

(To aid your sense of scale, those are pretty big biscuits.)

It was a large and delicious sirloin, but I especially liked being able to order turnip greens and black-eyed peas. Those side dishes are not routine in L.A. Along with a salad and a beer, the bill before tip came to $19.40. Ah, Texas.


Now I'm staying up way too late in my room. A severe thunderstorm passed through about half an hour ago. I thought the bike was going to blow over and, frankly, I'm not looking forward to picking it up again. But all is well. Today was a better day.

Tomorrow: Houston.