Chapter 6 Texas - Austin to Louisiana
We said goodbye to our Horn of the Moon hosts in Austin, loaded our bikes into Kris’ van and were dropped off on the outskirts of the city. The miles rolled by only to be interrupted when a vine wrapped around my derailleur. After several minutes of unwinding the vine, my hands were black with grease. Mary, who was ahead of me, rode back to see if she could help. She looked at my dirty hands and provided her advice, “There’s loose dirt over there, just rub your hands clean”. I plunged them into the loose dirt and began rubbing my hands together. “What the heck; it’s a fire ant hill”. Outside of this excitement little else happened that day except two flats on Mary’s flatless tires and some dogs that chased us!
Fixing a flat
The next day we rode through the Bastrop State Park which was just beautiful and had no traffic. Much of the forested land there had burned during a dry spell destroying many trees and houses. We saw several small shelters built by the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) that still remained. The Civilian Conservation Corps provided work for men and women in need from 1933 to 1942. This program made it possible to not only to help families financially, but it also had a natural resource conservation component. In many rural areas of our country roads were built, along with shelters and other buildings. Participants did the needed manual work and learned valuable skills which could be carried through the rest of their lives. Today with so many environmental and social issues could we take advantage of such a program? This type of program could provide a lasting and satisfying impact throughout our country taking on projects such as planting Edible Forest Gardens which, once they take hold need less input to maintain and to provide food. Can you imagine if our country made it a mission to plant such gardens across our land and anyone could have access to the fresh food that was growing in our parks and roadsides? This would help to eliminate the food deserts. I am hoping a program such as this is included in the rebuilding our infrastructure because good food, good health, and proper brain development and function is our most basic infrastructure.
Detours on backroads can be confusing, which way to go?
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Much of the forest in Bastrop State Park had burned a decade ago
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CCC pavilion still standing after the forest fire
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The road through the park led to Buescher State Park and onto Rte. 153 taking us to the small town of Winchester, Texas. What a sweet town! Our first stop was an ice cream parlor where we ordered ice cream cones and started a conversation with the clerk who turned out to be the owner’s mother. Her daughter also owned the famous local steakhouse next door and was key to the revitalization of this small Texas town. The clerk called her daughter to find out where we could stay for the night and we were told we could set our tent in the town’s park. For dinner we went to the steak house and even hungry bicyclists ended up with enough food to last two days. Camping in the park had a familiar sound, the sound of trains rumbling by and blowing their loud whistle. I don’t want to get into details but I needed to be in the woods, in the dark, by the train tracks. It was definitely bad timing. The train passed by along with all its extreme noise. One thing for sure, traveling on bicycles can be very entertaining.
Once again we found that this part of Texas had fencing around much of the land and tenting campgrounds were limited, making our decision to stay in a motel in the town of LaGrange easy. The next day Jason gave us a hitchbiking ride to Brehman taking us off the Southern Tier bike route. From Brehman we had to vary our route and starting traveling on Rte.105 against a 20 mph wind with higher gusts. Looking at Google Maps on the tablet we found a dirt road leading to Old Navasota Road, a country road with very little traffic. The bonus was that on this route there was a small Texan country store. We turned onto Tieke Lane and the dirt road was so peaceful with beautiful farmland on either side. Tieke Lane ended at a group of houses about 1 ½ miles from rte. 105. We were standing there with about a dozen cows surrounding us to see what we were about. You could almost hear the cows say, you’re not following that stupid GPS? What do you do when you’re in this situation; you look at the stupid GPS. A woman saw us from her house and came out to clarify directions. It ended up that we had to go through her yard, through a gate and across a field to reach Old Navasota Road which was a great reprieve from traffic and because we were traveling through the woods and the wind was somewhat blocked. The country store, a 16 feet by 16 feet building, was closed for the day so afterward we continued until meeting up again with rte. 105 with all its wind and traffic. We had to pass over 3 shoulderless, high traffic bridges before we entered the thriving town of Navasota. Our first stop was the Classic Rock Coffee Shop to eat and where we met Robbie. Robbie was interested in our travels and after talking with us he made a phone call which was followed by Bert the mayor walking into the café. Mary and I were so honored to meet the mayor and after all the introductions he said that he had called the Navasota Fire Station and they were expecting us to stay the night. Wow! On such a cold night we had a warm place to stay.
The road through the park led to Buescher State Park and onto Rte. 153 taking us to the small town of Winchester, Texas. What a sweet town! Our first stop was an ice cream parlor where we ordered ice cream cones and started a conversation with the clerk who turned out to be the owner’s mother. Her daughter also owned the famous local steakhouse next door and was key to the revitalization of this small Texas town. The clerk called her daughter to find out where we could stay for the night and we were told we could set our tent in the town’s park. For dinner we went to the steak house and even hungry bicyclists ended up with enough food to last two days. Camping in the park had a familiar sound, the sound of trains rumbling by and blowing their loud whistle. I don’t want to get into details but I needed to be in the woods, in the dark, by the train tracks. It was definitely bad timing. The train passed by along with all its extreme noise. One thing for sure, traveling on bicycles can be very entertaining.
Once again we found that this part of Texas had fencing around much of the land and tenting campgrounds were limited, making our decision to stay in a motel in the town of LaGrange easy. The next day Jason gave us a hitchbiking ride to Brehman taking us off the Southern Tier bike route. From Brehman we had to vary our route and starting traveling on Rte.105 against a 20 mph wind with higher gusts. Looking at Google Maps on the tablet we found a dirt road leading to Old Navasota Road, a country road with very little traffic. The bonus was that on this route there was a small Texan country store. We turned onto Tieke Lane and the dirt road was so peaceful with beautiful farmland on either side. Tieke Lane ended at a group of houses about 1 ½ miles from rte. 105. We were standing there with about a dozen cows surrounding us to see what we were about. You could almost hear the cows say, you’re not following that stupid GPS? What do you do when you’re in this situation; you look at the stupid GPS. A woman saw us from her house and came out to clarify directions. It ended up that we had to go through her yard, through a gate and across a field to reach Old Navasota Road which was a great reprieve from traffic and because we were traveling through the woods and the wind was somewhat blocked. The country store, a 16 feet by 16 feet building, was closed for the day so afterward we continued until meeting up again with rte. 105 with all its wind and traffic. We had to pass over 3 shoulderless, high traffic bridges before we entered the thriving town of Navasota. Our first stop was the Classic Rock Coffee Shop to eat and where we met Robbie. Robbie was interested in our travels and after talking with us he made a phone call which was followed by Bert the mayor walking into the café. Mary and I were so honored to meet the mayor and after all the introductions he said that he had called the Navasota Fire Station and they were expecting us to stay the night. Wow! On such a cold night we had a warm place to stay.
Cows surrounded us as we tried to figure out what to do
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A farm road that led across the field
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That night Josh, Ethan, Wayne, and later on Axel, helped us understand what it was like to be a firefighter. There are many new challenges that need continuous training such as modern building materials which contain increasing amounts of polymers. The selling point is that smaller pieces of wood can be laminated together producing stronger beams enabling our culture to build larger houses with less wood and increased efficiency. Many of these chemicals are extremely flammable and have decreased the amount of time it takes for the newer buildings to burn down. They told us that in the past a house would smolder before really catching on fire, allowing firefighters more time. Now, the time is much shorter and there are extremely hot fires making it much harder to save buildings. Throughput, along with the Law of Diminishing Returns, are in action. A greater amount of total resources are needed (when counting everything including factories, mining, pollution mitigation, etc.) in the construction of the building and then in fighting the fires. We slept peacefully in the station as it was a quiet night for the men. After many goodbyes in the morning we headed to the Classic Rock Coffee Shop for breakfast. Jason and Mandy who were working the counter came over to our table and were talking with us when Bert walked in. It turns out that Bert is an active Mayor, for instance, every week he reads to the children at the local school. It’s mayors like this that make a difference in the world.
We were welcomed by the Navasota City firefighting crew
Back on the road, we traveled through Anderson and Richards on beautiful farmland roads to Stubble Fields, part of the Sam Huston National Forest, where we camped for the night. It was a long day of riding especially when we misread the mileage on the map. The mileage amounts on the map are so small that even with our reading glasses on, they could be misread. Misreading the map was becoming a reoccurring event.
When packing up the next morning we noticed the campsite next to us had a small tent with no car or bicycle and since Stubble Fields was in the middle of nowhere, we wondered how they got there. The campers were a father who had backpacked with his 12 year old daughter on a trail from his house 8 miles away. It reminded both of us of the valuable time we spent with our own children in past years. Due to imminent rain and roads with literally no shoulders hitchbiking was our plan for the day. We biked the 4 miles out to the main road and held the sign that read Shephard. The traffic was sparse but finally Brian, a 7th generation Texan whose great grandfather fought alongside of Sam Houston, picked us up. Since he was a proud and knowledgeable man this ride gave us the opportunity to hear so much history and local lore of the area. Brian took us to a motel and when we asked him where he actually lived we found out that he had driven quite far out of his way to help us. After checking in we bicycled past two groups of barking and bicycle chasing dogs to the Happy Days Diner where we ate dinner while looking over the Adventure Cycling map in preparation for the next day. After dinner we biked back to the motel in the dark, once again past the terrifying dogs. Mary wanted to look at the map again and after some frantic searching and bouts of swearing we realized we had left the map at the diner. Mary called the diner and the waitress said the table had been cleared and no one remembered any map, she was kind enough to look in the lost and found and reported that no one had seen our map. We were feeling desperate so Mary asked if we could go through the trash and the waitress said, “Sure”. We traveled back in the dark, past the dogs and now in the rain and began methodically going through the trash. It was so disgusting that I started gagging and I said, “Maybe we don’t need the map”. Mary replied, “Go stand over there, we need the map”. It was not long before the map was found. Mary and I both have our strengths, and on this trip mine definitely was not my weak stomach. What a way to celebrate New Year’s Eve.
The terrain was now finally somewhat flat making the riding easy. We had an early picnic lunch in Rye before ending the day in Honey Island. This area of Texas is known as ‘The Thicket’ and as you look into the woods one can see why. We weren’t too far into town before we passed a BBQ place on the right with patrons yelling “come on in”, and that’s just what we did. There were about 8 people sitting on the porch so we joined in. When we went to order our food the kind waitress told us not to order two dinners because one would probably be enough for both of us. When is the last time you ever heard that at an eating establishment? As we sat down outside at the picnic table to eat we noticed the motto on their T shirts read, “Drinkin beer and skinnin deer, that’s how we roll”. As far as we could tell the BBQ place and the taxidermy business located next door were owned by the same family. Our main concern after we ate was where were we going to stay for the night and one of the customers offered his piece of land right across the street. Pushing our bikes over we found a spot within the thicket. The land had trash everywhere! It was hard to separate the openness, generosity and kindness with how the east Texas culture responds to environmental and social issues. I’m finding that the people there made us feel at home and relaxed. There were no pretentions, just lively and fun conversation which is a gift the South could share with other parts of our country. As bicycle travelers we felt welcomed and safe. We cleared a place for our tent and set it up. Camping in the thicket presented challenges, such as getting in and out of the tent, especially in the middle of the night, yet we were glad to be so sheltered when the storms hit fast and furiously.
One of the cultural conflicts we ran into was the trash that we saw everywhere throughout much of the trip, yet in the affluent areas the trash was minimal. Along the highways we saw countless plastic bottles half filled with liquid that I thought was juice at first, before I realized that truckers used them to urinate in while driving then they capped the bottles and tossed them out on the side of the road from the moving vehicle. There was almost no recycling that we found and we had to get used to another way of thinking and to throw can, bottles, and all other recyclables away. The amount of trash we generated on our trip was a daily discussion as we tried to come up with ways to reduce our waste but it was a difficult task as we were not willing to carry it hoping for a recycling bin that never would materialize.
In the morning I walked down to a store-gas station-restaurant with our coffee cups to start the day. Sitting outside was Chuck, the owner, and Wayne, a neighbor. I was filling our cups while Wayne asked me where I was staying and when I told him, he showed me the weather radar on his smart phone. “You only have a few minutes before the storm is going to hit, it’s only going to last for about an hour, you’d better go”. He was absolutely right. I hurried back and reached the tent just in time. We were so lucky to have camped in the thicket. The storm with all its wind, rain, thunder and lightning passed right over us as Mary and I drank our coffee. When the storm ended we packed up and rode to the store to have breakfast. We no sooner ordered our food when the next wave of the storm began. Right after our food was ready the electricity went out and looking outside we knew we were going nowhere. Come to find out the whole area was without electricity. We were there for hours listening to Chuck and Wayne tell stories and one of them told of the way in which Honey Island was named. During the Civil War the Confederates needed men to fight and they sent an army to conscript men from this area. The men there were poor and didn’t own slaves but instead the blacks and whites worked together to carve out a life in ‘The Thicket’. When the Confederates arrived, there were no able men to be found anywhere. The men were hiding in ‘The Thicket’ and survived on food that was hidden by villagers in a hollowed tree that was once inhabited by bees and was named the Honey Island. A Confederate general was sent to solve the problem and with his army started fires in the forest in hopes to drive the men out to a main road. The men in the woods escaped the fire by running to the side and circling back around behind the fire that burned thousands of acres. The fire burned right to the road just as planned, however, the waiting Confederate army found no one.
In the morning I walked down to a store-gas station-restaurant with our coffee cups to start the day. Sitting outside was Chuck, the owner, and Wayne, a neighbor. I was filling our cups while Wayne asked me where I was staying and when I told him, he showed me the weather radar on his smart phone. “You only have a few minutes before the storm is going to hit, it’s only going to last for about an hour, you’d better go”. He was absolutely right. I hurried back and reached the tent just in time. We were so lucky to have camped in the thicket. The storm with all its wind, rain, thunder and lightning passed right over us as Mary and I drank our coffee. When the storm ended we packed up and rode to the store to have breakfast. We no sooner ordered our food when the next wave of the storm began. Right after our food was ready the electricity went out and looking outside we knew we were going nowhere. Come to find out the whole area was without electricity. We were there for hours listening to Chuck and Wayne tell stories and one of them told of the way in which Honey Island was named. During the Civil War the Confederates needed men to fight and they sent an army to conscript men from this area. The men there were poor and didn’t own slaves but instead the blacks and whites worked together to carve out a life in ‘The Thicket’. When the Confederates arrived, there were no able men to be found anywhere. The men were hiding in ‘The Thicket’ and survived on food that was hidden by villagers in a hollowed tree that was once inhabited by bees and was named the Honey Island. A Confederate general was sent to solve the problem and with his army started fires in the forest in hopes to drive the men out to a main road. The men in the woods escaped the fire by running to the side and circling back around behind the fire that burned thousands of acres. The fire burned right to the road just as planned, however, the waiting Confederate army found no one.
Usually traffic travels 10 mph over the limit, slow down, we are on bikes!
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Camping in the ‘Thicket’
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Chuck and I out on the porch
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When the storm was over Wayne offered to take us to the town of Silsbee because another storm was coming through in a few hours. In Silsbee there was a RV campground that allowed tents. We arrived and the owner suggested camping under the pavilion because of the rain and it had electricity to charge our devices. We set up and unloaded our packs and rode to Walmart, a few miles away to buy some stuff. I don’t really like buying stuff, but let’s face it sometimes you just have to buy stuff and the one thing Walmart has is plenty of stuff. We added a kickstand to replace the one that had snapped in half and pepper spray to guard against biting dogs that love to chase passing bikers. Wherever we camped we walked around to take in the area and when we got back from Walmart that’s exactly what we did and as usual we met some people. Many of the people in this RV campground lived fulltime in their RVs. Our next door neighbors were an older retired couple who had moved down from Ohio. The husband was sitting outside playing a guitar and he came over and talked for a while then his wife joined him as they were both interested in our trip. They told us if there was anything we needed to just knock on their door. The owners of the park were well loved by the people who were living there and those just passing through and when Mary and I went to the club house to use a real stove to cook our dinner the owners were there playing pool and drinking wine with two of the renters. It was a community of people laughing and enjoying each other’s company.
The next morning I went back early to the club house to make coffee. The door had a key pad with a combination that I had memorized. It was a little dark due to the available light and without my glasses I was pushing buttons that I couldn’t really see. I was stooped over totally focused on the numbered pad and I didn’t notice that Hank was opening the door. Hank was politically as far to the right as I am to the left. We started talking politics while I made the coffee and I could have been there for hours, it was so engaging. Here was a man who was opposite from me in political ideas and he argued for his position with as much passion as I did mine. I kept focused and finished making our coffee but before I left I told him how much Mary and I had enjoyed our trip especially meeting all the wonderful people. Hank said when people are open to meet each other one on one, the result becomes an understanding of each other’s culture. Instead of goodbye, he ended with “be safe”. This phrase, ‘be safe’, gave Mary and I many hours of discussion on what exactly it meant. Boy, looking back, when you’re with someone every day and all day long you sure develop strange discussions to pass the time.
Before we were out of the campground I had my second flat on my new flatless tire. After a quick repair we were soon traveling down a four lane highway with huge shoulders. The land was flat and miles easily passed by. Our destination was Kirbyville where we would spend the night at the Methodist Church, a member of Warm Showers. While riding I heard a piece of metal hitting the road and all I remembered about it was I thought at the time, “I guess I must have run over a piece of metal”. When we arrived at the church we met Jim, a lay speaker for the congregation. After leaning our bicycles against the church wall Jim gave us a tour around the church which progressed right into talking about history. Jim was filling in the gaps and clarifying things we already knew about and we were asking many questions such as “how does the Colorado River run through Austin?” Jim clarified, “It’s not The Colorado River, it’s the Texas Colorado River”. One hour went by, then 2 then 3 hours went by and all of us realized we were getting hungry and Jim offered to take us out to dinner. Mary and I argued with Jim and we said he was already doing plenty for us but he wouldn’t hear it. We moved our bikes away from the wall and it is then I knew what the metal sound hitting the road was. The adjustable part of my new Walmart kickstand had fallen off about 20 miles back. When we came back from dinner there was no lighting at the back door steps. Jim, in his 70’s navigated up the stairs easily and when I asked about the lighting he said that he had great night vision and it saves on electricity. The United Methodist Church of Kirbyville has a shrinking congregation and there are a few dedicated members that work hard to keep this church, founded in 1897, going. This would be our last night in Texas.
Jim and Mary at the United Methodist Church of Kirbyville
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Fossils embedded in the limestone walls of the church
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Our strategy on our trip was not to bicycle from coast to coast at any cost, but to see the country, meet people and come back in one piece. Due a stream of logging trucks we opted to hitchbike and rode our bikes to an intersection with room for the vehicle to pull over. We were picked up soon by a woman in an old Ford pick-up and rode for only 5 miles before she let us off at another intersection. In my mind I can still see this intersection because we were there for about 1½ hours watching huge log trucks on this shoulderless road. A big pick-up with big tires went by and I turned to Mary and said, “You know, those big tired trucks would never pick us up”. I had to eat my words when the truck turned around and Stacey offered us a ride. Conversation was slow at first, we were from different worlds. Mary or I would say something then Stacy would reply which was followed by silence before the next attempt, maybe this time by Stacey. Time went by and conversation picked up and before we knew it something happened and soon we were talking and laughing and telling stories. Our destination to Bon Wier was coming up and Stacey asked us if we wanted to go to DeRidder. It wasn’t the usual way he went home but DeRidder was an alternate route. We said sure and on our way to DeRidder we entered Louisiana.
Hitchbiking again, a reliable form of transportation
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Stacey dropped us off in DeRidder, Louisiana
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