Virtual-Doug

The Four County Ride

Yesterday was Black Friday, and I wanted to be as far away from a shopping mall as I could get.  It seemed like a good day to get on the scoot and go for a ride - a nice long ride.

US Route 83 follows the Rio Grande northwest out of McAllen, Texas.  Yeah - there are a few more towns upriver, but there are no shopping malls and the traffic gets thinner.  Finally, you get to the town of Zapata. It sits at the head of Falcon Lake, a man-made reservoir that also provides an excellent fishing lake.  There is a fairly good economy of providing fishing guides, tackle shops and boat dealerships in Zapata.  A fair number of Winter Texans (retirees from the mid-west who winter here) occupy the numerous RV parks, enjoying the low cost of living and a lot of fishing.

But remember - on the other side of the lake is Mexico - and the drug cartels control that side.  About a year ago, a young couple got on their jet skis and went across the lake to explore an old Mexican village that had been submerged when the lake was created in 1953. The Zetas didn’t like them poking around in their backyard and came out shooting.  The husband was shot and killed while the wife barely escaped.  That has prompted American law enforcement to remind folks to be careful on the lake - and not to cross the international boundary.

After a decent, if not spectacular lunch of enchiladas, I refueled and was ready to continue on my way, but not until I took a look at this old Chevy for sale.  Anybody out there know what year this is?  The seller spoke only Spanish - I tried to ask him.

Notice from the map that I went northeast from Zapata.  There ain’t nothin’ out there but dry brush, buzzards, rattlesnakes and the occasional cow.  See the little town of Guerra?  It consists of five buildings, only one of which is occupied and the rest falling down.  Not much to see in the ranch country north of the Rio Grande.  The rest of the ride was uneventful.

I covered 255 miles - and I didn’t see any shopping malls.

Day Trip to Hebbronville

Sunday broke with sparkling clear skies and low humidity - a blessed relief from the high temperatures and higher humidity of the deep south Texas summer.  Great day to play hooky from church and throw a leg over the Burgman.  A day trip to somewhere seemed like the thing to do.

Why Hebbronville, Texas?

Simple - it would be a two-hour ride there, and another two hours back.  All on back country roads.

Those back country roads took me through some small towns - some of them almost non-existent.  La Gloria is famous for its bull fighting ring. Yep - bloodless bull fights.  There’s not much else in town.


(As always, click on each picture to see a larger version.)

And another thing about those back country roads - they are flat.  The topography of deep south Texas makes your dining room table seem bumpy - there ain’t no hills!  The best that can be said is that there are a few places that are a few feet higher than other places.  It is ranch country, too far from the Rio Grande to irrigate for crops and too dry to farm without pumped water.  There’s not much out there - crows have to pack a lunch before  they fly across south Texas.


When you do see life, it is usually bovine - the only time I saw humans was behind the wheel of a pickup truck going the other way.  By the way - in certain parts of Texas it is illegal (well, okay - maybe just immoral) to drive anything other than a pickup truck or a large SUV.  The Chevrolet Suburban is the National Car of Texas.  Because I wasn’t in a pickup, these critters were a little nervous about the strange dude in the neon-glow jacket peering across the fence at them.  I’m no cowboy, but I noticed the stance of the bull on the left - and decided to get back on the scoot and boogie down the road.


I’d hoped to have a nice late breakfast in Hebbronville - find a local eatery that served huge portions of all the things that are bad for you.  Biscuits and gravy, bacon, eggs fried in grease and toast with real butter.  You know the kind of place I’m talking about - with cracked vinyl seats and a waitress that calls you “Honey.”  But, I had forgotten it was Sunday.  The Country Kitchen was closed and all I found was a Dairy Queen.  Somehow, a Hunger Buster hamburger wasn’t a good substitute for a big cafe-style breakfast.

The good people of Hebbronville (there aren’t many of them) are church-going folks.  Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic church was packing them in.  Of the other churches in town, I noticed most had smaller crowds, except the Methodists who had a Spanish language service listed for later in the day and the English service had been conducted on Saturday night.  Much of the population of Hebbronville speaks Spanish, accounting for the large number of worshippers at Our Lady.


But like so many other small rural towns of Texas, Hebbronville is dying.  Shuttered businesses and houses are common.  Much like Ballinger in West Texas  and Muleshoe in far west Texas near the New Mexico line , there is nothing to keep the young folks there.  Sad to see what were once thriving businesses now empty and falling down.


Then it was back on the scoot for the ride home.  Though the Burgman gets 60 miles to the gallon, the tank only holds 3.4 gallons.  I had 113 miles on the odometer since the last fill-up, but thought it wise to gas up before heading back.  You see - - the number of gas stations is rather limited in The Big Empty.


Nice day - nice trip - nice bike.  I let the Burgman settle down to a comfortable 70 miles per hour - I wasn’t in any hurry - and got home by early afternoon.

Then I let a nice nap in my easy chair wipe the grin off my face.

Muleshoe 3

Leaving New Mexico in 1999 and moving to Texas was difficult for me - I lost a large part of my inventory of jokes.  New Mexicans see themselves as being a bit better than Texans and have many jokes to prove it.

Therefore - “The wind isn’t blowing - its just that Texas sucks.”

The last day in Muleshoe, both were true.

Sunday morning dawned bright and calm - and we wondered about the dire predictions of the Lubbock television weather guys who said we were under a high wind warning, a blowing dust warning and a dust storm warning.  By mid-morning, we realized the forecast was correct.

Winds picked up to 65 miles per hour gusts - and all the freshly plowed top soil in the area began to move itself from one county to the next.

(As usual, be sure to click on the photos to see the larger version.)

We had planned to attend a quarter horse race in the afternoon, but after seeing how fierce the storm was, we knew no right-minded cowboy would race his horse out in that mess.  If you are standing in the field, you can close your eyes, but when racing, it is best to have your eyes wide open.  These poor guys were in a field near the race track.

But the weekend was about two brothers who live too far apart.  Fueled by my brother’s excellent home brew beer, an occasional cigar and the absence of wives, we swapped many a story and opinion.

I even had the chance to snap a few shots of him just being himself.  He kinda looks like one of the locals, doesn't he - - except for the ball cap that says “Colorado Native.”  The bib overalls made him right at home at the auction.

So - thanks, Bro.  I had a great time.  Even better, I reconnected with my great brother.

And yes, Muleshoe was the perfect place to reconnect.

Muleshoe - The Auction

They do it every Saturday - folks from many miles around come to Muleshoe to sell or buy livestock.  We two city boys had never been to a livestock auction before, so after assuring the staff that I wasn’t from PETA and was not trying to cause trouble with my cameras,  we wandered around to see the action.

Of course, one must size up the possibilities before the auction.  The auction started at 9AM with sheep, goats and some hogs, with the cattle auction starting at 1PM.  First thing in the morning, most of the pens held sheep and goats - though I was amazed to see some llamas.  I was told later that many ranchers put llamas and mules out with their cattle to protect them from coyotes.

And I thought mules was just the name of the school mascot.

(As always, be sure to click on each photo - you will see a larger version of the picture if you do.)

Each animal is identified by a tag or sticker and when the time comes, the critters are herded into the ring - in one door, parade around for a few minutes, then out the other door.  While the ring men swat the sheep/goats/cows/horses to keep them moving, the auctioneer prattles on with a running tab of the prices electronically displayed above him.  By the way - the ring men were pretty easy with the plastic paddles, which make more noise than anything else.  Even the most recalcitrant animal didn’t get much more than a swat on the butt.

The bidding is like any other auction - it is a mystery how the auctioneer sees the bids.  A little nod here, a dip of the head there - somehow he sees the bids and keeps things going.  The ring men occasionally point out someone in the crowd to help him see all the bidders, but for the most part, he relies on years of experience - and a knowledge of his customers.  They all seem to know each other, though I did hear him once say “75, from the man I’ve never seen before.”  More often, I’d hear things like “Fred?  You through?” or “Hey - this is a nice steer, Jimmy.”

Few of the animals were sold in large groups - they were auctioned off either one at a time or in small herds of six or seven.  I was surprised to see so many goats - one rancher told me a few were sold for milk, but most were meat goats, intended for the Muslim population around the Dallas area.  Some of the smaller kids were sold to families who would raise them as a project for the children.

And yes - there were some photogenic types around too.  Some fit the image of the West Texas cowboy - and others were a mixture - a little bit typical American teenager with a little bit of cowboy too.

In other words, Americans.

Thanks to Jaime Myers for the hospitality.  The brothers enjoyed their day at the livestock auction.

If You’ve Been to Muleshoe, Raise Your Hand

Call it a lost weekend for old guys - my brother and I decided to get together half-way between our homes in Denver and McAllen.  For no other reason than the name, Muleshoe, Texas, fit the bill.  Besides, the Mules won the Texas high school football Class 2A championship in 2008.  How many people can say they were tourists in Muleshoe?

(Be sure to click on each photo to see a larger version.)

Muleshoe is easy to find - it is near Earth, Texas, and Bovina, Texas.  The nearest town to get a beer is  Clovis, New Mexico.  Muleshoe boasts a population of 4,500, a school system that wins accolades and in general, seems to be doing okay.  It has its share of empty buildings, but there are few homes for sale and many businesses seem to be thriving.  We decided to stay at the Valley Motel.  I have no idea why it is called the Valley as there are no mountains within 250 miles.  Muleshoe sits on the Caprock, an area known as the flattest area on the North American continent. But the room was clean, the shower had hot water and the price was right. 

The flatness, coupled with sitting atop the Ogallala Aquifer makes Muleshoe prime agricultural territory.  Cotton, cattle, wheat, corn and other grains - even peas and beans are grown in the area.  The signature landscape objects are the big irrigation systems.  Pumping water up from the aquifer, the giant sprinklers then pivot, spreading water in huge circles.

Like most of its neighbor towns, Muleshoe sports grain elevators - the skyscrapers of the prairie.  Located alongside the railroad tracks and near the highways, these giant structures store the bread and cereal you wll find on your table months after harvest.

The end of the day found us at The Dinner Bell, where the staff serves up good solid food - nuthin’ fancy, just good stuff meant for hard working people.  While I don’t fit the “hard working” description, I ate like I worked hard.

I'll have some more to say about Muleshoe, but tomorrow I drive home and it may be a few days before I post again.

(Christina - you can put your hand down now.)

Time for a Haircut (Ballinger, Texas)

Ross needed a haircut, but he had a problem - he would have to break in a new barber.  Eddie had cut Ross’ hair for many many years, but Eddie had passed away a week earlier..

There’s not a lot of barbers to pick from in Ballinger, Texas.  Eddie had run his barber shop since 1964, but Sarah arrived from Odessa last December, making Ballinger a two-shop town - at least for awhile.

(Be sure to click on each photo - you will see a larger version of the picture.)

Not that Ross minded having a woman for his barber - he just wanted a good hair cut.  Sarah had been  cutting hair for almost forty years - and Ross had nothing to worry about.  Hers is a nice comfortable place - and it is undoubtedly a barber shop.

Ross sat in the chair as the place began to fill up with other customers.  Most conversations began with “How much rain did you get at your place?” and Sarah chatted with each of them.  A smile and a “I’ll be right with you” greeted the new comers.  The barber shop may have been new, but all the customers were old friends.

As with all good barbers, Sarah pays attention to beards and mustaches too.  Sarah asked if the  customer wanted his mustache trimmed by merely cocking her head and waving the clippers, and he responded with a nod of the head.  Who says you have to use words to talk?

As the morning wore on, the shop became hotter - the air conditioner was out.  By mid-afternoon, the heat of a west Texas day was too much.  Sarah called it a day, left a sign on the door and went home.  All that has changed in Ballinger is the name of the barber - her shop is the new gathering place to swap news.