Day 18: March 22, Van Horn to Marfa

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We failed to account for the fact that we had just crossed into the Central time zone and when our alarm went off in the morning in Van Horn it was pitch black outside. We’re talking no hint of sun. So we snoozed for a bit before finally deciding we would pack up camp and get a cup of coffee before we hit the road. It turned out that our dreamboat KOA campground had a full service cafe just steps from our tent site. We hadn’t intended on getting a full breakfast but since it was still dark out and we couldn’t go anywhere, we figured why not. We ended up getting an absolute monster of a breakfast: giant pancakes, eggs, bacon, and lots of coffee. The husband-wife team who ran the cafe were super sweet and very excited about our trip. With breakfast crushed and the sun above the horizon, we hit the road for Marfa. There are no services at all between Van Horn and Marfa so we packed a ton of water and some snacks. The snacks turned out to be totally unnecessary since our huge breakfast powered us all the way there.

There is one town between Van Horn and Marfa called Valentine. All its businesses are now shuttered though.

An art installation called Prada Marfa is about 35 miles away.

The ride was mostly pleasant except for the unbelievably poorly paved roads for the last 3o or so miles. I never thought much about pavement quality until this trip — now it’s all I think about. We had heard that Marfa was an anomaly in west Texas: a cool, artsy little town, full of great restaurants and galleries. Having stopped only once, briefly, on the 75 mile ride there, we were both ready to get out of the saddle once we got to town. The first thing we saw when we rolled in was a sign that said “Planet Marfa Beer Garden, OPEN!” Simultaneously, Sophie and I jammed on our brakes and headed for the entrance. We found an awesome courtyard with a bar in the middle full of cool art of all kinds. We ordered some local beers, a plate of nachos, and set up shop, happy as a couple clams. After that we wandered the town a bit, finding a bunch of cool spots including a pizza place/contemporary art gallery. We had some of the best pizza I’ve ever had in my life and then wandered into the back to check out the art. Super weird and awesome.

A local art gallery

Advice column in the local rag

Eventually we went and found our campsite for the night. It was a spot called El Cosmico where you can rent furnished RVs/Airstreams, tepees or tents or bring your own. I am reasonably certain that 80% of the people in this place were from Brooklyn, specifically Williamsburg. It was that kind of joint. I totally loved it. We set up camp, showered, and headed out to check out the nightlife in Marfa.

Our campsite at El Cosmico

We hit a couple bars, saw a local cowboy band play, then headed to Restaurant Cochineal where I had made reservations for dinner. When I called the day before, the only reservations they had available for 2 people was at 9pm. I couldn’t believe it but I took it as a sign that it was going to be a good meal. Turned out I was right, it was awesome. One of the best meals I’ve ever had. Ever. After dinner we decided to head back to camp rather than explore late night Marfa since we had 110 miles planned for the next day. If only we had known…

A local bar. Hipsters abound.

Day 15: March 20, El Paso to Ft. Hancock

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In El Paso, we stayed with my friend Blair and her family. Blair was in my post bacc program at NYU and is easily one of the funniest people I know. I’m not sure I would have made it through the last couple years of school without Blair. By happy coincidence, she home in El Paso for spring break from dental school. She and her parents graciously hosted us, took us out for our first meal in Texas (BBQ and margaritas!) and let us do literally all our laundry. It was a total dream come true. We were very sad to leave but eventually took off and headed east along the Mexican border. Now begins the long stretch through west Texas which is basically just a countdown till we get to take a couple days off and spend time with family in Austin.

Day 7: March 11, Palo Verde, CA to Hope, AZ

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We felt less than great when we woke up in Palo Verde partly due to the gnarly two previous days of riding and partly due to our mini mart dinner the night before. Baked beans were a bad choice. We got up early and when we hit the road Frankie was still asleep on a picnic table. Leaving Palo Verde we immediately ran into nasty headwinds (story of our lives at this point) and we trudged along with heavy legs, looking forward to reaching the Arizona border. We stopped for breakfast in Blythe, CA at a place called Steaks and Cakes where we both got the “Pancake Sandwich,” which was the most gigantic breakfast we have ever seen.

The Pancake Sandwich, which comes with a complimentary side of chocolate pudding. Why? Why not.

Getting back on our bikes after that was basically the worst thing that has ever happened to us. But we climbed back on and crossed the Arizona border after a couple miles. Immediately upon crossing the bridge into Arizona we were greeted by an old Native American woman drinking a 22 oz. Bud Lite who shouted obscenities at us which were too vulgar to repeat here. Welcome to Arizona!

The border crossing into Arizona, right before we were greeted by the welcoming committee.

The worst part of the day was still ahead of us as we had to ride on the shoulder of the interstate for about 25 miles. In spite of the relatively wide shoulder, it was much more heavily trafficked by large trucks than we were comfortable with. It was a “don’t tell mom” situation, one we hope never to repeat. We both had a mini-meltdown halfway through (some tears were shed) and we very seriously considered renting a Uhaul and driving our bikes to the next town. (I actually called the local Uhaul rental place — they were, of course, out of trucks).

Entering the Interstate. Never again.

Mercifully, we finally made it off the highway and onto a nice slow country road. We stopped at a country store (it was literally called, “The Country Store”) after a few miles to pick up some drinks and met a fellow named Warren who was incredibly curious about what we were doing. We talked to him for a good while and he told us that the RV park we were staying at in Hope, AZ was only about 12 miles down the road. Eventually he drove off and we jumped back on our bikes to bust out the last few miles. It turned out to be 16 miles to the park and when we arrived Warren was there waiting for us. He had driven back to make sure we made it because he said he felt so bad that he had given us the wrong mileage. Unbelievable. Then he offered to let us stay in his RV which was parked next to his house in a town a few miles farther along. We politely declined but were very grateful for the offer. Turned out, the RV park that night was amazing. Wireless internet at the community center, a structure to camp underneath to stay out of the wind, and spotlessly clean facilities. There was one other cyclist camping there that evening. His name was Scott, he was 51, from Cedar Rapids, Iowa, and he was a total gem. He was biking the route alone while tugging along a trailer that I swear must have had 120 lbs. of stuff in it, including a full-sized cooler. We don’t know why. But he made us coffee in the morning and we sat and compared stories from the road, which are now piling up quickly.

Scott and his trailer. What a gem.

Leaving Hope the next morning. They’re not really into contractions around here.

Day 5: March 9, Alpine to Ocotillo

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I don’t even know where to start with this. We woke up from an awesome night’s sleep in our hotel in Alpine ready to do some serious climbing. We knew we were in for a crazy day, topographically speaking — the route had up climbing nearly 5,000 feet over 62 miles. What we were not expecting were the unrelenting, soul-crushing headwinds. Being forced to stand up out of the saddle and climb in your granny gear is never a thing that should happen. But oh did it ever happen. Even on the descents were were peddling against resistance. It was cruel. Over the course of the day I shouted my fair share of obscenities into the wind. Luckily, our spirits were kept up by a group of 46 cyclists we met early in the day. They were a group of retirees who were riding with an organized, supported tour from San Diego to Florida. They were generally awesome and hilarious and provided a great deal of entertainment and perspective throughout the toughest parts of the day. We left them with about 25 miles to go and eventually descended into the Imperial Valley and camped in a town called Ocotillo where the only source of food is the mini mart attached to the gas station (if there’s one thing I’ve learned on this trip thus far, it’s that “food deserts” are a very real thing). We stayed in the empty lot between the community center and the fire house with our new friend Frankie. Frankie is an 18 year-old British guy riding solo across the Southern Tier while on a “gap year” (for those not familiar with gap years, please see the following: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKFjWR7X5dU). We all compared stories about how our moms didn’t want us to go biking across the country. Sophie and I have called our mothers every single night to report that we are still alive and well. Frankie told us he hadn’t spoken to his mother once since he’s been here. Then he corrected himself and said, “Well actually, I Facebooked her once.” You’re welcome, momses.

Sophie’s new friend Bert, who is 75 and riding to Florida. What you cannot tell from this picture is that they are holding hands.

And that ain’t even the top.

The good thing about climbing all the way up is that you get to cruise all the way down.

First sunset in the desert, on the way back from the mini mart with Frankie.

Woof.

Hello, Mexico.

Sophie reassuring her concerned mother that we are a-ok.

Home for the night.

This is Bubba. He owns the touring company that was shepherding all the retirees to Florida.

Day 4: March 8, San Elijio to Alpine

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Today was a beast. Riding through the rolling hills of San Diego county down the coast from Cardiff to Mission Beach was strenuous enough but once we headed east to encountered a whole different kind of terrain. We said goodbye to the Pacific Ocean and very shortly thereafter entered the desert. It was about 85 degrees today once we rode east and we climbed like we have never climbed before. Initially we had planned on riding up to Lakeside (elevation: 500 feet) but, having ridden farther than planned yesterday, we decided to ride all the way to Alpine (elevation: 2000 feet). We were slowed through the early part of the day by constantly having to check directions and make sure we weren’t lost (which we were at one point and it led to hiking on dirt trails with our 85 lb bikes… seriously). We were slowed in the later part of the day by the unrelenting climbs into the mountains and a stiff headwind. Sophie wanted to push on to a campsite several miles up the road. I vetoed that plan for fear of running into darkness and for need of some luxuriating. Turns out, the only hotel in Alpine is awesome. Pool and jacuzzi, which worked wonders on our sore muscles and free chocolate chip cookies, which worked wonders on our blood sugar levels and general morale. Plus, there’s wifi so not only can we post this blog but we can also watch “House of Cards.” Boom. Until next time.