Week of Deadly Calm

Abeline, TX

A week when nothing really happens.

Just kidding.

Friday, August 12th.
Van Horn, TX to Balmorhea, TX

Slept across from railroad tracks. Three trains rolled through with loud whistles at night. My heart shook like I was lying on a speaker at a rock concert. Well, it is called Van Horn, not Van Silent. A ha! A ha! A ha! A... oh.

On the road, I was mulling over an email notice that my student loans would require $300 a month in October unless I re-applied for income based payments. Can't pay. Getting a job would cost twice that much for rent and be an end to all things. Felt no incentive to do anything beyond this trip. Wat reasons? Bleh.

I felt done with this trip. Even though I'm only halfway between coasts, I felt like I've passed all the trials the road had to offer and the rest would be mere repetition. Crossing the desert was the pinnacle of challenges to me, and it was behind me sooner than expected. So much filler remaining.

Rained hard on the approach to Balmorhea. Leaned in on bicycle soaked and tired. Big puddles of mud.

The services there were almost non-existent. The one grocer in town sold me a slim drink of milk for $5 and some bread that tasted like the cat litter smell of the store. No supermarkets for sixty, seventy miles. Well, it's a good time not to care about anything.

Walking stick insect

Lucky me, a family from El Paso was weekending in the only inn 'round town. They'd seen me making good speed on the freeway and the wife noticed I showed up in town. She invited me over and treated me to tasty barbecue and beer.

I dipped out at sundown to find camp. Not long after, around 9 pm, a strong wind heralded thick sheets of rain. I covered up underneath bleachers at a park. But rain was coming down at an angle, not overhead, because the wind was so strong. The dry spot I had to stand in was outside the bleachers! Haha.

A stray dog found me. He walked up with a few cursory barks and walked away. Later he had a confrontation with a skunk, and later I met his owner. The skunk won. It was comical to see a tiny bushy tailed Pikachu hold his ground against a much larger, more muscular predator. When the boy who adopted the stray found me, I was asleep.

It seems I'm not the only fan of wandering outside at three, four a.m. A young man of 17 came to the bleachers to think, clear his head, or what not. I descended from my sleeping perch at the top bleacher to shoot the breeze with him. A rare social communion of two introverts that continued for hours.

Saturday, August 13th.
Balmorhea, TX to Fort Stockton, TX

Balmorhea has the world’s largest spring-fed swimming pool. Whatever that is. I planned to check it out, but rain all day. I might as well swim in the street.

Instead, I went to see the local kid from the park. He makes electronic music and wants to help his friend make a documentary. Definitely needs to get out of this town. Life here is like a stagnant pool of water.

We hung out most of the day while I waited for a break in the storm. We drove past the lake without seeing much. At around 4 pm, the sun unclothed herself of clouds and gave me the go ahead. It was late, but I had to make my move out of this lifeless place. I wish the same for the young artist.

Sunday, August 14th.
Fort Stockton, TX

A day of deadly calm.

Most of my possessions were still heavy with rain, so I took a day in town to dry out.

First day of an uneventful calm. I enjoyed how spaced apart the town was. Many open areas to spread bedding.

Monday, August 15th.
Fort Stockton, TX

A day of deadly calm.

Still nothing happening. I plan to wake up early, get breakfast, and conquer the hundred mile trip to the next city of Ozona. But... lots of open spaces here and I enjoy staying awake through the quiet, liberating night.

A cute skunk came sniffing at night. Shoo! But it was so cute. I'd like to de-spray one to keep as a pet. I wonder if she'd get along with a pet coyote.

Found a baseball field to stay the evening.

Tuesday, August 16th.
Fort Stockton, TX to freeway I-10 rest area

Breaking the cycle.

Third day of waking up after 10 am with no breakfast. This has to end. Yes, a hundred mile trip requires adequate preparation, but I can't keep pretending this is getting me on the road. I am staying put. I want to ride. So fuck it, sleep and breakfast or not, I'm venturing out.

Only twenty miles down the road, I'm overpowered by drowsiness. There is a constant headwind. My bicycle is dragging uphill. I stop at the first rest stop I encounter and sleep on a bench. I have to build a little fort of bags around my head to sleep against a forceful relentless wind.

I wake up mid afternoon, but instead of traveling, I work on the bicycle. First an exfoliation of the tires to remove thorns, wires, and glass. Next, adjustment of the brake pads. I am going hella slow because the rear saddle bag has been leaning against the brake, causing my pad to rub constantly. No wonder twenty miles felt so sluggish, goddamn. This may have been going on since day one, but noticeably worse in the past week.

Millipede

No Feng Shui of bag organization could stop the brake from rubbing, so I removed the rear brake altogether. Only way I can fix the slowdown for certain. The rear brake didn't have much stopping power anyways; the front brake usually did most of the work. Road ahead would be flat. Worth the sacrifice.

By the time I'd finished, sun was bored and going home. I had two bags of bread, a carton of raisins, and two Powerades. I spent my first night outside a city at that rest stop.

Wednesday, August 17th.
Fort Stockton, TX to Ozona, TX.

Ninety miles through rain.

Rolling down the mountaintop
Rolling with the stream
Rolling past the Alamo
My life is like a dream

Rolling past the mountaintop
Rolling through the stream
Rolling with the Alamo
This life is but a dream.

Living a dream is wonderful. But a dream is just a dream.

This was to be my hundred mile day, but I could not get out of Fort Stockton on a solid night of sleep or a massive breakfast, so my starting point was twenty miles outside of Fort Stockton.

From the picnic area rest stop outside of Fort Stockton it's about ninety miles to Ozona. (The route google shows is wrong in the middle, it adds about seven miles of U-turn on the freeway because I shut my phone off for a while and it thought I was on westbound.)

Rained all day. On and off.

Every once in a while the sun lit up the road and shed the rain off. The road smoothed out. And every time I would say, too heezy, man! I can do this for days, speeding to a hundred mile destination. No way you can stop me, you can only slow me down.

Then the weather fouls and the road throws rubbish onto my path. But still I find an easy challenge to beat. What, no 30 mph headwind anymore? Too heezy! Road is smooth? Heezy peezy! I'm soaked in rain but it's warm not freezing cold? I'm wet but I can still see the road? Lemon squeezy!

You've thrown all those harsh environments at me, and I know why you rain and turn the road to shit, because when you don't, you sure as hell will get taunted... Too heezy, man!

I even stopped to help a guy in a car who had a flat tire and I let him use my phone. He couldn't spell any of the town names correctly, so I talked with the AAA lady for ten minutes to get his location right. I don't know if I actually helped him out at all, because of his overall incompetence and he didn't have money to hire a tow truck.

He requested just a jack so he could raise his car and put a spare tire on. What tow truck driver would agree to haul ass out to the middle of nowhere for three hours to lend a scrub a jack, for zero pay? He seemed afterwards like he regretted making the call and that kind of pissed me off. He thought he could just expect someone with a jack to pull over and take care of his problem for him. Maybe in the city, but not out here.

Then again, I shouldn't care about the end result. I did what I could. Other people have helped me, so I ought to pay it forward. Nobody might stop for hours, at least not anyone who had a jack, so maybe he was better off.


A bicyclist in Los Angeles, CA told me to take I-20, because there would be nothing on I-10. I'd been waffling over which route I would choose, because as much as his advice made sense, it would put me too far north and I wanted to rise to the challenge of long traveling mile days.

Ulix told me to take I-10 because I kept talking about it, and I wanted to travel 100 miles a day. It was my original plan to travel the Louisiana coast, and there would be 100 mile stretches between cities - perfect place to do it.

Well, I picked the wrong highway to travel. I picked the one less traveled. Less people, lower quality road. Today, I-10 had a forty mile stretch of rough surface like riding a jackhammer.

And I'm getting rained out. I've traveled through enough rain to drown a horse. So the plan isn't working.

Friday, August 12th severe flooding in Louisiana started. When I was just shy of the split between I-20 and I-10, heading toward the affected areas. I was not aware of this until today. Louisiana is under water. I ought to turn north to I-20 after all, to avoid the floods.

The sun clocked out with twenty miles to go. Night riding was actually really nice when I wasn't scared out of my teeth. The road was smooth and the air was fresh after a day of rain. Even thick clouds could not hide the fact that the moon was bright, though I could not see it directly.

Water spinning off my wheels sounded like an animal chasing me. Shapes and rustling betrayed the presence of animals nearby. Just some deer, scared away by my light. An 18 wheeler backed me up with his high beams. Drivers may be a greater danger than wildlife to my safety, but in the contest between man and nature, they were on my side.

~~~
The fear had a therapeutic effect. This is where I am in dreams. My bicycle is the safest place to be. On a dark freeway, pedaling through darkness. A vulnerable light on just what's right in front of me. I cannot see, cannot stop. Have to make it to town. This is the kernel of fear that I carry with me all the time. Underneath layers of daylight and conscious thought, this is how I feel.
~~~

I had a desire to read the endings of stories I've put aside. The Cossacks. Frankenstein. Doesn't really matter which book, really. Just want to know the ending to something I'd started. For reassurance.

Because I feel the ending of my bicycle trip approaching. I have questions not yet asked. What I will do after. How to get my car registration. How to get to my car. Where will I go? Will my student loans require payments this year, given my dearth of income? Where will I use as a residence to receive correspondence?

Will I try government food assistance again? Job assistance? Will I live in my car? Will I continue to live outside with my bicycle? Will I reject my parent's money, get rid of my car? Will I play music on the street?

All this bullshit swirling in my head.

I got this fortune cookie answer. Make decisions with your heart, and let your head figure out how to make it happen.

I have one primary goal: complete my physics education. That could mean a lifetime of study or a handful of subjects, however much is necessary to feel comfortable. It's a qualitative feeling.

I'm not going to school for it. School is over for me. That's for kids trapped within the system. Writing answers that are 70% correct and drowning in stress, not understanding.

Read real books. Take a looooong time to untangle important conceptual questions. Study solutions. Don't arrive at a correct answer, but see why it *has* to be the answer and can't be anything else. Visualize the system, watch the interactions.

Work the problems. Know the answer by remembering the process. Smart is not my way, but experience. I did it. I verified each step. Proven. Justified. Solid bulletproof reasoning.

Recently an internet buddy in chat revived interest in an old song. I've been listening to this comedy song of Chinese rap and singing it all the time. Even though it's racist and making fun of ourselves, it *is* a voice of American Chinese people.

It's something to identify with. That's why I was drawn to it in middle school. It gives my identity a presence. Because despite our longstanding residence and contributions in this country, we have had few voices to rally behind. Tending a ubiquitous, unassuming restaurant with broken accent.


Thursday, August 18th.
Ozona, TX.

A day of deadly calm.

Ozona is a quaint little town. Where else can you walk your horse while driving through downtown?

It's 7:30 am at the entrance of an elementary school, I look over and see parked cars in the lot and know, aw shoot I gotta get outa here before the teachers come. The bravest lady walks into the building when she sees me packing up. 'Good morning' and smiles exchanged. The rest look on warily until the sheriff arrives.

One of the deputies suggest I return to the Sherrif's Office in the evening and sleep in an empty cell. I jump on the offer, because I'd love to see what the inside of a county jail looks like without needing to commit a crime. The other one downplays the idea, and I think probably not gonna happen. That night I knocked on their door, but no one answered. Lights were on but no movement inside. Maybe they were out patrolling the elementary school where I was sleeping in the morning.

Sleepy but in a good mood. Played music lying on my back in a downtown park gazebo. I always feel like going to Faure Scicilienne first, just can't get enough of that tune.

Gazebo improv 1

Gazebo improv 2

There's a rodeo to the north. I camped on white benches at the park next to it. White seems to be a popular color; everyone in town drives a white truck.

A common question I get asked by police is 'got any weapons?' I should say, 'fly swatter.' It's more deadly than a knife or a gun, if you're a fly!

I defended my territory for hours and ended up creating a cemetery. Then I realized I should not have killed them because they were on the table where I would sleep. I sleep on the corpses of my enemies! I have to be careful of touching them. 

lol  i guessed the wifi login: guest/guest
that's what everybody anywhere uses for zero security.
ex dee ex dee XD XD

the motel office is across the street though, so my dl speed is like 1 bit per aeon.

I slept in a sleeping bag on the lower part of the bench instead of on top, to keep a low profile. It was hella windy. Also didn't want to be seen too obvious. People drove through the park at night to smoke weed in their cars or what not.

Friday, August 19th.
Ozona, TX to San Angelo, TX

Bumpy slow road? What to do?

Shred my vocals

Slime tube has valiantly withstood numerous stab wounds in the back, but has finally succumbed to a bloody green demise. The goop it leaked soaked into the tired tire and weakened the fabric into thin strands as well.

The shape of the tire was held together by the strands. I cut them, 'cause tidiness and also no reason, then the tire became all warped and unserviceable.

Gonna need a new pump too. There's an air leak in the lower pivot.

When I hate bicycles is when their parts fall apart. I want to toss the whole hunk of junk into a dumpster and lace up my running shoes. Legs repair themselves.

Saturday, August 20th.
San Angelo, TX

A day of deadly calm.

Replaced my tire, slime tube, and bike pump. I blew out the first replacement tube when pumping 'cause I didn't first inflate it to take shape before putting it over the wheel. It was like a gunshot that rang in my ear. Fortunately, the slime shot away from me.

My phone is pretty much FUBAR. Cracked screen, scratches on both camera lenses. Now the final straw - the charging port won't maintain a steady flow of juice. Contacts are so worn that the electricity cuts in and out every femto-second, making the screen turn on and off and wasting more battery than intermittently charges.

So I tinkered with the phone's innards. The battery hopefully is okay, so I can buy an external charger to power up. No charge means no GPS navigation or photos on the road for a while. I can occasionally use my tablet without internet as a back-up.

I accidentally discovered a GeoCache location. I was looking to charge my phone behind a shopping mall when I spotted this power outlet and rejoiced in my good fortune. Then I opened it up and found out that I got trolled hard by two lego men with a slip of paper in a plastic bag. Dafuq is this...

People wrote the date with their GeoCache ID's on the paper, to mark that they'd visited. I wrote:

"8/20/2016 AmblingAlchemist
I have no idea what GeoCache is but I needed an outlet :("

Sunday, August 21st.
San Angelo, TX to Abeline, TX

 Morning camp - Shannon Surgery Center

The medical center - closed for the weekend, was a great place to camp. Clean exterior, quiet, out of the way, with electricity and WiFi.

A lady in a white truck parked her headlights in the lot several times during the night. One time she got out of her truck and asked me if I was okay, but said nothing else and left. If she was security or police, I'd expect her to approach and ask questions, but she did neither.

In the morning, she put out cans of soda and bottled water at a safe distance from me while I was sleeping. I could tell it was done gently, with an introvert's thoughtful consideration. One can was Coke and the other was Dr. Pepper, in case I had a strong preference. (I love both. Barq's is even better.)

I woke up at like 10:30 AM, the drinks no longer cold - that was embarrassing. In case she returns to see if I went away, I wrote her a message with pebbles.

I don't know why she was there, what motivated her to visit repeatedly and then help me out. But it was nice. I felt a persistent ASMR response, thinking about her gentle beverage diamond. Like when you're at the doctor's office, and the professional has power to control you any way in your vulnerable condition, but chooses to benevolent and courteously reserved.

While traveling in the afternoon, I felt it again. I crossed over a bridge that reminded me of a helpful Walgreens in Waltham, MA, which was difficult to reach at a busy intersection - kinda like her in a way. I felt that peaceful tingling. Later again when I drank her can of Coke.

I left San Angelo after cramming my pizza hole at Cici's. I was supposed to go through Ballinger to the East, but without voice navigation I missed the one turn I needed to pay attention to and ended up in Bronte, not even realizing I'd gone the wrong way. My navigation skills suck. This is why I love riding on the freeway - no need for directions and I can't go wrong.

So instead of having a town with Walmart and a place to sleep, I took a short Slushie breather at a gas station before plowing ahead to the next major city of Abilene, another sixty miles (!) away. It was already 4:30 pm. An ambitious attempt.

I could care less if I made it, to tell the truth. My surroundings had gone from barren expanse to soft farmland towns quickly since dropping a perpendicular to I-10. I felt safe to peter into town whenever I could or wherever I ended up.

Windmills

Headwind was strong throughout the day and some portions of road were bumpy, but I managed a healthy pace until I reached around Wingate. I did not anticipate so many hills! Haven't pedaled on 1-2 gear in months, and I realized no, it's not because I've grown ten times stronger since California.

At a moonless 9:30 pm, I was still ten miles out from food, water, and lodging. I ate packets of sugar to stave off self-cannibalism. Anonymous woman driver called in a report after she saw me resting my head on handlebars.

A policeman made my acquaintance. I still wanted to make it to town on bicycle, but I obliged to accepting a lift when I considered that I had no proper gear to vouch for my safety. My phone battery was dry and my charging port was toast, so I had no lights. 

The ride in a police car was comfortable and the officer was affable in a chill way. He told me rain in the area is atypical - any at all, much less the amount of flooding that occurred this year. Droughts can last eight years and the cities aren't equipped to handle buckets of El Nino. Unusual year for weather.

I was whisked to Walmart, right next to I-20. Ten miles of work done for me. Not the glorious hundred mile day I had sought to achieve, but a respectable eighty miles nonetheless.

All for the best. My knees were missing. I had more time to get food and make camp before midnight. I ate a 32oz jar of peach yogurt, a few pieces of fried chicken, and fell asleep at my laptop.

Long post is long. Fuck.