Houston, hill country, Austin
There are few things more beautiful to me right now than the Texas hill country the morning after rain, with nothing to mar the landscape for miles...except for the three stacks of Fayetteville power plant. But I've no cause to complain right now: The weather is gorgeous, people are so kind, and I'll be in Austin tomorrow before noon. Tonight I'm going to try to sneak into Bastrop State Park's backcountry and avoid paying the $10 backcountry camping fee.
Twas on a February morn I bid New Orleans adieu. Look here soon for a first sketch of the seemingly heretofore untested southern route out of NOLA. I left on a Sunday and arrived in Houston Friday night just in time for the Bayou Bedlam, Texas' answer to the Dance Flurry. Well, not really, it's not nearly as big (we're talking at least one degree of magnitude here, maybe more. But the community is so close, no one has to stay in hotels, and the Sunday brunch/open band/dance is up there with my favorite contra events to date. Alice Bohlae and Michael Head were my more-than-gracious hosts, and I look forward to returning their generosity someday, or at least dancing with them again.
Houston, however, is anathema to bicycles. Aggressive drivers, and massive breakdowns. The first was a 1/2 drill bit lodged in my brand new rear tire, tearing my tube to shreds. After hours of trying to deal with that, I finally got a new tube (and a spare) from Northwest Cycles, and then went back into town to cook with Food Not Bombs. It amazes me that in a city of four million, they only have 30 people show up for free food--a veritable feast--but I liked the crew, who cook in their homes and meet to serve. Ben was the one I met, and he runs the area's only radical bookstore/library out of his home. I love spending time with straightedge vegan punks who listen to ska. He let me crash on his couch and I left around nine with him still asleep. Then I had my second accident: After a particularly bumpy stretch, one of my panniers fell off, and somehow managed to knock loose one of the pulley wheels on my derailleur, which fell off about a mile down the road. I had to go back to the same bike shop, but was fortunate enough to be able to only need to replace a bolt and soon be on my way again. Still, the ride isn't nearly as smooth and I can't wait to get to Austin Yellow Bike.
Once underway, Things picked up. Folks have been generally helpful, always ready to fill my water or give directional advice. At a little corner store just short of Bellville, an older man gave me fresh citrus from his trees and we swapped stories, him of traveling in Europe, me of hiking in the US; He didn't look like someone you'd stereotype as an international traveler. In Bellville I met a girl my age who also gets the travel itch, but has gotten herself stuck in small town Texas; we went out and got a drink to celebrate Mardi Gras, but otherwise my night was quiet--we parted ways, and I went on 15 miles to sleep in a town park. Good things about rural Texas: Nice people, cheap food. I just spent $1.40 on a loaf of bread and 55c each on a sticky bun and kolaches. Yesterday I got a turnover easily twice the size of our northern ones, for the same price we pay up north. Hot damn!
Oh, and for those of you who were curious, I spent VD freezing on the beach--but two nights before was very romantic.
Twas on a February morn I bid New Orleans adieu. Look here soon for a first sketch of the seemingly heretofore untested southern route out of NOLA. I left on a Sunday and arrived in Houston Friday night just in time for the Bayou Bedlam, Texas' answer to the Dance Flurry. Well, not really, it's not nearly as big (we're talking at least one degree of magnitude here, maybe more. But the community is so close, no one has to stay in hotels, and the Sunday brunch/open band/dance is up there with my favorite contra events to date. Alice Bohlae and Michael Head were my more-than-gracious hosts, and I look forward to returning their generosity someday, or at least dancing with them again.
Houston, however, is anathema to bicycles. Aggressive drivers, and massive breakdowns. The first was a 1/2 drill bit lodged in my brand new rear tire, tearing my tube to shreds. After hours of trying to deal with that, I finally got a new tube (and a spare) from Northwest Cycles, and then went back into town to cook with Food Not Bombs. It amazes me that in a city of four million, they only have 30 people show up for free food--a veritable feast--but I liked the crew, who cook in their homes and meet to serve. Ben was the one I met, and he runs the area's only radical bookstore/library out of his home. I love spending time with straightedge vegan punks who listen to ska. He let me crash on his couch and I left around nine with him still asleep. Then I had my second accident: After a particularly bumpy stretch, one of my panniers fell off, and somehow managed to knock loose one of the pulley wheels on my derailleur, which fell off about a mile down the road. I had to go back to the same bike shop, but was fortunate enough to be able to only need to replace a bolt and soon be on my way again. Still, the ride isn't nearly as smooth and I can't wait to get to Austin Yellow Bike.
Once underway, Things picked up. Folks have been generally helpful, always ready to fill my water or give directional advice. At a little corner store just short of Bellville, an older man gave me fresh citrus from his trees and we swapped stories, him of traveling in Europe, me of hiking in the US; He didn't look like someone you'd stereotype as an international traveler. In Bellville I met a girl my age who also gets the travel itch, but has gotten herself stuck in small town Texas; we went out and got a drink to celebrate Mardi Gras, but otherwise my night was quiet--we parted ways, and I went on 15 miles to sleep in a town park. Good things about rural Texas: Nice people, cheap food. I just spent $1.40 on a loaf of bread and 55c each on a sticky bun and kolaches. Yesterday I got a turnover easily twice the size of our northern ones, for the same price we pay up north. Hot damn!
Oh, and for those of you who were curious, I spent VD freezing on the beach--but two nights before was very romantic.