A Brief Catch-Up
We exchanged the cold, brilliant blue skies of the Southwest for the damp, thick air of the South. When does the Southwest turn into the South, officially? All artificial boundaries are lost in the bleak vastness that is Southern New Mexico and Eastern Texas. We drove straight from Roswell, New Mexico to Austin, Texas, thanking the heavens that we did not take it upon ourselves to bike across that wasteland. The endless fields of cotton were beautiful, yes--they added the magical quality of a snowy winterland in an otherwise eternal summer landscape. But there was no way I would still feel as positive after biking across East Texas for days, possibly weeks.
We stayed in Austin for one night, explored the city by bikes and admired the hip kids, hip taco stands, hip coffees and cowboy boots. It's like Portland, only Western-themed! Then we headed to Houston, where we were hosted first by my friend Amelia and her family (a study-abroad friend from India), then our friend and former biking companion Charlie's parents, Fran and Becky! They were so good to us, feeding and entertaining us and just being good company for 2 days. Most importantly, they offered to let us store my mom's camper van in their backyard for a few months until she comes to claim it. On the morning we left, Fran even drove us and our bikes to the city limits so we wouldn't have to navigate the chaotic traffic jam that is Houston.
Southern Hospitality
It wasn't until then that I felt the South. In all its hot, sticky glory, there it was. We biked to Liberty, a small town 35ish miles east of Houston. We found a nice city park and started making camp like we have often done before, figuring we wouldn't be bothering anybody. Around 9pm I headed to the tent to get ready for bed and escape the swarms of mosquitos that didn't seem to realize it was winter. A park security guard drove by, shining a bright light through the woods where we were camped. I heard him talking to Ben and I froze, thinking this would be the first time we would be kicked out of our "stealth camping" spot, dreading packing up all our gear in the muggy, mosquito-ridden night.
Turned out the man was named Dee, was just about the friendliest security guard you can imagine. He mostly just wanted to meet me to make sure Ben wasn't holding any pretty little ladies hostage in the tent. We ran into him the next morning at the donut shop he recommended, where he passed out his homemade business cards and insisted that we call him down the road if we ran into trouble.
The next day we biked through a few steady downpours en route to Kirbyville, Texas, where we had a promising warmshowers host to stay with. We were slowed a bit by the rain, and taken offguard by the fact that it now gets dark around 4:30/5pm. We have a policy of not biking on busy roads (or really at all) in the dark, so we stuck out our thumbs.
Turns out hitchhiking is fairly easy in states where literally everyone drives a pickup truck. It only took about 10 minutes for Scott and his massive 4-door truck to come investigate 'what the hell we were doing out there.' After sizing us up and deciding two sopping wet bicycle tourists didn't pose a threat to him, he helped us load our bikes and gear into the back.
We meet many people who think that we're crazy for choosing to spend our time by riding bicycles across countries, but this man thought we were just plain stupid. Or insane. Or some combination. And he let us know...in the sweetest way possible. The 20 or so minutes we spent with him were fascinating: On the one hand, he was rather ignorant, fear-mongering and rude. He told us we should never sleep outside, carry cash, or trust anybody we meet. Especially in Lousiana. They're the worst, apparently. He actually showed me his glove-box gun stash and told him we were stupid if we didn't carry one of those at all times. And he told Ben that if I were his daughter, he would "whup his ass" for dragging me along on this "death trip". I think he had an odd sense of humor and was trying to be funny...but he was also obviously deeply disturbed by our choices.
But on the other hand, he was the sweetest guy in the world for completely going out of his way and bringing us to the door of our host's house. Of course he also thought it was "just plain stupid" that we were staying with someone we had never met, but he let that go. He didn't have to stop, he didn't have to help us out, and I think that somewhere buried deep within his insults was a genuine concern for two crazy kooks that could just as easily be his children.
From then on, the incredible hospitality continued: We stayed that night with Debbie, not a bike tourist herself but a very nice lady who opens her home up to us without a second thought. The next day we crossed the border into Lousiana and stayed in the small town of Merryville. We were planning on camping in a field that night. It got surprisingly cold (36 degrees or so), so we holed up in a cafe for a couple hours. One lady working there couldn't believe we were sleeping outside and insisted on calling the mayor of the Merryville, who opened up the community center for us to sleep in. We made food in the kitchen, washed our dishes in warm water, and slept like little babies in front of a heater, all the while not believing our good fortune.
After Merryville we biked to Hackberry, where we camped behind a Methodist Church. The next day we made it all the way to Pecan Island, where we've been for the past couple days due to a nasty storm and the sheer awesomeness of our host. Juanita has been, and continues to treat us like your favorite family members would--giving us chores if we want them, letting us veg out and watch T.V. if we want to, and cooking us the most amazing southern meals. She's invited us to stay for Thanksgiving--and believe me, it's tempting--but we think we're going to press on and try to make it to New Orleans by the weekend.
And, so. There you have it. These people are amazing!! We have not met a mean person yet in Texas or Lousiana. Even here, where bicycle touring is obviously not a part of the culture, people are friendly, curious, and willing to share whatever they have with us. It's unreal. But that's not the whole story. We've also encountered more stern warnings than anywhere else on the road. People warn us about their own people: "Oh you're headed down to the Gulf Coast? don't bother, those people will run you over with their trucks and spit chewing tabacco on your squashed body," "You're going to Lousiana?? Better bring your gun..."
I don't quite know what to do about these warnings. I don't want to be naive and laugh them all off like nothing bad can happen to me. But on the other hand I have experienced an overwhelming amount of goodwill from people compared to very few less-than-pleasant interactions. If you were to sit at home and watch the news every day, then you would probably think the world was a very evil place. But I'm out here in it and I'm here to say that it's great. Keep your wits about you, but trust people. They usually just want to serve you up some shrimp pasta or homemade biscuits, if you just give them a chance.
We exchanged the cold, brilliant blue skies of the Southwest for the damp, thick air of the South. When does the Southwest turn into the South, officially? All artificial boundaries are lost in the bleak vastness that is Southern New Mexico and Eastern Texas. We drove straight from Roswell, New Mexico to Austin, Texas, thanking the heavens that we did not take it upon ourselves to bike across that wasteland. The endless fields of cotton were beautiful, yes--they added the magical quality of a snowy winterland in an otherwise eternal summer landscape. But there was no way I would still feel as positive after biking across East Texas for days, possibly weeks.
We stayed in Austin for one night, explored the city by bikes and admired the hip kids, hip taco stands, hip coffees and cowboy boots. It's like Portland, only Western-themed! Then we headed to Houston, where we were hosted first by my friend Amelia and her family (a study-abroad friend from India), then our friend and former biking companion Charlie's parents, Fran and Becky! They were so good to us, feeding and entertaining us and just being good company for 2 days. Most importantly, they offered to let us store my mom's camper van in their backyard for a few months until she comes to claim it. On the morning we left, Fran even drove us and our bikes to the city limits so we wouldn't have to navigate the chaotic traffic jam that is Houston.
Southern Hospitality
It wasn't until then that I felt the South. In all its hot, sticky glory, there it was. We biked to Liberty, a small town 35ish miles east of Houston. We found a nice city park and started making camp like we have often done before, figuring we wouldn't be bothering anybody. Around 9pm I headed to the tent to get ready for bed and escape the swarms of mosquitos that didn't seem to realize it was winter. A park security guard drove by, shining a bright light through the woods where we were camped. I heard him talking to Ben and I froze, thinking this would be the first time we would be kicked out of our "stealth camping" spot, dreading packing up all our gear in the muggy, mosquito-ridden night.
Turned out the man was named Dee, was just about the friendliest security guard you can imagine. He mostly just wanted to meet me to make sure Ben wasn't holding any pretty little ladies hostage in the tent. We ran into him the next morning at the donut shop he recommended, where he passed out his homemade business cards and insisted that we call him down the road if we ran into trouble.
The next day we biked through a few steady downpours en route to Kirbyville, Texas, where we had a promising warmshowers host to stay with. We were slowed a bit by the rain, and taken offguard by the fact that it now gets dark around 4:30/5pm. We have a policy of not biking on busy roads (or really at all) in the dark, so we stuck out our thumbs.
Turns out hitchhiking is fairly easy in states where literally everyone drives a pickup truck. It only took about 10 minutes for Scott and his massive 4-door truck to come investigate 'what the hell we were doing out there.' After sizing us up and deciding two sopping wet bicycle tourists didn't pose a threat to him, he helped us load our bikes and gear into the back.
We meet many people who think that we're crazy for choosing to spend our time by riding bicycles across countries, but this man thought we were just plain stupid. Or insane. Or some combination. And he let us know...in the sweetest way possible. The 20 or so minutes we spent with him were fascinating: On the one hand, he was rather ignorant, fear-mongering and rude. He told us we should never sleep outside, carry cash, or trust anybody we meet. Especially in Lousiana. They're the worst, apparently. He actually showed me his glove-box gun stash and told him we were stupid if we didn't carry one of those at all times. And he told Ben that if I were his daughter, he would "whup his ass" for dragging me along on this "death trip". I think he had an odd sense of humor and was trying to be funny...but he was also obviously deeply disturbed by our choices.
But on the other hand, he was the sweetest guy in the world for completely going out of his way and bringing us to the door of our host's house. Of course he also thought it was "just plain stupid" that we were staying with someone we had never met, but he let that go. He didn't have to stop, he didn't have to help us out, and I think that somewhere buried deep within his insults was a genuine concern for two crazy kooks that could just as easily be his children.
From then on, the incredible hospitality continued: We stayed that night with Debbie, not a bike tourist herself but a very nice lady who opens her home up to us without a second thought. The next day we crossed the border into Lousiana and stayed in the small town of Merryville. We were planning on camping in a field that night. It got surprisingly cold (36 degrees or so), so we holed up in a cafe for a couple hours. One lady working there couldn't believe we were sleeping outside and insisted on calling the mayor of the Merryville, who opened up the community center for us to sleep in. We made food in the kitchen, washed our dishes in warm water, and slept like little babies in front of a heater, all the while not believing our good fortune.
After Merryville we biked to Hackberry, where we camped behind a Methodist Church. The next day we made it all the way to Pecan Island, where we've been for the past couple days due to a nasty storm and the sheer awesomeness of our host. Juanita has been, and continues to treat us like your favorite family members would--giving us chores if we want them, letting us veg out and watch T.V. if we want to, and cooking us the most amazing southern meals. She's invited us to stay for Thanksgiving--and believe me, it's tempting--but we think we're going to press on and try to make it to New Orleans by the weekend.
And, so. There you have it. These people are amazing!! We have not met a mean person yet in Texas or Lousiana. Even here, where bicycle touring is obviously not a part of the culture, people are friendly, curious, and willing to share whatever they have with us. It's unreal. But that's not the whole story. We've also encountered more stern warnings than anywhere else on the road. People warn us about their own people: "Oh you're headed down to the Gulf Coast? don't bother, those people will run you over with their trucks and spit chewing tabacco on your squashed body," "You're going to Lousiana?? Better bring your gun..."
I don't quite know what to do about these warnings. I don't want to be naive and laugh them all off like nothing bad can happen to me. But on the other hand I have experienced an overwhelming amount of goodwill from people compared to very few less-than-pleasant interactions. If you were to sit at home and watch the news every day, then you would probably think the world was a very evil place. But I'm out here in it and I'm here to say that it's great. Keep your wits about you, but trust people. They usually just want to serve you up some shrimp pasta or homemade biscuits, if you just give them a chance.
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