“In my mind I’m goin’ to Carolina” James
Taylor
Chapter 12 - Across the South
Awake before dawn, I enjoyed a hot breakfast with plenty of coffee. The
day was breaking clear and cold. The area forecast called for sunny and cool
temperatures and windy conditions; I would travel through the Davis
Mountains of Texas today. I definitely wanted a decent forecast before
committing to the drive through the Davis Mountains, and beyond the open
hardscrabble of Pecos as well. I would try to make one of the towns up on
I-20 in the oil-plains of Texas: Midland, Odessa or Big Spring.
Icy dew covered my bike. I wiped the moisture off the seat and tank with a
motel towel, and tied my gear to the rear of the seat. Then it was on to the
highway for a slow ride down to El Paso. I kept the speed to around
forty-five because the cold seemed to go right through me.
Early on, I stopped for gas and had another coffee. The sun was now warming
the day, and the mountains rose above El Paso to the east. I headed back out
on I-10 and it turned east just south of the city for a short distance, with
Juarez due south across the US and Mexican border.
Soon the I-10 turned to the right and headed southeast along the border of
Mexico towards the town of Van Horn some 100 miles distant. On the horizon,
I could see the purple hills of the Davis Mountains. This entire part of the
state, from here to Big Bend Park, calls itself the Texas Mountain Trail
Region and Van Horn is its crossroads. The Davis Mountains, and Fort Davis,
are named after Jefferson Davis, the president of the Confederacy. It’s not
just the north and the south, or the east and the west; everything is
intertwined together
I made good time, the late morning sun warmed the air and there was no
traffic. I stopped halfway to Van Horn to top off the tank, and soon was
heading southeast and climbing up through Sierra Blanca. On the highway, I
headed up towards Van horn at over 4000’ of elevation, with the Davis
Mountains clear against the horizon. Stopping for a break in Van Horn, I
gassed up again, and enjoyed a coffee with a piece of pie.
Motoring back up the I-10, I passed a sign that said I was climbing above
5000’ of elevation. It was cold with gusty winds, and I was grateful that I
was driving this stretch during the warmest part of the day. The highway
began to descend out of the mountains, and I continued through the dwarf
trees and plains of brown grasses and rocky scrub. The rolling sameness
extended off to the north and south of the highway as the rolling hills fell
away in the distance.
I came to the junction of I-20, followed the signs to Atlanta, and started
up across the oil-plains of Texas as the I-10 disappeared to the south and
east towards Fort Stockton. I was traveling northeast now. I stopped in
Pecos to gas up the bike and take a rest. The wind was taking a toll on my
body, and I was tired and chilled to the core. I considered spending the
night in Pecos, but wasn’t sure if I could make Fort Bragg in three days of
riding from there. With that thought heavy on my mind, I pushed back out on
the highway and got the bike up to speed as I roared across the cold
oil-plains of Texas. I figured that I had to make Big Spring that night,
about a hundred and forty mile ride east from Pecos, if I were to have a
chance of finishing in three more days. I filled up in Odessa, and quickly
got back on the road. In another hour, I was pulling off the highway into
Big Spring. It had been a long cold day, and I only covered a bit more than
400 miles.
In a motel right by the side of the highway, I went into the office and
secured a cheap room for the night. As I untied my gear and removed it from
the seat, I looked at the mismatched color of the gas tank and remembered
the time back in October when my tank had sprung a leak, and the drama that
ensued after that. It felt like a year ago, and I realized I felt a bit
lonely to be here in Big Spring by myself, and wondered where Gerry and Dave
were right then, and what they were doing. Dropping my gear in the room, I
bought a large hot chocolate from the restaurant next door, and took it back
to the room where I drank enjoyed the hot sweet chocolate along with a large
whiskey as I soaked in a hot bath. I was halfway to Fort Bragg. With any
luck, I could make Danny’s house in Carolina in three more days.
The next three days followed the same routine; all that changed were the
names of the towns I went through and the places where I stayed. After
rising, I had a hot breakfast and drank plenty of coffee. Every morning was
cold, and the air began to hold more water as I moved east, and this meant
ice and heavy dew on my bike in the morning. After cleaning the moisture off
with a towel from the motel, I would start the day’s travels and head down
the highway at 45 miles an hour, or something slow like that. The
temperature was too cold to go fast, as I wore no leathers and I had no face
shield on my helmet to protect my cheeks. I rode as far as I could,
sometimes just a short jaunt to the next exit, where I would warm up inside
a building with a coffee. Then it was back to the motor and another cold
stretch on the highway.
There was a price to pay for this strategy, as I eventually had to cover
some ground, and put close to 500 miles in each day for the rest of the
trip. When the day had warmed sufficiently, I got the bike up to 80 or so and
covered as much ground as I could, stopping only for gas and a coffee. Then
it was back on the highway for another long stretch, 80 to 100 miles, and
then I would stop and fill up the tank once again.
I was cold and tired, and eventually the days all seemed to roll together into one,
the places changed but the day remained the same. I spent the night after
Big Spring in a motel near Longview, Texas. The following day I drove
through the Deep South: Louisiana, Mississippi, and finally into Alabama
where I got a motel room just west of the Georgia state line. I called Danny
at his home in North Carolina to let him know where I was. Barring any misfortune, I would be at Danny’s
house tomorrow night.
The next day I finished my drive on the I-20 in Atlanta. I took the beltway
around to the north and followed I-85 towards Charlotte. It might be shorter
to go due east through Georgia and eventually drive due north into Fort
Bragg, but I went with what I knew, and that meant I was heading northeast
towards Charlotte. Around Greenville in South Carolina, the weather began to
look a little threatening when I glanced over my left shoulder. In a blur, I
crossed into North Carolina. As I neared Charlotte, the sky was dark and I
despaired over what appeared to be impending rain. Nevertheless, I reached
the beltway around Charlotte while I was still dry, and I soon had the bike
pointed due east and away from the arriving storm front. I kept the throttle
screwed on and the speed high as I left the darkening skies behind me.
It was dark as I approached Fayetteville, just east of Fort Bragg. I drove
slowly, as it was cold in the damp dark of night, and I was at the end of my
tether. I found the road that led to Danny’s house and followed it; I never
thought a driveway could look so good. I pulled the bike into the back and
parked it up on the work-stand under a roof on the side of the garage.
Danny’s car was nowhere around, and the house was dark. I checked the door
and found it locked. I knocked a couple of times, and then went to the place
where Danny stored a spare key. I let myself in and turned a light on in the
kitchen. Nubs, the cat, jumped up on the table to greet me. I dropped my
gear on the floor and took off my jacket and sweater. I opened the fridge
and grabbed a bottle of beer, and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table.
Nubs paraded back and forth in front of me, purring as I scratched his back
and behind his ears.
I had done it!