Day Fourteen: Camino Real de Texas ends at the Alamo

I spent the night last night at Camino Real Motel.  It was clean and I felt safe.  If it wasn’t for the fact that I was zonked out tired I might have been annoyed by the late night basketball game going on in the parking lot.  Who puts a basketball hoop in the parking lot of a motel? 

I got a late start because I didn’t have much to do today.  I have two locations left on my itinerary Mission Concepcion and San Antonio de Valero (Commonly known as the Alamo ;)  Since my motel was near Mission San Jose the morning mission profile caught my eye and I took another picture. 

I then rode up the mission trail to Concepcion.  What a blessing.  There were lots of cars parked in the parking lot and people in Sunday dress going in for mass.  Someone told me the missions had evening masses but I didn’t know they had a 10:00 am mass.  The service was fully packed.  They had to bring out chairs for some of us to sit in.  The nave was full of voices singing and praying together as it has since 1731.  Year of our Lord: Seventeen hundred thirty-one.  A number of just tourists stumbled in.  The ushers were incredible.

Along with screaming babies and noisy conversation everyone just rolled with whatever happened.  The people that were there to pray and worship, prayed and worshipped.  They didn’t let the tourists or unengaged interlopers distract them from worshipping.  The ushers let the tourists go into the side chapel without a hint of annoyance or judgment.  It was graceful.

The sermon was good from Fr. David who sounds like is in charge of all the missions along the trail.  He preached on the Samaritan leper who was for many an outsider yet was the only one of ten to return and thank Jesus for healing him.

The service was bilingual and comfortable even when we held hands during the Lord’s Prayer.  After mass I was the last one out to greet the priest.  I explained to him my pilgrimage and he offered a blessing for a safe return.

After punch, off I rode on the quiet quiet streets of sleepy San Antonio.  It was 11:30am and the edges of Alamo Plaza along the Mission Trails (roadway) had nary a driver.  That changed as soon as I entered the Plaza area.  Cars and people traffic teamed along the downtown shops and eating establishments.  I’ve been to the Alamo a few times. 

So when I saw the line waiting to go in I decided all I needed was a picture with my bike in front. So I explained to the docent what I was doing and he gladly took my picture.  We talked a few minutes about the millions of dollars’ worth of artifact donation that Phil Collins made.  They haven’t been included yet in the museum because there is room for it all.  The state purchased the storefront property along the west side of the plaza and may convert some of the space to museum. Or they may rebuild destroyed portions of the northern wall and house them there.  They’ve got a big 10 year plan so it will be worth coming back again.

I was getting hungry so he suggested a hole in the wall Mexican Manhattan but it was closed on arrival. (Sunday—good for them.)  So I circled around and found Jalisco which hit the Tex-Mex spot.  A fifty yard walk to the bus stop and this pilgrimage is done. 

Kate joins me tomorrow to lay low for a day.  Then we come back to Houston.  Thanks to everyone who came along with me on this journey. Keep praying.  Keep doing good things. Blessings.

Day Thirteen: Final Things...Almost

It feels very close to ending.  Not sure how everything will unfold I’m just going with the flow.  First thing this morning was to put a little more air in my tire.  All I had left was one full and one partially used CO2 cartridges.  So on a squishy tire I loaded up and headed for what Siri told me was the closest bike shop.

Through beautiful Lyons Club Park I rode the wooded but well paved trails along Salado Creek.  I wanted to stop, but I didn’t let myself.  I’ve got to learn something from that.  (Treat yo’ self).  At the other end of this gently up and down rolling park was Hiawatha Rd. Or what I call Mount Hiawatha.  It was too early in the morning and I didn’t feel like contending so I got off and walked.  On the other side in a residential area was Abel’s Bicycle Shop. 

We had a great conversation about cycling.  One of his bucket list items is to ride from El Paso to Orange across Texas.  He just needs a SAG to ride behind him.  I hope I can help him out someday.  He filled my tire up and gave me two cartridges just in case.  And he gave me some encouragement.  This was one of the pleasures of the trip.  Meeting people and having conversations.  He’s completed the MS 150 from San Antonio to Corpus Christi and actually climbed the Harbor Bridge.  That blows me away.

When I left able I was all aired up and ready to finish this Camino.  I had wanted to visit the missions in order from south to north, Espada to the Alamo.  But as fate would have it, it just doesn’t make sense on a bicycle to add extra miles for the luxury of order.  My route took me to the direct middle of the missions.  So I started at San Jose.  The complex is a National Park of interconnected sites; they’re connected by roads and bike trails along the San Antonio River.

San Jose was incredible.  It’s hard to conceive of such an ancient preserved space in the middle of a modern city in the New World.  The park has a visitor center with a small museum and theater to show you a little history.  After I toured the site for a bit, I started south for San Juan Capistrano. 

A beautiful little chapel in which the cedar ceiling joists offer the scent as strong as incense.  I could have stayed there all day.  Along the path I ran into a couple from Ohio.  He’s an Air Force PA just stationed here in San Antonio.  Four years from retirement they’re enjoying their time in Texas. I shared with them some other places to visit in Texas. And wished them luck.  (Except as it pertains to A&M football.  He was a Volunteer and we were both itching to find a place to watch the game today.)  I offered them some water and they gave me a little bag of trail mix.  We were going the same way so they outpaced me on their touring bicycles and made it to Espada just ahead of me.

The chapel was uniquely Spanish with some Moorish elements in the door.  Quiet and peaceful I wanted to stay but I was hungry.  I grabbed and apple empanada and Gatorade and chowed down.   I started to eat it before I even paid for it.  But the lady in the church bookshop was very understanding.  She even confessed that she frequently does the same thing. 

Live music was playing in the background and a great festival was happening on the other side of the rampart.  The emcee spoke of unlimited fajitas, burgers, beer and more which sounded appealing; I asked the clerk the name of the patron of the church—“St. Francis.”  Today was the Saturday after the Feast of St. Francis.  They were having their parish celebration.  The significance is that they’ve been celebrating this feast in some fashion for several hundred years.  Though I was hungry the purchasing of carnival tickets was too daunting.  So after lingering a moment I hopped back on the cycle and looked for a sports bar to eat and watch the A&M and Tennessee match.  Success.

One final note I had hoped to camp in an RV park in the Mission Trails area.  But they don’t have tent sites. So I hunted around and found some local motels, Tejas and Camino Real were close by my location.  Both would be appropriate for my Camino Real de Texas.  I went with Camion Real.

Day Twelve: Big Day

After leaving the trailer behind everything seemed to move faster.  Without the drag from the trailer I seemed to have a bit more energy in my leg(s).   I expected to closer the gap between me and San Antonio by half, but after two hours of riding I had already passed twenty of the thirty miles I had hoped to cover. I was beginning to think I might make it to San Antonio and I still wasn’t 100% sure where I would stay. 

If I had only covered twenty miles I really had no place to stay.  I was seriously considering ghost camping at a park, country church, or find some brush near the railroad tracks. But I had moved so far that San Antonio was in reach.

As I turned out of Martinez, Texas toward China Grove (whoa-oa) I started hearing this thump, thump.  I developed a large blister.  The inner tube sprung a leak, but was sealed up against the inside of the tire.  The tire held the air in but soon popped.  The tube actually sealed itself a bit and I was able to gingerly ride another mile to get lunch at US 87 and then another mile to Walmart.  I purchased a new tire.  And was still able to ride another half mile to the Days Inn at Loop 410 and US 87.

After a long ride I jumped into the pool just as the rainstorm rolled in.  I watched the fat rain drops plopped into the pool.  I wasn’t fast enough to get a good picture of it.  By the time I got back into my room to fix the flat, the tire had lost all its air pressure.  I’m very thankful that the mechanical and maintenance failures have not left me out in situations where I was completely helpless.

Many times I have felt close to calamity when concerned about bike maintenance or shortage of energy to keep riding.  But I find if the worst case scenario happens you can just get off the bike and walk.  And for me if the REALLY worst case scenarios were to happen (like a blow out on my hydraulic knee) then I would just have to depend on the goodness of strangers to help me out.

Day Eleven: The plans adapt and change

Yesterday was my long ride from Flatonia to Luling.  It was the longest of rides and one that brought some anxiety.  I had to pass through a number of communities that had no lodging options so there were few options except to keep moving. 

Luling also presented with some food options.  Love’s versus Buc-Cees.  Love’s was on the right side of the interstate and had a Subway.  So I picked up a sandwich and a drink over fudge and beef jerky. 

I made it to Luling and rather than get into town to stay at an RV park I opted for a hotel.  Of course when I approach reservation counters I look funny with my cycling helmet and bright yellow jersey. So I get questions.  In this case the manager on duty was impressed by the endeavor and gave me a reduced rate for the room.  Very generous.  I hung out at the pool until I turned into a prune all over then went off to bed.

In the morning (the actual eleventh day) I got up early again as I knew it was going to be a somewhat long day with 20 plus mile ride to Seguin.  I had opted not to ride through Luling the day before in order to cut short the day and not double up on the climb in and out of Luling.  There was a gentle climb out of town and the air was cool.  The traffic was heavy but I was very visible with my lights and jersey on the wide lanes.  Drivers heading off to work or hauling cargo did well.  I hope that both my following the traffic laws and the visibility of my leg will help changed the attitudes of drivers toward other cyclists. 

People need to learn patience on the road in general and even more so with riders and pedestrians.  The road surfaces through town were the best.  Beautifully poured blacktop and freshly painted lines these have been the best roads of the trip so far.

Ten miles out of Seguin in Kingsbury I approached what first looked like a convenience store.  I thought I’d like a Coke.  It turned out to be a mechanics shop, Geno’s.  Geno was being visited by a cyclist named Tom who was from Seguin.  He was decked out in his cycling jersey, gloves, and clipless shoes.  We talked a bit about the terrain and road surfaces.  Geno gave me a Diet Coke which I enjoyed.  It was a great impromptu encounter.  They shared with me that Geno and his shop were in a video recording of a song “What was I thinkin’” by Deirks Bentley.  You can listen to the video and see the garage at the 2:28 mark https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fTqra4YSsaM

I set back out on the road and Tom followed a few minutes later.  He joked about my slowness as he breezed by on his road bike.  I made it to Seguin and connected with Jim who owns the bike shop there in town.  He also is a WarmShowers host which allows cyclists to have a free place to stay when on long tour.  Sometimes they provided a couch or bed, and in times like these it may be a patch of grass to pitch your tent.

I touched base with Jim and then went on to the local laundromat to wash my clothes.  I enjoyed engaging some of the folks and their children playing on the rolling baskets.  One woman was from Seguin but is down from North Dakota after working there for a while. 

Finishing laundry I went back to the bike shop and killed some time before Jim closed the shop.  We talked a lot about my bike and some things that would help me move down the road a little quicker.  He was a wealth and generous in knowledge as we discussed the gearing and weight benefits of different touring bicycles. 

He was also generous in allowing me to leave my trailer in storage until I could pick it up on the return to Houston.  I left for his home around 6:00pm.  Grabbed dinner at Sonic which was alright.  I arrived at his home, set up my tent, parsed down everything I didn’t need into the trailer, and cleaned up.  I slept well that night as I was physically and mentally tired.

Day Ten: A Mixed Bag

Today was a long ride. I’m glad it’s over.  The more I think about it the more I’m convincing myself that the major difference between my daily progress on the Camino de Santiago and Camino de Texas is the trailer I’m pulling with all of my camping gear and extra food supplies.  I think it has a cumulative affect on distances.

I’m gratified by the times that I can stop to pray.  They give me an opportunity to not only focus on God but also to let go of the need to be going.  When I get lost in the liturgy I actually forget about how slow I’m going.

A couple of things helped me see the presence of God.  On the several times when I just felt I had no energy to climb a hill I would stop and walk.  Then you can really slow down.  I watched this butterfly dance all around me.  At times he was twenty yards ahead and then so close I thought he would alight on me.  I secretly hoped he would. 

Another mercy that frequented me today were the clouds.  We’ve had clear blue skies the last two days.  Today there were thick billowy clouds.  The kind that look like a sheet of cotton balls.  With them came a gentle breeze and when the burning sun would hide behind them it was grace filled.  You had to stop soak it in.

I’ve seen a variety of wild life.  Not all alive.  (Deer, cats, dogs, lots of armadillos.  Lots of armadillos.)  Yesterday I saw a beautiful hawk lying on the side of the road.  He must have just been clipped by a car or truck.  I’ve watch deer jump away from me. I’ve unintentionally spooked two herds of cattle into a stampede.  I feel bad about that.

This is something that brings to my mind the sacredness of life.  Anyone who knows me know I’m not a vegetarian.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t think all animal life is valuable.  I’ve even tried to steer clear of harming spiders on this trip because they’re part of the circle. 

Killing indiscriminately is a crime against God’s creation.  Again as I think about the technological advances that we’ve made as a society it doesn’t seem that many of our inventions honor life.  Nor do they connect us to the Creation around us.  Being on the bike I can feel the wind, smell the smells, and see the shade from trees as I approach.  On the bicycle you can even feel the change in terrain beneath you rolling up or down.  You feel the heat in the asphalt.  You can’t do that in a car.  We have learned to completely control our environment.  In a car you hardly notice the slight changes in grade and temperature.

Who knows if this is important?  But I know I haven’t hit an animal with my bicycle.  Although a few dogs have come close.

Last thoughts for today.  If I lived in Gonzalez County I would be wondering how road repair budgets are being spent.  From Fayette to Gonzalez to Caldwell Counties the road qualities and bridge upkeep had (in my estimation) a large disparity.  Horrible.

Day Nine: A man's got to know his limitations

I had a great conversation last night with my RV park neighbor.  He’s a football coach and I was curious so I asked him in the smaller towns (really small towns) is the pressure as great to win from the communities as it is in the schools at the 6A level.  He didn’t say that it was greater but just present.  He remarked on how there is a pressure to win. 

But more complicated than that, there is also the pressure from parents to support their individual child.  I saw the same thing in my day.  One family is able to pay more to the booster club so their son got a starting spot or more playing time even if he wasn’t the better player. 

Helicopter parents pay thousands of dollars starting with 5 year olds in pee wee to send their kids to sports day camps at universities.  They give them good skills and experiences.  But the parents have dreams of scholarships and perhaps fame for their child.  And when ability doesn’t match expectations the blame has to be laid on someone else.  It's laid on coaches, teachers, anyone else.  Sadly, there really shouldn't be blame.  The only reason it exists is because our expectations were skewed.  That’s where are society has moved. 

(Related side note: It’s funny how outsiders complain about how the Church spends money or asks for money.  In all my years as an active Christian I’ve never seen a dime spent on anything that didn’t promote the worship of God or provide for the temporal and spiritual needs of God’s people.)  But we'll spend thousands on sports related futures that may never materialize.

As I was riding today it occurred to me that this mentality is a trickle down of American exceptionalism.  We are a great country with great values.  We have wealth like no other nation in history.  That mentality run in our veins.  WE ARE GREAT! (Lol)  Our/My child is exceptional.  The problem is: Not everyone can be exceptional.  That’s the very nature of “except-ion.”

As I was thinking about the German and Czech pioneers that settled central Texas their experience was wrought with struggle.  The people that came were middle class.  The landed gentry and nobility stayed in Europe because they were comfortable.  The poor couldn’t afford the journey.  The middle class risked life and what little property they had for a bigger future.  Many died in transit and some even after they arrived.  When faced with the harsh reality of the land their plans changed and found work in the cities.

But the harsh conditions and life teetering on the edge kept them humble…faithful.

Speaking of changing plans I’m adapting as I go.  When I originally plotted this course I estimated my mileage based on my experience in Spain.  I underestimated several factors in planning.  The heat, the hills and headwinds, and the trailer I’m pulling behind me with all my camping gear.  I didn’t have the trailer in Spain. 

I had estimated (conservatively mind you) thirty to forty on average.  It was a grand tour I had planned to get to Fredericksburg and back home.  In fact Fredericksburg was a long shot anyway but the plan was for this to be a round trip.  In reality the head winds coming from the north and the trailer I think have contributed to my miscalculation.  I’m riding just over twenty miles per day and I’ve needed more rest days than anticipated.  I am not ready for the MS 150.

Or maybe I've met my limit.  I don’t know yet.

Regardless, I’m recalibrating.  When I first began planning this pilgrimage of prayer I wanted to travel along the Old Spanish Trail (US 90) to the Painted Churches and culminating in San Antonio with the mission churches along the San Antonio River.  I am reverting back to that original plan.  I’ve got a couple of hard days riding ahead of me, but I hope to arrive in San Antonio by Saturday and visit the missions on Sunday.  If all goes well I’ll figure out how to pack my bike and trailer and catch a train back to Houston.  Otherwise I need someone to come get me… ... ... crickets.

Blessings to you all.  If you have prayer concerns you’d like to share with me, message me on Facebook, and I’ll talk to God about you. J

Day Eight: The Painted Churches

At this RV Park was given an RV site with water and electrical hookups.  The only drawback is that I have to pitch the tent on the gravel pad.  Not conducive to using stakes so I had to tide down to the trees.  Smart move because the wind had clearly moved my tent around in my absence. 

Sleeping was decent.  I was woken by train horns twice in the night.  After the second round I fumbled around and found my earplugs around 4 am.  That seemed to work well.  Woke up early and road down to St. James Street to find the old Black School that a parishioner’s mother taught at.  I found it and another little treasure. St. James Baptist Church.  The oldest African American Church in Schulenburg.

Came back into town and grabbed a ½ mini-loaf of banana bread, cup of vanilla latte, and a bottle of water before I caught the tour van that would take us to the painted churches.  I’m glad I opted to take the shuttle as it gave me time to rest.  But I also got to spend time with two catholic priests retired from Ft. Worth (originally from Pretoria, South Africa). 

We talked about ministry and the decline of civilizations.  Every great civilization that charted its decline first turned to moral decay.  I write this with no righteous indignation.  It’s not simply a judgement on the civilization; rather it is an objective reality.  Civilizations decline because the disparity between wealthy educated elite and the uneducated poor.  The wealthy/educated who are the societal leaders indulge themselves in carnality and set the example for the masses.  Everyone takes and takes, and no one gives.  This is the age we live in.  Our leaders both poltical and religious take us down the road to perdition. 

Now one wants to think that theirs is the generation that has fallen.  Indeed it's a slow generational process.  But it's happening.  And I think it's cyclical.  It's part of the human story that simply repeats over and over again.  I mean: Look at history.  What empire still exists today that was around 500 years ago?  Do you think that the United States of American will last forever?

But in our conversation today there is always renewal.  There are always those hanging on to the Truth and it will survive.  It has survived since history began.  So I’m not worried the long term.  But I for the short term I hope that we can have an impact in this world for those of us here and now.

The churches are beautiful.  They are a testimony to the faith of pioneering Europeans from German and Czech cultures.  They came here and worked hard.  Built towns around their church and faith communities.  Were obliterated by the cotton collapse in the Great Depression.  Cotton went from one dollar per bail to five cents.  Families lost everything they had worked for over two generations.

Some will ask, “Where was God’s protection for them.”  Well that’s one way to look at it.  But better questions are, “How did their human family take advantage of them and the banks support them when they took away their land and homes?”  The fact is, that when all the worldly possessions disappeared they still had their faith.  They still had their relationship with the Almighty.  That is all God has ever promised.  The only thing left of their thriving communities are these testimonies to their faith in God.  People still worship in these buildings.

Like other rural communities across the country many left looking for work in the cities.  The War came and they sent their sons to fight and die.  Serving as Americans they fought against their native homelands.  Staggering to consider that.

There was another couple a mother and daughter both older ladies in the van with us from Sugar Land. We laughed and joked with one another and marveled at how small the world is.

I’ve returned to my tent, drying laundry, had dinner and waiting for the morning.  A short ride to Flatonia tomorrow in anticipation of a 32 mile ride to Luling, Texas.  There appears to be no lodging in between.

I hope the next two days are fruitful and prayerful.