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MotoTex
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Initially this was posted in the Tiger forum, but I realized I had actually cobbled together a ride report, so moved it here.
Miss Kitty and I took a little spin over the weekend. There is clearly something amiss with the bike as she slurped down about ten tanks of fuel between Friday night and Sunday noon. Thirsty kitty.
The greater metro Winchester mega-plex was the starting point about 7:30 Friday eve and the general meandering was essentially headed in a Westerly direction.
After taking the I-10 tour of San Antonio I arrived in Kerrville hoping to find a room, and it soon became clear this was not to be. It seems there were a mess of them dang-nabbed motorcyclists in town and everything was booked solid or priced beyond my meager budget. This also indicated to me that riding in the area would be hampered by what seemed to be mostly those riders who preferred parade speed to something more, um, er, brisk.
I wasn't having any of it, know when to move on, and justly so I was inspired by this combination of circumstance to go West a little bit further to Junction. Where I found very nice accommodations for a veritable song (~$67) at the America's Best Value affiliate there.
With no particular place to go I made a cup of tea and pulled out the tablet, connecting to the WiFi while pondering destinations such as Alpine and the Davis mountains, Cloudcroft, NM, and even Ponder for pie on the morrow (actually today, as it was well past midnight now). Eventually I decided that in the morn my plan would be to head down 377 toward Del Rio, then West to the Pecos River bridge and Langtry, then decide. No use rushing into any long-term commitments with pavement or destinations at this point. I was trying to work without a net here. A bit out of my element, but invigorating just the same.
337 is a lovely road. More than a few twisties along the way with very little traffic. Great views abound, though there are no pics to show.
However, somewhere around Rocksprings something went amiss. I seem to have gone straight when a turn was required in order to actually find my way to Del Rio. It is amazing what a missed turn can do. I ended up in, well, um, er, Brownsville. Sometimes you just have to roll with it. Unlike Sammy Hagar, it seems I can drive 55. Highway 55 that is.
Perhaps it was the 47 degree departure temps in Junction. Maybe Miss Kitty wanted warmer climes. No matter how it transpired, there I was in Uvalde at a T in the road with a choice of San Antonio to the left and Laredo to the right. I didn't want to go back to San Antonio, which I had ridden though just last night, so decided to take highway 83 the other way and see where it goes.
Let me tell you, it goes. And goes. And goes.
The last time I was in Laredo was with my parents as a wee lad some forty five or more years ago. It seems to have grown since then, no longer the sleepy little town on the border. Fighting my way through traffic as I herded the bike along the river I found some lunch for Miss Kitty at an H.E.B. fuel station and a few blocks further down S. Zapata Highway lunch for me at Dos Marias Kitchen which hit the spot nicely.
Refreshed and refueled, sated and cleanly separated from any itinerary, with pant and jacket liners stowed to prevent further sweltering as the weather became more temperate, on we went.
The terrain had changed significantly after having passed Uvalde from the Edwards Plateau's motorcycle happy twists and turns to what I think of as the Coastal Plains straight roads with mucho traffic. Not my favorite, but I'd been wanting to see this part of the state and thinking of traveling down the border road for a few years. So here I was going someplace I had never been before, seeking out new fuel stops and new taquerias, boldly going where it seems many had gone before. Sometimes making highway miles has its own magical restorative aspect and I enjoyed the relaxed time as the pavement disappeared into the mirror image of what lay behind.
This venture obviously being a spontaneous act (completely unnatural state for an over-planner like myself) it was challenging to remain motivated to continue on the straight and narrow Southward. So, I resorted to pontificate a plan amongst the spontaneousness, which was firmly against the rules set for this ride to not have rules. The plan? To venture as far South as possible on Texas highways. All done under the premise of touching this particular corner of the state, and to check it off the list of Things To Do. Having been to the other three directions over the years, this was the last of the cardinal points to acquire.
There were a lot of nice little towns along the way, many of which would easily fill the day of those with a preference toward flower-sniffing, but I was in it for the ride this day. Putting the miles behind me and catching glimpses of the scenery along the way were my preference. It was rather enjoyable, all in all.
Until I got to Roma. Right about here the towns start getting long and thin along the highway. Essentially putting the kibosh on accumulation of mileage. First it is Roma, then Rio Grande City. Next was fast highway through what appeared to be a hundred mile long corridor between strip malls. Like being stuck in Katy Freeway purgatory.
Of particular note, I've never seen so many Chili's locations. I think there may be more of those along highway 83 from Laredo to South Padre Island than there are Whataburgers.
Looking at the map I see that had I planned this I could have taken Military Road and followed the river, avoiding this fast but boring highway corridor. This is one of the drawbacks of spontaneity. No plan.
Also along the way I saw a sign for a ferry crossing into Mexico at Los Ebanos, Texas that I might want to go check out, someday ... (I'm trying to collect the whole set of ferry boat rides in Texas and didn't know about this one)
Onward.
Arriving late in the day to Brownsville I consulted the map for things to see. South Padre Island was on the list, but I saw this other road that seemed to be the Southernmost highway in the state, Boca Chica Blvd., Texas 4. Off I went to investigate. The wind was blowing something fierce and the skies were gray, though not foreboding precipitation and it was a nice ride to the end of the pavement. I decided not to venture further into the sand, though there were a slough of 4-wheelers tearing it up and having a lot of fun irritating the fishermen and a couple of sight-seers who chilled quickly in the cool evening breeze and returned to their vehicle.
Turning around I backtracked to Brownsville, going through a lonely Border Patrol station where I confirmed I was indeed a Texan, and therefore also a U.S. citizen. They let me pass, but first I asked if the agent knew which aircraft carrier it was in the Port of Brownsville, as we could see it from there. He didn't know, saying it was the first carrier he had seen there, usually it is destroyers and similar size ships being demolished. I had read last year that the USS Roark was scrapped in Brownsville a few years back. I had served on that ship in the late '70s and knew if a carrier sat there it was carrion for the salvage operations.
Next on the agenda was South Padre. I can't remember ever having been there and wondered what the fuss was all about. Making my way over the causeway I noticed there were now lots of traffic lights along the sides with many signs indicating traffic should stop immediately if the lights were on. I presume this is a late accessory, the result of the recent span that fell after the barge hit the bridge.
On a gray, windy day South Padre Island looked no different to me than Galveston does. Same gift shops, motel chains, various restaurants and the like. I must say that from the bridge the South end of the island looks a little like a small Dubai, with something resembling a miniature Petronas Towers thrown in for good measure. It was late and I needed to get a room, so it was back across the causeway and on to Brownsville I went, not wanting to leave Miss Kitty in the salt breeze overnight.
On the way back I glanced again at the carrier from the other side. It looked like the termites were eating away at it. I noted the "59" on the tower and Googled it. U.S.S. Forestall.
I remember seeing firefighting training films back in boot camp from the fire on it's deck. When launched in 1954 it cost $218,000,000.00. It seems she was recently sold as scrap for one penny and towed from Philadelphia on February 4, 2014 to her final rusting place.
R.I.P. (Rust In Pieces) U.S.S. Forestall.
After a good night's rest I pointed Miss Kitty Northward and crossed the emptiness of Kenedy County and parts of the King ranch, making my way back to Miss Kitty's home sand-box by a little after lunchtime Sunday.
The higher speed limits all over are a boon to making decent time across the Great State of Texas, and enforcement officers were none to be seen outside the municipalities, in many of which they seemed to be running a brisk business.
GPS says I covered 1130 miles. The average moving speed for the weekend was 62 mph, and the average speed for the total hours elapsed over the trip was 27 mph between leaving and returning about 42 hours later. 24 of which found me in the saddle.
The time riding the Tiger made for a fine respite and meditative outing while taking in some interesting and historical sections of Texas. It was a very comfortable ride as well. With twelve months of ownership behind me it is on the cusp of racking up 13,000 miles.
Miss Kitty and I took a little spin over the weekend. There is clearly something amiss with the bike as she slurped down about ten tanks of fuel between Friday night and Sunday noon. Thirsty kitty.
The greater metro Winchester mega-plex was the starting point about 7:30 Friday eve and the general meandering was essentially headed in a Westerly direction.
After taking the I-10 tour of San Antonio I arrived in Kerrville hoping to find a room, and it soon became clear this was not to be. It seems there were a mess of them dang-nabbed motorcyclists in town and everything was booked solid or priced beyond my meager budget. This also indicated to me that riding in the area would be hampered by what seemed to be mostly those riders who preferred parade speed to something more, um, er, brisk.
I wasn't having any of it, know when to move on, and justly so I was inspired by this combination of circumstance to go West a little bit further to Junction. Where I found very nice accommodations for a veritable song (~$67) at the America's Best Value affiliate there.
With no particular place to go I made a cup of tea and pulled out the tablet, connecting to the WiFi while pondering destinations such as Alpine and the Davis mountains, Cloudcroft, NM, and even Ponder for pie on the morrow (actually today, as it was well past midnight now). Eventually I decided that in the morn my plan would be to head down 377 toward Del Rio, then West to the Pecos River bridge and Langtry, then decide. No use rushing into any long-term commitments with pavement or destinations at this point. I was trying to work without a net here. A bit out of my element, but invigorating just the same.
337 is a lovely road. More than a few twisties along the way with very little traffic. Great views abound, though there are no pics to show.
However, somewhere around Rocksprings something went amiss. I seem to have gone straight when a turn was required in order to actually find my way to Del Rio. It is amazing what a missed turn can do. I ended up in, well, um, er, Brownsville. Sometimes you just have to roll with it. Unlike Sammy Hagar, it seems I can drive 55. Highway 55 that is.
Perhaps it was the 47 degree departure temps in Junction. Maybe Miss Kitty wanted warmer climes. No matter how it transpired, there I was in Uvalde at a T in the road with a choice of San Antonio to the left and Laredo to the right. I didn't want to go back to San Antonio, which I had ridden though just last night, so decided to take highway 83 the other way and see where it goes.
Let me tell you, it goes. And goes. And goes.
The last time I was in Laredo was with my parents as a wee lad some forty five or more years ago. It seems to have grown since then, no longer the sleepy little town on the border. Fighting my way through traffic as I herded the bike along the river I found some lunch for Miss Kitty at an H.E.B. fuel station and a few blocks further down S. Zapata Highway lunch for me at Dos Marias Kitchen which hit the spot nicely.
Refreshed and refueled, sated and cleanly separated from any itinerary, with pant and jacket liners stowed to prevent further sweltering as the weather became more temperate, on we went.
The terrain had changed significantly after having passed Uvalde from the Edwards Plateau's motorcycle happy twists and turns to what I think of as the Coastal Plains straight roads with mucho traffic. Not my favorite, but I'd been wanting to see this part of the state and thinking of traveling down the border road for a few years. So here I was going someplace I had never been before, seeking out new fuel stops and new taquerias, boldly going where it seems many had gone before. Sometimes making highway miles has its own magical restorative aspect and I enjoyed the relaxed time as the pavement disappeared into the mirror image of what lay behind.
This venture obviously being a spontaneous act (completely unnatural state for an over-planner like myself) it was challenging to remain motivated to continue on the straight and narrow Southward. So, I resorted to pontificate a plan amongst the spontaneousness, which was firmly against the rules set for this ride to not have rules. The plan? To venture as far South as possible on Texas highways. All done under the premise of touching this particular corner of the state, and to check it off the list of Things To Do. Having been to the other three directions over the years, this was the last of the cardinal points to acquire.
There were a lot of nice little towns along the way, many of which would easily fill the day of those with a preference toward flower-sniffing, but I was in it for the ride this day. Putting the miles behind me and catching glimpses of the scenery along the way were my preference. It was rather enjoyable, all in all.
Until I got to Roma. Right about here the towns start getting long and thin along the highway. Essentially putting the kibosh on accumulation of mileage. First it is Roma, then Rio Grande City. Next was fast highway through what appeared to be a hundred mile long corridor between strip malls. Like being stuck in Katy Freeway purgatory.
Of particular note, I've never seen so many Chili's locations. I think there may be more of those along highway 83 from Laredo to South Padre Island than there are Whataburgers.
Looking at the map I see that had I planned this I could have taken Military Road and followed the river, avoiding this fast but boring highway corridor. This is one of the drawbacks of spontaneity. No plan.
Also along the way I saw a sign for a ferry crossing into Mexico at Los Ebanos, Texas that I might want to go check out, someday ... (I'm trying to collect the whole set of ferry boat rides in Texas and didn't know about this one)
Onward.
Arriving late in the day to Brownsville I consulted the map for things to see. South Padre Island was on the list, but I saw this other road that seemed to be the Southernmost highway in the state, Boca Chica Blvd., Texas 4. Off I went to investigate. The wind was blowing something fierce and the skies were gray, though not foreboding precipitation and it was a nice ride to the end of the pavement. I decided not to venture further into the sand, though there were a slough of 4-wheelers tearing it up and having a lot of fun irritating the fishermen and a couple of sight-seers who chilled quickly in the cool evening breeze and returned to their vehicle.
Turning around I backtracked to Brownsville, going through a lonely Border Patrol station where I confirmed I was indeed a Texan, and therefore also a U.S. citizen. They let me pass, but first I asked if the agent knew which aircraft carrier it was in the Port of Brownsville, as we could see it from there. He didn't know, saying it was the first carrier he had seen there, usually it is destroyers and similar size ships being demolished. I had read last year that the USS Roark was scrapped in Brownsville a few years back. I had served on that ship in the late '70s and knew if a carrier sat there it was carrion for the salvage operations.
Next on the agenda was South Padre. I can't remember ever having been there and wondered what the fuss was all about. Making my way over the causeway I noticed there were now lots of traffic lights along the sides with many signs indicating traffic should stop immediately if the lights were on. I presume this is a late accessory, the result of the recent span that fell after the barge hit the bridge.
On a gray, windy day South Padre Island looked no different to me than Galveston does. Same gift shops, motel chains, various restaurants and the like. I must say that from the bridge the South end of the island looks a little like a small Dubai, with something resembling a miniature Petronas Towers thrown in for good measure. It was late and I needed to get a room, so it was back across the causeway and on to Brownsville I went, not wanting to leave Miss Kitty in the salt breeze overnight.
On the way back I glanced again at the carrier from the other side. It looked like the termites were eating away at it. I noted the "59" on the tower and Googled it. U.S.S. Forestall.
I remember seeing firefighting training films back in boot camp from the fire on it's deck. When launched in 1954 it cost $218,000,000.00. It seems she was recently sold as scrap for one penny and towed from Philadelphia on February 4, 2014 to her final rusting place.
R.I.P. (Rust In Pieces) U.S.S. Forestall.
After a good night's rest I pointed Miss Kitty Northward and crossed the emptiness of Kenedy County and parts of the King ranch, making my way back to Miss Kitty's home sand-box by a little after lunchtime Sunday.
The higher speed limits all over are a boon to making decent time across the Great State of Texas, and enforcement officers were none to be seen outside the municipalities, in many of which they seemed to be running a brisk business.
GPS says I covered 1130 miles. The average moving speed for the weekend was 62 mph, and the average speed for the total hours elapsed over the trip was 27 mph between leaving and returning about 42 hours later. 24 of which found me in the saddle.
The time riding the Tiger made for a fine respite and meditative outing while taking in some interesting and historical sections of Texas. It was a very comfortable ride as well. With twelve months of ownership behind me it is on the cusp of racking up 13,000 miles.
I guess you could also call it "MotoTex Winchester to Brownsville Shortcut"
