Valley of the Rio Grande

Morning came cloudy, if you can call it morning before it’s light enough not to need battery-powered lights.  The gibbous moon shone through a hole in the clouds. 

Undulant wind--gusts flavors

away into hands of light.  Slow

blaze of [sunrise] throws spears

up from the sea. 

     Russell Salamon—Parallel Voyages 51    

After eighteen miles of easy riding with hardly a car to interrupt my solitude, I came to the town of Tornillo, which stretches from the river up to Road 20, from Mexico to American farms.  I rode south through the town, nearly to the border with its high fence, and came back to the café, where no English is spoken.  Ironically, all the signs in this little Spanish town are in English.  My poco espanol got me a good breakfast and suspicious looks.  Is she undercover border patrol?

Most of the traffic is either farm tractors or farm blackbirds as I pedal toward El Paso.

In Fabens I met a Spanish-speaking man on a bicycle who asked me where I came from and where was I going.  I gave him the place names, and he grinned broadly.  We were stopped in front of this barred-up building, which he told me was the café of his mother, Noreen.  He stared fondly at it as he said, “Good times then, mas bicicletas, now nada.  Sometime I ride to California” 

Honey, did you water the lawn?

No, but I flooded the pecans

I don’t think you should have done that.

This evening I am on the north edge of El Paso, trying to miss most of its traffic.  A thunderstorm just broke loose over the Motrel6, and I am happy not to be out on the road. 

One small objective I have set for this endeavor is to lose ten pounds.  The easy way would be to eat as usual and use up the flab with pedaling.  I am neither dietitian nor athlete, but I know when I am hungry, and I usually know what I’m hungry for.  I just returned from a Chinese buffet restaurant where I had three heaping plates, and they lost money.  I’m not sure this objective will be met.