Day Nineteen: leaving el paso, cecil and his chihuahuas

I woke up without an alarm at 6:45. I hope this isn't becoming a permanent condition.

We packed, ate, and were on the road by 8:30.

Our first stop of the day was at Circle K. We answered some FAQs, then stopped again at WalMart for some Clif bars, cereal, and a few other staples.

I didn't take many pictures today because there's not much here that's picture-worthy. As I sardonically mentioned before, I really dislike riding in big cities, and my impression of this side of El Paso is that it has more linear feet of barbed wire per capita than any other city in the country.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

Klaus broke another spoke just before Fabens. For some reason, it's always a spoke in the same location. He didn't break a single spoke all across Russia, Mongolia, and China. Now they're breaking like they're made of ceramic. On the positive side, after he breaks a few more, I'll expect him to replace it without getting off the bike, or even slowing down.

Lunch was at Pop's Better Burger. Better than some, worse than others.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

We had a head wind, but made good time. In Tornillo we stopped to stock up. I bought a gallon of water since we're going to be dry camping tonight.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

Oh My God!!! I'm turning into Klaus. Or, maybe you CAN teach an old dog new tricks.

A huge farm vehicle pulled out in front of us and we drafted behind it for about two to three miles. It was going a little slower than we would've gone, but it was a nice break... it was REALLY easy to pedal behind it, and weighed only slightly more than Klaus' bike and gear.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

This part of the country has a lot of cotton fields.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

Just past Esperanza we started looking for a place to pitch our tents. The sun was starting to get low.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

The mosquitoes were REALLY bad, and each time we stopped we were surrounded by a symphony of their bloodsucking songs.

There were some places along the side of the road where we could surreptitiously pitch our tents, but we decided to stop and ask someone if we could use their yard instead of trying to hide them. This part of the country is pretty isolated, and there really weren't many houses along this road, but we eventually found an unpaved side street and went down it. At the first (only) driveway, we walked up to a locked gate and were immediately met by three barking chihuahuas. While we waited I glanced around the yard.... there was an old short, yellow school bus that looked like it hadn't moved in twenty years. The yard had more dirt than weeds, and no grass. There was a tin shed outbuilding that looked like some kind of workshop. The house itself was white and low, as if the sun and heat had pounded it down over the years.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

After shouting our hellos above the barking chihuahuas, a man came out. He had long graying hair and a beard to match. The lines on his face were evidence of the miles he had seen. His shirt was unbuttoned and he was smoking a slender, brown cigar.

Klaus told him our story and asked if it would be okay to pitch a tent in his yard.

"Why don't you just sleep inside? That way the mosquitoes won't get you."

We were pretty happy about that. He introduced himself as Cecil, and suggested we roll the bikes into the garage, which was currently being used for storage. It was supposed to rain tonight, he told us, and the bikes would stay dry inside the garage. “But watch out for rattlesnakes, though.”

We chatted outside a minute as we took our gear off the bikes. I rolled my bike in first, carefully scanning the ground for snakes.

When we walked into the house, I was a little overwhelmed at first. It's hard to describe the scene. The pictures aren't going to do it justice.

The kitchen had dishes, food still in them, piled up on every inch of sink and counter space. Just over the sink, there were about fifty flies. Beer cans were everywhere. The living room had tools on the floor, a generator in the corner, and more beer cans. The couch was covered with a variety of papers, magazines, clothing, and a sundry of other items. The place wasn't just untidy, it was dirty.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

He was a good host, though, and immediately offered us a cold beer. That was all he had. When I say that was all he had, that's exactly what I mean... not only were there no other drinks in the house, there wasn't any food, either.

We both noticed his hat sitting on the couch. It had a rattlesnake's head, mouth open and fangs bared, on the front. When we remarked what a cool hat it was, he told us he had just killed it last week. It had been in the shed where our bikes are being stored. He had left the door open in the hope that it would leave on its own, but after a few days he decided he should probably kill it so it doesn't bite him or someone else. He walked over to the couch and unsheathed a machete. "This is what I used," he explained.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

We talked a long time that evening. I learned that he was raised near Sacramento, and received a partial scholarship to MIT right out of high school. Even on a partial scholarship he couldn't afford to go so he signed up for the Air Force instead, with the expectation that he'd be getting drafted soon anyway. That way, he could choose which branch he went into instead letting the government decide. He already had a Private Pilot's license, and maybe that would help him some.

Four weeks into Basic Training he got called in to the Commanding Officer's quarters. There were two very serious-looking FBI agents there who wanted him to explain some things... like why he burned his draft card. They showed him a movie that had been taken several weeks before in Berkeley in which he was filmed burning it. Cecil explained to them that, "I didn't need it. I was already signed up." He added (to us, not the FBI) that he was with a cute girl and was hoping it might help. His commanding officer told the FBI guys that Cecil was an exemplary soldier and it didn't really matter NOW, did it?

Once out of Basic, he went to flight school and learned to pilot the F-4. He flew several tours, and was shot down three times.

I got the impression that Cecil doesn't talk about his wartime experiences much, but he told us that during one of his missions he was flying over North Viet Nam when his plane got shot down. He disabled the auto parachute because he didn't want to be slowly floating down while people were shooting at him. Instead, he waited until the very last second and pulled the manual parachute release. It only slowed his descent marginally. Falling through the trees, he broke both ankles, his right tibia and fibula, and several ribs. He survived three weeks by eating insects, berries, and roots. He crawled when he had to, but stayed in the water a lot, eventually making it to South Viet Nam.

Cecil said he was eventually "kicked out" of the military because he "began enjoying it too much." Neither one of us asked for details. He said there were no guns in the house because he doesn't trust himself with one.

"I think I could kill someone and feel absolutely no remorse."

At that point the room got quiet... VERY quiet. I stole a glance at Klaus' expressionless face.

Then, after a pause, ".... if they were breaking into my house."

I glanced at the machete, still in its sheath.

Once out of the service and back in the States, Cecil went back to school and got a bachelor's degree in engineering, "which I haven't used since." He does do his own home repairs, though, and had been up on the roof earlier in the day.

He lived in Council Bluffs, Iowa, until about four years ago, then moved to Pecos, Texas. About two years ago he traded houses with a guy who wanted to live in Pecos.

Cecil has three dogs: Bugs, Buster, and Misty, the chihuahuas we met when we first came to his gate. He obviously loves them a lot, and talked to them regularly while we were there.

We (Klaus and I) showered, then cooked some of Klaus' minestrone soup. After we had cleaned up, the three of us watched Bandidas (Selma Hayek, Penelope Cruz), a truly terrible movie.

We went to bed when Cecil did, around 10:30. When all of the lights were out, I lay on top of my sleeping bag in the warm house and worked on my blog; however, after the flies began swarming around me and landing on my PDA because of its light, I decided to call it a night.

I think some people might have a tendency to judge Cecil rather harshly. Don't. This is a man who opened up his home to two complete strangers. On his very limited income he offered us what he had, beer. He let us use his shower and was as gracious a host as you could want, trying to make sure we were comfortable, offering us a movie for entertainment. He opened up his house and he opened up his life.

He realizes he has emotional difficulties and deals with them the best he can, with the skills he has.

He served our country when asked.

He gives all of the beer cans, an amount which could significantly reduce the national debt, to his neighbor with four sons to help pay for their education.

Cecil is one of the good guys.

In spite of his words ("I think I could kill someone and feel absolutely no remorse"), neither Klaus nor I had the sense of him being dangerous.

...still, I checked to make sure the machete was still on the couch when he went to bed. Klaus checked too, independently, and we laughed about it later.

By the way, Esperanza is Spanish for soap.

72.49 miles
12.9 average
22.7 max
5:35:41 time
928.7 total

addendum: Esperanza doesn't mean “soap” after all. I was talking to someone who said, “Did you know that esperanza means hope?” Say that sentence out loud, and listen to yourself as you say it. Now remember that I had just left Cecil's place, and perhaps you'll see how I came to think it meant “soap!”