I had a hard time getting motivated to leave Katrina and Christina's place, knowing I'd be leaving many comforts behind for a 215 mile ride to Lubbock with very only two real towns (which I define as having more than 300 people) and very little else in between. Travis at Lonestar Herefords had called it "the longest, emptiest stretch of highway on God's earth." I guessed he was exaggerating, but probably not by much. So I lingered for a while, but once I ran out of not-really-necessary tasks (reorganizing packs, checking air pressure of tires, studying the map of New Mexico) I set out for good old Route 82.

Now that I'm out here, it's beautiful. I love the spaciousness, and the not-much-of-anything-ness. This is where the ride starts to feel like a real adventure, a little risky, requiring slightly more planning and forethought and resourcefulness than the other, more populated areas I've ridden through to this point.

It occurred to me that I'm now experiencing at ground view those perfect square tiles of landscape I've seen out the windows of airplanes. Every few miles I rode past a different color tile: tan wheat fields, red plowed earth, and even perfect bright-green grass that would be the envy of any suburban homeowner. These massive lawns are so perfect that I thought at first they must be sod farms, but I've also seen cattle grazing on them. When the land is left to its own devices, it grows a mix of wild grass, juniper, prickly pear, and various low shrubs.

Only three interesting things occurred (I am broadening the definition of "interesting" to mean "something other than simply riding a bike in a straight line past the above-mentioned scenery") on my 43 mile ride.

1. I stopped at the DQ in the tiny town of Holliday for a terrible grilled chicken sandwich on soggy bread. It bothers me that Dairy Queen has joined the ranks of the fast food joints who have attempted to hippen themselves by using only their initials. You're not hip, Dairy Queen, and neither are you, Kentucky Fried Chicken. Thankfully, Taco Bell has the good sense not to start calling itself TB.
2. I crossed the road to get a shot of an interesting roadside memorial, a hot pink cross with black roses placed at the foot. (I see a lot of these in passing, and always find them touching, and a little humbling.) I emerged from the grassy median with 8 or 9 razor-sharp burrs stuck to my socks and digging into my ankles. Agh! Why are Texas plants all so pointy, prickly, spiny, stabby, and ouchy?
3. Out of nowhere I started thinking about this old Teddy Ruxpin commercial and pulled it up on my phone. It took me a good couple minutes to stop laughing my head off.

I purposely quit a little bit before I really had to in order to put myself within spittin' distance (I love that phrase) of Seymour,  so I could get coffee in the morning, hit the library if they have one, and stock up on groceries. The only dinner I have left is some awful mac & cheese that I'm keeping around as "emergency rations," in other words, food I will need to be on death's doorstep in order to eat. Since I am not on death's doorstep, I went with crackers, string cheese, and baby carrots instead.

I generally sleep better at night having gotten permission to camp somewhere, but since I hadn't seen a house for many miles it seemed like a reasonable assumption that I wouldn't be disturbing anything if I jumped a fence and camped off in a field. So I started scouting out a metal gate, which I reasoned would be easier to climb over, and hoist my bike and gear over, than the barbed wire fencing. As luck would have it, I found a gate that was not even locked, but secured shut with a piece of wire about the thickness of a coat hanger. I easily untwisted it and rolled my bike on through.

From there I took a ride down a very bikeable packed red dirt road (in fact, I think this dirt road was smoother than the highway, which had switched back to chunky-style gravel once I left Wichita Falls). I followed it for a mile or two just to get away from the traffic noise of the main road, and found a very nice camping spot between a couple of shrubs and a big clump of prickly pear.

I pulled out my Thermarest and did some yoga on it as the stars came out. I heard more coyotes, pleasantly far away this time, and my headlamp illuminated a number of sparkles here and there on the ground. When I investigated I found that each one is a single reflective dot on a brown spider's back. I remembered Seth in Hot Springs telling me about the brown recluse spider, an innocuous-looking little brown spider whose venom is. . . ah, shoot. I'm forgetting the word that means "will rot your flesh off." But, it's that. And can be fatal. I made a mental note to study up on it next time I have internet access, and, for the time being, to make sure my tent is securely zipped shut.