Just North of Baby Head
Even through the scent of top fuel nitro-methane in the air, the drag boats were really interesting enough to stick around for (yawn). We moved onto Fredericksburg. This town was the least satisfying of any on this trip. Is was nice, and clean and beautiful to look at. But it was crowded and everything seemed very brand-conscious with a heaping helping of faux-finishing. It was just not our kind of place. Glad we visited, but not our favorite township.
The next stop was Ink Lake. But we were unwilling to take a direct route. So we nav-ed out a course that took us North only on county roads. Two of those roads were easements running through operating ranches. The roads were beyond rough. At first I was worried that we were driving on celetche clay because of the redness. Not the case. The roads were mostly crushed granite. Very solid, but so very prone to having very deep washboard grooves. In the worst places we could only move at 1-2 MPH. We loved it. Around every turn and hill was something amazing that we would have never seen in any other way.
The combination of an could'nt care less look, the tuft of red and the tongue made this is a photo that Debra liked a lot. She described it as my first cow-portrait and has requested a good print to frame and hang in the sewing room.
The entire trail across these ranches totaled ~30 miles. On much of those trails were these intrepid stacked-stone borders.
This was an massive outcropping of granite from the ground. I loved the colors and texture.
As we rounded a corner and went down into a wash, we were greeted with this alien vista.
Maybe 100 yards away, this is how drastically the scenery changed.
When 100% of your income will not even cover the taxes but it has your name, two thumbs up is all I could muster.
There were genuine farm houses from a 100 years ago and amazing landscapes all prepared from His goodness.
After scouting out the camping at Inks Lake we made our way North on FM-500 to the Regency Bridge. This place is North of a ghost town called Baby Head. The only thing that remains of the town is the cemetery. As much as I hate to admit it, this was a good example that marketing may be of some value after all. What wife really wants their home to have a zip-code in Baby Head?
Not sure if you know this but back in the day I have climbed communication towers. I even rode the wire on a drilling rig up to get an injured worker down. But I am often terrified of suspension bridges. Yes they are nice and yes there are interesting, but I am never comfortable on one. I am always inspecting the wires, rivets and anchors. For Debra there is not even a hint of concern; 'if it wasn't safe, it wouldn't be here...'. The Dorris Day view of risk (que sera sera) is just not me. Things fall and break all the time and it is always a surprise.
As we drove up to it there were three cars parked on the side of the road, clearly not wanting to make the trip over the bridge. I knew that I had to make at least one crossing. Notice the bridge is crowned. You can see nothing until you are in the middle of the bridge. If there were timbers that missing or damaged, you would not know until it was too late.
With deep breaths and sighs like a whining pup I made it across. The wind was up and the swaying was very pronounced, but not nearly as noticeable as the creaking wood. Now we had to go back across to get home... That trip was worse, but Debra cheered the whole way.
I stepped out to take some quick pics and then to get out of there. My motivation was based on knowing how much Debra loves the self-y/Us-y pictures. My hope was to get the pics done and out of there before she realized my plans.
No such hope. If you could only see the death-grip I have on that wire behind me.
