Bowie, TX. 8483 miles.

I woke up early again and took some pictures around Walsenburg. This part of the country is filled with towns like this that seem to span enough vibrancy to keep the place afloat with complete ruins of a time not too long gone by that no one seems willing to bulldoze. It’s funny because I had this thought before in my life crossing northern Texas and New Mexico and I had the exact same thought again today. Towns dominated by derelict gas stations, some with the prices still on the signs frozen for eternity like the shadows of Pompei.

What followed was the longest and most boring run of my life. I won’t even begin to bore you with the details. Take one look at the route map below and you can imagine exactly what it was like. National Geographic does not send photographers to northern New Mexico and the panhandle of Texas for good reason. When I planned this trip I looked at this part of the map and groaned. It lived up to ever ounce of that.

So today was all about burning miles and seeing how fast the bike can go. Answer: Very fast. Secondary answer: So are the Texas Sate troopers’ radar guns. The ride was not fun in any way but I kept telling myself a simple thing – Sometimes you have to earn it. After the first few days of this trip I have had incredible luck with weather, traffic, and routes. At some point that luck was going to run out. It’s just math. Today was a day that you pay your dues and don’t expect any fun pictures. So if that’s what you’re looking for, sorry.

After saying goodbye to the mountains I did the longest day of the trip at almost 600 miles. I tried to tell myself the time change crossing into Central helped in some way but by the time I passed Wichita Falls I was gassed. For some reason at lunch I had set my sights on Bowie just because it was vaguely the right distance and so I soldiered a few dozen more miles than I wanted to and I am glad I did. At the motel I happened to see a newspaper clipping on the ground about the local Bowie Days festival that was starting tonight. I went into town and got a beer and some food and the bartender told me the rodeo was a few blocks away so I went over to check it out.

Somehow I managed to pull into the horse entrance and no one bothered to say anything so soon I ended up in the paddocks with the riders and the animals back behind all of the local crowds. I watched as the bullriders stretched and psyched themselves up for their runs – just minutes before all smiles and laughs and now not wanting anyone near them, even for a quick amateur run in front of a hundred people. We sat on the railings and bales of hay and drank beer and talked about the tour life. I have a feeling these guys have a million more stories and I will be back to hear more of them. I couldn’t help but think of Cody and the rodeo Wyatt had told me to check out. I asked the guys if they had ever been and a few told me they had ridden there before.

So what I thought would be an entirely boring day of the trip turned out to have a great ending. Every time I try to write a day off on this ride the road shows me something I had no idea was coming. Tomorrow I push further towards New Orleans through what should be some more barren road, but after tonight, who knows?

Wyatt Neumann was a phenomenally talented photographer and director, a loving husband and father, and a passionate motorcyclist. On June 11th he was doing what he loved riding in Delaware when he suffered a brain aneurysm which caused him to lose control of his motorcycle. He died shortly after. Wyatt was instrumental in both inspiring this trip and planning many of its routes and logistics. The title of this site was unapologetically stolen from his series of photographs from his own travels. He leaves behind a wife and two young children. A memorial fund has been established to help his family in this very trying time. Please consider donating. Any amount will help. Thank you.

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