By Ken Matthews
LoneStarBiker — Texas Independence Trail
Page 49
By Ken Matthews
"Anything you want to write about, just make sure it's here by the 10th" Larry said.
So there I sat at the gas station in Brookshire, feeling guilty since I'd left my sweet wife at home in the kitchen that I had completely trashed over the last two days — by myself. Yet here I was taking a ride for no reason other than to feed my ego. I didn't even have a good place to ride. I just mumbled something about an article idea, got on the bike, and went.
Stuffing a plug in my left ear, I hear a rattle to my right, and someone on a rusty old bicycle slips past, bashes into the curb and takes a roll. As I moved to help him, he springs up, and starts to ask how far and which way is Houston. He was one of those spry "olde phartes" that never seem to hurt themselves. Before I could answer his question some other old dude comes walking up with a big smile and says "See how not to do it?" I could only grin at that.
Pointing the old man in the right direction, I told him it was about 30 miles and I prepared to set off. Before I bade him farewell he told me in confidence and with a wink: "This old bike rides good, but she don't stop."
Heh, I once had an old Beemer like that.
Leaving Brookshire heading south on Highway 90, there's a fork to a nice paved road crossing I-10. After I-10 the road almost immediately turns to a rural gravel lane that meanders through an area of farmland dotted by oil pumpers.
One of my favorite rides passes a field that's home to several donkeys and an old mule. I often stop there even though the mule isn't interested in my company, he just looks around nervously, if I can get him to stick around at all. The mule is probably waiting for Leon Hale to come by and feature him in a column, I suppose. Since I don't know the people who own this place I never linger too long. This is a nice relaxing place nonetheless. I can imagine living there and being content just staying at home, sitting on the porch.
Leaving the mule stop, I can go several different directions, but almost always take a road on the east bank of the Brazos River. The road dead ends into a field with cattle. It's a dead end road which isn't really that interesting except for the wooden gorilla guarding the entrance of a small resort. Interestingly it shows as a through road on nearly every map I've seen. But I keep that little secret to myself today as I slowly u-turn and motor past the longhorns next to the little white church.
Those dirt roads of Brookshire are steeped in Texas history, and beyond the old mule there are longhorn cattle, a church with an oil pump in the backyard, lots of unmarked dead ends, and plenty of rural Texan pride. But I'd never know all that if I didn't just slow down sometimes and ride them.
After all, all roads lead somewhere.