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Ride of a Lifetime

50 years ago, a group of teens cycled across Texas. A lot has changed since then.

By Forrest M. Mims III

June 2024 Issue

Manzano Pass Day 1

The adventure of a lifetime came about through a church group. After I returned from Vietnam in 1968, I was assigned to the Air Force Laser Lab in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where I met my future wife, Minnie Chavez. We became volunteer youth teachers at a local church, and I noticed that teenagers seemed to benefit much more from hikes and camping than games and socials. That's when I planned a 1,000-mile bicycle trip from Albuquerque to Padre Island National Seashore.

After many practice rides, three girls and seven boys ranging in age from 15 to 18 qualified for the trip. Dennis and Karen Harbour, a young married couple, accompanied us.

Our expedition began 50 years ago — on June 10, 1974, at Albuquerque's First Baptist Church, where I did a thorough check of each fully loaded bike.

Fully loaded bikes? Of course! A vehicle tagging along with food and ice water would defeat my goal, which was to provide those teens with an adventure they would never forget.

California physician Steven Davis was one of those teens back then. Four years after the 1,000-mile bike ride he married Christina Schneider, one of the girls. Last October, Steve and I met in Albuquerque to drive the entire 1,000-mile route to Padre Island. Over the course of 50 years, we noticed, the Texas landscape has undergone a lot of change.

In 1974, the first days of our ride took us through New Mexico — the mountains and the desert. We saw pronghorns, rattlesnakes and tarantulas and slept in highway culverts. Our last New Mexico stop was in Hobbs, where we spent the night before crossing into Texas.

Back then there wasn't much to see along those West Texas highways. But last October, Steve and I were surprised by a landscape sprinkled with hundreds of huge wind generators and giant power lines carrying wind energy to distant cities. We also saw many cell phone towers.

spider

Andrews, a West Texas oil town with a beautiful lakeside park, was our first sign of Texas civilization in 1974. Both temperature and humidity began to rise after Andrews, so we decided to ride at night with flashlights taped to our handlebars. We then headed for Odessa, where we arrived at 4 a.m. Night riding kept our water cool and entertained us with beautiful views of stars and occasional meteors. But last October, Steve and I noticed that the night sky over West Texas was not nearly as clear as it was 50 years ago. Emissions from oil and gas wells have brightened the dark sky we saw in 1974 with light scattered from countless flares of burning gas.

After riding through Crane and Rankin on the 1974 trip, we headed for Big Lake. After midnight I noticed a light at the end of town and rode ahead to a small bar. Would the bartender make coffee for my tired teens?

“No!” she said. “This is a bar! We don't serve coffee!”

But when the teens began entering, she got a smile on her face and told her two customers to “get out of here.” She told me she would make coffee for those sleepy teens. Half an hour later we were back on the highway headed to Ozona, where we arrived after sunrise. We camped on the bright green grass at the courthouse, which Steve and I noticed was just as green last October as it was 50 years ago.

Late that afternoon we rode the shoulder of Interstate 10 toward Sonora. That night we crossed the scary Devils River bridge not long after experiencing some roadside coyotes howling at us as we cycled by. Some of us howled back.

Steve, Tina and Leah

We reached Sonora after midnight and camped behind a church. The next morning we headed for Rocksprings. After five days of night riding, the Hill Country was cool enough for day riding. With hundreds of miles of barren desert behind them, those teens were absolutely thrilled by the scenic Texas Hill Country, the turkeys and the herd of deer that raced across the road between our bicycles.

The next morning, as we rode to Garner State Park, I spotted an armadillo and ordered the expedition to halt. Those New Mexico teens had never seen an armadillo, so I chased it through a thick grove of cedar trees to catch the beast and show it to the bikers.

Garner State Park was like heaven for those tough, tanned riders. No one objected when I suggested we stay two nights. I will never forget swimming in the transparent Frio River while the boys plunged into the water from a rope tied to a giant bald cypress.

We left Garner State Park on a chilly June morning and stopped at a store where I spotted a newspaper headline: “Coldest temperature since 1912!” The Texas Hill Country had become an enormous air conditioner that blew away memories of the hundreds of hot, desert miles we rode to get there.

When we arrived at the Corpus Christi city limits several days later, a pair of motorcycle policemen escorted us to First Baptist Church on Ocean Drive, where we showered and slept in the gym. The next day we rode to a rally, where the mayor presented us a key to the city.

Seventeen days after leaving Albuquerque, we reached the John F. Kennedy Causeway that connects Padre Island with the mainland. A sheriff's car with flashing red lights escorted us over the bridge. Several hours later, the teens were happily swimming in the Gulf of Mexico at Padre Island National Seashore.

Those teens, who are now in their mid-60s, consider the 1,000-mile bike trip a highlight of their life. And so do I.

Padre Island
Texas Parks & Wildlife Magazine 
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