Houston, TX--Meeting Alvar
SUNDAY, MAY 19, 2013
"Good night's sleep" and "coach class" are contradictory concepts. Even though I had two seats to myself, my 5 foot 11 inch frame was about 6 inches too long. After twisting and contorting into positions that should be strictly prohibited for 61 year old men, I came-to sometime after 5am when the trained pulled into San Antonio. They allowed us a "smoke break," but for me it was definitely a "stretch break"--coming just in time for me to escape permanent disfigurement.
The engineer and crew did make up the lost time and then some. We pulled into Houston prior to our scheduled 11:10am slot. After over a day of continual motion, the real beginning of my journey was about to commence. But not without a little of the requisite drama.
I eagerly and anxiously watched the agents unload the baggage. A very dark cloud of foreboding began to press down on my spirit. The cart drove up--with lots of bags, but NO bike box! My trip was about to end before I rode a single foot in Texas. Was my carbon-fiber steed still in Tucson? Or did it jump off in El Paso or San Antonio? Or somewhere in the 1,500 miles in between? When would I see it again? Would I EVER see it again? Every one else had successfully located their luggage and left. I was the last man standing--and in no way was this a good thing right now.
"No, honey. There is no bike box on this train." For the second time, I revealed my claim check and explained I got on at Tucson. She must have recognized the look of total defeat on my face. "They MIGHT have put it in the wrong compartment. Let me have another look," my grandmotherly baggage handler said trying to soothe me.
When her riding lawn mower wanna-be pulled up, on her cart was a lone cardboard box, about the size of a bicycle. I could have hugged her, although I'm sure that would have been scary (taking that I had been in the same clothes for a day and a half) as well as totally inappropriate. I thanked her the way a parent would thank someone for finding their lost child. Now I had a way to get back home. (Ok, a bit over the top, I know. But I WAS majorly relieved.)
After reattaching the pedals and handlebars, I changed into my "superbiker" outfit of 'mandex' and microfiber, strapped my gear to my cycle, and exited the station with a mission--to meet Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca. Nevermind he expired in Spain in 1560. His likeness is believed to be hanging out in Hermann Park (the museum district), along side other notables such as Sam Houston, this city's namesake.
Traffic was light this Sunday midday, so it took me less than a half hour to negotiate the many stop lights and busses. I stopped along the way to load up on Gatorade; the humidity is, well, wet (and draining).
Let it be known there seem to be few friends of the de Vacas in Houston. "Statues? What kind of statue?" (How many kinds of statues are there?)
"Maybe behind that hill over there." After riding around two reflective pools with fountains and leisurely exploring the locations of several museums, I tracked down Alvar in the garden of the Texas Fern Society. (Where else would he hang out, tell me!?) We got some photos (I asked some Japanese tourists to take a photo of me with my explorer friend--how's that for a role reversal!), chatted about his hardships and adventures, then parted ways, I being sufficiently inspired to carry on.
Now, I realize there is a space limit when one labels a piece of statuary. But I was a bit flabbergasted when I read what was no doubt the well-intended description:
The modern history of Texas began with this explorer from Spain
who lived here from 1528 to 1536.
This is misleading, as well as FAR too casual! Makes it sound like he was thinking, "Humm... I heard there's this place to the West. I think I'll check it out and maybe rent a condo for, say, eight years." Cabeza de Vaca was actually exploring FLORIDA, and as a result of an incompetent superior and a lot of bad luck, a storm crashed his homemade boat into Galveston Island, where he was enslaved naked by the resident Indians, ending up as only one of the four out of 300 who started the trip! (And that's the VERY short version--stay tuned!). To say that Alvar "lived here" is a gross distortion of the idea!! I could think of many other words--dangerous, shipwrecked, beaten, almost cannibalized by his own men, left for dead, starving, etc., etc.--that would have been a bit more descriptive--and honoring--that merely "lived here." Perhaps the best one would have been "took him eight years to find his way outta here!" (Rant over... not really. Read each day to find out about this very interesting fellow. :)
After 10.1 miles of cycling, I eventually found my way to the Astro City Motel, where I was charged $3 for not paying with cash (and probably by the hour). I have one lone flourescent light bulb over my bed, a six foot by six foot mirror on the wall staring at me, and white clouds painted on a baby blue ceiling. But the sheets are clean, I'm on a budget, and I'm out of here at 6am headed for Galveston Island, the site of De Vaca's traumatic landing and welcome to the great state of Texas!
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| Arrived (after 25 hours)--Houston, Texas |
The engineer and crew did make up the lost time and then some. We pulled into Houston prior to our scheduled 11:10am slot. After over a day of continual motion, the real beginning of my journey was about to commence. But not without a little of the requisite drama.
I eagerly and anxiously watched the agents unload the baggage. A very dark cloud of foreboding began to press down on my spirit. The cart drove up--with lots of bags, but NO bike box! My trip was about to end before I rode a single foot in Texas. Was my carbon-fiber steed still in Tucson? Or did it jump off in El Paso or San Antonio? Or somewhere in the 1,500 miles in between? When would I see it again? Would I EVER see it again? Every one else had successfully located their luggage and left. I was the last man standing--and in no way was this a good thing right now.
"No, honey. There is no bike box on this train." For the second time, I revealed my claim check and explained I got on at Tucson. She must have recognized the look of total defeat on my face. "They MIGHT have put it in the wrong compartment. Let me have another look," my grandmotherly baggage handler said trying to soothe me.
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| Out of the box, reassembled and ready to roll! |
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| Downtown Houston greets me outside the Amtrak station. |
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| Bust of Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca |
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| Alvar with Cabeza de Shelley. Note similarity of headgear. |
Traffic was light this Sunday midday, so it took me less than a half hour to negotiate the many stop lights and busses. I stopped along the way to load up on Gatorade; the humidity is, well, wet (and draining).
Let it be known there seem to be few friends of the de Vacas in Houston. "Statues? What kind of statue?" (How many kinds of statues are there?)
"Maybe behind that hill over there." After riding around two reflective pools with fountains and leisurely exploring the locations of several museums, I tracked down Alvar in the garden of the Texas Fern Society. (Where else would he hang out, tell me!?) We got some photos (I asked some Japanese tourists to take a photo of me with my explorer friend--how's that for a role reversal!), chatted about his hardships and adventures, then parted ways, I being sufficiently inspired to carry on.
Now, I realize there is a space limit when one labels a piece of statuary. But I was a bit flabbergasted when I read what was no doubt the well-intended description:
The modern history of Texas began with this explorer from Spain
who lived here from 1528 to 1536.
This is misleading, as well as FAR too casual! Makes it sound like he was thinking, "Humm... I heard there's this place to the West. I think I'll check it out and maybe rent a condo for, say, eight years." Cabeza de Vaca was actually exploring FLORIDA, and as a result of an incompetent superior and a lot of bad luck, a storm crashed his homemade boat into Galveston Island, where he was enslaved naked by the resident Indians, ending up as only one of the four out of 300 who started the trip! (And that's the VERY short version--stay tuned!). To say that Alvar "lived here" is a gross distortion of the idea!! I could think of many other words--dangerous, shipwrecked, beaten, almost cannibalized by his own men, left for dead, starving, etc., etc.--that would have been a bit more descriptive--and honoring--that merely "lived here." Perhaps the best one would have been "took him eight years to find his way outta here!" (Rant over... not really. Read each day to find out about this very interesting fellow. :)
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| My "home" tonight in Houston..the abandoned shopping cart about says it all! |
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