Windmills and rolling plains

Well, here's a classic symbol of the Texas plains, a windmill. And after riding a couple of hundred miles across them, I find them quite appropriate, not only as a survival tool for the farmers and ranchers, but also as a subtle warning for cross-country bicyclists. It's windy out here on the plains! Now, back home in El Paso, we get some pretty impressive sand storms, but all in all, we average less than 12 mph, which is why those big ol’ wind turbines aren’t standing shoulder to shoulder on the Franklin Mountains. Out here on the plains, a LIGHT breeze is 15 to 20 mph and fields of three armed Goliaths are, indeed, beginning to pop up.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m just reporting and not complaining (yet). So far, the wind has been our friend, and by that, I mean it’s been at our back or at the worst, a crosswind, but I’m certainly glad that we’re heading east and not west or south because a light wind of 15 miles per hour in our face would translate out to an agonizing crawl.

“So what if’n I ain’t got a good eductin, Jasus loves me anyway.”

“Now, you tell me, where’s a girl to pee out here?”

These boots were probably made for riding, but one old cowboy wanted to fondly remember those good old boots long after they stopped fitting into the stirrups so he hung them on the fence post to smile at each time he rode past.

Even Charley is amazed at his own juggling skills as he entertains a group of appreciative prairie dogs at free campsite in Crosbytown.

If there are any hills out there on this flat plain, just give us a bike and we will find them.

Kamala lifts a mug of delicious tea after a delicious meal at our “free” (wild camping) campsite on the S. Wichita River. We were serenaded by a family of coyotes howling, appropriately, at a full moon. I suspect they may have been more interested in the turkeys that I heard gobbling from the farm on the other side of the river than the moon.

We’ve now covered 615 miles on our way across North Texas. There have been good times and hard, sometimes all in the same day. The butts are tougher, the muscles stronger and our love and relationship is still intact and prospering. One of the neatest parts of this sort of adventure is sharing it with someone. I’m certainly glad I ended up with someone who is just crazy enough to enjoy this with me.

Blowing winds

It’s really neat how the cycle of life continues. We enjoyed the opportunity to visit with our Nephew, his wife, and their little girl in Roswell. I believe that it was the first time that we really had a conversation with him since he has become an adult. Wasn’t it just yesterday we were visiting his mom and he was only a week old?

But it’s verified. If you are a motorist out there, you have absolutely no idea if it is really flat out there. We were told several times that it was flat between Roswell and Artesia--wrong. It is actually a slight uphill all the way. Even I wouldn’t have known it by looking out the car window.

As we spin the pedals round and round, inching our way across the New Mexico countryside, we find ourselves smack-dab in the middle of busy oil patches. One of the ways that you can tell that you’re in oil country (besides those giant robotic insectoids bobbing their heads up and down) is all the work gloves scattered along the side of the road. The popular colors are florescent green and orange with traditional white coming in 3rd, all having seen a hard day’s work. We've taken to calling out, "Green glove," "Orange glove," for simple amusement that helps pass the time. We, of course, had to put one on the back of the bike so that it's waving to people. At first, we had a ‘green glove’ but I, Kamala, thought that might give the go ahead to hit us, so now we have an orange glove. We even washed it!

Going to Lovington was a different trip altogether. We climb for about 35 of the 64 mile day. Halfway here, just a mere mile and a half from topping the caprock, we stop at a rest area, and just as we’re almost stopped, slip in some sand and down the bike goes. While recovering ourselves (actually it was Charley recovering me and the bike), the park caretaker comes over and tells Charley in jest, “I saw you throw that bike on top of her. Y’ll want some coffee?” We spend the next 30 minutes or so in Mack’s office coffee brewing and the conversation flowing. He tells us about this one cross-country cyclist who stopped to use the restroom. Mack got to wondering what would happen if he were to move the man’s bike 10 feet. He said the fellow came out, didn’t see his bike, ran one way in the park, then the other way, then again repeating his back and forth jaunts. Mack stops to chuckle during his tale as he recalls that the cyclist even went back in the bathroom to look for the bike. By that time Mack was feeling guilty for causing so much trauma and came clean and said that he was sorry, he didn’t know that it would give him a heart attack. All I could think of, while I smile and nod, is that is why we never leave the bike alone.

Coffee now in our cups and as we drink we were treated to a joke:
An elderly man went into the hospital. His granddaughter came rushing up to visit and blurted out, “Grandpa, talk like a frog! Talk like a frog!”
The man scratched his head and said, “Huh? What you talking about?”
“Grams says that when you croak she’s goin’ take me to Six Flags! So talk like a frog!”

We bid farewell to Mack and head back out on the road with a wind at our backs. We top the caprock and it is relatively flat. The tailwind is strong. Caffeine is pumping our systems and we are flying. I look down at the speedometer and can’t believe my eyes: 27.7 mph! I take a picture because who, really, is going to believe me? Too soon though, just after that it was 30 mph!

I see a dark front moving across the plains. Soon we are caught up in it at a crosswind. Charley is fighting to keep the bike on the road. It passes and the tailwind is once again at our backs.  We stay an extra day in Lovington as the wind switches around and vows to be our enemy if we ride. As we leave town a mailbox attendant waves, “So long!”

We finally get to camp out at the Brownfield city park. Mack told us about this little gem.
When daybreak comes back around, we know we have some maintenance to do: Thermarest has a small leak and the tent needs a patch were a seam is pulling loose.

Still, a tailwind persists today, good thing too, because we pedal at an incline all the way to Lubbock. Along the way, the English teacher comes out of me when I notice the misspelling on a business sign.

 On the shopping list is a bicycle shop specific item and so we set out for, as Charley calls it, the mouth of the dragon (into downtown traffic of a big city). We normally try to avoid cities, but sometimes it is a necessity. While we are stopped, trying to figure out a route, a lady exiting the bank stops to help us. She says, “Let me see, if I were a cyclist, this is the way I would want to go. . .” She actually picked out bicycle routes through town but I don’t think she knew they were designated routes, just that the roads were safe. Thank you! It even has bicycle lights, like The Netherlands! Thank you! Thank you!

So here we sit an extra day hiding from the wind that is pointed and gusting at 40 mph the wrong way. Tomorrow we have scheduled our departure for yet another run down the road. Stay tuned! Comments are welcome, it lets us know you’re out there.

Heading out

A friend of ours once looked at the maps of our routes and pointed out that the one thing that they had in common was that at some point the routes went by someone we knew. He was right, of course. As much as we like the adventure element of each trip we do enjoy tapping old friends, touching spirits, and rekindling old embers of relationships. If all goes well, this trip should have a few of those moments. In fact, our first night out was with some friends who live in Northeast El Paso. In order to avoid a hundred mile first day, Missy and Freddie offered to let us stay with them, thus making the first day a short 29 mile ride and the next day would be a more “do-able” ride.

We had pizza and caught up on events in our lives. The most important new relationship in their lives was Ozzy, who we had only seen for a couple of brief moments since he had arrived in this reality. A happy, smiley little fellow, Ozzy was obviously a source of joy and a center of attention. It was a great evening and a great way to start out a trip!

New Psychological Field

What does your parking behavior say about you? Well, now there’s this place that we found in Alamogordo that can tell if you’re a little neurotic, have a borderline personality, have a compulsive disorder or if you’re a full blown psychotic just by the way that you park your car.

Who knew?

Alamogordo Point of Interest -- The years have not been really kind to him but Rocky the Roadrunner still dominates the junk yard north of town on Hwy 54.

As the wise philosopher once said “Shit Happens”, but sometimes that’s not all bad. We had planned to make our third day a real short ride to an RV park that we had stayed at a few times in our camper. I had even asked him about staying there in a tent, which he cheerfully said we could. But when we arrived, he said he didn’t take tenters any more because he had had some trouble with them. So with our hopes for a leisurely afternoon dashed we continued on towards Tularosa. Even though we did not remember a motel there, Google maps showed one on down the road about 7 miles. Alas, when we got there, NOTHING. So Kamala calls the number and it turns out the motel is in Canada. Come on Google, Canada? So, no motels or campground, but when we try Bed & Breakfasts we get a hit. Turns out Hacienda de mi Madre is a very nice private place with a kitchen and a Jacuzzi bathtub (which my body really enjoyed). All in all Hacienda de mi Madre was so much better than an RV park. So not all shit happening ends up bad.

This road from Tularosa to Ruidoso with it’s 25 miles of uphill and 3,000 foot gain in altitude has been one that has been one of those rides spinning in the back of our minds for a long time and every time it bubbled up to the surface we would say “Some day”. Well, finally we made today that ‘someday.’ The wind on our back actually gave us a hand, but it was tough enough that we’re going to count it anyway (it wasn’t exactly world record time anyway).

We and the snow arrived in Ruidoso at about the same time.

Tandem North Texas

Wheels are spinning in

Our minds and bicycle. Maps

Brought out and looked at.

Training and hours

Spent on the bicycle to

Toughen up buttocks.

Checklists looked at and

Items checked off , loaded on our

Trusty metal steed.

Where does this haiku

Take this tandem team? A new

Great bicycle trip!

Going north Tuesday

To Texas US highway

82 eastward.

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Palm Springs exploration

Kamala and I just got back from a two week "expedition" to the wilds of Palm Springs.

We had a couple of friends from El Paso, who we ride tandems with at times, meet us there. We rode bikes in the morning and saw movies at the Palm Springs International Film Festival, at night. I'd like to tell you that the experience sucked. That we had a major problem with the truck on the road and only made it because of my skill of using a paper clip to clean fuel jets in the injector system, or that we were victims of a bike jacking in broad daylight by a couple of heavily armed senior citizens. Or that I suffered food poisoning by eating in one of those trendy, overpriced restaurants. Or that a major cold front came through ruining our riding and stranding us in the trailer and we only survived by chewing on the leather soles of our shoes. I'd like to tell you some neat story like that 'cause it would sound so much more exciting than we the truth, which is we had a completely trouble free time, riding every day in absolutely beautiful weather, enjoying good company, eating delicious food and watching interesting movies each night.

Palm Springs is just over that little hump of mountains that seem to stop a lot of moisture from the coast from pushing into the area. It is in a desert! Shhhh, they don't know that. If you get out of town it's dry, dry, dry, probably a little more desert than home and in the summer they get up there in the 100 + teens. But in the town it's all green, green lawns, green golf courses (a lot of them) and all those gated communities have huge fountains of flowing water. The sidewalks, curb and median areas are like a flourishing garden of bougainvilleas, roses, carpets of pansies, poppies, and all kinds of multicolored fall flowers abound. There are orange trees, lemon trees, various other citrus trees,plush green grass and, of course, hundreds of tall, majesticdate palms. It is, indeed, a beautiful sight in which we indulged our senses even as we recognized the disgustingly opulent waste of natural resources in the name of the god of luxury. Okay, okay, call us hypocrites. We enjoyed the experience, slept well at night and never once were we motivated to paint a big sign about condemning the waste of resources as sinful (which, of course, it was, but we'll let Mother Nature hand out that punishment when they run out of water probably sooner than later.).

If I was to identify the low point of the whole experience it would have to be the movie, TRANSMISSION, an Hungarian film which envisioned a world without TV or Computer monitors.

This very, very, very slow movie left me with memories of In-Service meetings back at good ole EPISD. My bones ached; it was so bad. However, out of 9 movies only one terrible movie, and one that was bad because I couldn't understand the language (it was an English movie). All the rest were okay with about 3 good ones and 2 great ones: The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo and Bride Flight. Not bad. I had anticipated a bit of negativity rising up when I was informed that we would be standing in long lines, up to an hour, for each movie. But that Marine Corp training kicked in. I knew that one day all those hours standing in line in the Corp would one day pay off, and it did. Actually, what really made them bearable was that everyone was so damn friendly. There was a social tie that we "film festival aficionados" had in common so the conversation was lively. If you saw the same person at another movie, well, you were old friends.

Our tandem riding friends actually took a day off from riding because, as the stoker put it, "All these time tables and meeting dates are too much like a job." I didn't see it quite that way, but each day was full.

Time travelers

We came across this little guy early one morning on the streets of Carrizozo, New Mexico as we cruised around on our tandem bicycle taking in the sights. Unfortunately, there was this language barrier that we were unable to overcome and thus his exciting stories were but squeaks to us. And yet, there was a connection, a feeling, a sense that we shared intimately a sense of strangeness in the world that we were passing through. Traveling to locales of first contact or even returning to places that we have once upon a time traversed puts each of us in a different time, not so much in the sense of chronological time, but of a different time and thus a different reality.

Sometimes the reality is so subtle that is only little things like the strength of the mid-day sun or the length of shadows as the sun sets, or that soft drinks are no longer called cokes but are pops. And then there are times when the reality smacks you upside the head and you don’t have to be told that you are in a place or time that’s really strange: you haven’t seen a tree for miles and miles, you’re passing by ice fields that are still there in late summer, or like the little town of Choteau, Montana where we took our daily bicycle ride just the other morning, which had No Pizza Hut, McDonald’s, Burger King, 7-Eleven or any convenience store/gas station of any kind. They had a well-stocked grocery store, but it wasn’t a Safeway, Walmart, or an Albertson or any big chain. They had a restaurant but it wasn’t a Denny’s, an Applebee’s, a Chili’s, or a Dunkin Doughnuts. I mean the little town was complete but it had no franchise-type businesses. Now that was a different reality.

We’ve seen all kinds of things on our little trip to the northwest. Many have been just subtle differences of our own reality back home, many have been radically different, as if we were on a distant planet, but all have had that wondrous infusion of novelty that makes traveling without purpose so rewarding. It is a regular feast for our spirits. It’s this stimulation of atavistic emotions, this buzzing attention that we will take home and sprinkle a little of the time traveler’s perceptions over our old routines and add a touch of shine to our life.

We paralleled the Columbia River most of the day and I kept thinking about an article I read on a guy swimming the length of it to raise awareness of saving it from civilization's pollution. While the bit did peak my interest in reading his story, I’m afraid that it lies outside of my empathy zone. First of all just looking at that big expanse of water is scary, but I also lack motivation in the doing good deeds for civilization. I mean, I compost my food scraps and turn out lights when I leave a room and I don’t throw trash out of the car window, but I don’t march, run, or even bicycle to bring attention to Personality Dysfunction in America (or any other societal weak point). We once had a kid, in a neighborhood in some Midwest city ride up to us as we were pedaling through his town and ask us for what cause were we riding. We told him, “No cause. We just do it because we LIKED to ride." He just shook his head. He couldn’t understand that concept and stated that we were selfish. Since the swimmer was drawing attention to the 'poor state of the river,' would he succeed more if he ended journey with one leg 3 times bigger than the other or with purple running sores over all his body?

---

We made it home safely 6,000 miles later. After being awed by four National Parks:

Arches

Glacier

Zion

and Bryce

floating down the Columbia river

learning about the end of the Lewis and Clark expedition and the different types of salmon, visiting my neice, then Charley's cousin and his wife, we found ourselves pulled home.

Then next to last day the nature gods decided that we were running out of time so they helped us see more of this marvelous world by blowing great amounts of it past us in a lovely sandstorm.

All said, the whole trip was really nice. We went over the mountains at Sonora Pass, which was pretty spectacular all by itself. The grade was so steep dropping down the east side that our brakes started smoking and I had to pull over and wait a few minutes before going on. Then a trek across Nevada, which should be considered a National Park all on it's own. The cruise through Zion and Bryce that left us retracing part of our route from the 2002 bicycle trip, Kanab, Lake Powell , and both of us were kind of amazed that we actually climbed all those hills on a loaded tandem.

And then home, which is always good, no matter how great the trip. Reyes and the animals were glad to see us.

Charley's cousin's and his wife gave us a tandem sculpture has already taken a prominent spot amongst our various treasures.

Yes, traveling through time is a marvelous adventure!

Two old farts floating around on Lake Roberts

The wise old traveler once said, "The art of travel is to be able to deviate from one's plan."

We started out last week for a rather large lake called Navajo Lake located on the New Mexico, Colorado border, but we heard of a bluegrass festival in Cloudcroft (Sacramento Mts about 130 miles from El Paso) so we took a day off and swung by and had an enjoyable day watching people pluck strings and sing songs with a nasal touch. Then, of course, we realized that we were only about 20 miles from one of our favorite hikes, (Bluff Springs, water spurting out of a cliff, lots of wild flowers and fresh from a rain the day before) so naturally we had to take a day for this.

Morning found us on the flatlands of the Tularosa Basin where The Whites Sands National Monument is located and that along with a beautiful morning just begged for a tandem ride around the area. By the time we finished it was starting to get a little hot so we tried to think of somewhere within striking distance that we could go to get cool. And then "POP!", we remembered the little lake in the Gila Wilderness that's up about 7,000 feet and is only a 4 hour drive and we were on our way. We told ourselves, "It's just a stop on the way to Lake Navajo."

Well, bright and early we put the kayak in the

beautiful calm water of Lake Roberts and float around and exploring the little nooks and

crannies and by the time we made it back to camp we decided to stay another day. Lake Navajo will just have to wait another day.

Next day . . . (read ditto here.... beautiful weather, nice calm water...yada, yada, yada). We pay for another day of camping. Lake Navajo will still be there tomorrow!

And the next day (another ditto....) Well, by now you're getting the picture, the cool mountain air had us trapped and we spent almost the whole week there paddling and hiking.

Then, on our way to (we thought) Lake Navajo, we stopped to visit our friends in Rio Rancho and explore the beautiful Aquarium and play games. Each morning coolness begged for a tandem ride which we obliged and rolled around the hills of Rio Rancho among baloonists.

We came the realization that Lake Navajo will have to wait until next time.

We did have a great time even though hardly any of it went according to plan. I'm beginning to like this retirement shit, but, alas, it probably is making me even more flaky or undependable to those that are expecting me do things or be places on time.

Mental snapshots

As we traveled through the green and boggy South, green corridors of the East, green farmlands of the Midwest, and then home again to our beloved dry desert Southwest (but still greener than usual), we realized that we weren’t taking as many pictures or writing journal entries as we do during a bicycle tour. In fact, the only time we did write journal entry was when we went for a bicycle rides.

We also wondered if the bicycle has trained us to tour in a certain way or if bicycle traveling had just fit us from the beginning. For example, we don’t tend to go out of our way for the traditional tourist sights, (like monuments, seeing where someone died or was born, etc.). We used to think that this was because those extra turns of the pedals just weren’t worth it or were way out of our way. We were fulfilled by watching and talking to people, landscape changes, and just being together and sharing experiences. But after our last little road trip, traveling in our little truck pulling our little pop-up camper, we began to notice that we still didn’t go out of our way to look at names carved in granite or a reenactment of the good ole days of the “Founding Fathers, or see where General Stoop N Poop “lost” everything (Would that have been a statue with the General upon a horse with the horse squatting on his haunches?). What we did was watch people, talk to folks, and enjoy the changing landscapes. It was like we travel on a bicycle, but hindered by the element of speed.


Chugging down the road in our little truck allowed the landscape to change very quickly as our eyes were glued to the window watching it all pass by so quickly (even though we traveled at about 50-60 mph). Even this slow speed was often way too, too fast as one beautiful or interesting “snapshot” after another presented itself again and again to our eyes. While we were able to snap off quite a few pictures of what passed us by, many times the camera was not attainable quickly enough or a bush blocked what we had just seen by the time we did get the camera, or the camera just wouldn’t turn on quickly enough that we began to joke about it. We developed a motion of taking a picture by tapping our forehead with our finger and then with an invisible camera and called out “Mental Snapshot!” We got some really great “MENTAL SNAPSHOTS” on this trip. Can’t show ‘em to you though. Unfortunately only the two of us can see them and, you know how that is, they will fade quickly without some external stimulus. Oh some will pop up much later at the mention of, say, the Shenandoah Valley, or that campground on the Louisiana coast. Alas, most will fade like the memory of yesterday’s clouds, lurking somewhere in our minds, but with no way to retrieve them. Still we had a good time and a few laughs tapping our heads, mimicking snapping an invisible shutter and yelling “MENTAL SNAPSHOT”

What have we been doing?

Traveling in tandem in a more traditional mode: a truck pulling our little '72 pop-up trailer (tandem packed--of course!).

After 3 days in Washington D.C. we feel the weight of seriousness and, dare I say, even piety, of all these somber memorials and institutions. We feel uniquely blessed (along with several thousand other people on any given day) to have been able to see it. I enjoyed it, I did, but 3 days was about all we could take. Obviously there were many more things to see and do, but we tasted the flavor of the whole thing.
Our first trip to Capitol Hill was by bicycle. We stayed at a National Park only about 12 miles from the Capitol Mall so the distance to the "sacred ground" was not too far (there and back and around-about 33 miles) While it was nice to see all those places that I've heard about and seen in the movies, it was the streets of D.C. that were memorial. First it was just the trying to figure out where we were and secondly, the adrenialine rush of riding in crazy traffic, but even more it was the smell and sights of the neighborhoods and streets that provided more of a "Wow" factor than all the big buildings and statues of dead people.
Sitting on a bench on the Capitol Mall, watching a really diverse segment of people walk by, I was once again struck by the how much humans LOVE symbols. From giant edifices, to names on walls, to uniforms, to pagents, we really love the "dressings" as much, maybe more, than we do the substance. I know that I must fall prey to the majestic lure of symbols myself, but a good portion of humanity seem to have their heads stuck so far up their ass that they never even really see the difference and that's got to make life simpler and grander for them. God bless America, apple pie, and Nike.
Kamala and I are also struck with how much more one sees from a bicycle seat than a car seat. We are moving too fast, most of our pictures are taken out the car window and, of course, the best shots are missed. Interstates, since we hit Lousiania have been huge corridores of trees which cut out most culture with the exception of large billboards every now and then. You may get there faster, but you sure as hell miss a lot. Therefore, while we do at time take to the freeway, most of our travels have been on back roads. That gives us a bit more of the cultural flavor, but America is experiencing the homoginazation of it's local culture by all the Walmarts, Pizza Huts, Wendy's, etc . . .

On an earlier note in the trip:

God's Will

The fickle finger of fate. Sometime during one's early years, providing one's intelligence is slightly above the amoeba level, each of us rubs into that nice little paradox of freewill and predetermination. Some people ask the right question of their learned elders, receive a convincing answer and tuck the question away and should it ever arise again they just parrot the correct answer and allow any built up stress that it might have caused to just dissipate. The key to this approach is just don't think about it. God Bless 'em. Most of us wrestle with it 'til we are completely frustrated, give up as a lost cause, an unanswerable question or, like I'm beginning to see, answer the question according to the situation and whatever makes you feel best. That being said, God chose our path across Texas. Yep! Well not all of it, but a lot of it. You see we (freewill) decided that the first leg of our little jaunt would be to Kermit to visit with Kamala's sister and family. So on to Kermit it was, but on the way we look out the window on our truck's windshield and read, backwards, of course, 08 - 11. This means that our safety sticker was due in November of last year. Now God or the Spirit of Texas takes over. We now know that we are doing something illegal and therefore it is only a matter of time before we get busted. Now, of course, if we had not noticed the expiration date we would be innocent and could drive all around this big state without getting caught like we did last Christmas. So now we are forced to stay in Kermit an extra day to get a safety sticker. We arrive at the inspection place early on a Monday morning, but he has run out of stickers and won't have any until the UPS man delivers them around noon. Unrelated factor in delay? I think not. It's God wanting us to stick around. Probably saving us from some great traffic disaster by keeping is off the highway for the morning. So feeling relieved for missing such a calamity we blow off the morning and return at 1 o'clock, but when he sees that we are from El Paso he informs us that we need to have an emissions check that can be obtained in only the higher populated counties of the state and the nearest one is El Paso, now 250 miles away.It's decision time. Do we proceed as outlaws to a big city, which we usually try to avoid, make a run for the Oklahoma-Texas border? We choose to alter our path from slanting south across Texas to going straight east for Dallas/Fort Worth. And since we didn't get stopped and we did see some purty scenery, we must have chosen right for God to smile on us like that. But there was still one more catch. When we got to Weatherford in the same county as Fort Worth we stopped at an inspection station and, "Yes, we do stickers, but No, we can't do yours because it's a 91 model and vehicles that old have to be set on one of those thingamyjigs that you set the tires on and speed up to 30 miles an hour." Well we felt bad but the old man, who must have been an angel in disguise, sent us to a place where the truck passed with flying colors. We got our sticker and we were now legal and had gone a long way off of our original route all due to God, a few angels, and our own freewill and an UPS man that I'm still not sure about.

Next attached is a notice on the washing machine that we saw while doing our clothes in a Laundromat in Mississippi. NO PUTTING PEOPLE IN THE MACHINE. Now that's just one more thing that is sucking the joy out of life. Actually I had not thought of stuffing some little person in one of those twirlly washing machines with the window until they told me I couldn't, but now I want to and I want to even more because I know that someone else must have beat me to it for them to have put the warning label on the machine.

Texas Scenes Slideshow

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Texas Scenes