In south Texas, just west of Big Bend National Park, down near the border, is the Chili Capital of the Universe, and one sweet desert trek along Farm to Market Road 170.
It is a place of stark desert harshness, and the plants that do grow seem surprised about it.
Every year in November, 500 chili cooks overwhelm the rustic, little town of Terlingua. They compete for the title, “Best Chili-cook in the World,” and they drink a little.
It’s worth noting the town of 58 residents, according to Wikipedia, is named after Terlinguaite a naturally occurring mercury based mineral, (Hg 2 Cl O), and the town was founded by the mercury miners. The mine owner went bankrupt in 1942. However, a historical marker says Terlingua is a the Spanish word for “Three Tongues,” of the Comanche, Apache and Shawnee — who hunted along the creek before progress.
I’ve been there twice, not during chili week, during normal time, and nothing there is normal. The street signs don’t make anymore sense than the historical markers. It is a delightful collection of truly odd people who celebrate their uniqueness through acceptance, hospitality, artistic expression, silliness and fashion (some dress funny).
It is a place of no duplicates. Everyone and everything is original and genuine. All seem like pioneers. Santa Cruz and Austin, you can send your Weird here for lessons.
It is disturbing how much I felt at-home in Terlingua. My first time there, I was on an Iron Butt motorcycle rally — The 2001 Waltz Across Texas.
I just walked into somebody’s house and asked for directions, and they gave ’em to me without surprise or hostility. I mean, I thought it was a restaurant, but it wasn’t. It was their living room.
“Want a beer while you’re here Pilgrim?”
National Geographic named the 60-mile stretch of highway to the border town of Presideo in its travel guide, “Drives of a Lifetime: 500 of the World’s Most Spectacular Trips.”
In Oxford University’s search for the, “Middle-of-Nowhere,” they determined Presidio to be the most remote town in Texas. I concur.
In an Iron Butt rally, you ride 1,000 miles in 24 hour hours. That’s just to qualify. If you don’t make the mileage, in the time allotted, you’re marked DNF. Did Not Finish. So to win, they have a list, like a scavenger hunt, of goofy stuff you have find or do along the way to earn points.
The rally organizers thought everybody should pull up to the border and have their picture taken with a border guard. 2001 was a very different time. There was a sense of humanity, and a sense of humor on the border. Digital photography and cell phones were still a novelty. We were using Polaroid instant cameras.
Everyone was casual and laid-back.
So much so, that I gave only a casual thought to the bag of pot that was stashed under my seat for the ride back to Dallas when the rally was over. These were easy points, or should’ve been, but the yahoo in front of me decided he wanted to have a conversation about the life of a border patrol guard, with the border patrol guards, who were happy to stand down and talk about it.
I was waiting my turn to take the photo when I noticed the guard who was moving towards me with a drug dog on a leash.
Common Sense started screaming, “Just get out of here! Forget the photo. Forget the points.”
“Wait a second,” the Trouble Maker in my head said. ”Take the Picture.”
I held the camera out arms length and pushed the button. It got my worried face, the guard and the dog all into the shot. Pure luck, and I guess you could say that I invented the first selfie.
I gripped the print with my teeth, and the camera with my thighs, kicked it into gear and didn’t look back. Raced all the way to Terilungia, but promised myself, if I ever got a chance to come down this road again, I would take it.
On this trip, I was going the other direction down FM 170. From Terlingua to Presido.
I woke up in a weird campground, and had a weird breakfast at a weird restaurant. After which, I headed west.
I was getting into the morning karma of the desert, which is a wave of soulful good feeling that can be felt, but not shared. You have to go to a desert to get it.
It was Springtime. The wild flowers and cacti were in bloom, and searing heat was not yet in the 30-day forecast.
There I was, with age-appropriate transportation, winding through the pretty hills on one of the greatest motorcycle roads in America, and no traffic except the occasional Border Patrol patrollers. All was groovy.
Suddenly, two javelina ran across the road in front of the car. You never see those beasts running on a road! Other than some Razorbacks while hiking up at the Buffalo National River, in Arkansas, I don’t recall ever seeing a wild hog in the wilds.
With fluid motion, and no thought, I stopped the car, grabbed the camera, and chased them into the desert. As I ran, I was adjusting the camera settings for light and speed, and my first real thought was when I looked up: “Where the hell did all these bee hives come from?”
The javelina had crossed an open area where a bunch of commercial hives had been set. For springtime nectar collection, I guess. There were bees buzzing everywhere, and I paused to weigh how much did I really want a photo of a pig.
I think those swine led me into that hazard on purpose. George Orwell told us in “Animal Farm,” pigs are smart, manipulative and very cunning. But it didn’t work for them. Bees don’t frighten me, and I never get stung
I continued my pursuit, but slower and respectfully as I passed among the bees. I’ve always felt that I may have the gift of the Bee-charmer, but more probable, I’m just don’t smell sweet enough to attract their attention. Still, I gave the hives wide berth on my return.
When I caught up to them, the lead pig was going over a ridge and out of sight. The second pig was drinking at some standing water and loudly wheezing for air between slurps. It was out of breath.
I approached slowly.
It was intensely aware of my presence, but continued to drink and wheez until I was close enough to be a threat, then it turned to face me and stand its ground. Its body language clearly said, “I’m done running, and you are close enough.”
And I was. I took about 20 images and left it to finish hydrating.
Please enjoy this shot.
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