Road Kindness
The kindness of strangers is around each of us every day, in a variety of scenarios. This can be especially poignant while traveling. Goodness becomes a road gift that can brighten or completely transform an experience. Maybe it is because everyone is a stranger, or that we feel like strangers in a strange land, that a particularly kind or friendly gesture can stand out among unknown faces and environments, where it is easy to move around anonymously. We need that connection, even in a mobile community.
With a night free before our camping reservation in Big Bend National Park, we lined up a campsite along the way between Alpine and Terlingua, Texas. Big Bend was the first scheduled destination along our route from South Carolina and we wanted to position ourselves close to the park in the stunning Chihuahuan Desert landscape.
The campsite is on private land and the landowner, living elsewhere, told us the area is extremely remote and once part of Terlingua Ranch, a ghost town land project begun by racing car legend and American automotive designer Carroll Shelby in the 1960s. It sounded intriguing, and we like remote.
Directions to the site came with detailed instructions like “look for the dirt road at a 30-degree angle” and “do not take the dirt road at a 90-degree angle” and “there are no signs.” When dry stream bed crossings and climbs up the mesa were mentioned, we confirmed that we were towing a camper and was it, in fact, accessible? He assured us that a small travel trailer was fine if only subject to a little “pinstriping.” I realized that since everything in the desert is sharp, barbed, or thorned, this is the affectionate term for vehicle scratches obtained by brushing vegetation along a narrow road.
At the noted turn off from the highway onto the rock road, we pulled over to retrieve the detailed directions. GPS will not help you here. At the same turn, a silver pickup truck pulled in next to us and the driver rolled down his window. “I’m a resident up here. Where are you headed?” We told him we were going to Moon Valley Road (so named because of satellite images retrieved of the area on one of the Apollo missions) and he shook his head in dismay. He offered to lead the way because he felt sorry for us.
He left us in the literal dust as we followed him with our camper in tow, navigating the road which was, at first, just fine. Gravel, rock, and sand, but smooth. He slowed at the curves, inclines, dry stream bed crossings, and we followed along, matching his turns and confirming with our directions. We followed him up the mesa and to a straightaway where the dirt road turns into an air strip. Where there are signs that read, “Watch for Planes” and “Caution: Air Traffic.” We loved it. I have never driven on a runway before, dirt or otherwise, and in this wild landscape it was unexpected.
When we all reached the 30-degree road (just past the 90-degree road), we stopped to confer. We chatted about what we were doing, where we were headed, and most interestingly, learned a little about our guide. Marbert. Marbert owns a parcel here and has for decades. He’s one of four residents in something like 3600 miles. He is an aviator. He sold his business in Georgetown, Texas after his wife died and moved to the property full time. He lives entirely off the grid, capturing rainwater and harnessing solar energy. He has been remarried for years, and his wife is a “horse person”. After they met, she came for a visit and decided not to leave. Marbert, in his late seventies, is a Texas gentleman who told us that “this is where the road gets really rough” and offered to lead us there anyway.
Where the road really got rough, we disconnected the trailer and parked it safely off the runway so we could explore campsite accessibility without it in tow. Reaching the campsite, we stopped to confer again and determined that we would not risk the approach with the trailer. Afterall, it is our home, and we have a long way to go. It was getting late in the day and we thanked Marbert for his kindness and generosity in taking us all the way to the site. Seeing our dilemma in not having a place to camp for the evening, he extended us another kindness. He let us camp in a nearby airplane hangar just off the air strip. An airplane hangar, in the Chihuahuan Desert, on a mesa, with panoramic views of Big Bend National Park and the mountains in Mexico. As the sun set, the desert looked like it was designed and planted as a garden. The emerging night sky seemed possible to reach on foot. It was exquisite.
Marbert, not a flora and fauna guy, is the kind of person you could talk to for hours. He spent a little time with us telling stories of the area, the residents, and travels to Big Bend. The next morning, not wanting to overstay our welcome, we broke camp early. We did not see Mr. Marbert again. If we are in the area in the future, though, he kindly offered to meet again. Another gift, and I hope we do.
