This blog post will be excessively about me, because for the first time in the trip, there are quite a few photos of myself. Usually, I am the one behind the camera, because lo! the motorcycle has exploded! Eek! the motorcycle has died on the highway! Egads! the motorcycle needs more work! That is when Ben is fixing the motorcycle, so there are plenty of glamor shots with him up to his elbows in, well, elbow grease. Therefore, I feel no shame in producing this Jen-tastic blog post, because I have a substantial number of photos of me looking fairly lovely and I must take advantage of the opportunity to narrate them. This weekend, we decided to get out of Gulu and Tessa's hair--we've been here too long and I am already getting nostalgic for being here, an oxymoron, because we haven't really left yet. This is what happened in Galveston though, and I can just taste Mexico; Gulu and Tessa live less than fifteen minutes from the border, as the crow flies. So we traveled east to Boca Chica State Park, which first required Ben and I finding lots of phone numbers for the Texas State Park folks--Boca Chica is listed on regular maps, but it is unlisted on the Texas State Parks website. It is one of those liminal places where people can go, for free, and camp there, probably forever if they wanted to, in a tent. Not that you would want to do that. There aren't really rules there. Too many people leave trash at the beach, or as we found out, even worse: too many people listen to trashy trance music blasted on their car subwoofers at two in the morning on the beach. Otherwise, it is a beautiful, lunar landscape at night, and a hazy, limitless distance of sand, ocean and blazing sky during the day. On the way to the beach, I was stung by a bee! I had to finally use our designated emergency signal--me patting/smacking Ben repeatedly on the back until he pulled over. This was very effective. Good response time, Ben! We pulled over, I jumped off, and had him pull the stinger out of my wrist. Mom: Good news, I am not allergic to bees. Then with his help, I bandaged myself up with a get-better-you-deserve-it Hello Kitty band-aid:  We got to the beach right as the sun was setting, and we drove up and down the packed sand, until we decided we should park as close to the dunes as possible, to avoid the tide line. We, of course, got stuck. Then with the help of some plastic soda bottles and Yankee ingenuity, we got ourselves unstuck. We headed back to the paved road and parked there, finding ourselves a nice spot where we could see the ocean, the beach, and especially the motorcycle from the front flap of the tent:  The first day we got up before the sun rose. This photo was taken at sunrise, which is why I look out of my mind, and Ben looks ecstatic:
 We spent the first day trying to find clams (there aren't clams in the Gulf, by the way), and then later oysters. We found an oyster bed with helpful advice from a Winter Texan, but all of the oyster shells were filled with mud, but mysteriously still held together. I sunk into the mud at one point up to my knees and had to get Ben to save me by pulling me out. After we were both cut and bleeding and without a single oyster to our name, we decided this was probably a Bad Idea and gave up.
For the rest of our three nights and two days on the beach, we spent a lot of time cooking:
a lot of time catching tiny animals (and setting them free):
a lot of time staring at pelicans: a lot of time getting sunburnt; some time collecting interesting seashells: and only a bit of time contemplating this creepy eyeless, babydoll head on a cross before we decided to leave it, and the two other memorial crosses, to be creepy by themselves:   The babydoll cross is the only thing that trumps availability of multiple photos of myself to strew across this post.
On the second full day, we headed over to Port Isabel, to see the lighthouse, where Ben took some nice photos of me: the lighthouse: of me: a fake pirate galleon that we could see from the top of the lighthouse:  and a series (to be fully uploaded once we get some good Internet access) of ridiculous pictures of him, and me: Later we headed to South Padre Island, to figure out what all the tourist hubbub was about. South Padre Island was uneventful, except for a last minute conversation with two college professors. If you are reading this, hello! Maybe we'll see you in Guatemala, Fernando? They were hilarious, and saved South Padre Island at the last minute from being a charmless, history-less, friendless version of Galveston Island. On the way back to Gulu and Tessa's, we stopped at a barbecue joint and split a brisket sandwich. There we met Joel and his son Tevin, who rides bulls for fun!!! He is maybe three-quarters my size, half my age and already way more badass then I am. Actually, this photo trumps the babydoll photos. Do you see the look on his face? That is the face of a genuine bull rider: Smoking Joe's was just off the side of the road, somewhere between Mission and Brownsville on Route 281. Here is a photo, so when you are going there to eat barbecue, you will know it when you see it:  We also got to take a photo with Smoking Joe himself, in front of huge his carousel smoker: This was a success, as Ben and I had had some lousy barbecue in Kingsville, TX. This redeemed Texas barbecue in Ben's eyes. Mine, too, but I haven't eaten enough barbecue to really know anything about it except that this barbecue was really fantastic and its crossed our minds to "accidentally" end up back on Route 281. So hello! and thanks for the good food, Joel, Tevin and Joe. Whew. If a photo is worth a thousand words, then I must've written a dissertation. Ha, ha. Love, Jen.
Hello!
I am currently updating the look of the website... I am working through a few kinks in the design right now; I speak XML, CSS and HTML like I speak Spanish--awkwardly and I usually finish by saying something offensive by accident. Just kidding.
If you are reading this and know something about coding, leave me a comment. I could use a little help with troubleshooting. Also! Only some of the tabs are working presently. While it doesn't seem like a big deal, I am most proud of convincing the Blogger XML parser to let me get away with putting up the map code. It isn't a 100% accurate map of our trip thus far, but it will give you a good idea of mileage. We'll update it occasionally and if we're your in area and you want to hang out, contact us! We are always open to visiting new and exciting places and are Master Detourers.
If you are seeing things that look funny and aren't working (excluding the press packet, the wishlist and the darned weird unevenness between sections that I am still trying to fix) give me a heads up with what type of computer you're using (Windows, Linux, Mac) and what browser and browser version. Thanks!
Kisses, Jen
Mission, Texas has become our new home. The neighbor children are no longer afraid when I say "Hi" to them. The apartment maintenance guys always wave as they cruise along in their golf carts on their way to fix something or another. Like Galveston, we seem to be getting some friends around here, and have probably been here for a little bit too long. That's why I was so surprised when low and behold, I saw some unexpected bleachers on the side of the road. However close I feel to this community, I am out of the loop. Something big was about to happen, and I was just catching wind of it. Something was going on this weekend. Jen had overheard the barista in town talking about a parade that she would be working. My curiosity was piqued when I learned that there was going to be a parade. A parade for whom, for what, where, and most importantly when. Since my time in New Orleans, parades have taken on a new meaning. When I learned the parade was for the Texas Citrus Fiesta, I started to imagine the armloads of grapefruits, oranges, lemons, and who knows what else that would be thrown from floats decorated in the aforementioned fruits. That however, would be indicative of a New Orleans style parade. The main event for the Texas Citrus Fiesta would be Saturday evening. At seven p.m. sharp, the floats, bands, queens and kings, princesses, and military regiments would parade through town. We arrived a little early so we could sample some of the local fare like: Hot Cheetos with nacho sauce.
 Some of the worst barbecue I have ever had Onto the parade. The floats were decorated, but only sparingly in fruit slices. The overarching theme for the floats was Winter Texan R.V. Parkers who were honoring POW, MIA, and "the troops that gave some, and those that gave all." The first place prize winner:  Some of the princesses: Of course, motorcycles (and even in the dark you can tell they are Harleys):
 And the never ending parade of cops. Unfortunately, this is how most of my photos turned out:
  By the end of the parade, we had only caught one orange. It wasn't a hapless victim of a float either. The Pooper Scooper was filling his time in between picking up road apples by handing out fresh Texas citrus. Yum Valencia oranges, my favorite. Benjamin
 Ben and I got so psyched on the ride to Gulu's when we realized that we would finally be able to try out our new sleeping bag. We had it shipped to her house, because we were unsure as to when we would be leaving Galveston, and we knew that we'd be able to get it down in Mission. So we returned our sleeping bags to R.E.I. for a third time. R.E.I. has an incredible return policy for their co-op members; I highly recommend becoming a member (Ben is, I'm not), because they give lots of benefits to their members, including great tag sales at the beginning of the year, good deals and, because it is a co-op, you get bits and pieces of your investment (twenty bucks) back in dividends towards other merchandise. They also have a pretty sweet outlet store. And the return policy? If you aren't satisfied, they will take it back for a full refund. The last time we had bought from them two Lafuma bags, and they were sized long. They were " mateable" which really meant that if you zipped them together, when the planets were aligned just the right way, you and your cozy-up partner could spend the rest of the night fighting over the limited space. We had already had problems with Lafuma bags before (different versions of bags won't mate up to different types, they have to be the same type, with left and right zippers) and we decided to get a new sleeping bag. So my mom, in her eternal Jewish-wish to make sure her daughter was safe, sound and warm, bought us for Hanukkah (and/or Christmas) a two-person sleeping bag from Big Agnes, the Dream Island 20 degree synthetic doublewide. Thanks, Mom! We bought them from Moosejaw, another outdoor supplier that has limited retail storefront, but good deals and good customer service (and a good return policy, too). We got to Mission and were all, "Oh my god! It's Christmas all over again!" And we opened up the boxes and were, well, pretty quickly dismayed. Big Agnes makes sleeping bags for very specific types of campers--you won't necessarily find one that suits your needs unless you can afford to pay a good deal for it. Big Agnes bags are, as far as I know, made differently from other, more conventional bags. They exclude a bottom insulating layer because they argue, by sleeping on the bottom layer, and therefore crushing it, you loose almost all the insulating properties of the bottom layer. If you've ever slept on the cold ground in just a sleeping bag, you would have experienced this. So they utilize the insulating properties of sleeping pads and are able to presumably cut off a good chunk of weight from the bag. Only, the local outdoor sports equipment store's sleeping bag guy we talked to back in Connecticut, before we made a purchase, told us he doesn't trust Big Agnes pads (which are blow up and heavier), because they aren't made by Big Agnes. And they can cost up to 160 dollars!!  We weren't going to take a 9.25 pound pad and a nine pound sleeping bag and spend 300 dollars on eighteen pounds of extra weight (our old sleeping bags were about three pounds each with a pound for sleeping pads, for clarification). So we had to buy new, bigger sleeping pads from Therm-a-Rest to fit the sleeping bag. The new pads are 'Deluxe,' which means the ridges of support are more like pointy mountains than curved hills. And they're huge! Like the size of a duffel bag! Add to this that there is no cushy insulating layer between us and the pads and it feels like sleeping on metal grating all night. Ben doesn't seem to mind, but I think he could sleep on rusty nails if he was tired enough. Then there is getting the pads into the sleeve on the bottom of the bag. I struggled for about fifteen minutes in Gulu's well-lit spare room trying to get them to fit in anBd not overlap (and it still isn't perfect). I can't even imagine what it would be like after a long night on the motorcycle, trying to pitch the tent with a dim little head lamp and my cranky attitude. I can't fall asleep comfortably in it even though it is so big we could fit another grown adult inside it and not have any problems. They also include two sewn-in pillow case holders for... you guessed it! Big Agnes sized pillows. Ben and I have these mega pillows that we use both for sleeping and as the filler to the huge seat cover I made. The fancy hood becomes a pillow case holder and loses all its functionality with our setup. Big Agnes advertises the bag as a bag for couples who do car camping. If you're carrying an electric coffeepot and a full-sized barbecue grill with you on your camping trips, this might be a successful sleeping bag (if you buy the suggested doublewide pad and proper pillows with it). Ben and I had figured that our motorcycle is like a car, kinda, but in the case of this sleeping bag, our motorcycle is more like a runt pack mule.  We're a little sad, and I am a little cranky in the mornings right now ( Ok, I am cranky in the mornings all the time!) But we're looking forward to our next sleeping bag purchase and maybe, you know, the fifth time's the charm. Right now we're checking out the North Face Twin Peaks sleeping bag and going back to our smaller sized Therm-a-Rests. Don't worry, there'll be a full update and 'Girlfriend Quality Check' to go along with it, too... once we get it. -Jennifer, Jennifer and Jennifer.
We did it! We left Galveston! Some of you might have thought we would be there forever. We almost thought the same thing. In fact, we only limped out of Galveston, and forty miles from Mission, Texas, our final destination in the US, the exhaust pipes started to scream, pop, hiss, and breathe fire. However cool it may sound, we lost power due to the excitement. While in Galveston, we had been trying to eliminate some erratic behavior in the tuning of our machine. The hard starts, the loss of mid-range power, and occasional failure to start. We came to find out, when everything was said and done, all we needed was one of Jen's hair ties--well at least to help with figuring out why we were failing to start. After our last job with Tim, on the West End of the island, we couldn't get the bike to start. I figured it was just the points acting up again. I checked for a proper spark first. None. So we followed the connection back through the plug wires, and to the coils; when I got to the kill switch and hardwired it, the bike fired up and ran. So I cleaned the contacts on the switch and reassembled it to work normally. With the bike running, we buttoned her back up and started for home. Once we got on the highway, the engine cut out. I had missed something, or had I? I looped Jen's fabric rubber band over the ignition's kill switch, helping the contacts in the switch complete the circuit and transmit the necessary twelve volts to the coils. It worked again. When we got home that night, I took the switch apart, cleaned it up real good, made sure all the parts were functioning as they should, and presto, old is the new, new. Well, almost. The engine is still hard to start/won't start. Jet Ski Joe, mechanic extraordinaire, and friend of Tim, an Adventure Rider (Princess Jamaica), told me our hard starts have something to do with the scratching sound we hear when the engine is starting, and that it is an air leak. To find out where the air is leaking, he advised us to spray starter fluid around where the carburetors mount to the engine head. If the leak is around the intake valves, the extra fuel will cause a spike in the engines RPM. To check the exhaust valves we will have to hold a burning match up to where the exhaust pipes mount to the engine, and watch for any movement in the flame. This will tell what gaskets need to be remade or ordered to fix the problem. During our last days in Galveston, I bought a sort of insurance policy. New coils, four in fact. I figured we had replaced almost all the other ignition parts, short of installing an electronic ignition. Two of these coils were meant to be returned. I was able to find some car coils that were a match for the coils already on the bike and needless to say, the ones on the bike are not the right ones. So, I also bought the right Hitachi type Cm 11 coils for the bike, from MikesXS and had them shipped to Mission, Texas. My logic was that we could return the one set we picked up in Galveston when the right ones arrived and no one would be the wiser. Why the hassle? The idea was that if we did break down, and we did need the new coils between Galveston and Mission, we would have them. Guess what? It was a damn good "policy" I bought. When we broke down, I found one of our old coils was leaking oil. I think this is what caused our backfiring, but alas, when I changed them out, the problem persisted. We checked our spark, it was great; reset the timing, and fiddled with the carbs a little bit. Before we called it a night, I could get the bike to start up for about ten seconds, and then it would slowly die out. It would allow me to do this every fifteen minutes or so. So that is where we are at. Oh, and the best part. We got a ride to Mission, Texas. I wasn't sure what to say when Mike, the second person to stop and ask us if we needed help, offered to throw our bike in the back of his van. I assumed it would be too large, and too heavy, but we did it. Again, so this is where we are at. The bike runs, but only for a few seconds. Is it the carbs, or is it the valves? The engine running says to me it is not the valves, but the carbs, and the dying off to me sounds like there is blockage in one of the jets on the carbs. I guess there is only one way to find out. Pics coming tomorrow, or whenever we are at an Internet connection that will allow us to upload our pictures. Be well Be welcome Benjamin
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