Enchanted Rock

It took two-thousand years to wash away the choking debris - what remained was a surface of cold stone, impermeable to the forces that stole its face.

I sensed a storm overhead - the clouds billowing in pain, shedding tears upon the cold red sands. I desired nothing more than a refuge, so I fled… I found a promising spot on the map, with a promising name -”Enchanted Rock”… it was the only State Park in a 4-hour drive I had yet to see. I read that the Native Americans worshipped the place for its mysterious presence in the moonlight… so I dialed the heading, and set sail.

I went there alone… but I was followed.

My gas was full - I was on empty. I saw the road dancing in my vision. The yellow lines blurred to the point I felt like breaking free… it took two lanes to restrain me. I arrived in the remnants of a German immigrant town, a European capital carved out in the center of West Texas. The town was called “Fredricksburg”, and there was no room at the inn…

I found the park, it wasn’t easy to miss… the bald granite boulder of silver rose from the plains, contrasting the red plateaus surrounding it. I inquired at the office for a campsite, preferably one with a parking spot. Sadly, there was no room at the inn. I had no food. No drink . I only had a bible and a tent, and the scrapes from a can of Skoal. The sun fell with a dying cough of crimson, and I knew my time was running out. Fortunate me - there was a backcountry site still open.

“$12.00 please…” - The Ranger spoke as if discontented with his chosen profession… The gears wound to a halt, cut off from the sustaining fumes that remained… I was alone. Or, so I thought.

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“Hey man, you headed over the mountain?”

“Yeah dude…”

“What brings you here, your plates said ‘Alabama‘”

“Brother, the Air Force brought me here --”

“Man, I got a race tomorrow - Me and ‘Rickles‘, my dog over there, were trying to get a free climb on an open rope -- Dude, you climb?”

“Naw, man - just looking for a night to think -”

“Where are you headed?”

“Over there”

“You been here before?”

“No…”

“Well, you will need some help…”

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The stranger, I believe his name was David, and his dog ‘Rickles’ escorted me over the pass - to a clearing by a lake where my campsite was.

It was a beautiful battleground, if ever a conqueror decided to take Texas… The rocks sheltered the wind, and gave the first to arrive the high ground - a perfect view of the valley, and a secure hold on all the necessary resources for a prolonged engagement…

I digress… we arrived at the campsite. A group of college kids were enjoying an illegal fire, a small fire -- glowing orange in their hands…

These were my neighbors.

Rickles was a huge Alaskan Husky. The dog didn’t belong in Texas - the heat would strangle him, bearing that thick coat. Yet, the creature moved with ease over the stones and sand, as if it were evolution’s intention for him to be a ’Wrangler’…

The soft,black nose rooted around for the serpent that had passed through only minutes before… it gave a final hiss, and retreated into the stones behind us…

I unwrapped the tangled cords of my hotel from my back, and pieced together my one night stand… with God Almighty…

David sat in the shade of a mesquite tree, smoking a hand rolled cigarette… He rolled the paper with the ease of experience… for some reason, this stood out in my memory - after all, most good angels would never smoke…

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My fortress assembled, I leaned against the stones to pass a small dialogue with the interloper…

“What brings you here, man?” - I had explained myself, but the traverse over the hill piqued my interest as to why he was here in the first place… I mean, there was a town with beer, pillows, and blankets just minutes away… and it was growing late…

“I’m racing” He replied…

“Racing what?”

“Bicycles - they fascinate me” He spoke as if he had never seen one before…

“What will you do tonight?”

“I plan on asking one of those guys for a free rope…”, he motioned with his cigarette-hand to the ominous cliff face before us, covered with ant-like bodies in neon clothing.

“Dude, that’s awesome… you climb much?”

“Every chance I get… there is something about the coldness of the stone… and challenging life and death. Rickles likes it, too…”, He named his dog after some ‘70s show I had never seen.

“The dog can climb?”

“No, man… he can just feel my struggle - like a participating onlooker”

“Cool…” - I had no idea what he meant, I couldn’t percieve the depth of the words he said… ‘perception leads to understanding‘, I guess.

“You should climb.” He said…

“What? I have never done it before…”

“You are built for it…” Again, retrospect is an amazing thing, it allows time for true analysis…

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“Man, I we have to go… are you safe?” Why would a stranger inquire of my security?

“Dude, I’m good - should be a nice night”

“Yeah, take care - we’ll be seeing you” --

“Sure man, enjoy the race” - I felt like following that statement with a, “Never going to see you again, have a nice night.”

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I was a Cub Scout… not a full Boy Scout, so I never learned the whole, ‘Always be Prepared’ thing…

I had no pillow - my tent was pitched on a slope - there were a hundred stones stealing my dreams - and a slow rain fell into a downpour.

The spot was perfect… A war waged outside, and my only protection was “The Book” in my hand… I felt the pools of water gather below my tent, the lightning crashed above, the thunder shook my very soul…

And in the morning, I awoke.

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I had enough… time to turn home.

I assembled my belongings, and turned to the morning sun… I traversed the bald face that was so intimidating the night before with ease. I made my way to the truck a mile away, and unloaded my humble home. A van was parked there in the shade, unattended and covered with dust - like it had been there for years.

I opened my door, and cranked up the iPod - the notes awoke the morning, and erased the fog of the preceding night in the flood… it also woke up the dog sleeping in the van next to me…

A dark-haired man approached on a road bike… undistinguishable from the crowd gathered in the parking lot. Apparently, there had been a race.

Helmet and glasses removed, I recognized the beard --

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“Dave, what’s up man!”

“Not much bro…”

“How did you do?”

“Man - I lost, but I won --”

I had no idea what he meant… so, I inquired further. Apparently, during the 26.2 miles from Fredericksburg, David gained the lead over 157 competitors… but something caused him to slow his speed, to relinquish the lead… he had no explanation - but he didn’t seem to care, he was just glad to have raced…

“You headed out?”

“Yeah man, I have to work tomorrow… in San Angelo, miles from here…”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“What?”

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“Rickles, ready to ride?” He loaded his bike and was gone…
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Had he won, he would have been gone long before I arrived…

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I opened the truck door, searching for feathers…