From Buddy to Woody... Days 115-118

I think IF I was driving Jenny, I'd have developed some sort of teleportation device by now to avoid the frustrating drive 10 miles or so down the road to where we finished the previous evening, but alas, we don't have one, so it was up to Nads to valiantly do her duty. At least returning to the RV park for breakfast is less stressful than being on the hard shoulder of some highway. After said breakfast and a nice goodbye from the RV park staff, it was another 11 miles to get to central Lubbock, where much excitement awaited. I actually had some excitement during my 11 miles as I met a couple of times with Alyssa, intrepid reporter from KMAC Lubbock, looking glam despite the ferocious wind. The wind itself was a huge story in Lubbock that day as it was reaching 60mph and was implicated in a couple of fires, which nearly scuppered the interview! However, this was in the good news tray for me as it was squarely at my back. I turned off the highway onto 19th Street, which was something quite remarkable. I think you could live on this street, never leaving it and have a fully enriched life. You can be born at the hospital, which will hopefully keep an eye on you as you progress through the elementary school, high school and Texas Tech University, where you get a job and live in one of the beautiful houses lining the road, but a car at the local dealer, go to the theatre and have some great nights at the bars, coffee houses and restaurants, get christened, married and eventually eulogised over at your funeral at one of the churches. Most importantly though, you could make a pilgrimage to the monuments to one of the true sparks in the Rock and Roll revolution: Buddy Holly. I'd kindly been offered a tour of the museum as a result of the connection I'd made with Stephen Easley, trustee of the Buddy Holly Foundation, whom I'd bumped into whilst running in Austin, back in October! It was here I caught up again with Alyssa (a keen runner and Forrest Gump fan) who created a fantastic piece for the 6 o'clock news and with Vanessa of Fox34, who did a top bit for their website. The Buddy Holly museum and the Allison house next door, where Buddy wrote many of his hits, including “That'll Be The Day” were fascinating and the original artefacts there are something else. WE had Sebastian as our guide, who was very knowledgeable about the “home” subject but also about the Beatles, who stated that Buddy was their major influence. No Buddy, no Beatles – they were named to be aligned with the Crickets, Buddy's band. Tragically killed in a plane crash at the age of 22, the sight of his famous glasses, recovered from the wreck, was super poignant and forced a deep intake of breath and certainly a reminder of my own mortality. In another wing of the museum, there was also a (surprisingly, for me) really good quilting exhibition. I still can't believe I've just typed that – but it was good!

On a couple of recommendations, we crossed the road to the Triple J Brewery and Chop House for lunch, passing the McCartney oak, planted to commemorate his concert in Lubbock in 2014 and were greeted by Cody, Jaquenette and Josh, who made our lunch pretty memorable. A free beer on the house for the runner (I like), donations for the charities (Like even more) and great food. So great in fact I was sluggish as a post-hibernation bear after lunch and whether it was the two bigger runs this morning, or the excitement, I really struggled with the third run (also big). Nads was late too and it was starting to get a bit chilly. I'd left my phone behind (with Nads, I thought), so no contact possible. After half an hour of waiting, I was getting a little worried and even ran half a mile down the road as I could see something that looked a bit like Jenny on the distance (it wasn't). Eventually she arrived. A catalogue of cock-ups. We'd left the lights on in Jenny all day. Flat battery. Josh was a superstar and had jump leads and sorted us out there. Meanwhile, the staff from the Buddy Holly Center had found my phone in the gift shop and managed to find the RV and returned the phone. The irony is that if Jenny hadn't failed to start, we'd have had a right palaver trying to find the phone. Oh boy! That'll do for the day.

Start: Jct of Highway 62 and Parrot Road, Ropesville. Finish: Jct of Highway 62 and Pecan St, Idalou. 32.8 miles Day 115 Tune of the Day: Buddy Holly – That'll Be The Day. Genius. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eq9FCBatl3A

Friday was always going to have a lot to live up to after the excitement of yesterday and I secretly hoped it was too! It was certainly less windy, but that wind from yesterday seemed to have brought in a chill with it and one that I rugged up against stepping out of the RV. Now I think this is a “thing”, so bear with me if not, but you know when you're cold, you always seem to need a wee more? Well I do and I had to dive behind a tree very early on. As I emerged, I had the slight horror of someone pulling up right next to me on the road. This was my meeting with Jeff. He'd seen me on the news and seen me running and wanted to say hi. Fortunately I'd put my gloves back on, so was happy to shake his hand. I don't know if he knew what I'd been up to, but he was pretty chilled anyway. It was nice to meet someone interested in the run early on, as it always puts you in a good mood. On to Ralls, home of the Jackrabbits – not just a sports team, but also the World's Largest Jackrabbit, to be found in the grounds of the stadium. I guessed around 15 feet tall – there can't be many bigger if any at all – so I reckon it's a valid claim! Some further giants were to be seen down the road in the cute town of Crosbyton, complete with 50's style murals and a fossil museum – where the remains of mammoths and other prehistoric beasties were on display. That is, if it were open as the owner is poorly, currently. I took a few snaps through the window and had to make do. It stayed pretty cold all day, getting us nicely prepared for what we knew was going to be a super cold night, for what we've generally had at -3C/26f. I'd probably classify it as DEFCON 3 in terms of RV cold conditions – extra blankets on the bed, long sleeves AND a hat were called upon as we settled near a huge phone mast on top of a hill looking down towards Dickens. Would our defences hold up?

Start: Jct of Highway 62 and Pecan St, Idalou. Finish: Off Highway 82, approx 8 miles west of Dickens. 42.9 miles. Day 116 Tune of the Day: The Rolling Stones – Not Fade Away. Still struck by the poignancy of the Buddy Holly Centre exhibits, I reflected on his influence on music as we know it – this was a Buddy song and the Stones' first hit. Not a lotta people know that. After a late afternoon deflate yesterday, it was also a message to my psyche. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sUNXQNkl_QI

The answer to whether we'd judged our layering against the night time chill was yes, a surprising result as a good night's sleep was had by all. This is especially surprising as I seem to have huge temperature variations during the night, often waking up in the early hours drenched in sweat after my witching hour bodily repairs draw to a close and the furnace gets switched off, leaving a wet, cold Robla to get up and get changed before getting back into bed. So it was a refreshed team that began the day, still at -1C/30f, so it was the heavy gloves for me and it was these gloves that were soon shaking hands with Billy, a local of Dickens, on his way to work, who had seen me running and was worried I might need a lift. He remarked that it's a shame that people don't really give people rides any more and I felt a sense of pride when he told me he wasn't one of those people. He had a bloody strong handshake too. I let him know I was OK and off he went to work – I think I ran past his truck on the outskirts of Dickens (Cool name, huh?) after running past the old gaol and sheriff's office, where a sign told of a $25 fine for talking to the prisoners! I met Nads at a local rest stop after a good few undulations in the road and I felt that my mood was also undulating a bit, though just topping out ok, as the sun was out and it was George Harrison's birthday, so you can't be too glum, but despite the good sleep, I just felt tired, running wise. It was a possible portent of things to come, emotionally though. Our target was to just get past Guthrie for the day, passing the famous Pitchfork and 6666 ranches, the latter home to Dash For Cash – possibly the greatest quarter horse ever, apparently! I resisted the temptation to dash the last quarter mile, though Jenny fever always tries its best to get me to.

Start: Off Highway 82, approx 8 miles west of Dickens. Finish: Off Highway 82, 3 miles east of Guthrie. 42.88 miles Day 117 Tune of the Day: George Harrison – Here Comes The Sun. Happy birthday George – it may have been cold today, but at least it was sunny, so I say: “It's alright!” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JNS_SUmCJm4&list=RDJNS_SUmCJm4

Sundays are often pretty nice to run on the roads, as fewer people seem to be out and about. Maybe it's an American thing overall, or maybe regional, but I think there is more of a church based respect for Sunday as a day of rest and while I can't take advantage of that per se, I can certainly enjoy the repercussions, running in the middle of the carriageway in an attempt to beat the cambers of the road loading my joints unevenly. As such it was a pretty low impact morning on the senses, with mostly flat farm land, nice enough weather and peace and quiet. My major form of excitement came from running past herds of cattle and wondering if they'd be brave and stay put, or run away, or alongside me. Sometimes you couldn't work out quite whether they were in flight, or coming along for the ride. I loved the fact that if one was running away past another oblivious cow, it would headbutt, moo, or otherwise cajole his pal into scarpering too. Looking out for each other – I like it.

I reached the town of Benjamin where I met my final truck-driving local in Kevin, who was filming me from the other side of the road, so I went over and said hi. He'd seen me on the news and wanted to take something home to show the family. He was pretty adept at selfies, so a couple were taken and off again I went, eerily passing a roadside memorial with one of my friend's names on it. He's still alive (I checked), but it was pretty freaky. Could you imagine if it was your own name...shudder. I'd also run past a large statue of a single arrow embedded in the floor, making me think of the Twin Arrows Trading Post in Arizona, where Forrest gets a face full of mud and makes his “Have A Nice Day” shirt. How I'd love to get the chance to see that. The only way to dot hat is to keep running I guess and that's just what I did. Same distance pretty much as yesterday, no drama. Business like. Solid. Day's end: Vera. What a great name for a town, like Benjamin. I even saw a sign saying “Keep Benjamin Beautiful”. Brilliant. Was this some sort of “plant your flag and it's yours” land grab? I need to do some research.

Start: Off Highway 82, 3 miles east of Guthrie. Finish: Vera, TX. 42.8 miles. Day 118 Tune of the Day: Woody Guthrie: This Land is Your Land. A huge influence on Bob Dylan and later on, Bruce Springsteen – one of the first white American songwriters to get gritty and real. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wxiMrvDbq3s

Total: 3802.82 miles

Round 2 with the big guy...ding ding! Days 112-114

The last full day in New Mexico before the big guy again. To be fair, I think a lot of New Mexico's exciting things may be behind me, but there's always little gems to be had in unexpected places. A derelict gas station/store with some good graffiti, set against a stunning blue sky made for a good photo and as I was watching this, something, or things were watching me. A small herd of deer about 10 strong were curiously/nervously observing me from afar. When I started running, they ran towards me, but when I stopped to take a photo, they scattered, very quickly, with one poor fella lagging behind. That'd be me now, down at the track. I left them behind once they'd stopped at a safe vantage point and saw that Jenny was in the distance, next to a store advertising home-made pies. Lunch was sorted, in my mind, before my hopes were dashed by it being shut. We thought it might have something to do with it being President's Day, but NM doesn't observe it until the day after Thanksgiving, so maybe this was just another example of a business finding it was the end of the road. The local cattle appeared to be waiting for their lunch too, the other side of the farm gate. Maybe they were glad the pie shop was closed? Over lunch I chatted to Darrell Moody, a news reporter based in Florida who did the local news for Roswell, naturally! This was actually my first US radio interview, so quite exciting! A need to finish slightly earlier meant I left without really organising myself, so I elected for suncream rather than charging my mp3 player soon all I had for company were my thoughts, that is until the deer turned up, 10 miles or so down the road. I thought it was likely another herd, but there were 10 again and when they scattered, the slowcoach was again, left behind. I'm not sure if they thought I may be bringing food, or whether I was smelling like some sort of alpha deer (which is certainly a possibility), but it made me smile. I hope they didn't feel like their day was wasted following me. I managed, a little further on to download a radio app and cajole my phones headphone jack into just about working and managed to catch the interview in the last few metres before the close of play, sandwiched in between an advert for handguns and an article about pecan weevils. I think this is a pretty unique combo that may never be repeated!

Start: Highway 380, by a big pile of dirt. Finish: 2 miles short of Tatum on Highway 380. 43.4 miles. Day 112 Tune of the Day: Queen – Radio Ga Ga. Even though I've done radio interviews before, this was the first time I'd ever heard myself actually on the radio. Quite surreal and judging by the increase in attention from passing cars, radio may yet to have its finest hour...

Waking up in our free municipal RV park was a nice change – designed to encourage people into town, but there wasn't really anything to do in the immediate area as it was pretty much on the edge of town, hence no other RV's and maybe the reason why the power seemed to be off. Hey, it was quiet and no-one was going to move us on. This equals a good chance for a restful night, so for free...we'll take it. It was just sort of a shame that we didn't really get to go out and about one last time in NM. The reason was...Texas is the morning! I like Texas – it was the state that last time acted as a bridge from the green, hot, humid East, to the fairly hospitable deserts of the West. Seeing the landscape change over 893 miles was...I've just sat here for five minutes trying to think of a good description...but I think you'll just have to do it for yourselves. You may use a car. I recommend it heartily. That'll do as a description. This time it'll be just 500 miles. Running 40+ miles a day means twelve days, making it seem almost normal sized. It's not, obviously, which is a good reason to change time zone as we go over the border. It seems as though it has been getting darker earlier and light a lot earlier as we headed towards the opposite International Date Line, even at this speed!

So...we were in the Panhandle Plains. What would this look like? New Mexico had been preparing me for it, with the odd oil derrick dotted about, but Texas doesn't mess about. This land has a lot of oil, but it's great for farming cotton. What to do? Farm oil! The surreal scene of ploughing patterns around oil derricks, with eau de petroleum and a fair amount of noisy trucks was my backdrop. I'm weird about the smell of oil. I like it (I know I shouldn't), but it makes me hungry, so my senses were all on the go, as of course, there was always some pain, somewhere. This was just plain (sorry for the pun) wearing me out and stressing me out as negative thoughts filled my head. I needed to reset. I stopped at a semi-derelict barn and decided to have a poke about. I was trying to work out what had made some of the unusual droppings in the corner, when a barn owl swooped past my head and I could see another in the corner. This flew out then kept coming back to look through a hole in the roof at me, before flying off again. I could hear sounds indicating that there may have been some babies and figured I was stressing out their folks, so I left, with all troubles seemingly gone, as I notched the last miles of the day, down cotton lined roads and the sun at my back. Things ain't so bad.

Start: 2 miles short of Tatum on Highway 380. Finish: Just after Jct of Highway 380 and Cty Rd 435. 42.6 miles. Day 113 Tune of the Day: Nirvana – On A Plain. Weird coincidence. I was remarking that we were now on the plains, we stayed in a place called Plains and I later learned it was Kurt Cobain's birthday.

Farmland, as far as the eye can see, on a dead straight road and I didn't think there was going to be any change for a long time yet, so my mind needed something to occupy it. A healthy dose of continual fear of explosive diarrhoea was the unexpected and unwelcome diversion. I hadn't eaten anything funny, but I was in trouble. I don't know if you guys really want to know this, but hey, this is REAL maaaan. Early morning occurrences had indicated that this was a possibility and I was only a few miles down the road when it was on. S**t was going down and it was on the verge of becoming literal. No cover, anywhere. It was either going to be limping to the houses I could see a mile away, or being the worst scarecrow you've ever seen. I now know here are few greater humiliations than asking a complete stranger firstly can you use their toilet, then inquiring where the toilet paper is, leaving no doubt your intentions. My unusual guardian angel was Gerald. Gerald is 73 and while he recently retired from his second job with a fertiliser company, he still farms cotton and stays active, having been a good track runner in his youth. He's a Gomez man, through and through living next door to his daughter-in-law, granddaughter and grandson. We had a fascinating chat about cotton farming, the area and running. He even watched Forrest Gump the night before. You couldn't make it up. Fate had sorted me out and I waltzed down the road like one of those old-school Disney characters, with birds singing and prairie dogs/ground squirrels larking around at the roadside (these things were actually happening!). It was not without a smirk that I entered the next town – Brownfield, a proper farming/cowboy town with an old-time Rialto cinema, block paving and various shops servicing the local farming industry. The main attraction for me though was a Mk I convertible, gold VW Golf, which had seen better days but was only $500. If I lived in the US, I'd have bought it then and there and worked out if it drove afterwards, she was that pretty. I spent a lot of the day imaging Nads and I completing the rest of the route with the top down, listening to 80's tunes whilst wearing a white linen suit, loafers and no socks. That's right. Super cool.

Oh yeah… I did some pretty good running too. We even got to our RV park in time for sunset and met a great couple Dave and Ann, who've invited us to dinner in two weeks in Hot Springs, Arkansas. A day of a constant upswing. S**t happens. Sometimes.

Start: Just after Jct of Highway 380 and Cty Rd 435 Finish: Jct of Highway 62 and Parrot Road, Ropesville. 42.3 miles. Day 114 Tune of the Day: Rolling Stones – Turd on the Run. I don't think you need me to explain this… https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LP5n0gOWnk

Total 3641.44 miles

From ghosts to aliens...do you believe? Days 109-111

One of those days where you wish I had a pair of those trainers with wheels on that you see little kids buzzing around shopping malls with as there was going to be almost 3,000 feet of descending today, which meant warmer times ahead. The main themes for the day were William H. Bonney, or Billy the Kid, as there were a number of historic markers on the 70 that would tell of his exploits and if not ghost towns, then certainly lots of cool ghost buildings. Running wise, it was mostly a case of constantly looking at the pace indicator on my watch to make sure I wasn't going to quick. I've only really got an interest in pace as a self-preservation tool. If I'm behind in the day, I just try and be more efficient at breaks, as speeding up doesn't really to save a significant amount of time, but certainly contributes significantly to tiredness that and the next day. One of the early stops was a place called the Fox Cave – a disused gem mine that once served as an outlaw hideout (How cool!). We had a bit of a moment there as Nads really wanted to visit (as did I), but I didn't feel we had enough time to do it justice and I'd arrived at rhe RV weirdly more tired than usual and in a bit of a grump. I got on the road sharpish and tried to run myself into a better mood. The sun always helping, we passed through the settlements (often one-horse towns round here) of Glencoe (Population: I'm not sure apart from a shop) and San Patricio (Ransacked by a posse looking for that pesky Billy, now home to artist Peter Hurd) before we got to Hondo, which was the biggest of these places, home of the Eagles and a Western curio shop with a great line in signs. “Build the wall – where my wife can't go back” and “Bad decisions make great stories.” I can identify with that one. A gloriously Aussie-style named place called Tinnie was next up, which had a number of decidely ghostly looking buildings but was still very much alive and kicking with a new post office, fancy looking restaurant and fantastic metal sculptures rising into the sky near the old gas station. These were by a chap called William Goodman – have a quick google, they're pretty funky. In the fading light I reached my final little place, Picacho, where we'd decided to stay in the Post Office car park, as it seemed the easiest option. I'd loved my day of descent through these little pieces of history, both written and being written still, often in some really beautiful locations. The thing is with places like this, is you imagine seeing the run down buildings that the whole town is on the way out, but this is often just a case of someone moving away and not being able to resell that building. People build new, bring trailers. Life ebbs and flows in these areas with the times and I have grown to have amazing respect for people who tough it out, or even make steps to improve things. It's a bit like nature – life finds a way. In these cases it might not necessarily be on the highway for people like me and you to gawp at. I just wish I'd met a few of the people to tell their side. I bet it'd be a good listen.

Start: Apache Summit, US-70. Finish: Picacho Post Office. 41.8 miles. Day 109 Tune of the Day: First Aid Kit – Ghost Town. To the Bills. Bonney and Goodman and all the good people of the Hondo Valley. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j-_6FA7MYmY

No early morning Postman's knock, real or otherwise, but we got a move on fairly sharpish before he/she arrived to ask awkward questions. Another reason to get moving early was the earlier we finished, the earlier we would be in Roswell, the site of our proposed day off tomorrow. Well...when I say day off, I mean half day. Time wise. Not distance wise. That would be a 3/8th day off. A morning off, anyway. I'd also arranged an interview with Tim, from the Roswell Daily Record – the same paper that publicised the infamous Roswell incident of 1947, where an unidentified object landed in farmland nearby and the remains were taken to a nearby airbase to either be covered up/autopsied/acknowledged as a weather balloon, depending on what you believe. The date seemed a bit familiar to me for some reason, so I did some research and it happened the same year that David Bowie appeared on earth. I wonder...

The running, in all honesty was fairly unspectacular, with the last views of the hills disappearing behind and hints of vast plains opening up in front. This came with, excepting of a fairly big hump, a steady downhill and a nice spot for lunch – just by the Atlas intercontinental ballistic missile silos which apparently are empty no longer pointing at Mr Putin and are privately owned. Who buys these things? All types apparently, from people looking for a secure marijuana farm, to people building Doomsday condos. Whatever floats your nuclear submarine, I guess.

I met Tim for a quick interview in front of the International UFO Museum and Research Centre, obviously then trotted the last two miles past precisely no craft beer pubs. My Saturday night was going to be a quiet one, even with a 3/8th day off tomorrow.

Start: Picacho Post Office. Finish: Trailer Village RV Park, Roswell. 40.25 miles. Day 110 Tune of the Day: David Bowie – Starman https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sI66hcu9fIs

Roswell loves a good alien story. That's pretty fortunate as there were a lot of people in town looking for just that and the museum where I had my interview was first on our list. For the bargainous entry fee of $5 we were let in on the secrets. Now, as a scientist, I'll declare my position. I figure that in this infinite universe, the odds of there being life are in my opinion, fairly favourable. This life being intelligent, maybe less, but what is intelligence? That's another debate entirely, but there certainly COULD be a lifeform or...something that could theoretically be capable of travelling the many light years...but why do they always seem to be taking a look at a farmer's field in Idaho? So yeah, I'm probably a sceptic. I don't think they'd wear the look of man, as they're often reported to. However, the more you read the eye-witness accounts of a large number of responsible people, you start to wonder. Then the ridiculous explanations and evidence switching of the US air Force, including that the alien bodies were crash dummies that they used from 1954-1959 (Hang on, wasn't the “crash” in 1947) you start to really think that they could have been onto something. As my favourite approach to potentially stressful situations that I'm unlikely to unravel to a degree that satisfies me is to remain ignorant, I decided to move on. My absolute favourite bit of the whole exhibit though was one fella who'd been “abducted” before being arrested after a high speed police chase where he was topping out over 110mph, who said that the alien who'd picked him at alien speed dating previously was in the passenger seat alongside him, egging him on, but disappeared just as the police were walking up to his door. Priceless. There was also the fact that “Foo Fighters” were a real/imagined Nazi phenomenon, not just a band (Note: I am not suggesting that Dave Grohl is an imaginary Nazi). In an article someone used the phrase “There's no foo without fire”. Strange that hasn't caught on, eh?

Foo-d for thought indeed. We were hungry and I had 5/8ths of running to fuel for, so we headed to the Stellar Coffee Shop on Main, which was pretty stellar indeed. Alien hunters amongst you – take note for sustenance. Lacing (forcing) on my shoes, I set off with a full belly with the Rolling Stones in my ears, as suggested by Nads and Roswell began to fade into the distance, with the Double Eagle Ranch, home of the 2009 Kentucky Derby winner, “Mine That Bird” passing by on my left and the ornate metalwork sign of LA Ranch on my right. Seeing some wild deer is always a pleasure, especially with the sun starting to drop. On the last run of the day I had the peculiar situation where the road was so straight, with a dip, I saw Nads go past me at one mile, then watched her move 5 or so miles down the road and pull over. I thought it couldn't have been her, as I obviously didn't watch ALL the time, but sure enough, as I arrived, minutes after missing a great sunset behind me, there Jenny was, where my eyes had had a tough job of convincing my brain she was. It was starting to look a lot less like New Mexico, as if I'd been picked up and dropped hundreds of miles away. Surely not, but remember, the truth is out there.

Start: Trailer Village RV Park, Roswell. Finish: Highway 380, by a big pile of dirt. 25.4 miles (according to my watch, I don't know how long I was on that ship for). Day 111 Tune of the Day: Foo Fighters – Learn To Fly. Those alien fellas should have taken a few more lessons, I reckon. This video is an absolute beauty. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VQ_3sBZEm0

Total: 3513.14 miles