Our Final Frontier

It’s one of those perfect fall days – the sun is out, the air is crisp but without that chilled edge, and we are outside, bike riding as a family.

As an avid biker, I’ve waited almost ten months to put Phoenix on the back of a bicycle. This bike ride could have taken place just about anywhere and I’d have been happy as a clam. The fact that we are bike riding along the San Antonio River is just icing on the cake.

I knew Texas held a unique position in America’s history book, but, until recently, I didn’t know the San Antonio River was a special part of that story. Thanks to James Mitchener and his 1100 page tome, “Texas” I could probably write my own tome-like blog post on the history of Texas (or at least I will be able to if I manage to finish it – Mitchener and mom-life don’t exactly go together!).

We’d been in Texas a couple weeks already, and without even planning to, had come along the route that early American settlers had traveled in their search for free land and new lives. We’d crossed over from Louisiana (or “French Louisiana”), driven past the old lawless no-man’s land – where Indians, raiders, thieves and murderers struck innocent settlers – and headed toward Galveston and a series of barrier islands along the coast, which happened to be the point of debarcation for the first Spanish explorers in Texas.

We didn’t stay in Galveston, though. The weekend we arrived, 100,000 bikers had flooded the island for a bike rally, and there was nowhere – free or otherwise – to stay. So, we boarded our bus onto  ferry to Follets Island, where we had the pleasant surprise of seeing more dolphins than I’d ever seen before. Phoenix, however, was too busy fake-driving our bus to notice!

A couple of years ago, Bruno and I had crossed the Texas Panhandle while driving along Route 66 to Arizona. The Texas section of Route 66 is short but memorable. There is the infamous Cadillac Ranch – probably the Route’s most-photographed landmark – and the Big Texas Steak Ranch, where they hold a 72oz-steak eating competition (eat it and a bunch of side-dishes in an hour and it’s free). I remember the vast, isolated cattle ranches, the free RV parks along main streets of podunk towns, and the wind turbines dotting an otherwise flat, dull landscape.

Nasty steak-eating contest aside, my introduction to Texas had intrigued me, and I was looking forward to visiting again. Not to mention our overlanding app, Ioverlander, had pulled up several free camping spots right on the beaches of the Gulf of Mexico. After spending a summer in the Appalachian Mountains, the beach was calling our name, so we headed straight for these beachfront GPS points.

Bruno was a little nervous to drive our Big [heavy] Blue Bus onto the sand. We had photos of smaller rigs doing in – and saw plenty of trucks plying the beaches – but the last time we’d tried sand, in Quebec’s Gaspe Peninsula – we’d gotten majorly stuck.  The sand along Texas’ stretch of coastline, though, is so densely-packed that, cautiously, we ventured onto the sand, just barely off the sandy beach access road.

And there we stayed for three lovely nights (with another three at a beach further on). It was mighty windy (typical of Texas, it seems), but it was great to dip our toes in the water, smell the salty air, and fall asleep to the lapping waves. I even went for a couple of bike rides on the beach!

Speaking of bike rides, I was originally talking about the one our family took along the San Antonio River. It was actually our second day of tourism in San Antonio. On the first, we had visited the city’s – and perhaps the state’s – most infamous landmark, the Alamo. I hadn’t gotten to that part in Mitchener’s book yet, so I admit that I was visiting the site somewhat blindly. I knew it had been, in the 1700s, one of several Franciscan missions set along the San Antonio River, and that, later, some epic, unfairly-outnumbered battle had occurred there, but I didn’t know why the Alamo had become the symbol of Texan Independence.

As we toured the site, with its recognizable stone facade and shady gardens, the details of the story merged with those I was reading about in the evenings before bed. American settlers had been immigrating into the now-Mexican state of Tejas for some time now, taking advantage of the Mexican pro-immigration policy. Generous tracts of land were being given away almost free – all one had to do was convert to Catholicism. For the Methodists and Presbyterians of Tennessee, Kentucky, and abroad, this was akin to blasphemy, and most took the papist oath in name only. Because of that – as well as the very forward-thinking anti-slavery law in Mexico and the already-present American superiority complex – quiet talk of revolution circulated.

It was when Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna became president of Mexico, centralized the government, and rebuked the constitution of 1824 (which had been very American, and therefore acceptable) that Texicans had enough. They launched a rebellion, took control of the Alamo and a few other key sites, and made Santa Anna very angry. He sent a couple thousand soldiers northwards with the goal of crushing that rebellion. Though the Alamo siege lasted an impressive thirteen days, on the day of the battle it didn’t take the Mexican army long to storm the fortress and kill essentially all the almost 200 hundred rebels (or “freedom fighters” depending on whose side you were on), including Davy Crockett.

Not long after, Santa Anna marched on to Goliad, where he brutally murdered another group of Texican rebels. By this point, the events of the Alamo were all over the US news, and Texicans and Americans alike were hungry for revenge. They earned this – and their independence – with a mixture of luck and strategy, in a final battle near Houston. Some say the men shouted “Remember the Alamo!” as they charged into that battle; others that the Alamo was the catalyst that ultimately led to Texan independence. What seems sure is that the “heroism the Alamo men showed, facing sure death to fight oppression”, was the perfect American symbol of patriotism.

After getting an excellent, though dense, lesson in American history, the three of us walked it off with some lighter tourism. We strolled along San Antonio’s Riverwalk, an extremely appealing, extremely curated series of cafes and restaurants along the San Antonio River, all below city-level. We finished our day at San Fernando Square, gazing up at the cathedral where Davy Crockett and the other “heroes” of the Alamo are now buried. Bruno got little-boy excited.

So, back to our second day of tourism, this Riverwalk bike ride I’ve been trying to tell you about. Now that we know how important the San Antonio River is to Texan (and therefore American) history, it probably makes sense why riding along this excellent bike bath (I do love a good bike path!) on a picture-perfect fall day, visiting a couple Spanish missions with my little family is such a perfect moment.

We wander inside the beautiful Mission Conception, with its preserved ancient frescos. Then we hop on the bikes – for the first time with Phoenix – and ride along the San Antonio River, catching views of cormorants sunning themselves, the arid, rural landscape as our backdrop. Phoenix is super chill, as though he has ridden on a bike his entire life (he did ride often on one when he was in my tummy!). We wander around the large and impressive Mission San Jose and enjoy a picnic snack in the late afternoon sun in the center of the square.

A part of me wants to visit the next two Spanish missions along the river. It’s that same part of me that always wants more of everything, especially of adventure. But as we bike back toward Big Blue and a quiet evening as a family, I’m so grateful for what we have been able to experience in San Antonio. I’ve waited almost 10 months to bike ride as a family – the fact that it is along the San Antonio River means that this city – our final American frontier – will forevermore be etched in my heart.