The Other Side of Nowhere: A Hero's Journey in Big Bend Ranch State Park

I was wondering how long it would take someone to find me if I died. My bike had slid out on a slope of loose gravel, and I was laying where I landed in the dirt, staring up at the despondent sky from Big Bend Ranch State Park, aka El Despoblado: “The Uninhabited.”  

This was January 2026. Six months ago, a crash in Angel Fire left Jason recovering from reconstructive shoulder surgery for the summer. At the same time I was licking my wounds from my second layoff (a mercy killing this time, from ServiceNow consulting). We needed adventure to heal us and bring back the vitality. By the year’s end we had steadied ourselves and searched out the next thing. 

We decided to take a road trip to Big Bend Ranch State Park to camp and mountain bike, with stops in Marathon, Fort Stockton and Fredericksburg on the way back. And a side quest to eat delicious things.

Early on New Year’s Day, we filled the truck with camping supplies and drove all day starting at 5am, watching the greenery fade into dusty miles. 

Big Bend Ranch State Park (BBRSP) is raw and wild, even compared to its rugged, yet more paved big brother National Park next door. Lined with dusty ranch tracks requiring high clearance tires, it’s a vast, awe-inspiring landscape of geologic drama, most notably one of North America's largest volcanic eruptions, the remnants of its lava flow still visible.  

At dusk we reached it. The final hour of the drive was a slow, bumpy trek from the park entrance through Presidio to our campsite for the night, Papalotito Colorado. We chose it for its accessible road and online photo of a little wooden shed-covered picnic table, a fire ring and an old wooden windmill a quarter mile away, an original from the ranch.

It feels pretty desolate, and there were few other campers seen.

Our life evokes our character, said Joseph Campbell. I think of myself as a woman who endures hard things. I have three warrior women tattoos -- one with a torch, one with a sword, and Artemis drawing a bow. I grip the archetype less tightly now, in my 40s versus my 20s. But I am very fond of trying to embody it, to be the courageous warrior in search of a thrill, the fear slayer, and the adventurer. 

What better way to evoke the adventurer than mountain biking in the wilderness? At Paplotito, we revisited our plans as we sat in the dusty expanse of our camp. In the morning we’d drive another two hours out and around to the other side of the park on 170 to Lajitas, near the mountain bike trailhead. You can’t cut through the park due to the lack of drivable roads. We’d bike 30 miles, which would take us about four hours.

And we’d be …very alone. I felt my familiar cocktail of excitement and dread that bubbles up inside before an unknown ride. Jason assured me many times it was not a technical trail, and I knew that. Little did I know that wasn’t the whole challenge.

I was tired. I didn’t usually get up at 4am. We started a fire and warmed up some chili, dressing it with broken Saltines and shredded cheese, and cracking a couple of NA beers. Then we sat beholding the moment, a gloriously alone one. In miles of dark and silent, dusty desert, a single stream of smoke slowly spiraled into the endless spray of stars and bone moon - our campfire in the land of the uninhabited along the Rio Grande. 

As the fire died out, we tucked into our sleeping bags and I dreamed / worried about furry lurkers blinking at us in the dark, before falling asleep here and there. It was very peaceful but I kept waking up.

In the morning chill, we made coffee and discussed the day’s task. The hero’s journey only gives us the adventure we are ready for. We were ready with walkie talkies, liters of water, bike tools, extra tube, sunscreen, food and other supplies. At this point, one could say we were heading out to face the monster and to slay our fear. We were ready to survive the whale belly and emerge transformed. I say “we”, however I’m not sure whether Jason was preparing for an epic experience or just thinking about the calorie burn. 

After more driving, we started out down the trail Buena Suerte. I felt good. The scenery was amazing. Huge canyons for miles, an old brick house used for trade (we climbed inside), sharp cactus lining our path (we got scratched). We ate snacks and took in the scene.

Early in the ride - the Madrid House (maybe)

Then I realized we forgot our walkie talkies. My stomach clenched. We briefly discussed going back to get them, but it would add an hour and a half to the ride. We kept going. Over the next couple of hours, despite my bike fitness and stocked food supplies, I began to worry we would die out here. My amygdala is a heavyweight champ. About this time, I descended down a loose gravel chute and slid out, crashed to the ground and laid still, feeling demoralized. 

Jason rode on, a disappearing dot in the distance. Now here I was in the belly of the whale.  I thought all the adventure stories I’ve read of those had been lost, or worse. A recent news story said a man in Utah was stuck in quicksand, saved only by using his SOS device. I had no SOS device, no walkie talkies. We had only seen two other riders hours ago.

The sleep deprivation of the last two days was playing a role and ramping up my fear. The trail wasn’t technical but I had underestimated the psychological challenge of the terrain, and as I lay there, I felt…nothing like a warrior.

For a minute, I just let myself feel it all: the disappointment in myself, the weakness, the fear. The stuff I don't like to feel. But part of me also accepted that I'm just human, and this is just what it is, and this is part of the journey.

I had to pull it together and pedal or the situation would probably not improve. Warrior woman or not, I had to get freaking moving. So I half pedaled, half pushed another 10-20 minutes until I made it to Jason, who had stopped to wait. Three hours into the ride, this warrior woman apparently looked so spiritually defeated Jason later admitted he worried a mountain lion might see me as low-effort prey. 

My mood was a bit infectious for him, and dampened his enjoyment – though the trails themselves were not great. A lot of it was loose gravel, sand and dried river beds that we had to drag our bikes through, without the fun, flowy features of Moab or Sedona.

So we had time to discuss emotions, performance psychology, and trail conditions. 

Even with the missing emergency devices, Jason felt we were fine and would survive this. But he agreed to cut the ride a bit short for me. I started to feel silly as we soon rode out to the main trail, not long after my mythic mental (almost!) defeat in the whale’s belly - and realized the rest of the ride out was really easy and we were almost back. It was quite a ride all in all. 

Afterwards, we packed up and were on the road again, to Marathon to the White Buffalo Bar at the Gage Hotel. I felt my descent into madness and rapid recovery deserved one of its famous bison burgers. 

I requested to play an episode from “Joseph Campbell and the Power of Myth” in our hours on the road. It felt fitting but unlikely for Jason’s tastes. I was thrilled when he agreed. A chance to mythologize our trip far from the comforts of home and hearth, to feel heroic. We made it to the Gage, and among the wide brimmed cowboy hats and dark leather ambience, I felt so happy. The adventure I needed! My warrior had slain the dragon and in doing so, slain her fears.

The White Buffalo clientele are larger than life, very much an “edge between the familiar and the unknown,” like the Prancing Pony or the bar scene in Star Wars. I love it so much.

The day after, with the tent packed we used points to stay at a Fairfield Inn. We climbed Enchanted Rock and ate delicious German food the night after in Fredericksburg. No more major adventures for now. 

Despite the ambiguity of the ride’s fun factor, we both started plotting more mountain bike road trips right when we got back. The emotional highs and lows for me made the trip one of our best, along with the open landscape, and the mostly successful camping. You can’t really have an adventure if it’s all easy. And I’ll be ready for the next one.

---