Day 21: Tatum, NM to Brownfield, TX

I stopped to take pictures, send text messages and make a fuss about my accomplishment. I figured the few motorists who passed me might figure I was on a long distance trip and would give unspoken accolades to me. :)

There is just one corner store in Bronco, TX, located east on the border.

Plains, Texas is a charming and small west Texas town. If there had been any lodging in this place, the county seat of Yoakum County, I may have cycled the extra 30 miles in my excitement to enter Texas.

I liked this mural on the side of an old building. Oh and check out the prickly pear cacti!

Clouds continued to gather as I traveled east through the areas of Tokio and Gomez, and with the help of a slight descent, I sped in the 16-20 mph range for the final hour. The possibility of being rained on out there on the plains motivated me to move it! (It didn't rain.)

For the remainder of the day, I dined at a great chinese buffet restaurant across from the motel, surfed the Internet at the town library and engaged in some important phone calls at night.

I also snuck out to capture the sunset. Ahhhhhh ... west Texas sunsets! :)

Nerve-Racking Moment In Brownfield, Texas

Photo Above: West Main Street in Brownfield, Texas. (Photo taken on "Day 22" the next morning.)

I entered my motel room and began settling in by gathering my most important and valuable items, namely my wallet, camera and cell phone.

Wait! Where's my wallet? I could not find it. I searched the bike, my pockets, the counters and bed ... with no luck.

Obviously, to pay for this room, I had to have had my wallet, as I covered all of my larger expenses with one particular credit card.

I rushed outside. Maybe the motelkeeper still had it! He didn't. This scenario actually happened at the motel in Brawley, CA. I walked out with my motel key without receiving my credit card from the motelkeeper. A few minutes after entering my room, the owner knocked on the door and gave me my card with an apology.

A rush of fear and panic overcame me. If this wallet has been lost or stolen, you can say bye-bye to this trip! It may have been one of the most dreadful five minutes of the entire journey.

I finally found it! The wallet was laying on the sidewalk near the front entrance of the motel lobby. Somehow, after checking in, I dropped my wallet as I clumsily used the inside of my helmet to hold other items. It sat there for about five minutes and nobody picked it up.

Overjoyed and relieved, I told the motelkeeper I found the wallet outside. He smiled. "You don't have to worry about things being stolen in this town." he stated proudly. He recounted an experience where he left hundreds of dollars on the motel counter overnight, and an early morning guest, upon spotting it, called him immediately.

I really did handle the stolen bike incident in Phoenix (Day 8) quite well, but one residual consequence quickly crept into my psyche - the recurring uneasiness about the bicycle being stolen again.

What if someone breaks into my motel room and steals the bike? (Frequenlty, I locked the bike onto something inside the motel room for added deterence.) Would a housekeeper steal my bike? And be sure to lock and watch that bike vigilantly while inside convenience stores, no matter how safe the town feels! Thoughts like this were common.

I probably came off as unnecessarily paranoid and unreasonable sometimes. The next day, I put my bike in the back of Glenda's minivan, but fretted when I realized we would dine out for lunch with the minivan out of view in the parking lot. I asked them to at least cover up the bike with a blanket, which they did without hesitation.

Part of the core issue of my fear was this: What if my bike was stolen again? Now having a bike stolen early on and triumphantly obtaining a new one makes for an amazing story, but a second time? I think I would feel like a complete loser. Imagine the storyline if the adventure ended right here, with my wallet stolen in this west Texas town and me needing to immediately end the trip so I could return home and begin the financial restoration process.

Sure, perhaps it was an irrational fear, but it felt very real at times considering my recent experience. All I knew was I needed to keep moving. The risk of looking like a fool or being publicly embarrassed in my ensuing trip report over a second stolen bike was required. Who was that wise individual anyway, who stated doing great things often requires great risk? ;)