By Ian Pumphrey
Named after the 100-mile long twists of the Rio Grande river that form the Texas-Chihuahua-Coahuila border, Big Bend National Park is like a second, much-drier home to me. In fourth grade, I began traveling to the park with my father on a yearly basis. It’s been a tradition ever since, and the park has had a large impact on the ways I’ve grown in my appreciation of nature. The park’s highest point, Emory Peak, was the first mountain I ever climbed. Its night sky gave me my first glance at the beauty of our galaxy and the intricacies of constellations. Its spacious, airy desert was the first image that came to my young mind when I thought of nature. Truly, Big Bend National Park has been a haven for me, and each trip has only furthered my adoration of the area. Although, this year’s trip played out much differently than the rest. If the trips before this year were essential lessons in nature’s therapeutic qualities, this year’s trip was a lesson in what to do when a tire goes flat in the middle of a desert.
It all started when my father and I were driving past the road marker featuring the words “Old Ore Road,” passing off the message below this title saying ‘Four Wheel Drive Required” as a simple suggestion. We would be mistaken.
Instantly, we were greeted with proof of the signs legitimacy as our Toyota Tundra rocked vehemently through the rough, bumpy roads. Not even a mile in, we hit a rock just right. My dad had swiftly pulled the car to the side of the road, bluntly stating, “We’ve got a tire going down.”
As soon as I got out to survey the damage, it was clear. I could hear the tire deflate like a bouncy castle meeting its end. Our left front tire had blown out completely within 10 minutes. After twenty frustrating minutes of having trouble with the truck’s jack, I looked out behind us to see if any car was coming by. Luckily enough, I could see an offroading vehicle come closer and closer, driving around the Tundra and stopping a few meters ahead of us. A man got out and began helping my dad and I, finding where the jack was and looking at the completely deflated tire. Only five minutes later a Jeep drove by, this one in the opposite direction coming out of the backcountry campsites, and we had lucked out even more. The man in the Jeep said he had a brand new floor jack that allowed the truck to be lifted and the tire to be removed completely. The spare was put on the car, and what would follow was a long, tiring journey back into town for a new tire.
It had already taken two and a half hours to drive into the park, three hours to fix the tire and drive out of the park, and it would take another hour and a half to drive into Alpine, a town outside of Big Bend.
Just thirty minutes before they closed, we drove into Vance’s Tire Shop, the seediest and only tire shop I’ve ever been to. When told the left front tire couldn’t be replaced but instead the spare tire would be put on the old tire’s rim, my dad and I, for the first time out of all our trips over the years, questioned continuing our stay in Big Bend. The whole day had been spent driving in and out of the park, and all because of a tire, our plans of a backcountry campsite and a stress-free Saturday were foiled. Would this be the end of our trip?
Not at all.
In a matter of minutes, we decided to stay. Traveling out of suburban San Antonio into the spacious desert of Big Bend was never about convenience; it was about adventure. Every trip to Big Bend before this one had shown me the ways in which nature can quench one’s thirst for the wild and the thrills of Big Bend’s largely untouched land. Some tire problems and the increased risk of driving on it could not take this away.
After fixing up the tire, we had driven back towards the park, deciding to camp at Stillwell Ranch, an area of campsites right outside of the park. Exhausted from the chaotic day that we had, my dad and I went to bed early, planning to wake up early to make a day out of Sunday.
Sunday had redeemed the chaotic day before. We hiked Lost Mine Trail, a trek that ends in a beautiful view overlooking the rocky expanse of the park. The trip had concluded with a night of stargazing and yawning, and we had packed things up quickly in the morning after.
I plan to continue going to Big Bend National Park, not just to keep the tradition alive, but to continue strengthening my spirit of adventure. After this year’s trip, Big Bend is not just a reminder of nature’s grand scope and depth, it’s a reminder of how, in the face of it’s unforgiving landscape, nature will still always be worth exploring.