I stayed up too late talking with my camp neighbors, who also insisted on feeding me (more). There were brief rain showers and some lightning in the distance, but nothing like the night before. They were up before me too, frying bacon. And, yeah, they shared that too.
I wasn’t far from San Antonio and the Alamo, but talking led to a later start. Since it was Saturday, traffic wasn’t anything bad. The Alamo was pretty well marked once I got downtown, so I just followed the signs.
Yeah, I said downtown. Right downtown, surrounded by hotels, Ripley’s attractions, and (not kidding) a mall.
Parking cost money, but entry to the Alamo is free. There are signs all over in the buildings, explaining the history of the site and the Mexican Civil War that the Texas independence was part of. Even how much of then-northern Mexico was swarmed with Americans who expected locals to accept they were American, and not completely subject to local law and custom.
That sounded disturbingly familiar.
For reasons I don’t understand there were a lot of English visiting. I was guessing a tour group, since they seemed to know each other, and they constantly asked guides about what the French were doing in the area. That had been interesting, but it was clear no one wanted to talk about it.
Then headed out of town. Like most western cities, it stretched on and on, but eventually I was clear.
I stopped for gas in Junction, planning to ride another 60 or 70 miles before finding camping. Looking at the map showed me there really wasn’t much past Junction, so instead I headed for the local state park. It was crowded, but some sites were left and it wasn’t loud. That was god enough for me.