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| The offending sign. |
After awaking from my really nice nap, I ran down to Wendy's, got a salad for supper and read some more Ghost Country by Patrick Lee on my iPad. Returning to the hotel, I broke out the laptop, answered emails, and wrote an entry for this blog. Still not sleepy. Read more Ghost Country. Finally turned off the light and that's when I noticed it - Welcome to Kerrville. Specifically, a sign stating "Welcome to Kerrville" which was outside of my upgraded room that was brighter than any sign I've seen since the last time I was in Vegas. And the room designer, obviously a person who had never spent a single night in one of his/her own designed rooms, evidently thought there would be no need for a window curtain heavier than a sheer. The light from that sign was shining big and bright deep in the heart of Texas and right into my room. I can take naps in light, but I can't sleep well all the night through if there is much light. I guess my head thinks I'm just taking a nap so I wake up after an hour - every hour, all night. I finally pulled one of the 6 pillows the Hampton Inn thinks everyone sleeps with over my head and only woke up 4 times during the night when I rolled over and dislodged my "make-it-dark" pillow.
The next morning I got up bright eyed and bushy tailed and headed back north 16 miles beyond Fredericksburg to a little "blink and you'll miss it" spot on the road, Cherry Spring. Founded in 1852 by Dietrich Rode and William Kothe, two Germans who moved from Fredericksburg, the town was on the route from San Antonio to El Paso and thus enjoyed a good amount of prosperity as a commercial center. A post office was granted in 1858 and it had a population of 202 in 1860. Eventually though, hard times arrived and the post office closed in 1912. By 1933 the population stood at 40 and soon, only 9 residents remained with only one commercial building still standing. That building had been built in 1890 by a one-time Apache captive named Herman Lehmann. For years it served the neighboring ranchers as a saloon, post office, and dry goods store all rolled into one. In the early 1950's, it was converted into the Cherry Springs Dance Hall and an amazing thing happened.
Music and fame came to Cherry Spring. Anybody who was somebody in country music played the Cherry Springs Dance Hall. Touring acts from the Louisiana Hayride and the Grand Ole Opry played there. Patsy Cline, Hank Williams, Bob Wills, Buck Owens, George Jones, Johnny Cash, and Ernest Tubb played there. On October 9, 1955, The King himself, Elvis, played the Cherry Springs Dance Hall. The price of a ticket? A whole $1.50. Every weekend, people traveled from miles and miles away for a few hours of great music and dancing in little bitty Cherry Spring.
And then, gradually, things changed. The big names started playing concert halls and arenas and stadiums instead of dance halls, places where thousands rather than dozens paid good money to hear them. Cherry Springs Dance Hall lost out and music abandoned Cherry Spring. All was quiet once again when the hall closed in the 1980's. After almost 100 years of music and history, the old building became a hay barn and began to fall apart from neglect.
In the late 1990's, interest picked up and several investors bought the old place and renovated it. Once again the sound of music reverberated in Cherry Spring every Saturday night. This time the music was being provided by the up-and-coming pre-Nashville country artists and once again, people traveled from miles away to enjoy good music and some two-steppin'. The only rule was "no line dancing." The manager said, "Nobody can line dance and look good doing it."
In 2007, the place closed yet again and new investors were being sought. I heard the place is open now, but it didn't look like it to me. The whole town looked abandoned except for a couple of old homes with dirt and weed yards. No people were around to ask. I got out of my truck to take a few pictures and see if I could find anyone to talk to, but the only living thing I found was an old dog who half-heartedly barked a couple of times at me and took a couple of slow, easy steps toward me before deciding I wasn't worth the effort and laid back down. He weren't no trouble. I walked over and scratched him behind the ears a few times.
One interesting little tidbit, the town is named Cherry Spring, but the dance hall is named Cherry Springs. Why? Just because they thought it sounded better.
Cited by the State of Texas Music Office as "one of the most historic dance halls in the world," I hope it's actually open and going strong. I like to think that every Saturday night, out in the middle of nowhere, music is being made, dancing is going on, and people are happy. Whether it is or isn't, it somehow makes me content to think it is. So in my mind, that's the way it is.
(Please click here to read the first post in this series.)
Leaving the Dairy Queen Princess behind, I set my sights on Enchanted Rock State Natural Area. What better way to celebrate the 4-month anniversary of my return from death than to climb Enchanted Rock? Enchanted Rock is one huge pink granite rock (actually, it is part of a rough, segmented ridge which is in turn part of the surface expression of a large igneous batholith of middle Precambrian material intrusive into earlier metamorphic schists and gneiss - for those who care) which rises 385 feet above the ground. It's the largest single granite rock in the U.S., is the geologic center of Texas, and is visible for miles around.
Apache, Comanche and Tonkawa Indians all believed ghost fires flickered at the top and revered it as a holy portal to other worlds. They also believed the area is haunted by a native American princess who threw herself off the rock after witnessing the slaughter of her people by an enemy tribe. A conquistador captured by the Tonkawa Indians described how he escaped by losing himself in the rock area, giving rise to an Indian legend of a "pale man swallowed by a rock and reborn as one of their own." The Indians believed he wove enchantments on the area, but he explained that the rock wove the spells. "When I was swallowed by the rock, I joined the many spirits who enchant this place."
Rising almost 400 feet in 0.6 miles, the climb up wasn't a killer, but it wasn't the easiest hike I've ever been on. The kids going up didn't have to stop to rest like us older folks, but they didn't run up it either. The sun was out in force and the temp was over 90 degrees so that made it a bit more challenging. After several rest stops, I finally made it to the top. The view was wonderful and it felt great knowing I've recovered enough to make that climb. I'm sure it was just an interesting activity for most, but for me, it was an affirmation of life. I'd be lying though if I said I didn't have some concerns on my way up. I was by myself and had this fear of having another heart attack and just rolling all the way down that big sucker while all these people stopped climbing to watch and pointing their fingers at the poor fool rolling ass over tea kettle. Probably not very rational and I knew that , but the fear was there still.
After some time at the top enjoying the view, I carefully made my way back down. It was a lot easier. About 3/4 of the way down, I spotted a man who looked to be a visitor from India with 2 children sitting on an outcropping in some shade. The reason I noticed him was because he had looked around (but not behind him where I was) and then sneaky-like threw an empty juice carton behind the rock they were sitting on. I kept my eye on him and as I came alongside, they started to walk away. I had noticed the whole park had very little litter around and it made me proud of my fellow humans - until this litter-bug bozo. It upset me so I asked him if he was just going to leave that juice box he threw on the ground or take it out with him to a trash can. He looked startled, but then replied in a heavy accent "Yeah, yeah, I take it," but didn't make a move to retrieve it. So I just stood there looking at him. "I take it," he said again, but still made no move to pick it up. I raised my camera, took his picture and continued to stand there. He finally turned around and got the offending trash so I left. I looked back once a few feet on down the trail and he still had it in his hand so I assume he did indeed pack it out, but I can't be sure because I didn't look back again.
After making my way back to the truck and removing several cactus thorns I somehow had picked up on my ankle (like a good Boy Scout, I had tweezers in my overnight kit), I was hot, sweaty, and tired. I was ready for a shower and a nap. A few miles down the road past Fredericksburg and I pulled into Kerrville and checked into the Hampton Inn. Last year, I stayed at a Hilton a lot when I was traveling to my client's site for work so I'm some color or other on Hilton Honors and to my surprise, the desk lady asked me if I would like a free room upgrade. Free? Oh heck yeah, I'll take an upgrade for free! Well, the upgrade meant I got a couch in my room and it was a bit bigger than the room the non-hooty hoots get so it wasn't like I got the Presidential Suite or something, but hey, the price was right. The shower felt great, the shampoo was good, and the air conditioner made the room downright chilly. I heard the bed calling me. And for the next 55 minutes, I communed with it. Mark it on the calendar - on this day, a wonderful nap occurred.
(Please click here for the first entry in this series.)
