Pedernales to the Gulf
Pedernales State Park turned out to be exactly the kind of stop we hoped Texas Hill Country would deliver.
Limestone trails carved through the scrubby hills made for some surprisingly great mountain biking. The terrain had that classic Texas mix—chunky rock, dusty singletrack, and just enough punchy climbs to keep things interesting. When we weren’t riding trails, we found ourselves winding through the back roads on gravel bikes, rolling past ranch gates, cattle guards, and endless stretches of Hill Country sky.
Of course, no stop in this part of Texas would be complete without wine tasting. And we did what any reasonable travelers would do—we spent far too much money sampling wine and then somehow justified buying a couple $100 bottles of Malbec and Tempranillo.
One thing we learned:
I’m not entirely convinced Cabernet Sauvignon should have front notes of chili and jalapeño.
But wine, like travel, is as much about the company as the flavor.
That night we shared two bottles of Texas’ finest with our camping neighbors, B.O.B. and Laura, who split their time between Columbus, Georgia and Missoula, Montana. The conversation rolled easily—God, family, expectations, disappointments, and the mysterious wisdom of “smoking your medicine.”
They were exactly the kind of people I had hoped we’d meet along the way.
Another evening took us to Jester King Brewery, which might be the most Texas place imaginable: live music drifting across the hilltop, goats wandering around the property, cider and barrel-aged stout flowing, and a crowd of friendly sojourners swapping stories. We struck up a conversation with Mat from Florida, which turned into a long discussion about life, faith, and the strange reality of suffering in it all.
Some of the best moments in Pedernales, though, were the quiet ones.
Time by the river listening to the wind.
Reading in the shade.
An afternoon in the hammock.
Pulling out the paints and letting the landscape slow me down.
It was a good stop.
Leaving Texas, we started working our way east toward Louisiana, stopping overnight at a Harvest Host farm that greeted us with absolute chaos—in the best possible way.
We pulled in during a torrential downpour and were immediately welcomed by a small farm menagerie:
goats, emus, New Guinea hens, horses, pigs sniffing our feet… and an alligator lurking nearby.
It was quirky and wonderful and exactly why we love traveling this way.
Our next destination was Chicot State Park, tucked between Lafayette and Alexandria, Louisiana. We came in search of dirt trails and found something entirely different from Texas: swampy forests filled with towering cypress trees, slick roots, and red mud that clung stubbornly to everything.
One solid day of riding those trails was plenty.
After that we supplemented with trailer workouts and a little exploration of the surrounding towns. They weren’t particularly memorable, but it was still nice to see a slice of Louisiana beyond the usual New Orleans experience.
Continuing east, we dipped our toes in the Gulf of Mexico near Ocean Springs, Mississippi.
We squeezed in a ride before heading to a local foodie spot that served up some genuinely good eats. Good thing we rode first, because shortly afterward the weather turned cold and rainy.
That meant a workday for Balin.
For me it meant laundry, washing the dog, and reorganizing life in a 19-foot trailer.
When the skies cleared we pushed on to Fairhope, Alabama, which might be the most quintessential Americana town we’ve seen yet.
What makes it so charming? Flowers. Everywhere.
They’re planted on every street corner and hanging from baskets on nearly every lamppost. The whole town feels like a real-life version of Disneyland—except with better food and fewer crowds.
We had one of the best meals of the trip at Little Bird, and I even made my first clothing purchase in over a year at a small boutique: an adorable Southern-style dress that will be perfect for my friend Kristin’s wedding in May.
And now?
We’re pointed north.
The bikes are loaded, the trailer is hitched, and we’re heading into Alabama in search of more dirt to ride.
Because if this trip keeps teaching us anything, it’s this:
The best parts of the journey are rarely the places you plan for.
They’re the conversations around a shared bottle of wine, the goats wandering through a brewery yard, the unexpected storms, the quiet riverside afternoons, and the strangers who somehow feel like friends within minutes.
And we can’t wait to see who we meet next.
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