The Backbone is a stretch of road in central Texas that has earned a name as one of the most haunted places in the state. After stopping at a bar called Riley's on the Backbone one night, the bartender recanted stories that his customers had told him on their trips. There were stories about ghost cowboys and the spirits of Native American medicine men trapped out on the Backbone, wandering forever.
I've had my own creepy experiences out there. I was once on my way to Wimberley, TX, for an interview. I was with my photographer, Goya Monroe. at the time along with my photographer on a early February afternoon when the sun seemed to disappear. It wasn't "night time" dark but it certainly felt dark for 3-4 o'clock. Fog was rolling in and I suddenly only had about 30 yards of visibility. We looked around and suddenly noticed all the dead trees, crows and vultures that are always prevalent in central Texas, but there were many now all over the place.
Goya was starting to get really scared. She urged me to hurry because she felt like any minute some Texas chainsaw murderer was about to jump out into the middle of the road and kill us both.
This time though, I was going with my dad. He's a seasoned motorcycle vet and the two of us, in our leathers and big loud motors, ought to be scarier than anything out there.
We rode out around 1:00pm from San Marcos on Ranch Road 12. Both of our bikes are cruisers. My dad was on his Honda Shadow 1100, while I was on the Suzuki 650 Savage.
When the buildings melted away, it was the forest itself that shadowed the road in thick arbors. There were tons of Texas live oaks whose trunks were thick and wound upwards in gnarled shapes that in the sun seemed more elegant and beautiful than before. As we neared the turn off to rr32, those were mostly replaced by massive thorny mesquite trees and patches of barrel cacti.
Deer stood along side the road giving us lazy looks before going back to their grazing. There wasn't a whole lot of other living animals, but there were certainly a lot of dead skunks, armadillos and opossum that just weren't fast enough to clear the road. Occasionally, I would be too slow to spot one and get too close for comfort. The smell of dead animal hit me, and when you can't use your hands to cover your nose, that smell gets a little strong.
Another kind of wildlife roamed the highway, the two-legged kind ridding steel horses. Bikers of every form were out to enjoy the Devil's Backbone. Some rode alone and others in packs of up to six. Every kind of bike cruised across the hills, from the big V-twins to the new Flying Spiders.
When average drivers are seldom aware of the subtle communications between bikers on the open road. We don't wave to each other, we point each other out in acknowledgment. It's more like a salute, a downward point with an open hand.
I've often wondered why it's like that. There's a great camaraderie between all bikers. I guess it has to do with the fact that we don't let danger get in the way of living lives. Maybe it's a sort of, "I'll see you in Hell." It would certainly be appropriate for the Devil's Backbone.
My dad and I weaved down the road away from city life and farther into the bush. Then we cut a tight corner and I looked over my shoulder to see the trees all disappear to reveal that we had ridden out onto a ridge and I could now look out and see for miles. There were hills about a mile away separated by a deep valley that looked like clawed fingers had been raked across the earth to form them.
Then I looked to my right and saw the same thing as my dad and I roared out onto the top of an elongated mountain. I wanted to look longer at the scene while riding, but the road twisted back and forth, left and right, up and down with the top of the ridge. I had to stay focused.
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