The Sanctuary
East of Austin, Texas consisted of bountiful rolling hills that were blanketed in lush and beautiful green grass. There had been no shortage of rainfall that winter. Although a bit more breezy than I would prefer, the first half of the Lone Star State was pleasant. I crossed the state line, and was welcomed by empty roads with wide shoulders; a cyclist’s dream! I began to do a bit less stealth camping, as I was afraid that I would accidentally stumble onto someone’s land and be greeted in the night by a double barrel that didn’t ask questions. Finding a designated campsite wasn’t too troublesome, as I was still within the limits of civilization.
On a particularly windy day, I began searching for a place to stay a bit earlier than usual. I wasn’t fatigued, I was just tired of riding my bike at a 45-degree slant to account for the incredible crosswind. I passed a welcome sign indicating I was in Sheperd, Texas, in the early afternoon. Pulling out my cell phone, I began looking for anything that resembled a campsite. I found a place called “Sheperd’s Sanctuary”, and was delighted that their website mentioned camping on the premises. However, there was not much information beyond that besides a phone number. The line rang twice and then went dead when I tried to call and inquire for more information. I decided that I would at least ride to the address to see if I could camp there without a reservation. I didn’t take up much space, after all.
Upon arrival, I was welcomed by a kind woman named Peach. She was alerted to my presence by her several big scary dogs that saw me as a threat. She silenced them and then approached to greet me. “Can I camp here?” I asked after a short friendly exchange. She seemed unimpressed that I had ridden my bike to her doorstep from South Florida.
“Sure can,” she responded. “And for 10 bucks more, I’ll let you stay in one of the cabins!”. I perked up at the offer. It had been a few weeks since I had an actual roof over my head.
“How much is it just to camp?” I asked.
“It’s not busy right now, I’ll let you camp here for free.” I couldn’t believe it. Before she even had a chance to explain to me what the cabins looked like, I had already fished out a $20 bill and held it outward towards her.
“Keep the change,” I said with a smile. She must have known I would try to leave a tip because she had revealed a $10 bill that had been hidden in her palm. Before I could rebuttal, she swapped the two bills and politely told me that the cost was $10, and not a cent more.
She started showing me around the property. With each corner we turned, my astonishment grew to a new level. There was a children’s playhouse, several welcoming fire rings, about half a dozen miniature log cabins that were each decorated with a different theme from around the world, a game room, a saloon/dining area, a few modern bathrooms, space to lounge and relax, and a full kitchen stalked to the ceiling with food. “Anything that’s in the fridge,” Peach started with a hand gesturing towards the very ordinary-looking appliance, “you can eat it.” That got my attention. She began showing me a few other spots around the Sanctuary, but frankly, I wasn’t listening. I was thinking about what food would be behind door number one. I needed to get back to that kitchen. The only thing I had eaten in the last few days was pop-tarts, chili, and canned ravioli.
Peach finished showing me around and asked if There was anything else she could do for me. “Where is everyone else?” I asked. The establishment could have easily hosted dozens of people.
“Most people aren’t crazy enough to ride their bike across the country in the wintertime.” She said as her eyes drifted down towards my feet, and scanned my appearance upward as if to confirm that I was in fact, the very type of crazy she was talking about. “It’s the slow season for us right now. Things pick back up again in April.” With that statement, she excused herself and retreated back into her home. As soon as she was out of sight, I darted for that refrigerator.
As I opened the door, I was floored to see that it had been fully stocked with leftover BBQ. They must have just had a cookout and had a few guests not show. There was so much food that I was able to eat my fill and it hardly looked as though I left a dent. After supper, I cleaned up and settled into my cabin. Upon waking the next morning, I wanted to thank my host again for her hospitality. Unfortunately, it was too early to knock on the door. Instead, I wrote a kind note and left behind two cans of ravioli. I remember sliding them slowly against the wood in the pantry, toward the back of the shelf. I thought to myself that no one in their right mind would ever choose this crap over whatever leftovers are in that fridge. Maybe, one day I’ll go back and still see those two cans sitting there in a layer of dust. By then, I would have something more appetizing to replace them with.
