For those of you who thought that a space trip to Mars was out of your budget—I was one of you too. What I didn’t realize is that you don’t need a rocket ship to get you to a place that’s otherworldly. You just need to ride far enough west.
Welcome to Earth’s version of Mars. Somewhere out in the Big Bend region of West Texas.
The Big Bend BDR-X threads through places like Rio Grande Village, where the desert opens wide and the river quietly snakes through cottonwoods. From there, the route pulls you deeper into the Rio Grande river basin, where the terrain shifts to stay unpredictable under your tires.
Out here, the land fractures, stretches, and shifts in color like it’s still remembering its volcanic past. The terrain is a mix of jagged basalt, compressed sediment, and endless desert floor that glows in shades of red, rust, and dust depending on how the light hits it. We are in the largest desert in North America: the Chihuahuan Desert. And right through the middle of it all runs the Rio Grande, carving deep canyons through limestone and marking the winding border between the U.S. and Mexico.
We’ve chosen to tackle this BDR-X route a little differently than the previous ones. Instead of leaving on a multi day motorcycle trip, we’re doing full day loops and coming back to the Bus as a basecamp for the night. The idea behind this is to guarantee a good night’s sleep instead of playing Russian roulette with motels or even worse, tent camping somewhere in the desert.
Since our arrival, Fort Davis had already made one thing very clear: the wind out here doesn’t mess around. It surely would turn a simple tent setup into a full-blown wrestling match and promise a night of flapping fabric and very little sleep. We’ve done enough of those to know that the next day would be groggily unpleasant and caffeine-dependent by mile 20. So yes, this version of the BDR-X came with a little more comfort. Which didn’t mean easy.
Day 1: Fort Davis to Marfa
We started in Fort Davis, heading through Alpine and down toward Marfa, combining sections of the route but keeping things mostly paved as we eased into the ride.
The plan was simple: ride the route, but also meet up with Bill and Val along the way. We stopped at the Venga Cafe where we enjoyed easy conversation with them, quickly falling into a relaxed rhythm of laughter and shared stories. It felt effortless, like we were old friends, and the stop turned into a welcome pause in the middle of the ride.
One of the attractions I was most excited about was meeting Clay, the legendary “Mayor” of Lajitas. In this tiny West Texas town, the title of mayor has long belonged not to a person, but to a goat. It’s a tradition that dates back to the 1980s, when locals jokingly elected a beer-drinking goat named Clay Henry as mayor. Since then, each successor has carried on the Clay Henry name, becoming the town’s beloved mascot and one of its most famous attractions. It may sound ridiculous—and that’s exactly the charm. Meeting Clay has become a rite of passage for anyone passing through Lajitas, adding a dose of Texas-sized humor to an already unforgettable destination.
Somewhere in all of this, we saw the Rio Grande for the first time. I feel bad writing that it was… underwhelming. We expected a wide, powerful river. Instead, it looked more like a shallow creek you could almost step across. Now granted, we were in the middle of a drought, but still, my imagination and cinematic references had prepared me for a large, deep and violently strong current flow across this infamous border.
Still, the landscape along Highway 170 was striking. The canyon walls, open desert, and long empty stretches made everything feel bigger than it was.
We almost ran out of fuel after skipping a stop in Study Butte, assuming Presidio wasn’t far. Far enough, our gas tanks told us as the miles ticked on. Both of us finally rolled into the gas station on reserve with very little to spare.
At the pump, we met other riders we’d crossed paths with earlier, swapped a few stories, grabbed snacks, and watched a couple of kids put on a bicycle show in the parking lot. It’s funny how motorcycles have a way of bringing out the showman in young boys; trying to gain prestige in front of their older counterparts.
From there, the ride back toward Marfa felt long. Flat terrain, quiet roads, and a stretch where a closed road forced a quick detour and some guessing on reconnecting routes.
A stop at the Marfa Prada store added a surreal pause to the day. This is a minimalist desert art installation made to look like a luxury boutique, sitting alone beside the highway. The window displayed untouched shoes and handbags, sealed behind glass and slowly aging in the West Texas dust. We pulled over for a quick photo op, half amused and half impressed by the absurdity of this popular art display.
A highlight during our time in Texas was watching roadrunners cross the road in front of us every so often. Their sudden sprints ending with that awkward little hop made us laugh every time. A quick Google search about this observation failed produce any good explanations. I can only guess that it’s a victory hop after surviving a sprint in front of our motorcycles.
Day 2: Into the Remoteness of Southwest Texas
This morning we dropped into Section 4 and headed deeper into southwest Texas, where the landscape quickly shifts into something far more remote and unforgiving. It seems almost impossible to see so much cattle and wild horses make a home out of the seemingly unlivable landscape.
Road 170 runs through the basin of the Rio Grande, and for hours at a time it feels like there is nothing else in the world. The word desolate comes to mind as we ride on.
In several hours of riding, we saw only a handful of vehicles. Solitude became the dominant feature—beautiful, but also absolute. Out here, there’s no cell service, no amenities, and no margin for mistakes. Just the two of us, the bikes, and whatever the terrain decides to do next.
Just as we began to think no civilian vehicle could possibly make it through the rough, rocky terrain, a rancher’s truck appeared in the distance—calmly towing a small trailer with two calves inside. It felt bizarre to see something so ordinary moving through such harsh conditions. Later, an armored vehicle rolled past us, which somehow made the earlier sight feel even more absurd.
Then came “Godzilla Hill” a notorious section of the Big Bend BDR-X that can only be described as… so very steep. The terrain shifts between hard-packed dirt and embedded rock, with stretches of baby-head stones and erosion ruts that keep traction unpredictable, especially on the descent where the surface can turn slick and washed out in an instant. Braking wasn’t really an option; it was more about staying straight, reading the line ahead, and committing all the way through (while trying not yell too loudly in my helmet and have Chris go deaf).
Throughout the day, there were sections of silt that looked harmless, except for the fact that it could swallow the tires unpredictably. The bike would drop in it, its weight shifting without warning, and you would have to keep it moving or risk getting stuck.
Heat and fatigue started to stack up. Breaks were minimal, partly from a daylight management perspective and partly because there was no shade to speak of. Body aches and the heat caused emotions to escalate to the point of wondering when this particular road would end. Yes, the landscape was stunning in its own unique way, we thought, as we pushed ourselves without taking any breaks to speak of. But why was there no SHADE?!
After what felt like a lifetime, the smell of water along the Rio Grande hits us before we see it and the landscape changes instantly.
Migratory birds gathered along the banks, flying around and dotting the surrounding body of water in great numbers.
The dirt eventually gave way to washboard roads that seemed endless, until pavement finally appeared again like relief. From there, it was a straight shot toward Van Horn for food, fuel, and a highly anticipated and well deserved cold beverage.
Day 3: Terlingua, Texas
We drop back into Section 1 through Alpine, this time turning onto Terlingua Ranch Road to complete the sections we’d missed. The morning’s temperature is quite chilly in contrast with the extreme heat of the our last few days. We stop in Terlingua Ranch Lodge for some warm coffee and a late breakfast before starting our off-road day on Marathon road.
Confession time: I tend to over dramatize things. If you’ve been following along for a while, this comes as no surprise. I keep assuming that because I’m getting better at one specific type of terrain,every other one will follow.
Enter an abrupt beginning of deep, soft sand in the middle of nowhere, Terlingua. It didn’t start gently either, we turned the corner and immediately were greeted by an entire stretch of what I can safely name my biggest motorcycle nightmare.
“How would you describe the feeling of riding through deep sand?” You might ask.
You feel like your wheels have lost all traction. Your heart flutters in your chest as you feel completely ungrounded. The handlebars have a mind of their own as the front wheel starts to wobble in both directions. You can also see the “S-shaped” tracks of riders who’ve come before you and have also struggled through the section.
Panic sets in and all I want to do is slow down, which makes it worse. If I’m standing up on the pegs, I desperately want to sit, put both feet down and come to a complete stop. It’s unnerving when you remember that the key to stability in such treacherous terrain is to go faster so that your front wheel can get up over the sand and give you more of that elusive gliding feeling. Also, you don’t want to be death gripping your handlebars. A common analogy we’re taught is to imagine holding onto mushy bananas and you must arrive to your destination without squishing them.
It’s a frustrating battle between my nerves and the terrain, that obviously highlights only one winner in the situation: the SAND. After a few soft falls, I resign to paddling with both feet on the ground, rolling slowly across this section There are a few brief moments when I feel balanced enough to put one foot on the foot peg and get familiar with the feeling of sand under me. Any progress is welcomed, at this point.
What I know for sure is that the next time I get training, I definitely want to get proper practice on sandy terrain.
Once that ordeal is behind us we move onto pavement and visit a fossil bone exhibit—an unexpected reminder that this entire landscape was once underwater. The idea of ancient seas sitting beneath desert rock makes the imagination wander.
We continued toward Big Bend National Park, stopping at Rio Grande Village to refuel and regroup before taking on River Road.
River Road was remote, beautiful, and winding along the Rio Grande with wide views of canyon country. The mountains rose sharply to the north, and the scale of everything felt exaggerated in the best way. We passed the Mariscal Mine Ruins, remnants of an old mining operation slowly being reclaimed by the desert.
At one point, we noticed smoke rising from the brush near the river. Uncertainty crept in, our attention shifted, and in that brief moment of distraction, we both went down. Thankfully, they were minor crashes with quick recoveries and no significant damage, but it served as a reminder of how quickly things can change—and how important it is to stay focused out here.
The road eventually delivers us to Elena Canyon, where the Rio Grande has carved a breathtaking passage through towering limestone cliffs. Standing at its entrance feels like looking through a gateway into another world.
From Elena Canyon, we make our way back to Study Butte for fuel and a quick dinner. The gas station doesn’t have much to offer. Tonight’s menu consists of refrigerated sandwiches, candy bars, and Brisk Iced Tea.
By the time we head back toward The Bus, the desert sun has slipped below the horizon, leaving us with more than two hours of riding under the stars. With darkness comes a heightened awareness of the wildlife that calls Big Bend home. Deer and wild burros linger along the roadside, their eyes glowing brightly in our headlights long before their silhouettes come into view. Every corner demands extra caution, reminding us that, after sunset, the desert belongs as much to its wildlife as it does to those passing through.
Riding at night has a beauty all its own. A sense of calm settles over the desert as speeds naturally slow, the air cools, and your focus narrows to the ribbon of road illuminated by your headlight. On a clear night, you can even spot the North Star, a quiet reminder of how travelers once navigated these vast landscapes long before GPS.
After a long day, we both switch on music in our helmet communicators to carry us through the final miles. We roll back to The Bus around 11:30 p.m., wrapping up a 13-hour day in the saddle.
Another BDR in the books, after three long days on the bikes!
NOMADIC ADV 
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