Neeraj took myself and Randy to Enchanted Rock, via the exquisite Hamilton Pool. The pool looks like it should be hidden in a jungle on a small island off the coast of Thailand or Vietnam. The way there should be to flag down a passing boat. It would be a long boat, powered by a car engine, and steered using a handle on the engine. The engine should be pivotted to allow the long propellor shaft to arc either side of the back of the boat. Instead, we arrived by car.
The rock was purdy ‘n’ pink. Neeraj and I raced to the top. We had to stop twice, the climb deceptively steep and the false summits frustrating. This was no easy American experience for the lame, though it was short. superbestia had recommended taking a flashlight for the cave – the advice of the Superbeast was invaluable as ever. I took my fancypants mountaineering head torch. I’m glad I did. The cave, er, rocks. The group of three girls in front of us had no light. They were brave and foolish, but begged us for light on occasion. They did have the advantage of being petite though. Space was tight, contortion was necessary to gain access to the bowels of the fissures. Bowels that were thankfully devoid of poop. I could spend more time in that cave. Alone in the dark. A place to hide from the heat of Texan summer.