Bike Trash

  With a late start, we could expect no mercy from the sun. 93 million miles seems a stone’s throw away with the heat we are feeling from our astro furnace. No real use complaining. The thermostat is set on August and there’s nothing we can do about it. Beads of sweat begin forming on our brows as we go about getting the bikes ready to ride. Water? Check. Camera? Check. Patches? Check. Water? Check (important enough to check again). With the click of the helmet strap, we set this adventure into motion. Jokes about the heat aside, things could definitely be worse. We could *gasp* be stuck indoors… Not my idea of fun.

Ready to depart from the depot 

  The stroll through downtown Wolfe City goes quickly as it is a small town. It is big enough to support an eatery or two yet small enough to have neither hustle nor bustle. My kind of town. We enter the NorthEast Texas Trail (aka NETT) and head east. Not our first cruise along this former locomotive corridor. Several years ago we rode from Farmersville to Wolfe City and back (read here). A few months ago we hit a section around Avery (read here). Slowly but surely we are traversing the entire length of this 100+ mile east Texas treasure. Just outside of the city, we hit the first gems of this treasure. Soft round gravel cradles our tires. This is a momentum killer. Marde and I are forced to apply real effort. If you’re familiar with my other stories, you might have noted I’ve never written about a Cat 1 race. I’m not a real effort kinda cyclist… and yet, here we were, giving it full throttle to stay upright and having an absolute blast doing it. It isn’t long and the gravel hardens up and allows us to pedal at a more sustainable level of anguish. All the panting and wheezing cannot hide the smiles on our sweat drenched faces. THIS is our idea of fun.

This is our idea of fun

  A large reservoir shimmers to our right as we cross the first of several bridges. Unimproved since the rails we pulled, the bridge is topped with only ties. We choose to push the bikes across. The gaps between the ties are not wide enough to fall through but, one still must be careful as to were they place their foot with each step. The gaps are wide enough however, to see the flowing creek below. A good thirty feet below, it isn’t easily accessible and we forgo any temptation to play in the water.

Watch your step! 

  On a hard pack, we are settling into a nice pace. Marde and I do our best to keep pace with the younger legs of our son. Occasionally we close the distance when he dismounts his manual transport and disappears into the trees. His eyes are constantly in search of anything remotely related to the rail traffic of yesteryear. Just as we think we might catch up to my younger self, I notice a softness from my cockpit. The ground hasn’t turned back to the soft gravel of several miles back. I realize the culprit is a bit more sinister. Incarcerated air is making a jailbreak from the front. There isn’t anything this warden is willing to do about this insurrection until he finds shade. The slow escape keeps the rim off the ground just long enough to reach the next tree tunnel. Repairs to the prison wall begin. It isn’t long before the cell block is once again full of a wayward mix of nitrogen and other inert gases.

Making repairs

  Further down the trail, we realize we are not the only ones using the NETT today. We can see movement up ahead. It’s large and dark. As we get closer we notice there is more than one. These Texas land whales notice us. Although they match our numbers and outsize us by several tons, they choose not to hold their ground. As they scamper up the trail, we pull our pace back. No need for them hurting themselves trying to flee three lycra clad humans. It could be they were more repulsed than afraid, but I digress.

Catching the youngster

  Arriving in Ladonia, we are famished. It is no surprise as I am always hungry. Rolling through a quaint yet deserted downtown, we come across The Pig and Whistle Cafe. It seemed we have gotten here in the nick of time too, as we are the last customers of the day. The staff is welcoming to the three filthy transients that have sot refuge in their air conditioned establishment. Big burgers, Dr Pepper, and complimentary onion rings have us feeling bright eyed and bushy tailed. That’s a good thing since we still have ten miles to get back to Wolfe City but first, we need to explore some of the neat buildings in this sleepy town.

Today’s oasis

Downtown Ladonia

 The water in Ladonia is hot from the tap. We will need to locate some bottled water before we pedal back across the Tex-Sun landscape. A closed gas station is disappointing. As we begin to discuss our limited options, the owner comes out of the station. He sees our predicament and motions us next door to his liquor store that is actually open despite it not looking so. Amongst a plethora of spirits and brews, we locate the high quality H2O we are in need of. Bottom shelf and at the back, it is not his biggest seller. It is however, just the thing us summer cyclists need.

A wooden culvert is a golden find for history buffs

  Full and hydrated, we put Ladonia to our backsides. The trail is a familiar friend by now. Brock is a good thirty yards ahead of his slower parental units. Suddenly there is a crash from his left. Instinct kicks in and veers him right as a full grown bull enters the trail mere feet ahead of Brock. Brock is relieved to see the car size animal continue up the trail away from us. As it trots in the same direction we need to go, we proceed with caution. Brock is still breathing heavy as we pull up beside him. “Did you see that? he asks in excited disbelief.

Brock and his new friend 

  The rest of the ride will be gratefully less exciting. Brock will locate several fallen telegraph poles. Those, with the bridges, are the railroad laced history potion that keeps Brock from turning into a toad. Something he is prone to do when his mother and I force him to expend energy. 

Traversing a tree tunnel towards town

  We find our truck right where we left it. The bike are loaded in short order. My body is screaming like a spoiled child for a cold sugar filled soda. A Dollar General is only a two mile drive and has what I need to silence my inner child. 

 We were among the first to arrive at Oil Horse Brewery in downtown Longview. With the temperature hovering at just a tic under molten aluminum, you’d think we had come here to quench our thirst with one of their many in house concoctions. You’d think that… No, we had a different idea. More accurately, Carl and his gang at Woolley G’s (my local bike shop) had put in play their own result of a brainstorming session. A scavenger hunt from the saddle of a bicycle in and around downtown. The Alley Cat series was born.

Cats in the alley

  It wasn’t long before a spandex mob was loitering outside the pub. They didn’t run us off. Quite the opposite really. They were in cahoots with the bike shop. What brewery wouldn’t want a bunch of hot thirsty cyclists returning from a stroll through Lavaland with adventure stories to tell?

Signing their lives away...

  With some brief instructions out of the way, a blare from a megaphone set us loose. Riders sprinted across the street to grab a sheet of clues. Each clue would hopefully lead you to a location where you’d pick up a colored pipe cleaner as proof you’d solved the riddle. With a clue sheet in hand, we headed to the alley where our bikes awaited us. Marde had already figured out one of the clues. MOUNT YOUR STEEDS! This no prize competition was underway! 

Heed the words of Megaphone Man

  Marde’s intuition was right on, but she wasn’t the only one to solve the clue so quickly. Tom, Audrey, and friends were pulling away as we pulled up. A yellow balloon hovered above a basket full of yellow pipe cleaners. One clue solved, six to go. With no particular order required, we pedaled towards another easy clue. “I am a monster standing 11ft 4in…”. If you weren’t familiar with Longview this would throw you off. We however, all knew this local truck eating demon. The Green St bridge is no place for tall travelers.

First one down

  The riddles were getting tougher though. “UP UP you go to the highest point today, the NO BICYCLE signs you must not obey! There is no money here but there is probably a lot next door. We are using their facility, can you guess which floor?” We were certain it was a parking garage next to a bank. That made complete sense. The problem was, when we found a bank with a parking garage, the entrance and exit were blocked off. Not only were bicycles not allowed, no one was entering without getting the police involved. We’d have to come back to this clue. We were losing our early momentum. We needed another pipe cleaner!

  Although, they were not as easy to obtain as the first two, we garnered a couple more colored pipe cleaners. A few extra streets and alleyways more than necessary may have been explored in the process but, that’s just part of the fun. From here the brains of the group (Marde and Amanda) have to really buckle down. My brain is still locked on the bank’s parking garage. Logic is no longer welcome here. My mind WANTS it to a locked down garage. What’s a breaking and entering charge compared to completing the challenge? Sure, I might get to bunk with Tito overnight but, I’d have that pipe cleaner…

We aren’t doing bad if we're keeping up with this group

  Along with UP UP, two other locations were obscured by misdirecting manuscript. One wasn’t in Arizona while the other had chains of 4 minus 3. We climbed up up towards the courthouse. This turned out to be another wrong but fun part of the overall ride. Then we saw it. Marde and Amanda were the first to zero in just as Donald and I were steering them through a glaring red light. Hold that bunk for me Tito… “Over there!” “Turn left!” There was excitement building with possibility of another clue solved. I might have been familiar with this towns monster but, I hadn’t clue it had two banks with adjacent parking garages. Unlike the first garage, this one had no closed overhead door to get around. We granny geared up to the top floor to claim our victory! Sorry Tito, maybe next time.

UP UP and found it!

  Only two quandaries left to figure out. To everyone’s surprise but his, Donald solves one. The girls may be the brains on most occasions but, the Donald found Arizona. Now, there was just one to go. We think we know where the final pipe cleaner is. If our hunch is correct, it’s north of town, over a mile away. The heat of the day has taken it’s toll and there is dissension in the ranks. I was willing to spoon with Tito for a pipe cleaner, I will not stop now! The group agrees it was a good thing I avoided the the spooning, and humors me. The prize needs to be there. We are running out of steam.

Riding in small town America

  Away from downtown, we find heavier traffic. Weaving our way, we make it to Guthrie Park. There, under the shade of a tree we find the Guardians of the Pipe Cleaner. The final riddle has been solved! For our efforts we are also given a pair of sunglasses each. Nothing fancy but, ZZ Top would be proud.

All the symbols of success

Back to the alley we started from

  In what seems like one long uphill climb we make our way back to Oil Horse. Our wrists are wrapped in the colors of victory. No prize money. Not a trophy to be found. Just a group great people enjoying a little friendly competition. Back at the brewery we stretch our stories of adventure over our chosen frosty brews. It’s a root beer for me. As the captain of the tandem, I’m the designated driver. Eventually, we wind down and part ways. From a participants point of view, this first Alley Cat has been successful. I’m looking forward to whatever they have planned next.

  I remained single for a while. It was cool. I wasn’t complaining. It didn’t matter if the trail was easy or hard. How much I was willing to bleed was the driving question. If the road beckoned, I’d just go where the bike took me. No need to worry about hills or how desolate a route might be. Yeah, I was loving the single bike life.

  As it happens in life, things changed. That seems to be a constant part of living. Your routine rarely stays the same for an extended amount of time. And so, my singular direction deviated. Marde got the cycling bug and got herself a bike! Although we began happily riding as two separate individuals, we began toying with the idea of getting hitched. Could we make it work? We’d heard both horror and fairytale stories of people who had joined together in tandem matrimony. We struggled with the idea of pairing up for quite some time before running off to Houston and pulling the trigger. No big fanfare. Only Brock joined us at the House of Tandems. There Ric and Marcia pronounced Marde and I stoker and captain. It was exciting, committing to riding life as a duo. As time passed, we realized, not only could it work, we loved it! In fact, we loved it so much, we convinced our friends, Donald and Amanda to do the same. They too, found they loved the shared bike life.

John won’t be stopping us for speeding, that’s for sure 

  In fairytales, there’s always a happily ever after. Real life likes to throw in a toad on occasion however. Just before an upcoming ride in Mineola, our blissful riding took a sad turn. We needed to go our separate ways. Neither of us wanted to split up. Life wasn’t giving us an option. We were going single again.

Oddballs at a singles’ convention

 A large group had gathered in the Mineola Nature Preserve on a clear Saturday morning. A jovial group, mingling amongst each other, ready to get the party started. Marde and I stayed at the back. We both felt awkward amongst the single crowd again. At least we were together in that sense. We  shouldn’t feel out of place with all the other riders there. We looked like everyone else. Donald and Amanda were the actual oddball “couple” here. Yet, they seemed right at home. As the pack begins to roll out, I ease forward. The bike feels immediately strange. Marde passes on my left and begins to drift right. She looks like a sprinter in the final stretch blocking any that might challenge her victory. Of course that isn’t legal, but it happens. We make a wider than necessary left turn and get into a wobbly rhythm. “I’m not sure about this,” Marde exclaims. Truth was, I wasn’t too sure either. Neither of us could hold a straight line. This was going to be good for us though, or so I told myself.

Pretty sure it’s closed

 We were originally planning on the 26 mile route. A 17 mile option would be considered if we weren’t feeling it by that turnoff. When the turnoff came quicker than we anticipated, we decided to hold the course. With a few miles under our wheels, we were getting the hang of being on our own again. By the first rest stop, we were holding a pretty straight line. I was actually enjoying this re-found freedom. That begs the question, if I was digging my bachelor ride rebirth, was she getting into her bachelorette cruise? HOW COULD SHE?! After all we’ve been through… Nah, she misses her captain. I’m sure of it but, I’m not asking her to confirm it. Just in case.

A lovely “couple”

  The “couple” is enjoying themselves. Laughing and smiling together. I try not to be envious but, a little jealousy creeps in. I want my stoker back. Sure, this single bike life has it’s positive side. A bright one at that! Days of carefree uninhibited riding. Being paired means making compromises like not being alone. Learning to live with the elimination of pace differentials often found in individual riders. Putting up with conversations continuing in single file only situations. Of course, your point of view is the difference between something being a sacrifice and being an advantage.

  Eventually we are riding solo so well, you couldn’t tell we’d ever been in a shared bike commitment. We are enjoying the ride. And what’s not to enjoy? We’re still riding a bike. We are still living life and life is what you make of it. Life will undoubtably give you a hill to climb. This east Texas countryside is chock full of hills. Climbing them is hard but, it strengthens us to do so. Somewhat of a sadist, I enjoy these painful challenges. With enough effort we can crest hill after hill. The other side is the payoff. It may be short lived but, it’s good while it lasts. As we put the miles behind us, the hills fall behind us too. Even the stretch they call Roller Coaster Alley. The final downhill is long and fast. It’s a good thing it’s at the end of the ride as opposed to the beginning. Marde and I handle it well. Had we done such a hill in the first few miles, our unrequested singular ride would have ended early. Not to mention, in catastrophic fashion.

Riding single 

 Nothing wrecks an outdoor event like rain. While Marde and I considered signing up for the Avery VFD Fish Fry and Bicycle Ride, 100% chance of rain was something to think about. Having hosted a couple of 5K’s, I know what a chance of rain does for participation. This was a needed fund raiser for a small town fire department. We wouldn’t melt in the rain. There was even a chance the rain would hold off long enough to get the ride in. For this noble reason and not because there would be pie there, we signed up.  We arrived to the Avery VFD prepared for wet, dry, hot, or cold conditions. We were surprised to find Mother Nature cooperating. While storms were coming, they were several hours away. We had a window.

A bike for deuce leaned against a deuce and a half

 Avery is located in east Texas. A rail banked right of way runs through it. Once a busy railroad, it has been awhile since trains rumbled through town. After the rails were removed. the North East Texas Trail was established. The NETT is one of many rails to trails across the nation where the heaviest of transport machines have given way to the lightest, the bicycle. 

Gettin’ outta town

 Busy yappin’ to anyone who’ll listen to my jabber, I’m not ready to roll when the ride officially starts. As the pack pulls away, I’m hurriedly putting on my helmet while simultaneously throwing my leg over the bike. Like a race car leaving it’s pit box, Marde and I take off. Albeit, we are like a race car with major engine problems. We are not fast. With just a few turns of the crank, we are out of Avery and engulfed by the NETT. A strip of gravel and dirt slice through trees that have awakened from a short Texas winter. A multitude of flora are in bloom. The occasional mud hole is easily avoidable. The trail is in good condition for now. The incoming thunderstorm will change that but, that won’t be until later. Crosby Stills & Nash plays from Brock’s phone. The ride is starting off good. Too good…

Spring is in full swing

One of many bridges along the NETT

 With all the beauty that surrounds us, it’s all too easy to be distracted from the task of steering the bike. Marde is not hindered with this responsibility. She is reliant on me doing my job regardless of the cool things to see that surround us. Unfortunately for her, I am not immune to distractions. I didn’t fully miss the rut. That is to say, I didn’t miss seeing the rut a second before the front wheel entered it. Like an ex with issues, ruts can’t seem to let go. The bike shudders and quickly comes to a halt. The force has pulled the rear wheel loose from the dropout. That’s easy enough to fix. I open the quick release and reset the hub into the drop out. We’ll be on our way just as soon as I clamp it down… but, wait. What’s this? A loose spoke? Could it be? I can’t believe what I am seeing. It’s happened before but, we figured it was a fluke. To happen a second time a year later tells me it’s more than happenstance. It is a problem that will have to be addressed. It is a broken hub. We could worry about the how and why but, not now. The more immediate question was if we could continue. The wheel seems stable when I push and pull on it. Marde is weary but, decides to trust the results of my purely neanderthal scientific test. I just wanted to ride. Brock on the other hand would be happy to just turn back. Cycling is just something his oppressive parents force upon him (insert maniacal laugh). Much to his chagrin, his parents decide to push on.

That could be a problem

 We make to DeKalb, catching up to another group of riders. Here the route leaves the NETT and anything railroad related. The 14 year old train fanatic is also at the end of his ability to enjoy the ride. With eyes rolling in typical teenager fashion, Brock asks “Can we turn around?”. No, we cannot turn around. “You can go back” I offer “if you want to”. It’s a straight shot back on the safety of a restricted trail. I assumed he couldn’t get lost. His mom relied more on technology. She would track him on his phone. We watch as Brock reverses course before we head down an asphalt road.

Don’t take my picture!

Chillin’ in the back

 The ride was advertised as a gravel grinder and it isn’t long before the route steers us onto the first of many gravel roads. As the tires roll over the rocky surface, it emits a crackling sound. This is music to our ears. And fair enough. Gone with Brock, is his phone and Cosby Stills and Nash. Although not as smooth as asphalt, the gravel road is smoother than the NETT. This has much to do with the constant flattening by the tires of vehicular traffic. That said, we have yet to be passed by one single car since entering this network of gravel thoroughfares. I believe this to be a key reason so many cyclists have gotten into the gravel grinding craze. It works for Made and myself.

Grinding gravel

 A Baptist church hosts the midway rest stop. My stomach is overly excited to arrive at whatever they are serving. We are first greeted by an older Boxer who apparently loves food as much as I do. Super friendly, Rocky is eager for each new guest to have the pleasure of giving him a scratch. A dog that likes cyclists?! Yes, Rocky is my kind of dog! Aside from having a great mascot, this rest stop has food and lots of it. Bananas, oranges, cookies, and pig in a blankets are ready to be devoured. A lady rider and myself find we are equally addicted to the pigs. Orange juice and water are provided to wash it all down. I give Rocky a goodbye scratch, and Marde and I hit the road.

”Rocky” the rest stop mascot

 The tandem quickly outpaces the group that left with us. This is unusual but, with reason. Marde can see that her son has made it back to Avery. She is motivated to get back. Motivated or not, we are eventually caught by Sebastian. A young rider who was still at the rest stop with his family after we had left. Sometimes a rider needs a rabbit to catch. We were Sebastian’s rabbit. Having caught us, he cooled his jets and decided to ride with us. It’s good for the ego. Several miles later another rider catches us. He too, elects to relax his pace to ‘couple on a tandem’ speed. As a group, we share the remaining miles together.

Sebastian caught the rabbit

We made it back

 “Do you have my Helmet?” Marde asked as we were hastily grabbing miscellaneous gear out of my truck for today’s bike ride. “No” I responded “I thought you did”. So, there we were. Twenty miles from home, fifteen minutes from the start of an event we had already paid for, and only half of the required helmets. Some days just go this way. We could ask around. Cyclists are a generous group. Surely someone had an extra noggin cover. Just as we began to step away from the truck, Carl from Woolley G’s, walks by. “Hey guys” he hollers out “What’s up?”. Perfect timing. Perfect question. As it turned out, Carl in fact, did have his mountain bike helmet in his truck. Marde and I were in luck! Some days go this way.  With the Skull Cap Crisis averted, we could focus on other things. Topping the list was just how much gear to wear. The temperature was hovering in the mid 30’s. The rule of thumb prior to any ride, you want to be slightly cold. The inherent exercise associated with riding a bike, plus the general warming of the sun, are going to warm you up significantly as you ride. Choose wisely. Too much clothing and you’ll be sweating and cramming what ever you can shed wherever it’ll fit. Too little and you’ll never capture the heat you’re generating as you pedal and arrive at the finish with chattering teeth. We make our guesses and roll up to the starting line.

Little red Corvette

 We roll out with “our people” at the back of a fairly large group. Following a red Corvette, the faster riders are quickly out of sight. Marde and I get into a “we’ll get there when we get there” rhythm and begin covering the miles. We chose the thirty mile route for today. Enough we’d feel it, not so much that we’d feel it for two days.  The ebb and flow of passing other cyclists and getting passed sets in as it usually does in these type of rides. Unlike the red Corvette group, we aren’t going full throttle for the entire course. Instead, those of us back here push hard in limited efforts. Since these efforts aren’t coordinated with our surrounding riders, we tend to pass and be passed by the same riders over and over. A family of sloth pedalers is formed.

In the back amongst the get there when we get there people

    Just out of Harelton, we come to our first rest stop. If you’ve read any of my stories before, you’re probably familiar with my appreciation for stopping and eating. While eating, in and of itself is most enjoyable, calories are infinitely more savory when you are burning them like mad. Through the unholy sounds of multiple cookies meeting their predestined demise, I overhear another rider accepting her fate of a ride ended early by an under inflated tire. Thinking it’d be ok, she began the ride. By now she was realizing it just wasn’t going to make it the whole way. “I have a pump on my bike if you need it” I offered. How she understood me through a mouthful of crushed sugar and raisins is mystery to biological science. She looked up to see a knight in shining spandex crowned with grey hair and a cookie crumb hanging on the edge of his mouth.”Do you mind?” she asked. Sir Procrastinates-A-Lot does not mind. Marde patiently waits as I get a fellow rider’s tires up to par. Another cookie and I’m ready.

Cookie stop just ahead

 Climbing a hill, Marde makes me stop. She has seen a witch’s leg on the side of the road. Now it is me being patient. A sag vehicle stops behind us. “Everything OK? the driver asks. Marde holds up the leg “I found a leg!” she answers with childlike exuberance. We thank him for his concern and restart a long climb. Just past Harleton, our multiple layers are doing their job too well. With sub forty temps, we are sweating. We pull over by a cemetery to lose a layer or two. I recall at the start seeing several riders in shorts and short sleeves. As crazy as that seemed at the time, I knew that by now they were comfortable and not stopping in search places to stuff clothing. Everything in life has pros and cons I guess. We all just weigh them to suit our individual needs. I needed to be warm at the start!

Marde’s roadside treasure

 The road leads us down into some bottom land. Here, we enjoy a stretch of flat pavement. A concrete bridge provides a glass smooth surface for part of this section of the ride. Even though the roads have all been good, smooth concrete is silk to cyclist. Marde and I enjoy every roll of the wheels. Before we get totally lost in this dreamlike state, the bridge ends. Shortly after the roads picks up elevation. Apparently there is a Piper in search of payment. Ratcheting the lever, I push the chain to easier gears. We’ll pay the Piper but, we’re gonna nickel and dime him the whole time.  A fire station provides a nice spot for the second and final rest stop for the day. More cookies. More unholy sounds. Gatorade to wash it down. We see our damsel in low tire pressure distress here. Her tires are still holding up! We are glad her day is going this way.

A cookie station 

 Making the final push to the finish, we run into the leaders. We didn’t catch them as that sentence may suggest. They were catching us as the sixty-two mile route had just reunited with the thirty mile route we were on. Well, that’s a bit humbling ain’t it? Among them is our friend Bruce. He slows just long enough to say hi and again hits the afterburners. Must be that witch’s leg slowing us down, right Marde?

Caught by the fast group

 With the sun still asleep, we were unloading the tandems. Many might think it to be ridiculous to be awake this early. For us, that barely scratched the surface of our insanity. Today, Marde and I, were riding our second Hotter than Hell Hundred on our tandem. In a year’s time we have forgotten the sting of the saddle sores, the heat of an unrelenting sun, the never ending headwinds. All we could recall was the satisfaction of finishing a hundred miles on our bicycle. At least that’s how we sold it to Donald and Amanda. “Get a tandem” we said. “Ride a hundred miles” we said. “It’ll be fun” we said.  Donald and Amanda have a natural talent for the tandem. Whatever their weaknesses may be on single bikes, they are quickly overcome on a two seater. They ride faster and can go farther working together. In the few months they’ve shared the horsepower at the rear wheel, they’ve clocked in several high milage rides. Today, however, would be their first triple digit ride. That is, if they made Hell’s Gate in time.

Pre ride smiles

 We find ourselves packed in with many other tandems, along with recumbents. Among our ranks are even a few recumbent tandems. The organizers are well aware of the herky-jerky start hundreds of tandems and recumbents initiate. Starting us with the 10K+ single riders that will participate today is a recipe for disaster. Instead, the Cat 1&2 (pros and pro like) take off first, quietly and without fanfare. At an average pace of nearly 30mph, they are not worried about making Hell’s Gate on time. Marde and I will focus on a 12-15 mph pace. That will keep us on track to make the gate. Donald and Amanda should have no trouble pacing with us.

Marde’s view

Hell’s Gate is a timing strip laid out at mile 62. This imaginary gate closes at 12:30. If you are late, you will be turned to a shorter (75 mile) route. Donald is determined to make it. Everybody needs a good challenge every now and then.  At roughly 6:45, they release our rag tag renegade fleet of odd looking bicycles. The race for the gate is on! Thinking in race terms, makes the first miles hard. It’s not as tough physically as it is mentally. You have to pace yourself. Start too fast and you just won’t last. With the cool morning air and relatively flat road, it’s hard to not push yourself. This is, after all, the best you’ll feel all day.

EZ chair riding

 In the initial chaos, we lose Donald and Amanda. The nice thing about the tandem is that I won’t lose Marde. We wind our way through a sea of flashing red lights and catch up to our tandem friends. Before we realized we’ve made it very far, we arrived at the first rest stop. We were ten miles into the ride already. Donald and Amanda were as excited as they were at the start, they were ready to hit the road again. A quick photo with the Beatles, a banana, and we’re off just behind the first surge of a 10K+ armada of single bikes that had finally caught up to us. With the weeble-wobble bikes spread out, it was easier to keep up with Donald and Amanda. That is, until the hills began. North Texas doesn’t offer the worst hills ever cycled. Still, a tandem is a slog as it progresses up them. The slog turns into a rocket as the handlebars angle back down though. This super speed will be thwarted time and time again, as single riders will eclipse us as we make our way up each hill. Brakes will get much use as we avoid running over the (now) much slower pack of riders. Occasionally, we are able to get around, but the slope turns back skyward and the tandem slows to molasses. This yo-yo effect continues all the way to mile twenty and rest stop two. 

The Force was strong at the second rest stop

 Pickles and cookies are scarfed down. Our metabolisms have ratcheted to high boil. From this point on, everything consumed will be turned directly into energy. Still feeling great, we get back on the road. The gate waits for no one. The sun has been up for awhile now. Luckily, we can’t see it. An overcast is hiding it from us and subsequently keeping the temps not so Hell like. We are not complaining. Well, except for the headwind that has developed. I’m complaining about that. This isn’t my first HHH though. Headwinds come with the ride. I know that and I still come back. The ride is definitely worth it, yet for this moment I will bad mouth this wind.  A hard left takes us off a narrow two lane and back on Business 287. A shoulder and a recent repave has us clicking off the miles with little effort. The surrounding riders are now a mixed assortment. Mainly single riders, but still a fair number of recumbents and tandems remain. A plethora of color. I enjoy seeing the many different brands of bicycles and their approach to finding what works for the consumer. Marde is enjoying the latest train we’ve seen today. Donald and Amanda are simply enjoying the  ride on roads the’ve never seen before.

A stampede of singles

 We are coming into the sleepy town of Electra. Marde’s phone begins ringing. It’s our daughter Makaidi attempting to FaceTime us! Having just recently enlisting in the Navy, we are adjusting to a new life of not having her home. It’s a tough transition, but Marde and I are extremely proud of her choice to join the Navy. “What are y’all doing?” Makaidi asks. “Just riding” is Marde’s response as she pans the phone around allowing Makaidi to see the cyclists all around us. The conversation is all too short. Marde and I will take what we can get. The third rest stop is in Electra. There is an endless line of people doing the pee dance. Legs crossed while shifting side to side. Marde hears the music and joins in. I find myself making repeat trips back to the cookies as I kill time. I also top off our waters. With Donald and Amanda by our sides, we head out of Electra. A hard right sends us due north along with a tailwind. Oh, blessed free speed. If only for a few miles, we will savor this beautiful thing.

It’s a tandem life

 Heading east on Texas 240, we are in full push to make Hell’s Gate before the 12:30 deadline. The clouds are beginning to break up, revealing a bright blue sky. We are still twenty plus miles away and the clock is ticking. The wind is hitting us on our right side. I miss the push of a pure tailwind. With the increasing sunlight, I am appreciating the cooling breeze though. A pure tailwind has a stagnate feel because you are flowing with the wind and not feeling it actually move. Find the silver lining. The cool breeze is our silver lining.  Determined to take in the day’s full suffering, we push hard. We could easily pull back a little and miss the cut-off. It would mean twenty-five less miles. Our mental stress would be eliminated. It was, after all, completely self imposed. We could ride through the Sheppard Air Force Base. We have heard great things about riding through the base. If only we’d slow down and hurt less. Instead, we embrace the challenge a century presents. We want that one hundred miles!  We make it to Burkburnett knowing we are close on time. Still full of excitement, we keep the speed up, blowing by the final rest area prior to Pyro Pete. “You still have plenty of time!” a voice calls out over a PA system. We are taking no chances. Full of hot air, Pyro Pete towers over cyclists anxious to get their picture taken with him. We too, are anxious. We are also relieved. We made it to Hell’s Gate! Donald and Amanda will make their goal today, provided they can tough out another thirty-eight miles.

Hell’s Gate with Pyro Pete!

 After the gate, Marde and I relax a bit. At our more relaxed pace, we fall behind Donald and Amanda. Regret from skipping the last rest area creep in. This fat boy needs a break and takes one. Marde shares a protein bar with me. We don’t want to bonk now. A few miles later, we arrive at an official rest area. With the realization that we could have easily made it without our impromptu rest stop, we share a laugh. As we refuel, Donald and Amanda are prepared to leave. Pushing seventy miles and they are still smiling. Marde and I will spot them a head start while we grab a chair in the shade.  Partly cloudy skies and vast expanses are easier to take in with the current pace. Farm houses, windmills, and strange old trucks catch the eye. We can also take advantage of what a tandem really allows a couple to do. We can talk. We won’t solve world peace or figure out the mathematics of flying to Mars. We don’t need to. Just the simple conversations that keep a relationship working.  With just over twenty miles to the finish line, we are reunited with our fellow tandem travelers. With a catch in his back, Donald was taking an extended break. This allowed Marde and I to catch up at our meandering pace. A century is a hard goal to achieve. It gets especially hard in the last fifteen to twenty miles. From saddle sores to cramps, and even a catch in the back, a tired body finds the final miles hard to manage.

Ready for the final push

 Donald will need an impromptu break along with the official rest areas to make it to the city limits of Wichita Falls. The rest of us need it to get our butts off of saddles that have turned evil. As the city’s skyline comes into view however, our pains all seem to recede. Rolling through the downtown streets, numb hands regain feeling. Crossing the finish line, the excitement from the day’s start hits us again. We made the century! It was a long hot day full of fun, bicycles, and friends. This is my third Hotter than Hell Hundred in a row. Two years ago I rode it solo. Last year Marde joined me, making it all the better. Now, my friends Donald and Amanda came and conquered the hottest hundred miles in North America. I like the trend. Perhaps next year, you’ll cross the line with us!

 Clink, clink, clink, the sound of something caught in the wheel. Every rotation slaps the offending object against the bike’s frame. Had we been on a trail, I would have suspected a stick had gotten entangled in the spokes. We were however on asphalt. I never saw a stick. There was no stick to see. Marde and I had left the house a couple of hours ago to meet up with some friends and ride the Mineola Nature Preserve. With only a couple of the thirty plus miles left to go, Marde and I were staring at a broken rear hub. Free from their bondage, two spokes flailed about as if celebrating their moment of liberation. A roll of electrical tape would help me squash this fledgling rebellion. A Band-Aid fix at best. While I was able to tape loose spoke to tight spoke and end the flopping, I couldn’t actually fix the hub. Not even duct tape could have fixed this hub. Two other spokes were also loose due to the hub’s inability to hold them taught. Minus the support of four spokes on the rear wheel, we limped the rest of the way in.

Something is amiss(ing)

 We find the gang hanging out in the nature preserve’s parking lot. Our mechanical cost us a sure victory in this (non race) race. Among several familiar riders, are two newcomers. Mike and his daughter Hailey are veteran hikers. Multi-day hikes across rough terrain is a common occurrence for these two. Donald, Amanda, and myself had convinced Mike to switch stepping with pedaling for a change of pace. He agreed and convinced Hailey to join us as well. Limping on a busted wheel, Marde and I should forgo any further riding and wait for the group to get back and give us a lift home. That’s what we should do. Skipping a chance to ride however, isn’t something we can stomach.

Hailey is ready to get the show on the road

    The gaggle of weekend cyclists head up the paved path that will lead us to the preserves’ main corridor, a defunked railroads’ graded right-of-way. Once a busy thoroughfare of freight and commerce for Mineola, it now serves as a gateway for people wanting to see nature up close. It’s also a good place to assess how much riding a couple of first time riders can handle before introducing them to more punishing involved rides. Hailey wastes no time heading to the front of the pack. She and Briona, along with the two younger boys and the dog, leave us adults to find our own way.

Mike trying something new

 The crushed gravel crackles under our wheels. Under overcast skies, the adults of the group work on pacing back up to the energy filled breakaway. The jackrabbits stop at an old iron trestle bridge. Us turtles catch them here. Brock and Landon are already below the bridge looking for ways in which to get covered in dirt. These two young boys excel at finding their size in the latest Earth made apparel. A herder by nature, our dog “Momma” is having difficulty with the boys not being closer to the rest of us. Whining is her preferred choice of communication as she runs back and forth between us and the boys. She finally calms down when we call the boys back to their bikes. We have more trail to ride!

My stoker!

 Briona and Hailey again waste no time dropping the main group. Seeing them escaping the herd, Momma starts to launch herself to reel them back in. Her task is put on immediate hold as I grasp her collar. A family approaches with two dogs of their own. Their dogs appear nice enough, but I’ll take no chances with Momma not leashed. As they pass, it is obvious the pitbull would like to take us down with never ending licking. Their other dog is a mix I don’t recognize. It isn’t as happy to see us. It seems we make it nervous. As soon as they pass I release Momma. Like a bullet fired from a rifle, Momma shoots down the trail to catch the departed two from her flock.  

Come hike or bike, Hailey can do it

 The trail ends at the Sabine river. Here two iron bridge supports and a wooden bent are all that remain of the International and Great Northern railway’s river crossing. Built before the Titanic ever sailed, these metal pylons are held together with massive rivets, much like the ship. The bridge was removed long ago. Today the pylons only support the trees that have taken root on top of them. 

Dirt and a dog. Heaven for boys

 We spend a lot of time here at the end of the line. Recent rains have made this place a mud laced sanctuary for the boys. “Brock” I announce in a stern voice “DON’T get your shoes wet.” I know his shoes will be getting wet. He’s 13 and there is a river beside us. I was 13 once. I’m aware of the temptation. Still, I had to try and save his shoes from a watery grave.

Momma accepts any and all attention

 It doesn’t take long for the conversation to turn to hiking. Donald and Amanda have hiked with Mike before. The three of them share the adventure as they reminisce. Hailey joins in, talking about hikes she’s shared with her dad. Although it sounds quite pedestrian, I am intrigued. A bicycle may not be involved, but it’s still adventurous. Adventure in and of itself interests me. Maybe, just maybe, one day Mike will get me to swap pedaling for stepping.  Returning back towards our trip’s point of origin, Marde and I find ourselves ahead of Briona and Hailey. An unusual circumstance soon to be corrected.

Loose gravel wins this round

 With Hailey on our back wheel, I miss a shift up a short steep hill. A part of the main trail that leaves the berm to circumvent a missing bridge. My error stalls out the tandem. In domino fashion, our action transfers the same action to Hailey and she stalls as well. She has been introduced to hike-a-bike (if only for a few steps). Marde and I hang around to see how the others fair. Mike is up first. A soft patch of gravel grabs and twists his front wheel. It’s enough to rob his momentum and force the experienced hiker to push his bike up the hill. Landon comes next with his parents not far behind. Like the rest of us, Landon has chosen his gear poorly. A stop is inevitable. With his feet on the ground, Landon hesitates. On a fast approaching tandem, Donald swings to go left around Landon. Landon suddenly realizes he needs to clear the trail. 

Watching others suffer our same fate

Unfortunately for Donald and Amanda, Landon scoots left. Donald grabbes two handfuls of brakes, ending their bid to climb a seemingly undaunting hill thats has stopped everyone so far. Could they have made it? We may never know.

Brock would follow his mom anywhere

Unless his mom was slow. Then, he’d go with his sister

Team Geezers is swiftly climbing the hill back towards the parking lot. The Hailey/Briona alliance has been set up to be caught just before the finishing line. A sprint finish is in order. Seeing us close in, the girls launch with one final push for the line. Having already crested the hill, gravity is their ally. Our efforts are rewarded as Haley isn’t familiar with the bike’s gearing and slows. She and Briona swap bikes, but it’s too late. Marde and I fly by for the non win of the non race. Any day you are riding is a day you are winning, so the girls never lost. As we are loading the bikes, Mike mentions he and Hailey would love to do this again. That, my friends is a win.

 The hills between Jefferson and Karnack suggest the area is suitable for only the strongest riders. My truck’s transmission kicks down to find the better leverage as my truck pulls the family and I, along with bikes, up a hill. Before we reach the top, the tranny kicks down another gear. Over the top, the transmission shifts back to drive and the engine can relax. This is only momentarily as another hill awaits to be scaled.  Marde and I had started the year with a ride down Old Stagecoach Road. Many cyclists had joined us in breaking in 2017 right. Among them was Marshall’s Sam. As with most group rides, the conversation turned to discussing possible future rides. Sam described a now defunct ammunitions manufacturing plant known as Longhorn Ammunition. He said it was a cool place to ride. He said nothing about monstrous hills…

Our gang minus one  Photo: Amanda

 Hills do not scare me. On occasion they are a welcome challenge. The searing pain they put my legs through can be therapeutic in a sadistic kind of way. I can only speak for myself though. On the tandem, Marde just goes where I go. She could complain. Usually she doesn’t, but her definition of therapy isn’t a perfect match to mine. Briona and Brock won’t like this at all. Also Joining us will be Donald, Amanda, and their son Landon. They already suspect Marde and I are trying to kill them by bike. They’ll surely be convinced now. The last person completing today’s bike gang is Kelly. She is already waiting on us at Longhorn. Having been there before, she won’t be blaming me for today’s locale. The question now is, why didn’t she warn me of these hills?

Ready to get started

 The group gathers at the visitor’s center. Longhorn Army Ammunition Plant is now the Caddo Lake National Wildlife Refuge. The days of TNT and rockets are history. Now, a few concrete structures surrounded by forest are all that remain. That and the network of roads and railroad berms that once connected all the buildings on this complex that stretched out over 8500 acres. Most importantly, they are flat acres! The landscape leading us here was misleading. This place is as flat as middle aged Earth. I am relieved to have been so duped.

Checking out a bridge

and another

  We begin the ride with a 10 and 13 year old in mind. We’ll stick with the marked 6 mile auto route. It will loop us back to the visitor center and should be well within the kids tolerance. From there the 16 year old can take a hike with the boys while the rest of us explore the roads around Karnack.  Kelly assures us there are more than just the 6 miles of roads that make up the auto route. Their are enough that she got lost on her first excursion here. Perhaps we could get all the miles we wanted by simply staying within the reserve? No traffic, no dogs, and no hills. It is a tempting thought. The auto route gives us a good taste of the reserve. An old railroad bridge grabs our attention first. The kids waste no time dropping the bikes and giving the bridge a closer look. We gather together to ride bikes, but the sight seeing is really what it’s all about for us.

Getting the down low

 We finish out the auto route, stopping for other structures along the way. As predicted, the kids have reached their milage quota for the day. The boys are ready for some hiking. They are also ready for food. They are always ready for food. The reserve has picnic tables under a gazebo at the visitor’s center. Convenient since we brought a picnic.

Mystery pillars and the love bike

 A ranger for the reserve sparks a conversation with us. He is happy we chose the reserve as our days’ playground. He informs us there are over 63 miles of roads here open to cycling! The temptation to keep our ride within the reserve is now too much to resist. We will do our best to get Kelly lost here for a second time.  Back on our dual wheeled adventure finders, we set out to find what we can find. For the most part, the ranger said the reserve was ours. Other than the few places that were fenced and posted ‘Keep Out’, we could explore all we wanted on the bikes or on foot. We waste no time hitting a road that is off limits to cars. Not that auto traffic has been a problem. A right turn takes us from asphalt to gravel. Another turn and the gravel changes to dirt. We cross trackless railroad beds that are reserved for hiking and equestrian outings. We pass a warning for a possible unexploded ordinance. One of those ‘Keep Out’ areas the ranger spoke of. There are no rebels here. We keep out and stay on the road.

Kelly, an idiot, and Amanda  Photo: Amanda

 A narrow opening by a locked gate spits us out in a county road. We choose not to backtrack, but instead, elect to follow the county road around to what the GPS suggests should be another gate with a built in gap to let us back in. With Kelly tucked into the back wheel of our tandem, we do our best to keep the Browns’ tandem in sight. Two pit bulls also get the Browns in their sight. The chase begins, if only briefly. “GET YO @$#ES BACK HERE!” yells the dogs’ owners from a covered porch. The instinct to give chase is immediately halted by the words of the their alpha. A raised eye is all they give us stragglers as they walk back to their yard and we pass by. Another mile down the road, we find our re-entry point. Breaking orbit, we head back into the reserve.

Miles of road to roam

 We come to a sign pointing us towards Starr Ranch. GPS shows this same road will lead us to the edge of Caddo Lake. Debate is not necessary. A look at the lake is unanimous. Halfway in, the road turns into a reddish gravel. The 700c X 40 tires our tandem is sporting handle it without issue. It crosses my mind that it has been a while since our last flat. I dare not speak such a jinx out loud. Likewise, Kelly and the Browns are trouble free. At the lake’s edge, we find a house that has long since stopped being a home to anyone. Curious eyes peer through open windows. We try to imagine a time when a ranch was managed and a family was raised here. A white pick-up pulls up. Nigel is about to try his luck fishing from his kayak. He tells us how the screened in porch use to be a favorite camping spot for the local Boy Scouts. His elderly eyes light up as he reminisces of days long ago. It’s been over a decade since the scouts came here to camp. I can’t imagine why as this place is beautiful. I’d love to camp here.

Starr Ranch

 After our over-nighter to Daingerfield, Donald and Amanda were both whooped and stoked. It was their longest ride to date. Heavy bikes and a loaded trailer had taken their toll. Still, they wanted to pursue more bike over-night adventures. The following week Donald began asking questions about my tandem. He and Amanda could see the benefits of sharing the load. He asked me to keep an eye out for one. Perhaps later this year, he might buy a used one.

Tandemania

 Marde and I stopped by our local bike shop, Woolley G’s. Like most bicycle nerds, we find ourselves at our local bike shop on a regular basis. Sometimes we need parts. Sometimes we have questions. Other times we just drop by to say hi to a group of good people. Today was the latter. Inside I find fellow bike nerd, Dwight. Our conversation starts with Dwight asking “Are you interested in another tandem?” How did he know? He hadn’t even been a week since Donald showed interest in a tandem. We weren’t sure if he and Amanda would actually like the tandem life. There isn’t any middle ground here. A couple’s bond will be either strengthened or pummeled on the saddles of a tandem. Marde and I had planned to let them use ours on a ride or two before they committed money to the experiment. Yet, here stood Dwight awaiting my answer. “How much?” I asked, my brain silently pleading for something affordable. Dwight’s answer was an offer I couldn’t refuse. If it didn’t work out for Donald and Amanda, Marde and I would just add it to our stable. Who can’t use another bike?! “I’m never gonna use it as I had hoped” Dwight would later tell me “I’m excited someone is going to get some use from it”.

Getting some use

 Another week would pass before the new tandem owner’s relationship could be put to the two wheel test. As we unloaded at Hawkins’ city park, Donald and Amanda were all smiles. Excitement overrode any fear they were feeling. Marde and I let them lead us off towards Hawkins’ Lake. Keeping them in front of would allow us to pace them without dropping the new tandem riders. Immediately they easily pull away. I laugh it off as my legs just being cold. It seems to always take me a couple of miles to warm them up. I’d soon realize that excuse just wasn’t the case. Donald and Amanda were seamlessly adjusting to tandem riding! Sharing the weight of a road ready tandem was proving much easier than them individually pedaling their own mountain bikes down the back roads.

Children at play

 You’ve heard the phrase “keeping up with Joneses”. Today it was the Joneses having difficulty keeping up! Time after time, they waited on us at the top of a hill. Downhill, they were a little hesitant to let the bike unleash it’s speed potential. This would end up being the only advantage Marde and I had all day.  I had told Amanda before the ride that Marde and I would take the bike if it didn’t work out for her and Donald. She assured me that wouldn’t be necessary. Her and and Donald were going to make it work. “Maybe” I thought “It doesn’t work for everyone”.

Twice the seats, twice the fun

 Two weeks ago Donald and Amanda put in their longest ride to date. After thirty-seven miles of dirt roads, they were happily whooped. Prior to that ride, they’d had agreed to do a bike overnight ride with Marde and I. What they had failed to do was put limits on the trip. A failure they are not likely to make again.  Two and a half miles of light rain brings two soppy cyclists to my door. Water drips off the front of Donald’s helmet as he steps into my kitchen. While weather is always a factor in these things, we’d hoped for warm temperatures and blue skies. Forget that it’s the middle of January, this is Texas. It could happen. It did partially happen. It wasn’t cold. Mid forties would crawl upwards to mid fifties throughout the day. Not balmy by any means. These are very ridable temps if the rain would quit. Radar showed a 9am break. Only an hour later than our planned start time. It was going to work out. At least I hoped it would.

A rag tag renegade fleet

 As always, my legs squawked for the first two miles. They are never ready to just go from the start. If Marde’s legs were also squawking, she was tight lipped about it. Keeping pace, Donald and Amanda were all smiles. Full of naivety, they assumed we were only going about thirty-five miles. I never told them this erroneous milage. I just didn’t correct it either. In my defense, I rarely judge mileage correctly. I simply like to point the bike in a direction and go. To ride this route again, I’d remember it was closer to fifty miles. As for this cool wet Saturday morning, thirty-five was as good a number as any.  I broke the ride down in my head into four segments. My house to Gilmer, Gilmer to Union Hill, Union Hill to Pittsburg, and Pittsburg to Daingerfield. I knew these segments weren’t evenly spaced. They simply broke up an otherwise long segment of my house to Daingerfield into something my mind can handle easier. A series of smaller goals leading in succession to a larger goal. Donald listened to me explain this as if I knew what I was talking about. He knows better now…  The first segment is the shortest. We rolled into Gilmer on a squishy front tire. Squishy?! AAARRRGH! A flat on the tandem stops our circus train just as it was beginning to roll good. The side lot of a small town business provides a good spot to fix this momentum killer.

My luck on rides lately

 My spare tube is buried deep in a pannier, while my patches are easily accessible in my handlebar bag. I should go with the tube but, easy is too tempting. As I begin the repair process a young boy strolls up on his beach cruiser. Immediate questions begin. “What are y’all doing?””What kinda bike is that?””Can I ride it?” He is full of energy as well. Amanda has to divert his attention away from Donald’s bike. The trailer truly fascinates him and he is aching to ride it. Not that he could fit over the 21” Felt frame. A cheap blinky light from Amanda keeps him at bay while I finish the tire. Elijah asks to follow us for as far as his mother allows him down this city street. “Yes you can!” We are all about encouraging the next generation to ride.

Had an extra rider for two blocks

 We head up Cherokee Trace north out of Gilmer. We pass Lake Gilmer. Following oil top roads of various animal names, we continue towards Union Hill. Marde and I reach the top of a hill. Just as we stop to wait we hear a crash. We spin around to see Amanda backing her front wheel off the back of Donald’s trailer. Coming up the hill, Donald had run out of steam and stopped to regather himself. With her head down and completely focused on keeping her pedals turning, Amanda didn’t see him stop and plowed into him. “What was that?” asked Donald. She could not answer. Still face down, her head shook as she laughed at herself. Finally composed, she asked “Who stops in the middle of the road?” Donald does, Amanda, Donald does…

Making progress

 At Union Hill, Donald is happy only eight miles remain to Pittsburg. If my segments were even, this would be true. My segments however, are not even. Even I am unaware of how far remains to Pittsburg and (more importantly) Papa Nachos. Marde knows how far is left. She keeps it to herself. Being the bearer of bad news does not tempt her.  Two lane roads sans shoulders replace the oil tops we were riding. With the bigger road comes more traffic. It’s is still not much this far out from Pittsburg, however far that may be. A small church provides a nice place to rest weary legs. It can’t be much further... can it?

Break time

A substantial increase in traffic tells us we are closing in on the small town. Our growling bellies hope we get there soon. As we get close to the downtown area I sense the unmistakable feeling of a softening front tire. Not again… At least it’s the front. In the front lot of a closed business, I prepare to repair. This time I dig out the spare tube. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, er, um, it’s time to stop fooling around and fix this tire. Donald spots fallen pecans. As I replace my ailing tube, the group feasts like squirrels. Donald would tell me later, this flat was a much needed break. Um, you’re welcome?

Don’t stop believin’ Amanda

 The real feast comes in the form of Mexican food. For forty minutes we inflate our stomachs until there is nothing flat about them. Looking out the window, we notice a fog that had been with us since the start getting thicker and thicker. Luckily the final segment to Daingerfield had a shoulder.

It’s always a good time for Mexican food

 Pedaling east we head towards Daingerfield. The fog has reached zombie apocalypse levels. A highway with signage leaves no mystery to how far we still have to go. We have exceeded Donald and Amanda’s longest ride of two weeks ago. Still, they continue on without complaint. Donald jokes that his bike is now for sale.

Shoulder sweet shoulder

 Although we never spot a zombie, we cut our way through the fog to Cason. Cason is a town consisting of a pizza place and a post office. We pull into the pizza place just to realize it’s closed. The owner is there preparing for a large garage type sale. He offers us water and allows us to take a much needed break on his bench. Daingerfield is only five more miles away. Only five leg burning miles.

Zombie legs in zombie weather

 Thinking the shoulder didn’t carry through Daingerfield, we are pleasantly surprised to discover we are in error. With the fog as thick as ever and the sun awol, we’d rather be out of the driving lane of the main road. We make a bee line to the local Brookshire’s grocery store. Walking the aisles is a nice reprieve from miles in the saddle. We gather up the things we’ll need for campsite fajitas and a bundle of wood for a well deserved campfire.

Grocery stores are happy places

Campfire ready

 Marde and I take the tail gunner position as we continue towards the park. we set into a good pace when, THUMP! We lose the load of wood. Marde quickly hops off and recovers it. Unaware we had stopped, Donald and Amanda pull away. Marde secures the wood (better than I did originally) and gets back on the bike. Two pedal strokes and the bike comes to a halt. Something is stopping a wheel. The weight of the trailer, along with the hard gear I stopped in, work the back wheel out of it’s eyelets. The wheel then went sideways and against the bike frame. I remounted it and tighten the wheel skewer. Normally when you stop in the wrong gear, you can shift the gears, lift the back of the bike with one hand and pedal it with the other. This is not as practical on a fully loaded tandem pulling an overly loaded trailer. As I pushed the bike, Marde followed, hunched over and pedaling with her left hand. Quite the sight as she tried not falling on her head! It does the trick of getting us into a gear we could actually take off in. By now we are getting calls from our fellow travelers. They’ve realized we were not behind them anymore. We catch up at the park’s ranger station. It has long since closed for the day. A sign tells us just to pick out a campsite. Amanda had prepaid. We pitched tents in the dark. Amanda cooked dinner by flashlight. Donald started a fire. I search for ways to get in the way. Marde made hot cocoa.

Aunt Jemima fajitas

 “New year, new me” How many times have you heard that? It’s a good mantra I guess. I kinda like the old me. Speaking of old, December brought yet another birthday. Forty-six so far (counting the actual day I was born). That’s forty-six New Years. While I don’t care for a new me, I did want to start my forty-sixth orbit of the sun off right. Elite Bicycles of Tyler was riding old Stagecoach road out of Marshall on day one of 2017. That sounded like the right I was looking for. My wife was on board. Let’s do it!  Marde and I were able to sucker our friends, Donald and Amanda into joining us. Scatter morning showers didn’t deter us. This was after all a rain or shine event. It was expected to clear up anyway. Loaded in my truck, we made our way to Lowe’s parking lot in Marshall. It looked mostly empty. A concerning sign for a ride scheduled to take off in fifteen minutes. Did we miss a memo? Perhaps a cancellation was necessary? Maybe they just moved the start time back a bit? There’s a truck with a bike on back! Hey, I recognize that truck too. If there was a memo, Tim didn’t get it either. As we are unloading bikes, Sam pulls up. Our group is growing. One after another, bike carrying cars begin pulling in. We are soon 20+ strong. With all the non squares in attendance, we rolled out of the lot and headed east on Poplar. The first ride of the year had begun!

From L-R behind me: Donald, Amanda, Tim, Sam.

 The damp air rushed across my body as the tandem picked up speed. I am glad I didn’t carry through with taken off my long sleeve shirt back at the truck. I had certainly thought about it. Much descending didn’t allow for warming up. The fact that we’ll be climbing all this later does cross my mind. Tandems are supersonic down hill machines. Marde and I coast through the group. We are passing people I know are my superior fitness wise. Thankfully arrogance is kept at bay with the occasional elevation correction. As soon as the road levels out or, Heaven forbid turns uphill, the Jones pair is put back in our proper spot on the cycling pecking order. Tandems don’t climb well. Lynette, on her single speed, eases past Marde and I on the climbs before we ease back past her on the next drop in altitude. Back and forth we go as we continue on Poplar towards Stagecoach.  At the start of Stagecoach, the stretched out gang of cyclist regroups. From here we say goodbye to the pavement. Dirt will be our friend for the next several miles. As per usual, the tandem finds it’s rightful place at the back of the pack. Here Marde makes a new friend. A Great Dane mix is walking the road. On all fours, he is tall enough Dirk Nowitzki could pet him without stooping over. Even though we are already behind our group, we must stop and scratch his ears before continuing on. 

We couldn’t NOT pet him...

 The dirt surface of the road is fantastic. Deep cuts in the landscape put us between tall clay walls as we pedal away from Marshall. A misty fog hangs in the trees all around us. A fitting look for a road some claim to be haunted. The ghost of fitness past is the only thing scaring me though.

Creepy and cool

Tires deserve dirt

 Mile eight brings the fork in the road that will make this ride a lollipop. An out and back with a loop in it. Large logging machines sit idle as the Lumberjacks are off for the holiday. A couple in the group bid us farewell as they turn back down the lollipop’s stem and head back to Marshall. We take the left fork towards Karnack and speed down hill. Once again the tandem gets delusional and weaves in and out of some faster riders. Soon enough it loses it’s gravitational advantage and falls back.

Eight miles in

 Regardless of how far back we fall, this Tyler group occasionally stops and allows us to rejoin. Even when I assure them it’s OK to drop us, they stop and wait. “I like the rest!” one claims. Even then, they give us time to rest once we roll up. Leaving one stop, a rider takes a tumble. It’s akin to tripping as you stroll down an empty hallway. The road is flat and featureless. He laughs it off and remounts his beautiful Salsa. With weight back on it, the front tire flattens out on the ground. Ah, there was something there after all. Not fully flat, it was suffering from a slow leak. Once we knew he had all he needed to get it up and rolling again, we opted to push on. Far slower, we knew he’d catch up with the tar fast tandem in short order. 

A few spots were flat

The bad kind of flat

Tim on a break away

 As we near Karnack, we are reintroduced to pavement. With asphalt comes faster speeds. Even though we are faster, so is the Salsa. As predicted, he passes us without struggle. A left turn takes us to a Family Dollar. Most find calorie replenishment. A few take advantage of the reheat opportunity. One guy reminds us duct tape is versatile. A lack of bike bags does not deter him from continuing on with powdered donuts, Pringles, and a cold one for later. I see a bike tour in his future with that kind of ingenuity.

Dollar pit stop

A powdered form of genius 

 The group prepares on the return trip back to Marshall. Realizing they were planning on simply retracing their tracks, Marde suggests continuing the loop we’d already started. It would actually be shorter. The group elected to split. The ones aching for more aching chose to return the long way back. Those of us gripped in a sense of leisure chose to finish the loop. They had the advantage of aggressive speed. We had the shorter route. 

Worth every pedal stroke

 The logging equipment marks the end of the loop. The faster group will also come by here from the other way. Marde and I wonder if they’ve already beaten us here. Like them, we will be backtracking for here back to Lowe’s. This scenery is worth seeing again. Hills we climbed earlier are now relaxing. Earlier coasting time are now quad burning pedal fests. As we near the end of our dirt road bliss, the fast guys pass us. Well, that answers that question.

This hill was easier the first time

    Back on pavement it is now just myself, Marde, Donald, and Amanda. A couple of miles later, we are back at my truck. Sam meets us there. He had told us about the Longhorn Ammunition facility earlier that day. We discuss it again. Talking about a future adventure at the end of this one. New adventures are not exactly new resolutions for us. It’s what we already do. New year, old me. I like the sound of that. 

 We get up to another cool blue sky morning. It’s Thanksgiving Day. Since my family planned the get together for Saturday, it’s just another travel day for us two turkeys. Our last travel day. We’re calculating that we’ll arrive sometime between 4 and 5 that afternoon. Hopefully Marde’s knee plays nice.  Once again we find ourselves in Penny’s Diner. Under contract with Union Pacific, they are always open. Hearne is a railroad town and the trains are always running. 

Penny’s Diner

Hearne Depot

 Employing our zig zag strategy, we wind through Hearne’s sleepy neighborhoods and jump on the highway south of town. Marde’s knee doesn’t hurt at all. The weather is absolutely perfect. It’s going to be a great ride. Nothing can derail us!

A great start

 Spanning the Brazos River south of town is a narrow bridge. Two lanes, no shoulder, 70 MPH limit. We bide our time until traffic is completely clear and make a break. It’s a long bridge. We task sore legs with a Mark Cavendish style sprint. It looks nothing like a Cavendish sprint, but that is what were asking anyway. We clear the bridge and merge over to the reappearing shoulder. Only then do we realize several cars had caught up to us on the bridge. The lead car had paced us with his flashers on. Everyone else kept their distance. Nobody blew their horn or revved their engine in anger. That’s how I find most rides to be. 

Valley Junction

 An overpass takes us up and across the railroad at Valley Junction. A couple of miles later we find a road that parallels the highway for several miles. It’s a nice change. We can see 79, but the traffic noise is far less. There is no traffic here. At first there isn’t any sign this road is used at all. There aren’t any hills either!

Building speed

 We build up to a nice pace until I notice a wiggle from the bike. Our second flat of the trip. This time it’s the back wheel. I get the tube patched and reinstalled. 972 pumps later, I have the tire re-inflated. Only then to I notice the small split in the sidewall. Dang… Experience tells me I can’t ignore it. Like a hernia, the tube will eventually push through the hole in the sidewall. Inevitably it will pop. I release all the air I had just put in. A dollar bill makes a good inner liner. I pump up the tire again and get it remounted. Marde gets the bags all reset and we take off again. Our road comes to an end before GPS says it should. A gate halts all further access. A short gravel side road reconnects us to 79 and it’s traffic noise. One car passed us the entire time we were on the alternate road. If I didn’t like talking so much, the traffic wouldn’t be an issue at all. With the traffic however, our conversations consist of a lot of “What?” and “Huh?” questions.

Flattened

Sidewall repair

    Many miles of 79 bring us to a rest area. We can use a rest. More so, I want to check the tires. Rested arms should be able to squeeze a little more air into them. As I’m topping them off, a couple of motorcycles and an 50’s era Bel-Air pull in. Their dog has gotten a bit car sick on the upholstery. The curiosity questions begin again. When I tell him we left from between Gladewater and Gilmer, he asks “You’re not from Pritchett are you?”. In fact, that’s exactly where we are coming from. Pritchett is a small community triangulated between the towns of Gilmer, Big Sandy, and Gladewater. Once a whistle stop town for the railroad, it is simply a proud community now. Other than houses, a Community Center is all the proof that’s left that a town once stood here.The fact that this guy knew of it and some people that lived there was really cool.

Another train headed to Hearne

    Further up the road, Milano provides a gas station. I take the time to check the tires again and we grab more snacks. The tires seem good as does our bellies now. We’ll find real food later in Rockdale. At least that’s the plan.  Not far into Rockdale we suffer another flat. Some nearby bridges provide a good place to make repairs. Having already used our spare tube, I must patch not only the tube on the bike, but I’ll patch the spare as well. Patiently Marde and I follow the patching instructions to a tee. Marde puts one back in a box to protect it, while I put one back in the tire and air it back up. Just a few more pumps and…. PSSSSSSSSSS. It begins leaking again. Frustration begins to set in. We still have so far to go and are down to two patches. We swap out tubes only to find it has another hole in it. Two leaky tubes and two patches left. It’s better than no patches left. I remind myself to be thankful. Marde’s knee doesn’t hurt. It isn’t raining. We have a place to sit off the road and on and on. We repeat the process.

Leaking again

 Just as I’m airing up the tire, a man and his daughter walk up from their house and ask if we would like something to eat. They have a lot left. I decline as I don’t want to impose. He offers an air compressor. I can’t decline that. Up by the house he offers food again. It’s after 2 and we are starving. I thank him and accept. We are quickly invited in and sat at the table. Turkey and ham! Mashed potatoes! Green bean casserole! The best Big Red ever! As we ate, we told them of our journey. Frank Diaz was his name. HIs mom and dad as well as his aunt and uncle joined in the conversation. Just moments before I was a bit down in the dumps reminding myself to be thankful. Now Marde and I were being catered to by this wonderful family. Our spirits couldn’t be any higher. Full spirits, full bellies, and fully inflated tires, Frank had this duo ready to finish out our adventure. We say our goodbye’s and push on. I’m thankful for good people.

Frank and his family

Leaving Rockdale’s depot

Jurassic ride

 A Wal-Mart at the edge of town is a must stop. We restock our patches and pick up two new tubes. It’s a good thing we did. Not far out of town, the back tire spews it’s air out again. Our spirits are too high to be crushed this time. We swap out the bad tube with a new one and are back on the road in short order. Through Thorndale and Thrall, we reach Taylor and our turn off of 79 onto 95. The sun is falling quickly. I declare we can beat the sunset to Coupland. It’s a small town with one gas station. Drop the flag, this race is on!

The race is on

 Some rolling hills play in the sun’s favor in an attempt to spoil our chances of victory. With grit and determination with push hard as if Coupland is the final destination. With just enough light to declare a win, we reach the gas station and take over the picnic tables out front. Here we watch the sun’s final moments as we consume a Snickers and rest. With only 30 miles to go, we feel like we are practically there!

Victory!

 The headlight pierces the darkness and leads us into Elgin. We jump off the main highway and are greeted with downtown Christmas lights. We are also greeted with another flat. This time it’s the front. Under the lights from the Elgin Depot I swap out the bad tube for the other new one we bought in Rockdale. Aired up an ready, we make our final push towards Bastrop. A mere 15 miles away.

Elgin Christmas

Elgin Depot

    Back on 95 the traffic is heavier than it has been the entire trip. Two sheriff cars fly by us with lights and sirens. We are grateful to have a shoulder. We consider alternate routes but they will lead far out of the way. 95 is the straight shot and we are ready to get there. My family expected us two hours ago. Marde texts my brother to tell him we are running late. I tell Marde how I think my dad will react when he finds out we rode there on the tandem. I also tell her how my brother will react. Over a hill we see a stop signal about a mile ahead. My family lives a mile past that. We are down to the last two miles! As we pull into the driveway we kill the lights and push past my brother’s house to my dad’s. As luck would have it, he’s outside looking for something as we push the bike up. His reaction is exactly as I told Marde it would be. He follows us to my brother’s. Again I nailed the reaction.

We are late, but we made it!

 The thunderstorm past in the night to my blissful unawareness. A bombing raid would not have awoken me. After 83 miles of rolling east Texas hills, I was beyond exhausted. Marde on the other hand said every clap of lightning set off car alarms in the parking lot and that would wake her. Either she’s a lighter sleeper or she didn’t pedal as hard as I did yesterday… Best to suspect the former.

Day 2 is under way!

 The wet ground is the only evidence that it had rained over night. The clouds were vanquished to the east and blue skies ruled from horizon to horizon. The air is just cool enough for light jackets. Much the same way we came through Tyler, we hit residential streets through this part of Palestine. In a zig zag fashion, we parallel HWY 79, avoiding it’s shoulder-less section. Our strategy works to perfection as we get on 79 just as the shoulder begins again. Our first hill of the day also begins. Heads down, we attack it with semi fresh legs. I look like Stevie Wonder on a bike as my head glides side to side in rhythm with our cadence. Finding a rhythm is key to a long climb. We are rewarded for our efforts with another climb just like the first. Again, attack it. Our legs are just a smidgen less than fresh, but do their due diligence and we make the top again. This time the reward is a construction zone. Brand new asphalt stretched out before us. All it was missing was paint and traffic. The big hills have also subsided. Time to bump that average speed.

Riding makes her happy

 By the time we reach Oakwood, Marde’s knee is complaining again. I stay with the bike as she tucks into a Family Dollar. A couple of elderly men in a truck get my attention. The bike has caught their interest. “Where are ya headed?” “Where’d ya come from?” I enjoy answering their questions as I wait for Marde. Just after they drive off, Marde emerges with some sport tape and a knee wrap. She’ll try the wrap first. If neither fix her issue, she isn’t going to make the trip to Bastrop.

Welcome to Oakwood

Freeloader

 Miles of central Texas scenery brings us to Buffalo. In the wrap, Marde’s knee is holding up. Oddly, it’s the easy flat sections that hurt. As long as her knee is under stress, it feels fine. The hills around Palestine are far behind us. Here the hills aren’t major obstacles. I’m happy they are easier to handle. She is happy they make her knee cooperate.

Not sure we could go slower

 In Buffalo we search out food. We find it at Stagecoach Deli. A mom and pop type place. The one of a kind place we like.

Buffalo!

And a rhino

 Pushing southwest, we reach Jewitt, Staring at the ground we enter town. As I start to look up, I see a branch from a fallen tree coming at my face. In a split second, I lose all chilvary and duck to the left. “OOF!” Marde never saw it coming. Seeing stars, we have to stop and let her regather her bearings. Luckily, no blood is drawn. Not from her or from me by her… Stopping to look at a caboose, we are invited into the Chamber of Commerce. We enjoy a cold bottle of water over a conversation about our ride.

Jewitt caboose

 In my mind, Marquez is the halfway point from our house to Bastrop. It isn’t quite halfway on a map, but my mind says half. We grab some candy bars and sodas, then get back to pedaling. It’s still another 35 miles to our hotel in Hearne and the sun is racing us to the southwestern horizon.

Liquid sugar in Marquez

The race is on

 Darkness beats us to Franklin. We are still 13 miles from the day’s destination. We are exhausted, but in good spirits. A gas station is another excuse to stretch and eat something. Marde’s knee is still hurting so we are hoping a break will help.  We mentally prepare ourselves for the final push of the day. The break helps our spirits. It also helps Marde’s knee  The pain has left. We’ll gladly trade pain for being tired. A couple of miles out of Franklin the bike feels odd. I quickly deduce the front tire is going flat. I’d hoped we wouldn’t flat this entire trip, but I’m not surprised. I’m just glad I’m pulling the easier to pull front. Tucked up off the  road on a driveway, I get to work. Luckily it goes as it’s suppose to and we are back at it in 15 minutes.

A minor delay

    Hearne is a welcome sight. A bottom floor room allows us to easily push the bike into it. After 87 miles we give the bike a break. Leaving it in the room, we walk to Penny’s Diner. Ah, a cheeseburger and a Cherry Dr Pepper. A fantastic end to the day’s fantastic ride. Tomorrow we’ll be surprising my family.

 It’s 4:03 and I can’t sleep. Not only is that a verse in a song, it’s my reality this morning. No alarm has awoken me, yet I lie wide awake. I am anxious to get started on a three day bike tour with Marde to my brother and dad’s houses for Thanksgiving. While they know we’re coming Thursday, they are unaware at how we’ve chosen to get there.

Ready to get started

 Although we had packed the bike for the most part the night before, we are still rushing that morning to get out of the house. Seems there’s always “one more thing” we need before we get rolling. With limited space, we really can only take a few things. What goes and what stays is always a challenge. At 7:30 we are finally pedaling down the driveway. I’d hoped for 7, but 7:30 isn’t too bad. Daylight is the valued commodity here. It’s in limited supply this time of year and we need all of it we can get.

The first of many miles!

 As per the norm, my legs start off sluggish. Seems to always take a few miles for them to get with the program. Marde is sitting behind me cranking out the pedal strokes. Five miles on the trainer everyday has her legs ready from the start. I should probably take notes. A couple of miles on oil top roads and we pop out on the highway. I’ve daydreamed about doing this over the many times we’ve driven down to see my family in Bastrop. It’s surreal now that we are actually doing it. We ride this highway to Big Sandy so much, it seems like just another ride. That’ll change once we reach past our normal riding area.  There is a cool dampness in the air. The weatherman has warned of an impending storm system headed our way. With any luck will make it to Palestine before the storm does. A race between two slow moving masses. As we warm up, we are caught between the long sleeves being a tad too warm, but getting chills quickly without it. We stick with the tad too warm for now. There is road construction south of Big Sandy. A nice new car-less road is ours alone for one glorious mile.

Smooth and all ours

until it ended

 The bridge to cross the Sabine River isn’t close to being ready. We’ll have to hop over to the finished bridge. Two lanes, no shoulder, we can’t wait… We do wait until traffic is clear for as far as we can see however, and launch as only an overloaded tandem can, slowly. Sprinting isn’t something I recommend on a long tour, nor is it something we can accomplish. Our legs are at critical mass and on the verge of melting down when we reach the end of the bridge and a shoulder reappears. As if on cue, the first of several cars whiz by. Did we actually time it that good? I’m betting the driver of the lead car gave us some slack. There really is more good than bad out there.

Eat  Pedal  Repeat

 In Winona we find donuts a plenty. It’s our first rest stop of this tour. Properly spaced breaks are key to long rides. From here we’ll be riding roads we’ve never ridden before. The ride begins to take on a tour feeling. A feeling of the there and now. With every mile we pedal further from the daily grind and all it entails.  The city of Tyler has been a worry since we thought up this crazy adventure. High traffic levels and crazy streets were a concern. Weaving through neighborhoods, we were able to avoid the crowded areas and saw some cool houses. Tyler proved to be a non concern after all.

Our friend John, works for Tyler PD

Alternate route under a major thoroughfare 

Tyler’s Cotton Belt Depot

 South of Tyler had it’s own issue. The highway was curbed and sans shoulder. No shoulder means we must ride the outside lane of a busy road. The curb takes away our escape route should we need it. Again it proves to be a non issue as the traffic didn’t crowd us too much. After a few miles, a shoulder appears. Our worries fade away, except the pesky weather one. The clouds were going to unleash a thunderous fury at some point later. We had high hopes of making a motel in Palestine before that happened.

Another fuel stop in Noonday

 We make Lake Palestine with relative ease. I’d note that the lake isn’t even close to the city that shares it’s name. While we were previously certain we’d already climbed several hills, the real ones were just beginning. “It is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best, since you have to sweat up the hills and coast down them” - Ernest Hemingway. So many times we have driven this route. We knew there were hills, but we never realized just how big these rollers were until now. The largest (easiest) gear on the cassette became best friends with the chain. While the speed limit allowed for 65, we struggled to keep 6.5 as we ascended ever upward. That’s was the point really. To see this route from a completely different perspective. We were enjoying this perspective. Even if our legs were crying just a little.

Clouds and climbing awaited us as we crossed Lake Palestine

 Cranking the pedals hard, my left foot pops loose. At first I think my SPD has simply let go of the pedal. I try pushing the ball of my foot back down on the pedal to reconnect the shoe to the pedal. It doesn’t feel right. I look down to see the pedal is still connected to my shoe. It has come off the pedal shaft. We have to stop to inspect it further. A broken pedal isn’t a scenario we are prepared for. If I can’t fix it, my right leg is gonna be huge before we get to Bastrop! I pry the pedal loose from my SPD. It appears it just unscrewed from the pedal shaft. Could it be that easy? Spinning the pedal back on the shaft, it runs up. I snug it as best I can. “Is that it?” Marde asks. I answer “I hope so”. We push off hoping for the best. My left foot is hyper sensitive. The pedal feel loose. I look at it. It’s fine. Oh, it feels wobbly now. Again, a glance proves it is still good. It’ll be a while before I can fully relax. 

We reached Frankston and food

Frankston’s Depot

We arrived in Frankston not a moment too soon for stomachs that thought they’d been forgotten. Pedaling a heavy tandem that far over those hills burns a massive amount of calories. Like any vehicle on the road, we needed fuel to keep going. While a car may run out of gas, so will the human body. In what cyclists call “bonking”, the body will simply stop moving forward. Like a stubborn mule, the body will refuse any and all commands to move on. We needed to move on, so we needed to eat. It was after 2 now. We found fuel at the 7-B Restaurant. Here a gentleman finds interest in our journey. Questions from where we are coming from to where we are going. Our adventure fascinates him. He knows a good place to eat in Palestine. He speaks of some neat things to see along the Brazos Trail. He wishes us the best of luck and we hit the road once again. Darkness is coming, as is an impending storm. With twenty miles between us and the night’s shelter, we’ll need a touch of luck.

Back on the road

 The hills do not diminish. While our bellies are happy from being refilled, our legs could not recover with so short a stop. Marde’s left knee begins to complain. Strangely, it feels fine under duress, but hurts when relaxed. She now dreads the downhills! Crazy. To help with her situation, I try to push even when we are not climbing. Even so, night begins it’s takeover before we make our hotel. Three bright flashing taillights keep us visible to a plethora of drivers, while 700 lumens pierce the darkness in front of us. We reach the loop in Palestine and head counter clockwise around it. In the process we catch every red light. Every… single… one… The glowing hotel sign is a much welcome sight. 83 miles have zapped us. Marde needs to rest that knee. We beat the storm. Tomorrow we get to do it again! 

 ’Tis the season of Cross Country. All three of our kids represent the Bears. That means no early Saturday rides. Cooler morning temps make an early start not as critical. Good thing, ‘cause we’re gonna watch our kids do their thing. That window is extremely narrow. As much as we love all things cycling, it has it’s place on the priority list.  At 11am we pull out of the driveway in my truck. With the tandem on the rack, we are headed towards Pittsburg some twenty miles north. Our goal for the day is Winnsboro and roads we’ve never cycled before. From Pittsburg it’ll still be a 50 mile day. With the late start, 50 will be long enough. Who am I kidding? 50 is still a long ride for me!

Good for life!  Very few clouds dot a deep blue sky. We leave my truck to fend for itself in a Brookshire’s parking lot. Easing through the small downtown, we come to our first curiosity stop of the day. Several train cars lay on their side. A result of a derailment from over a month ago, these cars await their fate as scrap metal. Caution tape forms an impenetrable perimeter. We are kept at bay… Pushing west, we pedal out of town. A semi-narrow shoulder serves as a default bike lane. Although traffic isn’t exactly heavy, we are happy to have our ‘Extremely Slower Traffic’ lane. I can assure you, we’ll never touch the 65mph limit of Hwy 11.

Just set ‘em anywhere

    Several blissful miles brings us to an odd rock structure. Located in the right-of-way of an intersecting county road, this small building invites us to check it out. A doorway minus a door is the only opening. A storm shelter? Perhaps a pump house? Whatever it was, it still begged the question of whom it was for. We may never know the answer, but we are happy to look it over in wonder.

Mystery Manor

 A northern  turn up Texas 21 brings us to Lake Bob Sandlin. A month ago and I’d have been tempted to jump in for relief. Today I’m barely sweating. The few drivers we encounter are generally courteous. I find that to be true most places I have ridden.

Lake Bob Sandlin

 Sprinkle on some more miles and we find an out of the ordinary veterinary clinic. Large double fenced in areas separate Kangaroos, camels, and zebras. A Yorkie and a larger dog just behind the clinic garner my attention over the exotics. I can’t resist squeezing my hands through a tight wire fence to scratch them both. The “This is not a petting zoo” sign is disregarded.

Captain Kangaroos’ minions

I must pet them

   The road on a bike is an endless strip of sights, smells, and sounds. A yellow field of Black-eyed Susans. The fragrance of freshly cut grass. The bellow of a cow who thinks I have some idea of what it’s saying. “Nice bike” or “Eat more chicken” I’m sure although I’m not certain on which.  We turn left off of Texas 21 onto Texas 3007. Not aware of how one jumps from 21 to 3007 in numbering things, but I’m confident TXDOT has a reason. This will bring us across Lake Cypress Spring. The body of water is the same as Lake Bob Sandlin (and Lake Monticello), yet different sections have a different moniker. Again, I’m confident someone somewhere had a reason. It’s not that I really care. It simply sparks my curiosity.

Another lake, kinda...

 We blow by an overgrown railroad. A u-turn is promptly executed. Again my curiosity is stirred. While I’ll just wonder wildly, Marde goes into research mode. A key reason why she graduated fifth in her class and I didn’t… As I tiptoe through briars to see what I can, she is bringing up arial shots of the area along with it’s history. A refinery north of us once required the services of the Louisiana and Arkansas Railway. The L&A would eventually sell out to the Kansas City Southern. All of that is history. Once the refinery shut down, the rails were abandoned and left for nature’s never ceasing reclamation. 

Rails into history

 Winnsboro greeted us with classic cars, convenience store nourishment, and a shady place to sit. A Model A in particular received a lot of our attention. A plethora of small jokes adorned the old pick-up. From a’mother-in-law’ seat mounted on the bumper to rags tied around the tires resembling cartoon era patches, there was much effort put into getting a laugh from gawkers such as ourselves.

Fill ‘er up!

Two cool rides

 The train depot it was parked in front of had benches for us to sit. Here we dove into an interesting mix of tastes. I washed down an apple strudel with cucumber flavored Gatorade. Not the best combination I’ve ever chosen. Marde shared the drink while chomping on a Nestle’s Drumstick. Not surprisingly she allowed me to have most of the Gatorade.

A feast made for kings

Nothing says Texas like trains and pumper jacks 

 With the sun on a downhill slide, we could’t stay long in Winnsboro. This time we’d stick with Hwy 11 all the way back. A straighter shot would make the return much quicker. At least that was the theory. “There used to be a wye just south of here” Marde mentioned. “You want to check it out?” I asked. “We don’t have to” was her reply. While I didn’t graduate high in my class, I have grown wise over the years. I was steering this tandem towards a forgotten railway wye. Where the sun was in the sky played no factor here.  The wye was all but lost. The faintest of berms were all that was left. If you did’t know what you were looking for, you’d never see it. We saw it though. More curiosity stoked from the saddle. This side adventure has lured us off of 11 onto a paralleling Texas 515. I see that east of our location it junctions with 11. Convenient that we are headed east!

The race is on

 Riding east, the shoulder goes on a diet. Not the healthy fitness kind. The kind where much girth is lost in a short amount of time. From one county to the next, a two foot shoulder is cut in half. Further up the road it gets thinner still. Marde and I are left riding a tightrope or so it seems. Starved of it’s asphalt nutrition, the road narrows to a mere eight inch shoulder. Much too thin for a healthy road.  We are left to wonder what could lead a road to such self consciousness that it would lose so much of it’s width as to be this rail thin. Did it feel that society expected it to live up to an impractical standard? Could it believe, the thinner, the healthier? Perhaps Marde and I are simply foolish to think a little extra isn’t a bad thing? To each road it’s own I guess. Then the shoulder widens to a foot again. I suppose such a crash diet was too hard to maintain.  An old wooden church catches our attention. For Marde it is the age and history of the building she finds interesting. For myself, I am tickled that not one, but two liquor stores have been built right across the highway from it. Virtues and vices I suppose. No plaque outside gives away the actual age of the church. Made up of two class size rooms and a chapel, it is no frills and humble. Wood slat pews face a pulpit that stands on a short raised stage. A lack of air conditioning and the hard seats lead me to believe the sermons are short. That, or that is one tough congregation. We walk through an adjoining graveyard. While some are as recent as the ’80s, many headstones are over a hundred years old.

Another piece of history

    Back on the bike, we notice immediately something is amiss. A flat… Why is it always the back tire? The front is so much simpler to pull. Not all is negative. We have shade and it isn’t just blistering hot. Add to that there are some tall tables here making a perfect work bench! We have a spare tube, so I waste no time with patching the bad one. I can do that later at home. A split in the tire from a previous flat (from a previous ride) seems the culprit. That does get a patch on the inside of the tire. It won’t pinch another tube. Over five hundred miles before our first flat on this tandem. We’ve flatted the last three rides. I suppose our luck was bound to run out. By now it is getting late. The suns’ impact with the horizon is imminent. The clouds take on vivid pink and orange hues. We need to hurry if we are to beat the darkness. We have lights. We’d feel better if we didn’t need them on this road.

If you're gonna flat, flat where there’s tables

 We make it to Leesburg as the sun sinks out of view. With five miles still to go, I stop to turn on the secondary tail light (the primary flasher has  been on all day) and the headlight located on the front skewer. Marde was way ahead of me. She’d already turned on the secondary taillight back at the church. I’d like to play it off like I was only stopping to reach the headlight, but she catches me step towards the back of the bike. “I got it already” she points out. Yeah, yeah…

A pretty backdrop

 With the sun gone, the light it produces leaves as well. 700 lumens illuminate the way forward. We reach the outskirts of town. A signal turns red as we approach. We are slow enough that cycles back to green just as we prepare to brake. I like that kind of timing. A few turns has us back in the Brookshire’s parking lot. My truck is waiting to be loaded. All packed up, Marde informs me “I’m hungry!” We can definitely take care of that. Eating is my second favorite pastime.

 Friends are a good thing. Friends that live near an event you wish to attend are a bonus. Having friends that will join you in that event… Marde and I were at the pinnacle of this scenario. David and Ardenne have lived just outside of Wichita Falls since we’ve known them. A shared interest in all things Land Cruiser, we’d met years ago at an off-road event called the Lone Star Roundup. Recently their local friends, Gary and Gay introduced them to the recumbent life. Ardenne was hooked and was soon the owner of a green Performer recumbent trike. We had a riding partner for the 35th annual Hotter ’n Hell Hundred! Gary then went a step further. He offered one of his spare trikes to Ardenne’s daughter when she showed interest in joining her mom on this adventure. Recent pedal masher converts, Ardenne and Bailey had no delusions about riding one hundred miles in one of the hottest bike rides in the country in their first event. The Hotter ’n Hell Hundred generally lives up to it’s name. I found that out for myself when I rode it two year ago as a single rider. Instead, they were opting for the 25 mile version. We’d get to ride together for at least a few miles. 

Easy rider

 Marde and I got to meet Gary and Gay on the eve of the HHH. They had invited a large number of recumbent enthusiasts over for a carbohydrate coma (AKA spaghetti supper) at their house. David and Ardenne got the invite. Friends from east Texas were more than welcome to tag along. We were greeted like long time friends by Gary and Gay. After we were stuffed to our gills with great food, trike test drives were in order. It was odd pedaling from a reclined position. I’d never ridden a recumbent before. I wasn’t alone. Gary and Gay’s daughter, Dawna joined in on the fun for the first time. It was a very different experience for an upright rider like me. After a few fun goes on Gary’s trike, they sat me on one with electric assist. The experience just got even crazier. With the slightest crank rotation, the trike wanted to launch forward. Gears hardly seemed necessary with the extra push. The owner admitted he rarely changed gears. How cool would that be in the HHH? My bike didn’t have electric assist. It did however, have wife assist.

Raising the flag

 We woke up early on the morning of the HHH. David loaded the two trikes while I readied the tandem. “Just follow me” David said as we hopped in our trucks. David was volunteering at the finish line and was therefor allowed to weave up the roads already closed to traffic. We found ourselves unloading the bikes adjacent to the start line. Friends are a good thing.  Recumbents and tandems are staged ahead of the main pack of bikes at the start, just behind the cat 1 racers. Recumbents and tandems tend to weave on start up. Not a safe additive in the mix of 13K single riders. Thus, we push off earlier so we can be picked off one by one. Marde and I stage beside Ardenne and Bailey. As more and more are packed in the staging area, we are pushed up and away. So many tandems and recumbents, we could be a big event by ourselves. More and more arrive and are crammed in. Without fanfare, the cat 1 racers are released. 

Ready to go

The sun has barely cut through the darkness. We are given the five minute heads up. Before the national anthem, before the flyover, before the official start with the firing of the cannon, we are released. Aware of our weeble-wobble nature, we give each other room as hundreds of recumbents and tandems begin their individual (and dual) adventures. Marde and I start several rows ahead of Ardenne and Bailey. As the mass of machines and humanity surge forward, it would be unwise wait for them. A pile up would be inevitable as fresh energy was ramping up. We decide to keep moving with the flow. They won’t need us to find their way. The course is well marked.

Off to the races

 We caught up to Ric and Marcia from the House of Tandems. They had sold us our tandem. Tandems are their passion whether they are selling them, servicing them, or riding them. As we pedal and discuss all things tandem, the group we started with begins to spread out. Just as the organizers must have planned, gaps in the group form. We pass the turn for the 25 mile course. We won’t see Ardenne and Bailey until after the ride. Marde and I come to the first volunteer run rest area. It’s only been ten miles, but we stop anyway. We decided early to break up the hundred miles with the rest stops. Here calories and fluids can be taken in (or released). The people of Wichita Falls really get involved in this event. There is no shortage of volunteers offering water, iced towels, or food. As I’m stuffing my face, the first groups of the single riders begin speeding by. These (normal) bikes quickly outnumber us tandems and recumbents. We keep the stop quick. Our time is limited. We must reach Hell’s Gate before 12:30. It’s still 50 more miles away and it’s now 7:30. We should easily keep a 10 mph average barring a mechanical, heat exhaustion, cramps, a wreck… we’d better get going!

Caught by the masses

 Turning off old Iowa Park road, we enter the first two lane road of the day. We are also leaving the paralleling railroad. Marde isn’t excited that no train made an appearance during our first ten miles. Good thing she has a cool bike and open roads to make up for a train snub.  The first climb of the day exploits a tandems’ weakness. They aren’t quick climbers. Double digit speed plummets to singles. My best gear guess proves incorrect. A bound chain vocalizes it’s disapproval as I push it further up the cassette. It doesn’t like it, but it doesn’t snap either. Our legs however appreciate the gear change and grind us to the top of the hill. Count Gravity suddenly looses it’s taste for blood. Instead of trying to kill us, gravity is now our best friend. Two people on two wheels outweigh one person on two wheels. We are not in a vacuum. Newton’s law does not apply. A tandem is a bullet train on a descent. 8, 14, 21, our speed continues to rise as we repass all the singles. Then we begin the next climb. Our bullet train transforms into a bus with a low set governor. Our Autobot is now a Decepticon. This plays out for miles. Getting steadily passed even though the wife assist system is at full song. Then, while coasting, blowing by those that just passed us as our legs regrouped for the next slow incline burn. By the time we see the red and white circus tent of rest stop two, our legs are all too ready to take a break. Pickle juice has never tasted better. Before we can push on, Sub Zero freezes us in our tracks for a unique to HHH photo opportunity. I told you, the locals get into this event!

Some cool characters

 As we hit the road again, it is nice and flat. This calls for the big ring. CLANK! Chatter chatter chatter. Perhaps I was too exuberant in my shifting, but the chain went right past the big ring and was left dangling in no man’s land. Thoughts of the upper echelon of speed will have to wait. I ease the orange beast to the edge of the road and bring it to a halt. Marde doesn’t hesitate. Hopping out of her saddle, she oils her hand with the errant chain. Back on the ring, we are back on track. We build up to steady speed. A familiar jersey comes into view. It’s a local from back home! “Hi Kelly!” Kelly is a helpful hand at our Local bike shop Woolley G’s. She’s even crazier then Marde and myself. Kelly signed up for the Triple Threat. She raced a mountain bike yesterday and is running a trail run tomorrow along with today’s century. She’s a beast! Marde and I are pretty sure we’ll be hardly able to move tomorrow let alone run 13 miles.

That jersey looks familiar

 Coming on another DaVinci tandem like ours we strike up a conversation with it’s owners. Turns out they too went through the House of Tandems. Owning it for two months, they are veterans compared to us. We hit the split for the 50 miler and they split off. We refocused on Hell’s Gate.

It was a happening place

 Our next stop is in Electra. More water. More calories. More helpful volunteers happy to see the army of cyclists. It’s a happy place, but we can’t stay long. Come on Marde, only 70 miles to go! A sharp left  puts us into a direct headwind. This is all too familiar to me. It was the same two years ago. I’m not complaining. It beats a stagnant oppressive heat. I’ll enjoy the breeze. Too bad Marde can’t feel it. She’s stuck behind this dude who blocks all the air.  At the next rest area Marde met a group from BYU, the college she attended. She likes the chance to reminisce. Then we run into another local, Lynnette. She’s modest. She won’t tell you she’s lightning fast, but I will. The fact that we have run into her at the 40 mile mark means she’s taking it easy. Still, I’m feeling like Marde and I are going pretty fast to meet up with her. She waves goodbye as she goes to leave with her group. We’ll never catch her again.

We found Lynnette!

    A straight road stretches out before us for miles. It’s not ironing board flat, but the hills of earlier in the day are behind us. It’s a good thing. As we pass the halfway point, we aren’t as fresh as we were at the start. Clouds continue to give us a defense against the sun. They’ve been there for us all day. It definitely isn’t as hot as it was two years ago. The view is wide open. We can see for miles. A pre teen girl in a kit that matched her dad’s brought our focus back from the horizon. As we eased past them, Marde cheered her on. She may or may not be a lifelong cyclist, but her dad was giving her an experience she’d always remember.

Blessed with cloud cover

 Just outside of Burkburnett we are caught by a white tandem. We are in unison that we like riding them. A curious guy rides up on our left asking questions about them. He’s wondering if he too would like one with his wife. I sure can’t say it’s for everyone. I can say it’s for Marde and myself.  Burkburnett is a nostalgic town made up of buildings of an era gone by. We’d love to explore it if we had time. Maybe we can come back someday? Today however had a deadline. Hell’s Gate awaits.

Waiting on a train?

 Cruising down the I-44 access road we come to the sixth rest stop of the day. I wondered why they’d put one so close before Hell’s Gate. For the first time we broke with our pattern of taking a break at each available stop. We’d grab stuff at Pyro Pete. Pete is the guardian of Hell’s Gate and he’s just up the road. A lesson is quickly learned as we stood in Pete’s shadow. He decides if one hundred miles is still in your future or if you are going to be relegated to the cutoff. A cutoff that took you through Sheppard Air Force Base where you get to ride among the planes. Not a bad consolation prize. Pete ain’t a bad guy for a guardian of Hell’s Gate. That said, Pete wasn’t standing over water refills or volunteers with iced down towels. We learned that wasn’t his gig. We are regretting missing our first stop of the day. We are NOT going back. We had some reserves. We’d make it or so we hoped.

Pyro Pete

 The fatigue of the day is setting in. Blue is replacing the clouds as a majority of the sky. With the sun viewing more and more of the earth, the Hotter part of this ride is making more sense. SAG vehicles that were empty earlier now are occupied. We pass a guy laid out on the side of the road. His buddies surround him. He looks in excellent shape, yet there he is, beaten by the elements. Without a word, Marde and I take a swig of water in unison.  There is clearly a different tone with the riders at the seventh rest station. With the Hell’s Gate deadline at their backs, many are taking advantage of a multitude of chairs set up under a circus tent top. Marde and I too would like to find some temporary shade. It’s so packed under the tent we opt for shade cast by a semi trailer. As we sit eating and rehydrating, we see the guy from the side of the road being helped by two volunteers. His legs are cramping so much he can’t bend his legs. Again Marde and I take a drink in unison. 

Miles of asphalt

 As the heat builds so does the wind. In a landscape this flat wind is to be expected. It’s a curse and a blessing for weary riders. It cools while it resists. The less obstructed wind now has a better angle skin I forgot to cover in sunblock. It wasn’t a thought at a dark starting line. Cloud cover had made up for my slight of memory. Now I was baking. Large trees provide us much welcomed shade at the Neon Spoke rest area. The crowd and loud music make it feel more like a party than a rest area. It’s enticing to just hang out for a bit. More enticing is the finish line. We move on.

The Neon Spoke

 Over the next few miles I began thinking back to my last go at this. I’d lost motivation at mile 84. I remember just wanting it to be over. I remember being completely exhausted. Too stubborn to quit I pushed through it got my mojo back with ten miles to go. As we passed the 84th mile this time I realized my worry was unfounded. Remember, this year I was on my bike with the wife assist. Not only was I being helped physically, it was awesome having her to talk to. Having her to share this experience with. Yeah, I’m liking this tandem.

Wife assist is the best

 The tenth rest area has a large galvanized tub full of ice water. Great for dunking your head. Large enough to dunk your whole body in if you’re dumb er brave enough. I told myself, this year I’d be plenty dumb. As I approached the tub my courage faltered. Instead I settled for dunking my head in. It was COLD! The sunglasses I’d forgot were on my head didn’t stay there. This late realization had me fully submerging my arms searching for them. The water was so cold, my arms hurt as I felt around in vain. Help came from another rider brave enough to stand in it. Lightly he walked around until he felt them and I had them back no worse for the wear. I can’t fathom how the freezing water doesn’t hurt his feet. Marde and I begin to walk away when she asks “Are you sure you’re not jumping in?” It’s the equivalent of a triple dog dare. With a sigh I head back towards the tub. Socks and shoes come off. Electronics come out. Idiocy level pegs the meter. I step in and plunge belly first before my brain has time to put the brakes on. It is immediately a shock to the nervous system. As fast as I flopped under the water’s surface, I launch back up and step out. It feels so good and so bad at the same time. I’m not sure if I like it or not. Marde is glad she doesn’t share in this ego laden stupidity. With only 10 miles to go, she’s just ready to push on.

 With topped off bottles, we make our final push. Every little hill feels long and steep. Our legs complain, but they still comply. Thunderstorms are building off in the distance. An increase in humidity makes it hotter than it’s felt all day. An absolute miserable heat. A challenging heat. A heat Marde and I and all these other cyclists signed up for on purpose.  We blow by rest area 11. With only five miles to go, we are more interested in the finish line than resting. We can see the Wichita Falls skyline from the top of a hill. It looks all downhill from here! The tandem does it’s thing and builds up momentum without our input. As the road levels out, a bunch of young kids hold out water bottles on our right. We are not in need, but their enthusiasm is hard to decline. We stretch out our arms and a cold bottle finds our open hands.

Almost there...

 Reaching a railroad overpass, we are separated from all other traffic. It will be bikes only from here to the end. Not even the SAG vehicles venture past the overpass. We watch as bikes and people are unloaded and left to finish the rest on their own. Coming down the overpass we build ludicrous speed. A sweeping right approaches making Marde a tad nervous. She would appreciate it if I’d apply the brakes and informs me of her wishes. In a shorter more direct tone of course. Intelligence wins out and I grant her wish. Once through the turn we earn speed through the pedals. A sweeping left is less intimidating. Earned speed isn’t as intimidating as the free speed garnered from gravity. A couple of more twists through down town and the finish comes into view. We made it!

One hundred hot miles done

 As much as we are loving this tandem, we are glad to get off it. As much as we have loved this event, we are glad we are done. It’s been a hard ride. It’s been a great ride. It’s been exactly how it’s suppose to be. Time to go see our friends again before we head home. We want to hear how their first event went. I bet they do again next year. I bet David joins Ardenne and Bailey. I bet we come back. The third time after all is a charm.

 Somewhat hidden from prying eyes, Marde and I took turns changing clothes underneath the overpass. I’m not sure how superheroes go from street clothes to spandex in mere seconds. I’m lucky if my foot makes it through the leg hole on the first try. It’s a race to get that foot back down before all balance is lost. Before any outside eyes are burned from the skulls of errant passerby’s, we don our lycra. I’m not a pretty sight in my cycling apparel, but at least it won’t blind you. Just then, the anticipated rain begins to fall. It’s gonna be one muddy ride.  Old Stagecoach road was a storied path that led northeast out of Marshall, Texas towards Karnack. A rough path of dirt and rocks up to baseball size. It’s hard to imagine this was once a main thoroughfare connecting Marshall to some surrounding towns. For over a decade the Marshall-Shreveport Stagecoach Line operated along this route. In the late 1860’s the Texas and Pacific railroad came to Marshall ending any need for a stagecoach line. For over a century the stagecoach has been out of operation, but the road itself has retained the moniker. Over time other main roads have lessened the need for Old Stagecoach. A desolate and isolated area in which it traverses, it was only a matter of time before the fables and stories were generated. Stories such as La Lorna the “Weeping Woman”, a woman crying out for her children. The “Death Coach” a funeral coach in search of lost souls. Stories such as these have chilled people for generations. Others have claimed to have seen Bigfoot or blood-sucking chupacabras, vampires, and even zombies. Whatever the case, Old Stagecoach had a haunted history. With only the covering of thin stretchy cycling garment to protect us from the scary offering, we were riding Old Stagecoach. To add to the suspense, we were starting our ride at 7…..PM.  Dion was the first to arrive at the Lowe’s parking lot. This was our staging area. Marde and I pulled up and greeted Dion. None of us had ridden this before even though we’d all wanted to for a long time. Demons and Mr. Death were the least of our worries. We were more concerned with our abilities to hang with the rest of the group. We knew Bruce and Tom were fast. None of us had a clue of who else might make an appearance. Tom was the next to arrive. Bruce pulled up not long after with George. I had ridden with George when he was more my speed. New to cycling then, he’d had improved a lot and was a fairly fast rider. No problem, Bruce said a 12mph average was the goal. We could handle that, I think. Derrick and Audrey rolled in. Both regular podium residents in local races. David was an unknown. A friend of this group, I could only assume he was lightning quick. Our group rounded out with Eric. Head mechanic at Woolley G’s (my local bike shop) and an elite competitor. Marde and I accepted without a doubt, we were the inevitable Lanterne Rouge of this non race. If ghouls did exist on Old Stagecoach, we would be the easiest prey to nab.  The group turned up Poplar toward Karnack. Still in the city limits, the road is paved. A pitbull and his chihuahua buddy came running up beside and in between us. Their barks were not threatening. The were content to just run with the pack. Ankles were never in danger. Endos were a concern however. Dogs don’t get group riding etiquette. We pulled away from the canines before any unfortunate incident could occur. Suddenly a doe sprints across the road ahead of the group. From right to left a buck follows her at full speed. Scared by a demon? Or simply in route to a rendezvous?

A motley crew are we

    Building up speed on a downhill, the asphalt abruptly changed to hard packed dirt. Riding in the center of the single lane road, Marde and I get our first scare of the ride. A ghastly shallow wash has formed right where I put our front wheel. This is new territory for us on this new tandem. Stuck in this channel has taken away any wiggle room. I like the wiggle room. It helps me correct micro navigational errors without consequences. Finally, the front wheel finds a safe exit. We ease to the right and get in the automobile packed groove in the road.

The paved section

Heading to a haunting

 Cyclometer calls out a 15+mph average. I knew a 12mph average wasn’t gonna happen! No worries, we are hanging with the group. That is, until a Suburban in the road forces me to scrub off the free speed gravity had afforded us. It is only a small scrub, but it is ill timed. We have just started a climb. Tandems are not known for their climbing prowess. Downhill, they are bullet trains. Uphill they are snails and this Suburban is a package of salt. Quickly I slap at the shifter. Without momentum I need to downshift ASAP. Too little, too late. We lose touch with the group. As they pull away, we ease up our efforts. Whether we kill ourselves or not, we are not making up ground in a climb. That’ll have to wait until the next gravity assist. 

High walls and overhanging trees gave a tunnel effect

 The terrain refused to work in our favor. It didn’t matter as the group waited at a fork in the road. A long descent awaited down the left fork. The tandem’s advantage. Marde and I go first. In seconds we are slinging dirt from our fast spinning tires. Now it is us who are pulling away. We know it will be short lived. The road levels out and our two person, one bike breakaway gets reeled in. Over the next few rollers, this role reversal will take place until a long enough climb puts the group out of catchable range. With darkness setting in, I turn on the headlights. A strange old road becomes even stranger. Long shadows grow from every probable obstacle the road has to offer. Washes, potholes, rocks, and sandpits, there is no lack of dangers to negotiate. The rear wheel slides into soft sand. For several feet it can’t escape it’s entrapment. “KEEP PEDALING!” I call out. We hammer a bicycle that is at a slight left angle to the road. With the handlebars turned right we dirt track it until the rear wheel pops back onto harder packed dirt. The bike then whips back straight and we keep going. Our heart rates again have been elevated. 

An ever changing view

 A spooky creek crossing is the backdrop of a makeshift feed zone. Mini Moon Pies refuel the twin engines of the tandem. Various wrapped calories refuel the rest of the group. The downtime opens up conversations in the group. Marde and I learn that Derrick and Audrey’s eldest, like our eldest, plays the French Horn. That she also goes to school just down the road from our daughter’s school. Mosquitos home in on our group, encouraging us to get moving again.

A red dirt road sunset

  Off the back again, Marde and I are regaining on the group through a gravity boosting descent. I strain to pierce the darkness with my eyes. Strain as I might I see it too late. A deep rut perpendicular to the road. No time to swerve. No time to warn Marde. My arms tense up just the front wheel impacts the far side of the rut. CLANK! A loud sound comes from the front end. My handlebars are now several degrees below level. “What was that?!” Marde asks. “A huge rut” I answer “I couldn’t miss it”. We are finding the tandem to be very stable. We are still rolling as we are looking over what we can see. Other than shifted handlebars, the bike has suffered no damage and it stayed upright. Not far ahead everybody has stopped to regroup. Eric offers the allen tool I need to straighten my bars. While the bike remained ridable, it was odd feeling. Level again, it felt much better.

Warding off evil spirits with high lumen LED’s

 Well into the return route, Marde and I are mid pack trailing David, Bruce, and Eric. The are just beyond the reaches of my lights when their taillights disappear around a left bend. We find Eric picking his bike off the right side of the road as Bruce and David are circling back. Through the laughter, we hear about the armadillo that ran in front of the group. Eric wasn’t quite able to avoid it and went down. Not concerned with Eric’s welfare, the armadillo didn’t hang around to check on him. No worse for the wear, Eric is back on his bike and the group pushes on. 

The highlight of my life (and my new bike)

 As if riding around an enormous lollipop, we have completed the loop and are back on the stem. Both of my lights’ indicator lights are flashing. They are telling me they are weary and won’t last much longer. If my legs had indicator lights, they’d also be flashing. If the Death Coach appeared, Marde and I couldn’t outrun it.

The enormous (lopsided) lollypop

 Dirt turns to asphalt. We know we close to Lowe’s and our glorified bike haulers. Dion hangs with us and we piggyback off his brighter headlight. The haunts of Old Stagecoach apparently were scared of a motley crew of gravel grinders and took the night off of collecting souls. Our heart rates were elevated in other ways. The thrill of (literally) blinding speed, fear of the crash, and hard climbs kept our hearts pounding inside our chests. We finish the ride utterly exhausted. Tired and hungry we each load our bikes. One bike hauler at a time the group splits up and heads their separate ways. Marde and I plop down in our truck. It’s been a hard ride. It’s been a fun ride. We can’t wait to ride it again!

Audrey isn’t La Lorna, but she is scary fast