Hoping for a Tail Wind

I’m a fucking cowboy and it only took two weeks of two wheels through Texas. There is just so much cattle farming. It’s beefy. Multiple times today, we are rolling with the herd. Sometimes close, sometimes a little farther away, but these future quarter pounders with cheese are down with us. It goes like this: bunches of cattle are chilling along our route; we cruise up; they look up, concerned; a little veal-sized one starts to run; the others all follow. They are moving!! Next thing I know, there’s a cattle run that Jack Palance and Billy Crystal would be proud of. It was definitely the best part of a very long and hard day in the saddle, Curly!

Put one point twenty one jiggawatts into your jetpack and go back to a state park picnic table where I’m thinking about how there’s nothing I love more in life than a bike touring campground morning coffee. Damon calls it “so clutch right now”. I took a shit before the coffee; he takes one sip and runs off to the restrooms at Buescher State Park in Texas. Rookie mistake. I get some quiet bike touring campground morning coffee time. A solid layer of clouds blocks out the blue sky, though it’s warm and was the easiest climb out of my tent yet. The humidity hangs thick like thicc. The force is telling me this could be some hipster magic spell I fell under in the last town back. My weather app is telling me there’s thunderstorms possible in a couple of days.

The ride yesterday and into today takes us from city to suburb to rural town to state park to farm. Texas farmhouse chic then just to straight farm to be exact. It comes out of nowhere. Park roads become farm roads in a flash. A mile out of the state park and I am the passenger in a near death experience. Heavy headwinds and riding a one foot shoulder, I get passed hard and close by two eighteen wheelers doing about 70 mph. Probably twelve to eighteen inches away from me, according to Damon. That is not a three foot pass. I catch HAZMAT IDs 1075 and I think maybe 1994. Look em up and get back to me on how I would have died, there’s six million ways; I’m using a floating holiday on the schedule, so I won’t be choosing one today.

If the earth is flat then something has happened. Maybe climate change? I dunno. but there are hills everywhere. Hill after hill. After hill. Still.

Heading directly into the headwind, I’m absolutely gassed coming 7 miles down highway 77 into La Grange. I am definitely not at peak tour mode. I have zero energy and we’re only 20 miles in. My entire right leg aches. I’m hurt… not injured, coach. What feels like hours later, a left turn relieves us of the headwind. Whew. We find a grocery store but there’s no sign of ZZ Top or the brothel they wrote the song about. La Grange, it’s all headwind and no head.

We eat and drink more coffee. Damon has now joined team post-noon coffee. I doubt he’ll step up and get with the post-6pm cup, but this is cool. Either way the caffeination produces the desired effect. Fully fueled and freed from wind resistance, we pound out on the shittiest of shoulders. More chip seal. All day. It hasn’t really gone anywhere in weeks, I’ve just stopped bitching about it. It sucks. Jars my joints. Numbs my hands. Slow us down. Today it really makes us feel like we’re punching a clock.

We push 10, 20, 30 miles more and are really running low on energy. And water. And daylight. Independence Texas provides the first open store in a while (and the last for another 15 miles). We are talking to the shopkeeper Mike a bit. He’s familiar with the fact that we’re on what’s called the Southern Tier Route and even knows the guy who makes and refines this route for the Adventure Cycling Association. Mike asks me to sign his guestbook. The last name is from three days ago. Mike says we can camp on his land across the street, though he says his wife didn’t cut the grass. We buy snacks. Fill up water. Setup the palaces. A 66° overnight low makes this a no fly zone on the tents. The sun sets and and we now return to anticlimactic ending of eating and sleeping, already in progress.

I’m outside the holy land that is this Austin Whole Foods on our way out of town. Groceries still needed doing, however the fuck it is that someone can grocerize. One of Austin’s own approaches, 88% shirtless. Likes that we bike. He covers a lot of ground on foot. So on and so forth. Let’s call this guy Travis. He’s definitely a Travis. Here in Travis County Texas, no less. Well, Travis also has a rooster perched on his right shoulder the entire conversation. My 36 hours in this city coming to a close, I’m ready to see how famously weird Austin can still be — so I say to Travis “hey, nice cock.” Damon breaks down and chuckles, but Travis doesn’t even flinch, he just keeps going on and on with his spiel about whatever and something on Facebook or something. We roll out, bidding city life adieu until the NOLA and the bayou; bidding steady head winds hello again.

These here particular winds are ferociously sustaining at 20 mph — with 30 mph gusts and mostly in our fucking face. Four letters word required. When it’s not in my face, it’s kicking me from the right, trying to knock me into suburban traffic through Montopolis. Every other second I’m pointing and yelling nail. Must have been over 100 of them in a 3 or 4 mile stretch. No flats. I don’t like flats. Unless we’re talking about chicken wings, then it’s flats all day bitches. I ask Damon which wing he’s into. “I dunno bro, I haven’t eaten wings in a long time”.

Anyhoo. It’s a sit and grind kinda day; I’m living in my drop downs, pedaling hard as fuck to go 8 mph downhill into this wind. Some uphills I’m at just under 2 mph. 1.8? I didn’t know I could do that. So I learn something about myself today. Yay. Damon walks his bike faster than I perform a total-street-wide-zig-zag-approach to climbing hills. That whole time I look at the ground three feet in front of me and wonder, how many extra miles will accumulate from this side to side riding by the time I reach the Atlantic. What’s the over/under on that? I don’t gamble, so I don’t know. Let me know.

When the wind eases and I can ride a bit, I notice how quickly the scenery and climate is changing before my eyes. Not only is the green getting greener and greener, there is actual humidity and legitimately wet bodies of water. Delta.

Still, this wind is better than the weather here two weeks ago. Deep freeze, snow and ice would have sent our ride down to shitter. Russ and I talked a lot about the lasting effects that the rare cold weather is having on the city of Austin. The water is potable, but there’s a lot yet to be done. I see a lot of people living in tents.

Once outside of Austin, I notice another change: we’re now in the portion of Texas with population. There’s services more often. First up is a place called Bastrop.

In Bastrop, we connect with Zaalo, another music world friend of mine. Haven’t seen him in years. He and I did a couple awesome parties during SXSW years ago, one of which the cops broke up. Put some spec on it. Zaalo’s now living the farm life in Bastrop, refurbishing a shuttle bus into a camper van so he and his lady can live on the road. We meet him at the Tough Cookie Cafe and enjoy some bomb vegan cuisine. I’m digging the dark roast blend. Damon goes extra hard on a vegan peanut butter brownie. Zaalo has been volunteering a lot of time helping the people in the area recover from the sever weather here as well. It’s good to see him doing well. We peace out into the rolling hills of Bastrop State Park.

The roads are quiet and winding. The winds are back to the in-our-face or on-our-side variety. I love these park roads though. No traffic. Clean air. The smell of pine throughout the air. A gorgeous snake in the road. Deer alongside me. So much more enjoyable, even in the uphill and upwind sections. Feels like that tour stride. Physical and mental aligning and we’ve normalized riding a bunch of hard miles in the day and tenting in town parks. It’s what we now do. Delta.

We decide to get fancy and pop for the state park for the night tonight. $15 prepaid in an envelope gets us water and a shower and a campsite. Living large!!

I notice one last glitch in the matrix before cashing in the days chips: the bugs have now joined the ride. Yes, we now have bugs. It’s nothing like Mississippi in July but these motherfucker mosquitos are big. Fortunately Damon has this “good for your skin” bug repellent. Oils and nutrients and chemicals free. Mine is branded as 40% more feet or something. One way or the other. Shoutout to Blondie and Dangermouse on the day’s playlist. I leave the fly off in a 60° low and I’m under some screening in a light breeze. One could say that the titties were off. I could say zzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Morning doesn’t feel as cold in the palace compared to yesterday. I’m hitting the reception/office/lobby and filling the thermos up with a solid brew. Wolfing down a piece of pie while this guy is going off about the TV news on the TV in the office. I’ve forgotten what TV news is. Forgotten what a TV is. Princess Cuomo Trump is all I get out of it. I’m digging how this dude, who could equally be an employee or a guests — I can’t tell — threads the political needle so in such an intimate setting as hotel breakfast. I toss out my prototypical “they’re crooks on all sides”, and it resounds with him and the woman who entered 3/4 of the way through his diatribe. I take it as a win and move along toward packing up and heading out.

We get to meet our host Brett; he’s an awesome dude with a lot of irons in the fire. He’s definitely got his hometown on lock in the hospitality department. Airbnb, Warm Showers, Couch Surfing. Plus the hotel, motel, guesthouses and a man cave slash crash pad next to which we camped and mistook for the guest house. Whew. He needs a worker co-op Hostel in my humble opinion. That would complete the set. Thank you again for everything Brett.

More hills. More hills. More hills. Up down up down up down. The hills have hills inside they’re hills — it’s somehow reminds a the time in Singapore when Kara and I were legitimately inside of a mall inside of a mall inside of a mall. Someone get Chris Nolan on zoom, there’s some sort of bike nerd sequel here. Either way, here’s the specifics on the whole elevation gain and loss.

Texas has wineries? Sooooo classy. Who knew?? We’re passing them a dozen at a time, probably 100 in the whole day. I shit you not. One is called Fat Ass. they win the award for best branding, yet I don’t get a photo, nor do u stop for a tasting. We are hopeful to rock a loooooooong day and make the literal Austin city limits by sunset, so as to have street lights and bikes lanes for a late push to the actual Capitol Building. No time to wine, one time for your mind.

Who knew you could become President if you were born in a city that your grandfather and great uncle founded and named after themselves? Not much time for LBJ and Johnson City Texas, either. We need a day off in Austin and I think Damon — who initially was in a “no zero days” frame of mind — is now fully on board on how critical a day off after riding seventeen fucking days straight really is.

Today is the first day with any substantial clouds on the horizon. East in we get a few drops and much of the morning I can’t tell what’s coming or not. I feel like the clouds are just a battleground in the war between sun and rain. Eventually, sun wins the days battle.

After a serious 30 mile afternoon grind out, we’re now around 20 miles from the Texas Capitol, in the sort of suburban ring. The gas station has a picnic table and some a robust refreshment selection inside, but are out of gasoline. I speak with the clerk for a bit about it. Has never happened and he doesn’t know why. He didn’t think it was related the weather a few weeks back but couldn’t really say much else. I tell him it’s a good thing I’m on a bike. He agrees and chuckles about how true that really is.

A wrong turn and a short bid on the highway later and we’re cutting our goal close. Fortunately, by the time the street lights come on, there are street lights.

Suddenly, I am cruising in protected lanes on South Congress. Civilization culture shock hits me in the face like a bucket of water. Twelve days through Texas and its taking me a moment to comprehend what is in front of me. Suddenly, people are jogging around half naked. Suddenly, tattoo shops are open and busy. Suddenly, I’m walking into the Blind Pig Pub and there’s giant TVs everywhere. Whoa. There’s live music downstairs and comedy upstairs, right now. Suddenly. Bike life cultural jarring meet pandemic induced shocking. I haven’t done much of this in, well, right around one year. Damon and I drink an outstanding pecan porter and the calories are supremely making their way into my system. I follow it with a Kolsch and then we split it to a cheap motel next to the Capitol Building.

Rewind selectah… to just before those beers when we go ballistic on a couple of enormous plant-based double bacon cheeseburgers at Arlos truck. We are half dead at that moment and Damon’s face says it. It was solid and super tasty.

Day off in Austin means bike shop, groceries, laundry and planning the next day or two. Damon somehow downs a second bacon double cheeseburger from Arlo’s other location. I get my wheel trued and finally become an REI co-op member. Kick it with a music biz colleague, Russ. We crush some Mexican food and margaritas at Polvo’s. It feels surreal to be back in the real world for just one day. Tomorrow we head out back out on the trail and return to our new normal.