Hoping for a Tail Wind

Dawn provides the first morning dew on my tent of the tour, a welcome sign that the desert is behind us. Coffee. Tricked out oatmeal. Special shout goes out to Texas State Parks bathrooms. Really also all the friendly staff I meet. And the visitor center for being on point. I almost buy something beside the $10 campsite and $6 entrance fee. But nah.

We get one mile out and the fourth climb begins, it takes me 30 minutes to go one mile. This incline is ridiculous and ungodly. If I didn’t have all this other fucking stuff, I could jog faster up this hill. Fuck you Buddha, I’m clinging to my possessions. Also, apparently Forest Gump was smarter than me. Er, I.

Aye aye aye… I am pedaling in super slow motion on cameras that don’t exist. For the first time ever I am taking dictated notes of what I’m writing — right now, before i even write it. At 3 mph. Blogs and the interwebs refer to these last few hills as “Leg Breakers”. I’m calling them Grade A Beef. It is nothing like what I got in Japan.

We push the two or three miles up and out like 9 months and then lose the elevation throughout the rest of the day via the much more typical rolling hills. Some are still fairly steep; I love these and I’m feeling like I might be hitting tour strength. That fantastic point where it all starts to click. Also, oatmeal, peanut butter and ibuprofen this morning. The scenery is super and the feeling is fantastic and we follow along the Guadalupe River through some impressive country. It’s nice to have waterways back and I count 6 crossings of this one on the day. It’s also a good stretch for the motor bike people, and suddenly we’re not the only two wheeled traffic on the road. Tons of crotch rocket types whizzing around the rolling hills and curves. Plenty of typical Harley types with their old lady on the back thing happening. But also some “bikers” out on long travels. They’re the best. We wave to each other. At a little general store stop, I chat with a gentleman of this sort who’s on his way to Tucson for a wedding. I didn’t get his name but I’m calling him Al. I tell Al we’re headed to Florida, he says he was there three days ago. I tell him we were in Tucson two weeks ago. Al gives me some good info on the terrain ahead of us. We share some laughs. I like Al. On the surface one might not suspect it, but I find these kinda folks to be a lot like myself, I think maybe they’re a little lazier and we’re a little crazier.

The beautiful scenery continues, I don’t get many photos but the GoPro strapped on top of my helmet caught a lot of it, so stay tuned for that stuff, kiddies. Things are getting greener. And bluer. Suddenly, I’m in the line of fire! In two packs, a total of 36 mustangs (only one of which is pre-80’s) nearly get to get away with manslaughter — each of them goes vroom vroom as it swerves around me. These whatever-life-crisis, fossil-fueled nut bags are the worst. I can’t even call them crotch rockets because rockets are to cool for them. These people are just sitting there, supine, inside and on four wheels for no real good reason. They don’t even need to balance. Dumb assholes almost clip Damon. Fuck them.

Ten miles up and I spot another cyclist in front of us. With a trailer. Fully fully loaded. The next stop and we meet Chelsea, who is riding the same Southern Tier Route to Florida… with her dog Taj in the trailer!!! This is super exciting. We have not seen many other cyclists on entire cross country tours thus far, and this one has a pup. Taj is a super adorable three year old boy. He just chills in the trailer while she goes into the store to fill water. I get to Lee him company. He’s picky with his dog food, so I suggest giving him a hamburger. They are going to turn left at St Augustine and head up the coast to Maine. The trailer and dog are probably 60 pounds. 60 pounds that I’m not towing, so it’s super impressive what she’s doing. Definitely pedaling twice her own weight. The same dumb mustang assholes also almost clipped her. We chat for a bit more; Chelsea hits a farm cafe, we push on the town 10 more miles up. We’re riding further than her today and I imagine moving a bit faster. I wonder if we’ll see them again along the trail again.

Our destination for whatever break and meal we have with 27 miles left? Another sacred pilgrimage to Walmart of course. We go from Taj to Haj. This incarnation is definitely not as robust. But they do have rifles and shotguns prominently on display for sale. So there’s that. In real life I am never in a Walmart, in tour life I love this corporate tax-evading monolith of a modern day slave plantation because it provides Damon a nutritious vegan meal and both of us properly sized bike tubes. I also get to eat a deli chicken Caesar salad and a packaged banana nut muffin. I sip coffee from my thermos while sitting in one of the 50 or so plastic Adirondack chairs out front of this caloric Mecca. The sun is getting low and we don’t have time for two or three stops. Thanks Waltons, but please start paying your employees a livable wage and start selling USA made everything in your stores.

One more big climb and we are rolling through hills on our way into Fredericksburg; it takes us a little over two hours. Our host Brett is the proprietor of a bunch of things in town. The gentleman at the front desk of his hotel, Arturo, checks us into an exquisite patch of grass next to the guest house that’s next to the motel next to the hotel. It’s very Wes Anderson in Texas at this point. Call it Tex Anderson. There’s a little structure with a sink and shower next to the patch of grass in which I’m setting the tent up. Arturo shows us the toilets across the way and offers coffee and breakfast in the lobby tomorrow morning. This is awesome. I crush calories and hit the sleeping bag to rest the legs for another day of hills tomorrow.

It’s early morning in Camp Wood, TX. So… if it’s morning and camped in Camp Wood, is that morning wood? What’s the rent on something like that? The rent is too damn high. However, the sounds of dogs and cats and roosters wake me up out of the tent at 6 or so. I replace that leaky tube, which is now completely flat. Shitty gas station coffee and a gas station shitter lie before me. Before the hills that lie before that shit. And I hear these hills have hills, not unlike the ones I caught on the northern bound Natchez a couple years ago.

Nuclear fallout. Yeah these hills are unlike those. Part or maybe most of me wants to blame the road surface, which is so roughly and constantly jarring — even at 2 mph.

Butt.

The sheer steepness of today’s hills are the distinction. We are on rural roads. Not trucking roads. No trains. Hills. Hills. Hills. We gain massive elevation in like a mile. A mile that happens in slow motion. Typically, I get to use my highest gear and get moving downhill then, you know, use all my gears and go down in some sequence or another on my way back up the hill. So action! I’m sitting on my ass, not moving except to turn while moving downhilll at 40 mph on the descent of what we thought was the first climb. Negative. Wrong answer. It was not. Damon is psyched and tells me he hit 30; we cruise side by side for maybe 40 seconds and the actual first climb begins and I’m realizing now that we were wrong. Like right now. Except this kept going and this kept going and this is some ridiculous unspecific grade and I’m not googling it right now either because I’m bicycling right now and also because there’s no AT&T FirstNet phone coverage and no WiFi, which is pronounced wee fee.

This is climb one of four like this today and the grade is indeed a challenge, I’m in first gear and stay there and spin, zig zagging my way up. I’m going 2mph. I’m sure because I’m looking at my odometer as I pedal. Damon is ahead of me taking a break. A minute later and Damon is walking his bike alongside me riding my bike; he does well for a bit but I don’t see him again until I’m this little town called Leakey. Climb one, done, hun. Fun.

Five minutes of descent and we’re in Leakey, gobbling up whatever calories we can from their town market. It doesn’t offer much, but we make due. They have a portable toilet which is literally as bad as that bathroom in Trainspotting. I resist the urge to dive into the toilet but I do take a picture… from outside. The mere thought of accidentally dropping my phone into this shit-abyss and then having to decide whether to reach in after it means I don’t even take my phone in with me.

Climbs two and three lie ahead, with another small general store on the other side. These two are almost identical to the first. Ain’t nothing to it but to do it. The scenery has really started popping and I’m finding the climbs to be very meditative. There’s little traffic too. We regroup at the next store, and which offers even less. We have one more of these climbs and then we’re sort of plateaued for a bit of nothingness, with our proposed daily destination still 35-40 miles ahead.

Butt.

Damon rolls up as I’m borrowing another traveler’s floor pump. This guy is legit pumping up his sport cars tires with it; it’s a nice one with a gauge, so I ask to use it. He obliges. I pump my tires up and we look at the map. It’s clear we aren’t making another 40 miles, even with only one climb left, there’s simply not enough daylight. And theres very little, if anything, in that next 49 miles. Damon is gassed and is ready to turn it in. So, despite the map instructing us to have advance camping reservations, we roll five miles up to the Lost Maples State Natural Area without one, hopeful for special treatment.

This place is fantastic. Five stars for sure. They are most definitely completely full, though the Texas Parks & Wildlife folks here are familiar with bicyclists coming through unannounced. They roll put the red carpet for us. The woman at the office comes outside, let’s us know of the special spot just for those on bike, informs us we can use the campground showers, and that we can pay the fee in the morning. This familiarity with our situation extends to another park employee and another and another. It’s refreshing to meet folks who understand enough of what it is that we undertaking and to make concessions for us.

I pop up the pop up penthouse next to the old Murphy House and head over for a wonderfully refreshing shower. We rock the campground meals and hydrate, knowing we’ve saved one last super climb for tomorrow morning. Night falls and the temperature drops. We hook up the camp site gourmet dinner of rice and beans. A little peanut butter and banana for dessert too. The last climb of the day is the easiest — it’s into my tent. It’s a peaceful and quiet night in Lost Maples.