Miles and Miles of Texas

Given the fact that I read a lot and have a fairly large vocabulary you would think the English language would be pretty much in the realm of my understanding. My mother did not raise a fool and I am not adopted so why did I not know better than to say yes When one of my best bike buddies suggested we go on a “death march” ? I could have said no way in hell but no, I said sure why not.

Mr. Hudler (from here on out known as Hudler) thought it would be a good idea to get in some hill training. There are no hills worth commenting on here in way too far south Texas so we planned a road trip. A little under two hours of driving put us in Freer, Texas. Seeing as Hudler does not drink coffee and is not a morning person, there was an element of risk in leaving at 4:30 AM. Freer is west of Alice in case you were wondering. If that still leaves you wondering I would suggest Google. I am not sure what goes on in Freer but they sell a lot of deer corn.

I am very good about checking the weather reports before I go for a ride. I usually check two or three weather services to be sure. This served me well the last ride I went on. I rode north until I hit the front coming down and when I turned around I had a most pleasant tail wind. None of the lying bastards mentioned it would be a wet front and I would be pelted with sleet and then soaked. The 35 miles home resulted in a mild case of hypothermia and gratuitous use of curse words. I looked very closely before heading to Freer with Hudler and it did look like a good day for a death march, partly cloudy with mild winds, 12-14 mph.

You might be asking me, just what part of death march do you not understand? I do like riding hills and I am not in all that bad shape. The roads are better than average, my brakes are good, tires fair. Hudler is a good buddy and doesn’t lie nearly as well as the weathermen. Ah, the weathermen, the Satan's spawn, the lying rat bastards, who else gets paid for being wrong so often? (That is a rhetorical question don’t bother mentioning lawyers, realtors, and politicians.) The putrid bags of scurvy slug slime said the wind would be 12-14 mph. They should have added 12 and 14 and thrown in a little extra to allow for windage. Like I mentioned earlier, I like hills, I hate 30 mph headwinds. I really hate 45 mph gusts..

We left Freer heading for Hebbronville. (Google maps please) There is nothing at all on the 40 mile ride between the towns but roadkill and empty deer corn bags. Five miles south of Freer there is a sign that says no gas stations for 34 miles. We both felt pretty good when we hit the road but that passed quickly enough. The hills are gentle slopes but long, the wind made them feel like the Alps. We slogged along at 9 mph for 30 miles. Somewhere along the way a truck blew by and it felt and sounded like someone popped a paper sack on the side of my head. Add to that the indignity of a 45 mph gust of wind bringing us to a dead halt started us thinking. Do we really have to go all the way to Hebbronville? Who are we going to impress?

A quick swig of warm Gatorade and we were flying home. It was pretty close to flying too. Those 9 mph hills were now 30 mph hills. We had a little game of tag towards the end of the ride and came close to hitting 40 mph. After that we had an important decision to make. Should we have a cold FRS recovery drink from Hudler’s cooler? Or a cold bottle of ale from my cooler? If you can’t figure out what we decided then you should not go on a road trip with me or anyone sane.

This trip was so much fun we did it again last Sunday. The brainiacs at the weather service said there would be a mild wind once again, from the north this time. It was actually mild but from the ESE. It was a lot easier heading south to Hebbronville, we rode the entire 40 

miles without a lot of trouble. It got a little windy but no gales. We stopped at the store, and then headed back. There was mention of a cold front, when we hit the road it was in the 40’s. When we left Hebbronville it was heading to the 80’s. That nice little tail wind we were looking for turned into a crosswind than was no help at all. The 30 mph hills were 20 mph hills and there was no sprint for the city limits. An 80 mile ride is an 80 mile ride and they only thing different was fresh roadkill and Jesus in the dry stock tank.

We put on the outlaw country station and braced ourselves for the 2 hour drive home. We talked a lot about music and then the big question; why in the hell did we get up at 4:30 AM and drive 2 hours so we could beat ourselves up on a lonesome road that looks pretty much the same from one end to the other? It sure beats sitting on your butt at home. If we lived somewhere else we would be doing something outdoors. I used to hike, canoe and climb when I was in Oregon. Down here, we just do miles, and miles.