Suit to Saddle

October 18 – Lost Maples State Natural Area to Ingram (42 miles)

Upon exiting the campsite, the morning ride greeted us with a half-mile, 10 percent grade climb, setting the tone for the next fifteen miles: headwinds, rain, cold, and fog. I was disappointed to ride through the Texas Hill Country in such miserable weather. I’d heard so many wonderful things about this area. Cycling enthusiasts come from all over the United States to ride through the hill country. I am sure the scenery is picturesque, but I did not see much of it. The mist, fog, and slight drizzle obstructed most of the views of the surrounding hills.

Joel and I rode at the same pace this day. At the intersection connecting us to Highway 39, we paused for a few minutes to get our bearings straight. The Guadalupe River ran parallel to Highway 39. Two days before, the area had received nine inches of rain in half a day. Parts of Highway 39 were closed due to flooding the day before. We took our chances, and lucky for us the water had subsided in most flood-prone sections of the road.

While I waited to ride through one of several flooded road sections, a man in a pickup truck wearing a cowboy hat drove through the water toward me and stopped to chat. He asked if I wanted to put my bike in the back of his truck and hitch a ride over the flooded road. I thanked him but declined the offer. He acknowledged my decision, and before driving off, he told me, “We all need to help each other.” I could not agree more with his sentiment.

I likely would not have been able to ride safely through the raging water currents a day earlier. Soon after the chat with the man in the truck, I arrived in Hunt, Texas, the unofficial halfway point on the Southern Tier route. I walked into the general store and introduced myself to John, the store manager. I slowly walked back and forth between and along the aisles for no reason except to delay the inevitable return to riding in nasty weather. Because I was loitering, he nervously asked if I was looking for anything specific. I responded, “Nothing, just trying to warm up a little.” He nodded, and I continued, “Did you know Hunt is the halfway point on the Southern Tier route?” John said he was aware of that and often saw cross-country cyclists stop in his store on their way through town.

I bought a Coke, and a Gatorade for the road, and then sat down between a couple of big rough-looking guys who wore authentic high-crowned, wide-brimmed cowboy hats, a defining piece of attire for American cowboys. They entered the store about one minute before I arrived after exiting their blue Silverado truck, the raised wheel wells and extra-large deep tire treads perfectly matching their ruggedness. One guy sported a full mustache, the other a Fu Manchu mustache; both were reserved and indifferent. They gave me a strange look. I asked how they were doing. I tried to break the ice by saying, “This weather sucks, doesn’t it?” and followed up with, “Can you tell me what the roads are like heading east to Ingram?”

It took a couple of minutes, which seemed like an eternity, for them to warm up to me, but eventually we continued a conversation. One guy asked, “How was the road leading into Hunt?”

“Flooded, but passable,” I said.

He said I should expect the same conditions between Hunt and Ingram. It was about 12:30 p.m., and the second guy shared, “The sandwiches are really good here.”

“I think I will try one,” I responded and stood up, walked to the counter in the back of the store, and ordered a cheeseburger and fries. After I finished eating, John took a picture of the two cowboys and me sitting next to each other. We were all smiles. I added three more handshakes to my total on this trek and continued my way.

Klaus’s culinary skills took center stage in Ingram, Texas. Joel, Doug, Klaus, and I roomed in one suite at the Hunter House Inn & Suites while Joyce and Wally stayed in a separate suite. Our suite had two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. Several of us watched NFL football (Wally was glued to the tube because his favorite team, the Broncos, were playing). At the same time, Klaus cooked authentic German schnitzel, one of the trip’s better meals, with vegetables, salad, warm bread, and apple pie. We took turns using the single washer and dryer in the suite. The night reminded me a lot of my senior year in college, living in an apartment off-campus with three underclassmen. In 1984, my senior year, the night would just be getting started after dinner. In 2018, the day ended abruptly after dinner.

October 19 – Ingram to Fredericksburg (39 miles)

The multi-day weather event was not about to let up anytime soon. It was cloudy, and rain threatened when I started riding about 8:00 a.m. The rain was not forecast to begin until early afternoon, but one mile into my ride, it began to rain in earnest. To make matters worse, Tank started to give me problems. The gears skipped when I shifted. I initially thought the cables needed adjusting, but my hands were too cold to do anything about it. My glasses fogged up terribly; I could not see two feet in front of me. I certainly could not read the GPS. Despite the poor weather conditions, I still enjoyed riding through the Texas Hill Country, meandering through the countryside, watching cows graze in the pastures.

I was in Texas, not Kansas, but The Wizard of Oz popped into my mind for some reason. Riding along Rocky Ridge Ranch Road in Kerr County, I thought of Miss Gulch riding a bike down a dirt road, threatening to have Toto put to sleep for biting her, Dorothy chasing behind. Rocky Ridge Ranch Road and Miss Gulch’s trail were eerily similar. My mind was free to think. Why certain things popped into my mind when they did, I cannot say. But they did.

I cycled past a long driveway entrance leading to the property of someone named Brian Lane. That caught my attention and got me thinking about how much I missed my family. Further along, a Texas-sized “Kelley’s Ranch” sign caught my attention. Both of these instances were reminders of the parallel universe I currently inhabited. Cycling on the road in the middle of Texas removed me from my life back home. I was stepping away and riding into the heart of America, a time that sharpened my thinking and changed my outlook on what was important.