Stopped at: Somewhere along Brazos River, TX Miles today: 65 Total: 120
Late last night, a vehicle was pulled over by a police car, but the vehicle stopped on the bridge, and the policeman blared over his speakers
for the driver to move off the bridge. When I first heard the voice and realized it wasn't a dream, I thought for sure the cops had come down to
the river for a checkup and discovered the tent. I quickly went back to sleep and thought little more of the incident.
Sleep didn't last very long because I was up and loafing around 4:00 am. Lately, my awkward sleeping habits had me up at odd times, and now
I couldn't go back to sleep and was anxious to ride the Bridgestone into College Station. With about an hour and half before dawn, I decided I
needed to eat something from the food bag carried from Houston, not necessarily because I needed the calories, but instead to unload the food weight off
the bike. I must have started the journey with 7-8 lbs of food, and that was way too much. So I set up the camping stove and cocked a bag of freeze-dried
rasberry crumb desert. It was good and 8 ounces off the bike weight.
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At 5:30 am, I was cruising towards College Station, TX, in the cool morning. The 20 miles came quickly, and I didn't seem to have a
care in the world as the ride seemed so easy. This was what I expected when deciding to bike tour. After 10 miles, with 10 more to reach the
city, I recognized the wall beginning near the Texas World Speedway. Back in 1989, when I was a freshman at Texas A&M University,
that portion of Highway 6 was just paved with that lucid black canvas. Even 14 years later, the road is still in excellent shape, but without the pure
blackness.
Within 2 hours of leaving the Navasota Bridge, I ran out of water, but made it to the edge of College Station, and was eagerly anticipating eating breakfast and cameling up on Powerade at McDonald's. The
McDonald's was probably the last good event for the morning because afterwards, it was a 6 or 7 mile stretch to reach the other side of Bryan. Instead of cutting
through the city, I decided to stay on Highway 6. As semi-friendly to bicyclist as the area is, I just wanted to make it through the metropolitan area.
In the morning I was feeling lightfooted, but when the sun reared its ugly head, it started to wear me down. Worst, a familiar pain in the left
knee also decided to appear, making the timing as troublesome as missing a flight connection. This knee problem started on the Pacific Crest Trail
during the summer of 2003. Usually, each time I start an adventure, it starts early then goes away after a week or two. Sometimes, it's just a slight
annoyance, but this time I could feel the grind. What make it so discouraging was I was riding a bike and not walking- figuring the knee shouldn't be as overstressed as
hiking downhill.
On top of the knee problem, there was a rash running over my legs. I must have caught some kind of poison plant during the stay under
the Navasota Bridge. It might have been those knee-high plants along the banks. This was only the third day, and so many problems seem to
be accumulating at once. This was not how I envisioned a bicycle tour, and it felt like a complete disaster already. I could foresee there wasn't many
more miles on this trip.
But the sun was the worst villian of all in this bicycle touring script. It wouldn't let me out of its sight, and when I found shade, it would wait
patiently. After being passed by an older man on Highway 6, I decided it was time to detour off the safety of the wide-shouldered
highway and take the Old Spanish Road (OSR). Although he passed me without effort on the flat terrain, he seemed to have run into a wall during
a climb that I think I would have made without too much effort. (Maybe he didn't downshift enough.)
A shoulderless climb awaited on OSR. The heat makes a tremendous difference against pedaling efficiency. During that time, I was sure the end of the my road
was near. I would pedal a few more miles and then possibly call my father to pick me up if he could. If not, I could bike back as close to Houston as possible
and then call him for a ride. He was extremely concerned about my safety before leaving and didn't want me to tour on a bicycle, but rather just to drive to places
I want to see with my bike, and ride those areas. But that wouldn't be a tour. At this point, this wasn't going to be much of a tour either.
A four-way intersection layed ahead after a few miles. An important stop. To the left was the path to Lake Bryan, back south towards College Station/Bryan- the path I wanted
badly to take to end this misery. Forward was a way further
west possibly curving back south. And to the right was a northern road, FM50, the continuation of this adventure.
These wings...they belong to me. These wings...the ones I have...the ones some people never unfold, never having a sense of adventure, never knowing what it is to live.
I had already spread my wings long ago. These wings would allow me slip into the clouds, dive towards the ocean, circle the highest mountains, and endure the loneliest paths. The road I must
take was the northern one.
The sun never wilted, but burned hotter and hotter as though it knew no mercy. Running low on water, I stopped at a creek running underneath the road. There was a walking path along
the creek extending a couple of hundred yards. This must be a great fishing area, but there was no one around on this Saturday. During the hour I was there, a truck did
come down to the creek, but they only stayed a few minutes.
That spot was a great place to spend the night, but it was too early and the water looked much too brownish for a swim hole. I moved on without any drinking water. At an intersection,
there were some homes, and I entered a property and called out, but no one answered. I filled up the water bottles quickly and moved on. How I wish I could have sat in the shades of the
trees, but didn't want to make the worst of the situation after tresspassing.
With that horrible tasting water from a hose, I made it another 10 miles before stopping in a small town. I recognize this town from driving through it years ago. The general store was permanently closed and I wanted
terribly to buy a soda- not a 12 oz can, but a whole big 2-liter bottle. There hadn't been accessible shade for the past 10 miles so I stopped at the school. The conditions were just too toasty at 3:00
pm to continue. I spent the next 2 hours at the school trying to take a nap.
A white truck pulled up and saw me laying on the concrete with the bicycle helmet as a pillow. I was barefooted, looking a bit the part of a bum. I waved and he left without acknowledging me. That wasn't
a good sign, and a few minutes later I decided I probably wore out my welcome, even though nothing would have come about probably.
The weather was still torrid, and I only made another 5 miles before stopping at a house with a large shed to ask for water. A 50-ish man with a thin mustache and
a warm demeanor came out from the house, and to avoid an awkward situation, I promptly asked, "Hi, I'm on my bike, can I get some water from your spigot?"
He led me into the shed full of metal equipment. "Were you a machinist?"
"Yeah, but I hurt my arm." Then he opened the old refrigator and pulled out some small gatorade bottle with ice water, and offered me one, which I gladly took.
Instead of allowing me to fill up from the spigot, he offered to fetch water from inside the house. I grabbed my 2-litre collapsible platypus and handed it to him. After he
came back, his wife came out with a glass of ice and a can of Dr. Pepper. Her make-up hid her face where she didn't look real, but like a doll with blushy red cheeks. Regardless,
I was very thankful for their hospitality when I only asked for water- it really made my day after the mental rollercoaster earlier. That Dr. Pepper went down in one gulp. Before the tour, I had
been drinking too many sodas and as a result, part of my mouth was sore, so I wanted to cut back on the amount of carbonated drinks, but resisting her offer would be like a dying man resisting a rejuvenated life.
The Rand-McNally map showed the Brazos River wasn't too far away and it was a good stopping point tonight. "Do you know how to get to the Brazos River?"
He pointed to a road I just passed bending towards the river. "That dirt road takes you down to the river in about 3 miles. I don't know if there are any other roads which takes you to the river."
That road had no other way out, so I would have to bike 6 miles roundtrip. I figured I could go forward and try my luck later.
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After warning me about the heat, I thanked them and pedaled off. That time I only traversed 5 miles before finding a recently trimmed field. I stopped again
planning on leaving at 6:30 pm, when the sun finally relented at that time of year. Again, I took a nap after using the ice bottle to ice the left knee.
When 6:30 pm rolled around, leaving was a dread and now I had to find a place to stay for the evening. Not much further up, FM50 started
curving away from the direction of the river, but a dirt road looked as if it might lead to the river. I had made up my mind on this blistering day
to stay down at the river and hopefully get in some swimming. Having a mountain bike allowed me to take these sort of unpaved detours.
Two miles later, the sound of the river could be heard. The only problem was the banks were fenced off. An opening in the fence allowed me
to walk over high grass to the bank's edge, only to find it was much too steep. Maybe I should have heeded the man's advice and travelled down the
road he suggested. I was still determined to find some mysterious way to the river- I've come this far and agonized too much to give up now.
Biking on dirt roads which turned with the river somewhat, I was finally able to find a path down to the river. Even though there
weren't signs or fences, it had the feel of private property. A tractor was used to shove all the dirt on the steep bank down into the river to make the
river accessible. At this junction, I had no where else to turn, tired, and ready to take a welcomed dip into the river. That was my stopping point for that long day.
At 5:30 am, I was cruising towards College Station, TX, in the cool morning. The 20 miles came quickly, and I didn't seem to have a
care in the world as the ride seemed so easy. This was what I expected when deciding to bike tour. After 10 miles, with 10 more to reach the
city, I recognized the wall beginning near the Texas World Speedway. Back in 1989, when I was a freshman at Texas A&M University,
that portion of Highway 6 was just paved with that lucid black canvas. Even 14 years later, the road is still in excellent shape, but without the pure
blackness.
After warning me about the heat, I thanked them and pedaled off. That time I only traversed 5 miles before finding a recently trimmed field. I stopped again
planning on leaving at 6:30 pm, when the sun finally relented at that time of year. Again, I took a nap after using the ice bottle to ice the left knee.
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