Last night was a calm and peaceful sleep. The trees above formed a protective canopy as a warm, lazy breeze rustled the leaves in a soft melody. And getting up this morning to the sunshine and birds was reinvigorating. And so I quickly broke down camp, got on Kona, and took off. I passed through the small town of Sealey, Texas before I found myself riding on a frontage road adjacent to the expressway in the middle of nothing. It was a pleasant sort of nothing, but it was still nothing. Mostly farm land scattered with squat trees and the occasional cottonwood forest.
I stopped at a gas station to reload on food and water. I was taking my time eating a snack when I spotted a cyclist in the distance, heading the same direction I was. I sat for a minute, trying to see what kind of cycling they were doing. There was plenty of dirt roads and hills for some mountain biking as well. As they approached I saw that she had panniers and was on a touring bike as well. She was probably heading where I was heading, following the Southern Tier Route. I got back on Kona and made a friendly wave and approach.
The woman was named Michelle. And I was right, she was biking the same direction I was going. She had started in New Orleans and was going to Seattle. She told me that she had lived in New Orleans for a few years and was now tired of it. And she left New Orleans in the same fashion she arrived: sold her stuff, got on her bike, and struck out for her next home. She mentioned that she wanted the quiet mountains of Washington as the partying of New Orleans had started to become too much. She asked me what I was doing. I'll admit, I was jealous of her dramatic and bold move. I meekly told her I was just on a long ride and was going home eventually. She mentioned she was jealous as she wish she could just a find a home. I mentioned how the grass is greener. We both agreed life was weird.
Michelle and I rode together for a few miles and I learned a lot from her. She was traveling at a slower, more relaxed pace than I was. She had less gear than me--granted she was doing far less camping--but felt no need to go faster than ten miles per hour. In fact, the concept of quantifying her own speed was rejected. "I don't like to know how fast I'm going. It turns into math. I don't like math." That's heavy stuff. And in that moment I realized the value of taking it easy on occasion and just enjoying the ride. My next lesson came when a pack of dogs charged at us.
Michelle taught me the value of remaining calm. As the dogs sprinted towards her, she merely pointed her finger back towards their home and sternly said "no!" Meanwhile, I had become a ball of tension entering into fight or flight mode. Michelle told me to relax and that most of the time the dogs just want to play and only look menacing. Most of the time. Being stern and maintaining control was an easier way to control the dogs than hitting them with your heel. I wanted to disagree, but I knew that was my brain still on adrenaline and I wasn't thinking right. And as we pedaled away from the dogs, I noticed that they were no longer even barking at us, they had returned to playing with one another. She was right.
Eventually I peeled off from Michelle. She was bound for Austin and was covering another twenty or so miles. I pulled off on the rural highway and waved to her as she waved back, heading into the distance alone. I said goodbye to my new cycling friend and said I'd maybe see her in Seattle. "Keep the rubber down!" she called out as she continued her ride into the horizon.
Hope you made it to Seattle Michelle.
I rolled into Buescher State Park and was once again pleased with the beauty of East Texas. The hills and forest of the state park made for an entertaining ride in and offered some gorgeous views. I happily setup camp on a small plot of dirt and grass and made a fire. I carefully planned the fire in an experimental way to maximize cooking coals. And after some minor success in getting the coals, I cooked up some toast, smoked some canned tuna, lightly toasted some crackers, made a big batch of rice and beans, and even managed to cook up some deli ham. It tasted like a gourmet meal.
I made some dinner and checked the weather while I had some service for my phone. The last few times I checked it looked like a 50% chance of storms through the night and into the morning; now, the percentages were at 80%. There was going to be some rough storms rolling in in the next few hours. I would have a small break the next morning to get as many miles in as I can before my parents' plane landed. They would then come find me and whisk me away in a weird motorized, four wheel bike. That would kick off the start to a shared vacation with my parents. But first, I was going to have to survive the thunderstorm that was quickly rolling in. I double checked the tie-downs of my tent and prepared for a storm. I'd have to worry about tomorrow's storms tomorrow.
And as night fell, a storm menacingly approached. Lightning slithered through the sky as thunder echoed off the hills and trees, threatening the entire region with sound and fury. The wind was doing its best trying to rip my tent off the ground as it relentlessly beat against the walls. The rain beat hard at the ground and the tent's rain fly, trying to force its way through. And through it all, the tiny, one person tent held fast. I was dry as a bone and felt safe. Once again, I slept peacefully that night.