…it was the worst of rides.
So the day started out really well: a good night’s sleep followed by cool weather and light winds, and the road out of Beaumont was quite pleasant. Hell, even the climb over Pleasure Island Bridge was, well, a pleasure. But shortly after we left the comfort of the Pleasure Island rest-stop, the day took an ugly turn.
It started not long after we (Rick, Brad, Ross, and myself) paused to rescue a turtle that was sitting in the middle of TX82 (given the number of smashed turtles we saw on the road that day, we almost assuredly extended its life). Now, you might think that Mother Nature would appreciate us saving one of her creatures from an untimely end, but she must have misinterpreted our actions as thwarting her plans, because not ten minutes later, about two miles from the Texas/Louisiana Border, we turned right into a wall of wind that dropped our speed and sapped our energy. It was so bad that by the time we had reached the Sabine Lake Bridge that would take us into Louisiana, I had more trouble going over it than the far longer and steeper Paradise Island Bridge we had crossed a few miles back.
From that point on, it was just a long, brutal slog of about 30 miles along LA82. For a long stretch of this slog, the eastbound side of the road had been scraped, pending repaving (it might be much nicer next year). And so not only were we battling the winds, but also the bone rattling ride over the artificially roughened roads. Luckily for us, at this point (and shortly after I had taken my pull), the SAG-Wagon with the BIke Barn trailer caught up to us and gave us a nice draft for about 6-8 miles before pulling away and leaving us to battle the wind once again. About the only downside to that “motor-pacing” section, besides their pulling away, was that the guys right up at the bumper, where the draft was the strongest, refused to rotate out of position and let the rest of the group get some much-needed rest for their legs. Still, even sitting at the back of that pack I got a much needed draft for a few miles, without which, I may have had a much harder time reaching our lunch destination.
Right after the SAG-Wagon pulled away, taking its draft with it, I and a couple other guys (sorry, I was too tired to even remember who it was) pulled over to make an impromptu rest area, letting our heart-rates and breathing settle some and waiting for Rick and Brad (who had made their own stop a bit back and were rescued by someone on a tractor cutting the grass who tossed them a couple of bottles of ice cold water) to catch up. Once those two restarted and reached us, we headed out again, moving slowly and sloppily down the road in a pair of loose echelons, each of us pulling for 50-60 seconds before gassing and dropping to the rear. We rolled on like this until about two-or-three miles from our lunch stop when we caught up with the group ahead of us (I believe it was the Chris Express), who had just withered in the wind and were riding at about 10-12 MPH as we rolled up on them.
Actually, as I was pulling our group at that moment, I hadn’t noticed that I had actually rolled through them, and not just up on them until I was nearly a quarter mile past them. At that point, I decided to keep on pushing the pace (to a roaring 14 MPH) until I caught up to Adam, who was another eighth of a mile or so beyond me. By the time I had caught him I was utterly gassed, worse I still had no idea where our lunch stop was; all of the buildings in the area seemed to stay a constant distance ahead of us, no matter how long we pedaled. And pedal we did. I don’t know why Adam was still going so hard, but the only reason I didn’t drop my pace to the level that my body was screaming for was sheer ego. I had pushed hard to work my way up to Adam’s side, and I sure as hell didn’t want anyone behind me see me slow or stop once I had. Of course, they didn’t see me race away either, as Adam did once we finally spotted the Red Cross Hummer parked outside the little white Apache shack where we ate our much needed and hard earned sandwiches and chips, and rested as long as we could before heading back on up the road to Hackberry and then Sulphur.
Honestly, I don’t have much to say about the ride up to Hackberry other than to say when the wind was with us it was fine, and when we turned into the wind, it was another sip of hell. Beyond Hackberry, it was a bit of a blur. I was feeling better than I did going into Hackberry, but all I wanted was to get into the hotel and rest. The wind, the distance, and the sheer stupidity of my not following my nutrition plan with anything approximating fidelity led to me wearing down about as far as one can without getting SAGged. Once we reached the outskirts of Sulphur, I got caught at one street light and rejoiced for the rest. Farther up I just missed getting caught at another light and cursed under what little breath I had. Things were made worse when my odometer rolled past 92 miles, the theoretical end of this leg, and the hotel was nowhere in site. I had known, from what everyone was saying at the last rest stop, that I still had another two miles to go, but I still held out hope that they were all wrong. Finally, I approached the final intersection where I was to turn off onto the road that would take me to the hotel. I twas just in front of this intersection that I spotted a Sonic and had to fight, with damn near every fiber of my being, the desire to pull in and get a Route 44 Lime Slush and a cheeseburger. The only reason I didn’t was because I knew the Holiday Inn and its cold beer beer were waiting just a minute’s ride up the rode. And so I swallowed my desires and humped my way into the hotel parking lot where I gladly flopped in a chair and gobbled down two mini ice cream sandwiches and a big ol’ PB&J sandwich. The ugliness was over, and I could turn my attention to dinner that night and our upcoming century ride the next day.
Final numbers: 94.33 miles, 5:50:57 elapsed…it was the worst of rides.
So the day started out really well: a good night’s sleep followed by cool weather and light winds, and the road out of Beaumont was quite pleasant. Hell, even the climb over Pleasure Island Bridge was, well, a pleasure. But shortly after we left the comfort of the Pleasure Island rest-stop, the day took an ugly turn.
It started not long after we (Rick, Brad, Ross, and myself) paused to rescue a turtle that was sitting in the middle of TX82 (given the number of smashed turtles we saw on the road that day, we almost assuredly extended its life). Now, you might think that Mother Nature would appreciate us saving one of her creatures from an untimely end, but she must have misinterpreted our actions as thwarting her plans, because not ten minutes later, about two miles from the Texas/Louisiana Border, we turned right into a wall of wind that dropped our speed and sapped our energy. It was so bad that by the time we had reached the Sabine Lake Bridge that would take us into Louisiana, I had more trouble going over it than the far longer and steeper Paradise Island Bridge we had crossed a few miles back.
From that point on, it was just a long, brutal slog of about 30 miles along LA82. For a long stretch of this slog, the eastbound side of the road had been scraped, pending repaving (it might be much nicer next year). And so not only were we battling the winds, but also the bone rattling ride over the artificially roughened roads. Luckily for us, at this point (and shortly after I had taken my pull), the SAG-Wagon with the BIke Barn trailer caught up to us and gave us a nice draft for about 6-8 miles before pulling away and leaving us to battle the wind once again. About the only downside to that “motor-pacing” section, besides their pulling away, was that the guys right up at the bumper, where the draft was the strongest, refused to rotate out of position and let the rest of the group get some much-needed rest for their legs. Still, even sitting at the back of that pack I got a much needed draft for a few miles, without which, I may have had a much harder time reaching our lunch destination.
Right after the SAG-Wagon pulled away, taking its draft with it, I and a couple other guys (sorry, I was too tired to even remember who it was) pulled over to make an impromptu rest area, letting our heart-rates and breathing settle some and waiting for Rick and Brad (who had made their own stop a bit back and were rescued by someone on a tractor cutting the grass who tossed them a couple of bottles of ice cold water) to catch up. Once those two restarted and reached us, we headed out again, moving slowly and sloppily down the road in a pair of loose echelons, each of us pulling for 50-60 seconds before gassing and dropping to the rear. We rolled on like this until about two-or-three miles from our lunch stop when we caught up with the group ahead of us (I believe it was the Chris Express), who had just withered in the wind and were riding at about 10-12 MPH as we rolled up on them.
Actually, as I was pulling our group at that moment, I hadn’t noticed that I had actually rolled through them, and not just up on them until I was nearly a quarter mile past them. At that point, I decided to keep on pushing the pace (to a roaring 14 MPH) until I caught up to Adam, who was another eighth of a mile or so beyond me. By the time I had caught him I was utterly gassed, worse I still had no idea where our lunch stop was; all of the buildings in the area seemed to stay a constant distance ahead of us, no matter how long we pedaled. And pedal we did. I don’t know why Adam was still going so hard, but the only reason I didn’t drop my pace to the level that my body was screaming for was sheer ego. I had pushed hard to work my way up to Adam’s side, and I sure as hell didn’t want anyone behind me see me slow or stop once I had. Of course, they didn’t see me race away either, as Adam did once we finally spotted the Red Cross Hummer parked outside the little white Apache shack where we ate our much needed and hard earned sandwiches and chips, and rested as long as we could before heading back on up the road to Hackberry and then Sulphur.
Honestly, I don’t have much to say about the ride up to Hackberry other than to say when the wind was with us it was fine, and when we turned into the wind, it was another sip of hell. Beyond Hackberry, it was a bit of a blur. I was feeling better than I did going into Hackberry, but all I wanted was to get into the hotel and rest. The wind, the distance, and the sheer stupidity of my not following my nutrition plan with anything approximating fidelity led to me wearing down about as far as one can without getting SAGged. Once we reached the outskirts of Sulphur, I got caught at one street light and rejoiced for the rest. Farther up I just missed getting caught at another light and cursed under what little breath I had. Things were made worse when my odometer rolled past 92 miles, the theoretical end of this leg, and the hotel was nowhere in site. I had known, from what everyone was saying at the last rest stop, that I still had another two miles to go, but I still held out hope that they were all wrong. Finally, I approached the final intersection where I was to turn off onto the road that would take me to the hotel. I twas just in front of this intersection that I spotted a Sonic and had to fight, with damn near every fiber of my being, the desire to pull in and get a Route 44 Lime Slush and a cheeseburger. The only reason I didn’t was because I knew the Holiday Inn and its cold beer beer were waiting just a minute’s ride up the rode. And so I swallowed my desires and humped my way into the hotel parking lot where I gladly flopped in a chair and gobbled down two mini ice cream sandwiches and a big ol’ PB&J sandwich. The ugliness was over, and I could turn my attention to dinner that night and our upcoming century ride the next day.
Final numbers: 94.33 miles, 5:50:57 elapsed time, 16.12 MPH average time, 16.12 MPH average
…it was the worst of rides.
Dave and Mike getting ready to ride. That's Dory in the middle.
So the day started out really well: a good night’s sleep followed by cool weather and light winds, and the road out of Beaumont was quite pleasant. Hell, even the climb over Pleasure Island Bridge was, well, a pleasure. But shortly after we left the comfort of the Pleasure Island rest-stop, the day took an ugly turn.
Left to Right: Rick, Ross, and Brad
It started not long after we (Rick, Brad, Ross, and myself) paused to rescue a turtle that was sitting in the middle of TX82 (given the number of smashed turtles we saw on the road that day, we almost assuredly extended its life). Now, you might think that Mother Nature would appreciate us saving one of her creatures from an untimely end, but she must have misinterpreted our actions as thwarting her plans, because not ten minutes later, about two miles from the Texas/Louisiana Border, we turned right into a wall of wind that dropped our speed and sapped our energy. It was so bad that by the time we had reached the Sabine Lake Bridge that would take us into Louisiana, I had more trouble going over it than the far longer and steeper Paradise Island Bridge we had crossed a few miles back.
From that point on, it was just a long, brutal slog of about 30 miles along LA82. For a long stretch of this slog, the eastbound side of the road had been scraped, pending repaving (it might be much nicer next year). And so not only were we battling the winds, but also the bone rattling ride over the artificially roughened roads. Luckily for us, at this point (and shortly after I had taken my pull), the SAG-Wagon with the Bike Barn trailer caught up to us and gave us a nice draft for about 6-8 miles before pulling away and leaving us to battle the wind once again. About the only downside to that “motor-pacing” section, besides their pulling away, was that the guys right up at the bumper, where the draft was the strongest, refused to rotate out of position and let the rest of the group get some much-needed rest for their legs. Still, even sitting at the back of that pack I got a much needed draft for a few miles, without which, I may have had a much harder time reaching our lunch destination.
Half of the Pleasure Island Bridge, with my bike in the corner
Right after the SAG-Wagon pulled away, taking its draft with it, I and a couple other guys (sorry, I was too tired to even remember who it was) pulled over to make an impromptu rest area, letting our heart-rates and breathing settle some and waiting for Rick and Brad (who had made their own stop a bit back and were rescued by someone on a tractor cutting the grass who tossed them a couple of bottles of ice cold water) to catch up. Once those two restarted and reached us, we headed out again, moving slowly and sloppily down the road in a pair of loose echelons. Each of us took turns pulling for 50-60 seconds before gassing and dropping to the rear. We rolled on like this until about two-or-three miles from our lunch stop when we caught up with the group ahead of us (I believe it was the Chris Express), who had just withered in the wind and were riding at about 10-12 MPH as we rolled up on them.
Do I look like I'm half dead?
Actually, as I was pulling our group at that moment, I hadn’t noticed that I had actually rolled through them, and not just up on them until I was nearly a quarter mile past them. At that point, I decided to keep on pushing the pace (to a roaring 14 MPH) until I caught up to Adam, who was another eighth of a mile or so beyond me. By the time I had caught him I was utterly gassed, worse I still had no idea where our lunch stop was; all of the buildings in the area seemed to stay a constant distance ahead of us, no matter how long we pedaled. And pedal we did. I don’t know why Adam was still going so hard, but the only reason I didn’t drop my pace to the level that my body was screaming for was sheer ego. I had pushed hard to work my way up to Adam’s side, and I sure as hell didn’t want anyone behind me see me slow or stop once I had. Of course, they didn’t see me race away either, as Adam did once we finally spotted the Red Cross Hummer parked outside the little white Apache shack where we ate our much needed and hard earned sandwiches and chips, and rested as long as we could before heading back on up the road to Hackberry and then Sulphur.
Left to right: Chris, Jon (don't call him Paw Paw), Victoria, Chris, and Terry
Terry, Jose and Mike catch a rest at Holly Beach
Honestly, I don’t have much to say about the ride up to Hackberry other than to say when the wind was with us it was fine, and when we turned into the wind, it was another sip of hell. Beyond Hackberry, it was a bit of a blur. I was feeling better than I did going into Hackberry, but all I wanted was to get into the hotel and rest. The wind, the distance, and the sheer stupidity of my not following my nutrition plan with anything approximating fidelity led to me wearing down about as far as one can without getting SAGged. Once we reached the outskirts of Sulphur, I got caught at one street light and rejoiced for the rest. Farther up I just missed getting caught at another light and cursed under what little breath I had. Things were made worse when my odometer rolled past 92 miles, the theoretical end of this leg, and the hotel was nowhere in site. I had known, from what everyone was saying at the last rest stop, that I still had another two miles to go, but I still held out hope that they were all wrong. Finally, I approached the final intersection where I was to turn off onto the road that would take me to the hotel. It was just in front of this intersection that I spotted a Sonic and had to fight, with damn near every fiber of my being, the desire to pull in and get a Route 44 Lime Slush and a cheeseburger. The only reason I didn’t was because I knew the Holiday Inn and its cold beer were waiting just a minute’s ride up the rode. And so I swallowed my desires and humped my way into the hotel parking lot where I gladly flopped in a chair and gobbled down two mini ice cream sandwiches and a big ol’ PB&J sandwich. The ugliness was over, and I could turn my attention to dinner that night and our upcoming century ride the next day.
Sweet relief!
Final numbers: 94.33 miles, 5:50:57 elapsed time, 16.12 MPH average
Bike Friendly Oak Cliff
Bike Friendly Richardson