Clearly we were on opposite sides of the insurmountable divide. Rich held firmly to his stance, and I to mine. There was no meeting of the minds.

It was all a matter of numbers. 1,000 was the critical figure. We were in easy agreement many miles back, that we wanted to reach 1,000 miles before ending this cycling tour. Now that we were zeroing in on the finish line, we had reached an impasse.

It all depended on how you counted. Rich included our shakedown ride the day prior to departing on our tour, as well as a few miles biking to and from the Presidential Museum. Being a purist, I included only those miles we traveled moving forward “on tour.” Those peripheral distances were not legitimate. The difference came down to 20 miles.

Based on Rich’s planned route to our end point, he would easily reach 1,000 but I would come up short. “Just so you know, I’m not stopping until I reach 1,000,” I informed him. “Can’t you just do some extra miles on your own?” he griped. He was getting tired and could smell the end. “No deal.” I made a few suggestions for altering our route to lengthen it slightly, but they fell on deaf ears. The ugly clash hung over us.

With three days to go, lodging proved difficult in arranging our next destination. With great trepidation, I offered an alternative. To my great surprise, Rich was receptive. It involved quieter roads, offered a artsy community, and solved our math issues. Sold. Crisis averted. Maybe.

It happened on the long downhill into town. Switching gears to get more power, nothing happened. Trying again, attempting other gears, still nothing. I was suddenly grateful for the descent, as I coasted well over a mile to catch up to Rich. Standing to climb the final hill and limping into town, I feared the worst. We had nothing but small towns between us and our finish, with nary a bike shop in the offing. “I’ll see if I can fix it,” Rich offered. Then uttered the words I did not want to hear. “If I can’t, we’ll just have to ask your brother to come pick us up.”

We had found winning accommodations in Clinton. The tidy downtown provided a boutique hotel called the Screen Door Inn (and yes, our room had a screen door). The restored building was spare and spacious, with a hint of its original bones revealed in the walls. Rich set up shop in the back of the lobby and set to work. It became obvious that the gear cable had broken, and although he had never done it before, he was able to stretch the remainder to reconnect it. A quick test proved the gears were working again – the tour was still on! Rather than giving it a street test, I preferred to rely on faith. I just did not want to know if the triumph was to be short lived.

While strolling through town in the afternoon, we followed a BBQ flag to find a music venue with food trucks and event set-up going on. Learning that there was a concert that evening, we knew we’d found our evening meal and entertainment.

Returning at the appointed time, we purchased lawn seat tickets. The ladies from the Chamber of Commerce were nice enough to lend us chairs and we set up right at the front of the grass. A man behind us in line at the BBQ truck told us he was a friend of the lead singer of the band, and that he was a real entertainer. He was so right.

This was no small town troupe. Michael Hix and his band are from the Fort Worth area and play to audiences throughout Texas. They were excellent musicians, and Michael knew how to work the crowd. He was constantly walking into the audience, throwing out funny one-liners and engaging everyone in the act. They did a history of Rock ‘n Roll in the first half, music that we knew well. Much of the choice of music was spontaneous, taking cues from the crowd appeal. So it wasn’t surprising that after the break they moved into country music, which brought the crowd to their feet – dancing. Michael’s outrageous impersonations of Tina Turner and Mick Jagger had us roaring with laughter. He didn’t hold anything back.

We thought our experience couldn’t get any better until breakfast the next morning. Instead of offering breakfast at the hotel, they gave us vouchers to the Corner Drug Cafe next door. It seemed a wise business model. The cafe was a real throwback to the soda fountain of old, and for a change offered a menu with more than fried eggs and hash. I voted my avocado toast, apple cinnamon protein muffin and latte my best breakfast of the trip! Even though Rich had to deviate from his usual ham and cheese omelette, he was downright pleased with his scrambled eggs and biscuit. And that muffin.

Setting off in the sunshine down a quiet road that avoided the highway and trucks, all felt right with the world. We had mended our fences and had another unique experience in the process. My bicycle was as good as new. That 1,000 miles was still within reach.

I would never have found it without Google Maps. But once I read its history, I knew where we’d be having breakfast that morning. Having gotten an early start, we relished the low morning sun that was already warming the day. It was easy to appreciate our constant companions, the wildflowers, and take in the rural farms. Arriving in Dew, an unincorporated community that is home to 70 people, we found little more than a welcome sign. But I knew that Dad’s Place was just a touch further along the local road.

“Dad” is Monte Atchley, a lifelong resident of Dew. Moving his grandparents’ home place to this spot and renovating in keeping with its original rustic feel, he opened Dad’s Place just last year. It’s a family affair, involving his wife and children. His goal was to provide a country store and cafe that catered to the locals. Sure enough, when we came through the door four regulars were hanging out on the cafe stools while Monte tended the grill. They recognized us as outsiders instantly (that wasn’t hard!) and conversation flowed swiftly and easily. Friendly hardly begins to describe it.

I devoured the tender and filling pancakes I ordered – the best yet. “He makes his own batter,” the waitress divulged. I was stoked and ready to cycle again, yet reluctant to leave, savoring the experience. The community of Dew is lucky to have Dad’s Place – and so were we.

Our destination for the day was Fisherman’s Point, a large chunk of land on Richland-Chambers Reservoir. The combination of cabins, RV sites and camping were clearly secondary to the activity happening at the dock and boat launch. Fishing was the focus here. We lingered in the shade of the office after checking in, cooling off with cold drinks and getting the lay of the land from Colleen who ran the place. “See those picnic tables over there, across the inlet? Take your pick, and pitch your tent anywhere you like.” It was that kind of place. An institution.

The sun was hot, but in the shade of the huge trees there was just enough breeze to be very comfortable. In fact, this was the first day in almost three weeks that we did not have a strong wind! The calm lake was perfect evidence. I followed Rich’s example and folded my sleep mat into a chair leaning against a tree. It made a delightful spot for reading. I’ll take the outdoors any day over a dreary motel room.

Birds cackled, screamed and sang all night long. Fish in the inlet thrashed and splashed. Some adventurous fishermen fired up their launch in the wee hours of the morning. I had the odd feeling that when I emerged from the tent I’d find myself in the tropics. But no, dawn delivered me right back out into that bastion of Texas outdoorsmanship.  We may not have fished, but they accepted us all the same.

Smooth fast roads and continued light winds delivered us to Corsicana by late morning. Passing down the main street in the historic downtown we noticed a boisterous gathering in a pocket park. Slowing down next to the street-side picnic tables, we were immediately invited to join the throng. Free hot dogs, chips and soft drinks were on offer. Live music emanated from the park, and and a clown sat at the table next to ours. It was all part of the lead up to Derrick Days, the community festival happening over the weekend.

Corsicana has a colorful history tied to oil. It became Texas’ first oil boom town after oil was accidentally discovered in 1894 when water prospectors were drilling an artesian well to expand the city’s water supply. Soon oil wells sprang up all over the city, and Corsicana became the site if the first commercial oil field in Texas. Wealth flooded the city, and left behind a collection of big mansions in what is now known as the Carriage District.

The annual festival still pays tribute to those oil days. Our new found friends informed us there would be more food and music that evening. We promised we’d be back. We can never get enough of that down home hospitality.

Progress to date: 17 days, 721 miles

The memories from our last Texas Tour lingered. As we completed our wide arc around San Antonio and angled northeastward, I looked forward to revisiting the forested part of the state. Aptly called Piney Woods, East Texas receives a lot more rainfall than the more desert-like land we had been traveling. And it hosts plenty of pine and deciduous trees.

For a warm-up, we spent a night at Lake Somerville State Park camping in our humble tent. The campground was deserted, with only one other couple and the campground hosts holding down campsites. The park is designed for heavy equestrian use, with huge cages to hold horses right at the campsites. I’ve never seen that in Minnesota!

The washrooms were a bit of a hike, and just in case he spotted a bird, Rich carried his camera on his trips through the woods. Indeed, he returned from one such journey with great elation. It wasn’t a bird. It was an armadillo! A live one! And by virtue of his foresight, he managed to get a picture of it. We’ve seen many a dead, squished armadillo on the roads while cycling, and were convinced there were no live ones to be seen. We now know differently. I’m still envious.

We truly reached Piney Woods when we stayed in Huntsville, on the edge of the Sam Houston National Forest. We could already detect the increase in rainfall, with far more underbrush and roadside wildflowers that had to compete with the additional vegetation. With an AirBnB right near the Sam Houston Park in town, we spent a warm evening walking through the well documented exhibits and buildings that were part of his heritage. Once again, we felt enriched by being right in town surrounded by local history.

Not only did the heavier precipitation levels produce beautiful forests, but it also presented us with our first real threat of rain. While we have cycled in soggy conditions numerous times, if we can avoid it we will. In this case, the prudent thing seemed to be to book two nights in Crockett, and make plans for the in-between day based on the weather.

It turned out to be a winning strategy. Although I mourned losing out on spending a couple of days cycling all the way across the Davy Crockett National Forest and back, we dialed back our route to reduce it to a short day trip. The morning held heavy clouds, but remained dry. The clouds even broke enough to give us brief moments of sunshine. We could feel the heat and humidity building as we passed through the lush green and towering pines, and savored riding bikes liberated from all our gear.

Finishing up about lunchtime, we could see the line of angry dark clouds approaching. Instituting our contingency plans, we bought a bottle of wine and stopped by Pizza Hut to make sure they delivered. It wasn’t long after returning that the rain started. Thunderstorms rattled the air throughout the afternoon and by evening it was pouring. Snug in our B&B and smug about our dry dinner plans, we set up in the front parlor to enjoy our repast.

The rain ended by morning. We’d beaten the weather. And it was time to begin moving out of the woods. I wasn’t so ready for that.  But no doubt Texas has plenty more to show me in our final remaining week of cycling.

Rich coined a new term, “Road Surface Roulette.” It pretty much describes how fate rules our bike touring days. Spending around five hours a day physically pushing the pedals, and up to seven hours total travel time, the road is our constant companion. The road holds our mental state hostage and toys with our physical stamina.

A smooth road surface (oh blessed blacktop) makes for effortless cycling. Combined with a good wide shoulder it overcomes wind and fatigue. It is the secret sauce in the recipe for happy, upbeat cyclists. Freed from road worries, sightseeing takes over, miles fly by, legs pump tirelessly and all is well with the world. In this state of euphoria, it is easy to fall prey to the notion that it will go on forever. We know better, but prefer to live in the moment.

Without warning, the shoulder disappears. Pavement crumbles. And – horror of horrors – rough chip seal takes over. Texas highway departments are in love with chip seal. That rock encrusted road coating easily takes three miles per hour off our pace. Now we bounce along, wheels slowly grinding over the pebbles, bicycles rattling, teeth chattering. Our world view takes a nosedive.

We have a love-hate relationship with counties. Crossing a county line guarantees a change in road conditions. The sign signaling a new county can bring salvation or devastation. Our psyches recalibrate accordingly. At one such crossing, Rich was so happy he dismounted to kiss the ground of the new road jurisdiction!

We have developed a special affinity for Texas Farm Roads. Whenever possible, Rich routes us along these country lanes. The small back roads feel like private bike trails, with minimal traffic and pastoral scenery. Road conditions are not always ideal, but it matters less when we have the road to ourselves. The one exception was the mile of rock strewn dirt road that we encountered. I prefer to block that episode from memory.

Getting off the beaten track does come with its trade offs. Less civilization translates to fewer options for food, and we learn not to be picky. It means having breakfast in some pretty interesting places. And sometimes being pleasantly surprised.

Farm road scenery is up close and personal. Cows get up and run when we cycle past. Sometimes the whole herd follows us. Lawn art amuses, oil rigs pump amid wildflowers, Rich watches for birds and we observe local life. We even find some great specimens of Texas Longhorns.

Life on the road is never dull. It’s the tales that emerge from our cycling that make it worthwhile. I’ll try to remember that the next time the roulette wheel comes up chip seal.

It started with the need for a rest. Although we were zeroing in on our destination for the day, battling the headwinds had taken its toll and we needed a break. I wasn’t particularly interested in the historical marker. It just looked like a good spot to pull over.

Once there, I couldn’t ignore the display. Lining the path to the monument, information signs brought me up to speed on the Texas War for Independence from Mexico. It so happened that the locals were holding a canon than the Mexicans believed belonged to them. And so came the battle cry, “Come and take it!” We were standing near the spot where the first shot was fired. And ultimately the Texans prevailed. Cool story. And still a good place to rest.

Arriving in Gonzales, I was suddenly very glad for my history lesson. The canon, first shot and “Come and take it” were prominent everywhere – flags, business names, government building plaques and even sidewalk garbage bins proudly displayed these symbols. Best of all, we had chosen to stay in an old historic hotel right on the town square.

Having just come through a number of small towns with little to see, we were hungry for more interesting sights. So we made a pact. No roadside motels on the neon strip if we can find accommodations right in the center of town. Even if it meant spending more for it. It certainly paid off in Gonzales. I spent the lovely sunny afternoon wandering its historic streets.

The majestic county courthouse dominated the town square, with other impressive government and private buildings flanking each side of it. Wandering down the street away from the square I found evidence of a very prosperous town. Huge homes with turrets, Victorian houses painted in brilliant colors and stone mansions lined the street. Even more modest size homes made a statement with their classic lines. And an old Mobil station returned to its former glory.

Parks were in abundance, as were monuments to their war heros. The thriving town square offered many choices for eating, drinking and music. We were drawn in by the country music band members that told us “We don’t play anything from this century.”  Listening to their tune capped the evening,

We hadn’t originally planned to stay in Smithville, but found a Warm Showers host there. By the time we learned he was not available, we were sold on the place. Following our new mantra led us to The Katy House B&B, just a block off Main Street. The stately brick home built in 1909 has been revitalized as a welcoming and comfortable inn.

My radar (and advance sleuthing) told me Amy’s Ice Cream was just down the road. The legendary local spot was humming with activity, and we eagerly joined the crowd. Rich creamy cups of ice cream soothed away the heat of the day.

It was the arrival of the railroad that caused Smithville to boom and prosper, spawning more beautiful large homes. Today it exudes an aura of vitality and pride. Its Main Street is lined with colorful shops and restaurants, and ends in a park with a picturesque gazebo and railway museum. Walking the streets and taking in the local activity from a rocker on the porch of the B&B, I could sense the town embracing its history yet thriving in the present.

Not every town we cycle through has a glorious history. Not every town is prosperous. But staying in the heart of the community and taking in the local scene makes for a much richer experience.

Progress to date: 8 days, 362 miles

Standing on the shoulder in the blistering 87 degree sunshine we stared across the busy road at our intended motel. We had already traversed the length of the town and were now in the seedy outskirts. All other lodging options were already well behind us. “I’m not impressed.” Rich’s statement covered both of us.

Long tan prefab buildings lay in rows on a large concrete lot. Each barracks had a wooden deck running its length, serving door after door of rooms. There was no compensating green space in sight, just commercial buildings. Bleak hardly described it.

Seeking shelter under a shade tree, we pulled out our phones to reconnoiter. It was a long way back cycling into the wind before we’d reach another place. Melting in the heat after already covering 54 miles, the idea was not appealing. But was it more unappetizing than staying in this barren shelter? We reread the reviews, and it was clear that this place housed out of town workers. But they had pretty favorable things to say. We figured we had little to lose by asking to see a room.

Three young women in the office greeted us cheerfully and answered our inquiries regarding availability and cost. “We’re pretty busy right now, with all the men in the oil fields,” Rhonda told us. But they did have single and double rooms available. “And the price includes dinner and breakfast. Tonight we’re serving spaghetti and meatballs, with homemade bread, and fresh lemon bars for dessert.” Sweeter words could not have been uttered. We still went to see the room, but Rich noted that was superfluous. “You sold us on the spaghetti!” he told her.

The room was clean and very tidy. With a stove, kitchen sink and full sized refrigerator it was even more than we needed. And the bed looked firm and comfortable. “We also do your laundry for you,” Rhonda added. “Just drop it off in the office and we will return it folded to your room.” We couldn’t wait to hand over our hot and sweaty cycling gear. Perhaps there was something to this oil field retreat. We might have more in common with those guys than we thought. Priorities: food, laundry, shelter and sleep.

Dinner was served from 3:00-8:00pm, but we were advised to get there before the guys returned at 5:30. We expected to be surrounded by workers, but not too surprisingly they all picked up their dinner and retreated to their rooms. Instead, we met Rhonda’s three children. The youngest two were especially intrigued by our cycling, and we traded bicycling stories for dance routines, jr high football talk and two hand drawn pictures of a cat. “You are cool” graced the back, in neat first grade printing. Oh, and the food was as good as the company.

Breakfast ran from 3:00-9:00am, but it was said to be pretty dead by 7:30. No problem! Our only company for munching on cornflakes and a breakfast taco was the cook. She had been there since 2:00am. “I made over a hundred tacos this morning, and they are nearly gone,” she informed us. “Those oil rig guys left hours ago.” Sure enough the parking lot was deserted, and it was as quiet as it had been all night long. With hours like theirs, we didn’t hear any partying going on.

Had we been in a car, we would never have given the place a second look. Traveling by bicycle gives us a whole different perspective. Practicality rules. We try things we might otherwise avoid. We move outside our comfort zone.  It usually leads to some neat experiences, like this one. It was fortunate that we didn’t cave in to our initial hasty judgements.

Our legs reverberated all night long. Punishing hills and significant mileage this early in the trip took its toll on our bodies. Rich insisted we cut back, so we reduced our mileage to 30-40 miles for a few days. We put the extra free time to good use, mostly exploring nature.

Kerrville has some beautiful parks and a new system of paved trails connecting them along the Guadalupe River. Tranquility Island, which was formed by recent floods and the river manipulating its sandbars, was as peaceful as its name. Rich reveled in the unusual birds he was able to find and photograph. We managed to while away most of the afternoon there.

Warm Showers hosts are in short supply along our route, so we were thrilled to spend the night with Fred and Janice outside Kerrville. It was a most pleasant evening, with no end of conversation to share over a hearty meal. We were fascinated by Fred’s ingenious application of his engineering skills to bicycle development. In the morning he cycled with us on his bike that he can power by hand on the front wheel as well as pedal the back wheel!

Our next stop was Bandera, self-proclaimed Cowboy Capital of the World. John Wayne might agree, as we ate in a restaurant with dozens of his pictures staring down at us. The town did have a very Western look, and plenty of bars offering honky tonk music. The City Park was the main attraction for us. We settled into a small cabin opposite the park and I spent the afternoon writing on the riverbank, surrounded by huge ducks and geese squawking and vying for handouts.

We unknowingly joined a fundraising effort for Relay for Life that evening. The restaurant we chose had all volunteer waitresses, whose tips were donated to support the cancer fund. They were a friendly lot, working hard but enjoying the unique experience – without any prior experience. The air was warm out on the deck under sun dappled trees, with a singer to entertain us. Hearing that we were from Minnesota, he threw in a few Bob Dylan tunes for us.

Not all short mileage days are easy. The 30 miles to go on our final “rolling rest day” turned out to be one of the most challenging yet. The combination of crumbled chip seal pavement and a headwind was bad enough. But when the shoulder narrowed down to about 15″ I lost all momentum. It was all I could do to balance on the precarious margin and stay out of the way of the rumbling trucks that blew past. Forget speed, it was all about survival. Scenery? I saw none. To add insult to injury, Rich had to spend our rest stop repairing another flat tire – his third in three days.

But I did see the colorful little hut alongside the road when we arrived in Hondo. It demanded investigating. Inside were colorful candies, jars of flavorings for Raspas (shaved ice – think snow cone), and Italian ices. The jolly owner happily explained them all to us, then dished up flavorful ices for us – lime for Rich, strawberry and mango for me. The perfect way to chill out after our hot, trying ride.

So much for cutting back. Tomorrow it’s back to a 54 miler. Maybe that will be easier.