Rich’s question delivered a sinking feeling. “Where is your sleeping bag?” The answer was even worse. “I have no idea.” Twenty-three miles ago it was strapped on top of my panniers with two bungee cords. Still attached, they hung lose without their payload. I thought I still had it when I parked my bike outside the cafe where we stopped for breakfast. But I couldn’t even be certain of that. It was only day one of our Two Timing Texas Tour. I was not off to a great start.

Self-incriminating anger infiltrated my body and threatened to erupt. I began my verbal tirade. I would impose my own penal sentence – retracing our route to retrieve said bag. I lost it, I should have to cycle the extra miles to find it. I was well on the path to my rampage. However, Rich had seen it all before. He knew my ability to work myself up and was ready for the counter-attack. Normally, talking sense does little to diffuse the situation. But for once he made me see the folly of my logic. I could search all day and never find it. We would simply buy a new sleeping bag. Even I had to admit he had a point.

Case closed, and we continued. But my lingering mortification powered my pace, propelled me up the hills, and blinded me from appreciating the scenery. I don’t let go all that easily.

The solution assumed that the upcoming tourist towns would have a sporting goods store. Rich was already fast asleep by the time my research proved the fault in that premise. So I turned to the only remaining answer. Amazon.

Through the wonders of online shopping, I found my original order for our sleeping bags and learned they were still available. Then the real magic happened. We discovered the existence of Amazon Lockers. Amazon Prime could deliver my new bag two days hence (on a Sunday, no less) to a locker outside a convenience store right on our route. Click. Ordered.

Monday morning we found the yellow lockers. Punching in the code sent by email, a door immediately popped open revealing my precious package inside. Presto, I had my new sleeping bag!

This time I secured the bungees through the bag’s straps and added a carabiner clip for good measure. I was good to go, and prepared for camping out. Almost. I hadn’t thought to order a new waterproof bag. If heavy rain shows up in the advance forecast, there just may be another Amazon locker in our future.

Take two northern Minnesotans who have barely hung up their skies and plop them on their bikes in Texas. Throw in a stiff quartering headwind, blistering sunshine and temperatures that reach 87 degrees. Mix together for 51 miles and you get two bushed cyclists by the end of the day.

We’ve been here before. Three years ago we faced the same challenge, and we hoped not to repeat our previous mistakes of taking on too much too soon in the heat. However, Texas presents few options. There are only so many towns, and even fewer with motels and restaurants. And lots of land with nothing but farms and animals in between. So our route is pre-ordained, and identical to our last tour.

There were only two possible stopping points today, breaking our ride into three 17 mile segments. Our first was Comanche, where we headed the advice we found in the window of MattDaddy’s cafe on the town square: EAT HERE. They were welcome words indeed, followed by “Open.” The western style menu came with a twist, offering fresh blueberries. I downed two plate sized blueberry studded pancakes to fuel the next leg of our journey.

Our next destination was Priddy, a town that estimates its population at 265. Its meager offerings were an oasis to a couple of weary cyclists. By that time it was already over 80 in the shade. The highlights included cold drinks at the general store and a rest in the playground behind the attractive Lutheran church. It was with difficulty that we gathered the energy to attack our final segment.

You might think that I’d have more to report on the scenery. On the exuberance of the wildflowers. On the lush countryside. The honest answer is that I had my head down most of the way as I pedaled into the wind. Independently we counted down the miles until we reached our humble motel in Goldthwaite. I did notice the ubiquitous modern windmills, and wondered if there were there when we passed by three years ago. I was also keenly aware of the sparse appearance of wildflowers. Pink and yellow flowers graced the roadside here and there, and occasionally a burst of bluebonnets dotted the grass. But nothing like the fields of color we witnessed last time. I’m holding my breath, hoping more appear as we move south.

A pelting shower, clean clothes and a filling Mexican meal have done wonders to revive our sagging bodies. The fine boxed Chardonnay we found in the convenience store across the way has restored our spirits. We’ve passed today’s endurance test. Let tomorrow bring what it may.

Right out of the chute, we changed plans. Enjoying a pre-tour stay on their country farm with my brother Bill and his wife Phillis, we learned that the bluebonnets and other wildflowers were beginning to bloom and it was shaping up to be another bountiful year. That’s all it took for us to reverse direction and head to the Hill Country. Even though we traveled that ground on our last Texas tour, the memories drew us back. So instead of heading East, we are going south to the Fredericksburg area. Since we’ve already broken the mold, we may just change up our itinerary all together. Time will tell, as we make our destination decisions day by day.

Bill saw us off to a fine start, and we wound through quiet farmland dominated by cattle, horses and even a one-off llama. As we rolled up and down with the continuous undulations of the country road, I couldn’t help but revel in the green grass, sprinkling of color from the wildflowers, and eventually the warmth of the sun. Rich couldn’t resist dumpster diving when he found a pony friend awaiting the garbage pickup. He declared it the first Purple Cow of the tour.

We targeted Stephenville for our breakfast stop. Finding no eateries while circling the town square, Rich stopped to ask a woman for advice. She recommended Jack and Dorothy’s Cafe, saying it was chosen as one of the 40 best cafes in Texas. Founded in 1948 and now run by the daughter, it is a classic. The cacophony of clanking plates and waitresses shouting out orders greeted us at the door. Black and white tile, green spinning stools at the counter, coffee pots over-heating on their burners and well worn booths were testimony to its authenticity. As was its menu steeped in the era of heaping portions of eggs, hash browns, bacon and toast. No latte for me today. But Rich’s stock touring breakfast, a ham and cheese omelette, got a thumbs up.

Our cool morning start changed rapidly as the sun came out and the wind picked up. Not only buffeted by the winds, we found the worst cycling road surface yet. Until now, chip seal was our nemesis. But grooved chip seal earned even lower marks. It looked like a road prepared for a resurfacing that never materialized. Fortunately we only had three miles to cover on that washboard, but it was enough to dislodge my sleeping bag from its bungees and send it off into the roadside abyss. By the time we noticed it’s absence, we were miles down the next road. Someone else will be it’s proud new owner, as Rich convinced me it was futile to try and find it. So no camping for us until we can buy a replacement.

As the day wore on, I gradually felt myself getting back into the touring groove. My legs remembered how to power up the hills. The burden of my panniers disappeared once I was rolling. My butt rebelled after 38 miles in the saddle. The passing countryside entertained me. And I zeroed in on the Dairy Queen as soon as we arrived in our destination town.

Not everything went according to plan, but it’s a start. And no doubt we will tweak this tour many more times before we are through. After all, we have four weeks to keep changing our minds.