flats

Aug. 13, 2009

Rain beat down, but we rode. My sunglasses needed windshield wipers; our clothes were soaked through; but, it was our very first “natural” relief from the heat, so we rode on. Bree's dad has joined us for 2 weeks. He said if we made it to Anderson, TX to the “Oldest Hotel” in the state, he'd pay for our room. More inspiration. We got there as night fell to discover 30 years ago it became a museum. We camped around back.

Riding under an overpass the next morning, we heard a blast. Bree's tire exploded. A several-hour search found no bike shop carrying her size. She took a 30-mile tow from the AAA equivalent for bicyclists; her dad and I met her in Brehnam, which left us another 30 miles from our destination.

“Ted?” I called our contact –a friend of a friend of my third cousin-in-law in Baton Rouge. After explaining our predicament, he found her a spare and picked us up in Brehnam. One of the first things he said to us was, “Wow, y'all look like a bunch of homeless people.” Bree and I jumped into the back of the truck with our bikes. Ted threw us some cushions and a couple of beers. The wind tied my hair in knots. Bree and I breathed in our surroundings, reminiscing about some of the best times riding in the backs of trucks.

Pulling up to the country cottage, Ted's wife, Grace, waved from the porch. A woman who deserves her name. She made us chicken and potatoes with homemade salsa and chips. They are city people retreated to the country to escape the rat race and enjoy more. When they learned we'd be heading through New Mexico, Grace turned on a boot-stomping flamenco player from Santa Fe. They showed us scenic photos from a recent trip that made us giddy for the next leg of our journey.

In the morning, we fixed Bree's blown out tire (her third). And right as we were leaving, Grace came from her bedroom with a New Mexican rosary for Bree and a charming black stone bracelet of the Saints for me.