“Looks like you’ve got some rain coming in,” warned David Kearnley, one of the fire-fighters at the Navasota Fire Department, as he scanned the weather app on his phone. It was a warning repeated to us a few minutes later as we sat down in a coffee shop eating breakfast bagels. It was clear today was going to be wet.
There had only been one emergency call during the night. We were woken from our slumber at around 1am by a loud siren and a female voice loudly but calming proclaiming through the station speakers there was an emergency. The station lights automatically came on and the guys jumped up, donned kit and were off sharpish in one of their bright red and shiny chrome engines, leaving us wondering what the heck was happening.
As we’d discovered in Bunkie, any 911 call to a medical emergency goes to the fire department as designated first reponders. By far the majority of their callouts are medical and so it proved with this shout to a 69 year old woman with a history of breast cancer who had passed out on her way to the bathroom.
The crew were out of their beds and gone in seconds. According to David the response time from the call coming in to the engine leaving the station should be two minutes or less. They do get some fires, he explained and there had been several that year. Mobile homes it seems go up particularly fast. Bear in Morganza had explained that older wooden properties were also especially vulnerable as the wood had all dried out.
Fortunately our only emergency was breakfast, duly sorted by a surprisingly upmarket cafe/realty agents in town. It was also our first waste-free meal since being in the states – bagels and lattes on real crockery! Right posh.
We could have sat there all morning, especially as a few raindrops suddenly appeared at the window and the skies over town became increasingly ominous. There was no hint of blue anywhere – but it was warm and we convinced ourselves it might pass over, or we could outrun it. It was typical British optimism which might be fine in the Home Counties, but in a country known for extreme weather, it’s foolish and, as usual, we should have known better.
About five miles out of town as we were climbing a small crest in the road the wind turned 180 degrees, the air lost all its warmth and humidity and the temperature dropped ten degrees in little over a second. Then the rain started. We shouldn’t have been surprised but we still looked at each other in disbelief. What the hell happened there then? As usual at times like this, there’s no cover or buildings around to shelter in, so we ploughed on, or rather set sail, muttering.
The downpour stayed with us for forty miles, cold driving rain that soaked through our waterproofs in minutes and then seemed to drain straight through to our bones. We stopped to put our overshoes on in a futile attempt to keep our feet dry and I wondered how Terry’s $25 Wallmart waterproof would hold out. At least it had a hood.
What was most disappointing was that through the water droplets covering my glasses I could only just see we were cycling through the most beautiful landscape since the start of the ride – the famous Texas Hill Country. Green undulating countryside, local history around every corner, long horned cattle and beautiful flowers. We missed it all.
To stop meant to get really cold and since there was no where to shelter for forty miles we had to keep moving. Turning into William Penn Rd (the William Penn of Pennsylvania fame?), the road became compressed dirt … and ruts … and puddles. At a junction a few miles later we managed to go the wrong way as we couldn’t see the road sign in the rain. We were lost.
“Why extra-terrestials would choose to be riding bikes in the backwoods of Texas in the driving rain, who knew”.
We flagged down a pickup, the only vehicle we’d seen for miles. The elderly driver wound down his window and looked at us as if we were aliens who’d just landed on earth. Although why extra-terrestials would choose to be riding bikes in the backwoods of Texas, in the driving rain, who knew.
“Yes, I know we must be completely stupid,” I said, water dripping off my cycle helmet and cutting him off before he had a chance to state the obvious. “Is this the road to Independence?” Terry interjected.
” It’s a county road,” was all the man offered. A further question prompted the same response. It was clear he had no intention of being helpful and looked on in disdain as we stood dripping in the rain. Eventually he revealed the road we were on would in fact take us to Independence and drove off through the puddles. We remained unconvinced. If he really did think we’d landed from another planet he was hardly going to help our invasion plans was he?
As his truck disappeared into the gloom I tried without success to pull up google maps on my phone but it was just too wet, water had got under the cover and besides which my fingers were so wrinked by the rain I couldn’t operate the touch screen.
“Terry dug into the pocket of his pannier and whipped out his compass. He really does amaze me”.
It’s in situations like this that real men come to the fore. Terry dug into the pocket of his pannier and whipped out his compass. He really does amaze me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d pulled out a sextant and lunar telescope.
Realising we were going completely the wrong way we backtracked and carried on. Oh, how we laughed about those extra miles in this atrocious weather. Oddly though our mood was fine. We were mainly frustrated this was the best scenery and cycling road so far. We also saw our first nodding donkey, presumably pumping oil, in the dim distance.
After stopping to take a photo of some cows (I have no idea why) I began to realise we had a problem. We were both very wet and cold, but Terry was especially cold and if we stopped he started to shiver. It was clear we just needed to keep going to generate some body heat to warm up the layer of water now sloshing around in trhe gap between our clothes and skin.
“Knowing Terry had to keep warm I urged him to push on and find shelter”.
Soon we were back on track, but still getting soaked. For the first time we cursed downhills, which chilled us to the bone and wished for climbs which at least kept us warm. At one point when Terry stopped to answer the call of nature he even contemplated peeing down his leg to keep warm. Everything was wet. Yesterday’s cycling kit laid out on the back rack was sodden, the clothes we were wearing were sodden.
Knowing Terry had to keep warm I urged him to push on and find shelter. As he did so he noticed the underlying geology must’ve changed, as the occasional nodding donkey was now replaced by small fracking sites and the few cowboy-era remains of buildings were made of limestone and not wood.
Peering through the rain he could also make out that the ground cover and vegetation was also different. The only constant around here was the rain. Burton was the only dot on our map that promised a roof and food … and hopefully heat. Forty miles into the rain-soaked ride he spotted a neon ‘open’ sign advertising the Burton Short Stop and dripped his way inside. It was warm! No aircon, just heat. Peeling off the sodden fabrics of Walmart’s finest and his fleece, he finally began my to warm up. By the time Terry had dried himself and ordered, I stumbled in, feeling as bad as I looked.
The Short Stop staff were really helpful and friendly … and completely unphased by us or our appalling appearance. It was warm, the Waltons was playing on the TV and there was hot food, although Terry had to settle for a cheese burger sans meat. But at least his bun (and buns) were warm. I slipped outside to phone my son Matt on his 25th birthday. Hearing his voice and my family, who had gathered for the celebration, it was difficult not to feel homesick.
We ate and loitered until we were vaguely warm and then put on our damp kit and ventured out … into the sunshine! Hu-bloody-rah! It turned out that Burton was quite an interesting old town with several fine examples of 18th and 19th century vernacular architecture. There was also an ancient railway station, stage coach and cotton gun although everything was closed today.
Once again we were struck by the warmth of people in the south as a truck driver called Jim pulled over in his truck to say hello and an elderly lady, who was a Warmshowers host, asked if we needed somewhere to stay for the night. She also told us a touring cyclist, Sarah, had been staying with her for the last couple days and was heading westbound.
The countryside could now being appreciated in its best light … it was picture postcard perfect. We headed on through undulating countryside then hit antiques alley ten miles through the towns of Round Top and Warrenton with huge barns, warehouses and marquees lining the road absolutely jam-packed with old stuff of every persuasion.
There were hundreds of rusting bedsteads, barrels by the thousands, weird tinplate animals and, rather incongruously, two red double decker buses right in the middlle of Texas as if they’d just driven in from London. If that wasn’t enough to make us feel close to Blighty then there was a red telephone box so we could call home in style.
Going up a hill I marvelled, not for the first time, at Terry’s incredible ability to balance on a bike as he rode along taking off his overshoes as he went. I had to stop, lay my bike down and lean on something to remove mine and even then I nearly fell over.
With the sun sinking in front of us – going west, we always get the best sunsets – we passed through Oldenburg and Rutersville (both originally German settlements) and on into La Grange, which had Czech heritage. Eventually the seemingly endless hills came to an end and we arrived, at the Cottonwood Inn. It was on the far side of town and the sun finally gave up on the day as we crossed the Colorado River. With a small amount of imagination it could have been the Bates Motel.
It was all a bit odd, but the staff were helpful, particularly when Terry lost one of his socks in the motel washing machine. They spent ages looking for the lost sock of Texas only to discover it was still in his pannier, along with his compass, sextant, lunar telescope, slide rule, microscope, circular saw, etc etc. No wonder he couldn’t find it.
Another Subway supper in the room gave us time to reflect on the day … best day’s cycling yet in many ways, sort of shame about the rain. Life eh? Only 40 miles tomorrow, so we might treat ourselves to a late start. And we did see a nice Czech bakery back in town that looks good for breakfast in the morning. Result.
Today’s miles: 68.76
Total miles since Anastasia State Park: 1,263.89
