We woke up on our little patch of land to the roar of passing traffic (it seemed to be coming from all directions) while it was still dark – and bitterly cold, dipping to just 8 degrees. On mornings such as this you get as much as possible packed inside the warmth of the tent before emerging into the chill.
Terry was dreaming of a big bowl of ‘Fruit and Flakes’ with sliced bananas and blueberries for breakfast, washed down with fresh orange juice and coffee. But instead, wearing fleeces, down jackets and long cycling trousers we dashed in the half-light across the busy Highway 71 to the Texas Grill for the usual fry up, jug of coffee and a top off with pancakes.
To be honest I could eat breakfast in an American diner every day for the rest of my life and be blissfully happy. True, that life may be curtailed by a surfeit of fat and cholesterol, but I’d go with a smile on my face and maple syrup on my lips. Yum! Terry, I was guessing, was not such a fan. His spirits were lifted when we noticed an old old fairground game which determined your attractiveness to the opposite, or indeed same, sex.
With my rating topping out as ’HARMLESS’ (at least I wasn’t CLAMMY!) Terry couldn’t resist giving it a go. The bulbs flashed in a mad frenzy and there it was – ‘HOT STUFF!’ Outside I put my arm around him in a supportive gesture, which he reciprocated with a mock kiss on my cheek. He then took out his pink lip balm and applied liberally. What the tough Texans who were still eating their breakfast inside thought of the antics of two Englishmen in long padded pants I have no idea, but we left town pronto.
“Even the squirrel look surprised and he’d been dead for at least a week”.
Terry’s ego suitably boosted, we started another shortish day in the saddle with our destination being the city of Austin, around 40 miles away. The road, weather and more scrubby scenery were all fine.
Ten miles out of town we stopped to photograph black vultures forming a barrier across the road and feasting on a squirrel. Then Terry made another totally uncharacteristic mistake – he dropped his bike. Astonishment all around, not least from Terry. Even the squirrel look surprised and he’d been dead for at least a week. Fearing for their lives the vultures took to the skies and we rode on.
A little later on we saw a plover, miles from the sea, but digging for worms in a puddle by the road. It had to be an American Plover – no British bird would be that optimistic – particularly with so many birds of prey shadowing overhead.
Riding through Cedar Creek it was clear the area was quite a bit poorer. For much of Texas we’d been surprised at how much tidier it was than parts of Louisiana and more substantial brick built homes replacing ones that were sometimes little more than shacks.
After about 20 miles we peeled off into a gas station for a coffee. Its associated store was a wonderland of fresh fruit and vegetables … some new to us … and an endless choice of the usual daily fare. The Mexican influence of the area was most evident in the veg … lots of dried chillies, beans and cactus leaves – and it was so colourful! Sadly it was another case of wrong place, wrong time. With only 40 miles to do today we’d be into Austin by just after two, so we settled for coffee and shared a tub of fresh fruit.
Terry asked the till assistant if she knew where the county line was – as he wanted to locate us exactly on the map – and, like most people we’ve asked about their local area, she had no idea, although she only lived a few minutes drive away. It turned out to be clearly marked on a roadside sign less than 100m from the store.
Back on the road we met Bob who had sold all his possessions, bought a bike and had been on the road for the past two years with the aim of visiting every state, occasionally stopping to work along the way. So far he’d made twelve states – so only 38 to go. His rig was pretty impressive – bar rails and a big speaker up front to wile away the hours.
Distracted by Bob, Terry missed a turn and we headed straight for the back end of the Austin-Bergstrom International Airport rather than taking the correct route which goes further south and skirts the northern boundary of the Circuit of the Americas where the annual Austin F1 Grand Prix is held. We were soon back on track and heading into Montopolis, which sounds like some futuristic fantasy world but was only noticeable for its rubbish concrete road, endless traffic lights and major roadworks, which convinced us we’d made another wrong turn.
“You can take away my seven Tour de France victories but not my cycle path!”
But looking beyond the diggers we spotted our route and the start of the Lance Armstrong Bikeway, boo, hiss! You can take away my seven Tour de France victories but not my cycle path! Curiously on the ACA maps this is shorted to LAB, where I would imagine many of his performance enhancing drugs were made. Oh the irony!
The bikeway found us crossing the Colorado again and while taking a ritual pee over the side (as you do!) Terry spotted a massive fish being pulled along by the current. “Does that look like a Koi carp to you?” he asked. It was orange white and black and was definitely a Koi – and over three feet long, 40 ft below us. How had it got there? Talk about Keeping Austin Weird.
Like Lance’s career the bikeway is a little patchy, at one point clearly marked with a good surface, at others seemingly disappearing. We wondered if sections had been removed as his career waned and titles were withdrawn.
Entering the city from the east you hit downtown quickly, and it was full of hip, cool, trendy dudes … and us. The city was buzzing with the excitement of the South by South West Festival which was in full swing, but it was all much more muted and chilled than the baudy excitement and hedonism of cycling into New Orleans for Mardi Gras.
Whereas everything in the Big Easy was frenetic and exciting here it was laid back. People whizzed past on electric scooters, bands played on roof tops, music lovers walked hand in hand down the streets, cycle rickshaws weaved in and out of the city centre and all the time the Metro tram blasted its horn, trying to clear a safe path through the crowds. ‘Dikes on Bikes’ was the proud sign on one rickshaw shed. For the first time on our journey riding two loaded touring bikes didn’t seem in the least bit weird. In fact we fitted right in.
“Nice rig man!” a long haired young man remarked with a smile as I pulled up next to him at the lights. We stopped for coffee at an independant shop, bustling with creative types. Juan Pablo, a rickshaw driver, spotted our panniers and made a beeline for us. A veteran cyclist from Chile and having ridden from New York State to Calgary and down through South America, he was now ferrying tourists around the city. But on hearing our tales of the Southern Tier and the TransAm, it was clear his heart was elsewhere.
“That’s so cool man!’” he responded, his cheeks pinching as he drew on a cigarette. Finally, at the ages of 64 and 54 we were hip and happening. I knew Terry was thinking exactly the same thing as me, so we said our goodbyes and wheeled our bikes back our to the cycle lane.
“You were about to ask him how much it would be for a rickshaw ride to San Diego,” I said and Terry nodded. We were both extremely doubtful about whether we’d make it to California and jumping on the back of Juan’s ride seemed far more attractive than doing the pedaling ourselves.
“The only stipulation is you have to turn up on two wheels and the idea is that one day you’ll reciprocate their generosity”.
We had arranged to meet our Warmshowers hosts at their house at about six. warmshowers.org is a website which lists people who will put up touring cyclists for the night for free. Some hosts provide a bed, others a campsite, some a shower and a few kind souls even feed their weary visitors. The only stipulation is you have to turn up on two wheels and the idea is that one day you’ll reciprocate their generosity.
I joined the site when we rode the TransAm five years ago and I hosted a British couple a few years back who had coincidentally ridden the Southern Tier and had come back via Manchester and were cycling home to Kent.
Our hosts in Austin, Susan and David Kraemer, lived about a mile from where we were in Downtown. So after coffee we made our way to their home in the Chesnut area of the city close to the UFCU Disch-Falk Field stadium, which is home to the University of Texas Longhorns baseball team, and the adjacent stadium at the Red and Charline McCombs Field, where the University’s women’s softball team play.
One block over was their beautiful wooden, porched house, the most noticeable feature being the front garden which was full of spring flowers … just like an old fashioned English country garden!
Susan and David could not have been more welcoming and friendly, generous, interesting and equally interested in us. We thought we’d just get a bed for a couple of nights (as SXSW was in town, a central cheap hotel was pushing $500 a night!) and then be left to fend for ourselves. Evidently not.
Susan, the cyclist out of the couple, was keen on doing some long distance touring and had been out cycling around Bastrop State Park in recent days. She was keen to hear stories of life on the road and was very happy to swop those for meals. What that translated to was that David would do all the cooking. Picking many of the ingredients from his incredible garden out back he was so skilled in the culinary arts that, discovering Terry was a vegetarian, he quickly adapted his recipe without so much as a blink.
We spent the evening chatting, sharing cycling tales and eating David’s delicious meal, before retiring for a really good night’s sleep. I’m not really sure we’ll ever want to leave.
Today’s miles: 40.82
Miles since Anastasia State Park: 1,348.79
