MS 150 Houston to Austin - Part 2 'The Main Event'

After showing our belligerence as the 'Renegade riders' on Saturday a degree of decorum was now required for Sundays main event. Our rider numbers were revealed and carefully attached to bikes, helmets and onto the rear of our fancy team jerseys. Grooming rituals took place where razors headed north to greet stubble chins, an unusual diversion from the more customary lower limbs.
As we gathered together with our BHP Billiton team mates in La Grange there was one visual difference between us and them.
It had nothing to do with tired eyes or sun burnt necks, but we each wore a black 'Pirates of the Caribbean' wristbands to signify our brotherhood.
It was out of mutual respect for each other from escaping the jaws of the 'Prairie beast' on the previous day.
Poor Dave, despite his courageous act of gallantry, he didn't even have any scars to illustrate his heroic actions. Unsurprisingly these were getting more and more exaggerated at each rendition. We even thought of carving some claws marks into his seat to provide actual evidence as to the size of the creature.

With the sun shinning in a cloudless sky it was a beautiful scene as 13,000+ riders gathered by the Courthouse in central La Grange. A whole array of different brightly coloured shirts greeted the morning, and there was a warm energy that radiated from all the participants. It was quite awe inspiring.
The American National anthem was played just prior to the start with complete silence honoured. It was something I both respected and warmed to.
When I say I respected it, I don't mean that glibly. I listened to the words and related to them. They felt right, and they were especially poignant just prior to this event.
Although I am proud to be British I think our own national anthem is irrelevant to me personally. Its all about our sovereign and not about 'The people'.
Am I sounding like a socialist?

Shortly after the start the route splits and provides two courses before converging again at the lunch time stop of Bastrop. The easiest and fastest route was along the shoulder of Texas 71, a four-lane divided highway. The other was simply called 'The Challenge' route, a series of rode less-traveled, farm-to-market roads that wound through two state parks of Beuscher and Bastrop. On my two previous MS 150 rides I had elected to take the easier route.
You see I never really liked the word 'Challenge' unless its placed in context.
To me challenge is a bit too ambiguous, it comes in the same category as other words like 'Nearly' or 'Not far'. Its all about perspective.
At the end of March I took part in a Cycling Sportive called the 'Cheshire Cat'.
It was 102 miles and described as 'challenging'.
Although I did manage to complete it in a fairly respectable time, I nearly cried on some of the mountains (that were described as hills). I found it a massive challenge and so did Scott (my bike) We didn't speak to each other for at least a week afterwards.

Anyway continuing our more rebellious theme we opted for the 'Challenge Route'.
Dave and Kelly (Who joined us on day two) had previously completed the route and therefore knew the terrain. I just followed them with a degree of scepticism.
I never really quite worked out which aspect was the official 'challenge'.
For Houstonians I expect the numerous steep climbs and rapid descents were very challenging after flat riding.
For me there were two.

The main one was avoiding novice climbers who suddenly ran out of gears or puff and stopped or fell over abruptly in front of me.
Very inconsiderate of them!!!!!
But equally as demanding were the technical challenges, which worked my mind far more than my body.
Constant visual readjustment was needed when moving from bright sunlight to heavily shadowed woodland. With my aging eyes it was like being temporarily blinded. I hope I didn't bump into people during those darkened moments. I now have visions of me causing my own trail of destruction whilst riding under natures canopy, through the shadowed twilight.
The forest trails also varied in their surface, some parts were dry, others damp or even contained puddles. Some parts were clear others were strewn with pine needles, bumps and pot holes.
I loved it, both the technical aspects of the challenge and its beauty.
With it came the sound of a bagpiper playing. His music reverberating through the woods reminded me of home.
We stopped at one of the drink stations which was contained within a clearing surrounded by tall pine trees.There was music playing, people dancing and singing.
It was more reminiscent of a sixties rock concert than a charity cycle event.

The previous days dampness seemed another season away as the sun now burned at my skin. Feeling slightly dehydrated I drank and drank at every opportunity. I also tried some pickle juice, apparently its good for cramp. Whether it prevented me from cramping or not I will never know, but it was disgusting.

After some lunch at Bastrop we set off for the final leg to Austin.

Out of the shelter of the Park we were struck by 20 mph + headwinds, but nevertheless we soon got a good pace line going. At one time I looked around and we were pulling about 100 bikes - It felt really great.

It did not matter that nobody else wanted to take a turn at the front with the wind conditions I didn't blame them.

Just as we had got a really good rhythm going Dave had a puncture so we all stopped.

Sensing our hospitable nature we were joined by a BP rider who requested our assistance with her own puncture.

Kenny and Dave were alarmingly quick off the mark to assist although her particular puncture seemed far more serious and seemed to take on a life of its own.

It took two inner tubes, three CO2 canisters and much cursing to solve.

Whilst all this was going on I soaked up the sun and took some photographs of riders as they filed past.

I even managed to get a snap of a real cowgirl who had ridden up to see what all the commotion was about.

I offered her my bike in exchange for her horse but I don't think she understood my accent or my unique English humour.

She smiled sweetly and gently pressed the heels of her ostrich boots into the sides of her white stallion before riding off through the long swaying grass. With her right hand she skillfully held her double reins and in her left she lightly secured her cowboy hat. All that was missing was some 'voice over' firmly stating that this was 'Marlborough Country'

For a minute I thought my dehydration had got the better of me and that it was all an elaborate mirage.
As we approached the outskirts of Austin the road became familiar as did the long undulating terrain into the city.

The finish was incredible and something you would only expect to see in something like the Tour de France. The streets were cordoned off with supporters four or five deep outlining the streets. People were so generous reaching out to touch your hand and shouting out with all the support they could muster for every single rider. I struggled to hold back my tears of pure joy.

And suddenly it all made sense.

Links to Media Articles:

http://www.tpwd.state.tx.us/publications/pwdpubs/media/pwd_br_p4505_0043p.pdf

http://www.hcnonline.com/articles/2009/04/20/conroe_courier/news/ms1500420.txt

http://www.kxan.com/dpp/news/local/thousansds_cycle_in_ms_150_bike_tour

Although this ride has now finished, this is just one story on 'The travels with my Mule'

There are many more to come.

One of the things us renegades talked about was to try and set up our own charity cycling team called 'Travels with my mule'.

We had some great ideas for shirt design.

Any feedback or ideas would be welcome.

MS 150 Houston to Austin - Part 1 'Renegade Riders'

Renegade
On Friday night the 'Renegade riders' were full of bravado and testosterone, ready to take on the world and more besides. However by 4 am on Saturday morning the storm clouds were not the only things to roll into 'Camp defiance'.
With the Radar pictures taking on the appearance of a Jackson_Pollock painting, double helpings of apprehension appeared with our morning 'Starbucks'
Morning itself had also decided to stay indoors, leaving us in the shadows of dark foreboding clouds which rumbled and growled like a discontented old man.
At 7am we set off from a parking lot next to Tully Stadium the traditional starting point for the MS 150.
With a strong tail wind behind us and fear being pumped through our veins,we set off at lung busting speed maintaining 25 mph on empty roads. Knowing that 13,000 + people had entered the event we all believed that there would be a few thousand rebellious miscreants like us who would wish to complete the whole event. There were very few. Those that we did see on the road appeared to be seasoned riders. As we broke through the fifty mile mark the sky darkened further and the wind dropped, always an ominous sign.
The crackle of thunder and pyrotechnic lightening display followed, accompanied by the sort of deluge that Noah would have needed to float his arc. Although we were slightly mad we were not altogether insane so we sought shelter in the town of Bellville. Visually it looked like 10pm but it was approaching 10am.
Other riders then appeared and we all crowded around 'Blackberry's. Streamed Radar images were sought and we watched the red splodges move across tiny screens, covering up the name of Bellville. Roads became rivers, sports pitches lakes, and cyclists as wet as otters pockets.
We found a local eatery and decided to have an early lunch under a veranda. Half expecting to float away at any moment we looked around for some prospective makeshift paddles. After sampling the local delights the weather had not got any better, although the lightening had stopped.
With that danger eliviated we decided to press on in the knowledge that fine weather was appearing at our destination.
Progress was slowed considerably.
The rain and standing water were bad enough, but being caught by 'The Rooster tails' streaming off the leading bikes was like being hit by a fire hose.
The water was not the clear carbonated 'spring' type that you might have to accompany a good meal. No, this was the brown muddy type.
'Road kill soup' diluted with water from overflown drains.
The bouquet was as equally unpleasant.
As the afternoon wore on the rain stopped, temperature rose, and the Sun decided to put in an appearance.
We also started to talk to each other with the fear of getting a mouth full of effluent subsiding. With four miles to I found myself pulling as the lead bike. As I rounded a corner there was a farm to my right and sat smack bang in the middle of the road was a dog.
Now at this stage I really need to set the scene properly.
Having been bitten attacked and bitten by a big dog when I was young, I have an inbuilt sense of fear towards certain dogs.
I kind of know the difference between the nice ones and the bad ones.
They don't have to wear black or white cowboys hats.
There are ones who will roll over and let you tickle their tummy and others who salivate at the thought of sinking their rabid teeth into your reproductive equipment.
This was a bad one. He had the apperance of a cross between a hyena and a wolf with teeth the size of knitting needles.
Dave Hill was behind me. Now Dave is a fit, young, tough, strong Texan, who probably rides bulls in the rodeo and allows such dogs to use his arm as a doggy chew.
So being a considerate sort of guy and all heart, I let him go in front of me.

The gladiatorial scene was set with an audience already in place as this beast had already stopped the traffic flow from the opposite direction.
As Dave approached him the 'hound of the Baskervilles' was already snapping at his feet.
Sensing an opportunity I accelerated on his outside fast approaching my top speed ever on a bike much to the amusement of the non paying observers.
With a similar sence of preservation, my fellow cowards had followed my course of action, and we all watch on with interest from a safe distance.
After initially failing to pull Dave from his bike, we all heard a loud guttural roar as a new beast appeared. The one that was polishing Dave's shoes with its slobbering mouth was seemingly just the puppy as its mother three times the size appeared from nowhere.
Me shouting 'Remember the Alamo' didn't really help Dave, but his increased cadence did as he scorched away from becoming dog food.
I thought that Dave might have been upset with my nervous laughter that I could not contain, but he was proud to show his undoubted bravery and take one for the team.
Dave you are my Hero.
La grange soon appeared in no time with 101 miles completed.
We were then picked up by Joella, my brothers wife and travelled to her mothers house for the evening.
Rest would be needed to join the 13,000 + for the final leg.
Part two to follow, where our intrepid riders enjoy the sunshine of the Texas Hill country.