No More Hurdled Benches

We're in the countdown days people. Less than 10 rides left. I feel like every day someone from Houston is stating how many days are left but it's just not going as quickly as it does before the rockets take off.

Today was pretty much flawless. Seventy miles of pure bliss. What I mean by that is, we had a full 60 miles of flat road. Flat roads mean a fast and easy pace with minimal pain (The last 10 was kind of a nightmare though). In the bible when the man finds a treasure in a field and sells all he has to buy the property...I imagine he was about half as happy as a cyclist who got a day of full on flat roads. We even crossed our second to last state line into Arkansas.

Let me just preface this by saying that I am first and foremost an Aggie. I love BTHO all things and the War Hymn runs through my veins. Not to mention if anyone asks where I'm from I will always say Texas. It's home. Done deal. However, Arkansas is my second home. It's a very distant second but a second none the less. I was born in Fayetteville, home of the Razorbacks, and raised on crimson and white. So it's always a personal inner battle not to let out a Woo Pig Sooie every time I cross the state line (But then I remember what John L. Smith did to the Hogs this year and I begin to contain myself). Needless to say I am stinkin excited to be here and SO ready to be in Little Rock on Saturday. My family knows how to party. Mom's family knows how to party. So naturally, we're gonna party. But let's get back to what happened on today's ride.

When riding through the tiny town of Marmaduke, Arkansas, Evan got his second flat tire of the trip. No big deal though because we had our hand pump handy and a spare tube in our bag. Easy and quick fix for the machine that is Evan Hibbs. The cool thing though was when a nice woman came out of our home to talk to us and tell us how she had seen something in the paper about bikers (not us, so apologies to stealing your spotlight other bikers). She then brought us out glasses of cold water which we received thankfully. BUT EVEN COOLER was when she brought her grandkids out to meet us and proceeded to tell her grandsons that, "These are real men," or, "These are tough guys". Can we note that those to phrases are not normally used to describe me (standing at six feet and two inches tall and weighing in at a whole 140). Those little dudes must have looked at us as if we were super heroes. Not to mention I don't think I've ever been used as an example to someone's grandkids who I was just meeting for the first time. But in that moment, as we got to shake their little hands and introduce ourselves, we were like something out of the comic books. She was so overly excited to hear about what we were doing and eager to check it out online, then hugged me with a quick, "bless your little hear," like I was one of her own, before she left.

Lastly, I'll let you into my mind again on today's ride. Sure this would be something better to write about as we approach Georgetown, but I might forget it. Next Saturday we get to finish in San Gabriel park which is cool for a number of reasons. First off, the three of us riders spent many hours and miles in that park sweating and beating our bodies into nothing in order to become better athletes, better teammates, and better men. To finish there together on what is definitely my last major athletic endeavor with them means the world to me. But also it's home to one of my most favorite memories.

My junior year of high school I was battling for a spot on varsity (as I was every year of high school except my senior year). I wasn't an exceptional athlete compared to some of my teammates who were often some of the nations best. As a matter of fact I didn't win my first race till I was a junior and I won less than 5 races in my whole career. I wasn't much of an athlete to brag about or write home about. Especially not in the legend that was Georgetown Cross Country. BACK TO THE POINT. At the Georgetown home meet that year, Coach Hunt ran me on JV, as he often did to help me build confidence after a butt whooping I probably took the week before. Two miles into 5k I had basically led the whole race with another kid from Cedar Park. We hated Cedar Park. Almost like Auburn hates Bama. We were the central Texas power houses and you made sure that if you got to line up next to the green and black you embarrassed them. Not to mention this kid was likely to be the same athlete I was (battling for his spot on Varsity). Coming into the last mile, leagues in front of the field, a crazy woman and co-pilot come running over the hill and hurdling benches just to see the race. Crazy woman was mom and co-pilot was Tyler Martin. They were more than ready to see me get my first victory and at home none the less (spoiler alert: I lost in the last 100 meters because I got out kicked). But I will never forget that moment ever, and it happened in San Gabriel Park. That place is quite honestly nothing special but it means the whole world to me. I taught myself how to punish my body there. I ran 6 races there in my career. I made my best friends there who are on this trip with me today. And I captured the excitement of a mom who wanted to see her son win. And a friend who wanted to see his brother beat the crap out of a rival. Both are truly missed. But Saturday we ride into those moments and we finish at those moments and I know it'll give me chills.

Although no one is going to be hurdling benches and it's not a race to win but a race to finish (though Evan will say differently). Another memory will be added to that park and I can't wait. 9 more days. We're comin in hot.