From Spur to Rotan: Day 6

We had a good night sleep there in our little cottage in Spur underneath the air conditioner. When I woke up, it was overcast, cool and as calm as the eye of the storm. No wind. But I had to stick to my agreement; Rick got to sleep in. I took a bike tour of Spur. This town was as neat as a pin and you could tell the people loved their tiny town. There were brick streets, old main street structures, murals and several nice shops. My great Aunt Lea Hagins Porter was from Spur and I was on a mission to meet people who remembered her. I was not disappointed. Local reports confirmed that Aunt Lea was the kind soul I recalled.
In a light mist, I returned to our little cottage. It was not necessary to roust Rick. He was awake and ready to start getting ready. We packed up, said our “goodbyes” to our hosts the Holders and took pictures to document this layover. They didn’t accept charge cards but we heard the now familiar refrain: “Just mail us a check when you get home.” God’s provision through good hearted people was evident once again.
The wind soon made her presence known and greeted us with great enthusiasm. My diary entry made note of the verbena, black-eyed Susans and lilac bushes—finally some color in this drought stricken area. “Having to dig deep. In excruciating pain,” my illegible handwriting reminded me. Our derrieres continued to cause us great discomfort especially with the added strain of going up hills.
We had traveled 258 miles thus far through the great state of Texas. We had our rain gear on but it proved unnecessary as the clouds blew off and the heat declared itself. We biked southeastwardly and arrived at a roadside park at Putoff Canyon north of Jayton. We stopped for a snack of pralines: pecans dipped in crystallized honey. Entertainment was provided by the colors of the canyon and a monarch butterfly fusing yellow and black with the purple of the lilac bushes. A friendly roadrunner squawked at us before he ran on his way.
Heat, wind and fatigue were starting to affect us more and made the “want to” weak at times. Simple things got nixed as our spirits sagged. We skipped the nursing home in Jayton and missed the opportunity to meet the aging football star Sammy Baugh who resided there.
As we left Jayton, we saw our first dead rattlesnake. Someone had cut off it’s rattlers I guessed for a trophy. We also beheld our first bluebonnets. They were rather tired looking as they valiantly tried to make a showing in spite of the drought and wind.
We turned west straight into the wind now as we got on deserted highway 380. No gravel trucks on this stretch of 380. No nothing. We stopped to rest at the bridge that crossed the Salt Fork Branch of the Brazos River. Then we biked in solitude for 7 miles against 30+ mph winds up steep hills before we made our southerly turn toward Rotan.
Mesquite, mistletoe, cacti and sage abounded in this desolate area. The terrain looked perfect for rattlesnakes: dry, rough and rocky. We were not disappointed as we saw our first live rattlesnake exiting the road. He was four feet long and beautifully patterned. Oblivious to our presence, he was lethargic, not aggressive and appeared to like his privacy as he slowly made his getaway.
I was on high alert now as my eyes roved back and forth looking for more reptiles. Rick was behind me as we topped yet another long, slow, demoralizing climb. As he came abreast me on my left, I turned to greet him with a “Hi, honey.” As I brought my head back around to the front, there was rattlesnake number two perfectly camouflaged in the gravel just 2 feet from my right ankle. Totally caught off guard, I did the “girly scream thing”, bringing my feet to the handlebars. Rick got a good laugh out of my response. It took 30 minutes for my Texas sized goose bumps to subside.
The sun was starting to call it a day as Rick stopped for one last break before the final leg to Rotan. I felt like I was on my last leg. We could see the lights of Rotan way off in the distance on yonder hill as the sun rewarded us with a beautiful sunset. Tired, I had zero desire to get off my bike and rest in the sandy ditch. Forget food. With some trepidation, I had rattlesnake on the brain and my only desire was to get to our destination ASAP. As I prodded Rick to get up and go, we put on our lights for night travel. We took off as the sun dipped below the hills.
Rotan was rolling out the blue carpet for us. The lush bluebonnets released their evening fragrance as we flew past them on the steep downhill path in the near dark.
It was with great displeasure accompanied by more mountainous goose bumps that I spied another four foot long rattlesnake lounged on the road directly in my path. 50 yards further on, rattlesnake #4 gathered the last vestige of warmth from the asphalt. I was now pedaling for all I was worth concentrating hard on the path in front of me.
We arrived at the Windword Hotel in Rotan at 9:40 p.m. I settled in while Rick rode off to obtain some fast food. Relieved to be in a safe place, I resolved to never bike in the dark again if I could help it.
I was not much interested in eating but I did inhale some french fries and a few grudging bites of a nondescript chicken sandwich. I took a quick bath and hit the sack, staring at our map and making a few notations in my journal about the day’s ride. We had traveled 59 miles in 10 ½ hours. We were at mile 317. It had been a hard day’s work to be followed by a hard day’s night….
Two hours after going to bed, miserable and sleepless, tossing and turning, I realized there was a storm brewing in my stomach. My undigested food sloshed to and fro. I finally succumbed to the mounting urge to be sick. The epizootic had struck. I kept my husband apprised of my misery as I moaned and groaned throughout the remainder of the night.