I walked into the Shell convenience store at the east end of Navasota, Texas, this morning to hear Tony saying to the clerk, “Did you just say ‘Chuck Norris’s ranch’?”
Oh yeah, she said. Ranger Walker? Yeah, his ranch is just over the bridge on 90, and you’ll see the sign that says “Lone Wolf Ranch.”
I said, oh yeah, like Lone Wolf McQuade.
So we spent a few minutes trying to photograph each other doing roundhouse kicks in front of the gate, only to figure out that neither of us can really do much of a roundhouse kick. That Chuck Norris, he’s a flexible man.
For most of this morning, we were cruising with no traffic through the Sam Houston National Forest, with 50-foot trees lining both sides of the highway. We ate lunch in New Waverly and talked to a guy who also once crossed the country on a bike, but a Harley. And it only took him three days.
Then, we hit the proverbial 10 miles of bad road: No shoulder, cars flying by at 70 mph, and a higher rate of people ignoring cyclists. Out of the 100 cars I would guess passed me on that stretch, I had five that were uncomfortably close, including a Coca-Cola truck. I think I would have gotten a little bit more cushion from some of these folks if I were an aluminum trash can on the road, instead of a guy riding his bike. I’m thinking about getting a little Trail-A-Bike and put a kid-size mannequin on it for the rest of the trip.
As for that Coca-Cola truck driver, man, we have been drinking tons of Coke on this trip. How about a little support here?
Then, suddenly, a smooth 10-foot shoulder appeared and we rolled into Coldspring. 120 miles of Texas roads to go, and then we’re in Louisiana.