There was no bike rally yesterday, so three of my home boys—Phil, Randy, and Bryce—met me in Mineral Wells for a training ride. Others were invited, but chose to be wimpy rather than face the heat, humidity, hills, and wind. Actually, it wasn't windy, which is unusual. The average wind speed for the day at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport was 6.0 miles per hour, with gusts to 16. I don't count it as windy in my cycling log unless the average is 10 or higher. The temperature reached 94º Fahrenheit later in the day, after we were done riding. This doesn't mean we didn't get scorched, because we did. It just means it could have been worse.
All of us love the course, which we did five weeks earlier. First, we rode in a northwesterly direction to an intersection near Graford (home of former Texas A&M and Kentucky basketball coach Billy Gillispie). This stretch of road contains several big hills, which are difficult ascending but enjoyable descending. (I hit 37.5 miles per hour on one of them.) There's a wide, smooth shoulder on both sides of the road, and the views are spectacular. We got warmed up on this stretch of road. The topic of conversation was health care. Bryce, who claims to be a conservative but voted for Barack Obama, caught hell from the rest of us for enabling a socialist.
Once we reached Graford, we rode west for a mile or so before turning due south. This road, which has a rough surface, took us down to the Brazos River, from which we ascended (gradually) for many miles. When we reached the municipality (that's "town" for those of you without a proper education) of Palo Pinto, we stopped at a convenience store for water, food, and rest. I ate my spicy hot peanuts here. After 15 minutes or so, we headed west on Highway 180.
By this time, we had solved the health-care problem and moved on to other topics, such as Randy's new Garmin cycling computer (he's had nothing but trouble with these fancy GPS devices), the Civil War, the nature of marriage (I defended the cynical Kantian view, according to which marriage is an agreement between a man and a woman for the reciprocal use of each other's sex organs), and Randy's propensity to whine. It was painful for me to ride as slowly as the others, but I pretended not to mind. (Just kidding, home boys! I think.)
After a few miles of climbing and descending on this busy highway (there was still a wide shoulder, so we weren't bothering any drivers), we turned due south. During this stretch of road, we told jokes. I got it started. Randy had quite a few good ones, most of them, for some reason, involving people with speech impediments. Even Bryce, who is quieter than the rest of us, got into the act. Phil, for some reason, stayed behind us during this time. Maybe he was afraid that he'd be offended by some of the bawdier jokes.
We eventually reached our turn, which took us over Palo Pinto Lake. The lake is quite low because of several years of drought. I noticed that some of the exposed lake bottom had sprouted grass. It was as though grass was growing on the water! We stopped for a few minutes at an historical monument to answer nature's call and eat our sports bars. We were in the middle of nowhere. It was delightfully quiet, with beautiful mesas in every direction. It was starting to get hot.
We continued on this road for several more miles, then turned due north toward Cherry Pie Hill. This is one of the steepest hills any of us ever climbs. It's relentless. At the bottom, it's not that steep, so you get lulled into a false sense of security. Before you know it, it "kicks up" (to use Paul Sherwen's term). From there until the top, you hold on for dear life. You can't stop pedaling; if you do, you topple over. Bryce told me later that he walked his bike part of the way. I got my heart rate up to 162 on this climb. At 52 years of age, I'm supposed to have a maximum heart rate of 168 (the formula is 220 minus one's age). I haven't seen anything over 162 since 9 April 2005, when I recorded 164. I'm pretty sure I get my heart rate higher during my footraces, but I don't carry my heart-rate monitor when I run. My average heart rate for the day was 117, which is much lower than the 132 I've recorded a couple of times recently. It's hard to hammer when you're yammering.
Once we reached the top of Cherry Pie Hill (gasp, gasp), we regrouped and cruised down the road to Palo Pinto. We stopped at the same convenience store for water and sport drinks and rested on the bench outside. Many of the locals chatted with us as they entered and exited the store. All were friendly. Occasionally, someone would ask how far we were riding. I'd say "63 miles." This invariably caused a look of disbelief. We laughed about it later. People who don't ride bikes can't wrap their minds around a ride of that distance, especially in Texas heat. I didn't have the heart to tell them that it was a short ride. Sometimes we ride 100 miles! Okay, sometimes I ride 100 miles.
From Palo Pinto, we rode due east for 9.5 miles to our cars, which were parked at a restaurant on the outskirts of Mineral Wells. My average speed for the 63.5 miles was only 15.39 miles per hour (elapsed time = 4:07:28), which is even slower than the 16.03 I had on the same course in similar weather conditions five weeks ago. But hey, speed wasn't the goal. Having fun and staying in shape was the goal. I burned 2,213 calories. I had a great time with my home boys. Next time we ride, we're going to focus on foreign policy rather than health care. Somebody has to solve these problems!
Keith Burgess-Jackson, J.D., Ph.D. 
