Story Time

20 years ago I had just restarted cycling after a few years in the Army. I had a solid job at a hospital in Dallas but sold my car to support a cycling habit that hadn't gotten out of control yet. By the end of the summer I was averaging 400 miles a week and had found out about an event, the Hotter'N Hell Hundred in Wichita Falls, Texas. This was a couple of years before the USCF sanctioned races and it was still 13,000+ cyclists braving the heat and winds of the edge of the panhandle.

I got the time off from work, pre-registered and bought a bus ticket from Dallas to Wichita Falls.

It's been so long I don't remember how I got the bike and box to the bus depot. I must have had a coworker or friend give me a lift because I can't remember riding with an empty bike box any further than from Megabikes (now defunct) to my apartment.

On the evening before the ride I'm on the bus headed to the HHH. I'd packed light because I intended to reassemble the bike at the bus depot and be mobile on the bike. I had my helmet, jersey, shorts and shoes in a small backpack along with a couple of tools. I napped on the uneventful ride (not like the trip to the OTC in the ice storm) and was ready to go.

Or so I thought. Greyhound had placed my bike on a bus bound for Wichita, Kansas instead of Wichita Falls, Texas. So I'm standing there and my bike is 300 miles away. Great. After getting the recovery of the bike ironed out I find a bench and try to take a nap. An hour or two later the Greyhound folks give me the news that my bike won't be in until that afternoon, well after the ride. Dejected, I go next door to the Hardee's for a cup of coffee. As I'm standing in line the guys behind me ask if I'm in town for the ride. I tell them yes, and tell them about the bike being lost. They offer me a ride to the stadium suggesting that if I'm going to be bike-less, I might as well enjoy the carnival of the bike vendors and the other cyclists at the start. So off we go.

After parking we say our good-byes and they get ready for their ride. I wander over to the big tent and pick up my registration packet, t-shirt and the like. I watch the mass start and try to deal with the frustration of being bike-less. There was a fairly large tent with many vendors set up selling gear. I wander around and finally settle in front of a TV showing a live feed from a news helicopter. Chris Hipp is railing along with a bunch of other racers I'd get to know better in the coming years.

As I'm sitting there a guy says something like "why aren't your riding?" So I tell him what's happened and he says "is that all? I think I've got a bike you can use."

We walk a few feet to an RV with a bunch of bikes parked along side. He grabs his bike and says "this is about your size." Here's what I remember about it... It was blue and Italian and had Specialized tires. I remember the tires because I cursed them after flatting  an hour or two later. I'd been using Continentals and had grown used to their looser bead-seat diameter. The Specialized were a royal pain in the ass to get off the bead of the rim. 

I was a bit stunned. Here was a guy I'd never met, giving me a bike. I changed clothes as he lowered the saddle and filled the waterbottles.  We discussed the post ride plans, he needed to get back on the road to Colorado and I needed to get back to Dallas... and I had to give the bike back. Go figure. An hour or so late I rolled onto the boulevard still packed with riders getting started. 

20 years later this is what I remember. I remember pinning it for about the first hour, weaving in and out of slower riders and getting yelled at for passing too close once or twice. At about 30 miles in I had caught some other riders who were willing to work as a group. We pitted at a rest stop and refilled the bottles and a bit later I had a flat. They kept going and I wrestled with the tire.  I got back on pace and some time later I slotted in with another group. 

Somewhere along the way I forgot to hydrate. As is typical with the HHH it was 108 degrees and windy. At most I think I drank 4 bottles in the ~100 miles. I was fine on the bike and was able to bring it in after 5 hours or so. I found my way back to the guys in the RV. They were happy I had a good ride and we talked for a bit. Then I sat down to take off my shoes and things got bad. As I lifted my foot up it kept coming up. Actually, I kept going backwards as I fell back and passed out. The next thing I know I'm in the medical tent with an IV in my arm. Two liters of normal saline later I was feeling better and the nurses were sharing their pizza with me.

The guy with the blue Italian bike stopped in to see how I was doing as he was getting ready to roll out. I'm pretty sure I thanked him and he was gone. 

Without getting hypnotized the details are sketchy. Somehow I got back to the bus station where I found my bike. It had arrived 30 minutes earlier and was ready to go back to Dallas. I was still in a dehydration fog for the rest of the weekend but my body was back to normal for the 30 mile daily commute to work.

So who was that masked man? I think he was part of Moots crew. I think he had a couple of other guys along with various samples of their craftsmanship. This would have been in the early days of the company, but I'm 90% sure he was from Moots.

After all these years I still remember being lifted up emotionally when he offered me his bike to ride. I hope I've given that same feeling when I've loaned my bikes to others or stopped to help fix flats or the like. 

So thank you, even if I've forgotten your name. Thank you.