Friends are a good thing. Friends that live near an event you wish to attend are a bonus. Having friends that will join you in that event… Marde and I were at the pinnacle of this scenario. David and Ardenne have lived just outside of Wichita Falls since we’ve known them. A shared interest in all things Land Cruiser, we’d met years ago at an off-road event called the Lone Star Roundup. Recently their local friends, Gary and Gay introduced them to the recumbent life. Ardenne was hooked and was soon the owner of a green Performer recumbent trike. We had a riding partner for the 35th annual Hotter ’n Hell Hundred! Gary then went a step further. He offered one of his spare trikes to Ardenne’s daughter when she showed interest in joining her mom on this adventure. Recent pedal masher converts, Ardenne and Bailey had no delusions about riding one hundred miles in one of the hottest bike rides in the country in their first event. The Hotter ’n Hell Hundred generally lives up to it’s name. I found that out for myself when I rode it two year ago as a single rider. Instead, they were opting for the 25 mile version. We’d get to ride together for at least a few miles.
Marde and I got to meet Gary and Gay on the eve of the HHH. They had invited a large number of recumbent enthusiasts over for a carbohydrate coma (AKA spaghetti supper) at their house. David and Ardenne got the invite. Friends from east Texas were more than welcome to tag along. We were greeted like long time friends by Gary and Gay. After we were stuffed to our gills with great food, trike test drives were in order. It was odd pedaling from a reclined position. I’d never ridden a recumbent before. I wasn’t alone. Gary and Gay’s daughter, Dawna joined in on the fun for the first time. It was a very different experience for an upright rider like me. After a few fun goes on Gary’s trike, they sat me on one with electric assist. The experience just got even crazier. With the slightest crank rotation, the trike wanted to launch forward. Gears hardly seemed necessary with the extra push. The owner admitted he rarely changed gears. How cool would that be in the HHH? My bike didn’t have electric assist. It did however, have wife assist.
We woke up early on the morning of the HHH. David loaded the two trikes while I readied the tandem. “Just follow me” David said as we hopped in our trucks. David was volunteering at the finish line and was therefor allowed to weave up the roads already closed to traffic. We found ourselves unloading the bikes adjacent to the start line. Friends are a good thing.
Recumbents and tandems are staged ahead of the main pack of bikes at the start, just behind the cat 1 racers. Recumbents and tandems tend to weave on start up. Not a safe additive in the mix of 13K single riders. Thus, we push off earlier so we can be picked off one by one. Marde and I stage beside Ardenne and Bailey. As more and more are packed in the staging area, we are pushed up and away. So many tandems and recumbents, we could be a big event by ourselves. More and more arrive and are crammed in. Without fanfare, the cat 1 racers are released.
The sun has barely cut through the darkness. We are given the five minute heads up. Before the national anthem, before the flyover, before the official start with the firing of the cannon, we are released. Aware of our weeble-wobble nature, we give each other room as hundreds of recumbents and tandems begin their individual (and dual) adventures. Marde and I start several rows ahead of Ardenne and Bailey. As the mass of machines and humanity surge forward, it would be unwise wait for them. A pile up would be inevitable as fresh energy was ramping up. We decide to keep moving with the flow. They won’t need us to find their way. The course is well marked.
We caught up to Ric and Marcia from the House of Tandems. They had sold us our tandem. Tandems are their passion whether they are selling them, servicing them, or riding them. As we pedal and discuss all things tandem, the group we started with begins to spread out. Just as the organizers must have planned, gaps in the group form. We pass the turn for the 25 mile course. We won’t see Ardenne and Bailey until after the ride. Marde and I come to the first volunteer run rest area. It’s only been ten miles, but we stop anyway. We decided early to break up the hundred miles with the rest stops. Here calories and fluids can be taken in (or released). The people of Wichita Falls really get involved in this event. There is no shortage of volunteers offering water, iced towels, or food. As I’m stuffing my face, the first groups of the single riders begin speeding by. These (normal) bikes quickly outnumber us tandems and recumbents. We keep the stop quick. Our time is limited. We must reach Hell’s Gate before 12:30. It’s still 50 more miles away and it’s now 7:30. We should easily keep a 10 mph average barring a mechanical, heat exhaustion, cramps, a wreck… we’d better get going!
Turning off old Iowa Park road, we enter the first two lane road of the day. We are also leaving the paralleling railroad. Marde isn’t excited that no train made an appearance during our first ten miles. Good thing she has a cool bike and open roads to make up for a train snub. The first climb of the day exploits a tandems’ weakness. They aren’t quick climbers. Double digit speed plummets to singles. My best gear guess proves incorrect. A bound chain vocalizes it’s disapproval as I push it further up the cassette. It doesn’t like it, but it doesn’t snap either. Our legs however appreciate the gear change and grind us to the top of the hill. Count Gravity suddenly looses it’s taste for blood. Instead of trying to kill us, gravity is now our best friend. Two people on two wheels outweigh one person on two wheels. We are not in a vacuum. Newton’s law does not apply. A tandem is a bullet train on a descent. 8, 14, 21, our speed continues to rise as we repass all the singles. Then we begin the next climb. Our bullet train transforms into a bus with a low set governor. Our Autobot is now a Decepticon. This plays out for miles. Getting steadily passed even though the wife assist system is at full song. Then, while coasting, blowing by those that just passed us as our legs regrouped for the next slow incline burn. By the time we see the red and white circus tent of rest stop two, our legs are all too ready to take a break. Pickle juice has never tasted better. Before we can push on, Sub Zero freezes us in our tracks for a unique to HHH photo opportunity. I told you, the locals get into this event!
As we hit the road again, it is nice and flat. This calls for the big ring. CLANK! Chatter chatter chatter. Perhaps I was too exuberant in my shifting, but the chain went right past the big ring and was left dangling in no man’s land. Thoughts of the upper echelon of speed will have to wait. I ease the orange beast to the edge of the road and bring it to a halt. Marde doesn’t hesitate. Hopping out of her saddle, she oils her hand with the errant chain. Back on the ring, we are back on track. We build up to steady speed. A familiar jersey comes into view. It’s a local from back home! “Hi Kelly!” Kelly is a helpful hand at our Local bike shop Woolley G’s. She’s even crazier then Marde and myself. Kelly signed up for the Triple Threat. She raced a mountain bike yesterday and is running a trail run tomorrow along with today’s century. She’s a beast! Marde and I are pretty sure we’ll be hardly able to move tomorrow let alone run 13 miles.
That jersey looks familiar
Coming on another DaVinci tandem like ours we strike up a conversation with it’s owners. Turns out they too went through the House of Tandems. Owning it for two months, they are veterans compared to us. We hit the split for the 50 miler and they split off. We refocused on Hell’s Gate.
Our next stop is in Electra. More water. More calories. More helpful volunteers happy to see the army of cyclists. It’s a happy place, but we can’t stay long. Come on Marde, only 70 miles to go! A sharp left puts us into a direct headwind. This is all too familiar to me. It was the same two years ago. I’m not complaining. It beats a stagnant oppressive heat. I’ll enjoy the breeze. Too bad Marde can’t feel it. She’s stuck behind this dude who blocks all the air.
At the next rest area Marde met a group from BYU, the college she attended. She likes the chance to reminisce. Then we run into another local, Lynnette. She’s modest. She won’t tell you she’s lightning fast, but I will. The fact that we have run into her at the 40 mile mark means she’s taking it easy. Still, I’m feeling like Marde and I are going pretty fast to meet up with her. She waves goodbye as she goes to leave with her group. We’ll never catch her again.
A straight road stretches out before us for miles. It’s not ironing board flat, but the hills of earlier in the day are behind us. It’s a good thing. As we pass the halfway point, we aren’t as fresh as we were at the start. Clouds continue to give us a defense against the sun. They’ve been there for us all day. It definitely isn’t as hot as it was two years ago. The view is wide open. We can see for miles. A pre teen girl in a kit that matched her dad’s brought our focus back from the horizon. As we eased past them, Marde cheered her on. She may or may not be a lifelong cyclist, but her dad was giving her an experience she’d always remember.
Just outside of Burkburnett we are caught by a white tandem. We are in unison that we like riding them. A curious guy rides up on our left asking questions about them. He’s wondering if he too would like one with his wife. I sure can’t say it’s for everyone. I can say it’s for Marde and myself.
Burkburnett is a nostalgic town made up of buildings of an era gone by. We’d love to explore it if we had time. Maybe we can come back someday? Today however had a deadline. Hell’s Gate awaits.
Cruising down the I-44 access road we come to the sixth rest stop of the day. I wondered why they’d put one so close before Hell’s Gate. For the first time we broke with our pattern of taking a break at each available stop. We’d grab stuff at Pyro Pete. Pete is the guardian of Hell’s Gate and he’s just up the road. A lesson is quickly learned as we stood in Pete’s shadow. He decides if one hundred miles is still in your future or if you are going to be relegated to the cutoff. A cutoff that took you through Sheppard Air Force Base where you get to ride among the planes. Not a bad consolation prize. Pete ain’t a bad guy for a guardian of Hell’s Gate. That said, Pete wasn’t standing over water refills or volunteers with iced down towels. We learned that wasn’t his gig. We are regretting missing our first stop of the day. We are NOT going back. We had some reserves. We’d make it or so we hoped.
The fatigue of the day is setting in. Blue is replacing the clouds as a majority of the sky. With the sun viewing more and more of the earth, the Hotter part of this ride is making more sense. SAG vehicles that were empty earlier now are occupied. We pass a guy laid out on the side of the road. His buddies surround him. He looks in excellent shape, yet there he is, beaten by the elements. Without a word, Marde and I take a swig of water in unison.
There is clearly a different tone with the riders at the seventh rest station. With the Hell’s Gate deadline at their backs, many are taking advantage of a multitude of chairs set up under a circus tent top. Marde and I too would like to find some temporary shade. It’s so packed under the tent we opt for shade cast by a semi trailer. As we sit eating and rehydrating, we see the guy from the side of the road being helped by two volunteers. His legs are cramping so much he can’t bend his legs. Again Marde and I take a drink in unison.
As the heat builds so does the wind. In a landscape this flat wind is to be expected. It’s a curse and a blessing for weary riders. It cools while it resists. The less obstructed wind now has a better angle skin I forgot to cover in sunblock. It wasn’t a thought at a dark starting line. Cloud cover had made up for my slight of memory. Now I was baking. Large trees provide us much welcomed shade at the Neon Spoke rest area. The crowd and loud music make it feel more like a party than a rest area. It’s enticing to just hang out for a bit. More enticing is the finish line. We move on.
Over the next few miles I began thinking back to my last go at this. I’d lost motivation at mile 84. I remember just wanting it to be over. I remember being completely exhausted. Too stubborn to quit I pushed through it got my mojo back with ten miles to go. As we passed the 84th mile this time I realized my worry was unfounded. Remember, this year I was on my bike with the wife assist. Not only was I being helped physically, it was awesome having her to talk to. Having her to share this experience with. Yeah, I’m liking this tandem.
The tenth rest area has a large galvanized tub full of ice water. Great for dunking your head. Large enough to dunk your whole body in if you’re dumb er brave enough. I told myself, this year I’d be plenty dumb. As I approached the tub my courage faltered. Instead I settled for dunking my head in. It was COLD! The sunglasses I’d forgot were on my head didn’t stay there. This late realization had me fully submerging my arms searching for them. The water was so cold, my arms hurt as I felt around in vain. Help came from another rider brave enough to stand in it. Lightly he walked around until he felt them and I had them back no worse for the wear. I can’t fathom how the freezing water doesn’t hurt his feet. Marde and I begin to walk away when she asks “Are you sure you’re not jumping in?” It’s the equivalent of a triple dog dare. With a sigh I head back towards the tub. Socks and shoes come off. Electronics come out. Idiocy level pegs the meter. I step in and plunge belly first before my brain has time to put the brakes on. It is immediately a shock to the nervous system. As fast as I flopped under the water’s surface, I launch back up and step out. It feels so good and so bad at the same time. I’m not sure if I like it or not. Marde is glad she doesn’t share in this ego laden stupidity. With only 10 miles to go, she’s just ready to push on.
With topped off bottles, we make our final push. Every little hill feels long and steep. Our legs complain, but they still comply. Thunderstorms are building off in the distance. An increase in humidity makes it hotter than it’s felt all day. An absolute miserable heat. A challenging heat. A heat Marde and I and all these other cyclists signed up for on purpose.
We blow by rest area 11. With only five miles to go, we are more interested in the finish line than resting. We can see the Wichita Falls skyline from the top of a hill. It looks all downhill from here! The tandem does it’s thing and builds up momentum without our input. As the road levels out, a bunch of young kids hold out water bottles on our right. We are not in need, but their enthusiasm is hard to decline. We stretch out our arms and a cold bottle finds our open hands.
Reaching a railroad overpass, we are separated from all other traffic. It will be bikes only from here to the end. Not even the SAG vehicles venture past the overpass. We watch as bikes and people are unloaded and left to finish the rest on their own. Coming down the overpass we build ludicrous speed. A sweeping right approaches making Marde a tad nervous. She would appreciate it if I’d apply the brakes and informs me of her wishes. In a shorter more direct tone of course. Intelligence wins out and I grant her wish. Once through the turn we earn speed through the pedals. A sweeping left is less intimidating. Earned speed isn’t as intimidating as the free speed garnered from gravity. A couple of more twists through down town and the finish comes into view. We made it!
One hundred hot miles done
As much as we are loving this tandem, we are glad to get off it. As much as we have loved this event, we are glad we are done. It’s been a hard ride. It’s been a great ride. It’s been exactly how it’s suppose to be. Time to go see our friends again before we head home. We want to hear how their first event went. I bet they do again next year. I bet David joins Ardenne and Bailey. I bet we come back. The third time after all is a charm.
Bailey and Ardenne crossing the finish
