Betty came out as I was packing up my tent and invited me in for a breakfast of the fluffiest pancakes I've ever had and their own delicious homemade venision and pork sausage. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that their 17-year-old granddaughter shot a deer. That's Texas for you.

Just as Betty was leaving for her 9:00 prayer meeting, Jerry came back from his 7:30 cattle board breakfast meeting (which nobody told him had been canceled, so he sat around for a while waiting for people to show up) and offered to take me on a quick tour of the farm before I left. As we drove around he pointed out where each of his sons live, groves of pecan trees, and the housing development he sold land to. Eventually we drove into a small pen with a couple dozen or so black and red Angus cows, and two hefty, very satisfied-looking bulls. "If they don't breed within 60 days, I turn 'em into T-bone." Two unlucky ladies looked on from the pen where they're kept to be fattened up, and the rest swarmed around the truck expecting their customary treat of sugar cubes, which Jerry had neglected to bring.

It didn't take me too long into my ride to give up on my original plan to finish the 75 mile ride to Wichita Falls in one day. I think the exact turning point was when I stopped for lunch at a roadside picnic area (these seem to occur every 25 miles or so, which is nice) and spent so long contemplating whether I should take a nap that I finally took that as a sign that I needed one. When I got back on my bike I had what would be the first in a day of minor mishaps: my front tire caught on the edge of the walkway leading from the picnic table back to the driveway, my bike tipped over sideways, and I went flying off. Thankfully, I wasn't hurt, and almost as importantly, nobody was around to witness the embarrassing incident.

The next mishap occurred when I stopped for a break at a convenience store in the town of Nocona. I wasn't hungry or anything, just a little tired and felt like I could use both a cold beverage and a small jolt of caffeine. Dr. Pepper! (Which is, incidentally, made in Texas.) Perfect. I took my soda to a bench outside, and, to kill time while I rested my legs and let the caffeine kick in, decided to challenge myself to draw a map of the United States, freehand, from memory, just for the heck of it. I did okay, but wound up with with an unidentified no-man's land between Montana, Wyoming, and South Dakota which in reality fit neatly together. I went to take another swig of my soda, and detected something solid and moving in my mouth. I instinctively spat out the soda and there was a squirming honeybee in it. Thank goodness it was half-drowned and too discombobulated to sting my tongue.

At that point I lost all desire to finish the Dr. Pepper (who knows what else might have crawled in there while I was absorbed in my map?) so I continued on my way. I'd ridden another 10 miles or so when I heard my spokes making a loud clicking noise followed by crazy skipping of my chain up and down the gears. When I investigated the problem, I saw that a thin scrap of old tire from the road had gotten caught and tightly wound around the gears on the back wheel. Very tightly. I tried to find the free end and yank it out with pliers, but that end was split in two and the second end was tangled up in the mess. I did not know this, but apparently tires are not just rubber, but lots of wires running through the rubber, thus making it very hard to cut with a knife or even wire cutters

Then it hit me—why didn't I just remove the wheel? Duh. At the very least, it would make the offending piece of tire easier to get at. I loosened the quick release, tugged on the wheel, and. . . no luck. It budged a little, but not enough to get the wheel off. Apparently this thing was so tangled that the wheel was stuck on too? But how could that be possible?

I stood back (but did not sit down—I'm still a bit gun-shy after that fire ant incident the other day) for a few minutes to consider my options. This seemed like far too small an issue to go damsel in distress mode and start flagging down motorists, but I didn't know what else to do. I half-heartedly tried pulling the wheel off again, and when I did I saw the problem: the tire, fully inflated, did not have enough clearance to slide out—it was bumping against the fender! So once I let all the air out of the tire the wheel came off easily. In just a few minutes I extracted the strand of rubber from my gears, put the wheel back on, and pumped the tire back up. Crisis averted!

Thinking back, I really brought my fourth and final mishap of the day on myself. I got all excited when I saw my first bit of desert landscape, an outcrop of layered red rocks with a big patch of prickly pear growing on it. I decided I wanted to climb up 15 feet or so to the top of the rocks and sit on a ledge to have my snack. I think you know where this is going.

Getting up there was no problem at all, nor was the snack. Coming down however, the chunk of rock I was holding onto broke off in my hand and I went tumbling backward down to the ground. Oof. And when I stood up to dust myself off I backed right into the prickly pear. OK, mom, Aunt Sue, and Aunt Janet, I promise I'll try not to do anymore roadside rock climbing or cactus-diving.

At least my day ended well. Once it started getting dark I used the same protocol as they day before to find a camping spot, namely, turn onto the first side road, then stop at the first house. Just as I pulled in the driveway, a truck was coming down it containing a guy and his two teenage daughters. He suggested I stay down at "headquarters." I didn't fully understand what that meant, but one of the girls said there'd be bathrooms and showers. That was really all I needed to know.

I knew I was on the right track when I passed a giant Hereford bull statue silhouetted by the setting sun, and and eventually saw the Lonestar Herefords sign. An actual cowboy, complete with hat and spurs, had been alerted to my arrival and greeted me at the front door. Travis showed me around what was basically the ranch office and showroom, including a mini theater where they bring cows out onto the stage for buyers to look at. He pointed out the kitchen, bathrooms, and showers, got a cot out of the closet, and told me if I needed anything he lived in the trailer next door. I could not have been more thrilled at these accommodations. I started heating up water on the kitchen stove to cook my rice, kicked back with my laptop, and happily set up my cot underneath a velour quilt depicting (what else?) a Hereford.