I wanted to share with you some sort of statistic to illustrate the sparsity of northen Texas, so I counted the number of manmade things I saw in my first 15 miles to Guthrie. Aside from the road and barbed wire fence that runs alongside it, the grand total was two: one ranch building and one windmill.

I'd nearly run out of water so I had to stop in Guthrie. Which begs the question: what would I have done if Guthrie had not been there? I didn't know Guthrie was going to be there. I guess I would have ridden another 30 miles thirsty, and almost did, since the one convenience store in town was closed. It was Sunday morning, and it looked like the whole town was at the tiny Baptist church a few doors down. So I ate lunch across the street on the bleachers of the school football field, home of the Guthrie Jaguars, and waited for church to get out so I could hit them up for some water.

But church didn't get out. I finally lost patience and started knocking on doors. Nobody was home at the first place I tried, but the second, as it turns out, was the county sheriff's station. I was greeted by the sheriff himself, Cotton Elliott. He said he'd seen me the previous day going through Benjamin and again further down the road. He filled up my water bottles and as we chatted for a while. As we did, he got a call about a drunk driver and had to leave, but said he'd consider it a personal favor if I'd stop by his house that afternoon to visit his wife, Ginger. I was more than happy to oblige.

They live 5 miles outside of town, off the grid. The electric company quoted them $100,000 to run lines to their house, so they use a combination of a diesel generator, a windmill, and solar panels for power, and satellite dish for phone and internet. Ginger and I talked for a while, and eventually Cotton joined us after not catching the drunk driver, who'd made it into the next county. Ginger is a retired large-animal veterinarian, and Cotton was a cowboy for many years before being appointed sherriff, and worked on ranches all over the southwest. They've done all kinds of pack trips together on horseback and said they really admired what I'm doing. Cotton recommended the book Bud & Me, a nonfiction book about two little boys who were 5 and 8 years old when they took their first horseback trip together from Oklahoma to the Pacific Ocean. Alone! The younger one wasn't even big enough to get on a horse by himself! I'm definitely going to pick that book up when I get back to civilization.

The topic came up as to where I'd stay that night, and Cotton mentioned he could speak to the dispatcher over in Dickens (the next town I'd come to, about 30 miles away) about putting me up in the town jail! I found this idea terribly exciting. Unfortunately it wasn't going to work out as the jail was filled to capacity, including two female inmates. But he did say I could camp in the town park and stop by the jail for a cup of coffee the next morning.

When I set out from Cotton and Ginger's place I felt great, whether from the newly emerged sun, the excellent company, the cowboy-style coffee ("Boiled coffee. Don't give me that nasty percolator stuff!"), or a combination thereof. I felt happy and free, like I was doing the closest thing to flying without leaving the ground. Now don't misinterpret that to mean I was going fast, as I really wasn't. The headwinds had kicked up a bit and I doubt I ever broke 11mph, but regardless of speed there's a certain soaring sensation you get when you're in a great mood, riding a bike, and can see for miles in every direction.

And I felt like I hit a major turning point in my life out there on the road. When I left Boston, I was escaping some things. As with many small businesses, the economy took its toll on us last year. My business partner and I cut our own salaries in order to pay our employees for as long as we could, and finally had to lay off people who I consider not just employees, not just friends, but family. It hurt, a lot. Add to that the heartbreak of an unrequited love that I really should have been over a long time ago, and. . . let's put it this way: I'm a big fan of a good workout after a bad day. This ride is my workout after a bad year.

Today I finally felt like I'm done looking back. From here on out I'm looking forward, with eager anticipation, to whatever lies ahead. I'm starting to get excited again to go home, be with good friends, get back to work, and see what surprises the year ahead holds. And I'm feeling incredibly grateful to have this time off. People deal with painful stuff all the time and don't get to take 4 months off from their life. It's a tremendous gift.

To add to my feelings of elation, just at the end of my ride, as the sun was sinking down in a Texas-style extravagance of color, I reached the 150-mile wide escarpment that everyone here calls "the caprock." I shifted into low gear for a good 2 mile climb up it that made me feel I'd truly earned my evening's Rice-A-Roni. At the top I saw the park entrance Cotton had mentioned and, even in the twilight, got an amazing eastern view of red rock canyons from the picnic area. I can't wait to see the sun rise.