We have been having a bit of a heat wave here in north Georgia. Temps have been hitting highs in the mid 90s. I consider this to be a pleasant warm spell.
Whichita Falls, Texas, is a fair sized small city in the north Texas. It is a bit east of the base of the Panhandle. It has been flattened repeatedly by tornadoes, but they keep putting it back. In August, the average high temp is 96 degrees F, and the Daily Mean Temperature is 83 degrees F. Daily highs in excess of 110 degrees F are not uncommon. The wind is always blowing here.
Back in the early 1980s a bunch of sadistic geniuses decided that these conditions were ideal for a large bike event. Thus was born the Hotter’N Hell Hundred. It is, as the name implies a century, a 100 mile, supported, organized, bicycle ride. It is held in mid-August.
It would be fair to ask, “Why on earth would anyone ever even consider doing a ride like that?”
Several answers have been proposed. Bragging Rights and insanity tend to be the top examples.
All I can remember about my own thought processes is that I thought something like this. “I like heat, and perform well in it. This sounds like fun.” I make no claims about the balance of my mental state at the time, but I will state the following for the record. At the time that I conceived the idea of riding this event, and at the time of registration, I was not under the influence of any consciousness altering substance. I was sober as a judge.
At the time, I lived just a bit north of Dallas, Tx. I chose to drive up to the event. It is only a bit over 115 miles from Lewisville to Whichita Falls. On Texas roads, in the very small hours of a weekend morning, that meant a travel time of about an hour and a half.
As I was loading up, at 5:00 A.M. I kind of noticed that it was a bit warm out. The temp then was 79. The Sun was rising in spectacular fashion, behind me as I drove toward the event.
There was a big thermometer display at the start finish line. As they started us, at 8:00 o’clock, it was tripping over from 85 to 86. Yep. Looked like it was gonna be a warm one.
I was not riding a fancy racing rig. Nor was I on a stout tourist. No. On that day I was riding the old “Iron Eagle,” Schwinn Continental. I had four water bottles in cages and in my bar bag. I was carrying four tubes, a patch kit, my pump, and a couple of bottles of sunscreen. (Sort of sounds like something from the Blues Brothers, doesn’t it?)
Getting the heavy bike in motion was a relief. The breeze of passage cooled me wonderfully. I’d been breaking a bit of a sweat, standing there in the sun, waiting. This would be the last time the word “cool” would occur to me for a long time.
Coincidentally, I wasn’t much past “Hells Gate,” at approximately 60 miles, when things got interesting. The Sun was an undeniable physical presence. It was a distinct pressure of heat, forcing down from the sky. The winds (which were always in the face) did not help. Hot wind does not cool you, it only dries you out. More, by this time the road surface was heating, and reflecting heat back up. Under these conditions a rider is both baking and broiling.
Texas has a system of secondary FM roads. These are usually high crowned, with an “improved” shoulder. They are usually made from oiled gravel. In the heat of Summer, the oil melts and oozes up. It becomes a sticky resistant surface, grabbing the wheel with a constant “ssllllsh” sound.
There was not a bit of shade around when my rear tire blew.
This was more than a flat. Not a mere puncture. The thing actually exploded. Upon examination, my front was in pretty bad shape too. I had no way to repair the tire, so I resigned myself to waiting, drinking from the tepid water in my bottles, and occasionally pouring a bit over my head.
Surprisingly, a SAG driver showed up fairly quickly. An even greater surprise was that he had a pair of decent tires to fit my bike. He sold them to me very reasonably. Then he insisted that I sit in his air-conditioned truck while he did mounted the tires.
“You look really hot,” he said. “You know it’s already 102? Yep! Gonna be a hot one.”
Repair done, I was eager to get back on the bike. Movement, and a blast furnace headwind actually helped.
I would like to bless the unknown genius who arranged for a water truck to have hoses available at the 75 mile break point. Standing under a hose and soaking my head felt like a proof of a loving God. I took advantage of the large shade trees and the big awning tent at that break point. I spent over an hour there, just resting, rehydrating, and recovering. It was a pleasant interlude, but it didn’t get noticeably cooler out in the bright light of day.
I was more than thankful for my sunglasses as I got on the road again. The late afternoon sun was right on the roadway, and seemed to actually be a gradient of its own.
Amazing stuff. During that day, by actual count, I drank 14 liters of water. (That count does not include the five liters I used to douse myself while riding.) That’s about 3.5 gallons. At that, I did not need to use a toilet until after the end of the ride.
Yes, it was hot. It was a long, hot day in the blazing north Texas Sun. And yes! I did enjoy it, although I will admit it was good to get into my truck at the end of the day and turn the AC up to “emergency max.”
It was a good day. I like it hot. But there are limits. And all good things can be overdone.
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