Coldspring Texas sits at the eastern edge of the Sam Houston National Forest, AKA "The Big Thicket." A bit about the forest's namesake:
Sam Houston was a soldier, lawyer, governor of Tennessee and first "President" of the Republic of Texas after commanding the Texas army during the successful campaign for independence. For more, check out http://www.lsjunction.com/people/houston.htm. He was not born in Texas, but made quite an impression on the history and politics of the state. Sound like anybody else we know?
The route took a series of smaller ranch roads heading northeast, and the deeper we got into the Thicket, the worse the road surfaces, with more logging trucks. Finally passing through New Waverly, Texas, we had 23 miles remaining on state road 150 into Coldspring. The last 15 miles or so rattled our senses. The shoulder completely vanished, the road dropping off and crumbling into the dirt just right of the fog line.
When we'd see or hear a logging truck behind us (the trucks carried upwards of 25 to 40 small trees per load - used for paper production), we would find the best spot to pull entirely off the road, letting the truck speed by unhindered. We were in no hurry to dance with a semi.
98 miles later, we found the motel, the San Jacinto Inn. We spied a burger place on our way in, cleaned up and headed over. We ordered a full plate of tator tots and a large pizza. Not the best pizza but it had the calories we needed. Bad tator tots don't exist. With enough mayo, they all taste perfect.
Fat, happy and sleepy, I bumped into the hotel owner on my way to the ice machine. Beaufort (for real) told me about all the things he'd survived (cancer, a few heart attacks, moving from place to place) and that his wife was currently undergoing cancer treatments. I just stood there not knowing what to say, so I just listened. I could tell he was happy to have someone to chat with. He told me how Katrina blew the back walls off the motel, and they had hurricane refugees as long-term guests. Coldspring lies 60 miles northeast of Houston and the Gulf Coast shore.
We spoke of cycling and all the riders he hosts coming through town. Beaufort mentioned two cyclists killed by a logging truck on the same road we arrived on, state route 150. I asked if they were through-cyclists, and he said that yes, they were passing through, just like we were.
Later in the evening we took the bikes a few miles west to a convenience store. Chris would not let me go alone. We both felt a strange energy as soon as we arrived here. We started out and about half way there an abused fast and furious Honda blew by full of kids yelling at us and laughing. The exclamation point came in the form of a nearly full plastic bottle of soda whipping in front of us, bouncing into the ditch. We kept moving, turned into the store, the Honda parked with one kid doing ollies in the parking lot on his board.
We rolled up, Chris said something about bad aim. I struck up a conversation with the kid on the board. I asked if there were any skate parks around, and he looked at me sideways and asked if I skated. He said there were a few parks close by. He seemed agitated with me talking to him and would not look me in the eye. It's funny how things change when you become a real person face to face, instead somebody separated by a speeding car.
over and out
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