I remember an old saying from my youth; “March comes in like a Lion and goes out like a Lamb.” It came in like a Lion this year but as March comes to an end, the Lamb has been kinda hesitant to show up. Vickie and I tried to escape the jaws of the Lion and left the snowy High Plains behind in early March. We headed for the Third Coast, hoping to get a few days in shorts and flip-flops on the beach, in the sub-tropical sun.
Our oldest grandchild hit double digits in early March and we wanted to help her celebrate. We got a day or so of Space city spring weather but shorts and flip-flops was definitely stretching it a bit. Texas was getting a little of the Lion too. We had a good time though, visiting some of our old haunts and spending some time on the beach.
All the Spring Breakers down in Galveston acted as if the Lamb was in town but it wasn’t. They were out on the beach, wearing their bikinis and surfer shorts, goosebumps rippling across all that pale bare skin. I kept my jacket on against the stiff Gulf Coast breeze. It did warm up in the late afternoon and I even broke a sweat as we hiked along the seawall through the sea of humanity.
On our way back to the High Plains, tornadoes chased us across central Texas, removing roofs, flipping trailers and causing general havoc. We got back to Colorado just in time for a roaring spring blizzard that dumped massive wet snow drifts and closed every highway within a 100 mile radius. The Lion just keeps on roaring.
Yesterday for the first time in months, the wind dropped off to single digits and the thermometer began to climb. So I hit the gravel for the first good ride of the season, excited that the Lamb was in town, at least for a few days. I rode north and west, out to the ghost town of Firstview, at the very edge of the High Plains; the highest point all the way to the front range of the mighty Rocky Mountains. On a clear day you can see Pike’s Peak from here but there aren’t many days like that anymore.
The roads were in decent shape, even after the crazy, spring snow storm. The deeper road ditches were still filled with snow, even as the thermometer approached 80 degrees. As I passed a compressor station, I noticed the windsock was pointing in the opposite direction from the forecast and a bit more inflated than I had hoped. The Meadowlarks were happy though and serenaded me as I pedaled along crushing the gravel.
I was about ten miles into the ride when I had the first flat tire. One of a half dozen I would have on the ride. I spent almost as much time sitting on the edge of the road, patching inner tubes, as I did riding. Goat-heads galore. I think I might’ve set a new record. The last one, less than a mile from home.
It’s all good though; taking a break and kicking back in the warm afternoon March sunshine, munching gorp while fixing the tires was good medicine. At least for the first three or four. By the fifth one I was getting a bit peeved. I’ll definitely be exploring tubeless options again this year. I’m excited about this season. I hope to explore the new routes I’ve been researching and finish the books I have been working on about gravel road tours in Eastern Colorado and the High Plains. Hopefully the Lamb is ready to move in and bring the Spring.
