Lubbock to Tulia

I started pedaling toward Amarillo early on Thursday morning.  I didn't have much of anything... no plan.  no drive.  no clue... All I had was the faith that everything was going to be alright.  It was pretty chilly.  The clouds had cold front written all over them.  I didn't think I would make it more than 30 miles, purely for the lack of interest.  Luckily, Jammye, from the Pitchfork Ranch, in Guthrie, saved the day, yet again...  She put me in touch with a relative in Tulia, about 73 miles away.  The clouds began to part and my spirit brightened.  It was a long, yet enjoyable, successful day of riding.

I stopped at a gas station on the North side of Plainview.  I grabbed some lunch and stepped back outside for a rest.  A friendly truck driver honked at me in the middle of my lunch and gave me two thumbs up.  Before I got back on the road I went to say hello.  Edgar, the truck driver, was from, what was once known as, Yugoslavia.  He came over to the states as a refuge years ago.  Now, looking back on that conversation, I wish I would have known more about the war to ask him how he feels about his home separating as it did.  How it feels to never be able to return to a home he grew and experienced life in.  The loss of something that will never be the same... Lots of us are able to return to that familiar place.  And for most it is a comfortable, enjoyable time...regardless of how dysfunctional it seems on the outside looking in.  He seems happy with his home in Florida and his job traveling...people adapt and move forward.  That is all we can do to survive.

Edgar was curious about what I was doing, where I was going, and why, for heavens sake, on a bicycle... Many of the same questions I get a couple times a day.  I gladly explained, I get to meet fine folks as himself, and learn more about the world around me, cheaper than any other way.  He was very nice and worried for my safety.  He offered me a ride over to Nashville, where my other sister, Amanda, lives... it was very tempting, but after a few moments of thought, I felt I should continue on to my original destination.  I thanked him, and happily made my way to Tulia.

I reached the Mabry household around 5, just as the sun was setting.  They were so welcoming, as the Timmons were.  That evening we went to one of their younger sons band practice in town.  It was a small community, and a small school.  It was cozy.  It took me back to hear the band play... to see all the kids squirming and laughing in their chairs.  It was short, but sweet.

We returned to the house to eat the delicious spaghetti from Chef Mama Mabry.  Afterwards Delynn (Mama M) told me a little about her upbringing and her current love for the work she does in testing and placing children with disabilities.  I find it fascinating and encouraging to see the strength in people that grew up with little and created so much, and then dedicate it all to God...

I had about 50-60 miles ahead of me the next morning.  Little did I know I wasn't saying goodbye to the Mabrys for good.  I was on my way to Amarillo to meet the older Mabry daughters, Lindy and Leslie.