Some people collect trophies. Some collect stamps. Me? I collect rides.
Each one is like a chapter in a long, two-wheeled novel — full of weather, grit, pain, joy, and perspective. The miles may not be written on medals or bibs, but they’re etched into my legs, my lungs, and my heart.
Over the decades, I’ve ridden thousands of miles across states and seasons, but it’s not the total mileage I remember. It’s the moments. The small, quiet, sometimes brutal, sometimes beautiful flashes that stay with me long after the ride is over.
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🥵 That Ride in the Heat — Kingsville to Raymondville
It was part of a long tour down to South Padre Island. I started that day in Kingsville, heading for Raymondville — about 80 miles on open road with little shade and a forecast nearing 110°F.
Riviera was the last stop for water. I packed every bottle, stuffed ice in my jersey, and kept pedaling. But 20 miles from the finish, the heat became something primal. My vision wavered, the road shimmered, and for the first time in years, I questioned whether I’d actually make it.
I did. Barely.
And that ride taught me two things:
Prepare well — but respect the elements.
And more importantly, you're stronger than your doubts.
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🌄 That Quiet Morning in Las Cruces
Another memory that won’t fade: riding out of Las Cruces just before dawn. The sky was still black, the road whisper-quiet. No cars. No noise. Just the hum of my tires and the rhythm of my breath.
As I climbed, the desert began to glow. First a sliver of pink on the horizon, then gold spilling across the sky. I crested the hill just as the sun fully rose. In that moment, it didn’t matter how fast I was going. The only thing that mattered was that I was there — alive, moving, present.
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🚴♂️ My First 200-Mile Day
After a knee replacement, I was told it might take six months before I could ride again — and even longer to regain endurance.
I told my doctor I wanted to be ready for “24 Hours in the Canyon,” a grueling endurance ride through Palo Duro. He raised an eyebrow. I told him not only would I be ready, I was aiming for 200 miles in a single day.
He didn’t say no. He just said, “Be careful.”
I trained. I prepared. And I rode all 200 of those miles.
That memory reminds me not of my limits — but of what happens when you stop believing in them.
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💬 The Unexpected Connections
Cycling has given me more than miles. It’s given me conversations with strangers on quiet porches, kids cheering from the roadside, and fellow riders who became friends after just a few shared climbs.
I’ve waved at farmers, been chased by dogs, and stopped to help someone change a tire in the middle of nowhere. Each of those moments — however small — stitched themselves into the quilt of my riding life.
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💭 Why These Memories Matter
People sometimes ask why I still ride at 70. The answer is simple:
Because the road still gives me stories worth telling.
Because every ride is another page in a book that I’m not done writing.
Because memories aren’t something you find — they’re something you make, one pedal stroke at a time.
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I don’t know what the future holds — but I know that as long as I can ride, I’ll keep adding stories to this long, beautiful journey. And maybe someday, someone else will be inspired to ride their own.
– Bruce
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