The Old Guy Bicycle Blog

Updated March 2026 That's me in the canyon Two weeks before the Hotter’N Hell 100, where I will be doing the half,   I decided to test myself with a 50-mile ride in one of Texas’ toughest places to cycle — Palo Duro Canyon . I knew it would be hot. I knew it would be hilly. But I didn’t know that the final six miles would turn into a fight just to stay upright. The Base That Made This Possible I’ve ridden over 6,000 miles in the last 12 months , much of it challenging and in the Texas heat. Living in Lubbock , I’m used to triple-digit summer rides. I would never have attempted this canyon ride without that base. Even so, this day proved that sometimes, even with years of experience, you still get humbled. My goal wasn’t to ride in extreme heat. I got there early enough that I expected to finish when temps were in the mid-90s. The morning was pleasant. But when things started going wrong mid-ride, my stops stretched the day, and by the end, it was 100–101°F. I neve...

Updated July 18, 2026 One of the things I’ve come to realize after decades in the saddle is that cycling connects people in ways that few other things can. Whether it's for five minutes or five hours, riding side by side with someone can form a bond that sticks — even if the moment passes and you never see each other again. There are two rides that stand out in my memory, even though years — even decades — have gone by. I never exchanged full names or kept in touch with either of these people. But they’ve stayed with me, clear as a tailwind on a sunny day. 100 Miles of Camaraderie One year during the 24 Hours in the Canyon event at Palo Duro Canyon, I found myself riding the first stretch alongside a man I had never met before. We were similar in ability and resolve, and it just worked. We climbed out of the canyon together and covered the first 100 miles side by side, talking like old friends the entire way. I don’t remember his name now. I think he was from somewhere near Amarill...

🌄 Mile 200 wasn’t just a number. It happened at sunrise, after 18 hours on the bike — a quiet moment of transformation. This story isn’t about distance. It’s about grit, grace, and what you discover about yourself when no one’s watching. It was 6:00 AM when it happened. The canyon was still — the kind of stillness that follows a long, grueling night on the bike. I was pedaling through the final hours of the 24 Hours in the Canyon ride in Palo Duro Canyon near Amarillo, Texas. My legs ached. My body was drained. My mind floated somewhere between focus and fatigue. Then the first light of dawn crept over the canyon walls. Soft. Golden. Sacred. Just as the sun rose — about 18 hours into the ride — my odometer ticked past 200 miles . And I cried. Not from pain — though there was plenty of that. Not even from exhaustion — though I was completely spent. I cried because that number, 200 , meant more than distance. It represented every early m...