Ok, you all knew this day was coming. We knew it too. But somehow, when it finally arrived, it still hit like a surprise pop quiz in a class you didn’t know you were taking.

This morning… was rough.

The usual cheerful chatter about “riding our bikes across the country!” evaporated somewhere around mile three, replaced by the sound of two grown adults quietly questioning their life choices while grinding up the world’s smallest incline into a 15mph headwind. On a shoulder so bumpy it felt like riding a paint shaker. Powered by multiple cups of coffee that—judging by our energy levels—must have been brewed with imaginary beans. Toothless coffee. Useless coffee. Betrayal in a cup.

We had been expecting a 74‑mile “easy day” after yesterday’s 99‑mile odyssey. We even had a prize dangling in front of us: if we made it to Marfa in time, we could catch the last entry to the Chinati Foundation at 4pm. A real, honest-to-goodness art exhibit. Culture. Beauty. Minimalism under the open sky. But Chinati is closed on Mondays—our rest day—so today was our one shot.

And the universe said: lol no.

The Slog to Lunch

We pushed. We pouted. We pedaled like two people trying to escape a wind tunnel designed by someone who hates joy. Four hours later, we limped into lunch feeling like we’d been tumble‑dried on high heat.

The temperature had climbed to 95°F. The shoulder bumps had rearranged our internal organs. Our sandwiches turned to toast before we could sit down. The flies were auditioning for the role of “protein add‑in.” Spirits were low. Like, “deep dark place” low. Like, “maybe we live here now” low.

John, especially, was mourning the loss of his long‑awaited Chinati visit. I tried to cheer him up, but he was having none of it. The man was grieving.

Enter: Hank, Stage Left

And then—because the universe also loves a dramatic twist—a Land Cruiser rolled up.

I said, “Isn’t that Hank?”

John turned around, and sure enough, it was his amazing friend Hank, materializing like a desert mirage with better timing than any of us deserved.

In that moment, Hank wasn’t just a friend. He was a plot device. A deus ex Land Cruiser.

Within minutes, a plan was hatched: John would send his bike with the sag wagon and ride with Hank straight to the Chinati Foundation. Because this trip isn’t about checking every mile. It’s about seeing what’s around us. It’s about grabbing the moments that matter. And this moment mattered.

John and Hank took off toward the art he’d been dreaming about for months. A perfect, unexpected, victorious ending to a morning that had tried very hard to defeat us.

And honestly? That’s the magic of this whole ride. You never know when the wind will crush your soul, when your sandwich will turn to toast, or when a friend will appear out of nowhere to save the day.

Today, we got all three.