We never really know what to expect around the next corner of our tour route.

Yesterday,  a few miles from Susan Butler's home we spotted a dead corally snake along the road, and ten miles later nearly ran over a rather large, dead rattlesnake.   I tend to try to ignore these sightings, but today we saw another dead rattlesnake on the roadside.  So it's getting to be difficult to deny the existence of such creatures in the ditches we're riding along.

But today after a rather tense crossing of the Brazos River, Barb chanced onto a find that may be of some comfort.  The bridge over the Brazos is quite long, perhaps a half mile or so, and the otherwise wide shoulders of the road disappear entirely, leaving us sharing the road with 70 mph traffic. We try to watch for breaks in the traffic behind us, but at our 12-13 mph pace, gaps close in no time.  Today we were caught by a pair of 20-something young ladies who Barb tried to hold back from passing us into oncoming traffic, but what resulted was lots of honking and gesticulations for us to get off the bridge.  Exactly where wasn't at all clear, and the underdeveloped prefrontal lobes of the drivers wasn't helping the situation.  Lord, deliver me safe across the Jordan.

Not a half a mile up the road Barb spotted a discarded horseshoe in the shoulder and decided that picking it up for good luck couldn't hurt.   So it's now tucked neatly under a bungy strap on her rear rack.  Normally I don't take much stock in such things, but since she's picked it up,  I've had two flats and she's been riding hills with grace and confidence.  And there are those nasty surprises still lurking in the ditches.

Since leaving the Checkpoint Lodging,  we have left the forested hillsides and have now been rolling through pastures of grazing cattle and horses, and occasionally even some exotic games on specially fence preserves.  The cattle in particular have been called out to at almost every available opportunity,  so when we passed this restaurant sign a photo opp was mandatory.

Shortly after fixing my first post-horseshoe flat, we heard a call behind us, and Jake the young man from Pensacola who's riding cross-country rejoined us.  He'd spent a few days in Louisiana with his folks, and has been slowly gaining on us.

We rode the last of our 61 miles into Burton together, and had expected to lodge at a B&B in town.  We stopped at the first restaurant we came to, and asked if the B&B was open.  Assured it was, we sat down and ate supper.  When we finished,  we came out to find my tire slowly going flat,  so we pedaled the few blocks to the B&B to get a room for the night and fix a flat.   To our chagrin, there was a for sale sign on the property and all lights were off.  A few ladies at the antique shop next door said they knew it had recently changed hands and was not open. We were directed to a nearby florist shop and told that Heidi,  the owner knew everything in Burton and could probably help up.  The shop was closed, but a call to a cell phone listing put us through to Heidi.

As a result,  we're camped under the roof of an old train depot the serves as the town park.  We have restrooms, electricity,  and running water. 

Barb's already asleep,  and I soon will be.  It's been a day of unexpected surprises that has ended with us comfortably situated through the kindness and hospitality of strangers.  Touring is amazing.