In his 1977 outlaw country classic, Waylon Jennings croons, “Out in Luckenbach, Texas, ain’t nobody feelin’ no pain.” I guarantee Waylon and Willie and the boys didn’t ride a bike to their beloved Luckenbach. I did. And my legs were feeling plenty of pain.
I was halfway through a weeklong cycling trip in October when I pulled my two-wheeler into Luckenbach, an Instagrammer’s dream destination. As I gulped electrolytes from my water bottle, I noticed a black and white cat posing on the rustic porch of the post office turned general store and chickens congregating under the shade of a sprawling live oak.
I’d pedaled 190 miles in the past four days, climbing more than 10,000 feet along the way. My quads were tired. My glutes were beat. My
