Hotter'n Hell Hundred

     In 1982, the city of Wichita Falls, an East Texas facsimile of Lubbock, was trying to come up with an event to celebrate their Centennial and generate some publicity and possibly capture some tourist dollars.  The Chamber of Commerce hired a big city Public Relations firm from Dallas to give them some ideas. 

     These "experts" came back to the city fathers with a proposal for a "Rocking Chair Marathon".  They would allow entrants to place their rocking chairs on the floor of the local coliseum and, at a pre-arranged time, start rocking.  The winner would be the "Last Person Rocking", so to speak.  According to the plan, this would all take place with loud music, food booths, souvenir stalls, colorful banners and a large, excited crowd placing bets on their favorite rocker.   

     Cooler heads prevailed.  An older fellow stood up at the meeting and opined that the plan was hogwash, or some other appropiate adjective.  He suggested a bicycle ride in late August, guaranteeing that it would be "Hotter'n Hell."  The rest is history.  Now, the Hotter'n Hell Hundred is the largest bicycle ride in the world.  It is held on the last weekend in August that is at least nine days before Labor Day.  Over ten thousand people participate each year.

     During the late eighties and early ninties Keith Cecil, Charles Flowers and I imposed upon our friends, Neil and Manon McMullen, who were then full time residents of Wichita Falls. We stayed with them for our annual assault on the "Ride."  We always had a spaghetti supper to "carb load" the night before the ride, and other old friends came to party and enjoy the event.  One night, I recited from memory one of my favorite poems, the "Face on the Barroom Floor."  After that, we added the "World Famous Neil and Manon McMullen Poetry Symposium" to the festivities.

     The next year, I wrote the following poem for that event.  It tells of my feelings for Lubbock and West Texas and the High Plains better than I can seem to do with prose. 

     (Disclaimers--I have no clue as to why this electric machine changed font in the middle of this story.  I don't know how to fix it, but I'm hoping the machine will do so automatically when I post this missive.  I apologize to all those poets out there. who understand iambic pentameter and that sort of stuff---I don't.  The history of the HHH is from the dark recesses of my fragile memory--I think it is essectially correct, so please don't confuse me with details.  JPMC)

                                                                      THE RIDE

WE GREW UP ON THE HIGH PLAINS WITH CACTUS AND SAND

DIRT ROADS AND BAR DITCHES SCARRED THE LAND

GLARE ICE IN WINTER, FLOODS EVERY SPRING

SAND STORMS IN SUMMER, CRITTERS THAT STING

CACTUS TO STICK YOU, RATTLESNAKES THAT BITE

WIND IN THE DAYTIME, TORNADOS AT NIGHT.

OUR CROPS WERE ALL TAKEN BY THE SEVEN YEAR DROUGHT

WE JUST COULDN’T WAIT TO GET OURSELVES OUT!

WE MOVED TO THE CITIES, THE MOUNTAINS, THE SEA

ANYPLACE WITH WATER, THAT’S WHERE WE’D BE

WE STARTED OUR FAMILIES, PUT DOWN OUR ROOTS

IN PLACES WHERE PEOPLE DIDN’T WEAR BOOTS.

WE GREW AND PROSPERED, BECAME SUCESSFUL

IN CAREERS THAT OTHERS CONSIDERED STRESSFUL.

WE DID IT WITH EASE, DIDN’T NOTICE THE STRAIN—

IF YOU GROW UP IN LUBBOCK, YOU’RE ACUSTOMED TO PAIN!

WE’RE ALL BACK TOGETHER AFTER FORTY ODD YEARS

TALKING AND LAUGHING, SHARING SOME BEERS

AGE HAS BEEN GOOD, IF YOU DON’T SEE TOO WELL

WE’RE STILL ABLE TO RIDE IN THE HOTTER’N HELL.

WE REMEMBER THE GOOD TIMES, IGNORE THE REST

CLING TO OLD FRIENDS, THEY’RE ALWAYS THE BEST

AND FINALLY REALIZE THE REAL FUNNY PART—

IF YOU GROW UP IN WEST TEXAS, YOU HAVE A HEAD START!

THE WORLD VIEW OUT THERE IS DOWNRIGHT PLAIN,

A MAN’S ONLY ASSET IS HIS GOOD NAME

WORK HARD AND HONEST, BE FAITHFUL AND TRUE

GOOD THINGS WILL ALWAYS COME BACK TO YOU.

ONE RULE APPLIES WHEN IT’S TIME FOR A TEST—

MAKES NO DIFFERENCE WHO LOOKS THE BEST,

WHAT REALLY COUNTS IS DEEP INSIDE.

WE’RE NOT HERE FOR SHOW, WE CAME FOR THE RIDE!

I KNOW THIS PHILOSOPHY SOUNDS NAÏVE

SOPHISTICATED FOLKS WILL LAUGH UP THEIR SLEEVES

THAT’S JUST FINE, EACH CAT TO HIS KICK

THERE ARE WORSE THINGS THAN BEING A HICK.

PEOPLE FROM THE CITY ARE CONSIDERED SMART

IF THEY CAN MIX A MARTINI OR STIFLE A FART.

OUT IN WEST TEXAS THERE ARE TOUGHER RULES STILL—

YOU MUST DO EXACTLY WHAT YOU SAY YOU WILL!

                                                                                                           Jim McLaughlin

                                                                                                                         August  1990

     Written for the Neil and Manon McMullen Pasta Dinner, Wine Tasting and Poetry Symposium, always on the Friday night preceding the Hottern’ Hell Hundred in Wichita Falls, Texas. 


     Thank you, Neil and Manon, for all the hospitality, patience and good times--these are some of my fondest memories.                                                                                                                                 Jim
                                                                                                                                                              January  2012