I will be riding my bike to Wetmore. I went through there in 2022 on the TransAm. Today I will start at Lake Pueblo. In 2022 I started in Fowler, which is forty-five miles east. That year getting to Wetmore was a long day. This year I only have twenty-seven miles. I do remember this stretch from four years ago. It is desert, hot, and nothing along the way.
I am headed to a Warmshowers host. They will get home around 3 p.m. My 11 a.m. start should be perfect timing. I say goodbye to Nancy and Moe. Moe does not want me to go. Nancy has an easy feeling.
I ride out of the park and onto Route 96, the only road to Wetmore. I am in the southern Colorado desert. It is well beyond hot. Stifling is the word.
I remember the brutal mile-long climb just before Wetmore. I am not looking forward to the climb and will deal with it when I get there. I get there and I am out of water, like I was in 2022. My legs begin cramping. I have two miles left. I press on regardless.
In town I ride down the street of my hosts. I slow looking at house numbers. I hear a voice, “Are you Russ”? I stop and reply, “You must be Johnny”.
Kristin and Johnny are wonderful hosts. I settle in and they begin preparing dinner. While dinner is cooking I am offered Smoked Salmon that they caught while in Alaska last year. The Salmon on crackers led to the main course, BBQ sirloin, baked potato, and salad.
I am warned, bears come into town and their yard. The drought up north is driving the bears south looking for food.
Two people drove into the campsite next to us late last night. We were ready to fall asleep. Then the noise: loud talking, music, and truck revving. Now wide awake again, lying with my head on a pillow, I comment my disgust. It is two hours after curfew.
This morning, I step outside into cool morning air. The wind is blowing a fresh chill; it is nice outside. I check the weather; this comfort will not last. The high for the day will be 100°. I cook oatmeal, then brew coffee, and tuck into a small patch of shade.
Nancy goes shopping, and Moe and I stay hiding in the shade. Nancy brings back cold macaroni salad and a watermelon. Then she comes out of the camper wearing a bathing suit. At the rock overlooking the lake, she impresses a group of college students daring each other to jump. She walks by calling them wimps and jumps off into the water below. One of the group caught this on video. It will be up on her blog soon.
We drive over to another campground loop, and I take a shower. The water never got above cold. It felt good cooling off and getting clean.
The neighbors are banging out mainstream Motown, and a car just went by vibrating the ground with ghetto bass.
Dancing in the moonlight.
Nancy takes Moe on his nightly walk and stops at the site, saying she likes the music. We have extra watermelon and want to bring half over to them. I go over also, and we visit. They are three generations enjoying life.
Breakfast, fast and easy with little clean-up. We need to be out of our site by 10 a.m. A park ranger driving by the campground stops and tells our neighbor to leash his dog. He replies, “This is not my dog.” He tries to lure the dog to him with treats. The ranger is now walking up to the dog cautiously, saying, “Be careful, we don’t know what the dog will do.” I go over to the screen tent to tell Nancy. She walks over with Moe, the dog walks over to Moe. The ranger now has a secure grip on the dog’s collar. We tell the ranger the area that we think the owner of his dog is camping. All is well.
I finish brewing coffee, Nancy and Moe walk over to our neighbor. My coffee is done, I also walk over. Harrison introduces himself, and we do the same. We enjoy a nice conversation that lasts a while. Then I remember we need to finish packing up. Once packed and driving out of our site, we stop and I hand Harrison my card. He was interested in following our tours.
The drive to Pueblo.
We park the camper in our site and drive back to Pueblo. Nancy has a prescription to pick up. I go to Urgent Care. About a week ago, I noticed a sore on my lower back. It now itches and is painful. While Nancy is at the pharmacy, I am at Urgent Care. I have a three-inch area of red rash, and in the center is a bite. It appears to be a spider bite. I now have an antibiotic.
We bring ice cream back to camp along with ice and Dr. Peppers. The ice cream is already no more. Sitting in the shade, I contacted the two Warmshowers hosts for tomorrow and the next night. I still need to go through the panniers to not overbring what I will not be using the three nights before meeting up with Nancy.
The sun drops a bit, and it is cool. We walk the trails. The sunset is in different spots.
The day begins with a cool breeze. I am outside cooking toast and eggs. Nancy is snickering while watching me at the gas stove, wearing a fleece. After breakfast, Moe is cleaning the plates. He is so helpful!
Nancy breaks the silence by handing me Moe’s leash and announcing that she is going to the East Slough to watch birds. Moe finds it necessary to announce Nancy’s departure to everyone in the campground. Then he climbs back into his chair, yes, he has his very own camp chair, and Moe and I slip back into the groove.
Nancy returns with excitement. Not only did she see various birds, she discovered an area that marks the Santa Fe Trail. She drives us to the historic site. The wagon tracks are very visible here, and the boundaries have been lined with rail fence.
The wagons compacted the soil so a different ground cover is on the tracks.
We take the roadway over the John Martin Dam. Then Nancy sees sandy single-track roads that go down to the water above the Dam. Yikes, the brush on each side of the road is scrapping the car. Then it gets a bit rocky. Nancy jokes that maybe the ruts and rocks will rip off the rest of a plastic shield that is hanging under the front of the car. We get up onto the rock ledge and park the car. The reservoir is now twenty-five feet lower than usual due to the lack of winter snow and spring rain. We are parked on an area that should be under water. We get out and walk on rocks to get to the water. Moe, who doesn’t like being in water, walks to the edge and drinks.
Nancy has some local catfish in the refrigerator, so I set up the outside stove to cook dinner. We also have fresh onions and peppers as a side. Moe got some nibbles and gave a nod of approval.
Before the sun, it is cool. I step outside and look around. The campers in the site past us are packing to leave. A few sites on our other side are empty. Our closest neighbors are down by the restroom. They are quiet.
Moe is inhaling his breakfast, Nancy is putting melted soupy ice cream over a bowl of Wheat Chex, and I stick a spoon into the cold liquid strawberry cream that last night was solid. Ice cream in a cooler packed in ice morphs into cool cream. Still tasty and refreshing in the blistering heat. Yup! The cool switched to hot, 97° in thirty minutes.
We begin walking to the lake below the dam. We near a campsite where Logan, approximately eight years in age, is staying with his family. He sees us, we see his grin, he shouts “hi Moe”. He came over last night and introduced himself. The walk to the dam is on hold for a bit. We enjoy a visit with his family, Logan tosses a ball for Moe.
Back on the walk, it is still getting hotter. We walk to the water. Moe gets plenty of new sniffs and discovers many new places to pee. Nancy watches birds, I see opportunities to capture photos.
It’s now 4 p.m. and we drive to Mapes RV Store to pick up ice and drinks. We stop at Little Red Shin Rock at the entrance to the campground.
I notice a sign indicating that we are crossing the Santa Fe Trail.
A beer can from a wagon train? Nancy is convinced not.🤷🏻♂️
The wind has been blowing the screen tent and as it moves the cross struts bend and twist. We go back to Mapes to get some rope to brace the tent poles against the wind. He didn’t have what we needed but did have a 100’ length of 1/4” poly rope. I buy it and back at the campsite Nancy and I cut lengths and sealed the ends. The ropes are installed and doing the job.
Last night I woke to noise outside the camper. It sounded like the cooler lid opening and closing. When we checked in, Nancy was told that there are determined raccoons in this park. We never leave food or trash lying around our sites. The cooler had one bottle of beer and a sealed new container of milk sitting in the ice water. Our small refrigerator didn’t have room for these two items. I shone a flashlight out the window, but the cooler being tight against the camper was out of eyesight. The rattling continued. I opened the door to see a large, bigger than Moe, raccoon at the cooler. I chased it away, but it stayed within sight of me. Nancy is outside now. Moe is inside, hoping for his chance to battle with the intruder. We open the cooler to discover that the top plastic cap has been ripped off, and milk has colored the water white. Nancy goes back in to attempt quieting Moe. I dump the cooler, and Nancy empties what is left of the milk down the drain.
We go back to sleep until the dish drainer on the picnic table gets knocked to the ground. The menace runs off into the woods.
Morning comes. We dress and go outside to pick up the dishes and cook eggs and toast. After a slightly rushed coffee, we pack up to leave. Nancy cleans the dirty footprints out of the cooler.
Hiding in the screen tent.
The route to Colorado and the next campground is easy: one road north, one road west. At this junction, we turn east toward Dodge City to view the Santa Fe Trail wagon ruts. The sun is high in the sky, so it was difficult to see them, but we could. Unfortunately, in the photo, the ruts do not show as clearly as seen by eye.
Driving back to the route we see a Sonic. We stop for lunch. Then another stop in Lamar for ice and groceries.
We make it to the Hasty State Park on John Martin Lake. Camp is set, and we relax in the shade.
We are in Mountain Time. It is eight o’clock. Nancy is taking Moe for his evening walk while I finish this blog.
The morning is cool with a breeze. Nancy makes pancakes for our breakfast; we have maple syrup from our hometown. The treat from Ashfield is a gift from Ted Murray.
We drive to the City of Meade to see what is there. Driving into the center of the city, Nancy turns right, and we see a road sign for the Dalton Gang Hideout. We follow the sign and reach a small house; we are at the museum. An elderly white-haired man with sparse, thread-like hair meets us at the entrance. We got a bit of local history, then went inside and paid the fee, seven dollars each. Moe is free to enter with us.
More history is given; this hints at what we will see in the house. We begin at the barn, the museum office, and gift shop. Into the tunnel we go. This was an underground escape from the house.
We come to a stairway and climb to the house. The only two rooms are small.
Upstairs on the second floor.
We head back to the barn through the tunnel and climb to the second floor. Many more artifacts are displayed here.
That is an 8’ Rattle Snake skin on the wall.
The tour is finished; we stop to talk once more to the man caretaking this museum. He begins a history lesson of the city and area of Kansas when this was a stop on the cattle trail from Texas in the late 1800s. We learn about the cowboys and the “Women of negotiable affections”.
Upon leaving, he suggests Bob’s Burgers for lunch. This place is not the greasy spoon Sunday night cartoon. The food is good; we order takeout and drive a block to a wonderful shaded City Park. We picnic with Moe and head out of the city.
It is a thirteen-mile straight road back to the campground.
The wind blew last night. I felt it through the camper. This morning, I see streaks of water on the window. I also see drops rippling the newly formed puddles in the campsite. Once outside, I notice both chock blocks six feet from their wheels. The rain is over. I catch a glimpse of a clear sky before the sun peeks over the tree tops.
We gave up the last two nights here and booked two nights in Kansas. Last night, we packed up the screen tent. It is dry in the car. We drive into Beaver for cooler ice and groceries.
The drive today will be short, thirty minutes by car. We say farewell to Oklahoma.
And, hello to Kansas. We stop at the State Line. Our feeble attempt at touristy activity.
I’m pretty sure Kansas is this way.
We decide to drive into the Meade Wildlife Management Area on the way to the campground.
Now at the campground, we stop at the office to check in. We find out that the hiking trails are closed. Multiple lightning strikes three weeks ago burned portions of the State Park.
The camper is hooked up to water and electric. It is hot. We are in the sun, so we walk around the lakeshore and come back to our site hungry. We find shade and nibble on snacks.
The biting flies, small to large, are vicious and dive bomb through clouds of repellent spray to any bare skin with Kamikaze determination and precision.
From dark to light, from sleep to awake. This is the only change so far. Still hot, still windy; this has not changed in over a week. Back in April when I thought I would be riding through Oklahoma, Nancy booked campgrounds where it would be convenient for both my riding miles and rest days. So we are here for four nights.
Oklahoma has interstate highways or busy paved back roads with no shoulder. I’ll rephrase, on the few paved roads that have a shoulder, the state decided that filling up to two-foot shoulders with rumble strips is a great idea. On the roads that have no rumble strips, the fog line is right on the edge of the roads, and in some places, the white line is half on the pavement with the other half painted on the dirt.
The Golden Gravel Trail is on gravel roads that parallel the Interstates or paved back roads somewhere off in the distance. East or West, North to South, the grid is the same. I call them gravel roads loosely; in Oklahoma, soil is red clay. So any rain, even a fraction of an inch, the water sits on the clay in the form of pottery clay. The bike tires sink in, the clay sticks to the tires and everything it comes in contact with. And in the spots where you don’t sink in, the surface is greasy. So, since the incident with my bike getting to Copan, OK., I have been avoiding the red clay roads.
A long story short, this is why I am camping in places for multiple days. Nancy booked sites that would be in sync with my schedule. This campground is where I get shuttled to John Martin Reservoir State Park in Colorado. This is the first campground on the route where she could camp with services. And, for me, there is a stretch of one hundred sixty miles with no place to resupply, and the two BLM campsites have no water. My route maps show only three stops to get water, and they are from various water troughs for cattle.
I am at an age and place in life where I do not want this kind of suffering. During our time in Oklahoma, we decided to alter portions of the route to include visiting more places in Utah.
This morning, Nancy booked a campground across the border in Kansas for tomorrow and the next day. It will shorten the drive to Colorado and allow seeing new sights along the way.
We will go into Beaver tonight for dinner at the BS Bar and Grill, which is located right across the street from Beaver Liquor. Yes, you read this correctly. The Bar and Grill comes highly recommended by the locals.
Beaver Liquor is uncertain.
The BS Bar and Grill, we get there around 4 p.m. The only other people there are one family. We sit down and the waitress takes our order, fairly simple: one burger, one Goucho (which is basically a steak sandwich), and two margaritas. The drinks come and we are told our dinners will be ready in a few minutes. The waitress comes back thirty minutes later and tells us it will be a minute before the meal comes. I order another drink. We’ve been sitting here over an hour now and the waitress comes over and asks if we’ve ordered yet.
Without all the details, we are pissed when she tells us our order must have been given to a takeout order. Words are exchanged. The owner comes to our table and offers to let us take our meal back to the campsite; poor Moe is waiting for us to come back. The owner apologizes and tells us the meal and drinks are on the house. I pointed to my margarita and said this is coming with me. She put it into a plastic glass and handed it to me at the back of the building. All of this for a so-so meal.
Walking with Moe before settling in for the night.
We had a nice stay at Alabaster Caverns. The entire time here, there were no others camping at this park. There were, however, multiple people coming here for the cavern tours. We will leave this morning to our next campground in the Oklahoma Panhandle. After breakfast, we load the car and camper; we are now ready to leave. But first, we drive down into the canyon to see the tent-only sites.
Back on top, Nancy drives to the lookout parking area, surprising me with the view stretching the length of the canyon. She was told that it is believed that the canyon was created after a cavern collapsed millions of years ago.
Now the camper is hitched to the car, and we are on the road. We stop at a small city, Buffalo, OK, to fill the car with gas and ourselves with Subway grinders. I topped off the sandwich with a pint of Hagen-Daz.
“On the road again to a place we have never been”. The Panhandle is much like Texas, or so my memory has convinced me.
We arrive at the campground around 3:30 p.m. and set up camp.
We then ride into the City of Beaver for ice, groceries, and something at the hardware store to splint a cross strut on the screen tent. We also find out that there is a nice steak and burger restaurant that has killer margaritas. I think tomorrow evening we will see for ourselves!
