Cycling

I woke feeling fresh. I had set the alarm for 5:30. I climb out of bed and dress for the day, the same clothes as yesterday and yesterday’s yesterday clothes. I’m feeling good with high hopes. The Warmshowers I set up for last night will host me tonight. I have a forty-seven-mile day to Salida. The ride there will be fairly easy, no passes today.

I un-climb  the stairs to the first floor and walk to the kitchen where Daniel is cooking breakfast: a sausage and egg burrito with orange juice and coffee.

My panniers and gear were brought down before following the aroma of cooking food. I load my bike and say goodbye with many thank yous. This family are not Warmshowers hosts and yesterday they had never heard of the cycle touring organization. And yet, they are very warm and welcoming hosts.

I pedal way, wishing I had more time to visit and get to know them. I wind out on the gravel road that will bring me back to my route.

It sure is beautiful here. I’m in a valley with soaring mountains on both sides.

I turn on the side road Co. Road 1A. This seven-mile road is on a plateau and the last two miles are steep with sharp curves. My brakes are all that is keeping my speed below 50 mph. I end at the junction of Rt 50 in Cotopaxi that will take me to Salida.

If I stay with my hosts in Salida, I will be one day behind schedule to meet Nancy at Elk Creek Campground ten miles past Gunnison, seventy-four miles away. Monarch Pass is ten miles beyond Salida. It is steep and long, making a difficult ride to Elk Creek. 

I weigh my options: either a long, difficult day tomorrow or have Nancy pick me up as she is coming up from behind on this road. I stop a few miles short of Salida for a snack and water. Within a minute, I see her approach. She stops, we load the bike and gear into the camper. I call and cancel my Warmshowers.

Monarch Pass is as difficult a climb as I’ve been told, and the long, steep curves with barely any shoulder on the edge that drops far below would not have been fun on a loaded bike. Way too much traffic, mostly RVs and trucks.

Here we are at Elk Creek. One more day here before heading to Moab, Utah.

I’m sleeping in the host’s stealth camper, so there are no windows. It is dark with the exception of a dull blue glow coming from the electrical box charging my phone. I check my phone to get a sense of time. I want to leave early, no later than 7 a.m. It is 3:30. I put my head back on the pillow.

I wake up in a panic and look at my phone. It is 7:30 a.m. My brain is thinking, “ SHIT!” My body is in midair, ready to land on the floor. I get dressed and put the sleeping gear back into panniers, open the door, and head for the house. Johnny is in the kitchen, and Kristin is on her computer already at work.

I eat half of the breakfast burrito and pack the rest to eat on the ride. Today is a seventy-four-mile ride to Salida. We say our goodbyes, and I thank them once more for hosting. I roll the bike through the garage door and onto the road. The pedals turn and the wheels go ‘round and ‘round. In less than a mile I am at the base of a fifteen-mile climb up Hardscrabble Pass.

I finally reach the top three and a half hours later.

I begin the drop to the valley. West Cliff is the small town where I can refill all my bottles with water. I am almost out. A cyclist on a loaded bike is coming toward me. We both stop and visit. This morning he left Howard, a town just east of Salida and is heading to Pueblo for the night.

I stop at a country store in Silver Cliff, right on the border of Westcliffe, they might as well be the same town. I doubt my ability to ride another fifty miles to Salida. At best, I would not get there by dark. I decide to sit in a chair on the shaded porch and figure out my options. There is an RV park within a mile. A young man walks by and asks about my loaded bike and where I’m traveling from and to. I ask if he knows of places to camp on the way to Salida. He mentions a few places along my route that are National Forest.

We visit while I finish the ice cream and Gatorade. He pauses and asks if I’d like to stay the night at his house. I thank him, and we load everything into his pickup.

Sitting on the porch, I am pointing out a mountain peaks in the distance. He tells me their names and where they are located.

We have a nice beef and noodle casserole with salad and dessert, compliments of Khristina, on the front porch.

 Daniel leases land for raising beef cattle just up on a grassy slop behind his house. He invites me for a ride in an ATV to check on the herd. He also brings his eighteen-month-old daughter Gracelynn.

Now back on the porch we watch deer, wild turkeys, and a rabbit while discussing our tour and their plans for the near-future Alaskan trip.

Life is good; people are kind.

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.

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.

Tonight’s sunset.

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.

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.

This is our last night at this campground.

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.

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.

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.

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.

We learned a lot and enjoyed the adventure.

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.

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.

Another day ends.