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.