Politics, Religion and Lance

These are the 'big three' forbidden topics.

However, we've been visiting - by bike and by car - some of the great national parks and other public lands of the American Southwest, and this is too important not to share:  The Geography of Nope - from The New York Times

Stories and pictures from today's ride are in the post below.

It takes a truly small-minded politician to upset the balance of our public lands.
     ~Timothy Eagan

Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas yet

From Janie:

Sunday, September 30, from La Junta to Lamar.

Yesterday, the University of Iowa Hawkeyes beat Minnesota, 31-13, reclaiming the Floyd of Rosedale Trophy.  This afternoon, the Denver Broncos defense showed up, and the Broncos trounced the Raiders, 37-6.  You can hear the cheering from here.  And in between those games, we rode from La Junta to Lamar.  Tomorrow we roll from Lamar CO to Garden City KS.  Here is our trip across Colorado, outlined on the weather map from today's edition of Chieftain and Star-Journal, published in Pueblo:

Our route across Colorado.

We detoured up to Denver, via The Little Darkness.

(Pagosa Springs location is approximate.)

Today we rode east on Colorado State Highway 50, part of the Historic Santa Fe Trail, for a quick 57 mile run from La Junta to Lamar CO.

Colorado State Highway 50, east of La Junta.

(Photos by Rod Riley)

Once again, Jody rode from the hotel and Rod ran me down the road ahead of him.  Jody had a good morning, and caught me quicker than yesterday.  Blew by me like I was riding a tricycle.  (Today, at least, it wasn't like I was standing still . . . quite!)  He waited for me in Las Animas, right after we passed the rodeo, where they were calling the Junior Girls Barrel Racing Competition:

Rodeo at the Bent County Fairgrounds.

Then we had the great pleasure of riding together for awhile.  I'm faster on The Flying Fish than I was on The Fish, and Jody was willing to ride a little slower for awhile.  I really liked riding with Jody, but couldn't match his acceleration when he was ready to get going again.  Stronger every day, but not fast enough.  Yet.

Jody and Janie, rolling east on Colorado State Highway 50.

 

I rode about 40 miles again today.  Thought I'd have 50, but it wasn't to be.  Once again, legs and lungs willing.  Feet cramping a problem.  (I wanted to ride through it, really I did.  But I kept hearing Joe's voice in the back of my head: 'Lots of miles left to ride.  Get off the bike.'  So get off the bike I did.) 

 

Rod has suggested that I change shoes, trying something with a stiffer sole.  I'm happy to have any excuse to go shoe shopping - although those of you who know me know that they're all flats.  Sparkly black for Rachel's wedding; something stiffer for the bike.  And new shifters tomorrow, too, we hope.

 

I'll be sad to roll out of Colorado tomorrow.  I've missed being here.  I'm going to miss it again when we leave tomorrow.  The plains of Southern Colorado are beautiful.  The road has been straight, but there has been plenty to see along the way.  I hope Kansas is as kind to the eyes.  I'll leave you with this image, from the Southern Colorado roadside.

 

Sunflowers, along Colorado State Highway 50.

 



The members of the first exploring party, crossing the plains to Utah, scattered sunflower seeds as they went. The next summer, when the long trains of wagons came through with all the women and children, they had a sunflower trail to follow. I believe that botanists do not confirm Jake's story, but insist that the sunflower was native to those plains. Nevertheless, that legend has stuck in my mind, and sunflower-bordered roads always seem to me the roads to freedom.

     ~Willa Cather, My Antonia



A Group of Hairy and Very Large Arachnids

This is the third of three posts going up today.  Enjoy!

From Janie:

Walsenburg to La Junta, on Saturday, September 29:

We rolled out of Walsenburg this morning about 8:00.  Jody rode from the hotel.  Rod ran me down the road a quick fifteen miles and dropped me off with The Flying Fish. 

Sunrise near Walsenburg, headed to La Junta CO.

Today was the first time I'd been on The Flying Fish (my blue Klein road bike) in a number of years.  She'd had a complete overhaul and primping session at the bike shop in Denver, but I hadn't had time to get on her. 

She's much lighter and quicker than The Fish - including a third chain ring.  Much, much faster.  The position is a little different, the handlebars are very different under my hands (which are a little tired now, but should adjust in the next few days), and the shifters are completely different.  In fact, a little too different. 

I didn't think to talk to the guys at the bike shop in Denver about how small my hands are.  Rod adjusted the brakes for me, and I can manage the right shifter (which works the deraileur on the rear wheel of the bike, for those of you not quite so bike savvy).  However, shifting to the middle then big chain ring is an exercise in twisting my hand around, over-reaching, and generally being pretty uncomfortable and not quite as stable on the bike as I'd like.  Rod and I talked, then he had someone call around looking for the closest bike shop.  Unfortunately, the closest bike shop was back in Pueblo.  Not going back.  Going forward.  So I'll ride with what I've got until we reach the next bike shop on the route - in Garden City, KS on Monday.  There we'll get the shifters swapped out, and I'll be a much happier camper.

That said, it was a gorgeous day crossing the southern plains of Colorado.  The road rippled a bit - not enough to even call it rolling - and every now and then would curve a little bit to the left or the right.  But mostly just pedaling 73 miles east across the plains.

When I stopped for snacks, Rod asked me if I had seen the huge spiders on the road.  I hadn't yet, but I knew what they were.  "Tarantulas," I said.  And yup, tarantulas they were.  I must have seen 20-40 of them, but I wasn't counting.  I was busy making sure I didn't run over one of them - I swear, they were so big I was afraid if I hit one, it would knock me off the bike!  (OK, not really, but it sure seemed like it!)

Jody stopped in the middle of the road, waited for Rod to come take a picture of the big furry beastie.  EWWWWW!!!! Take a peek!

Jody's finger.  No way I'm getting that close!

Jody's buddy.  Ewwwww!!!

 

Nearly forty miles into my ride (what would be the sixty mile point for Jody), I was certain I was going to have a 50+ mile day.  Legs felt great.  Lungs felt great.  Hands and feet were tired, but ok.  The Flying Fish was flying along, and La Junta was just down the highway.  But not to be, not today.  Rod had stopped and was looking at what might have been a cloud bank, but looked way more like smoke drifting down from the north.  I pulled up, took another look, and decided to get in the car.  Whatever it was, it was blowing across the highway ahead of us, and I was certain I didn't want to breathe it in.

 

Clouds?  Smoke?  I didn't want to find out.

 

I Googled from the hotel room, found that the La Junta air rated 3 out of 10 for breathability today, but couldn't find any details on why.  Or any information about whether that really was smoke.  No matter.  Today was route number 19.  We won't hit the Atlantic until route 51.  Lots of riding left to do - no need to risk the lungs today, or any other day.

 

I have fake eye lashes on and they feel like tarantulas.

     ~Kellie Pickler, American country music artist

Can You Smell Me Now?

From Jody and Janie:

Riding a bicycle across the country affords us the opportunity to see, hear, and smell the differences from area to area. The visual changes are the most spectacular. The sounds are clues to vehicles coming from behind. The aromas are subtle reminders of the countryside.  And sometimes a reminder that it's time to do laundry.

 

Just inland from the Pacific coast, acres and acres of flowers provided a mixed floral scent. Semi truck traiers laden with oranges provided a brief overpowering citrus aroma. While in the desert, Jody thought he smelled something burning. Over and over again Jody asked Peter and Janie if they smelled it, if they saw any smoke. We never saw viusl signs of burning in the desert. It could have been a mixture of stressed truck fumes and sun-heated desert, but something in the air kept bringing to mind creosote.  In the desert, it was creosote.

 

In the Moapa Valley, NV, the distinct scent of rain warned us of a wet riding day to come.  Nothing smells quite like fresh rain hitting hot pavement.

 

Periodically we smell death. We saw the carcasses of a calf and a nearby horse in Monument Valley, silent testimony to the inherent danger to both animal and driver of the open range. The stench of death was also evident, thankfully only briefly, elsewhere in southeastern Utah and southwestern Colorado.  Today we saw a dead hawk on the road between Walsenburg and La Junta - feathers glistening in the sunlight, but no smell.  At least not at our pace.

In eastern Nevada and on into Utah and Colorado we smelled sage. The aroma was there as a distinct flavoring of the air. Pleasant for a change of pace.

In the bottomlands in southwestern Colorado, the smell of water, willows and grasses graced the air.  For a long stretch, we could hear and smell the water, but not see it.  The smell of fresh mown alfalfa and grass has found us on the road.  Skunk has been surprisingly rare, although Janie noticed it on I-25 between Colorado Springs and Denver.

In the mountains, it's the unmistakable smell of pine. It's wonderful to ride through the tall stands of green and smell their freshness.

 

On the plains, we've been passed by trucks hauling hay.  Nothing smells quite like hay - summer cut from the field and dried for the winter. 

Glad we're here. 

 

No place we'd rather be. 
     ~Jody and Janie Braverman 

Confucius Goes Quickly - Alamosa to Walsenburg

Jody:

From Monday, September 24.

Alamosa to Walsenburg, the last route of this leg of our trek. And the third of three passes in a row. Yeah, I'd ridden Yellowjacket Pass with no problem, and Wolf Creek Pass the day before was a challenge that I had successfully completed, but I wondered if North La Veta Pass would prove to be a let down or if I'd spent my energy already. The route guide said it's a 77 mile route, fifteen miles less than the day before and the pass is "only" 9413 feet elevation. Thankfully, Alamosa is at 7544 feet elevation, so the climbs would not be too great. And the drop to Walsenberg's elevation of 6182 feet should be more enjoyable.

I went out about fifteen minutes after sunrise, into crisp overcast weather. Biking through town, I spied a hitchhiker I'd seen twice the day before, once outside Monte Vista, CO and then several miles east of Monte Vista, where he'd obviously been dropped off after a short ride.

The route from Alamosa had a slight upward pitch, but I managed a steady clip for the first ninety minutes, averaging over fifteen miles an hour. Then I hit the wall and my pace slackened considerably. Rain threatened, but aside from a few stray drops, did not result in any precipitation.

The landscape just west of Blanca, CO reminded me of Utah, large expanses of high country desert with little greenery, no trees. Joe was waiting as I arrived at a gas station in Blanca. The town featured two signs, the first a painted tourist sign announcing that Kit Carson had once roamed the area, and the other a flashing electric sign telling drivers not to pick up hitchhikers. We wondered if there was a prison nearby. [From Janie:  yes, indeed, there is.]

Another twenty plus miles to La Veta Pass. Sigh. Joe assured me that the gradual rate of climb would continue. It did and I kept pedalling and passed Janie. Joe would pick her up soon and we would later meet again at the top of the pass. We agreed that there was no need to switch rear wheels on this pass. A roadside sign announce that La Veta Pass summit was five miles distant.

I climbed at a moderate pace. The first four miles the grade was only slightly steeper than I'd already ridden. Construction signs and work crews were evident before the top. The last mile held a higher degree of incline, but nowhere near as challenging as Wolf Creek Pass. I reached the summit around 11:30 and looked forward to the descent. The construction zone reduced the oncoming traffic's shoulder area, and also lowered the speed limits for both sides of traffic. I amped up my speed on the descent and hoped to approach the temporarily reduced speed limit. I picked up a tailwind after the first half mile and zipped downward. My top speed was over fifty miles per hour, not enough to break the speed limit, but fast enough to bring a grin to my face, along with wind-whipped tears that clouded my vision. I think my happy mouth caused excessive drag.

Joe and Janie passed me on the upper reaches of the descent, and after several miles, pulled off the road to set up lunch, where I soon followed. Janie pointed out a herd of pronghorn antelope just behind our lunch spot. They shied away as Joe stopped the car. The Little Darkness was an excellent wind block on the gravel road, and we enjoyed a feast as a few cars passed our sheltered area.

 

After lunch, I pulled onto the highway once again. The powerful tailwind had not died down. I didn't pedal, just coasted to see how fast the wind and slight downhill would take me. I almost hit thirty miles per hour without pedaling. The route leveled off, but because of the strong tailwind, even moderate pedaling allowed me to speed along at twenty plus miles per hour.

Something briefly distracted me, and Jean Luc headed for the ditch. Thankfully I kept my balance, slowed to a stop, and redirected myself back onto the hard surface with no ill effect.  No, this doesn't count as a fall - just a close call!

I zipped into Walsenburg, past a mowing crew along the shoulder of the highway. I warned Joe that the dust and cutting might be an issue for Janie, but she sped through without incident.

The ride from La Vita Pass to Walsenburg was so fast that I felt cheated out of time on the bike. I'd anticipated about two hours for the thirty one miles, but it took much less time than that, including our leisurely lunch break.

Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in getting up every time we do.
     ~Confucius

 

Walsing(burg) Matilda

From Janie:

Friday, September 28, back in Walsenburg.

We picked Rod up at the airport this afternoon - happy to find that his bike in the soft case slid easily into the back of The Little Darkness - then drove south, back to Walsenburg. 

The sky on the way down was absolutely spectacular:

Late evening sky, approaching Walsenburg.

We found our hotel, checked in, got a dinner recommendation, then Jody hopped on the bike and rode back to the Visitors' Center/Museum where Joe had picked us up on Monday.  We weren't yet sure where Saturday's route started, and Jody wanted to be sure he could ride from the hotel.  We knew we'd ridden into Walsenburg on Colorado State Highway 160 and that we were riding out on Colorado State Highway 10, but we weren't certain where CSH 10 started.

Jody, in cycling shorts and a regular shirt, wearing his Five Fingers,

pedaling away from the hotel so fast I missed him.

 

Dinner at The Plaza got mixed reviews.  The annual Spanish Peaks Celtic Music Festival and Retreat is in town tonight.  The restaurant was packed with both concert goers and musicians, but emptied out soon after we arrived, as folks went off to tonight's concert.  Through double glass doors in the restaurant lobby and bar, we could see a dozen or so Celtic and other harps, still in their cases, awaiting tomorrow's workshops.

 

As we left the restaurant, we checked with the maitre'd to see where Colorado State Highway 10 left town.  One block north, half a block over.  Turns out that the start to tomorrow's route is right where Joe picked us up on Monday.  Well done, Joe!

 

Back on the bikes tomorrow.  Not quite Waltzing Matilda, but close.

 

"Waltzing Matilda" is Australia's most widely known bush ballad, a country folk song referred to as "the unofficial national anthem of Australia".  The title is Australian slang for travelling by foot with one's goods (waltzing, derived from the German auf der Walz) in a "Matilda" (bag) slung over one's back.

     ~from Wikipedia

If this is Friday . . . it must be DIA

From Janie, on Friday, September 28.

We're just getting ready to leave Denver, after a much needed rest and great visits with beloved family:  Reggi, Dana, Shane (almost!), Cokie, Rachel, Scott, my Dad and LaVerne.  So good to see all of you.  Good massages and a good visit to the chiropractor this morning.

We're off to the airport (weren't we just there??) to pick up Rod, then back to Walsenburg to get back on the bikes.

See you down the road!

On Rolling into Colorado

On Thursday, September 20, we rolled from Utah into Colorado.  That same day, our middle daughter Cokie, sent me this poem.  Pretty well captures it.

Autumn in the Rockies

brings bronze-scarlet leaves in waves

and heavy, golden pumpkins,

their flesh smooth, warm,

balsamic, and buttery

as cooler days ripen tomatoes,

heavy on the vine

juicy, luscious, savory-sweet

both offerings are found organic

and a staple of sustainable practice here

Icy and clear-skied winter

brings snow-capped mountains

and seemingly-incongruous oh-so-green snap peas

crunchy, sunny, and laden

with toothsome gems inside

coupled with winter squash

their tender, raw-satin pulp

creamy-rich for the season,

both delicacies reinforce our eco-diversity

Verdant and capricious spring

pushes tender shoots up through the snow

asparagus tips bright and cool,

crunchy-tender, almost-woody

and later:

firm, sweet-tart apples

aromatic, sweet, and wild,

weighty on branches

even fresher, more divine because of local sourcing

 

When summer comes across the western slope

corn stalks shoot tall in the heat,

delicious ears, silk-wrapped -

crisp, dulcet, mellow, and floral

but the very best find of the summer:

soft, velvet peaches

honeyed, nectarous, thick juices

dripping down your chin

both heady, exquisite, and nutrient-rich

 

These lovely seasonal offerings

help balance the resources of the earth:

these whole foods of the Rocky Mountains,

unparalleled and ever-abundant

 

~Cadiz Gomez

Lancaster Redux - the artist, not the town

From JR Lancaster:

"Greetings Janie....Hope this finds you well and moving along on your great journey....we had two major weather events since you were here....flashfloods both times...even closed the highway down...the gallery was flooded but no art damage...I have some major roof repairs to tend....anyway, thought you might like to have images of the paintings....before they were sealed. I will bubble wrap today and start building the crates tomorrow...

"I think it is interesting the choices of art you made....a colorful, abstract river piece made of clay, a realistic cliff wall piece, a mixed media/b&w photo of petroglyph and van Gogh visits San Juan County color photo.......a pretty good overview of my work and this desert..you have a great eye for art...

"Enjoy your stay in Denver and I will keep you posted on the art movement.....thanks again...JR"

Here is his website:  ww,w.cloudwatcherstudio.com

And here are two of the pieces we bought:

Into the Mystic

As the River Flows

 

Glad we bought the art.  Glad we missed the weather.

 

     It's fun to imagine what you could do with that kind of money. I could buy that island I've wanted to buy all my life, and live there with my family. Or I could buy some great piece of art that's just going to feed my eyes every day.

     ~Johnny Depp

 

 

Three's Company

Three posts went up yesterday.  Just to let all y'all know.

And the comments filter has been toggled off.  We'd love to hear from you.  And you.  And you.


The first forty years of life give us the text; the next thirty supply the commentary on it.
     ~Arthur Schopenhauer, German philosopher (1788 – 1860)

Living La Veta Loca!

From Janie:

Alamosa to Walsenburg, on Monday, September 24.  77 miles, over La Veta Pass.  And another glorious tailwind!

Another cool morning, with each of us wearing lots of warm cycling gear.  Jody rode from the hotel. 

Jody, riding into the sunrise.

 

We'll have to go back to visit the Dunes.

Not enough hours in the day.

 

Joe drove me down the road until it warmed up a bit.  I was tired after riding 48 miles the day before.  I got out, got on the bike, and turned the pedals over with stiff and cold legs.  Four miles later, I was wondering why, oh why, was I on the bike.  But I kept on.  Ten miles of climbing.  By the time I got back in the car, at the base of La Veta Pass, I was warm, happy, and had seen fish jumping and a bald eagle soaring down the valley above me.  A very good start to the day.

Jody, when the day got warmer.

Definitely fall in the high country.

Jody, flying up La Veta Pass.

It was nothing compared to Wolf Creek!

 

At the summit of La Veta Pass.

 

A very steep grade going down.

 

Jody caught a tailwind going down the hill.  Flying down the hill!  Joe and I, in The Little Darkness, had to do some chasing to catch up to him.  Once the road started to flatten out, there were only 15 miles left in the course.  We stopped for lunch, setting up in the lee of the car, avoiding the wind that had blown Jody down the mountain.  As we pulled over, there was a herd of about 20 pronghorn antelope grazing in the field on the side of the road.  They ignored us until the car stopped - then the heads came up and all eyes were our way.  When we got out of the car, they moved away from us, not particularly fearful, but cautious all the same.

 

Watchful pronghorn antelope in the distance.

 

Another great lunch - hummus, avocado, grape tomatoes, sliced almonds in wraps.  Yum.  Then Jody and I both got on the bikes for what turned out to be a very fast run into Walsenburg.  Jody hit 50 mph on one slight downhill.  I hit 40 mph.  On The Fish.  Which is, after all, still a hybrid and not a road bike.  My lizard brain was sitting up the whole way, this time screaming in glee and not fear!  WHOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Joe flagged me down at one point, to tell me Jody was warning of dust ahead.  I saw the signs:  Mowing Operations.  It was going to be grass clipping and dust combined.  Not a good thing for me.  However . . . with that tailwind, I was doing close to 30 as I approached the cloud.  Held my breath.  Whizzed by and on into Walsenburg.

 

We stopped in the Visitors' Center parking lot.  Joe threw our bikes on top of The Little Darkness as a train went by.  Jody changed his clothes in the bushes by the closed museum.  I changed between the open car doors, with Jody cat-calling and wolf-whistling.  We hopped in The Little Darkness, and five minutes later were on I-25 headed north through Pueblo and Colorado Springs, on our way to Denver.  We stopped for a Coke Slurpee for Jody.  Heartbreak!  The machine was in defrost cycle, and he had to settle for a straight Coke on the rocks!

 

Joe drove through the beginning of rush hour traffic - which reminded each of us why we're glad we don't live in the city.  Any city.  We dropped Joe at his hotel by DIA, where we played Garmin games (no, my fancy-pants new laptop still won't talk to the little Garmins!), then said farewell.  Jody and I got back in the car, headed - or so we thought - for our little condo.  Well, as it turns out, you can't get there from here.  Or here from there.  Or something like that.  No entry from Tower Road to Pena Blvd southbound.  But, taking the wrong turn was so worth it as we saw this little guy, calmly loping along the shoulder of Tower Road, just under busy Pena Blvd.  Or at least he was calm until Jody stopped the car so I could take his picture.  Much like the pronghorn antelope early in the day, the big horn sheep earlier in the trip (in Zion), horses and prairie dogs, who didn't care about moving cars, but hated bicycles, he didn't care about the car until it stopped.

Wildlife at Tower Road and Pena Boulevard, Denver, CO.

 

We'll be back on the road again on Friday, picking up Rod at DIA, and returning by car to Walsenburg, where we'll get on the bikes Saturday morning.  Peter has worked out the routes for us all the way to Savannah, Georgia.  While we're still working out rest days and when we'll be in New Orleans to visit Ari, it looks like we'll be at the Atlantic Ocean in early November.  Jody and I had the same reponse to to that thought:  we do not want this ride to be over!

 



Coyotes have the gift of seldom being seen; they keep to the edge of vision and beyond, loping in and out of cover on the plains and highlands. And at night, when the whole world belongs to them, they parley at the river with the dogs, their higher, sharper voices full of authority and rebuke. They are an old council of clowns, and they are listened to.

     ~N. Scott Momaday, Native American author of Kiowa descent, whose novel House Made of Dawn was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1969

Wolf Creek Pass

From Jody:

Pagosa Springs to Alamosa, via Wolf Creek Pass, on Sunday, September 23.

 

This was the big day.

91 miles is a lot, but I'd already completed a century ride (100 miles) in addition to an earlier 90 mile ride. Climbing for miles in the Mojave Desert wore me down and wore me out, and I'd had trepidations about that ride also. But this was the big one, the dark cloud that hung over my head since Peter planned this part of the trip, weeks ago. A pass in Colorado. A mountain pass. A 10,000 ft elevation mountain pass. (Okay, it's 10,857 ft elevation, to be accurate.)

The route started simple enough, near the west end of Pagosa Springs, elevation 7,126 ft. Then through town, a slight downhill, then a steady rise for eighteen miles through gorgeous Colorado highlands with plenty of grazing horses and cattle and even three mule deer. Ranches and RV sites and plenty of opportunity to enjoy the outdoors, Colorado style - fishing, hiking, skiing, 4-wheeling, rafting, mountain biking, horse riding and pack camping. I wheeled past plenty of such opportunities.

Yes, it really is this beautiful.

 

 About eighteen and a half miles into the ride, a large information sign announced "Wolf Creek Pass - Summit - 8 Miles." 

Jody, passing the sign for Wolf Creek Pass - Summit - 8 miles.

Time to huff and puff. And change wheels. Janie had ridden a lot of the previous eighteen miles, but she would be a passenger in The Little Darkness to the top. Joe replaced the rear wheel of Jean Luc with the rear wheel of The Fish. It has different gears and would help me on the ascent. Slow but steady, "Tee Shee Yedish, Dai-sha bood-yish."

Joe, preparing The Fish to lend a wheel.

 

Jean Luc, getting granny gears for the big climb.

 

I've thought several times on this trip, "no where else I'd rather be," but I gotta tell ya, I was sure thinking about kicking back with a tall cold one about half way up. It's a sheer grind. Just keep turning the pedals, churning the pavement, foot by foot.

I saw a guy walking down the road, pack and sleeping bag in his hands, headed for Pagoda Springs. Good luck, buddy, hope you make it safely, and soon. Me, I just have to keep on moving the bike.

Jody, moving the bike.

 

And moving the bike some more.

I thought about resting about two-thirds of the way up, just a pause along the guardrail. But that temptation might have led to the even bigger temptation of simply stopping. I couldn't take the chance. Better to keep going, even if it's ever so slowly. I think I averaged just over 4.5 miles per hour, barely faster than a swift walking pace. But I made it to the top. As a bonus, it's also the Continental Divide.

Janie, on the Great Divide, waiting for Jody.

She would ride 48 miles this day, a personal high for this trip.

 

The Great Divide.

 

Wildlife, at the Great Divide.

 

The very happy couple, at the top of the Rockies!

And here we are again, on opposite sides of the Divide!

Mind numb from the exertion, I did heed Joe suggestions - don't stay too long and get chilled, and be careful on the descent.

I rode the brakes a bit on the downhill run, but did manage to clock 48 mph, a personal high. The ride down was fast and glorious. Approaching a level stretch, a river paralleled the road, with only a steep twenty five foot edge of separation. A fisherman cast his line, two hikers made progress on the opposite bank.

 

And the road continued, another sixty five miles. Made good time on the slight descent, with wind at our backs for much of it. Janie rode a total of 48 miles, a new personal long ride for her on this trip. Alamosa is home for the night, then on to another day's route, another mountain pass. Oh joy of trepidation.

 

Success means doing the best we can with what we have.  Success is the doing, not the getting; in the trying, not the triumph.  Success is a personal standard, reaching for the highest that is in us, becoming all that we can be.

     ~Zig Ziglar, American motivational speaker and author

"The Kitchen is Open"

From Janie:

Durango to Pagosa Springs; Saturday, September 22.  57 miles; 3400 feet of climbing over Yellow Jacket Pass.

I rode again this day, some climbing, a little descending, about 30 miles total.  Another good day in the saddle.

Jody, on the way up Yellow Jacket Pass.

Jody, drinking water. 

Beer may be a recovery drink, but not until after the ride!

 

Janie, on the way to Pagosa Springs.

Colorado.  What more is there to say?

(Photo by Joe Tonon)

 

As always, Jody rode from the hotel.  Joe and I jumped in the car, and I got on the road about ten miles into the route.  Jody's bike is lighter, he's stronger and faster.  Depending on the day, he catches me earlier or later.  I've been climbing, but not like Jody.  I've been descending, but not like Jody.  It's a system that's working well for us.  Joe drives, he puts me on the bike, I ride.  Jody catches me.  Joe drives me forward.  And so the day goes.  And every day getting stronger.



Janie and Jody, together on the road from Durango to Pagosa Springs.

(Photos by Joe Tonon)

 

One of the challenges of being on the road for days at a time is the food.  Breakfast is often provided at the hotels where we stay, although while we were in the desert it frequently wasn't served until hours after we were on the road.  Yes, hours.  When you leave at 5:00 am, breakfast at 7:30 just doesn't cut it.  We ate a lot of yogurt with granola in our hotel rooms. 

 

As we moved into the mountains, the temperatures dropped, often into the 30's overnight, and we began to have later start times.  Breakfast at 6:30, on the road at 7:00 or 7:15, as the sun came up and warmed the day.  But hotel breakfasts can wear thin.  There are only so many days one can eat a banana, scrambed eggs or premade omelettes with fake cheese, nearly stale bagels, weak orange juice.  We did eat in a Denny's somewhere on the road - maybe Cortez? funny how the towns run together - and reveled in the variety.  And the fresh poached eggs!

 

Snacks on the road.  Every day.  When you're riding up to 7 hours a day, you have to keep adding fluids and fuel, fluids and fuel.  Oatmeal bars from Costco.  Trail mix.  Bananas.  PBJ sandwiches.  Clementines.  Chocolate chalk bites.  OK, that's not quite fair.  They're really chocolate protein bites, which provide a great boost of energy, but seriously.  If you're not in need of the boost?  Nothing but chalk!

 

Lunch on the road.  We're very glad we kept the camp chairs, stowed in the Thule box on top of The Little Darkness.  We've had PBJ sandwiches.  Yogurt.  Chips.  Trail mix.  More fruit.  And on one glorious day with each Nicole and Joe, wraps with hummus!  Add avocado, grape tomatoes, sliced almonds, greens.  Yum, yum, yum.



 

Jody and Janie, enjoying lunch at Chez Tonon.

Joe and Jody, talking about the rest of the route,

after Jody climbed Yellow Jacket Pass.

 

Joe and I arrived on the outskirts of Pagosa Springs, pulled over and waited for Jody.  As we waited, we watched a pair of state troopers giving a roadside sobriety test to a woman who was way more interested in talking than she was in testing.  This was around 11:30 or so in the morning.  Talk about having a bad day - we do not think she passed.

Roadside sobriety testing.

 

Dinners on the road have been interesting - some fabulous, some mediocre, some just plain interesting.  We always ask at the hotel desk for recommendations.  Sometimes we ask for vegetarian friendly restaurants, although not if the top picks are either Mexican or Italian.  Once I asked, and got this response:  "Well . . . maybe the brew pub.  They've got salads."  As if lettuce were the only option.  We ate Mexican that night.

 

I liked the energy of cooking, the action, the camaraderie. I often compare the kitchen to sports and compare the chef to a coach. There are a lot of similarities to it.

    ~Todd English, celebrity chef, restauranteur, author, entrepreneur

A Howling Good Day!

From Janie:

Sunday, September 23.

Wolf Creek Pass for Jody.

48 miles for me, starting with 9.5 miles of climbing.

A fabulous day!

Tomorrow we ride from Alamosa to Walsenburg, about 77 miles.  We then drive about two and a half hours to Denver to say a sad farewell to Joe Tonon, hello to family, observe Yom Kippur at Temple Sinai, get Jean Luc a tune up and trade the Fish for the Flying Fish. 

We also expect to catch up on the blog.  Stories and pictures to follow in the next few days. 

A gentleman is simply a patient wolf.
     ~Lana Turner

Moon Over Mancos

From Jody:

Friday, September 21:

The website said the overnight low in Cortez was 38 degrees. Seemed like a good idea not to start the Cortez - Durango route too early. At 8:00 the website said the outside temperature was 48. Bundle up and get ready. By the time the bags were packed and Jean Luc was ready to go, it was 8:45 and the temperature a balmy 60. I shed a layer.

The first several miles the road was smooth and wide and freshly striped with no rumble strip. Easy pedaling. The gray cloud of foreboding in my head started to dissipate. Yeah, I knew the route climbed and we were already at Colorado altitude. My speed was steady if unspectacular. The traffic noises announced a busy highway: high winding car engines, low rumbling trucks, and deep potato Harleys. Each presents a different challenge for a bicyclist.

Then came the first of three construction zones with one way traffic only, two controlled by flaggers, the middle with traffic lights only. The first flagger cautioned me about the oncoming traffic and waved me through after all the motor vehicles. No problem.

Entering the construction zone.

The traffic signal controlled construction zone, a bridge over the Mancos River, was timed for motor vehicles, not pedal power. The oncoming truck started to enter the single lane before I exited. Good thing Jean Luc easily slipped between the traffic cones into the work lane.

The third construction zone was much longer than the others. The flagger wanted me to wait for all of the vehicles to go through ahead of me, then suggested I wind through a later set of traffic cones as best I could. As we waited for the last of the oncoming traffic to complete the trip through the construction zone, I shared my stash of oatmeal cookie bars with the flagger. Then our side entered. He signaled his partner at the opposite end of the construction zone as the last vehicle in line entered the traffic lane. This last vehicle was a white dually pickup pulling a flatbed trailer. As the pickup passed us, the passenger, a young lady, yelled out the window, leaned over in her seat, and pulled down her pants. Moonshine. The flagger said he'd been mooned earlier in the week and flashed as well. Ah, the hazards of construction.

I was half way through this last construction zone when the oncoming traffic started coming. I entered the work lane and avoided a dump truck and a tractor with spinning brush attachment. A work pickup that the flagger had indicated contained the jobsite bosses started following me in the construction lane. I go off Jean Luc and pulled over as far as possible to allow them to pass. They waved me back onto the lane. I signaled them to come forward and shared my last oatmeal cookie bars. Life is good. Their cordiality help alleviate the stress of biking through an active worksite. The route climbed through the last stages of construction.

Jody riding through one of the construction zones.

I enjoyed a few brief stretches of highway without vehicles approaching from behind me as the construction zone shut off pursuit. Then I utilized more of the vacant roadway, on the traffic side of the rumble strip. One car did come along side, a beige Chevy HHT. The driver lowered the passenger window and kindly suggested that I should ride on the shoulder as Colorado drivers are not always polite to bicyclists. Fortunately, however, that has not proven to be true, but I did heed her warning.

 

I kept climbing, now into a slight headwind. Slow going. Pedal, pedal, pedal and inch along. The elevation reached 8330 and I was glad to see the highway drop before me. A beautiful downhill ahead of me. A shiny red Corvette passed. Nope - rather be aboard Jean Luc and zooming down under the twin powers of gravity and pedal.

The last climb before rolling into Durango.

 

I see the bad moon arising.

I see trouble on the way.

I see earthquakes and lightnin'.

I see bad times today.

     ~Credence Clearwater Revival

     Songwriters: Eddie Miller Dub Williams and Robert Yount

A Woman without a Bicycle

From Janie:

Friday, September 21.  From Cortez to Durango

If you look closely at this USA today weather map, you can see both how far we've come and how far we have yet to go.  We started in Goleta, just north of Santa Barbara, CA.  We're now in Durango, CO.  The star on the far right is our target, Savannah, Georgia.

How far we've come so far.

 

I didn't ride today.  Not because I was tired - although I was.  Not because it was a rest day.  Not really by choice.

 

As most of you probably know, the forests have been on fire in the American West this year.  Currently fires are burning in Washington State, Idaho, Montana and Wyoming.  They may be burning elsewhere as well, but these are the big fires.  And where there are fires, there is smoke.  Sometimes a lot of smoke.  By the end of the day yesterday, too much smoke for me.  Lots of coughing last night, a little wheezing, laryngitis.  All the signs of too much bad air.  So, into the car for me today.

 

Jody, however, was a stud on the bike.  Again.  Mountains?  What mountains?  About 44 miles today, with over 3400 feet of elevation gain.  A day in pictures:

 

Fall in the high country.  Beautiful country.

Jody, on the early climb of the day.  Smiling.

Jody, working hard on the climb.

Note the shadows of The Fish and Joe's bike, atop The Little Darkness.

Colorado.

 

Jody, riding through one of several construction zones.

Janie and The Little Darkness at the county line.

Jody, coming up the mountain.

Yes, it really was that steep.

Jody, drinking water!

 

 

The colors beginning to turn.

Joe Tonon, on the roadside.

Jody, powering up the mountain.

Jody, flying down the other side.

Rolling into Durango.

It was a glorious day in the mountains. 

We're now in Durango, where the air appears to be cleaner, so I expect to ride tomorrow.  It was hard today, being in the car while Jody was on the bike.  I missed being on the bike, the long stretches of quiet where the only sounds are the wind, the bicycle and the breathing.  I even missed the adrenaline rush of traffic going by.  And I missed how great it feels, at the end of the ride, to get off the bike, to have a cold drink, a shower, a meal.  A nap.  To put clean clothes on a tired body.  To marvel at what one's body is capable of doing.  I did go to the gym late this afternoon.  (That was an act of will!)  But it's just not the same.

Tomorrow.  We'll pick it up again tomorrow.

A woman without a bicycle is like a man without a fish - both are hungry for something more.*
     ~Janie Braverman


*For those of you who don't remember the 1970's:
A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.
     ~1970's bumper sticker; often inaccurately attributed to Gloria Steinem