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