No SAGs Allowed, a Bag of Pot, and a Rocky Finish

Day: 39 (Placerville, CO to Cortez, CO [off route... back to Dolores in A.M.])

Average Speed: 10.8 MPH

Miles Cycled Today: 84.4

Miles Cycled Total: 2,623

Mood: Warm

Bike Art Hidden on a Psychedelic Bus Coincidentally (?) Located in Stoner, Colorado 

I had just put 500 training miles on my brand new Trek, and I took it to Pete from Sussex Bike Shop for one last fine tuning before heading down to Virginia. We chatted about the route I was taking. He raised an eyebrow, and cautiously offered words of warning: “Ya’ know," he said, "the Rockies are no joke.”

Plenty O' Pillows

It was difficult getting out of bed this morning. I know… getting out of bed is difficult for me every morning, but this morning was especially tough. I had seven or eight amazing pillows to make use of, and I’m a big-time pillow squeezer. There are few things more enjoyable to me than squeezing the shit out of a pillow while sleeping, and if there are six spare pillows, I find it necessary to give them an equal amount of love. So that had to happen before I could get out of bed. 

Kathy and Eamon Drop Me Off
and Pose with The Green Saddle
in Placerville

I was still floored by Kathy and Eamon’s generosity and company as we left our palatial digs and headed down the mountain to Placerville, where I was picked up yesterday. Although I was going to have to turn around and head right back up the mountain to Telluride, I was determined to complete those 12 miles without vehicle assistance. 

“What happens in Telluride stays in Telluride” Kathy slyly pointed out. She thought it was somewhat ridiculous of me to backtrack and cycle all the way back to the top, but I was steadfast. No unnecessary SAGs.

View after Climbing Back Up the Mountain

 I should’ve closed my eyes as we headed to my starting point, because seeing the steep grade I was going to have to climb coupled with the curvy, busy, shoulderless road filled me panic and dread. 

But I did it. And then I continued the climb to 10,222 feet through Lizard Head Pass. 24 miles took five hours. 

School was almost out for the summer, and CVMS's most notoriously (and comically) pessimistic teacher approached me about my vacation plans. He laughed in falsetto and eyed my physique doubtfully. “How the hell are YOU going to get through the Rockies?”

Crossing Lizard Head Pass 

Three Layers (Plus Arm and Leg Warmers) and Still Cold

It was cold at the top of Lizard Head. Like, really cold. I unpacked a bit of gear and tripled up my layers, fully aware of the 60 miles of descent I had in front of me.

I’d been looking forward to this descent for a long, long time, and didn’t want the cold to ruin it. But I could’ve been wearing everything I owned- it was no match for the steady downpour that instantly developed at the summit. 

Scenic Overlook??

It was 50 degrees without the rain, and now I was headed downhill. There was nowhere to take cover except for a town 12.5 miles away, and so I froze for that long, barely able to keep my bike steady because my arms were shaking so badly. If I’ve ever been that cold for that long in my life, I certainly don’t remember it. 

Waiting Inside the Enterprise Bar/Grill

When I finally got to the town of Rico, I stashed the bike in someone’s open wood shed and stiffly walked into the Enterprise Bar and Grill, the local hangout. All eight customers stopped and stared when I walked in trembling uncontrollably. 

A local named Josh broke the silence: “Holy shit.” 

I was soaked through. The rain jacket was no match for this kind of weather, and my water-laden flannel shirt underneath weighed about five pounds. The bar sprang into action. 

“Get him a hot toddy!” said a girl named Danielle. “I’ll get the hairdryer and the marijuana!” (yes, you read that correctly). She dashed upstairs, where I pictured two closets: one full of hairdryers, and the other full of bongs. 

Frozen and Soaked

Gloria, another local, found a thick camouflage jacket. “Put this on. I won’t take no for an answer.”

“You just biked through the worst weather we had all year. Monsoons are hitting later and later in the season,” said Josh. This did nothing for my morale. 

I never did fully warm up over the hour and a half I was stuck there, but I had to move on. 

Jamie was safe in the town of Cortez, 45 miles away, and had booked a double room. I didn’t dare step foot outside of the Enterprise until 6:30, and although it was essentially 45 miles of coasting (that’s unbelievable by the way), it’s still a solid three hours of time. 

I declined Danielle’s offer on the pot (“Not in the middle of a ride,” I said to be polite), but she reached into her magical jar, stuffed some into a baggie, and pressed it into the palm of my hand. “For later,” she said. “Think of it as Rico hospitality.”

I hope I don’t get pulled over in Utah. 

Today's Route

The last thing I did before leaving my house for the summer was talk to my neighbor, Lucille. I wanted to let her know that I would have house sitters for the summer, and not to be concerned if she saw cars she was unfamiliar with in my driveway. Her nurturing instincts kicked in as soon as she heard my plans. “Oh, Jim,” she said with deep concern, “How are you ever going to survive the Rockies?”

Descending Out of the Rockies

As I dropped a few thousand feet, the temperature rose and the sun even peaked out for a moment or two. I dried off, and was able to salvage some enjoyment out of the longest coast I’ve ever ridden. Hours passed with hardly a pedal. And I made it to the off-route city of Cortez just as the sky opened up again. 

As I’m typing this, I’m outside of our hotel room, watching a magnificent (and loud) thunder/lightning storm. The rain is currently pooling by my feet as the sidewalk floods.

Although it was dark, I noticed something on the ride into Cortez- I was able to see lights far off in every direction. I’m no longer surrounded by mountains. 

On one of our family’s cross country trips- when I was about twelve years old- we drove through the Rockies. I remember being in awe of the steady, seemingly endless climbs. I remember the coolness of the air at the top, and the exciting rides down, where the pungent smell of drivers' overused brakes permeated the air. I also distinctly remember wondering if anyone had ever bicycled up these mountains. I thought to myself I betcha I can do it.

Well, little guy, you can. 

And you did. 

Utah tomorrow. 

P.S.

America's Most Unproductive Ranch

"I thought it was a new flavor of Dorito, man..."