SUN 7/11 -- Hot Sulphur Springs to Walden CO (68)
We awoke, in our bug-infested, water-free, train-in-your-face, party-hearty little campground, to cold -- as in frost/ice-on-the-side-of-the-tent, really-hard-to-leave-the-warmth-of-your-sleeping-bag cold. [That is, no doubt, the most hyphen-intensive sentence I've ever composed -- and I've slung around a lot of hyphens in my day, you betcha. Even now, when I'm using the bloody f... that is, when I'm using the "level (c)" iPhone keypad, I still unleash boatloads of hyphens, even though it's a lot of work. I like hyphens; hyphens are in my blood. ... Where was I? Oh yeah, cold.]
So -- biking tights, lotsa layers, hat, glove liners, etc etc etc, for me and everyone else. (Everyone else except Clive, that is, whose only concession to the temperature is the gloves. Not surprising, I guess, from the guy who turned down my offer of shelter from the hail a couple days ago because we were "only" about five miles from the end. "Only" five miles of riding in hail, people, and he's got shorts on and a short-sleeve shirt! That krazy kiwi... What was I talking about? Cold, right, the cold...)
So we set off in the cold -- it's maybe 40 degrees by hit-the-road time? -- on a bright, sunny, beautiful 30-mile ride up to Willow Creek Pass, at 9,621 ft, another point on the continental divide. [Sorry; no photographic evidence; a man(Clive)-machine(iPhone camera) interaction failure of some sort.] Great rocky/craggy landscape up high, lots of meandering river and forest below. Beautiful; the kind of riding I feel like I paid for with Kansas. Road signs warned about moose, and it did look like perfect moose country. (I didn't see any; Jerry saw a calf but no adult. Other reported wildlife: a zillion pronghorn antelope; a couple of coyotes; I saw nothing.)
Here's where the expectations come in. I had it in my head that the last 30+ miles, after the pass, were going to comprise a long, easy, beautiful downhill. That's what the elevation profile on our maps showed. Well. Long? yes; downhill? yes; beautiful? not so much, different "high plains" terrain, but that's ok; easy? uh, no, the result of a smack-in-your-face, 20 mph (with gusts that had to top 40) headwind. It was hard work to hit double figures, speed-wise(*), even going downhill. So, expectations cruelly dashed, I struggled very unhappily to the finish line, in Walden, where I had the good fortune to find a barmaid who was willing to tune the establishment's 2nd tv to the World Cup final. (No sound 'til the OT portion of the match, though -- the local cowboys were watching Oprah or something on the other screen). By the end of the match, a small crowd of mostly other bikers gathered.
I was on cooking duty, but I was teamed with Kath, who had generously released me from grocery-shopping duty so I could catch the match. Thank you, Kath. (I reciprocated the next morning by releasing her from pack-up-after-breakfast/lunch duty.) Dinner (all Kath; I chopped and helped execute the plan) was a success -- fish (not fresh, alas) and shrimp (ditto) sauteed in garlic, butter, and lemon juice, boiled potatoes, waldorf salad, and a spectacular trifle for pudding.
What with the soccer and the dinner prep and cleanup I had had no time for setting up camp or for my own personal clean-up -- a vital, vital stage of the day for me -- and it was closing in on bedtime and I was cold and tired. And the official campground had no shower facilities. Cleverly, I had forseen this likely array of problems -- well, not the chilled and really tired part -- so I booked a room at a nearby motel. Shower, flush toilet, bed, roof, walls, heat -- what more could anyone want?
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(*) I'm still peeking. My friend Laurie brought me some replacement rubber bands to cover up my bike computer's mph reading; guess I'll have to deploy one.
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