Zion

Thursday night was pretty rough. In my eagerness to get to Zion, I left Bryce at 11:30 and biked through the cold and dark for two hours before I ended up sleeping beneath a Subway billboard outside a town called Hatch. The temperature plummeted as the night went on but I managed to stay relatively warm.

I woke up early the next morning and headed south. The ride was mostly downhill and strikingly beautiful. Through the canyon I rode, flanked by large orange walls along a river by which lush green vegetation grew. I stopped for lunch in a gas station and met another cyclist, Tim, who was riding a large titanium mountain bike around Utah. After a healthy lunch of corn dogs and ice cream, I continued on downhill until signs for Zion started to pop up.

When I started heading west into the park, a massive uphill began. It continued for an irritating 12 miles, but I noticed that Tim was just a bit ahead of me and pushed to catch up. A couple miles from the top we both stopped to catch our breath, and Tim informed me of what was to come. We continued towards the park together, and despite the fact that Tim was on a bigger and heavier bike, I had to hustle to keep up.

Soon enough the park entrance appeared, and so began the mind blowing experience of speeding downhill into Zion. Giant red and yellow monoliths towered hundreds of feet above and all around me. I found myself in an uncontrollable laughter  as I sped down a winding road through a forested canyon so beautiful I couldn’t believe it was real. Eventually we reached a checkpoint at a mile long tunnel through the rock where bikes weren’t allowed. The park ranger at the entrance helped us flag down a truck who could give Tim and I a ride through the tunnel. Things got sketchy here.

The driver was nuts, I don’t know if he was just having fun or being a dick or pissed off that he had to give bikers a ride. Regardless he decided to drive through the tunnel at incredibly fast speeds, occasionally flooring it. One hand holding my bike and the other clinging on to the truck for dear life, thoughts of me and my trusty companion flying out of the open truck bed and onto the hood of the convertible tailgating us rushed through my head.

Upon exiting the tunnel Tim and I briefly reflected on the terrifying experience we just had. Any future desire to ride roller coasters was immediately replaced as we bombed down switchbacks into Zion’s main valley. Soon enough we arrived in Springdale, a small, expensive town just south of the park. It was a lively place, full of tourists and bikers making their way in and out of the park. I arrived at a hotel Brooke had reserved for the evening and bid farewell to Tim. I spent the rest of the day relaxing and organizing gear while I waited for Brooke to drive in from Vegas.

The next day we tried to get going as early as possible. We ate breakfast and headed into the park to reserve campsites for the next two nights. As soon as everything was settled we headed to the West Rim Trail.

We started by making our way past the Emerald Pools, a grotto where small waterfalls trickled from cliffs at least a thousand feet above us into teal pools below. Two and a half miles and many switchbacks later we arrived at the legendary Angel’s Landing, known as  “the third most dangerous hike in any national park.” It was pretty exposed, considering a good thousand foot drop on either side, but I think its element of danger is pretty exaggerated since there is a chain to hold on to all the way to the top. Nonetheless, the hike is breathtaking.

After Angel’s Landing we continued another 3 or 4 miles up the trail to the West Rim. The hike was more pleasant from this point forward. Angel’s Landing, being one of the crown jewels of Zion, thankfully consolidated the crowds to one area, keeping the rest of the park more backcountry-esque.

We headed back into town as the sun began to disappear behind the canyon walls, casting a shadow into the valley. We went to a local pizza and pasta shop and ate copious amounts of pizza before turning in a bit early.

The next day we went to a hike Tim recommended to us called the Canyon Overlook Trail. It’s a short but scenic .5 mile hike right by the east entrance to the tunnel. When we reached the overlook at the end of the trail, we were hungry for more and began eyeballing a good 800 foot ascent up some sandstone slab nearby. As we gradually made our way to the top of a high ridge, a flute player below echoed pleasant melodies into the Canyon.

We chilled at the top for a while and enjoyed the relief of a cooling breeze. Small birds jetted around us, making audible “whooshing” sounds as they sped within a foot or so of our heads. I was able to hear voices echoing from a slot canyon below, amplified by the geography of terrain. We descended the slab back to the trail and soon made our way to The Narrows, a popular slot canyon favored by tourists and canyoneers alike. Wet suits were recommended, but I decided to rock a pair of basketball shorts and hiking boots. The hiked got a little cold but it was well worth it to have my feet in water for the first time in months.

Our last day was a bit more mellow as we headed to a less popular hike to escape the crowds and relax. We hiked through a ravine that soon developed into a slot canyon, and made our way up some slab to a relaxing spot overlooking the valley and spent the remainder of our time enjoying the breeze before descending and heading out.

Brooke gave me a ride all the way to Vegas which was awesome because the road from Zion to St. George was terrifying and had no shoulder. My dad was so kind as to use some hotel points to provide me with shelter for the evening and, guess what? There was an all you can eat dinner included that happened to be Chinese food! I’m now preparing myself for a massive ride through the desert to Santa Barbra. It’s easily 100 degrees today, so it is likely I’ll end up biking through the night. It’ll be a long haul on the interstate, but I’m looking forward to the ocean! Wish me luck!

Peace.

Bogus and Beauty

Wednesday morning began for me around 7am in the ditch behind the hotel. I moved fast to pack up and get an early start on the big climb ahead of me. I popped into the hotel to use the bathroom and made sure to dip into the continental breakfast and gather copious amounts of food loot. Earphones in and podcast on, I hit the road by 9:30.

Things were going pretty well early on. My legs felt great and I made good progress south up mountain pass towards Boulder until…

I spent a good half an hour trying to improvise a quick fix for the chain to no avail. Out of  options I figured my best bet was to reach the top of the pass and bomb down the hill into town from the top of the pass so I started hiking. About a half hour later a car pulled up and offered me a ride that I gladly accepted. It got a little awkward, as they opened the trunk to put my bike in the back their camp lantern fell out and shattered on the road. I could tell the man was a little disappointed that his efforts to do good so far failed to merit any good karma. Thankfully it turned out I was much closer than I thought, only about a half mile from the 9,600 pass summit.

As we rolled into Boulder, a controlled burn raged in the distance. I was dropped off in the lawn of a lodge where there happened to be six road bikers chilling with their supply van. I took a moment to consider what it might be like to have a van carry all of my equipment and deliver me food as I biked around the country with five of my friends. Hopeful, I approached them and asked if they had a spare chain link I could bum. They did, but unfortunately it wasn’t the right size. Frustrated, I went into the fine dining restaurant next door for lunch.

I sat down, smelly and irritated and immediately my sever, Victor, asked if I was having a rough day. After explaining my situation to him he mentioned that several years ago he was also an avid biker and the go to man in town for bike repairs. He had some spare parts around his house and offered to help me if I stuck around until after he punched out.

After napping in the lawn for a couple hours, Victor approached me. He had a chain link but no tool to attach it. He was bummed he couldn’t be of more assistance, but I thanked him for his efforts regardless. Out of options yet again, I began pushing my bike west towards Escalante.

The road was hilly. I made decently good time running up hills and bombing down the opposing side. Eventually I emerged atop a high mesa, and the massive landscape known as the Grand Staircase opened before me.

The Grand Staircase – Escalante National Monument is appropriately named. It is composed of layer upon layer of ancient rock, forming massive “steps” in the form of mesas. The top is Bryce Canyon, and it extends all the way down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon where the ancient Vishnu Schist resides along the Colorado River. The monument covers nearly 2 million acres and the massive cliffs expose both geological and human history in the form of rock layers, dinosaur bones, petrogyphs, and Native American ruins.

I took a couple pictures and pushed off down the steep and winding incline into the canyon below. When I reached the Escalante River at the bottom, two hitch-hikers on a bridge jokingly stuck their thumb out. Not wanting to lose my speed I sped past and yelled, “Chain’s broke, I’m actually looking for a ride too!” I hopped off my bike once it slowed from the uphill and continued to hike for a good 20 minutes.

Soon enough a large SUV coming down in the other direction pulled to a stop ahead of me. It was none other than the hitchhikers from earlier who managed to catch a ride to their car uphill. “Trying to get to Escalante?”

Five minutes later I was in the back of the SUV, hanging onto my bike on the way to the next town. I forgot his name, but the guy driving the car was yet another biker who was sympathetic about my situation and seeking karma. When he dropped me off in Escalante about 20 miles later, he bid me goodluck and drove off back the way we came. He drove 40 miles out of his way to help me. God bless that dude.

I was told there wasn’t a bike shop in town, but possibly a biker around who might be able to help. A woman in an outdoor retail shop refered me to Jeff, a park ranger down the road with an impressive bike shop in his garage. When I knocked on the door his wife answered and told me he would probably be happy to help, but I would need to return in an hour or so after he came home and ate dinner. After about an hour I headed back and sure enough Jeff was enthusiastic to lend a hand. Not only did he fix my chain but he cleaned and tuned my cassettes as well. He explained different components of my bike to me as he worked, and even gave me a beer. Eternally grateful, I asked what I owed him and he said “nothing.”

Something this trip has made clear to me is that there are tremendously compassionate and awesome people to be found in this world. Many people  live by each others happiness rather than misery, and love to help one another. It is because of people like Jeff and Victor and everyone else I met on this trip that have restored my faith and prevent me from losing hope in humanity. Good spirits are abundant, and in times of tragedy this shouldn’t be forgotten.

The long day had taken it’s toll on me so I paid for a campsite in town. It had a shower, which was awesome, and wireless internet so I was able to update my blog. I had been sleeping without a shelter the past few nights simply to speed up my mornings, but decided to set the bivy up that night and slept very well.

I slept in until 9 this morning and took my sweet time getting ready. I didn’t hit the road until 11:30, but feeling fortunate, refreshed, and happy to be on a healthy bike I made excellent time today. Utah continued to deliver excellent biking scenery.

After absolutely crushing 50 miles I finally approached Bryce Canyon and was welcomed by a massive, winding uphill and plenty of traffic. I made my way to the park entrance where I stashed my saddle bags before continuing on towards the canyon. I locked up my bike near a parking lot and headed out for a hike!

Unfortunately the sun was setting and I didn’t have the time to hike into the bowels of the canyon. Cold and hungry, I headed to the lodge at the park entrance in search of food. $20 bucks for a dinner buffet. I would say it was a ripoff, but I easily got a good 4000 calories out of the purchase. Mac n’ cheese, fried chicken, taters with gravy, sweet corn… the works. It’s nearly 10:30 and I’m currently sitting in the lodge allowing my food to digest and dreading the reality that I need to go outside in a few minutes and bike to where I stashed my gear.

I still have a bit of biking to do tonight. I wasn’t able to determine a good spot to camp on the map so it’ll be a late one as I search in the dark for a proper location. Tomorrow I’ll finally arrive at Zion to meet the legendary Brooke Prouty for a weekend of epic hiking. I also look forward to staying in a hotel and doing laundry! Anyways, I probably won’t post again until Monday, but you can expect some pretty good content when I do!

Peace.

God’s Country

My ride on Monday began roughly 10 miles North of Blanding with a lovely flat tire. As I began to fix it my intricate inner workings made a point to remind me that I had yet to take my morning bathroom break.

The first thing I’ve come to enjoy about Utah is how easy it is to find a place to camp or shit. The night before I made camp simply by hopping a fence and setting up my bivy behind a shrub a couple yards from the road. I reckon there’s a good chance it was on private property but I failed to discover any sort of establishment in any direction and everything around here seems to be open range.

I relieve myself behind said bush beside the road and proceeded to repair my tube. I packed up and made good time through some pretty redundant cattle country until Blanding where I turned west onto highway 95.

Vehicles diminished as I peddled down an untrafficked though scenic back country highway. Headed towards Natural Bridges National Monument, I highly anticipated returning to where I roamed for 30-days with a NOLS canyoneering course two and half years ago. As I proceeded along the highway and up my first hill of the day the terrain around me gradually became increasingly more scenic. As I neared the top of the climb a gap in the high mesa before me appeared, a gateway to the wonderful canyonlands of southern Utah.

As I passed through the gap a powerful and dynamic landscape emerged before me, its beauty matched only by its vastness. Comb Ridge extended south to north above a shallow valley and further west networks of canyons were scattered across the landscape. I took a generous moment to soak everything in before ripping down the road into the valley, enjoying the warm air blowing over my body. Over the next two and a half hours, these moments of joy were relentlessly crushed by an immense and totally unanticipated uphill. My memory of the canyons as a relatively flat landscape compared to Colorado was as foolish as it was inaccurate. To make matters worse, my derailed decided to give up on me during the climb. The repair took a good hour out of my day.

I finally got to Natural Bridges National Monument around five in the afternoon. I recognized the dirt road that was the drop off point for my NOLS course and shared a moment of nostalgia with… well… no one because I’m doing this trip alone. I proceeded to the visitor’s center where there were a couple tourists pacing around the room and two girls working at a desk. One of them was pretty cute. I laid out a map and spent a good 20 minutes listening to her advice about the route ahead despite the fact that I already knew precisely where I was going.

After our little chat I left my panniers behind the visitor’s center and went for a ride around the park’s scenic loop. Oh how pleasant it was to ride without additional weight on my bike! Along the road I saw three of the park’s bridges, two of which I recognized from NOLS including Kachina Bridge which I remember had native ruins nearby.

As I hiked down to the bridge I met a couple taking photographs. I let them in on the location of the Indian ruins (which I guess is illegal, there is a notice nearby that declares something along the lines of “by reading this document you are agreeing not to tell anyone about the location of these ruins in order to reduce human impact”). As I hiked with them back to the trailhead they were pretty stoked about the ruins and showed a lot of interest in my little bike adventure. Upon mentioning my love for all-you-can-eat-Chinese buffets they even gave me some money so I could go all out the next time I encountered one.

I biked back to the visitor’s center to make some dinner and tea. My back had been bothering me a lot that day so I did a copious amount of stretching while I watched the sunset over the canyons, something that words nor pictures ever seem to serve justice.

By the time it got dark I got a serious second wind. I also promised the girl I spoke with earlier that I wouldn’t camp illegally in the park so I hopped on the bike and started booking it.

Something I’ve always appreciated about southern Utah are the stars. There happens to be some sort of mandate that all lights (which are few) be specifically designed to maintain the zero light polution in the area. They weren’t as spectacular as usual due to what was almost a full moon in the sky, but the moon provided so much light that I biked without a headlamp for the next three hours.

I was hauling. It was mostly downhill to Lake Powell from there and the wind had resided with the sun. I had the most phenomenal sensation of being completely alone. I had not found cellular service since Blanding and I had only seen three cars since departing the bridges. I was apprehensive about camping out of service in case something happened, but the clock struck midnight and I was forced to pull over to the side of the highway and rest after a very long day.

On Tuesday I woke up to a pretty magnificent sunrise and continued on West. Daylight brought light to the awesome monoliths whose silhouettes I could see the night before. The day’s ride was classic Utah.

I approached Hite alarmed at the water level of Lake Powell. Although the chocolate mlik-colored Colorado River still flowed past the mild winter had left it pretty dry. There was one building operating in Hite, the only source of food or gasoline along a 125 mile stretch of road. I stopped in eager to load up on calories. I bought a $2.50 burrito and a chocolate chop cookie ice cream sandwich, totaling around 1500 calories. After plenty of biking it made for a deliciously combo and replenished my body to tackle the abundant uphill throughout the remainder of the day.

The day dragged on. Mindful of 2,800 feet of uphill on top of 70 miles the next day I took my time in an effort to prevent my body from wearing out. I didn’t get to Hanksville until around 7 and the sun was beginning to set. In order to realistically make it to Zion by the 26th, I still had another 50 miles to bike that night. With the daunting task ahead of me I had only one choice as I rolled into town.

I strolled into the only restaurant open in town and ordered a massive hamburger with fries and a large chocolate and peanut butter shake. A couple people noticed me, sitting there in my biking gear smelling like shit and inhaling food alone. It was then that a super cool dude named Tyler approached me.

Tyler was travelling with his wife, Hannah. The were headed south to Escalante which happened to be one of my stops the next day. He got right to the point and asked if I wanted a ride. I was happy to accept.

We strapped my bike to the roof with webbing and hit the road. We cruised for nearly an hour, and I enjoyed the good conversation as we rolled through canyons over dozens of hills that I was happy I wouldn’t have to bike until 2 am. Not wanting to cop out of my climb the next day, I had them drop me off in Torrey where bid them farewell. When I discovered I was able to Jack some wifi from a nearby hotel I decided to post up behind it in a drainage ditch. I must have been spotted on camera because a man came out searching for me. Not wanting to seem suspicious, I made my presence known. He mentioned that he did indeed see me on the camera and I took a moment to explain my situation to him before asking if I could camp there. So long as I didn’t tell his boss he said it was fine with him and even brought out four delicious danishes for me.

Thankful for all the help I received as of late but exhausted I updated my blog and fell asleep.

Utah!

I wanted to post this Sunday night but I couldn’t find internet.

I’ve been busy having a blast in Durango the past few days so it’s been a while since I last posted. Come on in! Take a seat! Enjoy a mint! Here is what I’ve been up to lately…

Durango is pretty sweet. It’s a small city nestled in a beautiful valley West of the San Juan National Forest in the southwest corner of Colorado. It’s the largest and coolest town I’ve been to since Salida. The main street has everything I could care for in a city without the mayhem and the streets are frequented by bikes as much as they are by cars.

There are a number of microbreweries with decent beer and good eats seem aplenty. The Animas river runs through the valley, splitting the town into different sections. Fort Lewis College (a couple students referred to it as Fort Leisure) rests on the eastern ridge overlooking the town and draws in a younger audience to the community giving it that college town flair.

When I got to town I immediately began searching for a campsite close to the college that would be convenient for walking to class in the morning. Proceeding past the “NO CAMPING” sign I walked my bike through a disc golf course just south of campus. The course was networked with a series of mountain biking trails and had plenty of trees for concealment. Near the outermost regions of the park I was able to find a secluded spot to set up camp.

After transcribing a plea to any thieves not to “steal my shit” upon a saddlebag I stashed my gear and headed into town to explore a bit and hopefully meet some locals. On Mainstreet I dipped into a bar for a beer I ended up meeting a retired teacher and author named Michelle who offered to let me finish her dinner. I knew immediately that we were going to be friends. Michelle offered me a place to crash and helped feed me for two days while I waited for class to start. Best of all I was able to do laundry for the first time on the trip!

The next three days I camped by the campus while I was occupied with my WFR recert. As always it was a pleasure to learn with NOLS and my instructors were passionate and hilarious. Afterwards I was excitedto explore the town’s nightlife with some friends from the course as it just so happened to be Durango’s annual bluegrass festival that weekend. Several bars downtown were hosting a number of bands, some of which were just awful. I’m not really a fan of bluegrass but it did add a lot of energy to the town.

Sunday evening my course ended and I was a bit anxious to get going. My plan was to hit the road as soon as possible in attempt to reach Zion by the 26th in order to meet my friend Brooke. This meant 5 full days of biking all between 120 and 140 miles a day to make it on time. To my great fortune Russ, a classmate from the WFR course was on his way home to Moab that evening and offered to drop me off in Monticello. The opportunity to cut what had to of been at least a hundred miles off my trip was too good to be true. Not caring to die trying to bike across the gnar that is southern Utah in 5 days, I gladly accepted.

We cruised along the desert highway out of Durango to epic views of Mesa Verde and the Four Corners region. Russ dropped me off in Monticello before bidding farewell and continuing on north to Moab. Thanks Russ! I headed in the opposite direction down 191 for roughly 10 miles before I discovered a suitable ditch beyond a fence beside the highway. Camp located.

I am looking to get an early start tomorrow and make it at least to Natural Bridges and maybe even Lake Powell. Lots of distance to cover the next few days, I’ll update when I can!

Summer Journeys

After yet another windy day of riding, I finally made it to Durango. I’ll be sticking around here until Sunday for my Wilderness First Responder re-certification course.

As some of you know, upon conclusion of the bike tour in Jackson I will be spending a week in the Tetons and Yellowstone as a trip leader for Summer Journeys. The program is based in Grand Rapids, Michigan and was founded in 2008 by a friend of mine, David Buth. The objective is to provide adolescents with an authentic learning experience that will assist in helping them become strong leaders and contributing members of their community. If you want more detailed information on the program, the website has everything from its mission to detailed trip itineraries.

Needless to say, I’m pretty excited to be a part of the program. I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that I absolutely hated sitting in a classroom all day working on redundant assignments and reading textbooks. Programs like Summer Journeys provide so much more than that. Immersing students in the natural world to learn about ecology, geology, leadership, and outdoor skills not only makes the learning more enjoyable, but brings substantially greater and longer lasting rewards. When students learn in an artificial classroom they rarely look back on their learning experiences with joy and accomplishment in the years to come.. Learning in nature is real and genuine. I allows students to remember their lessons for life and ensures a more lasting impact on each individual.

Our current education system is designed to prepare students for standardized tests and college, bombarding kids with information most of which they’ll forget by the time they’re adults. Experiences like these prepares them instead to be successful leaders and contributing members of society. They provide opportunities for each student to form a deeper connection with their own self and their environment. The provide identity and direction for teenagers as they move forward through and beyond high school. This is how education should be. Our current system of institutionalized education is obsolete and ineffective, programs like Summer Journeys are as important as ever. Someday I would like to run a program of my own based on these philosophies.

Summer Journeys is a non-profit and operates off of community support. Many of the students actively participate in fundraising and do what they can to pay their own way. However, there are some kids who are not able to finance their tuition and rely on scholarships funded by donations from the community. It is incredible that this program is able to draw so much support, but its capacity to is limited by financial boundaries. Not every kid who wants to be a part of the program is always able.

This is where we come in. For the most part, every day this blog gets over 100 views and continues to draw more attention. I thank everyone for their support and interest, and now I hope to use the blog to change some lives by bringing more funding to the program. The program accepts donations until May 31st, and every cent raised will be used to finance the trip for a student going this year.

“All charitable donations are tax-deductible.  All contributions will make a difference for a local student who wishes to take ownership of his/her education and participate in a life-changing experience that will set him/her up for further personal and academic success.”

I encourage everyone to go to the website and learn about this awesome program more if you are considering making a donation! You can click here to get to the donation page, and if you would like to contact Buth himself concerning the program, his email is david@summerjourneys.org. Checks can also be sent to Summer Journeys, 675 lovett #2 GR MI 49506

Thanks everyone! I will be sure to keep you updated with the progress of the fundraiser as I post on the blog.

– Peace

Today’s Ride is Sponsored by the Letter “F”

When I left the Murphy House I immediately had a feeling that there wasn’t a chance I would be going over Wolf Creek pass. It was snowing slightly, and the winds were steady around 20mph with frequent gusts. Not exactly my favorite riding conditions, but the forecast over the next few days was questionable and I didn’t want to risk getting trapped in Alamosa.

As I pushed my trusty Long Haul Trucker west and passed my first fellow bicycle tourist the wind ripped against me. After several discouraging hours I decided I would stop in South Fork. The campsite I had hoped to set up at was closed until May 1st. Not giving many shits after a hard day of riding, I headed into the campground and set up my bivy under a tree beside the Rio Grande. My only visitors were two dogs that stopped by to investigate my presence for a brief moment before continuing on. The wind died down as the sun began to set and I enjoyed the sight of golden eagles soaring overhead before heading to bed.

I woke up early today to depart the campsite before anybody might give me trouble. Yet again it was windy. I ate a massive breakfast at one of the only inhabited buildings in town and hit the road by 9:30. Despite the intense gusts, I was feeling good from all the food and confident about my pace. I had been tackling a steady uphill for just over an hour when I saw the sign “Wolf Creek Pass Summit 10 miles.”

By the time I reached the first tunnel I was already getting tired, but at that point I had at least 5 miles to go. It became increasingly difficult from that point forward. Snow, more wind, altitude, fatigue… the elements quickly began to take there toll. Soon enough Wolf Creek ski resort emerged around a bend, indicating that the end of my ascent was near.

The album I was listening to ended, and in the moment my headphones went silent I heard a repetitive clanking coming from my front wheel. I looked down to see that my pannier rack had loosened and was continuously knocking against the spokes of my front wheel. Cursing at the timing, I dismounted and removed the pannier. I arranged my multitool to the bolt and proceeded to tighten it. Snap.

The rack fell to the ground with a bang, and I saw that half the bolt remained lodged inside my bike. Fuck word after fuck word rang through the cood mountain air. I dug through another pannier for my tape and ghetto rigged the rack back to my bike. I quickly packed everything back up and attached the pannier on ghetto rack… seemed sturdy. I biked for only a few moments before the sound of clanking disturbed my being once again

The snow continued on. Fuck word after fuck word reverberated through the cool mountain air. After a minute of deciding what to do next I determined that the best course of action was to throw my bike a thousand feet into the ravine across the road. Just in the nick of time a large orange snow removal truck pulled ahead of me and stopped. Kevin, the driver, had been headed down the pass when he saw me struggling and turned around to help me. He gave me a lift to the top of the pass, about a mile and a half from where I broke down. Kevin was a bro.

I threw on my backpack and secure the pannier from the faulty rack onto my rear wheel rack. The broken frame with no weight on it was stable enough and although my bike’s balance was slightly awkward I was able to proceed down the pass with only the front-right saddle bag attached.

I saw a mountain goat.

The ride down the pass was quick and scenic. I was sore from the weight of my backpack and a moody from the challenges of the day. I made it into town and found a bike shop called “The Hub.” Eric, one of the workers, fixed the frame and rigged an aluminum cross bar connecting my racks over the front wheel, preventing similar tragedy in the future.

After leaving the shop I made it no more than minute down the road before fatigue got the best of me. There was no way I was camping tonight. I decided to throw down on a hotel that had a free breakfast I could use to restock my food.

Tomorrow I’m off to Durango. Lets hope it goes well.

The Long Haul

I woke up around 9 and made good time packing up. Within a half hour I smashed breakfast, said goodbye to Steve, my fellow cycling friend, and hit the road.

From the moment I started peddling the wind came blasting in from the west keeping my pace nice and slow as I headed straight into it towards Poncha Pass. At the base of the climb a sign read “7 miles to Poncha Pass Summit,” something I felt pretty good about after Hoosier Pass. I made it to the top by noon, much sooner than expected, and took some time to obliterate some well earned power bars while I mapped out my next move.

I gazed towards the high mountain desert before me, slightly intimidated. Tentatively I had planned on camping somewhere in a canyon or behind a hill before I lost my opportunity to set up camp upon entering the flats of the San Luis Valley. I could see massive dust clouds in the distance, indicating that continuing would mean another battle with the wind. In the distance I could barely see my destination for the following day, The Great Sand Dunes, far in the distance.

Surely the best course of action was to activate beast mode and go for the dunes. I bombed down the south side of the pass and took a quick snack break in the next “town.” It wasn’t long before it became known to me that every settlement in the valley was likely to be comprised of nothing more than a small general store, a post office, and maybe a gas pump.

60 miles into my ride I posted up outside one of these shops for another break and map check. Crestone Peak, consider to be one of the most difficult fourteeners in Colorado, loomed ominously in the distance. The shopkeeper, Bob, came out and remarked on how beautiful it was. Bob had been working the shop in exchange for residency in the loft above it for the last eight years. He receives no financial compensation, but sells his art from the store to save money for food and other basic expenses. He mentioned that he lived in Boulder for 16 years before his move to the valley. When I asked why he chose to switch to such a remote location he turned towards the mountains and opened his arms.

I like to be around people and I enjoy cities, but it was clear the Bob was profoundly connected to his environment. His life was simple but he loved it and I can’t blame him for that. In every direction enormous mountains stand like sentinels above the vast, empty desert. In the distance I could see tornadoes and dust storms dominating the flats while raptors soared overhead searching for prairie dogs. Although desolate, this valley is a truly powerful place with a pure, subtle energy that I can actually feel.

Bob kindly filled my water bottles for me before bidding farewell. I continued on for several miles before I approached a gas station that sold highly processed calorie-packed microwaves meal, one of which I eagerly feasted on. Before heading out I snagged some rice pouches for dinner the next few days and was pleased to discover that the wind had died down when I stepped outside. I peddled hard over the last several miles and reached the Dunes just as the sun had set. After 10 hours, my 90 mile ride was over.

I am now posted up in a campsite just outside the park that I think might not yet be opened for the season. In any case, free camping again!  In exhaustion, as well as anticipation of a rude awakening tomorrow, I’m now off to bed.

Peace

Hot Water

I’ve always been told you get what you pay for when it comes to outdoor equipment. The Outdoor Research alpine bivy kept me dry through the rain last night and relatively warm despite 20 degree temperatures. It was an uphill battle finding the motivation to remove myself from my humble shelter but I was pleased to see the sun pop over the hill across the river just as I poked my head out.

I was eager to cut weight and increase space in my saddlebags so it was snacks for breakfast that morning. I took my time packing the bike so that my equipment could dry and enjoyed the fine porcelain provided by the park in which I wasn’t supposed to be camping before hitting the road at 11.

The beginning of the ride was pleasant thanks to a lot of downhill and thousands of prairie dogs chirping me along with enthusiasm as I rode. Then the wind came, along with my first “fuck this” moment. If you’ve ever slowly biked downhill in your lowest gears for four hours you might actually be able to understand my frustration during those moments.. I cursed everything: canyons, mountains, llamas, and especially those prairie dogs.

By the time I got to Poncha Springs I was considerably pissed off and exhausted. I was planning on camping at the bottom of the 2000 foot pass I needed to ascend before heading into the San Luis Valley, but to make matters worse my front racks were falling apart. I eventually decided to head east into Salida to try and find a place to camp closer to civilization so I could work on my bike.

After about an hour of sitting in McDonald’s I decided the best course of action would be to stay somewhere indoors to prepare for the next portion of my ride. It was then that I discovered the Simple Lodge & Hostel, my home for the evening.

I’ve really been diggin’ this place so far.  The man signing guests into the hostel happens to be the brother of a patroller I knew back in Breckenridge. He and another guest played guitar together while he sang. His voice was incredible! Allegedly he had a lot going for him before some sort of operation damaged his vocal cords. Another guest was an older man posted up with his two boys after a couple days of mountain biking. He had a pretty accomplished history touring on his mountain bike and provided a lot of solid insight on my trip. He referred me to Absolute Bikes where they fixed up my bike quite nicely and set me up for the climb. I also took my first shower in four days and it was excellent. Needless to say, I’m glad I made the decision to spend a little extra and am tempted to stay another night.

Time to get off my phone and socialize, the next couple of days will be pretty lonely.

Peace!

Good Company

… it’s raining. A lot. I decided to head back into Buena Vista where I managed to find a spot to camp just north of a town park along the Arkansas River. Not caring to sit alone in my bivy all night I elected to stop into a bar for food and a few beers.

Once again I was graced with the blessing of meeting kind strangers out of no where. A couple of friendly locals invited me over to their table and provided me a couple PBRs and some beta. I could tell they were having a hard time taking me seriously considering the scope of the trip and the fact that I was on my second day of riding. Regardless, the kind folks loaded me up on information about upcoming mountain passes and one of them offered me his phone number in case I ever ran into a situation where I needed help. I find that it is sometimes hard to adequately express gratitude.

The forecast suggests that weather will roll in fast and hard this weekend so I’ve elected to depart Buena Vista earlier than planned and leave the the peak ascents for another occasion. Tomorrow I’m hoping to find Salida and somewhere comfortable to rest my legs.

Buena Vista

Finally hit the road yesterday at 10:20 in the morning. With all the weight the first 13 miles to the Continental Divide were ass-kicking but after 2.5 hours I managed to cruise on over Hoosier Pass.

The downhill following the climb was frightening. As if hauling ass down a mountain with cars flying by me wasn’t enough winds blasting over Hoosier ridge were tossing me all over the road and chilling me to the bone. It was a completely different world once I got to Alma. An additional thirty degrees of warmth and the sound of song birds for the first time in six months welcomed me to the lower altitudes of Park County. Several miles down the road from Alma on a stretch where I could see no cars in either direction a strikingly large coyote crossed the road. It glanced at me for a brief moment before disappearing into the brush.

I proceeded out of Alma and past Fairplay, my goal for the day. About 3 miles North of Antero Junction I decided to call it when I spotted a fenced off elk preservation on the west side of the highway. I waited for any cars that might spot me to carry on out of sight before throwing the bike and myself over the fence and sprinting to a small patch of trees where I could conceal myself for the evening. Aside from there being copious amounts of elk shit everywhere I found a well-sheltered spot in the trees with a water source and plenty of wiping material. I made a quick dinner on the pocket rocket, hung my food, and was in my bivy reading by 7. I lasted about 10 minutes before I passed out.

Despite my early bedtime, the night did not treat me incredibly well. The wind picked up tremendously and I was waking up due to both chills and sweats on multiple occasions. The worst was being awoken by a nearby pack of screaming coyotes, inviting thoughts of being swarmed by their pack or trampled by an elk to keep me awake for the next hour. It was at this point, not even 24 hours in, that I began to feel apprehensive about this trip and asked myself, “What the fuck am I doing out here?”

The beautiful morning that followed settled my uneasy mind and I reassured myself that there’s nothing I’d rather be doing at this point in my life.

After I packed up I continued down 285 to Buena Vista. It was the most scenic part of the ride yet. Flanked by canyons, spires, and natural rock formations of every variety I bombed down the winding highway. As I sped through the mouth of the canyon the snow covered peaks of the Collegiates appeared on the horizon. I had no choice but to stop for a photo.

I’m resting in a local cafe called Brown Dog, eating burritos, typing away at my phone, and anxiously staring at Mt. Princeton in anticipation of my hike tomorrow. Later this afternoon I’ll head to the base of the mountain to set up camp with the intentions of an early start tomorrow morning if conditions are good.

Cheers!