The Awkward Pose

October 2, 2016 – Sun and clouds, 75 degrees

Miles Today: 57

Miles to Date: 17,264

States to Date: 45

I woke this morning to rosy pink light highlighting the stucco surfaces of the houses in the new subdivision north of Pueblo. As I admired the light my eyes fell on the emerald oval of grass, a front lawn sparkling wet from dawn-timed sprinklers. The brilliant green, so false in this high desert, left a sour taste in my psyche. My hosts are conscientious people; recycling advocates new to an area of the country where recycling is still news. But if you move to Pueblo and buy a subdivision house, it will be big, it will have conventional heat and air conditioning, it won’t be oriented for solar, and it will have a lawn. Unsustainable development is not just allowed. It is the norm. It is all that’s available.

My remedy for feeling adrift is, of course, riding my bike. I began with fourteen miles of delightful Sunday cycling traversing the length of Pueblo from its northern limit through empty downtown past the riverwalk (the Arkansas River runs through Pueblo), along historic Union Street and the Victorian mansions of South Pueblo.

By the time I passed a gas station / convenience store cloaked in stylized font as ‘Mindful Eating’ that also touted 99 cent fountain Pepsi and free lighters with cigarettes, my endorphins had pressed me into  good enough mood to laugh at such folly. Obviously, the proprietors have never read Michael Pollen’s In Defense of Food which contains the sage advice, “Never fill up your car and your stomach at the same place.”

Finally, the pavement gave out and I had to ride the I-25 shoulder. Okay, okay, I didn’t HAVE to ride the I-25 shoulder. But when the three options to cycle from Pueblo to Walsenburg are: a) 119 miles on two lane mountain roads, b) 75 miles of dirt roads in the plains, or c) 55 miles of smooth pavement, half along I-25, I opted for the easy choice. On a Sunday morning with a faint tailwind and excellent shoulder, I-25 was as good as Interstate riding gets. I tuned out the passing noise and focused on the breathtaking landscape beyond.

Walsenburg is a sweet little town that gained some notoriety a few years ago for downzoning to accommodate tiny house neighborhoods. I rode to the areas where the proposed tiny house villages would be built: nothing yet. Still, the town has a cool library carved out of a defunct school and nice mom and pop motels that beat the chains. No sprinklered lawns here.

October 1, 2016 – Sun, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 15

Miles to Date: 17,207

States to Date: 45

When I began my journey last May I targeted a visit to each of my twelve nieces and nephews. At the time, eleven of them were scattered across seven states, while eldest nephew James, who has a troubled history of homelessness, was unaccounted for. I’ve visited seven of my nieces and nephews so far, as well as their spouses and children, several for the first time. This spring James surfaced in Pueblo Colorado where he’s currently serving a thirteen-year sentence at San Carlos Correctional Facility. His story is a tragic example of how our society fails its most fragile citizens, yet our visit offered a sliver of hope and gave my mind some ease.

Here’s the tragedy. James, 41, has suffered schizophrenia since high school. He’s been in and out of treatment facilities and prison, lived with family and on the street, attacked people and been attacked. He is the spitting image of my brother, his father, except for his nose, which has been broken several times. Like so many people with mental illness, James feels better when his medication is stable; then he grows independent, goes off his medication, and deteriorates into delusion or violence. I have never witnessed James as anything but a mellow soul, though I know enough about his unleashed anger to admit it is real.

According to James, two years ago he was living on the streets of Denver with winter coming on. He decided to go to jail, so staged a modest theft in a convenience store. When the clerk did not call the police, James pulled a pair of scissors from his pocket, which escalated his actions to assault. An action designed to provide a warm bed for a few months turned into a long sentence.

Here’s the sliver of hope. James is incarcerated at San Carlos Correctional Facility, a federal prison within the Colorado Mental Health Institute at Pueblo, a college-like campus that includes an array of inpatient, outpatient, youth and penal facilities. Every aspect of my experience, from the initial application to visit I made months ago, through the guards good humor when I arrived on a bicycle, through the respect they show my nephew, was dignified and humane. James looks better than I’ve seen him in years. He has the sluggish response of a person heavily medicated, but he’s coherent, logical, and healthy looking. After talking to strangers all over the country for more than a year, I was anxious about conversing with my own nephew through glass for an hour. The time passed well. We had a few laughs.

San Carlos is a medical institution; regular therapy and group classes are part of James’ routine. Within a year he will be transferred to regular prison. He is not looking forward to that. Hopefully, his time at San Carlos will give him the skills to better cope in his next placement, and eventually, in some capacity in the open world. James will never participate in our society as he might if his head wasn’t plagued by voices. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could find a way to offer him the stability and contentment he needs without being behind bars? It seems to me being able to see the mountains just beyond his walls could do him so much good.

September 30, 2016 – Sun, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 48

Miles to Date: 17,192

States to Date: 45

A beautiful day of rolling south with the mountains on my left and high desert on my right. My Colorado Springs host Kyle rode me to the end of the pavement, then I had fourteen miles of gravel before returning to blacktop outside of Pueblo. The Colorado plains are short of paved roads beyond the Interstate!

Las Carnales serves up the best carne asada burrito on earth. After lunch I spent the afternoon at a busy, friendly library, then I explored Pueblo: a county courthouse worthy of a European nation, a $7 dollar buzz cut at a ‘cosmetology school and salon’, a drive-in convenience store where cars line up for ten minutes or more rather than park and walk into the store. Is there any limit to how lazy we can be?

I stayed with a very agreeable host who lives opposite the coolest skate park I’ve seen on my journey. Allen is a retiree who moved to Colorado from Delaware in large part to indulge in the liberal marijuana laws. 420 sure does make a man mellow.

September 29, 2016 – Sun, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 83

Miles to Date: 17,144

States to Date: 45

My first day of fall foliage! Golden leaves along the South Platte as I headed south out of Denver. I followed the greenway all the way beyond the out loop (E-470) and then climbed to the Chatfield Reservoir. Like most water in the West, it sits high and offers spectacular views in all directions.

After another unavoidable segment on gravel, which included carrying Tom over two railroad tracks, I followed the shoulder of US 85 for a short time until I turned onto Colorado 105 south for thirty miles of exquisite mountain scenery. Just as the noon siren sounded in Sedalia the wind picked up hard and fast and blew straight at me while I climbed 2,000 feet to Palmer Lake. By the time I reached Monument my thighs were burning. Still, I was astonished when the Colorado Springs Valley opened before me. The hazy sprawl that extends more than twenty-five miles along the I-25 corridor was a shock after miles of pristine countryside.

I navigated most of that distance on unfriendly six-lane roads lined with big-box stores. Eventually, I reached the Pike’s Peak Greenway, which follows Monument Creek in the shadow of I-25 through downtown, incidental as that is. Colorado Springs is a transient town with four military bases where everything appears to have been built in the last ten years, at SUV scale. I didn’t see any place pedestrian friendly or rooted in history. By the time I reached my host’s apartment on the far south side of town I was ready for a hot shower, good food, and stimulating conversation. All of which Lilly and Kyle provided.

September 28, 2016 – Sun, 75 degrees

Miles Today: 2

Miles to Date: 17,061

States to Date: 45

I picked up Tom from his overhaul – he’s good as new. Maybe better, since we’ve had over 4,000 miles to get to know each other.

As we wound our way along the residential streets from Bike Source to my sisters, I thought about the creatures the two of us have met along the shoulder. Most of them, of course, are dead. Highway shoulders are where possums, squirrels, snakes, the occasional deer, and the tragic dog come to rest until the vultures descend to act out their role in the circle of life. But in Missouri, Kansas, and Colorado we also shared the shoulder with a parade of very alive creatures I’d never seen before: small, fuzzy centipedes that slither along the shoulder.

One day I stopped and studied one of these fellows: a pair of curious creatures with plenty of time. He climbed up from the gravel and scurried along the shoulder. Like me, he stayed outside the white line. However, if he ventured into the traffic lane he wasn’t run over: he’s so light a passing vehicle simply tosses him in the air, lands him in the rubble, and then he climbed back on the shoulder again.

These crawlies are more prevalent on sunny days, which makes me think they’re attracted to the warm surface. I don’t know what they eat, because there can’t be much nourishment on the shoulder and they constantly struggle to get back on it rather than settle into the grass beyond. I don’t even know what they’re called – I cannot find a name to correspond to their appearance on Google.

Nevertheless, Tom and I are happy to have them around. It’s a pleasant diversion to dodge something other than carcasses.

September 27, 2016 – Sun, 75 degrees

Miles Today: 7

Miles to Date: 17,059

States to Date: 45

A beautiful day to roll through Denver neighborhoods, visit Observatory Park and Place Bridge Academy, an innovative school for newly arrived immigrants run by the Denver Public Schools, before taking Tom in for a major service.

Like Seattle, Austin, and Nashville, Denver is a city growing on steroids. Folks say 1,000 people move here a week. The reaction among long-time residents like my sister is to avoid traffic: walk more places. Great idea! We walked to a local restaurant, Pioneer, and sat on the roof deck enjoying cheap draft beer and $5 Chicken Burritos with our friends Lisa and Bob. A very satisfying rest day indeed.

September 26, 2016 – Sun, 75 degrees

Miles Today: 95

Miles to Date: 17,052

States to Date: 45

Cycle touring doesn’t get any better – even with twenty miles on the Interstate!

Google mapped me 116 miles to Denver – too much for one day. But my experienced warmshowers host in Limon mentioned that it’s not only legal to ride the Interstate shoulder from Limon to Agate, but an easy chore along vast prairie with evergreen storm breaks that leads to Colorado 40. Her guidance shed twenty miles from my route. With ideal temperature and wind, pedaling all the way to Denver was easy.

The ten-mile stretch on Highway 36 between Bennett and Watkins is a gentle roll into Denver’s valley; a breathtaking expanse of glowing grassland set against distant purple mountains.

Denver is one of the easiest large cities to navigate on a bike. The Highline Trail is a 73-mile near continuous loop – the cyclist’s equivalent of a Beltway. It took me from Aurora, east and a bit north of the city, all the way around to the southeast sector of Denver proper.

I arrived at my sister’s for a two-day respite in time to watch the first Presidential debate and subsequent spin. The people I meet in real life are so much nicer than the talking heads on television.

September 25, 2016 – Sun, 75 degrees

Miles Today: 79

Miles to Date: 16,957

States to Date: 45

First came 36 gorgeous miles along US 24 West, out of sight and mind of the Interstate. Then, 24 merged with I-70 and the pavement ended. I pounded 31 miles of gravel.

My head bobbled long after I got to Limon. Question is, after a solid sleep will I be able to overcome the human propensity to dwell on the negative, or will I be able to retrieve the sweet meditation of those first gentle miles?

September 24, 2016 – Sun, 75 degrees

Miles Today: 70

Miles to Date: 16,878

States to Date: 45

Whoa, guy. Haven’t I already been in Colorado? Don’t have I only three states left? Shouldn’t I start skedaddling home?

Although I plan to cycle in all 48 contiguous states, my agenda is more complex. There are people and places I want to see that just can’t get covered in one pass. So, I am returning to Colorado with the objective of visiting my sister and brother in Denver, and then my nephew in Pueblo. From there, I plan to tour the juicy parts of New Mexico I missed in round one – Taos, Santa Fe, and Albuquerque. I hope to spin across the plains one last time to visit Levelland, Texas, my home from VISTA days. In about a thousand miles I will resume counting states when I enter Oklahoma.

Not all who wander are lost; I have become an expert wanderer.

September 23, 2016 – Sun, 85 degrees

Miles Today: 66

Miles to Date: 16,808

States to Date: 45

I love the Plains. They teach you not to take anything for granted. When you think the world is flat, it gets flatter. When you think the world is windy, it gets windier. Even when the wind is with you, there is so much of it that you have to ride full grip. You sail with the gust and then, the gust disappears and you wobble.

In theory, I had an easy day. Southerly crosswinds that often allowed me to tack to advantage. I happened by Cobblestone Ranch, which former state archeologist Don Rowlinson has taken on as a personal project. He gave me a great tour and told stores of the English immigrants who raised sheep in this area. We could have talked into the afternoon except that I had miles to go to Hoxie for lunch. I found JD’s, the local hangout, packed for Friday lunch: salad bar and potato bar with chili and all sorts of extras, but not much conversation. People don’t talk with strangers when a place is buzzing.

Thirty-five miles to Colby on a full belly seemed a fine way to pass the afternoon. The forecast called for a cold front with rain overnight, but there was no sign of it in the cloudless sky. Still, the wind knew something was brewing. Despite an adequate shoulder and good pavement, I fought to keep Tom steady against the tailwinds of the grain trucks that passed in my direction, their comrades head blasts when they roared east, and the gusts topping thirty miles an hour that hit me from the south, or southeast, or southwest, or whatever direction confused things the most.

At one point a string of trucks jangled me, so I stopped for a break. I stilled myself. Back in the saddle I got better at gauging my weight against the wind. Three miles outside of town the highway dipped through a gully where the gale was so strong I leaned Tom at least thirty degrees into the blast. The kind of day I am so glad I ride a Surly.

I arrived in town shortly after four and took a room at the first basic motel I passed. I had made good time, but I was wiped. I just wanted to be out of the wind.