July 22, 2015 – Clouds & sun, 70 degrees
Miles Today: 34
Miles to Date: 4,361
States to Date: 18
The sun rose bright and clear in my face; I had no choice but to get up and address the day. I lingered with my hosts, Pam and Steve until nine. Can you blame me? We had great coffee, blueberry crumble, fruit smoothies with walnuts and granola, and cantaloupe. Steve told me road construction would lengthen my ride to Steamboat Springs, but since it’s not a route I usually do, or have any expectation about, I was very happy to hug the hills around Oak Creek and roll into the broad Yampa Valley about eleven.
I had a hard time getting oriented in town, but eventually found Howelsen Lodge and the hall of Olympic Banners. Steamboat claims the highest number of Olympians per capita in the U.S. The park was packed with all ages of baseball players, Tae Kwon Doe classes, cyclists, and tricksters doing summer variations on the ski jumps. No wonder that Colorado is the fittest state in our nation.
I was so pleased that the Western Motel let me check in at noon; though Peter Grubel, the 76 year old proprietor had so many tales to tell the process took about half an hour.
After lunch I cycled to Steamboat’s industrial area to meet with folks from Honey Stinger energy foods and Moots custom bicycles. Moots has a trial maintenance bicycle that is like a cycling bulldozer for building trails as you go. Quite a different industrial base than I witnessed in Pittsburgh!
I walked through Steamboat’s downtown at dusk. My two favorite details: the elaborate entrance to the Chief Theater and the western merchandise at F. M. Light & Sons, outfitters since 1905. The smell of the leather when you walk in the store is incredible.
Today I faced 97 miles with few services and a forecast of rain; a day demanding extra time and strategy. It stormed all night in Copper (even lost power for a few hours) but the morning emerged dry, if not sunny. The easy side of Vail pass was my first of three major climbs, and I reached the peak before eight. The misty clouds on the mountains were reminiscent of a fantasy film. Rain began to fall as I descended, and I ducked into a bus shelter for ten minutes when it turned into a torrent. Once the rain resumed a regular rhythm I kept on. The sky brightened by the time I was through the resort.
From the top of Vail Pass to the Wolcott turnoff is over thirty miles of descent, mostly gentle, mostly along Eagle Creek, which raged at its banks despite being midsummer. A nice series of bike paths kept me parallel but apart from I-70.
I turned north on C131 and pedaled eight miles up the Wolcott Divide. The descent into State Bridge is steep, and crosses the Colorado River not too far from its headwaters. The highway runs close to the river through Bond and McCoy, towns in name only, and then climbs again across the Red Dirt Divide, which makes clear how Colorado got its name.
While I waited for dryer skies I perused the local bulletin board and added my card to the mix. By the time I rolled through Phippsburg, along the serpentine Yampa, to Stagecoach State Park (Steamboat Springs’ reservoir) and up to the Glas Deffryn Ranch south of Oak Creek, the skies cleared and the afternoon was beautiful. It was just after 4 p.m. and I had done an excellent job dodging the weather.
My hosts for the night, Pam and Steve Williams, breed Scottish Highland cattle on their 200-acre ranch. Steve toured me around and introduced me to their big-horned family. Pam made an exquisite baked potato bar which we ate in their timber-frame home with the sun setting over the pastures. Then we enjoyed dessert in a fire circle under the stars, mesmerized by the giant flames. Talk about tomorrow was rooted in our good fortune today.
Dear highway engineers: Bike lanes marked on the road pavement are saver than bike paths set back from the street. This seems counterintuitive, but when I’m on the pavement, cars see me. When I’m set apart by a curb and grass strip, drivers aren’t looking for me at cross streets. My only mishap to date happened when cars at right angles were unaware of me coming off a bike path set back from the road.
Dear people who consider bike paths routes for ten-year-olds to get to a ball game: Take the silly curves out of bake paths. Let us get from Point A to Point B with the same clarify that other vehicles use. If I want to zig-zag my path, I’ll play Candyland.
Dear vehicle drivers: If a cyclist is riding along the shoulder and following the rules of the road – don’t honk! I don’t know if you are perturbed that I exist or are jealous that you’re stuck in your car while I’m in the open air. Either way, being honked at is unnerving.
Boulder’s church aisle is a bike path. I saw more cyclists, on road bikes, dirt bikes, and mountain bikes, on one Sunday morning in Boulder than in the rest of my travels combined. There were plenty of cars too, laden with bike racks, as I climbed out of town on Highway 93. Even though it was a short day, I got a good workout; the wind was in my face the whole way.
My eight-year-old niece Izzy is deep into Barbie. We spent an hour dressing and redressing her collection, eventually distorting our play into ‘What could get Barbie kicked out of the prom? Out of boarding school? And out of church? Bachelor uncles can be mischievous influences. After pizza and beer and s’mores on the backyard fire, we played cards until we were too tired to reminisce any more.
already underway; Fort Collins has impressive sustainability objectives. The first really big project is a $30 million distillery; more proof that our microbrew fetish is giving way to harder stuff.
The Awkward Pose 