The Awkward Pose

July 13, 2015 – Sunny, 90 degrees

Miles Today: 24

Miles to Date: 4,007

States to Date: 18

My father was an eccentric who chafed in a regular job, wrote a book narrated by an Alaskan Huskie, and ran for sheriff on the platform to repaint fire hydrants. His train of thought logic peaked with the third bourbon on the rocks. My mother was a tightly organized woman hyper-conscious of time, who wore binding girdles and labeled the linen closet shelves. Like so many opposites that attract, they were an irrational coupling. But their genes twist through me in satisfactory ways, for today I arrived in Denver on a quixotic journey rooted in my father’s sprit, exactly on my estimated schedule and distance. My odometer flipped over 4,000 miles as I entered Denver city limits on the day I promised my sister I would arrive. Thanks, Dad! Thanks, Mom!

There is a great bike path system that goes all the way from Arvada to Denver, but today there were construction detours and large sections of bike path closed due to the recent heavy rains. So, I got to maneuver city streets and unfamiliar neighborhoods, which were all welcome diversions. It’s impossible to get lost in a gird city on a sunny day when I have to go ten miles south and ten miles east. I jig-jagged wherever I wanted

I went immediately to Bike Source, where I had arranged to have a tune-up, new chain brake pads and wheel alignment for the Surly. Gotta keep my ride in top shape.

I will be in Denver until Friday, when I head up and into the mountains, finally penetrating the Front Range I have been keeping on my right for the past week. But stayed tuned., Although I won’t be making much distance, I have some special trip blogs planned for those of you who like your daily dose of cycle musings.

July 12, 2015 – Sunny, 90 degrees

Miles Today: 24

Miles to Date: 3,983

States to Date: 18

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.

Once I turned east on Highway 72 I enjoyed the long decent into Arvada, with Denver beyond. The distant skyline sparkled on the horizon, where it wasn’t interrupted by the steady crawl of single-family houses scratching up the foothills. Denver probably has the largest psychic catchment are of any city in the United States. Ever since Bismarck, Denver has been the reference city for everyone I’ve met. It is the capital of the West.

Since I was invading my brother and sister-in-law’s house house on their anniversary, I picked up a big bouquet at King Sooper before I arrived around two and we passed the hours in catching up since we got together last year. 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.

July 11, 2015 – Sunny, 90 degrees

Miles Today: 45

Miles to Date: 3,959

States to Date: 18

I slept in, took an easy leave, and headed south on U.S. 287, Main Street of the Front Range. Regardless what was on the side of the road, a quick glance to the right always revealed an amazing view gentle foothills, rugged mountains and snow capped peaks, topped with swirling cloud icing.

I pedaled through Loveland, which had a Saturday festival and girl’s softball tournament in full swing. Then on to Longmont, where 287 turns into a charming, tree-lined shopping street. I stopped for a break at a Valero and met Sarah, the sweetest convenience store clerk ever. Then stopped at Simply Bulk to talk to the owner about tomorrow.

The last fifteen miles climbed up, up to the base of the foothills in Boulder. I arrived at Pearl Street about four and had time to absorb the street jugglers, daredevil skateboarders, and chubby men giving out free gay hugs next to silent Christian protestors. Grandparents pushed carriages, longhaired guys wore nothing but ragged shorts, middle class tourists licked ice cream, and all manner of casual strollers looked each other over. The constant din of an accordion player accompanied the passing conversations. The sun shined bright and then disappeared behind ever-dramatic clouds that threatened to deliver rain, and finally did with a thundercloud burst.

I pedaled in the downpour the few blocks to a CU fraternity house near campus, where my warmshowers host Alana is living for the summer. Her sixteen-person coop, Chrysalis, and another coop in town, Masala, have taken over a frat house while their own homes are being renovated. It proved a great place to engage in Boulder’s eclectic yet embracing ways.

July 9, 2015 – Sunny, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 75

Miles to Date: 3,914

States to Date: 18

I woke up at 5:30 a.m. and was out of Laramie by 6:30. Already I can feel the days getting shorter, the morning was just getting underway as i headed south on U.S.287. But for the first time in Wyoming, the skies were clear!

Twenty-six miles in I crossed the state line, and – voila – the entire landscape changed; Wyoming’s stark majesty turned into Colorado’s layers of rocks and hills and mountains.

I turned off the paved highway for a dirt stint to get to Haydn Christenson’s specialty farm north of Fort Collins. On the dirt path of Owl Canyon Trail I met Vicky Mortenson who told me local stories of Overland Stagecoaches and Butch Cassidy.

I had hoped to get to Haydn’s by 1:00 p.m. but the push of the 2500-foot elevation drop from Laramie Fort Collins helped me cover 57 miles by 11:30 a.m. – a record for morning pedaling. Haydn and his girlfriend Lindsey showed ma around his high yield, ten-acre farm, which has some cool implications for tomorrow.

The final twelve miles into Fort Collins were a breeze. I had a good barbeque lunch at Moe’s on College Ave and then met up with Brian Janonis, retired Head of City Utilities. Instead of having a chat, he invited me on a city-sponsored walk through the area north of downtown to discuss prospects for turning the area around the Poudre River into a Innovation and ‘rugged scale’ commercial district. Since I can always use more exercise (!) I might as well add a mile of two of walking to my day. The tour was fascinating. A few projects are 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.

Finally, I wove my way through town and the CSU campus to my wonderful warmshowers host for the evening. Camilla, her boyfriend Bruce, and his two children laid out a great cook-out followed by an ice cream bar. Camilla raises bees and I learned about hive life. I think bees and Chinese are two longstanding cultures that share much in common.

July 9, 2015 – Thunderstorms, 60 degrees

Miles Today: 12

Miles to Date: 3,839

States to Date: 17

I spent the day in Laramie, visiting a slew of interesting people and one spiritual brother.

My warmshowers hosts made an awesome breakfast of eggs and bacon plus pancakes with orange juice and coffee. Fueled for the day, I went to the Night Heron book store to meet my cousin Andy’s Antioch friend, Vicky, a thoughtful and inspiring kindergarten teacher who exemplifies the transplant’s love of Laramie that I find everywhere here.

Afterward I met with Bright Agrotech, a local company with a cool vertical grow agriculture system. We didn’t meet at their headquarters. Rather we met downtown where their system provides truly local herbs for a restaurant – grown on the other side of the wall from where they’re served. Beside offering quick growing local food, Bright Agrotech is superfast with their media; our video interview is already up on YouTube.

Then I was off to Crossfit 7720 to learn about this cutting edge fitness regimen. Why 7720? Because Laramie is 7220 feet above sea level. They invited me for a workout, which I did.

Whoa, it’s a touch workout, especially at this altitude.

During a break from heavy thunderstorms I set out alone to fulfill the primary reason I came to Laramie: to absorb local sites related to Matthew Shepard. I went by the bar where he met his killers, the memorial bench that University of Wyoming placed within the quad, and finally rode five miles outside of town to see where, almost twenty years ago, the young gay man was tied, beaten, and abandoned. Aside from the innocuous bench, Laramie has done everything it can to wipe away this heinous crime. The bar’s had a face lift and fresh title, the streets names around the site have been changed, private property signs abound. Nothing about my 24 hours here gives any clue as to why such a hate crime happened in this seemingly benevolent place. Yet it did. And the horror of it changed things, for me and for many others.

Aside from a few flowers on the bench, there is no proper way to pay tribute to Matthew Shepard, whose senseless death was so abhorrent it triggered an outpouring of human decency. Matthew will never get married in Wyoming, but he is part of the reason that others like him can. I wanted to thank him for what we have all gained through his suffering.

Two deer came by and grazed close to me for several minutes. When they left I took it as my sign to leave as well.

July 8, 2015 – Rain, 60 degrees

Miles Today: 59

Miles to Date: 3,827

States to Date: 17

I was up, coffeed, oatmealed, and packed by six. I stopped at Albertson’s to belly up on yogurt and cinnamon buns before tackling the 50-mile desolate stretch from Cheyenne to Laramie on a featureless grey morning, spitting rain. My warmshowers host Tom warned me – it’s up all the way, until the last nine miles, which are straight down.

Tom is a trustworthy guide. I left Cheyenne (elevation 6,062) and pedaled long stretches of gentle rise. The higher I climbed, the greyer the sky became. The hissing energy of the West flanked my left – crackling power lines and flittering windmills. Vast ranches lay to my right – cows lined tight to the fence with their inscrutable gaze fixed on my tiny form. Yet the immense grey sky dominated them both and the crisp fresh air was infiltrated by musky char from the giant fires in Canada that have laid a haze over the entire continent.

Fifteen miles in I could make out the profile of distant ridges, not so far away to pretend I wouldn’t have to climb them. The rain came stronger as I pedaled higher. The wind was light, and it’s safer to pedal up rain streams than down them. When I reached the ridge crest the rain was steady. It bounced off the road, into my shoes, up and around my fenders. The precipice was a false peak, followed by a dozen more. Short shallows followed by long climbs. Another reprieve; another climb. The rain puttered away to nothing. So did the visibility. I rolled though dense fog, glad to have enough shoulder to veer clear of intermittent vehicles.

The sky lightened up at 36 miles, so I took a break and had a snack. I hadn’t stopped for two minutes when I realized that all around me was dark. Worse was coming from any direction. So, I got back in the saddle and pedaled on, another six miles into the spirit realm of foggy invisibility. Rolling through the atmosphere I could have been on an English heath or Russian steepe or Argentine plateau. There was nothing distinct about my particular location. Yet the ambiguity was gentile and light. I didn’t feel lost or afraid. The solid road and easy wind robbed the rain and fog of danger.

Out of nothing a Stop sign appeared. I was finally at the summit, 8,600 feet, and Interstate 80, though I couldn’t see it and could barely hear it. I eased my way onto the ramp and kept to the shoulder for several miles of 5% grade. With each passing mile the fog lifted, distinct clouds formed, the sides of the adjacent cliffs displayed their rock faces. Within half an hour I dropped to 7100 feet and was in Laramie.

For some reason I hoped that coming off this ethereal climb would make Laramie different. But of course it isn’t. After all, I am in the United States. U.S. 30 has the same Wal-Mart and Applebees as every other commercial strip.

University of Wyoming is larger than I expected; the sandstone buildings are stunning. Downtown is nice, with just enough funk to be interesting. I had the lunch buffet at Grand Pizza, which was quite good. By the time I finished lunch the rain had stopped, so I toured city and campus by bike, took a writing break, and enjoyed a terrific conversation and dinner with Linda and Phil, my warmshowers hosts.

July 7, 2015 – Overcast, 60 degrees

Miles Today: 49

Miles to Date: 3,768

States to Date: 17

The sky dome was complete grey when I left the Pine Bluffs and it stayed that way all day. I was nervous about my route options – they all involved service roads or country roads that I know from experience might be gravel. But not in Wyoming! A nice paved route near, but never on, I-80 all the way to Cheyenne. Having good roads made it easier to counter the strong wind and occasional rain.

There were no breakfast options in Pine Bluffs, but there was a TA Truck Stop 24 miles away and a local one 16 miles on. I arrived at the first when the wind and rain were on an uptick, so I pulled off the bleak landscape and entered what could have been a scene from The Twilight Zone. The room was rich in pungent smells and colorful decorations. Five Indians sat at two separate tables speaking Punjab. I didn’t realize at first that they were the owners and staff; I the only customer. The proprietor greeted me graciously and while his son prepared spicy paan with yogurt and mango chutney for breakfast, he showed off his display of boxing clippings and medals. The gentleman’s English was enthusiastic rather than clear, so I’m not sure exactly what sport he championed and whether he won 400, 800, or 1,000 medals, but I was impressed nonetheless. The food didn’t match what I ordered, but was quite good; the five dollars he charged me had no relationship to any menu price. But we both seemed satisfied with our interchange. When I asked what brought him from Punjab to Wyoming, the man answered, “Lucky!”

I kept on to Cheyenne, which proved to be much more of a city than I expected. The exurbs have ugly, boxy houses just like any metro area and the central city has more one-way streets than anyplace I’ve been since Chicago. The Capital District is large and impressive, the downtown a bit ragged but the Union Depot beautifully restored. The painted Cowboy boots on the street corners are fun. I spent a few hours working in the Public Library, a recent building filled with cycle enthusiasts who wanted to know about my Surly and my journey. At four I met with Jim Magagna of the Wyoming Stock Grower’s Association, who had a unique perspective on tomorrow.

I backtracked to the northeast part of town where my warmshowers host, Tom, made a terrific pork chop dinner and then we hit a local pub for beer. Tom’s an early riser, so it was good by me that we were both in bed just after nine.

July 6, 2015 – Overcast, 65 degrees

Miles Today: 69

Miles to Date: 3,719

States to Date: 17

Today marks the first day of month three of my cycling adventure, and everything was different! I woke up ten hours after I put my head on the pillow, in the exact same position I laid down – now that is sound sleep. I wasn’t ravenous, thanks to yesterday’s hearty china buffet. And the usual clear morning sky had turned to putty.

I pedaled through downtown Scottsbluff. I wasn’t hungry enough for a full breakfast, but I did savor their Deco movie palace. I crossed the swollen and muddy North Platte River to Gering where, hungry or not, I couldn’t resist the bakeries. I ate my first Grebel, a German fried cake with cinnamon sugar and allspice at The Mixing Bowl. Then I discovered the Gering Bakery, which was packed, and so enjoyed a Long John and chocolate milk. Stopping at bakeries may become my avocation.

I was fully fueled for the long climb out of the valley and the cycling was easy: cool weather, no sun, even a tailwind. The gloom obscured famous Chimney Rock, but it didn’t erase the many signs of the Oregon Trail, which passed through this valley. I pondered the people who travelled so long and hard fueled by hope and determination rather than pastry. We humans are an odd lot, part herd animal, part lone wolf, social yet solitary, clinging to our past yet always questing for more. The Oregon Trail is not a mere historical artifact. It’s another piece in the human continuum for expansion; predated by seafarers and followed by our conquest of space. The will to leave all behind and strike out for the new and better is elemental: there are more immigrants/refugees/wanderers/explorers on earth today than at any time in history.

Deep, diffuse thoughts burn cycle time, and I was in Kimball just after noon. I met with John Versay, the General Manager of the Western Nebraska Observer, local newspaper since 1885, to discuss small town news and tomorrow. He recommended the Java Blend for lunch; the stone fired pizza is excellent; worth the side trip from the Oregon Trail and even closer to I-80.

The last twenty miles of my trip was along old US 30, America’s central artery; Interstate 80 was a half-mile to my right, the main line of the Union Pacific 500 feet on my left. Long fright trains went by in each direction every half an hour or so, hauling cars, food, lumber, oil. My road was empty, not a soul lived within miles, and yet all this traffic kept whizzing by.

I got to Pine Bluffs, WY after four and had to stop at the huge Our Lady of Peace Shrine outside of town. I checked into the Gater Motel and enjoyed a quiet night.

July 5, 2015 –Clear, 95 degrees then T-storms

Miles Today: 62

Miles to Date: 3,650

States to Date: 16

I woke early and refreshed despite a night of loud fireworks followed by even louder thunderstorms. I headed west on Nebraska Route 71 while the moon was still showing its face.

I passed my first large fields of wheat, which are quite beautiful in the shimmering morning light.

I kept up a good pace until the road turned south. Fortunately, the wind shifted to a more favorable direction, but unfortunately the “Road Work Next 10 Miles’ sign spelled trouble. I’ve traveled some road construction areas that were newly paved, just not striped. But today I hit ten miles of fresh milled surface. For over an hour, every part of my Surly and me jiggled and jangled. When I finally hit smooth pavement I stopped to check bolts. My bike was sturdy as ever, though it took a while for my head screws to settle.

The rest of the ride into Scottsbluff was easy – the final ten miles a gentle down slope. I got into town to attend at last part of the Sunday service of The Abbey, and then had a long conversation about tomorrow with Father A.J. Severns.

By three the sky was growing dark, so I headed to a China Buffet to sit out the storm. The fiercest storm of my entire journey proved benign in my dry booth surrounded by egg rolls, fried rice, mushrooms with oyster sauce, pork with onions, and, of course, sponge cake rolls with vanilla ice cream. By six, the storm wasn’t quite over, but I let the wind push me eight blocks to my motel and checked in before the predicted hail fell. So far, I have been lucky in ducking nature’s wrath.

July 4, 2015 –Clear, 90 degrees

Miles Today: 43

Miles to Date: 3,588

States to Date: 16

The gods of cycling never let life be easy too long. Today I had 36 miles into the wind and was more exhausted doing that than twice the mileage yesterday. I took a late start and then spun fifteen miles of long but pretty climb up the Pine Ridge. That leveled off into High Plains, though the topography kept climbing and the wind held strong. The only other person working was a sole farmer baling his hay.  The John Deere attachment is like a giant chicken – it collects the hay and then out pops a giant hay egg.

South winds bring moisture, and sure enough by three thunderheads formed. I turned west for the last seven miles, which proved easy riding in the cooling shadow of the massive cloud. I arrived at Hemingford at four, just as the first drops began to fall. Everything was clear by five. Unfortunately my warmshowers host had to work so we didn’t get as much time together as I hoped. Still I was glad for the cozy attic room with a nice fan.