Happy-Ness City

Day 42

Scott City, KS to Ness City, KS

Distance: 56 miles

Touring cyclist count: three (a record, leaving aside Ennis and Mitchell where I met groups)

Friendly dogs on the road count: one (Yo! Brownie)

So the question I posed at the end of yesterday’s blog has been answered in no uncertain terms.

YES, THERE IS A DOG… AND YOU ARE GOING TO MEET HIM ON THE ROAD OUT OF SCOTT CITY.

It's true, there is a DOG

Nick & Brownie... and the Bike

Ha! I had actually heard about Nick and Brownie from Chelsea, but I was honoured to meet them in the flesh. They were originally walking cross country but, on a particularly hot and dry day, Brownie encountered more dry grit and gravel than any self-respecting dog would choose to meet in a lifetime. Nick, keeping a close eye on Brownie’s wellbeing found that one of Brownie’s digits was sore and a pad on his paw was damaged. The solution… get a bike and ride across country, with Brownie in the back!!!

What a great story, and a lovely pair of characters to encounter on a Sunday morning. I won’t say it was my Road to Damascus moment (or some anagram of Damascus that my addled brain will not compute) as that will no doubt come later heading into Damascus, VA! And yet, given last night’s closing words on the blog, it was pretty damn close. Good luck to Nick and Brownie as they make their way to a new life in Denver.

The next on my touring cyclist hit list was Luke, a Brit of all things!!! He has been cycling from New York, joining the TransAm in KY, and is also headed for Denver. His mission…finding a decent pint, like any true Brit would do. He's also a designer by trade, so if you want to see some proper stylish stuff, check out his blog at 

http://pedallingforpints.com

A noble cause!

Third, the artist formally known as Dom, from the home of Prince himself, Minneapolis. Cycled from MN to KY and then joined the trail, he is headed for…wait for it…no, really, wait for it… Denver!  And then Portland. Possibly via a flight to California and then the Pacific Coast. I say “Do it Dom – Fly West Brave Young Cycling Man-  to San Fran and head North from there…" He's at:

http://dom.bike

With such a simple domain name I suggested Dom might be in IT, but he tells me he's a mathematician. I guess I can't get it right every time when it's a numbers game...

OK, I can’t say much else about the ride. The scenery was Kansas-esque...

Yes, it's Kansas...what did you expect?

... but it is kinda starting to grow on me, in the way that a bug that has bitten you and lain eggs just under your skin grows on you. Kidding, I am actually loving Kansas, finding the people friendly, the food good.

At least at El Dos De Oros where I am again tonight for my hat trick– turns out they are a micro-chain – "Errrr, yep just one more Margarita then, if you insist".

Apparently, they have a further restaurant in Larned, my stop for tomorrow night. Will I make it four in a row, and what will the physical effects be? Please treat that last question as rhetorical.  

As I thought from the start about KS, it is all about the wind.

Me x 

P.S. Loving the Derrick Motel where I am staying tonight - a complete throw back to the 50s - can't get the hairdryer in the bathroom to work mind you ...

Derrick Motel Bathroom Phones...Foxtrot Oscar?

P.P.S. Somewhere Over the Lame Toe storm tonight as I returned from El Dos de Oros.

Pot of Gold, exit stage right

Beam Me Up...

Day 41

Scott City, KS

Distance: zero (non-cycling day)

Episodes of Criminal Minds watched: 5 (all seen before)

Margarita count: one large, one medium

Not much to report for today. I really did rest.

Although I’m quite fond of this little place, Scott City, I think it is fair to say, does not have many cultural attractions - or at least ones such cafes, coffee bars, bike shops, restaurants, bars and shoe shops that would attract an uncultured person such as myself. 

And so I spent my day in the room, out of the searing heat, resting the legs and planning future parts of the trip... and generally wallowing. Oh, and with the TV on in the background playing a Criminal Minds marathon – there are worse things that Derek Morgan (aka Shemar Moore) to adorn the background of a room.

This evening, I trotted back up the road to the fantastic Mexican and mixed things up big time by ordering shrimp fajitas rather than chicken ones. The waiters recognised me from last night and had the large Margarita racked up before I’d even sat down. I resisted the temptation to have a second large one, but instead succumbed to a “medium” (apparently they don’t have small…hmm).

On my way back, I thought I had better try to get a photo for the blog (since at this rate you’d be getting one of Shemar) – this was the best I could manage.

Back in my room in time to consume my fix of high fructose corn syrup by way of a packet of Skittles, and I’ll be ready to sleep in the shake of Dolly the Sheep’s cloned lamb’s tail.

It’s times like this that I’m glad I’m not an insomniac, dyslexic agnostic. Otherwise I’d be up all night wondering whether there really is a dog.

Back on the road tomorrow.

Me x

Somewhere Over the Lame Toe

Day 40

Eads, CO to Scott City, KS

Distance: 104 miles

Bug count: milli-pedal

Margarita count: two (but size matters)

After the malaise of naval gazing going down yesterday, I took myself to one side and gave myself a piece of my mind. Or something less psychotic than that, but equally as effective.

And so this morning I was up and raring to spring from the traps… after hitting snooze twice.

Spritzing the foxy feet with a fine mist of ironing spray (OK, a thick fog) and slotting in the pristine new insoles purchased in the Eads Treasure Trove, I felt better already. And once my pedicure injury was anointed and wrapped tight with Band-Aid, and the Starsky & Hutch sunburn was liberally slathered with Factor 70, Steed and I were ready to hit the road.

With wheels rolling by a little before 7.30am, it wasn’t too shabby a start, and with virtually no wind, and a flat, smooth road, I was in Sheridan Lake and packing down a warm apple pie and yuk-coffee with powdered creamer before you could say “muchas calorifica”.

And it was as I was heading away from my first morning break that the bugs started in earnest.  I’ve started getting used to the jumping crickets, the magic biting flies that can penetrate through lycra without a second glance and the fat, hairy, slow-moving caterpillars. The meaty locusts still freak me the f**k out but, other than that, I thought I’d cracked it… But no.

Within a mile of my stop, I had a big, fat nasty bug with furry legs stuck in my hair, in a gap in my cycling helmet. Stopping to remove my helmet and flick it out, and then rub my hair manically and scream like a banshee for several seconds, I proceeded to take a photo of the offending beastie (just in case) both face down and (even more gross) belly-up.

It wasn’t long before a second bug made the same error of judgment – this time a couple in a pick-up pulled over to ask if I was OK as I was going through my freak-out routine – I assured them in my best BBC English accent that I was “absolutely fine, but thank you so much for asking” before returning to manic scalp scratching and squealing at full volume.  

And as the “bug-rate” increased, I had to stop singing “Can’t Get You Out of My Head” by Kylie, and hum it instead, for fear of a nasty wingy-thingy flying into my mouth. We won’t talk about the one that got stuck in my sports bra (good story being told down the young bug pub tonight over a bug beer), or the small fly I pulled out of my ear on the end of a cotton bud earlier (TMI).  

Even Steed was not immune, as I flinched from several unwelcome stowaways, clinging onto his forks, and other bits of him with their nasty wiggly legs, until I turned the wheel and forced the wind through the relevant part of the bike, and saw them on their way.

Next, I started to notice huge, black crusty beatles scuttling across the shoulder in front of me, just tempting me to crunch over them with my tyres and make crispy cream of them, which I didn’t want to do, but, really….

Finally, they got their own back when one of the huge trucks on the road was coming the other way, which, each time, would cause a wall of wind to hit me head-on like a slap in the face. But this time a poor unsuspecting bug got caught in the slip-stream, and collided with my left cheekbone at a high rate of knots, giving me the sensation of having been pelted in the face with a stone the size of a small marble.

But really, it was all good fun. And I was soon distracted by the tiny town I passed just a few miles later called, rather appropriately, Towner. I could just imagine the pioneers and they rode through on their wagons naming the various settlements upon which they stumbled.

“OK Bob, I think we’ll call this town…er… (blink)….oh…”

“Gotcha Bill, 'Towner', great name.”

And it wasn’t long after that I reached the Kansas border, after which the bugs were conspicuous by their absence. Well almost. It’s a shame that the same thing could not be said about the wind. After a still morning, the breeze picked up in the afternoon. With fifty miles still to go, and a stupidly strong side-wind, it felt like I was back in Wyoming again, except the terrain was flat, and the road smooth.

Eventually rolling into my hotel a little after 5.30pm (with the time change), I showered up and headed back up the main road to a Mexican restaurant I had passed (and noticed its sign about fantastic Margaritas).

It was no word of a lie and, as I tucked into my first of two goldfish bowl sized pieces of limey, sweet, salty joy, I also devoured a whole chicken fajita dinner (tortillas, rice, refried beans, the works), before necking the second.

I was hoping to be able simply to click my red shoes together to get back to my hotel. But instead, I found myself swaying gently through the darkness. 

Past a beautiful and perfect crescent moon.  

Rest day again tomorrow – much needed after this afternoon’s wind.

Me x

Sign O' the Times

Day 39

Eads, CO

Distance: zero miles (non-cycling day)

Sum spent in pharmacy/drug store: high score… ding, ding, ding

Food Quality: my parents told me if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all (unless it’s really funny)

Some days are just hard. This was one of those down days that you get whether you’re living “normal life” (for want of a better term), or you’re on a bike tour across the US.

Is it because I cycled over 100 miles yesterday and my body is tired? Is it because I ate crap food last night at "Café Rancid"? Is it because I’ve got a gash between my big toe and foot solely through vanity, plus bites all over me, bruises on my legs, and a streak of sunburn down my right arm where I “missed a bit” and that looks like an inverse of the Starsky & Hutch car? Is it because I’ve crossed the half-way point? Is it because I miss my loved ones? Is it the terrain driving me bonkers, or is it just BECAUSE?

Searching for the reason can sometimes be a futile task, and energy can be better spent just living through it and waiting for the next day to be better.

I was tearful soon after waking this morning, and things took a while to improve. I had a nice FaceTime with my Mum and Dad, which cheered me up (thanks guys) and then wandered through the dusty, deserted streets and into the town centre. Where I saw this sign, and had my first proper wry chuckle for the day.

Which ironically, you can't read too well because I screwed up the lighting. 

And then I fell into the local Drug Store, a tiny treasure trove with an amazingly fine selection of items, and had a bonanza time stocking up with a few essentials, and, let’s face it, several non-essentials, such as new insoles for the foxy feet (which I don’t really need yet but wanted to grasp and not let go having found the same ones again); a book (which I opened and of which I read two pages before getting back on the internet); a lime mint moisturizer for my feet (I’m over-compensating now because of the pedicure injury); and a new Burt’s Bees lip balm (I haven’t finished the last one yet, but this one has a girly shimmer in it).

I didn’t find a single café or restaurant open in town, and so I came back to Café Rancid for lunch. I shuddered again as I noticed the sign on the wall saying “We don’t call 911” with the rifle hanging beneath it, and thought better of pointing out that my lemonade tasted like leftover Gatorade that had been festering in my bike bottles for two days. I surreptitiously held my nose as I ate my BLT.

After frittering away the afternoon on nothing in particular -bit of rest-day laundry, natch - I headed out this evening with an evangelical belief in the urban myth there was a better restaurant open in town, but that it was only open Thurs- Sat nights. After walking over a mile along the main road, and running in my flip flops through a section with no shoulder, I finally reached it and found that it does only pizza and sandwiches, no pasta, no side salads, no beer. I got it to take away and flip-flopped back, taking a safer route through the stormy back streets, and hoping to make it to the hotel before the heavens opened.

Now eating said pizza, which actually tastes pretty good, even if it does weigh more than any pizza should reasonably weigh, and drinking a mini-bottle of Sutter Home Pinot Noir from the hotel bar...

and counting my blessings. 

Because I know in my heart of hearts that it is all about enjoying the journey, in life and in cycle touring, whatever the challenges. We can kid ourselves that we will be happy when we... get that job, find that person, lose that weight, get that eye-lift, buy that pair of shoes. But once we get these things, there will always be something else. We will never get "there" because, once we are "there", "there" will be somewhere else. Although I do find the shoes help...

And so I will choose to focus on this sign too, which I snapped on the wall of a restroom in a grocery store in Breckenridge – true!!

Another century ride tomorrow.

Me x  

One Hundred Miles of Solitude (Of Locusts and Other Demons)

Day 38

Pueblo, CO to Eads, CO

Distance: 111 miles

Total miles to date: 2,171 miles

Start time: 6:50 am (earrrrly)

Today was always going to be about the wind.

Battling a headwind across the plains of Eastern Colorado for over a hundred miles would have been a completely different kettle of fish to being pushed along by a stonking tailwind. And so I allowed for the worst while praying to the weather gods for clemency.

And everything went to plan…

Up at the crack, minimal faffing, limited breakfast (i.e. none – still full from last night) and Steed and I were tripping out onto the yawning streets of Pueblo well before 7am.   

Whipping along with almost no wind and an overcast morning, I was out on the freeway and over twenty miles from the city by a little after 8, which was nicely timed to grab a coffee and muffin from a tiny grocery store in a place called Boone run by a nice old guy with a fantastic show moustache!

Back on the “bike train”, I powered through until I spotted an unusual sight by the side of the road. It was Christy and April, who are WALKING across the country from East to West pushing a stroller with their kit in it, because they can! Seems like a good enough reason to me.

While pondering the exercise of these rights and freedoms, I made it through to a small town called Sugar City before giving into the hunger pangs, and was glad I’d waited. The tiny Sugar City Café was cosy, with a small but perfectly formed selection of classic foods. I decided against the daily special of ham, beans and cornbread – a lunch fit for a cowboy – since I feared that the day really might be about the wind – but could see that most of the town seemed to be flooding in for their lunch just as I was leaving. I also got to eat a deliciously succulent and sweet slice of watermelon grown by one of the local guys who had brought it in for the customers to enjoy.

But it was after lunch that it all started to go properly weird. In the time I’d been inside, the clouds had blown away and the sun was beating down. I continued on the same straight road, with flat, sandy, grassy plains for as far as the eye could see, and started to feel strange. Yep, it turns out that being alone for a long period of time in this kind of terrain does send you slightly doo-lall.

Having exhausted all the jokes that I knew and amused myself as much as possible without telling each one to myself more than twice, I decided that I would start singing to myself. And even that was a little bizarre, since my brain seemed to get stuck on a certain verse of a Club Tropicana by Wham that I couldn’t shift, which developed into a form of cruel and unusual punishment.

After starting to suspect that aliens were shining blue laser light at me from a spaceship that had landed in one of the vast fields, and twitching my head around to different angles to test the theory, I decided that it was a reflection from my mirror.

It was just after that I started getting bitten through my shorts by some pesky horse-flies (more flapping and waving of hands).

Next a live snake by the side of the road demanded a sudden swerve of the wheel, and several scarily plump, fleshy locusts flicked up at my legs. Trying also to avoid the fat, bright yellow caterpillars scrunching their way across the road, it seemed like Bear Grylls had been dropping his dinner ingredients along in front of me like a freaky version of a gingerbread trail.

But other than that, to the average bystander, I would have looked like quite a poised and relaxed cyclist… good job there was nobody and nothing around to test the theory.

Eventually rolling into Eads a little after 5pm, I was pretty damn chuffed with my efforts for the day and overjoyed to find that my (rather corporate but VERY comfortable) hotel had a bar in the lobby, so that I could celebrate immediately with a bottle of Coors Light.

Yep, not just completing the 111 miles, but the fact that I am now officially half way through the TransAm Trail – 2,171 miles down, 2,061 miles to go…

Woooohooooo, half way there!

Excellent, a new one for the cycling karaoke. Requests welcome. I’ll be “here” (or rather there on the road) all week.

Me x

Vanity not Fair

Day 37

Pueblo, CO

Distance: zero miles (non-cycling day)

Miles walked: many

Failure of the day: me for not visiting the fair

A short blog tonight since I (a) failed to visit the fair; (b) had a $20 pedicure instead and am now limping from the lady scrubbing at my foot so hard she drew blood (don’t worry Dr King, I have applied a mixture of antibiotic cream and HC cream); (c) have to get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to ride over 100 miles; and (d) am exhausted.

Another typical “rest” day with laundry etc, but also a full check over for Steed at The Great Divide Bike Shop (thanks Janet), where I bumped into Hugh and Chloe who are also cycling Eastbound, and whom I am now linked up with to meet up on future days. I then had coffee with Chelsea, Jerry and Matthew at a hopping little coffee shop called the Daily Grind, and then met Matthew in town for an early pasta dinner before shamelessly ducking out on going to the state fair, or the rodeo, and disappearing back to my B&B for an early night.

In between, I went into a super cool Skateshop called KM, where I thought I might find a replacement for the thin, and now falling apart, Clifford Chance freebie rucksack I have been using as a combination of a laundry container and the bag that I carry around of an evening with my laptop, purse, phone etc in it. 

They didn’t have any on sale but I got chatting to Fred, who not only owns the store, but is a talented film-maker, with a wicked eye for design. Once he understood what it was I was looking for, he plucked a perfectly suited Nike version of what I wanted out of a box and told me I could have it for nothing… thanks Fred! Again, I am blown away by the kindness of the people I am meeting on this trip, and fascinated by their stories.

And talking of stories, I was intrigued to hear today from my friend Cheri that prairie dogs apparently carry the bubonic plague, and are therefore to be avoided at close quarters like, well…. the plague. My screenplay brain is going into raptures as a result as I think of either additions or sequels to yesterday’s award-winning plot. And yes, I know this makes me just a teeny bit weird, but.. hey, who gives a …

Oh, and I also took a few cool photos earlier.

Right, bed now. Foot suitably slathered in gunky ointment. The price of vanity.

Me x

Little Heist on the Prairie

Day 36

Cañon City, CO to Pueblo, CO

Distance: 51 miles

Award-winning movie plots dreamed up: One brilliant one

Just a short hop today to the biggest city for some time on the trip, Pueblo, CO, with over 100,000 residents, hundreds of restaurants, a river walk and a state fair…

When I was a little girl, I loved fairs. My sister was charged with making sure that, if we ever passed one when we were in the car, she would find a spurious sight out of the other window and keep my attention on that side of the road until we were safely past the bright lights, fast rides and the candy floss. I only found this out years later, of course. The same principle could probably still be used on me now in relation to other attractions, like shoe shops etc.

But today, my head was turned by something else. Riding along the country roads to get to the big city, I passed through a town called Florence, home to one of the prisons in the area. Surrounded by open fields, my eyes couldn’t help but rest on the hundreds of prairie dogs scuttling back and forth, ducking into their burrows and then popping up again to have a furtive look around, while they made their little warning squeaks to all their furry friends across the grass.

And before I knew it, I was hatching a movie in my head where the network of tunnels dug by the prairie dogs run under the prison itself. Pablo, the chief of the PD kingdom (Dustin Hoffman), persuades the PD troops to pretend to have explosives strapped to their furry tummies as they position themselves under the prison in order to create a hostage situation to have one of the inmates released.

While we think that Pablo is in league with the bad guys, we find that actually the inmate is wrongly imprisoned and is an environmental campaigner fighting to save the PD kingdom from development and destruction. But we only find this out through the relationship between Pablo and a young, naive PD called Buck (Justin Bieber) and only as Pablo dies tragically while passing on the wisdom to the younger PD. Yes, I think it’s a winner – detour to Hollywood, watch this space...

And all of this was enough to carry me through to Pueblo and to a great little coffee shop in town, where I stopped for a piece of quiche and an iced mocha for a late lunch, while chatting and sharing stories with Chelsea and Jerry who are independently doing the TransAm East to West. We’re planning on meeting up tomorrow and we might even go to the fair!

Tonight, I went for a walk downtown. Strolling along Grand Ave, I was struck by the back-to-back churches of all different religions flanking the street, and wondered if perhaps those coming out of the prison come here to seek salvation. Or not…  

Anyhow, I eventually reached the RiverWalk and, after a quick lap round, I hot-footed it to a great sushi restaurant called Tsunami, where I got chatting to Nate and PJ, who were skillfully making the rolls and other goodies at the sushi bar.  Finishing off my evening with a quick shot of sake at their invitation, and a nice chat with the owner, Richard, I then got a cab (yes… a real cab!!) back to my B&B, where I am now happily chilling and watching a DVD.

Rest day here tomorrow, when Steed will spend some time in the bike shop getting a check over and I’ll see what the fair has to offer! 

Let’s hope there aren’t any errant prairie dogs burrowed under the Waltzers, or popping out of their burrows for a smoke of legal Colorado Cannabis round the back of the ghost train... oh, I can feel a whole new plot taking shape.

Good night.

Me x      

WoooHoooosier

Day 35

Breckenridge, CO to Cañon City, CO

Distance: 96 miles

Highest Point: 11,539 ft (highest point on the TransAm Trail)

Elevation Drop on day: 4,250ft

Hangover severity: mild

Reading last night’s blog this morning, I decided that in future it would be wise to attach a breathalyser to my computer on nights such as yesterday to ensure the writing actually makes sense, rather than consisting of a bunch of disconnected ideas thrown together in a random order… 

But that’s life. I’ll leave it as it is – it can act as a reminder for next time I have a glass of wine too many.

So, I awoke this morning with a sluggish hungover feeling, but nowhere near as bad as I had feared. Packing up and leaving the condo was hard as I felt pretty comfortable there, but eventually Steed and I made it out the door and onto the road.

The day started with a long and fairly steep climb up the Hoosier Pass, the highest point on the TransAm Trail at 11,539ft. With a mix of left-over alcoholic head-spin and the elevation, it was quite a struggle to move my carcass up and around the switchbacks. But eventually I made it to the top, where it was FREEZING!!

After a few photos, I put some extra clothes on to start the descent but, arriving in the small town of Alma, CO just a short while later (the highest town in the USA), I was still chillier than I would like to have been. Even a grilled ham and cheese sandwich and a latte wasn’t enough to warm me up.

Then, just as I was leaving, I heard someone shouting my name, and turned to find Katie and Eric who I chatted to at Relish last night. They’d been out hiking and had climbed this…

Quandary Peak it’s called, and it’s over 14,000 ft – hats off to them.

What a lovely group of people I met last night.

Bidding them a fond farewell and leaving them to their well-earned lattes, I only managed around 5 minutes down the road before I caved.  Delving down to that no man’s land that is the bottom of my panniers, I yanked out not only my trusty Gore WindStopper, but also…. The Smelly Roberts!

Yes, the Smelly Roberts (my full-length leggings) have now made their debut appearance on this trip. It’s a long story as to how they got their name, but it’s not because they are smelly. On the contrary, today they were as fragrant as Jeffrey Archer’s wife on any given court appearance. And, in any event, items of attired that don’t smell good in those panniers get a liberal squirt of the ironing spray sent to me by Valerie – it’s just how I’m rolling these days.

But deciding on what to wear today throughout the ride was as complex a question as Einstein’s Riddle, with as many costume changes as a Madonna concert.

Once I’d completed the initial descent, I started climbing again. My Raisin d’etre for the afternoon was to climb over the top of Currant Creek Pass at 9,504ft (pun intended, no signage so no photo), because obviously climbing one pass of over 11,000 ft is not enough for the day…

After that, I had in my mind what I’d been told at the coffee shop in Alma, when I still had 75 miles to go, “well, it’s down hill all the way with the wind behind you”.  Of course, it has a hint of truth but, as ever, it is not really the whole story. Because as soon as you tell yourself that you can relax, every small intrusion into that feels like an imposition, So, the odd steep spiky climb into head wind that I had to endure seemed like it lasted an eternity. But I got through it.

Arriving at my motel for the night, I showered up and wandered into town to see what was open on a Sunday night (not much) but found a hopping little pizza place to fill a gap for the night.  Sleep now muchly needed…

Me x

Brecken' Mad

Day 34

Breckenridge, CO

Distance: zero (Rest Day)

Vitamins: many colourful ones….

Breckenridge, I’m mad for it!

Had a fantastic "non-cycling" day here in the small ski-town with 129 more restaurants than most of the towns in which I have stopped on my tour. Yep. I think I’m starting to prefer this term to the “rest day” which assumes a level of inactivity which just simply does not happen…

And as if to prove a point, Steed and I both had the full body works today. While I was being pummelled by the expert hands of fantastic masseuse Heather, I was thinking about the clean and rub down I had treated Steed to earlier in the day. Washing and scrubbing every moving and non-moving part, oiling and greasing and generally adoring my partner in this cross-country challenge. But, he’s worth it!!

But there are also times for the amateurs (me) and there are times for people who actually know what they are doing…and today I stopped into Carvers, and met Sean and Dave who helped me kit out Steed and also replenish my dwindling stocks. Oh, and they also kept me happily chatting in the dry, while the rain played out on the streets outside.

Having filled my boots with all the luscious temptations of a proper town bike shop, I was also happy to find that the local sunglass aficionados, Optic Nerve, were selling their cycling shades with photochromatic lenses for $40 instead of the usual $120…. I couldn’t resist.

And then it was the tricky mission of picking a place for dinner from all the fantastic restaurants in 

town.

Heather assured me that “Relish” was the best, and it didn’t disappoint. Look at this… and I gobbled it up!!

Thanks Will, Katie, Eric, Deborah, Joe and Colin for being fantastic company. Colin, thanks for letting me tell my joke about the cricket…!

In any event, in an attempt to invoke TD002, the hangover part of that pledge, I’d like to report that I was tempted by Absinth Bar after Relish closed and I expect a hangover in the morning… well, it is Saturday night… Tony Duff, get your overtime hours booked

Me x

Lanvin & the Chipmunks

Day 33

Kremmling, CO to Breckenridge, CO

Distance: 59 miles

Elevation in Breckenridge: 9,600ft

Punctures: one

Pizza slices: 5

Chipmunks, chipmunks everywhere but ne’er one still for long enough to take a photo… unless you hide, and wait… a long time.

Yes, it was just as I was lurking surreptitiously and snapping photos in the opposite direction to the beautiful view across the reservoir that I was rumbled by a couple of Canadian cyclists, Robin and Jake from Calgary, who approached like Ninjas and took some convincing as to what on earth I was doing…

But after a few minutes of dialogue, we established that they were doing the Great Mountain Divide Route on Mountain Bikes, and I was doing the TransAm, plus (importantly) that I am a shameless fan of the cute little chipper critters. And once all that was sorted, we happily cycled along together for a few miles chatting away, until I headed off to try to make the most of the dry spell (it was forecast to rain all day and had done so all night).

Riding directly into the rain (clever, Kat), I decided to stop for lunch in a town called Silverthorne, replete with coffee shops and also various designer and sporting outlet stores. Resisting the temptation on this trip, I mentally bookmarked it as a place where my Amex card and I could have a raucous vacation in the future…watch this space.

All was good until I set off again and realized that I had a puncture in my back wheel -  love those puddles full of floating detritus.

The worst time to change a metal-beaded tyre is when it is cold. That is, when it has not been ridden on for a while. And so when I pulled over to deal with the puncture, I could barely budge the tyre off the wheel to get it sorted.

I quickly found the offending wire from a truck radial tyre blow-out, and removed it from outside and in, but the process of position the inner tube and forcing the tyre back over the rims was long and messy.  It must have taken a good thirty minutes of hopeless grappling, grasping it in my hands, between my legs, anything to try to hold it firm, and I emerged looking like I had spent the afternoon crawling through one of the coal trucks I saw yesterday’s freight train pulling along the tracks.

Deciding to put it behind me mentally, and ignoring the ragamuffin look, I pressed on and, after a few rogue turns, located the beautiful bike path that runs all the way from Silverthorne to Breckenridge.

I soon found that Matthew, the Aussie from the bar in Saratoga, who I’d also bumped into at breakfast, had caught me up.  We rode along together for a few minutes until he decided to press on to get himself a coffee, and I pulled over to take a few shots of the flowers and plants that I had been seeing growing beside the road but been unable to stop and photo, but which I could now snap to my heart’s content, rummaging through the undergrowth David Bellamy style.

It was around then that I also realized that Steed had gone all Doctor Doolittle on my ass, and started some unauthorised talking with the animals. Yes, a bit like one of those mocking birds that mimic the noises that they hear, Steed has developed a squeak that sounds just a like a chipmunk. Presumably whispering sweet nothings in some kind of chipmunk patois, it’s no surprise that the chippers have been scampering around like crazy over the last few days. I haven’t found the source of the squeak yet, but I will.  

Continuing up the bike path towards Breckenridge, I was amused by the procession of fast-moving cyclists flying past me in the opposite direction, heading back down after being up in the town to watch the USA Pro Tour finish there earlier today. The contrast with my slow-moving, weighed down, climbing against a head-wind self as stark as can be.

But eventually I made it into town and picked up the key to the great condo that I managed to book for a couple of nights, then met up with Matthew for pizza and pasta in town tonight.

Rest day here for me tomorrow – yay! Including another leg massage to get me ready for Sunday’s ride to over 11,000ft. I wonder if the little critter chippers will be up there too. Steed…. Steed??!

Me x

Skimbleshanks

Day 32

Walden, CO to Kremmling, CO

Distance: 78 miles

Highest point: 9,683ft

New occupation: Trainspotter

…There's a whisper down the line at 11.39

When the Night Mail's ready to depart,

Saying `Skimble where is Skimble has he gone to hunt the thimble?

We must find him or the train can't start’…

T S Eliot (Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats)

Yes, today I am the Railway Kat.

It’s not that the cycling wasn’t great. But the thing I got most excited about was the ridiculously long freight train, honking its horn, and winding its way around the narrow Colorado tracks like a slow moving, docile python.

I pulled over from the road, watching it approach, waved to the driver as he honked his horn, and then filmed as all of its hundreds of containers trundled slowly by. I won’t bore you with the video, but it’s the kind of thing they’d put into reverse on sepia film and project onto a screen in minimalist surroundings in a modern art museum. And there’s something strangely comforting and hypnotic about it. A bit like listening to the Shipping Forecast on Radio 4.

But it was also a fantastic day’s cycling. Heading out from Walden into a sunny but mild morning, I knew that I was going to be riding into wilderness. Instead of taking the straight shot road that gets you to Kremmling in 60 miles, the ACA maps designate the longer 80-mile route through a couple of wildlife reserves, and over the 9,683ft Willow Creek Pass.

It was a beautiful ride, away from the traffic.

And if it weren’t for the fact that I was focused on fighting the side wind (sound familiar?) and the uniformly spaced cracks in the road that juddered the whole bike every time I went over them, I would surely have been stopping to do a bit of serious “twitching” myself.

I could already see a number of different small birds fluttering around and landing on the wire fence next to the road, only to take flight again as soon as I would draw level. The some huge birds of prey (Red Kites I think) soaring and hovering in the strong winds, and then swooping down and then suddenly up, like they were on a roller-coaster ride.    

It wasn’t until around 60 miles into the ride that I hit any civilization, the small town of Hot Sulphur Springs (does what it says on the tin). I celebrated by stopping at a road-side shack to get a hot dog and a coke and douse my eyes (which were stinging for some reason) with cold water in their rest room.

And I didn’t have to wait long after that for my own sight for sore eyes... 

Rolling into Kremmling, lovely Marianne from my hotel pointed me in the direction of the town’s bike shop, Motion Sports, where the owner John was kind enough to lend me a floor pump to blow some air into poor Steed’s tyres for the first time since West Yellowstone…  Given that I also gave his chain a clean and grease, and de-gunked him this morning, he is happily purring like a kitten.

Which makes two of us.

Me x