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Sunday, May 19 - Heber City to Duchesne, UT STATS: 68.9 miles; 9:00 - 4:30. Today the wind didn't cooperate. Gusts to 30 mph tried to push me from the road, or blasted me head-on as I climbed another in a series of hills. The day began with a scenic two-hour, sixteen-mile climb to Daniel's Pass. After a lunch break, the
rogue winds slowed me as I inched along Strawberry Reservoir, surrounded by low hills mostly barren of
trees. After 3 1/2 hours of biking, I'd covered under half the day's miles, and worried about exceeding my
six-hour guideline for time in the saddle. Thankfully I then started losing elevation, and my speed
ncreased to 'normal' levels. I got my first views of the landscape I will spend several days crossing,
views that could have been lifted from a John Wayne movie: red-dirt buttes, rocky canyons, miles of
scrubby brush. STATS: 63.5 miles; 10:30 - 3:40. FIRST SIGHTINGS: a road sign: "Roosevelt 5 mi.; Vernal 35; Denver 367". In Vernal, I also saw my first
Denver Post vending machines. SMALL TOWN SIGNS: a cute business name in Vernal: 'Shivers and Jitters' for an espresso and shaved ice
stand. The day started with an assembly at Duchesne High School. This time, the students filled an auditorium,
and I stood on stage with a microphone and a projector screen. The students asked many interesting
questions, some thoughful ("What inspired you to do this?"), some curious ("How old are you? What do you
do for work?"), and some off-the-wall ("Did you ever try on any of the clothes you found?"). I think I may
have really reached a few of the young adults. At least one boy came into the office several times before
I talked, asking me about my journey. I finished the day chatting with another bike tourist. As I wheeled around town checking out businesses,
I noticed a cyclist more heavily loaded than myself headed for the library to check his email. He crossed
the 3000-mile mark today, having started near Palm Springs on March 30. His travels had taken him through
several national parks in Arizona and Utah, on his way to Montana. We shared stories of the road and the
wonderful people we've both met. STATS: 37.1 miles; 1:00 - 4:00. ANEMOPHOBIA (uh - nee - moe - foe - bee - uh) noun - intense, unreasoned fear of wind. Symptoms may
include rapid pulse and difficulty breathing when blown upon. This was no weather for anyone suffering -- even slightly, like me -- from anemophobia. Leaving Vernal,
gusts straight into my face threatened to stop me cold. Up one hill, winds literally pushed me ahead,
lifting me up the slope. Many times gusts caught me from a rear angle, lifting my sunglasses off my face.
Luckily, I had the fewest miles to my destination of any day this trip. Vernal Middle School was my base for the morning, talking to four classes of enthusiastic students (and
faculty). The staff that had scheduled me surprised me with a 'thank you' ceremony, handing me a card and
a torch medal. Before I left, I had lunch in the school cafeteria - something I hadn't done since the
walk. STATS: 89.2 miles; 9:40 - 4:00. I joined the students at Dinosaur School for breakfast: graham crackers, a bowl of Trix and milk, and
orange juice. After finishing, as I waited for the others, one youngster approached me. Without a word, he
moved my arm so he could lean over and give me a big hug. Then, while the other kids rose to be led to
class, he took my hand and said, "C'mon. Let's get in line." For bicycling, the weather cooperated. Alternating clouds and sunshine kept the day cool, and steady
winds (less violent than the day before) from behind gave my speed a big boost. (My luck has been
incredible - on the three days I've faced the longest miles, tail winds have let me log three of my four
highest-speed days.) I cruised 87 miles in a hair over five hours of biking, through remote terrain (only
one town) with majestic scenery - rolling hills, red cliffs, dry canyons. And mega-hills, up, down, up,
down. On the first steep downhill, my speedometer hit 43.9 mph - the fastest I've ever cruised on a bike.
After two more hills breaking 40 mph, I let it rip down one final hill into Maybell. I had a white-knuckle
grip on my handlebars, too petrified to look at anything but the road whipping by. At the bottom I checked
my maximum speed - 46.6 mph! STATS: 41.5 miles; 8:30 - 12:20. No school talk this morning, as my tentative appearance got cancelled at the last minute. Thus, I got a
very early start on a very short day. The route was flat and scenic, up an irrigated valley broken by a few
narrow, forested canyons. Luckily the going was easy, since I quickly noticed that the rough roads (and my
thirty-pound load of gear) had shredded my rear tire, and I prayed that the day's rid wouldn't cut through
the little remaining tread. I did reach Steamboat with no problem, and replaced the tire at Sore Saddle
Cyclery, where one of my cousin works. Looming ahead of me now are the high peaks of the Rockies, which I must start crossing tomorrow - and a
cold front threatening snow is already dropping the temperatures ... As the trip winds down, a poem keeps popping into my mind. I received it via email a few days before I
started. I don't know the author, but I can identify with the sentiments: STATS: 58.2 miles; 10:00 - 3:50. Nothing like packing a whole trip's worth of thrills, spills, and chills into one day... My last school talk served as a fitting finale. First, my cousin's son was in the grade I talked to, so
the teacher let him give me an introduction. When I finished the presentation, my school host Marty O'Leary
stepped up and asked the children what they could do to help fight the litter problem. One of the more common questions kids ask is, "Do you ever crash the bike?" Now I can answer, "Yes." I
started the day's ride on the Yampa River Trail through town, one of my favorites. Three miles into it, I
came up on a woman pusing a jogging stroller, with her dog just off the trail. I slowed down and got her
attention, and then SLOWLY passed her, maneuvering between her and the dog. At the last instant, the
labrador burst onto the trail. My wheel hit it (or was it vice-versa?), dumping me to the ground. The jogger apologized profusely, but the slow speed contributed to a gentle fall, and I wasn't even
shaken up. By the time I stood and brushed myself off, a friend of hers (also pushing a stroller) happened
on the scene, and I chatted with them as I straightened and tightened my handlebars. Then it was on to THE
PASS. Rabbit Ears Pass, that is. 7.3 steep, twisting miles, lowest gear most of the way as I climbed up to and
past trees wearing a new coat of white. Cold temps kept me from overheating, and scenic vistas distracted
me from the grind. After hitting the west summit, the terrain rolled with two more short uphills before
finally heading down. After cresting the east summit, I sat luxuriating in the day's last sunshine, eating
a sandwich and waving at the cars and trucks passing by. "You know," I tol myself, "life just doesn't get
any better than this." However, it can get a lot worse. Following a too-short downhill to highway 14, I turned north toward
Walden and promptly biked into a nasty snowstorm. Wind drove the frozen pellets horizontally across the
road, and snow quickly stuck to my gloves. With little traffic to flag down and no homes for refuge, I
debated whether to surrender to the elements - and whether I could. Just before my concern turned to panic
(four downhill miles later), I biked out of the storm and relaxed a bit. I remained wary, though, with
storm clouds surrounding me and rain or snow coming down far ahead of me - with thirty miles between me
and town. A few miles later I weathered another snow fall, but when the third one attacked accompanied by thunder,
and visibility dropped dangerously low, I decided not to compromise my safety or my health. Instead, I
tried hitchbiking. As I continued pedalling, I listened for cars coming up behind me and stuck my thumb
out. (Considering I could avaerage a mile pedalling between each knot of traffic, it kept me moving - and
warm - in case no one stopped.) It took another six miles, but finally six miles outside of town a
short-haul trucker stopped. After loading my bike on his flat bed, he surprised me by saying, "I suppose I
should have stopped three miles back and picked up that other biker, but he didn't have his thumb out."
Fancy that - I'm not the only crazy one! In Walden I faced and entirely different problem - to start the holiday weekend, all the motels sported
'No Vacancy' signs. Spying the Chamber of Commerce offices, I stopped and asked for suggestions. The woman
inside made a few calls, then stepped outside and pointed to a house across the street. "That's a private
home. Dustin Rabas will take care of you." I rolled over and knocked on the door, and a college-aged Dustin
answered. "You can take any room you want, upstairs or down." As far as price - "I'm not sure. My mom takes
care of that, and she's in Kansas until Tuesday. We'll work something out." I settled in, freshening (and warming) up with a hot shower. After chatting with Dustin for a while, he
announced, "I'm going to drive up to Laramie [WY]. I may see you later tonight. Here's a spare key - lock
up if you go out." Now I'm home alone, hoping that tomorrow's weather improves for the trip's last
challenge - Cameron Pass and the Continental Divide. ADDENDUM: I found a great local landmark for dinner. Friday night was Catfish Night - a heaping platter
of fried catfish, french fries, and hush puppies, along with a soup and salad bar. For dessert, I overheard
the waitress telling three women behind me of their homemade pies - the standard apple, peach, cherry,
blueberry, and chocolate, and a house specialty - banana split pie. "Everything you'd find in a banana
split - inclduing nuts, strawberries, and chocolate sauce - with Cool Whip instead of ice cream." It held
too many calories for them, but they perked up when I ordered one a few minutes later. They peered over my
shoulder as the waitress brought it out, and solicitously asked how it was. STATS: 12.9 miles; 9:30 - 11:20. One final challenge for the trip - crossing the Continental Divide at Cameron Pass. I looked forward to
working my legs on one more climb, and even more to sixty downhill miles, dropping 5300 feet into Fort
Collins. However, the bicycling gods that had smiled on my trip for three weeks had other ideas. I biked out of Walden more slowly than expected, proceeding up a slight grade. An hour out I noticed
the rear wheel 'thumping', indicating a problem. I stopped to check the tire, which looked fine. Two miles
later the thumping worsened, and I stopped again to discover a slow leak. Pumping it up did not help, so I
removed the panniers (saddlebags), took off the wheel, and grabbed the spare tubes I had bought 1000 miles
ago in Pendleton OR. It took only a few seconds to discover the tubes were for a wide mountain bike tire, not for a skinny
road bike tire. Cursing the fool who sold me the wrong size tubes, I grabbed my original tube, hoping to
patch it. No chance of that - the stem had separated from the tube. Stranded! Knowing that Walden had no
bike shop, I had only one option left - stick my thumb out for a ride over the pass and into Fort Collins,
ninety miles away. It took only ten minutes to catch my ride, in the back of a pickup with camper shell, keeping an Irish
Setter named Hogan company. When we finally reached town, I chatted with Eric Thayer and his wife and son
as we unloaded my gear. When I said that I had just replaced the rear tire in Steamboat, I mentioned that
my cousin Andy worked at the bike shop. "You're kidding!" Eric said. "We're good friends with Andy and
Sandra. Our son ski races with their son Graham. In fact, Andy gave us a season ski pass to Crested Butte
a few years ago, when he was recovering from cancer and couldn't use it. I guess that's just 'Pay It
Forward' in action!" That, and another example of how small a world we really live in! STATS: 37.2 miles; 2:20 - 5:30. By the time I bought two new tubes and had lunch, it was well into the afternoon. Ahead, only fifty
miles separated me from home. My original plans called to do that on Sunday, but with the beautiful day and
easy terrain, I knew I could finish it today. With visions of sleeping in my own bed driving me forward, I
set out. Four miles later, not yet out of Ft Collins city limits, I sat by the roadside again, once more removing
my panniers and changing the rear tire, which had gone flat. Cheap blankety-blank product! With fingers
crossed I set out on my last tube. I let out a big sigh as I passed another five miles, then ten. I cruised
through the countryside, slowing down for city traffic lights as I passed through Loveland, Berthoud, and
Longmont. At 5:00, after leaving Longmont, I called Sue to let her know I'd be home in just over an hour.
Then it was back on the bike, rolling down the same road I'd walked on my mini-walk four years earlier. My triumphant return was just not fated. Twenty minutes later I felt the rear wheel thump. I hopped off
and quickly pumped it up, hoping the 'self-healing' tube would fix itself. That got me three more miles
before it went totally flat, halfway between Longmont and Lafayette. Sometimes you're ready for a trip to be over. I wasn't, but it sure seemed that the fates were, so I
bowed to the inevitable and had Sue come pick me up. It was nice to finally be home! The ending wasn't what
I anticipated, but it didn't detract from the wonderful trip that I'd had. Now it's time to catch up on
the 'real world'... The poem I quoted from a few days earlier deserves another couple of verses. I still do not know the
identity of the original author, but I claim credit for the following stanzas: | |