Date - August 17th 2020

Current Location - Ridgeway, CO

Miles Traveled - 2657.5

This leg of our journey has been one of the most beautiful weeks of my life. We found ourselves in the presence of many like-minded folks in Colorado. Every car on the road is ready for an adventure, with RVs towed behind, four-wheelers in the pickup bed, or rafts, kayaks, and mountain bikes strapped to the roof. All eager to enjoy the nature we find ourselves in.

Our aggressive pace through Kansas was quickly derailed as we hit the Rocky Mountains. 100 mile days turned to 20 miles as we battled massive elevation gains and low oxygen environments. I’m sure we physically could have made more miles each day, but we made the intentional decision to take our time, stop for every photo, and savor the beautiful mountain experience.

“Mountain Mornings,” coined by Jason, were the theme of the section. The high elevation gave way to cool daytime temps, which totally eliminated the need to wake up in the wee hours of the morning to beat the heat. With our tents set up in the most scenic locations possible, we wake up to incredible views and take our time enjoying hot coffee and oatmeal in the comfort of our sleeping bags.

The experience of traversing the Rocky Mountains is far different from the Appalachians. In the east, there are hundreds of miles of rolling hills. Once you get to the bottom of one, you go up the next, and the cycle repeats. Here in the Rockies, it is a series of ridges, with beautiful valleys in between to break up the climbs. We typically spend a day ascending through a mountain pass, followed by a couple of days winding through a valley passing quaint little towns with the next ridge looming in the distance.

White Waters

For a portion of our trip down Route 50, we had the pleasant company of the Arkansas River. The road was bounded by steep bluffs to the left, and the sound of running water to the right as we curved through the mountainous terrain. It didn’t take long for one of us to pitch the idea of white water rafting, and we started searching for a rafting company along our route. Out of Salida CO, we found Independence White Water and booked our rafting experience for the next day.

I rolled up to the small 2 car garage, borderline plane hanger, off of a gravel road. The vibrant rafts were a clear sign that I was in the right place. There aren’t many people here, but I can already tell the distinct difference between the customers and raft guides. Mostly in khaki, and even more tan from dust, it seems their time traversing this river has taken its effect. While reflecting upon the physical manifestation of time spent on the river, I became aware of my own situation, covered in dust and dirt, back slightly hunched from excessive cycling, reflecting the miles I had traveled. Needless to say, we hit it off immediately.

One of the raft guides approached me with the age-old question, “Maaaannn looks like you’re going a long way, where did you come from?” I straightened my back with some pride, “Philadelphia.” “Dude no way, where do you sleep? How many days? I could never make it.” It was a moment of disbelief, the most adventurous looking dusty dude with dreads was commending us for our journey. He pointed down a gravel road, “go down there to the right, there’s food at the bar, tell them it’s on Ellis. They’ve got good brisket.”

With just 30 minutes before our trip down Brown’s Canyon, I ran down to secure the brisket, quickly ate, then hopped in the raft. Right away our guide Mike knew he could give us the “real ride” talking about the actuality of working on the river, not putting on a show. Since leaving on this trip, it has become clear to all of us that the conventional 9-5 gig left us bored and uninspired. Somehow, some way, we want to be able to live a life outside, on a river, mountain, or anywhere in between. Mike was another example of what this lifestyle could look like.

We got into the conversation of biking, which led to an offer to pitch the tents at the rafting facility, where all the guides hang out. The opportunity to kick it all night with the river people is one of those unexpected things that bike touring, and our adventurous spirit, provided. We got a great insight into the lifestyle, some hilarious stories, and an awesome campsite right along the Arkansas River. Thanks, Mike!

Monarch Pass

Boy, do I love it when a plan comes together. Once we discovered that Monarch was the peak of our journey, we were set on camping at the top. Imagine going to bed as the sun sets, curled up in a sleeping bag on top of the Rockies, watching the stars gradually spin as you lay in a tent, eyes slowly closing. Sun hits your tent and your eyes crack open to the same glorious mountain range, illuminated from the east with the rising sun.

This was a vision we were all destined to manifest. After a monster climb to the top, we started looking for options. “Well, we are at the top of the pass, but camping by this road would be no fun.” To the left of the pass, there is a gift shop, and a series of gondola supports leading to the real summit. We have to get up there. With the lift closed for COVID, the only option was to haul the bikes up a steep mile-long gravel trail.

Me, Chris, biking up to the gift shop on Monarch Pass. Shot by John.

With no hesitation, we started our hike. The wind gradually gusted harder the more we climbed, coming to a climax on the summit. While it was fun to experience, this wind would send you flying clean off the mountain in the big sail of a tent. Not an option. There were some structures to take shelter behind, but the vision did not include anything but mountains and trees in sight. Looking down, I saw a speck of white on the trail we came from. “Is that? Is that Jake?” I said as I broke out the telephoto 150-600mm lens I picked up at Pueblo. Zooming all the way in, I could just barely make out a tent, and our fellow bicyclist.

John at the peak of Monarch Pass. Don’t be fooled by the stillness. it was windy!

Me, Chris, on top of the inactive gondola support. Shot by John.

We headed back down from the summit, and found the lone tent beside an incredible view. An adjacent ridge line broke up the heavy wind from the summit, making it an ideal spot to set up. “Pretty nice spot eh?” Said Jake. Eventually Jason made it up the hike as well, and the first part of our vision was accomplished. Rocky Mountain High played softly in the background of the scene. Four friends, four tents, the mountains and a sunset. As darkness fills the sky, there is always that moment, “duuuude look at the stars!”

We all look up, debating whether we are seeing the faint cloud of the Milky Way, or an actual cloud. To settle the dispute, I set up my camera propped on a shoe to take a 30 second long exposure. I reviewed the image, “ohh yeah it’s definitely the Galaxy we are seeing, check this out!” Once they knew it was possible to capture the night sky, the 3 guys started jumping around yelling “space pics, space pics, space pics!”

After the photo shoot we sat under the stars for what felt like hours, carefully watching for meteors burning up in the atmosphere. I woke up to orange light illuminating my tent. Its still freezing, so I Stayed cuddled up in my sleeping bag and started to prepare oatmeal to complete my mountain morning experience. If you want to see more from this morning, check out the IG live from the top.

Sprinklers

We learned from the traveler in the last section, that no grass is naturally green in the west. Green grass means one thing. Sprinklers. He told us a story of waking up soaked one night, and gave a stern warning to stay away from pitching the tents in green grass. In normal life, I wouldn’t put a second thought into sprinklers, but with our current lifestyle, they have become our greatest enemy.

Unfortunately, we are the types that enjoy learning from our own mistakes. We found a beautiful lush baseball field in Gunnison CO, and pitched our four tents for the night. I had a strong feeling that we would be getting wet tonight, but I didn’t see the sprinkler heads in the grass. Maybe they water this grass with a hose? Even if there are sprinklers, it will just be like light rain. I draped the rain fly over my tent, and got to bed. At midnight, that dreaded sound of tens of sprinkler heads working in unison filled the baseball field. This was no light rain, I was getting BLASTED. The sprinkler head was so close that it was shooting under my rain fly. I tried to ignore it, but quickly realized rapid rate of wetness consuming me. I waited for a break in the beating when the sprinkler heads turned to jump out of the tent. I saw Jake running to the exit of the field, tent in hand, dodging fire hose like streams of water. I grabbed my tent and followed through this aquatic war zone to the safety of an asphalt parking lot, far from the watchers of the green grass.

Luckily I escaped before I was totally drenched. I waited half an hour for my sleeping bag and mat to dry, then got back to bed. With night time temps around 45 degrees, it would be impossible to sleep while wet. I’ll never look at sprinklers the same after this experience.

Lost

We hit the most incredible sunset riding into the small town of Cimarron CO after 40 miles on the road. Of course, I had to stop for photos, but there was a dilemma. There is only one store in the town, and it closes at 8pm it was 7:45. The next stop is Montrose, another 20 miles, so we needed to hit this store to restock on water and food. Jason and John rushed to the store, while I took my time capturing the beauty of the valley we rode through. Eventually, after many stops, I saw a store on my left illuminating the darkness. I crossed the road to a gravel path, then set my bike against the rustic wood wall of the shop. The soft sound of a lone guitar performer emanated from behind the store, maybe the other guys are enjoying the music. I walked around back, no sight of the bikes, no sight of the guys, and no phone service to get in contact with them. I saw the flickering of camp fires beside tents and RVs. Well, if I don’t find them, at least I have a campsite. I took one more lap around the building, asking campers and staff if they had seen two guys on bikes. No luck. I gave up on my search and came to terms with camping alone, no cold drinks or hot food from the guys.

Once I had my site, it was quite peaceful. The guitarist was still strumming, and my camp fire was already lit. I was about to crack open my last can of soup, when I heard a voice from the darkness. “Hey there, I have some ramen cooking up if you’re hungry.” The voice got closer, and flickering light from the fire glowed on her face.

She looked around 30, with a tasteful nose ring, and beanie. “I saw you biking down the road when we were driving in. Those guys are crazy! I told my kids, then here you are at the same camp ground as us! Stop over to RV site 6 in half an hour and the ramen will be ready.” With that, she was off again into the darkness.

I set up my tent, then started searching for her RV. The camp sites didn’t seem to be numbered, or maybe I missed it with my narrow beam of light. I walked from RV to RV until there was one with the lights on, and two kids playing. “Are you guys cooking ramen?”

”Yeah! You found us,” said one of the kids. From inside the RV I heard the familiar voice. “Do you like hot sauce? How about a beer?” The answer was yes to both, then the door to the RV swung open. She handed me the hot bowl and cold beer, and gestured to the steps of the RV to take a seat. It was refreshing to find myself in new company, after spending every night with the same 3 dudes for nearly two months. The women’s name is Brit, her husband is a yacht captain, and she kite surfs in Florida. Every summer while the husband is at sea, the family travels around the country.

Meeting generous and kind people like this is such a refreshing experience compared to the negativity propagated on the news, and internet. Although you can have this type of experience on a road trip, It happens much more while biking. Like I have said many times, the packed bike is a great way for someone to start a conversation with you, and you never know where that conversation could lead!

My face was in my second bowl of ramen, when I heard something stirring on the other side of the RV. I looked up. And saw two figures turn the corner. They walked closer. Is that… John? They were now standing clearly in the light of the RV, it is John! The man he was with had baggy cargo pants and a utility fanny pack. “Dude we were looking everywhere for you,” said John. “This is Dylan, he is from the store up the street, and offered to drive me back here to look for you.”

I was shocked that they were able to find me at this obscure RV camp site! Props to John for his search and rescue skills. Brit laughed at the situation she found Herself in, then offered the two strangers beers. We spend a moment chatting about John’s assumptions that I had fallen victim to a serial killer, then we all headed back to my camp site, with goodie bags from Brit in hand.

It turned out I stopped at a store that wasn’t on the map. The actual “town” of Cimarron was a couple miles down the road, and the other guys had biked right past this small campground store. Without service, I had no way of knowing if there was anything past this spot, and I didn’t want to take my chances riding into the night. John and Dylan headed back up the road, and I climbed into my tent for the night.

The next morning, Brit came back down to my camp site, and brought me hot coffee. We chatted for an hour or so about living in Colorado, the state of the world, and plenty more, then she was off. If you would like to check out what her and the kids are up to, their Instagram is @bombs_aweigh.

Building in Salida, CO. Sketched on the IPad with Procreate.

Jason’s Perspective

There we were, about to bomb a 10 mile hill into Cimarron after a long day without services from Gunnison. Chris had the drone out for some beautiful red sun sunset shots. I was to ride down first so I could get to the convenience store before it closed. Luckily, getting there quick wasn’t a problem because it was all downhill. I had no idea exactly where this shop was so on the way down I stopped at this cabin rental place. They had live music playing but a closed shop, so I figured this couldn’t be the place and kept going. Finally, I saw the bright lights of a store in the distance. John and I arrived together and got our Dinty Moore and chocolate milk (a necessity) for ourselves and Chris.

Outside, we start talking to some of the people sitting on the porch. One was the shop owner’s nephew who lived right next door. For reference, the post office and convenience shop were the only 2 buildings here and his house was attached to the post. Thirty minutes go by, we start to get worried about Chris because no way it takes more than 15 minutes from top to bottom of this hill. Forty minutes go by, an hour goes by. Chris isn’t answering his phone but it is ringing so we know it’s on. Luckily, the guy who lives here offered to drive up and look for him. John went with him and I watched the bikes. I swear I was sitting there for an hour thinking up the worst scenarios. “Did Chris fall off a cliff?” “Did Chris get hit by a car?” I felt helpless sitting there, alone, in the middle of nowhere. Then, finally after an hour I see a car pull into the parking lot and hear John laughing through the window.

“Dude is Chris okay?” “He’s drinking f***ing champagne and eating steak with this beautiful woman around a campfire (Brit wanted to play a joke on them, no steaks unfortunately but they bought it!) He’s more than fine.” John told me Chris got offered a warm shower, food, and a place to sleep when he stopped at the cabin place. Looks like we won’t be seeing Chris tonight.

By the way, Jake’s ahead of us in Montrose at this time so it was just John and I tonight. The guy who lives next door, Dylan, brought out his dog and some nice, cold, Dr Peppers. We shared stories about our ride and he told us a little about himself. He’s a really cool dude who bow hunts, makes art, works as a digital artist, and knows Joe Rogan! As we asked him questions about his bow hunting and Joe Rogan, he offered to give us a venison steak and half a deer heart. Of course we said yes, how often do you get to eat Colorado bow hunted deer?

We headed to sleep. Dylan to his house and John and I to the woods to set up our tents. For the next hour, all you hear from John and I’s tents were how excited we were to watch our downloaded Netflix shows and “bow hunted venison dude hell yeah.” The next morning, we woke up, got all packed up and waited for Chris. He showed up around 10, but it was getting hot so we stayed for a bit. Dylan brought out the venison and heart and we waited for it to defrost. Every hour or so, he would walk by and say “still here?” As with the theme of us staying well past our welcome.

Eventually he headed out for some work in Montrose and told us we could cook the meat on his grill. We did and damn was it delicious. We met some really eccentric people while squatting at this oasis in the middle of Rt 50. You find gems in some of the least expected places.

Section 7 - Colorado