Some days… pretty much all days… we have the following conversation:
Sue: Where did we wake up yesterday?
Bill: At the [X] campground.
Sue: Was that the one with [distinguishing physical feature, memorable human, anecdotal shorthand such as “the hike that’s better than Mt Fuji”]?
Bill: yup
Sue: Aw!!! Remember that time we were camping and the bearded tattooed Tombstone reenacter campground host told us the hike was better than Mt Fuji?
Bill: yup
Sue: Doesn’t that seem like a year ago?
Bill: yup
Sue: But it was just yesterday.
Bill: yup
I love these conversations, one-sided as they are. Travel is like summer camp, especially when every day is a one-way journey through new landscapes propelled by your own power. Time slows down. I inevitably question the value in this — is this an escape from real life, an exercise in self indulgence and privilege? Or is THIS real life, out in nature, enjoying good health, feeling kindness toward strangers, experiencing every moment? Ask most (western, privileged) people about their retirement wish list and “travel” is right up there, along with enjoying one’s vitality and feeling free from obligations. I feel conflicted about this, as I do about the ultra running.
Bill doesn’t seem to have these existential crises. He does join me in the fantasies about moving to every town we pass, or trading our panniers for an RV when we get too old for bicycle touring. I have lots of photos of him looking at houses for sale.
Our next door neighbors, the camp hosts. Obviously a sign for our future.
Since it was a rainy morning we moved our breakfast operation into the laundry room. Today was the day for our next unpaved mountain pass, Owl Creek. This is the one I read about in a tourist brochure in Silverton. The article said it was one of the most beautiful drives in the country and featured in the original True Grit. Our itinerary had changed dramatically in the past week. The initial plan was to go west almost to Utah, but after hearing repeatedly about the Black Canyon of the Gunnison we decided to reroute ourselves and check that out. This would also take the pressure off our daily mileage in case we wanted to linger somewhere.
We didn’t have a clear idea about this pass from a cyclist’s perspective and it turned out to be really challenging. Some very steep passages, a lot of washboard, and as usual the looming possibility of thunderstorms.
First section was mainly flat, and very cloudy. I got excited about this because RAT (pls refer to Desert RATS blog)
Honoring the angels with a six of Coors.
After the first big climb we reached an intersection and three camouflaged bow hunters emerged from a trail. They’d seen an elk, but “it wasn’t a good one.” Bill thinks this means it wasn’t big enough, and guessed they probably have a quota so they don’t want to waste it on a smaller animal? Who knows, we’re just visitors in this world. I realized upon seeing them that I’d subconsciously been picturing bow hunters all wrong. Last time I saw a bow and arrow was summer camp in the 70’s. We had loosely strung bows and wooden “arrows” strong enough to penetrate a hay bale but not much else. These guys definitely hadn’t gotten their gear from the Camp Reeta rec room. Their stuff looked like it could do some damage.
I sat for a while as Bill examined a sign with trail maps and park regulations. I was not feeling confident about finishing this pass. I’d already been walking some sections and we had a long way to go. A deep dive into despair, seductive as it was, would have made things worse so I just sat and sighed and stared, wondering how often pickup trucks with room for a bike came up this road.
From the rolling hills portion of our ride. We’re heading up toward those big grey rocks in the distance.
What the?? We’ve been pedaling a couple hours and that chimney rock thing is further away. Someone stopped Bill and asked him where the True Grit sites were, but he had no idea. I’d think those things would be well marked.
We saw a million billion aspens on this trip but for some reason both Bill and I photographed this particular strand. Now that I’ve googled True Grit I see pics of John Wayne among aspens. I’m thinking 50th from the left looks familiar from the movie.
Oh I am so close to the top! Chimney Rock looks like an castle under threatening sky in an old timey horror movie. Shortly after we summited we started hearing a lot of scary thunder but again we were lucky. I was glad not to be drenched but still sad because it was impossible to capture day on an iPhone on such a cloudy day.
I spent all of today way behind Bill. Being behind always makes the climbs seem harder. One of those self-defeating life things where you’re convinced other people aren’t struggling the way you are, that you might not get through this. I tried my self-help go-tos (don’t miss out on that beautiful tree right there, this is the only time in your life you’re going to see it) and when I reached him at the aspen photo op I asked if he found today difficult. He did. I asked what his interior world does on these rides. He said his go-to is that nothing lasts forever, and this won’t either.
So straightforward. My self-talk is much more complicated, wandering off into tangents about music, teaching, cognitive psychobabble, regrets from past relationships, movies, travel, performances… no wonder I’m exhausted.
Leaned the phone against a rock in the middle of the road for this one. We saw almost no traffic so while it would have been difficult to get a ride to the top, I didn’t have to worry about my phone getting run over.
The descent too had steep rocky sections but nothing that made me fear losing control, and we had a final few miles on rolling terrain before we reached the campground.
Gonna turn left there, and there should be a reservoir, followed by camping.
As we neared the campgrounds we started seeing trailheads — this seems to be a popular recreation area. This kind of thing always sets me off into an annoying game of second-guessing my choices… like, maybe if we didn’t spend all day BIKING we’d have more time to hike. Of course on backpack trips I regret the fact that we are spending all our time in wilderness and not passing through small communities, seeing how the locals live and visiting their microbreweries. Again Bill doesn’t share my neurosis but one thing we can agree upon is that we don’t want to spend all day in a car.
In stark contrast to our experience the last couple days, the campground was nearly empty. We had our pick of sites and chose one with a view across the valley. As I was setting up my hammock I noticed something black moving in the trees. Thinking “bear!” I ran to get my phone for a photo…
Is that a bear?
It was not a bear.
Wildlife identification complete, time for hammock. Bill is making dinner and building a fire.
Turned out there were a LOT of cows, and there were openings in that cute wooden fence so they wandered right through the campground. When the hosts came by later to collect the fee and deliver us some firewood they asked how we were enjoying the livestock. Evidently these cows belong to an 99 year old farmer who somehow still manages to ride his horse around tending to them. There was some anecdote I overheard (from my hammock) about his telling his help “if I have a heart attack and fall off the horse, just push me to the side.” I am one hundred percent sure he looks like the Catheter Cowboy.
As I was lying in my hammock anticipating day two of camp food with water chaser I found myself deeply wishing we were near a brewery. But then I remembered that if we were in a cute little town with a brewery, I wouldn't be lying here in my hammock, staring at quaking aspens, listening to a fire crackling. Soon the tent and hammock will be in a closet, and that’s sad because I love them so. Sweet sweet present moment, this is awesome being here. Still I couldn’t shake the craving for salty snacks and made a mental note to stock up at the next grocery stop.
I’ll just hide here behind this tree.