not what i envisioned. not a triumphant arrival at antelope wells and not the celebratory, ticker tape return to minnesota.
i was so close.
the sudden twist from vision and drive to grief and disbelief has been digested. i pedaled nearly 2,300 miles and climbed over 153,000 feet along the spine of north america.
i rode with and met incredible people along the way. the first adrenaline-charged days morphed into a daily mojo of pedaling until our bodies told us the stop pedaling and it was time to prepare the ramen.
the canadian rockies bookended a green, water-rich trail that tested our early fitness, but also spoiled because it was the verdant landscape where water wasn’t an issue.
montana started hot and hilly and ended the same. grizzlies awaited their opportunities in a soft corner of your consciousness, 24-hours a day.
wyoming contains the great basin and where one existed in the center of an unchanging landscape that lasted for days.
colorado is beautiful and smells like potent weed.
everywhere.
new mexico has a litter problem.
my rear wheel somehow developed 12 cracks without anyone knowing. the mechanic in salida gave my system a clean willy of health. my issue now is with the wheel builder. if only they’d answer their phone.
trail angels changed my trip and perhaps, my life.
i am okay, proud of my effort, proud of challenging my knees in a way that validated my decision to go through two knee replacements when quality of mobility, of life, were in jeopardy.
right now, i am toying with the idea of a return to grants next spring and a final 6-day push to the border. i made it that far.
a friend suggested that maybe the occurrences of my last few days on the trail were a reminder of how lucky i have been. 2300 miles with one broken spoke and no rattlesnake bites.
i don’t believe i tempted fate. i believe i assimilated all the cues i received, be they physical, emotional, environmental, and otherwise and made sound, self-interest decisions.
that process also led to my decision to abandon. to wait a week or more for a new wheel may have been tenable early in the journey, but towards the end, all one wants to do is finish and unwind from the maximum physical effort you have invested in life.
that was there at the end. i was on a schedule to finish at the border on the 27th. that would have meant a final week of over 400 miles, but i was ready for that.
when the trip’s switch was turned off, i was devastated. i had challenged myself and was about to succeed. i deviated from the divide only twice in the 2300 miles, once to avoid 15 miles of head winds and once to avoid a nasty section of chunk, after my threshold of chunk had been exceeded on the two previous days.
i am okay.
i accept i didn’t finish but also can never have my effort removed. i will take it to my urn.
thanks to scott, allen, susan, sam and others who shared the pavement, sand, mud, doll head cobble, and chunk with me.
and…a final trail angel. ann marie, sister of dirt candy’s mica, gave me a ride from grants to albuquerque on short notice. she drove with a purpose, most likely to get me and my worn, unwashed outfit out of her car. thank you ann.
i am home now. soon, the migration will begin and my favorite northern minnesota season will send out it’s not-so-subtle hints that winter is coming. accipiters will tail-chase bluejays in my yard; a noisy and fleeting pursuit that occasionally will leave piles of blue jay plumage as signs of a predator/prey success. sometime, in late september or early october, i will band my 8,000th saw-whet, all in my back yard.
lotta owls, lotta miles, lotta elevation, lotta angels, lotta life.
i am certain it would surprise scott and others whom i have ridden with on the divide, that i was on my bike yesterday (8/22) by 6:30. my goal was to make it to grants, nm, by the end of the day, before engaging with the final 6-day push to antelope wells.
the day before, i had ridden from abiquiu to about 25-miles south of cuba, in a big, 85-mile day with around 5,800 feet of climbing. the last 2 hours were on pavement, but into the teeth of a firm southeast wind whose only function appeared to: 1) slow me down; and 2) stir up the voluminous roadside litter, which is truly an ethical aesthetic stain on the citizens of new mexico.
when i look back, yesterday will be the day of the trip i will remember most because of its drama and emotions and of course, the omnipresence of trail angels, some of whom, know each other.
perhaps angel collusion?
i had camped in a rogue site on blm land. it was sheltered by junipers and though the previous day had been stifling, sunset brought a drop in temperatures that induced deep sleep almost immediately.
slept like a baby.
with daylight i got up, packed my tent, ate a remnant breakfast burrito from bode’s in abiquiu, and hit the gravel/sand/bedrock/manure-covered roadway that would define my day’s path.
one thing that weighed on me was water. i had chosen this route, rather than the more expeditious, paved alternate because, despite grousing about chunk and washboarding and other roadway maladies, the more challenging path was more beautiful, with a traverse through incredible sedimentary landscapes and a transition to high desert, replete with cactus and other flora stars of the western us’s xeric landscapes.
the water concern was notable because the route had water sources identified…at least in an historic context…without revealing if water was currently present. still, i was confident i could replenish along the way, which was assuredly a silly position to take.
i woke up with 3 liters, with an intent to tap the homestake well, 10 miles ahead, which was described as a reliable water source.
in doing so, i was relying on information that may, or may not have been accurate.
bad billy…bad bad billy.
a half hour after departing, i came up to a large pockmark of muddy water across the road. as i approached i chose my line towards the left of the puddle and used my “don’t look at the front wheel” single track skills to moved on a straight path without hitting the rut walls and likely, falling in mud.
curious about the water source, i stopped and walked back towards the water, there, no more than a foot from the tracks i had just made, was a 5’ long rattle snake, apparently nonplussed by my passing, and likely waiting for a morning meal of heteromyidaen stew.
it was an omg moment because i didn’t see the snake on my virgin pass. but quickly realized a bobble or a different line could have been a different story. the only thing working in my favor was the snake’s torpor, but don’t get me wrong, this could have been a fatal mistake on my part.
crotalus atrox waiting for a bikepacker.
for the next hour of pedaling, i was in “what if” mode. i also realized that i had best start paying attention to my ride and what i needed to keep me going, which was water.
as i approached the gps location of the homestake well, it became apparent that it was not adjacent to the trail, but a considerable hike down a poorly defined trail, which immediately placed it into the “i don’t think so” resource category.
the decision to not go to homestake brought a more imminent sense of crisis, because without water, i was in peril.
the next potential water source on the aca app was “ojo caliente”, which i believe translates to “warm cow soup”.
the aca said “unreliable water source” and i don’t know what that means, because when i pedaled up, i saw sunlight shimmering on the pool of water and upon closer approach, realized it was an active spring. there were aquatic insects and the water was cool to the touch.
as i prepared to filter, a couple of cows lumbered down to party, and they started to slurp at the water. i tried to humiliate and chase them away, but like me, the draw of water is very strong in ojo caliente.
i filtered 4 liters of water and told myself “i can make grants now.”
that was very presumptuous of me. the temperature climbed and the path approaching, then down, then up the endless valleys of the new mexican arroyo started to take a toll. the four liters became three, and hydration started to fester again in my brain.
despite an omnipresent sense of crisis (was there really a crisis, or was i being melodramatic? or was entering the desert a different bailiwick than the temperate, water-rich geology of the north? most notably, how endeared and/or conditioned was i to the notion that everything would be okay)?
at about noon, the winds picked up and i settled into a mix of winds both for and against me.
my aca app, with water urgency again on my “urgent” list. suggested a forthcoming “windmill”, identified as a “possible” water source and so, i peaked my attention to the approaching horizon for a windmill.
when finally approached, i saw that the old image of a windmill (wooden blades spinning in my youth) was gone. instead, the “modern” windmill had solar panels and a mechanical pump at the top of the trellised spire. as a real-life off-grider, i found my hopes rise, knowing that this was an active well.
i got to the access and walked towards the well. the tanks were dry and no water flowed from the pipe. the outlet was a slough of dried cattails and sedges.
it may be active, but it had been a while since it brought goodness to the ground.
i immediately entered a “what do i do now?” moment.
i cataloged remaining “water needed” v distance “left to pedal,” and there were a few more “potential” water sources ahead, but i was weary of potential and wanted the assurance that the next source“flows like an alpine stream (albeit, not a stream near summitville, co).
just then, i heard and then saw a truck approach from the west. i waved the single-armed, “bikepacker signal” of silent dispair, and a window streamed down.
i asked if he knew a good water source and said the well wasn’t operating. he replied, “it’ll work if i turn it on…do you need some water?”
his name was leo sandoval, and his family has been on this land for over a century.. the well is located in sandoval county, if that’s necessary for further historical connectivity. we shook hands and he dropped down into the belly of the well. i heard a click and soon, pure, cold water flowed from the pipe.
leo told me that when he makes pots of beans, he comes to get this water because “it is the best”.
when i met leo, i had two liters of water. when i shook his hand good-bye, i had eight.
leo sandavol is a trail angel.
leo sandoval, trail angel
my visit with leo was completely heartening. he told of his interactions with bikepackers, both good and bad. when i left, he said “if you were an asshole, i wouldn’t have turned on the well.”
best validation ever!!!
from there, my legs and brain reengaged and i was back “on the divide.”
enough time of half-hearted pedaling had already occurred that even with a focused effort, i might not make grants, but would get within 20 miles and that would be perfect for the final week to mexico.
trail angels. where would i be without trail angels?
five miles after i left leo, i climbed up a steep draw, leveled out and felt the wind push me into a bigger gear.
the weariness was gone. it was like i just woke up and was reinvigorated by a return to pedaling.
isolated volcanic peaks loomed over the sedimentary basin like sentinels. the sense of native reverence for the landscape is profound…i was going to finish the divide and then…
i heard a swift woosh and felt my rear tire go flat, instantly.
i got off the bike and saw sealant escaping in a gurgled gush. i pried at the tire and the bead had separated from the sidewall. for a tire, this was a worst case scenario.
once all the air had escaped, i picked at the tire and the separation was almost 2” long… a bad 2”.
when i replaced my tires in salida, i had a talk with the absolute bike manager, telling him i “have a bad history with maxxis tires, and especially with sidewalls.”
he replied, “i stand by these and think you will be happy with them.”
as a guffaw-ish customer dropping $500 at a bike shop, that was what i needed to hear.
more heroin please.
seeing the bead separation meant i will be speaking with the absolute manager in the not-so-distant future.
other than a broken spoke going into butte, montana, i have had no mechanical issues. my beargrease has been a rock, and while the tire issue was a problem, it wasn’t an insurmountable problem. in fact, my plan was to insert a tube and limp my way towards grant. problem solved.
i thought.
i pulled the tire and inserted the tube, while being slathered by tire sealant and sweat. the bead was so tight that it bent my lever. then i looked at the rear rim and saw multiple cracks.
over the past few days, i had noticed a bit more wobble in my rear wheel; a wobble i attributed to the broken spoke in butte. now, after seeing the rim cracks, i had entered an ominous chapter of my divide journey.
this was a serious problem, both mechanically and logistically. mechanically, because without wheels, you are not a bike (duh). logistically, because i suddenly needed to replace both my wheel and tire and…i needed to now walk the 14-miles with a fully loaded bike with a flat, rear tire.
suddenly, there were dark clouds looming, and rather than pedaling from point a to point b, i was calculating how long it would take me to walk out and then, what i would do when reattached to civilization.
i walked for two miles and then, heard only the second vehicle on the road in almost 45 miles.
i turned and squeezed to the side of the road. the truck stopped and a head bobbed out of the window and asked if i was okay.
at that moment. at that time, after 2300 miles of riding and 140,000 feet of climbing, acknowledging the failure of my bike, without an accessible bike shop or transport to the same, meant my ride was over.
just like when leo turned on that well switch, and water was released, my emotions were loosed,
i stood on the side of the road, in the company of three strangers and cried.
joey hopped out of the truck and shook my hand.
“what do you need to do?”
“i need to get to a bike shop and get to grants.”
“i am headed to grants, after i drop off my mom and aunt…i can give you a ride…let’s get your bike in the back of the truck.”
mary, the mom and christine, the aunt, saw that i was under duress. they did not interject, they did not minimize. when a stranger emotes, they do so for a reason.
and while my reason for crying was substantive…the loss of a life challenge, the loss of a dream, what was most profound was that i was again being swept up by trail angels.
we rode down the bumpy road for an hour. during that time, i saw that both a ride or a walk would have tested my ability and limits.
i told them of my leo sandoval experience and yes, the truck full of strangers were related to leo.
the dynamic of the family was soothing. there were histories and memories tucked into the sedimentary overlooks and valleys. they saw elk where i saw sage and cactus, and when joey slowed down, i too, saw the elk. auntie and mom talked about dead-end roads and overlooks where they partied during their youth. the sisters talked about piñon nut harvests, and of their father’s last year, when he insisted on days of nonstop piñon harvests because it made him happy.
mary handed me piñons that were not yet ready for harvest, but still hinted at their buttery goodness.
joey dropped his mom and aunt off in san mateo and we drove towards grant. on the way, he asked, “is that a fire ahead?”
sure enough, there on the side of the road, flames were creeping towards the mesquite. he pulled over and the combination of winds and the lack of rain posed a true threat.
we stomped and joey emptied his cooler of water,
joey called his mom and asked her to call the fire department. he ran out of water and then i realized i still had 8 liters of water from leo’s well.
soon, the fire had surrendered and joey and drank a beer as a reward. then i noted the irony of leo’s intervention in my life and the transfer of his gift to another aspect of life in new mexico.
i think joey knew.
we rode into grants and joey gave me the historic route 66 tour. he is a proud man, proud of his heritage, and proud of his family.
i told him he was yet another trail angel in my life and he accepted that.
he knew that had he and his mom and aunt not decided to take a ride yesterday, i could easily be three days away from grants.
joey dropped me off at a hotel, we hugged and i gave him the last money i had. at first he refused, but then accepted when i told him that trail angels probably don’t need money, but the people they are, do.
my trip is over.
i cannot expeditiously replace a rear wheel and have accepted that. abandoning a bucket-list trip on the divide is a loss and i am grieving, because after leo turned on his well, i saw no impediment to completing the divide.
i am a changed person because of what i did and didn’t do.
there is an inherent goodness in people, and that is truly more profound than the mountains, the valleys and the richness of the divide, or the accomplishments and the miles.
trail angels saved my trip on multiple occasions, and trail angels let me know it was okay to end it.
i woke up in the lower luganitas campground to the sound of a lone mooing cow.
not being a cow whisperer, i did not know its pleas or message, but it seemed urgent. such is the life of a range cow…wake people up, shit in their campground, and do it everywhere.
luganitas is a beautiful spot, about a mile’s worth of premium forest service gravel up from the divide trail. i did not see it the night before but with the mooing of a new day, saw my tent in the middle of large spruce and pine grove next to two alpine ponds whose cow impact was visible in its algae-choked waters.
on the good side, there was toilet paper. the down side? cows have free domain on public lands.
don’t get me started.
again.
i started my ride with limited water, but knew there were a couple of water sources for filtration and that was a good idea until i saw the water and figured i’d rather die of dehydration.
just when i started to get desperate, a forest service truck came my way, slowed down and asked if i wanted water.
heck yes.
tommy and henry were returning from a small lightning-caused fire and were both bikers. they knew who did and who didn’t need water.
tommy told me about the best mexican food in new mexico in el rito, and i stuck that to my brain with a mental post-it note, given my path would bring me to el rito on saturday.
we bs’d a while because of that “public sector thing” and then bid farewell. the water was a great boost to my spirits.
my goal for the day was to make it to lake hopewell, which is a prominent usfs campground in the middle of nowhere, but on the way to the finish.
it is a fee campground, which should mean toilet paper, clean privy vaults, and other things enforced by the campground hosts. it also includes a $24 fee, explicitly geared towards “vehicles”.
on the welcoming kiosk, depictions of vehicles included cars, trucks, rv’s and trailers. it did not include a bicycle, but i was tired and didn’t want to argue with host doug, who also informed me the wells were closed and if i wanted water, i’d have to go filter it from the lake, a quarter-mile away and 150’ below the campground. i did argue about that with doug and he tapped into his 20-gallon water tank and poured me two liters of sun-scalded water.
after eating, i did go to the water source, but had to wiggle a shoreline space between fishing and drinking families who seemed put off by the guy filtering water between them.
i said nothing. no one said anything to me.
in the morning i got up early, with an intended destination of abiquiu, about 60 miles away.
i stopped in el rito at el farolito, but it was closed, even though it was a half-hour past it’s saturday opening time of 1:30. i beat on the door, eager for sustenance and ended up riding away while eating jerky.
where is a trail angel, or the owner of el farolito when you need them?
by the time i arrived in abiquiu, i was tired and booked a room at the abiquiu inn, which has bikepacking rates and is really the best facility of the divide.
i have come to the realization that expecting too much of a good thing trail-wise, does not fire a reality-based synapse. for every good section of trail, there are bad, even horrendous sections of trail.
leaving stunner campground started out as a perfect ride. there would be a long descent down the conejos river valley, followed by a 5-mile climb up la manga pass which would place me firmly on the welcome mat of new mexico, the last cog in this 2,600 mile journey.
things started well, with a pre-determined breakfast destination of platoro only a matter of a 400-foot climb and a 5-mile drop.
i veered right in platoro at the first sign heralding “food”. it was the skyline lodge, a sprawling complex with log cabins and an inferred sense of colorado history.
i left my steed in a sheltered area and went in the lodge, then the gift shop, then the restaurant. nobody was home.
skyline lodge has a customer service problem. after a few plaintive “hellos”, a meek woman rose from the ash heap of the main desk and said nothing.
i asked if they were serving breakfast and she said “yes”. i asked for wi-fi and she said it “wasn’t free, it’s $5 for 30-minutes.”
in my mind, buying goods or services at any business means extra forms of skinning a profit from customers is unethical. had i been in a car, i would have left. since i was on my bike, i had to suck it up.
bikepackers have to suck up a lot.
every day.
all because your method of travel, the path you travel, or the situations you are placed in without alternatives, means that to escape, you must pedal your way to freedom.
hungry but put off by an establishment? do you ride 5 miles off route to another eatery or do you suck it up and begrudge being on a bike, with a promise to trash a place on your blog?
here is my answer.
the skyline lodge front desk types, need to pull that cork out of their backside. smile, give refreshing answers to those with questions, don’t act as though you are being inconvenienced.
i ordered food, water and coffee and requested lots of water and coffee. five minutes later, no food and no lots of water and coffee.
i asked princess front desk where my order was and she said, “he’ll bring it out when it’s done.”
pretty sure the water and coffee were done.
i returned to my table and bantered with a couple who could have written an equally unfavorable skyline lodge blog entry.
finally, a guy came out to my table with a styrofoam container and two styrofoam cups, one with coffee and one with water. no silverware, guy said “it’s over there”, pointing to a cart with plastic utensils on it.
breakfast was okay, but i broke a fork and punctured the container because i was eating out of styrofoam at a high-dollar colorado lodge.
i finished my water and coffee and asked for refills from princess. five minutes later, the food guy came back out with two new styrofoam containers.
damn, i needed to pedal.
leaving platoro removed the cork from my backside.
the next 6-miles of washboard rebunged it.
you persevere and wait for smoother roads, knowing that smoother roads will be fleeting.
up and over la manga and a couple miles after it, i was in new mexico, ready to sample a new piece of the divide.
after a couple of miles on a varied surface, the last climb of the day, and one that would place me in the lower lagunitas campground, began.
it was rideable at first, but then the magic of hike-a-bike began. i have heard this section of the trail called “doll’s head”, and that is a perfect description of the softball-sized cobble that defined the next half-mile of the trail.
footsteps needed placement; pausing meant a squeeze of the rear brake to prevent everything returning to where you had just been.
then it rained.
by the time i made it to the campground, i was eager to sell my bike and gear.
steady rain continued. i ate a bit and fell asleep in a wet tent to the sound of thunder and flashes of lightning.
the climb up and over indiana pass sucked about three hours from my life. while the average slope is around 5%, the upper values constantly touched 10% and more.
it is perpetual pedaling and the higher one climbs, the more rewarding the climb, right?
pfffft.
in fact, i had no idea i had climbed indiana pass until i looked at my “real life” divide map in the morning. there was no alert, no signage; nothing that tells you “good work man, you made it over indiana pass, now go brag and enjoy whatever you have left, cuz it’s all downhill from here.
figuratively and literally.
you pedal, you rest. you hydrate and after topping out at around 11,600 feet, your mind accelerates and hones in on the belief that there is justice in bike riding and heck, “i deserve a nice downhill…like equal to the uphill parts.“
but then, it starts raining and the downhill chunk is worse than the uphill chunk and with it’s annoying beeps, your roam alerts to another climb up and around the mess that is summitville, and it starts to rain harder and the streams looks like whole milk and never mind that summitvillie is a massive epa superfund site because you are on your bike and you are fucked.
but, you keep pedaling because there is no alternative.
most of the trees on the steep valley walls surrounding summitville are dead. building exoskeletons bear testament to the once-upon-a-time vitality of the valley, but the streams run white and with toxic off colors; the rocks stained by millennia of geology and decades of human abuse.
gold and get rich pioneers. that’s the history of summitville, all the way to platoro. some of the streams have signs warning “do not drink”, and well duh…if water is running a shade of red and trout regulations are notably missing, next stream please.
i made it up and over indiana pass and the road smoothed for the final 600’ of descent and the rain let up and i pulled into a forest service campground called “stunner creek”, evidently because the number of prospectors that died from historical disease and flash flooding was “stunning” and the latrine had no toilet paper.
evidently, i looked like i could use a chair and a beer when i arrived at the upper dome reservoir, because that is exactly what my newest neighbors, john and mary, brought me.
it was a long day, given the climb up and over marshall pass,; one of those monotonous, watch your front tire climbs that seems to take forever, but which only took a couple hours for a rider in “old man mode.”
i ran into scott at the tomichi creek trading post and he had opted to stay there for the evening to regroup. allen and susan laid-over in salida and group independence is on full display.
i stayed at the upper dome reservoir and besides john and mary, met mike and sandy. mike is in his 80’s was born and raised in tomichi creek and still lives there, though he “doesn’t like what’s happening there or the rest of colorado .”
unwilling to tip the bucket of conversation, my curiosity of his took a noted leave of absence at that point.
after leaving upper dome, i climbed up and over carnero pass, yet another pass over 10,000 feet and the prelude for a long descent into la garita and from there, my destination for the evening, del norte.
i arrived at the restaurant/store in la garita about a half-hour after the restaurant closed and 5 minutes before the store closed. still, they made me a huge sandwich and i loaded up on chips and beverages and enjoyed my meal at a table in front of the store.
while there and before entering yet another food coma, i noticed the winds were especially potent and from the south, which was the direction of del norte.
i was tired and really looking for a bail-out option, but del norte was only 18-miles away and the town opened its park on the rio grande river to bikepackers.
lotta dust and people seemed to be in a hurry, but the divide turn-off into “elephant rocks” greeted me with steady 20 mph winds. i paused, looked at my navigation and opted for a more straight line entrance to del norte, along county roads.
good choice.
i arrived at the park with plenty of daylight and found a spot tucked away from debris and detritus of thoughtless human existence and called another place on the gdmbr home for the night.
took a day off in salida, though it wasn’t much of a day off. i had an appointment with absolute bikes to check and/or tweak my bike which, other than a broken spoke in butte, has performed beautifully..
my arrival in salida came courtesy of an 8-mile, ripping descent, after one last nasty climb called the “billy goat climb”…a granny-gear effort up a 20% slope.
sleep in hartsel the night before was among the worst of the trip. i was suffering from an emotional hangover from the boreas pass “miracle” and arrived at the tiny bikepackers tent space situated behind the highline bar and restaurant. being a friday night, there were no quiet hours for the local rub-a-dubs.
i settled for the last remaining spot between two dumpsters. i woke up after little sleep, disassembled my tent and found i had been sleeping on broken glass and a used latex glove. given the clientele of the bar, an unseemly use of the glove would not have surprised, but for the purpose of closure, i’ll just assume it was used for food prep.”
the ride into salida included a 3.5-hour slog in a steady, cold rain, but getting to the top of billy goat meant a pedal-free downhill.
it was hard and bone-chilling and then perfect.
my sunday morning bike appointment resulted in a consultation with the shop manager and the mechanic. the biggest issue was how much “life” my victoria mezcals had left on them and if it was sufficient to complete my journey.
already, those tires have about 2,000 miles on them and have been issue-free. but, there are still many rugged miles left and a tire mishap, outside of the home range of a bike shop, could cause frenzied bikepacking issues. given that, i replaced both tires and was ready to complete the divide.
scott pulled into salida later and we had dinner at amica’s, courtesy of my favorite trail builders (and people), mica and adam harju, proprietors of dirt candy design. ironically, adam’s sister and family were in the restaurant at the same time as the two haggard bikepackers and so, i got to meet molly, steve, and the sprouting sam.
two thumbs up. many more if i had additional thumbs. thank you mica and adam!! ❤️
after a last night of bed-type sleep, i hopped on my bike and methodically pedaled my way over marshall pass, which it the bikepacking alternate to monarch pass. twelve miles and 2,200 feet later, i was at the top and ready for the descent.
that descent, however included road chunk, consistent washboarding, and headwinds and so, it proved to be more challenging than my arrival in salida.
onward and upward, with a preference for downward.
once i broke the bonds of breckinridge, the long climb up boreas pass began. it is a 12-mile slog up the abandoned railroad bed of the denver, south park, and pacific railroad, which schlepped 60-years worth of the privileged, the tired, and the destitute between denver and leadville. some found fame and fortune, most saw their dreams and hopes dashed.
for bikepackers on the divide, it is one of the iconic climbs, bringing you from the snoot of breckinridge to it’s summit at just over 11,400 feet.
as an abandoned railroad bed, the gradient is favorable for a bicycle, but 12-miles “up” is still a challenging slog on a loaded bike.
when you leave breckinridge, you take a series of hairpin turns that stream by the new construction of million dollar homes whose presence in a coniferous forest on 30% slopes in an historic fire-ridden landscape seems suspect.
the sounds of nail guns and compressors accompanied my rhythmic pedaling for a while but then, it was just me, the gravel, and up.
with 3/4’s of the ride over, i heard a bike come up and then pass me. we said our “hi’s” and then she was gone. most of my climbs are like that…passed by youth but still undefeated.
the closer i got to the summit, the more ominous the clouds rolling in from the south looked, but you get what the divide gives you, be they moral, physical, spiritual, or atmospheric challenges.
at the summit, i reconnected with the woman cyclist, zadoria or “z”, and had one of those “divide” conversations filled with wonder, optimism, and “atta boy/girl” stuff.
you don’t know how heartening that type of contact can be.
with rain imminent, we engaged in our separate descents and z was gone.
the rain started hard, with a little hail and i found a sheltered area beneath a bough-heavy spruce to gather my thoughts and throw on my goretex and gloves. i checked my phone for route information, ate some jerky and began the most recent, downhill portion of my life.
without any pedaling, hypothermia is just a downshift away on the divide. i clinched my arms and bounced over chunk, but otherwise enjoyed my wet, gravity-enabled ride.
twelve miles later, i turned onto elkhorn road, took a pulse on my bike and gear and holy shit…
…my phone was gone!!!
the elation of the downhill, of being in the final phase of my journey had been taken. i was crushed; emotionally devastated because without my phone, i couldn’t navigate the divide, find route resources, communicate with scott or the kids.
earlier on this journey, someone told me the divide is where things go wrong and you are forced to find a solution, even though it may not be an ideal solution.
in an instant, i had lost my connection to everything but then, what was an acceptable outcome?
i could:
ride on to salida and buy a new phone; or, i could ride back up to the summit of boreas pass, a 2,000 foot, 12-mile ascent from the south and hope i would find my phone.
either option was nauseating and yet, making the climb was the most logical, even though it put me outside the food and daylight window into hartsel, and even though it could jeopardize my layover in salida.
i turned around and started the climb. when a vehicle approached from off the pass, i flagged it down, asking if they had come off the pass and if they had seen a phone. no one gave me the answer i needed. same story with the next car and the next car.
each car placed me closer to the brutal reality of a second trip up boreal pass.
two miles up the road and already engaged in the climb, a blue jeep approached and i waved my arm in the universally-accepted signal of “i am a dumb phuck…i lost my phone, can you help?”
the driver pulled over, her dogs barked at the crazy person in lycra, she listened to my story and said “let’s go find your phone.”
she pointed her vehicle up the pass, i ditched my bike in the sage brush and we headed up boreas pass to look for my phone.
i cannot tell you of the profound emotions i felt, having already been enabled by the divide’s trail angels during my journey. they appear and ask for nothing, only for acceptance of their/our humanity.
it is pure. it is a gift.
we traveled slowly. shana listening to my lament, her dogs still unsettled about the front seat passenger.
the rain had stopped and at least, vehicle traffic was minimal. i told her of my brief shelter stop and that it had occurred within a half-mile of the top.
flat rocks looked like dozens of otter cases. light created rectangular shadows. my hopes raised and the dropped. we got closer to the summit, shana slowed down and said “there it is.”
i got out, dashed to the phone and was emotionally overwhelmed. my phone was intact, my trip salvaged.
there was joy and celebration during our ride back to my bike. i was still overcome with emotion, but i had again experienced the worst case scenario with a best case result, because of someone else.
in the end i made it to hartsel, albeit in the dark and rain. the cyclist only camp site is behind a bar and is literally, a dump but the goodness demonstrated by another outweighs any other deficits of my journey.
in increments, i am reconnecting with the goodness of people and see hope for humanity, especially if i take it one trail angel at a time.
the other side of daylight 