In Oregon and Idaho we attracted attention because people were impressed. In Montana, Wyoming, and Colorado, we attracted attention because we were men wearing a hell of a lot of spandex, walking into bars with bison heads mounted on the wall. One of our most uncomfortable moments came in a tiny town in Wyoming called Jeffrey City. We rode into this town and immediately got rampaged by mosquitos. We all but ran into the one and only building in town, a bar, sporting spandex from head to toe. Everyone in the bar looked tough, and they all turned in their seats to witness the freak show. Fortunately, there was a second room, away from the bar and the people. We took refuge in there. We planned on spending the entire afternoon/evening in there, not wanting to brave the mosquitos. We ordered meals and beer, and spent time reading National Geographic and any other magazines they had available. We spent hours and hours prolonging our stay. Finally, it was time for bed. When they brought us our check, we pulled out our credit cards. Unfortunately, it was cash only, and there was no ATM machine in town. We panicked. The people running this joint had guns, trucks, and tough-looking handlebar mustaches. We were in spandex and had bicycles that we lovingly referred to as our steeds. We all but panicked. We first emptied our wallets, then our pockets, then my backpack, and finally our panniers, dumping out every last coin. We came up with just enough, and a 22 cent tip. Apologizing as we gathered our gear, we headed across the street and slept in an old fairground, breathing a deep sigh of relief.
The next day we had our toughest day on the route. It was 70 miles of nothing, with a strong head wind fighting us the entire way. There was no mountain range to topple, which had to do many times (peaking at 11,580 in Colorado), but the head wind made it feel like one large mountain, all uphill. Usually we would average around 13-14 miles per hour, but we made our way on this particular day at 6-7 miles per hour the entire time. It took FOREVER! Meanwhile, dust blew against us and there was no place to stop and rest in the shade. It was a desolate wilderness between Jeffrey City and Rawlins. When we finally reached the outskirts of Rawlins, we threw our bikes on the ground and sat on the curb, thankful that it was over. Just then, a mysterious car pulled up next to us. A woman called me to the passenger window and she forcefully put a bag of donuts and a couple juices in my hand. She didn't say a word. She just thrust the treats into my hands and drove away. All we could do was guess at her intentions as we enjoyed the best tasting donuts we'd ever had. We assumed she was a good samaritan and it was important to her that she didn't receive thanks or recognition. We assumed she drove by us as we struggled into Rawlins, took pity, and went to get us some snacks. Or maybe she already had the donuts in the car, saw us, and spontaneously decided to give them to us. Whatever her intentions, she was one of the many angels we met with along our route.
Another angel was Gillian in Ordway, Colorado. We heard about her from cyclists heading west. They gave us her phone numbers, emphatically telling us to call her. The day we were riding into Ordway, we gave her a ring. She answered the phone and we told her we were riding through Ordway and would love a place to stay, if possible. She asked what time we were coming, and we told her in the afternoon/evening. She said she works the late shift. She was a nighttime prison guard at the local jail. Under normal circumstances, this would have been followed by us saying thanks anyway, and then calling the local police to seek permission to sleep in the town park. But Gillian went on: "I won't be home when you arrive, but here's my address and I'll leave the key to the front door under the mat. Help yourself to anything in the fridge and I'll see you in the morning." WOW! We slept in a guest bed she had all made up. We woke very early in the morning, trying to beat the eastern Colorado sun, and just as we finished writing her a thank you note, we heard her walking down the hall. We did not get the early start we wanted because we ended up conversing with Gillian for hours. First of all, she thought we were crazy. Second of all, she loves talking to cyclists because, although crazy, they usually shared her thirst for adventure, alternative kinds of lifestyles, and exploration. We had a lot in common. I stayed in touch with Gillian for years, and she was a great person to have on my side as I experienced the Peace Corps. She's always a source of encouragement. We met other blessed souls like Gillian, and we covered a lot of terrain.
By the time we hit Kansas, we were not embarrassed at all about our venture. We had a lot to be proud of. We were over half-way done, we'd conquered the Rockies, we'd changed plenty of flat tires, we'd slept in parks all across America, and we were dirty as hell. We were making it to Virginia! In Part III, I'll share more stories and make some remarks about the valuable lessons I learned as a cross-country cyclist.
02 Two Months on the Road by tmhfband
No comments:
Post a Comment