"Hey, this guy wants a ride. He says he's tired and can't pedal no more!"

July 15, 2017

Day 22: Caineville, Utah to Calf Creek Campground

A great day, probably the best of this tour so far. I slept later than intended (as usual), then walked to the lobby for the minimal "continental breakfast." That term has really been devalued by motels, although this one was certainly not the least impressive I've seen (that would be a loaf of bread in its cellophane wrapper, next to a toaster.) While eating several mini-donuts I talked to an old couple for a while. They were heading my direction later, and said they'd wave at me as they passed me. A nice gesture - just don't take your hand off the wheel so long that you run me off the road with your giant rented "CruiseAmerica" motor home.

It was a pleasant ride to Capitol Reef National Park, where I was pleased to see there was no entrance fee. My route through the park was very nice and shady, along the Fremont River. In this part of the country the rivers are more like little creeks. I rode through the Fruita historic settlement, now a ghost town. The orchards for which the town was named are still active, and I had a strawberry-rhubarb pie made at the site. I really liked Capitol Reef - pleasant and low key, and not swarming with hordes of tourists.

The climb out of the park was incredibly tough. Yesterday I had talked to a guy who was riding the route from San Francisco to Denver, and he told me that he loved Capitol Reef so much that he cried when he left it. I nearly cried as I left the park and saw how steep the climb was.

When I reached the outskirts of Torrey, I spotted a store that sold outdoors equipment, went in, and was happily surprised to discover that they had a tent pole repair kit in stock. I actually tried it out first, setting up the tent in the parking lot before spending my $5, just to make sure.

Next to the store was a coffeehouse/cafe, so I walked there and had a chicken pesto panini and strawberry milkshake. While I was eating, a grizzled biker couple came in, ordered their food, then took it outside where they could smoke with their meal. After I finished I walked outside and talked to them for a while. One of the great things about bicycle touring is the unexpected conversations you have. I cannot imagine a scenario in my normal life in which I would have a 20 minute conversation with an older, blue collar, Harley-riding couple.

The bikers and I were both turning onto Utah Highway 12, which would be a long climb over Boulder Mountain. I started first, and immediately encountered road construction: The dreaded chip-sealing process. The flagger strongly suggested that I ride with my bike in the pilot truck for six miles to get past the mess. I weakly protested, but soon agreed; the road really was a mess. When the pilot truck driver showed up, the flagger yelled out "Hey, this guy wants a ride. He says he's tired and can't pedal no more!" Very funny.

The ride in the pilot truck was uneventful. I rode in the back with the bike, and observed several motorcyclists behind the truck grimacing as the oil and rock struck their shiny, expensive bikes.

Soon I exited the pilot truck and began the real climbing. After a few miles, I approached a couple of big rented motor homes parked in a turn-out. As I stood up to pedal on the gravelly surface at 3.5 mph, several people standing outside the motor homes began to applaud. Was this ironic applause? I had to find out, so I pulled over to see what was up. It was two middle aged Dutch couples, touring the western USA, and they immediately offered me a cold Coke. Ah, the Dutch. They love bicycling. I spent several enjoyable minutes talking to them. One of the men was very interested in several aspects of my bike: The gearing, the location of the shifters, the presence of fenders (the Dutch are big fans of these, as I understand it), etc. Every Dutch bicyclist I have met while touring (and I've met several) are really, really interested in this stuff. I'm surprised this guy didn't produce the little tool that is used to measure how much the chain is stretched (this actually happened on two different occasions in the past.)

As I continued up the mountain, it started to drizzle, but it didn't affect my good mood. I reached an Information Center, talked to the couple volunteering there for a while, then continued riding, anticipating the descent after the three hours of climbing. I was slightly disappointed to find that the Information Center was actually 800 feet lower than the summit at 9600 feet. What!? Well, I remained in a good mood.

At the actual summit, I was surprised to see lots of open range cattle hanging out. Don't they get cold living at that elevation? After talking to an Iowa motorcycle couple who were REALLY annoyed at the gravelly road surface, I descended in my usual careful manner. After several miles I stopped to talk to three young women who were on a three day tour, and were riding up the mountain. One of them had done the TransAm a few years before, and she and I swapped stories about some of the strange towns we'd both stayed in. They asked about the climb ahead and I carefully told them they had "a bit" of a climb left to do.

It was a fast descent. I rode into the awkwardly named "Grand Staircase - Escalante National Monument" and holy shit, was this landscape impressive. I've never seen anything like it. Around this time I got a monster tailwind that, combined with a slight descent, had me going 30 mph without pedaling at all. Someone had advised me earlier in the day to stay at Calf Creek Campground, but they'd warned me that it was so popular that it often filled up early. When I got there, though, I found that not only was it probably the most attractive campground I'd ever seen, but there were several choice spots still available - for only $7.

I set up the tent quickly in the dusk and fell asleep almost immediately to the sound of the rushing water of the nearby creek.