June 27, 2016
Butts of iron
Day Twenty-Seven: Luders Creek Campground to Sargents, Colorado
We were both very tired after yesterday’s long, hilly ride, so we got a late start this morning.
We had a few miles of climbing to get to the top of the pass, and then it was a nice downhill. We met Divide racers on the way up as well as on the way down. The racers we’re seeing now are going to finish way back in the pack — they’re probably in the 25-to-30-day group. I don’t see how they can stay motivated when they’re that far behind the elite, top 10 finishers. Early on during our tour, I foolishly told Joy that I might try racing the Divide one day. I now realize how utterly ludicrous that idea was.
It was a nice ride for most of the morning. We passed a lake, and Joy was excited to see ducks for the first time on this tour. Later we met a Continental Divide Hiker walking on the road. He had lost his phone, and was trying to get to Twin Lakes, where his wife had mailed him another one. I’m unlikely to lose my phone only because Joy is on top of things like that.
Our gravel road became wider and, unfortunately, busier. There were even a couple of fast-moving log trucks — first time I’ve seen any of those on this trip. They, along with several smaller trucks, threw up a lot of annoying dust. We rode by a stream for a while, and stopped and had a slightly amusing conversation with a 73-year-old man who was fishing. (He was one of those guys who looks younger than he is, and so was perhaps eager to reveal his age. He mentioned a former lady friend, implied that he was currently single, then asked if Joy and I were “just friends” or if we were a couple. I wasn’t sure what to make of that.)
We exited the busier gravel road and got onto a much, much quieter dirt road. After a long climb we talked to a couple of motorcyclists who had already done 1100 miles in the last two days, on some of the same roads we’d been riding for weeks. The younger of the two motorcyclists said that we must have “butts of iron”, something I’ve heard before from non-cyclists, and which I don’t really understand; sitting on a bicycle seat isn’t the hard part of bike touring. The hard part is providing the power that propels the bike.
For most of the day the sun beat down us; there was no cloud cover, and almost no trees near the road to shade us. For that reason, I felt like this was one of the hardest days of the entire trip, although I believe that Joy thought my memory was selective, and I’d already forgotten the difficult New Mexico days. (I’ve recently been indulging in nostalgia for New Mexico.)
The dirt ended, and we had to ride 12 miles on busy US 50 to reach Sargents, which seems to consist solely of Tomichi Creek Trading Post: A combination general store, restaurant, bar, campground, and cabin rental place. (This stretch of US 50 has a wide shoulder, so it wasn’t too unpleasant, although it seemed a lot busier than when I rode the same section three years ago, in the other direction. Maybe traffic seems more annoying on this trip since the Great Divide route really is very, very low-traffic compared to all the paved road bike touring we’ve done.)
As soon as we pulled up to the Trading Post we saw Roger’s and Lauren’s bikes sitting outside; we joined them at their table in the restaurant, ordered food, and then I investigated the camping and lodging options. Tent camping in the unshaded campground wasn’t appealing, and the cabins were reasonably priced, so a cabin it was.
We ate lunch, used the shower, bathroom, and laundry facilities located in the rear of the store, moved our stuff into our cabin, decided the un-air-conditioned cabin was still too hot in the afternoon sun, and moved back to the store/restaurant which had an air conditioner, and was more interesting anyway because it was where all the action in Sargents was.
Roger and Lauren were also hanging out, waiting for it to cool down before heading up the mountain, so we talked to them some more (they would eventually change their plans and rent the cabin next to us). A racer from the Czech Republic showed up, and he stayed for a couple of hours in the restaurant, apparently longer than he planned: There was something sort of compelling about the Trading Post. It was probably the air conditioning. (It wasn’t the WiFi, which I never got to work, and the failure of which a waitress blamed on someone “driving over a wire” outside.)
The owner of the Trading Post decided to close a couple of hours earlier than the posted time of 8:00, so we had dinner at 6:00. I had chicken strips and french fries, but when the owner (who was also the cook) asked if I wanted any dipping sauce, he seemed astonished when I requested gravy. “Gravy?! What?!” I informed him I was from Kentucky, where dipping chicken strips in gravy was certainly not unusual, but his response was “I’m from Arkansas, and I never heard of that.” Whatever!
We went back to our cabin, and talked to some motorcyclists who were renting one of the cabins next to ours. One of the men was from Louisville, Kentucky, and was also into mountain biking (but not road riding, because he was afraid of cars.) After he and Joy had a long conversation about mountain bike brakes and tires, which I didn’t understand, we went to bed at dusk.
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2 years ago
Today's ride: 49 miles (79 km)
Total: 905 miles (1,456 km)
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4 months ago