June 6, 2016
"I don’t trust either of you men, but I do trust that Jesus Christ will help me.”
Day Six: Lake Roberts, New Mexico to Lower Black Canyon Campground, New Mexico
You hear the stories about how difficult the Great Divide Route is. You carefully note the many warnings on the Adventure Cycling maps for the route. You read the book by the guy who actually designed the route (by driving it on a jeep; apparently after 20+ years, he STILL has not ridden the entire route on a bicycle himself), in which he includes a cautionary section entitled “Is the Great Divide for you?” And finally, you read the journals on the CrazyGuyOnABike website, in which people quit as early as the second day. You’ve ridden your bicycle across the USA several times. How hard could this thing really be?
As we found out today: Very hard.
Last night we were talking to the nice lady at the motel at Lake Roberts about the Great Divide cyclists she’s seen. “So,” I asked, “Can you tell which ones are going to make it?” She indicated that yes, she could.
This morning, before heading out, Joy reminded me that the lady pointedly did NOT volunteer that yes, we certainly looked like we had the right stuff to do the Divide. Hmm.
The first ten miles this morning were on paved State Route 35, which was pleasant enough: After an initial little climb it was mostly flat, through pine forests. Nice.
Then we turned onto the first of a series of dirt and gravel roads on which we would travel for the next several days. A large sign warned of the lack of services for 120 miles, and of the condition of the road (bad). The initial climb was super-steep, and both of us walked our bikes a couple of times.
After that climb, we were on a long, flat section that followed the continental divide itself. The sun was beating down, so we found a small, bushy tree just big enough to provide some shade for both of us, set up our camp stools, and ate some Nutella sandwiches. Among the many heavy items we are carrying up and and down mountains is a large jar of Nutella.
While we were sitting there, a lightly-loaded male cyclist pulled up. Judging by his very minimal load (“bikepacker” style — no panniers, just everything strapped on the bike) it was clear that he was certainly not carrying unnecessary items such as camp stools and jars of Nutella. After exchanging some pleasantries, and learning that was from New York City, he sped off. We sat around in the shade some more and then rode off, slowly.
After that we spent hours on two mega-climbs and descents. Later we agreed that these were definitely the hardest things we had ever done on bicycles. I got too far ahead of Joy on one of the descents, which was incredibly rough and strewn with rocks the size of babies’ heads, and waited for a long, worried time at the bottom for her to arrive. I resolved not to let that happen again.
Joy continued to have a difficult day, even swallowing a bug, an incident that I most definitely did NOT laugh at.
We finally pulled into our destination, the first of the two campgrounds in Black Rock Canyon, where we briefly talked to a scraggly guy who was hanging around. There was a flat-tired van in the campground, and the guy told us (or me, actually; Joy did not like the looks of the scene, and was already leaving for the next campground) that it belonged to another man who had been stranded in the campground for a few days with the flat tire, and who was waiting for a forest ranger to stop by and provide assistance.
It sounded like the situation was under control, so I followed Joy. As I rode past the van, up a little hill, perhaps 100 feet away, I heard a man’s voice call out, “I need help!” I’m slightly ashamed to admit that I decided to ignore him, since there wasn’t much I could do — it wasn’t as if I could go ride my bike 50 miles to the nearest service station that afternoon and bring a spare tire to the guy. Still, he called out “I need help!” a few more times, until finally:
“HEY ASSHOLE! I SAID I NEED HEEEELLLP!!!”
With that, I stopped, and there followed a shouted exchange which began with me asking him what his problem was (I’m omitting a few other words), and ended, after I agreed to report his situation to the rangers at the Beaverhead Work Station tomorrow, 26 miles down the road, with his “GOD BLESS YOU!”
That was one of the quickest transitions ever from someone calling me an asshole, to asking God to bless me.
Fifteen or twenty minutes later at our campground, I continued to mull over the situation, and decided to walk back over to the old man’s van, and have him write a note himself for me to deliver to the people at Beaverhead.
While he was writing the note for me, the New York City cyclist pulled up, and the old man, who told us his name was JC, wrote him one too.
As JC handed us the notes, he made the following pronouncement: “Now, I just want say this: I don’t trust either of you men, but I do trust that Jesus Christ will help me.”
The New York cyclist and I looked at each other; we obviously were thinking the same thing, which was: Is this guy for real?!
I resisted a strong urge to ask him where Jesus had been the last few days while he was stranded, and instead told him that while I had very different theological views, I would be sure to deliver his note.
Later, back at camp, which was sort of bleak and dusty, we filtered water from the small stream, ate dinner, then went to bed at dusk. As usual, I heard what I was absolutely certain were human footsteps outside the tent, but which Joy theorized were actually the sounds of birds dropping things on the ground (?)
A difficult day, but we vowed to press on. Many northbound riders consider this section among the most difficult, but we had high hopes that tomorrow would be easier.
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Today's ride: 32 miles (51 km)
Total: 187 miles (301 km)
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