June 28, 2016
Joy maintains a steady smirk
Day Twenty-Eight: Sargents, Colorado to Salida, Colorado
I woke up freezing. Last night I had spurned the heavy blankets, but in the early morning I was looking for one, and inadvertently grabbed for the one on Joy’s bunk. Upon hearing an emphatic “NO!” I located my own blanket and went back to sleep for a while.
Breakfast was only offered at the Trading Post on the weekends, so we started up the big climb of the day fueled only by snacks. I do not believe I have had a hearty restaurant breakfast once on this trip so far. Maybe that’s why I’m in a bad mood sometimes.
The climb up to Marshall Pass was probably the nicest long climb of the trip. The grade was enjoyably gradual, and the surface was nice dirt, much smoother than usual. Unlike yesterday’s hot, dusty ride, today we had plenty of shade, wildflowers, streams, and perhaps best of all, virtually no traffic — only a couple of vehicles in several miles.
We met a couple of the “racers” coming down the mountain (the ones we’re meeting now are so far behind that I’m not sure whether they are even officially in the race anymore; I believe you have to finish within so many hours/days of either the current or previous year’s winner’s time in order to count), and one told me “Good job!” as I very slowly climbed up the hill.
After we saw the racers I started talking again about the amazingly impressive top-10 Tour Divide finishers we had seen days ago, and Joy, perhaps weary of this topic, accused me of having a “man crush” on the winner, Mike Hall. Harrumph.
We got to the top, at 10,842 feet, as it grew cloudy, and started to rain. Just like always in Colorado! A short distance from the top there was an improbably located pit toilet, and we took shelter in the covered entrance as the rain grew heavy, the temperature dropped, and it briefly sleeted.
After a few minutes, an “older dude-bro” (Joy’s description) mountain biking on the local trails joined us in the tiny toilet foyer. “Hey! There’s nothing like hanging out with some strangers in an outhouse!” the guy said as an introduction. He told us he maintained “dual residences” in Denver and Salt Lake City, and proceeded entertain me with a line of patter for about fifteen minutes. Joy didn’t engage with the guy at all, and, while eating gummy bears, maintained a steady smirk as dude-bro spoke at length. The smirk grew especially strong when he described Salt Lake City as “Cool, I mean, really really cool!”
The rain slackened, dude-bro left (after addressing us as “team” for some reason), and then we departed the pit toilet. The ride down the mountain was unfortunately bumpy, and, because of the many long drop-offs, kind of scary. (I’m usually the one that’s afraid of everything, but this time Joy seemed more nervous about the possibility of riding off the road and falling hundreds of feet onto sharp rocks.)
About halfway down, we got briefly lost for the first time on this trip when we made a wrong turn and rode for a mile the wrong way. Once we were back on the route we met a couple of middle-aged men who were riding up to the pass, and who seemed blithely unconcerned about the chilly rain up there, admitting that they carried no rain gear. I told them we had just taken a wrong turn for the first time on our month-long trip, and one of the men used a vulgar expression to describe our “first time” getting lost. It annoyed me that he used this expression in front of my wife, who of course is no delicate flower or anything, but how did he know that? Irritated, I rode off without sharing any important info with the two raingear-less doofuses.
After we dropped thousands of feet to Poncha Springs, where it was 40 degrees warmer, we stopped at a brewpub, had lunch, observed a presumably formerly-hip young couple bring their infant into the bar area (and, annoyingly, pose the child with glasses of beer), then decided to not only the end the day in nearby Salida, which we had heard was a very cool town, but also take a day off there tomorrow because this is supposed to be a vacation, after all.
We coasted into downtown Salida (population 5,235), which had a very good vibe, and checked into the cleanest, best-maintained old mom-and-pop motel I’ve seen in years: The Woodland Motel, which I wholeheartedly recommend if you’re in Salida.
Later we walked around the interesting downtown area and ate at a Cambodian restaurant, the first (and likely last) time we’ll have Cambodian food on this trip.
Today's ride: 44 miles (71 km)
Total: 949 miles (1,527 km)
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