Safety through insanity - Day 53: Dighton, KS to Rush Center, KS

Scenery-wise, today was more of the same: flat, with lots of corn and soybeans. The humidity was higher and the headwinds stronger, however, which drove me a little bit insane. I started to feel very defeated by the wind until I started singing whatever I could think of, as loudly and energetically as possible. The wind in my ears made it feel like no one could possibly hear me. I really got into it, bobbing my head and speeding up to match the rhythm of whatever I was thinking, which probably looked a little crazy. Deanna reports that drivers were giving me a much wider berth than usual.

I've been trying to avoid listening to music or podcasts while riding as sort of an exercise in discipline and mindfulness, but eventually the few lyric fragments I know weren't enough to keep me going and I listened to some high-energy albums: first Somewhere in the Between by Streetlight Manifesto, and second Fortress by Protest the Hero. They got me most of the way to Rush Center, which isn't much more than a bar, grill, and fire station.

There were about 17 high schoolers in the bar and grill plus a couple guides who were responsible for herding them around. I cleaned up some of their uneaten leftovers and chatted about their experience heading west. I talked with one of their guides about riding the Great Divide someday, and Deanna later insisted that the guide was "totally into me". I think I can generally pick up on that, but the signals went way above my head this time, if they were there at all. It probably didn't help that I thought she was an older-looking high schooler at first. Acting on any of that attraction, if indeed any were present, would probably not set a desirable example for the kids anyway.

Sonia mentioned seeing a dead kitten in the parking lot. The high schoolers got very quiet and nervous. They said a kitten had followed them, meowing loudly, for a mile or so before one of their guides picked it up and carried it 30 miles to Rush Center. One brave kid went outside just to make sure it wasn't the same kitten. It was, somehow having died while waiting for them. This revelation brought out a mix of nervous laughter, quiet contemplation, and open tears. Interestingly, it seemed like the biggest jocks at the table were also the most profoundly affected. Instead of hiding it like I assumed all boys felt they must, they freely expressed their sadness. I never saw the cat, but I was almost moved to tears just by seeing boys be comfortable expressing vulnerable emotions. I think my childhood would have been a lot better if that had felt like a safe thing to do.

The high schoolers had talked with the local fire chief, who let them pack themselves wherever they could fit inside the firehouse due to a tornado watch for that night. We joined them inside, and I went to sleep beneath the rear differential of a pump truck, hoping I'd remember where I am before trying to sit up in the morning.


The sights today included a bullet-riddled county sign -- many roadsigns are bullet-riddled, here -- and my first sighting of Freedom Fries in the wild.

Sponsored - Day 52: Leoti to Dighton, KS

The destination today was Dighton, KS, where I immediately ducked into the first and possibly only bar in town hoping to find food and water. Both today and yesterday involved some frustrating headwinds at the end of the day, which served to make the destination a little sweeter. Not much happened in between.

The bar is named What's Up, and has a clever little logo: a question mark followed by an up arrow. I spoke with the owner, Andy, a little bit before Deanna and Sonia caught up. It blew his mind that not only was someone riding across the country on a bicycle ("Like, an actual bicycle?"), but there existed a classic route for that journey and his bar was right on it. Andy and his two friends at the end of the bar, Shawn and Twig, went through the now-classic stages of reaction to this news: first, some indirect hostility and questioning of my sanity, followed by confusion when I played along with it (see the title of this blog), acceptance once the "friends giving each other shit" template kicked in to resolve cognitive dissonance, and finally respect once they decided that, at the very least, I was doing a difficult thing.

Conversation seemed to go pretty well for a couple beers, during which Deanna and Sonia arrived. After a while, Andy asked what he had clearly been wondering from the start: if we were "Obama people". I said I thought he was alright, which brought about a few moments of awkward silence. There was a little discussion about Trump, who would "at least do something about the illegals", but conversation went back to being generally pleasant afterward. By the time we left to try the community pool, Twig offered to buy two shots if we came back. I said I would. He didn't believe me.

I went straight to the pool, which was about to close. Deanna and Sonia stayed to set up their tents while I floated around and received instruction in "really cool jumps" from a local kid on the diving board. I try not to say no to interesting situations, so after swimming, I made good on my promise to return to the bar instead of getting the sleep I should have wanted. I walked in on Andy, Shawn, and Twig discussing plans for their own bike trip: a 20-mile ride from Dighton to a location where they would leave a cooler full of beer as motivation. Throughout the course of 5 more beers (it's Kansas, the beer is light), they showed me how to use Snapchat. I sent them a picture of my face while pooping. They decided I was alright. We discussed things including Trump's wall, which led to an admission that "Mexico will pay for it" was stupid and possibly some acknowledgement that the wall won't even work, but the feeling seemed to be that even a massively irresponsible and ineffective effort was better than encouraging them like Obama somehow does. I really wish I had thought to simply ask why illegals were such a pressing problem, because I suspect that would have let me debunk some myths around illegal immigration: they're hardly "criminals and rapists", for example, given that their crime rate is lower than that of citizens despite their relative poverty, which you'd expect to increase crime. They're not "taking our jobs" because they take jobs that citizens often won't, reducing food costs in the process (exploitation is another matter). They don't live on government handouts because, generally, they're ineligible. And they pay taxes. That doesn't change the fact that they're here illegally, but that's a case for immigration reform, not a massive monument to racism.

Two women showed up later that night, and everyone played the gender roles expected of country men and country women. The women worked the guys for drinks and the guys felt them up and generally demeaned them. I actually called this out a couple times, which might not have been wise, but all that really came of it was a statement that I "just don't know how things work out here". Later, I talked with the woman who was clearly more the desired of the two, and thus the more abused. She mentioned a history of abusive relationships and expressed a lot of genuine pain and frustration, though whenever she thought she said too much, she would switch back to rationalization and excuse-making: they're all "just country boys", after all, and it's different here. We now have $50 on whether the guys will complete their bike trip. I say they'll go, she says they won't.

All in all, self-congratulatory as it is, I was proud that I was able to actually say something about hot-button and important issues like politics and feminism. If nothing else, I think I at least provided an example of a liberal that wasn't evil and power hungry, and a feminist-ally that wasn't just whipped by some man-hater. At some point, Twig convinced Andy to give me some shirts with the What's Up logo on them as a sponsorship. I took three, one for me and one for the two back at cam.

After 2 AM, I got to meet the new deputy, who came by to politely introduce himself to the local color (Andy, Shawn, Twig, and I). Andy assured him that he had just forgot to turn off the open sign, and the rest of us disappeared while Andy had him distracted. We weren't doing anything wrong, as far as I could tell, but that didn't seem to make Shawn and Twig feel at ease. I put on long sleeves and pants despite the heat and humidity, sprayed myself with bug repellent, and went to sleep on top of my bag. That is the only tolerable way to sleep out here.


Here's the pool and our camping spot:

Hospitality - Day 51: Eads, CO to Leoti, KS

There was nothing to distinguish Colorado from Kansas besides a jog in the highway and an underwhelming little roadsign that just said "Kansas". Somehow, drivers became much more angry almost instantly after crossing the anticlimactic border, with three separate incidents of people laying on the horn for no apparent reason while passing with zero other traffic around.

Roadside attractions today included a couple dummies advertising someone's old campaign for county clerk, a plague of grasshoppers, and not much else. The grasshoppers were everywhere, and I was probably squishing one or two every couple seconds throughout the day. We stopped at a gas station and saw some cars absolutely covered with grasshopper guts. No one had ever seen them this bad and one woman asked me to squish as many as possible for the sake of the crops, so I stopped feeling bad about the wholesale bug slaughter.

I made it to Leoti ahead of the other two, where Sonia had arranged a Warm Showers host for us. We never actually met our host. She said she was out of town and invited us to just go on in through the back door. Maybe there's nothing out here, but the people are pretty alright - maybe because all they have out here is each other. After making absolutely sure that I was letting myself into the right house, I took a shower and stocked the fridge with beer. Deanna and Sonia showed up, and we went shopping for groceries and cooked a real dinner.


Here are the sights today:

Don't leave the path - Day 50: Boone, CO to Eads, CO

There is nothing in eastern Colorado. With the Rockies out of sight, today felt like riding through a glitch where only the basic substrate of a game world had managed to render -- a featureless landscape without any of the elements that developers should have added to make it interesting. This was nearly the entire day. The only sign of progress was a slight increase in humidity and bugs per square meter as I headed east.

Eventually, I made it to Haswell, CO, which had a single gas station as the only food source. It was closed. I stopped and ate from my bag at the picnic table outside, attempting to get through the Nutty Buddy bars provided by the kind Pueblo gas station attendant. Two other eastbound cyclists showed up and helped me with that task. They planned to press on to Eads that night, having started from Pueblo and aiming for >100 miles that day. I woke up with a 20 mile headstart on them, so I couldn't just let them pass me. I rode with them to Eads, CO, and was rewarded with a much nicer camping area.

Before leaving Haswell, I pitched the idea of diverting to RAGBRAI, or the Register's Annual Great Ride Across Iowa. I forgot to mention that Ohio Mike had told me about RAGBRAI way back in Yellowstone, and part of the reason for my delay in Denver was to kill some time in order to hit RAGBRAI at the right time. In short, I've been told that RAGBRAI is a massive ride across Iowa, where something like 30,000 people participate in a 6-day rolling party from one end of Iowa to the other while roads are shut down and the locals come out to join. The party goes west to east, so I figured I couldn't miss it. Deanna and Sonia thought it sounded cool and wanted to join, but also wanted to meet a friend in Hutchinson, KS. It looked like that was doable with a couple rest days, so we tentatively planned to ride together through Kansas and up to Iowa.

Every town out here seems to be defined by its grain elevator. The one in Eads was right next to our camping spot, so I climbed it to check out the view. It was night, which meant I wasn't seen, but that also meant that my phone couldn't pick up the view. Oh well. We went to sleep in a strip of grass next to the grain elevator, with the warning that we had to clear out by 7:30 if we wanted to avoid the sprinklers.

The sights:

Dirt - Day 49: Palmer Lake, CO to Boone, CO

The climbing yesterday paid off today. I left at dawn to avoid being discovered and took the recently-renovated Santa Fe trail, all dirt and gravel, from Palmer Lake all the way to Colorado Springs via a path that led directly through a military base. The path was clearly not designed for a rigid bike, much less a loaded one, but the technical challenge brought enough mental engagement that the extra physical exertion wasn't really a problem.

From the military base through Colorado Springs proper I passed some of the most fit people I have ever seen. Given that Colorado Springs is "Olympic City", it's quite likely that some of these were Olympians in training. I should clarify that they were mostly running, not biking, so passing them isn't much of an accomplishment.

South of Colorado Springs, Google refused to identify any bike-safe routes. A bit of poking around online indicated that I should ride the "old highway", which has historically gone quite well for me every time an option with that name was available. Manually dropping a pin on the old highway convinced Google to give me a route through less-traveled farm roads. Eventually, I found that Google refused to suggest a route because the one I insisted on was mostly dirt, much of it somewhat loose and difficult to ride with slick tires. I had been dealing with dirt all day at this point, though, so a little more wasn't a huge deal. The worst part, honestly, was bouncing across rough gravel on my already-sore ass.

After a seemingly endless farm road, I ended up in Pueblo, CO, and stopped at the Riverside Bar & Grill. While there, I told my story to a local cop, who told me about his life in the military and his decision to leave the service in order to actually help people as a cop. The whole interaction gave me a lot more faith in the idea that, yes, most cops really do want to help people, even if many are in it for the badge, gun, and sense of superiority. That said, I do still believe that it's the responsibility of every police officer and police department to call out the bad apples rather than just avoiding confrontation. Perhaps he would do that if pressed, I don't know. It just seems lately that "a few bad apples" are generally allowed to remain and spoil the bunch, often through a collective effort from police departments, police unions, DA prosecutors, and politicians afraid to put themselves opposite the police.

Once the weather cooled off, I started on the remaining 20 miles to Boone, CO, which was back on the official Trans-America route. On my way out, a helpful gas station clerk gave me a bunch of Powerade and expired candy that he was going to throw out, including a whole carton of "nutty buddies" that provided something like 400 calories per stick. The map promised free camping in Boone but didn't mention all the free bug bites from little black flies. Worse, the gas station attendant advised me that a local chemical plant dumped its waste in or near Boone, so I shouldn't drink the water there. I positioned my tent in a spot that felt unlikely to get watered by sprinklers and went to sleep, struggling to stay inside my sweltering bivy sack while bugs buzzed angrily around my head, trying to find a way past the netting to eat a tiny piece of my skin. Biting flies are the worst. I'm still using that skin. Can't they wait until I'm done with it?


Anyway, here are some images from today's ride. First the view from my camping spot, then from the ride. I forgot to mention a couple trail washouts in the pictures below.

I thought I was done climbing - Day 48: Denver, CO to Palmer Lake, CO

Today involved a lot of dirt and gravel, which I'm happy to deal with when it's in small pieces and relatively packed, so long as it gets me off the shoulder of a busy highway. The Cherry Creek Trail got me out of Denver and half the way to Palmer Lake today, followed by some county roads that climbed back up to about 7200 feet.

I probably should have checked the elevation profile before heading out. I was running low on energy when I spotted a Burger King in the distance, which caused me to yell "Bargar Karng!!!" and sprint for it. I thought this was hilarious. Being really hungry can do that. I ate too many rodeo cheeseburgers.

On the way to Palmer Lake, I met a rancher who refilled my water and told me about his son, who took a trip like this. I also met a woman who was just riding the hills for exercise, who told me about her career as a fiction writer and wished me good luck to Palmer Lake since it was getting dark. She recommended a good bar named O'Malley's.

I found O'Malley's after dark, approximately 10 PM. I had a beer before it came out that I was trying to cycle across the country, at which point the usual questions followed - "Why? How'd you end up here of all places?" etc. Being off-route meant that my presence was a bigger deal than normal. I took a selfie with the bartender, who told me about her life up until this point. An old guy named Mike found out I was originally from California, at which point he said I should stay off his mountains, and that it was a shame since he almost liked me. I responded that it was a shame about the single-letter typo they made in naming the nearby Pike's Peak. You know, instead of Mike's Peak. It felt clever at the time.

Four vacationers at a nearby table talked with me a bit before secretly paying my tab, meaning that I got a grill-it-yourself burger and several beers for free. I'd be lying if I didn't overhear their request and order an extra beer. They came in an RV, I figure they would've wanted me to have a good time. Someone else asked if I was a "rennie", and explained that there was a semi-permanent renaissance fair down the road. Many of the workers there make a living working the ren-fair circuit, which I didn't know was a legitimate career option. I later spoke with a real rennie who made his living as a traveling leatherworker, having quit his default-world job for many of the same reasons I left mine.

I didn't bother anyone for a place to stay, but Mike did mention that I was less likely to be discovered on the west shore of the nearby lake. I found a spot right on the water's edge that seemed hidden from most angles and slept there, though I was occasionally awakened by freight trains passing about twenty feet away.

Genuine hospitality - Days 44-47 (?): Denver, CO

I stayed in Denver for a long time. Apparently Angela's last guests had a similar experience, staying for 5 days instead of the originally-planned 1.

The first day, I did laundry, bought a charger that actually worked with all my USB devices, and got groceries. I tried to catch up on this blog, but instead argued about racism on my Facebook wall. Not a waste of time, I think, but not the most relaxing.

I don't remember exactly what happened on each day, but I believe the second day involved a last-minute TED Adventure. TED, as in TED Talks (no idea what TED stands for), apparently runs "adventures" that are meant to be the experiential version of a TED lecture. TED Adventures can apparently be anything from cross-country skiing to visiting art museums, but this particular event was straight up my alley: dinner, hosted by a group called "Slow Food" whose mission is to bring back communal meals as a cornerstone of community and general human connection. Frankly, while I'm all for the concept, I didn't get the sense that the idea was very well implemented. Fittingly for TED, it seemed like the idea was more about convincing ourselves that we were breaking new ground than it was about actual exploration. What mattered was that the people around the table were really great, and the food, fancy Mexican style and accompanied by good Spanish wine, was delicious.

The next day I rode to the legendary Red Rocks amphitheater and back. Red Rocks was appropriately amazing, but I didn't get to go into the actual theater due to a sound check for whatever concert was occurring that night. I considered hanging with some of the early tailgaters, but instead went back and stopped at a few of the many breweries in town, sampling a few beers including one brewed with sake. The most interesting bar was called Grandma's Place, and was appropriately themedto the last detail with crochet and antique furniture everywhere. While there, I met a German couchsurfer and her local host, which was sort of the opposite of my current arrangement. They invited me to join them for dinner, which I did. Then they invited me to join them for booze, which I did. I stayed there until about 1 AM playing drinking games and observing Rocket League (essentially cars with jet engines playing soccer) on their TV, after which I got back to Angela's place and tried to let myself in as quietly as possible so as not to disturb her or her cat, Mitzi.

The day after that -- yes, I stayed at Angela's a while -- I mainly rested and watched Legend of Korra, the sequel to Avatar: The Last Airbender which I had finished back in Lander. Importantly, I also got to lob a long-dead Christmas tree off Angela's seventh-story balcony, which was very satisfying. The story of the Christmas tree is a surprisingly long one: Mitzi enjoyed hanging out beneath the tree, so Angela left it a little after Christmas. Once she went to get rid of it, she found several large eggs beneath it. These eggs were laid by Lucy, a Canadian goose, who ended up living on Angela's balcony for quite a while before finally abandoning her unfertilized eggs. Lucy had left only a short while ago and thus didn't need the tree anymore, and a building beneath the apartment was being demolished, so she requested that I chuck the tree into the rubble that had to be cleared anyway. Happily, I obliged, and watched the wind catch it and take it around the corner of the building - the better to conceal its source. That probably confused the demolition crew.


Here's Mitzi, and a few images from Red Rocks and the trail I took to get there. For some reason, Mitzi loves being near strawberries. Not eating them, just being near them.

Metropolitan - Day 43: Boulder, CO to Denver, CO

A new bike path was recently opened that runs the entire distance from Boulder to the train station in central Denver, and the whole thing is beautiful. I passed ritzy shopping centers, colonies of prairie dogs, and lots of rolling hills, remaining on paved and protected paths all the way to central Denver. Everyone says Portland is bike-friendly, but it's nothing compared to this.

Unfamiliar with where I could safely stealth camp in Denver, I arranged a Warm Showers host in the southeastern portion of the city, which meant I had to cross through the city center. I had time to kill, so I stopped at the first brewery I saw, called Goldspot Brewing. Nothing there particularly blew me away, but it was definitely tasty, and I enjoyed talking with the bartender and a few patrons about my trip and the bike touring that everyone else had done. Apparently, in Denver, it's a safe assumption that everyone you meet has done some amount of bike touring.

I met my host Angela at her apartment. She has to be the coolest person I've met in a while. Originally from Bavaria, she has toured the Great Divide and had experience with triathalons and other bike events. She cooked me a hearty spaghetti dinner with salad and a good Bavarian-style hefeweisen from Prost, and said I was welcome to stay as long as I liked. She left me the key to her apartment and the fob to enter the building, and asked that I slid it all back under the door if I chose to leave the next day.

I went to sleep on a nice air mattress seven stories above Denver with a pleasantly full stomach and considerably happier heart. At some point on the bike path today, I just became intensely happy for no apparent reason, and that feeling never really went away. The prairie dogs were hilarious, the flowers beautiful, the climbs pleasant, and the downhills even better. Maybe it's a little bit of insanity, but I chose to embrace it, whistling at the prairie dogs and singing whatever pieces of songs I could remember. I've never been good with lyrics, but for once, it didn't particularly matter.


Here are some pictures from the Boulder -> Denver trail, along with the Denver skyline:

'Merica Day 2.0 - Day 42: Boulder

I did nothing today, again. I think that's fair, considering that I don't get weekends. I got some groceries, charged all my devices, did laundry, repacked my bags, and generally recharged myself. It hasn't been that long since Fort Collins, but it was nice to take care of these things without being threatened by a yappy dog.

John went to the hospital today, finally. The diagnosis I wrote in yesterday's post was actually received today, along with the recommendation to visit a neurosurgeon immediately after getting home to NY. He has a neck brace now, which makes me much less anxious regardless of what it does for him.

Today I also had a long conversation about drugs and The Doors of Perception, essentially. I find no reason to believe in a god, but maybe that was just because I haven't experienced the loss of self and higher realizations brought on by DMT and, more commonly, LSD. There isn't much I could say to things I haven't experienced, but I feel that when dealing with drugs, the feeling of truth has to be separated from any conscious decision to accept something as true. Psychoactives alter perception of reality, so it doesn't seem like a stretch to say that they could force things to "feel true" regardless of reality. Anyway, that discussion went where similar discussions tend to go: nowhere. Like me, today!

'Merica Day - Day 41: Fort Collins, CO to Boulder, CO

Today I made a pilgrimage to a place I was very excited about. Avery Brewing, not Boulder itself, was in my GPS on the way out this morning. The ride there was beautiful, following country roads with a strong tailwind from Fort Collins to Longmont. A bridge had washed out along the way, but the winds were such that I didn't care about a detour. From Longmont to Boulder there was an excellent bike path, mostly secluded from anything particularly urban and complete with signs and underpasses wherever it crossed a road. It felt, for once, like biking was actually encouraged as something more than an afterthought.

At Avery, I awkwardly changed into civilian (non-biking) clothes at the bike rack and took a seat at the bar. I started strong with a beer called Samael, Prince of Darkness, which tasted appropriately dark, powerful, and delicious. Due to the events of the next few hours, however, I can't write an accurate review.

I rounded out the heavy beers on offer by sampling Xocolotl, Tweak, and my favorite, Callipygian, all of which are above 10% ABV. I won't go into detail, but briefly: Xocolotl is like dark chocolate, chile peppers, and sawdust, which I mean in a very positive way: earthy and raw, like pure cocoa powder. Tweak tastes like chocolate-covered coffee beans soaked in Xocolotl minus the chiles. Callipygian is like distilled vanilla and fudge essence - basically, the best complement to vanilla ice cream I could think of, and would make an incredibly indulgent, alcoholic, and expensive beer float. All three were very intense, coating the mouth with a small sip, best enjoyed like a whiskey for the way it fills your mouth and nose. I should acknowledge that any beer enthusiast would call total blasphemy on my Callipygian float immediately before getting curious and ordering one for themselves.

Deciding to be social, I ordered a lighter widely-distributed beer called White Rascal, a tasty Belgian-style wheat with the standard coriander and orange peel flavors, just to compare the tap to the bottled stuff I'd had before. It was a little more spicy overall than they might make it in Bavaria, I think, but perfect for someone with my weak senses of taste and smell. Out of everything, the bartender only charged me the $5 for the White Rascal, which saved some serious cash. He didn't even know I was biking across the country, so I'll chalk it up to some kind of patriotism given the date.

I approached a woman who looked alone and bored, figuring that might mean I had a low threshold to overcome in order to establish myself as interesting. She was waiting for her friend to get off work, and once her friend was free, they invited me to join them at a table. More Avery workers piled in and soon there was beer and food everywhere. I ordered an Ellie's Brown, but couldn't get through it due to tasters of Chai High, Maharaja, and some kind of pilsner that showed up, not to mention some multi-layer dip and beer pretzels. Again, I only paid for the Ellie's Brown. I was then invited to a pool party, which I could hardly decline. On the way out, another tray of tasters was just arriving - apparently, whoever requested it had completely forgotten it. I distributed it to other, surprisingly trusting bargoers.

The pool was mostly empty when I arrived, save for two younger guys at a table in the shade and one older, muscle-bound man across the pool, flexing and posing for a nonexistent audience. The two guys looked bored, so with the same rationale as before, I introduced myself and found out we were waiting for the same group. The beer sampling continued as they produced several six-packs of unlabeled cans containing an unreleased grapefruit pale that was brewed at Avery for an employee's wedding. It was, of course, delicious, citrusy and perfectly appropriate for a poolside drink.

James taught me how to throw a football properly, which is something I never learned growing up with video games. Most of my life, I mainly just avoided footballs and the people who like them. I even chose to attend UCSC based partially on the fact that they had no football team. July 4th seemed like the appropriate time to learn, though, and I got an idea how it works pretty quickly. Two Slovakian guys showed up and had a more difficult time with the football, so it must be something you absorb just by living here.

Finally, the rest of Avery showed up, as far as I could tell. More objects were thrown. For most people, the pool was just an excuse to wear fewer clothes, not something to actually interact with, and somehow I felt like a stooge for getting in. Eventually, it started getting dark and they invited me to watch fireworks with a group of them. In a fit of social anxiety, I declined, assuming for some reason that the invitation was only out of obligation. So I left, and immediately felt lonely. I need to stop doing that.

Earlier, I contacted John from New York, who mentioned that he had somehow ended up in Boulder as well. I couldn't reach him, so I wandered around at random for a while until I met another guy with a loaded bike. He said he's been homeless for 7 years, just living around Boulder, and was waiting to watch fireworks from there. I watched a couple shows get started before John got back to me, letting me know that his host was cool with me staying there.

When I arrived, I found that John had been staying for a while because he had literally broken his neck. Not riding his bike, either -- of all the ways to be injured on tour, he had attended a Grateful Dead (or the remains thereof) concert and had a tent fall on him, fracturing his C6 vertebrae and doing some other kind of damage to C1. I brought him a tequila-barrel aged beer from Avery (he likes tequila). I don't know if that helped with the neck injury at all.

I went to sleep on a nice air mattress that was already set up in the basement - it was meant for John, but he couldn't lie down, so it was passed to me. Lucky, I guess?

'Merica Eve - Day 40: Fort Collins

Matt and Hannah already had a BBQ planned for America Eve (July 3rd), so Matt and I did a quick, early bike tour to check out New Belgium and O'Dells breweries before the party. I didn't have time to sample as much as I might have liked, but it's at least worth writing about my impressions from New Belgium.

First of all, both New Belgium and O'Dells are huge, and both were busy even before noon on July 3rd. Fort Collins clearly takes its beer culture seriously. New Belgium has a room for a strange game that involves rolling roundish stones (bolls) down a long court that is depressed into the ground with sides that curve up, in a mix of curling and shuffleboard. When I was there, it was overrun with children chasing the stones around. From the few stone-child collisions I witnessed, the bolls must be much lighter than they look.

Skip the next two paragraphs if you don't care about beer.

I've tried most of New Belgium's stuff before, including my favorite sour, La Folie. The 2016 La Folie is great as always, maybe a little more tart than last year, and I don't think that's a bad thing since I could still happily finish a large glass (slowly, of course). I'm not as familiar with sours and I won't get into a thorough beer review here, but I can definitely recommend it to anyone who wants a quality sour that's still very pleasant to someone like me that hasn't spent time training themselves to like sours. I was most impressed, though, by the Whiskey Fat Back, aged as implied in whiskey barrels. I think of New Belgium as a producer of lighter, summertime, drinkable beers that I'd look for in 12-packs to supply a party with reasonable beer at reasonable cost. The Whiskey Fat Back, though, was something else entirely. It poured amber, but tasted darker. Very woody, with strong notes of vanilla and caramel, and noticeable but not overpowering boozy flavor. Basically, a craft beer that seems meant to compete in a whole other market -- something that I'd be willing to share and savor a bottle of, even let it age, rather than something to buy in bulk for a party that wasn't meant to revolve around beer. Unfortunately and despite my insistence, there aren't any plans to bottle Whiskey Fat Back.

O'Dell is great for IPAs, and I can definitely recognize and acknowledge that, but IPAs aren't usually my jam. I know, it's blasphemy to say that in the northwest, but it's true; so many IPAs are nothing but hop-bombs that, I imagine, were created so that beer connoisseurs could feel superior whenever a normie calls them too bitter. Anyway, the atmosphere at O'Dell was great and they had something like 40 taps available, but I went for the first stout I could find on a casual inspection. It was enjoyable, but most beer is, and I got the sense that it was there just to round out their offerings. I can say that they had a great food cart, though, selling some interesting sandwiches. We had to return to the BBQ before really getting into their beer.

Continue reading here if you skipped the preceding two paragraphs.

I met a bunch of real physics students at the BBQ, all pursuing PhDs and generally planning to stay in academia as long as possible. Turns out there isn't much call for subatomic particle physicists in industry, though I imagine the few opportunities that do exist are insanely cool. We failed to light some wet charcoal and then took over someone else's grill. I ate too much, as intended, and fell asleep on the grass. Later, I woke up, went inside, and fell asleep again. I woke up at 10 PM, moved slightly, and went to sleep a third time. Turns out I'm not very aware of when my body does and does not need sleep.

Priorities - Day 39: Walden, CO to Fort Collins, CO

I woke up early in Walden and realized that I had just camped illegally on the courthouse lawn. I arrived late and left early, so either no one saw me or no one cared. I packed up and went to the actual free camping spot to see if anyone I knew was there - apparently, the women hadn't made it that far, even though the visitors' center in Riverside said they had passed through. I imagine they ended up in a campground along the way.

I spoke with a father-son westbound pair from the Netherlands, and waved at a large group of cyclists packing their things into a support van. They weren't as interested in taking with me. At first, I assumed their aloofness was a superiority thing, since they could afford thousands of dollars for their trip while I schlepped all my own stuff, but later I realized that in their place, I would probably be worried that self-supported folks would look down on the those with a support vehicle. I also realized that they might be kind of right, which is unfair of me. I think that the value of my trip comes largely from escaping rigid schedules, exploring my own limits and abilities by setting my own goals and pushing myself to meet them, and proving that a bike is actually useful for transportation instead of just a toy, all of which I don't think I would get from a supported tour. With support, the schedule is set for you, the goals are chosen for accessibility, I would rely on herd instinct rather than personal initiative, and the bike would feel redundant when a van is right there anyway. For me, it'd feel like paying some actors to help me pretend to adventure. But is there anything wrong with that, if you're honest about it? Again, I don't think it's fair of me to look down on their trip -- they don't have to have the same goals as I do, they could have health or other issues complicating things, and really, anything that gets people on a bike should be encouraged. Plus, who am I to judge a supported ride when the majority of my "adventuring" comes from video games?

Anyway, with these thoughts in mind, I left early and headed off route -- this time, intentionally. The official Trans-Am trail stays west of the Rockies for a while and explores some nice views and ski towns, but I chose to duck into Colorado proper to visit a friend, try the beer, and experience places like Boulder, which I hear are amazing. I picked up a map from State Park State Forest visitor's center and headed west on Highway 14, which involved a 2,000-ft climb to break 10,000 ft before dropping about 5,000 ft again into Fort Collins.

I had to keep reminding myself to breathe harder than I felt like I should, but the climb wasn't too terrible. The descent was absolutely beautiful, but I felt robbed -- I had a headwind the entire day, so all that altitude didn't translate to an easy day of watching the sights zip by like I expected. I spent almost no time coasting. Even in a tight tuck, the wind brought me to what felt like a crawl if I didn't keep pedaling as hard as I could. I did still manage to make it ~100 miles into to Fort Collins while it was still daylight, where I stayed with Matt Hogan, who is another UCSC physics grad; his wife Hannah; and their two small but aggressive dogs. I was still very happy for the place to stay even if the dogs weren't.

The river canyon along highway 14 is very steep and very difficult to photograph without proper lenses, much less an old cell phone. Here are some attempts, first a couple pictures from the climb, then a very fuzzy dog, then the descent:

Improper incentive - Day 38: Rawlins, WY to Walden, CO

Trail advice said to stay with Carim and/or Brandon in Saratoga Springs, about 40 miles from Rawlins, which would be a pretty short day. Apparently they're just the coolest people and they take anyone who shows up, even finding people with loaded bikes in town to bring back with them. I was feeling guilty about taking a rest day so soon after the Lander rest day, though, and thought it would be funny to show up where the women I met before would probably be, so I only stayed in Saratoga long enough to get some food. In retrospect, I probably should have just stayed since that kind of anxiety is exactly what I'd like to get away from in the first place.

The next place to stay would have been Riverside or Encampment, which I learned are not just one place named Riverside Encampment. That would have been a 60 mile day, which is pretty reasonable. I thought I would likely stay there due to a number of storm cells in the area, including one that dumped a bunch of marble-sized hail which stung through my rain jacket and kept ringing my bike bell for me. With no shelter around, I was just about to get off the bike and set up my tarp when it lessened. I stopped in the Riverside visitor center, looked up a radar map of storm activity, and saw that the cell covering my path out of Riverside was starting to fade and there appeared to be a brief opening to Walden, CO, CO, about 40-50 miles away for a total of 110ish miles. So, I left.

The storm cell I'd been watching continued to move away from my path, and I made it to Walden without getting a drop of rain. Riding at night through the Colorado portion was probably not the worst idea, either, as there was no shoulder to keep me out of daytime traffic. At night, traffic is sparse and well-lit, so it was easy to just get off the road whenever everything around me started to glow from someone's headlights. Walden had free camping in a park one block east of main street, but I was tired enough that I accidentally went west instead. There was another "park" there, too. I think I realized this was the wrong place once I saw that there were no tents around, but there was a cozy looking spot between some concrete barriers and a backup diesel generator where I wouldn't be seen. I assumed that there would be no power outages tonight and thus no need to start the generator, and went to sleep.

Here's a sign in Saratoga, likely addressing cycle tourists:




And here's the sign welcoming me to Colorado at something like 9 PM, which is still light at high elevation:

Couchstaying - Day 37: Rawlins

I waited a lot today. I woke up and waited for some of the women to be ready to go to a nearby cafe, which never happened. I waited to leave at the same time they were instead of jetting ahead. They waited until after noon to leave, at which point it started raining, so they waited more. I started getting unreasonably irritable, even though I could just as easily left by myself. I considered doing that until I thought about my Achilles' tendon, which was still giving me trouble, so I figured waiting wasn't the worst thing. Hans said we could all stay another night, so I accepted though the three women eventually did go. Calen already planned to stay something like 3 days to meet family.

Most of the day was spent researching my ankle issues, wandering aimlessly while experimenting with ankle issues, or sitting and contemplating ankle issues. The internet informed me that over-pronation can cause Achilles' tendonitis while running, so I tried exaggerated supination with that foot and found that it actually seemed to not aggravate anything. Hans, a triathlete, provided some helpful CBD muscle soreness cream (another reason he appreciated lack of government interference) and Calen gave me at least an hour of yoga instruction, so I felt pretty well taken care of.

I did make it to Thursday night music in the park, which featured a pretty good classic rock cover band that did well by Hendrix, Zepplin, Sabbath, and some other favorites. I failed to actually talk with anyone there because I was too shy to break into existing friend groups, and too slow to think of anything besides "Hi, I'm cycling across the country, what is Rawlins like?" -- which, in retrospect, probably would have worked just fine.

Calen was promoted to the huge bed for the night, and I went back to my couch. I can sleep anywhere, so I think she was way happier about the bed than I would have been. Being a yoga instructor, though, she's probably just happier than I am overall.

Here are some Calvin and Hobbes prints I really liked from Hans' wall. I used flash because I'm apparently not very smart:

Couchsurfing - Day 36: Jeffery City, WY to Rawlins, WY

As has been the pattern when around interesting people, none of us left early besides Rob, who seemed to prefer his bike to people anyway. Jersey John played the church piano beautifully and impressed everyone while I tried to figure out how to turn on their classic Hammond B3 organ, a standard of the funk and gospel worlds for a while. Eventually, I figured it out. No one wanted to play it. I stepped all over John’s playing where I thought I could pick out a melody line, and then decided to turn it off. He was very gracious about complementing my ear for music. I liked him.

On the ride to Rawlins, I planned to eat at a diner that I discovered had closed long ago. I poured myself some granola before realizing that I had broken my spoon in the church. So, I explored the diner (it was only kind of locked, and clearly long abandoned) until I found the one spoon among hundreds of forks, washed it with the dregs of some dish soap, and enjoyed my granola. I washed the spoon again and returned it - it was clear no one cared about the place, but it felt like the right thing to do. There was only one, after all.

Climbing Willow Hill into Rawlins, I started having issues with my right Achilles' tendon. Thankfully, a prairie storm hit about the same time the tendonitis got bad, which provided a nice cooling rain and some tailwinds that carried me over the continental divide (again) and into town. I wandered around until I found cheap food and WiFi at Penny’s Diner, at which point Nicole texted me to say she was in town. I directed her to Penny’s and her group showed up one by one. They had arranged a Couchsurfing host who was kind enough to let me tag along, so after some false starts in every cardinal direction, we made our way to Hans’ house. They mentioned that having a dude along with them made them feel more comfortable couchsurfing. I'm not sure what help I would have been if things went poorly, but I was happy to be a placebo bodyguard anyway.

Hans already had one couchsurfer and was very excited to have a total of 5 guests at once. He was honest about why he was excited - his girlfriend had left, and, frankly, he was lonely. I appreciated that he was open about that, given that he is a self-identified "country boy" which, I thought, meant that emotional expression would be considered weakness. Maybe it was easier around 4 women. Hans liked Rawlins, and appreciated that one could live their life there without the government getting in the way. From the many different types of ammunition lying around, I assumed he was referring mainly to gun control. I should note that all the guns themselves were safely locked away in a safe, and he did use them. He said he hadn't bought meat for about 4 months now.

The other couchsurfer, Calen, was pretty much the opposite of Hans: a vegan yoga teacher who was visibly uncomfortable about all the taxidermied animals in the house, though she didn't mention that discomfort until asked. She is riding westbound without any money to her name, instead stopping at restaurants when she's hungry and asking to wash dishes for a couple hours. Apparently it's worked well for her so far.

Hans was very generous, allowing us essentially free access to his liquor cabinet. Emily assembled some ginger beer, lime, and whiskey cocktails, and we all hung out by Hans' fire pit with his two silver labs. Discussion topics included whiskey, pseudoscience, and all the typical questions one gets as a touring cyclist. The group of three went to sleep in a gigantic bed in Hans's basement, while Calen and I took couches outside their room.

The abandoned cafe:



The hill and storm into Rawlins, which has to be something like the 8th time I've crossed the continental divide:

Ghost town - Day 35: Rawlins to Jeffery City

Just like in video games, I woke up in the same place after failing to achieve my goal the previous day. Instead of a deer, though, I was woken by two very excited and very wet dogs that were very enthusiastic about sharing both qualities with me.

Three other cyclists, all women, were eating nearby. I briefly said hi and went toward a table farther away, thinking that they probably get enough unwanted attention from guys who’ve been on the trail too long. They invited me over, though, so I ate with them and discovered that we were all headed to Jeffery City – not a surprise, really, as it’s the only reasonable place to stay in the 127 mile stretch between Lander and Rawlins. Trail rumors held that there was a church there that takes in cyclists for free, and the fact that these women had heard that same rumor confirmed that it must be true. I ended up leaving ahead of them, mainly because I have no tent to pack.

The ride to Jeffery City was fast and uneventful, save for a distant thunderstorm and surprising Troy, the "Green Machine", who thought I was way ahead of him already having passed him on Togwotee Pass. Jeffery City itself, previously a thriving uranium mining town, is mostly abandoned now with a population of 56, lots of empty buildings, and no paved roads. A white spire stood out in the distance, set apart from the town, so I headed for that. From a distance, I saw two people smoking on the front porch. They saw me and went inside. Strange, I thought, but maybe they were just preparing something for me. My bike got bogged down in sand halfway there, so I got off and walked. This was apparently an invitation to every biting insect in the area, as a swarm of mosquitoes and at least three kinds of biting flies showed up to get literal pieces of me. This motivated me to get to the church as quickly as possible. I noted that the smokers had left their cigarettes on the porch, which I assumed meant that they would return soon.

I didn’t want to just barge in and make myself at home, but I also didn’t want to deal with the bugs, so I went inside after them. I sat in a pew at the back of the church to wait for the smokers, who would hopefully give me permission to be there. Nothing happened for a long time. I dozed off, woke up, and checked the front porch again. The cigarettes were gone. I took a more proactive approach and checked around back, where I found the smokers. I don’t know why they hid when I showed up, but they turned out to be nice guys, both westbound cyclists. I only remember John from Jersey, who could be convinced to talk, and his friend from Kansas City, who hardly would. They showed me the secret hostel entrance and gave me a tour of the facilities, which included hot showers, a kitchen, four rooms, a basketball hoop, and a ping-pong table. I never met anyone who was actually from the church.

There was one more cyclist inside, Rob, an ex-Google employee who was diverting from the Great Divide mountain bike route to avoid miles and miles of deep, loose sand. The four of us went to the only bar with the only bartender. While there, the women I had met before rode into town, and I hurried to meet them. I told them about the sand, the bugs, and the secret door. They left to establish themselves. I should probably describe them since I've mentioned them twice now: first there’s Cali from California and Erika from America (actually LA and Ohai, respectively) who started the route together. Cali is enthusiastic about playing cards, which I was excited about, but apparently no one else had the patience for a game. Erika is a pre-med student studying to be a naturopathic doctor, which apparently means a traditional MD with some extra training. I know a lot of woo-woo gets put under the heading of naturopathic medicine, but if she can find common herbs or simple lifestyle changes that can take the place of prescription drugs in certain cases, I’m all for it. Nicole is a tagalong they picked up, like me, which means she started solo. She’s also much younger at 17, which means she’s got a 10-year headstart when it comes to doing cool things. Apparently, in Missoula they told her that the youngest to ever ride the Trans-Am was a 9 year old girl, which means I’m even farther behind.

The wall of the kitchen was covered with signatures from passing cyclists, and I found that Ethan, Ohio Mike, Martin the Flying Scott, and Bart or "El Barto" had all stayed there. The church was full that night, with the three women in one room, John and quiet friend in the second, Rob in the third, and a picture of Jesus holding a lamb staying with me in the fourth room. I tucked the Jesus portrait into one of the girl’s sleeping bags, his head on the pillow, so that he looked quite comfy cuddling his lamb.

Here's a poodle that didn't want me (or at least my bike) to leave Lander:




A view between Lander and Jefferey City, I believe from Beaver Rim:





The church that I hoped would take me in: