Today: 91 miles (of 91 miles--hurray!), 2929 feet climbing
Cumulative: 16 biking days, 1196 miles, 66000 feet.
Today was cold and windy. I swore I was never going to be as cold as I was on the Pagosa Springs morning, so this time I was prepared, but I was still cold! I left the hotel in Raton around 7 am. The folks there were incredibly friendly and all curious to know where we were going and talking about the route, the area, etc. I was wearing two layers of bike shorts with bib tops, one that went down over the knee, my ever-popular Brazil soccer knee-socks over a second pair of socks, a long-sleeve undershirt, a biking jersey, a windbreaker, and full-fingered biking gloves. I was still cold. The first hour the sun was stuck behind a bluff as we wound up New Mexico Route 72 through a little canyon going up to Johnson's Mesa (where they found the Folsom Man--among the oldest human remains in the Americas). When the sun finally reached the road, I duly saluted it. But even with the sun, it never warmed up. In the canyon, there were tons of deer, including a posse of young bucks that crossed in front of me. There was also another little flock of wild turkeys. (Later in the day were hundreds more pronghorns, too.)
We did what I think will be our last real climb until we get to the Ozarks in Missouri in a week or so. It was really steep, but only about 2 or 3 miles. On top of the mesa, we were in prairie land--all God-forsaken windswept and forlorn with the occasional group of cattle. There was an icy, icy wind from the north (i.e., our left side). On the mesa the road was a little, bumpy, hilly thing with nary a car or truck every 15 minutes, though at one point a group of horsemen drove a herd of cattle across and along the road for a ways. We passed a little stone church from the 19th century with the tiny graveyard across the road and the obligatory two outhouses in back. It looked so tiny, cold, and insignificant in this vast landscape. One can imagine it being a welcome salvation in a snowstorm or something, especially back in those olden days. I was too cold to stop for photos, which would have involved taking off gloves and pawing through all my layers.
Then I got a flat. Why does this always happen in the most inappropriate places. The vans and all but a few riders had passed me by. I fixed the flat, but in my haste didn't notice the thorn still stuck in the tire and the replacement tube flatted instantly once I had it all back in place. Luckily Hassan, one of the group, passed by and had an extra tube so I wouldn't have to use a patch and helped me out, neither of our frozen fingers much able to manipulate the tire and wheel back in place. I had no cell signal to call the van, but I knew it would be back eventually, anyway, and sure enough, it came by a half hour later, urged on by the other riders that knew of my plight. By this time, of course, I was back up and riding, but I availed myself of the good pump in the van and got two fresh tubes. A few minutes in the heated van was a welcome respite, and I pulled out my rubberized black jacket to add a fourth layer on top.
Now I was far, far behind everyone else. I hate that, even though I usually end up in that position by afternoon anyway. But I plugged on. I always stop at all the historic markers and plaques along the way. In Folsom, where I expected one about the Folsom Man, there was one instead dedicated to a telephone operator. In 1908, she died in a flash flood, having spent the last hour of her life calling everyone and warning them of the wall of water rushing down the Cimarron Dry Canyon towards the little town. Operators from across the country raised money through a campaign of dimes to erect the memorial to her and her heroism. Amazing.
By now I was down off the mesa all the way down to 6500 feet of elevation where the air is palpably thicker and its easier to breath. I couldn't remember the last time I got a good satisfying lungful of oxygen! Clayton, our destination today, is at 5000 feet--oxygen!!
From Des Moines on into lunch and all the 50 miles remaining into Clayton, there was a tremendous tailwind! Two days in a row! But it wasn't fun like yesterday. I was grouchy, in a bad mood with the flats, the cold, fighting with my girlfriend long-distance... But the afternoon was over in a snap. Even though the road into Clayton was a big divided highway like an interstate, it was pretty smooth, safe, and easy.
When I got to my room and showered, I laid on the bed, started to read and fell fast asleep. The alarm for dinner awoke me nearly three hours later from some incredible dream. I dreamed there was some kind of spirit angel soothing me and telling me that this was a very special place of total relaxation and recuperation, providing exactly what was necessary to a weary wayfaring soul seeking refuge and rest. Nice!
Note: Be sure to check out Berkas' (one of the guides) photos of the trip.
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