"If the mountain will not come to Mohammed, Mohammed must go to the mountain."
Well, my name's not Mohammed but after a long absence the mountains were definitely calling, and PAC Tour's Ridge of the Rockies ride started looking especially appealing. It's been three years since my last PAC Tour and Ontario Bike Club member Bob Choquette's recent experience with PAC got me thinking about it again. A summer of extended commuting as training didn't result in many centuries (just the two from the Rideau Lakes Tour) or any extended climbing, but did get me more mileage than I've had in the last few years. So I got permission from the missus and indifference from the kids ("Gone for three weeks? OK, Dad, see ya!") and I was off.
The gods are smiling # 1: American Eagle decided they wouldn't charge me the usual $75 US for the oversized luggage that contained my bike. I hoped it would still make it all the way to Kalispell, Montana (via Boston and Minneapolis) because I could have sent it guaranteed three-day-arrival UPS in advance, though UPS wanted $200 and there was going to be all sorts of customs brokerage issues. But there it was when I arrived.
The gods # 2: My all day flights get me into Kalispell late Monday night after a morning departure from Ottawa. Then all hell breaks loose in New York and Washington on Tuesday morning and all the airports are closed down. I'm glad I got here in time, as there are lots of tour participants who now have to cancel or make other arrangements to join us down the road once the airports open back up. It's a terrible tragedy and Americans everywhere we go are glued to their televisions and look shocked.
I meet seven other early arrivers (the PAC ride officially starts Thursday) on Tuesday morning September 11, 2001, at breakfast. The plan is to ride from Kalispell up to the Canadian border, stay overnight in Glacier National Park, and ride back on Wednesday. What follows has to be one of the best bike rides ever. It's 84 km from the south end of the park, to Glacier Lodge at the north end. There's a 35 km warm up along Lake McDonald, then a 20 km climb up the Going To The Sun highway to Logan Pass at 6,680 feet. Perfect warm sunny weather, with enough of a breeze to make the climb comfortable. Constant 6% grade for the 20 km, with rock wall on one side of the narrow road and drop-off on the other. Great views at the top, with 8 to 9,000 foot peaks all around; then a screaming 30 km descent to the Lodge. We decide to do the last bit to the Canadian border tomorrow. A Montana greasy spoon finishes off the night.
Don Friedlander
"Up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen."
William Alling
It's 42 degrees (that's Fahrenheit - I'm near the Canadian border but not near enough) in the morning, and you can see your breath. I hope it has something to do with dew points etc. and not the alcohol the night before. I consider Lifa, leg warmers and tights, but put my trust in the sun making an imminent appearance over the mountain tops and warming up the valley, and settle for the tights only. My two riding companions are from Arizona and South Carolina and they think that a blanket of freezing air covers the whole of Canada. They've got a distorted idea of Canadian weather and a Canadian’s tolerance for arctic conditions, which it seems I didn't help any. We shared a two room cabin last night and they stuck to one room with the gas fireplace going full blast and I stuck to the other room with both windows wide open. And no, it wasn't the alcohol then either.
So they decide not to go the last 20 miles to the border (“it’s probably snowing up in Canada”). We've got to head back south, and fast. Our ultimate PAC Tour destination is El Paso, Texas some 18 days hence, but they want to be there by noon today. Fortunately there's no wind, the sun makes an appearance, the views are just a stunning as yesterday, and we head back down the Going To The Sun highway. It's an 18 mile ride back up to 6,680 feet, where the scenery is great, the air is thin, and the wind picks up and dries the sweat off in an instant. No stopping at the top this time, then a rush down into the glen. It's 12 miles of continuous descent, marred only by a van full of tourists who've never experienced the joy of being on a bicycle going far too fast, and won't let us by. We probably still averaged 35 mph on the way down. Then a leisurely lunch (a real PAC Tour training type lunch: potato chips, Coke and a chocolate bar) by the shores of glacier fed Lake McDonald where I convince my companions that the only reason I won't go for my usual lunchtime swim is that the water is too polluted, a problem we don't have up in Canadian waters.
Then back to Kalispell where the rest of the PAC riders are slowly dribbling in. Pack up for the usual early start, and early to bed.
Don Friedlander
"’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, and robes the mountain in its azure hue."
Thomas Campbell
Kalispell, Montana to Missoula, Montana.
148 miles. 3340 feet climbing.
I'd forgotten what eating breakfast in a parking lot before the sun comes up was like. I'm still not too enamored of it. And an added complication was that it barely cleared 42 degrees Fahrenheit this morning. The Cheerios were jumping around in the bowl as it was difficult to stop my hands from shaking. Putting gloves on warmed my fingers but didn't seem to help the dexterity much.
A significant difference between this PAC Tour and the two others I've done is the preponderance of PAC veterans among this group. The average age is 40 something, and even though this was the first morning of the tour, all the riders knew the drill and breakfast was eaten and all the riders departed within thirty minutes. It was cold out on the road at 7:30, and most had a few layers on. I stuck with my two companions from yesterday. Ann Mullins is from South Carolina and is used to riding megamiles. She has an affiliation with the Ultra Marathon Cycling Association. Dick Snyder is from Arizona, and I've ridden with him before as we met and rode a lot together on the Northern Tier PAC Tour in '96. I figured I might need the physical and mental support as I've got only two centuries under my belt this year, and most of my rides have been in the 50 mile range (Ann's done something like 30 centuries so far this year).
So while the air is cool, the sun is warm and the winds aren't too significant. We head south down relatively flat valley bottoms, through pine forests. Lots of open vistas; "big sky" Montana. The roads are pretty good, though trucks leave lots of retread debris in places. The traffic is moderate. There are PAC food/drink stops set up every 25 to 35 miles, and a full lunch set up at 80 miles (sandwich fixings, pasta salads etc.). The three of us move along well, rotating the lead. There are 30 other riders, but we don't see many of them in pace lines or even drafting. The pine forests are green, but the ground and open fields are parched dry. Water levels in the streams are obviously down. The mountains are blue in the distance, and speaking of distance: this is my longest ride of the year, so my legs are glad to see the end. Good dinner and early to bed.
Don Friedlander
"And to me, high mountains are a feeling, but the hum of cities torture."
Lord Byron
Missoula, Montana to Butte, Montana
134 miles. 4850 feet climbing.
It's Friday morning, I've just woken up and the legs don't want to move. I don't know how these BMB (Boston Montreal Boston) types like Mike and Vytas do it (by the way guys, John Hughes says hello). Maybe they pedal in their sleep so their legs don't have a chance to seize up. But it's only the second day and my legs are seized up already. I struggle out to breakfast where the three of us (Dick, Ann and me) decide we should share time with the massage therapist. We'll pre-book 5:30 pm every day of the tour, and take turns.
Lon Haldeman and Susan Notorangelo run a well-organized tour. A typical PAC day starts with breakfast in the parking lot before (or as) the sun rises. Then all the luggage gets put on the truck, riders on the bikes, and everyone heads out at about the same time. There are approximately forty riders and ten crew. Most crew members share crew responsibilities and riding opportunities, riding half the time (either morning or afternoon, or every second day). There are three vans or trucks. Sag stops, with snacks and drinks, are set up every 25 to 30 miles in road side parks or pull-outs. A full lunch is provided typically 75 to 90 miles out. Luggage is trucked down the road to the next hotel. Full mechanical support is also provided as needed. Riders ride singly or in small groups. Lots of them know each other from previous tours, or come with their own riding partners. I rode with Dick on the '96 Northern, and Ann connected with us through Susan as Ann was looking for partners to do a pre-tour trip through Glacier National Park. We're joined today by Jane Farrell, who just got in from Dallas. I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. Jane’s a personal fitness trainer. Dick’s an ex-professional basketball player and all-round athlete. Ann’s a megamiles cyclist with thirty centuries already this year. I’m surrounded by cycling/fitness fanatics. I’m thinking I should have done more training miles. There are lots of riders who haven't yet arrived because of the New York and Washington events. They'll join up down the road. Maybe I can still find someone slow to ride with.
The ride today moves south out of the pine forests into open dry ranch land. We ride on the I-90 for awhile, as there are no other options heading south here. It’s a little ugly, but it’s fast. Then we do 20 miles on the Pintler Scenic Route. After lunch there's a 1200 foot climb to 6300 feet, and back into the pine forests on a ridge. Then a great descent off the ridge into the next valley. It's been a great ride, with a good group of four, good weather, and a high feeling, until it finishes up with a torturous and noisy ride back on the I-90 into downtown Butte (elevation 5570 feet).
Don Friedlander
"And did the Countenance Divine shine forth upon our clouded hills?"
William Blake
Butte, Montana to Bozeman, Montana
103 miles. 3960 feet climbing.
When we pulled into Butte yesterday afternoon it was about 80 degrees Fahrenheit and some dark clouds were rolling in. But again the gods were smiling, and when I got outside this morning for breakfast, although the sun hadn't risen yet, the sky was clear and the hills were cloudless. And it was 38 degrees! I went back inside for my lined rain jacket. After shivering through breakfast we headed off for Pipestone Pass and our first crossing of the continental divide. I started with four layers on top, and cross-country ski gloves. However, after minutes of riding only my feet were still cold. After about eight miles we started the 1200 foot climb to the pass, topping out at 6420 feet. I was completely warmed up by the top.
Interestingly, this part of the PAC Ridge route also makes up part of the PAC Northern Transcontinental, and I had a tough time on this climb on the latter tour in '96. Somehow it's a lot easier this time. Perhaps it's the cooler weather. Perhaps it's knowing what to expect. Perhaps it's eating more breakfast. Perhaps it's not having to chase Norm Hover, John Ellis and Richard Paul (my ’96 riding companions) up the climb this time.
Then we descended into a(nother) wide dry valley. Ann had a flat soon after we pulled away from the first sag stop. Her tire had several small through cuts (she seems to like riding in the glass) but she couldn't be convinced to change it. It was blue, after all, and matched her red bike (it must be a girl thing). And Lon didn't have any blue replacement tires in the van. It was the first time I've seen PAC come up short. I told Ann he'll probably have blue tires next year. So several miles down the road the tire went again and she had to put on a lovely orange foldable tire someone fortunately had. She threatened to change it as soon as we completed the day’s ride, before anyone noticed, but I got a picture for posterity.
More moderate climbing and descending along valley floors, with wide open spaces, "forever" vistas, huge ranches and lots of dry scrub. Traffic volume was low to moderate. But what there was moved fast. Some of the riders found it unnerving at times. The best section was a ten mile twisting descent through a canyon, along the Madison River, to the lunch stop at 75 miles. We ate grilled chicken and watched the fly fishermen on the Madison River. Then we were grateful for the short day and only 28 miles left to Bozeman. And my turn for the massage!
Don Friedlander
"Mountains are the beginning and the end of all natural scenery."
John Ruskin
Bozeman, Montana to West Yellowstone, Montana
90 miles. 3110 feet climbing.
Another morning with 40 degree Fahrenheit temperature, and wind chill below freezing. I'm told it's because Bozeman sits above 6,000 feet elevation. Oh boy, I can't wait to get to West Yellowstone which is above 7,000 feet. We pray for the sun to make a quick appearance. But we head off regardless, out of Bozeman, then directly south, past dry scrub, then irrigated fields, then toward a pass (the Gallatin Gateway) into the Gallatin National Forest. The national park scenery is spectacular. We're back to forested hillsides; the mountains, some 9000 to 11000 feet high, are closed in on the Gallatin River, making a narrow winding road, which climbs gently, but consistently for 70 miles. The trees are dark green and the Gallatin is a real mountain river, rushing, clear and sparkling. The ride would be idyllic if it wasn't for the fact that it's just not warming up, and most significantly, we're pushing into a very strong headwind of cold air coming down off the Yellowstone plateau and funneling through the pass we're ascending.
At 90 miles total, today's ride is one of the shortest on the trip. But I'm grateful for the sag stops every 20 miles. Lunch is at 60 miles (just inside Yellowstone Park), very early by PAC standards. But it seems we're all ready for it. We've added Larry Little from Washington (state) and the extra body makes working against the wind a fair amount easier. We religiously take turns with one mile pulls. The wind is sufficiently strong that I'm glad to relinquish the lead each time.
Finally, after 70 continuous uphill miles, some welcome downhill. We stop for a minute to take photos of wild buffalo grazing by the roadside, then push on into West Yellowstone (without tights, gloves, Lifa and jacket for only the last 10 miles). All in all, a relatively easy day despite the wind, and my legs feel less tired then yesterday. And that's good because there's 6000 feet to do tomorrow.
Don Friedlander
"I’ve been to the mountain top…I’ve looked over and I’ve seen the promised land."
Martin Luther King
West Yellowstone, Montana to Jackson, Wyoming.
135 miles. 5550 feet climbing.
And I thought it was cold the past five mornings. But this morning has the record so far, 34 degrees Fahrenheit. It's not bad eating breakfast in the parking lot as there's no wind, but riding is another story. I have four layers on top and I'm still cold. We head south again, and the promised heat of El Paso is sounding very appealing. We've left the scrub ranch land behind and are once again in the pine forests of the Yellowstone area. We never actually enter the park, but instead skirt the western border. There's a climb to Targhee Pass at 7,100 feet elevation, crossing the continental divide again, and now into Idaho. As we ride down the other side of the pass the terrain changes to a high mountain plain, with mixed forest and the first deciduous trees we've seen in awhile. The aspens are already changing colour.
I'm in love with Idaho. The road is smooth, with a broad clean shoulder. The scenery is fabulous, the traffic is polite, and best of all, there's a tail wind. The five of us motor along at 25 mph for quite a stretch. The first sag stop is beside a river, and for awhile we watch a bald eagle fishing. Just down the road some moose cross in front of us. Some of the urbanites on the trip are thrilled. The second stop overlooks some falls. Then the terrain opens up a bit, though the countryside remains rolling, with wheat fields that stretch 10 miles to the mountain slopes on either side of the valley. As it warms up the clouds also build and we can see scattered dark rain showers. It's still cool enough that if we get wet it will be pretty miserable. And it looks like we're going to get wet.
But despite the imposing weather I think that most of us are focused on the advertised feature of the day, a 2500 foot climb to 8670 feet to get over the Tetons. It's 115 miles to the base of the climb and the border of Wyoming. Then 7 miles up, the last 3 miles of which are 10% with absolutely no respite. I'm a little undergeared with a 39-26. We're rewarded at the top with the deep satisfaction of having arrived, a cold hard wind, and a fabulous view of the "promised land", Jackson. Actually, the view alone was worth the climb. We've arranged to have our extra layers at the sag at the top of the pass, so we put everything we have back on, and head down. About 5 miles of 10%. Ann rockets down as if she's done big descents all her life. The wind is strong and shifting, and going too fast gets a little scary. I top out at about 50 mph, and don't catch Ann until near the bottom. She'll have the grin on her face for another five hours.
We have enough time to sightsee in Jackson before the sun sets, and I get a picture of a pretty grotesque city park entrance archway made out several hundred antlers. There's even big game (dear, elk, moose, and buffalo) heads mounted on the walls in the pharmacy, and guns used as handles for store and hotel doorways. The wild wild west.
Don Friedlander
"Over all the mountain peaks there is quiet."
Von Goethe
Jackson, Wyoming to Montpelier, Idaho
117 miles. 3910 feet climbing.
Reporting on how cold the mornings are is getting kind of repetitious, but this morning we started out in 34 degrees Fahrenheit. The valley around Jackson was shrouded in fog. The fog and cold had ice forming on my glasses as we rode out of town. We took a bike trail for about the first five miles south. It twisted and turned and dipped through the fog alongside the main highway. It was strange; very quiet, very fast and very eerie. Back on the main road we followed the Snake River through an interesting canyon. It was narrow and picturesque, with mixed evergreen/deciduous forest (with the deciduous trees already turning colour), good road quality, and gentle grades.
Larry had joined us again so we were a group of five. In fact, we're comfortable enough with each other such that when other riders hooked on to our small group (or looked like they would) we would stop, or speed up, or some other maneuver to maintain the group at five. The first sag wasn't until 36 miles, as we left the Snake River Canyon and the fog behind. The sun made an appearance, but it still wasn't warm and I kept my tights, gloves and jacket on. The valley opened up, becoming again broad, flat and dry. It's mostly cattle country. Some irrigation provides some green. We passed through Afton, where there's the world's largest elk horn arch over the main street. After all, where else but America would someone build an elk horn arch over the road? I have the pictures to prove it.
Speaking of dead elk, it seems everyone here hunts. Men walk around in camouflage gear. There are more gun shops than convenience stores. In downtown Jackson, even the pharmacy had big game heads on the wall.
Finally the gentle grades gave way to something more serious, a 1000 foot climb to the Salt River Pass at 7600 feet elevation. We had lunch on top of the pass (once we started breathing normally again), with gorgeous scenery, but with a black cloud sitting overhead. But our group missed the rain. Someone behind us reported getting hailed on. The descent on the other side was disappointing because a wind was howling up the pass. We'd been promised a south-west wind for the day but this was its first significant appearance. Whoever was leading had to push hard even though it was a 7% down grade. Then across another dry valley and back into Idaho, and then back up another 1000 feet over the Geneva Summit at 6900 feet. And finally another wind abetted descent into Montpelier and the finish.
While patronizing a local laundromat we asked a local for the recommended eating spots. It seemed there was only one: Butch Cassidy's. Butch and Sundance evidently robbed a bank here and escaped up the pass we'd just come down. There was a plaque (and a restaurant) commemorating the event. Making heroes out of villains. We ate there anyway.
Don Friedlander
"In your shirt and your socks, crossing Salisbury Plain on a bicycle…"
William Gilbert
Montpelier, Idaho to Evanston, Wyoming.
100 miles. 2300 feet climbing.
It couldn't be a PAC Ridge Tour day without eating breakfast in the cold. This morning it's 34 degrees again. So on go the layers. I don't dare complain because it may well get over 100 degrees further south. And I much prefer the cold to the heat (I was lying previously when I was anticipating El Paso’s heat).
Today is a planned rest day. The ride is short and there isn't much climbing. And the following two days are far more significant. So our group (only four again as Larry decides to chase one of the RAAM riders on the tour) leaves the hotel last. The road heads south through a flat, dry valley. The area has seen more prosperous times, though there are still a couple of impressive Mormon tabernacles. We eventually come to the shores of Bear Lake, a major local real estate and marine sports attraction. It's 20 miles long and 1 mile or so wide, but it looks like it's only 20 feet deep at most. In places the shore is 200 yards out from its historical location. A couple of marinas are high and dry. I've got a picture of a sign for a private dock that admonishes trespassers: "no swimming or diving." Good thing because it's easily 300 feet from the edge of the water. We couldn't see any river efflux, and the influx was just a creek. It looks like they have a slight water problem. Isn't free trade wonderful?
But the view along the lake is very nice, and it's obvious why it's such an attraction because as we head south of the lake, into Utah, the land becomes absolutely dry and barren. Leaving the lake we face the only real climb of the day, a 1000 footer to 7200 feet. The temperature also climbs rapidly and all the extra clothing layers start coming off. I'm down to shirt and shorts (and socks of course) at the top, where we're rewarded with a descent to a wide plain that's even more barren; but then in the distance we can see King Peak (the highest point in Utah) with some snow on it. As we head across the plain the wind comes up suddenly and we have to work a bit to make headway, but only for 10 miles to lunch.
Right after lunch we cross back into our third state of the day, Wyoming, and then arrive in beautiful downtown Evanston. Ann's a member of the UMCA (Ultra Marathon Cycling Association) and wants to bag another century (must be her 40th of the year), so I accompany her for an extra few miles, feeling fine until she charges up a hill in town that goes on forever. My mental capacity seems to be pretty dim after 100 miles on the bike. I should have stopped and thought about it for a few minutes before doing something so rash. And the legs aren't too tolerant of the brain's errors. Oh well, at least it's my turn for the massage today. Thank God for Dena.
Don Friedlander
"So all day long the noise of battle rolled among the mountains by the winter sea."
Lord Tennyson
Evanston, Wyoming to Vernal, Utah.
149 miles. 8820 feet climbing.
We took it easy yesterday just so we'd be fresher for today. It's not only the longest day so far, but also the most climbing. Evanston isn't as cold in the morning as our previous starts have been; all of 45 degrees. And the sun makes an appearance within minutes of our heading out so it does warm up quickly. The first 28 miles are on the interstate I-80. Ordinarily I'm not thrilled to ride interstate highways. The traffic is fast and often heavy, and there's usually truck tire debris all over the shoulder. PAC only uses interstates if there are no other options. But in this case it provides a limited access road (no intersections to worry about) with consistent low percentage grades, and a tail wind. In short order, and rather painlessly, we knock off 28 miles and 2000 feet of the day's climbing.
All of the day will be above 6000 feet elevation, and most of it above 7000 feet. While most days I keep the odometer on "distance" (it’s too depressing to keep it on "speed"), with the significant vertical we're doing today I keep it on "elevation". Off the interstate, we head south and east across the very south-west corner of Wyoming. The high plain is dry, barren and flat, and then the road drops into the Wyoming badlands (even drier and more barren). There's only rock and sagebrush. Desolate, but interesting because it's so different from what I ride in at home in Ottawa. By the second sag stop at mile 60 we've still done only 2500 feet. We're a little worried that there's over 6000 feet of climbing to do in the remaining 80 miles. There is some hope that perhaps there's an error in the figures Lon has given for the ride. Some rolling countryside adds only 500 more feet by the lunch stop at the Utah (again!) border.
Lunch is fabulous, and I eat lots in anticipation of the remainder of the day. It's always a balancing act to eat enough so as to have energy for the remaining distance and climbing, and not so much that you feel like someone's attached lead weights to your bike while you were stopped. Sure enough, I felt rather slothful as we left the lunch sag. And we started climbing right away. In addition, the temperature is also climbing and all extra layers come off. Then just when a climbing rhythm gets developed, and some acclimation to the heat, we plummet down into the Flaming Gorge.
I had thought that the high plain was hot and dry, and the badlands worse, but the gorge is hotter and drier still. But the colour (reds, oranges, greens and browns) and formation (pillars, cliffs, boulders) of the rock on either side of the gorge is stunning. Then there's a view of a large salt lake at the end. Bluer than blue, and salt-choked sterile. While the air is hot, the water looks cold. Then the real battle begins. The road snakes through the heat up over the mountain at the south end of the gorge. It's a 1500 foot climb over 6 miles. It's a consistent 8% with no respite (although we do stop and take pictures). For the 6 miles we can always see the gorge and the lake below, and the only noise is heavy breathing.
But then we're up at 8000 feet in the pine and aspen of Ashley National Forest. The smell is overwhelming, and suddenly there's humidity and some life in the air. The route card says there's an 8400 foot summit to negotiate, but we're already at 8000 and our calculations say we still have 3000 feet of climbing to do to match Lon's number for the whole day. We're ever more hopeful that there's been an error and there’s only 400 feet left. The ups and downs are gradual, and with a tail wind and the exhilaration of the surroundings and the major climb accomplished our speed increases and our group of 5 hammers along at 25 mph for quite a stretch. Then the battle is rejoined. The topography of the high plain changes from gentle rollers to steeper drops and climbs. They come at us one after another; 200 feet down and 200 feet up. We reach the 8400 foot summit and expect the promised 10 mile downhill, but get more up and down. Jane uses some language she insists she's never used before. Breathing is heavy, and legs are tired. Finally we get to the sag at the top of the downhill. In 37 miles we've added 5000 feet to our day's climbing.
Then we lose 2400 feet in a 10 mile descent (where Ann rockets off again). Back down to the desert, and into the booming metropolis of Vernal by just before 6pm. Quick dinner and try to get to bed by 10 pm (not successful). And just think, tomorrow we get to get up and do it all over again.
Don Friedlander
"They came to the Delectable mountains."
John Bunyon
Vernal, Utah to Grand Junction, Colorado.
146 miles. 5650 feet climbing.
Finally, a warm morning. I can eat breakfast without shivering. We ride out of dinosaur country into a stiff headwind. The countryside is still rock and sagebrush. Paceline riding against wind can be butt numbing, so this morning I've started wearing two pair of cycling shorts. It's helped me in previous PAC tours and I'll try it again. We struggle against the wind to the Colorado border, where the wind has knocked the huge state sign down. No border picture this time.
The day's climbing starts out gently from the second sag. Then we run into three miles of road construction and dirt road ending at the lunch stop. Fortunately our group of four has impeccable timing. We arrive at the flagman just as he's letting a long line of cars through in our direction. The faster riders have been waiting at the head of the line some 20 minutes. So we scoot on by without dismounting and arrive at lunch first. But it doesn't seem to matter because by the time we're finished lunch and ready to continue, most of those who arrived at the sag just behind us have already left. I don't think they chew. Ann and Jane have also defined something called “digestion pace”. So the time immediately following lunch is reserved for slow riding, pensive philosophical discussion, and trying to keep the food down.
Of the forty riders, it seems like few form consistent or enduring riding groups. Riders ride either singly, or in small groups the contents of which change through the day, and from day to day. There also doesn't seem to be much organized paceline riding. Our group of four (sometimes five) is the exception in both cases. We've ridden together the whole way so far, and use a paceline much of the time. The disadvantage of this is that we have come to be known as "Big Dick and the love train". Dick's an ex-basketball player, rather tall, but he's still not sure he likes the moniker. The two ladies don't seem to be too concerned about our obvious loss of individual identities. Whenever we get into a sag someone usually starts making like Barry White and singing "Love Train". The crew member responsible for starting this is George Jahant from Texas. He operates the first and last sags of the day. His booming voice announces our arrival every time. We get back at him by getting him to caboose the “love train” on his riding days. I’m not sure who has the last laugh.
Then there's a final 1500 foot climb in 5 miles to Douglas Pass. Unfortunately, although we're up at 8200 feet, we only briefly have pine and aspen, then quickly on the descent we're back to sagebrush. The descent drops to 5000 feet elevation in 33 miles into the usual headwind. The countryside is ugly, until we get to the valley where we have views of some "delectable" mountains, the Colorado National Monument. They look like Moab and I have a sudden desire for a mountain bike. But there's more important things to think about; we have to push to get in by 5:30 for Dick's massage. After 8 days of doing a lot of wheel-sucking I finally feel like I'm pulling at least my share, and the hammer into Grand Junction is fun and fast. Like I said before, the first eight days of PAC Tour are for training for the last eight days.
Don Friedlander
"Faith will move mountains."
Grand Junction, Colorado to Montrose, Colorado
117 miles. 7350 feet climbing.
The warmest morning so far. I started off with a lifa top as the only extra layer. It feels good to ride without the layers, but I'm a little concerned about how hot it may get this afternoon. We rode out through the suburbs of Grand Junction following the Colorado River, then on the I-70 for 5 miles through a narrow pass still beside the Colorado. Then 10 miles up another narrow canyon made by a tributary. The scenery was spectacular from the bottom of the gorge, the grade was slight and the temperature was nice and cool. If there had been no headwind it would have been perfect.
The grade certainly was a concern. Grand Junction is at 4,900 feet elevation, and by mile 52 we'll be at the top of the Grand Mesa, at 10,800 feet. The mesa is reportedly the largest flat-topped mountain in the world (I'm in the US after all; everything is the world's biggest this or that). And we're not really certain when the real climbing begins. We're only at 5,800 feet by the first sag stop at mile 33. There's 19 miles to the top and 5,000 feet to go. Everyone's separated along the route by this time and the “love train” (we're back to the original group of four as George is crewing today) is near the back. We seem to take longer at the sags than most of the riders. Some of them barely stop long enough to fill their water bottles and stuff food in their pockets and they're off again. Our group seems to have a more leisurely approach. We keep passing riders on the road, who then pass us at the sags.
We started up from the first sag and now we could see the climb in front of us. It's a huge flat topped monolith, covered with pine and aspen. There's a ski resort (Powderhorn) on the north side. The road starts out at about a 5 to 6% grade. But we've been climbing for 9 days now, and have faith we can do this one too. With 19 miles to the top we each worked out our own pace that would get us there best. Pretty soon the train was separated by a few hundred yards. I was off the back in my smallest gear until I could see how comfortable I was. It was hot (75 degrees F.) but by keeping it slow I eased into it and started upping the pace. Things improved even more when we got out of the dry scrub and into the pine and aspen. The trees provided occasional shade, the pines smelled great and the aspens were changing to a brilliant yellow. There was a sag half way up where the grade was 8 to 10%. Then a last push to the top. Even with stopping to take several pictures my strategy of starting out so easily worked well and I felt better and stronger as I approached the top, passing lots of other riders. Our group arrived at the 10,800 foot summit within 20 minutes of each other.
Then we were right into a 20 mile descent to lunch. There were magnificent views (and pictures) of high mountains to the east, and the agricultural Delta valley far below to the south. We dropped 4500 feet in 20 miles. Then the usual great lunch, after which we dropped another 1000 feet to the final sag. The road was scenic but rough for the last 30 miles to Montrose. The double shorts have been very effective, so my butt was very comfortable, but my feet didn't like it much. One of my best cycling days ever, but we were all glad to finally pull into the hotel, and even happier to see an outdoor hot tub. I soaked in it for about 45 minutes.
Don Friedlander
"Man can climb to the highest summits; but he cannot dwell there long."
George Bernard Shaw
Montrose, Colorado to Durango, Colorado.
112 miles. 9200 feet climbing.
This was possibly the most anticipated day of the tour. I may change my mind when day 15 arrives, but the route card for day 11 had us all looking forward to the day. Like yesterday, the ride would start off with a huge climb. The first 40 miles are relatively gentle. The scenery is fabulous; large ranches and homesteads, active agriculture, mountains approaching. It’s much greener and more prosperous than the countryside of the last week. Then into Ouray, a spectacular little town nestled in the mountains at the end of a gorge where it just opens up into a wider valley. It's obviously a tourist town, and warrants a dedicated visit sometime in the future. But unfortunately there's no time to stop now, other than for taking a few pictures.
Then the real climb begins. Ouray is at 6500 feet, and we're headed to Red Mountain Pass at 11,118 feet, 13 miles up the road. It follows the gorge, very narrow at the bottom, with the narrow road ascending the steep mountainside at about 6 to 8% grade. Evergreens cling to the sides. The road also clings to the side, with no guardrail and an 80% drop off. It makes some of the riders nervous. As before, each member of the “love train” would find their own climbing pace and recongregate at the top. About 3/4 of the way up the 4500 foot climb the gorge opens up to a high valley, filled with spruce and yellow aspen. The smell and colours are magical. The whole thing is ringed with rugged 14,000 foot peaks. Then we're at the top, where the lunch sag has been set up. While at 11,118 feet the air is thin and some riders are breathing hard, the wind is negligible and the sun keeps us warm. It’s a nice lunch, but the air is thin enough that we decide not to stay too long, and hammer the 10 mile descent to Silverton, in another picturesque spruce and aspen valley. I wonder if anyone would notice if I took the Silverton-Durango coal-fired steam train the rest of the way to Durango. I settle for some pictures of the train instead, and climb back on the bike.
The 2,000 feet we've descended has to be made up immediately by a 7 mile climb over the next pass to the south, Molas Pass at 10,910 feet. More of the same scenery and fabulous road. Then another 2,000 foot descent and 3 mile climb back up over Coal Bank Pass at 10,640 feet. My knees and quads are starting to complain. Finally we reach the last sag at the top of the last pass. Then 30 miles, mostly descending, past Tamarron and Purgatory Ski Resort, down to Durango, hanging onto Dick’s back wheel. Another unbelievable day. Just when you think a day can’t be topped, the next day is even better. And while I've never had a rest day on either of the two PAC Tours I've done previously, tomorrow has only 55 miles (although 3600 feet) scheduled, and we're all looking forward to an easier day.
Don Friedlander
"Tomorrow the bicycle races through the suburbs on summer evenings. But today the struggle…"
W.H Auden
Durango, Colorado to Farmington, New Mexico.
55 miles. 1270 feet climbing.
While the struggle definitely continues, it does so today at an easier level, the easiest PAC Tour day I've ever ridden.
The desolation that is northern New Mexico limits the possibilities (i.e. towns with motels and restaurants sufficient to accommodate a 50 person traveling group) when organizing appropriate stages for this border to border ride. Farmington is the only qualifying town between Durango and Gallup. Consideration was given by Lon and Susan to going from Durango right through to Gallup, but it's 190 miles between the two. So Farmington it is, even though it's only 55 miles south of Durango. In addition to the unusually low mileage, Lon's got something mixed up with the climbing figures. His route sheet for the day lists 3600 feet. But my altimeter only measures 1270 feet once we're done, and there's been lots of long gentle downhill. And finally, we've had a tail wind for most of the ride.
The main climbing occurs early, through the remaining miles of Colorado. The scenery remains nice, with rolling countryside and prosperous ranches. Then like passing through a door, we enter New Mexico and the whole environment seems to change. It's drier, poorer, uglier. The road's shoulder is full of glass. It even seems hotter.
But we had a great time ambling along downhill with the wind. It's the perfect follow-up to yesterday's tough ride. We're almost the last group to arrive in Farmington, and because the ride is so short the lunch sag is set up in the hotel parking lot. Dick had a massage and a nap while I went with Jane and Ann to do the laundry. Fortunately there's a Dairy Queen on the way back to the hotel.
Back to reality tomorrow.
Don Friedlander
"Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain."
Isaiah 40:3
Farmington, New Mexico to Gallup, New Mexico.
135 miles. 5280 feet climbing.
It's nice to leave Farmington behind. Perhaps it's nasty to say, but I didn't find too many redeeming features in our short stay there. There's a steep climb immediately south of the city, as if Farmington is getting in a final kick for my unkind thoughts. I've obviously eaten too much breakfast for it comes perilously close to reappearing on the climb. It doesn't taste so good the second time around. But then we're at the top of the climb and things settle down.
Jane's been suffering from an Achilles problem and we're concerned how she'll fare today. But Lon has taped her ankle tight (I think he's similarly taped eight other riders; it's a common problem on this trip) and it seems OK for now. We're back up at 6000 feet on a high plain. I'm not sure about the valleys being exalted, but it sure is flat, straight and plain. You can see forever, which is no advantage because there's only sagebrush. The road is dead straight. Fortunately the wind isn't overzealous, although it does come at us from the side, and we settle into some kind of mindless rhythm, not even paying too much attention as we pass other riders stopped on the shoulder wrestling with the effects of broken glass on bicycle tires. I vow the “love train” will have no flats today.
Some relief arrives 30 miles down the road when we get into the Bisti wilderness, a government designated wilderness area. It catches us by surprise because we're all sure we've already been riding through wilderness. Somehow it just hasn't been designated. I'm glad we have governments to make such decisions for us.
We see a few interesting rock formations, but it's mostly dry, hot, ugly and boring. By the time we arrive at lunch at 82 miles my mind's a little numb and I have "hot foot" from the constant foot pressure flat hot riding gives me. But there's a chance to take my shoes off at lunch, and there's grilled chicken, and Susan digs out a cold Starbucks Frappuccino for me. Ambrosia.
A little anxious to get finished today, and needing to get into Gallup in time for Jane's massage, we get back on the bikes expeditiously. There's more heat and ugliness as the road drops down into a wide dry canyon and then climbs back out and up to 7900 feet and the continental divide again. But amazingly, once we cross the divide the countryside starts rolling and some evergreens appear. Then we turn west and get some tail wind. The magic of tail wind, downhill off the divide, and some green vegetation gets Dick to the front. His basketball player's size gives the other three of us a big draft, and off we go. An exhilarating 6 miles, often at 28 mph. The four of us have big grins as we cruise into the last sag stop.
During our fast blast we've just skirted an isolated thunderstorm. It's close enough for the dark clouds to block the sun and comfortably lower the temperature, but not yet close enough to get us wet (some later riders reported getting caught in rain and hail). However, there's lightning and while we’re sitting at the sag it seems to be getting closer. Also, some other riders leave the sag just before us and provide something to chase. So it's another 29 miles of fast riding, and enough fun to obliterate the ugly memory of the first 80 miles. The last 6 miles take us down through Red Rock Canyon to the high desert plain, and then a few miles along historic Route 66 (what a rough road!) into Gallup. We've averaged 22 mph for the 55 miles since lunch. It's turned into a very satisfying ride after all.
We check into the El Rancho Hotel. This place is too difficult to describe. Supposedly all the movie stars stay here when they're in the area (although I have difficulty understanding why they'd be in the area). The place is old, kitschy/cute/rustic, with lots of wood and movie photos. Later we go to Earl's Place for dinner. Another first, all through dinner locals wander through the restaurant hawking Navajo jewelry and other local artisan creations. We finish the evening off with Baskin-Robbins. Another great PAC Tour day.
Don Friedlander
"People who spend most of their natural lives riding iron bicycles over the rocky roadsteads of this parish get their personalities mixed up with the personalities of their bicycles as a result of the interchanging of the atoms of each of them and you would be surprised at the number of people in these parts who nearly are half people and half bicycles."
Flann O’Brien
Gallup, New Mexico to Springerville, Arizona.
123 miles. 4470 feet climbing.
OK, OK, I've changed my mind about riding in New Mexico. We rode south from Gallup this morning, mostly climbing in cool air. The countryside south of Gallup is radically different than the countryside we came through yesterday immediately to the north. It's rolling, the roads meander, and the hills (although still dry looking) are covered in pine. The road is smooth with a wide shoulder. The farms and houses are much more prosperous than further north. The riding was fabulous. The wind was light and we got some altitude gain over with early. The entire ride was above 6000 feet. The four of us left last and for the first hour we brought up the rear. But sometime after the first sag we picked up the pace and started to reel some other riders in. As soon as we would catch one group, there was another group just visible down the road. After 14 days of riding it finally feels comfortable to take long pulls at the front.
Speaking of wide shoulders, they haven't been much of an advantage in New Mexico. I've never seen anywhere with as much broken glass on and by the road as we've seen in this state. Wherever we stop for the sags or just a quick drop off of excess fluid, there are both broken and intact beer bottles by the side of the road. It seems New Mexicans don't need much in the way of special ambience or surroundings to have a party. Just stop the car and have a few pints by the side of the road. Or maybe they're having the parties in the car and they just stop to get rid of the evidence. It makes us a little schizophrenic. Do we ride the shoulder and suffer the glass, or ride the road and beware the party types? Indeed, yesterday we were constantly passing riders stopped fixing flats. Fortunately our foursome was spared the trouble. But we were very careful. So careful in fact, that Dick saw glass in the quartz crystals in the pavement, and even in the iridescent wings of moths that had been killed by cars the night before. Ah yes, the notorious tire-slashing razor-winged moth.
After 50 miles we pull into the second sag, at the Arizona border. It's immediately obvious that Arizona is very different than New Mexico. There's no glass on the shoulder. The fact is, there's no shoulder at all. The second distressing fact is that the Arizona State sign has been strafed with bullets. There are some pretty nasty looking holes. Do they just target signs, or are bike riders fair game? And third, Arizona seems to place expansion joints (i.e. large cracks) at every 30 feet of road. Rough is too mild a word. Talk turns to the type of bike frame that best absorbs the bumps. Titanium? Carbon? Aluminum? Steel? Everyone covets the material of someone else's bike. Surely their butt doesn't feel as bad as mine over these cracks.
I find this talk of different bikes rather interesting. With forty or fifty riders on a tour such as this, there are a wide variety of exclusive and esoteric bikes. There are rare makes, sophisticated components, custom paint jobs, and high tech accessories. One rider has a GPS system with a visual read-out that shows him a map of the road, and an elevation profile of the road ahead. It's been interesting also to match the different riders, with different appearances and riding styles, to their bikes. It reminds me of the remark that pet owners often eventually look like their pets.
So we tough out the uncompromising Arizona road into Springerville. The last 20 miles seem long with a slight uphill into the wind, and the temperature rising. But we finally arrive, with a couple of other riders in tow. Three of us try the hotel hot tub while Ann has her massage. Then a Mexican cantina for dinner. On the way back to the hotel we stop at a pharmacy which puts the one in Jackson, Wyoming to shame. Mounted above the pharmacy window were heads of American buffalo, elk, oryx, water buffalo, wart hog, hyena, sable, bear, moose, antelope, and big horn sheep. There were a dozen others I can't remember. I was a little shocked; it seemed somewhat incongruous that a pharmacy had such a display on the wall. Then again, beside the pharmacy window was a rack of a hundred or so guns on sale. An interesting combination: guns, drugs and animal heads.
Don Friedlander
"Full many a glorious morning have I seen flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, kissing with golden face the meadows green, gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy."
William Shakespeare
Springerville, Arizona to Silver City, New Mexico.
149 miles. 7600 feet climbing.
The day starts off like the last two days, a steep climb south out of town. It further mirrors yesterday as we climb up from the high desert (6000 feet elevation) into the mountains. Evergreens make a welcome return. There are stream beds with actual flowing water in them. In the mountain valleys there are green meadows. This is the first green grass I've seen for weeks. The sun makes an appearance over the mountain tops and lights everything up magically. But while it provides light, its warmth takes quite awhile to be felt. I've got four layers on top as we climb to 8500 feet. And I'm glad for each layer as we descend through cool air to the mountain town of Alpine.
The dense forest, meandering road and close mountains make the climbing a pleasure. At 34 miles we cross back into New Mexico and instantly the road conditions improve. This state seems to build their roads much smoother than Arizona. The broken glass also returns, but we pay it less attention (familiarity breeds contempt). I think nice thoughts about the New Mexico department of transport. The road climbs from Alpine back up to 8,000 feet. By 50 miles we've already accumulated 3,000 feet of climbing, we're feeling good, and we think we're in great shape. I take some pictures at the top, then there's a fabulous 6 mile descent to the second sag stop. We have to climb again to a pass through the foothills before we drop down another 1,800 feet to lunch at 80 miles. There are still some trees here in the lower foothills, but it's back to being mostly hot and dry.
The road rolls after lunch, so we continue accumulating climbing feet, but losing actual elevation until we drop to 4800 feet at the last sag at 123 miles. It seems this is the first time in a while we've been below 6000 elevation. No one is really sure what the elevation of Silver City is, but there's a rumour there's still 1800 feet to climb in the last 25 miles (we've already accumulated 5400 feet). We're not too excited about the prospect. It's already 5 o'clock. I'm not sure where the time has gone. We've been riding pretty steadily and we're not the last group of riders. But we've been averaging 16 mph through the mountains so 25 more miles before the sun sets in 2 hours at 7 PM shouldn't be a problem. Or should it?
The headwind seems to pick up a bit. It gets hotter. The road starts climbing. The road surface turns into freshly laid loose gravel over tar (they call it chip seal). The broken glass on the shoulder is now joined by the excess gravel that didn’t get embedded into the tar. There's nowhere comfortable to ride. Forming a paceline is difficult. I'm now thinking dark thoughts about the New Mexico department of transport. My feet start to hurt. Then my hands start to complain. Now my legs are getting tired. However, the rumour of 1800 feet to go turns out to be false. By the time we crest the continental divide again at 6300 feet we're already past the rumoured statistic, we still have 6 miles of rolling countryside to negotiate, and the sun is perilously close to the horizon. For the first time in 15 days the "love train" splits up. Dick and Ann push ahead to beat the sunset. Jane and I sweep up the rear, watching the sun sink lower. We have to take off our sunglasses 2 miles before the end, but we still arrive in Silver City while it’s light (just!). A quick shower and a gourmet meal at the Wendy's next to the hotel (we aren't going to walk any further than we have to), then get ready to do it all again tomorrow.
Don Friedlander
"You mountains, you mountains, you see it all and still you have not fallen on top of us."
Elias Canetti
Silver City, New Mexico to Las Cruces, New Mexico.
139 miles. 5330 feet of climbing.
After the familiar sunrise breakfast, we head east out of town. The sun is in our eyes as it crests the Mimbres Mountains. Their significance is not immediately apparent to me. The road consists of many long rollers and once again we accumulate climbing statistics quickly. There's one last longer drop to a valley at 6000 feet elevation and then the road heads more insistently back up. Suddenly the significance of the mountains I'd previously seen in the distance has become obvious. They're right in our face, and we have to go over them. There's a 16 mile 2200 feet climb to be done. The good news is that once we head up the vegetation starts to change again. Dry scrub gives way to isolated small evergreens and a carpet of wildflowers, which soon gives way to dense tall evergreens. The stream beds have water once again. The road winds up through a narrow canyon, and then up a narrow stream course. It twists and turns as it ascends at a consistent 5%. The air becomes cool, humid and fragrant. Each turn provides a new perspective. I could be in the Canadian Rockies, and only minutes ago I was in hot, dry desert Silver City. The “love train” has George with us again today. The climbing goes well for all five of us, but especially for Ann who motors up at an incredibly consistent pace, and Jane who manages to hoof it up the long climb with her ankle still taped. Two tough ladies. We look back near the top and get pictures of the forested mountains. Then it's over the summit of Emory Pass at 8200 feet.
Dick and I stop to take pictures of the eastern view while the others rocket down the twisting descent. I think it's the best view of the whole trip. We can see Caballo Lake, the source of the Rio Grande, nestled at the foot of mountains 40 miles away. In between, the mountain ridge we're on the precipice of drops quickly to scattered foothills, then a dry plain. We lose 3000 feet in 17 miles. The descent is fun and should go on forever. Dogs come out to chase when they see us go by but they’re far too slow. I make a note to come back and ride this road again.
Unfortunately along with the loss of altitude we also lose the trees, and the water in the streams, and the cool air etc. Lunch is set up in the middle of nowhere in the hot plain. But as usual the food is great. As above, the usual four of the "love train" have been joined today by George, who's on the crew. Crew members work half time, and ride half time. Lately he's been joining us on his riding days and we're glad to have him along. If the riding gets a little tedious George adds some flavour.
We have ten more miles to go east to get to the Rio Grande (which isn't really so "grande"), and then we turn south along the river toward Las Cruces, 64 miles away. Unfortunately turning south also turns us right into a hot, dry headwind. It threatens to be a death march similar to yesterday. But we have a little more time to play with and a little more relaxed approach. Then a pleasant surprise; as we near Las Cruces irrigation of the desert has us passing fields of cotton and red chilies, and then groves of pecan trees. The sun is low in the afternoon and the trees offer shade and coolness. It's just the tonic needed to increase the pace a bit and sail in the last 15 miles. It also helps to remember that when I last passed through Las Cruces on the PAC Elite Tour in '98, it was 120 degrees. Today it was only 90 something. We arrive before 6 PM, and I have time for a Dena massage before dinner. Boy, life's tough. It's the last day tomorrow; I've had a great time but I'm ready to return home.
Don Friedlander
"Great things are done when men and mountains meet; this is not done by jostling in the street."
William Blake
Las Cruces, New Mexico to El Paso, Texas.
65 miles. 1570 feet climbing.
I have mixed feelings this morning. It's the last day of the tour and it's difficult to see it end; but I'm also ready to return home to family and work. Three weeks is long enough to be away. We leave the hotel, and as usual head south. Crossing the Rio Grande for the fifth time in the last two days, I note that there still isn't much water in it. It seems they use the river to supply the extensive network of irrigation ditches. In turn these irrigate huge fields of cotton, red chilies, alfalfa, and groves of pecan trees. Where the irrigation system doesn't reach, the land is desert. We ride through pecan groves that overhang the road on either side. The pace is relaxed. The day is a relatively short one and there's no hurry to reach the end.
We pass a few riders with flats. Despite the glass on the road (especially in New Mexico) I've had no flats for the whole trip. In fact, the "love train" has had only three flats on two days; Ann with a couple and Dick with one. Another remarkable quality of the trip has been the 17 days of sunny weather. We saw rain on two days, but never got wet or rode wet roads. Today is also sunny, but fortunately not too hot.
After 30 miles we enter Texas. Considering it's the world's largest state, the sign seems rather insignificant. We take pictures anyway and razz Jane about the unfulfilled sign expectations. At this point El Paso is only a few miles away, but Lon's route into town has to follow the tour's Ridge of the Rockies theme, so we detour up a pass to 5280 feet so as to get in our mandatory climbing. Also so we can get the mandatory pictures of Mexico without getting too close. Then down off the pass to a point where the whole group congregates 8 miles out of town so as to all ride in together. As the whole group starts off one of the riders gets a flat. While the peloton grinds to a halt the "love train" sprints off the front for home. Ann wins the closing sprint and is the first rider across the finish line after some 2000 miles. The end brings an interesting mixture of elation and sadness.
The crew manufactures another fabulous lunch before we pack up bikes and gear, have a little time to lounge, and then have the traditional tour ending banquet. Suddenly you realize that the wonderful time you've been spending with good friends is coming to a quick end. After three PAC tours, it's the thing I've appreciated most. I've made enduring friendships with people who share a passion for riding their bikes. There are five riders on this tour I've ridden with before, and now a few I’ll likely ride with again. I discuss plans with Dick to visit Phoenix, and have him and Terie visit Ottawa. Others of us will keep in touch and share information on future riding plans.
And the PAC organization? Great people. Always cheerful, always well organized. Dedicated to the riders having the best and most successful time touring border to border. The food was pretty good on my previous two tours. This time it was fabulous. A major effort obviously went into the lunches. How such meals could be provided to fifty people on the go, by the side of the road, often in the middle of nowhere, is near miraculous. Other impressions? Cold mornings. Parking lot breakfasts. Going To The Sun Highway. Big sky Montana. Teton Pass. Walking around Jackson Hole. Antler archways. A foggy Jackson morning. Smooth Idaho roads. Twenty days of sunshine. Cheap dinners in small local restaurants in small town America. The Gallatin River. Hammering the Interstates. Lunch on the Madison River. Orange tires and red bikes. Dena’s massages. George’s sag stops. Yellow aspens. Moose, eagles, and buffalo. Flaming Gorge. Grand Mesa. Ouray. Grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches for lunch in the thin air of 11,118 foot Red Mountain Pass. The three mountain pass day. New Mexico beer bottles. El Rancho Hotel. Long climbs through gorgeous scenery with amazing summit vistas as a reward. Chasing down other riders. Fourteen days above 5000 feet. Alpine. Pharmacies with guns and mounted big game heads. Stopping at orange cones. Seventeen sunrises. The Weather Channel. High dry plains with sagebrush as far as you can see. Chip seal. 149 miles and a Silver City sunset. The stunning climb to Emory Pass. Long pulls into the wind. Hanging on behind Dick as he hammered the down hills. The "love train" pulling into sag stops. Big paceline grins.
Can't wait 'til the next one.
Don Friedlander