The Basin certainly
wasn't over. Unfortunately
the headwind that had popped up late the previous evening was now well established. I
kitted up and got moving as one, then another, then a procession of trucks and
oversized 4WDs trundled down the road in the opposite direction, dragging huge
plumes of dust in their wake. Some
of the drivers were pretty courteous, slowing to a crawl on approach. Others
were oblivious. In
short, I ate a lot of dust before gaining the Love's truck stop that marks the
outpost of Wamsutter. I
ate a Foot Long at the attached Subway and ordered another to go, along with
the standard quota of junk food and nuts, filled bladders and plunged back into
the wind.
The ever-so-slowly
emerging mountain range coming into view heralded Colorado, my destination for
the day. Today
was basically a tortuous slow grind, not just with the headwind and generally
upward inclines on loose gravel surface, but the heat. The
previous day was a mild 28-30 C affair. Today
was 38-40 C. I
was relieved to be this far in and not just setting out across the nothing. When
the country is open, wind is everything.
Eventually I gained
a plateau then plunged down the other side to the valley marking the end of
Wyoming and the start of Colorado. Almost
crashed a few times in some deep sand traps that caught me by surprise. After
a couple of horrendous steep rollers I finally hit bitumen and aimed for a
novel feature I'd not seen in some time - the cool dancing shade projected by a
tree. Yes,
trees were periodically back in vogue even though the landscape was still
pretty arid. At
this point three other riders came past, exiting a cafe stop I'd been oblivious
to; Bryan, Craig Fowler, and Brett Stepanik. Brett immediately impressed,
having got this far under the power of a single cog, and seemingly
without the assistance of Lycra.
We were aiming for
the mythical hospitality of Kirsten and the Brush Mountain Lodge but first had
to deal with another grind up a gravelly hill that seemingly went forever. On
top of all my physical niggles I was having issues with chain suck so was the
last to arrive to cheers from all assembled, both cyclists and non cyclists
alike. Kirsten
welcomed me with a hug and inquired what I'd like on my pizza. "However
it comes", I replied. 15
min later I was in a comfy shaded chair, a couple of sodas at my side, slowly
chomping down pizza, watching hummingbirds dance and parry round an assortment
of feeders. It
really doesn't get much better. We
moved bikes under cover as a brief rain storm passed over, and got to chatting
about the Basin etc. Seems
I'd enjoyed it more than most, the previous day at least. Craig
was originally from Boston but now resided in Colorado. I
wasn't to know it at this stage but I'd be sharing a lot more of the journey
with him. Brett
had his feet soaking in an ice bucket and a beer in hand while his clothes were being laundered. He looked settled in.
As tempting as it
was to stay the night (you've no idea), Craig, Bryan and I felt the need to
press on and see if we could make Steamboat Springs. All
of us had bike issues that needed serious attention if we were to progress much
further, and whilst we could have waited for the morning, my view was that we
should move whilst conditions were good. We
thanked Kirsten for her hospitality and somewhat reluctantly shoved off further
up the hill. The
top of the pass involved a bit of a walk, and the descent was a real
bone-shaker, but we finally made the bitumen under lights and got into Steamboat
about 11. The
hotel manager chewed my ear off for 20 min before I could escape and painfully
and awkwardly drag my rig up the stairs to the room. I
hobbled out of the shower just as lights for the entire village blacked out -
perfect cue to collapse into bed.
(240 km, 2382 m)
Wamsutter in the distance
Brett Stepanik, just before Brush Mountain Lodge
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