Day 47, Hanksville to Capitol Reef National Park, 40 miles

As we expected, the horrible mosquitos of Hanksville sucked the peace from our nights' sleep. Matt and I woke up at intervals slapping the air and scratching. In the morning, we took turns darting from the tent to the trailer and bikes; like troops going over the top before retreating to the trenches. These mozzies don't appear to have down-time. We felt relieved to be cycling out of Hanksville once we got some breakfast down us, both now looking like we have chicken pox. Worst campsite this trip! Onwards and upwards though.

The terrain of todays' ride featured some long uphills and lots of big, red rocks (says Sal, clearly no geologist.) Following the Freemont River, we passed through some impressive weathered Mesa on either side of our road (says Matt, the man with the map.) It reminded us a bit of a giant aggregates yard; big mounds of eroded gravel and sandstone. While we didn't pass any towns to speak of, as we were following the river there was less big open space than yesterday. Every day the terrain changes dramatically - even at our peddle pace.

Arriving at Capital Reef National Park, we saw some stone carvings in the cliff-face and more surprisingly amongst the rock and shrubland; an oasis of fruit trees. This turned out to be one of a series of 'Pick-Your-Own'  apple, peach and pear tree orchards. These were planted by Morman settlers, who only left their farms here in 1969. Their departure was our gain; we picked loads of peaches, weighed them and paid just 2 dollars for a peachy, juicy lunch-break.

The nearby visitors' centre suggested a few scenic canyonland walks in the vicinity. As we have a few days up our sleeve before meeting Bruce at Bryce, we opted to set up camp in the park and hit the canyons on foot. Matt was typically concerned about a lack of sufficient fuel, and I was hesitant to ride 11 miles to the next store. As fortune would have it (in an otherwise sparsely facilitated National park)-we happened upon a store selling handcrafted candles and more importantly, food. Loaded with sourdough bread, pies and Salsa, we this with our gear at the campsite and ran for the hills.

The route Matt had chosen was a bit of an uphill scramble (as usual)-but featured some slot canyons worth exploring. Matt took off like spiderman into a few gaps in the rockfaces, which I preferred to enjoy from afar. After some more uphill hiking we reached a rugged outlook, where we sat fairly knackered for some time. We are now retired back at camp, watching deer dart around the campsite. They must have missed the memo that it is now officially bow hunting season and they are literally fair game.

Having wolved down our dinner of bread, salsa and fruit pie (sounds odd but believe me it works)- we clambored back up the nearest ridge to watch the sunset. By the time we reached the peak, we'd missed the start of the show but still enjoyed a spectacular orange sky above red rock. Skipped back down the hill in twllight to hit the hay. Planning an early start tomorrow. Another day, another park!

Day 46, Natural Bridges to Hanksville, 100 miles

Setting out by 7:30, we were rewarded with cool air, a light tail-wind and deserted roads. It's hard to describe the boundless, rugged beauty of this part of the world. The words we keep throwing glibly around as we ride are 'epic'; 'vast'; 'monumental' and 'whoa!' Luckily the new camera can capture the scenery more eloquently (in a thousand words.)

Our route followed the canyon through increasingly dramatic and er, vast landscape to Glen Canyon -where the Colorado river meets Lake Powell. It was like riding through a film set; we could have gone back to the future to the last crusade! Fifty lonely miles down, we reached the dot on our map titled 'Hite'. Expecting a small town, instead we found a rangers' station and an outrageously priced food store (with 50 miles in any direction to their nearest competitor, we could all but smile and accept their 'take it or leave it' prices!) I duely swallowed my pride-in-thriftiness along with some exhorbitant crisps and nuts.

From Hite we hit the road towards Hanksville, following the path of a canyon and past 'endless quality climbing problems'! The landscape here is of such immense proportions that you feel very insignificant; just a blip in the millions of years of geological history exposed literally as far as the eye can see. After miles of empty road, we were happy to spot another cyclist on the horizon -slowly nearing us. Wei was a sprightly guy on his 15th day of cycling from San Francisco to New York. Having quit his job, he was cycling across the States, running the New York marathon in November then travelling around the world. Thrill-seeker! We exchanged details and wished Wei well.

Having climbed consistently for a few hours, we enjoyed a nice downhill slide into Hanksville. A bustling metropolis compared to Hite, Hanksville boasts several gas stations, an RV site and a restaurant. It was great to shower, peruse the restaurants' menu and get our stinking cycle clothes into an unfortunate washing machine. However we will probably remember Hanksville in years to come for its' incessant insect life; worst mosquitos either of us have ever encountered (this includes midges of Scotland and mozzies of Newcastle Uni.) Heres' hoping for an uninterrupted sleep in spite of the blighters...

Day 45, Blanding to Natural Bridges, 56 miles (including scenic loop of 'bridges!)

It was novel and enjoyable to pack up camp in absolute solitude; we were sorted by 8am and the resevoir was like a plate of glass - clear and tranquil. A few easy miles to Blanding, we stopped at the visitors' centre for water and were soon approached by a Swiss couple as they passed in their hire-car. Themselves (tandem) cyclists, 'Jan' (I didn't catch their names)-wanted to know all about our trip, and nodded severely at our responses. He has the same 'B.O.B' trailer back in Switzerland, and as such felt an affinity with Matt. Jan left us with best wishes and returned somewhat glumly to their hire-car.

In Blanding, we hit up the grocery store and made the tactical error of indulging in a large carton of cereal and milk respectively. In the nearby park, we dove into tupperware containers full of milky cereal - assured that this was a good move, given the lack of services for the next 74 miles. Our bags laden with tinned stuff and bellies full of darily, we struggled to cycle up-hill. On the upside, before we could manage to roll out of the park, we managed to get ahold of our mate Bruce (uni friend of Sals'). We now have a Labour Day agenda; meeting up with Brucey in Bryce Canyon, West Utah! With this date in mind, we can take our time through the beautiful and diverse canyonlands of Utah; don't mind if we do!

The day was short on mileage but not on spectacular views; as we arrived into what makes Southern Utah oh so monumental! Matt insisted on stopping to scramble up a roadside outcrop for a photo-call. The views just kept on coming. Another diversion presented itself in the form of an Indian village ruins heritage site.
After some knee-grinding uphills and awe-inspiring vistas, we rolled into Natural Bridges National Monument. In the parking lot, we met a couple of Kiwi guys who were doing their own America ride; on a pair of KTM motor-bikes. Charles and Dave had bought the bikes in California and will store them on the East coast for another ride next year, before finally shipping them back to NZ. It was great to meet some semi-locals on their own big-adventure. Their biggest mileage in one day was 700km (we didn't bother telling them ours after that!)

Having set up camp in the Natural Bridges campsite, we ditched the trailer and bags to ride 'bare naked bikes' to check out the natural wonders. Without the touring gear our steeds felt like bucking broncos; and so we charged around the Natural Bridges 8 mile loop. By the time we returned to camp, the 13-site campsite was fully booked, so we ended up sharing our ample camp space with a German guy and his English wife in their big RV. We would have stayed up to chat, but were knackered and hit the tent.

Day 44, Dolores to Blanding, 86 miles

A slow start due to telephone conversations home, our ride out of Dolores was marred by a lack of breakfast and resulting crankiness. The passing landscape was fairly barren compared to previous days, as we have moved out of the foothills into the open expanses. Thankfully 30 miles into the ride, we stumbled upon the grand opening of a grocery store in aptly named Pleasant View. The most pleasant view as far as we were concerned was free apple pie; carbo-loading. With this vital fuel (and Dr Pepper)- we peddalled into 'the Beehive State', Utah.

After peddling a few hours through vast scrubby horizons, the town of Monticello greeted us with a stocked grocery and informative Visitors' Centre. There, we learned that there was free camping at Recapture Resevoir, a further 18 miles down our route. Now with the wind to our backs, we more or less sailed to the water - hitting our highest speed yet of 43 miles/hour (for a few minutes, on a steep downhill.)

Much more than free camping, this was a picturesque waterside where we enjoyed a refreshing dip. Once the sun had set and the Saturday Lake-trippers had departed, Matt set up an impressive stealth-campsite amongst the stunted pine trees. This was our first back-country campsite and we enjoyed feeling like proper-drifters! Rocks and driftwood were in abundant supply, so by 9pm we found ourselves kicking back with a roaring fire-pit and smoked burritos. Note to self; buy a harmonica.

Day 43, Ridgway to Dolores, 107 miles

As promised, we started the day with the breakfast of champions: palisade peaches, coffee and breakfast burritos in the warm company of new friends. This surely beats muesli bars with peanut butter on! We parted ways exchanging details and hopeful that our paths may cross again; if only to hear of Jamies' travels of India in December.

From Rigway we hit the Dallas Divide, a slow-burning climb. We flew in the face of ominous-looking clouds and were rewarded for our bravery; no drops fell upon us. It was a tough slog to Telluride but the combination of a winning breakfast and power-tunes on our headphones pushed us up thousands of feet.
Cyclists we've met on the road have urged us to cycle 3 miles off-route to visit the mountain town of Telluride. It is known for its' expensive real estate; famous residents and a pristinely preserved main street. A popular, chi-chi skiing destination; Tellurides' streets are lined with boutique shops and cutely-named establishments. Expensively dressed locals walked their dogs and the air was thick with smug; we couldn't cycle out of there fast enough. This prove hard work, as the road out of Telluride is up and more up. The ride was hard but the breath-taking mountain views kept us cranking up. The mighty beauty of the Rocky mountains filled our hearts with awe; there is something fundamentally alluring to this part of the world. We are both able to fondly imagine ourselves living in a mountainside hut.

Just when we thought we were cresting the mountain, the corner would greet us with another climb. Finally, we reached Lizard Head Pass and from there it was easy-street downhills - 50 miles, all the way down to Dolores. The Alpine scenery we whizzed past was so jaw-droppingly lovely that we had to concentrate on occasionally looking at the road. 

With two meaty mountain passes and over 100 miles under our belts, we were happy to find our RV park destination in Dolores. Over the Rockies and now half a days' cycle from Utah; we relaxed with some beers from the local micro-brewery and a picnic dinner. Jackpot.

Day 42, Montrose to Ridgway, 30 miles

A shamefully late start to todays' cycle; we didn't leave our Put-put paradise until after 11am. From there we headed to that other urban oasis; Walmart. As the keen reader (our parents)-may remember, I had an 'oopsie' with my camera whilst clambering off the Angel of Shaveno mountain. So we hit up Walmarts' impressive range of digital cameras, and I walked out with a shiny new snap-happy cam (plus some other foodstuffs; the bargains are too strong to walk past.) As such, it was after 1pm by the time we were on the road proper.

Beyond the urban sprawl of Montrose (identical to the highways out of any of the sizeable towns we've passed through)-the hills welcomed us once more. After a few hours hard-yakka, we passed a picnic area and Matt called for a nosh-break. I sat munching on peanut butter sarnie whilst digesting the ominous clouds above the mountains we were yet to ride. The rain started to fall on our map as Matt pointed to our far-flung destination for the day. Just the other side of those two mountain passes – the first mountain we could just make out beneath the grey clouds. For the first time this trip, I sheepishly suggested we perhaps, er stay in the town this side of that mountain? While I ordinarily rise to Matts' physical challenges, I didn't feel up for a torrential uphill trudge. Donning our hugely daggy matching (once) white waterproof jackets, we cycled a few miles to the small town of Ridgway. It was already past 3pm and the rain had properly set-in. A short refuge in the towns' library allowed us to find a local RV park and intriguingly, nearby thermal springs we hoped to check out.

On our way to the RV park, we couldn't pass by a thrift-shop. If only our bikes could carry all the cheerful crap we found in that place! I cradled a 'This Captain runs a tight ship' mug I wanted to send my dad, while Matt admired a rubber climbing action figure he wanted to send Leo. Sadly for our respective family members, we couldn't see a place for them on our onward journey. We did however find two bathrobes for $2; the perfect thermal-springs solution to our sodden travel towels. So we hit the road with a plastic bag stuffed with terry toweling billowing from my bike.

Webbers RV park is on the outskirts of Ridgway, where we met its' manager, Randy. He asked a few questions about our ride, and seemed very impressed. When we asked him about the thermal springs, Randy advised us with some trepidation that they were 'clothing optional'. Perhaps we appeared prudish, because Randy quickly offered to drive us to the public baths a little further in Ouray. Better still, he had a special pass which could get us in much cheaper than the nudie baths anyway. Once we set up camp, Randy stopped by our tent (where we were cowering from the rain)- and chivalrously asked us when we would like a ride to the baths, and how long we would require there. Colorado; the state that keeps on giving! Twenty minutes later, we were cruising to the Baths in a comfy sedan with Randy and his wife, Linda. They had moved to Colorado from Arizona, to run the RV park 4 years ago. Linda flashed some entry tickets to get us into the baths and left us to get into our trendy new (kinda)- robes. We hit the blissful bath-warm mineral-rich waters and basked in the misty mountain views surrounding us.

A happy hour passed before Randy and Linda joined us at the pool, we floated over to talk travel, philosophy and family as steam rose around us. Randy has an inspiratoinal resistance to life in debt; which he likened to a kind of slavery. Providing financial independence for his family has been paramount to him, and so his daughters and their families have built houses on the land he owns. Linda told us of their daughters' impressive charitable travels throughout Africa and Asia. This was a family who had strong morals and lived by them, which really made an impression upon us.

Soothed and soaked by the hot waters, we returned to the RV park where Randy insisted on cooking us up some dinner.... And what a dinner! A first for us vegetarians (when not crossing the continent) - Elk meat burritos! We quite literally 'ate up' Randys' view that this was fresh organic and sustainable, lean meat. Thoroughly en-deering (sorry.) Beyond the culinary experience, we relished more family chat as we were joined by daughter Jamie and her gorgeous, appropriately peaceful 2 month old son. We had a great evening being inspired by the Smiths' family ethics and humbling generosity. Randy laundered our wet clothes and we slept in our tent cocooned in dryer-heated bathrobes. As we bade him goodnight, he insisted we meet them back at the house in the morning for Colorado peaches and breakfast burritos. It wasn't just the warm robes which kept us warm that night - but the kindness of strangers.

Day 37, Pueblo to Cotopaxi, 76 miles

As usual, I awoke after Matt. However for the second decadent morning in a row, surrounded by a comfy bed and motel room rather than our tiny tent. Mattress not gravel beneath me, it was too easy to languish awhile and not question Matts' absence. Unsurprisingly, he was scoping out the breakfast buffet in the lobby. I eventually joined him there - for dohnuts, coffee and as it transpired; political propaganda from the motel manager. We were awaiting the toasting of our bagels as Fox News reported outrage that Navy Seals had been branded un-patriotic by a pro-Obama advertising campaign. One eye on the toaster, I said to Matt 'They don't even attempt to sound impartial...Sexy Action News.' With that, the tv sound was muted and the motel manager launched his own campaign from behind the desk. 'Can you believe it - these guys, these Seals are the Best of the Best and Obama calls them unpatriotic, unbelievable...'

Our bagels were long toasted but it took much longer before we could literally back out of the motel lobby. Obama had made the country a poorer place; if he wins another term, this motel manager is re-locating to Costa Rica. I wanted to suggest 'Under the Sea' as another viable, utopian option. Nodding vigourously, we finally made it back to our rooms with cold coffee and bagels.

Finally back on the road, we cycled through the urban sprawl of fast food franchises, mechanics, car dealers and RV campsites. An old guy cycled past us on a beat up bike; a plastic bucket full of assorted crap on his handlebars. He yelled out; 'Where you guys headed?' (us);'-California!' (him) 'Right on! How you likin' it so far?' (us)-'Awesome!'; (him) 'Cool! Have fun!' I love the cycling community; this warm exchange taking place within minutes at the traffic lights on the outskirts of Pueblo.

We cycled onwards on US HWY 50, before 'strike one'; a broken spoke on my rear wheel. A conveniently abandoned gas station presented itself, where Matt was able to fit a spare spoke (we anticipated broken spokes, since we switched rear wheels back in Virginia.) Back on the highway, the same wheel started to falter... This time an entirely unrelated flat tyre; the fall-out from a quickly identifiable rusty nail. For the second time in less than an hour, Matt performed some roadside bike surgery.

Ahead of us, the Rocky mountains remained reassuringly shrouded in the thick atmosphere. We continued to slowly climb US 50, and the Sangre de Christo mountains began to sharpen into view. This vista was a magestic distraction from the famed 8-mile climb back into the Arkansas drainage basin.  Past the town of Canon, we met the white waters of the Arkansas river, which we skirted beside for many miles. Over the past month, many days' rides have felt like a means to an end; our focus on getting to our destination camp-site. Today stood out as a shining example of 'the journey is the destination'. White rapids to our right and epic mountains surrounding us; todays' cycle felt like a pleasure-cruise!

Following a picturesque stretch of mountains and river, the town of Cotopaxie welcomed us. Outside the grocery store, I barely had time to warn Matt before the somberely uniformed Sherriff introduced himself. 'Just to let you two know, in the State of Colorado, you have to stop at a stop sign; even on bikes. I could have fined you each for $170. Each.' Matt beamed at the sheriff; 'Really? I'm ever so sorry; thanks!' Following on from asserting his authority, the sheriff was interested to know about our trip, where we were from etc. He nodded and presumably returned to his hiding spot behind 'the' stop sign. (I didn't want to make matters worse by confessing to the good sheriff that I'd not noticed a stop sign.)

Once the law had left us, another character introduced himself. A middle aged guy in a rainbow-tie-died T-shirt you rarely see these days strolled out of the grocery store. Eying our bikes whilst scarfing down a chocolate brownie, he cross-examined us on our trip. 'I'm here fly-fishing' then went on; 'You know the show, the SImpsons? Where's it set?' Wondering if this was a trick question, I answered 'Springfield, Illinois?' - Gulping down more brownie, he retorted; 'South Park! -Where's your route take you? Show me your map...' Matt showed him our map as he seamlessly finished his brownie and started digging into a pack of cookies. Having glanced at the map Matt offered him, our guy chortled 'Monarch pass? I've seen this cycle route before; I wonder what they were smoking when they sent you guys over Monarch pass?' I could barely supress my laughter, as I'd just been wondering the very same of him. Between mouthfuls of cookies, 'hippie dude' launched into a detailed and confusing description of a network of cycle paths we should favour over our map. We nodded and encouraged him politely, before he absoltely made my afternoon by producing his business card; 'Attorney & Councellor of  Law'. He invited us to his place if we passed his town, as we should if only we follow his amended routing across Colorado. Lord knows if we were able to follow it, we would surely look him up.

Our local guide waved us on and picked up a hitchhiker on his way to his parked car. We watched from the grocery as he piled the pleasantly surprised hikers' gear into his 4x4. What a legend. We collected our groceries and beer, loaded up the trailer and set out a further tranquil 10 miles west-wards to camp.
Our picturesque day of cycling concluded in a befittingly lovely campsite. The Arkansas river chortled by, where we washed down and relaxed with some beers. After collecting some kindling for a campfire, we cooked up some divine cheese toasties in foil. The campsite was very quiet, so we chatted with the family camped out across the way from us.

A sound nights' sleep ensued, however we were awoken in the wee hours by the howls of coyotes. Better than Freigh trains and reassuringly distant.

Day 41, Gunnison to Montrose, 65 miles

A slow start to the day as we chatted with various camp-neighbours. I strolled over to say goodbye to Paul and his travelling companion. He gave us his contact details and we wished eachother happy onward journeys. Whether its' a purring Harley engine fuelled on gas, or lycra-clad legs fuelled on peanut butter; we are two-wheeled warriers all the same. It's us against the trucks. Incidentally, Paul reminded Matt and I both very much of our friend Bruce. He had simillar manerisms, astute observations and witty come-backs. So we literally felt like we were leaving a friend when Paul throttled away on his shiny bike.

Another day, another vastly different range of scenery. (It must be amazing riding America as Paul does; the scenery would change every hour for our day. When our muscles are shot in coming years, we hope to try life in the fast lane!) The tree-coverered mountains of yesterday were replaced with rocky outcrops and vast sandy expanses. Passing Blue Mesa Resevoir, the meters of water-marked rock indicated the effects of this years' drought. But no lack of rain could make a dent on the rugged beauty of the Curecanti national park. From alpine mountain views a day ago, we now felt thoroughly like we were in the Wild West.

The climbs were mercifully gradual but unrelenting. We inched into Cimmaron to find a disappointingly stocked, lonely grocery store. A great range if you were in the market for 'healing magic stones' of all colours; less impressive if you were hungry. So the bearded attendant congratulated us on our purchase of potato-chips and beer. 'Most cyclists get nuts and energy drinks, you guys are like beer n' chips man!' - I assured him, it's all carb-loading (and that I was riding for Australia.)

More uphill but beyond; a sweet sliding downhill which softly lead us down to Montrose. We swiftly found a cheap supermarket (Dollar General; we salute you)-beer shop and our campsite. And what a campsite! This baby boasted an 18-hole, vintage 1969 mini-golf course; free games for campers. Throw in free wi-fi, immaculate bathrooms and super-friendly couple at its' helm and you've got yourself the best darn campsite this whole trip. Rugged beauty come and go; and evening on the mini-golf green trumps hours of gazing at the hills!

An evening of progressively messy mini-golf ensued; the only important detail being that I beat Matt (you reading this, Gary & Jo?!) After the putting, we headed to Pizza Hut to challenge the salad bar (Tchecking any dignity we have at the door, and returning ruthlessly for top-ups.) Silence by sheer full-ness, we sauntered back to camp to pass out. No freight trains nor coyotes; this time we were torn from our sleep by torrential rain. There is a fine line between sleep-inducing pitter-patter of rain on our nylon home to fear-inducing pounding on our 'will this thing survive?' tent. So we lay for a few hours hoping for the best and thankfully remaining dry.

Day 40, Angel of Shaveno to Gunnison, 65 miles

After packing up camp, we were greeted by Buddy. He didn't want to alarm us, but hypothermia is a real threat in these parts. So he wanted to give us two rain ponchos to take for our trip. I was so touched by this gesture and was ready to take them; but Matt has a better grasp of our load capacity than I do, and had to sadly refuse the very considerate offer. If we had to put one single phrase to Buddy, it would be 'Above and Beyond'. We were sorry to say goodbye to our Angels of Shaveno, and hope that Buddy, Patti, Ashton, Leon and Sarah Faye all stay in touch. It can be a small world!

From our campsite off-route, we whizzed down 4miles of downhill. What a way to start the day. Then we returned to US 50, where the biggest climb of our trip awaited us. Six miles of climbing to gain over 4,000 feet. Luckily the shoulder was wide, so traffic could pass us as we trudged upwards. Yesterdays' mountaineering seriously took its' toll on our thighs. By the time we reached the top of Monarch Pass, we both had trouble climbing off our bikes! But what victory; the Continental Divide! From hereonin, the water we spill falls into the Pacific. A photo-call ensued, and a curious chipmunk clamoured for air-time.
Now the reward of the uphill; just under an hour of hair-blowing downhill. The Rocky mountains towered above; while the forrest on either side of the road blurred to a rich green tunnel. Epic downhill fun.
But all good things must end, and eventually of course we had to climb again. We reached Gunnison in the early afternoon, and quickly quashed ideas of pressing on. In fact we quickly stamped out optimistic ideas of anything but finding the campsite, settting up and eating. This was our first night at the franchised campsites known as KOA (Kamps of America). Less romantic than the rustic sites of the State Parks, but warm showers have a charm of their own.

After dinner, we chatted with site-neighbours; a couple in town to see the Colorado Cycle Pro bike race (which we shamefully missed out on in favour of food.) The gentleman was into Iron Man competitions, and had just enrolled his wife in one such comp taking place in Costa Rica ('I wanted a holiday there'!) Luckily his fit wife had risen to the challenge she had unwittingly been enrolled in. We were inspired by their Iron-fitness and Matt at least has now set his sights on completing an Iron Man (I'm happy to just complete this ride!)

Temperatures dropped significantly after nightfall, and we were ready to turn in when a tall man invited us to join him by his fire. We sidled over to say thanks for the invite but we were knackered - yet found ourselves chatting for some time. Paul was a Harley Davidson rider with a novel trip companion; his perky Jack Russel (who he referred to as Baby.) Paul worked at a Correctional Facility in Michigin, and was on his annual bike tour across the States. He quipped 'I don't get paid enough to take my work with me' -and clearly these rides help clear the mind. I was sorry for our zombie-like state, as Paul struck us immediately as a very switched-on guy. We talked about his work, life on the road and his favourite parts of the country. Finally the uphills of the day defeat us, and we said goodnight to Paul.

Within minutes of hitting the sleeping mats, it was 'goodnight nurse'!