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.