Day 39, Angel of Shaveno, 12 miles (hiking uphill!)

For the first time, we set an alarm, and duely woke up at 6am. By 7am, we had packed up our kit, secured it outside our hosts' RV, and were proceeding on-foot. It was a novel change to embark on a journey without the bikes; liberating but increasingly hard work on the old legs. From our campsite, the trudge up the Mt Shaveno was ever-changing but consistently beautiful. We ducked under secluded Aspen forrests and up through pine forrests  with fallen giants from the recent inclement weather. Entire ancient root systems have been wrenched from the rocky earth.

Up and up, finally we reached the ridge above the tree line to reveal an epic view of the surrounding mountains. The woodland path disappeared into rocky hill-side, requiring all hands on deck to clambor onwards. Perhaps it was the altitude (we were already beyond 11,000 feet after 3 hours of hiking)-or maybe its' a case of puny biking legs 'don't climb'...   Either way, we had to admire Buddy and Pattis' passing comment of how they had often 'walked' this mountain!

After some wind-swept scrambing up-hill, we reached the boulder-strewn summit. I was happy to call Shaveno conquered, but obviously Matt spurred us up and over the pile of rocks to the absolute tip of the summit. Just below the mountain top, we met 3 college kids sheltering themselves from the wind. Victorious, and after a chat and photo-call with our fellow mountaineers, we stumbled back down with varying levels of control. I accidentally flung my camera off to clash on the rockside, leaving its future 'kodak-moments' on the hillside where they landed. Next stop; Walmart.

The weather had started to turn, it was raining lightly and fast clouding over. As such, Matt was able to drop the jaws of the few hikers we encountered. Them: cocooned in NorthFace outdoors apparal; Matt: scantilly clad in swimming shorts and a fleece. Johnny Foreigner of Team GB smashes the shortest shorts 4,000 meters.

As we walked back to camp at around 1:30, we were tired yet peckishly aware that we had no food either at our tent or within easy cycling distance. We were faced with two unappealing options; go 20 miles back on ourselves (all downhill)-to Salida, or press onwards up the mountain to the next settlement of Garfield. Lose miles and elevation or ride uphill on mountain-tested jelly legs. Just entering the campsite, we stopped to get Leons' local advice on the matter.

Once again, we were rewarded for putting our faith in local advice over our maps. Turns out that Garfield was once a town but is now so uninhibited they changed its' name to 'Monarch' (a mere mile-post for the mountain it once rests below.) This news must have left us looking like Christmas had been cancelled - because Leon quickly suggested we stay at camp another night and they could take us to town to buy groceries later on. Angel of Shaveno indeed!

While chatting with Leon about the beauty of the Angel of Shaveno mountain, Sarah Faye poked her head from their RV. Once a mother, always a mother; looking us up and down she insisted she 'fix us some sandwiches'. Matt is physically unable to refuse a sandwich, and while we didn't want to intrude - we quickly succumbed to the kind invitation. What a treat after 5 hours up a mountain; sitting in their cosy RV, relishing sandwiches, Sarah Fayes' divine peach cobbler and warm conversation. Leons' career as a pastor had taken them to Kansas, Texas and Colorado, while they were now semi-retired in Tenessee. We were touched to be shown a photograph album which mapped Leon and Sarah Fayes' shared life; from their wedding 54 years ago, their four children and now grandchildren. It felt like being home away from home. Often when we meet people, the ensuing short conversation is dominated by their questions about our trip. So it was a privellege to spend some time hearing about the life of a kind American couple, and to be reminded how family is family - wherever you are in the world.

While on the subject of kind Americans, our nomadic neighbour, Buddy passed by the RV with his grandson Ashton. Matt and I wanted to go out and say hello, but Leon insisted they join us in the RV (and Sarah Faye was already reaching for Oreo cookies for Ashton!) The guys joined us in the cosy loungeroom, and we were deeply humbled to learn exactly how hospitable our neighbour was... It transpired that when Buddy got up that morning and saw our abandoned campsite, he assumed we must have decided to hit the road rather than stay and hike up the mountain. Wanting to bid us farewell, he drove over Monarch Pass in search of us. Buddy laughed as he recalled his journey, saying 'I was thinking those guys must have legs of steel to be this far over the pass!'. Buddys' trip was not entirely in vain as he came across another couple of riders who were stranded road-side with bike trouble, so he was able to give them a lift in his truck into town. Buddy: Guardian of the Cyclists!

Leon and Sarah Faye thanked us for 'visiting' (while we were pinching ourselves at their hospitality!) and we returned to our campsite of the previous night to set up camp. Buddy, Patti and Ashton were heading down to Salidas' famed aquatic centre, and invited us to join them. We were in the back of the truck before you could say 'Thermal waters fed by hot springs'. This 'Angel of Shaveno' campsite sure is aptly named.

Salida Aquatic centre features individual thermal baths which were built back in the 1930's; a novelty we wanted to experience. So when Buddy, Patti and Ashton hit the pool, we hit the 100 degree tomb-like bath chamber. The hot water zapped our energy but certainly helped the mountain muscles. Refreshed, we rejoined the Angels of Shaveno at the pool. Buddy and Patti were happy to drive us to Walmart for groceries, urging us to take our time -what sweethearts. In the car journey back to camp, Patti and Buddy told us of their Ski-mobile adventures and their move from the South to Colorado. These guys inspired us as a couple who have really made the most of life and followed their hearts. I enjoyed Patti's phrase 'Champagne taste on a beer budget'!

Back at the ranch (camp)-we guzzled down our dinner and joined Buddy and Ashton by their fire. We sat for a few hours, enjoying that quintessential camp tradition of stories by the campfire. Conversation skipped over stories from Ashtons' impressive bike exploits, then rolled onto Buddys' years in New Orleans and finally rested on ghost stories - as befits a bright orange camp fire under a starry sky. Like earlier that day with Leon and Sarah, it was a delight to spend some proper time hearing about the views and experiences of two very sound Americans.

Eventually, the Angel of Shaveno made us fall; to bed that is. Our thermal-soaked, mountain-bent legs barely bore us to our sleeping bags. Suffice to say, we slept like fallen fir trees.

Day 38, Cotopaxi to Angel of Shaveno Campsite, 40 miles

We said goodbye to our temporary neighbours at camp, and set out for the first time in fleece tops rather than t-shirts. This part of the Colorado is like Switzerland; Mountains, cows at pasture; babbling brooks. The scenery makes the steady climbs a doddle. After 17 miles of jaw-gaping peddling, we passed into 'Chaffee County' (chuckled; we feel we've been here before)-and rolled into Salida. Salida is a quiant town nestled in the mountains but is almost a little self-aware of its' cuteness... There are lots of hippie-styled cafes, bike shops and galleries. Corporate Counter-culture. Still, you can't argue with its' beautiful backdrop of mountains and ornate, old building facades.

We shunned the organic cafes in favour of McDonalds; for its' cheap breakfast and free wi-fi. Powered-up both gastronomically and virtually, the US-50 lead us up and out of town, towards the Collegiate mountains. Matt had done his homework, (fantastic, helpful information from the guys at awesome bicycles) and had his sights set on a 'rest' day, involving hiking up one of the local 'Fourteeners'. That is, a 14,000+ foot mountain. So we detoured off our US50 West-bound route to find the Angel of Shaveno campsite (at the foot of the fourteener of the same name.) The State-park campsite lies at the top of a secluded, steep road through thick woodland, passing only a handful of houses. At the sign-posted turnoff to the Angel' campsite, we were pleased to see it was managed by the arch-typical campsite host; a friendly retired couple in an RV.
Leon and Sarah-Faye welcomed us and gave us the lay of the land. They were a sweet couple from Tennessee, this was their first year of 'hosting'; that is leaving their home to manage a State campsite from May to October. Leon reminded me alot of Jack Nicholson in his most affable roles, and Sarah-Faye was a classic Southern Belle.

We chose a nice shady spot for our tent, and set about setting up. While enjoying the idyllic location, we expressed some sadness that we were a long way uphill from anywhere that sells beer. As if by magic, we were addressed by a silver-bearded gentleman in a 4x4. 'I'm going down town, do you guys need anything?' Blinking at this fortuatous timing, Matt stepped up to the truck and expressed our fondness for a post-ride beer...If he could be so kind to buy some for us, could we possibly get a few for him too? -Our knight in shining truck; now introduced as Buddy; said he didn't drink himself but was happy to buy our beer. He insisted on writing down what we required (IPA; any!)- and solomnly gave us an ETA (about an hours' time.)

Humbled by this gesture, we strutted over to Buddys' parked RV to thank his wife. Patti was a soft-spoken sweet-heart; she asked us a few questions about our journey and we learned that she was born in San Francisco. Her and Buddy had lived in the South until they visited Colorado; fell in love with the mountains and promptly shipped up and out to live amongst them. We could certainly understand the appeal, and respected their bold move to follow their hearts. Patti told us of a waterfall up the hill from where we stood, and of their many treks up the surrounding mountains - as hard-core walkers.

We left Patti and gathered some fallen timber for a fire, then investigated the waterfall uphill. When we returned to basecamp, Buddy handed over a cool-box with 6 locally-brewed IPA's; they even had a bike on the label. Also 2 ice-teas for genuine hydration! He refused to take any money from us, and humbly retreated to his wife and grandson, Ashton. Feeling like the cat that got the cream, we thanked Buddy profusely and headed back to the waterfall. There we enjoyed a refreshing beer and bracing bath; as nature intended. Spruced up, we returned to camp to cook up some tin-foiled burritos over an open fire. Life's good.... Very Good!

Day 36, Pueblo Rest Day, 0 miles

While we had an easy day yesterday, a few deciding factors conspired to convince us we should stay for a full rest day. Pueblo is the biggest city on our route until we reach California, and therefore potentially our last chance to indulge in mod-cons like the cinema; Wal-mart and micro-breweries. Less appealing was the fact that an ansuccessful experiment with American hair removal cream had left my legs looking like scar-face (legs). We decided to hang around town to lick my wounds (metaphorically); go see Batman and drink beer (literally.)

It took us about an hour to walk through the suburban sprawl of Pueblo to reach the mall and cinema. Nothing much to report in terms of scenery; apart from an eclectic range of residential architectural styles. A mexican-looking grotto beside a turretted Bavarian lodge; across the road a pre-fab shoe-box home.
After a few enjoyable, entertaining and air-conditioned hours of the Batman film, we emerged to skope out Wal-mart. This was the third Wal-mart we've visited in the US, and by far the biggest. It was disorientingly massive; there was aisle-space equivalent to the the fruit section of an English supermarket, dedicated entirely to sugar. The mind boggles at how a single ingredient can be dressed up/down to create such range! We skirted around the massive gun and fishing department to reach the childrens' clothing department, to find some shorts to wear over my increasingly indecent cycling shorts. (Kids clothes here come in big sizes yet cost less than grown-up clothesa- and I have no sense of style/shame.)

Day 35, Ordney Springs to Pueblo, 40 miles

If weet-bix is the breakfast of champions, what do untoasted English muffins smeared with Vegemite make us? I note this because today I bid a sad goodbye to a salty friend; the travelling jar of vegemite. I scraped its' very last milligrams onto our pale muffins and threw away the empty jar. It was emotional.

Salted up and ready to sweat it out, we were on the road by 7:30; enthused to reach the bright lights and big city of Pueblo after so many one-horse towns. On the US 50 highway, we met an old guy on a recumbant. He had just had shoulder surgery so couldn't ride a normal bike, but wanted to 'get in shape'... So he was pedalling from his Seattle home to visit his son in Washington DC. Way to recover from surgery! He was a heavy-set guy so we marvelled his dedication at half-way across the country.

In terms of scenery, we passed desert-like terrain with low hills, cactus,and some grazing black bulls. On the outskirts of a Boone, a lama ran alongside us beside its' fence when I yelled 'Tina come get some ham!'

Onwards to Pueblo, we passed billboards with increasing frequency. Among them a few pro-life messages such as 'My mommy chose life'. Quite. ­Alongside the road we had our first gopher-sightings. I spotted one as it dashed into its' hole and alerted Matt; 'Hey a sandy stote-like animal just ran into that mound!' I didn't identify the rodent as a gopher, having been mislead by Caddy Shack into thinking gophers were brown, wombat-like critters that dance. Luckily, Matt is more fauna-inclined, and was able to set me straight when we passed several more of them. One more American native to add to our list of roadside sightings.

Back in Ordney I had booked a cheap Pueblo motel, which we now headed for. A classic American U-shaped, two story set-up that time forgot. (I am writing this on a king-sized bed of maroon floral glory, while beer cools in a wooden-veneered fridge.)

The tourist guides in the motel room gushed about Pueblos' Riverside Walk - which we duely investigated. The river walk is more like Disneyland than the Leftbank. Underwhelmed, we went and bought some beer and Colorado redeemed itself spectacularly with its' '90 shilling' IPA.

A sign we have been on the road a while; we were positively giddy with the revelation that the motel features free laundry facilities. We have laundered everything down to our camping pillows; which Matt nursed happily from the dryer, moved by their scent and renewed shape.

After that excitement, we drank more beers then headed to Subway for dinner. We fell asleep watching Southpark reruns in the State it is set in.

Day 34: PM Edition!

From the cosy library of Ordney, we pressed on to Olney Springs as planned. What we didn't plan on was a fierce headwind, and the rapidly setting sun! Battling both elements, we peddled painstakingly past the Arkansas Valley Correctional Facility. With the wind in our face and light fading, I felt a sense of foreboding and wondered if an escaped criminal might try hold us up for our bikes... I expressed this fear to Matt later at the campsite, and he responded 'Really? I was wondering if we could ask them if they had a cell we could spend the night in, that would have been cool!' -Great minds, eh. 

Ordney Springs consisted of a closed restaurant, fire station and small park surrounded by a dozen houses. At one such house, a family watched from their varanda as we mastered the dark art of Sprinkler-showering. It takes timing and balls (in Matts' case literally)-to scrub down effectively without flashing passing trucks. We couldn't do much about said varandah audience, but they could avert their eyes anytime.

After our standard camping-burritos dinner, we crashed out. Only to be awoken by the wind jerking the tent around us just after 4am; but even the most violent wind can't contend with the knackery of a days' riding...

Day 34, Eads to Olney Springs, 70 miles

I hope we're not jinxing ourselves by treating today as 'done n dusted', but this is our first blog entry written before the day is through... Taking advantage of library wi-fi 11 miles before we reach our destination for the day, where a park and not much else awaits us.

We had a respectfully early start, spurred by the proximity of a coffee-serving gas station. On my way for coffee, I did a 'jezus' doubletake as I mosied sleepily towards a snake! Thankfully/tragically, it was dead. I didn't scrutinise beyond ascertaining it was not moving and obviously in serpent heaven. However once I returned to our tent with buckets of coffee (god bless America)-I told Matt of my snake sighting and he shot off like a rat up a drain-pipe. Presumably to poke it with a stick; camera in hand. As I write this (in a library)-Matt is rifling through 'Dangerous Animals' books to I.D said snake. 

We hit the road, and realised we're not in Kansas anymore (Toto). No agriculture we could see; just a flat expanse of grassy plains. You can see so far in all directions it feels like you're observing the curvature of the earth! We were plagued by a headwind, so while we were cycling with the same fervour as yesterday, we were barely breaking 10mph (rather than 17). 

It was obvious Matt had been in charge of todays' playlist; what other DJ would drop the extended version of  the 'Indiana Jones' Score, then follow it with Meatloafs' Bat out of Hell. Both songs were laughably appropriate, as we passed nothing but abandoned rail tracks and blistered plains at the time.

In the heat and unchanging landscape, I started eagerly awaiting 'Sugar City' which lay on our route. Perhaps it was delirium or boredom, but I found myself anticipating the way Homer imagines 'Germany; the Land of Chocolate'; edible chocolate dogs and buildings. Crushingly, Sugar City was another of those 'blink n you'll miss it' dusty towns. It smelled of manure and the only soul we saw was a confused cyclist, on his way to Pueblo. He optimistically pedalled off to find signs of life, while we cycled a further 5 miles to Ordway (where we now sit).

Its' great to sit out the afternoon heat and enjoy free wi-fi, but we will shortly ride another 11 miles to Olney Springs. Our cycle map informs us that camping is permitted in the 'city' park, which has no restrooms. 'Restrooms are available when restaurant is open'. That would be 'the' restaurant; no further details required. So we're expecting an early night (!) and an early start out on the road tommorrow, bound for the bright lights and big city of Pueblo. We have scheduled a short ride (its' about 40 miles from Olney Springs to Pueblo) as its' after that metropolis that our work really starts; namely the Rockies. No doubt Matt will get some Rocky classics on the ipod in anticipation (heres' hoping!)

ED: The snake was a Corn Snake (not venemous; a constrictor.)

Day 33, Dighton to Eads, 129 miles (Yowza!)

Matt woke at the usual time so we slowly got into character. One nice exception to the norm was that as we were camped a few yards from the Kwik Mart (gas station)- I ambled over for some amber gold (at this time of the day, coffee.) Normally Matt is a tea-man but since we've been State-side, he's taken a liking to the 'lotsa cream, lotsa sugar' approach to java. So now he understands my predatory search for a cup when our location permits.

Caffeinated and enjoying the cool morning, we dismantled our camp beneath the city park shelter. It had been a windy nights' sleep (that is to say, we woke several times to the tent thrashing around us violenntly.) As such, the morning was windy – but as luck would have it, the wind was behind us! These were the conditions we had only dared dream about until now; flat terrain and tail wind. We set sail in high spirits (mainly due to the coffee). For the few hours these conditions held, we were easily able to get 30+ miles in the bank. After a road-side (literally) refuel, the wind had become more of a cross-wind. Still, we were now powered by PBJ bagels, and encouraged by our earlier Plains-Sailing.

Today was a day of unusual highway sightings; we were on one road all day (highway 96). We felt like 'The Borrowers', dwarfed by 'Oversize Loaded' trucks which trawled respectively; epic wind turbine blades; complete pre-fab houses and a cryptically collossal yellow digger bucket. Each of these was preceded and followed by an escort truck which beeped its' horn and flashed an 'Oversize Load' sign (read; any minute now, your bike will be blasted onto the shoulder in my mighty wake.)

Kansas is famous for its' huge sky, punctuated by massive grain silos of a scale only the bread-basket of America could achieve. These monuments of industrial agriculture stand like great pyramids over the flat expanse of farmland. Before leaving our favourite State so far, we were finally treated to a sprawling field of vibrant sunflowers. By fluke, my ipod shuffle corresponded with 'Walking on Sunshine' (Hits of the 80's, I know – shameful.)

At the 70 mile mark (by now 2pm sharpish) we rolled into the quaint Kansan town of Tribune. But wait, there's more; between Scott City and Tribune we had entered Mountain Time – one hour cash-back! So it was actually only 1pm. Plenty of time for more food and more mileage. We sat enjoying our picnic tortillas as country music blared from strategically positioned speakers around the town centre. Refuelled, we set out back onto the Highway 96, as it crept uphill towards Colorado. After 15 miles, Matt was climbing the Welcome to Colorado signage. On que, the landscape changed from agriculture to open grassland plains.

By now we were running on reserve, but spurred on by a new State and scenery. While still relatively flat, we met some undulations in the road – a novelty after a few days in Kansas. Finally, we reached the tiny town of Eads. We met the sheriff on his evening prowl, who directed us to the tiny town park and rest room. No shower or pool but no worries after 129 miles on the road (smashing our own previous record). A wash basin, Budweiser and tinned-picnic party left us two happy campers. Destination: Sleepytown; population: Us.