This gravel is surprisingly soft

Tuesday, August 8. Canon City, CO, to Guffey, CO.

I'm the mayor of Guffey's new best friend. His name is Monster, and he's a cat; he lives at the Guffey Garage, where we went to talk to Bill Soux about a cabin for the night. Seems all it takes is a knowing scratch on the head and he's like putty in your hands. I'm not interested in political manipulation, of course, but if I wanted to I could rule this town. Maybe. With cats, you never really know where you stand.

But we are here in Guffey, that much should be clear. There were times today when it was not certain we could actually get here. We managed a sparkling 6 mph as we climbed a net 4300 feet in just over 32 miles; some of the climbing was so long that we had to take more than one break during the ascent. I am not ashamed to say that I walked my bike for some stretches. Not that any of it was particularly steep; it was never so steep that we couldn't ride up it like some of the slopes we encountered back in PA. But, these were LONG climbs. LONG. From near the point where SR 9 intersects SR 50, it rises inexorably for about 11 miles.

But enough about the technical aspects. While it rained last night, this morning was the first truly cloudless morning we have seen in this region. Bright blue sky and a gentle breeze, and temperatures not yet above 80 made for a nice morning's ride. We already knew about how far we would go before seeing the rafting spots and the campgrounds we thought we were going to last night. When we got to that point, about 9 miles into the ride, we had already been riding for over an hour and a half, and both of us had consumed about a third of our water. So we stopped at a rafting outfit to get some water and a Gatorade. There we met numerous people, all preparing to risk life and limb rafting down the Arkansas River in Class III+ rapids, who were amazed at OUR trip. Go figure.

It was a good thing we stopped for water then, because we both ran low about 4 miles from the end. But at the time, it just seemed like a good precaution. When we left and turned onto route 9, the Currant Creek valley suddenly opened up in front of us like a hidden desert garden. As we climbed the first few innocent miles, at gentle grades, we passed much scrub brush and many low, gnarled trees, stunted by years of insufficient water and downslope winds. This type of vegetation gradually gave way to larger cottonwoods and leggy grasses, and some varieties of cacti. It was not what I expected; I was expecting more pines and lush vegetation (it would come later).

We took several breaks as we ascended; at one spot, most of the way up, we found a relatively wide spot in the road and stopped to rest. There wasn't really anywhere to sit, so we tried perching on a nearby rock for a little while, before finally settling for sitting on the road shoulder. Nancy placed her Camelback behind her, like a pillow, and laid out along the shoulder on the gravel; after a moment, she remarked that "this gravel is surprisingly comfortable", which, under the circumstances, was absolutely correct. We stayed there a long while, long enough for several cars to pass; I suppose none of them thought anything was wrong, or else they would have stopped.

Just as we entered Park County, we crested an intermediate rise and were pleasantly surprised by a nice, fast descent. Of course, that meant more climbing, but after plodding along at 3-4 mph for so long, seeing 38 mph was fun. We climbed up the other side and then had another nice descent. This feature, we would learn later, is called the "Guffey Double Dip". From there, it was mostly level to moderately uphill to the road to Guffey. We worried aloud that the road to Guffey might be a mile-long downhill, leading to a morning climb, but in fact it is the opposite. We will have a nice roll out of town in the morning.

As we entered Guffey, we stopped at the first place we saw that we recognized from our guidebook - Peaceful Henry's Mountain Inn. Closed. We could see a sign for a general store down the street, so we stopped over there to ask about where to go; Mary, the bartender/waitress at the Bull and Bear Saloon (which is what it turned out to be, not a store), told us about Bill Soux and then called him to make sure he would be there before sending us up there. Bill also owns the garage, where Monster lives; and before he showed us the Hog Barn (where we would be sleeping - sounds promising, doesn't it?), he invited us in to the garage for some water (Nancy) and a beer (me). Even though it was Milwaukee's Best, much lighter than I usually prefer, it was about the best thing I'd tasted in many miles. And, at an elevation of 8600 feet, one was plenty.

We also met the husband-and-wife schoolteachers who run the charter school in town; though they live 45 minutes away, they happened to be in town building a new playset in the playground. They are also bicycle tourists, and were curious about our trailers (they have a tag-along for their four-year-old, and want to put a trailer on the other bike for touring). We got to talk with them for a good bit before they had to go home. Bill showed Nancy the cabin while I was talking to them, and then she showed it to me.

The Hog Barn, as it is known, is great. It has one queen-size bed (no frame or headboard, just the box spring and a mattress), a dresser, a TV with a VCR (several tapes provided), a microwave, a coffeemaker, and two chairs. The outhouse is just yards away; the shower is between the outhouse and the cabin. Nancy took some pictures of the shower because words are inadequate to describe it; suffice to say that it was perfectly refreshing for us, but Pam Dunkerly might have trouble using it. Nancy showered first while I sat near catatonia in the cabin; then, when she returned, I gathered my clothes and toiletries, and Nancy came with me to the shower to show me how to use it.

Notice what I forgot to bring with me to the shower (I'll pause a moment so you can check). Like I said, the shower was refreshing, and I thought I was so clever finding a way to conserve water (by turning the shower head to restrict flow while I soaped up, like in the Navy). But then I rinsed off and shut off the water; and as I did, I realized that I had forgotten to bring . . . A TOWEL.

Some of you who know me (or who are related to me) are familiar with a particularly embarrassing moment I experienced as a child (age, I don't recall), when, while visiting my Aunt and Uncle at their Oregon mountain home, I became trapped in an outhouse. The latch on the outside had fallen and caught, and I could not open it. At first, I was not terribly alarmed, since there were . . . MAGAZINES . . . to read, and I figured someone would notice eventually that I had been gone for a while. But then, after quite some time, when nobody came to rescue me, I started yelling and banging on the outhouse door. Finally someone came to open it (I think it was Mark). In any event, it was embarrassing to have been trapped in an outhouse with a pile of Playboys and screaming to be let out.

So there I was, drenched but clean from the shower, and abruptly realizing I did not have a towel. I am pleased to say that I was actually amused with the situation. I called out to Nancy a couple times, hoping she was outside, but to no avail. It reminded me of the "outhouse incident", which just made it funnier. Ultimately, I just air-dried to an extent that made it possible to dress (since all our clothes are quick-drying).

We ended up at the only place open for dinner, the saloon. While we were there, a family of four came in; they were anxious to plug in the singing deer head. You read that right: the SINGING DEER HEAD. On first glance, it looks like an ordinary mounted deer head, much like the ones that are mounted in the offices of my former employer, PPI (which is why I barely noticed it, or the plug that conspicuously runs out from the base). But when it gets plugged in and the proper button on the remote (!) is pushed, it sets into motion a sequence of songs and bad puns ("I'll head 'em up and you move 'em out! Get it? HEAD? Ha ha ha ha ha!"). As you can imagine, this is only entertaining for a little while (perhaps longer for some), and eventually someone unplugged it. I swear it wasn't me. I wasn't watching what Nancy was doing.

Bill, our host, eventually showed up at the saloon, and we got several good stories out of him. He has hosted a reunion of IBEW workers a couple of times (we are talking about 1200 people here), and told us about some of those parties (and parties they were). He also filled us in about the road ahead; we can expect narrow roads between Alma and Hoosier Pass, but otherwise we should be fine.

Tomorrow, we will decide whether to stop in Hartsel or in Fairplay depending on what we feel like when we get to Hartsel. The profile looks like we should have a 10-mile climb in the morning, followed by a long descent into Hartsel and a little beyond. The climb up to Fairplay looks like it's about halfway up to Hoosier Pass, so we'd really like to get there. Then we'd be able to get to Silverthorne on Thursday so we can have an extra day there, and meet Becky on her way back from Utah on Friday. Maybe I can get my hair cut - the last time I got it cut was in Rhinebeck, New York. It's getting pretty unruly. Nancy thinks it's cute. More later!