the observatori

Special Things About New York: #1

2011-09-28T15:40:00.000-04:00

Consider the following numbers. (don't worry, there wont be a quiz).

8 million: The number of people in NYC

32 million: The estimated number of rats in NYC

Rats are everywhere in the city. In the subway. On the streets. In the park.

Thankfully, they are not in my apartment.

And, probably only for this reason, I can say that I think they are a really cool part of the city. Sometimes, I like to hang out on my fire escape and watch them run across the street and hop in and out of garbage piles. And, when I am walking home at night, I like how the trash bins on the street come to life when I pass them. When I run in the park, I like to chase the ones that run out in front of me.

Some might consider a 4:1 ratio of rats to humans to be problematic; I'm not going to lie to you, the idea of rats rummaging around in the kitchen of that diner that I ate at last night doesn't do much for my appetite. But I've never been to a city that has this sort of rat population. It's novel. It's one of the things that makes this place special.

The Centre of the Universe

2011-09-22T01:52:00.000-04:00

It's true: New York is the center of the universe.

The amount of stuff coming through this place on a daily basis is nuts. In the past 48 hours, without even leaving campus, I have seen the President of Ecuador, Jeffrey Sachs, and Wyclef Jean speak. The menu of upcoming speakers, conferences, exhibits and activities is too long to list, too long to possibly

take in. On top of that, I have friends coming through the city every weekend until Christmas. And I don't think that I'm just getting blasted with a meteor shower of awesomeness; this seems to be the exact place in the universe through which all awesomeness passes. I feel like I could stand in one place and the entire world will come to me here. It's fantastic. A little overwhelming. But fantastic.

Confessions of a Born Again Academic

2011-09-15T01:45:00.000-04:00

I have a confession to make. I haven't read a book for more than a year. In the five months that I spent crossing Africa, I didn't read so much as a trashy magazine. At a high level, my brain was undergoing some kind of indescribable transformation; a shift in values and attitudes, perhaps. Still, I could feel my brain soften, my vocabulary shrink. My trip across America was no better (psychological trauma, yes. Intellectual stimulation, no); conversations less frequent and often shallow on account of time constraints.

Upon my return to civilization, I struggled for words as though English were not the language that had carried me through my first 33 years.

Now, I've got three books to read this weekend for school. Like, full books. That hurts! I had to run down to the corner book store this morning to buy a pocket dictionary, which I frequently reference as I make my way through the inches of stacked text. Now, I'm thinking that I might need a latin-english dictionary, too.

I worried at first that getting back into this level of reading would be like when you go to the gym for the first time after a period of...laziness. And you try to press the same weight as the last time that you were there, as though your muscles hadn't atrophied...and then you can't walk or lift anything for a few days.

But, its not like that at all.

It's more like...going to the 7-11 on a really hot day and getting a nice, cold slurpee. Once you get past the initial (but temporary) brain freeze, the sensation of the icey crystals gliding over your tongue and then down your throat is refreshing and so, so satisfying.

Come to think of it, Columbia has other similarities to 7-11. For starters, the dated and not particularly fashionable interior of the building - which seems to be the standard decor for places of higher learning (let's just call it 'understated'). And then there is the more exciting element of there being a lot of really good stuff to choose from. It's hard to know when to stop; I'm taking 50% more credits than I technically need to (but, if you know me, that won't come as a surprise). I walked down the aisle of the curriculum, grabbing all of the goodies that I could fit in my pockets; a course on Politics and Economics in Brazil, another on Politics and Economics in Cuba, Political Development in the Third World, Politics of History and Reconciliation, and so on. So far, I think it will be plenty to satisfy my appetite for the next few months.

Hurricane Tori has Touched Down in New York

2011-09-06T23:44:00.000-04:00

Have you ever seen that movie with Will smith that starts out in Manhattan and it is like the end of the world has arrived? This is as close as I can come to describing the city as it welcomed me last week.

Irene had just left and the city was slowly emerging from it's hurricane-induced hibernation.

By the end of the week, there was a new storm making its way through the city; hurricane Tori.

The fun started on Friday night with a boat ride with a friend who was visiting from San Francisco. Anchoring somewhere close to the Statue of Liberty and watching the skyline light up as the sun set was amazing and I'm left wondering how on earth I forgot to take pictures!

Sunday brought the Brazil day parade on Sixth Avenue. It was not a small gathering, though the absence of open liquor meant the atmosphere did not reach the level of chaos that I have come to expect from crowds of this magnitude.

Monday, on the other hand, was a different story. Still a 'dry' event, the West Indies parade in Brooklyn was a demonstration that things can get crazy without adding booze to the mix. The music was decidedly more my style and the parade had a much more local feel (versus thousands of tourists piling on to sixth ave at the brazil day parade).

There were more cops at this parade than I've seen at any event that I've attended (in recent memory, anyhow). As the event heated up, I began to wonder if they were there to protect or there to watch. It was a good one!

Now, time to hit the books.

One last hurrah (or maybe two)

2011-08-28T23:08:00.000-04:00

I can measure the number of days until school starts on one hand. But, I'm not shopping for pens and paper just yet. I've taken these last few days to jam some reunions into my life before I hunker down and get to the books.

First stop: Amsterdam.
Purpose: Tour d'Afrique reunion.
Fellow riders came in from South Africa, Denmark, Great Britain, USA, and Holland. It felt so natural to be together again; even if we were enjoying cold beers in the city instead of warm coke's at bush camp.
Carrie and I crashed at Bastiaan's new house in Utrecht (an awesome alternative to Amsterdam, if you are interested in visiting Holland). He's just about to renovate, so we took the liberty to start the demo (note the hammer in the wall) and make a temporary art installation (that's supposed to be Africa).

Second stop: Champagne.
Purpose: Birthday party, "relaxation", and mini-INSEAD reunion.
About a dozen of us descended upon Champagne just in time for the first days of harvest, making for the perfect opportunity to contemplate the craft of champagne production while enjoying a little taste of the magic bubbles. In the end, it wasn't the bubbles that were the highlight, it was the costume party that followed.
I couldn't identify a unifying theme among the costumes; obelix and asterix, a cow, a pixie, a bee, 80's girls, disco, a luchador, to name a few. But that didn't matter much.

Tori 3.3

2011-08-22T00:19:00.000-04:00

So far, 2011 has been defined by a discovery of places, people and myself using two wheels. I have relied on my eyes and ears and legs to take me to new places philosophically and physically. My odometer crossed 17,000kms y-t-d sometime in early august. That's more distance than most people cycle in a lifetime. That's more distance than I've driven in the last two years.

I've satisfied a long kept dream of crossing Africa, and captured a number of spontaneous opportunities along the way and in between. The lessons and struggles and wonderful adventures that these experiences have afforded me are impossible to describe. I am indescribably grateful for the opportunities this life has afforded me.

What is there to do after 17,000km of enlightenment? Keep going.

In just a few weeks, I will trade in my wheels for textbooks and lectures, opting instead to propel myself through the next chapter with my brains and imagination. I will begin a Masters program at Columbia University's School of International and Public Affairs (SIPA). Though I will miss my family and friends back home, I am extraordinarily excited at this opportunity to study something that I love and enjoy the wonders of living in New York City. At least this time, I'll only be two time zones away!

Zurich and the Street Parade

2011-08-14T06:54:00.000-04:00

Coincidentally, serendipitously, wonderfully, my dear friend, Laura, returned home to Switzerland for the weekend, just as I was finishing up my (tor)Tour of duty. This is how my Zurich came to be part of the itinerary on my whirlwind european vacation.

It's my first time to the city and, in some ways, the city is exactly as I had expected. In other ways, it is not. This weekend is Street Parade. For me, hearing the term Street Parade conjures visions of glittery floats, marching bands and beauty queens.

At best, I might imagine Ferris Bueller belting out the lyrics to Twist and Shout atop a float as it makes its way down Madison Avenue for the Macy's parade.

This can't begin to describe what Street Parade means in Switzerland. 900,000 people descending on a city of less than 400,000 for a techno festival (though, technically I think that it is supposed to be a political protest). Hoards of oddly dressed, inebriated, techno fans filled the streets while music blared all around. Broken glass and litter everywhere. Quite a spectacle.

Even more amazing than seeing an event like this unfold is seeing the pace at which the Swiss can clean it all up. By Sunday morning, there was no sign that the event had taken place.

(Tor)Tour of Duty

2011-08-12T18:22:00.000-04:00

I've seen the sun rise twice since my head last hit a pillow, I'm wearing a bright orange Tyvek wristband and I am surviving on a potent cocktail of Redbull and adrenaline. No, I'm not in Ibiza anymore. I'm in Switzerland and I am crewing an ultra endurance bicycle race. I'm supporting a six man relay team, racing 1000 kilometres, non-stop, around the country.

This is the Tortour 2011.

My job is to navigate one of the support cars for Saxo Bank Schweiz.

Navigation might seem an unlikely task for a girl who recently got lost while running in Hyde Park and who took numerous wrong turns following a GPS track while cycling America's continental divide, but I like a good challenge. Further, it would be easy to assume, as I did, that the commercialization and proliferation of the GPS would make the role of a human navigator obsolete. In fact, this is not the case.

The logistics associated with coordinating six cyclists and three support cars are complex, especially on a european road network on which certain support cars are not permitted to drive on certain sections of the course. Though an elaborate plan was devised to direct where and when each support car should be at each checkpoint, the dynamics of a six man relay in a race like this have meant numerous on-the-fly changes to 'the plan'. And there is no time to spare, no room for error.

Now, throw in a language barrier.

Driver speaks german; navigator speaks english. This is the part where I would like to say that hilarity ensues, but that's not quite the right word for what has gone down. Fortunately, even the most volatile combinations eventually neutralize, given enough time in a crucible. In this case, that took about ten hours. I now find it rather hilarious when the GPS unit pleads "Please observe the speed limit" (about every five minutes) and the driver, Martin, responds with "Shut up!". When I offer a manual instruction, I could swear that Martin says "No!" just to make me laugh. Martin is awesome.

I am the only one among the team and crew who does not speak German. Still, I have been welcomed so warmly by the crew and team. Those who are able have made a concerted effort to keep the communication in english (or, at least, translate a synopsis) for my benefit. My language deficit has forced me to take a back seat in the organization, which has been difficult for me on a personal level (control freak?), but has made this this a useful learning experience.

The drive itself itself has been absolutely beautiful. Everything about this country seems perfect. The vibrant greens of the forests. The intense blues of the pristine lakes. The mountain villages with immaculately-kept chalets. The breathtaking mountain passes. Oh, the mountains!

And, euro cyclists are a special breed, taking bicycle fashion to a new level. The standard attire is a full pro kit; matching jersey, bibs and socks. It is difficult to tell who is in the race and who is out for a casual ride. And there are many out for a casual ride, in this cyclists paradise. I feel as though I am part of the pro tour. In fact, there are many high-profile ultra-endurance riders here for this event. My Saxo Bank team has held fourth place since early on in the race and seems well positioned to finish in the top 10. This is particularly impressive as the team is comprised of non-pros and is competing against cyclists who have made a living out of events such as this. These guys are made of steel and I have the privilege to be a part of it all.

I could not imagine a better backdrop for this adventure or a better way to discover Switzerland. Canada is home and I love my country. Over the past few years, I have struggled between a desire to be with my family and friends back home and my interest in experiencing other parts of the world. Of all of the places that I have travelled, Switzerland has come the closest to feeling like a home away from home. All of the beauty of home and the allure and charm of old europe. Now, if I could just transport all of the people who I love to this place...

Discovering Germany

2011-08-10T17:28:00.000-04:00

There are many ways to discover a new place. Having a local connection is, perhaps, one of the most rewarding of these. Though I have had only a few days in Rotweil, I have had an opportunity to take in a number of the local treasures, thanks to Horst. Among the highlights:

Black forest cake, in the Black Forest!

The finest of German craftsmanship at the Porsche museum.

A picnic atop a clocktower in Rotweil (you can't do that without a local connection!)

And, some German history at a proper German castle.

Ibiza Recovery

2011-08-09T18:08:00.000-04:00

My flight out of Ibiza was notably more subdued than my adventure in. No roudy chav's high-fiving the stewardesses. No airborne drinks falling on unsuspecting passengers. No laughing, singing or yelling. Everyone was tired (or maybe just German).

I am now in Rotweil, Germany, gearing up to help my good friend, Horst, with a RAAM-style race around Switzerland (www.tortour.ch).

From INSEAD reunion to TdA reunion in a flash. And, few hours out on the bike for a Monday group ride were just what I needed to shake off the effects of my time in Ibiza. I wish that I could bring my Calgary cycling friends out here for a ride. It's absolutely beautiful out here.

Ibiza Reunion

2011-08-04T15:26:00.000-04:00

I've never considered stilettos to be an ideal shoe pairing for a g-string bikini. But then, I've never been to Ibiza before.

To my right are women laying suggestively on top of concrete islands in the middle of the swimming pool. Bodies and bikini's putting the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue to shame. Stiletto's stored safely at the edge of the pool.

To my left is a sea of tanned, chiseled, perfect six packs. Too many to count. Not a single chest hair unwaxed. Not a single male eye-brow unmanicured.

Ahead, a crowd is forming around a stage and there's a DJ warming up the audience with House Music.

...doush doush doush de de doush doush doush....

It's funny that this should be called House Music. I've never heard it at my house. Never the less, it's nice. Nice because I'm surrounded by friends so close that they can make even this place feel like home.

And, maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to like techno.

Every few minutes, the rhythmic thump of the music is interrupted by the roar of an airplane passing very closely overhead. The planes close enough that their shape fills one third of my overhead view.

...doush doush doush de de doush doush doush....
...doush doush doush de de doush doush doush....
CUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRSSSSSSSHHHHHH
...doush doush doush de de doush doush doush....
...doush doush doush de de doush doush doush....

It feels as though we are right at the end of the runway. And it just adds to the energy of the crowd, which is now a synchronized, pulsing, mob of skin and sweat.

Were it not for the fact that Ibiza was chosen as the location for our one year reunion, I can comfortably say that I would never have found myself in this place. It's not exactly 'my scene'. Yet, now that I'm here, I'm shocked to say it, but Ibiza rocks!

Party Time

2011-08-03T13:28:00.001-04:00

Are all Easyjet flights like this? Is it the Brits? Or is it just our destination that has set people behaving in this way?

After a rather uneventful journey over the Atlantic Ocean, I'm now approaching my final destination of Ibiza. I have just awoken a brief slumber after my airplane hit a pocket of severe turbulence. It wasn't the turbulence that disrupted my rest, rather, that, when the plane dropped a few feet very suddenly, it launched the tumbler of rose wine belonging the lady in the seat behind me into the air and then onto my head, soaking me with the smelly pink liquid.

The rush seating process for this flight, it turns out, has put me in the epicentre of an about-to-get-out-of-control-seated-airplane-party. How could I have known when I picked this seat next to a pair of sweet looking, could-be-choir-boys that I would wake up to find them shirtless, drunk and hitting on some girls about five rows ahead of us?

Beer cans and plastic cups strewn in the aisle. Tramped up lady-gaga-wannabees wearing more cosmetics and less clothing than vegas show girls. Roudy boys with tacky tribal tattoos, too-tight tshirts and rhinestoned sunglasses. Shouting, laughing, and spontaneous group singing. And, cheap wine dripping from my hair to add the extra dimension of smell to this experience.

It is a caricature of a frat party and I'm just trying to catch some winks on an air plane. Perhaps this is not a fair snapshot of the people as a whole; however, I might be developing an allergy to the British. Don't get me wrong, I likes to have a good time; indeed, this is what has brought me here in the first place. I just really hope that these kids aren't headed to the same hotel as I am.

Counting down the minutes now until my Ibiza INSEAD reunion!
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Passing for Normal

2011-07-17T03:50:00.000-04:00

Almost two weeks have passed since I traded in the rolling gulag of the Tour Divide for the down pillow of Civilization. Re-integrating into civilized society, into the world of the Normals, means a few adjustments to my daily existence. Eat-Sleep-Ride has been replaced by Eat-Sleep-Family-Yardwork-Sleep-Friends-Yoga-Shower-Sleep-Taxes-Stampede-Sleep. The basic elements are still there (though slightly different). Family, friends and bathing are welcome additions. The rest is just the noise of the city. A few perspectives on my new existence:

Eat. My last breakfast on the Tour Divide was three egg McMuffin meals with chocolate milk. That packs enough calories to fuel me for an entire day with my new lifestyle, but my body hasn't figured that out yet. It's not that I'm fidgeting like a junkie outside the 7-11, plotting my next binge on peanut m&m's and gummy bears. It's more like my body is aware of the availability and convenience of fresh foods and is intent on making up for lost time. Or maybe my intestines have just been stretched from the high volume of fuel that I've been running through them for...wow...six months now. Either I'm going to have to get back on the bike in a serious way or I'm going to have to reel in this gastronomic madness and start eating like a normal person.

Sleep. In 2011, I have spent more nights sleeping outside than sleeping inside. I used to think that a comfortable bed was a gift that optimized my rest time, but I am beginning to think that a comfortable bed something of a trojan horse. Indeed, in Africa and along the Divide, sleeping without the luxury of a cushion, temperature control or sound insulation, I often fantasized about sleeping indoors. My nights outdoors were typically short and involved a moderately uncomfortable but unavoidable awakening with the imminent arrival of the sun.

I've now indulged in my longest stretch of bed sleep (11 nights!). It's been an all-I-can-sleep buffet of bed rest. These nights indoors have invariably been long, continuing well into the daylight, and involve a moderately uncomfortable awakening with the sudden arrival of my gigantic appetite. These indoor sleeps have been supplemented with afternoon naps as I am often feeling exhausted again by mid day. But how can this be? Is it possible that my comfortable mattress is robbing me of a good rest? Are there diminishing returns to sleep?

Frustrated that I can spend as much time in bed now as I was spending on the bike during my trip down the Divide, I am feeling a need to cut myself off from this sleep-fest. First I have begun weaning myself from the teat of the afternoon nap and I will soon employ an alarm clock. Failing that, I will abandon the trappings of my mattress and venture into my backyard with my bivy sac for some proper sleep. (of course, that would threatens cover as being normal).

Ride. I tried riding my bike last week. Free of the baggage that I hauled along the Tour Divide and upgrading from steel to titanium, my road bike felt more as a toy than a serious means of transportation. It was a feeling that I fantasized about many times as I pedaled my tank of a bike to the Mexican border. Still, my 125km freedom ride was not the ground-speed-record-setting tappa a cronometro that I had imagined it would be. It resembled more closely the pleasure cruise of a retirement home resident. Perhaps a week is not sufficient recovery time, or perhaps I have cemented my place as a long-haul diesel engine.

Family. It is so nice to be back in the company of my family; my appreciation for them is as strong as it has ever been. I can hang out with them without consideration of time constraints or mental distraction and it is totally awesome. I think that this is how family time is supposed to be! Amazingly, my young nephews still remember me. All of us went down to the Stampede grounds together this week. I bet it's been more than 20 years since I was there with my parents last. Weadickville, mini-donuts, livestock. Oh, the memories! And every hug from my parents and my sister and her husband and my nephews fills me with joy and love. I am so lucky to have a family like this. I missed those hugs.

Friends. With most of my days lost to sleeping and eating, I am still making my way through reconnecting with friends, most of whom I haven't seen since last year. I sometimes have this fear that I have been away so long that my friends wont remember me. But they do. It's like no time has passed, except that now there are so many adventures to speak of, on all sides. And every time that I laugh in the company of my friends I think of how fortunate I am to have such friends and to be with them now.

3 Days After Tour Divide

2011-07-09T00:48:00.001-04:00

It is incredible how quickly your mind transforms hard memories into something beautiful.

I *know* that there was a lot of misery along my journey down the Divide. I have gone back and read my entries for each day of the ride and I've tried to relive the experience and remind myself of what I have done, of all of the things that I have felt in the last month.

Reading every grammatical error, every incomplete thought, I am reminded of how I would wake up with my blackberry on my chest and the screen would be full of random letters because I passed out while typing. The fatigue was constant. Now, after three days of mostly sleeping, I have the heebeejeebees to get moving again.

Looking at my feet, there is no sign of the sores that tortured me and made it hard to stand on my last days on the Divide. No muscle soreness. No joint pain. Body functions are back in check. My body is still on overdrive and I heal like I am superman. I love this feeling and I want to stay this way.

Now that the trip is done, I can't feel the misery anymore. I can only feel the magic. I can even entertain the idea of giving it another go (I can't believe that I just said that!); I know how I could do it better next time. More likely, though, I would take my wheels on a new path.

The simplicity of riding and eating and sleeping is wonderful. It is only in the depth of such simplicity that the true intensity of emotions can come out. When it gets down to a matter of basic survival, that's what it is to be alive.

Everyone keeps asking me, what is the plan now? I thought for sure that I would want to take an extended break after the Divide, but that's not the case. I just want to keep going. I want to continue to experience life with such intensity. And I *know* that I will be stronger next time.

My next adventure will take a very different course (and I will talk about that soon); not all of my dreams take place on two wheels. As much as I feel compelled to keep rolling, I'll be taking some time to pursue some other goals. That should afford me the time to figure out how I will use my two wheels to continue to explore the world, and myself when the opportunity arises again.

So, what's the plan? In the words of the Deaner, for now, 'the plan is to just keep on given'r'.
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Tour Divide Day 25.

2011-07-07T12:24:00.001-04:00

230km. Single Track to Antelope Wells.
Total time: 13.5 hours.

This should be it. The home stretch. Only 230km to go.

*Only* 230km?

It is hard to reconcile the feeling of being so close to the finish with the enormity of the task ahead. This is not like the home stretch of a marathon, where I can drag myself through the last 45 minutes of discomfort, counting down the kilometres. This is probably going to take me 14 hours. At least the profile is flat; the only passes that I will see today are 'Do Not Pass' and 'Pass With Care'.

Looking at my odometer isn't going to help me. At all. Yet, I keep looking down. I create a distraction by telling myself the story of this adventure. State by state. Person by person. Epic obstacle by epic obstacle.

Sometimes it feels like this whole journey has been uphill. Like I could turn my bike around at any time and I could just coast home. Of course, I can't go back. I am a long way from where I started.

If I were blazing trail, maybe this would be easier. Maybe I would forgive myself for finding it so hard. Or maybe I would find it easier to throw in the towel and conclude that it is impossible. But, I know that I'm not the first. Not even close. And that tortures me. There are many others who have come through here before; many others who are coming through here *now*. They are coming through faster and stronger. Do they struggle the same way? Or am I just out of my league? I feel as though I should be capable of this since, clearly, others can do it. At the same time, I feel as though maybe I am not worthy of taking this same path. Maybe I am not cut out for this.

The final miles of this journey are flat and baron. I'm watching dust devils appear and then disappear in the distance. This is a wasteland and I'm moving away from civilization with every pedal stroke. Into nothingness. Total nothingness. And the road just keeps going and going. It is impossibly long.

This journey can be done in the opposite direction as well. Antelope Wells to Banff. At various points along the way, I considered that it would be better to start in Antelope Wells because Banff would be a more hospitable place to finish. I realize now that, for me, there could be no other way. It is so fitting to ride for so long in to this nothingness.

Antelope Wells is...the end.

...So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye...
...So you think you can love me and leave me to die...
...Oh, baby. Can't do this to me baby...
...Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here...

Thank you JP and Elizabeth Evans for getting me right out of Antelope Wells.

And thank you to the family, friends and strangers who offered their support and love along the way.
Mom and Dad, Meriah, Stappy, Erik B, Emma, Bill B, Gary B, Luke, John, Daniel, JP, Tom, Ray, Martin, Dave H, JohnnyP, Jill H, Matthew Lee, Cindy K, Carrie B, Horst S, Jesus, Kim F, Kim Ch, Lindsay G, Len DM, Ruth D, Kari V, Christina O, Shan, Kristian, Chris F, Kevin S, Alice M, Kendra R, Paul S, Paul W, Patrick P, Five Stroke, MOB, Miriam S, Sarah M, Cindy P, Lericson, Roy H, Claire S, Drei, Siew, Bonnie P, El Animal, TimmyD, Phil Touring, The Gang at Bow Cycle, Dallas, Craig M, Kate A, Steve W, The Ger, Linda G, Kyle H, Sandra Y, Dylan S, Henry Y, Steve A, Ed G, Katy C, Gary C, Shawna D, Gabor, Brent T, Mical D, Brenda D, Dana B, Ione H, Ali and Salima, Jennifer J, Elizabeth E, Gail E, Fred E, Cathy, Amy, Kelly, Sue, Mary F, Laurence, Martin H, kcab20, Angie, A mike from calgary, Big Bad Wolf, Cindy P, Michele, Yvonne S, Cate, Geri G, Scott at the Porcelain Rocket, Jeff and Jillian at the Wildlife Refuge, Rob and the gang at the Outdoorsman, Kirsten at Brush Mountain, Christian at Holland Lake Lodge, Dave at ComoDepot, Doug at the Tree House, Bev with the fifth wheel, Nita at the Toaster House, and the Jehovah's Witnesses, to name a few.

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Tour Divide Day 24.

2011-07-06T14:34:00.001-04:00

151km. Elk Springs to Single Track.
Total time: 15.5 hours.

I hear JP and the gang roll by around 230am. Seems like it would be nice to ride right now, but I am just not equipped for night riding on anything but pavement.

I go back to sleep and then wake up just before sunrise. I have one thing on my mind, getting to the finish. Antelope Wells.

Antelope Wells. Antelope Wells. Antelope Wells.

I can get there in two days, I know it. I'm rolling with first light. I think back to the last week of my trip across Africa and the song that started each of my last days there.

...It's the *final* countdown!...
...Ba-da-da-da...
...Ba-da-da-da-da...

My excitement about reaching the end helps me forget my hunger. For a while.

It is hard to spread the calories out and I'm doing the best that I can with my water situation, but I'm still worried. There is a light breeze this morning; just enough to optimize the cooling effect of my perspiration. But I'm losing precious water. I can feel a bead of sweat building ever slowly on my temple. Building. Building. Building. It begins moving almost imperceptably slowly downward. Past the corner of my eye. Over my cheekbone. Hair by hair, down my cheek. By the time that it reaches my jaw, the hot, dry air has taken it away.

Stop fixating, Tori. Just pedal.

I make it to the Beaverhead Ranger station. This is the second, and last, water source until the next services on route. They have a soda machine! It is cold and wet and sweet and it is so good. I buy as much as I can.

The heat continues to build, and now I am climbing. My lips are dry and I lick them. And then I can feel the dry air pass over them as I inhale, taking away the moisture. In two breaths, my lips are parched again. I try closing my mouth to conserve moisture, but it keeps opening in order to take in more air. I lick again. My lips dry. My water is disappearing quickly.

...Thunder bolt of lightning...
...Very very frightening...me!...

Stop fixating and pedal!

I reach the turn off for a new section of the trail, the Continental Divide Trail Alternate (CDT) at around 4pm. This is a decision point. If I take the CDT, is only 40kms to Silver City. Can I make it with the resources that I have? I know there is some hike-a-bike and singletrack. It will be slow going. It is tempting to make the dash through it, but I am down to my last bottle of water, I have only one granola bar left and my stomach is empty. If something does wrong, I could be in trouble. I feel that it is too risky.

I can take a 18km round trip detour off course to Roberts Lake and hope, *hope* that the store is open so that I can get some food and water. It is Sunday and the fourth of July long weekend. Will it still be open?

I have to try.

I roll into Roberts Lake and, hallelujah, the store is open. I reload. A man named Doug at the Tree House offers me a steak.

WOW. YES!

If I ever make any suggestions about becoming a vegetarian, I want to take myself back to this moment. Steak tastes good and it is good for me. I can feel it in my blood. I chew on that juicy piece of flesh and its like I can feel it rush through my veins, penetrate my muscles and restore life to my body.

I eventually get back on track and start making my way through the CDT. I miss two turns and lose some precious daylight (despite having a cue sheet AND a GPS). I'm struggling to navigate the singletrack as the light disappears and I am now walking my bike in the dark. Every one of my toes is raw and ringing with the sting of infected friction sores that I have acquired from walking in my hot, manky shoes through the Gila.

I desperately want to make it to the main road, where I know that I can ride the rest of the way to Silver City in the dark. But I know that it will be more efficient to wait until I have daylight to finish this section. It is time to set up camp.

Today's solution becomes tomorrow's problem.
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Tour Divide Day 23.

2011-07-05T20:10:00.001-04:00

122km. Pie Town to Elk Springs.
Total time: 11.5 hours.

Waking up on a piece of cardboard in a room that I don't know, this is the first morning that I'm not immediately and keenly aware of where I am and what I am doing there. The confusion quickly disappears as Rob, another Divider, rustles about in the next room mustering something about Uncle Fester, a saddle sore that has plagued him on this journey. Smile. This guy is a character.

I quickly gather my things and head over to the pie shop for breakfast. Pie a la mode, first thing in the morning. Now *there's* something to look forward to. I'm still waiting for the Pussy Wagon to role up, but I settle for an older dude in a big blue tow truck. I'm still not entirely convinced that this place is real and not the setting of Kill Bill 3.

Pie town is like the Yukon of the south. It seems like the place where people go if they don't want to be part of the system. Not in the Montana way, where people go there when they don't want to be part of *any* system. More like...they just have a different idea about how life should be and have set up their own system. I can appreciate that; I haven't exactly been a devout follower of the system.

I'm preoccupied now with preparing for the day(s) ahead. If yesterday was any indication, it is going to be stinking hot out there. I should have left a couple of hours ago to get some distance in before the furnace turns on, but I need food for the next unserviced stretch of mayhem and the pie shop, which didn't open until 730am, is my load up point. Service here is friendly, but not exactly operating at a race pace.

JP and the gang show up, just as I am heading out. Right on.

It will be 176 miles until the next service point. Loading up on water and food for a stretch of this length is tough. I try to remind myself to convert to kilometres in order to avoid underestimating my needs. Miles are handy for keeping the numbers, but they are deceiving if you are used to operating in kilometres.

Do you know how much food and water you need for 270 kilometres in the New Mexico desert during a heat wave?

Me neither.

I take everything that I can fit on my bike, which isn't as much as I would like. I try to think of how to make more space, but the fact is that there is not much space and I need and use everything that I am carrying on a daily basis. I jam calories and water in every nook that I can find.

I'm slow today. My legs are tired from the last couple of big days (make that the last 22 big days) and I've noticed some blood in my urine, the probable cause of which is causing me some grief on the washboarded dirt road.

My situation is further complicated as my front derailleur seizes up, leaving me with the use of only my granny ring. I try to access my tools to do a fix, but the zipper on my tool pouch is stuffed, trapping my tools inside. I contemplate cutting it open with my leatherman, which is (fortunately) in a separate bag, but I decide to leave it for now as my legs are not putting out enough power to use my bigger gears, anyway. The fast guys are doing this on single speeds anyway...maybe this will make me faster!

I'm taking in water like a sponge. No rationing. I come across one of the two reliable water sources on this stretch and refill with some spring water. I have a mix of fascination and fear with natural water sources. I think of the places that boast the healing powers of spring water. Maybe it will be magic. Then I see some cows and I think of the gastrointestinal trauma that I experienced in Africa. I can treat it, but I am never quite confident with that. Magic or misery, I can't afford to go along without water. I take as much as I can.

By late afternoon, I'm already thinking about how this water will last until the next water source, which will probably come some time early tomorrow. I encounter some Jehovah's Witnesses and graciously accept some water and some gospel from them.

I stopped with much less distance than I'd hoped, but I went until the light ran out and simultaneously happened upon a great camp spot. My bike is fixed now (mostly).

My stomach is unsatisfied as I go to bed tonight and I'm running through the inventory of calories remaining in my arsenal. It is not a good situation. How did I think that I had enough? Shit. Even skimping on dinner tonight, I don't have enough to get me through a full day tomorrow in the best of scenarios. I will need to go off course tomorrow to restock. Just making it to the restock could be a challenge.
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Tour Divide Day 22.

2011-07-04T14:02:00.001-04:00

222km. Pueblo Pintado to Pie Town.
Total time: 16 hours.

Last night, I stored my macdonalds crispy chicken sandwich with me in my bivy so that the dog wouldn't get it. This morning, I woke up with it all over my jersey. Add that to the smells that thing has collected over the past three weeks.

Camping out at a gas station means that you get to eat your gas station grand slam breakfast (pizza pocket, boxed donuts and milk) in the VIP section of the patio.

I made it to Grants in time for lunch. As I was inhaling a milkshake and burger, two self-proclaimed wanderers, Jim and Chuck, sat at a table next to me and chatted me up. I observed that we had a few things in common, the need a shower and washing machine being the most obvious. I carry our my bedroom apartment, kitchen and wardrobe around on my bike. They carry theirs in a shopping cart.

It was the first interaction that I've had with homeless people in which our social inequality wasn't an inescapable factor in setting the tone. Jim offered to let me use his deodorant, which was really rather sweet. I'll admit that I had so many flies around me that, if you took a long exposure picture, I was a dead ringer for Pigpen from the Charlie Brown comics. I politely declined. There is no earthly substance that can mask the stench of 2300 miles of sweat and tears and the grease of a macdonalds crispy chicken club.

After Grants, the road wound through El Malpais National Monument. Gorgeous! It was a furnace, without a speck of shade. This was probably the more appropriate setting for the picture of the day, but I'm guessing that someone out there has taken some nicer shots of the park than I can capture from my camera phone.

I took my time after the park. Given my pleasant experience with night riding yesterday, I thought it better to have more of that, rather than battling out the epic heat. I didn't account for the offroad washboard and sandy mayhem. It was a mix of riding over a long stretch of rumble strips and then trying to ride on the beach. But I wanted to make it to Pie Town tonight. I had a feeling that I might catch JP and his gang here. I didn't make it until 1130, but maybe I can catch them tomorrow morning.

Rolling into Pie Town was like rolling on to the set of a Tarantino movie. The fact that the ride in was on a road that most normal people might deem impassable was one part of that. The next was was the style of the homes. I'm staying inside the toaster house. I don't know anything about it except that it has a bunch of toasters on the gate out front, there was a note on the door saying welcome, and there were some other cyclists there. Although the owner was not home, they have made the place available for bikers, hikers and others travelling the divide route. Pretty cool.
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Tour Divide Day 21.

2011-07-01T13:51:00.000-04:00

205km. Chama to Pueblo Pintada.
Total time: 16.5 hours.

...Is this real life?...
...Is this just fantasy?...
...Caught in a landslide...
...No escape from reality...

When the credits role on my adventure, this is the song that I hope will be playing. So, I don't know all of the lyrics really, and I haven't shot anyone, but I imagine that it is a metaphor for my personal inner struggle...and my eventual victory over my weaknesses (I can hope). Also, the swings in musical style seem to match my experience pretty well. At the end of this, I want to be rocking out like Wayne and Garth.

The three amigos caught up to and passed me about half way through the day, but I saw them again when I arrived in Cuba. Our detour around the forest fires put us in to Cuba about a day before we would have arrived, based on how long it took other Dividers to get through. In some respects, it is a shame to miss that section. Then again, I needed a day like this and the light at the end of the tunnel just got brighter. I feel as though I can see around me now and enjoy it more (I hope this lasts!).

Today was forgiving in terrain and in weather. No major climbs. A mix of gravel and pavement. A moderately cloudy sky to keep the heat down. Black clouds on one side were filled with ash from the fires. Black clouds on the other were filled with lightning. And there was no headwind for the first 60kms and the last 20kms of the day.

Relationships are funny on this trip. I've maintained my ignorance of their last names and contact information for the three amigos because, somehow, I think it is nicer that way. I want to stay with them, but I have resisted the temptation to do so in an organized way. I want some element of chance. Some way to see how things are different when you know that you may never see someone again.

John decided to stay in Cuba for the night and get some rest. I wanted some more mileage for the day. So did Luke and Dan. I was a bit sad to see these guys part. I've enjoyed imagining them together at the mexican border with big black sombreros. That was a great movie.

Heading out of Cuba, I rode a ways back from Luke and Dan (I can't keep up). Then I got a flat (the first of the trip) and the gap widened. I suspected that I might see them in Pueblo Pintada, about 85kms out, as that was the major service point between. In any case, that was going to be my destination.

I passed an Indian reservation around sunset and saw some navahos on horses. Maybe not the kind that first come to mind. These were young guys dressed a bit like 50 cent. It was cool anyway.

I rode the last several hours in the dark. Several magnificent hours. Traffic dies down. The wind dies down. The temperature is perfect and you can hear crickets. There is very little light pollution and the sky is clear (we are now west of the smoke). I could see shooting stars. It was sooo nice.

I found a place that I thought was the Pueblo service point. No sign of Dan or Luke. No problem. But, there were dogs, so I opted to find a spot near a church that I'd seen about a kilometre back. That effort was fruitless as I roused three dogs. Those little things then chased me for some time.

So, I kept going. I felt good. It was probably some of the most comfortable riding that I've had on the trip. I felt like I could go all night. I eventually found the real Pueblo and I found Luke and Dan camped at the gas station/industrial center of town/only store in. 50 mile radius.

There is a dog who seems friendly and keeps pestering us. He must be able to smell the macdonalds grease on us. And the generator beside me keeps going on and off. But I'm tired enough to sleep through it.

I stink, I'm dirty, I'm tired, I'm sleeping on gravel at a gas station in the middle of New Mexico. And I love it.
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Tour Divide Day 20.

2011-06-30T17:39:00.000-04:00

140km. Country Road 14 to Chama.
Total time: 15.5 hours.

It is 11:06am. I've been on the road for five hours and I've gone less than 30km.

RRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAGH!

- You can *walk* faster than that, Tori.

I started out this morning thinking that, if I had two good days and I used all of the daylight today and all of the daylight tomorrow, I might catch my three amigos in Cuba.

This morning, I had a 4000ft climb for breakfast. Correction, it had me for breakfast. There is no way I will catch those guys now. I'm back on the bad end of the emotional yo-yo that has defined this journey for me.

I've been trying to find ways to make these last days enjoyable, or at least bearable. As anyone who has ridden with me much knows, I don't like taking breaks. But I'm taking plenty of them now. Sanity breaks; a moment in the shade to take in the surroundings and try, *try*, to enjoy this.

When we were crossing Africa, my friend mike had his bike get lost, he broke four ribs, and then he contracted malaria. He was still smiling. Why can't *I* do that? What am I doing wrong? Why am I finding this so hard?

I've been writing down my thoughts as a gift to myself; a souvenir to remember the experience and to have a lasting appreciation of it on a deep level. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe it is causing me to dwell on the hard parts. I want so much to write about how beautiful the landscapes are...like that orange mountain over there (in picture). Why cant I focus on stuff like that. My doubts and insecurities are having a party in this ocean of self pity.

I am my own wet blanket.

I feel as though I am fighting two battles. One with the America's Great Divide and another with my own.

I visualize my ipod, wrapped in the translucent blue plastic bag and tucked in my center back pocket. I want it. I want it. I waaaaaaant it.

- No, Tori. Don't shut this out. Face your thoughts. *Own* them.

One of the tricks that I use when things get hard is to remind myself that things are temporary. Just keep going and things will change.

(Mental jukebox chimes in)
...Pick your head up...
...Things will change...
...Things will go your way...
...If you ho-ooo-ld on for one more day...

Wilson Philips? Really? I didn't know that you were in there. Weird.

I keep plugging along, slowly. I'm thinking about how I will end up in Antelope Wells. Some day. All alone. Still with no plan on how I am going to get out of there. Maybe the border guard will take a picture for me.

As I near the top of the second pass of the day, I hear my name. I look back.

JOHN!

Wow. Amazing. Hope on two wheels. I'm not sure how that happened. He tells me about how he had thoughts of packing it in last night. I feel sad that someone I like is feeling that way. I also feel comforted that I'm not the only one feeling that way.

We descend in to Platoro and get a burger and a root beer float. Luke and Dan roll in soon after. My posse is back together.

23 miles later, we arrive in Horca. Horca is a critical stock up point before we head into about 160km of tough, remote riding before El Rito. The sky is thick with forest fire smoke. It is not yet dusk, but the sun is so pale that it feels like it.

I have a lot of things to get for this next stretch. It is 6:30pm. The main store in Horca closes at 6:00pm.

Problem.

There is a note on the door explaining that the forest route that I am to take is closed due to fires. Reroute on the highway. The next town will have services, but it is 45kms away. Over two passes.

I peel out and start the evening journey. At least the heat has subsided, but I'm running out of daylight.

I roll into Chama well after dark and find a $38 motel and a cheeseburger. And a beer (two, actually). And I lick my wounds. No *actual* licking involved.

I'm in New Mexico now! I hear people speaking spanish and it makes me feel close to the end. I can *almost* see the light.
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Tour Divide Day 19.

2011-06-29T20:40:00.000-04:00

142km. Rough Camp to County Road 14.
Total time: 14 hours, including 3 stopped.

Dear Headwind,

Please stop.

You've been in my face for three days now. I round a 180 degree switchback and you are still there. How do you do that?

You have penetrated my brain and I can't hear myself think. I can still hear you screaming in my ears when I sleep. My lips are cracked and bleeding with the perpetual dryness that you create.

I've had my head down so much as I've been trying to avoid you that I almost didn't notice how much the landscape has changed. This isn't skiing territory anymore. I'm into the hoodoos and badlands. Neat.

I only cleared two of the three passes that I'd aimed for today because I let you get to me. And I'm sleeping solo tonight because you put a gap between me and my friends. Yeah, you got me today.

Don't be fooled. You can slow me down, but you wont stop me.

(But, please stop, anyway).

Tori
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Tour Divide Day 18.

2011-06-28T17:06:00.001-04:00

129km. Salida to Rough Camp.
Total time: 12 hours.

Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up.

Am I still here?

Ugh.

This trip feels like it is taking forever. Did you know that there are people who are already done? Yeah, they finished yesterday. Wow. That is so amazing. I wish that I had that strength, that determination. It blows my mind what they have achieved.

Sometimes I wish that I were a robot. Enough of this emotional crap. Enough of psyching myself up constantly. Just go, Tori. It is less than 1000 miles remaining. Get over it and just go. Everything will be fine once you are in the saddle again.

Maybe a song will help. How about some Whitesnake...

...Here I go again on my ooo-own...
...Dauw-nauw-nauw-nauw...

(I gather the strength to leave the hotel room)

...Going down the only road I've ever kn-ooow-n...
...Dauw-nauw-nauw-nauw...

(Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzt. Cut the record.)

John from Helena and JohnnyP roll past on the road. Instant smile. My social experiment is on hold and we go for breakfast and errands. Luke and Dan join shortly after.
At breakfast, I discover that my food processor is on strike. Perhaps in protest to not getting paid last night. Hey, its not my fault that everything was closed. Depriving me of an appetite isn't going to help. I force feed myself some granola and I stuff a bun in my pocket for later.

Marshall Pass is my project for the morning and, unexpectedly, for the afternoon. It's a big one and a cooker, too. My progress up, and down, is slow. Despite my pleas for peace, my stomach continues it's protest, leaving me with little energy move along.

I catch up with the guys at Sargeants, a little gas station town at the bottom of the pass. I promise my food processor anything it wants if it will just make a demand. Ok, I promise it anything that I can find in a convenience store. No luck.

We have to load up on food as it will be a long haul to the next services and tonight we will be camping. Dan shows off his array of snacks and meals for the next 24 hours. It includes fig newtons, which causes a look of revulsion from Luke. 'I can't eat those things, my grandma told me that those little crunchy things inside are wasp eggs'.

Awesome. I'm going to use that one on my nephews!

Mother nature takes no mercy on us after Sargeants. Full on headwind. I get dropped immediately by the guys, but I just keep moving.

On the bike. Off the bike. On the bike.

Anything to carry on progress. The gusts are so intense at times that pushing my bike feels like I'm wrestling a steer (or, at least what I imagine that would feel like). I imagine that I'm in a bad movie where the protagonist is shot but refuses to die and then keeps getting up and coming back, staggering on ahead, one foot in front of the other.

(Enter black Sabbath)
...Has she lost her mind?...
...Can she see or is she blind?...
...Can she walk at all,...
...Or if she moves will she fall?...

I keep riding for some time after sunset and eventually catch my three amigos at a reservoir. Luke and Dan are camped under the 'warmth' of an outhouse shelter, which brings the first smile to my face that I've had in hours.

Long day. Smashed, again.

Thank you, everyone, for your continued support.
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Tour Divide Day 17.

2011-06-27T08:52:00.001-04:00

190km. Silverthorne to Salida.
Total time: 16 hours.

For once, the ride felt not too far from civilization. At least for the first 40km. There is a bike path that connects Silverthorne with Frisco and then Frisco with Breckenridge.

In Frisco, there was a field full of bright pink tents. Today is the Avon walk to cure breast cancer. I like that people do these things to raise awareness. Maybe I should do that one of these days. Or maybe I already am. For now, I'm raising my self awareness.

I stopped for breakfast in Breckenridge. I like that town, and not just because the dude at the cafe made me fresh mini donuts for the road. Small. Pretty. Clean. Well situated.

Out of Breck, it was right up Boreas Pass, which is an awesome climb with a good grade, a nice surface and shade from the aspens on either side of the road. Possibly the best climb yet.

On the other side of Boreas is a small town Beer in Como. I needed to recharge my water for the remote slog ahead and I pulled into the grocery store. It was closed for renos and didn't look like it would be open until quite some time after I'm hoping to have reached Mexico. So, I went to the only other business in town, the Como Depot, a cute little hotel and restaurant built back in 1892.

The proprietor, Dave, was expecting me and called me by name. A keen supporter of the Tour Divide, he has been watching the little bouncing bubbles approach his town for the past week. He offered me a free beer and I couldn't say no (see picture). It was not even 1130 yet, so that was probably violating some kind of social norm. But that's nothing new for me on this trip and I'm guessing that wearing the same unwashed jersey for 2750kms is a more severe violation.

Dave showed me some pictures and was really friendly. If I weren't set on getting to Mexico in good time, it was the sort of pace that I would have enjoyed staying for a night. But I was set on making it to Salida today, so I was quickly on my way.

Looking at the elevation profile, the tough part appeared to be Boreas Pass. Not the case. The post-Como hail was a tough one. I've noticed that a lot of people hang flags in America. Not around these parts. That's probably because it's the kind of territory where flags would get ripped to shreds in a matter of hours. It was WINDY!

I spent the next few hours ducking the headwind and trying to keep a straight line amid the gusts coming from the side. The dirt road was severely washboarded, which further impaired my progress.

When I finally made it to the next town, Harstel, I thought about waiting out the wind and doing the rest in the dark (because the wind doesn't blow at night, right?). But patience and I have never been very good friends, so I charged along. Got to make it to Salida!

Slow going. I made it over the last pass just after sunset and had a long gravel descent in the dark. Sloooooow. I eventually made it to Salida just after 10pm. As it is Sunday, that meant that my dreams of a hot meal tonight were broken. But, hey, I made it!
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Tour Divide Day 16.

2011-06-26T02:10:00.000-04:00

172km. Stagecoach Park to Silverthorne.
Total time: 14 hours.

Bivying is becoming more pleasant as the weather continues to warm up, though, without my poles, condensation continues to be a issue.

Every day brings something epic; snow, climbing, winds, distance, cold rain, rough descents. Today it was the flooding. After clearing Lynx Pass, I encountered a stream that had become a river (see pic). This is where I caught up with my bivy-mates from last night; John, Dan, Luke and Markley. They had found a 'shallow' path to safely cross; shallow meaning high enough to get my chamois wet! It was an adventure getting across while keeping my 50+ pound rig out of the raging current.

Today brought a lot of sunshine and great views. But for a little hiccup with my hydration, it was a spectacular ride; a good mix of hard and fun.

As each day passes, this journey south is becoming more enjoyable. I don't know if it is the improvement in the weather, the fact the I am no longer feeling socially isolated, being past the half way mark (and on the countdown!), or something else.

That 'something else' might be finding my pace. I've never taken part in a race like this. That is, one in which the clock never stops. It really plays with my head, even as I try to resist it. I think every day about how fast and long I should go. I must make a choice between going as far as I can and going as far as I should. For me, these are not the same thing. Balancing physical exertion and mental exertion is really hard, especially when there are factors outside of my control (weather, terrain, availability of services, etc). Maintaining motivation is so important and pushing too hard wears on the mind and my motivation. Finishing the day with energy left leaves me feeling guilty. I feel like holding back a bit can extend my reach on this trip, but that requires resisting the temptation to push my physical limits and it requires coaching myself not to feel guilty about 'having something left'.

I also struggle with my attachment to the group that I have found myself with over the past week. I may be riding alone for almost the entire day, but the company in the morning, at stops and at night has made such a difference for me and helped me to rebuild my mental strength. But this is supposed to be a solo trip, right? Or maybe having friends along the way is one of the perks of taking part in the Grand Depart? Other than giving me some emotional support, how is this social opportunity affecting my performance in the race? Am I clinging to the social opportunities at the expense of my potential? Or do I owe my performance to the social support?

Tonight I have taken a hotel in Silverthorne; I need to wash and rest well as tomorrow is another big day (I guess that they all are). I have taken a different hotel than my recently acquired friends. I am considering taking off on my own early tomorrow morning...earlier than I think that the other riders will leave. I want break free and get some answers to my questions. I'm scared that I will fall into the tough times that I had during the first week of the trip; before I picked up these friends. But I think that it is the right thing to do. Perhaps we will still end up at the same place at the end of the day. It will be interesting to see.
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Tour Divide Day 15.

2011-06-25T09:11:00.000-04:00

114km. Brush Mountain Ranch to Stagecoach Reservoir.

Getting on the road this morning took a lot longer than planned. I think that it had something to do with the blueberry pancakes that Kirsten fried up. And eggs. And sausage. And toast.

I had predicted that clearing the pass in the morning would be easier because the ground and snow would be frozen. I was wrong. The mud was squishy and the snow was soft. 8km of pushing my bike through soft snow. A patience test.

I stopped in at the Orange Peel bike shop in Steamboat Springs. My gears have been skipping and I wanted to check on my brakes. There were six other Divide riders there in front of me, so it took a while to get through there (hours). Nice people and cool shop, but quite an expensive tune up. At least the bike seems to be running well now.

I also ran in to JohnnyP. Here is a guy with strange luck. The dude is clearly a strong rider and has no issues with night riding. He should be well ahead of me, but I keep seeing him. He passed me early in the race but then broke a crank and had to do an 11 mile hike-a-bike just to get to the highway. While he was getting that fixed, I moved ahead. And then he caught up and passed me around Jackson Hole (going the other way up Teton pass, strangely). Later, when he was leaving Rawlins, he realized that he'd left his GPS at the restaurant there and had to back track 20 miles and then stay the night until the restaurant opened in the morning. So, once again, I move ahead of him. He passed me again yesterday as I approached Brush Mountain Ranch, but his plan was to keep going over the pass and make it to Steamboat for last call. He didn't make it and camped on the pass. When I saw him in Steamboat, he was heading out for a beer and a pizza to take on the road. Maybe I'll see him tomorrow.

The bike stop ate about four hours of my already short day. Once again, my goals for distance for the day would have to be revised. Downward. I left Steamboat unsure of where I could camp, since the next campsite shown on the map would be another 70kms or so.

The Yampa River, which flows through the town, was severely flooded and just raging through Steamboat. Huge patches of the path were underwater, giving me the opportunity to take my freshly tuned bike for a swim. Poop.

About 30km out of Steamboat, there is a nice reservoir and park. I caught up with John, Dan, Luke and Markley, who were also there and set up camp for the night. Beautiful spot overlooking the lake. Some kids at a nearby cabin are setting off fireworks. Clear view of the stars. It is nice.
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