Day 1: August 11th, 2008 -- Hungry, but no food please!

Pueblo --> Westcliff

I woke this morning in the newly managed Dale’s Downtown Motel in Colorado Springs. I hate to think what the old Dale’s was like but I am sure it involved many more cockroaches and possibly toilets that flushed even more weakly than the porcelain throne located conveniently within millimeters of my shower, sink, and complementary solitary soap bar. I laid out and packed away all the of the necessaries for the trip last night and this morning I loaded them in Tabernash #2 (my Pathfinder) to pick up my maps at the post office and head to Heather and Mike’s place in Pueblo.

Riding to Pueblo I had a mixture of excitement and doom churning in my stomach I knew that I was the only one who understood how hopelessly unprepared for this journey I really was. Nonetheless my excitement and optimism prevailed and I couldn’t wait to abandon my car and head into the mountains. When I turned onto Gale Road in Pueblo and into the driveway I saw Mike in the driveway and at that moment it struck me that this was really happening. There was no backing out once I met Mike and Heather, who surely expected a well trained cycling maniac with bulging calves to appear at their door.

As I expected from anyone so generous to let a complete stranger ditch his car at their house, Heather and Mike were amazing people. They invited me in to review my maps on their coffee table and satisfy any last minute needs. It was at this time I told my first and last lie of the journey, unless you include withholding the horrifyingly dangerous details from my folks till Cedar City, when the subject of my training came up I found myself reciting what I knew was appropriate weekly mileage in order to prepare for the trip, “err…..yeah, I’ve been getting 300-400 miles a week…..” I knew instantly why I had said it; I could see that they cared about my safety for two reasons; they had now become my accomplices in this crime against normality and they would be reminded of it daily by the presence of Tabernash 2, and also because they were good people and they would hate to see me destroyed by either the climbs through the countless high passes or an oncoming semi. In this moment, it was like Mike and Heather were my folks and as usual I choose to deny them extra worry.

So after a few pictures and a last minute addition of a foldable tire spare from Mike’s bike gear, revealing some of my unpreparedness, I rode off into the midday heat of the Pueblo plains. I felt like an obese gamer toeing the line of a marathon. I knew I had to take it one day at time, like a mason building an enormous building, I just had to lay one brick at a time. As long as I could muster the strength to lay that brick I would be just fine.

My route wasted no time in the flatlands of Pueblo, before I knew it I was climbing 4500 feet above pueblo and cresting out at an elevation of about 9300 feet! I could feel the altitude tearing me apart and the weight of my load destroying my legs. I started rolling into the valley between the Wet Range and the Sangre de Cristo Range in the early evening. This was beautiful, but the paralyzing effects of altitude sickness had taken hold and warped my consciousness. I pulled into the first gas station in Westcliffe and examined my map. A warning/ prophecy read;

“Altitude sickness…. [Is] brought on by continuous exertion in the low oxygen environment of high altitudes, its onset can be quickened by dehydration and tiredness. Symptoms may include headache, loss of appetite, shortness of breath, sleepiness, and apathy…”

This was nothing I didn’t already know or expirenced before, but the confusion of the sickness convinced me that my map (Mr. Map #4) was not only alive but also a mind reader.

I forced myself into a Mexican restaurant where I force fed half a quesadilla and a glass of orange juice. After the sting of the acidy juice stopped burning the back of my chapped throat and lips, I stumbled into a small city park in the middle of the town of 417 rugged Coloradans. I put up my home made tent, designed by yours truly and sewn by Mrs. Alice Abtahi (my beloved Mother), behind a flower bed beneath an Aspen Tree on the unusually soft green grass. Having been a beautiful but extremely trying day, I wondered if all days would be like this and if they would, could I handle it considering I only covered 63.9 miles of the 1600 or more to come…..? These thoughts were brief; I fell asleep as quickly as only those close to me, and a few unfortunate Nashville commuters, know I can.

Day: 63.9 mi

Total: 63.9 mi

Elev. Climbed: 4600 ft

Elev. Difference: 3200 ft

Elev. Peak: 9200 ft