Day 4: August 14th, 2008 -- To-Hell-You-Ride

Black Canyon N.P. --> Telluride

I woke to a full set of stars that twinkled incessantly. At first I thought it was charming, until I realized they only twinkled because of the crust of dust around my eyes was blurring my vision...…some type of bathing needed to happen soon! I packed my sleeping bag in a hurry because I wanted to see the Canyon I had worked so hard for. I cruised an extra mile or two on the rim of the Black Canyon. Rudyard Kipling wrote of the Canyon;

" We entered a gorge, remote from the sun, where the rocks were two thousand feet sheer, and where a rock splintered river roared and howled ten feet below a track which seemed to have been built on the simple principle of dropping miscellaneous dirt into the river and pinning a few rails a-top. There was a glory and a wonder and a mystery about the mad ride, which I felt keenly…until I had to offer prayers for the safety of the train."

I rode along the Canyon rim for a few miles and stopped at Cathedral Rock to take some pictures and enjoy the view. On my way back to Audi I passed two leather clad old motorcyclists, who were fully aware of the climb up to the Canyon. Their greeting and goodbye was short; “looks like you forgot your motor on that thing.”

I rolled down the 12 miles to Montrose in a flash and stopped at yet another greasy mom and pop place for breakfast. The ‘truckers breakfast’ was by far the best meal I had eaten since leaving home, complete with large slices of fried cow and pig, various forms of potato, towering stacks of NAMF style pancakes, and more eggs than an Easter basket. After this monumental meal I headed to Ridgeway on what became an unusually trying ride. The compounded fatigue of 4 days was catching up with me, and I by the time I passed a large powder blue reservoir along the Uncompahgre River, I was ready to ditch my bike and hop in, at least that was the plan until I saw, “NO Swim! Stay ON BIKE.” Scrawled in spray-paint on the shoulder. So I pushed on to Ridgeway where I stopped in the pleasant valley at the foot of the San Juans to recoup.

In Ridgeway I was feeling pretty beat, I was barley thru half of the day and I had two major climbs ahead of me. I felt like I couldn’t keep pushing. So I called around to see who wanted to shoot the shit with me on the phone while I drank my Large $2.99 Coffee Icee. I had a great chat with Mom about the beginning of her school year and what I thought about my travels. After an hour or so I was good to go. Sometimes family and friends are simply the ace up your sleeve.

I tore through the next two huge climbs over Dallas Divide and managed not to get off my bike once for the entire 3500 foot climb. I was really pushing the limits of my climbing skills but had a new energy for it since Ridgeway. At one point I was on a high of some sort, as I started to feel like I could climb all day without rest. I knew I had truly reached a new level of what I was capable of, at least on a bike. I felt a serious sense of pride and at the same moment, on the road again in spray-paint, the letters read, “Lest we know what the day might bring.” And you know, I really connected with that. Only a few hours before I was sinking pretty hard, but there I was kicking ass on this mountain in a way I have never trained to do. I figured I never really can know what the day may hold, on a bike on a lonely highway or home amidst comfort in Nashville or Athens, but I should sure as hell get way out of my comfort zone and see what’s out there.

A good friend suggested I read some Kahlil Gibran so I brought his book, The Prophet, along for the ride. We had discussed this point before but once again I was finding new meaning to it far from home. Gibran says this of comfort;

“ …have you only comfort, and the lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest, and then becomes a host, and then the master…. Ay, and it becomes a tamer, and with hook and scourge makes puppets of your larger desires.”

For all of those who wondered exactly what my motivation for this trip may have been, Gibran couldn’t have put it any better.

I have read about a habit of the bull in traditional Spanish bullfighting that mirrors this concept of comfort. Within the ring the bull has a spot called a ‘querencia’. The ‘querencia’ is his place of comfort and ‘safety’ to which he returns more frequently as he feels increasingly threatened. Ironically it is the predictability of his return to this spot of ‘safety’ that ultimately allows the matador to kill him. Now I’m not saying this is good reason to abandon your home and drift aimlessly throughout the world, but it is something to consider from time to time throughout life. Have I become too comfortable and lost sight of goals, hopes, dreams, and the true global reality, (that most of the world doesn’t even enjoy a fraction of the privilege and opportunity that I hold cheap)……?

I guess this answers the question about what I was thinking while I was riding…. I also thought plenty about Ice Cream.

SO…. after coming off the pass and through some of the most beautiful country I have ever seen, I ran into a mysterious hitchhiker I call Handlebars due to his sweet facial hair style. Handlebars told me the lay of the land for the next 20 or 30 miles and suggested I stay in Telluride (To-Hell-You-Ride).Cool fact: Telluride is referenced as ‘Hell’ due to the serious number of brothels and bars the town once held. It sounded like my sort of place so I took the 4 mile dead end detour and found the cheapest Inn in town (Sadly, unlike the brothel days, nothing is cheap in town anymore). Ivanka my Ukrainian Innkeeper showed me to my room where I took my first shower in four days (not including the Sprinkiller). I went to the brown dog for a few beers, a Hawaiian, and a viewing of a good ole Michael Phelps asswooping. 88.4 miles; not bad for all the climbing but a great day all together!

Total: 332.4 mi

Elev. Climbed: 5100 ft

Elev. Difference: 3500 ft

Elev. Peak: 9300 ft