Part 15: Bicycle Coast to Coast Across America -
Colorado & Hammering Over 8,000 to 9,500 Foot Passes
Part 1

By Frosty Wooldridge
6-5-14

“Camp out among the grass and gentians of glacier meadows, in craggy garden nooks full of Nature’s darlings. Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.” John Muir

After 40 miles pedaling east away from Vernal, Utah, we reached Colorado. Stark, barren, dry-land filled with desert brush. The horizon seems to grow beyond imagination. At the state line, the sign read, “Welcome to Colorful Colorado.”

(Riding into Colorado on Route 40.  Desert terrain, barren mountains. Land of dinosaurs of the past.)

Within a mile, we reached Dinosaur, Colorado. Street names featured dinosaurs of every make and description. “Stegosaurus Avenue.” “Brontosaurus Circle.”

We camped in a park with picnic tables, fire pits and steel canopies. We met a young Japanese kid in his 20s who ventured coast to coast across America. He lived on white bread and peanut butter.

“My name Itsuheeku,” he said in faltering English.

We gave our names and asked him to share dinner with us. As we talked he related that he feared traveling across America because he would be shot by “Dirty Harry”; “The God Father”; “Robert De Niro in Al Capone”; “Streets of San Francisco”: “Criminal Minds” and “Die Hard.” He saw America as a dangerous place where visitors risked their lives to visit such violence.

“So far, I not shot,” he said. “Maybe not so lucky in future.”

“Just stay away from Detroit and Chicago,” I said. “You will probably live a long and happy life.”

We cooked up a gob of spaghetti and tomato sauce. He looked so thin that we offered him a plate. He scarfed it down in a few minutes. He wanted more. We cooked up a whole new pot. He gobbled it down with the eagerness of young Great Dane. I’ve never seen someone eat so fast and so much. He seemed to be starving half to death.

(Camping in the wilds offers different moments for creative living.)

I found it interesting while writing my notes that night that other people from countries around the world judged the United States by our movies. No question that Detroit, Chicago and Los Angeles suffer a lot of killing, but for the most part, anyone may live a reasonably safe life in America by staying out of the ghettos. Like any country, we suffer tragic realities in our cities where crime and chaos rule the streets. I discovered in my world travels that different countries suffer food shortages, human suffering and human misery depending on their culture and their political persuasions. Places like Haiti suffer misery while next door in the Dominican Republic, people live reasonably well. You may see wealth in America and just south of us in Mexico, you see great poverty. Ironically, you see poverty and wealth in America side by side.

No matter where on Earth you live, life promises no fairness, ever. I am thankful I wasn’t born stupid. I am thankful for my education in a country where you can apply yourself. Really, in the end, it’s the luck of the draw.

(Dinosaur, Colorado where the streets are named after beasts from 65 million years ago.)

In the morning, we cooked up two big pots of oatmeal that Itsuheeku gobbled up along with three of my bagels. He drank our boiling “hot chocolate” like Kool-Aid. I am astounded he didn’t scald his throat.

“Itsuheeku love oatmeal,” he said.

As we packed our gear, Itsuheeku set up his tripod, 10 second delay on his camera and gathered us together like his long-lost brothers. He jumped in front with his three very tall American friends.

As we waved good-bye, he carried a smile on his face as he pedaled away. I think he felt his life much safer from meeting us.

“Amazing kid,” said Wayne.

“I love his enthusiasm,” said Howard.

At Maybell, Colorado, after our up and down riding, the road ceased its constant undulation. It wears on a cyclist in that it feels like riding through cycling purgatory. It’s been said that if you’re riding through hell, don’t stop for tea. The only way to make it through such challenges: keep pedaling.

A number of miles along Route 40 carried us beside the tranquil waters of the Yampa River. It created a different kind of riding—peaceful, graceful and bucolic. Cottonwood trees proliferated along the wide, flat and shallow river. In this region of Colorado, rivers ran flat and smooth because they run out of incline.

Ironically, the contrast of the region presented dry and dead dominating the landscape to the green and alive along the Yampa River. Much of the area remained about miners and fortune seekers of the past to condos and ski areas of the present.

We pedaled into the old western town of Steamboat Springs. Rising dramatically behind the town, green ski runs cut through heavy pine forests. Huge gondola ski lifts ran up the mountain and into the sky. After lunch, we faced a 10-mile ride out of town before facing 9,425-foot Rabbit Ears Pass.

What’s it like climbing a monster pass? It’s a grind. I set my mind on a spot 100 yards ahead of me and grind it out. It’s not that it’s hard because I run a 24 front chain ring to a 34 rear end gearing. It’s slow at 4 mph. Yes, I sweat. I can’t say it’s unpleasant; however, it’s constant. One thing: your blood races through your body and your muscles answer the call. It’s a grand march of living vibrantly.

While pedaling up the mountain, the Yampa Valley grew in its beauty and enormous views of 50 miles away. John Denver sang about a phenomenon known as a “Rocky Mountain High.” The empty air sucks the perspective out of your mind so much so that you feel some kind of a “high” from the experience.

After four hours, we made it to the first of two passes. The top proved rolling and beautiful until we reached the second pass at 9,426 feet. From there, the road snaked downward sweeping through pines and aspen trees. Exquisitely beautiful!

At the bottom, we crossed the Continental Divide at Muddy Pass.

(Frosty standing in front of the Continental Divide at Muddy Pass at 8,771 feet.)

Quickly, we found a campsite near the road in a patch of mountain flowers. We pitched the tents, cooked dinner and fell fast sleep from all that climbing.

“After this day,” said Wayne. “I am going to sleep like a rock.”

We watched a beautiful sunset and passed out in our tents.

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” — Henry David Thoreau