Bicycle Coast-To-Coast Across America - Pt 18

Pedaling Across The Great Plains

By Frosty Wooldridge
6-26-14

“Bicycling reaches beyond the physical into the ethereal realm.   At moments on tour you “feel” your body transform into magnificent perfection-- as you sense your cells coordinate and align with the energy of the universe.  Known as “satori” or what the mystics call “the perfect moment”, you fly, float and elevate toward the brilliance of your being. It’s pretty neat when it happens.”  FHW

(The shadow of a long distance touring rider lengthens as the day grows.  It symbolizes a journey where you see yourself slip into different aspects of your being: mental, physical, spiritual and eternal.)

After two days of rest on Lookout Mountain, hundreds of cyclists powered up the five-mile “Lariat Loop” from the town of Golden. We chatted with dozens of them.

“You’re living my dream,” they said.

“Somebody’s got to ride across America,” said Wayne.

We also toured the famous “Boetcher’s Mansion” built by a very rich cattle baron who loved a dramatic view west over the mountains. Next to the mansion, a nature center provided a great deal of natural history of the area.

We rolled back over to the viewing stand near Buffalo Bill’s gravesite. We stared out at the immense Great Plains before us. Denver showed streets and traffic that intertwined with expressways and sky scrapers.

“Man, they say you can see all the way to Kansas from here,” said Howard.

“One thing’s for sure,” I said. “We’re looking at flat prairie all the way to the Blue Ridge Mountains.”

“Which makes it quite boring as to scenery,” said Wayne.

“Let’s figure on people making the ride interesting,” said Howard.

(Buffalo Bill ran for the Pony Express at the age of 15.  He nearly died in his pursuit of speed.  One gopher hole could upend a horse at 35 miles per hour and kill the rider.  Hard living back in the 1800s on the Great Plains.) Photography by Frosty Wooldridge

We coasted down the Lariat Loop into Golden. It proved a beautiful town filled with many bronze statues such as a miner and his mule, brother helping sister onto a horse, a cowboy fishing, and a paperboy calling out, “Extra, extra, read all about it.” I can relate because I threw papers as a kid and so did my brother Howard. They also featured a few cabins, barns, schoolhouse and livery stable near Clear Creek. Hard living in those days.

We picked up Route 40 toward Denver. The traffic grew thicker than hair on a dog. Lots of honking horns and homeless begging for money at every stoplight. The helter-skelter of the city vanquished the peace and quiet we shared while pedaling through the Rocky Mountains.

(The Indian dominated the West for thousands of years.  Their lives changed dramatically as the white man settled the land and drove them onto reservations.  The aborigines of North America continue to suffer with drugs, alcohol and loss of their religions, language and cultures to this day.)

In many ways, I think cities represent humanity’s worst mistake. We cram millions into concrete, glass and asphalt housing. We rush ourselves around in high-speed trains. We cram ourselves into small cubicles and force ourselves into rush-hour traffic. We pollute our air and water as we grow those cities to 36 million. Example: Tokyo, Japan where I once bicycled. We cut ourselves off from the natural world.

Cities cause a sense of mass-tension filled with an uneasy trepidation. You’re never quite sure what someone will do next on a subway, car in traffic, in a restaurant or at the movies. Denver features the Columbine High School massacre and the movie theater mass killings.

My friend John Muir said it best, “As we sat by the campfire the brightness of the sky brought on a long talk with the Indians about the stars; and their eager, childlike attention was refreshing to see as compared with the decent, death-like apathy of weary civilized people, in whom natural curiosity has been quenched in toil, care, poor and shallow comfort.”

(Paperboy in Golden, Colorado calling out, “Extra, Extra, read all about it.”  Golden features many dramatic bronze statues depicting the West.  When you visit, take a few days to soak in the history of the West in this cozy little town where I live.)  Photography by Frosty Wooldridge

At 2.5 million, Denver seethes with car-truck-train traffic, a big Brown Cloud blankets the city all the way to the horizon, and the rush of people.

At one stoplight, Wayne said, “Man, how did we go from campfire, pine trees and open sky to this nightmare? I can hardly hear myself think.”

“Just be comforted by the fact that tonight, we will be laying out under the stars on the quiet prairie with a cup of hot chocolate in our hands and stew simmering on the fire,” said Howard. “These folks will still be here fighting traffic, choking on their fumes and crushed into their tiny apartments. It’s a choice.”

Once I rolled into Gila Bend, Arizona in July. It proved hotter than a Ferrier’s furnace. I asked a sweating dispatch man, “Why do you like living here?”

He replied, “I hate cold weather. The more I sweat the better I feel.”

I chuckled. Everyone ends up where they choose.

(When Clear Creek runs high during the spring flooding, these bronze fish swim upstream against the current.)  Photography by Frosty Wooldridge 

As we cleared Denver, one last stop at a Subway Sandwich Shop offered a foot-long vegetarian sandwich. Plus, endless cold water with ice. We feasted and thanked the gods for making it through Denver traffic alive.

Within several miles, Route 40 turned into Route 36. We churned the pedals on pancake flat land through Watkins, Bennett, Strasberg and Comanche Crossing. We grabbed a slight tailwind that blew us into Last Chance, Colorado.

Last Chance, Anton, Cope and Idalia all represented a zip code, but not more than 100 people per town. No gas, no groceries, no drug stores, no schools, no nothin’! Simple, rural, peaceful, solitary lives.

We bedded down in a small city park in Last Chance. Nice water source. We broke out our shower bags for a shower. We cooked up dinner on a picnic table.

“Don’t know how anyone survives the constant tension in the big cities,” Wayne said. “I love living in Landis, Wyoming where the population remains less than 5,000. Easy, fun, quiet, no killings, no sirens, nothing but the good life.”

(Cowboy fly-fisherman in Golden, Colorado as he lands a fish with the help of kids and parents who wander the streets in search of the old West.)  Photography by Frosty Wooldridge

“Tomorrow, we hit the Kansas State Line,” said Howard. “It’s going to be about 450 miles across Pony Express territory. Lots of history. Land of the buffalo and Indians. We travel on sacred ground.”

We shall sleep well tonight in our primitive nylon teepees underneath a starlit sky that joins with the ink-black of space.

“Douse that fire,” said Wayne. “I’m ready to hit the hay.”

Edward Abbey:

"But love of the wilderness is more than a hunger for what is always beyond reach; it is also an expression of loyalty to the earth which bore us and sustains us, the only home we shall ever know, the only paradise we ever need - if only we had eyes to see."

"I come more and more to the conclusion that wilderness, in America or anywhere else, is the only thing left that is worth saving."

"The idea of wilderness needs no defense. It only needs more defenders."

"Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit."

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