Death by a thousand cuts

Denver, Colorado Friday, August 20, 2021

This will come as a shock to many of you. I’ve decided to stop.

Please don’t worry. I’m fine. There was no catastrophe, no trauma, no single thing that brought on this decision. It was just a lot of little things.

I just spent four days of unmitigated bliss and joy. It was so great to see my friends again, and their hospitality overwhelmed me. They were so kind to me, but the love they showed me had a curious reverse effect. It made it almost impossible to leave. Having tasted domestic bliss for the first time in four months, the prospect of going back to the daily challenges of the road was daunting.

There was one aspect of domestic bliss I did not get to taste. My wife had to cancel at the last minute because of a medical problem, not too serious, but prohibitive of travel. She’s already improving, was able to get a refund on her tickets, but it would be months and months before I could see her again. I had never been separated from her for this long, and now it was going to be longer.

The audacity of this whole enterprise was hung on the tender pegs of the state highpoints. I knew I was too old to do the big ones again, but had resolved to bike to their starting points, to climb them from sea level in two stages. My time off finally afforded me the chance to plot out the route, day by day, and look at what climbing the multiple high passes really entailed. A number of them were crazy steep, would necessitate prolonged stretches of walking my bike. I couldn’t get around it, it was just not practical. It was too late in the season. I could still make it to the Pacific, but instead would need to take Adventure Cycling’s signature Transamerica Trail. An exciting thought, it’s their most popular trail, and I would finally be able to meet other long-distance cycle tourists. Still, having to give up on the “prime mission” of this trip felt like kicking the legs out from under the whole enchilada. I put “prime mission” in quotation marks because I realized early on that the people I met were the real highpoints of the trip. So true, but still.

I was both thrilled and a little creeped out by the Front Range of the Rockies. I’d been looking forward to seeing them for so long, but when I finally got a good look it hit me like a ton of bricks. There was 7000 feet of sheer climb between Denver and the passes I would have to traverse. I had done this before, 9000 feet actually if you count the ascent of Longs Peak, but that was 15 years ago. I’m 67, hypertensive, prediabetic, recently obese, and traveling alone.

One the founding members of Adventure Cycling, very buff, about my age, who had led multiple long-distance tours, had been notified by his Apple Watch that there was an irregular heartbeat, and that he ought to get it checked out. He went to an urgent care center, and died before they could transfer him to the hospital.

Ever since I lifted my heavy bike into the pickup of that kindly sheriff’s deputy in Nebraska, I’ve had a nagging pain under my right shoulder blade. It became more evident when I was doing easy cycling, running errands during my sojourn, radiating up to my neck and around my entire thorax, possibly more evident with exertion but then that’s when I was twisting my shoulder more. It’s my business, my profession to tease out cardiac from noncardiac chest pain. This really felt non-cardiac. I was 95% sure…

All this was swirling through my head as I reluctantly rode away from my wonderful host. She lives on a plateau above Denver, so to approach the big climb of the Rockies I swooped downhill for 15 miles, giving me an even more eye-popping view. Today was one of those bluebird days, cool, crystal clear, with a soft tailwind and fantastic views. Just as I was rounding the corner to begin to climb, I got so distracted staring at my nav system that my wheel got hung up in a rut, and I tumbled over. It was onto a grassy bank, kind of like falling into a pile of cushions. No injuries, but I was still clipped in, and it was awkward disentangling myself. I was reminded of the father of a friend, who had one of those clipped-in falls that wound up having a significant impact on his life. There but for the grace of God. It just kind of knocked the wind out of my sails. I needed to have a root beer and a long talk with Jane, just to steady my nerves.

OK, I thought. Pull yourself together. You’re fine, it’s a perfect day. I cranked slowly uphill, past the awesome Red Rocks Amphitheater, my mind going back-and-forth. At the next rest stop, I studied the options, how much would it cost to go home; if I backtracked, could I get a reservation at a hotel in Denver? I kept going, the bike is so ideal that even bad hills are doable, but it was so slow. I had wasted time looking for a missing piece of equipment at the outset, and these additional delays had me way behind schedule. I knew I wouldn’t reach my original hotel in Georgetown until well after dark. I checked, there were no other campgrounds or hotels available. Those last 15 miles would have to be on the shoulder of I-70.

My NPR podcasts were full of bad news about the raging Delta variant, and the wildfires in the west. The worst of the wildfire season was yet to come. Parts of the Transamerica Trail had to be closed temporarily, and even now were under restricted use. The “bluebird-ness” of this day also had a curious reverse effect. This was the best the conditions could ever be, what happens when they revert to their usual heat or tempestuousness? No wildfire smoke today, but they were saying the smoke increases your susceptibility to Covid. It was now late summer, every day was getting noticeably shorter. One of my favorite songs, April, come she will, has this to say about August: the autumn winds blow chilly and cold. In my jumbled mind, I was fretful about heat and cold at the same time.

Do you ever experience the “false summit” conundrum? You’re climbing this big mountain, the trail is endless, you’re sure that when you round to the next bend you’ll be on top, only to see that there is more climb. So it was with me. I had teed up the Denver reservation on my cell phone, all I had to do was push the button. Take the irrevocable step (literally irrevocable. I am not going to put Jane through this again). I resisted at every “false summit” bend. Until one time, at 4:30 and 7,500 feet, I pushed it.

It felt like a huge weight off my chest. Roaring down the mountain, I hadn’t realized how steep the hill was that I was climbing. The views into Denver and of the surrounding mountains were beyond spectacular. I threaded around a tangle of police cars, there had been a bad accident on the road I had just passed, the ambulances had left but the wreckage was ghoulish. Another eerie omen.

Now I’m at that hotel in Denver, funny how rooms are so hard to get on the road on weekends, but are easy in the big cities. There is a big parcel of hassle coming up, figuring out how to ship my bicycle and all my stuff home, I am about to go to the UPS store. I fly out tomorrow morning.

Do I have regrets? Sure, it’s hard to have this epic, that has dominated my life for much more than these four months, come to an end. I am very sad not to be able to visit the friends and family that were on the agenda, but there will be other chances. I am particularly regretful to those who have been kind enough to say they’re living vicariously through this adventure. I feel like I have let them down, although I know they will protest to the contrary. I am so grateful to the followers of this blog, those who have commented and those who haven’t. It has been a tremendous comfort.

Even though I had a fitful night, I know this is the right thing. Kind of like Forrest Gump, when he just stopped running. The journey has been wonderful beyond words, the trip of a lifetime. The people I’ve met, the things I have seen, the nonstop kindnesses and goodwill I have been blessed with, the great realization of how special this country is, will stay with me forever. But it’s time to stop. Future adventures, this time with friends and family, await. My very best to you all.

Distance 64 miles, 5,449 total. Time 11 hours with stops. Elevation gain 3,057 feet

©️ 2021 Scott Luria