The Ends of the Earth

Rifle to Glenwood Springs, Colorado, Saturday, July 6, 2024

I know, the song goes Route 66, but US 66 is largely gone, just bits of it preserved for historical value. US 6, however, is very much alive, and dear to my heart. It starts at the tip of Cape Cod, in Provincetown, where I spent three years repaying the public health service for putting me through medical school by providing terminal care in the beginning of the AIDS epidemic. One of the longest roads in the country, it ends in Bishop, California. I was excited to follow it today.

But it was only one of four major thoroughfares here. I’ve already talked about the Colorado River, which has carved a steep valley, almost a canyon through the reddish rocks. Much of it was rapids, and I passed many whitewater rafters.

Also here was I-70, running from Baltimore to Utah, we followed much of it on our family trip out west in 1970. Often it was the only road available, and here it is still open to bicyclists.

And finally, there is the railroad, conveying freight trains and the California Zephyr, the train I will be taking home in three weeks. I heard, but did not see it go by today.

What’s that, you say? You’re going home in three weeks? You’re not completing the cross-country ride, not doing any of those highpoints you have left? All you’ve done so far is parking lots. Yes, the extreme weather in the Great Plains and Deep South is already setting records, and a hurricane (Beryl) is coming through earlier than ever seen before. You may recall how hot it was in North Dakota three years ago in July, I almost stopped then. This time I will be much further south, and global warming has gotten that much worse. It just doesn’t seem prudent to continue. Instead, I will aim to traverse three 12,000 foot passes, do the trailhead for Colorado’s highpoint, Mt Elbert, and finish in Denver. That will close the loop of going coast to coast, in three stages, for total of 9,000 miles. In the words of Eliza Hamilton, that would be enough. More about that later.

For now, it was thrilling to see these four major arteries—two highways, a railroad, and a river— all coming together in a colorful valley. An aorta, of sorts. Pretty cool.

I capped the day by being a shameless tourist, visiting Glenwood Hot Springs, supposedly the world’s largest thermal mineral water pool. It was crowded but relaxing, and the “lazy river” was more like tubing through rapids.

Very self indulgent, but wait’ll you see what’s coming.

Distance 32 miles, 2,849 total. Time 6 hours with stops. Elevation gain 1,002 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Meeker to Rifle, Colorado, Friday, July 5, 2024

Rifle. Now that’s a peculiar name for a town. It’s named for Rifle Creek, which in turn was named because a rifle was found on its banks long ago. The creek is a tributary of the Colorado River, and I would follow the creek to the river today. As the elevation profile shows, today’s route is a gradual climb to a summit, then a 2800 foot plunge down to the Colorado.

The descent was dreamy at first, with a wide shoulder and smooth pavement, but halfway down the shoulder vanished, and the pavement got rough. Not a lot of traffic, but enough to be unnerving, since I needed to take the full lane. Felt like shooting down a rifle barrel. Some spectacular scenery, but I didn’t dare stop. Again, this is Colorado, so the traffic was fully considerate, even the big trucks as they pulled entirely into the other lane to pass. Finally hit the Colorado, still fairly close to its source, but already quite big, it would go on to carve the Grand Canyon and fill Lakes Powell and Mead, before being almost completely diverted for municipal water supplies. At its mouth, it’s almost nonexistent.

Much has been written about the diversion of this great river, my favorite book is Cadillac Dreams. A significant part of its flow is diverted right at the start, in Rocky Mountain National Park, via the Alva B Adams tunnel, drilling right through the continental divide, and supplying the Ogallala aquifer under the Great Plains. In some ways, its water is more precious than gold.

I could only get a glimpse of it today from a highway bridge, but I will be following it upstream tomorrow.

Rifle is also the home of Congresswoman Lauren Boebert. Just saying.

Distance 44 miles, 2,817 total. Time 6 hours with stops. Elevation gain 1,960 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Rangely to Meeker, Colorado. Thursday, July 4, 2024

Today was a quiet journey up the White River, with rolling hills that could’ve been Vermont, except for the sparsity of trees. No stops or particular points of interest along the way, another day in the glare of the hot sun, but this is Colorado, so I knew it would be bike friendly. Even with fairly minimal shoulders, the occasional passing cars were unfailingly considerate and gave me wide berth. This too was like Vermont. With cycling culture so prominent in both states, there is a tolerance and acceptance that is palpable.

To fill the time, I had downloaded two of my favorite Fourth of July movies, 1776 and The Music Man. I listened to the audio track of both, the sun was way too bright to see the screen, but I knew the movies so well I could picture the action in my mind as I rode.

Meeker is a quiet town with a violent past. It was the site of another massacre, depressingly similar to the Whitman massacre near Walla Walla. This time it was the Ute nation that bridled against the forced conversion to western religion and agriculture. 11 people were killed, and the Utes were effectively expelled from Colorado.

I missed the town’s reenactment of the other violent episode in Meeker’s past, a bank robbery that was foiled by citizens on the street, all of whom were packing heat. All three robbers were killed, with only minor injuries amongst the populace.

Meeker is also the permanent residence of Michael Bloomberg.

A tiring day, tried to get to bed early, but was kept up by the town’s fireworks, lasting almost an hour. That’s much longer than the displays I’ve seen in bigger cities.

Distance 58 miles, 2,773 total. Time 8 hours with stops. Elevation gain 2,279 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Vernal, Utah to Rangely, Colorado. Wednesday, July 3, 2024.

Saying goodbye at last to US 191, I climbed onto US 40, an iconic road if ever there was one. Once spanning the country from Atlantic City to San Francisco, parts of it were known as the National Road (America’s first highway), the Lincoln Highway—it was often called America’s Main Street. The western part has been subsumed into I 80, it now only goes as far as Salt Lake City. Still, it was pretty cool. Dinah the Pink Dinosaur bid me farewell, apparently those eyes used to follow the cars as they went by.

US 40 seemed glorious at first with a massive shoulder, but it vanished into nothing, worse than nothing, just 1 foot wide, and that foot was filled with rumble strips so deep that you would lose control if you ventured over them. I had no choice but to ride in the main lane, and this was a major highway. Not too much traffic yet, and every truck was accommodating as it blew by, but the situation unnerved me to the point where I considered bailing right there, taking an Uber 180 miles to the nearest Amtrak station and going home. If you’ve been following this blog, you see that I’m usually pretty imperturbable when it comes to traffic, with lots of strategies for dealing with challenging situations, but a motorist at a rest stop said things only got worse as I got into the Colorado mountains. I mulled my options at the turnoff for Dinosaur National Monument, where there was a visitor information center with a helpful ranger. She was much more encouraging than that motorist, said bikes come through here not infrequently, and she’s never heard of any trouble. One of her colleagues commutes on the road daily.

I really wanted to go to the Monument. It has one of the world’s largest collections of dinosaur fossils, having supplied many of the world’s museums, and the central structure houses a slope where excavations are ongoing—they have left the bones in place so visitors can see how they appeared as they were found. I got these photos off the web.

But going there would involve a 14 mile detour with lots of hills, I was behind schedule because I had to pick up those AirPods, I still had a long way to go on an uncertain road, it was already 90°, and I decided the detour wouldn’t be prudent. Who’s the dinosaur?

The ranger was right, the shoulder broadened and stayed good. A strong tailwind pushed me so much I didn’t even realize I was going uphill. And then, in 10 miles, I crossed into Colorado.

Colorado! I saw this same sign three years ago, when I entered the state coming from Vermont, and felt the same thrill. The healthiest state in the country, the most bicycle-friendly state, home to many friends I’m eagerly anticipating visiting soon, and the crown of the Rockies, with 54 peaks over 14,000 feet. Who can sum it up better than Harve Presnell, the hero of Music Man composer Meredith Willson’s other musical, The Unsinkable Molly Brown, singing “Colorado My Home”?
https://youtu.be/yp8Kx2R13DQ?si=eafFA-YPprJ_Nwmg

I have to digress here. Harve Presnell was the star of many musicals in the 60s, then dropped from sight until he surfaced almost unrecognizably as Wade, the grumpy father-in-law in the Coen Brothers classic film Fargo.

Back to Colorado. Seeing that sign was like a shot in the arm. Right away, things got easier. I had thought maybe I would stop short of my goal, in the town of Dinosaur, but some very helpful burger bar patrons, Troy, Jeff, and Wally, reassured me that the last 18 miles would be easy, and so they were. Cruising into Rangely, I stopped for my celebratory root beer, and the clerk Michael pointed out a fascinating detail of this town.

An abandoned, deteriorating water tank was converted by enterprising musicians (inspired by the Chautauqua movement) into the Tank Center for the Sonic Arts, an eclectic venue with perfect acoustics some have called the Carnegie Hall of the West. https://tanksounds.org/about

Amazing. This is the kind of stuff you only get when you’re traveling at 8 mph.

Distance 55 miles, 2,715 total. Time 9 hours with stops. Elevation gain 2,085 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Red Canyon Lodge to Vernal, Utah. Tuesday, July 2, 2024

Today I completed what I had hoped to do in one day yesterday, the remaining 43 miles to Vernal. Nowhere near as tough as yesterday, but still involved climbing the high walls of Flaming Gorge, summiting at 8,483 feet, followed by a very switchbacky 3,000 foot plunge to the lake-dotted flats of Vernal. The temperature went from the 50s to the 80s. I had rejoined an old friend, US 191, that had also been that scary stretch from Big Sky to Bozeman, and later from Yellowstone Lake through the Tetons, Jackson, and all the way to Pinedale.

I slept well, my mojo was back, but I still found it easier to walk on the steep stretches. My granny gear can let me go as slow as 2.5 mph, but I can walk at 2 mph, and not weave all over the highway. I can also have long phone conversations.

I am now in Utah’s red rock country, and though the scenes are not as spectacular as at Bryce Canyon or Zion, they are still quite arresting.

Arresting, but after many miles, the redness of the rock seems to melt into the endless glare of the sun. Beautiful to visit, but hard to imagine living there.

Vernal is a gateway town of sorts to the Dinosaur National Monument. I didn’t see much green there, just many blocks of suburban sprawl. Mr. Rex welcomed me.

The day ended with a redux of the “AirPods Kerfuffle” episode in Buffalo, three years ago. This time I arrived at the hotel with the pods, but not the charger case. The “Find My” feature on my iPhone has a little used section called Devices, and there I saw that the case was 2 miles back at my restaurant. I called them, they confirmed it was there, and that I can stop by the back door at 9 AM to pick it up.

Excited to be entering Colorado tomorrow.

Distance 43 miles, 2,660 total. Time 7 hours with stops. Elevation gain 2,338 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Manila to Red Canyon Lodge, Utah. Monday, July 1, 2024.

I was so touched. BFF Eric, who loves to pull my chain and who has dissed this Parking Lots Tour as inane and contrived, nevertheless tried mightily to get me to go back and tag the Henry’s Fork/Kings Peak trailhead after all. Leave your heavy stuff at the motel, bring only minimalist camping gear, camp at the trailhead campsite and get it done. Think how good I’d feel. Silly to bike 2,500 miles and blow this off.

I just couldn’t get my head around it. I didn’t mention that yesterday’s ride ended with a thousand-foot plunge into Flaming Gorge, so steep I hit 41 mph on half-deflated tires. Going back into that same west wind, that same crappy road, up that plunge I just did, and the same chance of thunderstorms was more than I could countenance. I have to go back anyway to do Hood, perhaps Jane and I will take a Western campervan tour with a rented mountain bike, and I can pick up where I left off. I did Gannett in three stages, didn’t I?

Jane and Eric were unconvinced, but I have to listen to my body (a great wimp-out line). Instead I climbed out of the other side of Flaming Gorge, at least with the wind behind me. It didn’t matter. The road was so steep, often a 10% grade, that I wound up pushing it for 5 miles. That’s a lot of pushing. Most of the way was under construction, which sounds awful but is actually a blessing. Tyra the flag woman saw me puffing up to her, and gave me TWO bottles of water. Brock the job boss kept offering me a ride in his pickup. I was sorely tempted, but didn’t want to “break the chain” from the ocean. Even if I did blow off Kings Peak. He allowed me to push my bike unmolested in the closed lane, skirting around the construction vehicles. It was almost pleasant. I only stopped for one picture, rain came in and dulled the colors of this incredible gorge I’d never heard of.

I’d hoped to go another 62 miles to Vernal, but that climb and the rain poofed me enough that I bailed at Red Canyon Lodge, only 26 miles in. In my current enfeebled state, no way could I have gone back to Kings. Crashing early, hope to get my mojo back tomorrow.

Distance 26 miles, 2,617 total. Time 7 hours with stops. Elevation gain 3,100 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Lyman, Wyoming to Manila, Utah. Sunday, June 30, 2024

Well, I gave it my best shot. I knew this one was going to be a stretch.

The wind, the spacing of the accommodations, and the road conditions were just too much. Despite an early start, I had to turn around short of the goal.

The goal was the Henry’s Fork trailhead (just across the Utah state line), starting point for our climb up Kings Peak, 20 years ago. Unlike the drama of the Granite and Gannett climbs, this one had gone smoothly, a three day trip involving overnights at Dollar Lake up and down, and a long summit day through Gunsight Pass. What stood out to me was the huge flock of sheep that shepherds brought by at our campsite, complete with border collies and bellwethers—showing me the origin of that term, lead sheep were hung with a bell to better keep track of the flock.

So the original climb had gone smoothly, tagging the highpoint parking lot had not. It would involve an 82 mile day, my longest yet, and a 32 mile out-and-back on a steep dirt road. To make it work, conditions would have to be perfect.

The dirt road seemed OK at first, but 2 miles in the gravel got very soft and I was swarmed by biting horseflies. I had to backtrack to where I stashed my bags to get my bug repellent, and also to bleed 20 pounds of tire pressure. That seemed to do the trick, but it put me behind schedule. I had remembered that the access road was wooded, but in fact it was wide open to the full force of those Wyoming winds. I was averaging 3 mph, dolefully calculating I’d be lucky to get in before dark, when I looked up.

There had been no rain in the forecast, but I had forgotten the Rocky Mountain Way. The mountains make their own weather, afternoon thunderstorms are common, it’s the reason why climbs start early, to get off the summit by noon. The road was soft enough, a storm would turn it impassable. Ten miles short of the trailhead, I quickly turned around.

With the wind and slope suddenly in my favor, I was flying down at 30 mph when I hit one of those hidden soft spots and took a tumble, my first in three years. I was lucky to get away with a scraped knee. As I was hurriedly reattaching my bags at the road junction, a farmer kindly stopped by and offered his shed to wait out the storm. There, I filtered some irrigation-ditch water to refill my bottles on this hot day. It was discolored, but tasted OK.

My turnaround had shaved 20 miles off the total, but I was enervated by the drama and my determination not to resort to caffeine, and had to push up some of those last hills.

Limping in to my motel, I was so rubber-legged I was grateful I’d turned around, could only imagine what a mess I’d be if I’d persisted. The room was cheap and nice but comically full of moths, the proprietress said they’d had an infestation, she vacuumed up thirty and I was swatting them all night.

So now I’ve struck out twice, on Hood and at Henry’s Fork. Another one I’ll have to return to, this time with a mountain bike (Jane had suggested I rent one for today, but the nearest bike shop was 60 miles away). I keep reminding myself, it’s about the journey, not the destination. Hmm.

Distance 62 miles, 2,591 total. Time 11 hours with stops. Elevation gain 3,525 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Kemmerer to Lyman, Wyoming. Saturday, June 29, 2024

Today was kind of repeat of yesterday, minus the winds. Rolling rangeland with not much to look at,

although I did see a few pronghorn antelope and prairie dogs crossing the road, too quickly to get a photograph. If you zoom in, you can see my next destination, the High Uinta range in Utah, including its highpoint, Kings Peak.

My destination was the small town of Lyman, which did not believe in putting on airs. Here is my restaurant and convenience store.

My motel was the same, no-frills, but all the amenities. The town did have some civic pride, there were bouquets on every lamp post, and an inspiring eagle sculpture in the town square,

With the Uintas looming ever closer over the main street.

Minimalist post today, need to rest up for the big push to the Kings Peak trailhead tomorrow.

Distance 41 miles, 2,529 total. Time 5 hours with stops. Elevation gain 1,931 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

LaBarge to Kemmerer, Wyoming Friday, June 28, 2024

The problem with most blogs is the boring detail and the whining. I am no exception. And if I’m whining, it’s usually about the wind. Especially if it’s unanticipated.

I knew today was going to be a battle against the wind, so at least I was prepared for it. I managed to leave at 6:40 AM and log some miles before it got too intense. Still, there was quite a stretch when I was crawling uphill against a 30 mph headwind. When you’re in your lowest gear, just struggling to stay on the shoulder takes all your concentration. Maintaining a full tuck with a death grip on the handlebars, unable to shift around on your seat, look at the scenery, or hear anything on your headphones above the wind noise—well, it’s easier if you knew it was coming. Or as Carly Simon said,

It don’t really matter
What steps you choose to do
The only thing matters is your attitude

Not that there was really any scenery to look at. Or any place to stop. The best I could find was a cattle guard, where at least I could prop my bicycle up, and sit on the tire on the other side and have a snack. This photo says it all.

On the right is one of the thousands of snow fences I saw.

At least it was cool, starting out at 48° and never getting above 70. At the top of that big hill I was hoping for a view back to the Wind River Range, but it was lost in the haze. I caught myself starting to bitch and moan about the bleakness all around me, when I recalled some wise words from my Denver hostess three years ago, after my snarky comments about a different part of Wyoming.

Last night….since this journey of yours appears to be about discovery of all sorts, and not just high points…I almost commented/called you out for your choice of words “weird” and “barren wasteland”.

Au contraire mon frère. Having lived in the West for a while, I’ve come to appreciate even the beauty of the dry, flat, and seemingly unfruitful. In that spirit, I offer a little Proust….

“A pair of wings, a different mode of breathing, which would enable us to traverse infinite space, would in no way help us, for, if we visited Mars or Venus keeping the same senses, they would clothe in the same aspect as the things of the earth everything that we should be capable of seeing. The only true voyage of discovery, the only fountain of Eternal Youth, would be not to visit strange lands but to possess other eyes, to behold the universe through the eyes of another, of a hundred others, to behold the hundred universes that each of them beholds, that each of them is; and this we can contrive with an Elstir, with a Vinteuil; with men like these we do really fly from star to star.”

I had to look up those names—they are two of Proust’s characters, one an abstract impressionist, the other a sonata composer— but my Denver friend was right, you have to look at alien landscapes with new eyes, with the eyes of another, and imagine the perspective of the people who chose to live here. Once again, it’s your attitude.

Arriving at last at Kemmerer (population 2,415), largest town and seat of sprawling Lincoln County, home of James Cash Penney, who founded the department store; I had fun talking with Dave and James, a father and son from Salt Lake City, who come up here every summer to fish in the Hams Fork River. James is one of those awesome long distance motorcyclists, who did 48 states in less than a month. Dave is a bus driver, touchingly concerned about my safety, since he’s seen so many bike riders behaving irresponsibly.

Approaching my Best Western motel, I had to laugh. I always want to book ahead, especially over the weekend, but in so doing I miss a lot of small motels that would be cheaper. This one in particular was obviously open, but did not appear on any search engines or Google maps. I’m sure it’s a fleabag, but that’s fine. All I want is a shower and a bed.

Distance 52 miles, 2,488 total. Time 7 hours with stops. Elevation gain 2,187 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria

Pinedale to Labarge, Wyoming, Wednesday-Thursday June 26-27, 2024

Many of you are familiar with the classic poem, The Cremation of Sam McGee, by Robert W. Service, about a Tennessee boy freezing to death while prospecting for gold in the Yukon. The story is both hilarious and ghoulish, the rhymes and meter so melodious that is often memorized and recited around campfires, especially in the winter. The boy’s dying request is that he be cremated, which the narrator does by stuffing his corpse into a burning boat on the marge (margin?) of Lake LeBarge. Nobody reads it better than the Man in Black. https://youtu.be/yJNZwuamwj0?si=K7EhwWzcgFQ0b1wL

Today I am pinned down in the tiny Wyoming town of LaBarge, population 493, because of wind, weather, and geography. My next destination is the trailhead for Kings Peak, the highpoint of Utah, which we climbed in 2004. It is due south of Pinedale, and the roads leading to it are circuitous, poorly shouldered, and subject to the intense winds that blow across southern Wyoming. Not sure why the winds are so strong, possibly because of a natural gap in the Rockies, the location of South Pass, the crossing of the Oregon Trail. I remember struggling to keep my car on the road when driving I 80 in the area, struck by the proliferation of snow fences to keep blowing snow off the highway in the winter.

It’s one thing to control your car in the wind, another when you’re on a bicycle with panniers that act like sails. I thought yesterday’s trip would be easy, more downhill than up, but the winds turned southerly for the last 25 miles, and I really struggled. I’ve now gotten used to prolonged periods on the aero bars, which help a lot, but it’s hard to steer the bike precisely, and the shoulders narrowed to 2 feet between rumble strip and gravel. I limped to LaBarge utterly exhausted.

I woke early to get a jumpstart on today’s winds, but saw that thunderstorms were predicted, and the winds would be gusting to 40 mph right from the direction I was going. After a series of taxing days, I decided it would be prudent to “take a zero” today. The motel here is cheap, tomorrow’s motel willing to push back my nonrefundable reservation, so I was happy to stay. The winds will be a little less intense tomorrow.

One of the challenges is that this is another accommodations and services desert, I have to pick my food and overnight stops carefully. Even the water here doesn’t know where to go. I am in the Great Divide Basin, where the sparse rainfall does not drain into the Atlantic or the Pacific, but just seeps into the ground. Weird.

This all gives me a chance to talk a little bit more about the remainder of my time in Pinedale. As I left the Gannett trailhead, there was a viewpoint of the Wind River Range, the prominent rounded peak is Fremont, Gannett was nowhere in view.

I had dinner at the local brewhouse, same place I had my bittersweet “victory dinner” back in 2016. It felt better this time. It was fun to hang out with the crowd at the Warmshowers house, full of family, friends, and other bicyclists. It’s chaos, but Clay and Kristi make it work. Their daughter Camille has just graduated from high school, among the celebrants was a mannequin named Archer.

The other guest were bicyclists on the dirt Continental Divide Trail. I’ve encountered many of these gravel bikers, but almost no road tourists. Maybe mine is a dying breed. Backpacking is the new thing, not with racks and panniers, but with frame bags and stuff lashed to handlebars, forks, and exaggerated seat packs. Minimalist, but lighter and more agile.

Simon was heading south, Chloe was heading north, they are typically camping in the wild and were very happy to stay in such a comfortable, welcoming home. I’m sorry I neglected to get their pictures.

The only other intriguing spot on yesterday’s voyage was an obscure one, the Green River Rendezvous. This was featured prominently in Michener’s novel Centennial, and it was cool to see the desolate location where it actually happened.

On this “zero day” I took a brief walking tour of LaBarge.

The Sinclair Oil Corporation, you may remember, was at the heart of the Teapot Dome affair of the Harding administration—until Watergate, the biggest government scandal. The Teapot Dome oil fields were in Wyoming.

Up early tomorrow once again, to get a jump on those headwinds.

Distance 58 miles, 2,436 total. Time 8 hours with stops. Elevation gain 753 feet

©️ 2024 Scott Luria