Day Sixty Three: The First Mountain Pass

Distance: 72 mi.

Elevation: 5,331'

Slept soundly after deliberation with Lizzie about upcoming routes. I’m insistent upon sticking to the broad strokes of our desired route and schedule; it’s not that Lizzie is in any hard disagreement, but she tends to assent quickly to alternative plans or route variations suggested by fellow travelers. I’m not at all against diverging from a predefined plan when better options emerge; but WE should be the ones making the final call about our plans — not our generous hosts, not other cyclists, not even travel companions, even if they are gratuitously friendly and have compelling alternative routes to propose. Such divergences are easily sorted out with a frank and firm statement of one’s interests; it’s when we fail to make our interests known that the most commonplace forms of trouble lurch up.

Luckily, Rob is extremely easy going and since he’s only joining for a couple days he defers to our desire to bike to Salida and cross the steepest part of the rockies via Monarch Pass. Rob’s up for at least part of the route and we venture out under a rainy, chilly sky comme a trois towards Canon city.

Rob’s 60,000 miles on a bike is no joke; as soon as we set off he gradually gallops toward the horizon until disappearing, his pace of 17mph far outstripping Liz and my pedestrian 10 or 12 mph. Rob typically materializes a few minutes later, smoking a cigarette Kerouac-like on the side of the road. We only run into trouble once, when he muscles too far ahead after a rotary turn to the north — I sprint him down for six miles until I finally catch him and turn him around! Looks like the day’s ride will be 70 miles, not 60.

We prod through just enough rain to soak us completely, when it subsides and a wind picks up to dry us in the chilliest fashion imaginable. As we start to warm back up we hit the entry road to Canon City; I pull into the IHOP but Rob vouches for a family-owned diner at the far side of town so we head there instead.

Inside Rob’s diner we plop down our soggy belongings and order three ice waters, two coffees and a large orange juice; a biscuits and gravy special; two pecan waffles; two plates of eggs, home fries, and mashed potatoes; some pancakes, and some cottage cheese. Three blimps stagger out to the bikes to fuss with our gear, nobody riding very fast at this stage.

Five miles down the road I fix a quick flat in front of an Outfitters Store at the base of Skyline Drive. We’re nervous to add miles but Rob reassures us it’s worth it. It’s completely worth it.

We maneuver Skyline Drive back against the intended traffic pattern so as not to waste five miles dropping back into Canon City, skidding off the narrow paved path when cars barrel towards us. Greeted with some frowns, but it’s safe enough and we need to save our legs for what’s coming next: a straight shot seven mile climb with no downturns or flat stretches.

Feeding on the electric feeling of being IN THE ROCKIES, we progress steadily up the pass and make it without major issues. Rob, of course, greets us with roadside grin as he puffs away at a cigarette.

We pummel down the far side of the pass, winding down until adjacent to the stalwart Arkansas river, the air chilling another five degrees as gelid waters rush past, shaping the wind’s direction against us. We break at a recreation area overlooking the rapids and make the call to pack in for the day at the Five Points campground across the road (presumably referring to the five pyramidic summits of the cannon walls visible from the Arkansas Headwaters area.

Rob builds a fire as Lizzie and I set up our tent (Rob sleeps in the open in a bivvy sack, there’s not much work besides tossing it to the ground somewhere); meanwhile fog descends upon the campgrounds like an ushered crowd. After a simple meal of nuts, berries, crackers and fruits Rob darts off into a poorly fenced-off nature reserve and retrieves a four foot hollow trunk from a fallen juniper tree; throws it on the fire, and soon cylindric flames are whooshing and howling through the log. Just in time for a Ranger to check in and harass us for not paying the campsite fee. He begins to write Rob a citation but discards it after some pouting; we follow him to the after hours box to pay the fee, return to our campsite and watch the fire in silence until passing from mountain mists to foggy sleep.