"Oh no," I thought, "I caught The Covid the night before the tour. I'm probably gonna die from it mid pedal stroke."
Then I remembered that I was sleeping in the presence of two adorable cats and my hypochondria subsided.
A quick cocktail of Zyrtec, Flonase, and a puff of albuterol opened the airway and got me back to sleep.
I awoke next just after 8 am. A respectable time for a man who imprinted his circadian rhythm while working his way through college at dinner only restaurants. Not A type approved but respectable to their lackies. We rolled out a bit after 9.
My companion on this trip is Matt Harmon, long time presence at Campus Cycles, and a stalwart in the bicycle commuter demographic. This will be his first Proper Tour.
And it showed. Within minutes of entering the South Platte River trail he was towing a broken front pannier, it was decided that a coffee break was needed to ensure proper function of bike and rider. A detour was made to a little place just off of Brighton called Zeppelin Station. There we assessed the situation.
The coffee was fresh and delicious, the bike repairable, and my fellow rider was scared but capable. We discussed preferred routes to our first campsite of the evening in Strasburg. Nerves could be soothed in Matt if we could just stick to non-motorized paths until we were out of Denver. Our new route would see us take the South Platte, to Sand Creek, and eventually out to old 36 highway, aka Colfax avenue.
We weaved through the various hobo encampments on the aforementioned paths eventually spitting out on the Sand Creek trailhead at Star K Ranch. Then it was just a slow tedious headwind burn to our lunch stop, Lulu's in Watkins.
We arrived at Lulu's very parched, neither of us had remembered sunscreen, our bottles difficult to reach on the rutted bombed out roads frequented by the oil and gas industry tankers east of C470. We were in need of sanctuary. The hostess told us to wheel our rigs around back. We were not disappointed. A great oasis with tables nestled under pine trees and junipers. A game of horse show could be had, if one were so inclined. We were not so inclined.
We had BLTs and a Chicken dinner, cold Coors, and pitchers of ice water. We had another 16 miles to go. My compatriot looked weathered, but valiantly threw a leg over his bike when we were done eating.
"It's just riding a bike," one of us said and was met with a polite and knowing chuckle. It's hard pushing these bikes. They're heavy by nature and when fully loaded for a cross country trip they're slow moving tanks. Stopping them is hard, balancing them in cross winds is hard, and muscling up even the slightest hill is hardest of all. It would be fun, to me there is no doubt, but it's the fun that is yours to enjoy after the suffering is done.
Rolling hills yielded to a gentle down hill run into Bennett, and eventually Strasburg. We pedaled into the KOA a little after 5 pm, dust covered road warriors looking every bit as out of place amongst the glampers as we felt.
"Think nothing of it," I thought, "these well kept chunky humans in their chunky campers haven't seen the things I've seen today."
And that is true. I saw countless plans approach and land in DIA, I saw a fox who misjudged the pace of our modern go go lifestyle, and saw countless people fly past me in their autos barely aware of my existence.
I'm aware of me though. I see the path ahead and know the challenges that await. I have earned a good night's sleep. And so it was.
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