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The Life's Too Short Tour
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Days 68 and 69: At the Foot of the Rockies
Pueblo, Colorado.I'm cloistered away from the road in the peace of a luxury hotel provided as a gift, for two nights, by Bear. He offered the room through the use of his accrued points at the chain, a reservation stipulated only for family members of the point holder, which Bear and I deemed the term "brother" would suffice, and it did. "I consider you a brother anyway," Bear had written to me, and the hotel receptionist remarked "very kind of your brother to do this for you." Indeed.This is the desert. The dry air is calming and comfortable. Cowboys, Latinos, cattlemen and outdoor folk congregate as Coloradans in this high arid valley crouched beneath the Rocky Mountains on guard to the west, blue peaks making an elevated and jagged horizon.I made it here today after an easy 50-mile ride from Ordway, where I spent a night at the Hotel Ordway, a 105-year old relic of the past in a small Coloradan town of farmers and cattlemen. At the hotel I was shown my room by the proprietor, a woman who said the place was run by her family for decades. She said a ghost named Sebastian inhabited the historic building. Following her up the long staircase to my room, a clean room outfitted with WiFi, old furniture and sink but no television or air conditioner, the old feel of the hotel made me believe in the haunt. I stowed the 520 (aka Old Blue) in a garage outside then took a shower down the hall and returned to my room to prepare for dinner. As I was dressing, suddenly the door shook violently for a moment and I believed Sebastian had revealed his presence. I was taken aback, and even said the Lord's Prayer under my breath, but then acquiesed, allowing the ghost his salutation and then going about my business in peace, with Sebastian apparently there in the room with me, I figured. I'm too tired to be afraid of you ghost, so do what you will, I conceded.I headed out to explore the main street, another broad-thoroughfared stretch of stores, and found my way into the Bits and Spurs restaurant where I ordered a Spur Burger, consisting of two beef patties over toast topped with hot green chili. It was delicious, and I ate while examining the displays of local cattle ranch brands which line the walls of the place.A man named Rob whom I had met at first arrival in the town, who waved me down and launched into the typical litany of questions: Where are you coming from? Where are you going? How many days? etc., explained a situation the small town was afflicted of since 1980 when town officials sold off water rights of the Arkansas River to larger towns in the north. Previously a valley lush with crops of sugar beets, orchards, wheat and hay, the town and its valley were now arid and barren as Denver and Colorado Springs drink up the irrigation water Ordway gave away its right to 30 years ago. "This used to be a thriving town, we had everything, and it all revolved around our crops, but now we have no water and the town is dying, slowly," Rob said. "We are the poster boy for what not do to."The town paper, a small 10-page weekly which I read as I ate my Spur Burger, featured the headline in its most recent issue "Ordway Dealt Blow over Water Contract Suit." The story explained an attempt by current town officials to withdraw from the contract signed in 1980 that gave away the town's water rights. A judge denied the complaint."I remember whenthere were orchards here, that's long gone," said a waitress at the restaurant. "The town up the road called Sugar City got its name because it used to be a center for sugar beet production, but now there are no sugar beet crops grown there at all." The town of Sugar City, which I passed through on my ride from Eads, was nearly a ghost town, holding on to a post office and a cafe and not much more, its very name is a cruel reminder. "Everyone's moving away," said the waitress in Ordway. "Next it will be our school to disappear, it's too bad."After dinner, haunted now not only by Sebastian, but by the town's sad story and the after effects of stomach-burning green chili, I ambled over to the Columbine Saloon across the street. The waitress had warned "I wouldn't go into that place, gets rowdy in there." Just the kind of place I was looking for.I sat amid the locals and downed a beer as a succession of rock songs reverberated from a jukebox. I heard a few voices acknowledge my presence."Who's the new guy?""No idea but tell him he gets a free beer for happy hour, he just made it in time."The bartender asked "just passing through?"I told him about the trek. And he said "well welcome to Ordway man, we're just a bunch of poor and desperate people trying to have a good time," he said. So are we all, I thought. I left the joint and walked the two blocks back to the hotel. Upstairs, as I shut my door, I turned around only to have it shake violently again. Sebastian? Is it you? I stepped toward the door and my foot dislodged a loose floorboard. I tested it and found that when I put my weight on it just right it made the door shake. This room was haunted, not by a spirit, but by old floor boards.In the morning I eagerly headed west to view the peaks I had been promised would come into view. It was a long and straight stretch of road that led out of the town, through clusters of homes, and eventually into empty and remote desert scenes. I enjoyed finding myself surrounded by desert, and for the first time on the trek felt some sense of exotic excitement after having spent two months traversing familiar and tame agrarain scenes of the east. I felt I finally had shaken the last vestiges of the east and the midwest, and was now firmly west. I pedaled past prairie dogs and pronghorn antelope. This was more like Mexico than Kansas, as the road led me through scenese of cacti flora and arid hills. By the time I reached a town called Boone, about 20 miles east of Pueblo, the Rocky Mountains came into view. Not white and rocky granite peaks, but blue humps not unlike the Appalachians, only taller and more ominous against the sky.I stopped at a store in Boone and had a meal of convenience store fare. The man behind the counter looked like a character in a western movie, clad in cowboy boots and wrangler jeans, wearing a handkercheif around his neck and sporting an exaggerated mustache. He was not unlike Yosemite Sam. I sat oustide at a table, feeling relaxed in the dry air and cool breeze, and called Stephen, Rich's younger brother. We made small talk of the trek's progress and then talked about Rich. It was good for me to speak his name again, refocusing the trek's impetus and reminding me why I had come 2,500 miles on a bicycle to buy a frozen burrito from Yosemite Sam.We talked about the loss until I lost the cell phone signal halfway through our conversation and the line went dead. I went on my way, doing what I always do, pedaling west. The same desert scenes flicked by. I was sad. After a few miles I entered onto a highway, the final leg toward Pueblo. A few cars honked horns in salutation to me, as they usually do on the highways, and I gave each one, as I always do, a sharp Army salute with my right hand rigid and elbow up at a hard right angle, as I was taught. I felt as if those honking horns were saying "hey buddy, we are with you." And so I saluted them, and felt something which could have been profound sadness or joy, I couldn't tell the difference. Suddenly I felt, after longing lately for the finish, afraid for the end of the pedaling. What will I do when there is no more west to pedal into? Who will honk for me then? I wish I could pedal all the way to China.Tomorrow is a rest day. I'll explore Pueblo. Upcoming are ten days of cycling through the high elevation of the Rockies. This day marks the end of my time on the TransAmerica route which started in Yorktown, Virginia, so long ago. The next day's ride I begin the route called the Western Express, which climbs over several mountain passes and heads into the dry and strange environment of Utah. I'll climb up beyond 11,ooo at Monarch Pass, then again to 10,000 feet at Lizard Head Pass. There is the danger of altitude sickness, and the challenge of big climbs. The Western Express will highlight the trek. I am fully ready.Tonight I went down to the bar here in the hotel. I thought I could indulge again in my new hobby of drinking a beer before bed. Maybe a nice cold Heineken before returning to my room to watch reruns of M.A.S.H. I stepped into the bar and was slammed by pounding rap music. The bar was clustered with middle-aged hotel guests, men, hanging there with beers in their fists in the dim light. Women were hooting and hollering. Balloons were strung about the room. One woman wore a tiara, stumbling drunk. A male stripper in his underwear undulated around weirdly before them. A DJ sat behind a turntable, shouting out "how's everybody doing out there?" I stood there for a moment looking at the scene, then turned and left. Outside, the arid air felt calm, and was easy to inhale. The strip of fastfood neon went on for miles and miles in the night before me. Signs for McDonalds, Boston Market, Del Taco, Burger King, Subway, and Taco Bell hung suspended up in the dark sky. Pueblo's highways hummed, a massive chorus of motors and wheels, an ongoing baritone of din, the drone of America which just never seems to rest.until later...
10 comments:
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"When the well's dry, we know the worth of water."
- Benjamin Franklin
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Hey Tom,
Congratulations on making it to Colorado and the West! It seems like not long ago we were pedalling together along the Jersey shore, and now you are way out West! Amazing!
Your story about Daniel in your last post was very touching. That $20 clearly came right from the heart. Daniel is now yet another tour angel, as is his friend Olivia.
It's great to feel your renewed spirit as you leave the prairie behind. I remember when we were talking in Kentucky, and you said that the tour was beginning to feel a little like a daily gruel. I remembered your spirit in the early days, when you shouted "Life is good!" to the landscaper on the side of the street, and hoped that you might get that back. It feels like that early enthusiasm has finally come back. It now seems somehow even deeper and more sustained, and less like a fleeting emotion.
Just remember, Richie is with you with each pedal. I believe he has traded in his pedals for wings, so keep an eye out for him up above. I know he is with you.
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Tom,
Great reading! I agree with Stephen, you sound revitalized. Hope your rest in Pueblo is beneficial to your hands. I feel good when you say you are fully ready, I have prayed for that.
It's no wonder you thought Sebastian had come to visit. You lived in a haunted house when you were little. Those ghosts used to visit you too, only they were real, not floorboards.
It must be incredibly awesome to be riding a bicycle towards the mountain peaks you are seeing and knowing you are going to be riding up there in them. I hope the nights don't get too cold. I almost froze to death camping in Utah, it was 110 by day and in the twenties at night. You might need to know that. Keep trucking Tom, you are an incredible, amazing person. Love ya, Mom
Bob,
So glad we have found you. It is really a thrill to have you on board. Keep in touch! Thanks, Moya
Chrissy,
Best of luck tomorrow!! Love, Aunt Moya
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That was some great investigative debunking you did there at the Hotel Ordway. The Ghost Hunters team would be very impressed!
2,500 miles! I am sending out a strong Army salute to you and your amazing tour.
All the best,
Elisa
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Tom,
Wow! FULLY READY. Them's fighting words. You against the Rockies! My money's on you!
Whatcha mean, nobody to honk for you after this tour! We will always honk for you. Don't you forget that. Richie has taught us the sadness in letting distance become absence. And we have learned.
Did you know, if you weren't a writer, you could be a photographer. So many of the pictures you have posted could grace the covers of magazines. These pictures of Colorado are wonderful.
A good,cold beer on occasion fills the bill. Had one myself on the Fourth of July and it was good. Mine was Yuengling. Drew's sister, Libby, made a special trip to the store just so I could have it.
It is very disheartening to hear that water rights are getting sold. What kind of BS is that??? Alice isn't alone anymore, the whole country seems to have gone through the looking glass.
Too bad you can't bottle that calming air and send some back to us. You make it sound so good. Breathing just isn't that good in Jersey.
Another great post, Tommy. Thanks.
Take special care of your hand. Go at your own pace. Travel safe. And have the time of your life!!
Love you very much,
Kathy
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Sebastion was just testing you. Have a good rest in Pueblo and try not to stumble into anymore male stipper parties. As I go about my day, riding around in my car getting here and there I will honk twice each time I think of you out on your bike. One honk for Richie and one for you.
Bob, welcome to the gang!
Salud, Jennifer
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Hey Jen,
Great comment....made me laugh. You can always tell when it's a sister talking.
Now here's a question for ya'. Who is Bob? Please enlighten us.
Thanks,
Kathy
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Kathy,
Sorry about that! Bob is a good friend of Tom and Jenny from high school. Jenny filled Bob in on Tom's trek and now he is following the progress. It's addicting. What will I do when the tour ends and the stories are done? Iknow!! I'll buy Tom's book!
Hope everyone is well. I'll be in touch.
Love you, Moya
Hope all is well with everyone. I'll be in touch.
Love Moya
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Tom,
Finally found your website. Sorry we lost you in Sheridan Lake. Hope the Hailstorm didnt get you. If you are west of Peublo, then you arent too far from us. We are currently in Ridgeway CO. Track us down through the blog www.bradfund.net and we might be able to link up somewhere.
Liz and Ben
Let Skynyrd say what he wants, sweet home truly is Colorado. Enjoy every moment Tom. Just drove over Monarch Pass in early June, through a blinding snow storm. It will be better for you. Hold on tight on the other side, it's a long way down. With you in thought. BS