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| It doesn't get prettier than this! US Route 6 in Utah |
The view from my hotel room in Salt Lake City was scary. Yes, the Great Salt Lake Desert was behind me, but the two things I had feared from the moment I made the deposit for the challenge were ahead of me: first was urban riding, to include traffic, concrete curbs that take away your option to bale out if in danger, and -- storm drains -- the ones that eat front wheels whole. The second was mountains. Not Alabama mountains; no, but industrial grade, no kidding, chest sucking vertical walls that never end. I had already learned from the Sierra Nevada that I liked riding up mountains better than going down them. Going up was full of views and break times to take it all in. Going down was white knuckle speeds and turns and bumps and single lane traffic and narrow roads and gravel and sand and guard rails and lack of guard rails and smoking brakes and road ice and gale winds and insane drops into abysses that seemed to have no bottom. Even if you wanted to stop to take a picture, no, not possible. Narrow roads and not enough stopping distances to pull off safely. One of the cardinal rules of road bikes is never brake while cornering, and with good reason. To tell it plain, where others thought those 50+ mph down hills runs were better than, well, better than you know what and lasted ten times longer (so said the old guys). Me? I was terrified, forgetting to breathe and feeling as frayed as a cat in a dog pound. There are some things that you only do once in your life, like getting wisdom teeth pulled. Instead of getting all four pulled at once, poetically speaking, I was doing only one at a time. I looked at the map and still in front of me were three of those double black diamond slalom runs in my path before landing safely in Pueblo. So to put it politely, I started leg two with a tad bit of apprehension.
Like
it or not, we left Salt Lake City on schedule.
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| We followed these rails to the top of those mountains |
Another two weeks of rest would
have been welcome, but the choices were either ride or disappoint everybody by
running home to mama. Please indulge me as I let you inside the strange world
of the way I think. As I ride my bike through Salt Lake City I am concocting
algorithms in high level programming languages that can be used to optimize
both east-west and north-south traffic flows simultaneously by synchronizing
traffic lights with a centralized sensor and control station. I am testing in
my mind what variables would have to be interjected in to a fractal sequence to
generate a computer model in three dimensions the exact topography of the
mountains east of the city. I am wondering about the temperatures in the
smelter at the copper mine that would produce the most commercially valuable
grade of end product. It is no wonder I get the most flat tires. I need to
start looking at the road, bring my mind back to reality, and begin to learn
how to enjoy people. In a pond of swans I am a strange duck desperately seeking
normalcy. I am not having fun.
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| Mechanical Stop - Not a flat this time |
There
were several defining moments for me in this leg of the journey. One was when
Al, Bob, and I emerged from the bike path south of Salt Lake City on our way to
Provo. Bob’s tire went flat and my first response was to suggest calling the
SAG wagon. Even in the city, strangely there was no cell phone coverage, no street
signs to tell us where we were at, and Al letting me know he didn’t know how to
fix a flat. It was us and only us. We got off the street and into a shady spot.
I asked if I could do the honors of changing the tube while I listened to these
two guys chat. Real people, real places, real normalcy. It was then that the
peace came. “I can do this,” I told myself. “I don’t need to analyze
everything, I just need to serially execute the tasks, like fixing flats, that
lay in my lap at that given moment. I needed to become open to the possibility
I might just like it.” I wish I could say this was a turning point. No. I
couldn’t change my ingrained ways of thinking. I was continually haunted by the
concept over the next week. Fun was not streaking down the mountain. Fun was
not enjoying the magnificence of the land, fun was to be found in the little
things and playful interaction with others. The denominator was fixed:
mountains, roads, views, and bikes, but the numerator was people. Sorry, I’m a
math guy. The more I had interaction with people, the greater the fun. Traffic
signals and fractal sequences was clutter and a distraction from what was
important. I have been prepared for this very moment to go to school. And the
shock of shocks, my professor’s name is Al.
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| Al never has taken a bad picture. Outside of Price UT |
Let
me tell you about Al. Everybody already knows his amazing accomplishments in
cycling and running, but that is not what makes Al tick. Al’s persona has been
deeply affected by two previous loves in his life, his first two wives by whom
the enemy of life itself, cancer, widowed him twice. Al both suffered and
rejoiced in the thought that while here in Utah he and his first bride, if she
had lived, would have celebrated their 50
th wedding anniversary
together. While riding he poured his thoughts and emotions into eventually
writing an essay that relived their time together and the love that they
shared. Al is a tough guy with a tender heart, a likable big-picture thinker
who lives his life as an open book. Al had an eye for business, and his savvy
gave him the freedom to pursue his goals in his retirement (or dare say,
‘refirement’). Al has also laid a (legitimate) complaint at the feet of God
Almighty to explain why those he loved the most suffered the most. His
political convictions were vocal and sincere, which further convinced me that
Al was the epitome of everything I was not; we were the two opposite sides of
the same coin. The cincture for me that providence arranged this was that Al
adopted me, I didn’t adopt him. Not only did he get me over the mountains, but
he taught me how to tenderize my heart. Is it even possible to have fun if you
have a stony heart calloused by self-pity?
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| Al & me at Monarch Pass, CO - Over the top! |
The
Rockies were behind us, the plains were before us. We were to sign in at a SAG
stop at an Air Park about five miles east of Cañon City. I pulled in, strangely
Al kept on going, and I never rode with him again until a stretch in Indiana and then the last eight mile
dash to the sea. I had graduated from the school of ‘Al’ and he was moving
on to ride with others that were more his speed and ability. I could write
books with heroes like Al in the lead roles. In fact, I plan on it.
Map and Pics: Click Here for Map and Pics.