Mmm sausage and "egg rounds" to start the start the day, courtesy of the Super 8. By egg rounds i mean flat, circular yellow slabs of pre scrambled eggs (that is when you know it it's real). But, free protein and carbs in our bellies, we can't complain. Surprisingly, we got on the road by 8 am (Lindsay was the one to really get us out of bed... She asked the night before what the earliest we had been on the road was, and it was the might after we slept in the shower.. 730). It was 39° at that point, and luckily we had 32 miles to warm up before our big climb. We had originally thought that this 32 "warm up" would be just that... Nice and flat, maybe a tailwind, a long gradual climb to 8000 ft. We should know better by now that is never the case. There were some fantastic hills that fired up or leg muscles. We have finally learned (now that we no longer have them on our maps) that the elevation profiles aren't the most accurate. I also read, yesterday, on there that they don't account for most hills. Again, good to know after the fact... They made the hardest days harder... We still have to do them, it is just part of the mental game of finding what it takes to do them at the end of (and throughout) those days.
As we pushed through the hills we would stop to drink water and eat, and as the sun warmed us up, we noticed that the moon was still lingering in the sky behind us... At 8, 9, even 11 am. It was really beautiful, and the brightness of the moon was not quick to fade as the morning got older.
We got to Sargents at 11:15, Besides the all encompassing store (which is exactly 10 miles from the summit), there were RV hook ups and a "rustic" area behind the store with tipis (as they spell it out here) that tourists could explore, but that was pretty much Sargents.. Glad we didn't try to bike here the night before. Plus, trying to wake up our tired muscles with a climb to 11,312 feet is not a good way to start the day... In retrospect, I think i would rather be woken up with a jug if ice water thrown on me during winter. Warming up on a mountain simply isn't what i would call fun....
We enjoyed our usual lunch of tuna. This time we splurged for the tuna pouch, which weighs less and fits better in our overstuffed panniers. With the pouch comes an extra serving of tuna... Sounds great, right? Not so much. A typical can of tuna has two servings. Even dressed up with lemon and avocado, and only partially drained so your mouth doesn't completely dry up in the process, two servings of tuna can be a challenge. Three was a bit over the top. I know, the extra grams of protein sounds great, but it gets to a point when you have to ask yourself if it is worth it when you start shuttering a bit with the last few bites (Lindsay got a big kick out of this and it became even harder to eat as she was making me laugh and i was doing all that I could to keep it in my mouth... Like a lady)
Meanwhile, as we were getting through this meal (i was on can of beeferoni #2 after i bit in some "beef"that was rock solid, while Lindsay was enjoying premade chicken salad out of a can) we met some very nice people who we struck up conversation with. The first were a few motorcyclists who were headed west. Two of the men had recently lost a friend to brain cancer, and were thrilled about what we were doing. They also said that there should be a cold front in Kansas, so I wouldn't have another heat wave to endure.
Another couple we met owned a hotel and in Crusted Butte, Colorado (which is supposed to be gorgeous). They had the pleasure of meeting a lady who walked around the world (yes, walked) to raise money for breast cancer research. Pretty amazing. Apparently she wrote a book about her travels called "3 Mph." I look forward to reading it upon my return.
By noon we were off and headed up the biggest climb of our trip. We were pumped. I was trying to sort out all emotions... I just couldn't believe we were already here, and that physically we were able to do it. I was somewhat nervous about the effects from the altitude.. We had never been past 10500, and while we had been able to adjust and adapt to it with previous climbs, you always have to be cautious and wonder. But like every other mountain we have climbed, i forgot my fears and concentrated on a hill, or an object on the hill, told my legs to quit whining, and because of the elevation, it was more important that i listen to my body as a whole (and of course, i needed see how Lindsay was faring). Like every other climb, you forget about what lies ahead and you just do it. The hill isn't going to go away unless it is behind you.
At our first water break, the first thing that came out of Lindsay's mouth was "all i can smell is that awful chicken salad." that sucked any extra energy i had in me with laughter. Often times both of us try to distract ourselves in the middle of a climb, and inevitably our minds fall back on an hilarious moment that we have had. While it is a joyous thing, it can be crippling because as we laugh out loud in the process we get weak and sometimes have to stop, or think of something else really quickly--even if it is about the hill that we are climbing--so we don't lose momentum.
As we approached 9000 feet, i started getting slightly headed. It didn't help that there were sections that didn't have guard rails and looking down at the endless rows of pine trees made my head spin even more. We stopped for water at this incredible overlook and sat on some rocks. Lindsay said something to make me laugh really hard and all of a sudden a realized I was weaker than normal and felt drunk. I was extremely nervous at this point, as all i could think about was we are only at 9000 ft right now, how am i going to make it to over 11200? We laid there a minute, trying to absorb the energy from the sun. I looked at Lindsay, (who was not yet feeling the altitude as much as i was) and told her we should maybe try for another mile and see how it goes (we had 6 more miles until the summit).
Clamoring back on to our bikes, i noticed that there was a lovely tailwind coming up the mountain. At that moment, i started telling myself that the breeze was blowing me oxygen, and i should take slow deep breaths as i was pedaling to take it all in, fill my lungs up, before it passed me by. And that is seriously how I got up the rest of the mountain. To a passerby it may have sounded like I was gasping, but focusing on my breathing was meditative... I feel like I tricked my body into adjusting to the thinning oxygen environment. The climb wasn't easy and i was still out of breath, but i was able to use this approach to appreciate done symptoms. (definitely tasted the remnants of the tuna and beeferoni a few times, can't say that it helped the situation) We calculated that we climbed about 330 ft with every mile (rough estimation). On our last mile, we hurried to catch our breath because we just wanted finish it, to accomplish what it was we set it to do this map, this trip. We were so close. As far as the climb itself goes, we have faced more difficult hills. The altitude was the most challenging obstacle. Physically, every other climb we have done had prepared us for this mountain. It was just a matter of bringing it all together.
We caught a great tail wind that took us up 90% of the the way there, and with one tenth of a mile, just as the summit sign was in view, we got one of the strongest head winds yet, and we had to work so hard for those last few feet. By the time i got, off my bike, in front of the sign i felt life my windpipe had closed and i was wheezing, and i think partially because i had a lump of pride in my throat. As Lindsay and i high fived, a car going in the other direction pulled over and rolled down the window and congratulated us. A lady came out from the RV behind the sign and started asking us questions and took our picture for us. While she was doing so, i was holding my breath so i could smile, and as she was taking the picture i thought for a moment that i was going to pass out from being so light headed. The longer we stayed at the summit, the easier it got. It is amazing how our bodies recover and adapt.
Motorcyclists stopped us and wondered how much weight we were carrying and many of them were amazed that we had come from San Francisco. In our reality, the farther we have made it from San Francisco, the more we had gotten in a routine of living sleeping and eating, if you will, biking and the farther it seems San Francisco is. Our reality was one day at a time, and it is hard for me, still, to sit here and fathom that we got here from San Francisco, over 1500 miles away on our bikes, with our legs, our muscles, our own will. It certainly took grit, determination, and each other. From comments that have been made, i gather that what strikes most people is that two girls are doing this by themselves and carrying their own gear, and most of them haven't even thought about riding a bike in a long time. What they don't know its how we got here, what we went through to get to the top of this mountain.
My sister, whom I'm very grateful for, gave me a beautiful card before i boarded the plane to fly to San Francisco and she included a quote by Frederick Douglass that has become very fitting for this journey: "Without struggle there is no progress." We struggled everyday, in one way or another, mentally, physically, even both. What's more is that we struggled together, we picked each other up, everyday, without thought, and we took turns doing so. The fact of the matter was that neither of us actually knew what we were getting into... The mountains, the grades, weather, the number and intensity of climbs in the desert. Quite honestly, I hadn't even thought of altitude sickness. So yes, each day was a struggle, and while it was most definitely unbeknownst to us at the time, it was also progress, progress we made together. Each day got is closer to that mountain. So at this summit sign at 11,312 ft above sea level, almost 4 weeks after we started this journey, nothing sounds sweeter than the words we could finally say: "We did it."
We stayed on top of the mountain for quite some time, trying to regain strength through ice cream and nachos as our oxygen saturation tried to normalize. We each got a pair of small tear drop studs that were hand crafted, with turquoise and opal (they had a huge gift shop there). Lindsay and I have plans to get second holes pierced in our ears when I ride through Rochester, NY, and when they are healed enough wear these earrings all of the time, so everyone we see them we can be reminded what we did to get them.
At this point i think out is worth mentioning that the name of this pass, the biggest one of the trip, was Monarch's Pass. As i have mentioned before, my family has formed a connection with Steve and butterflies. It's hard to put our biggest mountain with that name and call it a coincidence-- I'm not going to. And, on the way down, there was not a cloud in the sky.
It took us an hour to go descend the mountain, 4000 feet in elevation over 26 miles. And as we were rolling into subway we hit our 1500 mile mark. 11 miles later, taking us to 79 for the say, we were in Howard, trying to find a place to stay, and ended up having little service. i don't think i have slept that well in a while.
Tomorrow I will write about our last day riding together, finishing the Adventure Cycling Association's Western Express trail in Pueblo, CO, a total of 1606 miles, and our recovery day. Tomorrow Lindsay goes home, and the journey takes a new turn. And to touch on something that will be elaborated on tomorrow, she will be greatly missed. And while i know that physically she will no longer be able to partake, this is a journey that we started together and in one way or another we will finish together. I am not sure what tomorrow will bring, our how the next few weeks will unfold, but what i do know for certain is that life on the road will not be the same without her.
So Kansas, here i come, and let the tailwinds blow me home.
Drive safely, Lindsay.
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