Day 29: parting ways

Naturally, i didn't sleep much the night before (recovery days do that to me sometimes), so being over tired didn't help with the fact that it was sad to say "goodbye." I gotta say, it is not easy crying on a bike. It is actually very exhausting.

The morning was quiet, and it didn't take me long to realize that this was going to be a tedious, flat ride. Thankfully i have music to distract me from the monotony of the flat lands into horizons, and to distract me from the fact that i was now by myself, and this day had finally come.

I continued on Route 96, the same route that had tortured us on our way into Pueblo. On the other side of Pueblo, 96 didn't get much better, that is for sure, as there were still plenty of cracks in the road, and the wind didn't really want to help me along. Because it was "flat" (and i say that lightly; there are a fair share of rolling hills out here), I was holding steady at 17-19 mph. On the bike, I was not that bad I was able to get in a groove and meditate on the repetitive scenery. It was when I stopped to take a break that things became (and become) hard, as I was reminded that Lindsay wasn't there, and i was by myself now, (well, the flies couldn't wait to keep me company, and thought there should be a party), and the trip had suddenly taken on a new and foreign light.

Lindsay told me to download an app called "blip me" which is pretty much like a walkie talkie, but if you are busy when the other person tries to communicate, it saves it until you can listen to it. It is an awesome app, easier and more fun that texting as you get to talk to the other person. This is a godsend, and it is a way to keep the other person in the loop. For example, i was able to tell Lindsay that one of the locals in Ordway, where i thoroughly "enjoyed" beefaroni and a tuna pouch, had told me that i would be a bunch of tarantulas as I headed farther East. She was able to hear the fear and outrage in my voice. There, was one point that i was leaving her a message about something or other and was snacking on Sports Beans for energy, and her response was "ooh wow, thanks, i definitely missed the sound of you chewing." There is a lot of fun to be had with this thing.
Eastern Colorado is barren. There are fields that go on forever. I did see a prairie dog on my way out of Pueblo, which I loved! What curious little creatures, they are, starring, without movement, absorbing its surroundings. I thought it was interesting that it didn't even flinch as a tractor trailer went barrelling by.

Outside of Pueblo was a Small town called Boone. There was a small convenient store, a small park that was being mowed, but there was nothing much going on. There was maybe one store that was shut down of the 3 in the town. What i didn't realize was it would be the most kept up and loved in town that i would see... For miles.

On my map it lists what services each town has, if any, so you can plan accordingly for food and water. The problem was, is that the hardly existed any more. They were barren, deserted, and dusty as the fields that surrounded them. It was sad. Very few people lived in the houses, must if which were falling down. These towns were starving for rejuvenation, and so were the few people I saw. It reminded me of how lucky i was, and really was thankful of where I grew up and the strong sense of community that I was able to be a part of.

I stopped for lunch in Ordway, with a population of 1080, the biggest in a while. I ate outside of a grocery store where i could get an avocado. It was the first time i had to enter a store with my panniers and my bike with no one to watch it. I locked my bike up, obviously, but it was networking that the rest off my stuff could easily be taken off my bike. Everybody was so friendly. They were shocked that i was coming from San Fran, and even more shocked that i was alone. The interaction with these people was very refreshing. Ordway was honestly in no better shape than it's neighboring towns as far as dusty store fronts go; there were just more of them and blended in a bit better.

The fields go on forever and there is nothing growing in them, not even grass, and then it looks as though the Earth just drops off as the land hits the horizon.  There was one point when I stopped to get water and looked around. There were no birds, no cows, no horses... Nothing but brown dirt, baking in the sun. I'm pretty sure i had given the flies that surrounded me a ride from miles back. There were no cars. The wind made three dried thistle weed crackle together. The only thing that was full of life was me. It was a sobering reality, and a pretty incredible one at that when i took a moment to really feel what that felt like.

I battled with the heat for most of the day. The roads were absurd and frustrating with the surface, but i was making good time. I pretty much absorbed my surroundings, and filled the emptiness with my thoughts. I had no idea what the next town would bring, if there was a place to get ice water. I had no way of knowing, and there was nothing i could do about it, so instead of worrying about it, i just concentrated on what was happening then... What the wind was doing, what the birds or cows were doing (if there were any), what i was doing. It was wonderful.

When my farther was sick, it felt as though all of the control i had and stability in my life slipped away as I watched my best friend slowly deteriorate. It was frightening, and scary, and I found myself to be a bit lost. It has been a struggle since then to try to maintain balance and get my control back, (of my life, that is, i don't see myself to be a controlling person with others). I have learned throughout this journey that on a day to day basis, the only thing that i have control over is how much food i have, how much water i have, my attitude, and what i am doing at that single moment. Everything else is a mystery, the weather, the wind direction and strength, what services are provided in the towns, traffic, road conditions, hills, where i will be staying, the route i am taking, what other people are doing around me... And most of those are subject to change. Plans i make for the day usually don't follow through.  So, i have thrown my hands up, raised the white flag, and given up on worrying about these things that are outside of my control, for the first time in my life. It is liberating. I am not stuck in the future, in the game of "what ifs" and "back up plans," because they usually don't work either on this trip and just provokes unnecessary anxiety. I have found myself living in the present moment. I am content, and I love the freedom, i love paying attention to "what is" instead of what "will" or "could be."

I think that not "living in the moment" is a product of our culture, the anxiety of what is to come is a product of such a fast paced society.

Steve Foster was most definitely a man who lived for every moment, and I think that is what drove his passion for photography. He was always taking pictures. Cindy, his wife, told me after he passed away that he had climbed a mountain one day that he frequented and he ran into a friend of Cindy's at the summit, who told Cindy this story. Apparently, they were chatting and Steve was mid-sentence when he said "i have to take a picture of this" (by this he meant the mountains. She looked and asked him why. His response was "because this moment will never happen again." While those words have influenced me to stop more often than not and take a picture, and to notice how things change over moments as the sun is setting or rising, they have come to take on a deeper meaning as i have continued on this great adventure. Take those moments for all that they are worth while they are happening, and it seems the world will slow down, and you notice what is going on around you.

At one point I passed a farm that had small fenced in areas, back to back with far too many cows in each. I didn't notice this at first and at first glance i only really saw the cows, and cracked up thinking about what Lindsay would say about the smell, and thought back to get earlier comment about the farm threw other day.  Then it sunk in and I realized that these tiny pastures went on forever, and there were hundreds of cows in them, grazing on nothing. It was completely gross and inhumane and disturbing. I have heard about these "feeding farms," and never wanted to see one... They are everywhere..more on that later.

I rolled into Eads at around 530, after 112 miles. There was a fair in town, as well as a school reunion, and at first i was told that there was no vacancy at the only hotel in town, and there was nothing for miles. I was then told that there was one room available, and i thought he had said $150, upstairs. Starving, i went to go too a cafe to eat and see if i could stay at the police station (camping is out of the question per my mother, and i respect and understand her request) I called the hotel back and leaned that the room was for $50... Whoops... The guy lashed at me when I told him what i thought he said, and he was said " i don't have a single room in this place that is worth close to that, even on the busiest weekend of the year." He let me fill up my water bottles with his water and his sons helped me carry my bike up the stairs, and asked me if i was crazy, because of how heavy it was. I told them yes, a little. They were so nice. Everybody I interacted with was.

It had been a long day, and an emotional I've at that. It was nice to know that it was over, and i got through it. The first day is always the toughest.