7/2/11 The chiq fashions of the organic farmer

Blanding to Dolores

Relatively easy and rolling terrain to Dolores today. No majors climbs, which is a great relief. Found a dollar taco joint in the middle of nowhere. (What up, Columbus.) Stopped in for Chris to get a Coke and some ice cream. Believe me when I say that these are the two things we fantasize most about while riding in the heat everyday. Giant mirages appear on the horizon: a banana split, a gin and tonic, a pina colada. They taunt you in the distance next to a herd of cows.

We landed at the Cozy Comfort RV park, which turned out to be both. The owner, Tony, is an Englishman and a motorcycle enthusiast. He is also the "Senior Amateur Motocross Champion" from 2006-present, which i suppose makes him the oldest and newest in the sport. He is a delightful man and looks not unlike my Uncle Rummy. He is shirtless and smoking with a potbelly and a touch of sunburn. He instructs us to have dinner at the Dolores River Brewery. We shower and prepare to head over. But not before a half hour conversation with my entire Kraft Fam, who is all together and having a blast on the fourth of july weekend. Sniff sniff. It's hard when your family is the best.

The brewery is funky and fun. Filled with young folks who have just gotten back from a climbing, hiking or fishing. Now that we are in Colorado, it seems that everyone is an adventure junky with a beard and a tan. The beer is great. There is a cat that belongs to the bar wandering around. Children are playing in the grass. Rich kids in their twenties are dressed like Ralph Lauren designed a line just for organic farming.

Johnny and Matty arrive not long after and join us for beer. We have not yet really had a night on the town together. Most nights, our idea of a party is sharing an avocado at a picnic table while smacking horse flies off our heads. Johnny buys us all more beer than we know what to do with. We play trivial pursuit and meet some people that are in town to climb. Matty, after two beers, delights us with an impersonation of one of his female inner city students, complete with sassy hand waving. Things devolve quickly when Johnny tries to prove his man strength and lifts Chris and I at the same time. Matty, in his great wisdom, retired to his tent and we moved on to the other bar. (The only other bar.)

Let's just say that the "Hollywood Bar" is sadly lacking in glamour. Much like bars in the ski towns in New York, the crowd is divided into toothless locals on Harley's and rich kids on vacation. Johnny orders shots and dances with both groups. I chat up some local dudes who refer to the next pass we must cycle as "totally gnarly". Great.

After I see the situation going to pot, I turn my bike lights on and cruised to my little slice of RV park. This was the best part of my day. Big fat street with two bikes lanes. No traffic, street lights. Just stars and the sound of a river. I could never live here, unless I wanted to work at the whole foods grocery store. But for one night, pretending I do is a real treat.

6/30/11 The Griswolds

Hanksville to Hite

Today was another testament to the triumph of the human spirit. Ok, maybe it wasn't that hard. But it was nasty. The 50 mph winds that Ted predicted came true. A storm came within the first our of the ride and tested our rainproof gear. It works. I do, however, wish I had a motorcycle jacket when that rain hits. Lord, almighty. Imagine a full body sunburn coupled with being shot with a paint ball gun.

Despite the hard day and winding roads, we arrived early at Hite recreation area. A water filled canyon, now called Lake Powell. Completely desolate. All of the camps had been blown down. Not a boat in sight. I decide that anywhere is a good spot to change into a bathing suit, being that we are on Mars. Just moments after this cavalier move, a pack of boy scouts and a caravan of Griswolds pull in. Jeepers.

Chris and I took a swim in the icy cold, chocolate milk lake. Tried to wash ourselves, our bike shorts and our pots and pans. Now everything is redbrown and probably will be for some time. Whatever tan I think I might have is actually just dirt.

I changed a flat while Chris went to the only gas station for fifty miles to get Corona and eggs. Best. Dinner. Ever. After wolfing down a carton of eggs and cooling our beers between drift wood in the lake, the Griswolds invited us for cocktail hour.

Six to seven full sized motor homes and old rodeo rigs convered in to beer storage were rallied into a circle for the only shade possible in the barren desert. We met Dawn, a forty something full figured lady with a tan and a grin. Boisterous, fun woman. A self proclaimed ex-rodeo girl. The kind of woman who actually slaps her knee when something is funny. We were encouraged to help ourselves to the beer, which we did until we felt fully assimliated. The beer trailer was previously a stall for horses. Now stocked with six coolers and four kegs, sealed with housing insulation. There is just no way they could drink this in four days.

Matt and Johnny arrived in the dark, as usual. But just in time for free beer and bratwurst. (Which Johnny has never heard of) Chatted with the Gray family for several hours. So nice to just sit and eat and drink and relax. Simple pleasures taken for granted in daily life are treasured here on the road.

6/29/11 "We met some strangers. They're taking us to see gremlins. Or something."

Torrey to Hanksville

Enjoyed a short and spectacular ride through Capitol Reef this morning, complete with rainbow and other bits of nature's majesty. Mostly downhill so we were free to zip about and enjoy the view of dynamic red rock spires. We stopped to get a close look at the petroglyphs. Surpringly, this was a highlight for me. Typically I breeze by the historical parts in favor of natural vistas and a silent bike ride. But, I was really in awe of the bizzare stories told in the walls of the cliff. Many of the stories involve deer, antelope and men with crazy shaped heads. But they also include mystical swirlies that are hypothesizes to represent shaman and spirit creatures.

Met two English cyclists in the morning. They were chipper and both looked like Harry Potter. Sorry, but it's true. They told us Hite, our next destination was, "Total shite. Nothing there." Swell. We have had more than our fill of "nothing there". The terror of running out of food and water has been a looming cloud. Not to mention, absence of a shower after a 70 mile ride can cause your tent to smell like a stable.

We made it to Hanksville in the early morning and considered pushing on. But Ted, the owner of a lovely campground/steakhouse, instructed us not to go. He said the winds were gusting up to 50 and the heat by the afternoon would be well into the hundreds.

Ahhhh, lovely Hanksville. You can...sit on a picnic table, stare at the road. You can watch the townspeople get their mail anx groceries on four wheelers. You can walk through a gravel park loaded with house boats from the 80's that has become a make shift RV park. Believe me when I say, there is nothing more depressing or surreal than seeing people come out of the top deck of a rusted house boat in the middle of the desert. I want to shout, "How was the fishing today?"

Chris and I decided to sit in the steakhouse for the majority of the afternoon. Crippling heat and walls of mosquitos kept us too scared to enjoy the four square feet of watered lawn in this desert town.

We came upon a couple we had met at a grocery store in Torrey. They have been out in the mountains, camping and hiking for some time; really roughing it. Glenn and Leslie are both teachers. We find that this is one of two answers given when people are travelling in the summer. The other is: We are European. We have lunch with the two of them and afterwards they offer to drive us out to the Goblins, a oddly shaped group of rock formations just a bit out of town.

Riding in their dusty VW station wagon, packed to the gills with camping and cycling gear, I am experiencing one of those times my mother has taught me to embrace. I'm having a perfect moment. I am in the exact place I want to be. There is enough cloud cover to make all the mesas and buttes change color completely. Glenn and Leslie tell stories of teaching and how they met. Chris talks about his final project as an Eagle Scout.

We arrive at the Goblins. They are spectacular. A proper playground. A million places to hide and climb. And so we do. We wander for a bit, but know that the bikes and our entire lives are sitting behind a laundromat, so we head back. On the drive back to town, Leslie magically spots an antelope from the car. We get out and inch into the field to get a better look. A rustle from our walking stirs him and we see, as they stand, one by one, that there are nine! I have just become a photographer for National Geographic. My heart is jumping. Leslie manages to get several excellent photos.

We return to the campsite and part ways. How lucky we are to come upon such cool people on a daily basis. I lugged a stinking pile of clothes that had nearly grown limbs and walked away and took them to the laundry, where I met Mario, another west bound cyclist. Mario, a sun soaked dude with a mop of shiny black hair, told me about riding the south, up from Florida. I asked him if he got lonely, travelling alone everyday. He said it was, indeed, lonely. I can't fathom it. I am riding with three other people and I'm still lonely. He told me about going fishing in the Rockies. Sounded like a good time.

Chris and I attempted to retire but only after a full blown war against the mosquitos. I look like I have the chicken pox. It's grizzly. Slept directly behind the restaurant, which was a totally poor choice. Drunk men on ATVs came tearing through the gravel at three in the morning. Get this: fighting about the existence of god. Thanks a lot guys. You couldn't do this in your home? Strangle.

We're leaving this godless land as early as possible tomorrow morning.