Today: 70.7 Miles - AVG Speed 12.2MPH – Top Speed 38.6MPH
Total: 3,386.2

Be prepared for some statistics here, things are about to get mathematical.

Today was a day of extreme variations and a reminder of the harsh realities of cycling. Before today, my highest constant climb had been approximately 2,500 feet and that was after 5 days in Maine. I also had a few days of 5,000+ feet of climbing in The Ozarks, but the ascents were matched by glorious downhills to give my legs some respite. Today would be approximately 4,000ft of climbing, but it would be constant for 15 miles where the peak would be over two miles above sea level. By far the longest uphill of the trip and, unsurprisingly, my life.

The early morning sun lit up Salida and the temperature was a comfortable 85 Fahrenheit (29 celsius) I knew this would drop considerably as I made the long and arduous ascent up Monarch Mountain, but at least the sun was shining. There were headwinds to battle early on, but my most serious concern was the traffic. For a state that is held in such high regard for it’s promotion of the outdoor lifestyle, from what I’ve seen, Colorado has very few provisions for cyclists, and this includes a decent width shoulder on the way to the Monarch Pass. This lack of foresight for vulnerable cyclists combined with the disregard from motorists, in particular RV owners, made for a day of not only physical exertion, but also mental strain, the fear of being driven into a ravine or crushed against a rock face leading me to constantly arch my neck and pull over whenever I deemed it a risk. 

The next battle was with the altitude. After about 8,500 feet I began to notice the thinning of the air and had to pay close attention to my breathing, the lack of oxygen was severely limiting my muscle movement and despite the gradient on the climb not being as steep as The Ozarks or The Green Mountains this caused a much greater strain on my body. With six miles to go I found myself stopping every other mile for water so as not to be gasping for breath whilst drinking in motion. After three hours of slow and steady climbing I reached the summit of 11,312 feet and immediately noticed the chill in the air upon disembarking from my steed. It is not uncommon to have snow closures on this pass even in July, so goose-pimpled knackers were the least to be expected. I stopped for 15 minutes to get some breath and pictures before taking a good look at the map and realising that it would be a steep downhill for 10 miles followed by a constant decline in elevation for the next 32 miles all the way to Gunnison. Glorious, or so I thought.

The initial descent was exhilarating. After a climb of that magnitude, the thrills of going at speed down a winding mountain with views to die for is the stuff of fantasy. But it was after the gradient lessened that the views that greeted me also surprised me. No longer was I looking at sharp, alpine like mountains, but instead, rolling green hills dotted with cattle and streams. It was as if I had just left Switzerland for the Brecon Beacons. And with the apparent change in nation, came a certain change in weather. The storms clouds weren’t so much gathering as jostling for prime position in the skies above. Lightning rods struck the ground with increasing regularity and then the heavens opened. And they didn’t stop for the next two hours. No wonder this country has so many god-fearing citizens. Every-time someone farts during a sermon there must be at least one weekly storm in the local area that could be construed as punishment from on-high, that or continued drought. There is apparently no such thing as drizzle in the Land of the Free.

By the time I arrived in Gunnison I was again, soaked through, but felt fortunate to find The Wanderlust hostel, and it is from here that I type under my Navajo Indian bed linen with aching legs. No doubt looking like a pallid and agonised Pocahontas.

Today: 66.8 Miles – AVG Speed 14.9MPH - Top Speed 40.1MPH
Total: 3,315.9

Our final morning together was spent over a very lazy two-hour breakfast before departing for our final 10 miles as a group, and despite the sadness at our impending parting it felt great to finally hit some of the first sustained climbs since New York. I hadn’t noticed how much my legs had craved the raw burn. They were like a man who had settled for a life of monotonous missionary horseplay with a bland lover before finally seeing the light after an unexpectedly passionate rendezvous with a forthright PVC adorned mistress from his forgotten past; potentially dangerous if treated without caution, but a masochistic pleasure when dealt with correctly.

We finally reached our literal and metaphorical fork in the road just outside of the belly the Southern Rockies. I was sad to see them go, but also incredibly excited about these new frontiers that awaited me. I have been anticipating The Rockies and Utah from day one so my excitement was bubbling over. We hugged and had some final photos before our farewells and then came the long goodbye as the team waved me off as they watched me take my left turn, and with that casual lean into the wind, that was that. I was alone once again. But what an incredible blanket of comfort awaited me.

As soon as I made my departure I was confronted with some of the most spectacular views I have ever seen. The road I was travelling was built parallel to the Arkansas River where I watched rafters and canoeists make their way down the unpredictable course, waving at them as they played with danger and thrills. The cliff faces of red and grey rock jutted out on to the road, imposing their gnarled features as I traversed the winding highway. In the distance I could see faded mountain-tops, with each range in closer proximity to me revealing more detail in the personality of these giant, patriarchal, ancient figures. I was blown away by what I was seeing. I had managed my expectations of beauty and the magnificent well thus far so as not to be disappointed, but here, I was dumbfounded and if I had a companion, I would've been rendered speechless. My mind overcome with the purity of joy and my heart beating with the excitement. I had not a worry in the world for the rest of the afternoon. When you realise your insignificance in the face of such imposing geological scenery and well over a billion years of history, solipsistic concerns fade away.

When I arrived in Salida I discovered there was a bike race in town so all accommodation was booked up, I eventually found a free state campground on the Arkansas River and this is from where I type now. The wind blowing and the sun retreating but my mood flying. Tomorrow comes The Monarch Pass at over 11,000 feet. It’ll be a long gradual climb into the low temperatures followed by a glorious descent and I’m eager to get going. At this moment, I wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else in the world. This place is truly sublime.

Today: 44.1 Miles - AVG Speed: 13.2MPH - Top Speed: 38.6MPH
Total: 3,249.10

We had yesterday off for Annie’s birthday and wasted no time in scoping out the perfect place to eat. Eric befriended the local bike shop owner Dane and his pal Previn who told us to head to the official Coors bar and indulge in the Slopper. The Slopper is a local Pueblo delicacy unavailable anywhere else. This fine dish consisted of two triple patty burgers swimming in a green chilli sauce. My words can't do this magnificent meal justice. It may be the most satisfied I’ve ever been when eating, and if I’m ever (wrongfully) convicted of a heinous crime and sentenced to death then the British roast may have a run for its money in the last meal stakes. The only downside of this is that the birthday girl is a vegetarian. Still, her nachos looked good, I suppose.

This morning we all gingerly departed Pueblo after lunch as some of us weren’t at 100% after the nights festivities. The day was spent gradually climbing towards The Rockies and as they drew ever closer, the teams excitement grew louder, characterised by screams and whoops to signify their delight at finally leaving the flats of Eastern Colorado. We had some scenery at last, and boy was it imposing. The skies began to turn grey and the clouds began to form ominous coalitions in the sky, tossing down thunderbolts into the mountains that were barely 2 miles from where we observed the violence. It was awe inspiring, but the storms soon came towards us and before long we were wetter than a parched otter who’d just stumbled upon a Gatorade packaging plant. After stopping for our umpteenth Mexican meal together we decided it safest to get a motel, I had no small part to play in this decision, I’d learnt my lessons about camping in the wet up in New Hampshire. As the sun went down the temperatures dropped and it was now noticeable that we were the best part of 6,000 feet above sea level. The motel decision was vindicated.

The six of us all crammed into one room like some kind of sweat-drenched nursery rhyme and it was here that we spent out last night together howling with laughter and checking our stats. We had rode 1,300 miles with each other since Missouri and that is a large chunk of our trip together. I was sad that tonight would be our last evening as a team, but I was truly happy that I was able to spend so much time with this wonderful, giving group who always made me feel part of their clique. But, this is a solo ride, and after breakfast tomorrow, it will be so again. I just hope I don’t get any more punctures along the way. Eric was bloody good at fixing them.

Today: 142.1 Miles - Avg Speed - 16.9 MPH - Top Speed - 27.2MPH
Total: 3,205.9

Hola, Como Esta? I have reached my first Latin named town, do you think I’m going to fit in? Well, if I don’t, I’m pretty sure Betty will. Her ability to blend in with the locals in any place at any time is quite remarkable. I just have to make sure we don’t stay too long. We’ve got things to do for Christ sakes.

The day began in Sheridan Lake. A whopping grand town of 69 people, one convenience store and, somewhat disappointingly, no lake. We had spent our recovery day here in the church as a guest of Pastor Virgil Cristofferson. Yes, that is the best name I’ve ever heard, too. Well, it was until I met his children Vance and Von James, anyway. And not forgetting the very talkative 9 year old Victoria. You may notice a V theme emerging here. I'm not sure if its an omen from the beyond, but I began to get nervous as each subsequent V-name was reeled off.

We didn’t have much to do in Sheridan Lake, but that was fine by us after our 200 mile day. We needed all the rest we could get. But they say that the wicked don’t like to rest, and wicked we are, so today, we pressed on.

After 10 miles or so we began to make some steady climbs and we knew we were finally leaving the farmlands. The higher plains and drier fields really made us feel like we were Out West. Or getting there, at least. We eventually plateaued and hit many long stretches of road with only the grey asphalt, blue skies, green grass and sand-stones as the colours that greeted us. It didn’t feel particularly hot as we had good tailwinds and low-humidity for most of the day, but we were, in fact, riding through 103 Fahrenheit (39 Celsius) temperatures. It wasn’t that we weren't sweating, it was just that the heat was evaporating the stuff so quickly that we didn’t notice it.

We eventually caught up with the girls in Sugar City, Colorado. A town which had no claim to fame in the sweetening world. I must say I really am beginning to get a little riled by these misleading town names, I still have high hopes for Busty Maidenville, Utah, though, a man needs a dream. Anyway, we decided that it would be folly to waste the tailwinds and that we should push on to Pueblo, a city of 100,000 people. Eat that Sheridan Lake. But what really mattered was that it had bars and we were thirsty, plus it was Annie’s birthday so a celebration was in order.

We were pushed along by the winds and the sunset was truly beautiful as the red sky lit up the mixture of lush green rock faces and arid, dust filled land. The only blip was when I ran over a live snake. Poor bugger was on the road and I was chatting to Josh when I heard the distinctive squelch under my tyres. I felt bad, but then how dumb was the snake for negotiating a busy highway during rush-hour? Very dumb, I'd say.

We eventually arrived in Pueblo at nightfall and checked into The Travellers Motel. We had clocked 142 Miles today. This was my second longest ride just two days after my first. It was another great feeling, but we'll have a day off tomorrow as it was a tough one today, and also, it will be our final day together as a team as my friends begin to head up north along the continental divide whilst I skip over the thing. The Rockies are calling my name, and I'm told it could be as little as 40 Fahrenheit (5 Celsius). That should cool me down.

Today: to be revealed - AVG Speed: 15.2MPH - Top Speed: 27 MPH
Total: 3,053 Miles

We have departed Kansas and much quicker than expected. We wanted to be going early so we were chirping earlier than a horny robin in order to beat the potential morning winds. At the very least we wanted to enjoy the afternoon in our projected destination of Scott City, Kansas, which was some 115 miles away from Larned. Eric and I left about 30 minutes after the rest of the group and the first 32 miles or so were spent travelling through the mist and fog of the Kansas prairie lands. The morning was far better than the previous days as firstly we had a tail wind, but also, because the landscape took on a more haunting appearance. It was like cruising through a crushed-flat version of the Scottish Highlands. Variations in colour from the burnt cornfields, to the golden wheat via purple weeds seemed so dramatic and infinite. There was even the odd turn in the road. 

Eric and I soon caught up with Josh and Kevin and made our way to Ness City. We were enjoying a very pleasant and incident free journey until Kevin remarked on the police siren that was screaming behind us. We pulled over to allow the car to pass, but to our surprise, the breaks were slammed on, and before we knew it, the officer exited the vehicle and confidently strutted over to the four lycra-clad whipping boys in his sights. 

"Dy'all know why I pulled you over here today?" asked officer T. Turner (according to the name on his badge). 

"No, officer" we lied. 

Of course we knew. Clearly, it was due to us not riding in single file, but later we discovered this wasn't illegal in Kansas, it was just that some angry pick-up pilot had called the authorities on us because we had delayed them from getting home to pray by three minutes. Well, after some laughable condescension from this deplorable, swaggering bully we were on our way and finally ready for lunch. We'd been going the best part of 60 miles and had hardly eaten, but before we could, there was one final interruption...

...As we were entering Ness City a blue SUV screeched to a halt and the driver exited the vehicle. This time, an elderly civilian. 

"One of you stop!" shouted the man. 

As he came closer I was again left wondering who we'd inadvertently upset and why, but he turned out to be an eccentric local named Lee who proceeded to generously donate one dollar to the four of us before taking it back after discovering I was British. And then finally, after seeing my American flag, returning the dollar. It was a bizarre interaction made all the weirder as we watched his wife sit motionless inside their car, but he cheered us right up, did Lee. Mad as a hatter but as warm as an old microwaved sock and just as rugged. My kind of loon.

A few minutes later outside the restaurant we met an American couple of 70 and 69 who were also going across the country, but on a tandem. I only wish we caught their actual names. All I knew is that they were "The Sullivans" as per the daubing on their suitcase. They were great conversationalists, and what I liked most about them were how their personalities defied their age. They were active both mentally and physically and God, if I reached those advanced years I’d love to still be doing these trips. Admittedly with more hotels and a woman half my age as a companion, but the principal remains.

Well, I believe meeting this couple inspired our most dedicated cyclist Josh into achieving his dream. He started looking at the map and after our next break at 5pm in the town of Deighton he proclaimed it possible, with the wind, to finally hit our sought after 200 mile day. I was sceptical, but ready for the challenge, and the rest of the guys had a similar guarded enthusiasm. This would require night riding and a possible post-midnight finish, but the idea was too real for any of us to reject. We went for it. Stopping after 24 miles for fuel, and after another 25 for a dinner. In fact, it was Brinner; they say breakfast is the most important meal of the day so what difference does it make if we eat it in the morning or the evening? Come 9:30 PM we'd had about 15 eggs between us and just 55 miles to go and began to make good pace as night fell and the full moon cast our shadows across the road. The darkness broken only by the constant flashing of red and white lights. We arrived at the Colorado border at 11:33pm, had a beer to celebrate leaving Kansas, then continued on for the final 15 miles of the journey. When we arrived at our destination we were still 3 miles short of the double century, so we did a loop of the town to even things up. We had finally arrived at 1:10am local time (02:10 Central time). We had done it. The 200 mile day. The milestone reached. We felt delirious, exuberant and shattered. 

This is ostensibly a solo trip, but today was all about teamwork. We wouldn’t have achieved this without each other’s support and the sense of collective accomplishment is one of the greatest I have ever felt. 

To top this, I hit the 3,000 mile mark of the trip, and most importantly, we are OUT of Kansas. 

So, Dorothy, Toto, Superman, Tyson Gay, Kirstie Alley, Dwight Eisenhower, Wyatt Earp, allow me to say: your State took one hell of a beating.

The day in numbers:

Counties: 7

States: 2

Timezones: 2

Miles: 200.03 

Total miles: 3,053 

Time in Saddle: 13.10:20

Today 58 Miles - Avg Speed - Top Speed 21.2MPH
Total: 2,850.10 Miles

Wind is the cyclist’s purist nemesis. Heat, climbs, and snow are all enemies of the two-wheeled pedal pusher, but wind is, by far, the most brutal of foes. It is a remorseless element that treats your face like a Lonsdale punch bag and just when you think there is some mercy it hits you with an absurdly accurate flurry of punches to leave you feeling powerless and forlorn to the point of despair. This was how we felt today.

Normally when cycling there are twists and turns which at least mean some changes in direction, and therefore, the wind it is not always in your face, but in Kansas that is not the case, the roads are as straight as an ornament collecting Hetty Wainthrop Investigates fan and to top it, there are very few obstructions, natural or man-made, to defy it’s relentless energy. This was today. Straight into my face, it was.

We pedalled and pedalled exerting twice the energy, whilst receiving half the benefits and in addition, there is nothing of interest to distract from the howling gales. The landscape is barely deserving of the name. it is an expanse of nothing. The eye will follow a water tower for 10 miles whilst the brain cries out for stimulation, but all you can think of is the wind.

After 58 miles of this, Eric and I arrived, beaten and dejected, to the municipal pool in Larned, Kansas where Jeanne, Annie and Liz had been for 4 hours due to their early start. They also informed us the wind had been non-existent at dawn. Our lesson has been learned here. Tomorrow will be an early start.

To help soothe our battered faces and minds we indulged in a Mexican feast on the food boulevard. It was a decent meal, except for the enormous puddle on the ceramic dining room floor, which gave me the feeling that I was eating my meal in the toilet of a Working Mens Club in Bradford. All it needed was a warm pint of ale and the differences would’ve been imperceptible.

Anyway, back at another pavilion now. Wind-beaten, battered and hoping for a tailwind. Heck, even a crosswind is desirable at this stage.

62.3 Miles – Avg speed: 13.8 MPH – Top Speed – 21.8MPH
Total: 2,791.43

I know how this looks. Honestly, I do, but we had another day off yesterday. Please, before you call me out as some kind of fraud in the face of what may be perceived as laziness, allow me to explain: After I had finished my last entry I waddled off for some nutrition whilst awaiting the other riders to arrive. When I returned to the fire-station they were, unsurprisingly, waiting for me. Terrific, I thought, my pals are back and I don’t need to lie to myself by pretending to enjoy my own company anymore. Well, the guys told me not to worry about Betty’s issues as there was a new, non-advertised bike-shop in Newton who would not only work on BB, but also put us up for the night.

I packed my panniers and made the short journey to Newton Bike Shop where I met James and Joseph. James had just opened the shop 4 weeks ago and he said we were welcome to stay there and work on our bikes. Things were about to get geeky and boozy. The stereo was turned up to 11, and except for an unfortunate foray into the musical genre of “rap” we enjoyed a rowdy evening of very hard rock music whilst simultaneously removing the grime from our steeds. We were up until about 2am and it was the first time I had really engaged in the biking world, so to speak. James and the guys taught me much about the mechanics of bikes and, as a result, I learnt an awful lot. Perhaps one day this seed of knowledge will grow, so I too can open a bicycle shop in England and behave like a supercilious, sneering arse to every shy bike owner who walks through my doors with no idea how to fix it. That’s the dream, after all.

Well, Betty needed some extra work yesterday (new handlebars and tyres to be precise) so we got our hands dirty again. Later, we joined the weekly evening bike ride organised by James and his family that took us along the canal in Newton until we arrived at a coffee shop to see some live outdoor music and, with absolutely zero regard for the musician’s concentration and honour, had a competition to see who could ride a clown bike around the venue with the most grace. It was not I.

Today we were back on the road with a new addition in the form of muscle-bound Florida native Joe Sullivan. It was a return to the windy flats of Kansas, and that is really all can say about this place. It’s flat, hot, and windy. But at least that sky is still big.

We’re in another park and the mallards are swimming. It really is a beautiful night, and spoiled only by the sight of Eric hanging in my hammock. It’s as if Brian Blessed has just got back from a holiday to the sun and rocked up to perform an unwanted horizontal belly dance routine. And honestly, who’d want to see that.

Today 80.4 Miles  -Top Speed 23.2MPH  - AVG Speed – 15.5MPH
Total  2,719.75

I was back on my own today, I had to leave early as Betty needed some professional medical care and attention in the next destination of Newton, Kansas. I popped out for breakfast, and as ever, was roped into conversation. I got chatting to the owners, some elderly women and a local gent who was, oddly, an Aussie Rules Football fanatic who jumped with delight when he heard that I was from Australia, or at least thought he heard I had sounded like I was from Australia. I’m not, by the way, in case anyone is wondering. 

My breakfast had a name much like you might see on a cocktail list. "The Tornado" consisted of all the traditional US breakfast items such as biscuits (which are soft here), sausage and eggs, but then doused in a traditional white sausage gravy. After hoovering up this odd concoction of liquids and solids I began to make my way towards Newton, only to find myself in what is one of Kansas’ only non – plateaued regions known as the "Flint Hills". In addition to the unexpected climbs there were some early headwinds that left me struggling for breath more than a 70 year old smoker who'd just got off a treadmill in the Alps, but things improved in the afternoon as the winds died down and I grasped the opportunity to get moving so as not to get to Newton too late. It was around this time that the landscapes of Kansas began to resemble what I had anticipated; flat and monotonous basically, much like the Royal Variety Performance. What did strike me as beautiful during a 37 mile stretch of zero turns was the sky. The bloody enormous sky. Obviously the sky is always the same size, but with very few trees and even less undulation in the topography it seemed infinite. The various shadings from the highest point above my head to the horizon were enough to keep me entranced for hours, it felt truly humbling as the sheer size of nothing began to hit home. I can’t ever recall feeling so small in the universe as I did when I stopped for a few moments on that quiet country road. 

I arrived in Newton a little later than planned and was slightly disappointed to find the bike shop from my map to be not a shop, but a home, and as a result, the level of service Betty required was not available with this particular mechanic, which was no surprise considering his house would've looked more at home in a Crimewatch reconstruction than a copy of Cycling Weekly. So now I have decided to wait until the next town and I hope she’ll hold out. She is a warrior though, and we’ve been through so much together I’d be surprised if she just fell away at this stage. Stay strong girl, stay strong.

The final stretch took me to the nights accommodation which is a fire station at the entrance of town. A real one with big, red, flashy trucks and that. I had a tour from one of the fireman and met everyone, including the chief, and I feel like a kid again. I’m kind of hoping for a fire later actually, so I can watch them go at it, that or find a cat up a tree. Maybe I’ll go catch a moggy and glue it to a branch or something, which may seem harsh to you, but it’s better than arson.

124.3 Miles – AVG Speed 15.8MPH – Top Speed 32.MPH
Total: 2,639.30

Josh, Eric, Kevin and I were up early this morning. Somehow, I had been roped into the challenge of a 200 mile day. The romanticism of the idea had swept me off my feet like a sixteen year old girl who had been exposed to one too many Jennifer Aniston movies and nowhere near enough articles documenting her real personal life. Call it blind-faith, wish thinking or just plain old arrogance, but I thought I’d join them and take my chances.

Well, we started well enough, the first 60 miles or so taking us to lunch, but we were certainly behind schedule by some distance. The wind hadn’t been at our back as per a couple of days prior to this attempt and the land was not quite as flat as we had anticipated. With these factors in mind, we had decided to call off the idea and work at hitting an even 100 miles by reaching the town of Toronto, Kansas.

After some very straight roads, fairly obstructive headwinds and some gentle rolling hills we arrived in Toronto. A town must be particularly harrowing in order to spur on four tired men who had just completed a 100 mile day to attempt a further 25 to the next town, and unfortunately, Toronto was this. I’m not sure if anyone from Toronto, Ontario has actually been to it’s Kansas namesake, but I’m fairly sure they’d be red with fury if they discovered their city’s name had been appropriated by this waning town. For some reason, everything was closed except for the liquor store. We of course took advantage of this and had a beer whilst preparing ourselves for the final push to the next town of Eureka, but it was not enough to keep us in it’s grasp. It is fair to say, that except for Ashtabula (which was much larger) that Toronto was the most depressing place of the trip thus far. It had no real charm and looked in desperate need of a makeover. And soon enough, we were to meet some people who could help with that.

The four of us pedalled in racing formation for the next 20-odd miles to Eureka in order to arrive as quickly as possible. It was really rewarding to work as a team in this manner and we were all visibly exhilarated as we arrived in Eureka. The town had a similar feeling to Toronto, but it was much larger, and as a result, contained a few diamonds. As the four of us were deciding what to do we got talking to three young architect graduates who had just moved to the area. We ended up going for dinner with them before they invited us - quite unbelievably, considering the four of us looked as if we’d just engaged in a tag team wrestling match covered in chain oil and dirt - back to their place to stay the night. Over the course of the evening they explained how they had all moved to the small town of Eureka post graduation to start an architecture business, but they were much more than that, they were realty there to revitalise the community in creating beautiful design installations and attempt to breathe some life into the stagnated streets. Their passion for this town that was not their home was a real inspiration, and hearing them talk so fluently and passionately on their ideas and dreams for Eureka and the wider area was a timely reminder that not all educated folk in the west are in it for the money. This group were idealistic in a very focused manner, and what’s more, their plans seem so achievable.

So, no 200 miles today. But 124 ain’t bad. And meeting some people who do go the extra mile was as much of a boost on this trip as going it myself would’ve been.