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.
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.
The Slopper.
Impressive judicial building in Pueblo.
Floor Bat.
Lycra Cowboy: Loves Storms.
Approaching The Rockies
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