Today: 75.3 Miles - AVG Speed: 12.2MPH - Top Speed: 35.3MPH
Total: 3,464.8
Poor old Betty. She's been holding out tremendously well over the past couple of months, but I fear that I may have neglected her needs in favour of my old road pals and later, when I became distracted with the novel beauty of The Rockies.
I noticed a bent spoke on her hind legs this morning, and when she was inspected by the vet, he said that there were some terminal injuries and that she requires a.... Sorry, give me a moment to compose myself... she requires AN AMPUTATION. It's all my fault, if only I had listened to her squeals and my instincts we could have salvaged it. But it looks like she'll need a replacement prosthetic. Unfortunately, the vet in Gunnison didn't have a durable enough piece, but I hope we'll have it sorted early enough in Montrose, the town in which i now reside.
After the devastating news, I managed to gather my senses before convincing Betty to soldier on. It's a real testament to her spirit that she didn't object once, if anything, that old familiar steely expression took on a more determined slant. I've never been prouder to call Betty "mine" than I was at approximately 10:30 this morning.
On we went with the day, and almost immediately we were up against it, the gradual climb began straight out of Gunnison and the headwind was brutal, as bad as anything we've encountered thus far. This combined with a gradual increase in the gradient, and - you guessed it - the slow thinning of the air made for a difficult first few hours, but the wind eventually calmed and with that blessing, so did my breathing. There was one final four mile climb that I attacked with gusto and impatience as I knew, awaiting the other side was a 16 mile downhill to the basin town of Montrose. And when it came, it was glorious, I hardly pedalled at all for the best part of 30 minutes, it was extremely satisfying to let gravity start pulling it's weight (or mine, to be precise) and allow us to glide into the town below. I immediately sought out the campsite I had found online and after some wrong turns, I found it. I was scrambling up dirt roads aiming for the peak of a dirt landfill where mountain bikers do their thing and the public are allowed free camping, but just as I was about to set up my dwelling the storm in the distance began it's old familiar lightening act and moved menacingly close with worrying speed. I made the snap decision to get a motel. You know how I feel about rain by now. I pedalled for my life, hoping to find one before the storm caught up with me and entered my open panniers, which were cradling 6 precious Coors' and the machine from which I type. I made it to The Braidwood Motel just in time and as I paid my money the show began. Another violently impressive thunderstorm, which I was now free to enjoy as an observer as opposed to a bit player in a piece of soggy immersive theatre.
One of the other guests here introduced himself as Frank Turner, a local salesman with the jovially bombastic manner of an 1980's National Lampoon cast member, and when I informed him of my bike ride he offered to buy me pizza. 20 minutes later, he returned with the Italian feast at my door. And a McDonalds Cheeseburger.
"Ever had one of these before?" Asked Frank
"Yes, Frank, we have McDonald's at home, too" I said, slightly baffled.
"Really, all the way in New Zealand, huh, well, it sure is good American food and this is my big American welcome"
I overlooked the inaccurate assumption of my nationhood as he was so ruddy kind. Although, when i said "Why not?" to him in conversation, he tried to sell me a porno film as that's what he thought I said. And he kept shouting "chicken legs" at me when I left my room before making a clucking sound, which I didn't really get, but he bought me a pizza so who am I to argue.
Total: 3,464.8
Poor old Betty. She's been holding out tremendously well over the past couple of months, but I fear that I may have neglected her needs in favour of my old road pals and later, when I became distracted with the novel beauty of The Rockies.
I noticed a bent spoke on her hind legs this morning, and when she was inspected by the vet, he said that there were some terminal injuries and that she requires a.... Sorry, give me a moment to compose myself... she requires AN AMPUTATION. It's all my fault, if only I had listened to her squeals and my instincts we could have salvaged it. But it looks like she'll need a replacement prosthetic. Unfortunately, the vet in Gunnison didn't have a durable enough piece, but I hope we'll have it sorted early enough in Montrose, the town in which i now reside.
After the devastating news, I managed to gather my senses before convincing Betty to soldier on. It's a real testament to her spirit that she didn't object once, if anything, that old familiar steely expression took on a more determined slant. I've never been prouder to call Betty "mine" than I was at approximately 10:30 this morning.
On we went with the day, and almost immediately we were up against it, the gradual climb began straight out of Gunnison and the headwind was brutal, as bad as anything we've encountered thus far. This combined with a gradual increase in the gradient, and - you guessed it - the slow thinning of the air made for a difficult first few hours, but the wind eventually calmed and with that blessing, so did my breathing. There was one final four mile climb that I attacked with gusto and impatience as I knew, awaiting the other side was a 16 mile downhill to the basin town of Montrose. And when it came, it was glorious, I hardly pedalled at all for the best part of 30 minutes, it was extremely satisfying to let gravity start pulling it's weight (or mine, to be precise) and allow us to glide into the town below. I immediately sought out the campsite I had found online and after some wrong turns, I found it. I was scrambling up dirt roads aiming for the peak of a dirt landfill where mountain bikers do their thing and the public are allowed free camping, but just as I was about to set up my dwelling the storm in the distance began it's old familiar lightening act and moved menacingly close with worrying speed. I made the snap decision to get a motel. You know how I feel about rain by now. I pedalled for my life, hoping to find one before the storm caught up with me and entered my open panniers, which were cradling 6 precious Coors' and the machine from which I type. I made it to The Braidwood Motel just in time and as I paid my money the show began. Another violently impressive thunderstorm, which I was now free to enjoy as an observer as opposed to a bit player in a piece of soggy immersive theatre.
One of the other guests here introduced himself as Frank Turner, a local salesman with the jovially bombastic manner of an 1980's National Lampoon cast member, and when I informed him of my bike ride he offered to buy me pizza. 20 minutes later, he returned with the Italian feast at my door. And a McDonalds Cheeseburger.
"Ever had one of these before?" Asked Frank
"Yes, Frank, we have McDonald's at home, too" I said, slightly baffled.
"Really, all the way in New Zealand, huh, well, it sure is good American food and this is my big American welcome"
I overlooked the inaccurate assumption of my nationhood as he was so ruddy kind. Although, when i said "Why not?" to him in conversation, he tried to sell me a porno film as that's what he thought I said. And he kept shouting "chicken legs" at me when I left my room before making a clucking sound, which I didn't really get, but he bought me a pizza so who am I to argue.
Breaking Bad RV distracts from gorge. Yet again.
Unintentional euphemism of the day goes to...
Panorama 1
Those CycleMutts sure are tough to control.
Panorama 2.
More red rock.
This is one of my favourites.
Another beautiful evening.
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