Today had been the worst yet. The drizzle turned to snow, and pelted me with sleet as I rode from Joes to Idalia, Colorado. The snowfall turned into a blizzard, and I was riding straight into it. I looked at my odometer and determined I was more than an hours’ ride to either town. Two days ago, when I had a breakdown, I could have turned around then. I had friends bring parts from Bike-n-Hike, but I could have just gone back home with them. The meteorologist on TV this morning said a front was moving through the region and he expected no snow. Since I was halfway between Joes and Idalia, I rode on. The only thing I would gain by turning around would be having the wind at my back. It would still be over an hour on the road. Then I would have to ride this piece of highway for the third time tomorrow. That would be senseless.
I prepared for a cold, wet ride before leaving the motel room. I put on almost all of the clothing I brought with me, trying to keep warm. My leg warmers were on under my pants. I cocooned an undershirt, long sleeve shirt and down vest under my coat, and then put a poncho over everything. Blood surged through my body, but it could not keep my fingers warm, even while protected by a heavy pair of ski mittens. Mittens are much warmer than gloves. If I had not brought them, today would probably have had deadly consequences. I had also thought my exertion would help keep me warm, but I was wrong about that. I was afraid I might not be able to grab the brakes in time if my hands got any stiffer than they were.
The blowing wind created ground blizzards, and blew shards of ice into my face. The biting cold wind blew me out into the middle of the highway more than once. I was glad people seemed to be avoiding the storm. In the three hours it took me to pedal this far, I was only passed by a handful of cars.
When I checked the odometer, it said I had covered a dozen miles, and had the same to go. Heading into the wind slowed me down to eight miles an hour, or less at times. It was a good thing I did not have a speedometer, as that would have been depressing to watch. I was unaware of what I would find in Idalia, what services would be available. I just knew how far it was between towns.
Finally arriving in Idalia, I had been on the road for three hours to cover twenty-four miles. As I rode through town, I did not see a motel and I still could not see more than fifty feet in front of me; the snow was blinding. When I planned this trip with five other guys, we all agreed we should each have our own tents, to have a little bit of personal space. Because I was an avid backpacker, I got a tent that featured snow flaps and two covered vestibules, one at each end. I could cook under one, and have the bicycle under the other. Neither vestibule had a floor, so the bike could drip away, and I did not risk melting the floor as my stove heated up. It was my plan to pitch the tent in a park or on an oil access road if there was nowhere to stay. Fate made the motel the last building in town. She tried my patience again and I had beaten her.
As I checked into the motel here in Idalia, the manager could barely believe I had ridden from Joes this morning, since many of the highways were closed and impassable. I am glad I did not know that ahead of time. She also gave me a small tarp to put in the room under my bicycle.
It was still morning by the time I had unpacked my gear and arranged my wet clothing to dry out. I decided if I was going to splurge on another motel room, I might as well enjoy a good hot meal. The smell of hamburgers assaulted my nose as I went back to the restaurant. I had a double patty cheeseburger, and washed it down with a rum and coke. Then I washed down my fries with another rum and coke. When I finished, I got up from the table, and wandered over to a stuffed chair near a fireplace, with a view of the weather reports on TV. I did not want to believe anything they said. I washed my rum and coke down with another rum and coke. I think I sat in the chair for hours, but do not really know. Nor do I remember walking back to my room.
My dreams had me riding my bicycle through snow up to my knees, and the cold wind breaking off my frozen, icicle encased, fingertips.
