In response to one of my recent e-mails, my mom's co-worker replied that "it sounds best to not get too close to Dan Meade." I would have done well to have heeded this advice back in southwest Montana, when, on June 30, I rear-ended Dan with my bike. We were all going slow (and casting a weary eye at the sprinkler nearby), and while I take full responsibility for the accident (except in a court of law or any sort of signed document), Dan has been good-humored enough not to complain about his slightly banged-up fender.
We're now in Eads, Colorado, and eastern Colorado looks a lot like what I imagine Kansas will be like--flat. In Montana, Wyoming, and Colorado it felt at times that we were surrounded by mountains but now there's nothing but dry, flat land as far as I can see, and even the towering Rockies have faded far into the distant background. My favorite part of the trip was riding through Dillon and Breckenridge in Colorado, as there was a well-tended bike path between the two towns and lots to do (ie, go see Spider Man 2), although I know not everyone in our group feels the same way (Harly called Breckenridge a "yuppie paradise"). We made it up and over Hoosier Pass at 11,544 feet with not much difficulty. I climbed the pass with Dan Meade, and as he pointed out, it's hard to tell if we suffered any altitude effects since we were sweaty and short of breath at the top, just like we are after going over any pass. Being up so high, I half-expected to be able to see the Statue of Liberty and possibly Erika Larson giving tenement museum tours on the lower east side (in character, of course) from Hoosier Pass, but I had to settle for many layers of mountains in the foreground. Dan Meade and I celebrated the accomplishment of crossing the highest point on our trip by riding 126 miles the next day to Pueblo, where we stayed at the Weimer's house and got a tour of Pueblo.
I've always known that Harly Drum had varied music tastes, ranging from Trick Daddy to Kid Rock to Enya, but it wasn't until we stopped at a restaurant/bar in Jeffrey City, Wyoming that I discovered he's a big Abba fan. All it takes is a few beats of "Dancing Queen," "SOS," or "Waterloo," and the kid with the beard the color of Hubbard squash will lace up his dancing shoes and bust a move like I've never seen (except, perhaps, when he was hippy dancing at Santa Clara).
Ryan Quigley, a friend of mine from Santa Clara (who once, in a volleyball match, hit a one-set off the top of Dan Meade's head into the Dallas convention center rafters), has put together a website that tracks our trip. You can check it out at: www.biketrip.qball.org
We have big plans to zip through Kansas and possibly ride over 150 miles in one day, so here's hoping for some good tailwinds!
Adios,
-Nate