Day 34 - Monarch Pass and High-Altitude Crab-Appleness

At breakfast in the Broken Arrow cafe, Glenna tooted my horn: "He's going over Monarch today." Then there'd be a chorus of: Did y' hear that, Roy? Young man's going over Monarch. Monarch, you say? Yes, going over it this morning. On a bicycle? Yes, Monarch. He's headed over Monarch? Buzz buzz buzz. I was a minor celebrity in Howard, Colorado that Sunday morning.

Yes, Monarch Pass, at 11,312 feet is the highest elevation of the entire route. Howard is at about 6500 feet so it's not like i was starting at sea level but from Howard it was 36.5 miles to the summit. Looking back on this experience now, as i write about it one week later, having done several other difficult morale-severing/boosting ascents, Monarch Pass sticks out for one reason only (besides endless traffic - motorcycles, cars, RVs pulling SUVs, semis - and it was Sunday morning! Why wasn't everyone in church? Cuz they were tourists like me...). As i neared the summit and the incline became steeper, the skies darkened and it began to rain. I had to pull over to the skinny-mini shoulder and put on my jacket and remove my phone from its mount on the handlebars. That meant no music for the remaining grueling 4 miles up. Ugh. As i clumsily hopped back on in the middle of a steep pass and cranked onward, the sky became even darker, and ugly, and the air and rain turned frigid. As soon as the glimmer of the thought of hail entered my mind, hail began rap-tapping on my helmet. Not the big marbles i witnessed from the safety of Motel 6 in Pueblo - smaller pebbles - but this time i was in it and cycling up an 8% grade in the freezing cold, not wearing enough clothing.

I know i can be a little shortsighted when it comes to weather. We just don't have much in LA. Nina had warned me about having enough warm stuff, and i thought: "Eh, how cold could it get during the day?" Well, at 11,312 feet, even in mid-June, it gets fucking cold. I hit the summit and luckily there was a souvenir shop/cafe up there. I dug out my leggings and another top layer from my panniers and dove inside. It took several minutes before i could figure out what was next. Did i want to eat something? Wait out the storm? What would it be like going downhill in hail? Would i kill myself? The cafe inside wasn't much of a food source, but i did have hot chocolate which helped in every way possible: made me warm, was a tasty treat, allowed me a moment to settle, and ever so slightly lifted my crashed spirits.

As i ventured back out, the storm oddly seemed limited to the east side of the mountain, so i was fine to leave, now that i was slightly warmer. The ride downhill was annoyingly similar to the previous day's, except with the added chill factor of the powerful wind at such a high alititude. By the time i got to the bottom, i was zonked and based on my intended mileage for the day, i was only slightly more than a third done. The campsite i had chosen in the Curecanti National Recreation Area was still 60 miles away, and the headwinds were fierce. Among the cold, the altitude, the winds, the hail, and then more rain, my attitude was dropping into crabbapple jelly mode. With high fructose corn syrup as the first ingredient.

For only the second time of the journey, i knew that mentally i would not be able to complete the intended mileage (99) for the day. Whether or not i could do it physically was irrelevant. An egg doesn't come without the yolk inside. Unless it's one freaky egg. Again, maybe the altitude was affecting me more emotionally than anything. It was 2pm and i was yawning.

In Pueblo, i had mapped out the remainder of the journey, as i needed to alert friends in San Francisco to my arrival there and, sooner than that, Nina was going to meet me somewhere in Utah. And with the spectre looming of returning to Common Ground on a fixed date - with the added impending responsibility resulting from the staggering layoffs (thanks, Mr. Governor) - flexiblity was not an option anymore. I pedalled to Gunnison, a snappy town with a lot of lodging and food options. It was only 76 miles; in order to meet Nina in 6 days, i'd have to make up the 23 miles some other day. Super 8 was the best deal, and i rolled Whitey into room 103.

Turning my frown upside down was not an option on Day 34. My crabbiness was compunded by the feeling that i ought to be waxing triumphant after climbing Monarch (Monarch, you say? The "young" man has climbed Monarch! BFD.)