"Hi everyone,Sarah--you are an angel. I know we already told you that, but you pepped up two tired old men. By way of explanation: Sarah, my daughter, lives in Fort Collins in northern Colorado. She came down yesterday to see if she could find us in Westcliffe. That's where we had hoped to have reached yesterday night, but Hardscrabble Pass (9,200 feet) got in the way. We just ran out of steam. We also couldn't get any phone communication either in or out. Sarah stayed in a nice place in Westcliffe and we bedded down by a stream about six miles short of the pass. We had climbed 3,000 feet in elevation and were too pooped to pop. After we set up camp, Neil found bear scat only fifty feet from our tents. Sarah found some this morning about 1/4 of a mile up the road from where we camped. Neil got out his pepper spray and built a fire. We heard and saw nothing. It's too bad we didn't have more time with Sarah. She came looking for us up the road this morning and passed us right by! All she saw was two old men on bikes. She wasn't expecting Neil to be riding a recumbant, nor was she expecting my beard to be so white. I hollared at her, but I guess I didn't have much volume after riding up that steep road. She finally came back after we'd ridden another 3 miles or so. What a great reunion! I'm getting all teary right now thinking about it. This ride is really tough. Not just physically, but emotionally, too. I guess we've ridden about 300 miles now. You don't know how much your e-mail support has meant. I hope I'll be able to read them tonight. Sarah put us up in the motel in Westcliffe where she stayed. We just got out of the spa and sauna. What a treat. We don't take these comforts for granted. The bodies are really sore. Sarah brought us some homemade chocolate chip cookies, drinks, apples, raisins, and Subway sandwiches. We ate them by the roadside (next to a deer herd) on the down side of the pass. Oh, so good. I can't remember when I last wrote--maybe in Ordway at the Ho[s]tel Ordway. We went from there to Pueblo. Neil has another name for that town. Small towns are better for us bikers. Someone yelled out to us "Welcome to Pueblo," but that was one of the few memorable moments. The town pulled the rug on our sleeping in the park. Pueblo is a crossroads for two transcontinental bike routes. Not too thoughtful for them to yank that privilege from us good and tired bikers. Every other town where we've gone has permitted camping in the park for us. We went to a bike shop that the couple from Atlanta recommended to us for me to get a new spare tire and pressure guage for my presta valve. They've held air perfect. We did our wash at a laundromat. That was pretty funny. Everyone was so helpful to us know-nothings. Told us how much soap to buy, where to put it, which washers and dryers to use and how hot/cold to make the water and dryer. A fat, smoking Hispanic guy and his dad just couldn't get over what we were doing. The dad wanted to send his son with us, but the kid didn't think he could even get as far as the reservoir which was where we were headed to camp about six miles west of Pueblo. By the time we got the laundry finished it was pretty late and a fierce head wind kicked in. When we got to the reservoir (lots of uphill), we were beat and it was real windy and dark. We took a shower and hit the wrack. It's time for us go eat. Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers." Mel
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