The long and short of it, Thursday night.

The short version The Gray-beards are in a motel in Montrose, Colorado, having gone over 2 more passes today, and stayed at the east end of Blue Mesa lake last night. They have met some real characters and are preparing to head up towards Telluride and possibly some bad weather.
Mel gives us the long version:
"Hi All,We are back in civilization--in Montrose, Colorado, tonight (whatever night it is). I asked another library patron and they said it is September 25, Thursday. Not time for me to take an Alzheimer's test. Been there, done that. And that is one of the questions. Sunday in Westcliffe was my last e-mail opportunity. I remember that. We had a beautiful drive out of Westcliffe. Probably the most sustained beautiful bike ride I've ever done. Sangre de Cristo Mountains (12-13,000 footers for almost 20 miles on the west of our road--and a tail wind. That is a blessing. Love it when the wind is right. Even a head wind (if not too strong) is good if we're hot. To catch up on Sarah. After she left us on Sunday, she got a severe flat tire on a new tire. Someone in Pueblo yelled at her that she was driving on a flat. There was no tire place open that could replace her tire, so she rode 3 hours back to Fort Collins on the little donut tire. Hopefully I will be able to get in touch with her tonight. Communication by phone is very tough in these mountains. Back to the ride on Monday. We took the unmarked 1A back road to Cotapaxi where there was a really strong wind blowing down the canyon. That was not a welcome headwind. After getting back our electrolytes at the Cotapaxi store, we drove up canyon against the headwind along the Arkansas River. Very beautiful. The wind died out after awhile. Then we pushed on past Salida--one of the bigger towns with a very large historic district. No time for sight-seeing as we wanted to get as far along the road so we wouldn't have to ride so far the next day up and over Monarch Pass. Monarch was giving me the willies. I had dreams for two nights running about having to walk down the other side. My son, Adam, had ridden over it about 6 weeks before on his BMW motorcycle. I kept replaying his comment about the road on the other side, "Better have good brakes." We got the same comment from a guy parked in a pick-up truck in Poncho Springs where we stayed. He had all of about three teeth and couldn't believe we were going to go over that 11,312 foot behemoth on bikes. He said something like, "Better not run off the road. There's no guard rails and 500 foot drop offs." There were no camps in Poncho Springs--the free camps in parks seem to have dried up. We stayed in a motel--right next to a Thai restaurant. Love that green curry. Neil even got adventuresome and ate some Thai--the less spicy kind. When morning came, off we went for an 18-mile assault on Monarch. That will be our highest pass and to start it that early in our trip was worrisome to me. Nonetheless, we kept plowing ahead and made it in a single day. Really amazing for us. We only had to walk a few miles near the top as it was as quick to walk as to ride. Small shoulders and a headwind decided the walking for us. We met a young guy at the top who had been hiking the Continental Divide Trail and was looking to hitch a ride down to get some supplies at Salida. He had been trying for hours and we saw him get a ride so that was good. It's good to help all us non-car people out. After getting on warm gloves and coats (it was a bit cool), we pushed off for the ride down. I rode like an old granny. I was so glad when the road evened out. Neil can't go over 25 with his bob trailer as it will start to fishtail and could cause him to crash. I think I went even slower than he had to. We got to a place called Sargents in a beautiful area about 8,000 feet. So we had a 3,000 foot drop in about 10 miles. We stayed that night in a little RV park in Sargents. Our water bottles were frozen when we got up and there was frost on the saddle. We slept in a little cabinette in bunk beds. The ride from Sargents that morning was done in coats, ear covers, and warm gloves. But it was a dang beautiful ride down to Gunnison. A nice coast. The fall colors are absolutely spectacular. Gunnison is a college town. An old buddy, Bob Marshall, went to college there on a football scholarship to Western States College. They have the largest block collegiate letter on a mountain there--a big white "W." We dinked around town a bit then headed out to see how far we could get. We got out to the farthest western end of Blue Mesa Lake--the largest lake in Colorado. It is about 20 miles long at about 7,500 feet. Before we got to our camp (Lake Fork), we met a bike guy headed east solo. The bike people are really thinned out this late in the year. He was from central Pennsylvania and was true grit. He had legs like tree trunks. Not following any map, only his desire to see something new--preferably at high altitude. Neil and I are just wooses compared to some of the bike people we've met. He was going all over and planned to go down to New Mexico to catch a train back east. He was very complimentary about my Long Haul Trucker bike frame. He said he had tried to get one, but wasn't successful. It was a "hot ticket." His parting words to us, "Ride your bike like you stole it." If we had stolen our bikes, we wouldn't be hard to catch. This guy was pony-tailed and bearded. Had grit. We camped next to the big lake and Neil's thermometer read 35 in the morning. His fingers were shaking trying to open the oatmeal packet. He said, "Man, this is living!" Cracked me up. He always says things that crack me up. Every time we snow shoe, he says when we get home, "Well, we cheated death again." He hasn't said that once yet, but we're doing more death-cheating now than we ever did on snowshoes. Neil made the mistake of chatting up an old fisherman before we left and we got a late start. We had to climb two energy-sapping passes to get to Montrose, where we are now. On the way, we stopped at Little Cimmaron to fuel up. While there, another bike guy hove into the place. His name was Will, from Chico, California. He had a home grown bike loaded down with a ton of gear. Front and rear panniers. What a character. About 25 years old. He always had a hare to cross the U.S. on a bike. He started out with no map, only heading east. In Austin, Nevada, he met two girls who wanted to do the transcontinental, but gave up after only getting through California. I imagine there is quite a bit of that, and it is understandable. They gave Will their maps which are the same as ours. He started riding on Labor Day so is to here after almost a month. For fenders he had fashioned some out of cardboard and tape. I took a picture of his bike it was so wild. He told us to be on the alert for an orange haired guy who is coming hauling a surfboard (full size) on his bike. It has the initials "R.S." on the surfboard for "Ride Surf." I told Neil to be on the lookout for him. We don't want to mistake this carrot-top for some other transcontinental guy hauling a surf board. Neil and I really think we are quite normal, given the other kooks we come across that do this kind of thing. Maybe the view you have of us differs, but life is different when you're out in the middle of nowhere on the road. Love it when people come up to us and are just flabbergasted at what we are doing and give us God's blessing. We thank all of you for pulling and praying for us. I'm on a timer, so it's time to sign off and send this your way. Tomorrow we'll be back up in the big stuff again heading for Teluride hopefully. We hear a storm may be coming in Sunday, but we've been very fortunate with good weather so far." Mel