We leave on the snowiest day yet. Large flakes, accumulating in sequence on frozen leaves, cars parked overnight, grass, and roadways– we all agree– are better than the windy, rainy tempests of several days ago. Snow is certainly better than 34 degree rain.
Cass and Nancy arrived at “half midnight”; the following day was full of framebags (by Scott, of Porcelain Rocket) and Fanta (not for consumption, not for Nancy; for 1.25L water storage), Surly Trolls (x2), a Tout-Terrain Mule, and a lot of decision-making. Every bike trip– every journey– begins with some anticipation and anxiety. Imagine Nancy’s nerves as she tests a new mode of travel, coached by self-proclaimed experts. She’s pretty well pickled with good advice and better intentions, and she has more than the right gear thanks to knowing a guy like Cass; but the truth is that it’s snowing at 6600 ft in Steamboat and we’re only going up from here. I casually describe our first day as one big hill and further widen her eyes. We explain that, in truth, it is a gentle climb to 8900 ft over 50 miles. Hmmm, I guess those numbers mean something different to her than they do to me. Our host, Andy, describes a gentle grade: “the hill may be imperceptible, but every few minutes you check to see if you have a flat tire”. She looks at all of us suspiciously.
Within two days we’ve ridden and camped in the snow, mounted passes, forded icy streams, and slogged through mucky roads. Nancy has fast-tracked to expert status.
The cabin is an historic rural stop-off; serving as a mail stop, a guest house, and a Wells Fargo depository.
For the official, hi-fi version of our travels, check Cass’ blog, “while out riding”.