The day after my dad, cousin Karen, and I rode our bicycles 100 miles. My dad, who was the one who initiated and planned the ride asked us, “what will you write about our ride?” This is my answer to his question. I will write that…
This summer is the summer where I put my money where my mouth is.
It all started with archaeology school. I’ve dreamed and talked about being an archaeologist since I was six years old. I’ve dabbled in the dirt, taking survey classes, digging up Etruscan walls in Northern Italy, but before field school this summer I’d never done any real archaeology. Our field school involved working on a real project, the kind that archaeology firms get paid to do, and our bizarre crew of students labored under sizzling sun, and gawked at plain grey ceramic sherds and flakes of stone in true archaeologist fashion. There were certainly moments of discomfort, hours spent in the close proximity of “that guy”, gnat bites, seriously repetitive tasks, ecetera ecetera… But I never second guessed my decision to study anthropology, or pursue archaeology. In fact, I became much more excited about finishing my last year of school and doing archaeology for real.
Riding 100 miles felt exactly the same way. It was a chance for me to put my hours and hours of planning bike tours across Europe to the test. A chance for me to wear my bike jersey and lycra shorts without fearing that I’m a poser or a pretender. Yet another chance for me to prove to myself that I haven’t built my life out of plans that I can’t carry out.
We woke up early, before the sun had even risen. The air was crisp as we mounted our bikes, the coolness chilled our limbs as we coasted the first 6 miles. We picked up some friends of ours and continued to drift down the Grand Mesa. Passing through the green valleys north of Cedaredge, the dusty adobes, rows of lush Olathe cornfields. We rode with a kind of relaxed restraint, aware of the distance ahead and the way that legs have a tendency to tire at the end of a journey. Our friends left us just before Olathe, they had promises to keep and we had miles to go. It was just as they left us that I crossed a magic number, 40, the furthest I’d ever gone on a bicycle in one day, and we still had 60 miles to go. It was just after Olathe, that I started to feel pain, in butt and my back. We stopped on Montrose and stretched, eating peanut butter and honey on tortillas in front of City Market and contorting into crazy stretches on the dirty cement (58 miles). South of Montrose we pedaled steadily over ridges of dark red rocks peeking out of pinion and juniper bushes. By this time the rhythm was very natural and the miles passed by at a reasonable pace, but several miles before we reached Ridgeway our pace began to slacken and the pain became stressful. We were lucky to find a beautiful bike trail next to the highway which followed the Uncompahgre river. The river was a beautiful clear green, I wanted to ride right into it and steer my bike right into the slippery currents, but instead I just pedaled and pedaled and pedaled like it was the only thing I knew how to do. At Ridgeway (83 miles) we rested before the final leg of our journey. Our final destination, Ouray, was seven miles short of the 100 miles. Karen and I refused to stop at 93 miles (we were really just in it for the glory) so our 93rd mile was spent climbing up the winding and intense Red Mountain Pass. It was probably the most difficult way we could have possibly ended the trip. There were several points where I thought I was for sure going to die. I didn’t. We finally finished by roaring down the mountain, right into the parking lot of the Ouray Hot Springs (100.01 miles). We soaked our tired limbs in the warm water, my knees bucked out from under me on a blow-up obstacle course, and I just kept thinking, “yes… we did this.”
My purpose in starting this blog, was to convince my readers that adventure could happen to anyone. That living an adventurous life doesn’t require extraordinary circumstances, all it requires is will and the word, “yes”. Without that mindset, the greatest adventures of this summer so far, including but not limited to: the bike trip and archaeology school (not to mention NYC, and a rainy backpacking trip to Ice Lakes) wouldn’t have happened.
Maybe every summer should be the summer of putting your money where your mouth is.
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