July 24 - The revolution will be hedonized

{Adele}

We started our day with one of those lazy mornings where the sun eventually heated up the inside of the tent enough to oust us blurry eyed from the depths of our sleeping bags and out into the wide-awake world.

The roving bands of dopey, emboldened elk had not decided to sample our tent material during the night as I'd feared they might; one, however, had chewed Brock's wristband, doubtless attracted by its bright hue. I don't know what sort of neon orange food occurs naturally in the Rockies, but this elk was not an adherent to native fare. Brock washed out the drool and put the band back on his wrist.

After packing up the tent and bidding farewell to the neighboring couple from Kansas, we downed quick spoonfuls of maple almond butter, (made by a small company in Boulder, it tastes like cookie dough and I can't get enough of it) and left Timber Creek Campground as more roving carloads of tourists snapped photos of the bandit elks.

The last stretch of RMNP was generous to us, doling out mile after mile of flat valley road bordering the Colorado River and flanked by mountain ridges. It's hard to imagine this small pristine waterway gaining clout as it winds its way through the southwest and eventually puttering out somewhere before it reaches the Pacific. (Neither Brock nor I can remember where the Colorado River becomes so robbed of its waters that it disappears, so please fill us in if you know!)

We propped our feet up for an hour or so in a spacious tourist-oriented coffeeshop in Grand Lake, just outside the entrance to the Park. Their thick, flavorful brew spoiled my tastebuds; I don't think I can go back to the Folgers, and maybe I won't have to.

Colorado seems to have many more cute touristy towns filled with creature comforts than Wyoming or any of the other states we've travelled through for that matter. This makes it more difficult for me to endeavor to be content in all circumstances, including slop coffee situations. There's a time to build character and a time to hedonize, and Wyoming build enough character to last me for 3 years at least.

At the coffeeshop, Brock and I looked over the maps and chose the tiny town of Hot Sulphur Springs for the day's destination, due to the fact that its city park offers free camping. It only lay 25 miles down the road, but after yesterday's epic 25 mile climb up 4,000 feet, our bodies thanked us.

(Sidenote: I felt like a celebrity pedaling up Trail Ridge Road yesterday. So much adulation from drivers. A man passing us took both hands off the steering wheel as he coasted downhill with a 1,000 ft. drop on his right, with no guardrail, to fist pump and cheer. Tourists at the top came over to tell us how much they admire what we're doing. I'm only surprised no one asked us to bless their babies.)

We cycled over gently rolling terrain past two expansive lakes, then turned west on a small highway that followed the Colorado River. Hot Sulphur Springs does indeed boast a resort of the same name, although the town has seen busier days.

After setting up our tent and washing up in the river (classy), we strolled the streets looking for a place to purchase alcohol. Of the five bar/restaurant establishments in town, only one remains open. Apparently the recession hit pretty hard.

Connecting with local residents can be the most enjoyable part of exploring a small town, and we discovered a posse of them ringed round inside the lone bar. They seemed happy to welcome new faces and we stayed for a few hours. Elsie, the oldest and quietest bar tender I've ever encountered, offered us generous beer samples and gamely put up with the good-natured teasing of her clientele.

We made the acquaintance of Steve, who's lived in Hot Sulphur Springs off and on for 30 years. A fellow Garrison Keillor fan, he happened to hear Brock on the Ft. Collins community radio Bikes and Beer show! Steve filled our ears with stories of working at the Hot Springs resort, water rights, and local history.

The rain came down in earnest as we settled in for the night. Now that we're a little over halfway done with our journey, I'm savoring the days more. And since we've made it to Colorado, I care less about the mileage we accumulate than the different kinds of experiences we enjoy.