We had hoped that our last day in the mountains would be one spent luxuriating by an alpine lake lined with wildflowers, our skins soaking up the strong sun in the thin air before we returned to the land of pale Oregonians. (Oregonians don't tan, Brock joked once; they rust.)
To my dismay, Wednesday morning dawned gloomy, the low clouds dripping rain like a leaky bathtub faucet. Together we shook out, folded, and rolled up the tent, performing the pas de deux that after 8 weeks on the road we knew so well that we could almost do it with our eyes closed. Certainly with one eye closed.
The clouds lowered stubbornly close as we made our way up to the top of Grand Mesa. Despite the fact that we'd climbed for hours before setting up camp the night before, we still had a few miles to travel uphill before we reached the Visitors' Center. In the fly fishing shop there we purchased coffee, and I improved its taste with generous doses of International Delight creamer shots. We had planned to fill our water bottles as well, but all the water at the facility had been shut off, due to a lack of funds needed to suitably chlorinate the water. Grand Mesa seemed to be one of the less frequented mountain recreation areas in Colorado, and so must been one of the first to fall victim to budget cuts. Our dwindling supply of water would just have to last a little longer.
A Visitor Center employee informed me that the weather forecast called for steady rain throughout the day. This was not the Colorado I'd become accustomed to! All-day rain sounded blasphemous, but we'd just have to cope. Another 1,000 ft. of climbing finally brought us to more level ground high up on the flat top mountain. Only a few cars passed us during this time, making for some of the most peaceful riding of the trip. We traversed the top of the mesa and coasted downhill and began to keep our eyes out for a flat place off the road to set up camp. The perfect hideaway soon presented itself, and we trundled our bikes down a rocky unpaved road and into a grove of pine trees that partially protected us from the slow rain.
We'd been able to refill all of our 8 water bottles at a campground pump, and so we settled into our pine grove to wile away the afternoon and evening. It felt strange to have so much time to relax, and we almost didn't know what to do with ourselves. The cool weather sent us layering up in our long underwear instead of basking by a lake. I read a few hundred pages of "The Mists of Avalon" which I'd picked up for free in Ridgway, while Brock read on his ipod and warmed himself with occasional shots of Black Velvet whiskey. The quiet of the woods was frequently shattered by chattering squirrels and falling pine cones. I half hoped that we'd see a bear; after all our time spent in wild areas, we had yet to see one!
As darkness fell I lit the stove one last time and stewed some apples with peach jam; we filled tortillas with peanut butter and the comfortingly hot mixture.
Thursday morning came, and with it the sun. As we broke camp, I sentimentally remarked that this morning would be the last time I shoved the tent into my pannier; that evening we planned to stay with warmshowers hosts in Grand Junction. We ate our last bagels and cream cheese in a day use area beside a clear blue lake. An elderly couple strolled by with their dog, coffee cups in hand---I eyed them, envious of their caffeine. Luckily, we weren't too far from the tiny town of Mesa. A Fred woo-woo speed (ask Brock) downhill run dropped us at the doorstep of a new-looking coffeeshop where we relaxed for a few hours. Our hosts in Grand Junction weren't expecting us till the early evening, and with a short 50 mile day, much of that downhill, we had all the time in the world to relax.
We rode through a narrow canyon that eventually led out to the Colorado River. The broad river and high cliffs on either side reminded me of the Columbia Gorge, where we began our journey 2 months before. The valley wherein lies the towns of Palisade and Grand Junction is irrigated, and we abruptly entered an unexpected land of green fields and orchards. Palisade Peaces are legendary in Colorado; the peaches were at their peak, and we could see thousands of golden orbs bejewellwing the rows of orchard trees. We stopped at a roadside farm stand and purchased 2 flats of the fruit; one for us, and one to take to our hosts.
The last few miles of riding into Grand Junction were not pleasant. While I'm sure there were more hospitable ways to cycle into town, we came in on the highway lined with big box stores---it was the quick and grimey way, although it made me angry. I soothed my frazzled nerves as we sat by the Colorado river and devoured almost the entire flat of peaches.
Our hosts, Ed and Maggie and their golden retriever Terra, welcomed us warmly when we arrived at their house located in a pleasant development on the outskirts of town. As we sat down to a delicious dinner of barbecued chicken, rice, and, yes, peaches and whipped cream, the couple regaled us with colorful tales of their recent bicycle tour in France. The Normandy Beaches! The trains! The Champs Elysees! While Brock and I also interjected with stories of our own, I found it a nice change to hear other peoples' adventurous anecdotes. We admitted to Maggie and Ed that at this point, we actually slept far better in our tent than indoors, and they could completely understand.
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