We woke late after our sleepover with the Americorps workers, and Jacob led us into Durango for some coffee. After we had relaxed and eaten, we followed him westward out of town on the highway towards the famed Mesa Verde National Park.
The climb was steep and we were groggy, and so at least a thousand feet's worth of climbing was brutally hot and slow despite an initially easy grade. We rode slowly and chatted with our host about bicycling and what comes next for our travels. We reached a summit at last in the scrubby brushed desert landscape, and Jacob peeled off to return to his home. We plunged down the other side of the San Juan Skyway to the town of Mancos.
Mancos offered water and shade in a nice standard city park, and groceries from a little market in the highway-bifurcated town. We snacked on junk food and chocolate milk to distract our brains from the protests of our legs, and then hopped onto our bicycles for one last push to the park.
Lightning was striking the horizon as we approached our quarry; the clouds were dark but they seemed to be skirting our location, making for an entertaining show with great white bolts leaping to the ground from the angry skies to the north. We arrived at the park entrance, and, having paid our fees for entrance, bolstered our resolve for one last climb to the campground which lay far higher above us than we would have liked.
We were greeted at last by an entire village of commerce at the Morefield area atop Mesa Verde's ridges: grocery and gift shop, laundry facilities, free showers (which we took a massive advantage of), wireless internet and tge promise of an all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast in the morning at a reasonable price.
We plunked down more money than we would usually dream of spending on overnight lodging and slept soundly through the night. In the morning we ate and prepared to bicycle to the cliff dwellings that make this location popular.
The one road through the park is hilly and in arid desert, yet the views are spectacular and the vegetation is plentiful and green. We made it to the Balcony House group of structures and followed Ranger Pete, a retired high school history teacher, through the brick buildings constructed into the caves in the sides of the canyons. We climbed several ladders and squeezed through tiny doorways and tunnels to view the multiple stories ancient humans had pieced together from the stone and mud around them. Kivas, the religious and social hub of the dwellings, sat as circular depressions in the built floors, designed to revere the feminine nature of all that comes from the earth and its interactions with the masculine things of the air.
I happened to see wild horses standing in the trees on our way out. Also, a coyote ducked out of the thicket and onto the road in front of us, running with a diagonal gait and yet not seeming to be in any hurry.
After ice cream at the park's cafe, we rode back up the hill to the campground for freezer burritos from the store. Now, crickets sing our lullaby and we anticipate warm showers for the second night in a row and a restful night's sleep.
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