Day 4: Monarch to Gunnison

Miles traveled: 54
Ride time: 5:14
Average speed: 9.48

When you spend several hours fighting a headwind with panniers acting as sandbags weighing you down, you can’t help but begin to think you brought too much stuff. That thought crossed my mind more than a dozen times over the course of the day yesterday. Why did I bring all this stuff? Why did I pack this, why that? Many of the things I second guessed yesterday as superfluous junk got called into action Sunday night. So while I might begrudge the weight I suppose it’s a necessary evil.

I went to bed early Sunday night and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Promptly at midnight I heard the tell tale tapping of heavy drops on nylon canvas: damn. As with the previous nights I didn’t put my rain cover on the tent. I also left all my bags out, whereas previously I stored them under a tent or picnic table. For a tired bike rider I moved pretty quickly to pull out the rain fly for the tent, assemble it and move all of my bags to its dry confines. I also got out the ‘superfluous’ tarp to cover my bike to keep its gears and chain dry; its already squeaking like a pet store worth of hamster wheels so I thought drier would be better. All that extra weight now called to duty, like the army reserves of miscellaneous gear. Shortly after I got everything properly stowed away the rain stopped…go figure. Thankfully (only thankfully because I like being right) it started raining again, this time with earnest, about 1:00am.

Despite my midnight revelries I was up promptly at 6:30. I wanted to be up and on the road to the top of Monarch before the Labor Day traffic crush started. I’m glad I made this decision, I enjoyed relatively free streets for my slow spinning and wobbling up to 11,000+ft. It took me 2 hours to go 10 miles up to the top of the pass, but I made it by god. I was thrilled when I reached the little parking lot at the top. I took some pictures, put on some more clothes and then started my descent. The first thing that hit me on the way down was the cold: bone chilling cold even with a jersey, arm warmers and jacket. The second thing was the wind: damned infernal wind. Despite the lack of physical comforts on my descent, I didn’t pedal once for 7 or 8 miles, with the exception of shifting my down-pedal leg for the turns. The Surly under duress handled the curves and steep grades with ease. I stopped briefly at Sargents to dance around in a circle for warmth and then set out on the road to Gunnison. It took 3 hours to cover 24-ish miles. I’d crest hills and have to stand up and sprint to keep the wind from shutting me down altogether.

When I finally got to Gunnison I came across a couple from Czechoslovakia who were riding from Denver to San Francisco. They were well outfitted with nice gear and lightweight aluminum bikes, but still were quite finished with the wind about as much as I was. I talked to them for a while about their trip, gear selection, weight of bikes etc. We then parted ways as they were heading onward out 50 west and I was planning on heading north to Crested Butte. They were the second group of bike tourists that I’ve seen. On Sunday heading up Bighorn Canyon to Salida I saw three riders heading the other direction. We exchanged quick hellos and that was it. The nice lady at the Gunnison Visitor’s Center gave me some information on national park camp grounds which were several miles away (no), the KOA out west past town (no thanks), and a hostel in town (bingo). I opted for a bed, warm shower and proximity to dinner.

The Wanderlust Hostel in Gunnison was quiet with no other guests, so I chose the dorm room option but ended up with the equivalent of a private room. The price was less than my cheesy Royal Gorge campsite, and while the scenery wasn’t quite as nice the comforts of home weren’t far away. The eclectic décor, hot showers, movie cabinet, wi-fi and stocked pantry made the Wanderlust an ideal destination for my halfway point. It was a great place to relax (sitting in the hammock in the yard) and recharge a bit. Amy, the owner of the hostel, and her mother Caroline run a really nice retreat for the weary traveler. I spent my afternoon in Gunnison lounging around, went out for pizza and a beer at Marios and then returned to a warm spot on the couch with Cole the dog as my attendee.

So now I’m in somewhat of a chill out mode of my trip. At 321-ish miles I’m more than halfway through and yet have a number of days to finish out my tour. My goal at the onset was to really push to get out to this part of the state and spend some time taking in the Gunnison area, Crested Butte and Paonia. At this point I don’t have to hurry and with the exception of one day (the push to Grand Junction) I shouldn’t have any day totaling more than 50 miles unless I get a wild hair. So as I finish this post, and sip my coffee, I’m contemplating all the options yet to come: wandering through Crested Butte, camping out near Kebbler Pass, perhaps a hike…its going to be a good week.

The long and winding road...looking back down the canyon.

The little pink signs in the background warn cyclists about parking their bikes on the walkway. As if that's the only thing to worry about at the top of a mountain pass...geesh.

Top of Monarch Pass and the Continental Divide!