Return to Denver: Biking and Working on the Trail

Surely my bike would arrive in Grand Junction after nearly two weeks of agonizing wait time.  I don’t mean to say I couldn’t use the break and the rest, but I struggled to find much of either.  3,350 miles had taken a toll on my feet, having traversed all of it through mixed and always changing terrain; from paved roads to bike and canal paths (some paved, some dirt), gravel country roads, bushwhacking single track, alpine and rock scrambling, water crossings, floodwaters, “under construction,” and I’m fairly certain the list goes on…oh yeah, the Metropoli!  My nights were mostly sleepless, the pain and itch of healing exacerbating and usually worse at night.  I had lost a fair amount of weight over six months and, with winter on the horizon, I knew I needed to regain what I could in a hurry.  Fun as that all sounds, I felt sick constantly as I shoveled calories and did my best to stay off those black and blue feet. 

I did catch up on some stream binging (shows and movies, that is), but I often felt anxious about my rapidly disappearing money cache and the uncertainty of what I could earn under these unusual circumstances.  I have plenty of resource for earning in different ways, but for now I’m just a stranger passing through and I have yet to establish that reliable mobile income of my dreams.  All part of the adventure for sure, but my life too, not an intermission between acts, youthful foray nor post-career, retirement pursuit…none of those sponsorships either, just a guy whose facial hair has begun to take on a personality of its own as he ambles and miles pile towards dreams of freedom and peace across a land where songs are sung but neither are well nor commonly known.

The sun shown bright, a bit hot for my early October liking, as I saddled up for my encore tour of the Colorado Rocky Mountains, this time on two fat tires, my feet feeling and looking much more up for the task than when I limped into The Junction a couple weeks prior, exhilarated but struggling, beauty and pain well known co-pilots in my life, though I certainly seek to mitigate the latter without extinguishing the flame that drives my creative passion.  I found myself looking forward to the freedom I hoped would come from the mechanical companionship this time around, especially the ability to rip downhill and scoot boot should the need arise, though I certainly would find restriction and hardship as well, noticeably for sure as I hiked that bike up the crag side to the 13,000 foot peak of Argentine pass, weather storming and threatening with each step I climbed.  My heart pumped—a highlight!—amongst many, on this seven month and counting tour of a continent, rag tag though it has often been.

I wheeled back into Denver, another 300 miles traversed, my pockets nearly empty, my bank account a beautiful hue of red.  During my most recent iteration of graduate school, I documented and theorized around the motivational consequences of what I came to phrase as “back to zero,” amongst individuals and communities struggling through enduring poverty.  I’ve seen my last dollar many times.  It hasn’t held me back yet!  I dumped some gear at a storage unit I reserved from Grand Junction, bought the bike lock I didn’t want to carry through the mountains, checked into a motel, bought two bean burritos at Taco Bell, a cheese pizza and a two liter of root beer at Little Caesars, a half dozen donuts at a cool little bakery near by, worried little about what I did not have, showered, watched a Law and Order marathon, dozed off to sleep, then woke the next morning to hop back on my bike, turn on one of those food delivery apps I had experimented with in grad school through the pandemic, and gradually turned my zero into the gear I would need to stay warm and dry on the trek back to Cincinnati, prepay that storage unit, my phone and my InReach, and store a little cash for eating ramen, peanut butter, probably one of those bean burritos now and again while I charge my devices, and…whaaamo!—here I sit in Union Station tonight co-opting electricity and WiFi, my feet healed and ready to once again put toe to path along a certainly unusual course, a course I’ve been walking for some time now.

From Denver, I expect to hike along the southern route of the American Discovery Trail as far as Kansas City on the Missouri side, roughly half way at around 950 miles.  By then I fully expect to be “back to zero,” my bike waiting faithfully in Denver for my return to hustle some cash before jumping back to close out that big ass loop at the fork in Elizabethtown, Ohio just outside Cincinnati.  As always, I will flow with the water as it crashes down upon me, adjusting where needed to steady my stride and ensure the successful outcome I have already seen, some many months ago when I stood at that very same fork, no decision yet made…

(as I looked down the southern path) the tattered form of a weathered looking man striding slow but sure, a journey traveled hard but true; he smiled as his eyes met my gaze.  I turned north, knowing well what I must do.