milestones
We reached two milestones today. Traveling across a state border, ANY state border, is always exciting. If there's a sign at the state border, then I take a picture of me and/or my loaded bike in front of it. Every Single One.
The first time felt like a true milestone, ESPECIALLY since I was raised in Texas. It’s a huge state, so I didn’t leave very often when I was growing up (twice prior to high school graduation, and once after). This was only the fourth time in my entire life to cross the border. When I say “huge,” keep in mind that from my hometown near Houston, if you're driving to San Diego you're not even halfway there when you reach El Paso. I wasn't surprised to learn that it’s actually closer to drive from Texarkana to Chicago than it is to drive from Texarkana to El Paso.
After crossing into the Mountain Time Zone for the first time on a bicycle, which was our second milestone, we pulled in to the KOA and split the $9.50 campsite fee.
There were a couple of other cyclists, Kevin and John, who had arrived before us. Unlike us, with our simple and minimalistic travel style that came with a sense of superiority from touring as cheaply as possible (as if we had any other choice!), they were decked out with really nice gear, including a fairing (a windshield for bikes which makes you more aerodynamic), Gore-Tex tents and bags, and expensive bikes.
Although, in all fairness, Scott HAD purchased a pair of nice cowboy boots today to replace the water bottle he lost somewhere along the way, so that sort of evened things out a bit.
That evening, as we were sitting outside our tent and talking after an 85-mile ride (and didn’t leave until after noon), Scott sipped a beer and reminisced about last year’s birthday when he almost lost his virginity. (There were no lewd details, just a casual reference)
The following morning, although I hadn’t had anything to drink the night before, you’d have thought I was the one with the hangover. It felt like my legs had no circulation, and after a few hours of cycling Scott and Jerry were barely visible on the horizon. Of course, my sluggishness might have been the 1600 feet gain in elevation climbing out of Clayton.
In Des Moines, NM (pop 178), I bought an orange from a roadside vendor. I rolled the bike about ten feet to a shady spot to eat my purchase, and when I looked down I found that I was in the exact same spot that Jerry had been a little earlier. I knew because I saw some fresh orange peels on the ground and asked him about it later.
Leaving Des Moines, there was a 20-25 mph headwind. That, combined with all the camping gear I’m carrying, forced me to stop and rest every couple of miles. Even after eleven days of getting into good physical condition, it was rough going.
Eventually, I caught up to Jerry and Scott, and shortly thereafter we stopped to talk to a couple of cyclists traveling in the opposite direction. They were only two miles short of completing their 450-mile trip.
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