Chapter Nineteen
Picking Up Hitchhikers
May 9, 2009—Arches to Loma: I woke up at about 5:30 AM, took a look around the desert sky and saw Mars rising in the east. It looked like a small version of the moon, while at the same time, the moon itself was setting behind a cliff in the west.
Each day we discovered a few hitchhikers—that is, caterpillars who had cocooned themselves onto our belongings and various body parts. Little, sticky cotton-ball mementos of our time in Zion.
Since this was a Saturday, we knew we might have trouble finding a site at the next campground, so we got on the road by about 6:30 AM. We hit the tail end of the cow commute (tail end, get it?), and had to wait for some of them to clear the road.
Many of the telephone poles here have perches above the wires so that the large birds won't land between the wires and electrocute themselves, so we got to see several non-fried golden eagles.
After breakfast at Starvin’ Arvin’s, near Fruita, we went to the Colorado welcome center, and asked about camping. The Highline Lake State Park was only 15 miles away. We called, and were told that they had one site left (do you see a pattern here?), so we boogied on up there and grabbed it.
This place was luxury for us. 9:30 AM, after only a few hours of driving, and we already had a campsite, plus showers and a laundromat! We could get used to this. The water heater for the showers was broken (to be fixed in an hour or so), but I took a cold shower anyway because I am that macho.
We unhurriedly set up the tent on some lush grass, and then took off for a bike ride. The roads were great. Narrow shoulders, but very little traffic.
We headed to Fruita, 15 miles away, and managed to hit the one hill in the entire area, as you can see in this photo.
This was a great ride, except for one thing: flats. We got not one or two, but a total of eight flats. Four on the way to town, one on the way back, and three more that didn't manifest themselves until we took the bikes off the rack the next day. A note for you carbon dioxide cartridge elitists—if I'd had a carbon dioxide inflater with only a few cartridges, I'd have been seeing the sights of Colorado on foot. Check out the Bicycling Tips chapter for my solution to the inflater vs. pump debate.
Why so may flats? Here's why: Goathead thorns. All of the flats were caused by these little suckers. I’d never heard of them before. Spiky thorns designed by God to puncture bicycle tires. They felt like pieces of wire when I ran my finger inside the tire—that's how strong they are. If a normal thorn were Honey Boo Boo, this thorn would be the Cracken. If a normal thorn were a Cheerio, this thorn would be the planet Jupiter. If … well, you get the idea.
Anyway, in Fruita we had a great chicken/cranberry/pear/walnut/blue cheese salad with a side of pizza at the Hot Tomato Cafe.
On the way back we passed a Mennonite softball game. There were women playing in full dresses and bonnets and army boots. It was hot with a bright sun. You should see them run around the bases. I will risk going to hell by saying, “This is one goofy-assed religion.”
When we got back to the campsite, it was time for some luxurious showers, with hot water. Four quarters for four minutes of heaven.
We needed to do some stocking up, so we asked Gunilla the GPS about grocery stores, and selected a Safeway in Grand Junction. She took us there via a strange backroads route, but it may have been the best way. Before we started shopping, we wanted to update the journal and check email, so we asked for the location of a nearby coffee shop.
This was the point at which Gunilla really lost it. The first place was "Coffeetime" and she took us on a roundabout route to someone's house. I knocked on the door and asked the resident “Are you sure there isn’t a coffee shop here, perhaps in your basement?” The answer was a definite “No!” so Gunilla got one demerit, and we next told her to take us to a Starbucks. Another convoluted route, and when Gunilla said "Arriving at Starbucks, on left" we were looking at a vacant ditch, with no buildings nearby.
We handled the situation well. We threw Gunilla into the ditch yelled at her to bring us back a latte. No, we just said "Gunilla, go to your room." Don't feel bad for her; she lives in Gunilla's Malibu Dream House—a pink plastic thermos. The thermos is a great place for her; it keeps her protected from bumps, and doesn’t clue in thieves that we have an expensive, state-of-the-art, high-tech device in our car.
So we gave up on Wi-Fi and coffee (or “Whiffy” as some people around here pronounce it). Not everyone is familiar with the term “Wi-Fi.” Apparently a blonde went up to the counter at a local coffee shop and asked for a Wi-Fi. When the barista looked puzzled, the blonde said “Hello!” and pointed to a sign in the window that said “Free Wi-Fi.”
Back at Safeway, we were going to get some chicken pieces and firewood, and go back to the campsite and cook dinner, but then Lena had a better idea: Buy some cooked barbecued chicken. This was genius, and we had a tasty chicken and coleslaw dinner back at the site with no smoke in our eyes, plus plenty of leftover chicken for tomorrow's lunch.
Lena got the laundry started after dinner, and we decided to drive into Fruita for our Wi-Fi fix. The two coffee shops were closed, but the Hot Tomato had Wi-Fi, and although it was a loud yuppie type environment, we got our work done, and I wrote up a few days worth of journal entries.
When we returned, there was quite a party going on at the mega-accumulator's site across the way but we put in our earplugs, and went right to sleep. “Accumulator” is my term for a person who can’t stop accumulating toys: big trucks, boats, big BBQs, and so on. But who’s judging?
Stay tuned for sandals in the snow, but first, a more serious chapter about camping.