Dogs, Blogs, and Bike Cogs

As a through-and-through New Englander, I can’t say I know much about New Mexico.

If you’re bravely and boldly following along, last time I left us with a precarious, cliff-hanger as my water filter broke while I was camping in southern Colorado. (TV Audience: *gasp*)

Good news: I found a new filter and my dysentery joke didn’t become a reality. (TV Audience: applause)

Hot take: Penultimate is a top five vocab word in the English language.

On the Great Divide, towns are a safe haven. There’s shelter, people, and most importantly, food.

When there are fewer towns, there’s no rush to get to camp. Once the tent is up and I’ve finished stuffing my face with ramen, there isn’t much to do besides write these blog posts.

A smart person once told me, “it’s not an adventure until something goes wrong.”

Think about it. What if Indiana Jones never set off any booby traps? Or, if Fred’s first plan in Scooby Doo always caught the bad guy? Or, if Gerry Bertier didn’t get hit by a car before the state finals? (actually that would be a much better movie)

The Great Basin.

No, not great as in spectacular to look at. Great as in big — really, really big.

This section of the Great Divide has a bit of an infamous reputation. It’s over 150 miles long and is the second-longest stretch of the route without a natural water source. This means you have to pick and choose your campsites wisely, or carry enough water to get you through the long haul.

We all make mistakes, but this one is inexcusable.

I let you, the loyal reader, down, and in turn, I let myself down, too. I hold this blog to a high standard and like a parent of a misbehaved child, I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.

About a week back, a group of motorcyclists who were traveling the Great Divide (apparently that’s a thing and no one told me) passed me while I was biking. They stopped and were shocked I was going as far as they were, but only using one horsepower — I told them I was more of a donkey, but since this is a family-friendly blog I’ll let you finish that comparison.

When my brother, Trent, hiked the Appalachian Trail, he often spoke of “Trail Angels” who helped him along his journey.

Quick rewind. Remember that 75-mile day that ended with an awesome view of Holland Lake?

Well, on our way to camp, Clemens gave me the best compliment that I heard on the trip thus far. After tackling a taxing 5-mile hill, he called me a “machine” — because of my consistent pacing up the mountain.