Food deserts, no water, huge climbs. We enter Colorado! Day 8-14 on the Great Divide

Day 8 Grants, NM to BLM land (20 miles before Cuba)

100 miles; 4665 ft of gain

We slept in! And gosh did we really need it. Leftover taco salad for breakfast and rollout at 7:30 AM; Pat stayed back to have a slower morning. I highly recommend the Lava Hostel as a Warmshowers place to stay. The self check-in, check-out, showers, etc was perfect for anyone on tour.

The day was all pavement with pretty speedy rolling hills. In some areas, you could see the road go on forever extending into the horizon, with square blocks of orange and red mesa rising up in the distance. It resembled Mars at times, if you periodically dropped a tiny ranch house and cows on the landscape.

Also, the lack of services was unbelievable. The land was so devoid of humans, and those who did live there were in a massive food desert. The food you could get on the route was few and far between and predominantly packaged. We craved freshness.

Today also had very intense headwinds and crosswinds for half of the day. At one point, there was a micro burst of dust and wind, and tumbleweeds blew across the road, one of which smashed into the side of my body— ouch!

Part of what got us through the slow chug was listening to music and cruising. Some people think music distracts you and removes you from the present. For me, it was a complement, to enjoy the scenery and have music that matched the energy of the place.

We made it to mile marker number 69 on the road and paused for a break, a final hill between us and finishing for the day. And then we ended up having a contest to see who could scream the loudest, in our state of hot delirium and fatigue.

After about 65 miles of riding, we reached the first (and only) gas station we'd seen all day. As we sat in the shade behind the building debating where to camp, the wind shifted from a brutal headwind into a powerful tailwind.

After an hour of deliberation, our group of six (Casey, Uri, Matt, Kiara, Harry, and me) made the spontaneous decision to ride another 28 miles. Reminder: Matt is the 5th grade teacher from Colorado. Kiara is the nurse from Australia and her partner Harry from England, both have been living in Canada until recently. I was hesitant at first after fighting the wind all day, but having a more effortless push and a shorter ride into Cuba, NM the next morning was also too tempting to pass up.

And we flew; the fastest ~30 miles I think I had ever done. The wind tugged you along even when you weren’t moving.

We reached the second convenience store on the route, briefly considering sleeping there before deciding against it. The whole place felt a little sketchy: chain-link fences everywhere, abandoned-looking cars missing front bumpers, and plenty of "No Trespassing" signs. Instead, we continued a few more miles onto BLM land.

The extra effort was rewarded with one of the most beautiful campsites yet. As the sun sank behind the mesas, the desert rock formations glowed orange against the evening sky. The clouds turned soft purple and pink as the stars began to pop out systematically one by one. After nearly 97 miles (or 100 for Casey who biked extra to get the century!), we crawled into our tents both tired yet feeling incredibly strong and accomplished.

Around 10 PM, Pat rolled into camp, and our whole group was together again.

And one final note: happy 60th birthday to Casey's mom, Carrie!

Day 9: BLM Land to Campsite after Cuba, NM

39 miles; 2648 ft of gain

After the huge day before, we gave ourselves the luxury of sleeping until 5:30 AM and rolled out around 6:30, hoping today would serve as a partial recovery day.

Pat, Uri, and I headed out while Casey opted for a little extra sleep. The first 23 miles wound through the Navajo Nation on gentle rolling hills, making for a peaceful morning ride. Prairie dogs darted into their burrows as we passed, and I got so excited every single time I spotted one. I got used to shouting “Hi, I love you!!!” to every single one. We don’t have them in Pennsylvania, but they’re probably the equivalent of squirrels for people who live here.

The promise of coffee kept us biking strong and speedily, and before long, we rolled into Cuba and found Matt already seated in the Cuban Cafe with a stack of pancakes. We joined him, and over the next half hour, Kiara and Harry arrived, followed finally by Casey.

Seeing all seven bikes lined up outside the little restaurant was satisfying. Our little bike gang was together again, feasting on huevos rancheros, breakfast burritos, pancakes, and endless coffee refills.

Kiara and Harry left early to tackle the day's major climb, but the rest of us lingered. We wandered over to the library to use the internet while Pat placed an REI order to be delivered to Santa Fe, where his friend would meet us later in the week. We bought a new water bottle cage and a water filter, while Casey continued testing whether her saddle would finally become comfortable enough to avoid replacing it.

After a grocery stop, we finally left town around 4:30 PM and immediately started climbing. The road rose high with snaking switchbacks that managed to alternate between tailwinds and headwinds around every bend. The afternoon heat lingered, and I settled into a steady rhythm, putting on disco music and slowly grinding upward. It was one of those climbs where progress felt painfully slow yet steady.

At the summit, we regrouped and debated whether to continue farther. Tomorrow would bring more than 4,500 feet of climbing over nearly 70 miles before reaching Abiquiu, NM, although the final 30 miles would be mostly downhill.

While we rested, a woman driving a white pickup stopped to warn us that she had just seen a bear cross the road ahead. She mentioned that hikers had already been having problems with bear activity in the area, which partially convinced us to keep going and regroup with others at camp.

Pat and Matt decided to continue ahead, disappearing down the road while Casey, Uri, and I slowly tackled the final three uphill gravel miles before enjoying a beautiful descent into camp.

Harry and Kiara had already arrived, along with Isaac, whom we had first met unloading his bike at the Mexican border on Day 1. He's a 27 year-old teacher from Iowa with endless energy and optimism.

The six of us cooked dinner together before attempting some very questionable bear hangs. The trees had almost no low branches, so our food bags ended up suspended in whatever creative ways we could manage before crawling into our tents for the night. We crossed our fingers that our food would be spared, given the long next day without services to Abiquiu.

Day 10: Campsite to Abiquiu

65 miles; 4993 ft of gain

We (Casey, Uri, and I) finally allowed ourselves a proper sleep-in, not getting out of our tents until 7:30 AM. It felt luxurious after the previous day's climb, and we all needed it.

The morning ride was absolutely idyllic. Gentle gravel roads meandered through pine forests filled with wildflowers, and everything felt peaceful and quiet. I was still tired and relaxed from the day before, and the calm surroundings only made me feel sleepier as we lazily rolled through the forest.

At one point, the road seemed to transform into glitter. Tiny crushed stones embedded in the gravel sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight, making it feel like we were riding through a trail dusted with diamonds. It reminded me of the Pisgah National Forest in North Carolina, and it added to the whimsy-ness of the trail. Casey even mentioned that this morning might be her favorite day on the ride so far.

Annnnnd then everything changed.

The road turned sharply uphill and refused to let up. We climbed for hours on rough gravel covered in washboards and chunky rocks that stole our momentum. The pace slowed to a crawl, and we stopped frequently to catch our breath and recover. Eventually, we crested the highest point of the day, climbing above 10,000 feet before collapsing at an intersection for snacks. At this point, Casey wasn’t feeling well at all, and we took some time to recover here.

As we rested, a truck overloaded with logs came flying up the road and sped away around the corner. Three minutes later a sheriff's deputy arrived asking if we had seen the vehicle. Apparently there was some sort of pursuit underway, adding an unexpected bit of trail drama to our afternoon. We have no clue how it turned out.

Around 3:30 PM, we finally reached the start of our big descent into Abiquiu, which we had been anticipating all day. After fighting uphill for hours, I imagined a fast and effortless downhill filled with joy and excitement. Instead, it became one of the most technical sections of riding we’ve done. Supposedly, this section is also one of the hardest of the whole tour, from what others say. For the next week, riders would compare other sections of the trail to this awful one: “Well, it’s not as bad as the descent to Abiquiu…”

Basically, the road was covered with loose rocks and giant embedded boulders that bounced the bike in every direction. Finding a rideable line required complete concentration, and every minute brought more rattling and jostling. It was actually full-on mountain biking at this point. The rocky cow pastures eventually gave way to cracked slabs of stone interrupted by deep patches of soft sand. Every time my front wheel hit the sand it shot sideways. I lost my balance over and over before finally crashing once, leaving me frustrated and exhausted. Later, I crashed again on an unstable rock section, hitting and bending my derailleur, which was bad considering there were no bike services for a long time, and my derailleur had complicated issues in Silver City. I wouldn’t be able to get it professionally looked at until Del Norte, CO on Day 16. Ironically, Casey absolutely loved this section— she was flying with her spirits uplifted again after the uphill slog.

Also, we saw our fist bear! It got spooked as we biked passed and ran quickly into the woods over a hill. We sang loud opera after this to announce ourselves coming.

The pro is that doing this section NOBO is waaaay better than doing it SOBO, so far. We went up the perfect paved uphill yesterday, and we biked down the technical section of rocks and sand. Going uphill on the rocky/sandy terrain would have been a nightmare, most definitely predominantly hike-a-biking (at least for me).

By around 7 PM, we had completely run out of water in a dried chunky, muddy cow pasture as the sun began to set. Many other riders ran out of water at the tail end of their day as well. But finally, we exited the national forest and returned to smooth gravel roads.

On our right, we could see that a new forest fire had started up, with smoke building in the adjacent valley. We would find out tomorrow that the road we were riding would be closed completely for firefighters.

Long evening shadows stretched across the road as we sped downhill toward town. That descent became one of my favorite moments of the entire trip. We flowed down incredibly graded switchbacks during golden hour as everything around us glowed shades of pink and purple. Every few minutes another overlook would reveal giant lavender mountains beneath thick blanket-like clouds while the soft pink sky reflected off the desert below, tinting the sandy gravel the same rosy color. It reminded me of a fantasy world, like Mount Olympus or some Star Wars utopia. We kept stopping just to stare, absolutely blown away. None of us could believe how beautiful it was. Casey and I teared up— a stunning reward following a painful day.

We raced into Abiquiu hoping to reach the inn's restaurant before it closed, arriving with about thirty minutes to spare. Inside, we found all of our bike friends once again! There wasn't much happening in town that evening, so we spent some time sitting together on the porch eating hot sandwiches and fries while swapping stories from the day.

That night, we stayed at the Abiquiu Resort on the River, a quirky little property owned by Goldie, an older woman with a flowing dress and flowing white hair. She offers massages and tarot card readings alongside a collection of humble cabins, an outdoor shower, and a communal kitchen. For $10/person, we pitched our tent in the yard, finally did laundry, and enjoyed our first real shower in days. Tomorrow was a rest day, and we couldn't wait.

Day 11: Rest Day!

The night at Goldie's place was a little rough. We pitched our tent on the lawn, but a large floodlight illuminated the entire yard and made it difficult to fall asleep. Even so, we slept in, and the cool temperatures and gentle breeze made for a comfortable morning (for me at least, Uri didn’t sleep well). Casey slept on the outdoor couch under the canopy on the river, arguably the best bed in the place.

I spent the morning catching up on chores, washing my bike bags and doing laundry while everything dried in the sun. Once Uri woke up, we pedaled into town to the Phillips 66/ Bode’s cafe, which had surprisingly great fresh food. It was incredibly pricey though ($6 for a can of food??).

Hot tip: El Rito was 16 miles away, and we wished we went there instead. The restaurant in El Rito was way better and way more affordable. The owners there said that they get their food from the same place as Bode’s, but they’re not gentrified, so they keep their prices reasonable.

Alas, at Bode’s, we devoured breakfast burritos and lingered over coffee, enjoying our first proper cups in several days. Later, Kiara and Harry arrived, and the four of us spread out maps and phones across the table, planning the next stretch of the route and marking reliable water sources for the long miles ahead.

Since I received official news that I had been offered a job with the USGS studying ungulate hemorrhagic disease, HR needed paperwork completed quickly to start the hiring process. So, I headed to the local library to print everything out. Unfortunately, I arrived to find it unexpectedly closed because they were dealing with a snake problem. With Juneteenth the following day, I was anxious to get everything mailed out before the long weekend. I left a voicemail explaining my situation and later biked back to see if the library had reopened. As I arrived, a woman pulled up beside me in her car and asked, "Are you Erin? Let's get your problems figured out!" She welcomed me inside, helped me print all of my paperwork, and completely saved the day. It was one of those unexpected acts of kindness that restores your faith in people.

We also took advantage of being in town to mail a few unnecessary items home from the post office, including a hat, extra Nalgene bottles, and a few pairs of underwear that had gone untouched since the start of the trip. I’m always surprised by how little material items you actually need in life.

Later, we stopped at the gas station for more food and found even more cyclists passing through. The route had become noticeably busier. One rider (and bike mechanic) named Peanut generously helped straighten my derailleur after my crash the previous day. It still wasn't perfect, but it shifted far better than before, and I was incredibly grateful for the help. It would get me over Indiana Pass to the Del Norte bike shop.

The rest of the evening was spent back at Goldie's, where cyclists drifted in and out around the communal picnic table while everyone ate dinner and shared stories from the road. Among them was the current first-place northbound racer, Scott, a man in his sixties who was biking over 100 miles a day. He would end up scratching from the race 4 days later because of saddle sores. We also met a badass older couple from Scotland (Janice and Alex) who had built their own sailboat and spent ten years living aboard it, in addition to doing ambitious and remote rock climbing expeditions around the world.

Just before sunset, a tiny sprinkle of rain and strong gusts of wind had everyone packing up. It barely lasted a few minutes, but it was enough to create a beautiful rainbow!

Day 12: Abiquiu to El Rito, NM

19 miles; 1188 ft of gain

We took advantage of our rest day and slept in, waking up to find that everyone else had already packed up and headed down the trail. It was nice traveling in a bubble with Kiara and Harry, though now we would be tracking different mileage than them. Pat also stayed in Abiquiu one extra day, so there’s a chance we won’t meet up again for a while. Matt was long gone— a lot of miles pushing ahead so he could see his family in Colorado. I’m excited about the prospect of overlapping with a new bubble of riders.

With nowhere to rush off to, we enjoyed a slow morning before biking back to the Phillips 66 for another round of breakfast burritos and coffee. We lingered for hours, casually planning the next leg of the trip while identifying reliable water sources.

The next stretch of the route would also be one of our longest without dependable services. We stocked up on three days' worth of food, knowing that our next major resupply would be in Horca, CO, roughly 115 miles away. Although there were a few small communities in between, other cyclists warned us that many of their stores and restaurants were closed, so we decided not to count on them.

By late afternoon, we finally hit the road, riding the short 16-mile stretch to El Rito. The route climbed steadily uphill, but the smooth pavement made for an easy spin after our day off.

El Rito was a quiet little village tucked into the valley. We stopped at the small Mexican restaurant (open 3 PM-ish to 8 PM-ish: it’s so small they can do whatever they want with hours) that turned out to be one of the highlights of the day (and the best food so far on the trip!). The food was incredible and wonderfully authentic (with trophies and awards to prove it), with homemade tamales selling for only $3 each.

After dinner, our server told us that El Rito has managed to avoid much of the gentrification that has transformed nearby places like Abiquiu and some of the towns farther north. A lot of rich folks buy up the properties in the area, driving up the housing costs for everyone else who doesn’t own a home yet. Because Georgia O’Keefe lived in Abiquiu, that drew a lot of people to the town.

As we were paying, an older gentleman, Ted, walked into the restaurant and struck up a conversation with us. After hearing about our bike trip, he generously offered us the use of his guest house just across the street. But he didn’t want to stay and talk, he just showed us the place, and we didn’t see him again.

And the property was absolutely beautiful with a charming courtyard that opened into an even larger garden with an outdoor fireplace, a hot tub, and lovely landscaping. It felt like an oasis after days of camping and rough roads. Our first bed of the trip!

As evening settled in, we watched the colors change across the sky. The sunset was shades of pink and gold, making the place feel more magical. It was one of those unexpected moments of generosity and kindness that will stay with me awhile. Oh the wonderful things that can happen who you talk to strangers.

Day 13: El Rito to cow pasture

60 miles; 7238 ft of gain

Note the big elevation day!

After a wonderfully restful night at Ted's guest house, we rolled out a little after 7 AM. The day began with a winding climb into the national forest, gradually gaining elevation through chilly morning air and towering pines.

Near the top, we stumbled upon a cycling race aid station and were beckoned over. The race organizers gave us drinks and homemade baklava, which tasted amazing after the climb. The event had plenty of personality too, including a stuffed duck with a cigarette dangling from its beak and a gong that racers could ring when they finished.

What followed was some of the best gravel riding of the trip. Smooth roads and long, flowing descents let us fly through the forest, carving around corners and enjoying the feeling of effortless speed after so many days of grinding uphill.

By midday, the warmth of the sun caught up with us, and we found a patch of grass where we stretched out and took a 40 min nap right on the ground. While we were lounging, Pat caught up to us, and the four of us rode together for a while toward Hopewell Lake.

The lake was busy with folks fishing and recreating. We filtered water, snacked with Pat, and sat for a while debating our next move. We could take the Continental Divide Trail alternate, which was shorter but notorious for long sections of hike-a-bike, or follow the Adventure Cycling Association route, which was longer and climbed a bit more but was fully rideable. We ultimately chose the ACA route, and it turned out to be one of the best decisions of the trip. Later, several riders who took the CDT option told us it was the worst riding they had ever experienced in their whole life: downed trees, half of it hiking and pushing your fully loaded bike uphill.

The climb after the lake, however, nearly broke me. The long, rocky uphill completely drained my energy, and I realized I couldn’t make it to Lagunitas, which had been our original goal for the day. My legs felt empty, and emotionally I was running on fumes. Also, my chain was popping off because of my derailleur being bent.

In the end, Casey, Uri, and I decided to stop after about ~60 miles of riding instead of pushing for 70. As tired as I was, the evening ride turned out to be stunning. The road rolled high across open country with distant views of the Colorado mountains rising on the horizon. Golden hour coated the landscape in warm light. Even though my mood wasn't great and I was desperately ready to be done for the day, I tried to find moments to appreciate where we were.

Finding water proved challenging. Many of the drainages and streams were completely dry. Eventually we found a small flowing creek running through a pasture occupied by cows. It wasn't exactly the most safe-looking water source, but we decided it would work in a pinch if we needed it.

That night we camped in the national forest surrounded by cattle, dodging large piles of poop. The cows spent much of the evening wandering nearby, making hilarious long and whining moo-ing. Once the sun finally dipped below the horizon, everything fortunately quieted down. The temperature dropped quickly, creating the perfect conditions for sleeping, and we crawled into our tents and passed out.

Day 14: Cow pasture to Horca, Colorado!

46 miles; 4708 ft of gain

We didn't roll out until after 7:30 AM, desperately needing to keep sleeping. Within the first 15 miles, we had nearly 2,000 feet of climbing ahead of us. Casey started a bit later, so Uri and I spent the morning riding together on our own.

The road was rough in places, embedded with pointy rocks and bumps that constantly rattled our bikes and bodies. It was the kind of terrain that wears you down mentally and physically. We ended up at the upper campground to Lagunitas and had to hike our bikes down the CDT trail to get to the water. Our moods were pretty sour because of it, though maybe fueled by needing lunch.

So lunchtime—Uri and I finally arrived at the peaceful pond tucked among the trees and meadow. The water was perfectly still, reflecting the sky while a few people fished from the shore and others paddled canoes across the surface. It felt calm and quiet which was exactly the opposite of the ride to get here. We ate, filtered water, and prepared for the long dry stretch ahead since we wouldn't have another reliable source for nearly 30 miles. Just as we finished, Casey rolled in. While she filtered water, we relaxed in the shade.

Then came the climbing, again of course.

It felt like we had been climbing uphill for three days straight. Now, we slowly worked our way toward nearly 11,000 feet, grinding through one climb after another. This would be our highest elevation so far.

Despite the effort, the scenery was spectacular. We pedaled through beautiful pine forests and along windy ridgelines that offered glimpses of mountains with incredible prominence. At some point, we transitioned from New Mexico into Colorado without a welcome sign. We simply crossed the state line somewhere along a rocky and very very dusty descent, our faces covered by buffs and bandanas.

The downhill itself was brutal. The trail was so rough and technical that it demanded complete concentration. Uri and I spent hours fighting for control while being bounced around relentlessly. Somewhere along the way, I lost my sandals which had shaken loose by the constant jostling. Hit up ya girl if you find them! Meanwhile, Casey was having the time of her life. She loved the chunky technical MTB riding and took off while I periodically stopped to walk.

Not long after crossing into Colorado, the landscape changed. Suddenly, water was everywhere. Streams flowed alongside the road, ponds appeared in the valleys, and nearly every drainage actually contained water. We passed several people practicing fly fishing, and it felt exactly like the Colorado I had imagined.

Eventually the rough trail gave way to pavement, which initially felt like a relief. Then the road tilted upward again, and I honestly felt close to tears. My legs were completely spent, and both Casey and I were running on empty. It wasn't even an especially long day, only about 45 miles, but the elevation and terrain had drained us.

Then, finally, we saw it: a summit sign for La Manga Pass, and then the suffering made sense. We had been working our way toward a mountain pass, which meant we had one of our biggest descents of the entire trip so far.

The road plunged downward so steeply that it felt like my stomach was in my throat, the way a cresting roller coaster makes you feel. At one point, I hit 35 miles per hour and got jittery nerves at the speed. The trees opened up, revealing an enormous mountain range stretching across the horizon. Tears welled up. The pain, the beauty.

We finally rolled into Red Bear, racing against the clock to reach the restaurant before it closed. Kiara and Harry were already there waiting and cheering us on as we arrived.

Unfortunately, we missed the hot food by only a few minutes after 5 PM, but the adjacent gift shop/ small store was still open until 6, and we rushed inside. By that point I was so physically and emotionally depleted that seeing the remaining food options made me cry again. The wife of the place took pity and quickly heated up burritos— we collapsed into chairs and happily stuffed our faces.

That evening we showered, pitched our tents, and washed clothes in the sink.

Afterwards we gathered outside on the deck with Harry, Kiara, Janice, Andy, and Trey (high school science teacher who started the route as a racer but was now touring after a sinus infection). Everyone recalled their rides, and it became clear that everyone had struggled. The camaraderie and commiserating made me feel so much better!