Context first, then the exciting stuff
Lifting a 100lb muddy unicycle over a barb wire fence. Yes, I made that decision.
Today was back to normal—no problems, all fun.
Before you read about today’s very big adventure, I want to give you, the reader, some context around what happened yesterday and how it should of been worst, given my level of preparation.
Before this trip, my wife suggested I put more time into planning, start with shorter trips, go with people who’d done longer rides, build up stamina, and learn what the challenges are on a shorter, solo, unsupported journey before embarking on something like this. Maybe ride to Tahoe first, then to L.A.
I listened to her carefully. Then decided I could do all of the above in two weeks.
I took two practice “Mountain Rides” around—not over—Mount Diablo. I followed that up with a 100-mile ride across the tabletop-flat Sacramento Delta with a 15 lb pack on a sunny 75-degree day. I took a couple of days at the end of the week to plan.
Then, I had to go to the Bellagio in Vegas with my friends Skip, Ben, and Nick. We operated heavy equipment and went to a couple of shows. Sure, I lost some training days—but how often do you get to drive an excavator.
I dug a hole, and somebody else had to fill it up
I was still sore from the previous week’s rides, and now I had only a week before my departure. On Monday, I didn’t feel well. Each day I felt worse. I compensated by watching YouTube videos of people unicycling, hoping for some “visualization” training. I also watched a bunch of random videos I found amusing—because, you know, YouTube. I took naps, welded some stuff, and shopped for gear. Suddenly, it was Friday, and I still hadn’t done a serious ride.
Kim and I flew down to Skip’s art show. That left me one day to pack before my self-imposed deadline to leave.
Given the rigor of my prep, I think we should all applaud the fact that I’ve only had one 911 call. Maybe I’m being too hard on my self for already being five days behind my uncompleted schedule.
Given what had happened recently, I spent a lot of time on today’s ride reflecting on the good decisions I’ve made so far on this several week trip. . Every time I thought of one, I stopped and jotted it down in a notebook i keep buried at the bottom of my backpack. Here's the full list from five hours on the wheel:
I didn’t get a tattoo with the Michigan ladies, even though I was invited.
I didn’t take a picture of the bald guy with the neck beard at the Maverik station in Salina, who shoplifted a pack of powdered donuts by putting two in his mouth, the rest down the front of his pants, and cleaning his hands on his girlfriend’s black leggings—leaving two white handprints. I kind of doubt it was his first time.
I haven’t spent a day sitting in a small-town barbershop just to watch haircuts—though I’ve been tempted.
I haven’t ordered sushi at any restaurant I’ve visited. I don’t even recall seeing it on a menu, but if I did, I still wouldn’t order it.
I haven’t asked for a side of “tariffs” with my burger.
I haven’t asked people who clearly aren’t from Canada if they’re from Canada—and then started guessing which province, using fake names like “Plaidtoon” or “Skidoodle.” (Surprisingly, real Canadians rarely call me out.)
So I’ll stop bragging and tell you about my day.
My Day
If you read yesterday’s post, you know Google Maps has not been my friend when it comes to biking directions. Today, it tried to send me on the same disastrous route as before. I then tested what it would recommend if I said I was in a car but avoiding freeways. Still the same bad bike route.
Google trying to take a car down the same goat path that I took me yesterday..
So I lied to Google and told it I was a car. It said, “Take I-70.” So I did.
The route I took
It had a really wide shoulder and got me to the same place the goat trail would have—in 45 minutes, without the mud, pain, or 911 calls. Forty Five minutes is also the same amount of time that it took for the Sheriff’s Department to show up the day before yesterday, and that was really fast!
I arrived in Rifle, Colorado—home of Lauren Boebert. The town was buzzing. It has a charming downtown, and that’s where I stopped to Chow, Charge, and Chat.
I saw two women—Misty and Danielle—sitting on a patio near an outlet, which was perfect for my charging needs. It turns out I was at Brickhouse Sandwiches. Great food, and even better service. Within minutes we were chatting. They’re sisters, both born and raised in Rifle. One’s a lawyer, the other an accountant. Both were so darn nice.
We talked about kids, music, tragic loss, grief counseling, tattoos, real estate—you name it. I shared my 911 story from yesterday, and they told a funnier one from last summer. Don’t worry everyone was alright. Danielle’s boyfriend came by for a bit. He had to leave. Danielle said he was the best guy ever, Misty agreed.
A moment later, an elderly gentleman exited the restaurant, limping slightly. He stopped at our table and asked to sit down—his knee had gone out. He had stopped me earlier when I went inside to wash my hands; he had several thoughtful questions about my “contraption.” He had been a mechanic so was very mechanical.
It was hot outside in the sun so the waitress brought him a glass of water while Misty and Danielle ordered another beer. I should of gotten the waitress’s name too. The quality of service that she offered, especially to the old man, who did not look like a big tipper, was extraordinary. She had to own the place I guess. Turns out the old man had been a mechanic in the local mines for over fifty years. His wife had been a schoolteacher, and Misty remembered her. Then we discovered that Danielle and the old man live just a block apart—and had never met. Even stranger, Danielle and Misty have offices that overlook the restaurant, yet they’d never seen him before.
After he left for his car, which was parked next to our table, the waitress mentioned, “Oh, he comes in every day.” I started to wonder if I was part of some complex local improv experiment. How could they all live in Rifle and not know each other?
Were these just actors? I should have asked for business cards
Misty and Danielle both have teenage sons, and they thought a photo of Mom with the unicycle would impress the boys. While I turned my back to pack up, I heard cheering—and there was Misty riding the unicycle all by herself. Next up was Danielle, riding it backward. Too bad the old man wasn’t there to give it a try.
I got a picture of one of them after their ride. She said, “He’ll never believe it.” Too bad we didn’t get video—especially since this was after two beers.
Yes, your moms rode these. They should have had a helmet on with a chin strap attached
I saddled up and headed to Meeker. It was a beautiful ascent with a wide shoulder. The stream winding through the pastures looked like a golden thread reflecting the light of the setting sun.
I arrived at the hotel and started to check in. I’ve stayed there twice before. The clerk asked, “Are you Bruce Maupin, Bruce and Margaret Maupin, Steve Maupin, or Steve and Kim Maupin?”
My parents were avid Colorado anglers. I never knew they had stayed at this hotel—or that my dad had come on his own once. I asked if she remembered any of us.
“Nope.