New Country for Me

One of my favorite legs of the trip!

I left Mom’s and headed to the local Starbucks. I had spent two months in Denver last year taking care of her and had gone there every day. Normally, I’m a Peet’s guy, but this Starbucks is different—and I think it’s because of Catrina. She greets everyone who walks in like a long-lost friend. She’s interesting, funny, and incredibly kind in her demeanor. You can tell her coworkers adore and admire her and mirror her enthusiasm. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone in retail do a better job of setting the tone and engaging customers. I went there two days during this visit, but she was off. This morning, she was there. It felt like a good omen.

Me tongue tied by being so close to greatness

Although I lived in Denver for 23 years, I had never explored much of Colorado east of the city. I always assumed it was just wheat and alfalfa fields. Boy, was I wrong. As soon as I left Denver, I entered a series of beautiful rolling hills covered in prairie and pasture. In the valleys between the hills, muddy creeks wound through groves of cottonwoods. Occasionally, there was a pine tree thrown in. They’ve had quite a bit of rain, so everything was green and lush. The farm roads seemed to go on forever, looking like a straight black ribbon laid across a wrinkled green blanket. I’ve been through some beautiful territory on this trip, and this was as good as anything I’ve seen.

At one point, I crossed a bridge over a fast-flowing, dirt-colored creek. On both sides were groves of cottonwoods. I pulled out my camera and realized I was in the middle of a swarm of birds—larks, I think. The sun was shining, and the birds were darting all around me. For some reason, it was magical.

Google tried to take me down some muddy, washboarded roads, so I decided to navigate myself, and it worked out fine. I had lunch in a cute little town called Kiowa, charged up, and headed east. On this stretch, I had one of the best experiences of the whole trip.

I’d seen antelope throughout the fields all morning. Every time I tried to take a picture, they’d run off. So I kept my camera ready when I saw a tan speck far ahead to my right. As I approached—about 50 yards away—it started to run. I hoped I captured it, even though it was far away. But then I glanced left, and boom—a big pronghorn antelope jumped right in front of me as I was going about 30 miles an hour. It ran alongside me in the grassy space between the pavement and the barbed-wire fence. I sped up slightly, not wanting to scare it, but it sped up too and kept running with me for a surprisingly long time. It was amazing—how fast and effortlessly it moved. Eventually, I pulled ahead because I didn’t want to give it a heart attack. (Do animals have heart attacks? Am I an idiot?)

Please have patience, a really cool thing happens half way through!!

I made it to Limon, Colorado, near the Kansas border. It’s mostly a crossroad where people leave I-70 to head south to Kit Carson and Eads. After arriving, I realized I needed a big charge. I’d been riding into a headwind for the past 60 miles. I zigzagged around motels and fast food places looking for an outside outlet I could discreetly use. Eventually, I gave up and went into McDonald’s. I plugged in the unicycle and dropped my overstuffed backpack.

At a long table in the back sat two older men who looked like ranchers. One wore a “Ranchers for Trump” hat, the other a standard Trump hat. They motioned me over.

The Ranchers for Trump guy said, “We have some questions for you.”

I answered, “If you’re going to ask me whether I know enough to pour piss out of a boot before putting it on, you can probably guess the answer.”

They laughed. “Nah, we want to know about that thing you rode in on. What is it? How is it powered? What are you doing?”

I asked if I could join them. They warned me they had some “blowhard friends” on the way. I said, “Sorry to interrupt,” and they said, “Sit down—we just wanted to warn you.”

We chatted. They were both ranchers—one had 42 sections of land (a section is a square mile) in the area and additional land in Texas. They told me about the local economy and cattle business. The oil and gas industry is drying up thanks to legislation that’s made drilling too expensive. They launched into a tirade about how the Front Range has become “just like California.” I said, “I was just on the Western Slope—it’s looking pretty fancy too.” They agreed.

The guy in the regular Trump hat said, “Congress is in it for the money. AOC was a waitress, and now she’s worth millions.”

I replied, “Yeah, and Boebert too.”

They agreed she was a joke.

We got into a fascinating conversation about modern-day cattle rustling. Apparently, thieves use semis to steal entire loads from feedlots. One of them had lost six cattle that way. Of course, the guy responsible was from—yep—California.

I told them my first job was in Fort Collins, and I commuted to Greeley every day. Naturally, this led to the question, “You ever been to that cow nut bar in Severance?”

I had. Bruce’s Bar. Went with my dad. Stopped there sometimes after work. The specialty was testicles—cow, buffalo, sheep, even turkey. (Never thought turkeys had nuts big enough to eat, but one of the guys swore they were the best.)

We stayed on the subject of testicles for a while before drifting to other less intellectual topics. They asked about my work and where I went to school. I told them I was raised in Colorado and went to CC for undergrad. I said it sheepishly, knowing some Coloradans see it as a liberal, snobby school.

The Ranchers for Trump guy lit up. “My two boys went there. Played football. You know it’s got a terrible football program…one of the boys did really well after school the other is a firefighter back east. “

I nodded.

“My dad made me go to CSU in Fort Collins. Said he’d kick me off the ranch if I didn’t go to college. Told me I couldn’t major in anything agriculture-related. So I chose accounting—snuck in a few ag classes senior year.” said Ranchers for Trump

I shared my 911 story about getting stuck on the mountain. They laughed hard. Then their friends arrived—three more guys—and I had to tell the story again. One of them was a big landowner and former politician. The group immediately gave him grief about his pension and how much money he was “sucking out of the government.” He just smiled and took it.

They asked about my kids and were surprised they had “real” jobs and degrees. We talked about the purpose of my trip—that I wanted to understand the heart of America. I told them I’d found people to be overwhelmingly kind.

One of them said, “We’ve got assholes here too.”

As dinner approached, they said it was time to head out. They gave me weather warnings and told me which exits they lived at in case I got caught in hail. I thanked them for including me and asked for a photo to show the knuckleheads that I drink coffee with. They agreed enthusiastically. I told them that they were much better looking than my two friends. Mike, Jeff, time for a make over.

We know who you are boy!

As we shook hands goodbye, I said, “You just spent two hours with a Democrat from California.”

Ranchers for Trump smiled and said, “You think we didn’t know that already? Be safe out there.”

I walked outside with all my gear. The sky was black toward Kit Carson. A severe weather alert popped up on my phone in red letters. I called an audible and got a hotel room. No riding tomorrow—the storm is supposed to grow. Thursday’s looking better, and then I’m off again. I bet I’m going to have a fun time in Limon tomorrow. Really.