After three hours on the U. S. lacrosse conference call, I finally pulled out of Rawlins mid-day on Thursday, August 5th. Not far out of Rawlins, just past Sinclair (home of Sinclair Oil), the TransAm route uses I-80 for 13 miles. It was the first time I've ridden a bike on an interstate highway. The shoulder was smooth and clean, and the "lorry effect"- a brief blast of tailwind from the wake of passing trucks, really pushed me along. I actually enjoyed this stretch.

Due to the late start, I only made 42 miles before stopping in Saratoga for the evening. There is a hot spring here. In fact, the spring reminded early residents of Saratoga Springs, NY, and they named the town after the resort back east. (Not very original, but I suppose not many town names really are.) The spring is piped into a pool, dubbed the "Hobo Pool", and that's what it looked like when I stopped by. I gave it a miss.

Starting out the next morning, I was joined by another east-bound rider named Clarence, whose wife, Karen, was sagging him in their car. ("SAG" is a bicycle touring acronym for "support and gear.) Clarence was riding "light"- Karen carried all of his gear in the car- and it was tough to keep up with him. He was limiting his riding to 50 miles per day, and was already halfway into his day when we met. So, after a brief spell of tiring but pleasant company, I was on my own again.

Group riding can be fun, but I have grown to enjoy riding on my own. I ride at whatever pace I choose, and rest when I want, for as long as I want. The only time I miss company is in the evening, when it would be nice to rehash the days experiences with other riders. A riding partner might also provide additional motivation to get me going earlier in the day, if we didn't stay up too late at night reliving each days ride.

Shortly after Clarence left me, it began to rain lightly, but the temperature was comfortable, and my light jacket kept me dry. It was still drizzling when I crossed into Colorado.

70 miles from Saratoga, I came to Walden, CO. I grabbed a shower at the town pool, and dinner (barbecue) at the town restaurant, then headed to the Sheriff's office to check in so I could camp in the city park. Camping is allowed in many city parks on the TransAm. It's free in most cases. Many towns request that you check in with the Sheriff or local police first.

The Sheriff and clerk in the office were quite pleasant, and asked me about my trip. Westbound riders had warned me about the sprinklers in the park in Walden, and I asked the Sheriff if there was any way to avoid them. He thought the sprinklers were operated manually, and they wouldn't bother me.

He was wrong. I set up camp along the edge of the park just in case, and searched for a sprinkler head in the area of my tent. Not seeing one, I retired.

I heard the first sprinkler go off on the other side of the park shortly after midnight. Manual, my butt! The sprinklers went off one-by-one, at an interval of 20 minutes, or so. I still thought I was safe, since I was on the far edge of the park, and hadn't find a sprinkler head near my tent. So I slept peacefully.

Until I was awakened by the sound of rushing water nearby. I looked out of the tent (it was warm, and one flap of the rain fly was still open when I fell asleep), and not 20 feet from the tent, a sprinkler head had popped out of the ground, and the stream was working its way toward me, quickly.

It got two passes in before I got the flap closed. Thankfully, not much water got in the tent. About every ten seconds, the tent got blasted by a hearty stream of water, but the rain fly did its job, and no more water got inside. Now wide awake, I started to laugh. I laugh hardest when I'm laughing at myself, and this was a good one. I laughed harder with each pass of the sprinkler.

Until I had to pee.... badly. And the sprinkler continued its relentless assault, whoosh!, whoosh!, whoosh!, every ten seconds.

I managed to survive the 40 miles to the resort area of Dillon, arriving at 10:00AM. I planned to rent a car there to drive to Denver, to have my computer's operating system re-installed at the Apple Store. Somehow, my computer had lost the file management part of it's operating system, and with it, the ability to up or download any information, making it impossible to update the web site. Several hours on the phone with tech support hadn't found a solution, and I was told that the only fix was to re-install the system. Since I didn't carry the rescue disks with me, this meant a trip to the Apple Store in Denver.

By noon, I had found a Hertz location, and checked into a motel in Frisco. I was on my way to Denver by 1:00. Traffic leaving the mountains on Sunday afternoon was very heavy, and it took nearly three hours to drive 70 highway miles to Denver.

To make a long story short, the Apple store made me buy a new copy of the operating system, even though my computer was brand new, and under warranty! Their explanation made no sense, and I threw a complete fit in the store (something I haven't done more than once or twice in my life), but to no avail. I started telling customers that there was a serious problem with the culture of the company, and they should leave and buy a Dell. (And I'm an Apple nut!)

When it looked like they were about to call mall security, I gave in, and coughed up $129 for a new copy of the system that came with my two-month old computer.

The new software didn't work. While the techies were trying to install the new system, I walked next-door to the Rite Aid to take care of another problem. Several of my saddle sores had become infected, so my Dad (a retired pediatrician) called in a prescription for an antibiotic. While they were working on filling it at Rite Aid, I went back to the Apple Store to check on their progress, there. The techies had found a solution, and were beginning to re-install the system. It would take another 30-45 minutes.

Back to the Rite Aid. According to the pharmacist, my prescription plan had been updated, and I was mailed a new card. "Did I have the new card?" Nope, it's in Philadelphia, of course. They would call Blue Cross and get it straightened out right away. "Come back in 20 minutes."

Back to the Apple Store. All done. "Thanks for your $129! And, by the way, you may have to re-install some of your third-party software." Like Microsoft Office, and Dreamweaver- my web authoring program. Great!

I went back to Rite Aid to find the pharmacy shuttered. Back at the front of the store, the manager told me the pharmacy closed at 6:00PM. I looked at my watch. It was 6:02. "They just walked out the door", she said. But we couldn't find them in the parking lot. And the manager had no way to contact them, or to get into the pharmacy to retrieve my prescription card.

I drove two hours back to Denver with no antibiotics, no prescription card, and with a working computer, but no way to update the web site until the web program disk was mailed to me from Philadelphia. If anyone had given me any crap along the way, I would have eaten their liver. With no Fava beans. Or Chianti.

I was eating dinner at a small restaurant across the street from my motel, when a loaded bicycle pulled up, and an older man came in and took a table. I was in street clothes, so he didn't recognize me as a cyclist. When he went back to his bike to get something, I asked him about his trip.

His name was George, and he was from Houston. He began a 10,000 mile "lap" of the country from his house in February, and would be home by the end of the year. He was also staying at the South Park Motel, and told me he'd stop by my room later to chat.

George seemed like a gruff old codger, but it was a facade. He had great stories about his rides, and great tips and suggestions for me. This was his second lap of the country.

Ten years ago, he rode from his home in Houston, followed the Southern Tier Route to Florida, took the Atlantic Coast Route to Maine, then the Northern Tier Route to Seattle. He continued south on the Pacific Coast Route, picking up the Southern Tier again in San Diego, and riding home to Houston, getting there almost a year after he started. He celebrated his 50th birthday during that trip.

When he pulled up to his house at the end of his ride, he could see his wife inside, working in the kitchen. "Get out here and fill these bottles, woman! I'm gonna take another lap," he called. She almost killed him.

This time, he was riding in the same direction, but using the TransAmerica Trail instead of the Northern Tier Route. He celebrated his 60th birthday on this lap, in New York.

The day after I met him, George's wife would be flying up to meet him in Breckenridge, and they would spend the better part of a week together there. They met several times during each of his laps.

I was on the road by 7:00AM Tuesday morning. I hoped to make it all the way to Pueblo. George recommended spending a day in Royal Gorge Park, where the highest suspension bridge in the world crosses the Arkansas River.

But I wanted to make some time, and had some work to do once I got to Pueblo. Hopefully, the program disks I needed to work on the web site were waiting for me at the post office there.

I loved the ride along the South Platte River. The terrain was changing from mountains to plains, making for some interesting views.

Park County has replaced the original "Bikecentennial 76" signs which originally marked the TransAm route, first run in 1976. The new signs marked every turn on the route through the county. They were the first "76" signs I had seen on my trip.

My climbing wasn't over yet. I still had a double-crested pass to cross on my way out of the mountains. The second crest, Currant Creek Pass, at just over 9400 feet, was four miles after the first.

But I breezed up both hills with no trouble.

I rode through a few light showers, but the scenery was spectacular, and the rain didn't bother me a bit.

It was tempting to stop at Royal Gorge, just for the spectacle of it. The park is owned by nearby Canon City, which has created a theme park in the area.

I would have enjoyed seeing the gorge, but I didn't really need another theme park experience, nor did I need to pay the hefty admission charge required. So I skipped it, and continued towards Pueblo.

The forty miles from Canon City (pronounced Canyon) to Pueblo were table flat. But a 20-30 mph headwind made up for that.

Halfway between the two, I stumbled onto the Estes Model Rocket Company. I built and launched a lot of these rockets over the years (and even recovered a few of them!), so it was fun to come across the plant where they were made.

But the plant didn't offer tours, even to old customers. So I took some pictures, and headed back into the wind.

111 miles after leaving Fairplay, I made it to Pueblo, pulling into the main post office there just before it closed for the evening. But my mail was at a different office, which was already closed, so I would have to wait a day to pick it up.

Not long after I checked into my motel, I was looking out my window, and saw "Team Angell" pull into the parking lot. I helped them unload (though I think I was just mostly in the way), and we spent a good part of the next two days in Pueblo together, while each of us worked to update our web sites. (Their site is worth checking out at www.teamangell.com )

Wednesday morning, I ran some errands. I picked up my mail, stopped at a bike shop for a few things, and got my hair cut. I was afraid I wouldn't be taking any self-portraits for a while, but Ruth at the salon I stumbled across in my travels- I couldn't find the Hair Cuttery- was a master of the clippers, and even donated her tip to Amanda, after hearing about my cause!

I planned to leave Pueblo with Randall and Barb early Friday morning, August 13th. But I was up all night Thursday finishing the Yellowstone page of the web site. I was able to see the Angells off at 6:00AM, though.

Just before getting on the bike for the day, Barb and Randall gave each other a hug. They told me it was a daily ritual, and I felt privileged to witness it. It was a real hug, lasting at least a full minute, and it told me a lot about their relationship.

I know from experience how difficult it can be get along day after day in the close proximity required by a bicycle built for two. But here was Team Angell, married 21 years, four months and 4000 miles into their ride (just over half-way), still feeling like newlyweds.

It was an honor to spend a few days of their amazing journey with them. They would be leaving the trail shortly to visit family in their hometowns, and our paths would probably not cross again.

We wished each other safe travels, and they shoved off. I watched them go until they were out of sight. I missed them immediately.