The road trip lasted for so long that my husband, who was still working full time, had to go home for a couple of weeks. He called me and said, “We need to schedule time to go over all your mail and deliveries. There are wine boxes all over the place.”
After we said goodbye near Denver, I drove to Moab in search of fun. On one day when the sky seemed unsure if it should rain or let the sun shine, I parked at the Lions Park and Bike Path trailhead. I squeezed between the van and the rack to get at my bike that was stored behind Bruce’s.
I packed up my backpack with my red emergency bag with a Solu-Cortef injection kit dangling from a clip on the outside. The path started flat with rock faces all around. They reached up from the trail into the gray sky. The red, orange, and black colors in the cliffs created a sense of warmth and safety.
A few miles in, a group of cyclists congregated in the middle of the trail. It was a woman and three men. There was no choice but to come to a halt. Behind them was a barricade. One of the men said, “You have reached the end of the line.” I asked if they had ridden in the other direction. I asked if they saw other cyclists. The woman said, “You will see some cyclists. I understand how you might feel vulnerable as a woman alone on the trail.”
The other direction of the trail was open and climbed away from the road and into rock-strewn mountains that border Arches National Park. I thought to myself, I will keep going until I feel unsafe. Then, just over this hill, to see what is there. I was climbing alone until pink and blue cycling shirts appeared up ahead. A couple had stopped on the side of the path and they were sipping from water bottles. I huffed and puffed, “Are you going all the way up?” They said, “Yes, we are taking it in chunks. Two of our party are ahead of us. You are not alone!”
My legs churned. I was going to the top. I met the first of the party members at what looked like the crest of the hill. She said, “This is not the top. I am waiting for my husband who kept going.” She told me she was from Chicago and recently retired. I shared a little bit about my background. Then her husband appeared and said, “You are not far from the end and yes, the wind is blowing in both directions.” He was willing to ride the hill again. I looked at the woman and said, “Let’s finish this hill.” She said, “I am happy to have a coach accompany me.”
The descent was going to be long and steep. I said, “I am nervous about the cattle guards.” The woman said, “Just put your tires on the thin metal strip.” We both recognized that those strips were wet and wished each other a safe return.
I barely pedaled on the way down. I felt light. I saw other cyclists on their way up. I said, “Have fun!” Back at the trailhead, I removed my backpack and put the injection kit on the passenger seat. I squeezed my bike back between Bruce’s bike and the van. I wondered if I would ever say, like Forrest Gump, “I’m pretty tired…I think I’ll go home now.” Besides, I have a lot of wine to unpack too.
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