Fort Collins (Leaving)
I repacked the car and took care of some personal hygeine needs while waiting. By 7am I was online and by 8am had everything uploaded as weel as some bills paid online. Somewhere along the line I had two inspirations as to where to go next, first I wanted to visit Minnesota which I had always wanted to see since watch ing the Mary Tyler Moore show as a teenager. I wanted to at least pass through Denver since I was so close and Minnesota wazs more than a days drive away, I looked for something in-between. Saint Joseph, Missouri grabbed my attention immediately as I looked at the map. My namesake, the patron Saint of Carpenters and General Contractors, was calling out to me.
When I thought about it I almost felt like I was a character in a Kurt Vonnegut novel or some hero journey story such Odysseus in the Odyssey. I could not remember the details of how those characters made decisions on their journey. Did they have a written set of rules to follow, did the use logic and reason, did they follow their heart or were they guided by the gods? I certainly wasn't using logic and reason in making my decisions on this journey. This would become readily apparent later in the day. I also did not have a set of written rules guiding me except my map and tenting guide. Finally, at critical times I felt like I was not following what I knew in my heart was right either, although I have never had a strong sense of what that organ wants anyway. Maybe a higher power was guiding me.
I head south on I-25 towwards the smoky deadline. My bike seemed secure, so I was comfortable travelling at the 75 mph speed limit. No one else on the highway seemed comfortable travelling that slow at 8am on a Sunday morning. Why is it that no matter what speed limit we post, it is never enough. I remember when I first moved to Tucson I used to push myself to get to work as fast as I could on the Interstate. Eventually I questioned the motivation for this and was comfortable driving the speed limit while everyone else rushed by to their petty appointments wit destiny.
I vowed to exit the Interstate at Denver and head east on highway 36. I was not impressed with Denver's highway system at all. In fact I got off on the wrong exit more than once. I turned on to highway 36 as soon as I could and found a two-lane highway with a 55 mph speed limit exactly paralleling the Interstate only a few hundred feet awy. It seemed a little rediculous puttering around at 30mph slower than everyone else going the same direction. I perservered the already hot wind on that two-lane road for more than an hour before giving up afgter having to take a 3 mile detour around a closed bridge and then losing the highway all together.
I headed towards Kansas on Interstate 70 and it seemed like forever to get out of Colorado. The hot wind buffetted my bike and car as I drove by the dry flat landscape. I hit Colby, Kansas around 1:30 pm filled up with gas and a Taco Bravo then continued on the interstate with high winds and perspiring the heat.
By 5:30pm I was headed north on highway 77 knowing there were some state parks along the way and I was getting close enough to Saint Joseph if I wanted to stop. I did not want to stop. The wind was at my back for the first time in two days, I was fatigued and on cruise control. I had been up since 4am and driving in heat and glaring sunshine for 10 hours. Against my instincts I pulled off into Tuttle Creek State Park.
I found a wide spacious nearly empty beautiful park on a nearly empty lake spanned by a mile-long bridge. The sign said $6.50 per night. It seemed to good to be true. I had trouble telling where the tent sites were so I knocked on the door of the host's trailer. A man in his eearly sixties greeted me and we had a long conversation (15 minutes) about the park and my trip.
I should mention just prior to pulling in to the park I was becoming emotionally distraught. Whether it was from the fatigue or from listenting to commentary on Daryl Kyle's death on AM radio for 10 hours or I just wanted some conversation or if it was my depression kicking in or just another phase in the death-rebirth cycle, I am not self-aware enough to know.
I struggled with my decision. This place was exactly the kind of place I wanted to stay at my whole trip. It was safe, almost deserted, pretty, and had bike trails. But, I was not ready to stop. So I moved on. Headed north to highway 36 hoping to make it to within 50 miles of St. Joseph to a place on the map labeled Brown FSG with a symbol for camping availalble.
On cruise control I passed through several small towns surrounded by large farms, romanticizing about living in that situation.I saw a sign at a local market advertising Ramen Noodles 6 for a doolar and remembered that M and I lived on nothing but that nutritios meal while livining in OS that summer. It was 840 pm and dark when I finally found the turn off for Brown State Fishing Lake. I cautiously followed the signs down the single lane gravel road lined with 4 foot tall grass dodging oncoming pickups as I drove. At one point 3 viscous looking dogs attacked my car as I drove past a small farm house. I arrived at the small lake to find no instructions on camping and plenty of people still fishing in the dark. I quickly turned around and headed for the highway. As fireflies lit up the sky.
My vision was blurred and I could not read the map. I had no idea how far away Saint Joseph was, but I was determined to arrive there that night.