Sunday April 25^th. The Honeymoon Cabin, Guffey Colorado

16.00

Yesterday

We left Pueblo at 7.30. Breakfast was in one of the nicest diners we’ve been in the whole trip, The City Diner on Santa Fe St. A temple to Betty Boop, statues and pictures of whom stared at you from every corner and crevice, it was full of character. The manager, Marina, was a real live wire and seemed to know everyone. A line of good old boys sat at the counter with their stomachs resting on it. All they really needed to say was “fill her up”. In the corner an older version of Woody Allen was reading from a well-thumbed paperback bible and making lots of notes on a yellow legal notepad. And, we both agreed, they served excellent oatmeal (it’s surprising the variation in quality you get. I’m becoming something of a connoisseur) I just have salt but here you could have cranberries, bananas, cinnamon or walnuts with it.

There’s not much to say about the trip yesterday. 46 miles. The first 20 going uphill with no wind. The rest in a howling gale but going downhill which sort of cancelled it out. Canon City is apparently famous for donkeys and we saw quite a few on the way including one very odd one, which turned out on closer inspection to be a llama. The town of Florence a few miles from Canon City, has two prisons, one state and one federal. The former looks very modern and bears a striking resemblance to the Wal-Mart in Hutchinson, Kansas.

We arrived in Canon City at one o clock. It’s basically an ugly sprawl of shops and restaurants along Highway 50. There is a small railway station where you can get a train to Royal Gorge a local beauty spot, where you can go white water rafting, whatever that is. Lunch was in Mr. Ed’s family restaurant. We both had an odd sort of roast beef and mashed potato sandwich i.e. the beef and potato is served on several slices of bread.

I asked the waitress which of the many motels she would recommend.

“I’d go to the Quality Inn. They’ve got hot tubs and there’s a K-Bob steak house next door.”

Neither really a clincher in my book

“And they’ve got their own bar and grill”

That was enough for us. It turned out to be a good choice. A bit pricier but a cut above the last few places we’ve stayed in.

A couple of pre-dinner drinks in the bar, where we met a remarkable woman called Suzanne Phipps who is currently managing a project to restore the Rialto an opera house, originally built in 1923, in Florence (the one with the prisons not the one in Italy). Suzanne, who must have been in her 70s was still looking after her 96 year old mother. She had led a very full life and seemed determined to tell us all about it but K-Bob’s awaited so we said goodbye, promising to come to the opening night of the Rialto.

K-Bobs is a large high-ceilinged room full of families having a Saturday night out. Lots of cowboy hats here, worn by both young and old. Our waitress Anna had one German and one Italian parent and was mad as a box of frogs. She kept calling us both “darling” or “love” and laughing manically. We really liked her, even though she cocked our order up. We both ordered medium rib-eye steaks but Mike got something that looked more like an under-done section of elephant leg.

We had a couple of glasses of wine with the meal and then went back to the hotel bar. This is not like us. Normally we have a couple of drinks maximum if we are cycling the next day. Maybe we were trying to block out the thought of the big climb the next day. Anyway we had a few more drinks and then discovered that the hotel had a pool room so we played a couple of exhibition games for the other guests. Well I made an exhibition of myself anyway. And so, merrily to bed.

Today

Today has been really hard work. We have only done 34 miles but have climbed to over 8,400 It’s far higher than the Appalachians but there isn’t the relentless steep roller coaster effect. Just a long (day-long) steady climb. The wind was swirling about a bit but we made pretty good progress. Give me a day in the Rockies compared to half a day in the Appalachians any day of the week. According to the guide book “you’ll feel like a high plains drifter” up here. Well yes, if you can imagine Clint Eastwood in baggy shorts and black waterproof socks. The scenery really was impressive and everything was very still. Certainly a high spot of the trip (see what I did just there).

We arrived in Guffey at 1.30. A very strange place. Population 26. (Physical exertion gets noticeably more difficult at a high altitude). Just a collection of log cabins, one of which is a bar and restaurant and one a hotel (currently closed) Some of the log cabins are rented out and, when the hotel is closed this is the only accommodation available We had rung ahead and booked one. On the way up to Guffey a battered pick-up, going in the opposite direction, had slowed down and a bearded man had shouted out “You the bikers going to Guffey?”. We said yes.

“I’m Bill, I spoke to you on the phone. I’m just going to get my chickens. See you later”

And he was gone

After a beer an burger lunch in the Freshwater Saloon, we went looking for someone to take us to the cabin. We found Bill in his workshop, a huge junk-filled shed with a blazing stove.

“Ah the bikers! Come in and have a beer”. Normally this would have been welcome but I was cold and wanted to have shower and get changed. However Bill, and his friend Karl, were watching the NASCAR race on a small TV and obviously assumed we would want to do the same. (I’d rather pull my own teeth than watch motor racing).

While we watched the race, Bill told us about our cabin. “I haven’t connected up the showers yet because it’s still pretty cold and the pipes might freeze. But there’s cold water” he gestured to two plastic containers on the floor “and you’ve got a nuclear oven to heat it up.”. Nuclear oven is Billspeak for a microwave. “and I’ve brought you some food “. He gestured to a plastic carrier bag containing two small bottles of water, two bagels and two small containers of Philadelphia cheese.

Bill also explained about the chickens. He rears them for the annual Guffey Fourth of July Chicken Fly, during which chickens are ejected from a mailbox atop a ten-foot-high platform; prizes are awarded for distance. People sponsor a chicken and pay a dollar to charity. T he current record is138 feet.

Eventually the race was over and Bill took us to the cabin. “I’ve put you in the Honeymoon Cabin”. (It’s got two single beds, another reason maybe for the low population). Bill got the stove going and the place soon started to warm up, It has a TV, which unfortunately doesn’t work and an outdoor toilet (with no water). The beds have electric blankets which Bill recommends keeping on all night ( The temperature is forecast to drop to -10 Fahrenheit tonight).

Mike had a snooze while I typed this and now we have returned to the Freshwater Saloon for dinner and to use their Wi-Fi.

Character-building is how I believe days like this are referred to.