Day – 33 Baby Heads

I stayed for 7:00am breakfast at the Lava Resort that was supposed to be a buffet. The cook was too tired to put it together and didn’t even open till 7:45. No worries I will have the biscuits and gravy eggs and ham. Ok, coming right up. Oh we don’t have ham how about sausage? Ok. Ten minutes later…we don’t have sausage how about bacon? Ok, it’ll be right up. Five minutes later, we don’t have biscuits how about SOS style. Ok! It is comical now. At the moment wanting to get a jump on a big day it was not. But sure enough a mountain of toast, gravy, eggs, and bacon appeared and it was delicious.

Today is one of the most talked about climbs of the route. Ascending 4000 vertical to nearly 10,000 feet on gravel roads infamous for “Baby Heads”. I did not know this term either. They are 8-16” boulders (the size of a baby’s head) half submerged in the roadway so tight together there is no way to avoid them. Last night I had talked strategy with the Frenchmen. I intended to make the climb and decent to the edge of the Forest Service land, 30 miles short of Pinedale, where there was a campground so I could get into Pinedale the next morning early. This would be 56 miles and 4,700 vertical. They intended to do the climb and stay at a snowmobile refuge building about 25 miles for the day. I was tempted but I felt like after the climb it would be fun to complete the pass and zoom down some gravel roads (insert evil foreshadowing music here).

The detour took some of the baby heads out of play. It was a fine gravel road and the climbing was doable mostly but the weather was misty, cold, and a little blustery. I felt like we were going to miss out on the Panoramic views. The Frenchmen passed me near the top of the pass and I caught up with them over a snack in fog and cold. I was certain my plan was best now that it was not even noon and the work was done. They took off and said they were undecided. I lazed about and took my time for the next 5 miles.

This is Union pass where water flows three ways from the divide. To the Mississippi , Colorado, and Columbia. It was beautiful as the clouds lifted and revealed wide open high prairie. There was even a cowgirl and her dogs rounding up cattle by horseback. Undoubtedly to keep them out of the fires path.

By the time I got to the shelter, wich is a very nice tiny home style building, the boys were finishing lunch of mashed potatoes. They had decided it was too early and they were going to push as well.

We continued on and I was certain the road would get better as we descended. Typically a road is well maintained and deteriorates as you get higher and vice versa. The road got worse and worse. What I had imagined as a wonderful payoff for this mornings work became torture and slow. Sure there was lots of down hill but some uphill too. The problem was Baby Heads! I am on a rigid bike. The road pounded me relentlessly. I still had hope that at some point the road would relent and turn to some manageable semblance of a graded road. It just continued on and on. I could hear the Frenchmen cursing me (They were long gone ahead of me by now). This was no payoff. This was actually the days work. Even as I came to the campground the road was as bad as it was all day. How could the north side be so groomed and the south side a disaster? My head was ringing and my wrists and neck were screaming for relief.

I rode through the campground to find all of the spots full of massive RVs and people with a whole homes worth of lawn furniture filling their sites. I asked a few people if I could share. My charm was less effective with this crowd than a few days ago. I was turned away and out of public land. I looked at the map. There was cyclist only camping (this is normally someone’s house that is sympathetic to cyclist or a church). I needed a place but there was no service to call so I headed there in the waning light of the day with hopes they were home or willing to accept me.

I needed a place and that is exactly what I found. It was called “The Place”. Turns out it was a bar that would let you pitch a tent sort of by the parking lot or on the deck after hours. And guess who was there? The Frenchmen having almost finished a pizza and a couple beers in. They were amazed I had survived (they have front suspension) but even so it was a crazy hard day for all of us. In a lack of words they resorted to calling me an alien. They had figured I gave up long ago and pitched a tent in the woods.

So again we made our miles. We had dinner and a chance to recount the adventure. They were happy they would be in town early tomorrow and I think we were all excited to have a story about sleeping in a bar parking lot. To the people of “The Place Bar” thank you, you made my day.