June 22

Fowler to Eads

82 / 1794

The host was right about the nearby rail line - the trains are loud! No big deal, I wasn't sleeping great anyway. I pack up just as fast as I can to escape all the mosquitoes and ride to a gas station for a champion's breakfast of Ding-dongs and coffee. As I enjoy my Hostess food product, a woman parks near the air/water station and climbs into the back of her car to change clothes for her shift at the gas station.
On the road again I am PASSED by another touring cyclist. He and his friend are heading for VA as well.

 I take a wrong turn into Ordway, but it's a lovely one. There are lots of shady trees and quiet streets and I stop to listen to church bells before asking for directions to Sugar City.
Sugar City isn't as nice and I almost give up on finding a bite to eat when an old timer walking down the street encourages me to check out the diner up ahead, despite the "closed" sign. I ask about the pot pie place and he says "they sellin' stuff but it ain't lunch."

Inside the diner I meet the owner. She is not one to mess with. She is open about her strong and unwavering dislike for cyclists and says they're all the same : hot, tired, grouchy and demanding. I tell her I'll try to behave and we blabber a bit while I check out old knick knacks that are on display all around the dining area. Before leaving I notice a "cyclists welcome" sign in her window. Huh? She even keeps a ledger for all the despicable cyclists.


Pushing on to Haswell is very tough. The wind is in my face and there's a mild and endless incline. The scenery is really neat, though. Dilapidated houses lean with the wind and old cars and school buses look like welcoming shelter in the event of a big rain storm.

Between Sugar City and Haswell lives one tree. Luckily, it is close to the highway and I take a break. Standing there I find a penny and wedge it into a road marker. I wonder how long it will take for someone else to rest in the shade and find the penny...

 There's plenty of time and space to goof off in Eastern Colorado....

 Pulling into Haswell is not fun. It is hot as heck and I haven't seen a lick of shade in miles. The incline is gradual but the headwind makes it a real chore. Thankfully Haswell features a gas stop with junk food and a shady picnic table.

 Bikers can't be choosers. This place is really gross and the burrito makes me sick but the shade and Pepsi help me get back into the game. Inside a TV blasts non-stop commercials to an empty room scattered with newspapers and an oily old couch. The sink in the restroom drains into a five gallon bucket.

 

 Haswell is at a hill crest and the final miles to Eads are much better than the last 20 or so. It is just getting hotter and hotter as I enter the town of Eads. I find a cheap motel room and head to the bar across the street. Two old guys sit and smoke cigarettes and watch Jeopardy. I join them for a few Coronas and attempt making small talk. They never respond to me nor do they ever speak to each other. "I'll take 'Get Me Outta This Weird Place' for $6.50, Alex."