The decision to leave the sleeping bag at home was a bad one. While a sheet and/or fleece blanket will be plenty later, the bone-chilling dampness of Montana last night called for a warm sleeping bag. It won’t be getting warmer in the next week.
A friend in California introduced me to the concept of “laterclosen”, clothes to bring along for later when it gets cold (as is often the case in Northern California). Here, the concept applies for sleeping. As I get ready for bed, it is 77 degrees (25C). It will drop to a damp 55 (13) before morning. Last night it was closer to 50 (10). The clothes I need at 3 am are not the same as I need at 9 pm. I need some easy to apply “laterclosen”. Another blanket isn’t enough.
While the dewpoint was in the 30s and the temperature in the 50s, my rainfly was soaked through from heavy dew. I’m reading a book by a sailor lost at sea and his struggles to obtain drinking water, while it seems I could collect enough with my rainfly to survive.
I have a new companion on the COVID bus today, while I lose another to a hospital. The rider I spoke of yesterday is now on antibiotics for her elbow infection. (Addendum: I checked her elbow today and both redness and swelling are down.) Another rider realized on the climb to Flesher Pass that he was sick and couldn’t pretend any longer.
A herd of hundreds of sheep passed through this morning, led by a pair of livestock guardian dogs. When riders rushed to the road for the photo op, the dogs went over to say hi, leading the sheep off course, so the herding dogs had their work cut out for them. I have no pictures, not wanting to distract the dogs from their work. One more photographer probably would have made no difference, but you know what they say about being part of the problem or part of the solution. A couple of humans on horseback oversaw the operation, and a car with flashing lights followed.
Now for the decision part. I’m looking at airfares from Jackson, WY to home this weekend. I will be just far enough out from the onset of symptoms to fly per CDC guidelines, and am well-supplied with fit-tested N-95 masks. I will not endanger other travelers, like some people I know. I’m not sure I’m going to recover under these conditions. Going home to rest, sleeping in my own bed, may get me over the hump more quickly than this life. I may be able to rejoin the tour when it goes by my house in a few weeks.
I looked at fares this morning and resisted the impulse to buy. I will talk with the Trail Boss and see if they can transport my bike for the next few weeks. That way I can either rejoin them or pick up my bike and ride home from 50 miles away. This would, of course, entail missing my favorite part of the ride in western South Dakota. As a retired person, I may just have to travel back out there to do it some other time.
This is one of the hardest posts I’ve had to write. I just read a long Washington Post article about long COVID in the elderly (elderly – that’s me;) and wonder if trying to push through this would increase the risk of long term complications. It’s a gamble I’m not sure I’m prepared to make. Am I mature enough to do the right thing? And how can I know what the Right Thing is?
Check out this segment from the 2018 blog. Flesher Pass is beautiful and after the pass we ride into Canyon Creek, also beautiful. I remember some of the pictures I posted from this ride, though they may have appeared a day or two late due to internet issues.
Today we scattered some of the ashes of Dan, Router Extraordinaire, a long term Cycle America staffer died in the last year. He plotted and marked our routes. Each night we have a briefing which includes a description of tomorrow’s route. Dan often left out a little surprise, like a short and steep climb.
Toward the end of today’s ride was a construction section with a few miles of gravel. I don’t think anyone had fun. Multiple calls for help came in.
We’re staying in a city park in Townsend, MT; setting up in an impending thunderstorm. Everything is wet from last night so it was a race to try to dry out my rainfly before the inside of my tent got wet. How I fare tonight may be the deciding factor re: buying that plane ticket.
The storm is no longer “impending”. High wind and hail from the south, suddenly switching to the north, and over in minutes. 60-80 mph winds? I don’t know. Maybe more. I also don’t know if I have a bike. It was on the roof of a van. I don’t know where the van is.
A couple of shoutouts to fellow bloggers are due here. First, to Carrot at The Dihedral for the recommendation to read “Adrift: Seventy Six Days Lost at Sea”. A great read by a sailor who survived (no spoiler here) on his own drifting across the Atlantic in a life raft. Second, to Martha at Summer is the Season of Inferior Sledding (AKA marthakennedy.blog, AKA Women’s Wilderness Legend: Living the Metaphor, many other things) for information on livestock guardian dogs. Third to Rootchopper at A Few Spokes Shy of a Wheel, who I could meet on the road Wednesday as he makes his way east to west through some of the same territory I’m traveling west to east. (For that, I’ll have to be on the road, which may be a tall order.) Finally, a hearty “Fuck you!” to Typhoid Mary who brought this virus along on the trip; not exactly Typhoid Mary, as this person has already gone home sick.
Meanwhile, for another perspective on this journey, or to continue to travel vicariously if vicariously is the way I have to continue, check out http://terrysspokereport.blogspot.com/?m=1