Two pairs of socks, two pairs of pants, two shirts, a fleece, a wool cap and me, all cocooned inside my sleep bag like some sort of frozen larva. That’s how my day started. The desert gets so cold! Never-the -less, by the time the sun reached the horizon I had already made some bad coffee and was on my way.
It feels like Mexico here. Most of the people I meet speak Spanish as their primary language and as I passed several border patrol stations, early in the morning, I was left feeling that the United States is more of an intruder in this area than vice versa.
The Pecan trees that lined the roads yesterday have been replaced with red chilies. Miles upon miles of them, each farm bearing a huge sign proclaiming that their chilies are “World Renown!” That is a lot of famous chilies.
As I began climbing into the Black Hills, the less farming there was and by early afternoon, I found myself deep in the desert with narry a farm in sight. In fact, there wasn’t even building of any sort, nor a person, nor more than one car every 15 minutes. I was alone. Absolutely alone, and very small.
The desert stretched from horizon to horizon with not one sign of civilization except for the road. I love how small the desert makes me feel under its huge sky and towering mesas, but that same feeling of smallness can also be very unsettling. It makes me feel like a wayward ant. I saw fields full of cranes, and when they flew overhead it was so quiet that I could hear their wings beating.
On and on I went, until I reached Hillsboro, my destination for the night. I was exhausted from an entirely uphill day-65 miles of knees screaming and butt burning. The map had promised ample amenities here and I had tried not to fantasize, but instead of cute western cafes and bustling creekside campgrounds, it was a ghost town. There was not a soul on the roads and all the businesses were closed. That part of me that felt like a wayward ant loomed large. My possibilities seemed few.
Suddenly, an elfin woman with huge blue eyes and a thick tangle of grey hair came out of her home and found me literally standing in the street. ”Are you a biker?” she asked. I nodded and asked her where I might stay. “You can stay in one of my vintage trailers. I collect them. There is one in my back yard.” and with that we were off. She gave me a wifi passward, turned on the lights, plugged in an electric heater and told me to make myself at home.
I was overwhelmed by her kindness and told her so. “That’s what we do,” she said “we take care of each other. It is our job, It is everybody’s job.” I felt like I had been tucked into bed after a very long day and that wayward ant feeling gone.
This is so great, Leah!
The Camino provides, always
The discovery of the kind woman with the vintage trailer at the end of a long trail brought tears to my eyes. Keep writing.
How great, Leah!
I’m so happy to be living this ride virtually right now as a complete stranger reading your blog. I don’t know if I could be as brave but by day 7 I may just put that deposit down on the only overpriced bike available right now. Keep pedaling !
like!!!!!
Yep, there’s not a whole lot of anything out there!! I remember seeing the red chilies on the ground and coming out from trucks going by. How wonderful that lady saw you
and offered her small trailer for you to stay in!!! I liked what she said about it’s EVERYONE’S JOB to take care of each other! I agree! I remember how the cycling map would show an upcoming area where there would be services available, and I would get my hopes up, only to find NOTHING open when we got there! A ghost town. Very disappointing. Always make sure you have enough water and snacks/food to make it thru the day!
What next? I have to believe someone is looking over you.
Great story of your voyage inward and outward!
Ride on, Leah!! Thanks for taking us with you 🙂
Cheering you from Peaks, Nancy, Scott and Bowie
Beautiful about the offer of the trailer to overnight!
Loving your posts. Better yet, you’re continuing to help me re-live my own personal cross-USA cycle trips. I’m sure by now you’ve got into the rhythm of the day’s ride … the good, the bad, etc. At this point, I’m sure it’s still very exciting to watch the scenery change, meet the people along the way, etc. I suspect, like most people who have done this, you will reach a point where you begin to question just why you’re doing it. That may come at any time, but notable if you find yourself running into several back-to-back days of rain … or extreme heat … particularly when the distances you’re covering afford you day-after-day of the same scenery. But, trust me, you’ll push through that; much will be because of the people you will continue to meet … people who will be excited about your trek and find themselves envious of what you’re doing. In any event, keep the posts coming. As I noted earlier, I’m enjoying SO MUCH reliving the experiences, the scenery, the people … and so forth. Here’s to your next 60-70-80 miles … whatever. They’re all GREAT. Cheers!! Al Galletly PS: Doubt you’ll ever have the time — or more important — the need, but if you find yourself needing a boost, give me a call. In case my wife (Jan) answers, she’ll be delighted to hand the phone over to me! Our phone in Connecticut is 203-858-2518. Cheers and safe travels
What a nice Valentine gift 🙂
Love this…………
“That’s what we do,” she said “we take care of each other. It is our job, It is everybody’s job.”
Try filling a water bottle with hot water and putting it at the bottom of your bag at night. It’ll keep you warm. Then you can drink it in the morning and get a head start on hydration.
Is there really no store or cafe in Hillsboro? I did the ST a few years ago and remember a nice cafe stop. I’m really enjoying your story – a few of us plan on starting west to east on March 1. Not looking forward to cold camping but live the hot days. 🚴🏿
As great as it is that you are on a biking adventure…how great is it that someone is living in a ghost town collecting vintage trailers and sharing them and her wisdom with humanity? Very cool. Thanks for letting us know.