Ken encounters the first bit of civilisation since leaving the small town of Hillsboro’. It’s not much, but….
Hot breakfast she’d said. And there was. A whole souffle. Wonderfully light and fluffy. Together with orange juice, coffee and red grapefruit. But I’d eighty miles or so to cover, and whilst much of it would be downhill or flat, it was still a good distance to cover. I’d have welcomed a few more calories.
It was my fault. Not really thought about it. Dinner. After the ascent of Emory Pass. Just pleased to have reached the small town of Hillsboro before dark. Small B&B for the night. Realising the only cafe would now be closed, I’d asked the owner if she did dinner, bed and breakfast. No. And guests were not permitted to use the kitchen. That was that.
So dinner was an improvised affair. Couple of pieces of fruit I’d had left. And a tin of cold baked beans. Supposedly including pork pieces. But at least I was warm. And surely there’d be a hearty breakfast.
Elegant solution. Which I liked. A lot. A certain beauty. Very appealing to a deeply logical mind. Quietly pleased I’d crossed the 8,228 feet Emory Pass. True, it had been a challenge. Camping far below zero in Mimbres. Then eighteen miles of uphill, mostly first gear, a meagre eight inches for each rotation of the pedals. Descending gingerly, great care required to avoid mishap on black ice lurking in the sun shadow. And bitter wind chill.
But the point was I’d managed the traverse without drama. Waiting for a weather window to head out of Silver City. Short day – little over thirty miles – to re-position ready to start the climb fresh the next day. Deliberate. Calculated. I’d known it would be cold overnight, just not expected it to be as tough as it had been. More focused on the daytime riding conditions.
Some might delight in battling up snowbound roads over the pass. Adversity head on. But I’m more interested in the long game. Not just today, tomorrow, but the weeks and months ahead. Stoic. Steady progress. More a tactician than a navigator.