Train to Silverton

Iron Horse Classic is an annual bicycle race through the San Juan Mountains. It starts in Durango and ends in Silverton, which is 47 miles away.

It was started in 1971 by two brothers— one was a cyclist, and the other was a brakeman for the railroad. The original race was who could get to Silverton first, the bike or the train. The first year, the cyclist won! The fastest time was  by Jonathan Vaughters, who finished in 1:57:27 in 1996.

We knew that we could never beat two hours, so we decided to take the train. 

I think we’ve decided our average speed while climbing is about 6mph. It would have taken us two days to reach Silverton from Durango, so the train saved us some time, and besides, Travis really likes trains.

Silverton is a cute little tourist trap. The train brings three loads of passengers up from Durango daily, and they love spending money on beer and ice cream and little figurines of black bears.

Originally, Silverton was a mining town. The mines were most active active in the early 1900s, but mining continues up until this day. Of course the industry has ruined all the water in the area, but according to Silverton Historical Museum, the average American uses about 4 million tons of mined material in his or her lifetime. Depressing.

But the museum was neato.

We consumed sandwiches, Silverton-brewed beer, and espresso drinks. We drank water to avoid altitude sickness. Silverton is over 9000 ft, so we had to breathe deeply but no headaches or dizziness. Then we went for our ride to camp

We ended up just pulling off on the side of the road, walking up a trail and setting up the tent in a relatively clear spot. We had to load up a bear bag with our limited tree options (I think that’s too close to the tree). 

We’re getting much quicker at setting up camp now, and making dinner was a cinch. 

It’s definitely getting cooler up in the mountains, so Travis set up our sleeping pad couplers so we can snuggle more easily under our camping blanket. Therm-a-Rest has basically furnished our sleeping get up. 

We’re hoping the blanket was a good choice as opposed to sleeping bags, because snuggling was a top priority for this trip.  We bought an emergency bivouac just in case. So tonight we stay warm and stay away from the bears, and tomorrow we climb Red Mountain Pass. 

Durango and Colorado's Unbelievable School Food Program

The road to Durango looked steep according to the elevation map. Two big climbs, a dip, then the big descent into town. I thought it would take us 5 hours at least. It did take us 5 hours, but with a pie/espresso break, a few birding breaks, a flat tire break (first one), and a lunch break. So either the elevation wasn’t as bad as it seemed, or we’re getting stronger. Maybe both. 

We pulled up to Durango around 1:30pm and reveled in being in town again. And not just a town, a tourist trap ski and adventure town.

Crepe stands! Artisan jerky! Craft breweries! We went a little overboard and ate blue corn tacos, margaritas, specialty chocolate truffles, and locally-brewed beer.

Then we saw the new Bruce Willis movie and it was kinda awful but also great. 

Next stop was heartburn city, then Cousin Jonathan’s house. Jonathan is Travis’ first cousin. Their dads are brothers. Jonathan is a wilderness therapist, which sounds kind of hokey but he explained it and then it sounded miraculous. He goes a out into the woods with teenagers  in crisis— some have tried to commit suicide, some are using drugs, some are on the last rope with their families. They go backpacking and talk about their feelings. I asked how they liked talking about their feelings, and he said they are reluctant at first but then they get really into it, challenging each other to be real. “You’re not being real, man! You’re being fake about your feelings!” Right?! Jonathan said he used to work as an occupational therapist seeing clients once a week, and they would take small risks and make a few small changes, but since these boys are in crisis and the backpacking therapy is so intense, he sees radical improvement pretty quickly. It definitely sounds like a difficult job but when it’s successful it must be very rewarding. 

The next day in Durango was a “rest day”. It ended up being the most stressful day so far. My toes have been going numb clipped in to my pedals, so I wanted to get different cycling shoes (FULL product review at the end of the trip, FYI). We went to a mountain bike shop and the dude working was probably in his 40s and had clearly been working with bikes for a long time. When I told him my numb toes problem the first thing he said was that there are a lot of important nerves and blood vessels going through my pelvis, and I probably needed a new saddle. And new shoes. And that they would cost about $300 but I would feel great. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be as frustrating if I hadn’t JUST bought a new saddle and shoes. Or if I hadn’t JUST walked in to another bike shop in Gainesville where the bike shop owner told me I had bought the wrong size handlebars, needed smaller brake levers, and different seat post. I’ve spent over $1500 on this bike over the past 3 years buying and switching out components to make it right for me, and my feet are falling asleep and now this dude is telling me I need to spend $300 more to fix it. I got mad. We left and ate lunch so I could decide what to do, and I cried over my pizza. 

We still had a million things to buy— food for 4 days, iPhone speaker cords, emergency blanket, chlorine pills, a one hitter (it’s legal here…), whiskey, and my 4th pair of sunglasses (I brought a pair that was too small for my head, then broke two more pairs- actually Travis stepped on one and ran over the other). I think we spent about a million dollars. I made up my mind and ignored the bike shop dude, deciding to just buy different cycling shoes that had a more flexible sole and more padding. I haven’t tried them yet but I have high hopes that this numbing bullshit is over. Shopping can be stressful!!

Then shopping  was over, and we went tubing. The Animas River runs right through town, and Cousin Jonathan and this roommates have tubes. 

This is not your Ichetucknee tubing, folks. Sure, in Florida our rivers have snakes and alligators, but this mountain river has ROCKS. This is NOT a lazy river float!

Travis was very gallant and splashed around desperately to guide me away from the boulders. And there were little rapids! It was very exciting.

Cousin Jonathan was working late, so we cooked dinner with his roommates Mike and Gala. She made us a tasty dinner of curry coconut tofu noodles, and I contributed the kale. 

Then Gala casually mentioned that they always have tons of leftover kale at her school garden, and now they’ll be able to grow it through the winter because they just completed construction on a thirty-foot geodesic dome greenhouse. 

Wait WHAT. 

She continued. Yes, the school she teaches at, Animas Valley Elementary, has a productive school garden that the children plant each spring and is maintained by the teachers over the summer, and is harvested by the kids when they come back in the fall. They use all the food they can in the cafeteria, but there’s usually so much extra kale that they donate it and get to take it home. 

This opened up an entire conversation about the magical, mythical world of the Colorado school system’s Coordinated School Health program. Gala is head of her school’s Wellness Committee, and she has written and received grants from Whole Foods, the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, and Michelle Obama’s organization Let’s Move. 

Here were our questions.

Q: Who takes care of the garden?

A: The teachers, but the kids do a lot of the work too.

Q: Isn’t the garden work yet another burden placed on public school teachers?

A: It is work, but it’s a huge part of the school’s culture and everyone is really proud of it.

Q: Do the kids actually eat the food?

A:. Yes, the cafeteria food is great and she eats lunch there every day, especially from the salad bar. Each week they have Risktaker Tuesday, where the kids harvest something from the experimental planting part of the garden- purple mizuna, tatsoi, hakurei turnips- then the cafeteria puts out samples so the brave kids can try something new.

Q: How does the cafeteria staff feel about the extra work of preparing fresh food in the kitchen instead of frozen, packaged processed food? 

A: The cafeteria staff is totally on board and is proud of the food they prepare.

And there’s more. 

The school hosts monthly cooking classes for low income kids and their families, teaching them how to prepare simple, inexpensive meals with whole foods. The kids get really invested in wanting to learn how to use the garden food, and nag their parents about cooking differently. The families go home with a bag of garden food to use throughout the week.

All the food used in the cafeteria is local and organic, and the school contracts with farms within 100 miles of Durango to grow their produce and meat. So these kids are eating local, grassfed, hormone-free beef and freshly-harvested vegetables from local farmers and ranchers. Every day. And they love it.

We explained that in Florida, the cafeteria budget is approximately 35 cents per child, so our kids eat the lowest quality processed crap imaginable. Gala said, ” Well that just doesn’t seem to be enough money. That’s why you need school gardens!” 

If anyone else had said that, I would have rolled my eyes and thought, “YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HARD IT IS TO MAKE SCHOOL GARDENS WORK!!” These poor, overworked teachers are expected to run food gardens with no gardening experience; the cafeteria workers balk at having to do more work to prepare fresh food instead of just opening packages and heating them up; kids HATE vegetables and trying anything new and insist on covering everything with ranch dressing before they eat it; and low income parents, whose families are most at risk for diabetes and other food-related illnesses work multiple jobs and can’t afford fresh food, nor do they have the time to cook it. What seems like a very logical and easy solution to food insecurity and obesity is actually wrought with obstacles and frustrations. 

However, it does look like Colorado has figured some of this shit out. It seems magical, and could be because of the more progressive culture out West, but it’s probably the result of many years of dedicated educators who area committed to the well being of their students. After all, Gala had a point: “If our students aren’t eating well, they’re just not going to learn as well.”

Race and Mesa Verde

DISCLAIMER— lots of thoughts here about race and culture in America from an American white girl from the South. These are my experiences and interpretations, which are obviously open to criticism.

Monday morning was Mesa Verde. You probably learned about Mesa Verde in elementary school— it’s the Pueblo apartments built into the side of cliff walls.

Since we were camping in the RV campground 20 miles away from the park sites, we figured we’d have plenty of time and energy to bike up the Mesa. In long waiting to buy tickets, we learned that the road to the top had no shoulder and was pretty dangerous for bikes. Then, the man in front of us started talking to us, turned out to be from Tampa, and offered us a ride to the top with him and his two daughters, Taylor and Mesa (who was named after the park). We accepted.

No sooner than he had introduced himself— his name was Will— he asked us if we had noticed anything weird about the people around here. Yes, in fact we did (more on weird Utah shit later). He said, “You know, theyre real naive. They don’t think anything bad can happen to them,” he said. “And I say, ’ Once you live in a place that has people who dress like Trayvon Martin, you wouldn’t be thinking like that.’” We had happened to stream NPR the night before, and we’re surprised to hear that there were still Trayvon protests a week after the Zimmerman verdict. We did the nervous liberal thing and laughed nervously as we got in the Pathfinder and climbed the Mesa. 

Turns out Will was a fireman  back in Tampa, and was almost finished taking a two week Out West vacation with his girls. Mesa was about 11 and Taylor looked about 15. I was amazed that they were all getting along so well, and they chattered on about playing Minecraft, the challenges of learning Korean, and relayed some of their dad’s best rescue stories. They were thrilled to pick up a hitchhiker. I asked Will is he often picked up hitchhikers, and he said, “I do, but I’m trained in self defense, so if anything happened it might be the next Trayvon, you know what I mean? Naw, I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

Soooooooooo…. we told them about our journey so far, and Will warned us not to travel through Navajo country. “I took the girls there and they said,”Dad, don’t take us to a town like that again. They really hate the White Man.” Heres a guy who named his youngest daughter after a beautiful archeological site that highlights one of the most advanced Native North American cultures, and had traveled all the way across the country to show it to his kids. His older daughter Taylor corroborated his story by saying that there were vendors everywhere even where there were No Vending signs, and she was scared they were going to get robbed. General consensus was that the place sucked and might be dangerous.

So at this point, what do you do? There was a Savage Love episode recently where a girl called in saying that she was out with a group of friends and his guy kept being a douchebag to her— touching her, saying dirty shit to her. She wanted it to stop but didn’t want to make a scene. She wanted to know if she should just blow up at him and make everything awkward, or just laugh it off. Dan got a lot of callers saying that she could approach forcefully and quietly, telling him that his behavior was inappropriate and if he kept it up she would break his nose. If she didn’t say anything to him, the douchebag would continue to think that this was an appropriate way to act around women. 

 This guy Will was obviously identifying with us because we were white, and thought that his comments were appropriate because we shared his white privilege, though we gave him no reason to believe that we were on the same page as him. Meanwhile, we’re stuck in a car with him and his daughters for an hour as he’s doing us a favor, and aside from this racist mindset he seems like a decent dude. We copped out and didn’t say anything at all. Talking with Travis later, he said he felt ok taking that route, because with dudes like that you’re not going to change their minds, you’re just going to encourage an argument that is uncomfortable and awkward, and in the end you’re just where you ended up in the beginning. I agree that we weren’t going to change his mind, and that his aggressive political proclamations are probably influenced by right wing talk radio culture. Liberal and conservative America know each others’ arguments intimately, yet we rarely engage in reasonable discussion. This is probably how he talks with his friends all the time, and gets no challenge for voicing his opinions. If we did challenge him in any way, it would have opened a huge can of worms. So we did the easy thing and stayed quiet, and Will and his daughters went on their way thinking that we were white people just like them. 

Is there an in between here? Is there an alternative between blowing up at someone and ignoring their racist sensibilities? Is there a way to tell an otherwise decent father that you don’t think like him and don’t assume that I do because we share the same privilege? If you’ve had similar experiences, please let me know how you dealt with them successfully, because I run into this shit all the time at home and I hate laughing it off and changing the subject like a coward. 

Meanwhile, we reached the top of Mesa Verde. We said goodbye to our ride and joined the other hoards of white people who paid for tours to look at the remnants of this disappeared Native society. We went to Balcony House, which is one of the smaller sites, which only housed 25 or so people, in comparison to some of the other apartments which sheltered hundreds of people in the cliff sides. Our ranger, Patti Bell, told us her theory that very important people lived at Balcony House.

She based this on the security of the buildings, which at the time of habitation could only be entered and exited by crawling on hands and knees through a 12 ft tunnel. 

We, however, got to climb a giant ladder to view the site.

The tour was pretty rad. The architecture was impressive and held up to time— the Pueblo societies abandoned these cities around the year 1250 AD. 

Up until I was in 5th grade, I was convinced I would grow up to be an archeologist, and that was even without seeing an Indiana Jones movie. I was engrossed by books about Pompeii, and loved learning about mysteries of lost civilizations. No one knows why the Pueblo left— there are theories ranging from a 24 year drought, to loss of religious cohesion leading to fractured ideologies, or the good old Daniel Quinn (author of Ishmael) theory that all civilizations are built to fail.

I’m partial to the Quinn theory, combined with Travis’ theory that the corn and bean farmland on top of the Mesas eventually degraded due to decreased soil fertility. It makes sense— the land is sandy and sloped, and if all the sagebrush and pinyon pines were cleared out to make way for corn fields feeding over 30,000 people, I can definitely see there being devastating  erosion and nutrient deficiencies. In any case, the ruins were fascinating and I’m glad I saw them. 

HOWEVER. There’s still a lot to think about when visiting Native cultural sites. This is what you get for going to college— instead of just enjoying the pretty old apartment buildings, I spent the whole time at Mesa Verde thinking about the cultural implications of all these nice people from an oppressive culture treating Native culture as an extinct, separate existence to be marveled at and almost idolized. 

Meanwhile, the living descendants and relatives of these idolized cultures are STILL AROUND, and they are most often treated with the contempt that Will and his daughters exhibited. In fact, we passed right by the Ute Mountain Ute Reservation on the way to Balcony House, with a sign posted boasting of Indian arts and crafts and food. There was almost no one in the parking lot to investigate the present day Indian culture that butts up against the tourist attractions.  

Meanwhile, back at the tourist attractions, we visited the Mesa Verde museum right by Spruce Tree House. Along with archeological finds like pottery, baskets, sandals, and weavings, we saw the classic dioramas depicting Indian life through the centuries. Travis pointed out the clothing of the figures shown, and wondered why we haven’t heard discourse on it before.

All the figures are clothed in loincloths, carrying on their daily business of hunting, building, or shooting the shit in the marketplace. Yet when we visited another room around the corner, we saw what these people actually wore

People wearing brightly colored and intricately woven clothing, made of cotton which was obtained through vast and intricate trading routes doesn’t exactly fit the white American ideal of the primitive savage. But it does help us cope with the cultural amnesia that allows us to think of these dissipated societies as an Other to be learned and studied in a museum, separate from the very real people who our culture continues to decimate present day. 

I’m pretty much done here. We descended the Mesa coasting gloriously. Travis even saw a black bear cub, then spotted a new bird with his binoculars. We returned to our RV campsite, ate Indian food packs for dinner, and fell asleep.

The Last of the Desert

We rose before light.

The Needles Canyon overlook was only 16 miles away into the recreation area we were camping in, so biking there with no gear was pretty much a breeze. 16 miles! Thats only the legnth of the St. Marks trail! However, we still didn’t arrive at sunrise, which would have made for the best photo ops, but the canyon was pretty impressive anyway.

I’ve definitely never seen a canyon before. It was about an 8 on the Epic-Shit-o-Meter.

Clearly, I had to spit off the edge.

The desert is hard, though. It’s the sun that gets you! It’s so bright! So even though the 36 mile ride to and from the canyon was relatively easy, by the time we got back to our campsite to pack up the sun was really bearing down. We powered on though. In fact, we powered on through a region that was designated on the map as “Dry Valley”.

That shit was dry! And hot! We still had plenty of water, and the only incident was when I was trying to draft off of Travis, so I was about a foot away from his back wheel when he came across a Pygmy rattlesnake in the road. He braked quickly, and I ran into his back tire and swerved into the road. I’m still not used to riding clipped in to the pedals, but miraculously I righted myself before I fell on the shoulder, imminent victim to a passing semi or the deadly venomous rattler. PHEW!

We only had 26 miles of highway riding before we got to the next sign of civilization. But fuck if that weren’t a 26 mile trial. Mile markers were passing verrrrry slowly. And of course there was our first mountain climb before we came to the town of Monticello.

My friend Katie Harris and her partner Aaron go on bike tours almost every summer. They’re farmers too, and annually they take off a month in the high summer season to bike somewhere for a month. Katie gave me some sound advice before this trip— namely, DON’T wear underwear with your bike shorts, and the first three days of the bike tour are the hardest. Well Katie, this was day three and it has definitely been the hardest.

By the time we got to the climb outside of Monticello, we had already been riding for 52 miles. Our legs were jelly. Then we had to climb this goddamned mountain (ok it turned out to be a Mesa but it was next mountains and still 1000 or so feet tall). Can you believe we made it? We really did. And it was terrible.

We ate overpriced burgers at the hippie restaurant in Monticello and it was awesome. Then we hit up the RV park and took showers, and it was awesome. Old people at RV parks know what’s up— they are a Mecca for little dogs. Little dogs are the bomb. Easy to walk, don’t eat that much, little poops. There were so many great little dogs.

Now, some observations about Utah.

First, beer.

In Utah the alcohol content in beer is limited to 3.2%. WUT? So there are these Utah breweries brewing shitty beer with terribly low alcohol levels. It’s bullshit. And they taste bad. What the fuck, Utah? You’re right next to Colorado, arguably the microbrew capital of the US! It’s all because of those Mormons!

Second, Mormons.

Organized religion is creepy enough. But Mormons! The only thing I know about Mormons is that Mitt Romney is one. That’s not true, I do know know more about Mormons— they don’t drink caffeine, they wear magical itchy woolen underwear, and according to PBS they love ballroom dancing. Only 2000 people live in Monticello, but I saw two Mormon churches and one temple. The checkout kid at the grocery store was wearing a shirt that said, “I’d rather be…Mormon!” There was absolutely no diversity there, which isn’t really surprising since its rural Utah, and the Mormon Bible says that all dark skinned people are the sons of Cain and destined for Hell. Oops. And I know I’m from the Bible Belt South, but it is decidedly different out here and you can feel it. In any case, I definitely wasn’t sad to leave Utah the next morning.