C'EST VRAIMENT BEAU.

It was another successful snooze. After helping myself to the pot of coffee, I started packing up my bike. This was a simple task, and everything felt fresh and clean. Tina was at a morning meeting, and I thanked Matthew for the hospitality. Back to the road, so they say. My main means of transportation was Highway 6. This particular highway has a special spot in my heart. My first solo highway biking adventure was sixty-five miles from Iowa City to Grinnell, all on Highway 6. During that excursion, I was using my fat tire bike and had forty pounds strapped to my back. My equipment has drastically changed since that test run. 

Back to the present, while trekking on Highway 6, the scenery was spectacular. It started with a desert landscape with some eye-popping red rock formations. The forest followed, and it was large and lush, as expected. I was voyaging through some distinguished ski resort towns and decided to stop in Vail for an energy drink and a bag of beef sticks. Not long after, I found the Ten Mile Cayon National Recreation Trail. Most of the ride had been incline to this point, but this is where the real climbing commenced. After roughly eight miles, I reached the peak of the ascent. 

It was a glorious downhill to Cooper Mountain. After this tiny town, things mostly flattened out, and I sprinted to Frisco. I arrived at some sort of summer festival. The main street was blocked off, live music was playing, and pedestrians packed the area. As I pushed my bike through the crowd, I felt like a foreigner. Nonetheless, I found a spot on a restaurant patio and joined the festivities. My meal was two fabulous fish tacos and an incredible IPA. It was a well-earned meal after a difficult day of biking. 

My day was not over, and I still had to secure a sleeping spot for the night. I biked to a nearby campground only to be turned away by a full campground sign. No worries, I headed to the next campsite to find the same sign. This time I talked to the camp host, and she informed me that there was one spot available. After paying the dues, I secured an area and unpacked my camp. It was time for a scrub, and the Dillion Reservoir served as the perfect bathtub. It was cold, but a cleanse was necessary. I was famished at this point, and for dinner, I had beef sticks and whiskey. The rest of the evening was spent typing for the Tom Tracker. Exhaustion consumed me, and I retired to my tent fairly early. Click here for the route.