Georgetown Lake Shelter

I woke up on Theo’s dirty, motel room floor around 9 AM.  He needed to finish up some paperwork for court and I needed to go to the bike shop down the road for the third time to return my tire.  We parted ways and he told me to come back around 3 PM to help with the carpet cleaning.

I rode down the road to the bike shop and spoke with the clerk who helped me the previous day.  He saw the huge hole where the tube exploded and we decided to switch out a 28 with a 25.  I didn’t mind because he gave me a marathon tire.  More traction and more expensive than the other one I bought and he didn’t charge me.  We swapped out all the tubes and he gave me an adapter for my new bike pump along with a patch kit.  I thanked him and headed towards Smokin’ Yards BBQ.

I heard many great recommendations from a load of people about this restaurant.  I decided to give it a whirl.  I ordered a tender pulled pork sandwich with tangy, sweet BBQ sauce and a side of crispy, thin french fries.  The food disappeared in a matter of minutes.  The delicious tastes made me consider ordering a second platter, but the price hindered my decision.

Georgetown Lake Shelter
A nice scrumptious burger

I hung out there for a little while and ate complementary boiled peanuts and water and left for the post office.

I grabbed Johnny Cash stamps and sent out a few postcards I wrote in the previous restaurant.  By this time my stomach gurgled again as if food deprived.  I decided to hit up Subway where I grabbed a foot long sub and continued writing out the rest of the postcards.  I spoke with a worker who gave me directions to ski resorts who were hiring.  He gave me a number for Loveland and told me to apply for a lift operator.

I applied to that job and another one at Copper Mountain.  I am waiting to hear back.  If I get a job I will postpone the bicycle trip until April and continue onwards then.

I finished up and left Subway around 3 PM.  I headed back towards Theo’s place at Idaho Springs Motel.  I knocked and he opened the door.  To my surprise he already cleaned the carpet and kept being rather shady.  At first I could crash on the floor, then he decided he wanted his privacy, then he wanted me to leave my bike and pack there and head to the store with him.  I decided to leave and part ways before my belongings got stolen.

Postcards Georgetown Lake Shelter
Postcards!

I headed towards the TransAm trail west of Idaho Springs.  I only rode for 12 miles before finding a shelter at Georgetown Lake Shelter where I could camp.  I met some bible thumpers who chatted with me about my cross-country trip.  Gary, his sons Alex and Davis, homeschooled their whole life and Gary retired from an accounting career, set out on a road trip across the country to celebrate a new life.  They left from West Virginia and made it to Colorado.  We talked and eventually they gave me a bible for reading material.  I guess if I run out of books I’ll check it out.

I set up camp in the shelter and thought for sure I’d be safe from bums, tramps and other hoboes, but at about 3 AM, the garage-like door to the shelter clashed and sprung open.  Three lights shined in my face as I sat up from the picnic table from which I slept.  Three young men 18 and 19 years old from northern Colorado came in looking for a place to set up their fishing poles for early morning trout fishing.

They ended up not catching a single fish or having even a nibble.  I heard them chuck firewood in the shelter fireplace to keep everyone warm most of the night.  We all slept in the blistering cold, windy weather and they left around 7 AM homeward bound.  I on the other hand must figure out where I’m going.  I think I am going to head to Prospector Park Campground, west of Georgetown.  I am waiting for the sun to come out and temperature to rise.

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Brian Cray is not a cyclist. He’s not a hitchhiker. He’s not a train hopper or an adrenaline junkie. He’s just an ordinary man with gypsy blood in his veins, who can’t seem to settle down. Nothing defines him. He goes wherever this world takes him on this journey we call life, roaming the world, at will, by any means. He aspires for a life of indefinite travel, a tiny home in the woods for him and his wife, and any work that keeps him wanderin’. Brian Cray is a travel writer at heart, sharing his stories with the world one keystroke at a time.

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