As I leave my home in Fort Collins reality sets in; I wonât see my dog, my old lady, my bed, my own toilet seat for quite some time. But as miles turn into hours, the anticipation focuses me into a philanthropic bicycle prophet, or better yet, a carnie whose main function is the Logistician for the Tour de Fat. A carnie on a mission, to spread the good word about manâs greatest invention and a brewery that I have called home for over 6 years.
Sweet Pete is my riggingâ partner for this leg of the trip; a 3-day adventure out to San Francisco. Thanks to the National Geographic State Park Guide, we found a great park called Antelope State Park on the Utahâs Great Salt Lake. Pete and I explored the park which we found to be very bike friendly and watched an amazing sunset. The Great Salt Lake is a pretty strange place, the water is incredibly still and full of wildlife. But salty, really salty.
When I suggested camping in the park, Pete informed me that he didnât bring his camping gear. Although I may have overlooked mentioning how many opportunities we would have to camp along the way; am I the only one that doesnât go on any trip without a sleeping bag? Is it possible that this rookie carnie wasnât as road ready as we had thought? Crap, I thought, I certainly donât want Pete sleeping in my tent. Not that Iâm against sharing, but Pete is a little freaky. For the last two tours, I have shaved down to a mustache. But Pete has rocked this Rolly Fingers mustache that putâs anyone elseâs stash to shame.
Now Iâm not saying Iâm scared of sharing a tent with Pete, I just couldnât stop thinking that I would wake up in the middle of the night with Pete about to stab me his pointy mustache (he uses a lot of mustache wax) so he could steal my sleeping bag.
Luckily, Pete found one of the other carniesâ sleeping bag in the trailer and was happy to sleep on top of the campsiteâs picnic table. The second day we landed in Lake Tahoe. Wow, this place surely does not suck. The other carnies went on a fantastic mountain bike adventure while I opted to kayak on the lake. Sometimes on the road, I need a little âme time,â my âmoment of Zenâ as it were. Behind the Best Western is a little place called Kayak Tahoe where a fantastically friendly fellow named Steve hooked up a lake-worthy vessel for my adventure. I felt like Viking (not because I was drinking Mead, but because I was wearing underwear and was sporting a Viking helmet) as I paddled my way around part of bluest lake I have ever seen. Sure, Iâve seen the bumper sticker that says, âKeep Tahoe Blue,â but I always thought that was pretty much like stating the obvious. I donât want to see a pink lake, unless it was a pink lake filled with strawberry yoo-hoo; that would be alright by me. But man, I ventured off about 300 yards from the shore and could still see the bottom of the lake. Anyway, San Francisco here we come...