More ghost towns today as the next place 20 miles away was Arlington. The town literally had one house with a campground across the street for cyclists. I stopped and ate a few iced oatmeal cookies and was on my way.
More open "desert" greeted my senses as the sun seemed to burn through my pupils. Eventually, I reached Sugar City, another 20 miles. This place was born when The National Sugar Company set up shop to create granulated sugar out of sugar beets from the soil. All the waste leftover from the sugar beets went into the cattle feed so nothing really did go to "waste". However, despite having its highest harvests in the 60's, the company went out of business in 1967. So, Sugar City is more or less another town on a rapid decline.
Five miles from Sugar City where I would stop for lunch was Ordway. Here, I would meet a woman named Chris who gave me some infortmation on Crowley County. All of its inhabitants work hard labor and as she put it, "It makes an honest man out of you", which I thought was a cool, little quote. The two correctional facilities in the county also account for most of the labor in the town. A group of cursing, hardnosed individuals inside the restaraunt, I would learn, worked at an oil rig outside of town. A large cattle feed plant in between Ordway and Sugar City also employed many locals.
After chatting with Chris, I was greeted by a kindred, older woman named Sue. She was driving ahead of her husband Jerry, who was biking with his two brothers Joe and Jake (easy to remember). We had a lovely conversation about the beauties of the West, the upcoming, desolate towns in the East, and the joys of the open road. After half an hour, I went to go to the local library.
The local library didn't open up until 3 so I sat outside stealing electricity to charge my phone from 1230 to 130. I nearly fell asleep but I didn't feel like the best example dozing off like the local bum next to the Middle School. So, after an hour, I ventured onward to Pueblo, 50 miles away.
A small town by the name of Boone appeared to be the best choice of sleep for the night; the local park was free. So, tomorrow I'll bike the relatively easy distance of 20 miles to spend my 4th of July in Pueblo. Boone would be more than the small destination to sleep as I had planned.
I pulled into the local bar at happy hour and enjoyed a splendid evening meeting and greeting the locals. Edna was the bartender who, at noting my chicken wings weren't finished, simply made me another batch. Everyone was so incredibly hospitable, I didn't want to leave.
Kelly was an older gentleman who worked carpentry and had the hard knuckes to prove it. We talked for hours and he bought me a shot as well as another snack of chicken fingers. The bartender Robert and I conversed of his 20 years in the Army, which took him to New Jersey, Missouri, Kuwait, and Iraq. The bartender, Alex, gave me her number and I'll be catching up with her in Pueblo at the local barbecue.
A random set of occurences that led me to the small town of Boone led to a little, warming sensation in the center of my heart. Exhausted from today's heat, I was welcomed with open arms in a strange place that may have well been my second home.
I love people.
Broken and forgotten areas of the railroad that used to run all through the forgotten towns I've biked into in the last few days.
Sugar City's gigantic grain mill surrounded by borded up and abandoned houses.
On my way to the library, I was attacked by a group of softball players chanting, "Lemonade! 50 cents!" How are you going to deny a group of cute, little girls 50 cents for lemonade? I yelled that I'd be back after I went to the library to the cheering of the tots. True to my word, I came back and stopped.
One of two correctional facilities that employ a significant portion of Crowley County.
The local bar. The first person on the left was heading to California as well; destined to be there Monday. We talked for awhile. As he left and I asked for his name, he simply responded, "Trouble", and was gone, never to be seen again.
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