White sheets in the basement at Paris H. in Denver. Today, one thing at a time. Because the chronicler had respect for the distance, he left Fort Morgan at seven o'clock after a coffee and apple in bed. The shower water from the previous day was still in the bath.
Turn right behind the tracks
It was fresh but somehow also beautiful. Blue skies, little traffic on the side road, agriculture to the left and right with a sophisticated irrigation system. And he had a tailwind. So much so that he could usually ride in third gear. You could sing songs loud and off-key. The swallows didn't mind. On one side next to him, goods trains sometimes hummed past. To the north, Interstate 76 accompanied him. Where his side road crossed the tracks in a detour, there was a cluster of houses, a few farm supply shops and a breakfast shop after his hat. Clean, handmade, the only customer before him had just left.
His daughter ruled the dining room and his mum was behind the serving hatch in the kitchen. A little nephew of the manager was dropped off here every morning by his dad, his mum was in California for a few days and there was no kindergarten in this cluster of houses. The chronicler had no idea what he wanted and took today's offer.
Part of the fragmentary exploration of the world; he can go to the supermarket for salad again tonight; but she served it with the salutation "Here honey..."
The chronicler was surprised by her answer to his standard question here in the deepest provinces: 100 for Jesus, the other two are idiots. She muffles her voice, probably so that her mum doesn't hear.
Prairie Ranch House; if you are ever in the neighbourhood
Somehow this restaurant deserves a much bigger audience. Mum and daughter do their best.
He couldn't remember exactly, but in the end, part of this route only went over the interstate. That really means motorway. The surface quality was great, the shoulder was clean, which is no wonder when lorries are speeding past at 130 km/h next to it. There are no small parts left behind that could make a hole in the tyre. It's more like a sieve of pieces that would cause the chronicler to fall if he didn't get round them. It was all a bit exciting. What would the police say? Nothing, none came and he got along with the other road users. The video shows a bit of the scene.
Interstate 76
At some point, he was able to take a parallel side road again. And then he felt a bit ashamed. He was hungry and there was nothing else but KFC. So he immediately apologised to the chicken. This massive overloading of meals with meat, mostly chicken, creates downright aversion.
He at least took cabbage salad and sweetcorn with the smallest unit of meat on the menu
Then it got funny. Somehow it chirped around him, not localisable but penetrating. The chronicler had been approached by a bird here before, but there was no bird to be seen. Until he finally discovered masses of ground squirrels warning each other with this birdcall-like sound. The chronicler wanted to be authentic, sat down at a hole and wanted to wait until the occupants reappeared. But the head warden made such a spectacle that this endeavour was useless.
Perhaps the back office will install a gopher here ;-)
In between, interesting construction sites appear next to the railway, which are probably used for oil fracking. Huge noise barriers shield the surrounding area from the loud machine noises that are necessary for the oil extraction process. The old nodding swing pumps next to it are standing still.
In Denver; according to some internet ranking, the most liveable city in the USA
Denver Clan, not a household name for the youngsters among you, but very much so for the chronicler. Or so he thought. But he took the precaution of looking it up and was wrong. He didn't used to watch Denver Clan, he used to watch Dallas. Today he would say that both series belong in court for time theft.
What he has seen from afar with respect and joy are the Rocky Mountains. A chain of mountains with snow-covered peaks. The road leads upwards. Denver is also known as the 1-Mile City because it is one mile above sea level. Today, the chronicler climbed from around 1200 metres to around 1600 metres, evenly distributed over the entire route. Tomorrow he'll be back on the bus, the day after tomorrow will be quite interesting in terms of relief. Colorado is somehow attractive, flat land alternating with rolling hills, almost treeless and now the mountains on the horizon. Not this penal camp-like endlessness of Nebraska.
Arrival café with sofa and sweets
The chronicler has found a chic café in the lounge of a high-rise office block, settles into the cushions after the long tour, enjoys an American coffee and pastries and picks out three yuppies to interview. He is also curious to hear what the big city voice in the west has to say. But he runs straight into a wall. In his opinion, he has presented it politely and clearly, but the answers are from left to right: I'm not voting, I would have liked Nikki Healey, I need to think about it longer. When asked for their first names, they definitely decline and leave. Yes. Part of it.
He still has tomorrow morning, the bus doesn't leave until twelve. So now the washing is done. Then there's still time for a stroll through Denver, elegant tower blocks, rich old buildings, art on every corner. The chronicler has decided on a fragmentary exploration of the world in a German restaurant. It may be expensive, but it's productive.
The guests come here to prepare for their journey; currywurst for the person sitting next to Jack
Jack flies to Munich in July and travels from there to Brussels to visit a friend. He delivers 0-50-50 to the chronicler, doesn't want to reveal his profession until after his retirement and doesn't want a photo. Jack lives in Chicago.
Kenyon comes from where the chronicler wants to go next: Salt Lake City
Kenyon has fewer problems with this. He is travelling to Germany for a fortnight in October. A guided tour. His answer is 100-0-0. Kenyon is an atheist, has two children and works as an electrician in automation.
See you tomorrow.
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