Day 5: Wednesday

Distance: 47.86 mi.
Average: 11.1 mph
Maximum: 32.0 mph
Time in Motion: 4:17:08

We woke up around 7:30 Before we even left the motel room, I noticed I had yet another flat tire. A thorn was to blame this time.

After breakfast in the motel we mounted our bikes and headed east, toward the dreaded Emory Pass.

The first 22 miles were hilly and empty. We had hoped to stop in Hanover for a snack, but the gas station listed on our map was nowhere to be found. So, we ate some food we had brought along and continued.

Just east of Hanover, I snapped some photos of the Santa Rita Pit Mine .

Before long we began the real climbing. It was slow going. Highway 152 was empty, and a pause in my cadence revealed complete silence. I whistled, and it echoed on the canyon walls. I smiled.

We pedaled up and down through steep-walled canyons and rolling hills in the Gila National Forest . We kept wondering when we would begin the Mother of All Climbs to Emory Pass. We would climb, and then descend. Over and over.

Once the switchbacks began, I knew I was getting close. If I looked down on my right, I could see the road I had just been on, almost parallel to me but many feet below. If I looked up the slope on my left, I could see the road where I was about to be.

In a way, I was disappointed the challenge was nearing an end. My legs were thoroughly exhausted from the miles of vertical climbs on the route and I was cold from the wind as it rushed over the slowly approaching pass. The scenery, the solitude, and the looming challenge were about to change.

I stopped near the first of the switchbacks and munched on a Powerbar while my GPS searched for a satellite signal. I was at 8,000 feet; nearly there.

So the climb resumed and I arrived at Emory Pass . The view from that high vista is absolutely amazing (pictured above). As Jesse pointed out the towns of Kingston and Hillsboro, visible far below, a few flakes of snow drifted down.

Some darker clouds were coming overhead, so we coasted the last 8 or 9 miles to the Black Range Lodge in Kingston (http://www.blackrangelodge.com).

Kingston itself is essentially a ghost town. A few people live here on the single street. But that’s all that is left of a town that once had 7,000 residents. It, like nearby Hillsboro, was a mining camp. Both towns have emptied out after the gold ran out.

The lodge is a nice place. As we pulled up to the house, I noticed chickens roaming the yard. The building itself is built from rocks, wood, and straw. Catherine, one of the owners, fed us some leftovers from her fridge. This was quite helpful, as there are no restaurants nearby.

Other guests soon arrived. Three families from Las Cruces came together to celebrate the New Year. Being at a Bed & Breakfast, we got to chat with the other visitors. The lodge has a lot of “public” spaces where guests mingle. The three families offered us supper. They had all cooked something, and there was plenty to go around.

While lounging in our room, we left the door open. The owners’ cat paid us a visit. Then a dog from one of the families stopped and lounged by Jesse’s bed. Oddly enough, the dog’s name was also Jesse.

Tomorrow we’ll sleep in, eat breakfast, and continue coasting down the hill toward Texas.

Goodbye, mountains. My legs won’t miss you, but I will.