Part 17: Bicycle Coast to Coast Across America—Coasting from 11,000 feet to Buffalo Bill’s Grave

By Frosty Wooldridge

“Long distance bicycle adventure up-levels a person toward lofty heights while pedaling the Rocky Mountains. It drenches a person in the mystical enchantment of the Amazon rainforests.  Cycling heats up a cyclist’s body while crossing the Australian Outback.  But whatever test it provides, bicycle adventure combines the best attributes of humanity: simplicity, passion and purpose.  When you see such a person on tour, you witness the glory of the human body, mind and spirit in blissful locomotion.”  FHW

(Sitting at the top of Berthoud Pass at 11,307 feet on the Continental Divide with the Pacific and Atlantic watershed. Three hours to pedal up the pass from Winter Park, Colorado.)

Next morning, we packed our tents after the sun dried the ice crystals from the nylon.  Hot oatmeal and sliced bananas took the edge off the cold.  Oh, and don’t forget the hot chocolate!

“I didn’t freeze last night,” said Wayne, sipping his steaming cup of hot chocolate.  “But knew it was cold.  Glad to have a good bag to keep me warm.”

“Yeah,” said Howard.  “I zipped up my mummy bag right up to my chin.  I slept like a rock.”

“From the looks of things,” I said.  “We’ve got 20 miles of coasting down to Downie truck stop on Route 40.  It travels along I-70.  Should be a blast.”

“Once we hit Denver,” said Wayne.  “It’s flat as a pancake all the way to the Blue Ridge Mountains.”

We packed our gear.  We snapped a few pictures in front of the Berthoud Pass sign:  Continental Divide.  East and West Watershed. 11,307 feet.

After climbing from sea level on the Pacific Ocean to 11,000 feet of altitude in the fabled Rocky Mountains, what does it feel like to coast down hill to the Great Plains? 

“Yaaahoooo,” yelled Wayne.

“Yippee ki yo ki yea!”  screamed Howard.

When you expend enormous amounts of muscle, blood and breath to climb High Mountain passes, everything changes when you allow gravity to become your new wings.  Sheer happiness engulfs your body.  You feel like an eagle soaring over its domain—the open sky.  You follow the road as if it’s an updraft-thermal.  You glide upon your pedals as if they were wings that never touch the ground.

“May your spirit soar throughout the vast cathedral of your being.  May your mind whirl joyful cartwheels of creativity.  May your heart sing sweet lullabies of timelessness.”  Jonathan Lockwood Huie

(Big daddy bison losing his winter coast in the spring time in the Rocky Mountains.)

We soared around dozens of curves on the backside of Berthoud.  We cruised through lingering snowfields and dozens of waterfalls. Thick, vibrant green aspens fluttered in the breeze.  Wildflowers vibrated with brilliant colors.

Soon, the road descended into Empire, Colorado, an old mining town.  Quickly the road dropped dramatically around another dozen curves until it settled down alongside I-70 as we reached Downie truck stop. 

(Big daddy elk taking a break in the morning sunshine.)

We picked up Clear Creek as it raged whitewater down the canyon into Idaho Springs, another mining town out of the 1800s.   From there, we cranked up Floyd’s Hill on Route 40 that hung alongside I-70.  Up and down, up and down.  But gradually, it kept going down.

At Exit 254, a sign read, “Buffalo Overlook and Buffalo Bill’s Grave.” 

“Let’s check out the bison,” said Howard.

“Sounds good,” Wayne said.

A herd of 40 buffalo with spring babies hung out in a 500-acre sanctuary.  The little guys romped around in their new light brown fur coats.  Big bull bison munched spring grass all over the valley.  Everywhere, deep, dark pine trees.

From there, we cranked up “Lookout Mountain Road” to Buffalo Bill’s Grave and Museum.

“Let’s see the grave and take a couple hours out for the museum,” I said.

“Works for me,” said Howard.

Pedaling up Lookout Mountain Road offers stunning views on both sides with deep canyons running into one another.  Pine trees dominated garnished with aspen.

(Buffalo Bill and Louisa Cody gravesite at Lookout Mountain, Golden, Colorado.)

Before we knew it, we turned into “Buffalo Bill’s Grave and Museum.”  Denver Parks and Recreation doesn’t seem to care much about the place.  We rode over cracked and broken pavement leading into Bill’s and his wife’s grave. 

“Wow, what a view they have,” said Wayne.

“No kidding,” I said.  “You can see 100 miles to the Kansas State Line and all the way to Wyoming to the north.  Not a bad place to die and spend eternity.”

We walked the bikes up to a black iron fence surrounding the gravesite.  William F. Cody lived from 1846 to 1917. His wife Louisa lived to 1921. 

He served as an Army scout, buffalo hunter for railroad crews and folks heading west.  He rode for the Pony Express. Later, he created his own Wild West Show which toured all over the US and Europe.  They named a town after him in Cody, Wyoming where he built the “Irma Hotel” after his daughter. 

(Buffalo Bill and Louisa Cody gravesite at Lookout Mountain, Golden, Colorado.)

“During the Civil War, Cody served first as a Union scout in campaigns against the Kiowa and Comanche, then in 1863 he enlisted with the Seventh Kansas Cavalry, which saw action in Missouri and Tennessee. After the war, he married Louisa Frederici in St. Louis and continued to work for the Army as a scout and dispatch carrier, operating out of Fort Ellsworth, Kansas.

“Finally, in 1867, Cody took up the trade that gave him his nickname, hunting buffalo to feed the construction crews of the Kansas Pacific Railroad. By his own count, he killed 4,280 head of buffalo in seventeen months. He is supposed to have won the name “Buffalo Bill” in an eight-hour shooting match with a hunter named William Comstock, presumably to determine which of the two Buffalo Bill’s deserved the title.

“Beginning in 1868, Cody returned to his work for the Army. He was chief of scouts for the Fifth Cavalry and took part in 16 battles, including the Cheyenne defeat at Summit Springs, Colorado, in 1869. For his service over these years, he was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor in 1872.

“All the while Cody earned a reputation for skill and bravery in real life, he became a national folk hero, thanks to the exploits of his alter ego, “Buffalo Bill,” in the dime novels of Ned Buntline. Beginning in 1869, Buntline created a Buffalo Bill who ranked with Davy Crockett, Daniel Boone and Kit Carson in the popular imagination, and who was, like them, a mixture of incredible fact and romantic fiction.

“In 1872 Buntline persuaded Cody to assume this role on stage by starring in his play, The Scouts of the Plains, and though Cody was never a polished actor, he proved a natural showman, winning enthusiastic applause for his good-humored self-portrayal. Despite a falling out with Buntline, Cody remained an actor for eleven seasons, and became an author as well, producing the first edition of his autobiography in 1879 and publishing a number of his own Buffalo Bill dime novels.

“But not even show business success could keep Cody from returning to the West. Between theater seasons, he regularly escorted rich Easterners and European nobility on Western hunting expeditions, and in 1876 he was called back to service as an army scout in the campaign that followed Custer’s defeat at the Little Bighorn.”

Cody helped feed the crews who built the railroad across the Great Plains and lived to be an actor, movie producer and drive an automobile.  We visited the museum with many artifacts of his time.  Buffalo Bill lived a fantastic life.

“Let’s camp out up here on this mountain tonight,” Wayne said.  “We can find a spot over in the woods near that park.”

“Works for me,” Howard said.  “Man, just look out at that view of Denver and the curvature of the planet.  We’re still high in the sky at 8,000 feet.”

We pitched camp as the sun slowly sank over the Continental Divide with snow still lingering in the High Country.  We crossed the Divide and hooked up with Buffalo Bill.

(Frosty’s bike Condor on tour across America.)

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