Read from "On How Not to Begin" in Bicycling beyond the Divide: Two Journeys into the West by Daryl Farmer:

"Saturday, May 7. I said good-bye to Joan and my parents, wobbled down the driveway, pedaled to the end of the street, King to 30th, and onto Pikes Peak, to the four-way stop on 36th. The mountain air was cool, the sun behind me, the shadows long. I crossed Colorado Avenue and merged onto Highway 24 and Ute Pass. I rode for about a mile, but the seat wasn’t set right, so I stopped to adjust it. After placing my tools back into the front pocket of my rear pannier, I neglected to cinch it. As I pedaled, the strap caught in my spokes and ripped. Then I realized that my cyclometer wasn’t working. Not used to the altitude, or the climb, I was already panting. I hadn’t ridden for nearly three weeks, was in probably the worst shape of my life, and it was clear I’d packed too much gear. I stopped to catch my breath and tried to decide what to do about the cyclometer. I didn’t want to ride without it, and I wouldn’t be near a bike shop until Breckenridge, maybe three days away. Best to get it fixed now, I thought.

I struggled to the Cliff Dwellings entrance, where I called Joan.

“How’s it going?” she asked.
“Never felt better,” I said.
“How far have you gone?”
“’Bout a mile and a half. And I’ve only stopped to rest twice,” I said.
“Might as well pace yourself,” she said.
“Can you come get me?” I said. “I’m having trouble with my speedometer.”

Because it was early and the bike shops weren’t open, we drove into Manitou, where we sat at an outdoor café sipping coffee in the sun. At the table next to us, a group of friends were laughing. A young couple with a dog showed up and joined them. Being in the morning mountain air watching the dog wag its tail reminded me of all the things I missed about western mountain towns. My discouragement faded a little.

We finished our coffee, and Joan drove me to Old Town Bike Shop, where I bought a new cord and mount for the Sigma. Then she drove me back to the highway. She said she’d leave for the cabin at noon, and she’d pick me up wherever she found me. She wished me luck, and then she drove away. I took a deep breath and started to pedal again."