Day Thirty: Cortez - Durango

My rugged black Surly was finally all fixed-up and glistening like a Stallion—okay, no, not glistening, but yes, fixed-up—and it was time to ride. We climbed a gravel hill out of the campground, where we met an old man with an obvious new set of pearly whites who introduced us to his loveable puppy. We squeezed the pup like we would do to our own, maybe a bit too enthusiastic about the whole thing, but enjoying it nevertheless. Our spirits were high, not just because of the puppy, but because this was the day that we would arrive in Durango!

Ahhhhh, Durango. Durango, Colorado: the place where all happiness is found. Or maybe at least a plush bed, familiar faces, and two rest days. We were going to be staying with our friends, the Mulligans, for a few days while spending a couple days of relaxation in the town. So heading out was easy, as we knew that there was fun in store. We ate breakfast at the gas station, then rode 17 miles first to Mancos, a quaint, historical town in a vivid green valley. We stopped at Absolute Baker and Café per recommendation of a friendly KOA worker, and it lived up to its hype. Slater ordered a half-order of huevos rancheros, which turned out to fill an entire platter (good call on the half-order), and I got a veggie scramble, which was not as good, if we’re being honest. But the self-serve coffee was the best attribute to the hidden gem restaurant, and by the time we left, I believe we had each consumed an entire pot. We met another touring couple there as well, and they gave us advice on tackling the upcoming mountain before we took off once again. We were in for nearly fifteen miles of climbing, but at a much more gradual pace than some of our Utah routes. It was no problem, or so I remember (I’m saying that now that I’m five days removed from the experience), aside from some menacing road construction and a few cramps. When we reached the top of the mountain, our hearts raced with excitement for the thought of seeing friends—finally—and we cruised another fifteen miles straight downhill.

Durango is a stunning town, nestled in a valley between skyscraping mountain ranges and lush forests of Evergreens. It is divided by the Animus, a typically tame, cerulean river that snakes its way through the city. The Animus is currently high, however, swollen and bloated up through the banks, and murky from sediment carried from unheard of amounts of rain. That didn’t seem to stop anyone from basking in its glory, catching waves with surfboards and kayaking through rushing rapids. Just east of the Animus is the historical downtown, painted with colorful shops, industrial-style restaurants, and our favorite: Magpies Newsstand.

Slater and I went to school with Jenna Mulligan, a fresh-faced, bright soul with a whole lot of creativity and a hug that could tame a bear. Her parents, Tom Mulligan and Geri Mulligan, own and manage Magpies Newsstand, a welcoming café filled with hundreds of magazines, homemade gelato, gooey Panini, and to-die-for smoothies. We hit the newsstand first for fresh food before heading to their home where they would host us. Geri arrived just minutes after we did, and she welcomed us with an ecstatic gasp of excitement and snacks galore. We FaceTimed Jenna to brag about being in her house, then headed out for an afternoon with Geri. She took us on a tour of the town in their loveable Land Cruiser, showing us gorgeous vistas, cool shops to check out, and of course—a brewery! We got beers and a hummus plate at Animus Brewing Company, where we seemed to meet handfuls of other avid cyclists. Everyone seemed to know one another, and especially Geri (she’s hard not to love).

We had already fallen in love with Durango, and agreed on two full days of rest so that we had enough time to see all the nooks and crannies of the city that we were dying to lay eyes on. Geri took us back to the house to shove our faces with pizza and more beer while we told stories, laughed harder than ever, and listened to a Pandora station that was on-point. Before long, the food coma hit, and we hit the hay in a cozy bed.