Heading west from Las Animas toward the Otero County line, you’re in truck country, pickups and 18-wheelers alike roaring past the hamlets and alfalfa fields. Bicyclists are as scarce as taxi drivers.
But there he was, pedaling away on the side of the road.
His name was Paul Devin. While he would soon hit La Junta and Rocky Ford, he was Montana bound. For the past nine months, he has bicycled across America.
“When I got old enough for Social Security, I got to be where I wanted to be — on the road,” Devin said.
At 63, the retired furniture upholsterer is enjoying some serious wish fulfillment.
Devin left La Conner, Wash., in August. He has lost track of the mileage, but the trip has left him lean and brown as whip leather.
He headed through Oregon and Nevada to Arizona, then turned east through New Mexico and Texas. Next came the Deep South and Florida.
The road just unspooled.
I wasn’t the first stranger who had pulled over to talk.
“Things like this happen all the time,” Devin said. “People think I’m a needy person. They stop and run over with a jug of water. Some even try and give me money.
“I pity the people I run into. I never used to be a talker, but now I just run at the mouth.”
Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady had their car. Huck and Jim had their raft. Devin has a Raleigh bicycle loaded with panniers and a pull cart.
It’s a streamlined rig. Devin keeps a road map of the day’s route in a plastic sleeve atop his handlebars, along with a transistor radio. He favors drive-time talk shows. His style of travel can be a bit thin on company, so he talks right back to the broadcasters.
His food kit holds 5 pounds of potatoes, 20 pounds of canned goods and 2 1/2 gallons of water.
Devin fished a can of V-8 from a bag and popped the top. “This is how I get all my vegetables for the day.”
Life is pared to the bone.
Devin rides in bluejeans and trail shoes — “I’m not in the Spandex club” — and his bike seat is cushioned with a hand towel. He stays in touch with his son through e-mails sent from libraries.
“I don’t have anything now except my bike and dreams someday of a couple of acres with a kayak and a fishing pole,” he said.
For now, Devin cranks out 50 miles on a good day, which means one that isn’t rainy, windy or almighty hot.
“I had to hunker down in my tent over the weekend because the wind was blowing so hard,” he said. “It nearly bent the tent pole. But I had a book, so I passed the time reading.” The book was James Clavell’s “Shogun,” the samurai epic. It seemed appropriate to Devin’s stoic spirit.
“There’s good people everywhere, and there’s bad people everywhere,” he said. “You just try to avoid the bad ones.”
The latter is the reason he travels with a camouflaged tent, which he pitches off in the brush and trees. If he has to deal with varmints, he’d prefer the four-legged kind.
But he loves the open road and its song.
“It’s the freedom and liberty,” he said. “The sights. And oh, my gosh, the birds. I hadn’t heard meadowlarks in years.”
Devin needed to get riding again. I climbed into my Ford and drove off, watching him recede in the mirror.
A thrush darted past me and began skimming a field. The bird looked nearly as free as the man on the bicycle.
William Porter’s column runs Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Reach him at 303-954-1977 or wporter@denverpost.com.
