that time; anyhow, my
thin little purse afforded no such gross extravagance if I had known.
I recall that the individual seat of the chair-car gave me much
concern. I had considerable trouble adjusting it--putting it up and
laying it down.

Beside me in the companion seat rode a man of middle age, bearded,
roughly dressed, who took keen interest in my destination. He was
located, I learned, over the Continental Divide in that vast region
beyond Grand Lake. He talked of the forests of uncut timber near his
homestead, of the fertile valleys and grassy parks that would
eventually support cattle herds. "Some day," he predicted, "there'll
be a railroad built between Denver and Salt Lake City; and when it
comes it's bound to pass close to my claim."

At dawn I caught my first sight of the great snow-covered peaks, a
hundred miles away, rearing rose-red in the early morning light. At
first I mistook those misty ranges for cloud banks, lighted by the
rising sun. Then, as we drew nearer and day wore on, I made them out.

Toward noon I reached Fort Collins, Colorado, fifty miles from Long's
Peak, where there was no stage connection with Estes Park, but
Loveland, a town fifteen miles south, had a horse stage that made three
trips a week. The fare, I learned, was quite prohibitive, three
dollars for something more than thirty miles. The walk would be
interesting, I decided. But the old canvas bag, containing all my
worldly possessions, was too bulky and awkward to be carried. After
some hours of dickering, I paid eight dollars for a second-hand
bicycle, tied the bag on the handle bars and started for the Mecca of
my dreams.

That first journey to the mountains was filled with thrills. The old
stage road shot up successive mountain ranges, and plunged abruptly
down into the valleys between. There was no Big Thompson route then;
instead, the road ascended Bald Mountain, climbed the foothill range,
crossed the top, then dropped into Rattlesnake Park. It squirmed up
Pole Hill, a grade so steep that I could scarcely push up my wheel. Up
and down, up and down, it seesawed endlessly. The afternoon wore on;
each successive slope grew harder, for my legs were weary. Twice,
braking with one foot on the front crotch and sliding the wheel, I had
pitched headlong over the handle bars. Upon two descents that were too
precipitous to venture unballasted, I tied fair-sized pine trees to the
rear of my craft to act as drag-anc