The Continental Divide

I am 48 years old and am thankful for many things: a strong marriage, well above average children, friends, a nice home, and a decent job. To the pantheon of things I give thanks to, I add Ibuprofen. How George Washington was able to rally his shoeless soldiers in the winter at Valley Forge without massive doses of Ibuprofen is inexplicable to me, for today I had the need.
Monarch Pass stradles the Continental Divide at 11,312 feet above sea level. All the water that falls on the west side of the divide flows towards the Pacific; the water that falls on the east side goes towards the Atlantic. It is our highest point on the trip. To make it over, we had to climb 3,000 feet in 10 miles. With my tandem bike (aka "The Beast") loaded and weighing slightly less than a small aircraft carrier, Solomon (who now prefers to be called "Sprite") took off. (We have a great team: Solomon -er- Sprite provides chants, questions, observations and songs. I provide power.) 100 yards into the ride, my right knee starts singing too. It's song is, "Push down again on me again, and I'll buckle faster than a brick building in an earthquake. Adios to the ride. You can rent a car and sag for Djina and Yonah." My first thought probably won't get by the internet filter, so I'll tell you my second thought, "How many Ibuprofens can I eat without suffering liver damage?"
We pulled over and I took five. I also needed to get rid of some weight, so I asked Djina, "Can we strap Solomon to the top of your Burley trailer?" "No, but I'll take the peanut butter and jelly jars."
The drugs kicked in and we started again. 3.4, 3.7, 4.1 miles per hour. At 4 miles per hour average, I figured it would two and a half hours to make it to the top. The trick was to not overly stress my knee and not look at the odometer more than once every 15 minutes. Yonah was already in Kansas by the time Sprite and I were two miles into it. I kept telling Sprite to look back at the steep road we had already done. It's a funny thing in that the road ahead of you usually doesn't look as steep as when you look back. Probably some psychological reason. If you know how steep it's going to be, your rational brain will tell you to pull over and stick out your thumb for a pick-up truck.
Up and up we kept at it. (Yonah was now in Washington DC delivering the petitions.) Finally we reached the top and stood in front of the Monarch Pass - Continental Divide sign. I bow down to you O Great God Ibuprofen. I tried to get Solomon to straddle the line and pee in both directions. "C'mon, half of it will go to the Pacific and half to the Atlantic!" He declined.
There was a restaurant/gift shop at the top. When we leaned our bikes against the wall, I thought people would treat us like conquering heroes and get dozen of petition signatures. But no one gave us a second glance. I guess Coloradans see enough long distance bikers and are jaded.
There was a gondola that we took to the top of Monarch Mountain. While Djina, Yonah, and I took in the view, Sprite shoe skied on a patch of snow. He did well until he hit the end of the patch and his momentum carried him down the mountain, sprinting. He crashed a few yards before going over a cliff, but seemed fine. We came down the gondola, got our bikes and the hail began. Not cute little, "Oh, I think it might be hailing; isn't it cool-type hail." Plague-like hail. Hail that killed Pharaoh's cattle. Hail that dents Hummer hoods. We waited in the restaurant alcove for 20 minutes until it slowed. Then we took off for a 40 mile downhill. For the first mile we went slow because bike brakes don't work as well when the road is wet. Then the hail stopped and the road was completely dry. For the next 39 miles we stayed in front of the storm. A tailwind blew us through a narrow canyon along the Arkansas River, and we found a cabin in Howard.
Final word: Not to be outdone by Yonah's rites of passage, Sprite/Solomon wants to climb Mt. Everest, and scale both Half Dome and El Capitan in one day.