After leaving the beautiful town of Gunnison, I eased into the day with 30 miles of gentle uphill. Tomichi Creek flowed alongside me the entire way, making the morning feel peaceful and steady. I stopped a few times just to take it all in, including one moment where I watched a fox hunt in an open field for several minutes. It felt like the start of something good. As I neared the small village of Sargents, I crossed paths with another cyclist. His name was John, and he had started his tour on the East Coast. Recently retired, he was riding across the country while his wife drove the camper support vehicle. We swapped stories and smiled at the familiar rhythm of life on the road. Meeting other cyclists out on tour always brings a sense of instant connection. I hope to meet more along the way. After a well earned root beer float in Sargents, I started up the long 3,000 foot climb to Monarch Pass. The road climbed steadily for 10 miles. There was a climbing lane most of the way, and drivers were courteous for the most part. Except one. There was a semi truck driver who I can only describe as intentionally dangerous. I keep replaying the event in my mind trying to make sense of it. I was in the slow lane, riding as defensively as I could, leaving a safe distance from the edge of the road. There was no shoulder at this section, just a 100 foot dropoff. I saw the truck approaching and gave a little wave, like I usually do to help drivers spot me. There was no oncoming traffic. The passing lane was wide open. The driver moved over early, so they defiantly saw me. But the driver chose to pass me within inches. I mean that literally. As the trailer swept by, they swerved hard back into the lane, forcing me off the road. I had to jump off the bike to avoid being pushed over the edge. Scariest moment of the trip! I’ve found that commercial drivers are the most respectful and thoughtful folks on the road. They give space, a wave, even a thumbs up sometimes. But this was different. There was a company name on the trailer, and once I reached a pullout, I called to report what happened. They took the info and said they could identify the driver based on time and location. I hated to make that call, but it felt necessary. What happened wasn’t careless, it felt deliberate. And if they did it to me, they could do it again, maybe with a worse outcome. With that behind me, I kept climbing. One hour and many calories later, I reached the summit of Monarch Pass, which also happens to be the Continental Divide. It was my first time crossing it on this trip, but definitely not the last. I spent about 20 minutes at the top and in that time the weather flipped between sunny, rainy, snowy, and sunny again about seven times. Classic Colorado. I had been looking forward to the next stretch of road all week, the 25 mile descent into Salida. I don't think I pedaled once. It was perfect. The air changed from pine and wet forest to the warm smell of valley flowers and juniper. I followed the sound of the South Arkansas River all the way into town, feeling completely in the moment. I checked into a room for the night and walked straight to dinner. Two burritos and a big smile to wrap up one of the most memorable days of the trip.