JULY 13:  Cotopaxi, Colo. to Parlin, Colo., 78 miles via U.S. 50. Average speed today, 11.3 mph. Total trip mileage to date, 2,425. Average mileage per day since June 1, 56.4.

Probably our biggest, hardest and most exhilarating day on the road to date. Began climbing in beautiful, barely existing Cotopaxi at 8:30 a.m. and did not finish until 4 p.m. atop 11,300-foot Monarch Pass. Nearly three hours later we pulled into Gunnison, Colo. after 80 miles and more than 10 hours.

Day didn’t start well. On the outskirts of Salida I ran over a sharp sliver of glass on the narrow Highway 50 shoulder. Not only was the tube pierced, but the tire was ripped. Using a New Jersey mechanic’s advice, we plastered a dollar bill inside the wall of the tire, then inflated a new tube. It worked fine.

“Could carry you 100 miles,” said a mechanic at Salida’s bike shop. “But you’ll eventually need a new tire.”

The guy sold me a new tire, but was to busy to put it on. So we began climbing Monarch Pass on a dollar and prayer. And made it.

The climb started slowly, through the pasture and ranch land outside Salida. Our friend Randy, not about to play his usual game of golf with us crossing the Continental Divide, made frequent water deliveries and welfare checks. We were fine, but slow.

Our average mph to the top of the pass was a well under 10 and toward the upper reaches of the climb was closer to 5. We took breaks every five miles, then every two miles. Randy met us 1.8 miles from the top to encourage us.

Ben was running behind on the climb, but did so with a broad grin on his face. “Altitiude and endorphin-induced euphoria,” he explained.

We reached the top amid the clicking shutter of Randy’s camera. We exchanged high fives and Ben hoisted his Long Haul Trucker over his head in triumph behind the Continental Divide sign.

We enjoyed lunch at the summit café and souvenir shop and Randy gave us personalized Monarch Pass metal mint canisters. We’ll treasure them.

“I idolize you guys,” said a woman after hearing of our NJ-to-Calif. Trip outside the restaurant.

“How does it feel to be idolized?” I asked Ben.

“Richly deserved,” he said.

Then we bundled up for the seven-mile plunge down the pass. At the bottom of the 6 percent grade section it was again warm and we shed the layers and pedaled 12 more easy miles of rolling hills into Parlin, where Randy picked us up and drove us 10 miles farther to a motel in Gunnison.

We celebrated with a Mexican dinner at the Las Palmas restaurant, raising a toast. We had climbed the steepest pass on our transcontinental trip.

Afterwards put the new rear tire on my bike, but valve nut flew off after I inflated it. More trouble, but nothing serious.