In February 2009, I lost my job in the home lending industry. Due to the recent passing of my dear Aunt Deb, however, my financial situation was not immediately dire.
With banks and home prices both collapsing, I saw no point sitting around burning cash in search of a job that wouldn't materialize, resolving instead to slash my expenses and stretch Deb’s $23,000 lifetime savings into a lifetime experience honoring her memory.
My newish car sold, my stuff in storage and my landlord given notice, my bike joined me on a flight to Albuquerque. I would tour the Great Divide Route, a course of gravel roads stretching 2700 miles from Antelope Wells on the Mexican border up to Banff in Canada.
For six months, my only worries would be the immediate bodily needs of living outdoors and riding the Rockies. No bills. No bosses. No appliances. No car repairs. No expensive, awkward first dates. No deadlines except one: getting to Edmonton at the end of September for my flight home. Although I would end up spending a total of four months on the bike, I didn’t rough it the whole time, ultimately interspersing in a total of two months driving heavily discounted rental cars thanks to the faltering economy, pausing my ride periodically to visit Santa Fe, Grand Canyon, Zion, Canyonlands, Mesa Verde, Rocky Mountain, Yellowstone and Glacier National Parks.
The tour got off to a bit of a bumpy start with some Achilles difficulties, but by halfway across New Mexico, my body was settling into a strong riding groove. One somewhat neglected bodily need began to demand frequent attention, however. By the time I approached the Colorado line, the idle fantasies of my increasingly unstressed, clear mind provoked my increasingly virile body into frequent erections, leading to quick side trips into the woods to … uh, whittle my wood.
I was undertaking one such meat massage in the trees one afternoon when I heard a stick snap a few dozen yards behind me. I kept beating my boner anyway, figuring it was just a deer … before turning to see a large man retreating.
I stuffed my sausage back in my shorts and remounted my rig, finding a road crossing just around the bend. The man I'd just seen was a "trail angel,” who’d set up a table offering food and cold drinks to the occasional passing rider. I gratefully consumed three bottles of cold lemonade, two energy bars and many tales of the trail provided by Jim, an experienced Divide tourer himself.
He provided another service that no other trail angel would on this trip, wrapping fleshy, talented lips around my aching antenna while I massaged his thick neck and shoulders, relishing the feel of his body. It dawned on me that basic human contact was another bodily need, of which I'd been deprived for weeks. I almost blacked out with pleasure as I streamed a massive load into his hairy mouth, my fingers running through his thick black hair.
I couldn’t resist returning Big Jim’s gesture by ingesting his injector in kind, though in truth I also did it to prolong the physical contact. Locking onto his warm brown eyes, I enjoyed several glorious minutes running my hands around his buttocks, up his back and across his hairy, muscular chest, before his powerful body pumped his prostate product into my mouth. Standing up, we enjoyed a passionate, juicy cumkiss, hands roaming over each other’s backs, before my black-bearded benefactor kneeled to coax out one more willie withdrawal.
A few days later, I met minimally employed real estate agents Staci and Tammi enjoying a quiet campfire in a high-elevation campground. I was grateful on that chilly night to simply warm my extremities by the fire. They insisted upon further warming my extremities in their RV.
I first drilled and thrilled Tammi, delirious at the feel of my phallus filling her smooth, juicy pussy and the taste of her supple titties in my mouth. Then I ate Staci from behind while she lapped my jizz out of Tammi. After recovering my rigidity, I plunged into Staci, grabbing her gorgeous globes and creaming her kid-cavity too. Although I was surprisingly satisfied already, Staci and I sixty-nined for a few more minutes anyway, bringing her to another orgasm, followed by the luxury of sleep between two soft cuties on a soft mattress.
Another night, I shared camp with Cheryl, a section-rider covering the Colorado portion over three weeks. She was craving comfort following a black bear encounter, and I gave it gladly. She amiably returned the comforts of her juicy pussy, soft breasts and cuddly body.
In a desolate stretch of southern Wyoming, I camped with Karen, a fiftyish, ultra-fit endurance rider on an ultralight bike. She was on the impressive pace to complete the entire Route in under a month but had ultra-riding needs of another sort too. She cowgirled me long past nightfall, then snuggled her slim self to a short sleep next to me in my tiny tent, before quietly jetting off into the dawn.
The population of distance riders being predominantly male, though, the law of averages more often had me talking my way into the arms - and mouths - of fellow men as famished for contact as myself. Sometimes it was just a quick, perfunctory cumswap. Other times, the initial insistent penile palpations led to a long makeout session as we savored the comfort of warm bodies pressed together in the chill mountain air.
Outside Whitefish, Montana, I met ironically nicknamed “Tall Todd,” a firecracker of a guy wrapping up a monthlong stint across that state. We discovered common interests and aspirations that compelled us to unexpected intimacies, probing much deeper than our mere orifices. We rode together the next incomparable day, taking regular breaks to wet our woodies in the woods, followed by a second night of masculine delight before returning home to his wife.
Todd and I have kept in touch.
In early September, my rubber reluctantly revolved onto permanent pavement in Banff, the sun and my remaining time both rapidly dwindling. These free and vigorous months had rejuvenated my spirit and my body in so many ways. With Aunt Deb’s inheritance dwindling less rapidly than expected, I contemplated extending my sojourn. Never one to ride the paved, popular path herself, she would approve, I thought. But still, I sought a sign.