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.

It was on a ride up the Banff gondola that I met Nancy, Brian and Sandra, who had spent the summer camping in their van and hiking all over the West. We parted ways at the stunning precipice overlooking the valley but found each other again at the town’s hot springs pool.

All four of us having spent an active summer in the mountains, but now facing looming prospects of returning to serious lives, we enjoyed kindred communion in contrast with the cleaner-shaven tourists. I felt particularly drawn to Sandra, a joyful soul who shared many of my views and experiences, including a similar recent loss of employment.

Fit and tanned, they all looked delicious too. Several times, Nancy smiled as her ice blue eyes caught my own lingering on what I pictured under her hot-pink bikini. For redheaded six-foot Brian’s part, I wouldn’t mind a closer look in the locker room at … well, his part. But the most alluring of all was green-eyed Sandra, her print one-piece barely containing her full, well-muscled figure.

I rode north out of town several days later, disappointed that I hadn’t run into them again. Especially Sandra. But maybe this was my sign that I was avoiding the inevitable. Hadn't I achieved everything I'd set out to do?

After a stupendous side hike of Lake Louise and the Plain of Six Glaciers, that evening found me cranking towards Rampart Campground, my last night in Banff National Park before cruising the glorious Icefields Parkway into Jasper National Park.

An older white van sputtered by, trailing a faint whiff of marijuana smoke. “See you at camp, Joe!” cheered Nancy from the passenger seat. Looking up, I saw Sandra gleefully fried-egging her fleshbags against the window behind Nancy.

I pedaled harder.

After showering, I joined them for burgers grilled over their campfire, followed by a shared joint and a game of poker. Penny-pinchers all, we agreed on Strip stakes. The women kicked us men’s asses at first, stripping Brian and me down to undershorts without shedding a thread themselves.

Sandra finally lost a round, revealing (among everything else) that she’d boldly shown up to a strip poker game wearing nothing besides her sundress. “Hope you don’t mind looking at a natural girl,” she flirted.

“Best view I’ve had this whole trip,” I parried back, prompting her to ball up the dress and pitch it across the picnic table at me. I took a deep performative whiff as she smoldered. “Mmm … almost as nice as the view."

Nancy snapped her fingers to break the trance between me and Sandra. Locking eyes on Sandra, she smirkingly declared a rule that if anyone who was already naked lost a round, “she” would have to go down on the winner for two minutes.

I lost the next round, joining Sandra in the buff club. “Ooh, look, Sandi!” Nancy murmured to Sandra, my penis prominently portraying my preferences. “He really does like natural women!”

Sandra lost next. Losing gracefully, she promptly stuck her head under victorious Nancy’s dress.

Just as Nancy appeared to be getting excited from Sandra’s slurping, the latter came up for air, luridly wiped her mouth dry and cheerfully exclaimed, “Ding! Time’s up!” Eyeing me again, she teased, “So, who’s the next loser?“

Me. I got dealt a shitty hand, foolishly hanging onto a bad bluff while the ladies folded. “A bet's a bet,” taunted Sandra. "Are you man enough to make good on it?"

I showed her what kind of man I am, all right. I polished Brian’s protruding pickle with practiced aplomb. Both women wide-eyed and wantonly wetting the bench, Nancy mused, “Mmm, I think Joe’s done this before.”

Sandra’s impeccable timing again intervened just as I got Brian moaning. “Ding! Game over! We all win!" Instructing me not to falter in my fellatio, the ladies climbed into a sixty-nine on top of the picnic table. After a few minutes, Brian pulled out and painted pretty pearls all over my face.

The girls directed me up onto the table for cleanup, Nancy diving between my legs and Sandra lovingly licking the Johnson-juice off my face. Sandra then straddled my head, begging me to lap at her fur-fringed, loose-lipped cunt while handling her handfuls. Meanwhile, Nancy sank her she-sheath around my schlong. I didn’t last as long as I’d have liked before inundating her inbox.

The two switched spots once again, Sandra now cleaning the Nancy-Joe smoothie off my stabber and Nancy draining her blonde-bushed, cum-clogged, tasty twat into my mouth. After a few minutes, my tongue-twiddling brought Nancy to screaming spasms.

She moved off to join Brian by the campfire and leave me with Sandra, who climbed aboard and pressed her body against mine, licking my face clean a second time while whispering sweet everythings in my ear. This quickly developed into an impassioned excavation of each other’s mouths, during which she eased my emerging erectitude into her passion passage.

Her heavenly body seemed to float over mine through the most spectacular screw, undulating her clit against my pelvis while I nursed on her succulent sacs. She broke into a shimmering sweat in the evening’s chill, shuddering and shattering to a climax that rivaled the frequent avalanches on the nearby Athabasca Glacier. Might have been loud enough to trigger one, too.

I rolled into Edmonton a week later, having studied the signs, made my decision … and redirected my flight southward. I would at least spend a few more weeks touring the Southwest.

After which Sandra would pick me up in Tucson with her van.