Day 13 began cold, yet again. Adding to my woes, the 20-30mph wind blowing out of the northeast. The main directions I was going today and will be going between now and Wisconsin: north and east. My goal for the day when I woke up was to make Coalville, leaving about 18 miles of Utah left for tomorrow. Between Provo and Coalville was only the bulk of the Wasatch Range, made famous, among other things, for hosting the 2002 Winter Olympics. These mountains don't mess around, but I'll get back to that in a moment.
Mile 900 happened in front of the Brigham Young football stadium named for the famous mormon football coach LaVell Edwards. I somehow failed to get a picture. I could see why Brigham Young would have chosen the base of the Wasatch as the site for his institution, it's just the rest of his notions that somewhat baffle me. Even with a thick blanket of clouds covering everything 400' above me and up, it is still a beautiful location. Then, I entered Provo Canyon.
Part of the reason for doing this trip is to see some of the great natural treasures of our my country. I'm only my third state through, but what I saw this morning ranks among the most beautiful landscapes I've encountered anywhere in my travels. Though I can't say much for the city of Provo, I have to encourage everyone to go along Provo Canyon from Provo up to at least Heber City. I'd take a bike, but I understand if you'd want to drive it instead; just make sure to get out of the car often.
Only a few miles into the canyon, you come to the Bridal Veil Falls. My favorite waterfall I've ever seen is still the Waimoku Falls on the east side of Maui. Bridal Veil is now my second favorite. The 607' falls comes down in two main sections before draining into the stream that runs along the bottom of the canyon. I'm reminded of how much the forces of water and gravity shape our world. I'll post some pictures, but really, you should try to see it for yourself.
I continued up the valley, past the road that winds uphill to Sundance. There were several minor climbs getting between Provo and Heber City, but the bigger issue was the headwind. The couple downhills I had were all facing right into the wind, so I never was able to break 28mph. Coming into Heber City, I could see what awaited me, Highway 40/189 climbing up towards Park City. Since I was around mile 27 for the day anyway, I took a lunch break in Heber City, sitting so I could look out the window at my bike and the climb we were about to take.
The road to Park City climbs in two parts. From the city at 5600', there's a 6.5 mile grind to 6326'. After that, it sinks a little while going along the Jordanelle Reservoir. Then, in just over 3 miles, it climbs up to 6856'. Basically, from Heber City to the top there's a climb of over 1300' spread over 22 miles. Add in the aforementioned 20-30mph wind that seemed to get stronger near the summits, and that's a pretty hard ride.
Thankfully, 2.5 miles after the the summit, I got to the Union Pacific Rail Trail. They've taken about 24 miles of abandoned rail line from Park City up to the Echo Damn and turned it into a multipurpose recreational trail. Most of it is unpaved, which makes it slower, and clearly in the time between all the rain the area got yesterday and last night and when I rode over it, there were several horses that used the path, making sure they left very few flat, even stretches. Also they left copious piles to dodge on the trail.
Even so, the trail was nice. After spending the morning with highway traffic over my left shoulder, I was mostly alone on the path. In the 20 miles I rode on the trail, there was one other cyclist and a jogger. Other than that I was attended by horses, cows and even a ranch of alpaca. After a couple miles on the trail, I met up with an old friend, I-80. 80, ol' buddy, haven't seen you since California's central valley. For several miles, the trail goes between the two sides of the expressway. I looked up smugly at the motor traffic zooming along at 70+ mph, completely missing the idyllic stream that flowed not 40 feet away below them. One less happy part of the trail was that within only a few miles, I saw four deer carcasses in various states of decomposition. But there were also lots of horses along the trail. When I got to the alpaca farm, the dozen of them all started running along the fence with me as I rode by. When they got to the end of their enclosure, they all gathered at the side of the fence looking at me, as if expecting a treat from me or something. Silly alpaca.
Alas, 40 miles of climbing against the wind followed by a 20 mile unpaved path is hard on ones knees. I got to Coalville and found a room at the hotel with a hot tub. Between the fact that I had been cold all day riding and it was only going to get colder after the sun set and that my knees could really use a little pampering after the hell I've put them through over the last nearly 1000 miles, I chose to get a room. But, I also know that most of the way through wyoming and south dakota I will be camping.
Despite the hills and wind, today was my favorite day of riding in Utah. Growing up in such a flat place, looming snow-capped mountains still capture my wonder and imagination. Even as I was straining to pass over it, I would think of the impossible weight of just one of these mountains. So ends week two of my adventure. Tomorrow I enter Wyoming, knowing the highest climbs of my trip are now behind me. I'm still ahead of schedule, and after the next couple days, I'm going to hit the easiest part of my ride home.
Day 13, Provo, UT - Coalville, UT
Today 60.7 miles spread over 6:23:54. Trip totals are now 956.6 miles after 76:19:07. My top speed today was a mediocre 27.9 mph.
Showing posts with label Week 2. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Week 2. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Mile 895.9 - Seriously, Utah? Seriously?
When I had fallen asleep, it had been raining steadily, so at dawn when I awoke, I naturally assumed that's what the patter on the tent was. I ate a quick, cold breakfast and started packing up the place. I opened the tent door and found not rain, but a steady sleet falling from the sky. I hurried my preparations and the sleet turned into a heavy slush, falling not as individual, unique and precious snowflakes, but as large wet clusters, covering everything much more efficiently. I tried brushing off the snow as I rolled up the tent, but it was coming down too fast for me to get all of it. By the time the tent was in its bag and everything ready to load onto the bike, she had accumulated nearly half an inch of snow. When I picked her up, there was a neat green outline of a bike in the white grass, but by the time the camera was out and ready, it had been covered in. Snow was piling up on the panniers and my helmet as I loaded everything on and rode back down to the gas station I had stopped at last night.
I grabbed breakfast and sat at one of the tables already kinda cold and wet. But I didn't want to sit at a plastic table in a gas station all morning, so I went back out. In the parking lot, a man told me that down the mountain only a little way the snow was rain, if that helped me at all. Even hours afterward, it's hard to say if it was help. By Santiquin, 18 miles into the day, the rain stopped for a while. I took a quick rest in Payton, running into the gas station for yet more gatorade. The women inside saw me ride up and asked how far I was going. All the way, just not today. When I woke up, I wanted to stop in Park City for the night. By the time I had the bike packed up, I thought Provo would be far enough.
And so I did. After 40 miles, I called it a half day. I found a room with wifi and spent a couple hours washing the bike from the combination of desert dust and wet road grit made muddy by a thorough application of pure, soul-cleansing, Utah rain. You can't drink here, but you sure can be cold and wet outside. I learned that after not too very long, the shoe covers I got fail to keep the shoes from getting saturated with water. From the shoes then the socks, and that's enough for me to not want to be riding. Also the wet gloves, but I bet around here I can probably find a decent pair of weatherproof ski gloves that I could send home after Wyoming.
Not a lot else to report on today. I'm still surprised by the amount of livestock kept in yards in this state. Also, Provo is in desperate need of some bike infrastructure. I can see the bike lane on University Ave, but no one else can because no one's bothered to paint them in yet. Three out of four cyclists I saw were on the sidewalks. It would really only take a few strong, dedicated advocates in this town to really bring about a bike culture, but I'm not willing to move here to do so. I like beer with my pizza too much.
(Half) Day 12, Eureka, UT - Provo, UT
44.0 miles, 895.9 total. 3:01:27 today, 69:55:13 with a high speed of 40.7mph
I grabbed breakfast and sat at one of the tables already kinda cold and wet. But I didn't want to sit at a plastic table in a gas station all morning, so I went back out. In the parking lot, a man told me that down the mountain only a little way the snow was rain, if that helped me at all. Even hours afterward, it's hard to say if it was help. By Santiquin, 18 miles into the day, the rain stopped for a while. I took a quick rest in Payton, running into the gas station for yet more gatorade. The women inside saw me ride up and asked how far I was going. All the way, just not today. When I woke up, I wanted to stop in Park City for the night. By the time I had the bike packed up, I thought Provo would be far enough.
And so I did. After 40 miles, I called it a half day. I found a room with wifi and spent a couple hours washing the bike from the combination of desert dust and wet road grit made muddy by a thorough application of pure, soul-cleansing, Utah rain. You can't drink here, but you sure can be cold and wet outside. I learned that after not too very long, the shoe covers I got fail to keep the shoes from getting saturated with water. From the shoes then the socks, and that's enough for me to not want to be riding. Also the wet gloves, but I bet around here I can probably find a decent pair of weatherproof ski gloves that I could send home after Wyoming.
Not a lot else to report on today. I'm still surprised by the amount of livestock kept in yards in this state. Also, Provo is in desperate need of some bike infrastructure. I can see the bike lane on University Ave, but no one else can because no one's bothered to paint them in yet. Three out of four cyclists I saw were on the sidewalks. It would really only take a few strong, dedicated advocates in this town to really bring about a bike culture, but I'm not willing to move here to do so. I like beer with my pizza too much.
(Half) Day 12, Eureka, UT - Provo, UT
44.0 miles, 895.9 total. 3:01:27 today, 69:55:13 with a high speed of 40.7mph
Monday, May 10, 2010
Mile 851.9 - Well I've been through the desert on a horse named Penny
Day 11 started on the margins of the desert on the edge of the state. Every night I've camped so far, I seem to face the door of the tent to the east towards Brooklyn. And Mecca, I suppose, though that seems coincidental. The plan was to ride up to Trout Creek where I could take the old Pony Express trail around the north ends of three ranges and cross between Salt Lake City and Utah Lake over to Provo.
I had a large oatmealy breakfast, quickly broke camp and got started just after 7:00, two hours before I usually get started on the day. After about 8 miles, I had my first run in with the Jaub County Sheriff, Jim White. He pulled up alongside me and asked if I was lost. I laid out the route I had planned for him and he nodded and said 'Well, you can go that way, but you got about 120 miles of unpaved road ahead of you that way.' He told me of a route that would take me to the closest paved road (35 miles away) which would lead me to Highway 6 which I could take towards Provo. Mileage-wise, it was about the same, but the extra 90 or so miles of gravel was worth avoiding.
The gravel, naturally, was not uniform throughout the road. Since it had rained lightly the night before, there were still wet patches and the occasional puddle (by mid-morning, these were gone). There were some spots where it was worn down to the hard-baked earth beneath, even if just in the line of tire tracks, but it was possible to keep up a good speed on those parts. Most of it was moderate gravel, which allowed for some speed, but still gave the tires enough purchase to be able to turn or stop. Then there was the loose gravel and sandy parts. Taking the loose gravel at speed is exactly like trying to drive on ice at speed. Not to say it can't be done, but chances are you're going to end up upside down and bleeding. The deeper sand may even be worse, locking one tire into place while the inertia of the other tire still wants to go somewhere and now it's only options are sideways or up. Not a pretty choice there either. So while there were stretches that almost seemed like I was on a regular road, most of it I had to ride on more cautiously. Not that riding a little more slowly was hard, the additional friction created by the surface was enough to see to that. And then there were the few spots that, rather than slog through it, I just walked straddling Penny. I was only going to make 4-6mph through it anyway.
The major concern of crossing a desert, as you know, is water. Sunscreen helps too, but it was cold most of the day so I had long sleeves on for all but about 45 minutes. Well, perhaps I should have only had two packets of oatmeal this morning instead of three and saved those gulps of water. As I came to learn, the last place for me to get water was Ely. I left Nevada with a gallon and a half, but now, approaching mid-afternoon and a full 24 hours in the desert, I was down to my last quart. After 52.5 miles on the day, much if it coming back south where I had been going north the evening before and part of the morning, I crossed Sand Pass, a low saddle between a couple mountainous sisters. 19 miles later, I hit pavement. I had reached the road to my salvation. Only 18 miles down that road was a gas station, the first chance in nearly 30 hours for me to buy something to drink. To celebrate, I had the last long gulp from my last resort nalgene. As I learned hiking long ago, it's better to carry that last water inside than out.
There actually was something else to drink in my luggage, the half full flask of whiskey that Emily had given me for the trip. Somehow this didn't seem like the right time. I had gone about 4 miles when an old rancher in his pickup stopped in front of me and asked if I needed anything. If he had some water, that'd be great, I said. No, he didn't he replied. But he had another thought.
Dear readers, here I must stop myself before I begin to perpetuate a fraud. When I get back to Brooklyn, I will not be able to say that I biked all the way across the continent. In the middle of the desert without anything to drink, I was met with temptation and was not a strong enough man to resist. I loaded Penny onto the back of his truck, and he drove us the remaining miles to the gas station. I know I wouldn't have died, in fact I would have made it there in about an hour and a half. But he offered and it seemed the prudent thing to do.
At the gas station, I bought him a cheeseburger to thank him for his trouble, as well as a gallon of water, a liter of coke and a couple 20oz bottles of gatorade. As we sat in his truck eating and pouring over the state map of Utah, we figured out the best route for me to get to Wyoming, given where I was and the weather conditions. By the time I got out of his truck I had finished off a burger, the liter of coke, and almost as much water.
He looked like a classic Nevada rancher, black hat, 3-day stubble, blue jeans and brown leather boots. His denim jacket looked as worn and cared for as the muddy truck in which I was riding. I didn't ask if the rifle in the back seat was loaded, I just assumed that it was. He was a marine in Vietnam and had traveled the world in the corps, but had found peace in a 7000 acre ranch in Pleasant Valley, straddling the Nevada/Utah border. He had six horses, a small herd of cattle and a natural spring that gave him more water than he could use year round. There wasn't much he needed outside the valley, and he knew most of the people that lived within 90 miles. As we drove, he waved to several of them. He was visiting his brother and son up in Grantsville and was going to take the Pony Express road to get there, as I had planned until that morning, but had decided instead to take the route easier on the truck. We talked for a while, about the state and its people and eventually, I got out and loaded all my newly acquired liquid onto the bike. We shook hands again, I thanked him a last time, and he drove off. I never got his name, but if I need him, I know where to look for him.
I started my clock again, and by mile 84, had passed through the old and crumbling part of Eureka. By then the storm clouds that had chased me all day were finally beginning to catch up. I pulled into a gas station and asked the attendant if there was someplace nearby to pitch my tent. Up the hill, along the dirt road I just passed is a quarry on one side, but there are plenty of grassy spots on the other side of the road. I went where I was directed and found a good clear spot as the rain started coming more heavily. Now with more practice, I threw up the tent in a matter of minutes, apologized to Penny for leaving her out in the rain, and was soon in dry, warm clothes in my cozy sleeping bag, reading The Odyssey by the waning light. One of the few not completely necessary things I packed with me, I thought it an appropriate read for the trip. After the sun set, I sat up for a while, listening to the rain on the tent and spitting pistachio shells out into the grass. I fell asleep daydreaming about wide open spaces surrounded by hills.
Day 11, Gandy, UT - Eureka, UT
84.1 miles today, 851.9 for the trip. 7:38:34 traveling, 66:53:40 total with a top speed of 35.4
I had a large oatmealy breakfast, quickly broke camp and got started just after 7:00, two hours before I usually get started on the day. After about 8 miles, I had my first run in with the Jaub County Sheriff, Jim White. He pulled up alongside me and asked if I was lost. I laid out the route I had planned for him and he nodded and said 'Well, you can go that way, but you got about 120 miles of unpaved road ahead of you that way.' He told me of a route that would take me to the closest paved road (35 miles away) which would lead me to Highway 6 which I could take towards Provo. Mileage-wise, it was about the same, but the extra 90 or so miles of gravel was worth avoiding.
The gravel, naturally, was not uniform throughout the road. Since it had rained lightly the night before, there were still wet patches and the occasional puddle (by mid-morning, these were gone). There were some spots where it was worn down to the hard-baked earth beneath, even if just in the line of tire tracks, but it was possible to keep up a good speed on those parts. Most of it was moderate gravel, which allowed for some speed, but still gave the tires enough purchase to be able to turn or stop. Then there was the loose gravel and sandy parts. Taking the loose gravel at speed is exactly like trying to drive on ice at speed. Not to say it can't be done, but chances are you're going to end up upside down and bleeding. The deeper sand may even be worse, locking one tire into place while the inertia of the other tire still wants to go somewhere and now it's only options are sideways or up. Not a pretty choice there either. So while there were stretches that almost seemed like I was on a regular road, most of it I had to ride on more cautiously. Not that riding a little more slowly was hard, the additional friction created by the surface was enough to see to that. And then there were the few spots that, rather than slog through it, I just walked straddling Penny. I was only going to make 4-6mph through it anyway.
The major concern of crossing a desert, as you know, is water. Sunscreen helps too, but it was cold most of the day so I had long sleeves on for all but about 45 minutes. Well, perhaps I should have only had two packets of oatmeal this morning instead of three and saved those gulps of water. As I came to learn, the last place for me to get water was Ely. I left Nevada with a gallon and a half, but now, approaching mid-afternoon and a full 24 hours in the desert, I was down to my last quart. After 52.5 miles on the day, much if it coming back south where I had been going north the evening before and part of the morning, I crossed Sand Pass, a low saddle between a couple mountainous sisters. 19 miles later, I hit pavement. I had reached the road to my salvation. Only 18 miles down that road was a gas station, the first chance in nearly 30 hours for me to buy something to drink. To celebrate, I had the last long gulp from my last resort nalgene. As I learned hiking long ago, it's better to carry that last water inside than out.
There actually was something else to drink in my luggage, the half full flask of whiskey that Emily had given me for the trip. Somehow this didn't seem like the right time. I had gone about 4 miles when an old rancher in his pickup stopped in front of me and asked if I needed anything. If he had some water, that'd be great, I said. No, he didn't he replied. But he had another thought.
Dear readers, here I must stop myself before I begin to perpetuate a fraud. When I get back to Brooklyn, I will not be able to say that I biked all the way across the continent. In the middle of the desert without anything to drink, I was met with temptation and was not a strong enough man to resist. I loaded Penny onto the back of his truck, and he drove us the remaining miles to the gas station. I know I wouldn't have died, in fact I would have made it there in about an hour and a half. But he offered and it seemed the prudent thing to do.
At the gas station, I bought him a cheeseburger to thank him for his trouble, as well as a gallon of water, a liter of coke and a couple 20oz bottles of gatorade. As we sat in his truck eating and pouring over the state map of Utah, we figured out the best route for me to get to Wyoming, given where I was and the weather conditions. By the time I got out of his truck I had finished off a burger, the liter of coke, and almost as much water.
He looked like a classic Nevada rancher, black hat, 3-day stubble, blue jeans and brown leather boots. His denim jacket looked as worn and cared for as the muddy truck in which I was riding. I didn't ask if the rifle in the back seat was loaded, I just assumed that it was. He was a marine in Vietnam and had traveled the world in the corps, but had found peace in a 7000 acre ranch in Pleasant Valley, straddling the Nevada/Utah border. He had six horses, a small herd of cattle and a natural spring that gave him more water than he could use year round. There wasn't much he needed outside the valley, and he knew most of the people that lived within 90 miles. As we drove, he waved to several of them. He was visiting his brother and son up in Grantsville and was going to take the Pony Express road to get there, as I had planned until that morning, but had decided instead to take the route easier on the truck. We talked for a while, about the state and its people and eventually, I got out and loaded all my newly acquired liquid onto the bike. We shook hands again, I thanked him a last time, and he drove off. I never got his name, but if I need him, I know where to look for him.
I started my clock again, and by mile 84, had passed through the old and crumbling part of Eureka. By then the storm clouds that had chased me all day were finally beginning to catch up. I pulled into a gas station and asked the attendant if there was someplace nearby to pitch my tent. Up the hill, along the dirt road I just passed is a quarry on one side, but there are plenty of grassy spots on the other side of the road. I went where I was directed and found a good clear spot as the rain started coming more heavily. Now with more practice, I threw up the tent in a matter of minutes, apologized to Penny for leaving her out in the rain, and was soon in dry, warm clothes in my cozy sleeping bag, reading The Odyssey by the waning light. One of the few not completely necessary things I packed with me, I thought it an appropriate read for the trip. After the sun set, I sat up for a while, listening to the rain on the tent and spitting pistachio shells out into the grass. I fell asleep daydreaming about wide open spaces surrounded by hills.
Day 11, Gandy, UT - Eureka, UT
84.1 miles today, 851.9 for the trip. 7:38:34 traveling, 66:53:40 total with a top speed of 35.4
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Mile 767.8 - The road takes us its own ways
Day 10 started in Ely, with the simple goal for the day of getting out of Nevada. While Dirk and I had lost track of each other in the hotel, I caught up to him a few miles out of town in the morning. We rode about 30 miles together, coming to an unmarked crest atop a pair of miles long 6% grades on either side. I wanted to take a break for food, so I climbed off the bike and started to unpack. Dirk pulled up alongside and rested a moment, getting off his bike and taking a few gulps of water. He wanted to ride the slope down, so I enjoyed a brief lunch and stretched a bit before heading on. I took about a 20 minute stop and around 14 miles later, caught up with Dirk again.
As we were closing in on the border, Nevada wanted to show us that it had one more good slope its sleeve. The ramp up to Sacramento Pass starts as a slight grade, the kind one doesn't even notice in a car. After a couple miles of toying with you, it starts in earnest, the last five miles to the top are 6% grade. We would chug along up it with all the speed and grace of an ox-drawn covered wagon, then stop to rest our legs and catch our breath. We didn't do much talking during this part, but kept leapfrogging each other as we paused, the one resting complaining about the slope and headwind and while the one pushing forward grunted back in agreement. No matter which direction the road turned, we seemed to always be headed straight into wind, and it only got more fierce closer the top.
On the way, we passed a ranch with a gate made entirely out of antlers. Whether it's considered decorative in this part of the country or not, I find a bone gate to be creepy. A little further up, and I came to a small herd of cows just off the side of the road. I had 30some cows a silently staring at me as I slowly pedaled past them. I think I confuse cows, and this was neither the first nor the most recent time I've had that thought.
I surged forward the last 3/4s of a mile and finally made it to the Sacramento Pass at 7154'. I had now gone 726.5 miles. Dirk had fallen behind a ways back, so I waited for him at the top. The wait seemed to drag on longer than I expected, but because there was a curve a quarter mile from the top, I couldn't see how far down he was. Eventually he came into view walking his bike. His rear tire had gone flat, so now he needed to unload all the weight from the bike to fix the flat. He told me to continue, so we shook hands, wished each other well and I took off down the last downslope in Nevada.
Dirk's path carried him further down highway 6 & 50 through Utah towards Colorado. When planning my route I found a way that looked a lot flatter on the map. A couple passes, but a generally easier looking way to get to Provo, and from there up to Park City and out into Wyoming. My friends, the easier looking way is not always the best. My last turn in Nevada, and first since Carson City, was onto White Pine County Road 41, about 10 miles past the pass. The pavement wasn't great, but the road angled up toward the state line and then toward Gandy and Trout Creek. After about a mile, the road went from not great pavement to marginal pavement. Then, half a mile later, it gave up altogether and became a gravel road. Now, two days after I made that left turn, I realize I should have turned around then and just stayed on 6/50. Anyway, at mile 746.2 I crossed from Nevada into Utah, 57 hours and 2 minutes since I started in San Francisco. I also crossed my first time zone line on a bike.
Any hope that at the state line the road would become paved, or that it would coming into the town of Gandy, proved false. 21.5 miles past the state line, having gone from the minor unpaved road to the clearly more major unpaved road, I entered Gandy. I knew I did because the sign said so, though it was less apparent from the surroundings. There were a couple ranches on the horizon and a crossroad a little ways into 'town'.
I had noticed a couple times before, but three times along this road a large bird of prey would follow above and slightly behind me for a while. At first I assumed it was showing off its speed or grace, or trying to decide if I was worth the trouble of trying to catch before it flew off. But by now I had figured out why all these birds were following me. The sound of the tires would startle small lizards and rodents from their hiding spots. The birds were following me until they saw a small critter run from the roadside, then bank sharply and dive. Twice I saw birds come up with something, the third time it apparently missed, but had seen some tastier morsel a little further away from the road and went after that. So, birds, I hope you enjoyed your meals. And small lizards and rodents, sorry, didn't mean to make you die like that. If you just stayed cool and let me pass, the bird would have kept following me. But I guess that's a little late now.
With dusk rapidly approaching, I found a sheltered spot by the Gandy crossroads between an empty tanker truck and a pasture full of cows. As I pitched the tent, a few tentative raindrops started to fall. I pulled Penny under the truck to keep her from the rain and from the safety of my tent, listened to the cows complaining about the weather as night fell.
Day 10, Ely, NV - Gandy, UT
95.6 miles, 767.8 total. Wheels spun for 8:23:37 today, for a total of 59:15:06, top speed 38.2
As we were closing in on the border, Nevada wanted to show us that it had one more good slope its sleeve. The ramp up to Sacramento Pass starts as a slight grade, the kind one doesn't even notice in a car. After a couple miles of toying with you, it starts in earnest, the last five miles to the top are 6% grade. We would chug along up it with all the speed and grace of an ox-drawn covered wagon, then stop to rest our legs and catch our breath. We didn't do much talking during this part, but kept leapfrogging each other as we paused, the one resting complaining about the slope and headwind and while the one pushing forward grunted back in agreement. No matter which direction the road turned, we seemed to always be headed straight into wind, and it only got more fierce closer the top.
On the way, we passed a ranch with a gate made entirely out of antlers. Whether it's considered decorative in this part of the country or not, I find a bone gate to be creepy. A little further up, and I came to a small herd of cows just off the side of the road. I had 30some cows a silently staring at me as I slowly pedaled past them. I think I confuse cows, and this was neither the first nor the most recent time I've had that thought.
I surged forward the last 3/4s of a mile and finally made it to the Sacramento Pass at 7154'. I had now gone 726.5 miles. Dirk had fallen behind a ways back, so I waited for him at the top. The wait seemed to drag on longer than I expected, but because there was a curve a quarter mile from the top, I couldn't see how far down he was. Eventually he came into view walking his bike. His rear tire had gone flat, so now he needed to unload all the weight from the bike to fix the flat. He told me to continue, so we shook hands, wished each other well and I took off down the last downslope in Nevada.
Dirk's path carried him further down highway 6 & 50 through Utah towards Colorado. When planning my route I found a way that looked a lot flatter on the map. A couple passes, but a generally easier looking way to get to Provo, and from there up to Park City and out into Wyoming. My friends, the easier looking way is not always the best. My last turn in Nevada, and first since Carson City, was onto White Pine County Road 41, about 10 miles past the pass. The pavement wasn't great, but the road angled up toward the state line and then toward Gandy and Trout Creek. After about a mile, the road went from not great pavement to marginal pavement. Then, half a mile later, it gave up altogether and became a gravel road. Now, two days after I made that left turn, I realize I should have turned around then and just stayed on 6/50. Anyway, at mile 746.2 I crossed from Nevada into Utah, 57 hours and 2 minutes since I started in San Francisco. I also crossed my first time zone line on a bike.
Any hope that at the state line the road would become paved, or that it would coming into the town of Gandy, proved false. 21.5 miles past the state line, having gone from the minor unpaved road to the clearly more major unpaved road, I entered Gandy. I knew I did because the sign said so, though it was less apparent from the surroundings. There were a couple ranches on the horizon and a crossroad a little ways into 'town'.
I had noticed a couple times before, but three times along this road a large bird of prey would follow above and slightly behind me for a while. At first I assumed it was showing off its speed or grace, or trying to decide if I was worth the trouble of trying to catch before it flew off. But by now I had figured out why all these birds were following me. The sound of the tires would startle small lizards and rodents from their hiding spots. The birds were following me until they saw a small critter run from the roadside, then bank sharply and dive. Twice I saw birds come up with something, the third time it apparently missed, but had seen some tastier morsel a little further away from the road and went after that. So, birds, I hope you enjoyed your meals. And small lizards and rodents, sorry, didn't mean to make you die like that. If you just stayed cool and let me pass, the bird would have kept following me. But I guess that's a little late now.
With dusk rapidly approaching, I found a sheltered spot by the Gandy crossroads between an empty tanker truck and a pasture full of cows. As I pitched the tent, a few tentative raindrops started to fall. I pulled Penny under the truck to keep her from the rain and from the safety of my tent, listened to the cows complaining about the weather as night fell.
Day 10, Ely, NV - Gandy, UT
95.6 miles, 767.8 total. Wheels spun for 8:23:37 today, for a total of 59:15:06, top speed 38.2
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Mile 677.7 - Company on the lonliest road
Since I had been turned away from the laundromat the night before, I had washed my clothes in the sink in my hotel room then hung them out to dry. My red jersey turned the water a bright hue, which I'm glad I learned by itself in the hotel sink and not in the wash with the rest of my clothes. By morning the clothes wern't all dry, so I grudgingly took them to the gas station/laundromat/liquor store. The rude woman who had turned me away saw me coming through the door and quickly turned away so as never to actually look in my direction the entire time I was there. I dried my clothes and got out of there. I went to the breakfast joint recommended to me in the fancy casino on Main St. Not one of the run down ones, but the fancy one. There's also the Eureka Opera House down the block, and I have to say, I'd love to see La Traviata in rural Nevada. I hear they're really big on Verdi in old mining towns.
There was a large table of (large) men in the corner who for a while were talking about baseball. I perked up when they mentioned the Cubs rookie who, in his first two major league at bats the night before had hit a 3-run triple and a 3-run homer, setting a new record. Then they brought up the Cubs' season record so far, compared to that of St Louis and I turned back to my hashbrowns. Also remarkable from breakfast there was a big guy (in fact, of the dozen or so men in the place, I'm the only one who could not accurately be described as 'that heavyset fella') whose meal apparently consisted of two bloody marys and a side of bacon. Hey, we all like brunch our own ways.
On the way out of town, I stopped at the last gas station for water and gatorade. The attendant asked if I was going cross country. We were the first this she'd seen this year, but that just meant that the season has started and she'd see touring cyclists all summer long from this point. She wished me speed and safety.
Back in the parking lot, a woman was admiring Penny. She asked how much weight I was carrying, with the additional water I was taking for the desert, about 70lbs. She introduced herself as Kitty and then introduced her partner, who's name escaped me somewhere around Pinto Summit. (sorry, I really should write them down) We talked for a bit, and she asked if I was with the two guys they had seen coming out of town. Two guys? I assumed Wayne had stopped in town for the night, but who was the other? They were seen only 5-10 minutes up the road, so I should be able to catch them. Anyway, Kitty offered that if I was going the other way, they'd put me up for the night. They lived in Merkleeville, famous for its Merkeleeville Death Ride, and a reasonable biking distance from Carson Pass. Maybe next time. The Death Ride is 120 miles and climbs 5 passes for a over 12000' of climbing. I'd love to try it unloaded. As I was talking to them, the youngest of the boys on bikes I had met last night rode up and said he remembered me. We all talked for a few minutes, the couple gave me a bran muffin and a mango, and I eventually started. I have had at least a banana a day for almost a week and a half now, and a mango is a nice changeup. Thanks, guys.
The first 5.5 miles east of Eureka is a climb up to Pinto Summit. As I crested the summit, I could see Wayne just ahead of me, stopped to take some pictures. I caught up and we talked a moment. I stopped to replace my camera battery and a few miles later ended up riding together for some miles. He said that Dirk, the other cyclist he'd started out with that morning, was also going faster than him, partially because of the 110 lbs of gear Wayne had on the bike.
Ok, so I have to back up a week. When I was in Sacramento, talking to Micheal on the American River Bike Path, he had mentioned that about 8 hours earlier, he had met a South African man, Dirk, who was going cross country. On the way I had talked to a couple other people who had seen him, and when I first met Wayne on day 8, he had talked to him. I thought there probably wasn't much chance of me catching up to a guy with an 8 hour lead, and with the hours I lost backtracking to Casron City, I knew I'd never get to him. Yet, here I was, less than 30 minutes behind him.
The road was good for speed and the tailwind helped push me along, so I made good time. Eventually, I could make out the tiny fleck of cyclist many miles ahead of me. As I climbed to Pancake Summit (Pancake being a Shoshone word that translates, roughly, to flapjack) I could see that I was gaining on him. He had stopped for water at the top when I pulled up next to him. 'You must be Dirk', I said. He was and how did I know that? I explained that I had basically been following him for a week and was surprised that I had managed to get up to him. As it turned out, he had heard about me too, last night from Wayne. We talked for a bit, and agreed to split a hotel room in Ely, where he had planned to stop for the day.
I needed a break, so as I ate my bran muffin (thanks, again, Kitty) he took off saying we'd meet up in town if not on the road. I gave him my number just in case, but as it turns out, it wasn't necessary, as I managed to catch up to him again as we climbed up to Little Antelope Summit. We ended up riding together most for most of the 25 miles left into town. I break off from his route before Utah as he continues more straight across to DC, but it was nice to share some miles with him. It's refreshing to meet other people at my exact level of crazy.
We got into town, found that the rooms at the historic casino were cheap and each decided to get our own rooms. We left to unpack and freshen up a bit, and that's when we lost each other. It's now the next morning as I write this and I havn't seen him since check in. Shrug. I probably would have gone further last night and camped, but oh well. It was certainly nice to meet a fellow traveler. The bar in the casino even had the Cubs game on, and I wouldn't have gotten that in the tent.
Day 9, Eureka, NV - Ely NV
72.1 miles, 672.7 total. 5:29:38 today for 50:41:42 and I hit a very nice 45.7 on one of the downslopes.
There was a large table of (large) men in the corner who for a while were talking about baseball. I perked up when they mentioned the Cubs rookie who, in his first two major league at bats the night before had hit a 3-run triple and a 3-run homer, setting a new record. Then they brought up the Cubs' season record so far, compared to that of St Louis and I turned back to my hashbrowns. Also remarkable from breakfast there was a big guy (in fact, of the dozen or so men in the place, I'm the only one who could not accurately be described as 'that heavyset fella') whose meal apparently consisted of two bloody marys and a side of bacon. Hey, we all like brunch our own ways.
On the way out of town, I stopped at the last gas station for water and gatorade. The attendant asked if I was going cross country. We were the first this she'd seen this year, but that just meant that the season has started and she'd see touring cyclists all summer long from this point. She wished me speed and safety.
Back in the parking lot, a woman was admiring Penny. She asked how much weight I was carrying, with the additional water I was taking for the desert, about 70lbs. She introduced herself as Kitty and then introduced her partner, who's name escaped me somewhere around Pinto Summit. (sorry, I really should write them down) We talked for a bit, and she asked if I was with the two guys they had seen coming out of town. Two guys? I assumed Wayne had stopped in town for the night, but who was the other? They were seen only 5-10 minutes up the road, so I should be able to catch them. Anyway, Kitty offered that if I was going the other way, they'd put me up for the night. They lived in Merkleeville, famous for its Merkeleeville Death Ride, and a reasonable biking distance from Carson Pass. Maybe next time. The Death Ride is 120 miles and climbs 5 passes for a over 12000' of climbing. I'd love to try it unloaded. As I was talking to them, the youngest of the boys on bikes I had met last night rode up and said he remembered me. We all talked for a few minutes, the couple gave me a bran muffin and a mango, and I eventually started. I have had at least a banana a day for almost a week and a half now, and a mango is a nice changeup. Thanks, guys.
The first 5.5 miles east of Eureka is a climb up to Pinto Summit. As I crested the summit, I could see Wayne just ahead of me, stopped to take some pictures. I caught up and we talked a moment. I stopped to replace my camera battery and a few miles later ended up riding together for some miles. He said that Dirk, the other cyclist he'd started out with that morning, was also going faster than him, partially because of the 110 lbs of gear Wayne had on the bike.
Ok, so I have to back up a week. When I was in Sacramento, talking to Micheal on the American River Bike Path, he had mentioned that about 8 hours earlier, he had met a South African man, Dirk, who was going cross country. On the way I had talked to a couple other people who had seen him, and when I first met Wayne on day 8, he had talked to him. I thought there probably wasn't much chance of me catching up to a guy with an 8 hour lead, and with the hours I lost backtracking to Casron City, I knew I'd never get to him. Yet, here I was, less than 30 minutes behind him.
The road was good for speed and the tailwind helped push me along, so I made good time. Eventually, I could make out the tiny fleck of cyclist many miles ahead of me. As I climbed to Pancake Summit (Pancake being a Shoshone word that translates, roughly, to flapjack) I could see that I was gaining on him. He had stopped for water at the top when I pulled up next to him. 'You must be Dirk', I said. He was and how did I know that? I explained that I had basically been following him for a week and was surprised that I had managed to get up to him. As it turned out, he had heard about me too, last night from Wayne. We talked for a bit, and agreed to split a hotel room in Ely, where he had planned to stop for the day.
I needed a break, so as I ate my bran muffin (thanks, again, Kitty) he took off saying we'd meet up in town if not on the road. I gave him my number just in case, but as it turns out, it wasn't necessary, as I managed to catch up to him again as we climbed up to Little Antelope Summit. We ended up riding together most for most of the 25 miles left into town. I break off from his route before Utah as he continues more straight across to DC, but it was nice to share some miles with him. It's refreshing to meet other people at my exact level of crazy.
We got into town, found that the rooms at the historic casino were cheap and each decided to get our own rooms. We left to unpack and freshen up a bit, and that's when we lost each other. It's now the next morning as I write this and I havn't seen him since check in. Shrug. I probably would have gone further last night and camped, but oh well. It was certainly nice to meet a fellow traveler. The bar in the casino even had the Cubs game on, and I wouldn't have gotten that in the tent.
Day 9, Eureka, NV - Ely NV
72.1 miles, 672.7 total. 5:29:38 today for 50:41:42 and I hit a very nice 45.7 on one of the downslopes.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Mile 600.6 - The road least travelled
When I woke up on day 8, it was 16 degrees outside. I am so glad I didn't camp. To kill time until it warmed up a bit, I took a nice leisurely breakfast at the cafe across from my motel. Having spent nearly two years managing and training waitstaff, I could tell immediately that it was the waitress' first day. Other than forgetting my side order, she did fine. Then, because it was still colder than I would have liked, I repacked all my bags, looking to drop a couple pounds. The first thing to go was the bike lock, which I have not used once and weighs more than 2 lbs. I also haven't seen the key for it since San Francisco. In fact, Jim, it may be in your backyard. I mailed the lock and map of the route I've already covered back home.
By 10 it had warmed up to the low 30's, so I bundled up and headed out. The morning started with a pair of climbs. Where I started in town was around 6700'. In less than two and a half miles, the switchbacks rose up to the Austin Summit at 7484'. It dropped a good 400' into a canyon then rose again to Scott Pass at 7214'. Then I dropped into the wide valley between the hill I was on and the ones on the horizon. Right around then, I did something for the first time on this tour, namely turning on my mp3 player. I only had one earphone on, so I could still hear the traffic coming behind me. But suddenly I was joined by Freddy Mercury and Bob Dylan and Manu Chao. At one point, a single hearing of Freebird lasted 3 miles. I got over a mile and a half in on the guitar riff alone. Up until now, I would have a series of songs go through my head, sometimes a single verse would repeat for an hour before I realized how much time had passed.
Anyway, after crossing the next bit of flat, I climbed up to the 6546' Hickson Pass. Just beyond that is a Petroglyph Park that was only a mile off my route, unlike the Itchyosaur Park sign I saw that got me really excited until I noticed it was 54 miles away. Sigh. Penny and I walked up a short trail to see the glyphs. They were kinda cool, though most had been vandalized by idiots over the years. I walked down into the parking lot, preparing to take a quick food break, when a couple from Michigan asked about the bike. I explained, and their response was to offer me a cold beer. Sweet! Let this be a lesson to all the rest of you across the country whom I haven't met yet so aren't reading this: free beer always wins me over. As I was talking to them, I guy from Minnesota overheard our conversation and was interested. The four of us talked for a while about our various trips before eventually going our separate ways.
I started again into the process of crossing a long valley, climbing the hills on the horizon, seeing the hills on the next horizon, crossing to them, climbing them, &c, &c, &c. While the terrain is pretty, it is also largely unremarkable scrub desert. So I thought I really would not have much else to report for the day, when some chance meetings occurred.
Before I describe who I met, I would like to illustrate the improbability of meeting someone where I did. Recall to your mind, the map of Nevada. Or open a new tab and pull one up. Picture (or zoom in) highway 50 crossing the center of the state. Near the middle of the line (you'll probably have to zoom in a bunch to see it) is the town of Austin. 78 miles east of there is Eureka. There is NOTHING in between. Not a gas station or side of the road bar, just long expanse of desert and hills. Just about halfway between the two towns was my first encounter. If there is a middle of nowhere, USA, I was riding toward its center.
And I saw, from a distance, a man walking along the side of the road. I caught up to him, slowed down, and asked where he was going. Bill, as it turns out, had just retired and, as he said, too many people just ease into their retirement, but it's a rite of passage. So, he's walking across the country. That, my friends, is inspirational to me. I asked how long he figures it will take and he shrugged and said next year sometime. He was going to fly home for the holidays, but then in January, pick up wherever he left off. What a fantastic thing to do. Also, see, there are people crazier than I am. I walked with him for a little while and am glad, even just for that fifteen minutes, that our two journeys aligned. Good luck to you, Bill. I expect you will make it.
Soon enough, I mounted up again, we took our respective sides of the road (me riding with traffic, him walking against) and I moved on. About five miles later, I crested the hill of whatever number horizon I was on for the day, and far in the distance I could make out a dark speck slowly moving along the side of the road. It was too small and slow to be a car, but too fast to be another person walking. I sped up and after about four miles, was catching up to a guy on a heavily loaded recumbent bike.
Wayne started from Sacramento and is going to Denver. But, along the way, he's visiting 11 national parks. Once he gets into Utah, he's going to bear south to the Grand Canyon. He's taking lots of pictures on the way that he posts to crazyguyonabike and is looking to make a photo journal when he's done. We talked a few minutes, then the speed difference in our bikes became apparent and I continued forward alone. Less than 15 minutes later, there's a turn in a hill, and I see two loaded bikes heading westbound.
I'm bad with names and if I had gotten these guys' I don't remember them. They started in Phoenix and were working their way to San Fransisco. They had the advantage of being able to spread the load between them and of having company the whole way, but they said they were working against the headwind basically every day. Yeah. That's why I'm going west to east. During the time we had stopped to talk, Wayne had caught up, so, briefly, there were four of us on touring bikes all in the same place a couple miles past the center of the middle of nowhere. I proclaimed that we had just started a tourist convention and took a picture.
All meetings on the road must end sooner or later. We wished each other good riding and fair weather and continued in our respective directions (at our respective paces). I hit mile 600 on the long climb into Eureka. As I pulled up to the general store (not to be confused with the gas station/laundromat/liquor store) three middle school aged boys rode up to me on their bikes. They asked where I was going. Brooklyn, I said. A young woman nearby who clearly knew the boys very well asked them 'Do you know where that is?'. They kinda shrugged and the oldest boy offered, 'yeah, that's like in the south somewhere'. No, it's New York City. Now, to these boys San Fransisco was a fantastically far off place, and to ride from there to Eureka is a monumental feat. One of them had ridden 20 miles, once, but with all the hills around, it was hard to ride out of town. New York, to them, is a semi-mythical far off realm that they see on the tv when there's a bomb scare or a parade.
I talked to them for a while, gave the young woman my card as she didn't seem likely to lose it, and the boys offered to watch my bike while I ran into the store. While I had come out, a fourth, younger boy had joined them. I came back out with my bananas, gatorade and instant oatmeal and talked to them a while longer, getting advice on the several restaurants in town. I hope that the boys do read this blog and if they do, the lesson I'd really like them to take away from meeting me is that I'm just an regular guy living out a ordinary american dream. Anyone can do it.
I grabbed a room at the motel the oldest boy had recommended. I tried for the second day in a row to do my laundry, but was rudely turned away at the gas station/laundromat/liquor store (where, of course, there are slot machines because this is Nevada) because the last load had to be in by 6 and it was now 6:07. I'm certain, in retrospect, that had I gotten to wash my clothes, the lady there would have died. Nothing else explains the urgency with which I was so rudely turned away.
From the boys' suggestions, I opted for the chinese-american restaurant. As I came in, there was an old chinese couple bickering at each other in rapid mandarin and a mother and daughter who I assume to be Shoshone, speaking their mother tounge. I suddenly felt like I was back home on the D train. Now I just needed someone reading a book in hebrew or a newspaper in hindi. From her reactions, I could tell that the chinese waitress was not used to white people being familiar with chinese food. She was surprised when I ordered a Tsingtao by name and I think maybe fell in love with me a little when I thanked her with a xiexie after taking my order. She came back with my soup and asked, in her intermediate english, if I lived nearby. No, Brooklyn. She asked what I did for work, and I told her I was a cook, but didn't have a job at the moment. She brightened up and asked if I was looking for a job here and seemed genuinely disappointed when I said no. But, it's good to know that I have a job lined up in Eureka, NV, if my life ever goes that route.
Day 8, Austin, NV - Eureka, NV
71.42 miles, 600.6 for the trip. 5:29:38 in the saddle today, 45:17:49 top speed 34.7mph
By 10 it had warmed up to the low 30's, so I bundled up and headed out. The morning started with a pair of climbs. Where I started in town was around 6700'. In less than two and a half miles, the switchbacks rose up to the Austin Summit at 7484'. It dropped a good 400' into a canyon then rose again to Scott Pass at 7214'. Then I dropped into the wide valley between the hill I was on and the ones on the horizon. Right around then, I did something for the first time on this tour, namely turning on my mp3 player. I only had one earphone on, so I could still hear the traffic coming behind me. But suddenly I was joined by Freddy Mercury and Bob Dylan and Manu Chao. At one point, a single hearing of Freebird lasted 3 miles. I got over a mile and a half in on the guitar riff alone. Up until now, I would have a series of songs go through my head, sometimes a single verse would repeat for an hour before I realized how much time had passed.
Anyway, after crossing the next bit of flat, I climbed up to the 6546' Hickson Pass. Just beyond that is a Petroglyph Park that was only a mile off my route, unlike the Itchyosaur Park sign I saw that got me really excited until I noticed it was 54 miles away. Sigh. Penny and I walked up a short trail to see the glyphs. They were kinda cool, though most had been vandalized by idiots over the years. I walked down into the parking lot, preparing to take a quick food break, when a couple from Michigan asked about the bike. I explained, and their response was to offer me a cold beer. Sweet! Let this be a lesson to all the rest of you across the country whom I haven't met yet so aren't reading this: free beer always wins me over. As I was talking to them, I guy from Minnesota overheard our conversation and was interested. The four of us talked for a while about our various trips before eventually going our separate ways.
I started again into the process of crossing a long valley, climbing the hills on the horizon, seeing the hills on the next horizon, crossing to them, climbing them, &c, &c, &c. While the terrain is pretty, it is also largely unremarkable scrub desert. So I thought I really would not have much else to report for the day, when some chance meetings occurred.
Before I describe who I met, I would like to illustrate the improbability of meeting someone where I did. Recall to your mind, the map of Nevada. Or open a new tab and pull one up. Picture (or zoom in) highway 50 crossing the center of the state. Near the middle of the line (you'll probably have to zoom in a bunch to see it) is the town of Austin. 78 miles east of there is Eureka. There is NOTHING in between. Not a gas station or side of the road bar, just long expanse of desert and hills. Just about halfway between the two towns was my first encounter. If there is a middle of nowhere, USA, I was riding toward its center.
And I saw, from a distance, a man walking along the side of the road. I caught up to him, slowed down, and asked where he was going. Bill, as it turns out, had just retired and, as he said, too many people just ease into their retirement, but it's a rite of passage. So, he's walking across the country. That, my friends, is inspirational to me. I asked how long he figures it will take and he shrugged and said next year sometime. He was going to fly home for the holidays, but then in January, pick up wherever he left off. What a fantastic thing to do. Also, see, there are people crazier than I am. I walked with him for a little while and am glad, even just for that fifteen minutes, that our two journeys aligned. Good luck to you, Bill. I expect you will make it.
Soon enough, I mounted up again, we took our respective sides of the road (me riding with traffic, him walking against) and I moved on. About five miles later, I crested the hill of whatever number horizon I was on for the day, and far in the distance I could make out a dark speck slowly moving along the side of the road. It was too small and slow to be a car, but too fast to be another person walking. I sped up and after about four miles, was catching up to a guy on a heavily loaded recumbent bike.
Wayne started from Sacramento and is going to Denver. But, along the way, he's visiting 11 national parks. Once he gets into Utah, he's going to bear south to the Grand Canyon. He's taking lots of pictures on the way that he posts to crazyguyonabike and is looking to make a photo journal when he's done. We talked a few minutes, then the speed difference in our bikes became apparent and I continued forward alone. Less than 15 minutes later, there's a turn in a hill, and I see two loaded bikes heading westbound.
I'm bad with names and if I had gotten these guys' I don't remember them. They started in Phoenix and were working their way to San Fransisco. They had the advantage of being able to spread the load between them and of having company the whole way, but they said they were working against the headwind basically every day. Yeah. That's why I'm going west to east. During the time we had stopped to talk, Wayne had caught up, so, briefly, there were four of us on touring bikes all in the same place a couple miles past the center of the middle of nowhere. I proclaimed that we had just started a tourist convention and took a picture.
All meetings on the road must end sooner or later. We wished each other good riding and fair weather and continued in our respective directions (at our respective paces). I hit mile 600 on the long climb into Eureka. As I pulled up to the general store (not to be confused with the gas station/laundromat/liquor store) three middle school aged boys rode up to me on their bikes. They asked where I was going. Brooklyn, I said. A young woman nearby who clearly knew the boys very well asked them 'Do you know where that is?'. They kinda shrugged and the oldest boy offered, 'yeah, that's like in the south somewhere'. No, it's New York City. Now, to these boys San Fransisco was a fantastically far off place, and to ride from there to Eureka is a monumental feat. One of them had ridden 20 miles, once, but with all the hills around, it was hard to ride out of town. New York, to them, is a semi-mythical far off realm that they see on the tv when there's a bomb scare or a parade.
I talked to them for a while, gave the young woman my card as she didn't seem likely to lose it, and the boys offered to watch my bike while I ran into the store. While I had come out, a fourth, younger boy had joined them. I came back out with my bananas, gatorade and instant oatmeal and talked to them a while longer, getting advice on the several restaurants in town. I hope that the boys do read this blog and if they do, the lesson I'd really like them to take away from meeting me is that I'm just an regular guy living out a ordinary american dream. Anyone can do it.
I grabbed a room at the motel the oldest boy had recommended. I tried for the second day in a row to do my laundry, but was rudely turned away at the gas station/laundromat/liquor store (where, of course, there are slot machines because this is Nevada) because the last load had to be in by 6 and it was now 6:07. I'm certain, in retrospect, that had I gotten to wash my clothes, the lady there would have died. Nothing else explains the urgency with which I was so rudely turned away.
From the boys' suggestions, I opted for the chinese-american restaurant. As I came in, there was an old chinese couple bickering at each other in rapid mandarin and a mother and daughter who I assume to be Shoshone, speaking their mother tounge. I suddenly felt like I was back home on the D train. Now I just needed someone reading a book in hebrew or a newspaper in hindi. From her reactions, I could tell that the chinese waitress was not used to white people being familiar with chinese food. She was surprised when I ordered a Tsingtao by name and I think maybe fell in love with me a little when I thanked her with a xiexie after taking my order. She came back with my soup and asked, in her intermediate english, if I lived nearby. No, Brooklyn. She asked what I did for work, and I told her I was a cook, but didn't have a job at the moment. She brightened up and asked if I was looking for a job here and seemed genuinely disappointed when I said no. But, it's good to know that I have a job lined up in Eureka, NV, if my life ever goes that route.
Day 8, Austin, NV - Eureka, NV
71.42 miles, 600.6 for the trip. 5:29:38 in the saddle today, 45:17:49 top speed 34.7mph
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