Here it is already, the beginning of Week 3. I Feel like I accomplished a lot on day 14, I crossed another state line (a couple times), I hit mile 1000, I had my second century day, and I'm getting ever closer to being out of the mountains. Oh, and I also survived doing something I pray I never have to again.
I started in Coalville. I had the hotel breakfast which was a step up from the one in Provo, but obviously sourced from the same supplier. I bet I know who it is, too. I considered giving my legs another dip in the pool, I'm sure my knees would have appreciated it, but by the time I got rolling it was already 9, so it's for the better that I didn't. Also slashed were the plans to ride unladen up to the top of Echo Dam and back, which only would have been about 15 miles round trip, but if I was going to do that, I should have the night before.
I took Chalk Creek Road east out of Coalville towards Wyoming. The road follows some rolling hills, a decent combination of rise and descent. It is also really pretty. The Creek runs along the south side of the road for the most part with hills immediately to the left. Covering these hills and the valley created by the creek were lots and lots of livestock ranches. Horses, cows, goats, sheep, and since it's still spring baby versions of all of the above too. The frolicking lambs were perhaps the cutest. There was also one pig in Wyoming that ran circles in it's pen, squeeling happily as I rode by. It's the same behavior I saw in several dogs, she wanted to run with me. Also, my mom would be happy to hear, I passed a flock of sheep being watched by a Great Pyrenees. I didn't get a picture though.
I seem to have a similar effect on sheep as I do with cows. Most cows will stop mid-cud chew and watch in puzzlement as I roll by. Some might stand up if they were sitting, but generally the reaction is 'what the hell is that?' Sheep put their own twist on it. When they look up, a few will just stand there and watch, some will go back to grazing, and a few will bolt. My favorite were the ones that would see me coming, back away a few steps, graze some more, look up see I'm still there, back up a few more steps to eat then look up again. Horses seem to get what I'm doing, some of them just don't seem to know why I would do it.
Since I'm on the subject of critters, I also saw several gophers throughout the day, plenty of deer, several antelope, an eagle, a falcon and several birds I could not identify. Also, I didn't mention the day before the rock chucks on the Union-Pacific path. There were also lots of dead animals at the side of the road, but I won't get into too much detail about that. I just wonder, though, if the hunters in this area are more effective at killing things with their guns or their cars.
Anyway, Chalk Creek Road. More sheep as you got closer to Wyoming. Also, it was official, I had seen more deer in the desert than other cyclists in the whole state of Utah. Sigh. At mile 981.4, Utah's worries were mine no more, as I entered Wyoming from it's southwest corner. As I got to the state line, there was a horse in the pasture about 200' away. He watched me get off Penny, prop her next to the sign and take her picture. He shook his head, thought 'Tourists' to himself in horse and went back to his chomping. Also at the state line, to celebrate my freedom from various oppressive Utah laws, I took a small swig of whiskey. I in no way advocate riding while intoxicated, it is stupid, dangerous and stupid. It was really much more of a symbolic sip than a hearty swig. This would turn out to be handy a mile and a half later, as the dirt road I was on climbed to 7155'.
Along this road there were lots and lots of sheep. I've decided that sheep are not pretty. Perhaps I'm not the first to come to this conclusion and I'm sure that there are the sheep defenders out there who would say otherwise. Granted, frolicking lambs - adorable. Grazing recently shorn ewes - not so. As the road dipped and climbed again on it's way toward 7365', I passed a tow truck driver who was loading up someone's car. 'Hell of a place to break down', I called to the truck driver. He laughed as I cleanly made it up the hill the car couldn't.
My reward for getting up that hill was pavement. Beautiful, sweet asphalt, may you always be under my tires unless I choose otherwise. Unfortunately, the price of pavement was going back into Utah 4 miles later, as the road took a long swing around the butt of some hills. 4.5 miles after that though, I was crossing back into Wyoming for good.
Not that far back into the state, I hit mile 1000, after 80:27:11 of riding. Three and a half miles later, I was in Evanston, taking a quick lunch break. Part of the route that I was concerned about since I first set it was east of Evanston, getting to highway 189 on the way up to Kimmerer. On the map, it looked like there were a couple unnamed (and probably unpaved) roads that would eventually get me to the right highway. The first road I wanted to take was out, presumably for construction. But, according to my map, there was another way around. I spent about 45 minutes probing the hills for through streets. The few that looked like they would go through: one ended in a junkyard, one at a heavily marked gate saying private property, and the other wound up outside the sheriff's office.
There was one road that I knew connected to 189, but it was the last road I wanted to take, my old friend I-80. There was an rest area/info booth off the highway, so I went in and asked how I could get to 189. The woman told me to just take the expressway, that it would be fine and if I had any issues with a state trooper stopping me to have them call her. Ok. I really didn't like the plan, but the only other option would be to go back into Utah and add 35 miles swinging up to highway 30 to get to Kimmerer.
For 11.5 miles, I rode along, with gas tankers and double trailer trucks zipping by at 70 mph 8 feet away. I think there's a huge difference between a car going 55-65 six feet away as on most highways and the heavy traffic and higher speeds on the expressway. Adding to my woes was a 6% grade up to 7450', which I grinded up at about 6mph. Finally, I got onto 189 and saw the sign saying Kimmerer, 37 miles. I kinda wish it was about 15 miles closer, but that was my aim for the day.
189 was a really nice road to take. Along the length of it, the shoulder is a lane wide with the rumble strip right along the white line. So I was well separated from the traffic, which is fine by me. The road runs along the base of some hills to the east, in a wide valley stretching a mile or more to the hills to the west. In this space, I saw a lot of deer. Then, after 20 miles or so, I saw a small herd of antelope. They saw me coming and stood their ground uncertainly for a moment, before, as a body, they turned tail and ran from the road. A few miles later I saw another dozen antelope that went half way up the hill to stop and watch if I was following. I didn't. I had been followed by storm clouds since Evanston and they seemed to be catching up.
I finally made it into Diamondville, a small town attached to the southern flank of Kimmerer. I went into a motel near the highway to inquire about room rates, found it was almost twice what I wanted to pay, and continued into town.
I pulled up to a different motel's office, just as the rain was starting to come down. The owner saw me ride up, and after explaining my trip to him, he was impressed. He offered to give me the room at his cost, which was fantastic. I will take it. My knees were especially glad for the stop.
Day 14, Coalville UT - Kimmerer, WY
104.26 miles, 1060.8 total. 10:14:09 today for 85:33:18 altogether and a high speed of 36.5
Showing posts with label utah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label utah. Show all posts
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Mile 956.6 - Crossing the Wasach
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.
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.
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
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