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
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