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

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.

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

Mile 529.18 - And the hills say slow down

Day 7 started cool and fair. I ate a cold breakfast, not wanting to take the the time to futz with the camp stove. I did my morning maintenance check of the bike, then loaded up to go. The road was still sloping downwards when I started, and the first several miles I kept a good pace. After about half an hour I came across a curiosity, a large tree (which there are not a lot of around there) covered with hundreds of pairs of shoes. Perhaps if I was carrying an extra pair, I would have tossed it up into the tree too. I got a couple pictures and carried on.

Highway 50 dances around a couple spurs of mountains. After a while, the road took s big swing to the north. The road looked like it was flat and straight and continued a few miles until it turned around the end of the mountain. But as I continued, my speed was steadily dropping. For what seemed like an hour, I was chugging along at 8 mph on a seemingly flat road. I was wondering what was wrong. I checked the air pressure in the tires, I stretched my legs some more but when I got back on the bike, I still couldn't get much above 8 mph. At last I looked back at the road behind me and realized that I had been steadily climbing for the past SIX MILES. No wonder it took an hour. I finally turned a corner and saw a sign announcing that I was crossing New Pass at 6600'. I started the morning at 4300' and dropped some in the first miles. So over a straight six mile long incline, I rose at least 2300', probably more.

A couple other things I should mention. It was 25 degrees out when I started, and even with my baselayer, a jersey, the fleece, and my windbreaker I was still cold well into the afternoon. Also, for most of the day, whenever I seemed to get a decline in the road, the wind would pick up to slow me down. It was my least comfortable day of riding so far.

Also, while presently there's a whole lot of nothing here, back in the 1860's, this was a bustling corridor. Silver was discovered in Austin and shortly thereafter in more hills around. The route that is now 50 was the major east-west passage through the state, boasted several pony express stops, a telegraph line, and stage coach stations. But, with the completion of the transcontinental railroad to the north and the pinching out of the silver and copper claims, the area faded out quickly. I do appreciate the number of historical markers showing former sites of once booming mining towns.

Anyway, after 39:54:54 of riding, I hit mile 500 for the trip. Woo. Only ~3100 left to go.

From there I came to another 4 mile climb to the Mt. Airy Pass at 6675'. I dropped into the next valley, breaking 30 mph for the first time today. I could see the climb into Austin on the other end of the valley. Here again, the distance was deceptive. It looked like maybe 8 miles across, and going 15 mph, I'd be there in half an hour. Then, after a couple miles, the wind slowed me down to 12mph, so I'd be in town in about half an hour. Then the third long, grinding ascent started. I was now going 6 mph, and the town seemed to be about 4 miles away. After half an hour of climbing, the town didn't seem to get any closer. After another 45 minutes, I passed the sign welcoming me to Austin and telling me I was back above 6600'.

I had wanted to get further, but considering the cold, the wind and the climbs, I found a room and called it a day. And I think that's going to be the road the rest of the way across. Hopefully by tomorrow night, I can break through to Utah.

Day 7, Camp #2 (Fenced-In Pile of Dirt, NV) to Austin, NV.
72.88 miles today, 529.18 total. 6:27:10 riding time today, bringing me up to 39:48:01 altogether. My top speed today was a deceptive 34.0mph, but I was only over 20mph for maybe two miles.

Mile 456.3 - The wind says go

I started day 6 in Carson City, 24 miles behind the furthest point I achieved the day before. I also had to wait until 10 for the bike shop to open. I swapped the 4 wrong tubes for the right ones and got a couple more, just in case. By the time I got rolling it was 11:00, but I still wanted to put on a lot of miles.

Thankfully, my legs and Penny agreed on that, and the wind decided to help me. In fact, with the the wind pushing me, I set two personal speed records. On a flat straightaway, I got up to 38.4mph. Then I climbed a hill through a mile long construction zone which basically gave me a coned off lane to myself. I crested the hill and the wind picked up again. I went 51.9mph. The road flattened out over the next dozen miles, and I was able to keep a pace of 30 or higher for more than half of that and never dropped below 26. Thanks to that, in an hour and fifteen minutes, I covered the 36 miles between the capitol city and Silver Springs. That's certainly the furthest I've gone in a single hour on a bike. Again I wonder what it would have been without all the extra bulk on the bike.

I stopped at the Pizza Factory in Silver Springs. As I sat outside eating, a FedEx guy came up, looked at Penny and said "Well, you're going somewhere". I explained the trip. He nodded for a moment then offered "You must really like riding your bike". (I thought about that several times during my hour long 6-8 mph climbs today on day 7, but I don't want to get ahead of myself.)

I continued, passing mile 400 at 32 hours 50 minutes 43 seconds. 7 miles later, I saw my first tumbleweed of the tour. Yay. Soon I came into Fallon. Well, first the livestock exchange, then several livestock, building, or car repair type places. In the 250 miles from Fallon to Ely near the eastern edge of the state, there are only two towns, Austin and Euerka. There may be a couple of crossroads with gas stations, but that's pretty much it. I had to stock up on water. Between water and gatorade I added about 17lbs to the bike.

Because it is largely empty terrain, I didn't have a particular goal in mind, just to get out as far as I could. The stretch of highway 50 east of Fallon is referred to as the loneliest road in America. What little traffic there was was largely semis, rvs, or trucks hauling large amounts of whatever.

Just outside of Fallon is the Fallon Naval Airbase. When they were looking for places to build the Fallon base, they thought it would make sense to put it near Fallon. Shortly out of town pilots in fighter jets were making training runs, practicing landing then quickly taking off again, cutting a huge arc in the clear desert sky, then coming back in to repeat it. I saw and heard them for the next several hours.

Down 50 outside of town, the desert turns into salt flat, its empty pale expanse reaching back to hills in the distance. I came across the ruins of Saltwell, which looked like it wasn't much before it was nothing. At that point hills ranged on three sides of me. Before I started climbing the slope in front of me, I took a break at the entrance to Sand Mountain Park. I could hear the dune buggies long before I saw them some miles down a dirt road. They were tearing up and down a hill that looked just the others around me, except made out of sand, not rock.

I climbed to the Sand Springs Pass and could see what looked like a miles wide wall of sand to the north. As I passed into the area of the Navy's B17 testing ground, it seemed like the dusty wall of gloom was coming my way. I heard more jets tearing through the sky, but my thoughts were on the setting sun and the apparently gaining dust.

About ten miles after the pass, I came to an intersection of a dirt road with the title of state highway. Just off this intersection was a fenced enclosure whose gates were open. On the pavement inside the fence was a very large pile of dirt. It seemed like the perfect campsite. It was blocked from view of cars by the fence, and protected a bit from the wind by the big pile of dirt.

I pitched the tent, tethered Penny for the night (since she's too big to sleep in the tent) and organized all my things inside. Then I engaged in one of my new favorite activities, lying down very flat and still.

Navy aircraft kept watch over me all night. It is much easier to track them in a night sky. I kept leaning out of the tent to watch them fly past, then lay back down and listen again until a particularly loud, close or cool one flew past. There are probably fewer places on earth in less danger of an aerial assault than my camp next to the fenced-in pile of dirt. Thanks for keeping our skies clear.

Day 6, Carson City, NV - Fenced-In Pile of Dirt, NV.
100.9 miles today, 456.3 total. Riding time 5:55:06 with trip total 36:25:05 with a new top speed of 51.9mph.

Mile 355.4 - All part of the adventure

The day started well enough, with the breakfast half of the b&b I was at. Despite doing all the bike maintenance the night before, I still didn't get started before 9. My goal for the day was Fallon, the last real town I'll go through until central Utah.

I began downhill going alongside the Carson River. It was just beautiful. I wanted to stop every 300 feet to take pictures. After about half an hour or so, at mile 303, we crossed our first state line into Nevada. Almost immediately, the wind swung around at started coming at me from the north and east. Too bad those were the primary directions I was traveling. At points, it was so windy that I had to work at going downhill. After the wind helped push me up the mountain yesterday, it clearly didn't want me to come down.

At mile 314.5 I entered Genoa, one of two municipalities claiming to be Nevada's first (white) settlement. The other, Dayton, I would get to in a couple hours. Not to tarnished the pride of these towns, but I'm pretty sure that there were lots of people born in what is now Nevada before 1851. There were a good number of roadside historical markers, but local history seems to have started only 160 years ago. But I digress.

In Genoa, there is the original Mormon station, with a plaque containing a quote basically calling the Mormons crazy for settling there.

By 323.5 I had entered the state capitol at Carson City. I grabbed lunch then headed across town to the bike shop by highway 50. I knew it was the last bike shop for the next several hundred miles. I bought 4 spare tubes and started eastbound on 50.

This is a picturesque part of the country. I kept finding myself glancing over my shoulder as the Sierras slowly receded behind the closer foothills.

24 miles out of Carson city, I took a break at Stagecoach. There was something not right with the front tire, I couldn't tell if it was a bald spot on the tire or a lump in tube. I deflated then re-inflated the tire, but it didn't seem to make a difference. Sure enough, half a mile later, I had my 4th flat tire. Thank goodness I just bought a bunch of new tubes.

Well, I know this was an error of my oversight, but they wern't the right tubes. They were the schrader valves and I need the presta. So the tube just didn't fit into the rim. The bike shop was 25 miles behind me and I had no way forward. I sucked it up and started walking back. After a couple miles, a pickup pulled over and the driver, Daniel offered to take me back to Dayton, saving my feet about 6 miles. He dropped me off and I started walking west again.

Soon enough a station wagon pulled over, and, after explaining my ordeal, the driver, Lou, offered to see if he had a spare tube that would fit. People who ride bikes are the best. He didn't have one, so he put down the seats and we loaded Penny and panniers into the back. Thank you so much, Lou for driving me back to town.

There are a couple inexpensive hotels by the bike shop, so I grabbed a room. The shop wouldn't open until 10 in the morning. Sigh, another late start.

I asked the woman at the hotel desk where to go for dinner and she recommended a brew pub down the street. I was quickly sighted by the local hustler as a possible mark, but frustrated his every attempt at an in. Sorry, but unless you have the answer of how to get the Cubs to be world series champs again, there is nothing you have to offer me that I'd be interested in. He gave up on me and went to go harass some cute girls.

Well, the day didn't end where or how I started, but that's part of the journey.

Day 5, Sorensen's (Woodford), CA - Carson City, NV
64.1 miles today, 355.4 total. Riding time, 4:09:07, total trip time 17:06:19. Today's high speed 39.1mph.