Well, I rode out of Durango towards Pagosa Springs, accompanied by my friend Mark, who happened to have the day off work. Just as we got out of town, Mark presented me with an option: continue on the shoulder of the busy highway or climb a steep hill to a road that parallels the highway with little traffic. I figured that I should ride up the hill, especially since I was just coming off of the longest break (4 days off) since I started on May 31st. Mark had his cycling GPS on for the ride, and by the time we got to Pagosa Springs, we had climbed about 3,000 feet for the day. The road between Durango and Pagosa isn't exactly flat. When we got to town, we stopped to have a bite to eat and check out a bike shop before Mark turned around to head back home, giving him close to 120 miles for the day (with a little bit of climbing). I kept going through town along hwy 160 towards Wolf Creek Pass.
The valley that approaches Wolf Creek Pass from the west is very beautiful, but also a little ominous for a cyclist. As I biked through the valley, the mountains kept getting bigger and closer on every side. Eventually I reached the point in the road where I would start to really climb. Lucky for me, there is a campground there. At the time it was inhabited by a bunch of elk hunters. When I pulled up I saw three men standing by the tailgate of a pickup. Resting on the tailgate was the severed head of an elk, upside down with it's antlers resting on the ground. As I explained how I got there on a bicycle and what I was doing, two of the men went to work with a battery powered saw, removing the antlers from the skull.
After registering for a site, I set up camp for the evening and headed for the shower. Later, when I was preparing my usual camp meal of beans and rice on tortillas, a man came from his camper across the way to offer me a lantern to use while I camped that evening. I readily accepted his offer. A while later he came back over and asked if I'd like to join he and the others for supper, but I had already prepared my meal. I agreed to come over for dessert when I was done. I ended up spending most of the evening with their hunting party, reluctant to leave the warmth to crawl into my tent. They said that the temperature would get down to 26 degrees.
When I woke in the morning, everything outside my tent was covered in frost, including the rain fly of my tent. I, however, stayed quite warm. I've been impressed with my 20 degree bag thus far. I was moving pretty slowly that morning, a little intimidated by the two huge hairpin turns looming up the road, visible from the campsite. After a late start, I began the crawl up the mountain. I stopped at the second hairpin turn to look out over the valley and chat with some more tourists. According to the signs at the top, it was 9 miles of 7% grade that I climbed to get to the top of Wolf Creek Pass, crossing the continental divide for the last time at 10,857 feet above sea level, my highest elevation of the trip.
At the top I chatted with a few people that probably thought I was out of my mind and to layer up for the descent. It was a beautiful, clear day despite the weather forecast, so I worked up quite the sweat crawling up the mountain, but the air had a bite to it when the wind blew. Coming down off of a pass like that at 40+ miles per hour, the wind is in your face. I cruised down the mountain and into the San Luis Valley to Monte Vista, Colorado. In town I stopped at a grocery store to get some breakfast for the morning before heading to the edge of town to look for a place to camp.
At the edge of town I saw Calvary Baptist Church. The front door was propped open, there was a truck parked in the lot, and their lawn looked soft. I wandered inside and eventually found the pastor, Tommy who readily agreed to let me camp behind the building and even offered me a shower. They were scheduled to have a service at 7pm, and Tommy said I was welcome to attend. After getting myself cleaned up and getting camp set up, I headed inside for the service. I really appreciated what Tommy shared with the sparse crowd, sticking mostly to Ephesians with a brief jaunt into Revelation. After the service I stayed and mingled a little. As I was getting ready to go out to the tent to make up another batch of my beans and rice, Tommy asked if I was interested in a warm place to stay. I told him my tent would likely keep me alive for the night, but if he had another option, I'd probably take him up on it. I ended up packing my camp up and throwing everything in the back of his SUV for a drive back into town to the Rio Grande Motel. A woman from church runs the place, and they gave me a room for the night. It was a wonderful surprise. I especially appreciated the room when I woke this morning to find rain.
I wheeled my bicycle out of the room just before 8am to hit the road in the rain. After I dropped the key in the drop box, I noticed that one of my tires was low. It's pretty disappointing to start a day by changing a flat tire before you even cover a single mile. I changed it out and hit the road. In Alamosa, I saw a clock in front of a bank at 10:00am that read 44 degrees. Cold rain. It was 43 miles from my starting location to Fort Garland where I had lunch. About the time I ducked in for lunch the rain quit. After Fort Garland was a 47 mile stretch with no services. In the middle of that 47 miles was La Veta Pass at 9,413 feet elevation. I was back on the road just before 1:00pm to get the last 47 miles knocked out. La Veta Pass is pretty mild coming from the west, so it wasn't a bad climb. The descent went by pretty quickly. The sign at the top said "6% downgrade next 4 miles" but to me it may as well have said "downgrade next 1,600 miles". Needless to say, I was pretty excited to see that sign.
I rolled down and down until I got to Walsenburg, Colorado. At this point I am at a junction. My route I had formerly drawn up had me turning south, working towards the norther corner of Texas and the panhandle of Oklahoma. I think I'm going to go straight into Kansas, then when I get to Missouri and turn south, I can hit the eastern edges of Oklahoma and Texas, and the eastern edge of Arkansas on my way down to my final destination of New Iberia, Louisiana. This route will give me a little more flexibility with my time in Kansas, and I'll spend less time in the desert.
Next stop: Hesston, Kansas
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Big Push to Durango
After spending the night at Pipe Spring National Monument, AZ, I hit the road for a jaunt back into Utah before dipping back down to Page, AZ. There was a stretch in the middle of the day that was about 70 miles with no services. I knew that Page was right by the dam that created Lake Powell, so I thought the day was almost over when I started to see water. I didn't know Lake Powell was HUGE, and I only saw a tiny fraction of the thing. It stretches on forever. After crossing the dam to get to Page, I had to climb back out of the canyon to get into town and to the campground. I've got mixed feelings about the tent sites at this campground. They're sand. It wasn't bad for sleeping on, but it sure made for a mess in the morning. I think I'm still shaking sand out of my tent, sleeping bag, and everything else, but some of that sand probably came from the next day of riding.
The following morning I got up and hit the road earlier than usual, because I was going to be meeting my friend John at Navajo National Monument. From Page, AZ, to Navajo National Monument I was going to gain almost 3,000 feet in elevation. Despite the climbing, I was making pretty good time all morning. When I got close to the town of Shonto, NV, I had a little conversation with Martha (GPS) to decide the best route to get to the monument. After some deliberating, we decided to take a "short cut" that would save 17 miles off the trip for the day. I looked at a map that I purchased a few days ago for a second opinion, and it showed the road I planned to take. I started down the road, on which the pavement quickly ended. Now, I grew up in Nebraska and lived in Kansas for a while after that, and our roads that are not paved are generally still navigable by bicycle. Out here, they don't really have dirt. Anywhere. It's all sand. Have any of my readers ever tried to ride a bicycle on the beach? Of course not. It's a horrible idea. I, however, am a bit stubborn and was maybe a little overconfident in my cycling abilities. I pressed on down the sandy road. A few grueling miles down the road I came across a pickup on the side of the road with two teenage men in it. I asked them if the road got any better up ahead, or if it was sandy the whole way. They assured me that it wasn't so bad further up, and that they had seen the road maintenance guy working to make it better further up.
I continued down the sandy road, which turned to pavement for a short stretch where it descended into a canyon. At the bottom of the canyon, there was a little convenience store to the right, and a very narrow, very steep road going up to the left. The sign said the monument was up and to the left. I watched a couple vehicles crawl up and down the hill, taking turns because there was only room for one at a time. At this point, I stopped and held out my thumb. The next vehicle headed up the hill was a man with a pickup full of children. I asked if he had room for my bicycle and I, and his short response was, "Yep." I loaded up in back of his truck, where I found two more children riding under the topper. As I climbed in with them, they said nothing, but laughed a little at me. When we got to the top of the hill, the man pulled over to let me off before making his turn to his destination. I thanked him for the ride, and he responded with, "Yep." I hopped back on the bike and tried to continue down the sandy road. Now, I'm riding a bicycle that weighs more than 100 lbs and has tires about an inch or an inch and a half wide. When I say that I continued to "ride" down the road, that's a pretty loose definition. About every 15 feet my bike would slide out from under me, and each time I would barely catch myself. For the first time on my whole trip, I got off of my bike and pushed it for some stretches. I don't remember being this frustrated in my life, and all because I thought I could handle the "short cut" to the monument.
I found the man in the road maintainer up ahead, and he looked at me like I was a bit crazy. He was actually making the road much nicer to drive on, but much worse to bike on. Some places the sand had become packed into washboard, and he was tearing that up and returning it to about 6" of sand. After a while he passed me with the blade up, finished for the day. About 30 minutes later, the same man came down the road in his pickup and offered me a ride. He told me that at the rate I was moving, I'd be wrestling with my bike in that sand for another 3 hours before I would get to the monument. As he drove me down the road, I saw what would have been to come if I had kept riding. He said that every year people see this road on their maps and try to drive their RVs on it and almost always get stuck.
He dropped me off at the monument, and I thanked him several more times before heading to the campground to set up the tent. My friend John that was meeting me at the monument hadn't arrived yet, so I went about picking out a site on my own. As I pulled into the campground, I stopped to ask some people how I was supposed to register and pay for a site. Newell and Katherine told me that there was no fee for camping, and that I should just pick a site and set up. I stood and talked with them for a while, and also met Sam and Anne, neighboring campers.
After I was all set up for the evening, and John still wasn't there, Newell and Katherine invited me to join them for supper. It ended up that the three of us also ate with Sam and Anne over at their site. We ate a great meal as the sun set in the distance, still without John. As we sat and chatted over some hot chocolate, we heard a motorcycle approach. I ran out to meet John. He had ridden up from Phoenix to camp with me for the night. As it turns out, he had a similarly frustrating experience getting to the monument, wrestling with his motorcycle on a nasty sandy road. We commiserated for a while about our experiences trying to ride two wheeled vehicles through that sandy mess as our new friends reheated some leftovers from our meal to feed John.
When John and I got up in the morning, we were on our way out when we were stopped by our fellow campers who offered us coffee and a little something to eat for breakfast. We ended up sitting and chatting for a while again and posing for some pictures. This caused a bit of a late start for the day, but I wasn't too concerned, as much of the morning was going to be down hill. I rode the 9 miles from the monument to the highway where I stopped to get a few more calories in me from the gas station. When I left the gas station, it was after 11:00am already. I knew that if I was to cover the miles I wanted to, I needed to really step on it. I kept looking at my watch and looking at mile markers to try to decide how far I could get before the sun went down. Martha didn't have any campgrounds for me, and I hadn't seen any on the internet the last time I checked, so I wasn't sure where I was going to be sleeping that night. I figured that if I could make it to Peec Nos Pos, AZ, that there would at least be a gas station where I could fill with water for the night. I got to the little town about 30 minutes before the sun was scheduled to sink below the horizon, and sure enough there was a little service station called the Peec Nos Pos Trading Post. Apparently they've had a couple of cyclists stop through and they've allowed them to camp in a little fenced in area beside the gas station.
The next morning I got up and waited for the store to open. As I waited, a truck pulled up and told me that if I was wanting breakfast, that a man around the corner sold breakfast burritos out of his truck, and that they were pretty good and I could get on the road a little quicker that way. I found the man selling burritos, and I was surprised at his English accent. He was from England, met a Navajo woman online, came to the U.S. and married her, and eventually became a U.S. citizen, though not without a whole series of headaches and being revoked the first time around. His wife made the burritos and he worked the early shift selling them out of the back of his truck. Many of the locals preferred the Spam and egg burrito, so I decided to try one. I don't think I've ever had Spam before. It wasn't as gross as I had imagined, but I wouldn't call it my favorite or probably order it ever again.
After breakfast, I headed down the road 5 miles towards Four Corners Monument. It cost me $3, but I went in and got my picture of me standing on the giant X on the ground representing the Four Corners border. I marked that point on my GPS. I've heard so many people talk about how it's not actually in the right spot, but my GPS said that it's only off by about 30 feet. The lines are just made up by people in the first place, so I don't think it matters so much that it's not in the exact right place. The other tourists there were a bit curious about seeing a cyclist in the middle of nowhere. They really thought I was crazy when I told them where I was coming from and going to.
Again, it was going to be a long day with a bit of a climb in the middle, so I hit the road again. When I was about 10 miles from Cortez I got a flat. I really wanted to make it to Durango that day, so I changed the tire as quick as I ever have and got back on the road. When I got to Cortez, I got a phone call from their newspaper. They asked a few questions and then said an article would probably run on Saturday. Between Cortez and Durango was where the climb was. There wasn't an elevation sign at the top, but I know it was over 8,000 feet. On my way up I got another flat. Again, a very quick change on the side of the road and I was back at it, climbing a mountain and racing the sunset. I made it to the top in plenty of time, and as I coasted down into Durango, my friend Mark rode out to meet me and led me to his place. Upon arriving at Mark's house, I have completed my longest mileage week of my life, with 651.6 miles in 7 days, averaging more than 93 miles a day from Ely, Nevada, to Durango, Colorado, all on a loaded touring bike. I needed this break.
Mark works for the train that goes from Durango to Silverton, so he got me a ride on it for the following day. I took a TON of pictures on the train. They're really repetitive, so if you go look at my pictures, you can skip through a bunch of those. You should look at some of them, because the view was amazing. It was also neat to go back to Silverton. I was out there a little over 4 years ago for History of the Southwest, a class through Goshen College. It's beautiful out there, and it's really tempting to come back with my bike (probably carrying a little less gear) to tour the area.
On Saturday morning I pedaled out to the car rental place about 6 miles out of town to get a car. Part of my rush to get to Durango as quickly as I did was so I could rent a car and drive to my friend Brent's wedding in La Junta, Colorado. After a brief scare where the employee of the car rental place showed up almost half an hour late, I got in a fancy little SUV, bike and gear loaded in back, and headed off towards La Junta. This gave me a chance to preview the terrain that I may end up cycling, depending on what the weather does. Wolf Creek Pass is going to be a bit of a hike.
I'm very glad I was able to make it to Brent's wedding. Brent is a Resident Director at Hesston College, so he and I worked together for three years before I started this trip. I can't say that I know his new wife, Angie, very well at all. I met her through Brent, but my interactions with her have been very limited. This social gathering was also the first time that I was that engulfed in familiar faces in a very long time. After spending 4-1/2 months out on my bike, mostly by myself with occasional interactions with one or two people at a time that I know, it was a bit overwhelming. I didn't have anything to talk about except the bike trip, which may seem like a great conversation piece, but I don't know how to talk about it yet. If you've been keeping up with the blog, you'll know that I've got a bunch of stories, but I don't think I've figured out a unifying theme throughout the whole narrative yet, making it not much more than a bunch of mildly entertaining stories without a point. I'm ok with that for now, as I'm kind of looking at this trip as living out a story. I've still got 18% of the story left to live, so of course I don't know the ending yet, but with my almost complete detachment from current events and the "real world" I felt a bit socially debilitated. I'm looking forward to these last 1,800 miles, but I'm also looking forward to being a functional part of society and a social circle when I'm done. I know that this trip has had an impression on me, but until I reintegrate into society, I can't really say how.
Also, I don't like traveling by car. It felt like cheating, and the scenery went by way too fast. I'm glad that I turned in the keys to that SUV this morning and I'm back to just my bicycle.
Tomorrow I intend to ride my bicycle towards Pagosa Springs, at which point I will decide whether to try Wolf Creek Pass, or to turn south into New Mexico. If I ride Wolf Creek Pass, that will definitely be the highest elevation I've ridden both on this trip and in my life. It is 10,857 feet elevation. After that, I would cruise across a high plain for a while before climbing back up to La Veta Pass at around 9,400 feet. After La Veta Pass, it's all down hill. Seriously, I'll be going down hill until I get to Louisiana. And hopefully I'll get an occasional tail wind.
5 more weeks?
The following morning I got up and hit the road earlier than usual, because I was going to be meeting my friend John at Navajo National Monument. From Page, AZ, to Navajo National Monument I was going to gain almost 3,000 feet in elevation. Despite the climbing, I was making pretty good time all morning. When I got close to the town of Shonto, NV, I had a little conversation with Martha (GPS) to decide the best route to get to the monument. After some deliberating, we decided to take a "short cut" that would save 17 miles off the trip for the day. I looked at a map that I purchased a few days ago for a second opinion, and it showed the road I planned to take. I started down the road, on which the pavement quickly ended. Now, I grew up in Nebraska and lived in Kansas for a while after that, and our roads that are not paved are generally still navigable by bicycle. Out here, they don't really have dirt. Anywhere. It's all sand. Have any of my readers ever tried to ride a bicycle on the beach? Of course not. It's a horrible idea. I, however, am a bit stubborn and was maybe a little overconfident in my cycling abilities. I pressed on down the sandy road. A few grueling miles down the road I came across a pickup on the side of the road with two teenage men in it. I asked them if the road got any better up ahead, or if it was sandy the whole way. They assured me that it wasn't so bad further up, and that they had seen the road maintenance guy working to make it better further up.
I continued down the sandy road, which turned to pavement for a short stretch where it descended into a canyon. At the bottom of the canyon, there was a little convenience store to the right, and a very narrow, very steep road going up to the left. The sign said the monument was up and to the left. I watched a couple vehicles crawl up and down the hill, taking turns because there was only room for one at a time. At this point, I stopped and held out my thumb. The next vehicle headed up the hill was a man with a pickup full of children. I asked if he had room for my bicycle and I, and his short response was, "Yep." I loaded up in back of his truck, where I found two more children riding under the topper. As I climbed in with them, they said nothing, but laughed a little at me. When we got to the top of the hill, the man pulled over to let me off before making his turn to his destination. I thanked him for the ride, and he responded with, "Yep." I hopped back on the bike and tried to continue down the sandy road. Now, I'm riding a bicycle that weighs more than 100 lbs and has tires about an inch or an inch and a half wide. When I say that I continued to "ride" down the road, that's a pretty loose definition. About every 15 feet my bike would slide out from under me, and each time I would barely catch myself. For the first time on my whole trip, I got off of my bike and pushed it for some stretches. I don't remember being this frustrated in my life, and all because I thought I could handle the "short cut" to the monument.
I found the man in the road maintainer up ahead, and he looked at me like I was a bit crazy. He was actually making the road much nicer to drive on, but much worse to bike on. Some places the sand had become packed into washboard, and he was tearing that up and returning it to about 6" of sand. After a while he passed me with the blade up, finished for the day. About 30 minutes later, the same man came down the road in his pickup and offered me a ride. He told me that at the rate I was moving, I'd be wrestling with my bike in that sand for another 3 hours before I would get to the monument. As he drove me down the road, I saw what would have been to come if I had kept riding. He said that every year people see this road on their maps and try to drive their RVs on it and almost always get stuck.
He dropped me off at the monument, and I thanked him several more times before heading to the campground to set up the tent. My friend John that was meeting me at the monument hadn't arrived yet, so I went about picking out a site on my own. As I pulled into the campground, I stopped to ask some people how I was supposed to register and pay for a site. Newell and Katherine told me that there was no fee for camping, and that I should just pick a site and set up. I stood and talked with them for a while, and also met Sam and Anne, neighboring campers.
After I was all set up for the evening, and John still wasn't there, Newell and Katherine invited me to join them for supper. It ended up that the three of us also ate with Sam and Anne over at their site. We ate a great meal as the sun set in the distance, still without John. As we sat and chatted over some hot chocolate, we heard a motorcycle approach. I ran out to meet John. He had ridden up from Phoenix to camp with me for the night. As it turns out, he had a similarly frustrating experience getting to the monument, wrestling with his motorcycle on a nasty sandy road. We commiserated for a while about our experiences trying to ride two wheeled vehicles through that sandy mess as our new friends reheated some leftovers from our meal to feed John.
When John and I got up in the morning, we were on our way out when we were stopped by our fellow campers who offered us coffee and a little something to eat for breakfast. We ended up sitting and chatting for a while again and posing for some pictures. This caused a bit of a late start for the day, but I wasn't too concerned, as much of the morning was going to be down hill. I rode the 9 miles from the monument to the highway where I stopped to get a few more calories in me from the gas station. When I left the gas station, it was after 11:00am already. I knew that if I was to cover the miles I wanted to, I needed to really step on it. I kept looking at my watch and looking at mile markers to try to decide how far I could get before the sun went down. Martha didn't have any campgrounds for me, and I hadn't seen any on the internet the last time I checked, so I wasn't sure where I was going to be sleeping that night. I figured that if I could make it to Peec Nos Pos, AZ, that there would at least be a gas station where I could fill with water for the night. I got to the little town about 30 minutes before the sun was scheduled to sink below the horizon, and sure enough there was a little service station called the Peec Nos Pos Trading Post. Apparently they've had a couple of cyclists stop through and they've allowed them to camp in a little fenced in area beside the gas station.
The next morning I got up and waited for the store to open. As I waited, a truck pulled up and told me that if I was wanting breakfast, that a man around the corner sold breakfast burritos out of his truck, and that they were pretty good and I could get on the road a little quicker that way. I found the man selling burritos, and I was surprised at his English accent. He was from England, met a Navajo woman online, came to the U.S. and married her, and eventually became a U.S. citizen, though not without a whole series of headaches and being revoked the first time around. His wife made the burritos and he worked the early shift selling them out of the back of his truck. Many of the locals preferred the Spam and egg burrito, so I decided to try one. I don't think I've ever had Spam before. It wasn't as gross as I had imagined, but I wouldn't call it my favorite or probably order it ever again.
After breakfast, I headed down the road 5 miles towards Four Corners Monument. It cost me $3, but I went in and got my picture of me standing on the giant X on the ground representing the Four Corners border. I marked that point on my GPS. I've heard so many people talk about how it's not actually in the right spot, but my GPS said that it's only off by about 30 feet. The lines are just made up by people in the first place, so I don't think it matters so much that it's not in the exact right place. The other tourists there were a bit curious about seeing a cyclist in the middle of nowhere. They really thought I was crazy when I told them where I was coming from and going to.
Again, it was going to be a long day with a bit of a climb in the middle, so I hit the road again. When I was about 10 miles from Cortez I got a flat. I really wanted to make it to Durango that day, so I changed the tire as quick as I ever have and got back on the road. When I got to Cortez, I got a phone call from their newspaper. They asked a few questions and then said an article would probably run on Saturday. Between Cortez and Durango was where the climb was. There wasn't an elevation sign at the top, but I know it was over 8,000 feet. On my way up I got another flat. Again, a very quick change on the side of the road and I was back at it, climbing a mountain and racing the sunset. I made it to the top in plenty of time, and as I coasted down into Durango, my friend Mark rode out to meet me and led me to his place. Upon arriving at Mark's house, I have completed my longest mileage week of my life, with 651.6 miles in 7 days, averaging more than 93 miles a day from Ely, Nevada, to Durango, Colorado, all on a loaded touring bike. I needed this break.
Mark works for the train that goes from Durango to Silverton, so he got me a ride on it for the following day. I took a TON of pictures on the train. They're really repetitive, so if you go look at my pictures, you can skip through a bunch of those. You should look at some of them, because the view was amazing. It was also neat to go back to Silverton. I was out there a little over 4 years ago for History of the Southwest, a class through Goshen College. It's beautiful out there, and it's really tempting to come back with my bike (probably carrying a little less gear) to tour the area.
On Saturday morning I pedaled out to the car rental place about 6 miles out of town to get a car. Part of my rush to get to Durango as quickly as I did was so I could rent a car and drive to my friend Brent's wedding in La Junta, Colorado. After a brief scare where the employee of the car rental place showed up almost half an hour late, I got in a fancy little SUV, bike and gear loaded in back, and headed off towards La Junta. This gave me a chance to preview the terrain that I may end up cycling, depending on what the weather does. Wolf Creek Pass is going to be a bit of a hike.
I'm very glad I was able to make it to Brent's wedding. Brent is a Resident Director at Hesston College, so he and I worked together for three years before I started this trip. I can't say that I know his new wife, Angie, very well at all. I met her through Brent, but my interactions with her have been very limited. This social gathering was also the first time that I was that engulfed in familiar faces in a very long time. After spending 4-1/2 months out on my bike, mostly by myself with occasional interactions with one or two people at a time that I know, it was a bit overwhelming. I didn't have anything to talk about except the bike trip, which may seem like a great conversation piece, but I don't know how to talk about it yet. If you've been keeping up with the blog, you'll know that I've got a bunch of stories, but I don't think I've figured out a unifying theme throughout the whole narrative yet, making it not much more than a bunch of mildly entertaining stories without a point. I'm ok with that for now, as I'm kind of looking at this trip as living out a story. I've still got 18% of the story left to live, so of course I don't know the ending yet, but with my almost complete detachment from current events and the "real world" I felt a bit socially debilitated. I'm looking forward to these last 1,800 miles, but I'm also looking forward to being a functional part of society and a social circle when I'm done. I know that this trip has had an impression on me, but until I reintegrate into society, I can't really say how.
Also, I don't like traveling by car. It felt like cheating, and the scenery went by way too fast. I'm glad that I turned in the keys to that SUV this morning and I'm back to just my bicycle.
Tomorrow I intend to ride my bicycle towards Pagosa Springs, at which point I will decide whether to try Wolf Creek Pass, or to turn south into New Mexico. If I ride Wolf Creek Pass, that will definitely be the highest elevation I've ridden both on this trip and in my life. It is 10,857 feet elevation. After that, I would cruise across a high plain for a while before climbing back up to La Veta Pass at around 9,400 feet. After La Veta Pass, it's all down hill. Seriously, I'll be going down hill until I get to Louisiana. And hopefully I'll get an occasional tail wind.
5 more weeks?
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Through Utah and into Arizona
After watching the Nebraska Cornhuskers manhandle the Kansas State Wildcats on Thursday night in the El Ranchero Motel in Ely, NV, I hit the sack, anticipating a long day on the bike Friday. In the morning I found a little diner down the street to grab a bite to eat for breakfast, but not before getting sprinkled on a little bit. The weather forecast said that the rain was past and that it was supposed to be clear, but I think the state of Nevada just couldn't allow me even one day without getting wet while within it's borders. At the diner, I inhaled the food rather quickly, and before I could get to the cash register, a woman named Crystal asked if I was biking for a cause. She had seen my jersey, but didn't quite catch the organization before I sat down. When I told her what I was doing, she said she wanted to pick up my tab for breakfast.
As I was leaving town, I picked up a few more provisions at the grocery store. It was going to be 63 miles before I saw any kind of civilization. Leaving Ely, I continued through the valley for 15 or 20 miles before hitting the first climb for the day. This was also the highest elevation I would hit while in the state of Nevada at 7,722 feet. At the top of this climb, there was a construction zone that limited traffic on the downhill side to one lane. The traffic flagger allowed me to leave before the rest of the traffic. Cruising down a mountain with a guarantee of no traffic in either lane is a very nice way to spend the next several minutes after a rough climb. As I coasted along, I saw a giant, snow-covered peak across the next valley. When I got to the bottom, I asked the other traffic flagger what mountain that was. It was Wheeler Peak, standing somewhere over 13,000 feet. Wheeler Peak was surrounded by other large mountains, so I was a little concerned about how I was going to get across the next range. My route took me several miles down the valley, away from Wheeler Peak, before cutting into the range and up Sacramento Pass.
As I coasted off of Sacramento Pass I entered the town of Baker, 63 miles from Ely. It was still pretty early in the day, so I stopped for a bite to eat. From the town of Baker, Nevada, to the next town on the route, Milford, Utah, there was another gap between services. This time it was 84 miles. I made sure I was full on water as I left Baker and continued down the road and into a new state. The last climb for the day was over Halfway Summit, which proved to be pretty mild compared to everything else I had seen thus far. As I cruised into Pine Valley, between the Halfway Hills and the Wah Wah Mountains, I was looking for a place to camp for the night. The immensity of Pine Valley still sort of blows my mind. I could clearly see straight down the road, all the way to the other side of the valley to where it climbs into the Wah Wah Mountains. It looked like it was all just right there. About 45 minutes later, it appeared as though I had not gotten any closer to the Wah Wah Mountains. It felt like I was on a giant treadmill. There was a dark spot in the distant valley that, at first sighting, I thought was a dark colored pickup on the side of the road with something white in the bed. When I got my camera out and used it's 15x zoom, I saw that it was not a truck, but a gigantic tree shading over a white house. It really stood out, as it was the only thing taller than knee high in the whole valley, other than myself. I thought about camping near this house, but it looked like uninhabited private property. I don't like the idea of squatting on private property without speaking to the owner.
I pulled off the road about a mile into the desert and set up my tent. I would have had to go about 30 miles if I wanted to get to a place where people wouldn't see me from the road. To conserve water, I did not cook that night. I ate peanut butter tortillas, trail mix, sesame sticks, and drank some V-8 that I had brought from Ely. I had traveled more than 100 miles that day, so I laid down pretty early, as the sun was setting. Given the amount of liquids I take in daily, I can't make it through the night without having to get out of my tent to relieve myself. This was the first night that I was glad to get out of my warm sleeping bag. When I got out of the tent, I saw stars that I've never seen before. It was incredible. I was camping at about 5,000 feet elevation, and there wasn't even a light bulb within 40 miles in any direction. That night's sky is something that will stick with me for a long time.
In the morning I ate more of the same thing I had the night before and packed up my one night desert home. As I rode, I finally came to the white house that was dwarfed by the giant tree. It felt like I had been approaching this landmark for days. The house was approximately where the valley floor started back up again towards the Wah Wah Mountains. As I descended into Wah Wah Valley, I saw a very large farm at the bottom. This was the first attempt at agriculture I had seen in a very long time. As I got closer, I saw a sign pointing towards the farm that said, "Wah Wah Well". Further down the valley, at the very bottom, there was a dry creek bed labeled "Wah Wah Wash". The rest of the valleys didn't have everything named. I think someone appreciated the alliteration a little too much.
On the other side of the valley I climbed over Frisco Summit, which I thought was the worst climb of the whole week since Carson Pass. On the other side I coasted down to Milford, Utah, where I was ready for a large meal. I ordered a double cheeseburger with bacon, egg, and just about whatever else they had in the kitchen. The cook said I was going to have a heart attack half way through the burger. From there it was another 50+ miles to get to Cedar City, UT, where I had made arrangements to stay with a family through the website www.warmshowers.org. It was motivating to have a bed and a shower waiting for me. There was one last climb between Minersville and Cedar City that rose rather slowly, then descended all the way to Cedar City and beyond.
Ian, a member of the family I stayed with (and owner of a maroon Surly LHT), advised me on my route out of Cedar City. From town I went south on I-15, turned off towards Hurricane, UT, and Colorado City, AZ, before arriving at Pipe Spring National Monument in Arizona. I got to the monument just in time for the last tour of the day. It was interesting and quite sad to hear the history of this spring. A group of Native Americans were living here, but then the Spanish came and started selling their children into slavery, so they became nomadic to retain their children at the expense of their home. Then the Mormons moved in and built on top of the spring. It sounds as though the U.S. government wasn't very nice to the Mormons, and the Mormons weren't very nice to the Native people who's land they were on.
Anyway, I'm at a campground a quarter mile down the road. $5 for a site with water and electric, the biggest and nicest bathroom I've seen at a campground, and there's wireless internet. Nice.
As I was leaving town, I picked up a few more provisions at the grocery store. It was going to be 63 miles before I saw any kind of civilization. Leaving Ely, I continued through the valley for 15 or 20 miles before hitting the first climb for the day. This was also the highest elevation I would hit while in the state of Nevada at 7,722 feet. At the top of this climb, there was a construction zone that limited traffic on the downhill side to one lane. The traffic flagger allowed me to leave before the rest of the traffic. Cruising down a mountain with a guarantee of no traffic in either lane is a very nice way to spend the next several minutes after a rough climb. As I coasted along, I saw a giant, snow-covered peak across the next valley. When I got to the bottom, I asked the other traffic flagger what mountain that was. It was Wheeler Peak, standing somewhere over 13,000 feet. Wheeler Peak was surrounded by other large mountains, so I was a little concerned about how I was going to get across the next range. My route took me several miles down the valley, away from Wheeler Peak, before cutting into the range and up Sacramento Pass.
As I coasted off of Sacramento Pass I entered the town of Baker, 63 miles from Ely. It was still pretty early in the day, so I stopped for a bite to eat. From the town of Baker, Nevada, to the next town on the route, Milford, Utah, there was another gap between services. This time it was 84 miles. I made sure I was full on water as I left Baker and continued down the road and into a new state. The last climb for the day was over Halfway Summit, which proved to be pretty mild compared to everything else I had seen thus far. As I cruised into Pine Valley, between the Halfway Hills and the Wah Wah Mountains, I was looking for a place to camp for the night. The immensity of Pine Valley still sort of blows my mind. I could clearly see straight down the road, all the way to the other side of the valley to where it climbs into the Wah Wah Mountains. It looked like it was all just right there. About 45 minutes later, it appeared as though I had not gotten any closer to the Wah Wah Mountains. It felt like I was on a giant treadmill. There was a dark spot in the distant valley that, at first sighting, I thought was a dark colored pickup on the side of the road with something white in the bed. When I got my camera out and used it's 15x zoom, I saw that it was not a truck, but a gigantic tree shading over a white house. It really stood out, as it was the only thing taller than knee high in the whole valley, other than myself. I thought about camping near this house, but it looked like uninhabited private property. I don't like the idea of squatting on private property without speaking to the owner.
I pulled off the road about a mile into the desert and set up my tent. I would have had to go about 30 miles if I wanted to get to a place where people wouldn't see me from the road. To conserve water, I did not cook that night. I ate peanut butter tortillas, trail mix, sesame sticks, and drank some V-8 that I had brought from Ely. I had traveled more than 100 miles that day, so I laid down pretty early, as the sun was setting. Given the amount of liquids I take in daily, I can't make it through the night without having to get out of my tent to relieve myself. This was the first night that I was glad to get out of my warm sleeping bag. When I got out of the tent, I saw stars that I've never seen before. It was incredible. I was camping at about 5,000 feet elevation, and there wasn't even a light bulb within 40 miles in any direction. That night's sky is something that will stick with me for a long time.
In the morning I ate more of the same thing I had the night before and packed up my one night desert home. As I rode, I finally came to the white house that was dwarfed by the giant tree. It felt like I had been approaching this landmark for days. The house was approximately where the valley floor started back up again towards the Wah Wah Mountains. As I descended into Wah Wah Valley, I saw a very large farm at the bottom. This was the first attempt at agriculture I had seen in a very long time. As I got closer, I saw a sign pointing towards the farm that said, "Wah Wah Well". Further down the valley, at the very bottom, there was a dry creek bed labeled "Wah Wah Wash". The rest of the valleys didn't have everything named. I think someone appreciated the alliteration a little too much.
On the other side of the valley I climbed over Frisco Summit, which I thought was the worst climb of the whole week since Carson Pass. On the other side I coasted down to Milford, Utah, where I was ready for a large meal. I ordered a double cheeseburger with bacon, egg, and just about whatever else they had in the kitchen. The cook said I was going to have a heart attack half way through the burger. From there it was another 50+ miles to get to Cedar City, UT, where I had made arrangements to stay with a family through the website www.warmshowers.org. It was motivating to have a bed and a shower waiting for me. There was one last climb between Minersville and Cedar City that rose rather slowly, then descended all the way to Cedar City and beyond.
Ian, a member of the family I stayed with (and owner of a maroon Surly LHT), advised me on my route out of Cedar City. From town I went south on I-15, turned off towards Hurricane, UT, and Colorado City, AZ, before arriving at Pipe Spring National Monument in Arizona. I got to the monument just in time for the last tour of the day. It was interesting and quite sad to hear the history of this spring. A group of Native Americans were living here, but then the Spanish came and started selling their children into slavery, so they became nomadic to retain their children at the expense of their home. Then the Mormons moved in and built on top of the spring. It sounds as though the U.S. government wasn't very nice to the Mormons, and the Mormons weren't very nice to the Native people who's land they were on.
Anyway, I'm at a campground a quarter mile down the road. $5 for a site with water and electric, the biggest and nicest bathroom I've seen at a campground, and there's wireless internet. Nice.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Desert?
My stay in San Francisco was pleasantly uneventful. I stayed with my friend Jenna, and I think her and her housemates lives went on as planned, despite having a homeless man sleeping in their kitchen. I spent a lot of time sleeping, eating, and running the few errands I needed to take care of while in the city. The evening of my first full day off the bike in San Francisco, I was working on laundry when I realized that the sun would be setting soon. As soon as my laundry was finished, I jumped on my bike (laundry strapped to the back) and pedaled as quickly as I could to the west. I didn't really know how far I was from the beach at that point, but it didn't matter. I wanted to see the sunset. I arrived just in time to sit on a bench at the beach to watch the sun sink into the Pacific. I had paid little attention to how I got there, so on the way back, I was mostly wandering aimlessly in an easterly direction until I found something familiar.
On the morning of my departure, I had breakfast with Jenna and didn't end up on the ferry across the bay to Vallejo until the 9:55am boat. It's an hour ferry ride, so I was not really expecting to cover as much ground as I had previously hoped. While pedaling away from San Francisco, I passed through the town of Davis, which is apparently known as the “Bicycle Capital of the World.” I had never heard that, but some locals told me, and it says so on the Adventure Cycling Association map. I biked through a little bit of the University of California – Davis campus, and their sidewalks/bike paths had roundabouts. Pretty good idea to avoid those awkward who-goes-first moments when two bicycles meet on intersecting paths.
That evening I ended up staying in a hostel in Sacramento. Aside from a snoring bunk-mate, it was a good place to stay. I also overheard a very interesting response to the question, “what do you do?” while I was there. I heard a man say, “I'm a non-skating official for women's flat track roller derby.” That might be the last possible thing I would have guessed I'd hear come from any given individual in response to the stated question.
The following morning I tried to get out early, but I ended up running around a bit. First I went to the post office to mail a box of stuff home that I no longer needed, and to mail a pair of socks back to Diane in Bend, OR. She let me borrow them to get me through the inclement weather. I still have ten toes, thanks to that woman and her socks. They're waterproof socks. Sounds weird, but they're fantastic. I purchased a pair of my own in San Francisco. Anyway, after the mail run, I had a difficult time finding and staying on the path to get me out of town. It really wasn't a tough thing to find or stay on, I just took a wrong turn once and ended up several blocks in the wrong direction.
The day out of Sacramento started off pretty flat, winding around on a trail that went for several miles out of the city. Eventually I ended up on the road again about when it was time to start climbing towards Carson Pass. At about 2,400 ft. elevation I got a flat tire. I took the tube out, replaced it, and started pumping the tire back up to pressure. When I was nearly to the desired pressure, my pump gave out. It just stopped pushing air. With my tire slightly under-inflated, I pressed onward to a service station where I used an adapter that I carry with me at all times to allow me to fill my tires with their air hose (fyi: my bicycle tires have a different valve than car tires). At this station, I turned off of the Adventure Cycling Association route and started climbing straight up. It was quite the climb. I reached the top just in time to see an incredible sunset over Jenkinson Lake. That evening I found out that the two women tent camping next to me were also cycling around the area. They had both of their bicycles along, but were taking turns driving and riding. When I told them about my pump failure, they gave me a CO2 adapter and cartridge to fill a tire. Then one of the women gave me the pump from her own bicycle and said I could use it as long as I needed to, and to mail it back when I had my own. I'm still impressed by how generous and trusting people continue to be along this trip.
The next morning I tanked up on a special blend of oatmeal I learned about from my friend Russ in Idaho, then hit the climb again. I got onto a road called Mormon Emigrant Trail. It wasn't the steepest road I've ridden, but it was pretty unrelenting. I just kept climbing. It wasn't too bad, because I knew it was coming. This was my climb up to Carson Pass. I camped at around 3,500 feet, felt my ears start to pop at about 5,000 feet, got a nose bleed at around 7,000 feet, and then, in the rain at about 8,000 feet, just before the top of Carson Pass, I blew the sidewall out of my front tire. After filling my tires up to capacity below 3,000 feet elevation, my tires behaved something like a bag of chips as you drive up to the mountains to go skiing/snowboarding. Both of my tires had way too much pressure at this point, but only the front one gave way when I slammed on the brakes to try to make a turn. My weight shifting forward was enough extra pressure that the sidewall blew.
Now it's raining, my tire is shot, and the only thing in the area is a ski resort. I hitched a ride in the back of a pickup to the ski lodge to ask about a room. The woman at the desk did what she could as far as discounting the price of the room, but it was still more than I was ready to pay. Eventually a guest of the lodge offered me shelter in the back of his pickup that has a topper. I thought this sounded like a great place to spend a night, so we went outside and, after I had fixed my tire, I crawled in the back of his truck and made myself at home for the night while the storm continued. In the end, I had covered less than 40 miles and climbed 5,770 feet that day. My mileage would have looked a lot better if I had been able to cash in on the descent from all the climbing.
In the morning the rain was still lingering. I wasn't sure where to find breakfast, so I just hit the road and kept my eyes open. I didn't find anything before the top of Carson Pass. At the top I met a man that warned me to keep my brakes and rims dry, because it's a pretty steep descent. He said cyclists have hit 60 mph on it before. Given my tire escapade from the day before and my lack of trust in my spare tire, I stopped to tighten up my brakes before heading downward in the rain.
I used to think of the descent as a reward for all of the hard work that went into the climb, but coming over Carson Pass in the rain was about as painful as it was frightening. Rain in October at 8,500 feet is cold. As I cruised down the mountain, I kept my eyes open for a place to get breakfast. I saw a place, but a combination of wet brakes/rims and cold hands that didn't want to do what I told them caused me to slide past. I did get stopped in time for the second place, which ended up being a sweet turn of events. The place was called the Hope Valley Cafe.
A couple that was at an adjacent table, that had asked about my cycling trip, tried to pay for my breakfast, but were too late in getting there. The man, Hal, proceeded to get out his wallet and contribute to the “Feed Neal Fund”, with instructions to have a good lunch. After Hal and his wife were on their way, a man named Zach spoke up from the breakfast bar and asked me if I needed anything. He had overheard my story about my tire and offered me a tire. I couldn't turn that down. I didn't know when I would be going past an open bike shop to get a new tire. I followed him back to his place a few miles down the road, and he proceeded to pull a tire off of his own bike to put on mine, all the while refusing payment for the tire. On top of it all, he cleaned up my chain and cassette while I worked on my tires. His living room was a mess when we were done, but he said not to worry about it. Hal and Zach have helped the small community of Woodfords, CA, stick in my mind.
After getting the tire put on, I continued down hill (the rain had let up) to the Nevada border and eventually in to Carson City where I met up with Highway 50: The Loneliest Highway in America. I made it to Dayton before looking for a laundromat and a campsite. The laundromat ended up being a few miles past Dayton and the only campground in the area, so I rode out to the laundromat, then threw up the tent about a mile off the road behind a sand dune. It's a desert, this should be a fine place to camp, right? Well, it rained all night and I had to basically dig myself out in the morning. It was not a fun experience.
When I had earned my freedom from the mess of wet sand, I headed to a casino for breakfast. They had the weather on the TV, and that's when I found out how much I was going to hate Nevada. The forecast said rain all week. Again, isn't this supposed to be a desert? I hit the road, pedaling through my frustration at the weather forecast. It remained dreary all day, only occasionally precipitating on me. I ended up making it to a small spot on the map called Middlegate. Middlegate consists of a bar and a motel. Oh, and a tree covered in shoes. Google it, I didn't get any pictures.
When I arrived in Middlegate, it was drizzling. I walked into the bar and asked if there was a dry place I could crash for the night. One of the men at the bar suggested that I spend the night in the “drunk tank”. He urged the owner to give me a good deal on that. She never referred to it as the drunk tank, but rather as the bunk house. It was a small shack with one queen bed and one set of bunk beds. I could see through the cracks in the door, which was held shut by leaning a 2x4 against it. The lighting came from a lamp, plugged into an extension cord that was strung through a hole in the wall. It earned it's name, the “drunk tank” because that is where they put people too drunk to hobble out to their cars to drive home drunk. Lucky for me, it was a slow night at the bar. For less than many campsites I've stayed at, I had four walls, a roof that didn't leak, and a shower. I did not use their bedding, but slept in my sleeping bag on top of the blankets.
The following morning I got up and was in the bar just after 7:00am when they're supposed to be serving breakfast, but the cook didn't show up. The man that opened the place up told me that if I continued 14 miles down the road to Cold Springs Station I would be able to find breakfast. I don't function so well on an empty stomach, and there was a nasty headwind, but I had little choice. I hopped on the bike, lowered my head, and pedaled down the road.
At Cold Springs Station I found out about two cyclists that had spent the previous night camping there. The owner of the place told me that if I was quick, I could probably catch them before the first pass. I hit the road pretty hard after hearing that there were other cyclists out on this lonely stretch of road. I did catch them just before the first pass. Cate and Katharine were the cyclists. I got to the top of the climb and waited for them. We exchanged pleasantries and then continued at our own paces. Both they and I intended to stop in Austin that evening, so when I got to town, I scoped out the lodging options and decided on a lean-to type shelter in the park. It had lights and live outlets to charge electronics, and best of all it was free. Across the street was an RV park that allowed people a shower for $2. I passed on the option, since I had just bathed the night before (I suppose to normal people that sounds kind of gross...). Cate and Katharine arrived sometime later and set up camp. They shared their dehydrated vegetable beef stew with me for supper as we chatted about our respective trips and learned a bit about each other.
In the morning I chose to eat breakfast at a diner in town after realizing I was carrying only enough oatmeal for one more good sized breakfast. The two women and I left at roughly the same time, but the day started off with a particularly rough climb, and that was the last I saw of them.
The weather in the morning was actually quite beautiful, despite the forecast for overcast skies and rain. It even got warm enough that I went without a jacket for a while. In the afternoon a few storms skirted past me, dropping a few sprinkles here and there, but nothing too noteworthy until I got closer to my destination of Eureka, NV. As I approached the end of a long, flat stretch of road, leading into yet another mountain range, I saw storm clouds ahead that I knew I would probably not be able to avoid. With about 15 miles to go to Eureka, I pulled over to put on my rain gear as it sprinkled on me. Not more than 2 miles later, as I approached Devil's Gate (canyon-like geographical feature leading through a ridge), I was hit with a gust of wind that brought me and my bicycle from about 12 mph to 0 mph instantly. I had to stand on my pedals to regain any forward momentum to stay upright. The wind then shifted to a cross wind that just about knocked me into traffic. The rain proceeded to turn into sleet, then to small hail, a little bigger than pea sized. I kept on pedaling, as there was really no place to go. Highway 50 really is the loneliest highway in America. The hail stung like hell, but I knew that was it, it was just going to sting me. The thing that had me really concerned was the lightning and thunder all around. Again, on the loneliest highway, in a desert, riding a steel bicycle. Since I am writing this, it is apparent that I made it through in one, un-electrified piece. When I rolled into Eureka, I checked out the city park for camping, but they had already “winterized” the restrooms and locked them for the season. It had been such a crappy day that I decided to pony up for a hotel room. I've managed to keep things pretty cheap and to stay in some pretty sketchy places, but here there was only one option with rooms still available, so I ended up dropping more than I have for lodging this whole trip.
Today I got up before dawn and got all of my stuff packed up and ready to roll before heading to the continental breakfast to load up on calories for the 77 miles with no services to Ely, NV. I am now realizing that I haven't said a whole lot about the terrain out here. It's a desert. At least, it's supposed to be a desert. There are a whole bunch of mountain ranges that run north to south with basins or valleys in between. So far I have climbed over 11 mountain passes in the state of Nevada alone. When I have a stretch with no services, like I did today, I have to carry a lot of water. Water adds a lot of weight, and weight is not my friend when climbing several passes a day. Tomorrow I have 63 miles before I get to Baker, NV, and from Baker to Milford, UT, is 84 miles.
Anyway, I'm currently in a room in the El Ranchero Motel in Ely, NV, watching Nebraska abuse Kansas State University. When I remembered that the game was today, I found the cheapest place that had cable TV. If I remember correctly, this place ties for the lowest price I've paid for a motel room, but it is definitely the biggest room I've ever stayed in. It's huge.
On the morning of my departure, I had breakfast with Jenna and didn't end up on the ferry across the bay to Vallejo until the 9:55am boat. It's an hour ferry ride, so I was not really expecting to cover as much ground as I had previously hoped. While pedaling away from San Francisco, I passed through the town of Davis, which is apparently known as the “Bicycle Capital of the World.” I had never heard that, but some locals told me, and it says so on the Adventure Cycling Association map. I biked through a little bit of the University of California – Davis campus, and their sidewalks/bike paths had roundabouts. Pretty good idea to avoid those awkward who-goes-first moments when two bicycles meet on intersecting paths.
That evening I ended up staying in a hostel in Sacramento. Aside from a snoring bunk-mate, it was a good place to stay. I also overheard a very interesting response to the question, “what do you do?” while I was there. I heard a man say, “I'm a non-skating official for women's flat track roller derby.” That might be the last possible thing I would have guessed I'd hear come from any given individual in response to the stated question.
The following morning I tried to get out early, but I ended up running around a bit. First I went to the post office to mail a box of stuff home that I no longer needed, and to mail a pair of socks back to Diane in Bend, OR. She let me borrow them to get me through the inclement weather. I still have ten toes, thanks to that woman and her socks. They're waterproof socks. Sounds weird, but they're fantastic. I purchased a pair of my own in San Francisco. Anyway, after the mail run, I had a difficult time finding and staying on the path to get me out of town. It really wasn't a tough thing to find or stay on, I just took a wrong turn once and ended up several blocks in the wrong direction.
The day out of Sacramento started off pretty flat, winding around on a trail that went for several miles out of the city. Eventually I ended up on the road again about when it was time to start climbing towards Carson Pass. At about 2,400 ft. elevation I got a flat tire. I took the tube out, replaced it, and started pumping the tire back up to pressure. When I was nearly to the desired pressure, my pump gave out. It just stopped pushing air. With my tire slightly under-inflated, I pressed onward to a service station where I used an adapter that I carry with me at all times to allow me to fill my tires with their air hose (fyi: my bicycle tires have a different valve than car tires). At this station, I turned off of the Adventure Cycling Association route and started climbing straight up. It was quite the climb. I reached the top just in time to see an incredible sunset over Jenkinson Lake. That evening I found out that the two women tent camping next to me were also cycling around the area. They had both of their bicycles along, but were taking turns driving and riding. When I told them about my pump failure, they gave me a CO2 adapter and cartridge to fill a tire. Then one of the women gave me the pump from her own bicycle and said I could use it as long as I needed to, and to mail it back when I had my own. I'm still impressed by how generous and trusting people continue to be along this trip.
The next morning I tanked up on a special blend of oatmeal I learned about from my friend Russ in Idaho, then hit the climb again. I got onto a road called Mormon Emigrant Trail. It wasn't the steepest road I've ridden, but it was pretty unrelenting. I just kept climbing. It wasn't too bad, because I knew it was coming. This was my climb up to Carson Pass. I camped at around 3,500 feet, felt my ears start to pop at about 5,000 feet, got a nose bleed at around 7,000 feet, and then, in the rain at about 8,000 feet, just before the top of Carson Pass, I blew the sidewall out of my front tire. After filling my tires up to capacity below 3,000 feet elevation, my tires behaved something like a bag of chips as you drive up to the mountains to go skiing/snowboarding. Both of my tires had way too much pressure at this point, but only the front one gave way when I slammed on the brakes to try to make a turn. My weight shifting forward was enough extra pressure that the sidewall blew.
Now it's raining, my tire is shot, and the only thing in the area is a ski resort. I hitched a ride in the back of a pickup to the ski lodge to ask about a room. The woman at the desk did what she could as far as discounting the price of the room, but it was still more than I was ready to pay. Eventually a guest of the lodge offered me shelter in the back of his pickup that has a topper. I thought this sounded like a great place to spend a night, so we went outside and, after I had fixed my tire, I crawled in the back of his truck and made myself at home for the night while the storm continued. In the end, I had covered less than 40 miles and climbed 5,770 feet that day. My mileage would have looked a lot better if I had been able to cash in on the descent from all the climbing.
In the morning the rain was still lingering. I wasn't sure where to find breakfast, so I just hit the road and kept my eyes open. I didn't find anything before the top of Carson Pass. At the top I met a man that warned me to keep my brakes and rims dry, because it's a pretty steep descent. He said cyclists have hit 60 mph on it before. Given my tire escapade from the day before and my lack of trust in my spare tire, I stopped to tighten up my brakes before heading downward in the rain.
I used to think of the descent as a reward for all of the hard work that went into the climb, but coming over Carson Pass in the rain was about as painful as it was frightening. Rain in October at 8,500 feet is cold. As I cruised down the mountain, I kept my eyes open for a place to get breakfast. I saw a place, but a combination of wet brakes/rims and cold hands that didn't want to do what I told them caused me to slide past. I did get stopped in time for the second place, which ended up being a sweet turn of events. The place was called the Hope Valley Cafe.
A couple that was at an adjacent table, that had asked about my cycling trip, tried to pay for my breakfast, but were too late in getting there. The man, Hal, proceeded to get out his wallet and contribute to the “Feed Neal Fund”, with instructions to have a good lunch. After Hal and his wife were on their way, a man named Zach spoke up from the breakfast bar and asked me if I needed anything. He had overheard my story about my tire and offered me a tire. I couldn't turn that down. I didn't know when I would be going past an open bike shop to get a new tire. I followed him back to his place a few miles down the road, and he proceeded to pull a tire off of his own bike to put on mine, all the while refusing payment for the tire. On top of it all, he cleaned up my chain and cassette while I worked on my tires. His living room was a mess when we were done, but he said not to worry about it. Hal and Zach have helped the small community of Woodfords, CA, stick in my mind.
After getting the tire put on, I continued down hill (the rain had let up) to the Nevada border and eventually in to Carson City where I met up with Highway 50: The Loneliest Highway in America. I made it to Dayton before looking for a laundromat and a campsite. The laundromat ended up being a few miles past Dayton and the only campground in the area, so I rode out to the laundromat, then threw up the tent about a mile off the road behind a sand dune. It's a desert, this should be a fine place to camp, right? Well, it rained all night and I had to basically dig myself out in the morning. It was not a fun experience.
When I had earned my freedom from the mess of wet sand, I headed to a casino for breakfast. They had the weather on the TV, and that's when I found out how much I was going to hate Nevada. The forecast said rain all week. Again, isn't this supposed to be a desert? I hit the road, pedaling through my frustration at the weather forecast. It remained dreary all day, only occasionally precipitating on me. I ended up making it to a small spot on the map called Middlegate. Middlegate consists of a bar and a motel. Oh, and a tree covered in shoes. Google it, I didn't get any pictures.
When I arrived in Middlegate, it was drizzling. I walked into the bar and asked if there was a dry place I could crash for the night. One of the men at the bar suggested that I spend the night in the “drunk tank”. He urged the owner to give me a good deal on that. She never referred to it as the drunk tank, but rather as the bunk house. It was a small shack with one queen bed and one set of bunk beds. I could see through the cracks in the door, which was held shut by leaning a 2x4 against it. The lighting came from a lamp, plugged into an extension cord that was strung through a hole in the wall. It earned it's name, the “drunk tank” because that is where they put people too drunk to hobble out to their cars to drive home drunk. Lucky for me, it was a slow night at the bar. For less than many campsites I've stayed at, I had four walls, a roof that didn't leak, and a shower. I did not use their bedding, but slept in my sleeping bag on top of the blankets.
The following morning I got up and was in the bar just after 7:00am when they're supposed to be serving breakfast, but the cook didn't show up. The man that opened the place up told me that if I continued 14 miles down the road to Cold Springs Station I would be able to find breakfast. I don't function so well on an empty stomach, and there was a nasty headwind, but I had little choice. I hopped on the bike, lowered my head, and pedaled down the road.
At Cold Springs Station I found out about two cyclists that had spent the previous night camping there. The owner of the place told me that if I was quick, I could probably catch them before the first pass. I hit the road pretty hard after hearing that there were other cyclists out on this lonely stretch of road. I did catch them just before the first pass. Cate and Katharine were the cyclists. I got to the top of the climb and waited for them. We exchanged pleasantries and then continued at our own paces. Both they and I intended to stop in Austin that evening, so when I got to town, I scoped out the lodging options and decided on a lean-to type shelter in the park. It had lights and live outlets to charge electronics, and best of all it was free. Across the street was an RV park that allowed people a shower for $2. I passed on the option, since I had just bathed the night before (I suppose to normal people that sounds kind of gross...). Cate and Katharine arrived sometime later and set up camp. They shared their dehydrated vegetable beef stew with me for supper as we chatted about our respective trips and learned a bit about each other.
In the morning I chose to eat breakfast at a diner in town after realizing I was carrying only enough oatmeal for one more good sized breakfast. The two women and I left at roughly the same time, but the day started off with a particularly rough climb, and that was the last I saw of them.
The weather in the morning was actually quite beautiful, despite the forecast for overcast skies and rain. It even got warm enough that I went without a jacket for a while. In the afternoon a few storms skirted past me, dropping a few sprinkles here and there, but nothing too noteworthy until I got closer to my destination of Eureka, NV. As I approached the end of a long, flat stretch of road, leading into yet another mountain range, I saw storm clouds ahead that I knew I would probably not be able to avoid. With about 15 miles to go to Eureka, I pulled over to put on my rain gear as it sprinkled on me. Not more than 2 miles later, as I approached Devil's Gate (canyon-like geographical feature leading through a ridge), I was hit with a gust of wind that brought me and my bicycle from about 12 mph to 0 mph instantly. I had to stand on my pedals to regain any forward momentum to stay upright. The wind then shifted to a cross wind that just about knocked me into traffic. The rain proceeded to turn into sleet, then to small hail, a little bigger than pea sized. I kept on pedaling, as there was really no place to go. Highway 50 really is the loneliest highway in America. The hail stung like hell, but I knew that was it, it was just going to sting me. The thing that had me really concerned was the lightning and thunder all around. Again, on the loneliest highway, in a desert, riding a steel bicycle. Since I am writing this, it is apparent that I made it through in one, un-electrified piece. When I rolled into Eureka, I checked out the city park for camping, but they had already “winterized” the restrooms and locked them for the season. It had been such a crappy day that I decided to pony up for a hotel room. I've managed to keep things pretty cheap and to stay in some pretty sketchy places, but here there was only one option with rooms still available, so I ended up dropping more than I have for lodging this whole trip.
Today I got up before dawn and got all of my stuff packed up and ready to roll before heading to the continental breakfast to load up on calories for the 77 miles with no services to Ely, NV. I am now realizing that I haven't said a whole lot about the terrain out here. It's a desert. At least, it's supposed to be a desert. There are a whole bunch of mountain ranges that run north to south with basins or valleys in between. So far I have climbed over 11 mountain passes in the state of Nevada alone. When I have a stretch with no services, like I did today, I have to carry a lot of water. Water adds a lot of weight, and weight is not my friend when climbing several passes a day. Tomorrow I have 63 miles before I get to Baker, NV, and from Baker to Milford, UT, is 84 miles.
Anyway, I'm currently in a room in the El Ranchero Motel in Ely, NV, watching Nebraska abuse Kansas State University. When I remembered that the game was today, I found the cheapest place that had cable TV. If I remember correctly, this place ties for the lowest price I've paid for a motel room, but it is definitely the biggest room I've ever stayed in. It's huge.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)