The Home Stretch

After some careful thought and map study, I've decided to scale back my mileage for the last few days. As I approach and enter California, the towns worth stopping in become far more numerous and at shorter intervals. If I continue covering between 80 and 100 miles each day, I will end up in between them and without any real services. At this point, it will only add one day to my arrival estimate if I take shorter days, so I'm planning to do some fifties and sixties into San Fran.

There are also plenty of free places to stay on WarmShowers.org, so there's no reason to skip by them. I'll be in San Francisco by the 4th or 5th either way.

Tomorrow will be about 77 to Austin, then 114 to Fallon, then it starts to get short. From Fallon, I plan to take about 60 to Carson City and then somewere around 60 to the next place. If there is one state worth spending time in, it's California. I'm even passing right through Sacramento so maybe I'll be able to get a picture with Arnold. Do you think he would go for it? I'll just tell him I came all this way just to see him.



Today, my birthday, was actually pretty decent. It was my second full day travelling along "The Lonliest Higway in America", and I must say, it is far from lonely.

This highway has been more congested than any other I've been on since Kansas. Besides the trucks, cars and RVs, I happened to catch up to a team of cyclists from Bike and Build. There are 33 of them and they bike across the country contributing to home-building efforts in rough areas. They also distribute information and provide sessions on affordable housing for young adults in hard times.

The Bike and Build team is what we call in the idiot-long-distance-bike-touing world, SAGged. The SAG stands for 'supported and guided' and they travel with a support van. The cyclists are not required to carry anything on their bike except a bit of water. The van carries their gear and water and even picks them up when they get tired. SAG groups are generally looked down upon by the self-supported tourers like myself, but I'm not really in it to prove anything so I could care less.

I must admit however, that it did feel quite good as I passed some of them along the road. Their bikes weigh about 20% of what mine weighs and they cover less ground each day. Until I saw that I was easily passing them as they cranked up the hills or stopped along the shoulder to catch their breath, I never really felt like I was accomplishing anything special. It never occurred to me that hauling almost 100 pounds of gear up mountains and across hundreds of miles at a time was something special. I just did it because that was the only way to get to San Francisco. I don't mean to come down on these other guys, but it did make me feel for the first time like I was doing something that not everyone else could do.

Some of the group had stopped in a little pull-out off the roadside for lunch. They had a canopy set up and coolers out with fresh fruit and cold drinks. They were just sitting in the shade, enjoying a little lunch break and waiting for the rest of the team to catch up. As I rounded the corner, I decided to pull in and say hi.

They all greeted me with excitement and warmth. I felt immediately as though they knew what I was doing and respected it. Several members expressed their awe and asked me how I did what I did. My response, "slower." I didn't really move slower, but it felt like a nice colloquial response which would engender a chuckle while conveying a little humility.

We chatted for a while and I decided to stop in Eureka with them for the night. I can't stay at the same facility, as they are being hosted by an elementary school, but it would be cool to hang out with some other people on my birthday. As I bid adieu and began to shove off, I heard someone whisper, "let's sing", and before I could even comprehend the statement, they erupted in a chorus of "Happy Birthday".

I curved back around to listen to the song and I could feel my face form a huge smile. Things like this, out on the road with such seldom human connection, nearly bring me to tears. I felt this way when that German family pulled up next to me to cheer me on and when drivers passing by give thumbs up and other encouraging gestures from the window. Those little moments seem huge as they occur and can truly make a day positive.

I took a picture of them (with my real camera) and pulled away.

There were four summits today, but none but the last were anything significant. The final climb of the day seemed much more difficult than it looked on paper. It was only about ten miles of climbing but it still made me work. A few of the other bikers passed me going up the hill and my extra weight really started to demonstrate it's effect. Only five of the 33 managed to pass me, but I did become slightly envious of their support van as I made my steady but cumbersome ascent.

Arriving in Eureka, I met up with a few of the guys for milkshakes at the town diner. The shakes were delicious, by the way, and we each decided to get real food since our day of riding was done. We made it from Ely to Eureka by 3:00 which was even earlier than I expected. It felt good to know that I was done and still had the whole afternoon and evening to relax. I plan to take advantage of this in California.

The Lonliest Highway in America turned out to be one of the busiest roads with the most company I've experienced in weeks. Tomorrow should be similar in difficulty, but then it's downhill for a couple days. There will be one day of climbing over Carson Pass in Ca, but then it's downhill all the way to San Francisco. I'm not there yet, but it's hard to believe that I'm even going to make it.

Also, for the desert, it's been cool and rainy with mostly cloud cover for the past two days. Thanks, Nevada. I'd rather take a little drizzle than eight hours of relentless heat and oppressive skin-burning sun.

Location:Eureka, NV

It's Pronounced "EE-lee"

I woke up in my stealth-camp site with optimism and peace of mind. It was surprisingly pleasant to be out in the wilderness and wake up with the sun. I packed up and hit the road without a clear idea of my destination, but it didn't really matter. I was glad to have slept at the top because I got a free ten miles of descent in the morning, too.

I crossed into Nevada and made it to the first town of the day, Baker. Much to my surprise I found a little cafe with wifi and delicious baked goods. The place looked just like something you'd find in the city. It had a couch, artsy decorations, books, a bunch of people working on laptops, and a bunch of imported drinks and foods. I planned to sit there on the couch for a few hours while I studied the map and planned my night. I usually don't mind riding a little later in exchange for a good size break during the hottest part of the day.

Anyway, it looked like Ely would be a good spot to aim for as I moved forward. I hit the road and planned to arrive by 8:30pm.

The last climb was extremely difficult and put my endurance to the test once again. As hard as it was to keep pushing, I actually started to feel good toward the top. Maybe it was a second wind or some inexplicable feeling of motivation, but I made the last two miles of the climb feeling positive and energized.

I was able to negotiate a cheap motel room and, since it was technically already my birthday in Eastern Time, I felt fine dishing out $25 for a $45 room and calling it a night.

112 miles for the day. One intense climb. Almost hit an antelope (first one I've seen in person). Got a good night's sleep for the eve of my birthday.

Location:Ely, NV

The End is Near

I had a chance to stop in at the Cedar Cycles bike shop in Cedar City yesterday to get everything cleaned and greased up. I picked up a new chain and got a nice new pair of shorts, too. I really like hanging out in these shops because the workers and other patrons all seem to understand what's going on. Ever since I've come into Utah, I've felt like somewhat of a sideshow. It's fun at first, but it can be tiring answering the same questions and pretending to care about other peoples' lame excuse for a vacation as they try to compare their trip to mine.

This begins the part of the route which is defined by the lack of towns and services. I've had a couple of tough days, but there was always a town to look forward to at night. Not anymore. The goal for today is Cedar City to Wah Wah Summit; a total of 89 miles. Wah Wah Summit is not a town, it is literally just the summit of the Wah Wah mountain range. If I make it there, it puts me about fifty miles from the next town, so if I pack enough water for the day and next morning, I should make it.

I've strapped a few extra liters of water to the racks and I'm confident that I'll be ok. I try to hydrate a lot overnight and in the mornings before I go so I always keep enough fluids flowing through that I don't become desperate halfway through the day. It has worked well so far. I only need half of one bottle to cook my rice for the night, so I'm in good shape.

And we're off.

The geography out here basically consists of a recurring pattern of range-valley-range-valley. I climb for about two hours, then start a descent into the valley from which I can see the entire length of the road and into the next climb. It's actually pretty impressive, but it messes with my mind.

The climbing isn't that steep or difficult, but it's a consistent grade for about fifteen miles. After a little while, the uphill starts to feel like flat ground and my orientation recalibrates. By the time I reach the top, it looks a lot steeper than it is. At the bottom of the descent, the valley is totally flat for twelve to fifteen miles, but it still feels like downhill. This is a very odd sensation. I feel like it should be easier to pedal across the valley because my perception is out of alignment with reality, so effort required to cross the valley conflicts with my minds idea of what it should take.

It's hard to describe, obviously, but these range-valley combos really do play psychological games with my senses.

Anyway, none of the riding is too difficult, especially after the last two huge mountains I dealt with.

I eventually made it to the summit of Wah Wah, pushed my bike a ways into the wilderness and quickly set up camp. I had been taking a little rain for the last few hours, so I wasn't going to wait around for the real storm and be stuck setting up in the pouring rain. Luckily, soon after I finished erecting my tent and stashing everything inside, the rain did come and in full force. I hid, cozy and dry, as the rain fell. I pulled out my recorder and played some tunes as I listened to the rain and thunder.



Periodically, the rain would slow enough for me to get out and walk around a bit. I decided to snap a photo of my campsite and cook up some rice. I have a little film case of Old Bay seasoning which makes anything bearable, so I ate four servings of white rice with a little maritime flavor.

I was very pleased with the site I chose for camping and satisfied with my first "stealth camping" experience. The rain put a bit of a damper on the whole cowboy-by-the-campfire fantasy, but I made due with my environment. Next time I hope to set up a nice fire and live out the old Western image of the lonesome traveler leaning against the tree before the crackling flames.

Time for bed. Not sure what tomorrow holds, other than more of the exact same ridge-valley progression. For a desert, it sure does rain a lot. I'll be in Nevade tomorrow! Only about 8 more days until I coast down the California hills into San Francisco...

Location:Wah Wah Summit, UT

Take Me Down to Cedar City

There's just one more huge mountain between me and Cedar City. I've planned it out so that I only have a 58 mile day and one climb. The downside: it's 45 miles of up.

From Panguitch, the road just curves upward all the way to the summit. Usually there are smaller hills which combined will get me to the final elevation, but today, it's all lumped into one. I will climb for about five hours and coast down the other side in about fifteen minutes.


It wasn't as bad as Boulder Mountain, but it was close. Mentally, I was much more prepared since it was the one and only task for the day and I hadn't already gone eighty miles. Nothing too serious to report, just a technical and basic climb that lasted for a long time.

The descent was very exciting though. I hit 42mph and sailed down the last thirteen miles to Cedar City. I accumulated a few miserly truckers behind me, but there was not a lot I could/would do to let them pass, so they just laid on the horns and followed me down. I was moving so fast that with the wind rushing across my ears, their horns just sounded like whistles in the background.

Cedar City>Bike Shop>Everything Cleaned and Greased>Bed.

Nevada soon... Bring it on, vultures.





Utah- always thinking of new ways to block the roads.

Location:Utah 130,Cedar City,United States

Utah'kin To Me?

First task of the day, The Hogback.

The Hogback is a stretch of road threaded atop a sharp ridge with immediate and deadly dropoffs on either side. From the road, all that is visible is the edge of the pavement and the next ridge twenty miles away separated by a crevasse. There is no shoulder, there is no margin, there is no room for error. A deviation from this road would mean certain death for any vehicle, especially a bike. Here we go.

Luckily, it's mostly downhill in my direction because as steep as this road is, I would probably be wobbling my way up from the other side. This way, I can keep my fingers securely around the brake levers and glide down. The good thing about being on a razors edge over oblivion is that if I do mess up, I won't have to live with a disability or endure any broken limbs. It will all be over pretty quickly- after the two thousand foot free fall of course.

One of the most depressing things that occurs on these roads is turning a corner and seeing the road ahead of you wind up the side of a mountain. Often the curves reveal behind them the next few miles of road which can be a welcome or dreaded sight. After working hard for a few hours, the last thing I want to see is another five miles of steeper climbing ahead. But I am the idiot that wanted to bike across the US, so this is what I get.

I have noticed that the German tourists cover the same ground that I do, so our paths cross multiple times a day and for a few days at a time. I keep seeing the same people, and by now they recognize me and wave each time we pass. I feel a bit like a celebrity. I am part of their story now. When they tell people about their trip to America, they will mention the crazy bike guy they kept seeing. They are all much nicer than any Americans I have met so far, so I enjoy bumping into the Germans.


A few smaller mountains today. Nothing compared to yesterday. I easily made it to the top of the last one and could hardly believe it was over. At the top, there was a little bike path running parallel to the road, so I took that and it turned out to be one of the funniest experiences of the trip.

The bike path was just like a miniature road with dotted yellow lines, little road signs, funky critters scurrying across the way, and trees along the edge. I felt like a giant cruising down this little junior-highway. After almost three thousand miles of real roads, I felt like a little kid trampling through a model train set as I took up an entire lane and leaned across the other on the tight curves. The funniest part was the little signs, though.



Wierd observation: As much as I enjoy the scents of nature, it occurred to me that most things that smell good shorten your life, like cake, candy, fancy cigars, women, sizzling red meat,
...cedar trees?

Boulder to Panguitch was 98 miles. Made it in great time and ready for another tough mountain to Cedar City.

Location:Panguitch, UT

Boulder-dash

Another great day in Utah...

Utah is hot. Very hot. And there is nothing to provide shade short of gigantic cliff faces which are humanly unreachable. And there are gargantuan climbs of foolish grades which I had always thought were too steep to even build roads on.

Today was supposed to be from Hanksville to Boulder for a total of 88 miles. It also contains one of the most ridiculous mountain climbs on the entire cross-country route: 5,300 feet in fifteen miles. This is Boulder Mountain. But I'll get to that in just a bit.

I took a little break at the Capitol Reef National Monument visitor center for some shade and a cold water fountain. While there, I noticed a curious abundance of German tourists. I had met a family yesterday but as I travelled on through the numerous national parks in Utah, it became apparent that almost every other person there was German.

I noticed one thing as I observed all of the RV families circulating through the visitor center. Everyone looked so soft. I felt this way while I was on tour with the drum corps. After 80 days on a bus, surrounded by everyone else who was tanned and skinny, seeing "normals" always felt like looking at weakness personified. Everyone is so clean and pampered that it makes me feel like I stand out.

I heard one mom say to her daughter in response to her asking for a souvenir, "Just write it down and we'll buy it online- it'll be cheaper." What an idiot. You're standing in front of the ranger, you're at the park, and your kid is asking for a souvenir. Buy it or say 'no'.

I also saw a family with thirteen kids. At first, I didn't notice just how many there were because the father was just being orbited by one or two at a time, but I gradually realized that it was a different two each time I looked at him. They eventually all lined up outside for a photo and I counted them. Sure enough, thirteen. They all looked happy though.

This was one of the only families whose vacation didn't appear to be defined by bickering and complaining. Their's and the German's, that is. All of the regular American families argued about which sights they would hit and when they would get back to the hotel. What are they doing out here? It seems like a lot of people go on vacation like it's a chore- a checklist of key places to tally before the time runs out. What a waste of time.


The highlight of the day's drama was the final climb over Boulder Mountain. It was steep, I was tired, and it was getting late. This was truly the first time on the trip that I thought about giving up. I could barely move and I never felt like I was covering any ground. There were mile markers along the road to remind me every fifteen minutes that I've only travelled one mile. It was extremely demoralizing and supremely frustrating.

I took a break part of the way up at a scenic overlook where two different people offered me a ride to the top. The only thing more challenging than completing the climb was rejecting these offers. Every fiber of my soul yearned to toss the bike in the back of a pick-up truck and cruise to the top, but my mouth took over and said 'no'. I even tried to stop myself from saying it, but somewhere in the depths of my heart, I knew that if I made it to San Francisco, all I would ever think about was the time I cheated. I pressed on in misery and doubt and made it to the top.



By the time I reached the summit, it was totally dark. I had my headlamp and my rear flasher on to increase visibility on my part and that of the other drivers. Whenever I ride at night though, everything seems to come alive around me. The woods begin to whisper to me and the animals emerge from hiding to inspect my bizarre personage. They must wonder what kind of creature I am, whirring by with flashing lights and swirling legs. They all come out to the roads edge to witness my passage, and their eyes eerily reflect my lamp light. In silence and darkness, I see their green eyes around me, still and fast, watching as I pass.

Utah roads are peppered with cattle guards. These are essentially metal bars which run across the width of the road, intended to prevent cattle from proceeding beyond them. These devices are also extremely treacherous for bike tires, so I am continously forced to stop, dismount and walk the bike across.

Until the night of my descent from Boulder Mountain, I had not seen a single cow. The only evidence I had of their presence in the vicinity was the cattle guards. But as I began my descent, I saw them all lingering by the roadside and in the trees as silhouettes, staring at me. An enormous beast with glowing green eyes standing three feet from my path can be very unsettling.

88 miles from Hanksville to Boulder. Camping behind a lodge/resort at the bottom of the mountain. Crazy night...

Location:Boulder, UT

Et Tu, Utah?

First full day in Utah. Let's see how this goes.

The plan is to cover 128 miles from Blanding to Hanksville. On the way, there will be a 74 mile gap with absolutely no trace of humanity and then a 50 mile gap after that. In between is a little Park Ranger Station at Lake Powell where there may be a store. I have a couple of Gatorade bottles saved and along with my normal bottles, I should have enough water to make it through.

It doesn't take very long before I find myself surrounded by enormous cliffs and Mesas. In all directions I can see the layered steps of limestone and sandstone and other stones reaching thousands of feet into the sky. Each Mesa displays a uniform succession of eroded materials which at one time were each river banks. I can clearly trace the pattern of water erosion as the rivers cut through the land to create these massive canyons. All that remains now is but a trickle of muddy slush running through tiny cracks far beneath me. I am at once amazed by the enormity of these features and awestruck by the vision of what this earth once looked like.

After several miles of stunning scenery, it becomes clear that I am totally alone. It hadn't occurred to me until I slowed to a stop for a drink of water and upon the siezure of my tires against the pavement I heard absolutely nothing at all. Without the wind whizzing past my ears or the hum and clicking of my bike, there was no sound at all. No animals, or at least any that wish to be hears, no water, no people, nothing at all. As I scan the panorama I realize that I have begun to experience a sensation which almost never occurs in normal life- I am totally and utterly alone. There is no one in the next room or down the street, no one upstairs or walking past, no one at all as far as the eye can see and to the end of the earth.

I press onward, allowing myself to enjoy and savor this truly rare sensation. The sun grows hotter as my shadow catches up to me, but I mustn't allow this to effect my state of mind. The moment I focus on the heat, I will surely be overcome by it, so ever onward I go with my mind focussed on the goal and my body focussed on efficiency.

I continue to drink water as though it were medicine. Before I thirst and before my mouth becomes parched, I force the water down. I am conscious of the fact that the water I have must last for another 50 miles at this point, so I am careful not to waste it. I have already travelled 25 miles and seen nothing but the road which would indicate the presence of civilization, so it would be unwise to assume that I'll be able to fill up before Lake Powell.

The geography out here is magnificent. I think I might enjoy it more from an RV, but even with the hot rocks reflecting heat upon me and the endless road ahead taunting me, I am humbled and amazed at every turn by the grandeur of this beautiful landscape. I find it hard to imagine that it was all once full of water and ice. The stripes of red and white stone are a reminder that everything before me was deposited one layer at a time and eroded in the same fashion. Things like this make time feel so insignificant. Durations which are incomprehensible to the human mind have forged structures and landscapes which will continue to grow and change long after the human race has faded.


Eventually, I see some buildings way out in the distance. The road I am on cuts down the side of a Mesa and curves to the North a few miles ahead. Right at that curve, I can clearly make out man-made structures. They are far, but in view. I should reach them in about fifteen minutes.

Steadily I approach, squinting and straining my eyes to better make out the nature of these buildings. I see some RV's parked there too, but there is nothing on the map. As I come in close enough to read the sign, I am instantly relieved to see the words, "Fry Canyon Lodge".

A hotel! I can fill up my water bottles and maybe even take a little break! I pull off the road to go in, but just as I exit the pavement onto the dusty stone drive, I notice a fence in front which reads, "Closed". Out here, that usually means forever.

I stand before the gate, staring at the sign, scanning the building, looking around in all directions. It takes a moment for my mind to react to this sudden shattering of hope. I feel paralyzed as I stand motionless, gazing toward the lodge. Once again, silence. I'm alone again. This place is abandoned.

It looked so fresh and pristine from afar, but upon arrival I discover nothing but a dusty and worn old hotel which has probably been closed for years. I decide to park my bike against the fence and take a look around. After all, I was mentally prepared to take a break, so there is no way I'm just going to hop back on the bike and shove off for another fifty miles of barren wilderness.

I walk along the fence toward the side of the property when I notice a break in the enclosure. Still a bit weary on a count of the total silence, I cautiosly make my way toward the building. It is now that I begin to experience an eeriness most likely attributable to having seen too many thriller movies. My gaze zips from side to side, scanning all of the windows and attempting to prepare myself for some horribly disfigured cave person to appear in one wielding a rusty pipe. I am truly disturbed and beginning to seriously doubt my safety.

Deep down, I know that this fear is just the result of years of creepy folklore and horror movies causing me to imagine the worst, but still my hair stands on edge as I slowly and quietly survey the area. A ha, a pump!

I rush over to the pump through some tall grass and stones, lift the handle and brace myself for a torrent of fresh water. Nothing. The well has dried. But then I notice another pump about fifteen feet away. I try this one and voilà, water! I quickly head back to the bike to retrieve the bottles I have emptied and swiftly return to fill them up. What a find...

I take a nice gulp of water and scarf down a granola bar. Now I can move on.

Fast forward through more dramatic and awe inspiring scenery to Lake Powell. I've made it to the Ranger station and lo, the store is open! I mentioned the creepy abandoned hotel to the Ranger, who in turn said, "Oh yah, they closed that place a while back... Something about bad water."

Really...?

Good thing I drank from the rest of my original water before dipping too much into the Fry Canyon Lodge water... Come on, Utah. So this is how it's going to be?

Anyway, many more miles through dusk and darkness to Hanksville. That old sensation of lonliness and silence takes on a special from when accompanied by utter darkness, by the way.

128 miles, made it to Hanksville, many interesting sights and unsounds, Utah is going to be tough.

Location:Hanksville, UT

Still Alive

Sorry for the conspicuous lack of updates. It has been extremely crazy out here and I went for two days with no cell reception at all. I haven't had a chance to write because Utah is insane and takes my entire day to get anywhere. I have been making decent progress and I have lots of notes from which I will derive some narrative in the days to come.

I'll be in Cedar City tomorrow after an epic mountain climb. I will be staying with a family, so I will have time to write instead of setting up camp and trying to find water.




That's really steep, for those unfamiliar with tha type of sign. And yes, I came from the other side. Not fun.

Location:Panguitch, UT

Brigham Young... Good Call On the Settlement, Not So Much On the Other Stuff...

Brevity has never been a strong suit of mine, but I'll attempt to keep it short for today. Also, I have been getting everyone's comments and I really appreciate the support. I can't figure out how to reply to them via the iPhone app, but I have been reading and enjoying the feedback.



The honeymoon is over and it's about to start getting real. So far, I've been able to rely to some extent on the availability of convenience stores, restaurants, and people when it was time to take care of business. I've eaten a few really great meals, drank an incalculable volume of Gatorade and been fortunate enough to come across some nice people who have allowed me to fill my water bottles in their home. This will all be but a memory starting tomorrow.

I made it to Utah, and already I have noticed a growing scarcity of people and services. Tomorrow there is a 74 mile stretch with absolutely no civilization. That's not too bad, but it will be the first time I won't have the option to pull into the kwik-shop for a refill or a cold drink. It will be a trial run, because soon enough, the stretches will increase to the hundreds of miles.

As usual, each state continues to show up with it's own bag of tricks. I wouldn't have expected that an imaginary line drawn by rich guys in the nineteenth century would make much difference for my purposes, but each time I cross a state line, the game changes in many ways.

Crossing into Utah was an interesting experience. I even tried to ignore the political distinction between what's known as Colorado and Utah and focus only on the surroundings. Still I could sense a difference, the most obvious being the roads. Different committees decide differently how to pave the roads, so naturally that is the first aspect of a new state to enter my consciousness. This could easily be lost by travelling in a car, but I am far more connected to the pavement. We share an intimate relationship that in all honesty is often too intimate.

Anyway, imagine Kansas as a silk tablecloth draped over a chess board mid-game and you may have some approximation of the appearance of southeast Utah. The agricultural industry is back, but with strange bumps and peaks all over the place. Farms and livestock were abound once again as I rode through the first thirty miles of Utah, but at a certain point, the geology wins out and farming just becomes impossible. By the time I got past Monticello, it was back to natural and grand landscapes.

It was cold and rainy all day. I went through every combination of my rain cape, jacket, arm warmers and gloves in an attempt to find a balance of warmth without stifling constriction. Everything just got wet and I spent most of the day shivering and damp. When it's not raining, things dry out incredibly fast out here, but in 99-100% humidity, everything just stays wet. Hopefully I'll get a dry day tomorrow so I can lay everything out in the sun on my lunch break.

And apparently the only things which provide shade out here are rocks. I haven't needed shade in quite some time, as the weather through Colorado has been mostly damp and cool too, but I have a feeling I may be in need of some soon. I suppose I can always set up my tent and take a nap during the day if it gets too bad.

My mileage will be very interesting in the coming days because of the total lack of resources out here. I may be putting in some extra-long days as well as some extra-short simply to put myself near a water source for the evening. Today was only 83, but tomorrow will either be 74 or 126 depending on how much ground I can cover. There is more downhill than uphill tomorrow, but the uphill may be pretty intense, so I just have to wait and see how I handle it physically.

Thanks again for the feedback. This whole thing still feels fresh to me, but I can only imagine how old it must seem back home. I'm just surprised people haven't simply forgotten about this in the midst of leading a normal life, so thanks again for those who have been enjoying my rants.

If you enjoy reading my weak attempts at being descriptive, let me know. Sometimes I get to a place and consider abstaining from writing for a day, and it helps a lot to see that other people are taking something away from it too. I know that I will be glad to have this chronicle for myself in the future, but I also know that I could easily just drop it all after one missed day. It helps to have some external motivation.

Time for bed and time to get serious tomorrow. I'm off to the wilderness. Stay tuned because I will still be posting on here and on TrackMyTour.com/2220 whenever I get a chance, but there may be some delays due to me being in the middle of the desert/being eaten by vultures.

Location:Blanding, UT

Inventing a Life

I dared not avert my gaze from his forlorn visage lest I deprive myself but one moment of this utter truth. A truth which seldom arises in ordinary life, yet lingers just below the surface of our consciousness. This man, whom I faced in complete assiduity knew not what this moment had become. Nor did I comprehend the gravity of our encounter. By total happenstance he had arrived at this little convenience store, a local cyclist out for a head-clearing ride, to find a fellow biker dodging the rain. Naturally, he approached and engaged me in conversation.

Our discussion began rather predictably- sharing bike stories, explaining how we had each come to be here, briefy expounding, or at least attempting to expound upon the reasons behind our riding- but quickly shifted toward something far more profound. He made a few comments regarding the flaws in the economy and the government and, seeing that I mostly agreed, began to go into further detail about how he had come to hold these beliefs. He had recently been laid off, was running out of money and forced to sell almost everything he owned, and as he put it, had his child stolen from him.

I've met innumerable folks across the country who had been laid off, many who were forced to downgrade their standard of living, and presumably some who had experienced family or custody issues in the process, but this man was different. As he continued, his emotions became ever more palpable. His face and body demonstrated an intense struggle to restrain an overt exposition of emotional anguish. He scarcely reciprocated the eye contact I was so steadfastly delivering, for each time he did, his resolve was visibly weakened.

As I began to notice a quivering in his lips and a well of tears forming in each of his eyes, I realized that this encounter would mean more to us both than either could have known. He attempted, successfully, to abstain from weeping by tightening his cheeks and forming a smirk in the side of his mouth as he explained his situation.

He had lost everything. Spending over eight years in court and an incalculable sum of money fighting to regain custody of his daughter, the process had consumed his life. He had been experiencing depression and suicidal inclinations, but for his daughters sake resolved to go on. It did not make sense to him that people could treat each other with the disdain he had experienced on behalf of the judge and others and it was obvious to me that his faith in people had been jaded beyond the point of recovery.

We were strangers, and it was precisely that relationship which had allowed him to unload such a burden of emotional toil. He was free to be himself, with all of his flaws and all of his weaknesses. He had nothing to prove, no persona to maintain. It was a blank canvas upon which he could paint his true feelings without censor. Knowing that I would be gone in the morning and the two of us would never meet again gave this man license to express his sorrow out loud.

He went into greater detail about the court processs and his necessity to sell the belongings for which he had worked his entire life to acquire. I listened intently and, whenever I could, offered a supportive comment. I knew that this moment would be significant for him as it was an opportunity to un-bottle what was obviously an immense abyss of sadness. I felt it was my human duty to provide the best possible sounding board.

Toward the end of our conversation, he mentioned that the beauty of nature sometimes helps him to put things in perspective. He cited a few examples before concluding that in life, when we need it most, we experience things which help us better understand our troubles. For him, a ride to the top of Lizard Head Pass to absorb the scenery, and for me, a chance to witness a total stranger in his truest and most honest moment.

It's true that we who embark on this type of journey are all running from something. We are also running toward something. It's different for everyone, but the common thread is that we seek a deeper understanding of who we are. Whether it be hiking the Appalachian Trail, rowing a boat across the Atlantic Ocean, scaling Mt. Everest, biking across North America, or even quitting a job to move out to the country for a simpler life, it's all about discovering and shattering limitations. This helps us to realize what life is about. Maybe it takes an entire lifetime of searching, but the journey is one which none who embark can abandon.


People often ask me to share with them the lessons I have learned along the way. To this request, I can only reply that I have yet to extract the true lessons. I have seen and done many things and I have experienced many influential moments. Each will manifest itself in the right context. I have little doubt that my future will present plenty of opportunities to utilize the knowledge I have and will gain, so as I go on, I will look forward with great anticipation.



*As for the day: 108 miles from Ridgway to Dolores. Tons of cold and harsh rain, enough wind, and a few very significant climbs. Lizard Head Pass, Dallas Divide, and a few unnamed mountain passes defined the day.

I got a free 50 miles out of the deal, though. The downhills after each mountain pass were fantastic, and from the peak of LHP all the way to Dolores was downhill or flat the entire way. I made the last 37 miles in an hour and fifty minutes. With the exception of the temperature maxing out at 50 degrees and being soaked all day, it wasn't too bad. It did take a while, but I got off to a late start coming out of the Hot Springs this morning. I didn't go in again, but I chatted with some people and let my tent hang for a bit to dry.






Does anyone else wonder which part is supposed to look like a Lizard Head?

Location:Dolores, CO

Make It Happen.

Persisting in spite of all impedimenta defines success.

The bike is loaded down, the weather is harsh and erratic, my body fatigues, and the miles feel longer each day, but reaching the goal in spite of all obstacles is the most important component of success. After all, each obstacle serves to create an opportunity for emotional fulfillment. Without wind, there is no satisfaction of beating it. Without rain, there is no relief when the convenience store has a nice warm seating area. Without each of these elements working against me, there would be no basis for success or failure.

No more will the weather impact my goals. No more will the heat effect my performance. Never again will the rain cause me to take a short day.

I made the choice today to defeat my foes rather than be defeated. Through the hail, through some of the strongest headwinds yet, through the clammy moist air after the rain, I chose to push on. I could have stopped and called it a short day and after all, it's not a race.

This has never been a race, but a challenge to reach and exceed my limitations. I don't know if I have done it yet, but I am trying. Maybe the only way I'll know when I've reached the limit is when I'm laying in the desert with cracked lips and burnt skin watching the vultures convene around me. Until then though, I am going to set goals and reach them.



About two thirds through the ride, I arrived in Montrose. It's a nice town with tons of stores and restaurants. It would have been a fine place to call it quits, but instead I just grabbed some food and headed out.

About one mile out of town, the wind began to pick up. Naturally, it was in my face. It was at that point that I faced the dilemma of stopping or continuing. I chose to push on. I saw a sign for "Ray's Jerky", and although I have only eaten jerky two or three times in my life, I got a gut feeling about the place and decided to check it out.

So far, the most memorable experiences in my life have been those which have arisen from spontaneous decisions. The unplanned and unexpected scenarios created by "going with the gut" have always led to special and meaningful moments. Pulling into Ray's was no exception.

It's getting close to bed time, so I'm going to abbreviate the story a little.

While sampling some of Ray's wares, he mentioned to me the existence of a Hot Spring down in Ridgway. As Ridgway was indeed my goal for the night, I encouraged Ray to explain in greater detail. He told me that they allow people in all night long, I could set up camp there, and it would be great relief for my muscles.

That sounded good enough to me! I purchased a pack of Ray's famous beef jerky and with renewed purpose rode down to Ridgway. On the way, I encountered a few more showers and winds, but I was not to be overcome. I pushed through with the thought of soaking in a steamy pool of mineral water guiding my legs. With each stroke of the pedals, I was closer to relief. I would have been happy just to get to Ridgway and set up camp, but the promise of a hot spring was enough to motivate a little more speed.

Long story short, I made it to Ridgway (saw an awesome double rainbow along the way) and found the hot spring. It was glorious. I'm keeping the details to myself, but I met a lot of really cool people and had a fantastic time floating around in the "pond".

By the way, I've only been to Colorado a few times, but during each I have seen a complete rainbow. This is the only place I have ever visited in which the rainbows are visible from ground to ground. It's pretty cool.

Location:Ridgway, CO

Monarch Pass

Profound seeing Rockies from other side
Only thing better than a 5,000 ft climb is a 5,000 ft descent
Road work ruined descent
Huge headwind killed mileage

It's time. 6:00am and the alarm goes off. I quickly silence it to avoid waking the other guests in my hostel dorm and begin focussing my mind on what could prove to be the single most epic achievement of the trip.

The others remained asleep as I climbed down from my top bunk and collected my things. I made a slient and stealthy exit, taking great care not to forget anything. I changed into my cycling clothes, applied my chamois cream and packed my panniers. I knew that consuming too much food in the mornings makes my stomach ache, so I guzzled a Gatorade, ate a Clif bar and headed out. Soon enough I would be engaged in the climb of my life.

As I started out on the road, everything just felt slow. It seemed that I was being held back by elastic cords. It was a chilly morning and I stopped briefly to don my arm warmers. I couldn't figure out why I was moving so slow. I got enough sleep, I actively hydrated the night before, my tires looked alright, nothing was dragging behind me... What could be causing this overwhelming absence of energy? I never quite figured it out, but I spent the first 10 miles of my ride hovering around 10 mph.

It wasn't even up hill yet, but I could do nothing to accelerate and in the back of my mind I convinced myself that it was better to take it slow and conserve energy for later. So I plugged along at a stiff and still somewhat difficult 10mph. Soon I realized that I had begun the actual climb. There were no signs or indicators, but I could see on the map that I had entered the zone of constant ascent toward the summit.

I didn't feel so bad about exerting effort once I knew that it was contributing to the cause. The road would slightly bend upward and then level off a bit, and it continued it this manner for the entire length. At one point, I saw a sign indicating that the summit was 6 miles from that point. I had already been working for a couple hours, and at my pace, six miles would take just over another hour. With a few short breaks for water, I figured I'd be at the top by 11:00. I rolled out at 7:15 and got off to a pretty slow start, so that seemed like pretty good time with all things considered.

The mountain scenery was very dramatic and at times extremely dangerous. There were few guard rails and most times the road just dropped off. It was that way in the Appalachians, but the cliff off the side of the road was usually less than fifty feet which would probably still mean certain death for a biker, but out here, a spill off the side would result in a plummet of about 1,000 feet. As the road winded up the side of the mountain range, looking over the edge revealed the steep and unforgiving slope to the base of the mountain. I certainly did not want to discover what peril would be in store for one unfortunate enough to take a wrong turn.

I pushed onward up the mountain, enduring thousands of passing RV's and trucks. There were moments of total silence in which I was alone to enjoy the sound of my tires rolling along the pavement and the ever-stunning view in all directions. The vehicles seemed to come in waves. I would notice a truck approaching in my mirror and it would almost always be followed by a procession of smaller vehicles limited by it's speed. The road usually provided little shoulder room, so I was often precariously balancing just inside of the gravel at roads edge. Once the bike goes into the gravel, it can be quite difficult to get it back up onto the pavement, so it usually requires a full stop and reset.

Obviously, I made it up alive. Seeing the gift shop as I rounded the final twist energized my legs anew and I experienced a slight boost in velocity toward the summit. At the peak sat a gift shop and cafe which having heard about previously was one of my greatest motivators to reach the top. The thought of an ice-cold Gatorade and maybe an Orange Juice kept my legs pushing up those ten arduous miles. What a sight. To know that I had reached the summit brought a smile to my face.

I stopped to snap a picture of the altitude sign and with great haste steered directly for the cafe. The food choices were a little disappointing, but all I really desired was that sweet, salty, colored water.



Just what I needed. A few drinks and some headphone time really hit the spot. I put on my favorite opera duet and repeated it a few times as I sat in relaxation for about an hour and a half.

The only thing more satisfying than conquering a 5,000 foot climb is a 5,000 foot descent. This is really the moment I have been waiting for. In the Appalachians, you climb for fifteen minutes and descend for fifteen seconds and start it all over again. Out here, you climb for ten miles, and you get ten miles of payoff. It's actually enough time to rest the legs and enjoy the speed.

With great eagerness, I mounted the bike and prepared for the best ten miles of the route. Within a few seconds of starting down the mountain, I had reached 33mph. The speed limit was 35, so I felt absolutely no shame in taking up the entire lane. I cruised with ease for about two miles before I saw a sign for upcoming road work. Soon enough, I saw a line of cars formed about a quarter mile ahead. I applied the brakes and tried not to get disappointed by my glorious descent coming to an abrupt end.

I ended up stopping completely and waiting for about five minutes behind an enourmous truck. Once we finally started moving, it was only slowly and with frequent pauses. I rode the brake for the next five miles with nothing to look at but the back of this truck. It really put a damper on what was supposed to be not only my big payoff, but also imporatant mileage that I had planned to cover in no time at all.

Eventually, the traffic eased up and I was able to cruise again, but only for another couple miles. It was still fun, but it would have been nice to enjoy the entire ten miles.

Once the terrain levelled off at the base of the mountain, I figured I'd be able to move at a pretty good clip since the elevation was still generally downhill. Naturally, after about two satisfying minutes of 20mph, I got a huge headwind which took me right back down to 9mph. It never let up.

My goal was to do 110 today, but I only did 78. I don't feel too bad, but I really wanted to make that happen. If it weren't for the wind, I have no doubt that I would have reached it, but alas, I made it to Gunnison and decided to wrap it up.

I found another really cool hostel full of outdoorsy people. It seems like everyone in Colorado is active. One guy even described obese people as an endangered species in this state. Every single house has multiple bikes out front, most have some other type of sporting equipment visible, and presumably others have equipment stored out of sight. Everything from kayaks, rafts and canoes to mountain bikes, skis and snowboards. That doesn't even cover the immense popularity of hiking and trail running out here.

Every town I have been to is full of inviting, active, and progressive people. Everyone "gets it". No one looks at me with confused glances because in Colorado, everyone is involved in some sort of wild activity. This state is great enough to cancel out the rest that I have been through.

Colorado has it's flaws, but overwhelmingly it is a peaceful and easy-going place.

Location:Gunnison, CO

Into the Mountains

After taking a nice rest day in Pueblo, I was ready to hit the road. I spent a little time in a bike shop getting my bottom bracket cleaned out and then spent a few hours at the Pueblo Library, so I was sure that I had maximized the relaxation potential for the day. I had the Rockies ahead of me and the ever-intensifying dread of the Nevada desert reaching a palpable level. This last leg from Colorado to California is full of the most dramatic and extreme terrains in the whole country.

Setting out from Pueblo was a bit tricky as I was forced to spend a few miles on the actual interstate highway. I always hate doing that because the shoulders are full of junk and metal slivers which reek havoc on my tires and tubes. It's also loud and stressful which makes the whole thing seem a lot more strenuous. Nevertheless, it's a necessary evil from time to time and I just accepted the negatives and looked forward to entering the mountains.

All morning long I could see the Rockies in the distance- taunting me and beckoning me with an almost sinister air of deceptive welcoming. As hard as I pedaled, the mountains never really seemed to get closer, but after a couple of hours I looked around an realized I was on the precipice. Even though I had been steadily climbing for days, I was suddenly faced with the reality of the largest and most storied mountains on the continent. No more hills.

As I pulled into Cañon City to grab some drinks, I began to prepare my mind for the coming task. I was excited to witness the scenery and simultaneously intimidated by the sheer grandeur of the mountain range. There was no turning back now.

Luckily, my route for the day was parallel to the Arkansas river. This eliminated any drastic fluctuations in elevation, but it was a steady climb from Cañon City to Salida. I covered about 2,500 feet of elevation with just a few steep climbs. I barely noticed them though due to the beauty and elegance of the Arkansas River. I had never even heard of it before the trip, but this river is absolutely stunning. It has large sections of rapids, smooth sections with little islands splitting the path, and is constantly bordered by steep sprawling hillsides and rugged, rocky cliff faces.

As tempting as it was at times, I chose not to photograph any of the scenery along this breathtaking stretch of natural slendor. Perhaps I will regret it some day in the future, but as I see it, surrouded by such powerful and majestic wonders I could do nothing to capture or convey the true profundity.

Photographing the interior of the Rockies would be like humming the finale to Beethoven's ninth symphony. In doing so, one would inescapably forfeit the emotion, the romance, and the perfection which could only be witnessed first-hand. In such a case, any artificial reproduction would be nothing short of an insult to the original. I consider the use of the word 'indescribable' to be somewhat of a cop-out, but I simply lack the vocabulary and intellect to effectively convey just how powerful it is to find myself in the midst of some of the greatest natural features on the planet. Furthermore, it feels special to know that I have only the images in my mind which can never dull or fade, but will always be subject to my imagination. The scenes I have witnessed are mine and will be for as long as my imagination lives.



After a few more hours of wonderful scenery and relatively easy riding, I arrived in Salida. Like most Spanish names in America, the locals pronounce it almost spitefully in the worst possible American phonetic imaginable. Salida beomes 'Sa-LIE-da', Buena Vista becomes 'BYOO-na Viz-da', El Dorado becomes 'El Do-RAY-do', and the list goes on. Anyway, Salida turned out to be a really nice town with a cool hostel in which I was able to stay for the night. Most of the other guests were hikers, but out here in the wilderness, we all share a mutual respect for others undertaking ridiculous and inexplicable endeavors. It was a great time sharing stories and experiences.

While in town, I tried to talk to a few locals about the famous Monarch Pass which I would be facing the following day. It's a climb to 11,312 feet and goes on for about ten miles on each side. I've heard that it's not terribly steep, but it makes up for it in length. A solid 7% climb for over ten miles.

I've dealt with far steeper grades in the Ozarks, but only for a few hundred feet at a time. Monarch Pass would be something different- something for which I have no basis for comparison. Taking into consideration the elevation, the duration, the weather, and the grade, I have a truly difficult time attempting to plan for this momentous occassion. It could be easier than I expect, it could be far more challenging... I just won't know until I'm right in the middle of it. The hype is killing me.

Today was a success. I covered 105 miles, made good time and found a place to stay. Time for a quick map session and then bed!

Location:Salida, CO

El Pueblo Unido Jamas Sera Vencido

Well it has nothing to do with the revolution in Chile, but the town I have been longing to reach is called Pueblo and it reminds me of that slogan.

Pueblo, CO represents a milestone in the TransAm route. It is at this point that the route begins to cross the continental divide and traverse the greatest mountain range in North America. Some bikers head North toward Oregon, others press on to the West to reach San Francisco, but all pass through Pueblo.

I had planned to take a rest day here as well, so that has been a source of motivation for the last few days. Sometimes the only thing that pushes the pedals is the promise of a great milestone or the victory over a significant obstacle. In this case, I have been suffering the winds and heat through the plains awaiting the repreive of a rest day in a city which actually has things to do. My last rest day was slightly disappointing in the activity department.

Today was the shortest mileage day of the entire trip. Only 50 miles from Ordway to Pueblo. I got it done in less than four hours, sat in a convenience store for a while nursing some assorted beverages, and called a ton of motels to find the cheapest rate. To describe the motel in which I currently find myself as a one-star would be generous, but it has a roof, an air conditioner, and a shower. I'm not sure what I'll do tomorrow night, but I have tried to contact someone via WarmShowers.org. If that doesn't pan out, I'm planning to camp in the state park and get an early start on Sunday.

Yesterday's entry was long enough for two days, so I'll end it here. Nothing too magnificent happened today anyway since it was short and quick. Sometimes it's nice to just burn through a day and spend some time relaxing.

Rest day, then into the Rockies!

Location:Pueblo, CO

Weather the Storm

Cell phone service and free time have been limited in the last few days, so posting my daily writings promptly has been a challenge as well. The dates are a little messed up, but the stories are still consecutive and pertain to one day each.

Just before getting to bed at the church in Sheridan Lake, the pastor showed up. He came in just as we were all filling bottles in the kitchen and introduced himself as Pastor Virgil. It can be slightly awkward when the church officials show up because so often, they just leave the door unlocked with a note to make the place your home. Having all of my gear strewn about and using the kitchen when he showed up made me feel a bit like I was imposing.

Pastor Virgil was an extremely pleasant and jolly man who spoke with a warm and inviting tone and carried himself with noticeable humility. He encouraged us to enjoy the church and all of it's facilities, which for a tiny town in the middle of the Colorado plains were surprisingly numerous and high quality.

Anyway, the next morning came and based on Pastor Virgil's tip that the town store opened at 7:00, we all decided to aim for that as a departure. I packed my gear and hit the road for the store to find upon arriving that Pastor Virgil was working the counter! It seemed that he was the only person in the town and he was even dressed exactly the same way as the previous evening. His attitude and composure were identical to the first meeting, which made it appear as though he magically manifested himself before me without a break between meetings. It took me by surprise and served to start my day with a little confusion.

With a little Gatorade in my system and a couple Clif bars stashed for later, I got rolling to the next destination. It would be another century day but with fewer towns in between and fewer opportunities to refuel. I'm not adverse to surviving solely on water, but when I get the chance to pick up some cold drinks, I scarcely let it pass me by. It only takes about ten minutes out here for the water to heat up beyond my own body temperature, so it's nice to grab something refreshing. Superheated water helps you survive, but does little to satiate an increased core temperature and a parched mouth.

Most of the day was ordinary by the standards I have come to expect in the plains. Lots of wind, some bumpy stretches, horrible smells wofting across the road, and the unyielding force of the sun were all things I had come to expect and I was not disappointed. I was sure to apply some of the new 100+ SPF sunscreen I had purchased (which is similar to lathering Greek yogurt on your body) to avoid being totally decimated by the sun. I have been doing well against sun burn, but out here I am more cautious due to the lack of shade and clouds. I would soon find that the absence of clouds could come to an abrupt and dramatic end.

With the plains giving way to an endless panoramic view of the sky, it seems unlikely that any cloud activity could creep up without plenty of warning, but it does. Before I knew it, I was gazing heavenward and admiring the enormous billows of mist and ice above. Clouds of all textures and sizes were visable in every direction. As I continued to enjoy the breathtaking display, I noticed that in the East, the clouds began to stretch down to the earth, connecting the prairie and the sky by drapes of rain.

It was not long before I began to experience huge and frigid gusts of air which swept my loaded bike halfway across the road. It felt as though I had been instantaneously teleported to a cold and damp marine climate. I could sense the moisture in the air just like sticking my head in a freezer to search for some ice cream. The air was fresher and sweeter and carried with it the omen of what would soon turn out to be a torrential downpour.

I felt the first drop, but since I could see ahead for miles, I saw that my ultimate destination lay under a clear blue sky. For a few minutes, I pedaled on in hopes that I could outrun the storm before it grew too large to endure. That plan didn't last as long as I hoped. The rain picked up and each drop felt like an ice cube hurling into my skin. Even through my shirt and shorts I could feel the instant chill behind each impact. The droplets must have been the size of oranges and were at intervals relative to their enormity. I would sustain a hit only once every second or two, but each was enough to send shivers down my spine.

For about five miles leading into the storm, there had been an abandoned train sitting idle parallel to the road. It was empty and rusty and had clearly been stationary for some time. It continued on into the horizon as far as the eye could see, so I kept it in my mind as a source of refuge should the storm worsen. As the rain continued to accelerate and the clouds became more threatening, I decided to pull off the road and sit under the train for a while.

I pushed the bike through about twenty feet of brush and locusts and leaned in up against a train car. I then attempted to gain entry into the car, but the metal latch holding the door closed was too solid for me to overcome. With no other options and with my body sustaining a continuous onslaught of cold and heavy rain, I just crawled under the train and sat with my legs crossed on a wooden railroad tie. Naturally, the one spot that I chose happened to be a draining point for the runoff of the train, so I had a steady trickle of water hitting me right on the leg. I was already soaked and didn't feel like it was worth the energy to move, so I stayed there and rode out the storm with my little water trickle keeping me company.

Eventually, the rain stopped and I had a chance to make a fast break. I couldn't be sure whether it would start up again, but the train went on for longer than I could see so I knew I'd be able to use that again if necessary. I had ten more miles to go, and as I have experienced in previous storms, the moments immediately following a big rain are ideal for speedy riding. The air is perfectly still, the temperature is cool, and the traffic is still cleared out. I was able to knock out the next ten miles in about half an hour and I never got another drop along the way. It was very impressive to see the back end of the storm moving away from me, though. Out here, you can really see the weather patterns like they show on the maps. The entire width of the storm is visible and the gaps between showers are as clear as day.

The last few miles from Sugar City to Ordway were just fun. I could still see the amazing procession of clouds and rain in the distance, the sun began to set before me, and I was able to pedal at 25 mph continuously. It was perfect, but the most awesome aspect of all was the sudden visibilty of the Rocky Mountains. As the haze lifted and the clouds to the West began to scatter, the glorious and majestic peaks of the mountain range became delineated against the horizon. That was truly magnificent.

I got to Ordway, picked up some food and drink from the truck stop and began searching the town for my host. A woman named Gillian was known for providing lodging to passing cyclists, so I made my way to her house.

Gillian was not there when I arrived, but a gentleman escorted me to the "bunkhouse", which was a trailer on the property for bikers to use. I was able to use the shower and laundry in the main house and a matress in the trailer. It worked out pretty well.

Location:Ordway, CO

Dämmerung

My foolish hopes of beating the wind by setting out early in the morning are dashed as I depart Dighton for another hundred mile day. By the way, in the cycling world, rides of one hundred miles are called 'centuries'. I haven't used that term because I just assume no one will know what I'm talking about, but I might start simply to abbreviate the explanations.

So another century is underway as the wind picks up and the heat steadily increases. The towns are about 32-35 miles apart which makes it difficult to endure the long chunks but provides a solid excuse for a sizeable break at each. In the high winds and heat, I'll usually break for about an hour the first time and up to two hours the second time. After all, thirty miles against wind gusts is like fifty miles in regular conditions.

Upon arrival in Tribune, KS, I was seriously torn between calling it a day at 70 miles or pushing forward the last 30. I sat for a couple hours in a rest stop staring at the map, the clock, and the trees outside. I noticed at one point that the wind was actually blowing in my direction for once, so I decided to just go for it. It would be 10:00 by the time I got there, but this is supposed to be an adventure, right?

Those two hours I spent in the rest stop were all it took for the air to cool a bit and the wind to die down. I was surprised by how easy the riding was, but was careful not to get complacent. It was unlikely that the temperature would increase, but the wind could pick back up without warning. Knowing that my luck could be limited, I tried to gain as much ground as possible while the getting was good. The wind never came back, though.

It felt so good to be riding at a realistic speed once again, but nothing felt quite as good as seeing that "Leaving Kansas" sign. Even though the state line does nothing to curtail the forces of nature, as soon as I crossed it, everything just felt better. There were a few bumpy sections of road but overall, the Colorado riding was much better.



In fairness, part of the reason that my introduction to Colorado was so pleasant was that it took place at twilight. The wind had subsided and the setting sun cast radiant and colorful splashes across the horizon. In all directions, the sky was portraying an amazing display of drama. Never had I seen such dynamic and broad explosions of light. The landscape allowed for an endless view if the sky.

I could never effectively describe the grandeur of such a vista, but I am sure that it could only be appreciated after subjecting ones self to the entire spectrum of the sky's power. The heat, the light, the storms, the wind- feeling all of these on the skin and being in tune with the flow of the weather engenders great respect and admiration.

I completed the 30 miles to Sheridan Lake, and as the sun was beginning to fade entirely from view, I began scanning the area for anything that looked like a fair camping space. I was surprised to find a general store there because I had been warned by several locals along the way that I would find nothing. It was closed by the time I arrived, but I was happy that I would be able to get some things in the morning.

As I stood before the entrance, a local girl drive up and rolled down her window. She informed me that the store was closed, but if I needed a place to stay, I could head over to the church. My experience staying in churches has been quite positive, so I immediately made my way down the street. I found a few other bikers there already. They were headed East. They traveled in a group of four and seemed to get along well. We shared some experiences, exchanged some tips, and went to bed.

Even though the mileage takes much longer when fighting the wind, it still feels good to keep the goal. To be honest though, the mileage doesn't really matter because the choices of places to stay are so limited. It's almost necessary to cover the distance or face the alternative of guerilla camping in a ditch. I'm sure I'll get plenty of that in the desert, so for now, I'll take a free church whenever I can.

Location:Sheridan Lake, CO

Who Touched the Thermostat?!

Waking up to the sound of geese honking and the smell of fertilizer wofting through the Larned City Park, I prepared myself for the impending horror that I have come to assosciate with Kansas riding. I invite the readers to check out the topographical map of Kansas and note that the entire state is a slight incline from East to West. It has it's flat parts, I won't deny it, but they are flat like a pinball machine is flat. And I apologize for recycling that reference, but after 98 miles, it's hard to think of something else that is flat and slanted.

Today was full of variety and excitement. By variety, I mean headwinds in gusts of 30 mph and some at 60. Somewhere, someone decided to mess with the thermostat and the temperature leapt from a tolerable 90 degrees to a fiery 106 over lunch. Naturally, the winds are not refreshing or cool but more like someone pointing a giant hair drier directly at your face- a hair drier whose diameter is wider than your entire body. Some gusts were enough to stop the bike and the forward momentum almost completely. The thing that is most frustrating about this is the irony: on flat ground, it should be a great opportunity to gear up and let it loose. I should be able to push 16 mph all day long, but with these winds, I'm lucky to maintain 8-10 mph for two hour stretches before I have to take a break.

Kansas really is a psychological challenge.

One of the things I talk about when I'm teaching the band kids is the pursuit of perfection. We all know it to be unattainable, so keeping it as a goal can be one of the most difficult things in life. Striving for that which we know to be unreachable can demand the best out of you, but it takes serious discipline and commitment to even fight that battle. The ability to push for a level which you know you can never reach is the only way to ensure your best performance at all times.

The way this translates to what I'm doing is that there are so many moments where the goal seems totally unrealistic and fanciful that it can be very tempting to give up. Especially in Kansas, where I can see the town from miles away and I can ride for hours through hot and overbearing winds before the silo begins to grow even slightly closer, this inner drive for the seemingly unattainable keeps me going. It can be extremely discouraging to put forth such effort without ever feeling the payoff, but it takes the entire day out here. In the hills, I could just look at the topo and count down the big climbs, but out here, it's one continuous struggle all day long with no place to stop and not even a tree for shade. When I finally hit that mini-mart tonight in Dighton, I threw my sore and stiff arm up in the air like a I just won the Tour. Pulling into there and buying an arm-load of cold drinks was the best conceivable payoff for a long and torturous day.

One notable experience today was a disgruntled trucker who was so severely inconvenienced by having to turn his wheel a quarter of an inch to go around me that he waited at the mini mart to approach me. His plan was to lecture me about the law and the rules of the road.

He called out from halfway across the parking lot as he appraoched with purpose, "Are you from Kansas?"

Assuming he wanted to ask for directions or something, I immediately replied, "Oh no, I'm from out of town- just passing through"

At this point, he had made his way nearer and stood before me, all 5'8" of him. A stocky and somewhat homely character, he could barely contain his eagerness to set me straight. Through his stereotypical mustache and discount sunglasses, he began, erroneously I might add, to explain his interpretation of the law.

He clearly assumed that I, like he, was a barely literate hick whose understanding of the law was as dubious as the fashion statement he was making with his overalls. He tried to tell me that it was my responsibility as a biker to get as far into the shoulder as possible so that vehicles could pass. Just as I stopped him to expound upon my correct and researched understanding of the law, a police officer walked up.

I continued, "Sir, it's my understanding that on state and county roads, bicycles are legally entitled to utilize the same space as all other vehicles and are similarly held to the same standards of conduct."

Now I should mention that one of my weaknesses as a person is dealing with stupid people. I have a difficult time bringing myself down to a level that they can readily understand, so I usually just frustrate them.

Just as my nemesis was ready to refute my claim, the officer stepped in and said to him, "Let me stop you right there... He's absolutely right. The law gives bikes equal rights to the road provided they adhere to the same regulations. If he wants to cruise down the middle of the lane all day long, it's the responsibility of the vehicle wishing to pass to do so safely, just like you would with any other vehicle."

Now this just made me feel good. Additionally, the trucker's lip began to quiver as he saw his golden moment of retribution flipping against him. He tried desperately to contain his rage and even attempted to set the police officer straight! "I have family members in law enforcement, and I..."

Swifly, and with a little added confidence from the cops presence, I cut him off, "Well, luckily we have soomeone right here who is in law enforcement... A police officer."

It was pretty glorious. The trucker tried to change his tune and say that he was just trying to look out for me, but in the end, he was just bitter that he had to move out of the way of what he considered to be an outsider.

I have found here in the heartland that people don't generally make connections between their conceptions of patriotism and reality. For example, pronouncing Spanish words authentically (like some of the town names) garners strange looks and corrections to the Americanized phonetics. Driving a fuel efficient vehicle (or a bike) tends to make people treat you like an intellectual elite and can alienate the normal folk. The mere mention of energy independence or renewable energy sources is met with immediate dismissal and almsot laughed off like it's a joke. One guy even gesticulated air-quotes when mentioning the EPA, just to belittle it's validity.

Most of the people I have met view the progressive ideas regarding sustainable energy/food/economy as some kind of threat to the American Way. I don't want to generalize the whole Midwest, and since it's getting late, I'm having a harder time putting my thoughts together, but the lesson I have learned in the last few days is that some people will simultaneously bemoan the downfall of small-town-America whilst needlesly consuming excess energy and food and patronizing the very businesses which are directly attributable to the closure of every other business in their town. I know everyone wants to save a buck, and I'm not saying I know the answer because I truly don't, but I just wish more people would put their money where their mouth is. I do understand that sometimes there is no other choice but to buy from Wal-Mart (or Alco out here) but I just wish people would make the connection that by turning all of tour business to those places, you drive the nail in the coffin of the local places.

I apologize again if I get preachy. I really don't mean to pontificate and I truly am humbled by the complexity of these issues. I don't have answers, or even good ideas, but what I try to do is be conscious of the issues and critically analyze how I fit into the problem/solution. When I stop in small towns, I spend money at the little family owned businesses. Not even because I need what they sell, but because I want to make a statement that I appreciate what they are doing and I wish them well. Maybe the bread costs forty cents more than Alco, but what's the cost of this guy shutting his doors and skipping town?

Location:Dighton, KS

Finally, the Plains...

Kansas has turned out to be quite different than expected. I thought I could just show up, power through the whole state and take full advantage of the flats. I quickly discovered that Kansas had plenty of tricks up it's sleeve, the worst of which being the wind.

Today was only 70 miles to Larned. I could have done more because I truly lucked out with the weather, but the other issue in Kansas is that there is absolutely nothing for stretches of 60 miles. It would either be 70 miles to a town with food and water, or 130 to a smaller town with less food and water which would have all been closed by the time I got there. I got off to a late start anyway because I had to stop in at the Hutchinson bike shop for a rear dérailleur adjustment and new bar tape. By the time I hit the road, it was 11am, giving me just enough time to make it to Larned. I got there by 5:15 and got some cold drinks, food, and took a dip in the city pool.

Whilst in the pool, I noticed a little girl swimming around and looking at me. She was about nine years old, and I assumed she saw a lone guy with crazy tan lines and white hands and saw me as a threat. She eventually showed up in the ledge above me with a basketball and we ended up playing a game of HORSE. She turned out to be pretty cool, and she was just looking to meet someone new. Her brother is a lifeguard and she just spends all of her days swimming around alone, so I think she was just happy that I didn't blow her off.

I later learned that she knew I was a biker and was used to seeing wierd people like me. She could tell by the tan lines and weathered appearance. She was losing the game horrifically, and just as she was about to be eliminated, they announced that the pool would be closing. I told her we should do a sudden death round, first basket wins. I then proceeded to heave the basketball everywhere except the net until she made a shot. She totally bought it.

Anyway, today was really easy compared to yesterday. The wind was calm, the temperature was moderate and I even got a little rain to cool things down about half way. It was smooth sailing into Larned. Tomorrow has yet to be figured out.

I felt like I was biking through Africa today. There were huge areas of land that were untouched and looked just like the safari-type scenes I have always seen in photos. I passed one place that even had camels and ostriches. It was cool, and probably the first really impressive scenery I have witnessed in the trip.

Location:Larned, KS

Really, Kansas?

Frogs, lizards, turtles, snakes, squirrels, raccoons, opossums, armadillos, cats, dogs, foxes, deer, coyotes, birds, hawks, and buzzards. These animals comprise a list of dead bodies I have seen along the road. Each has been seen innumerably often. To this list, I must now add the Owl. Really, Kansas? You found a way to hit an owl with a pickup truck? I thought they were supposed to be so wise and stoic... Maybe the wisdom was too much for this particular owl and he took his own life by placing himself before a speeding vehicle. Either way, that is a first.



So I've learned many things on this trip and continue to learn more each day. One thing I learned today is that in spite of all my hopes and fancies, the trip never really gets easier.

I thought Kansas would bring smooth plains and smoother sailing my way. I was wrong. The entire state is set up topographically as though it were laid out length-wise across the glass of a pinball machine. It's mostly flat, but the entire length of the state is at a slight incline. It is not steep enough to really be considered a climb, but it's just right to put you on the wrong side of gravity. That, combined with the continuous winds from the West, the unrelenting sun and lack of shade-providing features, and the utter straightness of every road makes each mile through Kansas feel like ten. Mentally and physically.

Either way, I knocked out another 104 miles today and made it to a bike hostel in the basement of a church. I have my own queen-size bed, a huge kitchen, shower, air conditioning, and best of all, I don't need to unpack anything! They provide towels, soap, sheets, pillows, and lights. All I had to take out was my lounging clothes.

I was extremely lucky to make it here, too. Usually, bikers are supposed to pick up the key from the bike shop, but it is closed on Sundays. I knew this all day, but hoped that I would get here and find a phone number or something and work it out. I had heard from a few bikers headed the other way that this place was great, so my hopes were high. Anyway, just as I pulled up to the church, the pastor and secretary were leaving. I was able to catch them and they graciously let me inside. The whole basement is a bike hostel and it is just as good as everyone said.


I did some math and calculated that an average of 80 miles from here on out would put me in San Francisco by August 5. I figured with a couple rest days and maybe some slower days, I'll be in by the 8th or 9th. I'm glad I can actually start thinking about a date because when I left, I truly had no idea when I would finish. I was even looking at plane tickets for the 16th! I wouldn't mind spending a couple days in San Francisco to check things out, but I think I would be in real trouble if I wound up with 9 days to kill. I don't think they have too many campgrounds in downtown San Francisco.

I'm trying not to think too much about the end because I still have another couple days in Kansas. I know now that each state will present it's own set of obstacles and it'll only get harder. I have the Rockies, the desert, the Sierra Nevadas, the Utah plateaus, and who knows what else.

Pretty much every activity I've ever been committed to involves huge sacrifice, physical pain and struggle, overall misery and suffering all for that final moment of glory. It is only through such sacrifices that we can truly experience the highest levels of emotion. I try to remember that when I'm frustrated and worn down by a full day of headwinds and record heat.

It had been and will continue to be a tough journey, but that is because I choose for it to be that way. I could do 40 mile days and drink in the local cultures and stop at all the tourist spots, but that's not what this is about. This is about doing what I can to discover my real limits and explore the farthest extreme of my character. I'll get enough scenery either way, and to be honest, most of America is not all that interesting. It is more important to me that I push the boundries and feel the pain. Once you can embrace the pain with the knowledge of what it will yield, it becomes a motivator.

Made a nice bowl of chicken soup, drank over 4 gallons of Gatorade today, two Naked mango drinks, an incalculable amount of water, a chocolate milk and ate some chicken. I still felt dry by the time I arrived in Hutchinson. Well played, Kansas.

Location:Hutchinson, KS

Woops.

Found a cool family on WarmShowers.org and called it a short day at 65 miles.

I looked ahead at the map and realized that if I went beyond Eureka, there wouldn't be a legitimate place to stop for another 80 miles, so I checked out the WarmShowers website and saw a host family in Eureka and decided to just take an easy day and take advantage of a good opportunity.

Tomorrow I will shoot for 104 miles to Hutchinson.

I actually got wrapped up in conversation and free food and forgot to write tonight, so I'm just checking in. I made it another day, didn't see or do anything extraordinary, and got a free place to stay. All in all, it was a decent day.

I passed through one town, Toronto, where everything was closed down. The main street was lined with once flourishing businesses, all shut down and forgotten. Even the Post Office was closed down. It was as close to a ghost town as a place can be before everyone actually leaves.

I stopped in the only establishment still running which was a deli/market. Contained within the store was a tiny deli case and a few shelves of basic groceries, mostly canned. This was indeed the only store of any kind in the town. The owner/sole employee explained that the town had steadily been losing people and jobs and it was only a matter of time before he would close his doors and, along with them, the only reason for anyone to ever stop in Toronto, Kansas.

Arrival in Eureka was very satisfying even though it was a relatively quick day. I spent about an hour in the Toronto deli and made it to Eureka by 2 pm. Relaxing for a few hours will surely pay off tomorrow when I hit the flatlands. I hear that it can be quite tiring to pedal continuously across flat and straight roads, so I'm not taking anything for granted.

It's time for bed. I could really use a massage.

Location:Eureka, KS

Kansas

As I'm riding, witty titles for the day's writing come to mind and are often forgotten as new ideas and experiences replace them with more appropriate titles. I can't remember any of them now, and my mind is too numb to think of anything.

Kansas, with the singular yet notable exception of the entire state smelling like a soiled diaper, is not such a bad place after all. It's not as flat as I was hoping, but there are no real challenges. The people no longer speak with a southern accent and continue to grow more tolerant of bikes on the roads as I move West. The landscape here is surprisingly lush, too. I guess I never really gave it that much thought, but I was not expecting thick jungle-looking vegetation and total green across the land. Although most of the land I passed through was used for agriculture, all of the in-between areas and state-owned portions were abundant with plant life and insects. In fact, the insects here are so plentiful and loud that there were moments that I could barely hear anything else over their buzzing. I also took numerous kamikaze strikes from what felt like golfball sized beetles.

I knew it would be too soon to celebrate the end of dog attacks when I dubiously declared their conclusion yesterday. Sure enough, the craziest one of all ocurred today.

As I rounded a hill, I saw a dog sprinting toward the road down a perpendicular driveway which intersected about 100 yards up. The driveway was about as long as the distance between myself and the intersection, and it was clear that our paths would collide. With my prior experience in mind, I decided to dismount and face the beast hand-to-hand. I picked up a trick from a New Zealander I had recently met who was heading the other way- he told me to raise my air pump as though I were primed to strike and this would surely intimidate the wretched cur. I did, and the dog wavered in his approach.

We stood, eye to eye, for a moment as I continued to wield my pump as menacingly as possible. Eventually, he backed down and began sniffing around in the grass as though he had been meaning to do just that all along. He didn't fool me. I knew better than to interpret his moentary loss of focus as an indication that our conflict had run it's course. Knowing full well that one stroke of the pedal would send him chasing anew, I slowly began to create distance between us. Still, he lingered in the vicinity acting as though he had lost interest. When what seemed like a suitable void between us had been established, I mounted the bike and took off.

Like clockwork, the despicable hound set off in pursuit. A string of trucks happened to pass in the opposing direction just as our chase began in earnest. I hoped that this would create some confusion and slow him down, but he continued unphased. I jumped gears and engaged my complete muscular facility in outrunning my tormentor, and even at 22 mph, he remained within inches of me.

Another truck passed, a loud one. I quickly glanced to the mirror off my left handlebar to see how far back the dog had gotten but I didn't even see him anymore. I supposed the truck had scared him off or that he simply gave up. Just as I was ready to cool down and recover, I double checked by turning my head to the right.

To my horror and amazement, the dog was running immediately to my right, nose to nose. I shouted in surprise and actually complimented the dog for running so fast. Still, my heart leapt and my body stiffened as he pulled ahead and tried to cut me off. He ran directly in front of me and even clipped the front tire. I was afraid that he would cause me to fall but at that speed, my forward momentum allowed me to push through.

He aligned himself to my left and appeared to be preparing for another pass. It occurred to me that this animal had been running at a speed of over 20 mph for almost 2 minutes. Even in the heat of battle, I couldn't help but marvel at his accomplishment. Nevertheless, the pressure was still on. He persisted, silently, along with me. He managed to get closer and closer to my legs and started displaying his murderous fangs. I knew for sure this would be the one. Never had I encountered such a worthy adversary and if anyone deserved a chunk of my flesh, it was he.

Adrenaline running high, my thoughts were cloudy. I didn't know how much longer my burst of energy would last and I could only hope that his would subside first. Finally, he began to fade. He lost a foot, then a yard, then in my mirror I could see him slow to a halt and helplessly watch his prey vanish into the horizon. It was over.

I began laughing and cheering. I was still reeling from the amazing display of athleticism on the part of the dog. He was truly the most aggressive and worthy opponent I had yet faced. A downward hill allowed me to coast for a bit and relax my legs. It was then that I noticed my feet just shaking in the pedals. It was the adrenaline and the excitement of the chase. Although victorious, I was humbled by this maniacal creature's ability to push me to my limit. And in the end, it was actually fun.

For the next few miles, I could think of nothing else but my brush with destiny. I'll never forget the desire in his eyes and the urgency in his stride as the beast pursued me. It was thrilling and frightening at once.

Aside from that, nothing terribly significant happened today. Kansas is like they say it is in that miles and miles go by before the scenery changes at all. The roads are pin-straight across the entire state and laid out in a mile-by-mile grid. Most are unpaved, but luckily none that I needed were. The going was slower than expected, but there were no serious climbs. Kansas presents it's own set of challenges: boredom, wind, lack of signage, loss of focus, fatigue from riding hours in the same position. Even still, I don't miss those hills!

Camping in a city park in Chanute. Not sure about this town, so I locked the bike up as a precaution. This is only the second time on the whole trip that I've felt the need. Not sure about tomorrows plan yet. 106 miles down today, and I wouldn't be adverse to taking it easy tomorrow. It just depends if there is anywhere to stop.

Rain Delay

Today would best be defined by the constant struggle against nature. It was a race against time and a game of anticipation. The ever present clouds warned of impending doom, but seemed alas to be just warning. I was able to do 70 miles between 7:30 and noon in spite of some technical delays. I had to change one tube, then realized soon after that the new one was slowly leaking as well. This could only mean one thing- something horrible is stuck in my tire.

Having not the patience to remain stranded on the side of the freeway, I decided to just keep pumping the wheel up until I reached Springfield. I knew there would be a bike shop there, and even though I had to stop at least six times to refill my tube, it was better than trying to change the tire and another tube with the bike laying on the ground and trucks whizzing by. I made it to Springfield, found an awesome bike shop, got some new tubes, kept my spare tire and bought a new tire from them. The new tire is insane. I think it should last the rest of the trip. Now I just need to keep an eye on the front one. Luckily, I still have my spare folding tire in case of emergency.

So, other than the tube and tire episode, the morning went pretty smoothly and I sailed through some decent miles. Naturally, as I was stopped at the bike shop it began to rain. Taking notice and assuming my reluctance to attack the rest of the day in the midst if heavy rain, one of the shop guys pointed to some chairs at the other end of the shop and suggested I relax for a bit. I grabbed a granola bar and sat for a while in hopes that the rain would at least lighten.

At around 1:30, the rain stopped and I decided that I could easily do another 50 miles before quitting time. I looked at the map and it appeared that Golden City would be a good target. I set out and fully intended on reaching Golden City.

I made it about 20 miles before the rain kicked in again. It wasn't too heavy so I just kept moving. The rain came and went at pretty regular intervals and was never too much to handle, so I made it another 15.

Upon my arrival in Pennsboro, the clouds simply unleashed the rain and I quickly found myself caught in a serious downpour. Fortunately, just ahead I could see a church with a porch and awning. I steered directly for it and sought some much needed shelter under the little roof. I ended up sitting there for about a half and hour as the rain ebbed and flowed in it's intensity. I began to think that I might be stuck right there under that little canopy for the night. I was still 18 miles short of my goal, but my biggest problem was that I would be camping on the front steps of a church without permission.

I ventured over to a neighbors house to seek advice or direction as to a better or at least more appropriate location to set up camp. Deep down, I was hoping that they would just open their house to me and offer me the spare room like all those stories I've heard, but I could never come right out and ask for that. Instead, the woman I met directed me to a town called Lockwood where there is a B&B. It was another 11 miles, but there was a lull in the rain so I decided to go for it. I knew I'd get wet, but if there was assurance of a dry place at the end, it was worth it.

I know these are too long, but if you made it this far, hang in there a little bit more. The best is yet to come.

Yes. I made it to Lockwood. I found the place I was seeking and met the woman who runs the B&B. She suggested that I head over to a place called "Downtown Jimmy's" for the best eating in town. She called them up to make sure they were still open and they said that they would wait up especially for me. I dropped off all of my gear and headed straight over.

The restaurant is in a converted bowling alley. As I approached the building, the sign became just visible through the haze and twilight. Standing outside were the two employees awaiting my arrival. One woman and one man. As I pulled up, they both smiled and said, "you must be our biker!"

I exclaimed that I had just ridden 116 miles to eat here and I heard it was great. They didn't deny that, and the woman asked if she could add that to her quote board.

As I entered the restaurant I realized that they really had waited just for me. They place was basically closed up for the night and half of the lights were off. It was warm, dry and comfortable, so I was happy enough. When they offered me some food, I gladly accepted whatever they recommended. I was just happy to make it there through the rain.

Every place in the world claims to be the best at what it does, and often comes considerably short of expectations. Downtown Jimmy's is not such a place. This little joint in the converted bowling alley in Lockwood, Missouri had the best food I have eaten in a long time. Everything was amazing. I ordered a bowl of spinach and they threw in their house vinaigrette. Awesome. I asked for a bowl of chicken noodle soup, and it turned out to be the best soup I have ever eaten by miles. Then the main course, lemon chicken over linguine. Perfect. The chicken was juicy and full of flavor, the pasta was just right and swimming in a delicious sauce, and there were some pieces of bread to dip in the excess. It really was a five star meal.

Just when I thought the night couldn't get any better, she hands me the check. Cinched inside the little black folio was a note: "we are blessing you with this meal. It is complimentary."

Because the food and the conversation were so fantastic, I left $25 in the book and thanked them profusely for hosting my private dining experience. What a perfect ending to an imperfect day.



As a side note, there is something quite eerie about passing a field of cattle and seeing them all simultaneously drop what they are doing and look directly at me. It's the silence and the uniformity of their collective gaze that makes for a very uncomfortable experience. Dozens of beasts spread over five acres all pick their heads up and fixate their sights upon me in total syncronicity. At least they don't attack like the dogs...

Alright. This is long enough. 116 miles for the day, lots of rain, crazy cows, awesome food, warm bed for the night.

KANSAS TOMORROW!!! It's already pretty flat, but still. Time for the plains. So long, Mountains!

One final note- dare I say and risk uttering the famous last words, the dog attacks are over. It's been a couple days since a credible attempt has been made to eat my legs, and it looks like there will be no more!




I even got dessert!

Location:Lockwood, Mo