Thanks

I couldn't have done this without the help of several people. Each of the following individuals made a special contribution toward to success of my trip and has therefore made a profound impact on my life.

The Movers: Mike Humphrey, Steve Luckey, Dan Schwartz, Christian Bell.
Thanks to you guys for going out of your way to help me move all of my stuff. For some of you, this has become something of a tradition and I hope you know that I appreciate it each time!

Jeff Ormsby: You really stepped up to help me out by driving me down to Virginia. That's no easy trip and it means a lot to me that you were willing to sacrifice a weekend to get me there. Without your help, I could have been dealing with storing my own car somewhere in Virginia. I owe you one buddy.

Jon Katz: You have always been a great friend to me and everyone else who knows you. I'm not sure what I do to deserve it, but it means a lot to me that I can count on you for all kinds of things. You really made things easy for me by allowing me to crash for almost a week and everything from storing my car and my stuff to lending support and advice.

John Walker: Meeting you the first day of the trip was a great turn of fate. I picked up a few things from you which I applied to the rest of my trip. It was great to ride together the first couple days to help me figure out what I could do. Thanks!

My Mom: You've always known how to provide just the support I need while teaching (forcing) me to figure things out. Everything I've ever achieved has been directly attributable to your influence and I have you to thank for everything. I'm still trying to figure things out, but I know that I have the tools and the critical thinking skills to do it because you never gave up on instilling them in me. I know everyone says it, but you are the best mother a person could hope for. You demonstrated such strong character through everything and it is unlikely that anyone else could have been as strong. Thanks for everything.

Chris: Its nice to know that you are there when I need help. I don't have much to offer from my end, but I hope you know that you can rely on me for anything I can possibly do.


All of my WarmShowers Hosts: Theres no way I could put a value on a homecooked meal and a shower after a hard day on the road. It's great to know that there are other people out there who are committed to treating people the right way. Look me up if you ever make it to Philly!

The American People: While several individuals went to great lengths to make my life miserable, for each jerk there was about a thousand people who did the right thing. It's hard to focus on that when there are a few people out there who conduct themselves in a way which makes life worse for everyone else, but I have been continuously reminded that when people are given the chance, they will typically help one another. In spite of the few, the many remain good at heart and by their kindness and warmth I was able to enjoy innumerable comforts along the way. Thanks to all who offered water, food, directions, housing, yard space, friendly conversation and advice.

Other TransAm Bikers: It was great to meet and discuss with you life on the road, share tips and stories, and help eachother along. Everyone has their own reasons for being out here, but we are all in it together and it was great to meet so many interesting people with whom I could share a kinship.

My Supporters: Maybe I should have asked for money, but either way, it was very touching to find so many people interested in my trip and supplying encouraging comments. I have to thank you all for sticking by me as my writing skills steadily deteriorated along with my ability to think straight. One of the difficult aspects of thinking a lot is that the thoughts begin to clutter up and overflow in ways that are totally senseless and incomprehensible. If you were able to make out anything meaningful in my ranting, I owe you thanks for your patience and tolerance.

Location:San Francisco, CA

And So It Was...

It hasn't really sunken in yet, that my journey is almost at an end. It still feels fresh and at the same time like a normal way of life. Waking up in a new place each day and setting out into the unknown has become my new rhythm. I have grown accustomed to using my body to get me across vast stretches of unfamiliar territory and it no longer seems like something unusual or challenging.

Sure, there are certainly physical challenges and plenty of mental struggles, but it has all become routine. I realized about halfway across the continent that my legs and body no longer ached in the morning as they did the first few days. Certain terrain and geography would push me to the limit, buy when it was over I could still walk around and move normally.

Now, as I make the final approach to my ultimate destination, I feel no sense of finality or relief. It just hasn't sunken in that my daily routine will end. I've grown to expect the same level of physical exertion from each day, so the promise of days without any physical challenge doesn't really effect me. I kept thinking throughout the trip that the last few days would feel like winding down and relief, but they don't.

Don't get me wrong... I'm glad to be done and I feel positive about my accomplishment, but that whole overwhelming sense of achievement and victory just isn't a factor.


It's time to set out for the final leg of the trip. Davis to San Francisco.

I had a great time last night talking to my host, an avid cyclist and airline pilot, and I got a great bed out of the deal. I think I'm set up for a good ride. It's mostly flat, at least the first thirty miles, and I have no problem exerting myself since it's the last day. It's all bike trail out of Davis for about twenty miles and then it's all rural roads into Vallejo.

Sure enough, the morning goes by pretty easily and my ride is backdropped by orchards of apricots and peaches. I pass through some of the most beautiful agricultural areas I have seen in the country. Even though I don't drink wine, I must admit that these grapes look mighty tasty. I don't even know if they are the same kind you eat, but it's very tempting. A few of the roads are lined with vineyards and huge estates. These places look like castles! Enormous gates with stone pillars stand before long, tree-lined drives leading to immense mansions. Each comes complete with the servant quarters and several other buildings which all appear to be larger and more luxuriously appointed than any normal house.

California is insane. This place has some of the nicest houses, farms, landscapes, and recreational areas in the world. The variety is stunning as well. Within one day, I went from ski lodges in the mountains to urban bike trails and condo developments in the city. The next day went through the rougher part of the city and into one of the most peaceful and bike-friendly towns I've ever heard of. Now today has taken me through golden hills, lush orchards, small farming towns and more.

With about thirty miles left before Vallejo, where I intend to catch a ferry across the bay into San Francisco, I spotted a decent looking lunch buffet at a pizza joint in Fairfield. The manager invited me to bring my bike inside and I got a pizza buffet for six bucks. Not a bad stop! If there's one thing I've learned on this trip though, it's to always allow time for heavy foods like pizza and cheese bread to digest a little before attempting to ride on. For that reason, I decided to sit for a little while and review my maps.

The time has come to knock out the final thirty miles and enter San Francisco. Let's do this.

But wait, before I can finish, California apparently wants to throw everything it possibly can in my way. Out of no where there are strong headwinds, stupid-steep hills, alternating heat and cold, and more insanely poor pavement.

Come on, California! Give it up... I'm finishing this whether you like it or not.

It takes a little longer than expected, but I finally make it to the ferry terminal in Vallejo- just in time for the 4:05. They even let me bring the bike inside so I could sit with it. They usually require bikes to be hooked up outside on the deck, and as I witnessed as we crossed the bay, there were huge volumes of salt water splashing up onto the exterior of the vessel so I'm glad my bike remained safe and dry. Overall, it was a very nice ride. It was also the first time I had been transported by a vehicle propelled by anything other than my own legs since Jeff drove me to Virginia back in June. I don't really count the Ohio River ferry because it was only a couple minutes and I stood the whole time.

It's like everyone said as I look out from the ferry. San Francisco is completely shrouded in fog. It looks pretty dismal out there- I don't think I'll be getting my nice sunset picture tonight. Oh well... It's clear to me that the forces of nature have aligned to prevent me from ever witnessing a sunset over the ocean because every time I have had the opportunity, the sky has been overcast. I thought this would be my chance, but I guess I'll have to go somewhere else and try again.


The ferry pulled into the pier and I disembarked to discover that San Francisco is midwinter. Everyone waiting in line to go the other way is bedraped in scarves, hats, wool coats, and winter gear. The temperature is in the high 40's and it's just frigid. With total fog cover and wind, it feels just like a normal winter day. It seems that California is going to try everything to thwart my success. Luckily, I am prepared with my jacket and arm warmers, so I will continue yet again. Nice try, California.

Uh oh. After a few short blocks, I take a turn to the west and I'm greeted by what appears to be a vertical incline. These guys aren't kidding with the hills! I knew San Francisco was known for being hilly, but I just crossed the Appalachians, the Ozarks, the Rockies and the Sierra Nevadas. How hard could these little hills be? Very.

The steepest grade I've dealt with up to this point is 14% and it was only for short bits. These hills are upwards of 20%!!! The streets are at a 45 degree angle to the houses. I have never seen anything this steep.

I tried to scale a block, made it about thirty feet and even in the lowest gear felt like I was going to fall off the back of the bike and gave up. I'm in San Francisco, I made it and I have nothing to prove here, so I think I'll just push it up the hill. I can barely do that! I'm stopping every ten steps to collect myself and recover. This is going to be difficult and it seems that California will really put up a fight to the bitter end.

Some of the hills going down are so steep that I don't even feel comfortable riding down. I just grab the brakes and walk the bike down. This city is really out of control. Who looked around and thought, "Yup, this looks like a good place to stop... Who's got the bricks?" Between the earthquakes and the ridiulous hills, this is probably one of the worst places to build a city, but here it is.

I asked a few locals how to get to the beach for my ceremonial coast-to-coast touchdown. With two separate people directing me the same way, I head on toward the coast with confidence that I've been steered in the best posible direction. After a couple more blocks of heaving my bike by hand, the terrain becomes humanly possible to bike across and I manage to make it all the way to the beach.

I clumsily and slowly drag my bike into the sand but the water is still another 100 yards away. I think being ankle deep in the sand is enough, so I call it a day and stand for a moment to admire the Pacific Ocean. This is my first time laying eyes upon it, and even though the sunset is completely blocked out by thick fog, it feels good to know that it's back there. I started in Virginia with the rising sun and followed it all the way to here. It's over.


I was able to arrange accomodations with an incredible family right in town who has provided me with a bedroom, delicious dinner, and lots of laughs. They are allowing me to stay for a few nights before I fly back to Philadelphia. What a treat it is to get the same comforts of a hotel but without the bank-breaking cost. People like this really help to restore my faith in humanity.

I'm about to take a little walk around the neighborhood and go to bed. I have two full days to be a tourist! First thing on the agenda: Shave and a Haircut. Next: ship bike home. Only other thing I need to do is buy an outfit so I can fly back in something other than Lycra spandex. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to wear real clothes if I'm going to be walking around, too.

Location:San Francisco

Am I Still In America?

I basically took a rest day today. I slept in until 9:30 at my host's house and the we biked into town together to a little "greasy spoon" spot he knows. I planned to spend the night in Davis, but I didn't expect to end up within 24 miles of it last night. Instead of trying to knock out the last 110 miles to San Francisco all in one day, I'll just take today extremely easy and set myself up for a 70 mile day into the Bay Area.

After a nice brunch, I moved on to Davis. Wow. This place is insane.




This picture represents just one street of an entire city that looks the same throughout.

Davis, CA is FULL of bikes. Every street has a bike lane in both directions, some streets are only for bikes, the cars are outnumbered 5 to 1 and they all stay out of the way. The sidewalks are all smooth and wide to accomodate more bikes and other alternative modes of transportation. The entire city is defined by biking.

There are bike racks along every street and in front of every business, there are people all around me on bikes of all shapes and sizes. My mind is going to explode! I've spent the last 45 days defending my life against ignorant and blockheaded drivers and I am suddenly thrust into a world in which bikes are the main means of travel. This isn't the America I know! There is no one cursing out the window at me, no one trying to run me down, no one laying on the horn because I'm in front of them. This is just wierd.

All along the trail from Virginia, I would always ackowledge other cyclists and sometimes even stop to chat, but here in Davis, I'm just one of thousands in view at any given moment. It took me a few minutes to figure out that I don't need to wave at all of them.

Anyway, Davis is awesome. The guy I'm staying with tonight explained that way back when they first settled the town, the city planners wrote into the laws that all development would be required to supply bike paths. The city was designed from the start to encourage bicycle travel and everyone who lives here bikes. It's shorter and faster to get anywhere in town by bike and there's absolutely no reason to drive within the city. It's flat, too, so you don't need to be a great cyclist or in fantastic shape to get around. Imagine if the entire country was set up to encourage healthy and positive lifestyles instead of aggression and haste. They just built it into the infrastructure from the start, but there's no reason that other places couldn't make changes to encourage citizens to get out and do something.

Location:Davis, CA

I Wonder If There's Any Gold Left...

I was expecting some serious downhill coasting for the entire day out of Kirkwood. I was wrong.

Even though I spent the entire previous day climbing and I stopped at the top of the mountain, somehow I am still climbing down the other side. I suppose it's slightly more balanced toward downhill, but it feels like I'm still working far too hard for this too be a descent. I even tried not to take anything for granted but I thought I'd catch a little break after such a climb. Oh well, I'll just accept it and do what I need to do.

The pain and fatigue are steadily increasing throughout the day as they have for the few days leading up to this. My legs feel heavier and slower than ever and each climb feels steeper than the last. I'm starting to think that my mind has just given up because it's California and I'm supposed to be done, but there is still a lot of work to do. It has become a battle between my will and my body. I'm reminded of what the wise man Chris Feist says, "Embrace the pain!"

As I continue to come "down" the mountain, there are many amazing views. The Sierra Nevadas are much smaller than the Rockies but look very similar. There are huge trees, solid walls of granite along the road and hidden lakes sitting just in between the peaks. The quality of the roads is steadily deteriorating as I descend, though.

Some parts of these California roads feel more like the surface of the moon than anything I've ever come across on earth. It's almost as though they paved the roads by dropping chucks of hardened pavement from helicopters and then sealed it by detonating mines all around. I don't think I've seen a continuous piece of pavement greater than one square foot since Nevada. Every inch of these roads subjects me and my bike to severe abuse and I'm. Seriously starting to doubt that my equipment will last much more.

In spite of the horrible road conditions and seemingly endless downhill climb, I am motivated to reach San Francisco. At this point, since there are towns and people everywhere again, if my bike and gear start falling apart I am prepared to finish the trip on a WalMart bike with nothing but a backpack. I must make it now. I've come over 3,500 miles and I'm not letting anything stand in the way of the last couple hundred. It looks like California is going to put up a fight to the end.

Throughout the day, whenever I got a trace of cell reception, I would try to figure out where I would be staying for the night. The one downside of entering civilazation is that it becomes more difficult to find easy and free lodging. The land, like in the East, is all claimed and private or totally inappropriate for camping so it's necessary to either pay for a motel or find a host. I've tried to contact a few people online, but haven't had any luck in the way of responses. Until I can figure it out, I'll just keep covering ground.

I made it to Folsom and hooked up with the American River Bike Trail which goes for about 34 miles through Folsom, Sacramento, and out toward Davis. Within a few miles, I finally got a call back from a guy who lives right next to the bike trail. He was still about 14 miles away and it was getting dark, so I strapped on my headlight and switched on my rear flasher and pushed on down the trail.

Night had fallen and it was totally dark. I still had about 12 miles to go and it was going to take another hour. I don't mind riding at night, but I was in a real city and there are homeless people, idiotic locals, rattlesnakes, and other animals lurking all around the river and bike trail at night. Obviously I made it alive, but it was a tense and somewhat uncomfortable ride.

My host for the evening actually came down to the bike trail to meet me. He led me back up to his house and offered me food and comforts of home for the night. It was totally worth the trip. The food was fantastic and he had an entire room for me to use. I took a great shower, the first in three days, had a chance to talk with him about bike routes and places to see in San Francisco, and had a comfortable bed to look forward to.

The day ended up being 110 miles and took until 9:30pm. Longer than expected but I got a free place to stay, a meal, and a great conversation. I ended up in Sacramento, right where Howe Avenue crosses the river.

Location:Sacramento, CA

Over the Mountain and Through the Woods

Before I get to attack the final mountain pass of my journey I must travel about twenty miles along the edge of the mountain. Lukily, the terrain west of Carson City is generally more like California than Nevada. There are trees, animals, houses and towns. In fact, the first bit of the day is quite pleasant.

I am assuming that these little towns near Carson City are populated by the wealthier business and political people of the state because I have seen some of the most impressive estates and mansions along these foothills that I've come across in the entire country. Some of these places are really stunning. Out here, you can tell that someone is rich by the quality of thir lawn. Everything in nature goes against the existence of green grass in this region, so the thick and lush lawns of these properties indicate a serious a commitment to landsaping and maintenance efforts.


Eventually, somewhere around Genoa, the road turned toward the mountain and suddenly it was time to start climbing. Luckily, it's only about 21 miles to the top, but I'm not taking anything for granted. I'm expecting it to be tough and painful. And it is.

It's not the steepest or longest climb by any means, but, for probably many reasons, it feels like riding across glue and through water. I can tell by the first five miles that this mountain is going to make me earn every inch. My legs just feel like lead and my bike feels like it's two hundred pounds. Welcome to California!



There are a few little lodge-type places along the road to stop in and they all look really neat. This is starting to remind me of Colorado in the sense that people actually want to be here and there are plenty of interesting places to see and things to do. Even though I'm killing myself to get up this hill, I can't help but appreciate the variety and beauty of my natural surroundings as well as the man-made ones.

I've mounted the summit and not a moment too soon. Before I had a chance to realize it, the temperature dropped to about 40 degrees and there was snow around me. It wasn't this cold in the Rockies, but as usual, each state pulls out a new set of tricks when I least expect it.

Somewhere near the top of Carson Pass is a little ski town called Kirkwood. This is it for the night. I found a nice looking Inn that serves dinner and they are letting me set ip camp in the back yard, so I'm calling it a night. After a very challenging day, I have no need to go any further when I have everything I need right here.

Location:Kirkwood, CA

No More Room for Desert

After giving in and springing for a motel in Fallon, I was ready to attack my last full day in Nevada. It's been a long and lackluster journey across the desert and I'm ready to turn the page to a chapter of trees and life in California.

The 68 miles from Fallon to Carson City are mostly flat, but as I've learned out here in the desert, that can actually be some of the hardest riding. Between the heat, the endless pedalling at the same continuous cadence, and the barren landscape, these flat stretches can be mentally exhausting. My goal is to get it over with and try to enjoy Carson City, the first real place since Colorado.

I skipped what would have been a normal interval for a rest day and it is really starting to show. I just wanted to wrap it up and get to California, but my body and mind are showing some serious wear. For the first time on the entire trip, I've started to notice my legs feeling heavy and my temper growing short. Every little hill feels harder and every little obstacle seems more frustrating. It also doesn't help when the wind starts blowing right into my face again.

Anyway, the desert flats and random hills did not disappoint. Even though the mileage was on the low side, it still felt like a century. No matter how miserable I get though, I know my life isn't as sad as the guys who sit all day in the convenience store slot machine area throwing money away.

The most significant thing I've seen in this area is the abundance of slot parlors in the most depressing places. All of the food markets have a little back area with a dozen machines, the gas stations, the banks, the restaurants- they all have a bank of gaming machines which are occupied at all times by people with an obvious lack of mathematical knowledge. Oh well, as one person put it, slot machines are just a tax on stupidity.



I made it to Carson City and I'm done for the night. It was a grueling struggle through the desert but hopefully my last. Tomorrow I will enter California.

Location:Carson City, NV

Thanks for Hanging In...

Thanks to those who continue to read. I know it's full of typos and nonsense, so I appreciate the extra effort required to decifer what, if anything, I am ever trying to say.

I don't always have an Internet connection, so sometimes it takes a couple days to upload things, but it should still be in chronological order with at least one post for each day of the tour. As I come into the last few days, it surprises me that anyone even still remembers that this is going on, so for those who have been supportive, thanks a lot!

Nice Try, Nevada!

Until today, I had always associated the title of Vagabond with a man aimlessly moving around the world by any means possible and with what little posessions he had rolled up in an old jacket, slung over his shoulder. That was of course until I ran into a band of vagabond girls. Four "houseless" girls travelling across the country in a van, begging, panhandling, and playing guitar for tips to buy beer.

I pulled off the road today to check out a little place called the Middlegate Station. I thought they might have some water or even something better. What I discovered instead was a little kitchen where the cook made the best hamburgers around and all sorts of wayward travellers were hiding out. These four girls looked very peculiar with punky haircuts and clothes that appeared to be made by hand.

I asked them where they were headed. One of them told me that they were all just making their way West and had no real goal at all. Two of them started together and picked the other two up hitchhiking. They ate mostly from dumpsters, mooched gas from tourists at gas stations, asked for handouts, played music for tips, and camped out in the wilderness. They had already come 3,000 miles on free gas and food.

None of them had a job back home or even a home back home. One girl told me, "We're not 'homeless', we're 'houseless'... home is where the heart is!"

It was wierd to imagine that they had no end in mind, no fallback, no "real life". Everyone else I had met was just on vacation or between jobs. These were the first people I had met that were really out there scraping by day to day. They all seemed to love it though.

They had punky nicknames to match their wild hairstyles, like Riff, Rocket, Jabba, and Axle. They abandoned their old names and lives and just set out to the open road. This, in my opinion, is far crazier than anything I could ever do.



Another tough day of riding. 112 miles today, which will be my last 100+ day of the trip. Even though the entire route was generally downhill, it was never steep enough to coast and the entire day was full of headwinds again. I had to earn every mile across some of the hottest and driest flatlands I've ever seen. The entire day felt like a climb, but with the addition of scorching sun and increased traffic.

The last thirty miles were some of the hardest. It was absolutely flat and incrediby windy. The road was surrounded by miles of salt flats and looked exactly the same the entire way. I felt like I was working so hard but not moving at all. I just tried to think about other things and bear through it.

I did finally make it to Fallon and I immediately stopped in a quick shop for some delicious drinks. I ran into some of the Bike and Build guys again, and we just shared a sigh over another tough day in the books. They were beat, and they didn't even have to lug the extra weight across that terrain! I knew I earned my rest for the day.

I'm excited for a short one tomorrow. It's only about 60 miles to Carson City. I could easily make it into California tomorrow, but I didn't see the point in trying to mount the Sierra Nevadas after what will probably be another windy and hot 60 miles. I'll save the mountain for the next day and knock it out in the morning.

One more day in Nevada! Maybe I'll play some slots while I'm in Carson City. I gather that's about the only thing to do. Or I'll try to catch a movie. At least I can be entertained if I'm going to throw my money away.

Location:Fallon, NV

Easiest Way to Lose A Pound Instantaneously! (a pound of flesh, that is)

As I pulled into the city park in Eureka to set up camp, I found two local guys playing some old-time cowboy music under the pavillion. I politely asked them if they would be offended by my audience and sat down to listen.

The night was cool and quiet and the sound of the music was comforting and peaceful. It was a wonderful moment to reflect and relax. I quietly began assembling my tent and preparing for sleep, taking care not to disrupt the music. It really was just what I needed after a tough day. It's just like the man in Rico, CO told me on that fateful night, things come around just when you need them to put everything back in perspective.

Now, a few words on the days events.

First, a chilly descent out of Eureka allowed me to start the day fairly easily, albeit slightly uncomfortable due to the cold morning air. It didn't really merit a stop to don my jacket because I knew that the moment I did, I would start sweating like crazy. Sometimes, you just have to endure a little chill until the sun warms everything up.

After a few great days of moderate desert weather, Nevada decided to show up in full force. Before long, the sky cleared out and the sun began to bake me and everything else around without mercy. It finally occurred to me why it is so silent around here- nobody could ever live here! Not even bugs!

Whenever I stop to stretch or switch my water bottles out, I notice that without the sound of my bike and the wind across my ears, it is totally dead out here. There are no birds, no crickets, no streams, nothing at all that makes a sound. It's so quiet in fact that my ears ring a little bit and I can hear my own heartbeat. I can see how people just kept moving through as they explored westward.

Around midday, as usual, the wind picked up and, as usual, it was directed straigt into my face. I'd finally reached a spot in the country with some actual flat ground but I still had to compete with some of the strongest wind I've experienced so far.

I bumped into the Bike and Build team throughout the day again. Our destinations are aligned for a few days, so I'll be seeing them more. I actually enjoy seeing other people out here because they don't mess with me and when the riding is tough, there's always someone else to come by and share a tortured glance. Even though there are 33 of them, they all seem to understand when to back off each other and when to ride along and converse.

Only twelve miles to go until I reach Austin and after 40 days of successful rides, it happens...

Some of the guys I met in Kansas mentioned that sometimes truckers will see how close they can get to cyclists and try to knock them down. They know the kind of wind they create and it's like a sport to see if they can push people off the road. When a truck passes, it generates a 60 mph gust of wind which can be pretty poweful.

In my mirror I saw a couple of hay trucks approaching. I've learned that those are some of the strongest wind generating loads since the hay is so pourus. I moved out to the shoulder, which at that point was only about ten inches across. I hoped that like most drivers they would split the difference and move out a little.

The first one passed and nearly sent me off the road. He didn't move out at all. The wind was so strong that it I struggled to regain control. As I was attempting to straighten out, I realized the next truck was about to pass and I didn't have many options. I maintained my course on the "shoulder" and braced for the next impact, but he actually lined his tire up right on the white line and swiped right past me. There couldn't have been more than an inch between me and the side of the truck.

I swerved off the road and into the sandy material adjacent to the pavement. This is the worst type of material because the tire just cuts down into it and goes totally out of control. My front wheel twisted around and sent me and the bike straight into the ground. I took the entire weight of the fall in my left knee and wiped out.

My first reaction was to pick the bike up and look it over. Just as I was reviewing it for damage, I noticed the my leg was covered in blood. I grabbed one of my squirt bottles and sprayed off the excess to reveal an enourmous chunk missing from my skin. There were many smaller cuts and scrapes, but one in particular which looked like it was about a quarter inch deep and about as wide. The blood kept flowing and it didn't make sense to waste what litle water I had left, so I just got back up and kept moving. I was still twelve miles from the next trace of humanity, so I didn't have an other choice. And just to make matters worse, the next twelve miles happened to contain the two steepest hills in Nevada.

I figured I had a window of time before the pain really set in, so I moved as fast as I could. If it got too bad, I'd just walk the rest, but that could be even worse and would take all night. Luckily, the pain never really came and I was able to make it to the top and start my descent into Austin.

There aren't really any medical services out here and the town of Austin currently boasts a population of 340, so I had to think for a minute about my next move. I went to a quick shop to get drinks, and with my leg still bleeding asked the guy for some advice. He had some rubbing alcohol and tissues which I used to get things under control, but I was still in need of some more serious attention.

Just down the street there was a police station and I assumed they would have some sort of first aid materials. I went in and met the towns only police officer who took great care of me and wrapped everything up like a pro. I guess I can go set up camp now.

Camping in the city park for the night. I've got the whole place to myself and it's actually a pretty decent looking facility. I found a great spot where the sprinklers don't reach and I'm ready to hit the hay... Not literally this time.

Location:Austin, NV