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

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