We Are Not Alone

The cause for a dearth of updates from me is a solitary one: I haven't been near a computer in three days. In fact I haven't really been near anything in three days.

I had a great time couch-surfing (crashing at a stranger's place; you get connected with said stranger via couch-surfing.com) in Cedar City, UT with a guy named Devon and his girlfriend, indicentally also called Devin. I was rather held up waiting for Mike from Manchester to arrive in Cedar City from Panguitch so we could depart on Monday morning. Well, I got a call from Mike on Sunday morning saying he wasn't going to go out of his way to Cedar City and that he was popping on over to Milford. If I could make it Sunday, that'd be great; if not, he'd wait for me in Milford.

I grabbed the laundry out of the dryer and raced out the door round noon. It was only 60 miles to Milford. Thanks to a brilliant tailwind, my speed didn't drop below 30 mph during the first half-hour. I absolutely flew. The wind was so utterly fierce and my legs felt so strong, I was really getting pumped. Best time I've made the entire ride. I rode the 60 miles, plus five detour miles to see some petroglyphs, in under three and a half hours. I absolutely nailed it.

And what a relief it was to meet up with Mike in Milford. Both of us were so jazzed to finally get some company through the emptiest stretches of road - we were really ecstatic. And for good reason. We had an 86-mile ride ahead of us on Monday with nary a drop of water the entire way. We had three mountain passes to climb, burning sun to deal with (it's been over 100 degrees F) and had to carry nearly 30 lbs. of water (2.2 lbs/liter/hour).

We awoke at 4:00 am to depart by five. It was, hands-down, one of my top-five favorite rides of the journey so far. I can't express to you what it feels like to summit one of these mountain passes, able to see a vast basin of oceanic proportions, flanked by another range of mountains, 20 miles away. No photograph (see below) can provide perspective on the size and distance we traversed. You might ride for 45 minutes and a notable point ahead scarcely moves.

We passed numerous cattle grates and signs for open range cattle country. The only cattle I saw were dead. And so, very nearly, was I when I said to Mike as we descended a mountain pass "I'm going to try to break my speed record." I tucked into the cyclist's aero-dynamic position, arms curled downward onto the drop-handlebars, rear-end sticking up in the air above my head. I wound up to nearly 45 mph, 44.2, in fact, when I ran over a cattle grate. My excessive speed had obscured it form my view. I flipped end over end and skidded along the pavement for about 15 yards, earning a heck of a strawberry. Ok, just checking to see if you were reading. I kept the bike upright, but it was a scary moment.

Absolutely brilliant day - beautiful views, joyful conversation, a killer ride. There's just no beating a day like that and we gained a new state and time zone to boot. Today we rode a similar, very hot, dusty, but fun, ride into Ely, Nevada. Tomorrow is the real crux of the desert, supposedly. A 78-mile, waterless ride to Eureka, NV, puncutated by several significant passes.

We will wake up at 3:00 am to ride by 4:00. It is, beyond questioning, the best time of day to travel: no traffic, cool air, beautiful sunrises, the quiet rustling of wildlife in the sagebrush beside us. The land here, as I said of canyon country in Utah, feels haunted, in habited. Though it is sparse, barren, whatever you want to say, there is life: antelope, elk, snakes, spiders, deer, coyotes, hares, mountain lions, god-knows-what-else. We are not alone.

By our estimation, Mike and I will cruise into the San Francisco Bay on August 29. Eight more days. But I will start celebrating after we climb the last pass.