After carousing around the town of Ely, NV, Mike and I grabbed dinner and were bedded down by 7:30. We awoke at 3:00 am in order to be out the door by 4:00. If I can somehow manage keep this frenetic schedule, I'll have no trouble adjusting back to life on the East Coast, in fact, I'll be an early-rising dynamo.
The problem with riding through the desert is that it's a land of extremes. At one moment, we freeze our derrieres off, the next our brains are frying like eggs inside our skulls, the occasional wasteful splash from a water bottle the only solace we know.
This morning, I wore several layers, but had no possible way of staying warm. Between the mile-high elevation and the complete lack of any heat-insulating cloud-cover, it was absolutely frigid. Tomorrow, we are gunning for a 3:30 wakeup, but I'm bringing out the big guns. I'm going to wear every layer of clothing I have.
Our 78-mile waterless ride today featured four significant climbs and, at times, fierce headwinds. What might have been two of the most glorious descents were completely and famously ruined by wind. I must admit that I feel slightly entitled after climbing a mountain pass to a few miles on the other side without so much as a pedal stroke, but you can't always get what you want. And US 50 isn't Santa Claus. That was a terrible line. Sorry.
Frankly, the past three days have been some of my favorite riding days in the entire tour, but the beauty and the tragedy of the desert is that it can turn its back on you in an instant. One small problem can be compounded by the heat, wind, exposure, cold, emptiness, et al. The absolute bare-bones truth of it is that you can't possibly be too careful. The temptation is to get cocky, enjoying these rides so much. But there's the rub: we must never forget the harshness and the inhospitality of the land.
Today, Ely to Eureka, 78-miles. Tomorrow, the world (or, more appropriately, Austin, NV).
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
