Shock and Awe

Mike and I cycled the 70-odd miles from Eureka, NV to Austin, NV another stretch of desert unfurled behind us, notched into the belt, crossed off the to-do list for good. It was a fine little town where I spent a few hours trying to find a computer from which to update the blog to no avail. During my sleuthing, I talked to the local townspeople so much, I got the story, from their peers, of how nearly each and everyone of them wound up in Eureka and what their deal was. Fascinating.

The next morning, we slept in until 4:00, shoved off at 5:00 and had an ordinary ride other than three ominous events: Mike got a flat tire; I noticed that the tread was gradually falling off of my tires, exposing the kevlar protective layer (I'm getting very nervous - they should have lasted much longer than this). Our only service stop, a gas station 50 miles outside of town, had burned to the ground two weeks before. Oh, well.

As we changed Mike's flat, we heard a rumble beneath our feet. It sounded like a distant explosion. "Perhaps a mine. Or the military," we agreed.

We pressed on toward Middlegate, but when we arrived it was only two buildings, a hotel and a bar. Mike didn't want to ride another mile. I was reluctant to stop so soon, as it was only 1:00 pm. After we had gone inside and cooled off it didn't take much to convince me to stop, what with record temperatures and all. It wound up being one of the best stops on the whole tour. For one thing, the folks at the bar were extremely friendly. For another, we enjoyed a cold drink than baking for another 50 miles out in the 100-F-plus heat.

The bartender cooked us delicious steak sandwiches, which we heartily tucked into, but then she disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a sly grin. "Want to see something cool?" she asked.

We couldn't refuse. "C'mon," she said and took us outside to the back. About 15 feet up in the air, perched on a branch, was an immense owl, I think a Great Horned Owl. I have never seen such a regal bird up close. His immense, piercing eyes seemed to have a look about them, saying "I know something you don't know. I know the desert, every rock and sage and where every rodent-hole lies and where every coyote keeps his den. You'll never know the desert like I do." Awesome.

The bar was full of military guys, as we were right near the Naval Air Station (something like 90% of Nevada is federally-owned land). We asked them about the explosions we had heard earlier in the day and they said they had been testing weapons. "We'll be going out again this evening," one of them said. "You can watch from US 50, probably 5-7 miles west of here. The first bombs will fall at 5:55."

Well, the bartender decided to loan us her car, which was very kind of her, so we went out to watch the show. And it was absolutely arresting. Right as we pulled off the road near the spot that the pilot had described, we heard the roar of a fighter jet, an F/A 18 Hornet, and saw a fiery streak in the distance with a small mushroom-shaped dustcloud emanating from the crater. The report was awesome. I glanced at my watch - 5:55.

We watched the bombing for nearly an hour, the jets deadly-accurate with each pass, pummeling the target, maneuvering outward, making low passes, high dives, hot-dog flying. If there is a mighty force in the desert, other than the desert itself, it is the United States military. Shock and awe. "Between the owl and the bombs, this has been one of the best stops," Mike and I agreed.

This morning, we ambled into Fallon, NV, where we breakfasted and geared up for errands. (Still haven't been able to locate the bike shop for new tires). We will either rest here or ride on to Genoa in the morning to prepare for the last climb of the entire journey, Carson's Pass, our route over the Sierra Nevada. 316.5 miles remaining. Four days.