Gunning for the usual 5:00 a.m. departure, Mike and I cycled out of Fallon, NV this morning, our brains completely shaken and rattled at the urban sprawl. We're not even in the Sacramento Valley yet. Apart from today being the first day of school in the area and accordingly frenetic, the traffic was generally maddening and unrelenting.

We had a grand time in Fallon on our rest day, eating at the same restaurant for every meal, watching people pump quarters into slot machines, going to see action movies at the theater and obsessing over the 61-mile pull to Carson City on my dangerous tires.

Well, the tires made it. Not exactly with style, grace or aplomb, but the tires made it. We got squared away at the bike shop and lit out for our intended destination, Genoa, NV. It turned out to be a cute little tourist town, allegedly the site of the very first settlement in Nevada, although I'm not sure why it's on this side of the state, apart from the obvious reasons: there's nothing else anywhere in the whole state, no desert oasis to run to. And Genoa is really a genuinely nice place; nestled at the base of the Sierra Nevada, there are beautiful wildflowers, sunflowers, frolicking deer (one of which we observed crapping on someone's lawn this afternoon) and friendly bears that wander down to see what's for supper.

If I ever write a full-length account of my travels across this land by bicycle, I'll fill you in on the details of my accommodations; for now, I'll spare you. Either way, tomorrow morning we will cross into the last state, California, and begin our climb of the last mountain pass on the entire journey, Carson's Pass. It, however, is a real bruiser, so no time to celebrate now. I'll write you from Fair Play, Placerville or Sacramento. Wherever.

Regards,
John