Arrival

I think it was Gertrude Stein who once said, "When you get there, you realize there is no there, there."

I cycled into Durango, Colorado on July 25 about 1:30 in the afternoon under sunny skies and a gentle breeze. I had reached one of my goals. It was a great feeling to know that this ride has been a boon to possibility and taught me that I can ride almost anywhere. Although I have cycled long trips before, this was by far some of the most difficult terrain and the harshest conditions I have encountered as a cyclist.  Overall, it was a successful trip in that I arrived mostly unscathed and with most of my dignity in tact. There were days though when I felt hopeless and that failure was inevitable.  

I read a great story recently in Dirt Rag magazine about a guy who went to mountain bike in Bolivia. He was quickly defeated by the terrain and conditions. He threw in the towel on the ride and spent a few weeks traveling by bus around the country.

It seems to me we don't often see articles of this nature.  More often than not we read about successful adventures and winning races not blunders and races hopelessly lost. I found it refreshing to see in print someone giving in. 

So, does this constitute total failure? This is the question I grapple with myself. What does success look like? What is the true nature of failure?
Stay tuned. Thanks for reading.

Some thoughts on relationship with the land

     

Traveling across any vast landscape on our own power  allows us to enter into an intimate relationship with the land. It not only exposes us to the mercy of the forces of nature it also allows us a bounty of gifts. For me it invites contemplation. Contemplation is defined as "The act of looking thoughtfully at something for a long time".

Driving a car does not negate this. However, there is a clear separation and boundary between body, mind and spirit and the land itself in an automobile. By walking or cycling, the protective bubble is removed. Traveling under one's own power slows everything down. At 60 miles an hour, I would only get a glimpse of the countryside here and there. By physically making contact with the ground or even the road, I notice nuances. The sound of the wind, I hear birdsong and can visually follow their trajectory from tree to tree with my eyes. 

I am captivated by the wildness and unpredictability of the wind out here in the desert of southern Utah. There is not much I can do about it either if I want to continue my ride. It forces me to accept in no uncertain terms the consequences of choosing to ride.

A fellow cyclist and I were one day discussing how it's possible that the wind is more often than not coming from in front. So too does the terrain always seem more uphill than down. 

This phenomenon can be explained by some simple laws of physics. Pedaling uphill takes much longer as we work against gravity. The downhill sections though maybe sometimes longer in distance is covered quite quickly with less effort. Same for the wind at our backs. So much easier to pedal with a tail wind but we may arrive more quickly than if we were cycling into a head wind. With that kind of logic it is true that wherever you're going in Utah, it WILL be into a head wind.

The landscape is not static either. Even though I may not see it, there is a lot happening in any given second. The beauty of it lies not in the excitement of witnessing an Earth event,  which does happen from time to time but in the slow geologic passage of time. Infinitesimally small and barely visible to the naked eye. 

Why I Ride: Revisited

Early on before begining this ride, I posted why I was riding. I had a thousand and one reasons (excuses) not to ride and couldn't come up with a single reason why I should. 

That was nonsense. The real reason I ride is the people.

What follows are just some of the awesome folks I've met:

The first person was Jim Sweet in San Francisco. picked me up at thhe airport and hosted me for 3 days. Unfortunately, I don't have a photo. But he was a huge help in getting this party started. 

This is Rom. We met in the campground just outside Winters, California. Rom is originally from Venezuela and has bicycled all over the place. On this particular trip, he cycled from Argentina and was headed to Alaska. I asked him where he was going after Alaska and he said he didn't know but would figure it out once he got to Alaska.

In the flurry of trying to get out of San Francisco, I negelected to buy much food for the road. Rom was kind enough to share his pasta and cheese with me. Mac and cheese has since become a staple for me for dinner. I boil pasta and throw in chunks of whatever cheese I'm carrying. Don't need sauce, the cheese melts all by itself.... Mmmmmmmm...

Steve and Ginger. I met them when they offered to share their campsite at Pipi in California. Lovely people. I learned to play Dominoes or at least one of about 100 games one could play with Dominoes. They gave me a lift out of the camp ground with my bike the next day. It woud have been a hell of a climb out otherwise. 

Tim and Cathy Pinther. Cycling down from Carson Pass into Genoa, Nevada. I was looking for a cold drink late on a hot afternoon. They were enjoying a glass of wine after on the porch of the General Store after their own hike in the hills. We got to chatting and they ended up hosting me for two days at their beautiful home in Gardnerville. It was a real breath of fresh air in these days when many folks would consider bringing a stanger into their home outrageous. Well, here's to being outrageous. It's this kind of hospitality and kindness that can tone down the sharp edges of all the chaos the media likes to feed us.

These are three of the four kiddoes of the Pinther's blended family. What a cast of characters.

Dot and Lou. My neighbors at the Motel 6 in Ely, Nevada. They were 82 and 77 respectively. They haled from Vernal, Utah and said they came to Ely every now and again to "hunt rocks". Rock hounds we call them. They told stories about growing up on farms in northern Colorado and Utah. "Things aren't like they used to be. Kids. They want stuff handed to 'em..." They offered me a whiskey sour and a smoke. I declined. I got to thinking they probably were picking rocks but I think more like getting away from their families to smoke, drink and talk bawdy... I hope I'm as full of spit and vinnegar as they were when I'm in my 80s. Most of my friends think I'm well on my way...

Gary, Kevin, Jan, Eric and Bob. Eric, second from the right is an interpretive ranger at Great Basin National Park. Gary and Jan are his parents who were visiting from California. Eric gave us a great  tour of the Lehman Caves in the Park. I caught a ride up to the Bristelcone Pine Trail in the higher elevations. It was really nice to get out of the oppressive heat in the lower elevations.

Twin sisters Tabitha and Cheri Phillips manage and cook at the Lectrolux Cafe in Baker, Nevada.

One of the best burgers I had had thus far. Some very interesting art can be seen hanging from the ceiling.

Jess and her dad. Afteer the epic night ride from Baker Nevada into Utah, I started down Wah Wah Pass about two hours earlier than I should have. I was headed to Milford, Utah. It was cool and breezy at 6700 feet but clouds were building and I could hear thunder. When I arrived at the lowest point of the Wah Wah Valley, it was about 111 degrees and I got about 2 miles up the other side and just could not tolerate the heat. There had been cloud cover but the wind shifted and so did the clouds. All I heard was my brain screaming, "Get out of the sun!!!!" Lucky for me, there was one tree about 100 yards off the road. I left my bike and staggered over to the shade to lay down with one of my bottles of by now very hot water. The shade brought instant relief and I was going to wait until dark again. About 30 minutes went by when I heard this voice, "Hello"? I think. I don't really remember. 

As it turns out this father/daughter cycling team found it too hot and fairly dangerous to ride. They had rented a U Haul and were carrying their bikes all the way to Panguich. They offered me a ride which I took to Cedar City.

Devin. I was hanging out at The Grind cafe in Cedar City, drinking a rare coffee and reading emails. Mostly staying out of the heat. I was on my way out after about three hours and I spotted a loaded touring bike leaning against a tree near mine. I had to find the cyclist. I walked back in and he was pretty easy to spot. Funny that, pickng out the one other touring cyclist in a crowded cafe. He had that glow of someone happy and enjoying the freedom of the open road. We hung out that night and part of the next day.  Devin said that he liked sleeping in the dugouts of the baseball fields in all the towns he went through since leaving on a bicycle from Virginia Beach, Virginia for the west coast. He had a connection for a place for the night and I went with him to a friend's near the university. It was a great couple of relaxing days after the harsh Nevada desert.

In Escalante I met Charlie Martin and his two daughters, Maggie and Katie. Another father/ daughter trip. We got to chatting in the little cafe there in Escalante and Charlie was kind enough to buy my breakfast. We talked about travel and I was able to share some of my experiences. I'm not sure Charlie was too thrilled with the advice I was offering, such as after college take a gap year and find a service project in Africa or South America. I'm not sure I was helpful to Charlie or his daughters but it sure was a pleasant conversation.

And when I think about it, I realize that what I'm donig is in some ways (re)discovering America. We are such a diverse and great people. We don't always agree but that's what makes us at least in theory, a democracy.

Thank you to everyone mentioned and to those I have not recognized in this post abd to the folks I have not yet met.

Thanks for reading.  

Riding At Night

NIGHT RIDE ACROSS NEVADA AND UTAH

Riding solo across the American Southwest was truly remarkable and challenging.  Heading east from Ely I arrived in Baker, Nevada four days ago. This is home to Great Basin National Park. It was about as hot and dry as I ever want to experience. It’s been really hot for days.  The water I was carrying, if I had any left was usually hot enough to make soup by the end of the day. I rode up to the entrance of the park near 7200 feet about 1000 feet above town. I was thinking it had to be cooler higher up. I reasoned I would wait till it cooled. Locals said it was unseasonable to be so hot. Don't know what I was thinking it was early June in Nevada.

The Great Basin is a geographic region of North America. It is a contiguous series of mountain ranges and basins that run north to south. It encompasses most of Nevada, parts of California, Idaho and Oregon.  The mountains boast peaks of 10,000 + feet. The basins are often as low as 4,000 feet.

The national Park is one of the lower 48's most remote parks. That is the geographic name of the area I was currently cycling through. The park is home to 13,000+ foot Wheeler Peak. As well as one of four species of thousand year old Bristlecone Pines. To most people, the desert is harsh and devoid of life; a wasteland of nothingness and sand. It is in fact none of those things.  Myriad flora and fauna not only survive but thrive in that unlikely environment. I was hoping to survive with a modicum of grace.

I camped for three nights in one of the park's lesser populated campgrounds. As in I was the only one there. No potable water piped to a hydrant. I camped near the creek where it was considerably cooler. When I dropped the 1000 feet back to town it was still hot as blazes. I needed a way out of there that did not include cycling in 100 degree weather. I came up with a plan. I was going to ride at night. Not unheard of among cyclists.

I ate a hefty and tasty burger and chased it with a full quart of Gatorade mixed with water from the Electrolux Cafe.  The desert produces some interesting entrepreneurial marvels. I left Baker, Nevada with two gallons of water weighing sixteen pounds. There was a hundred miles of pavement to the next possibility of water. I was wondering if the benefits outweighed the cost. I set off at 6:00 PM eight miles west of the Utah state line heading east.

While it wasn't cooler, the sun had long since passed its zenith and it just felt less hot. This made a huge difference. I will never again underestimate the sun's ability to create or destroy.

I would be riding for about eight and a half hours with a moon though almost full, was obscured by clouds. The ambient light reflected on the barren hills and basins created a surrealistic landscape.  There was just enough light to see the road. The world I was now cycling through was so quiet it was unnerving.  I rode without my lights to save battery life. The next "town" was over one hundred miles from here.   I encountered four cars that night and I could see their headlights for miles.  Plenty of warning time to turn on my own headlight for safety sake. Some of the darkest skies in the contiguous United States can be found in the Great Basin. These are remote roads with very little traffic for many miles in any direction.  I'm sure I surprised more than one driver.

It had begun as a quiet evening. An hour after sunset the wind shifted. I was riding into a headwind. It can sometimes be quite loud. Over the course of the next few hours, it would let up for a minute or two and I could hear more than just the dull roar of wind. What I heard was a dead eerie silence or the high pitched radar of bats and yipping of coyotes. I try to imagine what the world sounded like before the introduction of combustion engines or electrical motors. Now we hear them all day every day and most folk take no notice. Well, I notice them and I dislike that noise. I observe in my mind how I feel cut off from the "real world" with the omnipresent noise of traffic. I’ve been known to wear earplugs on high volume roads just to cut the decibels down. My professional training is in wilderness therapy is grounded in eco-psychology. I wonder how this constant noise affects the brain and thus our consciousness. Most of us don't even think about it. I know quite a few people who are terribly uncomfortable with silence. If you have read this far, I invite you the reader to try something. Set your intent to listen for quiet.  If you're fortunate enough to find real silence focus your attention there. Once you have found total quiet, turn your attention inwards. How does the quiet affect mood, emotion or your thoughts?  Do the same around lots of noise. Compare them.

The visual experience of this night was just as eerie. The moon was somewhat obscured. As such there was little in the way of high contrast in the undulations of the landscape. But there existed some texture in the shadows. Shapes were silhouettes with little or no dimension. I had a difficult time noticing where and when I was cycling uphill. I was never sure if it was wind resistance or gravity. Downhill was pretty clear. It was like somebody turned on the fan and I wasn't working as hard. Because of this, I cycled over 2 lesser passes and didn't notice. It was hard to figure out distance travelled because I could not see a horizon from which to gauge.

I pulled off the road to investigate what looked like a homestead cabin in silhouette. It was a falling down shack with huge weeds and tall trees surrounded by a cyclone fence that had long since fallen in spots from disrepair.  It could have once been an old cattle station, a homestead, a stage stop or all three.  On closer inspection I could see paint peeling from a clapboard building that was quite dilapidated. Trash and beer cans recently deposited on the ground alongside heavy treaded tire tracks spoke volumes. Broken windows and a door hanging open on one hinge gave me the creeps. The whole scene reminded me of The Blair Witch Project. I felt spooked. I left rather quickly and in the light of my headlamp I could see several glowing pairs of eyes looking right at me. I’m generally not afraid of ghosts. One set of eyes was running toward me on the road. I thought at first, "antelope? No, the eyes are too low to the ground”. Then I thought "jackrabbits".  But their eyes are on the sides of their heads so it couldn’t be that. I came upon one sitting right in the middle of the road. My headlamp beam revealed huge canine ears. Then I saw the whole critter and it registered. Staring straight into my headlamp was a coyote puppy as curious about me as I was of it. We looked at each other for about ten seconds before it loped off to join it's three other siblings in the brush. I watched those glowing eyes watch me as I rode off into the night.

In the end, I gained two 6700 foot passes stopping finally at Wah Wah Pass in the Wah Wah Mountains. Yup that's what they're called.

I arrived at high pinyon-juniper forest and hung my hammock. These are old, sturdy junipers and pinyons. The Juniper is such a slow growing tree that any trunk more than 12" in diameter is in the range of a few hundred years old. Not a very scientific method I’ll admit but given all the variables it's close.

It was a tough but fascinating ride. My feelings and thoughts about the whole thing vacillated minute to minute. At times cursing the wind; thinking "THIS SUCKS!" to feeling exhilarated and in total unity with that harsh desert world.  The indigenous people who lived out here had to be tough and creative. Their lives were shaped by the environment in which they lived. Technology was limited to raw materials at hand. Bailing wire and duct tape had not yet been invented. Evidence indicates ancestors that went back a few thousand years. They would have developed strong emotional and spiritual ties to this place. With time, I would too. I have a great deal of admiration for the early American pioneers and settlers as well. They also managed to survive through perseverance and innovation.

I am not a pioneer in the historical sense, or an indigenous North American. But this ride served as a great opportunity to call on my own grit and determination.  I'm just passing through these parts experiencing a bike ride like no other.  I’m heading to the next "watering hole".

Thanks for reading...