Day 14: August 24th, 2008 – Beam Me Up, Feed Me, and Drop Me in Frisco

Middlegate --> Carson City



In my mind Middlegate had become the edge of civilization but when I had arrived the night before I realized that it was yet another oasis. I still had quite a bit of riding before Fallon and even more to Carson City and into California. Looking back on my ride I realize now that Nevada was some of the most memorable and awesome riding, but at the time I was so ready to be rid of the state. I damned it every morning and every night. After the first few miles across the Utah/Neva border I felt that I had seen it all, but all the discomforts of the state continued to reappear; like that political ad that you’ve seen a million times after the first was too much to start with. Although, if it wasn’t for the difficulties of the trip I wouldn’t have anything to remember except for nice views and funny people, which I could have easily experienced in fifteen minutes at a coffee shop in the Springs rather than a 17 day interstate bike adventure. That being said, Nevada wasn’t planning on letting me leave without a fight.


After leaving Middlegate I rode through several military installations which made sense due to the amount of Naval Pilots that had frequented the bar I had slept outside the night before. I actually wasn’t too far from the infamous Area-51 either…. You better believe that the night before, sleeping beside a shed in nowhere Nevada, I kept my eyes on the sky and cheeks a little tighter than normal. In fact this area had so much air traffic, worldly or intergalactic, that the sandy embankments along the rode were covered in messages written in the small lava rocks that were scattered throughout the landscape. Mostly things like; “Hank loves Lauren” or “Rock and Betty forever” but occasionally you’d get a “take me with you” or “Beam me up”. It had become easy to understand how a person living in these conditions might feel inclined to say that an extraterrestrial plucked them up and probed places that even humans won’t go unless they have a M.D. Regardless, the writings continued for many miles and entertained me long enough to bring me much closer to Fallon.

There were other sights to see thought; Sand Mountain stood shining in the distance for miles. It was a solitary 600-700 foot hill of pure sugar like sand. It gleamed in the Nevada sun like a million mirrors, so much so that every few seconds I looked at it brought another drop of moisture to my eyes. I would have stopped to play upon its slopes but nearly a year before I had spent days exploring the Great Sand Dunes at the foot of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. So I pushed on towards Fallon only to be stopped by yet another natural wonder. The valley floor became increasingly white until the land around me looked to have been bleached. I slowed to examine the wonder and soon found myself with a handful of the strange earth contemplating consumption. My mind had a theory that my taste confirmed, I was riding through and enormous salt flat. Everyday table salt covered the ground like a soft winter snow. I had already partaken of this salt flat the day before but in a much more domestic environment, I had salted my fries at the Austin Diner with a shaker boasting their delicious desert resource outside Fallon.

Well, between the flats and Fallon I ran into very little than interested me besides a serious greening of the landscape and quite a few non shoe covered trees. I stopped at the first enormous gas station I could find to refuel; Mountain Dew, corndogs, and of course a half gallon of milk. I made some victorious calls back home to proclaim that I had nearly conquered my third and most brutal adversary…I mean state. In this conversation ‘nearly’ was the word that I overlooked. I had tremendous luck as I crossed the state, I had managed to somehow avoid the terrible western winds that dominated forecasts but had been absent in recent days…. until now. From Fallon to Carson City I faced a head wind so strong that should I have a hesitation in effort my bike would slow to a point that threatened tipping, which I almost welcomed because it would end the constant struggle.

Through pure effort and constant attrition I managed to reach Carson City, The largest city in my travels thus far. It was early in the day but the wind had destroyed me, and so I found myself in the comforting glow of a Dairy Queen sign. I ate a selection of the menu while I tried to decide what to do with myself for the night. I had ridden deep into Carson City and I didn’t favor the idea of riding back out into the country to camp, so I sent myself up at a hotel right off the main drag in Carson City, a rather sleazy area of town full of casinos and unsavory looking women on street corners.

After I settled into my room I thought about trying my luck at the blackjack table, but instead decided to sit down and watch some Olympics so I wasn’t completely out of the loop when I arrived at the Training Center in a few days. Of the three nights I stayed in hotels along the way I can say only that I felt rather uncomfortable with the ease of my surroundings, I even slept in my bag. I did enjoy the showers though, but I cringed at having to cover my clean skin immediately with sunscreen in the wee hours of the morning. The amenities of the hotel were nice but the thought of entering the Golden State in the morning was enough to send me to bed with a smile.
Day: 116.69 mi
Total: 1427.33 mi
Elev. Climbed: 1400 ft
Elev. Difference: 100 ft

Day 13: August 23rd, 2008 – The Burning Man with a Badass Tan

Eureka, NV --> Middlegate, NV

SO I set off from Eureka at the break of dawn in order to avoid being arrested for sleeping in Historical Site #22, also there was more vast nothingness in front of me that I wanted to span before nightfall. Roughly 150 miles of it. So after a gas station breakfast burrito and a half gallon of milk I rode.

I continued to dominate basin and range over and over again until at the top of one of these summits I met Burning Man Dan the AU fan. I was standing half naked in the scorching midday heat of the top of a climb when Dan’s truck and trailer stopped. He greeted me with, “Hello Stranger, would you like a Coke”.

Now, the best part about my journey was that I was never in the position to refuse a favor. People offered and I accepted. So very often in my life I have rejected favors and gifts out of no other reason than pride, but my need taught me the beauty of my self inflicted dependence. In the middle of my solo self sufficient adventure I had found, then more than ever, I was relying upon generosity and pure kindness of strangers. It was a beautiful thing and has changed my paradigm forever. When all that we have is gifted to us what is our not to give back…..?absolutely nothing!

Well Dan’s apple and Coke did much for me, but it was his character that really got me going. Dan had driven all the way from Birmingham for the Burning Man festival in a desert North of Reno, Nevada. The way Dan described it, Burning Man was an experience abounding in drugs, nudity, art, and expression of all types. He was fascinated with my ride and my story all together, which he insisted on hearing every detail of. In fact, I’m not sure I knew I had a story before talking to Dan, he just kept asking why until I ran out of answers and had come to my End and my Means all in one. After telling my story Dan promptly told me about his daughter who was attending Auburn University. Dan was trying to set up a date for the two of us until I reminded him of two things. 1. I had never met his daughter and was thousands of miles away from her, and 2. I was a Georgia Fan…….Dan took a few photos of me with my bike and then I headed down into another basin.

After making it over a few more summits I had arrived in Austin, Nevada, a small burg of no more than 500 residents. I stopped in Austin Dinner for a burger and a cold drink. It was so scorching outside that even the air flowing out of the kitchen felt blissfully cool to me. After the burger I talked shop with some touring motorcyclists outside. Not only did they treat me like one of the boys, I was nearly elected bike gang leader. I answered dozen’s of questions about my ‘rig’ and the details of my ride. I grabbed some soft serve to go and rode down the main strip while eating my ice cream until a young woman ran out in from of my bike with a camera and a smile. When I lurched to a stop she asked me how the descent into Austin was. (The incline of the area was grueling and she knew that I must have headed into town in on my horse). Annie kept touching my face, arms, and chest as she asked about my ride. Her dad Laurence even joined in on the fun. I already thought they were odd until they told me what they had been up to; Laurence had taken Annie to a brothel the night before in Ely to be serviced...... both of them! Talk about a close father daughter relationship. Like everyone else that day, they were on their way to Burning Man. They videotaped me for a few minutes as I road when they passed me later on in the day... Annie was on Acid... they were from Memphis….just another reason why MEMPHIS is not part of Tennessee.

I rode into the desert hoping to make it to civilization by nightfall. The desert around Austin was perhaps one of the most unwelcoming areas of the entire trip so I rode like hell continuing directly along the route of the ole Pony Express. I was in a great mood considering riding had become some what of a piece of cake in the recent days. I had trained myself into shape and was a lean and fit tourist who needed only a mechanically sound bike and lots of calories to make it anywhere in the country in grand style. I sang while I rode, realizing only later than I had made up more words than I remembered. I formed alternate versions of the hits of almost every genre. Wagon Wheel, by Old Crow Medicine Show, was a particular favorite. While singing I thought about friends back home and my family. I thought for hours about friends I hadn’t spoken to in years and some that I still see every day. Memory is an amazing thing; I recalled entire conversations of no real significance from ten years past as well as images dating back to the cradle. Some time to think can be a wonderful thing.

Maybe 25 miles out of Middlegate I ran upon a goat hunt in full swing. A man crossed the road with a rifle in his hand and the handlebars of a four wheeler in the other. He was firing at the goat as if he was Yosemite Sam. I had to slow down to stay behind the man and out of his ever-changing line of fire. He disappeared into the desert as quickly as he came right at the rubble that marked the last remaining remnants of an adobe Pony Express station changeover.

Pulling into Middlegate I saw one of the most ridiculous sights of the journey, a tree. This wasn’t just any tree though; it was the first tree along Highway 50 for 150 miles! It was large and beautiful and stood with a type of pride that echoed its situation of solitude, but none of these things made the tree what it was. They say you can tell the nature of a man by the type of shoes he wears, well what about a tree. This tree wore every type of shoe; sneakers, high tops, low tops, basketball shoes, track spikes, keds, flip flops, hiking boots, and even the occasional pair of black pumps. Hanging from its branches were thousands of pairs of shoes.

Legend has it that the first pair of shoes was thrown up by a pair of feuding newlyweds who returned upon the birth of their first child to throw another pair up in a gesture of good luck for their new family. I like that story but figure it just as likely that the tree is just as easily a marker for a large crack house nearby. Either way you tell it, the Shoe Tree, as it is so creatively named, is something to behold and the next time you are driving through Middlegate, NV (probably never) you should stop and take it in.

A few hundred yards from the notorious tree is the town of Middlegate, and by town I mean a bar/campground/hostel/restaurant/general store/gas station with a year round population of three. The bartender/shop keep/ mechanic is married to the waitress/cook/innkeeper and they run the entire town. A great and happy couple, they really made me feel at home with a warm meal and a few cold beers, they even let me pitch tent in clearing behind the bar. The third resident of the town was a funny ole dude who played a very amateur style method of guitar for free beer and the occasional round of applause from all the transient guests. I ran into the goat hunter I saw earlier, and was regaled with the stories of the hunt. I never knew goat hunting could be such an epic adventure….

The bar keep let me use his family computer in the back to check my email. I cannot describe how odd being in front of a computer feels after being on the road as long as I had been. After I finished up inside I headed out to the back to set up tent and get some sleep. It was a very interesting day and going to bed that night I had a feeling that I would never have another like it.

Day: 135.8 mi
Total: 1310.64 mi
Elev. Climbed: 3900 ft
Elev. Difference: -2300 ft

Day 12: August 22nd, 2008 – Spaniard Effect to Eureka Historical Site #22

Baker, NV --> Eureka, NV

I woke to the sight of a middle aged lady with dirty blonde hair standing over me. I thought all my nights of squatting had caught up with me and that she was there to get me off her property, but then I remembered that I had stayed in Kelly’s camping ground. Then she spoke up and asked if I wanted to share breakfast with her and her husband Rober (a very mellow and philosophical Frenchman that would make for an awesome traveling companion), when I smelled her coffee brewing nearby I knew I couldn’t refuse such and offer. Catherine and Rober were traveling cross country in their Prius from New Hampshire to just south of Yosemite.


Catherine handed me a tin cup of steaming coffee, and proceeded to tell me about her son who a just ridden the Northern Tier (a route spanning America which travels through Maine, Michigan, the Dakotas, Montana, Oregon and such). We talked about my difficulties and also some of her son’s. He was a Vegan and managed to stay true throughout the whole trip, a far cry from Dave, the Chef Boyardee eating Transamerica traveler I had met a few days before. Catherine said he made it through almost primarily on peanut butter which, trust me on this, does not taste good when cotton mouth is the standard. While explaining my adventure to Rober and Catherine, their poodle named Alfred was roping my legs up with his leash. This eventually caused me to slightly stumble spilling hot coffee all over Alfred’s white fur….. After continued yelping from Alfred, we all recovered from the incident and continued to shoot the breeze for the remaining minutes of daybreak. After a sweet ham and cheese omelet sandwich from their camp stove, I bid Catherine and Rober goodbye and headed out the notorious Highway 50 for some on the bike me time.


On H-50 I rolled steadily up a gentile incline for about 40 miles and gained a surprising amount of elevation till it all dropped off into a basin. I peaked over 50 mph again and was amazed to see motorcyclists and cars passing me at only a few miles an hour more than my own pace. I had enough time to look into their cars and make funny faces at kids or give a challenging looks to the drivers. But eventually I hit the basin bottom and became thirsty due to the heat in the lowlands and the challenging riding.


I stopped at Majors Junction Bar in the middle of the next ridge climb. It was the only business in about 30 more miles and I needed re-supply ASAP, but their prices were inflated 3 times the normal rate because they knew they were the only service for miles. So I shelled out nearly fifteen dollars for two iced teas and a beer. The walls were coated with thousands of dollar bills that people had written their names and motto’s on and pinned to the walls. I sat next to some bikers that had passed me earlier and who after several minutes of gawking at me approached to as how fast I had gone on my bike when they saw me earlier. I let them know that I had hit 55 mph that morning; they couldn’t believe it, one even questioned if a wheel so skimpy could hold under the force I was suggesting. After a while I told them if they were so impressed they could buy me another beer but if not I had to hit the road…. I was back on the pavement moments later.


I pulled into Ely (pronounced E-lee) around 4:00 and stopped for some Subway, Mountain Dew, and also I made some calls back to Pueblo, Nashville, and Athens. After I finished screwing around it was already 5:30 and I had less than two hours of light left. Ely was a sweet town but at this point in the venture I had become able and rather ambitious, so I left town at 5:00 with more than 80 miles of emptiness in front of me as well a four large climbs….Eureka was a day away but I wanted it that night!


This situation creates a certain amount of excitement. Imagine the movie Gladiator, when he finds out that his family is doomed to be murdered he works beyond his potential to make it home before they are killed, racing the sun as if his life depended upon it. Well this sounds a little intense but that’s about the closest thing to how I felt riding into 80 miles of nothing with little supplies at almost 6:00 PM. I absolutely hauled as fast as I could, not touching the ground once in 50 miles. I sped over several 2000 foot climbs and rode even faster into the basins that followed them.


Darkness fell halfway through the third climb so I clipped on my light and rode in cadence to the strobe of the headlight. Every once in a while it would flash to reveal a buck in the road, a large desert rodent, or one of many snakes that populate the roads at night to collect the warmth of the day’s heat deposited into the asphalt, one of many reasons I wasn’t keen on sleeping on the side of the road that night. I hadn’t seen a car in hours and I was glad of it because in this sort of territory you could make someone disappear if you wished. I was hell-bent to reach Eureka just over Pinto Summit at 7,351 ft. My cadence only quickened and by the time I reached the summit of Pinto I was absolutely spent. I rolled the additional few miles into Eureka (pop 650) and wasn’t surprised to see the classic old west town closed for the night. I found a historical landmark building about a block off of Main Street that was abandoned due to a fire in the upstairs. It was being renovated and had some insulation for me to sleep on so I made the second floor of Eureka Historical Site #22 my home for the night.

Day: 153.55 mi
Total: 1174.84 mi
Elev. Climbed: 7300 ft
Elev. Difference: 1600 ft

Day 11: August 21st, 2008 – Basin and Range, Basin and Range, Biking with Rage

Cedar City --> Baker

Each night I slept in a hotel I always lingered far too long in the morning, and this morning was no different. I got out of Cedar City late after picking up a camera at the post office that Dad had mailed to me as a general delivery. Luckily a tailwind pushed me quickly out to Minersville. Surprisingly I had been riding for eleven days and hadn’t seen one other person touring until a few miles out of Cedar City where I ran into a Swedish couple rocking a tandem into the strong headwind. We stopped and shared stories for a bit. They had left from San Francisco about the time I had left Pueblo and were having a great time on their adventure together. They planned on renting a car in Cedar City and Driving down to the Grand Canyon and continuing their trek to Washington D.C. from there. They warned me about the vastness of Nevada and also told me they had been leapfrogging a disheartened young biker named Dave for days, which I ran into about thirty minutes later.

Dave had just dropped out of college in San Hose and was undertaking a cross country tour from San Francisco to Virginia Beach in order to “discover some things about himself”. It was pretty early in the day to be as dismayed as he was, but then again he was facing a nasty headwind and seeing me cruise up at 35 mph to his 8 could not have been encouraging. The cans of ravioli and jugs of Hawaiian Punch strapped randomly to the frame of his bike suggested that maybe Dave hadn’t thought out his trek as well as one would expect.

In talking to Dave I finally concluded that I was actually very well prepared for my undertaking. I had planned well and I was thoroughly equipped and traveled very lightly, but more than anything else I realized that I had an incredibly good disposition for such a venture. Although I struggled greatly at some moments, I never once questioned my goals, motives, or resolve. In our short conversation on the side of the road Dave revealed to me serious doubts and weaknesses multiple times. I appreciated his honesty, but I was concerned that his own acceptance of his shortcomings was setting him up for failure both on the bike and in his life. I only offer this insight into Dave because in a 10 minute conversation with the kid I had heard his life story and all of his hearts woes. Then again I have to give the kid credit for challenging himself like he did. My guess is that he is still riding even now in October…… hopefully he has dropped the canned goods for some lightweight ramen!

I stopped in Minersville for a corn dog and planned to leave quickly but the double lane highway 129 that lead me out of town spontaneously turned to gravel and dirt about 20 miles out. The construction and road closure was mentioned on a scrap of paper I later found in the envelope my maps had been mailed to me in…. (In my car in Pueblo). I was forced to take a detour through various farm access roads to make it to highway 21, which I could see from 129 because it was on a neighboring plateau. After roughly an hour of pot hole humping I made it to 21 and flew outa town on the smooth pavement.

On the way out of the next town, heading into a 90 mile stretch of nothing at 3pm, I ran into another bike tourist. Bryan had his head on much straighter than Dave. He was riding across Nevada and Utah on the same route I was taking. He warned me that there was absolutely nothing for a very long distance ahead, but agreed that I would have no problem camping in the bush off the road. He also warned of the climbing challenges to come.

Basin and Range is a geographic feature found throughout most of Nevada. Like the crests and troughs of waves traveling outward from a stone dropped in water, the ranges and basins of Nevada rippled out from Cedar City, Utah to the Sierras outlining the east border of California. This geography makes for incredibly steep accents and equally steep decents, but most trying of all was the deceptive nature of the basins.

I entered one particular valley between two ranges and saw a ranch, but considering I was in Utah it could also be called a compound, on the other side on the valley floor. As I rode through the heat on the incredibly straight highway that connected the two ranges, I prayed that when I reached the ranch a hoard of polygamist wives would be sent out by their husband to welcome me and bring me a motor for my bike, painkillers, and food! Rather than gifts from Mormon radicals, all I received from that valley was a worn out old soccer T-shirt I found on the side of the road which I am wearing as I write this entry. When I finally reached the ranch I realized that it was actually closer to the side of the valley I had originally started on. Perceptions are very warped when you can see 30 miles of road laid out in a straight line ahead of you.

As I rode the waves of western Utah the sun disappeared behind the clouds and then next behind the mountains and soon even their ambient light was gone and I was left in absolute darkness. I was 30 miles away from my goal of the little burg of Baker and there was only the light of the stars and my tiny led headlight to guide my way. Luckily the stars were magnificent.

When Amir and I were about 13 and 16 our parents took us up to Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming. One night staying at the Old Faithful Lodge in the park, the whole family walked out to the famed geyser to stargaze. Some stars were so large and bright that they appeared to burn holes in the dark fabric of the night, while others formed clouds out of theses points of light so dense and glowing that they seemed to warm the chill of the night. It was the first time I saw the Milky Way and also my first true shooting star, and since it has been the celestial standard of the Abtahi family. That night is so steeped in majesty for our family that each time we remember it together that stars become brighter and our awe expands. If that night years ago has an equal I had found it near the border of Utah and Nevada. The Milky Way was so clear and dense that I felt I was riding along its path. For the first time in my life I saw colors in the night sky, not just the rosy haze of a Mars or Jupiter, but a real array of colors clustered so closely that they made something indescribable together, to be enjoyed by something as small as myself in another time and certainly in another place.

After about of hour of riding in the dark in a land that inspired multiple episodes of The Twilight Zone, I finally crossed the border into Nevada. At that point I was only about 8 miles from Baker so I rode with the quickness into town. The first sign of civilization in Baker was a solitary gas pump standing alone in a lot with only the glow of a coke machine to attract customers to the pump. I had been out of water for quite a while so I scrambled to the machine and slid in a dollar and slammed the mountain dew button………nothing. I swore at the machine for a few minutes then decided to see what other luck Baker, a town about the size of a football field, had to offer me. But once again my incredible luck struck, I found a bar/ camping ground that was open. The bartender was a sweet old dude named Kelly,….go figure Mulloy, who assured me that he’d be open to about 4am tending to the drinking habits of his regulars. So I set up camp under a tree along a creek, and after 146 miles of riding I drank a few well deserved brews.

Day: 146.05 mi

Total: 1031.29 mi

Elev. Climbed: 4900 ft

Elev. Difference: -300 ft

Elev. Peak: 6500 ft

Day 10: August 20th, 2008 – A Good Guess is Always West

Cannonville --> Cedar City

The next time you drive over a bridge and see the artifacts of transients strewn around its underside, don’t pity the ‘Trolls’ beneath for their lack of conventional shelter. Bridges are the Ritz-Carlton of the transient world and ‘Trolls’ the upper crust of roaming society. My bridge in Cannonville offered absolute privacy, sturdy shelter, a soft dry creek bed for a mattress, and even the occasional hum of a gentle lullaby provided by the cars above.

My night’s rest was disturbed only by my worry about the broken load. I had packed extra screws but I carelessly returned them to Nashville in a package my second day. I was intent on ridding myself of every gram of extra weight and apparently a few critical grams as well. When I woke, I rigged the rack to the wheel stays in such a way that they would take me no further than nearby Tropic outside of Brice Canyon. Every mile or so between Cannonville and Tropic I had to stop to repair a broken zip tie or wish my load back onto the bike.

I reached Tropic at 7:15 AM and was pleased to see an Ace Hardware that had opened only two days before, my luck continued. The Ace didn’t open till 8:00 and I was fairly hungry so I moved down the complex, which contained all of the town’s stores in one 100 meter cluster, and found a nice little place for breakfast. I sat and was waited upon by a nice young lady who for whatever reason, probably that living in a town of 200 people leaves you with few romantic outlets, was coming on to me….. a guy who had woken from under a bridge only an hour before and who looked the part to boot!

I got to chatting with Miss Ukraine and we subsequently went over my story down to the very last detail of why I was in her Café at 7 AM looking like hell. I told her I was waiting for the Ace to open so I could “Swipe a screw” and upon hearing that statement she gave a mischievous smile and called out to her mother who was waiting another table; “Di ya hear that Ma? This boy’s gonna swipe a screw from the Ace.” I realized something was up and asked if her mother owned the Ace while also explaining that my jargon simply meant that I planned to buy a screw rather than steal one. Miss Ukraine explained to me that the whole complex, which constituted 80 percent of the town, was owned by her parents. So for the rest of my breakfast I got sarcastic sass about my would be sticky fingers, but I always repaid the joshing by addressing her as Princess Ukraine of Tropic. Needless to say I got my screws and fixed the bike up right.

I rode cameraless through the wonders of Bryce Canyon National Park towards the Red Canyon bicycle trail. The magnificent colors of Bryce are unmatched elsewhere in the world. Created by the deposits of an ancient sea, the Hoo Doo spires that fill the park are simultaneously mesmerizing and perplexing. Halfway through the park I ran into the Belgian couple again! It had been two days since I last saw them! I ragged them for being the slowest tourists in the country but they insisted that I was just too fast. Like I said before, we bid farwell to each other yet again in a way that suggested that we might meet again. I’m still waiting…….

The Red Canyon trail stretched through miles of outcroppings worthy of a National Park designation but instead were left for sweet recreational opportunities like the bike trail that rolled through land usually reserved for “Revegitation” or “Restoration”. After rolling down into Panguitch, I faced a 4000 foot climb to Brian’s Head (10,500 ft) and then a monumental decent into Cedar City. The climb was every bit as grueling as it was daunting. The road did not hide the seriousness of the climb behind the bend in the road, rather every segment was straight up and straight ahead leaving no hope of level ground in sight. The wind was strong and unpredictable. At one point I felt has it I had a linebacker on my back pushing me uphill then and instant later the force had changed directions and nearly knocked me to the ground by lifting my front tire slightly off the ground.

I stopped at The Burger Barn at Panguitch Lake where a sign read; “Calories don’t matter above 10,000 feet….. your elevation 10,010 ft.” I took advantage of the situation and ordered a huge polish sausage and chili cheese fries. While I ate the air was filled with hummingbirds zipping back and forth, sometimes nearly intersecting their flight path with my face. The French tourist were videotaping them endlessly like they had never seen them before (because they haven’t, they only reside on the American Continent), just another reason France stinks.

At the top of the climb lay the Cedar Breaks National Monument, another dazzling spectacle that defies explanation (or at least an adequate one). The Breaks are a fiery display of red, orange, white, and yellow sheer rock cliffs that form multiple 2000 feet deep bowls facing west toward Cedar City. From the Breaks, I descended 4500 ft in a matter of about 20 miles reaching over 50 mph for the first time on the trip and averaging around 45 mph for the entire decent…..it was a blast! Cedar City was pretty large and didn’t have any camping so I set up in a cheap motel and walked to Lucky Chinese Buffet to reward myself for putting half the trips distance behind me. While stuffing my face, I called my folks.

Up until this point the only destination information I had given my parents was for lack of a better description…west. Initially I had told them I intended to head a few hundred miles west to around Gunnison and the San Juan Range (6 days ago). Each night I would call and tell the folks that the next morning I planned on heading further west. This was for their sanity not mine, it was incredibly difficult not to spill the beans but I had enough doubt in my head as it was without hearing the dangers of the trip reiterated to me over the phone. So after stringing them on for far too long I broke the news.

Me: Where do you think I’m headed?

Mom: I don’t know where you’re going? Please tell us?

Me: You’ve been following me on the map, connect the dots, where is it leading?

It seemed obvious to me the dots pointed to Frisco but then again my entire existence pointed me there. Frisco was the only solution to the equation I had set out for myself. If you’re on a bike in the middle of nowhere all you need is a destination, and I had it, even if that’s all I had.

Mom: We don’t know ……..(long pause while I was thinking how to actually say it)

Me: I’m…….I’m riding to San Francisco……….. (Absolute silence)

Day: 95.53 mi

Total: 885.24 mi

Elev. Climbed: 5800 ft

Elev. Difference: 0 ft

Elev. Peak: 10600 ft

Day 9: August 19th, 2008 – Showers Best If Taken Unlawfully

Torrey --> Cannonville (6 miles west of Henrieville)

After eight days of riding, so many gallons of sweat had passed through my clothes that I nearly considered them washed. I thought I smelled fine, but in a phone call back home to Mom, she reminded me that perhaps I was like that stinky kid at school who was either oblivious or indifferent to his stank……... Oh the insight of a first grade teacher! Just in case, I decided to wash my clothes at the campground. In an effort to be thorough, I put every item of clothing I had in the wash, including the clothes off my back and the underwear off my saddle sore butt (I guarantee you would do the same if you only had two pairs of underpants and only one chance to wash them every week and a half…..) For the next hour and a half I strolled around the campground wearing nothing but a 2 ft X 3 ft, paper thin, blue, packlite towel that could easily squeeze into a clinched fist, much like a handkerchief in the hand of a magician. And to top off my new style, this particular Tuesday morning in Torrey happened to be the windiest on record. All in all, the inhabitants of Sand Creek Hostel and Campground were getting quite a show that morning.





Utah is not flat! I crested over a 9500 foot pass as I rode south towards Boulder and Escalante. I climbed out of the dessert and into an alpine paradise no different than what I experienced in high Colorado save the red, white, and orange rocks that made the valley floor. From the top of the climb I could see the entire rim of Capitol Reef N.P. Some parts of the climb exceeded a 14 percent grade and were certainly no fun until the ride down.



The descent took me onto a 6 mile stretch of road affectionately called The Hogback; it starts at the intersection of The Devil’s Backbone….. The Hogback is a poorly conceived excellently built strip of pavement that runs the rim of a narrow rock formation that separates two canyons that lead into Escalante. The two lane road is essentially one lane with double yellows painted down the middle. Any one of the foreign tourists need only to forget which side of the road he belonged on and I’d be freefalling for about 10 seconds while by body and bike plummeted 2500 ft to the canyon floor. So it was fair to say I rode swiftly and defensively into Escalante sometimes hitting speeds approaching 50 mph and always outlining the commanding abyss with the blacks of my tires. This was the most fun I’ve had since pee wee football!



The confines of the bike created days of one on one time with myself. Most of this time I spent thinking about something worthwhile, but on the climb out of Escalante Grand Staircase N. M. I had convinced myself that somewhere ahead on my route there was an ice cream truck that had run out of gas. In this fantasy, the truck driver ran up to my bike and begged me to join him in the refrigerated interior of his trailer to consume scores of delicious iced cream treats. FYI, an oasis of ice cream failed to appear at the top of any of the grueling climbs….




After I left the E. G. Staircase N. M., which we have good ole Bill Clinton to thank for preserving, it was staring to get dark and I was in need of water and a place to sleep. No town ahead (within reasonable distance) boasted a population beyond 200 and I was ready to call it quits for the day considering by bike was making some awful noises. The two brass screws that held my rack and panniers on to the bike had finally broken in half from the repetitive abuse from 789 miles of riding. The load was holding on due only to my sheer will and a few creatively placed zip ties. I wobbled through Henrieville, which turned out only to be a few houses scattered in the dessert night, and on to Cannonville, which had an open market and a KOA Campground!



I ate junk at the market while talking to the cashier. He was decked out in Boston everything; Red Sox hat, Celtics shorts, and a Beantown USA T-shirt. I asked where he was from(just to be a smart ass), and to my surprise he said he had never lived outside of Cannonville, Utah…..(Population 148.) This gentleman was obviously confused about how far away from Massachusetts he actually was, but he wasn’t completely lost as he did offer the great suggestion to stay underneath the bridge I had crossed coming into town. Rather than pay the 36 dollar KOA fee I just stole a shower from their bathhouse and walked back to my dry riverbed and ramen.

Day: 102.38 mi

Total: 789.71 mi

Elev. Climbed: 5200 ft

Elev. Difference: -1000 ft

Elev. Peak: 9600 ft