The Passage of A Pilgrimage

The morning ride out of Davis was spent on a bike path for a solid 10 or more miles. It's been strange being in large cities again because of the way I look. Obviously, when I'm in a small town, it's unlikely that I'm homeless because who would choose a small town of 100 to beg in? However, in Davis, I got lots of staring and when I nodded my head out of respect toward a person, it was usually met with a questionable glance. However, the ride was fairly lovely.

A few miles out of the city of Davis, I was met by two older men cycling past me.

"Where you coming from, buddy?" yelled Jim into my musical space.

I undid my headphones and turned toward the man, "What's that?"

"Where you coming from?" he repeated.

"New Jersey", I'll admit I said rather smugly.

"Holy Hell! That's a long way".

Jim and I would chitchat for the next mile or so as I accidentally neglected the other rider behind him. I tried to involve him on the conversation but the man, Jack, was rather an introvert. He had just met Jim a few minutes ago and it seemed like I knew Jim better than he did. Jim was a rather portly fellow at 73, and was a retired professor from California at Davis University. He asked if he could buy me a little snack at a local cyclist's hangout in the town of Winters. I agreed and a few miles up, we turned off onto a small bridge. Another bridge running parallel had netting attached to the bottom. Upon questioning its purpose to Jack, he told me the bridge was set for demolition within the year. Jim and I rode up to the cafe of "Steady Eddy's", while Jack briefly murmured something and disappeared. Jim waved it off.

We sat down and had an intriguing conversation about, the normal topics: religion, philosophy, and history. Jim graciously bought me a smoothie and a "puck", which is a small muffin-looking thing filled with carbohydrates. As I finished my smoothie and the conversation continued to venture into deeper materials, I reached for my bag of tobacco, rolled a cigarette and lit it. I noted the slight discomfort in Jim's face, and he turned toward a large group of cyclists across the road in a park.

"Uh, let's go catch these guys over here before they leave. I want to introduce you to them".

We walked over to the group with our bikes and Jim, rather awkwardly, made an "announcement".

"Hey everybody! This guy over here just cycled here from New Jersey".

I looked toward the ground sheepishly and drew another drag from my fix of nicotine. I was startled to see the whole group actually turn toward me with curiosity and interest gleaming in their eyes. I babbled about the distance, my plans for the future, and the fact I was finishing that very day.

"You smoke too?" one of the cyclists asked.

"Hey, we can't all be perfect".

Someone asked me what my last name was so that they could try to find my book. I responded saying that it wasn't out of the question. Quickly, no more than after 5 minutes, the group was on their way into the sunshine. Jim was out too but not after giving a firm handshake and friendly smile. I threw my cigarette away and went off in pursuit, my head still dizzy from the last puff. Back on the bridge, Jim was sitting idle on his phone. I got his e-mail, thanked him again, and set off joyously for my final destination.

Fresh out of Winters, I saw a few deer eating from the green grass and trees rising out of the nutritious earth. I was deep in the winery area of California (they're everywhere) and followed acres of grid-like farms for miles. About 10 miles out of Winters, to my absolute displeasure, I realized I'd left my wallet and Camelback in Winters... again. Desperate, I called the cafe and stupidly asked for them to send it in the mail to San Francisco. To my amazement, the one woman was willing to do it. I thanked her and kept on pedaling. A few miles later, I realized how silly the whole ultimatum was, and regrettably headed back toward Winters. The ride was rather miserable as I'm not used to seeing the same things in one day. It was still a lovely day and beautiful ride but the fact I had to travel back 10 miles, then 10 miles forward to get to the same location was maddening.

Back in Winters, I took the time to eat my last peanut butter sandwich, refill my water, and pump up my back tire, which has somehow been flat every single morning for the last week. Eventually, I was on the road again.

The ride went up and down but not as drastically as the erratic geography of Western California. Surrounded on both sides by huge hills for much of the last 15 miles to the town of Fairfield, the winds became magnum. Fairfield was a strange town, looking like a utopia with bright, freshly mowed grass next to the gigantic sidewalks that doubled as bike paths... or I used them as such. There was a plethora of planted trees equally spaced from one another and appearing at the apex of their lives. I left the town and stepped back into the real world. I pulled out my map as I looked to see what street I took next amongst the labyrinth of choices. That would be the last time I grasped that map. Less than half a mile later, I realized it was gone but only 20 miles out of Vallejo, I added it to my rather large casualty list.

From Fairfield to Vallejo, I navigated my own way, stopping frequently, looking around with confusion, and becoming lost more than once. I didn't mind. Everything was more than okay today.

Eventually, streets became more crowded, different neighborhoods started to formulate, and I could sense I was closing in on the bay. As opposed to speeding up with urgency, I slowed up and began to really take my time. It was all coming to a close right on the shoulder of that busy intersection.

Before I knew it, I had purchased a ticket on the ferry, which was leaving in approximately 7 minutes. I attempted to get a discount with my story but the lady simply said, "Oh, congratulations! Another cyclist!" So I wasn't very special, huh? I boarded the ferry and promptly fell asleep. Suddenly, the ferry ride was over and I had basically missed the entire thing. I took my time, got my things together on board and stepped out into the frigid, dark, overcast city of San Francisco.

Upon walking out with my bike (and flat tire), I was utterly disoriented. There were thousands of people crowding the little boardwalk and a myriad of different languages echoing out into the bay. I walked toward wherever I thought there might be a beach. I found one, took off my shoes and looked for someone to snap a picture of me. I found two younger looking guys wearing college sweaters and told them what I'd done, and the favor I needed. They were pretty cool about the whole thing.

I walked over to the water and to my surprise, it didn't seem very cold. Still shivering, however, I bent over my bike and looked up toward the two young guys.

"Alright, I'm gonna attempt to lift this behemoth up but I'm not really sure I have the strength. As soon as I get this thing even remotely off the ground, snap that picture."

They laughed and raised the camera. I breathed in and out for my little snapshot of accomplishment. I gave a shout, wrapped both hands around the frame and lifted. The weight distribution immediately shifted, the front wheel turned and the frame dug into my right hand. Grimacing still, I smiled? The picture was taken and I was assured it was a good one. The two men walked away.

I sat down on the wooden stairs leading down to the beach with my shoes still sitting in the sand. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it, searching for some kind of awakening, some kind of... something. It didn't come. I stared out into the bay, and eyed the Golden Gate Bridge, shrouded in the rolling mist. It was a dark day. In a sense, I'd already learned and changed on the journey. As I'd told myself before, this was just a place. Sure it was my "destination" but I'd already gone through the transition as a person on the road. This was just the place where I stopped biking. I took one last drag of my cigarette, snubbed it out, picked up my shoes, and disappeared into the funnel of people on the sidewalk.    

A bridge absolutely covered on every facet with graffiti. Very cool to ride over. Fresh out of Davis.

Literally, as soon as I took this picture, Jim and Jack came up to me from behind.

Jim leading the way, signaling a left hand turn at the bridge. Jack following silently behind.

On a path running parallel to a major interstate. The wind really started here, outside Fairfield, and wouldn't stop until the ferry.

San Francisco.

Half cheering, half grimacing, but triumphant. 

Now what?

The day after my expedition was over, I went for a victory lap over the Golden Gate bridge. Whom from the Bike the US for MS team did I rendezvous with, you ask? Keep scrolling to find out.

My good friend, biking companion, and exploring buddy: Duncan Moore. The two of us biked up an overlook across the bridge, trespassed into abandoned pillboxes/bunkers from time's past, and got dinner at an In N Out. It was truly a joy to see this rugged dude again. We have plans for checking out UC Berkeley on Thursday.

Sketching a fire truck. Big kudos to Duncan for capturing the moment as it happened.



To everyone that followed this adventure, I thank you deeply for staying in touch. This was an absolutely intricate and important aspect of my adventure. I don't know how I would have done it without this outlet. Sorry for some of my offensive language, and such... but not really. This was more a journal than something I wrote for people to read. It became more and more difficult to keep that in mind as I went on but I tried to keep that thought in check. So... thank you. This is the final post of "Into the Mystic". 

This Is It.

Dawn came and went. I stirred and left the cemetery around 9. I had some lovely descents and more painful climbs. The trees and dirt gave way to homes and restaurants. I was back in well populated territory. I ate at a Subway and smoked a cigarette with a homeless man attempting to sell his tent for $17 to catch a bus to Lake Tahoe. He eventually found some takers who sympathized with the poor, old man and gave him a ride to Lake Tahoe.

I continued onward. 

My 4th flat tire of the entire trip emitted air out into the sweltering Saturday afternoon. I cursed and went off to the side of the road. This tube had gotten a hole in it before but I had bandaged it shut with some special tire glue. I put another bandage over the second leak, pumped it full of air and continued upward.

I stopped in the towns of Folsom and Placerville, wandering. I went to a library in Folsom and attempted to find a couchsurfer for the night in Sacramento. On such short notice, I thought I would have to camp again but I surprisingly got several responses. One of them was Jack Cogs. 

After an incredibly beautiful, scenic and slow 15 miles on a bike path into Sacramento, I left nature to find Jack's apartment downtown. There was a bike lane; I liked California already. Eventually, I met Jack and his buddy Boyd outside his apartment complex. I couldn't have asked for two more welcoming gentleman. Long story short, the night ended up with me passed out, sitting up, on Jack's couch. In the morning, I found Justin sleeping across from me on a chair. Jack treated the two of us to breakfast at "Bacon and Butter", which was as delicious as the name implied. 

The night was loads of fun but the true pleasure was getting to know Justin, Jack and Boyd. My memory is a bit fuzzy but the feelings aren't. These guys took me in off the street and treated me like family, hell, even better than family. I was treated cold beers all night long. I felt like a freeloader but it was amazing. People never cease to utterly amaze me with their kindness. I have fond memories of Sacramento.

Jack actually went to college in Carbondale, IL. He was living in an apartment one floor above Boyd who was one floor above a bar. Boyd just moved in a few days ago and had hit it off with Jack. Jack works as an insurance fraud investigator at home for Geico. It seemed like a pretty sweet job. We have plans to possibly meet up in San Francisco. Speaking of which, I'm only 40 miles away. Tis the end... or is it the beginning?

I was lazy today. I got halfway out of Sacramento and realized I'd forgotten my Camelback and wallet at "Bacon and Butter". They were holding it for me. The ride back was nice and I really enjoyed meandering back through the city in the bike lanes. Currently, I'm in a hotel in Davis for my last hurrah. 

There was a bike path that ran parallel to the busy highway into Davis. Along the path, while listening to music and seeing a clear distance ahead of over 20 miles in length, I suddenly felt a pang in my stomach. Without warning, my eyes started watering and my body got goosebumps. I was overcome with emotion. My mind drifted out of my body and I seemed to glide along, feeling so joyous, so... free. There was no feeling of sadness, just a profound happiness. I'd come so far, met so many wonderful souls, seen so many beautiful things. I was at total peace... 

It's all coming to a head. The days of wandering the road are almost at an end. I can't wait to see what the future holds in store for me. The world is a wonderful place and this journey has spelled that out plainly to me. I'm ready for it.

Enough with the sentimental ish. Here's how I felt about my flat tire.

The bike path on the way to Sacramento from Folsom.

I stopped by the Sacramento River for a brief moment of calm.

Sacramento

Boyd, me, and Jack... the beginning of the end.

        The Sacramento city capital?

My sudden, intense feeling of oneness. 

Cemetery Solitude.

I stayed in bed for a lengthy amount of time as Monica and Annika got their things together. When they were set, I rolled out of bed and into their car. Up we went back to my hidden bicycle. 

I said goodbye to my friends.

The steep climb up Carson Pass had been delayed but the moment was back, its time had come. I was prepared. The 9 miles took some time as I stopped frequently, relishing my final mountain. The views were plenty, the birds were bountiful... and the cars continued streaming past like a broken levee. Soon, the summit came into view like a sunrise.

I had conquered my final mountain... or so I thought. The numerous acquaintences I met that had told me the downhill wasn't quite downhill proved to ring true. I flew like a bird for much of the 8000 feet back to sea level but there were steep uphills that greeted me like an old friend. The erratic geography reminded me of the Appalachians. I coasted on Highway 88 for a long time before a turn onto a quiet, lonely and broken road. 

I was heading for Fair Play, a small town up in the mountains at 4500 ft. There was a mythical campground there for cyclists. However, nobody I encountered knew of the place and the number was out of service. 

I rolled into Fair Play around 5 and followed the vague directions to the intersection where it was supposedly around. I buzzed the gate of a man living around the area.

A middle-aged man without a shirt came walking out from his establishment, followed step by step by a precious little girl in a bathing suit. She was holding her ice cream watching me curiously with her screaming blue eyes; no more than 4 years old. She silently lapped at her treat as she stood solemnly, directly next to her caretaker.

"Hey man, what's up?" the smoke-addled voice croaked.

"I'm looking for Idlewild Campground? My map says it's somewhere around here?"

He turned and looked down the road curiously. I noted a marijuana leaf tattooed on the back of his left calf. 

"The only campground around here is Big Bear and that's about 2 miles down the road."

"Huh. Well, this map's old. Perhaps, it just went outta business or something."

"Yeah man, sorry I couldn't be of more help."

"No worries, I'll figure it out."

The man turned and his young companion followed closely behind nearly tripping him. I turned back in the opposite direction. There was an old cemetary I had noted in case the campground was, in fact, a myth. I headed there.

The path wound around a bend and up a small hill. It was gated and far enough off the road that I decided it would be a good place. I set up camp. I took a nap and read for a good, long while. Its been lovely to hear the rustling of the leaves in the trees since Nevada. I ate my military meal from Sheriff Derek and went into my tent as the sun slowly fluttered behind the trees. I continued reading.

I felt an ant crawling on my leg and allowed him to wander. Then, I felt another... and another. Suddenly, I wasn't so fond of the little explorers. I smushed 3 or 4 with my pointer finger. I soon realized there were more than 3 or 4; Fort Johnson was under assault. I couldn't locate the area of infiltration and after shining my light, I realized I was overrun. I surrendered the tent to the army and retreated with my sleeping bag under a tree on the grave of Aldus Williams. I thanked the man for his charitability and after smacking a few ants and finishing my book, The Divine Arsonist, I fell asleep.

I added these beautiful little flowers to my bouquet. 

Unaware, This was less than 100 yards from the summit. I thought I still had lots of upward biking to go.

                   Ohhh yeaahhh. Stopped and got water here. The rangers were awfully surprised to learn I'd ridden my bike from New Jersey. They also noted it wasn't quite all downhill from that point on.

Sacramento Dreez

The last post was two days old. I'll catcha up tomorrow. 

What Kindred Souls You Have

Yesterday, things started off grandly. First, I went to a local donut shop owned by a Japanese family that was so friendly. So friendly, in fact, that I went back the next morning just to see the cashier's smile again. It really was a positive impact. After indulging in some delicious and cheap donuts, I went to a bike shop that my host, Jenny, had recommended.

It took me a little bit of time to find the correct direction toward "Bike Smith's Bike Shop" but when I did, I couldn't have been happier with the results. The owner, Jimmy, readjusted both wheelsto spin correctly (they weren't "true"), fixed my front brake, and just as I was leaving, they screwed my little biking bell back in. The thing had been loose for about a month and I hadn't heard it tinkle since Illinois. I was ecstatic about that part the most. BUT, the most wonderful part of the whole ordeal, was that Jimmy did all this for free. I couldn't believe it. I shook the man's hand several times before leaving, unsure how to truly express my gratitude. 

I made contact with Annika (couchsurfing buddy from Cedar City, UT) and we arranged to meet up at Fuji Park. I hung out there for about half an hour before they pulled up. 

There was no shortage of happy conversation on the drive up to Lake Tahoe. We recounted our trips since the last time we'd seen each other while slowly ascending the 2000 ft. to our destination. When the lake came into view, the air in my lungs came rushing out as I saw its true vastness. Surrounded on all sides by mountains; the largest lake (2nd deepest) in the United States did not dissapoint. We found an overlook and parked amongst the circus of tourists.

We spent the entire day laying down on the rocky shore, soaking up the sun. The water was crystal clear. Leaping from the rocks, the clearness gave the appearance that the rocky lake floor was much closer than it was. I remember at one moment, I was laying down on my stomach looking at Annika with her eyes closed. Beyond her head, the mountains stretched far above the glimmering water and the sun beat down on our bodies. I could hear the water lapping the rocks, meticulously sculpting, carving, and eroding the hard structures into curious figures. Every now and again, the water would smash at an angle into the rock and spray the three of us. I remember looking and thinking, "Is this a dream? This is far too beautiful, too perfect".

We stayed there over 4 hours, doing nothing in particular.

Upon returning to Carson City, I got spaghetti and meatballs to cook for Jenny. She'd been at work since 8 and didn't feel comfortable with anyone being in the house until she returned at 7. So, I came home when she did and promptly got to cooking. We feasted. Afterward, I went into a food coma. I went to bed early around 9 and woke up early around 7.

I made hot cocoa and got my stuff together. Coincidentally, the post office was directly next door and I got my packages; one awesome letter from my sister and the tent poles! I was ready for the road.

The day's ride followed a scenic route through Genoa; the oldest settlement in Nevada (1851), founded by who else? The pioneers of the West, those adventurous Mormans. Genoa also boasted having the oldest "thirst parlour" in Nevada. I had to get a beer and check it out. 

Well, I was almost like a C-list celebrity there and I got a couple drinks from the owner, Willie and a good man named Javier. I learned lots about the town from both men. Did you know the animal that kills the most people every year is a deer? Anyway, I got pretty good and buzzed before beginning the looming climb of Carson Pass. I just started the celebration a tad early.

The evening before, I had spoken to Annika and came to find that Carson Pass is less than 10 miles from their couchsurfing host. So, we arranged to meet up at an old, dirt road at an intersection.

It was a looong, painful climb of only 12 miles or so but it felt like an eternity. The vast array of cars that came speeding past me didn't help things and I was still fighting strong headwinds. Eventually, I made it to the road, hid my bike, and laid down by the entrance to read and await Annika and Monica.

Annika and Monica picked me up about an hour later. We sped to their couchsurfing house but the host was at work. In the meantime, we unwound with a movie and some beers. As it got dark and we got restless, went to meet up with one of the four hosts, Nick. 

Nick worked at a German-themed bar named Himmel Haus. There was some kind of event occuring there supporting local art. I stuck out like a sore thumb in my homeless sweatshirt and basketball shorts. Apparenty it fit the art theme though because the photographer seemed to keep flashing pictures of me. Amongst all the fancy people, it was also apparent that Annika, Monica, and I were having the most fun. It seemed like everyone else was doing their best to appear suave and cool.

Nick was awesome! He was around my age and had been moving all over the West Coast for awhile. He'd been in South Lake Tahoe for a few months but he really enjoyed the slowness to it. We talked for a long time outside the bar.

Eventually, it came time to leave the bar. Annika and Monica needed to get their rental car back to San Francisco by 3 the next day. So, after some downtime with Nick and the other host Jerry at the house, we all went to bed.

                      Lake Tahoe

              Leaving Carson City

Genoa had deer everywhere. I attempted to get close to them, then later learned ominously of their vicious bloodlust.

Oh yeah, I crossed the border into Cali.

Ughh, beginning the climb of Carson Pass.

Today Is My Day Off

Meeting up with my couchsurfing friends from Cedar City, UT. They're in Southern Lake Tahoe and we're going up to the eastern part of the lake for the day. They're picking me up in Carson City.

Yesterday's ride was one of my least favorite rides of the adventure. Nausea, heat, wind and a gurgling stomach made for abysmal conditions. I'm couchsurfing here with my lovely host Jenny :) 

I found a house filled with pigeons in the barren Nevada desert. Very out of place, I ate one of the two cookies Deb gave me as a farewell present.

A shitty picture of the downhill into Carson. That sun battered my brain all day. 

Coming into Carson City. I barely looked up at all on the 65 mile trek. I encountered the worst drivers on US 50 from Fallon to Silver Springs. I even flipped one (two) guy(s) off, which I've rarely done. I was brushed by 5-6 cars.

Coming out of the road from Jenny's apartment. Carson City is beautifully nestled within the mountains.

Also! Shout out to Kyle! On my way out of Fallon, maybe 10 miles out, there was a car parked off the road with a man sitting, his legs dangling out of the front seat. He waved me down as I came toward him. Kyle gave me a gatorade and some cash upon learning of my endeavor! We talked for about half an hour and he spoke of his lifelong trip to run across the country. I vehemently encouraged him to do so but, like most of America, he's fighting off students loans and debts. Fuck all dat, Kyle, just do it, my brother. I wish I got his picture. He was one of the lone bright specks of the anxiety-ridden ride.  

Interwoven Within the Human DNA; Love

I wrote yesterday's blog within the confines of a small study room in Fallon's local library. As I typed, I could feel the lack of sleep beginning to take hold. Shortly after I noticed my drowsiness, it was too late. My head drooped down onto my left arm and before I knew it, I was waking up in a pool of my own saliva with my arm half-asleep, and two hours of lost time. Thank you to the Churchill County Library for allowing me to drool on your tables.

I stayed at the library another hour, reading, and enjoying being a bum. Then, I went to "Highway 50's Best Little Museum". It was an awesome museum and it was free. I stayed there an hour, made some calls, and enjoyed the slowness of the day.

I decided that I was going to stay in Fallon with Andy and his wife Deb if they would have me. I left a message on Andy's voicemail and went to get dunch (lunch and dinner?). Halfway through my exquisite meal of KFC, Andy called me and told me to come on through. The day was shaping up to be a mighty fine one. 

Riding up to Andy and Deb's house, I saw a beautiful ranch equipped with two horses, two chocolate labs, and a chicken coop. Deb was consoling her horses when I rolled through; she was waiting for the veterinarian. Moonie and  Handee were both experiencing eye problems. The veterinarian that came upon the scene was a youthful, thin, attractive blonde-haired woman with an immaculately friendly personality.

Over the course of the next two hours, I played doctor's assistant to Emily the Vet. A botfly had laid eggs on the inside of Moonie's eyelid and Emily had to squeeze the eggs out. It made my skin crawl. Handee's eyes were just irritated and there was no big problem. Just when it appeared like all was solved, Moonie laid down on his side for the second time that day. Like an anxious mother, Deb wanted to ensure that this wasn't the sign of something bigger. The next operation commenced.

Emily injected the horse in the neck with a sedative and after a few minutes, its head drooped in what can only be peculiarly described as a "waking daydream". It was still standing but obviously out of it. Emily got a bucket of water, and a small tube of 2 feet in length. She started to insert the tube through the horse's nose and began siphoning the stomach's contents to see what came out; just a lot of bile, a good sign. After that, Deb pumped a bunch of "mineral oil" into Moonie's stomach through the tube. Then, it was finished. I was absolutely astounded by the professionalism shown by Emily. In general, I was just astounded. I'd never seen anything like that.  

I almost forgot about Andy! Andy came home shortly before the vet began her procedures but he had to go to work. He casially said, "Yeah, I've got to do some bombing runs tonight". 

"I'm sorry?" I asked. "Did you say bombing? Like the explosives?"

Andy is in the military and the vast Nevada desert is apparently "perfect" for target practice. This is also why its been called the atomic capital of the world for all the thermonuclear fun we dropped out here in the 40's, 50's, and 60's. Andy went to work and noted he would be returning around 1 o'clock in the morning. I gave the gracious man a firm handshake before he drove away.

Deb let me get a shower and wash my clothes. She also cooked for me! I couldn't help but feel burdensome and slightly guilty but those feelings vanished when I bit into her BBQ chicken and grilled quesadilla. Deb is an incredibly social person and we talked endlessly for the next few hours. She has two daughters; one married and living in Japan (Navy husband) and the other finishing up school not too far from Fallon. Deb was like a second mother. I'm fairly certain I talked far too much but with Deb, I didn't feel the usual guilt I do. She patiently listened and would comment/give advice on what I said. The woman's a saint.

After we watched a show on tv called Love it or List It(?), it was time for bed. I took my clothes out of the dryer and went eagerly outside to my sleeping quarters. With a broken tent, I was sleeping on Deb's trampoline. If you haven't slept on one of these badboys before, you're severely missing out. I was on Cloud 9. The thing knocked me out within moments.

This morning, I'm having breakfast at her restaurant again. However, I've insisted on paying for the delicious eats because they're too good to be free. I'm sitting here, peering out of the window, watching the day take shape. I'm off to Carson City today where I'll be staying with Jenny; a member of the CouchSurfing community. Let's get this show on the road.

        The Churchill County Museum

The assistant sleeping on the job and snapping a quick picture of poor Moonie.

                           Deb!

Monsoon Caliber Winds Dissuade My Dreams

When Michael and I were eating our breakfast in Austin, he spoke of a renowned "mondo" burger challenge in Middlegate. He was dead-set on attempting it and I'd heard about it from the MS group way back around Ely. Michael was going to get to Middlegate dead or alive to give it a shot. Later that evening when I was getting ready for bed on the Mt. Airie's Summit, I received a text message from Mike reading, "Promise me you won't do the burger challenge Ralph, promise me!! No man was meant to consume that."

Well, I listened... until one customer left with half of the burger and all of the fries still left.

"So uh... What's going to happen to those leftovers?" I fiendishly asked the bartender. 

"It'll go to the chickens", she replied.

I looked toward Greg and the bartender, the only two in the bar, and said, "Would you guys judge me if I... uh... finished the challenge?"

"I'll turn a blind eye", replied Greg.

Holy shit... even half of that thing rudely disrupted my bowels. Within half an hour of eating it, I hated myself. Even today, the monster is still living in the pit of my stomach wreaking havoc. I texted Michael... he had warned me.

Yesterday evening, the winds continued sweeping the arid landscape until dusk. Greg was kind enough to let me camp behind the bar but, yet again, my tent pole was broken. So, I elected to sleep on the picnic table. Bad move. Around midnight, I was awoken to howling gales of wind that didn't even let me think let alone sleep. I kept imagining the old, creaking tree above me calling it quits and collapsing on my makeshift bed. I listened to music to try and drown out the melancholy moaning. Sleep would evade me the entire night.

I walked around a bit, started a new book, watched half of a documentary called Gasland (wi-fi) and finally decided to stay up until close to dawn. Around 4am, I started to pack my things together. I left Middlegate in the darkness just before 5. The sun would slowly light more and more of the path in front of me as I pedaled. 

As has happened multiple times before, I stopped at one point just to listen to my surroundings. The constant pounding of the wind upon my eardrum made me feel like I was missing something. However, each time I stop, I crane my neck to ensure I get the whole earful. And every time, the lone sound I hear is that of the steady humming of a car engine in the distance. Dissapointed and depressed, I go into music mode... where Nevada is illuminated with a kickass soundtrack.

I reached civilization this morning at 8:30 in the town of Fallon. I went 50 miles in 3 and a half hours! I was happy :). 

So rememer that guy Andy I met in Cold Springs? Well, I accidentally located the restaurant he owns, and his wife, Deb, gave me a free breakfast! It was the greatest breakfast ever! The Courtyard Cafe & Bakery provided the friendliest service and the atmosphere was wonderful. Deb is an absolute sweetheart and I constantly heard her joyful laughing in the kitchen. She said the invitation to sleep at their house is also still open. I'm going to have to make a decision.

The tent poles I need are in Ely. I called the post office and they're getting forwarded to Carson City (50 miles). The only "problem" is that she could only gurantee they would be there by Thursday. So, I'm in no rush to get there. Ahhh, it is pretty awesome to be able to relax finally, knowing I have plenty of time to reach San Francisco. It's almost over. Fallon, NV... you're my shit.

             Sunset at Middlegate

          Sunrise not at Middlegate

Approaching this sandy terrain from a distance, I almost mistook it for a lake. The lack of plant life surrounding it hinted at something else.

   Oh Nevada; You and your emptiness.

    Huge sand dunes off in the distance.

10-15 miles out of Fallon, I started getting trigger happy with my camera.

Real green fields! Fallon, what are you?!

I received and e-mail from Leonard the Mennonite with a picture that I had forgotten he snapped. His e-mail was awfully kind inquiring that he meant to ask more about my parents and their health. He showed his youthful savvy side again by including a small, smiley-face decal.

Over the Spring And Through the Desert

While in Austin, I got my daily dosage of ice cream, bought a loaf of bread, batteries, and a can of Mannwich's sloppy joe stuff. The clerk who I had gotten friendly with at this point gave me an old can-opener for it. I sat out front of Jan's shop and had lunch. I was severely surprised, pouring the goop onto my sandwich, to learn that the beef wasn't included... so I just had a tomato sandwich. It was disturbing. Even more disturbing was the fact I drank half the can to get my nutritional worth. Halfway through, I felt sorry for myself and threw it away.

I left Austin just as Jan was closing up her shop. I still planned on just kind of relaxing but there was a storm approaching and I wanted to hightail it out of there before it got ugly.

A few miles out of town, I swerved to the side of the road to let a van pass by. It didn't. It approached right alongside of me at my slow speed. An older woman in the passenger seat called out to me.

"How would you like a cold V-8?!" she hollered over the howling winds. All I heard was the word cold.

"Sure! You think we can do this Mission Impossible style?!" 

Keeping with my speed, the woman's husband kept perfect pace with me. I pulled a bit closer to the vehicle, snagged the beverage, and pumped my fist. Off they drove while I kept grinning well until they drifted out of sight. I pulled over a few miles later to consume the drink; it was like drinking cough medicine. 

I called my buddy Kevin on the side of the road, while I still had coverage, and began my ascent upward. Prevailing headwinds kept my pace to a crawl and when I reached the summit, I started downhill. I realized the downhill for the summit would be much better in the morning without the wind. I looked all around for a place to hide my tent.

I found a place partially hidden from the road but not well enough that I felt comfortable about it. As opposed to being sneaky, I called the county sheriff for permission to call it a night there.

Officer Derek Zacharias answered the phone and after a little bit of confusion as to what summit I was on, he told me to sit tight and he'd be there soon. The sheriff came up the summit no more than five minutes later. He was no older than 30 with a healthy amount of weight on him, and had grown up in the area. At the sound of the first curse word, I knew I was meeting a genuine fellow. It's kind of like a religious thing such as when two people realize they're both Christian or Jewish. Suddenly, they're good friends and talking like they've always known each other... and so it is with swearing.

The sheriff and I chatted for about an hour about everything. He told me there was a small dirt road off the Highway just a few feet back that led to a spring where the wild horses of the area liked to go. Before leaving, Derek gave me 2(!) military meal kits.

Upon arriving at the camping area, after a mile hike with my bike, I opened upthe military meal. Inside was a chocolate oatmeal cookie (to die for), beef ravioli, a pop tart, gum, crackers, strawberry jam, applesauce, and hot sauce. It was a feast. I passed out almost immediately after I ate.

I slept in passed my 5:30 alarm and stayed within the comfort of my tent. I drifted away back to my dreams. 

Suddenly, I heard the sound of a small army of feet scuffling at a quick pace toward my direction. I shot straight up from my sleeping bag and peered through the tent. A gang of wild horses was no more than 40 feet away. When they came within 30, the lead horse suddenly stopped, spotting my encampment. He slowly turned and galloped away with his party of 10-15 following closely behind. As I got out of my tent, a pack of coyotes across the road began howling. The horses turned their heads alertly. I had a second of fright course through me wondering if one us would be breakfast. 

For the next hour in which I got my stuff together, the horses would continuously move around the spring I was camped in, keeping a solid distance. It was an absolutely beautiful sight.

When I finally left, the horses just watched, never moving toward the spring. I set off into the desert.

30 miles of open Nevada terrain later, I encountered the Cold Springs Station. At 10 o'clock, I had my first beer I've had since Ely; mighty delicious. I met a wonderful woman by the name of Tammy who was heading home to South  Dakota. We talked while the boys watched the Nascar event.

Outside, I met Andy and his wife who had traveled out of Fallon just for kicks. We got to talking and Andy extended an invitation to camp at his house 5 miles out of Fallon. His wife told me that if I stopped at their restaurant, food was on them. Given the distance to Fallon, it's unlikely I'll stop there but I graciously accepted the invitation anyhow.

13 miles later, I entered the rest area of Middlegate. There's a small bar with a crowd of people right now. I just had lunch and I'll see how far I get toward Fallon. Its been a really pleasant day so far. So far, so good.

Update: Sooo, the winds were a little too strong for my taste so I made the poor decision of waiting it out. It's turned into a duststorm here. The mountains I took a picture of before have dissapeared, masked behind the curtain of dust swirling across the desert. Now what?

A positive out of the grim scenario: I met a mighty friendly band of Swiss adventurers. The one miss (rather attractive miss) gave me a pack of Swiss cigarettes. Yeah... just what I need...

                 My horse friends!

A few miles out of the Mt. Aires summit, I encountered a glorious downhill that split through a handful of mountains. The paved road took away from the beautiful surroundings... so I shifted my camera to the right.

                  Entering Middlegate

                 The Middlegate bar

                My current situation.

Stranger to a Town, Citizen to a Country, Local of a Planet

A stunning array of colors greeted my waking eyes with almost hallucinogenic proportions. It took me a solid fifteen seconds to process what the hell was going on and where I was. Laying upon my ledge 1500 feet up (at least) from the road, I was in my element. It took me half the time hiking back down but I was exhausted when I began the trek of "15" miles to Eureka.

After an hour coasting my way toward the town, shrouded in a mist beyond the Pinto Summit, I saw the common and dastardly green sign reading: "Eureka 15". Damnit, I was much further than I thought.

When I finally did enter Eureka after a painstaking climb, I immediatelly stopped at a gas station to get the chocolate milk that had infected my mind the evening before. I finished it waiting in line at the cash register.

Afterward, I splurged on a large breakfast burrito at The Pony Express Deli. It was there I met the mayor, Tony and my Eureka tour guide, Leonard.

Leonard was a short, thin, frail looking fellow with an overbite that would show itself when he gave his toothy, friendly grin. He was around 60-70 years old and sat down next to me at my table in the corner. He was wearing strange "traditional" garments that hinted at a strong religious following; he was a Mennonite. Leonard had moved to Eureka from Ohio and had a lot of family living here (his son in law owned the restaurant). As per usual, I asked a lot of questions to learn as much about him, the town, and his faith.

Mennonites believe that this material world is just a temporary moment before the real deal in the afterlife. Their whole lifestyle pertains to preparing for death or not getting consumed by earthly matters. We talked about the questionable decisions of tattoos, my religious upbringing, and life. Midway through our conversation, Leonard called to the man sitting behind me.

Enter Tony: wearing casual overalls and a hat with sweat marks. He was a large, chubby fellow with steel blue eyes. He didn't look like your standard mayor. Every person that came into that deli in the two hour span I was there said hello to him.

I don't exactly recall how our conversation went the route it did but once Tony realized I was "educated", we got into a talk about politics, Nevada, atomic bombs, the Tea Party, the future of America, my generation, and more or less the dismal future we have in store. I could see Tony carefully examining my responses to his factual accounts of information. I was careful to show shock and anxiety through my facial appearance but my verbal responses followed a type of "oh well, we'll see" reaction. Leonard was quiet the entire time aside from a few intervals of nervous laughter.

When I finally left the deli, Leonard was outside with his bike. The old man showed some youthful energy biking up a very steep embankment up to the local school's new gym; a mammoth structure for such a small town. I was curious.

The town of Eureka once had over 8,000 people living there around the turn of the 20th century. Now, only 600 people live there. Much (if not all) of their revenue comes from the local mine where gold is still being dug out. In a town where ranching seemed to be prevalent, I wondered where all the manpower was to get the minerals out. Leonard had no idea.

From the school, Leonard joined me to the local museum and then to the post office. We were a humorous site to see on our bicycles I'm sure. One man in his Mennonite suit and one kid with a mohawk wearing a wifebeater. I was sad to see the kind man go. Hours of rain and time spent in the library finally had me leaving the town around 3.

Still raining, I set out toward Austin, NV; a solemn distance of 70 miles. The first 35 yielded nothing but flat, open terrain (aside from the curious barbwire fencing that lines Highway 50). For the first 20 miles, I was able to intercept the Pirates vs. Marlins radio feed on my phone (Iphones... Increiblè). Eventually I lost that and went into my musical hibernation. As the rain started coming down harder, I set up camp on the side of the road in a ditch that was hidden from the passing cars.

I fell asleep around 8 o'clock and woke to the beautiful sunrise once again. I've really gotten into the habit of biking in the morning. A slew of passing vehicles improved my day with fist pumps, waves, thumbs up(s), and peace signs. I attempted to come up with as many creative greetings as possible, ranging from salutes to pointing to bows. It's funny how much you can see inside a car in that split-second it passes by; the faces and motions  of the inhabitants photographed into my memory.

After a few arduous climbs and 30-40 miles later, I reached Austin. I started searching for a place to eat. Then, off in the distance, in his trademark neon green shirt, I saw Michael. What a wonderful, coincidental discovery. 

We got coffee and breakfast together, traded stories for hours, and eventually said our "sorrowful" goodbyes. We'll run into each other again, I'm sure. 

I am now sitting out front of a local antique store owned by an older woman named Jan. The scent of her homemade soap drifts out of the open door and intertwines with my cigarette smoke. The rain is slowly pattering the roof of the awning above me. The town is quiet. Nevada is quiet. I don't plan on moving anytime within the near future.

Eureka Museum; it used to be the local town's newspaper office until 1960.

                   Sounds festive

The last bulging piece of earth before the next 40 miles of flat.

Looking back at the flatness before beginning another summit.

One tree. I read an article the day before in Eureka about the landing on Mars. I couldn't shake that perception rolling through this area.

The last summit before Austin; one of the more beautiful ones.