The Narcotic Effects of Freedom

I had a dream last night.

There was a giant environmental catastrophe; another oil spill in a large body of water. I recall that a very young man of Indian ethnicity, in his mid 20's, was head honcho for the clean-up squad. He was in charge of how the mess was going to be fixed. All of the men who had to do the physical work were old, wearing business suits and leather shoes. I remember everyone running together down toward the spill with me leading the way. I went crashing into the water of the spill first and started trying to uselessly get the oil out. Turning toward the men in the suits, I saw one sitting down attempting to get his pristine, leather shoes off. I walked over to him, said something nasty, and woke up.

I left Ely around 7:30 after picking up a package from the post office that had arrived late. The ride today was absolutely grand. 

US-50 gets the name of "The Loneliest Road in America" yet I got brushed by 3 or 4 cars today and I still saw waaay more vehicles than I would've liked. Only one time did I hear absolute silence without the faint buzzing of a car coming down the road. The trash alongside the road also negates from the humanoid impact: the Subway plastic bag, McDonalds cup, QT cup, 711 plastic cup, water bottle, rubber car tire, rubber bike tire, baby's diaper, Natural Light can, Budweiser can, car mirror, car bumper, bungee cord, pizza box, Popeyes container, Coors Light 30 box, lighter, empty pack of cigarettes, cigarettes, ect.

At one point in the middle of the basin, I stopped to meditate. Afterwards, I felt really positive and ready to continue riding. Before doing so, I picked up as many cans and bottles as I could with both hands and lined them up across both lanes. Most blew away before I took off.

Up the next mountain and into the next basin, I grew tired and slept under a small Juniper tree. An hour and a half later, I went down the basin and up another summit. 

At the top of Little Antelope Summit is where I have decided to camp for tonight. The town of Eureka is 15 miles from here and I'll leave early tomorrow morning to get breakfast in town. 

The place that I've decided to camp is about a 2-3 mile hike from the road, beyond barbwire fencing, and about another 1,000-2,000 feet higher up from the road. I had to make several trips to lug all my shit up here but... it actually feels worth it. This is one of the most peaceful, quiet, and serene moments of the trip with an incredible view to boot. I'm not setting up a tent tonight. I'm crossing my fingers it doesn't rain but I want to be totally out in the elements. I should have a nice sunset and sunrise. 

:)

I've found it's best many times to look at what you've already traversed as opposed to what's ahead.

The first summit of the four on the way to Eureka. I have one more tomorrow.

Another fenced off area, I stopped here for a small lunch. A cop passed and just gave a friendly wave.

   Taking a nap in some sort of shade.

Camping atop my home for the evening.

                    Good mornin

America's Loneliest Road... Has Extravagant Company

The days seem to seep descretely into one another, time no longer factoring into the journey. The daily revolutions of the sun and the moon, their location in the sky, is the only inference on how much darkness or light is left. What a wonderful world.

The last time I was writing out my experiences and thoughts, I was back in Milford, Utah. Since then I have crossed into Nevada and am currently enjoying the lovely town of Ely. Nestled between two large mountain ranges, the hub of 4,000 inhabitants sits at the bottom of the basin, collecting the water that trickles down from the walls of earth surrounding it.

I have entered The Great Basin. 

Nevada's geography is fairly cut and dry: every 20-30 miles there is a climb up a mountain and a descent into a basin, then a climb up another mountain and another descent into another basin. The Great Basin can be simply viewed as a giant bowl. None of the water here leads to any sea or ocean, it stays here forever, accumulating in lakes, rivers, and ponds. Glaciers and shifting plates have shaped this intriguing region over millions of years. The towns and populaces are few and far between. The route taken through the area is known simply as "The Loneliest Road in America"; Highway 50. There is more than enough time to ponder, think, and appreciate. Nevada is nothing like I'd expected. The dry, dreary, lonesome travels that I thought would have attacked my senses have not done so. Instead, I am thoroughly enjoying the solace and peace that the Earth has seemed to create here (or that humans have allowed to be). 

Bike the US for MS: my knights in shining armor. I couldn't imagine doing some of the desolate ride without them. Every 20 miles at every summit, I can see the sun gleaming off of the white painted van. The water, company, and refreshment beckoning me up the last 60 feet.

20 miles into the first day from Milford, I encountered Duncan on the side of the road. He had stumbled upon the lost mining town of Frisco, a once sprawling community of 4,000 inhabitants. We had to check it out. A 5 mile hike and mountainous climb took us into 500 ft. mines, deep caverns, and old dilapidated houses from over a century ago. Over $60,000,000 worth of minerals were extracted from here... What?! The sign blatantly read, "After the mine collapsed, the residents slowly moved out". How the fuck does a town making that much money with that many people, simply dissipate? Frisco was one of the highlights of the trip. 

Duncan and I fell far behind after this detour. The MS drivers were understandably slightly flustered by our adventurous spirits but we bustled our way back up to pace. Michael would join us at the next stop. Together, we would bike the final 70 miles to Baker, encounter a hail storm, swim in a lake, and enter Nevada in the process.

At Baker, we were shuttled by the MS vans to to the crescent of The Great Basin National Park; an astounding place. We were up 11,000 feet from the 6,000 at Baker. The view looked like something you would see glancing out of a plane window. Again, I spent the evening bonding with my biking family. These guys have really welcomed Michael and I with open arms.

I rapidly descended down back into Baker the next day (20 miles) in about 40 minutes stopping every now and again to look at the unbelievable views. It was 60 something more miles to Ely. I joined up with Michael at the first summit and we collectively encouraged each other toward Ely. I'm really taking a liking to the guy, we're very much alike.

I spent my "last evening" with the Bike the US team at the campground. It never ceases to warm my soul at how accomodating and kind these guys have been. As with all families though, we need to leave the nest. This morning, I said goodbye to the group. Michael and I were the last ones left. We had a really nice breakfast at McDonalds filled with smiles and laughs. 

Michael will be leaving town late in the afternoon and stealth camping for the first time between here and Eureka (80 miles). Tomorrow I will get the full effect of "America's Loneliest Road" and I'll need to really stock up on water again. For now, I'm enjoying my rest day in Ely, NV.

                         Ominous.

                          Frisco, UT

A real tree! The only one on the desolate ride toward Baker. Also, wildfires are breaking out frequently around here. I've seen 7 or 8 since entering Nevada, granted some are controlled.

                    Sensual Nevada.

On top of Great Basin National Park. Watched an awesome blu-ray movie later at the Visitor's Center, which got me hyped up before embarking into the long ride.

Descending a mountain on the way toward another; on the way to Ely.

Tag-team effort toward Ely; the two self-supporters (with help from the MS crew).

P.s. This should actually be the main body of this post but to everyone who sent me a letter; you hold a special place in my heart. Thank you soooo much. 

Love.

Back on the Grid... Unfortunately.

I just got 3G connection back after being benevolently bereft of it for the past few days. I'll have a lot of time to update and write down exactly what's transpired tomorrow. I'm taking the day off tomorrow in Ely, NV. 

What a Blissful Bike Ride.

I gripped my temple and drowsily blinked my eyes as my dehydrated contacts moved in and out of focus. I walked the 14 blocks home the evening before and collapsed into a huge beanbag chair. Glancing around, Brazil and Monika looked like the hardest hit from the night before while Anika and the DD, Adam, were preparing for their trip into Bryce Canyon for the day. 

I stirred. 

Before I left, I gave a solid goodbye to the four foreigners and watched them drive off from whence I came. Andy was at work but his roommate Kim was up. He had caught a cold the day before and was spending his time playing video games sitting on the couch. I got a powerful sense of nostalgia seeing that. I came to the realization I haven't played a video game in more than 2 months, which is crazy for me. 

Kim provided me with an old, wool sweater after learning that mine had shrunk three sizes too small a few days ago when I put it in the washer. I was ecstatic. I gave Kim a big hug and made my way out of town; all downhill. 

20 miles were covered quickly and the wide open fields of desert started presenting themselves. I thought I was already in Nevada but there's still another days ride for that. I passed an old abandoned farm and miles of desert shrubs. At one point, the downhill ended and for a brief period of time, I was exerting a fair amount of force on each individual pedal. Then, a sign came into view reading: "Summit 6750". Huh.

I rolled into the small town of Minersville (est. 1859) with speed still on my side. Withered faces and gnarled hands peppered the town's older men. There were kids wandering about on bicycles and hanging out at the local gas station I was in. I smoked a cigarette with the cashier, Ashley, and we talked about the weather.

Off toward Milford with winds of 20 mph pushing me those last 14 miles. I zoomed in at the speed of light, only realizing the boosting effects of the wind when I turned around and battled it to gather some flowers I had passed. I put the bouquet onto my bike, and entered Milford in my Sunday's best. 

Milford was a big story in 2007 when the largest wildfire in Utah history burned over 320,000 acres-worth of foilage. The fire's history was still visible on the scenery of those 56 miles from Cedar City. This is a funny little town; parts look desolate and abandoned while other parts are brimming with excitement. 

I've met up with the old MS team again and Michael's here as well. Tomorrow is 84 miles without water or food. Half of the MS crew is sleeping under the town park picnic structure with me, another half have taken shelter within the town hotel. 

I'm looking forward to the sunrise tomorrow morning.

Blazing a trail out of Cedar City, all downhill.

I guess that was a small mountain...10 or so miles out of Minersville

                Entering Minersville 

Home base at the Milford County Park. Sleeping on picnic tables. Last time I did this, I slept like a prince. 

Exploration of the Uninhabited Dreamland: The Strange

My alarm playing Fleet Foxes (the greatest thing on earth to wake up to) went off at 5:45. Unfortunately, not even the angelic music of this band could separate me from dreamland. I tried 4 different alarm times before I begrudgingly began moving at 6:30. 

I started pedaling the first of 30 miles toward Henrieville and noticed immediately that I was tired. It wasn't so much that I was tired as it was that my mind was in the gutter. Depressing subject matters blanketed my brain. After 15 miles of this and an inability to shake it, I pulled off to go meditate down by the stream I'd been following.

Ahhh, much better.

Climbing the steep wall back up to the road, my face brushed a sweet smelling green plant. I took some in my hand, brought it back up to my bike, and stuffed it inside my pannier bag along with my clothes.

On the road I felt noticably better. Within 10 minutes back on the road, I came upon a sign reading: "Scenic Overlook". Just beyond this was a post reading: "Summit 7600 ft." The entire way had been 2000 ft. of climbing and I was somehow unaware... that's probably why I was pissed. I road that sucker down at a blistering pace through sharp curves and canyon walls. All the way down to Henrieville. And then Canyonville, where I bought an orange. And then Tropic. 

I stopped at a joint called "The Pizza Place" and got some pizza. There was a cyclist's bike out front. Inside, I met Trond (Tru-nd) from Norway. Age: 63, bald scalp, short, grey 5'o clock shadow, and a plump stomach. He was deaf in one ear, which may have explained how he talked to me for nearly 2 hours straight with no interruptions. He was a teacher back in Norway, and I felt like I was getting a lecture. However, the 2 hour lecture was on biking from Norway to Western Europe to the Middle East to India and eventually to Australia. At the end of his speech, I felt inspired and like I needed a nap. One thing I did say was, "Oh my heritage is Norwegian, I would love to check it out one day".

Boom. Trond was immediately writing his email and facebook down for contact if I ever wanted to cycle Norway... like the whole country... perhaps one day.

After Trond set off toward the East Coast (he was a month out of San Francisco), I went to go pay my waittress Ashley. To my horror, I couldn't find my CamelBack, which usually holds my wallet. It was nowhere to be found.

Retracing my steps, I called a shop in Canyonville (6 miles) to see if I left it there. I had. I told the young, blonde Ashley that I had to trek back a few miles to get my wallet.

"I'll leave my phone here so you know I'm coming back."

"You're going to bike back to Canyonville? Would you rather like a ride?"

"Well... Uh-yeah, that'd be fantastic".

So Ashley, who couldn't have been any older than the legal age to drive in Utah, terrorized the road for the 5 miles to Canyonville. I grabbed my backpack from the store and off we went back to the pizza place.

I had already broken the ice with Ashley so I started hitting her with the cultural/societal questions.

"Henrieville looks like a cool place to live. You guys don't have any stores or nuisances and it seems like most of the inhabitants are ancestors of the original founders."

"Yep", she replied. "My father's father is a descendant of one of the original members, so we are too."

"It's weird, I haven't seen a single black person or minority in Utah for like 600 miles. Is everyone here Morman?"

"I mean, pretty much. It's a nice religion, the people are all good to each other and have high moral values. What's your religion?"

The question totally caught me off-guard. I had no idea what to say. It pinned me.

"I-uh. I mean, I'm not a religious person. Like... I guess if I'm categorized under an established belief system... I'm agnostic? Like, I'm a spiritual person but I don't believe in organized religion." 

I stumbled through my answer. It's funny, even hours later on the ride, I was pondering her question. It wasn't: "What do you believe?" It was: "What is your religion?"; my sector or community, the rules and morals by which I abide by. I thought about it for a long while after.

In the car, I delved deeper into the reasons why Ashley was a Morman. It was your typical, candy coated answer for religious peoples following the lines of, "I know God is out there, it feels right, I wanna help people, and when you're dead, it's sweet". I could understand.

Eventually, we made it back to the pizza spot where Ashley got really serious about why Mormanism is the right path of life and gave me a little story about a man in a bar of dead souls. God bless the kid for tryin to save mine but I'm more than content with my beliefs. 

I paid my bill and upward I went. Up and up; past Bryce Canyon, past Panguitch and onto an old, dirt trail somewhere in Nowhere. Off the trail I went, deep into the woods until I came across a place that looked adequate for my encampment. I read for awhile before I lost consciousness. 

In the morning, I got up at 6am to witness another colorfully arrayed Utah sky. I had a long ride all the way up to the peak of Cedar Canyon, about 10,500 ft. I was coming from around 6,500. Once again, it felt like that much. I did the first half of the climb before 930. About 3/4 of the way from the peak, I ran into an older sir by the name of Mick.

Mick was 62 and had ridden with my Norwegian friend through Nevada and much of California. We talked for half an hour about the beauty of the West, sleeping in the wild, the business side of Mormanism, and the oncoming places. Mick was a joy to speak with and he was loving his trip.

Shortly after talking with Mick, I met Travis. Travis was on his way up the mountain on a small speed bike, training for a 200 mile cycling day in September. He informed me that I was 7 miles from the top, and I threw him from the canyon. Well, I thought of doing it. I counted the next 7 miles to the top in painfully slow fashion until I was met with scenic views like you wouldn't believe.

I rolled right on through Cedar Breaks Park, passing vivid rock formations, colors and towering walls of chiseled history. It was 18 miles to Cedar City and almost straight into the depths of the canyon. Cars that passed me because I was a bike were barely able to stay on the road afterward because of their speed. It was ridiculous. I thundered into Cedar City in less than 30 minutes. 

In the town, I finally got phone service for the first time in a while and found that one of my CouchSurfing requests worked. Andy had left me an email saying, "Oh dude you can come on over anytime you want. My door is open..." 

Awesome!

Andy lives on a dead end street with three other roommates but the only one I met was Kim. Andy is 23, has long blonde hair, free spirited, and is reserved but when he sits down to have a conversation with you; it's a deep one. His roommate Kim is a larger than life 21 year old who talks a lot but always with optimism. He has a similar fashioned Mohawk like mine and is a little shorter and wider than the toned Andy.

When I got to Andy's house, I learned of 4 other CouchSurfers staying there: Adam from Israel, Monika from Italy, "Brazil" from Brazil, and Anika from Germany. An incredibly wonderful, curious, adventurous group. After less than 25 minutes of being at the house, we all went to a large lake miles away. A deep, endless mine shaft that had been accidentally flooded years ago. The water filled up the gigantic area and now there's a pool brimming with algae and fish. It was incredible.

I need to shorten these posts...

I hung out with the MS cyclists again, went to the bar with my CouchSurfing buddies, and had a splendid sunset hot dog dinner with Andy. It also needs to be mentioned in a crazy twist of chance, I met people who knew a mutual friend of mine from Cape May Court House. This friend had gone to school here for a year and I met some of her best friends from that time. They invited me back to their house and treated me like an honored guest. Cam and Adam; they were mah bais. Both also donated toward my charities without me even asking. Swell friends.

I got back to Andys... eventually.

     Shortly after Escalante somewhere.

Some twisted rock formations outside of Bryce Canyon on my descent into Panguich.

I climbed a tree in my woody haven to get a better view of the sunset.

                    Lake Panguich

           Overlooking Cedar Breaks Park: picture by a couple named Jim and Stacy from Las Vegas. Jim was probably the most enthusiastic person about my trip that I'd ever met. The guy made me feel pretty special.

Another overlook around Cedar Breaks.

       Swimming in the mine shaft.

      Andy taking a selfie on my phone.

                    Cam and Adam!

A Constant Contradiction: The Paradox of a Technology Era Youth in the Wilderness

I didn't get far today... and I don't mind. In between Boulder and the next town of Escalante, there is a 30 mile stretch of the 1.7 million acre Escalante Grand Staircase National Monument; an enormous, empty barren land set aside by President Clinton in 1996. The spellbinding terrain twisted and turned through miles of eroded rock. At one point I was at the zenith of the park (I think) gawking at the limitless landscape only to descend into the lowest point... and then back up again.

After the final scenic overlook, I noted a small dirt road that led to another "scenic overlook". This one had a radio tower extending from it with a concrete hut next to it. I pedaled up the extra 100 feet, then climbed atop the concrete hut. God lay before me. I sat up there for a good while, even taking a short nap. Eventually, I left for the final 10 miles into Escalante.

I stopped at the visitor center and was met by the enthusiastic Karen. Karen had recently moved to the area with her husband, was in her late 40's, and explained to me the general populace of Escalante; retirees. When she learned of my little bike trip, she gripped my wrist expressing her excitement. She was a real charcter. I was literally starving though and she recommended a handul of restaurants. All I heard was Subway. 

So off I was to Subway to rejuvenate. I then planned on taking off toward the town of Henrieville 40 miles away. A thunderstorm caused me to wait a bit. In the span I waited, the winds picked up and the storm looked to be an all-night event. I went inside the lobby of a motel to organize myself.

Within this motel, I met the kind owner by the name of Dan. He had relocated from Michigan to get away from his crazy divorcee and accept a job as a hotel manager. A weekly salary, and apartment comes with the job; not a bad gig. The man walked with considerable joint pain and seemed to have a memory that often betrayed him but he was nice to talk to. He spoke of the high moral values of the town because of the Mormon faith and the lack of drug problems with what youth existed.

From Dan's motel, I called the campground across the street, which brought me in contact with the pleasant host, Andre. Andre would allow me to hang out on the office porch for an hour, watching the storm and using his wifi. When I finally decided to stay, he gave me a gracious 10% discount. Every time I've left the campground on my bike, he's given a neighborly wave upon each exit and entrance.

Another guy I had the pleasure of seeing again was Michael. I don't know if I brought him up on the blog but we've crossed each other once daily for the past three days. Our first acquaintence at Hite, we spent about half an hour chatting in the middle of the 100 degree heat. The next day, we chatted for forty five minutes. Today, as I spotted him pedaling past the campground, I waved at him and he cycled over to me. An hour long conversation ensued. Michael's an awesome kid. He's a year younger than me, has a girlfriend he's crazy about, and pretty cool parents who biked with him through two states. He's also cycling solo. Despite being youner than me, I look up to him. He's one of the few guys on the trip that really gets it and he has a good head on his shoulders.

After Michael left, I got ice cream and biked a mile up the road to the Escalante State Park to go on a hike. I ventured off the monotonously tepid trail looping all around the face of the mountain. I scaled straight up it for the best view. 

I am currently sitting in a blue, metal chair with a small wiry table of equal design in front of me. My bare feet are extended upon the table and the sun is retreating behind the large mound of rock directly ahead. I can hear an amateur guitarist playing chords somewhere in the campground. The tone is social yet quiet and calming. Within this campground, there is a mutual understanding or attempt to intertwine with the natural surroudings, despite the gargantuan RV's and emissive, spewing, walled-in motor vehicles. There is a strong attempt. Why pay money to experience what comes naturally? Because despite all our technological dependencies, we still yearn for the instinctual, genetic relationship with our home; the natural planet. 

       One portion of the Escalante Grand Staircase Park

From my scenic route to the top of this little mountain. Before me is the reservoir of the Escalante State Park.

                               Sunset in Escalante.

A Haven Wherever My Encampment Is

I'm writing this from my sleeping bag, camped off of a backroad about 30 feet up from the pavement. I'm laying beneath the night sky, peering up at the moon hidden behind the haze of the cloudy Utah sky. The sun has recently recessed behind the 200-300 foot rock wall that stands authoritatively over me. I can hear the owls beginning to stir, the squeaking of the blind bats flying furiously about, the chirping of the crickets, and the occasional buzz of a passing (likely lost) motorist. Peering around at the trees, rocks, and dirt, I realize in this moment of peaceful solidarity with nature; I am perfectly content.

Despite going to sleep at the hotel dreaming of the continental breakfast, I woke up as it was ending at 9:08. I missed the waffles and pancakes... oh well. Plans of hitting the road by 9 were also dashed... by waking up at that very time. However, I did get to meet the family staying two rooms down.

The wife of Hawaiian descent asked if I was cycling because I didn't have a car. Upon my response, she eagerly got her husband Aaron to come talk to me. Aaron was probably 15 years my senior and had cycled the TransAm about 10 years ago. He was tall, thin yet athletic, and fit the average biker profile. He beamed when speaking about the trip, and we shared similar thoughts of the experience. The family was heading to Moab for the day. 

I hit the road, mentally preparing for a pretty difficult climb but nothing I haven't done before... or so I thought. Talking with the clerk in the hotel lobby, I found that the elevation of the area sat at 5500 feet. When I got to the summit of the mountains leading to Boulder, there was a sign reading: "Summit 9600 feet". Okay, so the 6 hours it took me to go 30 or so miles wasn't in vain. I was noticeably more worn out and tired today throughout the ride but this led to many stops and brief explorations through unknown paths. With this sense of adventure, I was led to many beautiful and breathtaking views atop the "Boulder Mountains". I was in no hurry to leave. 

However, it seemed like the mountain was not keen upon my slow, inquisitive voyage through its mysterious mounds. Thunderstorms, and dark clouds hovered over every few miles. At such high altitudes, rain is twice as common atop the mountains. One rainy, damp climb to 8000 feet would yield to sunshine on the downhill of 7000 feet. However, at the summit is where the rain started to come down hardest.

The steep downhill was slightly terrifying and bone-numbingly cold. In my poncho, I attempted the beginning of the descent but the painful slapping of the clumps of rain upon my face forced me to pull over. After waiting under the poor shelter of a pine tree for a few minutes, I decided the sooner I got to a lower altitude, the sooner the rain would let up. Tightening the poncho's hood around my head until a small window of vision was left, I pushed myself off. I didn't pedal one time for the next 10 miles into Boulder. At 9000 feet, the road resembled a flowing river and my brakes were being put to the absolute test. At 8000 feet, the rain began to let up and the path became more traversable. At 7000 feet, the road was all but damp in a few spots and the rain had all but finished. Curious drivers beginning the climb in the opposite lane gazed questionably as we passed each other. 

In Boulder, I found the cheapest restaurant in town (which wasn't) and munched into my only meal other than breakfast. It seems, despite my best intentions, that I am still spending a great deal of money on food and treats. After every span of miles with no services, I enter towns itching to purchase a soda, ice cream, something. Perhaps it is the result of being raised in a consumer culture, my governmental purpose of putting my earnings back into the system that watches over me. I'm still attempting to overcome this "materialistic" urge or at least find other means by satisfying it (hunting? Walmart?). 

This is my journal. These are my thoughts. I hope I don't live to regret sharing them with the Internet ;).

Diverging from the paved road to find my own scenic view atop Boulder Mountain.

               The Summit (9600 ft.)

Another scenic view off a dirt road that led past a curiously shy and apprehensive dog.

    Waking up at my campground at sunrise this morning: plenty of pinks, purples, and pleasure.