Wednesday, July 29, 2009

To Catch a Thief

Hi all,

Typing from the library in Fallon, Nevada. The AC adapter for the laptop I've been using was stolen earlier today, so there may be some delay in further updates of the blog. Still have the laptop - no need to worry Mr. Kent. I've purchased a new cord online and shipped it ahead. Give you the whole story in a few days.

Wishing you a continually delightful summer,
-Mike Roddy

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Masochist's Buffet

Our second morning waking up in Room 303, Hampton Inn, Cedar City, Utah. We went downstairs for a second stab at the continental breakfast – this time with considerably more hesitation. There was riding to be done today and yesterday's meal had not been kind to our bowels. We descended out of Cedar City for a while and traveled on a lonely road. Had a break about twenty miles in where Jordan had to make a deposit in the middle of an open field. Cars could probably see what was going on, I could certainly tell what was going on. What're you gonna do? After a successful eruption we pressed on for some climbing, and inevitable descent to Minersville. Stopped at the gas station and saw a trailer and met another touring cyclist. His name is Nate and he bears an uncanny, alternate dimension, cosmic significance resemblance to our pal Garrett Shannon. In my opinion, anyway. Nate is a grad student in New York City, originally from Indiana. He's riding West as well so we decided to ride together. Nate is also pushing some long days to make it to San Francisco in time to fly to Michigan to attend his brother's wedding. Today his plan was to ride one of those long days. Where we had planned to stop in Milford at 55 miles because of a lack of services, Nate invited us to join him for around 140.

Jordan was into it immediately, I was hesitant, and Jeremy had no passion for it but agreed to go along if that's what everyone else was doing. We contemplated the possibility while riding fifteen miles on to Milford. Nate has a speaker for his Ipod and it was a strange and wonderful experience to be listening to music while we rode. We arrived in Milford, found the grocery store and sat on the curb wondering if we were going to join for the extended day. Not only was it another 84 miles, but without any services. We decided to embrace the spontaneous, join our new companion, and make the slog. We filled up all of our extra water bottles and began the ride.

The first ten miles were fairly uneventful, some gradual climbing. Then the wind came on, strong. It reduced our progress big time. Halved our speed. Then the rain began. Light at first. We sort of chuckled about it. “Haha, this is funny... right? Rain on a tremendously long day. Adventurous, right?” Then the rain became serious. We put on the covers frantically, looked at each other, and somehow knew the remaining miles would not come easily. By now it was both raining and blowing. Jordan apologized to Jeremy and I for his enthusiasm in tackling the challenge. It was miserable, awful, disgusting. And what comes with rain? Lightning, naturally. Lowest point of the entire tour. My mind disengaged from my body while my legs ground slowly in pitiful revolutions. I was a disembodied thought drifting in the haze of the angry clouds. The road disappeared. The other riders disappeared. The scenery was a void. Left leg, right leg, left leg, right leg. Suffering. Pain. Misery. Too many miles ahead to even consider. It was a day only for the most hardened masochists. The question became: Exactly how much beauty is there in suffering?

We were climbing this whole time as well. We saw smoke from a ridge up ahead, then a small fire, likely started by the lightning sparking around us. Frisco Summit at 6,445 feet. Descent. Wah Wah Summit at 6,439 feet. We took a break in a valley, hedged in by our descent behind and the next climb in front. Probably thirty miles between the two. The road stretched out in a long, thin, cruel ribbon in front of us. You pedal and pedal and the range in front of you never seems to get closer, locked in exactly the same place. Leaned our bicycles against a pole or two and sat in the dirt. There was no foliage on either side of the road. No greenery. Just miles of unbroken dirt. A good candidate for a dust storm, which is exactly what appeared while we took that break. You could try to face away from the direction of the wind but the particulate covered your clothes and got in the crevices of your eyes. For those seeking a challenge, challenge delivered.

We pressed on for untold pedal strokes and the weather finally started to improve after our last climb. We began to descend toward the Nevada border. We saw a beautiful sunset over the hills ahead and arrived at the state line just as the last of the day's light was consumed by darkness. Triumph. Joy. An explosion of glee. Our destination was only seven miles off. We had made it. Took out the lights and the rear flashers and actually got assistance from the wind for the final push. We were booking but there was no longer any daylight to show our speed on the cycling computer. We arrived at the Silver Jack Inn in Baker, Nevada and were let into the restaurant/coffee shop/art gallery, after hours. We ate brownies and pie and other baked goods drank fine microbrews and were told to settle the bill in the morning. There was light rain again and Terry, the owner, showed us to the room where he sells antiques. A free indoor stay. Triumph. As always, it is feast or famine, boom or bust on this bike tour. We had done the 140 miles, made it to Baker, had all of our toes. It was awful at so many points, but incredible nonetheless. Longest single day of riding for any of us. And we are not merely bicyclists, but time travelers, gaining an hour upon crossing into the Pacific Time Zone. Good to be done, never again.

In Utah? What?

And people talk in hushed tones when they drive it.

Camera was stowed during the worst of the rain. Just imagine us in that.

Garrett Shannon, I mean, Nate Crimmins.

Boulevard of no headway.

Dirt sandwich. Ripe for dust storms.

Temporary Insanity. Maybe not temporary...

"I can't believe you idiots brought me along for this."

Looking up.

What now Utah!?

Business Travel

We rose from some awfully plush beds and got down to the lobby five minutes early of the posted breakfast opening. Everything was already set out and set up, excellent. The gorge-fest was on. Three different kinds of cereal, French toast, muffins, danishes, chopped fruit, orange juice, apple juice, and much more that I'm certainly forgetting. It had been our desire to shut the thing down but the Hampton has a very well-stocked pantry behind their continental breakfast so we had to be content with purely personal satisfaction. After we had eaten ourselves into a drunken stupor we lumped back up to the room. Jordan and Jeremy went back to sleep while I attempted to update the website.

All parties came to and we made some plans to go out on the town during our rest day. We left a lot of belongings back in the hotel room and the bikes were nimble, quick, accelerated hard. That was new. Rode north to the better of the two bike shops and topped off with their floor pump. I purchased a Discovery Channel cycling cap that was on discount. Our intention was to go to the University of Southern Utah campus but we were diverted by a restaurant called the Pizza Factory. By this time it was at least five hours after breakfast, I assure you. The lunch special was a personal pizza, a soda, and access to a well-stocked salad bar. Lunch was fine and we eventually did make it to the campus. Cedar City is home to a premiere Shakespeare festival but we didn't make it to any performances during our visit, just passed by the theaters where the plays were being staged. We did, however, visit a fine arts gallery housed in one of the campus buildings. Saw quite a few photos of natural landmarks that we had passed in the last week or so. The campus was attractive but there were groceries to buy, so we pressed on.

On the way out we passed their pool which had an enticing multi-story slide, unfortunately out of order. Back to the hotel to do laundry and eat more pizza and pack our bags to begin riding again the next day. The internet had not been working at the Hampton. I tried everything I knew how to do and they called some tech support hotline to no avail. But... a lot of development is taking place near the hotel and on the second evening of our stay in Cedar City the Supercuts router came online. Success! We wasted time on the computer in our room instead of out in the parking lot connected to the “Reyes Family Network.” Real beds called our names and we relented and slept soundly, held aloft by dreams of signed contracts and successful conferences at the Hampton Inn.


Isn't that precious?

I resisted the urge to draw lewd things on them.

Airtime.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Staying at the Hampton

This morning was a long, hard slog of approximately 35 miles of consistent uphill. Sure there were some flats and plateaus, but the name of the game was up. Started out awfully cold in Panguitch, a very crisp morning. All of the warmers and jackets, however, came off within a few minutes of encountering the sun and the climb. We took our midway break at a gas station and general store on Lake Panguitch. The place was a two story log cabin with a front porch and bench seating, a miniature lodge. It was an ideal spot to watch a guy smash into the gas station awning. He was driving a pickup truck with an oversize camper shell attached and bashed right into the overhang above the gas pumps. The shell swayed back and forth dangerously from the impact but eventually stabilized. His buddy got out to assess the damage and pulled off a couple of exterior pieces of the shell, metal rails and such. We spoke briefly to a guy from Kansas and named names, listing off the cities we had been to. Hey, now we're on the level with Kansas folks.

We continued climbing again, occasionally stopping to fill up the water bottles or down a Clif bar, there was little relief. I believe it was the longest sustained climb of the tour. The thing was nearly over when we entered the Cedar Breaks National Monument but pushed for one final stretch to the absolute top. We stopped at a meadow blooming with stunning wildflowers and then began a glorious downhill push. It was around ten miles of good, strong descent with an S curve thrown in for good measure. The final portion became more gradual and we rode steadily toward Cedar City. During the final approach to the city we saw a perplexing dude. He was riding in the opposite direction, was missing many of his teeth, rode a rickety bicycle and was hauling near-empty panniers. The crowning achievement of the whole setup though, was a full size BBQ propane tank lashed to his rear rack. Yes, we're talking gas grill. Right next to your Weber. You want to char some doggies, he's got what you need. We cracked up hysterically and wondered if it had actually happened.

Our destination in Cedar City was of the slightly more luxurious variety. My uncle does a lot of business travel for his job computer consulting and has racked up quite a few points with the Hilton chain. He got in touch with me some days earlier and offered to put us up if a city had a participating hotel. Cedar City is the proud home of a Hampton Inn. Thank you Uncle John. And hello to Aunt Beth and Jenna and Andrew. And if that wasn't enough, Jeremy's mom offered to pay for another evening so we could have a rest day after twelve days on the road.

We found an internet cafe, looked up directions, and headed toward Easy Street. Visited both of the town's bike shops on the way and Jordan was quite pleased to find a replacement Armadillo tire after his current rear had been damaged in the rain cover/skid incident. Jeremy replaced his broken bottle at one shop and bought a second at the other. We arrived at the Hampton, checked in, and picked up a package from my mom. Thanks Mom. But also thanks to Janet Shannon, mother of our good friend Garrett Shannon. The cardboard box was filled with the leftovers of gourmet camp food Garrett had been receiving on his solo journey across the US some months prior. Individual packets of olive oil, pastas, dehydrated vegetables, couscous, mushroom rice, incredible. We will eat in style.

We were waiting for some cookies to finish baking in the Hampton reception area and some obnoxious motorcycle types arrived. They thought they were tough because they bought some stuff at the Harley Davidson store but they were annoying so we departed, sans cookies. Ate at the Costa Vida Mexican restaurant, a bit like Chiptole, and weird to be watching surf videos on the wall in Utah. A girl working there complimented on us our tee shirts and we had Horchata. In Utah? It was great.

We came back and the cookies were ready and we ate many and spoke to a family that ended up being from Poway, Sabre Springs. Small world huh? Boredom struck late in the evening and we walked over to Wal Mart and rode around on their motorized scooters. An employee yelled at us and told us “Those aren't for playing on.” Buzzkill. Everybody looked sad in Wal Mart so we went back home to the Hampton. Finished the day watching some bad TV and asked for a wake up call at 5:55 the next morning.

The pool hall/garage at the Hitchin' Post.

On the climb.

The reverse.

At the top.

Around 10,000 feet.

Final descent into Cedar City.

Panguitch and New Realities

We left Escalante and did some moderate climbing up to the first peak of the day. Then some downhill to redeem the Hogback. Hard, winding turns. Steep descent. Hit a new tour record at 52.7 mph. An excellent piece of riding. We continued pedaling on the flats and met another touring cyclist and stopped to talk. He looked to be in his 60's and was riding solo to New York City for a high school reunion. It was awesome, impressive, and inspiring. To have four or five more decades of strong riding in front of us is pretty cool. We cruised on through Henrieville and took our first real break of the day in a town called Tropic.

Tropic was surprisingly well-developed with a thick cluster of stores right along the highway. The tourist trade seems to lift it up. We stopped at the small grocery store and watched a whole slew of foreign travelers come through. There was a French guy who talked on a pay phone for at least 45 minutes, and then a woman who cleaned her windshield with frantic, spastic movements, and a few girls speaking French – but wearing smocks, which meant they worked there, but why do they speak French, but? A confusing place. Jeremy broke the lid of one of his water bottles and cried briefly, we all refueled on calories.

Soon it was time to ride again and we did some gradual climbing up to a plateau with all sorts of motels and hotels and ATV rental places. The map indicated that we'd be exiting the highway for a separated bike path and we saw a dirt road that paralleled the pavement. Great, Adventure Cycling. Not on these tires. But we were just premature in our judgments and soon enough, a paved bike path. Man was that thing fun. Whoever is responsible for the road descending down Red Canyon apparently thought bicycles and traffic shouldn't mix so they built a walking and riding path. After thousands of miles of open American highway it was pretty strange to be riding on a miniaturized road. But the curves were far sharper than a car could take and we zipped down the mountain, Jordan and I trading spots off the front, racing. We got to the end of it and realized that we had totally missed the scenery of the canyon in the novelty of having our own route. Five miles of good time.

We stopped for a piece of fruit or two and began the last stretch toward Panguitch. We had downhill terrain and some fine tailwind assistance and showed up in short order. We stopped first at the library but their internet wasn't working due to some fiber optic cable nonsense. Or so they said. We surveyed nearly all the local restaurants and settled on a pizza and pasta place which treated us well. So well, in fact, that Jordan laid down on the floor and had a brief nap next to our booth. Back to consciousness and we sought out the pool which was very cleverly hidden indoors, inside the high school, and with the very limited hours of 2 to 4 PM. Just missed the window. We made another inquiry at the library and the internet was functioning again. There wasn't any better spot so I set up the laptop on a miniature chair while I sat on the stairs of the reading area in the children's section. We goofed off in the library for a while and eventually Jeremy and Jordan joined me on the steps as well. We were offered a small child to take with us but it turned out the mother wanted to hold onto her after all.

The library closed and we headed over to the Hitchin' Post campground to begin our campaign of doing what we feel like. We looked for somebody at the office and eventually settled our debt with a woman who may have been slightly drunk. The tab was 15.15 but we gave only bills and that seemed to be fine. We also helped ourselves to bite-size Butterfingers from a jar on the counter. We headed over to the grass tent area and were shown a three car garage which housed a pool table, ping pong table, and various storage for the campground. It began to rain lightly so we moved all of our stuff inside the unfinished garage. We later overheard some older intoxicated ladies making some noise about our apparently unorthodox sleeping arrangements. There was no migration though, we're tired of being pushovers at private campgrounds. We now create our own realities. We talked to ATV riders traveling on the Payute Trail, and some RV campers from East Texas, and then dozed off.


Top of the first climb.

Is that the best you can do?

I've seen tougher.

Take a look at your computer screen and now imagine it about three thousand times bigger.

Isn't that cute?

Red Canyon Bike Path.

Bottom of Red Canyon.

Everybody has a good time in Panguitch.

Escalante

We woke up and anxiously walked over to the food-stashing tree. The squirrels or chipmunks or whatever had gotten into Jeremy's baggage somewhat, nibbling on the corner of the bag where he dumps his cereal and granola and wheat thins and whatever else. We called the minor loss a success. It was hot chocolates all around before the riding began. Excellent.

And begin it did. The climbing flared up during the exit of the driveway of the campground and didn't relent for a while. Ten to twelve miles of sustained up to make it to the top of Boulder Mountain. Glad to have split it up into two days. Always good to deal with a stiff climb first thing. The mountain is the highest timbered plateau in North America at a peak of around 9,500 feet for the paved road. We traded a few words with a pair of motorcyclists at the top and began a very short descent before another climb to the real summit. A group of cows blocked the road but the bikers honked their horns and our bovine friends dispersed. We were getting some light rain at the summit and had to take it easy on the way down. It was just enough to annoy but not enough to warrant rain covers with a fast downhill to try to exit the clouds.

Down through the timber and around a curve and a deer is standing in the opposite lane. I'm still a ways off at this point saying: “OK deer, just stay where you are. Be cool. Stay cool. Just stay right there.” The next phrase was “Oh fuck.” The deer doubled back on the road, ran directly in front of me and down the shoulder. I jammed on the brakes hard and managed to avoid a collision. I was shaky the rest of the descent though. Wheh, deers'll do you every time.

After that near miss we continued the descent and arrived in the town of Boulder, UT. We went to an Anasazi museum there and saw displays on flint knapping and Native home construction and arrowheads and all other manner of artifacts. Behind the museum are the remains of the foundations of buildings that made up an Anasazi village around a thousand years ago. This area of Utah is steeped in history. Didn't make it to the dinosaur museum in Blanding though. Next time. We cruised over to the general store and met some motorcyclists who had just ridden the “Hogback.” I'll let the map's description introduce the road: “On Map 36, the highlight (or terror) on this section is The Hogback south of Boulder. It is a 3-mile stretch of narrow two-lane road along a ridge spine with no shoulders or guardrails and has drops on both sides.” The bikers told us it was gnarly, crazy, scary – but that we'd be OK because we ride bikes without engines. One of them said something to the effect of: “I don't even know how they built the road.”

After finishing our snacks it was six or seven miles to the beginning of the Hogback. We were excited, giddy even, to ride something so terrible. The beast turned out to be a lapdog. While it was a good descent, it was definitely the victim of too much hype. The majority of the road was cut into the hillside, the dropoffs were not that steep, there was a bit of spine at the beginning, and one hard turn with a suggested speed of 25 mph. We got to the bottom and went: “That was it!? That was it?” “Boar-ing.” We had a few minutes of insulting the hill at the Escalante River before it was time to go up again.

The climbing to follow was real steep. We were stopped by construction workers at a road closure and enjoyed the Utah blacktop for quite some time. We yelled at drivers to give us something from their cooler, and for the flagman to let us through, and generally bemoaned the blockade. We continued eventually and tried to draft behind a work truck hauling logs. He wasn't having it and accelerated hard and spat clouds of loose gravel at us from the incomplete road. We persisted anyway before losing interest or energy and finished the last of the steep climbing. Had a break about ten miles out of Escalante, our destination.

When we arrived, it looked like the place to be was Escalante Outfitters. The building houses a well-stocked gear shop as well as a restaurant. We ordered a delicious cheese pizza and watched the rain come down, Hard. It was quite nice to be done for the day and not caught in the storm some five or ten miles on. Jordan enjoyed a quality beer and we used their wireless internet and courtesy computers to kill time. Then a grocery stockup as usual before we set our stuff out at the campground next door to the Outfitters. The owner came over to talk to us about our ride and told us the story of his buying the place. He had been riding through Utah some years previous, stopped in, and had purchased it within four hours of his arrival. He also talked to us about Everet Ruess, who you should probably look into if you're unfamiliar, and an arts festival he had started and his involvement in the town. The conversation became a very heartfelt and earnest discussion about our connection to the land and stewardship of the wilderness and appreciation of the beauty of what hasn't been spoiled in this country. It introduced a philosophical and perhaps even spiritual bent to the nature of the journey.

Before bed we made one final trip to the restaurant component of the joint and had soda and beer and delicious baked goods and talked about the nature of the conversation and our return to normalcy in a few short weeks. Jeremy maintains that the guy just sort of disappeared into the ether when he walked away, that he's actually been dead for twenty years.

And before I forget we saw quite a few foreign travelers stop in today. There was a French father and husband who I talked to about the Tour de France and other races. Very animated, he kept telling me that we were very “courageous.” And then a French vixen wearing some kind of belted dress and on vacation with her parents. Intoxicating. Many words today, this is the final... one.

The food is safe. We are happy.

Climbing, climbing, climbing.

View from the top.

I wish it lived up to the sign.

Good canyons though.

Hey, look. I'm in Utah.

Yeah, that one was pretty good.

"Goooooooooooooooooool!"

Happy to have missed that.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Sconed.

Darkness again for our emergence into consciousness. We rolled off the elevated concrete pad and onto the bicycles. This morning was desert in the most traditional sense. Dusty, dirt, and mounds of sand. A little scrub brush clung to life here and there but the big player out of Hanksville is dirt. We did some mild climbing and saw a series of appealing signs about fifteen miles in. “Mesa Organic Farm.” “Fresh Baked Breads.” “Organic Salad.” “Coffee.” We pulled off the road and had a try at their front door but to no avail. We even saw a guy stomping around the back but he wasn't very business savvy and decided not to open for us. He seemed to be unaware of how much bicyclists consume in the way of calories. Another couple of glum miles and we were in Cainesville, destination: the Rodeway Inn. That truly is about all Cainesville has for business. We ate our snacks on a bench which was on a lawn in front of the hotel. We went inside to fill our water bottles and eyed their continental breakfast. It was slim so we contented ourselves with Tomato Basil Wheat Thins and peanut butter and rode on.

We continued climbing again and the Fremont River, which had barely been a trickle down the road, began to appear more impressive. The dirt transitioned to a river valley walled in by massive cliffs on either side. Fifteen miles or so of gradual uphill and we arrived in the Capitol Reef National Park. We stopped and saw petroglyphs inscribed into the rock face. We saw a guy with four Cervelos in the back of a truck and apparently the area had played host to a stage race the day before. He got 2nd in his division and his daughters 1st and 2nd in theirs. They were heading to Oregon for the girls to compete in Nationals. Impressive. He was dialed into the racing scene of course, and gave us the Tour update.

Capitol Reef has been the site of human settlement for more than a thousand years, first Native American and then by isolated Mormon farmers. The Mormons planted trees here, some several thousand that bear fruit in a number of orchards. Apples, peaches, others I can't seem to recall. Unfortunately, nothing seemed to be in season, but when they are ripe, you're welcome to eat as much as you'd like. We rode a bit farther to the Visitors Center and refilled the bottles and took in an eighteen minute interpretive film on the park. The movie featured a few shots of the ocean and shivers went up my spine. It will be a wondrous occasion when we take sight of the Pacific. We moseyed over to the cash register and I spied a number of what looked like delicious baked breads being displayed under glass. I asked about the morsels and whether they were for sale. “Well, not these ones. But you can go down the road to the Griffith House.” There was some wavering if we'd go the mile out of the way but there was later much rejoicing that we did.

The Griffith House is a remaining structure from the Mormon settlement and features a portion of its square footage as museum and the other as bakery. Fresh and homemade. They have scones, pies, homemade ice cream, bread loaves, homemade salsa and jams, deluxe root beer – a tremendous find. I started off with a raspberry scone and vanilla ice cream. Extraordinary. Probably the finest baked goods within a two hundred mile radius. I went back for a second round and spoke to the woman working there about our trip and the people we had met and the highs and lows crossing the country. She gave me an ice cream for free and Jordan an orange cream soda. I went back a final time to fill a water bottle and was overjoyed to receive four scones for the crew to enjoy.

We left Capitol Reef to a few light raindrops and arrived in Torrey. We found an outfitters shop and Jeremy and I picked up a few Clif Bars while Jordan bought a camping silverware set. He broke his fork/spoon combo some days back. We rode further into town and stopped off at the grocery store where we spoke to a guy from Holland on an RV trip. They'll rent those things to anybody. But really, he was quite nice. We saw a storm off in the distance and were just about to start riding when we felt some drizzle and got back underneath the store's awning. It cleared again and the pedaling resumed. We did a bit of climbing before hitting a snafu. One of Jordan's pannier rain covers blew off and got sucked into his rear wheel, locked it up, and sent him skidding to a stop. No injury to Jordan but a section of tread burned off his brand new tire. (He had just replaced his previous.) Found remedy with a bungee cord and we continued climbing.

It started to rain on us but thankfully without too much severity. The ascent, however, became fierce. Up, up, up. Desperately searching for a plateau or a lessening in the grade to rest on. The final two miles were at an eight percent grade before we arrived at the Singletree Campground. It was raining when we pulled in and raining when we set up camp but the weather did clear and soon the sun was out in force. This afternoon weather is fickle. We went and spoke to a very nice couple from Provo, Utah and stomped around the campground a bit. This was a real campground. We were in the mountains with trees and grass and scenery. No camping in a parking lot tonight. There were a number of signs advising visitors to store all food inside their car or hard-shelled RV. Right, store our food in the car. No bear lockers were available so we hid all the food up in a tree and hoped for the best. I'll let you know how that went in the next update. We concluded the day with a delicious dessert of raspberry scones and reflected on an excellent stretch of sightseeing and baked goods.


Hanksville in the morning.

Taking a pee in the dirt.

Dirt Magurt.

You're minuscule in this country.

His white jersey is really dirty.

Look closely, petroglyphs.

Exiting Capitol Reef.

Blocking wind. Breaking wind.

Singletree Campground.

Surly.

Exploring. Tired legs make for short hikes.

Now that's what I call a campground.

Stan's Burger Shak is a Vortex

Still dark when we woke up this morning, first rays while we were stirring the oatmeal. We slogged up the hill we had descended the afternoon before and stared straight into the rising sun. Another positive of going westbound. (We were headed East at that point, took a left and no more sun.) There are some days where we wake up on the bikes. You achieve a mild level of consciousness while getting ready, eating a banana – but it might be ten miles before your focus actually gets sharp. We rode over two bridges that took us across the Colorado, and then the Dirty Devil rivers. It was a steep push out of the Lake Powell area, 8 percent for a mile. Then the hill decided it was tired of punishing us and mellowed out for the next fifteen miles or so and we held a respectable 11 and 12 up the slight incline. Stopped off at the Hog Springs Rest Area. We were hoping it would have running water, but no such luck. When you see the plastic tubing jutting out of the roof you know they're ventilating a toilet of the let-it-drop variety. A Clif Bar or two later and another touring cyclist arrived. As it turns out, Michele had slept at Hite Recreation Area last night as well. And he started riding this morning within a few minutes of our departure. Still missed him. Michele is a teacher at a special high school for promising athletes and artists in Quebec City. His English is a bit slow but we conversed nonetheless. He tows what looks like the bicycle equivalent of an Airstream trailer. Gleaming, curvaceous metal. Anyway, he started in Denver and is heading to San Francisco as well.

It was only right to pick up another foreign companion so we rode with Michele the next 35 miles to Hanksville. Hanksville was sort of a forced destination for us, another stretch of 50 miles of no services between Hite and there. And the last few days had been strenuous, so we decided to lounge a bit. We stopped at a convenience store set into the mountain and Michele told us about earlier travels hitchhiking through Latin America, and visiting Machu Picchu, and hiking the Inca Trail. He didn't have the right equipment out of a group of better-equipped companions but he ended up being the only one without blisters because he did much of the trail barefoot. Cool guy. Michele decided to press a bit further for the day so we shook hands and he departed. We'll likely see him again.

We cruised over to the post office just in time to jettison some empty fuel canisters, and some extraneous clothing, and a few other oddities. Luckily we made it into Hanksville fast, the post office is no more after 12:30. We doubled back to Stan's Burger Shak and were ensnared in the Lake Powell traffic. Hanksville seems to be a popular stop-off for the speedboat set and this was an establishment that feeds a lot of people. Counter ordering but an expansive dining hall. It took a couple of years for the orders to come up but they had Wifi so we were appeased. Noisy though, bustling. Grocery store for a stock up and then to the laundromat. There was a really comfortable three-legged couch that we enjoyed and Jordan relayed details of the trip and travels to a woman who was laundering as well. We checked out the park which was on the outskirts of town and decided that was going to be our home for the evening.

We went to the Burger Shak much later in the afternoon and enjoyed a far more pleasant atmosphere. We skipped the stove meals today and enjoyed what Stan had to offer. A very kind gentleman gave each of us a Clif Bar after hearing about the ride. I managed to put up a bunch of posts and we did some mapping and some strategy. We hightailed it back it to the park just as the light was slipping away and found the evening's concrete slab. Had an awning though. We got chased by a couple of yappers on the way over but they were laughable and we outsprinted them easily. There's a pump spigot about four or five feet off the ground at the park so Jordan and Jeremy got nude, individually, and showered underneath. I decided I wasn't dirty enough to get wet. No shower streak continues. Blew up the air mattresses, dozed off.

Out of Hite, over the rivers, early.

Colorado? Dirty Devil? Can't remember.

You're not so big.

Road to nowhere.

Michele and company.

Looking out from the Laundromat. Hanksville is a dusty place.

Lounging.

Only 3000 miles!?

Shredded.