Day 77: Pagosa Springs to Cortez

May 16, 2004 Colorado

We set off at 7 am into a clear but chilly morning, continuing along Highway 160 which we've been following since Walsenburg. We cycled downhill, away from the Continental Divide, through beautiful forests, verdant meadows, past Chimney Rock, and over the Piedra River. From this drainage the road then climbed back up into higher country before dropping back down into the Los Pinos River drainage and the town of Bayfield. All this was through beautiful Ponderosa forests much of the way, and past a few early type wildflowers dotting the roadside - mainly bitterroot in full and glorious bloom. The more we descended, the more the day warmed, until finally we had to stop to shed wind jackets, long pants and extra shirts.

The Sunday traffic became rather hectic as the morning wore on, especially the closer we came to Durango. The drivers seemed to be extremely impatient to get to wherever they were going. And to make matters worse, from Bayfield to Durango the shoulder was just a narrow strip.

We stayed on Highway 160 through the southeastern sprawl of Durango. Fortunately this bypassed the main part of town. Durango is at 6,500 feet, and the temperature here at noon was 72 degrees. On the west side of town, before starting the climb up to Hesperus Pass, we stopped for lunch. While there we saw several local cyclists go by, heading west. We continued on, and waved hellos to more cyclists coming down from the pass. It was fun taking part in their sport. The traffic continued to be busy, and for some reason, even though the westbound traffic had two lanes, most of the drivers held obstinately to the right-hand lane, and did not move over very much, if at all, as they roared past us.

From the top of the pass we had fantastic views of the La Plata mountains directly to the north, and back behind us, some of the San Juan mountains we had cycled through yesterday. Looking ahead we could see the high plateaus and mesas of the four corners regions. It was starting to look a bit like Utah.

Just past the defunct Hesperus Ski Area we saw - of all things - another tandem heading the opposite way. In all of our 5,000-plus miles of riding back and forth across the country, we had not seen another tandem until now. These folks lived in Durango, and were out for a ride, in training for the Iron Horse race, Durango to Silverton, in July. We chatted and compared notes with them for 10 enjoyable minutes.

The route continued its roller-coaster ride, climbing over one ridge, descending to another drainage, then climbing back up. As we descended to the Mancos River and the town of Mancos, our speedometer peaked at 42 mph.

Although the wind was blowing fairly strongly out of the southwest, quite often we were protected from the brunt of it by the hillsides. So overall we made pretty good progress, and arriving in Cortez called it quits for the day.

Day's mileage: 106

Day 78: Cortez to Kayenta

May 17, 2004 Arizona/Utah

The sky was gray with a layer of dark clouds that looked like they held some rain. But to the southwest, where we were headed, the sky was patchy blue. So with some misgiving we set off at 7 am. The air was not too chilly, even though we were still at 6,000 feet elevation. We cycled on through Cortez, following our usual Highway 160 toward the Four Corners. The wind was very light for most of the morning and we made good progress.

There came a dramatic change in scenery between Cortez and the Four Corners. Gone were the lush Colorado forests, and in their place were sandstone buttes and mesas, rolling, treeless, sage lands, and an array of wildflowers that was absolutely stunning. We do not know the names of many of these wildflowers: there were brilliant orange blossoms on tall, waving stalks; there were purple flowers, yellow, gold, white, pink - even the brilliant magenta of prickly pear cactus. Way to the south we could see Shiprock in New Mexico, one of the desert spires I had climbed many years ago.

Nearing the Four Corners the road descended the high plateaus in order to cross the muddy San Juan River one last time. Then we hauled back up the other side and cycled past the Four Corners Monument. The actual spot was off the highway, and to get there one had to enter a fee area, so we gave it a miss and carried on into Arizona. Near the Arizona welcome sign we stopped in order to remove long pants and extra shirts, and we were going to sit down to eat some fruit, but the mosquitoes and gnats dictated otherwise.

A slight wind was starting to blow from the southwest as we crossed into the huge Navajo Nation reservation. And in another 5 miles reached the first town, called Teec Nos Pos. We cycled to the store at the road junction and found some picnic tables to rest. A local Navajo fellow came over to chat, and was very friendly and interested in our trip. He gave us some good info about the road ahead, and said we were lucky to have the clouds today, because they reduce the heat. And he didn't think the dark clouds would rain.

We had come 50 miles already, before 10 am - which is always a good benchmark of our progress, but we still had 71 more miles to reach Kayenta, our destination for today.

We enjoyed the change in scenery and never tired of gazing at distant mesas, sandstone spires and monoliths, and the soft pastels of the land. We cycled past acres of the orange wildflowers where the sweet fragrance of the blooms filled the air. Our road gradually curved to the southwest, and with the afternoon wind building in strength, we had a challenging ride. We were fortunate, though, that the cloud cover stayed overhead. The day would have been uncomfortably hot without it.

Near the small community of Mexican Water we stopped at another store for cold juice and sandwiches.

As the afternoon wore on, the wind blew harder. There was a lot of traffic on the highway, big trucks, RVs, the usual obnoxious pickups, and tourists. The two lane highway had a pittance of a shoulder, and most of that was rumble strip. We had the wind blasting at us from ahead, and the traffic blasting at us from behind. The problem was, hardly any of the traffic was giving us much room as it roared past. This was starting to get to my nerves, so I came up with a trick that encouraged the drivers coming from behind to pull over a little. I would watch in my mirror, and when I saw a vehicle coming - but still at a safe distance behind - I would pull out into the middle of the lane for just a few seconds, then swerve erratically back to the side, almost like a drunk. This seemed to wake them up, and alert them to the fact that they had better pull way over, just in case I swerved again. It worked like a charm, every time. Even the obtuse RV'ers took the hint.

We reached our 100 mile mark, and kept on grinding into the wind. The closer we neared Kayenta, the stronger the headwinds blasted us, and we peddled the final 20 miles at a mere 7 mph. This wind must be common in these parts because a sign warned of blowing dust. And along the roadside were miniature sand dunes. Ahead we could see wave after wave of blowing sand, and soon we found ourselves engulfed. Visibility was almost nill, but we could only keep going, working hard and trying to breath through the nose in order to keep the grit out of the mouth and lungs. Jenny ducked low behind me, trying to find a bit of protection but not having much luck.

Finally, after a protracted ordeal, we reached the wind-blown, dust-strewn, tourist-filled town of Kayenta. This was the gateway to Monument Valley, and we seemed to have arrived at the height of tourist season, judging by the many different nationalities represented, and by the exorbitant prices. The time was 5:40 pm and we were more than ready to stop for the day.

Day's mileage: 124

Day 79: Kayenta to Page

May 18, 2004 Arizona/Utah

The morning came too quickly for a couple of weary bicyclists. We could have used a rest day after yesterday's exertions, but the dusty, blustery basin that had become the town of Kayenta held no appeal for us. So we decided to push on to Page. We knew we had more headwinds in store, and sure enough, when we rolled the bike outside, the flags on a nearby building were still flapping loudly and the dust still swirling over the ground like low-lying fog in a storm. But as we gradually left Kayenta behind, the dust settled down and we were treated to grand vistas of distant mesas. The red rock canyon walls were glowing in the low morning sunlight. The sky was mostly clear of clouds and we were thankful for the cool air temperature.

We climbed gradually to Kayenta Pass at 6,700 feet, along the way passing dozens of small native dwellings set back from the highway. These typically had a paved road leading from the highway to a cattle guard, all complements of the government, and then a narrow, winding dirt road leading to the small houses in the hinterlands. The land, where it was not canyon or steep slopes, was open sagebrush and the Navajo were using it for sheep and cattle pasture. As we cycled along we gazed out on the scene and could see a man with his sheep dogs tending a small herd of sheep. The Indian dogs appeared very smart. Not only did they know how to herd the sheep, but how to protect them. And not only that, the sheep understood the dogs and willingly obeyed them. On one occasion we watched a dog run to the front of a group of sheep, whereupon the sheep understood that to mean they were to stop. The dog had seen us coming and did not want the sheep moving toward us. Several times out in the middle of nowhere, sheep dogs would appear alongside the road, and we knew they were guarding their sheep and checking us out for danger.

At Kayenta Pass was a small hotel and restaurant. We didn't stop, but a dog came out to greet us in a curious and friendly way. Deciding he liked us, or at least our spirit of freedom and adventure perhaps, he ran alongside, easily keeping pace as we grunted uphill and into the wind. At first he seemed to be running alongside for the fun of it, but then he tried herding us. He would run next to the front tire and ever so gently move in, as though trying to get us to turn. This dog was also very skilled with traffic and would disappear whenever a vehicle approached. After about a mile, Jenny sternly told the dog to "go home" and swept her hand back, pointing behind us. This, the dog interpreted to mean "get behind us" which it did. With the dog trotting along in back of us, finally we reached a steeper downhill section and the dog couldn't keep up.

Highway 160 stayed fairly high, climbing and descending as the terrain dictated. About 25 miles southwest of Kayenta we came to a store and gas station. This was a welcome sight, as we needed a rest and a hot chocolate. As we peddled toward the premises, three dogs came barking at us, not viciously but more just asserting their territory. Soon as we dismounted they turned to jelly and behaved like long-lost friends. Navajo dogs are quite different in personality than white mans' dogs, generally speaking friendly and vastly less aggressive, and here again this might tend to reflect the personality of their owners.

Another ten miles of dogging into stiff headwinds and we reached our long-anticipated road junction. Anticipated because as we turned northward onto highway 98 toward Page, we put the strong wind on our beam, which made the going vastly less difficult. The traffic was still fairly heavy, and the road surface was now even rougher than it had been all morning, but at least the shoulder had no rumble strip occupying most of its width, so we could move over and let the traffic go past without such bother. We knew we had quite a bit of descending to do to reach Lake Powell and Glen Canyon Dam, so were somewhat surprised when the road started climbing. Before long we were in a beautiful high desert of pinion and juniper, at 6,700 feet.

The road gradually turned to the northwest, and the wind gradually swung to the west. This put the wind ever more on our nose, and progress slowed considerably. But the air was cool and the landscape a veritable feast for the eyes, with sandy sagebrush lands, canyons and ravines lined with slick red and tan sandstone, huge expanses of bedrock, and odd outcrops of sandstone, all different sizes, like giant handfuls of mud thrown here and there and left to dry in the sun. The roadside wildflowers were even more colorful and varied than yesterday, and we stopped several times to try to capture their beauty with the camera.

While peddling along the highways we often find things beside the road. Twice we have found grocery sacks full of food - apparently these blew out of the back of pickup trucks. Sometimes we find tools, knives and so forth. Never do we take any of these items, for the simple reason that they do not belong to us. Finders keepers is a wrong notion. For who knows, maybe the owner will come looking for the thing. Today we peddled past a woman's purse lying in the grass a ways off the road. It was somewhat sun-bleached, so had apparently lain there for many months. Inside were her keys, ID including drivers license and social security card, along with the usual female items such as makeup and so forth. We have found such things before and returned them to their owners, money and all. But this purse had no money, suggesting it had been stolen. Not wishing to become involved we left it on the ground, but closer to the road where it would have a better chance of being spotted by a motorist.

Along this 65 mile stretch between highway 160 and Page was one small town, Kaibeto. But it was set well back from the road so we did not stop there. However, the west wind was now positively raging, and throwing dust all across the land, and in this vicinity our road was heading directly into the wind. Bent forward and peddling vigorously at a mere 5 mph, we considered stopping and making camp in the juniper. Nevertheless we continued, and in a few miles the road bent slowly more northward and started downhill. And as the wind came more from the side, we gleefully picked up speed.

For the next 20 miles we rolled along at a quick pace, much more to our liking, and much less tiring. Soon we caught glimpses of Lake Powell, and the three tall smokestacks of the Navajo Generating Station near the town of Page. But about 4 miles before town, the road made a sharp turn to the west and we found ourselves again bucking into the wind as we passed over the famous Antelope Canyon on a short bridge, and finally leaving the Navajo Nation reservation behind. We labored back up the other side of the canyon to the intersection with Highway 89, and followed the signs into town.

Page sits on top of a mesa that overlooks the Glenn Canyon dam and lake Powell, and with 29 motels it didn't take us long to find lodging. And at this time of year this lodging was quite cheap. We had arrived at 4:30 pm, with the wind was still blowing strong out of the west-southwest, and the clouds building ominously. Even though we were super tired from 70 miles of strong headwinds, we were glad to be here.

Commentary:

Ten weeks of peddling along the highways and byways, and we are seeing America at its best, and worst. Best, when the drivers are friendly and wave to us, which is very often. And worst when they are impatient and sometimes rude. Perhaps what makes drivers ill tempered is a belief that their fancy cars and powerful pickup trucks make them somehow superior to anyone in their way, mainly other motorists but sometimes even bicycles.

If we watch television for 20 minutes while flipping rapidly through the channels, we will probably see 20 advertisements for cars and trucks, and nearly every one will show the vehicles being driven aggressively. This type of advertising gives the impression that these cars and trucks are meant to be driven in high adrenaline mode. And while this sells expensive vehicles galore, and is enormously profitable to the manufacturers, this peddle to the metal advertising also tends to create psychotic drivers.

Psychosis is a very serious mental disorder in which a person's view of the world, and him- or her-self, is severely distorted. In this case, the car or truck empowers the person, and creates mistaken feelings of superiority. Thus, the other motorists in the way become targets of the person's frustration. Frustration caused when the traffic or road conditions do not allow the vehicle to be driven as shown in the advertisements. For example, on a rough and narrow road leading interminably through outback Arizona.

People who watch TV and subject themselves to endless automobile advertising are selling themselves short. This type of advertising sinks in, even with those who do not buy the new cars or trucks. It makes everyone drive like maniacs, with the sole objective to pass any and all vehicles in the way. Driving becomes akin to war, and to pass is to conquer.

Who benefits from this mentality? Clearly, the manufacturers selling cars and trucks for $15,000 to $30,000 a pop. The advertising works by manipulating the viewer's egos. Yet in 5,500 miles of cycling across the country and seeing thousands upon thousands of motorists, Jenny and I have not seen a single person driving aggressively who looked happy.

What is life without happiness? And what value are ultra-expensive possessions that throw us abysmally into debt, create bloated notions of ourselves, generate unlimited frustrations that raise the blood pressure and rob us of happiness?

On the other hand, we have seen many people driving cars - new and old - at moderate speeds, and these people seemed much more friendly and happy. They have simply learned to throttle back their egos. For them, the driving is not all about the other drivers. They feel no need to pass, nor are they concerned about being passed. They realize that all motorists have the same rights, regardless of the differing adrenaline levels, and that no one is superior or inferior. These are the people who make the world a better place.

Day's mileage: 102

Day 80

May 19, 2004 Arizona/Utah

Layover day in Page.

Day 81: Page to Fredonia

May 20, 2004 Arizona/Utah

After a pleasant rest day in Page we were ready to push on again. The old southwest wind was still blowing, but by now we have simply accepted it. The sky was completely overcast for which we were thankful because the clouds would help keep the temperature cooler. We set off at 6:40 am and were soon crossing the high Glen Canyon bridge, with fantastic views of the enormous dam on our right and the deep canyon on our left. We were surprised to see a river rafting outfit, so far below on the river that the flotilla of rafts looked like little toys.

The road climbed a short ways back up to the top of the mesa and then leveled off, and we cycled along happily. The wind was not blowing at all up here, at least for the present moment, so we pushed onward in order to take advantage of the lull. We crossed the state border into Utah and reveled in the beautiful scenery all around us. The air temperature was ideal, and the wildflowers were numerous and resplendent.

The road descended in order to cross the Paria River; we were surprised to see water still flowing in this drainage. Then we climbed back up, admiring the colorful cliffs of red sandstone. Large juniper and a few pinion pine dotted the slopes. Overhead, the clouds were starting to break up, and the bottoms of the cumulus clouds to the south showed that unique pink tinge that comes from the light reflecting off the red rocks underneath them.

At 11:00 am the southwest wind suddenly switched on. Our pace slowed, but we kept our enthusiasm high. We took a guardrail snack break, the first rest stop of the morning. But we knew we had to push on because we have found that typically the wind intensifies as the afternoon wears on. The road stayed high on the plateaus for mile after mile, then gradually began a descent toward Kanab. Traffic had been fairly heavy all day, with lots of Rv'ers, boaters, tour buses, motorcycles, semis and other large trucks. The closer we got to Kanab, the more intense the traffic.

Kanab was familiar to us, as we had cycled through here in early August of last year, on our way south. We stopped for a sandwich and to refill our water bottles, and while sitting outside the restaurant, a couple of bicyclists pulled up next to us and stopped. This sandwich shop seems to be the popular place with bike riders. These two guys were on racing bikes and had just come from St. George by way of highway 59 and 389, which is the route we were planning on taking tomorrow. They said they were going to cycle on to Lake Powell today, a total of 160 miles. They were quite friendly, and we learned a lot about the roads between St. George and Las Vegas, where we would be traveling soon.

Following our route of last year, we pushed on 7 more miles to Fredonia, Arizona, to the south. The wind blasted us, and the gnarly gusts picked up dust and grit and sand from the road and stung our legs. The locals say that this strong wind for week after week is unusual. In Fredonia we bypassed the rather old motel we had stayed at last year, Ship Rock Motel, and found a nicer and newer one, the Crazy Jug Motel, a block south.

About 12 miles east of Kanab I noticed a blown truck tire wire protruding from the front tire. It was sticking out of the sidewall about an inch, and another half an inch came out when I pulled on it. Amazingly, the tire did not go flat; the tube was actually still holding air. I kept checking the tire as we rode on, and with only one stop for more air we managed to ride all the way to Kanab, and then on to Fredonia. At the motel we pulled off the tire, and found, not one but two punctures in the tube. In the tire we found another truck tire wire, along with one sticker also protruding completely through the tire. We replaced the tube with an old, patched spare and cleared the tire of the sticker and wire. Upon inspecting the rear tire we found a 3-inch area where the tread was worn very thin, and a 1/4" spot where the tread was worn completely through to the inner layer of Kevlar. We would definitely need new tires very soon.

Day's mileage: 86

Day 82: Fredonia to St. George

May 21, 2004 Arizona/Utah

We arose at 6 am and were pleasantly surprised to find that the wind calm, the sky clear, and the air decidedly chilly. Wearing a few extra clothes we set off at 6:45 am. The going was easy and enjoyable, and the road's shoulder was minimal but the traffic light. The land was devoid of any signs of civilization, save for the barbed wire fences and rows of power lines that paralleled Highway 389.

We entered the Paiute-Kaibab Indian reservation but still there were no houses, not even cattle or horses behind the fences. The morning ride was very pleasant. The air was clean and fresh, full of the pungent aromas of the high desert: sage, bitterbrush in bloom, juniper, and like the previous few days, an abundance of brightly colored wildflowers and their sweet fragrance. Because the air was so clean, the distant red and buff canyon walls were incredibly vivid. With a brilliant blue sky overhead, and the dark green junipers and lighter greens of the sage and other bushes in the foreground, it was the classic Utah canyonlands scene.

Fifteen miles and one hour into our morning we reached the turnoff to Pipe Springs National Monument. Much to our surprise, based on the previous several days of cycling these remote roads, here was a gas station and convenience store. Never ones to pass up a chance for a hot chocolate on a chilly morning, at least on this trip, we made a short stop.

The morning began to warm and we shed the cold weather clothing. The road was well graded, and although it climbed and descended a few times, mostly it was level or close to it. As we approached Colorado City, we were surprised to see an elevation sign reading 6,000 feet. This area was incredibly scenic, with a vast open desert to the south and a most impressive backdrop of red sandstone cliffs and peaks to the north. Some of the houses and ranches looked somewhat ramshackle, but there was also a fair amount of construction and newer, nicer homes going up. They certainly had some nice views.

We entered Utah and from here the road led down and down. The wind was calm and the cycling very easy and enjoyable, save for the busy traffic and narrow shoulder. Eventually the road wound steeply down the Hurricane Cliffs into the lush Virgin River valley. We coasted most of the way, and could have attained high speeds but because of our deteriorating rear tire I had to keep a firm grip on the rear brake. Even with that the ride was very fun. And the more we descended into the desert valley, the warmer the day became.

We followed Highway 9 through Hurricane and then west into Washington. From Washington Jenny made a couple phone calls to bicycle shops in St. George. She got directions to a shop that had tires in stock, and then we made our way onto Interstate 15, and peddled the freeway shoulder a few miles into St. George. From the exit our directions were to backtrack a couple miles to the shop on the northwest side of town.

The only tires they had in stock that would fit our wheels were Specialized Armadillos Infinity 700 x 35, more the off-road variety, extra wide with a very heavy duty tread. They would not have been our first, or even second or third choice for a road tire, but we did not have a second or third choice, so we bought them along with two new tubes, and changed them out, there on the store's side porch. When we deflated the rear tire we were aghast to discover the extent of the damage. The tread was rippled and delaminated around its entire periphery, with a few gaping holes here and there. How or why this tire had not blown apart miles back was a mystery.

With our brand new monster tires we set off to find the post office in order to send home the remainder of our cold weather clothing. Our intended route would take us through the torrid desert lowlands for the next couple of weeks. So we cycled through St. George, backtracking again, and found the post office.

By now the afternoon west wind was starting to blow, and the Friday afternoon traffic kicking into high gear. Our next stretch would take us along a very busy freeway through the Virgin River gorge, so we decided it would be much safer to save this for the early morning hours when the traffic would be lighter, the air temperature cooler, and the wind calm.

Day's mileage: 84

Day 83: St. George to Glendale

May 22, 2004 Nevada

We felt well rested when we set off at 6:20 am. The sky was mostly clear except for some cumulus away to the west. The air temperature was comfortably cool at this lower elevation, and the wind calm. And so we rolled out onto the Interstate 15 southbound and began a long stretch of shoulder riding.

We knew from past experience that high speed freeway riding was not particularly safe, and that the shoulders usually harbored all sorts of tire puncturing debris. The fellows at the bike shop in St. George had strongly discouraged going this way, saying that the old highway through Santa Clara is more scenic. They agreed that they would never ride the stretch of Interstate through the Virgin River Gorge. We knew the old highway was miles longer, and much more convoluted and strenuous, with a seven mile uphill climb. And based on our experiences with galumphing all over everywhere we were not eager for more. Freeway riding with its attendant risks was not new to us, and we figured that with even a fair shoulder we would be fine, especially at this early hour on a Saturday morning. Also we had seen a postcard at a store in St. George showing the freeway going through the gorge, and this photo showed an amply wide shoulder.

The chip-sealed road surface and the slight climb out of St. George made for somewhat slow going for the first several miles. Then as the Interstate left Utah and entered Arizona, the canyon walls began to close in and the road commenced a long and winding descent. It seemed odd that a major Interstate would be routed through this precipitous gorge, although it certainly made for a fairly straight shot to Las Vegas. And it was amazing how much explosive power had been used to carve the route through these impressively high cliffs. I joked to Jenny that the reason for this huge cost and effort was so that the Mormons could quickly return to church Sunday mornings after their Saturday night visits to Las Vegas. Of course, such jokes are not something a person should publish on the Internet, but since Jenny and I were alone this morning, at least on the freeway shoulder, we considered it all in fun.

Steep, rocky cliffs towered overhead on both sides as the road snaked its way down canyon, mostly following the Virgin River. The shoulder was narrow in places and extremely rough with rocks and all sorts of debris, requiring me to keep a firm grip on the rear brake lever. This was a good place to take things fairly slow. Especially since the rumble strip, which ran down the edge of the narrow shoulder, was more like a jagged line of deep potholes. But for the most part the drivers were considerate. Jenny did her best to sit still to avoid throwing off my careful steering, while she hung on with one hand and took dozens of photos with the camera in her other hand. And all the while she had to keep her head tilted to the right so that I could see the traffic approaching from behind in my rear view mirror. But the canyon itself was awesome, and we were glad not to have missed seeing it.

However, there was one place where the going was uncertain. This was on one of the final bridges, where the two lanes going our way were lifted across a deep canyon. The problem was, like all the bridges in this canyon, it had no shoulder, but this one was also quite long and its railing quite low. So as the cars and trucks overtook us, they forced us much closer to the brink than we were comfortable with. It felt more like riding a bike across a high-strung tight-wire, and I had to fight the urge to look down for fear of wavering and losing balance. In heavy traffic this bridge would be treacherous for the cyclist, and we were glad to have waited until this morning when the traffic was light - which is not to say slow or cautious.

After winding our way through this gorge for about 10 miles, like a cherry pit we were suddenly spit out the south end onto the vast desert flatlands of the Shivwits Plateau. In a few miles we crossed the state line into Nevada, and into Pacific Time Zone.

Reaching the town of Mesquite we pulled off the Interstate for a breakfast stop. This was the inbound tourists' first opportunity to swing the one-arm bandits, and there were many casinos with their gaudy signs promising excitement and riches to the gullible. For expediency we pulled in to a fast foods joint and ordered a big "breakfast". Later in the morning I would dearly regret this decision.

As we continued peddling along with the southbound freeway traffic, the day was starting to warm although the southwest zephyrs were keeping us from overheating. Soon we were in low gear, bucking headwinds and grinding interminably to the top of an expansive plateau. Once at the top we could see a long, long ways to the northwest, across the arid, treeless stretch to the base of distant mountains. The road stayed high on the plateau for nearly 30 miles, then began a gradual descent into the next basin.

At Exit 93 we turned off and pulled out our maps again. Our intention was to leave the Interstate here and follow Highway 169 along the northwest shore of Lake Mead and through the National Recreation Area. We started off toward the town of Toquerville, only a few miles ahead, and a known motel stop 10 miles further. But we went less than a quarter mile. Something was telling us we should not go this way. Neither Jenny nor I were sure quite why, but independently we both sensed it would be better to stay on the Interstate, even though we knew of no motels along it.

Returning to the freeway, in a few more miles we reached the next exit and the small community of Glendale. Here we found a gas station, a small restaurant and store, and indeed an older motel. Jenny was eager to press on, but my body was raising strong objections. So we decided to stop here for the day while my stomach fought it out with the nauseatingly greasy sausage and hash browns, and the petroleum-based scrambled egg products or whatever they were.

The "mac attack" persisted through most of the night, and I mention it only to describe Jenny's remedy - drinking water and lots of it. Each time I awoke with the urge to pee, I would do that, then chug another great quantity of water. Two hours later the bladder would reawaken me, and I would repeat the process. By morning I was, not exactly feeling eager to peddle off into the sunrise, but at least physically able to. And as I drank more and more water throughout the morning, this helped even more.

Day's mileage: 72

Day 84: Glendale to Henderson

May 23, 2004 Nevada

Yesterday we had crossed into the Pacific Time Zone, so when we set off this morning just after dawn, Jenny's watch read 5:30 am. Outside the motel, several people were asleep in their cars, apparently having been unable to find lodging for the night.

We were glad for the extra hour, but even on this early Sunday morning the interstate was busy with traffic - especially semis. The sky was mostly covered in thin stratus, for which we were thankful. The air was a perfect coolness for cycling, and the wind was silent.

The Interstate led up and down across the vast desert, and the riding was relatively uneventful. The deeply grooved rumble strip was our ally today, keeping the traffic safely at bay, or at least giving us loud warning whenever a vehicle crossed our line of defense. The shoulder was wide and smooth, but unfortunately was also littered in all manner of debris, mainly broken glass, blown truck tires, rocks and gravel. I spent virtually all my time steering around this, while taking frequent glances in my rear view mirror at the oncoming traffic, making sure no one was encroaching on our highway shoulder at the posted speed limit of 75 mph. The landscape was sparsely vegetated, mostly creosote and small mesquite. And because Jenny cannot see directly ahead, she later reported focusing more on the roadside rubble today, which according to her included pieces of tumbleweeds, plastic soda bottles, and an astounding assortment of discards from passing vehicles, like socks and baseball caps, broken sunglasses, shoes and flip-flops, shirts, work gloves, magazines, children's toys, stuffed animals, blankets, fishing poles, boat cushions, books, busted-up ice chests, a toothbrush, a comb, a hair brush, side view mirrors from RVs, etc. Also for several days now we have seen few signs of wildlife. The land seems to belong to ants and lizards, small ground squirrels, a few jackrabbits and even fewer coyotes.

We made steady if somewhat slow progress, which became even slower when the old southwest wind started blowing at the unlikely hour of 8:00 am. In this terrain of exposed mesas and no trees, we had no protection from the stronger gusts.

After 39 miles of Interstate peddling we left I-15 at Exit 54, near North Las Vegas. Altogether in the past two days we had ridden 111 miles of freeway, from St. George, Utah to North Las Vegas, Nevada.

Jenny had clipped a small city map from one of our larger maps, and with this in hand she navigated us south on Hollywood Blvd, then southwest on Las Vegas Blvd, then south on Nellis Blvd, then southeast on Boulder Highway. Thus we bypassed the more congested Las Vegas Strip.

Still, Boulder Highway was heavy with local traffic, requiring us to keep a sharp lookout for cross traffic, especially vehicles pulling out of parking lots on our right. In over two and a half months of watching many hundreds of cars pulling to a rapid and last-moment stop at a cross street, we have never seen anyone look to their left - which is the direction we are coming from. Virtually always we are practically on them before they see us. But even more hazardous are the oncoming vehicles turning to their left at an intersection; sometimes they turn directly in front of us, cutting us off without ever seeing us. I commented to Jenny that I didn't know which was more challenging, riding in city traffic or along the busy Interstate. The malls and auto parts stores and junk yards and gas stations and liquor stores along this busy road went on and on, and we traveled from the outskirts of Las Vegas to the outskirts of Henderson without any noticeable change in scenery.

Of all the many different types of stores, one caught our eye - a large bicycle shop with its door wide open this Sunday afternoon. We pulled to a stop and spent several minutes in deliberation, as to whether we should go in and see if they sold any tires more to our liking. The monster tires had proven their real worth on the extremely rugged freeway shoulders. Amazingly they had handled over a hundred miles of abuse without a single nick. But also they had cost us a great many miles in rolling resistance. By comparison they make it feel like we are peddling in molasses. Would the store swap them as partial trade-ins? We seriously doubted it. So we decided to continue with the monster tires, simply because they were expensive and we did not want to waste them by throwing them away.

Ahead was our junction with Highway 95, which would take us south into California. We could tell from our maps that this would be a long stretch with few amenities. We stopped at a gas station for some local information about the small towns ahead. But the attendant said he had never been south, and had no idea what was down that way. Later we stopped at another gas station, and after asking several people finally found one who could give us at least some general info.

The sky had mostly cleared, and the high today was 86 degrees, which combined with a very low humidity, felt quite warm but not hot. We cycled on, climbing gradually for miles toward Railroad Pass, elevation 2,367 feet. At the pass the headwinds fairly howled through the gap in the mountains.

At the Highway 95/93 junction, we decided to stop for the day at what would be our final opportunity for lodging for many miles, the Railroad Pass Casino and Motel. We certainly did not intend to waste any time and money gambling, but we figured the lodging would be reasonably inexpensive, which it proved to be.

Walking the bike into the casino lobby en route to our room was a novelty for us, and for some of the disbelieving casino patrons. But the security guards took it in stride, and even helped us try to fit the bike into an elevator. But it was a no go, so we had to carry the bike up three flights of stairs, since all the rooms were on the upper levels.

Day's mileage: 67

Day 85: Henderson to Essex

May 24, 2004 California

After lugging the bike and gear bags down the stairs, we strapped on the bags and set off at 5:45 am. Already the day felt slightly warm, and the breeze was faint from the southwest. But the day promised to be a good one, and we set off down Highway 95, bound for California. The road construction crew was upgrading this busy two-lane road into a 4-lane divided highway, so during the initial several miles we had to negotiate a thin strip of pavement lined with road barriers, and with a good amount of traffic barreling past at close range.

These first 3 or 4 miles were downhill and we moved along at a good clip. Then from the low point the road led 35 miles gradually uphill toward a small town out in the middle of nowhere called Searchlight. The road work continued nearly the entire way, and much to our good fortune the new lanes had been paved but not yet opened to traffic, so for nearly 10 miles we peddled along our own private stretch of brand new blacktop.

The southwest wind piped up in earnest at 8:00 am, so it took us four hours to reach Searchlight. This was an old mining town situated directly on the divide at 3,540 feet elevation. We took a long rest, ate our fill of fruit and snacks, and drank some juice and a lot of water. But as we were packing to leave, we checked the tires for air pressure by giving them a firm pinch as we routinely do, when Jenny discovered that the rear tire had gone flat. Another blown truck tire wire attack. We could not find the hole in the tube, so replaced it with another tube, with the intent of immersing the original tube in water to look for small bubbles later. The repair was easy, except for pumping the tire back up to its proper 100+ pounds of pressure with our puny (but lightweight) hand pump.

We set off again, and enjoyed an easy 10 mile run to a little hole-in-the-wall community by the name of Cal-Nev-Ari. The name was a takeoff of the three states meeting in the general area. The woman running the small store was friendly and knew a bit about the roads and towns where we were headed, and she gave us a detailed BLM map of the expansive Mojave National Preserve, which we were now peddling through, and this map helped greatly.

In another 8 miles of easy going we reached the Laughlin junction, where to our delight nearly all the traffic turned east. Our highway 95 continued about a mile south to the California state line, yet another major milestone on the journey, and beyond that the highway became a narrow, two-lane, winding desert road with almost no shoulder.

Indeed the surroundings here looked like the typical southern California regions we knew well: the vast and open desert with its creosote scrub, dry washes, and warm sun. The wind blew at 15 to 20 mph most of the day. The road continued to descend and we made good time, and in 18 miles dropped far down into the Piute Valley and a railroad crossing. We crossed the tracks, then turned right onto Goffs Road. This road began a 14 mile gradual climb paralleling the railroad tracks to the non-town of Goffs.

Along the way we pulled off the road, and pushed the bike along a sandy wash a short ways into the shade of a railroad trestle. This was about the only shade anywhere, and it brought a most welcome respite from the searing sun. The wind wafted through the trestle also, helping cool us even more. We spread out on the clean sandy gravel, and were tempted to nap for a while. But with our limited supply of water, we needed to reach the next store, still 20 miles distant.

This long uphill grade was part of the historic Route 66, and was marked by the occasional large highway emblem painted on the pavement itself. Eventually, far across the desert to the south we could see the trucks moving along Interstate 40. Ten miles beyond Goffs our road intersected this freeway. Here we found a gas station and store - our last source of water and food for this day and most of the next. So we ordered hamburgers, drank as much water as we could hold, and loaded up on expensive snacks from their paltry selection. Understandably, water was not free here, so we bought 2.5 gallons to see us through the coming night and the subsequent 86 mile stretch of remote desert for tomorrow. Certainly this was another advantage of cycling - we did not have to carry the additional load of water as we would if hiking. We simply strapped the bottles to the bike. And because the next 10 miles of peddling were gradually downhill, the added weight of water did little to slow our progress.

By 7:00 pm the sun was finally settling low in the sky, so we began to look for a place to pull off the road and make camp. We passed through the tiny, near-derelict community of Essex, then about 5 miles farther Jenny spotted some likely cover in a dry wash a short ways off the road. So here we concluded our longest day on the bike - 13 hours, minus time spend at the rest stops.

After searching the area while being careful for snakes, we found a patch of softer gravel in an otherwise concrete-hard wash. The day was finally cooling and the wind dying off, and because the nearby road bore hardly any traffic, the setting was very quiet - save for the desert crickets chirping cheerfully, and the trains rumbling past every hour or so. The scenery was spectacular, with ragged, rocky mountains in the distance all around, and the vast sweep of desert basin at their feet. The humidity was quite low and we figured the dew would be minimal, so without pitching the tarp we simply spread our groundsheet and quilt under the glorious sweep of stars. Almost directly overhead was the big dipper, and I told Jenny which direction the handle would be pointing just before dawn, so that she could easily judge the time for an early morning start.

As we lie there philosophizing about this trip, and about life in general, we watched the occasional satellite coasting swiftly across the backdrop of stars. I explained to Jenny a little about the orbital mechanics involved, in terms of the propellant required and payload sacrificed in aligning the orbit more northerly from the nominal which is a function of the latitude of the launch pad. We could see the star Polaris, and I explained that if the satellite came from any direction and passed somewhere near this star, which several of these did tonight, its orbit was more or less circumpolar.

Day's mileage: 111

Day 86: Essex to Twentynine Palms

May 25, 2004 California

Just after dawn we packed up, wheeled the bike back out to the road, and set off at 5:40 am. The wind was calm, and the morning air only slightly chilly. We peddled an easy 20-miles downhill, past the desert community of Cadiz, up and over a short divide, then far downhill to the town of Amboy. Here was a motel, restaurant, gas station, store and post office, and although some of these appeared to still be in operation, if only sporadically, none were open at the moment. So we stopped only long enough to deposit our trash in a dumpster. West of town we crossed the railroad tracks, left the old Route 66 for the last time, and headed south across the dry lake beds and mile after mile of chloride mining, as indicated by piles and piles of dirt, lined up in rows and looking like some kind of alien activity.

Once past the dry lake beds, the road began a steady climb into the Sheep Head Mountains. The day had grown hot, and for the first time in many weeks the wind blew lightly, only enough to cool us. This particular road bore a surprising amount of traffic for such a remote area, but was narrow, 2 lanes, and incredibly rough. In fact we had never ridden a road that was this beat up. It was as though the actual pavement was oozing down into the earth, and leaving behind cracks, crevasses, and fist-sized rocks protruding above the surface. I had to constantly steer around these obstructions. Even so, the ride was very bumpy and we were glad to have kept the monster tires. Grinding slowly uphill in low gear, we stopped a few times to mop the sweat from our foreheads and to drink more water.

After whizzing down the other side of the mountain pass we came to the sprawling desert rat community known as Wonder Valley. This went on for miles, and most of the dwellings were dilapidated, one-room shacks built of concrete blocks. Many were abandoned. Eventually we came to the Wonder Valley fire station and Community Park, where a few large tamarisk trees offered the first shade of the day for us. So we pulled off for a pleasant rest.

Desert wildlife tends to be recluse, but still we saw cottontail rabbits and ground squirrels, hawks and buzzards and ravens and smaller birds. We also saw a few large lizards, very light in color. They would scuffle noisily into the safety of a nearby creosote bush as we went past.

At 1:00 pm we reached the outskirts of Twentynine Palms, and stopped at the first small store for iced tea and deli sandwiches. We had covered nearly 90 miles from the last store back at Fenney. The 2.5 gallons of water we had carried had been the correct amount.

We followed Highway 62 through this town, which seemed to be built on steep hillsides, and about mid way we stopped for the day. Interestingly, the old southwest wind never blew today. It had remained light and variable, which was quite fine as far as we were concerned.

We surprised our friends John and Kathy Lakey with a phone call, and they and their family met us for dinner. We enjoyed their company immensely. We had not seen them for fifteen years, and their children had grown into intelligent and interesting young adults. John is four years older than myself, deeply philosophical, very fit and active. Back in the 1970s he did a 6,000 mile solo bicycle trip in 2-1/2 months, and that was partly what inspired my present trip. Today he enjoys climbing desert peaks, and has bagged most of those of the Southwest Desert region, 72 peaks at last count, and many of those with his kids. I could write an entire book about our adventures together. Back in our Yosemite days we climbed together almost exclusively for 3-1/2 years, and while I led most of the rotes, John did lead the first free ascent of the Owl Roof, a route so difficult that it has seen very few ascents since. At that time Yosemite had only seven 5.12's: one was Johns, four were mine, and the other two were Ron K's. John introduced me to the Yellowstone River, where we floated and "picked" agate for 3 glorious weeks, and I introduced him to Baja sea kayaking on a challenging 26 day trip there.

Day's mileage: 85

Trip Mileage to date: 6,086

Day 87: Twentynine Palms to Perris

May 26, 2004 California

The morning air was only slightly chilly when we set off at 5:30 am. The local traffic was already on the move, and the four-lane Highway 62 had practically no shoulder. In fact, in some areas it had none at all. That, and it followed a straight westward line, ignoring the natural dips and rises in the landscape, so we had to climb and descend a fair amount. Soon, however, we were passing through the small town of Joshua Tree and later into the larger town of Yucca Valley. Directly ahead loomed impressive Mt. San Gorgonio, with its summit still harboring lingering snow.

The road veered southward and led through a gap in the Little San Bernardino Mountains, and descended into Morongo Valley. From there it was a steep, downhill sled ride into the San Gorgonio Pass region. We had stupendous views of Mt. San Jacinto, and as we coasted around each tight bend in the canyon, the views ahead expanded just a bit more. To the west of Mt. San Jacinto was a moiling mass of brown fog-smog. Whizzing steeply downhill, we caught our first sight of the wind farms so prevalent in the area. The turbine blades were spinning heartily, meaning that the wind was blowing strong, as it usually does through this pass.

Near the bottom of the run we were approaching Interstate 10 when the wind became so strong that we had trouble keeping the bike upright. For some of the time we had a bit of protection from a line of stout tamarisk trees that had been planted along the road. The wind was quite cool, also, almost too much so for comfort. But the powerful crosswinds were anything but comfortable, or safe, for they were shoving us mightily toward the high-speed traffic rushing past. A few times we nearly had to dismount and walk the bike, but barely managed to keep peddling.

At the bottom of the canyon our intended route joined Interstate 10 westbound, but how we would peddle directly into such strong wind was a complete mystery. We stood at the junction for several minutes, weighing our options. One was to head east then south to Palm Springs, and round the San Jacentos to their south. But that meant we would have to first cross the Interstate on an exposed overpass where the crosswinds would be even stronger and the shoulder very narrow. That would have been very dangerous in such conditions. We also thought about waiting until the winds slackened, but that option lacked appeal. So we decided to try forging ahead.

Surprisingly, once we pointed the bike directly into the wind, the riding was not much of a problem. Very slow, yes, but also very steady and stable. So as we peddled onto the freeway shoulder, the only remaining problem would have been the Highway Patrol stopping us from proceeding, but to our good fortune that did not happen. So we continued pumping our way west.

After about 8 miles we pulled off at a rest area for a breather. Then it was back onto the freeway for several more miles. Four lanes of traffic pelted past us like some great migration of metallic creatures, one after the next after the next, all headed in the same direction, all traveling at breakneck speed. And most of the big semi trucks and the slower work trucks held to the far-right lane, which put them right next to us.

For two or three miles we had to ride exceptionally slow: not only because of the wind but because of an extremely rough surface to the shoulder. It had been stripped of its surface by some machine, and apparently was awaiting resurfacing.

Still several miles from Cabazon we stopped for a reminiscent look at the overpass where the PCT goes through. We had hiked through here three times. Then at the eastern-most Cabazon exit we left the freeway and followed a frontage road that continued through Banning in ever-decreasing winds, and on into Beaumont. Here we turned south onto Highway 79 for the long and swift descent on a smooth and wide shoulder into the smog-bound farmlands of Hemet and San Jacinto. Surprisingly the afternoon here in these lowlands was quite cool. We were definitely starting to feel the Pacific maritime influence.

Next we followed Highway 74 west, and this busy 2-lane road would have been a fine ride, even with the fairly stiff headwinds, had it not been for the lack of shoulder and the rush of afternoon traffic. Because of the lack of shoulder here, the riding was far more challenging than the morning's freeway had been. The majority of drivers careened past without budging from their lane; however, not a single one went out of their way to give us problems, and this was very unlike many of the drivers in the other states we have visited, Colorado in particular. These California drivers were simply trying to get to where they were going; they seemed to be much better drivers, and as long as we did not waver, they did not particularly mind us borrowing their road, nor whizzing past us at close range.

With relief we came to Interstate 215 where 95 percent of the traffic went that way. By happenstance, Highway 74 led past the Perris DZ (drop zone, or skydiving center). As we peddled past, we could see their new vertical wind tunnel, the tail of their new jet sticking out of a hangar, and at one point we watched a twin otter jump ship climbing to altitude.

We cycled into the nearby town of Perris and stopped at a motel for the day. In the lobby we happened to see two people we knew, so the four of us enjoyed a lengthy chat. Sandra and Mark were skydivers from our home DZ in Arizona, and were jumping at Paris for the week and staying at this motel.

Day's mileage: 95