Date - September 6th, 2020

Current Location - Fallon NV

Miles Traveled - 3,706

Nevada wasn’t quite what I expected. Whenever the thought of the state snuck into my mind, there were vivid images of long straight roads cutting through a vast, uninterrupted stretch of yellow sand. I imagined the midday heat radiating from the road, and disorienting mirages blurring the line between sky, road, and horizon.

The reality was more strongly defined by a series of mountain ridges and valleys. It was a relentless rhythm, slowly climbing up a straight road, reaching the reassuring green sign, “summit xxx, elevation xxx,” followed by the view of the next ridge miles in the distance, and an expanse of the valley. While the desolation was real, there were still small shrubs and brown grass occupying the broken dirt of the valleys, not the uninterrupted layer of sand that I imagined.

The heat was far less of a problem than expected. For the first few days, the daytime high only reached 85 degrees, and it was quite cool until around 2 pm. With our already early schedule of starting rides at 6 am, we barely experienced the heat. By the last few days of the section, day time highs elevated to the 100s and we got the true desert experience.

The long straight roads I had in my head were certainly a reality. From one mountain ridge to the next, the road would just plow forward, straight down, then straight up. At times we could see 10-15 miles of road ahead of us as we slowly made our way through the valley.

The hardest part of traversing Nevada was undoubtedly the desolation. Back east we often had a town for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with plenty of places to hide from the sun and wind. In Nevada, we were forced to ride huge chunks of milage just to reach the next town. Coupled with the 2-4 1,500ft mountain passes per ride, we were in rough shape by the end of this section. We typically road between 60-85 miles between towns, so we had to haul more water weight than usual, which only made the climbs tougher.

During this section, I was very much in “biking mode.” That vision in my head that encourages me to stop and create photos was all but silent, replaced by the desire for cold chocolate milk and shelter. Continuous pedaling was the only way to convert this daydream to reality.

Making Friends

We started this section with a rest day in Cedar City, Utah. All four of us were biking to our Airbnb when we heard a scream from a passing car over the noise of city traffic. “WHERE ARE YOU GUYS COMING FROM?” The voice said I couldn’t identify where it came from, but of course, I yelled back, “Philadelphia!” I thought that would be the end of it, but down the road, I saw John stop and begin chatting with someone who had just pulled off the road. I wasn’t sure if it was the same car as before, but the other three of us had momentum flying down a hill, so we blew by John eager to get into the AC of our Airbnb.

John arrived a couple of minutes after we did, and told us about this guy Kyle. He was about our age, curious about bike touring and curious about our journey. We got his contact info, and the next day John, Jake, and Jason went swimming at a local watering hole, and ended up climbing with a group of Kyle’s friends, while I hung out at a cafe in town for an inordinately amount of time writing up last section’s stories. Later in the day, I got a text from Jake. It just said “dinner” followed by an address. I packed up my miscellaneous wires and gadgets, ending my 10+ hour squatting session at the cafe, and was on my way.

There was something that struck me right away when I arrived at the dinner location. It was a house. From the front, I couldn’t see anything going on in this quiet neighborhood. I stood there for a moment, a curious kid in the window was looking back at me. There was someone at the side gate. “You’re Chris, right? You can bring your bike to the back.” Ah, it seems I’m in the right place. I wheeled my rig through the narrow gate and was immediately greeted by two cute pups. As I turned the corner into the back yard, I saw a group of strangers gathered around a grill, with no familiar faces in sight. Right away, A woman jumped out of her seat, “Hey! Welcome! Can I get you a drink? Have a seat!” All my anxiety about crashing this family’s weekend hangout was immediately at ease due to Wendy’s incredible hospitality.

After a half-hour of chatting, Jake, Jason, and John entered the back yard and the party was started. Over the smell of shrimp kabobs on the grill, we all shared stories from our long journey and got to know each other. This was our first home-cooked meal in a long time, shared with us by the most incredible company.

(John’s writing) As a side note, and from the other guy’s experience with the whole gaggle of SUU (Southern Utah University) students that brought us under their wing, this is one wild gang. Stephen, attending SUU for a major we would get some strange looks at for suggesting back east, titled Outdoor Recreation, was one of our two hosts and offered some awesome late-night discussions we were happy to participate in. Paul, a fellow New-Yorker who moved to Utah for college and who John was overly-excited to hang with for almost an entire day and fix bikes, is an avid bicyclist, introducing a Bike sharing program at SUU and coordinating with donors to build and maintain bikes for the entire SUU community. Malia, at just 19, already has the world at her fingertips due to her zeal and expeditionary spirit, she is currently renovating a large people-mover Ford, soon to be equipped with a full solar array, and akin with a sustainable life traveling to all the places we’ve seen over our trip. And Kyle, a communications major who has found himself operating 3 of Cedar City’s outdoor equipment suppliers, who gave us a shoutout on SUU’s outdoor page, and who imparted to us some highly sought-after advice for navigating the Nevada desert. So many amazing individuals, all engaged in an array of outdoor and environmental sciences, not to mention their passion for exploration. Needless to say, we ended up staying another day, enjoying another great meal from Stephen Sr. and Wendy, and swapping stories from the ever-growing archive of this trip with our host’s own.

The whole time I was thinking about how this all started with the smallest gesture. If Kyle hadn’t leaned out of his window to say hello, we never would have met this great group of family and friends.

New friends in Cedar City! Clockwise from top left; Stephen’s sister, Stephen, Malia, Stephen’s brother, Stephen Sr., Chris, Olivia + Kyle, Andy, Jason, Jake, and John.

Squatting

From Cedar City, we road to Milford UT. This 55-mile ride with no service was just a warm-up for the desolate stretches to come. Our plan was to stop here during the midday heat, then push another 40 miles into the desert.

We were sitting on the ground outside of the Family Dollar, scouring google maps for a more optimal place to kill 8 hours. The park? We rode over, and there wasn’t a single bench or outlet. Nope. The library? I walked up a steep flight of stairs to a door that looked as if it haven’t been opened in years. I pulled the handle with close to zero hope of it opening. Locked. It was a tiny town, and we were running out of options. Maybe they have a couch to hang out on at the city offices? Closed on Sunday.

My desperation for a seat comfier than the ground led me to call the one hotel in town. “Hey there, my name is Chris. A couple of friends and I are biking across the country, and are looking for a place to hang out during the heat before riding out tonight.” Without missing a beat, the lady on the other end of the line said, “Oh of course! I can open up the lounge for you guys to watch some TV or something.” The lesson learned from this is it can never hurt to ask. We made our way to the hotel, and it was everything we could ask for, and more. Four lazy boy recliners, air conditioning, and a flat-screen TV.

The door to this oasis had the odd title, “Crew Lounge.” While we were plopped in our chairs watching a Harry Potter marathon, the occasional burly man equips with tools and a reflective vest would walk in, get some food from the fridge, then walk out. We weren’t really sure who’s lounge we were crashing until we met one man, who introduced himself as a train conductor. Immediately, all the hand-drawn framed pictures of train engines on the walls made sense as we realized this was a waiting area for the train engineers and conductors that stop in Milford UT. We have met a lot of people like this conductor along our journey. The type of people that don’t get to chat much, cooped up in isolation due to their unique occupation, who will talk your ear off given the opportunity. Luckily, we are in a similar situation of isolation and were happy to entertain his wide-ranging conversation.

Before the conductor left the lounge to his long shift in the train engine, he bought us big salads from the nearby diner and wished us luck on the rest of our adventure. By this point, the sun had set, and we were starting to reconsider our ambitious plans for another 40-mile ride tonight. We had a pretty nice setup, and the next Harry Potter movie had just started.

What if we just “accidentally” fell asleep in the lounge? Was anyone keeping tabs on us in here? We eagerly awaited the answers to these questions as the occasional hotel employee came and went from the lounge without saying a word. Finally, at 9:30 pm, the moment came. A lady walked in and headed to the staff closet. We were mid-conversation, and we kept it going in hopes to not give the women an opportunity to interject with the inevitable question, “what are you still doing here?” She exited the closet and made her way to the door. She opened the door. All she has to do is close it, and we might get a free stay for the night as honorary train people. But alas, before that door returned to its proper closed state, her head turned. “So you guys are leaving right?” As tempting as it was to say, “After this Harry Potter movie ends,” we accepted our defeat and began packing our panniers. That night we set up our tents in the middle of what appeared to be an ATV track, a mere hundred feet from this world of luxury, imagining what could have been.

Jason posing to recreate one of his favorite shots from “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.” The cigarette was just used as a prop.

Night ride on route 50 in the light of the full moon. Jason looking back at a passing car.

The hardest ride of my life

From Milford our longest ride with no service awaited. It was 84 miles down route 50, dubbed the loneliest road in America, which took us across the Nevada Utah border through a very small town of Garrison, Utah with one post office and no residents to be seen, continuing on to the just-marginally larger town of Baker, NV. The ride was complete with four ~1,500ft summits, which took a total of 9 hours to complete.

Biking into Baker, I had a deep feeling of discomfort. On top of the usual pain and soreness of my legs, something felt wrong in my gut. The wind picked up by the end of the ride, and dust was blowing through the one street of this town. There was not a soul around, just the howling of the wind and associated chimes of clanking metal. The gas station I saw on google had no convenience store attached. The restaurant I passed was closed, and the grocery store across the street appears to have not been open for years. A sign pointed to a cafe 10 miles south. Not going to make it. Finally, at the edge of town, there was hope.

The word “espresso” was scrolled into a sign pointing right. There was a tiny shack, no more than 50 square feet, with one occupant. The sliding window cracked open as I approached. “Is there anywhere in town with indoor seating?” I asked. “Oh no, there isn’t much. The restaurant opens in a few hours, that’s your best bet.” With no other option, I ordered an overpriced turkey and brie panini. The two picnic tables adjacent to the shack were uninhabitable, baking in the midday sun. I sat in the dirt with my back pressed against the neighboring building for shade, shielding my eyes from the dust that picked up with every gust.

This was a low for me. Food and water didn’t ease this unpleasant feeling deep in my body, and I just wanted to escape from the heat dust, and wind. For the next few hours, we all laid on the porch of the one restaurant in town, just waiting for its doors to open.

It was the people we met at the restaurant later that day that reinvigorated my passion for this journey. After so many days on the road, it is easy to lose sight of why we are doing this (a question I still can’t quite answer), but seeing the spark in someone else’s eyes when they hear we biked from Philadelphia makes it all worth it. We met a delightful couple by the names of James and Suzanne who bought us our dinner that night, and everyone at the small bar and grill listened in and asked questions about our journey. With time, that dreadful physical and emotional feeling ran its course, and I was back in good spirits to finish the section.

The Bar

The ride into Austin NV was as brutal as expected. We had a midsection motel to shower and rest in Eureka, so our 70-mile day didn’t start until 3 pm. The sun had set, and we still had one massive climb before getting into town. There was a gas station that closed at 10 pm, so I volunteered to ride ahead to pick up snacks for the other guys, just in case they didn’t make it by closing.

It was incredibly peaceful and equally scary to ride alone up the mountain. The stars were bright, and the only sound was the slow click of the bike as I pedaled. It only took one though of wildlife to make me uneasy. What would I do if I turned the corner of this winding road to illuminate a pack of coyotes? With that, I stopped, put on my headlight (an additional light strapped to my head, my bike light was on), and took out my knife for easy accessibility. I don’t worry about animals as much with the flat or downhill grade, but with my slow pace climbing up the mountain I was especially worried. In my peripherals, I saw the occasional small animal, but luckily avoided the more deadly creatures of Mother Nature.

Eventually, I reached the summit, and it was just a couple of mile cruise into town. I could see the lights of the small settlement as I winded down the sharp switchbacks, and the full moon lit up the valley. It was an incredible feeling to see the “Austin city limits” sign after a long ride. Back in civilization.

The town was entirely dark, and eerily quiet besides the squeaking of my breaks as I descended down this mountain. I reached the gas station by 9:15 pm, but either google had lied, or they decided to close early. No chocolate milk insight.

Just up the road, I had seen one light on in a run-down bar, so I decided to investigate, eager to see what kind of characters frequent this small town spot on a Thursday night. The sign was slightly illuminated by neon beer logos, but it was illegibly faded by the desert sun. The wooden boards of the porch dipped with each step, jingling the assortment of metal trinkets scattered around. The door was already open, and the three heads inside were already looking at me as I walked in. Immediately I thought to myself, this is the coolest bar ever. A dusty piano was pushed up to the wall on the right, with a faded photo of a nude woman hung above. The bar was to my left, with shimmering liquor bottles neatly arranged on the old wood shelves. The back of the room fell into darkness, but I could make out a dusty billiard table with balls and cues scattered around. “Do you have any food?” I asked.

The bar exterior, Austin NV - Photo by John.

“Food!? We don’t have any food.” Said, bartender. He was slouched down in his chair and visibly drunk, shirt still unbuttoned from the heat that must have occupied the bar hours earlier. His curly grey chest hairs matched the wiry disheveled hair up top. “Well, do you have hot water?” If I could just get hot water, I could make my last dehydrated chicken alfredo Mountain House meal. I couldn’t tell if he was responding to my question, or if he was continuing a conversation with the cowboy hat-wearing Native American man at the bar, but he muttered something uncomprehendingly while looking down, then turned around to pour himself another drink.

I asked again, “So, hot water?” He turned back around slightly aggravated, “Stop asking! Come and get it.” I wasn’t sure what he meant, so I just went to the bathroom to check if the water was hot enough. “No, come over here, the waters hot.” He gestured me behind the bar, and I saw the steaming faucet. I opened the Mountain House bag, put it under the water for a moment, then sealed it to rehydrate. While I waited for my bagged meal to prepare itself, I started talking to the Native American man about the trip. I asked once for a beer. No response from the slouched bartender. I asked again, and he turned to the third man at the bar, from Minnesota, and muttered something. The cowboy hat-wearing Native American saw my struggles and yelled, “I think he wants a beer.” That got the trick done, and a cold Sierra Nevada slid across the bar to me. After 15 minutes of talking to the whole group about the bike trip, the bartender leaned over, “so what kind of car do you drive?” “I don’t own a car… I’m on a bike…”

One by one my friends entered the bar, with the same look of confusion and delight that I experienced. John leaned over to me, “Dude this is the coolest bar I have ever stepped foot in.” We all had a beer, then set up camp in a vacant parking lot across the street. An interesting night to say the least.

The gang at the bar. I wish I asked this crazy looking bartender to take his portrait, but I was too scared of what he might say. Photo by John.

My bike on a long road in Nevada. Shot inspired by John.

Section 9 - Nevada