Date - September 12th, 2020

Current Location - San Francisco, CA

Miles Traveled - 4,063

Golden Gate Bridge in the smoke. (Photoshop Composite)

The final section. Our perception of time throughout this trip as been like a roller coaster crawling up to a peak, with that familiar *click click click* sound, then a rapid descent out of control with our hands up in the air. Through the first few sections, it felt like this ride would never end. Each week felt like an eternity with our total change in lifestyle, and new sights every day. *click click click* we reached the top, and everything sped up. The climax of this roller coaster ride was Kansas. We (quite literally) blew through this state, then Colorado passed quicker than expected, and Utah and Nevada were a blur. Upon completing section 9 we all agreed that it was a blink of an eye. This section that we have been planning for years was over.

Now it is the last section, and we began passing much-anticipated road signs for our final destination, San Francisco. We might actually pull this off. This section was always imagined to be the easiest for many reasons. Our legs have the power of 80 days of riding, the entire section was only 357 miles, and it included a massive 8,000ft descent back to sea level from the Sierra Nevadas. But there was one curveball. The wildfires.

In Fallon NV at the beginning of the section, we had our first experience with smoke. I was busy working on the last section's blog, and I was cooped up in a cafe all day. When I stepped outside, something was strange. It was around 3 pm, but everything was cast in yellow light as if it was sunset, and cars had their headlights on. When I checked the weather on my phone, I saw a totally unfamiliar icon. Smoke. Visibility was only a mile or two, and under the temperature, there was a brief warning. “Unhealthy air quality.” I ran back inside to check the news, and my webpage was full of articles covering the worst wildfires in the history of California.

Well, so far we have dealt with the global pandemic and racial injustice protests in St Louis, why not add wildfires to the list of things to worry about. It was funny being in our position. Despite the clear warning that it is a bad idea to bike 357 miles through smoke, we never considered not doing it. Just like the mountains, we had no choice but to summit, we pushed ahead destined to finish our journey. Unpredictable weather patterns dictate where the smoke will blow, so every day it was different.

Smoky scenes from Fallen, NV. Shot at 5pm, when the sun was still high in the sky.

The Community Center

From Fallon NV, we rode to Carson City NV, the underwhelming capital of the state. Jake and I left early that morning to beat the wind and heat, while Jason and John opted to sleep in, taking full advantage of the time in the motel.

For the first time in a whole week, we had several towns and services along our ride, so we emptied our heavy water reserves. The landscapes we traversed were draped in smoke, but it didn't have a noticeable effect on our breathing. We arrived in Carson City early that day, so the next step was finding a place to kill 10 hours before it was an appropriate time to sleep.

Having been on the road for a while now, we have tried many options for this type of thing. The park, great for napping, but no outlets or AC. A coffee shop, wifi, AC, and outlets, but they get mad when you lay on the ground to take a nap. Hotel lounges are great, but it can be tricky to convince them to give you access. Community centers are unpredictable but always worth a shot. Back in Colorado, we found one in a small town that was entirely unoccupied, providing the perfect place to nap, recharge, and cool down.

As we rode through town, there was a public looking building with the large words written above the door, “Community Center.” Perfect. It was dark and eerily quiet inside, but the door was unlocked. After a quick exploration, we stumbled into a pitch-black auditorium. Jake looked at me and said, “Dude this is perfect. A big dark room all to ourselves, its nap time.” We rolled our bike through the community center door and started to get set up. Jake was off looking for a light switch when an atrocious series of *BEEEEEEPS* began to blare through the whole building. “What did you do man!” I shouted. “Nothing, I was just walking around the stage and it started going off.”

We stood there for a couple of minutes waiting for someone to emerge into the dark hallway, but no one came. We didn’t want to look suspicious running off, so we gave it another couple of minutes. We both stood there, fingers blocking our ears. “I GUESS THIS THING ISN'T GOING TO TURN OFF, SHOULD WE GO?” I screamed from two feet away. “YEAH LET'S GO,” responded Jake. We moved our bikes back outside, and could still hear the muffled alarm blaring. Right as we biked away, the alarm stopped. Well, I guess we can go back in now. While we were out there, we ran to the grocery store across the street to stock up on snacks, then returned to the big dark (now quiet again) room waiting for us.

We approached the same door with our bikes, and as Jake reached for the doorknob, the door swung open. The man inside gave us a friendly greeting, “Hey guys! Some bikes you got there, where are you headed?” We explained our journey to him, then he asked, “What can I help you with?” Jake told him that we are just looking for a place to hang out for the day. “Well, unfortunately, the community center is closed for labor day today. Any other day I would welcome you in! I am actually only down here because our burglar alarm just triggered. It was probably nothing, maybe a faulty alarm.” Ah on the road I can barely keep track of the days of the week, I totally forgot it was a holiday.

Jake and I tried to hide our gins, “Oh geez, that's crazy, we wouldn't know anything about that, probably a faulty alarm,” Jake responded. Although the man didn't let us in, he offered to get us some ice water around back. “Go around the other side of the building, and I’ll open the kitchen door for you,” the man said. We rolled our bikes around the building, and there he was again. He welcomed us in, then started unloading things from the fridge and freezer. “Here guys, I’ve got some ice pops for you, there are some Capri Suns too! Help yourselves.” He was a super friendly guy, and we gladly accepted his gifts. As we were saying goodbye, I gave him the link to this blog. We thought about telling him that it was us who unknowingly burglarized the community center trying to take a nap, but figured it would be funnier for him to read it here. So, If you are reading this Mr. Community Center Man, we are sorry for the trouble, but I hope you can appreciate the comedy in the situation!

So, with the community center a no go, we migrated to the park for the day while we waited for Jason and John to arrive. Before we knew it, the gang was back together, and we found a place on the outskirts of the City to pitch our tents.

Image from google of the Carson City Community Center theater. https://www.nevadaappeal.com/news/local/boldrick-theater-could-receive-makeover/

Lake Tahoe Hotel Squat

There is a distinct line on Google Maps where the tan dead earth of the desert gives way to a lush green color. Finally, we had reached that line as we ascended up the Sierra Nevadas to Lake Tahoe. I grew up in Pennsylvania, and have taken lush greenery for granted. After a week of the unforgiving dry dusty terrain in Nevada, the forest was a welcomed sight. This mountain range is the very last physical barrier between us and the Bay Area. We are getting close.

In just a day's ride to the lake, the landscape changed dramatically. The riding was scenic along the shore of Lake Tahoe, and we could just barely make out the distant peaks across the lake through the smoke. With the changing landscape came a change in the climate. That night it was projected to drop to 30 degrees, making it the coldest night so far. We unpleasantly survived a couple of cold nights on the mountain tops of Colorado but looked to avoid it this time.

We reached the lakeside town called Stateline, named appropriately for its location straddling the line between Nevada and California. From looking at the maps I expected a small mountain village, but the reality was far from it. It was the Atlantic City of the mountains, with massive casino skyscrapers nestled between the mountain peaks. We spent the day exploring these structures, and one thought occupied my mind. There is so much unused space. Massive oversized corridors, huge casino floors, and most interestingly, a huge vacant conference space. To stay out of the frigid night all we need is a mere 48 SF for four of us to lay our camping mats out. Is that too much to ask for?

Well, it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission, so we decided to take our chance in the conference hall. Jake and John went first. They rolled their bikes straight through the front door and proceeded to the elevator unquestioned. Rather than going up to the hotel room floors to a room that we did not have, they stopped at level 2, the conference center. I gave Jake a call. “Did you make it in?” I asked. “Yup, we just rolled the bikes right on through, they are stashed in the conference hall.

With that confirmation, I followed Jason through the front doors of the hotel. There is one rule to this type of thing. Be confident. If you carry yourself as if you are supposed to be there, no one will be the wiser. We clumsily navigated our way through the tight vestibule with our heavy bikes, then Jason made an unforgivable mistake. He froze. The security guard picked up on his hesitation immediately. “Hey there, can I help you?” Unfortunately, we couldn't state the reality of the situation. Yes sir, could you direct us to the currently unused conference center so we can hide there overnight? Rather, Jason said we were meeting up with our friends inside, and pulled out his phone to call Jake. That was enough distraction to get the guard off our backs, and Jake directed us to the elevator.

When we got up to our private conference center suite, John was already napping on his mat in the cavernous space. We stashed the bikes, and I decided to wait outside the conference center doors at a small conveniently located computer station. I sat there for hours monitoring the situation outside. I figured it was less incriminating to be in a public area rather than passed out in the conference space. Eventually, the cleaning staff came. They started in the public hall and inched closer and closer to our hideout. Not good.

Okay, game plan. If anyone asks, we are just storing our bikes in the unused room while we hit the slot machines. The longer we stay, the worse that excuse gets. Of course, if we are found in the wee hours of the night asleep in this room, there would be no way to talk our way out of it. Perhaps, fortunately, that situation never came.

It was around 7 pm, and an official-looking employee entered the scene. He approached the doors to our “free hotel room.” There were many doors, about 6 double doors entering the space from the massive public corridor. The employee stuck a key from his noisy keychain into the far door. *Click* it was locked. He proceeded to the next door. At this point, Jason and Jake had joined me at the computer station. We were all peeking over at this employee as he moved closer to us from door to door. “We got to tell him the bikes are in there,” I said under my breath. *Click* another door locked. “Yeah we are about to get locked out of there,” said Jason.

Before he reached the last door, I ran over to the man. “Hey there, umm, we have our bikes in that room. Do you mind if we get them out?” The man looked over to me, “What? Yes, get them out of there!” At first, he was confused and slightly mad, but as we wheeled our packed bikes out his anger turned to curiosity. We chatted with him about the trip, then we were on our way, back out into the cold.

That night we ended up getting a cheap motel room to escape the freezing temperature, nominating John to enter the check-in office alone, while the other three of us hid from sight. Sometimes they don't like four dudes checking into a one-bedroom, but that is exactly what we did.

Last camp site of the trip just after Carson Pass.

The Descent

Since Kansas, it has been a steady climb up into the Rockies, and surprisingly we kept our high elevation through Nevada, rarely going below 5,000ft. The day had finally come to cash in on all the potential energy we had accumulated over the past few months. In one ride, we had an 8,000 ft descent from Carson pass into Davis CA. It was a long 110-mile ride, but luckily we had arrangements for a free home waiting for us at the end of the day. As we got closer to San Francisco, my father’s cousin David Hytha was a huge help. Friends of his in Davis were out of town for a few days, and they agreed to let us stay in their condo for a night.

It was a beautiful morning, curving down the Sierra Nevadas through massive redwood trees. After just a few hours, we had traveled 50 miles, and the forests gave way to western suburbia. It is basically flat riding for the rest of the trip from here. Just before Davis, we hit West Sacramento, and it contrasted heavily with the delight of the morning. High rises disappeared up into the smoke, and homeless tent cities occupied any open land. It was a dystopian scene, to say the least, but oddly inspiring from a photographic perspective. Unfortunately, I didn't feel safe pulling out my expensive camera gear to capture it.

Through the entire 110 mile trek we were in the smoke. Its effects are hardly noticeable on the lungs, but by mid-day, I decided to put on a mask while I rode. I searched each city we passed for N-95 masks, which are much more effective blocking smoke particulate then the medical mask I had on hand. Unfortunately, every store I checked was sold out. By the time we reached Davis, it was well after dark, and we enjoyed our much needed real beds after the long ride.

Cousin David

In addition to the free home, he secured for us, my west coast family connection Cousin David, gave us a warm welcome to San Francisco. As we came across the Golden Gate Bridge, his brother and him were waiting for us with a bottle of Champaign. It was typical weather, wet and foggy in the bay, and the massive bridge was barely visible, just two towers peeking above a sea of white. We only stayed in the city for a few days, and cousin David had cleared his whole weekend for us. We got a tour around the highlands to the North of the city and grabbed a lovely seafood lunch by his boat in Sausalito. Eventually, when it was time to get to the airport, David drove his van and got the help of a friend to drive a pick-up truck. We all disassembled our bikes in the Air BnB, and fit them snuggly in four bike boxes. Our plan was to check the bikes onto the plane with us, so we have them back in Philadelphia to bike home from the airport.

The Airport

We were mulling over the logistics of getting our bikes back to Philadelphia for weeks. There were only two options. Either ship it with UPS or check it onto the plane. If we check the bikes, we can ride 40 miles from the airport back to our hometown of Phoenixville, but we risk damaging the bikes in the hands of reckless bag handlers. We all opted to bring them on the plane, for one last ride together. Because of some logistical reasons, as well as to save money, we decided to get to the airport at 2 pm, with a flight at 6 am the next day. It was within a 24-hour window, so we figured we could check-in, go through security, then hang out in the airport all day. Right away we ran into issues. We check our bikes in no problem, but the lady at security wouldn’t allow us through. Back at the Delta check-in desk, the lady informed us that we had to pick up our bikes in the baggage claim. She didn’t realize our flight was the next day, and they don’t take any responsibility for our bags if we leave them in Delta’s care. It was a wild goose chase to actually find the four bike boxes, but eventually, we had them back in the terminal entrance.

We weren’t allowed past security, so we had to make do with a tiny area with four chairs right by the entrance. Most people would be upset spending 16 hours at the airport before their flight, but to us, it was one last hoorah. We had squatted for hours on end in countless locations across the country, and this was perhaps the longest yet. We later realized that having the bike boxes on hand was a perk. We essentially walled off our corner of the airport lobby with these four large rectangular building blocks. The barrier was only broken occasionally to retrieve several rounds of Wendy’s take out meals as we waiting. It was quite luxurious compared to what we had been through. Free wifi, unlimited power, food that comes right to us? What more could you ask for! Unfortunately, I had already shipped my camping mat home, so I slept right on the airport floor. Having gone weeks with a deflating mat, I was already adjusted to sleeping on hard surfaces like this and dozed right off.

After a quick layover in Atlanta, we arrived in Philly. The bikes arrived with no issues, and we got them back together with the tools on hand. It was surreal riding through the city I know so well. It felt like another day of the trip, just another city, but this one is special to me. The Schuylkill River Trail brought us all the way from Philadelphia to Phoenixville, the town I grew up in. The trip came full circle, riding on my bike back to the same home I left. It is over.

From left to right, Jake, Chris, Jason, John.

Section 10 - The End