Molly's Journal: Week Ten

I wanted to come back to Utah to mountain bike; I didn't want to do it today

Today, we biked the longest stretch yet with no services on it - 56 miles. Out here, that doesn't just mean no Pizza Hut and no Texaco, it means no houses. Woodside, Utah really is just one man's gas station, open when he feels like it. Today he didn't feel like it. We were carrying as much water as we knew how - both our hydration packs were full, we had three bike bottles and three 32-ounce Gatorade bottles full of water, and an emergency spare two-liter reservoir in my bag. We set off early(ish) to beat the heat, figuring we would need less water that way. We didn't count on Utah's marvelous roads changing from fresh, smooth asphalt to nasty, bumpy crud and staying that way for most of the day. The surface was all the more offensive because it was clearly both: a) new enough to know better, and b) old enough to be permanent. It was a layer of tar with a layer of gravel on top. I am so glad I wasn't on skinny-skinny road tires today. As a consequence of this surface, whenever I sat on the side of the road, I got tar on my shorts. Also as a consequence, our average speed between Green River and a few miles outside of Wellington was a less-than-supersonic 9 mph. That's not counting rest stops: stops to drink, to pee, to eat, to patch a tube, or to flag down a friendly RV and beg some ice water.

That was the problem: it was a scorcher. It was a dry heat, but a dry 102 is still 102 degrees inside your bike bottle full of melting ice. For the first ten miles, we had cool water. For the next ten, we had warm water. An RV stopped to give us a spot of icy water which turned warm again in another 10 miles. We stopped to eat and try to wave someone else down - drinking hot water in hot weather is doable, but monumentally unpleasant - but nobody would stop. RV's, which are basically big houses on wheels and therefore have refrigerator/freezers hidden away somewhere inside, were passing us by. I suppose that's what we get for saying, "Oh, it's OK, if we have problems we can just flag down an RV." The RVs were laughing at us. They would pass in droves while we were biking, but as soon as we stopped because we needed help, they would dry up. Instead of three every few minutes, we would see one every ten minutes. Eventually, I tried to flag down a Jeep with a bunch of bikes on top and instead got a local guy in a pickup truck with an OHV in the back. This guy had been out off-roading all day and had plenty of ice water to give to some poor thirsty silly bikers. He was an incredibly pleasant man - smart and friendly and understanding. Apparently lots of mountain bikers get stranded in the Utah randomlands and the local off-roaders end up giving them lots of water.

Which brings me to mountain biking! Moab is apparently MTB-mecca. All bikers eventually go to Moab. In Grand Junction, the bike guys were trying to convince us to take a detour via Moab ("there's a great path! it's a shame you're not going, you'd really love it! it's great! you should see the path!"). All along I-70, we saw cars with mountain bikes strapped every which way headed south to the Canyonlands - Moab. And this morning, the couple behind me to pay for breakfast were apparently discussing our trip. I wasn't really listening, so I heard: "meow meow meow Moab meow meow ..." Then the woman tapped me on the shoulder and said, "We were just noticing your bikes and thought you must be headed to Moab. Are you headed to Moab?"

NO! I am not going to Moab! Thanks! No Moab for me!

She was really quite nice, it just made me laugh at the time. It also makes me think - I'd really like to take up mountain biking at some point, and this would be a great place to do it. I'd also like to sit back and let someone knowledgeable teach me what to do and how to do it, and show me all the really great paths. I am still not sure how I feel about guided road bike tours (great idea, probably not for me, too structured and dependent), but the idea of a guided mountain bike tour through Moab (!) really excites me. Someone else to do the hard planning and the teaching and to make the arrangements, while all I have to do is bike and then fall down at the end of the day. So! You mountain bikers out there, write me and tell me why you love your sport and how it's different from (better than?) road biking. I want to hear both sides of the story.

A Rumble Strip Runs Through It

Today was neatly split into two parts: Up, and Wheeeeeeee!

We spent the morning climbing another mountainlet - 32 miles up to Soldier Summit pass. They were decent miles, all pretty much the same; it was a slow, steady, eminently doable climb. But it was long. Oh, boy, was it long.  We had been assured by the denizens of Price that there was a gas station in Soldier Summit, and once we reached the top, we plonked our tired selves down and chatted with the locals (there were exactly two) over frozen burritos. It's exciting to get protein from something other than cheese or chicken, so burritos are currently Where It's At. One of them assured us that it was pretty much downhill to Spanish Fork, except for a railroad overpass and Billie's Mountain. He gave possibly the best directions I've ever heard from a non-biker, especially considering that the two "climbs" he described would have bene barely noticeable to the average motorist. Maybe some people just pay more attention to road grades, or maybe he was a trucker.

He, like everyone else in Utah, expressed a sort of dumbfounded disbelief upon learning about our journey. This is the reaction that interests me the most - to see these people's faces, you'd think we just told them that we were trying to sculpt a life-size replica of J. Edgar Hoover out of Brie. "What?" they say. "W- What?" Perhaps it sounds as silly as hopping across America, or rolling 2500 miles to a holy site in India (image courtesy of Bressen). It seems that every area has a different reaction to what we're doing. In Indiana and Illinois, people asked, "Aren't you afraid of the weirdos?" In Kansas, they told us we were brave. In Colorado, they just ... smiled. Sympathized. Utah's reaction seems to be slackjawed amazement. I don't feel like a superhero, but so many people here treat us as if we had special powers. If only I had Bionic Thighs... hey, I'd carry all the weight then.

After passing Soldier Summit, we got to the aforementioned yeep of delight. While trundling up the mountain, we had been dodging rumble strips of the sort that turn an innocent shoulder into an obstacle course. The down half of the day was recently paved and notably sans rumble. For a good portion of the descent - the back half of Billie's Mountain - we even got to ride on a freshly-paved road that was still closed to cars. Thirty feet of baby's-butt asphalt, all to ourselves! Downhill! With a tailwind! For 38 miles we grinned and streaked past the scenery, and it was Good.

We ended the day on a surreal note. After narrowly escaping a big, messy thunderstorm, we pulled into Spanish Fork and the mountains directly ahead of us were obscured. "Hey," I said, "The clouds are erasing that whole mountain range!" Then at precisely the same moment, we looked to the south and saw fires burning. They started partway down the mountain and the wind blew them up and over, like rivers in reverse. Once over the mountain, the smoke seemed to run together and then block out half the world. It was stunning, in a way - we could occasionally catch peeks of the fires that people have been warning us about, and it didn't feel real. I couldn't stop myself from breaking out into that James Taylor song, as if I were already composing the story of the day in my head, as if everything were happening to someone else, but I had somehow bought the rights to tell the stories at parties.

end of the line

In lots of ways, today is the end of our journey. We've certainly been thinking of it as such for a few weeks now. This is the final day that we will be biking together before Burning Man. From here, Colleen will get a ride west to help set up the Burning Man camp early, and I will hitch a ride to the Nevada border (just over the salt desert) and ride on my own. I'll be leaving my trailer and several pounds of stuff with Colleen and Chuck, instead opting for the scruffy-chic of saddlebags and bungie cords. Then I'll head on up to Burning Man for a week. After that, it's a short and relatively leisurely ride out to San Francisco, where we will spend a few days tooling about and being tourists. From here on out, the trip is broken up into easy, bite-size pieces. It's a good thing, because the post-mountain depression was beginning to cast a pall over our biking.

We had an interesting wind day today. We started the day off heading four miles into the most wicked headwind. Then when we turned a very acute corner and started heading up toward Salt Lake, it suddenly "disappeared" and we were going much faster than before. Of course, whenever we stopped for a break, the wind would whip up from behind us again. This just goes to prove the theory that every wind is a headwind. Tailwinds you just... don't notice. Suddenly you're going faster, but it's nice to try and believe that that's just because you're so powerful, rather than because of an accident of weather.

Since we're showing up a day ahead of schedule, tomorrow will be spent arranging for Burning Man things and being a general Day Of Rest. Then I'll prepare for my solo jaunt through Casinoland. Everyone wish me luck  -- and write me mail, since I'll be all alone in the evenings. :)

This is a test. If this had been a real journal entry, you would have been warned.

Rest day in Salt Lake City - aaaaaahhh. Colleen drove me across the Great Salt Lake Desert - 100 miles of nothing but salt as far as the eye can see. Not exactly great biking terrain, since there's nothing around, and lots of it. No water, no food, no people, no nothin'.

Staying the night in Wendover, Utah, a town that exists only to support West Wendover, Nevada, a town that exists only as a just-over-the-border gambling strip. I can't put my finger on what was so surreal about it. Sure, there was the 80-foot-tall neon cowboy at the state line doing the Walk Like An Egyptian dance; the five casinos in a town of maybe 2500 people; the fact that the main strip of town was a depressing jumble of hotels, gas stations, and casinos, while all the townsfolk lived slightly down the hill in run-down trailers. We drove through the town twice before I could figure out where the school was. What a depressing town that must be to grow up in!

As the sun began to set, though, an interesting thing happened. The salt flats, which lay just east of Wendover, began to glow. The whole world was darkening, but the bright white of the salt reflected the sun right back at us and seemed to luminesce all by itself. It was eerily spectacular.

In which I strike out on my own

In case anyone was not already aware of this blindingly obvious fact, being alone is very much unlike being with someone else.

I discovered today that I am eminently capable of carrying enough water to get me 60 miles over two mountain passes in the noonday desert heat. It's a lot of weight, but hey, my health is worth it. I also discovered that it's a bad idea to bike 60 hot and difficult miles without eating. I had a little snack of cheese and rice krispies squares at 27 miles and munched on a Harvest Bar slowly during the whole journey, but that's it. And I was surprised when I pulled into town and found myself dog-tired! The next town along my route isn't for another 50 miles, so I decided to call it quits decadently early. Who's counting? I've got nothing but time.

Side note on nutrition: as far as I can tell, Harvest Bars are the only Power Bar I would voluntarily pay money for. Here is my own Authoritative Ordered List of Non-Yucky Energy Bars:
 

• Clif Bar: Peanut Butter Crunch. I adore these things. I buy them by the case.
• Nature's Grain Energy Bars. These may only exist at some Sam's Clubs. They're really unlike other energy bars - they're dense whole-grain bread with nuts and berries and such. Full of fiber and protein. I could live off them and not be unhappy.
• Clif Bar: Apple Berry Whatever-It-Is. A decent runner-up. Fruity and tangy. Bonus: Colleen and I both like them, so we can buy them in bunches.
• Kashi GoLean: Vanilla Honey Yogurt. Mm! I've only seen these at Trader Joe's. Drawback: they're coated, so they get melty.
• GeniSoy Chocolate Mint: The only chocolate energy bar I can stomach. Yummy and healthy. Sadly, they're also coated.
• PowerBar Harvest Bar: Cherry, or Apple Crisp, or Strawberry: Definitely edible.
• Luna Bar: Trail Mix. Mmm!

One more thing I failed to do today: apply sunscreen. Or, in fact, have any sunscreen at all anywhere on my person or bike. So I biked through the scalding desert sun, 50 miles from nowheresville, completely sunscreenless. Ouch. I am already peeling on my shoulders. I also acquired a lovely helmet-chinstrap-tan/burnline on my left cheek. Needless to say, the first thing I did after eating lunch (lupper?) was buy sunscreen. It's only 30 SPF, not 48, and it's not the wonderiffic non-greasy all-day Coppertone Sport stuff in the blue bottle, but it'll do.

So far, biking with panniers is very much like I remembered, only with a few more annoying bits thrown in. Unlike a trailer, which is low and relatively narrow, panniers are set high and wide. You have lots of pockets to put things in, but the width acts like a big sail and makes it difficult to get a lot of speed while going down hills. The panniers are light, but the weight savings is almost entirely compensated for by the aerodynamic loss.  An incomplete comparison chart:

CATEGORY           |     BOB TRAILER   |  PANNIERS
--------------------------------------------------
Aerodynamic        |         X         |
Easy to pack       |         X         |
Easy to move       |                   |     X
Waterproof         |         X         |
Conversation piece |         X         |
Lightweight        |                   |     X
Inexpensive        |            * * * TIE * * *
Handling           |         X         |

So far, the panniers are losing. The tie on price is because of the incredible variety of panniers and racks out there. A BOB trailer and a nice Ortlieb waterproof bag will run you roughly $300. Panniers and a rack could run you anywhere from $100 or $120 (cheap rack and rear panniers only) to several hundred dollars for nice, waterproof Ortlieb panniers, front and rear, and the racks to support them. I'll take the panniers for quick day or weekend trips anytime, but for carrying lots of gear and schtuph, the BOB seems like a better deal. We'll see how I feel in a few days.

my first century... hooray!

Things that were wonderful about today:

• Biking 120 miles. Woo-hoo!
• Remembering sunscreen
• Remembering to eat
• Lovely weather: high of 86 F
• Having plenty of water

• Sunburn from yesterday
• Getting sick at lunch: eww
• Said illness setting me back 60-90 minutes
• Said illness making me sluggish for a few hours
• Constant hills/mountains
• Serious chafing of unhappy body parts
• All-day headwinds
• Rumble strips conveniently placed across my path every 50 feet for 30 MILES (...baBZZZZZZbabrp....... baBZZZZZZbabrp....... )

• "We're here because we're here, because we're here, because we're heeeeeere" (sung to tune of Auld Lang Syne: quite annoying)
• Auld Lang Syne, as sung by Jimmy Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life
• "Remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll try..."
• The Promise, by When In Rome or somebody like that
• Birdhouse in your Soul
• Ball And Chain
• Ana Ng
• Fingertips - more specifically, just: "I heard a sound *DJNK DJNK* I turned around *DJNK DJNK* I turned around to find the thing that made the sound"...
• Poison, by Bell Biv Devoe (Oh, Lord, save me from my own head, please)

• Another Roadside Attraction, by Tom Robbins
• Me Talk Pretty One Day, by David Sedaris (thanks, Andy)
• The Dark is Rising, by Susan Cooper (it deserved a re-read)
• Wizard of Pigeons, lent to us by Michelle Freeman in Columbus. Tied in with some conversations Colleen and I had about "insanity".
• The Stand, by Stephen King (hey, it was long, and it was about biking across the country and going over Loveland Pass to avoid the Eisenhower Tunnel and everything. And, it was consumingly long! Did I mention long?)
• The Gold Bug Variations: unfinished. Very complex and involved, and I wanted to move on. I'll finish it later. So I move on to:
• The Unbearable Lightness of Being, by Milan Kundera. Kristen has been trying to get me to read it for simply ages. She was right.
• High Fidelity, by Nick Hornby. Amazed at how well done the movie was, in retrospect
• Bimbos of the Death Sun, by Sharyn McCrumb
• Bingo, by Rita Mae Brown. Eh. Like reading a mystery without any mystery to it.
• The Cat Who Robbed A Bank, by Lilian Jackson Braun. Because it was there, and I've never read one of the Cat who <foo>ed books.
• Possibly others are missing up there. I think they are. I am also accepting suggestions; my next plan was to read Atlas Shrugged. Someone save me from this fate.

• Checking in to a hotel: 7:45 PM
• Taking a shower - I was truly grubby
• Making lists so that I don't have to write a real journal entry
• Talking to David on the phone
• Going to sleep: 9:15 PM

On going solo

Being alone on the road is an interesting experience. It's fun -- or, perhaps, mortifying -- to see what goes through your head when nobody else is around to temper you and your peculiarities. In a way, it feels like going crazy might feel. I spend hours running over imaginary conversations: how I would explain Burning Man to a group of elderly Belgians, for example, or what might happen if a state trooper pulled me over and tried to tell me I didn't belong on the road. These conversations get very detailed - I imagine how the Belgians get miffed that I couldn't distinguish their accents, or that the cop keeps calling me "ma'am" but clearly meaning "bonehead". All of this is of course interspersed with songs that won't leave my head. Today it was "Help" by the Beatles and "No Particular Place To Go," which is a great song to sing while biking even though it talks about driving around in an automobile. I try to imagine how I would spend $300 million. I sprint randomly to mileposts or funny-looking bushes. I start talking out loud in a ridiculous announcer's voice. I try to go through all of my friends' phone numbers in numerical order; if I miss one, I have to start over. (That's a long game. My mom used to make me do that when I couldn't go to sleep.) All in all, it's a lot less overtly silly than biking with Colleen was, because it's a lot easier to joke around when there's someone to laugh with. But it's fun, in a quietly interesting way.

Do I get bored? Sure. But not very often. I have to continually come up with ways to occupy my head, since boredom slows me down dramatically. Whenever I find myself thinking, "oh, man, is it really thirty-six miles until lunch?" I look down and find that my speed has dropped by about 30%. Pretty significant, really. Being bored increases my time-'til-lunch even more, thereby leaving me more time in which to be bored. A brutally dull cycle. So it's in my best interests to be dumb.

I find that people's reactions to me have changed when I tell them my story. When I was biking with Colleen, people always said, "Aren't you (scared? / brave! / worried about all the weirdos?)" Now, the first question they all seem to ask is, "Have you gotten many flat tires?"

Huh?

I thought I'd get even more of the "gosh, you poor little defenseless thing, aren't you frightened out here in the world all alone?" type of questioning I have come to expect. It's all friendly -- it shows people care about me and my welfare -- so it doesn't bother me. I've actually come to like it. It's just interesting to me that two girls merit concern for their safety, and one girl alone merits concern for her bike. I did get one "god, I hope you carry a gun" from a woman about my age, but that's it. I'd like to think that I ooze confidence and security, but I think that people are just weird.

One other thing that's interesting about being alone is the way in which I use time. The only two times of day that matter to me are sunup and sundown. Everything else is fluid. Alone, I set my own breaktimes. If I want to stop three or four or twelve times this hour to sit by the side of the road, I do. If I want to take no breaks at all, just munch on an energy bar without even stopping the bike, I do. Both of these might charitably be considered annoying habits in a biking partner, but what fun is being alone if you can't be annoying with impunity?  I set myself ridiculous schedules that I modify six or eight times an hour. Today, for example, I set out to bike 125 miles. By about 10 AM, I had revised that  so that I only had to go 80 miles today, leaving me with 100 tomorrow (a much more even distribution). This meant that the rest of my day was positively leisurely. I spent 80 minutes at lunch, reading the rest of my book, and then hung out by the supermarket applying aloe to my tender bits and watching the world go by. I spent half an hour just waving at truckers and at trains.

So, being alone has its strong points. I can fart loudly and spit at signposts. I can whimper all I want without expecting it to be taken seriously. I can go as hard as I want for as long as I want without worrying about whether that stinks for someone else. However, it also has its severe drawbacks. I can wimp out whenever I want - there's nobody there saying, no, Molly, we should do more than that today, we should go faster up this hill, etc., etc. There's nobody there to laugh at my dumb jokes and tell me dumb jokes of her own. I don't have interesting conversations about the mythological roots of Mr. Clean or how weird it is to see slot machines in grocery stores. Nobody is there to offer me insights of her own into the landscape, either cultural or physical, of the places we go through.  All of my dialogues are internal.

I'm glad I got this chance to push myself and see what my body is capable of, but even more than that, I'm glad I got the chance to make most of this trip not alone. Being able to share this with someone else makes it more of an adventure and less of a "vision quest", and that's a trade-off I'm more than happy to make.