Day 40 - Finally, It's Nina Day!
Despite my being hugely exhausted from the previous treks of the last two days (and dealing with some stomach issues since my pig-at-the-trough organic feed of the night before), i sprung out of the bed which i had luckily scored. No, not a state line this time. Today i was going to clap eyes on someone that I know and love for the first time in 40 days and 40 nights (not all stormy but a considerable number were), my awesomely wonderful friend, Nina!
I didn't mention the weather on Day 39 because it was beautiful - crisp and clear, with only friendly clouds in the sky. Odd not to mention it, since it was an anomaly (unfortunately). So without the Weather Channel to guide me (some places don't report locally - it's random and i can't figure it out), i just assumed it was going to be another peachy day. Wrong. I stepped outside to a thick low-laying layer of dark clouds. La la la, i sung a little cheerful ditty to myself. Not seeing you, clouds, not gonna bother me on Nina Day. I ate breakfast from my trappings (the place had a little kitchen - with a mug, so i could make tea!) - oatmeal, a banana, not much. Didn't need much on Nina Day! I walked over to the Johnson home, where i'd swiped that golden key of restful opportunity, and knocked, cash in hand. A tired guy with morning breath answered the door and i handed over the fair price, thanked him profusely, and slinked out noticing a scantily clad young blonde female nesting on the couch. None of my business, Mr. Johnson.
After the last couple of days of arduous riding, i just assumed - invented, really - that Day 40's ride wouldn't be so bad. There was Nina at the other end as a prize, and it was a shorter ride to Tropic - about 70 miles - where we were meeting at the Bryce Canyon Inn (everything in the area is similarly and confusingly named). So i wasn't worried. But i was tired. And the steep climb out of Boulder - which was staggeringly scenic, in part due to the angry cloud formations - was unwelcome (and surprising - you'd think i'd learn to study those elevation profiles more closely by now, wouldn't you?)
Leaving BOulder, my mood became raw and angry, and that sense of entitlement i've been struggling with started to creep in when the weather changed from merely a threat to aggressive wind and rain (and freezing cold as well, mind you) - "Why is this happening to ME?! It's not fair! I'm tired!" Waah waah waah. (Easy to make fun of myself for something that happened a week ago - but i was furious and crabby then for sure!)
I made it out of town and finished that first climb out. THe next section was downhill. "Good," i thought. Even though it was raining, i'd have a nice downhill stretch. just proceed and be cautious, right? Wrong. The next few-mile section labeled Hog-Something-or-Other (don't have the map on me - a great name i'll include later), was the most treacherous (and insanely gorgeous, weather permitting) i'd encountered thus far. i know everything i write is so hyperbolic in terms of weather and scenery and danger and friendliness and all, but THIS was so extreme that i kinda blocked it out (i guess so i could focus on not crashing and burning) and only remembered the experience more clearly when talking about it later with Ben, a NYC-based cyclist traveling in my direction. The reason for the danger was that the stretch was 6-10% grade downhill with CLIFF ON EITHER SIDE, WITH NO GUARDRAILS. Add 20-30 mph winds and pouring rain and you've got a recipe for disaster. Which i escaped.
Ok, the truth is i must not have been that scared if i didn't actually fully regard the experience as pure danger until speaking about it later and basically appropriating another cyclist's "that was fucking crazy" experience as my own. It was exhilarating. The views were spectacular. i was focusing on being safe. And i was almost too tired and angry to care. All this attention on other stuff probably was a good thing. Or else i'm a totally-awesome cycling Evel Knievel now. Or whatever the contemporary NASCAR reference would be. I wouldn't know. And probably never will.
The climb out of there was murderous, like dragging myself out of primordial existence into modern times. Well, it looked worse than it actually was. SOmetimes seeingh tiny cars winding their way up the side of the mountain way above you is more daunting than the hill itself. It looks steeper until it's in front of your face. It sucked but not like the previous day's million-mile uphill slug. THe rain was also not letting up, and it was depressing me. Nina seemed too far away. Remember, also that this was the eighth day in a row of dragging myself up and down mountains in elevated altitude; i hadn't rested since leaving Pueblo and beginning the Rockies. Tomorrow was to be the rest day.
Wiping the incessant rain off my chin (for some reason that always annoys me - has something to do with how the water rolls off my sunglasses which you have to wear in the rain so you can keep your eyes open), I wanted to throw Whitey and all my shit off a cliff (sorry, WHitey), call Nina and say, "i'm done. take me home." Deciding against that, i figured i'd stop at Escalante, the town i found myself rolling into, and eat another breakfast. Also, i knew that among Nina's many qualities is her ability to roll with crabbiness. I wouldn't have to be a Cheery Charlie upon arriving in Tropic; i could just be whatever i was. Crabby Crabbington.
At breakfast in escalante, i met Ben, who i mentioned above. Ben has been on the road since early April, leaving from New York City and has experienced an array of and misfortune to mix with all the good stuff (snow the day he left NYC, bike problems in Baltimore which he wasn't supposed to even be in, illness in Kansas - but his mom had come out to be with him for a bit at that moment so it was perfect timing). We shot back and forth the trials and successes of our respective journeys thus far and complained about the current weather. Having that outlet with someone who was going through the same thing at the same exact moment really cheered me up. Plus, his struggles far outmatched mine, so i certainly had a lot to be grateful for.
I left the diner in Escalante with renewed fervor to face the rain and rode the next multi-mile hill with less attitude. Whitey had survived my fury.
I almost cried at seeing Nina. Ok, i teared up a little. (I've cried more in the last 40 days than i have in the last 4 years, or more even). The fact that she drove 10 hours to see me, bearing a carload of snacks, camping gear, and a list of stuff that Donny had compiled at my request, including my laptop (!), open to do doing whatever i wanted (whether it be relaxing or adventuring) obliterated any tension i was feeling, and i bounced off the walls of the little log cabin Nina had procured for us (after MUCH searching - as it was the weekend in a major tourist destination: Bryce Canyon), blathering non-stop. We had a beer (my first of the trip, excluding the obligatory 3 sips out of the can that Larry of Council, Virginia had insisted on opening for me) and sat watching the weather worsen as the thunderstorms began in earnest and soaked Tropic but good.
We spent the remainder of the afternoon catching up, doing laptop business (i wrote a couple blog entries), planning our (short) weekend, and strategizing about where i might find a campsite or motel on 4th of July weekend, when i would be riding down particularly touristy section of the california coast, as luck would have it. We ate at a decent restaurant (though the BBQ half-chicken i ate was dry as the bones it cme on and had to be swallowed with much water-as-lubricant). (Don't know if i mentioned this but Utah is surprisingly expensive - even in the crappy towns. Except for the Telluride area, it's more expensive than COlorado. Weird, huh?) Nina marveled (and rankled) at the plethora of in-yer-face religious Mormon literature placed everywhere you looked and other LDS Church-produced literature including a pamphlet on Women of the West, which ended up being a bland story about a woman whose father wouldn't let her marry the man she wanted cuz he was a dentist, but then the father decided it was ok after all - i.e. not really a story about the woman herself. (I have a post in the works about my impressions of Utah's Mormon community and my utter naivete about it in the works, so i'll talk about that at some point, don't know when.)
The next day was to be my rest day, albeit with my riding 11 or 12 miles to our campsite. No cheating!
I didn't mention the weather on Day 39 because it was beautiful - crisp and clear, with only friendly clouds in the sky. Odd not to mention it, since it was an anomaly (unfortunately). So without the Weather Channel to guide me (some places don't report locally - it's random and i can't figure it out), i just assumed it was going to be another peachy day. Wrong. I stepped outside to a thick low-laying layer of dark clouds. La la la, i sung a little cheerful ditty to myself. Not seeing you, clouds, not gonna bother me on Nina Day. I ate breakfast from my trappings (the place had a little kitchen - with a mug, so i could make tea!) - oatmeal, a banana, not much. Didn't need much on Nina Day! I walked over to the Johnson home, where i'd swiped that golden key of restful opportunity, and knocked, cash in hand. A tired guy with morning breath answered the door and i handed over the fair price, thanked him profusely, and slinked out noticing a scantily clad young blonde female nesting on the couch. None of my business, Mr. Johnson.
After the last couple of days of arduous riding, i just assumed - invented, really - that Day 40's ride wouldn't be so bad. There was Nina at the other end as a prize, and it was a shorter ride to Tropic - about 70 miles - where we were meeting at the Bryce Canyon Inn (everything in the area is similarly and confusingly named). So i wasn't worried. But i was tired. And the steep climb out of Boulder - which was staggeringly scenic, in part due to the angry cloud formations - was unwelcome (and surprising - you'd think i'd learn to study those elevation profiles more closely by now, wouldn't you?)
Leaving BOulder, my mood became raw and angry, and that sense of entitlement i've been struggling with started to creep in when the weather changed from merely a threat to aggressive wind and rain (and freezing cold as well, mind you) - "Why is this happening to ME?! It's not fair! I'm tired!" Waah waah waah. (Easy to make fun of myself for something that happened a week ago - but i was furious and crabby then for sure!)
I made it out of town and finished that first climb out. THe next section was downhill. "Good," i thought. Even though it was raining, i'd have a nice downhill stretch. just proceed and be cautious, right? Wrong. The next few-mile section labeled Hog-Something-or-Other (don't have the map on me - a great name i'll include later), was the most treacherous (and insanely gorgeous, weather permitting) i'd encountered thus far. i know everything i write is so hyperbolic in terms of weather and scenery and danger and friendliness and all, but THIS was so extreme that i kinda blocked it out (i guess so i could focus on not crashing and burning) and only remembered the experience more clearly when talking about it later with Ben, a NYC-based cyclist traveling in my direction. The reason for the danger was that the stretch was 6-10% grade downhill with CLIFF ON EITHER SIDE, WITH NO GUARDRAILS. Add 20-30 mph winds and pouring rain and you've got a recipe for disaster. Which i escaped.
Ok, the truth is i must not have been that scared if i didn't actually fully regard the experience as pure danger until speaking about it later and basically appropriating another cyclist's "that was fucking crazy" experience as my own. It was exhilarating. The views were spectacular. i was focusing on being safe. And i was almost too tired and angry to care. All this attention on other stuff probably was a good thing. Or else i'm a totally-awesome cycling Evel Knievel now. Or whatever the contemporary NASCAR reference would be. I wouldn't know. And probably never will.
The climb out of there was murderous, like dragging myself out of primordial existence into modern times. Well, it looked worse than it actually was. SOmetimes seeingh tiny cars winding their way up the side of the mountain way above you is more daunting than the hill itself. It looks steeper until it's in front of your face. It sucked but not like the previous day's million-mile uphill slug. THe rain was also not letting up, and it was depressing me. Nina seemed too far away. Remember, also that this was the eighth day in a row of dragging myself up and down mountains in elevated altitude; i hadn't rested since leaving Pueblo and beginning the Rockies. Tomorrow was to be the rest day.
Wiping the incessant rain off my chin (for some reason that always annoys me - has something to do with how the water rolls off my sunglasses which you have to wear in the rain so you can keep your eyes open), I wanted to throw Whitey and all my shit off a cliff (sorry, WHitey), call Nina and say, "i'm done. take me home." Deciding against that, i figured i'd stop at Escalante, the town i found myself rolling into, and eat another breakfast. Also, i knew that among Nina's many qualities is her ability to roll with crabbiness. I wouldn't have to be a Cheery Charlie upon arriving in Tropic; i could just be whatever i was. Crabby Crabbington.
At breakfast in escalante, i met Ben, who i mentioned above. Ben has been on the road since early April, leaving from New York City and has experienced an array of and misfortune to mix with all the good stuff (snow the day he left NYC, bike problems in Baltimore which he wasn't supposed to even be in, illness in Kansas - but his mom had come out to be with him for a bit at that moment so it was perfect timing). We shot back and forth the trials and successes of our respective journeys thus far and complained about the current weather. Having that outlet with someone who was going through the same thing at the same exact moment really cheered me up. Plus, his struggles far outmatched mine, so i certainly had a lot to be grateful for.
I left the diner in Escalante with renewed fervor to face the rain and rode the next multi-mile hill with less attitude. Whitey had survived my fury.
I almost cried at seeing Nina. Ok, i teared up a little. (I've cried more in the last 40 days than i have in the last 4 years, or more even). The fact that she drove 10 hours to see me, bearing a carload of snacks, camping gear, and a list of stuff that Donny had compiled at my request, including my laptop (!), open to do doing whatever i wanted (whether it be relaxing or adventuring) obliterated any tension i was feeling, and i bounced off the walls of the little log cabin Nina had procured for us (after MUCH searching - as it was the weekend in a major tourist destination: Bryce Canyon), blathering non-stop. We had a beer (my first of the trip, excluding the obligatory 3 sips out of the can that Larry of Council, Virginia had insisted on opening for me) and sat watching the weather worsen as the thunderstorms began in earnest and soaked Tropic but good.
We spent the remainder of the afternoon catching up, doing laptop business (i wrote a couple blog entries), planning our (short) weekend, and strategizing about where i might find a campsite or motel on 4th of July weekend, when i would be riding down particularly touristy section of the california coast, as luck would have it. We ate at a decent restaurant (though the BBQ half-chicken i ate was dry as the bones it cme on and had to be swallowed with much water-as-lubricant). (Don't know if i mentioned this but Utah is surprisingly expensive - even in the crappy towns. Except for the Telluride area, it's more expensive than COlorado. Weird, huh?) Nina marveled (and rankled) at the plethora of in-yer-face religious Mormon literature placed everywhere you looked and other LDS Church-produced literature including a pamphlet on Women of the West, which ended up being a bland story about a woman whose father wouldn't let her marry the man she wanted cuz he was a dentist, but then the father decided it was ok after all - i.e. not really a story about the woman herself. (I have a post in the works about my impressions of Utah's Mormon community and my utter naivete about it in the works, so i'll talk about that at some point, don't know when.)
The next day was to be my rest day, albeit with my riding 11 or 12 miles to our campsite. No cheating!
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