Days 44 and 45: Entering Nevada - Cheap Motels, Predictable Terrain, and a Bloody Mess!

One positive aspect about a lame place is that it's easy to get up and going in the morning; you just want out. I awoke at 4:40am, didn't stay in bed, ate and drank, pooed, did my morning pre-workout warm-up routine, and cycled immediately outta Milford. Plus, it was a state-line day. By the end of the Day 44 ride, i'd be in Nevada. Baker, Nevada to be exact.

I'm lumping the next two days together, because the routine, terrain, etc have been so similar, with some details specific to each which, do not worry, i'll outline below. I've given up camping, it seems, until i get to the California coast. All the campsites within the towns are those dusty RV parking lots that i said i'd be avoiding from the get-go. The scenery for these several days has been consistent (desert, deserted, mountainous, mostly tree-/shade-less, lovely-scented by desert sage, not much evidence of fauna- unless you count cows, which i don't anymore). The brush is accented by spasms of color offered by wildflowers blooming here and there. Wildflowers, schmildflowers. I was ready to move through this section of the trip, anxious to get to California, the coastal breezes, San Francisco to see Carlos, Carrie and Jeremy, Kaibrina, whoever would come to meet me, and most importantly Donny who would be meeting me in San Luis Obispo with his bike, Rupert Stiltskin, to ride back with me the final 225 miles to 108 South La Jolla Avenue. Nothing against Nevada, but the barren desert vistas can't match Utah or Colorado.

Terrain-wise these days have been very consistent. Long, straight mountain passes, not too steep, that you can see 10 or more miles in the distance. Up and down. Up and down. The climbs marked the day's progress, breaking up the monotony, and though it hasn't been easy exactly, Utah's and Colorado's mountains were way harder. One great thing about Nevada is that all the passes/summits have nifty names (as in Pancake Summit, Wah Wah Summit, Sand Springs Pass, and Bob Scott Summit. "Who Is Bob Scott?" - prize for anyone who gets the cultural reference i'm winking at). And they're all marked clearly, so you know when you're at the top. I started photographing each sign - like the water towers in Kansas. Got bored of it before long but obsessively didn't miss a single one.

Day 44 to Baker, Nevada was my first flirtation with dehydration on the trip. Don't know if i mentioned this earlier, but i bought a book online in April before i left called something like "The Cyclist's Food Guide." Much of the info in there wasn't too useful because of the lack of availablility of the array of foods suggested. But i did get some stuff out of it, including the idea of V-8 juice as a source for replenishing vitamins and, more specfically, the salt content in your body when you're sweating all day long. I taught this to Drew back in Illinois; he loved this idea, since V-8 was a favorite of his. I like it too, got my taste for tomato-based juice from my dad, so i've been happy to utilize V-8 as a resource here and there along the journey.

But i did something kinda dumb, which was two-fold: 1) i bought hot'n spicy V-8 which might be nice with vodka but not in 90-degree bone-dry heat, and 2) instead of just carrying the container, i put the contents in one of my water bottles (topping it off with tap water), therefore reducing my liquid capacity by 20 ounces. Now this might not sound like a big deal, but there is NO WATER between Milford, Utah and Baker, Nevada. No rivers, creeks or streams. No towns where you can buy it. Nada. And i needed those 20 extra ounces that day (BTW one of the items that Nina had brought me from home was a fourth water bottle that i requested since the next leg of the trip would be through the baking desert heat - so i was semi-prepared but didn't take advantage of it. Can you say "Duh"?)

Also on hot and/or long days, i've been making it a practice to drink a few gulps every mile or so to avoid being dehydrated. I drink a lot of water in the morning before i leave and daily when i'm done riding for the day, even though it makes me have to arise to piss twice every night. So i know what i'm doing. I just didn't do it on Day 44.

Don't flip out. I wasn't dying when i got to Baker. I had just sucked the juice out of an apple only 8 miles before arrival there. I wasn't seeing white light (like i did one year right after mile 18 of the 2004 LA Marathon and had to quit. My only unfinished race. Poor Erin waiting to cheer me on at Mile 19. I think Nick and Christie and Carlos and Hendrik were also posted along the route that day. All after Mile 18, godammit! Because of this heat exhaustion moment, all those years ago, i never ask people to cheer me on at a race. Don't want to leave them hanging in case i bonk). But i was fantasizing about various beverages.

The first place you come to in Baker after a limited-hours gas station without drinks for purchase is the Silver Jack Inn/Campground/Cafe/Art Studio/Gallery/Bookstore/Food Mart (clearly one of the only businesses in town). A couple of bikers (of the motor variety) asked me my story as i tried to enter the establishment in my state of nearing dehydration. Instead of excusing myself for a moment so i could drink something i dutifully answered their inquiries telling them i started in DC to which they asked suspiciously: "Do you work for the government?" By their tone, i knew they were referring to our newly elected Socialist Government. As i've mentioned in previous posts, i've avoided political conversations with those who differ from me, wanting to avoid conflict. But in my weakened state i was powerless and irked by the suspicious tone. My answer was: "So what if i do work for the government?" One of the guys said: "Well, then i''d have to tell you..." and trailed off. Exactly, fella. I tried to explain that i did not live in DC, Socialist/Invasive Government Central, so the the question wasn't really relevant, but one of them couldn't grasp that. Needing a fucking drink of water, i settled the matter for the moment with a little mystery: "I don't work for the government but the government pays my salary." Which is true, as most of my salary is paid by County or City contracts.

The Silver Jack Inn, cafe, etc. reminded me of home with its overpriced gourmet faire, pretty dreadlocked guy as the barista (can you believe the third person i saw in Nevada was African American? Five days later he remains the one and only) and orange walls. I asked for a glass of water and bought a large bottle of Santa Cruz sparkling lemonade. Heaven. Getting my wits about me, i realized that this was the place that Mitch and Steven, west-to-east cyclists i met in Colorado, had mentioned as a desert oasis. I got a room with dinner and breakfast included, and mourned the continued lack of cell phone coverage. The owner, Terry, allowed me to use the phone, so i quickly called Donny and via message asked him to let Heather (whose birthday was a couple days back and i was supposed to call her) and Ma (who was also overdue for a check-in) know my plight.

Since i hightailed it so early out of Milford, it wasn't yet time to eat dinner. And neither the TV nor the air conditioning in my room was working (AC fixed later, thank god, or what was the point of getting a room?). And i finished the Elmore Leonard novel i was reading back in Colorado - and left it at a library somewhere in Utah on the exchange rack where there were only romance novels, so i took nothing to replace it. No internet. The town was 80 people so there wasn't much to explore (though for 80 people, i will say that Baker possesses a thriving artist community). I was bored for the first time in ages. Thankfully, the silver Jack Inn was also a bookstore so i sat and read from cover-to-cover a pictorial history of the American West. Such an odd feeling not to have anything to do...

Dinner was a sorrowful affair. I could order from a few things on the menu as part of the package, and what i chose was a mistake: some kind of "Thai curry" with chicken that had roasted red peppers, artichoke hearts and a million tiny hard-to-pick-out minces of red onion. It tasted like coconut milk-based salad dressing over rice. And a little like vomit. Unsuccessfully i tried not to pout about the first meal since the pork tenderloin debacle of Houston, MO that i did not finish and lick the plate.

Worth mentioning for sure is the west-to-east cycling group of frat guys who had raised $5,000 each for their national philanthropic organization - Push Something -that helps out people with disabilities. They were all stationed in the cafe (which had wireless - but Nina had my laptop!) buzzing on the internet. I conversed with some of them, soaking in the props they gave me for being motivated enough to do this ride solo. Yes, fraternity brothers, i am awesome. One of them, in possession of an iPhone, gave me the rundown of which cities in my immediate future would have reception for me. BTW, from what i can tell on this route, Verizon kicks AT&T's ass. So much for the omnipotent power of a near-monopoly.

Because of the time change to my beloved Pacific Standard Time, i sprung up extra early again and headed toward Ely, Nevada - 63 miles hence. For the first time in a record 3 days, it looked like the rain was a-comin'. I did not want this to be the case. I was liking the weather that morning - cool, breezy (headwind mostly of course, but what can you do?). But the sky became increasingly (and familiarly) angry, and i knew there was no avoiding it. Now, in my verbal descriptions of the next event that occurred, which i have relayed since to Nat, Donny and Ma, i commented on my previous weather descriptions where i have insisted that - for example - such-and-such day was the worst wind or possessed the most drenching rainstorm. Maybe it has gotten progressively worse. Or maybe the most recent experience just seems like the worst. BUT, hear me, my friends, on Day 45 (and i speak to you from the future on Day 49) i experienced the absolute STRONGEST, FIERCEST WIND OF THE ENTIRE TRIP. Not the coldest or the wettest but the STRONGEST, FIERCEST WIND OF THE ENTIRE TRIP. I had to get off the bicycle and try (operative word) to push Whitey in the desired direction. Which i could not do. I had trouble keeping him from being blown off the road while standing on the ground - NOT riding. There was no place to take cover, and for the first time i thought that a something tornado-ish might this way come.

Now i wish that i remembered that all these storms have passed rather quickly. So i should have just waited, you know? Just held the bike still for 20 or 30 minutes and waited it out. But i'm so focused on moving forward every second that i couldn't (more like "wouldn't") do that. I made the not-fatal-but-dangerous decision to get back on the bike and pedal forward. Fighting the headwind to end all headwinds, i managed to mount Whitey and clip into my pedals. For about 10 seconds. What happened next is exactly what has been threatening me since my first exerience with high winds back in Kansas (or Illinois, if you count the time near the Mississippi levees): I got blown into that ever-present ditch at the side of the road.

Amazingly, i did not fall off. The force of the plummet unclipped my pedals for me. I felt the back of my ankle get cut by the large front gear. I didn't hurt too bad so i was surprised when i saw my blood cascading into my sock. Fuck! For a moment of camaraderie, all of you reading try to examine the back of your ankle - above the ankle bones, below the calf, Achilles area. Right? It's hard to see, isn't it? I couldn't tell how bad the cut was, and for a moment remained inactively stunned to see the amount of blood. Was this the end of my trip? Yes, i went there for a second.

The rain started (when else but at this opportune moment?) as soon as i began to dig out a rag and the simpleton first aid kit in my rear pannier. I pressed the rag (i was 75% sure it was clean) to the wound to see if the bleeding would stop with one hand and pried open the first aid kit with the other (hadn't been in there yet the entire trip - a good thing for sure, but i was ignorant of its contents). Eventually i could make out that the ct was actually 3 sub-gashes, not too deep but deeper than you'd want it to be for riding a bike, and there was plenty of black chain-grease on the wounds themselves. Great. Awesome. For those of you who don't ride a bike, let me educate you about bicycle grease - it does not come out of clothing and to get it off your skin completely you need to really use some elbow-grease.

Besides stopping the bleeding if i could, i didn't really have a plan. Ely, the town in front, is a bigger town than Baker (well, anything is, except maybe Alexander, Kansas), so there was no reason to go back, wind or no wind. Plus, i was exactly 31.5 miles from either town - right in the middle. Cars, trucks, RVs zoomed by me as i mopped my bleeding stump. Rain beat down (i won't exaggerate - it was maybe a 4 out of 10 in terms of the worst rain i've encountered - 10 being the worst). No one stopped.

Now this area of my personality is a struggle (my therapist would be interested in this moment of mine, for sure). I didn't ask anyone for help. I was visibly in trouble (or was it visible? - me bent over with my hurt leg cradled at my other knee). I was, in a sense, showing the passers-by that i was bleeding, just in case they wanted to stop. Part of me wanted someone to stop and ask if i was ok (i wasn't sure what i'd say - because i wasn't sure if i was ok to ride). Yet i didn't want anyone to stop because then i'd have to make a decision of what to do and possibly put someone out. BUT, at the same time, i was annoyed and took it (slightly) personally that no one stopped. I chuckled at the passive-aggressiveness of it all. And at how this represents a common stuggle i experience over decision-making and relationships.

I paused therapizing the moment, and tackled the issue. My lay-person medical assessment was as follows - get the bleeding to stop and cover it; if i can ride 30 miles without it continuing to bleed profusely, then i don't need stitches. As it turns out, i was right (it helps having a sister who's a doctor i can run shit by). The bleeding did stop. I cleaned it as much as i could stand, smeared the available packet of anti-bacterial ointment on the 3 wounds and covered it with sterile gauze and taped it. It didn't really hurt that much, and the wind was dying down, so i mounted Whitey and rode on (up a hill immediately to add to the fun).

I was ok. I got to Ely and checked into the $28.99 El Rancho Motel, which was as nasty as the one in Milford, but the price mitigated that fact. And i called my sister who laid out the plans for the healing process. I did exactly what she said - clean with soap and water, don't rub the bike grease too hard but try to remove it, use the disinfectant wipe from the first aid kit, let dry completely, apply steri-strips (i had two so i used them on the two deeper cuts at Nat's suggestion - though i couldn't see any of it that well!), and cover with gauze. Just so ya know if it happens to you. And four days later it's healing nicely. As per Dr. Natalie's orders, i am leaving uncovered as i sit and type all day on this rest day - to let the wounds dry, like paint.

I spoke to my grandparents that evening but omitted the laceration story figuring it's best to tell later, after we know for sure that not being able to remove bike grease from a cut won't result in gangrene.

Ely is an old mining town (like all these towns are) and doesn't have much to offer in terms of food but there were something like 30 hotels to choose from (I chose the El Rancho since it was listed on my Adventure Cycling map - but none of the others looked any better). I spent a short stint in the library before getting kicked off the computer for being too long. I had a bad meal (again) for dinner (sucks not to be able to treat myself on an injurious day!

Again, my sleeping bag shielded me from the bedding at the motel. I fell asleep to "Friends." Not my friends, but the show "Friends." Actually, those guys are my friends. They're all i got, out here in the desert.