When we aren't staying in churches or high schools, we usually camp out somewhere. Wells, Nevada falls into that category. Wells is home to two RV parks, a Burger King and a brothel. Signs for McDonald's aren't labeled with miles, but with time. One read, "McDonald's, turn right in one hour." This is the middle of nowhere. And we arrived here after a long day of sweep. So long in fact, that I actually fell asleep on the side of the interstate
After the scorpion incident, I decided not to mess around and I pitched a tent right away. Several others decided to sleep on the grass. Please note, we weren't in the middle of the woods or anything, our camp site was bordered on two sides by parking lots, one by the main road, and one with another RV. Basically, we set up camp on the front lawn of the RV camp. It wasn't just us, and all of our bikes, and luggage, and food on the site, but it was also laundry day, which meant that we had 90 chamois shorts hanging dry on fences, trees, bushes and cars.
Dinner was especially tasty. Hose-water macaroni and cheese. It took all of two seconds to realize we were going to have to rummage through all of the bins in the trailer for some seasoning.
Then, perhaps the Bike and Build idea that I am most proud of: the Clif Bar Bazaar. As you might be able to tell, our diets aren't exactly ideal. So, in order to mix things up a little bit, we all brought our trade-able goods and started bartering. I made out like a bandit - I traded a Luna bar, a pack of gum, four beef sticks and six MoJo Fruit and Nut Bars for a candy bar, patch kit, someone else to wash my dinner dishes and, the big one, someone else to ride sweep (riding behind all the riders) the next day.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Don't Let the Bedbugs Bite
There are all types of people on this trip. Perhaps the most intriguing is this boy who spent his last three years in the Israeli Army. Nothing here is difficult for him. He claims he could bike 200 miles at once and eat six feet of Subway. He has never had a headache in his life and told me that "better" is not an opinion, it is a fact.
He called me over to his thermarest one morning and pointed out a SCORPION that was crawling around by his bed. Anyone else would have been screaming and running away. He had his hand about a foot away, snapping pictures of the little yellow beast's erect tail. Then I heard him say "I think the yellow ones are the most dangerous." Of course. Then he smashed it with a trash can.
He called me over to his thermarest one morning and pointed out a SCORPION that was crawling around by his bed. Anyone else would have been screaming and running away. He had his hand about a foot away, snapping pictures of the little yellow beast's erect tail. Then I heard him say "I think the yellow ones are the most dangerous." Of course. Then he smashed it with a trash can.
Salty Flats
What is west of Salt Lake City? Nothing!
After the most awesome game of Coast ever (Coast is exactly what you imagine it to be) and hopping through Salt Lake City (including an intersection where 20 of us used the crosswalk) we were back onto I-80.
Coast is just one of the games we play on the road. Back in Kansas I passed the time with a clever play on 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. I did all the verses in the song "99 miles of cornfields to go, 99 miles of corn, light it on fire, watch it all burn, 98 miles of cornfields to go..." However, none of these compare to my favorite game: Pull. This is where I pedal up next to someone, usually Carys, and grab the underneath of her saddle, holding on for as long as I'm allowed.
About a week ago, the group stopped for coffee in a cafe in Colorado. Carys and I happened upon the black and white floor of what, I imagine, must have been some kind of restaurant. We threw down our bikes and played a quick game of checkers. As a reward for winning, Carys had to pull me behind her for an entire mile.
The games are important considering the terrain. It seems like the beginning of every ride has a sign that reads "No services for X miles," X being almost exactly the same as the day's projected mileage. This means that we pass nothing along the way. Yesterday's lunch stopped was pushed back a few miles so that we could have it in the town of Knolls. In case you ever consider visiting Knolls, let me tell you what is there: again, nothing. In fact, all Knolls had to offer was one bush to pee behind.
The lunch that day was equally barren. I had spaghetti with potato chips in it. Later that afternoon, we crossed the salt flats. If it hadn't been 95 degrees, I would have thought we were somewhere arctic. It is white as far as the eye can see. Towards the end, the flats turn into shallow lakes. Before the end of the day, we had slipped into the water to make salt angels.
After the most awesome game of Coast ever (Coast is exactly what you imagine it to be) and hopping through Salt Lake City (including an intersection where 20 of us used the crosswalk) we were back onto I-80.
Coast is just one of the games we play on the road. Back in Kansas I passed the time with a clever play on 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. I did all the verses in the song "99 miles of cornfields to go, 99 miles of corn, light it on fire, watch it all burn, 98 miles of cornfields to go..." However, none of these compare to my favorite game: Pull. This is where I pedal up next to someone, usually Carys, and grab the underneath of her saddle, holding on for as long as I'm allowed.
About a week ago, the group stopped for coffee in a cafe in Colorado. Carys and I happened upon the black and white floor of what, I imagine, must have been some kind of restaurant. We threw down our bikes and played a quick game of checkers. As a reward for winning, Carys had to pull me behind her for an entire mile.The games are important considering the terrain. It seems like the beginning of every ride has a sign that reads "No services for X miles," X being almost exactly the same as the day's projected mileage. This means that we pass nothing along the way. Yesterday's lunch stopped was pushed back a few miles so that we could have it in the town of Knolls. In case you ever consider visiting Knolls, let me tell you what is there: again, nothing. In fact, all Knolls had to offer was one bush to pee behind.
The lunch that day was equally barren. I had spaghetti with potato chips in it. Later that afternoon, we crossed the salt flats. If it hadn't been 95 degrees, I would have thought we were somewhere arctic. It is white as far as the eye can see. Towards the end, the flats turn into shallow lakes. Before the end of the day, we had slipped into the water to make salt angels.
Location: Starvation
Before I begin, I'd like to add the disclaimer that things are probably not really as bad as I am about to make them out to be. Despite the following, I am very content.
As we move west, things become farther and farther apart, churches as host locations become less frequent, and making dinner on our own becomes the norm. Goodbye pot-luck, hello pot-o-noodles. Every morning we receive a cue sheet that has both the route, projected mileage, and a little tiny picture of what the elevation will be like. One morning last week, I received the cue sheet, and felt good about the 75 mile ride. I did not feel good about the fact that we were going to be spending the night at a place called Starvation State Park. Starvation, though a beautiful campsite on the side of an enormous oasis-like-lake, represented the beginning of a long stretch of what I would call a slightly barren part of the country. That night we had burritos, but a leader (perhaps having never eaten a burrito) bought baked beans for the filler. The showers at this location weren't much better. Some other camper had actually used one of the showers as a toilet. Needless to say, Starvation was the first place I wore shoes in the shower.
The next morning, we set out for Park City. Despite the baked beans and the fecal matter, morale was high as we were headed directly for a day off in Park City. I have been to Park City before. They claim to be an Olympic City, but they seem more like the kid brother to Salt Lake City. Except for the mountains. I think we climbed straight up that day. I spent almost the whole day fantasizing about hitch-hiking. By the grace of God I arrived near the front of the group and (you may have to read this twice) got first choice of sleeping location. Thank you Park City Community Church Youth Group for your wonderful couches. Honestly, two nights on that couch felt like winning the lottery.
It was also at this location that we seriously evaluated our own food situation. Having run out of Gatorade mix, one of our leaders thought no one would notice if we just started having Kool-Aid. I, however, being on "Cooler Crew" noticed that we had stopped using any type of sport drink in an effort to save a buck.
That morning, I looked at the cue sheet that indicated an 80 mile ride. At first, today didn't look too bad: only 68 miles, an uphill but then a huge downhill and 30 miles of relative flatness. Then, when we looked closer we saw direction number five which read "right onto some road" and direction number six "left onto another road where some road has a T intersection." This is pretty much the cue sheets way of saying "you will not arrive in the host location tonight."
Sure enough, at mile ten, the entire group had stopped at the intersection of some road and another road, completely clueless as to the next move. So, we did what I think will become more and more of the norm, we hopped onto the nearest interstate! Now, there are positives and negatives to interstate travel. Negatives: six lane divided highways are scary, rumble strips and police cars monopolized the shoulder and most cars aren't anticipating 30 kids out for a morning highway ride. Positives: wow, we took a direct route! The interstate shaved off eight miles of our ride and eliminated one of our climbs, it was also a 5%-3% downhill grade for 10 miles where many riders hit their top speed for the trip. (My top speed remains 47.9 MPH, which was recorded in PA).**
**This entry does resemble the rider journal on the B&B website. Carys and I co-wrote that entry, so I felt OK about posting it here too.
As we move west, things become farther and farther apart, churches as host locations become less frequent, and making dinner on our own becomes the norm. Goodbye pot-luck, hello pot-o-noodles. Every morning we receive a cue sheet that has both the route, projected mileage, and a little tiny picture of what the elevation will be like. One morning last week, I received the cue sheet, and felt good about the 75 mile ride. I did not feel good about the fact that we were going to be spending the night at a place called Starvation State Park. Starvation, though a beautiful campsite on the side of an enormous oasis-like-lake, represented the beginning of a long stretch of what I would call a slightly barren part of the country. That night we had burritos, but a leader (perhaps having never eaten a burrito) bought baked beans for the filler. The showers at this location weren't much better. Some other camper had actually used one of the showers as a toilet. Needless to say, Starvation was the first place I wore shoes in the shower.
The next morning, we set out for Park City. Despite the baked beans and the fecal matter, morale was high as we were headed directly for a day off in Park City. I have been to Park City before. They claim to be an Olympic City, but they seem more like the kid brother to Salt Lake City. Except for the mountains. I think we climbed straight up that day. I spent almost the whole day fantasizing about hitch-hiking. By the grace of God I arrived near the front of the group and (you may have to read this twice) got first choice of sleeping location. Thank you Park City Community Church Youth Group for your wonderful couches. Honestly, two nights on that couch felt like winning the lottery.
It was also at this location that we seriously evaluated our own food situation. Having run out of Gatorade mix, one of our leaders thought no one would notice if we just started having Kool-Aid. I, however, being on "Cooler Crew" noticed that we had stopped using any type of sport drink in an effort to save a buck.
That morning, I looked at the cue sheet that indicated an 80 mile ride. At first, today didn't look too bad: only 68 miles, an uphill but then a huge downhill and 30 miles of relative flatness. Then, when we looked closer we saw direction number five which read "right onto some road" and direction number six "left onto another road where some road has a T intersection." This is pretty much the cue sheets way of saying "you will not arrive in the host location tonight."
Sure enough, at mile ten, the entire group had stopped at the intersection of some road and another road, completely clueless as to the next move. So, we did what I think will become more and more of the norm, we hopped onto the nearest interstate! Now, there are positives and negatives to interstate travel. Negatives: six lane divided highways are scary, rumble strips and police cars monopolized the shoulder and most cars aren't anticipating 30 kids out for a morning highway ride. Positives: wow, we took a direct route! The interstate shaved off eight miles of our ride and eliminated one of our climbs, it was also a 5%-3% downhill grade for 10 miles where many riders hit their top speed for the trip. (My top speed remains 47.9 MPH, which was recorded in PA).**
**This entry does resemble the rider journal on the B&B website. Carys and I co-wrote that entry, so I felt OK about posting it here too.
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