Day 82: The Pacific (Fri 15th Aug)

The final leg today. I'll follow the road to the coast and hit the Ocean at a small town called Jenner, About 70 miles north of San Francisco. I feel a bit ropey today after wine, beer and a late night. For some reason back in the house after the pub I thought it was a good idea to update the blog with a few entries. So I was typing until 3.3o when I went to bed. As a result I don't get on the road until 2.30pm.

Its hot as I leave so I put a towel into the single pannier I'm bringing in case I go in for a dip when I hit the coast. I'm very happy to leave most of the weight in the panniers back in Calistoga. Its funny how light the bike feels without the panniers. There's a big climb straight out of Calistoga but after that the road descends all the way to the coast. There was little or no climbing after that. A few miiles north of Santa Rosa the road crosses highway 101 and follows the course of the Russian river valley as it winds its way to the sea. This is a lovely river valley with resorts and campgrounds spread along its banks. I stop a couple of times to get drinks. Its hot but the cycling is easy. I pass through a shady forest with impressively large trees.

Looking at the map we thought it was about 30 miles to the coast. On the road however its more like 45-50. The road was easy and I wasn't hanging back. I wanted to get there as fast as possible but it seemed to be taking longer than I expected. In the village of Guerneville I was 14 miles from Jenner. I phoned Damian to let him know where I was as he was coming down to the coast from work. He was just leaving Calistoga and he said he'd get to Jenner in an hour. I reckoned It would take me an hour to get there so we should be arriving there roughly around the same time.

Not far out of Guerneville the rear tyre went soft. Between there and Jenner that tyre would go flat three more times. The tube was self sealing, so, today all I did was reinflate the tyre. Funny thing was, though, I couldn't find anything that had caused the puncture in the tyre. With all this stopping and starting towards the end I wasn't sure how much progress I was making. Soon, however I could smell salt in the air so I knew the coast couldn't be too far away. Suddenly, the temperature dropped sharply as a cold wind began to blow. It felt almost chilly. It had been so hot in Calistoga that I hadn't thought to bring an extra layer.

A mile down the road a high ridge barred the way. A bank of fog began to creep over its crest. I wasn't expecting that. When I got to the ridge the fog was slowly seeping down its side. It was here that I inflated the rear tyre for a fourth time. At this point I felt I had about six miles to go and I feared I'd have to wheel the bike to the coast. At a bridge the road veered around the ridge, running close to the right bank of the Russian river and into some heavy fog. I cycled through the gloom for a couple of hundred meters. Some buildings began to emerge out of the mist.....Jenner!! Yes, YEEESSSS!!! But......... where was the sea?? I couldn't see any ocean or hear any waves breaking. I went into the nearby petrol station and asked the lady behind the counter if this was the coast? She said 'yes'. I asked 'But, where's the sea?' She laughed and pointed 'Just over the road'.

I crossed the road to a timber visitor centre built jutting out over the water. I went onto a balcony and looked down onto a very still flat surface. There wasn't a ripple. The fog lifted a little and you could see Jenner was in a small, sheltered inlet. It felt great. I'd done it!

I went back to the petrol station with a big smile for the lady and got a bottle of root beer but spent a long number of minutes trying to decide if I'd have a packet of crips or a bag of nuts. Jaysus, Fran hurry up and pick something, will ya. I'm bleedin starvin!! Eventually I narrowed it down to a bag of mixed nuts.

Back outside with the bike there was a very quiet, warm feeling of satisfaction. I wasn't elated or excited. Just happy, content. It was a lovely feeling. I went to get a photo of Jenner and the inlet as the fog had started to lift. Moments later Damian arrived, perfect timing. After taking a few photos to record the moment we packed up the bike and Damian drove me around to a nearby strand so that I could see the Ocean properly. There was no chance of going in for a dip. It was too cold and anyway the surf was too dangerous.

On the way back we stopped in Santa Rosa at an English style chip shop renowned for its fish and chips. It didn't disappoint the fish was great. The root beer went down well as well. The warm feeling inside was still there. In the car on the way back to Calistoga a wave of tiredness hit me. I struggled to keep my eyes open. After the relief of reaching the coast, after crossing a continent, I just wanted to sleep.............

Day 81: Calistoga (Thurs 14th Aug)

I'm up by 8am today eventhough I'm having a lazy day around town. Old habits die hard! I watch the Olympics for a few hours. Then, around lunchtime I go for a stroll around town. Calistoga is a very pretty, wealthy looking town with a population of around 5,000. There's a certain buzz about the place with a lot of people on the streets. Located in a lovely, hilly area with vines and wineries scattered along every road out of town. It bears an uncanny resemblance to Tuscany. That, certainly, was the first impression I got. A different world from the regions I'd just travelled through.

The town is a spa town and, with a convenient location 70 miles from San Francisco it gets a lot of visitors and wine buffs keen for a break from the big city. The way the town got its name is unusual. A business man had seen potential for a spa resort in the area and wanted to model it on Saratoga, another thriving spa resort in the last century. Pitching his business plan to potential investors he wished to say that he wanted to make this place "the Saratoga of California". What actually came out was "I want to make this place the Calistoga of Sarafornia". And with that slip of the tongue the town was baptised. (Damian, I hope that story is true. Otherwise your having a right laugh at me just now and made me look a right....., how do they say??...... oh yeah, ...... a tw@t!!)

Today I switch off completely. I'm totally relaxed. So much so that I go back to bed in the afternoon and sleep. This evening we have a proper meal in a proper restaurant with colleagues from Damian's work. Ye should have tasted the rib. Wow!! The wine was nice as well. I'm all posh now.

Day 80: Californ-I-A (Wed 13th Aug)

I'm up and ready to go before dawn but I hold back until its bright. I'm worried this road. Its so fast and dangerous I want the Sun to be up so that I'm as visible as possible to the motorists who will be flying past me.

Already its busy with commuters as I join the road. Everybody is heading to work down in Sacramento. They must have great jobs because by Jaysus, they aint hanging back. I'm pumped this morning. there's nerves and adrenalin flying. I push as fast as can along the hard shoulder. The rising sun is a fantastic orange ball as it rises but its too dangerous to stop and take a photo. I'm quite edgy on this road. This is the most dangerous road I've been on. I'm in alien territory here. I'm not welcome here and the motorists aren't slow to let me know. These are the most agressive drivers I've encountered. I try to ignore them and push, push, push to make as much ground as I can. The gas thing is I'm not even on the road. I'm well in on a wide hard shoulder. There's a lot of debris on the roadside and as moving as fast as I can I do well to avoid the broken glass and broken debris which will surely give me a dreaded puncture.

One driver tries to intimidate me by swerving towards me over the line and rumble strip. I'm too pumped with adrenalin to care. He merely infuriates me. I give him the 'salute'. Its not enjoyable at all. I'm nervous, my temper is on a hair trigger. I'm getting to Calistoga tonight and nothing is going to stop me. If any motorist wants to try it on with me I will be more than happy to put a rock through their windscreen. I'm totally defiant towards the motorists. In that frame of mind I was going to stand my ground to the end. Its scary to think thats what I was thinking but at that particular moment thats how I felt. It was weird. Its like I was a different person. Bottom line, I shouldn't have been on that road at all but on my map it was the only one showing. Plus, it wasn't an interstate so I felt I had every right to be there. I was only half-right. Technically I was right. In reality I was wrong

Towards Sacramento the traffic got heavier and heavier. I hated this road. Then I got a puncture. As I fixed the wheel a highway patrolman pulled alongside and asked what I was doing there. I replied that I'd stopped to take a leak!! (no I didn't, but I wanted to). I told him I was going to Calistoga. He said I wasn't allowed on this road and that he should be citing me for being on the road illegally. I told him I'd been following this highway for over 500 miles since I'd left Delta in Utah and that at no point did I see any signs saying I couldn't be on the road. I told him I'd stayed in Placerville last night and that when I joined the road this morning there was nothing at the junction to say bikes couldn't be there (which is the case when you join an interstate).

The patrolman was actually sound and he gave me directions to a cycle path into town which ran by a river and was a lot quieter than the road I was on. By comparison the cycle path, which ran through a public park was a quiet haven. I could relax in the leafy shade of the park. The only traffic now was fellow cycists, loads of them and runners. Twice more the rear wheel went flat, which riled me. Thankfully other cyclists would pull alongside to say hello and ask where I was going to. This pulled me out of my mood and lightened my temper.

One guy accompanied me the last few miles into town, happy to chat away. When he heard that I'd been at the start of the Pony Express in Missouri he brought me to get a photo of a memorial to the terminal of the route here. It happened to be slap bang in a beautiful, old historic centre of Sacramento. I was delighted. This was an unexpected bonus as, alone I would have cycled straight past and never known about this area. I stopped here for a break and explore the old streets and buildings of the Historic district which date back to the 1850's. I was happy now.

Sacramento is the state capital of California. I didn't know this. This where the 'Governator' Arnold Schwazenegger goes to work now. There were some good t-shirts dedicated to him. One black one showed his head as the Terminator with the logo 'say no to girlie men'. Its weird, you actually read that line in his accent!

By midday I had to get moving. The next 11 miles out of Sacramento to the next town, Davis, had to be done on a cycle path as the only road out was interstate 80. After crossing into West Sacramento the cycle path was easily found on the edge of town. I headed for Davis. The heat was up by now. Down at sea level the 40 degree heat feels a lot hotter than at 7,000ft. I was glad to get into the petrol station at Davis to cool down. I knocked back a litre of gatorade and bought another one for the road. By now, the water I was carrying was horribly warm.

I was cycling across the Sacramento valley which, at this point was a flat, hazy plain. The next town up was called Winters, about 13 miles away. Along the way mountains began to appear through the dusty haze. I wasn't expecting this. I knew there were hills beyond Winters but I wasn't expecting them to be so big, or at least, they appeared big. I didn't like the look of them at all.

Along this stretch of the valley there were a lot of fruit orchards. This was novel. Eventhough it felt hotter here in this valley, I'd definitely left the desrt behind. The heat began to get to me. It was one of those days I felt I was melting away. The heat just sucks away your energy. I had to stop to drink another bottle. I stood under a fruit tree to get some shelter but had to move on quickly as the sweat began to roll off me. A couple of miles further I stopped at a petrol station on the edge of Winters to get an ice sludge drink to try and cool down. I phoned Damian to let him know where I was as he was expecting me. I wondered would he like to meet me in the car......... perhaps....... maybe?? Damian said sure. He'd come out as soon as he finished up in the office. I pushed on for those hills.

From Winters the road began to rise wind its way into the hills. The scenery here was beautiful. The road narrowed as it followed a small river valley which flowed from the hills out onto the plain. There was no hard shoulder now and I had to share the road with fast moving traffic as the steep sided hills towered overhead. I had been warned about this road by the cyclists in Sacramento. It became slightly unnerving as cars flew up and down the road, many towing motorboats up to lake Berryessa, a resevoir, high up in the hills.

Soon the road rose sharply to make the climb up to lake Berryessa. There were a lot of blind bends here. After a few hundred meters and three close calls with speeding traffic I decided to go back to an RV campground I'd just passed. Knowing that Damian would be on the road soon I reckoned it would be a lot safer for both of us to meet there. I sat down by the campground, switched off and relaxed until Damian came along. It was great when he arrived. We hadn't seen each other for about 16yrs. A fellow sky blue fan, there he was in the latest Coventry City top. 'Hey, hey, go on the Sky Blues!! He hadn't changed at all since our youth, he'd filled out a wee bit, but nothing excessive. Cool car aswell. I would enter Calistoga in style. It didn't feel like 16yrs since we'd last seen each other and the conversation basically picked up again where it had left off in 199?

Beyond lake Berryessa grape vines began to appear either side of the road and we entered the famous Napa valley with its many wineries. Calistoga sits at the top of the valley. We cruised into town. With an overwhelming sense of relief I brought my gear into Damian's house. I don't think he realised just how relieved I was to be there. I don't think I did either, to be honest.

Only one more leg to the coast!!

Day 79: The Sierra Nevada (Tues 12th Aug)

Hit the road this morning with a renewed sense of purpose. I'm hoping to get to Calistoga in California where Damian lives by tomorrow evening. I think I underestimated the distance from Carson to Calistoga. Its over 200 miles so two tough days are in store if I'm to get to Calistoga in the desired time. Its 130 miles to Sacramento across the Sierra Nevada. Even if I don't get to Sacramento tonight I want to push as close to it as I can in order lessen the number of miles for tomorrow. California is so close now it almost aches. But first things first. The Sierra Nevada await me just down the road.

Just outside Carson the road begins to rise sharply, twisting and turning into the mountains. The road is busy. A lot of traffic whizz past. There are a lot of roadworks which makes the cycling uncomfortable. The hard shoulder is frequently cordoned off or impassable, forcing me into the road. I don't like this as I'm an obstacle for motorists now and I don't like to antagonise drivers if at all possible, unless, of course, they antagonise me first.....

Higher up the road there is a newly laid lane cordoned off from the main traffic allowing me to escape the busy lane and enjoy the comfort of having a whole lane to myself. I get into a nice, steady rhythm and the climb progresses nicely. As the road rises the aroma of pine trees which scatter the mountain slopes scents the morning breeze. Its refreshing. The air is nice and cool on a bright sunny morning.

Carson city lies at about 4,600 feet, the lowest elevation I've been at for quite a while now. The climb up to the pass which would take me into the heart of the Sierra and along Lake Tahoe rises to 7,200 so it was a fair climb. The benefits of yesterdays rest really stood to me this morning. As did the extra half chicken I stuffed down for supper last night. Washed down with a litre of ice cold milk, sure, ya couldn't beat it. The descent from that was a good laugh. After a few minutes speeding down through pine clad slopes (well, after being blown out of the water by the bike and build group during the past week, perhaps the word 'speeding', in this case, was stretching it!!!) a gap opened in the mountains and through the the tops of the pine trees peeped the azure blue of lake Tahoe.

The road turned south to run through the forests which bordered the eastern shore of the lake. It was an idyllic setting. The only drawback was the swift moving traffic which, after the quiet of Highway 50 across Nevada to Carson, felt hectic and imposing. Every so often the trees thinned sufficiently to afford glimpses of a calm blue expanse. On the far shore stood the majestic peaks of the western Sierra. The lake looked beautiful, such a contrast to the fascinating but dry, barren wastes of Nevada and Utah. Tahoe is a wealthy playground with fine holiday homes dotted around the shores. Back in the sixties Frank Sinatra's son was kidnapped out of Reno, not too far from here, and held hostage somewhere in the vicinity of the lake.

I arrived at South Lake Tahoe, a very pretty resort town, on the southern shore whose style of buildings gave it a very Alpine feel. It felt wealthy. There were a lot of tourists milling about. The state border with California falls here and crossing it felt like a big step on the journey had been taken. I'm now into my last state. The final phase of the journey to the coast starts here. I take a break down by a sandy strand on the lake shore. I have a tub of cinnamon rice and a protein drink while I took in the views. It was gorgeous, a beautiful area.

Not delaying too long I still had a big climb to make in order to exit the mountains. I pushed through pine valleys for a time before the road rose once again into the mountains. As the road gained height the views were spectacular. A last glimpse of the valleys and lake Tahoe 20 miles distant was magnificent. The highest point on this climb and my last mountain pass was echo summit, standing at 7,300ft. I was informed its all downhill to Sacramaento from here.

The next 15 miles whizzed by through spectacular mountain gorges. I stopped at the tiny hamlet of Kyburz for some drinks. I liked the sign for the town. It welcomes you on one line and on the line beneath bids you farewell. Shortly after Kyburz the road began to level off. I chugged along for a few miles waiting for the next set of downhill slopes but instead, a couple of stiff climbs followed which took me completely off guard. This put me, briefly, into a foul humour. I'm so tired these days, and so eager to complete the journey its given me a tricky temper.

In the afternoon I started to fade. I'd done some decent climbs so far today but there was still a long way to go to Sacramento. The temperature was actually grand so I reckoned the climbs must have taken more out of than I'd thought. For a period I struggled. I was going slow but, of course, It wasn't me, I blamed it all on the bike. Bloody little Donkey!! If only I'd bought a good road bike I'd be at the coast by now. I wish, I wish, I wish. Go on, go on, go on!!

All this grumbling actually got me through a few tough miles. As the road exited the foothills of the Sierra Nevada the road dropped again into a gradual descent towards Sacramento which sits at sea level (eventhough its over 100 miles from the coast). It was as if the bike had had enough of my giving out. Feisty little beast!! It felt like it jumped, and then simply took off. For miles the cycling was effortless as the road descended down to elevations I hadn't been at for weeks. I stopped complaining.

I stopped for a cold drink at a petrol station and met another solo cyclist. A lad heading from San Francisco to New York where he hope to get a job and live. It was his third day out of San Fran and the realities of the road were starting to bite. I met him as he was mending a puncture. He was much more accepting of that little mishap than I ever am at this stage. When I get one now I go around for a couple of minutes acting like Basil Fawlty!! We chatted for a good while. He was a sound guy and the kind of personality I think I'd find comfortable to travel the road with. I've become quite wary of new personalities. I'm happy to meet people, but equally happy to head on if I'm not 100% comfortable around them. That sounds very picky but I'd prefer to go solo than have my head annoyed.

The lad had a lot of questions about the road ahead, food etc. It was good to talk to him and pass on any of the experiences I'd had. If they are benefit to him great. Like me he's finding he's spending more on food and drink than he had expected.

By 6pm I was at the town of Placerville. By now the road had become a very fast, busy 4-lane route. It wasn't an interstate so I had no qualms about being on it. Also, I was making good time. However I was encountering some agressive motorists now and one driver, travelling on the opposite carriageway shouted at me to "GET OFF THE ROAD!!". I felt safe and Brazen enough to give him my favourite 'West Brom' salute accompanied by the most commonly used insult on the terraces: W****R!!! (Sorry Mum, I know....... but I've heard a few choice words out of you too at Leitrim matches!!!). After that I began to feel uncomfortable on the road. I decided to stop for the night at Placerville, formerly known as Hangtown!! I'd done 90 miles but was still 40 miles short of Sacramento. The shortfall would simply have to be added on tomorrow, which means 115 miles. Come what may I will be in Calistoga tomorrow night.

Day 78: Carson City (Mon 11th Aug)

I woke up at 4am and felt drained. I wanted to be on the road but I was too tired. I decided to stay in Carson and rest. I slept for a lot of the day so it was just as well I stopped. I want to be fresh for the mountains tomorrow.

Carson was an old frontier town and a pony express stop. It was the location for John Wayne's final movie, the Shootist, a poignant film about an ageing gunfighter. Alongside James Stewart the Duke dug out a really good performance. The final scene depicts the old gunfighters death. A short time after the movie was completed John Wayne died. As kids we were big fans. I remember the day his death was announced. It was nice to encounter his memory at some point on this journey.

On telly The sports commentators are mulling over 'Paddy' Harringtons great win in the golf. A few weeks ago when he won the British open the achievement was dismissed as really belonging to Tiger Woods. At least this time they have the good grace to recognise his achievement. They're even saying he's probably world golfer of the year. If Europe win the Ryder cup there will be no doubt. Its all about Phelps, though, and his quest for Olympic immortality. Best of luck to him.

Day 77: To Carson City (Sun 10th Aug)

I slept in this morning and didn't leave Fallon until 11am. It was only 60 miles to Carson city at the feet of the Sierra Nevada so I was happy to have the extra rest. Also, with the other group leaving early i would have an empty road ahead. My confidence in the bike had been badly shaken after seeing the ease with which the other cyclists passed me and streched away almost effortlessly. There was nothing competitive yesterday, it was simply the shock of witnessing just how much quicker the road bikes were than my mountain bike and with that the realisation of how much extra energy I had to expend in order to go the same distance. I was shook. I looked at my bike differently this morning.

On the road I felt fatigued and slow. The road wasn't particularly hard at any stage. I wasn't really interested in the surrounding countryside. I just felt tired and wanted to get to Carson. I passed through Silver Springs, Stagecoach and Dayton. All small towns. Just beyond stagecoach high mountains revealed themselves in the distance. I prayed I wouldn't have to climb them today. It was actually my first view of the Sierra Nevada.

After a slow slog through the day the sun had begun its descent, sliding down towards the peaks of the Sierra Nevada. I crossed over a ridge and spread out below me was a green plain and on its edge, just under the mountains lay Carson. I free wheeled most of the way to town. What should have taken me five and a half to six hours had taken over eight. I was a bit drained. Tonight, along with my usual food I wolfed down half a cooked chicken for an extra dose of protein. I was really tired and, deep down, I just wanted to be in California.

Day 76: The longest stretch (Sat 9th Aug)

Was awake at the usual time but Breakfast wasn't great this morning. There isn't a grocery store in town so I had to make do with bits and bobs from the local petrol stations, not ideal with a 110 mile stretch to be completed.

What Austin lacks in terms of groceries it more than makes for with its views. The wee town (actually named after Austin in Texas) is perched, almost precariously, halfway up the slopes of the mountain range we'd climbed over yesterday. It provides dramatic views over the plain below. There is a population of 350 here. This was a silver town and held 8,000 souls at the height of its silver boom in the 1860s. Described as a living ghost town Austin is considered one of the best examples in Nevada of an old mining town with at least 11 of its buildings listed on the National Register of historic places. With all due respect to many of the towns I've passed through since leaving Boston, many of them could be described as living ghost towns aswell!! Nevada actually holds the highest number of ghost towns. Mining settlements that were abandoned once the mines were exhausted.

This morning as I rolled the bike out to the side of the road there was a palpable chill in the air. I love mornings like this. Not a cloud in the sky. At 6,500ft The sharp chill feels so clear and fresh. Frost can occur here almost any night of the year. As I get on the bike I know that I will be shivering through the 1,000 ft descent to the plain below. But no matter how sharp the cold air is it feels delicious because I know that in a few short hours, with temperatures rising through the high 30s, the cool of the morning will feel like a distant memory.

I'm rolling by 6.30am. The other group are mostly ahead of me by now, having set out at 5.45. Down on the plain I pass 4 girls of the group sitting by the side of the road. Thinking they might need help I ask if they're ok? They say they're fine. Just too cold to move. They've been sitting, shivering in multiple layers for the last 45 minutes in the shadow of the mountain. I laugh, I think its hilarious, even more so as, had they bothered to cycle another 400m they'd be in bright warm sunshine.

Half way across the plain a roadsign indicates that the old Pony Express route has joined us. After racing north through Nebraska and Wyoming to Salt Lake in Utah it has veered south and joins Highway 50 here a few miles west of Austin. I'll be riding with the ghosts of the Pony express riders for the last 300 miles of the old route to Sacramento in California. I'm happy that, having ridden the first 100 miles of the route from St Joseph in Missouri to Marysville in Kansas that I can again see the landscape these young fellas rode across. However, the iconic image of a waif-like pony express rider holding on to his hat as his mount gallops across the land at full tilt doesn't quite equate to the reality of my more sedate 10-12mph.

My rockhopper mountain bike is a good, solid, reliable wee bike but compared to the sleek, fast thoroughbred road bikes the other group ride I feel like I'm on a donkey. The disparity in speed and ease of movement on the roads between a good road bike and a good mountain bike is brough home forcefully latr on today.

As the plains rise into the next range the climb is slow but comfortable. A push for 7-8 miles and the road begins to descend once more. A fast descent through an abrupt cleft in the hills and the road is thrown out into another plain where it veers south through the middle of the valley, running parallel to the mountains on either side.

Down towards the southern of the valley I come across some of the bike and build group at their support van having their first food stop of the day. Its 9.30 and 40 miles from Austin. I stop to join them and cadge a little food off them. A few of the faces are familiar from yesterday others intorduce themselves. These are all back markers and are much more relaxed than some of the ultra competitive gobshites I encountered yesterday towards the head of the group. One of the girls asks how much weight I'm carrying? To be honest I wasn't sure but I told the girl to go over and try the bike and see. She tried to lift the bike but it wouldn't budge off the ground. They all started laughing. shaking their heads at the thought of carrying those panniers. One of the group has internet on her mobile and news of Russia's attack on Georgia has broken. A bigger story over here, though is the revelation of John Edwards affair, the former Democratic Vice Presidential candidate. When 7 or 8 of the girls decide to push on I'm happy to fall in with them.

5-6 miles down the road we pass Cold Springs. A former Pony Express station, it now serves as an RV camping park. A short climb over a ridge brings us out of the valley. The road turns west again to skirt around hill which had marked the western side of the valley. The road begins to drop gently allowing the girls to free wheel. As their bikes begin to pull away from me I have to go into top gear and push to try and keep up. As the road drops more the sped up and I get left behind. Its a shock to see just how slow I am and, with this group if you get dropped then its good luck, which is fair enough.

The road flattened out for the next 10-12 miles and after I watch, forlornly, as the group stretches away into the distance I go back to admiring the dry, dusty Nevadan landscape. Soon, after 60 miles or so I arrived at Middlegate another old Pony Express station. By the look of it the original timber construction is still intact. The place is now a biker bar and at midday, here in the middle of nowhere, the place was buzzing. Inside were my mates enjoying a break. I joined them whils I knocked back 2 litres of water and juice. After 15 mins I leave. I don't want to hang about so I hit the road leaving the others to relax. Its another 49 miles to Fallon.

One minute after leaving Middlegate I almost get runover by a white utility truck. It veered onto the hard shoulder inches from me before swerving back into the road. I don't know if he was deliberately trying to intimidate me or if he had been looking at the biker bar and accidently veered in my direction. Either I was shaken and livid. I indicated my displeasure with some well-practised expletives and hand gestures previously reserved for truckers, West Brom and the Sligo senior football team.

In the next valley up the road passed through the dried up bed of a lake and had that classic cracked pattern of a parched land. The heat was up now and so was the wind which made that valley difficult and frustrating. The next climb was steep and tough. I was passed by two of the girls from the group. I rejoined them at the summit which marked the 80 mile mark. Their 2nd food stop was here but I didn't delay. 30 miles to Fallon.

The three of us set off together for a long downhill stretch and a minute later I watched as the girls sped off into the distance. The next valley was completely covered by salt flats and for the next 15 miles the road ran through the salt lake and some hot parching winds.

It was in this valley that I saw one of the oddest sights. A signpost pointed towards 'sandy mountain' which was reached by a gravel track. 2-3 miles away in the lee of a mountain sat an enormous sand dune approximately 50m high. It was huge and dune buggies that looked like small black beetles were being driven up and down its sides.

I really started to wilt after this. To be honest I had hardly eaten all day which was silly. I really started to pay for that now. There was a strong wind blowing across the salt flats. The other cyclists were catching up to me and passing me in ones and twos, which didn't help my morale. They appeared to move so effortlessly on their bikes. I was constantly thirsty now, sipping water frequently and trying to ration the last litre. Aleni, the girl driving the support vehicle for the group pulled alongside and asked if I needed water. When you're in a hot desert and a fit, tanned woman in her mid-20s, of Greek extraction suddenly appears to give you assistance, believe me, no matter how bad feel you start to smile. I downed a litre and filled another, empty bottle. Aleni gave me biscuits, an orange and a twinkling smile. My spirits soared....... but my legs went even weaker than they were already. Jaysus lads, the Greek women are great!!

With 8 miles to go I got a flat. As I fixed it an Iranian girl from the group pulled alongside and waited for me. We'd cycled together earlier in the day. Now we cycled into Fallon together. It was great cycling the last miles with her. It made it so much easier. I thanked her for stopping and said I was so gald to be cycling with her as I'd found the last number of miles tough. When we reached town she went off to find her group. I made a dash for the nearest petrol station and a cold drink. I was wrecked.

Day 75: To Austin (Fri 8th Aug)

On the road for about 6.45am. Its a bright blue sky this morning, but chilly. Yesterday some of the darkest black clouds I've ever seen passed over the town. I expected a massive storm to break but nothing happened. Not so much as a rattle of thunder disturbed the air and the storm clouds moved on.

As I leave the motel I see two cyclists fro the Bike and build crowd about 100m back up the street. I nod to them and give a quick wave but keep moving. I carry bags, they don't. Its 70 miles today, not too bad. I'm hoping the road doesn't descend much as there's a mountain pass at 7,500ft just before Austin so it could be a tough end to the day.

Very soon outside Eureka the bike and build cyclists start passing me. It appears we've all hit the road together. Some say hello, others couldn't be bothered. Then, one of the girls I'd spoken to yesterday comes alongside with two other lads and says hello. Her name was Kelly. We chatted for a bit and ended up cycling together for most of the day

The road remained flat for the first 40 miles or so which was great. It also remained lovely and cool through most of the morning. At around the 40 mile mark the group had a food stop where they devoured sandwiches of peanut butter mixed with a selection of other jams. The group had strung out along the road so as some cyclists arrived others were leaving. After about 25 mins Kelly was ready to go. She seemed to have taken under her protective wing and indicated we we might hit the road before flashing menacing looks back towards some of the other girls as if to say 'Don't even think about it'.

A number of miles down the road I had to stop to go to the toilet but, rather than moving on slowly until I caught up, Kelly thanked me for cycling with her and then took off. Later I saw her briefly, in the distance, but after stopping to take a photo I didn't see her again.. Its definiitely a case of survival of the fittest in this group. Apparently she was now happy to leave me to the ravages of some of her hungry colleagues who were, by now, back on the road and gaining on me steadily.

The road rose briefly to cross a ridge and then descended rapidly to cross a wide basin called smoky valley. Barring the west side of the valley stood the Toiyabe range, the highest peak of which was Bunker hill rising to 11,456. We would hve to climb to a pass at 7,500ft, some 2,500ft above the valley floor. It wasn't the most appealing of sights. First of all Smoky valley had to be crossed. It was, perhaps, 15 miles across and a strong wind had whipped up. The flat valley bottom was suprisingly tough as the wind was so strong. Memories of the mid-west came rushing back. By now some more of the group had begun to pass me. Roger, one of the lads I'd cycled with this morning came past and asked if the wind was familiar. He was from the mid-west. I laughed and replied that there was a certain de ja vu to the situation alright.

Crossing the valley I began to realise why it was called 'smoky'. Lots of dust devils were being whipped up by the winds. At one point I counted seven plumes of dust scattered around the valley. As the road began to rise into the hills I stopped to take in some food and drinks. Some more cyclists passed me. As I stood, finishing a bottle of juice one yahoo fired off a smart-arse comment in my direction. I would encounter this guy three more times on the climb to the summit and twice more I got smart put-downs fired at me. On the other occasion we met while he was alone, he turned his back to me and ignored me completely. I thought to myself "Swap bikes, mate, and we'll see how f*****g smart yo are then. Ya arrogant pr...." A couple of other lads from the group also passed me on these climbs and completely blanked me aswell. It was almost as if I wasn't worthy of being on the same road as them. I was going slower than them but I was also carrying a hell of a lot more weight. I couldn't understand it.

The road climbed 6 miles to a summit that was signed as being at 7,300ft. This puzzled me as I had been sure the summit was supposed to be 7,500ft. To be honest I didn't really care, the climb had been quite tough and I couldn't wait for the downhill stretch into Austin. The view back the way we had come was quite spectacular and the road down below, snaking across the valley floor looked so small.

For a bout 3 mins I enjoyed the downhill stretch but around one bend I got a big shock as the road, once again, rose sharply up to a hidden summit at 7,500ft. I hadn't been mistaken after all. The climb that followed was tough. I don't know what that mountain was called but in my own mind I named it Scorpion hill because it packed one hell of a sting in its tail. The 3 miles and 1,000ft drop into Austin was very enjoyable after that.

I got to my room ok and after a short rest, a shower and stocking up on drinks in the local petrol station I went across the road to a diner as there were no grocery stores in town. Three girls from the group were eating here so I joined them. The girls were sound and it was nice not to eat alone for once. It was also interesting to hear about they're experiences on the road. I asked them if it was tough being in such a large group where you are all together 24hrs of the day? The group tended to sleep in community centres or churches in towns. This had been arranged in advance for them. The girls said it wasn't too bad but that, at this stage, there were some members of the group they avoided completely. I wonder who that is?? They have daily meetings first thing, are told where they're going, rotas for different jobs. Most don't really know the name of the town they're going to or the country they're passing through, whether there are towns in between or any petrol stations along the way. Their luggage is looked after. They don't know if there are climbs on the road ahead. They basically follow the leader. Today the last climb was a bigger shock for them than it was for me. None of them knew about the climb at the end until I told them about it at the food stop. It was a contrast to travelling solo where you tend to be much more aware of the route in advance, of what the climbs are like, and what the weather will be like. I don't think I could go in such a large, regimented group like that. I'm too independent for that. Morning circle me arse. I'm too bloody stubborn!!

After the meal I said goodnight. Everyone was having an early night tonight as its 110 miles tomorrow to the town of Fallon.

Day 74: Where the Streets have no name (7th Aug)

I enjoy this mornings sleep-in. The Big news on ESPN, a sports channel, is the controversial move of Brett Favre, legendary quarterback of the Green Bay Packers, to the New York Jets. This story has been headlining for a month now. Favre had decided to retire at the end of last season. His third such decision in 3yrs. This summer he decides again to come back again but on this occasion the club, or franchise, decide they want to go with Favre's young understudy Quarterback Aaron Rodgers. The story has twisted and turned throughout July with Favre wanting to stay at Green Bay but not wanting to be no.2 to Rodgers. At one point Green Bay offer Favre 20 million to stay retired. Finally this bizarre but fascinating saga appears to have been resolved.

At 9am I go over to the hardware store and come away not with a hand pump but a shiny new foot pump. I'm happy enough with this as the foot pump is compact andwill allow me to get sufficient pressure into the tyres. Back in the room I'm not looking forward to hitting the road. I'm still smarting after yesterday's travails and I don't really want to do the 70 miles to Austin.

Rather than set out resentful of the journey ahead which, I reason, would spoil the memory of the experience I decide to stay on in Eureka. Its a curious wee town and oddly pretty. Like its counterpart in Utah and so many of the towns in the mountains of Nevada this was a mining town.

Established in 1864 in the lee of a high ridge which overlooks the town. Eureka became the birthplace of the slver-lead smelting industry in the U.S. For just over a decade to 1879 it was a major producer of pig lead. Once the mines began to yield profitable quantities of ore the boom was on. Very quickly the town had 250 buildings and a population of 700 people. By the mid-1870's the population rose to over 9,000. Most of the early citizens of Eureka were Irish and Cornish miners. They were joined German, Italian, Chinese and Jewish settlers. There were 16 furnaces and ore refineries in the town belching out vast quantities of noxious fumes and creating two massive slag heaps of waste at either end of the town. By the mid-1880's every tree within 50 miles of the town had been consumed to feed the furnaces. Today the slag heaps remain today, long after the refineries which produced them have disappeared.

By 1885 the ore rich seams had been exhausted. The boom was over. Today its obvious the town has seen better days. There are a number of vacant lots on the main street. A few of the buildings look rundown. But the town has the feel of a lively place. A number of the buildings built at the height of the boom have been restored and look really impressive. There is a ubiquitous casino, seemingly a compulsory feature of even the smallest village in Nevada. There are a couple of diners, a bar and, among other institutions, a library and even a museum.

I spent the day keeping an eye on the opening round of the U.S. PGA golf tournament where Padraig Harrington features prominently early on. In the middle of the day Brenda, the lady who runs the motel, called in to see if I needed anything. Earlier she had reserved a room for me at a motel in Austin where she knows someone. I was grateful as I wasn't even sure Austin had any motels as it appears as a small settlement on the map. We ended up chatting for a while. Brenda would like to visit 3 countries in Europe. Ireland, Scotland and Switzerland. A few years ago she and a friend had planned to visit Ireland but, sadly, the friend was diagnosed with cancer and died before the trip could be made. She asked if I'd send her a postcard from Ireland when I get back and I'll be happy to oblige. She loves horse racing and likes to watch the big horse race held 'over there'. Which, to be honest, I think she means the Aintree Grand national.

We were joined a portly Mexican lad who stays at the motel. He's heard of Belfast, "a rocking town man!!" (Mmmm, it certainly rocked through the 70's and 80's) and really liked U2 back in the 80s "when they were good". He reckons they were the best thing to come out of Ireland but he also liked the Cranberries.

In the afternoon I strolled around town. A brief shower of hail suddenly fell. There I was strolling up the middle of the main street in my t-shirt and shorts through a hailstorm and yet, not one hailstone landed on me - bizarre. I had a look into the local museum which was actually quite good. Leaving that I bumped into three girls of the Bike and Build I'd met on the way to Ely on Tuesday. I said hello and found out they'd stayed on in Ely yesterday. Today on the way up here they'd been caught in a big storm. The earlier hailstorm had been a remnant of this.

I went back to the room to check up on Padraig Harrington's progress before heading back up town around 5pm to get food. The supermarket here wasn't great so I decided to eat in a diner where I ordered a burger and chips..... I mean fries. All the staff here were Mexican and when I went to pay for the meal a loud "Hey, Belfast!!!" rang out from the kitchen. I looked up and saw the lad I'd been chatting to earlier. He was the chef. I laughed as he played air guitar to some unknown U2 song.

Day 73: To Eureka (Wed 6th Aug)

I was up early and on the road for 6.30. It was a beautiful morning. Ely sits at 6,435ft and it was cool enough in the shade. Ely was a busy little town in a beautiful location, nestled at the base of the Egan range. Today would bring 4 mountain passes on the 78 mile stretch to Eureka.

The first 15 miles were a relatively gentle climb up to Robinson pass at 7,539ft. After crossing the next valley I stopped to eat a bite before starting up the next set of hills. 10 minutes later as I rolled the bike back on to the road I saw that the rear tyre had puncured. I was disgusted. I replaced the tube with a self sealing tube I'd bought in Delta. I inflated it as much as possible but the hand pump couldn't inflate the tyre to the pressure I wanted. This meant the tyre when loaded would be softer and sluggish on the road. I was getting frustrated with punctures. This was the 5th flat in 5 days, all to tyres I'd bought over here. The front tyre after clocking up over 3,000 miles is still going strong.

The next bad humoured 15 miles brought me to a valley where there was a long stretch of roadworks taking place. A new surface was being laid so the road across the length of the valley was covered in a layer of loose gravel. I'm paranoid now about getting punctures so you can imagine how delighted I was to be in this valley. Cycling on this surface was a slow trudge. So it was almost a relief to start climbing up the next hills. At least the road surface was decent again.

Through the last 25 miles to Eureka I became more and more frustrated. My legs felt heavy. I was tired and fed up. A slow trudge across a wind-swept valley was followed by a climb into the last set of hills leading to Eureka but this developed into a race against some thunderstorms which were coming up behind me. Then, at the base of a sharp climb up to Pinto summit, the last pass of the day, the rear tyre went flat again. In a foul humour I got the tyre inflated but, trying to bring up a decent pressure in the tyre the pump broke. Ironically, instead of going absolutely bananas I accepted this little mishap with a certain benign resignation. As thunder rattled and a light shower of rain began to fall I walked the bike up the slope for a mile or two. From Pinto summit I fre-wheeled down to Eureka where I quickly got a room in a motel which didn't have air-conditioning. But I was assured the room didn't need it and the lady was right, it didn't. I hated the road today. For the first time I really did feel fed up.

Nevada is proving to be tough. The landscape is nice but very repetitive. Its becoming a bit like Pennsylvania but without the novelty of the Amish. The punctures more than irk me now. Even the pumps are breaking on me. Searching through Eureka for a shop that could sell me a bicycle pump didn't hold out much promise. The town is small, oddly attractive, with a small scattering of shops. The only real hope for a pump lay with the local hardware store but it was now closed until 9am tomorrow morning. I had a sleep-in to look forward to because I don't want to hit the road without a pump. There's nothing between here and Austin, the next town 70 miles away.

Day 72: Into Nevada (Tues 5th Aug)

I sleep in today. I'm very tempted to stop here for the day and climb Mount Wheeler to see its small glacier and ancient bristlecone pine forest. After looking at the route through Nevada I decide to push on. There's a lot of mountains cutting across route 50. I'm surprised just how mountainous Nevada actually is. I've always pictured Nevada as a flat, desert state. I was wrong. There's some tough days ahead.

I'm on the road for 10.30am. Whenever I've heard about Nevada I associate it with all the glitz and glamour of Las Vegas and Reno. So, following Route 50 (America's 'loneliest' road) I really feel as though I'm entering Nevada through its backdoor. I've also entered Pacific time.

Straight away the road climbs into the hills for about 20 miles to Sacramento pass where a sharp descent leads the road into the next valley. This sets the pattern of the days to come. Its going to be a repetitive cycle of mountain climbs, descents and long hauls across flat-bottomed basins.

The road to Ely, 63 miles away takes me around to the other side of Mount Wheeler into a basin called Spring valley. I see a large dust devil down in the bottom of the valley 5-6 miles away. Whipping up dust into a high funnel shape it moves slowly along the valley floor and keeps going for a good number of minutes before disappearing.

The road descends to cross the valley towards the next range of hills. Down in the valley I meet a cyclist doing a 600 mile trek around Nevada. He's from the area and says he hopes to go coast to coast next year. He tells me there a tavern a couple of miles ahead where I can stop for a rest. As we talk a thundestorm open up over the hills and begins to move out over the valley. We part, hastily, and push on towards that tavern, not wanting to be caught out in this storm.

When I reach the tavern I see a load of bikes lined up outside. Inside is a gang of cyclists. They're part of a group of 32 cycling from Florida to San Francisco for a charity called bike and build. They crowd around me to find out how I've dropped into their midst. Likewise I'm curious to find out where they've come from. As 7 or 8 of the group gather around I feel slightly uncomfortable. I'm now so used to being alone for most or all of the day. It turns out the group are heading along the same route as myself so I may have company over the next while. After 20 minutes most of the group head on. The thunderstorm brought some heavy rain but it appeared to have moved on. I stay on for another 10 minutes chatting to the 2 remaining lads before I hit the road again. It was close to 4pm and, with another 28 miles up to Ely, I wanted to get a move on.

Outside, I looked back across the valley towards Mount Wheeler where the thunderstorm seemed to be raging. I was glad I decided not to stay and climb that mountain. As I climbed in to these hills the rain came falling again. At the high point, Connors pass,the rain is absolutely lashing down. It could easily pass for the Dingle Peninsula today. I get soaked on the descent. However the last 20 miles were easy, enjoyable in the cool as the road worked it way through a valley up to the town of Ely.

Day 71: Across the Sevier Desert (Mon 4th Aug)

I was awake at 2.15am, got ready and was on the road just before 3.30am. Already I was quite tired. I'd got to sleep by 7.30pm yesterday evening but a family in the room next door woke me up around 10.30pm. The noise continued for another 90 mins and I just couldn't get back to sleep.



Its dark as I hit the road and will remain so for another two and a half hours. I cycle down the empty main street, over a railway bridge and into the darkness as the street lights rapidly fade away. It feels strange. The only light is the small arc from my own torch tied to the handlebars with elastic bands. I can't see anything either side of me. Five miles down the road a line of bright street lights mark out the small village of Hinckley. There is nobody on the road.



Overhead is a clear sky but no moon. For the first time in America I see a sky full of stars. As I near Hinckley I pass a couple of farmers mowing grass in the fields. Spotlights attached to their tractors illuminate the ground around them. I'm really surprised at how early they are out working. Through Hinckley and I'm into the desert. There isn't anything between here and the Nevada border 90 miles away. I have 6.5 litres of fluids on the bike which adds to the weight I'm carrying.



After an initial unease in the absolute darkness I settle down and begin to enjoy the cycling. The road is deserted so I can cycle in the middle of the road. Any approaching vehicle can be seen for miles before it reaches me. Its funny cycling through an area and not having a clue what lies either side of the road. Back before Hinckley you could smell the grass in the fields, a warm, almost moist smell. Out here it was a dry earthy, dusty smell. Frequently I would glance up at the sky to see the winking lights of a far off plane or the flash of occasional meteorites. Out here there was no sound, no lights. Just the odd rustle of a light breeze in the darkness. It felt so empty.

Slowly light began to ease into the eastern horizon. Gradually, as the darkness receded, I was able to see the surrounding landscape. The barren Sevier desert revealed itself with low mountains bordering the north, south and western horizons. A beautiful dawn rose with hardly a cloud in the sky. The low sun cast a pink shade over the brown slopes of the hills. The air was absolutely still. It was magical.

With the rising light I found that I was cycling close to the shore of the Sevier lake, a dried up saline lake, which fills up during the spring, sometimes to a depth of 30ft, with melting snows which flow down from the surrounding mountains. Through late spring and summer the rising heat evaporates the water leaving the salt flats which I could see. I'm in the Great Basin which encompasses western Utah and Nevada. Most of the rivers here never make it to the sea. Most evaporate. Some drain into underground rivers.

Beyond the Sevier lake the road crossed some low hills and descended into a long, flat valley. Distances are deceptive out here. On first impressions the valley didn't seem all that big. What I thought was a 2-3 miles stretch turned into 5-6 miles. The road ran north through the long valley before turning west and winding its way up through the confusion range of hills. The road entered a tight, narrow canyon on its way up to the summit pass. I was glad I was passing through here early in the day. Its a real heat trap and must be baking hot in the full heat of the afternoon.

The top of the confusion range brought another descent into a wide valley. The road skirted the edge of the Ferguson desert and ran arrow straight for almost 20 miles across this wide valley to the Nevada border. The far side of the valley was marked by high mountains, the largest of which was Mount Wheeler which stands at 13,400ft.

Through that valley I counted down the miles to the border. Here the desert would peter out and the road rise into the mountain country of Nevada. The town of Ely lies a further 63 miles through those uplands. I was feeling tired after 90 miles and not looking forward to that stretch up tp Ely. I began to wonder wht would be the odds of a motel at the border. I already knew there is a petrol station there so in the last few miles I really began to hope there would be rooms there aswell. Slowly but surely the station began to emerge from the land. A distant smudge at the edge of the desert. In the last mile I could see a large sign and slowly the word m-o-t-e-l appeared. Delighted. I was sorted. 90 miles non-stop was a decent days work. I felt good.

I'm now moving into the latter stages of the journey. Only two more states and one more time zone. The Sevier desert was a great experience and dawn this morning, unforgettable. Utah has been a highlight, an amazing land. By no means easy it has pulled at the emotions like no other state so far. Its wilderness, dry, barren in places, surprisingly fertile in others. The route I followed through the middle of this state was truly an adventure I won't forget.

Day 69 & 70 Delta (Sat/Sun 2nd/3rd Aug)

I end up staying two days in Delta. On both days the temperatures are up around 100f so I'm glad I'm not on the road. I got the bike sorted. Both wheels have new tubes. I also got the tyres pumped to a pressure I'm happy with. I use duct tape to repair the rear pannier rack where it had snapped. The tape does the job.

I spend two days lounging around. Eating, drinking and reading. I have a quick look around Delta as well. Delta is situated out in the Sevier desert. Its a busy wee town of just over 3,500 souls. It sits at 4,600ft only half the elevation of the Wasatch mountains I'd passed through a couple of days earlier.

day 68: To Delta (Utah) Fri 1st Aug

I left Eureka around 6.45. Because the town is high up in the lee of a mountain the sun rises later here. A brief but brisk downhill through the nip of dawn chill brought me onto an upland plateau. I crossed this landscape for about 30 miles. It was beautiful up here, bleak and cool in the early morning sunshine. I cycled towards a set Hills of distinction and character which defined the western edge of this plateau. Beyond it lay the Sevier desert of Western Utah.



Cycling in the shadow of hills to the east the air was beautifully cool. I was making a good pace and getting some nice photos of the area. It was so quiet here under blue skiesAccording to the map I passed through a settlement called Jerich but I have no recollection of passing through any settlement on the plateau after leaving Eureka.



I passsed through the hills of the western edge of these uplands and descended onto the open, scrubby plains of the Sevier Desert. The approach of a gang of 18-20 bikers unsettled initally but, as they passed, the thumbs up from a load of the lads had me waving back. Two miles outside the small settlement of Lyndberg the rear tyre went flat. Then the hand pump broke. I wlaked the two miles towards some farmhouses where I changed the tyre, replacing it with one I'd bought in Steamboat in Colorado. I got the tyre inflated at a nearby farm. It was here I also noticed that a screw supporting the rear pannier rack had snapped but I couldn't put in a replacement as I was unable to extract the broken piece. I patched it up as best I could. There were still 15 miles to Delta and what was supposed to be an easy short day was rapidly turning into a bit of a disaster.

I went for another 5 miles into a hot rising headwind, conscious of the damaged rear rack when, all of a sudden the fron tyre went flat. A thin sliver of steel wire had sliced through the rubber. By now I'm in the middle of nowhere in the desert and no hand pump. I decide I'd better hitch to Delta. The first vehicle to approach in my direction was a pick up truck so I put out the hand and, thankfully, the truck stopped. The driver, called james, said he figured what was wrong as soon as he saw me and said with the heat as high as it was I didn't want to see me stuck out here.

James brought me to Delta and a shop where I could get a new pump and extra tubes. He drove me around town, pointing out Diners, shops and motels, and dropped me off at the motel I decided to stay at. He made sure I got sorted before heading off. I was very grateful to him for his act of kindness.

I'm staying a day here in delta to rest and get the bike sorted before heading out across the Sevier desert. I'm told there is nothing between here and Ely in Nevada save for a petrol station on the Nevada border 90 miles away. Its 153 miles to Ely so I want to be rested for that trek.

I eat in a local diner this evening and I'm so hungry I end up ordering two dinners, to the amusement of the servin staff, particularly as I must look very gaunt compared to those well-fed locals. This diner has a lot of the local characters so its entertaining watching them and listening to them talk. One conversation ran as follows.
'Hey Brad, whats up?
'Nothin much in this heat. I've stayed in the shade for the last 4 days.' 'Heck, I'll do somethin next week'
Hows the chevy? I haven't seen ya drivin it lately?
'Naw I need to fix it. suppose I'll work on it before winter closes in.........'
The two lads get up and shuffle slowly towards the exit and the coversation drifts away.
With eyebrows raised and a half smile I get up and shuffle slowly back to the motel. Suppose I'll get back on the road in the next few days. Until then I think I'll stay in the shade. I sleep well tonight.

Day 67: Into a wilderness Thurs 31st July

(Uncle Thomas thanks so much for the support. Your words of support have been a source of comfort to me in the tough moments on this journey. Truly those good wishes have given me strength when I've had to dig in through the hard yards. I wish you a fair wind to your back in California. Hopefully I will see you before you go. Thanks so much for your good wishes.)

After a sleep-in this morning it was after 10am when I got on the road. I hoped to get to Delta 90 or so miles away on the edge of the Sevier desert. But, as events would play out I wouldn't get that far.

Spanish Fork was a pleasant town with the spectacular background of the Wasatch mountains dominating the skyline to the east. The first 25 miles would bring through the colourful sounding towns of Salem, Payson, Santaquin, and Goshen. I was tipping away happily admiring the views, passing a hindu temple for good measure!! Then, on the edge of Payson, I got a double puncture. THis delayed me for a while but I was very grateful to a family acrosss the road who allowed me to use their air compressor to inflate the tyres. My hand pump can never get the required pressure into the tyres for the weight of the panniers and the strength I need to gain speed on the road.

I moved onto Santaquin which sits alongside Interstate 85. this town is nestled beautifully beneath mountains of pink rocks and dark green vegetation. I thought it was gorgeous. I stopped, briefly, for drinks and a snack. there were a lot of hispanics here, the first time since Boston that I'd seen so many. America seems to be a chequerboard of different ethnic groupings. Certainly on this trip that is how it appears. I suppose looking at the pattern of Irish emmigration other ethnic groups also follow patterns of concentration based on earlier settlement. to be honest I hadn't seen Latin Americans, or many of any other ethnic group through the mid-west so it was a novelty to see Spanish speaking people concentrated here.

It was hitting 100f again today, it felt hot on the road. 5 miles beyond Santaquin I stopped at Goshen, a small town mid-way across a parched plain splattered with salt pans that look like a bizarre scattering of frost amidst yellow, barren fields. The few buildings that still stood showed a distinct hispanic influence, down to the Spanish idom in the names. I downed a litre of gatorade here but minutes later it felt as if I hadn't drunk anything for hours. I was thirsty again.

From Goshen the road rose directly into a set of mountains which, I'd hoped, would have been skirted around. The pace slowed down as I hit the slopes. A slow climb followed with frequent stops to sip on water. At the top of one climb the road twisted round a bend to reveal another climb. When you get to the top of a climb you feel good but, if the road reveals another, immediate, unexpected, hidden climb then it can hit you. Ironically, these are the days that you hold close in your memory. These can be the days you identify with the trek, the days you subsequently hold dear, the medals that decorate the passage you follow. I dug in and pushed for the top and, slowly got there. I'm certainly no speed merchant on these roads.

at the top of this climb I arrive at a petrol staion which sits on the edge of a town called Eureka. An ice/sludge drink was gulped down with relish. With 50 miles still to go to delta I decided that if there were room available then I would rest the night here before pushing on in the morning. The girl at the petrol station directed me to a motel in the town where I'd get a cheap room. Her response to my question if there was a public library in the town was 'We're not that sophisticated here!'. It was 5pm which really surprised me. The climb into these hills had taken a lot longer than I' realised. To be honest I was glad I'd stopped.

Eureka was a curious place. A town that felt old and had obviously seen better days. Everything looked old fashioned or dilapidated. In the case of the room I was staying in, it was both old and dilapidated. I talked to a couple of people. Eureka was an old mining town. Really, its heart seems to be in the late 19th or early 20th century. It does look like a town that time forgot. It appears that time has passed this town by, like its slowy dying. The town grew rapidly when the mines opened and, obviously, for a time, the town prospered. But now, the mines have long since closed and, with that, Eureka has lost its prosperity and, ultimately, its function. There are 2 schools here but no library. The only diner in town closed down last week. There is a grocery store but it doesn't stock much. Most of the grocery shopping is done down in the valley I passed through today. The grocery store even looks like an old store of 60 yrs ago. Overhearing conversations it feels as if people are struggling here but that is merely an impression I have felt.

The setting of the town is beautiful, remote, in the middle of the mountains. The kind of place you could see being cut off in the Winter snows. Two other villages nearby are faring even worse. Mammoth and Silver City didn't have any kind of services whatsoever. Eureka was a fascinating if, ultimately, sad little town.

Day 66: Through the Wasatch Mts (Wed 30th July)

I'm out for 6am, just as it is getting bright. I head up along Main st and take a left onto route 191 and head out of town. About 500m out of town the road enters a small winding ravine which marks the course of a stream. The bike feels very heavy this morning. I'm carrying about 5 litres of water as there are not towns between Duschene and Thistle, the next settlement on the map, 90 miles down the road.

As I follow this dry, sandy coloured ravine for a few miles it begins to broaden and heighten into a canyon. Its very picturesque with steep craggy slopes dotted with green shrubs. As the canyon heightens the slopes become scattered with pine trees.

The bike feels very sluggish today. I can't get a good pace going. I put it down to the water I'm carying which has added a good deal of weight. Also, the road is rising towards mountains. I become very frustrated with the bike and am tempted to dump some of the water but I decide against that. I plug away, slowly, through the canyons. I'm passing through Indian reservation lands. They belong to the Unita and Ouray peoples. There isn't much life in the canyons. There are some pretty farmsteads. Up along one side canyon there is a cluster of mobile homes but no sign of people. Its very quiet.

Soon pine trees cover the entire slopes either side of the road as I head into the mountains. The road is passing through the Wasatch mountains. I am climbing to a pass at 9,100ft, thats only 100m lower than when I crossed the Rockies. I thought after I crossed the Rockies that it was going to be flat after that. I'm becoming very frustrated with how slow I'm going. I have to stop to drink more frequently now as its gettin hot.

After about 25 miles the road rises sharply. I look up along high wooded slopes which lead up to a hidden mountain pass. The climbing becomes tough. I'm perspiring heavily. Eventually I start to walk, pushing what feels like a very heavy bike. In the heat I'm becoming a bit demoralised. I stop an wonder what I'm doing on the side of this mountain in the middle of nowhere. If somebody had offered me a plane ticket back home at this moment I'd have taken it. At this moment I felt quite low.

I ended up walking to the top of the pass. It was simply a case of putting one foot in front of the other and pushing to the top. Finally, I got to the pass. It shouldn't have been so tough. It wasn't that the mountains were so tough or very high, they weren't. I think, after crossing the Rockies I felt it was going to be plain sailing all the way to the coast (over a thousand miles away???) My resolve and sense of purpose, which you need to keep high in order to keep going seemed to have taken a break and were already on some beach in California. So when I hit these mountains I wasn't ready, mentally. This is probably the downside to going solo on a trip like this. When its good its great but if you're having a tough time you can feel quite alone. If you're in the middle of nowhere when it happens you can feel very alone.

At the top of the pass I get back in the groove. The day picks up after that with a long downhill. After a few miles the land opened up before the road entered a narrow passage which lead into a spectacular gorge. This was great. It made the earlier struggles seem worthwhile. The road wound through spectacular cliffs of pink and red. the canyon twisted and turned as it descended. At its bottom it cut into another, larger, canyon which held the Price river as it flowed from north to South. In the bowl where the ywo canyons met sat a power station. It looked so out of place in such spectacular surroundings.

I stopped at a carpark to eat under a plaque dedicated to the power station, the only shade I could find. I knocked back a litre of water with the food. I was now glad I hadn't ditched the extra water. it was very hot at the bottom of that canyon.

At this point the road I had followed joined route 6 which turned north west and began to climb up out of the cayon to the next set of mountain passes. The road would climb for the next 10 miles up to Soldier summit at 7,500ft. I felt a lot better. The bike was lighter now minus about 3.5 litres of water. It was a lot easier to climb through such spectacular surroundings. I was looking around at the rocky slopes and not thinking about climbing.

A lot of motorists wave and beep their horns today. As I get close to the top of the canyon somebody in a passing car shouted out "Go on buddy, you're nearly there now". A couple of minutes later the canyon spat me ou into a series of open, rolling hills.

I climbed to the top of these hills and in the middle of a set of roadworks I came to a very old looking store cum petrol station. In I went to get some drinks, two bottles, one of water and one apple juice. It was a very old style store with an old feel to it. It had an old counter running along one side and bric-a-brac scattered throughout. The modern drinks coolers and a small microwave seemed oddly out of place here. The owner, an old man, served me and I sat down at the counter to drink. The old man joined me and began to tell me about himself.

This shop is the last building still standing in the town of Colston. One hundred years ago this was a busy town with a hotel, 3 saloons and other businesses. Over 200 families lived here. Now this old man lives alone, the last of a genereation, ending his days in a ghost town. Deinis finch is his name, a bit of a character. His great grandfather came from Cork and sailed from Cobh to New York. There he met his wife, a German lady. They had 7 children and, after a time decided to seek their fortune out West. So they joined the great migration and set out on the Oregon trail. The parents, however died on the trail, leaving the 7 children to fend for themselves. Denis' grandfather apparently hung around with Butch Cassidy. He showed me a photograph of the two together. He also showed me old photographs of what the town used to look like. Looking at the pictures of its busy streets it was hard to believe the town had just disappeared. Now looking out over the dusty hillside as contruction teams built the new highway it was hard to imagine a busy town ever stood at this spot. I said goodbye to Denis and his memories.

Three miles from Colston I reached the pass at Soldier Summit. 10 miles from here lay the village of Thistle where I thought I might stop for the night if it had a motel. However, I found out that the village no longer exists. Eventhough it is still on the map. In 1983 a landslide buried the village, literally wiping it away. For me it meant cycling an extra 10 miles to the town of Spanish Fork. It was almost all downhill from here but a wind had whipped up which was so strong that, at times, I had to go down in to middle gears just to keep moving. It was very hot and the wind formed a hot, dry, gritty blast that parched the back of my throat. I began to feel really hot and frustrated. I was tired now as well. I was supposed to be going downhill but had to push hard just to keep moving. I stopped at a petrol station and got another bottle of water and an ice sludge drink which is great for bringing your temperature down. It was 5pm now and the temperature was over 100f.

I was 20 miles from spanish fork, another 2hrs, i reckoned. I was tired now after 11hrs on the road. While the road continued to descend through a very scenic landscape I was no longer interested. I just wanted to get to spanish Fork. Finally, after passing through one more canyon of bright red clay the road emerged through a narrow cleft in the hills and onto the edge of a flat plain. At this point there was a wind farm, a testeament to the kind of winds that blow up through those canyons. Four miles down the road sat the prosperous looking spanish fork. I got a room in the only motel in town. After a tough 13hrs I was happy to lie down.