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.
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.
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