Pedalling up the off ramp

Day 56, Stage 37 - Weatherford to Oklahoma City
66 miles in 4hrs 35mins (incl. half a foot of Sub and muffin stop)
Total Distance - 3,168 miles
I'm tired.

Some 560 miles in six days has left me even more in need of a rest that this little feline I passed on the way to dinner this evening.

Mentally it was definitely a much tougher day than the stats suggest as I had an ongoing battle to stop myself from switching off early, thinking this 900 miles along and on the interstate was at an end. It was, finally, after a fast 45 miles as I took the exit ramp off the I40, almost four weeks since I first passed the start of it way back in Barstow, California.

Meanwhile, I'm sure the humble armadillo must be becoming an endangered species in these parts as there were even more of the poor critters squashed on the road today leading to a disturbing aroma of death to linger in the hot and humid air. It's an unpleasant enough smell at the best of times but when your gasping for breath pushing the pedals round...yeah, you can imagine.

I've managed to track down the bike shop where my broken machine should have been but, alas it's still in the FedEx depot here in Oklahoma City, due to get delivered on Monday which means two days rest here - which I was planning. However, it's two days out in the northern suburbs - which I wasn't planning.

Still, I'm sure I'll find some place where I can sit in the sun.

Oklahoma!

Day 55, Stage 36 - Shamrock to Weatherford
101 miles in 7hrs 5mins (incl. two short snack stops)
Total Distance - 3,102 miles
(Damn mail just crashed when I was about to send this so apologies for the short blog today).

It was another day of flat roads under blue skies with the temperature just the right side of too hot.

I was 170 miles from Oklahoma city when I set off from Shamrock early this morning and I was thinking that, if the wind turned my way, then I might just be able to get there in one long stint.

The first two hours to my morning pizza at Sayre, after 36 miles, went well bringing me into Oklahoma, the ninth state of the trip. Here I stumbled across the sculpture in the pic. Apparently it represents 'the spirit of the wild west'. And who says the Americans can't do art?! The next stop was the 'official' Route 66 museum at Elk City (as opposed to the dozen-or-so unofficial ones I've seen along the road). Here I bought what, I've just realised, is my first trinket of the trip; a Route 66 wristband - it's all about the weight.

As I left Elk City I realised the wind had turned, but had turned the wrong way as it was a NE'erly and I was heading east. Ok City was not going to happen so I continued a forgettable 40miles down the interstate to stop next to the legendary, but frankly disappointing, Lucille's diner (the 'mother of the mother road').

In the meantime, armadillo has come from nowhere to top the unofficial roadkill tally that I've been mentally keeping. The list is something like; 1) armadillo, 2) cat, 3) skunk, 4) snake, 5) coyote, 6) tortoise, 7) deer, 8) squirrel, 9) dog . Well, I did say things have been a bit boring as of late!

Forecast looking good for tomorrow's short 65 mile stint into OC where my broken Cannondale should be waiting for me in one if the local bike shops to see if it can be warrantied. Here's hoping.

Plain Sailing

Day 54, Stage 35 - Amarillo to Shamrock
91 miles in 6hrs 10mins (incl. two muffin, Nesquik & Doritos stops)
Total Distance - 3,001 miles (I think, network stuffed again so can't check yesterday's total)
It's flat round here. Very, very flat.

It turned out that yesterday's six hour sprint had left me more tired this morning than I thought I'd be (though it might also have had something to do with that extra stein of the local brew).

Conditions were perfect (25C, clear skies and only a light northerly wind) as I set out at 10.30 with no real idea where I was going to finish tonight. It was just going to be one of those days of spinning the pedals, seeing how I felt and how far I got.

There really was absolutely nothing of note for pretty much the whole day on a practically straight road. Just the occasional little windpump, numerous vast grain stores, and cows, cows and more cows. Not an unpleasant part of the world at all, especially given the weather, but not exactly inspiring either.

Today's stage also saw my altitude descent of recent days continue as I dropped a further 1,200ft to 2,300ft into the thicker air by the time I stopped in the town of Shamrock, 10 miles short of the Oklahoma state line. And the air's thicker in more ways than one as the humidity is notably creeping up. It's at a fairly pleasant level now compared to the harsh, desiccating high desert air but it's likely to be the next big challenge I'll face as I head off further into the deep south in a few days.

With little else of note today I thought I'd briefly touch on the campervan culture here. The size of some of these machines are really astonishing and I reckon nothing else I've seen symbolizes the stereotype of American over-consumption as these things. While I'm used to seeing them now, it took me at least a month before I stopped thinking they were tour buses coming along the road until I saw the boat/golf buggy, 4x4 being towed along on the back. What I still haven't got used to, though, are some of the names for these vehicles; Explorer - fine, Dolphin - a bit weird, but ok, and of course Winnebago. However, 'Cougar' is a little puzzling but not half as worrying as 'Prowler' or, worse still, 'Intruder'. Or is it just in my mind that those are disturbing?

Mr Kaye got it wrong

Day 53, Stage 34 - San Jon to Amarillo
102 miles in 6hrs 59mins (incl. pancakes at halfway house)
Total Distance - 2,910 miles
It wasn't til about 40 miles down the road today that it dawned on me that what had woken me at five this morning had been someone trying to get into my motel room. With no car parked outside the guy walking around the car park looking in the bins had, obviously, also been trying the room doors. Well, the noise had woken me only 5 mins before my alarm was due to go off as I got up in time to set off at 6.06am in the hope of reaching Amarillo, 95 miles down the road, before 1pm when the Man U vs Barca game was kicking off. It was a big ask but I was feeling confident (about the trip, not the game).

After three hours on the road, having crossed into Texas, I took the slip road off into Adrian in search of the numerically-significant mid-point cafe where today's pic was taken. The best pancakes of the trip (and possibly even best welcome) set me up well for the 50 miles into Amarillo. This stint was quicker than I thought it would be as, for the first time all trip, the wind forecast was wrong in my favour being NNW instead of the forecast NNE. While it sounds a trivial difference, as I was heading due east it was enough to add a significant few mph to my speed.

I hit the east of Amarillo after 82 miles at 11.50, in plenty of time to find a motel before the game started. And then the problems started - after 8 miles and 40 mins of cycling round the downtown city centre and I hadn't seen a single motel/hotel and only a handful of bars. Now I challenge anyone to show me a town where you can travel that far without finding suitable, or any, lodging. More like 'Show me the way IN Amarillo', Peter. I decided to head for the legendary Big Texan inn on the far side of town, home of the '72oz eat it all and get it for free' steak. I finally found it just after one and it was showing the football, though I now wish it hadn't been. I opted for the 21oz steak which was more than ample for me but I'm about to pop back in for dinner and watch the challengers take on the beast (there's a webcam of it as well which is actually more compulsive viewing than it sounds).

There's a reality tv film crew here at the restaurant filming a Route 66 roadtrip mockumentary. It's been amusing talking to the tv crew telling them that I'm cycling most of what they're filming.

One very good point raised on the menu here though - who the hell tried the first mountain oyster?

Meanwhile, I'm feeling good and the weather, wind and topography are all looking promising for tomorrow. I've got that calm excited feeling I had on the beach at Santa Monica again.

66, a highway speaks...

Day 52, Stage - Santa Rosa to San Jon
84 miles in 5hrs 35mins (no punctures and only a v. quick food stop)
Total Distance - 2,808 miles
With a cold front due in this afternoon bringing with it some likely significant storms there was no way I was letting sleep win the argument as the alarm went off at 6am this morning. Last night the folk on the Weather Channel had even been getting excited that their 'TorCon' readings were going to be climbing from their recent unusual lows. Now I had no idea what 'TorCon' was until I got here, but I know now, it's tornadic conditions, and given it's the height of tornado season and I'm just about to go into 'The Alley', it's something I really need to know. So at 7.30 I set off with only the faintest clouds on the horizon from where the front was coming in.

Despite expecting to spend most if the day on the interstate I was delighted to find that Route 66 was in a good enough state to ride along for well over half of today's 80 miles. While it's undoubtedly a driving road rather than a cycling one, I'm actually finding it an interesting and fairly emotive road to be on. So many of the places that are still open on it try, desperately to cling to the nostalgia of the 50's good times of motoring. However, the really striking thing to me is just how much utter desolation can be seen at so many of the small communities (even some of the bigger towns) along the way that the interstate now avoids. Lots of these places have just been wiped out, completely abandoned, leaving only silent, crumbling walls, such as the place in the pic. It's not hard to understand why, though, given that on one of the stretches of 66 I was on today I rode along for 15 miles without a single car passing me in either direction. I guess that, in a way, it also shows what's partly great about this country - people don't linger around waiting and hoping for things to get better, they get up, go somewhere else and try and make things better for themselves. A very admirable attitude.

As I trundled along the last two miles into San Jon (speaking of dying towns) it was only one o'clock and the temptation to continue on twenty miles or so further down the road was definitely there. The clouds were gathering but the storms were still some way behind me, though. A piece of dried grass blew up into the air just off to my left ...

...then it was suddenly joined by much bigger bits of vegetation and they started spinning, fast around me. I slammed on the brakes and jumped off the bike which was getting buffeted violently under me. For one brief moment I panicked as it dawned on me that I'd been closely watching every storm and cloud around me but not the one right above me. I very nervously looked up with a horrible feeling that I was about to see a grey finger of cloud coming out the sky pointing at me. Thankfully not, and I watched the rotating collection of plant life move on into a field. It had made my mind up for me - I was finding a motel there and then! And as I sit here listening to the wind, rain and thunder getting stronger, I'm delighted I did. However the storms are playing havoc with the tv reception so I've currently got the choice of some shopping channels, God Channels or The Cattle Channel. I didn't appreciate how much there was to know about our bovine friends.

Looking to tomorrow, another early start tomorrow in the hope of finishing in time to watch the Champions League final at 1 o'clock.

iPhone still stuffed at the moment so no signal or wifi working. Hence
the delaying in posting these.

Bridging the gap

Day 51, Stage 32 - Albuquerque to Santa Rosa
114 miles in 6hrs 35 mins (incl. guess, what? Yup, another foot of Subway and one slow puncture at the end of the day)
Total distance - 2,724 miles
Well, I'm back on track, in more ways than one.

Last night I was both nervous and excited ahead of this stage. Nervous principally because there appeared to be nothing on the route between Clines Corner at the 50 mile mark and Santa Rosa at over 110 miles. But there was excitement as well as the forecast was looking perfect - dry, 25C, and with a tailwind. The topography also looked good on my last day of big climbs before hitting the flat open expanses of Texas and Oklahoma with a 2,000ft climb in the early miles before a gradual, +2000ft descent over the last 60 miles.

Yet again, sleep won the argument with the alarm this morning so the day started two hours later than I'd planned. I set off in the sunshine, filled with muffins on the 2,000ft climb up to just over 7,000ft again, savouring the moment as I knew it would be the last time on the trip I would be up at these altitudes in the thin air. The route then took me quickly down into Motiarty where I turned onto what, on the map at least, looked like a near enough dead straight 75 mile stretch of interstate - a stint I hadn't been looking forward to. It turned out to be a lot more interesting than it looked, but still only one photo moment today (that's only 4 in 450 miles!)

Heading out along this straight, on the climb up to Clines, I saw my first bit of tumbleweed which skipped across the highway and came worryingly close to lodging in my back spokes. At Clines, yet another Subway was consumed. I've lost count of how many that is now.

Knowing it was all downhill from there and with the wind at my back I was trying to estimate how long I thought it would take me to cover the 58 miles into Santa Rosa. It was twenty past one so I thought, optimistically, just before five would be good going. Wrong again Fraser. The first hour took me 24.5 miles down the road, and I just kept pushing along. After an hour and a half I realised that a sub two-hour half century could be on the cards if I upped the pace. It was a struggle, especially when the back tyre started squirming on it's way down (very slowly) again. It would survive though, and the 50 miles clocked over at 1hr 57mins 24secs. Now admittedly that was with a 10 mph tailwind and a descent of 1,800ft, so not a 'true' half-century time but it was also on a fully-laden machine, so I'm taking it.

I arrived into Santa Rosa at 3.30pm and, after a near on two week 'detour' because of my broken bike, I've finally bridged the gap and rejoined my original route.

Speaking of bridges, and in the absence of anything worth snapping today, here's a pic from the Natural Bridges National Park I visited last week. It's big - those are fully grown trees underneath it.

Coasting along under your own steam

...and just briefly following on on the Lemond story yesterday, I
stumbled across this forum. Definitely one for cyclists with a
schoolboy sense of humour.
Me? it had me near ending myself.

http://www.bikeforums.net/archive/index.php/t-40291.html.

Rest day Subway

Day 50 - Rest day
Just discovered there's an even bigger option than the Footlong Subway
sandwiches.

Delighted.

If you pedal without rhythm, you won't attract the worm

Day 49, Stage 31 - Grants to Albuquerque
83 miles in 7hrs 45mins (incl. no food stops, 2 punctures and one unplanned cow-herding detour)
With it being the memorial day holiday weekend over here I thought it best I set off bright and early this morning in case the motels all filled up. So, at 6.30am my alarm went off, and then went off, until half an hour later when it went off again, then off. This cycle continued until 9.20am when I finally dragged myself out of bed still exhausted and really feeling the muscular effects from pushing into the headwind all yesterday. I finally set out onto Route 66 at 10.30 bathed in sunshine but with ominous clouds gathering around.

It was a real struggle to keep my eyes open in those early miles but after a few miles the road began to wind and roll and the scenery began to actually be worth looking at for the first time since leaving Flagstaff on Wednesday. In fact it was really quite interesting as the road went along a bed of a broken and twisted lava field.

Then, in the distance I could see the clouds begin to fall to earth. Little did I know it but the fun for the day had begun. Unlike the past three days when the road had frequently turned to send me straight into the path of storms today I could see that, judging by the wind and road direction, if I was fast enough I could avoid these ones. And I'm not talking about a sprint of a mile or two. This marvellous game continued driving me on for some thirty miles almost non-stop, during which time I had the fun dilemma of either stopping for breakfast or staying dry. I chose dry and was repeatedly spurred on by looking round to see the road I'd just come along be engulfed in sheets of grey.

Though one irritation during this chase came when I passed a 40 miles to Albuquerque sign, then 6 miles later I caught sight of a sign on the interstate boldly stating 'Albuquerque 40 miles'. Not particularly amused. Now six miles may be a fairly trivial distance in a car but on a bike that sort of difference matters.

Then the day all got a bit farcically comical as all of a sudden I realised that I was in serious danger of having an incident similar to Greg Lemond's infamous Tour de France moment. And I'm not talking about his 8 second victory over Laurent Fignon, it's probably his next most well known Tour moment. I won't elaborate here but suffice to say no-one wanted to ride behind him after it. Basically while last night's buffet had disappeared remarkably quickly it was now making a bid to reappear at an even quicker rate. The gps showed a reasonable sized settlement a couple of miles up the road and I figured I'd be able to make it that far. I did, but once there I found it was an Indian reservation that was not particularly keen on encouraging outsiders with a sign asking 'No Cameras. No tape recording. No filming', I think even something like 'Please do not speak to the residents unless necessary'. I respected every one of those requests but perhaps didn't quite respect the surrounding environment as I pedalled down a dead quiet road seeking a secluded spot. I found one, with about 8 seconds to spare.

I got back on the bike and with the appropriate pill out the first aid kit having been consumed and continued down the 'road' which then deteriorated into a near dust track lined with cattle who didn't seem to take too well to my presence running en masse down the road ahead of me for half a mile. Rather than continue down this track I figured trying to join the interstate would be the best option so I decided to head up the the next road the gps was showing. This one was even worse, just a rough dirt track (see pic). Still, it gave me a chance to test out how good a cyclocross bike the new machine is. Not too bad actually. Then, the surface deteriorated further into a strange, dry but sticky mud which collected on the tyres, spun round under the mudguards to jam the wheels. Pedalling through this was near impossible as I became, quite literally, stuck in the mud. After frequent stops to unclog things I eventually made the steep climb up the embankment onto the interstate, probably much to the bemusement of those passing. It was a great smooth road surface and I sped along until I realised why it was so good as the roadworks signs appeared and the two lanes plus an 8ft wide shoulder lane for me quickly became one lane and about a 16"-20" lane for me. The traffic, including the trucks persistently droned past at about 50 while I pedalled straight on furiously; mercifully grateful for the fact that the handling of the new bike is about as quick as to make the erosion of the pyramids seem like it's happening at pace so staying on that narrow strip of grey was a lot easier and less stressful than it sounds. Still, there was a definite sigh of relief when 'my lane' reappeared after some 6 miles.

With 30 miles to go I could see another large storm was breaking just behind me to my right - this one would be with me until the end of the day as I went through the a fantastic game of cat and mouse with it as the light rain would just catch me on the long climbs but I'd be able to speed on and punch through into dryness on the descents. I'd managed to build up a good lead ahead of the final long climb but then came my first puncture. A pretty manic quick tube change and I was off on a lactic-acid-burn-filled 'sprint' up the remainder of the climb and onto the long, downhill run into Albuquerque. My lead was down to almost nothing but I felt confident in victory, until puncture two came along. Another rapid change was just not quick enough as the rain began to fall meaningfully as I was putting the wheel back in the frame. To be honest, I didn't really mind, I felt that the storm had earned the right to rain on me. Then, what had been a wall of rain only minutes previously suddenly stopped after only a couple of miles. My rain gear could just as well have stayed in the bag, but I didn't care either way.

It was a fast descent into the city of Albuquerque and through the Downtown district where I planned to stay for the night. However, I saw little in the way of what looked civilised civilisation to me so I pressed on up the hill towards the university district which looks like it's a good place for tomorrow's rest day, particularly cause I found another microbrewery just nearby.

...and if you're wondering about the title - Dune - I am in the desert after all.

It's all downhill from here :)

Day 48, Stage 30 - Gallup to Grants
68 miles in 8hrs 45mins (incl. another Subway stop, one food stop where the pic was taken and NO PUNCTURES!!!)
Total distance - 2,521 miles
After yesterday's hellishly frustrating and boring day, surely today couldn't be any worse.

Well, to start with it did try. Having 'lost' an hour having crossed into New Mexico and with fixing the punctured tubes this morning it wasn't until shortly before 11am that I set out on the wet roads in full wet kit again. After yesterday's wind forecast having turned out to be a NNE headwind instead of the SSW forecast tailwind I was hoping that today's might be wrong as well and not be delivering the 5-10mph SE headwind that was forecast. It was wrong again, probably nearer 15mph but definitely SE'erly. I was very wet even after only 7 miles when I stopped for a morning Subway. Thankfully the rain eased up during that time but when I got back outside I realised I was cold. It was only 10C excluding the wind-chill. I thought this was meant to be the desert and am beginning to think I may have been a bit premature in sending home so much of my warm weather kit last week. The relentless headwind combined with a gradual 800ft climb on rough road surfaces made for a painfully slow 30 miles up to the continental divide - taking me nigh on 4 hours. Crossing this 'tipping point' gave me a real lift, which I was really in need of given the past few days. Then came the 'descent' which felt like anything but with the wind continuing to claw at me and the final 8 miles were a full out 12mph 'sprint' to get to the motel before the the downpour that was racing towards me reached it. I made it by only a couple of minutes, but my legs are paying for it now.

As for the scenery today, it was a touch better than yesterday but I think I've only taken about 3 or 4 pictures since I left Flagstaff on Wednesday and I now understand why the US Government chose Los Alamos for doing so much of it's nuclear testing. I also think that they, perhaps, should have used a bigger bomb.

Regarding the new bike, I did get your comment, Pete, asking about it. Well It's a Specialized Tricross Comp. I'll give a more detailed review once I've done a few more miles on it but my first impressions are - I really miss my Cannondale!

On a brighter note I was ecstatic to see a large 'Asian Buffet' sign next to the motel. $9.95 for eat all you can which was just what I needed. Now I may have looked fairly slim and healthy when I walked in but little did they know my capacity for the stealthy destruction of the buffet bar. I am The Ninja Buffet Eater!

Dragging me down

Day 47, Stage 29 - Holbrook to Gallup
92 miles in 9hrs 45 mins (incl. a new record 4 punctures and one power
cut delayed lunch)
Total distance - 2,453 miles
Dull, dull, dull, dull, dull, puncture, dull, dull, rain, dull, dull, another puncture, dull, dull, power cut closing Subway shop, another rainstorm, cafe also closed for same reason, wet, dull, not another effing puncture, dull, dull, windy, dull, that tyre is bl00dy going flat again, dull, dull, dead coyote, dull, dull, cool a gopher-like creature, dull, dull, the state line, not quite so dull, rain again, chased by mangey dogs, that mileage sign was obviously wrong, dull and wet, finally arrived, very mediocre dinner.

I've done enough endurance events to know that it's not unusual to go through low points during them. But today's real low, 25 miles in (from which I've still not recovered), when I stopped to put my full rain gear on and realised that both wheels were well on their way down left me seriously contemplating either just sitting by the side of the road or riding on and potentially taking the train on to miss out this puncture-filled interstate hell through a frankly depressing part of the world, in my view.

There's a big ongoing discussion over here as to where to send the Gitmo detainees if Obama gets his way and closes it. I say send them to Eastern Arizona, though it could well be classified as torture. I am never, ever going to come back here and, you're probably not surprised to hear there was absolutely nothing worth taking a pic of today so, on the topic of crossing state lines, here's a snap from Monday's visit to the Four Corners site.

Oh, and you may have noticed that the tag line at the top of the blog has been changed, thanks to Mr Slater and also Bill who read my article in the Currie & Balerno News for pointing this out.

Trying to finish on some sort of a bright spot, I've just realised that, today I went through the halfway mark for the revised trip.

Riding with devils

Day 46, Stage 28 - Flagstaff to Holbrook
94 miles in 7hrs 45mins (incl. 3 punctures, another 12" of Subway and some unplanned, self-inflicted resistance training)
Total Distance - 2,361 miles
After a week of an enforced break it was time to load up the new bike, get on the road again and hope both it and I held together.

It was a pleasant sunny 20C when I set out towards this morning's puncture which was particularly early and explosive as after only 8 miles the rear wheel let go. Once fixed I turned down the ramp to rejoin the I40 interstate which is to be my home for next, I hate to think how long but I reckon about 1,000 miles. Now I'm sure any sports psychologist will tell me that's completely the wrong attitude to start this leg of the journey with but when the guidebook has one of the highlights of today's stage being a billboard of a jackrabbit then you can probably understand why I not exactly looking forward to this part.

The sky rapidly started to cloud over and I could see the storms breaking out all around me. I knew it was a matter of time before I needed my rain jacket for the first time since I left Oregon and around 35 miles I could see my luck was about to run out as I looked down the road to see a storm had developed ahead of me. And this was no ordinary storm as the clouds were the same shade of orange as I'd seen at Mexican Hat on Monday. I was on my way to a meeting with a duststorm. As I got closer I realised that the streaks in the sky weren't just rain going downwards. The storm front was filled with about four or five mini-tornados, or dust devils as I think they're know in this part of the world. They weren't small either reaching some hundreds of feet onto the sky. Two of them stood out, one disturbingly large one off a quarter of a mile or so to the left of the highway and the tallest and next biggest off to the right. As I got closer the one to the left was clearly heading off away from me, the other one, however, was neither moving left nor right, it was just getting bigger.

Despite having never seen one of these before, like many people, I have a strange attraction to these cyclonic entities but it's coupled with a healthy dose respect, and fear. As I rode on, it continued to get bigger and closer. About 100 yards away, with the bike having sail-like aerodynamics the respect and fear took over and, a touch reluctantly, I eased on the brakes and stopped to watch the towering, rapidly spinning column of dust dance for a moment on the verge about 20 yards away from me before vanishing as it moved across the road only to become visible again moving away on the other side. Utterly captivating.

The wall of chocking dust then engulfed me and I struggled on badly through gusty winds and minimal visibility (probably only around 20 metres) for the next few miles. During this time I looked down to see the back wheel squirming around on the tarmac. Puncture number two had arrived. Actually somewhat thankful I turned off the road to fix it only to discover that the back brake had been on since puncture number one 30+ miles ago. I had thought it had been a bit of a slog since then!

The dust settled I set off again on to Winslow where I stopped at Subway for 'breakfast at 1.30pm after 57 miles' (there had been absolutely nothing for the past 40 miles).

The road continued dry to just short of Joseph city where I realised I was about to be engulfed by a pretty meaningful rainstorm, and worse still, the rear tyre was squirming around again on it's way to flat number three. The rain arrived en masse, the temperature dropped to only 12C and my toys and pram became disassociated by quite some distance. Then the Tourettes came back (I'm beginning to worry a bit about it's frequency)

I arrived very wet in Holbrook to find the surreal Wigwam Motel shown in the pic. along with two machines both with punctured rear wheels.

My biking Haj

Day 43 to 45 - Flagstaff to Moab and back
Approx. 750 miles in the car to do 12 miles on the bike over 4 hours
Apologies for the infrequent blogging but the past three days have been all about me being on a once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage to go anticlockwise round a lump of sacred rock along with fellow believers. My trip to the holy land of mountain biking that is The Slickrock Trail at Moab, Utah has been completed, and I am a believer.

With my new machine being prepared I picked myself up a hire car and set off northwards (not east) with a long trip ahead but a very definite purpose to reach my destination. However, it wasn't all about arriving though, as I would be travelling through numerous sights along the way including the legendary Monument Valley.

The 170 miles up to the Valley went through a chillingly harsh, hot and desolate desert landscape in which the most notable event was being stopped by the locally sheriff - I honestly didn't see the sign! He either believed me or didn't want the trouble of filling out a ticket for someone from out the country so I proceeded on until I caught my first sight in the distance of the towering monoliths of rock. It really is a weird, weird place. At least with the Grand Canyon it's possible to fathom an explanation for how it formed, but this place just doesn't seem to make sense neither geologically nor gravitationally. Still, as impressive as it was, I must admit that it was one of those sights of which I've probably seen far too many perfect pictures in glossy tourist magazines, and in guides, and on TV for it to really have that much of an impact. So I pressed on, ever so slightly disappointed.

The next 170ish miles to Moab were far from disappointing, though, as the route passed through and around unexpected geological gem after geological gem from the sublime beauty of the Natural Bridges National Park to the wonderfully ridiculous stone that is Mexican Hat to the downright insanity that is the gravel hairpin climb on Highway 261 somehow taking the road up the seemingly sheer cliff to look down on the Valley of the Gods. Now there's a place to be.

I think that having been brought up in Scotland I'm so used to scenery being rounded and smoothed by millenia of wind, rain and ice that, as a result the huge, dry, angular rocks around here are such a contrast to what I'm used to I find them fascinating.

I finally arrived in Moab seeking out a motel located directly across the road from both the bike shop and the microbrewery. An above average motel but absolutely perfect place.

The next morning I set off with hired bike to grace the hallowed ground where I proceeded to get all of 15 yards down the trail before being dumped unceremoniously off the back of the bike on the first sharp climb. Not the graceful beginning I was hoping for. Still, I didn't care, I was grinning like a fool and didn't stop doing so all the way round in the 95F heat with the sun glaring off the pink rocks.

The track itself is a twisting, undulating roller coaster along unfeasibly grippy rock causing the unclimbable not to be so and rendering slopes ridable that would normally send you down sideways straight to the bottom. And in this place the bottom can be several tens of feet below. 'Experienced riders' only it says on the sign, and rightly so. The route is marked out with road-like white dashes on the rock which you might be able to make out on the pic. If there's a bigger high you can get from chasing white lines then I don't know it. So, is it the best mountain bike track I've ever been on? In all honesty probably not, Glentress and the Corrieyairack Pass both beat it in my book, but this place is about so much more than just the quality of the trail. It's about a magazine article I read over 15 years ago announcing this place to the world and knowing then I wanted to ride it someday. After all, is St Andrews the best golf course ever? Or is Monaco the best Grand Prix track? They're probably not but is there anywhere else you'd rather drive or drive.

On the route back I took a rather long detour to stop in at the Four Corners monument, the only place in the US where the borders of four states meet (and yes, I did check on a map cause I didn't believe it either). Then, having been not entirely blown away by Monument Valley on the way up I decided to give it another chance so set off in the hope of seeing it in the sunset. As I approached Mexican Hat I noticed that the cloud low on the horizon to the south was not a type or colour I've seen before. As I drove further towards it I hoped and then realised what it was, it was a duststorm, heading my way. Then just as I realised the near-setting sun emerged from below the low cloud spectacularly illuminating the approaching wall of sand. I practically crashed the car off the side of the road such was my desire to get out and watch the event unfolding and I stood transfixed in my socks and cycling gear. Who knows what the locals must have thought. As the combination of dust and darkness engulfed the Monuments I sped down the road to home for the night which saw me settle down on a campsite in the middle of The Valley to be awoken this morning by the eerie yet enchanting howls and barks of the village dogs echoing endlessly off the towering cliff walls. I left the Valley for a second time, though this time with not a grain of disappointment.

Looking to tomorrow, I've just picked up the new machine and all looks well for now though I'm not entirely convinced the wheels will survive with what I'm about to put them through.

Here's hoping though.

Plan B

Day 42 - I have a cunning plan

With my mother leaving to head up to Monument Valley it was a day of looking round bike shops for me. Everyone I spoke to was more than a touch shocked that I'd managed to break the frame, especially a Cannondale. Alas all were agreed that it's toast so it was a case of new bike which I think I've managed to source from Absolute Bikes here in Flagstaff. Rather than rush the guys to get the bike ready quickly I've decided to hired a car up to Moab to go cycling there, coming back down to Flagstaff to set off on Wednesday.

In the meantime, this break has given me a spare moment to actually get round to replying to all the many messages that I've been very grateful to receive over the past few weeks. They've all been much appreciated.

Angus - thanks again for all your help at the start in Seattle. Was that really only six weeks ago?
Brent - you'd have loved this trip as there's an awful lot of fascinating bird life to be seen on it. All ornithological, of course!
Clarky - get that machine in your hallway dusted off and out on the streets then we can set up a VJ Capital bike racing team once I'm back sponsored by the profits of the various VJC enterprises.
Col - I'm thinking I might consider cycling to the Hearts European matches given third place is secured. Happy days.
Dave H - yeah, Dave, you hear that, European football trips. Still, guess you can console yourself with the fact I'm buying you several kegs of beer given your team's promotion into some lower league.
Dave L - this new bike I'm getting has strange things called drop bars. Am I in danger of turning to the dark side of cycling?
Donna - just on from your comment about the headwind on the way the Everest base camp. Did you hear anything about a guy called Goran Kropp and his Himalayan adventure when you were there by any chance? That guy surely had the best (and toughest) cycling expedition ever having cycled from Sweden to Everest Base camp with, if I remember right, about 100kg of bike+kit. He then proceeded to climb Everest solo. Leaves me feeling like a complete amateur.
Grahame - just one request, please, no more puns.
Grant - real shame you couldn't make it over here. You'll need to head over sometime in the future for some hiking in the Canyon
Inzer - you did ask what I think about on the bike for 8-12 hours a day. Pretty simple really, for the first half it was about 'what's hurting the most? And how do I move to ease the pain?' while lately it's been a mixture of 'how do I stay awake', and 'just how much hotter is it going to get?'. Three simple questions but they've probably kept me occupied for over half the miles.
James - believe me, for a few minutes your 'pack up the bike' suggestion was very tempting.
John & Joan - thanks for the message. It's a shame blogs weren't up and running when Lynn did her mammoth trip.
Kenny - I managed to see the HK sevens pics on Facebook. Congrats, you easily beat Clarky in terms of looking ridiculous.
Lynn - thanks very much for the sponsorship. I took your advice and took a trip to Pier 39 in San Fran - great food and a comical collection of sealions.
Pete - thanks for all the tips and advice in the early weeks. Was great to have a second opinion there to keep me in check. Hope you enjoyed your holiday. Now get yourself training for the Corrie!
Philippa - keep doing those laps on the Isle of Dogs route. Trust me cycling is more fun than working.
Sandra - I hope Grahame isn't causing too much trouble while the rest of us are away
Sloany - is VJ Capital Sports Betting running a book on me finishing this trip? If so what are the odds?
Sara - trust me, Highway 1 is a lot more painful on a bike than it looks to be in a car. I think you had the right idea.
Sarah - was nice to meet you at Treebones as well. Hope you're not rushing to get a job. And the Big Sur pics look great by the way.
Simon - any chance you can tell that lot next door to get a move on and initiate on the mid-caps? I've been long one co. for weeks awaiting them to come out with a buy rating on it.
Sue - hey don't knock it, Victoria Park is a start. By the way, you wouldn't believe how much time I've spent in the saddle wishing I was sitting in the beer garden of the Captain Kidd with a chilled ale.
Wayne & Stacey J - once again just to say I really appreciated you putting me up in Seattle. That easier and less stressful start to the whole trip has probably been the difference to me finishing one or two of the stages on the way here. Oh, and do you do deliveries for your Jack Daniels spaghetti? Please!
Wayne S - hope your coping with being out numbered by the Parkers once again.

I think and hope that's everyone but I'm really, really sorry if I missed you out (and there have been a few anonymous comments as well).

Thanks again
Fraser

Grand Canyon traffic jam

Day 41 - Automobile day
After yesterday's dash down and up the Canyon it's payback time today as my legs feel more painful today than they have anytime all trip. As a result I was grateful to be sitting in the passenger seat as my mother drove through various state parks on the way to Flagstaff where I hope to be able to rectify the lack of ridable bike situation.

In the meantime, here's a less scenic pic from yesterday's hike.

A river runs through it

All the posters, signs and guide leaflets are quite specific round here - "Do not attempt to hike down to the Colorado River and back in one day"

Err, oops!

With no bike to ride tomorrow, today didn't need to be a rest day. So, on the way back from having watched the sunrise over the Canyon I spotted a sign pointing to the start of the Bright Angel Trail - one of the infamous mule trails down from the rim. Now that looks like fun, I thought (well minus the mule). So I packed up some kit and set off for a long and hot reverse climb (descent first then climb out). The signs and posters were absolutely everywhere warning just how tough it can be down these trails, and to be fair, I can't really blame them as some of the shapes and sizes of folk I saw down there I'm certain wouldn't dream of climbing a hill the same elevation as they were descending (3,000ft) obviously only to then have to climb out in the afternoon heat. Rather than give myself a target place to get to I just decided to use the mountaineering favourite of setting a time at which I would turn back, wherever I was. In this case, having set out at 8am I chose 11.30. I set of at pace down the seemingly impossible trail zipping past the crowds until I hit traffic, Grand Canyon traffic, as I found myself staring at a mule's @rse, indeed nine of them for the next half hour on a track not wide enough to get past. Now this was not really the stunning views which I'd planned for the day! A hairy short cut at one of the hairpins got me (closely accompanied by a football-sized boulder) ahead of the train and I bound on down the remainder of the path, into the growing heat, continually marvelling at both the scenery (obviously) but also the trail as it snaked it's way down, around, under and even through the rock before it finally brought me down to the mighty Colorado at 11.10. A quick bit of lunch and bathing later and I set out bang on 11.30 on the 8 mile, 5,000+ft climb out. I knew it would be longer to get back up than the 3hrs 10mins it took me to get down (when I hadn't been hanging about, with the exception of the mules) and had assumed that, perhaps, five and a half hours would be reasonable. Well, It did take me longer than the descent, all of 5 mins longer. I really don't know how I did it. Maybe I have gotten quite fit.

As for the much more important bigger picture issue of not actually having a bike to ride on my Ride Across America, the plan is to head to either Flagstaff or Moab tomorrow to investigate the bike shop options in one of those towns and make a new plan from there.

Today, though, it was all about this astonishing place.

Nothing could prepare me for this...

Day 39, Stage 27 - Seligman to the Grand Canyon
109 miles in 10hrs 10 mins (incl. 2 punctures, three food stops and
ONE OTHER VERY NOTABLE DELAY, more of which below)
Total distance - 2,255 miles
The alarm got reset a number of times as I woke feeling even more exhausted than I had yesterday morning (and I'd felt pretty awful then). So, the prospect of 100+ miles with another 5,000ft of climbing up to around 7,000ft was pretty far from appealing. Still, the bike would be mercifully light today with my mum taking most of the kit and I had the not-inconsiderable carrot of a rest day at the Grand Canyon ahead. This was also likely to be a bit of an emotional destination for me as I remember my dad once saying to me many many years ago when I was a kid that it was the one place over all others that he really wanted to go to. I'd always remembered that and had said to myself that if I ever had the money I would treat him and my mum to a trip here. I now have the means, but all too late.

This morning's plan was to join Route 66 for the first 25 miles into Ash Fork but what I'd thought was a junction turned out to be an underpass so it was back onto the interstate for that stint (after yet another Subway stop, this one after only one mile). During this first few miles I pulled over for a drink on the climb out of Seligman and listened to drone of the endless stream of trucks passing by. Then as I stood there suddenly there was an almighty 'bang' as one of the big rigs had a F1-style engine blow up of spectacular proportions leaving a trail of smoke billowing across the highway through the early morning sky. I got back on my bike, rode past the stricken giant, looked down and my legs dancing on the pedals. 'Go on', I thought to myself, 'the 20 tons and 1000-or-so horsepower beast can't make it up here but I can'. My ego was suitably boosted and I felt awake for the day.

Stripped down to just the absolute minimum of kit the bike felt remarkably lively compared to the tank-like handling when fully laden. It was like jumping into a sports car having been driving a wallowing 4x4 for hundreds of miles. As such, I decided this would be known as my 'Lotus Day', given that company's reputation for making minimalist speed machines. It did cross my mind that perhaps this was tempting fate given the reputation of said brand - Lots Of Trouble Usually Serious. Still, I stuck with it.

The 800ft I'd climbed were then quickly given up (and a bit) in the run down to Ash Fork where I stopped in a garage to refuel ahead of the 2,000ft climb I knew was just ahead. Fed and watered I jumped back on the bike only to realise I had got my seemingly obligatory morning puncture (three in three days). Once fixed the climb beckoned and I set out on it knowing there was a slow 12-15 miles ahead. I switched the gps off at the bottom with it showing around 5,000ft as I really didn't want to know how much I still had to go and expected the 'Elevation 6,000ft' road sign to let me know I was halfway up. But after 12 miles of not particularly taxing climbing I hadn't seen it. I stopped and nervously switched the gps back on as I really feared what sort of a monster last few miles of climbing remained, but to my surprise and relief it showed I was only 100ft from the summit. And for once, it wasn't lying.

The signs then took me off the interstate pointing in the direction of the long, almost dead straight road to the canyon. Now you know that strange feeling you can get at the edge of a cliff or on the top of a hill where you're drawn towards it to look just that little bit further over. Well, as I looked up the road towards the horizon, despite being 60 miles away, I got that feeling. A feeling that there was something unbelievably vast up there, and it was pulling me in to look into it.

I resisted it's pull for a brief few minutes for another snack stop after 55 miles. Cue puncture number two. Yup, maybe 'Lotus Day' was a bad idea, I thought to myself. Still, two punctures is only inconvenient, not exactly 'Serious', I told myself.

The road continued straight on for a further 45 miles, about halfway through which I had made the mistake of mentally telling myself the stage was done for the day about two hours before I would likely finish. I switched into wind-down mode a bit too much and once stopped, it's extremely hard to get going again.

The cyclocomputer ticked on to show the fifth century in eight stages on the slope up to the entrance to the Canyon Park and I happily chatted to the ranger at the gate about my ride. And then, as I pulled away for the final short five mile stint towards the canyon, for the very first time all trip the enormity of what I'd done hit me. I'd actually ridden my bike here all the way from Seattle. Yeah, I know it's patently obvious to anyone following this blog that that's what I've done but, I've spent the past month in the saddle thinking only day-to-day, even just mile-by-mile at times. It always just been a plan on a bit of paper to me, a collection of stages, one adventure followed by another the next day. But it was only now that I could finally grasp it in it's entirety. It had been a long day at the end of the toughest leg of the trip by far. I was exhausted, emotional, and, for a brief moment, not ashamed to admit I was pleased to be wearing shades.

These final few miles went through smouldering forest during which time I happily saw my mum drive past en route to meet me at one of the lodges nearby.

My 'big picture' thoughts were, however, being distracted by an uneasy sense that all was not well with the bike. Surely not puncture number three, I thought. Or is it the spokes on the new (not LA new but Vegas new) real wheel coming loose? Gear cable stretched, perhaps? I just couldn't figure it out despite a number of stops to have a prod around; spokes? Check. Tyre pressure? Check. Gear cable? Check. Quick release, hub, gear mech, sprockets? All checked out ok. But every time I got back on the gears kept jumping and the wheel looked like it had a strange inconsistent wobble in it. I was totally foxed so I stopped yet again, a mile from the canyon edge and took the rear wheel out the frame...

...now I had said a few days ago that I got the feeling the bike was struggling, well I now discovered what that distinctive spoke-breaking-like twang of metal fatigue had been on Monday morning, and again twice this afternoon. At the exact moment I had been having a mini 'breakdown' myself the bike had decided to have a major, and I'm almost certain terminal one. The frame was snapped clean through the right lower chainstay.

Bummer, was my immediate thought. But within a matter of seconds, I surprised myself with how upbeat I was, considering. 'Could have happened at a much worse time and place'. 'Another challenge to overcome'. 'Could have hurt. Lots!' Though they weren't all positive - "Effing 'Lotus Day'". Still, I wasn't even close to despondent.

I still couldn't see the canyon from where I was so hung my helmet on the handlebars and pushed the bike along the final few hundred yards to the edge and just stood there utterly speechless.

Nothing can prepare you for the enormity of this place. Nothing. And I'm not even going to try to put it into any more words because they are just too crude a tool for here.

It was a further three miles of pushing through inquisitive groups of people, a number of whom wanted my picture - and how much of an ego boost do you think that is folk wanting a picture of you given the alternative thing to be snapped nearby! I finally found the lodge with my somewhat relieved poor mother standing outside.

Obviously plans are completely up in the air at the moment (beyond waking in three hours to watch the sunrise) but I've a number of options and I definitely intend to figure out some way to complete the quest. Still, it's been a memorable day in many ways, not least because today I've outlasted both a truck and my bike.

I'll show you a place, high on the desert plain...

Day 38, Stage 26 - Kingman to Seligman
78 miles in 7hrs 40mins (incl. 1 full tub of Pringles stop and yet another puncture
Total distance - 2,166 miles
I thought that yesterday had probably taken a lot out of me and, as I climbed the ramp onto the interstate at Kingman to set out this morning I realised I was wrong. It had taken more than a lot out of me. I felt empty; weak and exhausted. I stayed that way for the first hour-or-so, during which I felt my eyes closing with tiredness more than once. Which is really not a good thing while pedalling alongside passing trucks. I was seriously worried and even more so when, 18 miles in the road sign proudly advertised 56 miles to the next services. 56 miles I knew included a 1800ft climb. Having stuffed as much food into me as I could (including a whole tub of Pringles) I rolled, still half asleep, down the valley to the bottom of the climb.

And then came yet another puncture. I knew then that there was no chance I'd be able to make it the 70 miles further I'd planned for the day and wasn't even sure I could make it another 7 miles. To make it worse it was warming up again with the temperature already at 30C. Having fixed the puncture I got back on the bike and suddenly felt awake for the first time today and felt even better the more I climbed. The altitude also brought with it a drop in temperature down to a still-hot-but-survivable 27C. What was most striking though was the change in vegetation. It's a pretty basic rule of nature is it not that things are green and lush in the valleys and then as you go up, the plants and trees become smaller and more sparse? Not here it's not as the climb brought me from a land of small shrubs and dry orange soil onto the desert plains at 5,000ft, a place of trees and almost green fields. I even saw the first bit of naturally running water since leaving LA 500 miles ago. I suppose it makes sense given the temperature round here but it was just a bit of a (very pleasant) surprise just how much life there appears to be up here. However, one thing I couldn't make sense of on the climb were these rock/earth strata in the pic. and I found myself standing at the side of the side of the interstate for a good while trying to figure out a sequence of events to explain them. No idea though.

Then 7 miles outside Seligman the phone rang and it turned out that, by chance, my mum had just sat down for food in a cafe there. So I sped down the final few miles to meet her and I think she now realizes just why the topic of food is such a regular topic in my blog having seen how much I ate.

Another 100 mile day ahead tomorrow up to another geological (or should that be geographical?) wonder - the Grand Canyon. Can't wait. And to make it even better I've been able to put ninety percent of my kit in my mum's rental car as I'll be meeting her there at the end of the day. Not quite in the true spirit of touring cycling, I know, but makes for a pleasant, and hopefully fast, change.

Pretty, Dam, Big

Day 37, Stage 25 - Las Vegas to Kingman 108 miles in 12hrs 35 mins (incl 1 puncture and one very long lunch)
Total distance - 2,088 miles
The toughest day in the saddle so far. If the distance & time stats aren't bad enough then here's a few more; total climbing ~4,500ft, temp above 95 for most of the day, and worst of all a 20mph near direct headwind for about 60 miles.

I'd set my alarm for 5.30 with the plan to get as far down the road before it really warmed up and ahead of the headwind that was forecast to strengthen through the day. So at 7am I pushed the bike out the front doors of the New York New York hotel I'd been staying at and found it was already warm. This was going to be a tough day. Still, if all went well then I figured I could be finished just after 3pm. However, things didn't start well though as the front tyre was flat before I'd got out of Vegas (a city I'd definitely go back to). Having fixed this I continued on through Boulder City where I stocked up on another 4 inner tubes and the cyclocomputer went through 2,000 miles without me realizing. The road then wound down to the site of today's pic., the Hoover Dam. As impressive and iconic a structure it is, it was actually the incomplete new freeway bridge with it's vast unconnected arch suspended in mid air that blew me away (sorry, pics didn't turn out).

The climb out from the dam was a nervous, shoulder-less slog but once up I got my first taste of the views of the endless desert ridges and canyons in this part of the world. While the forests of giant redwoods made me feel like a three year old, this place made me fell like an insignificant ant, and one that was being scorched under a magnifying glass as it was near 35C by then.

50 miles in the road dropped into a sprawling plateau, heading straight into the strengthening, warming wind and my long, hot, painfully-slow grind of an afternoon-going-on-evening began and continued til just after sunset when I gratefully coasted down from Coyote Pass into Kingman.

Lots more I'd like to say about today but, sorry, I really must sleep, I'm afraid. Planning another century for tomorrow, but should hopefully have a tailwind to push me up the further 4,000ft of climbing.

Totally Exhausted.

Mother's Day pic

Mother's Day

Day 36 - another rest day in Vegas
Does a picture need to say a thousand words when a handful will do? And for those of you who don't know, that actually is my mum in today's pic :)

Setting out for a four day, or hopefully three day, leg down to the Grand Canyon a very early start tomorrow in an attempt to get out the city and as far down route to the Grand Canyon before it hits 100F again.

Oops, IT issue so pic to follow

There's no right angles in nature...

...nor are there any in a Vegas casino it would seem.

Day 35 - ...another rest day, but just done the 10 mile trip back from
the bike shop
Total distance - 1,981 miles

Today was another day with the thermometers into three figures leading the crowds, including myself, into the depths of the immense air conditioned warrens of the casino complexes. As vastly impressive as these places are, while strolling through them I have been asking myself just how many people are actually there cause they want to be and how many are looking for a way out? I had heard that these places are deliberately designed to keep you in them and I've got to say I'm massively impressed by the effort and design that has been put into keeping you in them as I thought I had a fairly reasonable sense of direction, but not in these places I don't it would seem. My theory is it's all about having no right angles in the floor plans, everything is either sweeping curves or 120-135 degree turns. As enormously effective as it is, though, I'm certain there's a thing or two (or more like two million), that the casino guys could learn from the chaps at the Garmin GPS.

Anyway, off out for dinner and this place is fairly near the top of the list of options. You've just gotta love the honesty of this town - it may not be good for you but boy is it fun.

We're gonna need a bigger boattle

Day 34 - Rest Day
...but still 10 miles in 50 mins
Total distance -1,971 miles
Here on the Vegas strip is obviously the wrong side of town to be on if you're looking for a bike shop as I ended up about 10 miles away in the sweltering heat today trying to find the nearest one for another overhaul of my steed. It's been doing an really admirable job given it's a mountain bike and so was never designed for a fully-laden tour in the desert, but I've been sensing that it's been struggling as of late in the heat. Just for the record, the list of breakages/repairs etc so far (incl. this weekend's work) are;

Front wheel - major adjustment and regreasing of hub three separate
times. 1 broken spoke (replaced at Coos Bay)
Rear wheel - 7 broken spokes necessitating 2 full bike shop rebuilds,
one partial shop rebuild and 2 attempted rebuilds by myself
1 broken chain (fixed in Victorville)
1 snapped clamp for rear pannier (thankfully I had spares)
Brake pads - front needing changed within next coulple of hundred miles.
Punctures - at least six, I think. I can't quite remember.

Which brings me onto my main point for today and today's title: water bottles. While at the shop I made the joyous discovery of finding they sold insulated Camelbak water bottles which the mechanics were raving about. I purchased three (and might well get another couple tomorrow)
as the aluminium Sigg bottles I have, as great as they are, were very rapidly overheating over the past few day's stages. Another two bottles would give me a carrying capacity of some 9 litres or liquid (16 pints). I know sounds a ridiculous amount but, as an example, here's a list of my liquid consumption on Wednesday (it's the total below that's the interesting point rather than the details);

Before departing - 0.5 litres water, 0.5 litres sprite/mountain dew
Up to stop at 42 miles - 1.5 litres water
At 42 mile stop - 1 litre strawberry Nesquik, 1 litre water
Mile 42 to Baker (mile 66) - 1 litre Sprite, 2 litres water
At Baker - 1.5 litres Fanta
Baker to 92 mile water stop - 2 litres of horribly warm water, 1 can Sunkist
92 mile stop - 2 litres water
92 miles to stage end - 2 litres water
Dinner/motel room - 1 beer, 1 strawberry milkshake, 1 orange juice (totalling ~ 1.5 litres), 1 litre water

All told a staggering 18 litres, 32 pints, or 4 gallons of liquid - and that was with me having been desparately thirsty for about an hour of the day. Of this probably less than a litre left me by the, err, shall we 'traditional' manner. Hence the reason that when I put the maillot jaune on again yesterday morning I practically needed to crack it it was that encrusted in salts. So, as you can see, 9 litres quickly becomes not such a silly amout.

Well, I'm signing off for the day cause I need a drink.

Vegas Baby!

Day 33, Stage 24 - Primm Valley to Las Vegas
42 miles in 3hrs 20mins (incl. two punctures)
Total Distance - 1,961 miles
After the excersions of the past two monster days, particularly last night's nightmarish ending, I was grateful for today's straightforward and very short run into the glorious insanity that is Las Vegas.

The day started with me pushing the bike out through the gaming floor of the casino I'd been staying which drew a number of puzzled looks from other guests, and some of the staff. Once I got out I quickly saw the front tyre was almost flat. Having changed the tube I then got about half a mile down the road before the 'fixed' tyre was empty once again. This time I fixed it properly and quickly got about 30 forgetable miles down the road in sweltering heat before being 'informed' by a perfectly reasonable highway patrol man that there was an alternate road I should be taking. I took his 'advice' and trundled straight down into the beating heart of the incredible madness that is this city in a sea of sand.

F.E.A.R.

Day 32, Stage 23 - Barstow to 100 yards into Nevada
118 miles in 10hrs - (incl. an awful lot of water stops)
Total Distance - 1,919 miles
After the almost disrespectful way I sped through the desert yesterday, today, it was payback as it gave me a very humbling but strangely beautiful lesson as to just how harsh an environment this can be and that I should, perhaps, treat it with a bit more respect.

I awoke at 7.30 feeling refreshed despite yesterday's mammoth 150 mile day. It was just under 160 miles to Vegas but to stop me getting any ideas of trying to do it in one very long stint (ideas which I definitely had) I deliberately waited until 9.50 before setting out under a cloudless sky, wearing my maillot jaune for the first time. To be honest, I'm generally not to keen on wearing it as I think it's somewhat insulting to the famous jersey for it to be seen on someone of my lowly cycling prowess. Today, though, it was all about wearing it to be seen as I would be venturing onto the interstate for the first time and be on it for most of the day.

I joined it, then quickly left it as the signs sent me onto the side road through Yermo where I planned to stop for breakfast after 13 miles. But after a while I looked down the straight road a few miles and saw no sign of the town. I'd gone 15 miles and I then realised that the tiny collection of houses and one diner I'd passed by had been Yermo. A very smalltown!

So, I continued down the quiet sideroad for a further 10 miles during which the surface rapidly deteriorated into an unridable state so bad that I was grateful to rejoin the speeding trucks on the interstate. Here I rode along happily in the shoulder lane actually enjoying watching the distorted reflections of the vast landscape in the chromed beasts passing by.

One consequence of riding along in the shoulder lane meant there was a little 'game' I was required to play. I'm calling it 'Reptile or Rubber' and the rules are simple. Is the long thin thing ahead on the road just another one of the thousands of strips of tyre that littered the shoulder, or is it a snake sunning itself on the tarmac ready to strike out at a passing cyclist's legs? Thankfully no snakes today but there were a couple of recently dead ones yesterday to add to the two live ones I saw on the way down the coast (though it was only really one and a half live ones thanks to my rear wheel - oops).

This game kept me 'amused' all the way through the first 66 miles into the town of Baker. I got there a little over 4 hours since I'd set off and by then, the payback from yesterday had started. It. Was. Hot. The gigantic thermometer in the town was reading 91F and in the time it took me to finish off another Subway and fix a random puncture it was up to 94F. Disconcertingly, though, it had the potential to go up to 139F. Worrying.

While fixing the tyre a local county policeman wandered over. It turned out he was a cyclist himself and was intrigued and enthusiastic to hear about my the trip. He gave me some helpful advice about the route ahead and wished me well on the trip. While I wasn't at all surprised by his politeness almost everyone I spoke to today asked me if or how often I'd been stopped by the highway patrol for cycling on along the interstate. This is particularly worrying given I was definitely allowed to be on it at those parts (I have checked) but it suggested most folk weren't expecting bikes on the road.

The road out from Baker gave me my first real taste of the the legendary seemingly endless straights that you get in this part of the world. This one was actually only 12 miles, but it also went up some 2,300 feet so as I was only going at 7mph in the searing heat it made for a physically, but more so mentally tough hour and three quarters. The road then took a long sweeping 30 degree turn, and then went up another 900 feet over the next 6 miles. All told it had taken me almost three hours to climb those 18 miles. I was out of water and had been for the past half hour so. My maillot jaune now had a thick frosted coating of sweat salt on it and I had found myself briefly wondering what the moisture content of a passing butterfly was. I was thirsty so I was relieved to see a grand 'Mart on the Hill' sign above the turn-off at the summit. I turned off and climbed the ramp to see a deralict shell of a building. Fortunately, from the summit I could see the rest area (with water) I had already known was about six miles on. So I set off down the road which, for the next mile or
so, was crawling with probably hundreds of thousands of tiny
grasshoppers which made for a truely bizarre ride down a frantically hopping highway.

I reached the water point then quickly left 7kg heavier (five liters in various bottles and two in me). It was 6.20 by now and I was very aware that I only had about 1hr 40mins daylight to cover the 24 miles to the Nevada state border and the town of Primm, my planned destination for the night. The views along the next 9 miles and 1,000ft of climbing up to Mountain Pass were stunning but the ticking clock meant I only had time to take this quick shot. The summit of the pass (4,700ft) came at 7.20 by which time the sun was disappearing behind the peaks and I was beginning to feel a touch nervous about riding the next 15 miles in the fading light. Still, I knew it was a monster downhill off the peak so expected a very fast ride down.

Then, it all went a bit wrong. Actually very, very wrong. I'd anxiously taken notice of the roadworks sign on the climb up the pass and then I was faced with what I'd feared, it was a bright orange sign emblazoned with 'No Shoulder'. I was about to become a highly unwilling player in a new game. But this was one the truck drivers were going to play called 'Dodge the cyclist. The what? Ah, I didn't see him - oops'. To make it worse, even the road workers obviously don't expect cyclists on this part of the interstate as there wasn't a single sign warning for bikes and one thing I've learnt is the Americans will put up a road sign for almost anything (my personal favourite so far has been the 'Kayak Crossing' one in Monterey - yeah, go figure). I paused very briefly to switch on my lights and as the three lanes merged to two I felt the cold embrace of fear on me. This made the cliffs in northern Oregon feel like a minor inconvenience.

The first mile or so was the worst filled with repeated nervous glances over my shoulder to see what was trundling out of the sun. However, these glances sometimes resulted in me drifting a small, but significant amount further out into the lane. So, I calmly put my headphones back in and deceided I was only going to look forward. After all, what could I really do if I was to see 40 tons of steel and diesel on a collision course with me? The road was narrow so there was nowhere else to go. And did I really want my last thought to be knowing I was about to become part of the tarmac? If it was going to happen then, so be it. The fear was still very much there, but there was now a serenity about it. The one thing I could definitely do, though was pedal, hard. This would have the dual benefit of decreasing the traffic's closing speed on me, along with, obviously, meaning I'd spend less time in the 'kill zone'. I've never pedalled harder. In fact I'd be amazed if anyone has every made a more desparate rush for the state line as I was making as I tried to get as close to the 55mph speed limit as I could. The hill was mercifully steep meaning I spent long stints above 40mph feeling the ground rumble to the, thankfully, passing engines.

The shoulder lane finally reappeared some 12.5 miles and fractionally
over 20 mins later.

I was safe ...

...but it's 2.45am and I still can't sleep

Tracks in the sand

Day 31, Stage 22 - Santa Monica to Barstow
150 miles in 11hrs 45mins
Total Distance - 1,801 miles
Yeah, I felt good this morning. Although things actually started considerably earlier than I'd planned as I woke at 3.58am.....unable to get back to sleep. Still, I had planned an early rise anyway to try and beat the rush hour traffic on the 25 mile ride out through the city. Priority number one this morning was riding the bike down the near-deserted Santa Monica beach for the traditional dipping the wheels in the Pacific (see pic). As I said on the video clip I took at the time 'One bike. One ocean. Only 3000 miles to the next one - 6am and I was good to go.'

Then came the next symbolic move of the day, switching my glass lenses from orange to black ready for the desert glare. I was psyched, but strangely calm and had a feeling there was potentially a special cycling day in me for today.

The first few miles were a stop-go nightmare through the grid streets of the city on dreadful roads before I turned up one of the glens to take me through 'The Hills' over into northern LA. There were a number of passes through over the ridge to the north side of the city and while I chose the shortest, I reckon I also must have chosen the highest - a 1,300ft climb past Bel Air golf course that put Big Sur to shame. It was fun though and there's an awful lot of spectacular looking houses up there. A quick descent along Mullholland Drive took me down into a further 10 miles of mind numbing traffic light-filled grids before the GPS went on a mission to p me off that even by it's high standards of unreliability was epic. It's very, very lucky to still be in one piece. However, I finally found a way out the city (with the emphasis on I), and the air noticeably cleared from the smog of the city. Looking back over the city of LA I have to say I really kind of liked it as a place but definitely a case of 'worth seeing but not worth going to see.'

The road continued in undulating climbs for the next 40 miles through Santa Clarita and along the dead quiet Soledad Canyon, complete with the most middle-of-nowhere shop I've seen for a long time from which I was compelled to buy something out of pity. All the climbing (approx 4,500ft), traffic and gps issues (and another 12" of sub) had made for a slow start and it took me just over 6hrs to do those first 60 miles taking me to Munro height of 3,000ft. Still it had been a great morning as the rebuilt wheel was holding up, I had a new set of headphones which were working great and, best of all, my new cycling shorts were hugely comfy (forgot to mention I'd been exposing my rear to who knows how many folk in the past however long having not realized I'd worn through one of my other pairs). This was also my first taste of the desert and my initial thoughts are I love it; warm, clear, quiet and stunning scenery. Just as well I like it as I'm going to be in it for the next month!

I really wasn't sure where I was heading to for this evening but had hoped to post another century to get me a third of the 310 miles to Vegas. I had previously planned this leg as a four day stint, but had recently, tentatively been thinking I might, just maybe, be able to do in three. Therefore, I was tentatively aiming for Victorville, 110 miles from Santa Monica.

Now the weather forecast had been for a strong westerly today though there had been precious little sign of it in those first 60 miles. But I then got out onto the plateau, turned east and found the wind. With the road going almost straight, due east and flat all the way into Victorville, I knew it would be a quick afternoon. Thinking a new hour record for the trip could be on the cards I set off with a vengance and, by the end of the hour through miles of Joshua trees and alongside the incredibly wasteful construction that is the California aqueduct, I'd posted 19.2 miles, easily beating my previous best of the trip of 16.9 on Saturday. Pleased, yes but if I'm honest I was a bit disappointed at missing the 20 mile mark. Still, it would give me a beatable target for later stages in the trip.

I kept pedalling ... and the road got even flatter and better. I got faster, much, much faster. 4.1 miles in 10 mins, 13.3 in 30 mins... and faster... , 20 miles in 43.5 mins. Then, the amusing reality dawned on me, I was going so fast I was going to run out of open road before the hour was up. And so it proved as I raced into the lights and traffic of Victorville. Despite this, I ended up with a 26.6 mile hour - beating, by some margin, my lifetime best of 23 miles. I stopped in the sun and could practically taste the endorphins pouring through my veins. Though I had 112 miles chalked up, I was on such a high there was no way I could stop for the day. And besides, it was far too good a wind to waste. So, I set off in the general direction of Barstow.

In my excitement, though, after a mile I made a cycling schoolboy error of trying to get the chain into big chainring, big sprocket, chewing the chain. An oily 25 mins later it was up and running again, less a link out the chain.

My route then quickly joined the iconic Route 66 for the first time and I danced on the pedals out the saddle pointing with almost manic joy at the Route 66 icons emblazened on the tarmac. My shadow was growing long as I cruised between the lowering sun in the west and the risen moon in the east before the road turned again to let the wind ease me along the final few miles into Barstow where I gratefully pulled into a motel, and the cyclocomputer rolled over to show 150.4 very memorable miles.