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