Day Six: Wild, Wild Horses

Day Six:  Wild, Wild Horses

Miles: 59

Climb: 3075

Ave. spd.: 9.3 mph

The night was everything I needed.  The winds died and no one camped nearby with a ukulele.  Quiet. Solitary. I lingered a short while in the bed but finally dragged myself out at 6:30AM.  Severe clear. I rolled out shortly after 8AM, ready for the long climb. Almost always low angle--about 3%--I was able to chug and chug the miles under a perfect sky, even  a slight tailwind. Glorious.

At close to the 2,000 ft. level, I took a break and was caught up by a day rider, Steve.  We chatted for some time about cycling and my route, which he knew well. Another desert rat.  Soon he took off only to tag the 2,000 ft. level and head back down. I was all about up up up.  I needed some extra octane in the tank and opted for Sheryl Crow--like Steve McQueen. Her punchy rhythms set just the right pace.  By 11:30 I’d cracked the pass--cool and clear. I wolfed down a mini-lunch and rolled off for Death Valley Junction, where lunch #2 would meet its end in front of the old Opera House.

I lounged in the warm sun, reluctant to come to grips with the remaining 27 miles, but it was already 1:30PM, so I knew that a 4PM finish time was likely--getting late for this time of year.  

I think, for the first time ever, I didn’t have a raging tailwind so had to actually pedal more forcefully than usual on this gently down-trending line through empty desert.  The traffic was light, an occasional truck or auto. Usually I pedalled alone, no one visible north or south. I stopped once for short rest and revelled in the shocking silence--nothing but a distance crow and a ringing in my ears to mark the passage of time.  I heard the cartilage crunch in my neck as I surveyed the rugged Mojave shimmering in the afternoon light. In the distance a trio of wild horses meandered towards a soaring peak of jagged volcanic rock. I pushed on.

Tired, ready for the end, at 4PM, I did finally roll into Shoshone as the shadows drew long and deep. Camp, shower, quickly as the light faded, then off to the store and the Crowbar Cafe for dinner. For the first time, I used the bike lights to find my way into the main part of town, my flashers blazing into the late January night.

Before heading out to dinner, some uppity RV chump got all up in my grill. I showed him what badass trikers from Bishop can do:

Let's just say that recumbent trikers are a force to be reckoned with.

At the cafe, I encountered Billy and his partner. Billy was a long time cyclist and tourer who was fascinated by my setup.  He’d recently retired as a local fire fighter and was ready to get back in shape. I missed her name, but his partner was a lovely woman and bodyworker.  We all talked around the table as they watched me eat, having already just finished their own meal. I was grateful for the friendly company, one of those random encounters that make cycle touring so special.

I struck out on some items at the store but SCORED the date nut bread from the local grove.  Oh, there is a God, and he/she/it makes this bread to make life wonderful. I will eat too much.  And that’s okay. A big day looms tomorrow. I’m sore and a stiff from the riding. My legs hum and vibrate from the miles, so I think it’s an ibuprofen kind of evening.

Tomorrow, early start, Baker post office for supplies, load up and head out into the East Mojave for a wild camp most excellent. And I’ll get to talk to Jodi! Been on voice lock down for days.  But first, some date nut bread.