Day 10: 26 miles/260 ft. climb
An easy day, a nice follow up to the big crossing of the Midland Hills/New York Mountains. I awoke to find an astonishing amount of moisture in and on the tent–everything soaked, almost as bad as camping beside the Great Lakes during my transcontinental tour in 2007. And, of course, lots of solid grey clouds blocked the sun so that temperatures climbed only very slowly, and the soaking tent refused to dry. Ugh. I lingered and lingered, staggered about with one coffee, ate breakfast, had another coffee. I was able to somewhat dry the sleeping bag but gave up on the tent and stuffed its sodden yards into the bag for later drying. I REALLY wanted a sunny, lazy morning, but the road gods had other plans. Still, the riding would be mostly downhill, even if only marginally, so the gods took away and gave back some, too.
Lots of sand marked the day’s progress, once again surfing the sandy creosote seas. I was very grateful for the 2.8 inch knobbies and decided that 3.0’s would not be too much tire for this route. I was grateful, too, for the direction I was riding. Coming UP this track with a loaded bike would be tedious indeed. As I sailed it, I could maintain a good head of steam and float over much of the softest bits, occasionally fish-tailing and fighting for control. Great fun! And generally fast–speeds in the low/mid-teens kept me motivated. The spindly greenery flanking the route flew by and I rolled and rolled and rolled, chugging miles like cold beers on a hot afternoon.
Eventually I hit Goffs, a 19th Century town that came into its own with the booming traffic of Old Route 66. WWII saw fifteen thousand soldiers stationed here to learn desert warfare. But then the big Hwy 40 went in, and the town dried up and blew away, now some key buildings restored by a few loving people to commemorate this historic site. I ate lunch and contemplated the flow of time.
By 2pm, I was in Fenner, the roar of the highway and the occasional train, the glow of the lamps above the pumps, all meant a marginal night. But there was food, water, a brewski or two. Life could be much worse. I would endure. Talks with Jodi and my buddy Bill in Prescott helped ease the loneliness of the long distance 29’er. Time for more food, perhaps another brew, maybe some Netflix if it would stream. Tomorrow, it would be the industrial noise of riding Hwy 40 for to Needles and a motel–with showers.
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