Tuesday, August 6, 2024
Austin, NV → Fallon, NV
112 miles, 2,310 feet elevation
The Loneliest Road in America. We’ve been talking about this ride since the weekly meetings during the school year, when we ogled at the distance autocalculated by Google Maps on our route spreadsheet. This will be my longest ride, since I got picked up on the 119 miles Tour de France day after 75 miles due to Perpetual Leg Injury. I’m riding Jess’ bike Lily; my bike is sadly out of commission after a subpar repair job. A word to the wise: don’t let a bike mechanic tell you a bike sounds fine when you have never heard those sounds in your life. This was my fumble. Jess and Cleo’s bikes famously accelerate more than the rest of ours on the downhills, and all of a sudden I find myself going 30 out of Austin. I continue to zoom and listen to Pride and Prejudice whenever the wind allows.
I hang onto the elevation profile like a lifeline. All the climbing is in the first half of the day, and it’s not even an insane amount. Yesterday, Amulya and I found out that there are sixteen mountain ranges across the whole stretch of the 50, and calculated that we have 5 left. A book I read described the mountains across the Great Basin Desert as “caterpillars crawling towards Mexico.” They clearly haven’t crawled down fast enough, and now here I am crossing them.
Morning climbs aren’t so bad. In fact, I eat them for breakfast. Right?
I’ve decided that when you have 112 miles to bike, it is literally impossible to do it without putting many small milestones. You can use anything as these milestones. Water break, top of a summit, an inch of shade, an interesting bush, you name it. I don’t really get bored on the bike; I’m usually working too hard to gain any semblance of comfort that boredom builds upon.
Pride and Prejudice cuts out at the top of the summit, right in the middle of Mr. Darcy’s shocking letter to Elizabeth. Dang! I’ve read it before, but this bugs me for the next 15 or so miles. I now only have the fly who’s been buzzing at my sleeve to keep me company. Hopefully he’s okay going 30 miles per hour down this hill. Maybe it’ll give him some relief from the heat that’s been creeping up on us.
I’ve been alone this whole ride, and I only see the rest of the team at mile 64, where we meet in Middlegate, a town of 17 people. I stumble to the adjacent bar to encounter some of life’s simple pleasures: ice water, a Strawberry Shortcake popsicle, and a TV playing Olympic long jumping. The bartender tells us that he encounters cyclists every week, and my first thought is “who would be crazy enough to bike here?”
The final climb’s summit is named “Sand Springs Summit.” Looking around me, all I see is dirt. But as I accelerate down the summit, pale white stretches of sand appear before me. I can imagine the Pony Express riders who took this path galloping through here, the middle of nowhere.
We’ve (actually just me, my fly friend has long departed) entered the last flat miles. I’ve been cruising in a decent mood, but as I hit the flats the headwinds start to hit me. I’m pedaling furiously, but I’m going nowhere, like a hamster on a wheel. The heat is getting to me as well. I plead with the wind to calm down for a bit, but its only answer is quick strong bursts. My body is yelling at me to take breaks every mile or so, and I yell at it back to keep going.
In Sand Springs, past travelers wrote messages to current ones using rocks on the side of the road. Hank and JD see the preamble to the Constitution, which the rest of us miss somehow. Some messages have deteriorated over time, but one makes me stop to turn back and take a photo:
One thing you should know about me, if you don’t already, is that I am a cheesy person. One of my main motivating phrases on this trip has been a sign outside of a Sonic restroom (“Attitude is everything. Pick a good one”). And so “Be Happy” worked wonders on me.
The Midnight Marathon was 52 miles, and 2,000 feet of elevation. The eight of us plus friends did it as a group, not quite a team yet, not yet able to tell each other of our nerves for the trip. We finished around 2am at the Boston Marathon finish line, surrounded by hundreds of other bikers. I remember Sophia’s brilliant grin as she met the rest of the group, and the way my chest leapt with joy when I saw my friend waiting for me after the infamous lonely tunnel at the end of the ride.
Why didn’t I have that joy anymore? I wish I could feel that grinning joy when I accomplished things in Spokes. Midnight Marathon Rebecca would be delighted at the distance we’ve made.
Alone on the bike, I picture Cleo zooming past me, bopping to dance music played openly into the air. Cleo often zig zags as she bikes on uphills, making her appear as a meandering traveler, taking in the sights around her. In Zion, Cleo told me that biking felt like something her body was meant to do. I think she allows herself to feel biking, all the joy and uncertainty and power, in a way that I’ve been too reserved and anxious to. And so I try to feel the joy. I stop looking at the number of miles and sing to my music.
That was pretty cheesy right? I hope you understand me a little better now. I think we all know biking is more complicated than just “Be Happy.”
Some things simply can’t be enjoyed, as much as the vision of Cleo dancing on her bike motivated me. The commonplace dull ache of my knees sharpened to a real pain, burning with each revolution of my pedal. The trick when this happens is not to pedal less, but to drop a gear and pedal more frequently. Your knee doesn’t have to use as much force and it reduces more injury, at the expense of discomfort right now. The other trick would be to stop biking for many weeks.
In Osawatomie, I interrupted our host Jeff, who was also a doctor, while he was washing dishes, and asked him when pain from tendonitis was too much. He very plainly and directly told me that I should and could power through it. “Some doctors would recommend that you take 6 weeks off biking. But that’s not what you’re here to do.” I am here to bike, and so that’s what I do.
At mile 95, I ice my knee, sitting on the cooler in the van’s AC. Jess tells me there are 17 miles left, and mercifully doesn’t tell me how hot it is. My bones are tired.
Maybe it’s the headwinds, or the heat, or the exhaustion, or the knees, but I’m pedaling feebly in a low gear, averaging 11 miles per hour. I accidentally see the temperature now that I have service. It’s 99 degrees. I may never get off this bike. I’m trying to do the math to see how much longer I have to bike, but I’m slowing down so the number of minutes doesn’t actually change. To be honest, I have no idea how I get to the pool where we’re taking showers. By all means I should still be biking right now.
I need to take off my shoes, and I’m compelled to sit at the pool as I do so. The rich blue of its bottom is the most brilliant thing I’ve ever seen compared to the browns and yellows of the past 10 hours. Lifeguards are teaching kids how to swim while parents peacefully look on. It almost feels like a regular summer day. I just saw kids at sports practices at the adjacent park. My head is quiet, zapped of its usual monologues. I take the best shower of the summer.
We’re staying at our learning festival location, the Fallon Youth Club. I’m picturing a middle school bungalow, and I’m wowed by the beautiful building, a resort for kids. The amount of Legos is insane. I’ll leave it to Jess’ blog to talk more about this wonderful place, since most of its life is given by the kind staff and children we interact with at the learning festival. Shannon, our host, has prepared us a warm meal. Focaccia, sweet potatoes, watermelon… I’m face down in the food for a while.
It’s not a proper Spokes day, at this point in the trip, without diving into some of the 36 questions. One of today’s is especially exciting: “Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner.” We go around the table and each person compliments the other 6. And then we all text Cleo with our appreciation for her. Because I can, and it’s not like this blog isn’t long enough, here’s what I admire about the rest of the Spokes team:
JD: JD looks at everything with such curiosity (like this turtle!), and I've never left a conversation with him without learning something. His love of animals makes me very happy.
Varsha: Varsha cares about the team so much, and is one of the first people I turn to when I need advice or support on this trip. She approaches everything she does with care and passion (except for when she asked me to buy a soccer ball and never inflated it, cursing it to be one of the random nonsense things floating around the car 😬).
Amulya: If I need a laugh or cheering up, I'll go talk to Amulya. I appreciate her stupid jokes and her impeccable comedic timing. Sometime I'll just think of things she's said and start laughing.
Hank: Hank is what I would call sleeper hilarious. We'll just be sitting around and out of nowhere he'll say something incredibly stupid and witty. Also, he is genuinely kind and helps to ground our team ("You need to calm down").
Sophia: Sophia is a total inspiration. We're all collectively wowed by her pursuit of adventure after Spokes (I have been ignoring my future). She also is an incredible cook and has been making people's favorite meals.
Cleo: As Sophia once said, talking to Cleo is like having your brain scratched. The team hasn't been as joyous without her. She also is very thoughtful and perceptive and seeks to make sure others are okay.
Jess: Jess is an incredibly thorough and effective person, and I'm always wowed by it. I 100% trust her to get through a crazy mind boggling logistical crisis. She makes the route, which is no easy task, and she has successfully kept us from not dying on some abandoned road in western Colorado or something. Thanks for my life Jess!
If you're reading this, you probably know at least one of these people, so I hope this rings true and helps you learn more about our team. They are pretty amazing :)
-Rebecca
Amazing!! All of you!!!