There were rumours that we were trying to hit the small town of Pollock Pines, a mere 75mile ride away – albeit laced with a few mountainous sections. The highest pass we would have to cross today is Spooner Summit at a modest 7146ft above sea level.

The <insert collective noun> of tourers, now seven strong, set off to conquer the last of the mountains just before lunchtime. It is a bizarre (but equally awesome) feeling to be finally sharing this experience with a group of fantastic, like-minded people. After riding solo for so long it really is invigorating to have friendly company and jovial banter.

As we started to climb the 3 or 4 mile ascent my chain came off and jammed in between the frame. My gears had seemingly slipped out of alignment and as I tried to go lower than first gear, the bike essentially laughed at me. I was a few metres behind the gang and they didn’t notice as I stopped to fix it. Unfortunately it wasn’t a quick fix, I couldn’t get to the rear set of cogs to unjam the chain. I had to unload all the bags off my bike, angrily poke, prod and pull random parts and then finally reload. By this point, everyone was out of sight and it wasn’t for another 30 mins until I caught them up. They were taking a Jolly Rancher break.

The Lincoln Highway was proving to be a worthy opponent, but we kept chipping away at it. The higher we got, the more spectacular the views became. Not stopping for ten minutes at every vantage point to take a picture takes a lot of restraint. Therefore, most of the pictures you see are taken whilst on the bike. I think it’s a skill in itself, especially when you’re trying to frame the photo, doing 35mph downhill and holding the heavy bike steady with one hand. Some people would just call me stupid, but I see myself as being dedicated to the cause.

More climbing ensued and those that were up at the front kindly waited at the summit, we had conquered these little molehills and so began our descent towards Lake Tahoe. The breathtaking views of the lake were nearly nullified by the idiocy of a woman driver who got caught in two minds at a merging junction. Stopping right in front of Steven instead of merging, meant that he had to slam his breaks on and swerve to avoid hitting the car. In the process he came off the bike but thankfully only his pride was bruised and his bike was still in one piece.

We stumbled across Zephyr Cove, a beautiful location, making the perfect excuse for an impromptu meal stop. It was at this point I told the guys that I’ll be finding a place to stay in Tahoe tonight, this place was just to gorgeous to not spend a few hours here. Tim did some magic, and scored us an evening in a cabin staying at a Warm Showers host. That meant we could take it easy, chill out, and enjoy the stunning scenery. Overpriced beer was even bought from the tourist bar.

We rolled out of Zephyr Cove, happy in the knowledge that we had stumbled upon such an idyllic place. We were also super psyched that we all had a place to stay for the night, and it wasn’t too far away. Stephen and Chris headed off a little bit before so that they could go and buy some food for tonight (I told you they were awesome, didn’t I.) Riding through Tahoe also brought up a milestone for us all. We were crossing into California!!! The last state, the home stretch, the finale.

The evening ahead was very special indeed. Probably one of my most memorable events so far. The tacos cooked up were delicious, and after stuffing our faces we were treated to a presentation by our host Rick Gunn, AKA Soulcycler. An inspirational human who has cycled all over the world capturing emotions, documenting beauty and chronicling the struggles of life for many people who are less fortunate than us. His slideshow and stories had us all in awe, and left us with plenty to talk and think about. The night in the log cabin was bliss.

See the rest of the photos in the facebook album.

We followed Tim and his trusted Google Maps to get us back on the right path. Unfortunately Google Maps couldn’t do anything to help the puncture I got 15 minutes into the ride. At this point I am losing count of the number of punctures I’ve had recently, but it’s starting to royally piss me off. Han stayed behind and helped me check my tyre. We then raced to catch up with the others who were waiting in Silver Springs.

Today was the day I was going to buy a new tyre. My rear one is running pretty bald now, the heavy load on the back wheel causes it to degrade much faster than the front one. Had I had the inclination/foresight/energy, I would have been switching the front and rear tyre every week or so. Lesson learned. Spreading the load over both ends of the bike would’ve solved the problem, but since I don’t have front racks or bags (nor the money to purchase any) then that wasn’t an option.

Carson City was still a long ride away and I was wary of bike shops closing soon. What made this worse is that tomorrow is Sunday, a day in which all bike shops have a habit of closing on. I desperately wanted to change my tyre, there are some mean mountains coming up over the next few days and I need the confidence that I won’t get a blow-out whilst zooming down them!

I left the gang to carry on with their scheduled stop in Silver Springs so that I could push on and try and reach the city before 5pm. I was cutting it fine. According to my wayward calculations I had to average around 15mph to succeed. The headwind killed all hope of that. Well, it did until I got another fucking puncture. My mind was made up pretty quickly. I would try my thumb at hitch-hiking.

With the bike turned upside down, and my sad excuse of a face, I made a very desperate plea to the large, infrequent SUV’s as they went past. The first car to stop was a state patrol car – awesome. After a quick conversation with the officer he explained that I couldn’t hitch-hike here as there was a jail house not too far away. I cheekily asked, but he declined to give me a lift into the city – it was worth a shot. I asked what my options were. He said, “You can’t hitch-hike, but if someone stops and picks you up then that’s fine.” I told him I’d wind my thumb in, and he went on his way.

Once out of sight, my thumb and arm mysteriously popped back into an upright position. Not too much longer and I was greeted by my comrades who stopped to check if I was OK / mock me. I was wary that I wouldn’t get picked up if there was a group of us, so I sent them on their way and resumed to not hitch-hike. Five minutes later, a red pick-up truck pulls onto the shoulder behind me. The extremely nice chap was called Craig, a middle-aged rocker who was on his way home to Carson City! The first thing he offered me was an ice-cold beer, and in this sweltering heat – things started to look up.

After the broken effort of a bike was loaded onto the truck we set off. A few minutes later and we were passing my fellow cyclists. Like the cock I am, I waved my beer out of the window and gave the thumbs up. Craig asked if it was OK to stop by his buddies house whereby I got plied with some more beer and whiskey. He also took me for a tour around their old recording studio which (by the accumulated dust) looked like it hadn’t been used in a long time. Life tends to have a bad habit of getting in the way of dreams and aspirations.

We then ventured onwards to the city, passing the infamous places of a sordid nature, and arrived about 45 minutes before closing time. I said farewell to Craig and thanked him profusely for his kindness and hospitality. A recurring theme in my journey across this magnificent country. I got all the bits I needed from “The Bike Smith”, they come highly recommended in my book/blog!

I popped the tyre onto my rear wheel, and I did so literally. When I inflated it with a borrowed pump (and a dodgy pressure gauge) I blew the inner tube, making a rather ear-splitting bang. This damaged the beading of the new tyre and the shop had just closed. I thought I was shit outta luck when the owner (after hearing the explosion) re-opened his doors and gave me another tyre free of charge. He said he could claim the other one back on it’s warranty. I was just extremely thankful that another random act of kindness saved me again.

Two other baggers passed the cycle shop as I was fixing up my bike and I caught their eye as I nodded to them in acknowledgement. They were Mike (@apechimp on twitter) and James (@jamesob on twitter) who also happened to be doing coast-to-coast. Take a look at their cycle blog, AhAdventure.us. There was no sign of the rest of the group yet so Mike, James and I decided to go and grab a bite to eat and shoot the shit. After many more beers were consumed we headed off through the city. They departed to their camping destination for the night, and I tried to find the house the others were staying in.

Thankfully it wasn’t too difficult to find in the dark and I soon found myself in a lovely house with the bike crew plus two. Not the same two tourers either, this was Steven and Chris who are from Florida (whose website is now down!). They are riding from New York to San Francisco and set off at a similar time to myself but it turns out we took slightly different routes. Only now, after over 3,500 miles of riding we finally crossed paths. We decided we’d all set off at the same time tomorrow which meant the gang was now 7 strong! It’s never a bad thing to add additional people to the clan, especially when they are pretty cool people. We all sat and watched the film 127 Hours and went to bed after chatting away for a while. Tomorrow there be hills, but these are the last major ones we have to cross till the coast!

Thankfully once we got going (at about midday) the heat had stabilised and was teetering on the right side of bearable. Today was going to be pretty tough, but then again, I expected nothing less from the harsh Nevada desert.

Middlegate had been a fantastic host, I would undoubtedly recommend anyone to stop there just to get a feel for small town life. With a population of 17, you felt like part of their community as soon as you stepped into the bar.

Route 50 presented itself with a few more summits today. No major climbs, but coupled with the heat they were definitely harder than usual. We idled through open expanses of nothingness. We were surrounded by sand and dust as far as our eyes could see. Before we left Middlegate we had been informed of the sand mountains and the rocks in the sand, we kept our eyes peeled and after a few hours we were riding alongside messages carefully created with stones.

This went on for a good few miles, sometimes it was difficult to keep the bike in a straight line whilst reading all the messages. Luckily for us the lonely road is as busy as you would expect. Just after the final messages in the sand we could see the beginnings of a town in the distance. Fallon was where we would stop to stock up with further supplies before we looked for a place to settle.

Joe, being Joe, managed to scoff a whole 2 litres of ice cream while the rest of us opted for more traditional foods such as sandwiches and fruit. Strawberries were a delectable, juicy treat and disappeared pretty quickly once I cracked them open. As we set off for the last 20 miles guess what happened. Another fucking puncture. I thought I had got off lightly today, obviously not. By the time the puncture was fixed the sun had set and we lit ourselves up for some more night riding.

I blame my puncture for us then missing our turning. Route 50 splits into two, but none of us saw the turn off until we were already miles past it and things didn’t seem quite right. A quick committee meeting at a gas station determined that we would ride onwards to a place called Fernley. I also took this opportunity to pick up a 24 pack of Budweiser to share, I felt partially to blame for holding the gang up after my flat. Fernley was 15 miles off our intended route, but from the map it looked like there were some playing fields which would make a nice camp for the night.

Another hours riding and we were more than relieved to find that there was water, a grass field and dugouts. I shotgunned one of the dugouts to sleep in. That meant I didn’t have to bother putting my tent up, I could just wrap up in my sleeping bag and hope the hungry insects didn’t eat me alive. We cooked our meals, drank the Budweiser, giggled a lot (thanks Paul for your leaving present), and we were only mildly worried that we’d have any trouble when we noticed a camera that kept flashing every 15 minutes or so. What’s the worst that could happen?

As a group, we sat around the picnic table and decided to plan out the next few days in advance. This was to try and find some Warm Showers and give them some advance notice. One of the few downsides to riding in a group is that people are less likely to put you up for the simple fact that it becomes too much of a burden. We finally had about three days planned out. Joe said the exact same thing I was thinking; this was the most planning I’d ever done this trip.

We left the fine resort of Austin around noon and had two options for our route today. Flatter and longer or shorter and steeper. We hit the fork in the road and decided that the slightly flatter route was more sensible. We scaled Mt Airy without too much hassle, and we all regather and regrouped at the summit to enjoy the downhill together.

The downhill was enjoyable and my weight helped me speed down it a lot faster than my stick-thin comrades. At the bottom of the descent things got interesting when the winds hit. I struggled in the ferocious headwind but saw a small car park to have a quick break and wait for the others to catch up. A lone car was in the dusty parking lot and before I could reach it a young boy came running up to me with an ice-cold water. I thanked him and his Dad and we chatted for a bit whilst the others caught up.

Once we regrouped we stayed together for the last 25 miles. The wind was now stronger than ever. It seemed like we were riding to our impending death as we came face to face with a wall of dust. We passed through it unscathed but the wind didn’t hold up. We were managing 5mph and that was a major struggle. It even got to the point where I was looking for other places to set up camp, but I knew Middlegate would be looming soon.

There is a famous shoe tree just outside of Middlegate that I was looking for. The shoe thing started a long time ago with a pair of trainers being thrown into the branches. Sheeple started following the trend, and continued to throw their stench ridden boots into the poor tree. Unfortunately, some arsehole cut the tree down last year and as a result we cycled right passed it without seeing it. Never-mind, we could see the little town of Middlegate now, and it looked like the scene of a Western movie – it was awesome.

Four guys on the bar balcony greeted us very warmly and it soon became apparent that everything revolved around the bar. Only 17 people lived in Middlegate and their power was from a new generator out in the back. Thanks to the American Navy the town had WiFi in exchange for letting them install a radio tower. They even had a swimming pool out in the back!

I treated the guys to log cabin so that we didn’t have to bother putting our tents up. The cabin was ideal for cyclists, just a double bed and a bunk bed. Being simple, it meant that it was only $25 for all of us! Joe and myself then went back to the bar where I treated Joe to a birthday burger. This crazy guy just turned 19. I could not have imagined riding across America at 18, my hat is well and truly tipped to him.

We bought a lot of beer for the evening (for those that were of legal age, obviously) and chilled out with some music courtesy of Joe on guitar and vocals. Kat and Tim turned into bed, and Joe, Han and myself decided it was the perfect time to go for a dip in the pool. The stars were out, the ambience was very peaceful and we had a great time relaxing and paddling around. That was until I got out and had the worst stomach cramps I ever experienced. Thankfully they passed within a few minutes of being hunched over about to vomit. A challenging day of riding, and a perfect evening. One of my favourite days of the tour so far!

More photos of today on Facebook.

The town of Eureka was compact but well equipped, not explicitly for cyclists though (no bike shops). The gas stations air pump broke as I was pumping up my front tyre. That meant I had to hand pump the rear tyre, something which I dread doing. It takes about 15 minutes of frantic pumping and I can only manage to squeeze about 60PSI into it. Ideally that figure needs to be closer to 80 to make the ride a little easier, especially with the impending hills later today.

We stocked up at the market which was very reasonably priced and very well stocked for being in the middle of nowhere. Han then declared a photo shoot was taking place by setting up his tripod. Yes, this crazy South Korean dude has brought a full tripod which he attaches to his handle bars. It’s not even lightweight!

We finally set off at around 12:30, and with 70 miles to Austin we knew we’d be arriving after sunset. The terrain was fairly flat for the first half of the ride, not exactly strenuous, but my arm had started really hurting again. Yesterday I bought an elbow support, and today I put it to use. This isn’t the first time my elbow had been in pain. It was worse when I only had one riding position but the purchase of handle bar ends; back in Rawlins, eased the pressure to a bearable point. Self-diagnosis indicated that I’ve got identical symptoms to Golfers Elbow. It’s a dull ache but prevents me from bending my elbow and it’s very unpleasant. Anyway, enough whining.

We stopped for something to eat at around 17:00 and during this stop we came across a very excitable and enthusiastic truck driver. He was hauling the set and props for a play in Santa Cruz and would be there tomorrow evening. After he mentioned that, all my mind could think about was that we are within driving distance to the coast. That thought excited me greatly. The chap also told us about his book that he’s been writing for 30 years and is just finishing now. I forgot the name.

He tooted his horn as he left and he was promptly replaced by a lone guy who pulled up in a car. I like talking to people, I love that people take an active interest in tourers, but it doesn’t half slow you down! We spoke for a while and then had to excuse ourselves in order to make camp at a reasonable hour. Ahead of us were some delightful hills, a cloudfront that indicated rain and a slight chill in the air.

It rained. Thankfully not for too long, but long enough to cool us all down. None of us bothered with getting waterproofs out, it didn’t look like a massive storm and it passed within fifteen minutes. Even the rainbows came out to play which was a nice surprise.

I was dreading the climbs. They consisted of one long 8 mile climb, a short downhill section, and a final steeper 2 mile climb. Han and myself were leading the pack at the start of the hill and Han took a commanding lead over the first mile. I was struggling with my rhythm and for some reason felt pretty drained. After two miles I thankfully got a second wind, I had found a pocket of energy somewhere and was happy with a lower cadence in a higher gear. I soon caught Han and assumed the front to try to provide a tow. After ten minutes I turned around, expecting to see Han sitting on my wheel, but instead he was a tiny speck in the distance. I hadn’t climbed this well before and I soon reached a peak.

Halfway down the hill I realised this was the short downhill section on the map, and that I probably should have waited at the top to regroup. Sod it, I wasn’t doing more climbing than necessary. The downhill ended more abruptly than I would have liked (such is life) and the last climb of the day lay ahead of me. The sun was setting as I was at the halfway point of the last climb. There was a bench and table so I decided to sit and wait for the others to catch up. It was also a good excuse for some snick snack snoos to keep the energy up.

Ten minutes later the lone guy in the car we met at earlier drove by and stopped. We chatted some more and he very kindly offered some soup and crackers which he had spare in his car. Han caught up not long after and between us we managed to demolish the whole packet. It was another forty-five minutes later when Kat, Tim and Joe decided to join us. It turns out that they got offered burgers at the peak by a camper van which was parked on the side of the road. Joe’s eyes apparently lit up, but Kat and Tim had to pass them up. It must suck sometimes to be vegan. Joe, like any respectable bloke, never passes up free food, you can always count on him to finish off everyone’s meal. In that respect, he reminds me of a female dustbin friend back in England, Sally. If you read this Sally he’s cute too!

Now we’d regrouped we took on the last part of the hill together. It was now very dark and it’s a lot safer to ride together in the dark. We stayed close and got very excited when we saw the green sign for the summit. The descent was very windy, steep and treacherous. We let Kat go down first. She was a trooper and led the way pretty quickly. My light wasn’t bright enough to be of much use so I had to keep close to the guys in front. We all made it to the bottom safely and braked hard as we saw a baseball field on our left.

Thud!!! Tim couldn’t unclip his shoes quick enough after our sudden stop and fell to the side in what seemed like slow motion. He was fine, just his pride was bruised. After a bit of nosying around the baseball field didn’t seem too bad, not ideal though. It was then we saw a park a bit further up some steps. I volunteered to scout it out, and it was perfect! Ample place to pitch our tents, a shelter with power sockets, toilets with warm water – we had hit touring heaven again! Everyone made some more food and we settled in for the night, just before all the hoards of bugs attacked us.

More photos of today on facebook, and more videos on YouTube!

We set off and rode the short ride through Ely. As soon as we hit the edge of town the rain began to fall for the second day in a row. I was sure Nevada was going to be hot, dry and unbearable; how wrong I was.

After looking at the maps in the morning we knew that the ride today incorporated a few long climbs; nothing that we couldn’t handle though. It may have been the energy exuding from the buttloads of spaghetti last night, but the three guys had lots of energy to burn this morning, taking off pretty fast. Kat and myself were happy enough sauntering along at the back. We knew today was going to be a long day.

An hour in and it got cold enough to warrant a quick stop to put rain gear on. It was still raining but had eased off enough to be classified as spitting, type #17 of rain. The first summit of the day finally arrived and the three guys were kind enough to wait around so that we could regroup. Having never ridden in a group before I was a bit worried about the dynamics of group riding. It turns out that waiting at the top of summits works out pretty well when there are numerous summits throughout the day.

Any aches and pains which may have started creeping in last week soon disappear once you have other energetic people around you. It certainly took my mind off any worries, I was enjoying the riding so much more. It can get to the point where you just feel like you’re grinding out the miles when you’re on your own, but sharing the experience with others makes it feel like a bit more of an adventure.

The ride carried on in a similar fashion, rolling hills and a few climbs. Enough to break a sweat on a couple of occasions whilst still remaining enjoyable. After a while the inevitable happened, it was getting close to dinner time and nowhere on the maps suggested a decent place to sit and eat. After bombing down the biggest hill today, hitting around 44mph, I came across the perfect place to dine in style; the rest of the gang agreed. A broken trailer on the side of the road provided ample space to sit and enjoy sandwiches with the sun setting behind us. We took off into the most gorgeous pinky purple sunset, shyly disappearing behind the mountain range.

Still a long way from our destination we got a wriggle on. We weren’t disheartened about arriving into the town of Eureka late at night, we had figured in the morning that the long ride was going to end late. The only problem with arriving late was finding a decent spot to camp. Rolling into Eureka together we started looking around like a mob of Meerkats. We quickly reached the end of town looking bemused after not finding anything. There was no one in the unnecessarily large fire station to help us out so I dived into a hotel to ask the receptionist. She pointed us in a rough direction, back where we had come from, but another street over.

A guy in a rather large pick-up truck then stopped and asked us if we were ok. Very nice of him since it was now pushing midnight. We explained that we were looking for a free place to camp and he showed us the way to a perfect little park. It had toilets, hot water, electricity and a shelter. We hit gold! He happened to be the owner of a motel down the road but it was full. He explained Eureka was a gold mining town and so a lot of temporary workers would come and stay in his motel. After thanking him we set up camp, rustled up some food and bedded down for a good nights sleep. I also covered the nearest sprinkler system to avoid the annoyance in the morning.

Did you know that the collection noun for idiots is a thicket. Used in a sentence: There are currently a thicket of idiots running around England burning shit. You might be interested in viewing the rest of the days photos on Facebook. There are some videos on YouTube too!

So after a super long stint of one night ride I was back to day riding. As it turned out, it wasn’t an unbearable thing as the temperature had dropped to a much more comfortable level than the past two days living too close to the sun.

Water is the most essential part of touring. Through these tricky long stages between services I was carrying 9 litres of water. You can certainly feel the extra weight (poor bike) so the uphills are now more arduous and the downhills are faster, ever so slightly.

After leaving the “Border Inn” motel I was soon isolated, bored and most definitely lonely. The road continued as I left it the previous night, straight as an arrow and barren. Bored, I began to play Eye Spy with myself – I got stuck on something beginning with “E”. Nevertheless I got all excited when I saw a curve in the road… how pathetic.

As predicted, there wasn’t anything around the bend apart from a rather unwelcome set of hills. The ascent began and three hours of hard slog later, I reached the summit. this particular downhill section was steeper than most and as a result it was over rather disappointingly, after pushing the 40mph barrier on the way down.

Rolling to a stop after the descent it appeared to be a suitable time for a break. There wasn’t anywhere to sit, but there was a cattle-grid. Somehow, I ingeniously managed to lie on it in such a way that I could get a quick nap in. I’m still unsure as to how I managed this but it wasn’t as uncomfy as it sounds.

Setting off 15 minutes later and my pace hadn’t resumed full steam yet. I got a very pleasant surprise in the form of another tourer riding up beside me. Could this be someone touring in the same westerly direction? Surely not… It turns out that Kathryn from Michigan, was indeed going west! And what’s more, was planning on hitting San Francisco the same time as me! I would have been far happier, but she was peddling hard, and I was peddling harder just to keep up!

We rode past a little funky looking bar but Kat didn’t seem to be slowing down. Naturally, I had to maintain the macho pretense and ride on but I wanted another 10 minute break and that bar looked so inviting! As though there were some cruel Flying Spaghetti Monsters looking down upon us, a gnarly hill loomed into view. We got half way up and I had to drop the machoness, I had to stop. Sweat was pouring out of me by the bucket-load. My eyes were stinging because my eyebrows weren’t bushy enough to divert litres of sweat from my brow to the side of my face. And so we stopped for ten minutes.

Whilst stopped Tim caught up with us. It turns out that I’ve got two cycling buddies to San Francisco! We talked for a bit, I dried off a little, and then we set off again up the not overly steep, but exceedingly long hill. And then came the rain. Oh how it poured. I checked my GPS, we were definitely in Nevada. The rain was the last thing I was expecting. I had waterproofs but decided against getting them out as the temperature was still hot. I figured that my skin is waterproof and so long as my body temperature doesn’t drop I won’t catch hypothermia.

It turns out I didn’t need to worry about my core temperature. We stopped at the top of the summit and waited for Tim to catch up. The evaporating water from my skin made me feel like a race-horse after the Grand National. We had a long downhill stretch ahead and I put my coat on so that my arms didn’t freeze and drop off at the bottom. As it turns out I’m already the stupid one of the group as I whizzed down the slippery hill, shifting my body weight to avoid the collections of water that were collecting. The last thing I wanted was to aquaplane, lose control, and die a horrible yet rapid death.

Surviving death hill was great but I had lost Kat and Tim now. Being heavier and stupider than them gave me a speed advantage on the ride down. I stopped in a small nature reserve to see if they would catch up but after 15 minutes they still hadn’t gone past. It was now getting cold, cold enough for me to don my jumper – apparently Nevada isn’t scorching hot. I carried on down the road and arrived at the outskirts of Ely. Since I didn’t have any way of contacting those guys, and no idea where they were staying, I waited at the KOA campground until they rode passed. An hour passed, I had consumed two packets of Doritos and endured further rain under some shelter, but still there was no sign of them. Just as I was about to ride back to check for signs of life, I saw them ride past the end of the access road – but there were four riders! I scrambled back onto the bike and rode hard to keep them in sight and catch up with them.

They all stopped at a Motel 6 and I rode up behind them and introduced myself to the other two. After a bit of deliberation and a bit of good ol’ British haggling on my part we got the room down to $15 each. I later found out this was the most Joe had paid for a room. He had been doing his trip on an incredible budget. Tim and Kat had one room, and Joe, Han and myself took the other. Once we had all dried off from the downpour it was time for grocery and beverage shopping. This is when I learned from the others the awesomeness of carrots as snacks. They work pretty well and are cheap too.

Back at the motel and we chatted lots and watched the 4th July fireworks from New York – it turns out the fireworks in Ely were disappointingly shitty. We attempted to make a monstrous load of spaghetti, and hats off to Joe and Tim the chefs of the night as they managed to make enough Spaghetti to feed the entire motel complex. We somehow got through most of it though thanks to the Budweiser, washing it down nicely.

Kat, Tim and Han started out their ride across country from Michigan and are riding to Portland. They are doing it for a cause after raising money at their university. You can find out more about it at www.pedaltofeed.com. Joe was doing it for similar reasons to me. He wanted to see how far west he could get and at this point he was more than likely going to make it the whole way across.

I love the irony of having just started riding on the self proclaimed “Loneliest Road in America” I meet four awesome tourers. All of a similar age to me and great fun to be around. Now I’m looking really looking forward to crossing Nevada, it’s already been a beautiful, scenic ride.

See the other photos in the facebook album.

As it turns out the folks of Delta didn’t give a shit about riders risking their lives – instead they just wanted to celebrate their independence and freedom. Again on the wrong date but hey ho. I do chuckle to myself when an American mentions that they enjoy their freedom. We are anything but free. The closest we come to freedom is when we have utter disregard for stupid laws and have the good fortune to simply not get caught. End of freedom rant and back to riding…

Mentally, I was prepared for the impending desolation, blackness and sheer silence. Physically, a few more hours of sleep wouldn’t have gone amiss but I could only sleep for so long in the motel reception. After packing up and riding through Delta and Hinckley I passed the sign that was to signal a distinct lack of services for the next 83 miles. My GPS had 7 miles on the clock and the night was young, it was 23:00 and the temperature was perfect for riding.

30 miles down, the lights from Delta had faded into the distance. There was no artificial light as far as I could see. The sky was so clear though that the glow from the moon and the stars were enough to illuminate the road. There were times when I wasn’t using the head-torch and just completely star-struck. During my break I took a few long exposures of the stars, it was a surreal feeling that I couldn’t see anything around me – made even more surreal when after 15 minutes of utter silence my thoughts were interrupted by a very close “Mooooooo”. At this point I figured I was on an open range with no fences and promptly got back in the saddle before ending up inside a cow.

Not much longer after my break and the road started on an incline. This was not welcome, I was quite happy averaging 18mph on the flat, windless roads. I battled up them, ensuring they did not defeat me, and I was soon rewarded with a couple of short downhill sections. There was another long climb. I could tell because one of the few cars that had passed me was much higher than I was before disappearing over the crest of the summit. It is insane how far you can see lights in the distance, in fact judging any distance in the expanse of nothingness is difficult and hard to work out. I saw a cars beam for a full 20 minutes before it finally passed me. With a bit of maths it meant that I could see cars which were 15 miles into the distance. Mind asplode.

An 8% grade decline was my treat awaiting me. I was soon notching up 40mph in the darkness. Thankfully there were no suicidal chipmunks, deers, snakes, foxes or badgers tonight. Nothing would come across my path which I would squish and subsequently take a face full of tarmac. In fact, the only thing I got from riding this long downhill section was cold. When it came to turning the wheels again my body was riddled with goosepimples and I purposefully left the bike in a lower gear so I could peddle faster and get my body temperature up again. Worse than the cold though was the view. All I could see was the silhouettes of mountain ranges all around – I was going to have a massive climb before the night was over – my heart sank a little.

I soon hit it, the climb was on. Lowest gear engaged and all I can do is peddle my heart out. It was 3am and I figured that I would be on this climb as the sun was coming back up. It makes its daily appearance just after 5:30am and this mountain wasn’t getting any shorter. This climb was tough, I was back to sweating and not being able to gulp in enough water. My throat would constantly dry up and I was now feeling physically fatigued.

After an hours climbing I took a break. I inhaled a banana and took on much needed fluids. With slight delirium setting in, I took this opportunity to take a little snooze. I lay on the side of the road with my backpack for a pillow and managed to get 15 minutes of shut-eye before I woke with a start as a car zoomed past on the opposite side of the road. Feeling ever-so-slightly refreshed I forced myself back on the bike to attempt the rest of the climb.

The sun began to creep up through the canyons I was riding though and illuminated the red rock which surrounded my ascent. The steep, continuously winding road seemed to never end but then I saw it. I spied the green sign which meant I was approaching the summit. This, combined with a yellow sign (indicating a 6% downhill) made me almost weep with joy. I had an enormous smile across my face which only grew as I began the descent.

With the sun just beginning to rise from its snooze, it ignited the top of the mountains like candles atop a cake. The scenery, the colours, the smells, the road… it was just magical. It felt like things were falling into place, I was on such a high that I had completely forgot how tired I was.

At the bottom of this descent there were 17 more miles to go. I could see a lone building in the distance. It seemed like it would be the motel I was aiming for, but surely I couldn’t see 17 miles away. Puzzled as to what it might be (seemingly only 4 or 5 miles away) I carried on riding to take a closer look. Five miles down and still this building hadn’t got much closer, this was insane. I was peddling hard and with the lack of sleep, I was questioning myself. “Did this building even existed? Am I moving at all?”.

I had to take a break with ten more miles to go – my body was simply not working properly, I was aching and in dire need of more energy. It was such a bizarre sensation to go from a feeling of sheer awe and inspiration to that of desperation and frustration. Forcing myself back on the bike again I mustered the last amount of energy I could from my legs. They were beginning to wobble, shake and burn but I could see the finishing line, I couldn’t give up with that in sight.

This was not pretty riding, I was all over the place. I was zigzagging across the road, my upper body was swaying – not staying rigid like it should. I was trying to eek out every drop of energy I could to get to this deceiving motel. Ragged and exhausted, I slumped over my handlebars as I rolled into the car park. I collapsed on the floor outside before pulling myself together and seeing if they had any rooms.

They did but I had to wait a couple of hours for it to be cleaned. I forced a rather large breakfast down and played pool whilst waiting for my room to be ready. It wasn’t too much longer before I got to go and collapse in the large comfy double bed. Air conditioning is a modern day miracle and although it was 105 F outside I was chilling nicely inside. Did you know that the overflow hole in a sink has a name? It’s called a porcelator.

I spent a couple of hours in McDonalds before cycling around the small town of Delta for a proper place to eat with electricity – my laptop was running low. As it turns out restaurants don’t have many plug sockets.

I retreated to the motel I stayed in last night and crashed in their slightly cooler reception area and phoned the parents to let them know where I was and that I was still breathing. In between catching forty winks on the sofa I was trying to prepare myself for the ride along Route 50 – it has been called “The Loneliest Road” on many occasions.

This initial stint was going to be the toughest and most gruelling. Once I set off tonight I will be 83 miles from the next service which lies on the border of Utah and Nevada. My hopeful destination will be the Border Inn, a 90 mile ride in the dark. Wish me luck.

After some blogging and reading some very nice comments on the past few blogs, (I really appreciate every single one) I left Elberta at 8:30 and was on my way to Delta. As I was leaving a guy came to spray some stuff on some nearby trees – it turns out there’s a little party here tomorrow (2nd July) to celebrate the 4th of July. Not sure what calendar the people of Elberta are using but it appears they can’t even get the frickin’ date right.

As soon as I set off I felt the climb. Having checked that another flat tyre wasn’t slowing me down, I realised it was the inconspicuous incline. I could see a steeper climb further up, but this gradual one was deceiving – I was already breaking into a sweat.

So I hit the monster climb, the sun already beating down, the wind absolutely still – sweat exiting every single pore of my body. I have not sweated so much in my life. Beads of sweat were dripping down the side of my face and off the end of my chin every few seconds. I was having a hard time keeping myself hydrated. It was difficult to sip and swallow water as I was gasping for air at the same time. This was tough, the hardest climb I have done to date.

Often people are too focused on what’s in front of them to notice what is going on behind them – I made sure that I stopped to witness what I was climbing. I’m glad I did. The views were once again astounding and although it was hard work, on reflection it was easily worth it. I’m not sure the camera managed to do it justice though, it doesn’t quite capture the panoramic moment very well.

I’m not too sure how high this climb was but it felt like it wasn’t going to end. It was only 10 miles to Eureka and eventually I hit the summit, nearly 2 hours later. This place should be called “Thankfuckforthat” as those were my exact words when I saw the downhill section approaching.

I knew there wasn’t much in the way of civilisation between here and Delta so I made sure I filled my face with enough calories to last me the day. I also stocked up on water, I’d gone through just over 2 litres in 2 hours. I’ve never been to the point of craving water so much before but some kind of animal instinct kicked in and I couldn’t get enough of the stuff.

The downhill was a welcome relief from the tortuous climb, I’m sure cyclists would say “Thankfuckforthat” if they approached Eureka from the opposite direction. Now I was cruising along, another hour passed and I had made it to the 25 mile marker. A lone rest area seemed an ideal place to grab a quick tactical snooze. It was warming up quite quickly and I was glad of the shade and 20 minutes nap on the picnic table.

Onwards and the day started to get tougher. At the horizon, the end of the road disappeared without a trace. It mirrored the sky due to the heat, and merged perfectly, creating the illusion of the road simply stopping dead. If only. I still had another 25 miles to ride.

At least the road was now predominantly flat, the factor slowing me down was the heat. I was 15 miles away but I couldn’t take anymore, I needed to find shade. The exceedingly small town of Lynndyl arrived just as I was about to pass out. The heat was seriously getting to me and for the first time on the tour I was feeling faint.

Luckily there was a park with a shelter and a drinking fountain so I rehydrated, had another tactical snooze and then saw they had a basketball court with a basketball too. After shooting hoops for 15 minutes, realising that basketball was never my forte, I got back on the road.

The last 15 miles were grueling, the heat was sticky, I was still struggling to gulp water and there was no wind. After last weeks persistent moaning about the wind all I wanted was a little breeze to cool me down. I got nothing except when the occasional truck drove past.

Delta unveiled itself before my eyes and I was checking into a motel, $40 wasn’t a bad price to pay for an air-conditioned room. After cleaning myself, the clothes were next on the list. I found a laundry a few blocks down the main road and perched myself in there for a while and blogged whilst I waited for the washing. Is that multi-tasking?

After today the heat is only going to get worse through the desert. I’m making a conscious decision to go back to night riding for a few nights, let’s hope this desert is more approachable when the sun is set.

View the photos on Facebook.

After the last minute decision to switch routes, I now had to cobble together some sort of action plan. Having read this cyclists website I figured it was more than possible to go a more direct route, albeit through a hotter part of the desert. This next stint will require early mornings to avoid the worst of the heat.

As I dragged my bike from the back of the hostel I noticed something that has been all too familiar recently. Another puncture. Arse, tits and drat. I repaired the puncture outside whilst sipping on some suds left over from the night before. I couldn’t for the life of me find the offending object. I flicked at what I thought was a tiny stone, but it didn’t budge. Utilising the Swiss Army Knife I tweezed out a thorn, goddamnit. It was obviously just long enough to pierce the inner tube, but at least it’s out now.

I left at 12 and had a couple of possible destinations in mind. Either Elberta 60 miles south or Eureka, 10 miles west. The first port of call was something to eat and I opted for the chicken which was on the menu. 10 Chicken McNuggets – I didn’t trust any of the Mexican restaurants in the vicinity.

The first section of the ride was on the Jordan River Trail and I followed it better than expected for the first 5 miles. All of the rivers I have encountered since the Mississippi have been close to bursting their banks or in some places already overflowing. I was now subject to this force of nature as my path was blocked by over a foot of water. This meant I couldn’t walk my bike through it either as my bags would get wet.

Fortunately a couple of other riders came up behind me and told me how to detour around it. I had to go up to the main road – Redwood Rd – and come back down onto the trail. Looking at my directions I could see that I was going to end on this road anyway so I cut out 5 miles of trails and took up the road with the rest of the cars. If one place of the trail was flooded it was more than likely that other places were to so it just wasn’t worth bothering with.

Not long after I joined the road I got passed by a female road racer. I caught up with her at the lights and asked her how far she was going. 25 miles in my direction. Sweet, I’ve not ridden with another cyclist for a while so I was happy! Jenny kicked my butt for that 25 miles. I’m pretty sure she had slowed down a little for me, but the pace was a little quicker than my usual saunter. I was actually glad of it because we made good time. Jenny went back around Utah Lake and I nipped to use the WiFi to check on my route and to fill my water bottles.

I’m really glad I chose this route because out of the city, the scenery is even more stunning. Snow topped mountains to the left, melted snow topped mountains to the right and a bright blue lake in the middle. Definitely up there with one of the most scenic rides I’ve done.

The next 5 miles felt like I was in a race. There were a bunch of teenagers strung out over a mile all on bikes, being lead by what seemed to be a competant bike rider. Since my muscles were rested slightly after my break I made mince meat of the tail enders. It took slightly longer to catch the rest of the pack but I outmanoeuvered them, caught them napping and passed them one of the bends on the windy road.

They were soon out of my rear view and I got back to concentrating on the last 30 miles or so of todays ride. The air was still, the road was predominantly flat and I enjoyed watching the mile markers going down quicker than usual. I was averaging 16mph and soon approached the minute town of Elberta.

It was 19:30 and I decided to have a quick scout out for any possible camping options. If I couldn’t find any I’d churn another 10 miles out and head west. To my surprise I found a state park which had a shelter, water, electricity and WiFi from somewhere – albeit intermittent. It wasn’t long before the screaming kids vacated and I was able to pitch my tent and do some blogging. Hoping to be up at 4am in the morning so was in bed for 22:00. Here’s hoping my new morning ritual kicks in.

View the photos on Facebook.

Instead I looked at the route I was taking towards San Francisco, and decided to change it. I’ll now be taking Route 6 south towards Delta and then take Route 50 west to Carson City. The main reason being that the route Google suggested was void of main roads. I can’t take the risk of being broken down on a mountain with no cars passing any time soon.

Now I just have to prepare myself for crossing the “Loneliest Road” in the USA – Route 50. This will be a big test as the places to fill up water (let alone eat) can be up to 89 miles apart. Bring on the desert. And maybe some dessert at the end of it.

This week has been a massive personal battle. The lows of yesterday were really kicked into touch today. It was emotional, I had to hold back tears of happiness and joy coming down the final hill, and that’s that something I’ve had to do often. Not because I’m never happy, but because today was such a stark contrast to yesterday.

I knew I had my work cut out after falling short of my target by 25 miles. My alarm went off at 4:30. Snooze. I opened my eyes again and it was 5:15. At this point dragging my ass out of the tent was not on my priority list – it wasn’t even light yet. Nevertheless I shone my headtorch into my eyes so I would wake up and get my ass in gear.

I was expecting the showers to be around $5, like the last truck stop I showered at. I let the woman sweep my jaw from the floor when she said it was $11. What the hell? $11? Yes the showers were nice and clean and all that jazz, but I expected a happy ending too for that price. Wafoob, the guy cleaning the showers, wasn’t into it though.

Burger King breakfast consumed and I was away at 7:30. There was little wind this morning so I could put all my energy into going in a forwards motion. Two big climbs awaited me before Evanston, but with those climbs came 2 monstrous downhills. I didn’t have my GPS on (the battery died) but I figured I was doing 30/35mph on the downhills. I got into Evanston at 10am. This is where I should have been yesterday.

The Interstate shoulder is littered with shredded tyres, roadkill, shards of metal and rocks. You not only need to keep your wits with lorries passing 5ft besides you at 75mph, but you need to concentrate 100% on the positioning of the bike – especially at high speeds. One blown tyre from riding over something at that speed and chances are you’re getting a faceful of concrete. I have pictures of a poor chap who suffered a similar fate. My face might not be the prettiest, but I still prefer it in one piece.

When I arrived at Evanston, I took the opportunity to charge my gear up so that I knew whether Salt Lake was going to be realistic throughout the day. It was noon when I left – 80 miles to go with 9 hours of sunlight left.

7 miles into the second phase of the journey and my bike starts to slow down and feel heavy. How on earth did someone know that this was just the thing I need, a puncture on my rear tyre. I cursed at the top of my lungs, pulled the bike next to a post and ever so carefully placed my three bags on the ground. That wasn’t sarcasm, I don’t see the point in breaking more things when you get annoyed!

Outer tyre check turned up no clues. I found the offending 1mm gash in the inner tube and then checked the inner tyre – still nothing to be found. Whatever it was, was in and out pretty sharpish. New (and last) inner tube switched in, I’ll fix the borked one soon. Armed with only a hand-pump I put as much pressure into the tyre as I physically could. Not as much pressure as I’d like but it would have to suffice – no one was stopping to help on the Interstate. Although I did have a lorry go past me closer than I was comfortable with – he decided to use the shoulder to make a U-Turn, arsehole, scared the shit out of me.

Onwards and upwards. A couple more climbs and I was beginning to feel as though reaching Salt Lake was possible, even more so when I began descending into the valleys of Utah. Thankfully my plan of taking the Interstate was now paying off – it weaved in between all of the mountains and was not only great riding, but spectacular views.

The bright orange sandstone rocks rose around, engulfing this busy road. It made me wonder how many people were taking in this magnificent view or simply taking it for granted on their daily commute. I took a break on the side of the road, making sure I was stood behind the barriers, and took on some needed food. Beans and sausage and granola bars to the rescue. Setting off again I came across a visitors centre a mile down the road. Another break, but this time more toilet orientated.

After confirming with the helpful visitor centre lady it was now about 45 miles to Salt Lake and it was 4pm. I needed to average 10 miles an hour to make it before sunset. The last thing I want to be doing is riding the Interstate in the dark. I may be tapped in the head, but I’m not suicidal. I left the visitors centre beaming with optimism – 10mph average, easy as pie. That was until after two minutes of downhill all I could see ahead of me was a constant climb.

Back to a crawl we go. At least it was fairly steady crawl but nowhere near the speed I needed to be going. I wasn’t disheartened though – I used logic to figure out there must be a downhill section soon, and there was, just as I passed a copper in the lay-by. Since I was now in Utah and not Wyoming, riding on the Interstate is illegal unless there is physically no other way to your destination. There were other ways – I just didn’t fancy getting lost or stuck again. I slunked passed the sleeping, doughnut eating bobby and stealthily zoomed off into the distance down the hill.

It was so picturesque around these parts. I could have so easily mistaken it for a miniature Switzerland – it brought back a lot of memories of roaming around Europe, gallivanting around without a care in the world. Now I’m just doing it on a different continent and with a slightly more arduous transportation method.

For as far as my eyes could see, the rest of this road was flat. That was another 10 miles out of the way with. I’m kind of glad that my eyes can’t see around corners because the next section was a windy elevated pass through more overlooking, loose rock bearing mountains. There were a couple of horn honks and fist pumps from passers-by through this section, they definitely helped boost morale and I was soon conquering this path.

By this point I thought I was close. I was nearly in tears of happiness with the expectation of making Salt Lake. Yesterday was a bad day, a real low point, and I had all but given up hope of making my self-imposed deadline of Sunday. I have a habit of underestimating how long stuff is going to take, and in learning about myself on the trip, my new schedule tried to take into consideration things I had learnt. This may seem like a small achievement to anyone else, but for me, this final 20 miles were huge.

Body parts that were sore at this point: shoulders, lower back, knees, feet, fingers and worst of all my right elbow. I was pushing through the pain barrier over what I hoped and prayed was the last incline. It was a tough one and a good two miles long. Even lorries and trucks were slowing to a crawl in the middle of this climb, they all had their hazard lights on.

It was at the top of this climb that I knew I had been right. There was a sign that I could’ve kissed. Downhill gradients of 3% – 6% for the next 10 miles. You should have seen my face, it was like someone had just given me a million quid.

After getting up to speed I assumed the tuck position and for the next 30 minutes I don’t think I pedalled once. I was never doing less than 30mph and often hitting 40mph. Dodging, weaving, judging the road perfectly I owned this hard shoulder. I could feel my testicles being replaced with something that resembled steel. One wrong move and I would be badly injured, but that was right at the back of my mind. The sooner you start thinking bad things will happen, the quicker they do.

I couldn’t look up too often but when I did the mountains either side of me were breathtaking. I was so focused on not hitting anything and remembering which exit I needed to come off at. Exit 129. It was here, the next exit, that’s exit 129, that’s Salt Lake City! After riding on Interstate 80 for the past 4 days I was here, I had arrived, this was it.

I could now see the city in all its glory from the top of the hill. It really was a magical moment for me. The last leg of todays journey was the last 8 miles into downtown Salt Lake and into the hostel. The time was 8pm, I had not only made, but made it an hour before sunset. Words cannot describe how chuffed to bits I was.

Sauntering through the city was all downhill and I passed the University and the main streets in town before making it to Utah International Hostel. I had made it, I had actually made it. Today was 108 miles long and it was finally over. At $16 a night it wasn’t the most glamorous, but it was a room with a bed, it was clean, and the showers were spotless! I was beaming none stop although my body was now aching as the adrenaline was wearing off.

The shower was a huge relief. Warm and powerful enough to clean my dusty, sweaty body. I had burnt around 8,000 calories today and was in dire need of that shower. I slumped on the bed afterwards and began to write before I fell asleep on my laptop. It was over, time to rest for a few days.

Exploring Little America I discovered there wasn’t all too much to do. I still managed my gentleman’s wash and ordered some hot dogs. Naturally they were over priced for a small stop in the middle of nowhere. I got talking to a couple of people and returned to my tent at 1pm.

Then it hit me. I really couldn’t be bothered riding today. For some reason I was feeling more lethargic than usual and really couldn’t get myself motivated to pack up and leave. Maybe it was my body wanted a rest after nearly two months of cycling, or maybe it was because I could feel how strong the winds were today and didn’t want to face my nemesis. Whatever it was I overcame it eventually and set off at 4pm.

Blind hope still made me think I could make the 60 miles to Evanston but it dawned on me rather quickly that I wouldn’t be making that goal. These were the worst winds I’d encountered all trip. They were gusting in my face slowing me down by half, I was doing 8mph on the occasional flats. At a break 10 miles in I asked a trucker how he was feeling the winds. He mentioned it was cutting his MPG from five or six to three. It seemed like it had the same (but not so demoralising) effect on him.

Then, as if to rub salt into my wounds I got a puncture. It was my front wheel and I really was not in the mood. I checked the wheel and a nice, inch long piece of wire was sticking out of the tyre. There really is a lot of debris on the side of the Interstate. I can swerve and weave in and out of all the tyre shred but I can’t avoid everything it seems. Replaced in 20 minutes with a new inner tube I was back on the road. Damn road. Damn wind.

I was on the verge of giving up, on the verge of quietly sobbing to myself. It was quickly becoming a very low point for me on this tour. I began to pull myself together, albeit slowly, put my head down and trundled on as best as I could. Around the 35 mile mark and it was now getting dark too. Ft Bridger was the next exit from the Interstate and I took it. What it failed to mention was it was 3 miles down a hill – I wasn’t going that far out of my way.

Scouting the surrounding area out I couldn’t even find a place the camp. The bridge didn’t have a flat section at the top (presumably to stop bums from sleeping there) and the ground was hard, brittle and impossible to get aluminium tent pegs into. I could see the neon signs of what looked to be a gas station in the very distance. I would make that my goal. It only seemed like another 5 miles away.

Progress was slow but steady. The neon was getting brighter and my morale was lifting ever so slightly. It still begged the question of there being anywhere to set up camp. Those were the longest 5 miles but I finally made it. It was a gigantic truck terminal with hundreds of trucks already settled in for the night.

Walking around the complex I finally found a possible place to pitch the tent. It was still hard ground, but more pliable than the previous possibility. The grass was long and tough but I figured once my weight was on it, it would soon flatten. Only one tent peg became brutally wounded and with the tent erected, it finally signalled the end of a shit-hole of a day.

I had left 108 miles to Salt Lake. At first this made me feel crap but then I was ready to accept the challenge and arrive on Sunday night. Alarm set for early in the morning, thank fuck this day is over.

After more chatting, Kerry insisted on paying for breakfast in the nearby cafe and wouldn’t accept no for an answer. With a few parting photos I went to go and stuff my face with some American bacon, sausages, hash browns, eggs and pancakes. That’ll keep me going for a few miles.

10am arrived and after one major kick-ass climb I had made it 30 miles. Thankfully, a well placed rest stop was situated at the top of the hill and as a result, I took a 15 minute break. I got the usual “Where are you travelling to?” conversation with a pleasantly plump fellow who preferred to ride a bike with an engine.

Rock Springs was another 37 miles away and that was my next stop to get something to eat and have a break for a good hour. One of the worst things about riding on the Interstate is the amount of shredded tyre, roadkill and car junk on the shoulder. I can say for certain that most drivers in Wyoming don’t drink enough water because the bottles of piss that get thrown out of the car windows are of a browny yellow disposition.

As a result of all of the paraphernalia on the shoulder you have to concentrate so hard on the lines you’re riding and plan your weaving 100ft ahead, especially if you’re going at speeds of 30mph which I was hitting on a few short downhill sections. It was on one of these sections when the inevitable happened. A tyre shredded. Not mine, a truck, right beside me.

Rubber was flying everywhere, small chunks were flying in front of me causing me to dodge and swerve through them. The majority of the tyre was in the middle of the road – thankfully the truck had moved into the left hand lane to pass me which resulted in 10ft of space for most of the debris to occupy. After I’d finished removing the rubber from my teeth I caught up to the truck who had stopped about half a mile down the road. The driver made sure I was OK, and I asked if he needed a hand with anything. For those unsure, I was pretty fortunate and didn’t actually get hit by any of the tyre, only bugs in my teeth.

After that hairy incident it wasn’t too much longer before I’d made the 67 miles to Rock Springs. Still feeling good, it was now just 40 miles to my goal for the day. I had a break for an hour and a half and limbered up to get back on the bike. I’m still making sure a do a stretch routine when I’ve been stationary for a while. I can even touch my toes now!

Getting back onto the Interstate and I was greeted with not only a lovely, delightful climb, but some egit had cranked the wind right up to 11. It was blowing a gale and no matter how much grunting and cursing I did, it would not subside. There were times when I was going slower than walking pace – down to a lowly 2.6mph I seem to recall whilst nearly sobbing.

The wind didn’t subside but the climbs got less frequent. Approaching a tunnel at one of the more rigorous climbs, I noticed there was no shoulder – just the two lanes. I waited until the traffic eased a bit before I raced through it as fast as I could to avoid becoming part of the bug collection on the grill of a truck. The sound was deafening as a truck passed me in the next lane, the reverberations continued to get louder until I emerged with bleeding ears on the other side of the half mile long tunnel.

The evening progressed and I was still only managing a pace of around 8mph until the sun decided to go to bed. Once the sun disappears the wind drops considerably and you can get back up to a reasonable speed again. After donning my headtorch a shrill buzz from my GPS alerted me that I’d done 100 miles. I mustered a pathetic “Whoop”, because at that point I was pretty tired – I was just pushing my way through to 105 miles where my destination lay.

10pm – Little America’s neon sign was a welcome sight, and not a moment too soon. I went into the hotel in time for last orders at the bar and congratulated myself on a grand days ride. I then asked at reception if it was OK to pitch my tent on the grass in front of the hotel. I didn’t even bother asking for a room, I could’ve slept anywhere after the ride. And so I did – like a baby.

I went and had my complimentary breakfast and tried the diners new Strawberry Cheesecake milkshake. It most certainly brought me to the yard, it even had a dollop of jam (jelly – crazy Americans) in the bottom of the glass.

So I ran down to the bike shop about 1, literally. I was out of breath after a little jog but I made it the two blocks without my heart failing. My spokes were all accounted for and I purchased some extra ones as a precaution if the next bike shop didn’t stock my size. I also bought and fitted handlebar extensions for a new riding position.

My right arm, around my elbow, is in a lot of pain when I try to move it after being on the bike for a little while. I’m not sure whether it’s muscle fatigue or what. I’ll keep doing my stretch routine and maybe incorporate lifting my bags to utilise the muscle. It gets serious when it affects your ability to drink a beer naturally.

Whilst fitting my new bars another tourer came into the bike shop. He was going east towards Washington DC. I gave him the down-low on the C&O Towpath and he now hopes to join that to ride back into DC. I like sharing useful knowledge – and not so useful knowledge. Did you know the “You are here” marker on maps has a name? It’s called the IDEO locater. If you’re lucky you might get a nugget of useless info in each blog post.

Back to riding, or sitting enjoying another shake. It was too hot, humid and stagnant and I thought, after looking at the weather, that I would postpone departure till 4pm. I wanted to make Wamsutter which was 40 miles away so 5 hours of light should be enough.

I also fitted my handlebar grips whilst waiting around and they wouldn’t go on at first, they were incredibly tight. As the solution to most of life’s problems, a spot of lube sorted the issue. I greased up the inner part of the grips and with a little bit of force they slipped right on over the bars. Time to set off.

I’d downloaded some Bill Hicks comedy to chuckle along to. As it turns out I’m a wassock and downloaded the Life of Bill Hicks, which only contained snippets of comedy and a lot more about his life. However, I now feel like I’m an expert on the musings of Bill Hicks so ask away if there was anything you wanted to know about him.

The wind had picked up once again but I trudged through the couple of inclines without cursing, and it was 10 miles before I stopped at a gas station for a little break. A Polish truck driver was asking me about the ride and mentioned he used to ride before he screwed his knees up. He hobbled back to his truck and bizarrely came back a few minute later with two massive bottle of Cranberry Juice and said that he had crates of it to get rid of. I left them “by accident” on top of ice box where he put them. I didn’t have any woman problems I needed fixing, although his gesture was very nice.

More riding and I was watching two separate storms either side of the road. I was equally impressed with each one as each bolt of lightning hit the ground. They were far enough away that I wasn’t in too much danger. Up ahead I could see rainfall in the distance but I also figured it would only last for about a mile since I could see clear skies ahead.

I soon hit the rain, perhaps I should say the rain soon hit me. It was bordering on hail and it swept across my path with such force that I yelled in pain. It hurt but didn’t break the skin. I do like the fact you can yell at the top of my voice and no one hears. It gives you a sense of freedom. The rain subsided after a mile and I reckon it was one of the quickest miles I’ve done on a flat surface.

I arrived in Wamsutter with the sun setting and nowhere to stay – sounds about right. I saw a neon sign a few blocks from where I got off I-80. It wasn’t long before I was saddled at the bar asking if the bartender knew of a place to pitch my tent. She asked other people at the bar and a woman offered her yard to pitch my tent in. Whoop! Result!

I followed Kerry back to her place and it was a cute little house in the middle of a bunch of static caravans. We got to the door and as I was unpacking she said that she’d be brave and let me sleep on the floor so I didn’t have to put my tent up. Even better result! Although her next words were, “I’ve got a glock under my pillow so don’t mess around”. Although said in jest, I knew she had one. I found out yesterday that in Wyoming anyone can carry a weapon without a license – scary shit.

Kerry poured a nightcap and I enjoyed conversation before she told me I could use the shower if I wanted to. I took her up on the offer and had a quick shower. The amount of dirt my legs accumulate is incredible, I keep thinking I’m tanned until I get in the shower and scrub off the grime! I unfurled my sleeping gear and was happy that I had struck a massive piece of luck in finding another roof over my head.

Another annoyance was that I had found out I had another broken spoke on my rear wheel. This was a wheel that I got in Grinell, Iowa, and the difference between this one (apart from the hub) is that it has 32 spokes as opposed to 36. With 36 spokes I had none break for 1,500 miles. With 32 I’ve had 2 break in 1,000 miles. You do the math.

This detracts from the main problem. I’m now carrying too much weight on the back panniers for this wheel. Now the dilemma. I have just over 1,500 miles left to ride. Do I; buy front panniers and bags and spread the weight, or, ride my luck and hope the spokes hold out. I say luck.

Unfortunately for the poor people of Wyoming I was riding topless today to quell these damn tan-lines. I would find out later that there is a little triangle of sunburn where I am obviously incapable of reaching with the suncream – idiot.

I wasn’t expecting there to be anything till Rawlins 70 miles away, but after 25 miles I came across a gas station in the middle of nowhere. Since it was all alone it had two traits. Everyone stopped here and their prices were twice as much as elsewhere. They even made you leave a tip for the toilet! Although their ice-cream was $3 for a scoop, it was homemade and the lemon ice-cream I opted for was delicious – just what I needed in the sweltering conditions.

It was at this remote gas station that I met up with the horse riders of yesterday and two other cross country cyclists. They were going west too, but they were heading further north to Oregon after starting in Florida. We literally crossed paths and wished each other luck. It was a shame I didn’t get to ride with them because it gets pretty lonely when you’re in the great expanse of the Midwest.

Climbing further, I reached the Continental Divide and sauntered down past a place to Baroil. Here the shoulder became very broken up and I had about a 10 inch riding area between the grumble strips and the broken tarmac. It took a great deal of concentration to ride along, the last thing I need with a spoke out is a bumpy ride which may buckle my wheel.

At this point I had done 55 miles and was actually riding south east – sometimes you’ve gotta take a step back to take two steps forward. A large car pulled over about 100ft in front of me and a lady got out. She stopped me and asked if I needed a lift into Rawlins. I was really hesitant, I wanted to ride and nearly declined until she mentioned she was getting a tyre for another cross country rider.

I justified getting a ride for four reasons. The lady seemed really nice and I could have a good conversation with her. I had a broken spoke and already ridden 55 miles on it. I was going south east and not gaining any mileage across. And finally I got to meet another rider who might have been going the same way.

LB (that was her name) wasn’t sure if Mike (the other cyclist) needed a tyre or an inner tube, all she had were some dimensions. The only bike shop in town, Murrays, was closed for the day so we tried a few hardware stores. None had the right size. I’ve come to the conclusion that you won’t find 700c or 28″ tyres or tubes in places like Walmart – you have to find a bike shop.

We rang the emergency number of Murrays and the woman who owned it said she would be down in 5 minutes! We got the tyre and some tubes and if Mike didn’t need a tyre she would take it back to her place in case someone else needed one. I dropped off my bike for the spoke repair and we then went to find Mike. He was about 20 miles east on I-80.

After riding around the rest area we eventually found him underneath a shelter and gave him the tubes he needed to get his bike back in a rideable condition. Unfortunately I found out Mike’s riding east and he’s on a really tight schedule to get back in time for college. He needs to be averaging 100 miles a day but he seems to have the drive and ambition so I’m positive he’ll make it!

As he had lost half a day, LB said she would drive him to Saratoga. Just before we loaded the car with his bike and gear the sprinklers decided to activate and proceeded to wet the entire sheltered area. Who the fuck designed the sprinkler system to water the shelters. THEY DO NOT NEED WATERING. When Mike and myself returned to LB’s car it looked like we had taken part in a wet t-shirt competition. We drove 50 miles and dropped Mike off at a bar where the owner let Mike pitch his tent in the back yard.

We drove back to Rawlins and by now it was dark and approaching 10pm. I had a fun evening and was glad that I decided to get the lift earlier. I found out the Mike went to Sheffield Hallam a few years ago for a few months and he also recognised I was from Northern England – not Australian which I get more often than not.

LB dropped me off at the hotel. She was awesome and couldn’t do more to help both Mike and myself. She has a campsite on the road I was coming down on, but it’s hidden away. I’ll do a separate blog post on it after the trip because from Mike’s description, it was like a cyclists nirvana.

After I checked into the hotel which was only two blocks from the bike shop I went down to the 24hr diner where not only did I devour a Buffalo burger, but also started talking to another couple of cyclists who had already eaten. They were part of a race from North to South and were riding from Bamff in Canada to Mexico. About 100 people started the race but it seems to have quite a high attrition rate and they had a couple more weeks to go. One of the chaps was from Cardiff and it seems strange but it was nice to hear a familiar accent.

Back in the room, and knowing that my bike wasn’t going to be ready until tomorrow afternoon, I rang the desk and extended my checkout time to 12 so that I could enjoy a little lie in.

Thinking about today it seems like Rawlins is a very central location for touring. I’ve met 5 touring cyclists today, all going in a different direction to me. It was reassuring that there are more riders out there than I thought.

The initial route down to Rawlins is not only 2 days ride away, but only has one other tiny settling along the way called Alcova. As a result I made sure I stocked up on food at Walmart. I also topped up on a few wash kit supplies and treated myself to a new bike seat cover. My awesome stitching effort was coming undone but I wanted something a bit more weatherproof.

Riding on Route 220 was pleasant enough but I also had Doug Stanhope to keep me company. This was Andrew Sewards Spotify suggestion and as it turns out had me in stitches. I must have seemed like a lunatic heartily chuckling to myself along the roadside. Dougs stuff is not for the easily offended, his stuff is very edgy but he doesn’t give a shit about what other people think – I like that, people need to learn to give less of a shit about the small stuff.

At the 25 mile mark I stopped in Alcova for a water top up and some ice cream. There I got chatting to a few people that were riding 2,000 miles on horses. As it turns out there is a big group of about 50 of them and they are sticking to the trails. I’m not risking anymore trails in Wyoming but they were heading to Salt Lake City too. I hope that I beat their asses to the city just to prove that bike power is better than horse power.

Unbeknown to me a few more hills were waiting for me and I got to 52 miles at 19:00. I was at Independence Rock which was also a very convenient rest area with shelters, toilets, drinking water and grassy areas. I had another potential 2 hours of riding time but I wasn’t sure I would find another safe place to camp between here and Rawlins. I’m all up for taking risks but I just didn’t feel as though there would be anything within 20 miles and I’m not a foolish risk taker. I would set up camp here tonight – along with 5 or so truckers who don’t like turning their engines off.

I set the tent up in 9 minutes (which I want to get down to 6) and tucked into a gourmet supper of Beanie Weenies. That’s beans and whale blubber sausage to folks in the UK. I took the opportunity to do a little blogging and had a staring competition with a very brave deer. They don’t normally come within 10 metres but since I was ninja-like, it didn’t see me for a while and bucked when it did. I can only assume it was a doe.