Twenty Miles Behind, a Perfect Ride, and Getting Pulled Over

Day: 51 (Eureka, NV to Austin, NV)

Average Speed: 10.4 MPH

Miles Cycled Today: 71.1

Miles Cycled Total: 3, 437

Mood: Whimsical

Sign Upon Entering Austin, Nevada

“There’s another guy twenty miles ahead of you.” -Jane and David, whom I shared a picnic table with in an abandoned rest area at lunchtime. I had packed a delicious sandwich, but they still offered me everything they had. I accepted a Ghirardelli chocolate square. 

Amy and Adam. Good Samaritans.

“There’s another guy about twenty miles ahead of you.” -Amy and Adam, who pulled over to offer me water and pleasant conversation (they’ve toured on bikes as well in the past). 

“There’s another guy about a two hours ahead of you.” -Federal Express delivery man, who pulled over simply to keep me in the loop.

“I saw you yesterday. You were biking with another guy. He’s way far ahead of you now.” -One of the two cops who pulled me over. I’ll elaborate on that later. 

Everybody knows everybody else's business on Highway 50, “The Loneliest Road in America” (that’s a horseshit misnomer if there ever was one). It is, essentially, the only road through this part of Nevada, so you can be sure that a car that is traveling on Route 50 has been on Route 50 for a long time. 

There's nothing lonely about it.

But since all the towns are spaced very far apart (70-80 miles), naturally all travelers stop at each one. And they LOVE to tell you where they were when they saw you, and what they were thinking at the time. Apparently everybody thinks I’m “…out of my goddam mind.” 

And eastbound travelers LOVE to tell you that there’s another guy. Twenty miles ahead. 

I need to think up a better story to explain why Jamie is often many miles ahead of me. I’m getting tired of telling the boring truth- that I have a hard time dragging my ass out of bed. I’m open to suggestions. 

Just as rare as miserable rides (I’ve had maybe three or four to date) are perfect rides, and I think today pretty much falls in that category. I loved it. Perfect.  

Best. Deli. Ever.

The long, gentle downhill out of Eureka, the unexpected tailwind, the 93 degree dry heat that is tamed with breeze. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. 

The incredible Pony Express Deli in Eureka run by Mennonites who make their own bread and take twenty minutes to craft an amazing sandwich, knowing that you’re on a bike and it will have to last four hours in the hot sun. Perfect. 

Stock Photo. Not Mine.

Watching three riderless horses gallop at full speed across a vast expanse, kicking up a beautiful trail of dust while you’re racing to keep up with them. Perfect.

If You Know Any Other Artists Who Play Music Like This Guy... Contact Me. Please.

The soundtrack of indie country music (it’s just a phase I’m going through… I promise. But I’m into country at the moment). Perfect. 

The two climbs (category: Bad-Ass) right at the end of the day. Perfect. 

Today's Route

The incredible sunset at the top of Austin Summit (so glad I was twenty miles behind to see it). Perfect. 

I Cycled into This. Top of Austin Summit.

And the fulfillment of a dream- getting pulled over by the state police while on a bicycle. 

Perfect.

Yup. This Happened.

SCENE: CYCLIST is on side of road in Nevada, calling his mother and stalling before the Major Climb ahead. He is not weary, but it is tradition for him to stall before a Major Climb, and as he is only a few hundred miles from his destination, the tradition’s not about to change. A YOUNG STATE TROOPER pulls up behind CYCLIST, lights flashing. CYCLIST quickly hangs up on mother. 

YOUNG TROOPER approaches CYCLIST with hand on the butt of his service weapon. CYCLIST opens the conversation. 

CYCLIST: I have a license on me sir, but I have no idea where my registration is. 

YOUNG TROOPER: (not comprehending joke) I saw you look behind you. I thought maybe you were lost or something. 

CYCLIST: I don’t know if it’s possible to be lost, sir. There’s only one road. I was looking at Nevada. And talking to my mom. 

Another OLDER TROOPER pulls up, lights on, and parks behind the first car. Now there are two cars with flashing lights, and CYCLIST officially looks like a criminal. Passing traffic throughout rest of scene is highly curious and slows to a crawl. OLDER TROOPER approaches, hand on the butt of his service weapon. 

OLDER TROOPER: Everything okay here?

CYCLIST: Yeah… I’m just… cycling. 

OLDER TROOPER: I know. I saw you yesterday. You were biking with another guy. He’s way far ahead of you now.

CYCLIST: (inexplicably getting nervous) I… like to… sleep.

OLDER TROOPER starts to circle bike while asking the cop version of the Usual Questions. He examines bike carefully. CYCLIST suddenly remembers that he still has the baggie of pot that was given to him on DAY 39- for some reason, he can’t bring himself to throw it away. He almost asks what the marijuana laws are in Nevada, but then thinks better of it. 

OLDER TROOPER: (eyeing bike suspiciously) Where did you start cycling from?

CYCLIST: (stammering) I’m from New York. But Virginia. Today, Eureka. In Nevada. I mean I started in Virginia, but not today. I'm from New York. 

YOUNG TROOPER offers Hairy Eyeball. OLDER TROOPER continues to examine bike, expressionless. CYCLIST wants to explain that he’s not a criminal running drugs- that in fact, it would be a highly inefficient method of such activity, but then thinks better of it. 

YOUNG TROOPER: That’s a steep mountain ahead of you.

CYCLIST: I know. That’s why I’m stopped. I was on the phone with my mom. She works in New Jersey. But we live in New York. I’m not from Virginia. 

OLDER TROOPER: (still circling bike) The other guy. Your buddy. He’s way far ahead of you. 

CYCLIST: I know. 

YOUNGER TROOPER: It’s really steep coming up. 

OLDER TROOPER: Steep. 

CYCLIST: I know. 

(long, silent pause while both TROOPERS examine bike)

CYCLIST: (cautiously) Do you mind if I take I picture of myself getting pulled over?

YOUNG TROOPER: (suddenly nervous) That’s probably not a good id-

CYCLIST grows a set and takes picture before permission is granted. He imagines taking off on his bike up the steep hill and leading the police in the slowest car chase ever. He laughs. 

OLDER TROOPER: What’s funny?

CYCLIST: Nothing, sir. Except for this. This is funny. 

YOUNG TROOPER: That’s a steep hill coming up.

OLDER TROOPER: That other guy’s way far ahead. 

CYCLIST: I know. 

YOUNG TROOPER: You need anything?

CYCLIST: No. Thanks. 

BOTH TROOPERS: (shrug) Be safe. (they leave)

Not Even a Warning?? I Was Parking on Pavement!!

I’ve run red lights in front of cops, and I have surpassed the speed limit on several occasions. I really want a ticket, just to see what it looks like. But that dream will have to wait. I got off scot-free. Not even a warning.

Made it to Austin, Nevada, where Jamie investigated the town park and found the OFF switch for the sprinklers. They were set to give us a 4 AM shower. 

Not anymore. 

A Dream Hotel

He will peacefully sleep on the hammocky draw-bridge. 

I called dibs on the caboose. 

Seriously? Thanks!

Bonus: there’s a working refrigerator (?) under the pavilion. 

Tomorrow, we’re doing 120 miles. 

And by the time I’m at mile 100, Jamie will have the town of Fallon, Nevada scoped out. 

And we’ll both archive the current map. 

And we’ll open up the final one of the journey. 

The last map. 

Anyone out there still betting against me finishing this thing before school starts?

I didn’t think so. 

Hanna's booked her flight out. 

And she's booked our flight home.

P.S.

I was FLYING down this mountain. Where were the cops then??

If anybody knows police on my route that are willing to give me a speeding ticket, please let them know I'm in the market for one.