A Very Empty Road

July 19, 2013

Day 26: Milford, Utah to Baker, Nevada

I woke up on my own at 4:45: My extremely low-tech flip phone, which is also my alarm, had turned off in the night for some reason. What a disaster it would have been if I had overslept until 10:00 on the longest day with no services of any kind. It is 84 miles from Milford to Baker, and there is virtually nothing the entire distance.

I started riding in the darkness, but by the time I got about a mile out of town and arrived at Penny's Diner, it was dawn. I had a quick breakfast there (only so-so, and too expensive; not recommended), then got back on Utah State Route 21. It was really nice riding in the desert this time of day. It was still pleasantly cool, and everything was bathed in a golden light. The road was virtually empty of traffic. There was no wind this early in the morning, and the only sounds were the whoosh of my tires and birds chirping. I also saw several deer and jackrabbits.

Today's route consisted of three climbs: To Frisco Summit, Wah Wah Summit and Halfway Summit. In between these lay valleys, or "basins." The climb to Frisco Summit started in Milford, so the first part of the ride was a slow, steady ascent. Unlike the more dramatic climbs in Colorado and Utah, this was more subtle: For several miles, the only indication that I was climbing was a noticeably slower average speed. During this first climb, and, in fact, for most of the rest of the day, there was no traffic. I saw no more than three or four vehicles per hour all day.

The descent from Frisco Summit was more fun than usual because it wasn't too steep, it was mostly straight, and there were no cars to worry about overtaking me. By the time I coasted to the bottom, it had gotten hot, and the golden glow of the early morning had been replaced by harsh sunlight. I pulled over and drank a Gatorade that I had been able to partially freeze in my motel room's refrigerator last night. I was carrying more liquid than I had ever carried before, even more than I carried on the almost-as-long day from Blanding to Hite Recreation Area. I had small and large bottles of Gatorade and water stuffed in all the panniers.

I have a fondness for empty, remote roads, but today was a real test of that fondness. The second climb of the day seemed steeper, and it was definitely hotter now. Around this time one of the realities of riding for 84 miles with no services, including bathrooms, became especially real. I will only say that I parked my bike by the side of the road, made a long, grim march into what a nearby Bureau of Land Management sign described as "Your Public Lands" and did some very personal business on those Public Lands. Enough Said.

About halfway through today's ride, I came over a hill to see the largest (and only, really) landmark in sight. At first it was only a blob, but as I pedaled for several minutes, I could see that it was The Tree. The Tree is famous (well, "famous" among cyclists who are doing or who have done the Western Express route) as virtually the only accessible shade on today's ride. It lies at almost exactly the halfway mark in either direction. In addition to The Tree itself, this landmark also features a water hose connected to a spring in the ground, from which potable water is available. I was carrying lots of water, so I was more excited about the rare shade. I stood there for about twenty minutes, eating some of the apple newtons I was carrying, and drinking some of the Gatorade that at this point was only faintly cool.

After the halfway mark of the ride, it kept getting hotter. It was hard to drink my water, which was at first disgustingly warm, then almost impossibly hot. The miles slowly ticked by. I regretted not leaving in the early morning darkness with Andy and Claudia. I had been nursing a faint hope that there would be a pop machine in Garrison, the last Utah town, but the place was such a junk pile that even if there had been a working pop machine, I might not have been able to locate it.

I reached the Nevada State line to find that Baker, the first Nevada town, was a few miles farther than I had originally estimated. Why does this always happen!? My water was too hot to drink now: I splashed some on my hand and it seemed to burn. I did finally make it to Baker, to find Andy and Claudia standing outside a store with two eastbound cyclists. After some very brief pleasantries I purchased and guzzled an ice cold Gatorade and walked back outside with the others.

The consensus was that camping was the best option in tiny Baker (pop. 68), which did have two sort-of-motels that seemed unnaturally expensive. We all rode a half mile down the road to an RV Park/Campground, where, through some mysterious process I was nominated as "the negotiator." My negotiation with the campground manager consisted of the following:

"How much to camp?" "17 dollars each." (I frowned slightly. The frown was not a "negotiating ploy", but instead was caused by a headache which had resulted from drinking the disgustingly hot water in my bottles earlier.) "Alright then, $12.50 each." "OK."

The negotiation thus accomplished we all went to the dusty tent area and set up. Later, I went by myself to the restaurant in town where I had a hamburger and an expensive two-liter bottle of Sprite (drink options were very limited). The others were back at camp cooking with their little stoves, but I don't do that.

We all retired to our tents early, after various boasts were made of the earliness of our expected rising times in the morning.