THIS IS NOT 89

July 17, 2013

Day 24: Bryce Canyon Pines Motel to Cedar City, Utah

It was hard getting out of the very comfortable bed in room 147, which was quiet in the morning before the restaurant opened for breakfast. I hit the snooze button on the alarm (ambitiously set at 5:15) four times, then finally gave up, reset the alarm to 6:45, and went back to sleep. It was a very good bed.

I got back on the super-nice, scenic Red Canyon bike path for several miles, then turned onto a state highway with a large smooth shoulder, and mostly coasted to Panguitch. I stopped at the first cafe I saw, and, having learned a valuable lesson yesterday morning, ordered a reasonably sized breakfast. The owner of the place mentioned that a man and woman on loaded touring bikes had been in an hour before me, and were headed my direction: A monster, 32 mile climb to 10,500 feet before descending to Cedar City, almost sixty miles away. Despite their head start, I thought I might be able to catch them. Thus motivated, I finished breakfast, bought some iced honeybuns (750 calories each) for the ride, and rode out of town.

I would be on highway 143 for the entire 32 miles. As I turned onto this road I saw several signs warning me of its dangers: It was often impassable in the winter; trucks greater than a certain weight should NOT use it; trucks greater than a certain length should NOT use it. My favorite was the sign reading "THIS IS NOT 89", a reference to the apparently preferred highway 89. I'm sure there is a story, or stories, about the impetus for installing that sign.

After an initially gut-bustingly steep climb out of town, the next several miles were relatively easy; after all, there was about 4,000 feet of elevation gain spread over 32 miles, so it's not like it was going to be straight up the entire way.

At Panguitch Lake I stopped at a little store that catered to fishermen, bought a Gatorade, and sat on the front porch of the place and drank it while I talked to an older lady sitting there. She told me she was staying at the lake with "my husband and five other men." They were all fishing for trout in the lake, but she didn't like to fish, so she sat on the porch and read a book instead.

I continued riding up the mountain as the skies darkened. I was resigned to once again riding over a high mountain pass in the chilly rain. At about 8,000 feet I rode past a campground and saw a couple of cyclists. They were Dave and Peggy, the couple I had heard about this morning, riding from Virginia Beach back home to Sacramento, California. They were stopping for the day in the campground. I was surprised to hear that they had been starting their rides as early as 2:00 in the morning to avoid the worst heat of the day. Impressive; I've been getting up later than ever, even when camping.

A few hundred feet up the raindrops started, so I pulled out the rain jacket. It was the slow, steep part of the climb now. I briefly talked with a couple on a motorcycle, going down the mountain, who had pulled over and were putting their rain gear on. It seemed to take forever to get up the mountain. The rain continued for several miles, although it never became unbearably cold like yesterday.

I finally got to the top, where I entered the Cedar Breaks National Monument and rode past the visitor center without paying an entrance fee. I mean, come on: My experience of the National Monument was limited to riding 5.5 miles through some mountaintop meadows. I guess I'm a scofflaw.

I descended a while before one more little climb, then pulled over at the "brake check" area to make sure everything on the bike was firmly attached before the really big descent to Cedar City. As I stood there, a man in a pickup truck pulled over, handed me a cold Diet Mountain Dew, said "Here's your cold pop!" then drove off before I could thank him properly. Strangers have handed me cold soft drinks twice in the last couple of days. Utah, you're alright.

The descent was slightly scary as always, although I've gotten better at very quickly glancing over my left shoulder to check for traffic behind me now; that's more reliable than the mirror when doing these long, screaming downhills.

I entered Cedar City (population around 30,000) to find that it was probably 35F warmer than a half hour before, up on the mountain. Cedar City had one camping option, a KOA, who wanted their typical, ridiculous $33 to pitch my tent next to a noisy highway. I rejected that instantly, and rode around town looking for the cheap motel zone. I checked with several places, as the prices descended from $149 to $129 to $89 to $55. Finally I spotted a crumbling place, walked into a lobby that was redolent of curry, and learned that I could get a room for $33, the same price the KOA wanted. I told the man I wanted to see the room first, and despite his initial, possibly feigned, offense ("Why you want to see the room? It is a nice room.") he gave me a key, I made my usual cursory inspection, and it proved adequate. (My inspection: Make sure the air conditioner works, smell the pillows, make sure the sheets don't have streaks of blood from bedbug bites, make sure hot water comes out of the shower.)

Later I walked to a Chinese Buffet for dinner, where I ate much food and struck up a conversation with Jrond, a cyclist from Norway who was doing a long, multi-month tour of the USA. Then a young couple doing the Western Express in my direction came in and we talked for a while. They had started in Virginia on May 17, had not cycled before this trip, and had several interesting stories. Hopefully I would be seeing them in the coming days as we all ride across the desert in Nevada.

The ice cold drink I was handed through the window of a pickup truck.

Today's ride: 77 miles (124 km)
Total: 1,989 miles (3,201 km)

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