Friday, August 2, 2024
Millford, UT --> Baker, NV
83.44 miles, 4,265 ft elevation
Today I learned that my personal hell was seeing a never-ending road stretch out for miles and miles in front of me. Climbs? No problem. Sharp corners? Bring it on. But to know that there was an endless road for 80-something miles that never changed, provided no excitement, no variability was psychologically tortuorous for me.
And so I left Millford this morning fighting my inner demons as I battled the stark and barren landscape. The desert heat shimmered the US-50 with mirages in the distance. My bike cleats became blazing ovens for my feet. Sweat and salt streaked my face. My eyes burned from the hot wind, my mouth dry despite how much water I drank. I gritted my teeth, forcing my mind to focus on my music rather than the perpetually snaking highway in front of me.
There were moments of relief of course. Like the joy of passing through several summits. Or the TikTok dance break I partook in with Amulya, our resident dancer.
Lunch was an interesting one. There was nothing on this part of the US-50, so we munched on lukewarm sandwiches on a small shoulder of the highway. Tired, exhausted, thirsty, we didn't have too much to say to each other that lunch. I could barely stomach my sandwich in the midst of the heat.
And onward we went again. The boiling air made me irritable, and all I could do was keep my eyes on my Garmin. 20 miles to go. 15. The miles passed by as slow as molasses.
I thought to myself, how could anyone live in this part of the earth? It seemed desolate and unforgiving. At our the water stop, when I had my head in my hands (I was truly in the trenches), Rebecca reminded me that we could soon be crossing into the Pacific Time zone, and thus officially Nevada. "We can get ice cream!" Rebecca exclaimed.
She knew how to motivate me.
And thus, I pedaled. We reached the Nevada sign, where we saw the Spokes 2024 sticker that Hank had placed just prior to our arrival. There was also a Spokes 2022 sticker. Rebecca was right. This was something to be proud of. I know the stickers may seem trivial, but I swelled with emotion to know that I was part of something bigger than myself, to know that future Spokes teams would pass by this sign years from now and see our sticker on this sign.
And of course, ice cream was close too. Entering Baker brought forth the most euphoric sensation that I had been missing these last couple of days.
Sophia, Rebecca, Amulya, Jess, and I went to Sugar, Salt & Malt, a surprisingly chic and sophisticated restaurant in a town with a population of 21 (yes, this is true according to the US 2022 census!). We talked to the owners and chefs there, and learned that they grew up in Baker and were hoping to expand their restaurant to Portland, Oregon. As we chatted, we eagerly gulped down pitchers of ice water and placed our orders.
Amulya and I shared a housemade sorbet, delicately tart and refreshingly cool with flavors of plum, pineapple, and watermelon. Ever so the ice cream fiend, I couldn't resist getting the housemade ice cream sandwich as well. Two soft yet sturdy chocolate chip cookies held a disc of vanilla bean ice cream in place. The ice cream was buttery and smooth, a good old-fashioned vanilla base that would never let you down.
I skimmed through the food magazines that were at the bar, and my eyes fell upon a colorful marigold yellow and scarlet spread about a Diwali holiday dinner party. Recipes for mango rasmalai, chaat, and pani puri were elegantly written down. It made me miss home and my family.
As we left the restaurant, we passed by the general store that was right across the street. We learned that there was a night festival taking place in Baker that evening! How lucky, I thought. But in a town of 21, what exactly would this night festival look like? We headed to our RV site for the evening for a quick round of showers, tent set-up, and dinner.
After our dinner of hot dogs and bread (there were no grocery stores in Baker), we walked back across the street to the general store. I was taken aback by the liveliness, music in the air as people wandered about the different tables, ranging from the National Park rangers handing out brochures on native plants to vendors selling colorful and light dresses. I went into the general store to buy myself kombucha (treat yo self), and went outside on the patio to listen to the live music.
We sat at the table, JD blowing bubbles and I sipping on kombucha.
Tiny sunflowers adorned the plants surrounding us, the evening sky turning a dusky, hazy, and deep blue as the fairy lights rimmed the building. Warm wind blew faintly. The band then sang "Take Me Home, Country Roads".
Almost Heaven, West Virginia
Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River
Life is old there, older than the trees
Younger than the mountains, growin' like a breeze
I became a little teary as I thought back to the beginning of the summer, fresh on our bikes and no expectations of what lay ahead. Climbing up Shenandoah felt impossible, yet we did it. Biking through the desert felt impossible, yet here I was. Quietly content, listening to the melodies of the instruments and soft desert air.
Please don’t hate Nevada and US Hwy 50. Its beauty is as subtle as its lovely pastel palette and its undulating basin and range. Relax into its peacefulness. Enjoy its solitariness. It is someplace where you can truly be alone.