Pacific Time
Last night, I stayed in St. George, at a place called Inn on the Cliff. I want to say it was terrible so you don’t go and jack the price up. It was awesome. Tonight, I’m in Ely, NV at a place called All Aboard Inn and Cafe, and it’s. Unique? Quaint? Exactly what I needed? Sure, yes. But last night, I was overlooking cliffs of red rock, drinking wine, eating swordfish, and had the option of taking a dip in the pool. Tonight, I’m trying to find out where the hell the outlet is beside the bed (there isn’t one), and whether or not I can squeeze a bottle of water into the micro-fridge (I can’t). But it’s good.
I can’t believe it’s been two days since Monument Valley. The host / owner of All Aboard, Ralph, asked me where I was coming from. I completely forgot that I left St. George this morning. It feels like an eternity ago. After I left Monument Valley, I was riding a euphoria for the entire day. It didn’t even matter what I saw. But, I did make it to Page. I saw Horseshoe Bend. It was cool. I mean, it’s a huge-ass canyon made by a river. It’s super cool. At the same time, I was struggling my way through crying babies, bros and their hoes, people speaking all kinds of languages, all kinds of smells, all kinds of humanity: I stopped trying to be “in nature” and just accepted that I was at a tourist attraction. I had a kind couple take my photo. I’m glad I went, but my soul was still back with the Navajo, thinking about the stories of the Skinwalker that Korene told me.
It was a long way to Page. I passed by where I could have gone to visit the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. I chose to not, and I’m glad. The Vermillion Cliffs were mesmerizing and massive. I was so over-stimulated, I think seeing the Grand Canyon would have fallen on a numb palette to be honest. As I made my way over the mountain pass, a kindly Arizona State Trooper had a chat with me about my speed. Sorry, mate. I’m taking online traffic school right after this post so I don’t get points on my license. I still contend that I wasn’t going that fast when he pulled me over, but it’s karma for how fast I was going, so I totally deserved it. Speaking of which, Stormy’s maximum speed, fully laden with camping gear and panniers, is 138 mph.
I wasn’t even mad. The pass was astoundingly beautiful. It rained on me and cooled me down, almost an apology for the 111° it was in Page. Every stop light started to take my breath away. I started using chapstick. It’s hot. I was thinking I’m glad I didn’t do the Death Valley route I had originally imagined, as they just measured around 135° there a few days ago.
I pulled into Inn on the Cliff, and the beautiful young lady with the WWJD bracelet got me squared away. Immediate takeaways from St. George, Utah: 1. Everyone is beautiful, men and women, 2. Lots of Mormons here. You could tell from eavesdropping conversations. I went to dinner at the adjacent restaurant and has an exceptionally delicious meal. The couple sitting next to me was talking about religion, obviously, and the man felt that he just couldn’t align with Mormonism, but rather was interested in Confucianism (?!). I was so tired from the day, I just listened and enjoyed my wine, not thinking too deeply about anything.
This morning, I left St. George, and drove through Zion National Park (holy shit), then through Bryce Canyon (oh my god), then through the high desert of Utah (what the hell is this place), to get to Ely (pronounced EE-leey, not EE-lie, for the uninitiated).
The two aforementioned places were beautiful. But I’d be wasting words describing them to you. Look up photos. It’s like that, but 100x better. See? Done. The place that really moved me was the western Utah high desert.
Texas was vast, but in a flat, goes-on-forever, kind of way. Utah / Nevada desert by Great Basin was like, truly alien. Like a video game, where there are endless mountains in the desert, but a haze that only reveals them to you as you approach. Rt. 21 gave me a preview of Rt. 50, with stretches of road so expansive, you can see them disappear up the mountain in the distance and then vanish. I took some footage and photos, so I hope they turn out. This is like nothing I’ve ever seen, completely unique to this trip.
When I reached Rt. 50, I saw a young man standing at the intersection with a bicycle. He had his thumb out. I stopped and asked what the hell he was doing in the middle of absolutely nowhere. His name was Joey, and he explained that he was cycling from Missouri. What? And that he booked a flight from Reno, but wasn’t going to make it in time. I gave him a spare bottle of water I had, and wished him well, then set off for Ely. About 10 miles later, I couldn’t get him off my mind, so I doubled-back and found him again, this time with another motorcyclist (red VFR, btw) who had stopped to chat with Joey. This guy’s name was Hima, and he, too, was doing a cross-country trip from Indiana, and was going to be in San Francisco soon with a friend to ride Rt 1, etc. What a coincidence! We all talked for a while, and I offered Joey a ride via tying some line to my bike, and towing him at 40mph to Ely, where he could let go whenever he wanted to. He was mulling it over, but he was clearly terrified at this prospect. Just then, we saw a few pickup trucks approaching in the distance. Pretty busy intersection for the beginning of America’s loneliest road, if you ask me. He decided to take a chance with them, and as they were slowing down, it looked as though they were going to offer their assistance, so I bid Joey and Hima farewell. I hope he made it to where he was going, but in retrospect, towing a cyclist 70 miles to Ely would have been pretty damn hilarious.
I’m going to set off very early tomorrow. I hope to make it through the desert before the sun gets too high, and stop at the Vintage Monkey in Sacramento. I emailed the owner, I hope they can open for me. Either way, I think I’m going home tomorrow.