Mike's Journal

Salt and Crickets

Read Jeff's Journal; I think it’s great and it’s only getting better.

Day 10
58 Miles from the desert, through the desert, to the Desert

Thirty miles east of Fallon in the Nevada desert there is an immense valley bisected by Hwy 50. Vast and desolate, it is perhaps the most inhospitable place I have ever been. The valley floor is white with crystallized salt and surrounded by non-descript sandy brown mountains; there are no trees. In between moments of conversation with Jeff I loose myself in thoughts. To the left the land appears untouched and it is easy to imagine myself in another time: 100, 200, 5,000 years ago. For a moment I am younger, a wiry lad, on a white colored horse carrying letters for the Pony Express. Such an amazing system; it was obsolete in less than two years; replaced by the first trans-continental telegraph. Technology. Off to the right a series of telephone poles and suspended wires create a simple visual rhythm against the salty plains:

ooooOOOOTOOOOooooOOOOTOOOooooOOOOTOOOoooo

Late in the afternoon the foreign landscape coupled with my own fatigue releases a torrent of emotions; the joy of dreams coming true, the comfort of settling into this pattern, and pride in accomplishment thus far. I can’t believe that Jeff and I have ridden our bicycles from the Pacific Ocean, over the Sierras, and into the Desert. In some ways I feel the further away from home here than I imagine I will in Chicago or New York. Though I haven’t reached these destinations yet they feel more familiar. The Desert is a world of unknowns, mountains, and heat. The desert is not flat.

Jeff and I now carry 20 lbs of water between us over numerous mountain passes: 7500ft, 6500ft, 7600ft again; at each summit it seems there is a new valley to dive into and another row of snowcapped mountains rising above. The air feels dry and we drink constantly. There is an Arrowhead “tank” resting on the back of my bike; one large enough to quench the thirst of an entire soccer team when offered at halftime with oranges.

The sun sets somewhere beyond the desert; behind the mountains it swims in the ocean. Without the ambient light of civilization the darkness of night reveals an incredible display of stars; they are seemingly infinite as they dip down on all sides to meet the horizon. I turn my head skyward and I am sure this is the best thing I have ever done; The Great Sitting.

Dinner is a mess of rice, corn tortillas, avocado, salsa, and bugs (the can of beans disappeared lies safely on the roadside somewhere). There seem to be millions of bugs out at night. Where they during the day? They are drawn to the light of our headlamps and dive into dinner. They swim in our tea and relentlessly hurl themselves at our tents. It is impossible not to eat them and I become nocuous.

Day 11
45 Miles 5000 ft climbing; The middle of the Nevada Desert to the middle of the Nevada Desert

The desert continues, as we are told it will for three to four hundred more miles. We ride over small summits and past Naval bases. Why are there naval bases in the desert? There are signs warning of laser testing and Jeff and I agree that the possibility of sighting a UFO has just increased 100 fold. Our maps indicate that today’s only services; food, water, stores, etc. will be at the town of Middlegate.

Around noon, after riding into steady headwinds, we discover that Middlegate is not really a town. In a town you can buy bread. In a town there are containers of water larger than 33.5oz. In a town there is more than one phone. A town has more than one business. Regardless Middlegate is a nice place to rest and the only building in “town” happens to be a really great tavern.

The structure is rustic looking. Inside it is dark and inviting. Dollar bills cover the low ceiling; each inscribed with notes written by guests. “Cheryl and John were here – Summer of ’86!” There is a map of “The Lincoln Highway” autographed by Hillary Rodham-Clinton, a poster for “The Beards of (some city I forgot the name of), and an autographed photo of Shelly Long. This place is great! Jeff and I walk to the back, notice a pool table and decide to play a game. We are both horrible and Jeff wins.

Upon leaving a woman suggests that we take Hwy 722 instead of Hwy 50. She says it is beautiful, and there are wonderful places to camp. She describes creeks and flowers and one small hill… 722 is uphill for miles; it is covered with dead snakes; and at it’s peak it is nearly as high as the sierras. We ride for hours without seeing any other humans. There is one cow; it looks lost and helpless. It runs along side us as we ride begging for help with its eyes. It is obviously lost, and will probably die before it finds water. There is no creek, no flowers… We think about riding into the night as Jeff feels funny so far away from people but our legs finished, they’re like hollow tubes of acid; so we camp.

Day 12
70 miles
From a few miles below the Carol Summit on 722 to the middle of the desert beyond Austin Nevada

Mormon Crickets are enormous. Two to three inches long. Some are green, some red, and others black like death. They are larger than grape leaf Dolmas. Two in a row are the size of a large tofu hot dog. They pepper the road. It is a scene from a 1960’s horror movie. The crickets make a horrible sound; fingernails on a chalkboard. They seem unable to control their movement and when they jump they are, “falling, fumbling, and tumbling in turmoil.” They land on their heads and roll across the pavement. At points the carcasses of dead crickets cover the roadway while the living eat the dead. These things are carnivores and it is easy to see them chew; their not so tiny jaws munching. We meet some great people at a diner in Austin and they say that we’re lucky we didn’t come through a couple of weeks ago. “They were so thick then you couldn’t see the road at all.” “Be careful,” they said, “When you run over ‘em they’re slicker ’n black ice.” The crickets visit the desert Six to eight weeks out of the year along Hwy 50 in Nevada.

Just before lunch I can’t click out of my pedal and I fall over in the street. We are in front of a group of tough looking cowboys and I am embarrassed. As I go down I lunge at Jeff to steady myself, I grab for his arm and before I can recoil I regret it. I move in slow motion and think, “Shit, I’m going to pull Him down with me.” Jeff remains steady though and I fall squarely on my hip. My sore, sore hip. Arnica doesn’t seem to help.

On the way out of town we climb another 7500ft mountain pass (the desert is not flat) and descend through the thickest crickets yet. They pop and crack beneath my tires. They lurch skyward and their bodies feel hard and prickly against the bare skin of my legs. Liquid guts splash up from Jeff’s rear wheel and spray my face. I focus and do not fall. Twenty miles later we have left the crickets; a new place in the desert has again become our temporary home.

Day 13
50 Miles
The Desert beyond Austin Nevada, to Eureka, Nevada

See Jeff's Journal.

Posted by Mike at June 17, 2004 12:04 AM