Little Fish, Big River, Bigger City

Yes, I finished the ride last Saturday at 2:11 p.m. Pacific about 57 days, 2 hours and 3,674.3 miles from my starting point. The post with the final details is below this one.

I'm now in Seattle and I picked up up AxL the dog who was skeptical that I was actually back. He's doing great and I can't thank Micaela Grill enough for looking after him. She gave me a total guilt trip about taking him away from her but the tough side of me was able to overcome her pleading. He is such a great dog and I'm so lucky to have found the little guy. I've taken him to the vet and he's got a clean bill of health. He's been around Greenlake about three times now, maybe four. He's also been to his favorite treat store on Queen Anne about four times. Life is good for Mr. Axl.

We leave today for San Francisco and our next adventure. In the meantime I know I owe around 300 of you emails on various subjects so yes, I'll answer soon, probably next week sometime. In the meantime, for anyone out there who has questions about the ride, email me, scottkurttila@Hotmail.com and I'll answer the best ones right here next week. So far, I seem to get, how far did you ride each day, were you ever scared, what did you eat, where did you sleep, what was the best day, the best place, the worst day, did I ever feel like quitting, etc. etc. etc. etc. So, I'm off to pack it up...I bid you "adieu for now" Seattle. It's been great and I'll be back soon enough. San Franciso...watch out...The Scott and AxL show is coming to town.

I woke up fairly early and peered out of my tent to see if the Pacific was below me but I was still in the foothills enough that it was beyond sight. I packed up, called my friend Joe Anderson from Seattle who had flown down the night before, getting in at 1:30 a.m. to meet me this morning. I thought biking across the country was crazy but personally, I found it crazier that someone would fly from Seattle to San Diego just to see someone who has biked across the country. It means the world to me and I'm floored by the gesture. Additionally, my friends Cathy and Marcus Daniel from Los Angeles were driving down to meet me at the finish as well.

I called Joe and told him where I was and while he was driving the 26 miles up the hills to meet me, I called Marc and Cathleen then pakced up my camp for the last time. I took loads of pictures which, per usual, erased themselves like hundreds of others from my faulty compact flash card. Sad but bearable is that I lost most of the best pictures of the ride, around 300 or 400 of them, Christmas day and the five days after and then the last three days of riding. I was able to salvage just 9 from the finish line, luckily.

As I rode out of the Lake Jennings Campground, I met Joe coming up the entry way. It had been years since I had seen him and we had a good laugh. He followed me down the road in his rental car, leapfrogging beyond me, waiting for me to pass and then leapfrogging ahead again.

I felt oddly rushed in that I didn't want to hold him up so I rode as fast as I could, almost crashing several times as I felt like Joe was waiting on me and I was slowing down his day, yet he really didn't care as he simply was entertained by me and my goofy trailer zipping along the highway.

After just seven miles, I caught up to him pulled over and we went back to an IHOP to grab breakfast and look at photos from the ride so far.

After breakfast, I kept riding on through medium traffic and eventually hit a small but picturesque park where Joe had to slip off and I took a bike trail through amazing, green hills with sculptured rock formations called the Father Junipero Serra Park. It was funny to see people just out for a ride as I was wrapping up nearly 3700 miles.

I met Joe on the other side after a couple miles and my friends Mac and Tina had called from Hawaii. I had just 16 miles to go.

I went as fast I safely could despite stoplights and buzzing traffic combined with being a touch cautious so as not to embarass myself with a fall. I kept calling Marc and Cathleen back and forth until I met up with them rolling up behind me when I had about five miles to go. It was cake from here...just drop down Seaworld Parkway, cross over the waterway, take a right on the bike path and I was there. As I followed Marc and Cathleen, they had brought me a helium balloon which launched itself off its ribbon into the sky out the open roof of their Miata.

There I was, there were the waves, the sand...there was the Pacific. It looked cold as I rode down the final few hundreds yards of the bike path. Marc, Cathleen and Joe were at the finish line, using the ribbon from the balloon stretched across the path for me to ride through.

I smiled a lot this last 27 miles but it wasn't quite the enormous sense of accomplishment I had imagined. It was just another day of riding in many ways and at the finish, I contemplated leaving the trailer somewhere and trying to make Los Angeles 125 miles away with the bike alone. I needed to get my mind out of that gear.

Joe presented me with a sweet bottle of Moet & Chandon but I saved it for later and dug out my $3.99 Andre Champagne I had purchased in Safford on New Year's Eve but hadn't opened yet. I just popped the cork right there in public, showered the bike and trailer with it, sipped a tad and the bottle was empty before I got any sort of citation. I've found that when you bike across the country and survive thousands of close calls with cars and trucks, you can take risks like this and get away with it fairly easy.

Now it was time to go swimming despite the cold. Surfers were out there and a couple of little girls were actually screaming and running around in the water so it couldn't have been that cold. I guess it was around 58 degrees in the water. I stripped down to my biking shorts, Marc made a comment that I used to row on the heavyweight team but was now a scarecrow or something like that. In any case, yea...I'm skinny. I waded out, freezing to a degree but eventually getting used to the water. I kept waiting for some feeling of accomplishment to wash over me, but only cold waves splashed me. I got brave and dove under one small wave to fully immerse myself after photos before wading back out. A few pics of me and the bike and we were off to pizza, etc.

Now what??? I had no plan, no place to stay...but I had to figure it out. Joe was leaving for the airport soon and Marc and Cathleen were headed back to L.A. I could've gotten another motel and visited any of the thousand pamphlets and tourist attractions of San Diego the next day. I was dying to get home and see my dog and get moved and get an apartment in San Francisco and get the next part of my life underway. I rode with Joe to Budget Car Rental, and wow. I'm using Budget from now on. Javier gave me a $79 car for $39 and said I could drive to San Francisco and drop it off without the usual drop off fee of $150. I love Budget...please use them. Tell them Scott sent you even if they look at you funny.

I got an SUV, loaded up my bike and started driving after saying goodbye to Joe who was off to fly back to Seattle. I drove through San Diego and on up to L.A. which was a parking lot even at 10 p.m. on a Saturday night. I made it to Magic Mountain and a drunk driver was all over the road so I called 911 and reported him but they really didn't seem to care at all as they told me to quit following him despite the fact that the car was now taking an exit ramp. Whatever...I was too tired to care.

I got a motel, ordered Domino's Pizza and chicken wings and gorged before passing out for the night. I woke up the next day and got rolling a bit late after checking email, etc. It was going to be close trying to get a storage unit and catch an 8:20 flight out of Oakland. I got to San Francisco at 4:05 and was just overwhelmed with how much I love this city, how much it feels like home as I drove in even though I haven't moved yet. I stopped by the Olympic Circle Sailing Club to say hi to everyone and then I logged onto my computer, found the Public Storage place online and drove off to find it on asphalt. When I got there, I was told they were closed since two and that I was basically SOL..."now what???" my brain thought. Here I am with my bike, camping gear and trailer, no way to put it on the plane and a flight in just a couple hours. Had this been a couple of months ago, I would've probably panicked and thought "I'M SCREWED!!!!" but now, after everything I'd been through, I just had the normal calm feeling of..."okay, I'll figure this out."

I found another storage place that happened to be open until five, I bought a lock, had to get cash since they didn't accept credit and I unloaded my things into the unit in the rain. As I was pulling down the metal door, Winnie the Pooh, faithful companion on a bike ride that lasted 3,674.3 miles over 57 days and 2 hours sat on a bag of camping gear with an imploring look on his face. I pictured having to sit an airport with a stuffed bear, this 37 year old guy with a beard and cowboy hat....but I just couldn't leave the little dude sitting there so I said "Okay...come on!" and picked up him. He seemed to be happier if a stuffed animal can actually express emotions, he was doing it. Maybe people would just think it wasn't really mine but rather a gift for a child on the other end. I raced off to the airport and fought through the Oakland Raiders traffic spilling out after they had won their playoff game against the Jets. I returned my rental car that should've been returned to SFO instead and again, Budget didn't say or word or hassle me, they just checked me through.

I walked through the rain into the airport, got my E-ticket boarding pass, went through security and grabbed a seat at my gate. I sat down and finally got to stop and just do nothing for a minute. Then it hit me:

"WHOA! I JUST BIKED ACROSS THE UNITED FREAKING STATES!!!!"

It had been something I had pictured doing for so long, something I had done in such a state of tiredness that it felt like I had dreamed it all...but no, I really did it. I didn't know what I was doing, I didn't know how I would do it, but I got up, I went, I perservered, I pedaled and I made it. Everything came rushing back, the oceans, the winds, the rain, the hot days, the long nights, the people, the food, the cold, the mountains, the close calls...all of it just replayed in high speed in my mind as the "WHOA" feeling continued to float over me. I smiled and smiled and smiled. I now could cross a huge thing off of me "to do" list. Yep..."bike across the country" could now have a big ol' check mark next to it.

I let myself be proud for a minute before my thoughts wandered off...I had gotten off my butt and did something with myself. I finally went after a goal and reached it. I finally achieved a 14 year old dream. I didn't feel depressed or any sort of let down, in fact I felt like I was now ready to get home and get going right away on the next adventure plans. I went and got a latte, sat back down and took a sip. I smiled one more time as I quietly told Winnie the Pooh, "I finally feel warmed up."

As I headed out of El Centro, leaving Carl the stray cat behind, I found that I had pretty much made the right choice to stop where I did as it would've been really tough going on a rough road with no shoulder just a few miles beyondwhere I was. I had the joy of watching the Blue Angels practicing a bit as I rode past a Naval Air Station. I headed out through more farm country and eventually took a hard right to head into The Yuha Desert. Yep...major desert. I ponder how the words "desert" and "dessert" are just one "s" apart yet so different in meaning. One is a barren land that's tough to get through while the other is a sweet reward..but it's that little "s" that makes the difference. Funny thing is, I really love the desert and I marvel at how open it is, the cactii, the "vastness-ity" of it all. I keep my eyes peeled for rattlesnakes as I'm determined to find one. Far off in the distance, I see the approaching mountain range I'll need to climb over to finally reach the Pacific Coast. They look big, not too big, but big enough to not be a cakewalk. Winds are with me for a bit, then they're gone, then they're against me in the later afternoon.

Barely a car has passed me all day and I entertained myself by taking short movie clips with my digital camera as if I were a sports announcer interviewing myself. Yea...I'm in the desert, give me a break. As cars pass me, I wave as if I were back in Texas where waving at everyone you meet is a way of life. No one waves back. In fact, I actually get rude looks from many of the drivers except for a few truckers who must be from Texas. I couldn't figure it out at first and then I realized, "OH! I'M IN C-A-L-I-F-O-R-N-I-A NOW!!! We're all too cool to be waving at some freak on a bike with Winnie the Pooh riding on a trailer behind him. In fact, we should sue him for possibly abusing an entity which is under the control of Disney." I ride through fantastic 75 degree weather the entire day and eventually, I'm tucked right against the mountains and I tackle a bit of the foothills to climb from below sea level to about 750 feet above. According to plan, I reach the I-80 intersection where I would need to get on the major interstate with the trucks and cars and what not and I stop, take a dirt road for over half a mile as if I had a mountain bike and no trailer. I then find a fairly nice spot and set up camp in daylight, for the first time.

I break out the tent as the sun lights up the sky in neon peach. I decide that I'm far too low on Gatorade for the next day's climbing straight up for 16 miles so I set out on my bike sans trailer...and man is THAT ever a weird feeling. I have to stop and check to make sure the wheel hubs are tight because it's so "squirrely" feeling without the added hundred pounds or so on the back. I stop at a gas station about a mile back to get gatorade and some chocolate bars which seem to be miracle bars when I'm bonking hard. No one sells power bars or granola bars or anything similar when you're in the middle of nowhere so Hershey's is the food of choice. A word about "bonking"...I had heard the term a lot but had never really related or thought anything of it other than...oh, it's when you're a bit tired...so, I found out several times along this ride what it's truly like to "bonk." It usually starts with the eyes for me. I'll be riding along and notice that where ever I look, there is a huge "blank" spot as if I just had a flash camera go off in my face. That's followed by some light-headedness which is quickly followed with an odd, cold sweat which is followed by a really shaky feeling as if I'm going into shock. One of my favorite things now that I've bonked about 10 times on this ride is to actually see how far I can go while bonking before I absolutely have to give up and stop for something to eat. I know...probably not the best thing for me, but I like testing the limits. I can usually make about three to four miles, sometimes five which is almost half an hour after I get the first signs of bonking. Then the amazing thing is, as I stop and stand there with my legs trembling and my hands shaking as I try to unwrap a chocolate bar...it all jus tdisappears within five minutes of eating something and drinking some Gatorade. Then I'm off again and can last about another hour before needing another break. If you've never bonked, you should try it sometime just for the surreal experience of it all. It's like feeling your body slip away from you while you're wide awake.

I ride back to my little campsite with a backpack full of 6 Gatorades from the gas station. I hit the dirt road again which is made of very soft desert sand. I think about how when I first started I had trouble riding on a sidewalk if there was the slightest bit of sand on it and now I'm riding in soft sand as my tires dig an inch or two into it. At times, I fully skid out and have to put a foot down, but it's kind of a kick to take on this terrain with skinny road tires and a 15-20 pound backpack. I decide that this spring I'm going to try and tackle mountain biking a bit since I've not really done any of it since "shock absorbers" came out. My old Specialized Rock Hopper mountain bike has not one bit of shock absorption in it. We're talking 1989 old school bike here. I dream of rebuilding the whole thing from the frame up by adding front shocks, a new chain ring that broke, replacing both rims which are bent so badly that riding it you feel drunk and wobbly.

After getting back to my tent, I cook up some dried pasta and add a "pop-top" can of chicken that tastes and smells a bit like a cross between tuna fish and 9-Lives cat food, but the "seasoning" packet seems to save the day after cooking the heck out of the stuff. As I'm eating and it's getting pretty cold, I hear the strangling last squeals of a small animal being killed nearby..."rattlesnake!!!" my mind leaps with joy at the thought of seeing a snake!!!! I jump up and step by step make my way across the desert floor by using the headlight off my bike as a flashlight. I scan every bush, every little rock, every inch of the sand for rattlesnakes as I go so I make sure not to accidentally step on one. As I'm walking, I come across a 12 foot wide, five foot deep round crater. Weird. I figure that maybe they did some Navy bombing runs out here at some point but I saw no signs warning me about "live ordinance - keep out" as I saw along the Navy Gunnery ranges yesterday. I keep going but find no rattlesnake eating a rabbit. The only thing I heard was an owl hoot so I figured an owl had snatched up some small desert mammal which gave its gargling last "eeps" before it died. Depressed at not seeing a dangerous animal, I trudge back to my now frozen pasta dinner and eat the last few scraps.

It turns out that the "therma-rest" chair was one of the best decisions in terms of equipment because I have used it every time I've camped to sit on while I cook and eat. Then, dinner is always followed by star-gazing and tonight I pick out every constellation on the start charts that I have...finally...I got them all in one night over three hours. It's easy to have favorite stars since they all have their own little personalities. I love "Sirius" which is called "the dog star" in the constellation Canis Major. I also like Cassiopea and Gemini. Gemini is huge and seems to take up the entire middle of the sky. Probably the cutest and prettiest of all the constellations is The Pleiades which looks like a sparkling, tiny "big dipper" just off of Orion, the hunter. Unfortunately, I can't see the Andromeda Galaxy which is hard to spy at all if the moon is out and yes, the moon is out this night.

I crawl into my tent sans rain fly this evening because it's warm enough to do without and I fall asleep as my eyes eventually close despite me trying to continue staring up at the sparkling stars through the mesh of my tiny cocoon.

I slowly and groggily wake up as it's just starting to get light out. It's cold right before the sun rises. I'm not sure why, but the wind always seems to pick it up just a dash as if to say..."hey...nighttime is leaving so here's one last cold kick for ya" as it steps away over the horizon while the sun slowly makes its way on stage from the east. The sunrise is spectacular as this huge orange globe just rises slowly and perfectly over the distant mountains on the southern edge of the Yuha Desert that I had ridden along for hours yesterday. I take as many photos as I can which unfortunately were lost with yet another compact flash card error later in the ride. I ended up probably losing about 200 or 300 of the most picturesque photos due to this darn compact flash card having errors day after day. Oh well...I've got the memories.

I eat a Hershey Bar for breakfast and wash it down with Gatorade as I pack up in about 20 minutes record time. I truck across the desert in search of rattlesnakes or any sign of last night's carnage one more time before hooking up the trailer and heading down the soft-sand road back to the highway. I've got a lot of climbing to do today and it's nice to be getting an early start.

Just as I'm pulling onto the on ramp for I-8 to join the racing metal mess, I notice a small silver Jetta on the shoulder. There's an older man in a bright red button down with gray slacks and white velcro shoes. I have an entire chapter to write about velcro shoes but will opt to leave it out here as I want to save it for the book. I wave at the man and ask if he's alright. He makes is way across the sand from the interstate to where I am on the on ramp as he's asking me how far I'm riding. I tell him that I'm at about 3,590 miles and he chuckles. He says that he's done some long bike rides before but nothing like that. Then he adds that he once walked 2700 miles across 10 countries in Europe all the way to Moscow while giving a talk about the importance of peace each night as he stopped in small towns. Whoa. Yet again, I'm blown away by people and what they can achieve. We chat for a bit and then he wanders back to his sagging car filled so full that the wheel wells seem to be riding on the rear tires while the front end of the car is almost doing a wheelie. I'm inspired by his good nature and his cheerful smile and think how it's always the attitude in people that really separates the ones like Kent from the guys who threw electrical tape at me back in Arizona. Why is life like this? You know, I really can't tell you other than it probably always has been and probably always will be and you boil it all down and it's just an ongoing, eternal battle between good and evil and someday I hope the good wins out although it sure seems that the good people are highly in the minority at times. More on the good and bad of small communities is being saved for the book, too, because I noticed in the small towns that the entire town could have an attitude one way or the other and my guess is that some person just sort of became "the cool person" of the town and then everyone followed suit regardless if the person was nice or sort of a jerk. Yea...really...an entire town could have a bad attitude about it. It's incredible, but true. Just ride a bike through a pile of them and you'll see what I mean.

It's time to climb. The interstate has warning signs about strong winds and radiator water and call boxes are set out every few tenths of a mile for overheated vehicles. The climb doesn't seem too bad and since this is my last day of long riding and I'll finish tomorrow, I want to be sure and get a good work out. I start in third gear and grind away until I'm forced to shift into second gear. The scenery is unreal. Just piles and piles, in fact small mountains of little brown boulders make up the landscape of Devil's Canyon. I stay in second gear and start passing a few cars that are dead on the side of the road. I pass some people who are pouring water into their radiators. It's a good feeling that my legs are passing by technological machinery that is failing. I keep climbing but the miles are barely ticking off. I'm starting to ache a bit but I refuse to get off and stop until I hit the top which is a full 10 miles up. I'm doing around 3 mph to 5 mph depending. I only slow down to check for cars when I have to sprint across a few bridges that don't have shoulders. That's a hoot...trying to get across a bridge before 60mph cars come plowing up behind me....but I make it each time just before a car whizzes past, I dart off onto the shoulder after crossing a bridge. I'm breathing hard but don't stop to catch my breath at all. In fact, I'm panting in the heat. Bit by bit by bit, I grind and grind, one......two........one.......two as I climb and climb and climb. At about 7 miles up, I can't take it any longer and I shift down into first, my easiest gear. I keep climbing...what feels like hours later, I'm near the top and the exit for Desert Tower, one of the coolest little lookouts and businesses I saw on my entire trip. As I'm nearing the exit, I hear a whoop and a cheer from somewhere up near the tower but don't see anyone when I look. It's hard to see anything because sweat is dripping into my eyes with a stinging, blurry result. I'm within yards of the exit and I get nailed with a cramp in my left quadricep that actually makes me wince out loud in pain as I squinch my eyes closed. I open them just in time to see that the shoulder has a big curb built into it for water drainage. I nail the curb too hard because it's too late to save myself and yep...I go down for the 15th time of the ride...which also happens to be the last time.

I take the exit, spend some time at Desert Tower talking to Susan, the new owner's mother who has been put to work by her son who bought the place. If you ever get the chance, visit Desert Tower on I-8 just about 80 or so miles outside of San Diego. I buy a cup of coffee, climb the spiral stair case and use the telescope to look out at the desert below. I spend some time talking the two dogs that help run the place and one of them is a lot like AxL. Their names are "yay-yay" which is a Spanish translation of J.J. and the other is "Ally" who I'm not allowed to feed because she's on a diet. They also have a few little box turtles in a tank in one of the windows. I love this little place so much I spend the last of my cash on the authoritative book on rattlesnakes even though I'm sure I could get it cheaper on Amazon.com. It means more to buy it here from the new business owners.

I gotta keep rolling because I underestimated my distance three days ago by 25 miles and if I don't make all the mountain climbs today, my friends who are meeting me tomorrow are going to be sitting in San Diego twiddling their thumbs.

I set out and continue to climb up and up and up only the route is now on Old Highway 80 instead of on the Interstate.

Eventually I make it to the small town of Jacumba but I'm out of Gatorade and water entirely now. I pull into a restaurant/bakery to get a bit of bread or something to eat since it's after 1 p.m. and all I've had is a Hershey bar and some M&M's all day so far. They are a full fledged restaurant with $20 entrees and a huge fireplace. The only "baked goods" seem to be four types of cookie so I buy a chocolate chip cookie, they fill a water bottle for me and I set out again. I ride about 6 miles to the next town and now I'm around 30 miles into the day. Not bad for the amount of vertical I've put in. I've averaged miles an hour all day long now vs. my normal 10.5 to 13.5 mph average. I'm surprised my average isn't 3 mph. I stop at a market to get a sandwich, some gatorade and a few candy bars, etc. I also buy shaving cream in the event that I get a chance to mow my 56 day beard off before the finish line. On the way out of the store, I see two other cyclists pull in, it's a couple from Olympia, Washington who are doing a big chunk of the tour I just did and last year they had done another big leg of it. I'm floored that it looks like they have almost zero gear but it turns out that they motel it the whole way so don't need camping gear. They are a wonderful ego boost because I ask them how they do it with the trucks, the non-existent shoulders, etc. and it turns out they get rides over the rough spots. Man...I feel so much better knowing that. Additionally, they tell me they ran into a guy last year coming from Key West and he had twice as much gear as I did which makes me feel great because I feel like I have so much yet I'm basically down to not one thing that I can spare. The only non-essential stuff I have is a laptop, cell phone and my mp3 player if I wanted to travel "non-tech" but they have all been so useful for the purpose of my trip so far that they are worth the extra weight. Other than that, I've only got a campstove, tent, sleeping pad, one pot, tools, tubes, a spare tire, headlights, cold weather/wet weather gear, my final map, a tshirt, a pair of boxers, my teva's, a voice recorder and that's it. I've sent home every book, spare bit of clothing, spare parts I may not need, maps I've already used, etc. etc. etc. yet I still felt overloaded until I heard this news from them. After chatting for several minutes and watching a "white trash" girl yank her kid around and kick a pay phone while swearing up a storm, I bid themn goodbye and I start up the last three hills to climb for the day. I have some big climbs left at least in my mind and I plan on making it all the way to Alpine on the far side so that I'll only have a downhill run in the morning.

I bypass a fantastic camp area right at sunset at the 40 mile mark and man oh man it's hard not to set up camp in that solitude and serenity. Down the road, as it gets dark and I realize that I'm no longer below sea level at night but now I'm at 4,000 feet or so, it gets darn cold so I pull over to put on warmer clothing. A border patrol goes by, screeches to a halt, races back in reverse and asks if I'm okay after seeing I'm not someone who has jumped the border. I tell him I'm fine and he asks if I'm staying all night in that spot. I'm sitting in about three to five feet of sandy gravel about the length of a car right next to the highway. I laugh and tell him I'm heading to Alpine which is still quite a ways off. Camping there would've been like camping on the shoulder of an Interstate except it was dirt instead of asphalt.

I eat another Hershey bar then get rolling again in the dark and cold. I push and push and push and finally, I'm descending. It's cold but exhilirating.

After about an hour, I make it to Alpine where I buy new batteries for all of my lights since they are going dim and even on this last night on the road, I don't want to risk not being seen. I have four flashing red lights from my cowboy hat to my trailer, I wear an orange reflective jogging vest and I've got a headlamp on the front of my cowboy hat and a large cateye headlamp on my handlebars. The new batteries bring an amazing new life to my ride.

As I depart the grocery store in Alpine, I wish I could stay in this little town as it's one of the most picturesque and quaint towns I've been through. It's still lit up with Christmas lights down the streets and people are laughing, eating and drinking inside small cafes and taverns that are brimming and glowing with the good life.

I tell myself for the hundredth time tonight that no matter what happens, I'm getting down to under 30 miles left in the trip before I stop. Eventually, I have to start climbing again but it's not too bad. It's steep enough to let me warm up but not so steep that my legs can't make it even though they are getting fried by now. I'm not sure how many vertical feet I've done today, but it's way the heck up there...possibly close to 7,000 vertical. Eventually, I make the last steep hill at the intersection where I need to get back on the Interstate 80 one last time for about three miles. I take the on ramp and am met with a pitch black freeway and a sign which says Speed Limit 70 mph. Translation: cars are doing 80-100 as they whip past down another large yellow sign which has a truck sloping down a steep triangle and a warning that it's a 6% Grade Next 13 Miles.

Yeeha. As I tip from going up to going down, I pick up a ton of speed instantly. I shift to my highest gear as fast as I can while I marvel at how freaking fast the cars are going here. They sound like small jets going by the way the wind is whistling off of them. I'm on a smooth but really steep shoulder without a rumble strip to protect me from them and I decide to just go balls out since it's my last day. I had discovered a small warning label on my trailer about three days ago which said "Do Not Exceed 70 lbs. Do Not Exceed 30 mph" and now I chuckle as my load is probably somewhere between 85 and 100 pounds and I've gone over 30 mph on most every downhill I could. My top speed the entire trip was a blazing 35.4 mph and I think back to how I was scared to go 18 mph on my third day in Florida. I glance down at the speedometer: 32.5...Oh yea...

I'm telling you, you haven't lived until you've done 32.5 mph down a 6% grade in the dark on a Friday night with obviously drunk drivers doing close to 100 mph past you on a curving mountain road in sub 40 weather. You feel like you're going to die any second, but until that second hits, you feel more alive than you'll ever feel sitting in an office for your 9-5. I like being out of the comfort zone, there's something about it that just keeps drawing you back to see what you can do, how much you can take, how far you can push before you need to back off again. Yea, I hear you and yes, I was one of those kids who used to stick his tongue on a 9-volt battery just to see what it felt like. In fact, I did it this past October because it had been about 20 years since I had felt what it was like and I couldn't quite remember. Oh, and if you've never done it...what the heck, give it a try, just put your tongue across the contacts on a 9-volt. Any smoke alarm should have one in it so just pull that cover off and give it a lick. Put the battery back then cross "Licked a 9-volt battery" off of your "daring experiences" list.

I finally bomb into a town that somehow the name escapes me right now and my map is locked up in my car as I write this...but it's the biggest town in the mountains before San Diego. I stop at Carl's Jr. and get a burger, some fries and a root beer. I sit outside, chat with a few interested folks who are headed out four-wheeling and camping for the weekend and then I set out...downhill yet again. I'm trying to get to Lakeside which is going to leave me just 26 miles from the finish line. As I head down the hill, I lose the shoulder on the highway since I'm now back onto Old Highway 80 one more time. I think about the motel back up the road next to Carl's Jr. and I think about how cold I am now that I"ve had an icy rootbeer to drink and let my sweat cool down on my body. I turn around and head back up the hill not wanting to ride another one to two hours. I've had enough.

I'm partway back up the hill, about 200 yards from the motel and I stop again. Nope...that wasn't the deal I had with myself. I open up my bag and start pulling out another layer of clothing to add since I'm shivering now. I also had my skull cap face mask thing for added neck warmth. I'm going farther no matter what and I'm camping no matter what. I'm so tired of dumb motels that I refuse to stay in one on the last night of my ride.

I take off again after this little turn around then turn around again argument with my own mind. I start bombing down, down, down despite cars getting pretty damn close to me since the shoulder is gone. I don't care. It's "vaya con dios" time, baby. If I'm meant to be toast, so be it but I feel like nothing's going to touch me at this point so I'm going for it. I go and go and go, down upon down, hands aching from riding the brakes and taking the broken asphalt that comes up too fast to avoid. Eventually, I make the crossover under the Interstate, climb a hill, then another and lo and behold there is the Jennings Lake campground which is closed but the "exit" gate is wide open. I ride in, up the small hill and then find the guard gate has no forms to fill out and drop in the night box. In fact, there is no night box. A sign says they'll reopen at 6:30 a.m.

I ride all the loops of the campground looking for the perfect spot and finally find one that overlooks the city lights below. I set up my tent, skip making dinner since I sort of ate a couple hours ago and I decide to just sit and watch the moon go down. It's midnight and I cranked out 78 miles today with 9 hours of pedal time averaging 8.2 mph for the entire day. I calculate out that I did around 7 hours of climbing, hard climbing that is, with about two hours, maybe two and a half of descending. I've got 26 miles to go in the morning. I fall asleep around 1:30 or 2:00 a.m. after the moon has fallen below the horizon. Coyotes are yip-yipping on two of the mountains below...back and forth across the valley. I pushed hard today, I went past several stopping points and I'm dead tired. It was probably the third toughest day of the ride behind the 65 mph headwind night and the Gila Wilderness climbs. Life is good.