Day 42

Goodbye Utah or, if you prefer to be maudlin about things, hello Nevada. Or, if you wish to remain neutral but imply progress, I'm in the Pacific timezone.

I slept in Millford's pavillion yesterday. I stayed for storytime at the library and the nice lady gave me string cheese and two apples. The story was about dragons.

I went to bed early. I woke up in a little while to the sound of four teenagers either eating junk food or doing drugs. It's amazing how, if you take away the visual element, you would not be able to tell the difference. Consider:

[Bubbling sound or sound of slurpy slurped]

Ow my brain.
I know dude.
Man Mike got busted fighting. He beat his best friend up.

[Snorting sound or sound of really enjoying a smoothie]

I can't touch that stuff. It makes me shake.
Dude let's go. Some homeless guy's in the corner.
Ok. Who wants to watch the new Batman?

[I do!]

Much of my night was jake brakes and gravel screaming, but that gave way to the sound of wild dogs picking at the trash. I screwed waking up early.

Today's ride was 84 miles between water and people. 10 cars passed me. I skipped up along the Nevada-Utah border and it was interesting riding. Since this is what I have to look forwards to for the next week, here's a brief description.

Imagine riding from island to island in a small Caribbean paradise, except that a thousand year drought has dried the trees and seabed to hard rock. You start up at the top of an island, quickly dip down to the old waterline, and then crest along the dried harborfloor for 10 miles before resurfacing and climbing the next island. Repeat until any beauty is lost in a hail of cursewords and boredom.

I'm at Silver Jack's in Baker. Baker is Silver Jack's. There's a public shower, a cheap laundry, very little shade, and a senior center. Terry of Silver Jack's has kindly allowed me to sleep for free provided I eat at his establishment. As it is all filling veg food, I see no short end to this stick.. This is an even stick.

I made one mistake today. I picked up a copy of Cormac McCarthy's The Road that someone left in the laundrette. It's sad, moving, incredibly readable (if you don't stop to wonder what an 'autistic night' is), and might weigh me down heading into Ely. I think I'll try and go to sleep just so I can wake up, beat the heat, and spend my casino day reading at the buffet. I might combine stargazing with riding and head out at 4.

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