Nevada II

We spent the night in Austin Nevada, yet another small town that really hasn't been the same since mining stopped being big money. The highlight of the evening was having a drunken cowboy try to pick me up. On hearing that Debra and I had biked from Fallon that day, he decided that lighting up a cigarette was the only appropriate response. He then praised the open spaces, described his ranch, and asked if I wanted to be a cowgirl. He even said I wouldn't have to ride a horse if I didn't want to. I found out later that there is a shortage of women in Nevada. Huh.

The third day of riding I started off alone but had the good fortune to meet up with four riders who referred to themselves as the 'village idiots' - presumably because they don't take themselves too seriously and one of the sponsors for a team/club that many of them were on was something called The Village. Somebody else referred to them as the fast group that starts late. So, just my type of people! They even liked to sing - which seemed like a fun thing until a song got really, really old. However, the one I liked involved singing "the cyclist up ahead, the cyclist up ahead, hi ho the merry-o the cyclist up ahead" (to the tune of he Farmer in the Dell) as a way of warning cyclists that they were about to be passed. It sounds much better than "Passing on your left." They also liked stopping or at least slowing down to take photos once in a while. Most or all of the village idiots are racers with great bike handling skills. We did pacelines going downhill so we could get up to high speeds. It was sweet. My recent experience away from Atlanta is showing me that road racers can actually be decent friendly human beings! Travel IS educational!

That evening we stayed in Ely NV and some of us had an interesting cultural experience (well, I guess having 4H kids in Fallon NV give us a demonstration of animal-judging using shoes was also a cultural experience). About 6 of us went on a tour of a brothel. I didn't realize it but prostitution is legal in Nevada and strictly regulated. It was quite interesting. I recommend taking a tour if you have a chance. I managed to avoid asking the prostitute if she felt objectified (there was only one prostitute present at the time but more were coming for the start of hunting season). It wasn’t until later I realized that she was the only other black person I saw in the state. No wonder I was repeatedly asked about my dreadlocks by cashiers and hotel staff.

On the final day of cycling, I got to start off riding with René and the village idiots. That was fun. Near the end of the scheduled ride (and the Utah border), a few of us took off on an unsupported trip to ride up Mount Wheeler, a 10,000 ft peak. We started from the small town of Baker at 5300 ft. There was about a 2-mile sloping approach and then a 10-mile climb with an 8% grade. Part of the appeal of climbing Wheeler was that René said it had switchbacks more like what I like instead of the relentless straight uphills of Highway 50. There was also an evil little voice in my head that was suggesting that I couldn't pass up this climb after doing the Col de Tourmalet and Col de Pailhéres in the Pyrenees. This sounded harder than those! Also the views would be spectacular and I didn't want to be a wuss. Surprisingly, none of these reasons really seemed compelling as I struggled higher and higher up the mountain. Eventually, what got me to the top was the knowledge that René was waiting up there for me and there was no way to tell him that I was turning around. In my defense, I would also like to point out that we had already climbed about 3300 ft that day before the 4700 ft climb AND I'd done about 11,000 ft of climbing over the previous days AND I was not used to high altitude, having come from sea level.

The views were great although my appreciation of them was dulled by my exhaustion and longing for a hot shower. Unfortunately, my ability to pose for pictures was also impaired by the altitude. Although it was hot on the way up, it was cold at the top. I had brought arm warmers but also put my copy of the ride cue sheet under my jersey to block the wind. The descent was fun, with more of the cornering I like.

After dinner that evening, there was a joke awards ceremony. I received a toy set that included a cowboy hat, badge, and bandana "just in case I change my mind about moving to Nevada." Everyone was then transported back to Ely where we had an open-mic party in our hotel bar. Curtis Fong, our ride organizer, played songs on his electric guitar. Several of the songs had cycling themes or were specifically about OATBRAN. However, I think my favorite number was when another cyclist/guitarist Rick joined him for a jam called the OATBRAN blues. When I think of it though, Joe's hilarious slightly off-color ode to beginning cyclist Shelley was brilliant.

Alcohol is very cheap in Nevada so it is a good place to buy rounds for people. I somehow got 4 shots of tequila and 4 beers for little over $20! After a couple shots (despite a couple shots?), I didn't want to retire when the open-mic party ended so I wandered over to a cool bar called the Twisted Pine that we had visited the night before. No other cyclists were there but I hung out with the bar-owner Matt, discussing philosophy of language with him and some other locals. Matt was trying to convince me to come to Nevada on a sabbatical and study the local language patterns - I can't remember why. However I found it both charming and disturbing that every time I had a conversation with a local they tried to get me to move to Nevada. I had left my watch in my hotel room, figuring that closing time would set a limit on how late I'd be out since I didn't need to get up and bike 70 miles the next morning for a change. At some point I looked at a clock and discovered that it was 4 AM. So I had to bid farewell to Matt and the others but I have a Twisted Pine t-shirt as a souvenir (in addition to my fuzzy memories).