Summer 2015 - Desolation Bikers and a Salamandre Surprise
A true story.
US Route 50 across Nevada claims to be the “Loneliest Highway in America,” but if put to any objective test, Utah Route 21 could capture that distinction in a blink.
Exiting the 80 mph lanes of triple trailers and black SUV’s barreling between Las Vegas and Salt Lake City on Interstate 15, one can head west from Beaver on unheralded Route 21. The road initially traverses rich alfalfa land beneath picturesque Utah mountains, which on this trip were shrouded by thunderstorms. The highway skirts Minersville and then leads the curious driver through the Main Street of Milford. From there, the greenery stops, and the sun comes out blazing. It’s 100 miles northwest to the next gas station…past the Nevada border, at the entry to Great Basin National Park. Magnificent space surrounds the traveler, especially in clear air, with classic basin and range contours riffling the horizon. Along the way a driver will see lots more antelope, wild horses, ravens, and coyotes than people.
On my way home from Utah to California in mid-June, 2015, I topped one range and looked 15 miles across a treeless valley, creased by the laser-straight highway, with nary a car in sight. However, I could see a distant, tiny blemish in the shimmering mirage…looking like a little black bug on the road.
I descended into 90 degree heat, and that bug turned out to be 2 guys, stationary by the side of the road with their bikes in the dust. Kevin was wrestling with a flat tire, wearing the facial expression you might expect under the circumstances. His companion, Mike, wore a matching expression as he shaded the little Burley trailer which carried his dog. They were wearing regular clothes a good deal worse for wear…no gaudy Lycra, no aero-ventilated helmets, no clip-on shoes, no logos anywhere. Their old steel bikes carried tattered, makeshift panniers and flashed very few shiny surfaces.
Kevin told me that they decided to ride from Fort Collins, Colorado, to see the ocean and the redwoods and then maybe head up the West coast. They were coaxing 40 miles a day from their beat up gear and camping on the outskirts of towns along the way. They had figured out the most affordable nutritious food (sardines rhymes with beans), and neither guy needed to worry much about excessive skin fold thickness. They’d do short stints of work here and there for cash, and they knew the virtues of the thrift shops which can now be found in almost every settlement. Worthy of Woody Guthrie or Richard Brautigan or William Saroyan, they also met interesting characters along the way…including some eccentric European solo trans-continental bikers.
Kevin and Mike’s westward route across Southern Utah had eerily coincided with my current and past trips, including grinding from Panguitch up and over Brians Head past Cedar Breaks. (Now, that steep climb to 11,000’ is an ambitious feat on the techiest, slickest, triple front chain ring, titanium derailleur TDF bike!) Inevitably, their trip was also punctuated by some adversity, including the unseasonal downpours of 2015. However, clearly the worst blow was the theft of Kevin’s start-up bike…snatched in broad daylight while they were in a store.
Kevin found a rusty, too-small Motobecane in a thrift shop, and on a brightening day, traded the historical relic for a single-speed beater bike at a sympathetic bike shop. Another bike shop owner further along, probably fishing through a good-sized box of cast-off parts, installed a 6 speed transmission and a new chain as a gesture of charitable solidarity. One consequence of this pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey bike assembly was that Mike and Kevin’s 4 tires all had different tube dimensions.
Leaving that morning, they knew they were embarking upon a long stretch with lean resources (one sign after Milford says: Next Services 93 Miles). Minersville and Milford could fix any tractor, but neither had a bike shop. The guys headed out bravely nevertheless. Unfortunately, baking in the afternoon sun on Highway 21, this flat was Kevin’s third of the last hour. Most road bikers can speculate about the causes, but that becomes academic when you’re out of tubes and patches. I also knew that there was no bike shop, or, more accurately, no shop of any kind until the National Park 80 or 90 miles away. The first store with bike supplies lay in Ely, Nevada, 150 desert miles west.
Of course, I was planning to drive right through Ely.
I suggested they put the doggie in its protective trailer up on top of my pick up load, toss on the bikes, lace them down securely, and head for Ely. I think they must have first thought I wanted them to ride in back, too, but the need for persuasion diminished when I said I needed to rearrange some of my junk to make room in the cab. It’s possibly an understatement to note that they were pleasantly surprised when I emerged with 2 beers, freshly plucked from an icy cooler. I suspect the air conditioning wasn’t too hard to accept, either.
We arrived in Ely after closing time on a Sunday. I dropped them next to a big sports store across the street from a vacant lot with good visual shelter for a tent. I left them with my last bottle of wine…the fabulous 2009 Reserve Pinot.
See the world. Start here.
Take good care of your dog.
Carry spares.
Pay it forward.
Wells Shoemaker MD, Winemaker
June, 2015
US Route 50 across Nevada claims to be the “Loneliest Highway in America,” but if put to any objective test, Utah Route 21 could capture that distinction in a blink.
Exiting the 80 mph lanes of triple trailers and black SUV’s barreling between Las Vegas and Salt Lake City on Interstate 15, one can head west from Beaver on unheralded Route 21. The road initially traverses rich alfalfa land beneath picturesque Utah mountains, which on this trip were shrouded by thunderstorms. The highway skirts Minersville and then leads the curious driver through the Main Street of Milford. From there, the greenery stops, and the sun comes out blazing. It’s 100 miles northwest to the next gas station…past the Nevada border, at the entry to Great Basin National Park. Magnificent space surrounds the traveler, especially in clear air, with classic basin and range contours riffling the horizon. Along the way a driver will see lots more antelope, wild horses, ravens, and coyotes than people.
On my way home from Utah to California in mid-June, 2015, I topped one range and looked 15 miles across a treeless valley, creased by the laser-straight highway, with nary a car in sight. However, I could see a distant, tiny blemish in the shimmering mirage…looking like a little black bug on the road.
I descended into 90 degree heat, and that bug turned out to be 2 guys, stationary by the side of the road with their bikes in the dust. Kevin was wrestling with a flat tire, wearing the facial expression you might expect under the circumstances. His companion, Mike, wore a matching expression as he shaded the little Burley trailer which carried his dog. They were wearing regular clothes a good deal worse for wear…no gaudy Lycra, no aero-ventilated helmets, no clip-on shoes, no logos anywhere. Their old steel bikes carried tattered, makeshift panniers and flashed very few shiny surfaces.
Kevin told me that they decided to ride from Fort Collins, Colorado, to see the ocean and the redwoods and then maybe head up the West coast. They were coaxing 40 miles a day from their beat up gear and camping on the outskirts of towns along the way. They had figured out the most affordable nutritious food (sardines rhymes with beans), and neither guy needed to worry much about excessive skin fold thickness. They’d do short stints of work here and there for cash, and they knew the virtues of the thrift shops which can now be found in almost every settlement. Worthy of Woody Guthrie or Richard Brautigan or William Saroyan, they also met interesting characters along the way…including some eccentric European solo trans-continental bikers.
Kevin and Mike’s westward route across Southern Utah had eerily coincided with my current and past trips, including grinding from Panguitch up and over Brians Head past Cedar Breaks. (Now, that steep climb to 11,000’ is an ambitious feat on the techiest, slickest, triple front chain ring, titanium derailleur TDF bike!) Inevitably, their trip was also punctuated by some adversity, including the unseasonal downpours of 2015. However, clearly the worst blow was the theft of Kevin’s start-up bike…snatched in broad daylight while they were in a store.
Kevin found a rusty, too-small Motobecane in a thrift shop, and on a brightening day, traded the historical relic for a single-speed beater bike at a sympathetic bike shop. Another bike shop owner further along, probably fishing through a good-sized box of cast-off parts, installed a 6 speed transmission and a new chain as a gesture of charitable solidarity. One consequence of this pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey bike assembly was that Mike and Kevin’s 4 tires all had different tube dimensions.
Leaving that morning, they knew they were embarking upon a long stretch with lean resources (one sign after Milford says: Next Services 93 Miles). Minersville and Milford could fix any tractor, but neither had a bike shop. The guys headed out bravely nevertheless. Unfortunately, baking in the afternoon sun on Highway 21, this flat was Kevin’s third of the last hour. Most road bikers can speculate about the causes, but that becomes academic when you’re out of tubes and patches. I also knew that there was no bike shop, or, more accurately, no shop of any kind until the National Park 80 or 90 miles away. The first store with bike supplies lay in Ely, Nevada, 150 desert miles west.
Of course, I was planning to drive right through Ely.
I suggested they put the doggie in its protective trailer up on top of my pick up load, toss on the bikes, lace them down securely, and head for Ely. I think they must have first thought I wanted them to ride in back, too, but the need for persuasion diminished when I said I needed to rearrange some of my junk to make room in the cab. It’s possibly an understatement to note that they were pleasantly surprised when I emerged with 2 beers, freshly plucked from an icy cooler. I suspect the air conditioning wasn’t too hard to accept, either.
We arrived in Ely after closing time on a Sunday. I dropped them next to a big sports store across the street from a vacant lot with good visual shelter for a tent. I left them with my last bottle of wine…the fabulous 2009 Reserve Pinot.
See the world. Start here.
Take good care of your dog.
Carry spares.
Pay it forward.
Wells Shoemaker MD, Winemaker
June, 2015