the endless desert

day ten. 58.2 miles. the middle of nowhere in the desert to the middle of nowhere in the desert. {20 miles east of fallon, nevada.}

i sit typing in my tent, feeling quite a bit less afraid than last night. it is this expanse of nothing that soothes me. we now find ourselves more in the middle of nowhere than i have ever been, and i am somewhat dumbfounded by the fact that we have ridden our bicycles here. i listen to a live recording of "ours" at the moment. stunned by jimmy gnecco's voice. my god, he can sing. have i said that enough?

so the air drifts into the tent slowly and gently from the west, cooling my sticky skin. it is amazing how quickly and completely sticky we can become. tonight we had corn tortillas, rice, and avocado for dinner; we lost the beans and cheese somewhere along the way. the geography here is incredible. we must have stopped every half mile tonight as we rode, the sun dropping slowly behind us, to take photos. we passed the most delapidated of buildings advertising "girls, girls, girls." paint falling from the walls and cracked windows. barbed wire keeping the protitutes in. some sick slavery out here in the middle of the desert i wonder?

the salt flats. the white ground, that crumbles and crunches beneath one's feet; it is stale merangue {sp?} the rolling, and twisting brown hills. it is shocking to me in a way that this exists. {it reminds me of the cover of REM's disc "new adventures in hifi."} it is bleak, and yet miraculous in its perpetual nothingness. i feel like the young boy in one hundred years of solitude, with his father showing him ice for the first time. this is all new for me. the endless road, and the sky. the clouds are wispy, but strong; their compostition like cotton sketches of jellyfish. yes, they have tails, trailing down beneath them. down, down, down into the floor of this dry sea.

we hike up off the highway, pushing our bikes laboriously through the sinking, crunching, salt-sand, and set up our homes for the night. it falls dark. black. like blue coal. the sky is shocking. it is fucking unbelievable. there is no way to describe this, other than to say that the stars reach the horizon, on all sides. i feel as though for the first time in my life, i can see the curvature of the earth. i feel infinitely humbled by this. simultaneously more and less afraid than i have ever been. i feel grateful for my existence. all of it. this experience especially. the people i love. perhaps someday, when i am 62, i will have the capacity, the grace with words, to describe this. for now, know only that it makes me cry, this place. this world we inhabit.

before the closing of the night {the departure to my tent} i walk up to the ridge, way off to the west to attempt cell phone service. {how absurd a statement no?} mike leaves his headlamp on until my return, to save me from getting lost in the desert. i simply cannot believe how dark it is out here. i feel as though i am stumbling about on the moon. another planet for certain. my mind drifts to the film 'jerry' and i wonder if going so far is smart. likely no. i stop, when mike's light is but a dim hint of something off in the distance. the memory of an old lover. faint. the cars up on the hill look like candles in a distant window on a rain soaked night. they flicker. i'm terrified of the vastness. the completeness of the dark. while i suppose it is the opposite of claustrophobia, the feeling of helplessness is similar. profound and overwhelming. i have never been in a place like this, and the beauty in being here with nothing but my bike, and some things that i can carry on it, is just fucking unbelievable. i don't know that i have ever felt so humbled by anything. well love, but nothing else. nothing else. not even the forthcoming sleep.

day eleven. 45 miles. 5000 ft climbing. the middle of nowhere in the nevada desert to the middle of nowhere in the nevada desert. where the fuck are we?

planes overhead. amazingly loud. military planes flying so fast and so high. my father would just sit here on the roadside all day, watching them explode through the jellyfish sky. it is frightening in a way, their endless and invisible power. mike and i ride singing. stuck on "ours" from the morning music hour. though we do make a conscious effort to conserve battery time on our computers, we have begun listening to music in the mornings and nights. this is a gift. a blessing. as the days roll on, i miss my guitar{s} and music so greatly. i feel a bit lost without making the sound. oh, patience jefferson.

our dear friend kenny says that the trip was conceived in passion, but that patience and persistence will get us to maine. true. so true.

so we continue to inch along through the desert with tired legs. tired, brown legs and red hands. this desert sun, is a completely different beast. sunscreen on the hands? yes sir. i will not neglect the hands tomorrow.

and tonight it is damien rice. "older chests reveal themselves, like a crack in the wall. starting small, they grow in time...and we all seem to need the help of someone else to mend that shelf with too many books...read me your favorite line..."

and then "the be good tanyas." {how can i think of anything but you, my beloved sender of songs?} yes, the selection is made on purpose for that reason.

so we stopped in a "town" called middlegate, which was the last of any type of services for 65 miles. this, my dear reader, is overwhelming. yes indeed. now "town," does not really conjure adequately what this place was. essentially, it was a few clapboard buidlings, housing a bar, a gas station, and a mini-mart, which mainly sold cookies and crackers. oh, the healthy eating of a long bike ride. the gas station was one pump. there was an old, nondescript brown payphone in a broken shed. the ceiling of the bar is covered with dollar bills. i have no idea why. we eat lunch, play a game of pool {which we are both quite bad at} and endure the cigarrette smoking of the people at the bar watching television. television. how miserable. we charge our computers and write a bit. the woman behind the bar asks where we're headed. maine. she suggests that we take highway 722 for the next sixty five miles, as opposed to highway 50. she desribes it as gorgeous. a creek that snakes along the road all the way up the hill and many less cars. wild, big-horn sheep.

this woman was wrong. period. first of all, i did not assume that "less cars" would mean 5 in 24 hours time. yes, we saw 2 cars. the creek, was not a creek, it was/is a creek bed, with no water in it. the small/short climb she described, has turned out to be about 4000 feet of climbing. as the sun dropped, we finally stopped for the night and set up camp, having nothing but crackers, and some nuts to fuel our ride to austin, nv tomorrow morning wihch is 49 miles from here. shit. though we do have plenty of water this time. no more of that nonsense. what she doesn't tell us, is just how amazingly remote this road is, how terribly removed from any inkling of society we will be, or the mormon crickets. the degree to which this is out in the middle of nowhere {how may times can i type that} frightens me. i think of many possible scenarios in which something terrible could happen. i am not so fond of living on this edge if you will. it serves to greatly increase my feelings of claustrophobia. a bright light, shining on the fear. i am immensely thankful for mike's presence in this moment.

so we ride, reaching exhaustion from climbing endlessly in this desert heat, we are constantly swerving to avoid these enormous crickets. they look as though they are made of some synthetic rubber, and are bigger than my thumb. they squeal, which is a haunting and unpleasant sound. creepy and disgusting. we try to avoid them, but frankly there are so many, that we ride over them now and then. the sound is awful. imagine stepping on a cluster of twelve snails in one cute little pile. we discuss the possibility of eating one and filming it for the site. "i am not that man," i say. "nor am i," says mike. after noticing that they seem to be carniverous as they are munching away on other types of bugs, birds, a mouse, etc. we ponder how long it would take for them to completely consume one of our bodies if we died out here in the middle of fucking nowhere. i say six. mike says five. they would swarm in the thousands, a busy street in a busy city, up on this hill that we seem to climb all afternoon and evening, without ever reaching the summit, in the middle of nowhere. have i said that enough? i think i would lose it out here if i were alone. i begin to ponder just why i feel comforted by the cars going by on the road which we earlier traversed. the other humans, be they strangers. should i be comforted by this? well, no matter, i am. we discuss proper procedure for saving ourselves if one is bitten by a rattlesnake after seeing a dead one in the road, flattened. about five feet long. goddamn. why did we come this way?

we eat and prepare for bed. it is currently 10:28 pm on monday night, and i will switch off the computer and find sleep. say goodnight to "the be good tanyas," who i listen to for the simple sake of missing she who sent me the songs. perhaps she will feel me out here listening. does it work that way? yes.

oh the music. oh the music.

and a quick diversion from the bike. i keep forgetting to tell you folks that there will be two above the orange trees songs on compilations coming out this year.....one is a will oldham tribute record that you can read about and hear a clip from here,, and the other is a wire tribute record which you can read more about here,. enjoy.

day twelve. 70 miles. the middle of nowhere in the nevada desert, to the middle of nowhere in the nevada desert {30?} miles east of austin.

the descent of great dissappointment. the premature ejaculation of descents. the not-so-great sitting. ahhhhhhh. we rise, climb 2 miles or so, and begin the descent. into the headwind. we then proceed to ride into a headwind for the next forty miles on that vacant road of nothing. a strong and miserable headwind on the wrong road. i should disclose here, the fact that while it is told when riding west to east, one should have primarily tailwind, we figure the tailwind to have comprised about 5% of our trip thus far. i am not kidding. 5% tailwind, 55% headwind, 40% crosswind. bullshit. can't we do something about this? we shake our heads over breakfast out here in the desert, as the strength of this wind, cuts our distance in half. we begin to grow frustrated. very frustrated. we climb into austin {another 1000 ft.} and stop for lunch. i find myself amazed that people live their lives here. we buy food and copious amounts of water again{6 gallons...can you say HEAVY?...at a gas station} as there are no services for 68 miles. this is beginning to grow tiresome. i want fruit. vegetables. something other than crackers and cookies really. we climb again {another 1000 ft} reach the summit and descend, commenting that the mormon crickets seem to be increasing in number. oh, just you wait jefferson. at some point before the sun falls, you will feel them splattering all over your legs, arms and face, as you ride down out of the hills, the road a moving path of these giant bugs.

fuck the mormon crickets.

just after the summit, you stop at a woman's house {instructed by her son john, who works in town at the restaurant} to fill your water containers from her well. john is a good man. thirty-four perhaps. big, like his heart. he smokes too much, but he knows this. his voice is gruff. he speaks of his dreams of going to budapest. please john, go. he has come here from vegas, to help his dad as he fights a losing battle with cancer. you think of your grandmother. your grandfather and his miserable decline into darkness. the death of his spirit coming first. you think of keri's mother, and wish so badly that you could have met her. laughed together. shared your love for her daughter. something shared. perhaps she can hear you out there, from wherever she spins. you meet john's daughter, who is sweet and has blond hair and blue eyes, and a "big girl bike," and loves rocks. maybe even as much as you. she collects them. you giggle to yourself about the fact that you have had to resist gathering rocks almost daily, as the weight is a concern. perhaps next time {will there be a next time?} you will ride a motorcycle. you climb yet another hill, and begin the descent. the mormon crickets grow in number and in size. their squealing is haunting. like the crying of a baby, its mouth smothered by a rag. two cats, fucking in a sealed cardboard box under your bed. the sound of demons as they suck your breath. yes, it is eerie and creepy and haunting and awful. but the worst part, is their sheer number. since the first mention of these creatures, they have grown in number far more than you {or anyone else for that matter} could begin to imagine. it becomes impossible to avoid them, as there are literally thousands of them every few feet. the road is absolutely covered. it looks as though the road itself is moving, as the majority of them are a deep blackish brown, though some are indeed a bright red or orange. you speed and break down the hill, crunching the entire way, their guts and parts flying up onto you. at first you cringe at this, and after miles and miles and miles of it, the absurdity and strangeness and utter disgust of it all, makes you laugh. where is david lynch? you must ride slowly, as the road is slippery with their smooshed bodies. your legs are stained with their blood, your glasses covered in their leg parts.

you ride on into the night, to near dark, so that you may camp without the burden of these crawling, swarming beasts.

but there are others...giant spiders, and scorpions {i think it was a scorpion} and rattlesnakes. you do not like rattlesnakes. you do although, feel calm out here at night. unafraid. as if perhaps your ancestors were from some part of the world like this, your fear living in the unknown of the trees. but this place, this vastness, lays its fingers into some ancient part of your history; your blood. you feel a certain connectedness and warmth. and now you will sleep. you will sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep. your tired legs cry out. they say, "do you still love me? can't i have a day off." you tell them, "no. maine is a long way off, and a canadian detour {not by bike} looms {or shines really} on the horizon." there is some semblance of a timeline after all.

yes, canada. the arms of love, the most soothing of all things. i restlessly count the days.

day thirteen. 50 even. the desert. to eureka nevada {still the desert.}

#1. fuck the desert.
#2. fuck the headwind.
#3. i currently write from a hotel. yes indeed.

Posted by jeff pitcher at June 16, 2004 11:35 PM

....................................