Day 24
Both my Scrabble Travels in the UK lasted 23 days and clocked up under 1,400 miles, and they were both exceeded today in terms of duration and distance. I wasn't even quite a third of the way of the way to Charleston... sigh... My back still hurt this morning (and so did my head) although when riding it's not a problem. Couldn't find a diner anywhere downtown and I'm hoping to avoid places like McDonald's the whole time I'm here. There's a Scottish import shop and a British shop here, as we Brits are way cool. Eventually found a groovy place called Einstein Bagels in the posh Avenues part of town. One of those places with big, industrial pipes on the ceiling and snooty looking people. I don't know why it is, but pretentious people here are more irritating than their British counterparts. It was a delicious, yet very small bagel, so it was just as well I'd packed three bananas and an enormous bag of dried fruit and nuts, called 'trail mix', as today was to be another biggie.
It's funny when you ask people for directions; they tell you where to go and then as you're about to go they say “Or you could go...” As I left Salt Lake up the twisting Emigrants' Canyon, I realised that what I had been having a problem with was being in a city surrounded by mountains, as once I was in the mountains proper I was fine with them. This was a really enjoyable climb, if such a thing can be imagined. It was twisty, with plenty of trees, nice views, interesting things to look at (such as domesticated dogs ripping a deer carcass apart) and today was in the 60s and sunny. With crystal clear light the scenery close to me looked as though buffed up with Brasso, whereas distant peaks seemed to be wrapped in yellow cellophane. This was the route Brigham Young brought the first LDS people into Salt Lake and I bet some of them lost their way, geographically or religiously, en route. I came across a man on 'roller skis' (abbreviated skis on four wheels) who skated on roads to keep in shape in the off season. The road grew steeper and I was going up these hairpin bends at 4 mph on the most challenging hill yet undertaken, although it was quite manageable with legs and lungs up to the job. At the top Big Mountain is 7,420 feet, with spectacular views to snowy peaks, and then of course the following downhill section was fantastic and I recorded a new high of 44.9 mph.
A special mention must be given to the 'new best sandwich' thus far, from Einstein Bagels, featuring chicken, bacon, Swiss cheese and pickles, in a croissanty type roll, consumed beside a scintillating bright blue lake. Freeway for the last 40 miles and I hoped it was OK to be there, particularly as there are no other roads through this remote country. The scenery is pretty bleak around here : no trees, red hills, sagebrush. Managed to avoid the town of Croydon, but quite fancied visiting Breastworks, although later found out it alludes to a defensive military structure. With a wind caressing me along double quick, I was soon in my fifth state of Wyoming, the least populated of all the states, and it was only a few miles to Evanston, tonight's stop. I had been told that state maps were free at gas stations, but no, a lady said it was $4.50 for a crappy bit of paper. I complained about the price, then started to open it. She said, “What, you're gonna look at it anyway?” So I thought better of it. Not that I really needed a map for Wyoming, as there is only one road (Interstate 80) to go on. Picked up an Evanston street map in the library for free at least. It was a pretty annoying map though, with numbers against every street, so I needed to keep referring to the key at every intersection.
Mike lived at the end of a cul de sac with his wife and six children. Yes, six children – all under 12 – and they might not be done yet. It was pretty crazy in that house, with children bouncing up and down and all talking at once. Dinner was especially entertaining, with pizza and creamy ice lollies. I was starving, even though I'd eaten a truckload today, and kept on taking another piece of pizza when offered. Still I had cycled 93 miles today and a fair percentage up steep hills. When asked if I wanted anything else, I said, “Coffee please,” and it was then that I discovered they were LDS and had no coffee, tea or fizzy drinks in the house. Mike was from New Jersey and had met his wife there when she worked as a nanny. Then they had moved back to her home town of Evanston and Mike still worked for the same company back east, but as his job was IT related (he had about six computers on the go all the time), he could do it from home out here, providing he worked Eastern Time (7 am – 3.30 pm) which fitted round the kids very very well.
After the children had gone to bed and silence descended, Mike and I played Scrabble. Once again I drew good letters and managed three bingos in two games (MOUTHING, GENTILES & DELVING). I had come across Mike through the Pixie Pit and he hadn't played a live game in years. He had been following my blog and had seen the Seattle Club's website with the stats from the evening I played there. I came 23rd out of 23! But then I had lost all four games, so it was hardly a surprise. Mike had made up an air bed for me, which was surprisingly comfortable and I slept like a log.
I still had a headache and a bad back upon waking though. Even though I drunk vast quantities of water and isotonic fluid yesterday (and no alcohol obviously) it seems impossible to keep rehydrated. Yesterday had taken the greatest toll on my body so far experienced. Breakfast was another manically enjoyable occasion, and we all had French toast, eggs and bacon. I had only just learned to say 'over hard' about how I like my eggs, yet Mike's wife didn't know the expression. Mike told me the hunting season would recommence next week and showed me photos of kills he'd made as well as the ones that got away. You can shoot animals at the age of 12 here, and there are deer, antelope, buffalo, elk and moose in these parts.
Worked on this in the library before leaving town after lunch, as today's mileage wasn't too onerous.
Thursday, 9 October 2008
Wood Cross – Salt Lake City 2 (October 7)
Day 23
Carl showed me the lit-up sights of Salt Lake City, including the Capitol, and the Beehive which is one of the oldest buildings and where Brigham Young (another LDS prophet) lived with his 50 wives. This is why the highway signs have a beehive on them. Carl's family of four children and one niece waited until we arrived at 9 pm before they sat down for a barbecue dinner of salmon, pork and other delights. Carl hailed from Montana and worked with the Water Board, or whatever they call it out here. The children were a lot of fun, wise-cracking, taking the mickey out of my accent and teaching me stuff about Utah. They were not LDS, Carl votes Republican, but the rest of the family are Democrats. I find people's knowledge of their towns, states and US pretty impressive, even if they don't know much about Britain. Apparently Salt Lake used to part of Lake Bonneville, which covered about three states in dinosaur times and explains why fish fossils can be found up mountains. I didn't know that it (and the Dead Sea) are salty because no rivers flow out of it, and it's seven times saltier than ocean water.
I was a bit embarrassed by my luck in the Scrabble department, as I had good letters in the two games we played as a foursome, especially in the second game when I opened with a bingo (FORGING) and soon played another (SELLERS). The kids described each achievement as “dropping a bomb”. Carl volunteered as a football coach for his son's school team and he said he would often shout at them “You're a bunch of w**kers!” As this isn't a rude word here. Then he showed me his metal pin badge collection relating to local events, teams and so forth. It's popular to trade such badges and I was presented with an honorary badge of the 2002 Winter Olympics. There was another badge bearing a picture of green jello, which is a humorous Utah symbol, relating to Mormon spartan tastes. I drank several cans of Heineken and seemed to lose my power of speech every time Carl refilled the glass. It was midnight by the time he drove me back to the motel in downtown Salt Lake and they were all getting up at 6 or 6.30, but they didn't seem to mind.
Carl showed me the lit-up sights of Salt Lake City, including the Capitol, and the Beehive which is one of the oldest buildings and where Brigham Young (another LDS prophet) lived with his 50 wives. This is why the highway signs have a beehive on them. Carl's family of four children and one niece waited until we arrived at 9 pm before they sat down for a barbecue dinner of salmon, pork and other delights. Carl hailed from Montana and worked with the Water Board, or whatever they call it out here. The children were a lot of fun, wise-cracking, taking the mickey out of my accent and teaching me stuff about Utah. They were not LDS, Carl votes Republican, but the rest of the family are Democrats. I find people's knowledge of their towns, states and US pretty impressive, even if they don't know much about Britain. Apparently Salt Lake used to part of Lake Bonneville, which covered about three states in dinosaur times and explains why fish fossils can be found up mountains. I didn't know that it (and the Dead Sea) are salty because no rivers flow out of it, and it's seven times saltier than ocean water.
I was a bit embarrassed by my luck in the Scrabble department, as I had good letters in the two games we played as a foursome, especially in the second game when I opened with a bingo (FORGING) and soon played another (SELLERS). The kids described each achievement as “dropping a bomb”. Carl volunteered as a football coach for his son's school team and he said he would often shout at them “You're a bunch of w**kers!” As this isn't a rude word here. Then he showed me his metal pin badge collection relating to local events, teams and so forth. It's popular to trade such badges and I was presented with an honorary badge of the 2002 Winter Olympics. There was another badge bearing a picture of green jello, which is a humorous Utah symbol, relating to Mormon spartan tastes. I drank several cans of Heineken and seemed to lose my power of speech every time Carl refilled the glass. It was midnight by the time he drove me back to the motel in downtown Salt Lake and they were all getting up at 6 or 6.30, but they didn't seem to mind.
Wednesday, 8 October 2008
Wood Cross – Salt Lake City (October 7)
Day 23
The motel was right by the freeway and I woke early, with a sore back and feeling cranky. Only a few more miles into Salt Lake City, stopping for a fry-up and past a poster promoting cycling with the phone number 801-FAT-BIKE. The streets that intersect Highway 89 go 400 North, 300 North, etc, like all US cities, until you hit a street named Temple, and that is of course where Mormon HQ is situated. I don't really know how it happened – I had just wanted a peek in Temple Square, honestly I did – but before you could say Jehovah, two immaculate, young Brazilian missionaries were taking me on a tour and selling their brand of Christianity. The buildings (and flowerbeds) are pretty impressive though, especially when you consider that there was nothing here but desert when most of them were constructed in the 1850s. There's the Tabernacle, the Temple, the Chapel, etc, and all of them utilise local materials to look like something grander, ie pine pews are painted to resemble oak and pine columns mimic marble. They plied me with a heavenly host of leaflets and told me their belief in both the Bible and the Book of Mormon, but no, there was no conflict.
Then of course I went to the library, which as with the rest of the city, is snazzy and modern. There is interesting architecture here, buses, as well as trains and even trams. I liked Salt Lake City quite a bit, except for the mighty mountains on all sides, which are really beginning to disturb my equilibrium. Even the volume of books in the library distressed me today; all that knowledge. Who reads them? Why? To use an Americanism, I'm feeling a bit weirded out and fed up. It's like I've forgotten why I'm doing and don't want to do it any more. Hopefully this is just a three week itch and things will improve when I return to the countryside, which I'm yearning for again, even though I was missing city life just a few days ago. It's partly to do with having a couple of days with little mileage and I think my brain copes better with a structure and a tired body – like that is simple and pure, and makes sense. I was also worried about tomorrow, as I couldn't work out how to leave the state without riding the freeway. I didn't want any more policemen on my tail. I pored over maps and found another route, yet if the zigzagging was anything to go by, it's gonna be steep. Then I saw someone familiar and realised it was a guy with autism who's been on TV quite a bit, because his memory for figures and ability to do mathematical calculations is second to none. I asked an assistant if he was the guy off TV and he said it was. There he was looking through a directory, and then he would suddenly take off and walk about in circles muttering to himself. Maybe he could have helped me in some kind of numerical way.
I had semi-arranged a bed via Couchsurfing, but it fell through because I didn't get back to the woman quickly enough and by the time I did, she had made plans. She didn't wait by the phone for my call with baited breath? So, another crummy motel by a main road for $50. To make a bad day worse, when I asked the girl at reception if there was any chance of a discount she replied, “How old are you?” I asked her what that had to do with it and she said they gave discounts to seniors. I guess to her anyone over 35 is an old fogey - or that's what I told myself, as I looked in the mirror.
Tonight I played Scrabble with Carl, who picked me up and took me back to his place, where his wife cooked dinner.
More to follow tomorrow.
The motel was right by the freeway and I woke early, with a sore back and feeling cranky. Only a few more miles into Salt Lake City, stopping for a fry-up and past a poster promoting cycling with the phone number 801-FAT-BIKE. The streets that intersect Highway 89 go 400 North, 300 North, etc, like all US cities, until you hit a street named Temple, and that is of course where Mormon HQ is situated. I don't really know how it happened – I had just wanted a peek in Temple Square, honestly I did – but before you could say Jehovah, two immaculate, young Brazilian missionaries were taking me on a tour and selling their brand of Christianity. The buildings (and flowerbeds) are pretty impressive though, especially when you consider that there was nothing here but desert when most of them were constructed in the 1850s. There's the Tabernacle, the Temple, the Chapel, etc, and all of them utilise local materials to look like something grander, ie pine pews are painted to resemble oak and pine columns mimic marble. They plied me with a heavenly host of leaflets and told me their belief in both the Bible and the Book of Mormon, but no, there was no conflict.
Then of course I went to the library, which as with the rest of the city, is snazzy and modern. There is interesting architecture here, buses, as well as trains and even trams. I liked Salt Lake City quite a bit, except for the mighty mountains on all sides, which are really beginning to disturb my equilibrium. Even the volume of books in the library distressed me today; all that knowledge. Who reads them? Why? To use an Americanism, I'm feeling a bit weirded out and fed up. It's like I've forgotten why I'm doing and don't want to do it any more. Hopefully this is just a three week itch and things will improve when I return to the countryside, which I'm yearning for again, even though I was missing city life just a few days ago. It's partly to do with having a couple of days with little mileage and I think my brain copes better with a structure and a tired body – like that is simple and pure, and makes sense. I was also worried about tomorrow, as I couldn't work out how to leave the state without riding the freeway. I didn't want any more policemen on my tail. I pored over maps and found another route, yet if the zigzagging was anything to go by, it's gonna be steep. Then I saw someone familiar and realised it was a guy with autism who's been on TV quite a bit, because his memory for figures and ability to do mathematical calculations is second to none. I asked an assistant if he was the guy off TV and he said it was. There he was looking through a directory, and then he would suddenly take off and walk about in circles muttering to himself. Maybe he could have helped me in some kind of numerical way.
I had semi-arranged a bed via Couchsurfing, but it fell through because I didn't get back to the woman quickly enough and by the time I did, she had made plans. She didn't wait by the phone for my call with baited breath? So, another crummy motel by a main road for $50. To make a bad day worse, when I asked the girl at reception if there was any chance of a discount she replied, “How old are you?” I asked her what that had to do with it and she said they gave discounts to seniors. I guess to her anyone over 35 is an old fogey - or that's what I told myself, as I looked in the mirror.
Tonight I played Scrabble with Carl, who picked me up and took me back to his place, where his wife cooked dinner.
More to follow tomorrow.
Tuesday, 7 October 2008
Ogden – Wood Cross (October 6)
Day 22
Into my fourth week with a complimentary breakfast that would have graced any children's sleepover : waffle maker, fruit loops and iced pastries. A rest day, but checked out anyway as I couldn't get the TV or wi fi to work. Downtown is a shambles; there are no decent shops and I had to go two miles out of town for an electrical store in a mall. Something needs to be done to prize fat Americans out of their fat cars. I found an adaptor, yet I could have bought a new razor for the $10.99 it set me back. The weather had improved and I was back in shorts and T shirt, and - except for the incongruously snow-capped mountains right on its doorstep – Ogden is Anytown USA. There are plenty of people on sidewalks here, although mostly they are Latinos or old men with beards. Next stop – a laundromat (with its own toilet like everywhere else) and a man gave me a loan of his detergent. In the library (where I heard a man ask for a book on how to get a divorce) there were squawking caged birds. Sat in a park with a sandwich, mooched about the town, trying to find a diversion. Disconcerted by the scale of the mountains, making me feel insignificant and puny, although I guess locals barely notice them. In a quandary in supermarkets, as there are so many sweets and biscuits to rifle through, they're mostly in large packets and whatever I buy will be consumed that night. Today's choice was a 13 oz box of Whoppers, a poor man's Malteser.
And so to South Ogden, five miles uphill, to Denny's, a chain cafe, where I met and played Scrabble with Lori, and were later joined by her husband, Barry. They are Mormons and this explains why Lori could not play a game with me yesterday. On Sundays she doesn't spend any money, play any games or do anything physical and attends her temple for three hours. Lori grew up in Chicago as a Jew and was deeply moved by the Mormon faith when she visited Salt Lake City several years ago. Barry was brought up in the Church and married another follower when he was 18 and she was 16. They had a family, then divorced, then remarried, then divorced again. I learned a lot about the origins of their beliefs, from the hieroglyphic tablets their founder, Joseph Smith (not Lorenzo Snow) found in the woods back east in the 1820s (now mysteriously vanished), to the present day prophet, Thomas S Monson. They don't drink products with tannin, such as tea and coffee (coke is OK), take any drugs including alcohol or tobacco. They give 10% of their income to the church and the only polygamists left have been banished from the flock and reside in southern Utah.
Then we worshiped the holy game of Scrabble, in which we had two close games and Lori won the decider. In this last game I had two words successfully challenged, one of which was TWIZ. For food Lori had a very British looking meatloaf, mashed potatoes and lashings of gravy. I was back on the burgers, this time with curly fries. The South Ogden Denny's is open 24 7 and serves breakfast, lunch and dinner any time you want it. We stayed in there for five hours and they didn't seem to mind one bit. It was nearly 10 pm and 10 degrees by the time we said our goodbyes.
I had expected to find a motel in this area, but according to the staff, the nearest one was the Days Inn I'd just come from. Admittedly it was five miles downhill, but it was going back on myself and I'd have to go uphill again tomorrow. So, I ploughed on towards Salt Lake City, about 30 miles south, thinking there would be big neon signs advertising accommodation along Highway 89 soon enough. Think again. Motels come in bunches and then nothing for many miles. It was a wasteland around here and badly lit, so there was me in the shoulder, blinded by the lights of oncoming vehicles, worrying that I'd collide with a brick or a branch. It was pretty amazing when the city lights opened out, a bit like LA in films like ET.
After 15 miles I was aware of flashing lights behind me. It was a cop. “Could you explain to me what you are doing riding a bicycle on the freeway? he asked slowly and deliberately. Highway 89 had bled into Interstate 15 without me realising it. He took my passport and returned to his car for a few minutes. When he came back he knew when and from what airport I was leaving the country and said that although my crime was a jailable offence, that he would let me go. He gave me directions to the nearby suburb of Bountiful, which was supposed to live up to its name in the motel stakes. Of course I got lost and although I eventually happened upon a hotel, it was a little out of my price range at $85 + tax. I was directed to another suburb, Wood Cross, three miles away, where a Motel 6 charged $50 + tax. It wasn't very nice, but as it was midnight by now, I'd ridden 48 miles and this was supposed to be a rest day. The lady at the desk waived the fee for the wi fi password (thank you accent) and I checked my emails. There was a sign on the door that read “For your protection when in room exchange deadbolt and security latch.” This may have exacerbated the restless night that followed.
Into my fourth week with a complimentary breakfast that would have graced any children's sleepover : waffle maker, fruit loops and iced pastries. A rest day, but checked out anyway as I couldn't get the TV or wi fi to work. Downtown is a shambles; there are no decent shops and I had to go two miles out of town for an electrical store in a mall. Something needs to be done to prize fat Americans out of their fat cars. I found an adaptor, yet I could have bought a new razor for the $10.99 it set me back. The weather had improved and I was back in shorts and T shirt, and - except for the incongruously snow-capped mountains right on its doorstep – Ogden is Anytown USA. There are plenty of people on sidewalks here, although mostly they are Latinos or old men with beards. Next stop – a laundromat (with its own toilet like everywhere else) and a man gave me a loan of his detergent. In the library (where I heard a man ask for a book on how to get a divorce) there were squawking caged birds. Sat in a park with a sandwich, mooched about the town, trying to find a diversion. Disconcerted by the scale of the mountains, making me feel insignificant and puny, although I guess locals barely notice them. In a quandary in supermarkets, as there are so many sweets and biscuits to rifle through, they're mostly in large packets and whatever I buy will be consumed that night. Today's choice was a 13 oz box of Whoppers, a poor man's Malteser.
And so to South Ogden, five miles uphill, to Denny's, a chain cafe, where I met and played Scrabble with Lori, and were later joined by her husband, Barry. They are Mormons and this explains why Lori could not play a game with me yesterday. On Sundays she doesn't spend any money, play any games or do anything physical and attends her temple for three hours. Lori grew up in Chicago as a Jew and was deeply moved by the Mormon faith when she visited Salt Lake City several years ago. Barry was brought up in the Church and married another follower when he was 18 and she was 16. They had a family, then divorced, then remarried, then divorced again. I learned a lot about the origins of their beliefs, from the hieroglyphic tablets their founder, Joseph Smith (not Lorenzo Snow) found in the woods back east in the 1820s (now mysteriously vanished), to the present day prophet, Thomas S Monson. They don't drink products with tannin, such as tea and coffee (coke is OK), take any drugs including alcohol or tobacco. They give 10% of their income to the church and the only polygamists left have been banished from the flock and reside in southern Utah.
Then we worshiped the holy game of Scrabble, in which we had two close games and Lori won the decider. In this last game I had two words successfully challenged, one of which was TWIZ. For food Lori had a very British looking meatloaf, mashed potatoes and lashings of gravy. I was back on the burgers, this time with curly fries. The South Ogden Denny's is open 24 7 and serves breakfast, lunch and dinner any time you want it. We stayed in there for five hours and they didn't seem to mind one bit. It was nearly 10 pm and 10 degrees by the time we said our goodbyes.
I had expected to find a motel in this area, but according to the staff, the nearest one was the Days Inn I'd just come from. Admittedly it was five miles downhill, but it was going back on myself and I'd have to go uphill again tomorrow. So, I ploughed on towards Salt Lake City, about 30 miles south, thinking there would be big neon signs advertising accommodation along Highway 89 soon enough. Think again. Motels come in bunches and then nothing for many miles. It was a wasteland around here and badly lit, so there was me in the shoulder, blinded by the lights of oncoming vehicles, worrying that I'd collide with a brick or a branch. It was pretty amazing when the city lights opened out, a bit like LA in films like ET.
After 15 miles I was aware of flashing lights behind me. It was a cop. “Could you explain to me what you are doing riding a bicycle on the freeway? he asked slowly and deliberately. Highway 89 had bled into Interstate 15 without me realising it. He took my passport and returned to his car for a few minutes. When he came back he knew when and from what airport I was leaving the country and said that although my crime was a jailable offence, that he would let me go. He gave me directions to the nearby suburb of Bountiful, which was supposed to live up to its name in the motel stakes. Of course I got lost and although I eventually happened upon a hotel, it was a little out of my price range at $85 + tax. I was directed to another suburb, Wood Cross, three miles away, where a Motel 6 charged $50 + tax. It wasn't very nice, but as it was midnight by now, I'd ridden 48 miles and this was supposed to be a rest day. The lady at the desk waived the fee for the wi fi password (thank you accent) and I checked my emails. There was a sign on the door that read “For your protection when in room exchange deadbolt and security latch.” This may have exacerbated the restless night that followed.
Monday, 6 October 2008
Snowville - Ogden (October 5)
Day 21
Interstate 81 was all that was on offer, at least until Tremonton, 34 miles to the south. This being Sunday, it wasn't too busy and there was a good shoulder all the way. A thick white line divides road and shoulder, usually followed by : a rumble strip, about eight foot of tarmac, gravel, desert. One truck honked as he was passing and the deep, loud boom caused me to almost jump out of my skin. There were a few other beeps and honks, and whether it be a “hello” or “get off this road you idiot”, I'm not quite sure, although I'm pretty certain it's not a violation to cycle on freeways out of metropolitan areas. While resting I was befriended by my first mosquitoes, who must have mistaken me for a cow, as they only sucked on my black jumper. It was cool again with large, luminous clouds lolloping overhead.
In Tremonton I went into a supermarket and there was fruit in plentiful supply. Nearly bought a 3 lb tub of grapes for $2.99, yet as this would have practically filled one pannier, decided against it. Had my first less-than-delicious sandwich today and I was pretty cut up about it I can tell you. It was cold, watery and flavourless, like a British pre-made sandwich. Should have chosen the beef 'Poorboy' instead. Good to be back in a proper urban environment though, even if most of the shops were shut. On to Deweyville and then a right towards Honeyville along the Bear Valley. It was nice here, away from desert plants, with a rich variety of deciduous trees and houses that looked as though made from brightly painted cardboard – yet often in a sea of dirt. A lot of people don't seem to care much for gardening; some have tarmac from here to kingdom come, others have a hundred old cars and other clutter, and others are lost in a weedy wilderness. My only job was to try and weave between the grasshoppers, sunning themselves in the road, in greens, creams, greys, browns and oranges. These were no people to be seen - maybe they were in church - and I don't recall seeing a single pedestrian for 30 miles, until reaching Ogden. This fair-sized town is burgeoning with estates of identical brown houses and austere, red-brick, slender white-spired churches. As an outsider, I couldn't help imagining non-believers would either feel compelled attend religious services or they would be press-ganged into doing so. I spoke to the first person I saw, a lady of indeterminate age :
“Excuse me, I'm looking for the centre of town.”
“I've lived here 25 years and I never heard of that place.”
“This is Ogden isn't it? Well, where is the middle of it?”
“Oh, you mean downtown.”
Found a Days Inn, which seemed reasonable. The young woman at reception sniffed constantly as I was filling in the registration card. It was allergies, she said. What kind? I asked. Oh, just about everything, she replied. The accommodation was roomy and well-decorated, although I couldn't get the TV to work. It had a bussinessy feel, with a desk, green fake leather chair and brass lampstands. I dined at Dee's Restaurant, next door, waited on by a very sweet girl who looked to be about 15 (even with the addition of a tongue piercing) yet she told me she was 20 and was a single mother to a three year old. Studying forensic science and working most evenings and weekends to pay for childcare, she came from Virginia to be with her Air Force boyfriend, then they split up and she had stayed. Utah was half Mormon and half non-religious people she told me, and also it had the highest teenage pregnancy rate, which she believed resulted from rebellion against strict upbringings. I had a Californian Salad. It's true! Although of course it was as big as my head, with heaps of meat (chicken and bacon), garlic bread and one million calorie dressing. Another waitress said “I like you, you're cute.” I was a little scared of her. When relating my cycling challenge they thought I was Chris! Was I to play second fiddle to him for the rest of the journey?
Interstate 81 was all that was on offer, at least until Tremonton, 34 miles to the south. This being Sunday, it wasn't too busy and there was a good shoulder all the way. A thick white line divides road and shoulder, usually followed by : a rumble strip, about eight foot of tarmac, gravel, desert. One truck honked as he was passing and the deep, loud boom caused me to almost jump out of my skin. There were a few other beeps and honks, and whether it be a “hello” or “get off this road you idiot”, I'm not quite sure, although I'm pretty certain it's not a violation to cycle on freeways out of metropolitan areas. While resting I was befriended by my first mosquitoes, who must have mistaken me for a cow, as they only sucked on my black jumper. It was cool again with large, luminous clouds lolloping overhead.
In Tremonton I went into a supermarket and there was fruit in plentiful supply. Nearly bought a 3 lb tub of grapes for $2.99, yet as this would have practically filled one pannier, decided against it. Had my first less-than-delicious sandwich today and I was pretty cut up about it I can tell you. It was cold, watery and flavourless, like a British pre-made sandwich. Should have chosen the beef 'Poorboy' instead. Good to be back in a proper urban environment though, even if most of the shops were shut. On to Deweyville and then a right towards Honeyville along the Bear Valley. It was nice here, away from desert plants, with a rich variety of deciduous trees and houses that looked as though made from brightly painted cardboard – yet often in a sea of dirt. A lot of people don't seem to care much for gardening; some have tarmac from here to kingdom come, others have a hundred old cars and other clutter, and others are lost in a weedy wilderness. My only job was to try and weave between the grasshoppers, sunning themselves in the road, in greens, creams, greys, browns and oranges. These were no people to be seen - maybe they were in church - and I don't recall seeing a single pedestrian for 30 miles, until reaching Ogden. This fair-sized town is burgeoning with estates of identical brown houses and austere, red-brick, slender white-spired churches. As an outsider, I couldn't help imagining non-believers would either feel compelled attend religious services or they would be press-ganged into doing so. I spoke to the first person I saw, a lady of indeterminate age :
“Excuse me, I'm looking for the centre of town.”
“I've lived here 25 years and I never heard of that place.”
“This is Ogden isn't it? Well, where is the middle of it?”
“Oh, you mean downtown.”
Found a Days Inn, which seemed reasonable. The young woman at reception sniffed constantly as I was filling in the registration card. It was allergies, she said. What kind? I asked. Oh, just about everything, she replied. The accommodation was roomy and well-decorated, although I couldn't get the TV to work. It had a bussinessy feel, with a desk, green fake leather chair and brass lampstands. I dined at Dee's Restaurant, next door, waited on by a very sweet girl who looked to be about 15 (even with the addition of a tongue piercing) yet she told me she was 20 and was a single mother to a three year old. Studying forensic science and working most evenings and weekends to pay for childcare, she came from Virginia to be with her Air Force boyfriend, then they split up and she had stayed. Utah was half Mormon and half non-religious people she told me, and also it had the highest teenage pregnancy rate, which she believed resulted from rebellion against strict upbringings. I had a Californian Salad. It's true! Although of course it was as big as my head, with heaps of meat (chicken and bacon), garlic bread and one million calorie dressing. Another waitress said “I like you, you're cute.” I was a little scared of her. When relating my cycling challenge they thought I was Chris! Was I to play second fiddle to him for the rest of the journey?
Sunday, 5 October 2008
Albion - Snowville (October 4)
Day 20
After delaying my departure for as long as possible (check-out wasn't until 11) it stopped raining. When returning my key, the blowsy blonde at reception told me she originated from Vegas and that she went back there occasionally... to play bingo. Had a quick flick through the local paper, in which the cartoons were in the religious section. Uphill for the first few miles and the weather was comparable to Scotland in early October (in the 50s, overcast and damp). Like Albion, the next miniature town I happened upon also had a British connection, as it was called Malta – and then I saw a Mini Cooper drive by. Popping into one of the two small grocery stores, the man serving asked me to stick a pin in a world map to show where I lived. Someone had already stuck a pin into Glasgow, so I pretended I came from another part of Scotland. He said his wife was always on at him to take her to Scotland and then he conversed with some Latinos (the pc term for Mexicans) in fluent Spanish. I had a sandwich made up here (my God it was good) but no fresh fruit for sale. I tried at the other store and they didn't have any fruit either; they only had it in the summer the young woman apologized. So many of the women here have very pretty eyes, and their smiles are warm and natural.
Didn't need to escape the shade for my lunch-break today and I would have liked to have stepped into a pool of sunlight instead, as it was so gloomy. Sat on my folded-up waterproof jacket on bare, stony ground (which has been its only use so far) and listened to the silence beside the quiet road. The only sound was soft hammering from somewhere across the valley. I spoke too soon, for half an hour later I needed to put my coat on, as well as my leggings - which was awkward as there was nothing to prop my bike against except for me. The following 30 miles were the most desolate so far encountered, a headwind and hardly any cars or even a sign to read. The map showed two towns between here and Snowville, yet I didn't even see a house. The road was straight, it was flattish, with sagebrush in the foreground and misty mountains beyond in all directions. The road was so monotonous that I slalomed for a bit, to jazz it up.
Then a bullet-ridden sign announced Utah and also promoted the 2002 Winter Olympics. Things changed for the better here, as it stopped raining, the road kinked away from the wind and there were signs! I liked the Utah logo on its Highway signs, which seemed to be a beehive. Idaho's had been the shape of the state in white against a black background, and as Montana has a wiggly edge encroaching on northern Idaho, it was like a man's face in profile looking into a doorway.
“Attention sage-grouse hunters”
one sign shouted and it went on to ask the hunters of this bird to deposit a wing in this here barrel, as a local university was conducting research on the species. I read every word voraciously and all the other signs too. At length a few farms popped up and then, in the distance, tiny rectangles seemingly moving across a field. It was the Interstate! Hurrah! Three cheers for trucks and wide, asphalt superhighways. Crossed it and soon arrived in desultory Snowville. The lady at the garage/grocery store said they used to stock fruit, but it just went bad because no one bought it. She said I should try Tremonton, a half hour drive away. The motel was unmanned and a lovely, wordy sign requested me to fill in a card with my credit card details and I could take a key. All the remaining rooms were 'smoking' unfortunately, although once in there I didn't really notice it. I wondered if people tried to get away without paying, but obviously not, as half an hour later a lady came to my door to explain my credit card had not been authorized. However, I was able to pay with a Traveller's Cheque. Walked across the road to dine at the Ranch House Diner, served by the comely Shanna. The beefburgers are so juicy and meaty in this country, it's no wonder I keep ordering them. They had blue 'Play Dough' ice cream, although I opted for the safer almond fudge, that actually tasted more chocolatey than anything else. Leaving, I saw the sign, “Tractor books are free”, relating to glossy magazines filled with photos of second hand tractors and nothing else. Back at the motel I heard the couple in the next room talking about going for dinner as they left in their car. I watched them through the window, saw their car drive across the road (less than 200 metres away) and park.
Woken in the morning by car doors slamming a million times. Peeked through the blinds to watch one mature lady with goats in the back of her covered pick-up truck say to ano0ther :
“Why don't you help me?”
“I'd like to help you, but I can't because of my heart condition; you know that.”
“I know that.”
“You know f***!”
Beautiful light and soft clouds during my short walk to Mollie Cafe (I think an S had been missed out of the neon sign). I was served by an 80+ lady with thick make-up and a 'Utah beehive' hairdo. You could get an 8 oz sirloin steak for breakfast, but I had eggs over hard, bacon, toast and the best strawberry jam I've ever tasted. No more pancakes. Everyone knows each other in these places and they trade banter across the room. I asked Polly, who also worked there, why people are so happy in rural areas. She said they didn't have the stresses of folks in Salt Lake and they could see the mountains. Polly's age of 27 came up in conversation and she referred to Mollie as her mom, so maybe she looked older than she was. Polly had lived in Snowville all her life and explained how it was named after Lorenzo Snow, the founder of the Mormons, who dispatched settlers here in the 19th century. Polly gave me a bumper sticker with the slogan 'Hit the spott'. That other cross-America cyclist had stayed here a week ago and he'd got a free breakfast! Chris, was also 27, has ridden across the country twice already and has been on TV. Show off.
After delaying my departure for as long as possible (check-out wasn't until 11) it stopped raining. When returning my key, the blowsy blonde at reception told me she originated from Vegas and that she went back there occasionally... to play bingo. Had a quick flick through the local paper, in which the cartoons were in the religious section. Uphill for the first few miles and the weather was comparable to Scotland in early October (in the 50s, overcast and damp). Like Albion, the next miniature town I happened upon also had a British connection, as it was called Malta – and then I saw a Mini Cooper drive by. Popping into one of the two small grocery stores, the man serving asked me to stick a pin in a world map to show where I lived. Someone had already stuck a pin into Glasgow, so I pretended I came from another part of Scotland. He said his wife was always on at him to take her to Scotland and then he conversed with some Latinos (the pc term for Mexicans) in fluent Spanish. I had a sandwich made up here (my God it was good) but no fresh fruit for sale. I tried at the other store and they didn't have any fruit either; they only had it in the summer the young woman apologized. So many of the women here have very pretty eyes, and their smiles are warm and natural.
Didn't need to escape the shade for my lunch-break today and I would have liked to have stepped into a pool of sunlight instead, as it was so gloomy. Sat on my folded-up waterproof jacket on bare, stony ground (which has been its only use so far) and listened to the silence beside the quiet road. The only sound was soft hammering from somewhere across the valley. I spoke too soon, for half an hour later I needed to put my coat on, as well as my leggings - which was awkward as there was nothing to prop my bike against except for me. The following 30 miles were the most desolate so far encountered, a headwind and hardly any cars or even a sign to read. The map showed two towns between here and Snowville, yet I didn't even see a house. The road was straight, it was flattish, with sagebrush in the foreground and misty mountains beyond in all directions. The road was so monotonous that I slalomed for a bit, to jazz it up.
Then a bullet-ridden sign announced Utah and also promoted the 2002 Winter Olympics. Things changed for the better here, as it stopped raining, the road kinked away from the wind and there were signs! I liked the Utah logo on its Highway signs, which seemed to be a beehive. Idaho's had been the shape of the state in white against a black background, and as Montana has a wiggly edge encroaching on northern Idaho, it was like a man's face in profile looking into a doorway.
“Attention sage-grouse hunters”
one sign shouted and it went on to ask the hunters of this bird to deposit a wing in this here barrel, as a local university was conducting research on the species. I read every word voraciously and all the other signs too. At length a few farms popped up and then, in the distance, tiny rectangles seemingly moving across a field. It was the Interstate! Hurrah! Three cheers for trucks and wide, asphalt superhighways. Crossed it and soon arrived in desultory Snowville. The lady at the garage/grocery store said they used to stock fruit, but it just went bad because no one bought it. She said I should try Tremonton, a half hour drive away. The motel was unmanned and a lovely, wordy sign requested me to fill in a card with my credit card details and I could take a key. All the remaining rooms were 'smoking' unfortunately, although once in there I didn't really notice it. I wondered if people tried to get away without paying, but obviously not, as half an hour later a lady came to my door to explain my credit card had not been authorized. However, I was able to pay with a Traveller's Cheque. Walked across the road to dine at the Ranch House Diner, served by the comely Shanna. The beefburgers are so juicy and meaty in this country, it's no wonder I keep ordering them. They had blue 'Play Dough' ice cream, although I opted for the safer almond fudge, that actually tasted more chocolatey than anything else. Leaving, I saw the sign, “Tractor books are free”, relating to glossy magazines filled with photos of second hand tractors and nothing else. Back at the motel I heard the couple in the next room talking about going for dinner as they left in their car. I watched them through the window, saw their car drive across the road (less than 200 metres away) and park.
Woken in the morning by car doors slamming a million times. Peeked through the blinds to watch one mature lady with goats in the back of her covered pick-up truck say to ano0ther :
“Why don't you help me?”
“I'd like to help you, but I can't because of my heart condition; you know that.”
“I know that.”
“You know f***!”
Beautiful light and soft clouds during my short walk to Mollie Cafe (I think an S had been missed out of the neon sign). I was served by an 80+ lady with thick make-up and a 'Utah beehive' hairdo. You could get an 8 oz sirloin steak for breakfast, but I had eggs over hard, bacon, toast and the best strawberry jam I've ever tasted. No more pancakes. Everyone knows each other in these places and they trade banter across the room. I asked Polly, who also worked there, why people are so happy in rural areas. She said they didn't have the stresses of folks in Salt Lake and they could see the mountains. Polly's age of 27 came up in conversation and she referred to Mollie as her mom, so maybe she looked older than she was. Polly had lived in Snowville all her life and explained how it was named after Lorenzo Snow, the founder of the Mormons, who dispatched settlers here in the 19th century. Polly gave me a bumper sticker with the slogan 'Hit the spott'. That other cross-America cyclist had stayed here a week ago and he'd got a free breakfast! Chris, was also 27, has ridden across the country twice already and has been on TV. Show off.
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