My sincere thanks to those who’ve shown an interest in this latest writing project — at least it’s about something other than the pandemic stats I’ve been so fixated on these past many months!
Part 1 can be found here, so without further ado I’ll return to that long ago solo bike tour through the deserts of Nevada that helped define me as the Iron Tortoise (even though I didn’t actually adopt that particular moniker until a few years later) and pick up where I left off...
Day 2 (Sunday, April 9): The Grueling Grade to Goldfield
Waking relatively refreshed just before dawn from a surprisingly sound sleep, I knew this was going to be the make-or-break day of the tour. I had originally planned on doing 62 miles up to Goldfield the second day, with 2700 feet of uninterrupted climbing, but failing to reach Bailey’s Hot Spring the first night added another 7 miles to that total. With no real alternative to Goldfield as a second night destination, and with the previous day’s trial-by-sun still all too fresh in my mind, I had no desire for another late start.
Stocking up on such items as apple juice, grapefruit soda, and fruit punch concentrate, I had a quick sweet roll and ice cream sandwich breakfast. Now I’ll be the first to admit that my diet on this tour left a lot to be desired. Despite a gradual evolution toward a more health-conscious quasi-vegetarianism, I had already concluded this was neither the time nor the place to try and play the purist — a problematical proposition at best, given the the sorts of supplies available in the Nevada Outback. Figuring that just about anything with sugar in it was still fair game, I rolled out of Beatty around 7 am on a sucrose high, and into the rising sun.
The relative coolness of the early morning ride to Bailey’s Hot Spring was a pleasant contrast to what had transpired the day before, but by the time I had filled the last of my water bottles and left this last outpost of civilization behind, the air temperature had already begun its inexorable climb upward again. It took 3 long hot hours against a light but persistent head wind to ride the next 30 miles to Scotty’s Junction, across the desolate solitude of Sarcobatus Flat. I had been hoping to eat lunch there at a small trailer/diner I had stopped at several years previously on a trip out to Death Valley, but it was no longer in business and all I could manage was to rest a bit in its steadily shrinking shadow.
I departed on the next stage of the day’s ride around Noon, with a stiffening head wind and the temperature back up into the 90’s. This made for a most unpleasant climb up to Stonewall Pass, which just opened out onto a somewhat higher but equally empty sagebrush and salt-flat covered plain. It took nearly 2.5 hours to cover the 17 miles to Lida Junction, where the stunted trees and cheerless signs of the Cottontail Ranch provided the only semblance of shade until Goldfield.
Though not at all interested in (or at this point even capable of) exploring the dubious pleasures of this uniquely Nevadan enterprise, I watched with bemused detachment the procession of truckers and tourists passing through its portals, as I concentrated on gathering up my own fast-fading strength for one last final effort. Departing Lida Junction around 4:30 pm under the cover of a few high clouds that helped limit the solar intensity somewhat, it still took an agonizing 2.5 hours to climb the remaining 13 miles and 1500 feet up to Goldfield Summit, against the strongest head winds I had yet had to face on the trip.
Finally reaching the top in a state of near total exhaustion, just as the sun was about to sink beneath the horizon, I sailed on down through deepening twilight into the old mining town of Goldfield. Unfortunately since this was a Sunday, I soon found once more that nearly all of the local establishments I had been counting on for a decent meal had already closed for the night. The best I could scrounge for dinner that evening were a couple of microwaved burritos at the one remaining open market.
Despite an absence of any officially designated campgrounds near Goldfield, a local LEO was kind enough to direct me to an old abandoned park overlooking the west edge of town that served as a more than adequate campsite. That night I fell asleep beneath a celestial display of shooting stars, satisfied my physical and psychological resources had indeed been up to the demands of the day, and now able to contemplate with a growing sense of confidence that I might actually complete this quixotic quest after all.
Part 3 to follow anon...