Today: 61 Miles: AVG Speed: 9.6MPH – Top Speed: 34.2MPH
Total: 4,758.6 Miles

I woke up with my eyelids welded shut from bacterial gunk this morning. Yeah, I know, nice, right? I had two choices, either take a day off or roll on half-blind. Well, after the five day hand hiatus I am up against it. Betty and I must be in San Francisco next Saturday to meet my mother and her victorious suitor, Chris. If we don’t they’ll be walking around like a pair of bewildered geese searching for a thawed spot in the canal during a Canadian winter. They could drown for christ’s sakes. I cannot let this happen. Also, I had a date to keep with Matthias so my mind was made-up, I would cover the eye with a makeshift bandage to protect it from light and dust, and utilise my new friend as a human white stick, guiding me around any potholes or glass or whatever. 

We met for breakfast where I, for the first time on this trip, opted for granola and yoghurt. All the crap I’d been eating recently had been making me feel a little lethargic so I decided to go for health. We set off and it was hard to get used to the old one-eye business at first as my depth perception wasn’t what it could be with two functioning eyes. What I didn’t expect out of this day is how tough it would be. Only 61 miles, but it was extremely taxing.  After a couple of miles we were on Highway 50, a road once dubbed The Loneliest Highway in America by one Life magazine photographer in the 1980’s. Well, whoever it was, they’re full of shit. It wasn’t exactly brimming with traffic, but I’ve been on much quieter roads on this tour so far. Life should find this person and fire them. Unless they’re dead, of course.

Anyway, the morning was spent on a climb in the searing heat, and just when we turned a corner for a downhill and a flat, gale force Amerciana winds battered our beautiful European faces. We were both battling, but Matthias was in particularly bad shape after his gruelling 150 miler yesterday. We eventually made it to some creepy Trading Post for a microwaved burrito, though. Yum.

After this chewy snack we continued with the final 5 mile climb of the day before 21 miles of downhill and flats to Ely. The climb was easy enough, but when we arrived on top of the Connors Summit the valley below was dominated by an enormous storm cloud. We got to the bottom of the valley and decided to play a strategic game, we couldn’t ride into the storm, but there was also one behind us rapidly gaining size and speed. We had to sandwich ourselves in between the two beasts, watching lightening strike around us, all the while avoiding the storms. We were, at one stage, out running the shadowy oppressor behind us. It was exhilarating.

After over 7 hours of riding we arrived in Ely, struck a deal in a Motel 6 and we are celebrating a hard day with a cold beer, just the way it should be. The only problem is that my right eye is still as red as a baboons arse. I eagerly await the next ailment.

Today: 84.2 Miles – AVG Speed 14.5MPH – Top Speed: 39.7MPH
Total: 4,696.15

A day of adventure and curious meetings, then. A welcome change from the previous 24 hours in purgatory, at any rate.

It was a late start as I was up until midnight attempting to soothe an irritation in my right eye. I don’t think this titillating revelation was mentioned earlier, but some time ago I misplaced my spectacles, which has meant that every waking hour since has required that I wear contact lenses, (revelation No.2 is that I'm -7.25 in each eye. Fascinating.) that’s approximately 16 hours a day with an alien object in my face. Related or not, over the last few days I’ve had to endure increasing discomfort in said aperture and so I decided to waltz around with 50% vision for the first two hours of the morning in order to deliver some relief. It wasn’t ideal as it meant my 84 mile ride wouldn’t begin until late morning, but then again, maybe these things happen for a reason.

First port of call was the only diner in Milford and the usual breakfast of farmland offal and ovaries. When I walked in, all I was prepared for was a quick feed before setting off on the ride when I heard the one syllable guaranteed to grab my attention.

“Shaun!” Came the voice, even stranger was that it was delivered with an English accent.

“Err, yes?” I said.

“It’s Anna!”

What were the chances of this? For the last few weeks Anna and I had had a casual correspondence on Twitter. We were “introduced” by Super Cycling Man and had been back and forth ever since. I had no idea we would cross paths, in fact, reading into our last chat I was sure any serendipitous meeting had passed us by. This was oddly like meeting with an old friend, albeit after a simultaneous amnesia experience where we both required a re-acquaintance on the basics of each others character. It's a shame it was so brief as we both had schedules to keep, but what a treat it was to meet someone who I had been knocking around with only on a digital level previously. 

Do check out her website, she is an incredibly impressive, talented and driven human being. All of that with a smile, too. She is winning.

The ride itself was one of the loneliest of the tour and I still haven’t hit the Loneliest Road in America, yet. That’s tomorrow. There were three good climbs over the 84 miles today, the crest of all revealing the same view as the last; an enormous basin. It was all very Groundhog Day. The forecast had been for thunderstorms and heavy rain, and they were right, except I missed them all by the briefest of margins. In every direction for the final 55 miles there were violent storms and teeming sheets of grey, I could even see them covering the road, only to depart by the time I arrived in their place, the only remnants being a discoloured asphalt and puddles in the rumble strips. The final 30 was spent outrunning the lightening strikes at my rear.

Only 8 miles out of Utah, I’m in a town of 69 people with four bars. My kind of place. And after some shopping around I found a motel annexed to a bar, again, my kind of place. It was when I popped to a restaurant that another lycra-clad prodigy walked in. This time, it was Matthias, a 21 yr old German. We are on the same route to San Francisco, and although he may go a bit quicker than me, we’re going to ride together for a couple of days. He had churned out a whopping 150 miles today and his legs seemd to be involuntarily spasming. A good nights sleep is what he needed.

My legs were not jolting around, however, so as a semi-earned treat, I went back to the bar at my motel where I had a a good evening chatting to some locals, a couple from Mobile, Alabama and the barman, Eric, who’s reaction when I told him about my bike-ride was not what I had expected

“Yeah, big fucking deal, pal, last winter I lived in Antarctica”

How rude is that? Very is the answer, or it would be if that’s what he actually said. Eric was very affable, in fact, and I’m sure he would never speak to anyone like that. He did live in Antarctica, though. So, in one day I’ve met a woman who’s doubling my mileage on a 50 state tour and someone who has lived in the outer reaches of our planet. Show-offs.

Today: 56.3 Miles - AVG Speed: 16.9 MPH - Top Speed: 31.3MPH
Total: 4,615.50 Miles

Today will most likely be heralded as one of the least glamorous days of the tour if it's heralded at all. I suppose it had a hard act to follow if the act in question was the previous three weeks (excluding injury). Scenes that included Glen Canyon, Bryce Canyon, The Grand Canyon, Zion National Park and numerous delightful small towns have today been replaced as we travelled on a long road with the greyest of skies only to arrive in the greyest of towns.

The satisfying aspect is that we are back en route to San Francisco. From the first stop in Cedar City 12 days ago to today we have been on a detour loop and retracing old steps, an almost twilight zone like experience if we compare it to the seemingly unstoppable march to the Atlantic of previous weeks. 

The forecast for the next five days is for thunderstorms and showers, but this could be a blessing as we are entering no-mans land. The map said that the only shelter from the sun east of Fallon, Nevada is three trees. East of Fallon in this case being 300 miles. In fact, one of the reasons todays ride was so short is that the next stop with services after Milford is 84 miles away. And after that it's a 63 mile stretch until a town, and after that 78 miles and so on and so forth. So to have some fluffy blanket shelter from the burning rays in a desert could be a great stroke of luck, unless lightening strikes, of course, in which case I will probably be the very definition of a lightening rod, and the only one in any given area, too.

So Milford, then. A town of 1,409 and a grave departure from the pristine, veneered quality of Cedar City. I had supposed all of these towns in Utah to be pretty and clean, but Milford looks as if it's on deaths door. This is the first town in a state of disrepair I have visited since the Rust Belt. It really doesn't have any charm or much to offer, although the few people I've spoken to have been as pleasant as ever, but there isn't anything to do, let alone see. Well, tomorrow I'll be departing Utah for good and entering Nevada, a milestone that will mean only one state line remains to be crossed and that is something to look forward to, as is entrance to a state known for it's scoundrels and libertarian state laws. The end of 3.2% beer and the prospect of gambling if I so choose. Might even place a £2 accumulator bet on the weekends Premiership matches whilst I'm there.

Today 59.5 Miles – AVG Speed 13.9MPH – Top Speed 32.5MPH
Total: 4,559.14

As I was enjoying a scenic cycle around Zion last night I was corralled by another touring cyclist. This was slightly unusual as I wasn’t dressed in lycra and Betty was as naked as the day we first met. His name was Mathieu from Brest in France.


“ ‘allo, you are the British guy on tour also, yes?” asked Mathieu

“That’s right, how did you know that?” I said

“Oh, I meet a German man who said there’s another beard here” came the response

Mathieu was referring to our facial hair as opposed to the slang term for a dinner-date who acts as cover for a homosexual friend, but any comparisons with this hirsute wunderkind were flattering to the point of mockery. I hadn’t seen such a full beard since - well, maybe ever. It truly was a magnificent sight. Dark and bristly with perfect symmetry from ear to ear and chin to nose. If this were a competition (and it is a competition) then Mathieu would be perched atop the podium, hair blowing in the evening breeze, the picture of pride and assertiveness. Whereas I - well, I would be consoling myself with a bottle of Jack Daniels after being knocked out in the heats. Still, two weeks to go and off it comes. Bloody burden it is.

To focus on beards, however, would be to detract from Mathieu’s extremely gentle nature. A softly spoken man, he was journeying from Prudhoe Bay on the northern Alaskan peninsula and aiming to hit the Panama Canal. A trip that had already held many dangers including countless bear sightings at close proximity and up to 250 mile stretches with no life in Canada and Alaska. Mathieu was both brave and inspiring, and listening to his thoughts on how these long trips can alter perspective and set off a fire in the soul confirmed to me that I was listening to a kindred spirit, albeit one who could articulate his spiritual side far better than myself. He says he is always planning another trip and enjoys setting off for three or four months at a time whenever he can. We talked for a couple of hours as the sky darkened and the mountains of Zion were lit up by a half moon, creating an almost photographic negative of the landscape. I felt nourished and content as Mathieu left, his words will keep me company for some time, I’m sure.

Now, bloody hell. Nothing major, but when I awoke this morning my hands were killing me again. I was sure they were on the mend, yet this morning they were tingling and numb. When I went to bed, I loosened the bandages so they were just around the wrist and the palm, What I didn’t anticipate was this seemingly wise move leading to a prevention of blood circulation to the hands, so when I looked at them this morning, especially the left, it had swollen to the extent that it resembled the hand of a darts player from the 1980’s. Still, keeping the wrist wedged in the same position for an entire day should help alleviate the pain.

The cycle was relatively easy today, just 60 miles with a gentle incline back to Cedar City. I’m now in a motel hiding from the rain like a self-appointed monarch and have just been treated to another brilliant commercial on television. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. If not, there's a vid of me rolling through Zion just beneath it. If you like neither of these, however, then there's really nothing I can do for you.

Today: 108.2 Miles –  AVG Speed: 12.7MPH - Top Speed: 33.5MPH
Total: 4,459.75

Over old ground we go, then. I won’t go into the details of the ride, per se. It was much like the outbound trip with the addition of the final 27 miles of crash day. The main difference being that the ups were downs and the lefts were rights. My hands were feeling much better, though. Not back to the thigh-rubbing perfection of old just yet, but the bulk of the healing seems to be complete. I am a man reborn. Sort of.

At 7pm I arrived at the gates of Zion, which despite the dramatic images these words conjure, was a rather subdued affair. I stayed at a campground on the edge of the park ready for an early start in the morning to get into Zion proper, but when I awoke my plans were kyboshed as the heavens opened. It was an impressive downpour even by these monsoon standards. Now, you know I have a Gremlin type aversion to moisture from on high so I stayed cooped up in a laundry room for a couple of hours reading until the rain subsided, but the clouds did finally break, and with that, I made the short 10-mile trip to the South Campground. The ride was as enjoyable as when I had come through the park over a week ago, but the place had an altogether different feel as the low clouds covering some of the mountain tops created a far more engaging picture. As last week I had to wait for a pick-up truck to escort me through the tunnel, and instead of waiting around I opted for a short one mile hike to catch sight of one of the most iconic views in Zion where I wouldn't be disappointed. From here I could see the entire canyon. I tried focusing on the various flora and colours the view offered, but it was the low clouds that made it such a unique vision and as I hope the pictures convey, it was a scene that had me in its grip for sometime.

Once I had gone through the tunnel and enjoyed the downhill to the base of the canyon I entered the campground to set-up my dwelling and after some jiggery-pokery attempting to drive my warped pegs into the solid ground I went into the adjoining town of Springdale to have some lunch and pick up some supplies. Outside of the supermarket I got talking to a chap named Tyler who worked for the National Park Service. We had a short chat and as I was saying goodbye I heard the sweetest words these lugs of mine have heard in some time.

“Hey man, do you want to go to a party tonight?”

Fuck, yes.

It was the birthday of Shannon, and the venue was within Zion itself. Tyler and about 30 of his pals all work in the park on a seasonal basis and live in a hidden street. It was as if I had been welcomed into the fold of a team of superheroes and invited to view the secrets of their hidden lair. Except these superheroes wore converse and the lair was a semi with three bedrooms and just a short hop from the nearest Shell garage. They supplied food, music and tequila. Lots of tequila. The party progressed as parties tend to do; rowdier and more bafflingly obscure as the hours wore on, culminating in a nasty head-wound for one of the more eccentric guests. He’s all right now, though. Probably.

I also met Florian in the campsite before Tyler picked me up. He was on a bike tour from west to east, and despite some initial resistance I convinced him to throw off the shackles for one night and join in the fun. A German national with a strong accent, I took great pleasure in eavesdropping as the attendees mispronounced his name. Floyd was a good one, but Michelle’s deduction of Flugel was my personal favourite. What a great name that would be. Flugel, eh? It sounds like some kind of Austrian woodwind instrument. The rest of the night is a bit of blur, but it’s fair to say I wasn’t totally with it, as at 4am I decided I needed to go “home” as opposed to taking up the offer of sleeping on a comfy couch. There’s nothing like the lure of a tent to tempt a man.

As I was heading back into town this morning I bumped into Kip, Kenny and a few others from the party, all of who looked a little shaky. This won’t be a regular affair, though as I’m off tomorrow. I’m entering the last leg now, there’s no doubt about that, but I still have plenty of miles to put in and they shall be given full respect. This cyclist is not for turning. Unless there’s a bottle of tequila to be torn into, of course

Today: 81.2 Miles AVG Speed: 10.1MPH – Top Speed 32.5MPH
Total: 4,348.2

The wounds have not yet healed, but after five days of ingesting super-strength painkillers, 3.2% PBR and sugar based snacks it was my mind that was teetering on the brink of permanent injury. After weighing up the risks I came to the conclusion that I was better off strapping up the hands and going for it. I just couldn’t face another day of listless inertia. The goal was an 80-mile ride to the jewel in the crown of America’s National Parks – The Grand Canyon.

I began by saying goodbye to Steve, who ran the Sun ‘N Sands Motel. He’d been the exemplar of kindness and hospitality over the course of my stay, and his sincerity of tone and words was such that I found myself disappointed to bid him farewell, but the lure of bloody-well getting on with it soon put pay to any lingering doubts I may have had. The first hour or so was spent trying to find a position of comfort on the handlebars. The aim being to maintain control over Betty without the use of grip and as a result, I felt like a pig trying to operate a lawnmower. After some experimentation I discovered a sweet spot in between my thumb and forefinger that caused the least discomfort and when possible, managed to pretty much stay wedged in that position. Unfortunately, one irritant that couldn’t be assuaged was the creeping numbness on my arse. My cycling shorts had been ripped to shreds during the crash, and as a result I was wearing regular, non-padded leg-wear. Although my buttocks have built up considerable resistance to the continuous saddle massage, it is still a bum, and when beaten about with total disregard for its well-being it reacted the only way it knew how, by informing it’s owner through the medium of pain. Little I could do about that, though, so I spent the rest of the day awkwardly alternating between a squat and gentle placement. To conclude, a lot of thought went into this days riding positions.

After the 2,000 feet climb to Jacob Lake I was, despite the discomfort, feeling OK. My energy levels felt fine and I fancied going the whole hog to The Grand Canyon. It must also be said that the lure of getting to such an iconic destination was, in itself, motivation enough. It was a slow day, but after eight hours of riding (excluding lunch) I arrived at the North Rim. This spot in the Grand Canyon receives just 10% of the South Rim’s visitors, which makes it an attractive destination for those who like things a little less hectic. It’s also an attractive option for those who don’t fancy cycling a further 210 miles off route.

Now, somewhat sacrilegiously, I decided to eschew a sight of the Canyon itself in the evening, I was a little sleepy after the days riding and didn’t want my enjoyment of the place to be inhibited by tiredness. I also had to get the tent-up sharpish as the night was drawing in. I was lucky enough to be offered a camping space by Ruud*, Simone and their delightful children. They were also kind enough to invite me to dinner around the campfire and it was here where I spent the rest of the evening eating a delicious pasta prepared by my hosts and discussing our respective trips.

24 hours later...

Today was the day I would see the Canyon for myself, and, as if I need to cement what millions already know it was breath-taking. The sheer size of the bloody thing is enough to turn the most lucid of hikers into a mumbling twerp for a few seconds. You only need to stare at the landscape with a blank mind for a multitude of thoughts to begin forming. “How?” being the main one.

After some inarticulate inner-chat I made my way to the beginning of the Uncle Jim trailhead. A five-mile hike to a secluded vantage point seemed like a good starting point for a man sporting Diadora astro-turf trainers that had seen better days and a ridiculous USA cycling hat, but alas, a short-while later, things were about to take a turn for the worse. It was about an hour into the walk when the thunder began it’s familiar beat, and twenty minutes after that when the rain came down. It’s still going now, six hours later, and the forecast says it won’t relent for 48 hours. This is Monsoon season at the Grand Canyon, something which I hadn’t anticipated. With a heavy heart I have decided to forgo another day in this magnificent place. A hike into the canyon itself was on the cards, but it is unadvisable in wet conditions and so I have decided to make my way back to Zion National Park. It’s 110 miles the other way, and the taste I had of it has left me hungry for more. It is a shame to leave here without getting the full experience that I had hoped for, but plans change and it is fair to say that no disappointment will ever detract from my first viewing of this extraordinary natural wonder.

* I don't feel the need to tell you that Ruud and his family were Dutch, but if you were in any doubt then it's mystery solved.

Today: 95.1 Miles - AVG Speed: 13.2MPH - Top Speed: 41.2MPH
Total, 4,265.21

(Warning! Images below are not for the squeamish)

What a day that was then. I’ll give it to you chronologically in order to keep things simple, but today has certainly been the most eventful of the trip so far. If we take it's conclusion as the zenith of excitement then I hope it will remain top of the table until these wheels roll into San Francisco bay.

Betty finally had a new rack and rear tyre fitted yesterday, and as a result the mood was good for both myself and steed. We were feeling confident. It was a hot morning here once again and I had decided to, for the first time on the trip, go without cycling gloves. My hands had been getting terribly clammy over the past week and the tan lines had made me look like a dedicated five-finger smoker. This combined with my truly awful facial hair was probably putting some of these clean-cut Utahns in a position of unease, and seeing as the beard must remain, I thought I’d try and remedy my unsightly appearance the only way I could. The gloves were discarded.

After 15 miles or so I made my first purposeful entrance onto a freeway as I jumped on the Interstate 15 and began racing with the big boys. The freeways here don’t have the same level of tidiness as they do in England and as a result, most of the strewn litter which included a plethora of tyres, bumpers and wing mirrors had migrated to the hard shoulder, which also happened to be my lane. Unfortunately, one can’t spot everything, including minuscule pieces of copper wire. Before long I had managed to receive a puncture, which was the first since the unfortunate flurry of flats back in Missouri. I hoped this wasn't a prelude to another series of stoppages. After some digging I found the shiny, copper culprit and in the late morning heat, proceeded to get mending. 20 minutes later we were back up an running, and save for some minor wheel alignment issues that we solved shortly after, everything was hunky-dory.

The heat was stifling, it clocked 100 Fahrenheit at one stage, which wasn’t so bad early on as we were gradually heading downhill and as a result, the breeze was doing it’s job, but after 35 miles the uphill slog began, and that was when it became seriously unbearable. Well, at about 3pm I found my way to Rockville, which is the closest town to the entrance of Zion National Park. Here, I took a 30-minute break to rehydrate and cool down before entering the park itself. Yet again, I was about to be blown away by the landscape. The rugged cliffs and winding roads had me in a trance, but it was the long climb over three miles of switchbacks that had me smiling again. I was pedalling with all my might to negotiate our way to the top of the mountain, but you couldn’t keep me from grinning, I was on the receiving end of many a peace sign and encouraging horn honk on the way up, which only served to intensify my glee at being able to ride this incredible road.

Once I arrived at the top I had to dismount as in front of me was a 1.1 mile pitch-black tunnel through which I was not permitted to ride. Whilst there, I chatted to the ranger who said I would need to hitch a ride to get to the other side. Not a problem, we thought. Everyone has a pick-up truck in this country. Well, 30 minutes I was waiting there, it was probably the longest I had gone without seeing a truck since I arrived in the States. Eventually, two chaps in their 30’s agreed to let me hop on and in I went. What fun I had for that mile, sitting in the back of the truck as the wind blew in my hair and all I could see were the red lights of the passing cars and the odd fleeting glance at a mountain as we passed by the few alcoves that gave light. This tunnel, completed in 1930 after three years of excavation and building, really is an incredible feat of human ingenuity and civil engineering. I also couldn’t help but notice a distinctive plant smell emanating from the front seats of the truck, and when I enquired as to what it was exactly my suspicions were confirmed; they had been puffing on Satan’s shrub, hadn’t they. And in Utah at that. They really were sticking two fingers up to society and the law by toking away in such a conservative state. What a novel show of rebellion. Much like a British labour supporter masturbating in front of Downing Street. Each tug striking another glorious blow for the proletariat. Fantastic stuff. Anyway, Cheech and Chong kindly offered me a quick draw on this illicit ciggo of theirs, but the Lycra Cowboy didn’t fancy being a Space Cowboy whilst on the road - you know, safety first and that. So I declined.

For the next nine miles or so I was treated to more marvellous landscape as the road swirled around the rocks and cliffs of Zion. I spotted Elk and Buffalo in the park, and as I left, I was comforted by the thought I would be returning in a few days after my trip to the Grand Canyon.

I arrived in my spot for the night of Mt Carmel Junction, but looking at the map, I thought I could do another 17 miles to the town Kanab to get me ever closer to The Canyon. After 5 miles of climbing it was all downhill and I began to relax, I was feeling good after nearly 100 miles of riding.  

Then, with 3 miles to go until I entered Kanab I was descending a hill at approximately 30MPH when I noticed I was approaching a camber in the road, I began to move, but realised I was already on this hidden dip, at the same time I noticed the road had inexplicably altered into lose gravel and asphalt. I began to lose control and as I tried to pull myself back onto terra-firma I felt the wheels go from beneath me. Utter panic.

When you crash at that pace, everything happens in slow motion. You know you’re heading to the ground at speed and all you can do is hope that it won’t be serious. I fell under the bike and instinctively put my hands out, I ground to a halt. Silence fell for a brief moment and fear filled the void. I took some deep breaths and moved my limbs to see if anything was broken. I seemed to be fine. Then I looked at my hands and the pain hit. Agony. Pure unadulterated agony. My palms had been stripped of their skin, gravel was wedged inside both hands and I began to feel faint. Those bloody gloves, I thought to myself.

Luckily a car stopped and a foreign voice screamed to see if I was Ok, she had seen it happen and looked worried. She checked me over and everything appeared healthy enough except for my hands. Then another couple stopped. As I stood up there was a rush of blood to my head and I returned to the ground. We decided to go straight to the hospital, where later, it would be confirmed I was suffering from shock. Heidi drove me, whilst the couple took Betty and my belongings. I was not feeling good. I hobbled into the emergency room demanding pain-killers. I cannot remember the last time I was in this much discomfort. I was hooked up to an IV immediately and a cocktail of drugs were sent coursing through my veins, yet the pain remained. Numbed for sure, but still there. Then came the dreaded injection directly into the wounds. God, that hurt, but it did the trick temporarily. After we had cleaned up I was allowed to shower where I discovered another wound on my left hip. More clean-up required. At about midnight, I was free to leave the hospital. I thanked the doctor and nurses for doing such a fine job in helping me so calmly and with speed. They were excellent. A local police officer escorted me to my motel for the night and foreseeable future, and despite my pain and annoyance at the inevitable break from riding, I was truly touched by the assistance, care and all round good nature of the locals. Even the motel owner has given me a discount on the room and one free night as a gesture of good will.

I suspect I’ll be out for 5 days or so until my hands have healed enough to be able to grip the handlebars. I’ll still make it to the Grand Canyon, but this adds some flavour to the last two weeks of the tour as I must be in San Francisco on September 9th to meet my wonderfully supportive old mum. In one day we’ve gone from leisurely tour to one-man bike race with crashes 'n all. That should spice things up.

Oh, and as I'm sure you're all concerned, let me assure you that Betty is absolutely fine. She always is.

Today: 58 miles – AVG Speed: 9.2MPH – Top Speed: 42.2MPH
Total: 4,164 miles

I could barely sleep because of the cold last night. The elevation in Panguitch is about 6,400 feet, which isn’t too high, so I spent the night tossing around in a confused state. When I awoke as the sun peeked through my tent the mystery was solved. I’d left the tent door open. On top of that, I left my kindle on the grass outside and it hammered it down with rain last night. I only have two friends on this tour in Betty and the Kindle, and if something would happen to one of them, then I…. I don’t know what I’d do. Luckily for me, this little piece of electronic equipment was pretty durable in the rain and as it stands, I shall have no problem continuing with page 4 of James and the Giant Peach when I finally retire for the evening.

Today was always going to be a long one. 4,000 feet of incline over a whopping 34 miles, 20 or so of that was severe climbing. I’m more than used to that kind of work out now, though, and as I was mentally prepared for it, I managed to get to the top without too much problem. At the summit was the National Monument of Cedar Breaks. Another vast natural red stone formation, it was more of an inverted canyon, and from one vantage point in particular, the views were, as ever, spectacular.

Almost immediately after this wee break, the descent to Cedar City began and it was a humdinger of a downhill. 17 miles to be exact, it took about 35 minutes from the top to the bottom and it was non-stop fun. I feel like I’m spoiled every day in these mountains as I now love the climbs as well as the downhills, but not as much. The thrill you get from going top speed for 15 minutes at a time controlling the bike and aiming for as smooth a ride as you can is a wonderful feeling, and one I had never really experienced until I began the tour.

I arrived in Cedar City delighted that we’d made it at all. For the last 210 miles I have been working with half a rack and a tyre that had been showing an alarming rate of green rubber (the indicator of a worn tyre) and I noticed today, that it was fully frayed through to the final layer. I doubt we would have got another 50 miles on it.

The only problem with this town is that there’s not a liquor store anywhere and I really fancied a can of lager as I have tomorrow off whilst I make some final plans for Zion and The Grand Canyon and Betty gets a tune-up. This is the downside with Utah, their attitude towards alcohol is wedged somewhere between that of a diabolically drab health freak and that aunty. The upside, I guess, is that they have pretty good national parks.

Today: 78.2 Miles – Avg Speed 14.2MPH – Top Speed: 44.7MPH
Total: 4,106.16

It’s quite incredible what one can learn with a stroke of good fortune. Last night, as the sun was setting over the picturesque town of Escalante, a neighbour named Diane was pitching her tent in a spot next to mine. As someone had passed on the information to myself earlier in the day, I thought I would pay-it-forward and inform Diane of the impending annual meteor shower that was due to occur once night fell.

“Oh, I think it will be at its best tomorrow night, actually” said Diane.

“Are you sure, this guy seemed to know his stuff.” I responded.

Diane thought about it for a minute, told me to hold on and went to her car, only to return with an astronomy magazine. “Ah”, I mumbled. Looks like I was a touch too confident in my challenge, as ever.

Diane flicked to the relevant page and there it was, tomorrow night. Still, as the stars came out, she told me it was a great night to observe the universe anyway and fetched her binoculars and star reading chart. “Blimey”, I thought, “I’d really inadvertently spoke to the right person about star gazing here” . Over the next hour, Diane showed me exactly where to look in the sky and what I was looking at. It transpired that Diane lectures astronomy at a college level, and here I was getting a free lesson. No loan required. What a head start. I discovered all the main constellations and where to look for them. M-6 and M-7. Learned about The Messier Scale and also spotted the “Coat-Hanger”. I was even told I had a good eye when I found a red giant. I went a bit red myself, if I’m honest. Flattery, eh. It really will get you everywhere with me. It was a great learning experience, was this. I learned more in an hour then I had ever known before, and the fact the skies are so clear in Southern Utah was really going to allow me to employ some of this basic knowledge later in the tour. I became really excited about viewing the event tonight, though. Especially now I knew exactly where to look.

On with today, I packed up leisurely and said goodbye to Diane, but before I left she implored me to go to Bryce Canyon en route. The problem was that it was getting late in the morning and I didn’t want to arrive at my destination too late. I said cheerio to my knowledgeable new pal and was on my way, but...

...after 20 miles I noticed a gold Subaru pass me and pull over on the hard shoulder. Didn’t Diane tell me she had a gold Subaru? Well, it was her. She got out of her car and handed me $20.

“I thought about this as you left today” said Diane. “You need to pay to get into Bryce, and seeing as you’re doing my dream, the least I can do is pay for yours”.

Good lord. I tried to refuse this wonderful act of generosity out of bashfulness more than anything, but she was too insistent. We said our goodbyes again, and there was no way I was going to bypass Bryce Canyon now. You don’t ignore that persistence and passion.

25 miles or so later I had arrived. I went through the pay centre and chose The Navajo Trail, which was a short hike in the same area where Diane had recommended. Well, as soon as I laid eyes on the canyon I was dumbfounded. Yet again, unlike anything I had ever seen before. Sharp pointed hoodoos and spires were raised hundreds of feet in the air and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with each other. These formations have been in the making since the cretaceous period. That was 50 million years of history standing in front of me. Their strange appearance and shape carved from where they have been frozen by ice and the softer rock has broken away come spring. It really is another incredible sight. And I would never have even entered the park if it wasn’t for Diane’s enthusiasm and generosity. Thank you, Diane. You’ve opened these rather squinty eyes wider than I could’ve possiby imagined 24 hours ago.

I left Bryce after a few hours and made my along the Red Canyon bike path, which ran parallel to its eponymous rock formation, as did a highway that had been tunnelled under two arches in the canyon. Another dreamlike sight. Man and nature combining to create something extraordinary.

About an hour later I arrived in my destination of Panguitch. Now then, how about that meteor shower. Oh. I looked up and the entire region was coming under the spell of rainclouds in every direction. It’s going to be heavy showers all night. Well, maybe next year.

Oh, and for the record, the meteor shower occurred near the constellation of Perseus.

Yours, 
Prof. O’Dwyer.

Today: 66 Miles – Avg Speed: 10.2MPH - Top Speed: 41.2MPH
Total: 4,028.10 Miles

It was bloody freezing this morning. I couldn’t believe it. I diligently arose at 6:15 in order to beat the heat, but the temperature suggested I had beaten it by approximately six months, two seasons and an excursion to a barely populated continent. Ok, it wasn’t Antarctic cold, but I did have to wear a jumper over my goose-pimpled specked forearms and at one stage I could see warm breath filling my immediate field of vision. The nerve. I’m not complaining, mind you. I knew that the morning would be a long 18-mile stretch climb of 4,000 feet so a little frigidity in the air was a welcome boost, as well as an unexpected reminder of the majority of dating experiences I’ve had.

On top of these clouds and the cool air I was once again in the company of a forest. A real green one, at that. How I had gone from yesterdays moonscape to these lush, wet hills was a perplexing question, but as I’ve said with this region before: expect nothing. It’ll always surprise you anyway, so there’s little point in wasting valuable brain energy on internal conjecture.

I loved the climb this morning. The fresh misty air and abundance of rich foliage awoke a real love of nature inside of me. As wonderfully impressive as the solid, red rock structures have been thus far, they don’t inspire life quite as much as a creek next to a fallen tree.

After a few frustrating false summits I made my way on the 10 mile descent through Dixie Forest to the town of Boulder with a whopping population of 279. It was a damn sight colder on the way down, too. The summit was 9,800 feet and as I began to chip away at the altitude with the entitled impatience of a teenager sending a text message the rain began to fall, the winds howl and my spine shiver. It was the coldest I had been since New Hampshire two months ago and I was eager to stop for breakfast and warm up.

Well, after an unexpectedly delicious, yet expensive post-climb feed I carried on with the final 26 miles of the day towards Escalante. As I pulled away from Boulder I began the short ascent to a hidden curve on a familiar mesa and entered a road known as The Hogback. The landscape had changed from green forests to rock littered desert in just three miles, but what greeted me next had me shaken my head with delight again*. The hogback was a 12-mile stretch flanking a canyon to the right and mesas to the left, a lengthy asphalt spine offering unique views of this inspiring dirty sandstone canyon.

After this smooth and thrillingly long downhill my legs were made to work again as there were still some steep climbs over 7 miles through the Escalante Staircase, but again, I was giddy with joy. I actually think I lost it for a moment as when my legs were really struggling up one of the switchbacks I began laughing. I actually enjoyed this struggle. It was definitely one of the best days on the bike of the entire trip. It was as if I were in two worlds today.

*I know, unlike earlier in the trip, I’ve been waxing lyrical for the past week or so on what treats I’ve had the fortune to see, smell and be part of. I’d like to assure you that this isn’t some purposeful change of voice or some kind of fresh overly optimistic outlook instilled by shaman or epiphany, it is just that, quite simply, this entire region is the most impressive place I have ever visited in my life.  I’m sure I’ll find some more quirky church signs and idiosyncratic locals before too long, though. So don’t panic.