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.
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.
and the award for Americana shop front goes to...
Deep Breath.
Nearing Zion.
mid way up the mountain climb.
quick break
Buffalo soldiers.
The last pic before the incident
should've worn those gloves.
Drugs are kicking in.
Discovered after the initial once over.
Back of the meat wagon.
24 hours later...
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