Day 4 -- From 29 Palms into the desert on bikes with no names
Wind, more wind --and the fates of travel. Last night we stayed in a thin-walled motel -- our neighbor's TV broadcast Glenn Beck raving about Super Tuesday Two until 1:48 am, when the motel manager came and banged on the door. Then at 2:07 am the TV came on again.

Day 5 -- First century ride of the tour

Parker, Arizona, was a pleasant enough spot on the Colorado River but we were glad to use a break in the wind to speed out of town as fast as we could, as soon as the sun was high enough to see. 

Through an interesting landscape of sand and brush, we pushed south on 95, a road with no shoulder and heavy truck traffic. What appeared to be large, eroded mounds of sand and stone about half a mile away from the road -- rather like over-sized piles of gravel stockpiled for use in winter by the road department -- moved amazingly slowly; we would spend an hour and a half of steady cycling to get past them.  Not piles of sand, but mountains miles and miles away.

The beautiful but monotonous terrain and laser-clear air made perceptions suspect; we seemed to be moving not at all.  In Olympia at 17 mph there would be constant alterations in scenery but on the road to Wickenburg two hours would pass and nothing had changed: not the dry mountain ridges on either side, not the constant blur of small cacti, brush, and thorn bushes, not the road stetching to the horizon ahead. Only the mileposts.

Tired from yesterday's fight with the wind, Bill eventually hopped into the van, driven by Bruce.  Now on route 17, Paul and John (joined by the guys in the van) had lunch at Gene's BBQ in Harvucar -- notably mostly because the cook was a young man fom Bend, Oregon, who owns no car.  To come to work (at the start of the season, to get around, and to go back home at the end of the season) he bikes. One question we lacked the nerve to ask: why Harvucar -- a one-BBQ place in the middle of nowhere?

Finally, after eight hours cycling on a day-long gradual uphill, John and Paul arrived at Wickenburg about 113 miles from Parker. Bruce and Bill had found a patch of grass on which to camp at the Aztec RV and Trailerpark on the far end of town.  In the past few miles we had met a young Swiss couple cycling from LA to Miami, and they were happy to share the lawn with us.  The woman spoke heavily accented English and the man almost none. They were friendly but perhaps shy.  Certainly tired. When Paul asked them to join us at the local saloon (mainly so he, having a one-track mind, could appropriate their story for the website),  they declined and instead ate by their tent.  When we returned they were asleep.  Shortly thereafter, so were we.

33* 58' 29" N / -112* 43' 42" W