Day 61, Silver Springs to Kit Carsons' Campground, 77 miles

Having star-gazed ourselves to sleep early, we made an early-bird start this morning (on the road for 7:30 am). We had 40 miles under our belts before making it to Carson City for breakfast; coffee and bagels which we chowed down on behind the gas station (we couldn't see any parks around.) We learned from a billboard that Carson City is the capital of Nevada, but didn't do further sight-seeing. Instead we skirted around the new highway bi-pass (that didn't feature on our maps!) Thankfully the city has invested in some fancy new bike paths, which made it fairly easy to leave Carson City.

From the urban sprawl, we descended into the valley and towards California; our ninth and final state of this journey! Where our road crossed the State border, I was underwhelmed by the signage welcoming us to California. I had expected a sign promising beaches and bikinis -instead we reached a meek post with 'California' on the farside and 'Nevada' on the other. Ah well, we still made it!

It was nice to be out of the desert (while not without its' own charm)-and into green farmland, surrounded by the Sierra Nevada mountains. Even knowing that we would have to cycle over those mountains tomorrow didn't stop us from admiring their glory.

Our game-plan was to climb some of Carsons Pass and camp in the park there, so we can tackle the remaining elevation first thing in the morning. After barren Nevada it was great to see tall trees again. The State campsite was vastly different from where we had camped the previous evening; from a warm sandy beach in the desert to a cool forested mountain. In the absence of showers, we splashed down in a very cold mountain stream; bracingly refreshing!

Day 60, Middlegate to Silver Springs, 82 miles

There was nothing much to keep us in Middlegate, so we fled for the desert hills. Matt swears that he could feel that hefty dose of red meat administered by 'the Monster' last night; so he shot up the pass with extra vigour. One of the bar flies last night had informed us that Top Gun had been filmed between Middlegate and Fallon (the town where we were now headed.) Fallon is the training base for Navy Pilots ('You two characters are going to Mirrermar!') So we were pleased to see the sign warning 'Low flying aircraft' and kept our eyes peeled for Mavericks in the sky.

Apart from a few helicopters, the landscape remained consistent; dusty desert and rocky mountains (although no match for the actual Rocky Mountains!) The road stretched out before us and few cars passed by. Unfortunately some head and cross winds slowed us down, but we both pushed onwards with 'Highway to the Dangerzone' aptly ringing in our minds' ear.

Approaching Fallon, we passed the Air Base which was abuzz with aircraft (although nothing quite as aggressive/impressive as we were hoping for; once again, reality has failed to match Hollywood.) As is the case with most of the bigger remote towns we've passed, Fallon was underwhelming. We prefer the smaller towns; free of Walmart and fast food. Yet, if you can't beat (the prices)-join em'. While shopping for dinner in that retail emporium, we were stopped by a guy who asked if we were cyclists from England. Turned out he frequently hosts touring cyclists and had recently had the English couple cycling a few days ahead of us; Alex and Jess. Alex had told him about us and this guy wanted to know if we would like to stay with him; come over for dinner or just do our laundry! We were taken back by this generosity (and by how small the world can be sometimes!) However we wanted to get more mileage done, so politely declined and hit the road.

West of Fallon the hills became a little greener. At 80 miles we stopped to camp in the State Park of Silver Springs. The only thing emptier than the park itself was the resevoir within it. Message boards indicated that there is normally fishing and boating here, but the low water level meant that the shower blocks and other facilities were shut for the season. This turned out to be a bonus, as it meant we could camp 'rugged' with the entire park seemingly to ourselves.

Matt built a campfire and we were treated to a lighting show on the horizon as we tucked into tin-foil cooked dinners. The dramatic pink sunset gave way to a brilliantly starry night. With few days left in the desert, we were grateful to finally observe the vivid Milky Way in all its' milkiness.

Day 59, Austin to MIddlegate, 63 miles

I don't remember the details, but lord knows I awoke with a pretty smashed-up big toe. It seems I can cycle across the US but walking in flip-flops uphill proves an impossible challenge.  Regardless, we managed to pack up camp before 8:30 am. Shortly thereafter, a broken spoke stopped our exit from Austin. While Matt did a McGuiver job on his front wheel, I walked down to the gas station for lunch supplies. The broken spoke put Matt in a filthy mood , which could only be broken by the promise of a cooked breakfast. So we ditched our usual 'peanut-butter in various guises' for a decadent omlette each, followed by a pancake chaser. As luck would have it, our entrance to the cafe coincided with Alistair and Peters' exit. We were both thankful for the opportunity to soberly thank the guy for yesterday, plus exchange best-wishes for our onwards journey. We hope to chink beer glasses with either or both of the guys in Sydney some time. Alistair laughed and said he'd have to work this trip off before further travels. STill, time flies when you're having fun.

We ate some huge breakfasts and struggled to pedal out of Austin. The landscape was pretty but also pretty repetaative. We hit a lovely, vast valley but the road out of it was long, uphill and plagued with stand-still headwinds.  While we had originally planned on riding all the way to Fallon (111 miles)- the wind convinced us otherwise. A wind-swept 63 miles later, we gratefully pulled into the isolated gas-statin of Middlegate.

Middlegate is an exit sign on the lonely road of US0. A left turn and half a mile later, you find yourself at a saloon surrounded by makeshift buildings and caravans. We bought some cold drinks and were told that the camping was free, so felt obliged to ditch our camp-dinner for some bar meals. We were literally in the middle of nowhere. Outside of the bar, we met with three Harley riders enjoying a few beers after a ride from Fallon. Concerningly, they were headed back to Fallon after whetting their whistles (and the proverbial whistles sounded drenched.)

As we set up camp, a curious chap spoke incoherrently at us, while hammering a nail into the ground. Matt did well at giving the guy ambiguous answers such as 'Oh really?' and 'Yeah, yeah', while I felt reluctant to search out the 'red n white building' of the bath-house. Yet the desire to get clean won out and I set out in search for a wash. Thankfully, Matt swiftly followed.

We headed to the bar for dinner, where Matt ordered their famous 'Middlegate Monster Burger'; finish it and you earn yourself a t-shirt. Needless to say, Matt earned his t-shirt effortlessly. Or rather, nobly, Matt chose a tiny t-shirt for his nephew. This kind of culinary conquest has been on Matts' list of All-American experiences. I think he impressed the unflappable bartender when he polished off an icecream for dessert. When it comes to 'Matt VS Food', my money will always be on Matt.

Day 58, Eureka to Austin, 70 miles

Not quite well-rested yet unsavaged by mountain lion, we hit the road bound for Austin. The loneliest highway in America disappointed us again with badly-timed traffic (when we stopped to brush our teeth; every time one of us needed to pee...) A rude head-wind ensured we had to peddal downhill. This area is famous historically for its' rich mineral mining, and we curiously eyed off the temporary settlements of RV's we rode by. It's all sand, barren mountains and shrubbery; then a crop of RV's and porter-loos, indicating theres' some kind of gold in them hills. Well, some precious metal.

On one isolated stretch, Matt spotted a dot on the heat-wavy horizon (clearly not a car)-another bike perhaps? You can see so far ahead that a tree could be a road sign or a cyclist. My money was on road-sign. Ingrigued, we increased our pace and after a few miles realised what we were looking at a pedestrian. Could it be Alistair? Without any traffic (finally the Loneliest Road living up to its' name)-we steered into the far-lane to greet the guy by the roadside. As soon as I clocked his 'Wounded Warriers' t-shirt I knew we were looking at our new hero, Alistair. Matt chivalrously offered him water, but Alistair thanked him and said his father was riding support on this stretch. As if on que, a car pulled up a little ahead of us. We felt a little star-struck, having so admired the subject of yesterdays' front-page news. Alistair was very forthcoming and interested in our trip; an affable guy. When he mentioned that he was bound for Austin today (as we were)- and that his father was bound for a 'wine walk' in town, we were all over it. Any opportunity to spend more time chatting with this stand-out guy was one tasty carrot to keep us cycling (throw in some wine and its' 'Sugar-Daddy'; wild horses couldn't keep us away.) The newspaper had informed us that Alistairs' walk was fuelled by his best friend losing his arm in Afghanistan. This was his humble attempt to experience personal hardship for the benefit of his mate. Before we parted ways, we met Alistairs' support-crew and father, Peter. We hoped to meet again in the evening. Alistairs' resolution made our onward cycle feel like a speedy and luxurious limo-ride.

A few miles down the road, we spotted Peter parked up by the roadroad and stopped to say hello. Matt wanted to tell him about the hot-springs the teetotallers back at last nights' park had told us about. They were off our route but would be worth a drive. Robert was clearly (and duly)-proud of his son, and we were in turn impressed of his support efforts. We left him to walk walk off and join Alistair for a stretch; and hoped to meet again in Austin.

More gradual uphill; a spot of road-side lunch and some embrassing pee-stops later, we rolled down into Austin. Another town, another sheriff. Matt used his Johnny-English politeness to secure us a free camping spot at the town park. Given Matts' signature chivallry, I was shocked when he later described the good sheriff as 'the village idiot'. Once we secured camping-status, we made a few enquiries about this wine-walk. While we had missed the start of the wine-walk (an amble through  town where every business-owner greets you with a glass or two of wine)- we were able to get some $10 tickets to the associated dinner.

Back at the park, we were thrilled to see that the town swimming pool was open, where we enjoyed our first swim since Kansas. Having expected a water-bottle splash-down, this was an unexpected treat. Fresh as cheap daisies we sidled back downtown, with the intention of grabbing some (beer) roadies to play-catch up with the wine-walkers. Sure enough, we met up with Alistaire and his dad, who were both enjoying a quaff out front of a bar. They were impressed by our 'civillain duds', as they were still in their walking-gear. We compared attire-kit (we have more)-then set off down the hill, to get our hay-ride up the mountain for our dinner.

This was my first hay-ride and we enjoyed the journey up to the mock-Roman tower of Stoke Castle. Once we had taken some pics, we pulled up at a long stone table with Alistaire and his old man. As the sun set brilliantly, we enjoyed our first exended conversation with these strangers-become-friends. Another highlight was our first experience of a 'Half-ie'; where the reckless bartender poured us each a tumbler of half white, half red wine. I'd love to see the reaction of a Frenchman but being the wine-buffs we are,  we found it to be a taste-sensation.

Unfortunately we never got to ask all the many questions we had for Allistaire (we continued to think of them as we rode the following day.)  Yet we really enjoyed a prolonged dinner with two new friends and some home-cooked dinner. After returning numerous times to the ladies serving dinner, Matt was rewarded with a personal delivery of all the left-over cookies in a ziplocked bag. The name is Bond, Hungry Bond. Wins everytime.

The evening passed enjoyably, and soon it was time to get back on the Hay-ride down to town. Alastair invited us back to their small motel room for a few beers and conversation. Far too tipsy for politeness, we eagerly accepted the offer. Having swung by the gas station for more beer, we found ourselves comfortably kicked back on the guys' twin beds; chatting and watching American football. Luckily for them, Matt remained sober enough to detect it was time to go; so we eventually bade the guys farewell and trotted back up the hill towards our tent in the park.

Day 57, Ely to Eureka, 78 miles

We tore ourselves from the creature comforts of our motel and hit the road just after 9am. Back onto Highway 50;  'The Loneliest Road in America' (or so the signs and everybody tells us. Well we contest this; it's not all that lonely. In fact the surest way to get a few cars appear on the horizon is to drop your cycle shorts for a pee. Maybe it's our timing but we found the roads in Utah much lonelier. That said, this was another 78 mile stretch without services. We may not have been alone but that's along time between drinks in this heat. Normally our bikes carry 5 litres of water but we've upped the anty with a plastic bladder strapped to rear rack (so to speak.) Mmm, hot latex-flavoured water.

 The first climb of the day was Robinson summit, and our legs were feeling fighting-fit after a languid day yesterday (okay Matt went for a run; you can't keep a good man down.) A bit of downhill followed by Little Antelope summit; then 'Pancake' summit (it wasn't that flat)-and finally Pinto summit. So lots of gradual ups and downs. Other cyclists have warned us about how repetative and boring Nevada is; but we've enjoyed the tranquility of the desert, majesty of the mountains and vast emptiness of the valleys. It sure beats battling for your roadspace in South London.

We had a Eureka moment when we finally reached the town of Eureka. The town sits at the bottom of a pretty gnarly downhill stretch; lots of tight hairpin turns without barriers. Once we were safely in Eureka, we stopped by the Sherrifs' office to find out whether we could camp out in the towns' park. Permission granted, we followed the officers' directions to find a grassless empty lot with a broken spigot and some strewn  trash. I was trying to conjure up something positive to say (like, 'It's free!')-when Matt suggested we keep riding to find an RV park. This prove to be a great suggestion; as a few hundred feet down the road we came across the actual town park. A lush grassy expanse complete with public toilets, running water and bbq pits. After prospecting that vacant lot, this felt like the Garden of Eden. And it's free!

Luckily 'the' grocery store was still open so we stocked up on breakfast stuff, coal and wine for the bbq. I also grabbed the local newspaper for a laugh. Back at the ranch, we set up camp and chatted with a group of brawny hunters enjoying their own bbq. Bizarrely (to an Australian)-they were exclusively drinking ice tea. However they made up in the manliness stakes with their big slabs of meat and corn cobs on the bbq. Both of which they were keen to share with us; along with some advice for the local roads. They also warned us about a mountain lion which has been spotted around town (and we were tantalisingly just short of mountain lion hunting season.) Oh deer.

I like to think we may be the first to have quaffed wine from plastic litre bike bottles (it works; and theres' no need to top up your 'glass'.) Supplemented with roasted corn, our tin-foil roasted eggs & veg (fresh from the pages of 'The Outdoor Cooks' Bible')-hit the spot. Matt also roasted up those pinion pine nuts, which were pino-fresh delish. While we waited for our foil to roast, I read out the surprisingly inspiring front-page news article. Rather than the usual local politics, we were treated to the story of Alistair McCandles: a man WALKING across the US to raise money for wounded soliders. He started out in South Carolina in April 2011 and hopes to complete his journey on Point Reyes National Seashore on the California coast by September 2012. All of a sudden we feel like we're taking the easy route; and the fast-lane! What a legend. We wondered whether we'd meet Alistair as it sounded like our paths may cross.

We kimfed out pretty early but were soon awoken by some loud revellers outside the town casino. When I started to unzip the tent to go to the loo without disturbing Matt, he broke the silence with 'Pee close to the tent - remember that cougar'. I'd totally forgotten about the mountain lion, but promptly took his advice! Finally we were able to nod off though.

Day 56, Ely, Impromptu Day off

While we woke at our usual rising hour of 6am, my knee was nagging for a cheeky rest day. Our motel room was cosy and we felt right at home, so we quickly settled on a day out of the saddle. Once the office opened, I paid for another night and was handed (at 7:30am)-a couple of drinks vouchers for the Casino. When Matt quipped 'Can we use them now?' -the guy responded unsmilingly 'Yes'. I assured him it was a little early for us, and instead we hit up the 24 hour restaurant.

In hindsight, we should have photographed the plates groaning with fried breakfast when our chirpy old waitress served us -but all we could think of was to attack them. A happy, mute half an hour of consumption followed. The couple across from us barely made a dent on their biscuits and gravy, which Matt eyed off before it was whisked off by the waitress.

Fully sated, we rolled (on foot)-to the nearby thrift store, to find loads of stuff we can barely live without. One cowboy shirt, denim skirt, tshirt, frying pan, knife, and seven whole dollars later; we left our two new friends at the store with their California recommendations (go to the chocolate factory.) We returned to our motel room to admire our finery then pack them up for the post office to ship to Australia.Watch 7 dollars of stuff turn instantly into 68 dollars!! Still, you can't put a price on memories...

Matt couldn't pass by the bike store and met the keen cyclist who runs it. Paul kindly donated some spare spokes we needed and told Matt of the mountain biking scene in the area. He has developed an annual 'Fears,Tears and Beers' meet (bike racing and home brew get together) and a charity to develop trails in the region. Paul gave Matt some excellent maps for a rest day run and we donated the old large tyre we've been keeping.

While we packed and posted at the post office, a storm brewed outside. We took refuge and interest in the nearby supermarket (the size of an aircraft hangar). Safely back at the motel, Matt took off to run up the closest mountain. I opted for channel surfing in the comfort of this motel room.

The free casino drinks tokens were burning in our pockets, so we hit the bars. The first bar was inconsequential; we used our tokens then felt politely obliged to order a round. Our second barman predicted our vouchers as soon as we arrived, and expressionlessly poured us some margharitas. Having checked the cocktails for alcohol (clear)-we promptly moved on to bar number three... We were out of vouchers but last nights' visit to 'The Jailhouse Casino' convinced us we needed a pre-dinner nightcap there.

In the Jailhouse lounge, we sat eavesdropping a heated debate between the barman and a barfly, about the perils of 'socialised' public healthcare. Barman: compulsory contributions will drive down costs for more equitable care. Barfly: Look at England: they have socialised healthcare and 15% more women die of breast cancer than in this country. Matt and I sat smiling at each other before Matt cracked and introduced himself as Johnny-English to join the debate.

An hour later, we were still sat discussing the merits and perils of national healthcare. An hour and a half later, we had come around to the bar-flys' way of thinking (and not entirely because he was now buying our drinks...) The four of us were enjoying talking politics, gambling, cycling, climate change and many things in between. At one point things got a bit heated and the bartender eased the tension by asking if I'd like another beer... As soon as I agreed to another round for Matt and myself, the barfly declared our drinks were on his tab, then just as quickly the barman responded to the Republican Party Animal; 'well your next wine is on mine'. Shucks; it was like a big boozey group-hug. I would have stayed chatting til the wee hours but Matt was hungry, so we eventually bade the fellahs farewell and retreated to our motel for the dinner we'd bought earlier at the supermarket.

I write this as we watch Burt Reynolds in Smokey and the Bandit on tv, and suspect we'll be asleep very shortly...

Day 55, Baker to Ely, 65 miles

We both woke feeling well rested and ready for an early start, and had dismantled and packed up camp by 7am. Matt was concerned we didn't have sufficient food for the 63 mile stretch without services (others might worry about water) -so we hit the small grocery store for sourdough bread.
Being the one-horse town that it is (and we never saw that horse)-Baker took roughly 3 minutes to clear, getting us back onto Highway US50.  While mid-week, the 'loneliest Road in  America' lived up to its' name and we found ourselves mostly alone. So much so that Matt was able to stop in the middle of the highway to liberally apply 'Butt Butter' to a troublesome saddle-sore! Luckily motorists were spared that particular wild-life sighting. Slowly but surely we rode the consistent climb up to Sacramento Pass.

A few miles short of the summit, Matt called a comfort-stop at a National Park parking lot (wich was furnished with some picnic tables and a longdrop.) As I waited by my bike, an old man and a loud terrier sidled up to ask where we were bikin'/bark incessantly. Well, there was a better way to get to Ely on a gravel road yonder... I thanked the man but indicated to our skinny tyres and told him about yesterdays' flats. By this time Matt had returned and we got to hear about what brought old Vyrl to these parts. Turns out he and his three brothers drive their RV's to this park every September, specifically to gather Pinion pine nuts.

Vyrl had an abrupt manner which belied the 'grampa with a heart of gold' within (I could tell.) When we told him we didn't know about Pinion pines he retorted 'You don't? Well you in a hurry? You got 20 minutes?' -I told him yes, sir and off we went for an education.We followed Vyrl to his RV and his dog followed us warily. At a table outside the RV, our guide plucked a green sticky looking pinecone from a bucket for demonstration. With his gnarled old hands, he banged it on the table and expertly cracked big brown pine nuts from its' cones. Viryl bit into one of the nuts and extracted the white seed within, held it up for inspection then ate it; inviting us to do the same.

As we bit, cracked and chewed, Viryl told us how high in protein these nuts were and that they were a staple of the Native Americans who once lived here. Soon one, then two, then all three other brothers emerged from their respective huge RV's to join the demonstration. Vyrl greeted one with 'This is one of my brothers - Herb, you'll like these people; they're from Sweden'. Matt and I looked at eachother, we wanted Herb to like us but we had our national pride(s). Matt smiled 'We're actually from England' and Vyrl did look a tad disenchanted when he responded 'Oh. I thought you said Sweden.' We apologised and ate more nuts.

By now it was almost 10am and the sun was high in the sky, so we started to make a slow retreat from the Pinecone brothers. Brother number three joined us all the way back to the highway, educating us on the highway numbering system and warning us about all the Mexicans we would doubtless meet in California. Thanking him for the advice, we hightailed it up the mountain.

It was now hot and the road kept stretching upwards. Finally our efforts were rewarded with a cooling, swift descent and we rolled steadily into Spring Valley. In the absence of traffic or much of anything else, we stopped by the roadside for some peanut butter sandwiches. Apart from the road, the only man made feature of the desert landscape was a fleet of idle wind turbines. Their stillness puzzled us as we sure felt our fair share of cross-wind... I guess those blades are pretty heavy.

After the enjoyable interlude of flat valley, we began the ascent up Connors Pass. A few miles short of the summit sits Majors Junction; a gas-station/saloon. While we have passed many a bar, this is the first to be awarded a 'beer mug' symbol on our cycle map. It was either an exceptional bar or owned by someone at the mapping company. Despite our intrigue, we managed to pass it by (figuring a bar stop would make a mountain out of our molehill -which was already a mountain; hence unsurmountable.) These are the silly kind of things I think of when peddal fatigue sets in. Matt says he generally thinks about food.

With no crest in sight, Matt hit 'Struggletown, USA' -which is a surprisingly rare occurance. He blames the altitude. So we stopped for a breather before battling on to the summit of 7722 feet. Connors Pass conquered, we slid into Steptoe Valley and enjoyed a flat open stretch with rugged mountain views.

We had our first antelope sighting but I didn't want to lost momentum by stopping for photos; hopefully we see some on an uphill! Just outside of Ely, we stopped by Comins lake for dinner leftovers; still fresh from the pages of Matts 'Outdoor Cooks Bible' (amen!)

I was curious to see Ely, due to a comment made by the Kiwi KTM rider, Chaz, whom we met back in Utah. He and his mate Dave had been urged to check out the town of Ely on their ride through Nevada, and Chaz summarized it for us thusly; 'Man, if I lived in that town I would have to go lie down on the road and wait for a bus to hit me... No trees!'

We enquired at the only campsite in town (a private franchise, Kamps of America)-but their cool 28 bucks for a tent site had us checking out the nearby motels. -If I'm paying 30 dollars, I want a bed with that! I literally backed out of the 'Rustic Inn' when the guy behind the desk jumped up and asked if I was Amber (then looked suspicious when I told him I wasn't). I hope his internet date showed up eventually.

Finally, we hit the jackpot with a motel that didn't look like the set for a 70's horror film at the bargain room rate of 38 dollars. Jackpot -literally (as it is conveniently located by several casinos. When in Rome, eat pizza - when in Nevada, go gamblin'. After scrubbing up we hit the slot machines at the supposedly-famous Hotel Nevada (breaking dreams since 1929!) After a few thirst-inducingly priced beers at various tables, we realised that we both had a serious gambling problem; we couldn't understand how to play. The two of us dumbly hit buttons like lab chimps - 'Double bet'; '25 lines'; even pictures of Star Wars characters didn't make the game easier to undertand. We rapidly lost a few dollars that could have bought several rounds (beer is so cheap we can't afford NOT to drink)-so decided to retreat to the bar and chat up the bar lady. We asked her for some gaming pointers but she said she didn't earn enough to play those machines. Fair point really (and we're unemployed!)  We concluded to squander my savings on beer rather than flashing machines.

I just narrowly steered Matt past the 24-hour casino restaurant in favour of a gas-station 'Motel picnic' (read; corn chips and ageless packaged sandwiches.) The dinner was average but being able to relax on a bed and bask in air conditioning and Presidential campaign coverage more than made up for it. Plus we promised ourselves a Casino 24-Hour Breakfast tomorrow...