two hundred seventy three

MAKING PEACE WITH THE VOICES IN MY HEAD

Highway 50 through Nevada, no cell coverage, no radio, no internet, almost no sign of civilization and a whole lot of silence. I think about this experience more often then any other chapter of my journeys. 

400 miles in 7 long lonely days

I had survived the early spring of the Sierra Mountains. My original route was still closed because of snow. After an extra day or so of detours I was in South Lake Tahoe. The thought of traveling the loneliest highway excited me but made me take this next leg of my journey seriously.

I made it to Fallon Nevada, restocked my food supply and found a reasonably priced motel. I found an AA meeting in the middle of a smoke filled casino right behind the bar. I learned later that small Nevada towns have legal cat houses. I first thought it was strange that a few houses on a back street still had their Christmas lights turned on.  

The following morning I was on the road expecting to face some physical challenges. What I did not understand was how much this would challenge me mentally.

                                                     We all have a committee of voices meeting in our heads. My voices are the usual, you should or you shouldn't, you can't or you can, I dare you and I double dare you. Some judge me and some justify me. Some  make me feel guilty and some order me to paint "redrum" on a wall.

In regular life there are plenty of distractions to interrupt these conversations, however the isolation of highway 50 never interrupts. 

There are endless hours of no music, talk radio, other cyclists, no convenience stores, gas stations, coffee shops, restaurants and no noise. Only the sound of my tires, the click of my right clip in peddle and my own breathing. The phone never rings and the cars passing at warp speed only come every hour and a half.

I stayed completely silent the first two days. I found a great big sky camp site to enjoy the moonless night and the stars. I stopped at a, or should I say the restaurant to eat but kept to myself because I was actually enjoying the solitude. There were some tourists on the other end of the bar that got louder with every round. I was glad when I was back on the road.

After another night of camping and I was climbing to Eureka when the snow came. I didn't expect it but I did find shelter in a closed empty unheated restaurant. There were two young guys from London already staying there. This was the big town, it had a grocery store, gas station, library and a few residential houses but none had Christmas lights. 

The young guys struck out in the morning but I stayed another night to let the snow storm pass. I got on line at the library but mostly I kept to myself, kind of uncharacteristic of me. The next days were physical a lot of climbing plus some gusting wind. 

I camped again and enjoyed the stars. The next day I passed a small house that was very close to the highway. It had a chain link fence around it and two young women were sunning themselves on lounge chairs. I stopped and said hello we talked about the nice weather. I then noticed they still had their Christmas lights up so I excused myself and moved on. A couple nice young (enough to be my daughters) women.

The loneliness part never came. The anxiety and restlessness had faded away, my mind and heart were finally calm and peaceful. I had no epiphany, spiritual experience or vision. I was simply alone in one of the most remote highways on a peddle bicycle.

I don't know if it was being away from media, being in nature or allowing the voices to talk until they were finished. All I know is feeling very small and insignificant in the vastness of this harsh environment changed something in me. On occasion I return to this emptiness to feel this way, it is good for my soul. 

I traveled into Utah and stayed a couple nights in Cedar City before I tackled the Rockies of Colorado.