click on a state to read excerpts
Utah
The light gray, tie-dyed blues and yellows on the horizon swirl, blend, and darken above our heads. A Pollock painting. Stars and the purple camp stove flames ignite the evening. After we’ve eaten, we brew coffee, sit back and look out over Richfield. The world is at peace, at least in this spot in the universe and we are part of the picture. As we prepare for bed, Dario says, “You know, I traded my television for this Northface tent.” Then, he adds, “The view is much better from here.” We all nod, agreeing it was a good trade.
A procession of semis approaches from the west, bumbling slowly at first and then exploding in a huge roar of cataclysmic sound and light. “They don’t see us, man!” Their lights are blinding. I wobble to maintain my position in the paceline while straddling the narrow bicycle lane. There’s one battery-operated headlight amongst us mounted on Gary’s handlebars. The light provides a false sense of security. We’re not prepared for this.