The Great Basin Century

We woke up in Atlantic City to cold and rain. I had set the alarm for 5AM because I wanted to be riding by 6 given the long miles that day.

After packing up my stuff and dressing in a lot of layers, I staggered down to the truck for some 'breakfast' - an energy bar and a cup of coffee. I stuffed a bunch of bars in my backpack, along with some dry clothes, and headed out alone in the dark.

I made it 100 yards up the hill and my chain broke.

I took the bike back to the truck and we fixed the chain. I started out again - it was still dark. After climbing for about 30 minutes and reaching a paved road that I didn't expect to see, I realized that I had left town on the wrong road. Back to town in the rain and dark, right past where I started 45 minutes earlier, and out the other side of town on another steep climb. Now it is getting light and I have lost the early advantage. Only 3 others were even trying this ride, and they were now in front of me. They were the 3 strongest riders, so I figured I would be on my own all day, with 100 miles of nothing in the Great Basin. And I was right.

It rained off and on all morning. Temps started in the 30s and peaked in the 40s. And it was windy - very windy. Around noon, I can over a hill to see our support van, much to my surprise. Glen had come out to set up a lunch stop for the riders brave enough to go out that day, but had gotten stuck in the mud and had turned around to try and get out of the basin on another road.

I had enough food and water with me, so I kept going. And I quickly saw how they got the van stuck. The road had turned to muck. Not mud, muck. As soon as you rode into it, it stuck to your tires and every other part of your bike, and stopped you cold. The only choice is to find a stick, scrape off the worst of it, hoist your bike on your back, and carry it past the mud. And this happened 5 times in the next 10 miles.

Eventually, the roads started to dry out. And then at around mile 60, my chain broke again. I fixed it, hopped on my bike, and discovered that my front derailleur was broken as well. I took if off the bike, and was able to manually move the chain to whatever front ring (usually the small one) I needed.

Off I went again. At about mile 90, my GPS died so I had to rely on my maps and a rough guess on my mileage so that I knew which turns to make.

The good news was that I saw so many pronghorns that it became routine. One herd was running so close to me that I could actually hear their hooves on the dirt. And the capper was a herd of wild horses, led by a huge black stallion.

After 100 miles, I finally made it to pavement. Luckily, the van was there, and Glen had a sandwich and a cold beer waiting for me. Off to Rawlins.