Today my goal was Price, Utah. Although the distance was only
75 miles, the map showed a high point 7448 feet at Soldier's Summit,
45 miles from Provo. All I needed was a good breakfast to feel up to
the challenge.
When will I learn? I pedaled out of Provo while looking for a cafe.
Saw nary a one. After 8 miles I came to a new gas station that had a
small gafe with a couple of tables. But they didn't open until 10:30 and
I didn't feel like waiting for an hour. Maybe there would be an eating
place where Highway 89 met Highway 6, another three miles.
Nothing there but frightening winds, right in my face. The presence of
one of those big electric-generating windmills let me know what I was in
for. My map showed a small town, Thistle, 10 miles up the canyon, so
that became my next goal.
Fortunately, the wind died down as soon as I entered the canyon about
a mile later. The road was fine, with a gentle grade. Across the river was
a mountainside covered with fall colors to rival any I saw in Vermont.
Now if only Thistle has a cafe.
After my odometers showed I'd gone the 10 miles I came to a historical
marker. It described a big landslide that occurred there about 20 years
ago. I asked a man standing there where the town of Thistle was. He
pointed to a pile of mud in the bottom of the canyon and said "Under there."
Thistle was no more.
I guess they just kept it on the map for
sentimental reasons. When I told the man I was hoping to find a cafe,
he said that about two feet of the old cafe was sticking out of the mud,
but he doubted they'd serve me breakfast. My next chance might be
at Soldier's Summit, another 23 miles up the hill.
Well, I had to eat something before then, so I stopped at the next
shady spot and got out my emergency vittals. Now to find a comfortable
spot to eat. There, right next to the slope which went down to the river
a hundred feet below was an inviting two-foot section of a railway tie. I
sat down, the rotten bottom of the tie collapsed, and I did a backward
somersault down the slope, stopped spreadeagle by the fates only because
I ran out of cusswords. Had I been in Sydney I would have been awarded
at least a 9.65, losing only a few tenths because I failed to stick my
dismount, but in the middle of Utah my performance went unrecognized.
I gathered up my groceries and my pride, scrambled back up the slope
(completely uninjured), and managed to find a lumpier but more-stable
log on which to sit.
Finally it was time to eat. I finished off my last granola bar, and
turned
to the peanut butter, crackers, and jam. As I was opening the strawberry
preserves I happened to notice the small print on the label: "refrigerate
after opening". Let me think: I bought it on day 8 in Oregon, it is now
day 17 in Utah. Nine days in black panniers through several days of 90-
degree heat. Does that qualify as being refrigerated? Sure. I opened it
and it smelled fine. There were a few fussy green spots on the surface
but after stirring they quickly disappeared forming a grey mass, and ....
(relax, Mary---I'm just joking!). Anyway, I figured that if Lewis and Clark
can eat rotten elk I can probably survive unrefrigerated jam, so I had a
very satisfying breakfast, and so far have noticed no ill effectectectects.
The next 20 miles was a steady climb on a good road with a generous
shoulder. When I finally reached the summit I felt fine, and went into the
convenience store to get a cold drink. I wanted either milk or fruit juice,
but had to settle for a root beer. Three swallows and I was full. I should
have just stuck to my water, into which I'd been putting a bit of salt.
The lady at the counter said that Price was 30 miles away "all down-
hill". A fellow standing next to her confirmed that information: "Yep. All
downhill." That was very good news and, except for the three ten-minute
gut-busting climbs en route, accurate as well. Never believe what a
non-cyclist has to say about hills.
But, I agree that it was mostly downhill, and I averaged 14 mph for
those last 30 miles. I stopped to get orange juice and another package
of granola bars. Coming into Price I noticed a sign advertising a "National
9 Inn" motel for $34, so I knew I wouldn't have to camp. I could have
found a cheaper one, but that motel was conveniently located next to
a new shopping center with several restaurants. So I pulled in.
The lady at the desk said that I could have a no-smoking single on
the lower floor for $41. What about the $34-room, I asked. Well, that
would be on the second floor. Not anxious to move the bike up a long
flight of stairs, I asked about a smoking room. None of those. Where
are the stairs, so I can assess their difficulty? At that point, she gave
in, and said I could have a no-smoking double on the lower floor for the
$34, but "when my boss finds out I'll probably be in big trouble". I told
her what a nice person she was.
After the cleaning chores I went to a new Chinese restaurant in the
shopping center. OK meal, not nearly as good as the one in La Grande,
and their Chinese Zodiac placemats were not as flattering. The fortune
cookie said something profound like "you will cross water". But the
fried rice I took back to the room tasted great at 2 a.m.
