Yesterday we cycled into Yuma. It was our last cycling day in the States. Four days earlier we’d left Flagstaff and climbed Mingus Mountain, our longest climb to date: 1,310 m over a distance of 25 km. We were at an elevation of 2300 m. The next day we started our descent out of the mountains and pine forests, first to Yarnell and, most dramatically, the day after to Salome on a steep drop into desert, saguaro cactus country and intense heat. We pushed our start time as early as possible: breakfast at 5:30 and on the road as soon as first light hit. We had 137 km to cover to reach Yuma; by 9 am we were pouring buckets of sweat. The temperature was rising rapidly to the forecasted 41° C.
Tomorrow we say goodbye to the States. When I think back about our five weeks riding up and down the mountainous spine of America I remember my many chance encounters.
In the first couple of weeks in Montana I ran into a diverse group of individuals—united only that each in their way had decided to hit the road for a makeshift life. I thought of them as the “nomadlanders”.
At 55 Natalie, a musician, retired from special ed teaching to follow her musical dreams. She formed a David Bowie cover band in Chicago. I met her at Swan Lake. She and her wife, the drummer, had refitted a 1976 Airstream and took to the road. They gave us an impromptu concert.
I met Kayla at the reception desk on one of our rest days. Pert and lively, she and her husband are living in tents, pursuing their passion for wilderness and hiking. Last year they did it for three months; this year they hope to do it for much longer. They get by finding seasonal work.
Raquel spent 28 years in the military as a logistics officer. She and her daughter live in a camper van with four dogs. They were managing a camp site when I met them. After the season is over, they’ll see where the road takes them.
Mike was different. He’d had it with the States. He was moving to Mexico where his fiancée was waiting for him. He’d driven as far as Quartzsite when his appendix blew up on him. He had a few more days of recovery and then he’d be back on the road.
There were others with deep roots in their community. I went to Miles for a haircut. I asked him how long he’d been plying his trade. He said since he was eight years old. The shop used to be his grandfather’s. The old timers still come round to hang out and connect.
Often the routes we were on were long and lonely. What sustained us was…
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