free time (my train was to leave at 11:30pm) in a coffee shop near the
university. It seemed to be the only spot open on a Sunday night, and
the Amtrak station was surrounded - for literally blocks - by people
sleeping on the sidewalks and carrying all of their possessions in
shopping carts. The sight is not unfamiliar to me at all, but the
complete absence of any other pedestrians or city dwellers who live
indoors sharing urban space with the homeless was something I'd rarely
seen.
The station didn't open until 10pm, which turned out to be a shame. I
had gone by earlier to double-check that my bike could ride on the
train with no disassembly (as I was told over the phone by an Amtrak
agent). I'd hoped that if this weren't true, I could go by a bike shop
in time. And, of course, it wasn't true, and the Amtrak agent at the
station was unhappy with me for not having the proper tools to take
apart my bicycle to fit in a bike box. But, the conductor turned out
to be an aficionado of bicycles and inspected my bike and chatted with
me about 'Campi' (Campignolo, however you spell it) components (he
kind of just wanted to show off, which was fine with me). So, my new
motto is, a smile and a good excuse weigh much less than a pedal
wrench.
My overnight train buddy was a guy from Manchester, UK, traveling
through the US by Greyhound and Amtrak. He lamented my skipping a
state on my tour, as do I, still, and very much. With no moon, I saw
very little (pretty much none) of the territory I would have ridden
through. We got to Reno, and I stopped by a shop to get some routing
advice for my short ride to Carson City (about 35 miles). Most of the
ride was rather nondescript, mainly because I was on a highway a good
bit of the way, but I rode through Reno and by Washoe Lake, under a
strong sun.
Near Carson City, I met a fellow cyclist out for an afternoon ride. We
chatted about my route and where I'd come from. He said that Highway
50 through Nevada is a great ride and told me about a tour every
September that goes from the California border to the Utah border. (He
also taught me how to pronounce Nevada, with a very short 'a' in the
middle, a sound that does not come naturally to Southerners). I'd like
to come out and ride it to fill in this gaping hole in my trip.
Jim, it turned out, lives in Carson City with his wife Sandy, and
offered that I stay with them for the night. I was of course delighted
to accept, and they generously fed me dinner and gave me great routing
advice for my ride today. A cycling family is a great one to meet out
on a tour.
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