In Death Valley it started to become glaringly apparent that water was going to dictate the route. Originally we had planned to go north out of the valley and up into central Nevada, until we realized there would be a stretch for over 150 miles with no water. Bummer. One the other hand, Heath had a brilliant idea that “we need a resort day”. So that’s it, we would head just south of Vegas, via a night in Pahrump, and take a day off.
So all we had to do was climb for the first half of the day and coast into Vegas for our resort day. Heath was strong, I was not. I suffered the entire way up. I stopped at 20, again at 25, then at 27.5, and the rests came earlier and earlier with the headwind in my face while I struggled up hill. Laying on my back in the shade of a guard rail I decided to finish this damn thing and get the ice-cold Gatorade I’d been dreaming about all day (I obsess about cold drinks virtually the entire time on the bike). After a lone lunch at a corny-ass biker bar at the top, I coasted down the hill to what I felt was a well deserved rest day.
Boom! Bring on the buffet for some bulking.