Invisible Forces
I persisted for several days, past the sedimentary rock formations and cacti. The color green was only visible on street signs, and sometimes I’d find myself praying that a thin cloud in the sky would pass between the sun and myself. It never seemed to happen, not even for a moment. Like any instance of prolonged exposure, you become accustomed to your environment and almost numb to the discomfort. I’d cover up to hide from the sun and continue riding like I had been doing since I left my home, some 1500 miles prior. Although riddled with drought and signs of death stretched towards each horizon, I found the landscape to be quite beautiful. I had never experienced the desert in its full glory before. What better way than on a bicycle?
Sunrises in the desert were some of the most beautiful I had seen. That’s saying a lot coming from someone who has seen hundreds of them on the open ocean. Something about the fiery colors and dry jagged landscape is special. The desert seems to contradict itself. The rising great ball of fire signals a new dawn to an otherwise arid and hopeless place. Each morning, while witnessing such a profound juxtaposition, I would smile wide through my chapped and pealing lips; enough to feel the leatherlike skin on my face be stretched thin over my cheekbones. What an adventure I was having.
It was blissful ignorance if I’m being honest. I had not yet spent enough time in the desert to know the wrath that she could unleash. I was just becoming adjusted to the temperatures as they soared high in the daytime and dipped into freezing at night. I woke up one morning, routinely scarfed down my breakfast, and packed up camp. My surroundings were still and placid. My ride started the same as my previous few days, still in my trancelike state of euphoria as I adjusted to my surroundings. Then, I heard a noise. It was a slow rumble at first, barely noticeable. It rapidly grew louder until it couldn’t be ignored. I glanced up from my handlebars in time to see something that is difficult to explain. I could see an invisible wall. Only this wall was moving towards me at an alarming rate. Off in the distance, the naked trees and wilting shrubs were being bent in half as if a tiny weight had been hanging from each of the sticklike branches. I braced for impact. There isn’t much you can do in this situation besides tightening up your body and shifting your weight towards the oncoming force. When it finally hit me, even with my bracing, I couldn’t stay on the road. Since the force came from about ten o'clock rather than head-on, I was pushed off of the road and several feet into the grass on my right. Thank god there wasn’t a large ditch or worse because there was nothing I could have done to prevent myself from being forced off of the pavement. It felt as though someone placed their hand on my shoulder while I was riding and pushed me with all of their might.
I recovered from the initial contact with the wind by edging my way back to the bike lane. I had to ride at a considerable slant toward the origin of the wind just to keep myself heading in a straight line. This was difficult, as the force of the wind was not perfectly constant. I had to continuously shift my weight more or less to match the strength and angle of it. It felt similar to balancing a stick vertically on the end of your finger. The only difference is that I had to use my whole body to stay upright rather than just my hand.
Most who ride across the country do so from West to East. This is due largely to the prevailing weather patterns in the northern hemisphere. It’s a little complicated to explain, but most of the wind currents in the US travel from West to East. By starting on the West Coast, a cyclist is taking advantage of the wind system by placing it on his or her back. Had I done any research at all, I would have quickly learned this fact and been able to make a more tactically sound decision. However, I didn’t. Instead, I was riding with a headwind. One that was growing stronger by the day, and making my progress more and more difficult.
One day, I began riding at my usual time with a goal of around 80 miles. After battling the wind for nearly 10 hours, I was so fatigued that I began looking for anything that could shield me for the night, as my hope of reaching the next town disappeared. I found a cozy-looking bridge that ran perpendicular to the direction of the wind and called it good. I checked my phone that night to see what my progress had been. My heart sank when I saw that I had ridden only 46 miles with the amount of time and effort I put into the day, barely half my intended distance.
I would check the weather forecast each night in hopes of seeing a window of relief. It didn’t come. The wind remained constant for 1,000 miles until I made it to Phoenix. I noticed that early in the morning the wind strength would be more mild. I decided that I would start taking advantage of these early hours, and began waking up between 3-4 AM, depending on the weather forecast. This gave me a few good hours of riding before the sun rose, bringing the strong gusts along with it. Come to find out, I was merely trading one struggle for another. Although the wind would be mild, the temperatures would be painfully low. These early mornings were brutal. But at least I was making progress.
