Leaving Las Vegas…and it’s a long way to Tucumcari

 First thing this morning we were 

…and heading east 

Our first stop (after 27 miles of climbing and rollers) was the site of possibly my favorite scene from

Which takes place here

• Anton Chigurh: What's the most you ever lost on a coin toss?
• Gas Station Proprietor: Sir?
• Anton Chigurh: The most. You ever lost. On a coin toss.
• Gas Station Proprietor: I don't know. I couldn't say.
• [Chigurh flips a quarter from the change on the counter and covers it with his hand]
• Anton Chigurh: Call it.
• Gas Station Proprietor: Call it?
• Anton Chigurh: Yes.
• Gas Station Proprietor: For what?
• Anton Chigurh: Just call it.
• Gas Station Proprietor: Well, we need to know what we're calling it for here.
• Anton Chigurh: You need to call it. I can't call it for you. It wouldn't be fair.
• Gas Station Proprietor: I didn't put nothin' up.
• Anton Chigurh: Yes, you did. You've been putting it up your whole life, you just didn't know it. You know what date is on this coin?
• Gas Station Proprietor: No.
• Anton Chigurh: 1958. It's been traveling twenty-two years to get here. And now it's here. And it's either heads or tails. And you have to say. Call it.
• Gas Station Proprietor: Look, I need to know what I stand to win.
• Anton Chigurh: Everything.
• Gas Station Proprietor: How's that?
• Anton Chigurh: You stand to win everything. Call it.
• Gas Station Proprietor: Alright. Heads then.
• [Chigurh removes his hand, revealing the coin is indeed heads]
• Anton Chigurh: Well done.
• [the gas station proprietor nervously takes the quarter with the small pile of change he's apparently won while Chigurh starts out]
• Anton Chigurh: Don't put it in your pocket, sir. Don't put it in your pocket. It's your lucky quarter.
• Gas Station Proprietor: Where do you want me to put it?
• Anton Chigurh: Anywhere not in your pocket. Where it'll get mixed in with the others and become just a coin. Which it is.
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Definitely heads   Definitely  

Because shortly after leaving there, I almost ran over a rattlesnake. I came within maybe 6 inches of it, and it rose up, startled as I passed by and rattled and hissed at me.  I mean, it could’ve taken a bite out of my gator skin tires and flatted me again, but it just gave me that rattlesnake death stare and left me alone.

About 10 miles after that, we had a spectacular descent off of the Mesa we were on. Really steep grades and gorgeous views. Not sure this picture does it justice but off to my left is this deep gorgeous that we transited out of at high speeds  

Lots of up-and-down and one particularly steep climb that lasted about a mile and peaked out at about a 9 1/2% grade. Which is steep, unless you have been riding all day, and then it’s just a freaking wall.

It was a hot dry day, and despite drinking constantly, I couldn’t stay ahead of my hydration.  But thankfully, we had wind at our back for the last 30 miles to zoom in past some really beautiful scenery.

Once we got into Tucumcari, we had another ride past the usual Route 66 collection of historic hotels and goofy diners.   

And at long last 

My legs are feeling strong. My spirit is good. I am really enjoying the vast emptiness of this part of the country.  Photos can’t do it justice. Not the same way your eyes can when you scan  270° and see nothing but blue sky, empty land, mesas, and a ribbon of road disappearing just over the horizon.  

At one point, we rode for 30 miles without encountering an intersection.  We sometimes stop, as we did today, at little family run gas station/convenience stores. With very little on the shelves and no one  around for an hours drive.  And you think how these families are trying to scratch a living out of the occasional driver (or bicyclist!) coming in to buy a candy bar or a can of soda.  Especially along these historic routes, you see the economic wreckage of low population density. I can’t count how many decrepit buildings, failed gas stations, rusted out cars, empty diners, and dead hotels… All because the interstate passed them by.

Tomorrow we ride into Dalhart, Texas close to 100 miles, past vast feedlots. I’m told it will remind me of my hometown of Greeley Colorado. And it’s unique smell.

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