We woke in the morning, having slept fairly well for being in a tent squished between... a propane tank and a shower. We packed up, ate some breakfast in the main kitchen, and said goodbye to the hikers before setting off. After speaking with the other bikers from our little gang, we had decided against the Chaco canyon gravel section because of a slight chance of rain over the few days it would take us to go through. Apparently it was hell if there was any sort of moisture because the mud was virtually impassable. Instead, we took the road to Chaco and followed the group to a “trading post” (think 7-11 + laundromat) that would apparently let us camp in the parking lot. Not seeing any sort of campgrounds, we stuck with the group’s plan, content with letting the older and wiser folks make the decisions. Outside of town we turned onto another nondescript road and Ziven had to adjust my front brake again as it was once again rubbing against the disc and causing it to be mighty difficult to pedal. We trundled along the road and eventually were overtaken by Jeff and Gary, who we had briefly met at the Walmart in Grants the night before but with whom we now chatted as we climbed up and down the hills. They were a pair of friends from Bellington and Arizona and they told us about their setups as we admired the American flag hanging from Gary’s back pannier. We would be picking up this flag over the coming days as it regularly fell of the back of his bike.They eventually pulled out ahead of us and we caught up to them again at a church in the middle of nowhere that had the mailboxes for the entire valley as well as a scrap of shade on their front porch. We chatted with Jeff and Gary some more and they once again sped ahead while we quickly went pee in the bushes around, hoping God would understand that we were not desecrating his church, but also as an act of atheistic defiance.

On our way back from the bushes we spotted a spigot and happily doused our shirts in water and cooled off nicely. Buoyed by our chilled bodies, we jotted off down the road and eventually caught up with Will, one of the folks from Toaster House! He was happily pedaling along and said that Dave and Pete were nearby up ahead. We wove through some beautiful canyons and the desert transitioned from very flat and nondescript to a more classic desert with big rocks and large cacti. We passed along and then caught up with Pete who waved happily and said that Dave was about a mile ahead, being the speedier of the two. We eventually caught up with everyone at a little gas station/general store where six or so bikers were sitting in the sparse shade from the entrance of the store. Ziven and I stopped in and bought some candy and iced tea and sat with the others in the shade, listening to their plan to go 5 or so more miles down the road to a Navajo-owned trading post where they would let us camp in the parking lot. We then bustled about getting ready for the final leg of this short but sociable day and raced everyone to the trading post, passing Pete and Will and Ziven barely passing Dave by taking a grave shortcut into the parking lot of our final destination. We confirmed that we could set up our tents in the side lot and then found a lone table set up in the laundromat attached to the general store/gas station where we could wait out the long hot afternoon, eat our snacks, and rehydrate in sociable peace. We chatted with Jeff and Gary, Will, and Dave and Pete throughout the afternoon, charging our phones at the conveniently placed outlet and watching old cartoons like the Flintstones on the ancient tv suspended above our table. We ventured into the gas station side every time we got hungry and I got a massive pickle from the large jar on the counter and some crunchies. We chose our dinners from the freezer and had some sort of frozen Chinese food with broccoli and beef and rice. It was definitely filling and decent nutrition compared to our other days in the desert, but it was a little depressing thinking about people eating this as an actual dinner at home. We learned more about our companions as the day wore on: Will, who worked at a nonprofit in Washington D.C.; Pete the N.P. Engineer from Montana; Dave, an orthopedic surgeon from San Diego who had been paired with Pete after Pete’s neighbor had bailed on the trip but then recommended Dave; Gary the Boeing mechanic from Washington, and Jeff the pilot. I accepted the kudos from everyone for being so young and a woman willing to do crazy things with her boyfriend, and we talked about other people we had met along the way, including Christian who had paid for a nonrefundable two night stay in Grants before everyone had decided to continue on without a rest day, and Tony, the man with the full sus who had stayed with us in Toaster House and had also taken the day off.

Eventually the day grew cool enough for us to set up our tents and so we did, watching out for rattlesnakes and wild dogs in the grassy lot beside the trading post. We leaned our bikes against an old water tower and others sheltered behind large shipping containers filled with all sorts of fun things like old washing machines. As the setting sun reflected off something down the hill and behind the fence from us, I peeked through the barrier and saw a huge field of solar panels going as far as the eye could see just meters away from where we slept. Bidding everyone goodnight, we tucked ourselves into bed while the desert wind whipped our tent walls around us.

Ziven here; this is when I really started to feel like we were making friends. I naively hoped that our ragtag group would stick together for the rest of the trip. Dave and Pete seemed like our dads, Will like a sibling, and Jeff and Gary like two gay uncles. Life, of course, rarely works out that way. We all had our own timelines, ambitions, and family emergencies to attend to. However, even in hindsight this was the best group of people we rode with, and I would be honored to call them my friends.