Day 50: Torrey, UT to somewhere past Escalante, UT.

Miles today: we're not done yet, but 66 so far. (Update: it was 74 or 75, can't remember.)

Figured I'd write a post while there was cell service available. Breakfast today was the very first pancakes we've been able to find with real butter and real maple syrup on the whole trip. I couldn't believe it took until Utah, and I don't really know what's wrong with the rest of the country, but margarine and high fructose corn syrup are not where it's at, people! Lunch was not as good an experience as breakfast: expensive, touristy, and we were treated pretty much like an annoyance. I've gotten better treatment at Taco Bell at 2:30am on a Saturday night; if you've been to a college campus at this time of the week ever, you'll know just how much that puts things into perspective.

Pretty much the most intense climbs today since the Appalachians that I loved so much (if only I could express sarcasm over text message...), except on these, I didn't feel the burning need to fall off my bike and die halfway through. I still went ridiculously slow, but hey, not feeling like flinging myself under the nearest Rent-an-RV.com monstrosity is a good sign that I've gotten stronger in the past 7 weeks, right? Went down the Hogback, the most amazing/terrifying experience I've ever had on a bike. This was a narrow two-lane road with no shoulders or guardrails most of the way, and I'm not sure how far down the bottom of the canyon floor was, but I can tell you it was a long, long way down. The views were incredible, but the sinking feeling I got in my stomach looking over the edge was not so much.

Had an interesting and unique experience today: I'm pretty sure we were photographed by a member of the paparazzi. As we stopped to take a picture of the "14% Grade Next 4 Miles" sign at the top of the Hogback, a car stopped right in front of the sign. As we groaned about it having chosen the worst place to stop at that moment, the driver's door opened and a man, his face obscured by a camera, leaned out just long enough to snap our picture without greeting or explanation before shutting the door and driving off. There were a surprising number of French tourists around today, so we were thinking that it was likely a foreigner. I can imagine the travel agents in France telling their clients about what to expect in the American west: "If you're lucky, you'll spot a crazy American riding their bike across the hot desert. You'll be able to identify them by the heavy bags attached to their bikes and the profuse sweating. Be sure to photograph this creature if you see one, but don't get too close, because they smell pretty bad most of the time."