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The Herald July 21, 1989
Utah a 'people place'
I rolled into Vernal, Utah, at lunch on the 33rd day of my bike ride from Rock
Hill. The weather was deteriorating, and 175 miles of mountainous pavement
still waited between Vernal and Salt Lake City, my target.
Vacation time was running out, and I was doubtful that I could make it to Salt
Lake in time to catch my flight home. Vernal was my last chance to catch a bus
and meet my flight in a safe and timely manner.
All this was running through my mind when I leaned my bike against the window at
the Kentucky Fried Chicken. As I took off my helmet, I was startled to see a
man plastered to the window, giving my bike a close inspection from inside the
restaurant. He wasn't the least bit bashful.
Meet Al Beck, an instantly likeable guy who would rather ride his bike than
drive. Over lunch, Al asked about my trip and equipment. He described the
hills and desolation that lies between Vernal and Salt Lake. I gazed out the
window at the thunderstorms brewing in the mountains and made up my mind.
Vernal was the end of the road. Here I could rest my body knowing I had safely
pedaled 2,200 miles across America.
Al recommended one of the local motels, and I agreed to meet him later at the
Gateway Saloon, a nearby restaurant /watering hole.
The Gateway was a laid-back establishment where, just like on "Cheers,"
everybody knows your name. In one corner is an electronic dart machine that
keeps score and indicates whose turn it is. I had never thrown darts before, so
it took Al a few minutes to verse me on the object of the game. I then watched
in disbelief as Al made one impossible shot after another. Finally he pointed
to a 3-foot trophy he and a partner had won in a tournament. I was glad I
hadn't suggested that we play for money.
The next afternoon Al and I went for a bike ride along with Rex Voight, one of
the Gateway's employees. Rex was riding his home-built recumbent bicycle, with
38 speeds transferred through 8 feet of chain.
On a recumbent bike, you sit about a foot off the ground and the pedals are way
out in front of you. Your back is against a rest so it feels like you are
sitting in a lawn chair.
I also chanced to meet Ray Maestas, a vocational rehabilitation officer for the
state of Utah. Ray is an outgoing guy, and he invited me to visit with him in
his office behind the police station. There, we joked that I had ridden my
bicycle 2,200 miles to get rehabilitated. We swapped stories about our towns
and current events, and Ray used his lunch hour to haul me and my bicycle across
town to get my bike shipped home.
And Rex even visited me at the motel while I waited for my bus, and told tales
about his many jobs, including some hair-raising stories of his days with an
oil-drilling crew.
It seemed strange that I had crossed most of a continent only to find a town
where I felt like I belonged.
I really hated to leave such a comfortable "people place."
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