The next day, feeling reenergized and motivated to make up some of the miles I lost the day before, I decided to head for Dayville, 92 miles away. The ride consisted of two 2,000 foot climbs and consequently two long descents through river beds, gorges, and rolling ranch lands.

Inbetween the two climbs is Mitchell. Mitchell is a town of 200 people and perhaps the most pluckey little town in the country. It's been burned to the ground twice and washed away by flash floods two times. In 1884, a flash flood produced a 9 foot wave that came over the surrounding bluff and washed away all the wagons and livestock in town, leaving several one ton boulders in the middle of the street. In a country and a geography where towns come and go or pick up and move a few miles just to be closer to a railroad, you have to admire the "this is where we settled and we're staying no matter what" stubborness of the Mitchellites.

While riding through Mitchell, a group of two riders heading west pulled over to talk to me. They were a father and son from Wisconsin. The father started in Yorktown, VA and the son joined him in Kansas. For the second time on my trip, I met someone who had almost completed the whole trail and couldn't get the smile off their face. I asked Don, the father, what the best part of the route was and he named almost every state. When I asked about the toughest, he said it would be ending the trip, getting off his bike and going back to work. Clearly, for the people I've met so far, the TransAmerica Trail is everything it was cracked up to be and more.

The one recommendation I received from both Don and his son and the guy I met a few days ago outside of McKenzie Bridge, was to stay at the hostel in Dayville. Hearing this again, I decided I had no choice but to complete the 92 miles for the day and make it to Dayville. By the time I arrived into town, it was about 8:30, the time of day when the sun shines at such an angle that the entire countryside seems to dance with color. Add to that, the fact that I just rode 14 miles downhill with a strong tailwind and I was feeling pretty good.

Dayville is a town of 205 people that caters to thru travellers. There is a hotel, a bed and breakfast, a gift shop, and three restaraunts. The biggest store, the Mercantile, is owned by a former dot-comer from Seattle. He did the TransAmerica Trail in 1999 and when he got to Dayville, decided he liked it so much that he bought the store and never left.

On the far side of town is the Presbyterian church/hostel. I guess when the town is so small, the church doesn't need a name like St. John's or United or something like that, they just call it "The Presbyterian Church." Posted on the church door was a sign telling all the bikers looking to stay in the hostel to check in at the house next door. When I knocked on the door, a little girl no older than 9 answered. I asked her if I could stay in the hostel and she then proceeded to tell me the list of rules. 1) No smoking 2) Use of the shower is permitted 3) Use of the kitchen is permitted 4) It was permitted to sleep anywhere in the sanctuary, but on the church bleachers (I took that to mean the pews).

When I walked inside the church, I was greeted heartily by two older couples. John and Anne were from Washington and were doing their second cross-country bike trip. Their first trip was ten years ago when they were much "younger." They were credit card travelling, which meant they were staying in hotels an hostels along the way, as well as eating in restaraunts and cafes. This also meant they had a much lighter load which was good since they had a deadline to finish in late August. In order to do so, they would have to average 80 miles a day, not bad for a couple in their 60s.