Just 40 miles into the day, heavy rain forced me to stop turning over the pedals—welcome to Hanksville, Utah. I stayed dry in my tent and read some Doug Adams to pass the time but by nightfall, an electric light show joined the rainfall and robbed me of any sound sleep. Is this the lightning strike that would finally get me? Would it hurt?

The next morning, alive and well, I packed up my load of wet gear and headed back out to the road. The plan was to hit a little dot on the map for food (Fry Canyon Store and RV) and wind up in Blanding, Utah for the night. The ride skirted the southern end of Canyonlands National Park along the 95, and indeed, it was breathtaking. I gasped though when the little dot had closed for the season—no one home. There was still 54 miles till Blanding, and my last bit of food went down the pipe an hour ago. Tic-tic-tic-tic.

I pressed on through the afternoon, what else was I going to do? Thumb it? I had only seen a handful of vehicles on that lonely stretch of pavement and every one of them had something dead they shot proudly tied to the bumper or in the truck’s bed. It was elk season. I’ve got nothing against hunters or hunting, but again, I was on edge and sleep deprived. There is one animal I have yet to kill…the most dangerous animal…intelligent…you know what I’m talking about now don’t you boy…better get to running, you’ve got twenty minutes, before I come’a lookin’. No thank you.

No matter how much you tell yourself to embrace a bonk, that you’ll be able to fight through it, it still grabs you like the flu. Power output falls off a cliff—speed too—you get clammy, can’t think straight, and instead of 15 miles an hour, maybe you can hold a dizzy 10. To top it off, the sun was setting.

When all was lost—seeing double and contemplating an impromptu bivy—on the roadside gravel appeared a tin can of Pepperidge Farm Pirouettes, the kind my Grandmother kept in her pantry. No fucking way, I thought and spun around expecting to find it empty. But no, inside were two Mylar bags reflecting the day’s last light and the rusty red sandstone that surrounded me. The first bag was open with a few of those hazelnut goodies left, and the second was sealed completely as if it were fresh from the factory. I opened the full one and brought it up to my nose. Chocolate never smelled so good.

I pulled into Blanding not too long after dark, stopped at a convenience store, picked up some peanuts and a 20-ounce Coke.