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It was mid-morning after I cycled over a few rolling hills on Old Highway 80, I found myself on Interstate 8 known as Kumeyaay Highway, and I finally made it to the top of the mountain. I was so delighted, and I yelled out, "I made it!" as I took a break at the top of that monster mountain and took in the view. I pedaled some more and came upon a sign at Desert Tower View. With my descent into Ocotillo, we were going down 4,000-plus feet with a 6% incline on a winding road with no side barrier. I was like, Oh, my God. All I could focus on not looking over the side; you see, I don't like heights that much, and there weren't any trees to hide my view of the bottom. It was staring me straight in the face the steep direct downfall. All I could see for miles and miles was the rock and more rock, downhill and more rocks on this winding road as we made our way down this elevation of 4,000 feet.I thought to myself, why can't I be on the inside of the road looking at the mountainside? But, if that were the case, I would be going up this beast of an incline, which I would never make it go up, so to a point, I am happy to be going down this beast for I already went up most of this beast. I pumped my brakes to keep a slower pace for I like to see what I am going to hit if there is something on the road. All I saw was the more and more winding road ahead of me. It is a beautiful snapshot of a picture in my mind. However, I was like; we have to bike this whole thing. I am surprised that I even to have any brakes left on my bike, that I didn't wear them down completely. My hands remained glued to the bars. When I stopped halfway down, you may well have peeled them off my handlebars. My grip was so tight, and my nerves were high. We had to take a break every few miles to unwind. It was a sight I won't forget, a beautiful snapshot in my mind. I knew at this point; I was in what I would call "No Man's Land;" it was so dead out there. There was nothing-no trees, few green bushes, very few signs of life, just rocks and miles and miles of sand, and dirt for as far as the eye could see. There was nothing-no stores, no restaurants, no sign of life, except for a few cars and me on my bike pedaling into this desolate land. This was when I knew in my mind that I had to adjust to being in the desert and out in the middle of nowhere. What I was used to having in my life was gone, and my surroundings were obsolete, nonexistent, but for how long? I thought in my mind, how long can I exist cycling in this type of land? Is this what many cyclists talk about where the mind games start? I can see it now, cycling for hours and hours by myself in what I would call "No Man's Land." Can I do this by myself just talking to myself out here? It is so quiet you can hear a pin drop at times. All I could think is that I have 3000 miles to go and for 2700 plus miles I would be a solo cyclist when I lose Martin in Phoenix; fore I have just started this journey of mine across the Southern Tier, sit back, peddle east, and enjoy the journey.