Days 22–25 – Through Zion and Onto the Western Express I rolled out of Red Cliffs Campground with a scratchy throat and a nagging cough that had been interrupting my sleep. I wasn’t feeling full-on sick, but it was clear my body was working hard to fight something off. I kept the pace slow, pedaling gently along Highway 9 to Hurricane while rain clouds gathered behind me. The rain caught up with me after I reached the far side of town. I decided to wait it out instead of heading up the canyon in limited visibility. I ducked into the Main Street Café, a cozy spot recommended by the crew at Over the Edge bike shop, and enjoyed a big salad while the storm passed. The food, the warm room, and the pause in motion were all welcome. Once the skies cleared, I continued into Springdale and found my site at Watchman Campground in Zion. The next day was all about recovery. I did a few short hikes, tried to steer clear of the crowds, and gave my body time to rest. Zion is undeniably stunning, but with that much foot traffic, it was tough to find quiet moments. Still, I have to applaud the National Park Service staff. Keeping a place like that running, clean, and accessible with so many visitors has to be an endless and monumental task. They’re doing an incredible job. On Day 24, I climbed out of Zion Canyon, up the winding switchbacks toward the Mt. Carmel Tunnel. Since bikes aren’t allowed through the tunnel, I flagged down a pickup truck and asked for a lift. The first couple I asked said yes without hesitation. They dropped me on the other side, and I hiked out to the Canyon Overlook for a quick look before continuing east. The ride along Highway 9 was scenic, but my energy was still low. My cough was getting worse, and I could feel the fatigue setting in harder than usual. I reached Mt. Carmel Junction and made camp next to a friendly father and son. The father had solo sailed around the world and bike toured across Europe—he had stories for days. We talked over dinner, and I felt recharged just being in the presence of someone who’d seen so much of the world under his own power. Day 25 started early, partly because I kept waking up throughout the night to a deflated air mattress. By morning, I had found and patched four holes that mysteriously appeared overnight. I was feeling tired—not just from the interrupted sleep, but from still not feeling 100 percent. After sorting out the gear, I made my way to a diner for a well-earned double breakfast—my appetite still ramped up from fighting off this bug. I headed north on Highway 89 and enjoyed the scenery, at least for the first few miles. The shoulder disappeared quickly and I spent the next 20 miles riding with laser focus, pulling off the road whenever space allowed. Traffic was heavy and not giving much room. It was one of the sketchier stretches I’ve ridden so far. Eventually, mercifully, I reached the junction with Highway 12 and the start of the Western Express bicycle route. What a relief. I found a peaceful campsite next to the Sevier River and pitched my tent. As the sun started to dip, I sat barefoot on the riverbank with a beer in hand and my feet cooling in the stream. I aimlessly cast my fishing rod as the fatigue of the day slowly melted away into the cool stream. My cough was finally easing up, and I hoped the tide was beginning to turn. Looking forward to a better night’s sleep and a safer, more relaxed day on the bike tomorrow.