I told the dapper little barber where I was heading. "Whoa!" Sammy put down the electric shaver he had just picked up and thwacked his hand against his forehead. "You're not cycling to Gerlach? Across the Black Rock Desert? Hey, Roy...!" After three months in the saddle I was treating myself to a shave, waiting for Winnemucca to wake up so I could buy supplies. A taller, thinner dapper barber appeared from the back. "You serious?," Roy asked. "I mean, there's nothing out there except too much sun. People die out there, man."