Sunday, May 29, 2011

Three day break for NM, oh, the wonders: days 15, 16, 17


Like I said in my last post, it took about 3 minutes for me to fall for Albuquerque, coming up Isleta Boulevard and into the old downtown residential area (where my friend Alanna grew up with her sister, BreeAnne and Mom, Wanda.)  They live in an old, all wood it seemed, house, with a red deck on the side, enclosed porch in the front and Alanna and Brendon's RV parked in back of the driveway.  Everything inside was colorful, historical, and artfully arranged, including the flatware, silverware, grub, seasonings, bedding, toiletries, even the newspapers and magazines bespoke the way Alanna et all live their lives; with curiosity, creativity, and a blending purpose.  It was a productive, but kick-back atmosphere (I know, it sounds an oxymoron) to recover and research, learn a little something, and enjoy good company.


The five of us ate almost all our meals together, which was a nice and rare retreat to tradition.  And, when Alanna and BreeAnne were not working face-painting at the Isotopes Minor League Baseball stadium, we went out on excursions.  The first day, I actually got to go with, and honestly, it was fun.  I accepted it then, no matter how smelly the hot dogs or odd the scene: I love the traditions of baseball.

We also went west to the Acoma Indian Reservation and Sky City.  It is touted as the oldest continually inhabited pueblo, and they retain much of the same way of life; no electricity, only generators for special occasions, no running water, outhouses only, and the homes are passed down through maternal lines, never bought or sold.  It was a breathtaking place, up on the mesa, views of the valley, the rock formations, and the mountains nearby.

For my last day, we ventured up to Santa Fe.  Alanna and Brendon are artists/musicians and will be moving up at the end of the summer, and they've cued into some of the most exciting art collectives and movements out there.  Santa Fe is also known as the oldest continually inhabited city in North America, and you could tell it was planted, if you well, in more organic pastures.  It's rich, both literally and figuratively, though much of it is a little touristy for my taste.  Still, I loved it too, especially because of a very special place, the warehouse of Due Return.  Inside the unassuming stucco building towered a ship, amid sea and techie sculptures.  The collaborative effort of fifty artists, who apparently also slept there from time to time, felt like the set of Alice and Wonderland, Pirates of the Caribbean, and Dr. Strangelove, and your childhood blanket forts all together.  It was a simply wonderful place and I could have lived there.  Maybe I will, someday!

For our last meal together, Wanda, who is also shortly going on an adventure of sailing to Hawaii, made steaks and Brendon made his famous chili-spiced mash potatoes.  We shared a tasty bottle of sweet, Hungarian wine, which is where-from Bree Anne is visiting for the summer.



It was hard to get up and on the road again the next day, but the ladies made it easier by launching me on my way.  I have a feeling I'll be back to Albuquerque.



        

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Days 13 & 14: and on to Albuquerque



Now, this is where it gets boring.  Well, more so, and not so much for me, but for you.  Two days to knock out wide open central New Mexico.  I rode a hundred and some the first, arriving in the Bosque del Apache wildlife preserve through a thicket of bats and swallows the first day, only great memory being the stars, stars, stars!  I wrested the camping ground manager from what looked like his snug place on the couch in front of the TV for the evening, around 9 o'clock (you'll see I have a habit of this.)  And he showed me to a lovely patch of dirt and trees, with a hot shower and, he assured, safety.  Though he went on to list all the possible animal attacks and such, he repeated, I would be safe.

I knew I had the last 90 miles in the heat to cover the next day, and I wanted to get in at a godly hour to my host, Alanna and her mother's home in old Albuquerque.  So, I set up camp quickly, ate another freeze dried spaghetti meal, and then looked up.  I couldn't believe how many there were.  I almost cried it was so exquisite.  Please people, get out from the city!

So, up and take down, I busted a serious move.  I couldn't believe my pace, the fastest yet at around 20 miles an hour, some side roads, but part on I-25.  I took a breather at Long John Silver's in Belin, 30 miles south, and got the scoop on a backroad to take straight up into downtown.  It was the most fascinating entry, through the Pueblo Isleta Indian Reservation, then colorful South Valley, think Boyle Heights, or in general, East LA.  Despite the black cloud of exhaust, the whistles, and the booming SUVs, or maybe because of them, I was thrilled to be in this vibrant, violent, already seeming passionate city.

"You're torched," Alanna said as I rolled up around 4 o'clock.

I rinsed, and we walked over towards a dive bar downtown, where I had a sweet tea and began breathing easy for a few days...




More on those in the next blog!

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Days 11 and 12: Safford to Silver City to Hilsboro; two of the hardest, best days I've ever done

Okay, so I topped myself on this one.  113 miles, the latter half of it against the wind and up into the mountains (another Devil's Canyon, they called it.)

I was practically mincemeat by the time I got fully into Silver City, a fun little college and tourist town way up in NM's southern copper mining land.  Everywhere was closing, but I squeezed in at the grocery store and scoped out a super-cheap motel.  Carrie, with a "C", she said, the original way, was the little old lady behind the counter at The Drifter.  I could have stayed at the KOA, but it was another seven miles, and almost as expensive.  I thought I better stay warm for the night, after a ride like that.  I love motels, but all the time I've spent outside has me avoiding the confines of permanent shelter these days.  I really would happily set up camp night after night.  But, eh, it was an experience.  And Carrie was rad.  She gave me lots of super weak, but hot, creamy, sugary coffee and led me on the path to Hilsboro.

You see, I stayed up way too late preparing food and dinking around, trying to get at some things I'd been pondering on the road, now scraping out of my head onto my notebook.  I woke up, still fried, my legs wobbly, and had planned on 88 miles to a town way past the imminent Emory Pass, called Truth or Consequences.  But Carrie was trying to help me get set straight for the day, and said, "Hilsboro, now that's a neat town."  At the Gila Hike and Bike shop, where I stopped for some air and a bit of the local before heading towards the mountain, agreed.  They showed me some camp spots before and after the climb, bid me good riddance, I mean, good luck, and I drug myself back out on I-80.  I-52 was beautiful, through real pine forests and their accompanying crisp, calmness.  But I was dead tired, and after 40 miles and lots of up and downs, still hadn't even come close to the summit.  I stopped for lunch, knowing I must be nearby.  Forty minutes later, I began the climb.

It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, getting up that mountain.  But Emory Pass, at roughly 8500 ft, isn't even that much of a menace.  Still, I felt proud at the top, and again, gratitude.  It was a special place, as the top of hills tend to be.  I was looking out over what seemed hundreds of miles of beautiful green, where history had happened a hundred and fifty years ago when Mr. Emory made a first scientific expedition there.  Then, I bombed down 20 miles, as free as free can be.  Hee.  At Hilsboro, a mannequin dolled up in country western garb greeted me from the back of a pick up truck with a sign that said, "Slow down, please."

Slow down, I did.  In fact, I stopped.  A few minutes later, I met Jim.

He was the cactus growing, museum attendant and air stream trailer based ambassador to this fantastic little art town, popped up out of nowhere and quite enchanted.  He came out while I was looking around the park and told me about a regular supply of canned food free for the taking (one of the locals goes and fetches it from some nearby surplus dispensary) and a water tap, if I needed it.

Jim, of Black Range Musuem, in Hilsboro, NM

Well, we got to talking, I got to meeting Oddo (the very smart cat), and next thing you know we were sharing Busch NA's and a microwave pizza.  Well aware of the dietary excellence of our meal, Jim still thought there was nothing better than pizza and barbeque chips.  So, he brought them out, and sweetly concluded with an after-dinner snack, "hydrogenated star crunches," he called them.  Jim offered up the museum in lieu of camping, though it was a nice little park with deer and such just hanging out most of the time.  I thought it'd be pretty snug to hang out with a cat and sleep among all the old, cool artifacts, covered in quilts and good vibes.  So, I took him up on it.  There was no power but a couple bulbs in the old cabin-farmhouse, and dust coated everything.  No running water, I spit out my toothpaste in the cactus garden, just as he showed me, and brought water in from the spigot.  Jim said goodnight, and I slept, again, like a babe in the arms of the good earth.

Next morning, a banana, oatmeal, and I gave a genuine, "See you later!" to Jim.  I suspect, or I sincerely hope, to be back there someday.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Up the hill to Oak Flats and a Bobcat, day 8: 05-16-11 (the best ride, yet)

This was the best day of riding, yet.

It took me half the day again, just to get out of metro Phoenix, but once I did, I felt the freedom rush in, again.  I was headed towards a major climb at the end of the day and a few mining towns on the way.  But, I didn't have a map!

Just before I left Mesa, AZ, I tried several gas stations, grocery stores, and finally sat, dismayed, to have a burrito.  Then, when I prepared to just head out through Apache Junction, I caught the visitor's center and swooped on in.  They were so helpful!  And one was even a cyclist, scaring me silly about the climb at the end of my day, and a mad tunnel on the way, "The deadliest in the west," she said.  Well, I was on my way.

I hit Superior just past 4 o'clock and stopped into the "Saving Money Mart," the only place in town that looked like it had life.  Turns out, it was just a sleepy afternoon and the town is actually back on the rise.  Four dollars, some fruit, and a bit of energy later, the guy leaning against the wall outside said, "That's a ten percent grade," and I said, "Wish me luck!"

Halfway up, I gawked and wanted to call everyone I know, imagining them riding up with me to this beautiful place.


Well, it was a climb, but it was like climbing further into OG old west.  Mountains, hawks, old rail bridges, and lots and lots of rock.  Oh, and death defying swerves on a no-shoulder mountain road, oddly busy with endless semis and trucks.

But the beauty of the canyon was calming, and when I reached Oak Flats campground I was on a cloud.  But I also cared for my person and got off the road.



The campsite was a short, cool ride down into the canyon forest.  From first sight, it seemed I might be the only one there.  Luckily, there were a few other campers, because I hadn't prepared to stop short of the town, Globe, and had very little water.  There were no RVs, no hookups, no electricity, no water, just an outhouse and only a few primitive sites amid a gorgeous oak grove.  Oh, and one tiny little sign on the Forest Service Information Board that read, "Warning: Campers scratched and bitten by bobcats currently being treated for rabies."  Finally, a real campground!

Look, there's a cow!  
















































































Before it got dark, I sheepishly paraded around the camp and found an elderly couple and a few state employees out to determine whether people were illegally stocking the water holes nearby with foreign fish species.  Hm...you learn all kinds of things while touring.  I got a bottle and a half of water from each and settled into my patch of dirt and tree.  I still would have to ration, but at least I would wake up a little less dehydrated and a little more clean.

I found a bit of shelter form the wind and set my water to boiling.  Despite how gross these man-on-the-moon meals are, it's always incredibly comforting to sit cozy in a tent on a cold mountain, slurping the broth-sauce and chewing the hard bits of noodles that didn't quite soften.  Even the bits of veggies...anyway, it takes the stove a while to do its thing, so between checking that it hadn't tipped over, that no ants had found their way in, and dismantling my rig for the night, I set up my tent.  Then, when I was zipping down the rain fly, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye.  There, swear to god, was a bobcat, sniffing about the stove.  My first thought was, shoot, my food!  I don't need rabies, though, so...I hid behind the tent, he ran off (he doesn't like dehydrated primavera, apparently), I ran to get the food, closed up the stove, and didn't leave the tent for the rest of the night (except for a quick pee.) 

During the wee, I noticed the full moon.  God, was it gorgeous.  I basked for a moment, at the view (unfortunately the outhouse was part of the visage.) 

I read my book, said goodnight to the moon, felt a pang of loneliness, remembered where I was, and lay down, completely at peace, to rest for the night.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Phoenix/Tempe Arizona: The Graduation Party, days 6-7

I'll never forget the ride to Phoenix (70 miles), full of angry motorists, oranges, and, what seemed an endless metro area sprawling to Tempe, on the other side.  Tempe is a neat town, and Phoenix has that fiery rock beauty, with the blessing of a luscious canal and healthy green throughout, but I spent half my day passing strip malls and stopped in traffic, getting smelted with exhaust plus black asphalt conveying mid-day temps into the hundreds.  By the time I rolled into Phoenix proper, the heat was definitely getting to me and the people looked like cactus.  But I was going to make it in time to celebrate!

It took me another THREE hours to get across Phoenix, navigating a detour through a rather beautiful neighborhood and golf course in the hills and getting across the river.  Like I said, thirty miles on no lunch and major dehydration, weird backroads under construction, and slowly-moving inhabitants, later, I turned onto a little residential street and re-entered civilization.


I arrived at friends of my cousins in San Diego, where one of their girlfriends and all her family were celebrating her graduation.  They were a few hours into it, all well clad, except for the kids in the pool, and I really felt like a crazy, beat-up lunatic stumbling out of the desert.  But they were as kind as could be (though they did think I was a little confused, let's say), telling me to "Eat!  Eat!," and, "Hey, did you hear, she just rode from San Diego!"  They were  family had all come out from San Diego, Rachel was the first of the family to graduate, and it was a grand affair with a few poignant speeches, bountiful summer barbeque, and lots of jabbing, teasing, good-natured humor.  I cracked open a Coors Light and sat down to enjoy it.

Later that night, they dragged me to this rad, huge New Country bar, Toby Keith's, where all types, and I do mean diversity here, were square dancing, swing dancing, and of course, hitting the booze.
36 hours, a couple nights rest on a futon amid several bags of golf-clubs, an ironing board, behind the darkest set of blinds I've ever seen, I headed back out into the sun to keep pedalling.


Old Hwy 60 East, of Apache Junction, AZ


Next stop: Albuquerque and the artists, deserts, forests and remaining wildness of New Mexico.

This should have been at the beginning...Ocean Beach Bike Path, the starting point


For Dak and E-bunny and anyone else interested re: Ride and Kit - I am riding a 2011 Surly Crosscheck
I have since streamlined with one handlebar bag, and the sleeping pad and bag fit with everything else into two panniers; one of them is this awesome backpack pannier thingy from Ortlieb.  I love it!

I have with me:
Map, notebook, phone/camera, lights, U and cable lock:
First aid kit
Allen key set, wrench, levers, tubes, lube
Toothbrush, washscrubby, camp towel, sunscreen
Tank top, capri pants with riding short briefs, 
cycling shorts, a t-shirt, pants and top base-layer
Cook pot, stove, cup, utensil set
Tent, sleeping bag, pad (sort of light-weight)
Oatmeal, trail-mix and day-to-day variety, usually beans and veggies of some sort
Water, usually at least a gallon
postcard making materials, though I haven't had the time, yet
~35lbs

Not the absolute finest touring set-up there can be, but I'm rockin it for now!

Day 5: Past the hogs to Wickenburg

Today was another shorter day of riding; 45 miles.  My left knee started giving out in the middle of the ride yesterday, so I only did 65 miles. 

It was lovely, getting greener, but I had to stop in the spindly shade of some roadside trees every several miles to try and muster the grimace for another slog.  A couple hours into riding, I was at such a bush when Bryan pulled up.  An old man, he walked up slowly, "You alright?  Need any water?"

"No, no, I'm alright, just having a snack," I said, remembering my lone-ness, trying to keep a wary eye, for the first bit, on strangers.  But this man seemed genuine, concerned.

"Okay, well, I have two cases in the back.  Lemme just get you one bottle."  So he did, sauntered back to his truck, slowly walked back, I thanked him profusely and carried on.  (I didn't need the water, but you learn, people want to help each other along, as I said before: they really do.)


By mid-day, I reached Aquila, where not a soul is to be seen, but the map swore there'd be provisions.  I stop at a grocery-hardware-clothing store, rest my bike against a pole and wonder what I might do to squeeze a drop of coolness or nutrition out of the shrivelly dry hot air.  Like in an old movie, out of the heat mirage came a short man, and sooner that I could think, he had swerved in my direction.  Short, and covered in dust, he had one lens in his gold-rimmed glasses and a huge grin on his face.  Neverminding all that, I began to ask about food or water and quickly switched to comida, si hay un lugar para comida, etc.  Just then, the owner of the store, Jesus, showed up and ushered me inside.  For the next forty-five minutes we talked about everything from the government to singlehood (he doesn't believe in it, and after hearing him talk about his family, I don't either) and I gave him as much business as I could.  Still needing to wait out the hottest blaze of the day, I had a meal at the one restaurant in town, El Burro, and hit the road again.


Thirty miles later, with a few fine bits of scenery having distracted me to advance thus far (the knee was not improving, I was still going about 8 miles an hour),  I was finally feeling the hope of making it to Wickenburg.   I had an hour until sundown and was abreast the last ten mile stretch.  Therefore I was rather disappointed, but not surprised at all, when Bryan and his truck pulled back up in front of me.  This time he waited for me to ride up beside the truck.  He got out and slowly began, "There are these things out here.  Not things, they're pigs.  Not really pigs, but Havilenas."^

"Yeah?"

"They have these tusks, and they'll come at you.  I would just hate to, I couldn't sleep thinking I left you out here for them.  Please, let me give you a ride into town."

MOST wary now, I knew he was right, that there are dangers of riding on an old highway when the light gets poor, but still...I was almost there!  For whatever reason, because I'm too nice, or too curious, or because I know what's good for me, I grabbed my phone, wallet, and knife, and got in the truck.  My trust-o-meter has not always been due north, or south, but there was something that said I had to let this fellow do his right.  He was a bit of an eccentric, but incredibly smart and kind and even funny.  He showed me to, yes, another RV park, then the grocery store, and asked about anything I needed from water, to ice packs to batteries.  Then, he asked if I wouldn't let him buy me dinner, "Where ever you want, there's Denny's, McDonalds, Country Kitchen."  I really just wanted to go to bed, but I hadn't come to any conclusions, yet, about this odd encounter, and wanted to hear him out.

We decided on the Country Kitchen, where I had a delicious burger with fries, a coke, and a water, with lemon, and about five cups of creamy, sugary, decaf coffee.  He had a poached egg and wheat toast, with regular coffee.  Conversation was polite, then intellectual, then existential and touching on the spiritual.  I told him I was a writer, and he excitedly displayed his tattoos (a late-in-life indulgence, after his mom died), among other revelations, presumably because he wanted someone to give him some credit.  I have not been able to here, nor do I know if I will ever understand the self-appointed, "desert rat" character, but I will certainly try.  At the very least, I will keep getting picked up by the side of the road and going to dinner.*

We sat and talked until closing time, said our goodnights and goodbyes, and I walked off in a daze.



*Please note, I am speaking metaphorically here.  I do not think this is a good M.O.  I practice a great deal of discretion, and did not behave this way out of naivete.  I have had experiences that have gone both ways, and  don't wish to repeat mistakes.  Though, I do believe in trusting people, giving them your highest expectations, and being confident and hard to mess with.

**Special Note, too: I have every intention, because I am a stubborn mule, to go back and complete those ten miles someday.  I'm currently trying to cope with the frustration at having been waylaid, but reminding myself not to be so narrow-minded.  It will happen one day--it's a fascinating area, and will be fun to go back to--but, damnit, Bryan/Michele/stupid pigs and anonymous highway drivers, you're a real pain in the ass.

^ I got a glimpse of those Havilena creatures a few days later, under the moonlight, on my hosts lawn and they really were fearsome creatures.  Just horrifying, really.  Turns out, they are legendary out here, "just really ugly, nasty things," one guy said.  Everyone else is like, "Ohh, yeah...the Havilenas."

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Day 4: Saved in Salome, 05-12-11


Rolled into Salome, Arizona last night just after the sun's glow had completely fallen below the horizon.  Those sunsets, they're humbling.  Always behind me, across the desert, this time purple and pale fire against the silhouetted craggy hills, those and the cool blue that floods the brush and sand, they're worth this whole trip, certainly pedalling a day for.

I'd stopped at a lovely cafe, Kofa, in Hope, just a junction in the road, really, about fifteen miles ahead, to make sure there would be a place for food past eight or nine o'clock.  (Many of these towns have nothing but a mini-market, and those close at six or seven.  I've been carrying food, but only a day's worth.)  Sure enough, just as the lady said, there was a gas station open until ten.  After an amusing glance at a historical marker that claimed the town was named for a dancing, circus performer's cat, or something like that, I was directed by a walking stranger to the end of main street.  Sure enough, with the late-night rush coming on strong, was the food mart. 

"Getting in late, huh?" said a man walking over from the pumps.

"Yeah, I try not to, but my camp's just a mile down the road and I, just, well, you know...going a little slow today.  Having a little knee trouble..." I answered, knowing these people know their roads and I'm just an idiot city slicker (Is that what I've really become???)

John was his name, his wife Lydia, and soon, after more dazed provision collecting, me and my bike were hefted into their truck.

"Got a friend with a park, about a mile down the road, said he'd put you up for free," John said, "It's just, we've seen too many riders get gunned down around here."

When we got to his friend's, a smaller, elderly man ushered me across the ubiquitous gravel RV Park I've now realized covers most of Arizona, that he and his wife, Maxine run during snowbird season.
"You don't even have to put up your tent.  No one's in the guest house, you can go ahead and rest up in there."

The man, wanting, it seemed, to get back to his evening, or that's just the brusque, but kind way around rural AZ, quickly took me through the guest house, "There's the shower, the bed," he took me through a couple more rooms, encouraged me to use the stove, fix myself something to eat, "and if you need anything, I'm Lou and my wife's Maxine."  And he was off.

I called after him, "Goodnight!  And thank you!  Thank you!"  But it didn't seem to matter if he heard me.  The same with the couple and the truck.  And with the old man, Bryan, the following day, with the folks in Phoenix and now, with the family in Safford that took me in off the side of the road.  They just give, and expect nothing in return.

I'm still trying to figure this out.



111 miles

That's the number to beat, now.  Or, the number I was beaten by.  It was a hot one, hovering in the 90s, with no shade the entire day.  But the dunes were beautiful, and it was my first day of really being out there, in the middle of nowhere.  In fact, it was so desolate, the only place to stop midday for lunch out of the heat was a small store, closed for the season where I had to call the owner to come down so I could buy some water.  I was prepared, but hey, the sign said if I needed anything, and I wanted to check it out.  I made myself a freeze dried backpacker lunch and guzzled a cold Dr. Pepper from the vending machine.  Then I set off around 4pm for the 60 miles left to my destination.  Obviously, it started to get dark, but I'm a stubborn mule sometimes and pressed on Highway 78 well past dark.  Riding at night is so blissful out there in those open fields, the green ones sending cooling wind across the road, the stars...that I would consider it one of the better two hours of riding I've ever pedalled.

By the time I arrived in Blythe, CA, I was pretty well fried, and I couldn't feel my legs.  But, I was in a grateful, peaceful daze at the grocery store, talking to everyone inside, feeling like I'd just arrived from another planet.  Then it took over two hours as I crossed back and forth across the Colorado River, California-Arizona border in search of a safe and decent place to stay.  Around midnight, I slipped through a private RV park where my map had advised tent camping, and with no other tents to reference, set up under a tree near a picnic table.

Again, exhausted to the point of feeling sick, I gobbled some tortillas and beans (everything I eat when touring is wolfed) staked my tent, cabled my bike lock to my stuff inside, crawled in the bag, and, finally, passed out around 2am.

Alpine to El Centro, day 2

Stiff today, those were some tough hills last night.  Slept long and woke up to three chihuahuas sleeping atop the couch next to me.  Shovelled some oatmeal and was on my way.  Another late start.  Great to see my cousin, though.  She and her Mom made me feel like family. 

The mountain towns of Pine Valley, Live Oak Springs, Boulevard were fresh, wooden, and, as the name suggests, wafting with pine.  Oddly, though, I missed the heat of the desert.  I enjoyed the up and down of the hills, all the old west signage and rusty yard givings, and the feeling of having been along the highway, Old Highway 80, with my Dad a long time ago, in another life (the one of dream-like memories.)

I had been warned the days proceeding about all the immigration "coyotes," when I talked about wild camping. I knew there was a risk, and had decided against it so close to the border. But, I wasn't expecting the onslaught of border patrol I began to encounter descending from the mountains. Just outside of Jacumba, still up around 3000 feet, I started to see white trucks passing both ways. Then, out of nowhere, and after I'd been alone on the road, nothing for fifteen miles, a man in a green uniform poked around about a bush. Slightly further on, a sea of figures appeared on the hills to my left. I slowed, incredulous: they were statues and mannequins poised, it seemed, as sort of border-crossing scarecrows. 



I can only guess whether they were for ill or naught, but either way, the gravity of the situation down at the border sunk a little futher in.  I knew I was only some hundred feet from Mexico, when the Fence appeared.  It looked ridiculously fortress-like, but ended rather abruptly and arbitrarily (somewhat like our beloved shoulders and bike-lanes.)  What are we coming to?


The next stage of what was turning out to be an epic day had me descending, giddily and fearfully (I would have been shredded had my tire punctured or I lost control and crashed), at a very steep grade for 11 miles, going, I'm guessing, at least 40 to 50 miles an hour.  The views (and the wind) were fantastic, and a semi even whistled at me.  However, I was relieved to reach a lesser, more relaxed grade and decided to push on the thirty miles to El Centro.  The wind at my back, two hours of sunlight left, it was smooth sailing from there.

Underneath the helicopters and floodlights of the border and RV Park, on a bed of gravel, I slept like a rock, myself.  Nothing like ninety-five miles of sun, wind, and pedalling for a solid night's sleep.

Day 9, and then 10: From the Top of the World, 90 some miles to The Larsons in Safford, AZ


I honestly can't remember how the ride went today.  Only that I came down out of the mountains and a town called Top of the World, which was nice to think, through Globe (another old mining town, now with a fair amount of modern conveniences amid the charm), and down along the desert.  I wish I could even remember what I ate.  Thing is, it was one of those days where I had to make up for a few miles short the day previous, and I was determined to make it the 90 odd miles to Safford.  Just meant that I'd be closer to NM, and closer to Albuquerque, my next major destination.  So I rode hard, stopping for a few quick shots of the delicious desert scenery, some water, and a handful of trail mix.

I hadn't an aim for lunch, or a midday stop, but the biggest town on the map was in the San Carlos Apache Indian Reservation.  When I rolled up, after about 60 miles and a growing hunger, I discovered a real one horse town. 

Not a soul in sight; it was rather eerie, until I saw two young girls, circling the road in front of their house.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi," they both said shyly.

"What are your names?"

"I'm Jade, well, we're both Jade," said the elder sister.  "She's just Jade and I'm Jade McCade.  Want to ride with us?"

"Well sure, but how far you going?"  I didn't want to get them in trouble.
"We can go to the school."  It was about twenty yards away.
"Alright, let's go!"

It was a lovely ride, and upon our parting, I thanked them, said it was nice to finally ride with some people.  They pointed me in the direction of the store, I took their photo, and told them to, "Ride on!  But be safe!"

The grocery store was a bit barren, but I made due with some peanut butter, bread, an apple, and a can of beans, some carrots, and a condensed vegetable soup for dinner.  Always got to have rations, and I thought I would be camping.

As usual, the sun was going down, I was about 12 miles from my destination, and I still had no where to stay.  Then it happened again, someone steps out of the woodwork to save the day.
Mons Larson pulled his vehicle over just before the junction of 70 and 191 and flagged me down,

"Got a minute?" he asked.

Turns out, Mons Larson was a Warmshowers host (a touring cyclist network), and wanted to make sure I had a place to stay for the night.  I was headed to a campground about five miles down the road, but these seemed like one of those times when you roll with it.  Before I could completely decide whether to trust the man, he said, "You'd stay with my parents tonight.  Mom will get you dinner and breakfast in the morning.  I've got a meeting at 7."

It was all good.  "Oh my gosh, great!" I couldn't get the words out in proper thanks.
I rode on, as directed, to Mile Marker 343, about 3 1/2 more miles down the road, in another daze of touring-tired, bewildered awe and heart swelling gratitude.  

I met his son, Bryce and his mom, Joyce on the enclosed porch in their back house.  I felt smelly and gross, and shy of my imposition, but they put me instantly at ease.  Apparently, Mons had been taking in cyclists for a couple years now.  A cyclist himself, he volunteered time at the local bike shop and, as this town was on a major route cyclists take across the south, he started meeting a lot of cyclists, found out about Warmshowers, and the rest is history.  They have a book full of people who came before me, and this spontaneous arrival was welcome, didn't phase her.  We sat on the porch, where there were several sofa beds, a long, convention room type table, a couple of napping kitties, lots of plants, and even a massage chair, for the next half-hour in pleasant conversation, while I stretched and all the stress dissappated out of me.  I took a long hot shower, had a gourmet meal of spaghetti with marinera, garlic bread, and salad, and talked with Mons and his wife Serena.  Then I met the kittens, so precious as could be under Bryce's gentle nurture and his bunk, I almost wept to see it, and then slept like a baby for practically two whole days.

Actually, I decided to stay the next day because the wind was ferocious, and the Larson's were fun and so unusually generous and open I had to hang around to see more of what they were about.  I got to see just a bit of their life out there, four generations deep, on this farm, and hang out with Gene Robert (Joyce's husband, Mons' dad, pictured below), who could fix just about anything.  I also got some much needed work done, catching up on writing and further routing (they were kind enough to let me use their computer.)  It was nice, I made tea and ate and wandered around during breaks, then I hung out with them some more in the evening.  I set off the next day fresh as a daisy.

Thank you, Mons!





Tuesday, May 10, 2011

day 1: up the grade

Made it to Alpine today!

Forgot I had a cousin living here until I was about an hour away, and only about 45 minutes of proper sunlight left to guide me to the campground I would stay at.  A traveling miracle, then, went down and here I am, snug as a papoose in this, the Kumeyaay Indian Reservation, drinking tea and typing on a couch...

The days journey began with me riding from Chula Vista up Harbor Drive about 20 miles before I could even really get started.  As I didn't set off initially until past 11:30am, was a little worried about how far I could make it before sundown and where I would sleep when that happened.  For the tour's formal, ritual, beginning, I had to "touch" the coast.  A nice man on a little afternoon ride himself showed me round some street construction and planted me right on the culdesac end of Ocean Beach bike path.  He said, "Yeah," a lot, and gave kindly of his time while I fumbled with my phone and finally got it set to take a photo.  Three tries later, a bit shy, he took the photo, wished me well, and rode off.  I am already feeling a little out on a limb, here, so good to start with some

I sat and ate some crackers and trail mix and contemplated very briefly what I was looking at and why I wanted to see the other side of it.  Then I flipped my bike around and rode into the most gorgeous mudland area I'd ever seen.  So sweet to be on an actual bike path, in such marshy goodness as lots of reeds, frogs, and orange seas of blooms with sand dunes gathering against the banks, finally on my way, I couldn't help but sing.  I did so for a few miles...

30 some miles later, after a calming mosey off the highway through rocky Mission gorge and pounding through the steady dusty, wooden, farm and tack shop laden series of country punk towns surrounding San Diego County, I arrived at the home stretch.

Turned off on Olde (yes, they even use the olde spelling) Highway 80 towards a menacing hill.  Even though it was still out of sight, I knew it was coming, started to fret and was put in a humble place by the magic hour sun streaming behind me.  The fact that the interstate cut right through the vista couldn't even ruin its beauty.  I have a friend who has a very informal "Sunset Club."  His enthusiasm made me start noting these daily wonders of the sky more often some months ago.  And it has been like discovering the truth in Buddhism.  No, I'm not that Zen-wise.  But when I do turn around and see it, when I walk outside at just the right time and the glow is beginning to take over, I stop if I can, and look.  And it is one of the reasons I get out on the road, because in some ways, on the stretches of big sky American west style, one becomes more a part of them.

**

I made it 2000 feet and around 60 miles today.  Oddly, just a little neck pain.  Tomorrow: shooting for Pine Valley at 3750 feet, then there's Live Oak Springs and Boulevard.  But to cross the entire In-Ko-Pah pass, you have to go up over 4000, thrice.  Don't know where I'll be sleeping tomorrow then, either!  Sleep well, friends, and write me!

Monday, May 9, 2011

and I'm off

I came down to San Diego via LA, via SLO, San Fran, and Idaho this week.  Or should I say, from La Cita, a hipster/Mexican dive bar in the dingiest, most storied heart of downtown LA; from a a big boisterous family in the po-dunk, pristine (relatively speaking), sage wafting, foothills of Boise, Idaho, where hip is a mountain bike and a beer in all your comfortable REI gear at the local, hundred-year old Hyde Park Pub; from my beloved Midnight Ridazz and the wildest FUN anyone can have in grocery store parking lots from Highland Park to Culver City and Santa Monica; from a backpacking trip when I was just 16 through Spain that set these two wheels rolling...

I intended to start my tour from OB to DC (Ocean Beach to somewhere on the water outside of Washington), yesterday.  But I got more family, a new bike, and some breakfast tea...and I'm starting today.  Now!!!

First stop, Alpine--wish me luck!!!