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.