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."