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!
No comments:
Post a Comment