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.

        

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!

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.

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.

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."