Days 49 and 50: Paradise Valley, Arizona

Mike is enjoying a couple of days off in the Valley of the Sun.

Day 48: Paradise Valley, Arizona

Elevation gained: 340 ft/Miles 45/Total Miles: 2,436/Total Fast Food: 18

Over the last weeks, I’ve given a great deal of thought as to what’s next for me after my ride concludes. As you can see, I’ve finally figured it out. Now, all I need to do is break it to W.C.C.

I awoke this morning at first light near the base of the Superstition Mountains. Because I had arrived after dark the previous evening, this was my first chance to enjoy the view. It’s a wonderful campground with well spaced sites and overlooking Phoenix a 1,000 ft below. I left early before other campers were awake and coasted quietly down Hwy 88 in the direction of Apache Junction. A coyote casually loped ahead of me down the centerline until he sensed my presence and scampered into the brush.

What remains of the boomtown of Goldfield is off to the north. It was home to the Bluebird Mine, at its time one of the most productive gold mines in the country. Old mining equipment competed with Saguara for landscape as I approached Apache Junction.

From there, I spent the next 35 miles navigating the Phoenix roadways to my final destination. This is one of the most horizontal urban areas which I have ever visited. What most of us refer to as “Phoenix”, is really a combination of cities – Mesa, Gilbert, Tempe, Chandler, Scottsdale, Paradise Valley, Phoenix, Peoria and Glendale – that have all melded together under continuous population growth. It goes on f-o-r-e-v-e-r.

The only noteworthy portion of today’s ride was when I was joined by two men who are rollerblading across the country to raise money for the treatment and cure of Huntington’s Disease. I had heard about them from other riders over the last two months. We talked for a couple of miles as they drafted off me. Their pace is a very good 14-16mph on level ground. Hard to imagine how they dealt with some of the climbs and descents over the last few weeks.

In the early afternoon, I arrived at the home of some very close, long time friends. I’m going to spend the next couple of days with them, cleaning my bike, relaxing and figuring out my final path home.

Day 47: Lost Dutchman State Park, Apache Junction, Arizona

Elevation gained: 5,560 ft/Miles 73/Total Miles: 2,391/Total Fast Food: 17

When I left the hotel this morning, my decision was to make it a short day and detour up Hwy 188 to Tonto National Monument, camping somewhere nearby. Assuming that breakfast would be my only real meal of the day, I stopped at a café and ordered almost one of everything from the breakfast section of the menu. As I’m closing in on home, I’m starting to think of “re-entry” and things that will need to change. One of these is the volume of food I am eating; the other is the pace at which I eat. I’m not sure the reason, but I am wolfing down my food at alarming speed. As I ate my meal, I’m certain I overheard my waitress speaking to another about the possibility of installing a spark arrestor on my silverware.

The ride to Tonto National Monument was a gradual climb to 3,800 ft followed by a beautiful, leisurely descent toward Theodore Roosevelt Lake. The only blemish on the wondrous scenery was the hundreds of Harleys rolling past me – motorcyling’s answer to the boom box. There must be a biker rally nearby, because they were everywhere. I was quite interested in visiting Tonto. It has a well preserved pair of cliff dwellings built by the Salado people and I wanted to see how they compared to the Anasazi ruins I have seen in Utah. Unfortunately, I arrived to find that the sites were closed due to an invasion of Africanized (aka “killer”) bees and I could only view the cliff dwellings from a remote distance.

Stopping back at the ranger station, I asked about camping sites in the area and also along Hwy 88, know as the Apache Trail. The response I got was: “You aren’t thinking of riding that with a bike, are you? You mean a dirtbike?” It turns out that the Apache Trail is unpaved for 22 miles of its length. As I left the ranger station, I struck up a conversation with a resident of the area and also asked him about it. Before responding, he asked me a number of questions about my ride including distances covered and mountains I had climbed. Then he said: “Son, I think you can do it.” With a split vote, I rode on to the National Forest Service office and spoke with one of the rangers there. While she wouldn’t advise me, she did have aerial photographs of the road and identified a number of places to camp along the way. I peddled off trying to make a decision, but with my thought process constantly interrupted by the stream of “brappping” Harleys riding past. They made my choice for me. I’d rather take my chances on the Apache Trail rather than listening to the Harleys for the rest of the day. I stopped briefly to take a look at Roosevelt Dam (which Teddy considered to be one of his top accomplishments while in office) and then headed west on Hwy 88.

Within two miles of the dam, the road turned from asphalt to dirt. Although the surface was graded, I was a bit concerned about possible damage to my rim or spokes. On some small descents the road would “washboard” causing jarring if I didn’t pay attention. I learned quickly that I had to slow down well in advance of the washes (where sand overflows the road from flooding). When you hit these at speed, it’s almost like losing control on ice. My forearms had a workout wrestling the bike to vertical until I learned to anticipate these areas. The other issue was the occasional SUV or truck. The passengers would roll by drinking their Big Gulps looking at me out of their air -conditioned vehicle as if I were a zoo animal. Most annoyingly, only a few of them had the sense to slow down when approaching, the remainder left me coated in a cloud of dust.

Despite this, today was the most beautiful part of my ride to date. Around ever corner was new visual delight. This road runs through a series of canyons containing several small lakes and reservoirs that provide water to the Phoenix area. In appearance, it looks like a smaller version of the Grand Canyon. And, for long stretches of time, I felt as if it were all mine. Clearly the local inhabitants were not expecting me. I would turn a corner and see cottontail rabbits and Gambel’s Quail scatter. As I came over one ridge, I saw a coati scamper into the brush. Bright crimson flowered Beavertail Cactus appeared along with enormous Saguaros and whip like Ocotillos with red blooming tips – all against the backdrop of the slow moving canyon water below.

My eyes were intoxicated by all that I saw. The phrase “achingly beautiful” has been used many times by others. Today, I understood what it means. My euphoria carried me past several possible camping sites, but only grew in intensity in the late afternoon. As the sun started to set, the canyon walls radiated varieties of green that I never knew existed in nature; all of them accented with the rust, umber and salmon hues of the declining light on the sandstone walls.

About two miles east of Tortilla Flat, the dirt road abruptly turned to asphalt again. I rode past the campground there and at Canyon Lake lost in my reverie and in the mountains silhouetted against the afterglow of sunset. To my right, I descended past Weaver’s Needle, a landmark used by many treasure hunters searching for the legendary fortunes of the Lost Dutchman Mine. As I continued my descent, I saw Venus rising near the sliver of the moon and heard a rout of coyotes addressing the evening with mournful wailing. I coasted through pools of cool, sage fragrant air at the bottom of each hill until, in the darkness, I found a campground and decided that even days like this must end.

Day 46: Globe, Arizona

Elevation gained: 2,109 ft/Miles 89/Total Miles: 2,318/Total Fast Food: 17

Don and I enjoyed a late dinner of soup and salad last night at Essence of Tranquility. It was good catching up with him and comparing where we had stayed and what we had seen since we were last camping together. Our meal was accompanied with cervezas and some medicinal agave juice. I thought the combination of this and a day soaking in the hot springs would lead to a good night’s sleep, but that did not come to pass. Instead, I was awakened frequently by coyotes, donkeys, roosters and dogs. I tracked the progress of the night through the movement of Ursa Major overhead and at first light, I headed off to Safford for breakfast and then on toward Globe.

The initial portion of today’s route was through the agricultural area around Safford, Thatcher and Pima with their freshly plowed fields ready for cotton planting. As Mt. Graham fell behind me, I rode into the San Carlos Apache Indian Reservation. It was here that I had to deal with my first dog in many weeks. He was a very large rottweiler that took off after me from the opposite side of the highway. Given his size, I normally would have been confident that I could outride him; however, on this particular morning I chose to have the “Lumberjack Special” at Denny’s for breakfast and was feeling extremely weighed down. This was one frightening dog and I was growing concerned about how I was going to respond when he caught up to me. But, my dog karma held, and after about a 100 yard chase the dog was blocked by oncoming traffic and I was able to make my escape.

In Fort Thomas, I stopped at the local store – the first of several water breaks today. It was one of those fascinating places that attempts to have one of everything from live minnows to used tires to rifles to stuffed rattlesnakes to nail guns to movies on VCR. It was also a gas station, mini mart and restaurant. A bit later, I also stopped in Bylas where I noticed several cars parked in a dirt lot with signs that said “Food Sale”. One of them offered a favorite of mine – Indian fry bread. I bought it for lunch from a woman who was as expressive as a moai. I’ve heard from others that the people on this reservation are not friendly and I did get a sense of that today.

The next fifty miles continued through the desert. In the cool morning air, lizards shot out from in front of my wheel like sparks. The colorful wildflowers continued their show with yellow marigolds, white daisies and purple lupine, in addition to the sage and mesquite. Later, as I started climbing toward Peridot, I saw my first saguaro of the trip. By the end of the day, they were everywhere. The other thing you see quite often are silent memorials to the dead. They come in the form of a crosses made out of wood, rebar, PVC pipe, ceramic or plastic. Many are decorated with garlands and flowers or contain offerings to the dead whether it be a personal note, an empty shot glass, a stuffed animal or a can of beer. It’s at once heartening and haunting.

I continued on through the remainder of the afternoon trying to stay hydrated in the rising heat. In Peridot, I went into a local store and bought a few bottles of beverages, the local Navajo Times newspaper and an ice cream, which I enjoyed on an outside bench while watching the locals. Feeling more refreshed, I arrived in Globe in the early evening. I rode downtown thinking that I could stay in the old section, but as with most of these small towns, the hotels have moved out to the highway. This is always disappointing to me. I hoped that I would be able to occasionally stay at an old local hotel in the heart of the town, but that seems to be a thing of the past.

Day 45: Safford, Arizona

Day 46: Safford, Arizona

Elevation gained: 85 ft/Miles 19/Total Miles: 2,229/Total Fast Food: 17

You’ve got to love serendipity. This morning, I packed and left the hotel ready to ride the 70 miles to Globe, Arizona. On my way out of town, I stopped at a local diner for breakfast. While I was devastating my meal of three pancakes, two eggs, three pieces of bacon, three pieces of sausage, hash browns and coffee (I’m ravenous these days given the calories I’m burning), I received a text from Don who has been riding a few days behind me. He indicated he was thinking of staying the evening at a place near Safford called “Essence of Tranquility”.

I did a quick bit a research using my phone and found the place, which was only about 10 miles away. I need to be Phoenix by the 19th. A good friend of mine, whom I like to refer to as “Johnny Drama” because of his likeness to this character from Entourage, is meeting me there on that date. Drama has purchased a Bob trailer and is going to use it and his mountain bike to ride with me from Phoenix to Palm Springs. My problem is that at my current rate, I will be in Phoenix two to three days too early.

So, rather than a big ride today, I decided to make a detour and spend the day at Essence of Tranquility. It’s difficult to describe this place – think 1968, crystals, incense, aromatherapy and Bohemian – and you get an idea. The grounds surround five small pools fed by natural hot springs. They offer touch therapy, massage and something called ear coning. (I’m too frightened to ask what the latter is, but I suspect it played a key part in the Star Trek movie “Wrath of Khan”.) There is also a large communal kitchen and living room with T.V. and Wifi. Best of all, camping here is only $15.

I ended up spending the day like this: Soak in hot springs. Read book. Nap in shade. Repeat.

Tomorrow, I’ll hit the road again. Really, I promise.

Day 44: Safford, Arizona

Elevation gained: 1,796 ft/Miles 54/Total Miles: 2,210/Total Fast Food: 17

My alarm clock this morning was a wild turkey. Unfortunately, it did not have a snooze button. It was the first cold morning I have experienced in weeks and I did not want to leave the warmth of my sleeping bag, but the turkey was insistent.

Benjamin Franklin got many things right; public libraries, the postal service, the lighting rod, the Franklin stove and his participation in drafting the U.S. Constitution, to name a few. However, in one area, you want to go back and ask “what were you thinking?” and that is with regard to Franklin’s desire to have the wild turkey named as America’s national bird. It seems to me, that there should have been some criteria established by the Founding Fathers before making this selection. For example, no birds that we eat, no birds that chirp or have flashy plumes, no birds that cool themselves through urohidrosis and, especially, no birds with waddles. One can only imagine the hit to our national self-esteem if Franklin had his way on this one.

Heading out from the campsite, I had 10 miles of rolling hills that helped to warm me and I quickly shed my cold weather riding gear. I climbed to 6,200 feet in the direction of snow-capped Mt. Graham (10,173 ft.) far to the west. Then, almost unexpectedly, I was out of the forest and looking down at the valley floor far below. Over the next 20 miles I descended 2,100 ft through a series of switchbacks only rarely needing to peddle. It was a desert version of Tourmalet, except I had it to myself.

Energized by the descent, but shivering, I stopped at the market in Three Way and bought a large cup of “cowboy coffee” and some donuts. I sat outside enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face and chest. As I did, a middle-aged man walked up and asked me about my ride. Dennis has lived in this area all his life. He works for the Morenci copper mine in nearby Clifton. This is the largest producing copper mine in the U.S. (even bigger than Santa Rita) stretching over 50 square miles. Dennis spent about 10 minutes explaining to me the physical and chemical processes associated with copper mining. I wish I could say that I understood much of it, but it was very interesting.

For the next hours, I climbed Hwy 191 toward Safford. After weeks of experiencing the subtle green, olive and gray hues of the dessert, I was astounded by the color that surrounded me. In addition to the yellows of the Senna and Desert Marigolds, there were orange Mexican Gold Poppies and red and pink Penstemon and Indian Paintbrush covering every hillside. It was almost shocking to see, as if a longtime staid and conservative friend revealed that she had a beautifully colored and detailed tattoo – unexpected and totally out of character. It took me two hours to ride through this area, because I was constantly stopping to take photographs (which I will use to bore my children to tears upon my return). At one point, a van pulled over with a retired couple wearing huge grins and taking photographs as well. They are from south of Tucson, but spend much of their time driving around the west looking for peak wildflower blooms. They told me that they had read about this area on the internet and had driven to see it.

After reaching the summit, I had another long downhill coast for miles. On the way, I saw a cyclist heading toward me. I pulled over to his side of the road and we talked for a bit. Joel is 50 and from South Lake Tahoe. He started his ride two weeks ago in San Diego. His first question to me was: “when does this get fun?” He wasn’t enjoying the solitude or the headwinds and sounded discouraged. I briefly tried to share with him some of what I am finding so positive about this experience, but was realistic – especially given the several thousand feet of climbing he has ahead of him today.

Turning north on Hwy 70, I had a level, uneventful ride past fields being prepared for planting of Pima cotton. I reached Safford in the late afternoon.

Day 43: Coal Creek Campground, Apache National Forest, Arizona

Elevation gained: 2,753 ft/Miles 65/Total Miles: 2,156/Total Fast Food: 16

After a series of small hills this morning, Silver City quickly disappeared and I was in the country again. This area is the beginning of the Gila River watershed that eventually feeds into the Colorado River. After an hour of riding, I crested a hill that marked the Continental Divide (6,230 ft.). From this point for the next 20 miles, the ride was an easy downhill with unobstructed views for miles, no wind and no traffic, just emptiness as far as I could see. Along with the ever present Buckhorn Cholla, dense mats of Mexican Gold Poppy and Desert Marigolds started to appear.

I was reluctant to emotionally embrace and fully enjoy this descent because I knew that it would eventually be balanced with a climb. To be candid, I’m not built for climbing. I have many friends who are and they all look like whippets. On the other hand, I am better characterized as a Clydesdale. Under the best of circumstances, even without panniers, my climbing cadence is most aptly described as “lumbering”. So, I don’t look forward to those ascents.

At about the 30 mile mark, I noticed a large number of horses standing together behind a natural windbreak. As they saw me approach, they moved out and lined the fence acting surprisingly friendly. Now, I don’t find animal photographs particularly compelling, especially those taken from a distance and of domesticated animals. However, these were beautiful animals running around in an inspired setting so I thought I’d get up close and try to get an interesting photograph. I approached this brown mare and stroked its head softly setting up a picture from less than a foot away. At that moment, the horse made a noise that sounded like “kha-dija” and forcefully sneezed coating my forearm, camera and chest with a nasty slime. I’m sure you will understand that in the future in all of my photographs the animals will appear very tiny.

After hundreds of miles of Texas and New Mexico, it wasn’t until I approached Buckhorn that I saw my first cowboy mounted on a horse. I had stopped by the side of the road for a drink of water when he trotted by. He was an older, weathered looking man, wearing the full western outfit: tan cowboy hat, denim shirt and neckerchief, jeans, chaps and spurs. In his hand he held a lasso that he flicked at an ambling black cow that was walking ahead of him. The cowboy era in American history was actually fairly short, only about 40 years or so. Most of how we think about the cowboy is a product of Madison Avenue and Hollywood, a depiction that is far different than reality. Yet, when he slowly raised his gloved hand and touched his hat to acknowledge me, I couldn’t help but feel like an awestruck little boy.

I had originally intended to stay in Buckhorn tonight at the RV campground. However, when I rode by I could see that it was little more than a dirt lot adjacent to the roadway. I stopped at Last Chance Pizza Parlor and Liquor, the only store in Buckhorn and ordered a pizza for lunch. While I waited for it I spoke to Amber, the clerk (and pizza chef), a young woman in her mid-20s with henna hair and tattoos on her arms. I asked her what life was like in a small town like Buckhorn and she replied that it was right for her. She explained that she had been wasting away in Odessa, Texas – “Slowdeatha” as she referred to it. While there, she had gotten into some bad things and realized that her life was going in the wrong direction, so she came to Buckhorn to live with her mother. Since then she has married and has two children. A place like Buckhorn, she said, was just what she needed.

I asked her about places to camp and she explained that there was a spot in the Apache National Forest about 20 miles away. I thanked her and headed out.

Ten miles past Buckhorn, the road turned west, which was into the face of another tough headwind made worse by the vortex created by the canyons surrounding me. I slowly climbed through the Gila National Forest noting the increasing number of pinyon pines and the rock formations that looked like rust colored vertebrae running along the hilltops. But, the wind was a brutal distraction. For long stretches, I could not pedal faster than 3-4 mph, which is walking speed. Also, I was getting low on water.

At about 60 miles, I passed over the border into Arizona. I should have been more excited as this means I have only two states left to cover, but the headwinds just took it out of me. After a few more rolling hills, I found my campground for the night and made dinner. I walked down a dry stream bed and found a few remaining pools of water and filled up my water bottles (later adding chlorine tabs and boiling them as well).

I thought I had the entire campground to myself, but as I was getting ready to turn in for the night a black sedan pulled in towing a trailer with an ATV. I walked over and introduced myself to Saul and helped him set up his tent. Saul is from Florida. He was dabbling in real estate to support his retirement when the market crashed. Now “my retirement is spent camping and prospecting, not what I expected”. We talked for a bit about the recession, real estate, prospecting and my trip, under the glow of his ancient Coleman lantern, then called it a night. Saul gave me a couple of bottles of water, so I should be in good shape to get into Safford, Arizona in the early afternoon.

Day 42: Silver City, New Mexico

No blog today. Mike is exhausted and sleeping in late. I assure you, it has nothing to do with the numerous prickly pear margaritas he imbibed last night. In his absence, please enjoy these photos of Silver City.

Day 41: Silver City, New Mexico

Elevation gained: 6,134 ft (“ouch”)/Miles 81/Total Miles: 2,091/Total Fast Food: 16

What I thought was a nice quiet campground turned to pure chaos at dusk. I was enjoying my dinner (Mountain House freeze dried pasta primavera, if you’re wondering) and enjoying the sunset. All of the sudden the canaille of RVers descended on the campground from all angles jockeying for a spot. Diesel engines rapping, gravel crunching, suspensions groaning, wives hollering directions, husbands accusing – pure pandemonium. A reality show in the making. At around 9pm things quieted down, I thought. Then an hour later my new neighbors arrived in two giant diesel 4×4 trucks. One was towing an enormous motor home; the other a trailer mounted BBQ and an inflatable pontoon boat. They spent 30 minutes getting settled…before they cranked up a karaoke party complete with outdoor lighting. I listened to a couple of numbers while looking at the stars and contemplating the state of our country. Then I let my magic earplugs make it all disappear.

And, they worked. I had a surprisingly good sleep (although I confess to slamming the lid on the trash canister nearest my neighbors in the early morning). I felt rested enough to try to ride all the way to Silver City, which would be my most challenging ride to date.

The first twenty miles to the town of Hillsboro was flat desert. To the north the Black and Empire Mountains indicated that I was now in copper mining country. It was all immensely picturesque and I was reminded of a quote by Wallace Stegner about the special beauty of the west: “You have to get over the color green. You have to quit associating beauty with gardens and lawns. You have to get used to an inhuman scale.” He is so right.

I stopped in Hillsboro for lunch at the General Store Cafe. New Mexico is a lodestone for artists. Maybe it’s the wonderful angle of light here at dawn and dusk. This town is a good example. Although its population is perhaps a 100 citizens and its location 40 miles from any city of note, it has an art school, several art studios and an artist co-op.

Leaving Hillsboro, I began the long arduous climb through Percha Canyon, past Kingston and over Emory Pass (8,200 ft). The “big boys” will be riding part of this same route in a couple of weeks. As I pedaled, I made note of the many BLM and NFS sites to camp, if needed. Scrub oaks, large junipers and pines lined the road as I climbed toward the pass.

Although I paused occasionally to look at the view, for the most part I felt (and listened to it looped) numb. I just tried to keep focused on the white line and to hold the bike upright in the increasing headwinds.

At about 7,000 feet, I hit snow (New Mexico? In April?) and stopped to take a photo. As I did, a car pulled over next to me. The driver, Will, would have been a middle-aged pirate 200 years ago. With flowing grey hair, a long mustache and a bright purple silk headscarf, he fit the part perfectly. He introduced me to Susan and for the next twenty minutes we discussed my ride. Fortunately, Will is a cyclist from Silver City and was able to provide a realistic appraisal of what I was facing for the next 40 miles. We said our goodbyes and parted.

A few miles later I made the summit and saw Will and Susan parked there waiting. They were concerned that I would not be able to make it to Silver City tonight and offered food and whatever assistance I needed. Will gave me a paper with his phone number in case I ran into problems as well as specific information about the few remaining places where I could purchase fluids and camp.

We again parted and I pedaled on enjoying some wonderful descents, but enduring tortuous additional climbs that Will had described. At 65 miles, I pulled into the town of Mimbres and bought several additional quarts of water in case I was forced to camp.

As the sun started to set, I rode past the Santa Rita copper mine. Only a small portion is visible from the road, but the scale of even this is a challenge to absorb, let alone describe. At 1,500 ft deep and 1.5 miles across, Santa Rita is one of the largest open pit mines in the world.

Fifteen miles later, after a series of rolling hills, I descended into Silver City. I sent a text to Will and Susan to let them know I had made it and to say “thanks”.

Day 40: Caballo State Park, New Mexico

Elevation gained: 771 ft/Miles 66/Total Miles: 2,010/Total Fast Food: 15

Writing today reminds me of the old joke about how Elizabeth Taylor’s 8th husband felt on their honeymoon night – I know what to do, I’m just not sure how to make it interesting.

The ride today was on Hwy 185 and 187. Las Cruces quickly gave way to nice residential neighborhoods and then pecan orchards – lots of pecan orchards. With the Organ Mountains to the east, the road wove alongside and over the Rio Grande throughout the day. Networks of aqueducts flow from the river and water the orchards and fields in this area. The alfalfa fields provide a sweet scent in the early morning breeze.

Towns in New Mexico have great names: “Alamogordo”, “Ruidoso”, “Mountainair”, “Truth or Consequences” and “Radium Springs”, a small town I rode through this morning. Its name made me want to trade my GPS for a Geiger counter, but it is nothing more than a few trailer homes and some abandoned shops. Hatch, the self-proclaimed “Chile Capital of the World” is bigger and has a few restaurants and grocery stores, as well as, an abundance of places to buy strands of dried chillies. The only other town with a grocery store on this route was Arrey.

Before I left home, I loaded my iPod with several audio books, music and podcasts. I thought I would use it constantly. Instead, I’ve found that I start each day listening to my surroundings and letting long dormant neurons in my brain generate new thoughts, ideas and observations.

Today, however, a big shout out to Mr. Jobs. The route was unvarying and I listened to several hours of podcasts. It made the weariness of my legs a bit less noticeable.