Camper for sale.

There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home.  Ok Dorothy, calm down.

Oh, I sea.

SO, THAT WAS FLORIDA, HUH?
We rode the panhandle tip to tail.  Or was that tail to tip?  No matter.  I get why they call Florida's panhandle a panhandle.  It kind of looks like one but as for the rest of the state:  That's the funniest pan I've ever seen.  And while we're at it, what about the Texas panhandle?  Ever see a pan with a handle that looks like that?  No matter.

The ride across the panhandle is some 514 miles, roughly a fifth of the trip.  It was also the easiest.  Why?  The roads were in great shape, wonderful smooth surfaces, good shoulders, debris free, lots of shade and blissfully free of loose dogs.  A nice change from the rest of the route.  Did I tell you about the dogs in Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama?  In Maine, hunters use dogs to track various manner of prey.  In those states it's some kind of sport to sick one's dog on cyclists.  It was not unusual to be chased five or six times a day, some times by as many as five dogs at a time.  Come on, some of these folks have got to know what's going on and choose not to do anything about it.  I recall the day that the young man stood by the side of the road hollering "He don't bite! He don't bite!" as his pooch chased us for the better part of a mile looking all the time like he would very much like a leg sandwich.  Anyway, for all the drama and close calls, never a bite.  But I digress.  The roads were great.  So great that in Tallahassee I summoned the courage to buy another tire for my light-weight bike and try yet again.  Alas, the rest of the trip was ridden without a flat!

But hot, real hot.  By the time we approached the East Coast the warm weather was coming on.  They tell me that the snow-birds leave Florida en masse April 1st.  I get it.  Now, nothing seems to bother Joe.  Not lack of water, not lack of food and certainly not the heat.  The heat was killing me and I had to retreat and be off my bike by one o'clock each day.  Joe consented.

But the wind.  Don't let  anyone tell you there is a prevailing west wind in the southern United States.  There ain't.  The prevailing wind is out of the south, usually with some degree of easterly influence.  That said, on our last day in the saddle we were treated to a tailwind.  That's right, for perhaps the second or third time the wind blew out of the west.  A nice way to end the ride.

OLD FRIENDS (AGAIN).
In Tallahassee we visited  with Matthew Coston and his young son Ezra.  Matt, a Hampden, Maine native, currently resides in Tallahassee with his wife Holly and Ezra and is working on his doctoral degree at Florida State University in comparative religion.   I figure that after a life of being lied to by his father and my fishing companion Doug he's looking for some grounding.  Now don't get me wrong.  I'm not criticizing Doug.  He can't help it.  He's been fishing so long that he no longer knows how to tell the truth.  Anyway, wonderful visit.  It was nice to catch up.

A lot of miles under those wheels.

ST. AUGUSTINE.
We finished our ride in St. Augustine, Florida.  It seemed like the reasonable thing to do since to continue on would have required a sharp right or left hand turn-or a bathing suit.  St. Augustine bills itself as the oldest town in the United States.  This might come as a surprise to some other locals, Old Town, Maine, for instance.  In claiming that mantel they mean: "The oldest town continually occupied by Europeans" but I guess that was too long an explanation to fit on the sign.  Does any history predating the arrival of the folks from Europe really count anyway?

The town is pleasant enough, kind of touristy, but pleasant enough for a couple of days' visit which is what we did before we pointed the nose of the van north for home.  Hey, it's home to Ripley's Believe it or Not.  It can't be all bad!

WOW.
What a wonderful trip.  What a grace to see this country and spend time with old and new friends, family and Bev.  Thanks again to all those who supported us in all the many manners that you have.  Despite some flaws, I remain convinced that this human species is a pretty good lot!         

The end

Give my regards to Louisiana, remember me to old Mississippi

Today we are in Orange Beach, Alabama near the western edge of Florida.  We are staying at a condo on the bay owned by an employee of Rhonda's brother-in-law (the condo, that is, not the bay).  It's beautiful here and we will take a few days off to enjoy.

Ah Mississippi.  The state that has more "s"s than most other states.  (Got it's share of "I"s too)



Here's Ingalls Shipyard.  Most of the Navy's ships are built here or at Bath Iron Works. 

This is Alabama?  Who knew?

 

RURAL LOUISIANA

It's pretty around here, real pretty.  We ride shaded roads past all manner of greenery. 

Louisiana back roads.

A fine ole Louisiana Home

WATER

There's no shortage in these parts.  Forget about the warning signs in California that threatened to have you locked up if you used more than a thimble for a shower.   Like the kind that comes out of the sky for instance.  Remember my post from Deridder (last post)?  Well for twelve hours it just wouldn't quit.  On our next morning's ride we witnessed the result.  We passed flooded homes and swollen streams and woods galore.

Some unhappy campers after the Deridder rains.

Hey, speaking of water, have you ever heard of the Mississippi River?  We went right over the top of the thing (see photo).



Ya gotta get over that river somehow.  This is the Audubon Bridge built in 2012.
Look carefully in the right hand lane and you'll see a couple of campers.  Yup, Bev
and Rhonda just happened to be going by when I snapped this picture, really.



Cool bridge.

And if that wasn't enough, we went on a tour in a swamp boat and communed with the gators, snakes and birds.  It was fun.

Met this fellow in the swamp.

FOOD.  AH, THE FOOD.

We have been eating our way across the south in fine shape.

I love barbecue.  Boy, do I love barbecue and the south has it in spades, especially Texas, but good barbecue abounds throughout.  Debbe and Michael took us out for barbecue in Austin to one of their favorite spots and treated us to the "Cadillac", anything and everything barbecued in an all-you-can- eat bonanza.  I figured with my biking appetite I'd show them a thing or two at the restaurant as to how we Yankees can eat but we didn't even make it through the first serving.  Lots of good barbecue before and after.

Crawdads. Crawfish that is.  Well Louisiana, western Louisiana to be exact, is the crawfish capital of the world.  Now how these little lobsters ever made their way out here is beyond me but they're here aplenty.  It's interesting.   In the winter the farmers flood their fields and grow(?), raise(?), encourage(?)- I don't know, what do you call it when crawfish is your business?  "Howdy stranger, I'm a crawfish poke.  How 'bout yourself?"  Then when the herd is rounded up and driven to market the same fields are used to grow rice.  (Crop rotation?)  How do they round these little babies up?  Believe it or not by pulling nets through the fields with boats.  That's right, boats.  Reminds me of a joke about the guy from the County who went to Old Town to buy a canoe with his tax return.  Well, that's for another time.  In a more simple manner we stopped and spoke with some folks who were gathering them out of a roadside stream with nets on the end of poles.  They didn't seem to be having much trouble filling five gallon buckets to overflowing. 

That ain't no lake.  That there is a crawdad field.



Why not stop beside the road and get a bucket of crawfish?

So the inevitability of the situation was that we needed to get us some crawdads to eat.  We asked around to figure how many were appropriate for a meal.  "I wouldn't bother to sit down to less than five pounds myself."  "Oh lordy, I could eat thirty pounds at a sittin' no problem."  "You best find yourself one of them all ya can eat restaurants, you're gonna want to eat a lot!"  Ok, we were warned and the search was under way. 

"Boiled crawfish" said the sign.  "Sorry, we're all out."  "We won't have any until this afternoon."  "Not today."   "Try Hank's Fish Market on the edge of town".  Yeah, Hank's was there on the edge of town with the boiled crawfish sign with the flashing arrow sign pointing to the shack, neon "Open" sign ablaze in the window and the "Welcome come in" sign on the door.   But Hank was nowhere to be found.  The door was locked.  What was this?  Well, after a week's search we found our boiled crawfish.  Two pounds seemed to be the right amount for Joe and I (Bev and Rhonda refused to eat any of those ugly little things) and it was.  Good? Yeah.  Great?  I'll stick with my lobsters.  

Yup, finally got to try some of these guys.

Seafood Cajun style is just fine by me.  Besides crawfish there's catfish, Gulf fish, shrimp and crab.  And speaking of Cajun, how about some fine jambalaya or some conecuh or andouille sausage.  Why not throw in a little alligator to boot?  I even tried a little Cajun cooking myself one night at the campground with some boiled shrimp.

The Mexican food here is wonderful.  I had my best ever fajitas in New Orleans. 

I've enjoyed it all.


MORE MILES.

Well, the miles roll on.   Only about 500 more left for the trip.  Interestingly, the winds are consistently out of the east.  Who knew? 

I've given up riding my lightweight bike.  The roads are just too difficult for the lightweight tires.  Rough surfaces, some pot holes and when they exist, the shoulders are often littered with any manner of debris from rocks, to sand, to pallets, to truck tires, to lumber of all sizes and sources, to the ever present broken beer bottle, to various car parts, to miscellaneous pieces of steel, to much more I'm sure I'm forgetting.  I've already used up a complete tire repair kit patching tires.  On the ride to Dauphin Island alone I had three flat tires for the day.  The heavier tires on my touring bike are standing up to this abuse.  No flats there yet.

The people we have met have all been wonderful.  All have have been kind, friendly and open minded (and generally with a liberal bent).  In Grand Bay the other day Joe and I were approached by a woman who offered us her unrented apartment for the night.  We stayed with Nella Ruth Rogers at her place on the lake she and her husband had made in the 60's.  At 92 years old she was welcoming and a delight to chat with.  We have also added many more bikers to our collection of "has mets" all kind and engaging.  We have encountered many Trump apologists.  As yet, no vocal supporters although the campaign signs are still flying in this part of the country.

Bev and I drove into Pensacola last night  to meet up with an old and dear friend of our daughter Kim- Taylor Mogul and her boyfriend Kyle.  We had a wonderful meal and a great visit.


NEW ORLEANS.

Camped at Fontainebleau State Park on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain, it was a twenty-three mile trip south straight through the middle of the lake on what I am told is the longest bridge in the world.

The Ponchartrain Bridge.  No right hand turns please.

We presented ourselves in the "Big Easy" the weekend of the French Quarter Festival.  Kind of a mini (although certainly not small) Mardi Gras.  Never out of earshot of  the sound of live jazz or blues, we wandered along the mighty Mississippi  and strolled the French Quarter with an obligatory trip up Bourbon Street.   It was all we expected, complete with bead-draped trees and everything else that would possibly hold a strand. 

Out for a little afternoon cruise on Bourbon Street.

The city boasts the largest World War II Museum in the world.  We spent a full day touring it leaving behind many unseen exhibits.  For a scary look in the mirror go online and view their exhibit about Nazi propaganda and try not to see its shadow in current events.

Lovely, fun, and lively place and we enjoyed ourselves.


DAUPHIN ISLAND.

Our route took us along the Alabama coast to Dauphin Island by way of a several mile long bridge.  The island is a four-mile long sliver of land in the Gulf.  We spent an extra day to enjoy some leisurely biking and some good food.

Shrimp boats on the way into Dauphin Island.

Joe and I left the island by way of ferry. It was not large enough to accommodate the camping trailers, Rhonda and Bev drove around Mobile to meet up with us.



FROM HERE.

One more state to go!

You can swim to Dauphin Island or ride over this baby.

 

That was a big state, y'all

What does Bienvenue mean anyway?  Pedal faster?

In the immortal words of our 35th president: "Today I am a Louisianan".  What?   Oh.  Berliner, Louisianan, what's the difference?  Anyway, Today I am a Louisianan, a DeRidder, Louisianan to be exact.  We are holed up in the camper waiting out a monsoon.  Bummer, you say?  Not so bad.  Try this in a tent for comparison.

Anyway, Louisiana.  To begin with, the folks around these parts sure are friendly.  When we arrived we found the only campground in town full. (Hey, wait a minute, no place to stay, impending storm, this all sounds vaguely familiar.  See Circle, Montana, last bike trip.)  It didn't take long to arrange an impromptu meeting of the townsfolk on the side of the road to find us a place to stay.  So large that we created a traffic jam.  And find us a place they did.  We are still getting calls this morning (the day after) from folks to see if we got settled.

Hey, do they know how to sell insurance in these parts or what?
Do you think they offer ark insurance?  How about Black Plague coverage? 

In DeRidder the churches outnumber the houses and the Baptists have a strong lead.  We did find a Methodist church, however, and enjoyed a nice service this morning.  Everyone, I mean everyone, introduced themselves to us and we made the "Joys and Concerns" as well (as a joy, I think).  

NAVASOTA, TEXAS.

We blew (or rather were blown) (or rather the wind did its best to keep us from reaching) into the little south Texas town of Navasota on Tuesday March 28th.  With only 35 miles beneath our wheels but facing 20 + mph winds, and with the next place to camp another 35 miles we decided to stop.  Rhonda was in need of some emergency dental work and was able to see a dentist in town.  By the time Joe and I arrived Bev and Rhonda had found their way to Classic Rock Coffee Company where Joe and I caught up with them.  The manager, Mandy Lavender, was delightful and helpful and as a "just because gift" gave us a canister of freshly ground coffee.  When in Navasota, Texas stop to enjoy the town and stop in and say hello to Mandy.

Thanks, Mandy

MORE MILES.

With my strength increasing, my knee behaving and the hills disappearing the daily mileage has begun to increase.  I brought two bikes, the touring bike I used for my last ride and my light-weight road bike.  Now that the big hills are now in my rearview mirror my lighter bike is now getting some more consistent use.  Sixty-odd seems to be the new minimum day's ride and I now have a century under my belt (100 mile ride).  Nevertheless the wind has an easterly component almost every day!  It's not supposed to be that way.  Fighting the wind sure gets old quick.

East of Austin things sure are greening up.

So Far

Well, we just spent three delightful days with old friend Debbe Kucaj and her husband Michael Brooks reliving old memories, making new ones and touring the Austin area.  Great friends.  Great hosts. Great weather.  Great city.  Great food.  Great time.

PROGRESS.

Austin marks the mid-point of our trip.  We left home just shy of two months ago on what we expected to be a four month trip and yet it's hard to believe it's already half over.   To get here I've put over 1,000 miles on the odometer and have climbed over 40,000 feet.  I think it's the climb that most surprises me.  My knee is back in order and I bike along now unencumbered by this old bag of muscle and bone.

Now what's with this?  We chose a west to east route for one critical reason:  we are lazy and expected to be swept along by a prevailing west wind.  West wind, where art thou?  I can count on one hand how many days we have had a tail wind and still be left with four extra fingers.  Usually there is a southerly and easterly component to this meteorological phenomenon and when the weather gods offended, straight out of the east.  What's with that?

The roads out here are paved with boulders (see photo).  Some days my hands, arms and shoulders are more sore than my legs.  Road shoulders?  Generally pretty good.  Traffic?  Generally not too bad.  Tired of my complaints?  I just don't want to give the impression that I'm having too much fun.

Come on.  You call that a road?

TEXAS HILL COUNTRY.

In the course of a day's ride we transitioned from desert to the Texas Hill Country.  The change was a welcome one.  It was nice to see trees and grass after a month of sand and scrub.  Only one complaint.  Texas Hill Country is full of hills.   Do something about that Texas and you've got yourself a winner.  The rest of the story I'll tell in photos.

Welcome to Texas Hill Country

Are those Trees?

Gotta be Texas, thems long horns partner

Texas Bluebells

Still pumpen water with old fashion windmills

OH THE PLACES  YOU'LL SEE.

Gila Hot Springs.  Tucked in the Gila Mountains are the Gila hot springs, natural "sweet" springs.   The term sweet is used to indicate that the water doesn't contain sulfer which is often associated with such springs.  Just regular old water.  We camped there on the way to the Gila Cliff Dwellings.  Three pools full of the stuff at a temperature of over 100 degrees awaited the weary cyclist.  I credit the rapid healing of my knee to the magical healing power.  Despite temperatures below 20 degrees at night it was glorious to lay about the pools and stare at the unobstructed night sky.

Hillsboro.  On the other side of Emory Pass we found the town of Hillsboro.  A small town of about 200 full time residents and free camping in the city park.  We made fast friends with a few of the locals.  Gretchen became our official guide letting us in on all the local secrets.  The cafe in town served a great breakfast and I even picked up a new Maine joke courtesy of a transplant from New Hampshire.

When in Hillsboro don't forget to stop at the only café in town

Las Cruces.  Great little town in New Mexico.  Visited the weekly street market on Main Street, enjoyed a local pub and some great pizza.  The folks at the local Chevy dealer accommodated to get the van in for an oil change.

Marfa.  Famous for the "Marfa Lights".  Mysterious lights in the desert no one can figure out.  Come on kids- put away the flashlights!  Famous for the filming of the movie Giant.  And now famous for being famous.

When in Marfa be sure to stay in the tee-pee.

Hatch.  World chili capital of the world?

Are you feeling chili?

(sorry, couldn't get my pictures up for the other towns.)

and so many others.

THANKS.

Here's a note of appreciation to all that are looking after things at home.  Thanks, Paul for keeping an eye on things at the house. Thanks, Peg and Becky for all you're doing in the wake of Jim's death. Thanks Doug for getting our furniture delivered.  Thanks, Ed and Paul for your trip up from New Jersey to see Mom.  And, of course, thanks to Bill and Lee.  Thanks Bill for getting us on the road with the camper and thanks Lee for your kind attention to Jim, he really enjoyed your visits.   Thanks all for your phone calls.

Goodbye New Mexico

OVER THE TOP.
Emory Pass stands 8,228 feet high in the Rocky Mountains.  It also stands between the west coast and the east coast in the path of someone trying to ride a bicycle between the two.  What to do?  Bicycle over it of course.  The climb from San Lorenzo, the starting point for the day's ride, is a little more than 3,000 feet.  Nothing to sneeze at but still not the biggest daily climb of the trip so far. That honor is still held by our second day's climb of over 3,400 feet up to Julian, California.

Now Mount Everest, after a little tiff between China and Nepal, stands at an official height of 29,029 feet.  So you say, big deal, Emory Pass is puny in comparison.  Indeed, but get this:  the climb up Everest from the base is 15,620 feet. Ok, still nearly twice the height of Emory Pass.  But get this: by the time I reached the peak of the pass I had climbed 20,957 feet.  Simple math to me, I have bicycled more than the equivalent climb up the world's tallest (arguably) mountain, all without the aid of oxygen tanks!  This information is presented not to impress you but rather me.

A picture is worth two words

Here's Joe and Greg on the climb up Emory Pass.  We met Greg at Gila two days before.  He's headed for Florida on the same route we are.

FULL DISCLOSURE.
Ok, ok, you know who you are.  Seems as if I've been getting a few rumblings of late about my "cheating".  Hey, I never promised you a rose garden.  Did I bill this adventure as a ride from the west coast to the east coast?  Well, maybe I did.  But still (my two favorite words in succession in the English language) what I meant was: "I'm going to start riding my bike somewhere near the Pacific Ocean, finish somewhere near the Atlantic Ocean and do some riding in between."  That clear things up?  Want to know what is really happening on this trip?  Read the blog of Rhonda and Joe Thompson who are traveling with us at southernbiketour.wordpress.com.


HOME SWEET HOME.
Well, yeah, I do miss home.  I've been on the road now for six weeks.  But that's not what I came here to talk about.  I came to talk about other people's homes.

The folks around these parts have been building cave dwellings for quite some time.  Spend a little time around here and you begin to understand why.  What else are you going to do, build a house out of cactus?  In Tonto Basin the Salado people built a nice little community overlooking what is now Roosevelt Lake.  Apparently they cut out of town some 600 years ago.  Too bad.  Imagine what that real estate would have been worth after they made the lake.

A little further down the road (east, that is) the Mogollons decided to try their luck at cave dwelling building in Gila.  An impressive collection of dwellings exist on this site as well, although the Mogollons also took off long before they had an opportunity to meet Chris Columbus.  Rumor is that they were headed to Las Vegas to open a casino.  Remember, they didn't have cars so it would have taken them a while to get there.

Not much for paint or siding but here's a view of the Gila Cliff dwellings

Here's Bev checking out a loft apartment for rent

Found this inscription in the caves at Gila.  Jim- your attempt to say hi?

On a little more recent note, Frank Lloyd Lincoln Wright decided to try his hand at building in the desert.  We visited Taliesin West on the east side of Phoenix.  Why such a strange name?  Easy, someone else had already built a house in Wisconsin and named it Taliesin.  That someone was Frank Lloyd Lincoln Wright.  Go figure.   Anyway, Taliesin West was his attempt at a house/school/guest house.  Typical F. L. L. W.  Organic materials and a reflection of the surrounding country.  If you like F. L. L. W. architecture you will like Taliesin West.  Now about the man.  From all accounts Mr. Wright (ironic) thought quite a lot of himself and his ideas.  Seems as if these days I have less patience for people with over-inflated egos.

Here's Frankie's place

This is a vast, varied and beautiful country and I am blessed to have had a chance to see a portion of it.  But I am equally blessed to live where I do, in my experience and mind, one of the nicest places that this country has to offer.

THOSE CAVERNS ARE NOT BAD CARL.
Wow.  We took a side trip by automobile to Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico.  Wow.  Neither words nor photographs come close to describing/depicting the caverns.  That, of course, will not impede me in the least from attempting to do so.  To walk down 800 feet into the earth and view the vast caves, the stalactites and stalagmites, is an otherworldly experience.

Here's the entrance to Carlsbad Cavern.  The rest of my pics just don't do justice.  It's well worth checking this out on the internet or some other source if you haven't had the opportunity to visit. 

We returned to view the nightly exodus of the cave bats.  Wow.  Thousands upon thousands of bats leave the cave entrance, swirl around and head off for parts unknown for their evening meal leaving what looks to be a black contrail as far as the eye can see.

Get out you Weekly Reader from fourth grade or go on line to really find out what this place is about.

We are in Marathon (pronounced "Marathon"), Texas today.  Stay tuned.

And another one down, another one down, another one bites . . . .

Yup, that's right, two states are now history.  Tonight we are in Lordsburg, New Mexico.  When last I left you, dear readers, we were in Phoenix, Arizona.  A lot has happened since then, let me tell you:




Wow, sure is steep in New Mexico 

OLD MAN SYNDROME.
Ok, so I'll start with a bit of a confessional/excuse/lament.  I had the bright idea of not bothering to train for this ride.  "I'll build as I go" says I to myself.  Well sore muscles are one thing, pulled tendons quite another.  I put enough strain on my right knee during the first two days of climb to tear the ligaments and leave me with tendonitis.  Oops.  As a result I have had to back off of my riding schedule; more days off than we had planned and two days of catching a ride with Bev as Joe rode the mileage. Oops.  I'm back on the bike again but for the time being I'm trying to limit my daily miles to 40.

APACHE JUNCTION.
Anybody seen Jacob Walsh (The Lost Dutchman) of late?  Seems as if old Jacob hit it rich with a gold strike in Apache Junction only to have the location of his strike lost to history.  Folks are still poking around the Superstition Mountains for some trace.  Turns out the real strike is the drop dead beauty of this place.  We spent a couple of nights (a couple thanks to my knee) in the Lost Dutchman State Park in the shadow of the mountains.  Beautiful!

Ah, home away from home parked beneath the Superstition Mountains.
Bev climbed these by the way.

DAM.
Ok, I got to use that joke after all.  Roosevelt Dam sits in the Tonto Basin and plays havoc with the flow of the Salt Creek and a number of other creeks flowing down from the Sierra Ancha.  It's quite a sight.  A Hoover Dam in miniature, but not that miniature.

Roosevelt Dam

Roosevelt Lake Bridge is the longest two lane single span steel-arch bridge in North America 

What happens when you tell a river that it can't flow to the ocean?  It creates a lake of course.  In this case, Roosevelt Lake (go figure).  We camped beside Roosevelt for a couple of nights (a couple thanks to my knee) in the Tonto National Forest.  Beautiful!

POW-WOW, WOW.
We rode through the San Carlos Apache Reservation on the weekend that the Apache Nation was having its annual pow-wow.  The various Apache tribes send a delegation for the event.  We were there for the opening ceremony.  I felt honored to have the opportunity to be there.

NEW FRIENDS.
In the sleepy town of Duncan, Arizona we stopped to talk to Mike who was parked in "Hilda's" enjoying lunch.  Mike's bike was parked outside the restaurant loaded like he was on some kind of bike tour.  Turns out he was.  Mike is riding from San Diego to St. Augustine.  Go figure.   As we chatted, along came Bruce and Paul on their bikes loaded like they were on some kind of bike tour.  Turns out they were.  Bruce and Paul are riding from St. Augustine to San Diego.  Go figure.  (We stopped early in Duncan thanks to my knee.)

The good folks in Duncan allow campers to stay free of charge in the town park.  Rhonda cooked a full meal for all seven of us.  Believe me, bicyclists that have been on the road for a while can eat!  We talked late into the night like old friends and parted the next day with the hope that we may meet again.   

UP.
There's been plenty of climbing to get here but tomorrow the climb starts in earnest.  Stay tuned.

A fond farewell

HAPPY TRAVELS, JIM.

On March 2nd my good friend Jim Bull passed peacefully to begin his next adventure.  He was ninety-five years old.

Jim was a real outdoorsman.  He loved to camp, boat, hunt, and above all else fish.  He could spin tales hours upon hours of the many adventures he had enjoyed, always humble, never boastful.  "Ya know that guy really knew how to hunt."  "Boy could that guy fish."  Although I suspect I most cases it was Jim who was the real expert in the party.  He and I enjoyed not enough fishing time and he patiently taught me to fly fish, he the better teacher than I the student.

Jim was what I hope to be in growing old: graceful.  I suspect that the more active a life one leads the more difficult it must be to accept the inevitable limits imposed by age.  But from Jim I heard nothing but an honest acceptance.  "You know John I really miss fly fishing but it's time to give it up." 

One day when we were fishing the shores of Green Lake Jim offered up this sage observation:  "Ya know, life is a lot like fishing.  The people on the shore are trying to cast their lures out to where the boats are and the people in the boats are trying to cast in to the shore and nobody really knows where the fish really are."

Jim died on my fifty-ninth birthday.  For the rest of my years that will make the day all the more meaningful for me.  In the meantime, before we have a chance to dip a line again together, dear Lord please make sure the lakes and streams of heaven are well stocked.

California Dreaming

Time to report the first milestone:  one state down.  Today we are in Phoenix, Arizona and California is now nothing but a sweet memory.

THAT'S SOME HILL.  Well the first two days treated us to a climb of 5,124 feet in 39 miles.  That's a climb that my poor legs were not prepared for and it didn't take long for me to find myself in my lowest gear huffing and puffing.  At the top of that hill is the pretty little town of Julian, a busy tourist town famous for, among other things, its pies.  Sorry no pictures.  I was so tired by the time I got there that I didn't have the energy to get my camera out.  Really.  On the way up we biked through lush mountain valleys.  The moment we began our decent we were in the desert.  The ride back down through the mountain switch-backs was one of the most spectacular that I have ever had.  Again, sorry no pictures, the road was too narrow and twisty to stop.

view on the ride up to Julian

          What's the last thing you want to see when making a climb?  A down hill, that's what.
          How's that?  Well, every foot down, is another foot to be re-climbed.  Give me
          straight up please. 

"Now on to the desert we did glide, flying low and flying wide."

THE LOW DESERT.    On the other side of Julian we were below sea level.  As far as the eye could see is brown, sand and scrub.  Brown that is except for the miracle of irrigation.  Then it's green, green, green to the horizon.  In Westmorland it was green to the horizon.  The day we rode through they were harvesting carrots, lots and lots of carrots, truckloads of carrots, iceberg lettuce and broccoli.  I'll have a new appreciation when I reach for a bunch in the grocery store after seeing the workers out in the field in the hot sun bent over harvesting for what was no doubt the day.  And yet they had the extra energy and spirit to wave and shout us a hello as we rode by.  I couldn't help but recognize how privileged I am. 

Beauty in its starkness

Sandy, Baby

 

 



Pickin' in the fields

What do you do in the desert for fun?  How about ride around in dune buggies (Imperial Sand Dunes Recreation Area), film movies (ever hear of a little flick called "Star Wars"?  Does the name Tatooine ring a bell?), and drop some bombs (U.S. Naval Reservation Aerial Gunnery Range).

Boom!

THE HIGH DESERT.  After climbing to about 2,000 feet the completion of the landscape changes dramatically.  Barren sand and scrub gives way to greener plants and cactus.  This is Ponderosa country and I expect to see Hoss and Little Joe appear around the corner at any moment.

Little Joe, where are you?

seems as if the folks out here have a sense of humor

so don't the folks in Hope, Arizona

What's the first week of riding been like?  Well, after the initial climb I'm thinking that perhaps a little conditioning before the ride might have been a good idea after all. I think I was a little too cavalier after my last ride.  My legs hurt, I mean hurt.  I have a little saddle soreness, but really not as much as I expected.  I'm dealing with a few minor issues, a bee sting and sunburn.  Dehydration is a major concern.  On one day's ride of 50 miles there was no place to replenish water.  I foolishly only filled two of my three bottles and ran dry in the almost 80 degree temperature.  Near the end of the ride the effects of dehydration were setting in, weakness and headache.  I haven't made that mistake again.  Still, it's amazing to see the body at work.  My hunger is full on.  All local horses have been warned to stay clear.  Already I can feel my mussels growing stronger (through the pain).  We have several 50 + mile days behind us and I suspect it won't be long before I am posting a milestone of my first century ride (100 miles that is).

With, perhaps, a tenth of the ride under my belt there is sure to be much more adventure to come.  Stay tuned.