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.