Day Fifteen: Grinding It Out

Day Fifteen: Grinding It Out

Miles: 60.4

Climb: 1432

Ave. spd.: 9.5 mph

Total miles so far:  651.61

Coyotes yip and howl beyond the acacia screen to the south.  To the east, down the hill, a freight train groans upstate. Noisier than I’d like, but this funky camp behind a saloon and restaurant will do the trick.  I had no idea I’d end up here when I started out, which is often how the touring game is played.

Forty-one degrees F. and damp when I clawed through the nylon door of my little tent at 5AM.  A perfect crescent moon hung low in the sky, a blazing planet keeping it company. Venus, right?  I crunched out the gravel drive of the KOA shortly before 7AM, the shadows long. Today, I knew I had a shoulder most of the way, so I could relax, especially since Rt. 60 is not a heavy trucking route.  The big challenge today was just keeping the motivation going as in almost sixty miles there would be about four turns.

Some agriculture appeared to the north, and tell-tale tufts of cotton on the road suggested the crop.  To the south, creosote, cacti, and steep mountain ridges. Salome seemed dead or in hospice care, the RV parks barely holding it up.  I could find no general store, just lots of blistered paint and some shuttered businesses. Further down the line, Wenden had some life--a neat coffee shop and artists’ square.  I hope it can hang on. Beyond Wenden, the only development until Aquila was a couple of RV parks.

I need to research the numbers, the economics of the snowbird/RV’er phenomenon in Arizona.  It is truly staggering. Refugees from Washington, Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming and elsewhere come flooding in.  Near towns, many open plots of land are scattered with RV’s and fifth wheels. Quartzite is the king, of course, with thousands converging there every winter, a veritable ocean of RV’s.  This is all negatively impacting bike touring, of course. With so few road choices across vast tracts of land, all the traffic gets concentrated. No bueno.

Still, Rt. 60 was a huge improvement over 95 and 72 of the day before, so I cranked out the miles, breaking at the end of 10, then 20 miles, but a little more frequently thereafter as I developed an aching IT band and left hip.  Need to work on that. The shoulder, while wide, became cracked and littered with gravel after the first 8 or 10 miles, so I rode in the traffic lane, watched my mirrors, and bounced over to the shoulder when necessary. Occasionally, I’d just let the driver take the other lane because the traffic was so light.  

At 40 miles in, I broke for lunch, peeled off my top layers, and basked in the perfectly warm late January sun.  The temperature was ideal--Goldilocks’ temps.

The chip seal began to sap my motivation, but I slogged on, mile after mile, breaking now and then to stretch and cool, able now to enjoy the huge saguaro cacti and the fearsome cholla.  Puffy white clouds drifted lazily across a sky of deep blue. This was perhaps the finest day of the tour.

With virtually no downhill runs but a few moments before and after Congress, every mile was earned by the spinning of the pedals, another six hour spin class.  I imagined for a time I might take on the big grade to Yarnell, but as I finally made Congress, that was no longer on the menu. I needed to stop pedaling, and the first big grade looked like a two hour job, and eight hours tied to the mast didn’t seem worth it.

A few groceries then up towards the mountain to get some water at the Arrowhead Bar and Grill.  There I met friendly people who were eager to help. As a young man filled my water bag from the bar, I told him about my journey, and Chris, who turned out to be the owner, was really excited about it, wishing the regular bartender, who is a cycling nut, was there to see me.  I showed Chris my weird trike to good effect, and as I described my plan to ride up and find a place to camp, He quickly offered me the back property behind the restaurant. Done! He walked me around the back, down between some abandoned cars and long out of service trailers, and there I pitched camp.

So here I sit in the dark with a good threat of rain for tomorrow.  A week out, forecasters had been pegging the chance of rain at 100%, but now it’s down to scattered showers, starting late morning and backing off in the afternoon, about 40%.  The ride could get interesting, but I’ll take this change. I had been obsessing about the forecast, looking at that 100% number like a man going to his doom. Well, the only gear I’ve carried that I haven’t used is an extra pair of cycling shorts and my rain gear. Time to check off one more item. I’ve rigged the panniers for rain, put the seat cover on. I’m ready.

So I’ve had my last meal of the tour, pitched my last camp, and a ride of nearly 700 miles will end tomorrow with over 4,000 ft. of climbing, my biggest day.  End it with a bang--or a squishy, cold crank. I’ve got plastic bags for feet and hands and rain gear to cover everything else. I’ll get through. No choice.