[Note to Reader: This is a never before published account of the first half of our third day on the road from Coolidge to Gila Bend, Arizona.]
Monday, March 26, 2012
5:30 am.
Coolidge AZ
Got up well rested at five thirty so as to ice my knees before our official rise and shine at six thirty. So that's what I am doing right now.
I believe I have a swollen tendon or tendons on the backside of my left knee. Probably the result of overuse.(Duh. Do ya think?) I had a very similar condition with my Achilles heel about a year ago. It responded well to a few icings one night and was good to go next morning. I'm hoping for the same today.
I am also getting a slight pain in the front of my right knee. Icing that as well. Interesting that my knees did
not give me this kind of trouble when training for this ride. It seems like distances over 60 to 70 km invite these pains.
Yesterday afternoon just a few kilometeres from here Mark wondered if my elastic knee braces that I wore on both knees might be part of the problem. I have been wearing these for over a year when biking.I took them both off yesterday and started pedaling. Pain in both knees immediately decreased, almost disappeared. Perhaps I needed them at one time when my knees were weak, but not now.
6:10 am
One more icing of the knee then it is get dressed and checkout of the illustrious Moonlight Motel and head to Sonic Burger for breakfast. We have 126 km (78 miles) of pedaling before reaching our destination of Gila Bend this afternoon.
A nice feature of today is that we are far from the interstate highway and on less traveled secondary roads.
7:30 am
On the road heading northwest out of Coolidge AZ. Lots of morning traffic to share the two lane road with. The morning car commuters obviously assume Mark and I have excellent medical and life insurance. They don't surrender much road to us.
8:30 am
We survived the morning rush hour around Coolidge and are now pedaling across the desert.
We are entering into Scanton, a town on Gila River Indian Reservation. Lots of curious, theoretically domesticated dogs with yet indiscernible attitudes and intentions are taking interest in us; meaning, they decide to step off of the properties where they belong to check us out.
Apparently we are interesting enough to warrant closer investigation (much like a hungry person checking out a menu). Within the next 10 minutes, three groups consisting of about a half a dozen dogs each, give chase.
The first chase begins.
Mark is in the lead, about 50 yards ahead of me. They see him first and immediately give him chase. Mark can, if properly motivated, ride fast. He is motivated at this moment. He rides fast. So fast that the dogs give up the chase and stand in the middle of the street and watch him disappear down the road.
This is all good for Mark. But it creates a very challenging situation for me. The dogs have focused all their attention on Mark. They don't even know I exist. But they are about to meet me because I am approaching them rapidly from their rear and will soon be barreling into the middle of their pack.
So now I find myself driving into a cluster of territorially sensitive canines who are already offended by Mark's successful escape and still drooling with resentment over the tasty loss of a chunk of his meaty butt.
I would normally be terrified in such a scenario, but not today. Why? Because Marks sister-in-law Barb has equipped us with a spray can of "Dog Shield" dog deterrent. (Faithful Readers of my previous biking escapades know the terror that dogs generate in my cycling life.)
One thing is certain; I am about to plunge myself into a pack of Native American Dogs who have many reasons to balance out the scales of pain and injustice with a North American White Man.
One thing is uncertain; does this anti-doggie repellant actually work? I've never yet "pulled my gun in the line of duty," so to speak.
Well, before I can say,"Purina Dog Chow gives you bad breath," my mechanical horse, Desert Rose, and I penetrate the cluster of now surprised Canines. They stand amazed that I have inserted myself so forcefully into their culture. But with the speed of a 8 year old boy with ADHD in math class, they shift their attention to me. I actually hear them sing a chorus of a modified version of the Kentucky Fried Chicken jingle that references an Arizona Desert Crispy Fried Cyclist with tasty sunscreen sauce on his side.
In perhaps one of my greatest acts of faith ever, while not breaking pedal stride, I smoothly draw my weapon, release the safety (No joke. It has a safety switch.), press the spray applicator, and with a graceful circular motion release a gentle mist of almost invisible cloud into the narrow air space between myself and my almost certain to be at any moment attackers.
The effect is stunning. Faster then a teenager asked to clean his room, they all instantly retreat about 20 feet from me.
But with great power comes great responsibility, so says Peter Parker's Grandfather.
But I say, with great power comes great opportunity to pay back the Legions of Dogs that have haunted my cycling life for the past two years.
So with my best Clint Eastwood squint, I raise my spray bottle of Doggie Nightmare, and point it directly at the Leader of the Pack. And I say to him, "Well, Punk, I know what you're thinking. Did he shoot 5 shots, or 6? What was it? Do ya feel lucky today, Punk? Do ya?"
But I made my point and had no big ego requiring me to hang around and accept my well deserved Academy Award for Best Performance of An Amateur Impersonating A Real Professional Actor.
I bolt away leaving the dogs smelling something that will make them reflect on this day and this experience for a long time.
We repeat this Bro Mark as bait and I follow up the crowd he creates scenario. We obviously live to tell the story.
Speaking of experiences, it is not even noon yet, and Bro Mark and I are about to experience a mishap that will change our entire day and create our second (only by a few kilometers) longest day of the whole trip.
More on the second half of this very long day in Part 2 of Day 3, coming soon to this blog.
Epilogue: I have nominated Barb as the Patron Saint of Cyclists with Dog Phobias. The road to canonization is a challenging one. But I do believe she has a shot at it. (The biggest challenge between her and sainthood is that I don't think she is Catholic.)
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