In a rare development, I do not have to head to my office today until 11:30 am. This means I have time for more than a 30 minute ride today. I wake up at 5 am anticipating this.
But what I saw out the window was significant. While the sunset was coming up bright red in the east, there was a thick darkness to the west over Lake Huron. It looked like severe weather. My weather app confirmed this. 40% chance of Thunderstorms this morning. But this sure looked like more than 40% chance.
The air was thick. The weather app indicated at 95% humidity and a temperature of 77 deg F (high 20's C). I'm sure the humidex reading would place the temp in the plus 80's F. The humidity was so high, you could actually see a mist in the air.
But not wanting to get wet, I decided to cook my oatmeal and enjoy my morning tea and just wait and see what the weather would do.
My patience paid off. The dark cloud over the Lake dissipated as the sun rose. But so did the heat and humidity. But I told myself, "If you are going to ride across Arizona in September with temps approaching 100 deg F, you'd better get use to riding around in these temps."
So I loaded up 3 bottles of Powerade and one bottle of water. Lathered on the sunscreen and checked my tire pressure.
At 6:50 am I was pedaling out the lane-way and down the road, for about one minute. That's when I realized my old, crippled, and mostly deaf dog, named Bear, was trying to follow me. Twelve years ago, Bear and I used to jog together. We both loved it. But Bear's jogging or sidewalking while I cycle days, are over. Unfortunately, she doesn't know or believe that. I had thought I had slipped away unnoticed today. Obviously not.
So I turn around and Bear gladly follows me home (She gladly follows me anywhere). Once I got her back home, I parked her on the porch, asking her to stay put. She probably wouldn't have. But by this time Debbie is up and volunteers to sit on the porch with Bear until I am out of sight. Once I am out of sight, Bear usually falls asleep and forgets I even exist.
So now I am on the road, again, and heading down the 10 kms towards the Lake, on a Mission. I want to get on that walking/bike path I found on the shore the other day and see how far south it extends.
I find the path about 30 minutes later. I follow it only to find out that it is very short and doesn't really afford me a practical alternative to enjoy an "on the waterfront" ride.
But I still have lots of time. So I head south for about 20 minutes and pick up a road that heads inland. I am making a large loop through the countryside that will end back at my home.
The temperature and humidity are almost oppressive. I'm not complaining. I like the heat, sort of. I just think about how cold I was in January. But I make a conscious decision not to push it very hard. Thus I will end my trip with an average speed of 16.9 kph (10.4 mph).
I take a picture of a school house converted to a cottage. (See posting with the pictures for today).
About an hour and fifteen minutes into the ride, I approach a site where a large white "husky type" dog lives. He surprised and pursued me here several weeks ago. Today he pursues me, but doesn't surprise me. I have my can of spray deodorant, my make-do substitution for the real "Dog Repellant" Spray I used in Arizona last March. (It is illegal to import or buy dog repellant in Canada. So deodorant will have to do. I haven't actually had to use in on a dog. But I sure feel better just holding it in my hand. I probably need some therapy regarding this.)
I see the dog, who is very old, but determined, jump up and head out for me as I pass his home. My reflex reaction is to push on the pedals. I don't know how fast I went, but my heart rate went from 106 to 146 bpm in less than 5 seconds. I consider this my cardio workout for the day.
I believe this dog belongs to the Pastor of the church next to the house from which it launches itself at me. If that is true, I would think the dog would be a good Christian dog and not try to scare the hell out of innocent cyclists. But then again, maybe that's what a good fundamentalist Christian dog would do :-)
I pedal home without further incident. I've spent 2 hours and 30 minutes out and about. I've spent 2 hours and 23 minutes in my bike seat. I've pedaled 37.2 km (23 miles).
It is about 9 am in the morning and I am ready for a long, cool shower.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
July 4th Ride Photos
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| Gazing west across Lake Huron. Somewhere way out there is Northern Michigan. |
 | ||||
| This charming cottage was originally a one room school built in 1879. About 50 students in Grades 1 through 8 would have attended. There are many many of these schools all over rural Ontario. Many were in use into the late 1960's. I actually know a few people may age who attended such a school. But in the late 60's they started busing the kids into the "town schools." At that time many of these schools went up for sale and were bought at an extremely low price. Many of them have renovated into these beautiful cottages or homes. |
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Day 3 (Part 1) of the Big de Anza Bike Ride In Which Brothers Mark and Kent Learn How to Defend Themselves Against A Slightly Wild Pack of Dogs
[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.)
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.)
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Remembering Day Two of the Big Ride Along the De Anza Trail
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| Most of Day 2 Finds Us Riding On A Service Road. The Interstate Highway 10 on our left. Trains and train tracks on our right. |
We got up and walked about five minutes to the nearby Denny's Restaurant. We each ate a good sized American Breakfast. One of the nice perks about this type of intensive bike touring is that you can pretty much eat anything you want and not gain any weight! Between water loss and caloric burn, you actually get a little skinny.
The day was overcast. A very unusual condition here in Arizona. But it was still warm. Temps in the 80's F (high 20's C).
Much of our day we travel along side US Interstate Highway 10, a four to six lane superhighway. We are mostly on a two lane service road that parallels the Interstate. Sections of it are rather bumpy. But not a terrible surface on which to travel. About 4 freight trains past by on the rails on the other side of our service road.
We enjoy a high carb lunch of burgers and fries and large cold drinks at Dairy Queen. By lunch time my headache has dissipated and I'm feeling much better.
 | |
| Unique Decor at Dairy Queen Restaurant & Tourist Trap |
The last hour or so of our day we leave the Interstate Highway and travel a smaller state highway through some highly irrigated farm land. I'm not sure what the small plant I see for as far as I can see might be. But I am amazed at how water transforms this desert into a garden.
My right knee is giving me problems near the end of our 90 km (56.5 mile) day. This knee issue will bug me daily. It will see lots of ice every evening.
Six hours and 45 minutes from the time we left north Tucson we arrive at our humble motel.
 |
| Our Economical and Clean Motel |
Amazingly enough, we still have a little bit of energy left. We actually walk, which actually feels really good after sitting in a bike seat for almost five hours, to an amazing historical location, the Casa Grande Ruins.
These ruins are of the same mystery and caliber as those of Stonehenge. They are thousands of years old. No one knows hardly anything about who built the main structure and the surrounding village.
 |
| I think it fascinating that Captain De Anza stood at this same place over 200 years ago and was asking himself the same questions I am asking myself. One difference: He didn't have to pay to see the Ruins :-) |
No one knows exactly what purpose the very astronomically and technically designed building served. I'd encourage you to Google it.
 |
| The building has many rooms. (The steel roof was built in the 1930's to protect the mud-like material of the Ruins from deteriorating.) Portals are located with engineered precision to catch the sunlight and track and record the solar calendar. Some think the Ruins were a place with great importance to the political, economic, and spiritual understands of the people it served. Interestingly, no one knows exactly who these people were, or what happened to them. A common theme regarding the ancient peoples who called this desert their home. |
After our delightful sunset tour of the Ruins, we crossed the road to another American Institution of of the Southwest -- the Sonic Drive In Restaurant. But for us it was a walk in. Our server wore roller skates. I love the way we eat and the food we eat on these trips!
On our way back to the motel we purchased PowerAde and Gator Aid for tomorrow.
Back at the motel, I iced my knees and slept soundly.
Remember Day One of Our Big De Anza Ride
 |
| Artist Rendering of Captain De Anza and His Expedition Departing From Tubac in 1775 |
[Special Note to Readers: This blog is a bit retrospective. In late March and early April, Brother Mark and I traveled about 600 km from Tubac, Arizona (just south of Tucson and just north of the Mexican border) Ocotillo, California. We posted much of this ride on our Facebook page, "Shelley Brothers Cycling Adventures." But I didn't get around, until now, to presenting a more comprehensive blogging of the trip. So here is Day One of the big ride.]
Day 1 March 24, 2012, Saturday, Tubac Presideo, Arizona.
6:20 am
Woke up feeling very well rested. Alarm set for 7:30, but I am first awake and up.
Mark prepared nice route chats/maps for each day and I have been reviewing them.
7 am
Made myself cup of free trade tea with cane sugar and coffee mate. I feel well rested and am excited about trip.
Very glad we took the time to pack last night. Our plan is to eat at local deli for breakfast. Need to buy energy drinks at first resupply station (convenience store). We have 103.5 km ahead of us today.
We have a special historical stop at Mission San Xavier, about half way to our destination of the day, the Red Roof Inn, North Tucson.
7:10 am
Mark starting to awaken. Better drink my tea.
7:22 am
Mark up and showering. I am getting on my biker super hero costume (Spandex). The games are about to begin. "May the odds be ever in our favor. "
8:30 am
Breakfast at Tubac deli of egg and cheese bagel, huge cinnamon bun , Dr Pepper.
9:50 am
 |
| Myself and Brother Mark about ready to ride |
 |
| Observation Tower with Hi Tech Equipment operated by California Border Patrol |
Traveling on Service Road paralleling Interstate Highway 19.
As Service Road ends we travel on wide shoulder on the Interstate itself.
When I heard we were going to be using these interstate shoulders periodically throughout our trip, I was a bit apprehensive.
They quickly, however, became a favorite riding surface. They are wide, smooth, and generally clear of debris.
(Often the Service Roads are very rough and bumpy to the point of being very hard on the bum and back and almost unnavigable. )
And even though cars and trucks are flying by us just 8 ft (2.5 meters) away, it is not a real problem.
10:50 am
We arrive in Green Valley, AZ.
(Someone was using a lot of imagination and wishful thinking when they named this place! It isn't very green and not much of a valley. )
We stop at McDonalds for shakes and cheeseburger snack. We're loving' it.
11:10 am
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| Mark by official sign indicating we are on De Anza's Trail |
Our route now takes us away from the Interstate 19 and towards Mission San Xavier. Lots of uphill. As in a couple of hours. And lots of desert vegetation.
This part of the desert has significantly larger plants and bushes then what we will see as we head further north and west.
Much of the landscape we will cover in the days ahead appears barren. But not here. Many beautiful and alien like bushes and almost tree like plants grow here.
Along the two lane road we are steadily climbing are frequent signs warning that it is against the law to abandon your unwanted dog or cat here. Must be a significant problem to receive such attention.
As we approach the Mission we are rewarded with a long and wonderful downhill, no pedaling stretch of road that lasts for about 15 minutes. A wonderful rest for my legs and chance to cool off a bit.
The temp is now in the high 80's F (20's C).
1:30 pm
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| Mission San Xavier |
We ponder taking a tour of the Mission. But not for long. We are hot and tired and still a long way from our motel.
3:20 pm
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| Really Looks Like I Need A Cool Swim! |
Unfortunately Mark is somewhere ahead of me and out of sight. He has the tire repair kit on his bike.
His phone is turned off too. I just start walking believing he will eventually miss me.
This walking would not be a big deal. My bum is actually grateful. Except it is 45 deg C (90ish F) and I am getting way too hot.
(It is actually a little cooler riding at these temps. The self propulsion creates a cooling wind effect.)
4:10 pm
I've been walking for almost an hour.
Mark back tracks and finds me and we do a quick and easy tube replacement.
4:40 pm
We arrive at the Red Roof Inn, North Tucson, Arizona.
Mark checks us in.
We load our bikes in the elevator and head to our room.
5:00 pm
A highlight of our day. We dive into the motel pool and cool off.
Unfortunately I have a significant headache. Probably a combination of too much heat and lack of sleep related to my air travel and jet lag.
6:00 pm
An all American dining experience at Denny's Resturant.
8 pm
Resting. Icing knees. Connecting with home and the world through the magic of the Internet.
10 pm
Lights out. Restless sleep. Head hurts.
Canada Day Ride July 1, 2012
Up at 5:15 am just before the sun breaks the horizon.
Quick breakfast of oatmeal and tea. Being as quiet as I can so as not to disturb my daughter who is sleeping on the living room couch because her attic bedroom was too hot last night.
Pedaled down our lane way at 6:15.
My plan is to do a big 3 hour loop which will take me southwest to the waterfront town Kincardine, then north along the Lake Huron shoreline to the waterfront cottage community/village of Inverhuron, then east and inland past the town of Tiverton, back to my home in the countryside.
The morning was surprisingly cool, especially considering the hot day we had yesterday.
But the coolness quickly vanished within the hour. Our typically hot and humid July weather claimed the day. But at no time on this ride was the heat oppressive.
Just as I was leaving Kincardine, I came upon a small turtle bravely attempting to cross the road.
I stopped my bike in the middle of the road and waved my arms stopping traffic in both directions.
Some motorists applauded me made strange gestures with their fingers. But the turtle crossed safely.
I'm glad I'm pretty much past those years of one's life where you actually care what other people think of you :-)
A few Kms down the road, along the shore line, I noticed a pathway leading down to a little park by the rocky beach. I thought it looked like a good photo opt. So I followed.
It was a good photo opt. But it was also a moment of discovery.
I found a simple, well maintained, hard packed trail stretching out in both directions further than I could see, following the shoreline as far as I could see.
Though I have biked this area many times over the past two years, I had no idea such a trail existed.
So I followed the trail north, the direction of my travel. It reconnected with my paved shore road in about 15 minutes. I will return here soon and take the trail as far south as I can.
Three hours and 23 minutes, and 48 km (29.7 mi) later I returned home. I averaged 16 kph (9.9 mph).
My heart rate only exceeded 100 bpm once. That was while going up the final 10 km incline away from the lake to my home. This was a fun ride. Not a cardio workout!
Thanks for sharing the adventure with me today.
And Happy Birthday Canada!
(17 years ago today I became a Canadian. I am so grateful to call this land my home.)
Quick breakfast of oatmeal and tea. Being as quiet as I can so as not to disturb my daughter who is sleeping on the living room couch because her attic bedroom was too hot last night.
Pedaled down our lane way at 6:15.
My plan is to do a big 3 hour loop which will take me southwest to the waterfront town Kincardine, then north along the Lake Huron shoreline to the waterfront cottage community/village of Inverhuron, then east and inland past the town of Tiverton, back to my home in the countryside.
The morning was surprisingly cool, especially considering the hot day we had yesterday.
But the coolness quickly vanished within the hour. Our typically hot and humid July weather claimed the day. But at no time on this ride was the heat oppressive.
Just as I was leaving Kincardine, I came upon a small turtle bravely attempting to cross the road.
I stopped my bike in the middle of the road and waved my arms stopping traffic in both directions.
Some motorists applauded me made strange gestures with their fingers. But the turtle crossed safely.
I'm glad I'm pretty much past those years of one's life where you actually care what other people think of you :-)
A few Kms down the road, along the shore line, I noticed a pathway leading down to a little park by the rocky beach. I thought it looked like a good photo opt. So I followed.
It was a good photo opt. But it was also a moment of discovery.
I found a simple, well maintained, hard packed trail stretching out in both directions further than I could see, following the shoreline as far as I could see.
Though I have biked this area many times over the past two years, I had no idea such a trail existed.
So I followed the trail north, the direction of my travel. It reconnected with my paved shore road in about 15 minutes. I will return here soon and take the trail as far south as I can.
Three hours and 23 minutes, and 48 km (29.7 mi) later I returned home. I averaged 16 kph (9.9 mph).
My heart rate only exceeded 100 bpm once. That was while going up the final 10 km incline away from the lake to my home. This was a fun ride. Not a cardio workout!
Thanks for sharing the adventure with me today.
And Happy Birthday Canada!
(17 years ago today I became a Canadian. I am so grateful to call this land my home.)
Saturday, April 7, 2012
A Ride After the Big Ride
Dear Readers:
Just got back home to Canada a few hours ago.
It is my goal in the near future to post blogs for each day of our Big Ride.
While on the plane and bus today I wrote of this post about a day ride Bro Mark and I took just this past Wednesday.
I share it with you now for your reading pleasure, I hope :-)
Will endeavor to get postings on the Big Ride your way real soon.
If you haven't already been doing so, check out our Facebook page, "Shelley Brothers Cycling Adventures" for some postings and photos related to the 600 km Big Ride across the Sonoran Desert.
Thanks for your patience with the development of these postings.
Here is the most recent day ride we did this week before I headed back home:
April 3, 2012
Prescott, Arizona
It is 9 am and a beautiful day.
We can't resist a beautiful day for a ride. Temp in high 60's F (high teens deg C). Virtually no wind.
The forecast for tomorrow calls for high winds. But we got enough high wind riding last Saturday on our marathon desert sand storm ride from Calixico, California to Ocotillo, California.
So we decide to take off into the mountains for our final Shelley Brothers Cycling Adventure Ride in Arizona for this season.
We make sure our bikes are securely reassembled and seats and handle bars readjusted, etc. (We had to partially disassemble them for the train ride from Los Angeles to Flagstaff last Sunday.)
Then we head out the driveway and up the mountain.
Our route today will take us up the mountain from Prescott, elevation 5,300 feet, to the summit pass, with an elevation of 6,100 feet.
From the summit we will drop to the "high desert" Kirkland Valley. We then cross part of the valley and begin a plus 20 (32 km) mile climb up another side of the mountain back to Prescott. We look forward to some significant up and down hill time today.
We are not disappointed by our first hour and a half of riding. It is all uphill to the summit.
A beautiful ride in the Prescott National Forest. Granite forest floor generously covered by dry fragrant pine needles. We can see the snow line not much higher than we are on the mountains surrounding us.
We are sharing the two lane twisting road with moderate, but not heavy vehicle traffic. Most of the time we have a two or three feet shoulder that creates a reasonable sense of safety.
Most of the autos give us a wide berth. A few transport trucks are illegally using the road. I pull off the shoulder once to give a truck room to get by.
But most of the time the cars are absent and I can hear the wind whispering in the top of the pines. One of my favorite sounds.
This mountain region reminds me of my childhood experiences at a summer camp at Angeles Crest Christian Camp in the mountains east of and high above Los Angeles.
After taking each other's pictures next to the summit marker, we have a brief enjoyable downhill glide.
But it doesn't last long. In order to get to the side of the mountain we want to go down, we push up a few more mountain ridge inclines.
But it is worth it. When we start the real downhill stretch it is delightful.
I do not spin my pedals for a full 15 minutes. And most of this time I am maintaining a speed of over 40 km/hr.
I could go faster, but I really don't have that much faith in these skinny little tires on my bike.
Actually, I do have a lot of confidence in the tires. After all, they have just safely carried me 600 km across one of North America's harshest deserts.
But I have seen just enough gravel deposits on this otherwise very clean road surface to make me cautious.
Bro Mark, however, has greater confidence and better eye sight. For he heads down the mountain disappearing out of sight. Ah, the Remarkable Mark and his Cannondale Bike with carbon fiber, anti-vibration technology. (And not to mention a complete compliment of spokes at this moment in time :-)
At the end of my fifteen minute glide I find myself on the high desert valley floor; on the "flatland" but still rolling gently downhill.
So I place my bike in its highest possible gear and just spin along with the pedals, applying no significant energy or effort into the pedaling process. I am enjoying an effortless speed in excess of 30 km/hr.
Much to my delight, this pleasure continues for another 30 to 45 minutes, rolling my way into the center of this large and sparsely populated valley.
Eventually I reach the junction of the first road we meet since leaving Prescott hours ago. Mark is waiting for me there.
We turn our bikes westward across the valley. Mostly flat terrain interspersed with dips in and out of the "Washes" that make up a standard feature of the Southwest USA Desert.
In about 45 minutes we cross what I assume is the Kirkland River, or Creek. Right next to the dry riverbed and road is a group of about 20 modest trailers.
These trailers appear to contain a large portion of the population of Kirkland.
But one can easily imagine a bygone day in which the river flowed more freely (not drained dry from damming and diversion upstream) and this place was a welcoming Oasis.
Just over the bridge and around the corner from the trailer park we discover a fascinating reality of Kirkland, a real place of living history; The Kirkland Cafe / Bar / Hotel / Arena. (This was a multiple purpose facility before that term was coined.)
Seeing and stepping inside this building constructed in 1923 is like experiencing history, or a deja vu
moment of a previous visit to Knott's Berry Farm.
The lighting, hardwood floor, bar and stools, wood burning stove surrounded by couches and chairs, antlers, country western juke box prompt you to look around for John Wayne and Roy Rodgers.
So Mark and I, not so inconspicuously in our Spandex bike shorts and neon yellow bike shirts (but it doesn't really matter because we are the only customers present at the moment), saddle up to the bar and slide onto bar stools no doubt once graced by an outlaw or country western singer or a person one in the same.
We are hungry and order from the items handwritten and clearly indicated on the chalk board displayed above the beer cooler.
Mark goes for BBQ sandwich and ice tea. Still seeking to satisfy my addiction, I order my vices of Mexican food, a chili burrito to be specific, and a Dr Pepper.
While chewing on these radically overpriced meals at $9.75 each, served on biologically degradable paper plates with bags of potato chips (Ounce for dollar this is one of the most expensive meals I have ever eaten), Bro Mark and I ponder the history of the place in which we now sit.
Way back in the late 1880's a man named Thomas built the Kirkland Bar and Steakhouse. Not only did he provide fluids and protein to the local population, but he also provided a welcomed resting place for travelers on the Wells Fargo Stagecoach route. (Which is the same road we are using today, minus the pavement. How cool is that?!)
A few years later, the Santa Fe railroad laid some track across this valley and stopped here as well; allowing passengers to top off their fluids and get their daily requirement of protein.
In 1923, unfortunately, a Cow protested her obligation to the establishment and kicked over a lantern, or perhaps a match was carelessly flicked, who knows, but the place caught fire and burned.
But these Arizonians are made of tough stuff. They rebuilt.
It is this 1923 building in which we now sit. The stagecoach no longer stops. The train still passes through but the freight doesn't require extra fluids (but I bet the engineer does).
According to the waitress, not many locals frequent the establishment. (I doubt they can afford it.) She says most patrons are people who get lost. I think she is joking, but I am not sure. But getting lost might be the easiest way to find this place. It really isn't on the way to anywhere else.
If you have a bold entrepreneurial spirit, you may want to consider the purchase of this unique establishment. It is for sale. (Story is that owners are turning 70 and want a life for themselves while they still can. )
Refreshed and culturized we head out and down the road.
We ride on relatively level land for about 45 minutes along the lazily bending road following the curves of the riverbed.
It requires no stretch of my imagination to see the Wells Fargo Stage creaking and jostling down this road before automobiles and pavement.
Just about the time my rear hints that a short break would be in order, I come upon the settlement of Skull Valley.
Don't blink. You'll miss it. But more important you'll miss two period unique buildings.
There's the General Store in front of which Mark is eating his ice cream sandwich and I am eating my Mars Bar.
Across the street we see the Gas Station. The pumps are decades older than either of us, but they are still filling tanks. Without any cosmetics, this village crossroad could be a classic TV set for the Walton's. (Google that if it doesn't compute for my younger readers.)
"Skull Valley" is more than just a morbid name. There are hills
covered with thousands of roundish boulders, some about the size of skulls, in the area.
Here's how I think the town got its name:
(Fairness Disclaimer - This explanation is a complete figment of my imagination and almost probably doesn't have any correlation to reality. )
Many years ago, in the early 1800's, there was a very bored cowboy who after overdosing on country western music drunk himself silly on his own homemade distillation of Prickly Pear Cactus Juice.
But on this night he not only possessed a chemically liberated imagination, but there was also a rare display of an intense desert thunder storm.
Blinding strikes of flashing lightning erupted all around him like a million explosions from a million flash cameras.
Our inebriated cowboy stumbled in a stupor in the riverbed and on the hillside singing "The Yellow Rose of Texas" at the top of his lungs.
As he neared the top of the hill, he tripped on his own foot and slid down the rocky incline. He thought he had killed himself.
As he opened his eyes, glaring bursts of lightening cast erie shadows over the rough and pitted surfaces of the bowling ball sized rocks all around.
Our drunken cowboy gasped as it came upon him that he was dead and deposited in the "Valley of Skulls!"
(Queue the creepy music)
True story ;-)
As I time warped out of my pathetic imaginings, we started pedaling north and west towards Prescott.
Now in the world of the Road Bike Enthusiast there is a fairly consistent truth. Actually, a very consistent truth; right up there with "Water flows downstream."
The truth of which I speak goes something like this: After you glide downhill, you will have to pedal uphill at least as far as you glided downhill (Or something like that).
It is true today. Remember how I went on and on about coasting downhill for an hour. Cursed gravity. Now it is payback time.
All that elevation we surrendered to the Gravity God mist be repaid.
So for the next two hours we repay our dues. This is no picnic. Especially as my right knee decides to conk out at the predictable 70 km mark. (I'm getting this checked out from both cycling and medical perspectives when I get back to Canada.)
So I am doing the last 15 km with my left leg doing all the work and my right leg spinning with the pedal and complaining with each spin even though it is doing no significant work.
But our experience is by no means all bad. The God of Nature, along with an inspired surveyor, has built our road on top of a ridge that travels across the valley and up the mountainside.
As a result we have a fabulous view in four directions (though we are usually looking at what is in front of us for obvious practical reasons).
This grand view takes a considerable edge off the tedious and strenuous task of reaching the summit.
But eventually we do. After the traditional taking of each other's pictures at the summit pass at 6142 feet, and we start downhill for our final descent into the Prescott valley area.
Operative word here is "valley." As in down in the valley. As in riding downhill into the valley.
And downhill it is! In fact, I set a new personal land speed record of 60.5 km/hr (37 mph). I learn my bike starts shaking and vibrating in unique ways at this speed.
But that and the inability to safely stop is all part of the thrill that gives me an adrenalin rush and my wife grey hair. (I wonder if she will read this posting?)
So we reach the bottom of the hill and spend a few minutes navigating out way through part of the town of Prescott.
A mere 8 hours after we left this morning we ride into Bro Mark's driveway and park our bikes in his garage.
Our feet have maintained an average speed of 15 km/hr (9.3 mph); not bad considering the mountainsides we climbed.
Our bums endured 5 hours and 45 minutes of those silly road bike seats.
And most amazing of all, we'd probably do something just like it again tomorrow if we could.
Just got back home to Canada a few hours ago.
It is my goal in the near future to post blogs for each day of our Big Ride.
While on the plane and bus today I wrote of this post about a day ride Bro Mark and I took just this past Wednesday.
I share it with you now for your reading pleasure, I hope :-)
Will endeavor to get postings on the Big Ride your way real soon.
If you haven't already been doing so, check out our Facebook page, "Shelley Brothers Cycling Adventures" for some postings and photos related to the 600 km Big Ride across the Sonoran Desert.
Thanks for your patience with the development of these postings.
Here is the most recent day ride we did this week before I headed back home:
April 3, 2012
Prescott, Arizona
It is 9 am and a beautiful day.
We can't resist a beautiful day for a ride. Temp in high 60's F (high teens deg C). Virtually no wind.
The forecast for tomorrow calls for high winds. But we got enough high wind riding last Saturday on our marathon desert sand storm ride from Calixico, California to Ocotillo, California.
So we decide to take off into the mountains for our final Shelley Brothers Cycling Adventure Ride in Arizona for this season.
We make sure our bikes are securely reassembled and seats and handle bars readjusted, etc. (We had to partially disassemble them for the train ride from Los Angeles to Flagstaff last Sunday.)
Then we head out the driveway and up the mountain.
Our route today will take us up the mountain from Prescott, elevation 5,300 feet, to the summit pass, with an elevation of 6,100 feet.
From the summit we will drop to the "high desert" Kirkland Valley. We then cross part of the valley and begin a plus 20 (32 km) mile climb up another side of the mountain back to Prescott. We look forward to some significant up and down hill time today.
We are not disappointed by our first hour and a half of riding. It is all uphill to the summit.
A beautiful ride in the Prescott National Forest. Granite forest floor generously covered by dry fragrant pine needles. We can see the snow line not much higher than we are on the mountains surrounding us.
We are sharing the two lane twisting road with moderate, but not heavy vehicle traffic. Most of the time we have a two or three feet shoulder that creates a reasonable sense of safety.
Most of the autos give us a wide berth. A few transport trucks are illegally using the road. I pull off the shoulder once to give a truck room to get by.
But most of the time the cars are absent and I can hear the wind whispering in the top of the pines. One of my favorite sounds.
This mountain region reminds me of my childhood experiences at a summer camp at Angeles Crest Christian Camp in the mountains east of and high above Los Angeles.
After taking each other's pictures next to the summit marker, we have a brief enjoyable downhill glide.
But it doesn't last long. In order to get to the side of the mountain we want to go down, we push up a few more mountain ridge inclines.
But it is worth it. When we start the real downhill stretch it is delightful.
I do not spin my pedals for a full 15 minutes. And most of this time I am maintaining a speed of over 40 km/hr.
I could go faster, but I really don't have that much faith in these skinny little tires on my bike.
Actually, I do have a lot of confidence in the tires. After all, they have just safely carried me 600 km across one of North America's harshest deserts.
But I have seen just enough gravel deposits on this otherwise very clean road surface to make me cautious.
Bro Mark, however, has greater confidence and better eye sight. For he heads down the mountain disappearing out of sight. Ah, the Remarkable Mark and his Cannondale Bike with carbon fiber, anti-vibration technology. (And not to mention a complete compliment of spokes at this moment in time :-)
At the end of my fifteen minute glide I find myself on the high desert valley floor; on the "flatland" but still rolling gently downhill.
So I place my bike in its highest possible gear and just spin along with the pedals, applying no significant energy or effort into the pedaling process. I am enjoying an effortless speed in excess of 30 km/hr.
Much to my delight, this pleasure continues for another 30 to 45 minutes, rolling my way into the center of this large and sparsely populated valley.
Eventually I reach the junction of the first road we meet since leaving Prescott hours ago. Mark is waiting for me there.
We turn our bikes westward across the valley. Mostly flat terrain interspersed with dips in and out of the "Washes" that make up a standard feature of the Southwest USA Desert.
In about 45 minutes we cross what I assume is the Kirkland River, or Creek. Right next to the dry riverbed and road is a group of about 20 modest trailers.
These trailers appear to contain a large portion of the population of Kirkland.
But one can easily imagine a bygone day in which the river flowed more freely (not drained dry from damming and diversion upstream) and this place was a welcoming Oasis.
Just over the bridge and around the corner from the trailer park we discover a fascinating reality of Kirkland, a real place of living history; The Kirkland Cafe / Bar / Hotel / Arena. (This was a multiple purpose facility before that term was coined.)
Seeing and stepping inside this building constructed in 1923 is like experiencing history, or a deja vu
moment of a previous visit to Knott's Berry Farm.
The lighting, hardwood floor, bar and stools, wood burning stove surrounded by couches and chairs, antlers, country western juke box prompt you to look around for John Wayne and Roy Rodgers.
So Mark and I, not so inconspicuously in our Spandex bike shorts and neon yellow bike shirts (but it doesn't really matter because we are the only customers present at the moment), saddle up to the bar and slide onto bar stools no doubt once graced by an outlaw or country western singer or a person one in the same.
We are hungry and order from the items handwritten and clearly indicated on the chalk board displayed above the beer cooler.
Mark goes for BBQ sandwich and ice tea. Still seeking to satisfy my addiction, I order my vices of Mexican food, a chili burrito to be specific, and a Dr Pepper.
While chewing on these radically overpriced meals at $9.75 each, served on biologically degradable paper plates with bags of potato chips (Ounce for dollar this is one of the most expensive meals I have ever eaten), Bro Mark and I ponder the history of the place in which we now sit.
Way back in the late 1880's a man named Thomas built the Kirkland Bar and Steakhouse. Not only did he provide fluids and protein to the local population, but he also provided a welcomed resting place for travelers on the Wells Fargo Stagecoach route. (Which is the same road we are using today, minus the pavement. How cool is that?!)
A few years later, the Santa Fe railroad laid some track across this valley and stopped here as well; allowing passengers to top off their fluids and get their daily requirement of protein.
In 1923, unfortunately, a Cow protested her obligation to the establishment and kicked over a lantern, or perhaps a match was carelessly flicked, who knows, but the place caught fire and burned.
But these Arizonians are made of tough stuff. They rebuilt.
It is this 1923 building in which we now sit. The stagecoach no longer stops. The train still passes through but the freight doesn't require extra fluids (but I bet the engineer does).
According to the waitress, not many locals frequent the establishment. (I doubt they can afford it.) She says most patrons are people who get lost. I think she is joking, but I am not sure. But getting lost might be the easiest way to find this place. It really isn't on the way to anywhere else.
If you have a bold entrepreneurial spirit, you may want to consider the purchase of this unique establishment. It is for sale. (Story is that owners are turning 70 and want a life for themselves while they still can. )
Refreshed and culturized we head out and down the road.
We ride on relatively level land for about 45 minutes along the lazily bending road following the curves of the riverbed.
It requires no stretch of my imagination to see the Wells Fargo Stage creaking and jostling down this road before automobiles and pavement.
Just about the time my rear hints that a short break would be in order, I come upon the settlement of Skull Valley.
Don't blink. You'll miss it. But more important you'll miss two period unique buildings.
There's the General Store in front of which Mark is eating his ice cream sandwich and I am eating my Mars Bar.
Across the street we see the Gas Station. The pumps are decades older than either of us, but they are still filling tanks. Without any cosmetics, this village crossroad could be a classic TV set for the Walton's. (Google that if it doesn't compute for my younger readers.)
"Skull Valley" is more than just a morbid name. There are hills
covered with thousands of roundish boulders, some about the size of skulls, in the area.
Here's how I think the town got its name:
(Fairness Disclaimer - This explanation is a complete figment of my imagination and almost probably doesn't have any correlation to reality. )
Many years ago, in the early 1800's, there was a very bored cowboy who after overdosing on country western music drunk himself silly on his own homemade distillation of Prickly Pear Cactus Juice.
But on this night he not only possessed a chemically liberated imagination, but there was also a rare display of an intense desert thunder storm.
Blinding strikes of flashing lightning erupted all around him like a million explosions from a million flash cameras.
Our inebriated cowboy stumbled in a stupor in the riverbed and on the hillside singing "The Yellow Rose of Texas" at the top of his lungs.
As he neared the top of the hill, he tripped on his own foot and slid down the rocky incline. He thought he had killed himself.
As he opened his eyes, glaring bursts of lightening cast erie shadows over the rough and pitted surfaces of the bowling ball sized rocks all around.
Our drunken cowboy gasped as it came upon him that he was dead and deposited in the "Valley of Skulls!"
(Queue the creepy music)
True story ;-)
As I time warped out of my pathetic imaginings, we started pedaling north and west towards Prescott.
Now in the world of the Road Bike Enthusiast there is a fairly consistent truth. Actually, a very consistent truth; right up there with "Water flows downstream."
The truth of which I speak goes something like this: After you glide downhill, you will have to pedal uphill at least as far as you glided downhill (Or something like that).
It is true today. Remember how I went on and on about coasting downhill for an hour. Cursed gravity. Now it is payback time.
All that elevation we surrendered to the Gravity God mist be repaid.
So for the next two hours we repay our dues. This is no picnic. Especially as my right knee decides to conk out at the predictable 70 km mark. (I'm getting this checked out from both cycling and medical perspectives when I get back to Canada.)
So I am doing the last 15 km with my left leg doing all the work and my right leg spinning with the pedal and complaining with each spin even though it is doing no significant work.
But our experience is by no means all bad. The God of Nature, along with an inspired surveyor, has built our road on top of a ridge that travels across the valley and up the mountainside.
As a result we have a fabulous view in four directions (though we are usually looking at what is in front of us for obvious practical reasons).
This grand view takes a considerable edge off the tedious and strenuous task of reaching the summit.
But eventually we do. After the traditional taking of each other's pictures at the summit pass at 6142 feet, and we start downhill for our final descent into the Prescott valley area.
Operative word here is "valley." As in down in the valley. As in riding downhill into the valley.
And downhill it is! In fact, I set a new personal land speed record of 60.5 km/hr (37 mph). I learn my bike starts shaking and vibrating in unique ways at this speed.
But that and the inability to safely stop is all part of the thrill that gives me an adrenalin rush and my wife grey hair. (I wonder if she will read this posting?)
So we reach the bottom of the hill and spend a few minutes navigating out way through part of the town of Prescott.
A mere 8 hours after we left this morning we ride into Bro Mark's driveway and park our bikes in his garage.
Our feet have maintained an average speed of 15 km/hr (9.3 mph); not bad considering the mountainsides we climbed.
Our bums endured 5 hours and 45 minutes of those silly road bike seats.
And most amazing of all, we'd probably do something just like it again tomorrow if we could.
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