Jeremy's Bike Blog

The open air sleep was pretty great, though a touch cool just before daybreak, enough so that I’d pulled the bag over my head by then.  While puttering and packing, I heard what sounded distinctly like the flame thrower of a hot air balloon.  But it sounded loud enough that if that was what it was, I would surely see the balloon itself.  So I figured it was just some other thing, yet a minute or so later, I see it, a massive balloon, floating low enough so that I only see it while it passes between two mesas that are otherwise obscuring my view.  Between its size, speed, and low altitude, it seemed a bit shocking and I would have loved to have watched it more, but getting a vantage point that would have provided a way to do so seemed implausible.

An older guy walked his dog by my camp as I was finishing putting stuff in bags and bags on bike.  I smiled and said “Hey” and he waved, not seeming to care that I had obviously spent the night there.

I pushed the bike out of the trail and onto the neighborhood road, then took back roads to the highway leading back to Sedona.  I stopped at the first reasonable looking diner for coffee and some eggs, and ended up at The Coffee Pot.  They left the pot of coffee and pitcher of water on the table (as they do for all patrons), which was perfect. I settled in and drank several cups of it with my eggs, grits and toast while I finished banging out the previous post.  When I got up and was on line to pay my bill at the front counter, a woman who had earlier made some pleasant small talk about how small the screen of my phone is compared to the keyboard I was using came out slightly rushed to make sure she could give me the sunglasses I’d left on the table.  I thanked her while raising the palm to my forehead in a “duh” gesture.  By the time I went back to leave a tip, the table had been cleared…I think.  Back outside I put away the keyboard and popped my handlebar bag back on and headed out.  About 4 blocks away, I realized I wasn’t wearing my cycling gloves.  I stopped in the bike lane to check all the places on my bike that they would typically be, and couldn’t find them.  It’s not uncommon for me to misplace things, but it’s also not uncommon for me to be able to recover them.  In my last tour, I didn’t misplace a single thing that I didn’t recover, sometimes after backtracking for a mile, for the entire 3 months.  This trip, I’ve already misplaced my 4 port USB charger and rear view mirror, with inferior replacements being obtained in a rush in Moab.  Just as I realized my next move would be to return to the diner with a reasonable expectation that this is where they had to be, a man and woman with loaded bikes passed me.  The guy waved but pedaled on a ways, and stopped about 20 yards ahead when the woman stopped to say hi.  I learned that they had been touring for about a year.  I asked if they were headed North or South out of Sedona, and she said North, but that they’ll be going to Central and South America eventually.   I said I was headed South, and explained the situation with the gloves.  She said that gloves probably aren’t necessary once your hands get used to it, to which I said that I had a friend back in Seattle that strongly recommended using them as he has some nerve damage still in his hands from extended amounts of biking he did long ago without gloves.  She kinda shrugged “hmm, ok” not needing to point out that she herself was proof that not everybody needs gloves to avoid problems.  As I turned around to head back to the diner, she said maybe we’d run into each other again soon in Sedona town, of which we were then on the Southern outskirts.

Back at the diner the gloves were nowhere to be found.  They weren’t on or near the table, nor where they in the lost-and-found at the front counter.  I put equal odds on the table busser just chucking them because they looked like little wads of trash on the table, and on me having left them at camp, or managing to drop them somehwere between camp and where I realized I was without them, taking into account that I’m pretty sure I wore them to the diner, and that I scanned my path from the diner to where I realized I didn’t have them when backtracking.  What I was fairly certain of after checking the diner for them is that they were gone.

I headed back towards Sedona and at the junction where I would go South to leave Sedona, I stopped, and trawled for some open WiFi to upload my post (the diner didn’t have WiFi). As it uploaded, I re-wrapped my handlebar tape for the first time this tour, as it needed it, particularly now that I was without gloves. I then opted to continue up into town, for what particular reason, I wasn’t sure.  I noticed signs for an Arizona Tourist Information center that I had somehow missed the day before, and followed them to find the couple I had crossed paths with hanging out out front, who I would soon learn were Vlad and Yana from Bulgaria, documenting their travels at https://m.facebook.com/cycle4recycle/ .  Yana said “I had a feeling we’d see each other again!”  The three of us talked for a bit. They’ve biked the North of Mexico, so they took out a map and showed me their route and pointed out some recommendations.  We exchanged info, and then I went inside and got the WiFi password, which the Vlad was interested in.  He seems to be the internet-using member of the team. Yana, who is not on facebook, doodled in a journal while Vlad and I used our phones.

We took some group pix, and then we sat back down to continue our respective doodling and internetting when I started feeling antsy. They said they planned to chill out in Sedona for the day. Moreover, Veronica, a good friend of a good friend who I had plans to meet in Tempe on my way South had expressed that Sedona was worth more than one day/night.  But I wanted to get going, so I wished them well and headed South.  A couple of hours later I regretted making as hasty a departure as I had, and FB messaged Vlad, knowing it was a long shot that he’d get it in the couple of hours I’d still have signal myself (he has no cellular data, only WiFi).  Sure enough, I didn’t get a response until about 24 hours later, after a stretch of my own with no internet, saying that they had made it up to Flagstaff before seeing my message, but to look out for e-mail with suggestions for Mexico, and expressing hope that our paths cross again.

I saw this big cross in the rock

Then I stopped for lunch on a mountain bike trail.

Then I stopped at a parking lot for some trailheads to Bell and Courthouse rocks, where I met Kyle, who was sitting under an awning with a mountain bike.  I mentioned that I was thinking of doing a time lapse of the clouds passing behind the rocks, which led to an animated discussion of various time-lapse and video technologies for capturing bike rides.  He’s a fan of GoPro stuff, and sticks to solutions that decouple image capture (with the GoPro) from ‘stitching’ them together (with Adobe software on a proper computer).  I, on the other hand, in my dilettante way, have more hope for and interest in integrated solutions that run on Android, it whatever programmable device with a camera API. A group of hikers came over and disrupted our conversation, which had pretty much run its course, so I cycled up the road and captured 90 frames at 20 seconds between while reading and snacking.  I did this within LapseIt, so one would think/hope it would be a simple matter to render the video.  It failed in a pretty frustrating way, saying the “awesome” (H64) render engine failed in a brief popup message, so trying the more compute/power intensive MP4 encoder which silently fails itself several minutes and milliwatts later.

I mean the thing is, I’ve had no shortage of attempts to capture the majesty of these things I’m experiencing. It’s funny.  I get an opportunity to share some experience with a couple of awesome Bulgarians and I brush it off and then go about trying to capture subsequent experience to share with people on the internet.  It’s a bit messed up.  Reflecting on this before I messaged Vlad, I went so far to apologize for not being friendlier when we were hanging out together, and for not asking to hang out for the day, and I meant it. Moreover, these attempts to share the experience digitally are clearly doomed to fail. Photos and videos are so woefully insufficient.

In fact, one of the most profound aspects of cycling long distances seems to have been long stretches of true isolation, in particular, no data. Among the many things from which one might say I’m running (cycling), one of them is what is only fair to describe as a mild internet addiction, and this is some kind of therapy, forcing myself to be without for stretches of 40-100 miles (4-10 hours) at a time.

From the rocks, I biked to the Village of Oak Creek, where first I stopped into a mountain biker coffee bar and repair shop. I overheard two different conversations along the lines of “blah blah and then I was just like ‘shut up and ride’”. It was also notable that nobody acknowledged anything being impressive or even interesting about my loaded bike and casual inquiries about how best to get myself and it to Tempe from there. I didn’t mind. As shitty as it makes me sound, I honestly get a little tired of being appreciative of people’s curiosity and admiration. The only one of four of the mechanics had any opinion on the matter said that I could take the road up into the mountains as an alternative to cycling down Interstate 17, but that it would be a whole lot more climbing, but but it would be prettier and quieter. Google maps confirmed, the interstate route would be 120 miles with 3842 feet ascent and 6755 descent. The route through the hills would be 154 miles with 10867 feet ascent and 13980 descent. I left saying “Ok, yeah, I’ll consider that” thinking ‘not likely!’. Somewhat stupidly, I’d only filled 2.5 liters of water (of my 4 liter capacity), thinking the odds of going the long quiet route were low.

Down the road I stocked up at an IGA. I’d been happy with my salad made from and in the 16oz bin of spring greens from the night before, with baby carrot and a green pepper, so I got a 10oz bin (the largest available), green and red peppers, a pound of regular carrots, and an onion. I also got some tropical fruit trail mix, for the salad, about a pound of granola and clif bars.  I was delighted to discover that they had some nice, cheap, local, low-preservative claiming brand going for $3 for a box of 10 1oz bars.  I also got a breast of fried chicken to treat myself and maybe psych myself up for doing the more ambitious ride.

Outside, I met and talked to Susan, a woman on a power-assist, fatty bike who runs tours on them out of Sedona.  She was really enthusiastic about the system and telling me all the details to the point that I asked if she minded me eating my chicken while she did so.  She did not mind, and she did not flinch or grimace as I dissected the large looking breast which disappointingly turned out to be more of a breaded and fried rib-cage with as much gooey fat as actual meat.  The conversation meandered to my route onwards, and it was in her account of how beautiful it would be that I became resolved to take the long hilly route. Most (though not by much) of the climbing would be to the twin towns of Strawberry and Pine 60 miles in, where I could resupply.  For whatever reason, I did not think to top off that last bottle of water.  From there, it would be up and down, but mostly down, into the Glendale, Phoenix, Scottsdale, Tempe, Mesa, Gilbert, Chandler septacities.

It was not a lot of climbing initially, but the road was busy and the shoulder was gravelly and perhaps worse than no shoulder at all where at least the drivers would appreciate that I had no option but to be out in their way. But this was part of the route regardless of my choice of interstate or hills, and soon after passing under the interstate, I was on quiet gravel roads. The sunset was brilliant, and I was delighted to see or hear only a handful of cars for the whole rest of the day.

I rode 20 miles of the 60 to Strawberry/Pine, putting me at 45 on the day, and set up camp at a turn-off.  The sun was setting behind a few clouds, and the temperature was absolutely perfect and the silence was perfectly absolute.  It felt something like walking around in a sensory depravation pod, modulo sight.  It also felt like being as alone as if I were in outer space.  I could hear the 2 cars that passed between dusk and 11pm for a full 90 seconds before they came as close as they would to the campsite, and then for another full 90 seconds as they continued on, oblivious to my presence.  The real bliss came when it occurred to me to peel off my clammy bike shorts and air out my junk.  The warm, evening desert air immediately made it feel like I’d showered and baby-powdered, after which I pulled out a pair of cotton tighty-whities, which are actually black for reasons of practicality that, particularly for a gentleman of my vintage, a number of stand-up comedians have pointed out, and I’ll leave at that.  I sported those and my leather sandals from dusk to twilight, during which time I made my two large and incredibly satisfying salads.  There were a few buzzy-not-bitey flies that I was happy to discover were completely repelled by application of baby wipes to hands then arms then legs in advance of the salad preparation.  I only happened to have these wipes because I packed them away when I’d cleaned out my car on my way to giving it to my sister.  Odds are they were tucked under the driver’s seat since I drove it to Burning Man in 2014.

I watched and even heard bats as they picked off innumerable insects, and the otherwise perfect silence was only otherwise broken occasionally by the faintest and prettiest cries of distant coyote. 

As the stars (and Mars), and half moon came out in force, I lit my candle lantern, pulled my 20 year old Z-Rest pad out from under my bivvy, then stretched, yoga’d, sit-ups’d, and all kinds of things that felt positively amazing as I digested my massive helping of salad.  It occurred to me, this was exactly what I was looking for, all the way back to making my departure from Sedona.

I could not get enough of this place.  Eventually I added my light green puffy coat to the ensemble, but only this, not wanting to cover my legs lest I miss the subtle warmth when the slightest breeze would carry across the still warm sand. I continued to stretch/exercise and putter, brushing my teeth to help commit myself to not eating the remainder of my fuel before dinner.

I was down to 1/4 liter of water, which was obviously not ideal.  I was disappointed in myself for making such a pointless blunder, but it barely put a dent in my amazingly good mood.  I considered setting an alarm so that I could resume biking at the first sign of morning light, but opted not to.

I crawled into the bivvy and worked on the first part of this post until I couldn’t resist the urge to shut down.

As hoped, I woke at some hour in the early morning after the moon set.  This happens most nights owing to needing to urinate, and I’d grown fondly accustomed to the none too subtle hallucinatory experience of waking to a crystal clear night sky.  Sometimes I seem to see immense meteor showers.  Other times, it’s a voronoi diagram of the brighter stars with edges made by the dimmer stars.  This time, it wasn’t very hallucinatory, but rather a comprehensive cloud formation of not just the milky way’s band but the whole sphere.