We were out of New York like a shot, speeding on the SeaStreak catamaran ferry to New Jersey.  It moves through the water so fast, the wind almost knocked us over when we went up on deck, and Manhattan was nearly gone by the time we got our cameras out.

It was a stunningly gorgeous day, with piercing blue skies and perfect temperatures. Labor Day weekend may still be the figurive end of summer, but I have heard from several people now that it is no longer the traditional end of summer. Due to earlier school starts, that date has been moved to a less-celebrated, earlier time.  And our experience bore that out.  There were people out and about,  but not nearly what there would have been 20 years ago, especially on such a beautiful day.

So the weather was just one of the things that made today one of the best first days I’ve had on a bike tour.  After the ferry, we leisurely explored the abandoned military installations at Sandy Hook, walked across the beach to put my hand in the Atlantic Ocean (I asked her to be kind to us for the rest of the trip), had lemonades on the Asbury Park boardwalk, rode 88 miles, much of it through the quiet and empty Pine Barrens, had a root beer at a roadside drink stand, and generally had an awesome time.

I had the useful experience of learning what Dennis has felt like on our previous rides together. Since I had always planned all my own routes, I basically have them memorized in my head and I pull them out as I go. But because Dennis planned this trip, there are times where I don’t even have a good idea which direction we’re headed, much less where we are. I think I already started getting used to it, but I wish I had had the experience before so I could have empathized better on our last trip.

Crazy moment of the day: sitting drinking Gatorades outside a grocery store in Whiting, literally seconds after I said “this is a really peaceful grocery store”: BAM!!!  An insane drug-addled old hag nearly uprooted a concrete post as she slammed the back of her SUV into it. Then, she floors the gas, squealing out of the parking spot, careering straight for us!   I was up and running,  but she veered away at the last second, with some help from a curb biting into her rim. What then?  Well, she slowly circled the lot, returned to her original spot, backed in successfully this time, and calmly hobbled into store, happily inhaling a cigarette stuffed in her toothless mouth, while leaving the engine running with her dog inside. Yeah. Insane.

The day proceeded without incident after that, and we stopped at a great campground Dennis booked in the pine forest, Pilgrim Lake.  It may cure me of my natural aversion to private campgrounds. It’s very quiet, intimate, and dark, the people are nice, the lake beautiful in the sunset, and the wood plentiful and quick to burn.  When they learned we were on bikes, they were kind enough to charge a reduced rate of $20, which is a great deal around here, but let me tell you, they would have to have brass balls to actually ask for the $100 they have listed on their price sheet.

The Day(s)
Started out nauspisciously as I was dumb enough to miss the Metra commuter train (by 10 seconds) that would take me to Union Station.  Thankfully I was smart enough (or dumb-lucky enough)  that the next train would still hopefully get me there in enough time.  And Dennis was good enough to not get mad at me for adding unnecessary stress to the beginning of the trip.  Ended up making it there on time, and due to our experience and Dennis’s help, had my bike boxed in literally three minutes.

The train ride was uneventful, but about as pleasant as a 20 hour train ride can be.  Taking advantage of the power outlets, used my phone to listen to music, track our route, write this entry, watch a movie ((500) Days of Summer, pretty good), and read half a book (Nights In Rodanthe, intriguingly bad).  Felt like I got a fairly good night’s sleep too.  Not to much to see until we turned south at Albany and followed the Hudson River through the hills.

And then we were in New York! Stepping off the train, had to immediately dodge dripping water, then walk up a broken escalator.  What a craphole of a city this is! Ok, my first impression was fixed when one of the first people we talked to (a woman watching us put our bikes back together) said “fugheddaboutit” several times as part of conversation.  Yeah.  Then had fun riding with the taxis and buses and bikes and pedestrians to our hotel.

For dinner, went to an Italian place next door, where we met up with an old friend,  Ivan.  We hadn’t seen him since, let’s see… Friday?  Yes, we came all the way to New York to have dinner with a guy who sits 8th feet away from me at work. But that was cool (he was in town to see the U.S. Open)

Real ride starts tomorrow, can’t wait!

The People of Amtrak
The Imaginary Friend Guy: on the full train, tells every train employee that “his friend” is coming to take the empty seat next to him.  Even after the train has left the station.  Amazingly, he pulled it off, and had the one empty seat in the whole car.

The Amish:  Amtrak is a bit like jury duty: it’s an opportunity to see people who normally are not.within the range of your social radar.  It makes me realize that even the most broad-minded and inclusive among us probably still have too narrow and self-centered picture of who “Americans” are.   When is the last time a cable news analyst has asked “Health care reform, illegal immigration, bank bailouts: what do the Amish think of that?”

The Indians: There were two entire bogies on this train that could have been picked up from an Indian Railways train that went way off course.  Just part of the Indian affinity for railways? No, because I’d never seen such a concentration of Indians on Amtrak before.  Rather, I think it’s Niagara Falls.  I get the feeling that Niagara Falls is a very prominent North American wonder in the minds of Indians, as if it’s featured in every 4th grader’s geography class.  Or maybe it’s just a convenient place to do a Canadian border crossing for visa renewal. Either way, after the Buffalo stop, those cars were ghost towns.  I was reminded of the latter possibility when the border/immigrations officers came on board (hint: if you tell them you’re an American citizen, they won’t ask for your passport or anything else like they do if you say no.  Yeah, it’s not quite Arizona here yet)

The singing waitress at the breakfast car: “Imma bring you another orange juice, so you better not be nursin’ that one!”

The conversationalists: sharing a booth in the lounge car, two newly-met gentlemen of obviously different backgrounds, talking for hours on subjects ranging from taxes, to Venezuela, to the value of a college education. All with good humor, and like the jurors mentioned above, without rancor.

Hey, it’s time for me to go on my 5th multiweek bike trip. This is the first one not planned by me, instead, my friend Dennis did all the planning and plotting and I get to go along for the ride.  So you can see all the details of the trip at his site:

http://2010ect.wordpress.com

I’m traveling without a computer this time so most updates will come via my phone’s touchscreen keyboard, so that may make me a bit less verbose than usual.  But I’ll attempt to post some updates here when I can.

84.16 mi / 6:02:56 time / 13.9 mph avg. / 28.0 mph max. / 3156 ft. climbing
Staying at Radisson Suites

All through the night, cars would come down the campground road and go to the picnic area/boat launch parking area, turn around, and drive back out. What were they looking for? A make-out session? Their drug dealer? Some midnight fishing? Luckily none of them ever arrived simultaneously (or waited around), so no party ever got started.

I was woken up around 3am with, you guessed it, rain hitting my face. So I had to close the door on my rainfly which I had hopefully left open. It had stopped by the time I woke up for real at 4:40am, but it started drizzling again as I was taking down the tent, making for yet another day of wet gear in my bags.

Then I had rain continuing for the first 15 miles of the ride. It was warm enough (upper 60s) that I skipped the rain gear and just let my clothes get soaked through (yet again). Either way my clothes would be soaked, the only question is whether they’re wet from the rain or wet from my sweat. Neither is at all pleasant, but skipping the jacket at least allows the possibility or drying out faster as soon as the rain lets up.

When I was around Flagstaff, I remember specifically thinking “the weather has been even nicer than I expected; I was predicting about 3 days with some rain for the whole trip, and we’ve only had one. And surely there won’t be any more chance of rain now that I’m headed down to the real desert!” I never would have guessed I’d then get four straight days of rain. I think the knowledge that this was the last day of the trip was the only thing keeping me from getting really pissed off. To all the drivers, the rain and cool temperatures were awesome fun and great relief from the record temperatures they’d recently had in Phoenix (14 days of 100 degrees in a row). But it’s a different story when you never feel any of that heat, and the rain seems to be following you everywhere you go.

I stopped in Mammoth and got a premium gas-station breakfast, with a hot breakfast burrito and hot breakfast sandwich. Fancy. Then I had the final hill to climb, 2000 ft. over 10 miles, so relatively easy, but long. Luckily the rain was reduced to minor sprinkles by this point. At the top of the hill was supposedly the town of Oracle. But like many of the towns in this area, it’s oddly built off of the highway (or more likely, the highway was built around it?) so if they didn’t have road signs pointing to it, you wouldn’t even notice it’s there. That’s especially weird in this case, because for the next 40 miles into Tucson, the highway is known as “Oracle Rd.”, and the Tucson suburbs have all sorts of references (“Oracle Mall”, etc.) to this town that is nearly invisible. I also passed by Biosphere 2, but unfortunately it’s not visible from the road.

After cresting the final summit, I was able to complete the trip with a nice long downhill into Tucson. I had sprinkles as late as Oro Valley, 20 miles out of TUcson’s center, but after that, the sun appeared in earnest. I was relieved to know that I hadn’t actually been dragging the rain along with me all the way into Tucson, even though it definitely had felt that way. I would have felt pretty bad if I had rained out the wedding!

Tucson is very bike-friendly, with the first bike lane briefly appearing some 30 miles out of town. Then there was a section of construction, which could have been nearly as bad as that section of US-60, but they had a lot of signs about sharing the road and all of the drivers were quite courteous, so it was far more comfortable. I saw a bunch of people out on their Saturday morning road rides, and unfortunately I couldn’t reel any of them in. 🙁 Tucson and its suburbs ended up being a lot bigger than I expected, with residential and commercial development starting 20 miles out on Oracle Rd. and continuing the whole way in.

I rolled up to the final stop, the Radisson Suites, around 1pm. But the challenges weren’t over. Now I had to gain access to my hotel room without credit card or ID. I was first met with outright refusal, even though I had already paid for the room, and there was really no doubt of my identity. What needed to be overcome was mindless, inflexible adherence to corporate policy. After 30 minutes of hemming and hawing and fear of losing her job, the manager-on-duty (really the housekeeping manager) finally told me to take my bike around to the back of the hotel and meet her there by the laundry and dumpsters. After having a smoke to calm her nerves, she said “Ok, I’ll let you in a room”. Woo hoo! I didn’t officially check in or get any keys, so I would be stuck there, but at least I could take my first shower in a week (which maybe was the final tipping point for the manager, I bet she was getting sick of my stinking up her lobby!)

Once inside, I gave my aunt a call to ask if they could help out whenever they returned from the rehearsal lunch by putting down their credit card. I spent some time greatly enjoying my specialized gift bag, which included a cute mini-pack of King’s Hawaiian Bread (lasted about 3 minutes), a big bag of high-calorie trail mix (lasted a little longer) and a couple of great beers (lasted until they got cold enough in the freezer). After a long shower, I met my uncle, got checked in for real, and finally I was finished and free!

It actually wasn’t too much longer afterwords that my parents arrived from the drive down to Phoenix. It was hard to decide what was the best: seeing them for the first time in six weeks, receiving the extensive packet of supplemental ID (up to and including my college ID card!) that would let me fly home, or receiving the batch of awesome polka-dot cookies!

72.41 mi / 6:25:22 time / 11.2 mph avg. / 41.0 mph max. / 5428 ft. climbing
Staying at Kearny Lake Campground

The rain continued on and off throughout the night, with some inconsiderate fool leaving the spigot in the “on” position when I awoke in the morning. At least my gamble to skip the tent again and sleep on the picnic table had paid off. The wind never picked up through the night, so the overhead canopy and some strategic positioning was enough to keep me from getting wet. And then packing up camp was much cleaner, drier, and easier, since I didn’t have to figure out how to collapse a wet tent in the rain. Still, it took me a while to get packed up, because I spent a lot of time just sitting on the table, staring at the rain in glum disbelief.

I’ve read bike tour journals where people talk about an afternoon shower that will pass by, wet them down for 20 minutes, cool them off, and then the sun will be back out to dry them off. I’ve now done over 100 days of bike touring, and that has never happened to me. It seems like for me, when it rains, it rains for three days straight, at least.

Eventually I strapped on the rain gear and headed out into it. It mostly stopped after about 10 miles, but I still ended up soaked because I had to climb a 2500 ft. hill in my rain gear, which makes you sweat just a bit. After the top of the hill, I turned west onto US-60, and hit the decaying mining town of Miami. I did get an awesome breakfast burrito at a popular burrito stand there though.

Then I had to go up and down another 1500 ft. worth of hill over an 18 mile stretch of the fast and busy US-60, a test I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. It would have been difficult under normal conditions, but adding four miles of construction at the final stretch to the summit made it one of the most hair-raising and stressful rides I’ve ever done. I had to pull out every trick I knew, including off-roading, riding on the shoulder on the wrong side of the road, pulling off to let barrelling trucks pass, or simply gunning it over short stretches to get to the next safe spot. The only thing I had gong in my favor was that it wasn’t raining.

Until I crested the summit, and then the rain started to fall again. Ah, noon in Arizona on Memorial Day weekend, and it’s 59 degrees and I’m soaking wet. Even though there was no construction on the downhill, it was still difficult because whenever a passing lane would appear in the oncoming direction, it would eliminate the shoulder on my side. And the road was so busy and full of trucks that there would always be a line of cars jumping into the oncoming passing lane, giving no chance for vehicles on my side to slide around me. I’ve seen people debate the use of a rear-view mirror for bike touring, which makes no sense to me. At least on a road like this, there is no debate: without my mirror, my chances of making it through alive would have been rather small.

Despite all that, there were a couple moments where I could see through the raindrops on my glasses that I was descending through a rather spectacular canyon. If it wasn’t raining, if my life wasn’t hanging in the balance, and if I hadn’t just been through some of the most awe-inspiring canyons in the world over the last few weeks, I might have snapped a photo or two.

At one point, I went through a tunnel, and when I came out the other end, the sun was shining! Soon after, I eagerly turned off the US-60 nightmare onto the much more pleasant AZ-77. I even stopped and optimistically took off my rain jacket, which might give the rest of my clothes a chance to dry out. I cursed myself for an idiot when it started dripping again 10 minutes later, but it soon stopped, and didn’t start again for the rest of the day. Hooray!

I had one more hill to climb, and although this was the shortest of the three, it was shockingly steep, with over a mile of steady 10% grade. I gave a big holler at the top, /because although I have one more good hill to climb tomorrow, this was the final real beast on a trip that has laid out many for me to conquer. RARGH!!

On the descent, I passed the Ray Copper mine, which is an incomprehensibly huge hole in the ground. Seeing the enormous mining equipment standing out as specks on the high ledges makes made me want to compare what such trucks would look like if they were crawling the walls of the Grand Canyon. Ok, so maybe we could do a computer simulation of that one rather than using the real thing.

When I pulled into the nice-but-slightly-unsettling pre-planned town of Kearny (planned by the mining company, presumably) I considered the motel, and even checked the rate ($62). I was so sick of rain and the threat of rain that I wasn’t sure I wanted to camp out. But before making my decision, I went over to the pizza joint and polished off an entire Medium pie. I spent enough time there to see that the skies were clearing up pretty nicely, so that gave me more confidence for camping. I talked to a guy wearing a RAGBRAI shirt, and inquired about camping at the next town 10 miles down the road (it wasn’t yet 4pm), but he said I’d have “less trouble” here in Kearny. Ok, so I took his advice.

The free campground (it seems like I’ve paid very little for camping the last week) is just outside the edge of town, and there isn’t another soul here. There are mountains in every direction, being lit and shaded by the dappled sunlight poking through the scattered clouds. There is no shelter or shade, so it would be brutal here under normal conditions, but when it’s only 75 degrees, it’s beautiful. Running water, flush toilets, and amazingly flat and well-groomed sites. I took a stroll around the small lake just above the campground, which attracts a lot of birds as well as townfolk getting their evening exercise.

Even though the rain and cold over the last few days has been rather annoying and not at all what I was expecting, I have to wonder if sun and heat would be worse. Since the ultimate (75 degrees and clear skies) is probably impossible, maybe I’d take the rain if given the choice. Either way, I’ve been very impressed with this part of the state; the combination of topography and vegetation are like nothing I’ve seen before and quite unexpected. And all the clouds hanging between the mountain slopes probably made it even more dramatic. Now let’s just hope that 10% chance of showers and thunderstorms doesn’t come to pass!

90.87 mi / 6:39:22 time / 13.6 mph avg. / 39.0 mph max. / 3403 ft. climbing
Staying at Windy Hill Point National Forest Campground

I awoke at dawn, though there wasn’t much dawn to see, since the skies were still completely overcast. It hadn’t rained at all through the night, but the morning clouds were looking pretty ominous, so I hurried to pack up the tent and get on the road. Regardless of the condition of the gravel road, I definitely didn’t want to be riding it while it was actively raining.

Luckily, the road was in pretty good shape. I think I was even moving along a little quicker, maybe because the rain had smoothed things out, or because I was building on yesterday’s experience, or, because there was a grader out there actively smoothing the surface! So I covered the seven miles in seventy minutes, without getting a drop of rain. Phew, disaster averted.

Then it was time to descend the big hill off the Mogollon Rim. The layers of hills made it feel a lot like descending in the Appalachians. Halfway down was Payson, a town so big (Home Depot! Chili’s!) that it would have made my head spin, had my head not already been unscrewed right off my neck by Flagstaff. I stopped at the Knotty Pine Cafe for yet another 3rd-breakfast and did a bunch of Internet stuff. I checked the radar and saw a squall heading southwest, so I hurried on out of there, hoping to beat the rain down the hill.

And I did beat it, with only a light drizzle getting me slightly wet. But then, another cell came through an absolutely nailed me. A complete downpour, perhaps even with small bits of face-stinging hail. It was nearly impossible to ride in, and luckily a highway rest area appeared at the junction of AZ-87 and AZ-188. For some stupid reason it was closed, but I could see just well enough to skirt past the gates and take shelter. There I waited out the storm for about half an hour, and read all the educational signs. I learned that this elevation (the Upper Sonoran Desert) receives 10-15 inches of rain per year; I think I just had 1 of them dumped on me.

Once it lightened up to a mild drizzle, I headed out again down the much more rideable AZ-188 to Roosevelt Lake (AZ-87 had turned into a divided superhighway, not a lot of fun to ride in the best conditions, much less a rainstorm). I had dropped 5000 ft. from my morning start, which would normally mean it would be about 20 degrees warmer. Instead, the temperature was exactly the same: 65 degrees. So there I am, wearing three layers, including a long-sleeved turtleneck and a jacket, riding in the rain. I pass my first giant Saguaro cactus, symbol of the Arizona desert, and I’m shivering. Insanity.

For the entire afternoon, the rain continued. Never again heavy, but always there. I was dreading camp (setting up a slightly wet tent, in the rain, when my clothes are wet) until I remembered that this was technically the desert, and all campsites should have canopies for sun protection. Ha, I bet they never thought they’d be used for rain protection! The ranger at the Tonto Basin station confirmed this, and that the campground was only 3 miles farther. When I inquired about groceries, she said the next store was 8 miles on, adding in a patronizing tone “You’re in a very remote area here.” Ha. I just passed three towns in the last 30 miles, lady. I’ve been in far more remote areas than this. Still, I had been expecting to be able to stock up on groceries before camp, so maybe she was right. Actually it turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because it forced me to eat all the various odds and ends that I would be needing to get rid of soon anyway.

The campground is pretty nice, or as nice as a campground with a ridiculous 346 sites can be. They have an odd payment system here, where you have to buy a “Tonto Pass” at various stores or the ranger station in order to camp, but there is no specific campsite registration. The ranger told me that since I don’t have a vehicle, I don’t have to pay at all. Sweet. They even have free showers, but I think I got enough of a shower today already.

I did dry off and change into some dry clothes, at which point the drizzle finally stopped. That gave me a chance to actually look around and see that the whole area is really quite beautiful. The lake is very large, and again, there are layers of hills and mountains on either side of it. There is a lot of vegetation, and quite a variety of it (including those Saguaros), and something flowering here gives off a really pleasant smell. Across the lake there are low clouds or fog hanging between the mountains, and the skies are still heavy with clouds.

Is this really Arizona? The entire day has felt more like Portland, and a pretty nasty day in Portland at that. Did I make a wrong turn somewhere? I have to laugh at all the concern (from myself, my mom, everyone I talked to on the road) about how I would handle the heat and dryness once I descended to the desert. Instead, it was one of the coldest days of the trip, with the temperature never getting about 65, and easily the wettest. It just goes to show that whenever I think I have this bike touring thing totally mastered, Mother Nature can humble me with a flick of her wrist. Which is probably a good thing.

I just hope this system moves on out of here before Sunday. I’m built to handle this sort of junk out on the road, but Stephanie and Ryan would surely prefer to have some sunlight at their wedding, and maybe even temperatures that reach 70 degrees!

58.40 mi / 5:20:44 time / 10.9 mph avg. / 38.0 mph max. / 3502 ft. climbing
Staying at Kehl Springs National Forest Campground

Today would be the first fairly easy day in a while, so I didn’t even wake up until after sunrise! The day would consist of more riding in this high forested lake country, because I wanted to spend one more night up at altitude before dropping down to the heat. Most of the day was spent hovering around 7000 ft., though there was still plenty of up-and-down.

The first services were 40 miles in, at Clints Well (no apostrophe, just like Lees Ferry; Arizona needs to hire some grammer mavens in addition to altitude/mileage sticklers!) At the cafe where I had a patty melt lunch, a couple there said to me “don’t let anyone know about this place!” To them, the whole area was paradise, and it’s true, it seems relatively unknown and untouched, especially considering that it isn’t too far from Flagstaff and Phoenix. It seems like most people didn’t know what I was referring to whenever I told them that I was going to stay up at altitude northeast of Phoenix. Maybe because it is so undeveloped, that makes people lose interest.

That couple also mentioned that last Memorial Day, it snowed 6 inches up here! So good thing I wasn’t here last year. However,the temperatures hovered around 65 for the entire day, and it was overcast, so it actually felt quite cool even this year. Around lunchtime it even started spitting drops of rain.

My original plan had me staying at the campground at Clints Well, but since I had plenty of time, I figured I would have a little adventure, heading 9 miles south to the edge of the Mogollon Rim, and then 7 miles east along a gravel forest road to a campground right on the rim. The Mogollon Rim is the southwestern edge of the Colorado Plateau, upon which I had spent the entire trip. The edge drops down 2000 ft. to the Sonoran Desert, marking the final time I’ll be at high altitude. When you fly into Phoenix from the northwest, you can actually see the Rim, recognizable as a forested area, followed by a cliff, and then no trees below.

Riding the gravel road was kind of like riding through Flagstaff; there was so much to focus on (rocks, ruts, washboard) that the miles went by relatively quickly, even though I rarely got above 6 mph, and did many sections at 3 mph. But arrival at the campground was a huge disappointment. The web page led me to believe that the campground was right on the rim, with views off the edge down to the lights of Payson 15 miles away. Instead, it was simply in the middle of the forest, with the rim nowhere in sight. It was a pleasant place, but I could have found a site of my own just like it without spending an hour and a half on gravel! I did get a brief view at one point along the road, but I should have realized that I’ve been at the edge of five 2000+ ft cliffs this trip (Colorado National Monument, Dead Horse Point, Bryce, Zion, and Grand Canyons), and the Mogollon Rim can’t really compare.

Oh well, it was free, and there was no point in going back now, so I set up my tent. No sooner did I finish that than the rain began in earnest, and just like a couple days ago in Cameron, I spent the afternoon hours huddled in my tent hiding from weather. The only other campers in the site (the host?) came by and offered fried-chicken dinner, but just about then it finally let up, and I managed to create some Middle-Eastern/Mexican Fusion: couscous with Taco Bell seasoning, jalapenos, and string cheese, stuffed in pita bread. Yum!

The fact that it rained all afternoon wasn’t a big deal because I didn’t have any other plans (I’m on my 3rd issue of The Economist!), but as I went to sleep, my main concern was the ride out tomorrow: would it be a ride, or would I have to slog through 7 miles of mud?

Grand Canyon and more!

68.98 mi / 5:51:56 time / 11.7 mph avg. / 30.0 mph max. / 3838 ft. climbing
Staying at Lakeview National Forest Campground

I’m not really sure how the toilet needs were supposed to work at this gas station campground. There was a separate building with showers, that included sinks and toilets, but the posted signs said they closed at 7:30pm, and opened at 6:30am. I still really have no idea what time it is, because I think Cameron is within the Navajo Nation, and unlike the rest of Arizona, they do follow Daylight Savings (god, what a bunch of crazy mixed-up bastards populating this state!) However, the showers were closed and locked by what I thought was 7pm, so I used the very nice yet inexplicably mirror-less gas station bathroom to clean my contacts and brush my teeth (setting up on the pull-out baby-changing table). Take that, jerks!

Then, as you know, I wake up well before 6:30am, no matter what the time zone, and of course neither the showers nor the gas station were open by then. And, I have quite the post-breakfast morning rhythm going, which, given the volume of food I eat, is nearly impossible to suppress. Luckily, the other gas station just up the road was open, so I was able to avoid shitting in a plastic bag. Phew. I did however piss in a bottle, for the first (but probably not the last!) time. Luckily I kept it just under 16 oz.!

Ok, just in case that wasn’t Too Much Information, I might as well spill the other TMI story and get it all out of the way in one entry. If you really don’t want to hear about my unpleasant medical ailments, please skip the following paragraph!

For the past week I’ve been battling a case of, well, let’s call them “butt blisters”. Not on the fleshy part of the butt where it contacts my bike seat, but more towards the center. You know. Yeah, there. The pain and discomfort came on the strongest at Zion, where I even sought out pharmaceutical relief (and if you know me, you know how rare that is). Whether biking, hiking, crouching/bending to get stuff in and out of the tent, or simply sitting down, there was nary a moment where I wasn’t reminded there was something going on down there. Given the fact that I would be riding a bicycle 6 hours a day for the rest of the trip, I had resigned myself to simply dealing with the pain, because I didn’t figure there would be any chance for healing. But now, a week later, I think I’m completely healed. Through careful management, it’s been getting a little better each day, in yet another example of my very fortunate ability to heal myself while on tour. Although the biking surely wouldn’t be doctor-recommended (I was getting a searing pain climbing out from the North Rim that would make me scream at the trees, and that’s when things were actually getting better), my theory is that the problem was actually pooping-induced, and now that I’ve hit a solid morning rhythm in that domain, I’ve been able to get some relief. Which is fantastic, because having a constant pain in the butt can take a bit of enjoyment off the trip! At one point I even feared that it might make me cut it short or change plans.

Ok, back to the ride. Cameron sits at a low point (at the Little Colorado river), so today would start with a 35 mile climb of nearly 3000 ft., very much like yesterday. Those are the 35 miles I was thinking of tacking on to the end of yesterday’s ride, which would have been stupid. Especially when I reached that next motel 10 miles up the road and found that it was closed down. I guess that’s why no one answered the phone! Arizona’s 5000, 6000, and 7000 ft. signs were a little more accurate this time, but they could still be better. I guess it’s nice that they have them at all though, I’ve never seen them in any other state. Their mile posts are similarly haphazard though; I guess the highway department here isn’t big on precision (I’ve been in states where they have posts accurate to the hundredth of a mile). And according to the road signs, the position of Flagstaff moved by more than three miles as I approached it.

Once I crested the hill, I still had 15 miles of relatively flat riding before reaching Flagstaff. Due to a strong headwind, it seemed to be taking forever; even the early-lunch stop at Subway (first Subway dine-in of the trip!) didn’t help much. But then, I hit the outskirts of the city, and due to the sensory overload thrown at me by this teeming metropolis, the next 10 miles flew by. They have a freakin’ shopping mall here! With a damn Best Buy! Can you believe it?! I bet you could get anything you want in this city, including at least five or six different brands of automobile. There are cars everywhere, and roads with more than one lane, and I had to bring my instinctual Chicagoland bike-commuting skills back to the fore to enable me to survive while gawking at all the signs and color and hustle and bustle. Seriously, it’s the first place I’ve been the entire trip where the people are not either A) locals who know every other local in town, or B) tourists. Which makes it quite a culture-shock. And it has more motels than Moab!

This afternoon would be much better than the previous couple, because there was actually stuff to do in this town. Actually, since it was in the comfortable 70s at this elevation all day (and still partly cloudy), it would have been fine even if there was nothing. First I went to the library, where I spent a long time catching up on Internet stuff and preparing for the final leg of the journey. Strangely, the library had no WiFi that I could find, but they had power, and Flagstaff has T-Mobile service, so that means I could use my hacked G1 phone to wirelessly give Internet access to my laptop. That’s a pretty sweet trick, and it ironically gives a better connection than any WiFi access I’ve had the whole trip.

I even spent time checking which of the two downtown brewpubs I should hit for early-dinner. I decided on the Beaver Street Brewery, even though the beer ratings for neither were outstanding. But I guess those guys didn’t write their reviews in the middle of a bike tour, because the beer was fantastic. It also highlighted how weak that 4.0% stuff in Utah was, because two pints was enough to get me half-sozzled. As I was finishing up my burger, the brewmaster came over and said he noticed my yellow-panniered bike in the lot (hmm, and how did he deduce I was its rider?) He’d seen me down at Lees Ferry a couple days before, and wondered how I’d survived what he referred to as “the dust storm” in Cameron. He said it was nearly impossible out there in a car, and would have been unthinkable on a bike. Yet more confirmation that my Cameron stop was a blessing in disguise.

I then rode half-tipsy over to the Safeway to stock up on real groceries at cheaper-than-gas-station-or-National-Park prices. It’s the first full-size grocery store I’ve been to since Moab. I really have no idea where people get their food in between those two places. Do they subsist solely on Doritos, Pepsi, and beef jerky?

And then it was a final 15 miles southeast out of Flagstaff to a National Forest campground on Lake Mary. Lake Mary Road, which seems like a quiet forest road, was undergoing some fairly major construction (until 2010), partly to improve the bike lanes. Given the width of the construction, they must be putting in an 8-line bicycle superhighway. Ironically, there was a sign at the start of the construction that said “No Bikes”, which I ignored. Heck, I’m not a bike, I’m a friggin’ RV! Didn’t run into any problems, so I’m not sure why they had the sign. My only guess is that normally the road has 8-foot shoulders dedicated and signed as bike lanes, so they figure people wouldn’t know how to deal with a downgrade to anything less. Ah, the hazards of overly-generous biking facilities.

I finally had a tailwind, so I was comfortably cruising at 20mph. Given the number of turnouts, picnic areas, boat launches, campgrounds, and the proximity to Flagstaff, I bet that the area turns into an absolute zoo on weekends. But on this weekday evening, it was pretty quiet. I thought of free-camping, but instead settled on Lakeview Campground, which in fact does not have a view of the lake. $16 seemed a bit pricey for a campground with only vault toilets, but I guess that fee is inspired by the weekend mobs. And, it was a pretty nice campground, with mighty tables, flat tent areas, and toilets with motion-detecting lights inside! Also, I figured I’d almost surely be camping for free tomorrow, so I can give this Forest some of my money tonight.

Overall it was one of the nicest riding days of the whole trip. The method of an early dinner in town and then a short early-evening ride to the campground is something I’ve often enjoyed on previous tours, but that’s been nearly impossible out here given the lack of towns. When I got into camp my 22oz. Stone IPA was still fairly cold, and I paired it with half a loaf of raisin bread and a couple of handfuls of Oreo cookies. Mmm, good stuff!

78.57 mi / 6:08:00 time / 12.8 mph avg. / 23.5 mph max. / 3293 ft. climbing
Staying at Simpson’s Conoco Gas Station Campground

Since it was so warm, I hadn’t even bothered to set up my tent, and simply slept on top of the picnic table. It worked pretty well, and made packing up camp go faster than usual. That meant I once again rolled out of camp at sunrise, this time to beat the heat out of the valley.

I crossed the Colorado River on Navajo Bridge at Marble Canyon, and then began my southward trek that would take me to Tucson. I was now once again in the Navajo Nation, and the road was actually in much better shape. It also helped that no one out driving at dawn. I spent the first 35 miles climbing 2800 ft. back out of the river valley, and then hit the first services at mile 45, at Gap (where a lone gas station provides the only services). Then it was another 30 miles downhill to Cameron.

My dawn start once again meant that I had covered a lot of miles by mid-day, which leaves a bit of a conundrum. Early in the planning I had thoughts of making this an epic 113 mile day with 6000+ ft. of climbing, so I was still tossing around that possibility as I reached Cameron. But I figured, if they have a motel there, I’ll take a room and let that fill in for yesterday’s missed motel, and that would solve the problem of surviving the midday heat. As I rolled into “town”, they did have a motel! Yay! And, it was full. Hey, what else is new? I’ve heard rumors that the world is in some sort of recession/depression, so someone should really tell all the people out here about it, because obviously they have no idea. Morons!

I got the number for another motel 10 miles down the road, but got no answer when calling. The “RV Park” across the street was just that, a gravel parking lot in which to park your RV, without a hint of shade, so that was out. Well, I might as well start heading up the hill to that other motel, take my chances, and if they’re full, maybe do that 113-mile day after all. I had some 7 hours of daylight left, though it would mean an ugly day of 10+ hours on the bike.

Then, as I stopped at the last gas station out of town, I saw a sign about campsites on their wall, and before I knew it, I was getting out my money to pay. The “campground” was behind the deli/laundry building, but it actually had patches of grass and a few decent trees in a row, so I was able to catch a break lazing in the shade for a while, after getting a burger at the deli. Still, it was so early that the idea of stopping there continued to gnaw at me. But I just kept telling myself that pushing on further wouldn’t have gotten me anything. After a while, a strange thing happened to the sun…it start becoming obscured by these things that I think are called “clouds”. I haven’t seen anything like it in so long that I can hardly remember the name for the phenomenon. It even looked like rain in the distance, so despite the heat, I had to set up the tent and put on the rainfly.

No sooner did I do that than a ridiculous windstorm began. The winds had to be 40 mph, and they continued for hours. For the first time in its life, I had to guy down my tent to keep it from breaking in half. That’s when I finally made peace with ending my ride here, because even though it sucked being holed up in a hot tent, it would have sucked a whole lot more to be fighting that wind at mile 100 in the midst of a 3000 ft. climb.

There was no way I was cooking in that wind, so I had what was actually a fairly decent dinner of pita bread filled with tomato, string cheese, and sometimes yogurt, plus a big jar of applesauce, Doritos, and a liter of Pepsi. Yum! The wind finally calmed a bit at nightfall, allowing me to get some sleep.