The Same Tribe

Riding Day 7

We got off to a roaring start on day 7 with another “tip-over” event, but fortunately Odie and I weren’t on the bike this time! Hank was leaning against the OREM as we were lathering ourselves with sunscreen, and fell. Odie’s handlebars got tweaked a little, and the headlight came apart, but everything was fixed in short order, and we were on the road around 8:52am.

We left Tempe, AZ heading east, navigating easily through the quiet of a Sunday morning. We had several turns to make over the first 10 miles, but The Bob traveled ahead of us and would park where we needed to turn, which made it pretty fool proof. Within the first couple of miles we once again came upon Von and Wendel, the two brothers we’d met and rode with the first two days of our trip. We were all surprised to see each other as their pace is a lot slower than our own, but apparently they haven’t taken any off days yet, which accounted for the “the tortoise and the hare” encounter. We slowed to chat very briefly, then said goodbye. I watched them quickly fade away in my mirror, wondering if we’d see them again and thinking that if we didn’t, it would be a little sad somehow as it felt like we were now part of the same tribe.

The first 20 miles were flat and we pedaled steadily, easily falling into a cadence that devoured the miles without taxing our legs, understanding that we’d soon begin climbing in earnest for the rest of day. After turning north, the traffic picked up exponentially as we mixed in with our fellow humans who were headed into the same mountains on motorcycles, RVs, 4x4’s, and strange insect-looking vehicles called “Razors” designed for rampaging across pristine sand. The hills had begun, and my lungs resisted the day’s first wake-up call before finally accepting their fate. The traffic roared non-stop on our left, but the shoulder was wide enough to make this a mere annoyance.

After climbing roughly 1,000’ we reached the first summit and began a steep descent. I worked at keeping our speed under 30mph because Hank can get a little squirrely if you let him run. The brakes protested mildly, but we rapidly covered another 6 miles and stopped for a break in a huge parking lot.

The Bob had our chairs waiting for us, and per the usual began his 5-star service, bringing whatever we wanted from the pandemonium that had overtaken the OREM’s interior despite our best efforts to keep things organized. We grazed on Peanut M&M’s, cinnamon rolls, apples and dried fruit, anything and everything, putting any teenage boy to shame with our voracious appetites.  “The bike lane ends soon,” The Bob informed us matter of factly, and of course he was right because there was a sign that stated the same thing, but that didn’t necessarily mean there wasn’t a shoulder, right?

After relieving ourselves we climbed aboard Hank, a process that’s perhaps painful to watch but effective. We tilt Hank to the left so I can just barely clear the top tube with my right foot, then Odie replicates my actions, albeit with much more grace and agility. He then clips in his left foot, then I do the same, and once the coast is clear, we both raise our left foot, push off with the right foot and wobble ourselves onto the saddle, eventually getting the right foot clipped in and away we go. Any casual observer might wonder who let us out of the house unsupervised, but it works for us even if it looks like a slow-motion train wreck.

Within a quarter mile the bike lane did in fact end, as did the shoulder, and we found ourselves on a very steep climb with zero margin for error. Anyone who has ever ridden a bike knows that the slower you go, the harder it is to control the bike along a straight line. I had dropped Hank into the lowest gear and as we strained to keep the pedals moving, I struggled to keep Hank on the edge of a very narrow road thick with traffic in all shapes and sizes. We’d hung out on Friday night with Odie’s parents, where his mother had taken me aside and made me promise to keep her first-born safe. Her words, and the look on her face as she said them, came back to me as we inched and sweated our way up that hill, and I realized we were in a terrible place, a place where I couldn’t guarantee keeping either of us even remotely safe. “Unclip,” I screamed above the din as straining engines made their own way up the hill. Odie immediately did, but I struggled to keep pedaling so we wouldn’t topple over while simultaneously trying to control Hank and unclip. I finally got my foot free, turned the bike onto a small rocky area, and got us stopped, somehow keeping us upright and unscathed. “Too dangerous” I yelled, and then I called The Bob to come and get us. He arrived a few minute later, we threw Hank on the rack, then drove about 4 miles to a point where the route joined a new road with wide, safe shoulders. I’m too damn old to be stupid!

The rest of the day’s ride was on Highway 87, the “Vee Line” highway as it’s known to the locals. It’s heavily traveled, but its shoulders remained smooth and wide. The terrain is very hilly with long, long ascents and equally long descents. The problem with descents is that they are unwaveringly followed by another ascent, and this pattern remained for the rest of the ride as we traveled through a stunning tapestry of cacti, wildflowers and building-sized boulders patiently waiting for geological time to send them hurtling down the slopes once again. On two of the longest climbs we had to stop before reaching the summit as our legs threatened to quit. Around 4:24pm we reached the final summit after 61.86 miles, 4,383’ of climbing, and a few not-so-subtle brushes with fate

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Tonight we’re once again sleeping at The Bob’s after driving the hour or so back to his home. Another night in a bed after a good meal and a hot shower. We hope to make it to Globe, AZ tomorrow, a 73 mile day that’s not nearly so hilly. Then we’ll drive back to The Bob’s one last time before heading out Tuesday for good. There’s rain headed our way, as well as all the other unexpected stuff that lies in wait, and I might not be able to post anything for a while as we’ll be hunkered down in a tent somewhere out in the world, licking our wounds and preparing for the next day. The Siren’s Call has us in its clutches at this point, the next page in this book still blank, beckoning us to write what we may…and so it goes…