"Please shot off the water and the light please" (Days 7-12)

It's been many days since I've written, which I think reflects three things:

1) I am not crossing a province in Mexico as a wide-eyed itinerant voyager, with exotic and often uncomfortable experiences--which indeed make better stories than "I rode my bike and it was great and then had some restful time in the sun"; 

 

2) There are FRIENDS here and I've been spending time in community in the evenings, rather than propping myself up alone to write a blog. In Tucson we spent time with the gregarious and friendly Marilyn--a skiing buddy who un-connectedly happened to be in Tucson the same time as us--who brought us to a perfect sunset location, had us over for fresh squeezed orange juice, and introduced us to her great band of friends. And Adorable Ann and the charming Ritwick, with whom we went out for beer and tacos on the night-life streets of Roosevelt Row in downtown Phoenix, a night reminiscent of erstwhile days: people-watching in crowded outdoor bars under hanging lights, tasting resinous local IPAs, taking goofy group photos, and just being a pack of 4 happy people stepping down the sidewalk and admiring the city palm trees. 

 

3) Mom was undoubtedly my most avid reader, and even when I didn't feel like writing, I knew she was eagerly awaiting any sort of update, and then once I started writing a little gate would open and I'd have lots to say. 

 

Silly group photos

The delicious hand-squeezed orange juice from someone's yard tree

                                  

 

Tumamoc Hill in Tucson, disbelievingly beautiful location for viewing a moonrise; thanks to Marilyn for her insider knowledge and bringing us there

                     

 

Now Buddy Katie and I are in Tempe (aka Phoenix), staying with the accommodating Ann and Ritwick. We left Tucson in a boxy rental car full of our bikes and bike-bags, after sating ourselves on 300 miles of absolutely delicious road riding, having biked over Gates Pass again and done miles more of the flat paved bike paths. After you've returned to the same coffee shops multiple times, and you're supposed to be "traveling", that changes the terms a little.

 

 

Photos don't serve, but Gates Pass is a steep 2.5 minutes of churning steep climb followed by sweeping endorphin buzz out

 

Tucson is one of the top-rated bicycle friendly cities, and it was a pleasure to exist in it. Wide shoulders on even the main through-way streets post "Bicycle Route" signs, and many intersections have a special turn button for bicycles. There were two bike shops within a half mile of us, and plenty more throughout the city.  As far as I could tell, no roads had speed limits above 45 mph, and I couldn't find a highway if I'd wanted to.

 

 

 

One could also pedal to the otherworldly lands of Saguaro National Park easily from downtown, reddish brown land humped in hills, valleys, passes, strewn with rocks and studded with these looming beings of cacti. A saguaro can take 50-70 years to grow its first arm; so a multi-armed giant is a fossil indeed. You feel like you're on a western movie set as you spin past looming giants with endlessly diverse formations of appendages. Gazing across the landscape is like being at a crowded music festival, nothing but the same sort of beings in sight. And just as bizarre looking too. The sense of awe and novelty at this cactus glory landscape-- "I've never been anywhere like THIS before"--never wore off during our time. How incredible. 

 

The requisite We Visited This National Park photo

 

 

Now in Phoenix, as a band of four, we drove to the Superstition Mountains outside of Apache Junction (for name, see: gold miners, Apache native peoples, Mexican miners, massacres, grisly bloodshed, desert spring, etc) for a glorious hike to "Massacre falls". I wasn't tickled about the name and heritage of the place, but the Arizona wildflower book suggested it as a great hike. The start of the hike could not even be considered a hike, because we stopped every 15 feet to point out a flower to each other or photograph a cacti. I felt like a prospector, collecting a photo of each new flower to confirm identification later. Who knew anyone could get so excited about an orange flowering malvaceae plant? We climbed steadily upwards towards the chunky wall of rock towering ahead. There was a formation called Weaver's Needle, an exposed spike casting a long shadow. The Superstition Mountains were like a child had an extraordinarily creative time building a "wall" with Legos, various stacks jutting at crooked angles, a Jenga game here, a vast smooth edifice there. My eyes couldn't even compute the complexity and grandeur of it all. 

 

 

Superstition Mountains

The clouds created even more drama

My prospector's wild flowers happiness

Weaver's Needle

 

 

Our pace increased as we gradually collected the majority of the flowers to see, until Katie spotted our first ever cactus blooming. This was the premier event. Florescent purple, as if the blooms were lit up by themselves. We formed a ring of admirers around this plant. What stunning color; can you believe a plant created this!

 

 

Cacti flower awe

 

Arriving at the end of the hike, the "falls" made me realize how naturalized I am to the plentiful Northeast water. This falls was simple a long dark spot on the rock, the kind you get when you sit with a wet bathing suit. After the monsoons (indeed, this is what local folks call the big rains of the summer, as if we were in Asia) I imagine this would be something to behold. But at the dry moment, it was totally unimposing. Although seeing dampness at all was novel around here. 

 

The "falls" aka damp spot

 

Turning away from the damp spot and taking in the expanse of cacti and rock and mountains and sky and distance was sacred. What a world! My imagination galloped like a horse over all there was to see.

 

As we drove towards the town of Apache Junction, we saw rows of cars in parking lots, hoards of tourists at a recreated "gold rush town." Your classic rusty windmill, a toy railroad, burgers & milkshakes, crowds in long lines for cotton candy or whatever.

 

Farther back up the road on the other side, we opted for Bluebird Trading Post instead. Nothing was in their little dusty parking lot except for 3 pickup trucks and half a dozen horses. The horses waited patiently as their riders--all of whom were in blue jeans, cowboy hats, some variation of blue plaid shirt, and spurs--crowded at a wooden table with a handwritten sign posting "for smokers only." They ate egg sandwiches and bison burgers from the little window ("service window, push"). I felt the parallels of how cyclists leave a pile of bikes out front, like those horses, and have muffins and coffee, all dressed the same in Lycra instead of spurs and jeans. The joys of heading out of a morning to have a treat along the road, no matter what your transport.

 

The Trading Post

 

 

 

A small black and white dog sat expectantly at one woman's feet as she ate fries; she looked like she was straight out of a wild west calendar with her blue jeans, jean jacket, cowskin cowboy hat, turquoise earrings, and sun glasses. As she clopped away on the back of her horse, the little dog balanced like a bobblehead on the horse's butt.

 

Inside the shop, just for fun I put a quarter in the ancient M&M dispenser (never done that before), turned the plastic knob, and got a handful of sugar dust and fossilized M&Ms. I bought some post cards, like you do, and the shop keeper showed us the earrings he made from rattlesnake vertebrae; "I've sold over 600 pairs of these" he told us proudly. A sign on a fence post pointed the way to "The Relief Room."

 

Fossils & Dust

 

 

Sign in the Relief Room

I have a feeling this was much more authentic Arizona than that touristy joint down the road. What a great stop.