Day Twelve
Today was an exercise in being thorough, a classic "go slow to go fast" scenario.
As you may have read in my Day Eleven post, my rear derailleur stopped working yesterday, stuck in high gear (the hardest gear to pedal; good for descending). I was near Bylas, Arizona, a wide spot along US 70 with some single wides, old trucks and the Mt. Turnbull Apache Market, a convenience store with a gas pump. Fortunately, they served ice cream.
Flat tires, broken bike, fatigue, dehydration, higher temperatures than I am accustomed to, desert for miles and few services, and no idea where to sleep, all put me in the boundary area between the challenge and danger zones. Low on energy and actionable information, I was one more mishap, misstep, or misjudgment from a truly bad situation. So, I pulled the plug on the day to regroup.
If you keep up your annual membership up, AAA (American Automobile Association) will bring you gas, jump your battery, fix your tire or tow to a mechanic. That's all car stuff. They also help stranded cyclists! Yesterday, my tow truck arrived about an hour after my call and dropped me off at a motel in Safford, 32 miles away.
As the tow truck rumbled down the highway to Safford, I reserved a rental car for today and researched bike shops. There are a bunch of bike shops in Tucson, and none any closer. At least six people told me the bike shop in Safford closed last year when the owner turned 80 years old and retired. So today I made the 280-mile round trip in a rented Chevy Silverado to Tucson Bicycle Service.
Sebastian at Tucson Bicycle Service put the bike on the stand and went to work, showing me what went wrong with my derailleur and how to fix it next time. He also adjusted my headset and front hub. We talked about mountain biking, tire choices, getting kids out, and the vibe of Tucson, which he says he loves. And I got a chance to totally reset my situation before heading on east, into more heat, few towns and unknown country.
From here to Uvalde, Texas, I have nearly 900 miles of road through scorched, sparsely inhabited scrubland. That's 11 to 12 days of riding and about 150 miles further than I have ridden so far from Santa Monica. The people in the desert southwest are kind and capable, but there is vast terrain between people—when I'm alone. I have to know that I've got a good grip on the reality of my situation, and of my physical and emotional state. My gear has to be in top shape. I have to push when needed, and when dial it back and conserve whenever I can. The keys are awareness, including self-awareness, staying in my performance zone, thinking cleanly and being mentally ahead, anticipating. Reacting is exhausting and I can't afford to become exhausted because that's when mental numbness leads to physical stupid.
Tomorrow I will set out early to ride the 78 miles to Lordsburg, New Mexico. Along tomorrow's route, only one town, Duncan, has any services. On the one hand, that's a long stretch of lonely. On the other hand, it's pretty similar to a summit day climbing a Cascade volcano. So, not unfamiliar territory in that sense.
I’d love to hear from you. Donate to the ride and send along your words of encouragement and tell me why getting kids outside matters to you.
