Ok, I have to apologize for all of the spelling and grammar errors in that last post. I’m always under a time crunch when I get to these libraries, so most of whatever’s left of my library hour after I’m done checking email is devoted to typing as fast as my sun-addled brain can recall what’s happened in the last few days. After Claire and I rode off from the library yesterday I lamented aloud my suspicion that I had typed “dessert” instead of “desert”, which was not only true, but had happened three times in succession. Absolutely shameful- even this disclaimer doesn’t excuse that kind of extreme spelling misfire.
In a small town somewhere in Arizona, a chatty young boy approached us with a series of questions about who we were and what we were up to. Completely baffled at our quest to ride from San Diego to Austin on a whim and grasping for more explanation, he ended the interrogation with “Is someone paying you?” After we rolled on down the highway, I started to entertain the fantasy that some eccentric oil tycoon in Austin was paying us a sweet bounty to super-rush something completely random across three states, kinda like that one time Nerf had to rush a crosstown teener to some businessman who needed a steaming bag of tater tots in hand within minutes, only even more extreme. On those days when I’m riding really slowly, nothing gets me into the big ring like imagining the giant bag of gold coins waiting for us in Austin once we make good on the safe transferral of all those delicious San Diego tater tots we’ve been hauling for a week. It’s weird what your mind fixates on during those long, hot days.
The Horspitality RV park was a great place to camp, provided one has a fondness for horses, good times, RV chatter, and satisfying equestrian puns. We’ve stayed in quite a few RV meccas along the route, and I feel like the extent of my knowledge about these grandiose, gas-guzzling friends of the road is at an all time high. I’ve taken every opportunity to chat up the RV’ers as much as possibly, hoping that my liasion efforts prove valuable once those same friendly travelers eventually maneuver their unwieldy motorized behemoths back onto the highway with an accompanying awareness that smiling, loving cyclists with a zest for life and all that is good in the world are also out on the road.
Phoenix wasn’t kind to us. We rode for tens of miles through nothing but suburban sprawl and big box stores before finally discovering a Trader Joe’s rising up out of the mist, like an oasis of delicious bagged snack items. Suddenly, after days of encountering the kind of grizzled one-toothed old-timers who start conversations with “Hell, if I’da known they didn’t sell beer until 10am, I’da just stayed in bed!”, we were surrounded by golf-cart driving retirees and a land of perfectly manicured rock lawns maintained by healthy, happy seniors. One jovial old chap approached me to ask earnest questions about our trip navigation, inquiring if we had brought maps with us. I showed him our cycling maps, to which he replied “No, no! I mean maps of all the TRADER JOE’S. That’s the only way you’re gonna get around to all of them!” Hmm…. there is a certain wisdom to the Greatest Generation that the modern thirty/twenty-something seems to lack.
The canal paths into Phoenix were certainly relaxing and peaceful enough, but once we reached the actual city limits, we faced one disappointment after another. All of the lesbian bars I had previously researched were all shut down and boarded up in the most depressing way possible, and the only routes around town to access them were traffic-heavy and overwhelming. When we finally located the hostel, there was a strange, ranting old man freaking out outside, upset that the building wouldn’t open until 5. We decided to buy some beer and find a park to wait in instead of sitting around and getting an earful, but unfortunately there were no parks in the vicinity and security busted us for sitting around with alcohol on private property. Time to move on and try our luck in Tempe. After a week of riding 75-85 mile days in the Arizona heat, relaxing in a Tempe motel room was just what we needed after a long day. Ack, time’s up. To be continued!
Tags: Arizona, bike touring, Claire rules, Southern Tier
April 10, 2008 at 11:43 pm |
Haha! I didn’t notice any misspellings in that last post, but I am still gonna give you $#!* for it. Keep having fun little duders!!!