Map

Day 1: Arizona City to Superior

March 1, 2004 Arizona

Map Test 1

Half an hour before departure, we were at the sewing machine making orange flagging for the bike. The night had been in the 40's so we were in no hurry to leave in the morning's chill. By 9:30 all was ready, so we wheeled the bike outside, climbed aboard, peddled out onto the street and made a 360 in front of our house, then set off on our adventure. This was unique, starting a trip from our house. It certainly was convenient not having to go through the airline routine.

Our first objective was the post office. Jenny was carrying a large bag of half a dozen packages going out to Ray-Way customers. From there we followed Battaglia road east for several miles. The wind was out of the east southeast, so the going was slow. But we were in no hurry. Also we were taking it easy on our first day. Every half hour we'd stop for a rest.

In a few miles we came to our first hill: the overpass over Interstate 10 near Eloy. This was the first hill we'd ever taken the bike up. All our training, several months worth, had been on flat ground. Not by choice; for there are no hills near where we live. We didn't train on this road because it is busy with traffic.

To our relief the bike went over the hill without difficulty. Crossing the RR tracks and Frontier Street, we turned onto 11 Mile Corner Road and headed north. Now the wind was on the beam, though it still slowed us down quite a bit. We went past the Eloy drop zone, at a distance, and watched the Twin Otters climbing to altitude, and then the load of skydivers descending under canopy. At altitude the plane was flying very slowly into the wind, telling of high winds aloft. High cirrus streaking across the sky portended another storm system heading in from California. The winter had been a succession of storms and today we were taking advantage of a lull between them.

Near State Route 287 we stopped at the County Fairgrounds and rested on a bench overlooking a few 14-inch goldfish in a small pond. The morning had started out quite chilly and we had dressed in several layers, but the day was finally warming so we removed a few.

We turned east on to the 287, then at La Palma headed north on 87. This route was very familiar because we had driven it nearly every day for several months while skydiving at Coolidge. The land here is flat, part of the Sonoran Desert, but with large irrigated fields of cotton and alfalfa. The shoulder of 87 was 4-feet wide, but very rough. The high-speed traffic was rather heavy, as usual here.

We reached the city of Coolidge, and at its northern end stopped at a fast-foods restaurant and shared a small burger and fries. This small portion would be ludicrous later on. But our appetites will take several days to kick in to high gear. Again on 287 we peddled east what seemed like a long ways, gently uphill 9 miles to Florence. The shoulder was narrow and the traffic intense. This kind of riding is very fatiguing and although we largely ignored the high-speed vehicles, we still had to watch in our rear view mirrors, and remain on the alert.

North on 79, we were approaching the rugged mountains to the east and north. Here the traffic was much reduced, the shoulder was excellent -smooth and wide -and the surrounding desert was beautiful, with saguaro and cholla, barrels, ocotillo and creosote. All very pristine and beautiful, especially with the rugged Superstition mountains looming ahead. This is also where the fatigue started setting in. We had two strenuous activities. One was peddling, the other was merely sitting on the bicycle.

The sky had clouded over with fierce looking mammatus, and the temperature was starting to drop. We weren't too worried because we had never seen mammatus cause problems at ground level, though we certainly do not discount the possibility. We were looking forward to reaching Florence Junction and the convenience store because we were nearly out of water. Eventually we reached the junction, made the quarter-mile detour to the convenience store, only to find it closed. We had to backtrack the quarter-mile to get back on track. In this area the roadsides were brilliant gold with Arizona poppies. They were so extraordinarily beautiful that we stopped a few times for photos. Perhaps such adventuring heightens ones appreciation of nature. For after all, hundreds of cars were whizzing past per hour, and no one was stopping to look at the flowers.

The road began climbing in earnest, and for the first time I shifted the bike into low gear, that is the smallest of three rings forward. But it didn't work. Such was the price of training on flat ground. We pulled onto a gravel side road, leaned the bike against a wire gate, and retrieving the screwdriver from the tool bag I adjusted the front dérailleur stop. This solved the problem. Here we enjoyed a 20 minute rest, eating the last of our home-grown grapefruit with great enjoyment. Once again, there is that connection.

Proceeding on our way, we ground slowly up the long, steep hill in low gear, assisted now by a 5 mph tail wind. The shoulder was a foot and a half wide, and the traffic was frenetic, but at least most vehicles pulled over and gave us space. Eventually we reached Gonzales Pass at 2,600 feet, meaning that we had climbed about 1,000 feet from our house. Now came the downhill run, a couple miles of high-speed coasting where our speedometer topped out at 35 mph. Just before the Boyce Thompson Arboretum we passed by a javelina road kill. The animal was large with beautiful fur, and there was no mistaking it was a wild pig. As we passed by the entrance to the arboretum, the fellow at the kiosk waved. A few more shorter hills brought us to the town of Superior on the very last of our legs. Because the weather was deteriorating, we were glad to find a motel room. We collapsed on the bed for at least 10 minutes feeling thoroughly spent.

Hot showers, then we wandered across the street for dinner. We could only eat half of it. Jenny washed our biking garments in the motel room's sink, and we hung them from the ceiling to dry. Outside the weather was quite chilly so we were glad for the room's heater.

Day's mileage: 68, Hours peddled: 5, Trip mileage: 68

Day 2: Superior to Globe

March 2, 2004 Arizona

In a light drizzle we walked a few blocks downhill to a mini-mart to buy a bottle of water and a few snacks. Back at the room, we mounted the bike and set off at 8:30 am, now in a heavier drizzle. The shoulder was good, the traffic wasn't too heavy, and the road led steeply up into the rugged canyon. The farther we went, the heavier the traffic, the narrower the shoulder, and the harder the rain. Globe was only 23 miles distant and we figured we could get that far, even in the rain. The uphill grind kept us warm. In fact we overheated even though the day was quite cold. We could see our breath, and our eye-glasses were fogging.

We both had mirrors, but about all I could see astern was Jenny's head. She was sitting smack in my rearward view. Anyway I had to concentrate intently on steering along the narrow shoulder, tying to avoid the rocks and glass, bits of wire and other tire-damaging bits. So Jenny gave me a running commentary on the traffic approaching from behind, as to whether I should pull over a little tighter, or whether I could relax a few inches out into the lane. Mostly we were pressed tightly against the ragged edge. A couple of times we had to ditch it off the side of the road because of some driver billowing up the hill pell-mell and not giving us an inch of leeway.

The Queen Creek Tunnel was fortunately only a couple of hundred yards long. It was a bit nerve wracking, though, because its two up-hill lanes had no shoulder. At least the tunnel was well lit, so the drivers saw us well in advance and gave us plenty of room. However, each car or truck was frightfully noisy as it zoomed past.

Several times in the morning we had to stop to clear the fog from our glasses with a small bandanna. The sky was now pouring a near freezing rain.

At one point the traffic was so frenetic that around one blind corner we walked the bike. When we got back on and resumed peddling we were surprised at how much easier it was than walking, thanks to the compound gears. The mountain bikes of last year were just the opposite: much easier to walk than peddle them steeply uphill.

The canyon was spectacular with craggy rocks, and despite the rain and traffic the morning was most interesting. Near the top of the hill the desert ecology began giving way to the occasional sycamore, oak, juniper, manzanita, and even cottonwood. We reached the top but didn't check our watch - somewhere around a couple of hours. The rain continued and at this elevation, 4,500 feet approximately, the temperature was nearly freezing. We peddled a few more miles along easier terrain and past the ramshackle community of Top of the World (mostly trailers and RVs).

A few miles farther and the front tire went flat. A couple of curious coincidences: first, it happened at a turnout with a large, sheltering oak tree. Second, it happened just before a long, steep descent; more on this shortly. Also, the rain was starting to turn to snowfall.

We leaned the bike against the tree, pulled off the wheel, and this is when Jenny started shivering. We were both soaked through with sweat and rain, but were no longer exerting to keep warm. So I advised her to pull out the first warm shirt she could find in our bag, which turned out to be mine. Also we both donned our rain jackets. I swapped the punctured tube for a new one, put the tire back together, pumped it up, and we started off again. But the tire still had a problem, so we again found ourselves back at the tree. I had not seated the tire on the rim properly, and it was bulging in one spot. This was an easy fix, simply deflating the tire, pressing it over the rim at that place, then re inflating. With this particular pump, though, achieving the recommended 110 pounds of pressure was a work-out.

By the time we set off again, the weather had greatly improved. The snow had stopped, the rain had stopped, and the sun was trying to force its way through the heavy cloud cover. We now realized that we were not meant to start down the hill with the snow falling - for some reason - maybe a potential problem with a truck, or slippery road...

After the first section of downhill we had to stop and cinch the hood of my jacket tightly around my face. The wind was positively freezing, traveling much faster as we now were downhill. A couple of times we had to let the cars pile up behind us, in places where the road had no shoulder. Because the pavement was wet, I was squeezing the rear disk brake to slow our speed, helped also now by strong headwinds.

Soon we reached the mining town of Miami. The larger town of Globe was 9 miles ahead, and we hoped to reach that before the onset of more stormy weather - though we did make a brief stop at a mini-mart for warming cups of hot chocolates. The sun had managed to show its cheery face through the clouds. Here the scenery comprised huge tailing piles, above which towered nearby mountains gleaming with their fresh load of snow. The towns had basically merged, and we followed the highway up and down all the way through.

At the eastern edge of the community, near the junction of highway 60, we stopped for the day at noon. The weather was foreboding, and we were more than ready for a break, to dry off and warm up. We checked into a motel, and outside our room spent well over an hour cleaning the bike of grit, grime and grease from the wet and wild ride. We also cleaned and oiled the chain, sprockets and gears, adjusted the front dérailleur which had been giving some trouble, and patched the flat tube.

Day's mileage: 27, Hours peddled: 4.5. Considering the conditions and our decidedly poor level of fitness at trip's beginning, not too bad. Trip mileage: 95

Day 3

March 3, 2004 Arizona

Rising early, we found the front tire again flat. Removing the tube, we found a small hole. We patched that, but while pumping the tire back up, it exploded with a huge bang that left our ears ringing. Right away I stepped outside to reassure any worried motel guests that it had not been a gunshot. The tube now had a 5" gaping split, and was ruined. Apparently it had been pinched between rim and tire when I inflated it. Slowly we are learning. But also I found two small cuts in the tire itself, probably from yesterday's grind up the hill in the no-man's land of a narrow, debris-strewn highway shoulder. The back tire also had a small split and a corresponding nick in the wheel where we had obviously hit something exceptionally bad. We had no spare tire, and were down to only one spare tube.

Globe had no bike shop that we could discover, and with bike shops galore in not-so-distant Phoenix it seemed imprudent to peddle ahead on tires perhaps not up to the task. So we rented a car for a quick trip into the big city to buy new tires.

At the bike shop, the fellow explained that our present tires, Continental Ultra 2000, were excellent for racing, but not meant for long-distance road touring. This may be why yesterday's grind had damaged them. Instead, he recommended Continental Top Touring 2000, so these we bought, along with tubes.

The rental car also allowed us a quick detour home where we made adjustments to our clothing, shoes, and gear bags, and pick up the camera's firewire which we had forgotten. Also I had received a jury summons, so after a few phone calls we changed into city clothes and made a quick trip to the local court house to explain ourselves. Hopefully this got me off the hook, though we were not quite sure.

Back on the highway we drove to Globe, arriving at our motel well after dark. Right away we switched the tires and tubes, just to verify they fit.

Day 4

March 4, 2004 Arizona

We rose at dawn, glad not to be hearing the constant pattering of rain outside. One look out the window showed why - the rain had turned to snow. Two inches of mushy snow on the ground, and the sky blackened with heavy clouds. Obviously we weren't going anywhere for awhile. It rained most of the day, but in the late afternoon a bit of sun came out so we walked a mile to the Public Library for something to do.

Day 5

March 5, 2004 Arizona

More rain and snow. I spent much of the day programming (Perl). It was such a pleasure to have the computer along; for us, the first time ever on a journey. I enjoy the programming for its mental challenge.

Day 6: Globe to Safford

March 6, 2004 Arizona

Daylight revealed a cloudless, blue sky. When the first rays of sun started melting the snow and ice on the roof, the drips pummeled the sidewalk like heavy rain. Once through the drip zone we were on our way in what was to be the most gorgeous day imaginable. We set off at 7:45 am. The early morning was very chilly, so we bundled in several layers. I even wore my rain jacket to block the wind. I also wore one pair of gloves under two pair of fleece mittens.

The new tires made a world of difference. The ride was much smoother, and yet the rolling resistance didn't seem much greater. The bike sped east along highway 70, sometimes on good shoulder and sometimes not. The ambient wind was still. The highway was mostly level, some rolling ups and downs, and we made excellent progress for the likes of these greenhorn cyclists. Very often we moved along at 20 mph or better, and up to 30 mph down the long, gradual hills.

As the day warmed, we stopped every half hour to shed a few more layers. The terrain was magnificent. Desert vegetation covering an expanse that led off to distant snow-covered mountains. It was such a joy to be out here, traveling by bicycle, across this fresh and beautiful land - the traffic notwithstanding, but we largely ignored that.

I had always wondered why bicyclists seemed to be not very friendly, and now I am beginning to understand. So many cars go by, day after day, that cyclists tend to blank them out. When a motorist sees a bicyclist, it is something unusual, perhaps. But to the cyclist, a car is just another car. Which is not to demean motorists, for the vast majority are nice people. But the experiences gleaned by the modes of travel differ greatly.

Many times when driving, I had seen cyclists out in the middle of nowhere, and thought that it did not look like much fun. But that was only because I had lacked the first-hand experience of doing just that, to understand its values. Even though far from civilization, out on this remote highway we would not have wished to be any where else; and the motorists could not have given us their cars. On the bike we are enjoying a connection with the landscape, an understanding, and a deep appreciation that is all but lost to the motorist.

Something else I had not understood was the speed. From a car, the bicycle seems to be traveling dreadfully slow. But from the bike the world is sometimes speeding past in a most exhilarating way.

And what a wonderful opportunity for exercise. The human body thrives on the exercise of hiking or cycling or kayaking or rowing. This is something so lacking in the modern world with its so-called comforts. Lack of exercise is surely a contributing factor in society's deteriorating health and advanced aging. Cycling is not expensive, depending on ones choice of gear,; and virtually anyone can take a bicycle out their front door and begin a long trip. The world is literally at each person's doorstep.

For the first 20 miles we saw many yucca trees, which are entirely lacking in the Sonoran desert where we live. At one point we saw a pair of javelinas alongside the road. They wanted to cross but the traffic frightened them back. The rear of the javelina looks something like a large dog, but the front has a huge, low-slung head that seems to be half jowls. One of the pigs was dark, and the other was a much lighter brown. By the time we passed them they had disappeared back into the brush.

The only negative aspect of the day was the transit of the San Carlos Apache reservation. Here the ground was littered with an astounding amount of trash. High on their list of preferred activities seems to be throwing beer and liquor bottles out their car or truck window and smashing them to bits. The land itself was beautiful when looking past the rubbish, but the amount of rubbish along the road was so disconcerting that we peddled just a little bit harder to reach the far end of the reservation.

On the brighter side, as we passed through their settlements, a few gave us friendly waves. Two native fellows were standing along the road trying to hitch a ride, and jokingly held their thumbs out as we peddled past.

The highway exited the reservation and soon we came to a small store, selling mostly beer to the Indians. Several Native Americans came and went as we sat resting on a bench out front. Each customer left the store with a magnum-sized box of beer, and without exception he carried it out to his car or truck as covertly as possible, opened the door and quickly set the beer on the passenger side floor. In 10 minutes we watched this scenario half a dozen times. The people were not threatening, but neither were they particularly friendly, probably because of what we represented to their particular way of thinking, along with our strange attire and unconventional vehicle. However one fellow, after setting his box of beer on the floor of his truck, contemplated us for a few minutes, and after asking us a few questions he offered to buy us sodas, which we gratefully declined, and failing that, how about at least some gum? It was the thought that counted, and to us it counted a great deal.

Much farther along we took a rest stop under a large cottonwood about 20 feet off the road. This was as far off the road that we could get because of a canal. A truck load of Indians sped past, the right front and rear wheels directly on the rumble strip for about 100 yards. The rumble strip here was cut about 2 inches deep, and it was hammering the truck tires so fiercely that smoke was billowing from them as though the truck was on fire. Jenny and I strengthened our resolve to watch the traffic coming from behind for drunk drivers such as this.

The further we peddled the less trash along the road until eventually it was back to normal, which is not to say absent, same with any highway. Also, the better the road became - smoother surface and wider shoulder. Eventually we reached Pima and stopped at the Grill and Freeze for a large order of burger and fries each, followed by a frozen dessert. Already our appetites were kicking into gear.

The next town, Thatcher, was very pleasant. In a few more miles, we reached the city of Safford, and found it to be quite modern, with all the typical amenities: x-mart, fast food, etc. We stopped at a supermarket and Jenny bought a large bag of fresh fruit. Once through town, near its east end we checked into a motel at 2:30 pm, feeling bushed.

Day's mileage: 84, Hours peddled: 4.5

Day 7: Safford to Camp

March 7, 2004 Arizona

We set off at 8:15 am and resumed peddling east along highway 70, but now in a strong headwind, which slowed us to 10 mph on level ground. The sky was clear but for a band of cirrus spread across the southern horizon.

Peddling along the highway, we passed through the farming community of Solomon, and another 10 miles to the junction with highway 191. This road led slowly uphill for a great long ways. The shoulder was nonexistent, but the traffic was practically so. By now the wind had relented somewhat, and was more on the beam. The country here was vast, with a beautiful expanse of rocky terrain bristling with interesting cactus of many different types.

We took a couple of rests, but generally maintained a slow but steady pace all the way up to the pass at 4,700 feet. This stretch was about 16 miles of uphill. It was a long grind, but was to be only a warm-up for the afternoon's main event. From the pass the road led about 8 miles down Tollhouse Canyon, where the slopes were carpeted with millions of golden poppy. This section was a wild and fast ride; a lot of fun, even though we would have to regain the altitude shortly.

At the bottom of the hill the road crossed the Gila River on a high bridge, then led steeply uphill a ways to a highway intersection outpost called Three Way. Here we stopped at a small store. We bought things for lunch and dinner. We also purchased the only food they sold: a couple of tomatoes.

We were sitting outside eating lunch when a fellow arrived on a fast looking motorcycle. He went inside, and before long came back out, hopped on his bike and sped away. We didn't think much of it, until we went into the store and found the clerk on the telephone giving the police the fellow's description. Despite our modern technology, and society's bloated opinions of itself, what a very short ways we have come crawling from the mires of the primitive condition. Technology minus integrity equals p-r-i-m-i-t-i-v-e. Where in our society do we learn integrity? Certainly not in school, on TV, in contemporary music, movies, on the internet, or in computer games so popular with our youth. Imagine going to high school and attending classes on English literature and grammar, Math, and Integrity. To most people this would seem strange, but only because we have not learned the value of higher education. So instead we have the police.

We set off again, and this is when the day's climbing began in earnest. Fourteen miles to the next pass, up Blackjack Canyon. A couple of miles into this grind we met a bicyclist coming the other way. He stopped and right away handed us an energy bar for a snack. Gary lived in the region and worked at the huge copper mine visible to the northwest - the country's largest he said. Today he was again training for the coming racing season. He said we were the first he had seen this year passing through, but that typically each spring there are hundreds - although it wasn't clear how far most of those people go. He said that in the 19 years he had been cycling here, he had seen all different types of bicycles coming through: mountain bikes hauling trailers loaded with gear, etc. The most notable was a granny in her seventies riding a kid's bike with banana type handlebars. She had come from Los Angeles and was doing remarkably well. He also said the forest service was planning to install showers for the cyclists at the Three Way Ranger Station.

We continued grinding up the road, which seemed steeper than it probably was, due to our fatigue. But we persevered, and despite our very slow rate of travel, often only 4 or 5 miles an hour on the steeper bits, we made ground. This was one of those climbs where you could see the road far, far ahead, and far, far above. It looked like the road was climbing the mountain, which it was.

Much higher, we stopped at a beautiful creek and washed the sweat from our faces in the cold and reinvigorating water, complements of the recent snowfall.

The higher we went, the less energy, until we were fairly on the last of our legs. At one point the road was so steep that we walked the bike a ways. It seemed a bit easier, but when we resumed peddling, that seemed a bit easier. My conclusion was that the change in the type of strenuous exertion brought a measure of relief.

We took numerous rest stops, and eventually gained the higher switchbacks. Here ones eye followed the road snaking far down the mountain. Beyond the valley we could still see the road descending Tollhouse Canyon, which we had sped down earlier in the day. This was expansive country, our favorite type.

At the top of the pass (6,295 feet) snow blanketed the ground nearly everywhere except the highway. To our surprise the road led into a magnificent forest of juniper and ponderosa, with a few pinion and oak. It was wonderfully invigorating to be in the company of these trees, and to smell their fragrance. Also the cool air and the shade brought tremendous relief to our scorched and sunburned skin.

The road led gently down with some steeper sections, and we sped along gleefully, glad to have managed the notorious hill, and now to be in this beautiful and cool forest. Then the road bottomed out at a creek crossing, then followed that creek up, sometimes steeply again but only for a mile or two, to the border of Arizona and New Mexico. Naturally we stopped to take a picture of the sign welcoming us into New Mexico.

After a bit more climbing, the winding road gave us a fast and easy ride down and down. Ponderosa started giving way to oak and juniper. Nearly to the edge of the forest we left the highway and walked the bike along a dirt road leading past an old, rusty windmill. Well out of sight, we found a lovely place to camp amid oak and ponderosa. Here, at 6:15 pm, we stopped for the day, having traveled 60 miles. Pitching our tarp, we made a comfortable camp.

The selection of this camp proved a mistake. It was not sufficiently distant from the lowland farm houses, and at about 1:00 am we were discovered by a pair of dogs. For the next hour they barked at us furiously. Finally, I roused myself from the comfortable bed, put on shirt and shoes, and crawled surreptitiously from beneath the tarp on the side opposite the dogs. They were standing atop the hillside above us, about 30 yards distant. The moon was shining brightly, but by keeping trees and brush between me and them, I moved away from camp without them seeing me. I then made a wide circle, and approached them silently from the side. Unfortunately the top of the knoll was void of trees or ground cover, meaning that I could not get within a stone's throw unnoticed. So I stepped out into the open and surprised the dogs. To my good fortune they bounded fearfully away. They were much larger than I had realized. I returned to bed, counting the incident as simply "one on me" for having camped at this particular place.

Day 8: Camp to Silver City

March 8, 2004 New Mexico

We packed up and set off at 8 am, and peddled through an expanse of ranch land, dotted with occasional ranch houses and their attendant out-buildings and paraphernalia. In a few miles we passed the tiny settlement of Mule Creek. From there the road led across a succession of ups and downs, over one ridge and down into the next drainage. The land here was more open, with a backdrop of large mountains still dusted with snow. The terrain was what some might call barren, accentuated with the occasional yucca tree or sometimes juniper.

Reaching highway 180 we turned east. The day was warming nicely for the fast downhill run, 9 miles to Buckhorn. There we stopped at a convenience/liquor store, and while parking the bike we caught a heady fragrance of juniper burning in the store's wood stove. The store sold no food proper, but it did proffer the usual preponderance of packaged materials which seem to pass for food these days. So this was breakfast.

Sitting on the front porch, we met one-eyed Bob, who lived in a Basque sheep-herder type wagon, festooned with all manner of objects - and parked, at the moment, nearby while awaiting warmer weather for its annual return to the highlands. At 82, Bob lived a very simple, itinerant life with his dog Skeeter, his mule, and his donkey. We expressed interest in his outfit, so he showed us a few of its features. Behind the main wagon, normally pulled by the donkey and mule, was a smaller trailer that carried the animal feed. The feed was covered with a white cotton tarpaulin bearing the signatures of many people - from all over the world Bob added proudly.

Bob unleashed Skeeter to show us one of its tricks. On command, the dog jumped excitedly onto the back of the donkey and posed for a photo. Bob asked us about our travels, and when we mentioned Silver City he warned us about the place, saying "there are girls up there who have boyfriends that think they are boys."

With fond adieus we set off, and peddled another 10 miles to the next small town of Cliff. This was an easy run through open, rolling ranch land. Once there we stopped at a service station to top our water bottles, rest in the shade, and eat a few snacks.

The proprietor had seen us peddle in, and he asked, "Where you going, Florida?" We asked him whether he sees many bicyclists come through, to which he replied, "Oh yeah, all the time." He said that during The Gila Tour you can hardly get through town, the place is so packed with bicyclists. He said cross-country cyclists come through year round, and that the most recent one was about a week ago. To this point in my narrative I have not explained that we are following a route known as The Southern Tier, which runs sea to sea, from San Diego to Florida, and that we are using the Adventure Cycling Organization maps, which by the way are proving to be excellent.

Pressing on, we crossed the Gila River, here positively gushing. Hard to imagine this torrent dwindling to nothing before making it even half-way through Arizona. Most is sucked up by the cottonwoods lining its banks, purportedly at the rate of 200 gallons per tree, per day. No doubt much is also taken for irrigating cotton fields and other croplands.

Where the road begins its 27-mile mostly gradual ascent to Silver City, we started encountering headwinds. All the better for burning our winter stores of blubber, we figured - speaking for myself that is. With temperatures now in the 80s, the direct sunshine was scorching our faces and bare arms.

Four miles from town we reached another milestone, the Continental Divide at 6,200 feet. From here it was a fast few miles down into Silver City. Suddenly we found ourselves in bumper-to-bumper traffic, with stop lights and everyone seemingly impatient to get where they were going. The town itself is fairly spread out, nestled in a wide basin of pinion and juniper ecology. Like much of the terrain along the divide, the ground consists of decomposed gravel that percolates the rain and melting snow so rapidly that soil hardly has a chance to form.

About half way through town, at 3:00 pm we stopped at a motel. After reviving showers we wandered next door to an all-you-can-eat salad bar; and enjoyed our first real food in several days. To illustrate the degree to which strenuous exercise accentuates the appetite, after two trips to the salad bar and another two small bowls of peaches and cottage cheese, I was about to suggest we leave when Jenny decided on a bowl of soup.

Day's mileage: 62, Hours peddled: 4 hours, 44 minutes. 8 am to 3 pm = 7 hours

Day 9

March 9, 2004 New Mexico

Layover day in Silver City.

Day 10: Silver City to Caballo

March 10, 2004 New Mexico

We set off at 7:30 am, and right away climbed our first hill, leading through town. The road was very busy with rush-hour type traffic, but most drivers gave us ample leeway while speeding past. The town seemed to go on for miles. After peddling the 7 miles to Santa Clara, we turned left onto highway 152 and this is where we lost most of the traffic.

At one point we peddled past a man and woman out for a walk, bundled in winter-type coats and hats. We were sweating away in thin polyester jerseys and lycra shorts. The differing exertion levels here were apparent.

Something about this bicycle we have yet to figure out: how to make it go at a moderate, relaxing pace. The cheap mountain bikes of last year, that was all they wanted to do - cruise along at a moderate pace. With this tandem, and I have no idea why, it has to be full tilt, whether we are grinding 4.5 mph in the lowest gear up a very steep hill, or whizzing along a gradual descent at 30 mph - it is always peddle to the metal. I suspect there is something about the personality of this bike that we have yet to come to terms with. Perhaps the bike is trying to get back at us for replacing its racing tires with touring tires.

The particular stretch we were peddling today was up and down, up and down, all day long, and always steep. We were either going 5 mph in low gear, or 30 mph in high. In between it was rattle, rattle, ting, ping as I tried to shift gears from one extreme to the other as quickly as possible.

After one particular descent into Hanover, we blazed through town at 40 mph. Whether or not there was a store there, we couldn't tell as our eyes were so teared-over from the frigid blast. Anyway we could not have stopped in time had there been a store.

The route led past the Santa Rita open-pit mine, and we stopped at a viewpoint to admire the gaping hole. It looked as though an upside-down-mountain had been dug from the earth. My analysis was that I hoped they fill it back in when finished.

All along the way the natural terrain was beautiful, with juniper and pinion, yucca and a few agave, even some mountain mahogany which is one of my favorite shrubs.

The descent to highway 35 was long and fast, and here we reached another milestone on the journey. Here we crossed our track of 1992 when hiking the Continental Divide Trail. We recognized the area, and in particular the walnut trees lining the road. We needed water for the day's main event shortly to come, so we turned north on 35 and peddled half a mile to the San Lorenzo junction where of all things we came to a Subway sandwich shop and a post office. Here we mailed home a package of items culled from our inventory to reduce weight and bulk. The postmistress told us of an Australian bicyclist who had come through a week ago in a howling blizzard on the verge of hypothermia.

We enjoyed a sandwich each while talking with the proprietor who said she had lived here 9 years and liked it much better than the larger towns such as Silver City. We agreed.

Returning to the 152, we crossed the Mimbres River on a bridge, and began the 18 mile climb to Emory Pass. At 8,295 feet, this pass is the highest point along the Southern Tier. For the next few hours we spent a lot of time in low gear. But the ride was very beautiful, especially as the traffic was light, and all the motorists we did see were friendly. Twice we encountered small groups of mule deer at fairly close range. We saw a large, white breasted hawk, perched in a roadside tree eying a freshly road-killed rabbit. All along the way were flickers, jays, and ravens, and at one point we saw a bevy of quail.

Naturally, the higher we went, the more the ecology changed with the elevation. The second half of the climb was up a beautiful canyon through which flowed Iron Creek. Here were all manner of interesting trees including pinion and juniper - both Rocky Mtn and Alligator - Ponderosa, White pine, Douglas fir, 3 types of true fir, and the ubiquitous cottonwood, alder, walnut and maple. For whatever reason we did not see sycamore. All these trees are very important because of how they communicate their connection with the landscape, and for how we could use them in a primitive survival type situation.

The creek was running heartily for about 3 miles, then only barely for the remainder of the way to the pass. Near the pass the ground harbored quite a bit of snow, despite the day's heat. Then after a couple of long, steep switchbacks we finally reached the summit at about 2 pm.

From there the road led down quite steeply in many places, with numerous hairpin turns and a few places with some gravel wash on the road, both of which prevented us from building up any real speed. About all I could do was hang on to the rear disk brake lever.

However, one stretch of about 3 miles was moderately graded and with only gradual switchbacks, and here we had a whooping great time. Setting behind me, Jenny had no brake or gear levers of her own, so could only sit there hanging on in hopes that I was maneuvering the bike properly. A couple of times I reminded her not to be so gripped up, but to relax and sit very still. Every time she moved she tended to throw my steering off somewhat. At any rate, all went well until I approached a car and started to pass it. Jenny hollered at me to slow down, but she seemed to accept her plight as we passed the car and soon left it far behind.

Beyond Kingston all that was changed by headwinds so strong that we seemed to be peddling level ground, even though still going downhill. Leaning into the wind, 15 mph was the best we could manage.

The next town, Hillsboro, surprised us with its rustic tourist-type buildings huddled together and hugging the street. We stopped at the Hillsboro General Store and café, secured the bike just outside the window where we could keep an eye on it, then sat at the counter enjoying a hearty lunch while talking with the husband and wife proprietors. Years ago the fellow had completed a cross-country bike trip of his own, and his wife had driven sag wagen for the second half of the trip. She said it was an enjoyable way for her to participate in her husband's adventure.

From here, the 152 climbed two miles, then began a 15 mile gradual descent across a huge expanse of creosote desert, down into the Rio Grande valley. To our good fortune the headwinds diminished outside of Hillsboro, allowing us to pick up the pace - 20 mph average as it turned out. Here again I do not know why we peddled as though competing in some kind of a race, but we certainly wore ourselves out getting to Caballo.

Caballo consisted of little more than a gas station, convenience store and small trailer park, all overlooking an expansive reservoir of the same name. Here we rented one of the two small cabins set up especially for cyclists. The rent was only $25 a night, though the amenities were few. The bed mattress was covered in plastic, in lieu of sheets or pillows. Instead, one used his or her sleeping bag. The only way we could manage that was to keep the door and windows wide open all night. At any rate, the proprietor was friendly, and the snacks we bought at his store - followed by hot showers and laundry - were a perfect conclusion to a wonderful day of cycling.

Day's Mileage: 74, Hours peddled: 6 hours, 15 minutes

Day 11: Caballo to Hatch

March 11, 2004 New Mexico

During the night the sky scudded over and the wind rattled things incessantly outside. The rain held off, though, and when we checked out, the owner told us "it never rains here." Whenever a local says something like that, chances are, the rain will begin in about half an hour. Which it did. But by that time we were a long ways from Caballo, so he could have been right. And I do mean a long ways, because with a 25 mph tail wind we were hauling. Highway 187 led through Arrey and then Derry, which is about where the rain started and the wind stopped. From there it was 13 miles to Hatch, and by the time we reached there, the wheels were slinging mud and water all over us.

A couple times the road had led over the Rio Grande river, and isn't it odd how things are rarely the way you had imagined them. The rio might have grande in former times, but has since been reduced to a polluted slough. Waterfowl was in abundance, though, so it couldn't have been too bad.

So thick were the moiling clouds that the sky was almost black, making the prospects of continuing rather unappealing. Soaking wet, we stopped at a convenience store with outside seating sheltered beneath a roof, and sat for an hour in hopes of improving conditions. But in vain, and because hanging out seemed like a waste of time, we checked into a motel and I spent the rest of the day at the computer. Jenny meanwhile cleaned and oiled the bike.

The proprietor had started a bicyclist's guest book the first of the year, and already it had half a dozen sign-ins. Most recently was a couple from Phoenix here four days ago heading for Maine.

Day's mileage: 27, Hours peddled: 1 hour, 22 minutes