Day Eleven: the gift, erin, safford

I realized something while riding this morning. Only in the sport of bicycling is it socially acceptable for one guy to ask another guy how his butt is doing.

Up at 4:30, riding by 5:40.

The road out of Globe.

From mark on a bike 08

From mark on a bike 08

We stopped in Bylas (pop. 1219) after about forty miles. There, we saw a woman selling some food on the side of the road. There were a lot of locals coming by so we thought it would be okay to eat.

From mark on a bike 08

Klaus is very interested in Native Americans and began talking to her. His knowledge of Indians comes from American television, a great resource if you need to know what Paris Hilton wore last night, how badly your stocks are doing, or how to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to a Chihuahua, but reliable information about Native Americans is somewhat lacking.

He asked questions, very tactfully and innocently, such as, "What kind of dwelling do you live in?" Twila, the woman selling the home-made tamales and frybread, answered his questions and offered us a free tamale. She also introduced us to a few of her friends. One of the women, although a little shy about it, was willing to speak in the Apache language.

From mark on a bike 08

Another woman came by and, when she found out we were traveling across the country on bicycles, exclaimed, "Don't leave! I have a gift for you!"

Her name is Centella, but she goes by Cynthia. When she returned a few minutes later she had a box of jewelry.... earrings, barrettes, pins, etc. "Take one! Take ANY one you want!!" she exclaimed. We each selected an item, and told her how beautiful they were. "Let me pay you for it," I added.

Almost, but not quite before I finished my sentence, she replied, "Okay." We walked back over to our bikes to get money for our "gifts."

From mark on a bike 08

Twila's tamales were good, and we bought one from her, then went to the grocery store for some other things.

Just as we were about to leave, another guy on a bike pedaled up. We had actually seen his bike and tent yesterday as we were walking to the Circle K. Klaus had made a game of guessing what country he was from by looking at his bike, tent, and bags.

His name is Erin Coye, a 38-year-old programmer from Seattle. He had scrimped and saved his vacation for a long time in order to be able to take a cross-country bike trip last year. One week before his planned departure date he injured his knee playing tennis. He ended up having surgery on it and rehabbed by bicycling.

This year when it came time to go, he just quit his job.

From mark on a bike 08

Erin started in Seattle and rode to San Francisco, then through Nevada, past the Grand Canyon and the National Parks in Utah before hooking up with ACA's Southern Tier in Phoenix. He's planning on riding to Miami Beach.

The three of us drafted the final 34 miles. Drafting with one other person is good; drafting with two other people is TERRIFIC. We flew through Pima, stopped for some milkshakes in Thatcher, and arrived in Safford in record time.

From mark on a bike 08

This is a picture taken over my shoulder:

From mark on a bike 08

Klaus and I stopped at Safeway to get some groceries while Erin made a trip to WalMart. Erin is planning on staying at a hot springs resort tonight, which sounds great except that it's almost five miles off the route. It doesn't even cost more than our campsite.

Klaus is working his way through all of the "typical" American fast food restaurants (McDonald's, Wendy's, Burger King...) so he and I stopped at Arby's.

I just want everyone to know....

Klaus is not my friend.

From Mark on a Bike 08 2

This is a picture of a guy's head, similar in shape to mine, who just took off his helmet, which happens to be similar to mine. As you can see, the hair, similar in color to mine, is in tufts. This is caused by wind coming in through the MASSIVE AIR-SUCKING VENTS and lifting the hair. That creates a nice cooling effect and has the secondary benefit of giving him a very stylish coiffe which goes quite well with
his snot-adorned sleeves and bug-pelted face and arms.

I pose this question to you: Would a real friend let someone with whom he was riding walk into a restaurant looking like that? Would a real friend take a picture?

Theoretically speaking, of course.

After we finished eating I stayed at Arby's to blog while Klaus rode to the campsite. By the way, I don't really write down all the time I spend blogging because you would see the word "blogging" about four hundred times a day. Klaus sometimes calls me the Blog Man.

I am on a mission....

My hair has NEVER looked like the guy's in the picture above (and I'm sticking to that story), but it IS time for a haircut. So, for the last 500 miles, I've been looking for a place to get a haircut. I'd like to go to a small town barber with the striped pole outside, partly because I haven't been to one since I was a kid, and partly because it seems as if the barber is something that is fading into the American past like Keds shoes, cigarette-shaped pieces of gum, and soda fountains.

On the way to our campsite I saw a telltale striped pole, and started to get excited. Then I noticed they close at 5:00... It's 5:07.

I continued on to the Safford Ranch Mobile Home Park where we pitched our tents on a concrete slab. We had mobile homes on three sides, but we had a shower.

From mark on a bike 08

Klaus, industrious as usual, cooked his supper while Mark, lazy as usual, had a pizza from Pizza Hut delivered to his tent.

Sleeping under the stars (although we couldn't see them for all the lights), having the sounds of nature all around us (although we couldn't hear them because of the air conditioners), sleeping in a tent in the wilderness (except, of course, for the concrete slab and fifty mobile homes surrounding us).... Ahhh, this is the life.


76.44 distance
12.9 avg
32.9 max
5:53:26 time
538.9 total miles