Clock Out, Click In

Biking Tucson's Sabino Canyon After a Monsoon

Inhaling the creosote in the almost cool desert morning after a monsoon, I'm inspired to bike out to Sabino Canyon. I dodge sand and gravel pushed onto streets in the usual places by torrential rain.

After pleasant desert smells in my neighborhood, I hit the Rillito River Path, aka "The Loop," and the smells of hay and horse manure waft my way. Still a few ranches along the Rillito, with the standard inputs and outputs. The riverbed is damp, but there's no water running. Perhaps the river flowed during yesterday's deluge, but not now.

I expect some dirt and debris on the bike path, and find ponding and mud.

Tire tracks show some cyclists enjoy riding in the mud. I steer my road bike to the dry alternative hard-packed dirt and cement path.

I continue out River Road and Sabino Canyon Road, with the Catalina Mountains looking tantalizing close on this clear and cloudless morning. I reach Sabino and head up the canyon, dodging walkers and runners in the first mile or so.

I hear Sabino Creek before I see it, the sweet sound of water rushing through the desert!  Water flows beneath the first stone bridge, and sweeps over the second bridge. 

A runner high steps her way through the water. "Isn't it awesome to see water here?" I ask her. "Fabulous, it's just fantastic," she replies in a British accent. 

Saguaro cacti abound on the canyon's slopes, above a mesquite tree:

The road follows Sabino Creek, crossing the swollen stream from side to side. The road gets steeper, my speed slows, but I don't care because I'm just enjoying the sound of water running over the rocks and through the cottonwood trees.

The video below is mostly about the sound (so turn up the volume!), but check for the sun reflecting off the brown silty creek:

 

IMG 1168 from Mary Reynolds on Vimeo.

 

 

 The views up the canyon open onto the higher peaks of the Catalina Mountains:

Canyon wall with more saguaros.

Sabino Creek greens the bottom of the canyon.

 

I climb in easy gears above the creek and see waterfalls I haven't seen since early spring:

 

 I reach the end of the road, and turn around to begin a fast descent. I heed the yellow signs that picture bicyclists crashing over handlebars and slow way down for the bridges. A few sand and gravel sections are ripe for wipeouts.

I splash through a few bridges covered in water.

On the way back across town through the foothills, I ride past great flowering bushes including this Texas Ranger that rained purple on the pebbles beneath it:

Here's a map of this Sabino Canyon and Foothills ride: http://www.mapmyride.com/routes/view/114341715

So after the next monsoon storm, get on your bike and explore a fresh new Tucson!

Bike to the Border with Green Valley Cyclists

 I signed on for the Arivaca to Sasabe ride, hoping to enjoy a lovely spring morning in southern Arizona.   It's another Anyday Adventure, this time: a cycling break in the middle of my work week. I optimistically thought we would complete the 50 mile ride to the Mexican border and back in three and a half hours.  But I didn't count on the wind, the border wanderings, the heat, and the wind. Did I mention it was windy?

We meet for carpooling at Amado's landmark restaurants: Cow Palace and Longhorn Grill.

Guess the name of this Amado, Arizona, restaurant.

I met some new Green Valley folks, including Eleanor who is 74 and rides a sweet Felt bike. As we drive to Arivaca, through the rolling hills, Chuck  and I discuss possible bike routes to include on the forthcoming, paradigm-shifting Bike Routes of Sahuarita and Green Valley brochure. I mention, "This is the first time I have ever been to Arivaca, much less Sasabe."

Growing up in Tucson, Sasabe was one of those small towns for which the TV weatherman provided temperatures in the Southern Arizona forecast.  A place that existed, but where no one went.

We reach the Arivaca General Mercantile and park in back.  A pick up truck driver scolds  us for waiting on the side of the road for everyone to be ready.   In contrast, a US government vehicle cruises by on the way to the medical clinic and the young medical student in said car waves. One of our group seems to be taking an awfully long time purchasing water and sports drink inside the store. So I ride ahead to find the appropriate desert tree restroom where the road crosses a wash just outside of Town.

Sue and Eleanor pass me as I get back on my bike and I catch up to them. Chuck soon joins us and we all cruise aimiably along. Chuck and I pull away from the two, enjoying a mostly downhill rolling ride over potholed pavement and next to the Buenos Aires Wildlife Refuge. Some cottonwoods along a creek in the disance is the only patch of green.

We head generally west, then stop in the slight  shade of a large palo verde tree that has not yet leafed for spring.  The other ten or so people catch up, we rest for a moment and prepare for paceline riding for the next 12 miles to Sasabe and the Mexican border.

Tom,  self-designated leader, suggested one mile pulls at the front of the pace line. To which another rider, more clear-headed, suggested "how 'bout we pull as long as we want so we don't get too tired?" Ok! says everyon and we head south on AZ route 286 into a headwind and uphill.  Ah the joys of no trees or buildings to break the wind.

At least the pavement is smooth. And we are still riding through the wildlife refuge, so there's plenty of open space to enjoy.

I'm second in line and pull for about two minutes, float back and attempt to take a picture with my cell phone. I am at the back of the pace line and think this will be a nifty picture. Cell phone drops and bounces along the highway. Thank goodness for the rubberized casing and lucky bounces that didn't crack the screen. I  U-turn, ride back to the phone, pick it up and chase back to the group.  No one notices, which is fine, because I was embarassed to be fooling around with my phone.

Undeterred by phone droppage, I take this picture:

Paceline shadows on AZ286.

 Mile after long mile and at last we see the sign for Sasabe. It's a small collection of adobe buildings with tin roofs, and every one of them seems to be empty or closed.

Sasabe Post Office is open. Photo by Al Miller.

Sasabe Store is closed on Tuesdays, alas. Photo by Al Miller.

There are some houses, a school, a church, border patrol holding facility, and a dude ranch with its own cell phone tower.  The general store is closed on Tuesdays. We roll through a dip or two and head uphill to the border crossing.

We're surprised to see another few Green Valley cyclists there who had and earlier start. From the colonial style house, two American customs agents emerge. They urge us to move our bikes "so you don't block traffic."  We spend about 20 minutes here, during which time, one car comes through the checkpoint.

Tim from Kalamazoo looks fierce in his Froot Loops Jersey at the border.

Larry takes a break with the border fence behind him.

But the agent is pleasant and amused  to have lycra entertainment; he says we can cross the border and come back, even if we don't have the passports usually requried.  So we leave our bikes in the shade and walk through a garden gate and into Mexico. We cross the no man's land between the US agents' little house and the Mexican agents' little converted gas station. The sky is big, and we look lost. Bienvenidos a Mexico!

Walking south to where the pavement ends and the real Mexico begins.

Dirt road into Mexico. Photo by Al Miller.

Sue's husband Tom, attempts to lead the group, but we're in Mexico now, and his American title of leader means nothing here.  Aimless nervous chatter and ambling ensue. I take a couple pictures of the Mexico-side sign and the former customs house, now roofless.

The border fence is ever present, it looks solid in the photo below but it's really a series of tightly spaced vertical steel poles.

Right side=Mexico, left-side=USA

Sue takes my picture in front of the welcoming mural showing all good things moving toward the American side. I get the cows and quails, I don't get the wheat and grape vines.

Proudly wearing my Santa Cruz Valley Cyclists jersey.

Extreme close up of mural round up.

We fill our water bottles from the border crossing sink. The water tastes bad, but its cold, so we don't care.  

Because we have other things to do today, Chuck and I leave the border area and head back to Arivaca. The wind's at our back, and we enjoy a riding north. Kalamazoo Tim and Tubac John catch us and we all whoop with happiness in the tailwind. Then Tim gets to the front of our paceline and hammers.  I want to yell, "Slow down, old man!"  However, I just focus on his wheel in front of me and wonder how bad the crosswind will be when we turn the corner. Later he tells me we were going 32 mph.

The crosswind is fierce, Tim decides to stop and "wait for everyone else."  Not because he's tired or anything.  Tubac John slows down. Chuck and I form a two-person echelon that does nothing to help our speed in the wicked crosswind.  The rolling terrain continues in a mostly uphill fashion. At about mile 40 of our 50-mile ride, Chuck stops to put on a sweatband, and Tubac John sails right on by us.  We see him ahead, but never catch him.

A zone tail hawk sails above and I long for wings. At mile 46, I can only focus on the cold coke waiting for me at the General Mercantile. And some chips. My water is warm and icky tasting.

At mile 47, I suddenly remember that yes, I had been to this part of Arizona on a back pack trip with friends in high school! We explored Arivaca Creek before it was a Wildlife Refuge.
A photo from those backpacking days, taken by someone on the school newspaper.

One last insulting climb into Arivaca, and I arrive at the parking lot. I've dropped Chuck somewhere along the way. Everyone suffers alone in the last few miles of the ride in the heat and the wind.  Chuck arrives about a minute later. The ride lasted about four hours, including the stops.

I eschew coke in favor of chocolate milk to go with my post-ride chips. Most delicious!  Everyone eventually returns; they all make plans for lunch at the Cow Palace. They're retired, so they can take time to eat lunch. 

I have to get to work for the afternoon, I eat lunch in my car on the way. I sit in my office,  slightly dazed for rest of the day.

 

Bikes of Quepos, Costa Rica

People living in Quepos, Costa Rica, don't need any bike lanes, sharrows, or separated paths to ride their bicycles.   If Ticos (as citizens of Costa Rica call themselves) can safely ride with cheeks inches from delivery trucks, why are American so wimpy that we need special "bicycle facilities?" 

Perhaps it's because drivers in Quepos in busses and passenger vehicles and delivery trucks  know how to drive on narrow streets.  They know what American drivers don't know: drive slowly and carefully, and share the road.

Photos below show everyday people and everyday bikes, and some cool customization of head gear and carts.

Bikes are used to carry objects big and small, including propane tank.

Sure, there are a few bike racks, but many Ticos simply park in the gutters, and cabs waiting for tourists just park around them.

Kids are often along for the ride in Quepos.

Almost every house has a bike parked outside:

Ticos get their bikes at the supermarket or appliance store:

And ride them to the coffee shop:

Somehow, even pedestrians manage without sidewalks on the main highway into the town of Quepos:

Eek! A pedestrian bridge without a guard rail, how do those Ticos manage it?!

It's pura vida, on bikes and on foot.

 

Rillito River Bike Path Meander

Slow and easy Sunday ride along the Rillito River path gave my tennis-sprained ankle the mild workout it needed. And my soul relished my first ride in 7 days, with desert and mountains and runners and cyclists and walkers and horses!

I begin my ride from neighborhood streets to a dirt trail that leads to the river path. Early mornings in the desert are the best times: the cool air smells of palo verde, sage, and mesquite.

 
Running with dog toward the Catalina Mountains.

  
Neighborhood trail. 

Tiles and murals abound on the Rillito River path bridges.

 

Walking on water.

 
Spirit dancers beneath monsoon lightning.

 
After the monsoon, birds glide above flowers and flowing water. 

My favorite bridge art is on the south side of the river, between Craycroft and Swan. I met the artist when she was placing round glass pieces into this work two years ago. Sparkling and bright and happy!

There are many places, both real and imaginary, to rest along the path.

 
Bronze newspaper and coffee cup flanked by sandstone chaise lounge chairs.

 
Horses find refuge in the shade.

 
Multi-use path Arizona style: cowboy in the shade on the left, cyclist on the right.

 
Cowboy turns his horse and heads home.   

Along the path, saguaros laden with crimson fruit attract birds.

 

The sun heats the air and the path, and it's time for a quick stop at the Peddler on the Path Mobile Cafe parked just east of Campbell on the north river path. I enjoy a chat and a cappucino with owner Jaime who inspires me to do epic rides this fall in Flagstaff and the White Mountains. Thanks Jaime!

I ride home, happy to be back on my bike again!
 
  
Dry river bed awaits monsoons.