Owl Head Ranch Ride

Our journey begins at Park Link Rd and the I-10 Frontage Rd.

A bit of a chill in the air for our start, but not too cold.

Ancient Landscape for us to behold.

We ride as if on a frozen black river, through this sudden vastness.


Interstate 10 lies just at the base of Picacho Peak. In this shot, it's about 10 miles or more directly West behind us. Off of the I-10 Frontage Rd, with its roar of trucks and cars far in the distance, the Ancient Stillness of the Desert begins to settle into the morning air.

This fellow has seen better days--just off the road, he looked scarred and haggard--maybe from a failed attempt from a predator. Javelina are tough creatures and fierce fighters.

We climb slightly on this route, and have a slight headwind making us work to move forward.

The Great Owl's Head. Owl Head Ranch is about eight miles due South, somewhere near the base of those ears.


We are taking Park Link Rd. to Hwy 79, and then turning around. Just trying something a little different. Mainly we want to avoid heading down Hwy 79 to Hwy 77, which becomes Oracle Rd. Hwy 77 is a bit dangerous.

This cattle guard is at Hwy 79, or the Pinal Pioneer Parkway, and Park Link Rd. This is looking due West, the way we came. If you look toward the center of this photo, you can just see the Owl's ears.

As we fly back on Park Link Rd, heading West, The Great Owl in ever-present.

With the down-hill, heading West, we are riding 20 to 25 mph for long stretches of road--there's no traffic what so ever.


We had to carry Camelbaks for extra water as the route is remote.


We also are enjoying a slight tailwind on the way back.


Back on the Frontage Rd and heading back to Tucson--this is the tough part, mes amis, because there's a steady South Westerly headwind. It makes the trip back this way very hard. To this man we say, "Rest in Peace..."


A flat tire slows us down. My front tyre actually blew out. I didn't see what I ran over.

Ryan had a flat just at I-10 and Tangerine Rd, right before the long six mile climb back up to Dog Mtn.

At almost 80 miles, I am worn out--with the climbing and then the wind slowing us way down--this ride has been harder and longer than usual.

Tangerine Rd compared to Park Link Rd-- both are old East-West cattle trails. Tangerine is now haul-ass fast busy, with never ending steams of automobiles. Park Link lended itself to a much earlier and saner time. When I first rode on Park Link, it was dirt. Still, there are no power lines to bring electricity for our air-conditioners--or phone lines for our Internet. On Tangerine we are considered fodder for car driver's radiator grills--

On Park Link Rd, we are Gods.

Cheers! Bruce

X S UV, or American Woman at the Wheel

Riding home Friday early evening, on the bike path.

So, my Dear Gentler Readers of This Blog, I pack and do all the details the night before. Clothes have been ironed last weekend and are at work, hanging on the office door. Water bottles are full--post 27 mile commute ride-in munchie waits in my desk for my arrival--and I am seeing the gold lights of Tucson at 6 a.m. as I climb the cold foothills of the Tortolita Mtns (wherein lies my home in Dog Mtn) My my, mes amis, but it is bliss for the ride through the sleeping desert...

I came up with the stupid-ass idea to ride about six miles to my neighbors office after work--where she has a new job--and I throw in my bike into the SUV thing that is a land yacht--and we ride home. Its not quite light long enough to make it safe all the way back by bike.

Every night, Heather talks on her cell phone the entire trip back up to Dog Mtn. She is very loud with that cell-yell going on. She drives very fast, weaving in and out of traffic. She swears like a sailor at old people and slow people, and generally anybody that has a car that does not have the status of her SUV. Since she drives the largest, most expensive SUV--she is entitled to the road--all of it!

My neighbor is going to kill someone--or kill us both--or kill us both and kill someone all in the same shot. As she rants on the phone about meaningless bullshit to one of her illiterate girlfriends--I disappear it seems, and she forgets I'm riding in the seat next to her. Gentle Readers of This Blog, my neighbor is what every cyclist fears--and I have a front row seat--no wait, I'm like an anthropologist studying the ways of a primal warrior race.

Spoiled, self-centered, aggressive, and mean-spirited--Heather drives all over the road, weaves in and out and changes lanes suddenly--she sends text messages--and she tail-gates.

I believe Heather, my neighbor, is about 28 or maybe 30 years old. Her husband is one of my best friends. I love them both dearly... but holy shit! When she gets behind the wheel of her monster machine, she becomes a viper. Is this what America is all about? Me, me, me, get the fuck outta my way!

A Bit About Javelinas

Angelina Javelina

We have a neighborhood herd of javelinas up in Dog Mtn and I encountered them late last night. I was adjusting my Lumotec head lamp in our cul-de-sac, when I switched on and aimed the light as I came out of the driveway and down the street—there they were—all twenty-five or so of them. I quickly turned right around and headed back to my garage. Javelina stand their ground and fight. They are best left alone, Gentle Readers of This Blog.

An unfortunate runner came upon one not but a week ago and it attacked him. Other runners got the javelina off him—a police officer in his patrol car arrived, sounded his sirens, and that scared the animal away. But when it shortly returned to dish out some more fury, the officer shot and killed it. It tested positive for rabies so I hear.

At 5:30 a.m. when I rolled out, I was serenaded by a pack of coyotes. They sounded like they were in our backyard they were so close by. I didn’t mind them and just hoped the javelinas were long gone.

***


On the Raleigh Super Grand Prix in the cool evening, Tucson, Arizona.

My morning ride in seemed colder than normal—and the climbing seemed harder too. There’s more traffic and the roads are worn and rough. I took the long 27 mile route. When I got into the office finally—after almost two hours—I felt beat up.

I set up my Lumotec with the Schmidt Dynamo Hub, instead of using my Layton Light. I had also charged up my commuter battery light, so I added it so I could drain the battery down--it's not good to keep it stored and charged, it's best to drain it down--so I used the 10 watt commuter light on the up-hill to lessen the drag of the hub. I don't know if it's me just out of shape, but I sure notice the drag at times. The Schmidt Hub I'll need on the 300 coming up in late February.


All aboard the Freakin' Land Yacht!

After work, I got to my neighbor's office and stowed the bike--and I told her about the javelinas I startled last night. She said since they're building some sort of new apt complex in Dog Mtn, the javelina's habitat has been razed, and now they're displaced, and looking for food in the neighborhood. Kind of sad I think.

The desert is quickly disappearing, mes amis. If more people could experience the beauty of the desert instead of just zooming through in their cars, maybe we'd have more desert and birds and rabbits and mountain lions and bob cats, etc etc etc--instead of Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, McD's and Subway.

Allure Libre, mes amis! Bruce

Flying Circus

Stayed cold this morning for our ride to Mt. Lemmon.

The evening weather forecast for Tucson looked favorable from an easy chair in front of the TV, mes amis--Alan and I saw many cyclists on the road as we rolled out the next morning. There was one very large group of about 30 or more riders, all riding in what seemed perfect synchronization--Alan's comment that it looked like a "Flying Circus" struck me as pretty funny.

Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky-tacky
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same

Clouds are out keeping things cool, even though we're climbing up the Catalina Hwy.

Alan and I had planned to ride up to Molino Basin, but the higher we climbed, the colder it became. We both agreed that we were not ready to battle gusty cold wind today--plus for Alan he was recovering from a bug.

About half way up there's cold wind and snow and ice.

As we were coming back down, Alan gave me some pointers on high-speed descending. The man can fly down-hill at 40 to 50 mph on the turns while I take a cautious approach. Big Guys have an advantage on the downhill--with that Gravity thing working for us. He showed me the best angle to take on the curves, how to position myself on the bike to lower my center of gravity--and how to steer the bike in the turns. I must say I came away with a much better sense of control and confidence.


Watch out you skinny lil roadies-- On Yer Left!

Cheers! Bruce

Selective Hearing

Callie is our 14 year old German Short hair. She’s done very well here in Tucson and has stayed fit—even after a bout of Valley Fever. Actually, it seems that our lives have often revolved around her, and before any plans are made, we must consider her and what she needs. I’m okay with that, Gentle Readers of This Blog. But in her old-age she has become demanding and uncooperative. She does what she wants.

I got ready for the long 27 mile commute into work last night by packing—and then re-packing; got to get rid of stuff I don’t need. Dang I forgot to leave my office shoes at work—so I had to carry them. Oh well…

I made it to bed early, or so I thought—Callie pulled a Cliff Bar out of my backpack and had a little before-bed-time snack. She gave me that, “If I can get it—it is mine!” look of hers.

At 4 a.m. she was pulling the blanket off the bed—her way to signal me to get up and let her outside. She’s too old now to jump up on the bed and knock the wind out of me.

4 o’clock in the morning and now I’m awake waiting for her at the door while she takes a pee and goes on backyard patrol. I was not able to get back to sleep for the hour that I had before the alarm would ring—I tossed and turned and just as I was going back to sleep—alarm is on and time to saddle up.

I need to roll out of Dog Mtn by 5:30 a.m. mes amis. Because of increased traffic up where I live in the mornings, I have to take the long safe route. It’s mostly all climbing—and when it’s cold, like this morning— it’s slow-going.

As I left to go out, Callie decided that she too had to go out—and she disappeared into the morning darkness—and I could not find her, and she would not come back. With my Layton Light blazing down the block, I spotted her, told her to get back to the house—but she gave me a vain glance and ran. I got her turned around and was able to coax her back into the garage with a piece of Cliff Bar—then I quick closed the garage door on her.

This episode cost me 15 minutes.

Decision time—instead of taking the long way with long climbs, I went the fast short way down Thornydale—which is now even more dangerous with heavy traffic and narrow crumbling asphalt. Going a fast 25 mph for three miles, and with my Layton Light—connected to my Dynamo Hub—I made it and drivers seemed okay giving me space. I made up my 15 minutes and then some. Shortly thereafter I found myself at the YMCA right about the time I would had I driven and parked the car. I did not want to have a repeat of a two hour freezing morning commute like the one in mid December. This morning as I passed the new Fire House at Ina and Shannon (intersection USA anywhere, mes amis) I saw the temp on their billboard was 44 degrees. I think is was 28 back on the December ride.

Still too dark to photograph on this dark morning…

My plan is to ride in 27 miles in the mornings and get in some base miles, then do an intense short commute to my neighbor's office--and then get a ride home with her back up to Dove Mtn. It's gettig a bit lighter as the weeks progress, but it's still dark about the time I would get to my car at the YMCA. Within that few miles it is so dangerous mes amis. In the morning there is not a soul stirring--in the evening at the intersection of Almost Certain Death, it is a mad house...


I love this freakin' SUV! Because I don't have to gas it up or make the payments!

Heather has given me the secret code to punch in and I can unlock the Thing and stowe the Trek. It's a Lincoln whatever--total bling! I just put in the bike and in two seconds I'm chilling and riding shotgun. I wait for Heather to get off work...


Oooo! Leather! And the seats have ass warmers--and butt coolers! Just push a button!

Heather told me that the job she has sucks (she was laid off her other job after 8 years) and soon she'll be otta there. She also admitted that the Thing (the SUV) costs too much to drive--it's just too expensive to gas up and is taking all their money. They really want to sell it--it's already worth less than what they owe...

Quick Commute on Big Sexy

I had an early morning errand at the UofA with Rico, and then got dropped off at the Desert San. After work, I did a quick 10 mile ride to rendezvous for a pick-up just off the River Bike Path as it was getting dark. It's been awhile since I've ridden Big Sexy--she's a tank! Here in Tucson it was about 70 degrees and sunny. By the time I hopped on the bike and started down the road, it was cooling off. Sun is coming back and it is a bit lighter... Good! Cheers! Bruce

2010 Begins Whether You Like It Or Not

"Play Ball!"

"If you're not going to get to ride--you must obey my commands!" That's what Callie would say if she could talk. She kind of does, with a sort of telepathy, and yeah I take her to the park and we do the ball thing until she just decides to jog home--with me following. Callie will be 14 years old in July.

Little Egypt has found lucrative employment as a professional with the federal government. Jobs are scarce in her specialized line of occupation--and she took, rather reluctantly, a job in Lawrence, Kansas. To make a long story short, the deadline was upon her/us and I spent about 24 hours straight helping her pack and do last minute things for her move across country. This leaves me a bachelor once more--at least Little Egypt is not deployed to the war, wearing 50 pounds of body armor--and getting shot at by Taliban.

I came back from the holidays feeling drained--I really wish I hadn't gone home... The Blizzard of 2009, and the long flights there and back left me drained, mes amis. We both felt the flu or some other bug coming up on us, so while Little Egypt slept, to be rested for her long road trip--I decided I would not do the 200 KM in Casa Grande with my Rando Brothers and Sisters--and get the car packed.



Little Egypt early Saturday Morning, January 2, 2010, about to leave for her appointment at university in Lawrence, KS.

Two years deployed with the Arizona Army Nat'l Guard, 15 of those months spent on a remote FOB on the Afghan-Pakistan border. Almost two years of unemployment on her return in 2008--a year to re-adjust from the war... Now having to leave home again--we need the income, and somehow Little Egypt has to move her career forward. Callie misses Bev already.

Gentle Readers of This Blog--some of the men and women who came back from Afghanistan like my wife, had few options, and many had no choice but to volunteer for deployment again. I know soldiers that have deployed--or been on tours--three and four times. There are not many jobs here in Tucson or Arizona. Little Egypt says that the pay is high and the benefits good on deployment. These soldiers don't want sympathy--just respect and understanding. They volunteered for the most part, and serve willingly. I don't believe they're in it for the glory--it is just a means to an end. Money for college, health benefits, support a family.


Got to un-pack. There are more brevets to ride soon enough!

Tulsa Chicken-Fried Redneck Christmas Blizzard of 2009

Tulsa, Indian Territory, 1893.

Me mum insisted that we all fly to Tulsa and be home for Christmas—that would be great but we’ve no money this year. But my mom paid for a ticket for me as Little Egypt and Rico went by car—her not held down by employment, and Rico not yet starting University until Deux-mille-dix, hence they arrive by auto.

My Brother and all his offspring would drive as well; because work called—this left me to have to fly in and then out. My mom paid for half the ticket.

In Dallas, Texas I waited for my short 50 minute flight to Tulsa. Ice came and all the airstrips were closing except one. It took two hours of waiting—in the plane—for our turn to dee-ice. They sprayed this green slime on the wings.

This green color was the shade of mine and my fellow passengers’ faces as we endured some Dumb Okie parents trying to entertain their no-neck heathen spawn. I could tell I was near my Oklahomeland as those of the population of that Fair State, whom have DNA issues, stick out like sore-fucking –thumbs. Obese rednecks speaking hog-tied English.

At first my fellow travelers were polite—but after an hour of momma’s incessant baby blabbing with her youngins, it came down to, “Lady. Shut the fuck up!”

I landed at Tulsa International Airport, Christmas Eve, in a balls-to-the-walls raging blizzard. Little Egypt was there in a four-wheel drive jeep she borrowed from my Brother-in-law—and drove to the airport at risk of life and limb.

I told my dear wife that I was looking forward to a cold one when we arrived over the river and through the woods—but I was told that alcohol was strictly verboten this Christmas!

Say What?

Turns out that somebody—a distant relative—who would not be at the Christmas Dinner because he lives 500 miles from Tulsa, Oklahoma—has entered rehab. This was all whispery and hush-hush, and I still don’t quite get what’s going on—but when my un-knowing Brother-in-law showed up the next morning at Christmas Dinner with a case of beer, he was soon considered Brother- out-law—and the beer was not allowed inside but made to stay on the front porch in the snow.

Anyway, sneaking beer into the house was no problem. Only thing is that my Brother-in-law is a connoisseur of cheap beer. This particular swill he brought was called Pig’s Eye—and it was pretty awful.

Dinner was fun

All the family stuff was fun

We were snowed in

Going crazy

Dug out mom’s car

Marched two miles to the Mall in 14 inches of snow to go see Avatar

It was a long movie—I had to get up to go pee twice

I finally got home

God Bless Tucson, Arizona! Happy New Year!

Cheers! Bruce

Molino Basin -- Catalina Hwy

A beautiful day to be on the bike.

I met up with fellow Randonneur Alan, and he took me on one of his favorite Tucson training routes--and it was a blast, Gentle Readers of This Blog! It was a most beautiful and sunny weekend for being outside--we saw many riders--all smiles and waves!

The East Coast was being pounded by a blizzard while we enjoyed mid-70's and sunshine. I've had my share of blizzards and snow while at university up in South Dakota, as has Alan, being a Native New Yorker--today the Bike Gods were smiling on us.



Alan leads the way up the Catalina Hwy. We'll ride to Molino Basin and then turn around. Snow is on the road and in the mountains but we won't go that far--it would be too cold.

Today we'll take it a bit easy as both of us have chores and time commitments. I was just getting over my 27 mile commute and sore legs from last week. I like the fact that we started at 8 a.m. Earlier than that means cold and more clothes to carry.

I hope my legs hold up for the climb...

Going up...

We're riding at a good pace and enjoying the sunshine--and it's warm--the sun feels good.


On the way to Molino Basin, up about six miles from the bottom at mile marker zero on the Catalina Hwy.

Alan knows how to train--and let me in on some great ideas to help me get into shape for this coming-up Brevet season. Mt. Lemmon has everything a cyclist needs to gain fitness--from time-trial rider, racer, and randonneur. That's why Lance Armstrong comes out here to ride the Catalina Hwy. We're just riding up to Molino Basin--once--Lance and local Cat 1 and 2 riders will ride up further, and to the top--twice or three times!

I can hold my own on the climbs--it may take me a little while, but I can do it!

If you like to descend, then the Catalina Hwy is for you, mes amis.

Today on the way down there were some cross-winds. I took it easy but Alan went on ahead--you can ride 45 to 50 mph on the way down. Be careful!


Riding up Craycroft for the trip home.

This ride was about 47 miles and I liked the pace we kept. On the way home we took River Rd to avoid some construction on Skyline--now that it was later in the day there would be traffic. We climbed up Craycroft which is long and straight--normally I'm flying down this road at 35 to 40 mph going into the Desert San, which is right at the bottom. I'm glad we made it out on one of the best weekends ever! Cheers! Bruce

Dang...

My neighbor has a new job that’s less than three miles from my office. So we decided that we’d try where I would bike from Dog Mtn to the Desert San, and then in the evenings I’d ride to her office and get a lift home. My neighbor has a shamelessly huge SUV that is totally bling!

Gentle Readers of This Blog—I had forgotten that this long commute route is just over 27 miles. I left Dog Mtn at 5:30 a.m. and arrived at the bike lockers at the San at 7:15 a.m. That’s almost two hours. Dang… I am out of shape, mes amis. But I am happy to report that I just found a groove and kept moving.

Temperature was 41 degrees but on parts of my route I know that might dip a few degrees. Most the trip is all climbing, so I stayed warm dragging my butt up the road. Only my toes got cold. Note to Santa—I need some toe booties. I will leave the traditional Scotch Rocks and cigarettes there for you by the chimney, Santa Old Chap!

I am also happy to report that my old friend Jack, a teacher who commutes on my route, pulled up and joined me for the long climb up Ina and Sunrise to Campbell. His school is on top of the climb. It was good to have someone to talk to as the sun slowly climbed up the Rincon Range east of Tucson. Jack said he could see my red blinky lights from way way back—and that they were almost blinding! He knew it was me. He’s fit because if he was way way back, he caught me pretty fast.

Jack showed me his new light set up too. He had two super blinky red tail lights, and one on his helmet. He also has a bright white strobe light on his handle bars like I do as well. He said he’d almost been hit by motorist by the right hook—where they pass you and turn right suddenly. You have to stop quickly to avoid hitting them as they turn. And then he said he had several motorists turn left in front of him. They could see him, but they just thought they would turn anyway.



My Layton Light with the Hub, I am happy to report, is freakin’ bright. Even Jack said he could see it and he was amazed at how bright is shown. Really Gentle Readers, if you are going to commute, you must have the brightest lights you can get, and have several. It may look even dorkier with your kit, but as Jack told me—it seemed like my bike and I were a shooting star in the bike lane.

So now I will report on riding to my neighbor's office and getting a lift.

First of all, my legs were mighty sore. Second--about 3 p.m. I was falling asleep here in the office. To stay awake, I did little things here and there to keep me moving--things like recycling all the papers I don't need, packing up all my clothes, and figuring out which ones I could pick up the next day when I drove. Finally 4:30 rolled around and was out the door and soon on the bike.

What I thought were three short miles actually turned out to be over eight. I'm not sure what I did to mess that up--but it took me 35 minutes to get to Heather's office. Now that I think about it--I had to take the long way around because I have to cross over the river and avoid some major busy streets, streets you don't want to ride on when it's getting dark. The sun is going down by 5:20 p.m. now.

When I got to Heather's office, I saw her at her office window--and none of her colleagues were around--so I threw a small rock at the widow and she immediately jumped out of her chair! That same moment she knew it was me because I'm the only one she knows that would be so immature.

What can I say? The drive home in traffic was a slog. Bumper to bumper Tucson traffic. Now I can see how I can get home by bike in almost the same amount of time; we were crawling in what seemed endless streams of human encased in steel and glass.

No mater--we had fun talking and laughing. The big SUV was warm and comfortable. I got home and still had the evening to do a lot of stuff.

I don't know--part of me enjoyed the ride, but I think I would be much happier gliding on that little ribbon of bike lane--taking my chances--than sitting, and sitting, and sitting.

Cheers!

Bruce

Lance in Tucson

Mr. A Strong in the House

The new Radio Shack Team, with Lance at the helm, is in Tucson for a week of training. I think that's great, but too bad it's turned so cold here. Where the team is staying is not far from the Desert San--so if I were commuting into the office, chances of me seeing them ride past would be 1 in 100 instead of 1 in a million.

There have been pro teams and pro riders around here before--and I've seen them. I rode with some French Canadians one morning as I was heading to UofA where I worked a few years ago. It was pretty apparent they were big-league boys--and I was just a local roadie going to the daily grind. Still, they were enjoying the sunshine and the good roads and bike lanes Tucson has to offer.

This week however, is cold for Team Radio Shack. I wish them the best and I'm glad they're here. Any other time it would be great to ride up Mt. Lemmon--but today the road up is closed because of heavy snow.

Cheers!

Bruce

Training Camp Blog by Johan Bruyneel -- I think they have video of 'em riding in Tucson

Tucson In The House

What up, G?

That’s what a woman shouted out to me as I sped past on the El Tour Route. Many spectators were waving and yelling “good luck” and “keep going.” I wore the custom Tucson jersey Stef made for us—and it got me a lot of attention as I like to think the crowds recognized me as a local boy. I hope you don’t mind I didn’t bring the camera along for shots of the race—my writing will have to suffice, and I’ll do my best to capture my take—maybe borrow some photos from Dan and Paul—cause you know the streets were such that riders had some room to roll, and on the familiar parts of my commute route, where I have to be aware of cars—motorists were not on the road—so this meant I got to fly down the street as fast as I could.

All the police seemed to have things under control this year, so I got to fly through intersections like a bullet. Car drivers also seemed content and patient. All in all I had a pretty good ride.

At the Start

Ryan and I got to the start of the Gold Finish Time at 4:30 a.m. and took our place. Within a few minutes, other riders arrived and we were packed in like sardines. It was cold, but not too cold. Ryan was able to take our coats back to the car and get back in line. Our other warm clothes we stashed in a bag and left over the fence—and by some stroke of luck, Ryan found the bag when he got in and we got all our stuff back.

I am happy to report that Bike Patrol was on hand to stop all those who felt they could cut in line and put their bikes over the gates and get in up front. If you are caught doing this, you are made to go to the back of the line behind several thousand riders. A few of these cheaters tried to confront the older woman whose job it was to enforce this rule, but they had second thoughts as Tucson Police appeared and stood behind her to show her authority could not be questioned.

The Ride Begins

I found myself riding with a strong pack of big guys. This made me feel pretty good because they were fellahs bigger than me—while not riding real real fast—we were moving along; Clydesdale Thunder comes to mind—like being a part of the engine of a huge locomotive. This lasted for about five miles until everyone had to slow up to go around a crash. I didn’t see the crash, but a couple of women were lying on the pavement and friends were helping them along. Their water bottles had come off their bikes and the liquid in the bottles splattered all over the road.

For most of the first 30 miles, I rode on and off with about five riders. Packs would come by and I’d jump on the back, and then after a few miles these packs would split. Some riders would take off while others would drop off. A pack would form up again and I’d get on board but then get dropped. Packs would form around me but I’d drop people on a few of the climbs. I recall on Freeman Rd, I shot down that road like a mad-man, and passed about 100 riders—ones that had dropped me miles ahead. It was just perplexing, Gentle Readers of This Blog. Any opportunity to ride fast with no traffic is an opportunity not to miss in my book.

For that descent, a young woman sat right on my wheel. She must have thought I was doing something right—I mean, if I saw me going down Freeman Rd like a runaway semi-truck, the last thing I’d want to do is get on the Dude’s wheel!

The Second Wash

I heard many different languages on this march through the mud and sand—Spanish, German, Arabic—and the translation was pretty much the same all around, “WTF?” But efficient Girl Scouts filled my water bottles even as I walked along—taking my empty bottles off the bike, filling them, and putting them back in with precision—cool… I also met up with my Rando Buddy, Alan. In good spirits—and calm—almost laughing, Alan and I chatted while I poured rocks and sand out my bike shoes. It just seemed that everyone there had walked through dog shit, and we were all scraping it off our shoes and bikes.

I think it’s here that I started to run into trouble, mes amis—see my nutrition, which was bars—well, it wasn’t working for me. The bars tasted terrible and they were hard to eat. So I wasn’t eating enough. One of the Golden Rules of the famous French Randonneurs is, “Eat before you are hungry.” My stomach was complaining—I was hungry and wanting food. I didn’t have any.

Commute Route

Now that I was on my commute route, I felt pretty focused. With Police at the intersections waving me through—and with hardly any car traffic—I rode very fast on Sunrise, Skyline, and Ina. Instead of being squeezed into the bike lane, which is often rough and bumpy—I had the road, and I had no fear of riding as hard and fast as I dared.

Water

I was drinking a lot of water, Gentle Readers—and I could see that my fellow riders were too. Up in Rancho Vistoso and on Moore Rd, there were lines for water. I had none—and I didn’t want to wait. As I know this part of the course like the back of my hand, I jumped off to take a pee—and then called Little Egypt on my cell phone. I asked her to meet me right in Dog Mtn with four water bottles—with ice and a little Gatorade—and I’d pick them up. This was about 11:30 and I’d meet her at 11:45 I said. My chances of finishing under six hours this year were hanging by a thread—but I thought I’d just make if I could ride like Hell the last 30 miles or so.

Little Egypt

I rode down Moore Rd faster than I think I ever had before. About a half mile behind me was a big pack of riders so I really pushed it down the road. Right as I pulled in Dog Mtn, Little Egypt drove up with water. Anything I didn’t need I took off the bike and threw out of my pockets—leg warmers, bars, gels, my undershirt—and then I drank one bottle right then and there—stuffed one bottle in my back pocket and the other two on the frame of my Trek 2.3… I was there at the stop less than two minutes I think. I rode down Tangerine Rd to I-10 at 35 mph. All the time looking at my wrist watch and thinking about getting to the finish before 1 pm for a six hour finish—it was going to be close, Gentle Readers.

Charlie Horse

I was gaining on the large pack that had passed me when I stopped for water in Dog Mtn. At mile 90 on the frontage rd, just as I braced myself to pass over the rail-road tracks by Avra Valley Rd—I felt what I thought was a sniper bullet pierce through my arm, chest, and then thigh. It was one of those deep and painful and sudden cramps in my leg. On a scale of one to ten—it was a 12. It blind-sided me and I almost leaped out of the saddle and crashed it was so damn painful. I managed to stop on the shoulder without my hamstring tearing right off the bone. Some muscle in my chest and arm, and my right thigh were frozen yet in waves of spasm. I was paralyzed by the side of the road—and beginning to slowly slump over. I was going down and I realized I was cooked.

Another rider had turned around and rode back to ask me if I was okay. He held me steady while I slowly straightened out my leg and stand on my feet. After a few very long minutes the grip of that cramp in my chest let up enough for me to take a breath. And then the Charlie Horse began to fade—Holy Shit--that hurt like a MF!

18 Miles

The cyclist that came to my rescue took off as I assured him I’d work the cramp out and get back in the game. Finishing in under six hours was not going to happen, mes amis. I needed to calm myself, wipe the sweat off my face, and get my ass back in saddle and finish El Tour. I feared that the cramps were going to come back—and it felt like they would every few miles. I just took it easy at first, and the slowly got some speed—not fast—but I was getting there. Everyone one was passing me, and I rode as far to the right as possible so I wouldn’t be in anybody’s way.

I felt Charlie was gonna come back a few times, but he couldn’t catch me now—by mile 106 I had no more water, and mile 106 seemed like it was stuck on the bike computer for a very long time. I could hear other riders talking as they road past—local guys saying to their friends, “Those buildings are downtown—and the finish—we’re almost there…” and I looked up too, and I was getting there. My legs, and in particular my right leg, felt like it was just a wet noodle.

At the Finish -- At Last!

So my head is a bit clearer and I see that I might be able to cross the finish right at or before 2 pm for a time under seven hours. That was contingent on the legs holding up—because I really felt I had nothing left in them. Probably not the smartest thing to do, but I sprinted under the overpass on Congress, made the left turn on Church—and crossed the finish. Into the shoot with the other riders, an official said, “2 p.m. Gentlemen.” I had made it in seven hours or maybe a minute under. But at least I made it—I felt fortunate because I really messed this up I thought.

6 Hours 58 Minutes

Next year I'll do much better!

Cheers! Bruce

Go Like Greg

Two American Cycling Legends.

Last night I went to the El Tour de Tucson Dedication Dinner. I had been given the two comp tickets from the Desert San by the CEO. Before the dinner, I went and picked up all my race stuff, and then Little Egypt met me and we sat down at our guest table.

First of all, I noticed right away Jean Gorman--Jean Gorman is Brad's Mom. I had to right away pay my respects and meet her and wish her all the best, and thank her for her tireless work on behalf of all cyclists in this one-horse town. I also met Brad's Father, who was quiet and composed, and good natured. They both wished me Good Luck this Saturday as I ride the 109.

Brad Gorman was a local rider killed by an "inattentive" driver--the 17 year old uninsured driver claimed he was reaching for a CD--or whatever--and he struck Brad on the Catalina Hwy. The driver received a ticket for $66.00 in the mail for unsafe passing.

Jean Gorman stood up for all the cyclists in this city and got things changed so we could all ride safe on the streets of Tucson--and that we could ride safe up to Mt. Lemmon--on the Brad Gorman Memorial Hwy.

Towards the end of the dinner, where sponsors are thanked for their support etc etc, a special award was given out by none other than Greg LeMond himself. This was quite a surprise for me and I was beside myself. "Who's Greg LeMond?" said Little Egypt.

You know where I'm going with this right? So after the dinner and everyone's leaving--there's three-time Tour de France winner Greg LeMond standing there hanging out in the background sipping his beer.

Bruce: Hey Greg, I'm Bruce. Nice to meet you!

Greg: Hey Bruce. Good to meet you too--you riding on Saturday? (He saw my ride packet)

Bruce: Yes I am--

Greg: Good Luck, Man! Have a Good Ride!

Bruce: Thanks!

Whoa. Was that cool or what?

Little Egypt was dressed up and I was in my suit and tie as the dinner was VIP. I think she enjoyed wearing the fancy threads. For a long time, in photographs emailed from Afghanistan, there she'd be with that M-16 slung over her shoulder, wearing a flight helmet, and bullet-proof vest.

Cheers! Bruce

Bike Lights and Morning Plights

Let There Be Light -- Layton Light

Paul Layton made me a custom Rando-Light, which I will say is more like a laser beam. The advancement here is that these are LED lights, and not just one but four--packed into the casing of an old headlamp I found in the trash at Pima Street Bikes.

My Lumotec Light works best on the fork, for some reason, but the Layton Light works well up high like you see here. The light mounting is from Peter White Cycles, but the light and wiring are made by Paul. There's a new light that's come out that is a step above the historic E-6. I believe its something called the Super Nova--and I have seen a few in operation. They are, Gentle Readers of This Blog, State of the Art--my Layton Light is just as bright I'm happy to report.

Rabbits, rats, rattle snakes, Palo Verde Beetles, and Yak Kers (old ladies on their constitutionals blabbing about daughter-in-laws, grand kids, and loafing husbands) disintegrate instantly should they be in the beam. The role of deer-in-the-headlights is reversed should Bubba or Joe Sixpack be a-traversin' down the hwy with Mamma's bail money, and the Layton Light strike them.



Cold morning (not so cold really) but 90 degrees for the ride home! Dang!

This has been a weird week in Tucson with record 90+ during the day--sometimes a low 49 or 55 for the morning. Even though I need the Layton Light for just about 30 minutes, the light is very bright during the early sunrise--like a burning star on the road. An automobile driver cannot help but take note; a cyclist there appears to be on this route!



Flicky light on the handle bars up high so it catches the eye of drivers.

I have the Jr. Ming the Merciless -Stun Power- Layton Light on my Trek 2.3. Paul will not let me have the up-graded light--the Death Ray model--because that one is reserved for Phoenician Cyclists. Plus, I'm too moody and will use it on old ladies and rednecks without so much as a second thought. It can stop a bus apparently.

Just before 6 p.m. and the lights in the Y parking lot have switched on for the evening.

There is a lot more traffic these days, mes amis--fast and impatient. I know because when I drive my car I too get very impatient with the meek commuters that slow down the 30 and 35 mph as they approach intersections--and they have a green light. And also the dim-wits that reduce speed from 50 mph to 30 mph as they near the speed cameras. The speed limit is 45 mph, and to be lucky enough to get photographed, you have to actually be speeding--hello-- which means you have to driving 56 mph. I think if you went 45 and not 30 thru the camera zone, you'd be safe Fucktard...

Cheers! Bruce

Brevet Lighting

Allure Libre!

Pulling out the Schmidt hub and my Lumotec head lamp can only mean one thing, Gentle Reader of This Blog. Brevet Season is just around the corner. Yippee! I've put the Lumotec head lamp above the wheel instead of the fork--just to see how it will play out.

Mainly this position was due to the fact that I couldn't fit the light on the Trek 2.3 front fork. But after fitting the head lamp there where you see it--I realized would be able to do just that--but I'll try a few rides with it over the wheel.

It really works best on the fork, like you see here.

Also, with my hub, which is older, there's drag. The newer hubs have barely any drag at all so I'm told. My hub was given to me by Gerry Goode, and he used it all the times he did PBP. Schmidt Dynamo Hub generators are very expensive. I may buy another one some day, but for now I'll make the most of this baby.

Morning rides into the office are a bit chilly, mes amis...

I might as well ride with the hub and get used to the slight drag--really in no time I won't even notice. The light is such that it is bright and very reliable--much more so than battery light. You can also ride faster at night when you can see better. For me on Brevets, its one less thing to worry about.

I believe the real cut off for cyclists and randonneurs is that Brevet riding is done with a good deal of night riding. Some cyclists just don't find night riding appealing. Believe me--it does take some getting use too. A dynamo hub can help with that matter because they allow you to be seen and allow you to see the road as well.

Cheers! Bruce

El Tour 2009

El Tour de Tucson office is near the Desert San.

I am riding El Tour de Tucson this year. What happens is that time goes by so quickly, and by the time I think about registering—the entry fee has gone up quite a bit—and it gets expensive to ride El Tour. That $125 or more it can cost can go far for tires and other stuff I need for commuting.

This year I asked people at work, those with an interest in my biking and commuting, to donate ten bucks or so to the El Tour charity so I could get a race slot. Everyone eagerly chipped-in and I raised the money to ride.

Cheers! Bruce