Hobo Wash

I'm in Hobo Wash, y'all!

Commuting on bike gives one a perspective on how things are layed-out. I noticed a long time ago that the washes in Tucson seem to connect and run through the city. These were runoff washes from the rain and snow in the Catalina Mtns. Looks like a long time ago they go cemented over. I drive and bike and walk over these washes all the time. I've always had this burning desire to see what would happen if I biked down one of 'em.


This is the wash as I'm walking over the foot bridge from the San's parking garage (taken after work). How do I get down there and how far can I ride, mes amis?


I'm meeting Le Tigre for lunch and on the campus bike.

Le Tigre and I have to weave in and out of businesses and such, and along busy Grant Rd along the sidewalk.

I've always noticed this dirt ramp just off Grant Rd as I've ridden by--and hey the gate is open!

I would never go down into the wash by myself--for fear of Taliban or North Korean Commandos--but with my school chum Ryan, I expect we can handle mutant alligators, anacondas, and hobo attacks. If one of us can escape these perils and survive, then the tale can be recounted for next of kin...

At lease one of us is wearing a helmet, so that betters our chances of skirting around Death a bit better.

Freedom from the office and desk chair and the bullshit, wind blowin' through my hair, Gentle Readers of This Blog!

I can't believe we're doing this! What an adventure--and Le Tigre's bike is an old Sears 3 Speed he bought on Craig's List--perfect for recklessly following me on a whim down into Hobo Wash!

Whoa--the wash is like some other world, wide and deep--and people have planted shrubs and trees to block the plain slabs of concrete. Now those shrubs and trees are growing wild--kind of cool I think.

No dead bodies or abandoned cars--just some juvenile graffiti in spots.

This bridge is Glenn Ave and right before one of the back entrances to the Desert San. We've come down about half a mile riding on the right side, and now I believe if we go the opposite direction on the left side, we will cut right through and ride on the Northern border of the San's campus.

I'm on my lunch hour. By bike, we had time to ride to the eatery, and then have 20 or so minutes to go exploring.

To the left is the parking garage, and this is the foot bridge I take over to walk to my office. The bridge further back is for cars, and I ride over it on my bike as I'm coming into the San from Craycroft.

We've ridden a very quick mile just about--that ramp up is right near the corner of Grant and Craycroft. We entered the wash from about Grant and Swan, a mile West from here.

This petroglyph's probable meaning is that this is the way to exit the wash.

But we decide to ignore the sign and go just a bit further--we cross underneath the intersection of Grant and Craycroft! This is cool because it is one of the busiest intersections in Tucson. Who could imagine that there's this whole other underground network of washes?

We could probably go further, but lunch hour is about over. We turn around and look for a way to get out back on the Desert San campus.

Le Tigre checks it out. This would be difficult to carry a bike up, but you could if you had too. Still, the wash is deep as you can see by the ladder he's going up.

Looks like the best way is to use the exit ramp as suggested by the petroglyph. There's a great deal of construction on this side of the campus, and lots of heavy machinery are just over the top of the wash.

Bikes can save the World.

Le Tigre is the consummate roadie, Gentle Readers of this Blog--just look at that form!

Back at the Desert San in no time by biking across campus.

Recon of Hobo Wash was a success, mes amis!

More adventure to come, Gentle Readers!

Cheers! Bruce

War and Rememberance

Bobby, "M'am" and Frank, 1919

My Grandfather lied about his age to join the Navy in either 1916 or 1917--he was born in 1900. That's him on the left of the photo, standing next to my Great-grandmother, Rose--and oldest son Frank. The story of this photograph is that the Chandler Brothers--Frank and Richard, enlisted in the Army, but my Grandfather, Robert, was turned down because he was too young.

I recall the story my Grandpa told that he paid a stranger five dollars to tell a Navy recruiter, "Oh yeah, Bobby Chandler--I know him well--he's eighteen, sure..." and so that was that. Of course, my Great-grandmother was devastated--but it was too late, Bobby shipped out quickly.

My Grandfather was on leave, and had not been back to the farm for over a year or more. On the way home, in the train station in Kansas City, Missouri--he literally ran into his older brother.

Grandpa said that at the train depot there in Kansas City, there were probably about 100,000 soldiers and sailors going this way and that--it was madness. He accidentally backed-up into this tough-looking Dough Boy--it was Frank. They couldn't believe it! They were on leave at the same time. The photograph above commemorates that miraculous meeting in the depot that day.


Bruce Chandler, 1862 - 1946

My Great-grandfather and I were born 100 years apart. He was born in Kansas Territory right at the start of the Civil War. Years later Great Bruce and the family had a large apple orchard near the small town of Anderson, Missouri.

During World War II, several hundred German POWs worked in his huge orchard picking apples and working other crops. My father as a small boy recalled vividly riding on the backs of Babe and Pal, Great Grandpa Bruce's two gigantic draft horses, and picking apples with the young German prisoners. He said most of the POWs were just simple farm boys themselves.

Whenever my Dad visited the farm from Tulsa during the war (they saved gas ration cards so they could make the drive) he said my Great Grandmother Rose, "M'am" as they called her, always cooked big meals for all the men, the German POWs and the American soldiers that guarded them as well, and everyone sat together in the house and on the front porch eating lunch or dinner. He said Grandma Rose was kind-hearted and much loved by everyone, and that after the war many of the former German POWs sent her cards and letters on her birthday and at Christmas time.

Sadly, my Grandfather's brother, Frank, did not come back from the trenches of the First War unscathed--months of combat, wounded several times, he was, I believe, a changed person--very difficult to get along with and moody. My grandparents never spoke of him, nor did my father much either--only after my grandparents had passed away did I only pry bits of information about him from my father.

I knew he was the local sheriff in Anderson for awhile--a tough looking hard man the type that you didn't mess with. I suspect he committed suicide sometime in late 1940s--these matters were never discussed and my inquiries about him from old photographs were often met with a deafening silence--and the subject gently changed.

Little Egypt gets magazines and information from the Nat'l Guard and other military information intended as resources for soldiers coming home from Iraq and Afghanistan. A lot of these articles feature young people making heroic efforts to get back to some kind of normalcy after losing their legs from roadside bombs and other injuries. But the matter of PTSD is the hard one to put one's finger on--the struggle from deeper wounds, like the ones my Great Uncle Frank's generation suffered on their return from war.

Rest in Peace, Uncle Frank.

Mighty Trek

2009 Trek 2.3

I spent a handsome sum to replace the drive-train of the Trek, Gentle Readers of This Blog. Phil at Pima Street Bikes charged me almost nothing for labor, so I owe him big-time for that! Nothing like a local bike shop!

To top it off, Phil related a great story to Rico and I (Rico is a drummer) about when he used to be a roadie for a band that fronted for Jimi Hendrix--He told us that Jimi and the guys--Mitch Mitchell, and sorry I can't remember the other member of the power trio--were way cool guys to hang out with--very personable and friendly. Phil said one time Jimi was on stage playing (this was in Dayton Ohio, 1968) and he saw in the wings of the theatre, a big brute of a policeman grab his girlfriend, punch her out, and then throw her down a flight of stairs. Jimi and the band jumped off stage and went to help her--Jimi said something about Dayton harboring Nazis--and they all picked up and left town. I think Phil said they only played that one song...

Rico had discovered the "Jimi Hendrix Experience" and that music has been around our place for weeks. Even in the grocery store, I heard Jimi Hendrix songs playing as I searched the ilses for discounts... There was a big flood in Nashville, Tennessee, where many bands store their equipment, and where tours are often staged from--LA is the other place.

I read where it was reported that in the flood, besides tour buses, lighting and sound equipment being lost, Jimi Hendrix's 1966 guitar was lost, as well as a guitar belonging to Hank Williams. I think Jimi was up in the Heavens lamenting the loss of that guitar, Gentle Readers of This Blog--May He Rest in Peace...

Moore Road, Mt. Lemmon, and into the headwind!

I will tell you that it has been very windy in Tucson, mes amis--windy and hot! Little Egypt come home for a week's visit too, so I'm afraid I was off the bike. I took a much needed week off work as well.

Into the morning headwind!

I thought I'd get out early before the wind picked up, which it usually does in the afternoon. But even at 6 a.m., the wind was fierce. There was also a dusty haze rolling over the ridge. I saw a few riders out but they were all like me, tucked down and trying to stay on the bike--as the gusts were even shoving me around!

Pusch Ridge.

The Trek felt like a brand new bike, I'm happy to report. I've also decided to try some 23 x 700 tires that Phil gave me a deal on. I was actually riding pretty strong, like a few miles faster with these I think. I'm a big guy and riding 25's is probably better--and as often the roads are rough, and those bigger tires hold up well. We'll see how these 23's do for rides with Alan. (The Boss couldn't make it out this morning--he didn't miss much for all the wind!)

I went out and was working hard, and I tried to get a tail wind for the way home--but the wind had switched and was a cross-wind on the way back. The big blasts of wind were such that I had to lean into them--this was making me work. I started to think about skipping a planned stop for coffee and just get myself back up to Dog Mtn.

Little Egypt and Rico.

Rico had a good semester at UofA--he worked very hard and I'm proud of him. He was ready for school to be out, that's for sure. Now he's on his way to Lawrence to hang out at KU with mom.

Little Egypt still does the pre-flight checklist thing, like in Afghanistan--

They plan to take a few days driving up, and Little Egypt wants to stop up on the Rez to see her aunt and uncle near Hubble Trading Post.

Callie and Rico.

Have a good trip!

Cheers! Bruce

Good 1, Evil 0

The dark side of Tucson drivers.

Arrangements were made and I'll drop off my car in the morning for repairs. I'll get a rental car as well. I had a very nice chat with the rep from the Claims Dept and all the repairs are being taken care of by Geico.

In the course of the explanation and discussion, it appears that the fellow who backed into us told a pretty different story than what I said happened--the woman who came forward to me with her name and number as a witness to the accident had the same story as me, so his insurance company will pay all the damages.

So to be brief, Gentle Readers of This Blog--that guy lied.

The rep for the insurance company didn't come out and say it, but I think it was pretty obvious that this was the case. Thank goodness for the witness!

Little Egypt called me to tell me about a Capt. Bishop, Army Chaplin for the 285th, that was with her AZ Nat'l Guard unit those two years in Afghanistan. It turns out that he embellished his military record (he had been a record's clerk) and so he was able to reach the rank of Captain--he also had numerous bronze stars, purple hearts, and elite credentials like Army Ranger, etc, etc--and he was the Chaplin.

From what Little Egypt told me, he was one big fucking prick--and never gave the time of day to any of the NCO's or rank and file. He spent most of his time flyin' round with the helicopter pilots and big shots, and always had a set of armed body guards to protect his Chaplin ass.

He was somehow found out, and now faces 20 years hard labor in Ft. Leavenworth, KS. The thing is that he received, because of his rank and awards, very high combat pay, major benefits--I could go on.

Sadly, there were several young men in the 285th that committed suicide on their return to the USA. Were they having problems, and needed someone to turn to, the Chaplin would be the officer to speak with--a trusted confidant--a spiritual advisor--a mentor. In this case, the man in that position was a fraud.

Living in this one-horse-town, I never thought the war would come to our house--but it did. So many others have had it so bad--two and three deployments, death and horror--Little Egypt will not talk about the reckless and senseless killing of Afghan civilians. My first reaction to the news about this Chaplin, was to say, "Criminals--Rico, your mom was in Afghanistan with a bunch of criminals!"

Our hope is that the Army begins to look a bit deeper into the actions of others in the chain of command--mostly the officers. She is quite sure more criminal activity will be discovered.

We just need to get our True Brave and Honorable Men and Women out of Afghanistan and Iraq.

Morning Ride -- Evening Sun

Today I rode the long, 54 mile round-trip commute...

Rico went to Phx to a concert—on a Monday night? Last week of his semester at UofA—Okay? So not having to cook and clean and all that, quick got bike matters in order for an early morning long commute.

I’ve a copy of David Byrne’s Bicycle Diaries, and I’ve been reading a chapter or so every evening. That’s been good, and Mr. Byrne has a style of writing I like—he has a cyclist’s voice (just one layer of many) an artist’s eye, and the guy is funny/smart. A few things he talked about gave me pause—gave me things to think about and go over in my head. That’s what I’ve been doing with my spare time- reading and thinking.

For you see mes amis, I got rid of TV end of March. I have to tell you that the noise and images and all the people wanting me to ask my doctor if those drugs are right for me— and soap suds— those things still echo in the house and in my mind. Just feels like they’re beaming it into my sub-consciousness. Maybe I need some aluminum foil to wrap around my head to block that crap?

So having a book—like with real pages and junk—to read—that contemplates Art, Beauty, Meaning, Death, and Bicycles—is washing away the clatter of TV thank goodness. My thoughts now occupy bigger grumblings, “What is Beauty?” “What is my purpose?” “ Does Life have Meaning?” “Will I be alive when the Space Brothers arrive?”

I’ve thought about what Stephen Hawking said recently about us trying to signal other intelligent life in the Universe—he cautions we should try to keep it down—otherwise we might attract beings that are looking to conquer or colonize. They may just take what resources they need and then split. He points to Europeans arriving in the Americas— it didn’t go so well for the natives. Holy shit! What if the aliens showed up and loved Earth, but decided that we were too filthy or god-less? First they’d try to exterminate us—then just say, okay enough, and move us to some shit-planet-reservation? They’d let us take our cars I hope!

No noise of TV with interruptions trying to find the remote to push the mute button—means you stay focused and tasks are done quickly. I’m able to go to bed by 9 and read for 45 minutes or so. I have to get up at 5 a.m. and roll out by 5:30—it is so nice out! The Sun is not quite over the mountains, the air is cool, and there is not a soul stirring except me. It feels great…

I’m riding along, through Oro Valley, with fragments and images still bouncing around upstairs—but gradually I just hear and feel my breathing, and the rhythm of my bike. I’m not alone. Now I hear the birds—all the hundreds of them—as if their songs make big patches that float in the trees. I see a few coyotes messin’ round, and I hear horses—one in particular banging his hoof on the metal gate to get the attention of his human, “Hey get out here and feed us—Damn!”

It's been a few months since I took this route home. This is climbing North up Swan Rd. I'll climb up to to Sunrise/Skyline and then head West (Alan and I were up even further in the Foothills last weekend...)

I have two water bottles, one I froze fist thing in the morning when I got into the San so I'd have it for the ride home. It is 91 degrees for my late afternoon commute. There will be a lot of climbing--the sun and the heat do their best to make me feel right at home in the Desert.

Before I reach all the re-paving on Ina and La Canada, I make a turn on Northern and head up to Calle Concordia (Tucson riders know this route) and here I am just off Calle Concordia looking down La Canada, and into Oro Valley. I'm doing the same route I took in this morning. I'll be climbing all the way up to Moore Rd, which is at the base of those mountains you see up there, and then head West for about six or seven miles.

All the climbing is done, thank goodness. That's Pusch Ridge, and what I've done is ride up to the base of the ridge from the Desert San, which is on the other side there, and then ride West and around the tip there, dip down and then climb up from Oro Valley to Moore Rd, where I've taken this picture for you, mes amis.

Kind of a cool shot with Mt. Lemmon in the background. I put my camera behind my back and take a shot--this one came out okay.

I'm riding West on Moore Rd, and to the North are the Tortolita Mts, and soon I'll be up to Dog Mtn and home. A few years ago, environmental groups tried to keep powerful and unscrupulous developers from building million-dollar homes in the Tortolita's--because they said the aesthetic would be ruined by large and gaudy estates, and the endangered bird and reptile species would be devastated. The developer, who went bankrupt recently and left town, swore that he would not desecrate the Range--yeah right. Well, hard to see, but there's a few more of those god-damn eye-sores there in saddles. The Rich always got to one-up each other. They got to build a bigger place just a bit higher than the other Rich guy's.

I'm almost there--tired and hot, but I'll have a three mile descent to Dog Mtn. That will be nice!

The sun is going down, and the Super Grand Prix has served me well today on this long commute through the Desert.

Cheers! Bruce

Climbing in the Tucson Foothills

Catalina Foothills.

Alan has me come along for his "Hell in the Hills" workout. We're not putting in miles, we're doing three hill workouts this lovely Sunday morning in Tucson. I still don't have the Trek 2.3 so the Raleigh will have to do the job.

Boss and I take a warm up on Ina Rd. before climbing in the Foothills.

I have not taken Ina Rd, my normal commute route, for several months, as they're re-paving. A good deal of that work has been done but there's still Ina and La Canada, which I can't ride through at this time. But a few miles up, the road is done and I have to say it is great for bikes!


This is riding East on Ina Rd.

Bike lane is perfect!

We'll get in some miles before the wind that's forecast picks up later today.

Magee, looking East.

The climb starts just off Oracle Rd and onto Magee. I've never been up the road, Gentle Readers of This Blog. Traffic will be light, we hope, and we'll end up actually doing a few loops up in this area, so says Alan.

I'm not a strong climber, but now its time to try and work on that.

There will be a lot of short climbs and then quick descents with hair-pin turns--oh and speed bumps. The roads are narrow and rough. This will help sharpen my bike handling skills this morning. The thing that is a bit un-nerving to me is that its residential, which means there's always somebody pulling in or out of a side street or a driveway in their car and they probably won't be expecting cyclists.

Climbing into some of the older more affluent neighborhoods up into the Foothills.

Made it--and holding my own!

Another start to an even more difficult ascent, mes amis! The Boss keeps a steady fast pace for us...

After the first set of climbs, we begin one section, the hardest, in which we'll have two steep grades one after the other. I make it up the fist hill, but it's pretty tough--and my heart is pounding in my chest like a hammer. The next hill I can't quite make it to the top with the Raleigh--just not enough gears to match the hill and with my weight, I have to dismount and walk up the hill about 20 yards.

Living the Life in the Tucson Foothills.

Just to left of the center and towards the bottom corner you can see the narrow road we climbed, and the neighborhood we weaved in and out of--at one point in the day we road back down into these same neighborhoods--at some pretty fast speeds. Alan uses this as a training area, so he's off like a rocket. I use a bit more caution, Gentle Readers--still, tons of fun!

This is the very top and end of Campbell Ave. Tucson is straight South--then Old Mexico...

Another shot of looking down Campbell Ave from up at the turn-about here at the top.

Many of Tucson's roads looked like Campbell up above when I got here 10 years ago. This stretch down to Ina reminds me of Dog Mtn and then down Thornydale--narrow and all beat up, except there wasn't all the 50 mph traffic riding yer ass.

We take Campbell down to Ina, and then do another set of climbs up in the neighborhoods again--not as difficult as the first round. The other really challenging climb we skip today, futher up Swan, we doubt I have the gearing on my Raleigh to make it up. We'll try again sometime after I have the Trek, and a triple ring, which is what you need to climb with up here.

Heading home and cooling down...

A Hummer backed into us as we were leaving Petsmart.

I have to tell you all that early Saturday evening, Ricky, Callie, and I were leaving Petsmart. Callie had been to the doggie beauty shop and we were picking her up. I backed out of my parking spot, and then a fellow in huge Hummer started to back out just as I was shifting to 1st gear to leave. He didn't see us--and I honked frantically--but he continued to back up and then into our car. He kept backing up and I kept honking as he didn't even realize he had hit us! He was quite embarrassed and apologetic--I felt kind of sorry for him too. It was an unfortunate accident. The Hummer didn't get a scratch, oh course. So, his insurance will have to pay to fix me up. I'm glad they don't make Hummers anymore--kind of symbolizes American over-the-top--using up everything like it will never run out. The guy that backed into us was not arrogant by the way, just a normal bloke who was okay.

Cheers! Bruce

Recovering from Food Poisoning

This week has been long and I'm finally feeling better after last weekend. Ricky and I ate out at Pizza Hut, of all places, and shortly thereafter, I started to phase out--Rico didn't have any of the original crust supreme--just pepperoni. Saturday I was very ill, and was only able to get up and out of bed such that Ricky could drive me to the Urgent Care.

Instead of getting an IV to get me some fluids, the doc gave me an anti-nausea pill, and soon I was coming back to to life--dang, where had I been for what seemed like days?

Recovery was slow, and then the weather here in Tucson turned windy and the air dusty. Wednesday I made it the the pool and swam laps for my lunch hour--that has been the only nice day this week. The sun was hot, the sky was beautiful blue.

Some young women appeared to swim laps as well. They were all very svelte, glowing bronzed tan, and wore tiny bikinis. The three of them were all quite strikingly beautiful--but as I was hauling my fat self out of the pool, they seemed to try real hard to make me feel invisible. I wasn't staring or being rude or anything--it was just an uneasy feeling. They were super model stock and I would say that most humans don't have this kind of god-like beauty.

I went to ride my old campus bike back to the San feeling like some kind of big hairy ape.

So I've got off what I was wanting to write about, its just that when I see and meet young men and women these days (even while riding my bike and meeting other cyclists) they seem so smug and ill-mannered. I used to think that bad manners, or lack of manners, meant a person was not raised right--had a bad up-bringing. Now I believe its a matter of self confidence.

The Mighty Trek is now in the good hands of Pima Street Bikes. I'll have a new drive train by next week, and Phil and Judy will address the other issues the bike presented when I dropped it by the shop today.

Driving the car has been painful for me, Gentle Readers of This Blog. So much congestion, everyone is texting, or on the cell. I had to crawl behind a woman in a beat-to-crap mommy van, that was talking on her cell phone, while smoking a cigarette--and she had on those tubes on her face which lead to an oxygen tank. I saw a chance to get around her, and I did, rather quickly and swiftly, and sped up the left-hand lane that she had been blocking all of us for miles--the fat piece of shit gave me a fat finger as I zipped away.

I seemed to have evolved from a big hairy ape riding a beater bike, to a impatient up-tight motorist rippin' down the road to be first at the next red light...

More biking and photos this weekend--I promise mes amis!

Cheers! Bruce

Wet Dog Smell

Callie--our 14 year old German Shorthair Pointer--living the life!

Tucson and Dog Mtn got a good dose of Spring rain last night. I threw the ball for Callie in the backyard as I tried to cut the bit of grass we have back there for her. Having a lawn in the desert is another story, but its small, takes some of the heat out the yard, and Callie loves it.

I have a push mower which works well—as long as the grass doesn’t get to high. Got to get the grass cut every other day, and that’s Callie’s time, she believes, to have me throw her tennis ball between going back and forth. This means it takes me twice as long to get things done.

So in the evenings I’ve got something on the grill outside, something on the stove—and I’m cutting the grass and throwing the ball for Callie. Its hustle time… One thing about doing the commutes is that I have to get to bed by 9:30 p.m. or I cannot get my ass out of bed and in the saddle at 5 a.m. I can’t waste any time (something I’m good at) or else I’m scrambling to get out the door and on the road. Things have to be packed and put out so I can get up, get dressed, and ride.

I got half the yard done when big drops started to fall. Callie’s in some kind of nirvana when it gets a little bit cold and things are wet. Wet mud and chasing a sloggy tennis ball in the rain has to be her favorite thing—so we did that for awhile.

This brings me to the point of this post—Rico needs the car at UofA today late afternoon— for some kind of computer lab software he must use to build a web page. We make a deal that if it’s raining at 5 a.m. when I get up, I’ll wait and wake him up at 6 a.m. so he can drive me part way at least— if it’s not raining at 5 a.m. I will ride to the San.

But when he decided to go out with the guys after we had dinner, I kind of wondered what shape he’d be in if he needed to drive me. Well, he lucked out, Gentle Readers of This Blog, as the sky over Dog Mtn was clear. Callie got half of my bagel then went back to bed.

It was cold—and the air was heavy with that rain-wet muggy feeling. To save time, I decided I would brave going down Thornydale—the roads were dry and the sun was coming up and suddenly the clouds rolled away. On Thornydale, traffic was strangely light. I was only passed by two cars on that stretch of Hell, one of which was a police cruiser. All the lights after that turned green for me and I glided along at a fast comfortable pace.

Even though I felt a little on the sluggish side, maybe because it was cold and I had to wear winter gear—my average speed was 15.5 mph for the 23.8 mile trip; top speed 30 mph, which is probably coming down Thornydale from Tangerine Rd/Dog Mtn. Time from door to door was 1 hour 31 minutes.

I’m living the life I guess. The morning ride is great—going home is the tricky part. Super hot 100 degrees or more, impatient drivers, and just a long day in general. Sometimes getting a lift home part way with Rico helps.

I’ve got Sunday where Alan (The Boss) will put us through sprints and race-pace all-out miles.

Cheers! Bruce