Wednesday morning I'm taking River Rd, and then catching the Bike Path the last few miles. This part of the bike path is a bit more remote and not used much by runners and walkers. I keep seeing young Red Tailed Hawks in this stretch--and there are hundreds of song birds singing and carrying on about their business.
Probably the last cool morning for the rides into the office. The arm warmers make good insulation to wrap up an extra bottle in the saddle bag for the warm ride home.
This part of the River Path is lush with about every native tree; and then the hybrids and such--but I enjoy the Cottonwood trees the best. They have personality as the seasons change, and they seem to talk and whisper: Cottonwoods are pragmatic trees!
Going home Wednesday afternoon it was windy and hot starting out.
The arid and hot wind comes out of the West, and the first several miles on the Bike Path heading home means a relentless headwind, Gentle Readers of This Blog. It will be a few miles until I get into the trees and shade, and out of the wind for the rest of the ride on the path.
My alternative is riding along the base of the ridge that you see up there. Traffic is fast, and the pavement burns from the Tucson sun--but it is fast on the bike. I've learned that I need to take it easy on the rides home otherwise I won't be able to ride the next day--I arrive home too exhausted to anything but shower and fall asleep on the couch.
Thursday morning was quite hot. I got off to a late start and hammered down River Rd, and then jumped on the Bike Path again. There was supposedly a bike commuter stop put on by the city with coffee and bagels and such, on River and Campbell--that would be great because I missed breakfast and a stop like that would get me into work.
Alas, I arrived at River and Campbell on the North end of the bike path--and there was no such stop. Where had it gone? I keep going and then realized that the stop may have been on the South side of Campbell--there's a bridge that separates these two corners--and I was a bit disappointed. I mean, the other corner is where no one commutes; the ride on the side I'm on. Anyway, I was running on fumes, and it was how it feels wherein you're on a brevet and you need to get to that controle and get one of Susan's wraps! Mes amis, I was starving!
Alas, I arrived at River and Campbell on the North end of the bike path--and there was no such stop. Where had it gone? I keep going and then realized that the stop may have been on the South side of Campbell--there's a bridge that separates these two corners--and I was a bit disappointed. I mean, the other corner is where no one commutes; the ride on the side I'm on. Anyway, I was running on fumes, and it was how it feels wherein you're on a brevet and you need to get to that controle and get one of Susan's wraps! Mes amis, I was starving!
I glide past many stables on the bike path, which are the remains of old ranches from the early Tucson days. These people are enjoying a cool morning ride. I think the Paint recognizes me--I've often see him in his stall watching me on my home.
Pulling off Craycroft and the back way into the Desert San, an impatient physician raced around me, just missing running me over, and then suddenly found himself head-on with another car. That driver was a bit surprised--and then Dr. Speedy swerved his Lexus out of harms way and into the parking garage--where he had to suddenly stop for nurses in the crosswalk, and other Desert San employees getting off their shifts.
An older, robust Hispanic woman gave him a good scolding, reminding him to be careful as she walked stiffly past. Other employees walked deliberately in the crosswalk to bring the Senora's point home. The entrance to the physicians' parking area is a bit tricky to get to now that there's construction--so recklessly speeding through the back way of the campus seems to be in order. Only that there's pedestrians and cyclists coming and going.
Status, wealth, and prime parking does not give anyone the right to run down people.
Okay, rant over... I hope the doc made it to his butt job--hey that's the life of a rectal surgeon. Shit happens!
Thursday's evening commute home was only 96 degrees, and the wind had died down as well.
Cheers! Bruce
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