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!”
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
1 comment:
I love looking at these pictures. They're just so different to what i'm used to.
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