Lumpy (left, in his much thinner days!)
Monday
Well, the day got off to a wonderful start. First, after watching Cliff tune up the RV engine, then run 8 miles to warm-up, then exfoliate his entire body, the boys (cliff, tom, Jerry) headed back out onto the road. Chris, gill, and I did the real work – cleaning the RV, dumping the sewage tank, filling cliff’s travel bag with shaving cream. Ah, when you’ve got shaving cream, you’ve got life…
We drove up to a town called springerville, a quaint little mining/ranching kinda town where after driving the entire town (2 streets, ~ 1.5 miles), we settled on the Safire restaurant. There were about 50 cop cars in the parking lot, so we figured at a minimum that the place had good donuts. Turns out that they were the same cops doing “dreadlock hunting” the previous night. They all had pictures of Bob Marley with them, and description of what ganja looked like.
Our waitress, sandy I believe, gave us the food lowdown, telling us about the “rather large” pancakes, the huevos rancheros (“I’ll eat a whole one on a real special occasion”), and the damned dreadlock people that they had to food poison the prior evening. We ordered a slab of food, with a ½ huevos rancheros for the table. Well, the HR’s were big enough to feed all of us alone!. Of course we still ate everything in site, but I congratulated Sandy on her ability to put down an entire order. What a woman.
On the way out, a fellow rode in with a messed up looking bike. We said hi, and he launched into how a horse had just jumped his pen and ate his seat. There were actual horse bitemarks on the seat! Now we’ve added horses the ever increasing list of animals to avoid – snakes (especially the jumping ones) bears, elk, dogs, and of course, dreadlockers.
Also on the way out, we got a picture of me with a standup poster of “The Duke” and one of the waitress. The Safire wins the best non-buffet restaurant award up to this point in the ride. We told sandy that if they hold up that we would get them a wall plaque; she promised to have it hung next to “The Duke”.
On the afternoon ride, Gill, who has worked, oh, say 200 triathlons, decides that the base of a 6% hill is the best place to execute a water bottle exchange. In case you were curious, it is in fact impossible to grab a water bottle at 45 mph. You can however provide a fine shower at that speed.
Another run through serious desert terrain for 100+ miles. We go by the trinity site, where the first atomic bomb was set off. The only thing there in the “town” of trinity is a shop that sells rocks from the site. We figure that some local just walks outside every morning, grabs a bunch of rocks, and then sells them as “atomic blast souvenirs” to the first moron tourists who come by that day. We buy 4 bags full. Cliff is doing a chemical and spectral analysis tonight.
While we’re on the subject of it, this “town” thing is getting to me. The “towns” seem to get sparser, and we figure trinity is the most pitiful of them all. Of course, later in the day we come to a town that consists of nothing more than a pay phone under a tree ~ 20 miles (Caprock, TX) from any other building. VERY similar to downtown Rochester on a weeknight..
We switch off the riders in the early afternoon at a small grocery in the middle of nowhere. No wait, it couldn’t have been nowhere because there were state cops and INS agents everywhere. One trooper follows us for ~ 4 miles as we were going 66 in a 65. We decides to let us go, mainly out of pity.
While we’re getting gassed and rider exchanged, a gal comes over and tells us that we’re parked in the middle of the street. God, what were we thinking, who knew that if there was pavement it’s considered a street out here.
Cliff does a bike check (this always frightens us immensely), and blows up Chris’s tire. Some good came out of this though, leading to our Monday quote of the day by Cliff “I don’t know why the tire blew up. It’s rated for 110 and I only put 125 in it”. Here’s a clue Cliffie, it’s 115 degrees…
As we ride through a real town (Socorro) later in the afternoon, I make a quick dash into a bike shop to pickup some supplies. The shop owner asks what we’re doing, and tells us to see if we can hookup with a sorority from Georgia Tech who makes this ride each summer. I’m tremendously excited about the possibilities here. As I’m skipping out the door, he thinks, squares up his face, and says “oh wait, that’s a fraternity that comes through here. Well, maybe they can
We decide to ride into the darkness to keep to our “stretch” schedule. Besides, like what else would we do out here. As we’re headed down the road to Carazozo, we come across an Apache man running all alone in the desert. We offer him some water, and cheer him on. Incredible! And we thought that we had some cohones riding across here. It turns out that he is on a “spiritual run” , and that it’s actually a relay for the whole tribe. As we keep going, we come across runner after runner along the roadside, al waiting for the relay handoff. They are ordered by age, with the young ones (12-14ish) standing alone in the darkness. A most amazing site, and we cheer each one on.
Chris decides to take the final pull into Carazozo. It is an incredible 1500ft climb, in total blackness, to which you crest and look out over the most magnificent valley, with only the lights of Carazozzo visible for probably 50 miles. He buries the downhill into town, we driving alongside and cheering him on, along with each Apache runner along the way. When we get to town, there are some 20 cars facing the roadside filed with Apache’s. They are flashing their light and blowing their horns and everyone is alongside the roadway cheering Chris on. It brings most of us to tears. We grab some food at the quickmart and hit the sack, along with a room at the lovely Carazozzo Inn, beauty salon, and future site of the Carazozzo historical museum. Chris has now earned the yellow jersey (symbolic of the leader of the Tour de Franc for you non-riders).
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