For the Thanksgiving 'break' we opted to skip traveling by car or plane, going for travel by bike.
unicorn rock!
Paying thanks to the beautiful world we are so lucky to live in.
And the amazing bodies we have to experience it with.
For the perfect weather, the warm sun.
For the complicated symphony of conditions that had to come together, for us to be here, and now, together.
For remote singletrack, just outside wilderness.
None of these things are to be taken for granted, ever. Though all are, at one time or another.
For the perfect balance of sun and dark, the rhythm of the cosmos.
thanksgiving dinner - fish tacos
We dined on tacos, and enjoyed a rare 'wet' camp, just above a reliable desert seep.
Camp's sunrise view, time to get out there!
The AZT was crowded in the morning! Saguaros throwing elbows, trying to muscle their way into a better view of the day and the Gila valley.
The first morning on a bikepack is my favorite. No gear decisions to be make, no bikes to load in cars. Nowhere to hide, hermit away. No computer to 'check'. Just pack up what little you have, try to convince yourself that what little you ate for breakfast is anywhere near enough, then get on and start pedaling, into the morning, into the world.
We crossed the mighty Gila, inches deep in November.
En route to a playground.
Of strange and wonderful rock.
area 52
This is the place.
I dropped the gear. Dropped the saddle. Eszter opted for a nap in the sun.
I opted to pedal through one of my favorite landscapes anywhere. I only scared myself a few times, and limited myself to only a handful of times hitting my favorite drop into kitty litter / moonscape landing. Brilliant.
Pondering life direction and collecting shells at a lower crossing of the Gila.
Approaching the Box, the Eszter diesel purred into action, settled into gear.
Once going, almost nothing can stop it. Not even a big old hike-a-bike in the 80 degree afternoon sun. The legendary Orphan Boy climb, ghost of AZT 300's past.
I just had to try and hold on for the ride. Eventually, back on the AZT heading towards Picketpost, there was enough downhill and enough switchbacks that I caught her. "Can I have a fruit bar?" I was fighting off a good little bonk. Scott diesel sputtering.
Giant plates of Greek food were our reward in Florence. Chance of bonk, zero percent.
