It became increasingly clear that it was time to pull the emergency exit lever. Go outside. Get away from the qwerty confuzer. Hold onto a continuous thought process and see it through. Clear all distractions. (*)
An outing, a vision quest. Solo and simple.
(*) Also, 7-8 teenage girls (Paula's XC team) were about to take over the house for a sleepover party.
my touring bike
What do you really need?
To survive. To be happy. To be outside.
Not much. In less than two hours I'm ready, from only things lying about the house. Cut corners, make non-optimal choices, but I'm out the door, pedaling and smiling.
Bike is heavy, but so stable and steady that speed is of no concern. Sit and spin, look around, smile at people. In forgetting about time, I move fast.
Go slow, move fast.
Stay away from cars and the people trapped in them, as much as possible.
This way to discovery. I hope, anyway.
Hi there! Can I join you, young coyote? Outside the city, outside the norm. Lurking in the shadows, sleek and quick. Fearless. Seen by people, but not by choice and only in glimpses. Out in the desert, looking, listening, feeling.
As the light turns gold my legs turn faster, without thought but not without reason. The trail calls.
Rock fins and tall sentinels call even louder, but they are so far away. I'm out of time. I can't make it. I can stop wherever I want.
Galloping together, ridgelines above, towards the color of the failing light. You can make it.
Dance on the pedals, surfing the deep December thermals, into and out of washes, knees icing and thawing. Tires churning sand, buzzing on hard hits. Sharp acacia, and the desert, reach out, and I reach back in return.
Ranch dogs barking, snarling, chasing. Speedwork! Protecting their herd? Or encouraging me, giving me the excuse, to go faster. I don't mind.
I'm not even sure where I'm going, haven't been on this road before, and no GPS track to guide me.
The rock fins come into view, glowing white in the final rays of bending light, pulling me in like a magnet. Coasting. Coasting and smiling.
I search the passageways for access points, for flat spaces and for higher ground. I search the darkness, look to the stars for perspective. The coyotes wail and yip, first from the left, then the right, all around. There are no answers in the deepness of the night, but a stillness and a sense of peace, that decisions are only decisions, insignificant in the big picture. I am thankful that the world is a big place. That there is room enough, allowance enough, for one man to sit perched on a tower of rock, alone in his thoughts, joining the coyote chorus that fades into the night.
sunrise view from the sleeping bag
First light, I notice the outline of something that wasn't there before. Something on top of one of the fins. I pretend to look away, then look back, but it's still there. A distinct triangular shape, like a coyote or cat sitting, watching like a statue. The first time I actually look away, get distracted for a moment, it disappears.
I'm not the only one perching high on rocks, to look at the world.
Breakfast of yogurt, blueberries, strawberries, clementine and granola.
And of sunrise colors, revealing texture and lines that were only dimly visible before.
I love waking up in a place like this. Time to leave camp and drop in!
Time to see where my bike can take me. To see what's possible.
Spines, steeps, drops, micro-hucks, gaps. Just use your imagination.
Whoooooooooo. I lose myself in the rock and time flies. I stand and pedal up the steep ramp to camp, finding a squirrel scoping out my food stash, but not brave enough to go for it (yet). I also find that I don't have nearly as much water as I thought. Time to pack up and ride back... or is it? One more loop around the main fins turns into another hour of rock revelry.
I didn't notice that area before! That looks rideable! Oooh, I bet I can make it up that.
OK, OK, I reluctantly pack up to leave. AZT singletrack and Milagrosa are my route back to Tucson, and a finer route I could not beg for. The sun grows in strength, and though I am rationing water, I welcome the heat. This is what AZ is all about. Spinning granny gear on a loaded bike, scorching in the December sun, and loving every second of it. Each sip of water is liquid gold, still cold from the long night.
I didn't expect to ride through the 'gauntlet' clean, but things just click. Solo, tired, dehydrated and with camping gear? Oh yeah!
Though the more civilized route would take me to water more quickly, I take with the back way, legs on auto-pilot on flat pavement and dirt paths.
I take the hidden trails and passageways only the coyotes and I know about.
Almost exactly 24 hours after leaving, I roll back home, sufficiently tired and remarkably rejuvenated.
