| Barbara seldom misses a chance to interact with her grandkids, so when Terra wanted fewer distractions while helping Grandma Penrod, Barbara was only too happy to play the genial host. |
|
|
The boys stayed from Saturday through Wednesday, and we all had a good visit. When you are away from children for any length of time, you tend to forget just how innovative young minds can be. |
| A simple stick becomes a sword, then transforms into a magic wand, then morphs into a machine gun before becoming a pool cue, a staff, a mixing spoon, and on, and on, and on... The blocks in the background became a hotel, a skyscraper, a bus, an airplane, a castle, a missile, and a submarine before I lost count. |
|
|
They stayed long enough for our black cat (Ellory), to allow Ethan to pet her briefly, but not long enough for Callie, (the calico cat) to exit from her hiding place. (She came out freely when the boys were asleep. How she knew probably had something to do with the decrease of decibel levels reverberating through our humble dwelling.) (They really weren't that loud... because they were really VERY GOOD! bjh) |
|
Dave Elliott again visited us the weekend of October 14th. He has acquired another specialty bike, this one designed to operate in snow. It doesn't take much imagination to see the similarities between snow and sand--at least from the perspective of a bicycle, and Dave thought his new machine might excel on both. As a rather rigorous test, we decided to ignore the warning I left to myself in my letter of 10-18-09, and ride this bike (backed up by his electric one) through the collection of washboards and sand traps that serves as the back road from San Manuel to Benson. The northern most portion of this route had been freshly graded, and was good riding. Both bikes performed well and we were confident it would be a pleasant, uneventful trip. It wasn't. The temperature was forecast at 92° F, but the thermometers (part of the high-end speedometers on each bike) read 105° and 109°. I didn't think it was that hot, and remarked to Dave that the thermometers were in the sun. He countered by saying, "So are we." I wasn't really uncomfortable, but I did lose a lot of water, and after consuming just over 2/3 of the 1½ gallons that I carried, I started experiencing muscle cramps in my legs. I brought some powdered Gatorade (the liquid stuff is undrinkable), but apparently the amount I choked down wasn't sufficient for my needs. In fact, after returning home, I calculated that it was enough to make less that one quart... The on-line reviews of Dave's electric bike are filled with complaints about broken spokes--the motor integral to the rear hub is quite heavy. The dealer cautioned Dave that if the bike was to be ridden on dirt roads, it should be kept under 10 mph. That is difficult to accomplish while descending steep hills, and around 2 p.m. we experienced a broken spoke. The bike was still rideable, but obviously at increased risk of further damage. |
|
 Four inch wide, low pressure, bike tires? Who would have thought... |
We sat down to consider our options. There is no cell phone service at that point on the earth's surface, but we were fairly close to where the pavement started about 22 miles from Benson. On that surface the electric bike could be used with impunity.
Before starting the trip, I estimated that we would average about 6 mph and would arrive at Nathen's house about 5 p.m. And given that the paved portion of the road would allow higher speeds, we were pretty close to that schedule. Barbara called Nathen when we left, and Nathen calculated we would arrive close to noon. When we failed to do so, he demonstrated that he has inherited at least some genetic traits from my mother. (I had, at one time, nominated her for the title of "Worlds Best Worrier". ["Now Son, you be sure to call me when you get there!" So, as Dave and I sat pondering our options Nathen, driving his Bronco and pulling his trailer, came over the hill towards us. We loaded up the bikes, and Nathen drove us back to Oracle. We picked up Barbara and went out to dinner (Nathen declined our invitation). Dave and I have planned two recent bicycle adventures that called for two days of riding. In both cases, we bailed after a single day, and went to dinner. One might wonder if that has established a president. |
| The next day we decided to try the bikes on a 4-wheeler road that starts at the junction of Mt. Lemon Highway and Triangle Y Camp and ends in San Manuel. But first we needed to repair the broken spoke. A quick perusal of several old bicycle wheels littering the yard turned up one with spokes of the same length, but a different diameter. So, off to Tucson we went. The 2nd bicycle shop we visited had spokes of the proper length, and since it was close to Karren's house, Dave suggested we pay her a quick visit. It didn't turn out to be quick, but we did get to hear some of Jim's war stories--well worth the time. |
|
 A "no dust" area on that back road? Not likely. |
After returning to Oracle, we attempted to replace the broken spoke, only to find that our freshly purchased spokes were the same diameter as the one we had previously rejected. We had hoped to make the repair without removing the tire from the bicycle. The power feed to the electric motor in the hub enters through the rear axle, and since there is no obvious disconnect when the wheel is removed from the bike, it is still tethered by an electrical cord approximately 12 inches long. That arrangement is inconvenient at best, and my intuition suggest that it also has an innately high probability of some connection or component being inadvertently damaged. |
| With some difficulty, we removed one side of the tire from the rim while it was still on the bicycle and exchanged the spoke nipple for one the right size, but upon reseating the tire on the rim, we pinched the tube (my fault for not completely removing the valve stem). We attempted to patch the holes, but our repair job held air only long enough reached Mt. Lemon Highway (the second stop sign). Daylight was fading at this point, so we pumped up a tire on my suspension bike and had Barbara transport us to our starting point. It was soon dark. We had headlamps, but they did not allow us to see far enough ahead to correct for the washouts and drop offs. It made for a bit of a white knuckle ride. The ¾ full moon rose just as we finished riding. |
This is what $3,500 worth of bicycles looks like... |
 Freshly scuffed tread... |
While we were in Tucson, we also swapped horses with Karren and used Jim's truck to hauled home some aluminum roofing that blew off Karren's rental property some months ago. I don't think that truck likes me. We added power steering fluid and oil prior to starting. Then we added air to the tires. Then, when Barbara picked us up in San Manuel after we had finished riding, we lost the spare tire. This happened just as we were slowing down to make the turn from Veteran's Memorial Highway onto Webb Road (the now paved back road to Oracle. I doubt we were exceeding 25 mph at the time, but upon stopping and walking up and down both sides looking with flashlights, we couldn't locate the tire. Karren assured us we had left Tucson with a spare, so the next morning before sunrise (on my way to Bishopric meeting) I stopped and looked again (only to discover coolant leaking from the heater assembly). On the way home from church, I stopped and looked a third time, and finally located something that could have been a spare (it was the only one of five tires in that area that was mounted on a rim). |
| This tire was under some bushes but had not been there long as there was no indentation under it. The rim was the right size, but not painted white, as were the four on the truck. When the tire fell off, the rear end of the truck hiccuped as if something were momentarily caught between it and the road. The tire I found had fresh lateral scuffing across its tread. It also had a sizable hole in the tread down to the steel cord, and the steel cord was rusted, suggesting that this was not a recently acquired defect. Further, this hole appeared to have been melted into the tire, and there was a second smaller spot that also appeared to have melted. Karren affirmed that the spare was in usable condition, so I am left pondering whether I found Karren's spare, or whether it joined the hat that blew off my head in this same area several months ago (which I never did find). If I packaged this tale as a paranormal manifestation, perhaps I could sell it as a script for one of those "Ghost Hunter" shows you see on TV. Instead of the Bermuda Triangle, it would be the Tri-City Triangle, haunted by the ghosts of miners killed underground and are unhappy that the mine has been shut down. Just a thought... |
 ...and melted holes. |