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Well, the great "Alpine to Clifton" bicycle trip is now history. That title is in quotes, as we didn't even arrive at the point where we could see Clifton. I spent so much time planning, that I now feel a sense of loss, as if an old friend is no longer with me. The actual trip was very enjoyable, but left me with the feeling that I wanted more.

Brittany drove for us, and Mylinda (and Lauren, of course) came along for company.

Lauren was experiencing the effect of being in a vehicle for the last two days. For the most part, she is quite well behaved.

As far as the actual ride went, we, in fact, did start in Alpine. 1.7 miles later, we threw the bikes in the truck and went looking for some real estate that was sloped in the right direction.

We found it a short distance on the on the other side of Hannigan's Meadow, and the bicycle tires sang for the next little bit.

One of the things I discovered about cross-country bicycling riding is that you spend most of your time going up hill. It is a matter of simple math, but it took me a couple of arduous rides to realize what was happening. Consider a hill four miles long. Since 4 mph is about the speed I can maintain climbing a protracted grade, going up takes one hour even. But, going down that same hill, it is not unrealistic to average 25 mph, such that the distance is covered in about 9.5 minutes.

Many people find that an hour climb does not justify the reward of less than 10 minutes of pushing the control envelope, and these are they who rarely (if ever) straddle a bicycle.

Driving from Oracle to Eagar takes one through contruction just north of Winkleman. This gentleman was manning the stop sign where the road becomes one lane and a pilot car lead traffic through. What a horrible job.

Quite some time ago I drove our route, but the intervening years erased most of the details. I remember that the road traversed mountainous terrain, and from that single fact I should have been able to deduce that it would be a (seemingly never-ending) series of climbs and descents. It was exactly that.

I make it a point to state that AJ and I rode exactly the same distance (assuming you don't count the fact that the recumbent [which he rode most of the time] wanders all over the road when you are climbing).

From there, I will leave out the gory details, any and all references to whining or complaining, cut to the chase (as it were), and simply say that AJ seemed to derive much more pleasure from the down hills than the up hills...

I didn't note the exact figures, but I think we covered about 34 miles before Ameilia et. al. over took us and we stopped for lunch. We roasted polish sausages and ate chips and fruit at the foot a an incredibly steep portion of the road.

After considering it at some length, I was unable to convince myself to ride up it, so we turned back. Given the lay of the land and our position, I suspect that we may have been able to see the smoke stacks in Morenci from the top of that next grade, but even that was insufficient to elicit the effort required to continue.

On the outward leg, we encountered one particularly long hill. It was insidious in that was covered in curves such that the length was not immediately obvious.

Each corner looked as if it lay at the summit, but rounding it revealed the just next short pitch. We probably spent more than a hour climbing it, so on the return trip, we off loaded the bikes and rode down.

The weather forecast for the day of the ride called for winds of 20 to 30 mph from the southwest. After weeks of planning, that projection was disheartening, and almost enough to make me head off in another direction, but AJ wouldn't hear of it.

As it turned out, he was right. On the outward leg, there were places where wind was a factor, but they were few and short. Maybe the tall trees coupled with the steep slopes broke up the laminar flow.

At any rate, wind wasn't a factor until we decided to ride from Alpine to Eagar. This 18 mile stretch included a 1000 foot drop in elevation, and for most of that distance the wind was projected to be squarely at our backs.

I don't have a reliable way to estimate wind speed, but it was high enough that I reached a new personal maximum bicycle speed. At the time I was riding the mountain bike, which isn't particularly fast. It has fat tires with an aggressive tread, both of which translate to relatively high rolling friction.

With a reasonable slope, a good wind, and concerted effort I can get that bike up to about 30 mph. Above that speed, my feet won't move fast enough to transfer energy to the crank, and any increase is due to the interplay of slope and drag.

On one relatively steep hill, a particularly strong gust caught me, and the singing of the tires on the road rose to a pitch I hadn't heard previously. When I glanced, down the speedometer was indicating 43.8 mph. (AJ, riding the recumbent, registered 46.0 mph).

Then, just as suddenly as it came, the wind reversed itself, and within 15 seconds I was crawling along at 11 mph.

Just prior to entering Eagar, the road does a switchback and climbs a ridge. Riding up that hill into the wind, I came very near to the limit of my capabilities. Any faster wind and I would have had to get off and push. The same was true of a couple of small hills in Eagar itself. What a place...

When I rode the school bus from Canelo to Patagonia, we stopped in a small town named, "Elgin." On the small store there, the was a sign proclaiming, Elgin, Arizona Where the Sun Shines and the Wind Blows Well, Elgin apparently doesn't have a patent on wind blowing.

When we arrived at Ameilia's, we were just short, so we braved the wind for a few more blocks, and ended the ordeal with 60.023 miles showing on my odometer. In a manner analogous to scout trips, any bike trip without a fatality was a good one. And this one was great.

While we were gone, Wyatt worked his magic on my car. What do you think? He acquired a "parts car" and exchanged pieces. Barbara thinks I should paint it all one color, but I like having "unique" vehicles. She also said it looks like a dalmation dog now, rather than the purple grape. It does makes it easier to find in the parking lot... While I am not terribly concerned with the way my vehciles look, I actually kind of like this two-tone pelt.

Kylie is a child who harbors unique opinions, and has no qualms about expressing them. While Wyatt was working, apparently his Kylie decided to take up photography and "borrowed" my camera.

At least that is the only logical explanation I can come up with to explain this image. I'm really not quite sure what to make of this repair technique...

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