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Well, it appears that a repeat performance of the great bicycle trip of 1969 is a real possibility. David Elliott has procured a recumbent bicycle ($1000 with all the attendant bells and whistles), and appears to be serious about using it. That leaves me just a bit ambivalent. On the one hand, riding with him is definitely something I would enjoy tremendously. On the other hand, I fear not being able to keep up, and hence being terribly embarrassed. I guess the solution is training. I have been playing around with it, and Dave is just now starting. Maybe I can keep up... Singlehandedly documenting a bicycle ride is problematic, so I will write about riding and show photos from our latest trip.
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At any rate, this past Saturday, I bicycled to Casa Grande. The Company (Sun Life Family Health Center), was having their yearly picnic at a park there, and I thought I might just "drop" in. I departed at about 0705 hours, and made good time. It has been quite windy here the past few days, and I was dreading a headwind. What I got was a tailwind, and a strong one at that. I rode to Oracle Junction, averaging around 25 mph. That was fun, but I have done that before. There I turned onto Pinal Pioneer Parkway (Highway 87), and was immediately confronted with a 4.5 mile-long hill. As I worked my way up it, I was surprised by a group of three bicycle riders who flew up the hill past me. I was holding 8 mph and they must have been doing double that, as they were completely out of sight in about 5 minutes or so. So much for me being the fastest thing on the road. I finally reached the top of the grade, and it was basically all downhill from there.
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Six or seven miles down from the "summit" I turned on to Park Link Drive. That stretch of road doesn't look particularly steep (at least from the inside of a motor vehicle), but it provided one of the best rides I have ever had. The grade and tailwind combined to give me a speed that never dropped below 25 mph over the entire 13 miles of paved road, and for a 7 to 12 minute stretch, I stayed above 30 mph (and got as high as 37 mph). The strange thing was that I sensed no wind. I was just screaming down the road, but the air felt completely still. That portion of the ride was simply exhilarating! It was the most fun I have had in quite some time. Unfortunately, I was so busy staying alive, that I failed to digitally document the moment. There was, however, one small accident. I carried a two-liter soda bottle filled with water, strapped to my rear rack with a bungee cord, and it managed to work its' way loose. It was full, containing almost 4.5 lbs of water, and I calculated its velocity upon impacting the roadway to have been a minimum of 27 mph, so I fully expected to find a leak (or even a large split) when I stopped to retrieve it. The bottle was dented, scratched, and streaked with asphalt, but there were no holes of any kind. That invention has to rank as one of the best of the 20th century. It is a container strong enough to hold pressure, cheap enough to be considered disposable, and almost indestructible (at least under conditions that I consider normal).
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On the far end of Park Link Drive is 5 miles of dirt road, where I had a choice of riding on the edge in loose dirt (where keeping the bicycle upright was nigh impossible), or on the hard pack nearer the center of the road where the surface resembled that of a washboard. Along this stretch, 15 mph was the maximum I dared try, and at that speed the vibrations were almost enough to dislodge the fillings in my teeth. I could even feel the covering of fat on my belly vibrate (which, by the way, isn't a particularly pleasant sensation). The fifty-mile mark on this route lies just past the Dairy Queen at Picacho, and about this point in the trip I began to tire. I continued through Eloy, passed under I-10, and a few miles later turned North into Casa Grande. This whole area is basically flat, I had lost my tailwind (in fact, it had become a quartering headwind in places), the muscles in my legs began to cramp, and my knees began to hurt with each stroke of the bicycle petals. I geared the bicycle down and just concentrated on keeping the wheels turning. All things considered, it was a long thirty miles.
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Once in Casa Grande, I discovered that I had neglected to note which park was the site of the festivities. By then, I was in no shape to go exploring, so I chose "plan B" and rode to the Dairy Queen to await my scheduled rescue. At this point, things began to unravel. Barbara had experience a problem with her knees, and called Ameilia (who was visiting to attend the memorial services of Wyatt's Grandmother) and passed my rescue responsibility onto her. Ameilia was just leaving Cosco in Tucson bound for Eager, and was not eager for an 80-mile side trip. Sabrina volunteered and Barbara relayed my instructions to her. Unfortunately, I passed those instructions to Barbara while she was in the process of awakening, and apparently they were received in a somewhat garbled condition (note to self: next time write them down). The end result was that I sat at the Dairy Queen (contemplating what certainly would have been an exceptionally long, dark, cold, and otherwise miserable bicycle ride home) while Sabrina drove around Casa Grande for three hours looking for a park that was hosting a company picnic. It was indeed fortuitous that Sabrina spotted me as she drove back to the freeway to return home. Accepting change becomes increasingly difficult as one ages, but I think I foresee a cell phone in my future.
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I did learn a couple of things. I lost the seat that came with the bicycle, and (with Barbara's help) constructed a replacement. For short trips, that replacement works very well, but on longer trips it crushes and loses its softness. As much as I hate to lay out $30.00 for a triangular piece of foam rubber encased in a water repellant covering; by the end of that trip I would have gladly given twice that amount. The other discovery concerns my physical ability to ride. Problems with fatigued muscles can be remedied by conditioning, but I am at a bit of a loss as how to deal with the aching knee joints. Maybe an anti-inflammatory drug of some sort...(Barbara's note: I bought him a knee support that's easy to put on, but he haven't lowered himself to using it yet!)
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I doubt you know her, but Arleen, a daughter of Old Bishop Lorin McRae (and sister of New Bishop Kent McRae) died this afternoon of cancer. That is a messy way to go. She was a year or two younger than Barbara and she had a twin sister. The closer it gets, the more I want my death to be quick and decisive. I'm basically a sissy, and getting old isn't for sissies.
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Another month at work has passed without much in the way of notable content--unremarkable is the word the word I believe medical profession would use to describe it. Still, when you think about it in some detail, it was not what a normal person might expect. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 330 people asked me to puncture their skin with a sharp pointed object, and inflict some degree of pain and suffering. And, when it was over, every one of them thanked me. If you consider it logically, that behavior might be considered a little bit unusual (or maybe even down right bizarre)? So, I guess you could say that I routinely deal with bizarre people. But, then again, maybe I ought to be used to it by now. I did help raise nine kids...
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| Last week my Uncle, Dell Hatch died. Dell (actually Albert Dell Hatch) was the son of Albert Hatch and Zina Brinkerhoff, and was a younger brother of Lorenzo Moran Hatch (my father). He passed away Thursday, (4-27-08), and his funeral services were held the following Monday. Holding a funeral on the first workday of the week seemed a bit unusual, but I took the day off and attended (along with Barbara, Sabrina, Piper and Cub). I really didn't know much about Dell. I met him several times at family functions, and once in Phoenix. I remember the surroundings (an industrial area, which is not surprising considering that he drove a gasoline tanker for many years), but not the circumstances that brought us together there. He asked me how I liked working for Carnation Company and, after I expressed my displeasure, he advised me to hang on until I, "...grew a beard with the company." By that I think he meant that I needed to became a bit more experienced. I didn't take that advice, but quit and enrolled in graduate school the next year. For some reason, I still remember that counsel. Over the years, I have received advice from many people, and most of it was forgotten before the sun set the same day. I have no idea why I remember that encounter, but memory is akin to a small child walking along a beach in that there is really no rhyme nor reason to which small pebbles he chooses to pick up and put in his pocket. |
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I enjoyed listening to Uncle Dell's life story. Dell was drafted right out of high school, and served as an infantryman in the Army during WWII. He fought in the Battle of the Bulge, Hitler's last offensive drive of the war. Dell talked of the excessive cold, and how the dead soldiers froze and were stacked like cordwood. Dell was in a unit that dealt with anti-tank mines, both planting ours and finding and disarming those of the Germans. He complained of how heavy those mines were when he had to carry three or four of them. He also told of seeing a couple of his buddies literally blown to pieces when the mines they were defusing accidentally exploded. Dell saw combat throughout Europe. He told of a time when he rounded a corner in a bombed-out city and unexpectedly encountered a German soldier. The German was carrying a rifle, and Dell, for some unexplained reason, happened to have his knife in his hand. In that situation, quickness prevailed and Dell emerged as the survivor.
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He told of another time when, after a day of fighting, he sought shelter from the cold in the hayloft of a barn. In the semi-darkness, he made out the form of a man and laid down next to him to facilitate both of them staying warm. In the morning, he discovered that the man was a wounded German soldier, who had died during the night. These experiences took their toll on Dell and, for the rest of his life, he periodically suffered from what is now called post-traumatic stress syndrome. During his last few years, he also suffered from Alzheimer's disease and spent his days at the Old Soldier's Home in the Phoenix area. When the time finally came I suspect that few, if any, of his children regretted his passing. What a way to go...
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It has been windy as of late. That is not an unusual occurrence for springtime in this area, but it does present problems for someone trying to ride a bicycle. However, our winds are nothing compared to those in Taylor and Woodruff. I looked out the window at Nathen's house, and forbade Barbara from bringing home any starts from their dancing trees. In Oracle, we fly kites on mason twine. In Taylor they take a horseshoe, wrap it in sheet metal, and fly it on a logging chain. As is evident in this image, even the church in Taylor has difficult withstanding the constant breeze. At the graveside service, Sabrina had trouble with her contact lenses, but stuck it out to see the Honor Guard from the Holbrook Chapter of the American Legion Post #37 provide a 16-gun salute, followed by a bugler playing Taps. In all, it was a moving grave-side service.
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My Ford Geo has finally rolled past 300,000 miles. Only 200,000 to go for my half million. As far as I can tell (except for creature comforts), the little car is still going strong. One of the things I have attempted but failed to develop (over the last 40 years) is a mathematical function that calculates when a vehicle has reached the end of its useful life. Sometimes it is obvious (like being confronted with repair whose parts cost more than the value of the vehicle), but usually my cars end, "not with a bang, but with a whimper..." I need a model that predicts when the continual $30.00 to $50.00 repairs to the car outweigh its' projected mechanical usefulness.
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Fred and Laura Zumwalt (my sister and her husband) are visiting from Peru. Fred works as a mining engineer for what used to be Phelps Dodge (they were bought out by some Lousiana based company whose name escapes me). He was recently promoted to assistant plant manager. This is what he looked like after being awake for 23 contiguous hours flying in from South America. |
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