Thursday, February 18, 2010

Objects in your Mirror are closer than they appear.

I just got home from my annual Tucson trip. It is not a big bike trip but a shopping trip for beads, gems and glass. I do manage to get in a ride if I can and they are always interesting. One thing to keep in mind about Tucson is that is never really flat, at least not South Texas flat. Tucson sits in a bowl of mountains that look really close but are actually just really big. I did a flat ride this year and still got in almost a 1000 feet of climbing. When I lived in Oregon I considered myself a bit of a mountaineer. I moved to South Texas 20 years ago and one morning I woke up a flatlander. This is not a good thing coming from a long line of hillbillies.


I will not refer to the riders in Tucson as hillbillies. It is a term to be used by people who are actually hillbillies. Use by outsiders is usually derogatory. I personally would take offense if a flatlander called me a hillbilly but not if a true kinsman did. It’s a lot like the “N” word. Lawyers have a similar problem with labels. The extent of lawyer jokes should give you a

clue. I have been known to attach various degrading adjectives to the word. This being said, there are a few people I know that are attorneys, fair and noble practitioners of law. They can pretty much be counted on one hand but I can be a harsh judge.


Erik Ryberg (http://www.tucsonbikelawyer.com/) stands out as a noble practitioner. He is a cycling advocate, a former racer and a commuter. He gets very excited about cargo bikes and was as proud as a new father when he showed me his Dutch commuter bike. Last year he used his lunch break to take me up Sentinel Peak. This year he got going early to meet my wife and I for coffee. This means a lot to me and is one of the reasons I try reach out to cyclists who are visiting.


I rented a bike from Fairwheel bikes again. I was hoping to get a Trek Madone but evidently Trek doesn't like short people so I wound up with a Fisher. Good enough for me and more important, it fit. Bruce set it up for me and by some luck of the gods, eyed my legs and adjusted the seat height by eye. I like Bruce a lot. The first time

I rented from him he told me to

“Ride fast and take chances” Unfortunately he jinxed me this time. He innocently asked me if I knew the lay of the land and I foolishly replied “yep”. After all I had a map, what could go wrong?


I had planned on riding with the Cactus Cycling Club but their plans and my time did not work out right. I am a member of the club but just a $20 member. This entitles me to say I am a member on paper but since I only show up once a year, not much more than that. So, I left the bike shop on my own, headed out into the sunny cool morning, and promptly started getting lost. The first wrong turn was a pretty good stroke of luck. I stumbled onto a bike path (no cars) that took me a long way out of town. The second wrong turn was the result of a momentary lapse of reason, a brain fart, or sudden onset dyslexia. A left turn would have taken me to the right road and given me a small chance of connecting up with the club. The right turn I made took me way out of the way to a place even the locals can’t quite place unless they too have gotten lost. Should you ever find yourself at the intersection of Houghton and Valencia, don’t bother to stop and wonder where you are, don’t waste your time looking around for familiar landmarks, you are lost.


There was an upside to this unplanned excursion. The reason I knew that the way I was going was absolutely the wrong way? Somebody moved the mountains. Yes, the hereditary hillbilly surfaced and for one short moment I was a flatlander no more. I turned around and headed back in the right direction, back up the hill and towards the snow. My head was clear, I was heading the right way, and it was indeed a beautiful day.




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