7-29-84 2352.8 [100.7 miles]. It's Sunday morning. I've been on the road for about two hours, [but] I've gone only about nine miles. Just a few moments ago I got to the top of the mountain and right now I'm coasting down the other side. It's a fantastic feeling after working so hard to get up the mountain. The altitude at the top of the mountain was 4983 feet—just incredible. That means that I have to come down about 1400 feet to get to Globe, which is at 3500 feet. As I see it, I climbed from 1900 feet to 4900 feet in roughly twenty miles, from Winkelman to the top of the peak, and I'm going to have to climb about 3400 feet from Globe to Flagstaff. So it's encouraging to realize that I won't have to climb much higher to get into Flagstaff than I already did.
My top speed coming down the mountain so far was thirty-seven miles per hour. Right now I'm clipping along at about twenty-seven [miles per hour], and it looks like "clear sailing" in the next mile or so. Let me backtrack a bit to give the mileage when I started out this morning. It was 2343.6, which means that I rode ninety-one and a half miles yesterday, the first day of the trip. Not bad.
Let me pick up with the events of yesterday. After I weathered the storm, so to speak, and after I [went] downhill for several miles, I came to a steep incline. I was looking for the dirt road to Pioneer Pass State Park, so that I could camp for the night, but I never did find it. I saw a couple of gravel roads, but there were no signs indicating that the park was on th[ose] road[s], so I pressed on. I decided that I would try to get to Globe, if possible, and, if not, I would have to find a convenient place on the side of the road to pitch my tent and sleep. But I was feeling incredibly sticky and sweaty, so I wanted as much as possible to find a shower. But that wasn't to be. The upward climb was just endless. I began pushing my bike very early on, and when the sun was about an hour up in the western sky, I decided that I would stick my thumb up for random trucks, in the hope that I could get a ride into Globe, where I would rent a cheap motel room for the night. But nobody saw fit to stop and help me, so I plugged on, cursing the trip itself.
This is awfully strange. I just passed a sign reading, "Globe City Limits," and there is no living thing or human structure to be seen. I'm out in the middle of a barren desert, with hills and scrub plants everywhere, but no sign of life. I don't expect to arrive in Globe proper for another five and a half miles or so. Anyway, to finish the events of yesterday, I finally came to a point where I was just too tired to go on. Rain drops had begun falling again, and so I feared that if I didn't pitch my tent right away, I would end up getting soaked and end up spending the night shivering and freezing because of the wetness. I picked out a small, flat area near the side of the road and picked up a few rocks from the area, threw the tent pad down, and proceeded to pitch the tent. Rain drops were falling all the while, but I managed to get the tent up and the bike covered before it grew too heavy.
Before I went to sleep I washed my face and upper body with a cold, wet towel, dried myself off, and ate a peanut butter sandwich and cookie for supper. The ground was lumpy and hard, but not much harder than the floor [that] I've been sleeping on for nearly a year [in my apartment], so I actually had a pretty good night's sleep. During the night I awoke several times to the sound of passing vehicles, lightning flashes, thunder rolls, and the rain, pelting down onto the tent. My hope was that the tent wouldn't leak, and I was happy to see that it didn't. What happened was that dew drops formed on the inside of the tent, and if you touch the inside of the tent, that will cause a drip, and water will come through the tent. So I had to be careful not to hit the top of the tent with my head or anything while I [was] inside of it. Well, I can now say that I've weathered a mountain storm in the middle of the day, and also held up through a nighttime storm in my tent. In fact, I had hoped that I wouldn't have to pitch a tent on the side of the road, but everything worked out well, and here I am on my way into Globe.
I awoke this morning to the gentle rays of the sun coming into the tent from the east, over the mountains. After rolling around for an hour or so on the sleeping bag, I finally got up and prepared to move on. After brushing my teeth with cold water and packing up all of my gear onto the bike, I sat briefly [on a rock] reading the [news]paper while I ate my last peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and my last two cookies, and pulled out onto the road to continue pushing my bike up to the top of the peak. The experience of pushing a bike up a steep mountain is just horrible. I grew so tired that I had to stop every hundred yards to catch my breath, and then I would grab []hold of the bike and push on. I cursed the fact that I had come through Globe instead of the Phoenix vicinity, where I'm sure [that the terrain] would have been flatter[.] But, as they say, every hill has its downside, and I'm still taking advantage of that. Today, I would like to get at least as far as the northern tip of Roosevelt Lake, if not farther. I'll have to wait and see what the conditions are and how I feel.
From the time I was in Oracle Junction until now, I've been on Highway 77, but I am quickly approaching a junction with Highway 70. I'll be taking that into Globe, and then coming out of Globe on still another highway. And so, on I go.
I'm at the edge of Globe. I notice that it has an elevation of 3544 feet, it was founded in 1876, and it's the home of "Gila Pueblo College." Mileage is [currently] 2358.8 [106.7 miles].
2369.5 [117.4 miles]. Right now I'm sitting on top of a little hill outside of the city of Globe. The first thing that I did when I got into Globe was pull into a McDonald's [restaurant] and have a large breakfast. I had scrambled eggs, an English muffin with jelly, three pancakes with syrup, hash browns, a raspberry Danish, and a large coffee. I felt uncomfortable waiting inside [of the restaurant] to order [the meal] because I must be stinking up a storm by now. I haven't showered since Friday night, when I got home from Phoenix, and I probably won't shower again until later on tonight. But I feel halfway decent right now. As long as I can clean my face and hands, that takes away most of the discomfort.
After I ate breakfast, I stopped at a Circle K [convenience store] to buy some more ice and [to] fill up my half-gallon jugs, so [that] I'll have plenty of iced water. In fact, each day I think [that] it would be a good idea to fill the jugs with iced water before I move on.
Globe is a strange-looking town. It sits amidst the mountains, and I think that it's a mining town, because there was this huge, long, white mountain to the west of town, and I could see a gravel truck of some sort driving along one of the terraces. I assume that it's some sort of ore mine or other—maybe even a copper open-strip mine. But it was a sight to see, coming upon it all of a sudden: a long—perhaps a mile-long—white mountain.
A few moments ago I stopped at a roadside park to put my tape player on my pants, which is the first time that I've listened to a tape on the trip. I also went to the bathroom and took my vitamins, so in a few moments I'll be back on the road toward Roosevelt Lake. I'm getting excited, because I saw a sign back there which said, "Roosevelt Dam, 29 Miles." I'm hoping to see a large dam and lake with a lot of scenic places. Well, here goes. It looks like a nice, downhill ride for a few miles.
2377.2 [125.1 miles]. I'm still between Globe and Roosevelt Lake, in the midst of pushing my bike up a huge mountain, just as I did before. Dark clouds have moved overhead, and I felt some sprinkles a while back. It doesn't look good for me.
I had no idea that there would be this many mountains on the route [that] I had selected. I knew that when I got into Utah and Wyoming I would have to do some pushing, but I didn't think [that] I'd have to do much [pushing] in Arizona—at least this [far south] in the state. All told, I've probably pushed my bike ten miles so far. My back is extremely red from the sun. I can feel it "burn" every now and then, so I must have a sunburn. One of the things that I wanted to do on this trip was to get out into the elements—that is, be cold when it's cold outside, hot when it's hot [outside], live through the rain showers and the cold nights, etcetera. By the time I get back I should be quite dark, and also in better physical shape.
Usually, when it rains here in Arizona, the clouds pass over quite quickly, dropping their load and then moving on. But these clouds don't seem to be moving very fast. They're stretching from the southern part of the sky clear across to the north of me. I'm currently feeling sprinkles, and if it gets much harder I'll just stop the bike and throw the rain cover over it until [the storm] goes by.
2379.3 [127.2 miles]. I saw a dead rattlesnake beside the road a few miles back. It was puffed up, so I couldn't really tell how thick it was, but it was about three feet long. I took a picture of it so [that] I'd have a record to show [people].
Right now I'm cruising downhill at thirty-five miles an hour, and Roosevelt Lake is directly before me. It's absolutely breathtaking! I've been cruising at thirty-five miles an hour for a couple of miles now, and it looks like I've got a long way to go, because it's almost straight downhill.
I just about had an accident a few moments ago. A truck was cruising behind me as I was going about thirty-five to thirty-seven miles an hour, and there was some sand on the road—apparently washed across from a wash of some sort. I slowed down as much as I could before I got there, but it was too late, and I went bumpety-bump-bump over that sand, hanging on tightly to the handle bars—and I made it through OK. Everything seems to be in place on the bike.
This is by and large [sic: should be "far and away"] the funnest [sic] I've had on the trip. There's no way I can describe how I feel cruising down this mountain after all the work that I've done. The only taint is that it's currently raining, or at least starting to, but I'm going to press onward.
2381.7 [129.6 miles]. I'm still clipping along at thirty-two miles an hour without pedalling. The lake is getting nearer and the rain is letting up, but I think [that] I have a long way to coast yet.
2387.4 [135.3 miles]. I'm currently driving alongside Roosevelt Lake. So far, so good, with the weather, but the sky is clouded up in every direction now. Some of the clouds don't look good. I've been riding down a long, gradual incline [sic] for some time now, and I feel very good. I stopped at a small store to get two cans of Lipton iced tea and some postcards, and my feeling at this point is that I should try to get to Payson tonight. I know [that] there aren't any campgrounds there, but I've spent so little money thus far that I may just pop for a cheap hotel or motel. There are still several hours of daylight left, so I might as well take advantage of them. In the meantime, I'm going to be listening to the Dodgers-Reds [baseball] game on my little headset. The game is in the fourth inning and it's one to nothing, Dodgers.
2393.8 [141.7 miles]. I've now ridden over fifty miles today, and I still plan to make it to Payson before nightfall. Right now I'm paralleling very closely Roosevelt Lake. It's so big, I just can't get over it. In Michigan, we have the Great Lakes, and of course one can't see across those. But I haven't seen a "small" lake of this size, if you know what I mean. It just goes on and on, mile after mile. Right now I'm going down a fairly steep decline, and I saw a sign along the road a few moments ago which said, "Steep Mountain Curves, Next 32 Miles." Right below me, at the moment, is a motor boat pulling a water skier, and overhead the thunder is still rolling. Orel Hershiser of the Dodgers has a perfect game through six innings.
