7-30-84 Monday. 2435.2 [183.1 miles]. It's Monday morning, and right now I'm sitting about halfway up a mountain. I spent the night in a motel in Payson, and now I'm on my way toward [the towns of] Pine and Strawberry. Ultimately, today, I want to get near Flagstaff and camp out in a state park. Let me recap[itulate] the events of yesterday.
At last I spoke, I was approaching the Roosevelt Dam along[s]ide Lake Roosevelt—or Roosevelt Lake[.] The dam was just spectacular. I rode my bike across it, and at the end I stopped to take a couple of pictures. On one side of the dam was Roosevelt Lake, and on the other was a stream [actually Apache Lake], hundreds of feet below me. So I now see how Roosevelt Lake is maintained at its height. The road going northward from Roosevelt Dam was gravel, and I travelled on that gravel for about ten or twelve miles. It was not much fun. Since the lake itself wound its way into several coves, I found myself riding around and down into each cove and then back up the mountain along the roadway. It was a constant up-and-down battle. All the while, the clouds were massing overhead, and finally sprinkles began to come down. I continued on my way through the rain, determined to get to Payson before nightfall. Things were not looking good.
When I finally got past Roosevelt Lake, the rain began coming down a little harder. It wasn't hard enough to stop me from riding entirely, but it was enough that it would have soaked my gear if I hadn't done something. So I put my raincoat over the front of the bike (and held onto it as I rode), and I stretched my plastic bike cover over the sleeping bag and rear panniers so [that] they wouldn't get wet. In that condition I must have ridden about twenty miles. Finally, the rain stopped and the sun peeked out from behind the clouds. But [the sun] was only about an hour into the sky, and from looking at the map I realized that I wouldn't make it into Payson that night. Since there were no campgrounds on the way, and since I badly needed a shower, I decided to put my thumb out [to hitchhike].
Lo and behold, as I was climbing the steepest hill, [the driver of] a flatbed truck went by, saw my thumb in the air, and screeched to a halt. I ran up to the truck with my bike, asked the driver if he was going as far as Payson, and [was pleased when] he said, "Yes." And so I threw my bike in[to] the back [of the truck] and jumped in[to] the back with it. On we went into Payson. I can't believe how steep the hills were between where I was picked up and Payson itself. I don't see how I could have made it that night, and it probably would have taken me a good part of today just to get into Payson. All told, I must have ridden about twenty to twenty-two miles with the three youngsters who picked me up.
The driver and his two buddies were very nice kids. On the way to Payson they asked me if they could drive down a side road to pick up some friends[.] I said, "Sure! I'm in no hurry." When we got there, we had a few minutes to chat, and I noticed that one of them had on a "Black Sabbath" tee shirt. Since Black Sabbath is my favorite [musical] group, I struck up a conversation [with the three youths] and we ended up talking about rock and roll [music] for ten to fifteen minutes. When we finally arrived in Payson, it was just about dark. I popped my bike off the back of the truck and gave the driver my spare set of headphones. I have purchased [a pair of] Sony headphones [before I left on the trip], which work on my AM-FM radio, so I really didn't need the extra pair—and I wanted to give the driver something, whether he needed it or not. When I handed [the headphones] to him, he said, "Oh, you don't have to give me anything." I said, "I know I don't; but I want to." He took them and we said our goodbyes, and off I [went] on the bike to find a motel.
2435.8 [183.7 miles]. I'm still pushing my bike up this mountain. It's incredibly grueling. Sweat pours off my face and body, and I have to stop about every hundred to two hundred yards to catch my breath. However, it looks like I'm about to reach the crest of this particular hill. The sky, meanwhile, is completely clouded over. I'm not sure if that means "rain" or what. Usually, by this time in the morning, the sun burns the clouds away and it proceeds to get hot and dry. But that hasn't happened yet today. I also noticed that the riding is harder today, even downhill. I'm not sure what to make of it. My belongings aren't any wetter or heavier; I should be stronger than [I was during] the first two days [that] I rode; and the bike seems to be in as good a shape as it was in the first two days. The only thing [that] I can think of is that the altitude is now much higher. Perhaps it drains my energy quicker than lower altitudes, and . . . manifests itself in more difficult riding. Whatever the case, I'm determined to push on and make it to [a] campground south of Flagstaff before nightfall. I just hope that the weather cooperates.
Getting back to yesterday's events, when I was let off the flatbed truck by the three young fellows, I noticed [that there was] a motel right across the street. So I went there, knocked on the door, asked how much a room was for a night, was told "twenty-two dollars," and . . . decided to take it. [Twenty-two dollars] was more than I had planned to spend, per day, but I spent very little [money during] the first day [of riding] and, as I say, I needed a shower quite badly. So I gave him the money and went to the room. The first thing that I did [when I got into the room] was take a long, hot shower. It sure felt good to be clean again. Then I put on a flannel shirt and my long, brown corduroy pants and walked across the street to Burger King, where I had a nice dinner [chicken sandwich, french fries, and cola]. I must have appeared quite a sight with my hair tussled, four days' growth of beard on my face, and a tired look about me. Finally, I went back to the motel room, wrote a postcard to Mom, looked at my maps, watched part of the Olympic events for twenty minutes or so, and then went to sleep. All told, I rode eighty and a half miles on the second day of the trip. This morning (Monday), when I woke up, the odometer read 2424.1 [172.0 miles], which means that I'm approximately twelve miles [ahead of] schedule [eighty miles per day]. The only bad news is that I have "cheated" by accepting a ride. I hope to do that no more than a handful of times on this trip. One thing is clear: I won't be coming back to Tucson via Payson and Globe. There are just too many mountains to negotiate.
This morning I awoke to rays of light coming in the window. I jumped up, prepared my things, shaved, washed my face, packed my bike, and once again set off [down] the road. Like yesterday, I stopped at McDonald's for a hearty breakfast, and then [stopped] at a Circle K [store] for ice cubes and water. The road leading out of Payson was predominantly downhill. I enjoyed the ride. Now, [however,] I seem to be paying for it.
The foliage here is quite different than it was in southern Arizona. Although there are still barren places on the hillsides, there are pine and other northern trees scattered throughout the other bushes. In every direction there are green, rolling hills and mountains. The ground is reddish, and every so often as I ride I hear birds chirping in the trees. Off I go to Pine and Strawberry. I'm going to listen to a tape while I walk and ride.
2440.6 [188.5 miles]. I finally made it to the top of that hill, and then coasted down for a couple of miles into this delightful little town called "Pine." The name couldn't be more apt. All around the town, on the hills and in the gullies, are pine trees and other foliage. In fact, I got the feeling that it was a lumbering town, from the looks of it. The first thing that I did was to pull into a service station to fill my airs with tire [sic!], the first time that I've done that on the trip. And then I stopped at a small laundromat to wash clothes. But there was no detergent available inside, so I repacked my dirty clothing and continued on my way. I spoke for a few minutes at the laundromat with a woman who was also washing clothes, and we got to talking about my bike trip, which is usually the subject of conversation when I meet someone. She told me that she had gone on her honeymoon to Yellowstone thirty-six years ago. She then asked if I were keeping in touch with my family, and I said, "Yes"—that I had sent a postcard to my mother th[at very] morning. She must have known what my Mom is going through, because she said, "You know how mothers worry; you should keep in touch with her." And I agreed.
I'm now sitting beside the road on another steep incline. Cars and trucks are passing me quite regularly, and there's no longer a bike path on the side of the road, so I have to keep a good lookout in my rearview mirror as I push the bike. The sun, believe it or not, still hasn't come out from behind the clouds. I don't sense that there is any rain imminent, but it's an awfully strange day here in the mountains. I, personally, feel fine. I've been listening to a pre-recorded tape for a half hour or so, and I must say that when I hear a particular song that I like, I'm just euphoric. There I'll be, sweat pouring down my face and body, pushing a heavy bike up a steep side of a mountain, and I'll be singing aloud and stepping in tune with the beat. [The people in passing vehicles must think me strange.] I particularly enjoyed hearing "Flyer," by [the group] Saga, and "Murder by Numbers," by the Police. Well, here goes. [The] next town will be Strawberry, and then I'll be pressing onward to Flagstaff.
2444.3 [192.2 miles]. I'm sitting under some sort of pine tree very near to the top of this mountain, north of Strawberry. It's one of the highest mountains [that] I've climbed thus far—if not the highest. But I'm in good spirits. I sense that the peak is near, and I just know that the downslope is going to be long and steep. So I'm going to get my money's worth out of this hill yet. The other encouraging news is that I can't be much lower in elevation than the city of Flagstaff. When I left Payson, I knew that I had to climb 2000 feet to get to Flagstaff. I've come down a bit since Payson, but I'm sure [that] I'm much higher than that [now]. I may be more than halfway to Flagstaff from Payson by now. The sun has finally come out, and the clouds have scattered about, so it's turned into a beautiful day. At this high elevation, the sun doesn't beat down near[ly] as hard—or . . . doesn't seem to—and there's a light breeze up here, so I'm able to keep cool even though the sun is out. Of course, I [also keep cool by] drink[ing] huge quantities of water (I have since I left). Each day, I would guess, I drink about a gallon or more of fluid, most of that water. Occasionally I'll stop and buy two cans of iced tea, and last night I drank a quart of orange juice before I went to sleep.
The terrain is getting exciting now. I was bored stiff in southern Arizona, with the deserts and the scrub cacti all around, but now I'm in high country, and there are pine trees all around me with pine cones on the ground, rock outcroppings every which way, and steep, winding mountain curves. I can't wait to camp tonight and for the rest of the trip underneath the pine trees on a soft bed of needles in some state park. Healthwise, I feel great. I take vitamins each day, and I'm continually popping salt tablets to keep my salt level up. Since perspiration involves the loss of body salt, one has to replace it on a regular basis.
The views from this mountain are spectacular. I stopped a while back to take a picture of the road, and it was hard to believe that I had walked the bike up that far. I feel stronger now than when I left, and I'm sure that by the time I reach the real high mountains, in Utah and Wyoming, I'll be ready for them. But for now, I'm going to press on. I've gotten a little over twenty miles under my belt today, and I've got several more [to cover] before nightfall. So here goes: onward up the mountain, listening to my tape.
2453.1 [201.0 miles]. I've reached the top of the mountain, north of Strawberry, and I'm now on my way down, heading toward the road leading to Flagstaff. [End of tape one, side one.] The trip up was a lot of hard work, and when I did get to the top, there wasn't a simple peak, such that I started down immediately, but [rather,] a series of rolling hills on top of the mountain. I'm sure now that I'm coming down, because in front of me is a vast panorama, well below this altitude. I regret having to go down, because I'm just going to have to come up again to get to Flagstaff, but it'll feel nice and I'll get some miles under my belt. I've now travelled more than two hundred miles on this bike trip, and since my original calculation was a 2400-mile trip, I would say that I'm about one-twelfth complete. And as for today, I've just about knocked off my thirtieth mile. It's been slow going, but I hope to make up some ground here, coming down the mountain.
2456.4 [204.3 miles]. Amazing. I've just now gotten to the bottom of that hill, and I reached a top speed of forty-two miles per hour on the way down. That's the fastest [that] I've ever been moving on a bicycle. Sad to say, but dark clouds have moved in, and on the way down the hill I felt a smattering of rain drops. I sure hope [that] they hold off until I get camped for the evening.
I forgot to mention that while I was on the top of the mountain, I stopped to have lunch. I had bought a small loaf of rye bread and some chicken lunch meat in Payson this morning, and I stopped to eat two sandwiches along with some vegetable crackers. It sure hit the spot. Also, as I rode along through the dark, pine forest, I listened to classical music from the [Northern Arizona] University radio station out of Flagstaff[.] The mood was awfully strange. I associate classical music with movies anyway, because most movies are scored with classical music, and so wherever I looked into the forest I imagined that a movie was being shot, and that I was watching it. At one point I saw a white-faced guernsey cow staring at me through the pines. How surreal it looked! I thought for a moment that I was watching an avant-garde movie.
Now the terrain is inclining again. There are huge rocks on either side of me that have been cut through to make the roadway, so I'll put the recorder away and push my way up the hill.
2464.2 [212.1 miles]. I've [travelled] forty miles so far today. Right now I'm on the road leading northward to Flagstaff. A few moments ago I came to a turnoff, and there was a single gas station there, so I stopped for a can of lemonade and chatted with the owners and clerks for a few minutes. For the first time since I've been in Arizona I feel like I'm in the "Old West." With the tall pine trees and the cattle grazing every now and then, I somehow feel that I'm at the "Ponderosa," which is the name of the ranch in the old "Bonanza" [television] series. A man came into the gas station with a pickup [truck], climbed out with a huge belly and a large pair of overalls, and I thought [that] he could have passed for "Hoss" on [the] Bonanza [show]. I think, too, that this is "conservative" country. A couple of things tell me that. First, I overheard the man at the gas pump say, "Who requires that?," and the attendant said, "The government." [The man then] said, "I don't care about the government." Second, outside the gas station I saw a poster for (apparently) a local sheriff. The only words on the poster were "Joe Richards"—the name of the candidate, supposedly—and the pose was striking. The sheriff (or candidate) was dressed out in full uniform, standing with thumbs in pocket, peering out from under the broad-rimmed hat. It looked like a caricature from some movie. But, I must say, he looked like a sheriff, and among conservative folk that may be sufficient to get their votes.
This road leading into Flagstaff is a sight for sore eyes. For about three or four miles now I've been pedalling in a high gear, gradually downhill. The road itself is a reddish color; I'm not sure why that is. But there's a nice bike path on the side, the rain is holding off for the moment, and I'm trying to recapture some of the mileage [actually, time] that I lost while pushing my bike up those mountains.
One of the men at the gas station, upon being asked, told me that Flagstaff was fifty-four miles from that intersection. As soon as he said that, he said, "Yup, drive it every day," as if that were something to be proud of. Without even having known that man, I could tell that he was intoxicated.
About a mile and a half back, I saw a [National] Forest Service truck and several small fires on each side of the road. When I got closer, I saw a sign reading, "Forest Service, Prescribed Burn." Two or three men in yellow jackets were keeping the blazes under control. I always thought that it would be an exciting job to be a member of the National Forest Service or one of the state park ranger services. It would give me a chance to be outside, near and around animals, and not cooped up with books and paperwork all day. Oh, here's another [fire] to my right, in front of me. [It] must be another Forest Service [prescribed] burn.
2473.3 [221.2 miles]. Hills, hills, hills! What am I going to do? The first few miles from [Highway] 87 to [the town of] Happy Jack were pleasantly sloping downward, but then the hills began, and I just finished climbing what I hope is the last one for a ways. In fact, right now I'm on one of the few flat spots that I've seen on the entire trip. Judging from past experience, however, it won't last.
The weather conditions deteriorated since last I picked up this recorder. With thunder rolling in front of me in every direction, the raindrops came down progressively harder until I decided to stop and cover the bike up temporarily. I sat down by a tree with my raincoat on, looking at the map, until moments later the sun appeared from behind the clouds and the rain ceased. Right near me was a tree which had been blown to smithereens by lightning. I wonder if it happened in the recent past, perhaps today.
No sooner did I get on the road again [than rain]drops began to fall. So, once again, I covered the bike up and waited a few minutes until it slowed down. Right now the sun is shining full force, approximately three hours into the western sky. Behind me is a long decline, and the sky is considerably darker there than it is ahead. It looks like the worst is behind me. The road is still wet, and there is an incline directly in front of me. I'm going to take my flannel shirt off and start walking the bike up the hill. I'm determined to get to Lakeview State Park tonight. I think that it's about twenty-five or so miles from here. If I don't make it on my own, I'll hitchhike and try to get a ride again. But the only thing that'll stop me at this point is hills, and possibly more rain. But I think [that] the rain is out of the picture, for the moment.
2474.8 [222.7 miles]. It sure is quiet up on this mountaintop. But then, that's one of the reasons [why] I wanted to go on this bike trip—to be alone, to have peace of mind, [to] think freely, [to] forget about worries and cares: just me against the elements.
I made it to the top of another hill, and I'm now moving slowly down the other side. The town of Happy Jack can't be far in the distance. [I never did find the town.] Once I arrive there, it'll be approximately twenty-four miles to Lakeview State Park, which is just south of Flagstaff. From my reckoning, the park itself is at 7000 feet, and that's slightly above the altitude of the city of Flagstaff. So if I can make it to the park tonight, the worst will be behind me. I can get up in the morning, coast into Flagstaff for breakfast, and head northward toward the Grand Canyon. It's amazing how far I've come in less than three days. I'm actually quite proud of myself, not having ridden a bike in several weeks and having to ride through rain and hot weather—and of course the hills. So far, so good.