To Sierra Vista: an unlikely encounter

February 2, 2020

We’re biking north on SR-92, about ten miles from the days destination in Sierra Vista. A four lane highway, it’s not a particularly busy road but a big change from empty Hereford Road that we’ve just left. We’re glad the road has a broad, decent shoulder.

Ahead, a lone cyclist pedals our direction on the opposite shoulder, then startles us by executing a u-turn and cutting across the highway to settle in on our shoulder next to Rachael. He’s out on a day ride, doesn’t see many other cyclists out here apparently, and just wants to chat. For perhaps the next half mile he bikes slowly along with us, chatting primarily with Rachael. The two of them biking side by side make me a bit anxious on this highway, and I’m also feeling a bit anxious for Rachael - we were just starting to hunt for a place for her to pull off the road and relieve herself. We wouldn’t like to see an accident happening out here, of any sort.

Biking behind, with a tailwind pushing their sounds forward and away from me, I only pick up a bit of the conversation, isolated sentence fragments - not enough to add up to anything though. I finally glean that this guy is from our part of the country or at least has lived there, but that’s about it. Then, it comes through that he’s retired after a career in Salem, Oregon - the same town we both worked in for thirty years.

Then finally they slow to a halt. It’s been long enough and it’s time for us to go our own ways. Stopped now, I can fully hear and engage in the conversation for the first time. Rachael has pulled out the phone and is taking his email so we can drop him a link to our blog. He recites it: Lindajohnpoole, he says - his name, and his wife’s.

He hasn’t even finished giving his email when it clicks. John Poole. I know this man.

John Poole, from Salem. After all these years, our paths cross once more.

Memory is the strangest thing. It’s such a mystery why some facts cement in place and are retrievable years later, while nearly everything you wish you could remember just washes away. I have a terrible memory, really. It’s why I keep up this journal, in spite of all the time and effort it takes. If I didn’t make a record of this at the time, we wouldn’t have it to remind us of how we spent the best years of our lives when we’re too old, tired or frail to keep traveling this way.

So who knows why John Poole’s name has locked in place and stayed there for over 40 years? We didn’t really know each other, and it’s clear as we talk that John is struggling to place me and my face in his own mind. Looking back, I would say we only encountered each other perhaps four or five times, at odd intervals, always on bicycle.

45 years ago there weren’t that many cyclists on the road in Salem, and John was one of the few that I would occasionally encounter, usually when he would overtake me. Then, as now, he liked to talk and I liked to listen to his always interesting stories. My memories are blurry, but one memory is quite clear. It’s one of those that impressed me enough at the time that I told others about it over the years. I was on a day ride south of Salem, biking south of the Independence Bridge on a loop down to Ankeny Flats. I don’t recall if I overtook him or the other way around, but the impressive thing is that he was toting two children on his bike - one in front of him if I’m remembering accurately, the way I used to ferry my son Shawn around town in those years; and one behind. We biked along together for a ways, chatting and listening, when finally he breaks away and sprints up a low rise and soon disappears. Humbling, maybe a bit of a show-off stunt, but impressive. Impressive enough that it was worth remembering and relating to others.

John Poole. After all these years. Astonishing.

Today’s ride

So, what about the ride? Compared to our startling encounter with John, there’s not too much of great interest to report. Just a ride, but a good one. Dropping out of Bisbee, we spend the first two miles coasting past the enormous scar of its three open pit mines once again and then turn west, dropping into the next basin. Ahead, Miller Peak and the Huachuca Mountains gradually loom larger.

The scenery is dramatic: mountains ahead, mountains behind, empty basin for miles around in between - but it’s really quite similar to what we’ve been cycling through for the last several days. At an elevation of 4,500’ feet, the floor of this basin is high enough that nothing is in bloom yet. Different mountains, different basin, same old scene. Obviously, we’ve been on the road a bit too long.

In the Bisbee Grand Hotel, preparing for the another roadside picnic.

What a shame - we had a good breakfast at the hotel just an hour ago, or we’d surely stop in.

Miller Peak, the high point in the Huachuca Range.

Still riding east on Route 92. These basins are so deceptively broad - we’ll be biking toward Miller Peak for twenty miles. Rachael is down there ahead of me as usual, next to the cars.

Still eastbound on 92, which continues up to the base of the Huachuca Range before bending north. We’ll leave it in about a mile though, for quieter Hereford Road. In fact, you can see Rachael down there at the junction, patiently waiting for me to quit stopping for photos and catch up.

The GBO adds another state to his life list. Six, he excitedly exclaims. Six, I ask? I thought it was five. Washington, Oregon, California, Nevada, Arizona, British Columbia, he proudly recites. Bottle openers - they’re notoriously bad at geography.

We’re finally getting close enough to Miller Peak that we can just make out a bit of snow at its top.

Miller Peak again. In the foreground are the trees bordering the San Pedro River, the same one we followed on our ride down from Benson to Tombstone.

On Hereford Road, crossing the San Pedro River.

Dropping toward Sierra Vista. Somewhere along here we’re joined by a biker traveling the other way: John Poole.

Video sound track: The Lawnmower Song, by Eric Tingstad

Heart

Comment

Link

Ride stats today: 39 miles, 1,700’; for the tour: 1,620 miles, 77,900’

Today's ride: 39 miles (63 km)
Total: 1,620 miles (2,607 km)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	8
Comment on this entry	Comment	2

Jen RahnGreat story about John Poole! A guy who goes out with 2 kids on his bike is definitely worth storage space in the archives.

I'd say keep that story for the next 40 years, with the bonus 'random AZ encounter' addendum.
Reply to this comment
4 years ago

Scott AndersonTo Jen RahnIsn’t that something? Also, I was surprised since then to discover he has a pair of old journals on CGOAB.
Reply to this comment
4 years ago