September 24, 2008
the great debate, my worst day of cycling ever, are you having fun?
Day Three
"And just when you’d think humans were more malignant than ever Hell could be, they occasionally showed more grace than Heaven ever dreamed of."
- Terry Pratchett -
"If you are going through hell, keep going."
- Winston Churchill -
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I had the air conditioner on Hi Cool all night and slept really great. Because I wanted to get in some miles before it got too hot, I woke up early and was rolling by 8AM. It was still pleasantly cool when I left.
I stopped at a Circle K on the way out of town and bought three energy bars and two liters of Gatorade. That should be enough to get me to Glamis where I'll eat a quick lunch and climb over the hill to Palo Verde.
When I tried to pay for the items with a traveler's check, the cashier, who appeared barely old enough to have had his voice change, gingerly held it up between his index finger and thumb and gazed at it as if it were a precious prehistoric artifact.
"Wow," he monotoned, "I've never seen one of these before."
Then, still looking at the check, he added in the same flat tone,
"Sorry. We don't take checks."
Seriously? How could he have never seen one before? Undaunted, I called upon my sixth grade debating skills class and, in a flash of inspiration, I rebutted with a response that would leave him swooning.
"But it's a TRAVELER'S check. EVERYone takes them." I then smiled knowingly.
There was a pause as I glanced anxiously at the people stacking up behind me. Although that was the extent of my debating skills, I felt confident that there was no way he could overcome that brilliant strategic maneuver. However, I was stunned when he countered with a clever comeback of his own, effectively checkmating me and firmly ending the discussion.
“Sorry.”
I used my credit card and left with no more cash than I had walked in with.
I shouldn't have been surprised. When I had purchased them at the bank, the teller told me they only had five sets left and he didn't think they'd be getting any more. I guess people just don't use them.
Fourteen miles later I was in Brawley (pop. 22,052), where I refilled my water bottles at a convenience store. I again tried to pay with traveler's checks but that cashier didn't seem to know what they were, either.
As the temperature rose rapidly on the way to Glamis I began seriously wondering whether I was going to be able to make it all the way to Palo Verde. By 10:30 it was in the mid- to upper 90s and I was already burning up, stopping anywhere I could find even a small patch of shade, even a ditch.
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At a certain point, I stopped wondering how hard it would be for me to ride from Brawley all the way to Palo Verde and began wondering just how dangerous it would be for me to ride the entire way. An additional factor to consider is that there would be 1500 feet of climbing.
Still, I would think about it over a long cool lunch in Glamis.
Glamis has one building, a convenience store, and when I entered it the air conditioning washed over me like a tsunami. I grabbed an ice-cold Coke and walked up to the counter to pay for it.
“Do you take traveler’s checks?”
The man behind the counter looked to be around 65. He was unshaven, obese, and even in the cool air the sweat stains showed in his armpits. When I interrupted his concentration of Judge Judy on the TV behind me he was visibly unhappy. Even so, he never glanced my way.
"He wants to know if we take traveler's checks," he announced to the room, then emitted a wheezy laugh.
Then, just to make sure I didn't misunderstand him, he added a curt, "No."
I saw a sign that said they do take credit cards, so I asked him if I could wait and pay for everything I wanted at once. He ignored me, rapt with attention to the television. The only other person in the building, a skinny, timid-looking kid who appeared afraid to make eye contact, was also behind the counter. He glanced at me with a quick nod so I slipped away.
The cafe is only open from October to May, so the grocery store items were limited. The MAIN thing I wanted was to cool off so I found the only chair in the store and plopped down onto it. Now that I was in the cool air I REALLY began sweating as my body attempted to make up for lost time in keeping my temperature at a safe level. I was just starting to feel a difference when the owner/cashier saw me and roared,
"This ain't no cafe where you come in and sit down! You buy something. Then LEAVE!" This time his eyes were boring right through me.
I can usually muster up a wry response to asshole-y people and comments, but this time I felt gobsmacked. I opened and closed my mouth a few times but nothing came out, so I gathered up my stuff and walked over to the assistant to pay for my drink.
Adding to my humiliation, when I tried to use my debit card so I could get some cash it said "system error," even after two tries.
I handed over my credit card to pay for my Coke. He told me there was a $10.00 minimum, but by that time I just wanted to leave.
“Fine,” I mumbled. “I just want to get out of here ‘cause that guy’s being such a bastard.” He looked apologetic, but didn’t say anything.
I went outside and sat at the picnic table, thinking.
And sweating.
Bicycle touring, like everything else in life, is sometimes about problem solving. Of course, it’s a completely different set of problems than the ones you encounter at work or sailing a boat or choosing where to get a haircut.
My current problem: I'm at a picnic table outside the only building in Glamis, a building in which I never plan to enter again. I haven't eaten anything but a couple of energy bars this morning. I don't have any food, nor do I have any money to buy food. It's at least 105 degrees, and I have over 30 miles of riding, most of which is hilly.
Breaking the problem down, I start with: Do I Stay Here, or Do I Keep Going. That seems pretty simple. I CAN'T stay here with no food or water.
So, I need to leave. The next question: Do I ride to Palo Verde or get there some other way. I have no illusions about what I can and can't do. If I ride, I'll end up in the ER. That means I need to find another way to get there.
Therefore, I decide to hitchhike. I rolled my bike to the edge of the road and stuck out my thumb. A guy with a loaded touring bike is somewhat of a curiosity so I didn't think I'd have much trouble catching a ride, especially since about three fourths of the passing vehicles were trucks.
Apparently, I wasn't that much of a curiosity because three hours later I was still standing there.
Did did I mention it was hot?
The only break during those three hours of standing in the sun occurred when a couple of Border Patrol officers pulled into the parking lot. I asked them if they knew of anyone who would be willing to take me to Palo Verde if I paid them (since I had no money my plan was to have them drop me off at the bank). From behind their mirrored sunglasses I was professionally informed (without no contractions) that they didn’t know of anyone, and that they themselves were going in the opposite direction. The officer who who answered included the word "sir" in his response.
My Adventure Cycling Association maps have emergency numbers for the local sheriff, and while this might not be an emergency, I decided that it was at least semi-urgent. I called and explained my situation…. specifically, that if I keep riding I'll end up in the hospital. The dispatcher, a woman with a whiny voice dripping with disdain, remarked,
"We're not a transportation service.” A pause, then an actual sniff. “You might try calling a taxi service."
Upon my request, she did provide me with the number for a taxi service that, when called, actually connected me with a five-and-dime store in Blythe.
I called the number and after some initial confusion on both our parts, the pleasant lady at the five-and-dime gave me the correct number for the only local cab company: Reliable Transportation.
Reliable Transportation may be reliable, but when I was told it would cost $300.00 to ferry me I could reliably state that I wouldn’t be taking a cab.
Problem solving.... I was running out of ideas.
Ultimately, I decided to swallow my pride and go back into the store in spite of the asshole who was running it. It was time to just suck it up and go get the stuff I needed.
I walked back to the store with my head held high, determined to remain pleasant regardless of what happened. When I gave the door a tug it appeared to be stuck. I gave it another pull with the same results.
Then I noticed the CLOSED sign on the door.
HOURS: 9:00-3:30
It was 3:45.
I stood there a minute, gazing longingly through the glass into the dark, air-conditioned room, which was now heartbreakingly empty, then pressed my sweat-stained face onto the rectangular panel of glass to feel the coolness for another minute.
Not knowing what else to do, I went back out to the road and stuck my thumb out again.
A truck passed, dusting me with an additional coat of desert powder as I held my thumb up toward the sun, and I began to feel the first tickle of despondency in the back of my brain. What started as a slight crack in my relentless optimism was quickly becoming a gaping maw with each passing vehicle.
I slowly nibbled on my last energy bar, a melted confusion of chocolate, nuts, and caramel, as if it were smuggled contraband in a concentration camp.
…and continued thinking…
There has to be an answer for this situation… Back to problem solving: Do I keep riding or do I stay here. The answer is obvious: I can't stay. I have no food, and I drank most of my water while trying to hitchhike.
That means I start riding. By now it was nearing 5:00. I'll eventually be riding in the dark, but at least I'll be moving.
It's hard to convey how hot it is using words. People say, "It's like an oven," but what I want you to truly understand is this:
IT'S LIKE AN OVEN.
Preheat your oven to 110 degrees and stick your hand in. Or better yet, your head. There is no breeze. There is no shade. There is no respite. No matter how much water or Gatorade I drank it just wasn't cooling me down. My heart rate, even after stopping to rest on the side of the road, continued to hover around 100 beats per minute (borderline too high, and a sign of dehydration). And, underlying it all, was a mild nausea and headache (also signs of dehydration) which had begun midmorning and remained with me all day.
Before I left Glamis I called Heather, my wife. While talking to her we did think of one other possibility. If you read my 2007 journal you know about WarmShowers.org. It's an organization where you can sign up to let people pitch a tent in your backyard during their bicycle tour. Many people also offer a shower.
I started riding while Heather looked up the closest guy on the list, called him, and explained my situation. Three slow, searing miles later I got a call from a guy named Wayne Pinkerton. He determined where I was and quickly realized there was no way I could safely make it all the way to his place, so he closed his store 45 minutes early and drove AN HOUR to pick me up.
This is where I waited for Wayne.
Wayne doesn't bicycle; he just heard about Warm Showers and thought it sounded like a fun way to meet some interesting people, so he signed up a couple of months ago.
"Interesting people." Huh. I guess that's supposed to be me. The dumb, sweaty guy.
He picked me up on the side of the road at dusk with a cooler full of ice-cold soft drinks, Gatorade, and beer. I held one Gatorade against my neck while I guzzled a second, then a third, then started on the water.
On the ride back I saw the terrain over which I would've been riding. Rolling hills with no shoulder. Invisible in the troughs until the last second. Not the best place to be riding after dark.
We stopped at a fast food place and Wayne bought me dinner, then took me out to his bait shop where I set up camp on a pier. I took a shower and felt a lot better afterwards. It was too warm for a tent so I just slept on top of my sleeping bag using my sleeping bag liner as a sheet.
These pictures were taken the next morning.
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When I was in high school I played a tennis match against a state-ranked player. My skills were such that I had recently learned which end was the handle, and before walking onto the court I met with our coach to express my anxiety.
"He's gonna kill me, Coach."
Coach Donovan assured me,
"Don't worry, it'll be good experience."
I scored a single point in the match, and only because one of my shots hit the top of the net and dribbled over. (What made it worse was that he was such a gracious winner, and made me feel like the only reason he won was because he had a wildly lucky day)
After the match I went back to my coach.
"I thought you said it was going to be a good experience!"
He eyed me for a second, then responded,
"No, I said it would be 'good experience,' not 'A good experience.'"
Today was such an experience. I can't think of any way to look at it as "a good experience." But I learned from it.
Like Mark Twain writes, "Good judgement is the result of experience, and experience the result of bad judgement."
At the end of my day Heather always asks, "Are you having fun?" Today could only be described as "fun" if I were the sort of person who enjoyed embedding a fork deep into my thigh, peeling off my fingernails with a set of pliers, or giving myself paper cuts on my eyes.
No. Today was NOT a fun day. Like I said, it was not a good experience.
However, it wasn't necessarily a BAD day. I'm not so naive or inexperienced as to believe that all days are going to be fun. However, I'm not dead or in a hospital, I have a new friend, and today WAS an adventure. Not a day I'd ever care to repeat, but an adventure.
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distance: 45.2 miles
average speed: 12.3 mph
riding time: 3:41:19
total mileage: 166 miles (the cumulative odometer somehow reset itself but, in spite of my limited math skills, I was able to add up the previous three days)
Today's ride: 45 miles (72 km)
Total: 165 miles (266 km)
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