The thorn in my side.

I have a real thorn in my side this evening. And maybe a few errant glochids. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, after 30 years of residency in the Arizona Upland Subdivision of the Sonoran Desertscrub, I finally took my first dive into a prickly pear cactus (Opuntia englemanii). Sure, I've had a brush or two that involved a little follow-up with tweezers, and I've taken on my share of cholla (Cylindropuntia spp.) joints, but this was a full-on flop into a medium-sized patch of javalina chow.

Happened during an afternoon ride at the wonderful 50-Year Trail up Catalina way. I was descending the main trail back away from the Catalina State Park boundary and pased by this one sawed-off mesquite branch that stuck out into the path. I bashed it with my foot the last time I rode there and wanted to make sure my wife didn't do the same. I pulled to a stop so as to be able to warn her and, like a damned rookie, couldn't clip out quickly enough to prevent the SPuD-induced tipover. A quick mental "oh shit" and I was laying in a pile of pads. I somehow extricated myself and surveyed the damage. My left side looked like some human/cactus hybrid. Thorns stuck out all over, and the glochids were arranged in little coronas from my shoe to my armpit, with a separate batch under each nipple. There were a few in my ass and somehow, some in my right elbow. Twenty painful, shirtless, and occasionally pantless minutes later, I and my wife had removed enough of the stickers to get back underway. The ride back to the truck went quickly because there's nothing like having a kajillion little needles jabbing you in the bum to get you to climb more quickly. I'm also thankful that, despite the beautiful day, the southwestern segment of the trail was empty but for one other rider. BTW, if anyone out there knows a fast, Tucson-area guy that rides a black Deep Cove Handjob with a grey sussy fork and who keeps talking about the big white nude dude he saw, please let him know we weren't up to anything too weird.

Similar encounters with various members of the cactaceae, and occasionally mesquites and acacias, are a frequent occurrence at the 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo. In fact, they're a bit more frequent than they should be, seeing as how the area surrounding the race course was, at one point, a semidesert grassland and I hear tell it was a fine place to hunt scaled quail (Callipepla squamata). Scalies need a grassland, and Willow Springs sure isn't one of those any more. Seems like a lot of the things bovids find unpalatable happen to be covered in thorns, spines, hooks, and needles. Enough overstocking of the range, and pretty soon, that's what's left. But no matter, the Willow Springs Ranch, or a big chunk thereof, will soon be a subdivison, a creeping patch of pink fungus, thus backing up the pickup-truck bumper sticker wisdom of "Cows, not Condos". Help keep Oracle historical and sign the petition to bring Arizona State Land Reform to the ballot. Anything that welfare cowboys, shameless realtors, and greedy developers don't like must be what's right for the land, the fish, wildlife and plants, and the regular folk that use and care for it all.

Back to the trip. Despite the botanical incident, the ride was very enjoyable. Singlespeed, natch, and with me on what may be the world's most punishing rigid fork. I felt that I rode strong, as did my wife, which bodes well for our future efforts on the similar terrain at the race course. The sunset, before which I ran out of film (you remember film, don't you?), was one of Arizona's patented, mind-blowing purple and orange and salmon and pink and yellow affairs with the silhouetted saguaros. We've got a nice little life down here in Baja Arizona.