Somebody's got a case of the Mondays

Just got back from riding Sweetwater with Bean27. That's BeanSS' alternate screen name for those occasions when she choses her full-suspension Rocky Mountain over her singlespeed VooDoo which, lamentably, still sits idle with a dead fork. It was a nice ride and there was even some cool air left over from last week's aberrant winter storm.

Anyway, it's time to close out this post so I can get back to fruitlessly scanning Craigslist for a used motorcycle that I lack the funds to purchase and the license to operate.

Well, shit.

BeanSS and I triangulated with Veelz via telephone last night to meet him and a small group out at the Sweetwater Trail this morning. We made these plans despite knowing our shit wasn't exactly together. We thus needed to spend much of the evening prepping our rides and assembling our kit. We got BeanSS's bike's tires aired up, the suspension dialed in, and its chain lubed. I'd had a couple of near-wreck experiences last weekend wherein I couldn't get clipped out quickly enough. When I inspected my pedals last night, I saw one's retention mechanism was broken. A last-minute pedal swap with another bike solved the problem. We loaded both bikes into the truck and threw our gear duffels in after them. Camelbaks were filled, energy drinks were mixed and staged in the refrigerator, riding clothes were laid out, and cycling socks displaying suitably ironic social statements were selected.

Then the shit happened.

Our boy Clayton has been having a bit of gastrointestinal difficulties lately. After letting him out for his second or third late night bathroom break, we officially called off our participation in the ride so as to be able to keep an eye on him today (and to serve him chicken and rice - he'll eat better than we will for a time).

And so this morning, I got up, put on street clothes rather than the assembled cycling ensemble, and set the ironic socks aside. I took the bikes out of the truck and wheeled them - with their fully-aired tires, perfectly dialed-in shocks, freshly-lubed chains, and replacement pedals - back into the workshop. I then made a fresh pot of coffee, which would have been a big no-no if we were riding. Caffeine, you see, is the king of all diuretics, capable of interrupting rides with pee breaks every quarter mile. Of course, my baseline pee break schedule is every mile or so to begin with. But I digress, and besides, I think we've all heard enough about how bodily functions affect my bicycling.

With the trail ride off the agenda, I think I'll set up to do some birding in the front yard. The air should soon warm to the point where thermals and updrafts get going, thus causing a raptor liftoff. The northward movement of passerines seems to be a bit late this year - my April at-home bird last was almost devoid of warblers - so I'm hoping to see a neotropical migrant or two.

Moreover, tomorrow is another day and - I'm going against my better judgment by saying this - another opportunity to hit the trail.

Oops, I rode it again

The dogs woke me up again first thing this morning, allowing a reasonably early start on another ride out at Sweetwater. Being as it is a weekday, I had the trail all to myself. I explored several new loops, or at least they were new to me. There's a bit of potentially wet weather coming in, so the west winds were just the slightest bit brisk, and it felt like they were carrying a bit of humidity, too. It was a nice break from the steady onslaught of increasingly summer-like temperatures that I've been experiencing for the past few weeks. At one point, I returned to the car and removed my helmet and gloves, ready to call it a day. The breeze was so cool and invigorating that I put my gear back on and went out for some more mileage.

My belated and abbreviated spring break ends tomorrow, and it'll be back to bicycling to and from work instead of riding for the pure fun of it. I'll just keep telling myself it's all mileage base maintenance. My commuter had a puncture last week, so I suppose I ought to get to patching it.

Bike down and bird hard everyone.

Lost and found

I've once again lost track of a whole bunch of time. Spring sprung since my last post, and I once again failed to capitalize on the postcard weather we had through most of March and April. It's now the time of year that requires early starts and, after being rudely yanked from my slumber by my alarm clock every morning during the work week, I often can't motivate myself to get going early on weekends.

I decided last night that I was going to take the singlespeed mountain bike out today, but I kept it a secret. In the interest of reserving the right to sleep in and slack off in the morning, or to walk the dogs instead, I didn't tell BeanSS and I didn't call Veelz. I instead went to bed silently going over my mental checklist of where all my gear might be and hoping I wouldn't find the bike with a flat tire in the morning.

I woke up suitably early, the shrill klaxon of my alarm clock being replaced by my dogs Clayton and Dora randomly flipping and stomping around on the bed. I started getting ready, though I found myself uninterested in riding over to the Pima College and Greasewood Park trails as I'd planned the night before. I ended up shoving the bike into the back of the pickup truck and taking it over to the Sweetwater Trails. Excellent choice.

The trail had to have had a lot more use since I rode it last, but still possessed the flow that makes it imminently singlespeedable. The beautiful wildflowers so evident back in mid-March were long gone, brown and cured, but the foothill paloverde trees were heavily in bloom. I didn't see any mule deer or desert tortoises this time, but there were birds, lizards, and small mammals all over the place.

As I cranked up and down the foothills and bajadas of the Tucson Mountains, I decided that I'd finally found my Arizona substitute for the Granite Bay trail system at Folsom Lake State Park up in northern California. Granite Bay was my and BeanSS' home trail when we lived in Sacramento, and I've been looking for a similarly fun and accessible ride ever since we moved to Tucson.

Where Granite Bay twisted through oak woodlands interspersed with gray pines, Sweetwater's overstory is dominated by foothill paloverde and saguaros. At Granite Bay, rounding a tight bend occasionally sent wild turkeys running frantically down the trail, their feet audibly slapping on the hardpack. At Sweetwater, it's startled Gambel's quail that flee on foot, foregoing their ability to fly. The northern California trail wound past lichen-covered granite boulders bigger than cars, its southern Arizona counterpart runs past lichen-covered basalt outcrops (Veelz, please correct me if my geology is wrong).

These differences have proven to be only superficial, because when I'm in the saddle at Sweetwater, navigating the turns, transitioning between gradients, and bumping my rigid fork over rocks embedded in the track, I feel just the same as I did up in the 916. The trail layout at Granite Bay was skinny, twisty, and made creative use of topography and vegetation to cram in a lot smiles per mile. These traits were the result of the influence of FATRAC, a local trail advocacy group occupying much the same niche as SDMB out here. Also, whereas my riding here is done against a political backdrop of southern Arizona separatism, which seeks to Free Baja Arizona from the wretched excesses of the Phoenix area, Folsom Lake is squarely in the realm of what would be called Superior California, should the north state ever succeed in shedding it's culturally inferior, perpetually-imploding southern half.

Of course, there are some similarities between the trails I'd rather not see, such as intense summer heat, ozone pollution, and horse shit, but those are the inevitable costs of having a low-elevation trail situated immediately adjacent to an urban area. Moreover, neither Granite Bay nor Sweetwater exhibit these adverse traits to the extent of my pre-Sacramento home trail, Phoenix Mountain Preserve's Trail 100. Regardless, I feel pretty lucky to have spent my entire cycling life living within just a few miles of such enjoyable riding. Just don't get me started on the fact that I no longer live in Flagstaff, as I did in college. Now those are some sweet home trails.