I just got back from a majorly amazing
and sweaty bike ride. Seven miles up, up, up a road with gorgeous
scenery in the Catalina mountains just outside of Tucson. I never
imagined this area to be so beautiful – dramatic rock formations,
oceans of golden grass, Junipers with alligator bark, yucca stalks
twice as tall as Steve.
It's seems to be a popular road for
type A, male bike riders. They kept passing me on top of high-tech racing bikes, with fancy bike jerseys, heavily
muscled calves, and serious demeanor. None of them acknowledged me –
this strange middle-aged, high-on-endorphins, sweaty woman, huffing
and puffing on her ghetto mountain bike. They must have seen my huge
smile, the byproduct of exercise, alone-time and nature, but nobody
smiled back. Huh. They must have been too busy being professional
bikers. It's serious business, that.
Steve and the kids met me in the RV at
a trailhead where the boys will mountain bike down the Bug creek
trail back to our campsite. They are not back yet, but I bet they
will wear huge smiles and maybe some bloody scrapes. (Last time they
went mountain biking, Steve crashed and scraped up his hand, which
now looks like something out of a vampire movie).
These are the only pictures I have of my bike ride: on the way down in the RV.
This morning, we saw a tarantula on a
hike. Since I was little I've had a recurring nightmare of being
locked in a public toilet stall filled with big, black spiders. (I
wonder what this dream reveals about my psyche. Dream interpreters,
anyone?). When the kids bring home books from the library about
wildlife, including gargantuan spiders, I can't even touch the book,
knowing a spider lurks in there, even if it's not alive.
So you can imagine how I reacted when
we came across this fine specimen. The only reason I even got near
it was to take a picture for the blog. If you don't like spiders,
please skip this photo. I won't blame you.
The hike led us to an abandoned prison camp, where Americans locked up conscientious objectors to World War II. They made them build the road that now leads up to Mount Lemmon.
Here are some highlights of the hike, minus the prison camp, because there was not much to see.
This trip will be dubbed “the trip of
skirts”, knitting wise. I am knitting my second “Little Flirt
Skirt” - a fun, wooly, bouncy skirt. It's perfect for this weather
– worn over some black leggings, or just by itself when it's
warmer. I finished one with blue alpaca and wool, with yarn from my
amazing mother-in-law Donna, who sent me a huge box of yarn for
Christmas. The second skirt will be hot pink. I'm indulging my
inner Diva.
We've been hanging out with our friends
Brandie and Bradley (they got married at our homestead five months
ago). Good times, good times!
And here are some pictures of leaving Sedona, driving up the Colorado Plateau, and hiking in a secluded canyon somewhere.