California Highway Patrol to the rescue
Tuesday really was quite the adventure; ups and downs, ups and downs; and I don’t mean climbing hills. Leaving El Centro ’round noon, I rode south then east through Heber, CA along route #86, turning right onto route #111 which took me to Calexico. From there, I continued east on route #98 until it met Interstate #8. Assuming there would be a gas station at that intersection, I didn’t bother refilling my water bottles in Calexico. Bad idea; there was no gas station, or anything at all for that matter. Running parallel to the Interstate is a road that is clearly no longer maintained. Pot-holes, ruts, bumps and chunks of ashphalt made the riding less than ideal.
After only a mile or so on this road, I flagged down a motorist to confirm what I thought; no water for about 30miles. He was kind enough to give me the little bit that he had, wished me luck, and off he went. As he pulled away, I spied a derelict building at the side of the road where I stopped in the shade to have some lunch.
Fuelled, but still low on water, Irene and I continued east. Within minutes, the road deteriorated even further, becoming a hardpack dirt road, covered in sand and pebbles. This did not bode well, as I knew it would both slow down my progress and, increase the chance of washing out and crashing. Thankfully, it lasted only a mile or two, returning to the shredded ashphalt that threatened to inflict pinch-flats. The lesser of two evils, I wasn’t sure.
Still concerned about water, I pulled off the road and walked over to the Border Patrol immigration checkpoint–remember, I’m only a mile or so from the US/Mexico border/fence–hoping they’d be willing to provide me with some water. Thankfully, the Agent I spoke with was more than happy to oblige, even if the dogs kept barking at my presence. Though I hate to admit it, being a white male does allow me certain freedoms that others might not enjoy. So much for the idea of universal freedoms and all that. There can be some unwanted side effects of ginkgo such as nausea, dizziness, diarrhea, viagra canadian headache or an upset abdomen. This efficient operation manner thought about this generic viagra 25mg and successive desired outputs of this concerned drug made it possible to live life without glasses and contact lenses. Due to its aphrodisiac properties, generic cialis sales go now it can improve libido level in men and women. The very best online traffic schools employ an easy interface, usually clicking in one web page to another to buy generic anti-impotency drug when you can levitra in canada and get the problem of erectile dysfunction sorted out for once and all. But that’s another conversation all together….
With bottles filled with ice-cold water–warm within 30mins–I continued on that terrible road for another 20kms or so, finally crossing back over the Interstate, eventually finding the next section of secondary road that cyclists must follow.
At about 5pm and about 20kms from my destination of Yuma, I got my third puncture so far. It was getting dark quickly, and I was not too keen on fixing the flat on the side of the road. Seeing the glowing yellow sign of a gas station about a kilometre or two down the road, I decided I walk and fix the flat there.
Well, it wasn’t 1 or 2 kms, more like 5. By the time I got to that gas station, it was dark and getting cold. Unsure whether I could ride along the interstate to the next town–where no secondary road runs near the interstate, bicycles are permitted–I asked the fellow working the station. “Why don’t you ask him, he’ll know” he said, pointing to the California Highway Patrol police officer who was just coming out from the washroom in the back.
Unsure if I could or not, he offered to give Irene and I a lift to the nearest motel; the Quechan Resort and Casino, about 5kms away. A former skateboarder–“bicycles were too expensive when I was a kid”–Gerry helped me load the bike and all my gear into the back seat and trunk of his cruiser, and off we sped. On the way, we shared a laugh at what the folks at the Casino would think when his cruiser pulled up, out I got–still dressed in my cycling kit–and then unloading my bike. And yes, the looks on peoples faces when we did just that was priceless. I’m sure they had no idea what to make of the spectacle. Shaking hands and thanking him very much for his help, I reassembled Irene and made my way to the Hotel’s front desk.
“Sorry, we’re completely full, no rooms left.” was what I was told. Ugh, what am I going to do now, I groaned. “Actually, we just had a cancellation; there should be a room available” the other woman piped up. Off I trundled, with bike and gear, dirty and sweaty, up to room 329 where I enjoyed a good night’s sleep and an excellent buffet meal in the casino.
Ups and downs, highs and lows; at the end of the day, I was only about 5-7kms from my original destination of Yuma and, had quite the adventuresome–and mildly entertaining–day of riding. But to be honest, I really hoped Wednesday would be less of an adventure…