Summer Fun

I went on a bike ride this morning. As did a whole lot of other cyclists out here in the middle of nowhere! I met and passed more cyclists than cars, and it was 10:00 on a Saturday morning!

As a kid I used to love riding my bike all over the place. I took up riding again several years go. (That would be a 40-year fast-forward.) It was quite some feat for me in the beginning to even ride 4 miles! I progressed, slogging on through that first hot hot summer of riding. (Mind you, I HATE HATE HATE to sweat. And I don't like sunscreen. Wind makes me crazy.) I finally got to where I could ignore the sweat (somewhat) and tolerate the sunscreen. Wind still makes me crazy. But I have slowly gained mileage and can easily ride 20+ miles and the odd 50 here and there.

I even rode 104 miles one day. In cycling lingo they call it a Century. Maybe because it feels like it takes a century before you finish. Or maybe because you look like you're a century old at the finish. But finish it I did: across the White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico. My big brother Bob went with me! He was funny all along the way. In a field of road bikes, his mountain bike sort of stuck out. As did his huge yellow snow parka (the same one he uses for mountain climbing) and his wind pants. (note that it was 38 degrees when we started our day's trek, and all cyclists were dressed like sleek-whippet-Nanooks-of-the-North. Except Bob. He REALLY hears the beat of a different drummer.) Bob's parka, when he was flying down the highway, expanded with air and he looked like the spitting image of a giant Sponge Bob Square Pants pedaling like a madman across the missile range. With a silly grin on his face.

The Missile Range is closed to the public except on a few days of the year when they have planned cycling or runs, although there are highways all around and through it, for the military. This is the home of the first nuclear testing (Trinity: 1945), and there is still a lot of testing and research going on out there. Although I could not for the life of me tell you anything about it, or comprehend anything I saw. We were not permitted to carry any cameras or cell phones with cameras with us into the missile range, and that was complete w/ threat that if any were suspected and found they would be confiscated and most likely never again seen by the owner/rule breaker. And the man reading these rules to us had a scowl on his face, and I took this authority about White Sands Missile Range more seriously than I did the Chilean Customs people and their prunes.

And Bob and I spent the better part of the day (for me, sunup to sundown) pedaling 104 miles (Bob: 108) around this valley. Somewhere in the afternoon, I found myself all alone, just cycling out there in the desert. For about an hour. No one around. Not a soul around. No voices. Acknowledging my SERIOUS propensity for getting lost, I convinced myself that not only was I off the approved beaten path, but that with my luck I was so lost, it would be an embarrassment in the newspapers the following day. At last, though! I saw some humans in the distance ahead of me - all would be well! Yeehah. But that was an eerie feeling, to be sure.

At around mile 75 I started feeling a little whiney. Bob said his knees or back were starting to bother him. We got off our bikes at one point and lay down on the highway for about 15 minutes. (remember - no traffic to deal with!) A few fellow cyclists stopped in concern, but we assured them we were just resting.

FINALLY, in late day, we could see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, that our ride was close to the end! Bob went on ahead for several miles, and at that point I was more than fine with him leaving me, because I was in ultra-whine mode then. So I continued on, and the sun began to set. A military vehicle pulled up beside me. Two men were there to pluck me off the Missile Range, as per some rules and hoo-hah about the Missile Range closing at sundown. Oh, dear. So close, I was. In fact, I asked them how far the gate was. 2 miles, they replied. So I asked them to go pick up all the cyclists behind me (yea, right, how many cyclists were really behind me, I suppose?), and by the time they got back, I assured them I would be finished and off the Missile Range. And you know what? I was! (Well, they had already locked the gates to the Missile Range, so first I had to figure out how to get my bike and myself out. But the story ended well.) I have the dubious honor of being the last one off the White Sands Missile Range that day.

A funny (sort of) postscript to that weekend:
The next morning, Bob & I took the rental car to the gas station to refill before returning it. We had our bikes on a bike rack on the back. Bob, who is an infinitely better pilot than he is car driver, backed the rental car into a concrete post at the gas station. It was MY bicycle that took the hit!!

(Husband Paul bought me a new bike that winter, though, so all's well that - oh, you know!)