April 24

Something kept me awake last night. I'm not sure what. I just remember reaching for my phone on the bed stand and seeing it was 11:03 p.m. I'd been lying awake for an hour. I felt really tired. I wanted to sleep so bad. Yet, no luck.

Did the stimulation from the exhilarating ride I'd had on the gravel of McLaws Road between Winslow and Holbrook leave the tap open on my adrenal gland? It felt that way. But I'm just guessing. I finally did get some sleep, but it was often interrupted — prompting me to check the time on my phone again. I had a long day ahead — 70 miles from Holbrook to Chambers with a ride through Petrified Forest National Park — and I wanted to get an early start. Even so, I changed the alarm from 4 to 5:30 a.m., hoping I could still squeeze in adequate Z's. I knew there would be consequences. A later start would mean riding in more winds — and on this day that meant headwinds.

The alarm went off at 5:30. I reset it for 6. I think I told myself I could get ready faster if I closed my eyes for just a bit longer. I finally got up at 6, tossed on some clothes and headed out for breakfast. This morning that would be easy. My motel had a 24-hour Denny's on its property. I counted 60 steps exactly from my room to the Wait-to-be-Seated sign in front of its cash register. I crafted my own Grand Slam — eggs, hash browns, bacon and pancakes — to go with what would be three cups of coffee, black.

I got back to my room feeling a bit more energized (or more caffeinated) — but, apparently, not more focused. As I was getting my bike clothes on and packing up my bags, I actually found myself procrastinating! My body wanted to sleep. My mind was trying to tell it to get the heck out the door or it would be sorry!

I finally got the heck out the door and rolled out of the motel parking lot at 8:45 a.m. (late again!).

The first few miles featured much groaning, moaning and complaining. Fortunately, there was no one around to hear me.

But as often happens, after 10 miles or so (about an hour) I started feeling better and the tiredness faded. The weather and the landscape might have had something to do with it. It was a gorgeous day. Yes, the winds were starting to build, but the conditions were still crisp and clear.

The bike route I'm following did not take the shortest route between Holbrook and Chambers. Rather than the straight line northeast on Interstate 40, the route took U.S. Highway 180 southeast about 17 miles to the gate of the Petrified Forest National Park. The park road would then zig-zag 29 miles north, back to the other gate just off I-40. And then from there I would have to ride nearly 22 miles on the shoulder of I-40 to reach Chambers.

The ride through the park exceeded my expectations. The roadway didn't zig-zag, as it appears on a map. It was more like a ribbon — flowing and bending with the terrain.  And the pavement — so wonderfully smooth — just added to that perception. There were a few mildly challenging climbs, but they're easier to get through when you're curious what's up ahead. I was out in the elements, putting up with occasionally stiff wind gusts that chafed the skin of my face, but I felt a little sorry for the people in the cars and motorhomes that passed me.  I was enjoying the experience much more than they could in their sealed-up vehicles. Sometime later, while reflecting back on the experience, I thought the park's roadway would be a great place for an organized bike ride. Shut the gates to cars for a day and turn the place over to cyclists. What could be better?

Even though the park is named for the prehistoric tree trunks that dot its landscape (once part of an ancient forest, they soaked up water and silica and then crystallized into quartz over the ages), they're not the main attraction. Rather, the red-, gray- and green-tinged rock formations and expansive views are what the lookout points are set up for, and what the tourists get out of their vehicles to snap photos of. 

I wanted to take a lot more pictures than I did. Unfortunately, when you start late and have to make it to your destination before dark, you have to keep moving. What saved me a few minutes here and there, however, were the handicap-access ramps built into the walkways at the lookout points. I got pretty good at gliding into a lookout's parking lot, spying the handicap ramp, and pedaling right up to the designated picture-taking spot. (At this time of year there weren't many other park visitors — and, you know, I was careful — so no one had to jump out of my way.) I'd take a few shots, take a few moments to make a mental picture of the sight, take a few deep breaths . . . and then turn the bike around and get moving again.

On my way out of the park, I stopped at the visitor's center, where an avid cyclist from Santa Cruz, California, walked up and started asking me questions about my trip. He's retired too, but he prefers mountain biking and bike-packing out of his Sprinter van. I lost track of how many times he said, "I'm so jealous." (He would be the third gentleman I talked with. At lunchtime I had conversations with a man from Czechoslovakia, who had his mountain bike on a rack on the back of his rental car, and a retired ex-cop from a suburb of Pittsburgh, who was doing a driving tour of national parks.)

As I got back on my bike and coasted out of the park, heading toward the East I-40 entrance ramp about a mile down the road, the lack of sleep was starting to drag me down. But I still had 22 miles to go on the shoulder of an interstate! All you can do is what I did. I put my head down, pedaled down the entrance ramp, fought through the crosswind that buffeted me from time to time, and just kept pedaling until this dreadful segment was over.

I arrived at the Days Inn of Chambers wiped out. As the online reviews warned, the place was a dump. All kinds of things were broken, missing or disgusting in my room, but the bed was comfortable and looked very clean. So, maybe tonight I could get some sleep.

I hope you enjoy the pictures.

Contact me: Thoughts or comments? Email me at richardridesusa@gmail.com.

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