Arizona, South Mountain Park, Pants Hats and Mountain Lions

A business trip to Arizona offered the opportunity for a ride and a chance to check another state off the Frizbo Fifty list.  Typically I plan to arrive the evening before a meeting, but instead I booked the earliest flight out of O'Hare and started researching biking possibilities in the Phoenix area.

My first concern was the weather forecast, 105 degrees in Phoenix!  I know they say "It's a dry heat," but to a mid-westerner 105 degrees is intimidating.  I imagined cramping up 15 miles from the car and wandering the desert wearing a pants hat.  I learned later that the locals don't get worried until the temperature hits 110 degrees.

I narrowed my research down to two bike trips.  The first required a two-hour car drive to Prescott, AZ where the temperatures were expected to be in the 80's or a short drive from the airport to South Mountain Park in Phoenix where the 80's would be the day's low.

At 16,500 acres, Phoenix’s South Mountain Park is the largest municipal park in the world and features over 60 miles of single track.  After a phone call to the very helpful staff at Cactus Adventures who assured me, yes 105 was warm but my death was unlikely if I drank plenty of fluids, I reserved a mountain bike for 10am in the morning.

Surprisingly my flight from Chicago was early and I was in the rent-a-car and on my way to the bike rental.  I made a quick stop for a Subway sandwich and 3 quarts of Gatorade -- the first of which I chugged immediately.  "Man, I better get hydrated!"  The guys at Cactus Adventures had my 29er ready and gave me a trail map, a fill-up on my water bottle, and directions to the trail head.   

"Whew, 105 degrees!"

After a 5-minute bike ride from the bike rental, I bushwacked through a wash and onto the Desert Classic Trail.  The heat was intense, but the bike generated just enough of a breeze to keep me cool as long I was not going uphill.  But as soon as the path climbed, slowing me down, I felt like I entered a furnace.  Fortunately, the Desert Classic Trail is generally level and as I acclimated, I started to really enjoy the ride.

Rented 29er in the Sonoran Desert

I must not have made much of an impression with the rentals guys because after only 45 minutes I reach the landmark they suggested as a turn-around point.  Too soon to go back.  At the top of the ridge is the National Trail but the climb looks really difficult on the map, so I decide to explore the Telegraph Pass Trail which also shows some elevation (route) and see how far I can get.  Before long I am carrying the bike up a natural staircase and really feeling the heat.

I am reminded of another desert excursion in the Anza-Borrego Desert a few years back.  On that occasion I was hiking by myself on a secluded trail.  At the trail head was an ominous sign warning that all hikers should drink a gallon of water every 5 minutes (as interpreted by a mid-westerner).  So I start chugging water and continue on my hike.  After a half mile or so there's another sign warning that this is mountain lion habitat.   If you are approached by a lion, make yourself look big, make loud noises and if attacked, fight back.  So I continue hiking, chugging water and now am continuously scanning the mountainside and boulders for an ambush.  By this time I am massively over-hydrated and I need to relieve myself, but that will provide the lion a perfect opportunity for a surprise attack!

Looking back, I obviously overreacted.  As it was springtime, the temperatures were relatively mild so I didn't need so much water and if any mountain lion was watching me, they would have been frightened off by the odd behavior of this strange human stopping every quarter mile and peeing in a 360 degree pattern while holding one arm over his head and shouting, "That's right! That's right! I'm BAAAAD!"

Today, the fluids are going pretty quickly.  I have already consumed the two quarts of Gatorade in my backpack and am down to my 20 oz. water bottle.  I have climbed quite a distance up Telegraph Pass, but it still looks like it might be a long way to the top.  I can tell from the map there's a park road at the top of the ridge and from there it's a downhill ride to the ranger station and water, but I'm not sure I can make it.  Just at the moment I'm about to give up, I see the roof of a car slide by above the rocks.  "That's not so far!"  One more push and I'm at the top!

Top of Telegraph Pass, South Mountain Park, AZ

The park road is a smooth two lane blacktop winding down the mountainside with no traffic.  After the climb, coasting with a nice breeze is magical.  I glide with barely a turn of the crank down the 5 miles to ranger station and right up to the drinking fountain -- no pants hat for me on this trip.

Cooling off on the way down!

The north side of the park offers fewer trails so I take to the roads to link up with the trails on the east side and then down on single track to the road back to the bike rental.  During the trip I consumed 128 ounces of Gatorade and 104 ounces of water and didn't pee once in 4 hours (circular or otherwise).  Say, it is a dry heat!

-- Frizbo 

South Mountain Park Route

State:	Arizona
Date:	2010-09-29
Route:	South Mountain Park, Phoenix, AZ
Distance:	34 miles

Indiana, Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore

Oak Savannah Trail, IN

On a beautiful day in early September I drove to Oak Ridge Prairie County Park near Griffith, IN.  I was anxious to get started so I mistakenly paid $10 for non-resident parking.  Later, I saw plenty of free parking outside the park.

Calumet Trail, IN

The country park is the trail head for the Oak Savannah Trail which goes 10 miles west to Hobart, IN.  From Hobart, you can catch the Prairie Duneland Trail for another 6 miles and then a short road ride gets you to the Calumet Trail which runs 9 miles along and through the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore (route).  

Northern Indiana is surprisingly well-endowed with bike trails.  For example, from Griffith you can also go east on the Erie-Lackawanna Trail.  The trails are well-marked, but you'll want to print some Google maps of the roads between trails so you don't get delayed looking for the trail head.


A young girl in Hobart saw me consulting my map and helpfully explained, "The bike trail is by the Dairy Queen!"  I imagine the Dairy Queen is the center of her universe and all points are measured by the distance to the nearest Blizzard, but her hint was not helpful because I had no idea where the Dairy Queen was either.

Central Beach, Indiana Dunes

At the end of the Calumet Trail are a couple of nicest beaches anywhere.  Mount Baldy is a mountainous sand dune with beautiful views and a steep face perfect for running down, but if you don't want to carry your bike up sand dunes, you'll want to go to Central Beach at the end of Central Avenue.  A short walk from the end of the payment gets you to the water and Central Beach rarely has the crowds and litter you'll find at the nearby state park.

On this day, the sun was out and the wind had pushed in all the warm surface water into the shore so it should have been an ideal day for swimming.  However, the big storms from the day before has kicked up the waves -- I mean they were rocking! -- and despite a fairly large crowd at the beach, no one was in the water.

Central Beach, Indiana Dunes

As I ate my lunch, a group of twenty-somethings came along and immediately headed into the water.  As I watched them enter the waves I wondered if they were swept out to sea by a riptide would they know to swim parallel to the shore to escape the outgoing current?  With the possibility that they would futilely swim against the riptide, I contemplated a rescue plan of creating a flotation device by filling my spare inner tube with my portable CO2 pump.

I learned about riptides first hand during a family vacation to North Carolina in 2006.  We had rented a beach house on the Outer Banks and we were hoping to perfect our boogie boarding skills.  It was a good time for boogie boarding as Tropical Storm Beryl was 150 miles due east and the surf was up.  We had scouted the beach for the spot with the biggest waves and were really enjoying ourselves when we heard a faint "Help! Help!"

At first we didn't understand what was happening until we saw a girl swimming in who was obviously upset.  I then realized that there were many people out beyond the breakers calling out for help.  I told Matt and Lauren to get the rest of our floaties (we had quite a collection by then) and I immediately swam out with the raft.

I first came upon a young girl, maybe 11 years old, swimming in while crying.  I gave her my raft.  Next I came upon a boy, a few years younger, and attempted to rescue him with a life-saving stoke I learned in Junior Life Saving years ago.  That proved useless.  I realized I couldn't do anything without the raft the girl was swimming away with.

"Wait," I called out.  "We need the raft."  She hesitated and then kept going.  I asked the boy, "What's your sister's name?"

"Michelle," he answered and then we both called, "Michelle, wait!"  Finally, she stopped and waited for us.  Probably one of the bravest things she's ever done.  When I got them both on the raft, the boy turned to me and said, "Please save my dad, he's a really nice guy."  The girl just continued to cry.

North Carolina's Outer Banks on a calm day

I looked out to sea and saw just a head bobbing in the big waves well offshore.  He looked like he was struggling. I knew I couldn't do anything without a raft, so I told the kids we'd have to get him together.  The kids were brave as we paddled back out.  As we got closer, I could see his head going under water with each wave. "Hold on one more time! You can do it!" I called out.

Finally we reached him with the raft.  As we paddled in, the father said with desperation in his voice, "Don't leave us."

When we were within shouting distance of the shore, Mona called out, also with desperation in her voice, "Matt and Lauren are still out in the surf."

"Crap, while I'm saving this family, my own children are drowning," I thought.

It turned out after I left Matt and Lauren at the beach, they had collected the remaining floaties and headed out to do their own rescuing -- Lauren with the River Rat inner tube and Matt with two boogie boards.

As a rescuer swam by Lauren, she offered him the inner tube, "You're a faster swimmer than me."  He accepted the raft and later we saw him bring four people back to the beach with it.

Moments after giving up the tube, Matt arrived with the extra boogie board for Lauren and that's how I found them -- calmly paddling in on the boogie boards.

Back on the sand, I asked one of the rescued teenagers if they swam out too far.  "No," he answered. "We were just pushed out into deep water!"  A classic description of a rip current!  A few minutes later the beach patrol arrived.  In the end, no one was hurt.  If we count the four people on the inner tube, the Frisbies saved seven lives that day.

The Outer Banks sand was too hot for this pampered dog's paws!

Looking back, I think the sister and brother probably would have made it back to shore on their own, but the dad was in real trouble.  I also learned that you can't save anyone without some kind of flotation device which is why I was contemplating filling my spare inner tube with my portable CO2 pump.

Back at the Indiana Dunes, after 15 minutes of watching the young people have the most amazing time among the waves without being swept away, I stripped down to my biker shorts, and took the last swim of the summer.  

-- Frizbo 

State:	Indiana
Date:	2010-09-04
Route:	Griffin to Indiana Dunes, Central Beach
Distance:	60 miles

Illinois, Jo Daviess County, My First Bike Hike

"Tally Gen" -- A farm in Jo Daviess County, IL

My sister has been encouraging me to visit at her vacation house, a "farmette" in Jo Daviess County, Illinois.  Located in the northwest corner of the state, Jo Daviess County is known for its rolling hills and beautiful views -- a perfect spot to begin the "Frizbo Fifty," my epic journey to bike in all 50 states.

My ride begins in front of my sister's 100-year old barn.  No longer an active farm, the barn's primary purpose is now an arena for my nieces' elaborate custom version of Capture the Flag.  From the barn, I ride down the driveway and up the gravel road, heading west towards the Mississippi River.

Here it's easy to avoid the busy highways as well-packed gravel roads connect the many farms.  While not a technical ride, Jo Daviess' roads feature exhilarating descents, long lung-busting climbs and beautiful views throughout. 

---

My first adventures on a bicycle started at a young age.  I grew up as one of the "little kids" in a large Catholic family.  While I never felt poor, life within a such a large family required certain protocols.  For example, every meal was constrained by "the share."  

"What's the share for bacon?" we would ask. 

"Three pieces," my mother would answer.  With eight kids (i.e. 168 meals per week) some governance was required.  "One glass of orange juice with breakfast, please."  "It's two cookies for dessert."  "One hamburger each, dear."  "If you're still hungry, have some whole-wheat honey toast."

Christmas and birthdays were no different.  For Christmas, we were allowed ask for anything in the Sears Catalog as long as it was $10 or less.  For our birthday, the gifts were similarly modest with one exception.  When we turned seven, we received our own bike.  Mine was a brand-new green Schwinn Sting-Ray w/coaster brakes, chopper handle bars and a banana seat, list price $49.95.  

Jo Daviess rolling farm land

Most of my friends had Sting-Rays too.  We spent all summer on our bikes -- me, Gary, Ricky and Eugene ("Genie").  If we weren't riding our bikes, we were playing baseball in the field behind my house (pitcher's hand out, right field is a foul ball).  Gary was my age.  Ricky and Genie were brothers, Ricky was a year older and Genie was a year younger.  Despite Ricky being older and bigger than the rest of us, Gary was the leader of our gang.  I'm not sure why -- perhaps because he was the fastest runner.

Under Gary's leadership, I learned how to spit for distance, steal candy from Doretti's Pharmacy and blow a smoke ring.  His favorite suggestion was "Let's get in a chase."  This typically involved some annoying activity, like throwing rotten apples or snowballs at cars, in the hope that the drivers might try to chase us down.  As we knew every alley, fence, empty lot, and backyard in the neighborhood, we could disappear in a moment.  Fleeing, we would hide ourselves underneath some porch breathlessly stiflingly laughs and then freezing in fright at every sound.

On summer evenings, we used the gathering dusk to play games on passing cars.  One trick was for two groups of kids to stand on opposite sides of the street and pretend play a game of tug of war across the street.  Drivers would approach and slow looking for the non-existent rope.  If they came to a complete stop, we would would fall to the ground in laughter.  

One friend perfected a gag of running into a stop sign.  We would pretend to play football and when in full view of an approaching car, he would accidentally smash his face into the sign with a horrible impact.  In actuality, he would strike the sign with his hand with a loud crash and fall to the ground writhing in mock pain.  When the alarmed driver would get out to see if they could help, he would jump up, laugh and run away.  When done well, it really was hilarious.  I can only imagine the driver's story when they got home.

Sometime during the summer after second grade, Gary suggested we go on a "bike hike" to Deer Grove Forest Preserve.  Deer Grove was a couple towns away and we only had a vague idea of the route, but we agreed it was an excellent idea.  It seems surprising now that four boys, ages 7-9, would be allowed to attempt such an expedition, but those were different times and I'm not sure we asked permission.

We set off on our Sting-Rays and made it as far as Palatine.  After wandering up and down the gravel shoulder of Northwest Highway looking for Quentin Road, we gave up and rode back home.  Undeterred, a week later we tried again.  This time we able to find our way.  We also came prepared with hot dogs for lunch and some fishing gear.  We spent the afternoon fishing next to a culvert and discovered crayfish are very fond of hot dogs.  

We also discovered that Sting-Rays are fantastic for off-road riding.  Along the gullies cut by Salt Creek were a maze of trails perfect for the small wheels and low-gear ratios of the Sting-Ray.  After that day, we often rode to Deer Grove, fishing in the pond, wading in the waterfall, and riding the trails on our Sting-Rays.

Many decades later, I still ride to Deer Grove, but now I follow the paved bike paths.  Sadly, the popularity and subsequent damage of mountain biking forced the closure of the Salt Creek gullies to off-trail riding.  I wonder if I could get dispensation from the closures if I rode those trails on a Sting-Ray.

---

Mighty Mississippi

Back in Jo Daviess County, I discover a backdoor jeep trail into Mississippi Palisades State Park and find myself overlooking the mighty Mississippi River.  This is a great start to the Frizbo Fifty.

Blog update: My sister showed me this note 13 years later.  I found it 
very gratifying that she believed in me to enough save the historical artifact.

--Frizbo

State:	Illinois
Date:	2010-08-28
Route:	IL-78 to Mississippi Palisades State Park
Distance:	50 miles

Why the Frizbo Fifty?

Last week I dropped my daughter off at the University of Illinois where she will begin life as a freshman and my wife and I will begin life as "empty nesters."  This was not my only milestone this year.  In March, I celebrated my 50th birthday.  At the time I contemplated ways to mark the passing of 50 years; drink 50 beers, call 50 friends, spend 50K on a new car, but the summer was busy and nothing was done.  Now with the summer over and kids off to school, I really am peering over the precipice.  What will I do with the rest of my life?  It must be something that gives me a long term goal, something that's inspiration and aspirational, something that gets me out of the house, and something with a 50 in it.

The epic journey has always appealed to me.  Spend the summer hiking the Appalachian Trail or sail solo around the world and then write a book about it*.  Having read many of these books, I learned epic journeys have some down sides.

First and foremost, is taking time off for your epic journey.  Who can afford take the summer off to roller blade around Lake Superior with two kids in college?  A common solution for the Appalachian Trail is to "section hike" the "AT" by taking off a week or two each year to hike a section of trail -- picking up where you left off until you have traveled the entire distance from Georgia to Maine.  Admittedly, the approach is not quite as impressive as doing it in one go, but still somewhat "epic."

Second is logistics.  Ernst Shackleton, the godfather of epic journeys, spent years preparing for his expeditions to the South Pole.  Two actors that motorcycled from Scotland to Cape Town needed a couple of supply trucks following them.  For me, such logistical requirements are not practical or even feasible.

The third downside is the "bad stretches."  Any kind of long distance journey includes parts of the trail that, frankly, suck.  A cross-country biker discovered that the only road though the mountain pass had no shoulder and was the route preferred by the truckers.  One epic journey author, boating from New York to the Pacific Ocean, described the stretch of canoeing the upper Missouri in his book by simply repeating the word "river" for 5 pages.  "River, river, river, river, river, river, river, river, river, river, river, river, mud flat, river, river, river, river..."  Do you really want to forgo your summer so you can bike in 100 degree heat through the endless wheat fields of Nebraska.  Wouldn't it be better to cherry-pick the best parts.

After much thought, my proposed epic journey is the "Frizbo Fifty"  The goal is to bicycle in every one of the 50 states of the United States of America before I celebrate my 60th birthday**.  The rules are I must bike at least 10 miles in each state and the total number of miles must be 2,800 miles (which is the distance between New York City and San Diego)***.  To accomplish this I will need to bike 5 states a year and average 56 miles per state -- totally doable.

The Frizbo Fifty is by definition section hiking.  Periodically, I will take a week or weekend off for the "epic journey", returning before my in-box overflows.  Logistically, I just need to throw the bike on the car top carrier, the camping gear in the back and I'm off.  Living in Chicago means much of the country is within 2 days drive.  And the best part is, every state has a least one really nice biking trail.

-- Patrick Frisbie (aka Frizbo)

*Epic Journey Books:

• "A Walk in the Woods" -- very funny!
• "Long Way Down" -- dreadful.
• "River-Horse: The Logbook of a Boat Across America" -- thoughtful, inspirational.
• "The Endurance" -- Shackleton! Say no more.

**Covid-19 Amendment -- since the pandemic shutdown travel, biking and my 60th birthday party, I am deferring the official celebration of my 60th birthday until I can get on a plane for Hawaii.

***I've realized I don't want the Frizbo Fifty to end too soon, so I've extended the mileage to 5,000 miles.