With only about 150 miles to go we are cracking up – quite literally. Terry noticed a buckled wheel on my bike a few days back and now, further examination has revealed the rear Shimano hub has a large crack running through it across several spoke holes. It’s impossible to tell how long it has been like that, but the split was dirty so it may have happened a while back. Whether the Surly will make it to San Diego is now in serious jeopardy.
I rang a local cycle shop in El Centro, our nightstop for the evening, but a new wheel will take 1-2 days to arrive, which is time we just don’t have, so we will have to see if it holds. To give the wheel the best possible chance, the plan is to go to El Centro Post Office first thing tomorrow morning and post everything but the most essential items onto our hotel in San Diego.
The wheel could collapse at anytime so we’ve got to do everything we can to get the weight down. Terry has also suggested I stop drinking McDonald’s 800 calorie milkshakes. This is getting serious. I’m prepared to cycle as carefully as possible to nurse the old girl home, but giving up shakes? Really?
Our night spent outside the store at Glamis was not uncomfortable, but our sleep was constantly interrupted by the warning horns of giant trains rolling through the dunes barely a quarter of a mile from where we lay on our sleeping bags. We didn’t have any worries about Henry, but were concerned about an old saloon car which had pulled in and driven slowly past us a couple of times earlier in the evening.
In the end our fears were unfounded and the only visitor I had during the night was a curious beetle, about an inch and a half long in size, which I discovered near my groundsheet. It had a strange gait, with its head down to the floor and rear end pointing skywards, so at first I thought it might have been injured in some way.
“It’s known as the skunk of the insect world and can spray nasty chemicals from its rear”.
When I brushed it away it adopted an even more extreme poise with its abdomen pointing vertical. I googled it (concerned it might be poisonous) and found out it was a Pinacate beetle of the genus Eleodes and known, among other things as a ‘head standing’ beetle or stink beetle. It’s endemic to the Sonoran Desert and is known as the skunk of the insect world and can spray nasty chemicals from its rear. Nice.
When the store opened at 7am we went in with Henry, bought him a few things to help him through the day, and then sat on the benches outside eating our breakfast flakes, drinking coffee and chatting before we said our goodbyes. He then set off to walk to Palo Verde, while we set off on our bikes for El Centro. We’d thought we were travelling light, but all Henry had was a small knapsack and a water bottle. But he’d survived this far so he must know what he’s doing.
For the first few miles we were cycling through the extraordinary sand dunes for which Glamis is famous and the reason for its moniker as the ‘Sand Toy Capitol of America’.
“There were still a couple blasting across the sands with their flags flying in the wind”.
We hadn’t realised just how stunning the dunes were … miles of pristine desert on one side of the road, and a playground on the other. With the weekend over, most of the dune buggy enthusiasts had gone home but there were still a couple blasting across the sands with their flags flying in the wind.
It was easy to see the appeal and people have been coming to the dunes ever since the first cars made it into the area. It’s believed it may even have been the testing ground for the very first dune buggy based on a Ford Model A. Off-roading really took off after the Second World War when surplus Jeeps were available to buy.
It would be interesting to know what those people who came to the dunes in the 50s and 60s in their modified road cars would think of today’s purpose built buggies and all the modern paraphernalia that goes with them.
As we rode along a sand plough was scraping up and down the 78, pushing away the sand that threatened to engulf it. But there was still enough on the tarmac to blow up in our faces every time a semi or car drove past.
What was most curious about the dunes was how suddenly they started and how abruptly they finished. Climbing up over the top we dropped into a wide flat valley and suddenly we were in green fields with date plantations and bee-keepers placing hives to help in pollination. As well as the usual alfalfa we also spotted evidence of carrots and sugar beet – all within a few miles of the sand dunes. It’s amazing what water can do.
By this time our old friend, the westerly wind was back again, which is beginning to become incredibly wearing. Before leaving the plain for the town of Brawley we passed a massive cattle feeding lot which we’d already smelt ten miles away. There were hundreds, possibly thousands of cattle, as far removed from the image of a traditional farm as you can imagine. This was beef production on an industrial scale.
A short time later I was cycling along quite happily with Terry close behind me when, all of a sudden, we collided and Terry nudged me off the road and into and down the sandy verge. He’d been trying to avoid being hit by a truck apparently. Fortunately there was no harm done, the damaged wheel held out and I even managed to keep upright!
In Brawley we finally did something we’d been trying to get done for weeks – we had haircuts. Spotting Sergio’s Barber Shop and no customers waiting we dashed inside and within seconds were up in the chairs and being given the full Mexican treatment by two barbers who spoke very little English.
Soon they were transforming us from wind blown bushes into sharp dudes. Well as sharp as dudes as you could expect from two middle-aged men wearing lycra who’d slept the previous night in a doorway.
Terry’s hair was cut by the boss, while I had the apprentice, who was at least 60. Incredibly, despite us both giving exactly the same instructions about what cut we wanted, we received completely different haircuts carried out using totally different techniques.
Terry’s cut was all done by scissors and included a neck, shoulder and back massage thrown in for good measure. My cut was done almost entirely with clippers and at least 80% of the time was taken up with shaving and smoothing my neck with a cut-throat razor. I didn’t get a massage, but I did learn to sit incredibly still.
“The result was that Terry looked like an Italian gangster while I resembled a cross between Tin Tin and Mark Kermode”.
The result was that Terry looked like an Italian gangster while I resembled a cross between Tin Tin and Mark Kermode. Looking almost respectable, we wandered across the road to a local restaurant for coffee before tackling a twelve mile push (quite literally because of the wind) across the Imperial Valley on Old Highway 111 before arriving in El Centro, where we had booked into a Motel 6 for the evening.
El Centro’s claim to fame is that it is the largest American city (population around 44,000) to lie entirely below sea level (-42 feet). Cycling into town you’d have no idea you were in the richest state in the US. It was all rather scruffy, with lots of light industrial areas and, considering its name, we couldn’t find any real centre to El Centro.
Fortunately there was a Maccy Ds close to the motel, which against Terry’s advice, I’m still consuming, despite the damage extra ‘me’ could do to the wheel. If it can survive the sand dunes and a nudge off the road from my fellow rider I’m sure a strawberry milkshake won’t finish it off. Beside which tomorrow’s forecast was predicting a 30mph headwind.
Suddenly the prospect of having to throw the broken bike in the back of a pickup and drive to San Diego instead, seemed ever more appealing….
Today’s miles: 65.41
Total miles since Anastasia State Park: 2,954.92
(NB, for some reason my Garmin stopped working in Brawley (it must have been the shock of seeing the haircuts) so today’s map only covers the first 46.11 miles with the remaining 19.3 not recorded. Also don’t believe the Garmin’s average speed of 17.3mph, that’s clearly nuts!)
