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This morning, I woke up somewhat early to head over to the farmer’s market, as has become my habit on Saturdays when I’m not called away to other events. It’s interesting to realize that I’ve been making this trek for at least a year now. I’ve only realized this because I’ve started to notice some of the market’s seasonal patterns—the disappearance of eggs, for example, signals the influence of the waning day length on the laying habits of local hens that actually live outdoors.
Anyway, I’d quietly advertised the ride to others who might be interested, although I figured turnout would be low due to the usually combination of factors that also contribute to the quiet and clear roadways on Saturday mornings. Namely, most people don’t get up to run errands at 7 am on Saturdays. But perhaps that’s what I like most about the ride.
In light of these plans, R and I had chatted briefly earlier in the week about going for a long bike ride this Saturday morning. El Tour de Tucson is coming up next weekend, and we thought we should make at least some small attempt to prepare. Originally, we had hatched a scheme wherein I would ride to the farmer’s market and would then meet up with the usual gang of suspects (R, P and J) down at South Mountain. From there, we’d head out for an expedition Around The Mountain, as we call it. It would make for a nice, 50-mile-plus Saturday ride.
Instead, we got notice later in the week that the Bike Saviours, our local bike co-op, was going to relocate on Saturday, which would require immediate attention and help from R. After some discussion, I decided I would carry on with my own plans, but I invited J to go along for the ride since she had been feeling like she needed to get in a longer bike ride.
So J and I met up at Tempe Beach Park at 7 this morning, and enjoyed a pleasant ride over to the farmer’s market. Activity at the market seemed somewhat subdued, although there was still an exciting assortment of things to try and buy, including two particular items of note.
The first item came from a couple who make and sell exquisite preserves at the Market (Terra Verde Farms): peach-blackberry preserves. I’ve been quietly waiting for this couple to bring this particular flavor to the market for weeks. I had purchased a jar of blackberry preserves a month ago, and while it’s amazing (seedless, delicately smooth, with just enough sugar to balance the preserves’ tart-sweetness), the peach-blackberry preserves are better, probably for the simple reason that they also contain delectable essence of peaches. I learned today that they make all of their products semi-seasonally and all in small batches, so now they’ve got me hooked on checking to see when and if my favorite varieties are available. I could - and have - made my own preserves, but they’d be a far cry from the Terra Verde Farms preserves, so it’s worth it to occasionally splurge for a delectable treat.
The other item that I got incredibly excited about was a stall selling Back Sphinx Dates. First and foremost, let it be known that I generally don’t care for dates. Ahem. Regardless, I’d read about Black Sphinx Dates in a book titled Renewing America’s Food Traditions (by Gary Nabham), which explains that the trees producing these dates are almost exclusively limited to a grove in the Arcadia neighborhood in Phoenix. The book also mentions that these dates enjoyed former fame because of their superb flavor. Samples were set out, so I figured I’d better at least try a bit before deciding to move on. Well. J will attest to the fact that I was unable to stop talking about the surprisingly rich and delicious taste of that small bite of date. The woman selling the dates informed us that all—literally all—of her neighbors let their trees’ dates go to waste, so she’s the only one harvesting and selling the dates from the neighborhood at the moment. I didn’t buy any dates this morning because I wasn’t sure what I’d do with them, and I have to tell you now that I deeply regret that decision. Hopefully she’ll still be there the next time I return to the farmer’s market.
And that was the market. Freed from the plan to meet up with the gang at South Mountain, I devised a somewhat vague plan to head north instead, to circle around the Phoenix Mountains Preserve. First, however, J and I made a stop at Lux so I could fuel up on a delicious latte and scone while she enjoyed hot chocolate and brioche with raspberry bostock (all of which is to say, yes, it’s possible to find good food, in Phoenix). While there, we plotted out our route, northward and clockwise around the mountains.
I’ll spare you many details of the ride, but must tell you about the most interesting and exciting portions, which occurred during the northwestern part of the loop. We first rode up towards the Cave Creek Wash, where the map indicated the presence of a scenic bikeway. Well, there was a bikeway, and true to promise it was beautifully scenic, reminiscent of the trail we followed along a wash in Tucson. It was not built for speed, but for the sake of enjoying the channels and waterways, the scruffy trees and shrubs with enough tenacity to cling to life in great thickets and resist the periodic onslaught of flash floods. We were grateful for the shade and a rambling trail that encouraged leisurely enjoyment.
A section of the path eventually dropped us off at a roadway (19th Avenue), but we located the spot where it picked up again with no problems, continuing to follow the meanderings of the wash. Eventually, we reached another abrupt ending, this one slightly more puzzling (near 7th Ave. and Greenway Rd.). With a few hints from some passers-by, and some small turnarounds, we managed to get back on track again, or so we thought until the path impolitely dumped us out yet again onto the sidewalk along Greenway Road. We gamely followed the sidewalk for a ways until we reached an intersection, where we spied a path ducking under the roadway along the wash. So we nosed our bicycles back down to the pathway in the hopes of riding along the was again until we reached our intended turn-off point.
Somewhere in that section of the ride, I took a right turn where a left turn probably would have been advised, and eventually J and I found ourselves deep within a section of the wash that had been lined with concrete and that was contained by high, steep walls. If you live in Arizona, you probably know the shape of these washes quite well from a view from above, for they are efficiently shaped to channel the fury of flash floods through neighborhoods without causing harm to the surrounding homes. Most of the time, they sit dry, but they become both vitally important and dangerous at very particular times of the year, during heavy rains.
These are not places for bicycle-riding. And yet, there we were, somehow guided by the very path to use the wash as our conduit. Not knowing what else to do, we rode onward, through thin puddles of stagnant water and past heaps of plastic bottles and the occasional formerly sodden mattress or limp blanket. By the time we reached the first road underpass, we had a pretty good idea that we were somewhere where we weren’t supposed to be. It was strangely quiet and peaceful in the channel, though, with the traffic all twenty feet overhead and off to one side, the only sound our bicycles and the occasional disturbed bird flapping its wings as it flew away. Not seeing any clear exit point, we rode onward.
By the time we reached the second underpass, we began to look for escape routes in greater earnest. There wasn’t even a remote chance of rain, but even so our options for leaving were getting to be pretty limited. The walls were not insurmountably steep, but they were nonetheless high enough that they made us think twice about hauling our belongings and bicycles to the top to then throw over to the other side. Besides, we weren’t there yet--we still hadn’t reached the roadway where we planned to turn away from the wash path. So we kept going. Soon enough a gradual ramp appeared on the right side of the wash: a serendipitous escape. The ramp led to a bumpy, grassy field, which led to a road, which led to the road we had planned to turn onto in the first pace. Freedom from the wash, at last. To celebrate, we stopped at a donut shop for a snack.
The rest of the ride wasn’t nearly as exciting, after that adventure, especially because in the end we met up with the other end of another familiar path that closed the rest of our loop around the mountain. But it was a beautiful day to be out for a ride. And I have to say that I think J is one of my favorite biking buddies for this sort of adventure: calm, game for anything, and better at remembering street names than I am, which is ideal for those stretches where one must pull out the map every half-mile to double-check the route.
Anyway, I’d quietly advertised the ride to others who might be interested, although I figured turnout would be low due to the usually combination of factors that also contribute to the quiet and clear roadways on Saturday mornings. Namely, most people don’t get up to run errands at 7 am on Saturdays. But perhaps that’s what I like most about the ride.
In light of these plans, R and I had chatted briefly earlier in the week about going for a long bike ride this Saturday morning. El Tour de Tucson is coming up next weekend, and we thought we should make at least some small attempt to prepare. Originally, we had hatched a scheme wherein I would ride to the farmer’s market and would then meet up with the usual gang of suspects (R, P and J) down at South Mountain. From there, we’d head out for an expedition Around The Mountain, as we call it. It would make for a nice, 50-mile-plus Saturday ride.
Instead, we got notice later in the week that the Bike Saviours, our local bike co-op, was going to relocate on Saturday, which would require immediate attention and help from R. After some discussion, I decided I would carry on with my own plans, but I invited J to go along for the ride since she had been feeling like she needed to get in a longer bike ride.
So J and I met up at Tempe Beach Park at 7 this morning, and enjoyed a pleasant ride over to the farmer’s market. Activity at the market seemed somewhat subdued, although there was still an exciting assortment of things to try and buy, including two particular items of note.
The first item came from a couple who make and sell exquisite preserves at the Market (Terra Verde Farms): peach-blackberry preserves. I’ve been quietly waiting for this couple to bring this particular flavor to the market for weeks. I had purchased a jar of blackberry preserves a month ago, and while it’s amazing (seedless, delicately smooth, with just enough sugar to balance the preserves’ tart-sweetness), the peach-blackberry preserves are better, probably for the simple reason that they also contain delectable essence of peaches. I learned today that they make all of their products semi-seasonally and all in small batches, so now they’ve got me hooked on checking to see when and if my favorite varieties are available. I could - and have - made my own preserves, but they’d be a far cry from the Terra Verde Farms preserves, so it’s worth it to occasionally splurge for a delectable treat.
The other item that I got incredibly excited about was a stall selling Back Sphinx Dates. First and foremost, let it be known that I generally don’t care for dates. Ahem. Regardless, I’d read about Black Sphinx Dates in a book titled Renewing America’s Food Traditions (by Gary Nabham), which explains that the trees producing these dates are almost exclusively limited to a grove in the Arcadia neighborhood in Phoenix. The book also mentions that these dates enjoyed former fame because of their superb flavor. Samples were set out, so I figured I’d better at least try a bit before deciding to move on. Well. J will attest to the fact that I was unable to stop talking about the surprisingly rich and delicious taste of that small bite of date. The woman selling the dates informed us that all—literally all—of her neighbors let their trees’ dates go to waste, so she’s the only one harvesting and selling the dates from the neighborhood at the moment. I didn’t buy any dates this morning because I wasn’t sure what I’d do with them, and I have to tell you now that I deeply regret that decision. Hopefully she’ll still be there the next time I return to the farmer’s market.
And that was the market. Freed from the plan to meet up with the gang at South Mountain, I devised a somewhat vague plan to head north instead, to circle around the Phoenix Mountains Preserve. First, however, J and I made a stop at Lux so I could fuel up on a delicious latte and scone while she enjoyed hot chocolate and brioche with raspberry bostock (all of which is to say, yes, it’s possible to find good food, in Phoenix). While there, we plotted out our route, northward and clockwise around the mountains.
I’ll spare you many details of the ride, but must tell you about the most interesting and exciting portions, which occurred during the northwestern part of the loop. We first rode up towards the Cave Creek Wash, where the map indicated the presence of a scenic bikeway. Well, there was a bikeway, and true to promise it was beautifully scenic, reminiscent of the trail we followed along a wash in Tucson. It was not built for speed, but for the sake of enjoying the channels and waterways, the scruffy trees and shrubs with enough tenacity to cling to life in great thickets and resist the periodic onslaught of flash floods. We were grateful for the shade and a rambling trail that encouraged leisurely enjoyment.
A section of the path eventually dropped us off at a roadway (19th Avenue), but we located the spot where it picked up again with no problems, continuing to follow the meanderings of the wash. Eventually, we reached another abrupt ending, this one slightly more puzzling (near 7th Ave. and Greenway Rd.). With a few hints from some passers-by, and some small turnarounds, we managed to get back on track again, or so we thought until the path impolitely dumped us out yet again onto the sidewalk along Greenway Road. We gamely followed the sidewalk for a ways until we reached an intersection, where we spied a path ducking under the roadway along the wash. So we nosed our bicycles back down to the pathway in the hopes of riding along the was again until we reached our intended turn-off point.
Somewhere in that section of the ride, I took a right turn where a left turn probably would have been advised, and eventually J and I found ourselves deep within a section of the wash that had been lined with concrete and that was contained by high, steep walls. If you live in Arizona, you probably know the shape of these washes quite well from a view from above, for they are efficiently shaped to channel the fury of flash floods through neighborhoods without causing harm to the surrounding homes. Most of the time, they sit dry, but they become both vitally important and dangerous at very particular times of the year, during heavy rains.
These are not places for bicycle-riding. And yet, there we were, somehow guided by the very path to use the wash as our conduit. Not knowing what else to do, we rode onward, through thin puddles of stagnant water and past heaps of plastic bottles and the occasional formerly sodden mattress or limp blanket. By the time we reached the first road underpass, we had a pretty good idea that we were somewhere where we weren’t supposed to be. It was strangely quiet and peaceful in the channel, though, with the traffic all twenty feet overhead and off to one side, the only sound our bicycles and the occasional disturbed bird flapping its wings as it flew away. Not seeing any clear exit point, we rode onward.
By the time we reached the second underpass, we began to look for escape routes in greater earnest. There wasn’t even a remote chance of rain, but even so our options for leaving were getting to be pretty limited. The walls were not insurmountably steep, but they were nonetheless high enough that they made us think twice about hauling our belongings and bicycles to the top to then throw over to the other side. Besides, we weren’t there yet--we still hadn’t reached the roadway where we planned to turn away from the wash path. So we kept going. Soon enough a gradual ramp appeared on the right side of the wash: a serendipitous escape. The ramp led to a bumpy, grassy field, which led to a road, which led to the road we had planned to turn onto in the first pace. Freedom from the wash, at last. To celebrate, we stopped at a donut shop for a snack.
The rest of the ride wasn’t nearly as exciting, after that adventure, especially because in the end we met up with the other end of another familiar path that closed the rest of our loop around the mountain. But it was a beautiful day to be out for a ride. And I have to say that I think J is one of my favorite biking buddies for this sort of adventure: calm, game for anything, and better at remembering street names than I am, which is ideal for those stretches where one must pull out the map every half-mile to double-check the route.
