Day 5: Cottonwood, Arizona to Winslow, Arizona

Distance: 107 miles
Climbing: 3890 feet

First, let me tell you this. It is through the application of the most delicate realpolitik that I have reached an accomodation with my ass. It seemed almost ready to rebel against the saddle sores this morning so we got down to brass tacks, figuratively speaking only. I wore my most comfortably padded shorts knowing full well that they have a small tear in the back that would potentially offend those of more delicate sensibilities. My ass reciprocated by stopping its howling today. We have achieved a kind of detente.

Second, let me tell you this as well. The best thing about Winslow, Arizona is....Well, to tell you the truth nothing comes to mind. Unless you're an Eagles fan. I effing hate the Eagles.

But we're only sleeping here. The rest of the day was spectacular. We rolled into Sedona and the Red Rocks area as the sun was rising behind it. Color and shadow and contour combined in sublime combinations that broke down and reassembled anew as perspective changed with the passing of the miles. Truly these are our cathedrals, the American cathedrals. These places--Sedona, Yosemite, the Grand Canyon--they are our Chartres, our Notre Dame. I'll take these monuments to God over the human vanities perpetrated in her name any day.

Then we rose up a stunning climb out of Oak Creek Canyon to get to the road to Flagstaff. The picture is looking down at a small section of that climb. I didn't count the switchbacks, but they were more than several. Flagstaff was our high point of the day, over 7000 feet. The climbing is really comfortable, well worth the views, and I never thought I would say that.

Then we hit the interstate. I know riding down the interstate doesn't sound all that scenic, and I have to tell you that between Flagstaff and Winslow, there's a whole bunch of nothing. For you cyclists, though, imagine a slightly downhill 55 mile stretch of road that you're riding in one direction with a 25 mph tail wind. You never have to turn back into the wind and the only thing to look out for is the debris on the ground. I think a group of us must have averaged at least 25 mph for the stretch. We had a three man echelon zooming down the highway shoulder between the dirt and the rumbles. That's the second bit of video below.

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