I questioned whether it was wise to squeeze in a tour of the Casa Malpais ruins before moving on to Show Low, but a couple just coming from the tour at the Arizona Tourism Center the previous day had highly recommended it. I'd missed the last tour of the day, but could catch one at 9:00AM.

It turned out I was the only one on the tour that morning. Linda, the tour guide, drove us out in her small bus, unlocking a ranch gate as we proceeded to the site of the ruins. Gradually she led me up a series of natural terraces nestled against a mesa, pointing out the natural and built features of the landscape along the way, until eventually we reached a large kiva used for religious ceremonies and the remnants of a pueblo that once comprised about 165 rooms.

It is amazing how archaeologists can get a decent picture of how a group of people lived, but for a group with no written history, it's impossible to know what they called themselves. Archaeologists refer to this group as the Mogollon, whom both Hopi and Zuni claim as ancestors. And Malpais is a Spanish term which translates as "bad country" and refers to the wide plain formed from lava fields, formed by volcanic activity about 300,000 years ago.

As we walked through the ruins, Linda explained that the Mogollon used the terraces to protect themselves from the high winds at the top of the mesa, and the potential floods in the plains at the bottom. They most likely farmed on all the terraces but also relied on wild plants such as the wolfberry and four-wing saltbush for food. No roofing materials were ever found in the pueblo, but archaeologists assume the Mogollon brought in timber from the pine forests which we could see in the distance across the valley, more than 6 miles away, without the help of horses or other beasts of burden which were introduced to the area much later.

Linda pointed out a few petroglyphs and structures that had mystified archeologists until viewed with astronomy in mind. There are stone half-circles both at the top and bottom of the mesa, observation stations for sunrise and sunset. Sprinkled throughout the site are petroglyphs which at sunrise or sunset on various solstices and equinoxes are exactly half illuminated.

We crossed a region of huge volcanic rocks with deep crevices between them that the Mogollan used as a burial ground, and climbed up a narrow corridor between great columns of basalt that acted as a sort of staircase to the top of the mesa. Once on top we had an excellent view of the pueblo, the kiva, and another circular structure that served as a solar calendar and ceremonial space. I could aslo see Route 60 stretched out in the distance, and feel how hard and cold the wind was once we reached the exposed surface. At that point I became a little nervous about getting to Show Low before nightfall and probably wasn't the most attentive listener for the rest of the tour as we made our way back down the trail. Linda, as though reading my mind, mentioned that she was trying to go slightly more quickly than usual so I could get on the road at a decent time.

It was about 11:30 when I set out for Show Low. The ride immediately out of town was nice enough, and soon I was welcomed to the open road by a nice yellow "Cross Winds, Next 7 Miles" sign. These signs, I would soon discover, repeated every 7 miles. It's a little daunting to see signs warning people in cars or trucks of winds while riding a vehicle about 1/100th of the weight. And then the hills started in, lots of big, long, steep, neverending climbs, followed by downhills that might have provided a nice break had the wind not robbed them of all the pleasure and much of the speed.

Linda had told me there would be a gas station in Vernon 27 miles in so the thought of that oasis of warmth and snack foods, a pie town if you will, kept me going slowly but surely. Those 27 miles took nearly 4 hours. I had averaged a pitiful 7mph the whole way, and still had another 20 miles to get to Show Low. When I finally reached the Midway Station and popped in, the owner, Kara, asked in horror, "Aren't you cold?" "I'm freezing," I replied with a smile, and went off to find a restroom and some carbs. I'm generally not all that into muffins but suddenly a humongous almond poppyseed muffin caught my eye (the label informed me it contained 700 calories: perfect!) . The muffin washed down by a bottles of juice hit the spot.

As I was chatting with Kara, two county sherriffs appeared in the driveway, speaking with a man outside, and Kara became distracted. Some small drama was unfolding. She explained that her friend had lost custody of her daughter, and. . . I didn't get to hear the rest, because just then the cops came in and started amiably chatting with us. One of them told me the hills I'd climbed all afternoon were dormant volcanoes. Then the man who'd been outside and a tearful woman came into the store. I was curious to hang around and figure out what was going on, but  a glance at my phone showed it was 4:00. I only had one hour of daylight left to get to Show Low, 20 miles away.

I still cannot explain how I made it into Show Low before dark, but I think a variety of factors contributed.

1. Kara's admiration and encouragement. I know that's pretty intangible, but such things do help.
2. As Kara had assured me, the hills weren't as long or as steep from there on out. There were still hills, but just regular, run-of-the-mill large hills, not insane dormant volcanoes.
3. Was it just my imagination, or did the wind sound different? Oh yeah, this was the sound of air rushing past my ears as I sped along, not of wind blowing me backwards. The wind had all but died, giving me a 5-10mph speed bonus on everything I did.
4. As I move west within the time zone, the sun sets ever-so-slightly later. I ended up with a little more daylight than I expected.
5. I was desperate. Desperation always seems to give me a second wind.
6. Or maybe there was something in that muffin?

So I made it, exhausted but safe, to the Snowy River Motel in Show Low. This fourth day in a row of battling the elements renewed my vow to get out of the mountains as quickly as possible, so I assigned myself a daunting task for the following day: ride 87 miles to the town of Globe, where I'd lose about 3000 feet of elevation and tack at least 10 degrees onto the average temperatures. Along the way, the road would dip in and out of the immense Salt River Canyon, where various people warned me I'd have one very tough climb out the other side. Some suggested I hitch a ride out. One way or another, I promised myself, I was going to get to Globe.