The Upstory

Today we helped a dog (of course) and a stranded driver.

Last time it was a bird and I hung onto Nancy’s ankles while she laid flat against the slope of the canal bank and reached down to pull a soggy dove out of the water.

We’re supposed to be riding our bikes and getting some exercise, but sometimes we’re doing rescue work. Or getting a tour of someone’s new home. Bike rides, interrupted. Bike rides, value-added. We never know what to expect.

How it all began

In 2020 when the pandemic kicked in Nancy, my neighbor, and I started social distancing on our bikes. We’d ride out at daybreak and go for a couple of hours along the canals, through parks, and around neighborhoods. We rode three times a week and we racked up the mileage.

We seldom saw anyone because, apparently, everyone else was at home working and sheltering. We had the place to ourselves. We lived large and for a time it seemed like we were the only people left on the planet.

HOME TOURS
You can hear us coming long before you see us. We turn up the volume as we ride and yakkity-yak back and forth without using our filters. The problem with this, besides noise pollution, is that we spout opinions about front yards, roofing choices, exterior finishes, overall landscaping, room additions, and so forth. Don’t get me wrong. We usually like what we see and then it’s all effusive compliments and verbal high-fives. But if someone has extra material from a job and decides to stick it on something just to use it up, we will notice. And we will comment. And it won’t be pretty.

We take turns shushing each other, so we haven’t gotten ourselves in trouble, yet. Also, we’ve developed a verbal shorthand such as TMB, which means Too Much Brick; BU for Big and Ugly; SHB, Shouldn’t Have Bothered, which also is expressed as BI, Bad Idea. T is for tacky.

Because we’re so free with our opinions we’ve talked about wearing I.D. lanyards and carrying business cards printed with:

We’re Here to Help.
Just Ask Us, We’ll Tell You.

If you ever hear about homeowners finding mysterious official-looking forms left on their worksites with critiques or advice, you won’t have to wonder. It’s us.

Anyway, you would not believe the size of some of the new homes going up in Gilbert. Or existing homes that are getting an entirely new, gargantuan footprint. We mostly ride along properties situated on a couple of acres and let me tell you, your roomy lot can get crowded pretty quickly when you’re dropping a 10,000-square-foot home on it. And an RV barn. And a pickleball court. And a guest casita. And a pool.

People scrape off the old home and look at the existing trees and greenery and decide, “Nah,” that’s where they’re going to pour a concrete pad.

Nature hates a vacuum, right? You may have lost a leafy view but, hey, you’ve gained a heat island! (Yes, yes: Sarcasm.)

Anyway, we often cover the same ground and thus we’ve been recognized, waved to, and stopped for a chat where we learn more about the homeowner’s plans. Four times this has led to an invitation to see the inside of the home.

And they are awesome! Fresh beams far overhead, stone cladding, stunning tile work and an enthusiastic guide. Friends, this is what I call a value-added bike ride.

One home had a subterranean space that was too big to be called a basement. It almost equaled the footprint of the home. (This answered a nagging question we had about the enormous and growing pile of excavated dirt we kept seeing. It was too big a dig for a pool. Too big for a basement. What could it possibly be?)

One side was for a full-size basketball court and the other side was for entertaining. It would feature a complete kitchen, bathroom and shower, bar, and an area for billiards and other stuff. Our guide gestured to places that would be occupied by sofas (plural) and flatscreens (plural). I could only imagine what this venue would be like, fully realized, during the Super Bowl.

We met the dad-owner of Five Guys Roofing who was rebuilding, expanding, and remodeling his childhood home. He showed us the vast new patio which he said would accommodate his four sons (the other Four Guys), daughter, and umpteen grandchildren.

We walked through the two-story (watch your step on the stairs, there’s no handrailing yet) elegant and cozy farmhouse-style home being built by the owner of Mellow Construction. He used piers to elevate it off the ground for a reason I don’t remember. But you can bet that Nancy and I had many a conversation back when we first saw the ground being broken and the piers being placed, not a look often seen in Arizona.

And to this day we’re friends with Katie (we still don’t know her last name) who renovated a ranch house, keeping the well-constructed original layout while adding or expanding using just the right touches to blend old with new. Her finished house is incredibly charming and has landscaping that further enhances its curb appeal.

RESCUES

We’ve talked about wearing lanyards and carrying business cards. Now the two of us are thinking of getting shirts printed with Two the Rescue.

Dogs. While riding the path along Gilbert’s Riparian Habitat we encounter a man on a scooter holding two leashes. No dogs. Uh-oh. We do an about-face and go with him to see if we can find his dogs. Along the way we hear his story: He’s just out of the hospital. The dogs belong to his daughter. They’re good dogs. They’re big dogs. They’re friendly dogs. He thought he could keep up with them on his scooter … and lo and behold there are two dogs fitting his description in a yard that backs up to the Riparian Habitat. Two lads realized the dogs were on the loose and coaxed them through the gate into their backyard. (I love Gilbert.)

There was the small matter of getting the dogs back to the man’s house since he can’t manage them on his scooter. So, Nancy and I each take a dog in one hand and a bicycle in another and roll along behind the man. We pick up two pedestrians who want to help and that’s how our little parade ends up back where we started. Lo and behold, there is an SUV and a driver (the daughter) waving to us (Mom! My dog loses her mind and nearly pulls my arm out of its socket) and we bundle everyone into the rescue vehicle and wave goodbye.

Dove. We do a fair amount of bicycling along the Consolidated Canal and usually see plenty of waterfowl. But this time the bird we saw was not one who could swim. ‘Twas a dove, who was not wearing a life preserver and from the looks of things didn’t have much time left.

We decide to ride on and let Nature take its course. Then we decide to go back. Then I go off to look for a stick or anything with length that could be used to fish the dove out of the water.

There’s a little retail place along the canal and it hasn’t opened for the day. But I see someone inside and I’m on a mission. So, I knock and a Very Nice Guy lets me in and hears my story. No, he doesn’t have a broom or a mop or a yardstick. But I’m welcome to go in the backyard and see if I can find something that will work.

The backyard is full of décor including a decorative long stick attached to the wall scenery. Can I use this? Yes, go ahead. I pull the stick off the wall art and hurry back to where Nancy is watching Dove-Boy gurgle and flop wetly.

Now our problem is how to get down to Dove Level. There are a few feet between the canal bank and the level of the water. But not for nothing did Nancy and I spend years in corporate workplaces troubleshooting problems. (Nancy is a retired manager for Avnet and I’m a retired writer/editor for Salt River Project.)

Nancy takes the stick and lays flat against the sloping side of the canal while I stay on the bank and hold her ankles. She fished out Sir Dove on the first try. Of, course Dove-Dove can’t fly anywhere because he’s exhausted and his wings are completely soaked and useless.

I take this moment to return the stick to the Very Nice Man who is happy to hear Mission Accomplished. We take Dove-Boy to a nice dry spot under a sheltering bench at the Riparian and leave him with instructions to rest, drink plenty of fluids, and do not go swimming without a life-vest.

Burros. Our route often takes us past Carl’s Damaged Pet Warehouse, so named because Carl’s veterinarian daughter, in her line of work, ends up with animals that no one wants. Some of them have health conditions (one-eyed goose) or are unwanted (pot-bellied pigs that have out-grown their tiny cuteness). Carl takes them in and they have food, shelter, friends, and love.

Two of them are Shrek-size burros who like having their ears scratched and respond well to sweet-talk and carrots. One morning we rode toward Carl’s and we spotted the Burro Bros kicking up their heels and clippity-clopping down the road to visit the calves in the next pasture.

Carl is securing the gate they’ve pushed out of so the rest of the menagerie doesn’t escape. Meanwhile, a random dude on a bicycle also stops to help.

It turns into a rodeo and a round-up. The Dynamic Duo is nimble and not ready to go home. But one of my first pets was a burro so I know what to expect. I know they’ll try broken-field running and other evasive action. Nancy has had horses most of her life so she knows how to herd.

Between the two of us, using our bicycles like cutting horses, we move the Donkey Duo back down the street to their pasture. They almost get away from us at a side street but Other Bicycle Dude cuts them off at the pass. Carl gets leads on them and guides the Donkey Duo back to where they belong.

Calf. Carl’s next-door neighbor has a cutting arena and calves. Nancy and I are riding along discussing the house going up across from the roping arena and whether or not 4″X6″ supports would have been better visually for the big, overhanging front porch than the wimpy 2″X6″s used by the builder … when we notice something is amiss with the calves. They are walking around what looks like a calf down on his side.

Sure enough this little steer has gotten his head stuck under the pole fencing. No telling how long he’s been there but he isn’t moving. He isn’t even bleating for help. Fortunately, Carl is home and he hustles right over, gets in the pen and manages to wiggle and slide the little guy’s head out from under the pole fence. We leave when we are sure the calf can stand up and walk around. Shake it off, buddy.

Human. We’re at a crosswalk. Traffic is flying by. Here comes a guy with a dog — no collar no leash. A puppy no less. Grrrrr. What are you thinking, Sir?

We catch a break, all of us cross safely. Man and dog go one way, we go another. I’m still watching Puppy who keeps swerving off the sidewalk into the street.

Nancy says, helpfully, “Maybe it’s a stray who’s just following him and that’s why he doesn’t have a leash.” Nancy often says things like that to distract me or shut me up and I’ll say, “Yeah, let’s go with that.” I don’t believe it; she doesn’t believe it. But we have to move on.

Not this time. Maybe that’s really what’s happening! I turn around and catch up to the guy. By now he’s found something to use as a leash and has it around the puppy’s neck. He sees me coming. I tell him I thought maybe the dog was a stray, but now I see I must be wrong.

That’s when I get the rest of the story. Remember how people always say to be kind because you don’t know what someone else is dealing with?

Well, this guy’s car had run out of gas and he was walking to the nearest gas station. He didn’t want to leave Puppy behind; he wasn’t planning on taking her for a walk so that’s why he didn’t have a collar or leash. And yeah, he had heard me even though I *thought* I was grumbling under my breath.

The gas station is one mile away and he’s already walked almost one mile. He doesn’t have a gas can. Once he finds a gas can and fills it, he and Puppy will have to walk back lugging the heavy gas can.

I tell him to wait, I’ll go home and get my car and a gas can. Nancy’s going to help, too. She’ll bring a leash and a collar. Give us 20 minutes and we’ll be back. He says he will stay right where he is and wait for us.

We do what we said we’d do and he does what he said he’d do.

Turns out the Puppy’s name is Patricia and she’s six months old, which is how long he’s had her. Turns out he drives an eye-catching black Corvette. I tell him I wouldn’t have pegged him for a Corvette Guy. He’s kinda a scruffy-beard, beanie guy who looks like he could be getting around on a Onewheel so he thinks that’s hilarious. Turns out he got stranded in the neighborhood next door to our neighborhood which was a good thing because we needed Glenn to come help with the gas can which has a weird, no-siphon nozzle that makes it tough to pour gas into the tank without it leaking.

Anyway, Nancy and I ran out of time to bicycle that day but we were able to get Patricia and Corvette Guy back on the road.

Mockingbird. This was one of our shorter rescues. A mockingbird is trapped inside a security cover for a water main on the Powerline Trail. Somehow Bird-Brain has slipped through the narrow space between the concrete pad and the bottom of the perforated cover.  

Now Dudey-dude is beating his wings on the sides of the cover and hollering to get out. Nancy gets off her bike to assess the situation while I continue to discuss the issue of people who carry poop bags when they walk their dogs (good) and then pick up after their dogs (good) and then leave the bags by the sidewalk (bad). What is that, exactly? They tripped at the finish line. Do they think there is a Dog Poop Bag Fairy that swoops in and takes the bags to a trash can?

For some reason Nancy is not listening. Maybe it’s a repeat rant? Anyway, she’s jiggling the cover and talking to Bird-Face. I finally tune in to the situation and come over to help. Together we lift and jiggle, lift and jiggle. Bird-Brain finally figures out that “down” is where he needs to be. He hops down to the narrow space. We jiggle and lift at precisely the right moment. Birdy-Bird slips back out and flies off to recover in a nearby tree.

OTHER STUFF

Anyway, to wrap up this massive missive I will spare you the stories about all my bike tire problems and how many flats Glenn fixed for me. And how he got me a TREK mountain bike that at first I stubbornly didn’t want, because I was used to the bike I had, but now I love. And we’ll skip the yard sales (plural, more than once) Nancy and I have stopped at where I’ve bought things that were too big to fit on my bike and I didn’t have money to pay for them so had to convince the seller to hold the item and that I’d be back.

Let’s just say that Nancy and I are still bicycling at daybreak within in a 10-mile radius around Gilbert and that we continue to ride for exercise and adventure.

Editor’s note: But wait, there’s more. Just this morning a Land Rover on Val Vista Drive died just short of a side street. Driver-Dude gets out and starts pushing from the driver’s door while trying to steer to the side street. Nancy and I look at each other, park our bikes, and begin pushing from the back. We make the turn, but there’s an incline and we don’t have the oomph to get past it. Another bicyclist comes to help. He’s a big guy and with his muscle we get the Land Rover up-and-over and safely parked on the side street. Nancy and I are definitely going to get those Two the Rescue ™ T-shirts.