Part one was Dec 27 and it was an arduous journey, especially getting the other participants (read fools, we all were) through it all. After finishing that ride without problems, fear and doubt for long, cold rides is incredibly lower.
This time the route was different, but the conditions much more favorable. There was an unknown factor (the road east of Redington), but compared to last time, it seemed a tame enough ride. It didn’t consume my every thought for days before. I prepared haphazardly the night before (instead of spending nearly the whole day preparing).
Typically for long epics like this I can barely sleep the night before. I call it pre-Christmas sleeping. I simply want the new day to come. So I usually wake up 3 hours, 2 hours then 1 hour before my ridiculously early alarm goes off. This time I only jumped the gun by a half hour or so, the anticipation was not as great. Still, I was very excited for the ride, but the previous week (and trip to SLC) was very draining and had my energies directed on other things.
I got up 10 minutes before my alarm of 4:15am went off. First thing, I checked the temperature; good, it’s 45 outside. I moved around slowly and popped two Kroger waffles into the toaster oven.
Redington is about 17 miles of pavement from my house. At the first stop light (Pima and Alvernon), I watched a car blow straight through the very red light. The brake lights did not even illuminate. Not a good sign as you head out for a trek across the dark valley, dozens of stoplights ahead of you.
I pulled up to Mickey D’s and sat on a bench. Bryce pulled up a few minutes later as they opened up shop (6am). I popped inside for an anti-bonk greasemaster hash brown. Good stuff. Then we were off down a dark Tanque Verde.
The climbing started slowly on freshly graded Redington. I felt fairly good, but was quickly over heating and getting uncomfortable on the bike. I never really felt comfortable again. We rolled by the AZ trail intersection, down the back side of Redington pass. After a few rough climbs and descents, the San Pedro valley presented itself. The ranches are farms of Redington were a quiet green.
We coasted down through a grove of fat saguaros, then into Redington. Right before the turn off to Benson there was a red pathfinder with a flat tire in the middle of the road. On approach I noticed that someone had broken into it. On further approach a guy popped his head up from the passenger seat, “Oh, hi.” I started scanning for blood or dead bodies around. Nothing, the guy seemed ok.
He had decided to take the fun way home from Benson late last night. He obviously was carrying a world full of speed through this turn, because you’d have to try to roll a car on it. But there he was, stuck in the middle of nowhere by himself and with no jack to fix his tire. Apparently some hunters had helped him roll his vehicle back over a few hours ago. We were of little help, unfortunately. We suggested he go ask for help or a jack down in Redington, which was visible from where he crashed. He didn’t really say why he didn’t go there last night.
We continued on, and soon after the junction the road turned into a mess of washboards. Not surprisingly, trucks and cars started cruising by. The washboards were nearly undetectable, so the strategy was just to choose a random line and hope for the best. Often the best was to get rattled silly, and I was laughing hysterically at some of the ‘boards I hit. It made for some slow but steady progress.
At some point a group of dogs from a ranch started chasing us from behind their fence. I said to Bryce, “I hope they don’t know about a hole in the fence that we don’t”. Five seconds later they ducked under the fence and were hot on our tails. We sped up and laughed as try “scared” us away. One more ranch protected for the good of humanity.
Discomfort continued. We reached the climb out of the San Pedro more quickly than I expected, then climbed to the start of the haul road.
I take back everything I said comparing the HAUL to CONTROL roads. If you had your choice between starting in Oracle or at the bottom of the haul road, which is the easier way to get to the mine? I used to think haul haul haul, because of the control road’s shambilizing ups and downs. Now I’m convinced that the haul road offers no real advantage. It’s a toss up. The haul road has less downhill, but it still has quite a few insulting drops. The start is fast and rough. Plus you climb a couple thousand feet in net elevation gain, more than the control road.
Both make for nice rides in a beautiful area, but both are painful. Regardless, the ride from Tucson to Oracle is much shorter (3.5 hrs) than Tucson to Haul RD by Redington (5.5 hours).
Things began to fall apart near the mine. I detected the first signs of bonk. But I could not eat because my stomach was tied in a knot. It had not been feeling well since the trip to SLC. But I knew that the thousands of feet of climbing before me would only send me deeper into calorie defecit. So I tanked GU’s, gatorade and bars. I knew how I was going to feel for the next 2 hours. Slowly I’d get sicker and sicker, wanting only to stand and stop riding. But in 50 minutes I’d get both more energy and a more settled stomach. Those 50 minutes were bad, but I kept riding, Bryce at my side. He could have easily pulled away, I was holding him back.
By the time we hit the bottom of Crystal Spring trail, the malaise was lifting. This time Bryce wanted to stop, instead of the last half dozen, requested by the diarist. After this stop I was returning to normal. The system meltdown had been averted. I dug deep into my pedals as I rounded the last five or six switchbacks, emerging at the crest of Oracle Ridge with momentum and energy to spare. For some reason I cannot resist burning around those turns, no matter how tired I am. Trail #1 was clear of snow and for an instant I thought about taking it.
Bryce caught up, then filled his camelbak at the firestation. The difference in temperature (compared to last time) was incredible. We rolled down Windy Point, noticing that the traffic light had moved. We saw a roadie climbing and wondered if the highway had been opened to bikes. The traffic light was just around the corner, near Gen. Hitchcock. The roadie pulled up beside us, on his way down. I asked him if the no bikes sign was still there, he said that it was, but he just rode through it. He was wearing shorts and short fingered gloves. We were wearing 3+ layers, booties, etc. We were cold. He was not. I told myself it was because we had been riding for 10 hours and were tired and sweaty. But I’m still not sure I buy that.
He jumped the red light, thinking that the other lane of cars was done. He was wrong. After he let another group go by (standing in a narrow spot), I followed Bryce down the 1 lane road, despite the light’s redness. We crusied through, caught the roadie on the potholes below it, then watched him pedal away from us.
Back in the valley, I put my head down and motored to Mickey D’s. I walked in, 11 hours after my last visit, to a different crew. I ordered more greasy potatoes. Yum. It was enough to get me home. The sun set on the Tucson Mountains as I pedaled down Pima. The more I spun the better I felt, until near home I once again felt like I could keep riding another 6 hours.
At home, obscene consumption began. It continued throughout the weekend.
The numbers:
114 miles
~11,000 – 12,000 feet
10:18 moving time
8.4 ave spd
11.1 moving ave
Compare to last ride’s 8:46 moving time, but similar distance.
Leave a Reply