Brush Corral Epic

Yet another ride on Scott’s “ridiculous rides” list is complete. Lee, Alan and I took an adventure deep into the pain cave today, completing the Brush Corral Epic Loop. The loop was conceived and mapped years ago by me, but never put into action, mostly for lack of adventuring partner(s). General Lee was the man for the job, and despite all of us being tired, we rolled out from the Circle K on Tanque Verde in the early AM. Al was a surprise participant on this very dubious prospect of a ride.

Quotes from various guidebooks: “Any hiker planning a trip around Brush Corral should not only have the map of the area but the knowledge of how to read it. DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE THIS AREA. It is big, rough, dry, and a long way to help.” “Route is very hard to follow, map & compass.” “4.2 miles: Trail ends [still miles to go]” “This country is steep, rocky , brushy and dry. But for those hikers and backpackers “who want to get away from it all,” the North-East Back Country is the place to go.” Keep in mind that these guidebooks are at least 5 years old, and that the Bullock fire raged through this area two summers ago. To say that the trail is in bad shape is an understatement. To say that the trail exists whatsoever is a huge stretch.

We pedaled towards the Catalina highway, warming ourselves up on the flats of Soldier Trail road. Then the climbing began, with swarms of roadies heading down. Peltonen S. and his team Eclipse buddies whipped by us, then quickly turned around at Molino basin. We turned left taking the shortcut to the Molino trail, heading for Prison camp. It’s a great climb and was a welcome break from the road, but the energy expenditure was a bit too high, with many an unknown awaiting us high on the mountains. We were soon rolling into Bear Canyon and the dreaded “No bikes past mile post 11” sign. Fie, I say. We rolled by the sign, headed for MP 12 and the General Hitchcock campground. There was absolutely no reason that the road be closed to cyclists at MP 11. The road was wide and safe well past where we turned off.

General Hitchcock is “closed” — not due to fire damage, but so that the construction crews can store dozens of road signs and a grader or two. We rode through the mess and found the Green Mountain trail. It was a nice ramble up a creek, then the climb got serious. Lee took to walking to conserve energy, but I couldn’t resist the technical challenges. I still walked quite a bit, but in less than an hour we were at Bear Saddle, staring at a burned valley, and the Galiuros, far away. I absolutely love this area–the rocks, the trees, the challenge and oh, the smell of pine. I have missed the high elevations of the sky islands.

We rode well down the Brush Corrals shortcut trail, pulling tight switchbacks and walking sections here or there. Before long we hit the junction and turned right, into the unknown. Almost immediately we ran into a couple taking photos of flowers. It was a bit of a shock to see someone down there, but it really isn’t that far from the San Pedro vista to where we were–at least not yet.

The trail from here was nicely rideable and well constructed–for about a half mile. We rounded a corner and in an instant the trees disappeared. There was nothing in front of us but grass and the San Pedro valley. I was encouraged, however, by the orange hiker medallions on the trees–placed after the fire by the forest service. Someone had also tied yellow tape to burned trees along the route.

Unfortunately, neither of these signs of the trail continued any further. The trail was rideable, and easy to follow for a few minutes longer. Then it became unrideable and impossible to follow, in that order. But we knew where we had to go: down. The ridge line continued as we picked up pieces here and there of the old trail. Everything had been torched in this area–the oaks were all dead and new grasses and sprung up, taking with them the traces of an already faint trail.

Fortunately Al and I had spent hours reading descriptions of the trails and studying the maps. We knew where we had to go, and we had already dropped too far to consider turning around. The ridge line steepened as we scrambled our way down. We found the old telephone line to the Brush Corrals ranger station, a good sign that we were in the right place.

Route following mistake #1: Ahead on the ridge was a short climb to a very rocky outcropping. We saw a faint remnant of what could have been a trail skirting the right side, and decided to traverse rather than climb. 45 minutes of ankle twisting and rock sliding followed until we regained our ridgeline and found the old trail once again. Al pulled out his duct tape to use as moleskin. Cycling shoes were just not meant for traversing rock strewn and ridiculously steep slopes, all while trying to hold onto your bike. The low grass made obstacles (rocks, small cacti and rattlesnakes) impossible to see. We should have stuck to the ridge.

The ridge mellowed out; we hopped on for some “choose your own adventure” riding. At least we were riding, until the a brown post appeared, directing us off the ridge to the south, into the wash. There were various cow trails here, but we knew the “junction” with the Evans Mountain trail was in the wash, so we dropped in at a reasonable spot. The creek was flowing fairly nicely, so we took a needed break and pumped some water (I had maybe 20 oz of my starting 120 oz left).

We knew that daylight was not on our side, so we kept it brief. As we walked down the wash I saw something moving further down, something big. I thought it was a cow, but it’s movement pattern was distinct: a bear. Before I could really get a good look at it, it was gone. It was very strange to see a bear at such a low elevation–4200 feet. I guess I won’t make fun of the bear proof trash cans at Molino basin any more.

We saw the faint trail leading to the notch above the wash and took it–holding our breath through a thick section of cat claw on the way up. Ouch. On top we debated about where the trail was and which ridge we wanted to be on. The trail wasn’t really helping us, and we knew where our destination was (by GPS), so we just started walking/riding. Ocotillos, barrel cactus and steep slopes made the going very slow.

Mistake #2: Left, not right. We had the opportunity to take a northern ridge rather than southern, but we passed it up since our current ridge looked somewhat, almost, nearly rideable–at least the immediate 100 yards did. So we kept on, despite our GPS track (drawn based only on guidebook descriptions, not real data) telling us to be further north.

We ended up too far south and never saw another brown post, or the telephone line. So we dropped into a small valley and up to a mellow saddle right above Brush Corrals. Two brown posts and the telephone wire awaited us there, and a somewhat obvious (for this area) trail lead down to Buehman wash. It was rideable and very nice (technical) about halfway, then it turned ridiculous. At the wash there were no signs of a ranger station or trails, but we did see the old road heading north.

One adventure was complete and another stood before us: getting out of there. We were still essentially in the middle of nowhere and facing a monster of a ride to get back to Tucson. We sat near the running water and weighed our options after seeing the country. One choice was to head straight down the wash for a connecting 4×4 road by Peity Hill. Taking this (possibly impossible) 4×4 road would save about 10 miles off our ride and would spare us dropping all the way to the San Pedro river and the town of Redington. The other option was to head on the old 4×4 road north, then rolling the hill tops down to the river for the long haul back on Redington road.

Our feet had seen enough scrambling, so we opted for the (hopefully rideable) road north. We had been hiking for over 3 hours. This is how slow it was: in those three hours we had dropped 2500 feet and traveled only 5 miles.

It felt great to ride again (the cooling wind was the best part) and the road was quite beautiful. The grasses, prickly pear and ocotillos were bursting with green, and red rocks abounded (the road was red most of the time). The views of rolling hills into the impressive San Pedro valley were quite unique. We were in a special place.

We reached another crossroads. We could reach the Piety Hill shortcut by turning south, dropping back into Buehman Wash, or we could continue on to the San Pedro. Al and Lee hopped over the hill to take a look at the Peity route while I added some air to my tire. They said it looked ok, so I followed them down the hill. After some significant descending we reached a gate and a private property sign. We doubted the legitimacy of the sign and were running out of both daylight and energy (we were 8 hours into the ride and it was nearing 5 o’clock). We hopped it then noticed a ranch off in the distance. Lee kept his eyes fixed on the ranch for a reaction, but we were soon out of view and into a very nice canyon. Large trees grew here and the water was running. The road was smooth and fast, impacted by the Rancher’s quad and the hooves of cattle. As we rolled down the canyon Lee said, “Someone is coming, duck in the bushes!” Al went flying, superman style, deep into the brush. I was about to, but then asked, “isn’t that just a plane”? Later on the road we saw “no camping” signs from Arizona Game and Fish, further reducing the legitimacy of the claim of private property.

We hopped another fence (erected to keep motorized traffic out) into national forest land. Our road was now visible and it did not look good. I immediately started preparing for an hour or two of hike a bike on a rutted, loose and 4×4 ripped road. My tire was flat again (it is amazing we did not have dozens of flats given the stuff we all rolled over), so I fixed it before the big climb. Before I finished Al and Lee left to get a head start. The first pitch had a deep sand pit in front of it, so I was walking from the get go. I turned a corner and saw what looked like Al–riding! I couldn’t imagine that he had cleaned the section of road that lay before me. I would not have thought it possible, but I had to give it a shot. I trusted my tires to roll where I needed to be, and found myself crawling my way up. I followed my tires, choosing lines that I did not think would work. I couldn’t believe what I was riding for how tired I was. I caught up to Lee, who was still conserving energy by walking, but could see no sign of Al. The road dropped steeply a few times, only to climb out super granny gear style of the other side. The road was about twice as long as I thought it would be and I never caught up to Al who was riding as if possessed, and super-charged. Neither of us “cleaned” the whole climb, but it was rideable. A slight lack of concentration would result in a dab, a rest, then a remount. The tank at the top was a glorious sight. Al was lying on his back, reeling from the great challenge of a climb.

Through a valley we spun, out onto Redington Road at around MP 18. 20 or so back to the car–and mostly downhill, but first, we climbed. Sunlight was scarce now, so we kept the pace high, to which my body responded with a powerful bonk. GU, GU time, and we kept it on. Then Al’s body revolted with a bonk. He stopped for fuel, but perhaps a bit too late as he slowed for the next half hour or so.

The high desert of Redington pass was very tranquil. It was gorgeous out there–what an evening to be riding. The newly graded road (even out past three feathers!) made the journey smooth and fast. As we neared three feathers traffic picked up–weekenders heading back home as the sun set. We got mixed up in the frenzy of dust and motors on the descent, but we had LED lights and were able to pass the cars that were dusting us.

When we hit the pavement it was completely dark. A bit of a harrowing ride back to the circle K followed, but we all made it out alive. The big loop complete: 56 miles, 10,000 feet of climbing, 11 hours. It’s safe to say we won’t be doing this ride again. But I often say something like that and then find myself there years later. In 4 or 5 years I could see us returning for another go at it, I suppose. It was a very unique experience and a true adventure–right in our backyard mountains. It was definitely worthwhile to do once. A second time? We’ll see.

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