Awake, 4:15. On road, 4:45. Lights, check. Headwind, check.
It was cold enough to give me goosebumps. I rode through pockets of warm and cold air, experiencing the novel sensation of being happy to be warm.
Within an hour I hit dirt on Redington RD, where the wind only blew harder.
I thought 5am was early enough to get dibs on the best spot in BuCKSHoT canyon, where I could pump out a few hundred rounds into the desert, targeting whatever election signs were around. But alas, people were already there.
I nearly jumped out of my skin after a semi-automatic volley was unleashed in the canyon above me. I doubt that whatever weapon they were firing was at all legal, but I’m sure it was an adrenaline rush. That’s the appeal, right? Big surprise: tank top, mullet, beer at hand. Beer and guns at 5am?
Riding within 100 feet of someone with a loaded weapon is just something I will never get used to. The forest service needs to get these knuckleheads out of Redington Pass. Oh, but there’s no more shooting at Sabino Canyon! Waa.. Waaa. Go shoot yourself, it will solve both problems.
Wildcat shooting, in a popular recreation area and within 50 feet of a heavily traveled road… what in the world are they thinking? Yes, I have written several “administrators” about this issue.
After cresting out of BuCKSHoT canyon I had the pass to myself. I climbed steadily towards the Arizona trail, stopping once to avoid a meltdown.
The desert spoke silence. I didn’t see anyone until I hit pavement.
The ‘acorn’ section of the AZT is getting a bit of use but it’s still a nice, natural path. A true treat to ride.
After a tiny bit of overgrown dirt road I turned left onto ‘the miracle ridge.’ This is a fiendishly technical drop into the Tucson valley. In solo mode I walked more than normal, and was sad to see the technical mayhem end.
The views were incredible. For a summer morning the air was very clear. I could see kitty cat peak in detail, and the catalinas were gorgeous.
I took the Catalina highway back since a straight line is shorter than an “L”, where I ran into about a hundred cyclists. They were fresh off the Mt. Lemmon hill climb. Normally I’d be all for an all-climb race, but at 9 miles and a mellow grade it feels more like a time trial than a climb. And one that’s too short at that. It’s too bad the Mt. McGraham is the day after the White Mountains…
I kept the pace high back through Tucson, sipping a gatorade at home 45 minutes later. I can definitely feel the endurance built up in my legs. I felt great all the way home.
52 miles, 5100 ft
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