Copper Creek

The clouds hung heavy over Copper Creek as we pedaled up through the Galiuro Mountains. It was a beautiful day to be out riding.

I rode with John Hubbard, who had plenty of spirit, up the first part of the climb. I was standing on my pedals wondering how singlespeeders ride this road. I hadn’t yet realized that my rear derailluer cable had finally snapped & though my shifter indicated I was in the easiest gear, I was actually in the hardest.

I didn’t realize this until I ‘wimped’ out to little ring, when I quickly realized I was not in 22-34 (super granny).

We continued climbing at a good pace until we dropped back down to Copper Creek, which was running swiftly with a foot or so of water. John and I walked across, then later Chris showed us all up by riding right through (without much giving it much thought).

I had planned on exploring an upper loop that drops down to the high saddle between Copper Creek and Bunker Hill, but I seemed to remember the road actually being the creekbed itself. I dropped down to check out the route anyway (and see if the only choice was to go in the creek). There was a wide and deep crossing so I decided to turn around. However, I did find a huge concrete dam that was overflowing into a nice waterfall.

I hurried up the upper climb, catching Mark Flint, picking a sole orange poppy for Paula, and heading for the top. The group was up there, but after a bit of talk my bike was waiting for its cranks to be turned. I hopped on to climb further away — the other side of my proposed loop.

It was an incredible climb, worth the effort if only for the view. I could see the lower Copper Creek road, where the nasty descent is, as well as the upper reaches of the canyon: the future, the so-called “Rug Road.” The rug road calls to me for an attempt. Yet another on the, ride “todo list.” I’m not joking, there really is a file on my computer that has todo list and it’s getting longer these days. This week’s Dragoon Ride was the first to be crossed off in a while.

I can say this of the descent (Bunker Hill). It’s ten thousand times better when not racing. While racing, for some stupid reason, I feel the need to go fast, so I actually pedal, often in my hardest gear. I carry more speed than is good for my weak little body. In short, I get beat up.

This time I stopped several times for photos, to watch the other crew climb the OH F–K hill, as Mark calls it. They looked like little ants crawling up a wall. I enjoyed the views that are somewhat easy to miss when suffering down this brutal road. I turned around in a few places to see cliffs & towering mountains that had remained unseen. It’s odd to be reacquainted with a place that is very familiar (I have “raced” it three times).

We closed the loop, then headed into Mammoth for good mexican grub. It felt really good to get out for this ride.

36 miles (I rode through Tucson to meet the group at the start of the ride, ~10 miles), 4200 feet of climbing