Around the Santa Ritas

As with many big rides, I had trouble getting to sleep, and was awake waiting for my clock to tell me it was time to get up.

It was cold as I warmed up in the pre-dawn hope of a pavement sunrise. Car after car after car passed me, heading into the mountains.

It’s 6 AM and COLD for crying out loud?! The road should be empty!

40 or 50 cars later I pieced it together — it’s Easter sunday and the picnic / camp spots go QUICK in southern AZ (it is the busiest day for the national forest down here). Sure enough, Proctor Road was jammed full of Easter campers, quietly stirring as I whisked by, catching air at many opportunities.

Elephant Head is class 1, grade A singletrack.

I weaved through a maze of thick ocotillos, bursting green in the morning light.

I got so lost in the sights of Chino canyon and the rhythm of steady pedaling that I made a wrong turn! A little bonus climbing never hurt anyone, though.

As I rounded out the rest of the Elephant Head Mountain Bike Route, climbing through the Devil’s Cashbox, I ran into Oscar Corona and his girlfriend, out doing some trimming on the route, in preparation for the Elephant Head Challenge.

“Are you training for the Elephant Head race?”

I had to admit that I was not, that I was ‘training’ for something bigger that uses Elephant Head — the AZTR/300. Though I was mostly out to enjoy a spring day in AZ, part of today’s plan was to ride and suffer on some dirt roads.

Try as one might, it is not possible to create routes of 300+ miles that are all singletrack. And sometimes I feel like singletrack is a crutch. It makes it so easy to keep going, mile after mile, wee hour after wee hour. You shift around on the bike, hike a little, your pace is controlled by terrain, the fun factor is often pegged, variety is a guarantee. On roads your weaknesses are exposed for all to see. You either have the willpower and strength to keep going or you don’t.

For whatever reason, mellow, bumpy, dusty roads are not my strong suit. This week I took a quick edit through my Great Divide Race meltdown story, for submission to the Cordillera (a divide racing compendium). I was repeatedly broken down by the “easy” portions of the course. Give me a steep climb and something rocky — not bumpy — and I was back in the game. A gradual downhill on a washboardy road, with even the slightest hint of wind? Disaster!

But unfortunately roads are a part of singletrack touring and racing. So you had better be ready for them. The AZTR is no exception here — there is a loooooong stretch of road in the middle, beginning with Superior (and that is precisely the reason the AZT 300 ends where it does).

I should have heeded the sign. But climbing Mt. Hopkins, the grade was right and my legs were on auto-pilot. I climbed 3300′ in just over an hour.

Oops.

Hopkins is such a great climb, and views keep getting better as you get higher. It’s 1 lane dirt, but so so smooth it feels like pavement at times. The only person I saw was on a mountain bike! I chatted for a moment, then continued my steady pace up the mountain.

I dove off the ridge, 2/3rds of the way up.

Whenever I think I know what I’m doing, I usually don’t. I was starting to get confident, slaying Tia Juana Ridge like nobody’s business. I only remember walking, my 26″ hard tail, down this trail, years and years ago. Oh how high and mighty I felt, still riding on my big fancy 29er.

Simultaneously sliding down a rut, bucking a boulder and squeezing under a branch, I realized I was in over my head. And riding solo, in the middle of a 90 mile ride.

Time to walk, dummy!

Tia Juana is an impressive piece of work. I can’t really recommend it, unless you are looking for punishment and sheer nuttiness. By the look of it, with the low overhanging branches, logs in the way and boulders piled knee high in the ruts, it has been all but abandoned, even by the moto crew.

It does provide a nice connection. Brutal, but nice. I was coming unraveled and begging for smooth surfaces.

I finally found said smooth surfaces on Salero Road. I also found hillsides covered in flowers, somewhat to my surprise. The poppies continued even on the creek road into Patagonia, where I stopped for a soda and a bag of chips.

I love Patagonia. I lounged around on the grass at the city park in the middle of town, lubing my chain (many water crossings!) and chomping on chips. It’s just one of those quaint little towns where everyone seems content and some approximation of happy (or maybe it’s just me). The birds sing, a warm breeze blows and all is right in the world. 10 minutes on the grass could have been hours, for all I saw and thought.

Actually, it was more than a breeze. I smiled as I turned “my” way on Main Street. Tail wind, of near nuclear magnitude!

16 mph, uphill, with light pedaling? You’ve got to be kidding me.

Less than an hour later I was in Sonoita where I stopped for more fluids, just because I could. I love being a bike tourist!

Just after Sonoita I turned onto Santa Rita road, a newly discovered route that means less pavement time for the AZT rider, and access to the ‘flume’. It’s a great connection that sees very little traffic. I fought the wind that had pushed me to Sonoita, a fitting punishment for an hour of bliss.

Soon I was back in bliss mode, on the flat and oh-so-sweet AZT here.

Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to live in places without wide open country. There’s something strangely comforting about it.

I really had no good reason to keep the pace high. Sure, I had been making great time and had kept the stopped time to a minimum. But this is no race and I’d gotten the road ‘training’ I was looking for. Slow down and enjoy the trail!

No way. Faster please!

I cleaned the ‘ascent of death’, flubbed on the ‘steakhouse challenge’ and got into a groove in the meadows below Kentucky Camp. I slowed down a bit to talk to two thru-hikers. Always a fun chat, and there’s some chance I may see them again up in Northern AZ, should things go well for both them and me.

When I got to Ophir Gulch I spied a fresh pair of northbound boot prints. Based on previous emails, I believed them to be Brett Tucker’s. Brett is in the middle of his Sky Island Traverse. I’m a big fan of Brett’s work, so I went into stalk mode, ramping up the pace to see if I could catch him. I only had a few miles before he’d continue on the AZT and I’d turn off to close my loop. So I knew the chance was slim, but it didn’t stop me from moving quickly… and from digging myself deep into the pain cave.

Sometimes it sneaks up on you. I missed the transition, but I was now bonking, prime time. Legs aching, knees burning, stomach growling. But I couldn’t really eat anything. Not while pedaling like this. It was too late, anyway.

Stop, rest and refuel? Yes, the only sensible thing to do. But it’s all downhill back to the ‘finish.’

In theory, anyway. Box Canyon is mostly downhill, but also uphill, and the wind was full-on ridiculous and in my face. I suspected that the intensity of the wind was mostly in my head, being in full bonk mode and rounding out my tenth hour of riding. All doubts were squashed when I passed a family having a picnic. I watched a girl chasing a runaway tablecloth while dad was trying to hold down the EZ-up tent. The rest of the fam was bracing from the gust.

Suffering of this quality is hard to come by. I got more than I bargained for in the washboardy, slight decline, head wind infested, dusty dirt road department. This ride was more about mental training than anything else, and this finale will be a good one to look back on and think, “at least it wasn’t as bad as THAT…”

To make matters worse, I was convinced I was close to completing the loop in under 10 hours. 10 is so clearly a magic number, and 9:xx would be so much sweeter. I couldn’t remember my start time, or do the math of adding moving+stopped time on my GPS, so I just went for it. And it took forever. I think the earthquake in Mexico, which had just hit (I was too busy getting quaked by the washboard to notice) must have stretched the earth and “grown” several extra miles on the road.

It wasn’t clear how much of a wreck I was until I stopped. McDonald’s was the first place that was open. I found salvation in the form of an oreo McFlurry. I had a few poignant moments, sitting there wondering what I had done to myself and if it was at all a good idea. It hurt to breathe deeply. My knees ached, legs uncomfortable no matter what position I stuck them in. I was dizzy — super head rush — every time I stood up. Nauseous and out of my mind.

Just another awesome day on the bike. 89.2 miles, 12,687′ climbing, 9:23 moving time.