Lemmon Time Trial

Sunday morning is the best time to climb Lemmon and use roadies as ‘carrots’ — there seem to be hordes of them. Except this morning. The park on Tanque Verde seemed very quiet. No one was pedaling towards the mountain. Strange.

I began passing rider after rider heading the other way, all riding alone (no groups). I kept waving, as I usually do, but no one would wave back, smile or even acknowledge me. Hmmm, I started to wonder if today was “ride 2 miles up Lemmon, turn around, then be grouchy” day, and I’d missed the memo.

“Special Event ahead.” Could it be the Lemmon Hill Climb TT race? No wonder — everyone is warming up and has their race faces on!

Crap. This is going to hurt.

Before I knew it I was passing the start tent and it was go time. I was planning on pedaling hard for an hour anyway, so why not? I was in between two riders, and quickly caught my “~20 second” man, going way too hard. I settled down a bit around the first corner and got dropped flat out by my 10 second (behind) man.

I started keeping score. 1 point for everyone I pass, -1 every time I get passed. Goal was to stay positive. Oh yeah, and non-racers count, as long as they are pedaling.

I managed to catch a few racers early on, one of whom was none too pleased. “If I weren’t a such nice guy, I’d say F— you.” I laughed, thinking, “I think you just did.”

It was pretty awesome to see the speed that some of the riders were laying down out there. A number of RIDECLEAN team riders, in particular, passed me like I was moving backwards. Awesome.

I was able to waver a few points above zero through Prison Camp, where the number of non-racers started to fall off. Right around then my system started to fall off, as well. I realized I had no idea where the race ended. I had been thinking about 7 Cataracts being the finish, because it was there the last time I did this race in… 2001? But there was construction that made it shorter. For all I knew it went to Palisades, and I had been making a fool of myself, pace wise (OK, I was making a fool of myself regardless…). I finally asked a spectator where the finish was. Mile 12.5. Perfect — the top of Bugs, which was as far as I was going to ride the road anyway.

Vern was at the bottom of Bugs, manning a “Bad day?” beer and watermelon aid station. The watermelon was very tempting, but I kept pedaling, getting passed by two very strong women.

It was looking bleak as I climbed into Bear Canyon, enjoying cooler temps, but no longer finding anyone I could pass. Two racers passed me, evening the score at 17-17. But it seemed like I might be able to hold on. For the next mile I kept some serious weight on the pedals and kept one of them in sight. I outran my gears on the short ‘downhill’ stretches, but eventually reeled him in, putting me at 18-17. I thought I’d find someone that had cracked near the top, but I think the only one that had cracked was me. I rolled past the finish somewhere around 1:10 (from Snyder). Probably good for slightly above last place in Cat 5. Ha!

I pedaled a couple circles in the Bugs parking lot, allowing my heart rate to drop to a less volatile level, then set on up the trail. The first few waterbars and turns went well enough, but cleaning the scar was hopeless–deep gravel, loose as I’ve ever seen it. My system was also easily ‘charged’ after the hour time trial — I don’t think I would have made it anyway.

Bugs doesn’t climb much, but when it does climb, it’s steep. Surprisingly, my legs had a depth to them that I’m not used to. Guess it shouldn’t be too surprising given the lack of serious riding lately. I couldn’t use them for long before the rest of me would start to feel weak/hot/wiped, though.

When you feel like that you’re highly susceptible to temperature (or at least I am). I went from head exploding hot pushing my bike up the scar to shivering goosebumps as the wind ripped the top of the ridge. No doubt about it, I felt ALIVE.

The goosebumps might have been because I was in the forest, on a 100% legit mountain bike trail. I’ve been dreaming of this…

Swooping and diving through needles of pine, drunk out of my mind on endorphins and MTB flow.

I thought about taking a nap in the cool forest, but not only would I have frozen (didn’t have so much as an arm warmer on me) I don’t think my system was going to let me calm down. Best to keep riding this for all it’s worth… besides, Vern might be at the bottom with watermelon if I hurry.

My ankle still doesn’t like absorbing the shock of landings. So I had to restrain myself on many of the little poppers and drops, but eventually I couldn’t resist the temptation. I found that if I landed smoothly (i.e. well) it didn’t hurt. OK, so I just need to learn to be a better rider. I can handle that.

Vernie was nowhere to be found (racers were all off the road). No watermelon, but fortunately I had an apple that had been kept cool by my hydrapak’s bladder.

I had purposely not given myself enough water to ride Milagrosa, and it worked. Sure enough, I was thinking about it, but as I dropped down to Molino I knew I didn’t have nearly enough water to do so. I started rationing it.

That made the cool apple taste even better. Dare I say it tasted divine?

The rest of the trail was pretty divine as well, having been deprived of such goodness as of late. I turned down the highway, straight into an out-of-control wind, knowing it would be a long ride back home. Perfect. Suffering, here I come.

It’s a good time to be a bat in Tucson. I’ve never seen so many flowering Saguaros.

I turned west on Snyder to take the low traffic route back home, and was genuinely disappointed at how cool it was. Can’t a guy get at least 90 degrees, at nearly noon? I mean, what’s the point of living in Tucson in late May if it isn’t even going to be hot? I was hoping for a headwind infested, flat, and so hot you want to poke-your-eyes-out-with-a-popsicle kind of sufferfest.

Water at Sabino Creek! Time to soak the tootsies and maybe reduce a little swelling in the old ankle.

Turns out I didn’t need any heat. Just the wind was enough to finally bring the thought of “I wish this ride were over”, something that hasn’t triggered for quite a while now. Finally found enough. For one day, anyway.