Riding the Devil’s Cashbox section of the Elephant Head trail, squinting into the sun’s glare, I re-discover a hated level of exertion. On the ever-ascending rollers, attempting to keep up with bike-packing veteran Lee, my exertion level goes from high to extreme to about to vomit. I hadn’t felt that since my racing days. And this is in the first 30 minutes of our Wednesday evening ride.
Octotillo in the sunset.
Before we start, Lee shows me some of his bike-packing gear, but doesn’t load it onto his bike. My backpack is heavy, and in my saddlebag I’ve stuffed sleeping bag, sleeping pad, and rain fly/tarp. Before the shakedown ride, I dump my helmet light and battery pack. Half a pound reduction. I still have my very bright handlebar light. I ride fully loaded with all my gear, all my water, and most food I intend to carry on the trail.
After the about to vomit start, we descend too briefly and begin a false flat climb on a jeep road through Agua Caliente Canyon. Next we ride single track to the saddle where Lee shows me how the trail eventually joins a sandy jeep road, that leads to the lower Elephant Head trail which I know and love. We ride back to Agua Caliente with plumes of dust from Lee who is bombing the descent into the sunset—he looks like the cover of an action sports magazine. Then we climb back into Devil’s Cashbox and back to the Mt. Hopkins Road.
Fortunately, Lee forgets his early ride suggestion of “climbing Mt. Hopkins for fun,” and decides to show me another part of the Arizona Trail 300 course. So we head out an unnamed jeep road, through a couple steep-sided washes and stop to turn on our head lights. It’s dark, so of course, the cows appear too close to the trail and we tell them to stay put. Fortunately, they don’t charge us like they did one time Lee was riding and “my light disoriented them and they came right at me.”
We come to Bull Springs Road, the tricky intersection. “Here’s the intersection,” says Lee. It’s now completely dark, so how am I supposed to distinguish this dirt track from any other, I think. “Let’s go down here,” and we ride about another five minutes to find a new cattle guard. “If you come to this, you’ve gone too far,” he says helpfully. On the way back, we miss the intersection and have to back track. We find the correct dirt track and build a cairn which Lee predicts will be gone by the time I get here for the AZT 300.
We head back to our cars, I eat my sandwich and apple for dinner, and head out to Devil’s Cashbox to camp alone. It’s my first time camping without a tent. I find a spot that is relatively flat, rock-free and cactus-free. I decide not to turn my bike upside down and use my rain fly shelter idea, as I had practiced in my apartment. It's not going to rain, and I don’t want to fiddle around with it.
Another view with road bike as tree.
I use the rainfly as a ground tarp, blow up my sleeping pad, spread out my sleeping bag and nestle inside. It’s so nice to be prone and look at the millions of stars. I see two shooting stars and I’m not scared, but I’m not sleeping either. It gets a little breezy and a little cold. I get out and wrap the rainfly burrito-style around my pad and bag which provides a little more insulation. I cinch the mummy sleeping bag’s head pocket tight.
I doze off and on, I look up and track the big dipper's spin around the North Star. Then it's 5 am and the sky lightens. I continue to try to sleep because I know I will be cold as soon as I leave my cocoon. Eventually, I get up and quickly dress in my bike gear. The whole process from in-bag to on-bike takes 20 minutes. Way too long, involving lots of cussing and stuffing of things into my saddle bag which isn’t looking svelte like the night before.
Morning at my campsite.
Mt. Hopkins, just before sunrise.
I ride back to the Mt. Hopkins road and ride up it, just for fun. Seems like a good way to start the day, and I ride 40 minutes uphill as the sunshine creeps across the valley below.
Early morning view south from Mt. Hopkins road.
I bomb downhill for ten minutes to my car, yes, the climb is that steep. I devour a PBJ on my drive to work; I’m tired but happy that I can ride, camp, and ride again without fear and more importantly, without aching muscles!
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