Clock Out, Click In

Refreshing rain on morning bike ride in Tucson Mountains

In addition to biking to work, I decide to take a brief tour of the Tucson Mountains foothills this morning. As I leave the house, I think "Do I need a rain jacket?" I instantly determine it will be sunny later in the day, and the door is locked, and I really can't be bothered to get the jacket. I ride downtown in remarkably cool weather (for September in Arizona, about 78) and cloud cover.

Dump my backpack of work clothes and lunch at the office and head for Grande Avenue south to Starr Pass Blvd.  I have a flashing red light clipped to my jersey. I turn west on Starr Pass and face a very dark sky ahead. Hmmmm, what was that about a jacket?

Instead of wondering about rain, I focus on climbing ever upwards on Starr Pass Blvd, through the curves of the resort community, past Genser Trail head and its tempting mountain biking, to Players Club Drive. Turn right and enjoy a lovely descent to Anklam. Turn west and head into the ever darkening sky again, and I see rain falling on the upper peaks of the Tucson Mountains.  I wave to a few cyclists flying down Anklam in the opposite direction--early birds!

Then I  feel rain on my arms and hear the pitter patter of drops on my helmet. It was so peaceful and cool, and not pounding like the usual monsoon rain storms. A lovely morning rain in the desert. I figure that as soon as I head east, back toward downtown, I'll ride  right out of the rain anyway.

Turn downhill and east on Speedway, and the rain continues. This part of Speedway can be amazingly quiet, I can hear  the sound of rain hitting the desert grasses, creosote, hard packed dirt.

Looking north, clouds cover a few peaks of the Catalina Mountains, but the sun illuminatesPusch Ridge. The rest of the Tucson Valley spreads out before me, looking not quite awake and slightly shrouded in misty rain.

Is there such a thing as a dry rain? Because although the rain was light and steady, my body and bike don't seem to be getting that wet. Desert evaporation at its best.

I make my way back to Anklam and tried to take a picture near Pima College West. Cell phone photography doesn't work too well with limited light.

Looking west on Anklam Road toward Tucson Mountains on a rainy morning.

I continue my descent into town, past the joggers and walkers finishing their Tumamoc Hill punishment, through Menlo Park, beneath the freeway to my office. I'm happy my wet tires don't slip on crosswalk bricks.

Great to be on my bike, in the desert, in the rain--perfect start to this beautiful day!

If you want to check out this 15-mile ride, here's the map: http://www.mapmyride.com/routes/view/12965618

Biking Tucson's Sabino Canyon After a Monsoon

Inhaling the creosote in the almost cool desert morning after a monsoon, I'm inspired to bike out to Sabino Canyon. I dodge sand and gravel pushed onto streets in the usual places by torrential rain.

After pleasant desert smells in my neighborhood, I hit the Rillito River Path, aka "The Loop," and the smells of hay and horse manure waft my way. Still a few ranches along the Rillito, with the standard inputs and outputs. The riverbed is damp, but there's no water running. Perhaps the river flowed during yesterday's deluge, but not now.

I expect some dirt and debris on the bike path, and find ponding and mud.

Tire tracks show some cyclists enjoy riding in the mud. I steer my road bike to the dry alternative hard-packed dirt and cement path.

I continue out River Road and Sabino Canyon Road, with the Catalina Mountains looking tantalizing close on this clear and cloudless morning. I reach Sabino and head up the canyon, dodging walkers and runners in the first mile or so.

I hear Sabino Creek before I see it, the sweet sound of water rushing through the desert!  Water flows beneath the first stone bridge, and sweeps over the second bridge. 

A runner high steps her way through the water. "Isn't it awesome to see water here?" I ask her. "Fabulous, it's just fantastic," she replies in a British accent. 

Saguaro cacti abound on the canyon's slopes, above a mesquite tree:

The road follows Sabino Creek, crossing the swollen stream from side to side. The road gets steeper, my speed slows, but I don't care because I'm just enjoying the sound of water running over the rocks and through the cottonwood trees.

The video below is mostly about the sound (so turn up the volume!), but check for the sun reflecting off the brown silty creek:

 

IMG 1168 from Mary Reynolds on Vimeo.

 

 

 The views up the canyon open onto the higher peaks of the Catalina Mountains:

Canyon wall with more saguaros.

Sabino Creek greens the bottom of the canyon.

 

I climb in easy gears above the creek and see waterfalls I haven't seen since early spring:

 

 I reach the end of the road, and turn around to begin a fast descent. I heed the yellow signs that picture bicyclists crashing over handlebars and slow way down for the bridges. A few sand and gravel sections are ripe for wipeouts.

I splash through a few bridges covered in water.

On the way back across town through the foothills, I ride past great flowering bushes including this Texas Ranger that rained purple on the pebbles beneath it:

Here's a map of this Sabino Canyon and Foothills ride: http://www.mapmyride.com/routes/view/114341715

So after the next monsoon storm, get on your bike and explore a fresh new Tucson!

Mt. Lemmon Climb: Bike Ride to Summerhaven

I wake up early, but not early enough to make the 6:30 am start time for the Mt. Lemmon Ride.  Happily, I run into Santa Cruz Valley Cyclists friends and make a 6:45 am departure with Chuck Hill. Almost ready for 6000 feet of climbing in 24 miles! We meander through the neighborhood instead of following route directions and hit a dead end. We soon make our way back to the neighborhood bike route and onto Snyder Road.

We obey the law and stop at the stop sign before turning left onto Catalina Highway. Then Milepost Zero and our climbing begins! As we switchback through Mile One, Chuck looks back down the road, across the drainage for Santa Cruz riders, but we saw none.

Onward and upward! Until Chuck needs to stop to put on sweatband.  I'm already wearing mine, the early morning coolness of the desert doesn't fool me one bit. This gives Tom and Tim a chance to catch and pass us. Ha! I will not be dropped this time, and I soon catch up to them. 

Tim and I talk Upjohn of Kalamazoo because he worked there, and so did my grandpa. But not at the same time.

We stop at the first SAG stop. Tony, Larry, and Chuck soon join us for eating and drinking and the collective "wiping of the brow."  Eleanor, age 76, pedals up. There are a few Green Valley folks who started earlier and are ahead of us like mountain goat Bill Adamson.

I wolf down my hard-boiled egg that I was too nervous to eat for breakfast at home. Chuck cautions: "Are you sure it's hard boiled?" Hardy har har har. Also enjoy salty V8 juice and sweet mystery muffin supplied by El Grupo.

I glimpse my Southwest Hand Cycling teammates ride by the snack area without stopping, and I ride off to join them. Hello to Ron, Tom,  and Jay!

I ride with them from Milepost 3 to Milepost 11 or so and the next snack stop.  This section includes an all too brief descent before Seven Cataracts overlook where I use momentum to slingshot ahead of them and ride alone for a mile or so. Then they catch me. Then they pass me.  Touché.

The V8 juice sloshes in my stomach.

I pass Bill Hill of Santa Cruz Valley Cyclists who was grooving up the mountain on his straight bar bike with Vibram Trex shoes upon his pedals. He eventually made it all the way to the top of the Mt. Lemmon Ski Area!

We all regroup at Middle Bear picnic area where I was happy to see my TriGirls teammates Joanie and Eve.  Yay for watermelon. Tim of Kalamazoo squeezes some energy goo into his mouth saying "I like trying new things on these rides." I tell him, "That's sports frosting!"  And I eat another piece of juicy watermelon.

I tell a rider wearing a Fat Cyclist jersey that I like his kit and I have it in pink. He goes on about how comfortable Twin Six shorts are. This discussion becomes tiresome. Look, bearded wire rimmed glasses man I met one second ago, I don't want to spend a lot of time hearing about the comfortable versus uncomfortable seams in your shorts! This is also not part of my anticipated mountain view.

I ride ahead to take some pictures of satiated cyclists riding away from the snack stop:

Southwest Hand Cycling teammates Ron, Jay (out of uniform), and Tom rolling out of Middle Bear picnic area.

 Other riders enjoy the shade, including members of the best-ever team name for this bike ride up the mountain: OMG!

OMG women riding strong in dotted jerseys.

I remember from my last ride up this mountain that Milepost 12 to 13 is quite steep, and I realize I will not catch my teammates again if I keep taking pictures.

I'm huffing and puffing and unable to control angle of Iphone as Ron, Jay, and Tom ride away.

So I take a couple more pictures of questionable quality to capture the beautiful rock formations and blue sky and cyclists.

Tiny cyclists at about Milepost 13, approaching Windy Point.

I ride through Windy Point and then there is a lovely descent to Hoodoo Vista Point where I take a chance on one-handed riding to shoot a video. At the end, you can see the road below that  we climbed up:

 

 

Right after I turn off the camera, I hear this dialogue from two riders cruising by:

Rider 1:  It's like spiritual, dude.

Rider 2: Dude, this is awesome.

Rider 1: Yeah, pretty spectacular.

One dude's bike had double barreled bottle holsters beneath his saddle, and he wore a TriSports.com jersey. Even triathletes can climb! Just ask Joanie, Eve, and Carolyn!

Possibly the dudes at overlook of Hoodoo Vista Point.

After this lovely coast to Hoodoo, the climbing begins again. I pass a man with a British accent who seems to be wobbling. I ask if he's ok, he asks how far to the next aid station. I guess about one or one and a half miles. A thirteen-year-old rider just ahead concurs.

I reach the next rest stop and various theories about the red-faced Brit are espoused:

13-year-old: He needs more fluids

Tom of Green Valley: He's used to sea level.

Me: It's too hot for him

I take some rest stop photos.

Team OMG fuels up.

Assorted salty and sweet snacks.

Now my legs are tired. I ride with Tim and Tom for awhile, and we climb on past The Palisades.  Tom says he is happy for his granny gears, or something like that. I don't know exactly the cog numbers on my chain rings, but it's something like 39 x 20-something-not-high-enough. We have a lovely, if brief, descent near Spencer Campground for a couple miles, but I lose my concentration, and suddenly I am not riding with them.  The climb to Loma Linda and the final SAG stop seems endless.

I pass the Loma Linda rest stop, wave hello to Ron who is heading down the mountain, and continue to Summerhaven. Is this a fatal error?  My mood sours even has the road steeply descends with a rush of wind into the village of Summerhaven. It's an anti-climatic parking lot. I know I have to make a U-turn and climb out.

I am totally alone and totally tanked. I struggle up and out of Summerhaven. No ski area climb for me today, thank goodness I had already made that wise decision!

At last I return to Loma Linda, and some pie pie pie. Actually, I eat only one piece of pie, apple, and it is THE BEST. I also have some more fruit and sit on a surprisingly comfortable hard plastic chair. People talk in my direction about cycling and triathlons and whatever, I'm not interested and let their words float by.

It is time for the big descent! Yay.  The main attraction. It is a fantastic world of speed! Another climb back up to the Spencer Campground, then a long lovely descent to Middle Bear where a picnic lunch with Lisa awaits me. So great to be going so fast. Wheeeeeeeeeeee!

I have descended from Middle Bear to Milepost Zero before, so I don't feel like I am missing anything by calling it a day here. My shoulders, tired from crouching, thank me profusely.

Bike in car, sandwich in stomach. A brief walk around the picnic area with Lisa to stretch my legs.

A nice long nap when I got home!

 

Bike to the Border with Green Valley Cyclists

 I signed on for the Arivaca to Sasabe ride, hoping to enjoy a lovely spring morning in southern Arizona.   It's another Anyday Adventure, this time: a cycling break in the middle of my work week. I optimistically thought we would complete the 50 mile ride to the Mexican border and back in three and a half hours.  But I didn't count on the wind, the border wanderings, the heat, and the wind. Did I mention it was windy?

We meet for carpooling at Amado's landmark restaurants: Cow Palace and Longhorn Grill.

Guess the name of this Amado, Arizona, restaurant.

I met some new Green Valley folks, including Eleanor who is 74 and rides a sweet Felt bike. As we drive to Arivaca, through the rolling hills, Chuck  and I discuss possible bike routes to include on the forthcoming, paradigm-shifting Bike Routes of Sahuarita and Green Valley brochure. I mention, "This is the first time I have ever been to Arivaca, much less Sasabe."

Growing up in Tucson, Sasabe was one of those small towns for which the TV weatherman provided temperatures in the Southern Arizona forecast.  A place that existed, but where no one went.

We reach the Arivaca General Mercantile and park in back.  A pick up truck driver scolds  us for waiting on the side of the road for everyone to be ready.   In contrast, a US government vehicle cruises by on the way to the medical clinic and the young medical student in said car waves. One of our group seems to be taking an awfully long time purchasing water and sports drink inside the store. So I ride ahead to find the appropriate desert tree restroom where the road crosses a wash just outside of Town.

Sue and Eleanor pass me as I get back on my bike and I catch up to them. Chuck soon joins us and we all cruise aimiably along. Chuck and I pull away from the two, enjoying a mostly downhill rolling ride over potholed pavement and next to the Buenos Aires Wildlife Refuge. Some cottonwoods along a creek in the disance is the only patch of green.

We head generally west, then stop in the slight  shade of a large palo verde tree that has not yet leafed for spring.  The other ten or so people catch up, we rest for a moment and prepare for paceline riding for the next 12 miles to Sasabe and the Mexican border.

Tom,  self-designated leader, suggested one mile pulls at the front of the pace line. To which another rider, more clear-headed, suggested "how 'bout we pull as long as we want so we don't get too tired?" Ok! says everyon and we head south on AZ route 286 into a headwind and uphill.  Ah the joys of no trees or buildings to break the wind.

At least the pavement is smooth. And we are still riding through the wildlife refuge, so there's plenty of open space to enjoy.

I'm second in line and pull for about two minutes, float back and attempt to take a picture with my cell phone. I am at the back of the pace line and think this will be a nifty picture. Cell phone drops and bounces along the highway. Thank goodness for the rubberized casing and lucky bounces that didn't crack the screen. I  U-turn, ride back to the phone, pick it up and chase back to the group.  No one notices, which is fine, because I was embarassed to be fooling around with my phone.

Undeterred by phone droppage, I take this picture:

Paceline shadows on AZ286.

 Mile after long mile and at last we see the sign for Sasabe. It's a small collection of adobe buildings with tin roofs, and every one of them seems to be empty or closed.

Sasabe Post Office is open. Photo by Al Miller.

Sasabe Store is closed on Tuesdays, alas. Photo by Al Miller.

There are some houses, a school, a church, border patrol holding facility, and a dude ranch with its own cell phone tower.  The general store is closed on Tuesdays. We roll through a dip or two and head uphill to the border crossing.

We're surprised to see another few Green Valley cyclists there who had and earlier start. From the colonial style house, two American customs agents emerge. They urge us to move our bikes "so you don't block traffic."  We spend about 20 minutes here, during which time, one car comes through the checkpoint.

Tim from Kalamazoo looks fierce in his Froot Loops Jersey at the border.

Larry takes a break with the border fence behind him.

But the agent is pleasant and amused  to have lycra entertainment; he says we can cross the border and come back, even if we don't have the passports usually requried.  So we leave our bikes in the shade and walk through a garden gate and into Mexico. We cross the no man's land between the US agents' little house and the Mexican agents' little converted gas station. The sky is big, and we look lost. Bienvenidos a Mexico!

Walking south to where the pavement ends and the real Mexico begins.

Dirt road into Mexico. Photo by Al Miller.

Sue's husband Tom, attempts to lead the group, but we're in Mexico now, and his American title of leader means nothing here.  Aimless nervous chatter and ambling ensue. I take a couple pictures of the Mexico-side sign and the former customs house, now roofless.

The border fence is ever present, it looks solid in the photo below but it's really a series of tightly spaced vertical steel poles.

Right side=Mexico, left-side=USA

Sue takes my picture in front of the welcoming mural showing all good things moving toward the American side. I get the cows and quails, I don't get the wheat and grape vines.

Proudly wearing my Santa Cruz Valley Cyclists jersey.

Extreme close up of mural round up.

We fill our water bottles from the border crossing sink. The water tastes bad, but its cold, so we don't care.  

Because we have other things to do today, Chuck and I leave the border area and head back to Arivaca. The wind's at our back, and we enjoy a riding north. Kalamazoo Tim and Tubac John catch us and we all whoop with happiness in the tailwind. Then Tim gets to the front of our paceline and hammers.  I want to yell, "Slow down, old man!"  However, I just focus on his wheel in front of me and wonder how bad the crosswind will be when we turn the corner. Later he tells me we were going 32 mph.

The crosswind is fierce, Tim decides to stop and "wait for everyone else."  Not because he's tired or anything.  Tubac John slows down. Chuck and I form a two-person echelon that does nothing to help our speed in the wicked crosswind.  The rolling terrain continues in a mostly uphill fashion. At about mile 40 of our 50-mile ride, Chuck stops to put on a sweatband, and Tubac John sails right on by us.  We see him ahead, but never catch him.

A zone tail hawk sails above and I long for wings. At mile 46, I can only focus on the cold coke waiting for me at the General Mercantile. And some chips. My water is warm and icky tasting.

At mile 47, I suddenly remember that yes, I had been to this part of Arizona on a back pack trip with friends in high school! We explored Arivaca Creek before it was a Wildlife Refuge.
A photo from those backpacking days, taken by someone on the school newspaper.

One last insulting climb into Arivaca, and I arrive at the parking lot. I've dropped Chuck somewhere along the way. Everyone suffers alone in the last few miles of the ride in the heat and the wind.  Chuck arrives about a minute later. The ride lasted about four hours, including the stops.

I eschew coke in favor of chocolate milk to go with my post-ride chips. Most delicious!  Everyone eventually returns; they all make plans for lunch at the Cow Palace. They're retired, so they can take time to eat lunch. 

I have to get to work for the afternoon, I eat lunch in my car on the way. I sit in my office,  slightly dazed for rest of the day.

 

Dawn Hike to Wasson Peak in the Tucson Mountains

A dawn hike to Wasson Peak seemed like a good idea until I  drive down the Gates Pass switchbacks in the pre-dawn pitch dark. That's just after inching around a pre-dawn cyclist on the switchbacks going up the pass.

By the time I reach the trailhead, pitch black turns dark gray and my hiking partner Ellen arrives to begin our ascent.

Yellow wildflowers line the trail. Some bunches are asleep and closed, some half open, waiting for the light and warmth of the sun.

The sky lightens, and the sun pinks up Wasson Peak ahead.

Wasson is the highest peak in the Tucson Mountains, at about 4800 feet.   I'm a Tucson native, but never hiked to the top, and I'm excited to be doing it on a weekday morning.   Weekends are filled with book and biking events, so I'm squeezing in a mini-adventure in the middle of my work week.  Ellen and I estimate our six-mile round trip hike will take about four hours.

"It looks like it might be seven miles," says Ellen after reading a trail sign. As usual, the marker indicates different mileage and our maps from two different sources also fail to agree on exact mileage.

For the first hour and a half, we're in the shade of the valley as the King Canyon Trail follows the drainage. But we can feel the earth and rocks radiating heat from yesterday's sun.

Light skips along the  foothills below.

At last, the light hits us, and the bouquets of flowers along the trail.

We join the Sweetwater Trail and continue up, steeper and a bit rockier.  At this elevation, spikey shindaggers mingle with saguaros. Swtichbacks aplenty. And I'm distracted by all the wildflowers, so Ellen gets ahead of me on a hill.

We reach the saddle where the Hugh Norris Trail intersects and try to figure out which deer path heading left or right  is our "trail." Realizing our error, we head back down the trail a hundred yards or so, read the trail marker arrow correctly this time, and reach the spur trail to Wasson. We follow the ridge top with 360 degree views.

Sooner than expected, we're at the top! Picture Rocks flattens out below with the farm fields of Marana beyond. That's not smog in northern distance, we call it "haze." You know, dust.

Time for a peak pose:

A quick snack and we head down.  After we leave the breezy ridge, we start to feel the heat of the morning, and it's only 8:30 am! In March!  A few groups of hikers are on their way up--natives wearing floppy hats and long sleeves,  pink tourists in tank tops and shorts. Everyone is sweating.

On our way down, we notice fenced off mine shafts and more colors bursting from the trailside.

From the lower elevation of saguaros and ocotillos, we look back at Wasson Peak,  with a brilliant blue backdrop.

We see saguros from different angles on the way down and note a Cactus Wren highrise:

We're back at the car by 10 am, and I make it to work in time for my 11 am meeting. It's a fantastic start to the day,  getting plenty of fresh air and sunshine, flowers and cacti.  A fine morning of sharing trail tales and dreams with hiking partner Ellen.

 Trail Details: Start at King Canyon Trail head, dirt lot on north side of Kinney Road, just west of Desert Musuem entrance.  We went out and back, but loops are possible with Sendero Esperanza Trail or Gould Mine Trail. This route is in Tucson Mountain Park and Saguaro National Park.  Click here for a map.