Because I made the CarboRocket team, I better get started training for the AZ Trail 300, which is only 8 weeks away. On Saturday morning, I drive to Molino Basin, park, and hit the AZ Trail up over Molino pass. I immediately have to cross a stream, so I pick up my bike and hopscotch on the stones across.
I ride a few yards, then walk over the rocks and water bars that make up this steep section of trail. I ride a little bit, and walk a lot. I ride, then fall onto my right elbow resulting in some excellent rock bruises and a bit of blood. I walk some more. At last, I’m at the top of the pass, and enjoy the view of snow-covered Rincon Mountains. My destination of Reddington Road lies over the hills, but before the mountains.
I’m wearing my new backpack with 100 oz water bladder, tools, and sleeping bag stuffed inside. I’m practicing the pack-mule life for the big event. It is not balanced quite right and seems rather heavy. I’m still a little nervous on the rockier sections of the descent, which I sometimes walk. I really don’t want to fall onto more rocks or a cactus. When I ride, it’s a stomach-in-the-throat exhilaration of an almost endo at every water bar.
Another woman skillfully descends from Molino Pass.
I ride through some streams an my feet get nice and wet. Which is fine on this 65 degree day. I pass a trio of hikers and their dogs at the bottom of the valley. Manage not to crash into the steep-sided stream in front of them, but it’s close.
Now I’m onto an old jeep road for a little while and really enjoy the views and the ride. Next up is another single track trail descent into a wide stream that I can ride across. Up and down some small hills until I reach the trail that is the stream.
Trail/stream
This is a relatively short stream trail, and someone has helpfully tied yellow caution tape to a tree indicating that I am on the right path. I come to a small pond known as “the lake,” because it’s Arizona.
Saguaro guards "the lake."
Then I ride through something that is almost, but not quite, quicksand to Bellota Ranch road. There, I see a cyclist who directs me to the AZ Trail, as if I couldn’t see it across the road. Then displays his burleyness by stating: “I’m on a singlespeed,” and “ I love the Milagrosa Trail, it’s the most technical ride in Tucson.” He tells me it is mostly uphill to Reddington Road, which is demoralizing because I’m sort of tired after only two and a half hours of riding.
I pass two senior citizen backpackers on the AZ Trail. I ride on and meet up with a posse of Southern Arizona Mountain Bike Association riders. They started at Reddington Road, and are headed for Bellota Ranch Road, which they will ride back to Reddington. One of them tells me, “You’re going the wrong way.” And I want to say, “Yeah, I’m going the hard way, unlike you.” I think briefly of joining them, the easy way out, but bravely ride away from their snack stop by the stream.
SAMBA rider descends over water bars.
I continue riding toward Reddington Road. I have to move aside for a few more of the SAMBA group, and associated dogs, and it is a lovely trail. Lovely, because it is mostly devoid of rocks. I note the sky is quite dark over the Rincon Mountains, the direction I am riding. It is not supposed to rain at all today according to the Weather Channel. Right. I stop to eat lunch before it rains.
Halfway through my PB&J, I note a couple wet spots on my backpack and think “can this be stream splatter?” I soon realize the wet spots are from giant rain drops that are now also falling on me. I put on my plastic rain jacket, inhale my apple, and attempt to ride and simultaneously eat the rest of the PB&J in the rain. The sun shines, but it is still raining. I get to a place where I can see Reddington Road. I’ve been out for three hours and fifteen minutes and I’m fairly cooked. So rather cruising on downhill to Reddington in the rain, I turn around.
As I ride, the plastic jacket, rain, and warm temperatures create a Florida-like atmosphere in my jersey. I am hot and sweaty. Fortunately, the rain stops and I can remove the plastic ickyness. I reach Bellota Road, “the lake,” and continue to re-trace my path. By one stream, I snack and contemplate a nap. But I carry on. I pass the senior citizen backpackers again.
AZ Trail somewhere between Molino and Reddington.
I see Molino Pass before me, rocky switchbacks uphill. I try to ride, but my legs are exhausted. I fall near a dead prickly pear cactus. I’m glad there are no thorns in my pack. I’m not glad to see thorns in my elbow, the same bruised and bloodied one from earlier in the ride.
I push my bike a lot. A hiking family is gaining ground from behind me on the switchbacks. Why am I so slow? Oh, because I’ve already ridden about five and a half hours the wrong way, the hard way. Finally, I reach the top of the pass and hike/ride down the steep trail back to Molino Basin.
At the campground, I eat a sandwich and drink some chocolate milk hoping for miraculous recovery. It doesn’t happen. I can barely function to get my tent up and cook a box of mac and cheese. I wolf down all 2.5 servings. I am in my sleeping bag at 7 pm which is quite cozy. I drift off to sleep to the forest sounds of the stream and people across the way chopping wood. Tomorrow, I will ride the AZ Trail up to Prison Camp, then Mt. Lemmon Highway to the top!
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