Mt Lemmon, a ride of a life time (Day 6)

Yesterday we climbed the flagship ride of the trip, Mt Lemmon. Instead of loading our bikes onto our non-existent car to drive comfortably to the base, we rode out through the city workday commute. I am loving the ever-present bike lanes in Tucson, even through box store plaza waste-lands. Some of us in the lanes were obviously pedaling to the office, some of us were pedaling to the mountain looming to the northeast.

 

 

 

Riding to the ride.

 

Le Buzz coffee shop, (yes, in a parking lot plaza) is the unofficial start of the ride up Mt Lemmon. Katie Buddy and I piled into the shop, where other be-jerseyed bicycle folks were congregating, eating carbs and caffeinating. Katie was dressed reasonably in a racing jersey kit, while I had on my home-cut arm and leg warmers and looked like someone's high school art project. I received some calculating stares from the serious classic-aged bicycle men.

 

 

Stretches while waiting, and my ridiculous outfit

We chose our carbs from a very attractive line-up; I opted for a huge cinnamon roll, thinking of my sister and how much she loves them. What the cinnamon roll lacked in flavorful cinnamon it compensated for in unregulated sweetness. I did not actually enjoy eating the thing, but I knew I would burn most of it before even getting half way up. My leg started a buzzed high-energy tap; I was eating a bomb. 

 

The pre-ride beauty contest of possible fuel at Le Buzz

 

 

We started up the mountain. Opuntia and saguaro cacti were everywhere, and the road zigged up through them ahead of us. Already I was removing my extra layers, oh mid-morning heat. The grades were about 4-5% on average for the whole climb. We passed a group of retiree-aged cyclists, a couple of whom were on electric bicycles--yay accessibility for all! Other folks chugging up were obviously pros, shifters clicking with that metallic cleanness that comes from expensive bikes. A couple dudes shot past me, one yelling to the other "one second!"; they were working on one of the countless Strava segments. Fifteen thousand people are on the Strava segments around here, what a popular place.

 

Our first tree!

 

After a couple thousand feet, we saw our first tree! A sycamore I think. Something that wasn't cacti. The biome was changing! Climbing this definitely took focus and leg power, but it wasn't so steep that I had to stand on the pedals (ever), I just set myself to Moderate-High for hours and rotated along. That cinnamon bun was excellent fuel, because I forgot to eat my dried dates for quite some time. I had 2 liters of water and I was staying hydrated. The scenery was jaw-dropping, the sweeping valley with the city getting progressively smaller, and rock formations piled above like a giant toddler had been squeezing sand shapes out of a clenched fist. The road twisted through this epic foreign landscape, continuously going upwards. The task very clear, just one road, just churn on up it.

 

 

 

Curving road, rock formations

Jaw-dropping everything

I thought this would be a duet experience with Katie and myself, just the two of us battling up alone. But there were so many other cyclists it felt like a community event, like an organized fundraiser ride, just none of us had bib numbers. As we slowly crept upwards, cyclists in the other lane shot past us on their earned descents, banking deliciously around the curves, wind breakers flapping. Imagine looking at this mountain from the air, all of us colorful cyclists moving on it, like a bunch of ants or bees to the hive and back, doing something greater than any single one of us. And I found I could strike up a conversation with basically anyone. This was good, because Katie wanted to pound up at blow-out speed, while I knew that pushing might ruin my knee and lead to regret. She was out of sight within 2 minutes, while I made a number of friends. I met a guy who had ridden this mountain 40 times! And had a conversation about half-moon cookies from someone who had visited central NY.

 

And then. I entered another ecosystem: the pine forest. Juniper, Ponderosa pine, white pine, fir. Smelling them was as strong as walking through a cloud of someone's marijuana smoke. In the sun it was striking hot, entering the shade was like a blast of air conditioning.

 

 

High up enough for pines now.

 

The "Elevation 7,000 Feet" sign: "oh good, only 1,000 more feet to climb" I thought to myself and then laughed, that is a thought I've never had before. A thousand foot climb around Ithaca is usually The Main Event of whatever ride you're doing. Then I had a religious experience cookie and bummed some water re-fill from one of the many vans for the supported riders. Upward!

 

At about 7,500 feet my right knee felt that pierce of pain that I've known on occasional high-stress rides in the past. I tried to channel the power coming from my glutes rather than my quads, which usually helps relieve the pain. Roadside, a woman cheering committee for another group yelled at me, "GIRL power!" and then added, "hey! You are a stud-ette!" Never got that one before, hehe, I'll take it! Knee, feel that!

 

 

There is snow up here!

There were piles of snow up here, festering away in the shade of the pines. Then at last, the 8,000 feet elevation sign. I'd made it! As I'd been riding my boring trainer in my boring living room this winter in preparation for this ride, I'd imagined breaking into tears at the top. But that didn't happen--I just felt proud and tired and trying to take it all in-- and emotions just don't behave the way you expect; the real end of the ride was actually anti-climatic, after a descent into the town of Summerhaven (there's a town up there!), I found the congregation of all the other riders waiting in line for face-sized $7 cookies at the eponymous "Cookie Cabin". Some Chicago riders (amazingly, who remembered Katie from races 10 years ago) invited us to bunk up at their table, and they let me taste all the cookies. Being in fun, friendly, shared-event community, this is one thing I love about bicycling. I felt excited to be back among my Fingerlakes riding buddies when I returned home.

 

Thank you, legs!

 

The requisite I DID IT picture

 

The hardest part was the unexpected reverse climb in what was supposed to be The Downhill Chapter, getting up out from the town, a part I hadn't mentally budgeted for and my knee was hurting. But the reward after was endless swooping descent. Magically, the road was such that I barely needed to brake, I just floated down at 30 mph. I never thought I'd get inured to descending, usually a descent is so brief and so relished that its like taking an espresso shot. But this was like sipping a huge bottomless mug of coffee. After 10 or 20 minutes I started that kind of day dreaming you get when looking out the window of a bus. The pines, the snow, the swooping views, a soaring hawk. I'd been worried about a chilling cold ride down, but we'd chosen a hot day, so it had been a rare 60's at the top. I still had my arm and leg protection on, to help against wind and sun. This time I was the guy flying by in the other lane as the next set of riders inched their way up. Imperceptibly it got warmer and warmer, and then I saw the return of the cacti again!

 

Swooping descent.

And then the descent was over. It was nearly 90 degrees at the edge of the city and we had to cross 15+ miles of blazing pavement to make it back home. That experience sure wasn't pretty, especially with a now-bum knee, but the promise of a cold beer steered me back. Pleasure after a little suffering is really just divine.

Taking a break in the only shade around.

It wasn't the hardest ride I've ever done (that might go to trying to keep up with 'Team 545' 100 miles around Cayuga Lake last summer with a headwind, or that informal CT gravel race riding up basically stream beds) but I certainly had to focus, dig deep and manage any unhelpful thinking. It was the most I've ever climbed in a single day: nearly 7,000 feet all told. But of all my rides, all over the world, this one goes down--as cheesy as it sounds--as the ride of a life time.

 

Mt Lemmon climb