TUCSON'S BEST BICYCLE RIDE

Big fat raindrops pounded onto my skylight sounding like a staccato snare drum. My east-facing bedroom, which should have been showing signs of dawn from the window, was dark and gloomy. It was El Tour day, the one day of the year when all of Tucson experiences this huge event call El Tour de Tucson. And I lay snuggled in my bed, mentally preparing myself for what was to become the most challenging El Tour out of the eight I have completed.

 

El Tour de Tucson, for which upwards of 9,000 riders pay an entry fee in excess of $100, is a charity bike race with four distances – this year 111, 85, 60 or 42 miles long. The first riders, for the 111-mile race, were scheduled to start at 7am. I’m guessing most of these riders had been awake for some hours before the start. The 111 is the race for the biking elite, attracting professional and semi-professional riders from all over the world as well as dedicated amateurs.

 

On the other side of the bicycle wheel is the 42-mile race which attracts all kinds of people at all skill levels - dads and moms riding with their kids, dads and moms hauling their tots behind them, individuals looking for a challenge, weekend cyclists, church groups, business associates and groups of friends out for a good time, groups of riders riding for a cause like my own group Riders for Recovery. One year I followed a rider dressed as a pirate wearing a gaily colored blouse and spiffy pirate boots, sporting a tricorn hat adorned with skull and crossbones, and playing Commodores music out of a small cassette player strapped to the back of his bicycle.

 

But in El Tour’s entire 31-year history, it had never rained on race day. It just doesn’t rain that much in the desert in November. But this year was to be different and not only would we have rain, but a whopping 2.5+ inches starting within the last few hours before the race, equivalent to about 20% of our annual average rainfall. The dry, dusty roads in Tucson can become quite greasy during a heavy rain preceded by a period of relative drought. With this year’s monsoon season a bust, surely the roads of Tucson would be slick and easily flooded during the race. And the riders would be further challenged by the very real potential of hypothermia.

 

Of the eight El Tours I have run, this is the only one in which rain would bring cancellations by the hundreds – even though no one gets their money back. Forecasters had been predicting heavy rain and chilly weather Friday through Sunday all week. But I knew I was going to ride – my friends and I had thoroughly discussed the possibility of crappy weather, everyone with their phones constantly updating various weather apps. Because I am a backpacker, I was perhaps less concerned about the weather than some of the others at the ritual ‘carb-loading’ party at my friend Margaret’s the night before the race. I’m used to walking in the rain with 30-pounds on my back. How bad could riding 38 miles in the rain be? Besides, it's nice to be able to get some use out of rarely used gear.

 

But the sound on the skylight reminded me just how much rain had poured from the sky the day before and what was predicted for Race day. I began to check with El Tour’s Facebook page, its website, its Twitter feed and my own Facebook page for any changes in the route. The 111 had two water crossings which could be exceeding dangerous for riders caught in fast-moving water. The first crossing, the Santa Cruz River, was a go but El Tour officials said ‘stay tuned’ for updates on the perhaps even more dangerous (because it is right below the Santa Catalina Mountains) Sabino Creek Crossing which would be taken by the 85-milers as well.

 

And then there were worries about my own short ride – the 42 which had become 38 just a few days earlier when part of the 42 was scratched. I was not at all unhappy about the change – the portion that was scratched was over an incredibly pot-holey road in rural Marana with the steepest hill of the route leading riders up and then down into surburban Cortaro Farms. Instead we would be following the relatively smooth Frontage Road – far less scenic but imminently more rideable.

 

On the other hand, Moore Road, the northernmost part of the route, would be ridden by all riders and was close to the canyon drainages of the Tortolita Mountains. Moore is not particularly hilly but rather rolling as it coasts from one drainage to the next. Surely there would be water and debris in these drainages.  I was glad I had elected to ready my hybrid (a bike not quite as heavy and fat-tired as a mountain bike but steadier and more stable than the skinny road bikes many would be riding). I had had time for exactly three training rides, the longest of which was only 12 miles, after I had returned from my 5-month summer sojourn in Yellowstone, the roads of which are notoriously narrow and dangerous during the busy summer months. Except for my three training rides on a level bike path, I hadn’t even been on a bike for nearly six months.

 

As the morning progressed, I made my final choices for riding gear and stuffed additional, warmer clothing in a dry bag just in case I became hypothermic. No doubt, this Tour would be a challenge! I stayed in touch with my biking buddies, all who were making similar decisions or who would in the end decide to scratch. For me, there was never a question of scratching. I’m the kind who would rather try something and fail than fail to try. And frankly, having successfully completed six of these shorter rides before successfully completing the 60-mile last year, the now 38-mile route needed a bit of extra challenge. I was actually excited about riding in the weather.

 

My housemate Annie thinks I am a little nuts about dangerous activities. Our danger meters are set completely differently. As Annie watched me prepare for the race, she said “I’m not comfortable with you riding in the race. It could be dangerous.” repeating all the facts of the hazardous road conditions, the hazardous weather, the likelihood of novice bikers being totally unprepared for the riding conditions. I calmly affirmed I had every intention to ride, would do so carefully and would be prepared for all but the freak accident. Freak accidents happen. I can’t control for that.

 

She watched me pack and continue to view the Twitter and Facebook feeds. “The first riders are off and the Santa Cruz crossing wasn’t changed.” I excitedly told her.  About 9 am I looked up the wash behind my house up toward Sunrise Road. “I see the first riders coming down Sunrise!” I posted on Facebook. “This is getting exciting.” I told Annie.

 

Annie, who had been even reluctant to shuttle us in the rain to our start site, eventually came to tell me that she ‘got it’. This would be a historical race, one that would be the ride we all will be talking about for years. She understood that I wanted to be part of it. “I’ve decided it’s not that you have a death wish; you just prefer to go out in some rather spectacular way.” Annie really does get it.

 

Eventually four riders and bikes plus our Support Person Annie piled into my truck Yiha for the rainy ride to the 38-mile start line.  When we arrived the site of our start in Oro Valley, we sought parking under sheltered spots in order to unpack the bikes and dress for our ride. It was still pouring down rain and about 50 degrees. Everyone was in good spirits and seemingly as well-prepared as I was. No reason to worry…yet.

 

Eventually we caught up with one more member of our group – our friend Mike who had started his cycling that morning not far from the 60-mile start in order to meet us at our 38-mile start. Mike was very nearly hypothermic by then, thoroughly wet and chilled after being beaten by the wind and his own draft. His extremities were downright cold to the touch. And the longer he stayed with us, the colder he became. As soon as the signal to ride was sounded, Mike took off to raise his body temperature through the physical effort of riding.

 

Since I had very few training rides and was on my heavy, stodgy bike I knew I would hold back the others. But because I somewhat uncomfortably live with asthma, my riding companions had agreed to stay with me for the first few miles to make sure I made it past the only really challenging inclines of the route. Once we all got past the last challenging incline, the rest took off – the less time spent in the rain the better.

 

I chugged along, much like the Little Train that Could, up Rancho Vistoso to Moore, up the slight incline at Moore and then with all the others along a soggy, wet and slightly dangerous route. Dip after dip prompted riders to yell “water!”, “debris!”, “mud!” or to use the customary hand-signal – pointing down toward the spot that might be the cause of a serious accident. At one particularly high water crossing, several emergency vehicles blocked the traffic lane but it was not clear whether a rider had gone down or whether they were there in case one did. I said a little prayer that it was the latter and kept slogging on.  I was actually having an excellent ride.

 

I rode in the pouring rain down Thornydale and Tangerine to the Interstate but I was warm and relaxed, my preparations sufficient for the weather. My full-fingered bike gloves were keeping my hands warm although not dry. My cashmere socks were keeping my feet warm even though I felt I could wring water from my socks and pour out the accumulated drainage water from my shoes. Eventually I stopped to do just that and to refuel for the next 20 miles to Downtown Tucson. I always ‘see’ myself at the end of my ride, or hike, or other adventure and this time was no different. Despite the adversities, I was already there.

 

As I continued to ride, I noticed there were many, many riders, especially of road bikes, pulled off to the side with flat tires. Way more than usual. I guessed that the debris littering the road surfaces and under the water in the crossings was taking its toll on the more fragile tubes, tires and wheels of the road bikes. I was later to learn that two of our own riders had to scratch because of problems having to do with twisted bike tires, broken spokes and flats.

 

About half way through the ride, I also noticed my left knee was beginning to really grumble. My knees are not exactly the most cared for in the world and they occasionally remind me that my youthful (and not so youthful) activities have shortened their lifespans a good bit. As the rain let up, my attention turned toward the growing pain in my knees. Would I make it on this tank of a heavy bike?

 

Hybrid gears are much smaller than road bike gears because they are designed more for ease than speed. Hybrid gears assume you are going up, not down. The gears are simply not designed to zoom down the highway. The bikes are more versatile in some respects but riders may peddle many more times due to the smaller gear sizes. More revolutions, more effort for the knees – on frames that are heavy enough to stay together even after several bad spills.

 

At the last support stop before the Finish Line, riders can always find gooey chocolate brownies. My favorite ‘go food’ for the last seven-mile dash. After chomping down a brownie, I learned Ibuprofen was available. I grabbed several and chugged them down. Now if only I could last until the pills took affect on the last long incline up to the Downtown Finish Line.

 

As I continued my ride, I noticed the other riders, even those with those beautiful sleek skinny-tire bikes, were slowing down. The wind, rain and chill were beginning to affect us all. I saw a man slam onto the pavement about 50 feet in front of me, having caught a skinny wheel in an expansion joint on the road.  Fortunately, no other riders were right behind or around him and his fall was not as serious as it could have been. He was assisted to his feet and he and his bike were led over to the shoulder. I slogged by wishing him godspeed should he decide to resume the ride.

 

At St. Mary’s Road at the northern end of Downtown, I felt the familiar end-of-race adrenal kick in. And, thank god, finally the Ibuprofen. I could almost touch Tucson’s Downtown skyscrapers. I was going to finish this amazing race! With adrenalin coursing through my tired body and blunting the pain in my knees, my pace picked up. Down to 22^nd Street along West Frontage Road I rode. Under the overpass and up the hill toward the blazingly white steeple of Santa Cruz Catholic Church. A church had never looked to good.

 

Then, finally, up the 6^th Avenue to the Finish Line, each revolution of my tires bringing me closer. At the end, when I see the people waiting along the barriers for their loved ones and friends, it is difficult to even think about the difficulties and dangers of the ride. Signs welcoming the riders abound. “Go Mom!” “Bill, you’ve done it” “Lopez family does it again.” “Cancer survivor survives another one!” El Tour is Tucson’s own brand of Olympic trial – except this one is democratically open to anyone willing to come up with the fee and try it. No particular skillset required.

 

I have made it once again, meeting this particular challenge and conquering it. Perhaps justifiably so, I have been accused of throwing myself at life and saying ‘bring it on’. For this particular slice of life, I know I’m glad this El Tour came with rain and water crossings. Regardless of the danger and discomfort, riding in the 31^st El Tour de Tucson’s means I will always have the pleasure of being part of Tucson’s bicycling history.

 

Note: Although El Tour is an extremely well-planned event, accidents happen. Several years ago an older driver slammed into 10 riders near Westward Look Resort leaving one of them with life-changing brain damage. This year, we also lost a rider to a driver crossing over the barrier cones and running right into the rider from behind. The rider was pronounced dead and the word spread through the riding community as we all celebrated meeting our challenges, blunting our own elation. My sympathies to the family and friends of the rider who died. Sport of any type can be inherently dangerous and we all know that we might be next. This knowledge does not stop us but it does humble our victories.