FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Summerhaven, AZ — Mountain bikers worldwide are celebrating a significant milestone in the evolution of the sport. Mount Lemmon has fallen to a pair of Tucson cyclists.

Riders Chad Brown and Scott Morris left Tucson at 4 o’clock AM to begin climbing Milagrosa, a wicked singletrack once thought only suitable for downhill travel. Their goal was 9100′ Mt. Lemmon, some 6500 feet higher.

“It was terrible. Within 2 minutes of hitting the trail, we were sweating buckets,” said Chad Brown of their demoralizing start under cover of darkness. Tucson International recorded a relative humidity of 84% overnight. At the news of the brutal conditions, Vegas bookies dropped the odds of a successful summit bid to 10,000:1.

The “Climb or Die” challenge is an epic of untold proportions. Although the paved Catalina Highway carts cyclists quickly to the cool pines of Mt. Lemmon, the Climb or Die route follows singletrack, gaining some 12,000 feet of elevation over 30 miles. Trails on the route include: Milagrosa, Molino, Prison Camp, Bug Springs, Green Mountain, Butterfly, Bigelow, Secret Trail and Aspen Draw.

The route crosses the paved highway six times, giving riders attempting the challenge six opportunities to either “climb” or “die” (coast freely back down the mountain). To date all known challengers have chosen “die”, usually within the first half of the mountain.

Usually focused and articulate, legendary endurance cyclist Mike Curiak was dumbfounded when he heard the news. He could only utter, “Erm, wow.” After thinking a moment he commented, “Today is a great day for mountain biking.”

Although efforts were made to keep the news from spreading, Summerhaven residents noticed the cyclists and quickly organized a 1000+ strong parade, complete with brass band and bag pipes. [editor's note: OK, it might have been for the 4th of July, but there was a parade and thousands of people].

The feat was not without controversy. Several anonymous cyclists phoned AP reporters and MTB Hall of Fame officials to demand proof. One cyclist, who only called himself “Max Morris”, told reporters flat out, “It’s impossible. There’s no way they did it.” Unfortunately neither of the riders carried a camera, preferring speed and efficiency. The GPS units of both riders have been sent to forensic labs for testing and verification.

Pending verification, according to the mountain bike bible, completion of the Climb or Die challenge “renders the rider immediate and irrevocable status as a mountain bike god.”

——-

Alright, I’m done being silly. Chad and I had a great ride. We walked some (not as much as expected) and somehow neither of us self-destructed in the heat and humidity. I thought Green Mtn was going to be our undoing with the baking sun and unending unrideable sections.

“Who’s idea was this?” Uttered twice, and dozens upon dozens of times in the mind. Today was a good day to die.

But we both agreed that after surviving Green, failure was no longer an option.

Why? Neither of us could imagine doing all that, again.

And so it rolled from there. Chad showed me his secret trail, which brought the singletrack percentage to about 90%.

We were too hot and super sticky from the get-go, and never really dried out after that. It wasn’t comfortable, but we nailed it otherwise. No mechanicals, no flats, very minimal stopping. A focused effort. A mission in every sense of the word. I even left the camera home to save time and effort as we made our way up.

I honestly didn’t think we had a chance of doing it on July 4th of all days. When I felt the humidity at 4am, my hopes dropped even lower. But I never tired. My legs had power even to the last switchback on Aspen Draw, at 9000 feet. It was a great day.

So, after climbing 12,000 feet on singletrack, we turned around and descended 27 miles of pavement… at a coast. It seems lame, no doubt, and I was grumbling about it… for about three seconds. The cooling breeze and freedom from gravity was too intoxicating. 25 miles later I was finally some approximation of “dry.” Just in time to face the blast furnace of Tucson — 100+ degrees in the face.

I believe every last one of those little wiggles on that profile. Part of what makes this ride so hard is that it requires double climbing. Meaning, to actually gain (for good) one foot of elevation, you have to climb two. It doesn’t really look like it on the plot, but the numbers don’t lie (and neither do my legs).

That’s the reason we coasted the road down. If we took the trails we would have to climb 6000 feet just to drop 6000 feet.

And so it goes on Climb or Die. One for the books.

Real fanfare and mountain bike divinity are in order for this year’s Great Divide Race. John Nobile is, at the moment, wrapping up the last 125 miles to Mexico, and it looks like he will crack the course record. I’ve been following his progress each time as I updated the leaderboard, and rooting him all the way. Amazing.

My first ride in Manitou Springs (after moving here this summer) was on the Intemann Trail. I was in a totally new place and the signs were confusing. But occasionally I’d see a carsonite with the words “Ring the Peak” on them. There’s only one peak they could be talking about!

My curiosity was more than a little piqued, because I absolutely love it when people establish long distance trails. A web search led to:

http://ringthepeak.com

Excellent. 80% done, and 100% open to bikes. The obsession began.

I devoured every bit of the website, impressed with the hard work by all associated with the Friends of the Peak. I loaded the waypoints, and traced a rough GPS line based on the online maps. I forbade myself from “pre-riding” any more of the trail, not wanting to spoil the surprise. I found that a guy named Marshal had ridden the entire thing in a day, but his first attempt was a 19 hour debacle. His second try took 15. I approached the endeavor with respect — it was very likely it could kick my ass.

Knee woes derailed my first planned attempt, for about a month, but the time finally came.

I pedaled up Ruxton Ave under cover of darkness. I planned to get through the exposed climbing on the Ute Trail before it was, well, exposed, to the sun. It worked well, but the Ute trail is somewhat of a rude wakeup at 5am. I pedaled the first 0.2 miles, then hopped off to begin hiking. I knew I had no chance of cleaning this hill, especially with a pack full of supplies and rain gear.

Sunrise on the Ute Trail

Rollers ensue, though I knew you can bypass one of them by following singletrack along an old water line:

I’m usually stickler for adhering to a route, no matter what, and the RTP signs clearly tell you to stay on the road. But when the choice is contouring singletrack vs. steep dirt road, it’s a no brainer.

My advance route knowledge ended here. I dropped down to the Waldo trailhead for a brief section on Highway 24 to Cascade. The early start paid off here, too. But the real reason for the early start was to improve my odds versus the daily thunderstorms that seem to build on Pikes. It’s not even monsoon season yet, but it sure feels like it.

So I was running scared of T-storms, even when the sky was blue. I dropped to granny gear climbing Picabo Road, refusing to get off and walk pavement, even though Marshal warned me that I might later regret it.

Mt. Esther Trail started well enough, contouring…

Then… hike a bike! Grr… stairs…

It was a bit of a grunt, but the ridge was attained soon enough.

Beautiful morning light

Bike, and rider

Once on the ridge, the rewards were sweet…

Tasty singletrack

I was really impressed with this section of little used trail, all the way to crystal creek reservoir. Great flow, good climbing, and even some technical sections.

Singletrack segued into water company access roads, sometimes steep. This was all new territory for me, so my head was on permanent 360 degree sweep mode, trying to take it all in. I remember looking at my GPS and seeing 11 miles and 2.5 hours moving time. Basic math led to a late finish, if things continued at this rate.

North Catamount Reservoir

Seems like every time I started thinking the dirt roads were getting old, a Ring the Peak sign would direct me onto singletrack. The piece above Catamount Reservoir was just perfect for bikes. I dug deep into the pedals, in middle ring, cresting all the hills. This was immensely satisfying, especially given the lack of knee pain.

Singletrack led to forgotten double track

It was COLD as I climbed by the Crags campground (it was barely 9 o’clock). I almost pulled out my rain pants to keep my poor little knees warm, but the future promised much climbing, so I knew I’d warm up.

Fall line dirt road crested to awesome singletrack descending. One section was quite obviously freshly built:

Great work by the Friends of the Peak! Much appreciated.

In Putney Gulch I stopped to filter water. I knew it was likely that the next valley would have water, but water running by your feet is worth six rivers supposedly flowing in the next valley.

I hoofed it up the next hill, which was a ride slash hike affair. The descent led to wonderfully flowing trail, hugging the fringes of Horsethief Park:

From here the RTP continues to Pancake Rocks, but it’s currently a dead-end. I turned down the meadow, got behind my seat, and hung on for the rip roaring ride down to highway 67. I bumped into several groups of hikers just starting out here, which was a shock since I’d seen no one on the trail thus far.

I saw plenty of people (cars) on Highway 67, making it by far the worst section of the ride. I actually couldn’t understand where all these people were going. Is Cripple Creek really that big?!

On a bike it went pretty fast, though, and I was soon being waved through the construction area on road 81 out of Gillett. That construction meant I was now on smooth-as-a-baby’s-butt tarmac. Combine that with gradual downhill, and these were by far the easiest miles of the loop.

More easy miles continued on railroad grade Gold Camp road. The scenery was out of this world, and once again my head was dancing around, not to mention my camera’s lens.

Rocks on Gold Camp Road

Railroad tunnel!

Gold Camp continues the slight downhill trend, and these should have been the second easiest miles of the ride. But it was here, about six hours into the ride, that I started falling apart.

I regretted every single hill I had let loose on, every time I’d let my heart rate skyrocket pushing my bike up some steep hill. I stopped at the intersection of Gold Camp and FR 379, convinced I was about to puke. Well, at least I now had some idea on the cause. I surmised the cliff shot I was carrying was old/expired. Indeed it’s been my ‘emergency gu’ that has been carried around in my pack for some time without being used. For some reason it sounded appealing to me about an hour ago, so I ate it.

I hate the all-over-body feeling of fatigue you get with an upset stomach. I thought for sure I was done for, destined to a few hours of struggling back into town on Gold Camp. But it’s not over til it’s over. I took my first actual break, forced some tortilla chips down, and ate some candy.

It was at this point that I checked my map, curious as to how large of a climb I was now facing. Almost 2000 feet! Gulp. I thought it was MAYBE 1000 feet. It was not looking good.

The feeling passed in a few minutes, so I saddled up to keep making progress on the climb. Not five minutes up the STEEP road, I heard a frightening sound — rain drops on the surrounding greenery. Soon enough I felt them — large, but widely spaced. Uh oh!

This was the only part of the route that approached tree-line, and it was storming at 11 am. Perfect.

Making things worse, the roaring creek to my left was providing sufficient disguise for any distant thunder. I strained my ears, trying to hear over the creek, but I was pretty much riding into the unknown. I was ready to turn my bike 180 degrees at the first confirmed thunder clap.

That never came. What did come was some really good climbing. I had pushed right through the ‘low’ and was feeling great.

A RTP sign pointed me up a steep mess of a 4×4 road.

Nothing like a little hike-a-bike at 11,000+ feet get you fired up. It was actually quite fun, as approaching tree line always is. I got a better view of the clouds and though plenty were looking ominous, there were no signs of imminent doom, and still no thunder. I continued on, still desperate to get well below 11,000 feet.

Cows sat in the bogs of Elk Park (I must say I was surprised to see cows this high). I traversed around the shoulder of Alamgre Mountain, still climbing at a much higher elevation than I was comfortable with.

Then, finally, relief — a major descent to the fringes of Frosty Park. Now began the challenge of a different sort. Instead of physical strain and endurance, it was time to test my technical skills.

I still don’t quite understand the network of moto trails, but the Ring the Peak signs were clear, and the riding was off the charts fun and challenging. It was a real mix — sometimes terrible trail conditions, but hard to ride, other times some great flow AND good challenges. It definitely required a hefty investment of mental focus. I did dismount for a few sections, riding in conservative solo mode, and on my XC bike.

Jumps and more fun on the moto trails

Where the water starts running down the trail I ran into a guy on a motorcycle. He was kind enough to stop and ask how I was doing and where I’d been. I filtered some water low on Bear Creek, then resumed the never-ending descent towards Colorado Springs. I was amused by one section of deep gravel that forced some serious counter-steering to stay on the trail. Classic Pikes Peak decomposed granite, I guess. The whole Bear Creek Trail (closed to motos) was just a blast–I understand it’s recently been revived by the Friends of the Peak.

A final punishing climb remained on Palmer Trail — as if that downhill was really never-ending. Fortunately it was contoured well, but it still took a good chunk of energy. The descent was awesome! I had to adjust my brakes (pad wear?) to grab some more power. It was that steep and deliciously technical. By this point in the ride my mind was micro-adjusted to the feel and handling of my bike. I was in ‘the groove’ you might say. Riding that good, when everything just flows naturally, is really a gift.

Palmer/Section 16 dumped me off onto well known territory — the Intemann Trail. This trail is no piece of cake. It alternates between wonderfully contoured trail and steep fall line sections. But compared to the previous miles, it’s really no big deal. Knowing the nuances of the trail meant I knew where to expend my energy. More groove riding continued. The descent down to Crystal Park road disappeared beneath my wheels. It was effortless.

Here I was in Manitou Springs, with a pizza joint in view and a short, flat ride back to my house. But a final challenge remained. Due to an access issue on the Intemann Trail I now needed to climb up the cemetery and ride some more trail back to Ruxton. I was happy to do it, really, though I could tell the heat/humidity was taking a toll on me. One final hike-a-bike remained:

What a nutty little piece of trail. But once at the top, it was all coasting back home to the completion of the Ring the Peak.

68 miles, 10:40 total time, 12,000 feet of climbing

GPX file: Ring the Peak Trail – Mon Jul 09 2007.gpx

Definitely an epic, epic loop. It doled out heaps of suffering, but it was suffering of quality, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Big thanks to everyone involved in the development and construction/maintenance of this awesome loop! Well done. Also thanks to Marshal for the trail ‘beta’ from a cyclist’s perspective. It’s always easier to follow than it is to lead.

Oh, and when the loop is finished (through Pancake Rocks and bypassing all that easy pavement/dirt road I took), it’s going to be tough to do it in a day. I look forward to taking that challenge someday.

We flashed Meadow and upper Lemmon. Before I knew it we were through the 1995 burn area, high on Suthers and Sammie. Not a single downed tree (I think Louis cleared one before I got there), and overgrowth was as pushed back as I’ve seen it. It was a clean sweet run.

At the first junction we decided to hit an out and back on Samaniego. It seemed so fast and I wanted to savor more upper lemmon goodness, so we grunted up some hills to head out beyond the peak.

There were burned areas and erosion had effected the trail, but for the most part it was a sweet ride. We turned around at Walnut Spring and about 20 seconds later I started having flat problems.

Both tires went flat so many times and under different circumstances that I cannot even recall the details. I kept hoping they would hold, but when the spare Slime tube I [u]just put in[/u] when flat within 5 minutes, things didn’t look good. I started carrying my bike over the thorny-hell bushes, inbetween fits of ‘pump and ride’ sessions. It was completely my fault for not having a tried and true system in place. It’s a new bike for me and 29″ and 26″ slime tubes just don’t cut it with these tires/rims.

I watched Louis descend the drop into CDO with my mouth half open. It’s one gnarly, loose and steep descent. I was carrying due to thorn-bush content. I was banking on some briar-free riding down in CDO.

I got it, and my tires held for the next ~4 hours. We spent a couple hours breaking branches, moving logs, trimming cat-claw and building ramps over logs. Mostly we were just enjoying hanging out in CDO. It’s a different place post-Aspen fire, but still a great place to spend a day on a bike.

We had some route-finding difficulty as we both tried to pull memories out of mental trail-database. About 25% of the time Louis was right as to where we were suppose to be. 25% I was right, and the other 50% we were both wrong, dead wrong. But you always get down in the end, and some of the lines we ended up on rode well. Cows trails were often deceiving us.

Before we reached the narrows I was having flat problems again, straight on back into the “pump n’ run” style of riding. After a few more bouts the rear finally said “enough!” near the top of the ‘Gap. As I pulled thorn after thorn out of the tire Louis converted my rim from Presta to Schrader, MacGyver style. Our next trick was to coerce a 24″ Downhill tube onto a 29″ rim. It took both of us and multiple tries, but we triumphed, and I could now descend the Gap with some confidence.

As we crested the Gap I checked the time. 6pm! The clouds had tricked us into thinking it was earlier. The race was on.

I followed the Louis-shaped blur down the Gap, happy for 5″ of travel and disc brakes. I’ve never descended the Gap so quickly. We turned off to Cherry Tank, but before the climb Louis took us onto a cow trail, hoping we’d end up somewhere familiar.

The sun had set, and I began to question the wisdom of leaving the Gap road, a known, easy-to-follow escape route. But I trusted Louis’ navigational skills. Sure enough we were soon on round the mountain trail. The portion of it I rode was extremely fun, especially in diminishing light. These kind of semi-desperate situations bring out some incredible riding. We were torching the trail, trying to cover as much ground before complete darkness took over.

Heightened senses, trust in your abilities, amazing flow–until the 24″ DH tube went flat, with the front following suit with a slow leak. We pumped both up in tandem, then I got a few more minutes of heightened senses riding before resorting to running the trail with zero PSI in the rear.

Once we got to upper 50 (familiar country to me) Louis took off homeward to call off any search and rescue efforts, while I continued jogging the trail, Behemoth in hand and by headlamp. It was a nice evening to jog down the trail.

I wasn’t sure of the connection to casa de dog, but I knew at worst case I could get there by way of the corral. The way turned out to be fairly straightforward (just head towards the lights).

Pizza and soup at casa de dog and a ride back courtesy of Ian (who also brought us to the top, thanks Ian!). He had been called into S&R duty and had just begun driving up the Gap when Louis returned.

One for the books.

25 miles
4000 feet of climbing
9600 feet of descending
~6:30 moving time, 2 trail work, 1-2 with flats

The “highway of the devil” – so named from the original 1540 expedition comissioned by Francisco Vasquez de Coronado due to the hardships encountered. The route lived up to its name during the 1849 gold rush. Some traveled during summer to avoid Apache marauders, and they paid the price in 120 degree Yuma heat. Historians estimate from 400 to 2,000 people have lost their lives on the Camino, meaning that it is the most deadly immigrant trail in North America.

The route once linked Caborca, Mexico with Yuma, AZ. The modern version (after pavement) of the Camino starts in Ajo, AZ and ends in Yuma, AZ. As far as we could tell, no one had never thru-ridden the camino on mountain bikes. The reason? Sand.

Reports were all over the map about how sandy the route is. Some claimed it was 90 percent sand. Others told us there was no reason to even take a bike out there — you’d just end up walking the whole time. A fish and wildlife officer told me that sometime the road is so bad he often feels like getting out and setting his truck on fire. (?!)

So it was with some apprehension but piqued curiousity that Lee and I approached the ride. We were ready to walk. A lot. We were also ready for some nice scenery. The route is commonly run by 4×4 enthusiasts and we had found some intriguing pictures on the web.

In arranging a ride back from Yuma to Ajo, we found that Lee’s friend Randy wanted to see the Camino himself. After some arm-twisting, I agreed to do the ride supported. This took a huge part of the adventure and risk out of it, but given the reports we had, the lack of water and the fact that we needed a return ride anyway, it made some sense.

They (border patrol?) have gone to the trouble of installed metal grates to aid traction in some spots.

Starting to get sandy…

Time to let more air out of our tires. I was often running ~15 PSI. Lee was able to go lower since he was running stans. I had wider tires, rims and a 29er. We seemed to be about comparable in terms of “float.”

The border patrol constituted 95% of the encounters on the Camino. This is one of their ‘temporary’ command structures. Welcome to Iraq, USA.

O’neil’s grave. Donate a penny for safe passage on the Camino. He supposedly died of drowning — probably the only one to die of too much water out here.

Entering Las Playas. The road was covered in 8-10 inches of very fine dust, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The funny thing is that it didn’t really slow us down. It was really fun to blast through it.

Cinder-cone on the northern extend of the Pinacate Lava flow.

Lee enjoys a brief descent in the lava flow area.

The route goes down this wash for miles and miles. It was slow, but surprisingly rideable with low tires.

Heading into yet another mountain range. The valleys were always sandy, but the near the mountains the route firmed up.

The Border Patrol continually drags the road with tires to look for foot traffic. We’re not sure if this helps or hurts the rideability of the road. I think immigrants and drug mules are smart enough to erase their tracks, though.

Camp at Tule Well.

Diablo FR (with 15 PSI!!). There is A LOT of potential out there. Unfortunately it is wilderness on both sides of the road. There’s a 50 foot corridor of non-wilderness.

This was the valley with the most sand, the Lechuguilla desert

Cool barrel-like cactus

Here comes the sand we were looking for. How low can ya go? (tire pressure)

One of the Tinajas Altas (high tanks — natural rock pools)

You have to do a little rock climbing to get to the tanks. Supposedly some travlers died at the base of the mountain lacking the strength to climb to the higher tanks. Note the Elephant Tree near the right side of the tank. Pretty cool to see one growing here in the states.

Grinding hole galore at Tinijas Altas

Tinijas Altas FR, anyone?

Danger! Lasers! There were hundreds of these signs on the west side of the road.

More sand on the west side of the Gila Mountains

Fortuna Mine – once a bustling city, nestled in some nice chocolate mountains.

Back on pavement in Yuma. Too easy? Not really, I was still tired.

Stats:

135 miles
5000 feet of climbing
2 days (31 hours start to finish)

Respectively: TopoFusion, Fourr Canyon, unnamed 4×4 road; the Dragoons northern loop.

Lee and I coasted through the town of Dragoon, carried by cold morning winds. We rolled out of town on a lonely dirt road, heading south to Fourr Canyon.

In 1907 Billy Fourr guarded the entrance to the canyon with his Wincester. “I took it away from the Indians and by God I aim to keep it.”

In 2005 the canyon is guarded by a vicious dog, a friendly mexican ranch hand and a crusty old cowboy named Jack. Lee had secured permission to pass through, but it seemed on the edge, especially while we were there. He told us there was no way to get to the other side of the Dragoons, but that was exactly our plan. We offered to let him know how it went, but “he didn’t give a damn if we made it or not.”

After some small talk, we headed out the back of the ranch and were instantly back on public land — Fourr Canyon. The canyon was a very nice ride. The trees grew dense, almost high elevation forest, and it was very peaceful. The canyon was relatively untouched — except the obvious mark of cattle.

After a few challenging rock sections our road led us out of the canyon, climbing towards a small pass. We successfully climbed two steep pitches, feeling good about ourselves. Then I rounded a corner, and “oh boy.” It looked unlikely, but I gave it a shot anyway. Traction held out longer than I anticipated, but it was soon clear this hill was far beyond my abilities and strength.

We pushed and pushed up the hill, sending my calves & achilles tendons into a frenzy. At 5800 ft we gained an impressive view of Fourr Canyon, the past, and the upper end of Jordan Canyon, the future.

Looking toward Jordan Canyon from Fourr

The road descended steeply to the actual pass, then increased its grade even further to drop into Jordan Canyon. It was one of the strangest descents I’ve ever ridden. It felt like snow skiing in a few inches of fresh powder. It was very loose, yet it did not feel out of control. Despite the extreme grade, I had no fear. Crashing would have been soft and might possibly have felt good. In short, it was fun.

We rolled around on the nicely wooded road, crossing a few side drains. The road was growing ever more faint with each mile. At the top of a ridge we reached a corral and the ‘trick tank.’ The trick, in this case, is to catch rain water using a large bowl of tin that empties into a tank. A good idea as an alternative to damming, drilling or a spring.

The Trick Tank

Now we had a decision. As Jack told us, there is no route from this ridge to the east side of the Dragoons. I had originally mapped out a route following a drainage that started at the trick tank. Lee’s idea was to take a shorter, steeper but hopefully clearer route down a ridgeline. After looking at the start of the drain we decided to check out the ridgelines higher up.

The road quickly deteriorated into a trail and then into desert. We saw the knoll indicated on the topo, so we headed directly for it. Things looked pretty good, that is, clear. The terrain featured prickly pear, cholla, and ocotillo, but it was not thick enough that the going was too slow.

We started out traversing the knoll, still heading to attain the ridge. We got into a few nasty sections that required some route finding, causing us to question our decision to traverse. But we were soon standing on the ridge, staring across the plains of the Sulphur Springs Valley to the snow covered Chiricahua Mountains.

We walked down the ridge until we reached a small peak. The geographic setup was strangely similar to our ridgeline descent off the Brush Corrals trail. We were once again hiking our bikes out of a sky island, heading east down a sharp ridge into a huge valley, and more importantly, into the unknown. We learned from our errors on Brush Corrals, sticking to the ridgeline rather than traversing around the peaks. The downhill sides of the two peaks were very steep, but really not so bad. On top of the second peak we could see a large concrete dam and the faint 4×4 road that led away from it. We were close.

Concrete Dam and our goal – the 4×4 road

An hour of hike-a-bike was all it took to connect Fourr Canyon and the east side of the Dragoons. We sat for a break at the start of the 4×4 road, thinking it had almost been too easy, too fast. But the day had much more in store for us, of course.

We floated down the 4×4 road quite pleased with ourselves and how well everything had turned out. The road merged with the main dirt road that follows the east side of the Dragoons. The road is fast, firm and beautiful. We blasted it out, then climbed up the East Stronghold Canyon to the picnic area.

Approaching the Stronghold

The Stronghold is a place that has a presence to it. Or so it seems to me. The spectacular rock formations are just one part of it. Another part is the history, and still another is the fabulous technical & physical challenge available on the Cochise Trail. After a brief stop in the picnic area we started our climb back over the Dragoons.

My rear tire had a slow leak, which provided me some extra traction, but the unsteadiness & unpredictability probably countered any advantage. I climbed as best I could, impressing myself on a few sections while depressing myself at my weakness on others. It was warm enough that the trail actually had water running down it in several spots, and unfortunately it had been recently torn up by horse hooves. In short, it was the most difficult I had ever seen it.

Some sections are impossible to ride even under the best conditions, at least for me under present (perhaps self-imposed) restrictions. As I said to Lee after dismounting, “if you’re not walking, you’re not being challenged.” I was definitely being challenged.

Red headed wood pecker from the Stronghold

We put our energy into the climb, gaining elevation toward the Stronghold Divide. We found a large group of horses near the divide, and could only interpret their unfriendliness as a consequence of our choice of transportation. Sad, really.

After crossing the Stronghold Divide the trail is more narrow, frequently switchbacking and untouched by horses. This is one of the most amazing pieces of trail in Federation Space. The switchbacks are tight, the trail soft and the views, well, you’ll just have to take my word for it. The trail goes quickly, but we had to stop a few times just to look and enjoy the silence.

Downhill confidence was high, for one reason or another, resulting in a solid run for me. I was one turn away from cleaning the rapidfire switchback section & it was an error I should not have made. On the next turn I could find no attractive lines, so I stopped to unclip again. As usual, the trail ended too quickly; we found ourselves coasting down through the West Stronghold Canyon.

A few climbers were hanging out next to what I think is Isle of You. We rolled on by, knowing that we faced the next challenge of the ride: getting back to Fourr ranch. Several maps indicated a route, but local knowledge indicated that no one has gone that way for years. We weren’t sure what to expect, but we did have permission from the Dixon’s to pass through the Dragoon Mountain Ranch.

We went through the gate, past the Horse Ranch, then back into National Forest land on an all-but-swallowed grassland dirt road. Despite the lack of identifiable road the going wasn’t too bad. We had to maneuver down and around a few drains, but in the distance we spotted a gate and a slightly more present road. It was the entrance back to Fourr ranch property.

We climbed through a low pass, then descended back to the ranch HQ. We entered, since Lee was looking for his sunglasses, and also to give the ranch boys a report on our route. Lee picked up a few rocks, and within a few moments the mean dog was en route at full speed. Lee yelled and moved the rocks at him just in time. The dog skid to a halt, then turned around and ran back to the patio. We slowly backed off the property, being followed by a nasty, barking black dog with other lesser dogs in tow. They were intent on chasing us off, but we didn’t feel threatened until the mean dog started its second run at us. Now we were moving quickly enough to increase speed and just get ourselves out of there. They gave us a good chase, but our bikes were too fast for them.

We climbed back through Dragoon to Allegra’s retreat to finish up the ride.

38 miles, 5000 feet of climbing, 7:42 total time

I can safely say that no one has ridden this route before, and we don’t have any plans of riding it again. But it was an excellent ride and a great adventure. This it the kind of riding I live for.

Besides the ride, the trip itself was also memorable in that I met Lee’s mom, Allegra. We stayed at her solar powered, earth built retreat the night before the ride. Her house is so peaceful; it permeates with the grace of both her and her cat. She has the energy of a woman 30 years younger, but still retains the wisdom of her years. More reinforcement of a few basic tenets: enjoy life, apply yourself and live responsibly (to others and the planet). Examine your life and don’t let it pass you by.

I’ve always wondered why people work so much, and so hard, at jobs they usually do not like. “To get by” is maybe one answer. But very little is needed to get by. 50 hrs a week, commuter traffic, life draining stress, then you get to the end of your life and wonder what happened to it all. I have almost no interest in working a full-time job. Do I really need to make that kind of money? Do I care? I care about enjoying my life and finding meaning in applying myself how I feel is best. It is clear that most people are not happy, so I reject the normal pattern of life. This doesn’t mean I’ll ever find happiness, or that it is even possible. But why try a formula that, by all accounts, can only fail– clinging to hope only in the dubious prospect of an afterlife or some other continuation. Whether or not such a continuation exists, it still makes sense to make the most of what we definitely have. The definition of ‘the most’, of course, is subjective, and I am perfectly willing to accept that for some people working their brains out is their meaning. But it isn’t mine.

Give me a bike, a mountain unexplored, the fresh air, and the sun shining bright. Give me life.