Funktown - Burned Down

It felt as if the wind had personality, and was angry ... at me.  It whipped me, pushed me, slapped me around for 80 miles today.  I took it, all of it, and never faltered.  I never thought of seeking shelter, calling home for my wife to come get me.  The wind punished me over the 3200 feet of climbing.  Climbing up the second to last big hill the signs warning of a winding road ahead rocked back and forth.  The trees bent steadily to the wind's insistence.  I loved it!  At mile 70, when I finally turned so I had a tailwind, I slammed down the gears, finishing mile 75 in under 3:00 on dead legs. 

Funktown -- burned down! 

I burned that funk to the ground...or, maybe I shouldn't take credit, but it's burned and that's the important part. 

Maybe it is because I had a hard, but yet relaxed ride Thursday, that reset my perspective.  Maybe it's because it's my anniversary and I'm very happy about that.  Yesterday we celebrated, low key, as is our fashion.  We went to the movies, saw The Hunger Games, with our youngest daughter.  Funny, but we've gone out as a family for our anniversary three of the past four years!  We just get along, I guess.

Maybe funktown burned down because of pent-up emotional energy.  This week our dog died unexpectedly (perhaps an owl got her).  My oldest daughter joined the National Guard (they can provide an avenue by which she can be a veterinarian), and has her first drill this weekend.  My wife had an upper GI scope done Monday and luckily her gal bladder is fine and she just has an ulcer.  

Anyhow, because of a stiff back and a very humbling route planned today (I love and hate this ride), I took yesterday off from all exercise.  I checked the weather last night and the forecast called for headwinds both ways of an out-and-back 80 miler.  Seriously.  Fifteen mph winds with gusts up to 20 heading east until 10 am, then from the south for a short time, then from the west from 11 on, all day the speed picking up.  Wow!

Maybe the funk is busted because I mentally focused last night, running through a check list of goals, items of focus and especially steeling my nerves for what lay ahead today.

Regardless, my average pace was very slow, 16 mph, but my effort and focus were as good as I've ever had on a ride.  I'm pretty charged up!

I did manage to take a few pictures today.  You can see them all here.  

The picture above is one of my favorite stretches of road.  It's on Arizona State Highway 82, just west of Patagonia, Arizona.

And old stone home I always love looking at.  It was built long before the two-lane highway existed.  How upset do you think they must've been when the route went right THERE!?

Yup, there's wine in Arizona...even a 5K that the wineries host where you get to sample various wines after the race!

An old abandoned ranch house north of Nogales, Arizona.

Some of the wild life!

The Santa Cruz River.  Not much water this time of year.

The picture above is taken just before an OSOM stretch of road, when headed this direction.  It's about 4 miles of down hill....think 40 mph on a bicycle down hill. 

The picture below is Mt. Wrightson, which my brother-in-law and I will be climbing on May 5th.  I'm super-excited about that!  I've been wanting to climb that thing my entire life, just never have.

Here's how I set up the display on my Garmin 405 for riding.  A lot of cyclists apparently hate it, but this shows me what I need, HR, cadence, and speed.  A HR of 108 means I'm obviously not working real hard while taking pictures! 

Yeah, that was tough.

Today I took a little lap around the Santa Rita Mountains. It turned out to be 119 miles and took me 7:15 of riding time.  I took pre-scheduled breaks and a few unplanned potty breaks.  It was an awesome experience, one that is unique in difficulty of all of the things I've done, and one I won't likely do again any time soon.

In the picture to the right you can see the mountains on the horizon, about 30 miles away or so.

The ride started at 7:40 this morning.  My hands froze for the first 6 miles.  I tucked them behind the handlebars and tried to protect as much exposed skin as possible by pulling my arms in tight against my sides.  I love running in cold weather, but riding a road bike is a bit different.

There was a slight breeze in my face as I made my way into the town of Patagonia.  I had really struggled, despite the beautiful route.  Many times I wished there was another GABA ride so I'd have people to chase.  But as it turned out, I managed just over 15 mph average.  I've not been that slow since ... March?

I hadn't planned on stopping in Patagonia but I needed to use the restroom and to think about why I was struggling.  My legs weren't tired and I was rested and had good fuel.  I was just kind of emotionally flat.  Not an appropriate state of mind for what lay ahead!

Patagonia is a neat place.  Everybody lives there by choice and it's community reflects such.  Above is a picture at the public restroom in the town park and it's obviously nicely decorated. When I walked into the restroom, I became aware that a previous rider had been having a crappier ride than I was.  Warning, it's kind of a gross picture, you've been warned.

I realized that my cadence had been too low, so I focused on keeping it over 90 and had much better performance for the rest of the day.  As I left Patagonia, about 4000 feet in elevation, to head the 12 miles up to Sonoita, about 5500 feet elevation, I was very disappointed to find that the top layer of the highway's asphalt had been removed.  ADOT was apparently going to resurface.  Ugh.  This was sure to be the hardest part of the ride anyway, as the wind is ALWAYS in my face on this ride, and the climbing is steady and relentless.

When I pulled into Sonoita, which was my first scheduled stop and 40 miles from home, my feet, seat and hands were all numb.  I grabbed a few goodies and replenished my fluids.  How is that for a healthy mid-morning snack?  Chocolate milk, snickers and nutter butters?  The joys of riding.

I hit the road going north with a bit of anticipation.  I'd never ridden this route before.  It had the single largest climb according to the research I'd done.  I just knew that the scenery would be unparalleled.  The high desert grasslands are incredible.

This road, AZ highway 83, was in excellent condition, though it had a small, ever narrowing shoulder.  The surface was smooth and flat, a welcome change for my rear end.  With the new surface my speed picked up and I rolled along at an easy 18 to 19 mph until I hit the hills again.

In the picture above and right you can see that I'm now on the other side of the Santa Rita Mountains.  I really enjoyed this part of the ride, though I had to pee again only twenty minutes after leaving Sonoita again.  I've been trying to become more efficient with fluids by hydrating more fully before a long ride.  Today was the first time in a while I had trouble.

It was all fun and games until I hit the hills.  I'm not sure if this picture will really capture the climb.  It's not that it was so steep, I've ridden steeper, but this was steep and long, about a mile and a half without break.

I love climbs like this though, really.  When I'm at the top it's an accomplishment to be sure.

Now of course what goes up, must come down.  And down I came.  For the next thirty miles I was cruising downhill.  Unfortunately the shoulder completely disappeared and the road became in disrepair shortly after leaving Santa Cruz County and entering Pima County.  But, what a rush.  That first downhill made the entire ride worth the effort.

How sweet of a sign is that for a cyclist?

I dropped in elevation from just under 6000 feet to just over 2000 feet pretty quickly.  The road wound down through a narrow canyon, the road carved out of solid rock on each side.  Eventually I shot out onto a gently downhill sloping flat covered in cactus.  It looked like something in a scene from The Hills Have Eyes.
I pulled in for my second planned stop at bought some sunscreen and some more fluids.  I was waiting in line to pay when some young teenaged girls asked me if I'd ridden there.  They shared that they too had ridden, and almost died.  It was TWO HORRIBLE MILES!  I didn't share how far I'd gone.  I was at 68 miles.

At this point I was beginning to create small goals.  Get here and maintain your average pace all of the way and then we'll evaluate how things are and make another goal.  I continued down the hill into the Santa Cruz Valley and the temperature continued to rise.  I couldn't wait to be done.  This road was getting worse, the traffic heavier and the sun was ROASTING!

I finally reached my turn and headed south through some pecan groves.  The groves are interesting as they add some humidity to the local area, which has a cooling effect.  The road again was smooth and the shoulder was sufficient.  There was a slight breeze at my back and I hoped it would remain there for the final 45 miles of my ride.

I stopped in Green Valley and bought pretzels.  They sounded, and were, fantastic.  I was also thirsty for just water.  No more Gatorade or Powerade.  Weird how that happens. 

Now I was really at the point of just picking places to stop.  I had one more scheduled stop in Tubac.  I made it there going well.  I was tired but strong.  I bought a peanut butter cookie and a banana.  I hit the road just wanting to make it to the north side of Rio Rico, then I'd evaluate what I had left and create a game plan.  

The last five mile stretch before I hit the residential area is on the interstate.  The frontage road is flat dangerous, busy, fast and has no shoulder, often the white line is painted over broken asphalt.  Over the last two miles on the freeway I decide to open it up with whatever I had left.  I had been maintaining between 16.5 and 17.5.  At first I'd have been happy maintaining that as the road began to incline.  But, I pushed and brought the speed up to 20, 21 and sprinted to finished at 22.5.  That was a hugely taxing effort that will have a huge dividend to be collected on 11/19 (El Tour de Tucson).  

When I got home I was as tired as I can ever remember being from a bike ride.  My wife said a friend of her's husband rode a lot in California, touring the Sierra Madres.  The story went, he was used to elevation and chose my route today as his first Arizona ride.  It turned out to be his last serious ride in Arizona.  Too much climbing and too much heat, he said.

Next weekend I'm riding El Tour's route with my brother-in-law.  That's going to be no walk in the park at 111 miles, but by comparison, shouldn't be nearly as bad.

Sonoita, Arizona

On Saturday we were going to the home of some friends in Sonoita, Arizona.  I was going to show them how to make beer-can chicken.  Beer can chicken, by the way, even when done poorly, is awesome.  But more on that another time.

The ride would be 40 miles east on two lane state highways and back roads that follow rivers and slip through and around mountains, climb over hills and dive down canyons.  My wife would meet me there and we'd enjoy lunch with our friends.

The drive (in a car) is spectacular.  I've ridden the route once before on a bicycle and the hills are formidable.  In combination with the hills, the heat, and since it's monsoon season, humidity could possibly, I worried, prevent a whole lot of sight seeing on my bicycle.  

I wrestled with the decision to bring the camelbak (3 liters of cold delicious water) or leave it because of weight.  I decided to take the camelbak.  Then I picked it up.  The idea of carrying the additional 10 pounds (almost) up those hills seemed to only promise the NEED of the 3 liters of water it would carry.  Three water bottles would have to do the trick.  I filled two with gatorade, the other with water and grabbed my sport jelly beans and a gel shot.  Sunscreen, more sunscreen, double checked the equipment and headed out the door at 8:30 am.

It was already 90 degrees.  It was "fog your glasses" humid.  Ugh.  I was supposed to arrive in Sonoita at 11:00 am.  Two and a half hours, forty mile ride and a climb of 2000 feet.  I rolled through the neighborhood planning my approach, when to attack hills, when to grind them out, when to coast and rest.

I made it the five miles to South River Road, which winds along the bottom of a small canyon tracing the river's route.  It quickly became clear that I didn't have the same amount of "juice" I've had over the past month.  Game plan = gone.

River Road has never seemed hilly before and I've ridden countless times.  But the rolling hills were frustrating me.  I hoped the wind would pick up as it almost always blew from west to east.  That would help.  I guess the previous day's activities had taken their toll.  I ran for 45 minutes in the morning and then rode in the heat for an hour and a half with my wife. 

I turned east on Highway 82 and as always at this point was struck by the contradiction I was experiencing.  The road definitely appeared to be uphill, and not subtly so.  However, I was cruising at 18 mph and barely pedaling.  Weird how that happens.  It was short-lived though, lasting about a quarter mile.

The first sustained climb staggers its up way for about 4 miles before the road flattens on top of a large plateau featuring the Nogales International "Airport."  When I reached the top I was rewarded with quite a view.  The high clouds dropped patchwork shadows on the mountains, recently greened by the monsoons.  The air smelled of honeysuckle and there were large patches of yellow and orange poppies, wild coneflowers, red and burned orange, and thistles topped with their large white flowers.


Then a bug smacked into my uvula.  I swallowed...no luck, still there.  I hacked and wretched.  No dice.  I squeezed a strong stream of water from my water bottle.  Still, I could feel that stupid bug moving around.  What is this...an insect version of Pinocchio where I'm starring the whale?

Up and down the hills I went before the best riding part, a sustained and steep downhill, about 5 miles long.  I screamed down the hill in the lowest gear topping 42 mph.  The road leveled a bit, but continued downhill, allowing gravity to shoot me through and around the winding, narrowing canyon.

I arrived in the first of the two towns on the route, Patagonia (means geographic end of the earth).  As I pulled into the only convenience store in Patagonia, I noticed the wind was picking up.  However, it was the wrong direction blowing in my face.  The ride to the point had been tough.  Adding to my misery was the realization that even with all of that up and down hill riding, the total elevation gain was just about 250 feet.  I still had 1500 feet to climb, with the wind now in my face, which promised a simmering monsoon storm.

I bought a bottle of water, a bottle of Gatorade and my favorite in-ride fuel, a Snickers bar.  The joys of riding are plentiful!  I refilled, ate and stretched.  Pending monsoon or not, I needed a break.

Sonoita is only 12 miles beyond Patagonia.  Where the first 28 miles of the trip are steep climbs and fast descents, the last twelve miles are uphill without break.  The last few miles are the biggest climbs.

The wind in my face picked up as I rode.  My average speed dropped from 15.1 to 14.9 ... 14.8 and so on.  I stopped looking at the average speed and focused on cadence.  I distracted myself by looking for cool things in the view, but mostly I just suffered through it.

As I rode past a stone farmhouse I've always loved seeing, my wife passed me in the car.  My youngest daughter's arm stuck out of the window, hand waving happily.  I was still eight miles away, the hardest part remained.  I know I would've said "No" if offered a ride, but it would've been nice.  The ride proved to be a real grind, the kind that really tests mental toughness as much as physical.

Eventually I crested the last climb and saw that at the crossroad of highways 82 and 83.  I felt less than proud of my effort.  Then I noticed the flags at the Border Patrol station.  They appeared hard-pressed and starched, pointed directly at me!  Since it wasn't really gusting, I hadn't noticed how strong it had really become.

At the corner was a farmers market, the same one where two years ago I sold veggies I'd grown as well as salsas I made.  My wife and daughter were there visiting people we'd not seen for a while.  I stopped and said hello.  All were amazed at the new me, but none asked what I'd done to lose weight.  I think it was totally obvious at that point!

Upon seeing me, a lady said, despite the fact that this is definitely a family setting, "Holy shit!"

Another said, "I didn't know you had an athlete in you." 
I replied, "He was WAAAY deep in there."

I rode with my wife the final mile to our friend's home.  We cooked and ate and enjoyed awesome company.  I played with Steve's remote control race truck and his track.  Any thoughts of riding back home were long-since dismissed.  That 40 miles incredibly more difficult than last weekend's 83 mile ride. 

Then, the highlight of the day:  An adult tricycle.  It's awesome, just look at the picture.

I can't wait to try the ride again.  I know I've got better than that to offer, next time...