In the first miles, the riders separated by speed. Pacelines 30 bikes long were getting longer as more riders were sucked into the draft. "On your left!" they called as they snaked by. Families and locals lined the road, waving and cheering us on.
At about mile six, yells up ahead meant everyone was stopping to carry their bikes across the first dry wash. Hundreds of riders clomped their way down through the cobbles and sand as the dust rose and air began to warm up. Just when our shoes could hold no more sand, the sound of mariachis cut through the dust. In another minute, we were back on paved earth, snacking on doughnuts while we took a break and emptied our shoes. Arm warmers and tights were strewn all over the road, forgotten in the excitement of the day.
The mass flowed eastward, through the outskirts of town, up and down the saguaro and scrub-covered hills. Horses were milling around, shaking off the morning cold, and the smell of bacon and coffee wafted across the road. My pace was slower than last year, but the same as my solo rides at home. I unclipped the computer and put it in my pocket.
"Hey, cool bike," says a lady stoking a Two'sDay as she slowly passes me. We were heading north, on Freeman Road, near Saguaro National Park.
"Thanks," I say, "for not asking me where the rest of it is." It's easy to make friends on a bike like this, and chatting with other riders makes climbing hills a lot more fun.
I made a few more friends as I got through the second dry wash at Sabino Creek, through Canyon Ranch, and up the dreaded Snyder Hill. Then it was a long, slow slog along Skyline Drive to Fire Station 80 and those beautiful life-saving pancakes. I met Hal, a local guy, and we pedaled along together for a few miles while we discussed various strategies for eating pancakes and syrup while riding. As soon as he saw his family waiting along Tangerine Road, he opted for the car ride home.
Continuing alone, I rode south through more little cactus-covered hills. Not many riders passed me now, and the desert was quiet, and beautiful. I stopped and stretched, and even though I was tired and sore, I was calm. I didn’t know what time it was, or exactly how far I still needed to ride. Without the computer, my mind was no longer doing time and distance equations. Instead, I was enjoying the desert and the day. The centrifugal force generated by riding around Tucson in this big crazy circle was flinging me outward, toward bigger landscapes, toward the horizon, and right off the map.
Nine hours, a bunch of new friends, and 109 miles later, I turned onto Granada Avenue and coasted across the finish line. Slowly, I got off my bike and took off my helmet, wondering if I had the strength to make it back to my nice cushy bed. Everything hurt. Leaning on my bike, I hobbled over and picked up my "silver" medal, and headed toward my B&B. A small grey-haired woman was walking toward me. It was Lorene, my friend from the start line.
"Hey!" she said. "You made it! Congratulations!"
Lorene had finished two hours before me, cleaned up, and come back for the barbeque. She walked with me back to my room, chattering about how much fun she had and how she couldn’t wait until next year.
"What's that goop on your bike?"
"Oh…ummm, I don't know."
By the next morning, I couldn't wait until next year either. I was already dreaming about hitching up my trailer and heading toward the edge of the map. And like the stalactites of syrup drying under my bike's mono-tube, I was going to take my own sweet time ...
RELATED LINKS
Ride with Audrey in the Bike Friday Club of Sacramento
