If you read my last post you know I had planned to bike up Mount Lemmon on my Birthday (30 miles each way from 2500' to 8200'). So let me start by answering some preliminary questions you may have.
Did you wake up early enough? No.
Did you make the attempt anyway? Yes.
Did you take pictures? No.
Did you bring the camera? Yes.
Did you bring the memory card? No.
What did you bring to document? Video camera.
Did you get good video? No (automatic focus doesn't work well)
Are you going to torture us with video on the blog anyway. Yes..no..yes...wait..no..ok no.
Did you make it all the way up to Ski Valley? Read on.
I began my ride just after 6:30 AM, later than I usually catch the bus for work. It was already getting hot, the sun being out for the past hour. I probably should have rushed straight to the mountain but the birds were singing this time of morning, and this ride was also about observing and appreciating the nature along the way. Of the 22 species heard and seen on the five mile ride to the base the beautiful male Purple Martin on the telephone wires above me stands out the most.
The sun's endless heated stare bore down on me for the first five miles to Molino Basin. I was almost finished with my first liter of water and the trip wasn't half over by far. The road turned left giving some temporary relief but climbed steeply. As it weaved toward Bear Canyon I stopped to admire the magnificent, sunshine yellow blooms of the Century Plants along the road. This agave, whose name implies a bloom every hundred years, actually lives closer to 25 years, with the blooms signifying the end of the plant's life. The birds, butterflies, and were also drawn to the beauty of these rare blooms, as I watched a Broad-tailed Hummingbird, Broad-billed Hummingbird and Western Tanager come by for a taste. A Black-headed Grosbeak sang a melodious tune from the hillside and a Western Wood Pewee gave harsh calls from the stream below. I was overjoyed on hearing a Canyon Wren's high pitched whistles echoed against the canyon walls. It's incredible song has been missed on most of my recent trips up the mountain, yet today I would experience it at three different locations!
At Bear Canyon a family of Black-throated Gray Warblers greeted me in the underbrush by the bank. Another stop yielded Pine Siskins and a single male Western Bluebird. The best stop by far was across from the ranger station, which gave great views of Virginia's Warbler, Painted Redstarts, and a Greater Pewee, as well as a host of others calling or visiting, such as;
Spotted Towhee, Turkey Vulture, Yellow-eyed Junco, Hairy Woodpecker, Pygmy Nuthatch, House Wren, Steller's Jay, Broad-tailed Hummingbird, Black-throated Gray Warbler, Ducky-capped Flycatcher, Turkey Vulture, White-breasted Nuthatch, Western Tanager, Hermit Thrush, and a Cordilleran Flycatcher. At one point I thought I heard the call of an Arizona Woodpecker, a bird whose northernmost range just reaches southeast Arizona and southwestern New Mexico. I delayed my departure hoping for this unique sighting, even as I saw the storm clouds coming in. I finally left to continue pursuit of my other, possibly secondary goal for this trip.
At this point I was wiped out. The banana I had for breakfast and power bar at Molino were all used up. If I had taken serious stock of my situation at the ranger station I may have stopped my pursuit. I was thirsty, sunburned, and not sure if I was thinking straight. When you're not sure if you're thinking straight, you probably aren't. I headed upwards more out of instinct than reason. Perhaps I remembered those soccer days in college when you could push your body beyond its limits to win the race, or use stamina in defense against your opponent.
I especially remember Frankie, a punk freshman who put me through the endurance test of my lifetime. It was our first five mile run of season and I was a junior, trying to protect my title gained the previous season after an initial loss. It had lost by only yards, and only because I gave up, realizing afterward I still had energy left and could have won with more effort. Afterward I never lost a race. Though my training the previous summer had not been intense, I still yearned for the title, perhaps to make up for the previous year's mistake. I had no worries about the veterans since I knew their boundaries, but the freshmen were questionables in the equation. I felt reassured after some preliminary interviews with them on summer training.
I heard later someone saying Frankie was a junior olympian, but this was not disclosed during our informal interview on summer training. I started the race as always, running hard for a mile to gain a sizable lead, and hoping the others would lose interest, so I could coast the rest of the way. It always worked before. But that punk Frankie was still right on my heels, and not even breathing hard. I pushed it for another mile-still no progress. My sides were hurting and I felt like puking. A half a mile later I had my limit, and fell back 20, then 30, then 50 yards to where my coach held 3rd place.
"I couldn't do it, Mike," I surrendered. Mike knew my competitive spirit and we shared a love of running as well. He knew how much I put into the games and that when my hands were on my head and I was gasping, I was just getting my second or third wind.
After another half mile I felt more refreshed, and realized Frankie was still fifty yards ahead. There was still a chance, but I would have to catch up before cardiac hill, the hill that had claimed many spirits in that time. Just looking at this beast of a hill at the end of the run made some athletes stop and hurl in defeat. I had an advantage. I knew it's fury and knew how to overcome it. But I had to get there first.
I was gaining but every yard of gain took tremendous effort. It was a quarter mile to the turn and I was still twenty yards back. With an all out kick I pushed passed and gained another ten before turning up the final ascent. Frankie never let up. The final straightaway was a slight upgrade to the finish.
It was a tough race. I gained a lot of respect for Frankie that day, and I felt it was mutual. He put me through the wringer but taught me a lesson on my limits as well. Through the seasons his spirit came out on the field and off, yet he was an amazingly humble and grounded person, with the most sound moral values of anyone I knew (so maybe not a punk after all). I looked at my college alumni magazine some months back and saw his steadfast face looking back at me. Turns out he became a congressman. Why am I not surprised! If anyone can give someone a run for the money it is that punk freshman Frankie. He's out of politics now but I hope he does run for office again, for the benefit of everyone he serves.
This was a race but a different kind. It was a race to restore faith in my abilities. There was no competition except my own uncertainty. It wasn't going to be stamina getting me to the top, only determination. As my internal struggle commenced, the storm clouds threatened as well. I payed no notice since I knew rain would not be the hardest obstacle to overcome. I struggled to the 8000 foot mark, the point at which I could return with dignity. After this mark would be a steep descent to 7550 elevation, a climb up several hundred feet then drop of about the same, then a tortuously steep ascent 700 feet to Ski Valley.
I don't know exactly why I pedaled on. For the uppermost part of the ride I intended for this to be the end of the quest, despite what I wrote in the previous blog post. I guess some part of me knew that I had decided the destination was Ski Valley, and I was holding to it. The last ascent was tortuous, my heart pounding and muscles crying out for relief, hoping each turn would bring the end in focus.
As I sat, exhausted outside the Iron Door restaurant a nice older woman exited. She looked at me and said, "Wow, you made it! We passed you two hours ago on our way up and didn't think you'd make it. She also had a story of accomplishment from 10 years ago, when she was 70. She hiked the very steep trail before us which led to the peak of Mount Lemmon (1000 elevation rise). Very impressive! I wonder if she's running for office?
I had one of the best bacon cheeseburgers ever at a restaurant in Summerhaven that had a great atmosphere. Feeling refreshed in body and mind I pedaled up the last two hills before my downhill coast home. A stop at the ranger station added a Magnificent Hummingbird and Band-tailed Pigeon to the bird list, and I had another great conversation with a fellow bicyclist on biking and politics, where I relayed parts of the story of Frankie. I stopped again in the same area with the Century Plants to discover not one, but three Arizona Woodpeckers, one of them feasting on the century plant itself! Just a stone's throw later a male and female Hepatic Tanager gave excellent views as they foraged in a nearby tree. I finished the ride with 72 total bird species, a little more than one per mile.
Thank you for appreciating the nature we have around us.
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