7-27-88 Wednesday. Today marks the fourth anniversary of the purchase of my second bicycle. Four years ago today I traded in my Sears [Free Spirit] bike for the bike that I now have. A day later I was on my way across Arizona with it. In those four years, I rode 9382.6 miles, an average of 2345.6 miles per year. I’ve ridden 11,634.7 miles altogether, so 80.6% of my riding has been on my current bike. That’s impressive, especially when you consider that it was put together for me by mechanics at the Speedway Bicycle Shop. The deal was as follows: I trade in my Sears bike and pay eighty dollars, in return for which I get a rebuilt bike. The frame was old and rusted, but all of the accessories, including the wheels, derailleur, brakes, gears, and sprocket, were new. About the only major repairs I’ve had to make since then are replacing the main sprocket early in 1986 and having the derailleur overhauled in 1987. The bike has taken me across the state [of Arizona] in five days, gotten me from Bisbee to the Chiricahua National Monument to Cochise, carried me safely across the Tucson deserts dozens of times, and today, finally, gotten me to the top of Mount Lemmon.

I’ve been planning this ride for two days. The idea, however, is old. I vowed several months ago to make it to Mount Lemmon before leaving Tucson. Traffic is heavy on weekends, so a weekday ride was best. The weather forecast was as good as can be expected for late July and I spent an hour last night preparing Gatorade and readying my panniers. At seven o’clock this morning, having packed a lunch and eaten scrambled eggs and toast, I left the apartment. The first eight miles were easy; in fact, they’re part of my regular Crazy Route. But then the climbing began—or would have, had construction crews not thwarted my plans. The first three miles of the Catalina Highway are undergoing widening and resurfacing this summer. I got there just in time to be hauled in a National Forest Service truck. But then I was back at it, climbing the winding mountain road. I covered 10.31 miles the first hour, 6.76 the second, 7.05 the third, 8.11 the fourth, 11.20 the fifth, and 23.29 the sixth. My average speed for the entire ride of 70.04 miles was 11.26 miles per hour. I averaged 7.91 miles per hour on the way up (33.13 miles) and 18.15 on the way down (36.91 miles).

Because of the road work, the Catalina Highway is impassable between the hours of 8:30 A.M. and 3:30 P.M. on Wednesdays. Thus, I had a choice: Come back some other day, or proceed up the mountain and stay there until 3:30. I opted to go up the mountain, because I couldn’t get down until 3:30 anyway. The weather was great: blue skies, warm temperatures, and only a light breeze. I listened to [cassette] tapes and radio, pausing every now and then to take a picture of the surrounding peaks. With the road closed, the only traffic that I had to put up with were those people who planned to make a day of it. I felt like I had the mountain to myself. By the time I got to Windy Point I had accumulated nineteen miles. I’ve been there on my bike twice before, so it was nothing special. After that, however, I was on new bicycling terrain. The only time I’ve been further [sic; should be “farther”] up the highway was in Rob McLean’s truck, several months ago. I plodded on, enjoying the change in scenery from desert scrub to tall pine trees. The higher I went, the cooler it got. A small deer crossed the road in front of me, oblivious to my presence and apparently not frightened by the intruder.

At the thirty-mile mark I reached the turnoff to Summerhaven, a small community near the top of the mountain. My plans included going there, but first I wanted to reach the end of the paved road. Dark clouds had moved overhead, threatening rain. The next mile and a half was steep. I paused briefly to eat my peanut butter and jam sandwiches, then pressed on. By the time I got to Ski Valley, where Rob and I watched skiers, the rain had commenced. I put on my green plastic rain gear and waited. But since it wasn’t coming down hard, I decided to press on. The final stretch of road—nearly two miles—was extremely steep and winding. It was also poorly maintained, so I had to swerve repeatedly to avoid potholes. Rain was falling. Down my speed went: to seven, six, five, four, three miles per hour. My breath came out in short, furious bursts, echoing against the wall of trees. My face was wet with rain and perspiration.

Finally, after several minutes of intense effort bordering on agony, I reached the top of Mount Lemmon and the end of the road. The summit contains two small astronomical observatories, a house, and sheds for the emergency and road-maintenance vehicles. Although I was at the highest point in the entire Santa Catalina Mountain range, I was unable to see the city or anything else. There were too many trees blocking my view. I took a picture, composed myself, sipped some water, and headed down. Lightning ripped the sky. Electricity chattered through the wires in the generating station nearby. The rain continued to fall, though not hard enough to bother me.

Needless to say, I had to be very careful on the way down. Not only was the road steep and winding, but my brakes, which are not good to begin with, were wet. I rode conservatively and made it to Ski Valley with no problems. I cruised past the parking lots and within seconds turned off to Summerhaven. Just as I arrived at the general store, the rain came down with a vengeance. I put my bike under the awning and went inside to buy orange juice and trail mix. For the next hour and a half I sat or lay on the chairs on the store’s deck, watching the rain come down and thinking about what lay ahead of me. There was still no hurry to get down the mountain. Although I was cold and wet, the plastic rain gear kept me tolerably free of the rain and helped preserve my body heat. Imagine: worrying about hypothermia when the desert temperature was over a hundred degrees [Fahrenheit]! (It reached 102 degrees in the valley.) That’s the kind of difference we’re talking about between Tucson and Summerhaven. They’re different worlds. After a valuable rest, I filled my water bottles at the public restroom and headed home. The storm appeared to have passed, and as I got further down the mountain the road became drier and the air warmer. It felt good.

I paused on the downhill ride to take my plastic rain gear off. With the wind blowing in my ears, there was no sense trying to listen to a baseball game or music, so I put my [Sony] Walkman in the pannier with my [Pentax K1000] camera. There was nothing to do but enjoy the long coast home. I tried three times to reach forty miles per hour, but came up short every time. I ended up with a top speed of thirty-nine miles per hour. Not only is the road too winding to go any faster, but it’s not that steep. It’s a long, gradual descent. Luckily for me, I was able to ride my bike through the construction zone on the way back. It’s not good for my bike, but I relished the chance to get three easy miles. My goal for the day was seventy. Bumpety-bumpety-bump. Dust was everywhere. I kept my mouth closed, my hands on the brakes, and my eye on the road. Ominous clouds covered the sky when I reached the flat portion of the Catalina Highway. I made it home at 4:14 P.M., more than nine hours after I left the apartment and just before the rain began. I’m not only a survivor but a victor. Today I achieved one of my oldest and dearest goals, a ride to 9157-foot Mount Lemmon. It’s the highest point in all of Tucson, higher than Mica Mountain (at 8664 feet).