Day eleven
I set an alarm for the first time in a very long time. I’ve been getting up with the sun for most of the trip, or at least waking up with the sun and taking my time to heat up coffee, make breakfast, and pack up for the day. I wanted to get an early start for what I knew was going to be a long day, biking 120+ miles from Tuscon to Why through the Tohono O’odham reservation.
I hit snooze, and got up once the sun rose. I had some packing to do that I didn’t finish the night before, and took my time with a hot shower and hot breakfast before saying goodbye to my Grandpa Pete and getting an earlier than usual—but not early—start around 9am.
The ride started with some rolling hills on my way out of Tuscon. In planning my route, I was expecting around 2,200 feet of elevation gain, which I figured would come from a series of rolling hills throughout the day, something that I’m accustomed to from my rides around hilly Seattle. Instead the day was marked by a few 10 to 30–mile steady climbs, each one testing my resolve.
I had a false hope when I finished the longest of the climbs, and took a longer than expected break at the Shell station in Sells before starting a descent through a 10-mile “flash flood zone,” which I learned was road-sign shorthand for “bad pavement zone,” and which I later learned would be renewed every ten miles for the remaining three-quarters of my day. It was nice to have my new backpack off for a bit, which was resting on my back in an uncomfortable way.
My pace wasn’t as fast as I had expected. Even downhill was sluggish from the rough pavement and increasing headwind. I made another pit stop earlier than planned and read a sign about a failed gold and silver ore mine and the rapid rise and decline of a boom town and four suburbs, all of which have since been reclaimed by the desert.
I’ve been cautious listening to music, not so much because of the cars on the road—which I can still hear coming up behind me—but to make sure I don’t use all of my battery power before I’m able to recharge. As the day got hotter, a new “flash flood zone” appearing, and seeing that I was about to start another steady climb, I decided to put on some music to keep me motivated.
I was nearing the top of the hill and end of my energy reserves when I see a dog tear out of a yard and charge toward me. I had heard about the risk of unfenced dogs for bikers, and had that concern in the back of my mind. Dogs—more than angry road users, more than mechanical issues, more than a drained battery—were among my top anxieties going into this trip. Most drivers, even if they’re passing too close for comfort, don’t actually want to kill me. A protective dog does.
I remembered reading about someone finding it worked well for them to get off their bike and take off their helmet as a way of calming dogs on the road. I watched as the dog barked and snarled and got closer to my exposed leg, and decided that wasn’t going to be my strategy. My adrenaline kicked in and I doubled my speed for the final uphill stretch, pleading with dog to “get the fuck away from me.” I found some comfort in recalling that humans are one of the few mammals built for endurance, and kept going long after the dog had stopping chasing, with a mixtape from Flume keeping the beat.
The sun would set around 6pm. I started doing some mental math of the distance remaining and my average pace, and the numbers weren’t what I was hoping for, even after double and triple–checking my work. I also wasn’t entirely sure where I would be camping for the night, I just knew it couldn’t be while I was still on the reservation. There were some areas where I thought I might be able to stealth camp, but I wasn’t about to be that white guy camping on Native American land because his plans didn’t go quite as expected—that had a pretty colonialist ring to it. Someone mentioned good camping just two miles south of Why, so that remained my plan.
I yelled when I saw another “flash flood zone” sign just before sunset, cursing the bad pavement and declaring myself done. Then I screamed three more times.
My new backpack—as uncomfortable as it was turning out to be—had a spot for me to clip on my rear light. I turned it on, along with the headlight I didn’t think I would need for the trip. Riding in the dusk ended up being a really peaceful time of day. The wind died down, the temperature cooled, and the pastels of the sunset were soothing. I saw mountains ahead and told myself the town would be just past those. That was a lie, but I calmed down knowing an end was somewhere ahead of me.
At long last I saw the “Why Not?” travel center, marking the end of the reservation land, and time to find a place to camp. I asked inside where I might be able to set up a tent, and the clerk confirmed that there was a BLM campsite just two miles south. It was dark by the time I got there, so ended up making camp pretty close to an RV because I didn’t want to go searching for a better site.
I was quicker than usual making dinner and settling into bed. As soon as I laid down, someone shined a flashlight on my tent. “Hello?” I said, after they kept the light shining on me. “Oh, are you camping there?” a man asked. “Yes,” I said. I’m not sure what else he was expecting, but my answer must have satisfied him because he retreated into his RV and left me to a satisfying rest.