I headed over to Bob's house in my car and it took just over an hour. I think I hit nearly every red light on the way. I got everything ready to travel and headed out from Bob's at 9:00 a.m. (An hour later than I had planned.)
I owe Bob a lot--for a variety of reasons, some of which will be revealed later--because he actually scouted my route from his house to the highway for me. It was a huge help. If he hadn't done that I would have had several major problems within the first five miles or so. It would have really messed me up and sent my head to Wackville.
I had heard it was going to be windy, but it wasn't so bad starting out. When you're traveling with a combined bike and gear weight of nearly a hundred pounds, wind is not your friend and that mantra just doesn't work (I often say to myself when riding "The wind is my friend. The wind is my friend." I know it's a lie, but sometimes it helps.)
The first fifteen miles were relatively uneventful. There was a little bit of climbing and a little breeze, but generally not bad. When I hit the junction of Sahuarita Road and AZ83 I really had to go to the bathroom (Thanks the the Gatorade, Bob!) so I pulled over and snuck into the scrub for some relief. Ahhh!
AZ83 was the real beginning of the trip, I think. If you've ever ridden it, or even driven it, it relentlessly climbs and climbs. Just when you think you can't climb anymore, there's another hill. In the space of about 20 miles you gain almost 3000 feet. That's quite a workout on a good day let alone a windy one. Did I say windy? Holy crap.
The winds were somewhere between 20 and 30 miles an hour. It was brutal. The grass and shrubbery along the road were all blowing sideways and it was all generally against me. When the wind picks up like that it likes to catch your bike, especially with all the packs on, and it gets real twitchy. You really have to concentrate to maintain focus and control. It's very taxing. I started stopping at the crests of the bigger climbs. At the top of one a pickup had pulled over and an older woman was standing there and watching me. She asked if I could stop and talk for a minute. I said sure. A younger man got out of the pickup. Andy and his mom were on their way to Sierra Vista with a stove for Andy's dad's kitchen. They were wondering where I was coming from. I'm sure they had hoped I would say I was coming from Calgary and was on my way to Tierra del Fuego, but what are you going to do?
Andy has friends who tour by bike. One friend did a tour from California up the Coast to Canada. Another friend was chased by a bear while touring in Alaska! Let's see, chased by a bear or heading into 30 mile an hour gusts. I'm actually going to have to think about that one and decide. It's not as easy a choice as you might think.
At the top of another hill there was a semi parked and the driver honked and got out to talk--I had stopped at the guardrail for an energy bar and a drink. He was wondering if in my travels I had seen a Hilton Ranch Road. I didn't hear him right at first (I still had ear buds in) and simply told him I wasn't very familiar with the area. We talked a bit and he told me the winds were supposed to get up to 50 miles an hour! I asked him again what the road was and when he repeated it I realized I had seen it not all that far back the other direction. I told him it was a road that headed to the east and there was a nest of cluster boxes for mail and newspapers and that it was actually signed pretty well. He was glad for the info, wished me luck, and I was on my way again.
To reiterate how windy and how much climbing there was, there were climbs where I was going between three and four miles an hour. On many of them I wasn't do much more than five or six. I saw a handful of roadies coming from Sonoita and exchanged greetings with most of them. At one point a woman on a road bike came by going the same direction as I was. We had a little chat and away she went. A while later I saw her coming back and again waved. When I was only a couple miles outside of Sonoita she came by again, this time with another woman riding with her. I figure she must have gone back to help pull her friend along. They invited me to join them for lunch at
the Desert Cafe in Sonoita. I thanked them, but declined. I had already planned on stopping at the mini-mart for a rest and a snack and then I had to get on to Patagonia. The woman at the mini-mart said the wind was not supposed to quit until May (!!!) and that it's supposed to snow on Sunday! I needed the rest, but I also couldn't dilly dally because it was taking me so much longer than expected. I had already been on the road for nearly six hours and still had at least twenty miles to go (further, as it turned out).
AZ82 heads southwest from Sonoita and passes through Patagonia on its way to Nogales. On any other day it would have been a pretty welcome thing because for the first ten miles or so it pretty much goes downhill the whole way. However, after slogging my load through those winds and hills, all I could think about was having to haul my fat ass back up this relentless ten miles the next day (and I really didn't know how far it went down).Again the wind caused me grief. On a lot of the hills I still only made it up to about ten miles an hour or so. Now, seriously, on a two-wheeled beast weighing almost a hundred pounds I should have been blasting down those hills. But, no. In fact, on the three descents where I did start to gain speed I ended up having to ride the brakes because with the wind blowing at me from every angle the bike got to be too dangerous to handle at about fifteen miles per hour. This sort of thing is not good for your psyche!
I passed through Patagonia and expected the turnoff to the State Park to be just up the road. It wasn't. I had a GPS "go to" set for the campground and I watched as the arrow first moved to point me to my right and then to point behind me. By this time I was climbing again and I was getting worried and exhausted. The sun would go down before too long and I was beginning to fear I wouldn't find the campground before dark.
Patagonia Lake Road was probably about four miles beyond where I had thought it would be. It was a rough four miles, made rougher by finding the sign at the turnoff indicating that the campground was full! It was 5:30 by this point and the sun was starting to slowly sink toward the horizon. The sign also indicated that the actual park was four miles further! At my rate that would be at least an hour of riding, unless it was mostly downhill, which I rightfully doubted.
I tried calling the park office, the number of which I had preprogrammed into my phone, and got a recording--the office closes at 5:00! I had planned on begging and pleading. Instead, my only option was to risk riding back in there to see what I could see. Worst case scenario, I would be sleeping on the side of the road. There was no way I would make it anywhere else before dark.
The road into the park was a series of steep ups and downs. The second to the last climb finished me, I think. I was about half way up it when I went too slowly or something, but whatever it was, I ended up stopped and off the bike. I had to push the bike up the rest of the hill because there was no way I was going to be able to get started on that hill. I pretty much ended up pushing up the next hill, as well.
I rolled into the park and was surprised to see how small the actual camping area is. I wandered about and didn't see any spots that looked open. I eyed a little strip of land between two spots. There was a family with a pop-up on the one spot and an RV on the other. I asked the guy from the family if he cared if I put up a small tent on that spot and he couldn't care less. He was very nice about it. In fact, while I was setting up he came over and offered me the use of an extra inflatable mattress. I have my Therma-rest so I didn't need it, but it was very nice of him.
I set my tent up first because I didn't want to do it in the dark. Every time I put my tent up it goes up a different way. I cut this corner, skip this one, etc. I think this time was the closest to the way it is supposed to be put up. I was quite surprised how well it went up--it looked good. Why didn't I take a picture? Probably because I was delirious. In fact, it turns out I didn't take a single picture at the campground. It's weird. Normally I would have taken all sorts of pictures. I guess I really was out of it.Once the tent was up I went to the bathroom to clean up a bit and try and call Joan. There was no signal to be found at my campsite and only a questionable roaming signal at the bathrooms. I did manage to make a few phone calls, though.
While I was calling a bunch of boys came bashing their way through the park. The littlest one, about twelve or thirteen years old, had apparently been tormented by the older ones because he was in a blind rage. The older ones blockaded themselves in the bathroom while he hurled himself at the door. Then he picked up rocks and threw them at the door. I yelled at him and told him to knock it off, I was trying to make a call. He grabbed some rocks and kind of hid around the corner. When I got off the phone I got up to go into the bathroom and I said to him, "I'm going into that bathroom and if I get hit by a rock I am going to kick the ever living shit out of you. You hear me?" The next morning I saw him coming from the bathroom with his father. I said hello to the dad and the kid smiled at me like an innocent angel and said good morning.
Being on a rogue campsite I had no picnic table or anything else. I ended up taking my camp stove over to the curb by the closed visitor center in order to boil water for my lovely dehydrated dinner. I got a few odd looks, but what the hey, right? I took my food down to the boat launch because there was a light there. It was still a little on the dehydrated side when I ate it, but it wasn't all that bad. It was definitely filling and apparently what I needed. I felt a little better having eaten.
I slipped into my tent about 9:00 p.m. and did a pretty good job of slipping off to sleep despite all of the raucous groups of campers all around me. A few people almost stumbled over my tent in the dark--I'm glad they didn't! I woke up several times in the night and just rolled over or turned the other way and went back to sleep. I could tell it was really cold outside, but I was actually quite comfortable in my bag.
It was a brutally difficult day of riding but, I suppose, in the end it worked out OK. I didn't die and I camped for free. What more could you ask for?
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