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47.91 Miles; 3,891 Feet of Gain; Hannagan Meadow to Big Lake  Night was utterly quiet. We awoke at the first tendrils of cold dawn. Summer light entered the shelter, but the temps were easily in the upper 30s. We had a big day of climbing ahead of us to cover the distance to Big Lake. Nick came out of his woodland camp while holding a large air rifle he carried for, per his description, the large predators in the area. Hannagan Meadow Lodge wouldn’t open for breakfast for a while, so we ate our own breakfast and joined the shoulder of the highway. Highway 666, aka the Coronado Highway, undulated along a series of gradually rising hills to nearly 9300 feet. Thick aspen, large spruce, and a mix of semi-burned woodlands made up the corridor. The shoulder was decent and the traffic almost non-existent along the paved stretch. The route took a spur and short descent to Blue Vista. Here, a parking pull-off provided an expansive view right off the Mogollon Rim. We parked our bikes and walked out to the overlook for stunning views of pines tumbling down the Rim to a series of ranges that lowered themselves to the Sonoran Desert floor in the distance. The foot of Safford at the base of Mt. Graham punctuated the distant horizon as a prominent Sky Island. Another viewpoint to our left afforded distant views of ranges extending into the heart of the Gila in New Mexico. We ate some more snacks letting the slowly warming light work its way into our skins.
   Janna and I retraced our small spur to get back to the side turn swinging north along the Bear Wallow Wilderness. Smooth wide dirt turned under our wheels as we snaked up and down a contour line along gaping views into mountains surrounding Bear Wallow Creek. The opportune views were the product of the Wallow Fire; only a few miles down the road and we hit the trailhead for the Bear Wallow Trail and its large interpretive sign outline this location as the origin of the destructive fire that raged the White Mountains years ago. We continued on along isolated stands of pine and aspen interspersed among large burn scars. I knew the large descent to Wildcat Crossing was coming from riding this section over the years, so I tucked in and let the bike fly down the massive decline while views of Mount Baldy opened up ahead of us. The descent turned aspen into spruce into ponderosa and oak as our elevation decreased and the air temperatures increased. The canyon containing the Black River filled our vision as the road came to a slowing hairpin turn on a bridge centered over the beautiful waters below. We immediately parked our bikes along the bridge walls and stared at the coursing beauty of that river cutting through southwestern rock, amply draped in green, and gorgeous beneath the blue early summer sky. An osprey called from nearby as it flew to a nest on top of a massive ponderosa tree. Janna and I lingered for a while at the river making sure to fill our water. As the heat of the day was now growing, we got back on our bikes to start the large all-day climb now to Big Lake back at well over 9000 feet from this point at 6800 feet. As we climbed up the embankment of canyon wall on the other side, I kept turning around to stare back at the swath of water making its way through this epic landscape.   
  
   The climb was steep but rideable, and eventually the grade decreased as we climbed over the canyon wall. Large ponderosa stands filled the landscape, their forest floors covered with irises now drying in the quickening summer. We pedaled on up and down several well-flowing creeks, making our way through the expansive forest. Wild horses grazed in adjacent meadows and the USFS had up signs about trespass cattle removal on some side spur roads. On portions of the route, large green ferns unfurled in bunches across the pine-needle firmament. We turned our bikes and arrived as the West Fork Black River - a tributary of the main. The water was quick, cold, and capped with white as it tumbled over a litany of rocks. We refilled our water reservoirs again. The road climbed up through aspens before giving way to a multi-mile exposure in burn scar from the Wallow Fire. Luckily, it was cloudy. But on a sunny mid-summer day, this section would be hot and intense. Small ponds of water dotted the burnscape. Eventually, aspen began growing in thicker bundles until we were back in a mature, subalpine forest relatively untouched by the burn. The road remained smooth and well-graded. The number of ATVs, trucks, and campers increased - we knew we were nearing Big Lake. We popped out on the edge of massive sprawling lake set in subalpine meadows. The temperature was perfect and the climbing done. I had secured reservations ahead of time at the many campsites located along its shore. We pulled into our campsite set back in the trees to disgorge our gear for one last night on the route. Janna and I then pedaled over to the General Store. I didn't know what to expect because phone calls, Google searches, and local's advice didn't really reveal much in the size of the resupply. It turned out to be a great place for good. Pricey, but well-stocked with sandwiches, chips, crackers, ice cream, and anything else a bikepacker would want (even a selection of fresh fruit). We bought a sizeable dinner for our first resupply in days and made our way back to camp. Our stomachs full, Janna and I walked down by the lake and sat upon the shore for a gorgeous sunset. The sun licked below the adjacent mountains as night came on and we went to bed before tomorrow's big ride to finish.  
      
    25.21 Miles; 2,149 Feet of Gain; Diamond Rock Campground along the Black River to Hannagan Meadow  I slept soundly in that deep peace that comes from the sound of rushing water nearby. The morning was cold as sunk air densely packed down in the gorge next to the Black River. We knew we had a short day today (purposely planned after yesterday's big day), so we languidly arose only after the Sun nearly crested the walls of canyon. I exited the tent and immediately deposited myself in a seat in a patch of Sun working its way to warm the area. Satiated with light, I immediately went back down to walk along the banks of the Black River. Great blue herons stalked for fish or flew overhead. I walked the banks for 40 minutes taking in the curves and riffles of the water before heading back to camp to make some breakfast. After, I walked down to the Camp Host to confirm our payment. Once he realized we biked here and that we didn't have a campfire, he immediately rejected our payment and said we earned our campsite. He also told me to go find Upper Diamond Spring located in our campground within a fence. I moseyed my way back, searched the area, and easily found it. I made a note to grab water from here next time we biked through. By midmorning, Janna and I finally packed up to get going on the route. When I designed the route, I wanted bikepackers (and myself!) to ride as full the length of the Black River as was possible by road. I wanted the route to recross the Black River (both East and West Forks) at as many locations as possible for both the opportunity for water and the sheer beauty. I was not disappointed by my plans. The Black River was stunning - an absolute highlight of the route to ride along. The road was smooth, wonderful dirt on a slight decline under canopies of trees set in the belly of the gorge. The water was cool, bright, and clear in the morning sun. We slowly pedaled along the East Fork's shores, stopping frequently to take photos or just absorb it all. It was evident in places that the Wallow Fire had crept to the edge of the top of the river's canyon, or even climbed down in, but for the most part, there was ample mature growth unscathed. The number of campsites we passed were plenty, with many of them full. It would be good for a rider to either grab a site early or on a non-holiday weekday to ensure a spot (no dispersed camping is allowed in the area).    
Bridges dotted the route as the road went over the Black River. Adjoining flood plains were vibrant green with neon growth that comes with moisture and early summer sun. Now on our lefts, the river flowed on. After passing a forest service campground, we turned a bend and found a large group of big horn sheep climbing down the adjoining walls of the canyon across the river. The groups of females and kids made their way to a lush meadow and grazed while approaching the water. We stopped to watch for about 10 minutes in the dappled shade of pines. Then, we were back on riding. Janna turned another few corners and came upon an area where the Wallow Fire had crept down from the ridge and burned all the trees on the adjoining bank. The waters of the Black River are clear now but I could imagine the ashy, silty runoff immediately after the inferno. Trout fishers became more common standing amongst the banks or in the river itself. Large rock chokes forming ideal fishing holes and gushing whitewater also spanned the river. We passed by several more forest service campgrounds before the canyon began widening up, the floodplains growing, and the Black River calming with its meanders. We made one last bridge crossing and bid the water adieu as a big day of climbing lay ahead of us. The route took us down some smooth dirt through pines, across a gorge, and straight to a large grassland situated at the base of the mountains we were to ascend to Hannagan. The telltail signs of the Wallow Fire burn scar was apparent on the peaks, even from down below, due to fresh aspen growth and large splintered trees. We crossed the field as pronghorn ran by and started the climb.      
 
     The climb began with descent track, albeit exposed to the summer sun/heat, as it wove up the knolls. I kept looking back to take in the expansive views afforded by the lack of trees into the heart of the Apache-Sitgreaves. I could even see the gouge of the canyon where the Black River flowed and where we had come from. As we ascended, the quality of the road began to deteriorate as we traveled further and further into the burn scar. But even here, life abounded. Massive bear paw prints littered the mud and dust. Deer ran in the aspen thickets. Bird song was loud and pervasive. As the road curved up the contours, we spied a large unburned ponderosa to take a break for lunch under. Fed, we continued on the road became ever steeper, the sun ever hotter, and the views of the burn scar more prevalent. The road surface became littered with rock and erosion. We turned off on the spur to Hannagan through further eroded road before cresting 9000 feet in elevation and reentering mature, unburned woodlands. Suddenly, the trees were thick around us and the road smooth as we careened down to the highway and Hannagan Meadow. The Meadow was a fantastic green that immediately caught our eyes. After looking at it, we sped over to Hannagan Lodge to grab a seat for lunch before they closed up. After lunch, we went over to the Hannagan Meadow Campground to grab a spot for the night. However, the campground was completely full. We debated heading on or not. Instead, we opted to refill our water at the campground and disperse camp in the woods near the Lodge so we could grab some dinner and give ourselves a proper shorter day after yesterday's ride from Blue. After setting up our shelter, Nick (an employee at Hannagan Lodge) came walking out to the woods. Turns out he camps up here all summer and works at the Lodge. We talked for him for a bit and then joined him inside to grab some dinner. Now, super full, we sat on the deck and watched hummingbirds flit about as the meadow lay before us. Evening came on, along with a heavy dose of cold temperatures at this altitude. We climbed into our tents as Nick yelled goodnight and walked back into the woods himself.  
     
  55.05 Miles; 5,038 Feet of Gain; Alpine, AZ to Blue, AZ to the Black River  After a good night's sleep, we woke up ready to take on the crux of the route: a descent to the low point of the route at Blue, AZ off the Mogollon Rim followed by an ascent back up the same rim, a further climb up Middle Mountain, and a long contoured traverse to the Black River. The worst of the storm system that had hit us for days was now over with yesterday's thunderclaps. Instead, heat and sun would be our main concern as we lost thousands of feet of elevation before regaining the same and more. The morning's blue sky beckoned, so we checked out of our room and starting speeding down the dirt road with crystalline sun shafts catching tree boughs. It was crisp enough we wore wind jackets to start. A waning gibbous moon sat high above Alpine's valley. We road along the highway shoulder before reaching Luna Lake and the turn to Blue. Yesterday, when we had bought groceries from the gas station, the clerk had turned out to be a newly-graduated senior from the small schoolhouse down in Blue. She said she had loved growing up in the village, the Blue River, the dirt roads, and the terrain. I definitely was curious to see what the school there looked like. As the morning sun beamed down on us, we passed under shaded sections of pavement that quickly transitioned to dirt. I had the electrifying feel of anticipatory excitement to ride along the Blue Range Primitive Area. Like any federally designated Wilderness Area, the Blue Range Primitive Area prohibits bikes. I had spent a good number of times hiking down into the Blue Range via the spiderwebbing trail network that comes from Hannagan. But I had never made it down to the Blue River. I specifically designed the El Lobo Lupus to take Red Hill Road up the Red Hills (and hopefully through some scenically namesake rock outcrops of the Mogollon Rim) because this road is directly adjacent and forms the northern boundary of the Blue Range Primitive Area - as close as a bike can legally get to see that landscape. The Blue Range is the last federally designated Primitive Area left in the US National Forest system. The Blue Range has also been one of the places where the reintroduction of el Lobo initially occurred. The chance to travel along this place via bike compelled the route direction we were moving. We turned a corner and stared at a hill crest that began to drop. Ponderosas with the waning gibbous set high framed the whole view of the descent-to-come. We let gravity take over as a fast, well graded road sunk down through valleys and depressions coming off the hilltops of the Mogollon Rim. Suddenly, a Mexican Wolf Reintroduction Area sign popped up - a good indicator for the wildlife and landscape ahead. Janna and I speedily rounded corner after corner until a spread of pine-studded escarpments, buttes, and exposed rock formations greeted us across a range of peaks classic for this portion of the Southwest. The road's hue was increasingly reddening. The sound of Turkey Creek gushing down below carried up to our ears. The smell in the air was rich pitch and sap. The air was cool and settled down low. The Sun's rays kept aching for the heat they were to bring. We pushed on. Turkey Creek came up even with our contour while the more rock spires and exposed buttes climbed above the treetops gathered around us. Around another corner brought the confluence of Turkey and Cambell Blue Creeks as we rounded the curve. I kept staring at the rich deciduous leaves that were lively and neon against the red dirt, tope peaks. The water was clear and copious. A small sign ahead near a cattle guard indicated our brief arrival in New Mexico. The road turned directly south, directly crossed a lush spread of Campbell Blue Creek via a bridge where a short ways later the merger of Dry Blue Creek came in. Now, the waterway next to us was growing; it was stronger, deeper, and wider. No longer a creek, this was the Blue River proper. The route spilled west and immediately reentered us into Arizona. Down and down we were carried still. The Blue River was carving a wider and wider valley the road went down. The low elevation and rising Sun made the morning warmer and then hotter. 
   
     
   Bird calls were diverse and plentiful along the river's edge as cottonwoods and sycamores shaded the red dirt of the road with their canopies. Another few bends in the road brought stellar rock formations right on route. Red spires and buttes sat immediately to our rights and lefts. These exposed rock forms contrasted with the greens of the forest enhancing the beauty and amplified the feeling of riding down a corridor of the Earth. Walls of pocked rock rose to our sides as we passed over bridges across the Blue River. The descent's grade slacked and a valley really opened up along with a number of ranches on the outskirts of Blue, AZ. All the grass was vibrant green in early Summer color. Blue School and Blue Library popped up on our left and we stopped to consider the size and remoteness of this location (definitely the teachers in us). Blue Crossing came up on our rights. We pulled into our turn as the road continued on. Continuing further would take us by the Blue Post Office and the center of Blue, along with a road spur that goes up into New Mexico (going that direction provides an excellent bikepacking trip of its own on the New Mexico Western Highlands Loop). But for El Lobo Lupus, the turn is here to carry riders up the Red Hills right next to the Blue Range Primitive Area and back into the Heart of the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest. Janna and I stopped as the river flowed over the concrete crossing of the road so we could thoroughly fill our bottles. This was going to be a BIG climb through the gathering heat of the day from here at the low point of the route all the way back on top of the Mogollon Rim. We wouldn't get reliable water again until evening at the Black River.
       
    Water reservoirs filled, we crossed the river and began our climb up. The track was crazy smooth, and I kept looking left to gaze across mountain peaks beckoning towards NM and the Gila. The grade increased in slope, but it never got to steep (even heavily loaded with multiple days of food and lots of water) for us to need to hike-a-bike. But it was relentless and just kept going. Thousands of feet of gain lay ahead of us. But the views made up for it entirely. I kept stopping to look left, right, and southerly at the expanse of this dramatic crumpled range. The road was initially pale in color but gradually became red as red spires of rock, reminiscent of Sedona, craggily jutted from the surrounding mountains. I stopped to take photos and grab some snacks in the shade of junipers as the temperatures continued to rise. We rode upwards through the Red Hills as ponderosas grew upon the sanguine dirt. It was super beautiful. A truck coming down the road stopped to talk to us. They were planning on doing some gravel riding and wanted to know what we thought: thumbs up but be prepared for the steep grade. They headed on and we found a large juniper road-side to catch some shade and eat extended snacks for lunch, all while peering out across the ranges. A few more steep switchbacks around Carlton Vista brought us above the Mogollon Rim and into immediately greenery and tall pines. It was an easy spin down soft dirt roads by a few ranches before we hit the highway. Janna rode briefly along the shoulder before taking a left onto FR 37. The day was now hot, but were at elevation again to fight the temps. We started up FR 37 which takes the relative ridge of Middle Mountain before slacking onto a lower contour that winds in and out of its winding sides. A mile or two later and the trees fell away to exposed sun and grassy flanks as we entered a long stretch of miles through a Wallow Fire burn scar. Luckily, the road was in good condition, the flowers were blooming, and every mile or so there was a thicket of unburned trees for rest in the shade. As well, we had expansive views that stretched far out across the landscape unobstructed. We reentered an extended stretch of woodlands that took us down and across several meadows before one last final small steep climb. From there, the road merged with FR 276 and began a very steep, washboarded descent down to the Black River. There were lots of trucks driving along the dirt road going the same way.
     
   
   
      The descent rapidly carried us through thick groves of mature woodland before we flattened out at the bottom at the immediate intersection with the Black River. This was the Black River Recreation Area - a highly popular camping and fishing destination along miles of riverfront in the middle of a gorge relatively unburnt from the Wallow Fire. This meant shaded campsites and lush vegetation. The first campsite is the one we were planning to stay at: Diamond Rock Campground. We got campsite #3 next to the river for easy access for our water refilling needs. A small spring in the campground (Diamond Spring) was also an excellent water source. No sooner had we arrived in camp then a herd of bighorn sheep came sauntering through, sniffing our tent, eating grass, and generally unruffled by our presence. After watching the bighorns, I made my way to the Black River to enjoy its wide, clear, cold water. I headed back to camp after refilling our bladders to make dinner and enjoy a day with over 5000 feet of gain, epic views, and a gorgeous campsite in the pines along the Black River.    
0 Miles; 0 Feet of Gain; Alpine, AZ  Janna and I both love the rest and recharge that comes with Zero Days. Especially when we can get to see a local area better. We awoke after a solid's night sleep to what was forecast to be a tempestuous day based on the weather forecast - lots of rain and significant thunderheads. We were grateful to have some indoors to relax in. We walked over in the early morning to the Bear Wallow Café (such good breakfast food) as a steady patter of rain began to fall. The skies were blue and only puffy clouds intermittent. It was one of those rains that seem to fall from the cloudless blue above. And with the light shining through the forest, everything green with summer's new growth, that curtain of drizzling water just looked spectacular. I asked the server at Bear Wallow Café about the liklihood of resupply options at Big Lake, as I hadn't yet confirmed the size of the "general/tackle/bait store" there. Despite earlier interactions with the diner's patronage/employees that seemed affronted by my floral-wear, the server suddenly became a protective mother hen telling me that she would come get us if we ran into trouble or bring us food wherever we were out on our ride. That sudden gift of kindness was awesome, and she quickly gave us her phone (despite the "no cell phone" rules posted everywhere) to show us photos of the area. The interaction was welcome humanity. After breakfast, Janna and I sauntered over to both grocery stores where we purchased all food for lunch today and for the next three days until we got to Big Lake. Laden with bags, snacks, and relaxed, we walked back to the Aspen Lodge admiring the verdant meadows strewn across the valley of Alpine. Once at the Lodge, we finished up the last chores, and I called my parents to catch up and relay the trip so far. As predicted, a massive series of intense thunderstorms rolled-in mid-afternoon throwing lightning and torrential downpours everywhere. We merely sat under the awnings and relaxed to the smell of rain. Janna and I decided mid-afternoon to walk back to town for an early dinner; unfortunately, as is the case with small towns at times, every single restaurant was closed. We opted for gas station/general store in order to grab some vegetarian burritos, fruit, and a few snacks. We set up shop in the main shared-space of the lodge (since no one else was a guest at the time), made our food in the kitchenette, and hunkered down to watch back-to-back films: Back to the Future Parts II and III. Movies complete, bellies full, we headed to bed for an early night's sleep before waking up early tomorrow to start our ride down to Blue. 
   40.44 Miles; 3,054 Feet of Gain; Arizona Divide Campground to Alpine, AZ  After a long night's sleep, we woke up ready to head down the shoulder of the highway in order to do a loop around Escudilla Mountain. The shoulder was wide and welcoming for cycling as I recalled from riding it years earlier on the Luna Lake Tour with the Greater Arizona Bicycling Association. We peeled off on a side road through Nutrioso, stopped at the red old Post Office, spied the town's small lumber mill, and then pushed on to rejoin the highway and continue descending until we were back in the juniper-pinyon grasslands. El Lobo Lupus swung right, taking us off the highway and onto some of the best hardpack hero dirt I've ever ridden. The dirt road went straight up a smooth but steep climb before depositing us on a broad, flat mesa dotted with juniper. We sped straight towards the hulking, neon-green dappled mass of Escudilla Mountain. I couldn't believe how absolutely gorgeous the approach to view Escudilla was. The dirt widened, and I stopped over and over again to snap photos of the iconic mountain rising above the grasslands below. We sped through a short spurt of ranch houses before curving near the base, starting to climb, and reentering the ponderosas. Treeline swept close and hugged us against the grain of the mountain spires and side-buttes. Everything continued to be that luscious green of early summer. Trickly creeks crossed the road bring more sound and views to the ride. The track of the road went on and on in its smooth form wrapping around the range. The heat of the day rose to meet us as we crested a high point on the loop and started a dusty descent towards ELC Creek. After crossing, dozens of cows began to light up the side of the road as they wandered in out of the flowing creek-beds of Stone and Little. Ephemeral pools traced our road-side. The creeks full from melt, lingering from winter still.
    
    But the heat of the day crept on, forcing us to dismount and take in the shade of the canopies. The grade of the road became steep, and despite the smooth surface, we dismounted for relief from exertion in the heat of the day. Up and up we climbed a winding track until the forest spilled us out onto a calm descent across small creeks and through ranches set in the woods. And just like that, we crossed down and out of the woods to intersect the paved highway to take us into Alpine. Unfortunately, we took a wrong turn and covered several miles out towards Luna Lake and Blue before realizing we intended to backtrack to town for food, supplies, and a night's rest indoors. Even with the extra miles, we turned around got to Alpine by noon where we ate once again at the Bear Wallow Café. Shortly thereafter, we biked down to the Aspen Lodge just outside town. It was an affordable accommodation in the area and super nice. We had the whole lodge to ourselves. As with the approach of every Zero Day, we started it off by immediately washing our clothes and gear in the shower, getting bike maintenance chores done, and then sitting back to relax. As early evening arrived, Janna and I walked the half mile to town down a dirt road to eat at the Alpine Grill and Still. We followed that up by buying copious snacks at the gas station. Finally, evening just now properly arriving, we walked back with stomachs full to the Aspen Lodge. We looked at the DVD collection and watched The Prince of Persia until darkness fell and sleep called us to the real bed.
     
      37.94 Miles; 3,596 Feet of Gain; Near Williams Valley/Three Forks, AZ to Arizona Divide Campground  I slept terribly due to the fact that our dispersed campsite had a large pile of pine needles shoved into a pile nearby. The reason this bothered me was due to the fact that mountain lions will make those piles to cache kills. I unburied the pile after stumbling upon it when our camp was set up. There was nothing in it. But some primitive, annoying part of my brain leaked doubt and fear throughout the utterly silent night to the point where sleep barely came on when adrenaline was rushing my veins. Sometime in the night, a series of long-drawn howls, so unlike coyotes, rose from the Williams Valley below. The howls were so unlike a coyote, I really shot up to the realization that they were probably wolves. At 3:30 am, the birds started singing for the day. At 4 am, dawn was firmly upon us. I managed to catch a couple of hours of rest and stirred at the early hour to another day of potential rain. But now it was already hot with daylight hitting us. We ate slowly and packed up, pushing out and ascending the dirt road leading to camp. The dirt road became a bit more rugged - not awful but definitely rockier than other portions of the route thus far. The road sat on a contour line to wind in and out of nooks of the South Mountain range that was carrying us towards the town of Alpine, AZ. Vast views of the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest opened to our rights. Lush, green ferns dotted the woodland floors around us. Suddenly we exited the thick trees into another burn scar from the Wallow Fire. Row upon row of young, fire-loving aspen grew in groves thick upon the mountain flanks. The newly growing vegetation was slow, so we stared off far onto the snow-patched top of Mount Baldy. Massive canine paw prints and thick furry scat lay frequently scattered throughout the road - I wondered it it was Mexican gray wolf poop. Unburned thickets of pines rose up to meet the sides of the road again. Then, it was back into burn secondary growth. This pattern repeated again and again. The road suddenly left the contour and began steeply a decline. I angled into a downhill position and let the bike fly. The road wove and wrapped quickly through burn scar and mature canopies. Multiple sections of washboard chattered my body before being back on smooth gravel. And then we were at the bottom where an intersection with the paved highway lay. Turning left, we climbed a shallow hill along the small shoulder that afforded a gaping view at the extent of the Wallow Fire's impact on the entire mountain range. Even over a decade ago, the forest hear, though low-cloaked in neon aspen, was still coming back from the fire. Janna and I dipped off the highway to our rights onto a dirt road that wound through ponderosa before banking onto pavement just outside the school grounds of Alpine. We passed by the middle and elementary buildings before they were replaced by sprawling cattle ranch lands tucked into the verdant valley of green. The road carried us to the main highway bisecting Alpine where we took a left and came to downtown. The first thing we did was beeline it over to a local café for food a mid-morning breakfast. We parked our bikes and walked in to a place we had been to several times over the years. However, the interior décor had changed since last we had visited; it had shifted very intensely to a polar-end of the political spectrum. Signs everywhere banned cell phones, and it was obvious that my floral shirt and recently painted nails stood out intensely in the restaurant's political-scape. I felt keenly aware of every locals' eyes watching me. I'll straight-up inform riders: the food here is absolutely fantastic - but be prepared for a far-leaning, intense political expression - and don't use a cell phone indoors unless you want service refused. We made sure our phones stayed away and were directed to a seat. We ate gobs of hot food. Afterwards, we made our way over to the Alpine Country Store. They had ice cream to serve, so I absolutely grabbed some to eat. Janna and I also made sure to grab some food and eye what we wanted when we came back through in another day or so for a rest.  
  
  We walked outside, I downed the rest of my ice cream, and we stared up at the backside of Escudilla Mountain - its flanks running down to the green valley Alpine sits in. Above, a mess of cloud and rain swirled in the atmosphere. We pushed off, took a right on the highway, and joined a generous shoulder for a climb up to the Alpine Divide. Right before the divide-proper, the Alpine Divide Campground sits. We turned off and claimed one of the four sites available to camp it. A large water storage tank prominently offered drinkable water. Janna and I had decided that we would set up camp here, leave a ton of weight/supplies (lighten the bikes), and then we would proceed up the climb to the top of Escudilla before coming back down here. We took our time to unload gear, fill our bottles, take the bare minimum, and head towards the side-loop up on top. I knew the coming climb was going to be steep. I also knew that anytime a route has a side-attraction, that riders get mighty tempted to skip the extra distance (especially when thousands of feet of elevation gain are required on an out-and-back). But I also knew this mountain was gorgeous, I'd hiked to the top before, that wolves were definitely present, and that we'd hit the high point of the route at 10,000 feet - these were all reasons I'd included the loop on the route, and why I'd encourage every bikepacker to take the opportunity to see this section. After a descent down the other side of the divide, Janna and I turned onto the dirt road that ascended Escudilla. No sooner had we turned than it started raining. A mountain this big, this prominent in the landscape, absolutely makes its own weather. Luckily the road substrate was descent in the rain. We climbed up past Hulsey Lake; every spot at the fishing lake was packed with trucks and cars. As soon as got past that area, the number of vehicles began to dwindle, especially as the route got steeper. Escudilla means "bowl" in Spanish - an apt description for a old volcanic relic of a mountain. And with our climb, we entered the inner "bowl" of the range with its scooped-out basic surrounded by walls of tree-cloaked peaks. The Wallow Fire had really burned this mountain from nearly bottom to top. Aspen had returned with a relish to much of it and Escudilla becomes absolutely gorgeous when their leaves turn in the fall. The bottom of the mountain's forest were still well-matured forest. But we soon entered the burn scar. The views opened up and the rain turned from a pour to a spitter to nothing. Both Janna and I were really sweating with the steep elevation gain. We shed our jackets and started alternating between riding and hike-a-biking. A mile or so later, we were almost exclusively walking/pushing our bikes up the crazy steep road. Every time I'd ride, my heart rate would explode, so I'd get off to walk and save my knees. Up and up, crazy slow, the going took until we rounded a contour in the mountain where the road became more bearable to ride. Soon, we were riding past thickening mature stands of aspen and spruce unblemished from the burn.
   
We hit the lollipop stem of the Terry Flat Loop. I had the route do the loop ride by heading left in order to provide a more gentle climb and better views along this ride at 10,000 feet in elevation. Grassy meadows swept down the mountain and merged with aspen. I was blown away by how gorgeous, green, and full of life this plateau on the mountain was. Plus, we had miles and miles of this mountain road to ourselves. A sign to our lefts indicated the Escudilla Lookout Trail that climbs to near the high point of the mountain at 10,916 feet. However, this trail enters the Escudilla Wilderness, so it's off-limits to bikes. Instead, we'd take Terry Flat for a spin through the subalpine meadows. Signs were posted everywhere about the Mexican gray wolves present. The road was filled with feces from a predator and large canine tracks were everywhere. I kept swiveling my head left and right just to catch a glimpse of a wolf running across the meadows while my ears listened intently for any howls. The air held the very present and strong odor of musk and urine. But no glimpses were made. The clouds swirled maddening whites and greys across the skies, but no rain fell. The woods were thick and unburned here. Everything seemed absolutely still. To our rights, a vast plain of subalpine meadows sprawled across the high-elevation plateau. Terry Flat carried us on a giant circumference of the plains. We pulled off on a spur road that led back into a thicket of aspen and a stunning distant overlook out to New Mexico. Janna and I ate snacks here before riding on past snow-melt ponds and lakes gathered in the depressions of the meadows. The charred toothpicks of trees from the Wallow Fire rose dramatically from the landscape, standing out against the chaotic-swirl of rain clouds above. The road continued to slowly climb until we crested near 10,000 feet and turned for a full sun-backlit view of Escudilla's Peak. I marveled at the wildness, the expanse, the colors, the remoteness of it all. Below our small ridge, a large herd of elk came walking out of a thicket of aspen to stride across the subalpine meadows before heading down a drainage leading to a lake. It all looked so unlike something to be seen in Arizona. My eyes were drawn to yellow grasses of the meadows that quickly greened on approach to the gushing creeks and cold pools up here. We started descending, crossed over a creek gurgling across the road, and reentered the groves of aspen. Our luck of having no rain while on the highest portions ran out as a soft patter of raindrops began to fall. We put on rain gear and prepared for a crazy steep descent down the road. I rode my brakes so hard I know the rotors heated up. Lighting and thundering unleashed overhead. We were still in the exposed burn scar so I had a huge impetus to move downwards and into the mature treeline. As soon as we the road slacked in steepness we reached the floor of the "bowl" and reentered pine woodlands. Now, the rain really began falling in cold, hard sheets. The road was quickly deteriorating into mud. I pressed on eager to get even lower in the lightning and back to pavement. My fingers numbed painfully in the biting wind and cold raindrops. And then, we were back on the highway. Janna and I both crossed and started the climb back up the Alpine Divide to our campground at the top. The climb up was gradual, the shoulder on the highway large, and the rain began steadily decreasing. By the time we reached the Alpine Divide Campground, the sun was starting to materialize from the storm, and I was sweating. We pulled into our site. I felt uncompromisingly that the climb up Escudilla on Terry Flat was the definite highlight of the entire route so far. We shed our rain gear to dry as a the storm quickened away under a swirl of clouds gushing with the colors of sunset. We had some time before night came so we ate dinner, took a small walk, and then climbed into our shelter. After the massive climb, and last night's lack of sleep, I fell right into a deep slumber.    
        
        43.28 Miles; 3,754 Feet of Gain; Springerville, AZ to near Williams Valley/Three Forks, AZ  Janna and I woke up early to depart today. We knew we had some big climbs ahead of us, and that the storms that brewed yesterday would only intensify and rage today given the forecast. We wanted to ride early to (a) get to higher elevation before it rained lest the silty high-desert roads turn to peanut butter mud, and (b) we were hoping to make another big crossing of exposed high altitude meadow/grasslands (over 9000 feet) before thunderheads became a safety concern. Luckily, the storms were predicted to hit no earlier than mid-afternoon which should have provided us plenty of time. We packed up our bags and made to move at dawn from Springerville. With the sun gaping over the horizon, the heat was already spilling over the land. We rode out of town along neighborhood roads that took us by some metal sculptures of cheetahs and horses. We soon regained the highway shoulder and kept as far right as possible. Semis and morning vehicles passed us in groups. One of the big highways portions of the route approached as we climbed up the pavement on a near-non-existent shoulder right next to guardrails. Luckily, there was a passing lane on the notable hill, and all vehicles gave us plenty of space by moving on over. No sooner had we crested the steep climb then we made our immediate turn onto gravel towards Sipe White Mountain Wildlife Area. We were on a flat, broad roof of a mesa covered in whipping yellow grass and minutely cooler in temperature than Springerville down below. The first truly expansive views of Escudilla Mountain really opened up. That mountain was cloaked in neon green, visible even from a distance, from the rapid aspen growth that had been going on ever since the Wallow Fire. The range is a prominent feature of the landscape here - the third largest mountain in Arizona at 10,916 feet. Home to El Lobo, deer, elk, and historically the refuge for the last Arizonan grizzly bear killed in the early 1900s. It's where Aldo Leopold served as a fire lookout, and where his land ethic was kindled by the killing of one of those Mexican gray wolves. We gazed in awe at the hunk of mountain standing so starkly from the surrounding topography. I looked back at where we came and saw nothing but an arrow-straight dirt road carving into the distance. Ahead, notable clumps of cumulus were gathering even at this hour of the morning. The atmospheric instability galvanized me to press forward with greater urgency because it seemed that rain would hit now in the morning, and not in the afternoon as the forecast indicated. Even so, the climbing cumulus were simply beautiful and texturizing against the golden-yellow landscape. Janna and I crossed a cattleguard that moved us from National Forest Land to Site White Mountain Wildlife Area country. Thickets of juniper closed in and we sped down a smooth gravel wind to plains below all underneath that blue sky quickening with cloud. Janna and I saw a turn-off to the Visitor Center, so we rode over to it. It was gorgeously shaded with massive mature trees. Abundant cool green grass and a number of picnic tables sat around a historical home-turned-visitor center. The place's caretakers came out to greet us. They told us the history of the ranch, the people who saved it from the approaching flames of the Wallow Fire in 2011, and how it now functioned as both an educational outpost and base for researchers studying the wildlife and vegetation of the White Mountains. The two of us went inside the Visitor Center which was so well done. There were tons of historical photos, recent science updates, and cultural exhibits. The bathrooms were super nice, and the water spigot outside reliable. The caretakers took all my questions and encouraged me to put the place on the route - I happily agreed. 
      
Though we had only stayed for 20 minutes, by the time we rolled out from under the protective branches of the trees, Janna and I surveyed the sky behind us to find a roiling gray mass and curtain of rain coming our way. We moved fast across smooth, but clay/silt-born roads in an attempt to climb upwards into the ponderosas that held more water-friendly soils. The clouds just exponentially grew, the temperature dropped, a downdraft came singing for us as a headwind, and splotches of droplets began to fall. Right before the real rain looked to be slamming us, we spied an old wooden cabin nestled in the pinyon/junipers. We rode over to it, peaked inside (didn't go further because of rodent droppings/hantavirus), put on rain gear, and then found an adjoining dense stand of trees to stand in. Wind whipped fast bring horizontal rain only seconds later. We huddled, fairly well protected, cold now despite this morning's heat. Janna and I ate snacks as the worst of the rain blew by. Now at a sputtering drizzle, we jumped back on our bikes and started climbing up into the woods in earnest. Luckily the soil surface changed, and our fears of death mud went away as well. The clouds stayed low which really helped with the heat. I spied a pipe spring flowing into a trough off to my right and went to investigate. I noted it as a water source on the route and we pushed up to the top of the climb where an old wooden kiosk outlined National Forest regulations. It also held plenty of signs about bears and the first signs of the trip about el Lobo in the area. We pulled away from the kiosk and stared downhill into entry of first major burn scar we would ride of the Wallow Fire. Molten gray skies cast pallor and darkness ahead as another building storm rained down on distant peaks. The rain's dark sweep against the foreground of burnt trees made the scenery and plunge downhill even more wild looking. We rode through the burn area, grateful for the copious cloud cover keep the temperatures cooler in what would be an exposed area. Small creeks gushed by and under the road through culverts. We started up a climb, turned a switchback, and entered unburned timber once more. The road was in excellent gravel condition so the miles came easy. At noon, we pulled off under a grove of pines to eat lunch. A massive thunderhead started sending off lightning right over us, so we got into lightning position and waited for the storm to pass. Once the thunderclaps receded, we put on rain gear just as a torrential downpour started. Janna and I kept pedaling to keep ourselves warm as we continued up a climb that just kept gaining in steepness. After sticking to the Forest Road as is passed through a private church camp, we turned and started up an even steeper slope where spruce, aspen, and firs popped up in dense groves. We hopped off our bikes and hiked-a-bike up and up. The rain stopped, so I stripped off my gear as sweat poured down my back. I stared off to the north and got glimpses of the Springerville Volcanic Field. It seemed unreal that we started off down there this morning.      
  
 
 
   
 The climb continued up and adjacent to a filled reservoir. Again, storm clouds roiled overhead. Aspen groves thickened around us as we arched a saddle and hit the treeline leading to a sprawl of subalpine meadows ahead. Low-slung leaking clouds dripped gray tendrils to Earth. We hesitated at the boundary between tree-cover and exposed grassland just in case lightning erupted. None did, so we kicked into high gear to cover ground quickly. The temperatures were cold and snow banks sat on sloping faces of meadow hills. The water from their melt fed high-altitude ponds and lakes. And then suddenly the rain unleashed. A flush of water came down on us. With nowhere to shelter we just kept pushing to get the next treeline wherever that was. The rain turned to a drizzling patter. I stopped to swivel my head all around as we sat under an umbrella of gray rain while the distant peaks around us were under blue/cumulus. We kept moving, crossed into a treeline, and stopped to try to eat some snacks to get our core temperatures up. But the wind picked up right then, so we pressed on. Again into exposed meadows with wind/rain, and again into a treeline as our brakes squealed from grit and wet. I was super cold at this point, shivering intensely. We descended a tree-chocked woodland and the rain finally began to lessen. Suddenly, the sun was on us. I stopped to stand in it and finally get some serious food into my body. As the afternoon continued forward, we found ourselves turning onto a road that took us alongside a swath of meadows. The swirling clouds issuing from the storm pulled gray virga to Earth before pushing out and away from us. Our track turned to red dirt and cinder once more. The vermillion sluice approached and then paralleled a series of marshy lakes where waterfowl called out in dense numbers. With the blue sky arching overhead, the afternoon felt warm, secure, and everything was rapidly drying. We flew down a long descent paralleling a drainage from the lakes that was rich with plant growth. We turned one last time onto a dirt road that wove through grasslands with the distant storms puffing over the treelines. I could tell we were getting closer to pavement because a number of RVs and overlanders camping in the trees began to pop up. We crossed over a series of creeks and tumbled out onto the main pavement connecting Big Lake to Alpine. After a short ride up the road, we turned right onto dirt and started a sudden climb up. Before long we spied a side road that I bet led to a great campsite. I was on the spot with a secluded, elevated, yet protected campsite found back in the pines. We circled up and started drying out everything after our wet ride from the day.  
   
    
     43.37 Miles; 2,665 Feet of Gain; Greer, AZ to Springerville, AZ  We had read in the forecast that a front was coming through over the next few days, bringing the possibility of thunderstorms and rain. Given that today we'd be well over 9,000 feet crossing large high altitude grasslands, we wanted to get a move on so as to be under tree-cover when those storms came. Janna and I rolled out of our tent to clear skies which buoyed us with positivity about the day ahead. We ate breakfast and pushed out onto the shoulder of the quiet pavement. Shortly thereafter, we swung a right onto a side road through summer cabins before the pavement ended in gravel up a big climb to carry us out of the Greer Valley Recreation area and out to our first views of Mount Baldy. The whole time, our conversation centered around processing the school year that just finished and our lives at the Canyon. The uphill, the gravel mix, the ever-fostering presence of aspen, was exactly what we needed to talk out work and dreams for improving our craft next school year. The top of our climb took us out into the first truly subalpine meadows of the route as we exited the Greer Recreation Area and took our first glances at the snow-shouldered peaks of Mount Baldy. Snow was clearly nestled amongst the trees on its higher flanks. Small streams carved greenery-rich paths through the landscape. The road was smooth and stretched out. Suddenly, the worries of work and teaching melted away and being present in the sprawling high-altitude grasslands became all my exhilarating focus. I stopped to take dozens of photos of the tree-ringed meadows that sprawled to the base of the distant peaks. Ephemeral pools of snowmelt-fed ponds dotted the area. A few snow banks lay in the shadowed husks of hills. To our rights, a particular pond with a trestle bridge caught my eyes. We rode over to it only to discover a somewhat overgrown singletrack - the Apache Railroad Trail. I quickly whipped out Gaia GPS and zeroed in on the trail. It stretched north of here in a way that avoided the highway. I noted a promise to take it on our finishing day. And to our south, it also continued over to Baldy. Thrilled by this find, I decided we would forgo some of our planned route to ride the rail-trail instead.
  
 
 
 But first, we would make our way to West Baldy Trailhead. Janna and I intersected with the paved highway and took it for a while to the aforementioned trailhead. The parking area had blown up and now featured pavement and a set of newly minted pit toilets. The Apache Railroad Trail crept from where we had come and headed out from here. We decided to ride the cinder-grassy trail on the slight descent. Thickets of spruce lined the route that paralleled the pavement to our left. Absolutely pleased with this unpaved alternative to the highway, we continued downwards before arriving at the West Fork of the Little Colorado River. It came gushing mightily through thickets of riparian willow, absolutely chock full of beaver lodges and dams. The water was roaring, surging through a glowing landscape of vegetation in a valley hooded by aspen, firs, and spruce. The rail-trail curved along the banks of the headwaters of the Little Colorado River before crossing it on an old road-bridge. The road decayed once more into dirt and cinder. Janna and I sat and watched the waters flowing out towards us; we were smitten with the mountain stream and views. After enjoying the water flowing by 15 minutes, we turned up the cinder Apache Railroad Trail once more as it climbed up a slope and then dipped below and under the highway via a tunnel. The trail quickly became littered with downed trees from the winter. Mosquitos gathered in swarms. We carried and pushed our bikes over and around the felled timber all while trying to outrun the mosquitos. Then, it was back on the cinder rail-trail as it careened beautifully through the thick forest of spruce, firs, aspen, and other pines. It spilled us out of the trees and into subalpine meadows where the track quicky deteriorated into a worn path on trodden grass. I was analyzing whether the trail was suitable for the route/would add views/was worth it with this primitive section when it carried us up and along a drainage gushing with water in a creek. My immediate answer was "YES" this beauty was too good to pass up for riders. There was no technical singletrack decay; just faded cinder doubletrack that crawled up and down hills unclearly, but distinctly enough. The rail-trail swooped down and across several creeks before climbing along a small ridge lined with spruce before gaining a parallel next to a fence adjacent to the highway. I reviewed Gaia GPS and saw that we could avoid the highway and meet back up with the original plan if we stuck to the Apache Railroad Trail after it curved and wound through a subalpine plain with a lake. We decided to follow it as it shot straight across grassy tussocks on an overgrown doubletrack path that dipped across drainages, climbed up, and shot straight again. Turning, the snowy thickets of Mount Baldy and its light-green aspen base stood out from the meadows running before it. The primitive but relatively smooth rail-trail continued along an old earthen dam that swung around Colter Reservoir and snowy banks still encrusting the north-facing slopes. Then, another turn around the reservoir brought soft singletrack carrying us back towards the highway and directly to the turn on original plan. We stopped to eat some snacks before the big push north towards Springerville.
   
   
    
 
   
    FR 409 snaked through groves of newly-leafed aspen and a biodiverse array of woodlands types on its path across the subalpine plains. Dozens of yellow flowers again and again sprang up along the road. The red dirt path wrapped and wove through treelines and grassfields. All the while, massive puffs of cumulus clustered in quilted gaps in the blue summer sky. After lots of forest thickets we suddenly stretched out on miles of high-altitude meadows where tree branches just frayed the horizon. It was expansive and indicative of the high winds and harsh winters that hit this area. We were around 9000 feet in elevation and the distant views of Baldy all snow-spun stared back. Several marshy-shored lakes drifted by. They were beautifully lined with green sedges, but nothing I would wade in mud to get to. But the bird life they attracted was massive; we could hear their songs well after passing the melt lakes. We paused midday to eat some lunch under the nascent shade of a small group of pines standing isolated in the meadows next to the road. Below us, a tributary of the Little Colorado River carried its melt runoff down to a bifurcated set of ponds with the road running above and down the middle of them. By now, the clouds were starting to gather in earnest, so we wrapped up eating to push on before a storm let loose while we were exposed. And then we hit pavement. We biked along the quiet shoulder of a highway that passed by Mexican Hay Lake. The trumpeting calls of waterfowl led me to pull off the road, lay my bike in the grass, and hike down to the shores for better views. It was the largest lake of the day and evergreen with riparian grass. I climbed back onto my bike as we circled the lake under graying clouds and reached Point of the Mountain Scenic Overlook. I had been itching to reach this point and get a good view into the high desert grasslands. It exceeded all expectations by just laying open a panoramic view of the hundred of volcanoes found in the Springerville Volcanic View. Satiated with the views and ready to get down to Springerville before it rained, we flew down the windy highway before shortly thereafter pulling off onto a dirt road with a cowboy fence.
   
           
    
  This was admittedly one of the section on the route I had little beta on and unreliable map information. There was supposedly a dirt road here that paralleled the mountain ranges and would allow us to skip miles and miles of busy highway (non-shouldered) down below. However, some maps showed a disconnected 4WD road and older ones showed a connection. Determined to find out, and eager to avoid cars, we started down what looked to be excellent doubletrack. This continued for sometime, even passing by a great, rather reliable spring. But then, we rounded a corner where more modern maps indicated a sudden end to the road and were met with what I can only describe as a chunky, ATV pumptrack. It was rocky, loose, steep, and decaying everywhere. The road plunged down a massive ravine. The doubletrack was visible but, to us, had to be hike-a-biked. Luckily, this entire bullish section was short lived. Most maps had this as non-motorized use, but open to bikes, which explained the primitive track. But another round in the bend brought more rideable (but with brakes on!) conditions where I sped into a berm and down to Water Canyon Creek. The creek flowed narrow but deep over the road. A family out for a day hike on the other side told us to walk up the creek a bit to a better spot to carry our bikes over for crossing. Once crossed, we sped up the more apparent doubletrack and merged with Water Canyon Road - a well-maintained gravel road. Janna and I sped down the excellent dirt surface and watched as ponderosas and aspens quicky gave way to pinyons and junipers as the high desert rose up (and the temperatures rose in kind). We hit pavement on the outskirts of Eager but it had a great shoulder. We spun off down some neighborhood-less-busy roads and then intersected with the main highway so we could run into Bashas to do a resupply on food. Big storms swirled around us with rain so we made our way to Reed's Lodge in downtown Springerville to stay the night (especially since there were many miles of private land ahead before we'd be back in the National Forest). After checking in, dismantling gear, and do some nightly bikepacking chores, we were told that an "all you can eat" fish fry was going on down the road at a local restaurant. We headed down and ate tons of fish and biscuits before returning to our room to eat some more greens and fruit while a Harry Potter marathon played on TV.   
25.32 Miles; 2,418 Feet of Gain; Near Brady Park to Greer, AZ  The night was still as stone, and we slept hard. The cool of night began to sweep away at the sun's first glimmers. We had only 25ish miles ahead of us today, plus a reservation at the Rolfe C. Hoyer Campground in Greer, so neither Janna and I felt rushed. We took a long, enjoyable breakfast, took care of our bathroom needs, packed up our gear, and started uphill further into the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest. No more than ten minutes into our ride did I slam on my brakes and hop off my bike. Throughout the woods, in tremendously dense numbers, a superbloom of wild irises dappled the swaying grass with purple triumph. These were Rocky Mountain Irises, also known as Western Blue Flags, a native staple in spring in the White Mountains. The snow had only recently melted. As a result, the soil was wet and saturated - providing perfect growing conditions for the purple flower. To be honest, I had no idea that the iris was found wild and true in Arizona until I staggered under ponderosa boughs to gape at the large quantities in the woods. They grew abundantly in the neon green meadows of grass that sprung up in the damper portions of the forest. Purple heads caught violet-shine in the sun now brightening our morning. I quickly got to eye-level to take in the purple petals best in bloom. Every shallow scrape of wet soil burst dense with irises. My eyes hummed with them. No sooner had I biked only several hundred feet than a new meadow bursting with iris would leave me unceremoniously leaving my bike sideways in the red cinder road so that I could go and stare at the purple flowers. After an hour only traveling half a mile, we finally arrived at Brady Park where a spring from the hillside (now rather dry) had kept the soil and drainage of the expansive meadow damp. Here, irises grew at the best quantities I had yet seen. Again, I dropped my bike, hopped a cattle fence, and marveled at the carpeted flower meadows. Individuals at the edges of the spring drainage were already crinkled and drying out. But those in the center were verdant and royal. I took photo after photo of the violet-infused glades. 
     
    Now, thoroughly two hours into our day, and having only traveled like a mile, I pulled myself away from the flower fields to gain some ground. We still had some solid elevation to gain for the today as we came over the top of the mountains and spun towards Greer. The red cinder road continued on but began a slow transition to ochre brown. And that summer Arizona heat kept building. Granted, the ambient air temperature was relatively low, but the high altitude and direct solar intensity made it feel much hotter in the sun. But midday, we stopped in the shade of several ponderosa pines as we wrapped near Whiting Sawmill area. And with a jaunt around the base of the mountain and a slow climb, the tree diversity began to change. Instead of ponderosa dominance, stands of young, and then mature aspen began to pop up. Firs and spruce sprinkled the forest with the elevation gain. A yellow-green algae-coated cattle tank/spring popped up the woods. I left my bike to hike down to it and was greeted by a chorus of frogs sounding their calls resolutely in the heat of the day. Meadows great into fields, and treelines stood back from where grazing, fire, and lingering-moist soil claimed ground. We turned onto a white gravel road where a sudden clumping of nice homes set back in the trees lay. The road began a steep ascent upwards and several groups of trucks passed us. Rounding the curve at the top, I could see off into New Mexico, and I caught my first glimpse of Escudilla Mountain. We spun down the other side of the cinder-cone hill and were again greeted by a seasonal creek whose drainage was chock full of irises. More and more grass-covered cinder cones and iris-filled drainages appeared in gaps in the woods. It was absolutely gorgeous.
  
      
    And just like that, we plopped out on the main highway leading to Springerville from Pinetop. We quickly turned off the main paved road onto a side paved road leading to Greer. Now, houses and cabins began really springing up along with more dirt dams and small ponds. We entered the Greer Recreation Area and went to check into our campsite at the Rolfe C. Hoyer Campground. It turned out that this campground was super nice and head warm, unlimited showers included. We stopped to setup our shelter and deposit some gear before jumping back on the road to ride to downtown Greer. We first stopped at the Lazy Trout Market, which had an excellent selection of food. After grabbing some fresh fruit and eating it on the porch (plus resupplying for tomorrow's ride), we headed further down the road to the main thoroughfare. The Little Colorado River pooled and flowed through the Greer Valley. It was lined with riparian trees and filled with countless active beaver dams. We had just enough reception at the Market to determine that there was a pizza place open. We pulled in, ordered a vegetarian pizza, and relaxed in the shade of the building while charging our electronics while we waited. We ate the pizza and then pushed off back to our campground. But first, I wanted to ride over to Bunch Reservoir to catch a glimpse of the lake in the afternoon sun. Lots of families were picnicking and fishing in the gentle late afternoon temperatures. Janna and I hopped back on our bikes and went to our campground. After locking them up, we got first choice at the showers. The water was well-pressurized and hot - perfect after two days of riding. Warm and clean, we walked back to camp for a late-evening snack before turning in for the night. 
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