SAUER: Sonoran Ultra Endurance Ride - Day 2 - Border Riding and the Patagonia Mountains
Date: March 8, 2025
83.3 Miles
5,405 Feet of Gain
Sleeping Dog RV Ranch outside Sonoita, AZ to White Rock Campground in the Pajarita Mountains
Night sauntered by cold and thorough. I nestled into my quilt and let it take me into deep sleep. When the first strands of light hit the horizon, I opened by eyes and felt truly rested after this quarter's teaching. The outside of my X-mid was frosted over. I stretched deep knowing I was dead last and unlikely to catch or see another racer the rest of the ride. This released me of any impetus to move quickly as I embraced whatever speed I wanted. Finally, more sun crept up, and I stirred into the icy world outside. The rain and snow of yesterday left a morning of frozen dew across the mesquite and bunchgrass landscape. I packed up with numb fingers, quickly stuffing everything away, and then wandered back into the common house of Sleeping Dog Ranch to roast my body's core in the woodstove-heat while I made breakfast. I greeted all the morning crowd who asked me dozens of questions about the route, the race, and where I was heading today. I stuffed some granola in my mouth while filling my water reservoirs and answering them all. Then, I was back outside and pulling out into the dawn now washed over the grasslands.
I breathed in deep the clean cold air while tilting my skin skyward to drink the morning warmth. I pulled up Follow My Challenge (the race's live tracker) to see where everyone was. I could see several racers lingering in Sonoita where they had booked motels last night. Knowing they were only some 10 route-miles ahead of me lit a fire in my legs to see if I could catch them. I watched their dots head south out of town and into the Coronado National Forest. I sped down the highway shoulder just amazed at the change in the atmosphere. Whereas yesterday was draped in clouds and storm, now stunning sapphire skies stretched across the snow-cloaked Santa Ritas to my right. I sped quick and sure to Sonoita where I pulled into Corner Scoop - a small breakfast/café joint where Janna and I had eaten while bikepacking the Sky Islands Odyssey before. I ordered a hot breakfast burrito and sat down to eat while a couple of locals peppered me with questions about my bike outside. I cleaned that meal fast and was back on the bike pedaling south out of town on asphalt slowly climbing through the grass to oak scrub and eventually pinyon-juniper.
Dirt cropped up, and I reentered the national forest on roads that slowly decayed to doubletrack. I had ridden this section in reverse the last time I rode the Sky Islands Odyssey, but this was my first time in this direction. Babyhead rocks lolled across the surface as I leaned into my bike to make it up the punchy climbs and quick descents that typify the riding through the short mountains here at Mount Hughes. But the day was gorgeous and temperatures perfect. I took in all the views as dirt track meandered around curve and tree trunk to carve a path through this small outpost of sky island beauty. I noted how dry everything was - almost no flowers and the grass was late-summer yellow although it was March. I turned on my phone to check the race tracker as soon as I exited the hills and realized I was closer to the back of the pack. I surged as motivation pushed me.
Woodlands fell back, and I entered the open plains adjoining the Canelo Hills. Cloud puffs smattered across the skies. Carpets of spectrum-yellow-orange grasses swept far and wide to distant peaks sweeping up as waves on the horizon. I sucked in my breath. I breathed out hard. It was everything I wanted.
Dirt road transitioned back to pavement as I rode down the quiet backroad heading out towards Parker Canyon Lake. I swung right onto another dirt road and began the climb up to Canelo Pass. Wild turkeys called out everywhere - running across the road, vocalizing from the bushy junipers, and taking flight in short bursts when I rode near. I stopped to eat some snacks as large puffy clouds drifted overhead and shadowed the nearby peaks. I flipped out my phone to check the tracker - I was inching closer and closer to back of the pack. It kept me motivated as I continued by climb up and past where the Arizona Trail crosses the road. I stopped for a moment to let memories slide in from years ago when we hiked the AZT; it felt so good to reminisce. I shook my head and returned to the ride. Onward, then. A small sign beckoned the official Canelo Pass, and I stopped to eye the crisp golden waves of bunch-grass prairie that swept amid oaks and into the sprawling San Rafael Valley. It was gorgeous. A little unbelievably dry for this time of year, but absolutely beautiful.
Knowing I had a big downhill ahead pushed my legs to see what gap I could cover to the back racers ahead of me. I pumped my legs and rushed air into my lungs as trees unfolded to grass in a sweep of field washing around me. Dry brittle bunchgrass stole my gaze. I approached the intersection to veer south to the US/Mexico border. A battalion of cyclists approached from my left and from ahead - proof of the gravel scene that has taken this area. Group rides, individuals out to explore, and even a van-supported group rode by or past me. I swung south with the gap of savannah swinging past and skid my bike to an immediate stop. The smack of cloud splattered high and intervening with light hit the landscape with such unique mottling that I gawked out across the expanse. I snapped some photos of my bike, the grasslands, and where sky met road. It lit me up and stopped me cold; I couldn't bike so I just stood and absorbed.
Satiated with the beauty, I had just enough bars on my phone to catch one last tracker look to see the distribution of racers. The back two racers ahead of me felt more and more in-reach. I jumped back on the bike and pumped on, only stopping to help a small group of gravel cyclists struggling with a flat. I laid my bike down, pulled out my pump and repair kit, and got to work helping to fix a gnarly popped tire. They gave me their thanks and sped north. I headed south again. The road crossed the dry wash of the Santa Cruz River as its wide form narrowed up within corridors of 6 foot bunchgrass. Border Patrol SUVs came driving past in both directions over and over again. The hills to my fore were in Mexico. Those to the southwest that the SAUER route now angled towards were the hulking green Patagonia Mountains.
I stared ahead at the bushy cusps of cottonwood trees spreading branches wide and proud from the small border-town of Lochiel. Now, I was truly riding the international boundary as I could make out the near infrastructure along the US/Mexico line. I was stoked to get here having always wanted to see Lochiel and its historic schoolhouse. To be clear: Lochiel is less a town and more a collection of ranching homes and ghost historic buildings. There are no resupplies, and I didn't see a single person anywhere in the high desert place. Deer and wild turkeys sauntered from grass thickets across the town's dirt roads and back into the brush. I paused under the shade of an arching cottonwood to note that I was at the southernmost point of the SAUER route. I also felt myself mentally check off another area along Arizona's borderlands I had now visited (and true and deep do I love this region). I pedaled softly over to the Lochiel Schoolhouse where I set up my bike, walked the area, read the placards, and took a big snack/rest under the ramada.
The yawning stretch of mid-afternoon got me moving again. I pedaled out of the bordertown, past the Fray Marcos de Niza Historical Landmark, and into the groves of oak sprouting up amid the grasses. The road's surface became rutted and silty in places. I caught a bar of reception, just enough to confirm that I had gained ground again on the back riders, and that they were just a few miles ahead. My plans for tonight were to stay in the Patagonia Mountain Cabins - private lodging of old miners/ranchers flipped now into cottages with stellar interiors. It seemed, according to the tracker, that riders had stopped there. I pushed ahead under slanting sun and more turkeys flitting across the road. The border boundary beckoned to my left as the road steadily began climbing into the Patagonia Mountains. Conifers and oaks crowded the road.
I rounded a corner and suddenly Henley Philips, codirector of SAUER, snapped a photo along my curve. I laughed, and he told me to meet him ahead at the cabins. I pulled in to find Josh Chapple and Steph Dietzel talking with a small group of people. The thrill to have caught riders just gushed my veins. I laughed and excitedly jumped off my bike to join those two. Josh and I had split up the evening before, so it felt so good to back laughing and talking with him. Katie Visco, famous endurance athlete and partner to Henley, came out to meet us all as well. The owners of Patagonia Mountain Cabins were with her and insisted we all come around back to enjoy some tea time with them. As we walked across the property I poked my head around corners to view the vintage cars and architecture. The backyard we entered was refurbished and gorgeous with a fire ring with chairs to eat snacks and drink tea while gazing across the San Rafael Valley tumbling out from amid the pines here to the gold grasslands beyond. It felt a little surreal and exactly the break and social energy plug I needed.
The group of us sat there for probably an hour, talking about life, the history of the area, the route and racers, and our intentions his evening. Steph and Josh announced they were pedaling on, intending to make it some 20 miles further this evening/night to White Rock Campground across I-19 deep in the Coronado National Forest. I mentally checked my legs and energy - I felt strong, motivated to keep with the pack, and full of life amid this mountain scenery. I decided to join along and thanked the owners of Patagonia Mountain Cabins for their hospitality. They let me peek into the lodging where I was blown away by the crazy nice interiors. Note to future riders: stay here (I know that I plan to come back someday and do so)! Steph, Josh, and I went out to our bikes to refill our water, put on warmer layers amid the waning sun, and pedal back on-route. We bid everyone goodbye in the evening light. I felt amazing - just strong and ready to ride.
We immediately climbed steep curves and inclines past an abandoned mine found road-side. Snow from yesterday's storm crept along the crevices of the road. The road dipped and sped through mountain forest beckoning the play between night and day. One more corner brought us to the nearly 6000 foot saddle. A blare of gold hour light, unimpeded by range or tree, shot across the viewscape bathing us in the glow of the setting sun. My heart stammered with beat from the shear scenery. Josh plunged downhill first. I followed second. Steph went third. But my plunge was short-lived as I stopped again and again at every pull-off to admire and snap photos of the southwestern colors painting everything bronze. That light alone reaffirmed my choice to pedal forward with these two into the night.
And then the sun began to really set in earnest. And the call of food in Rio Rico tugged hard. We all agreed to regroup at the Wendy's there. Now it was speed and self-determination setting me forward as I released my brakes and sped downward out of the mountains to the desert floor below. The night descended fast with a dying sun directly in my view as miles flew by and dirt transitioned to pavement amid the branches of mesquite. I pulled over to put on more layers, don a reflective vest, and turn on my lights in preparation for hours of night riding ahead. The dark grew cold as I pedaled forward into an enveloping black only punctuated by the shine of the infrequent headlights of cars and ranch homes. I thought Rio Rico would come quick based on my previous ride years ago of the Sky Islands Odyssey West Loop but I was totally mistaken.
It seemed that an hour or two passed between that summit crest and my eventual arrival in incredibly busy Rio Rico at 7:30 pm. Steph had passed by Josh and I in the dark so that by the time I rolled into the bustling truck stop and fast food empire that served as resupply on this section, I found her in Wendy's already putting in an order. I laughed as I pulled up because I couldn't see where she parked her bike. Then, I looked into the Wendy's and realized she had boldly walked it in and set it against a wall in the dining area. I followed suit confidently walking my bike under fluorescent lights and leaning it against hers. Josh arrived shortly thereafter doing the same. I quickly ordered a massive salad and a chicken wrap. The three of us sat and consumed what felt like unbelievable calories in the warmth and light of that Wendy's truck stop. I charged my electronics from and outlet wall. Then, I went to the bathroom to wash up before strolling the convenience store for resupply.
Once all food was consumed, we packed on layers again to join the dark. We carefully picked our ways with our flashing bike lights through the semitrucks and highway juncture before the urban interstate pull-off faded away to become darkness of the desert once more. Those calories charged my legs as I pushed my muscles relentlessly into the night. We rode miles and miles into landscape that slowly transitioned back to the Coronado National Forest along empty pavement, past washes, along mesquite/oaks/bunchgrass, and that climbed past Pena Blanca Lake. It was nearly 10 pm by the time we arrived at White Rock Campground which was thankfully quiet and empty of loud partiers (I had experienced this years before). Josh remarked how amazing Arizona was in that on a Saturday night, this campground, within driving distance of the interstate, was nearly devoid of campers - an outdoor paradise. There were some campers in adjoining sites so we set up quietly, cleaned up, and I lay down to rest hard and deep with accomplishment and peace laying in my mind.
