Sky Islands Odyssey (East Loop) - Day 1 - Springtime Blooms Climbing to Patagonia
Date: April 5, 2024
46.2 Miles
4,694 Feet of Gain
Green Valley, AZ to Patagonia, AZ
This is our sixth time riding the Sky Islands Odyssey. And we love it as ever. Set in southeast Arizona amid and around its iconic Sky Islands peaks, the route weaves through the lower Sonoran cacti and high desert grasslands the region is famous for. Janna and I have returned nearly every year since 2018 to ride this loop. We love it for the small towns, landscapes, and warm temperatures during the cooler months of the year up north. Usually, this trip is a November Veteran's Day escape for us; but last autumn, I ended up breaking my pelvis in two places on the Stagecoach 100 route. That effectively took out all backcountry trips for several months after diagnosis. So I looked ahead and plucked this designated snow-makeup-day in early April as a time to head out. The date rolled in, no snow days were used, so this long weekend became ours for a southern Arizona trip.
This is the latest in the spring we've ridden this route. It can get scorchingly hot in early April as the Sonoran Desert transitions from spring to foresummer. Choosing an April date meant flirting with the sun. Yet, we both looked forward to warmer nights and more hours of daylight. Usually, we're racing daylight by starting pre-dawn and ending near dusk in the late autumn or winter season. What we didn't count on were the flowers; and this springtime start meant we had plenty right out from the start.
As always, we drove down to Green Valley to park our car at the Best Western. We've done this many times and find a start from Green Valley to be way more convenient for starting/ending the route as compared to the official start in Patagonia. I think Patagonia is a dream-town for backcountry adventurers, which means it's more appreciated mid-trip as opposed to the depart. We stayed the night in Green Valley, grabbed breakfast at the hotel's restaurant the next morning, and leisurely left by 10 am with the day firmly warm. The Sky Islands Odyssey is so familiar to us by now that we just enjoy each part without logistical concerns - just bike, soak in the desert, and go.
We sped down the smooth bike shoulders of Green Valley to join the Juan Baptista de Anza Trail through Desert Meadows Park. Dirt singletrack bisected vibrant spring greenery ad we sped south towards a re-merger with the I-19 Frontage Road. We casually biked along that shoulder for several miles before joining spur pavement that carried us to the Anza Trail once more in the heart of the riparian zone adjacent to the Santa Cruz River. Immediately, flowers opened up a carpet of colors amongst the floodplain's grasslands. Pale cream and shock yellow mottled the landscape. Janna and I rode along on the well-maintained path before intersecting with Elephant Head Road and its pavilion. We paused here to shed layers, apply sunscreen, eat a snack, and then prepare for the big climb ahead.
We pedaled up Elephant Head Road through a desert lined with low-slung petal blooms. The ocotillos were totally leafed out - photosynthesizing from the spate of recent spring rains. Red buds squatted on their branch tips. Elephant Head, the iconic rock formation, reared its salient form from the base of the Santa Ritas. We swung a right on the dirt road that would carry us up and over a pass through the mountains to Patagonia. A Border Patrol SUV came around the corner, working its way past us on the rocky doubletrack. Janna and I sped on. The route rolled up and down the foothills as the sun baked us warm. I dropped down a decline to a creek crossing where we typically take a break; water was running cool and clear across the desert wash. Janna caught me, and we began the section of HAB (at least for us) that always follows. The panoramic views from this push are a sweet spread of Sonoran landscape - chunky rock outcrops, agave, mesquite, and faded bunched grass sweeping across it all. It was hot enough at one point that we stopped to just sit in the shade completely unacclimatized from living at the still-cold South Rim compared to this hot southern scape.
I rode around a curve trying to take a photo, hit a rock, and jammed myself over my handlebars and onto the ground. I sat stunned for a second with some pain where my saddle had simultaneously jammed its nose into my rear. But I shook it off, readjusted my twisted hood drops, and then pedaled on to catch up to Janna on the climb. The two of us reached the high, cool saddle under a smatter of clouds. Then, we dropped down the backside toward Josephine Canyon on one of my favorite downhills that rips along a desert wash (also flowing with water). Whenever I ride through this section, I always imagine jaguars out here. There's just something about the stands of oaks, reliable creek flows, and remote rocky mountain sides that just scream "big cat" territory to me; that, and the fact that jaguars have been photographed by remote cameras in this range.
The two of us crested the next saddle where an abandoned shot-up car sits. Years ago, we were out here mere days after that car showed up, and I thought someone was in it and hurt. There is no mistaking now that this vehicle is here to stay. It's been crushed and shot to hell by other backcountry users after a few years posted at this high point. Janna and I carene down the backside of the mountain and enter the grassy lowlands. I'm struck by how absolutely green the whole landscape is. Usually, we see autumn/winter browns. Now, it's a verdant thornscrub jungle. The remaining miles come familiar, easy, and fast as we pedal quickly along the wide maintained dirt roads that lead us adjacent to Sonoita Creek and its preserve.
We pop into Patagonia in late afternoon with some sun still left in the day. First, we stop for food at the must-eat Velvet Elvis. Satisfied, we pedal east out of town to Terra Sol. We've been staying at this bikepacker/backpacker friendly campground for several years now. Mary, who bought and runs the place, is a fantastic host. We set up in the darkness of dusk and make our way to the outdoor patio to sit with a group of AZT thru-hikers. The group of us exchange stories about the landscape and our trips. The AZTers here represent the late-starters, and they are looking to cook miles under their feet quickly to get to the high-country before the worst of the heat sets down in the lowlands. It turns out one of the thru-hikers is an ornithologist and knows some of our closest friends in Virginia; we laugh about the small world and how he did research under their guidance. Hiker/biker midnight arrives, and everyone makes their way to their shelters as javelinas grunt in the dark.
