Day 2: Charles Dickens Was Really Onto Something

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair." - Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

When I was trying to come up with a title for day 2, the Charles Dickens line "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times" immediately came to mind. While on my bike, experiencing the toughest physical challenge of my life (day 2 really was the toughest), there were moments of extreme lows. Looking back, those same hard moments would become some of my most celebrated, closely kept memories of the whole rally. The "best of times" were happening all around me, that was plain to see. Friends, bikes and sunshine. What more could a girl ask for? After waking up behind Mel's Diner on Sunday, I decided to get a head start on making coffee and breakfast, since this would be my first time using the stove alone. Shameless product plug: the MSR Pocket Rocket was lightweight and easy to use. Even an idiot could do it! Or so I thought. After a previous long day of riding and minimal sleep, I was ready for coffee or Felix Felicis, in my case. (Harry Potter fans will know) It was 6am and colder than a witch's tit, so I threw on my gloves and jacket and made my way out of my tent. But first, I had to pee. With Mel's and their neighbor, Dollar General being closed, my only option was to pop a squat beside the dumpster that sat a few yards from our tents. Shameless. This would become a theme of the rally for me and even somewhat of a nickname. (thanks, Helga!) After taking care of business, it was time to brew come coffee. Previously, all my camping adventures had been with Johnny, and I've generally relied on his knowledge of how to use the gear, instead of putting in the time to learn for myself. Sure, I can figure out how to setup a tent, but would it take me 5 minutes or 50?

As I screwed my stove onto the fuel canister, things became more real. The hissing of the gas, almost like a whisper in my ear. I was really doing this, and I was doing it by myself. As I lit the flame for my stove, something seemed off, but I wasn't making the connection. It took about 5, very long seconds, to realize my stove was actually ON FIRE. Well, the plastic bowl was on fire. Pro tip: plastic is flammable and if you leave the plastic bowl on your metal pot and light your stove, it will burn, and you will cry and panic like a baby. Once I was fully aware of what was going on, I turned off the stove and removed what was left of the plastic bowl. I was devastated. I had failed miserably, and it was only day 2. Carolyne (MT), my first friend to make on the trip, was setup beside me. Once she saw what was going on she tried her best to help. It was futile. The bowl was useless and for the next 10 minutes, so was I. Carolyne, shared that the smell her stove was giving off, was actually from doing the same thing. This made me feel better, but not entirely. As I sat on the ground, pulling melted plastic from my stove, I cried. THIS was what I was afraid of: failure. I was surrounded by strong, smart, capable women and at this moment, I did not feel like one of them. I looked at Carolyne and proclaimed, "this is why I don't belong here". She looked at me and said "this is WHY you belong here. You CAN do this." She didn't know it, but her words were my strength in that moment of defeat, and they carried me throughout the morning. After collecting myself, I managed to finally make a cup of coffee and as you'd imagine, it was delicious. It's funny how shitty situations make us appreciate things that much more. 

As we rolled out of the diner parking lot, I knew it would be a hard day, but I wasn't fully prepared for just HOW hard it would be. Before leaving San Manuel, we stopped at a gas station to refill water, use the toilet and hopefully, find some vegetarian friendly snacks for our vegetarian friends. However, there were no veggies or toilets to be found. After resupplying on water, we started our migration to Pepper Sauce Campground: the gateway to Control Road. The 12-mile ride to PSC was mostly paved but packed with rollers. In hindsight, I was glad we didn't attempt the rest of this ride in the dark because it was NOT easy.  However, "not easy" would turn into what felt like impossible and impassable, at times. When we finally arrived at PSC, we were tired but knew there were harder things to come. To add insult to injury, some of the ladies I was riding with, were visited by Aunt Flow, mid-ride. FORTUNATELY, PSC had a couple of vault toilets that were just calling our names! After a package of tuna, some turkey sticks and 2 failed poop attempts (24 hours without pooping at this point. yay!) we were ready to head out. As we pulled out of the campground and made the left for Control Rd, I pep talked myself; readying and rallying for what was to come. If I spent the same amount of time writing as I did riding Control Rd that day, we'd be here for another 7.5 hours. So, the abridged version will have to do.

The miles were grueling and there was little to no shade. Little breaks here and there, were a must. Despite the rally taking place in November, it was hot. At one point, in a desperate attempt to cool down, I pulled over and retrieved the REI sun hoodie from my bag. While others were removing layers, I was adding. My arms were HOT from being exposed to the sun all day. If there's one thing I've learned about AZ, it's that the sun "hits harder" here. "Woman cannot live on sunscreen, alone." That's what the bible says. 

In addition to the heat, I was dealing with bag issues. With all the washboard that day, and the day before, one of my front bags would not stay put. Eventually, I ended up strapping said bag to my handlebars and giving up the use of my headlight. This would become a problem later in the evening, but at the time, this was the least of my worries. At this point, I had spent so much time messing with my bag that the rest of the group had moved on, and I was alone. What a feeling to truly be alone out on the side of a mountain. I felt a lot of things. An emotional rollercoaster, if you will. During a particularly tough mental moment, I happened to check my phone and see a text message from my co-worker, Amy. She cheered me on and told me how proud she was of me; ensuring me that I could do this. It was almost like the universe knew I needed a little pick me up. After another mile or so, I caught up to the group, taking a lunch break in a precious spot of shade. Frida (Mexico) was making soup and Sarah (Scotland) was eating sweets. I laid down my bike and took a load off. In hindsight, I should have been eating, too, but all I could do was stare into space. Maybe I thought watching them eat, would work for me, by osmosis? My energy was zapped, but I knew we had a long way to go to reach Summerhaven. We were eventually joined by Celeste (AZ) and Frederika (CA), who were also looking for a spot of shade. After 30 minutes of rest and a fumbled Fumpa bike pump tutorial, Sarah, Frida and I decided it was time to head out.

Control Road is generally frequented by ATVs and 4x4 vehicles, so you can imagine the looks of surprise we received as we ascended the mountain. Many stopped to ask us what we were doing and where we were going, while others offered rides and even aid and supplies. Oscar, an ATV driver, gave us water, Capri Sun and sodas, as he passed us going down Control Rd. Everywhere we looked, people wanted to help us or learn more about us. In such a divisive time, where choosing sides has become the norm, everyone we came across chose the side of humanity and kindness. It was completely unexpected and refreshing to see. Who knew that riding/hike-a-biking all day would do more than just strengthen me physically? I guess that was a point of the rally though, right? 

As we pushed on, the light started to disappear as patches of snow started popping up. The change in altitude was obvious in the temp and now, full coverage of thick pines. The three of us rallied together many times over the next few miles. We encouraged each other, even when it didn't feel easy or possible. "Only another 2.5 miles!", we'd say out loud. Knowing that another 2.5 miles would likely take a couple of hours. It grew colder and we stopped to put on more layers. As we neared the final mile to the top, my social battery had run out and I no longer had anything to offer the group. I knew I would complete the day on my bike, as taking a ride (unless injured) wasn't an option for me, but I was on empty, physically and emotionally. I excused myself from Sarah and Frida, apologizing for leaving them for the last leg of the route, but they understood, and I pressed on. As soon as I could look back and see that no one was immediately behind me, I screamed into the void. I think I yelled "fuck", but I can't be too sure." Over it", does not begin to describe how I was feeling in that moment. It was like a bad joke that just wouldn't end. When would I make it to the top? I knew the last mile was one of the most challenging miles of the day, but how could that be after all we had been through?? Then, through the trees, came the sound of a car passing by on the highway above. ALMOST THERE. For the first time (and last) in my life, a car gave me hope! I hopped on my bike and rode as much as I physically could, giving myself visual goals to ride towards, until I'd have to get off and push. When I saw the signs at the top of Control Rd, I knew I'd made it. I burst into tears, in complete awe of what I had just accomplished. Previously, my most difficult physical feat was "running" a marathon, back in 2017, but that hailed in comparison to this moment with my bike. Once at the top, I waited for Sarah and Frida. After about 10 minutes, their headlights appeared, and I ran to greet them. People could probably hear me for miles. There was NO holding back my excitement. FUCK YES. WE HAD DONE IT. After hugs and a brief funeral for my protein powder, we got on the highway and headed into Summerhaven. We had no prior arrangements for lodging since we'd initially intended on completing the route much earlier in the day and descending to Molino Basin, to camp with the larger group. It now seemed that riding down the mountain in the dark or camping nearby, at elevation, would be our only option for the night. Then, like firefly in the night, I see Makayla (OR), Carmen (New Zealand) and Helga (NY) heading the opposite direction. We were lucky, because they saw us, too. Immediately, they asked us what our plans were for the night and if we had anywhere to stay. We told them we did not, and graciously, they offered to let us stay with them. We accepted and made our way towards the cabin, up on Bisbee Ave. Once inside, we all breathed a sigh of relief. We unpacked, showered and made food. We shared highs and lows of the day and our plans for tomorrow's ride to the Santa Rita mountains. Exhausted and hoping to catch some rest, everyone retired to their sleeping arraignments. As I lay on my air mattress, all cozied up in my sleeping bag, I couldn't sleep. The experiences of the day just kept replaying in my memory and the excitement made my brain run wild. Tomorrow, we would descend Mt.Lemmon (my first time) and make our way south. It would be a new day. The season of darkness had passed and the season of light, was just getting started.