Next year will be the 30th annual El Tour de Tucson. 10,000 riders are expected. I first rode in the 10th El Tour, way back in 1992 (and, for various reasons, didn't get back into road cycling for a long time). I've been looking back and looking forward; reflecting on what has changed, what has stayed the same, and figuring out that I need to continue training to finally get a sub-6-hour ("gold") time.
In '92 I got to the start way early, and stood around freezing my ass off, because the low that night was near freezing. In 2011, it was warm enough for just a short-sleeve jersey. Back then, my borrowed bike was all-aluminum, so it was fairly heavy, but more than that, *you* where the shock absorber--the pain in my hands didn't go away for days. Now, I'm riding on carbon forks, seat stays, and a seat post and it makes a huge difference.
In '92 the route was also 111 miles, but clockwise--we went west to the base of the Tucson Mountains before turning north. It was my first experience with the thrill and fear of riding in a pelaton, a mass of wheels almost touching, the hiss of brakes as near-misses occurred all around. And, of course, being passed by nearly everyone.
Nowadays the route goes southward first, and stays on city streets. The start is so slow that, in the middle of the pack where I line up, literally minutes go by between the starting gun and when it's time to start moving (and even then, better not clip both feet in!). The most important thing about El Tour, and one that thankfully hasn't changed, is that there's at least one police officer and each and every intersection on the entire route (dozens and dozens of intersections). So many kudos to the cops from Tucson and Pima County. They're there all day, giving high priority to every group of cyclists, lowest priority to all the motorists (many of which are noticeably irate)--it is a nice inversion of the normal order.
But back to the start. There are always large groups of Team In Training riders, tending to go a little slower, some of them already struggling to not be separated from their group. This year a number of them decorated their helmets with monkeys on top of empty beer cans (flying beer monkeys? anyways, it was kinda neat). I'm impatient at the start and spent the first hour passing people, or trying to avoid getting stuck behind other rides. Maybe because of the warmer weather, this year there weren't nearly as many dropped water bottles and other detritus. I passed Bill Walton--giant guy on a giant bike.
Another cool thing that hasn't changed is an El Tour tradition: a mariachi band serenading the cyclists at the first "river crossing" (about 50 or 60 yards on a dirt path across the Santa Cruz river--a century ago, it would have been flowing but alas, progress). It's great to see that. They don't have to be there, and it's maybe not all that fun--playing for what, hours? while getting all dusty and having endless streams of riders hussling past you, most of them not even acknowledging your presence? Kudos to them as well.
Further on, I witnessed a first: a pile-up. Riders were being attended to and disentangling their bikes. Everybody looked OK. This was around where we had gone east past the city dump and were paralleling the freeway on frontage roads. I was trying to stay in pace lines but, more often than not, either got dropped or rode away and had to bridge the gap to the next group.
It wasn't long before we turned north and headed into my home turf--the far eastside of Tucson. Another thing that has changed with El Tour is that there are many more spectators, particularly in these suburban areas (include the northwest side)--folks just out at the end of their driveways, or gathered on corners, to cheer riders on. One lady had a giant pot held up above her head, ringing it with a spoon or something! I think that could be more tiring than riding a bike.
Two hours in, we passed Saguaro National Park (east unit) and then the closest point to my house: 3 miles as we hit a nice long descent. Back when the course went the other way 'round, it was one of two long gradual ascents, which I definitely was not prepared for. Now I was sailing down it at 35, passing people on the way down. Then I hear the ding-ding of a bike bell and know a tandem is about to pass me--they descend like crazy. As we zag west a little on Speedway, I get behind a couple of other riders, one of whom was (after just now checking the number on the results page) the other celebrity in the race: home-run king Barry Bonds. But he slackened quite a bit as we turned north and began to climb for the first time, so I had to leave him behind. I followed behind an old dude up the rest of the hill, then passed him on the twisty-turny path down into Canyon Ranch and the 2nd "river crossing". By odd chance, there was a big gap ahead of us and when, we got off the bikes he said "thanks, I would have gotten lost on those turns" and I said "thank you, you pulled me up most of Kolb!"
I was grateful for the little break here and walked the bike through the dirt, but some people want to ride through and they're always pushy, like totally irritated (like "on your LEFT, damnit!") that they might lose a few seconds by having to go around you. But this year, I was a little faster, so it was just a few of these types, instead of the whole lead group from the 85-mile start).
The only steep grade of the event is a short hill coming out of canyon ranch. I thought about not dropping to the small chain-ring but then took stock of how drained my legs felt already (not quite halfway) and decided not to take that chance. I overheard someone say, "you guys are an hour behind the lead group."
Another fun part, after a couple more hills, is zooming through the foothills. Around three hours in I was at the halfway point. But the second half would be less even, have headwind, include the bumpiest roads, plus I'd be even weaker and slower. There was a strange pain in my right calf. I knew going in that I hadn't done enough long distance riding to be confident of that 6-hour time, and now here was the proof. So at that point it became more about just having a good ride, stopping at a few more aid stations than planned, then trying to get going fast again to hop behind a passing pace-line and stay with them! And that's the way it went.
In another reminder of years past, the final rest stop was again my favorite: excellent brownies, salty snacks, friendly volunteers. Kudos to those folks as well.
All told, by the time I finished, thirty minutes had been spent stopped somewhere and the rest, six hours and sixteen minutes, were riding. Looking forward to next year!
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