BIKES, LIGHTS, AND ED

By Jim Hickson



The Old Pueblo Bike Event

We didn’t really know what to expect at the unusual bike event nor of our stay in the isolated town nearby. The Tucson Arizona area beckoned us again and in mid-February we set out with our daughter’s mountain bike and plans to pick up Ben’s friend, Clay, at the Phoenix airport. Due to delays from traffic accidents and a long detour we didn’t arrive at the race course, called “The 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo” or “24HOP” until dusk on Friday. (The race began the next day at noon). It is one of the largest bike events in the world. Relay teams of various sizes and skills complete non-stop for 24 hours on the 17 mile course north of Tucson in an isolated Sonoran desert landscape of rugged, sinuous hills. Of course there are a few hard core riders who do whole course alone.

A city of tents and RVs had sprung up in the desert. Lanterns and campfires dotted once vacant hills and gulches. The tents and teams spread in all directions and the “city center” contained a 24 hour Taco Truck, water and beer stations, a first aid facility, a community radio station (KXCI 91.3), and several other temporary structures. Music blared and riders mingled. It was a long weekend party and yes, a young peoples’ challenge. Clara and I were the old, if astonished, observers.

Our son had announced his wedding plans and this was to be a tip-off for the bachelor party. His team, “The Grubs,” consisted of 5: Robert, Clay and Ben, our daughter Trish and a young local gal, Sarah, who was a terrific rider. Ben’s fiancée, Kelly, and Robert’s future wife, Lindsey, were there to manage the food, first aid and team needs. Clara and I were there to deliver Clay and a bike, scope out the event and return on Saturday to enjoy the first day of competition, and then again on Sunday for the finish. We would miss the Saturday night riders, which is the craziest scene, with assorted glow-lights, cheering, and spills. There was even a “beverage” station at night posted halfway through the course. We learned later that had Ben crashed into a fallen rider and rolled into a cholla during his first lap and had to pull cactus spines, the worst ones using pliers, from his arm and hand. The “Grubs” ended up finishing well, doing their 3-4 laps each in the “24HOP”, all quite stoked the entire time by the adrenaline and the ebullient vibes.

Midnight Rider at the “24HOP”

After leaving Clay off at the “Grubs” camp that first night, Clara and I drove to our lodging, which was the Triangle L Ranch in Oracle and which proved to be… interesting.

Oracle is a quirky western town among boulders, oaks, hills and grasslands. There is really no “downtown”: no bank, no hardware store, a little K-8 school, a few small businesses and restaurants. At 4,500 feet Oracle is considerable cooler than nearby Tucson and is lorded over in the southwest by Mt. Lemon which has the southern most ski resort in the U.S. and rises to 9,171 feet.

We pulled into the long driveway to the Triangle L in the pitch dark. Strange lights blinked from surrounding hills. Our headlights revealed pure alabaster life-sized human statues in different poses. Finding the check-in bunk house was not easy and there was no one there, or about the ranch at all. We wandered around the 12 acre property with flashlights until we came upon another couple. They pointed us to our lodging, “The Ranch House,” and said it was probably open which it was and it proved to be an old western cabin, eclectic, yet comfortable.

We slept well in absolute quietude and darkness, and then in the morning drove to watch the chaotic start of the bike race. After a few hours we went back to our cabin at the Ranch which was an hour away.

Then things began to make sense. We found our host, who explained this was an “art ranch.” Various artists had created sculptures and placed them throughout the undulating property. We took a walk alone, before dusk, and realized we had to come back again for a more extensive tour that night. We had stumbled upon a vast, private, outdoor art/light show.

Thus we toured the ranch’s Sculpture Park, along the “Magic Path” one Saturday night in February, alone. When one reaches a special age you realize fragments of time will be embedded in your memory, forever. This was one of them.

Along the “Magic Path”

The “Magic Path” turned and twisted through the Sonoran desert and florescent lights twinkled left, right and then right in front of us. Neon waterfalls fell from rocks, intricate bottle sculptures formed gigantic pentagrams. Figures appeared along with mirrors, lit by buried floodlights, strange rocks and tunnels emerged within caverns of blue lights blinking randomly, mazes outlined with shimmering bulbs led to turquoise pools, bizarre animals with emerald eyes glowed within oak trees. Our tour became two hours of artistic energy in absolute high desert stillness.

The final morning after leaving the Ranch, we met up with Dick and Cher at a local restaurant. (Our friends, the O’Brien’s, helped us arrange the visit). Cappy had known Cher years before but I had not met Dick nor her. They were a wonderfully friendly couple who live in Oracle and we had a long breakfast with them. They both had known Edward Abbey who I, as one of many, call an inspiration. Abbey, author of Desert Solitaire, The Monkey Wrench Gang, and 21 other books remains a complicated, influential writer— a western iconoclast, wilderness defender and revered character.

But not only had they known Abbey well, Dick had driven him across the country in his later years. From that voyage came the book, “The Fools Progress” a wild and fictional account by Ed of his eastward trek toward his boyhood home. Here, within 24 hours, was another memory seared forever into my brain. To hear stories about Ed Abbey was as though I was chatting with people who hung out with Thoreau or hiked with John Muir.

Edward Abbey

We left Oracle and arrived in Tucson for our to stay at a casita owned by a lecturer of environmental studies at the University of Arizona. He was astounded when I mentioned our breakfast conversation that very morning.

But I wish Old Ed, Clara and I could have walked the “Magic Path” together at the Triangle L Ranch. I wonder what he would have thought?