Three Knolls Media

​Each year, a small but passionate group of riders takes on the Arizona Trail Race, a self-supported mountain bike challenge covering the entire 800-mile length of the trail. Normally, it finishes near the Utah border, but this year the route was altered because of the Bravo Fire. Instead of crossing the Grand Canyon and continuing north, riders descended to the Colorado River, then turned back south to Flagstaff, climbing Mount Humphreys before finishing in Flagstaff.

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For those who want something a little shorter, but not necessarily easier, there is the 300-mile version, which follows the same rugged terrain but ends just north of the Gila River at Picketpost.

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A Trail That Keeps Evolving

The Arizona Trail is never quite the same from one year to the next. Fires, trail work, and new connections constantly reshape it. The race itself evolves too, sometimes because riders are determined to make things harder. A rule of the Arizona Trail Race states that if a group of riders voluntarily adds a new section, it becomes part of the official route from then on. That is how the infamous Mount Lemmon Push became a fixture of the 800-mile course.

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As the name suggests, the Lemmon Push is not a ride. For more than ten miles, you hoist your bike up rocks and over water bars, some a foot high, others as tall as three feet. It is as grueling as it sounds. For the 300-mile racers, the section is optional. Most choose not to do it, and for good reason.

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So why would anyone willingly put themselves through that kind of punishment?

Because for those who love to explore, who crave the edge of endurance, and who want to see Arizona’s wild beauty in its rawest form, there is nothing better.

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From Sponsor to Participant

I have known about this race for years. The Damion Alexander Team has long supported the Arizona Trail Association, and I consider the trail one of my favorite places to take photos. It is a remarkable resource for the state, especially because it passes right through Tucson.

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A few years ago, I even wrote a column titled The Hardest Race I Never Did. I had trained, prepared my gear, and built the perfect bikepacking setup, but came down with COVID just before the start. I told myself I would get another chance someday.

This year, I had no plans to race. That changed when a friend posted on Facebook congratulating me for signing up. Soon after, I started receiving messages from friends wishing me luck. Rather than correcting the misunderstanding, I made a post explaining why I could not possibly do it. I did not have a proper bike or bags.

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Then came the twist.

Binary Bicycles, a company based in Sierra Vista, reached out and offered to loan me a bike. Suddenly I had no excuse. With only three days before the start, I scrambled to assemble gear, set up lights and bags, and make last-minute adjustments. I finished at two in the morning. The race started at six. Three items I had ordered, my new phone mount, a replacement light bracket, and a fresh set of bib shorts, never arrived in time. I decided to start anyway, figuring that improvising was part of the adventure.

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Learning on the Trail

Riding an unfamiliar bike with untested gear is a humbling way to start one of the hardest mountain bike routes in the world. My light mount broke the first night. I lost my first water bottle seven minutes into the race. My GPS computer did not go flying off, it broke before I even got moving. I was carrying five or six pounds of unnecessary gear, yet somehow missing key items I truly needed.

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The race is capped at sixty riders. Many will not finish, not for lack of fitness but because bikes break, bodies break, and sometimes wills break too.

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My first major challenge came about fifty miles south of Tucson when my rear brake failed completely. I thought about quitting. Descending steep rocky trails with only a front brake is not ideal. It makes every downhill an exercise in trust, skill, and restraint. I told myself brakes only slow you down, although, to be fair, I did go over the handlebars once.

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I eventually decided to take a night to regroup. The rules of the race allow the use of any publicly available facility, so I checked into the Hilton East, recharged my batteries, replaced both brakes at Sabino Cycles, and got back on the trail.

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Then came the Lemmon Push. In hindsight, I am not sure I would have done it if I had fully appreciated what was coming. I called Beyond Bread and the Mount Lemmon Hotel, asking them to make sandwiches and leave them out since I expected to arrive after closing at seven. I reached them closer to noon the next day.

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The Lessons of the Trail

There were moments when I questioned why I was doing this at all. I could have been out enjoying a thirty-mile ride on my unloaded bike. But there is something deeply satisfying about pushing yourself beyond what is comfortable. When you are alone in the desert, you have no choice but to solve problems, stay calm, and keep moving forward. Those lessons carry over into every part of life.

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One of the most memorable moments happened when I missed a turn and went a few miles off course. I came upon a small pond, its surface glowing emerald green with algae, as if the entire landscape were illuminated from within. Cattle stood knee-deep in the water beneath a bright blue sky streaked with white clouds. It stopped me in my tracks. As I looked around, I realized I was not off course at all, not in the larger sense. I was exactly where I needed to be.

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That is the beauty of this trail. It humbles you, challenges you, and rewards you when you least expect it.

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As I write this, I am sitting on the patio of the Mount Lemmon Hotel, finishing a quiche from Beyond Bread before I continue on with the last hundred miles of the race. My body is tired, but my spirit is full. By the time I finish, I will have a list of things I do not need and a deeper appreciation for the things I do. More than anything, I will have a renewed gratitude for the Arizona Trail, a trail that gives so much to those willing to give it everything they have.

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For those of us lucky enough to live near it, the Arizona Trail is not just a line on a map. It is an invitation.