EZPZ Lemmon Squeezy
EZPZ Lemmon Squeezy
by Damion Alexaneder
There are so many things in life that we discount before we ever try them. We hear about someone riding 100 miles, climbing a mountain, running a marathon, starting a business, writing a book or chasing some dream they’ve carried for years, and it’s easy to think, “That’s great for them, but I could never do that.”
We convince ourselves that those people have something we don’t. Maybe they’re more athletic. Maybe they have more discipline.
Maybe they were born with some special ability. Maybe they’re simply wired differently. But I’m increasingly convinced that the difference between what we think we’re capable of and what we’re actually capable of is enormous. Sometimes, all it takes is seeing somebody else do it.
Easy Peasy Lemmon Squeezy (EPLS) is an annual summer tradition organized by Tucson Tri Girls that has grown from a club training ride into a six-week progressive community climb up Mount Lemmon. Each Saturday, riders add a little more distance and elevation, progressing from the lower mountain through landmarks such as Seven Cataracts, Windy Point, Rose Canyon Lake, Palisades and Summerhaven, ultimately reaching the observatory. Some riders aim for the “Half Lemmon,” while others work toward the “Whole Lemmon,” but the goal is always personal: simply go a little farther than you did before. Along the way, volunteers, local businesses, bike shops and cycling organizations provide aid stations, SAG support, hydration, nutrition, mechanical assistance and encouragement, creating a community where riders of all abilities can challenge themselves without having to do it alone.
That’s what I love about Easy Peasy Lemmon Squeezy. On the surface, it’s a six-week cycling event. But to me, it’s really a six-week lesson in possibility. Something happens along the way. People who started by saying, “I could never climb Mount Lemmon,” discover that they can. Not because the mountain got easier, but because they changed their idea of what was possible.
That transformation is one of my favorite things to watch. There is something powerful about being surrounded by people who believe you can do something before you believe it yourself. And that belief is contagious. I’ve watched riders who were intimidated by the mountain make it farther than they expected. I’ve watched people stop, catch their breath, question whether they could continue, and then start pedaling again. Sometimes the biggest climb is the one that happens inside your head.
Mount Lemmon has taught me that lesson more times than I can count. I’ve climbed it hundreds of times, and somehow the mountain still manages to show me something new. Part of that is because there are so many different ways to experience it.
There’s the Arizona Trail and the Control Road on the north side, as well as Catalina Highway itself. Even riding the same road can feel completely different depending on the weather, the season, the animals you encounter or the people you meet along the way.
This year, the people on the mountain ended up teaching me something about myself. Early in the six-week series, I wasn’t doing anything extraordinary. The first week, I wasn’t feeling well and stopped at Molino Basin. The second week, I rode up to visit friends camping at Mount Bigelow.
Then came the third week. I found Jane at the end of her rope at Geology Vista. She had reached the point where she was ready to call it a day. There had been tears, and she was done. But she was supposed to meet a friend at a cabin a few more miles up the mountain.
I gave her a little pep talk and started riding beside her. She kept going, and she went farther than she had ever gone before. That moment stuck with me. Not because I had somehow rescued her. I didn’t. She did the hard part. I simply reminded her, for a few minutes, that she might have more left in her than she thought.
Watching her push through that moment made me ask myself a question: What could I do that would push me to that point?
I decided to find out. I put together a three-week training plan specifically to see if I could ride Mount Lemmon three times in one day. It wasn’t some secret formula. I simply took what I already knew about training, endurance and recovery and gave myself a specific goal.
When the final week arrived, Tucson was facing one of the hottest days of the summer. The forecast was 106 degrees. Oddly enough, the heat intimidated me more than the distance, so I changed the plan. Instead of simply riding from the bottom to the top three times, I wondered what would happen if I rode my bike for 24 hours. I would spend the hottest part of the day high on the mountain, where it was cooler, then come back down into the valley at night.
The goal was still three climbs, but that goal disappeared surprisingly quickly. I blew past it with six hours left. At that point, something interesting happened. I stopped thinking so much about what I was doing and started thinking about everyone else.
I thought about Jane and the riders I had watched throughout Easy Peasy. I thought about the people who had stopped at aid stations, caught their breath and then climbed back onto their bikes. I thought about the people who had gone farther than they thought they could.
And I realized something. We constantly talk about individual achievement, but very little of what we accomplish is truly individual. Someone encourages us. Someone believes in us. Someone rides beside us when we’re ready to quit. Then, somewhere down the road, we become the person encouraging someone else.
It becomes a circle. We help each other reach new heights, and sometimes we don’t even realize the impact we’re having. In my case, that circle eventually carried me to 31,500 feet of climbing, 250 miles and 25 hours of riding without sleep. That was the equivalent of climbing Mount Lemmon four times.
But the numbers are almost beside the point. The real accomplishment was realizing that my ride had been inspired by somebody else’s, while knowing that what I was doing might inspire other riders to go a little farther than they knew they could.
That’s the thing about Easy Peasy Lemmon Squeezy that I hope people understand. The goal isn’t necessarily to reach the summit. The goal is to discover where your own summit might be. Maybe it’s Molino Basin. Maybe it’s Windy Point. Maybe it’s the top. Maybe it’s something that has nothing to do with a bicycle.
We all have things we’ve decided we can’t do. Sometimes we just need someone to ride beside us for a little while and remind us that we can. And sometimes, after they reach their own summit, they turn around and do the same thing for someone else.
That might be the greatest thing the mountain gives us.