AZT day 7, spectacular site to Colossal Cave, 25.1 miles

All night, birds and crickets hum in the dark. Not too dark with a waxing gibbous moon so bright I don’t need light. 

I pack before the sun comes up and set off on the long descent, the trail winding around itself. I soon realize the winding around is because this is a mountain bike trail. The AZT can be biked too – except for wilderness areas – and the trail conforms to their needs. Maybe not so much a hikers, who might prefer a straight line in the right direction. 

Still, it’s lovely as I leave the sky island for full on desert. Prickly pear are everywhere in big, disorganized clumps of flat faces. I see a few yellow flowers, but spring has not sprung as of yet. 

Down and around I go through cactus on sandy trail. A black cow huddles in a thicket of mesquite watching me as I circle around him on this winding path. 

I plod along as the sun comes out and is already hot by 8:00. Only the breeze cools me. My first water source is ‘the lake,’ man-made I’m sure and like a tank out of its bounds. It’s surprisingly lovely in this scorching desert and don’t the birds know it, singing a chorus on this lovely morning. 

I walk down a ways on a rock-filled road and park myself under a tree to filter water. A bright red bird lands on a limb, his reflection equally as bright and sharp in the water. He swoops down to the water’s surface to catch a bug, himself and his partner on the surface coming together as one. 

I swig a liter and pack one, and make my first mistake of the day. But I don’t know that now, blithely moving forward on this fresh morn into the Sonoran Desert. I wave to another backpacker headed south but see no one else all morning – until about twelve bicyclists show up from behind seemingly out of thin air. All of them happy taking these twists and turns. 

I march on as the day heats up and the flora goes on repeat. Fewer birds here away from water, only a little action as I plod forward. Soon, I take stock. One liter for how many miles until a definite water source. Oh dear, four or five miles, and it’s hot with positively no shade. 

I briefly duck into a wee bit of shade and sit on a rock to sip some of that liter. I realize my goal is to get to Colossal Cave Mountain Park and pick up my resupply of food for the coming section, but they close at 4:00 and there’s no way I’ll walk that fast. I turn airplane mode off and call the park. 

Chantal answers and tells me that if I can’t arrive in time, there’s nothing that can be done and I’ll simply have to pick it up in the morning when they open at 9:00. I throw myself at her mercy. 

9:00 will have me hiking in the heat of the day, isn’t there somewhere to leave it? I’ll pay! 

She asks me to hold while she checks things out and I hear ‘70s funk in the desert. When she returns, there’s a change of heart and she offers to hide it in a cupboard on the terrace. 

I am so grateful I tear up then almost forget to give her my name so she can find the package. My first trail angel of the day.    

I march on, slowly descending towards the highway, though each time I come close, the trail turns to parallel and continues its maddening twists and turns. More bikers zoom past, mostly polite by yielding to me. I must look absurd to them marching through the desert. 

Finally the trail heads straight at the road and I see a brown locker with a beautiful Arizona Trail emblazoned on it. What a surprise when I open it to see it full of gallon jugs of water. People mark their own cache but most say ‘public water’ and I fill up. The public water is left here by trail angels just as a kindness. The trail is not possible without a cache since it’s another hot five miles to a river. 

I’m at a road, but also between roads. It’s loud with traffic and bikers who need to crank music outside to feel alive. I can barely stand it, so leave quickly – with only two liters. Mistake number two. 

Sure, I cameled up, but I’m not carrying enough for what’s to come. This is no sky island of pine and cool breezes. This is the desert for real and I am on my own. 

Except I do meet a lovely couple, Jim and Diane, who tell me someone is just ahead of me. They even offer beta on what’s ahead, like long shaded tunnels under the highways. 

I push on and see teddy bear cholla for the first time, their shiny spikes like well-cared for fur. A biker passes and asks if I’m a thru-hiker and comments, “Awesome!” I feel awesome, just slow. The breeze hits like air con when it hits. 

I stop in shade under the first tunnel. Jim mentioned that it’s clear and I realize it must fill up with debris in the monsoon. I even find a kind of seat on concrete and make lunch with cheese, jerky and rice crackers. My water disappears and I hope the next road crossing has a cache. 

On and on I plod, the mountains ahead far off, the ones I’ve left even further. Barrel cactus grow in contorted shapes reaching towards something only they know, their spines bright red and crossed. 

A biker named Todd stops me to talk describing how difficult it is to pick the best time to bike, either too cold of too windy. Friend, I really can’t help you there since I walk in whatever is thrown at me. 

I see another road and watch Todd take long switchbacks to reach it. Surely after the killer uphills of a few days ago I can do without this ramp but I don’t dare make a dash through and cut trail past spiny things.

At the top no cache is found and I look out to a long, wide space of desert. One liter should see me to the river – or, I could die out here. I press on. I actually feel ok and love just moving all day. What a strange thing I do walking from sunrise to sunset and watching the terrain change. 

I’m lost in my thoughts, not particularly thirsty but aware that I’m pushing my limits. Another biker approaches and actually jumps off his bike to walk past me. What manners. Mark has a superb mountain bike and tells me he’s practicing. For what? In a few weeks, he’ll ride the AZT, 800 miles much of it shared. 

I’m impressed and that’s when he tells me he’s also practicing by carrying too much water. Whaaa?! My second trail angel of the day in this desolate spot has me getting filled up with fresh water. No more death wish. 

Mark gives me his number ‘just in case’ and urges me to call so he can bank some ‘karma credit.’ i think he’s full up as of now. I march on and need to pee within minutes. 

I see semis zooming in and out of hills and will cross I-10 next. Fortunately, under the highway. It’s a very long, narrow tunnel with only a tiny opening at the end. I don’t like tight spaces and the sand is deep inside. I sing and urge myself along, seeing two bikers at the end. Edwin and Delilah want a selfie with this Blissful thru-hiker. 

I begin climbing towards the mountains. A train takes desultory turns to clear the ascent and I see cars snaking in opposite directions. Huge eroded cliffs loom over a grove of Cottonwoods. 

I come to a parking lot for this trail system around the riparian zone of Cienega Creek. A sign tells me the area has been named in honor of the 19 people killed and maimed at the Kathy Giffords mass shooting. What a beautiful memorial, I think as I crash myself in a bit of shade. 

A couple of girls are drinking beer and, naturally, I ask if I might buy one. They tell me the car door is locked and I thank them just the same and head down into the magic shade of the creek. A woman comments on how completely protected I am from the sun. Then a man passes from behind. “You wanted a beer?” 

Carlos followed me down and made a delivery, one I enjoy under bright green leaves by fresh water heaven. Angel number three. 

I don’t linger because it’s still a long way. I head up and out on sand and the first thing I see are saguaro! Huge, comical, everywhere. The trail takes me along the track, then under the trestle with a canopy to protect me from falling rocks. 

Up and up I go into a land of cactus, the most recognizable, whimsical and cliche of all cactus, tall and slender with big, child-drawn arms reaching for the sky. It’s still not steep, just relentless heading up to the Rincon mountains. Mark passes me again, training by going up and down these rocky trails. 

I see now back to the desert I crossed, the huge distance to the mountain range beyond. What was I thinking skimping on water?! It doesn’t matter now, I have plenty and the sky is turning orange. 

It’s a long, saguaro-studded trail to the ridge, followed by long, slow switchbacks down to a ranch. Water is available here too, but I prefer to keep moving on this bike path into Colossal Cave. I don’t really have time for the limestone cave tour this visit, but I am loving the scenery even if I’m exhausted. 

My trail notes indicate I should turn off at the fourth intersection. It’s an eternity to get there but I begin to see (and hear) campers so know I’m getting warm. Someone had mentioned that it’s steep to the gift shop and I think I see high above the beautiful 1930’s era stone building put there by the Conservation Corps. 

So, find a spot, then head up for my food? I come across a couple and ask if the place is full. Tamara immediately invites me to share her site with Brad and Rhubarb, the dog. 

I dump my stuff and start to march up when Tamara says it’s about a mile and a half straight up. Whaaa? I’m exhausted at this point and can’t face a climb. That’s when Tamara suggests we bike up. 

Now here I am having walked all day, for several days actually, placing myself on a bike, and pedaling uphill, a hard and long uphill. I’m a bit awkward to start, afraid I’ll lose my balance, but it all comes back, just like riding a bike (haha) and we set off like besties on crumbling asphalt onto our own mini sky island. 

I’m surprised I have the energy to keep pedaling though when she asks why I’m here, I promise to answer on the way down. I definitely don’t have the energy to drag the bike around the locked gate through thorns and let Tamara push both bikes through. 

The view is stunning and we meet another hiker who didn’t know they were closed. He doesn’t seem too upset and joins us as we search the terrace for the right cupboard. There it is, right where they said it would be. 

We fly down the hill careful on the crumbly bits as Lost and Found (Josh) decides to camp above. I have a beer and we talk for a while until I’m so tired, I need to crawl in. Angel number four. Oh, and forgot to mention, I lost my entire stake bag and Brad bailed me out. 

I was cared for by some of the nicest people on today’s hike. Now if we could only get our neighbors to quiet down.