El Tour de Tucson

El Tour de Tucson: ABOUT THE

Text by Leo W. Banks Photographs

BIGGEST BIKE RIDE IN THE COUNTRY

Dawn is hiding somewhere behind the Rincon Mountains, and it is taking its sweet time getting here. Near freezing, they said on the radio, and every degree of it deep in your bones and staying put. The enveloping darkness intensifies the brutal chill. So does the setting: the echoing concrete canyons of downtown Tucson at 6:00 on a November morning. The start of the El Tour de Tucson bike race is still an hour away. Members of the cycling Lancaster family dad Lary, a 45-year-old cardiologist; mom J.J., 44; and boys, Jordan, 11, and Tyson, eightare busy making last-minute gear checks.

As night gives way to a soldier-blue morning, you watch the family go about prerace business. And you wonder: what is it that drives people to do this? Think about it: up at 4:00... swallow some bacon and eggs...stagger out to the car wearing skin-hugging tights and little elf-toed shoes and bonk-proof helmets. Then you're at the starting line... yawning, mumbling yourself awake... with 3,200 others dressed in the same Klingon chic...who also departed warm beds to endure the boredom, cold sweat, and grinding pain that come with biking 111 miles around the perimeter of Tucson. Just for the fun of it.

Think about it: up at 4:00... swallow some bacon and eggs...stagger out to the car wearing skin-hugging tights and little elf-toed shoes and bonk-proof helmets. Then you're at the starting line... yawning, mumbling yourself awake... with 3,200 others dressed in the same Klingon chic...who also departed warm beds to endure the boredom, cold sweat, and grinding pain that come with biking 111 miles around the perimeter of Tucson. Just for the fun of it.

The craziness called El Tour has become an almost venerable Tucson tradition. The race began with only 183 riders and in 10 years has grown to be one of the biggest bike rides in the country.

But what makes El Tour unique is that it welcomes riders of all skills, putting moms, kids, old folks, and entire families on the same course as Olympians and world-record holders. And rather than taking on the entire 111-mile course, these amateur cyclists can begin the ride at staggered intervals and bicycle 25, 50, or 75 miles.

In the beginning, this is how it was for the Lancaster kids. They started out at the shorter distances. Twenty-five miles one year, 50 the next. But this time the family has decided to go all the way: all four Lancasters, starting out together, cycling the entire 111 miles.

Which explains why they're standing in the glow of an inhospitable dawn, exchanging final hugs and kisses of luck and safety, as the lead riders begin shouting the dramatic countdown.

"Ten!... Nine!... Eight!"

MILE POINT 17

It is 7:45 A.M. Some teachers and counselors from Jordan's school Orange Grove Middle stand at the intersection of Silverbell and Cortaro. As he and J.J. pass, they break into applause, issue frozen cries of encouragement, and hold up signs proclaiming pride at what Jordan is attempting to accomplish. That's a big part of this race, the sense of community involvement, the roadside throngs gathered to holler good wishes to brave relatives or friends who have decided to confront their endurance limit and push it back, maybe as far as 111 miles. But the early going isn't all sweet for the Lancasters. J.J. stops at the same intersection and wails: “My chin is so cold! I can't talk! I can't move my chin!” But she is more worried about her youngest son. Tyson is struggling through the early miles, suffering mightily from the cold.

J.J. rivets her nervous eyes back on the Cortaro turn, trying to find her eight year old, who has fallen back in the pack with Lary at his side. She and Jordan wait for a tense 15 minutes before Lary and Tyson catch up. Tyson looks shell-shocked, so cold he can barely speak. “Hot Jell-O, buddy boy! Drink it!” orders J.J. The boy grips the cup with both hands and laps at the steaming concoction. He shivers like a wet puppy. Still concerned, but confident that matters are under control, J.J. and Jordan reenter the race.

Working on Tyson like a boxer's trainer, Lary rubs the little boy's hands, blows into his gloves, tugs on added layers of clothing.

Lary remembers 1987, the first year he rode El Tour. “Every muscle in my body was cramping by the end,” he says. “I didn't realize how much water I should be drinking.” He doesn't want Tyson making the same mistake: “Drink all of it, Tyson... want more?... the wind just blasts right through you... drink up, Tys.” Twenty minutes pass. Finally sensation returns to numbed flesh, and Lary and Tyson mount their bikes again and press on.

MILE POINT 36

Susan Lancaster waits, studying the downward slope of Tangerine Road where it crosses Rancho Vistoso Boulevard. She is Lary's sister, and her job is to operate the “sag” (supply) wagon, the family's Chevy Suburban.

This day it has become a kind of rolling diner, stocked with cookies, candy, peanut butter, bananas, apples, water, and more quick snacks. Susan must keep ahead of the cyclists, making sure she's waiting at prearranged stops to provide the family members whatever help they need.

An added luxury: a telephone on the front seat, powered by an attachment jammed into the cigarette lighter. If a problem pops, Lary or J.J. can hustle off the course to a phone and call the Suburban for relief. The phone also might come in handy for two family friends riding with the Lancasters: Barb Smith, 42, a pediatrician, and her 12-year-old daughter, Shelley Gordon.

Not far off the start line, Barb had bent into a turn and jammed a pedal into the pavement, shattering the toe clip.

There is talk of calling ahead to see if any sporting goods stores along the route are open. But when Barb's husband, Craig, arrives, he hears of his wife's predicament and speeds off to a nearby bike shop to buy a replacement.

At 9:50 A.M. Jordan and J.J. arrive at the second rest stop. “I want a banana,” says J.J. “Hey, guess what? My jaw works!” Jordan, too, says his body temperature has returned to normal: “Coming up that hill on Tangerine, I got warm... fast.” Then vaaa-roooom, they're gone.

Susan watches the two of them disappear over the horizon and wonders if J.J. can keep up. “Usually it's Lary and Jordan who ride together,” says Susan. “I'm afraid Jordan might pull away and leave her.” Lary, too, has expressed private concern about J.J.: “She trained hard, but we're really worried about her stamina.”

MILE POINT 49

Jordan and J.J. sail past the sag wagon, parked outside a busy Burger King. Both look strong.

Barb Smith stops at the Suburban and puts in her order: "I want a Trisket cracker with lots of peanut butter . . . did you see Shelley go by?" Seems that little Shelley has left her mom in the dust. Barb arches an eyebrow and delivers a diplomatic explanation: "These kids have iron bladders!"

Craig's mission was a success. The new toe clip has arrived. Barb fixes it to her pedal and takes off.

At 11:15 A.M. Lary and Tyson, still riding 20 minutes behind Jordan and J.J., reach the third sag stop where, it seems, Tyson has shed the psychological effects of the mind-numbing cold.

He slaps five and manages a gap-toothed While the main body of the cyclists (ABOVE) rolls on through Tucson's north side, others take time out for sustenance and minor emergencies.

(RIGHT, TOP) Lary and Tyson make a snack stop at their sag wagon, which Lary's sister, Susan, is driving along the route.

(RIGHT, CENTER) Craig Gordon refills daughter Shelley's water bottle.

(RIGHT) Barb Smith, a pediatrician, replaces a broken toe clip before rejoining the race. Barb had broken the toe clip when she jammed the pedal into the pavement.

Smile. Then — the best evidence yet that he's feeling better: he inhales a Milky Way candy bar in two seconds flat.

MILE POINT 60

Sabino Canyon and Snyder Road. Hundreds of cyclists roar past opulent homes in the Catalina foothills. The sight is incredible. So is the sound: wind battering the riders, fluttering against the spokes of their furiously turning wheels, the low humming of the bike chains. It's like something out of a B-movie, a kind of buzzzzzzz-swooooosh. The Invasion of the Mad Cyclists. Past the halfway mark. For Lary and Tyson the physical demands have become secondary. The challenge now is mental. “The worst part of the race is here and on Soldier Trail,” says Lary. “You're way out on the edge of the city with no real sense of where you are. But you know you have a long way to go.”

MILE POINT 86

Lary keeps Tyson focused by talking to him: a father and son, pedaling along, mile after mile, chatting about the boy's soccer team, and how he's missed games to train for El Tour, and how eager he is to play again, and about summer baseball, and other matters that capture a young boy's thoughts. “After struggling up that long stretch of Freeman Hill near Saguaro National Monument, I knew we'd be okay,” says Lary. “I knew we'd make it.” Lary agrees: “He's learned to set a goal and work to accomplish it. That's what this race does for the kids. I guess that's what it does for everybody.” That means J.J., too. She trained long hours in preparation for El Tour and is still riding strong, hugging Jordan's wheel.

MILE POINT 103

It is now 3:30 P.M. The dreaded Drexel Road Crossing requires a 250-foot sprint across the bone-dry Santa Cruz River. After so much physical strain, the fine sand of the riverbed causes weak legs to wobble visibly. Ankles turn in and give way.

The first hint of dusk hangs over the Tucson Mountains as J.J. struggles across. “What have you heard about Tys?” After so many miles, J.J.'s focus is still on her little one. As he follows his mom into the riverbed, Jordan has a story to tell: at the Sabino Creek crossing, he tried to stay on his bike, riding it across the sand. How far did you get? “Oh, 'bout three feet,” says Jordan. “I fell on my butt.” A sign hovers over the crossing's opposite side: Welcome to the West Bank. Spectators clap and yell as the cyclists climb up to the road and El Tour's final leg. Two mischievous neighborhood girls yell at the tired riders: “Only 40 miles to go!” Then they giggle mercilessly.

MILE POINT 111

FINISH LINE A full nine hours and 10 minutes after they began, J.J. and Jordan cross the tape.

But the moment doesn't burst. Their exuberance is quiet, muted by profound exhaustion.

J.J., her eyes glowing with success, studies her odometer: 111 miles. Those awesome numbers declare, emphatically, that she has vanquished all doubts.

In the cool tones of a seasoned pro, she declares: “We trained on this course, so I knew what was coming. I was confident. I kept thinking of the day in sections, and that made it doable. There were no surprises.” Jordan is jazzed, full of nervous energy, walking in circles. Then he stops and, in a high-pitched squeal, makes a joking if thoroughly understandable demand: “I want an Advil!” Barb and Shelley arrive a moment later. Shelley, grinning like a gambler, begins making fast work of a baggie filled with candy Gummy Bears.

El Tour de Tucson

At 4:31 P.M. it is nearly dark. J.J., who has been looking over her shoulder all day trying to glimpse Tyson, is still at it. Now, almost 10 hours later, she spots him about a half-mile away. And wild cheering begins.

When he reaches the finish line with his dad, Tyson is mobbed. The eight year old is like a rock star trying to fight his way through unruly fans to the check-in tent. J.J. jumps up and down, cupping her hands to her face: “I'm so proud! I'm so proud!” It's a joyous scene. It makes you think back to the freezing cold morning when Lary was talking about why his family does this, and he said: “The camaraderie of this race, we love it. You get swept up in the whole event. It's a great feeling.” But the feeling doesn't end at the race's finish line. Later that night, at the El Tour awards ceremony, Tyson is calledto the podium where he is honored as the youngest rider to complete the 111mile-course.

For the remainder of the evening, the littlest Lancaster grips his trophy like a chalice, and a smile that has to run two acres stretches across his young face.

Suddenly what didn't make sense at dawn Lary's comments about the camaraderie of this crazy race now makes perfect sense.

Additional Reading:

To read more about bicycling, we recommend Bike Tours in Southern Arizona, a softcover book by Philip Varney and Mort Solot that details 50 treks for beginners and veterans through the diverse and scenic terrain of southern Arizona.

Along with the treks, the authors provide maps and historical anecdotes, as well as suggestions for lodging, restaurants, and sights along the way. The book Heading for the finish line, Jordan Lancaster, (FAR LEFT) maneuvers through a riverbottom sand trap to pull ahead of the pack (ABOVE) and cross the finish line, where instead of collapsing from exhaustion, the youngster is too keyed up to stand still. Time: nine hours, 10 minutes.(LEFT) Jordan's El Tour silver medal gets an admiring nod of approval from mom J.J., who crossed the finish line with him. But, according to J.J., medals aren't what this race is all about. For her, and the rest of the Lancaster family, it's about camaraderie and building confidence.

costs $9.25, plus shipping and handling. To order, telephone Arizona Highways toll-free at 1 (800) 543-5432. In the Phoenix area, call 258-1000.

WHEN YOU GO

The 1993 Intergroup El Tour de Tucson will be held Saturday, November 20, beginning at 7:00 A.M. at the intersection of Granada and Congress in downtown. Spectators can watch from stations along the route.

For more information and to inquire about registration, contact the Perimeter Bicycling Association of America, 630 N. Craycroft Road, Suite 127, Tucson, AZ 85711; (602) 745-2033.