A Rough Welcome
Crashing face-first onto the curb on day one of your cycling trip is never fun. The impact was so sudden that for a moment, I wasn’t sure if I was seriously hurt or just in shock. As I lay there, feeling the sting of fresh scrapes and the dull ache setting in, my mind raced: was my trip already over before it had even started? Frustration bubbled up, but so did a strange sense of determination. I had trained too hard, waited too long, and wanted this experience too much to let a crash dictate my time in Tucson. I mean, I just got to town. But that’s how Tucson welcomed me. I had to push forward, testing summer prototypes and maximizing my training.
As a cyclist, one of the most important things to learn is how to use whatever cards you are handed to build fitness, strength, skills, and mental character. Being based in New York, without many great climbs to explore, that often means using adverse weather as a stimulus to challenge yourself: It helps you develop character, resilience, and build skills.
But the New York winter is long. No matter how committed you are, if you’re looking to ride big weeks and find new stimulus, there’s nothing like warm weather and big climbs to spend long hours in the saddle every day.
For my 40th birthday on January 1st, I decided to trade the NYC frostbitten skyline for Tucson's open roads, desert landscapes, and sunburnt skin. Turning 40 felt like a milestone, a moment to reflect on how far I’ve come, not just as a cyclist, but as a person. I wanted to mark the occasion not with a party, but with a challenge, something that would push me physically and mentally. 2024 has been a huge year for me on the bike, marked by personal breakthroughs, disciplined training, and memorable rides that pushed my limits. I wanted to start 2025 with a bang, carrying forward that momentum and setting the tone for even bigger goals ahead. And so Tucson became my sanctuary for two weeks of training, reflection, and rediscovery.
The Pull of Tucson
If you’ve been around cycling long enough, you’ve heard of Tucson. It’s one of the best winter riding destinations, home to one of America’s greatest climbs: Mt. Lemmon. Some American pros migrate here for the season, and for good reason. Tucson offers riding that strips away distractions, leaving only the rider, the road, and the work to be done. For me, it wasn’t just about training. It was about finding clarity, reconnecting with the kind of riding that built me as a cyclist. Above all, it was about celebrating my 40th birthday climbing Mt. Lemmon.
The Rides, Day by Day
The Loop - A New Landscape and a (Nearly) Broken Face
I landed in Tucson stiff from the flight, my body still wrapped in the tension of New York’s winter. The Loop was the perfect introduction: a sprawling, car-free network of paved paths winding along Tucson’s dry riverbeds. I spun easy, letting my legs open up as I traced the Rillito River.
On my way back to my hotel, I accelerated into curved train tracks downtown before noticing them. I was in the air, landing face-first into the curb and breaking my glasses. The impact was so hard I was sure my face was broken.
Emergency responders arrived before I could get back on my bike. After taking vitals, they referred me to the ER. Hours of digging asphalt from my wounds followed. The doctors suggested narcotics and two weeks off the bike—but that wasn’t my plan for my 40th birthday. I left the hospital and, surprisingly, slept unusually well.
The next morning, I felt energized. I headed back out on The Loop, moving a bit slower, my husband, Kevin, riding with me just in case. With every pedal stroke, I felt better and happier just to be in the sun. I stuck to my training plan for the week, unchanged.
Mount Lemmon - The Climb That Defines Tucson
Every serious cyclist who comes to Tucson faces Mount Lemmon. It loomed in my mind from the moment I planned this trip—28.8 miles of climbing, over 7,000 feet of elevation gain, starting in the saguaros and ending in the pines.
Standing taller than Mont Ventoux and even El Teide, Mt. Lemmon is smooth, unlike Tucson’s rough cacti. The gradient never punishes, but it never relents. At Windy Point Vista, mile 14.7, I took in the stunning desert view below.
The final climb to the Sky Station was officially closed due to ice and snow, but that didn’t stop me. As I lifted my bike over the barrier, I felt the sting of the cold air against my face. The icy pavement beneath my cleats made each step deliberate. My breath was visible in the frigid air, and pedaling required extra focus to keep traction on the slick road. The higher I climbed, the quieter everything became, with only the crunch of ice and my own breathing filling the silence.
Skipping the usual cookie and coffee stop at the Cookie Cabin, I descended late, freezing despite wearing knee warmers, a gilet, and a wind jacket. The bitter cold zapped my hands, making it difficult to grip the bars, and every turn demanded extra caution as my body stiffened against the chill. The long descent was an exercise in focus and endurance, a reminder that even the most thrilling rides can test your resilience in unexpected ways. Pockets of cold air between the fast hairpins made descending the 30 miles down to Tucson one of the coldest experiences I ever had on a bike.
The Shootout
If Lemmon is about endurance and pacing, The Shootout is about power and aggression. Tucson’s legendary group ride is a testing ground for pros and elite amateurs alike. I rode the route solo, focusing on my workout, but I could immediately imagine the battles fought over those hills.
Marsh Station: A Vision of Solitude
The Marsh Station Loop is perfect for rolling hills and solitude. Wide-open desert roads, no cars in sight, just the sound of my tires and the wind shifting through the scrub. The steady climbs never punished, instead reminding me why I love this sport.
Colossal Cave: A Relic of the Old West
Of all my Tucson rides, the route toward Colossal Cave was the most scenic. I also met a rider who passed me, and I fought to hang on for the last few miles, pushing myself harder than planned.
The Mindset Shift
This trip wasn’t just about fitness. It was about using setbacks to my advantage. The crash on day one made me feel even more grateful to be able to ride, be fit, and push myself. The week, heavy on Z2 riding, also sharpened my training discipline and patience.
Can I be patient? Can I trust my training? Can I resist the urge to turn every ride into a test and instead stay focused on the bigger picture, even when the terrain tempts me to push harder? The answers came slowly, with each mile. Of course, I felt it more acutely on Mt. Lemmon, when I really wanted to test myself harder.
What I Took Home
Tucson gave me exactly what I needed: the space to train, the freedom to ride, and the clarity to see the bigger picture: Nothing can stop me, and crashing builds character and confidence. This experience reinforced my ability to adapt and push forward, reminding me that setbacks are just another part of the journey toward growth. It was in a way a freeing experience. The long climbs, the endless desert roads, the mornings that stretched into miles of uninterrupted thought: all of it reminded me why I love this sport, and so lucky to be a part of it.
If you’re looking for a winter escape, for roads that will challenge and inspire you, for a place to refocus, Tucson is it. And if you go in winter, don’t just chase the climbs: embrace the long, quiet roads, the slow miles, the head-clearing solitude. That’s where the real training happens.