After living in Arizona for nearly a year, I’ve just now gone mountain biking. I know, what the hell? I’m practically surrounded by an entire state of trails. The opportunities are endless around here, but I’ve yet to haul my ass onto anything resembling singletrack. My excuses? First, my bike needed work. That killed last year’s cold weather opportunities. Then it got hot. No sense biking in all that nonsense.

So that brings us to now: the weather has finally cooled to the high 80s, and I’ve mostly overhauled the ol’ singlespeed. Nothing like preparing to ride after a long gap (almost two years for me) to remind you how much this sport costs. And of course I’ve barely scratched the surface as to what I could spend. It took awhile, but I finally replaced the freewheel, chain, tires, tubes, fork, brakes and entire front wheel. Time to ride.

I did a few miles out at Fantasy Island today, a easy rolling wash slice of state land that’s been developed into a park of sorts over the last ten years. Like most of the area at our elevation, it’s sandy washes and dry packed dirt– perfect for rollercoaster twists and turns. Being a mountain bike park from genesis onward helps a lot; there’s no accomodation for horses, hikers or (thankfully) motorized vehicles. It’s all tightly-wound singletrack, and all fast rolling awesomeness. I set off after only a passing glance at the trailhead map and ended up somewhat lost…but in a good way. Though the park is only a few square acres, I was continually surprised by how few people I saw. There had to have been at least fifteen vehicles along Irvington Road, but I probably saw about five fellow cyclists along the whole length of trail I rode. At times, it was a bit eerie (though it allowed me to take a leak without incident…).

At some point I’d looped around enough to end up on the trail exiting the park on the opposite side– oops. So I followed the perimeter fence for Davis-Monthan AFB back to where I was parked. At some point I started hearing music, so I stopped and tried to make it out. It was the Star Spangled Banner, being pumped out over some tinny PA system some distance off. I started thinking: is that kind of thing normal for an Air Force Base? It seemed odd. But what if it signalled a crisis? You always hear a country’s national anthem (along with images of the Great Leader) on state-run television during the millitary coup. Or maybe, while I was out on my bike, one of us Nuk-le-ar superpowers had dropped the bomb? Would I return to the parking area and find Tucson engulfed in total aplocalyptic panic?

Nope. It was merely the start of a race at the BMX track across the street.