When my friend Mark first mentioned Ruta del Jefe to me, I was at a low point in life. I was five months into a new job, three months fresh from a car crash, and had recently turned 26 years old – passing neatly through my mid-20s with healthy amounts of both imposter syndrome and car accident PTSD. What if I got fired for some reason? How could I drive without clenching up, knowing how it felt when my airbags deployed? Was moving to Colorado a mistake? These questions weighed heavy on my heart, but the thought of a weekend spent riding bikes gave me hope.
Ruta del Jefe is organized by Sarah Swallow and is described as “a weekend of adventure cycling, education, community and advocacy in the Sky Islands region of southern Arizona.” It offers multiple route options, ranging from a 12k run to 136 miles of gravel riding. It has an educational format where attendees fundraise for Indivisible Tohono, No More Deaths, Cuenca Los Ojos, the Appleton-Whittell Research Ranch, Save the Scenic Santa Ritas, and the Arizona Trail Association. These organizations all work to create positive change in southern Arizona.
Rolling registration was offered for this event, giving priority to BIPOC and LGBTQ riders before opening up to general registration. BIPOC scholarships were offered too, by application. With a little apprehension I applied for a scholarship, just to see what would happen. To my surprise I received one, which continued to stoke the fire of my hope. I figured that as my friend, Mark would encourage me in whatever hairbrained things I want to do – but now the event organizer herself had offered me this encouragement, despite not knowing me at all. So I decided to register out of sheer curiosity.
In the months leading up to the event, I tried my best to prepare. I had decided to sign up for the 55 mile option – not too long and not too short. I more or less followed a training plan, and faithfully rode long miles on the weekends. I got my bike set up with all the gadgets and upgrades I imagined I would need. I told my friends about Ruta del Jefe and as the time came closer, my anticipation continued to grow.
Mark and I left Colorado Springs in his Honda Element on a Wednesday evening. It would be about a 12 hour drive there, and the plan was to knock out half the drive tonight, then finish up by tomorrow morning. We would get there for extra Thursday activities, enjoy the weekend, and then make the 12 hour drive home on Sunday. This plan seemed perfectly fine to me – it sounded like our weekend would fit very neatly into this block of time. I wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.
A couple hours after setting out, we switched drivers. I had never driven an Element before – its boxy design felt strange to drive, but I wanted to try my best. I told myself that everything would be fine. I would do my part and contribute to driving. With this pep talk, I put on my tunes and started driving, passing through Santa Fe and Albuquerque. The hours passed and the clock hit one AM. In the back of my mind I thought – where can I stop? I hadn’t seen a rest area in a while. I was starting to get tired. But I kept telling myself, I can be strong, I can keep driving and keep looking for a place to eventually rest.
I must have dozed off at the wheel, because the next thing I knew, I was jolted to attention by the car slipping into the median strip, tilted and tumbling. Everything happened so fast from there. I panicked, tried to steer the car back onto the highway, but it wasn’t happening. The car careened out of control, flipping onto its roof. It fell laying perpendicular to the left lane and left me hanging upside down by my seat-belt, hyperventilating for dear life.
We unbuckled ourselves, crawled out of the car and assessed the damage. Neither of us were hurt, miraculously, but the car looked to be in pretty bad shape. Mark called 911 and I continued to panic off to the side. Eventually the county sheriff and an ambulance came, assessing the scene. They took us to a hotel in Socorro, NM and we slept the night’s events off, hoping to sort things out in the morning.
The next day came. We had breakfast and tried to cobble together a plan. There were a lot of factors to consider here: what should we do about Mark’s car? Would we be better off calling it and heading home early? What if we still tried to go to Ruta del Jefe? How would we even get there? At a time like this, with so many overlapping questions, it felt more manageable to take things one by one. We decided to sort out Mark’s car first. This involved a trip to Belen, NM, up to the tow yard where the car had been taken. Seeing it in daylight proved that yes, the Element was basically totaled. Surprisingly enough, our bikes were still rideable, and most of our things were salvageable.
After a couple more conversations with the tow yard operator and insurance companies, things were mostly sorted out. For now, this issue was out of our hands. Our next step was to figure out a next step. Earlier in the day we had put out different feelers – asking coworkers, friends of friends, and fellow Ruta del Jefe participants for help. It was hard to tell what might work out. But mid afternoon, a woman named Melinda reached out to me. She would be coming from Albuquerque shortly, and could give us a ride down to Ruta del Jefe. We accepted her offer, and within an hour, the three of us, our bikes, and other belongings were on our way.
We camped on public land Thursday night, had a big breakfast the next morning, and then made our way to the Appleton-Whittell Research Ranch to check in. It was windy when we got there – tents and people were getting blown in every direction. I unpacked my things and ate some snacks, watching other people mill around. I joined a group for a ride/tour of the Research Ranch, where we learned about geologic features and research performed on the ranch. The tour took us on some chunky gravel roads, more technical than I had expected, and left me wondering – will tomorrow’s ride be this rough? What if I am in over my head? But that seemed like a problem for tomorrow.
Eventually more people arrived, setting up their tents and mingling. Dinner was served and I met new people, just from sitting together. We talked about our rides tomorrow, our journeys here – and at this point I had plenty to say about my journey so far. People asked me if I was okay, and somehow it was comforting to have this automatic topic of conversation.
In the evening, people from each of the organizations we fundraised for gave presentations. Each talk was as different as its presenter – but they were all informative and gave personality to each of the causes. It was cold that evening, with many people (myself included) curled up in sleeping bags, but we all listened closely and each presentation was met with applause at the end. We went to bed early that night. Tomorrow would be a big day.
I woke up around sunrise on Saturday, watched the 136 mile route riders depart shortly after, ate some breakfast and finished getting ready. I signed the check out sheet for the 55 mile route and was off to little fanfare, except for the day blooming all around me. The first few miles were steep and chunky, giving way to paved roads pretty quickly, then to smooth gravel roads. It felt good to pedal. I started to feel a little better, here in my element. Away from totaled cars and the noise of daily life.
I spent most of the morning riding alone, enjoying the view, passing by ranches and cow patties. Even in the middle of nowhere there was so much to see. I hadn’t brought headphones, but I didn’t need music – I was entertained by the changing scenery around me and each climb.
But as I rode on, I couldn’t get away from the noise in my head. With no one else around, I was free to think about the presentations from last night. They taught us that southern Arizona is a complicated place, packed with a diverse range of flora, fauna, and human experience. With this diversity comes a clashing of perspectives that has resulted in tragedy time and time again. The endless destruction of natural habitat, along with violence against Natives and migrants, seemed far away yet very close at the same time.
My spiraling thoughts continued, with even more self doubt pushing me down. What was I doing here, alone on my bike? Could I even finish 55 miles? How could I have been so careless to crash Mark’s car, much less get into two car crashes within eight months of each other? Should I even keep pursuing bikepacking and adventure cycling? I felt like I didn’t deserve to be here. I couldn’t tell if any of this was worth it. Right now the world seemed so beautiful and empty and lonely, when I had no names for the mountains and the roads.
Around noon I came across a landmark – the US-Mexico border. A couple other riders named Tiff, Mandy, Maria, and Taylor got here around the same time, and we took in the sight of a barbed wire fence separating the identical landscape. We ate snacks and commented on the scenery, which is a guaranteed way to bond as cyclists.
The day continued. I would ride with people on and off, making conversation and letting it drift off in peace. Through most of the afternoon I rode with Maria and Taylor, two confident women with the best snacks. We talked about biking, the route ahead, and snacking strategies. As we rode on, we would pull apart, but then meet again randomly. The nature of these coincidental encounters made them all the more sweeter. Meanwhile, border patrol vehicles would pass by regularly, kicking up dust. The climbs continued and road maintenance was rare. But my tires still kept me upright, only asking that I keep pedaling.
Eventually the gravel turned to pavement, and made for easy coasting. Cars would pass once in a while, but they were considerate and gave room. The view before us spread in a panorama. The Sky Islands seemed to stretch endlessly over the horizon. After all the climbing, all the self doubting thoughts, I was here and now surrounded by Earth’s beauty and new friends.
I rode back to camp about an hour before sunset, to a chorus of cheers and a pounding drum. It felt like a grand welcome back, and I couldn’t help but smile. At this point my legs were beat, and I couldn’t do much more than rest in my tent afterwards. I was cooked but happy. I had done what I wanted here and was satisfied.
But it gets better. Later in the evening, over dinner with Maria, Taylor, and their car neighbor Katie, Maria asked me: “Do you want to meet Lael?” For a moment, I was stunned. Lael Wilcox, ultra-endurance bike racer with several course records under her belt, was here at Ruta del Jefe too. I had seen her around, but was way too shy to introduce myself. However, Maria was the opposite of shy, and after some work on her end, she brought Lael over to me. I managed to introduce myself, and after a bit of conversation, Lael asked us: “Wanna record a podcast?”
Maria, Taylor, and I enthusiastically agreed to this. We found a quiet area and Rue Kaladyte, photojournalist and Lael’s wife, recorded our conversation about Ruta del Jefe and what it meant to us. I was nervous at first, but eventually I felt more at ease – Lael was down to earth and it was easy to see that she loved riding bikes, like everyone else at Ruta del Jefe. Everyone here had listened to the presentations Friday night and tackled their own challenge of a ride. Some people’s rides were shorter or longer, but that didn’t seem to matter. Ultimately the joy of riding bikes can never be described in watts, a number of miles, or amount of elevation gain.
The weekend ended much more peacefully than it had begun. Melinda graciously agreed to drive me and Mark to Albuquerque, and Mark’s coworkers Con and Austin drove us home the next day, making the round trip journey from Colorado Springs to Albuquerque, and back again. It felt good to see familiar faces, and to be heading home after a long trip. I had never been so happy to return home, and to reflect on everything that had happened.
Ruta del Jefe was full of ups and downs. It tested me in all kinds of ways and taught me valuable life lessons. It showed me a different way of life, one that lifts up people and accepts them where they are. There were times I wanted to live in the moment forever, and still other times when I wanted to tear my heart out of my chest. Both of these moods come and go. Nothing lasts forever – not people, not places, not even Honda Elements.
It’s safe to say that I would like to continue exploring by bike, and to keep seeking community. I believe this can happen in many ways, and I hope to keep wandering laterally in this world. There is so much I have yet to learn, from people and places I might not expect. All I can do is hold my head up, trust in myself, and keep on riding.
Eunice Wang 