Racing Hearts: An Arizona Trail Love Story

Words and photos by Johnny Price

There I was, standing in the middle of the trail at Canelo Pass. It was 10 p.m., and the darkness swallowed everything except the light coming from my headlight. My heart was beating out of my chest, mouth dry to the bone. This was the first time I had stopped in the last four. When was the last time I ate food or had water? One hour? Two hours? Nothing else mattered at this point; I was using everything in my body and soul to catch her. Having silenced the pleas from my body to stop, my mind was now in control, and there was nothing left to do but push the pedals.

I had stopped checking Trackleaders when I crossed Highway 82 near sunset; she was still two or three hours ahead of me at that point, but in my mental state, I decided there was still a chance I could get to her if I didn’t stop. Prowling through the Canelos in the darkness, I pressed on. I had been in full freak-out mode since leaving Tucson at 4 a.m., knowing I would have to push harder than I ever had to even have a chance at passing her. Knowing how hard she and Connor were trying compelled me to squeeze every last drop of effort out of myself. Nobody was around. It was just me and my thoughts. That is part of what makes these rides so special for me; someone catches a glimpse of me every once in a while, but these quests are for digging deep and looking within. A time for me to search my soul and dig up those fears and weaknesses hiding in the dark corners.

Maybe I should go back a little bit and give some context. Alex and I had started racing from the Picketpost Trailhead three days prior, while Connor started at Monument 103 and was heading north toward us. We were all trying to push ourselves as far as possible to finish these 800 miles as quickly as we could. We had played and raced each other on this trail so many times before. I had fallen in love with Alex riding this trail. We had learned about each other and pushed one another to our limits, and we all knew what the others were capable of.

• 
• 

Figuring out how to navigate racing each other is a puzzle Alex and I have been working on since our paths first collided on the Arizona Trial. Competition is a good teacher. It’s not always easy, but we’re figuring it out. Some kind of change took place when we ran into each other during previous attempts to race, and we couldn’t maintain a competitive attitude. This time was different. She caught me after only eight hours. During those hours, I hadn’t been listening to my body, and for that I was paying the price. Blasting off in the oppressive heat at noon was not a good decision. I gained two miles on Alex at one point in those eight hours but melted down in the process. I was proud of her for not getting emotional when she saw me in my broken state, riding on after making sure I was okay. There I lay, unable to keep going, wanting to puke, and she pedaled away from me with the grace of a hummingbird. I wouldn’t see her again for three days. At this point, we weren’t lovers, we were fierce competitors out for blood—in the most loving way possible.

• 
• 

I lay there trying to fall asleep. My stomach was in knots, head ready to explode, and I was feeling so weak I may as well have been dead. My mind became my worst enemy. You’ll never make it. It’s too far, too hard, just quit. I lay under the dim lights at the highway, grass poking through my sleeping bag liner with these thoughts haunting me. The idea of quitting was worse than the suffering. I had quit before, and that was one of the worst feelings I’d felt. Knowing that these two people I love and respect were on the trail doing the same thing made this decision much easier. I had to keep going. I had to finish.

I peeled my corpse off the ground, packed my bike, and moved forward. Just keep moving. I made it a few miles before collapsing in a sandy wash at the base of Rispey. I would try to sleep this weakness away. After a few hours slipping in and out of dreamland, I got up again, this time as a hint of sunlight shone on the horizon. Over the next 24 hours, the poisonous thought of quitting was my constant companion. I crawled across the desert, knowing she was pulling away but keeping her in my sights. The heat was melting me, and I could barely eat without gagging. There were some brief moments of ecstasy sprinkled in, but mainly, I was just trying to move forward, hoping I would come back to life at some point.

• 
• 

These rides have helped me to fully appreciate the people I get to love in this life and be in relationships with. To savor the time spent in these places I have the privilege of spending time in. Any bit of water is like a kiss from god. The rocks, sand, roots and plants all become a little more familiar to me and garner more respect from my conscience each time I visit them on the trail. These places have given me so much, and I believe the energy we put into these places is important; the trail needs us as much as we need it.

I slogged through the miles of Tiger Mine in the blazing sun, almost in a psychedelic state. The giants—which people now call the Santa Catalinas—loomed in the distance. They looked so beautiful and mellow from afar, but I knew the space between us was hiding the rugged and unrelenting terrain I had come to know and love. I kept going, tip-toeing up Oracle Ridge in the cover of darkness, dreaming of the food I would eat when I got to the top. Oracle Ridge had broken my heart in the past, and she didn’t disappoint during this brief affair of ours. When I thought the top was near, I was still three miles away! My heart sank, and I couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. She had tricked me again.

In Summerhaven, I got two pre-packaged sub sandwiches and a tiny salad. I could feel the energy from these foods coursing through my veins. My rebirth was coming. Alex was almost off the mountain already, but I was alive again, and now I would ride some of the best trails in the world—a welcome prize after more than eight hours of hike-a-bike! Connor was on his way up Green Mountain and we sat together for a moment and exchanged tales from the trail. What a boost it is to see a buddy out there. I tore off down the trail with my heart full. For the next day and a half, I chased after my baby. Over the rocks and dust where we have already written the beginning of our love story. Over the same ground where it continues to unfold, racing, chasing, searching, and becoming better versions of ourselves.

In the end, I wouldn’t catch her. I gave everything I had and then some more. But none of that mattered when I heard her voice and saw her curled up beneath the Sunset Trailhead sign. I just wanted to hold and kiss her. I was done being a competitor. I wanted to be a lover again. After three-and-a-half days of trying and chasing, we were together again. Everything was okay. As I crumpled to the ground, we lay side by side and laughed about how incredible it all was.

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