As my loyal readers know from “The Art of the Comeback 2025” series, my journey back to consistent cycling has been one of patience, realism, and gradual progress—deferring goals when health demanded it (like the Whistler Gran Fondo due to wildfire smoke), embracing group skills over solo grinds, and learning to temper my competitive fire with enjoyment. Now, escaping Vancouver’s winter rain and chill, I’ve returned to a place that holds special memories: Tucson, Arizona.
About a decade ago, I lived full-time in Tucson for a few years, immersing myself in its cycling paradise—endless sunny days, challenging climbs like Mount Lemmon, and vibrant group rides that honed my skills during camps and events like El Tour de Tucson. Back in 2008, during my first CTS camp here, I prepared for El Tour—a massive 109-mile loop with thousands of riders, demanding sharp pack handling, efficient drafting, and mental toughness amid the chaos.
Tucson became my training haven: mornings starting with coffee on the patio, afternoons tackling Gates Pass or Saguaro National Park loops, evenings recovering with friends under desert sunsets. It was where I transformed from a time-crunched enthusiast into a serious contender, building the base for Haute Route adventures and Gran Fondo wins.
Today, while my primary home is Vancouver, I spend a few winter months here each year to chase favorable weather and reignite that spark. I arrived in mid-November this time, and it’s been a gift: consistently great conditions allowing regular outdoor riding without the interruptions of rain, snow, or smoke.
I’ve settled into a solid routine, joining group rides with friends two to three times a week. These groups aren’t fiercely competitive—more steady and social than cutthroat—but the pace is solid and consistent, helping me accumulate volume in good company rather than grinding alone on empty roads. Conversations flow mid-ride, stories are swapped, and the shared effort makes longer days feel easier.
I’ve also made Mount Lemmon a regular fixture, a classic Tucson sufferfest that rewards with sweeping views and a thrilling descent. The combination has been rejuvenating: being outside in shorts and short sleeves while Vancouver shivers, sharing laughs and tips with like-minded people, and simply enjoying the flow of the peloton.
Slowly, I’m adapting to this more social approach to cycling—rolling conversationally, savoring the scenery, and prioritizing camaraderie over constant intensity. The old feelings are returning in full: I feel completely comfortable on the bike again, handling the pack with ease on rolling terrain or fast descents, and strong enough to ride three hours (or more) without lingering fatigue the next day. It’s a quiet confidence, different from my prime but deeply satisfying—a reminder that experience and “feel” endure even as raw power evolves.
That said, I still wrestle with aging and the changes it brings. I’ve gained weight over the years, and part of me longs to shed 20 pounds and reclaim my speed on climbs like Lemmon, where I’d once fly up in my lighter days. But during one group ride, an older, wiser rider—someone who’s been pedaling these roads for decades—posed a pointed question: “To drop that weight, would I be willing to overhaul my lifestyle back to the intense regimen of old—strict diet, endless hours, sacrifices in family time and enjoyment?” My honest answer: “No way.” Life now, with family gatherings, grandkids, travel, and a more balanced plate (literally and figuratively), is richer in ways that outweigh pure speed.
Recently, reconnecting with an old friend from CTS, Jim Rutberg, has been invaluable. With his deep background in exercise physiology and training science—co-authoring books with Chris Carmichael and shaping programs for countless athletes—Jim, like my wife and close friends, is helping me accept these changes gracefully. He’s guiding me toward new, realistic yet challenging goals, grounded in understanding age-related shifts: slower recovery windows, shifts in power profiles and hormone responses, but preserved neuromuscular skills, endurance potential, and mental toughness. It’s eye-opening and liberating, shifting my focus from mourning lost youth to optimizing what’s possible now.
With this mindset, I’m evaluating a few significant cycling events and challenges for 2026—multi-day tours, iconic Gran Fondos, or even a return to races. Stay tuned for announcements soon. Tucson is the perfect base to build toward them: high-volume weeks in the sun, social rides for motivation and skill sharpening, iconic climbs for strength, and that intangible desert magic that makes every ride feel special. The comeback evolves—not about recapturing the past exactly as it was, but embracing a sustainable, enjoyable future on the bike, where joy and progress coexist. Thanks for following along; your support means a lot. Follow me on social media for real-time ride updates from the desert, including shots of Lemmon canyons and group finishes.