HOP

4:05AM. Alarm. Wake up. By now I know the routine well: food, water, clothes, and toilet. In the cool December mornings the “clothes” part takes more time: base layer, outer layer, balaclava, two pairs of gloves, booties. I prepared the bike the night before, and it's ready with tires pumped and lights and Garmin charged. In just under 30 minutes, I'm out the door, and though chilled by the cool morning air rushing past me, I'm in my own separate peace with headlights filling the void in front and taillight beaconing behind me.

I ride past the sleeping mall and turn onto the canal path, which will take me to my old area of town. About a thousand heartbeats along the way I warm up, and my legs enter into a steady rhythm. My mind enters into a happy, semi-unconscious state where miles are eaten up and time passes mostly unfelt. Awhile later, I turn off the path and cut through an exclusive neighborhood. Staffed guard shacks block my preferred route, and I'm forced to climb up around the long way and then descend down. Going uphill is hot and well lit; descending is a cold plunge into darkness, with my bike continuously outrunning its own headlights.

I continue snaking through neighborhoods until I reach Camelback Mountain. My destination is on the other side of the Mountain—which way to go? A check of the time tells me that I have extra time this morning, so I turn right and head the long way around. Because I have lots of extra time, I choose the route that involves a short though steep switchback. Then I shoot down a straightaway like a missile and easy-pedal the remaining mile to my destination. Some fifteen-plus miles through a Phoenix with mostly everyone still asleep in bed, I'm ready to begin my ride.

The Hour of Power bicycle ride soldiers on through these cold and dark months every Tuesday and Thursday at 5:30AM, like a stolid refusal to acknowledge the seasons. However, the ride is small, with usually no more than half a dozen riders on any one morning, and sometimes the group is just oneself. This morning the group starts out as two and picks up four more or so along the way. It's a good turnout for December, but even so there's no hiding within the group this morning, and it proves to be a tough workout.

Our route is the same as it is during the summer, the Paradise Valley loop. At the end we turn around and do some of it again in reverse, also just like in summer. I have no idea how long this ride has been going on; even guys who have been doing it for a decade have no idea how the whole thing started. It's a short route suitable for a weekday morning, no farther than the route I took to arrive at the ride. And I'm reminded it's a weekday morning just as I part ways with the others to head back home alone. At this time the first gray hints of the new day are emerging in the east, and like clockwork the cars have begun spilling onto the roads. Gone is the separate peace of the city still asleep.