Tim Wild was offered the chance to go and ride in Patagonia, Arizona earlier this year and discovered majestic scenery, incredible gravel riding and an intriguing local community. Interested in finding out more about this amazing sounding destination? Then read on….

It’s not the Patagonia you’re thinking of. Not that other one, either. This Patagonia is a tiny town of 800 people, nestled in the San Rafael Valley, a few miles north of the Mexican border in Arizona.  It’s a beautiful place, but you’d be forgiven for never having heard of it or adding it to your list of the USA’s must-ride destinations. Except more and more people are doing just that - Patagonia is rapidly becoming a magnet for gravel riders from all over the world.

So how does a dot on the map like this start registering on the global riding radar?

Heidi and Xander

Heidi and Xander Ault might well be the poster children for the benefits of gravel life. Since they first saw the undulating, empty dirt roads above this tiny town, they’ve been investing time, passion and money into making Patagonia into a dream location for dedicated bike lunatics. They moved in around 2019 and got busy running cycle and food tours as The Cyclist’s Menu, before opening a bar and the Gravel House, a kind of high-end hostel with private rooms and a communal kitchen, and a bigger separate house for large groups. Everyone we meet in the town sings their praises within seconds.

The tumbleweed you need

Which is not to say that Patagonia is busy. There’s a market, a pizza joint, a diner, and a couple of saloons. One road runs through it, troubled by Border Patrol vehicles, mining traffic (more on that later)* and a trickle of cars heading into or away from the border crossing into Nogales in Mexico.

There’s a bike shop too - the kind you feel instantly at home in. On day one, I discover I’ve left a vital black bag of kit in the UK - I’m a chain and a SRAM shifting battery short of being roadworthy. After a local sees us outside the closed bike shop, he just texts the owner, who rushes back from his morning ride to help us out. 

This warm welcome doesn’t quite cancel out the fact that I sliced a portion of my left index fingernail off while cooking breakfast, spraying blood everywhere, swearing loudly and requiring medical and moral support from photographer Mike. However, after these initial mishaps, both body and bike are repaired to the extent I can ride and we set out - accompanied by Danny Vasquez, a Phoenix buddy in training for a forthcoming MTB enduro who needs miles in his legs.

Climb Number One, so why try harder?

The dirt roads here start just a mile out of town. No shuttle necessary - within a few minutes we’re already alone, car-free and ascending past rusted cars, piles of timber and the odd ramshackle house. The mesa at the top is a stunning reward, with the San Rafael valley opening up like an unfurled blanket in all directions. There are lush, tall grasses and wild squash by the roadside, with soft purple mountains and red dirt roads stretching into the distance.

“Riding up here is a constant tug of war between the majesty of the view and the need to focus on the riding.”

The surface is a dream, with hard packed dirt, a touch of kitty litter and zero vehicles. There are loose drifting turns, hops over drainage ditches and you have to watch the surface like a hawk for patches of sand, but that only makes it more engaging. Riding up here is a constant tug of war between the majesty of the view and the need to focus on the riding, with deep rewards for both. We only do thirty miles - Danny’s on a hardtail MTB, and a deadline, and it’s hot as hell - but the movie-like beauty and stillness of the place, combined with enough open, curving descent to see us reaching 60 kph, is more than enough to whet our collective riding whistles for the next day.

Do I hear $220?

But day one is far from over - there’s partying to be done. Not in a doing-shots-until-the-small-hours way, but in a cram-as-much-local-life-in-as-possible way. No sooner had we scrubbed the dust from our bodies than we were practically ordered by every local we met to attend the local pie auction. A serious business, with over 30 large home baked pies, a professional auctioneer and over a hundred people. The locals’ gentle manner and warm welcome disguised a cutthroat approach to bidding - my feeble $200 bid on a spiced apple pie is reduced to chicken feed within seconds. Then we were invited to see a band playing at the Patagonia Lumber Company (alongside food from an excellent Mexican truck) and then karaoke at the Wagon Wheel Saloon. Patagonia might be a small town, but they party big.

The F**king 48

Tucson is just an hour north of Patagonia and has an enviably strong gravel scene - pals Jody and Anna from the city join us on day two for the Fxxcking 48, otherwise known to outsiders as the Spirit 50 Loop. This is the loop most people race in the annual Spirit gravel races here, and probably counts as the must-do ride in Patagonia. It’s a lollipop that starts and ends on the same access road from town, can be ridden both ways, and takes riders deeper into the lush folds of the San Rafael Valley, brushing within yards of the border with Mexico. The climbs are longer, the descents are faster and the views even more epic. 

“This could be the opening sequence to a Sergio Leone western.”

It’s hard to avoid the cinematic analogies in landscapes like this. Were it not for the occasional passing pickup, this could be the opening sequence to a Sergio Leone western - an endless pan of the Western skyline, just crying out for a lone figure on a burro far in the distance, with drama and conflict packed in his saddlebags. 

Except that it’s better than a movie, because you can smell the land, feel the heat of the wind and put your foot down on the red dirt any time you want. This place is truly magical.

Rest and recovery

We stop for shade, stretches and sustenance in Lochiel - once a small town with a high school, now just a smattering for farm buildings and a church, where a big family reunion is just packing up to leave. Local farmer George went to school here when Lochiel was still a thriving town and brings four generations of his relatives back to enjoy the quiet, the views, and the sense of belonging. He and his wife are warm, welcoming and careful to disguise any pity they might feel for us sorry, dusty wrecks. But they do give us water, bananas and an invitation to pop by their ranch in town before we leave.  It’s a reminder that this is not somewhere you could ever be a tourist - the first person you talk to in Patagonia will probably treat you like an old friend. It’s a lovely experience. 

“We all slump against the market wall like stoned teens, slurping ice-cold soda in contemplative, exhausted silence.”

So all that’s left to do is muster the energy to complete the last few miles of the loop before descending back into town, which turns out to be the hardest, sandiest and steepest part of the loop, with high-sided rock faces either side and multiple chances to sink our front tyres into the sand at high speeds. 

By the time we roll back in, I’m ready for the first Coca-Cola I’ve bought in about five years, and we all slump against the market wall like stoned teens, slurping ice-cold soda in contemplative, exhausted silence. But what a day’s riding…

Ride off into the sunset

Photographers call it the golden hour - the short period of time before sunset when the light becomes soft, warm and red. It’s a fine time for shooting almost anywhere, but among these rolling hills, with a smattering of mackerel skin clouds across the horizon, it’s too good to waste. So, we head up on a shorter climb from town, with our new-found friends and housemates Brenda and Ben from Vancouver, plus enthusiastic local Omar, to see if we can sneak in a ride that makes the most of this glorious light. Our modest efforts are rewarded ten-fold. The soft, green, pleat-like folds of the hills looked like draped felt and the tall yellow grasses sway in the gentlest of winds. 

As the sun starts to set on our third and last day of riding, the soft hand of the evening sun touches every inch of the horizon with colour. Layers of mountains glow pink and purple in the fading light and the red of the dirt roads smoulders like embers in a dying fire. This isn’t the most strenuous route we’ve done here, but it’s easily the most breathtaking. If you only want to increase your FTP, or shave seconds off your Strava times, then don’t waste your time or money coming to Patagonia. But if you want to feed your soul and be reminded of the unique peace that only bikes can give you, I can’t think of a better place. 

*About that mine

So, here’s the rub - Patagonia is also home to the single most important mining project in North America. By 2027, the Hermosa Project will be fully up and running, using robots to extract zinc, lead, silver, manganese and other precious metals from a huge network of tunnels under the hills. It’s got over $2.6 billion in investment, half of it from the Federal Government, and it isn’t going away. This isn’t the place to get into the debate about the value, impact and morality of such a project, but let’s put it this way - the sooner you go ride in Patagonia, the more likely you are to be able to enjoy it in all its unspoiled glory.

Ace photos courtesy of Mike Farrell

Thanks to @www.visitarizona.com