Joe joined us for a week of riding in the Chiricahua mountains this past year. We will return to this beautiful region next April. Join us for a fun gravel adventure.

The Chiricahua Mountains of the American Southwest — Gravel Cycling at Its Best

After twelve years and thousands of miles riding smooth pavement in multiple states and part of Europe, I thought I knew cycling. I’d seen mountains roll by, chased glorious tailwinds through farm country, and battled angry headwinds along the coastlines. My tires had glided over smooth pavement in nearly every setting imaginable. But on this trip — my third ever on gravel — I was stepping through a window to a different world, one that excited and unnerved me all at once.

Day One

In the spring of 2025, I joined eight cyclists from across the country for a four-day gravel adventure through sections of the Chiricahua Mountains in southeastern Arizona. We were part of a tour group hosted by THE CYCLING HOUSE, an adventure bike touring company rooted in Missoula, Montana and Tucson, Arizona that specializes in multi-day rides in the United States and Europe.

Ride: Rodeo, New Mexico — Distance: 26 miles, Elevation gain: 364 feet

The first day set the tone. After riding 26 flat, easy miles to get our legs under us, we returned to our base: the Painted Pony Resort in Rodeo, New Mexico. After completing the ride, I wheeled my dust-caked bike into the garage, unsnapped my helmet strap and wandered alone to the back patio. There, I sat in a comfortable chair and reached for the buckles on my bike shoes. I paused, then loosened the top one. A faint puff of dust spiraled upward, catching the sunlight like fine chalk. I followed with the second one, and another tiny swirl lifted from the clamp, curling into the breeze before disappearing. Thousands of hours on pavement through the years and not once had dust lifted from my shoes. It was subtle, but a telling sign of what was to come.

The Incredible Chiricahuas

The Chiricahua Mountains, which takes its name from the Chiricahua Apaches, are a hidden gem in the American Southwest — rugged, remote and wildly beautiful. Nestled near the state line of Arizona and New Mexico and close to the international border of Mexico, the range is part of a unique natural phenomenon known as a sky island. This term refers to an isolated mountainous area that rises abruptly from the desert floor, creating a dramatic shift in climate and habitat as you gain elevation. In the Chiricahuas, you can start in arid grasslands, and within a few hours find yourself in woodlands. The highest point, Chiricahua Peak, rises 9,759 feet (1,800 meters) above the surrounding valley floor.

Cyclists who enjoy riding gravel relish the diversity of these mountains and others like them. It’s a challenge due to its gritty roads, fast descents and difficult climbs that require the ability to stay fully engaged and choose lines that provide the safest route.

Day Two

Ride: The Geronimo Trail — Distance: 30 miles, Elevation gain: 1,911 feet

Spring in the Chiricahua Mountains can be breathtaking, not just for its dramatic scenery, but for the physical effort it takes to ride in the thin air at higher elevations.

On the morning of Day Two, we were greeted by loose gravel on a nearly deserted stretch of country road, a welcome contrast to the fast-moving traffic I often encounter on pavement where I usually ride. Here, the only thing moving quickly was the occasional jackrabbit darting across our path.

The gravel was coarse and thick at the start with buried stones growing more prevalent as I progressed along the route. But my Specialized Diverge — a recent addition to my stable of bikes — rose to the occasion. Outfitted with 42mm tires, I dropped my pressure to 20 PSI to accommodate the road surfaces. The bike seemed to float over much of the washboard stretches and held firm in the turns.

There was a short, steep grade at mile twenty. As I crested the hill, I stopped to take in the stunning view — a sweeping panorama of rugged canyons and ridgelines. Below me lay the road that carved a serpentine path for several miles, dropping at grades between 8 and 14 percent.

The descent on the loose gravel was no joke. It was thrilling and a bit unnerving compared to the slow climbs I’d encountered earlier in the day. Several miles later, I felt as if I had descended just far enough to feel the rush, so I made the call to turn back. Once again at the hill’s crest, I met up with one of our guides and refueled with a cold Coke and a snack. Then it was off for several miles downhill where I rejoined our team to share details of our collective memories.

Day Three

Ride: Paradise Loop — Distance: 58 miles, Elevation gain: 3,106 feet

Day Three was a ride that felt like a journey through time and elevation. It included a stop in a deserted ghost town and a longer distance and rollercoaster elevation gain greater than earlier in the week.

We left the house in the cool morning air and pedaled toward the outpost of Portal, Arizona — a tiny gateway community tucked between the towering flanks of the Chiricahuas. From that 10-mile point, we climbed three miles of grades of 5 to 8 percent, then a long descent of three miles. This first segment of the ride was a sign of things to come with steep climbs and downhills for much of the 58 miles.

From Portal, we climbed deeper into the mountains, tracing a rugged gravel road that led to Paradise, a ghost town located several miles in. All that remains of Paradise is a sign marking its location and a graveyard, but you can feel the spirit of what once existed there. It’s a magical place.

Most of the early and later part of the route was a mix of loose gravel and embedded rocks becoming the norm. It was a tough segment, one in which made it a challenge to find a comfortable line to ride.

As I gained elevation, the scenery transformed — low-growing scrub became pine trees with wide-reaching canyons dominating the ever-changing landscape.

Several miles after beginning the loop back, we descended into Cave Creek Canyon, a magnificent corridor where the gravel roads gave way to pavement and towering cliffs became a sandstone cathedral. Songbirds welcomed us as we effortlessly cruised beneath the lush, green canopy of trees that arched above the road.

We stopped for a break at the Cave Creek Nature Center a few miles before we returned to Portal and then finished with a thrilling, windy ride back to the house.

Day Four — The Final Stretch

Ride: Leslie Canyon — Distance: 42 miles, Elevation gain: 2,705 feet

The last afternoon brought a fitting and memorable close to our time in the Chiricahuas. After a morning of rugged climbs and rocky descents that tested every muscle and line choice, the route quietly and beautifully shifted. The landscape became a vast and open range with a wide, rust-colored gravel road that stretched before us for several flowing miles. Its gentle slope gave us just enough resistance to feel purposeful, but smooth enough to let our wheels spin freely.

There was a deep calm in those final minutes for me, an awareness of how far I had come — we had ALL come — how much I had learned, and a recognition of how the past few days likely opened the door for future gravel ride adventures in remote locations.

On that last afternoon, I rode the final segment with our group leader, Becca, and guide, Sam, sharing stories and soaking in the rust-colored light bathing our surroundings. This had been a difficult challenge, but what Becca said during that final stretch put things in perspective.

With a smile and a vote of confidence, she made eye contact and said, “If you can ride this kind of gravel — with the climbs, downhills and surfaces — you can go anywhere to ride and have success.” Her words resonated deeply with me, and as I continued on I began thinking of other adventures in the U.S. and Europe I might like to explore in the future.

During that final stretch, I could see them —-my fellow riders, the same people I had ridden with the previous few days who had offered encouragement and celebrated our collective victories. Now they stood ahead in two lines, facing each other, arms raised high to form a tunnel for me to ride through. They chanted my name and their voices carried over the wind in a show of support. Music blared from the shuttle van speaker — something upbeat and loud — the kind of anthem that makes your heart beat in rhythm with your pedal strokes. I rolled toward the team, smiling broadly and trying to remind myself to soak in every moment of those quickly-passing seconds.

“The finish line wasn’t just the end of a ride, it was the beginning of something new for me. And in that moment, I felt it: I belonged here.”

Check out Joe’s blog here.