We rode the recently reopened Red Ridge Trail in Tucson to see how it’s changed following a devastating wildfire 

If there’s anything worse than a cholla spine in your nostril, it’s not knowing what it is. 

Eric Lopez, aka Eric 2, has one gently wedged in his nose, and is about to do that big rub we all do to remove minor nasal irritants, before Eric Arce, aka Eric 1, rushes over, grabs his hand, and gently prises the stout little javelin out before it’s inadvertently driven deep into his face, hand, or brain. 

It’s beautiful here in the Sonoran Desert, but it kinda wants you hurt. So it’s not just the drops, the slabs, or the exposed mountainsides you need to watch out for – it’s every single inch of the trail. Welcome to Tucson.

Slabs ahold of my heart

I’ve ridden here four times since 2022, and it always gets me. Not just because the city is a classic slice of Americana whose diners, thrift stores, and dive bars touch my dreamy road movie heart, but because you can be eating bougie breakfast sandwiches at 8am, then be hurtling down a rock chute before nine. The city is surrounded by epic mountains and trails on all sides, most famously Mt. Lemmon. 

The peak is just an hour’s drive from our downtown digs at Lodge on the Desert, but has the elevation, alpine forest, and spicy rocks that most riders would spend days traveling for. If you’ve got the legs, you can climb nearly 5,000ft on your bike before hitting the trails, or join local roadies for fitness rides and the views, but most riders shuttle for the classic descents of Bug Springs, Prison Camp, and Lemmon Drop.

We’re taking a different path. Today’s mission is Red Ridge, an 18-mile descent with numerous variations that drops a total of 4,800ft, taking you around the north-west back of the city, across the desert floor, then up and over the Santa Catalina mountains, ending at 50 Year, another of the city’s justifiably famous trail systems. 

Red Ridge isn’t exactly new, but the version we’re riding has only been open for around a year, after the original Canyon Del Oro trail it partially replaces was devastated by the Bighorn wildfire in 2020. Volunteers with Tucson Off-Road Cyclists & Activists (TORCA) and the Arizona Trail Foundation put in countless hours to repair and reroute the trail.

(Before you jump in the comments with specific trail info, give me a break. I’m not from here, and everyone from guide Eric to the dudes in Guru bikes just call it Red Ridge. Thanks.)

Start like a Swiss

A swift alpine forest descent on loose, scrabbly singletrack, with Tucson glimpsed tantalizingly through the trees, is an excellent start to what we know is a long, hot ride. Warming up is all very well, but the terrain’s in charge here, and we’re straight into sliding switchbacks, rock staircases, and powdery sand as we descend south-west through terrain that’s densely forested and covered with flowers. 

This is heaven. It’s my first day of riding in the US for over a year, on a dialed Pivot Switchblade, and I’m soon whooping like a kid chasing Molly, Flagstaff rider and battle-hardened industry veteran, and Eric 2 down the first few miles. (Huge props to Eric’s wife, Audre, and her mom, who dropped us off and drove our truck to the end of the trail. We owe you.)

Eric 1, photographer and owner of Pedalhomie, is already captivated by the view of the rigid grid of Tucson, softened by waves of mountain ranges arrayed like hazy theatrical flats in the distance. But the scale and severity of the 2020 wildfire damage is sobering. We’re sandwiched between lush greenery on our left and acres of blackened trunks, charcoal stumps, and ashy dirt on our right as we speed toward the desert floor. 

It’s loose, fast, and twisty all the way down, and a tense battle between adrenaline and concentration, with the need for precise line choices to avoid the babyhead rocks, sand patches, and ankle-grabbing plantlife. Our few slips and washouts are, thankfully, the kind that sharpen you up rather than send you on a long, burning trudge to the ER. We’re on our way. 

Wash on the floor

Long desert rides need math. Like every set of riders ever, we planned to be fed, caffeinated, and rolling by 8am. Which meant we didn’t start futzing with the bikes until at least 8.45. 

It’s hot, too. Eric the snapper is carrying several pounds of camera equipment, we’ve all got close to five liters of water, and we need to get to the 50 Year parking lot before dark. 

So that means constantly assessing the right number of picture stops, with the specter of flats, mechanicals, or injuries ever-present. Too many breaks and we lose light. Not enough, and you get shortchanged on the visuals. 

After we fuel up on maple syrup, watermelon sours, and – this is new for me – slices off a pickle in a pouch, the next few miles of rocky desert washes, riverbeds, and the odd pool of water, is a relief. It’s not the craziest thrill ride, but it’s beautiful, and wild, and puts some miles under our wheels as the sun sets and we race toward the back of the Santa Catalina range and a brutal fireroad climb. I love this stuff, and it’s why I came, but granny ring grinding in the shadeless 85-degree sun is a tough 40 minutes.

50 Years, one great hour 

The peak of the climb isn’t just rewarding, it’s magnificent. As we roll through the stubby Suguaros and chollas on the descent into 50 Year, the horizon is fringed with houses, and a delicious glimpse of civilization is the shot in the arm we need to tighten up before tackling the slabs, drops, and rock gardens between us and our ride out.

If you’re local and you’re not riding this place on the regular, then shame on you, because it’s world-class. Everyone, from a beginner to Remy Metallier, can have a good time here, and the giant slabs, spines, boulders, and natural jump lines have formed a veritable MTB amusement park. We’re hot, beat, and dreaming of iced Gatorades, but we can’t resist re-riding lines for the janky descents, hucks to flat, and boosts off trailside kickers, just for the fun of it. 

It ends, as all good desert rides should, with us slumped in the growing shade of my Ranger Raptor and downing ice-cold Gatorades in grateful, gasping bliss. 

So is Red Ridge worth it? All the shuttle logistics, and the climbing, and the hours of exposure to hot sun, sharp spikes, and dangerous wildlife? Absolutely. 

It might not have the perilous thrills of the the Whole Enchilada, or the unbroken flow-state bliss of BC backcountry, but Red Ridge is a greatest hits compilation of what makes this region special – the high alpine forest, the bleached bones of the dry river beds, the hardpacked red dirt ribbons of trail and slabs the size of duplexes, begging you to take a deep breath and plunge down. All less than an hour from some of the best food, nightlife, and city buzz in the state.

So if there’s a better way to get the magic of this place under your skin, into your bones and wrapped around your heart, I don’t want it. Tucson, I love you. 

Thanks to Visit Tucson, Pivot Cycles, and Ford for their help with this trip.

Updated 6/25/26 to correct the reported elevation and to credit the organizations that worked to get the trail rerouted and reopened.