Originally Posted by RCMoeur

I've lived my entire life in the Searing Desert, so I don't know any better. But it takes time adjusting from our wonderful held-over spring the past couple years to Serious Summer and every day over 100°.

My heat stroke story is from 31 years ago. June of 1994, trying to get over an ugly breakup, had a meeting 100 miles away in the mountains, felt reasonably fit, decided to ride there, and my boss said "sure, why not - but you need to take leave time for the full days not in a meeting or the office." So I packed my panniers, filled all 4 bottles, and set off from Phoenix toward Prescott at first light (5 am) to "beat the heat". Made it to Wickenburg by 10, had an early lunch, topped off my bottles plus a Big Gulp in the front basket, and started up the steeper climbs. Topped off the bottles & the squirt bottle in Congress at the foot of Yarnell Hill and kept rolling. As a desert dweller, I knew that if I became overheated on steep climbs I could park and walk down to the cool shade of a box culvert and hang out until feeling better (provided the rattlers decided not to dispute the issue). Plus I had the quart spray bottle to douse me for some evaporative cooling. But I underestimated the hill that day - it was 104° out, but worse there was a westerly tailwind that was blowing at exactly my 5 mph pace. Just couldn't dump body heat. And no more culverts that could be reached without ropes and harnesses. And a clear southern exposure with Absolutely. No. Shade.

About two miles before the top, I noticed the telltale signs - dizziness and sweat tapering off. No chance for a ride and no place to go but up, so I just kept turning the leaden pedals over stroke by stroke as the symptoms worsened. Made it to the crest with 4 completely empty bottles, an empty Big Gulp, and maybe an ounce in the sprayer. I could barely balance. I saw a motel on the left side of the road, even though the plan was to get to Prescott by nightfall. I barely made it into the lobby. The clerk looked me over, probably noticed my scent and physical state, and tossed me a key. Don't know how I made it into the room. What I do remember is regaining my wits under a stream of very cold water in the shower. That night's motel was money very well spent.

The next day, I got up before dawn, got a great breakfast at a now-defunct diner, and pedaled through Peeples Valley and up the Spars into Prescott by noon. Felt fine. Attended the meeting the next day, and was planning to leave at dawn the day after - but an ongoing commotion in the next room which the motel wouldn't deal with had me rolling out of town at 2 AM. Took the freeway route home, and covered the near-century and was home before 10 am, including a fun downhill on the I-17 shoulder from Sunset Point.

I learned from the experience, but I may still be up for another ride like that if my schedule ever allows. But it won't be in the middle of the summer, and I'll probably leave at night anyway just to be sure.