Diary of Scott Morris

Going to Moab has always been something of a pilgrimage for me. I grew up in Salt Lake City, where Moab is only four hours away. The first time I rode the slickrock trail, as a teenager, I was hooked. All I could think about was my next Moab trip, and how I could con family or friends into going with me. As the desire to ski resorts faded, and frustration with winter grew, the desire to be in Moab was even stronger. It was paradise. 2 day trips were worth it, even sub-24 hours. Any chance to go play on the rocks, to be bask in the desert sun, I’d take it.

Then I went to Tucson for grad school. Moab was a lot further away, and colder. Plus there was so much to do in southern Arizona. So many trails to ride and discover. Moab faded from the forefront of my mind, because, as my brother said to me, sitting on his bike overlooking Starr Pass, “congratulations, you live in Moab!” Or some would argue, somewhere better than Moab.

But it still has a special place in my MTB heart. I’ve never been epic’d so hard as I have in Moab. Running out of daylight and making wrong turns on Porcupine Rim after the family Station Wagon’s alternator went out, delaying our start. Running out of water before even reaching the base of Jacob’s Ladder, having to descend Amasa Back in the heat of day and with relief only offered by the McDonald’s on the corner of Main and Kane Springs. Losing the trail and my Dad, while trying to navigate Gold Bar Rim before any dots were painted. And on and on. Oh Moab!

I’ve been back a few times over the last 10 years, but primarily it’s been to do ‘silly’ things like ride/race the Kokopelli or Grand Loop. Both of those are amazing in their own way, and have thoroughly epic’d me, but it’s not quite the same. In many ways, Moab taught me how to ride a mountain bike. It has been far too long since I went to Moab with the simple goal of: riding.

The weather on the Front Range was cold and wet. We saw our window, loaded up the sports van, and headed west. Moab here we come!

Or, Fruita first. We had enough time for a couple hour sunset ride, but only if we stopped in Fruita. It was a brilliant plan. Good camping and a new trail for me, one particularly beautiful in the evening light.

girl+sunset love 1

I’ve seen people riding this glorious piece of singletrack from the 2-track of Kokopelli before and wondered why, oh why, was I not on it?

girl+sunset love 2

The golden hour and the sky painting hour seemed to stretch on and on. Just one of those special nights. We only needed lights for the very last bits of trail back to the van. Camping was under the stars, then it was on to Moab!

We used the wonder of Eszter’s smart phone to coordinate meeting up with Mike, Lenore and Petey Spice. Amasa Back was the ride of choice. A favorite of the Morris family, and one I had not ridden in over 10 years.

Lucky for me, I had Mike to show me all the lines. I used to know a few fun ones, but he has a whole repertoire.

photo by Mike Curiak – more here

Some went smoothly.

Others were just at my limit, and resulted in adrenaline flood.

photo by Mike Curiak

Others I fumbled on. Or didn’t even attempt.

Some challenged Mike (he did get the above pictured move, though I am still not quite sure how).

He took us further out on the mesa than I think I’ve been before. And perhaps a little too far for a couple in our group, who lost the sessiony desire after many hours of proceeding 200 feet at a time.

We put some continuous pedaling to work, at last, just as a thin wall of rain gave the rock domes in front of us a shimmering fuzzy coating. The wall would cover us as we rode the new “Captain Ahab” trail back down to the creek. Mike destroyed his wheel and had to walk out. Eszter and I continued on to camp, then met the whole crew, plus Jeny, at Paradox Pizza. I was stoked to finally get to eat at Paradox Pizza!

Fred and Pete organized a shuttle ride on Mag 7, including a very competent and skilled guide. It started out mellow enough, with new singletrack that was fun, but not memorable enough to be Moab classics. Pretty soon we were nearing Gold Bar Rim and finding some good rocks to play on.

Go Petey Spice!

Go Jeny! It was fun to follow our guide (Darcy) who had no little ring and rode everything with LOTS of momentum. Completely different climbing style than mine, so fun to learn from.

I thought of previous epics on Gold Bar, but the memories were distant. I remembered lots of rock, big views, and a few fun moves.

Yeah, there were a few fun moves. I was glad to have Darcy to follow on a several I would have never tried without watching someone first.

And then there was Portal. I remember the exposure, the mandatory dismounts, and some really fun chunk at the end.

But I had no idea it was this good. Jj’s face says it all.

Darcy disappeared. For the brief minute or two I could follow his line I was alarmed at how much speed he was carrying. Wow. Jj and I rode most of it together, and Fred morphed himself into superman, cleaning sections we couldn’t.

Pete rallied for Paradox Pizza again, and I wasn’t one to complain.

Back at our ledgy campsite, we took in an evening walk, watched the sun set and listened to the birds. A beautiful evening.

In the morning we headed out north of Moab to the Sovereign area. Unfortunately we got suckered into the new “Klonzo” trailsystem, which if located anywhere else would be quite fun. But in Moab it just pales by comparison. Once on Sovereign, we realized what a mistake we had made. It’s even better than I remember it.

We set up camp in Rabbit Valley again, on our way back West. I was pretty tired, and content to sit in the camp chair and watch the evening fade. But Eszter is full of good ideas.

“Let’s go ride to the top of that hill and watch the sun set!!”

“OK!!”

girl+sunset love 3

Pixels were killed on memory cards. Magic moments shared.

girl+sunset love 4

Fullness of life embraced.

In the morning there was still time for a quick spin. Fun was had on moto trails replete with flowers.

Moab. Better than I remember. I need to get back just to ride more often. Fruita, too.

May 21st, 2013 | Category: Mountain Biking | Leave a comment

After scratching twice from the AZT and briefly considering a third attempt, my business in Arizona was done. May is still a good month in Tucson, but, it’s on the warm/dry/dusty/pollen side, and the northlands begin to call me. This year more than ever before!

I can’t imagine why…

So I packed up my few belongings, and my lack of furniture paid off big time. Just a couple chill (by moving standards) days and I was out of the lovely house I rented, back into the Sports Van, and out on the road.

A computer, 4 bikes, a few duffles of clothes and camp gear. What else do I really need… for a summer of adventure and love?

I stopped to bivy in the deserts outside Socorro, falling asleep instantly on my air mattress next to the van. Unfortunately someone in a dune buggy of some kind decided to shine bright lights at me for a while, then drove awkwardly off down the road at 4am, putting a dampener on what should have been a good rest.

Salida!

The front range was soaked/snowed in, and Salida saved me a few hours of driving, so I found my lovely girl waiting by the Arkansas river.

“Let’s ride bikes!”

“OK!”

We rode Cottonwood, my now traditional start to a Colorado summer of riding. Eszter first showed me this trail in 2011, some hours after I arrived in the state. All thanks to the Facebrag, and me not containing my excitement at arriving in Colorado for the summer.

It’s such a good ride. Then and now.

It threatened rain, just like in 2011. We broke out jackets and things, and talked about all that has happened in between two Cottonwood rides. I always knew spending time in Colorado would lead to happiness, but did not understand exactly how. I knew that in the short term riding bikes and being in a new and cooler place for the summer leads to good things. Breaking out of the comfort of a single residence, a single city and a single routine is such a refreshing and rejuvenating way to live. But I also had a sense that Colorado would lead to something even bigger, longer term. I just had no idea what, and could not have predicted the awesomeness a summer in Salida, awesome in and of itself, could start.

Sunday was my B-day, and Eszter put together an intangible present of the best kind. A new ride, a new trail, a guide on a loop I’ve been wanting to see for the last two years.

One full of rocks and tricky moves!

Kep showed us all the lines, and made them look easy on his rigid SS. Many of the moves reminded me of the Granite Dells. Nothing big, all on the ground, but requiring lots of slow speed control and, well, skill!

Everyone was riding well, pushing limits to what seemed to be the perfect amount. Just a little out of the comfort zone, but not too much. Find the flow.

It was so good to see Jeny pushing some limits, riding some very hard lines, and cracking out of her skull. Welcome back, Jj!

Not everything’s going to go, for all of us. We’ve got to go back! Get the lines we missed on the first run.

I love how this shot of Eszter’s looks and feels like I’m going to head plant into the rock in front and below me. It was an extra tricky one to pull out of, and captures the overall feeling of the trail so well.

And then, a very tangible and very tasty present! Not that I needed any presents at all. The distance between us is finally closed for good, and I have a Colorado summer of love and life ahead of me. I am very blessed at the start of this year of my life.

May 9th, 2013 | Category: Mountain Biking | Comments (3)

I wrote last time that “a lot of things have to go right” for an AZT thru-ride, let alone a record race.

If ‘things’ are going right, it should look kinda like this:

Less like this:

Sitting nauseous and bonking, under a tree at the top of the Bellota section of the AZT, I knew I was done. But wasn’t ready to accept it, just yet.

I packed everything I needed for a week+ on the trail. Except my stomach.

canyon practice

I’d done my homework, done my practicing.

A Mountain sunset intervals

Done my ‘training’, done my dreaming.

I had helped get more than fifty others out on the trail. Zooming along, tracking, living life.

One, in particular, very zoomy and very full of life.

Did my best to get her ready, for a late arrival the night before and quick turnaround to the start of the race. It was hard to let her go, hard to focus on my race and not everyone else’s.

Starting one day late was not enough. My head was not in the game.

Cott tank, where’s the water?

It didn’t matter, my stomach sucked all the water out of me. I went searching for water in the Canelo Hills for the first time, ever.

Dehydrated, lovesick and crawling. My bike fell to the ground, with me beside it. It was nearly sunset and Patagonia was still one hike-a-bike away.

I saw Lee walk out of the Mexican place from my picnic table in the middle of town. I was trying to drink a soda. It was all I could put down that night in the hotel, as my body ached and stomach turned.

Some hours driving put me at the finish of the 300 for a beautiful, if weak, sunset spin. I scanned the far ridgelines for a cute girl on a blue bike, but knew my eyes were wishful.

ESZTER! DONE! 2.5 days. Women’s record and fastest rookie time ever. So stoked. So proud.

I succeeded in being there with food, ice cream, drinks and laughs, but failed on the photo end. Hearing the stories from Ez and Pete, fresh off the trail, was priceless. I spared them the drag ride to Superior, dropping Pete off before heading back to Tucson.

Bobo’s!

Recovery proceeded in grand fashion.

The desert inspired me to get out there, the stories and riders of the AZTR inspired me to get back out there.

poppies on Canelo West!

I found a window. My head was in the game.

The Canelos went as they should, fast and canelo-flow. Tires held air. I had access to the power within me, but paced it beautifully.

My gut revolted climbing into the Santa Ritas. Two grape red vines. Fail. I’ve dealt with this before, I expect some on a ride this long. So I fought through it, and eventually got some food to stick, staved off a big bonk.

The moon rose red over the Sonoita grasslands. My moonshadow joined me for a romp in the woods. There was nowhere I’d rather be, even if I couldn’t eat.

AZT aid stations! And mile markers. I was thoroughly confused and amused to find multiple water stops in the middle of the night.

From the woods to the desert, the riding gets good and the effort minimal. I thought I had a chance of pulling this thing off. I ran a quick and efficient bivy north of I-10, and was back on the trail anything but sleepy.

The sun peeked over the Rincons for some primo singletrack.

I got to ride new-to-me trail, stunningly beautiful. I hit the Rincon Store and was stunned that nothing sounded good. Not even ice cream. Only soda. How could I not be wanting hot food, or any food?!

And then things fell apart. The easy stuff was over. Climbs longer than a few minutes. Continued exertion. Focus. Heat of the morning sun. Low elevations. A 90 degree day.

Challenging conditions for any AZT rider, but with a sub-functional stomach it was nearly impossible. If I ate I’d get nauseous and end up sitting in the shade, trying to keep myself together. If I didn’t, I’d end up sitting in the shade, bonking and trying to eat something. I was crawling.

A certain amount of this is normal. Stomachs shut down in the heat, and with big exertion. I debated about ‘is this normal’ all through Redington. Finally realizing that I have been here many times, with no sleep, faster pace and hotter temps. And I wasn’t stopping every 15 minutes. And I wasn’t nauseous the whole time.

I stuck with it, just to confirm in my own mind what I already knew. Struggling through Belotta and up and over the Hike-a-bike. I’d sit down at Molino, weigh my options and see if a big break gathered any motivation or a better stomach.

It didn’t. Pascal happened to finish his ride as I was sitting there. 40 minutes later I was home.

A lot of things have to go right. One thing sure didn’t. But I am sure glad I tried.

As they say, failure isn’t about falling down, failure is staying down. I will be back for another go at the 750, that is certain.

Luckily the whole project of the AZTR was a roaring success. From Eszter’s flawless run, to Max’s second fastest time in the 750, to Aaron’s crushing of the 300 (speaking of not staying down). The many stories and characters this race brings out is immensely rewarding. I’ve heard many tales of kindness and inspiration from the trail, many big goals and dreams that have resulted from it. As quite a few have told me, I’ll join in saying “I’ll be back next year!”

May 1st, 2013 | Category: Mountain Biking | Leave a comment

Riding with Lee this weekend, we were talking about (surprise) the Arizona Trail. I told him that I thought the trip we did together in 2005 was the trip I am the most proud of. It had such a great feel to it. There was so little information back then — about the trail, about bikepacking setups, about carrying bikes across big canyons. We pioneered some pretty nutty routes, ran goofy ultralight setups before the days of seatbags, and rode portions of the AZT that few people have since.

The trip had such consuming buildup/preparation, level of excitement and level of uncertainty. Lee was the perfect partner and though we had our disagreements along the way, we kept it together and made it to the Utah border. The friendship between us, and the cast of characters we met along the way, were priceless.

Things are a lot more known now. GPX files abound, water sources are well documented, seat bags and other gear make bikepacking lighter and more feasible. The truly nutty sections (and wilderness detours) are known, and excluded. And most importantly, the knowledge that it has been done, can be done, and should be done is huge.

2005 time trial setup – photo by Hawkeye

Following the trip with Lee, I time trialed Andrea Lankford’s (much easier) version of the Arizona Trail. The route was known, and my experience hiking the canyon and on the rest of the trail made the endeavor less filled with uncertainty. But, but, but, I was racing, and really had no idea what I was doing. This was before the AZT 300, the Colorado Trail Race, and the Divide race had only been run once — with six participants. How hard could I push myself? How long should I sleep? How long will it take? Will my legs fail me climbing out of the canyon? I had very little idea.

I commented to Lee that while I was bubbling with excitement to race the AZT this year, it doesn’t quite hold the same level of intrigue and raw adventure that our trip did. I have some level of confidence that I can do what I’m setting out to do. Though I would never pretend that I “know what I’m doing”, and many elements are always left to chance, I have a much better idea of how to race, survive and thrive on the AZT than I did eight years ago.

I know that Kurt scorched the route in just over seven days. That knowledge is huge. A lot would have to go right for me to be close to that, but I believe I can do it.

So, what’s the point? That those that go first are the hard core, and everyone else has it easy? No, not at all. I see no reason to lament that things are coming together, knowledge is out there, and we are thus able to push ourselves harder and further. We are given such an amazing gift — our bodies — and seeing what they really can (and can’t) do is one of the most interesting aspects of life. With bikepacking I feel like we’ve only begun to explore what can be done. There are still a lot of unknowns to going ‘fast.’

It’s fun to think about what the AZTR 750 record will be in 10 years. What will be considered a fast time on the CTR in 2025?

I’ll look back and wish I only had to do 7 days and 5 hours to the Utah border in order to feel like I really pushed the limits of what I can do.

Those that went first had it easy, from some perspectives! I rode the easy version of the AZT in 7 days, and considered many (of my) limits pushed. Now I’ve got to do a much harder version in just as much time. Gulp.

No matter how many GPS points you have, how many times you’ve ridden the trails, how many photos of every intersection there are on the web, or how strong you are both mentally and physically, it’s not easy out there. There are always elements of chaos, things left to chance. Things get out of control, you wish you were not on a bicycle baking in the middle of Arizona. You question the sanity of the choices that led you to where you are. Or at least I do.

How cold will it get tonight? Do I have enough food? Why does my knee hurt all the sudden? Will my brakes still work on the next big descent? Should I stop and sleep some? Where? Why? Why am I talking to myself?!

There are plenty of unknowns, for even the most ‘seasoned’ veteran. That’s adventure, that’s bikepacking.

It also doesn’t matter if you are going for a ‘record’ or not. Pushing limits is personal. You take your current state and see what you can do with it. It’s kind of interesting that from this perspective, training doesn’t really matter. You can take the challenge as seeing what you can do with what you’ve got.

And then there are just so many reasons to be out there, regardless of pushing any limits and seeing ‘what you can do.’

For me, just being outside and on a bicycle is one of the most real things I’ve yet found in this universe. I always consider it time well spent.

Life, and the desert especially, is so unique that every moment is unique, and special. The vegetation will never look like this again, the angle of the sun will never hit the hills and illuminate the clouds like this again. Admire the beauty for what it is, fleeting and impossible to completely understand or capture.

The cool breeze. The stillness of the mornings. The vibrance of the setting sun. The challenge of the rocks. The reflective moon light. The biting of the cold. Alive.

As my good friend Tim McCabe (and AZT-thru rider before me!) is fond of saying, “I live for this shit.”

ice cream stop during Cyclovia – oh yeah!

Or maybe it’s just about the ice cream. Cookie ice cream sandwiches, and ridiculous amounts of recovery ice cream are definitely a big part of the AZT plan!

April 10th, 2013 | Category: Mountain Biking | Comments (4)