Diary of Scott Morris

Redemption is an actual event, and spending yourself outside is one of its voices.

new colored elevation relief maps, coming to the next version of TopoFusion

This route has been haunting me ever since I twisted my ankle and dropped out of the Prescott Monstercross race. My ankle still isn’t back to normal, so there is a constant reminder, and it has certainly had a profound effect on my spring/summer.

I was looking for a nice long ride, and also looking to get out of Tucson’s heat. The plan quickly hatched — a rematch with the monstercross route. Paula came with, and we dropped in to her ‘doc’ in Phoenix on the way up.

“It’s so nice out here….”

I think she said that ten times in the first hour we were at our camp in the pines. Someone has been forced to spend too much time indoors and in a hot town at that. Injuries suck. We went for a pleasant spin on trail #305.

Trail #305, aka smooth butter. The perfect trail to have right next to camp. It was great to see Paula out on the bike, and I had to keep it easy because my legs only knew one word: fatigue. I didn’t slow down one bit after last weekend’s XC race, but just kept the pedal to the metal, riding a wave of momentum that I did not want to end. But I knew it eventually would. 60 miles of mostly singletrack, with 10k climbing, all around Prescott? That just might do it.

We accomplished little in camp save for observing the dancing clouds. The sky was a rollercoaster, fast moving and dynamic, all through the weekend.

I started Sunday morning, from camp, warming up on smooth butter, then rolling through town, at unnatural speeds (40+ mph!).

Meteoric tail winds blasted me towards the Granite Dells, blasted me towards fate. The Dells are a giant playground of slickrock, with enough moves to challenge even the hardiest of rock monkeys. For some awesome photos in the Dells, head over to Eric Nelson’s spot on the web — those shots are from the same morning I was out there, though we never bumped into each other.

I kept it conservative, since the primary goal was to come out unscathed. The injury has affected me so greatly that I was getting nervous and a little nauseous as I approached the spot where I twisted my ankle. I walked through it cautiously, and felt a bit better about it in doing so. There are some awkward spots out here, even walking your bike.

Awkward spots, awesome spots. Though I kept it cool, I rode some nice steep lines and had some good reads on the terrain. I didn’t have Eric coaching me this time, so I did miss some stuff and get lost for brief moments, but it was big fun. I really need to get back there with my big bike.

I didn’t calm down until I was well out of the Dells. About the time the adrenaline and nervousness wore off I started really feeling my tired legs. The wind was ripping into me, and I actually felt cold! Dark clouds were billowing behind Spruce Mountain and Thumb Butte — several hours away on the route. I regretted not bringing my rain jacket, thinking I had muscle enough to keep me warm. But now it seemed like muscle was lacking. And I started worrying about mud after hitting a tiny pocket of cement-like soil near the baseball field.

My thoughts were clouded in doubt, but I kept pedaling just the same.

Lucky for me the trails of Prescott are so engaging that it was easy to distract myself. Flow doesn’t quite describe it, but it feels like you descend more than you climb, which is an amazing thing when your legs are hurting. Shooting down into Granite Basin, I thoroughly enjoyed my ankle’s ability to absorb landings — last time I had to baby each launching pad, or avoid leaving the ground altogether.

Trail traffic. This ain’t no XC race. You have to keep your head up, find your own water and most importantly, stay on the route! I didn’t have Dan to follow through here, so I made at least a dozen wrong turns, always paying careful attention to the GPS.

I reached the spot where I finally called it during the race, sending Dan on his merry way. I figured I was at least 10-15 minutes slower than our pace then (TF confirms, 10 minutes off), so I had my work cut out for me.

Around this time I discovered one ability remained strong — singlespeed power. Standing and mashing gears 4-5 higher than normal didn’t just go well, it felt incredible. It started because I knew I’d need to match Dan’s SS climbing pace in order to beat his time, and it turned into a definitive style. Most of the route flows really well singlespeed style, since there aren’t too many sustained climbs. I had the advantage that I didn’t know the route, too, so I would attack every climb like it was only going to last 30 seconds, even when it was five minutes long. It led to pain, more often than not, but also to speed.

I had so many moments of hitting things just right — cresting hills with the perfect amount of momentum to rally into the next turn without braking — wrapping around banked turns and shooting up the next rise, feet connecting gears to ground at the perfect time and the perfect cadence. I thought fast and the faster I thought the more it came true.

I started getting a little grumpy on a long road climb/descent near White Spar. Dropping into the campground I realized it was because I’d been riding almost five hours and was starting to bonk. After filling up on water, I stuffed my cheeks full of Powerbar crack nuggets, like a squirrel would with acorns. I waved at the campground host, but he just stared at me, dumbfounded.

I switched screens on my GPS for the first time and did a little math. Whaaa? I have 2.5 hours to cover the next 10 miles and still post the fastest time? Double check the math, stuff the cheeks full of nuggets again, check one more time. Yep, it was looking good.

A reasonable person, legs feeling as mine did and on the verge of bonk, might have taken this opportunity to ratchet things down a notch or two — coast in so to speak. I never even considered it. The fact that things were going well served only to fuel the fire and make me pedal harder.

Good thing, too. Trail 396 was a highlight of the whole route, taking the singlespeedery flow to a new level. “I feel like I’m averaging 15mph, while gaining elevation…”

I had to back down for the last few pitches of Spruce Mtn. The steepness and deep gravel forced me into granny gear, and my legs tightened up and screamed at me. I caught glimpses of the lookout tower (above) but couldn’t remember if the route goes all the way to the tower or not. I begged the GPS line to dive off the side of the ridge, because I was done climbing, NOW.

The GPS line did as I begged, and besides two gut wrenching sting climbs on Smith Ravine, it was all speed and glorious singletrack ripping, all the way back to camp. I finished the loop in 6:24, just over 45 minutes faster than the previous fastest time.

One of these days I’m going to get tired, but that day is not today.

Backtracking…

Did I really see this, or were my eyes inventing colors, through sweat and blood?

Or these guys? Hopping all over the place after a self-destructive but oh-so-enjoyable Bugs/Molino “workout” / shred session.

August 30th, 2010 | Category: Mountain Biking | Comments (3)

A curious set of circumstances resulted in the brain patterns necessary to convince myself to race “cross country” again. Ironically, a large part of what led me to race XC was the two days of lift served downhilling at Winter Park. I’ll leave the ‘how’ behind that one as an exercise for the reader.

Beyond convincing myself, I was bursting at the seams, wanting to ride fast and hard, without planning and without regard for any kind of endurance. The closest thing (both spatially and temporally) was the Absolute Bikes Old Fashioned MTB race. So I signed up, and I put a big ring on my bike, for the first time in… 5 years? At only 30 miles, this would be the shortest race I’d done for about 8 years.

how do I shift with 3 rings again?

I rolled into Flagstaff and went for a lap. The course is pretty flat, but the singletrack is “race techy.” It’s almost identical to the route that the Coconino Loop finishes on. Some good stuff in there.

My “pre ride” was terrible. I hit every rock wrong and my legs felt like they were filled with lead. These last two weeks of riding hard in the desert have left a mark. Though it wasn’t even 80 degrees, I felt hot and burnt out.

Fortunately I had hooked up with Handlebar Nathan who lives right near the course and was also doing the race. I had a relaxing evening at his house, and woke up feeling much better.

The Pro/Expert start was insanely fast. 3 miles of slight uphill, big ring, high RPM, burning rubber. I did my best to stay with the group, but eventually I didn’t have enough of anything to stay with them. Anything = legs, lungs, heart, mind. There was no identifiable weakness, all were lacking.

The start is fast because the singletrack is near impossible to pass on. I could see the leaders as we turned off onto trail, but was sitting in 13th or 14th place. It soon became clear that many of the riders in front of me had lost their composure. They were bamboozled by the aggressive start and could not ride anything techy. I wouldn’t say I had much composure myself, and may have only been saved by my bike, which handles rocks so well you can ride it brain dead. Art Keith and I got stuck behind one guy for quite a while that wouldn’t yield even when he was off and walking. It was a good excuse to recover a bit, though.

“You’re taking some nice lines, are you a local?”

I laughed but absorbed the compliment nonetheless. Art disappeared on the downhill into the conclusion of lap 1.

Two guys worked together to pass/drop me on the smooth dirt road. I do not have the leg speed to push a gear like that. I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise since I never ride with that kind of gearing or speed. But I did know where a clear passing zone was on the singletrack. I caught them, backed off, then sped up and blew by them as fast as I could. Once out of sight, recover.

I saw another opportunity to attack when Art unclipped in front of me on the pipeline. I knew he could descend Moto trail much faster than me, but that if I got out of sight the carrot would be gone. So I put everything I had into the last rises and tried to regain myself while catching air on down the trail.

The third lap was, as expected, filled with pain. This is exactly what I was looking for. Teetering on the edge of collapse, and desperately trying to hold it all together. All the while there are guys in front that might be taken down and guys behind that will appear with a moment’s hesitation. I loved it.

It was a bit of a challenge to navigate around the racers we were lapping. But everyone was nice and I was wasting energy being encouraging (esp. to the juniors). Why be so serious, anyway? Only one guy really screwed me up, but I didn’t care because he genuinely tried to ride the rock pile that he dabbed on. It wasn’t a half hearted “I’m not going to make this anyway” kind of effort, but a grit the teeth pedal hard push. So that was cool with me, whatever class he was in.

My legs failed on the pipeline. I had to walk. I smiled at this, knowing I had accomplished the mission of shattering myself (my only goal for the race). But I looked back and a certain rider in green caught my eye. His body language said he was still motivated and had actually been moving up the ranks just behind me.

I had a small gap, and intended to keep it. But I wasn’t intending to take any chances on the downhill. This race is definitely not worth a crash! But I rode as smoothly as I could, and comparing the GPX file for my laps shows I was ~20 seconds faster than either of lap 1 and 2′s descents.

But I still got caught! After not hearing anyone behind for the entire descent, he appeared behind just as we got to the final half mile. That half mile has three short descents and three short climbs. He jammed it to get right behind me, first saying “on your right.”

“Nice try,” I thought. I was impressed, but though my whole body cried to let him pass and coast in, this was a rare opportunity, a real race situation. 2.5 hours of hard riding had resulted in the two of us being neck and neck at the finish, and neither of us were going to give in.

I ran through the next sections of trail in my mind, thinking not only how much was left, but where possible passing areas were. I did my best to accelerate each time I saw a wide spot approaching. But he did the same and I saw his front wheel in my periphery three different times! Each time I countered the attack I’d enjoy a split second of relief, before it was time to counter the next one. It was all guts, and all I could think is, “wow, now this is racing.” Brilliant. It was hard to tell what exactly was going on, because all efforts were focused on one thing — standing up and pedaling HARD. It would have been so easy to give in, but I planted a firm “NO” in my mind, and the resulting brain rush temporarily suspended all sensations of pain.

“I think it’s all downhill from here?!” And it’s so sketchy that he’d have to be insane to try and pass! He wasn’t insane, but we still came cooking around the last corner up to the line.

Turns out we were dueling for 4th place, just out of the “money”, but the rewards of the contest were far deeper than that. We gave high fives and agreed that we both really enjoyed the duel. My legs felt so bad (on the verge of cramping) that I couldn’t stick around long, I had to go pedal, spin them out.

A crappy photo of the not-yet-complete results. Full results here. 12.1 mph average speed!? That still cracks me up.

Nathan and I pedaled commuter bikes downtown for the free pizza and awards. The guys at Absolute Bikes put on a great event. Nathan had rocked it into a 3rd place podium in the singlespeed category. We will both find out if this race was a good tune up for the Vapor Trail 125 or not.

The next day Troy took me out for a spin through the AZT…

… and through fields of flowers. This is the “Flag bypass” of the AZT, which the AZTR does not use, neither have I ridden it before. Some great country out there, and little used trail. Also along for the ride was Mr. “J-money.”

Not content simply to coast through flowers with them whapping his handlebars, or to devour the colors with his eyes, Troy stopped to eat them too! He’s too much fun to ride with.

It was a nice 25 mile cruise with beautiful weather, wrapping up a super weekend in Flagstaff. I really miss that place. Thanks a bunch to Nathan for the place to crash and Troy for the AZT ride.

August 23rd, 2010 | Category: Mountain Biking | Comments (1)

Chad is back at school, so the Tuesday Techy Taco ride is back on, except this week it was on Wednesday.

We collectively said:

“Sure Chad, let’s climb impossibly technical trails, at 101 degrees and with the afternoon sun beating down on us.”

“Sure Chad, good idea.”

Techy tacos are always a good idea, though there were moments when I questioned it, saturated with sweat and without the slightest hint of a breeze. It was never intolerable, but I think it threw all of us off our game a little. I had some brilliant climbing moments, but many more clumsy and awkward ones.

Don’t go off that rock! We had a record seven tortoise sightings! Tortoises of all sizes. I started scanning pretty intently for them, because they often look like rocks, and the trail is pretty much all rocks. A little caution was there as I was leading the Alamo descent, but not enough — I went over the bars, but managed to keep my feet under me and run it out. Haven’t done that for a while.

Monsoons have brought some sand and a bunch of new rocks into the mix. Add in some over-excited spiky plants obscuring the trail and the mind altering heat, and I think it was the most challenging taco ride yet.

Impossibly techy and impossibly beautiful out there.

photo by Chad Brown

I couldn’t believe how hot I was getting while descending Alamo, with the sun down and definitely cooler temps. Shows how much work it is to muscle your way down.

The tacos were even more tasty than I remember them. Looking forward to many of these rides, maybe with some better weather.

August 18th, 2010 | Category: Mountain Biking | Comments (1)

After a week of riding hard at lower elevations, I was feeling thoroughly cooked. The weekend came and it was time to head up Lemmon.

Chad and I wove our way around the mountain, finding plenty of challenge and a shocking amount of heat. 9000′, climbing hard in the trees and we were sweating like pigs. We rode 1918 and Sunset trails with Max, who had ridden from Tucson with his bikepacking gear the night before. Glad to see him back on the bike.

“Hello, Cookie Cabin, do you take phone in orders?”

“I’ll take a pizza with everything on it.”

By the time we knocked ourselves out dropping down the Aspen Draw trail, the pizza was ready, and it was well timed after several hours on the bike. We chilled out at the ‘music on the mountain’ tent for a while before leaving the crowds behind.

We commenced the climb back to the Bigelow Towers, and my legs felt top. Am I riding a 34 pound bike? This thing climbs and hops like a dream.

We started hearing thunder near the towers, finally catching a glimpse of the storm, across the San Pedro valley. It was pounding the Galiuro mountains, and we both commented on how loud and close the lightning seemed, yet it was so far away.

I was hoping to get at least six hours moving time, and it almost seemed a waste to hop in the car and drive down the mountain. So I thanked Chad for the great ride (and awesome pizza!) and cruised down to Green Mountain.

Doom approacheth!

At first I was certain it was heading west, and would miss me. Then the storm swallowed the ridge in the foreground of the photo above.

I kicked it into double time, pedaling my brains out on the climb / hike-a-bike to Bear Saddle. “This climb goes on forever.”

It started raining, a relief from the hard effort at first. I popped over the saddle and bounced down the first rock garden against my better judgment. Traction was still available, for the moment.

I was happy to be over the ridge, but the lightning was getting intense, and rain picking up. I doubted my ability to ride much of the trail below. It’s one of the most difficult on the mountain, full of boulders, water bars and tight turns.

My mind went through a few stages of amazement:

1) Wow, it’s raining pretty hard. (above pic, the last I took during the storm)
2) Now it’s REALLY coming down.
3) I didn’t know that air could hold this much water!?
4) Umm, is the world ending?

The sky was being torn apart by electricity. Flash/bang, flash/bang.

It’s impossible to remember just how LOUD thunder is, until it’s right on top of you and all around you. I think it awakens primordial instincts, beyond logical fear and beyond simple adrenaline.

All of the above were coursing through me as I negotiated my way down the trail. Hyper focused riding. Traction held as I manualed off water bars, landing in the flowing trail. The trail was flowing, I was flowing, the sky was flowing, it was all flow.

My clothes felt like a suit of armor, heavy. My feet swimming in my shoes. I was worried about crossing the flooding drainage below (the trail crosses multiple times). When I got there it was feet deep, but still passable.

The moisture was funneling down the canyon, in wild waves of white water. This is where I got to the “is the world ending?” stage. It reminded me of the videos you see on the weather channel of hurricanes. The rain was swirling around, mixed with hail, completely out of control. Now everything was flowing, not just the trail, not just the side drains, but everything was sheeting water. It was too crazy to ride, so I ran alongside my bike, knowing that the campground was not far.

I rolled around to the bathroom and found a group of campers hanging out under the overhang. They called me over… “Dude! Get in here, there’s plenty of room.”

It was ‘free day’ on the mountain, and I don’t think these guys had ever been camping before. Not the kind of twenty-something kids I’d normally find myself talking to, which was really cool. But here we were sharing an overhang, and sharing stories of near misses and crazy rain. They laughed as I wrung my clothes out and tried to describe how crazy it had been to be riding down the trail out there.

I spent over a half hour under the overhang, waiting for it to let up and the lightning to pass. A gauge on Green Mountain recorded nearly 2.5 inches of rain during that half hour! I was worried about hypothermia going down the highway, not wanting to be ‘that guy’ that somehow ends up dangerously cold, in Tucson, in August. Sure enough, I started shivering as I coasted down towards the Bug Spring trail. There was so much water on the road, and so many drivers abandoning the mountain (some of whom were likely drunk from the mountain music festival) that it was an easy choice.

Climb. Climb or die?

I did not clean ‘the scar’. But the warmth from the effort and hiking was welcome.

I broke out into goosebumps as I crested the top and got a look at the big bad anvil the storm had become. The lightning continued, and though the storm was miles away, I didn’t dawdle on the ridgetop.

The soil on Lemmon is something else. Despite inches of rain, things were not muddy. Far from it. It was hero dirt, and I quickly found myself able to tap into the same hyper focused state of riding.

I installed headphones into my ears. The lyrics spoke of emptiness and desolation. The usual uplifting (but perhaps thought provoking) stuff, you know? Like most of us, life has seemed empty and boring to me at times, more in the far past than lately. But as the tunes ran through my head all I could think was how much that has changed. I don’t pretend that riding bikes has any kind of intrinsic meaning, but it definitely has meaning for me. Meaning is a human construct anyway. Beyond ‘meaning’, one thing was certain — this was not an ordinary, meaningless day. No sleepwalking and emptiness here. Riding through that storm woke me up in ways I can’t describe. No doubt, I am here, and I am alive.

The visuals feed my imagination. The air, cool and fresh. Trail, amazing and well known. My bike floats effortlessly over it, grooving and sliding just right.

My brain races with all sorts of wondrous thoughts, while another part of it handles the riding, the speed and the flow.

The sun sets ablaze as I reach the valley floor. Warm air finally drying me out as the thoughts fade into the darkness of smooth pedaling.

August 16th, 2010 | Category: Mountain Biking | Comments (6)