Flipping the beast

The second half of the AZT 300 route has been calling me ever since I dropped out back in April. I’d been biding my time, waiting for a good weather window that lined up with my fitness/recovery/life. And it never really came. Forecasts called for 100+ degrees in the next week signaling the end of the ‘season’, but there was a 3 day ‘last ditch’ window. This was it — do it or put it out of your mind.

Doubts stabbed at me like so many mental daggers. Calves? Sore. Legs? Tired. Sleep? Not really. Mind? Rearing to get out there and shred some trail! Finally, at about noon on Friday, I committed and silenced the doubt. Most of it, anyway.

I left my house at 4:20a the next morning, en route to find Chad in the dark of Ina road. He pulled out an orange device from his camelbak, then flipped around to head out on his own epic of the day. “Good luck hermano…”

I set up two seat bags — one with a sleeping bag, and the other without. Choice to be pondered as I drove the ~2 hours to Picketpost Trailhead, the official finish line of the AZT 300. I didn’t decide until the last second, until I was suited up and ready to roll. I planned to push up Mt. Lemmon that night, so the sleeping bag came with.

I left the trailhead at 6:42a, without knee warmers. Ask anyone, that means the temperature was at least 90. 😉

The weak low pressure system passing through AZ promised reasonable daytime highs, but the clouds prevented the temperatures from falling that night, leaving a warm and sticky morning. I was dripping with sweat just a few miles up the trail.

But what a trail! I finally fulfilled my dream of riding it with ample daylight.

Beautifully contoured and an easy ride to warm up on. Not so easy to finish on in the dark. I swear I could sense pieces of Jefe and Plesko souls, specters left to wander amongst the saguaros and foxtails.

I pushed my bike over to Orphan Boy’s climb, taking in a last view of picketpost before readying myself for a descent I wasn’t sure would be rideable. In my mind this hill is 845% grade, with ruts deeper than a man standing, a labyrinth of boulders and ledges.

In a blink it was over… “was that it??” … and then I was chasing a cow at warp factor 9. This was the most fit cow I have ever seen. He ran at speeds faster than I could coast, for what seemed like miles.

Rocket cow turned off for singletrack, I continued on for road, to climb to the Box.

Ah, the Box. A more pleasurable way to spend the morning is hard to imagine. Endless coasting, endless scenery. No effort. Cooling wind. I like this direction on the 300…

West wind had picked up in earnest, forcing some pedal mashing to reach the diversion dam at 1600′. My calf semi-cramped just before the dam. 3 hours in and cramping? I pulled half of the muscle back into place and limped gingerly up the sandy hill to the dam.

I tanked a bunch of water in response to the cramping, then put it out of my mind as the wind shoved me down the banks of the Gila River. This section was a surprise hit — super fun snaking beneath the tree canopy and grinding turns in the sand.

I knew the fun was to end soon. Ahead was 2+ miles of uphill wash that is just rideable — when you are going the other way. I expected to walk most of it. It hadn’t rained since the big storm during the 300.

I rode it all, slowly but surely. Soon I was checking out views of Area 52, half wishing I was on the Behemoth and had a few gallons of water to spare.

In whole, the climb up from the Gila was long, but it was not hard, since it’s never steep. Once on the 2-tracks north of Florence-Kelvin, the route has a wonderful remote feel to it. I didn’t expect to see anyone, but on the horizon I saw two riders on horseback. They were cowboys that responded only in Spanish, making me wonder if they were the same pair Chad ran into in this area. When they saw me coming they went way off the side of the trail, and the younger of the two gave me a wordless look of genuine amazement. “I’m just having fun out here,” I thought.

I heard my bladder gurgle at some point and at first didn’t believe it. That meant I had ~10 oz left, plus a full bottle on the bike. Starting with 200+ oz, I thought I’d get to the next water source with plenty to spare, but it was looking tight. Is it really that hot out here? There’s always some uncertainty with the Freeman cache, and in case it was empty I’d have to ride another hour or so to the next source. Because of that I sub-consciously went into ‘conserve water mode’ which I think cost me in the long run.

Pushing my bike up to the big tree at Ripsey Ranch I got buzzed by a rattler, sun bathing in the middle of the wash. I had my head down, mindlessly slogging up the sand. He riled up halfway in the air, making me jump back. I reminded myself that it’s May out here, and I needed to be extra careful of snakes on the upcoming sections of “vagueletrack.” Being May also meant some other neat changes, like flowering yellow palo verde, an abundance of big lizards, and birds galore. I saw many colors of birds (pearls before swine, I’d think, since I don’t know any of them), and nearly always had hawks for companions.

The wind was generally in my favor, but easily gusting to 30 mph at times. I got blown off the trail a few times on the Boulders segment. As soon as the trail turned east, facing the boulders themselves,
this:

became this:

in no time at all. Woo hoo!

The last few miles of the Boulders hurt, much to my dismay. I just started pushing to finish it, and neglected to drink. I filled up big time at Freeman, not feeling shy about it since it was the end of the thru hike/ride season. I pulled out one of Mike’s magic Alaska meals, rehydrated it and snarfed it down. I started feeling human again.

Hopping back on it was pretty obvious I felt like I was on day 2, not day 1, of the race. That might be good, I told myself, because day 3 can be awesome….

Rounding Antelope Peak seemed effortless, and was a wholesome treat. The only problem is that the cholla minefields are hit at higher speed, making it a challenge to stop in time. Luckily I knew where many of them were likely to be, but not all. I had no choice but to plow through a couple. Let the cholla fly! And if it ends up on your tires or shoes, you get to stop anyway.

I’ve become pretty numb to getting scratched by the desert. In some ways I look forward to it (!). I was thinking about stopping for another coat of sunscreen when I noticed a couple of nice ‘n juicy cuts near my knee. I wondered what the SPF rating of blood is, thinking I could just smear it around to save time.

I manged to blow by one switchback completely, earning a prickly pear to the foot. The thorn went unnoticed until precisely the wrong moment. I dropped into a wash only to meet face-to-face with a giant black bull. He lowered his head, looked me in the eyes and kicked his rear hooves into the dirt. For a split second I thought he was going to charge, but he lurched forward and turned to run away.

I climbed the trail to a blind corner, as I thought “are cows smart enough to ambush? This would sure be a good place.” I kept looking ahead for the bull as I pedaled on, only to get buzzed by a snake right in front of me. Gah! How did he not slither away when the bull ran over him?! I took evasive maneuvers, pedaling off to the side (too late to stop). That was when the previously benign thorn went a half inch into my foot.

I pulled it out of my foot at the top of the hill while the bull looked on.

The rest of Antelope Peak was less eventful. I dropped into Bloodsucker wash and smiled as I rode the first 200 feet on semi-solid ground. It didn’t last.

~3 miles of walking sand never hurt anyone (broken by occasional ‘wishful thinking’ riding), but it was slow. I was happy when I reached the gasline, knowing the sand was over. Happy, that is, until I looked at the first hill.

It’s so steep that you can’t just push your bike up it. Push with your arms, lock the brakes, take a two steps, find solid footing, push the bike forward. Heave ho! Heave ho! My calves didn’t appreciate it much.

When the second hump on the gasline was similarly steep I muttered aloud “what have I gotten myself into?”

Not much it turned out… the rest of the gasline seemed easier in this direction. And definitely more fun. I got into a great rhythm on the continuous climb section. I stopped at the top of one of the final hills to eat another Mike meal and check in with Paula. I couldn’t help but think about her out here riding these hills during the APC, and what an amazing ride she had. I was filled with a sense of happiness just for being out there and having made it this far. Looking back I could see Antelope Peak, now tiny, and that was only the half of what I’d ridden so far. I felt ~good and planned on seeing how much of Oracle Ridge I could chew off tonight.

The 7 miles of switchback goodness were fun, for a while, but something starting going wrong. I thought I was on the last ‘up’ and it turned out there was another. I was crawling, making it to the AZT sign later than I figured.

Keep it together, stay focused. But I couldn’t. With the darkness came an overwhelming bodily shutdown. My knees ached as I climbed up to Oracle on the highway. My calves felt like they were tightening and about to cramp. Worse was I couldn’t think about anything but going to sleep. And it was only 8:00pm.

I headed for the Mariposa trail, clicking on my light. I could tell it was a really fun trail, but I couldn’t enjoy it. I needed to stop. I got to Oracle State Park and thought about going up Oracle Ridge in this state. It didn’t seem like a good idea. I asked myself ‘what would Kurt do?’ (answer: he would go up Oracle ridge, come hell or high water!) Would he bail into town on a nice warm night just because he’s feeling sleepy? “No.” But all the same, I’m done for the day, may as well go get some good recovery in case there’s some chance of salvaging this ‘race.’

I pedaled into town and picked up a few items at circular K. The clerk asked me if I was doing that crazy trail race. It took me a while to process it, what? She had let Max and Fred sleep by the side of the building for a few hours and even gave them her stool so they could eat sitting down. She said they looked about as tired as me. “Great,” I thought, “I’m only on day one and I look like I’m on day 3.” I hit the Chalet motel just a few minutes before the proprietor went to bed. She was even more sleepy than me, handing me the wrong form, the wrong key, asking me the same question multiple times. It was pretty comical between the two of us, but I paid my $30 (AZT special!) and went to try to eat something.

I had Paula on speaker as I tried to put down some fruit and drink some gatorade. Eventually I gave up, took a quick shower and crashed out. I was not asleep long before waking up nauseous. The next few hours are a blur. Some very lucid dreaming, followed by strange returns to reality, taking some minutes to remember who I was, where I was and what I was doing. Then a few minutes of discomfort (either burning hot or freezing cold) and feeling sick before drifting off to crazy land where I was acutely aware that I was dreaming and not buying any of it.

I woke up a half hour before my alarm but did not feel rested at all. After going through the same long process of remembering where I was and what I was doing, I sat up and realized I really needed to eat and drink. I grabbed the giant sandwich, gatorade and water bottle and killed them. I figured the ‘race’ was over, and I’d probably just ride Oracle road back to Tucson. But even that seemed doubtful. I fell back asleep, this time with no crazy dreams — solidly out.

I woke up two hours later feeling like I could sleep 6 more, but for some reason all I wanted to do was climb Oracle Ridge.

I’d roll the singletrack through the state park and see how it went. Then I’d climb Cody trail and see how it went. It was easy to bail back to Oracle should things go awry.

A strange night at A-frame #2

It was WAAAY later than I wanted it to be, but I was just happy to be back on the bike. I got to see the water trailer at the group site, ride the Wildlife trail and see where it connects back in to the AZT. Nice confirmation of what I already knew — this route is a solid improvement over the actual AZT / powerline road. Both for bypassing Oracle and for refueling there.

All the singletrack was very enjoyable, even if I was feeling a little weak. I expected it to be harder and not as fun in this direction, but it was another surprise hit — I think easier/faster backwards.

What I didn’t like was hearing buzzing snakes in the trailside bushes, and never even seeing them. That spikes your heart rate FAST. Luckily I have a favorable arrangements with all serpents of the deserts — I don’t mess with them and they don’t mess with me.

I had to enter a similar pact with the bees of thistleville. 90% of the thistles hid at least one bee, feasting on pollenous delight. It was impossible to not hit many of them, temporarily dislodging bee from happiness. They didn’t seem to much mind.

I rode more than I expected of Cody Trail. The lack of wind was apparent, though, and I was already getting hot. I strapped my Epic Designs seat bag to the back of my pack, knowing that it would be hours before I’d ride again, and the lighter the bike, the better.

I was surprised that the final Oracle Ridge hike-a-bike had been graded and majorly cleaned up. I thought I might have to walk down it, but instead it boosted my speed into the 20’s, giving merciful cooling wind.

Ugh. Cody to the top of Peppersauce was the hardest section by far. It took 2 hours to cover these 3 miles. I got used to my feet sliding on rocks, having to stop to catch my breath from the steepness and cursing every gate I had to open and close. The sun was relentless, and what little cover there was is now all burned.

You’re the highest point, it seems, or it feels, and all sun beams focus on you and any inch of exposed skin.

In a few spots of caked ‘mud’ I could distinctly see a Nanoraptor tread and sometimes even a Saguaro. Clearly Stefan and Jefe, I was buoyed on by the thought of them fighting down this section, having survived Lemmon on the storm.

Reaching the 4×4 Peppersauce road was a happy moment. I stopped in the shade of some unburned oaks. Some ATV riders came by and only asked one question, “are you OK?”

The road meant brief nuggets of pedaling, even some glorious coasting. All too soon you round a corner and stare at this:

Wow. Even steeper than I remember. In the thick of it, it looks like this:

Definitely STIL (steeper than it looks). A perfectly good helmet, but no sign of the rider.

I walked right by the ‘magic gate,’ Pushing up 300′ of jeep road to a dead end. A couple on an ATV came by, wondering what I was doing pushing a bike up to a dead end road. They couldn’t comprehend that I could make it to ‘Mt Lemmon’ from where I was. “I didn’t see any trails back there,” they told me. “Yeah, neither did I …”

Sure enough I walked by the magic gate again on the way back. The GPS track doesn’t tell you much since the trail parallels the road, about 30′ up the embankment.

Before I entered the gate I decided that since I was going the other direction, the traverse of death must be the traverse of life. I decided it, and thus it was so.

The word that kept ringing in my mind was ‘wicked.’ It’s just plain wrong that there is a trail on this ridge. A depraved abomination, and certainly no place for a bicycle. Yet there I was, pushing my way through oak and yucca, actively enjoying it and never questioning. There was nowhere I’d rather be.

I was really shocked by how much the trail has grown in, even since last year when Laddie Cox completed his heroic brushing efforts. The soil, slope and vegetative qualities are perfect for trail swallowing brush and where that is absent, massive clumps of obscuring grass grow.

No place for a trail. But it’s a cool place to be.

Oracle Ridge conglomerate.

Views are good. Occasional breeze even better.

The traverse of life was gone quickly. It even featured a few minutes of downhill technical mayhem, all rideable and a welcome distraction from the bike pushing and slow progress.

After Dan Saddle it’s back to steep hike-a-bike, with a few breaks on contoured trail! The hike-a-bike was never that bad, but the heat was. I foolishly thought that once above 7000′ or so, it’d be some approximation of ‘cool.’ Not so. With no breeze, no cover and relentless sun, it’s crispy time!

I met some hikers a couple miles from the top. “Be careful, it gets a little tricky in about 200 yards.”

My mouth opened, but I just didn’t know how to respond, dumbfounded by that comment (as if it hadn’t been more than ‘a little tricky’ for the last five hours). I think I just laughed and wished them well.

Eventually the suffering ended, as all suffering does, and I was inching my way up the road to the firestation. An SUV rolled up next to me, matching my 4 mph pace, and the occupants asked, “did you ride all the way from the bottom?” Again I was dumbfounded as to how to answer. “Umm, yes” “Wow! Good job!”

I planned to bypass Summerhaven, but I decided that an Oracle Ridge celebratory ice cream was in order. That ice cream turned into an ice cream, a hot dog, another ice cream and another hot dog. Heaven! I was scorched, yet sitting in the shade outside the general store gave me the chills.

The only thing better than the ice cream / hot dog gorging was coasting down the highway, free of gravity at last, enjoying the steady breeze to cool my skin.

Climbing up to Palisades I found that my legs held strength. I was baffled until I recalled that I hadn’t been using pedaling muscles for a good seven hours now. I had thoughts of continuing on with the route, riding into the night. It was semi-conceivable to finish near record time, which baffled me further. But it would be tight, and it relied on being able to pull out an all night ride through the Cienega Corridor, something I did not think I could do.

Pedaling up the highway I looked over at the forested goodness of the ‘sunset / secret’ trail and thought, “I might be done with Oracle Ridge.” Why is the route not over there??

I railed the turns on Prison Camp / Molino, catching air and savoring these last miles of AZT 300 goodness. Just above Molino, I managed to get Paula on the phone, and just for kicks asked her what the forecasted high was for tomorrow. 97, she said.

Nail.

In.

Coffin.

I coasted into Tucson, took the low traffic route and planned to ride home. Powerful west winds (where oh where were you on Oracle Ridge?!) stifled that plan. My legs felt empty fighting into the wind. I bailed for Jack in the Box and a bus stop that for a single well spent dollar whisked me home.