I finished.

• 86 miles
• 11.25 hrs spin time (PR)
• 12.5 hours total (PR)
• 10,000+ feet of climbing (PR)
• several thunderstorms (PR)
• 1 DFL (PR)

Life is good.

Underground races rock!

Thanks Nathan!

We pulled into the Sunset trailhead atop Schultz Pass Road at about 6 on Friday, just as a thunderstorm was about to let loose. Some fast work with tarps, covering my bike, introducing myself to Nathan and Kelly camping across the meadow, and it was not long before Beckie, G and I all crashed early for a change. Of course I slept poorly, up again at 6 and ready for the pre-race meeting at 6:45, and then the start eventually at 7:20. A quick hey to my bud Chad who was bright-eyed bushy-tailed and sipping a beer, but otherwise i didn’t know anyone else. No worries. We were in Flag and it was not 110 and it was green and i was happy. I felt good, my back felt good, Jimmy’s magic the Tuesday before untwisted the twisted hip that had been nagging me for over a month.

pre-race meeting

Chad out front during the LeMans start

The pack pulled away from me almost instantaneously, and I was left with just one or two riders in sight for the initial 9 mile climb. For some reason I thought this was only about 5 miles, but knowing it was a long day and this was the first big obstacle, i had no choice but to hunker down and get it behind me. I rolled pretty well, keeping mostly in the middle ring and knocking it out in just about an hour. The forest road was beautiful and offered a great view of Flagstaff back through the aspens over my shoulder, and the fatigue mostly rolled off me in the calm of the morning at the start of this big day.

Down Pick Up Stix, and it lived up to the name. Downed trees everywhere. I was cocky at first thinking “aww shit i roll 24th St this aint no thang“, then promptly went slowly OTB in the deep soft ash-infused soil. It was quite steep and soft and i spent most of the ride with my ass hung back over the seat. I was riding the Blur like the Heckler, and while there was nothing much really gnarly on the trail, it was exciting to realize i was getting more out of the Blur than i’ve come to expect even after 5 years. I finally emerged out of the thick woods at the Locket Meadow campground for a few fast miles of jeep road down. Then 11 miles of mostly up around the back side of The Peaks.

This stretch i knew would be the big tester of the first lap. Somewhat tired from the first climb, and still facing a lot of climbing and singletrack on this lap, this climb was a trap waiting for my will to fall into it. It felt slow, and the first hour and a half of prior effort was noticeable. I pushed, i pushed, i did not relent. I finally took a 5 minute break at 3 hrs as a storm was settling on top of the peaks, ate half a bagel, put on my rain jacket, and generally felt good about my 8+ mph pace over the first stretch loaded with climbing. The rain was annoying but did not dissuade me, though i got a much needed boost by the final 2 miles of the 11 mile jeep road being downhill.

The rain stopped as I approached the Sherlock Trail. I wasn’t quite sure where it was, and I foolishly followed a couple other riders from the race blowing down the hill past the entrance. Dammit!!! I knew following them was a mistake, but flailing in search of a route makes you desperate to follow someone, even if they are going in the wrong direction. As I climbed the half mile back to the correct trail i watched a couple motos turn onto the trail, and hoped that my initial instincts were correct. Right turn, followed by a gate .23 miles east — looks good?!?!

It was a brief shock to get back on tight singletrack after 30 miles of mostly jeep roads, and was chocolatey and moist with the dark ash of the volcano and the mud from the motos. It rolled slow but easy, and the fatigue and the storm did not seem so bad. I was still not sure if I was on the right path, but i didn’t much care the trail was so much fun! The motos I was leapfrogging pointed me to Snowbowl Road, and I was relieved that after 4 hours I was still on track. The motos in Flag, by the way, seem like totally good people. In the Valley, I simply try to avoid them as they all seem like cowboys looking to tear shit up on 4 Peaks Road, or break speed records on Tortilla Flat. In Flag, they seem like mountain bikers on extremely big powerful bikes – friendly and cool and (from what i hear) responsible for half the single track in Flag. They were friendly, so I was extra friendly about yielding as they kept coming by. Its always refreshing to see that what goes around with trail etiquette always comes back around. And they gave my sorry ass directions as the storm again intensified.

Somewhere in here I think the cue sheet was off by about a mile. I couldn’t tell at the time and my cue sheet was getting shredded by the moisture, but looking at it on TopoFusion the distance on Gimpy’s Gulley trail was wrong. I wound up being on course down a baby-headed double-track that was so bike-unfriendly I swore I must have missed a turn. I correctly got on Friedlan Prairie Road, and went right by the turnoff for Sites 8&9, but at this point I thought I was lost and was not looking for Secret Trail, and instead just trying to get back to the Start. I ended up on a logging road that dumped me onto the Gasline trail, a horrible chunky up-and-down primitive road. Underestimating how far east I still had to go, thinking Schultz Pass Road was directly south of me, and generally being miserable still climbing during the downpour, i made several false turns down off the mountain which each required climbing back up to Gasline for more east-ward traversing. One wrong turn took me easily 1.5 miles down a fast road, and when i finally realized my mistake and bailed out to go back up the hill, i noticed two deer standing right in front of me. This was cool, for a second, but then i was like I “fuck, whatever, i’ve seen tons of deer — i gotta climb back up this shit!” The mistakes added 4 miles and at least 20 minutes to my first lap. Nathan’s gpx logged the 4 miles of Secret and Supermoto trails in 30 minutes; figure 35ish for me, vs. close to an hour dicking around trying to get back to the Start. Instead of some inspiration from some of my favorite technical singletrack in AZ, I got bonus mileage and minutes. This time delay became significant later in the day when the storms hit.

I rolled into the Start just after 1pm. I was hoping to be here 30 minutes earlier, as i knew i would be fighting the dark by the end of the race. I was blown and cranky, but immediately the support and good cheer of the other riders who opted for just the first lap and were now knocking back brews put me in a good mood. The best thing about these underground races is that they really aren’t races at all – just good people and good riders out to challenge themselves to epic days. Nathan’s course design of 2 different ~40 mile laps brought out a lot more people than just one 84 mile course would have, and even though I really didn’t meet anyone til the end, it was obvious that everyone there was supportive of each other. A fistful of animal crackers, fresh gloves, a PB&J, some encouraging words from Beckie, and some leftover scrambled eggs got me ready to head right back out.

I knew the next ~15 miles would trend downhill, and get me out of the rain shadow of Mt. Elden. The sun quickly started drying out my soaked shorts and jersey, and despite a few muddy stretches on Little Elden trail, my mood brightened immediately. I got fired up for the second half. Switching over to the mp3 player and my rose-tinted lenses helped too, no pun intended. I found the AZ Trail without any problems, and it was well-signed and easy to follow for miles. Knowing you are on track is huge mentally at these type of races. Wondering for 30 minutes and several miles if you’ve missed a turn eventually takes it toll on you. A GPS that can take uploads would be ideal, but at least I did better than in the PEE by more thoroughly watching my mileage and the cue sheet. The AZT singletrack was fun, tight and felt fast. Nothing really spectacular and only one staircase that I walked on the Blur (but would have hit on the Heckler). Until I came into a field full of tall flowers and cows!

Whuh whut?

Waist high flowers, weeds with brightly colored blooms that scratched as I went by them, and a herd of cows! The trail got hard to follow in the tall weeds and flat meadow, and an angry cow protecting her calf mooed and loamed at me, well, angrily — if one can distinguish and angry moo from a typical moo. I had to keep riding so the cow would know I wasn’t afraid, but I lost the trail briefly in the weeds and was a little worried that my walking and backtracking would look like hesitation to the cow. Herbivores or not, i didn’t want to screw around with a 1000 lb protective mama cow. I soon found the trail, and the cows sluggishly drifted out of the way, feebly mooing while i thought about how good a burger would taste later. Just under 2 hours into the 2nd lap I passed through a tunnel under I-40.

I had planned to take a short break at 2 hrs, but there was a storm building to the east and I thought it would be better to push on and get as many miles behind me as I could before the rain. 10 minutes later, at my mile 62, it started dumping. Within another 10 minutes, I was riding through ribbons of water running down the trail, spinning out trying to climb up some gentle slopes filled with soft mud, and pushing my bike to relieve my legs of the suction from the mud and water. This began a solid of hour of misery in which I barely covered 5 miles. So much mud accumulated on my bike that at times I had to push it off to the side of the trail so the grass and weeds could free up the tires to spin again. When i was able to ride, my bike kept trying to ghost shift, and I looked down to see my entire drivetrain covered completely in what looked like milk chocolate. I was soaked, filthy, and having bad flashbacks of the Tour of the White Mountains in ’05. Then there were gates, it seemed nearly a dozen of them, and with no one around and no one in sight i cursed every one of them for making me put down my bike, tug on loops of wire, carry my bike through, then tug the damn things closed again. I was tempted to leave them open out of spite. Of course I didn’t, even though i knew good and gawdamn well the only cows were 15 miles behind me! Again, I thought about the barbecue if I ever made it out of these woods.

When I got to Walnut Canyon and some welcome descending, my tires were so encased in mud and the rocks so wet I had no confidence on any obstacles. Sliding down in the slickness and staring into the Canyon, I went otb on a somwhat steep rock slot, landed hard, and caught my quad between the bars and the top tube. Another indignity. I wanted my Heckler! No, gawd no i did not want the Heckler…what I wanted was my 20 lost minutes back that would have put me through this canyon and onto a rocky upslope 3 miles later that made the wet conditions much less horrid. The trail along the inner side of Walnut Canyon was beautiful and full of misty clouds hanging in the curves of the walls, but i was bitter and in a dark place, knowing I would soon exhaustedly be pushing back out of the canyon. Mile 65 never seemed to end, though the GPS log tells me it took only 20 minutes, it seemed much much longer.

As ugly as things got during this stretch, and as much as I cursed my lost time from the first lap putting me further behind the storm, I stayed focused and kept moving slowly forward and didn’t crack. Part of it was just plain fear, as I realized that I was all alone out there and no one was coming to help me and no one else was stupid enough to be riding during a storm. If I lost my shit, things would only get worse. If I stopped and wallowed, i would get no closer to the end, and just get wetter and colder and more desperate. My mind has gotten stronger. Having survived a few mud-filled, exhausted situations before, I felt more confident being back here again. I knew i could always push til this section ended, and hope for a jeep road. I knew I just had to keep moving and eventually it would end, and that I was capable of keeping moving, even if I finished in the dark. and I drew strength from that knowledge. When I played Ultimate, after some years and some big games I stopped being nervous, and started to enjoy playing in big-game pressure. I learned to tune out everything but the moment, and be strong and at my best and completely in the present and in the game. I still have a long way to go to get there on the bike, but i handled this test of my fortitude much better than ever before. And realizing I was handling it and not withering kept me afloat.

There were 5 more miles of the AZT still to go after I finished this 10 mile stretch around Walnut Canyon. It was hanging over me that they might be slow as the ones I’d just completed, but the more pressing matter was I had been moving for over 9 hours with the only real break of about 15 minutes being at the halfway point at mile 45. I was about to start bonking. The sun finally came back out when i reached the turnoff, so I sat on a log and fueled and took some pills and had a party hat and tried to psych myself up for the next stretch.

About a quarter mile after my break, I came abruptly out onto Forest Road 301, with no further signs for the AZT but the ones I had just passed. Shit! I worried that maybe in my relief to take a break I missed an option at the last junction, or that an intersection I had passed about a mile prior was in fact the one I needed. I rode back to where i took a break and made my last turn, and saw nothing helpful. There was a sign pointing to Fisher Point, which I thought was an overlook into the Canyon, or i could gamble on the trip back a mile to the intersection.

I was lost.

Nathan had told me that the whole AZT stretch never went more than about 2 miles south of a road. I knew based on the map whereabouts I was. The Canyon was behind me and back east, and I could see Mt. Elden to the north. The jeep road turned back east the way I had come, and north. I crapped my pants, and rolled north. The road went downhill fast, and then came along a junction and a wire fence. I had no idea if I should turn or not, if I was in or outside of the fenced-in area, or if this road would let out of the mountains. I got scared at this point. Quite scared, in fact, but decided to continue on 301 north.

I gambled right, and within about half a mile popped right out into a totty suburban neighborhood. A jogger was coming down the street, and I flagged him down and pressed him for directions. Either he didn’t know where it was, or couldn’t believe that I was actually heading up to Sunset Trail over 15 miles away. So after explaining myself, that i was actually in a race that did not require a number-plate, and how bout just telling me how to get back into town, i learned that i was a mile from Butler Ave and a few miles south-east of a route I had ridden last year from Elden to the hotel Beckie and I stayed at. I flirted with the idea of trying to get back onto the course since I knew it crossed Butler, but opted instead to stick with what i knew and just finish the ride.

A burst of energy at knowing how to get to the finish carried me about 8 miles on surface streets and through town. Then as I was coming up a side street in Old Town Flag, I hear a guy behind me yell out “Jason!!” Now who the fuck do i know in Flag?? So i circled back, and it was a riding buddy I hadn’t seen in like 3 years: Matt Baral, aka Skinny Matt. How the hell did he recognize me, and how the hell was he?!?! I felt bad that after less than 5 minutes I was like “dude, i gotta keep moving or I’m going to be on Rt. 180 in the dark.” Then I showed him my gps stats just to prove my point.

When I crested the hill downtown and began the last road stretch out to the Schultz parking lot, the weariness hit me hard. The constant cadence of those last 3 road miles seemed to hurt much worse than the singletrack which gave your muscles breaks. It was dusk, and again i gave up on the course and Schultz trail and instead just climbed the 5 miles and 1,000 vf up the dirt road. It took forever. Actually, it took 45 minutes, which blew my mind. I’m pretty sure I’ve made it from the parking lot four miles up Schultz Trail to the intersection with Little Gnarly in like 22 minutes last year on the Heckler. A couple times I stopped and walked for a minute or two. My modified route, including the singletrack I skipped on the AZT, probably saved me at least 30 minutes and maybe as much as an hour. Could I have done it? I think so, but I was so glad I didn’t. I arrived at the Finish just as darkness fell at 7:45, and was greeted by a hearty cheer from the small crowd. Everyone could now begin drinking in earnest since the last lost soul had arrived safely.

We didn’t stay long since it was late and G was fading. I got to meet a few other riders while i gobbled some food and had some of Nathan’s homebrew and Jim Beam. I was totally fatigued, but nothing hurt too bad except my sit bones, which ached worse than ever before. And since I drove up and now was pretty drunk, I had to sit for 3 hours in the truck’s jump seat without complaining for the ride home — Beckie’s revenge for me sticking her for 12.5 hours with G.

A great day, and if it hadn’t stormed I would have finished much stronger. Of my 1.15 idle time, only about 30 minutes were from “big” breaks of 5, 15, and 10 minutes. The rest was a minute here or there or asking for directions or closing a gate. Preparation and bike wrenching were solid, i was as strong from all the road work as I could be in August in Phoenix. I’m not sure I could get much stronger barring a reduced work week. My navigation and mindset were not too bad. I may have to bring my old hunky AA-powered GPS on the next one since it will upload tracks, and it’d be nice to be faster but I’m just not inclined to do any speed work — i’d rather just ride. And next time, more scrambled eggs.