WOOHOO! time again for The Squealer. This year on the Heckler, this year having ridden more of the trail, this year knowing many more of the riders. And a vast improvement it was.

G and I again went to the pre-ride meeting in the backpack, and again she drew stares while i colored my number, but this time it was from a lot of friends! Kathleen, Landon, Mike H, Doug and a bunch of others i had ridden with or met before. Its hard to describe what this did to the vibe, but it was all good…I was so fired up for this year already, and now it would feel like a big hardcore group ride where we could party at the end, a community feeling of me and 80 or so of my buds. Its reasons like this that i got so into MTBR as a replacement, in its way, for the Ultimate scene.

Number 22 this year, not much better seeding that last year’s 19, but i hadn’t proved shit to anyone so this was a challenge to come out hard.

And of course, i could not sleep the night before.

The morning was chilly especially in a sleeveless jersey, and in the car ride and the parking lot i tried to soak up every moment of chill I could. It quickly vanished with my pads, long-fingered gloves, gear and helmet.

I parked at my office, since the race organizer (Jim) had been asked by the Rangers to have us park elsewhere to ease the parking shortage at Somo. A small consolation for having our race there, but odd for an underground race to not be so underground. The Rangers were also there at the start and the end, apparently to just make sure things “went smoothly.” Which they did, and while the Rangers were all very normal about things and mostly bored with our good behavior, it was a strange but minor detraction to the mood of day. For my part, I was extra polite to all the hikers, as were almost all the other riders I heard from. I figured being near the front of the pack, every effort I could make to be nice would help the folks behind, and was glad that I was successful there.

Up the hill and up the fireroad, getting loose and dialed in during the 3 miles and 15 minute warmup. Geared up, a nice morning buzz, a nice BM, and my fatigue from lying awake in bed all night vanished. Ready to launch at 6:36am.

Off I went, riding hard but conscious of the spots where riding would be more work than walking. So i walked many of the parts up the initial ascent that I knew I could ride under less intense circumstance. I had no pangs of conscience about walking like I did last year, and instead focused on pacing and not over-revving but not slowing down. I passed a few people, and yo-yo’d with some others. I ran up on Kathleen shortly after the Mormon-National split. She had told me how she had blinged out her stem to match her bike, so I yelled out “hey nice stem” while still behind her. She said hey to me, and as I passed I noted just what a nice stem it really was!! Urban camo colors to match her seat and her number plate. She said “great job” as I got the big lift just after the split, and I got another little boost of good camaraderie to carry me forward for a while.

I pressed steadily onwards to BV, knowing every bump in the trail, and doing whatever it took to be expedient rather than pretty. I was looking forward to this stretch ending, as it would signify about 1/3 done as well as the entry into less-familiar territory and the novelty of the race. I saw BrianC just where you cross the road past BV, and he graciously let me keep my momentum and fly up the hill in front of him since I was due to pass any moment. As I worked through the mile of XC rollers before the next section of gnar, I noted a rider behind me who had been trailing me since before the Waterfall, and asked him if he wanted to pass. He was more XC oriented, and said no since I was dropping him on each rocky section, and that he kinda preferred following me through the technical stretches. Thus began a little back-and-forth between he and I that lasted for another hour. After the race I introduced myself to him, and i think his name was Dave, but since I don’t recall for sure I will refer to him as “Orange Jersey” I dropped OJ hard in the tech sections out to Telegraph, even though fatigue made me sloppy and I had to dab a few stretches I’ve ridden several times. I made it to Telegraph in about 1:07, 8 minutes better than last year, and was feeling tired but good.

I plowed right into the hike-a-bike, not even bothering to try to ride til I neared the top of the ridgeline, and sucked down a Cliff shot to hold off the fatigue I started to feel. OJ caught me near the top of the ridge after I hadn’t seen him for about 20 minutes, and again we went back and forth with him stretching out on the dh’s but closing on the climbs. As we were rolling the ridgeline, I heard him flat out, but didn’t look back. I would later hear he actually endo’d off the flat, and had I heard him crash I would have stopped to make sure he was ok. Before leaving him in a heap. Nothing personal, but i was kinda glad to have dropped him – its hard to explain, as he was a really nice guy we had a few good laughs after the race was over. But when someone is hanging around, sometimes you need the feeling of separation and the validation of beating another rider to inspire you. I didn’t gloat on this, cause karma has a way of getting back at you, but it did give me a boost for a few minutes.

I rolled up on Carmen, a woman I had ridden with a few times and was friendly with, and she let me go by and again I got a smile from seeing a friend. But soon after I felt my front tire burp. SHIT! Shit shit shit!   The night before I had noticed a little softness in the tire, and also in the morning. I figured it was just a slow leak which would seal once i started rolling. stupid stupid stupid!!! This is exactly what I did a few weeks ago when i eventually had to put in a tube on the Catwalk. First time…ignorance, 2nd time…er, i’m going to call this learning the exact nature of tubeless conversion tires. When they start to lose air, the shit hits the fan fast!! and its such an easy thing to fix – the next day in my man-cave it took me less than 5 minutes to fix this: pull the valve core, squirt in sealant from my convenient 2oz bottle, refill the bottle from my big jug of spunk, replace valve core, pump, ride. I AM NEVER GOING TO MAKE THIS MISTAKE AGAIN.

Meanwhile, i had to stop and pump, and Carmen passed me. Then i passed her. This too would go on several more times. I also saw Doug, Mike and Landon roll on by while i was the tire. I wondered what happened to OJ, and in the back of my mind hoped karma did not have a hand in my burping.

We were approaching the gnarly downhill, and still hadn’t found the spot to go hunt for our eggs. Last year the hunt consisted of a steep 5 minute hike up a small peak, and this year would be even sillier. There is a very small cave to the south of the trail just before it gets nasty. Its maybe a minute to pick your way down the rocks and into it, and lo, inside were dozens of brightly colored and numbered eggs! It was nice and cool in the cave, and the bunnies — random female volunteers who generally favored tank tops and other flattering garb — hovered around. It kinda reminded me of that scene in the Holy Grail where Galahad must resist temptation from the women of Castle Anthrax. But I too had a quest, so the flirting would have to wait! I refilled my tire, thanked the bunnies for the good cheer, and headed down the gnar.

I sucked. The tire was sloshy, my rhythm was off, and the bike was not responding well. The next day, I realized I was probably running on less than 20psi compared to the 35 i wanted. So, I tried not to fight it and just kept the end of the race in sight and gave in to having to pump another time or 2.

The last 20 or so minutes of the race were un-noteworthy. I finished in 2:20, which was still 13 minutes better than last year. I figure the tire cost me 5-10 minutes between pumping and slowing down, so I was pretty happy with my improvements. A little better fitness, and I can close in on 2 hrs for this race eventually.

We all collected at the San Juan gate, exchanged some tales, did not have a smoking lounge due to the presence of the Rangers, and then mobilized for the ride on San Juan Road to Spokes. Mike and Landon were talking about heading around the front of the mountain instead, or as Mike put it in his usual eloquent manner, “fuck fucking San Juan fucking Road.” The idea was a good one, San Juan road is boring and indirect, but I realized quickly how tired I was and how my tire was a lot more worry on the trail than on the road. We rode about 2 miles of trail, and while faster than me, both Mike and Landon wanted to be done soon too. So when the trail ended, we gratefully rolled the street downhill for a mile or 2 until we hit Dobbins and 30th Ave. 30 short blocks to go, ie, 3 miles. Tire, slogging, getting dropped, stopping under a nice tree at the Animal Shelter at 15th Ave, and eventually arriving just as the party was in full swing at Spokes. Fabulous timing, I was among the first arrivals last year and frankly there was no point.

The beer was flowing, the burrito bar was open, and I had wisely packed a pair of light reef shoes in my camelback so I could take off my bike shoes. Doug had wisely pack himself a hat. I envied his hat, he envied my shoes, we found a table and a pitcher and began inhaling mass quantities. Eabos (Mo) showed up and had lunch with us and Mike and Landon, and it was a grand ole time. I went to refill the pitcher, and by a bizarre twist of fate the bartender gave it to the bunnies who were hanging out at the bar. Ahh karma has returned to me, and with not the least bit of an awkward come-on line I found myself hanging out and drinking beer with a circle full of hotties. Sometimes its better to be lucky than good, but for some players, luck itself is an art .

BrianC and Doug joined me, drawn by the bunnies and the pitcher, and Brian told us he had hurled twice before even reaching BV, and was revelling in the fact that he managed to finish. That took some balls, as I probably would have packed it in if I was feeling so poorly that early in the day. So we drank to that, got a fresh pitcher, and went to watch the awards ceremony. Some excellent times were turned in by some excellent riders, and despite their talent, everyone was super-friendly and humble. What a great thing about mountain biking!! The awards had lots of cheering, photos, jokes and generally good times. It put an excellent cap on the day. Its why i loved this event so much the first time, and why i can’t wait already to do it again next year.

Back to the bike and more pumping, but this time with a fresh beer to get the right attitude for a slow ride back to 48th st. Under-pressured would be the theme for this ride, and it was the only way i was ready to enjoy the 5 mile street spin to the office. Doug wanted to jet, and between my buzz and fatigue and tire i told him i was going to take my time. Brian was feeling slow too, and I’d offered him a ride from the office to his home at 48th and Ray, so we set off on a slow pace. I’d met Brian a few times but never much hung out with him, and was glad I did he’s a really good guy. So we spun slowly down Dobbins, past Geronimo, and onto the canal. Brian was rallying, and decided he was going to finish the day by riding the 4 extra miles back home. Good on ya! Nothing like the chemistry and symmetry of riding door-to-door, the mtb gods look favorably on such things. His rally became my rally, and we both ended our day feeling great about it.

Every year, a bunch of AZ riders get together to put on a bunch of rides in Tucson, Phoenix, Sedona, Prescott et al. It attracts people from all over the state, and from out of state too. I was gonna do some new rides, meet some people I’d only talked to, have some monster days, and help out with the Somo rides.

Thursday March 13: Bugs Springs-Prison Camp-Milagrosa: down Mt. Lemon in Tucson for several thousand feet and much gnar. I can’t believe I lived for years in Tucson for 4 years and 11 years in Arizona and have not experienced this. it was one of the most amazing big-world days ever!! 20+ miles, 3k climbing, 6500 feet descending in 3 hours of looking out at the valley before you or back at the 10,000 foot peak behind you and and saying “holy fuck this is a big world!!”

Some mtbr action and I was hooked up carpooling with Superstition (Rick), Poi Boy (Jason) and Helimech (Mike) who was my bud from the Prescott Monstercross. I have to say, I am glad we were so efficient with spreading our carbon footprint, and it made for a fun relaxing ride down in Rick’s Honda Ridgeline. We rolled at 6:30am from Tempe, arriving at the base of the Catalina Highway at 9. Shuttles were organized, pisses were taken, trucks ascended. We started from a long ways up Mt. Lemmon around 10:30.

Alas, my Tucson years feel wasted – Tucson has become an amazing riding town with some XC, epic AM, roadie, and so much more than I ever knew when i lived there. I would kill to be able to ride out my door and 25 miles up Mt. Lemon and down into Oracle and back in a 5 hr day, and that is much what I had from our little house on Willard St. And equally before me was to descend Mt. Lemmon for 9000 feet of trail and terrain and all that is the earth until we reached the Valley floor. But i was not the rider then that I am now, and many of the trails did not exist. Today I would have to satisfy many buried nascent urges, and today indeed I would.

The ride jumped into an immediate 10-minute hike-a-bike, and the elevation hit my still-sickly quads with a slow oozing ache. But we soon jumped onto some steep, loamy switchback and ridgeline descents that looked like we were plunging right into downtown Tucson.

The first few miles were a blur, and since I had gotten ahead of many people on the climb and was slower than the fast guys on the descent, I was alone for a lot of it. It just kept coming – more turns, more ridges, more sweeping descents, more knots in your gut not knowing what the next corner held.

We rolled some flowy, rocky, xc into Molino Basin where Max (our ride leader) had staged some cliff shots and water. Then it was up a big hard 10 minute climb. Turns our Beckie and I had done this years ago, when we knew shit about riding and even less about the trails on Mt. Lemmon. We hated it at the time – an hour hike-a-bike up, a terrifying descent, then turning around before we got too far into trouble or managed to have much fun. This time, the climb was still hard but it rode considerable easier and faster. And it was fun as our group was whooping and huffing up the trail seeing who could get each trial only to get off and push again at the next challenge. There was a great view at the saddle.

All was grand until the descent down the backside, where I hesitated for no good reason over a rock-slot and went otb. As I was going over, I was conscious of Perry (the rider behind me) going “oh…uh oh…oh no!.” It was amusing hearing his account of the crash at the bottom, as he recollected his thoughts and I was in fact able to confirm that yes he did say exactly that. My bike and body were mostly fine, but my palm still hurts and i have a bruise on my groin that looks just like my shifters. You can almost see the logo “Avid” on the inside of my yellow-and-purple thigh. And the next day at Somo as I was introducing myself to someone, he said”yeah you’re the guy that went Superman yesterday.” Yeah, nice to meet you too, dick!

more down, more down, and still more down. with slots and rocks and exposure all combining into a wave that I continued to feel in bed that night — a sense of rushing downhill but not falling more like flowing down endlessly and sensually and full-body but never getting to relax. Kinda like snowboarding, but more intense because of the fear and the rocks and the falls and the many things with thorns.

Milagrosa’s Waterfall – I tried it after most everyone else cleaned it, but couldn’t get past the drop in. Next time!!

a more humble conquest

The terrain changed to rockier and more desert-like, and the swoopy ridges were replaced by fractured rock mixed in with tight desert. Once I had to duck a century plant draped across the trail. It felt a little like Porcupine Rim with the long epic descent, but so much better for reasons I can not pinpoint– more isolated, more wilderness, maybe closer to home? A moment of silence for my missed opportunities while living in the Old Pueblo.

Rick went up to get the truck while Mike, Jason and I spun 5 miles towards town and a mexican restaurant. A long ride home that between shuttling and bike loading and carpooling took forever, a hard sleep, and back up the next day for more before barely 7 hours gone.

Friday March 14: National C2C2C: Back at Somo at 9 to lead whatever would be of the A ride. 50-odd riders were hanging around the North Ramada, but all but a few left for some of the other group rides. Meanwhile I discovered a unique armor-based tan line.

After some delays, I collected my riders. Those I did not know i tried to tactfully ask if they were prepared for the A-ride — this was tricky since I am capable but surely not the best of those who were there and i didn’t want to come off as cocky or dismissive of anyone. But I would feel incredibly guilty if someone got up on National and was not ready for what it would throw at them and got hurt. One woman rider snapped back at me “are you asking cause I’m in a skirt?” Turned out she was very friendly and just playing with me, but it made me feel really embarassed and for a rare occasion I was at a loss for words. Heyell no i don’t care what you are wearing, my wife can eat the flesh from my bones on some hikes, i just don’t want your blood on my conscience. PS – bitch! naah it was cool she and I laughed about it after.

Not sure exactly who was part of our group and who just wanted to climb to BV, but after up National by the Waterfall it dropped to me, Max, Chad, Dave and Darren from DC. This, practically speaking, seemed like a Murderers Row to me. Max, Chad and Dave are all monsters, good guys and what-not but still in another league from me as far as endurance, and i feared they would weary of my slow weakness and eat me thus to keep themselves strong. Darren was by his admission out of shape, as its winter in DC. but i rapidly concluded when in shape he is one of them! Thank gawd for rocks and tech and gnar and a well-set-up bike. Up National, and while i was not the fastest i believe i got the mostest. Max and Chad led, the rest of us flew in their wake.

I was the slowest, but come the gnar descents about 3rd, so never totally got freaked and demoralized at being the slowest, and that eased my self-image and allowed me to enjoy hanging out with everyone. I had about the best stretch i’ve had from BV to Telegraph, and if it was because i did not want to get dropped I will take that. Hiked up out of Telegraph and all the while I was making notes on where to ride and where to walk and how I should pace myself to be ready for The Squealer next week. Slow is ok, but not learning is the curse of me, so at least next week I would be that much more ready for the race. Back into 5th place on the slow climb, and then finally we topped out amidst the ridge that ran through all of Phoenix. Cool!! Back into 3rd, and pushing to keep up, and flying past the loose gnar gnar where I crashed last year at the Squealer, and down to the bottom and gasping for air. indeed I will be faster at this year’s Squearler, and now have the demon of that bad crash off my back.

The road, and again I was immediately dropped. Dave told me they went from the Y intersection to the BV parking area (4.5 miles) in about 23 minutes – wow! Its challenging to look at yourself and know how horrendouysly others dropped you and yet still say “i rode and did not stop, and i gave it all i had.” I sucks, and the more i try to justify it, the worse it smells. I have got to get back on my roadie. At least there was beer at BV (courtesy of Cactus Joe and his brother Chris) and they did not seem to mind waiting for me.

Down out of BV, I felt cool and loose and glad it was a descent. Chad kinda wanted to follow me to see some lines, but he is faster, and it didn’t much work out. But at the Waterfall, Max waited on the edge and i said “you want me to go first” and he said “I’ll follow you.” And by that, he meant he would indeed follow me right on my wheel. and thusly Max rode the Waterfall. WOW! Humility again returns, and so does a passion for a sport where you can be good and bad and still just find good people. A fun fast group that i felt privileged to hang with, and glad for the challenge, we finished about 3pm. 1 flat, a few minor bumps, a near-disastrous seat malfunction, 1 Guinness split at BV before the last descent.

i’m even more amazed seeing this photo

I leisurely made my way to the party at the ramadas off Central Ave by way of work and the grocery store. I was still only the 2nd one there, so Dave C and I hung out and had some good times drinking beer and eating his insanely hot guacamole. Then a swarm of bees came by. It was freaky, normally you see a beehive, you don’t just have a swarm come by you. I’d read about this happening in Phoenix lately, and after I realized what was going on, I just sorta froze and watched the cloud and hoped it would move on. It did, so we drank more.

Others arrived, some people I knew and some I got to meet. The Yeti guys in particular were great to meet, Joe and Anthony. And they had a seemingly unlimited supply of Balvenie Doublewood 12 year scotch. It was quite simply the best liquor I’ve ever had, and I had quite a lot of it. It gave me the proper mindset to give out raffle tickets for all of our door prizes. And JB and I had a good time playing Santa, and drinking more scotch from the Yeti’s giant flask.

that giant muffler-looking thing was The Flask

JB got too buzzed to drive, and it seemed wrong to make his wife come all the way out from Gilbert to Somo with a toddler and an infant after all he did to put together such a great Somo day for everyone, so I sobered up a bit and gave him a ride home. It was a good solid, he deserved it, and he hooked me up with help on the Blur a few days later. Good times.

Saturday I slept in and watched G, and more of the same Sunday morning. I hoped to get out early, as the Yeti guys were doing another demo session behind the Walgreens at Hawes. But unfortunately I showed up just as they were closing up the van. Dang, no ride on the AS-X today. But they did give me beer and more scotch, which pretty much guaranteed that any hopes of a recovery ride for the day would be replaced with a doggy freestyle ride. And that my next XC bike will likely be an AS-X. We all went to the park, Kila and I jumped off the culverts and tried to ride the bleachers. G rode the slides. Good times.

that’s about what happened to my shock linkage on the Blur today.   at first i thought it was the bottom pivot causing problems, then i tried riding and something was definitely not right.   I bolted out the door at 6:15 trying desparately to get to Mine Trail to enjoy some wildflowers before dark.   I had just about made it back to Power Road when this happened at 7.   At first I couldn’t ride, then the pieces adjusted so I could at least pedal slowly home on the road.   Could have been much much worse.

back in the man-cave, I tapped out the pivots and was relieved to see the linkage was a freestanding part and not part of my frame.   Santa Cruz sells replacements for $65; this may or may not be a warranty item.   I was planning on replacing my bearings, and this fix entails like half the job, so figured I might as well order them too.   A nice note was sent to the good folks in the SC Warranty Dept, and hopefully they will get me pointed in the right direction as well as tell me if it was just the result of 4.5 years and thousands of miles and not a problem in my frame or my relatively-new shock (which was sold with later-model Blurs, and mounted by Adventure, so why should it be??).   JB agreed to help me with the work in exchange for beer, and the job itself should not be that tough.   I’m off to Adventure tomorrow anyway to buy prizes for Spring Fling’s Somo ride which I am leading, so will be able to see what the folks there think too.   And since the Fling will be all Heckler rides, I am in good shape for at least a week or so.

Hopefully I can get this all worked out before my parents come in April, or Beckie will be kicking my and the Heckler’s ass all up and down Black Canyon trail.