top of Hobbit Forest: Ray, Rick, Alex, Al, James, Jason, Byron, Kevin

oh you know it was big when I’m busting out Roman numerals. biggest Rancho yet! Its now officially a 3-day event, and the ease with which it has become such testifies to what an awesome diverse riding spot Arizona is. It could be 4, 5, 10 days with us never going more than an hour from Alex’s pad in Williams.   My stop en route to ride Granite Basin last year provided the motivation for me, Alex, Byron and James to again tap Helimech for some Prescott action on the new technical Dells trails. He hooked us up with his friend Chris, a city employee who built the trail system, Zack, and mtbr friend Enel.   Our 6am meet time in East BF Mesa was quickly forgotten once we hit the dirt at 8:45 and got a taste for Arizona’s version of Gooseberry Mesa.

I see a riding and kayaking day in the future

Chris and Enel   invented most of the lines on this route, and the experts were happy to show them to us.   Grins abounded.   Trials were hit, rocks were dropped, rocks were crawled, we got our rock monkeys off!

and then we saw the Sheriff.   who had gotten an emergency beacon call from James’ Spot unit.   WTF? no seriously? what the fucking fuck?   the thing is closed and buried in his pack and his father in Flagstaff gets an emergency email and SAR is dispatched!   Ironic, as the week prior my neighbor across the street died of a heart attack while hiking Flatiron, and wasn’t found til 5 days later just 200 yards from the parking lot.   A Spot unit might be on the Xmas list.   We passed my neighbor’s widow grimly walking her dog as we drove out early that morning.   Everyone sincerely thanked the Deputy for his time.

James and I took the Prescott boys out to Indian buffet, which managed to kill any hope of an afternoon ride on Spruce Mtn or Granite Basin, as well as anything left alive in the car for the ride up to Williams. I thought the Indians were pacifists? We got to Rancho with plenty of daylight left to enjoy a new 9 hole disc golf course Alex and Ray drew up around Alex’s place.

Disc golf, generally speaking, bores me. The best course in the Valley is 2 blocks from my office, and I have yet to play it since we’ve moved in. I’ll occasionally play and drink some beers and have fun walking around on a beautiful afternoon, but fundamentally, disc golf bores the shit out of me just like ball golf. Loooooong uncontested drives with discs you can’t catch, long undramatic approach shots with discs you can’t catch, and awkward stationary putts into stationary baskets that can’t catch. What good is a disc if you can’t have a throw? What good is a receiver if they hold their arms at their sides and only catch with their teeth? I can put a disc into a 4x4x4 box any which way from 50 yards out, with a mark on me and D on my receiver, but from 5 yards away my putts bounce off the baskets’ chains over and over and over. The word disc being involved only aggravates how unlike Ultimate it actually is.

I had never before played a course designed by Ultimate players, and Alex’s course was the most fun I’ve ever had. The holes were about the length of a field, and the shots required more touch and judgment than power.   Breaks in the tree lines were lanes through the defense, shots over the roof were zone-breakers, the wood piles and furniture required throws to areas away from defenders.   And best of all, you just had to hit the target – discs are meant to fly into things, not limp up to them.

no-limit heckling

After a lackadaisical warm up round, I couldn’t help being disgusted by my sloppy throws, despite not having picked up a disc in about a year and allegedly not caring about Ultimate any more. Al, Byron and I threw while Alex freshened up our drinks, and within about 10 throws I could see my rhythm coming back as I started drilling the guys in the chest from 20 yards. Al and Byron’s throws got tighter too. You could just feel it…the buzz the discs were making coming in – the game was on!

My boredom with golf is usually why I lose focus, and suck, and enjoy it even less.     But these holes were a challenge, the competition exciting, and i found a focus i thought I was too drunk to hold on to.   I nailed the tire from 15 yards out to go 3 under after 3 holes.   Alex held a 1-stroke lead, Byron and Kevin were close behind, and Al hit a hole-in-one to get back into the pack.

can you believe this drive?   The hole is the tree right in front of the bridge.   Its hard work getting a 1-under.

#5 was an easy putt.   Kevin put it in the house just for style points

James was a good sport about being completely and totally out of his element, and we didn’t even make him fetch beers.

Us: I’ve been playing Ultimate for about 20 years
James: I tossed a disc around at a Phish concert once

he really did get his disc caught in a tree.

Dinner and drinks followed before I passed out.

Saturday the route was up Schultz->Little Gnarly->down Pickle->up the road to Red Onion->up Hobbit Forest->down Wasabi->down Rocky Ridge.   The sky was beautiful in all directions, except for a huge thundercloud hanging right over Mt. Elden.   We got lightly rained on for the hour-long climb to the Pickle TH.

The effort of the climb seemed harder wondering if our day would be cut short, or if we’d have to reroute.   Pickle is a double-black that none of us had ridden, and none of us wanted to encounter during a storm.   The rain misted but mostly let up, but Pickle’s steep quarter-mile opening climb gave us no comfort.   Once again, everyone looked at me and wondered where the fuck exactly I was leading them?   Pickle then became an extremely steep series of off-camber switchbacks and runouts, with 3 hard slots mixed in.   The first slot was a sharp   right turn off a boulder into a small chute that fell away down a drainage.   First try I got the turn, but got sucked into the drainage and layed down in the dirt.   Second time was much smoother, which gave me the confidence to dive into slot #2 – a long, steep set of teeth that bounced me round and had me in a short nose-wheelie.   I got through it, but decided to save #3 for another day.   It was steeper and denser with rocks, but seemed shorter and smoother and therefore easier than #2.   I really regret not hitting it, but it was the smart thing to do after getting shaken around on #2.

A mile of slow crawling back up Elden Lookout Rd led to a mile of slow but very soothing climbing up Red Onion, then a mile of boulders and hike-a-bike up Hobbit Forest.

We split up here, Alex and I opting for Wasabi while the other guys headed back the way we came up to meet us at the start of the descent down Rocky Ridge.   I have only ridden Wasabi once 2 yrs ago, and at the time it was probably the hardest thing I’d done.   The differences were remarkable this time.   There were still 2 near-vertical rock trials I could not get, but everything else was right in my comfort zone.   The rock trials and steep s-curves were just crazy fun.   The exit from Upper Wasabi is a 10-ft nearly vertical crack down a rockface.   Alex made it look easy.   I tried 4 times, nearly killed myself but managed to bail and suffer only a sprained thumb.   I was so rattled that I couldn’t subsequently even get the easier exit banking off the boulder that I got 2 years ago.

I got some redemption on the jumps on Lower Wasabi.   The sessions out at NRA paid huge dividends.   Once I nutted up and hit the first jump, they were smooth like butter.

Alex drew off my confidence, and had a good run down the jumps too.   The two of us have a great codependency going on – he’s a bit sharper on the rockfaces, me a bit better in the jumps and chunks, and we manage to bring out the best in each other.

I’m trying to not dwell on the stuff I couldn’t get, and it was very cool handling 90% of Wasabi with ease. The vertical faces are my ceiling right now, but the steepness of Pickle and Wasabi made me feel like I was easing into that skill and making some progress. Flag seems just enough less-rocky and jagged than some of the slots on Viejo or Holbert on Somo that I think riding it will help give me a little technique and courage to make the next step forward. The big boulders I could roll were easier than ever, I don’t feel out of sorts anymore getting back over the seat and letting the bike do the work on the 3, 4 and 5 footers.

All this rattled around in my mind while I was still pumping adrenaline from my fall and then the jumps. I turned briefly onto Lower Oldham where it parallels Elden road back down to our meetup with the other guys.   Its extremely chunky, but not very steep, and its challenges hardly registered and I plunged through it all.   Rocky Ridge was more of the same, I took the lead with Al on his new Yeti 575 right on my tail for the 2.5 miles of intermediate rocks back to the cars.

Back at Rancho, we got down to business.   Being the guy with access to excellent cheap tequila led to my vertical integration: supplier, distributor, and peer pressurer.   Ray did one better, bringing some fresh yellow-tail and bluefin he caught on a recent fishing trip.   Tequila and shashimi – perfect!

a skunk came by to scarf on all the scraps left on Alex’s porch.   We huddled inside, afraid to go out and shoo it away.   This pic was taken through a glass door.   The next day, I looked in my cooler and found a peach left there had been half-eaten, and a bagel in a plastic bag had gone missing.

Sunday we voted to go back to Elden.   Up Schultz->Onceler->Overlook->Secret->Supermoto.   Not as gnar as the day before, but plenty of log trials and chunk to keep things interesting.

While we waited at the top of Schultz, Sam and Jrock spun up, repeating much of the route we did yesterday.   We then heard that somehow Byron had trashed his deraileur and hanger on a random rock, and turned back with Rick for the cars.   The 6 of us remaining turned uphill to finish our hour-long climb.

Overlook

I knew it was going to be a good day when I got the rock trial right past the overlook on my first try, compared to 5 shots on it last year.   Everything just flowed from there.

Coming down Overlook, I was charging through the chunk about the best I’ve ever done.   Seeing the lines, moving my body and bike over them, and jumping adding the 3rd dimension to the lines I could choose.   One turn I popped off a large flat rock completely over and around the crud in the turn, holding my speed and my flow like the rocks were never there.   Onward to Secret, I came to a tight pile sure to grab your deraileur if you tried to go between the rocks, and instead went up onto the largest rock.   When it became too narrow, I dropped off it and over the remainder of the pile and never lost a stroke.   .   The rest of Secret and Supermoto flew by, nothing phased me, probably one of the tightest days on the bike I’ve ever had.   Great end to a great weekend.

sure, snicker all you want.   just like people snickered when I said that I taught Beckie how to buff a stanchion.   Can’t an attractive fit woman learn intermediate bike maintenance without it turning into a dick joke?   If i got half as much action as chatter that comment generated, I’d never have the energy to ride my bike.   But I digress.   I always know Beckie has used the camelbak cause she hangs to the left.   I then spend the better part of the next ride nearly killing myself and\or choking trying to hydrate –   the left side feels so alien it just messes me up.   Its my problem, I’m seeking   a 12 step program for it.   The hose was the first bit of awkwardness on our Wed NR, it went downhill from there.

Inspired to work on my jumping and gnar, I bought a pair of flat pedal shoes – Five Ten Rennies – a quality set of clogs I snared on deep discount.   I was unsure about the high tops, and they felt weird and bulky walking around the house, but that’s probably since I haven’t worn anything but Tevas in about 4 months.

I really wanted to try em out, so put the flats on the Hei Hei.   The shoes accessorized splendidly.

Unfortunately, crappy flats are just not meant on a 29r xc bike on Hawes with a bald rear tire in sandy conditions going up Upper Mudflaps and Tower at night.   Its the perfect storm, and when I dabbed yet again going up Tower Trail, I let out a string of curses that would make jaded hookers blush.   The pedals made me pay. The blood accessorizing splendidly with the shoes and the bike was no consolation for hamburger shins.

We had a good group – me, Alex, Ray, James, Byron and a special guest appearance by Brian C.   Much heckling occurred about the 3 Pivot Mach5s.   Alex predicted Byron would break his chain.   Karma is such a bitch.

With 6 of us and several splits to hit trials, there was a fair amount of standing around, which is no biggie, except when you keep brushing you legs up against the large spinning meat tenderizers jutting out of your bike.   The starts were hard, the lack of attachment to the pedals most obvious when trying to gain momentum.   Its hard to hold completely wrong conditions against the shoes, though Alex tried, and I countered that as another admittedly-frugal individual, he should appreciate how shedding myself of any latent buyer’s remorse was worth my shins being bruised as bumpy as a baby’s spine.

I   forgot all about the high-tops 5 minutes into the ride, but know they will protect the ankles from the frequent knocks into the chainstays and cranks that come with this type of setup. The shoes felt big in the garage, but on the trail offered my feet lots of space and a stiff sole.   The grippy rubber and pattern of the sole really stayed hooked to the pedals descending.   Some things will take practice, like getting the balls of my feet equal with the spindles when pedaling, and not pedaling with my toes.   Climbing,   I think on the big power moves where I muscle my way over something I will miss my cleats, but the descents should compensate.   I’ll have to take them for a test ride up National on the Heckler to see how well they ascend.   The strangest sensation was how you can oversteer the bike with your feet since they are not clipped into one position.   When you are clipped in, you are riding the bike more in control and “traditionally”, from the feet on up.   With flats, you are throwing it around more and freeriding, but i’m pretty sure that is just the point:   to ride things that require embracing a lack of control, you kinda need footwork that can step outside narrow boundaries.   They will be a good pickup once I figure out their right kind of ride.

Bon Jovi – Bad Medicine

I have played 9 holes of golf once in my life, and other than the company of my Pton buds in 1993, mostly hated it.   The odds of me playing 2 full rounds were only slightly less than the odds of me doing the rides I did this week or listening to more 80’s hairbands: Longbow and Red Mtn Ranch golf courses on the same night, 3 NRs in 4 days, and 2 days in Pinetop.

Monday started late, ended late, Tuesday started late…I bailed on my commute when it was going to start at 10:45.   Commuting has become addictive, one less day in the car and 2 time trials to pound myself numb against.   I NEED IT, hooked on painkillers, a   palliative   for the toil of morning-til-night monsters-work-workout-repeat all-day-everyday.   Vicodin for my soul.   I needed a hit, and it needed to be today or it would not happen for the rest of the week, but it was too dark to roadie and the dog got screwed the day before and was due a run.   I posted on Facebook that I was going to do a CX ride; a friend thought it was a typo for XC.   No, CX, a fast hard spin on the canal, TRW, and   other things that fell somewhere between a road and a trail.

I took the Blur, cause I haven’t in a while, and the vintage freshness kept me riding it 5.5 hrs over the next 4 days.     2 new balloony WTB Exiwolves grabbed the kitty litter left after our Non-soon season far better than the worn 2.2 Geax Saguaros on the Hei Hei, plus I wouldn’t have to clean the 29r before trashing it again all weekend in Flag.   The Blur felt oddly small, and after 6 months and 100 or so hours, i finally can pinpoint its differences to the 29r.   It starts easier but tops out slower, it does not maintain momentum and you always must spin.   Its a little sweeter in the tightest of spots but boingier overall, the little bit smaller size making it feel subcompact on the trail.   And I bashed my knees into the top tube over and over.   I did not realize how comfortable my knees have become since getting off the Blur, and more than any other 29 vs 26 argument, I say the bike that does not bash your knees it the best bike to ride.

I rollercoastered through TRW, then the heat reared back and smacked me in the mouth.   I just couldn’t take it still radiating off the ground, but was saving a spin on the RMR golf course for Kila – trespassing, then doing it again an hour later, seemed like a bad idea.     Then I got the never-before-sans-dog idea to go ride Longbow a mile away.   The cart path is 4.5 miles around, and took me 23 minutes at an erratic pace speckled with pumping, overly-carved turns, and splashing through the sprinklers.   Longbow’s wider fairways and gratuitous use of sprinklers were bliss.       A coyote ran right in front of me, not really in a hurry, not really stopping to consider me – a reminder that there was a dog at home waiting for me.   Kila almost made me regret taking her out when she cornered a skunk against a wall, and my recognition of the situation and desperate screams were just barely in time to save Kila form getting sprayed, and disassociated, and hated.

The next night our Wed NRs continued, but turned into a hammerfest.   I don’t know why, I suspect it was Alex and I howling at the moon and wondering if it will ever be cool again.   Meanwhile the weather forecast for Flagstaff looked more and more dreary, with a tropical storm in the Pacific pushing rain into Arizona.   Typical – a 3 day weekend and we’d planned to go to the mountains, but scattered showers all day long and a leaky tent and an infant did not sound viable.   I asked Byron   if his Pinetop cabin was available, with his long-term renters out for the first time in years.   He offered up the keys, and Shannon to babysit on Friday, if I would help him break in his new Pivot Mach5.   Twist my arm and make me night ride Hawes again.   For a while I led us on Secret with a petzl my only functioning light, juggling shadows from the moon and shadows from Beckie shining an HID behind me.   A new LED is on the Xmas list.   I nailed the highline on the Cliff easy this time, and in the dark especially it felt like nothing at all.

Byron’s sexy new bike

We came upon 3 rattlers, the first one I only heard as Beckie forced it off the trail and I got an earful of its displeasure.

The babies are the scariest, cause they are stupidest

this one was extra scary, wondering when our luck would run out

Even with a new bike, Byron still managed to be piece-of-shit-bike Guy.

Beckie wonders how $3k later, and nothing has changed

Whatsup, Piece-o-shit-bike Guy here, did ya miss me?

for the 2nd flat, we busted out the beers

We rolled for Pinetop at 7:30 the next morning, not bad considering we finished riding at 10pm, and Beckie punctured the Hei Hei’s front rolling over a cholla.   It dumped most of the drive up , but it was all good.   Once we got over not going to Flag, but having a roof and a bed and a coffeemaker, there were no worries.   Even G seemed chill and happy to just be getting into the cool for a bit.

We almost didn’t recognize the cabin, its been 4 years since I’ve been, and Byron had it painted.   WOW! We’ve been to Byron’s cabin I’d guess 10 times.   Its part of why Byron and I became such close friends – the bonds that are formed on roadtrip weekends have always been the dearest to me.   And hosting occasional guests in Rocky Point, I appreciate what a commitment towards friendship hosting and guesting can be. Byron and I do not ride together often enough anymore.   We have our yearly Wolf Creek trips, but he still plays Ultimate and I have become a strong rider, and we both have our kids.   The cabin, our ride the night before with Beckie with his daughter watching my daughters…I had forgotten how familiar and comfortable Byron’s Pinetop cabin was, I had been away so long.

I launched at just past noon, intending to do a ~25 mile, 3 hr ride: Billy Creek->Blueridge cw->Ice Cave->Osprey->Timber Mesa then back down the lollipop loop.

This is about the most technical terrain in the White Mountain Trail System, but for a Somo guy, that is not much. So it became an absolutely fantastic XC ride – down and up and down and up and just enough chunk to keep you interested, and every time you got used to something it became something else.   Years ago Beckie and I struggled through Ice Cave, and last year at 6 hours and mile 55 during Tour of the White the hard rolling made me bitter.   Today it was sublime.   I dashed and darted and pumped the bike through a blurred hallway of pine needles and volcanic rock, getting lost at almost every opportunity it all blended together into a collage of high-country relief.

Timber Mesa, one of the few “scenes” on the ride

the ice cave. the air was almost ambient, the fence a mood-breaker

safety meeting at 2:45 and 21 miles, just before the final 5 mile chunky descent

the forecasted scattered showers never really appeared, so we took advantage and jetted for Woodland Lake Park while I still stank like the trail.   G crashed a party, and Alana did what Alana does.

Marshmallows and abundant combustible ground cover were enjoyed during the sunset

this pic may be cute, but I had to watch ‘Madagascar’ 3 times in 12 hrs

Beckie went out to do much of the same loop the next morning, while I rode everybody back to Woodland Lake Park via the back route. The dual Burley trailer we bought months ago is finally getting used. I would not have put Alana in it yet i am so timid for her, but Beckie has shoved her forward, and I can not argue with mom. Alana’s 3rd ride, my first, turned out to be kinda a pain in the ass: ~3 miles hauling a doublewide full of tinyDeadWeight, a couple of climbs, a bad map, traffic, and a dog. 45 minutes and several shrieks of “why are you turning around Dad?” never seemed so long.

At the park, G and I ran out to the fishing dock. and back. and out, and back, and out again. lots of stomping, lots of things to be thrown in the water

Kila remains vigilant on the shore with Alana

Beckie pulled up soon after i got home, and a storm crept in behind her. I launched for Blue Ridge to Springs Trail, and within 20 minutes was getting pattered with raindrops.   I had no plans of getting caught in the peanut butter today, so my whole route was near bailouts onto forest roads.   Memories of the mud at TOWM in ’05 still scarred me, like Flanders Fields or Dunkirk or the Fall of Saigon. But i didn’t want to quit once the rain started, even when it got harder, putting on my slicker would take longer than it was worth, and i knew i was as close to the end of the out-and-back as the beginning.   Not quite true, but only 10 minutes or so of actual suffering occurred.   I ducked under the gazebo at the Springs TH at 38 minutes, having clawed my way up the funnest and rockiest mile in Pinetop while my body rejoiced at being cold and wet and in possession of a spare shirt.   Water running down the trail was faster than the muck on the sides.

This pictures would have been even more telling if my hands weren’t shaking so badly

I waited for the worst of it to pass, had a smoke, and rested before the closing sprint home. The shivers hit me for the first half mile, but soon I was hammering so hard I felt nothing at all. Pinetop may possibly have the most bike-scary roads in the world, but I jumped off the sidewalk when I got into town, as I was hauling downhill about as fast as the cars, and could not feel my fingers enough to manage launching off of and onto the sidewalks. The clouds cleared just as I got to the cabin, so G and I went up and down the street practicing without training wheels. She did not enjoy it, but she enjoyed it in the way she has of enjoying what works even if she does not enjoy it.   She is a wonderful little girl.   After a few laps she asked me if we could play Birds now, stating that “we are not compromising“.   We played Birds, we practiced some more, we went outside whenever the hell we felt like going outside since it was not 110.

We packed, we drove, my wife and I had pleasant conversations, I greased my bottom bracket, i brought the feeling of cold home with me, and it will keep me for a few more days. Thanks Byron.