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.