Seems like a simple question with almost 9k descending over 60 miles, but 7 hours in, with my ass screaming from the world’s worst case of monkeybutt every time I stood or sat , the answer was no longer clear. With no remedy in sight, I grinded my butt into the seat so the pain would fade quickly. I had a wonderful giant tub of shammy-butter in the car, but blew past it when 10 minutes before the start i heard a zzzzzzzzzzzzzing zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzing zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzing from my front rotor as it rubbed against the limp, bent clip holding apart the pockmarked brake pads. The day before, I discovered a stuck piston from my Hayes brakes, and with no time to get to the shop or repair and test it myself, i swapped an old front Juicy from the Blur. It worked great in the bikestand the night before!
15 minutes of frantic work by James and I didn’t really help.
I DIDNT WORK AND WORKOUT AND JUGGLE SCHEDULES ALL WEEK LONG TO GET UP TO PRESCOTT AND BAIL IN THE PARKING LOT!!!
So, fuck it, we set out about 10 minutes after the pack, and I repeatedly squeezed the brake lever and wondered if the hydraulic pressure would normalize and give me some stopping power before the spring scored a line in the rotor or got shaved off and dropped the brake pads in the dirt. If it happened, i’d turn back. but not before.
We quickly caught the back of the pack in the Dells. A lot of riders hated having this uber techy stretch in the race, and if I didn’t know what to expect or was a lycra-wearing xc weenie I’d have agreed, but I couldn’t have thought of a better way to start. There is no ‘Best of Prescott‘ ride without the Dells, and the 29er rolled all the wheel-swallowing, suspension-squatting ruts far better than the Heckler. I couldn’t do any BIG moves, but with the goal being to move fast and take a bite out of the long day, dialing into my bike and my body geometry and the rocks right in front of me eased the tension of my wonky brakes from my mind. I still had to squeeze the lever about 6 times before every little descent for the first 30 minutes, but passing people who would gobble me up on the long climbs made me happy. 
We had a line of about 10 riders exiting the Dells, unusual for me and an underground race where I am usually at the back, and it kept the pressure on me to keep pace. Balancing the benefits of speed and navigational assistance vs. doubts over my own fitness was difficult, but as usual, my inner rah-rah guy won out and I went hard. We worked through the Granite Basin area and then another 20-odd miles of climbs and descents through almost-alpine and high-desert. I settled into a groove with my buddy Nardo and his (nee, my new) friend James. They kept pushing my pace, I had a good gps, and good times were had. I bounced between my Quiet Place, my Tired Place and my Happy Place for about 4 hours. I’m fat, out-of-shape, and kids making me spend way too much time on the trainer or the bike trailer or the pump track. But my 20-year base, a week of healthy choices, and smart riding kept me going reasonably strong. I never cracked, just a few little fissures and a couple times i simply gave up climbing to push for awhile. 9:15, and mid-pack – a result I had no expectations of achieving, which tells me once again I am a perennial sandbagger, a gross underestimator, or just stoopid lucky. The takeaway for me is relief that my kids have not made me a total fat sack of crap just yet.
I don’t remember a lot of specifics from the middle 5 hours, other than an incredible whoopdee descent into Granite Basin, and rolling Mint Wash. The rest was an ebb and flow of weakness and resolve, gravity and thrust, and self-shuttling. The course gave constant payoffs for each in the unending series of climbs. We hit the 2nd water stop at just about 2pm, an hour ahead of my cautious cut-off point, and on pace to do 9 hrs. A proper deuce, a party hat, a protein drink, a dunk under the cool spigot and fresh sunscreen charged me out and up Trail 396. Its a beautiful mild undulating climb, and teamed with the water stop to inspire me to ~ mile 45, when fatigue and the course’s Boss Round took over – 2 miles and 1000 vf up Spruce Mountain Road. At the time, I thought Spruce Mtn Road could be upto 5 miles and 2k, and about .25 mile in you hit a demoralizing pitched curve filled with golf-ball gravel. I pushed up and cross ref’d my gps’ elevation total with my watch. 100 vf in .10 mile, 50 vf the next .1 mile over 2 minutes, and so on. I tried to flashback to the climb to the Wasatch Trail in Telluride, knowing i slayed it in an hour, knowing this would not be that bad. Nardo and I overshot the turn onto Smith Ravine trail by about 150 awful soul-killing yards.
Smith Ravine was the beginning of the end. 10 miles of mostly-dh. It was fun, but i was riding tired, and didn’t get it as good as i can. Dialing it back was an easy decision, i had nothing to prove at this point in the ride. I was going to finish in respectable shape and all the way from the Dells through the tight switchbacks and banked turns and wheel-grabbers I’d been moving the bike well. Pump track and jumping skills crossing over. Not anything too dramatic, but 3 seconds from leaning on the front wheel instead of scrubbing speed in a turn, 2 seconds and 2 fewer cranks pumping over rocks, grabbing air and acceleration still at mile 55. Hours spent lately on the bike that don’t work my legs or fit into my mileage log, but tire me and beat me, to push through an infuriatingly low artificial ceiling. It requires finesse along the z-axis to overcome. I’m so far from good, the first time i got air under both wheels hitting the big tabletop at Rage PT I nearly skated off the next turn i was so far from in control. 2 days later I ate shit on a steep drop to steep tranny at the Papago Pit, but I’m going back this week. Tomorrow I am riding roadie.
The last 7 miles on 305 took longer than it should, too many road crossings draining 2 minutes and 20 cal of energy each. My (new) goal of 9 hrs was slipping away. The intra-stream goal-establishment wasn’t as much a challenge as a necessary adaptation. Out of my foggy memories of long stretches of trail, I remember looking at the gps and thinking ‘just keep pushing til 6:50‘. Then nearly puking, and thinking ‘just keep pushing til 6:47‘. I don’t do well dialing down to microcosms of suffering, i lose my will in the details. I need to see the big picture. Back before the first water stop i checked my split, and picked a target. Even after the sluggishness of the Dells I could get an 8-9 hr finish. I was not puking, and Nardo was pacing me in exchange for navigation, so i clutched and floated at that slightly-unsweet spot until gravity finally brought me home.
Not a total fat sack of crap just yet.
