Desert 'fishing

After a marathon drive and a scant few hours of sleep in a dirt parking lot, I found myself lining up at 3 am for my first race of the year. A strange sequence of events presented me with the opportunity for some more racing on the Arizona Trail. Chad and Scott put on a neat race called the Antelope Peak Challenge, which involves either a 65- or 115-mile singletrack-rich route with the option of climbing to the top of Antelope Peak along the way. I've raced this section of the AZT twice before, both in the middle of much longer endeavors, but the 115-mile route includes a new section of AZT that has been spoken very highly of. How could I pass this up?


At 3 am, five of us rolled out for the long event, not particularly talkative given the early hour. I was aboard my new Salsa Spearfish frame that I've only had for a couple weeks, so I was a little nervous about how it would treat me on this day. We rode the first 15 'neutral' miles at a moderate pace and then blasted into the AZT singletrack. In reality, we were moving rather slowly on the windy, overgrown, rocky singletrack crossed by countless cattle paths, but in the dark, it felt fast enough because I felt like I was bouncing off everything in sight. We gradually spread out, and I ended up riding the steep climbs and descents of the gasline road with Max as we complained about how much our feet were hurting in the cold early morning hours.


I found myself alone as I mashed a big gear through the rutted sand of Bloodsucker Wash, trying in vain to find a slightly firmer line. The first hint of light appeared in the southeastern skies, but I was too focused on the challenge at hand to really notice. By the bottom, I caught sight of Neil, who had ridden into the lead on the Gasline hills. I soon switched off my light and negotiated the trail as it crossed the steep valleys on the east side of Antelope Peak. Occasionally I'd hear Max hollering behind me as he cleaned a switchback (or maybe as he got whacked in the leg by yet another cactus...).


Antelope Peak itself is only a short trot above the AZT, so I stashed my bike in a ravine and scurried up to the top. Just below the summit, Neil popped over the other side of the ridge, also headed up. We chatted for a minute, took in the view, and then headed down opposite sides. He was looking strong and riding well, so I was expecting a challenge.

Back on my bike, I followed Max's lone tire tracks out onto the fast and sinuous Boulders Segment. The miles flew by, but I tried to maintain a reasonable pace without pushing too hard. The upcoming Ripsey Segment included a ton of climbing, and then the trip back south had far more up than down. I finally hit the Ripsey loop and found myself on loose, steep singletrack descending a remote canyon before starting a long sequence of impressively-built steep switchbacks up Ripsey Hill. My tire choice was doing me no favors here, forcing me to ride far more cautiously than I generally enjoy doing.

I saw Max up ahead, pushing his bike, and caught him before too long. He was in good spirits, and we stopped for a couple minutes at the top to take in the view and eat some food. Eating on this course is a huge challenge, but after 8 hours of riding, this was my first actual pause to eat.


Neil caught us at that point, and I took off after him as we dove into the long, switchback-filled descent into the valley far below. I passed Neil as he missed a turn, he passed me back as I overshot one soon after, I passed him as he missed another, and then I was suddenly alone. By the bottom of the descent, my hands were aching from the hard braking, and I genuinely welcomed the sight of a graded dirt road, even if it did climb 1500'.

This was the lowest point in the course, as well as the farthest point from the start. The road wrapped around to the south, and with my legs still feeling fantastic, I finally let the reigns loose. I wasn't sure if I could make it the last 40+ miles pushing hard, but one of the reasons I was there was to test such limits.

From there on, everything is a bit of a blur. I pushed the pace a bit up that first climb and then increased my effort a bit more on the shorter climbs beyond that. Turning back onto the singletrack, I felt like I was going just as fast as I had been earlier, but this time it was a gradual climb that stretched on for 10 miles. The miles flew by, and my legs continued to put out as much as I dared ask from them. This was a completely new sensation for me after 10+ hours of riding.

Before I knew it, I steered onto a dirt road that signaled 15 miles to go and kicked up the tempo even more. Choking down food and liquid was becoming nearly impossible despite the smooth dirt roads, but bonking was not far of at all, so I took in all I could bear. 65-mile racers appeared on the road ahead, and could barely even croak a greeting to them as I passed. These last miles began to hurt more and more - burning quads, exhausted arms, parched lips, and sweat burning the catclaw-inflicted wounds all over my legs. Eventually, with the sun still high in the sky, I rolled into the trailhead parking lot as Scott snapped a couple photos (like the one below, stolen from his blog). My total time was just under 12.5 hours, and I managed to keep the non-moving time to only about 20 minutes.


I was completely spent. But my legs dished out more than I thought they had in them, the new bike outperformed anything I've previously raced on this sort of terrain, and I had enjoyed yet another long day on the AZT. What more can one ask for? Neil and Max came in a bit over an hour later, and Jonesy slogged it out and finished in 19 hours.

Caroline, in her first mountain bike race, rolled into the finish just after dark and was all smiles despite a long day and having to skip the final few miles of faint singletrack after the sun set. She even got to experience the pleasures of pulling cholla out of her leg mid-race. Pretty impressive...


Now we're up in Sedona, slowly recovering from the efforts and trying to explore the amazing landscape and trails surrounding us. Yesterday we rode for 4 hours, and covering 20 miles in that time was asking a lot from my tired body.


10+ hours of sleep later, today's ride felt like far less of a chore. We explored a 50-mile loop of entirely unknown territory, and it turned out to be a fantastic ride with a bit of everything (except other cyclists...we saw only 2, one of whom immediately asked me how I got my hands on a Spearfish already!).



The rain showers managed to steer around us, and by late afternoon, the skies cleared up and made for some of the most astounding lighting I've seen on desert rock formations in quite a while. This is why I'm never bothered when I realize that I'm not going to be home by dark...

Tradition

For some unknown reason, I've found myself repeating the exact same solo road ride in nearly the same week of January the past three years now. It's a great ride through low ridges along the western edge of the plains, up a solid climb up into the foothills, down beautifully winding canyon dotted with punchy climbs along the way, and then back through the ridges and plains to Boulder. I think this is one of my favorite road rides around.

Two years ago, I snapped this photo along the way as I enjoyed a calorie-packed snack:


Today, I again hit the ice cream sandwich shop and then took a similar shot:


Note the first of two differences between today's ride and past rides along this route - knobby tires. With a 115-mile off-road race in Arizona coming up in a week, I wanted to test my fitness while continuing to get used to my new Salsa Spearfish. With a 10-hour door-to-door ride time, I was able to put in a solid effort pushing the pace just a little harder than I normally would. Despite wrapping up two solid weeks of training today, my legs responded remarkably well.

And the second difference?


That's Caroline cresting the Rist Canyon climb, meaning that I had company for the full day. Despite being a former roadie, this was her longest ride ever, and she also did it on knobby tires.

And I also got the chance to practice what's sure to be a new race-winning strategy for me: Applying lubricant to the chain while pedaling. I think all the pavement must have been going to my head...


We finished up right at twilight, enjoying yet another picturesque sunset. Not a bad day at all.

January squalls

In the never-ending quest to find different and exciting places to ride, this afternoon was spent something that probably wouldn't be considered an ideal route given the recent snow we've received. But in an effort to stave off the boredom that comes from riding the same roads and trails over and over and over again, we found ourselves slipping, sliding, and spinning away in the foothills.


After a couple of tough training weeks, all the climbing was hurting my legs despite the easy pace. Strong winds aloft blew brief but intense snow squalls through ever couple hours, but then the sun would return and warm my body and my smile would return.


We rode through the heart of the area burned in the Fourmile Fire earlier this year. At one point, the front end of a burnt out truck caught my eye as a rainbow of color shone from the front bumper, one of the few things around that wasn't blackened. Life is slowly returning as homes are rebuilt and Ponderosa pines that weren't killed show just a bit more green in their needles. I often debate the appeal of living in the mountains versus the threat of losing everything in a forest fire and whether or not millions of dollars should be spent trying to save these homes. But there will always be people living in these forests, in floodplains, atop major faults...the list goes on. But I've strayed off topic...

This blog is supposed to be about cycling and nice photos!

Making lemonade

There are few sensations more peaceful and relaxing than that of laying down the first tracks on smooth singletrack covered in fresh snow on a cold, sunny morning.

Fickle

The past couple mornings have been absolutely beautiful, as long as one does not mind riding in sporadic 30+ mph wind gusts. I took advantage of the weather to ride some fun dirt that has dried out nicely after the warm weekend melted off the south-facing slopes.


Today was Bike to Work Day in Boulder. I took the long route, venturing high into the foothills. I could see some foul weather moving in over the mountains, but I enjoyed the sun's warmth for a few hours.


The current view out my office window is depressing. It looks like it's time to put the dorky fenders back on, let some air out of the tires, and make use of my waterproof booties.

Going big, again

The soggy Old Bannack Road (photo by Chris Plesko)

Well, let's have this serve as some sort of motivational (for me) announcement that I'll find myself back in Banff in June with my wheels aimed southward toward Mexico. Plans have been in the works for a while, but all the pieces have now fallen into place with good certainty. After I finished the race in 2009, I was sure I wouldn't bother doing it again. There's virtually no singletrack, I already saw everything once, aside from what I rode through in the dark, and I met my goals of (1) finishing, and (2), finishing with a sub-20-day time.

But Dave Harris was quick to point out that no one does it just once, which is actually a disturbingly accurate statement. A year later, I was jonesing to ride it faster. And after carefully probing the limits of my endurance, tolerance of sleep deprivation, and what distance I can cover after running out of food during the the AZT750 last year, I feel like I have a much better feeling of what I can do, but it'll require substantial luck with weather, gear reliability, not hitting towns in the dead of night, knee happiness, and avoiding mental meltdowns. And with some other strongmen rumored to be joining the festivities, it could be a very exciting race.

There's no gold at the end of this rainbow, just Idaho. But get to Idaho, and you'll almost certainly make it to Mexico.

Old days, new days

Nearly six years ago, I double-poled across a bustling finish line in the former Olympic stadium in Lillehammer, utterly exhausted from 58k of racing and already wondering how I was going to get back to Oslo. I handed my backpack to the gentleman at the scale, and he confirmed that I had finished the race carrying the required weight, that of the newborn prince carried along the same rugged route through the mountains of southern Norway some 800 years earlier. Stumbling forward, I stopped to take off my now-clumsy skis and ate some of the cookies and yogurt that were stacked high on a line of tables. Forty-five minutes later, I was staring out the window of a coach bus watching the snowy countryside passing by. Little did I know, after having been racing on skinny skis for a decade, I had just finished my last ski race.


In the subsequent years, my focus shifted to racing bikes, and I only find myself on skis a few times each winter. Last week I was back in the Midwest to do some lab work at the University of Minnesota, so I brought along a couple pairs of skis and took advantage of the amazingly snowy winter the region has had.



My parents and sister have been skiing quite a bit over the past few years, and I was fortunate enough to have a couple days on which I could join them on the trails where I used to spend countless hours training. I also got to spend a couple days along the shores of Lake Superior, tending to some more research-related tasks (which provided some amazingly intriguing data) before swinging through western Minnesota to visit some friends out on the prairie. I was able to ski on nicely-groomed trails everywhere I went, and the technique and balance returned quickly. The arm strength was lacking, but even so, some of the racing desires worked their way up from the depths of wherever they disappear to. Should I ever find myself living in a place with real winter again, ski marathons will be back on my calendar.


Emphasizing how things have changed since my privateer ski racing days, I also pleasure of spending a few hours at the headquarters of a great Minnesota company that's sponsoring me for 2011 - Salsa Cycles. I have long been a fan of Salsa (evidenced by the Salsa shop apron I've had since high school), and the attitude of the company meshes seamlessly with my own. After leaving their office, I am even more excited for this season and the adventures that are on the not-so-distant horizon.


Upon returning to Boulder, I quickly built up my new Spearfish frameset and put in a couple 7-hour days of pounding soggy dirt roads and loving every minute of it. And my legs are feeling stronger than they have in months, and clearly stronger than they ever have been so early in the year. That bodes well for the first racing of the season, not even two weeks away now!

Windburn

Winter riding is a nice change of pace, at least for a little while. When you're riding down a road just a mile from home, battling a fierce cross wind that's pushing your traction to the limit as you slowly get pushed off the edge of the road and laughing heartily all the while, it's clear that it's going to be an entertaining day on the bike.


We ended up riding mostly dirt roads to Carter Lake, somewhere I've never never been on fat, knobby tires before. Yesterday, those tires had about 15 psi, so it was slow going. While the winds aloft were sculpting some remarkable clouds, we pedaled away, enjoying the relatively balmy temperatures created by the Chinook breeze and explored some new territory on soft, snow-covered roads.



The sun set just a few minutes later than it did on my rides the past few days, a clear sign that the shortest day of the year is indeed behind us. Gradually, rides will involve progressively less night riding, until, of course, the all-night riding begins again.