Coconino revisited

Upon returning home from the Tour Divide, I was a bit tired. That’s to be expected, obviously, but I was more toward the utterly exhausted end of the spectrum. My legs recovered strength fairly quickly, but I spent a few weeks sleeping for what seemed like close to half of every day. That was new for me. During those weeks, I rode a few times, but short singletrack rides weren’t really doing it for me. I needed something bigger, or different, or something. I went on a bigger exploratory ride on my fatbike to scratch an itch, but that didn’t really do it, either. My running shoes even saw some use, but despite having some fun on trails I don’t ride on much or ever, something was still missing.

One afternoon as I rode down into town and caught a glimpse of Bill Williams Mountain on the skyline, it dawned on me. Coconino - the loop that I exploded myself on in a big way in May with Scott Morris and Aaron Gulley. I still had not ridden the entire 250-mile loop. But I quickly dismissed the idea since I had just finished the Divide.

A few days later, I received big box with a new Salsa Spearfish 1. While assembling it, I thought about where I should take it for a good ride, and the Coconino idea returned. I took the bike out for a test ride that evening, and the more I rode, the better my legs felt, and the more Coconino sounded like a good idea even though I knew it really was anything but. The weather forecast for the following days was warm but free of storms as the monsoon circulation temporarily weakened. On a course where any rain can turn the track to show-stopping clay mud, that’s a good forecast.


I returned home from the ride and was greeted by Caroline.


“How’s your new bike?” she asked, admiring its black and red color scheme.


“Good. The rear shock feels really nice.” I paused. “I think I might go ride Coconino tomorrow.”


“Uh, do you think you’re recovered enough?”


“Not really,” I replied. “But my legs felt pretty good tonight.”


“Do you have anything going on at work?”


“Nope.”


“Well, why not then?”


Sweet. Perfect logic. I didn’t need her blessing, but it’s always nice to have it when I’m about to do something stupid. By then it was 8 pm. I wanted to be riding by 6 am, it took an hour to get to Sedona to start, and I still had to pack gear, food, eat dinner, shower, ready the bike, and get some sleep. Ideal preparation, no?


Fast forward 10 hours, and I was rolling through the brilliant red rocks along the eastern edge of Sedona. The sun was just peeking up above the Mogollon Rim, the trails offered an inordinate amount of traction after the past weekend’s rain, and my legs felt good. They felt so good, in fact, that I had to hold back since those trails are so much fun to ride fast. My goal was to ride slowly all day, something that I often struggle with. Riding too hard early on back in May was what really did me in.

So slowly I rode, leaving the glowing rocks and leafy green ocotillo behind as I followed the Lime Kiln Trail toward Cottonwood. The rain had hardened all the sand, but horse traffic had already loosened things up considerably. I cursed at the horse “damage” even though it really is just normally a sandy track. After riding a hardtail last time, I was looking forward to the dual suspension for the rocky descent into Cottonwood, and it didn’t disappoint. It always surprises me that they have such fun trails above this little town, but I enjoyed every inch of that ledgy descent.


At the gas station in Cottonwood, I filled up on water and Gatorade, grabbed some ice cream and cashews, and then started up the nearly 5000’ Mingus climb. I climbed as slowly as my gearing would allow, but I was dripping with sweat before I even reached the dirt. By the time I hit the hike-a-bike singletrack higher up, I could tell I was already becoming dehydrated despite my best efforts to drink as much as I could. But at least my legs felt reasonably strong still, and my progress was slow but steady as Cottonwood became smaller and smaller below me.

Upon reaching the summit, I had gone through most of my water, so I was happy to see that a USFS water trailer was still parked at the day-use area. I filled everything back up, ate a bit of food, and took a deep breath as I thought about how hot the next miles were going to be. It was warm atop the mountain, and I had to gradually make my way down 5000’ to the Verde River before another long climb. As I descended gradually, the air became hotter and drier, and my legs steadily became more and more tired. I stopped and ate again, and then again, but eating was becoming difficult. I eventually reached the Verde an hour behind my time from May, which was probably a good thing. I refilled my nearly emptied water yet again and began the next 5000’ climb up toward the Mogollon Rim and over Bill Williams Mountain.

Sweat continued to drip off my wrists, ears, nose, and nose. Thick salt accumulations outlined my knuckles, abs, shoulders, and probably the edges of my small backpack, too. I had been taking several salt tablets every hour, and so far, signs of cramping were absent. A few miles into the climb, I reached the rusted, shot up old 55-gallon drum where I sat as I realized I was doomed in May. I stopped to snap a photo and continued on, feeling mediocre but triumphant at having made it past that spot.

The climb dragged on for hours. The sun dropped lower in the sky, which was welcome as the juniper lining the rough, rutted road cast longer and longer shadows that eventually provided me with some shade. I made it passed the series of impact craters Scott, Aaron, and I had left in the middle of the road. Topping out on the Rim and passing into stands of huge Ponderosa pines, the sun disappeared and the air cooled quickly. I was struggling to eat much of anything by this point. Each bite required a sip of water to get down. But the thought of burgers in Williams kept me moving steadily.


Darkness fell as I hit the paved Perkinsville Road, which carried me to the Bentham Trail that climbs another 900’ up Bill Williams Mountain. New to me, this trail was a delight. The switchbacks were expertly constructed and mostly rideable, and the lights of distant Chino Valley and Prescott lit up tiny sections of the valley far below. Above me, stars shone brightly amid the moonless sky. Before long, I was descending rapidly down a steep, overgrown trail. Big rock steps kept me on my toes, and alarmingly soon, I found myself popping out on a street in Williams. I filled my pack with whatever food sounded remotely palatable at a gas station before heading to McDonalds.


I rolled up, switched off my lights, and walked up to the door. But it was locked. The gas station attendant told me it was open until midnight. I slowly read the hours on the door. “Friday-Sunday: Open until 12” it said. What the heck? It’s 11:05. Confused, my tired brain tried to figure out why the door was locked


Wait…what day is it? Friday! No, Thursday. Damn! Wait, it’s Wednesday! I found the Wednesday line on their sign: Open until 11. Nuts!


So I went across the street to a tiny gas station, bought a tuna sandwich, big coke, and a noodle bucket from a grumpy woman and sat there for 20 minutes while trying to eat everything. A burger or three would have gone down so much more easily!


I finally was rolling again, just before midnight, disappointed at how long I spent in town. My legs felt quite sluggish, which would be the theme for the night. I struggled down the mellow dirt roads toward the next section of techy singletrack. It was quite a fun trail, but I was dreading its short, steep climbs and tire-tearing rocks. I didn’t even make it an hour out of town before my eyes kept trying to close on me. I popped a caffeine pill, and 15 minutes later, nothing had changed, so I stopped behind some trees to take a 20-minute nap. I put on my long-sleeve jersey and vest, but even with that, the quick nap had me shivering – quite the contrast to my overheating earlier in the day.


But the helped tremendously, and I was soon rolling along quickly. I still was having difficulty eating, unfortunately. Only Slim Jims were going down easily, and I hadn’t bought enough of them! The Sycamore Rim singletrack struck me as particularly spooky in the dark. With no moon, the forest was a black void punctuated by jagged rocky outcrops and a surprising number of white, broken stumps. I enjoyed the trail, but that forest left me on edge, and I was relieved to get back on a wide-open dirt road before long, especially with both tires still holding air. I stopped to fill up my gas tank with a mixture of gummy bears, Reese’s Pieces, and Cheetos. Here I learned a valuable lesson: Never mix these three things together. It’s an awful combination. Luckily, the Cheetos vibrated to the top, the Reese’s to the bottom, and I was able to skim off one type of snack at a time and choke it down.


Unfortunately, the dull road left me sleepy once again, and I was forced to stop for another short nap.  By the time I was rolling again, it was nearly sunrise, and it felt like I had covered virtually no ground overnight. On top of that, my butt was quite sore from my shorts chaffing it, and my legs felt like bricks. Climbing became a huge struggle, and my morale was plummeting. Several times I stopped to simply sit in the road and try to eat and get my energy level up. I tried to get excited about the descent off Wing Mountain, but even that seemed like a tough section of trail to get through. And it was.


And then the course climbs up to its highest point on the western flank of Mount Humphreys, just shy of 9000’. The steepest section did me in, and once again I was reduced a sad pile sitting in the trail. I ate a bit more food, and after a few more miles of slumming, I reached the Arizona Trail and the descent that would bring me into Flagstaff. Bailing there sounded like a nice idea.

As soon as I turned onto the AZT, the trail tilted downward. I let go of the brakes and swooped through andesite boulders, soared off a series of gentle drops, and pumped through another rocky section. Suddenly I was awake and alive, loving the trail. I had heard great things about this section, but I had regrettably never ridden it. In a matter of minutes, my morale went from its lowest to highest point of the entire ride. My legs suddenly felt better. And the perfectness of the trail literally brought tears to my eyes. Moments like that are why I’m able to push through such miserable times. I’m sure I can ride that section of AZT a hundred more times and never again will it be as sweet as it was that Thursday morning.


Before long, I was sitting in front of yet another gas station, eating yet another ice cream bar, drinking yet another giant coke. I’ve spent far more time in front of gas stations in the past few years than I’d like to admit. I rolled out of town with a warm burrito nestled in my jersey and enough food to get me most of the way back to Williams in hopes that at least some of it would go down into my stomach. My motivation was now to get to the end, and I knew I had the energy to do it and vanquished the thoughts of bailing.

The AZT south of Flagstaff is not very enjoyable until reaching the Mormon Lake area. Loose, sharp limestone cobbles litter the trail initially as it climbs in and out of a series of small canyons. Then the trail climbs onto Anderson Mesa, where the track degrades to a cattle trail covered in 4-inch-deep hoof prints locked in dried mud and littered with loose basalt cobbles.  It was bone-snakingly brutal. I stood for miles on end, hoping for something, anything to change! Eventually, conditions improved, I cruised along an abandoned logging railroad grade, past Mormon Mountain, and over the gravel roads near Munds Park.


My legs still had some energy in them, and my stomach was finally coming around. A few more Slim Jims and five packs of peanut butter M&Ms kept me going to the beginning of the long descent into Sedona. I still had a few hours left before dark, and nearing the finish, my mood improved dramatically. Long sections of that descent were spectacularly entertaining, especially along the Schnebly Hill Trail with the sheer drop off the cliff at its side. I pushed the bike to its limits through that kind of terrain, grinning in between grimaces brought about by exceedingly rocky sections. Another half hour of technical descending down Munds Wagon Trail and I was in town and back to my car. I was again dripping with sweat and out of water, but it no longer mattered.

I sat down on the boulder next to my car and reflected for a minute. Had all that suffering been worth it? I had missed Aaron’s 35.5-hour record by an hour, but I knew going into it that my legs were in no shape for chasing records. Sections of the route had been quite fun, but I was also miserably exhausted for long parts. The AZT descent that morning was definitely the highlight. In the end, I once again had learned quite a few lessons and created many new memories. I had seen some new territory, and I no longer have to ride down to town from my house and think that I still haven’t ridden that loop on the horizon. And I wasn’t simply sitting at home twiddling my thumbs. So it was definitely worth it, despite the hardship. And I’m sure I’ll be back at some point. Hopefully then I’ll have fresh legs and the weather will be a bit cooler.