50 Miles of Whiskey

When I was younger back in southern Indiana, biking was a necessity if I wanted to get around anywhere. The closest neighbor kids were a quarter mile in either direction, and since we weren't allowed to take the four-wheeler on the road, biking was it. Long before my 16th birthday, I rode my beat up yellow bike and then brand new blue bike up and down the steep southern Indiana hills to Pekin (14 miles roundtrip) and Salem (12 miles roundtrip using the backroads), and I even took a 30+ mile ride to a coach's house while patches of ice still covered the roads just to see if I could (I'm pretty sure that she thought I was crazy at the time, and I don't think the feeling has changed in 12 years). My sister and neighbors and I had loads of fun on our bikes... splashing through the mud (manure...oops) pits behind my friend Ross's barn, zooming down the paved hills of Blue River Church Road, and cruising down the dirt tracks to explore abandoned houses on the Day Farm. I've loved biking in challenging conditions since I was a kid, and in that regard I haven't changed a whole lot since I was in middle school. It's only that as I have grown up, the challenges have grown up with me. This weekend's challenge was a huge step up for me in the form of Epic Ride's Whiskey Off Road 50 Proof Mountain Bike Race up in Prescott.

As soon as my lab meeting was over on Friday, I headed north on I-17 and didn't look back. I did look west towards the incredible sunset and smiled at the weekend ahead of me. I got up to Prescott around 7:30 and checked in before the pre-race meeting on the steps of the courthouse. I know I've said it before, but the mountain biking community is full of a whole bunch of really great people. I looked in vain for the rest of the Missing Link team, and in their absence, I struck up conversation with a few riders from Colorado and California. They were some really cool dudes, and we quickly passed the hour before the meeting with talk of trails and bikes and the race. Epic Rides puts on some pretty amazing events, and this one seemed like it was going to live up to my expectations. To be completely and unabashedly honest, I would probably do the races just to watch Todd, the race organizer. Normally I wouldn't pay too much attention to the pre-race meetings, but between Todd and the free shwag that was thrown at the crowd every 10 minutes or so, I was all ears while he detailed the course and how technical and tough it was going to be. I knew that it wasn't going to be a cake walk, but by the end of the meeting, I made sure that I got my share of E-caps and Hammer Gel (sorry GU, it was free...) for the challenge that lay ahead of me. I had heard horror stories attributed to the 50 mile beast from friends and past participants, and some of the team had even tried (unsuccessfully, of course) to get me to switch to the 25 mile course. Hearing Todd talk about rock gardens, gnarly drops, and grueling climbs made me wonder if I had made the right decision. After the meeting, I found my way to Al's house less than a mile from the race start and joined up with the rest of the Missing Links guys and watched ROAM, an inspiring mountain bike film that had me both excited and nervous about the next day. I chilled with the guys and nursed a water bottle until the movie was over, and then went to bed, unsure of what the next day would bring.

The morning broke to a chilly, but wonderfully sunny, Prescott day. By 8 a.m., the house was abuzz with bikes, helmets, pumps, electrolytes, energy gels, Camelbacks, adrenaline, eight excited Linkers, and one equally excited German shepard. By 8:30, Jason, Rhino, and I headed down the hill to the square for the start of the 50 mile race. The center of town was awash with the colors of sponsored covered jerseys and filled with some incredible bikes along with their equally impressive riders. The butterflies that had been hibernating in my stomach since the 24 HOP came out of their cocoons and flew around my chest once again. The three of us lined up behind the main pack, not eager to get trounced by Floyd Landis and the rest of the elites/pros at the start. At 9:01, the starting bell sounded, and the 150 or so of us headed west past the historic Whiskey Row with the shouts of our teammates and onlookers cheering us on. The course was pretty much uphill from the start as we made our way out of town towards Copper Basin Road. We spun the first five miles out on the road before turning off onto a dirt road that led to the singletrack. Jason, Rhino and I paced each other for these first few miles, each of us taking the lead on different sections before the track narrowed and we started switchbacking up a rocky section of trail. Since we had started at the back of the pack, we caught and started to pass several less technical riders at this point. Unfortunately for my single speed friends, Jason and Rhino soon fell into this group and after a few more twists up the hill, I could no longer hear them or see the red, blue and yellow of their jerseys. At this point, the singletrack became wicked fun. I rolled up and down hills, along ridges, down steep sections loaded with water bars, and finally up to the top of a hill where a few supporters had set up an "aid station" and offered Early Times whiskey to all of the riders. After that, the trail headed down again for a bit along a gorgeous ridge, and I was awed at the beauty that surrounded me. As I was headed down, I continued to pass more riders, and was feeling great about the race. I knew I couldn't have been more than ten miles in, but I was stoked at how well the ride was going. As I was coming around a bend, I came across a frustrated looking rider with his bike upside down on the narrow ledge between the hill, trail, and the steep drop-off below. He had just busted a tire and was attempting to patch up a sidewall tear... not a fun or even worthwhile endeavor, so I stopped and dug a tube out of my pack for him before continuing on, figuring that it had to be good trail karma and the rest of my ride would go well. I was rewarded a half mile later when I caught up with a biker from Eagle, CO whom I had been pacing back and forth with for some time. As I was coming down the hill, I saw him throwing rocks on the sandy trail and was completely confused until I got a little bit closer and heard the unmistakable rattle and saw the most massive snake I have ever seen in the wild curling and uncurling its coils at the edge of the trail. Finally the snake decided to go attack the rocks off trail, and the Eagle biker and I took off as fast as we could.

Shortly after the snake, we left the singletrack and returned to another dirt road that wound around the tall pine forests. The road started as a gentle incline and just kept going up for the next three miles or so. After what seemed like an eternity of rounding bends just to find another long upward straightaway, the forest finally opened up a little bit to the beautiful oasis of a white tent filled with smiling volunteers and racers stuffing their faces with food. It was a beautiful sight as I pounded up the last few meters and hopped off my bike on shaky legs. I gulped down three cups of HEED before I even had a chance to catch my breath, and then quickly moved on to goldfish crackers and bananas. Even through there was a whole array of Clif products and energy gels, the salty cheesy crackers really hit the spot and all of us kept grabbing handfuls of the little guys and gulping them down almost whole. Before long, my body had recovered a bit and I felt very satisfied at my progress so far. Jason pulled up to the checkpoint shortly after I refilled my Camelback, with Rhino about a minute after. I talked with them briefly before taking off to the left... down the dirt road to Skull Valley. I was flying down the steep road having the time of my life, my sweat dry and my legs and lungs enjoying the break. The only bad part about this part of the race was knowing that I would be traveling back on the exact same route. The looks on the faces of the pros in front of me, climbing back up from the depths of the valley, showed just how tough the course was going to be on the return trip. As I zoomed past, I exchanged motivational words for strained smiles. For nine glorious miles, I descended into the valley, with only the occasional flat spot or incline. The view going down was spectacular and with the sweet wind whistling through my helmet, I couldn't have been happier. I got down to Skull Valley in less than 40 minutes, and wasted no time in obtaining a special 50 miler's treat: an ice cream sandwich. The first few bites were heavenly, but I started talking to some of the volunteers and neglected to notice that it started melting very fast in the hot sun. The other half of my prized treat ended up in the dirt. Fortunately, there were plenty to go around, and I consumed my second one before the sun could do its work. After a little stretch, I hopped back on the bike, and headed back out on the road. I met Jason and Rhino less than a mile from the checkpoint, returned their calls of IEEEEE! and then prepared myself for the big challenge ahead of me. I could barely see the top of Sierra Prieta high above me, but I knew that if I just kept moving, I would eventually get there. I started the hills with a gleam in my eye and lungs full of oxygen at 4500 feet. As the hills became steeper and the sun became hotter, I started passing a few guys and gained some confidence that maybe it wasn't going to be so bad. Unfortunately, it wouldn't last too long. The first 3 miles or so weren't so bad, but after awhile, the never ending steepness started getting to me. Only a few more riders were left coming down, and I was alone in my challenge. My legs and heart pumping for all they were worth, I settled into a slow cadence in granny gear and kept my eye out for the next mile marker. Although there were a few downhills and flat spots, the majority was up, up, and more up. By mile 6 of the uphill, I was physically exhausted and my head was pounding with the lack of oxygen in my system. But, I still had three miles and about 600 feet of elevation before I got to the checkpoint. I popped some salt pills, sucked down some more HEED, and kept on spinning. The last mile and a half were the longest of my life. My legs were shot, shaky and threatening to cramp up. At one point, a rider came up behind me, walking his bike faster than I was biking, so I, too, hopped off and stretched out my tired legs in the grueling sun. As I did, I sucked on my Camelback and was rewarded not with gulps of cold HEED, but of the last warm dregs from the bottom of the bladder. For some reason, the lyrics of Kenny Roger's "The Gambler" popped into my head and became the cadence to my trekking. Between the hill, the heat, and the games my mind was playing trying to figure out who sang the song, the last mile was a tough one. I spent it on and off the bike, grateful that I had platform pedals and my old beat-up Salomons on, because it was definitely a hike. Once I reached the mecca that was the aid station, I was beat. I dropped Fish into the shade and headed straight for the... not Clif Bars, not even the bananas, but... the pickles. Yes, folks, pickles are my new favorite sports food. They're salty, crunchy, and full of liquid. Amazing. Along with several more handfuls of fishy crackers and a couple of brownies, I was one happy kid. By that time, the 25ers had started to come through the checkpoint, and I was getting itchy to get back on the way. Armed with two more liters of HEED and a whole lot of mental toughness, I looked up the mountain towards the Sierra Prieta overlook, another 3 miles and an additional 1000 feet... up. It wasn't getting any closer standing at the checkpoint, so I hoisted myself back into the saddle and resumed the spinning without any sight of Jason or Rhino. My pride wouldn't let me walk in front of the 25ers for the first mile or so, but after awhile the steepness and exhaustion started to kick in, so I played the on again off again game until the road burrowed itself back into the pine forests. Once protected from the sun, I began to feel better again, and I kicked it up as much as I could, telling myself that the overlook was just around the next bend. Around the 8th bend or so, I finally saw the telltale sign of the white aid station tent. Looking like a pro though I didn't feel it at all, I cruised on past the dozen riders camped out at the station and made my way back onto the beloved singletrack. By that time, I was so set on finishing, I just kept on going, knowing that if I stopped, my legs would cramp and I wouldn't be able to fight the urge to break out the camera and take pictures of the incredible scene that spread out before me. The singletrack was amazing though, its beauty quadrupled by the fact that it was DOWN. For the next ten miles, all I could focus on was getting back into town. I wore my brakes completely out, with metal rubbing on metal where the rubber had been completely stripped away from the extensive use during Skull Valley and the last few miles. As I rounded a sharp bend, a few volunteers shouted that I had one final hill and five miles left to go. After I passed them, I laughed out loud: I was six hours in and feeling great. With a new found sense of purpose, I pounded out the last long hill, intent on finishing in less than 6:30. Before I knew it, I was skidding down the last part of singletrack onto Thumb Butte Road. Back on pavement, I kicked it up into my highest gear and just cranked along like a roadie. The ride back into town lasted longer than I thought it would, and with each minute that passed closer to the 6:30 mark, I dug a little bit deeper. Finally, with the police waving me through red lights towards the square, I came to the last straightaway and rolled across the finish line at 6:28. Exhausted, but elated, I found a few of the Missing Links guys and picked up my finishing plaque. I couldn't have been happier. I did it... and not in a bad time either. We waited on Jason and Rhino, who rolled in 6:57, and then headed back to Al's for whatever calories we could scrounge up (donuts, milk, and a hamburger for me) and a shower to wash off 50 miles of dust and sweat. As tired as I was, I was on top of the world with the completion of the great challenge.

The awards ceremony was crowded, but fun with Todd, free shwag, and the whole community of mountain bikers. All five of the women who podiumed for the 50 mile race looked like pros, and I would have had to raced in 5 hours to get up there... I guess it's something to shoot for next year :). After awards we had dinner at the Brewing Company and then did an abbreviated version of a pub crawl with me downing pint after pint of water like a champ. We made it back to Al's some time later and spent the rest of the evening massaging our aching muscles and telling stories around the fire pit until I crashed, hard.

I woke up the next morning feeling completely rested without a sore muscle to be felt. I couldn't believe it. So instead of lounging around Prescott as I had planned, I headed north to join Angel and Christie for some fun in the Verde Valley. I met them in Camp Verde and Angel drove the Nissan down the 20 miles of dirt road to the Verde River. The hot springs sounded like an incredible way to relax after Saturday's race, so we crossed the river and headed up the trail to the pools. The first and only time that we had visited the hot springs was in July, when the weather was too hot to really enjoy the warm mineral waters. The area has been known to be a hangout for nudists, but since there weren't that many people there in July, we had been spared. That was not the case on Sunday. I had completely forgotten about the naked factor, and I think that all three of us were a little bit shocked when we climbed up the banks of the river to assess the scene. I had really been looking forward to slipping into the hot pools, but after we arrived, I was beginning to have second thoughts about hanging out with a bunch of old guys that were, simply put, just hanging out. I had no problem agreeing to camp out downriver for some lunch. The Verde was flowing fast, and it was still great to jump off the rocks, explore, and swim in the river. After lunch, we got up the courage to swim back upriver. It was a bit humorous/unnerving to climb up the banks with a old naked guy sitting next to where you were climbing, but it made the subsequent jump back off the ledge that much more worth it. After a few jumps near the cascades of mineral water, the lure of the pools overcame the nudity, and we joined the half dozen people already in the pool, bringing the clothed:naked ratio over .500. The water was heavenly and worth it. We spent some time in both pools, admiring the artwork on the walls and rocks and the relaxing water. After some time, we headed back downstream for some frisbee and chillin' in the cooler Verde before getting back in the pools. By that time, the pools had cleared out except for two people, and we got the enclosed pool all to our clothed selves for 5 shining minutes before a nude woman of substantial size joined us in the pool. I hadn't realized just how small the pool was until then. To her credit though, she was really nice and told us some of the history of the artwork on the walls.

After we were fully relaxed from the pools, we packed up and trekked back to the car, enjoying the beauty of the Verde valley in the late afternoon sun. It was so beautiful that we didn't want to leave, and the three of us seriously started considering options for camping that night... the prospect of returning to Phoenix was not an enjoyable thought. After some deliberation, we decided that it wouldn't be feasible considering all my camping gear was back with the Jeep in Camp Verde and that we had work to attend early in the morning, but like the children that we are, we refused to go back inside until we were sure that we had squeezed the last possible fun out of the day.

By the time we drove up and out of the Verde valley, the shadows were stretching long across the western edge of the Mogollon Rim. Despite the time, at the crossroads that would either take us left back to Camp Verde or right to Fossil Creek, we turned right. We parked near the trail to the creek and bushwacked down to the blue-green fast flowing waters below. Less than half a mile into our hike, we could not resist the temptation to play among the rapids that formed a perfect water slide. We eventually made it up to the first of the bigger falls, welcomed by the delicate smell of locust blooms. As the last remaining light filtered down over the canyon rim, I played in the strong current of the falls and jumped into the deep pools below, completely content. The sun held on for as long as it could, but the further it sank, the cooler the temperatures became, signaling that it was time to go. After stopping in at an incredible Italian restuarant in Strawberry for a warm and hearty dinner, we headed back towards Phoenix. Well past my school day bedtime, I arrived back home and crashed into bed, satisfied with the weekend's challenging ride and post-race relaxation.