No matter, I checked in, and followed the sound of Bill's voice to the Missing Links area of the campground, which ended up being a field of large volcanic rocks. That, coupled with the fact that the temperatures were below 50, finalized my decision against setting up the tent. I hung out with the guys before Pierre and Evelyn returned from dinner in town, and then curled up in the back of the Jeep for a bit of rest before the big ride.
The next morning dawned cold and a bit cloudy, but we were all excited about the day ahead of us. The ML guys were all riding the 30 miler, and Pierre, Ev, and I were going to tackle the 60. We met a few of Landis guys at the starting line, said good luck to everyone, and were off. On the map, the first 30 miles were to be up and the second 30 down, so I was mentally prepared for a tough start. After a short ride on a Jeep road, we started climbing. Ev and I stayed together for the first few miles, but her triathlete fitness soon prevailed and she passed me before the 1st aid station. At Mile 7, I grabbed a few orange slices and some HEED, and set out to catch Ev. A mix of rolling single and doubletrack made up the next 8 miles, and though I could definitely feel the effects of elevation, I was feeling pretty good when I rolled up to the 2nd aid station for some Oreos and some more HEED after 1/4 of the race was completed. The next 12 miles were mostly up on a Jeep road, and I just cranked it up the many hills, passing slower riders and really getting into a good cadence. The miles flew by, and before I knew it, I was at the third aid station, downing pickles and pretzels and feeling on top of the world. Unfortunately, I wasn't at the top of the world yet, and the next 3 miles or so were very steeply inclined. The loose forest soil made it impossible to ride up the slopes, so for two long, steep mountains, I pushed my bike to the top. But, at the top of the 2nd peak, the race was supposed to be all downhill, and I couldn't have been happier. The descents were fairly technical (sharply curving switchbacks and lots of roots), but very fast, and I flew down. For several miles, I rolled along the singletrack, on top of the world. It wasn't all down, however, and there were still plenty of smaller hills to tackle. I was mostly on my own for this part of the ride, and I got to enjoy the serenity of the tall dark pines coupled with the bright contrast of white shaking aspen displaying their radiant yellow foliage as I rode along. It was 17 miles along this stretch until we got to the next aid station, and after about 13, I was ready to see some people again. In the last 4 or so, one rider began to have bike problems, and he and I leapfrogged each other, wondering aloud to each other where the aid station was supposed to be. Eventually, though, we found it around 2 p.m. It couldn't have come sooner, and we began devouring goldfish crackers and gulps of HEED as the clouds that had threatened rain all day began to become more ominous. I began to feel the effects of the long ride about 50 miles in. I had mentally prepared myself for a nice, fast descent on the back side of the course, but it couldn't have been more different. The mountains are essentially a volcanic graveyard, and for what seemed like miles on end, the trail consisted of washes filled with oddly shaped baby heads (large annoying rocks about the size of a baby's head). My physical state was completely in tune with my mental one, and as long as I kept myself fed and watered, my mind could tackle the torturous rocks. But the more miles I put on, the more tired my body became, and turning a corner on a rare smooth spot on the trail only to reveal an uphill battle with the baby heads almost made me want to cry. The fact that I hadn't seen anyone since the aid station wasn't positive either, though I didn't feel much better when a pro-looking girl passed me as I was bumbling up a particular tricky part of trail. I sucked it up though, and just kept rolling/bouncing along for the next 5 miles. Just as the boulder forest ended, the skies opened up. It had been sprinkling for the last hour or so, but it began to pour with about 4 miles to go to the aid station. By this time it was already 3 p.m., the race cut-off time, and my spirits were pretty low as I wasn't sure if they were even going to let me finish the race. The next four miles were tough and... well, heavy. I almost wished for the boulder fields to return as the trail became a ribbon of peanut butter which stuck to my wheels, brakes, gearing, and all parts of my body. Every few minutes, I had to stop to scrape everything down just to continue. By the time I reached the aid
station, I had resorted to pushing my bike up the hills as it was too heavy/caked to even try to ride. The guys manning the checkpoint were lot letting people continue, and several riders who had arrived before me were busy wiping mud off of their hands to cram some Oreos down before the rain got to them. Although I was disappointed that I wasn't able to finish, I still ended up riding about 59 miles, as the course was actually 68 miles long (much to the chagrin of those with bike computers). I got sagged back to the finish line just as the last of the ML guys were leaving (as they had only ridden 30 miles and had gotten done before the rain). I found Pierre curled up in his car, but Evelyn hadn't arrived yet. The course was a co
mplete mess, and riders in varying states of mud and exhaustion were scattered all over the place, with several completely caked with their bikes draped over their shoulders marching numbly into the finish. When we realized that Ev wasn't being sagged in, we went out to go find her and set out marching ourselves into the muck. We met her about two miles from the finish, carrying her broken bike (she broke her back derailleur in the mud) across her back like Jesus carrying His cross. She kindly refused our offer to help, and was determined to make it across the finish line. She was one of the more ambitious ones: frustrated racers were ditching their bikes off the trail, just wanting to get to somewhere warm and dry. We walked along with her and gave her company and encouragement during the long, rainy trek to the mucky finish line. Once we all stopped hiking, it got really cold, and we headed to Epic Ride's tent to warm up. Even though I don't normally drink coffee, the warm, black liquid that they were serving from the camp stove was incredible. The majority of the race fleet that had returned to the starting area packed camp and headed home, leaving only a few dozen supporters and weary racers huddled in the tent and scattered about the camp area. The Epic Ride staff scurried around trying to get a handle on the situation, the first-aid and rescue workers bandaged and blanketed injured riders, the bands that were supposed to play the post race party were long gone, the New Belgium guys watched their kegs of Fat Tire collect rain water, and the poor barbecue cooks huddled miserably under their tarp, graciously feeding those of us who remained. Even though we hadn't paid for the meal, they served us up with massive helpings of pulled pork, beans, and potato salad that warmed our bellies and lifted our spirits. A change of clothes made all the difference in the world, and after sun set and the last mud-coated rider limped his muddy frame across the finish line to our cheers, the New Belgium guys dragged a keg over to Epic Ride's tent and Pierre, Evelyn, and the Epic staff hung out for a post-race "party." It wasn't quite the way it was supposed to go, and Todd was visibly stressed to the max, but once everyone had some hot coffee or cold beer, the blood starting to flow again in our tired bodies, and the stories started flowing from the long day. We talked and laughed until the three of us could no longer stand in our exhaustion, and then wearily left the warmth of the camp stove and made the long trek across the cold, soggy volcano field back to our cars where we crashed immediately.
station, I had resorted to pushing my bike up the hills as it was too heavy/caked to even try to ride. The guys manning the checkpoint were lot letting people continue, and several riders who had arrived before me were busy wiping mud off of their hands to cram some Oreos down before the rain got to them. Although I was disappointed that I wasn't able to finish, I still ended up riding about 59 miles, as the course was actually 68 miles long (much to the chagrin of those with bike computers). I got sagged back to the finish line just as the last of the ML guys were leaving (as they had only ridden 30 miles and had gotten done before the rain). I found Pierre curled up in his car, but Evelyn hadn't arrived yet. The course was a co
mplete mess, and riders in varying states of mud and exhaustion were scattered all over the place, with several completely caked with their bikes draped over their shoulders marching numbly into the finish. When we realized that Ev wasn't being sagged in, we went out to go find her and set out marching ourselves into the muck. We met her about two miles from the finish, carrying her broken bike (she broke her back derailleur in the mud) across her back like Jesus carrying His cross. She kindly refused our offer to help, and was determined to make it across the finish line. She was one of the more ambitious ones: frustrated racers were ditching their bikes off the trail, just wanting to get to somewhere warm and dry. We walked along with her and gave her company and encouragement during the long, rainy trek to the mucky finish line. Once we all stopped hiking, it got really cold, and we headed to Epic Ride's tent to warm up. Even though I don't normally drink coffee, the warm, black liquid that they were serving from the camp stove was incredible. The majority of the race fleet that had returned to the starting area packed camp and headed home, leaving only a few dozen supporters and weary racers huddled in the tent and scattered about the camp area. The Epic Ride staff scurried around trying to get a handle on the situation, the first-aid and rescue workers bandaged and blanketed injured riders, the bands that were supposed to play the post race party were long gone, the New Belgium guys watched their kegs of Fat Tire collect rain water, and the poor barbecue cooks huddled miserably under their tarp, graciously feeding those of us who remained. Even though we hadn't paid for the meal, they served us up with massive helpings of pulled pork, beans, and potato salad that warmed our bellies and lifted our spirits. A change of clothes made all the difference in the world, and after sun set and the last mud-coated rider limped his muddy frame across the finish line to our cheers, the New Belgium guys dragged a keg over to Epic Ride's tent and Pierre, Evelyn, and the Epic staff hung out for a post-race "party." It wasn't quite the way it was supposed to go, and Todd was visibly stressed to the max, but once everyone had some hot coffee or cold beer, the blood starting to flow again in our tired bodies, and the stories started flowing from the long day. We talked and laughed until the three of us could no longer stand in our exhaustion, and then wearily left the warmth of the camp stove and made the long trek across the cold, soggy volcano field back to our cars where we crashed immediately. We woke to a surprisingly clear, sunny, albeit 40 degree cold morning. After a breakfast of freeze-dry noodles and Oreo cookies, we did our best to brush the pounds of mud off of our bikes and packed up. It wasn't the end of the adventure by any means, though. I bought the Jeep specifically for times like these and wasn't worried about getting out of there, but Pierre and Ev's Ford Taurus wasn't exactly built for the "road" ahead. In between our camp and the paved road lay a mile of super-thick sticky mud and deep puddles bordered by a fortress of volcanic rocks that were strategically hidden in the tall pasture grass. We made it about halfway there, when a 4WD vehicle heading the opposite way stopped Pierre and warned him of the carnage that lay around the next bend in the road. We parked off of the muddy tracks and walked down the hill to see several cars stranded in the middle of the road and off in the marshy field. The mud and rocks had stopped several 2WD cars in their tracks, and a towing service was charging over $500 to get them out. We scouted out a safe path for Pierre to drive and rolled rocks out of the way before heading back to the cars and trying it out. He gunned it across the field and made it across the sloppy drainage culvert without problems, and I followed behind, immensely happy with my 4WD's performance.
The temperature wasn't breaking 50 in Show Low, and the skies had turned gray and were leaking once more. The cold and wet had seeped into my bones, and my mind could not fathom that it was warm anywhere in the world, much less in the state of Arizona. None-the-less, I headed down to Tonto Creek anyways to join Hannah and Angel for one last summer hike through the water. When I arrived, it was like I had traveled to a different planet. It was in the 80s when I pulled into the dusty parking area at the trailhead and pulled off my fleece and changed into some boardshorts. I squished back into my muddy Solomon's and headed down the trail to find my friends, carefully peeling prickly pears as I went for an early lunch. I passed only two other groups before I found them crawling along the edge of the granite banks.
The warm sun and beautiful surroundings warmed my psyche, and before long, all three of us were scrambling up the smooth cliffs to my favorite jumping cliff at Tonto. Si
nce the water level was a bit low, we picked a shorter cliff to test the depth before shedding our packs and swimming around the cool, deep pool. I climbed back up to the top again and jumped off a few times, reveling in what I knew were going to be some of the last jumps of the season. Even though my body was still very tired from the day before, I couldn't have been happier. We continued upstrea
m to our slide rock and the waterfall, and then scrambled up and over it to explore a bit further into the canyon as I had only once before. There are miles of pink granite canyon beyond the waterfall, but alas, Hannah had to get back to town in the evening, and we cut our exploring a bit short as the sun began to throw longer shadows on the towering walls and a brisk wind cut through the canyon, signaling that summer was over and we should probably get back to the Valley for the rest of the season.
nce the water level was a bit low, we picked a shorter cliff to test the depth before shedding our packs and swimming around the cool, deep pool. I climbed back up to the top again and jumped off a few times, reveling in what I knew were going to be some of the last jumps of the season. Even though my body was still very tired from the day before, I couldn't have been happier. We continued upstrea
m to our slide rock and the waterfall, and then scrambled up and over it to explore a bit further into the canyon as I had only once before. There are miles of pink granite canyon beyond the waterfall, but alas, Hannah had to get back to town in the evening, and we cut our exploring a bit short as the sun began to throw longer shadows on the towering walls and a brisk wind cut through the canyon, signaling that summer was over and we should probably get back to the Valley for the rest of the season. I got back to Tempe in no time, washed down all of my gear, made a big pot of macaroni and cheese, and relaxed a bit after an incredible weekend of adventure.
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