In comparison to the blanket party conducted on me by the first
300 miles of the Arizona Trail, one could safely say the susequent 450 miles to the finish were, indeed, a magic carpet ride. But, anyone who has lined up at the Mexican border to race this beast, knows how far from accurate that term is in describing the remaining jaunt from Superior to Utah.
Feeling rested and ready to put some miles on the Superfly's odometer, I looked forward to remaining on (not hiking through cacti) my bike for the next 120+ miles to Payson as I set out from Superior. A new route from Picketpost to the Apache Trail was added this year. Heavy on dirt roads, it added into the route a funky, little retirement community with a convenience store whose prices were from the 1980's. I had to ask the clerk if the total was correct. Everything was so cheap! I felt like I needed to look for a Dolorain parked outside. As I pedaled away thinking about race strategy and its proximity to Superior and Apache Junction, I secretly wished it was located where Kelvin is. How great would it be to come off Ripsey and see a convenience store? Ha, wish in one hand....
I pedaled through the night, loving the cool, quick ride to Canyon Lake where I stopped to use the restroom and smiled at the sounds of a massive Friday night drunkfest occuring on the marina. As I screamed down
Fish Creek Hill (seen at 1:45) in the moonlight, I thought about how bad this climb must have sucked for Brad Mattingly on his NOBO trek. I soon came to Apache Lake and my goal was to sleep at Inspiration Point under the gazebo by the restrooms. I made it to about 2 miles away. When I realized I was asleep on my bike, I stopped and got my bivvy out and laid down in a small pull-out literally 5 feet off the road. With me and sleep its like a light switch, I can go a long time but when the switch goes off, there is no gradual transition, I am out.
I awoke to a car that had stopped to ask if I was ok. After assuring them I was fine and didn't need a ride, I couldn't fall back asleep because I was freezing. After seeing the forecast, I elected to roll the first part of the race without a sleeping bag to save weight. That night was the only time I wished I had it, but wasn't too worried as it was waiting in Payson.
Unable to really warm up, I got moving again around 3am to warm up. In a few minutes, I was at Inspiration Point were I came upon a groggy Ron Thompson and Swami, who had the exact same plan. I didn't realize we were so close together and it was great to see other racers. A few quick words and I was moving again and crossed the bridge over Roosevelt Lake as the sun peeked over the horizon.
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The pavement miles zoomed by quickly and my mind was wandering. I pondered needed changes to my upcoming Tour Divide set up to increase comfort and efficiency. It sprinkled rain but nothing to even warrant stopping for my rain gear. I stopped at Punkin (ha, yeah that's correct) Center for a hot Belgian waffle and before I knew it I was at Jake's Corner talking bikes with the store owner. A roadie and a mountain biker himself, he showed me his herd of bikes and we talked trails and swapped carnage stories. The many interesting and wonderful people I have met bikepacking could be the subject of an entire book in itself.
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| I took this soley to compare the gas prices from 2012...(first picture you see).Hmmmmm.... |
From this point, I was about to ride 6 new-to-me miles. In 2012, I had turned my GPS off and put the cue sheets away, thinking it was all highway to Payson and blew right past this section of dirt road. An honest mistake then, so this year I made certain to turn right and ride the dirt roads that were part of the course I missed. These miles dumped me back at the highway just south of All Bikes, a true spectacle and hoader's paradise on the route:
I rode strong into Payson where I picked up my sleeping bag for the colder nights I knew were in store now that I was in northern Arizona and at much higher altitudes. I chose to stay and rest up for the Highline Trail battle I knew lie ahead.
I had a really hard time on the section leaving Payson all the way to Pine in 2012, but this time around it was a breeze. Well, rested, fed and with feet that did not hurt, I cruised into Pine on Easter Sunday feeling ready and armed with a secret weapon that cost me $20 at an outlet department store in Payson:
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| Stylin kicks... |
Done were my days of painful blisters as a result of at least 15 miles of pushing through bushes on the Highline. I learned my lesson and came to the fight with a pair of goofy looking pink and black shoes. A good choice in the end as I flew through it, experiencing only a fraction of the suck I endured in 2012. A bit of rain that made for some death mud slowed me up this year, but it could have been much worse than it actually was. I decided to camp at Geronimo Springs about an hour after sunset because of the perfect campsite and fire pit that beckoned like a Siren. Sometimes, it is really nice to just stop and enjoy the cool places instead of pushing on like crazy.
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| Well, well, well, what have we here? |
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| A log of those in front of me just after Payson... |
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| Highline Trail views... |
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| One of the most scenic views of the Mogollon Rim and a memory-evoker from 2012... |
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| Up. The answer is generally up when the question is "which way?"on the Highline section... |
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| A look back.... |
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| The top of the Mogollon Rim and my homage paid.... |
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| Notice the polo player? One of life's awesome coincidences.... |
I rode on to Blue Ridge Campground, knowing the night would be cold and looking forward to a good place to bivvy in the outhouse. I shared some fantastic hours around a campfire with the only other people in the campground and slept well in my luxury suite:
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| Hilton? Shah! The outhouse bivvy is when you know you have really lived! |
The next morning I met thru-hiker Scott, and unbeknownst to me until just outside Mormon Lake, lost my SPOT (tracking device). I had it secured well (or so I thought) but anyone who has ridden from Blue Ridge to Mormon Lake knows how bumpy it is. I have a very appropriate term to describe those miles, but in the interest of trying to adhere to some sort of ettiquette, I best not use it on this blog. Email me if curiousity is killing you.
Instead, I will quote Aaron Denberg. His words leave no question as to the comfort of the trail in this area:
"Never again on a hardtail...."
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| Mormon Lake had a new pizza joint that did not exist in 2012.... |
I ate and rolled on into the night, taking the published detour due to trail closure out side Flagstaff. Once in town, I sought out a hot shower at the Grand Canyon Hostel and was pleasantly suprised that it also included free breakfast of fruit, oatmeal and toast. Yummmmmmm....
The trail just north of Flagstaff.
That is my answer to the question "what is your favorite part of the AZT?". My tires never once touched the ground. Even though it is a dirty, steep climb for the first several miles, it is my magic carpet ride. Here, again, I am untouchable. My mind transports into its own realm. Nature is part of me and vice versa.
Magic. Mesmerizing. Mind-engulfing. These pictures will have to do, but really my advice:
Get a bike, go to Flagstaff and ride this!
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| This pretty much says it all.... |
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| The point where my camera died in 2012....I remember back to that very second and how I knew I would be back in a year or two in order to pass this sign in the daylight hours. |
The next four or five miles are northern Arizona's answer to the Boulders section. Here I was a rockstar. The 500+ miles under my belt were nothing. Ripping through the trees and around the corners negated everything else on the planet. For about 20 minutes, I was free as I will ever be.
High point of my race. Without a doubt.
The forested trails soon turned to miles and miles of treeless sage brush and I pedaled through Babbit Ranch on dirt roads for a long time. The sunset brought cold temperatures and I just kept moving, taking advantage of the energy I had from the fantastic riding I had just experienced. The closer I got to the Grand Canyon, the colder the thermometer read. At Grandview Tower, it was 22F. I put on every layer of clothing, my beanie and gloves and crawled into my bag and bivvy for a nap. Cold naps kinda suck, so I was only there snoozing for an hour or so before riding the last 14 miles into Tusayan. I hit the Post Office for my pack, took a nap in the WARM, glorious, sunshine and descended South Kaibab around 4:30pm.
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| Just about to disassemble....And, I kid you not, I left my back thru-axle here and had to turn around, luckily only about 30 seconds down the canyon, to retrieve it. DOH! Can you imagine getting all the way to the north rim and realizing an integral piece of your bike was lying beneath this sign still? |
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| Shadow people carry bikes too it seems.... |
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| Why shoulders scream.... |
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| Notice the warning in the upper left corner.....See here |
No permits, no camping, just go. Straight through. I suppose camping at Cottonwood would be a fun thing to do sometime, but if I ever do, I will not be toting a bicycle on my back.
In fact, I do believe I am done packing two-wheeled transport devices across that ditch. Twice is enough. Despite my training including 30 straight days of yoga and core work and my upper body strength being relatively beastly (for me anyway), hikes like that hurt us little people. All was pretty good until about Roaring Springs. I started to get really tired and the hours of hiking were starting to make my shoulders scream.
I stopped on a switchback and took my pack off. I sprawled out in the middle of the trail, flat on my back, under the stars of the wee hours of the morning and felt a tear escape from my right eye. It was a tear of joy, pain, exhaustion, elation, energy, sacrifice, discomfort and comfort all in one. It was a tear for everything I had experienced in Arizona, honestly, beginning in 2011 when I first read a report about a snowy start and how there was no women finishers.
Wow, look where I was now. I knew a second finish was less than 24 hours away and in a way, the thing I wanted to finish so quickly, I (in a weird, ironic way) did not want to end. That is bikepacking. One always thinks of and pushes to the next destination, whether it is the finish or a resupply, a water source or a shelter from the weather. But the miles between these comfort points are what makes us grow, what makes us aware, evolve, toughen up, think, learn the art of tolerating discomfort, learn what stitches us together and brings us to the realization we just don't quite fit in anywhere else as easily as we do out here.
I got to the North Rim in 14 hours and 45 minutes. I had learned of a big storm that would bring first rain, then snow and after a few minutes eating breakfast in front of the space heater in the Backcountry Office's restroom, I was off to Jacob Lake. These miles were a bit boring, but seemed to pass quickly. I wasted no time, with the main motivation to NOT get soaked in the rain. I really hate being soaked and freezing, so an evening finish was happening without a doubt. I sat at Jacob Lake probably longer than I should have, but a very interesting conversation with some turkey hunters broke out. Just more evidence that a huge part of bikepacking is the people I meet. Sure, I could have finished an hour or two earlier, but my time laughing with complete strangers was pretty priceless. They were in no hurry to be anywhere, very engaging and interesting and no one felt any need to check their phones in mid-sentence.....
The day turned from sunny and windy to cloudy and windy and I raced the clock to the border. GoGoGoGoGo!
There were no tears this year when I saw the red hills. The tears came in 2012. This year it was more of a content feeling of closure. I knew back in Tucson I was going to finish. There was no doubt in my mind. I knew how hard the miles that lie ahead would be, and did not take them lightly, but as I left the city limits, I knew red hills were in my future.
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| Horrible picture due to poor light... |
I beat the blizzard and only a few rain drops fell.
I rolled into Stateline Campground at 6:36pm MST on April 25, 2014. Exactly 14 days, 11 hours and 36 minutes after lining up and starting at the Mexican border on April 11, 2014. (Fun, astonishing factoid: Scroll down the page and check out my 2012
finish time!!!)
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| The "WTF is the story behind this?" award goes to a restroom in Rifle, CO on the return trip...sorry the pic is kinda blurry! |
The AZTR 750 is a colossal adventure I wholeheartedly recommend undertaking. It beat me up and it broke me down almost to the point of quitting. Most importantly, however, it built me up, it empowered me, it killed old, nagging demons, closed old, comfortable roads that never need traveled again and fortified my confidence in the fact that NOTHING is impossible when one knows, deep down, the answer to this question:
How bad do you want it?
