AZT 300 ITT Update

Arizona, you have broken my heart twice now.  I was "mishap prepared" this time around and ready to ITT last Tuesday. I was mostly just craving the solitude of simply being out on my bike for three days.  I felt very little fatigue on Rainier and my legs were stronger than I thought they would be when riding in Seattle afterwards. My shuttle rides came together at the last minute and then someone started a huge fire affecting the Canelo Hills and access to the start. The report put the fire at 10,000 acres and 0% contained late Tuesday. Parker Canyon Lake was scheduled to be closed until June 1^st. I learned of this as I was on my way to the airport, packed and ready to fly out. I froze up for a minute and took the nearest exit off I-70. I pulled into a parking lot and just sat in complete disbelief for a couple of minutes.  I was cognizant of, but really did not expect a fire to jack up my week.

I had around thirty minutes to make a decision whether or not to go ride anyway and just skip the first 31 miles of the route. I went back and forth. Why was I going? Let’s not beat around the bush. If you have read any of my blog, or know me, it is no secret I was going for a run at the women’s record. I didn’t want to do the AZ 270, I wanted the full AZ 300 to finish. A short conversation with my good friend and racing partner, Erick, really helped me look at it from a few different perspectives.

Thus, going to Tucson would be just to train and I really have zero desire to ride in the desert heat for no real reason. Since I live minutes from a fantastic trail system in Jefferson County on which to train, I slowly turned around and started heading west back home. Melancholy and introspective on the way home, I really wanted to spend my birthday finishing the AZT 300, but began reckoning with the notion that this year it was just not to be…

Talk about all dressed up and no place to go L

Time to shift my focus and newly acquired bikepacking experience to the big dance in August!

Rainier Trip Report

My old, threadbare Oregon Ducks beanie was retired this past Thursday. I have had that hat for too long, worn it too much and it usually appears in every summit picture. Its ugly, its old and should have been thrown away a long time ago:

The northwest seemed a fitting place to retire my old friend. What follows is the story of her retirement party held on the summit of Mt. Rainier:

Sunday May 15, 2011

BANG! BANG! BANG! What?! Ugh. Why didn’t my alarm go off?? I reached under my pillow to find my phone in its (recently) all too common place. Once again, I had turned not one, but (yes, really) six alarms off and stowed my phone away. Oversleeping. My one true talent.

The noise was my brother pounding on my front door. He was taking me to the airport to catch a flight to Seattle to summit Rainier. I had been planning this trip with my friend, Steve, since December and the day had finally arrived. I grabbed my pack and gear and we were en route. Again, I slept from wheels up to wheels down and when I arrived at SeaTac International, a typical cloudy, rainy day in the Pacific Northwest greeted me. Steve and Josh, the third member of our summit team, picked me up and after leaving a good chunk of change at REI, we headed to base camp--Ashford, WA.

En route to Ashford...typical rainy NW slide

This small town is home to Whittaker Mountaineering and the base camp for RMI and other guide services.

Being unguided, we got a room at the bunkhouse and began gear prep for the next morning’s departure.

My gear setup: rope, picket, ice axe, tent, sleeping bag, thermarest, helmet, food, clothes, harness, etc

 We drove into the park to Paradise, secured climbing permits, registered and talked with the climbing ranger.

Game on. I was stoked and ready to ascend. The weather was dreary and the sky was filled with clouds and snow flurries and I had still yet to see this mighty beast I was so amped to climb. We checked weather a few more times that night, and also met some cool climbers, Nick and Ben, with whom we would cross paths several more times. I finally dozed off excited and anxious to begin the journey in to Camp Muir at 10K’ the next day. We knew the weather was going to be snowy and cold and had a few conversations about maybe waiting until Tuesday, but the tentative plan was to start in the morning.

Paradise visitor center at 5K'

As I drifted off to sleep, I remember thinking how different my life is now from what it was growing up here in the northwest. The moisture in the air was soothing and it was nice to be back in the lush, green forests I knew for so long.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Packs loaded on our backs (weighing between 60-70 lbs) and snow falling, we set out on the 4.5 mile slog into Camp Muir. We had 5K’ to ascend in whiteout conditions.

Steve and Josh on the trail when they were still visible

Complete whiteout conditions.

Look hard!

I relied on preloaded waypoints and the wands marking the route. The pace was very slow and took a long time as we trudged on wand to wand, unable to see much beyond 20 to 30 feet ahead. I had still not caught even a glimpse of Mt. Rainier. About half way, Josh was really struggling with fatigue and altitude sickness and visibility was quickly declining. We stopped and dug a huge hole to get out of the wind, fired up the stove and cooked Josh some hot food. After rest, food and rehydration, Josh was ready to push on to Muir. He was also fighting a miserable headache that was affecting his vision. Continuing on again, wand by wand, we climbed for another hour and a half until the wands were becoming harder and harder to find. Josh was feeling worse and the wind and snow reduced visibility to barely 10 feet. My GPS put us at a mere 0.83 miles from Muir, but the wise decision was to bivvy up for the night and let Josh recover and rest. It was really cold and we began digging an enormous hole to set up the tent.

Working quickly and digging through the snow kept me warm and the blood circulating through my fingers. All said and done, we made a pretty sweet crib in the middle of the Muir snowfield. Three people in a two person tent made for a miserable night of sleep for Josh and Steve, but miraculously, I slept really well, despite being smashed up against the tent wall.

We got a short window late that night where the sky cleared and Gibraltar Rock and the summit became visible in the light of an enormous, full moon. The cloud line looking southeast dropped and we sat in utter amazement at the scene before our eyes. It was like a mystical setting in a medieval fairytale as the moon cast perfect shadows on the snow, the clouds and the peaks of the volcanoes that peered above the fluffy cloud line. None of us could really speak our emotions and just sat mystified by what was occurring on a freezing Monday night in May.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Waking to a bluebird day in a four foot hole in the snow put a huge smile on my lips. We took turns thawing out and packing our gear back into our packs.

My first glimpse at the beast

Breaking camp

With another grand to ascend, our route-finding problems had vanished into the crystal clear air. We arrived at Camp Muir soon after departing our beloved snow “cave” and got our spots staked out in the public shelter.

Muir public shelter

Camp Muir consists of a rock walled public shelter, solar toilets, guide huts and a few guide tents scattered around.

RMI Hut and Climbing Ranger shack

The public shelter was completely full and was an interesting mix of climbers from all over the US. We ran into Nick and Ben again and they quickly found the last two spots. The rest of the day consisted of lounging on the roof in the sunshine, resting, eating, talking with other climbers and watching the guides conduct skill classes for their clients.

Lunch with a view

One of my lunch companions

And the other

More views from Camp Muir

That night was an interesting mix of smells and sounds coming from the 12-15 people in the shelter.

And, in case there is any confusion:  climbers stink. Straight up reek. Ha! With me being one of the chief culprits of stench!

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Most of the guided groups leave around midnight to 1AM on summit day. The reasoning behind the early departure is due to a presumed slower pace and to ensure the snow bridges across the crevasses are still frozen and solid on the descent. However, we watched a group of guides leave at 8:30AM the previous day and successfully wand the route to the summit. Presuming similiar weather and pace, we based our departure time for Wednesday morning on that group. Josh was still feeling no better and opted to stay at Camp Muir and possibly return to Paradise where the car was parked. So Steve and I roped up, ice axes in hand and crampons tightened to tackle the Ingraham Glacier to the 14410’ summit. Excited to see what was beyond Muir, we set out on the long traverse to Cathedral Gap where the first real ascending began.

Looking back at the traverse to Muir from the top of Cathedral Gap

 

Beyond Cathedral Gap, we came to Ingraham Flats Camp. Many of the guided clients stay here for a night in tents to break up length of the climb.

Looking up toward Ingraham Flats

Ascending to 12,500’ we crossed about 4 snow bridges and peered down into the most colossal, beautiful, and DEEP crevasses. The blue color teeming from the cracks is found nowhere else. I gaped in sheer amazement at the intricacy, beauty and delicacy of the patterns in the glacier.

Near 11K'

Stopping for a quick snack near 12,500’ we met a guided group returning from the summit. Conversation ensued and one of the guides advised against us continuing due to the unseasonably warm temperatures that could lead to unstable crevasse crossing on the return. A bit disgruntled but still hopeful for a summit bid tomorrow, we concurred. Turning around and starting earlier tomorrow was the safe and wise choice. Falling into a crevasse would have made for a crappy day… J

Thursday, May 19, 2011

2AM. I was up and shaking with excitement. I grabbed my headlamp and tried to be quiet as I crawled out of the shelter. I could feel summit success coming. The stars, moon, and mountain were perfectly visible. No wind whatsoever. About 45 minutes later, we set off again. Looking through Cadaver Gap high on the route we could see the lights of climbers who had started about an hour or two before us. And since there was another group starting from Ingraham Flats, we knew we wouldn’t be the only ones on the glacier. We trudged through the cold darkness of the morning and somewhere around 13, 100’ the sun began to rise in the east and kiss the icy slopes we were climbing. To the west, the moon was simultaneously setting.

Sunrise in the east

Moonset in the west

No words I can procure in this trivial blog will ever match the gratitude I hold for being in that moment. In life there are events etched in our psyche for eternity, and this was certainly one of them. Undeniably and unquestionably.

The temperature kept dropping and we kept climbing. The route was not a technical challenge, however one crevasse crossing, I would venture to say, was the crux of the route and became very steep immediately after stepping across and provided for some fun scrambling. We kept winding up the slopes until we came to the summit crater. Absolutely surreal.

Cornice on the summit crater

Dropping packs and easily floating along the short trail that bisected the crater, we reached the true summit of Mt. Rainier. 14410 feet!!!! YES!

Mt. Adams, Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Hood and Mt. Jefferson were all visible to the south and we marveled at the Olympic Mountains to the north. The cold wind froze my fingers, but I didn’t care. My lungs inhaled the purest, sweetest air and my mind was clear and aware of the one, precious life I have been given to pursue my lust for EPIC.



I left this for the summit team behind us. I imagine it was much appreciated



Rainier

Planning since December to climb this little old hill in Washington. I haven't been back to the northwest in a while and I am anxious and excited. Spending a lot of time lately on my bike in the desert has made the call of the mountains louder and louder..

Follow, if you are interested, on my SPOT page:    Chasing the Call   Depending on weather, the plan is to summit via Gibraltar Ledges and descend Ingraham Direct. Weather is critical, so things may change, but this round of epic begins Monday!

Some Voodoo and My Ugly Single Speed

Yes. I have names for my bikes. Stop laughing. They are my “horses” now. The Superfly is Carl (thanks to the Talking Carl App, a good friend and MAYBE a bit of Crown one evening in November),  my road bike is Ned and my single speed is Celeste. Celeste is ugly. God awful ugly. In fact, before the rattle can job someone put on her Bianchi frame, the letters C.U.S.S were present. Celeste Ugly Single Speed.

Straight up ugly! But, I oh so love her.

And so she was christened. I found her on Craigslist for $400. The components really aren’t that bad. Someone put some money into building her and I was excited to go take a look and buy my first mountain bike just under a year ago. The fully I was riding was a hand-me-down borrowed Specialized that I have described in previous entries (his name was Brownie..yah, boring), so I had never been the owner of an actual MOUNTAIN bike. A very dear friend knew how much I wanted this bike and actually bought it without my knowing and surprised me about a week after I discovered she was sold.

I love to climb (sick in the head, I know) on this bike. I love the fast, flowy Voodoo Trail. So, when Voodoo Fire registration came up months ago, I entered.

Fast forward to race day--April 23, 2011.

I met Jen and Erick at Park Meadows to carpool down to Pueblo. Including the 5 minute nap in my car, my sleep total was about 50 minutes. I had just got done pouring drinks all night and was pretty exhausted so I was looking forward to sleeping all the way to Pueblo. Celeste was in the back of my car and I had just picked her up from the shop about 12 hours prior.

Erick: Um, did you know your back tire is flat?

Me: Shut the [expletive] up…you are joking, right?

Erick: uhh, no.

How can a tire go flat after I carried it to my car a mere 12 hours prior? Whatever. We loaded up and I was unconscious until we rolled into Pueblo. Getting ready, we found a tiny thorn in the tire that must have punctured the slime tube. I had one spare tube that exploded inside the tire with only 35 psi. The noise made Jen’s ears ring and I just laughed in utter disbelief. Luckily, the awesome guy parked next to us loaned me a tube to use and I carried a slime tube as back up. What is with my tire karma lately? Whatever it was, the bad voodoo ended with the tube exploding. Done. Finished. Gone....Poof!

The race course was changed at the last minute due to the Voodoo Trail being under water I heard. Ok, so all the fun, perfect single speed stuff was gone. I was good to roll with whatever. The neutral roll out started on a paved road and a gigantic bottleneck occurred at the point the course turned to singletrack. I was in the back third of the pack.

The pack



And how far away from the front I was...FML

 I had to smile a little knowing that I was on a really ugly bike that cost roughly half the price of the front shock on the bike next to me. But I love Celeste. And this is what I signed up for. Someday, I want to build a really sweet SS. Someday it will happen. J

So, I can’t use my five race resume as legitimate experience from which to speak, but why the long neutral roll out? Wouldn’t a staggered start or a shorter roll out be more logical? This would allow us to get things sorted out on the wide, paved road before the ridiculous bottleneck. I waited. And waited. And waited some more. Found a good playlist to rock. Waited some more. I slowly walked my bike up the first hill and carried it through the rocks behind hundreds of other bikes. I would have loved to be about 150 bikes closer to the front at the very start, but my name was certainly not called and I didn’t want to be a jerk on the road and go pushing and shoving my way to the front. Frustrating, but I took it in stride and decided to just ride a solid, steady pace. I was miles behind and my goal for the race quickly became even (or negative) splits on the three 23-mile laps. I felt like a hamster inside a wheel on the long, flat double tracks. God, I was slooooooow. But, I killed it on the hills, the tiny bit of technical rock and the flowy singletrack. I found myself riding a good pace for the majority of the race with a quick little dude on a nice Surly.  I found a pace and I kept it for 69 miles. I never felt fatigued and I had a good time. I can’t say I truly enjoyed the route the race took, but I can say that any day on my bike is a good day.

I was 5th in the Women’s SS division. Ha! I only saw one other woman on a SS and that was at the bottleneck. She was about 50 or so bikes ahead of me, pedaling away as I stood in line to walk over a rock.  



An idea of the bottleneck



I really have a lot to learn.

Go Ugly bike!

Here are some more pictures my awesome, supportive friends, Jen and Erick took. They are two of the coolest people on this planet. Thank you, again, guys!!

AZT 300 Race Report

I opened my eyes last Friday morning and peeked out from under my sleeping bag to see four cows bedded down under the tree only twenty feet away. My night’s slumber with my new bovine friends was a bit windy and maybe a bit too brief, but I excitedly sat up and began repacking my gear onto my bike. I watched two other racers wake up across the road and start packing their bikes to begin the 300 mile journey to Picketpost Trailhead. Soon, car loads of bikers and bikes rolled up poured out into the parking lot.

I was a bit nervous, but mostly just ready to set out on the race for which, over the past four months I had been planning, training and preparing. I set out confidently and was feeling good.

The start

The sun was beating down, but not unbearable. Hills, rocks, climbs, descents. I found my pace about a mile in. I wanted to push harder but resisted, knowing the tough miles that lie ahead. I settled into a sweet rhythm.

PSSSSSSHHHHHH!! What the…?!! Seriously? I saw white tire slime (Stan’s) spraying out of my back tire and heard the air escaping rapidly. Why now? I had ridden this section and about 100 miles of the AZ trail over the course of the past month and a half and never even had a thorn in these tires, much less the torn sidewall I was now cussing. I looked at my GPS which read 5.5 miles. I cussed some more. Really?

I found my tire boot and my slime tube not happy at all with the fact I was going to be down one tube and one boot only 5.5 miles into the race. I began taking my back tire off, not doing a very good job because I was instead thinking about all the time I was losing. I wanted to be rolling along in my sweet, rhythmic pace, not changing a flat with a tire that now has a huge slash in the sidewall.  Ok, stop your whining and get to it, Jill.

I heard a bike coming up behind me and saw that it was my friend, Erick. He graciously and calmly helped me break the bead and I used a spare sock to dry the area around the tear as much as I could. There was a ton of Stan’s to wipe away and dump out and it took a while. Booting the tear, inflating the slime tube and getting back and running seemed like an eternity. I was out of my groove but happy to be rolling again. The hike-a-bike hills began and it started to get hotter. Up, down, up, down. I came to Canelo Pass, climbed some more and then bombed down a wide, fast double-track road. I saw an AZ trail sign pointing to the  leftand followed it, doing about Mach 9, not looking at the red line on my GPS. More road went by, and more. Ugh. Silly rookie. You have been on this trail before. This isn’t right. I looked up and saw about 4 or 5 bikers way back where I should have been watching my GPS and turned the wrong way. 2.5 miles later and after meeting up with someone else who followed the same road, I rejoined the course. I quickly caught all who had passed me and finished the Canelo Hills section with my two favorite North Carolinans, Brad and Matt. I turned right on the paved road into Patagonia and not 2 minutes later I felt my back tire lose about 85% of its air. I limped into the store in Patagonia by stopping to air up twice. By the time I was on the front porch of the store, my back tire had no air at all. Emotions flared and I wanted to kick the ice machine in front of me. The hole in the sidewall was bigger and the slime tube I was running on was shot. I got something to drink and thought about my options. Across the street was a gas station and I walked over and took the back tire off. Brad helped me rig a duct tape and cardboard boot that would need to hold until Tucson. I used my last slime tube, hit play on my ipod and hammered into Sonoita. Hard. I had renewed energy and the fire was burning hot. If I had another flat I would find myself with a real dilemma because the next opportunity to buy tubes was at a bike shop in Tucson. I rolled up to Sonoita, grabbed a Gatorade and headed off into the sunset. I didn’t stop again for more than about 10 minutes until just before I-10.

Stopped for a minute while grabbing a drink out of the sink at Kentucky Camp

Just as the sun was coming up, I could feel myself getting groggy as I missed the singletrack I was supposed to take and turned left on the road. I slept for about 45 minutes to an hour until the sun came up. Lying in my sleeping bag, I called Steve to get information about bike shops close to the route on the east side of Tucson and got a text saying I was currently 6 miles behind Lynda. I bombed on nonstop to Rincon Valley Store.

The closest bike shop, Uno Bicycle Studio was my best option even though the side trip was going to add 10 miles and lose more time. I had precise directions and I called and made sure there was a tire available. I looked back at my Kenda Small Block 8 that was held together with cardboard and duct tape. It had gotten me through everything from Patagonia to Tucson.

The cardboard and duct tape boot that held from Patagonia to Tucson

I sat on the porch of the Rincon store and stretched my back. The last thing I wanted to do was spend half a day in Tucson making no progress and losing even more ground. Could I chance it? Every illogical and emotional thought told me to tear up Reddington Pass and push on. Every logical, sane thought told me to get my ass to the bike shop and get a new tire and some tubes.

I followed Old Spanish Trail to Houghton Road and was treated to a blazing downhill to the shop. I truly must have been a sight as I rolled in sweaty, dirty and anxious to get a new tire and get moving. I threw down my packs and gear and leaked half my water onto the floor. Oops. Sorry.

I really wanted to go tubeless but I had left the necessary valve somewhere north of Parker Canyon Lake and the shop didn’t have any in stock. So another slime tube it was. My Bontrager rims wanted absolutely no part of the particular tire and tube combination for some reason and it took a long time for them to finally seat.

Uno Bicycle Studio

Bruce, the owner,  is a super chill, super cool singlespeeder. He got me rolling again with a new tire and hooked me up with some nutrition. Huge shout out to Uno Bicycle Studio! If you are in Tucson, definitely go check it out. Thank you, thank you, thank you, my friend.

I stopped at the Quick Mart for more food, water and Gatorade. I knew I had a long haul ahead of me and had to be prepared. I had checked trackleaders while at the store and knew I was still ahead of a lot of people and a little down about the fact I had lost so much time but more than ready to charge on to Summerhaven. I rolled out of Tucson, grumbled all through the sandy wash just before Reddington Road and passed Brad M. chilling in the shade talking to his girlfriend. It was hot, but I was on a mission, so I kept on.

He caught me and we trudged up the road. It was nice to chat with him, as I had ridden solo for a long time. I was starting to feel the heat for the first time and decided to kick it in the shade for about 15 minutes. Brad pushed on and I didn’t see him again until he was bivvied up late that night.

I began the endless maze of 4WD roads and found a decent pace. Definitely not my favorite riding. I was  jonesing for some singletrack when I heard my back tire again leaking serious air. I closed my eyes and shook my head. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream and I wanted to throw my bike. Was there a voodoo doll somewhere in the shape of my tires into which someone was poking pins? Settle down, rookie. Change this bitch. It’s a long race. Relax. Take a breather. At least it wasn’t a sidewall again.

I got a new tube into my new tire and rode off. Note: I didn’t keep my old tube with the hole in it. Nope, it is still lying along the AZ Trail. Fatal, mindless mistake, rookie. I could have busted out my finely-honed McGyver skills and patched it with the repair kit I had in my frame bag. What the hell was I thinking? Baaaad move.

My bad luck with tires was starting to get to me psychologically. I had just lost more time and was letting frustration affect me. I rolled on for about another 15 minutes and my attitude was getting worse. I knew that sleep would cure this temporary garbage. I set my alarm for an hour and ended up being stopped for about 2-2.5 hours I think.

The moon just before a quick nap

I woke up, ate, drank and found that my legs felt very refreshed. Sweet! Game on again. I felt great and got into some nice singletrack. The descents were fast in the light of the full moon and I was crushing the small climbs interspersed between. As mentioned before I passed Brad M bivvied up and he advised me of the upcoming hike-a-bike section just before the Catalina Highway. He also said he just saw Erick pass. This lifted my spirits even more, because the last time I saw him was in Patagonia and he was fighting some serious cramping.

I passed Erick about 15 minutes later and he was also bivvied up for the night. Not even 20 more minutes down the trail I hear my current, most-hated sound in the world: PSSSHHHHH! I got hit in the face with Stan’s as my front tire sunk about halfway to the rim. This time, I literally yelled at the top of my lungs “NO! Not again! Enough with the flats!”

I stopped and found that my beloved Nevegal (that everyone gives me crap about being so heavy) was, in fact, still holding some air. The Stan’s seemed to have plugged the hole. I reinflated what air had been lost and asked the night sky to please stop the tire voodoo. I was over this game. No longer fun and amusing to keep repairing tires. I had resorted to sarcasm at this point.

I licked my lips at the sight of a sick descent just before the big hill up to the Catalina Highway. I double checked both tires. Good and good. Yeeeehaaaaaw! Down I went, faster and faster. Shredding it in the brilliant light of the full moon. The coolness of the night caressed my dirty, salty face. I leaned back a little further and bombed down some fun, technical rocks.

I entered that place where I can authentically experience my existence. I can smell, taste and drink life in. Mountains have always brought me to this place time and time again, but when I sat on a mountain bike a year and a half ago for the first time, I knew I had learned how to find this place through an additional means.  Here, in this realm, personal struggles, demons and fears lose their power to hinder me ever again.

PSSSHHHHH! I immediately returned from my downhill trance. I started laughing out loud. This absolutely could not be happening. I must be bivvied up and in the middle of a fatigue-induced nightmare, right? Ummm, yah. WRONG! I moved closer and shined my light directly on a nasty, ugly tear in the sidewall of my front tire. I almost lost it, but my stubbornness refused to acknowledge that I had indeed TORN ANOTHER SIDEWALL! Nope. Not happening.

I was at the bottom of the descent and knew I had to start a long hike-a-bike. So I just began pushing up the rock steps ahead of me. I pushed on harder and faster until my quads were burning. I stubbornly pushed on. I finally wore myself out from literally charging up as hard as I could. It was either this or burst into tears. I stopped on a wide switch-back with some room to lay my bike down. I put my head in my hands and I cried. My shoulders shook and I gasped for air between sobs. I finally cried out all the tears I had in my eyes. I then stood up, picked up the biggest rock I could find and crushed it into pieces on the huge boulder I had just walked my bike up. “Fuck you, Arizona. I hate your ugly, goddamned cactus!”

The reality of the situation had just hit me, but I chose to sleep on it first. I woke before the sun was up. I had no more tubes. My front tire was holding some air, but wouldn’t reliably hold it for long. I had made a MAJOR error by leaving my old tube behind. I had duct tape and part of my old rubber tube from Patagonia to boot any additional sidewall tears. There were no bike shops anywhere further along the route. Returning to Tucson on the Catalina Highway was my only option. Another trip to a Tucson bike shop was an absolute minimum of 20 miles off-course. I would lose the greater part of a day again.

My final campsite just before Catalina Highway

I was done. I was heartbroken and defeated. I called it at Mulino Campground. I saw Max who had just eaten and was reenergized. He made me smile and I gave him my food and wished him the best. I descended into Tucson stopping to air up my front tire a couple of times. I found a Subway, ordered a sandwich and waited for Steve to come and get me.

With some time to reflect and think and after a long talk with my friend Erick at the airport (Congrats on the big finish!! WOOHOO!!), I realized where the hole in my game was. I went into this race unprepared to deal with tire and mechanical issues that can and will arise. I really lack knowledge and confidence in my “bike mechanic” skills. My reference to McGyver earlier was a total joke, because in reality I am exceptionally bad at that kind of stuff when it comes to bikes. I have pulled the “girl-card” far too long and it bit me in the ass.  My “girl-card” term is in reference to the fact that I will gladly let anyone fix flats, boot tires, bleed brakes and maintain my bike for me. I watch and get the general idea, but I have no certainty or faith in my ability to do it correctly.

I should have clearly, calmly and logically planned better when I left Tucson. I should have NOT left that tube behind. I should have had two more tire boots when I left Uno Bicycle Studio and one more tube. As a last resort, I should have been confident in my ability to get out my sewing kit and duct tape and make that front tire hold air out in the middle of nowhere, if that’s what it would take to finish.

The AZ Trail voids the “girl-card.” It laughs at it. The bottom line is that my weakness ultimately destroyed me. I went in with a false notion that because I had no problems with flats or mechanicals in all the pre-riding I did, it would be the same in the race. I considered the possibility that I may have a flat and I carried all the right stuff from the start, but I didn’t go in EXPECTING and planning ways to deal with all the problems that plagued me. And I should have. Do I blame luck? Nah..not really my style to lay blame outside myself. Excuses are bullshit. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I blamed anyone other than myself. I cannot control when or if I tear sidewalls or flat and undoubtedly, I would love to have seen how the race would have been different  had I not lost hours and hours repairing and buying new tires, but my inability to efficiently and effectively manage tire issues is solely my fault.

So, upon my return to Colorado, I am now the new slave of a local Denver bike shop. My wage? Knowledge. The payoff? I can burn my “girl-card” because I will never need it again.

I will be back on the line at Parker Canyon. Guaranteed.

More pics. I didn't take my normal 16GB worth this time, but here are a couple:

Gear

Thursday before the race in Tucson

Parker Canyon Trailhead

Canello Hills (pre tire problems)