2017 Arizona Trail Race 750

“How was your Spring Break?” asked a fellow middle school teacher?  “Epic” was my simple response.  The ice pack on my shin and bags under my eyes gave away that my body was not as fully energized as my colleagues, despite 10 days of spring break away from the classroom and my 7th and 8th graders.  With this being said, my mind was clear and the endorphins were still pumping. The buzz from it all lasted another 10 days.

Now that it has been two weeks, the numbness in my fingertips and the color in my skin is returning enough to sit down and write a race report.

Last year I did my first bikepacking race, the Stagecoach 400 (SC400) in Southern California and after 66 hours and nearly 400 miles, I was hooked. I loved the simplicity, the freedom, and of course covering so much beautiful landscape while challenging the body and mind. Bikepacking is a blend of backpacking and mountain biking, two of my favorite things, and the rules are simple… “Do it yourself.”  There is no outside support, no aid stations, and no finishing banner.  After two fellas I rode with for a bit on the SC400 took on the Arizona Trail Race 750 last year, I began to eye the trail.  When I discovered that the grand depart aligned with my spring break, there was no turning back.

The past 6 months have been spent doing the occasional reading of blogs, ensuring that logistics were as squared away as possible, and of course spending lots of time on the saddle.  I had a friend, Jason Shearer, who I met at Stagecoach last year, also commit to racing so having someone to ask questions and get stoked with was awesome.

I did the SC400 again this March, this time as an Individual Time Trial (ITT) the week before the race to ensure I had a full month to recover. Those few weeks flew by fast and I still barely had enough time to tune up the bike and get things in order.

I flew Southwest into Tucson, and after lots of deliberation I decided to ship my bike with bikeflights.com. This turned out to be sweet. Not only was it $25 cheaper than flying but so easy as they pick it up and it was at Bill’s house when I arrived. Bill and his wife hosted us in Anchorage two summers ago after my wife, Melissa, and I rode our bikes from Seattle up there. They were so hospitable and it was so cool that they rode down from Alaska and bought a house in Tucson.  I spent the night there and the next morning, I put my bike together and rallied with Jason to meet the shuttle.  

Lots of excitement as we rolled down the dusty roads to the Mexico border. We dropped off the 300 mile distance riders first and then it was our turn. We arrived around 5:30am and we found a flat spot in a corral to post up just a mile or so from the border. We had heard that border patrol cruises the border, so better to camp a ways away to not be woken up.

I grew up swimming and went on to swim in college, then made the transition to triathlon, with my last race being Ironman World Championships in Kona in 2014. I also had my fair share of swim meets growing up, with the normal pre-race anticipation butterflies as I cued up with 3 dozen or so riders.  For this morning, we had the pleasure of having bikepacking legend Kurt to send us off.  He basically said, “the road is open on Mt Lemmon after the fire, ride hard, be safe, and have fun… Ready go.”  That was it, no national anthem, no count down, no race announcer, no plugging sponsors… and so we were off. I was excited to finally be rolling.  2017 AZT 750 Start

Just after passing the 300 start, just 15 miles in, I rounded a turn and KABOOM, my rear tire ripped open and slime spewed everywhere. I was the first one to tear open the sidewall just an hour into the fun. I was bummed, my heart sank, I knew I would lose my riding buddies and my fear was I wouldn’t see anyone again.  Jason rode by and said, “Don’t worry dude, you will be ok.”  I appreciated that in the moment, and took a deep breath and went to work.  I had watched a youtube video and ensured I had all the necessary stuff for this exact situation. I pulled out the gorilla tape, floss, and upholstery needle.  I put the tape on the inside, and began sewing it up.  It took a CO2 to reseat the tubeless, and within a half-hour (guesstimate) I was rolling along again.  Little did I know what lay ahead. The Canelos were tough with lots of hiking and a nice introduction to what Arizona has to offer.  Hot and dry I sucked down liquids and ended up passing some 300 folks. Popping out onto pavement was a nice reprieve and the Patagonia market was welcome with open arms. Two slices of pizza from next door, lots of fluids, some potato chips and conversations with other overheated riders including the legendary John Schilling. I was soon off with a smile and I knew the tire would hold up on the asphalt headed to Sonoita. I kept the legs spinning as I hit the dirt roads into Kentucky Camp where I bumped into Jason, he had taken a spill and bruised his hip.  Many of us sat around mowing down some grub before Jason and I pedaled off.  Up and down, up and down, the darkness carried us to a road where we turned in around midnight.

 The highline trail included plenty of hiking as I was prepared for and from this point on, I didn’t see anyone until sunset when I saw two forest service guys who had stocked an ice chest with cold gatorades for us racers. I thanked them immensely and one of the guys mentioned he had followed my Stagecoach 400 ITT the week before he came out and raced.

 I left Flagstaff and began climbing. Patches of snow, lots of water, and some mud slowed things down, and I was told to definitely take the second snow detour. There was so much snow!

I drank a bottles worth and took off as the sun was setting on the canyon walls. I started doing some math and began to get worried that I might not make the 8 am trail closure further up near the North Rim. I also wondered how far back El Freako was as I thought, boy it would get interesting if I get passed just miles before the finish.  As I ascended I passed three Southbound cyclists, and they said there was no water from there until the top except for a few trickles off the rocks. I thought for some reason that there was 14 miles to the trailhead, so I headed down a side trail to Roaring Springs about 1/2 mile down. I was able to set my bike down, but getting it back on after this extra mile without it really stunk. I later found out that as I left my SPOT tracker at the junction, Melissa became increasingly worried. She has a natural intuition and an incredible gut feeling.  This ride really tested her as much as it did me. I’m not sure I could have done it without her positive calls and excited spirit.

After filling my bladder, I tossed in a few aquamira and was back on track.  Up ahead I saw two lights descending and crossed paths again with two rim-to-rim-to-rim (R2R2R) runners.  They told me my math sucked, from Cottonwood it wasn’t 14 miles but just under 8, with just over 4200 vertical feet. I knew it was going to be tough and my mental strength was buzzing as I was harnessing the mental strength Melissa and I developed on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) passes we faced on our thru-hike in 2010 in the Sierra Nevada.

The switchbacks continued and eventually the moon rose which illuminated the cliffside. I wasn’t sure where the top was, but I knew I had to just keep it together and if I removed the pack it was just that much harder… “Inertia,” I said aloud, “anything in motion prefers to stay in motion.”  At one point, I remember feeling like someone was ahead of me encouraging me, and I would take a handful of steps, stopped and bobbled around a bit, and then continued on. The one fortunate thing was I wasn’t feeling the pain in my shins.

I slept for two hours in the bathrooms at the top, and woke up to put on all my clothes in the frigid morning air.  There was 3 feet of snow or so outside and the temps were low 30s at best.  It was around 3:30 am and with my leg warmers, wool top, down jacket, rain coat, rain knickers, and 2 pairs of wool socks, with bags over my feet… I headed out. I began to follow the track and tromped through the snow. I did not see tire tracks from the three previous southbounders. I got on the road and then regained the track about a half mile up. As I was marching through the snow, I punched about ankle deep through some ice and soaked my feet. A lightbulb went off in my sleep deprived state and I realized I had forgotten to load the snow detour track. “DUHHHH!” I thought. This was the detour that was the major talk as there had been concern it wouldn’t be plowed.  After returning to the road with my tail between my legs, I was now pedaling, after probably waisting an hour going in circles.

I was a bit scared as my shoes were beginning to freeze and constrict my feet. My toes were beginning to get really cold, and I had no other dry socks. I rode for a half hour or so and the sun wasn’t close to coming up. I knew I would need to do something. The road was closed so I knew I wasn’t going to see anyone so I pulled out some TP and grabbed some dry grass to build a small fire. I sat down and was so exited until I could not find my lighter!! Ahhhhhh.

I managed to battle my shoes, tugging and pulling to get the laces untied (previous experience with frozen laces on the John Muir section of the PCT in 2010) and rubbed my toes for warmth.  The wind just nabbed any heat I was giving them, I decided to layer the socks and bags, and so I had a sock, a baggie, my shoe, then another wool sock, and another grocery bag.  This worked!  I pedaled in my moon shoes until the sun came up and I eventually reached Jacob’s Lake.

I ate some awful french toast and bought 2 cookies for the road along the final stretch. I pedaled hard, and kept shouting for my wife “I am coming!” I knew she was waiting, I had no cell signal and figured she didn’t either, and for some reason I thought I was late. After hitting some single track, I snapped my cable on my rear derailleur. Seriously?! I thought I would tough it out and go single speed, and after 5 minutes of pedaling in a high gear, my mind was changed. I pulled off my seat and grabbed out a cable that I had stashed in the post.

I took apart the shifter and replaced it. In a rush the shifter got wacky and so it wasn’t working.  I took it apart again, and this time managed to get about 4 gears mid-cluster. This would work.

I pedaled and pedaled, oh and did some pushing (HAB even up to the very end) and eventually came the final switchbacks that ripped down to the stateline. I hollered and heard my wife shouting. I crossed the homemade toilet paper finish line and was greeted with a massive hug and smiles from her and our friend Katherine who Melissa had brought along.

I was so stoked to finish.  8 days, 5 hours, and 15 minutes to cover just over 800 miles.

Massive thank you to everyone who makes this race possible and my family and friends for all the support.  Appreciations to Ron Salvatori for your investigative recon and a huge special thanks to my awesome wife and Katherine for the post race fun and trip through Zion.