Presko Epic '09

For reasons I am sure that I can't remember, I started thinking about trying to ride up to Prescott from Scottsdale a few weeks ago.  I wondered how hard it would be, how long it might take and what the minimum amount of gear I might need to have for a chance of completing such a trip successfully.  In the back of my head I thought it might be a good way to "train" for longer events such as 24 hour solo races.  As the plan began to solidify, we mentioned the idea in passing after a MTB ride to Andooke.  More of just a point of conversation than anything else really.  Much to my surprise, and perhaps everyone else within earshot, Andy was all over it.  In fact,  he seemed ready to go instantaneously without even a moment of hesitation.  Perhaps I had been over thinking the difficulty and complexity of this ride all together.  From that moment the dates were picked and the plan was made.  I would ride solo to Wickenburg on the first day, and then Andy would meet me for the final leg into Prescott.

Having only one bike remotely suitable for such an undertaking as this I was looking at very possibly being the first human being to actually do something on this great earth of ours.  Now, in my opinion,  that is a feat which is very hard to achieve.  The first human to do something, anything... without a doubt it had never been done before.

Sure, one may do something a little different like wear a pink tutu under their survival gear to the top of Everest... but it could only be an assumption that no one had done it before you.  Such an act is not beyond the realm of possibility.  Now this opportunity to achieve an undeniable "first" came to me only due to my extended and somewhat damaging exposure to bike culture over the last 20 years or so.  Combine this influence with my ability to make useless stuff useful again... and you arrive at my current favorite mode of transport.  My modified Specialized mountain bike turned singlespeed commuter.

Of course, riding a singlespeed to Prescott has been done before.  Crappy bikes like mine have been pedaled there with rattle can paint jobs and bizarre handlebar configurations.  None of this would set any sort of useless record.  There is of course an option this bike has that no other possesses... nor would choose to possess for that matter.

This attribute worthy of mention is the 64/24 gearing combination.  This equates to around 72 gear inches.  About the same as pushing a 39/15 or 53/20.  Nothing too extraordinary as far as single gear ratios are concerned, but an absolute undeniable guarantee that no one in human history has ever pushed a 64/24 from anywhere to anywhere...let alone from Scottsdale to Prescott.

How am I so sure of this fact you may ask... simply the realization that no one is as creatively retarded as I am (plus the fact that so few 64 tooth chainrings were ever made)

So I was about to embark into uncharted history.  A true first!

Evidently a solid sense of ridiculousness can lead to great things... great things indeed.

Day One (10/30/09, 9:45 AM)

All was set.  The weather was perfect and looked good for the day after as well.  I had made my reservation at "The Westerner" in Wickenburg and my hip pack was full to the brim.  I had added a third bottle cage to the down tube of my Commuter and had just given it a fresh coat of fancy blue paint for the trip.  MapQuest had told me I was looking forward to at least 60 miles of asphalt before bedtime.  The route was chosen... I was going to take the AZ Canal to 75th Avenue, cut up North to Bell and then East to Grand.  From there it was just a matter of conquering absolute desolation to Wickenburg.

I didn't want a rack or any panniers on the bike.  Just a small seat bag and my MountainSmith pack.  Staying at a hotel for the night would of course cut back a great deal on what I needed to bring, but I still had to plan for 120 miles of riding and anything that may come along with it.

Here is what I brought along:

1. My MountainSmith pack
2. Small length of cable and lock
3. A recovery mix for consumption at the end of day one
4. Art's Original Pro Bar (in case I got really hungry)
5. Clif MoJo chocolate coated bars (very tasty)
6. Clif Shots in strawberry and cola flavors
7. Toothbrush, glasses and contact solution
8. Alien mini-tool
9. Vanilla Hammer gels (liquid fuels I learned about at the Prescott 12 hour race)
10. Spare tube and CO2's
11. Walmart $1.00 Florida flip-flops

Not shown was a camera, long sleeve shirt, my super Nike vest and finally some arm warmer things that I bought over 15 years ago, wore once, and was some how able to find again in my dresser for this trip.  It was below 60 when I left, so the armies and vest were worn as I rode away from the front door.

Micki escorted me to the canal and then I was off solo.  The canal rolled by very quickly, even though it was dirt at this point.  I crossed a few surface streets and then whipped by a construction truck seemingly making a weak try to block my route.  Shortly after, I realized why the attempt had been made, as I passed one massive yellow dump truck and then yet another.  Evidently my side of the canal was being reconstructed or repaved or something... and in front of me I now saw a third dump truck with some sort of massive grader behind it.  The path ahead was all but obstructed.  I could tell that the gaggle of construction workers to the left side of the hulking equipment had been made aware of my approach.  I had a choice... turn back to the last surface street and use the bridge to cross over to the other side of the canal... or make a quick fake left an then attempt to pass to the right instead.

Let's rock.

Spinning along at about 18 in the dirt on 26mm skinny tires can be unnerving to even the most jaded mountain biker.  It just feels plain sketchy, almost as if these tiny 120 PSI strips of rubber weren't made for such terrain at all.  I veered more and more to the left and my mental countdown began.  The closer I got, the more attention my foes began to pay to me.  I could see them beginning to group up to stop my progress and probably explain to me that this side of the canal was closed.  Almost within distance of their voices, I made a quick and sudden dart to the right, disappeared in front of the grill of that yellow behemoth and reappeared once past the bed spewing sand from the back.

I was away.  Gone.  Didn't even loose a second.

Only then did I notice my fate.  Still burning along at over 16 miles per hour I was now on a skinny strip of soil no wider that 15".  To my left was the certain doom of 6" deep sand freshly rolled flat.  To my right was the sure wet death of the canal's swirling dark green water. Making matters worse was the fact that this particular part of pathway is rarely used even when perfect non-construction conditions exist and I was bounding a long a loose rocky path on a bicycle that had no business being there what so ever.  Not the best way to start such an epic journey... or was it?

I took heart in many years of singletrack knowledge and just buckled down.  Keeping my eye on line, I actually found myself accelerating!  Hell, if I was gonna go down it was going to be magnificent.  No whimpering pansie here my freinds.  Stupid is as stupid rides... and I was pushing for all my limited grey matter glory. Maybe a half mile went by and I was still in this North Shore skinny nightmare.  Finally the sand relented, I eased my way off the tightrope I had been rolling on and relaxed with the very wide, safe path.

From there the ride became somewhat uneventful.  The canal path has tunnels under every major road and make the cuts across smaller surface streets pretty effortless.  I had never gone that far West on the path and was almost surprised as to how quickly 75th avenue arrived.  Unfortunately, there was so much traffic in this area and no bike lanes to speak off.  Being close to Sun City you have to deal with the usual preoccupied drivers as well as the unusual golf carts that would try and take what ever space was left over.  I was getting a bit hungry, so I found a Subway and got a bite to eat.

1. Turkey 6" sub with bacon  
2. Cherry cola
3. the perfect meal

I hate traffic... and there was now a ton of it.  I span my little heart out to get to Grand and amazingly stayed at or above 21 MPH all the way to the intersection.  Fear of the chrome bumper has a tendency to do that for me.  At Grand things calmed down and the shoulder got very wide.  I started to find my rhythm again and the miles started ticking away.  I felt like I was making good time across the desert, but I still couldn't find any familiar landmarks or buildings.  I finally saw this old rundown and abandoned white saloon on the horizon and was pretty sure this was the one I had seen just before entering the valley into Wickenburg.  I decided to pull over and take a rest.

Old neon:

My friend Jeremy had contemplated joining me on this ride as well.  He was looking to get some miles in before the Ironman coming later on in November.  Schedules being what they are, timing did not work out.  To show his support instead he created one hella-sweet spoke card to provide motivation for the journey.

Represent:

Heavy metal devil horns with "Presko Epic" on the fingers and '09 on the forearm. Sweet.  Keep an eye out in the pics that follow because that card stuck fast the entire trip and now rests safely on a wall at home. Might have to pull it out for the next adventure however.

I was about 10 miles outside of Wickenburg at this point and was feeling the distance traveled already.  At one point, I tried to stand up and pedal just before getting into town and realized how tired my legs really were.  I was worried about the big miles and bigger climbs I had to conquer tomorrow.  Luckily for me just then I rolled into the Golden Arches and re-fuled with three hamburgers.  I figured if one of the competitors from the 12 hour Prescott Race could eat them successfully for fuel all night long, that I might benefit as well.  The simulated beef sandwiches did their job and I was off to find "The Westerner".

Under a bridge and up a seemingly very steep and long hill, I found the hotel waiting on the right. It was a small place.  The lobby was just a desk with a door behind it.  When I stepped inside, the smell of curry was so strong I could almost taste it.  Funny how intense smells can trigger memories of the past.  Instantly I was in England again getting ready to chow down on one of the most epic buffets Logan and myself have ever stumbled upon.  I was snapped back to current day with a very friendly Indian man smiling at me asking how he could be of service.  I explained I had a reservation and with that information he lifted a sand dollar off an old scrap of paper to find my name. Sure enough, room number 2 was now mine.

Cool light:

Un-stealabe remote:

Horseshoe cowboy lamp:

Interesting safety features:

Fancy mirror:

The room was fine.  Had a tile floor... which was a bit odd, then a Sante-Fe motif throughout.  Fridge, microwave, bed... check, check and check.  I unpacked my bag, mixed up my recovery drink and took a semi-nap.  One of the TV stations had decided to run a 24 hour "Planet of the Apes" marathon and I was amazed at how many configurations of that movie existed.

It was maybe 2:30 at this point and I was bored plus getting hungry again.  To early for dinner, but I went out to see what Wickenburg had to offer for sustenance and scenery none the less.  Turns out not much of either... but here is what I saw anyway.

A big steel moose in someones front yard:

An old red restored schoolhouse:

The schoolhouse plaque:

A big 'ol steam locomotive:

I was glad my legs didn't hurt at least.  I felt I had earned a snack, so I stopped in at Circle-K.  Generally, I eat pretty poorly.  Little Micki tries to help out when she can, but in all honesty even I have trouble understanding how someone with my diet can ride 60 feet... let alone 60 miles.  The problem is when I am hungry and bored I find very strange food combinations start to make sense.

Here is what I walked out of the store with:

1. Lemon-Lime Gatorade (for Michael Jordan-esque levels of hydration)
2. Red Fanta (covers the simulated strawberry tier of my food pyramid)
3. Salted cashews
4. Doritos
5. Citrus flavored Rock Star (duh... a must have)
6. Snickers "Dark" candy bar

Believe it or not, all that crap fit in my wonder pack and with a few surprisingly strong pedal strokes I was back in the room.  I chowed down, saving the Snickers for later and the RockStar for a AM boost the next day.  An hour or so later I was hungry again and donned my Walmart "Florida flippies" to cross the street. Italian was the call this time and I walked out with a white calzone.  That was pretty tasty as well, and as darkness fell Brooke called to let me know they were both on their way.

A little while later Andooke arrived, unloaded and checked in.  Brooke was headed back to Prescott so the girls could hit BCT the following day.  Andy was hungry, so we headed back across the street for Mexican food.  I had an Enchilada as Andy excitedly watched a GreenBay/ Vikings game... only to realize it was a several season old rerun.  Shame, as the Packers seemed to be doing very well.  After my final meal of the day, we called it a night and hit the hay.  I got caught up watching some old "B" horror flick about a guy who turns himself into a human catfish and terrorizes the surrounding town. The best part was that this little scientist had created a huge pinwheel with a seven year plan that he had been slowly checking off before his awesome transformation.  I should put one of those up in the shop...

Day one results:

• 65 miles front door to hotel door
• 3 hour 37 minute ride time
• 17.9 MPG average

Day Two (10/31/09, 8:00 AM)

We (I think that means me this time) had decided the night before just to grab a Mexican breakfast across the street.  They opened at 8:00 and so did the door to my hotel room.  Was warmer outside than I expected and the street was empty.  Typical small town on a Saturday morning.  Andy went for pancakes and I a veggie omelet.  I had been sneaking some sips of RockStar before breakfast and finished the rest off while packing up. I was juiced and ready and Andy seemed to be as well.  I think we were both a little nervous with Yarnell hill looming on the horizon as we rolled down the bumpy sidewalk towards town.  My legs felt okay and my seat felt pretty darn good as well.

On the road now we had a solid view of the challenge awaiting us. Rolling foothills and a slight headwind didn't help matters much.  My seat started to bite and I just couldn't get comfortable.  With Andy behind me, I accidently went off the road for a short cyclocross excursion during one posteriur assessment.  Andy gleefully followed along, perhaps assuming I was taking a short cut to lessen the imposing grade ahead. Guess it was a good thing we had some dirt experience after all.  I really had one goal for today's ride... to clean Yarnell hill in one motion.  To not stop until the top.  After all, what would the point be of spinning a 64 tooth chainring if I wasn't strong enough to climb with it?  

The closer we got, the fiercer our adversary seemed to become.  One last downhill was a cursed blessing, for although we enjoyed coasting for a while, we knew every foot we lost we'd have to gain back one pedal revolution at a time.  At this point there is only a straight line of asphalt ahead of you with no concept of summit to be defined. Andy wisely chose to pull off quickly for a human fuel top off and vest removal, while I plodded ahead.  I hadn't even made it to the first turn yet and my legs were destroyed.  I could only stand for a few pedal strokes before I had to sit back down.  I couldn't believe that this hill was going to take me out so effortlessly... and so quickly to boot.

First corner and the grade lessened ever so slightly.  Still climbing but at least with a small amount of recovery.  I felt a small but stubborn second wind begin to kick in and with this new found determination pushed on.  My rate of assent was ridiculously slow.  I didn't even think my computer would register such a meager pace, but sure enough I watched the digit's fall from 10 to 9, then quickly to 8, 7, 6, 5.  At 4 MPH I didn't even bother looking anymore.  My cadence felt like it was about 2 RPM's and with every corner a stronger head wind would greet me.  The top itself always seemed to await around the next bend, only to retreat further at every apex.  At about only 15 miles for the day, I felt myself begin to disintegrate. I knew it wasn't wise to exert myself so hard this early on.

Maybe this gear just can't be pushed... maybe this would be a good time for a BLOG pic, maybe Andy's to many curves back to see me stop.

Nope, there he was... just one flight down.  He had enough breath left to whistle, I didn't have enough breath left to even smile back.  Stupid hill, stupid senseless never ending hill, stupid mysteriously vanished town of Yarnell, stupid one gear idiotic commuter.... wait, what did I see?  Could it finally be?

Oh yeah... the F'n top!!

The grade may have gone flat at this point.  Hell, it may have even actually gone down hill.  All I knew is that I rolled to a stop in front of one of the most comfortable looking benches I have ever seen.  I unclipped my pack, removed my helmet and just sat.  Very soon after, Andy crested as well... and with a very appropriate expletive or two rested against the wall.  I went inside for a Gatorade and some more water.  Chowed on a MoJo bar and a Hammer gel and contemplated where all these leg muscles that were now screaming out in agony even came from.  I swear I had never felt or used them before today.  In fact, I almost believe even my toes were tired from turning my retardo-ring up that damned hill.  But the goal was accomplished and the hill was slain... even if it wasn't in the Armstrong-o-riffic fashion I might have envisioned days before.

After a brief discussion of our victory, we reassembled ourselves and rolled down through Yarnell.  Was very weird to actually make forward progress without any effort... but much appreciated.

Out of business... but who needs gas anyway:

Sale $0.00 indeed:

Still rocking:

Beyond Yarnell is Peeples Valley.  If you've never ridden this route before it's a must see.  I guess you could drive it as well but that would be kinda weird.  I suppose whatever form of transport one chooses, the rewarding view will be equally appreciated.  I will say however that rolling through with Yarnell's hill behind you and nothing on your back but the wind does add it's own special level of appreciation. Vast green and yellowing fields stretch out for miles until the mountains come down to greet them. A few mighty oaks remain here and there that were lucky enough not to impede generations of ranchers progress. I found the tree I had stopped and eaten soup at many years before on my first epic pedal to Cottonwood.  That was on a fat, gear laden, soft tired mountain bike and today's pace was shattering my previous broth powered attempt by a huge margin. The memory itself made me smile none the less.

The downhill grade now proved to much for my single ring in terms of comfortable cadence and Andy's gears gave him the acceleration he needed to cheat the occasional upswings along the way. I was getting tired.  Shit, who was I kidding... I was dead tired.  Every uphill might as well have been a wall.  I could hold no momentum and had a pretty strong understanding that my efforts on Yarnell hill were beyond my levels of endurance.  For every foot I made on Andy's pace on the ups he made 30 yards more on the downs.  He was gone, I'd probably see him next time at Hugo's.  I amused my self with the solidarity of the surroundings and tried to figure out why most of the evidence of roadkill had left raspberry stains on the asphalt below me. I wondered why the marks weren't dark red.  Passing the Skull Valley turnoff, I began to notice the gap between us starting to close.

The road was flatter now and I could see the grade ahead starting to hint at the final challenge.  I had a choice... ride with Andy and crush my pedals, or try and keep a bit of pace that my knees and gear could handle.

Hello Andy... sorry Andy but... goodbye Andy.

I was off.  On this bike the uphills are actually my friend.  Despite the exhaustion and pain I had the choice when gravity was against me to stand or sit and I took this to my advantage. I'd focus on the next rise, the next signpost, the next curve.  Just keep pedaling, head down... it's not that steep... it's not that hot... it's not that windy... I'm not that hungry.  I see you little red convenience store in the middle of nowhere.  Wait for me my cherry slat boarded friend.  I'll be there soon to peruse your cooler and find something to satisfy my pangs of hunger.

Skinny shoulder gives way to right turn.

Asphalt gives way to gravel.

Bike seat gives way to picnic table bench.

Almost to yum yum town Andy:

Shaded rest:

I obtained and devoured yet another Snickers bar and a Gatorade.  Augmented that with a Hammer Gel and a couple of red Cliff Shots (for my simulated strawberry food group).  We were both cooked.  Andy's quads had gone octo (twice the pain) and we both knew there was still one hell of a hill to go.  But we also knew Prescott was just on the other side.  After about 15 minutes we felt ready enough and started to roll for one final effort.

I went from decent to miserable in just a few pedal revolutions.  There was a little bit of hill left over after the shop and I just felt destroyed.  I forgot about wondering whether Andy would make it and started to contemplate my own survival.  Just past the saloon the grade dropped slightly and I began to feel better.  In fact, I started to feel very good indeed.  I don't know if it was the Hammer gel or Snickers bar... or perhaps I had struck upon the perfect caloric combination.  I didn't question the source of my new found power but instead just began to use it.  Spin, spin, spin those pedals effortlessly went round.  I could stand or sit at will... even accelerating here and there.  I couldn't help chuckle knowing this hill better have a few more tricks up her sleeve or I was going to literally have my way with her.  Like in a Eric Estrada walking into a dance club in the mid-80's type of way.  Was that actually the CHiP's theme starting to go through my head?

Da Da duh duh DA!!!!

First downhill comes along and I almost don't want the reprieve.  I am killing it and the rest actually seems like more of an inconvenience than anything.  22, 25, 30... guardrails and lane stripe become a blurr as I carve through the mountains.  The pines start to get taller and the welcome shade begins to take the edge of the suns bite.  Sharp hairpins now have me dropping a knee and trusting those silly little tires of mine into a deep lean.  I can see the road is going to start heading up, so I level my pedals and wait for the speed to drop into the zone I can assist with.  As I engage the chain to torque through the next section something happens.  My boost of adrenaline and superhuman climbing ability has evaporated completely.  In fact, it may have even reversed.  I stood up and collapse almost instantly.  I lost focus and my brain simply said "you, my friend... are done".  My legs didn't disagree either and I began to visualize just pulling over and laying down.  This wasn't a bonk like I had felt before... this was a strange and almost instantaneous shutdown of my mind, body and spirit.

Totally new. Totally unexpected. Totally unwanted.

I can't recall how or why my pedals kept turning during these moments but they did.  My rushed breathing calmed down and my focus started to clear up.  The terrain flattened ever so slightly as well and I could feel my composure come back.  "What the hell was that?" I asked my self, utterly complexed.  I kept pedaling and fairly quickly I was back in the groove. The miles were ticking off and the climbing was about as easy as it had ever been.  With each descent I felt a similar result. A massive dropout in my power at the beginning of the next rise. Understanding it was going to happen helped me combat it and I just passed it off on 115 miles of riding over the last day.  My calves started to knot up at this point and I had to treat them with a bit more care every time I stood.  All this mattered less and less as I began to get a good feel as to where I was on the mountain.  I had been here before on my trail bike.  I started to see where dirt roads intersected and began to realize the end was very near indeed.

Final stop:

I had arranged with Andy that if we split up to meet at the pull off where there once was a sign.  I seemed to remember that town was all downhill from that point so it made sense to me to stop there. There was the stone structure on which "Welcome to Prescott" used to be carved in wood until the fire swept through removing all evidence but stone pillar. I pulled off and felt a massive sense of relief.  I had achieved what I had wanted to, pushed through exhaustion and conquered a route much farther than I would have ever imagined possible on the bike I generally ride to and from work.  I actually found myself wondering if Steve 2.0 might actually be stronger than Steve 1.0 ever was.  Maybe not faster, maybe a little less fearless... but maybe, just maybe a better more well rounded cyclist overall.

A curve away I could see Andy making the final approach as well. I walked back to the road for a last pic.  He was tired, but we both knew this day was almost over.

Last hill my brotha:

Andy pulled over.  We both had to smile and realize what two baggy short, helmet visor wearing mountain bikers had managed to pull off on this day.  I started to wonder if a ride like this would make the trail loops we do seem a little shorter.  I knew I wouldn't miss the monotony of the road, but I did now appreciate first hand the level of fitness such effort required.  What we both really appreciated at this point however was knowing that about 5 miles of almost all downhill lay in front of us with that shining example of Prescott Mexican cuisine just waiting for us at the bottom.

The Mecca itself:

This is what a 125 mile burrito looks like:

Two big 'ol burritos lay on plates before us.  The trip was done.  The stories began to unfold and as the food filled our stomachs, energy levels started to get back to normal.  I realized that my front tire had gone flat while we ate and the perfect timing did not go without notice.  The girls got held up with some traffic after BCT, so we met them a little later at the Raven so they could eat as well.  Micki got a salad and poor little carnivorous Brooke was denied the cheeseburger she had been craving for the last hour and a half. I must say, if I was in her position, I would have been absolutely crushed with the news once I arrived to chow down. But she handled it well and postponed her hunger with a slice of quiche.

From there we heard how their day went.  We learned of poor braking performance and sticky pedals leading to close encounters with vicious cacti. That Micki was true to form and climbed well.  "Mama Goat" still has the motor despite her injury.   The waiters and patrons of the Raven started to arrive in full Halloween garb.  Wolverine served the meals and kept the water glasses full. As the sunlight faded and the temps dropped, conversation hilariously fell to the use of fingers and flicking beans.  It was a fun time with some good friends and laughter.  Nice way to end a day.

Day two results:

• 60 miles hotel door to Hugo's
• 4 hour 15 minute ride time
• 14.2 MPG average

Total trip miles: 125

Total trip ride time: 7 hours 52 minutes

We did amuse some wild clown fellow in a Subaru on the way out of town.  Pulling along side he made the universal hand gesture for the "window down roll".  At the next light he yelled out, "What size chainring is on that bike?".  The answer of "64" sent him into a giddy banter of laughter, and I thought his rainbow afro topped head was gonna explode with the joy of my obvious madness.  To bad we didn't get to tell him where that bike just came from.

Thanks Andy for tagging along and for Micki coming to pick me up at the end.  Maybe this trip will become an annual adventure... or maybe this will be the only time a 64 tooth chainring ever crawls it's way across that part of the state.

Maybe...

Or maybe I am already thinking of getting Andy (and others) to ride with me from Prescott to Scottsdale in one day next year.

Is the Presko Epic a beginning... or an end... only time will tell.

Guess the first thing I oughta do is see how the ride to work on Monday feels.