National Ruins

It was a perfect day for adventure as we pulled into the somewhat crowded parking lot at the South Mountain ramadas.  My wonderfully reliable Conti tubeless converted rear tire started to leak just as I pulled the bikes off the rack.  Wow, what a mind-blowing surprise. Without the astute eyes and ears of Andy to rely on, I was on my own to correct the problem.  Taking instruction from my tubeless mentor, I found the new source of loss... yet another small abrasion on the sidewall closer to the rim than tread.  With a tilt and a spin, the Stan's did it's job and we were off and rolling.

Bah... who needs Andy's help just to inflate a tire.

I haven't ridden my Salsa on the harder interior trails of SoMo since it has been built.  Opting instead to lug up one of the more ruff and tuff hardtails created specifically for the task of handling the larger rocks and steeper fall lines.  The advantages of an extra stout hardtail with 6" plus of front wheel travel always loose their allure on the way up, and the National ascent had been destroying my will as of late.  Today was a different story however and with the light XT wheels being propelled forward as I sat  in my proper climbing position, I was able to reclaim some satisfaction during the ascent. Micki expertly piloted her Mach 5 with her usual climbing prowess.  She also was enjoying the improved cross country geometry and lower weight over her usual SoMo choice,  the Pivot Firebird.  I began to wonder if we'd both be filled with regret once gravity was back on our side.

At the top of the first series of hills I was feeling pretty good.  Sure, the Salsa couldn't be thrown around like the bike I was used to riding in this terrain, but the "Golden Ghost" was doing very well regardless.  I saw a familiar foot or so drop coming up around the corner and decided to give it a shot.  It actually felt pretty good and the lending was well within the respectful range.  Then I heard it... a slow hiss from the rear end. A snakebite?

Imfrickinpossible.... I've got Stan's tubeless advantage in my corner.

Sure enough, the next obstacle revealed a low rear tire as the mushy feel washed out over a small step of stone.  My "fixed" leak had been blown out again, probably from the high pressure achieved from absorption upon landing.  No problem I thought.  I could hear little Andy sitting on my shoulder saying "Just add a little air and let Stan's do it's magic.".  After a few pumps and a tilt and a spin the air stopped escaping.  Maybe I am figuring out this whole tubeless thing after all.  Maybe I can actually fill up a bicycle tire without actual direct assistance from Andy.

Within 3 more feet of trail I heard the hiss again.  Now, I was pissed.  At least with tubes you either have pressure or you don't.  There is no teasing or pretending it's gonna work. I knocked little Andy clean off my shoulder and back into the dark recesses of my angry mind. Forced to push up the next obstacle, I decided to bail and put in a tube.  Mind you, using the only spare tube I had 3 or so miles into a 25 mile epic had me nervous, but my choices were limited... as in none.

After a messy tube install, we were off again.  Now having to run a higher anti-snakebite pressure, the Conti Mountain King started to resemble a plastic Big Wheel tire on the granite of SoMo.  I vowed to give this whole tubeless thing one more try once this ride was over and then I am out.  OUT I TELL YOU!!  Screw the new-school, I am going caveman in regards to the world of pneumatics!

We ran across a group of hikers maybe 15 strong before the waterfall and then yet another with over 20 in the group just before the first parking lot. Both sets were nice enough and let us pass.  Mostly older, some of the bipeds relayed their amazement at our choice of transportation on such a trail.  One gentleman stated he'd only let us by next time if we had a tow rope and a set of RollerBlades for him to wear.  Now that would have been an awe inspiring site for sure.

Soon after, we stopped for a refuel brake and saw a couple of coyotes running in the distance.  To far for a good shot with the camera, we watched them for several minutes as they foraged the area, eventually ending up on the trail we were planning to ride down moments later.  Past the road leading up to the radio towers, the trail gets technical again.

Forced to walk:

Most of the trail is ridable... barring a few exceptions in the upward direction. A good downhill awaits once the towers are over your left shoulder.  The joy of climbing our XC rigs is forgotten now as the ragged singletrack tries to rip off anything it can latch on to.  Slower speeds mean less options.  Arial maneuvers to clear ledges and gaps are not allowed and dropping into deep holes with the seat almost to your chest becomes the common strategy towards success.  Eventually the trail climbs again and grants you a view of the "Valley of the Sun".

Exposure practice:

   

Browntown Phoenix:

Once past the exposed section, the trail intersects the road one final time at the summit of Telegraph Trail.  Beyond this, things get steep and rocky.  We both answered the question as to whether or not this section is actually ridable by showing the trail who's boss.  All but one switchback and later exposed rock face were conquered with only the rubber of our tires on the ground.  Mind you, many stops to catch our breaths were required, but the challenge was still met head on.  At the top, the trail almost changes characteristics completely.  Gone are the stair steps of rock and dry waterfalls.  Instead, the harsh terrain is replaced with some actually very smooth and flowing singletrack.  Strange considering this area sees far fewer shoes and rolling tread than a majority of the rest of National.

View of the trail ahead:

Digitally enhanced version:

Looking South:

After the next series of climbs along the ridge-line, I began to test my memory and rely on Micki's trail knowledge to find the forgotten left that leads down to the ruins.  I foolishly had only found this trail by giving it a shot going in the other direction, resulting in a horrendous hike-a-bike.  But today gravity would be in our corner and as the intersection was found, Micki dropped her seat in anticipation of the steeps I had been describing for most of the morning. I was salivating already.  Yummy... STEEPS!!

As I had guessed, the trail was very much down.  Rapidly down.  Hell, straight F'n down!  Sound impossibly steep?  Check out the GPS profile at the bottom of this page.  It looks like we just base jumped off the top of the mountain.  Minimal traffic had allowed loose stones to congregate without interruption.  No lines were evident and cautious braking was required as the switchbacks started to get tighter and the terrain got even steeper.  Yup, I said it... even steeper.

Micki getting into the groove:

It was on now.  Each corner forcing you to commit 100% of your concentration.  Exposure could not be ignored as every apex made the option of ejection an impossibility.  Looking straight down the mountain, it was carve or disappear as a screaming cloud of dust into the nothing that lay hundreds of feet below.  Of course, this trail also offered ample amount of fantastic views when one had a chance to look.

The ruins far below:

A snake of trail now appeared.  Each corner tighter than the next.  Loose rock exposed even more by forgotten rains.  It was dusty, nasty and stupid.  Bordering on ludicrous to even try.  Regardless, Micki leaned back and gave it her best shot.  Left kink complete, lining up for the viscous right... concentrate, focus, control.  With years of dirt technique polishing her balance and abilities, she was through. It was hard to tell who was more excited about her success, but this wasn't a time for celebration.  In fact, such a section allows no room for cheers or smiles.  With an abundance of adrenaline charged enthusiasm, Micki's line wavered for just a split second.  Enough to give the trail and opening... enough to bring her closer.

Doom:

With a screech of awareness to the unavoidable, a black wall of granite snatched the tip of her handlebar and tucked the Mach 5 into a hard right.  With Micki in the middle, the cactus took a healthy bite out of her right arm.

Tweezers please:

After a few moments removing all those spiny little bastards, we were ready to go again.  Funny thing was that despite the pain and discomfort of the mishap, Micki was more stoked at the attempt itself.  Actually, success would be a better way to put it.  She was able to overcome every sliver of self preservational instinct to just quit and instead commit to complete this corner.  So happy with this accomplishment she had the pics snapped of the carnage as well as the corner itself just for content. Way to take one for the BLOG.

Twists of death:

Now with a bit more caution for us both, we winded our way to the bottom.  The trail becomes even less distinct at this point, but due to prior scouting while up high... we found the singletrack we needed to get back to the doubletrack leading from the ruins.  We chose to skip actually visiting the ruins themselves, but I dug up a few pics I snapped months before when I was heading in the other direction.

Nice stonework:

Maybe three bedrooms with a big garage:

We were now descending.  Choosing which left or rights to take in an effort to not repeat the bushwhacking through this section I knew from before.  Ultimately we found some great singletrack leading right into a neighborhood.  The good news was that all of the "unknowns" of this route were now figured out.  The bad news is that we were both feeling a bit tired and had at least 13 miles left to get back to the car.  On asphalt I missed a left and added a few feet (possible 7,256 of them) to the loop back to the Desert Classic trailhead.  With some GPS and a phone call to Brian for assistance, we were back on track and soon back in the dirt.

The Desert Classic Trail actually flows pretty good.  Sure, it's a bit boring by interior SoMo trail standards, but probably for the best this late into the ride.  I swear it's like a time machine back there.  I saw a pristine polished aluminum GT something-or-rather sporting a Mach-5 fork.  Florescent yellow jerseys, toe clips and helmets worm to expose the entire frontal lobe all were in full effect. One spry older gentleman jumped back on his bike in front of the freight train that was being pushed by M3.  Big mistake. All I could hear in my head was the elementary school lyrical chant...

"You're gonna get passed by a giiirrrrllll.  You're gonna get passed by a giiirrr - urrllll!!"

And sure enough, he was. Smelling the end of the ride, Micki dropped the hammer. Soon after some maniac in full sweats was bounding along in front of us.  I am not gonna lie, he was hauling.  Especially considering the fully reflector laden K-Mart special he was piloting.  The guy was one stubborn SOB.  Every boulder he ejected from the trail bounced him like a pinball.  This hacking style seemed to only give him the incentive to pedal faster. Every turn bringing him closer to the razors edge between a smiley day and a very dusty unhappy one.  Finally, his luck ran out and with one bumpy, off track corner... we were around and on our way. Back up to full pace now, the car arrived within moments and yet another loop was in the logbook.

The Stats:

Riders: Micki and Steve
Distance: 24 miles
Elevation: 3069 feet climbing
Time: just over 5 hours

I have the GPS file that can be sent to those who might be interested. Just send a message to info@thestickichronicles.com. I'll do my best to respond as quickly as possible.

Final Impression: 

If you want to try a different version of the National C2C2C with more Desert Classic it's worth the trip. The Ruins Trail drops very quickly but it's shorter than the return on National. This loop will be enjoyed more by climbers, but if you can't descend some evil terrain... you'll be hating life for sure.