Trail 100 to Breakfast

It was a cloudy, blustery, grey day.  The kind of day were it would be wise to curl up with a good book about cycling instead of actually trying to do some cycling.  But, the plans had already been made.  We were to ride across town to the breakfast spot Scramble once again.  This time to meet my Mom and share some brunch.  My thought was to ride the fixie and Micki could roll on her commuter.  We'd just spin along the canal for an easy day.

Of course, Micki being the rockstar that she is, decided that wouldn't really be much of a ride.... especially on a dreary day such as this were there would be next to no chance that we wouldn't get dumped on.

So the route was changed from our house across surface streets to the Trail 100 start point just off Tatum.  We suited up for battle with are awesome Overland Journal wool jerseys.  Both of us adding extra gear in our packs to fend of as much inevitable moisture as possible.  I wondered for a moment if maybe I should try and ride the fixed anyway with it's newly acquired fenders, but thought better of it. I guessed the rain might have it's revenge on me this day.

With a light sprinkle falling on the soaked streets we clipped in and were off.  The clouds hung very low and hid most of Camelback as well as the surrounding mountains.  Actually helping to turn this boring road section of the trip into something rather scenic.

Yipeee... road riding on our MTB's:

Monk praying to the clouds:

Once at the trail, Micki removed her vest and we started the first climb.  There were more puddles than I would have guessed, but so far the skies hadn't let loose.  Slippery rocks seemed to obscure the usual lines. The weather kept most other users off the singletrack and we seemed to have the park to ourselves for the most part.

Micki summits the first hill:

Happily soaked green desert:

From here things rolled as usual.  I just couldn't find any real flow on the downhill to Dreamy Draw, but once through the tunnel a rare sight met our light adjusting eyes.  A stream crossing was to be found.  Now, I don't mean just a trickle or a lost puddle.  I mean a true Coloradoesque stream crossing.  Maybe 3 inches deep and at least 3 feet wide.  I don't think I have ever crossed a stream on Trail 100 unless the heavens themselves happened to be unleashing at the time.  This was pretty cool.

Around us on all sides it started to appear as if our good luck had all but run out.  Black clouds rumbled low and heavy to the west. To the north and south was much of the same.  At the top of the Rusty Springs mine all hope was lost as the gnarliest region of sky lay dead ahead. We had no real choice but to continue, so nearing the Cave Creek road crossing I snapped one final pic and then tucked the camera into as safe a dry place as I could find in my pack.  

Looking kind of sunny, wait... that's just her smile:

I still had the Kenda Small Block Eight 2.35 on my front end from the 24 HOP race and up until now it was doing Tomac proud.  With the steep, slippery and rocky descent to the valley below I suddenly remembered why I like that tire so much... and why on occasion I don't care for it one bit. That wicked section almost made me pay in full for my fast rolling XC mindset.  Luckily for me, I was able to hang on until the sweeping right hander at the bottom.  Beyond that was one of the best "natural" berms I have hit in a long time and with the terrain rushing by I began to believe we might actually beat this storm yet.

The tunnel under Cave Creek Road was a lake.  We crawled through almost axle deep water to the other side and began the climb out.  Saw the first and only other bikers here and the trail actually got a bit muddy.  T100 locals know how rare that is with the rocky, sandy soil usually prevailing over the rain. At the top I decided to revisit a local trail that few were aware of but if memory served would take us right to were we needed to be... the enclosed safety of Scramble.

The forgotten singletrack itself was actually in a lot better shape than I had imagined.  It had been rerouted due to some new home construction and was really flowy.  Carving over rocks, tucking in around bushes and granting visual access to the little town-homes nestled snugly up against the preserve.  Then, for no apparent reason, this little nugget of trail just disappeared. As I walked a bit ahead to figure out where we needed to go, a nice old neighbor from below shouted up at us to see if we were lost.  Micki explained that I was not. What faith she must have in me.  Sure enough, the continuation of the route was found and we were off again.      

Micki coming out from the nothing:

From here our tires met asphalt again and we wound through the final neighborhood to the restaurant. You could tell the ground was very wet and when we arrived my Mom said the parking lot had just been drenched.  What perfect timing we happened to have. Being Sunday, the place was packed.  I got my usual three-cheese omelet while Micki got a veggie omelet with a fruit cup and buckwheat dollar cakes. Mom went with some sort of breakfast pizza despite Micki's heavy cheese warning.  Unfortunately it fell on deaf ears and she could only eat so much. Micki on the other hand cleaned her plate and was looking for more before I could even get started.  She was evidently a very hungry girl.

We chatted for a bit and when it looked the the weather was clearing, said our goodbyes and headed home.  The plan was to take the canals back and the sun actually came out soon after we started.  All was good until one section turned to mud, forcing us back on to the surface streets.  Funny to ride some 10 miles of trail without incident and then get bogged down on the canal.  Oh well, the weather held the entire way so not to much to complain about I suppose.

Not a bad result for a breakfast ride on such a cruddy day.

The Stats:

Riders: Micki and Steve

Distance: 32 miles

Elevation: 1160 feet climbing

Time: around 2 hours to breakfast, 1.5 hours to get home.