Then... my mind began to wander.
Perhaps this four legged nuisance was just outside their truck. Maybe they were having some "alone time" and refused to be interrupted long enough to stop the barking. As 10 minutes and then more passed without even a second of cessation, I began to wonder if perhaps this couple had been murdered and only the dog remained, trying in vain to draw attention to the scene of the crime. If attacked and killed by a wild animal, I surmised I was safe as the beast would most likely be full from consuming two healthy individuals. But why would the dog have been spared?
So the probable cause was either a domestic dispute leaving one or both dead... or a roaming axe murderer.
Man I was tired, and didn't want to deal with this at all. I began to calculate the possibility of this maniac finding me up the road. Perhaps I should move my truck farther away to make sure this didn't happen, but that would have required getting dressed and loading up my bike. Lots of effort, so I decided to just close up the tailgate and hope for the best. Finally a few intelligible screams calmed the dog so all was good. Unless of course the noise was from the maniac returning to the scene of the crime to eliminate any witnesses.
Wake up... I'm bored:
An hour or two later I was awoken again by the sounds of falling ice in the cooler placed on the front seat. The mini glaciers inside the plastic box had begun to fail intermittently and the collapse sounded like glass shattering in an empty cave. This of course was just loud enough to keep me from falling back into a deep slumber. Up again, I placed the cooler outside and shut the door. Laying back down I could still hear it. Impossible!! How could this be? The noise started to change from glass to more of a rustle and then into a scurry. This scratching began to emanate seemingly from under the vehicle and I began to imagine a skunk or worse messing around with my 29'r which was underneath the 4Runner. Unacceptable!!
With the flick of a switch and me now standing through the open sunroof my under-body rock lights lit up and illuminated the surrounding area. I awaited to see the culprit sprinting away into the woods, but no movement was to be observed. I waited, heard no sound and felt it safe to lay back down once more. Soon after, the noise returned. Even louder now than before. I stealthily donned my headlamp and set it to red light or "super black ops recon mode". As I rose once more, I saw a little mouse bust out from under my papers on the front floor mat and up into my dash. The surprise of an animal inside my truck dropped me back a few feet and I quickly replayed that famous scene back in my head from the movie "Aliens".
HUDSON: Twelve meters. Man, this is a big fucking signal.
RIPLEY: They're right on us. Vasquez, how you doing?
HUDSON: Nine meters. Eight...
RIPLEY: Can't be. That's inside the room!
HUDSON: It's readin' right. Look!
HICKS: Well you're not reading it right!
HUDSON: Six meters. Five. What the fu...
Okay... it may have just been a 2" mouse, but after the previous mind games of the evening I may have already been a bit on edge. So, I waited patiently at "Def-Con 5" alert with my red light illuminating the lower dash. I could hear him in their, scurrying around, scratching, chewing. That little SOB was tearing my truck apart and their wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Every once in a while he'd pop out just to do an instant u-turn and disappear if I even moved a muscle. In desperation, I popped open both front doors and beat on the dash like an angry Jamaican who ran out of weed at drum circle. Nothing. No noise... but no confirmation of the beasts departure. With no real planning part of my brain actually functioning this late at night, I lay back down to contemplate what my next move might be.
A few moments later I heard one final scurry higher in the dash and then silence. I listened for a long time and then assumed he had left the way he had come in. Finally, I fell asleep until the morning sun awoke me a few hours later.
Ride Time...
I loaded up and headed into town to grab some breakfast. I had a big ride planned, so I upped my usual caloric intake with two sausage egg McMuffins instead of one. I polished all this off with a Rockstar Recovery chaser and headed back up to Thumb Butte. Just as the road turns to dirt, I parked and got ready to roll. Up the road to the switchbacks and I knew something wasn't right. I just felt sluggish, slow, burned out. The switchbacks which I had all but mastered as of late handed my ass to me and required several stops just to make it to the top. My gut was twisted in knots and I decided that I may have actually outgrown the ability to eat such massive quantities of pure crap before a big ride.
Note to self: make dietary reassessment before next epic.
I pushed on. I was basically working my way around to connect to the Whiskey course we had just raced a month or so ago. Up the Pearlstein singletrack and I began to fade again. I just had nothing, perhaps even worse than race day. I tried to work through it for the duration of Aspen Creek but at the top before the big rocky road descent I had to sit down for about 30 minutes. I was toast, and should have called this ride a loss. Then again, I decided to see what "the Exception" might just be able to do... even on a bad day.
Out of the shade and onto that long, busted, dusty downhill I went. I was feeling a bit better until I made the bottom and had to climb out. I was destroyed. I stopped often and was sweating like crazy. It was hot and I knew I was going through water very quickly. I was already several hours in and way slower than any pace I had envisioned for myself. The climb back up to the Sierra Prieta overlook was done under full sun exposure. It took forever. This was it, I was done. Good effort, but I'd have to mark it up as an incomplete in regards to my goal for the day.
Down the road, over the cattle guard and without conscious thought I suddenly found myself turning on to East Spruce trail. "Ridiculous" was all I heard my legs say, but it didn't seem to matter. I knew I'd have one more option to bail out before the big DH towards Skull Valley. I was pretty sure logic would be able to overcome my will to ride by then. I struggled on usually unnoticeable grades. Pushed up most of the switchbacks I had conquered just weeks earlier with Micki. Burned through the treeless meadows and ground my way up the forgotten rock strewn singletrack. At the gate I had to make my the final choice in regards to my route. Low on water, lacking power and still feeling like my gut was full of old plastic soda can carriers... there really was only one logical choice to make.
Unfortunately... logic was not operating correctly on this day..
With absolutely no business doing so, I opened the barb wire gate and began the descent. I had now passed the point of no return. I would look back and understand what a poor choice this would turn out to be a few hours from now.
Usually, down is easy. In fact, down is often sought after, anticipated, found with joy. This down, however, is a bit different. It's a very steep unused section of road covered with loose rock and eroded by countless storms. Lines are not evident. Dare I say they may not even exist. The grade of the mountain encourages speed, yet blind corners and chewed earth demands brakes burn. Forearms pump and wrists strain as one struggles to keep the rubber side down and in check. A few aggressive climbs break up the nightmare and eventually the longest DH section of singletrack to possibly be found in Prescott reveals itself to the rider. I began to realize my hope for water at the creek found at the bottom was now a top priority. Not safe to drink, but at least enough just to cool off.
Finally I made the wash and found what I was dreaming about. Cool water flowed over the rocks and after some bushwhacking I found a pool deep enough to get my feet wet. I walked right in, shoes and all. Falling to my knees on the sandy bank, I pushed away the surface skimming water bugs and dunked my head. It was amazing. I sat there for some time. Shoes soaking in the stream and occasionally splashing water onto my hair and face. It was 90 degrees easy and I had to make every effort not to start drinking from the creek. I could tell my Camelback was close to being dry but also knew I had many shadeless miles yet to go to make it to a refill of any sort. At least thirty minutes passed and I knew I had to get going. Pushing up the forgotten trail from the creek and my worst nightmare came to fruition. As I made one final suck for hydration... I got nothing but air.
Out of water, 90 plus degree day, at least 6 miles to any type of assistance.
I just had to stay calm. I knew there was a good chance that no one was going to be out on Dixie Mine road on a Friday afternoon. Hell, the area was a basically a forgotten wasteland even on the weekends. I rolled slowly along the last bit of singletrack and then just span with as little effort as possible along the dirt road. Each braking bump that I had barely noticed when I traveled this route before seemed to be well over six inches deep. I was getting very tired and could tell this was probably one of the worst predicaments I had gotten myself into on a bicycle. Much to my surprise, I came across a vehicle heading the other way. Now, a wiser man may have just relented and asked for a ride out to civilization. But I just asked for some water instead. I gained about 6 ounces from them and was back on my way.
Just before Iron Springs road there was a choice to be made. I could cry "uncle" and get to the asphalt, flag down the first vehicle I saw and get the hell out of there. Of course, that would mean asking for assistance and in turn accepting defeat. Not really my style. Instead I turned right just before and started to ride up the abandoned railroad grade. My new plan was to make it to the town of Iron Springs and approach the first house I saw for some water. My best guess was 2 miles, maybe 3. My memory told me the road was basically flat and I knew the distance shouldn't be to much of a problem. I was maybe 26 miles into this ride and with my gut twisted like a pretzel hadn't eaten a thing. Finding some shade, I pulled over, downed a Hammer gel and swigged the last of my borrowed water.
Somehow this "easy" railroad grade had gotten a lot harder than I remembered. The sand was deep and my pace got slower and slower. Legs felt like led and in no time my throat was begging for moisture once more. Every corner now I hoped for the salvation of Iron Springs but was denied time and time again. I started to realize that I may be in real trouble. My stubborn goal achieving mindset had created a situation that might actually be beyond my ability to cope with. I considered turning back and trying to find help on Iron Springs road. I thought perhaps I should call Andooke and get a ride out of here. I wondered at what point I should consider calling emergency services. I began to fade more and more and finally pulled over to sit in what little shade I could find. I leaned back against the side of the trail and without realizing it fell asleep.
A few minutes passed, maybe longer when I awoke. I knew this was a bad sign indeed. I'd been tired before, hell... I'd bonked so hard that I could barely see straight. But this was different. This was weird. Admittedly, this ride was starting to get down right scary. Probably getting a little overly dramatic, but I knew I had to make something happen soon as far as hydration was concerned. Clipping back in, I promised myself I wouldn't stop pedaling again until I made Iron Springs. At least, not by choice. Perhaps a mile later I began to recognize the terrain change and knew my goal was just around the corner. A sandy wash later, I was at the gate, looking at a 2WD dirt road leading to my salvation.
The Incident...
Pushing my bike up a hill I wouldn't have even thought twice about pedaling up under normal circumstances, I began to scope out houses for my best chance of water. I had not explored this community before, but had heard of it from my Dad as well as seen it on maps in the past. The houses wee big and of high quality. Yards were well kept and massive decks could be seen throughout. I abandoned the approach to my first target as a group of dogs rushed to the fence to warn me away. I noticed some swings and what looked like a park about half a football field away so I continued on in search of a drinking fountain. No luck, but then much to my surprise I say a small parking area with what appeared to be a country store. Walking up the old wooden steps I peered through the dusty screen door to see coolers full of water and Gatorade just inside. With a creek the ancient spring stretched and I was inside, gathering up the frosty beverages with great anticipation.
This is when things started to get a little weird.
Approaching the counter, I wondered if a place this small would accept a debit card. Asking with the anticipation of a denial, the young man confirmed my suspicions. Reaching now for cash, I was taken a back when the cashier then stated that I could "charge" the purchase if I wished. Isn't that what I just tried to do... "charge" my purchase? Confused but thoroughly focused on hydration, I just handed him the cash and dismissed the statement to a miscommunication. Back outside I plopped down on the welcoming bench and began to drink.
I soon noticed a big 'ol lab approach and then another hound behind him. Loping up the stairs they both paid me a casual hello with their investigative noses and wagging tales. Two young girls soon appeared and called my new friends away by name, telling them to sit and wait outside while they entered the store. Soon an elderly woman pulled up in her car and almost at the same time a just past middle aged man pulled up in his gold cart. It was revealed that they knew each other by name when the woman asked for some assistance getting up the stairs. By the standards of his time, the man promptly held out a stiff arm to help the woman up. I began to really enjoy the timelessness of this town. I couldn't wait to add this stop on to future rides with friends. It would really make the somewhat long and hot loop more of a pleasant adventure than the usual death march it turns out to be.
The woman entered the store and the old man paused at the top of the steps to acknowledge me.
Man: (in a jocular tone) "Well hello there! Didn't see you sitting there in the shade."
Myself: "Hello back. Nice day don't you think?"
Man: "Sure is. So, who are you with?"
Confused at the question, I did my best to respond.
Myself: "Nobody. Just passing through on my bicycle."
Man: "Hmmm. Well, who are you then?"
This was starting to get a little odd, but I just decided to go with the small town back in time super friendly neighbor vibe and give him a straight answer back.
Myself: "My name is Steve"
Man: "I thought at first you were somebody else."
Well,that explained the awkwardness easily enough. I was really enjoying this place. Nice dogs, friendly people, strong community, cold beverages. Then, like a switch, his face changed drastically and his smile dropped away.
A stern mood was now easily read in his eyes and this is where things got really weird.
Man: "You don't belong here. Finish your drink, get on your bike and head out that way!"
I was caught off guard completely. Where did all this angst come from? I nodded my understanding yet had no audible response to offer. I knew there was no way I was leaving the way he pointed for me to go as that route took me now where that I needed to be. To compound the oddity, I could hear the man return to his friendly demeanor once inside the store as he greeted others he knew. What was up with this place?
After filling my Camelback with water I had to dispose of the empties. I really could have used some more fluids, but wanted to get out of there ASAP. I scoured the porch for a trash can but none was to be found. With hesitation, I entered the store to drop of the bottles and avoided eye contact with all inside, not being sure who was now friend and who foe. I could see the old man out of the corner of my eye, watching my every move. I stepped back outside and gathered my gear.
Walking my bike down the steps, I could hear that creaky screen door open behind me. I didn't look back. Didn't really need to. I assumed it was him getting ready to make sure I left in the correct direction. The only problem was that the way he wanted me to go would have led to asphalt and then a long climb back to town. Dehydrated homie wasn't about to play that, so I pretended to have an issue clipping into my pedals as I rolled away towards his desired exit option. Looking down at my feet, I could see just enough behind me to catch his glare. With a quick jerk of the bars to my left and a hard pedal stroke or two I was away on the downhill roll.
The guy literally exploded into a torrent of furious rage. Yelling at me that I had gone the right way. To stop!! Comeback!! Yada yada yada at the top of his lungs. I didn't return any comment, nor turn around. Just rolled away with great haste back to my original entry point at the railroad grade. I spun fairly quickly for a while with visions of him screaming down after me in his gold cart, swinging his cane or worse out the side. Then imagination being what it is, I began to "feel" a quad chasing me down with bullets flying over my head. I kicked it up a notch, at least as much as my weary legs and thirst would allow... and made it to a gate. Opening quickly, passing through and latching it behind me I was fairly confident I was beyond the Iron Springs property boundary. I went a bit further, found some more shade and took a rest.
I spent the rest of the ride trying to make sense of it all. I half expected him to be there waiting in some scary pickup at every intersection, but the remainder of the route was relatively drama free. I made it to the railroad grade and then connected to the Chimney Trail. I was still feeling pretty bad and had to stop many times on the climb out,. almost having my legs cramp completely towards the top. As I rolled down the final stretch of dirt road to the 4Runner, I sucked the last bit of water out of my Camelback again. Almost 200 ounces of water in 8 hours... not including the Gatorade at Iron Springs or the one I downed within seconds once back at the car. And I was still thirsty.
I grabbed a burrito at Hugo's. This time not only did they know what I was planning to order but had seen me walking up to the restaurant, so it was made by the time I paid. It was this friendly small town atmosphere that really makes Prescott attractive to both Micki and I. This is what I am used to which makes the event at Iron Springs even more puzzling.
I started to wonder about the town of Iron Springs. What if all that had happened was just a figure of my dehydrated and delusional imagination? Perhaps the town was really abandoned, all boarded up and forgotten. Maybe I'd just seen what I needed to see to get me through this ride. What if the town wasn't even there in the first place, and my short little nap was a lot longer than I thought? Such a mystery to be sure.
All I know is that next time I'll be sure to go with friends, and send them into town to get me an icy cold beverage while I wait at the bottom for their return.
Run Andy... run!!!:
Riders: just Elvota
Distance: just under 40 miles
Elevation: 6450' of climbing
Ride time: around 8 long hours
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