Four Peaks Wheeling

With our appetite for snow salivating once again we decided to try and stay local to find some more.  The Four Peaks could be seen capped in white from town, so we decided to load up the dog, some lunch and head out.

Some rain this past Wednesday had left the dirt road a bit mucky and the creeks flowing.  Was a nice change from the dusty ribbon of bumps that usually meets the 4Runners tread.  There wasn't much traffic and we had the route almost all to ourselves.  Occasionally clouds would build over the peaks but our hopes for more weather were dashed quickly by the sun breaking back through.

Good flow:

Clear water:

At the top, Mousse was release to run wild.  With her usually darting, jumping, whining, wagging, bolting style she explored the parking lot and surveyed the route ahead.  There wasn't as much snow as on Mingus, so we opted to leave the snowshoes in the truck. Micki was bundled head to toe with her fancy boots, down jacket, jeans and a scarf.  I opted for shorts, running shoes and a light jacket. The dog didn't seem to notice or care and was begging us just to get started.

"This white stuff is AMAZING!!!"

We trodded along for a while.  The dog looping around and catching snowballs thrown to her.  Always confused as once the catch was made, the ball always disappeared. With warmer wetter and possibly a little rain, the crunch was crusty and in some cases slippery with ice.  Mousse found another pair of hikers and said her hello's much to the initial fear and then joy of the little girl perched on Daddy's shoulders.  

Widdled stone:

There wasn't really a destination in mind. After some time had passed and hunger pangs began to, well... pang, we turned back around.

Views from our stop:

Holy tree:

Micki a bit less bundled:

Myself generally underbundled:

Self potrait (can you guess who is who?):

After lunch at the truck, we headed back down.  Was a nice day with good weather.  A little cold when the sun hid behind the clouds and the breeze picked up but the dog didn't seem to care a bit.  Mousse made her final head out the window inspections of the area on the way home, barking at a heard of roaming dogs once we crossed into the reservation.  Was nice to get her out and about which can be hard to do with all the cycling we have been trying to squeeze in lately.

Four wheel fun:

Our Snowshoe Expedition

01.21.10

With the biggest storm ever to cross Arizona within the history of human recording now bearing down on the state for the last few days, we decided this would be a perfect opportunity to take a vacation.  After all, the roads were sure to be empty... at least what was left of them.  My Dad has some sort of time-share arrangement and this allows a certain amount of points to be used to acquire hotel accommodations both locally and internationally.  We had taken him up on this offer around Valentines of last year, but had some bad luck.  No heat in the room and no hot water on the morning of the last day.  This mishap led to another couple of comped nights which we used for this trip. Sweeeet.

The plan was to make Sedona on Thursday after work.  Heavy rains on that day as well as storms before had saturated the desert and swollen usually dry creeks to their brim.  Every local news station was interrupting regularly scheduled programs with flash flood and even the occasional tornado warnings. Perfect time for an interstate drive!  Before we even made it out of town, we were forced to exit Loop 101 as it had been closed in both directions.  We assumed the four horseman of the apocalypse had arrived and were using the area for staging.  Turns out it was just a massive circus type tent from a local automobile auction that the high winds had separated from the custom cars it was protecting and laid it across all eight lanes of freeway.

Once by the gnarled traffic of this incident and on to I-17, fellow travelers began peeling off in search of shelter.  The rain was very heavy at times and by the exit to Prescott, where I pulled off for some dinner, we were almost the only car on the road.  Me walking into Mc'D's in just a pair of shorts and a T-shirt drew comments from the amused employee and solitary local customer inside.

"You must be from Phoenix." they almost stated in unison.

Then, with my best Bill Murray impersonation I stated...

"I don't think the heavy stuff is gonna come down for a while."

At least, that's what I thought about staying.  Instead,  I just ordered a couple of hamburgers while Micki used the loo.

We made it to Sedona pretty easily from there.  Switched off I-17 at Verde Valley due to the possible road closure North and came through Cottonwood instead.  Checked in and hit the hay.

01.22.10


Next morning we awoke to a gray day, but no snow on the ground outside. The room was nice with a fireplace, TV in living and bedroom and heat that actually worked.

Our room:

View from front entry:

With no nearby powder to be seen, we decided to make our way over to the darkness that had obscured the Mingus Mountains completely. Some wet roads along the way, but no white stuff until we made it through Jerome. Then it began to fall pretty hard.

A little plow help please:

  

  
Cautiously, we made it along the winding mountain roads to the summit.  There was endless snow to play in, but no place to park.  A few 4x4's were able to get over the berm created by the previous passes of the plow, but the HiHy was just a little to low.  Frustrated, we headed back down a ways and found a spot just wide enough in the road to be able to work our way out of traffic.  While we suited up and figured out our snow shoes, the plow driver stopped by to check and see if we were all right.  He said he'd watch out for our vehicle on his next pass, which gave me some assurance that we wouldn't return after our hike to a car sealed deep within a frozen bank of snow.

We found what looked like a road leaving the asphalt and started to stomp through the powder.  I'd guess it was 3 or 4 feet deep. There was a minimal wind and all those countless crystals had just been stacking themselves up on any flat surface they could find for days.  Undistrubed before we arrived, the virgin snow was impressively beautiful in it's artistic solitude.

Pristine:

Micki getting her snow legs:

At least knee deep without the shoes:

Snow starting to fall:

Single-tracks:

We wandered around under the trees for about an hour.  The shoes were working great at keeping us afloat.  Actually, I think we both were enjoying them more than we thought.  The wind started to pick up a bit and we ended our loop with a short climb back up to the car.

Blowing snow creates a wicked Popeye impression:

Once the HiHy heated up and I could see out the front window we began our retreat.  The snow was coming down pretty hard now and the U-turn was a bit problematic. Slipping and sliding, we finally got pointed in the right direction.  With really no sign of plow work, driving was difficult. I chose poorly to avoid a large chunk of ice in our lane and the off camber section of road took over, sending us sliding towards a Jeep coming up in the other direction. With millimeters to spare, we both kept in our lanes and the dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree as alarm bells started to chime.  I think the ABS and traction control were trying to tell me something, but I couldn't really focus as my white knuckles crushed the steering wheel.

I am not sure if the 4Runner would have made for a better choice at this moment, but at least if I hit something in that vehicle I could bounce or at least bite back with little regard to paint or body damage.  With even greater caution and far less speed... we slowly crept down to Jerome.  The place was a true ghost town, but I just had to snap a pic of this forgotten motorcycle parked off to the left.  With a very light application of the brakes, I decided I'd perform a gentle and controlled stop.  This assumption was dead wrong however, and instead we took about a 15' sled ride with a little slide to the left.

Stylish?  For sure.

Safe and in control?  For sure not.

Worth the scare?:

All-righty then... I was guessing I'd have to substantially up my driving game.

Minimal throttle, no wheel spin and we were off.  Creeping along now the mood was quiet as the next steep downhill approached.  With almost undetectable effort I gingerly applied the brakes.  I was pretty impressed with my technique until I noticed we were sliding once again.  I turned left, then right, then straight with absolutely no noticeable change in direction.  I even had time to ask Micki for help, but none was offered.  I think we were both a little dumbstruck as we skated down the street with parked cars just inches away from us on either side and a intersection fast approaching. With ABS systems clicking away and strange tapping noises coming from beneath the hood, all we could do was hope for the best. Miraculously, there were no cars approaching, and even better... a slight uphill existed before the pitiful ancient guardrail had to catch us.

Nice.  A kind of perfect yet totally unplanned stop, just a few feet short of disaster.

I just had to make it about another mile and we'd be out of the icy trap Jerome had laid for us. Moving now at a pace most likely imperceptible to the human eye, I rounded the next corner.  I observed pretty flashing lights.  Falling back on my incredibly adept driving instincts, I deduced that this meant a cop car had parked to prevent others from crashing into the accident laying just out of sight.

"How professional."  I thought to myself as I began to notice the HiHy once again sliding out of control right towards this public servant vehicle's bumper.

Guardrail and sidewalk to the left, shiny police car to the right and only a narrow margin between the two. I foolishly aimed for the middle.  Foolishly because I actually still believed I had some sort of control over the vehicle we were in.  Honestly, we'd have had just about as much luck missing everything if we had both jumped into the back seat and just hoped for the best.  Somehow, we stopped without even a ding.  I could tell by the cop's face as he walked back up the hill that he was just as surprised as we were. With his instruction, we pulled over and waited for the plow truck to clear and salt the roads.

A gentleman with a Ford Superduty truck with massive camper shell mounted in the bed who had paid for 5 mile per gallon tank fill-ups on his road trip up until now also waited on the road below.  He was going to be damned if he had to wait for such assistance.  He slowly crawled up the hill and was away before the rolling shovel arrived.  Next was a late 80's full conversion van. Obviously he had assessed the Ford's success was not due to it's 4WD capability... but instead from it's domestic V-8 power-plant. With that belief festering in his mind, he decided to give climbing the hill a try as well. I must admit, it was pretty cool to see him do a burnout for the entire length of the slope.  With his rear wheels spinning at 60, he crawled up the hill no faster than 2.  But... he did make it.

A little while later the plow came through and we were free from the icy grips of Jerome.  With the easy drive to Cottonwood we picked up a Papa Murphy's pizza for baking at the condo.  After a big lunch and a small nap, we headed back out to see what this storm had done to the town of Sedona.  We tried to drive up Oak Creek Canyon, but the road was closed just feet past downtown. The snow was clinging to the red cliffs and the clouds hugged low into the valleys. We decided just to cruise around and see what we might see.

Sedona at it's finest:

"Dry Creek" ... not so much:

Micki's super boots:

We then got some soup, cornbread and chocolate cake from Safeway.  Sedona is always a strangish mix between small town, big city and just plain crazy.  Here is a sample snippet of a conversation we caught just leaving the store:

Odd man one

"I thought Roswell was in New Mexico, not Arizona."

Odd man two

"It was, but they changed their landing area."

Odd man one

"Oohhhhh, that makes sense."

Very interesting.  Anyway, we rented a movie and then called it a day back at the condo.

01.23.10

In the morning, there actually was a small amount of snow on the patio handrail and car. We packed up and decided to give Oak Creek one more try.  No dice, still closed.  With a small amount of nervous hesitation after yesterday's driving experience, we decided to give Mingus one more attempt. It was dumping and the skies were pitch black just outside of Cottonwood.  A mix of heavy rain and snow.  The mountains ahead had all but disappeared into the clouds. As we climbed, the treachery of Jerome got closer and closer.  Much to our surprise and enjoyment, the plows had been very busy throughout the night and the roads were all but clear.  We practically zoomed up to the summit and even though we found a crowd of sledders, there was enough groomed parking to find a place off the road.  We suited up and just starting stomping through the powder.

Deer tracks?:

Elk maybe?:

Uber deep "Pow Pow":

Picnic anyone?:

Fresh double-track:

Matching Micki:

Cacti:

We hiked around for about and hour and a half.  Made our way through the empty Potato Patch campground and then up to the Woodchute Trailhead.  A majority of the route was untouched by human, or any soul for that matter.  The snow began to fall very lightly and the soft crunch of fresh snow was emanating from our footsteps.  Very peaceful and hard to imagine strapping something like a refined tennis racket to ones feet could create such an enjoyable experience. Back at the car, the road was stuffed with fellow snow tourists parking in every legal and rule bending configuration possible. The plows were keeping busy and the drive back to Jerome was very traction filled and relaxing this time.

Heavy storms rolling in the valley below:

 

In town:

Tummies growling now, we stopped in Jerome for some well deserved Mexican fuel.  I had spotted a place that looked promising out of the corner of my wide open eyes during one of the slides down the hill yesterday... so we thought we'd check it out.

External destination:

Internal decoration:

Rewarding compilation:

I chose the smothered burrito and Micki went with the taco plate.  Both were huge, well made with just the right amount of spice and taste. Basically, this place rocks!!  Awesome food, good pricing and right on main street.  We will definitely be back again.

Quince Grill and Cantina

After lunch, we splurged on some fudge and then headed back to Scottsdale. Almost all the creeks along the way were still rushing.  New River was bank to bank and we could see some massive waterfalls at the base of the Bradshaw's just before dropping down from Sunset point. It was nice to get out and truly enjoy the "storm of the century".  Would have been a shame to miss it from town, so we were glad my days off happened to come when they did.  Snowshoe-ing was a blast that we are sure to try again when the opportunity presents itself.  Mind you, our home in the "Valley of the Sun" will generally keep this new gear out of commission... but there are supposed to be a few more storms yet to come.

A little video wrap-up:

Snowshoe from Elvota on Vimeo.

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.