Whitewater Commute

Well, was yet another wet and dreary day.  Awoke to wet streets and rain stilling falling outside.  The sky was full of clouds with nothing but gray in all directions.  The weather report looked grim, but seeing that I didn't have to be in to work until noon this on this Sunday, I decided I'd hope for the best.  I always choose two pedals over the skinny pedal when I get the opportunity. Having to miss riding in yesterday I was really hoping the sky would clear soon.

I like to leave about an hour before work but a peak through the front window didn't reveal the best news. The light sprinkles seemed manageable enough however, so I decided to give it a go.  As expected, my newly installed fenders worked like a champ and tackled all the flooded streets with ease.  Before I knew it I was at work and about 90% dry to boot.

With rain falling off and on during the day, I was wondering if I'd have the same luck on the way back home.  After work the sky was cloudy but the precipitation had all but stopped.  It was wet and cold outside, but overall it was looking like some reasonable cycling weather.  I threw on my rain jacket, clipped in and pedaled off.

The puddles here and there reminded me the sun had all but lost the battle to illuminate over the past several hours.  My pace was reasonable but not quick.  My thoughts began to wander and my focus dulled a little more with each pedal revolution.  I was relaxed and as the sky drifted into black I was close to home.  My Cygolite Trion 600 was blinking red, reminding me that I had forgotten to charge the unit over the last week or more of commutes.

I selected a lower light output setting and kept rolling just a tad dimmer than usual. One of my favorite little downhill challenges was coming up around the bend.  A nice sloping left under the bridge that always gained my attention, especially on the basically unstoppable fixed gear.  For some reason on this night I took the somewhat blind corner with less hesitation than usual.

Something looked off.  The rain soaked sidewalk seemed to be blending a little to well with the path under the roadway.  I suddenly realized my fate, and it looked far from good.  The usually bone dry underpass was heavily swollen.  Whitecaps crested the rushing brown water that stretched from bank to bank.  Instinctively I grabbed for the brakes, realizing right away that there was of course none to be found.

Man-O-Man... I sure wished I had been practicing my skid stops!!!

Alas, I had not.  In fact, I hadn't even really pulled one off at all.  Thoughts of ejection lept into my head... but to be honest, I wasn't really sure how to even try and jump off this death machine. I couldn't even pause my feet for a second to figure anything out.  Visions of Andy's creek crossing escapade at the end of Trail 401 in Colorado began to pollute my mind.

I was going in, there was no way around it now.  In fact, I was pretty sure my speed had actually increased... probably aided by my mental distractions and the wet concrete below.

As the edge of the black rushing soup met my front tire I simply leaned back... way, way back. As in back of the seat against your jaw back.  White knuckle, elbows locked, knees to the chest back.  Except that damn fixie was forcing me to pedal the entire time. Whose idea was it to build this bike anyway?  Stupid hipster influences!!

My luscious fenders expectedly failed me for the first time and water shot in every direction.  Droplets were caught in the beam of my blueish white LED's and for a moment it appeared as if I had somehow jumped into warp speed. Each airborne pearl seemed to stretch out and stall mid-air.  Almost as if I was surrounded by a massive crystal chandelier. The surprising beauty momentarily distracted me from my peril... yet with ninja like reflexes I snapped back into reality and began to redirect my now rapidly decreasing momentum upstream.

The wonderful full coverage front fender I had been raving about now acted like a scoop in the hub deep flow and created monumental amounts of drag. Pedaling with the veracity of a thousand suns, I spun the cranks ever so slowly against the raging current. I had forward movement, but it was barely detectable. Of course, I could have easily unclipped and put my foot down at this point... but that would be snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.  Crank driven glory or pedaling into a watery grave were the only two true options I felt I had.

Shorts were now soaked and rain jacket dripping as the waters force pushed back and my wheels hurled the fury straight up into the cold air. Thankfully, the concrete beneath me was clear of debris and offered plenty of predictable traction.  I couldn't believe how much water was flowing and with the slope rising up from the tunnel, the velocity became even greater. Much to my joy, the level began to finally drop as the pitch of terrain rose.  Within a few more moments I was able to finally breach the hazard and place wet rubber back on dry land.

Regretfully, there are no pictures to document this truly exhilarating event. This occurrence has forced me to reconsider the possibility of hiring a gentleman small in stature to follow as my shadow and record my daily life experiences. I may have to post this volunteer yet life enriching opportunity on the list that is Craig's to see if I can find someone to fit the bill.

That said, I was able to harness the powers of Google and attempt visualize what could have been...

Sure hope my shoes dry out by tomorrow morning.

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.

Full Dresser

It has been a fairly active winter so far.  Nothing to really complain about here in Scottsdale compared to the rest of the state, or nation for that matter... but wet none the less. Getting stuck with a soaking ride home from work a few weeks ago I decided to begin converting my fixie into a "full dresser" commute bike.  Rear rack, pannier and even fenders.  I figured I'd give the wheel shrouding devices a try first and began my search for the perfect pair.

The excitement I felt purchasing such a utilitarian bicycle part reflects how deep this two wheeled addiction has infected me.  I can't even begin to recall how many waking moments I have spent working out how to make my bikes lighter, faster, stronger, able to take on bigger hits or climb with greater ease. But now it was time to take a different approach.  To gain a level of urban functionality that had never really crossed my mind before.

Browsing through the unnoticed pages of worn bicycle catalogs I found the perfect selection.  A simple pair of Civia Highland aluminum fenders in "sage green".  The hardware was exquisite, the coverage unmatched and with the unique angle cut on the trailing edge I knew I was in business. Order placed, tracking number received... dutifully tracked until arrival.

Before I knew it, they were here.  A big brown box held these model examples of arched liquid protection.  My eyes sparkled as they traced the aluminum struts and realized all the hardware was finely machined stainless steel.  Oh the wonderment!!!

My joy was quickly vanquished however once I came to the realization that my mutant mix of a fixie was going to give me nothing but grief in regards to the installation. Sure, I had bought 700c compatible fenders for my 700c wheelset, but I had forgotten to anticipate the difficulty that might occur when trying to mount all of this to a converted 26" Schwinn MTB frame.

After some finagling, manipulating, modifying, drilling, flexing and tweaking... they were on.  I rode home and found the new retro-techno-conventional fenders gave the bike an entirely new laid back character.  I was pretty stoked, but not nearly as stoked as I was on day two.

I woke up to cloudy skies and a forecast of rain.  60% chance to be exact.  I knew completing my daily commute un-moistened was all but an impossibility. I added my rain jacket to my regular messenger bag contents and headed out.  Almost to work with only a few sprinkles just at the door.  Perfect timing.

Throughout the day the rain fell.  From heavy torrents to light sprinkles.  I hoped for some relief when it was time to leave and my wish was granted with a large rainbow and a light mist in the air the only thing to remind me of such a stormy day.  As the time clock ended my shift, I put on my weatherproof shell and was off through the soaked parking lot.

Puddle after puddle was dashed without even a trace of water on my shoes.

Gutters where crossed with no sign of rooster tail to soak my seat and shorts.

I was invincible and actually began to search out obstructions to challenge my new found fenders.  Time and time again I stayed dry as the water beneath me parted with great haste.

Oh fenders, what a truly wondrous accessory you are.

This sweet PDW rack will be next (website):

And then I think this nice waterproof POE pannier (website):

24 Hours of Old Pueblo

02.12.10 (Day One)

With the trailer packed up with supplies and the bikes loaded we were ready to head out to the race site.  Mousse was very happy to be invited on this trip and she bolted out the door screeching to a stop after a magnificent leap into the HyHi. Windows cracked, we were on the road heading south.  For reasons probably never to be determined, the directions provided by the race promoter brought us all the way down I-10 to the outskirts of Tucson.  Winding through slow roads, back road construction zones and finding a restroom for Micki all added to the drive time considerably. Despite the scare of a radar cop pulling out behind us as we passed, the drive itself was fairly uneventful and before we knew it the long dirt road which was the final leg was beneath us kicking up a wall of dust in our wake.

In the distance appeared to be a town of white.  Small buildings appeared to be huddled at the foothills of the approaching mountains.  As we gained focus, the distant objects began to identify themselves as row after row of tent, trailer and SUV all crammed together around what must have been the start of the race. The promoters met all at the entry and asked for a can food donation as well as collected varying levels of fees in regards to whether you had a trailer or not.  Past the checkpoint and through a few more bumpy washes and we were at the final destination.  Nathan with Overland Journal had been on the other end of Micki's cell phone and rode down to meet us.  There was a somewhat complex labyrinth of roads and pulling the pop-up behind it was very helpful to have a guide lead us to the team camp spot.

The Epicenter (at least for the next few days):

Most of the Overland team had already arrived.  Seeing that a majority of the team is active on the Expedition Portal bicycle forum, I'll add their usernames.  Mike (Trailsurfer) and Nathan (Alpine Hoo Ha) had arrived early to hold a spot.  The venue fills up fast as the race itself has really gained national appeal.  Scott (Expeditionswest) as well as Jeremy (Edgear) arrived a little later and once their vehicle was setup they began drawing plenty of attention from the roaming cyclists walking about. As impressed as both Micki and I have been with the upgraded conveniences our little trailer has added to our outdoor lifestyle, the equipment that now surrounded us made the Sticki Hilton look a little frail by comparison.  Scott's built Range Rover had a full kitchenette in the back and sleeping accommodations for two above.  Not to mention a WiFi network that he promptly setup. Mike's "Sportsmobile" upped the game even further with massive amounts of storage, satellite radio as well as television.  While the other racers began huddling around their fires making dinner, we actually were able to watch the opening ceremonies of the 2010 Olympic games.  Crazy.

 The Wondermobile:

   

Although not on the Overland team by name only, Christophe was getting prepared for a solo effort on his singlespeed 29'r.  With the memory of my solo 12hr effort in Prescott and our recent Dusk 'Till Dawn Experience fresh in our minds, we had nothing but respect for someone giving a race of this length a go on their own. The last member of the 5 person co-ed team was Katrina, who had yet to arrive but was planned to be at camp before dusk.  Micki and I decided to head out for a pre-run of the course.  Mousse made her objections known as we rolled away from camp. 

The loop itself was a mix of dirt road and singletrack.  16 miles and 1200 feet of climbing.  We really liked the course.  The climbs were at a decent grade with nothing too steep.  Normally a higher degree of difficulty would be appreciated, but considering the trail would have to support hundreds of racers over the next 24 hours the design was smart and was guaranteed not to have a lot of log jams or forced hike-a-bike sections. All good.  There was even a "tech" option at the end where each racer could choose a windy bit of singletrack or attempt to conquer a large rock face with a foot or so drop-off at the end.  Would be interesting to see who would try the harder section once the sun disappeared.

Snow in the near distance:  

Katrina arrived just after dark and after some food was shared around the campfire, we all hit the hay fairly early.  Tomorrow was the big day after all.  It had been decided that Nathan would start the race, followed by me, Katrina, Micki and then Mike. We figured 3 laps for most and 4 laps for some, depending on speed and conditions. This of course assumed no attrition due to mechanical failure, injury or loss of energy.

02.13.10 (Day Two)

With the rise of the sun came with the feeling of nervous anticipation amongst all of the participants. We had found Sarah and Thad's team (Pop Cycle) the day before as well as Beth (riding with Zero Gravity) from work.  Rayne (riding with Tiger Wood's Love Machine) was also racing on a corporate team with his fellow firefighters.  Tim (SOAZ) was getting ready for his first 24 hour event with a 4 man team (Molasses). Pivot Cycles also had their 5 person co-ed team up and rolling so it seemed we'd have lots of friends to be passed by or the gods be willing... pass instead.

The race was to be a "LeMans" style start.  Translation? Well, the first rider from every team would have to run approximately one half mile down a dirt road in their wobbly cycling shoes before they could even make their first pedal stroke.  Seeing the faces of the riders forced to run immediately convinced me that Nathan's offer to go first was a great sacrifice that Team Overland was very grateful for.

Pink TuTu girl and blue jacket "Ghost Rider" guy:

Rayne representing the "Love Machine" with honor:

Kenny B looking forward to doing a phat manual ASAP:

Once the group was off I had about an hour to get ready.  We scoped out the transition area and booths that were setup.  Niterider had its trailer there with charging station and support.  There was a few food vendors as well as the primary sponsor Kona Bikes.  

The Jolly Roger sees all:

The Pivot booth:

Time was getting close now and as I pulled on the very sweet, wool, retro Overland jersey I felt ready to go.  I really like this type of event as the pressure is off without the mass rushed start and once you are out on the trail the pace you set seems to be more flexible. I staged my bike and headed back over to the tent to wait for Nathan to arrive.  

All the bikes staged:

It was now that the first and only flaw in the race organization became evident.  There were so many riders waiting for their respective team mates that it was impossible to enter the tent.  As the group waited outside, speakers blared music loud enough to make hearing who just crossed the finish line next to impossible. We all just began to shout out the plate number as they were announced and eventually I was able to squeeze my way in to watch the monitor for Nathan. A few minutes later he came in... and I headed out.

The crush:

Making sure I grabbed the right one:

The departure:

The first lap was during the day, which was a good way to remember all the bends, twists, climbs and descents the course had to offer before the night laps.  I tried my best to calmly attack "The Bitches" but to no avail.  After my first successful pass I was hungry for more.  All I could think about was the upcoming singletrack guarded closely on both sides with head-high cholla and how hard it would be to get by other racers once there.  I could feel my legs and lungs start to burn and all the nervous energy that had been driving me forward started to evaporate as I began to realize how many miles were left in this first lap of mine.

I backed off a notch or two and just started to enjoy the terrain.  Some climbs felt longer than during the pre-ride but I expected that.  No course ever truly reveals its level of difficulty until one is at race pace.  That being said, the elevation was such that after every grind up you usually were rewarded with a nice twisty downhill after.  I was having a blast and by the final long hill I knew my pace was just about right.  Feeling good, I opted for the black diamond boulder option at the end, much to the appreciation of the awaiting boisterous crowd. Off the drop at the end and soon I was back at the tent handing off the baton to Katrina.

Katrina's bike had been giving her some grief in regards to braking.  We had tried to adjust it before the run, but with air probable in the lines her rear brake all but failed before she made it back in. This technicality didn't seem to affect her time at all and as she came close to the finish line her lap, for lack of a better term, went perfectly.  Until one last corner, where a cholla decided to jump out and bite into her calf. She walked over to the Kona booth for assistance where the tech promptly tried to remove the spiny intruder.  Unfortunately, a bad grab or two just let the pokey bastard roll down her leg.  Finally he got a good grasp and Katrina was free from cacti.

We're not in Prescott anymore:  

During Katrina's lap, I headed back to base camp to get Micki ready to go.  She was going to "rock the one cog" for her day loops and we made sure both tubes had either Slime or Stan's to fight off the cactus spines.  With a bad elbow and wrist still nagging from her July crash, she wasn't even sure if a flat change was going to be an option. All ready to go we headed back down to the exchange tent to wait for Katrina to come in.  Micki's lap would most likely be the last full day lap our team would complete so Mike would be next with lights at the ready. Within moments the baton was switched yet again and Micki was on her way around the course. She turned her usual quick time and made it back to the finish line with the long shadows of day's end stretching away from her wheels.

Dusk closing in:  

From here things get a bit blurry.  Night fell soon after and everyone's lights began to illuminate the desert.  Christophe checked in a time or two for a break from his solo efforts.  Mike had crashed once or twice on his first lap but the reflective white of his bandages was easily matched by his grin.  We kept the order going until late into the darkness.  A scheduling conflict was only going to allow Mike to do two laps total, so beyond that we'd have to address what laps we all had left in us. I really wanted to do the dawn lap, so I doubled up and started my final two at around 4:30 in the morning.

02.14.10 (Day Three... I think)

I didn't really get much sleep and believe it or not, hadn't even touched a sip of RockStar or indulged in a Little Debbie brownie. It was definitely chilly outside but I had wisely picked up a set of arm and leg warmers before the event.  That combined with my vest as well as the amazing properties of the wool Overland Journal jersey prepared me for the low temps very well. Back out on the trail it was really neat to see all the competitors snaking their way through the desert.  At some points the course looped much closer than one would have guessed.  Other places the lights looked so far away it was hard to imagine they were on the same trail.

There were occasional kangaroo mice marking the trail.  Bad night for a stroll I suppose.  Every once in a while a rider would be off to the side trying to change a flat or worse.  Using their headlamp to struggle with quick releases and tire levers.  My first lap seemed to zoom by and I was feeling so good heading out for my second, I even started to think about just hitting three in a row instead.  That was before "The Bitches" reminded me that my legs were running a little low of go-power.  I missed a tight corner and ended up in the bushes.  That loss of momentum combined with a wicked headwind really started to wear me down.  I could see the sky start to change from black to blue. Sunrise was close.

I fiddled in my shorts pocket for a Hammer gel and tried to suck it down.  Problem was the cold had turned the usual fluid mix into more of a vanilla frosting.  Pedaling, breathing, navigating and now squeezing all seemed to work out enough and allowed me to recharge on the roll.  Before I knew it there was enough ambient light to allow my lamp to be shut down.  I was up and over the final climb and dropping off the baton at the timing tent.  No team mate was there to meet me as we had decided to just figure out the rest of the race with less focus on the stopwatch.

We discussed the options.  It was fairly obvious that exhaustion had made its mark.  Katrina was up for another lap, but her bike was letting her down and the rear hydro brake had failed completely. Nathan already had three laps under his belt and Micki's arm was tired but of course still smiling. Her grin alone almost always able to overcome any discomfort she might be feeling. Katrina decided she'd try and do at least one more loop despite having only 50% of her brakes.  She suited up and headed off while I refueled and rested for a little while with Micki and Mousse in the trailer.

Once Katrina returned to camp, we had a final strategy pow-wow.  It was determined that I could not do another lap as there was a rule in effect stating that the person with the most laps on the team could be no more than 2 laps behind the person with the most laps on the team.  Seeing another lap would have put me at 5, and Mike only had time to turn out 2... I would DQ the team. I didn't realize of course until a few days later that I simply could have raced under Mike's name to get another lap.  Wouldn't have change the results to a point of team advantage, but would have given me some more saddle time.  For no matter though, as Micki decided she would complete the final lap.  The only catch was she couldn't finish until after 12:00.  To help with this result, we all made her wait until there was no way to beat the clock, even for her.

With plenty of time, we walked down to the start line.  The event was winding down but the competitive teams were still crushing out the laps, making every effort to squeeze in as many miles as possible. Christophe was somewhere out there turning a double to complete his solo attempt.      

Micki sporting her Overland Journal attire:



Only 16 more miles to go:

Mousse and I hiked out to the top of the last hill to cheer Micki in. At the summit, we were about 10 cycling minutes from the finish line.  11:35 crossed the face of my watch and certain racers were absolutely terrorizing the final climb.  Big rings wept as handlebars were yanked to and fro.  11:45 and the pace was only increasing.  Each racer knowing his teams hope now depended on whether they could overcome the lactic acid burning in their quads trying to stop them from completing just one more lap in time.  I wondered how many of their respective teammates were waiting at the tent secretly hoping for failure to spare themselves yet another lap.

I began to fear seeing Micki's smiling face coming up the hill at full throttle with her competitiveness taking over her rationality.  What if she made it home by 11:59?  We'd be DQ'd with no one on the course after that.  I knew we weren't ready for that.  11:55 now and with no Micki in sight I knew she had paced herself correctly for no surprises.  All the riders were now realizing the event was over and the pace dropped.  Sentences mentioning beer and sleep lept from weary mouths.  Weary legs and tired bones churned pedals with just enough fervor to defy gravity, but cautiously enough not to further invoke it's wrath.  Soon Micki came along, smiling and spinning her SS with seemingly minimal effort... as usual.

Final summit:

She cruised in and we all began to break down camp.  Some participants were planning to stay for the awards or maybe in an effort to let most of the traffic die down. We met up with Tim and Rayne for a final race recap.  Spirits were high and most everyone was glad they had raced, and glad is was all over. Once packed up we loaded an exhausted Mousse into the back of the HyHi and headed home.  The only thrill left was a gas light that came on way early, far from any fill-up possibilities.  Luckily the fumes alone sustained and we made it back to Scottsdale.

Overall the event was fantastic.  Really well put together and we can't say enough about the course.  Would we drive down just to ride this loop?  Probably not.  But to have a trail able to handle the number of riders it did with minimal log jams or degradation is a statement to the organizers true understanding of epic riding and racing.  As a team, we placed 18th with 15 total laps.  We can't wait until this event comes back around next year.  I am thinking solo next time, but who really knows.  The Whiskey is in our sights next so the 24 Hours of Old Pueblo will have some simmer time.

Some stats:

• Each lap was 16 miles long with 1200 feet of climbing
• The winning solo rider in both the geared and singlespeed division completed 17 laps each.
• The fastest overall lap time I could find in any division was 58:13 by a Yuki Saito
• The most laps completed by any team was 22

Race Results:

http://64.119.44.58/liveresults/results/index.html