What Do You Want From Each Day?

All summer I had so much fun riding my bike for a few hours at a time and no motivation to go bikepacking. I didn’t want to deal with all the time and effort of digging the bikepacking gear out of my car and getting it all on the bike– a process that I knew would take many hours. I was enjoying doing fun-focused technical rides and then returning to camp each night. Then I realized, that for the first time, I had the time during a proper weather window (spring or autumn) to dedicate to completing the entire Arizona Trail. Game on. I spent two plus weeks madly prepping for the race: learning about the route, the all important water sources, getting my gear dialed in, and preparing for the oh so dreaded bike carry across the Grand Canyon.

It’s been several years since I lined up for a bikepacking race, tending more toward high mileage tours. And did I mention that I had only done a handful of 5 and 6 hour rides all summer? Cheeky of me, I know, to sign up for such a rugged and challenging race with so little preparation. I was hopeful, based on my experience jumping into big mileage tours that I could start a little slow, get my legs under me, and carry on with big days. However, I also knew from experience how much the pressure of technically being in a race and being watched could impact my decision making and push me to do more than I should in the early days.

Thanks to the generosity of John and Mark I was able to research the route in record time and get a ride down to the border. Getting dropped off after dark, alone in a field next to a barbed wire fence that designates an arbitrary human construct of a border, I slept the deepest sleep I had in many nights. Being so close to the Mexican/American border and being surrounded by border patrol the first 100 miles was an emotionally charged experience for me. I have so many thoughts and opinions about our current political situation, the concept of borders in general, and the right all people should have to making a livable wage in their daily work, properly caring for themselves and family members, and especially to be treated with respect and dignity. Despite these thoughts and concerns, that first night, not even a wandering cow disturbed my slumber. Up and ready to roll by 5am I applied that first pedal stroke of my planned 800 mile ride, but really the journey had started weeks prior.

The morning temps were perfect and I enjoyed the dirt road miles before getting on the Arizona Trail proper. Immediately the nature of the trail was revealed: rough, narrow tread, loose rocks, and tall grasses. I made my way through the early miles of the famed Canelos; this early passage is legendary for chewing up and spitting out AZT racers. There was way more running water on route than I expected for this time of year and I was definitely over-carrying water weight, but at this point I wasn’t going to dump any of it because I had no idea if I could count on the future water sources. I crested a clear pass in the Canelos and thought: that wasn’t so bad! Those of you who know the route can commence laughing now. I knew it wasn’t completely over, but I didn’t realize how much more was to come. At the boundary of each AZT segment they have nice informational signs, one of which I finally reached after many more hours of loose rugged ups and downs following that pass. This sign designated the end of the section called the Canelos and started a new section of trail, phew! Only fourteen more miles to Patagonia for resupply, and since the part called the Canelos was over the track had to improve right? Um, nope. Note to future AZT hopefuls: The trail stays mean and in your face until the moment you set tires to pavement just before Patagonia. Grind or push up loose steep hill, descend a loose rocky hill that requires full focus, repeat endlessly.

At one point in the “2nd Canelos” I finally crested a hill for a much anticipated descent, it was even nice dirt tread! Nice dirt tread through a massive field of Cat Claw bushes. This wasn’t a short section where you would just get off and gingerly work your way through to minimize damage, it was sustained high speed tearing open of my legs. Once my legs were ripped open the claws would then scratch at the already open wound — the word ‘flayed’ is the only one that seems appropriate. Let’s say it hurt more than a little and leave it at that. Oh, and it’s not like there weren’t hidden Cat Claw bushes all along the entire trail to grab at my open wounds and send me intermittently howling and whimpering after this full assault.

All day I treated my bike gingerly, being very protective of my derailleur. With less than half a mile of this wicked trail to go I rolled over a cantaloupe sized rock which kicked up and knocked my derailleur into my spokes, bringing my bike to an abrupt halt. A derailleur in your spokes is a very effective way to stop, but not so healthy for future shifting. Amazingly, I did not break any spokes and I was able to bend the derailleur back out for reasonable shifting — at this point I just needed to limp my calorie deficient body and damaged bike into Patagonia. Ice cream and Coca Cola were required to clear my brain fog enough to assess the situation.

I really try not to set expectations about what time I will reach landmarks because it is a surefire way to end up disappointed and frustrated, but some sense of when you expect to reach a location is necessary for food and water planning purposes.  I definitely expected to reach Patagonia before 5pm, now that I had finally arrived with a damaged bike and twelve hours of riding under my belt it was really tough to decide how to proceed. Ultimately I decided my bike was working well enough to carry on – though I would definitely have to get to a bike shop in Tucson for some repairs. Even though I really wanted to stop for the day, the next 12 miles to Sonoita were gently paved uphill and as darkness fell, temps started to drop to more reasonable levels, and I knew I needed to cover those miles.

The paved miles went quickly and the Dollar General in Sonoita (more of a highway intersection with a few businesses than a town) was still open and I crammed in some calories and set off to reach forest land so I could camp for the night. I knew I had to cover some decent miles before I hit the forest boundary, but what I didn’t realize was that once I was officially on National Forest land I would continue to see signs that warned of the danger of high levels of smuggling in the area and No Camping signs posted all along the road.  I was also attracting the attention of continuously barking dog somewhere nearby as I pedaled along in the dark. I finally cleared the dog and 70 miles into the day could not carry on and bedded down for the night a bit off the side of the road. I woke up periodically to packs of howling coyotes and barking dogs, but overall got some necessary sleep.

Back on the road at 5am I continued on to the famed Kentucky Camp (where I had hoped to camp the previous night), did some bike and body maintenance there, and headed back into the hills. It was during these long, slow, hot miles that the thoughts of quitting the race started to surface. For a while I tried talking myself into at least riding to Picketpost for an official AZTR300 finish, this would also put me close to Phoenix, the location of my car; however, as I considered the challenges ahead just to complete this reduced goal absolutely none of it sounded fun.  There were so many challenges still to contend with: the heat as I climbed out of Tucson after getting my bike worked on, the massive climb up Mt. Lemmon only to hike-a-bike down it again, and the Phoenix heat magnified in the Gila canyon with a big steep push out of the canyon. All of these obstacles needed to be surmounted to reach Picketpost, with the heat and forecasted increasing temperatures being the most daunting.

These are the moments (hot miserable ones, not ones when you see a snake!) when you start questioning your decisions and asking yourself what your priorities are in life. In general, a bikepacking race is considered Type II fun (things that are fun once they are over and you are telling the stories), but the idea of days or weeks more of 15 hour days in extreme discomfort and heat, feeling the pressure of the clock ticking, feeling like I could never fully rest or take care of my needs sounded ridiculously NOT fun at all. Maybe if I had heard more fabled stories of great downhills and unbelievably fun sections of trail ahead I could have found some desire to carry on, but in reality all I could think of was how I wanted to go home to Santa Barbara and drink beer, go out dancing, and generally have Type I fun (things that are fun in the moment you are doing them) with my loved ones.

Perhaps part of the issue was that I have been living on the road for over four months and really did just want to go “home” for a bit. However, I believe the truth of the matter is that I am done racing, at least for the foreseeable future. It is so painful and damaging to one’s body to put in consecutive sustained days of this length. The only reasons I could come up with continuing the race were ego based: wanting to finish it just because I started it and the recognition that comes from completing such a difficult task. I also felt a sense of responsibility to the people who helped me so much in getting prepared for the race and to the start line, but in the end I decided that if they were irritated at me for quitting so early in the race that was on them, not me. I had started the race with the full intention of going all the way, and all the information I learned about the route during preparation will still be useful in future section tours of the AZT. So here are my list of excuses to quit: poorly functioning shifting, rear shock not holding air well, the stress of continually worrying about water availability, blisters on my feet, hands, lips and bum, and especially very high temperatures that were going to get worse before they got better.

However, here is the reason I quit: I didn’t want to do it anymore.   

Each of the above excuses could be overcome, none were debilitating, but I’m not in a place in my life where I want to sustain this kind of self-inflicted suffering and damage that can take months to heal (numb hands from nerve damage is reasonably common, for example). I have really enjoyed the big fast paced tours I’ve done in recent years (Oregon Timber Trail and northern half of the Wild West Route) where I might occasionally get up crazy early to beat the heat up a big climb, or ride into the darkness because I underestimated the route that day, but where on an average day I might ride 8 or 9 hours, cook up an actual dinner, get plenty of clean out of the saddle time for a happier bottom, and have hot coffee in the morning.

At least I hope I still enjoy this kind of touring since my life on the road is planned around it for the next year. I am concerned that perhaps I have even lost this desire based on the fact that I wasn’t motivated to bikepack all summer, but hopefully that was due more to the hassle of digging all the gear out of my over-packed car and setting up the bike, than an actual aversion to life on the bike.

Many wonderful things came out of this race attempt. One was meeting/making several new friends; thank you so much Jennifer for generously offering a lift back to my car! Another was several hours of night riding on singletrack threading my way through cactus. I’ve done very little night riding and so this was an enjoyable growth experience for me.

Cowboy camping under the stars each night with plentiful shooting stars was also a beautiful highlight. Prior to the race start a friend told me that even if I didn’t finish the race I was certain to learn something, and she was absolutely correct; I took a good hard look inside myself and learned what I value most in life right now. I am so happy to be back in Santa Barbara enjoying time with my loved ones and having enough time to get ready for the next phase of my life — back to New Zealand I go! — without being in a huge rush.

Never stop growing and adapting. Don’t let yourself get boxed into behavior patterns just because they worked for you before! Some say that the mighty Saguaro helps us know and trust our inner wisdom and authority, perhaps that is why I have such clarity surrounding my decision.