Jay Petervary has called it the “toughest dirt bikepacking route out there”
NO OTHER EVENT CONSIRES TO HURT, MAME OR KILL YOU LIKE THE ARIZONA TRAIL RACE. Incredibly prepared athletes go into the event expecting to get their asses kicked. Each year, the course quickly destroys racers and dispatches equipment with a callous and cruel indifference. Veterans hope to hang in there long enough to make it to the finish. Rookies see god. Just going the distance with this monster and hoping for a split decision is a noble feat. The AZT is the Chuck Norris of National and Scenic trail corridors.
Bikepacking races are unique and challenging. But there's really nothing like racing the AZTR. The dry hate, hot temper and brutal disposition of this sun devil cannot be taken lightly. Some would suggest showing more respect, inferring the trail shouldn’t be raced at all. That moving quickly on the AZT is tempting fate. Maybe they're right?After participating in multiple seasons of ultra, mtb racing, I’ve yet to find a route that equals the brutality of this course. Clearly, you should expect both a physical and mental beat down if you line up for this spring classic.
Yet oddly enough, I’m incredibly addicted to the AZT's beauty and challenge. So much so that I’m already psyched to line up for more abuse next April. For now however, it’s time to shake off 2015 and try to make some meaning out of this year’s scratch at the Freeman Cache. This multi-part TR documents the utter shellacking I took at the hands of this fickle beast. Hopefully this reflection will lead to more growth and continued success next year. Or at least hanging on for another finish.
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| Day 1 & 2 |
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| Making a run for the border... |
I departed Durango on Wednesday night before the race, literally running out of a school board meeting to head south to AZ. Tom W, Joey E and I made our way to Holbrook, AZ. where the guy at the Motel 6 gave us two, adjoining rooms for 36 bucks total! Sweet deal!
I spent the evening organizing gear and repackaging food. Changing my chain, brake pads and making sure I had all of the necessary accessories and accouterments that make for a successful 300 mile ride. In the AM, we hit the first of many Dennys meals and then rallied south towards Picket Post.
Quick stop in Tucson at Scott and Eszter’s pad and then on to Seis for some lunch- Doing the group thing was grinding on me and I was getting hangry- no one wanted to make a decision or take the lead on lunch….thanks for setting us straight Tucson peeps- the burritos were a much better option than the Subway I was willing to settle for! But fuck this group shit….I couldn't wait to be on my own, doing. it. myself!
We made final adjustments to our kits and then biked uphill from the campground to the start. What a great prologue to get the blood flowing and our body temps up! Cresting the hill at the Section 2 TH was a super cool experience…..Here is the tribe. Here are my people! It was stimuli overload as I saw folks from across the nation/globe who I haven’t seen in a year. I met folks in person for the first time- some of these folks I’ve known online for years…but only now were we meeting face to face. Great treat seeing Carlos, Mike P and Robert O-meeting Ron and Cassi. So many more folks I apologize for forgetting to note here. After absorbing all the salutations and hugs, I drifted over to where the hometown syndicate was congealing. Wolf, Boatman, Ernst, Ackerman, Alexander…the four corners was well represented and we all shared a "Go Team Durango!" moment together.
The 750ers started rolling in right before 9am and it was fantastic to see all those smiling faces and trekking poles. Somehow I missed AD but saw JP- nice rasta kit buddy! Lots of international racers this year, too. So cool. Everyone from the 750 was thru except Mark C. who was already dealing with mechanical issues.
Montana Miller crashed leaving the border, had lost a lot of skin and now was riding with a deep hole in his left palm/hand. Wow, the race was already claiming mofos and the 300 hadn’t even started yet!
My strategy this year was to stay on Alexis Ault’s wheel. She and I had shadowed each other last year until the 300's final push where she effortlessly pulled away from me on Tiger Mine, never to be seen again. The good doctor is fast, a smart racer and a high quality human being. She also performs one hell of an Elliot DuMont does Stephen Hawking impression.
She was my mark and my pace would increase to keep Alexis in the crosshairs. In reality, this was only working because she was having some difficulty off the line with her stomach. Often, racers go too fast in the Canelos. Their bodies just aren’t adjusted yet and the heat makes it so difficult to take on solid calories…. just when you think you’ve slowed it down, you need to slow it down even more…..at least that’s what has worked for me in Sections 2 & 3. The sick, twisted competitor in me relished the opportunity to keep Alexis close…she’s way too fast for me to reel in otherwise.
I spent the evening organizing gear and repackaging food. Changing my chain, brake pads and making sure I had all of the necessary accessories and accouterments that make for a successful 300 mile ride. In the AM, we hit the first of many Dennys meals and then rallied south towards Picket Post.
We hit up the Superior Safeway for some final items and a couple of 3.2 tall boys and headed out to the race finish. Here we would stash the truck and hook up with Shuttle Steve, an ultra racing fan from Sierra Vista. Steve is an incredible guy that’s helped out with shuttling riders in years past and it's folks like him that make this event so cool.
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| The Mystery Machine et al at Picket Post |
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| Respect |
At Picket Post, we were greeted by friends old and new. It was great seeing Rick, Kurt, Montana, Garrett and meeting new folks like Todd D, John F, Kaitlyn B and Mike the Geek.
The mystery machine loaded up and wisked another round of riders south to Parker Lake. We waited for Steve and drank even more beer that Todd had brought from Austin. There was maybe some rum too?
The mystery machine loaded up and wisked another round of riders south to Parker Lake. We waited for Steve and drank even more beer that Todd had brought from Austin. There was maybe some rum too?
This year’s shuttle to the start included Bonecrusher, Montana, Mike the Geek and myself. Shuttle Steve had spent the morning building a righteous bike rack to make things easier for us. The dude rocks! But we all suck- little did we know that everyone on this shuttle was destined to scratch….
Quick stop in Tucson at Scott and Eszter’s pad and then on to Seis for some lunch- Doing the group thing was grinding on me and I was getting hangry- no one wanted to make a decision or take the lead on lunch….thanks for setting us straight Tucson peeps- the burritos were a much better option than the Subway I was willing to settle for! But fuck this group shit….I couldn't wait to be on my own, doing. it. myself!
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| Montana gets ready to roll to the border |
Two hours after leaving Tucson, we finally arrived at Parker Lake. Tom, Mike and I decide to camp low in the campground, rather than up high at the TH/race start. I like camping low that first night. That way, I don’t get sucked into partying the night before. I actually sleep well and for ten bucks at Parker Lake, you get a shitter, picnic tables, water, etc….Treat yo'self!
Mike thought the eclipse/blood moon was the following morning so I played the fool, sitting up in the Parker Lake campground parking lot at 5am, looking for an eclipse that wouldn't happen for 24hrs.! Woops- But I’m up that early anyway so it was no big thing. When dawn finally broke, it was cold and the butterflies in my stomach fluttered hard.
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| John F from Colorado, the most positive AZT racer in history! |
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| 2015 300 Start |
Montana Miller crashed leaving the border, had lost a lot of skin and now was riding with a deep hole in his left palm/hand. Wow, the race was already claiming mofos and the 300 hadn’t even started yet!
Safety meeting (a real one) and a pep talk from Scott Morris and some dude from the ATA . "Onward to Adventure!"There was also a great turnout of family and friends on hand to cheer on the starters. When it was go time, a steady line of racers dropped the descent leading out of Parker Lake. I got caught up in the fast pack and the pace down the initial chunder was way too much for this steel hardtail racer. No need to implode on the first pitch….crashing would come later. I moved to the side and let the speedy squishy shock people pass.
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| Dropping in with Alexis on my heels! J.Schilling Photo |
She was my mark and my pace would increase to keep Alexis in the crosshairs. In reality, this was only working because she was having some difficulty off the line with her stomach. Often, racers go too fast in the Canelos. Their bodies just aren’t adjusted yet and the heat makes it so difficult to take on solid calories…. just when you think you’ve slowed it down, you need to slow it down even more…..at least that’s what has worked for me in Sections 2 & 3. The sick, twisted competitor in me relished the opportunity to keep Alexis close…she’s way too fast for me to reel in otherwise.
My personal splits were pretty rad morning one. I remained ~15 minutes behind Tom . I had broken the Canelos down on my cue sheet so I could achieve a 51/2 hr. run to Patagonia. (with drama it turned out to be 6 ½) Alexis’ stomach woes worsened and I passed her a few miles before Section 3. As I crested the final rise above the technical drop down to Canelo Pass road, I had to hold up as the trail steward and his daughter climbed the pitch on horseback. As they passed me, Alexis caught up. I stopped to catch some food at the start of Canelos East as Ault pedaled past. Was this the last time I’d see her? Hope not….
The Canelos shake the peloton out like a car pool lane. After the flurry of excitement off the line, you kind of just settle into your position in the pack. There’s no where to really pass so as long as you keep moving with the line of riders, you essentially will come out in the order you went in. Occasionally someone would move to the side for a break. I know I let folks around me for some downhills (where I’m slower) but then they’d yield to me on the HABs (where I boogie) Stepping back, it’s funny to see this jockeying play out with no real impact on the race….funny games we anxious, day one, mid-pack racers play….egos burning all that extra energy.
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| This guy is really feeling it! |
After the Red Well tank, the trail busts out onto these amazing spines atop rolling, grass covered hills. Like some serious Sound of Music, singing in the meadow type shit. It was here that I had my first uncontrollable, emotional release while speeding over the rollers. Another, “Holy shit I’m the luckiest guy on earth!” type of moment. Laughing, crying, taking it all in and trying to shake off the “this cant be fucking real” feel of it all. Pure joy. I was absolutely ecstatic and experiencing an AZT high.
As I continued grinding forward, while coming down off that buzz, I suffered a lapse in concentration. You cannot space out on the AZT….if you let your guard down, shit can and will turn bad very quickly. And of course, it did. Only five miles from the graded Harshaw Rd., I let my mind drift, my eyes wander and my hands fall loosely onto the outer horns of my Ergo grips. Blissfully unaware of the danger lurking in the grass lined singletrack, my left pedal struck a large, hidden rock and bounced me violently off the track..
I caromed out of control with only two fingers fully extended, barely touching the bars. Uh-oh... I couldn’t brake or get a firm enough grip to wrangle my bike under control. It felt like I was swerving off the trail forever but in reality it was only about 15-20 feet for a few seconds. When I realized all hope of saving myself was lost, I mentally shifted into ditch mode.
Scanning…looking…seeking a soft place to toss off and land….
Cactus, cactus, rock, bush, BUSH- GO! I chose to crash into what appeared to be a “softer” tuft of vegetation. Wrong again. Deceptively hiding in the middle of that angry bush was a sharp and pointy piece of stone.
Scanning…looking…seeking a soft place to toss off and land….
Cactus, cactus, rock, bush, BUSH- GO! I chose to crash into what appeared to be a “softer” tuft of vegetation. Wrong again. Deceptively hiding in the middle of that angry bush was a sharp and pointy piece of stone.
My flats scrapped down my leg until the hidden geology in the plant pushed both the pedal and the stone’s tip into my calf. I remember being on my side, realizing something was amiss and staring at the rock penetrating my leg. I had this weird thought, like “wow, there’s no pointy edges on this rock. I actually found the rock with dull edges to crash on!” No way stupid…. you just cant see the pointy bits because they’re in your leg.
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| a big hole |
I lifted up my battered appendage, complete with mushy extraction sounds, and examined the crater of a puncture in my leg. It wasn’t bleeding much. I just sat there starring at the hole. I got really mad. “Michael, you fucker. That’s your race. That’s your race you spacey asshat!” 25 miles deep and I’ve hosed myself. FUCK! Scream out loud and repeat…
I transitioned into WFR mode and pulled out my med kit. I irrigated the wound with my water bottle and tried to figure out what the little squiggly pieces in the hole were. Turns out humans are multi-layered. Amazingly, I had missed both bone and muscle. Not sure you could repeat that precision strike if you tried. It became clear that there wasn’t much I could do in the field. The first riders who were behind me began rolling up. I’m not sure if it was compassion or competitiveness but my fellow racers all advised me to get out and call it quits. This just fired me up even more. Fucking ego again….
Wrapped and stabilized, I made quick time out to the dirt road and cranked the final miles into Patagoina. Turns out the medical clinic was closed because of good Friday…jesus christ people! My next option for emergency care was ~15 miles away in Sonoita. Would they be open? I started to panic and wondered if this was the end. Freaking out…. breathe.
I called Rae and she helped me calm down and get a handle on the insurance info and paperwork I’d need for the ER. I also took the time to call the medical staff in Sonoita and let them know I was coming. Begging the guy on the phone, “please don’t close!” I think it was around 4:45 at this point? Clinic was set to close at 5:30 Crash happened at 2:30 and the leg was starting to stiffen up. I called Joe Polk too.
I was thankful for the quick check-in with Montana, who at this point was calling it quits and was already drinking beers and eating yummy looking food at the Velvet Elvis. I told him I was headed to the ER in Sonoita and if this hole couldn’t be patched up, that I’d love to join him on his adventure back to Tucson. Without hesitation he welcomed me to join him. I thanked him and told him I’d circle back. But first I wanted to make sure I was properly fucked before making the decision to scratch.
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| Geronimo! |
I hate the pavement section from Patagonia to Sonoita. Last year, I suffered debilitating cramps on that stretch which left me hurt and sore for the remainder of the race. The damage was so bad that I couldn’t walk for a week after the 2014 300. This year, that pavement section was supposed to be a non-issue. I had stronger legs and a better hydration and electrolyte strategy. I was confident this highway would be a non-issue. But life is funny and as I climbed the blacktop towards Sonoita, I began overcompensating for the bad leg with the good leg and the cramps set in. Fuck me….Breathe, duder.
Just when I felt ready to crack, I hear a familiar voice behind me. “Ack, Ack!” No shit, it’s Caminiti! I’ve never been happier to see Mark! I told him what was up and he absorbed my situation like a man who’s raced a fuck ton of ultras. And true to form, he gave no shits about my drama. He always has his own.
I wasn’t looking for his sympathy- just some conversation and perspective. Mark can talk and I was hoping he would distract me long enough to get to this damn clinic. We rode together, and then apart, then together again as we slogged forward up the hot, windy road. As we topped out the final pitch approaching the town’s welcome sign, my legs totally seized up. I struggled to stop and get off the bike with two, rock hard quads. I stood there stretching, breathing as Mark threw a shit eating grin my way and pedaled past me into town. “Get you shit together Ackerman!” I had been so focused on making it to the hospital in time that I had neglected to eat or hydrate since the crash. Way to complicate things, Michael.
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| 8 hours into the race and I'm on my back |
I hit the four way in Sonotia a bit past 5pm and took a right down to the Sonoita Sage Clinic. There I met Gabe and Elaine who had me patched up and ready to go in about 90 minutes. I made another quick call to Joe Polk and pedaled back to the Shell Station for food, water and a salty meaty treat! I used the bathroom, organized my bags, topped off water, hooked up my lights and prepared to set off for Kentucky camp. My right leg was super stiff and the adrenaline rush from earlier had worn off. It hurt. I still had a race pace mindset but I was struggling to refocus after the afternoon’s drama. Pedaling away from town at dusk into increasing winds and falling temps, I secretly questioned my decision to keep going. After some self-deprecating, internal dialogue, I decided I would move forward and reassess my situation inTucson.
I enjoyed my ride out to Gardner Canyon and that killer singletrack before K-camp is always wicked fun. But I was babying my leg. I was guarded, slow to commit and over protective of my entire, lower, right calf area. This made it hard to shred in the dark even though I had good lights this year. I ended up dabbing my left (the good) foot a lot. I also walked stuff I’d normally ride and was taking the most conservative lines down the trail. This would would have to work I guess?….But my splits were done. Totally toast. I took the cue sheet out of my pocket and hid it away in my pack. There was no more race pace. Now there was only a slow and steady survival cadence. Now the only goal would be to finish the route.
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