Alamo & Telegraph Canyons

This Friday was my "every-other Friday off" which means I try to get out on a "new-to-me" trail for a little exploring. I've been eying Picketpost all summer long, which is segment 17 of the Arizona Trail that winds through Alamo and Telegraph Canyons. Waiting patiently for a cool day after months of night rides and pine rides.....Friday presented itself with high's in the mid 60's.

Riding away from the truck, I was instantly transfixed by the massif in front of me, Pickpost Mountain. I thought to myself how one could get to the top as I climbed gradually, heading south.

The northern section of the trail was very fun, buff singletrack that wound it's way through boulders; up and down through side-drainages descending off of the western flank of the mountain.

Fractured boulders the size of small homes littered the apron of sediment below the cliffs which are the same unit of rock forming the saddle of Pass Mountain. Born of a giant volcanic avalanche of glowing ash and rock, the beautiful multi-colored and layered rock let my mind wander.

Stopping for a break to inspect a boulder closer, I marveled at it's sometimes fine texture; interrupted by the occasional large clast....and a single strand of wild grass.

Moving onward, I was on the lookout for side canyons containing large groves of Sycamore which I hoped were about to start their fall transformation into a sun-burst of yellow....but I was a bit too early. I'll be back to explore, on foot, some of the side canyons pressing into the toe of the mountain where I'll be sure to find some sunlight...

As I continued on, I transitioned out of Alamo Canyon and dropped into Telegraph Canyon where they overlap each other en echelon. As I left the soft formed, tan colored volcanics of Alamo Canyon behind; I transitioned into a world defined by angular, dark and shiny schist propping up magnificent stands of Saguaro. The similarities to Black Canyon Trail were uncanny with the rock type being the same as found on sections of the BCT. However my pace was much slower given the tight and twisty nature of this trail vs. the high speed, run-out spaces within the BCT.

It was at this point I became hyper aware of the absolute sound of silence. Looking around, I noticed the track in front of me barren; behind me, the sole imprint of my leading tire pressing onward presented itself. Save the occasional call from a Cactus Wren or the sign of mule deer on the trail...the environment around me beyond the sights was devoid of stimulus. This was a visual trip for sure, and this trip was dialed up to 11.

Stopping for lunch by an AZT sign; I unpacked a hard-boiled egg, some roasted garlic humus and a pita. I quickly found myself hounded by some curious bees who were trying to get at my carbo drink as it oozed out of the bite valve on my camelback, into the porous soil beneath me. I have a child-like fear of 3 things: flying things that sting, crawling things that suck blood, and clowns......so I mounted up and pushed on.

The post-card views continued to amaze me as I pushed on, the mature Saguaro did not disappoint.

Noticing another change in the rock as I crested a hill, I was amazed to find a granite boulder, fractured and weathered, perched upright in my path. The strength and beauty of the geometric fracture sets resisting the eons of erosional time stood in stark contrast to the rest of the landscape which owed it's existence to erosion.

Turning around to head home, I took another shot of the beautiful saguaro I had previously photographed...this time zooming out to give the riders perspective.

The textural exploration of the trail continued, finding patterns of life and death expressed in equally beautiful ways.
Returning to my truck, I felt a sense of calm much like the moment before one drifts off to sleep. This was belied by the 18 miles and 3,000 of vertical I had just traversed....I felt as if I had done nothing more than flip through a AZ Highways calender. This affection remained with me the rest of the day, until I drifted of to sleep...when one last image flashed across the neurons before fading......

Everyone wins with Brisket (or tofu)

This post is belated, mostly due to the time it took for me to get out of my self-pitty pool....but I've decided that everyone wins, regardless of the games outcome...as long as you have Pecan Pie, Beef and Beer.

Mrs. Maad and I started off early in the week by getting the baking out of the way, so this meant applying the finishing touches to my Pecan Pie....

And a new addition for this year....some longhorn cookies...with plenty of OU themed icing....all served upside down. I even ensured, in a kosher manner.....that all cookies were prepared, inserted into the oven and served upside down....

After picking up Mr. Adams from the airport Thursday night....Dr. Sooner came over and helped out with the prep of the largest piece of Bevo we had planned....a 15lb briskie.....

We had a good thing going...one man on foil...one man on the Tuck Fexas rub....and me...beating and pounding the hell out of Bevo with the rub....

Into the fridge this beast went for an overnight flirtation with the dry rub....only to be kicked out of bed early the next day (Friday) by me to apply a layer of good ole' mustard.......

and then some coarse grained spice to promote a nice thick bark....

Starting the smoke out with a mix of 1/4 mesquite, 3/4 hickory.....

The plan was for a 24 hr cook time at a dome temp of 220 F, cesation of smoke at the plateau somewhere around 165, and a pull at 190 F internal temp...or whenever a probe into the heart of this beast felt like soft butter.....

as you can see from the internal temp....it's got a way to go.....

Leaving this beast for a while with the flowers and smoke (if you're lookin', you aint cookin)....Mr. Adams and I took a quick spin around Hawes before commencing on the beer drinking proper out on the patio.

Since this was Mr. Adams first time out at Hawes....on a loner bike from me....and his first time on the bike in a while...I took it easy....by doing Mudflaps at the beginning of the ride....

At least the air was clear of dust and other inhibiting pollution....

However as we rode on and the temp began to climb......my mind drifted to the sweet smell of mesquite smoke and thoughts of the meat....so we pedaled on...

After getting home, cleaning up, eating some burritos....we went to pick up the keg and prepare the second round of life....Longhorn ribs....

By this time....I was running a fever with chills and cold sweats...I had clearly been coming down with something all afternoon....but I'd be crazy to sit this one out....so chugging down some more beer(which was soooooo good for me)....I weathered on with the able help from the meat crew once more to make a meat train.....

which then transitioned into the Tuck Fexas dry rub train.....

Which were then foiled up for a rest overnight in the fridge just like the briskie which was now at an internal temp of 150....getting close to that heat plateau and stall point....Dr Sooner and Mr. Adams continued to drink and shoot some fuzzy pictures while I collapsed on the couch with a raging fever, passing out with the meat probe alarm next to my ear....

Beep-Beep.....Beep-Beep.....Beep-Beep.....I rubbed the crust off my eyes, looked at the clock which read 2:12am...I had only been sleeping for an hour and 45 minutes...but saw this.....

190 F internal temp achieved over the course of 18 hours, I grabbed my headlamp and headed outside to probe the meat...felt like soft butter...so I grabbed it and brought it inside to be foiled and placed into a cooler stuffed with blankets to continue to heat up and rest unassisted for the next 9 hours.....I was quite pleased with the look of this bark.......

Passing out in my bed this time, still with a fever...I set my alarm for 0500 so that I could get the smoke started again for the ribs....targeting a serving time of 1100. Waking up in the early dawn, my fever broke...I felt like a crisp 10 dollar bill as I lit the fire to keep me and the ribs company....

The rest of the day went as planned (except winning the game and seeing Sam Bradford's last collegiate snap). Folks came and went...no more pics were taken...except for the pic of the spread prior to eating. I was very pleased with the outcome of the briskie....it came out so tender...it was falling apart. I managed to dry the ribs out a bit though...trusting the 2-2-1 formula above my common sense. Lesson Learned....Next year they'll be as good as the briskie....and OU will beat texas! Many thanks to all who came and brought good cheer....and special thanks to the folks who showed up early to help drink some beer, prep food and hang out. I'm not sure how I would have managed through the fever without your help.

You Lie! Black Canyon City Weatherman!!

The Black Canyon City Weatherman lies! And that's the truth. Every time I head out to ride the BCT, I check Black Canyon City weather. The temps should be the same given they are roughly a mile apart at their closest....and in fact, the BCT is a bit higher in elevation...so the temps should be a bit cooler.

In any event....the weather that morning read 78 degrees as a high....so I reasoned the BCT would be a nice 75....I had to go do a lolipop.

Leaving the Borg Collective behind was hard enough with wicked slow traffic on the 202, so I was running 20 minutes late by the time I pulled off the jeep road, pulled LaFawnduah from the back and suited up. The temps felt great....so I set off for some good times.

Heading south, I looked off my right shoulder to see the moon setting slowly above the Bradshaws.

I also tried to turn the moon into a christmas ornament hanging off of this mesquite branch.

Descending down to the first crossing of the Agua Fria, I was met with the pleasing sight of cottonwoods and the wonderful smell of water in the desert....there's nothing like it.

Struggling through the 6 foot tall undergrowth, I was extremely aware of my inability to see snakes...so I trusted that pushing my bike ahead of me through the canes would alert anything out there in time to beat a hasty retreat. Clearing the reeds, I breathed a sigh and started pushing out of the wash when.....

The video is a bit shaky....but I was a bit amped...as was he/she. It was coiled less than 3 feet at my 11 o'clock when I first heard it and jumped back. It then started to beat a hasty retreat, yet keept it's head aimed at me the entire time.

Moving on past the snake beach, I started the big climb on the day....4 miles to go...but a great view of Black Canyon as a reward.

Knowing that I'd get this sweet descent as a reward on the way back, I continued on, dropping down into washes with wonderfully fractured schist

The hydrothermal alteration provided a wonderful background to shoot some closeups

After a few more switchbacks, I became aware of the ever lighter load on my back as I sucked my water down

Looking up at the Bradshaws...I noticed that the moon was now gone....as well as most of my water. I cursed myself for not bringing my water filter....the Black Canyon City weatherman has screwed me for the last time....It was clearly not 75 degrees....it felt more like 90.

I reasoned that I would get to the Pan Loop intersection and make a call there as to if I would do the loop, or turn back. Just north of the loop....I looked down and saw something not terribly out of place in the desert...but an omen nonetheless....I decided to do Pan Loop another day and turn back at the intersection....considering the femur to be another victom of the Black Canyon City weatherman...albeit, the bovine kind.

Returning the way I came...I had a great view of the large quartz veins popping out of a hill to my east....I wished it had been snow.

Climbing up to the crest of the big downhill, I spied part of my future ahead of me...each switchback etched into the dry landscape like a reminder of the times the Black Canyon City weatherman has screwed me.

After the final descent, I rode through the Agua Fria...stopping to splash water on my face and to cool down.

The rest of my ride was uneventful, save running out of water on the last mile. Realizing that over the course of 5 hours, 3.5 liters of water was not enough....I pledged to not do the BCT ever again without my filter....and to never trust the Black Canyon City Weatherman ever again.

Commitment

Let me muse on commitment for a moment. Committing to something can be a difficult thing. Meaning it is even tougher. Following through......that's toughest. I found myself pondering this three stage process last night after I got home for a ride with Mr. Gnar up National after work.

We had briefly chatted about our planned route via email in the hours before the ride....but we left it open ended. I think that the retreat in temperatures out of the 110 range back down into the mid-80's left us non-committal as to where we would go. Frankly, we were no longer shackled to limits of exertion due to heat-exhaustion concerns...so we just let it flow. Meeting up in the parking lot, we discussed the route issue once more in about 20 seconds. It went something like this:

Me - "Which way are we going to head up?"
Gnar - "Do you feel like suffering?"
Me - "Sure...what the hell"

Knowing full well what this meant (not climbing Morman, rather..National)....I threw myself into it...well....I threw my verbal skills in the affirmative direction. I did not mention to him that I've never ascended lower Natty before, taking Morman up first to bypass the lower Natty section. I figured I can walk/push my bike up anything just about as fast as someone can ascend tech sections up. And so I did....learning fast that although lower National is just south of Morman and trends in the same direction....the rock forms are vastly different on the trail. Whereas Morman rolls over rounded rock for the most part; Lower National bumps up over front-wheel sucking, inertia robbing fins for most of the initial climb up. I was pushing that bike up most of it as Gnar worked on climbing all the sections....in flats......very humbling. I could of used a "Natty Caddy" for this.

Coming to the intersection of Morman on National...I felt relieved to get back to a part of trail I knew I could make some progress on with respect to practicing my tech up's...rather than walk them off like I had on lower National. Sure...I got some of the basic up's on lower National....but I was walking a majority of the ups. Climbing past the waterfall area, Gnar pointed out the entrance to the waterfall area heading down which leads to an intermediate bench with a run-out prior to dropping off the nose. Gnar asked me if I thought I could do it, reminding me that I had a run-out and would not have to commit to the nose portion of the waterfall. I looked at it; not having ever stepped up to it and thought about it and responded in the affirmative....it looked manageable....I was committed to doing something new.

Taking a run at it....I was unable to even approach the initial drop which looked manageable...getting hung up on a pathetic slot-up prior to the first drop onto the waterfall. This is what haunted me last night. It occurred to me that I was focusing on the initial drop, rather than what was right in front of me. I was trying to solve move #2 before working on move #1....and as a result...was failing miserably at completing move #1....preventing me from even getting to move #2.

Taken in pieces; move #1 and #2 were manageable....however I was lumping them together in my mind and this is where my lack of commitment finds it's root cause. Last night I hypothesized that if I were riding along...and move #1 presented itself with nothing ahead of it (a left hand slot with an up at the entrance)....I would have no problem solving it. Instead...I found myself later that night playing the pathetic attempts to get through move #1 over and over in my head.

I've read somewhere that the biggest part of tech riding is mental management. Taking the problems as they present themselves to you...in order. Getting hung up on move 3 or 4 before solving move 1 is a recipe for failure. And so, it clicked in my mind that this explains my lack of commitment to follow through last night. I know that's just a fancy way of saying my nerves were frayed from thinking about move #2....so I hosed move #1 in the process.

It seems so obvious now...but once on the bike with legs pumping and mind exploding; perhaps I should commit to narrowing my focus to what's presenting itself to me at the moment instead of trying to solve the "what-if's" 30 seconds from now. I've proved over and over again that I can't solve what may happen in the future at the expense of the present...so why not try solving just one problem at a time? Suddenly, commitment to one thing seems a lot easier than commitment to a mixed-bag of "What-if's".

Hopefully I can commit to that commitment.

Tuck Fexas 09 RSVP

Alright my Sooner faithful.....it's that time to start thinking about The 7th Annual Tuck Fexas celebration at my place again this year. Kickoff is at 900am....again....so the folks staying here will either not go to sleep the night before...or we'll be setting our alarm clocks to begin drinking. I'll be using the same supplier of Texas Longhorn this year located west of Texas and will have both ribs and brisket on the smoker....a tofu cow for the token vegan in the bunch....and some Bevo Nuts (see below menu)....all mesquite smoked of course.

Please respond with your RSVP by leaving a comment below so I can start to get an accurate count of how many racks to buy and how many gallons of beer we should get (On second thought....I don't care how many folks don't come....we're still getting a keg). Some of you may be coming a bit later given the early start, if so; please indicate that in your reply. The menu for the day is listed below with an addition to last years feast. Lastly....we filled the bevo pinata full of booze last year....this year, I'm going to have a Mack Brown effigy in place of the pinata. He-otter and I felt it would be better to spread the hate around some more and include Mack as well. He will be wearing a big asterisks since that's how he rolls with his football stats. Enjoy this lil' snippet....it gives me chills every time. If it does not give you chills....you probably should not come to the party....

Tuck Fexas Menu


Bevo – Certified Texas Longhorn Back Ribs: Organic, free-range, all grass-fed, no additives or preservatives from the RidgeRun ranch in Wagon Mound, New Mexico. I tenderize em’ (he’s already kinda soft, but I kick the shit out of’em for good measure), rubbed generously with my Tuck Fexas blend of spices and, smoke’em with mesquite chips using the 2-2-1 method while surrounded by a bunch of jackass Sooners with nothing better to do than set their alarm clock so they can start drinkin’ before 6:00am.

– Certified Texas Longhorn Brisket: sourced from the same range as above. This hunk of cow flesh will be pummeled by me and anyone else wearing the Crimson & Cream 2 days before game time. After the beating, I will then rub it in my Tuck Fexas spice, coat in mustard and rub more Tuck Fexas spice on for good measure where it will marinate in the fridge for 24 hours. Then sometime on Friday when I decide to leave sobriety behind for the weekend, I will throw ole' Bevo on the smoker for a long and slow trip to smokey mesquite goodness for the next 24 hours whereby a Dionysian group of Sooners will descend and consume thinly sliced, juicy bits covered in BBQ sauce from none other than Jake's Rib in Chickasha, OK.

– Certified Texas Longhorn Nuts: OK.....we're not really going to have Rocky Mountain oysters (gonads for you biology types). The dudes won't tuch'em....and since this show's pretty much a sausage fest already, I don't expect the remaining females (one of em' vegan) to consume a bunch of Bevo brethren bean-bags. So instead, we'll be having Longhorn meatballs as a starter. I won't tell you what's in'em, only to say that they're good.


Tuck Fexas Coleslaw - The usual, time-tested recipe with my Tuck Fexas blend of herbs and spices…ok, no herbs…just spices. Hell son, you gotta have something to chase that Bevo through your lower GI with. With all the beer, Bevo and Burbon you’re gonna consume this fine day, you need some greenery otherwise you’ll be swearin’ that Bevo hisself is poppin’ out your poop-hole.

Grilled Polenta – Polenta mixed with freshly roasted Hatch green chiles, aged cheddar and fresh grilled corn, grilled and served in wedges. I know what you’re thinking, Polenta? It sounds like one of those Texas Tech-“Harvard on the Plains” fancy-nancy recipes that’l have you dancin’ round like Mike Leach at one of Donald Trump's soiree's. It's fancy alright, but believe me, this is the real deal.

Pecan Pie – My Grandma Jewel’s recipe complete with the attitude her Cherokee 1,000 yard stare warranted. If you don’t know what goes into a pecan pie, don't bother asking; your endocrinologist will remind you later. I, of course, will only use Oklahoma sourced Pecans.

Beer – Cold and lots of it.

Relaxo, killer halfs and One Big Red Onion

I know it's been a while I've given a pic post....my bad....I've been a slouch since the 88...most of my riding has been maintenance rides and my only action pics would have been of me picking up a few growlers from 4-Peaks, drinking a couple and then yelling at OU's Offensive line....as in, their performance is offensive.

To bring me out of my funk, Chollaball introduced me to another riding buddy who has a 3-day, early fall tradition of inviting some like minded riders up to his cabin in Williams, AZ for a Rancho Relaxo weekend.....perfect!

We started out with a scenic detour on the Friday drive up to Prescott for a spin on the rocks.

Thanks to the Prescott crew for showing us the lines....

..........and the dots....

......otherwise I would have had to make up my own route...like chollaball......

There were plenty of fun power up's....

.....rock bridge ups.....

......and entrenched crazy ups.....

The only carnage was a little blood from Byron....which looks rad enough to be a tattoo.....

.....and the only downer was at the end of the ride when we discovered that someone's SPOT unit had sent a 911 distress signal out.....so that someone (who looks like me) had to explain to the friendly Sheriff's Deputy that it was a false-signal. Note to self: Tape my spot '911' button over to prevent accidental activation. Note to SPOT: Add cover to your '911' button to prevent me from accidentally informing the world that I'm bleeding out.....

I can't thank the Prescott crew enough for a wonderful ride and great Indian food recommendation afterwords! Props also go to the Yavapai Sheriff Department for responding to the SPOT distress signal and finding me in less than 15 minutes....even though I was code 4. When I asked if Code 4 meant "dumbass"....the Deputy replied, "No....it's code for we're gonna kick your ass now".

Leaving Prescott behind, Chollaball and I headed north towards Rancho for some happy hour(s)....is that actually an RFID on a bottle of El Jimador?.....

As folks trickled in and unloaded their bikes....we all felt compelled to test ride everybody else's ride....it was like Christmas getting to play with all my friends toys....only with Tequila and beer....

That's when the serious part of the weekend started.....disk golf. It turns out I am the only one who has never played....the rest of the group had an average of 20 yrs of Ultimate experience....I decided to drink more beer to mask my angry throws.....and my crappy technique...

The course Alex set up was pretty cool. We got to see some wild life......

.....we Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun.....

.....and we even saw some finesse shots made from in the rough.....

Following disk-golf....we cooked up some dinner.....

....and gamed until we passed out......

Rising on Saturday morning....we were met with thunder and lightning on the ride up Schultz.....I was optimistic that it would blow away...it kinda did at times leaving us jacketless.....

....and it kinda didn't at times leaving us steaming with jackets....

....either way...it was beautiful riding.....

All in all....a great ride on Eldon riding Schultz, Gnarly, Pickle, Eldon, Red Onion, Hobbit......

And then it started looking grim again...memories of lightning on an exposed ridge in the Canyon Range of Utah promoted me to insist on a halt....so we scrapped the rest of the climb and started heading down....Alex and Cholla taking Wassabi...the rest of the crew heading back down the way we came. We all then joined up to ride Rocky Ridge back to the Schultz base. The only carnage on the day was Byron hitting his knee on a power up and me wrapping myself around a tree on lower Red Onion.....creating a bruise the size of a cantaloupe on my inner thigh/quad....it turned the color of a Red Onion in mere minutes. When it happened, I also slammed my neck and chest into the tree....not knocking the wind out of me...but dazing me enough to force me to take pause for a few minutes before riding again.


Back at the Rancho, we grilled and watched people grill.....


Had some half's....and half's....and half's.....


.....and got skunked while partying it up.....apparently they like peaches.....


On Sunday we scrapped plans to hit Bill Williams Mtn, and instead opted for more Eldon goodness.....which translated into Schultz-Onceler-Overlook-Secret-Supermoto....alot of log rolls.....


....skinny's to log rolls....

....and one angry Tarantula...

At this point, I started to really feel the Red Onion bruise wearing on me....limiting my ability on power-ups due to constant pain in my quadricep....so I called it in for the rest of the ride....riding sloppy for half of secret and all of supermoto. The pain was so bad by the end of the ride, it hurt to clip in or use my legs to soak and pump the terrain on what should have been a super-fun, supermoto. In the end though, I was happy to ride out of the 100 degree temps for three days and to push my riding past my comfort zone each day....finding new skills for which I previously had not worked on and making new friends in the process.

Wow!

Don't even say a word.....don't call me...don't text me....don't tweet me....don't ask me what happened.....all I can say is......10/17/09.......whatever happens in life....it will all be answered on 10/17.

It snowed in the Tetons today....my heart is near

It's that time of year again....College football is here.....the weather is hovering around 100 degrees F.......all the riding buddies are sick of night rides at Hawes at 97 degrees F.....and this seasons ski porn videos are here. These have been posted by folks whose blogs I read....but I like them all in one place......I hope you do to....because sometimes when the sun is still beating us down....we all need our fix. These constitute my favorite ski flick makers these days...breaking the traditional ski porn paradigm by getting back to close in shots showing emotion, movement and flow.....throwing off their backs the long lens, heli enabled shots of old.....these generate feelings in my soul which are much closer aligned to the core of what it actually feels like to be absent from life....living a powder day. For those of you on slower connections, I've enabled HD video (because it's the only way to watch this art)....so it's worth your while to start the video and pause it for a few minutes so the trailer can load.....it's well worth it. Enjoy:

1st up...this seasons release by Powderwhore Productions - Flakes



2nd up....and in no particular order....this seasons release by Sweetgrass - Signatures



And last, but certainly not least....a history lesson.....by VAS Entertainment - Swift, Silent, Deep

On the river Styx: My lengthy conversation with Charon

I've been riding for about 16 months now...and in that time, I have yet to have a "bad" day on the bike...until yesterday. Looking back at all the days leading up to yesterday, one could say that I've had my share of setbacks, disappointments, painful learning moments and even an exhaustive life and death epiphany. However I have always been able to find some joy in the day, regardless of the inability to meet a goal or the failure of a bike part or a body part. Even on the really bad days, I always felt assuaged by the mantra that tomorrow is another day.

Yesterday was "bad" on so many unexplainable levels, it defies reason. Part of my catharsis here is to get it all out to understand why it was bad. Let me define "bad" before moving on. "Bad" to me means, I found no enjoyment in what I did. Plain and simple: there was not a single element of what I did yesterday that I found enjoyment in.

The blame game could go something like this: I was dehydrated from too many Arrogant Bastards the night before (never been a problem for me), I have not really ridden since the Crazy 88 (it's not like I've never taken it easy for a 2-week clip), I had heartburn from the nachos the night before (I always have heartburn from the nacho's the night before), blah, blah, blah. As I look at all of these excuses....none of them rate as to be a significant factor as to why I found no joy in the ride yesterday.

Right off the bat....the air was cool and moist as I pushed away from the house; my muscles straining past the 2-week rest to come back to life. I told myself that I would not be hammering today....I did not have a goal and I would just go where my heart told me....little did I know that my heart led me to a new and dark place.....a place where the seeds of joy could find no purchase.

Climbing up mudflaps....my muscles felt unusually tired and the sweat poured off of my body. Telling myself that the humidity was much more a factor than what I had imagined...I still easily cleaned the hill even though it was mentally tougher than it had been in a while. Topping out....I decided to stop and take a look at the view before me. This is not normally part of my routine...at least for the past 3 months. Having focused on mileage and speed....stopping for pictures was just not much of what I did. Perhaps I had lost a little of what I had originally started out to do when I took my very 1st ride on the bike over a year ago. As I looked NE to the McDowell's, the humid air blanched the view just enough to make the clouds ringing the middle elevations of the range look like the mountains featured in those North Korean propaganda paintings featuring Kim Jong Il, mounted on his steed; the glorious mountains off in the distance....beautiful and inviting, yet foreboding and dark.

Pushing away after taking the view in....I found myself coasting downhill....not pedaling up to speed so I could enjoy the banked corners and whoop-de-doos that rewards riders after mudflaps.....the thought hit me in the chest like a branch of cholla sticking out into the trail on Wild Horse......I'm riding my bike...not driving it....riding it! I can't remember the last time I rode my bike. Again....without a long term goal...I felt aimless, wandering in my purpose. I was simply riding along...not knowing where I was going, where I wanted to go...how I wanted to get there. I had a loose idea that I just wanted to do 20 miles....but this sense of commitment ate at me. The idea of setting a goal and then sticking to it gnawed at me even more.

Mindlessly turning north onto saddleback...I still found myself lollygaggin along....not finding the inspiration to hammer down the hills to enjoy Disneyland....but not enjoying the ride either. For a time, I shut this void of emotion out of my head and turned onto secret...stalling out in a sandy area just off the entrance. I silently cursed myself for being so lame as to not negotiating this section like a respectable bike handler....very lame. As I pushed my bike uphill to a good starting point...I told myself I needed to either step it up...or perhaps just turn for home and drink beer all day. Strangely....neither inspired me. It was as if my Id and it's bifurcated emotional process had been taken over by a gang of nihilistic neurons. Moving through the sandy washes in the canyon...I noticed that the wash had been beat up by the steps of a number of riders before me...each stalling out and hoofing it...as I was forced to do as well. It was at this point that I laid my bike down.....and just walked off.

Looking up at the steep granite walls as I stumbled up canyon, I spied an impossibly green ocotillo that I had not noticed before...so I climbed up to it. I briefly thought it strange that out of all the ocotillo I'd seen lately, none had been nearly as green as this one, given the absence of rain during our "nonsoon" season. Yet this one was as green as a vine of kudzu...oddly out of place. Looking back at my bike....I felt oddly detached from it...it laying on it's side in the sand of the wash...me perhaps 10 feet above it in the canyon wondering why I was here. I had a strange thought that it would be odd if I continued up the canyon....never to come back. What would someone think as they rounded a turn and found a blue pivot laying in the wash without an owner. Perhaps the blue of the bike would strike them similarly as the green ocotillo did for me....or perhaps they would think....hey, free bike.

Moving on...I climbed higher onto some larger boulders, some of which had been finely polished by sand running over them during flash floods. In such a dry canyon, I mused it must have taken 10's of thousands of years to get that kind of polish on such an intermittent drainage. Duly impressed with this level of commitment by nature, I was aware of my lack of commitment in anything at the moment. I sat down and stared up at the walls, down at my bike...still detached from me, not just physically...but emotionally. I had thoughts that perhaps I should just lay here for 30 minutes...an hour....several hours....all day. All was quiet save the cactus wren farther up the canyon walls. I had not seen a single rider...I was all alone.

However I became restless and eventually descended back to my bike. Hah! My bike......as I picked it up....it felt foreign to me. In an almost begrudging fashion....I got back on and continued up the trail in much the same fashion as before....just riding along...coasting....slowly cresting the hills. I came to the granite step area which I had previously taken an endo on earlier in the week.....I cleaned it without much of a thought and moved on. Coming to the mine/saguaro/saddleback intersection....I saw movement out of my right eye and then heard some conversation....two people trail running down. If I had been driving my bike instead of riding...I would have pressed on so as to not have the runners direction dictate where I would go...but I stood there...paralyzed....looking up at the top of mine to my north. As the runners came close, I vaguely recognized them as Waltaz and CoyoteKis...Waltaz said "hey dude"....I automatically said "hey" back.....but was far off into an aloofness which perhaps bordered on an out of body experience. As they continued running downhill on saguaro...I realized that it would be stupid for me to turn home to only have to force them to get off the trail to let me pass....so I felt compelled to continue on up the hill.

I wanted to take a self-flagellation approach to this ride yet secretly wanted to enjoy the ride.....to stop and smell the ocotillo....but felt bad for wanting to do so....at the same time....cursing myself for not allowing me to enjoy these moments. Conversely, I was not hammering...so I was also hating myself for not committing to pushing myself. I was on the river Styx....with the fitness ride on one bank and the enjoyment ride on the other...my lengthy conversation with Charon was the only thing which felt right....yet I knew I had to get off the boat somewhere. Quite simply, I had never been here before. I was neither having fun, nor was I pushing myself....I was squarely in the middle of the two. Confused as to what this meant and how I could get out of it...I pedaled on blindly up mine, reaching the intersection and turning right to Twisted Sister.

I briefly thought....why did I turn right instead of left (the way home)....but then stopped short of answering it....I kept on going. On good days, I can clean all the up's on Twisted save 2 tricky spots. On bad days, there are 2 additional ups which give me fits. Today....I failed to clean most of them...again cursing myself for my lack of commitment. If I wanted a fun ride...I should have stayed in the canyon......or.....if I wanted a funner ride, I should have committed to a 50 miler on this day somewhere in the pines.... or I should have been pushing this ride to my physical limit. Again...I was in the space between the two....clearly uncomfortable with this place in it's unfamiliarity. Charon was laughing at me as he oared the ferry along...me, it's only passenger.

Descending down past big rock, I found myself again coasting lazily along...not sure of what to make of my situation. I again came to a crossroads where I had the option of continuing north to the road to bail on my ride. At this point, a little instinct from he past few months took over and told me I needed to keep my legs moving to loosen them up after my rest period, so I tuned east onto Wild Horse. I reasoned that the easy miles should allow me to hammer out some calories. Clearly, I had not been listening to my inner dialogue going on over the past hour.

I approached Wild Horse much as I had the ride up until this point.....lollygaggin along. I never even attempted to hammer out a thing.....the trail seemed like it went on forever. As I looked at my total mileage on the day, I was dismayed at the number 12.....12 miles....and I felt like crap. I thought back to the crazy 88 and the feeling of elation at mile 44 coming back into schultz....I had more energy after 44 miles than I had at the start. Now here I was at mile 12...on the most benign section of trail around me....and it was beating me. I struggled for a way to fight back...but could not come up with anything. I felt pathetic for feeling this way....this is what it must feel like to be a quitter.....never committing to anything past the initial point of confrontation...the first instance of struggle....the initial view of adversity. I was out of sorts, out of place and out of coping mechanisms.

It was at this point that I just resigned myself to being miserable....Mile 12 turning to mile 13...and on, and on and on. I became conscious of my quads and how they felt. My self loathing turned up yet another notch. They felt like my quads at mile 72 just 2 weeks ago. Not gone....but they were getting there. Incredulous at this notion....I continued on....looking up a the peaks around me, searching for some salvation in the form of the view of Pass Mountain which meant that I was rounding these hills which stood in my way between my place of self-hatred...and home.

Turning onto the road....I had committed to going home the easy way. Roadies were passing me and I did not care. In previous months....I would draft and challenge these roadies on my big knobbies...and made a pretty good show of it on the uphills, only to loose the battle on the downhills. Today...I was not challenging a thing....the things...were challenging me.

My last bit of self-hatred came as I approached Hawes road....I could continue on and take an easier way if I continued straight (less climbing), or I could turn north and finish out my ride by one last climb. I figured that I deserved more punishment for being such a piece of crap...so turned north and churned out the climb. I was able to exercise some semblance of pace on this stretch....straining against the gears....not giving up to my falling momentum. For the 1st time today, I was fighting back by refusing to downshift. Cresting the hill...I noticed an overweight roadie with his bike set up triathlon style, fully equipped with water bottles ready for a time trial for which I smugly assumed would never happen. I loathed this man....for his lack of commitment and his basic lack of understanding that lycra is not a right...it's a privilege. I now see that my loathing of him was reflective of my self hatred this day....except for the lycra part....I feel I look fine in lycra...I just choose not to. This man was doing circles around a roundabout as I passed him at the top of the climb....I wondered what he was doing...perhaps resting after his 300 foot climb before returning home to his hot pocket microwave dinner.

In any event....he passed me 30 seconds later on the down hill as I was doing what I'd been doing all day long....riding along in a bubble of.....blechhhhh. But seeing this piece of shit pass me....something snapped. I can only liken it to the switch in the mind of a German Shepherd as it sees a rabbit run in front of them.....yeah....it was like a bolt of lightning. Without even thingking....I dropped the bike into the big ring, stood up and cranked........20 mph....25.......I passed the fat ass in a flash on his right and kept on going.......27.....29....coming to a stop sign.....I saw the road was clear....I drove on through...only to see a black bmw coming at me in the other lane.....I swerved right to pass behind them....hopped a curve onto a sidewalk.......hopped back off on the otherside and continued on down.....cranking......cranking.

Rolling into my driveway...I put my bike away...went in the house....and laid on my ass the rest of the day drinking beer. I was spent, beat, demoralized. I've tried not to think about it much except for this rambling post. But today I plan to go out again with no expectations. I vaguely remember a time when I used to ride...early in my learning days...when just riding was pure enjoyment. Since then, goals have taken over. Goals to be a better climber, goals to ride farther each and every weekend. Perhaps this is what I've been missing all these months. With a goal...riding to meet a metric of performance became the fun for me. Seeing me progress against that metric is what I like to do. But something so ethereal as....riding just to ride....how does one measure success against that....how do I define failure?

These are questions for which I will not find an answer sitting here while typing. The answers will not be discovered in a hop-infused epiphany. Perhaps only out of tradition....better yet....automation of routine, will I find my answer. I know nothing else but to ride each day. I don't know if I have the ultimate faith that riding will answer my salvation from the strange place I found myself....but I know of nothing else to do. I will continue to ride...and have confidence that yesterday was a fluke. I'm going to ride today, but will be taking my armor to session some trial areas. I know this will be fun...because I have a goal....to ride a complex technical set of features only 5 feet in length. I just wonder if, on days where I don't have a goal.....is not having a goal......good enough to serve as a goal? And if that is to be true...then how will I measure my success or failure at not having a goal?

I think i just found my next goal......