Coco-Schralp*

I thought my weekend riding would look like Thursday’s ride,

instead I found myself here,

in the forest, on the Arizona Trail, heading south for Sedona.

Paula’s mom offered to stay with Paula while I raced, so I could attend my favorite race on the planet (thanks Sherilen, you rock): The Coconino Stage Race. I hadn’t planned on it, and only knew for sure I was going the afternoon before. Luckily this isn’t my first rodeo, and I can pull things together quickly. But I decided it needed to be low stress and it needed to be on my terms. So I took all evening to make preparations for a journey. I drove up to Flagstaff early the next morning, missing the opportunity to meet everyone for the traditional breakfast.

Stage 1 – Flagstaff to Sedona View Camp — 55 miles

Leaving late, my mind quickly becomes at ease as I hit the trail. Who cares if I forgot something, or made sub-optimal choices? I’m outside, it’s beautiful, and it’s ON.

I give my legs a pop quiz at the first sign of steepness. Aced… I can tell already… this is going to be good. A bushy tailed fox darts out of the woods, shows me how to be graceful, then exits.

Singletrack leads to bumpletrack, but it has little effect. I just pedal harder, and thank my lucky stars for my smooth riding bike. Thank my luck stars I’m here, it’s now, the world is as it is.

Roads provide opportunity to dig deep, singletrack the opportunity to flow freely. Balance.

Only briefly do I start thinking about time, running numbers and analysis. It leads only to pessimism, so I logout and pedal harder.

It’s time to relax, time to watch the clouds, time to study the world. I run the numbers and can’t believe it. 55 miles in 4:36. Last year I rode stage 1 in 5:12, and I came in knackered.

The time spent on the rim, overlooking Sedona and chatting with friends (old and new) is over too quickly. The plan is to “ride hard, sleep harder”, so I’m out pretty quick, though the wind wakes me up a dozen times.

Lazy morning, the sun warms, the wind settles, everyone is gone. I take a quiet moment to survey and plan the day. It’s all before me. Mingus, the day’s goal, is visible and not that far away, in a sense.

Stage 2 – Sedona overlook to Mingus – 50 miles

photo by Dan Montgomery

Red rock brings focus to my mind. The path is long, but I meet friends along the way.

I will not be washed away by Oak Creek this time. Previous mistakes and mishap resurface in mind. I’m not quite sure why things are going so manifestly beautiful this time.

Sedona washes over me in a flood of smiles. Power climbs, steep drops and stunning views. Bikepacking is not the anti-shred.

Slow downs are inevitable, but moisture means no sand, and no sand means speed.

Company. Fast company. Aaron is not about to let me go, having already spent enough time pondering the route solo. He can follow me, but it’s not going be easy.

Lime Kiln Trail is vagueletrack of the best sort, remote and hinting of travels of old, by horse and cart. Miles into it, I sense a small gap forming, keep my head down. Soon I’m burping my tires on botched landings, but coming out laughing.

Viva Don Miguel! I acquire the proper amount of calories simply by exceeding the carrying capacity of my arms. $22 from Maverick and I’m on my way, having gained 15 pounds in food and water. Two middle school kids quiz me… “you’re going up there? that’s f’d up” If they only knew…

Ugh, the climbing is glacial. A paradox of cold air temperature and scorching sun.

photo by Dan Montgomery (taken later in the day)

How much longer can the hike-a-bike go on? (A long time) The threat of a materializing Aaron spurs me in the beginning. The idea of breaking eight hours for stage 2 torments and punishes me for the rest. I make it with two minutes to spare, and spend the next 15 minutes shelled, lying on a picnic table, trying to regain myself.

Aaron lost his GPS charger, and over an hour, in Cottonwood. He eventually rides up and we discuss and relive the day. Eventually we move down to camp and wait for our friends to trickle in. Some come in after 16 hours on the bike — the path is long after all. That my total ride time is 12.5 hours from Flagstaff to Mingus causes a short circuit in my brain. I try not to understand it, just to accept it. Stage 2 went an hour twenty faster than last year.

11:30pm the last crew arrives. Awesome night push up Mingus! Later, “Hey bikepackers!” (???) One wandered into the night, the fire went out. Luckily the night is long.

Stage 3 – Mingus to Williams – 67 miles

Yaeger trail is the morning’s challenge, and I’m not quite up to it. I’m overheating, I’m dabbing, I’m walking. Slow start, but my legs still have depth, I motor past Lee only to get passed back while off route, seeking water at Coyote Spring. The top is off the spring, but it’s still good enough for tablets.

Big ring comes into high service, all throughout the Great Western Trail and the big drop to Perkinsville and the Verde River. I hit the initial pitches of the climb with gusto, sneaking across the tracks in front of a creeping train. The lone vehicle I see happens to pass when I’m stopped, applying suncreen. “uhhh… you ok there buddy? there’s not much out here… are you sure you’re ok?”

“Are you kidding? I live for this!” “If I were any better, I just couldn’t stand it…”

Aaron rides by while I’m stopped higher up, I hop on to give chase, but he’s hard to catch. We chat for a bit, but I want to get lost, alone in this remote area. It’s simple, in theory. Want to be alone? Ride faster. I’ll try my best.

The massive climb goes quickly, maybe too quickly. Like the syncopation in my ears, I seem to be missing hard sections of the route. Anticipating pain that never comes. Anticipating dread and negativity that fails to materialize. The best dream that I never had — to be racing Coconino with bottomless legs, and this year.

Race psychology, specifically my own, is an interesting topic. Believing that I was going to miss out on Coconino, then suddenly finding that I could make it had a profound effect on my attitude and motivation. I was pinching myself over and over… am I really here? Deep sense of appreciation. Can it be this good? The quality trail littered throughout the route might have something to do with the positive attitude, too…

Syncopation of route and tune continues on to Bill Williams mountain, home of many switchbacks and glorious trail. I ride light and slender as the oboe in my ears, punchy and rhythmic as the snare. The turns are wonderful slow pauses in the action, just enough to catch oxygen and continue climbing. I think of Bergen switchies with JJ and pounding my head against the wall on the final trio of turns with Enel. I walk the trio today.

On to the descent. Flow is hard to find, for a while. I stop and breathe, burp a hundred times, (Don Miguel was a mistake today), then prepare for rapid fire manuals and chunky chunk. Oh yes, this is what it’s all about.

I hit pavement in town. 7:46 is an hour faster than last year. Wow. The streak continues. I plant my butt at Dairy Queen and inhale two shakes, one chocolate, one vanilla. Today’s effort is going to leave a mark. But tonight we sleep indoors. I pedal over to “America’s Best Value” to procure a room. Pizza and laughs, deep sleep.

Bikepackers take over Williams!! (several bikes not pictured). I was thinking about breakfast even while eating pizza, and all through the night.

Stage 4 Williams to Flagstaff – 57 miles

I only find need to eat but 2 twizzlers on stage 4. Breakfast did me well.

I start last, as usual, and start fast, as usual. In 45 minutes I’m already at Sycamore Rim. I’m not Sick-of-more, I’m wanting more.

Dan is at the exit, “navigator!”. You rang? He pedals hard with me for quite a while.

I weigh the options: trade a few minutes for a gatorade at Texaco? I make the bargain, and it’s a good one. The gatorade tastes like the nectar of the gods, quenching 4 days of thirst.

I dive off the road as the water truck goes by. Go slow or get wet.

Trees snapped mid trunk like tooth picks, the tornado damage is impressive and humbling. I think we’re getting off easy, with many cut logs on the side of the road. But the tornado’s storm hit the side of Wing Mountain, and there are a dozen or so to navigate ’round before schralping (*) the moto trail.

(*) Schralp – v.,n.,adj.(sh’ralp) To aggressively negotiate terrain using any manner of vehicle. If you are not yet using the word schralp in your daily life, you are seriously missing out. With this edition of the Coconino Stage Race, and by the power vested in me, as bikepacking.net webmaster and, well, just a guy who likes to ride his bike, I hereby introduce the term schralp into the bikepacking lexicon. So let it be written, so let it be done.

A mind-body-bike connection has been bridged, after 4 days bikepacking at speed. If someone offered to take my now useless gear (if it were legal in the race), I would refuse. I’m faster with the extra weight, distributed as it is. A large part of our singletrack route into Flagstaff is the XC course I raced in August. I swear I am moving just as fast, and with less effort, than race pace. It doesn’t make any sense, but I can’t deny it. Moments like these come only after much investment and they do not last long. I ride them for what they’re worth, and then some.

I didn’t see Aaron until we were done, but he sure provided an excellent carrot to chase. He crushed the route for his first go at it. It’s a huge advantage to know the route, and he rode faster than my GC time last year, on-sighting the route. Thanks for the race, Aaron.

We grabbed pitas full of veggies in downtown Flag, then I headed over to pick up Matthew Lee, fresh of his killer thru-ride of the route. The rest of the crew rolled into Brad’s house, sooner or later, and hours disappeared.

Results are on the Arizona Endurance Series site. I managed to take 3.5 hours off my GC time from last year, which until now I felt was a solid time. I’m still having a hard time believing things went so well, and without rest or planning. Sometimes things just click.

I love stage racing and this route.