Coconino Redo

The blog lives!

I once again found myself in Sedona, shaking things down on the Llama trail, prepping body, mind and bike for a big ride.

It was a tad warmer and a lot smokier than last time (CocoFail). But I had the knowledge of that failure in my back pocket, and no hotheads to ‘race’ against this time. I was going for a second and solo attempt of the Coconino Loop, not two weeks later.

Why so soon? Well, I had found a new home for my Coati Cat and needed to get him to Phoenix. I knew it was going to be hard to go through with that, and rather than returning right back to an empty house, I figured I would go for a bike ride to keep my mind off it. Also, I considered this ITT a science experiment: to prove/disprove various theories for why we cratered so spectacularly on the last attempt. I didn’t want to give my legs time to recover in order to control as many variables as I could.

And so I went with the same start time, same goal, and very similar conditions.

My hippy van neighbor was a long time Sedona local of sorts. He insisted I sign his van with something about bikes. I wrote “Bikes are right” and drew a bike with a seat bag. It was amazing to watch him bust into the hippy-speak with a passerby that looked nothing like a hippy. The passerby was dressed in khakis and a collared shirt. He owned his own business and drove a nice car. But these two talked to each other like old friends, knew each others references, song lyrics and general message. It was pretty cool. I had to ask if they’d ever met each other before, and they hadn’t.

They told me to “be your journey” and gave me a funky little chant as a send off. I parked the van behind Over the Edge Sedona, and laid down for a few hours of rest. At 11pm I happened to be awake enough to notice my phone light up with a text message (all sounds off). I normally wouldn’t have paid attention to the phone in this situation, so it was amazing that I saw it. It was from an unknown number and read, “Bad news. bill will mtn closed as of yesterday due to fire danger. the only closure in the state!” I laid there thoroughly confused. At most five people knew I was even out here (unlike the past Coco attempt, where big talk abounded, I kept this one quiet). Was someone playing a joke on me? I didn’t want to believe it. I finally realized it must be Kurt Refsnider, and confirmed by texting back.

Crap, he’s as reliable as they come. Now what? I’m practically asleep in my van, 100% ready to wake up, throw down a few calories, then throw down for 240 or so miles of some of the best bikepacking anywhere. Bill Williams is a short portion of the route, and has an obvious bypass, but without it no ‘record’ or completion would stand. It’s smokey, and could get worse — is riding even a good idea? Nuts. Well, as I often say, there are always dozens of reasons not to try something big! What else was I going to do? Just hang out in Sedona and do some day rides by myself? Go up to Flag and ride by myself? Shoot, I’m ready. I’ll placate myself with the outside chance that I’ll get there and have it not be signed (maybe Kurt was wrong?), or that I’ll be able to flag down a forest service employee and beg for permission to enter the closure area. Fat chance, and I knew it, but it was enough for me to (eventually) nod off to sleep only to wake up by my alarm a few hours later.

It was a good choice. The morning was gorgeous and the trails as fun as ever. The smoke had even cleared up some.

Red rock singletrack, just enough to be considered bikepacking tech, leading to the forgotten sandy stretches of the Lime Kiln trail and on into Cottonwood in limestone ledge leapin’ style. It’s one of the best stretches of the route, and one easy to kill. I kept it slow and had to keep reminding myself to cool down.

The real challenge in starting from Sedona is the ~4500′ climb up Mingus. At only 3 hours into the route, your legs are still fresh enough that they are highly available for roasting. Later in the race, you’d have to dig DEEP to kill them like you can on this climb. Plus the grade is relentless — there are few breaks and it’s always hot.

I kept as slow of a pace as I could stand. Unfortunately the choice is sometimes between moving forward (and going too hard) or not moving at all. I even forced myself to stop and take a few breaks.

One was when I spied this pipe and spigot on the side of the one contouring section of road (oh what a relief that section is!). Putting my bare hands around the pipe told me it was full of cold water, and I did very much desire that cold water. No joy from the spigot though. I tried freeing it of obstructions, looking for other levers in the area, but nada. I am not sure if it has to do with the new water system going in at the top, but hopefully that spigot will be turned on at some point — not having to carry a full load of H2O from Cottonwood would sure make the big climb more tolerable.

narrow band of trail clings to the side of Mingus

I quite enjoyed the singletrack, though it may be more hike-a-bike than riding. I had my 36t cassette this time, so was able to ride more. And I felt so much better than during CocoFail. I thought things were going well. But every once in a while I would remember about Bill Williams, and motivation would drop for a minute. Still, my fate was not yet sealed on that. And, the experiment must go on!

I stopped to celebrate and admire this flower at the top of Mingus. It’s a climb always worthy of a small celebration.

As I wrapped my way around the backside of Mingus on the Great Western Trail, the day heated up and my thoughts turned to the next big climb. There are some fast miles in here, but they do wear on you, especially when you know what is coming. The descent to the Verde River is desiccating. Your stomach sinks as you lose hundreds and hundreds of feet into the heat of the desert, all while your ultimate goal — Bill Williams at 9000′ laughs at you in the distance. It was mocking me even more than usual, closed as it likely was.

Despite having paced the start much slower, my stomach still led a few protests, and did not care for much in the way of food. Heat, dehydration, hard efforts on the bike. Seems somewhat unavoidable for this route with a Sedona start. Luckily I had lots of Carborocket, though even that was starting to get less and less palatable. I was looking forward to a big burger in Williams, and ambivalently hoping that burger would be delayed by an ascent of Bill Williams.

I passed the first impact crater (where Kurt, Aaron and I blew up so spectacularly and so hilariously) and chuckled to myself. My legs felt pretty good. I wouldn’t say I felt great, but certainly worlds better. And if anything, it was hotter. Most of the experiment was complete, but how I felt going into darkness was the next test (during CocoFail I had no doubt I had little chance of pushing through the night).

Once in the trees and on the flat roads (a reward enough itself) I was greeted by a thirty strong herd of wild horses, who galloped beside me, then all around me, crossing the road with little me in the middle. It was pretty cool. I hadn’t seen a car or another human for hours.

I’d call that well signed — the closure was real — dammit. I hadn’t seen any green USFS trucks, or much of anyone, really. In to Williams for burgers! I stopped at one of the kitschy diners and ordered up the greasiest thing I could find, plus shake and fries. The waitress’s questions were funny and typical. “You’re riding to Flag, and it’s going to take you all night?” “I could drive you there in a half hour…” “Right, but that’s not the point.”

I headed out of town in the dark, trying not to think about the fact that I had just been forced to cut the course. The experiment must go on! The night was warm and I felt good, burger in belly. On to singletrack!

I made really good time on Sycamore Rim, and eeked out some amazingly lucky techy moves. I feared slicing tires a bit, but with no record or real ride on the line, I pretty much went for broke. It paid off in grins and the fire of internal warmth. What a beautiful night!

The roads following the rim were at first enjoyable. The stars were bright and the air almost eerily still. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a night so absent of wind before. I got passed by one vehicle — a sheriff in an SUV. The dust from his tires lingered, perfectly still in the air, for miles, even though he wasn’t driving fast or kicking much up. There was just no wind to move it along, and my lights picked it up, intensified it. I’ve never had that happen before.

I stopped after crossing I-40 and felt the weight of the night. It was the witching hour and my motivation had finally run low. What was the point of pushing all the way through the night, when you cut the course? I would have bivied the rest of the night, but I did not have any bivy gear. Silly me. I put everything I had on and curled up on the bench under the patio of the (closed) gas station. I slept maybe 30 minutes before waking up shivering. Time to hit the road.

The pattern continued on towards the Kachina Peaks, grabbing a nap or two here and there, then continuing on when I got too cold. It wasn’t too bad of a way to travel, really. Wing Mountain’s swoopy moto trails were at first challenging in the dark, then stupidly fun. I think I blew several corners and got some practice counter-steering.

Climbing up the flank of the peaks seemed agonizingly long, as the first hint of light started to break. I really wished I had grabbed more sleep and questioned my sanity. But, hey, I had new Arizona Trail ahead of me, that I have never ridden. It doesn’t get much better than that. It didn’t disappoint, and I got an even bigger mojo boon from seeing several tents along the side of the trail — backpackers or AZT thru-hikers, surely. And I was up and at ’em before them, grabbing some early morning light through the endless ponderosa pines. Life is good.

Ahhh… now life is even better! Breakfast at ‘The Place’. I love Flagstaff. I even enjoy (most of) the AZT south of town. I wasn’t looking forward to the bumpiness, but couldn’t really consider the pavement since I had already ridden that route back with Kurt and Aaron. Gotta go see something ‘new.’

I must admit I regretted that choice near the end of Anderson mesa, which is just so rough you have to experience it to believe it. I was thinking of ways to bail out and get back to Sedona earlier. But I recalled how nice the singletrack is as it contours around Mormon Mountain, and I recalled that there really is no easy way to get back now. The route was the best way. I got up from a short nap in the trees, recovered from the bumps, and set out. I felt lucky I was able to take my time and limit the damage with breaks and naps.

My last nap was under the ADOT gazebo after watering up. Sometimes sleep just feels so indescribably good, and this was one of those times. It was warm, the table comfortable, everything I thought of was positive (I had a lot to look forward to back in Tucson), and sleep came easily.

my last in the agave americana shots

The trail back to my van in Sedona was mostly downhill and I knew it was going to be a hoot. Holy crap did it get hot and smokey as I got into the thick of the red rock. It might have made sense to call it a trip and hop on Schnebly Hill Road, coasting to cold ice cream. But I was feeling the flow and connection to the bike that a day and a half on the bike can sometimes bring. I was nailing stuff and digging into the pedals on the climbs. In short, I was loving it.

I looked at the time from inside Burger King, where I was inhaling a shake and enjoying the air conditioning. Under 36 hours — great, just what my goal was. Instead of climbing Williams Mountain, though, I had taken a bunch of naps! I was pretty sure I could have broken Aaron’s record had the forest been open and the motivation remained. But, it’s one thing to think, quite another to do. This loop continues to elude many of us. Kurt came back in the summer (with divide legs!) for another attempt, and fell just short of the record (though he didn’t really think he could break it). His entertaining story is here.

I parked the van just outside of Sedona and slept all night, and then some. I was so happy waking up in the van, and in the desert, reaching over to slide the door open for some air and a view, then falling asleep again. It had been a great ride, a successful experiment, and now I was blissfully tired.

240 miles, 27,000′ climbing. The Coconino Stage Race is coming right up! Come on out.