January has been one rough month for your humble author up here in the big sky. Had some lady issues, my Giants got destroyed by the loathsome Eagles, I’m still not making the big bills at work, and the weather has been flat out depressing. I needed a good weekend of mountain biking to get back on track. Luckily I knew of a mountain bike race taking place this past weekend, in Tucson of all places! I used some fancy credit card work to secure some much needed time on singletrack, and planned to regain my tan lines. I booked a plane ticket down to the giant parking lot that is Phoenix, and started to get excited for one of my favorite mountain biking races. For the past four years my buddy Dejay gives back to the singlespeeding community (and the world for that matter) by putting on SSAZ. In my mind this is mountain bike racing the way it was meant to be. All the racers ride to the start line together, people who shows up with gears have their shifters rendered useless, and at the end of the day everyone gathers at a bar to enjoy each others company. Few people care what place they finish in; rather they care more about the getting together with other singlespeeders and pedaling around in the desert for five hours or so.

To add to the uniqueness of the race, Dejay doesn’t follow conventional thought when he puts together the event and the route. The race typically involves carrying your bike over a barb-wired fence or four, descents through fields of babyheads which have a tendency to bounce up and destroy my shins, riding near a bad excuse for a “poor man’s” shooting range, and a poorly marked course. That piece of pink ribbon hanging from the nearby cholla could either be the marker to turn off the Arizona Trail, or it might be nothing more than some random pink ribbon hanging from a cactus. I’m not kidding about that last sentence this year at the most important turn of the race to get on La Milagrossa trail, there was no marking, if you went the wrong way you could look forward to at least an hour of a hike a bike climb. Number plates are nothing more than paper plates that you write your name on, and some of the rules get made up as the race goes on. If you want to take home the $50 prize for being the first up the ten-mile climb, you better be ready to carry your winnings in change for the rest of the race (note: 50 bucks in nickels, dimes, and pennies is f#$%ing heavy). Despite all of the shenanigans and tomfoolery, the main perk is getting to ride nearly fifty miles (more if you get lost) of varying desert terrain in January, and being surrounded by some great people. Once I booked my ticket it was all I looked forward to, even more than payday.

The plan was to fly into Phoenix Friday night and head down to Tucson with my buddy Scooby. When I moved lived down in Tucson, Scooby took my under his wing as I tried out mountain bike racing. We raced all over the state, and beyond, slept on each other’s floor, and collected plenty of memories. Once we made it to Tucson we would head straight for the Bay Horse Bar where the pre race meeting/party was taking place. From there we would head to Dejay’s house, because Dejay had promised to let me borrow one of his bikes. The only kicker will was that the bike had no brakes set up, so I had to bring down a pair and set them up on the bike before the race. Aside from that I would also have to slap on some pedals, adjust the saddle angle and height, and make sure the tires would hold air. Once we got to Dejay’s house, we held off on the bike work for a bit to enjoy a beer and say hello to all the old friends. Once I got to work (with Scooby’s help), things came together, and soon enough all the necessary work was done. I grabbed a stinky sleeping bag, picked out some floor space, and fell to sleep with the soothing sounds of some random guy snoring in the background.

Wake up was at 6, and the fifteen of us who were squatting at Dejay’s house began to get ready. I fueled up with a donut, bagel, and half a cup of coffee, and then changed into my riding clothes. It had been a long time since my mountain biking attire didn’t include arm and leg warmers; I was beyond excited to wear nothing more than shorts and a jersey. Everyone helped to load the bikes into cars, and as the sun began to warm the desert we left for the park. The parking lot was packed with mountain bikers, and Dejay begged everyone to sing a waiver, and told us to grab a playing card, which would act as our number plate. We were told there were about twenty maps of the route available, so grab em if you want em. The group of sixty strong left the parking lot, and began the five-mile neutral start on pavement to the base of Reddington Road. While on the road I managed to double flat, and rather than fix the flats, I jumped in the back of a car and handed out beers to racers. Once we got to the official start line, I began to fix the flats, and Dejay gave us the last of his instructions, which no one seemed to pay any attention to. Once I finished fixing my flats I hopped on the bike, and started to chase down the 59 racers ahead of me.

Seven miles up the road; a one-man crew of flunkies had sent the first five riders the wrong direction. When he was asked if he was sure that was the route he told us he hadn’t looked at a map, and didn’t have a clue (I can’t make this stuff up). The group I was with knew the route, so we ignored this idiot and continued to climb. A few miles up the road I had to stop to fix another flat, which gave me plenty of time to stop and enjoy the wonderful desert scenery. I started back up, and in no time finished the climb, and got off the bike at the aid station. I sucked down a coke and ate a handful of pretzels before remounting and getting on the first section of singletrack. The Arizona Trail in this area is absolutely perfect, and is a very different from the trails in Missoula. Cactus line the trails, sharp rocks test your handling skills, and swooping turns seem to pop out of nowhere. In Missoula few trails require you to negotiate rocks, and I was worried that since moving out of the desert, I would have lost my technical handling skills. Turns out the skills were still kind of there; I avoided the cactus, and didn’t go over the handlebars. As I have known since I met him, Scooby can shred any sort of singletrack when he has gravity on his side, so he caught me and we started out on the next section of the route.

After the singletrack, the course turned into technical jeep trails, with plenty of steep climbs, and steep descents. I dropped Scooby on a climb, and at the top I turned around and couldn’t see him, so I pedaled away on my own. Further on up the route, I caught up and rode with old friends Rebecca and Rudi for a good ten miles. This section of the route included the High Chiva descent, where I was sweating the fact that only one of my brakes seemed to work. We descended the steep technical trail, much to the amazement of the passing hikers and motocross riders. From there we had a few stream crossings (courtesy of the recent rain in Tucson), which felt absolutely AMAZING!!!! The three of us rode together, until Rebecca destroyed her chainring in a manner that I have never seen before. Turns out if your chainring bolts aren’t tight you can literally taco the chainring; Rebecca learned this one the hard way. The two of them started walking, while I rode up the road to the aid station to tell whoever was at the aid station about Rebecca’s mechanical. At the aid station I filled up my water bottle, grabbed a power up in the form of a Tecate, and ate some gummy candy to give me some energy. I rode to the next aid station with Flagstaff Nathan, drank another Tecate, and then headed off for the final fifteen miles of singletrack.

The first portion of the singletrack, was more of the Arizona trail, and it included a perfect climbing gradient, some great descents, the occasional technical drop, and lead to Tucson’s crown jewel of mountain bike trails: La Milagrossa. At this point Nathan and Latham had ridden away from me with their killer descending skills, so I was all by myself for all of La Milagrossa. Finishing up a mountain bike ride with this trail is like capping of a delicious meal with a perfect glass of scotch, it just seems right. La Milagrossa is by far one of the most fun and technical trails in the area, and it was first time riding it fully rigid. The trail includes several two to three foot drops in succession, steep drops off the side of the trail, and a stunning view of the valley. If you ever head down to Tucson for some mountain biking, and don’t ride La Milagrossa, stop what you are doing, and get off my planet because you are an idiot. I managed to complete La Milagrossa without taking any diggers and only having to walk a few sections. I have only heard urban legends of people riding all of La Milagrossa, and am convinced that the day I actually witness this act I will die of shock.

At the end of the trail Dejay and friends had brought forty pizzas and a keg of beer for all of the racers. He plopped the keg down in a cool pool of water, and waited for the finishers to come in. The pizza and beer were just what my body needed, and soaking my sore feet in the cool water only made things feel better. The stats for the race were 50 miles of riding, 6200 feet of climbing, two beers, three flats, one wrong turn, and a huge f%&#ing smile on my face at the end. I was pumped about the fact that despite the fact that I hadn’t ridden a mountain bike in a long time, I didn’t have any physical problems with finishing the ride. After everyone had finished, we went our separate ways to shower and eat before we went back to the Bay Horse for drinks and awards. The crew drank the bar out of PBR by 1 a.m., everyone got some nice piece of schwag for finishing, and Slohio Rob got hit in the face with a brand new Surly hub. Rob declined the trip to the hospital to fix his split lip, instead opting for the duct tape solution. In the end, SSAZ wound up being “just what the doctor ordered”, allowing me to flee from the cold weather for a long weekend of mountain biking in the sun. If you are ever looking for a good mountain bike race next January, get your ass down to Tucson for SSAZ, it will not disappoint. If you don’t like it, then feel free to come on up to Montana to complain to me, I promise not to listen and call you an idiot. Now its back to Nordic skiing until the spring comes to melt the snow and reveal the singletrack up here.

Brother Genco,