Overdoin' It...

 ...at the gym left me with a wake-up call this morning basically spelling out that while my head was ready for the Black Canyon Trail ride, my body was not.  Soreness & stiffness crept in after a workout that was HEAVY... a bit too heavy.  

And by the way, my decision was to hit the BCT, basically doing the same ride I did in February 2020 aside from one shitty farm road climb.  Rather than blather on about the new plan (which is to head to Cottonwood tomorrow), I will leave you with this, my ride review from February 2020:

Black Canyon Trail...

...has been a bucket list ride since we moved up to Phoenix. I don't remember hearing much about it when we lived in Tucson but when we made it up here, the internet and a handful of other riders I met would gush about. I still remember watching Ellsworth's video when they put Wade Simmons and a bunch of other freeride mountain bikers on bikepacking bikes and sent him down here. I remember thinking "if Wade Simmons can do it with a 50+ pound fat bike, I can do it!"

Then over the years, it slipped off my radar as I heard different tales - too many horses, too easy, too hard. Plus there is the time commitment. You can link up smaller sections but I had no idea what was good and what sucked (...nothing I have found so far sucks.) I would stalk people on Strava to see what they did....and soon I was pretty sure I knew what I was getting into.

Hah.

As confident as I was, I decided to take the Smurf, my singlespeed with a 32x20. Got in a ride at Brown's the day before....and decided, yea, 32x20 is good. The road climb, looking at the elevation profile isn't that steep. Yesterday morning, I loaded a bunch of gear, the bike and a cooler and hauled ass up I-17. In less than 2 hours I was in the parking lot just off I-17. I could see the trail, where I would exit in less than 3 hours I figured....and that was if I didn't do the Antelope Canyon climb. I unloaded the bike, aired the tires to 18 psi & 25 psi, front & rear. A bit much...but considering "the hard part" was gonna be the climb, I figured less rolling resistance was more better. I suited up to be warmer...even though I knew the temps would hit mid- to high-60's by the time I finished:

• Pearl Izumi thermal knicker bibs
• Specialized wool base layer
• Titanwear jersey
• DeFeet arm warmers
• ??? socks
• Specialized shoes
• Specialized helmet
• same ole' Giro gloves

As I'm putting together bottles (2x with CarboRocket 333 & 1x water), a hashtag-vanlifer rolls in beside me. It's two older dudes in a converted Ford Econoline, two bikes on the back. I speak to the driver politely but focus on getting dialed in. I finish stuffin' my pockets with waffles & bars, a multi-tool and the phone when I hear the driver talking. I'm listening a bit because 1) he's talking LOUD and 2) I can't figure out who he's talking TO - the other dude is in the van doing something...with the doors closed. As I listen, he is rattling on about how you don't need this for bikepacking, ya DO need this...and now they're at BCT.

He's making a video.

While normally I would have at least spoken to the guys, asked what they're riding....I couldn't make myself. I didn't wanna be in a video and I didn't wanna get hung there as he gushed about bikepacking. 'Cause ya know what the hardest thing about bikepacking is?

Not telling everyone you're bikepacking. (Same can be said about singlespeeders, too...)

I hop on the bike, pedal off....waving and smiling to the bikepackers. I settle into rolling down the paved hill...which woulda been fun on a geared bike. Alas, the pitches after a few of the turns were steep enough to slow me down to spinnin' like a gerbil to top the next one. Pavement turns to dirt...and the dirt turns uphill.

Oh yeah, I forgot about this.

I stand and grunt up the first one, heart rate jumps up...and I sit back down. It seems each climb is longer than the last...and the downhill between is shorter. Still, I grunt it out...thinking, "geez, my heart rate is climbing but NOT very high." One side of my brain is saying, "enh, you're just warming up....you'll be fine." The other side is saying, "something is up."

Soon....it's over. I bomb down into Bumblebee and settle into a rhythm of spinning mixed with various dodging, bobbing and weaving through the holes and rumble strips. 53 minutes pass....and I'm at Antelope Canyon Road where the BCT crosses. I had already decided that I was NOT gonna climb Antelope Canyon. Had I been on the FrankenEpic or Stumpy, maybe. I was wrong when I wrote Thursday that it's less than 4 miles....it's more like 5+. I had already been struggling with 3%-6% grades....and I knew this road pitched up to 10%, 12% in spots. I was kinda right on Wednesday's post - it's less than 3 miles, averages 6.3%...and only hits 8,9%. Still more than I wanted on the singlespeed. Nope.

Take a pic for Meghan to see, let her know I'm good. Eat a waffle, drink more 333....then set off. At first, I'm thinking, "what's the big deal? This is just flat(ish) desert riding through gulleys and small ravines. A few of the gulleys were washed out deep enough to swallow a good portion of 27.5 tire. The ravines had plenty of loose chunky rocks, likely from the horse traffic....but for the most part, all rideable.

Then the trail gets better. I spy two bikepackers ahead. I roll up behind them just as they are climbing off their bikes for a rocky step-up. "Yea, as you can see, we're a bit loaded down. The small rocks make the bike go this way and that. We're bikepacki-" At this point, I was in enough oxygen debt to not be making words so well...but I knew what was coming outta her mouth. I replied something about "yea, loose rocks do that...." and just kept trudging. I was starting to not feel great.

But the trail made up for it! The tread had went from a bike-and-a-half wide to just enough. I'm weaving through boulders and it felt as if I was climbing higher and higher onto the side of the hill....not mountain, 'cause the Bradshaws (I think?) loomed behind, stretching up at least another 4000 feet. Yet, most all of it was rideable (for me. I'm sure someone with more confidence in their skills would rip those boulder-laden crossings.) It climbed...and climbed....and then I saw a sign. And I was pretty much heading downhill....for AWHILE!

Not that it was fast. The trail continued to weave, slowly, following the contours of the topography but all the while, rolling mostly downhill. I'm getting closer to Bumblebee when I feel like my gut is just aching....like I have done WAY too many crunches or sit-ups. And I'm a bit unnerved, feeling a twinge.

Oh, shit. As in, oh, shit.

I stop in a tree-filled area, find a good spot. I'm shedding clothes and soon I'm half-naked (technically, full naked, I guess), letting go of what ails me. The whole time I'm thinking, "what the hell will I wipe with?" I glance down and see it encasing my foot. I'll sacrifice a sock.

So....I suit back up. I feel "better" but not great. My energy has dropped although I'm still riding with some brains. The trail gets a bit chunkier, even narrower....but not much looser. I drop down onto the road, sipping drinks little by little. My gut is gurgling but it seems to calm down with more fluids. I'm climbing out of the wash when I see the two bikepackers from the parking lot. We all say hey...even though I'm kinda forced to grunt through the chunkier rocks.

Reach Crown King Road....and I know this is gonna hurt. I have two choices:

• keep riding the BCT....which will climb steeply for about a mile then "meander" along the contour of the mountains above the road....
• ride Crown King Road...which means hitting ALL those same hills with dead legs....

Truth be told, I never gave the road much thought. I felt good enough to keep plodding along....plus it was 8 miles. How long could 8 miles really take?

Awhile.

I pretty much pushed the Smurf up the climb. I stopped for a pic with all the cows. I regretted my decision when I saw an access road that wasn't to be taken. Soon enough I'm on singletrack. I figure this should be a rolling trail back to the truck, high above the road. It'll be scenic. It'll be fun.

Hah.

The trail was in good shape, used mostly by mountain bikers I would guess. There were still plenty of rocks in the trail....'cause desert. However, everytime I made a left corner onto a southwest facing side, the trail turned HEINOUS - rock move after rock move. Up and over and through....and rest....then through and over and up. I ended up walking more of these faces simply because I was running low on energy. And it was getting warm - 70+ degrees warm. Great day for thermal clothing and wool....

Still, I started feeling better and more comfortable on the bike. I walked when I knew grunting up something technical was just gonna sap my energy, sending my heart rate sky high and my lungs into convulsions (not really). I rode alot of stuff simply 'cause I was too lazy to get off. I was starting to figure out what grade I could climb and not spike my heart rate, when I could just grind slow....and when I had to go on, get off my ass and push through.

I remember vividly seeing the truck....8/10ths of a mile away. Just having it in sight was enough to make me happy....and piss me off. Happy 'cause it's about over. Pissed 'cause I can sense how long it would take. About the 2nd time I saw it, I began to feel bad that I was rushing through this. No, my gut felt horrible and I was tired and getting more tired...but this trail IS fun. I started thinking how soon I would come back, how I'd fit it in if Mike B ever comes back to town...and would I ever bring back the singlespeed.

Maybe. Maybe with a bigger gear though.

I finally roll up to the truck, almost crashing on one last rock. "I'm gonna fuckin' flop it right here...100 yards from the truck and in the last 2 minutes", I thought. But I didn't. I lay the bike down at the truck, drop the tailgate....and lay in the bed. I'm whipped. I sit up when I hear some stirring next to me. A dude on a full-squish pulls up to the Tundra (with a camper shell) next to me. We nod, mutter something like a greeting. I start undressing and re-dressing. I'm chuggin' one of the Cokes I brought with me. Still not ready to eat.

But soon enough I was. I stopped at Del Taco and while the little cashier who could NOT wait to get outta there rushed through cleaning table, spraying windex in people's (mine) food and LOUDLY shoved chairs around, I lumbered through the task of eating tacos and choking down fries. One taco down, I couldn't bear to eat the mystery meat they called "ground turkey" so I crunched on the veggies in the upper part of the shell. Even the fries were undercooked. I refill my Cherry Coke and haul ass.

By the time I got home, I felt better. My gut still churned but I was moving fine. Dogs were fed, I showered then we flopped for a nap(less) session til Meghan got home. Soon we were out to dinner where I choked down more food, a caesar salad, a pizza and two Modelos. We hung out at the bar for at least one drink, watchin' the Thursday night Scottsdale socialites ramble in and out. I lost interest when the guitar player decided it was HER free-for-all open mic night and she's just making up songs.

Bed couldn't come soon enough.

Later.