An unscientific analysis (complete with faulty conclusions), related to the trials and tribulations experienced along the southern aspect of the “awesome” eight hundred mile Arizona Hiking Trail
Or
The Top Ten Things learned from getting my butt kicked on the AZT
"Adversity introduces a man to himself." — Albert Einstein
Abstract
Scope of purpose and ideas for further research (or Why would a man, well past his prime, even attempt to bike well over 850 miles on a rugged, desert trail designed for hikers? What was he trying to accomplish, or to learn? ): This narrative focuses less on the confused, nuanced, perhaps even pathological motivations of the author and instead attempts to convey to the reader what the aging cyclist learned from what can only be described as an abject failure. Yet, the reader can certainly read between the lines. One theory, that could (and should) be followed upon with more research, suggests that the author has fallen victim to what economists refer to as “sunk cost fallacy.” The idea that through most of his life, he has invested a tremendous amount of time, money, and effort into cycling endeavors and thus has come to feel like he is in too deep to change, he must push forward, even as his body begins to fail him.
Methods (Things that worked and things that failed): Using a bicycle loaded up with camping equipment and several liters of water, the author’s goal was to traverse, north to south, the full Arizona Trail in conjunction with the Arizona Trail Race 800 (AZTR). Not counting a forty-five mile detour, the geriatric actually made about 365 miles on the official route. He quit where the route borders Saguaro Lake. It was there that he fell apart and started an epic sixty-plus mile retreat. That retreat in itself is a sad story of ineptitude and self-loathing, taking more than two days. Note: Actually there are two events that start at the same time very near to the Mexican/Arizona Border. The shorter one is about 300 miles and the longer one (this year), is about 850+ miles. Finishing either one represents the completion of a challenging, difficult mission. The author knew this, going in, and planned accordingly, nevertheless mistakes were made. Through reflective analysis, the author hopes to right the wrongs and return next October fully prepared to finish the full route. Although not mentioned in the body of the research before you, certainly informed readers will recognize the quixotic confirmation bias that is so apparent in the lofty dream-state that permeates the author’s clouded observations. One can only ask, Is he a danger to himself and others? Is he suffering from Peter Pan syndrome? Or is he simply following in the footsteps of Walter Mitty.
Results (What did the research find, or what does the document discuss? And what aspects were left out and/or need further exposure): An effort is made by the author to offer an honest assessment of what worked and what needs to be improved upon.The reader may observe that there is no mention or acknowledgement of the fact that the senescent cyclist-author cannot stop Father Time from slowly, but surely, dismantling the writer’s mental and physical fitness. However, there is a recognition that none of this matters unless the author follows through with going back to Arizona armed with a new and improved approach. Of course the clock is ticking and time waits for no one. Theories must be tested in the real world to have any serious wider effects. In other words, talk is cheap.
Conclusion (Main Takeaways). Spelling it out in good detail, the author wraps up the narrative with a bulleted list of what needs to happen between now and next October if he is to expect a different, more favorable outcome in Arizona next fall.
Introduction
On Thursday, October 16th, 2025 and the early morning of my sixty-sixth birthday, approximately forty miles or so from Sierra Visa, Arizona, I lined up with about sixty other intrepid bikepacker-racers to start the 2025 version of the Arizona Trail Race. I had left my humble abode near Duluth, Minnesota five days earlier, taking my time to drive the sixteen hundred miles down to Sedona, Arizona. In Sedona, I left my car with a good friend, transported all my gear into a rental car and drove down to Tucson. On Wednesday (10/15), I met a group of other AZT-bound cyclists at the Safeway in Tucson. At high noon, we loaded up our gear into two shuttle vans and headed south to the start. Thirteen days later, defeated, a shell of my former self, I could be seen pathetically limping my bike along a paved highway trying to get to a place where I could rent a car and head home to my mommy. It was a sad state of affairs. In full retreat, as I pedaled along the sweltering tarmac, broken and in despair, cars flying by, I vowed to never return to this hellscape! But as is the tendency of my flawed, rose colored personality, it was less than a week later that I began thinking about making another effort, having relegated the bad to the far reaches of my brain and brought the good stuff to the fore. The following is an effort to enumerate some of the lessons learned from this defeat as well as submitting a potential plan for success in October 2026. “
Takeaways
1. Riding a nearly brand new full suspension bike is a lot of fun and much easier on my aging bones. No way would I have gotten as far as I did on the Arizona Trail (AZT) had I been trying to ride a hardtail. For decades, I fought the idea of spending all that money on a fancy full suspension bike. I just didn’t believe that it would be worth the high expense and extra maintenance. I have changed. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that recently changing over to a mountain bike equipped with front and rear shocks has bought me significantly more time to continue pursuing these bike adventures into my dotage. Kudos to the guys at Ski Hut in Duluth for adjusting the front and rear shocks so as to work to their full ranges without bottoming out. Adjusting the suspension on a bike that is loaded down with gear, and then adding in the rider that is also loaded down with a backpack can be tricky. Also I recommend going with the easiest gearing you can make work. I had a 28 tooth chainring on the front and a 51 on the back for my easiest gear and I used it constantly.
2. Also I came to really appreciate the dropper-post. Again this was a device that I ridiculed as just another ploy by “the industry” to get cyclists to spend more money. I have changed. It is especially helpful in getting on and off the bike when confronted with trying to maneuver in tight, sketchy positions. There were sections on the AZT where one was forced to get on and off every few yards. Through constant practice, I came to unconsciously push the saddle down every time I was getting ready to dismount. It also helps to drop the saddle down when trying to navigate the constant steep, chunky talus fields so apparent along the AZT.
3. This was the first time that I used a backpack when going for the long haul. I happily determined that one quickly gets used to carrying a fairly heavy backpack while cycling on a demanding single-track. I did not mind carrying the backpack at all. This is contrary to what I have previously maintained. I was taught for long distance riding to keep the weight on the bike and off the body. I have changed my thinking.
4. Even before I started the actual race, I concluded, beyond a doubt, that l have to buy a good reliable smart phone and have the good mapping apps on board. I got lost just trying to find the Safeway in Tucson, where I was to meet the shuttle. I had the address, but apparently cities don’t have street signs posted on poles anymore! By the way, the shuttle ride to the start was really fun as I got to meet several very interesting and compelling characters. More on this below. It’s a hard truth I am now ready to accept. I have changed my thinking. My flip-phone has gone the way of the typewriter. Yeah, it’s time to retire my trusty flip-phone. It has served me well for nearly eighteen years, but in today’s world it is getting to be impossible to get around without a smartphone, especially when trying to navigate backcountry routes. In years past I was able to get by on using paper maps, along with (increasingly, of late) relying on others to get me down the correct trail,(and their smartphones. I can only surmise how annoying this must have been for my buddies). Note: Map Out looks great. Also I was really wishing that I had access to the “water source app.” Everyone that I met along the AZT was using it. At times, when alone, and I was mostly riding alone, I really felt like I was “flying blind” for most of the 360 miles that I was able to cover on the actual route. The Coros Dura works great for following the blue dot along a downloaded route, but beyond that it offers no wider geographical context, no road or trail names, no wider picture of one’s environment. I had a paper copy of a list of towns, points-of-interest, etc. that were located along (or near) the route, but the mileage was way off. In some cases, ten or more miles off. It was very frustrating causing me constant irritation and anxiety. In my harried brain, I was forever trying to figure out where I was, based on trying to calculate my specific location relative to water and/or food sources, taking into account that the numbers before me on the paper guide were inaccurate. I was not alone in finding the One of Seven Project Bundle (that I paid $40 for) to be wildly inaccurate and thus difficult to navigate from. Several other guys agreed with me. In fairness, a significant part of the problem was that due to recent unforeseen “acts of God,” the route had to be modified, which had the effect of throwing off the usual distances cited in the guide that I was using. For example, the start line was different than usual and the total distance for the 800 was lengthened due to the closure of the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. In any event, my propensity to get lost and confused was intensified or increased by these modifications to the usual course. Add-in no access to modern route finding and/or modern mapping, plus total reliance on an inaccurate paper copy of a guide, and you have a solid recipe for getting lost and confused. Luckily, it seemed that just as I was sure that I was on the wrong trail (or in one instant, even heading in the wrong direction on the right trail), I would thankfully encounter a hiker, or a biker, or an ATV/jeep and they would set me straight. There were many instances along the route that I wished I was hiking instead of biking. Note: Everyone I met along the trail was very nice and very helpful. I met three thru-hikers and enjoyed pleasant conversations with these extraordinary adventurers. If I thought my ancient hips could handle it, I’d try one of the classic long distance hiking trails like the Pacific Crest Trail. Every hiker I met seemed serene, very content, and at peace as they ambled along the high desert, while every biker I rode with was at best, frazzled.
5. I must reckon with the fact that my eyesight, even more so at night, is below average, not going to get better, and so riding technically difficult terrain (especially with very average lighting) is foolish and dangerous. Trying to ride the AZT (or the Marji) with my current lights system is stupid, super frustrating, and asking for trouble. Essentially, what I have for lighting right now is fine for gravel or snow, but I need to upgrade for another effort at the AZTR. I plan to look into the pros and cons of obtaining one of those systems that rely on a dynamo built into the front hub. Lots of AZT riders had them. I know they are expensive, but my thinking is evolving on this. It would be really advantageous to not have to rely on batteries to run all the gizmos bikepackers now consider mandatory gear.
6. Carbon rims can take the abuse, are worth the money, and so are really top end tires. I am very impressed by how much abuse my wheels took and yet stayed true and sound. This represents a major change in my thinking. I was of the school-of-thought that carbon would not hold up to the abuse of a rough, rocky single track. Note: Using a carbon ice ax over many years has also buoyed my trust in the integrity of carbon for use in outdoor endeavors. My rear tire (it came on my newly acquired FS bike), and in fairness was not designed for AZT abuse, did not hold up forcing me to take a major detour off the route in search of a new tire. Of course I got lost. Flying blind, I rode way, way out of my way to get to a bike shop located somewhere in/near Apache Junction. The shop was marked on my paper map, but no directions or even an address. There was a phone number, but I had no service. As mentioned above, the reason for the need of a bike shop was that I tore a hole in the sidewall of my rear tire, sealant pouring out of it. I was able to put a tire "boot" inside the tire, along with black Gorilla tape on the external tear and put a tube in. It proved to be enough tire first aid to get me to a gravel road and then eventually to the bike shop -but I went way out of my way because I did not have a map to show me the correct directions to the shop. As I got closer to civilization I was able to access phone service. Thankfully, Sophie, my daughter, from a U of MN classroom in St.Paul, was patiently trying to direct me via a sketchy phone line to the bike shop. I finally made it and the guys at the shop were so accommodating! I actually rode past the shop a couple of times before I saw it! It cost me nearly a full day of riding and a lot of angst and despair, but I was back in the fight!
7. I went into it thinking that the use of a lightweight bivy set-up is fine for a night or two or even three. My thinking on this point has not changed. Yet, after about three days on the ground in a bivy bag, my worn out hips cushioned only by a quarter inch of foam, I concluded that sleeping in a tent with a good inflatable pad is way, way better than sleeping under the stars with a flimsy super light pad. The main thing I was missing was a relatively comfortable sleeping pad. In other words, I initially enjoyed the bivy set-up, but after four or five nights out in the open (the stars were amazing and I did have brief moments, when staring into the silent universe, that bordered on celestial enlightenment), at the end of a long day of plodding slowly along, muscles and bones aching, I was really wishing for my solo tent and the comfort of a plush inflatable sleeping pad. I also missed having a good book to read. Although I was too knackered most every night to do anything other than to pass out. Yet, I am so used to reading every night, that I keenly felt the absence of the comfort of having a book to fall asleep with. Next fall, I’ll bring a light novel. Next fall, I will also probably consider staying with the bivy bag (for the weight savings), but I will for sure bring a comfortable sleeping pad instead of the foam one. Note: A big problem with the inflatable sleeping pads is the high probability of getting holes poked into it from the ubiquitous cactus plants. This reminds me: Don’t start without leg protection. I used an old pair of climbing gators that worked fine for the first few days until the shoe attachment thingies wore out making them pretty worthless. This course is really really hard on one’s gear.
8. This event attracts some really fun and interesting characters. The kinds of people that I want to get to know and pal around with. Perhaps subconsciously, I am drawn to these kinds of folks because by knowing them and emulating them, they make me a better person. They are singular, compelling, fascinating, and leading interesting, fulfilling lives. I mean each and everyone of them have exceptional stories to tell. It's the interesting, dynamic, “can-do” types that tend to sign up for these kinds of adventurous events. People that are compelled to seek challenges and new experiences. They greatly value adventure over comfort. Over the years I have met so many really intriguing, fascinating, adventurous types. Go to any grass-roots, self-supported wilderness-type endurance event and you will inevitably discover these communities to be mostly fun-loving, self-reliant, very smart, highly motivated, global in their thinking, well travelled, informed on many topics, balanced people. Of course you may also encounter highly driven, hyper-achievers that are concerned solely with building successes to pad their resumes or to top off their “bucket lists,” but these Type A types quickly move on to other pursuits. Of course this second group would generally not sign up for a race like the AZT as it requires expert mountain biking skills and does not hold the kind of fanfare or high public exposure or mass appeal/status that an event like the Race Across America enjoys. Personally, the idea of paying thousands of dollars and relying on a crew to take care of me as I pedal on a highway across the USA has absolutely no appeal. Reminds me of a Yvon Chouinard quote, “Taking a trip for six months, you get in the rhythm of it. It feels like you can go on forever doing that. Climbing Everest is the ultimate and the opposite of that. Because you get these high-powered plastic surgeons and CEOs, and you know, they pay $80,000 and have Sherpas put the ladders in place and 8,000 feet of fixed ropes and you get to the camp and you don’t even have to lay out your sleeping bag. It’s already laid out with a chocolate mint on the top. The whole purpose of planning something like Everest is to effect some sort of spiritual and physical gain and if you compromise the process, you’re an asshole when you start out and you’re an asshole when you get back.” In any event, I greatly value the relationships that I have been able to develop with some of these folks along the way. Heading out, for the long ride (from Tucson) down to the incredibly remote start (many miles along a very rugged and extremely steep jeeps only-like road) in a shuttle bus, I became instant friends with the several riders that I was seated with. I'd estimate 90+ people gathered on the Wednesday before the Thursday 6:00 a.m. start. Approximately 60 started and like the Tour Divide a significant percentage did not finish. At the remote start area on that afternoon and evening before the actual start of the race the next morning, it was a really fun and interesting sorta organic gathering composed of cyclists and their friends that developed. Officials from the Arizona Trail were present and erected a shade tent. At night, we all gathered around a camp fire. It was a wonderful gathering of compelling characters. Such encounters are what draws me to these events! Unfortunately one of the guys I immediately befriended (Mac from London), took a really bad crash on the second day injuring his ribs as well as getting his knees badly scraped up. He was forced to quit at this place called Kentucky Camp due to his injuries. Mac has conveyed to me via email that while he is still pretty sore, he is on the mend. It would be really great if he could meet me at the start again next October. I also had the pleasure of meeting Kara Woolgar as well. Early on, we "leaped frogged" along the route and shared a delightful conversation at the lodge on Mount Lemmon. She is a wonderfully buoyant, enthusiastic woman packaged in a tiny frame. Congrats to Kara for finishing the full route! So impressive and an inspiration to me. An example of another compelling, inspiring character that I met along the trail was Rod Luitjen from North Carolina. Rod and I battled up the forever hills and valleys and hills and valleys leading finally into the trailhead near Superior, Arizona. Superior is basically the end point for the AZTR300. Rod was competing in the AZTR300, so he was very happy to be done. Rod Luitjen is a most amicable fellow and I certainly hope to one day cross paths with him again. I was happy too, but not as happy as Rod. I was happy with the prospect of having a roof over my head for one night and happily looking forward to enjoying a good hot meal. I was further buoyed with cheerful optimism, after being fortified by an exceptional pasta Alfredo and a couple Mexican beers at a kind of out-of-place Italian restaurant. My spirits further soared after experiencing a delightful slumber in a real bed that night. Well rested, the next morning, certainly still in full on denial mode, whilst enjoying a good cup of coffee in a darling little cafe situated right next to the motel, I felt renewed, regenerated, reborn, like I had a fighting chance to finish the full route. It is amazing how a good ten hour sleep can make one’s situation seem so much better!
9. When one gets old, it hurts a lot when you fall off your bicycle and land on rocks that are the size of volleyballs. The AZTR really did a number on me. I had to keep reminding myself that the AZT route is a hiking trail and that it was not designed by some maligned force whose sole mission was to destroy me both physically and mentally. I am serious, being totally honest, I had to continuously cognitively work through the fact that this trail was NOT out to get me. That it was not personal. I’d quietly repeat to myself over and over (in an effort to try and calm my frazzled nerves), “The AZT is a very rugged trail designed for hikers, that is why those on bicycles are required to partake in a significant percentage of hike-a-bike sessions. It is not personal. The trail is not against us.” Some days I hiked half the time! It was so frustrating. If I am serious about another attempt- Next time I need to wholly accept and prepare, without complaint or angst, the mindset that I WILL be doing a lot of hike-a-bike up rocky talus and spree. I need to accept that pushing and lifting ones bike for hours upon hours up a steep boulder-field is fun and builds character. I will need to accept that walking down a steep slope as the pedals repeatedly ram up into my shins is good for me and allows me to savor quiet, special moments in a beautiful setting. Of course, this time around, instead of finding joy in these forever hike-a-bike sessions, I’d get into these hyper-episodes of self-loathing coupled with unproductive emotional, even tearful tirades blaming the world for the terrible trail conditions I was confronting. I remember screaming curse words of all flavors contemning anyone and everyone I could think of including the GOP, the Dems, Rep. Paul Gosar, the state of Arizona, the Arizona DNR, the architects of the trail, the volunteer trail workers, the paid trail workers, the race director (who is a saint, by the way) and even those riders that were way ahead of me and seemingly enjoying themselves, while I languished. I vividly remember repeatedly and hysterically ranting out loud, “How the #$^@ can they be riding this!” Or “How the *%^$ do they expect me to ride this?” ‘Who built this piece of %$#^? Or simply, “This is #$%^ing insane! This can’t be the right trail!” To be honest, I am not sure who I meant when I kept blaming “them.” All I can say is that it was a pathetic, irrational scene that played out over and over again and did nothing other than to take me deeper into a dark place. Yeah, that course really beat me up.
10. Apart from numerous little crashes, I fell hard three times. The third time really rattled me and was a main factor in my decision to quit the race and ride my bike to Mesa, AZ (and find a rental car so as to get up north to retrieve my car that was parked in Sedona, AZ-near the finish). In general, the AZT descents are very tricky, dicey, dangerous, etc., requiring bike handling skills that go well beyond my abilities. So I ended up walking a lot of the downhill sections which was incredibly frustrating given that one would have to push up the hills and then not be able to enjoy the downhills. About 366 miles into it (on Day #10, well in last place), at night, I was going fast on a relatively easy descent when I hit a soft sandy spot and was thrown off my bike, hitting hard on my left hip and elbow. I bent my handlebars, broke my left brake handle, smashed the light that was affixed to the handlebars, and lost a full liter of water. The bottle seemingly disappeared in the “nether world.” It really shook me up! Making the whole enterprise seem foolhardy, rather desperate, my will greatly shaken. That was the beginning of the end for me. I started to question the whole enterprise. Note, there was only about ten hours of sunlight each day which meant hours of night riding. After this final crash, I pushed on only as far as I had to before I found a relatively flat place and set up a bivy camp. I was too sore and played out to sleep much, I laid there for a long time, eyes open, wrestling with a sense of “great, overwhelming loneliness.” I think I finally fell into a tormented semi-sleep state and awoke a broken man. I was played out. Done in. During the nighttime I gave way to negative thoughts admitting for the first time that I was in over my head, overmatched, and that I did not have the talent or more importantly, the will power to finish it. I was on that slippery slope of defeatism. It is so hard to climb back out once the slippage starts to gain momentum. A dreadful theme kept running through my head, inspired by one of my favorite writers, that “This ain’t no country for old men.” The good news is that I am on the mend as my left hip and lower back are feeling better, each day improvement is noted! Funny how the optimist in me always remembers the good stuff and actively tries to suppress the bad. Although feeling a bit stronger each day (I am back to riding my bike on a daily basis), unfortunately due to the constant lifting and pushing the bike up the boulder fields so ubiquitous or abundant along the Arizona Trail, I have developed an umbilical hernia, which will need to be fixed by an easy operation. A minor, albeit expensive setback (due to abysmal Medicare benefits). Lots of old men end up with repairable hernias. It’s like my dad used to say, as his body started to fall apart, "Getting old ain't for sissies." In any event, I am already planning my next adventure involving a go at Baja Divide, leaving in early February. “ I mean I am retired and I don’t do well in Bingo or with crossword puzzles.
Conclusion
In conclusion, it was worth it, even though it was kinda expensive and time consuming. I learned a lot. Participating in the AZTR really forced me out of my comfort zone. This is a real, full on, unsupported, wilderness mountain bike race. It will test the best and destroy the unprepared. No way any of those fancy-pants gravel bikes could make it along the AZT. One has to be comfortable riding (and hiking) alone on really difficult terrain, camping alone, solving problems alone. Having a big motor, the ability to ride long distances, day after day is required, but will only get you so far on this race course. In short, apart from being a fit endurance mtb rider, this event requires a multitude of skills including expert bike-handing skills on really tough terrain as well as solid coping mechanisms in dealing with exhaustion, thirst, hunger, and wide temperature swings. For guys like me, an acceptance that one will be putting in a significant percentage of time pushing one’s bike both up and down long segments and that one needs to prepare for both very hot and very cold temperatures is a necessity. I think for the most part the 2025 racers enjoyed perfect conditions in terms of weather. In my case, I was lucky in that it was never very hot during the day, the nighttime temperatures were comfortable, and the mornings were refreshingly cool. On a couple occasions it rained, but not for long and it had the positive effect of cooling the desert.” During the weeks prior to the start of the AZTR, the area had enjoyed a lot of rain (causing the trail to be especially rutted out in places), and so the desert was colored a beautiful green, an almost florescent, bright, otherworldly green. I must admit to changing my thinking on the desert, finding the AZT’s environment with its massive sandstone spires, Dr. Seuss-like plant life, and horny, spiky, creepy desert critters (like lizards, scorpions, tarantulas, and the Bushy Tailed Woodrat), stunningly beautiful in a bizarre sorta way, so different from what I am used to living in Northern, Minnesota where the landscape is dominated by glacial lakes, tall pine trees, and domesticated whitetail deer. Considering my interactions with the locals, a welcoming committee of Bushy Tailed Woodrats one night chewed up nearly all the straps on my backpack. Generously, they left me enough to work with, but just barely. Afterwards, learning my lesson, each night I always hung my pack off the ground, sometimes on a tree but most of the time (since appropriate trees were rare), hanging off my handlebars. I saw lots of these little rodents, to be honest they’re pretty cute. Also, every night, I would encounter what I think was a kind of smallish owl. The lights on my bike and helmet would give the bird’s eyes an eerie reddish glow. The bird would allow me to ride or walk right up to it before it would dramatically fly straight up and then land just a short distance up the trail. I’d watch it land again, its eyes glowing red, seemingly waiting for me to arrive. Once again as I came very close, the bird would again fly straight up and land a little ways ahead of me. It would repeat this game for a considerable time and distance, over and over again. I found it fascinating and even a bit endearing. Plus it helped to pass the time. On three different nights I encountered a rattle snake. Each time I spied them just as they spied me. For a short period a stalemate would ensue and then slowly, casually, as if it had made its point, the serpent would slither away into the bush. The first time I saw a rattler, I was a little unsettled, but quickly composed myself, conceding all claims to territory dominance right away to the locals. After all, I was the intruder just passing through, while these animals were long time residents. What I was most worried about was getting stung by a scorpion. I did spot several of them on the trail, but never up close. Be careful when lifting stones, etc. I think one gets stung when the scorpion is surprised to see you and feels trapped. That’s fair, I was told that the best precaution is to make yourself known when moving across these critter’s territory. Tarantulas were also present, but they seemed to mind their own business. It also requires solid navigational skills as well as the ability to solve complex logistical problems. One also needs to be moderately skilled as a bike mechanic. I promise that you are going to have bike problems and so you will need to know how to make basic fixes. Chances are excellent that you will have tire problems including significant tears in the sidewalls. Early on, I think it was the second day out, I came upon Thomas Lane (check this for spelling) from Texas. An old guy, like me, but unlike me a full on AZT warrior. Using a heavy duty needle and thread, he was just finishing suturing up (like putting stitches in to close a gapping wound) a big tear on the sidewall of his rear tire. It was an expressive sight and demonstrative of the self-supportive ethos required if one wants to finish the full course. Lane was not to be denied, finishing in 17 days, 8 hours, and 55 minutes” It is a good bet that you will bend your derailleur hanger, break spokes, and that you’ll have to change brake pads. All while on the trail getting grabbed at by merciless cactus plants equipped with needle sharp spikes. At times I felt like a character in The Wizard of Oz where the trees are out to get me. Needless to say, I fell short in several of these categories. I think I was, in fact, mentally tough enough to finish it, what got me was not being up to the required bike handling skills coupled with not having access to adequate navigational needs. Finally the three big crashes were the closing nails in my coffin.
Plan of Action Going Forward
It helps me to write my thoughts out when prepping for a long trip, so finally here is my overall generalized, long term plan of action to prepare for success on next October on the AZT:
I’ll box up the bike (and gear) and fly into Tucson airport. No more overland driving 1800 miles and sleeping along the way @ rest areas. Arrive fully rested and relaxed. At the finish, the plan is to get to Flagstaff and from there, get the bike boxed up, and fly home.
I’ll use the same shuttle service to get down to the start. Remember to bring a sixpack of beer to share with my AZT buddies.
I’ll have a smartphone and all the apps and I’ll know how to use it efficiently.
Same bike, same basic kit (clothing was spot on), but maybe swap bivy for my MSR solo tent and for certain swap accordion-type foam pad for a more comfortable inflatable pad.
Bring a warmer sleeping bag or bring a down jacket.
Bring a slightly larger and sturdier backpack.
Be able to carry 8 liters of water, but start with five and usually five is enough. I often carried too much water. Water is heavy.
Stay with the strategy of mailing accessory gear to the Grand Canyon to assist with the GC hiking section.
Plan on and commit to 18 to 22 days to complete.
Practice riding sketchy rocky descents with a fully loaded bike.
Practice and design weight lifting sessions designed to emulate pushing and lifting my fully loaded bike.
Do lots of hike-a-bike sessions.
Using trackleaders archives (combined with info gleaned from the One of Seven Project), research the daily patterns, resupply points, approximate camping sites, etc. of riders that finished the route within the approximate time frame of 16 to 20 days. From this info. develop a reasonable daily plan for mileage goals and resupply points. Have this info printed out and lamented for easy use while on route. Do not plan on riding more than 12 hours a day. More than that is unsustainable for me and will lead to exhaustion. Be realistic when planning daily mileage goals and work in a couple rest days or at least a couple half days. Plan of staying in the motel @ Superior, AZ. In short, no more flying blind.
Loading the AZTR route onto the Coros Dura. Have the route broken into manageable sections (like break it down into 8 segments) as opposed to having the full 800 plus route to work through. Breaking it down will make it easier to determine accurate daily mileage gained, etc.
Spend the money and get a new lighting system. Do some research.
Reach out to Kara W. and others for advice. Develop a series of questions. For example, ask advice on where to stay (motels) on the second half of the route, etc. Also, ask about using platform pedals and hiking boots and the use of a “bike-lifting strap.”
Most importantly, arrive and start the thing knowing full well that suffering, frustration, fear, and loathing awaits down the trail. Try to embrace the hardship and more importantly make a concerted, conscious effort to celebrate and marvel at the beauty and remoteness that is so apparent along this true natural treasure. Take pictures, a lot of pictures.
Acknowledgements:
Finally, a public thank you to the following people who were especially important in making this trip even possible and having positively influenced my life’s path forward. Brad Johnson, thank you for allowing me to keep my car at your beautiful home in Sedona. John Shilling (AZTR Director), thank you for putting on this event. It is an obvious labor of love. I am sure that everyone that partakes thanks you. Thank you to my daughter, Sophie, for helping me to find my way to the bike shop. My kid always comes through! She is rock solid. And it can’t be easy being that closely related to me. I am obsessively proud of my daughter. Thanking Scotty and Sara Kylander-Johnson for helping me design and put to use Sara’s old framepack set-up. We designed it to allow me to carry the bike and gear across the Grand Canyon. I did not get to test our creation, another reason why I have to go back. Finally thank you to Rosscoe and the team @ Ski Hut in Duluth. They also do a great job on my bicycles and they are also super fun to be around. You can’t ask for more than that.
Endnote:
*A pet peeve of mind is the ubiquitous misuse of the term, “awesome.”
According to Webster: Awesome means-Extremely impressive or daunting; inspiring great admiration, apprehension, or sheer fear. Like in “…the awesome power of the atomic bomb.” Or more fitting in the context of this document, “The awesome indifference of the rugged and remote Arizona Trail.” My point is that “awesome” is a descriptive term used to convey a kind of power that is otherworldly, even unknowable, and should be feared. So it is incorrect to write that the successful Esko’s girl’s volleyball team did ]enjoy an “awesome” season. However one could rightly exclaim, “The awesome boulderfield that comprises what is known as the Lemon Pusch is designed to force grown men to cry for their mommies.” But I digress…
