I’ve gone all year, through the Rim Ride, KTR, Crested Butte, and loads of long rides all over the place without getting more than a tiny bit confused. On Saturday, my number was up.

Chad, M, and I piled two bikes, three people and all endless camping and cycling gear into our Xterra and got on the road in a timely fashion Friday afternoon. Mind, our Xterra is custom, in that the rear seats and carpeting have been removed to create space for a plywood sleeping platform and (as previously expounded), our home in the past. So, one lucky volunteer got nesting duty while in route, which proved useful as M added my debt to her by pulling night driving duty and allowing both Chad and I to sleep quite a bit during the long, dark miles from Flagstaff to Santa Fe. I took over from there, and we found a river access dirt lot 15 miles south of Taos and bedded down for 4 hours.

Arizona’s disavowal of daylight savings time bites driving east, as for us the race started at 0530. We were the second car in the lot, but by far the least prepared and left scrambling to gather the tiny details before the train rolled out. My breakfast was the bit of yogurt I didn’t spill on my sweater and crotch while driving in the dark, and some hastily chugged coffee.

In a few blocks we turned east, and were subjected to a (in hindsight) predictable down-canyon morning breeze. The locals went hard, and my legs felt like crap (as usual) so I took it fairly easy and slid back place after place until the dirt began. We hit a few fun little trails on the south side of the road, then crossed over and began the serious work of the day, climbing.

Established, rocky trail down low led to more loamy soil and the Capulin trail, a faint, occasionally washed off track switchbacking endlessly through scrub oak and the occasional cactus. I was feeling warmed up and having fun at this point, though I found very few of the turned out switchbacks rideable. It was some interesting riding, quality on-the-bike bushwaking with cool transition fauna and good views of Taos and the plains. It ended with a quality 600′ vertical of hike-a-bike, and the end of the days first and biggest climb. The rest of the North Boundary Route (it’s not a trail by any definition, a good thing), was pieced together fireroads traversing the southern edge of the crest, gradually ascending with plenty of ups and downs.

It felt good to make miles, pushing a stout gear with the only thought given to dodging mud puddles. My pace felt sustainable, and buisness proceeded as usual until the final fire road section.

This section was rather long, to say the least, and the climbing constantly characterization was accurate. I tried to keep momentum by resisting the urge to be lazy and drop to far into granny; the grades were hardly ever very steep by unrelenting. A good ways along I made the mistake of thinking that I might almost be done, which I was except for the one long descent, shortish and steep climb, and other long descent with annoying wire gates. At the gates I was caught by Steve from Oregon on his Lenz Revelation, screaming awesome purple and one of two in existence. Normally a full suspension singlespeed, he had slapped on the tall part of an Ultegra cassette for the sake of efficiency. My big ring didn’t keep him from putting a few hundred yards on me during the descent.

We made the sag wagon, refilled on water, and I reconnected with Chad and others. Whether they made a route finding error or we skipped part of the route is still unclear to me. In any case, I was feeling sustainably tired and had a certain eye on finishing as Chad pulled away from me after Bull Meadow on the Eliot Barker trail. I kept up a good mix of riding and walking through the technical bits, until a short and fun descent through the trees and THE TURN.

Black Sheep SS’er from Boulder had warned me about this one, about how the stump marker was hard to see and it was easy to go right on the obvious fire road. Which is exactly what I did. In the zone, blissful ignorance, obstinancy, or a semi-conscious desire to create an excuse to bail could all well be factors. In sum, I found myself at least 1.5k down off to the side of the ridge I was supposed to be climbing before I started full brain function again, at which point I didn’t have the heart and/or inclination to keep suffering. A bailed down to the highway, and enjoyed a 20 mile scenic recovery spin in the big ring back to town. A quick stop in the shade of Baskin Robbins to call M and find her at Eske’s, and 20 minutes later I was out of the chamois, drinking a beer, and eating a greek salad festooned with dolma’s and feta.

Not a bad 9 hours out, and a great evening eating and drinking, scaring the other patrons and smelling funny. The social element is key, and Eske’s was a highlight setting for it. Chad got lost worse than I did, rode a ton of pavement miles, and made it back before dark. The finish to DNF ration was 50/50. They had excellent dark chocolate cake. The winner Jens, who is a stick and 7′ tall, drank a huge amount of beer. Everyone seemed psyched with the day. Matt didn’t get too much shit for a course where you earned every mile, and we went home happy.

No pictures of the days ride. Coming soon, Sunday’s exploration of Chaco Canyon.