It seems almost besides the point to write the gritty details, but after discovering Jason’s blog this morning and grinning at memories of Spring Fling, I think it a task that must be done.

Things began, as they often do, with me sneaking out of work at the earliest possible moment. Besides being a teacher, the crowd control, therapeutic, and behavior managment aspects of what I do are often ill-defined. Occasionally the powers-that-be in my small pond try to use that ambiguity to push additional work on me. When this happens without prior consultation (as it did yesterday) I am not amused. Unlike some, I don’t buy into the company culture of putting in unpaid hours and never taking all of my PTO. It all adds up to the question: what do people without all-consuming habits do in their space time?

Chad and I have our priorities, however, and one of those is to never pass through Flagstaff without giving money for food at Tacos Los Altos. Even so, we made the drive in Gallup in a shade over four hours, interstate sobriety dragnet nonwithstanding. Packet pickup done, and off to camp in the dirt.

I was glad I brought the warm sleeping bag; 3 inches of solid ice in the nalgene at 0600. Good thing the first lap was changed to include a 5 mile road section, and Mr. SoAz-cold weenie-geared rider got the first lap. I did get out of my sleeping bag as a show of solidarity.

The irate couple camped next to us, riding as a duo and owning annoying dogs, said it got down to 13 degrees.

My first lap hurt. I had on knee and arm warmers and a wind shirt. My fingers and toes went numb on the initial climbing, and took most of the lap to come back. I was charging into corners hard to make time, braking too much and skidding as I figured out the course. It ended up being my fastest lap by a hair, but felt the worst in terms of flow and efficiency. Second time out I intended to fix that, and did. Now I was having fun and truly savoring the fantastic singletrack.

A good thing about riding laps?: getting to know each corner, climb, and rock. The course was astoundingly consistent, technical enough to be continually stimulating, but never particularly hard (except for that one spot..). Racing duo did pose one question, that fueling while solo would have been much more difficult. Even on my double laps I never managed to get down more than 1/2 a bottle per lap, there just aren’t many places to let go. On the other hand, getting going again each time was a bit difficult. Likely something that one could get used to, but very odd compared to 8-12 hour loop rides.

Chad sprung a leak on his last lap, clocking our slowest of the race. I watched the women I was pretty sure was our nearest competition ride away with a 15 minute lead. Not closeable.

I almost didn’t go out again, but more than anything wanted to ride the course one more time. It was a wise choice. We held off a bunch of folks by not too much in that last one, something I’ll think about in the future when I take my time peeing and enjoying the scenery.

Go to awards ceremony, eat free food, leave before awards, drive get sleepy, Chad takes over, sleep. Wak up in Flagstaff. Good to have a night person around sometimes.

Not good to follow said person’s advice, though trying to sleep in the Jordan Rd TH was my idea. The cop that woke us up at 2330 was the nicest guy that’s ever kicked me out of a place. He actually sent us to Midgely Bridge to sleep under the picnic shelter. Not too much continuous sleep, but is was quality (for me).

We had the classic enduro yardsale start in the parking lot. Not totally surprisingly, Harris showed up with a Levaithan and an anti-road riding plan, shoulder be damned. Lynda on her little SS, Max, Chad and I (the inner circle), the Flag crew(s), and a trio from NM. A good mix for an esoteric and difficult ride. On particular note was Randy Mason, doubly dangerous closet hardman now that he’s coasting and suspended. He had a 46×24 on his Aizan, the newest Flag trend being more chainwrap. Still seemed more than a bit tall to me.

It did occur to me that, especially riding a single, I might die. 30×18 or otherwise.

Rolling up the climb to Airport was a cluster, unavoidable, especially with so many folks going up it on a single. Harris got spined early on, and I pressed on, trying hard but not too hard to cultivate the properly relaxed confidence necessary for rocking the burly descent. It worked. Chad was a bit ahead of me, Lynda behind, and I was having a blast. A rode the TT on one almost-endo, but overall had a good run. A bit of cacti in my calf, and some in my knuckles. On Brewer I got ahead of Chad when he made a wrong turn, and used a bit of familiarity to gap the field on the descent. Competition, yeah!

Even if I died later, I was still having fun.

I hung with and off of Chad and Lynda up Mund’s, exploiting hiking strength whenever possible. Damfino wasn’t any more rideable than I recalled from the winter, though I did hit one gnarly off-camber slab to flat move; I was in it so quickly I had no choice.

The rest of the day was, well, the rest of the day. We caught a lost Max at the start of Jim Thompson, they dropped me when I settled into endurance pace, and I rode the rest of the day by myself, save for catching Chad fixing a flat a bit before 179 and the Circle K. Lordy that ice cream and gatorade was good. It was hot enough by then that my salty sweat was stinging my wounds, but I had pop left on the climbs, and motored along well enough. I stopped to pee on Broken Arrow and let Chad get ahead, it seemed that my prescence was slowing down his mind (and thus his legs) a bit. I missed the Mystic turn, suffered through Chapel, and ground out the rest well enough, save dying on the final climb up Ridge, cursing my genius for including it. As I knew I would.

9:09 course time, with an extra 9 minutes added by The Man for spite. I was damn satisfied with life.