On the Wild Side

Zia Rides Race Series #2: 12-Hours in the Wild West 

(May 12, 2012) Ft. Stanton, NM – The day began with the strains of Willie Nelson drifting across the venue reminding everyone not to let their babies grow up to be cowboys. This was as appropriate an opener as one could get, because the cowboys and cowgirls showed up in force in Ft. Stanton, NM near the beautiful mountain resort town of Ruidoso. And as the song states, "He ain't wrong, he's just different” – a line that would apply to just about anyone, male or female, that considers participating in an endurance mountain biking event.

They traveled from as far as Austin, TX and Boulder, CO for a chance to see who could ride the most laps withing a 12 hour period on some of the most beautiful trails to be found in New Mexico. But the opportunity to do so would be contested by Mother Nature herself as an unseasonable downpour brought much needed rain to the Ruidoso area on the evening before the race.

That did not deter the solo, duo and riders of teams of three and four persons from dropping by in a steady stream at The Bike Shop in downtown Ruidoso for packet pickup. Spirits were high and camaraderie apparent as racers met and chatted about plans for tomorrow. Many stayed in hotels nearby, while others camped at the venue about forty minutes away on highway 220, just off the Capitan Highway near historic Ft. Stanton. The Bike Shop was one of the major sponsors of the race, who also fielded several riders.

Zia Rides, the promoter of this the second of their Zia Rides Series, were wary of weather that might thwart their plans after a freak snowstorm brought the Dawn 'Till Dusk season opener to an early ending. Safety being an overriding concern, they were hoping for a break in the weather that would allow the race to proceed. After off and on rain through the night, and an hour's delay to the start of the race, they got their wish.

The morning of the race brought the clear skies that everyone was hoping for. The Sheriff's Posse were on hand to help along with Search and Rescue, who patrolled the course on horseback during the race. The Old West aura they lent was fully appropriate given the title of the event, but more importantly, their services helped ensure the safety of everyone participating. Teams lined up for a riding start at 9 AM and began competition for category wins as well as such honors as “best team name” and “fastest lap”, among others. The course proved to be one of the fastest ever as the parched earth drank up the welcome rain and the warm sun did the rest. Some of the course was on jeep trails, but much of it was on single track where the fresh tread marks formed a perfect ribbon that defined the line of choice amongst riders that day.

The course features some beautiful views and amazing vistas, but to get there, riders had to climb. At the top of one of the steepest hills sat “Whiskey Station,” sponsored by Therapy Associates, which offered beleaguered riders a bit of wild-west hospitality in the form of a shot of whiskey.

Several riders commented that the hill seemed to get steeper and steeper with every lap. But if a stiff drink wasn't the reward one was looking for, the second pass by Whiskey Station also brought the beginning of the amazing downhill section. The hard-packed mountain dirt made conditions near ideal for allowing riders to go as fast as they dared from that point on.

 As testament to the quality of the conditions over the ten-plus mile loop, the honor of fastest lap went to Tim Bolton of Klimit Coaching at a smoking 43 minutes and 11 seconds. A member of a duo team rounded out by Alex Christenson, they battled closely with the ultimate victors in the duo male category, Daniel King and Rob Shaver, who rode an amazing 13 laps with an average time of 49:36 as team Mid-Life Crisis.

Interesting names appear to be a hallmark of these races. Riders voted for the best out of all entrants and locals Paul Regalado and Cody Thurston took that honor with Hold My Beer and Watch This. Those participating in their first 12-hour event received a treat in the form of a confection known as “The Big Cherry”, which added a bit of fun to the awards ceremony.

Continuing with race results, however, the solo single-speed category was taken over by Bradley Berger of Bach Builders, who rode 11 laps total (yes, that's right: one gear, eleven laps). The female solo category went to Ligia Ford (Wheelin' and Dealin') with seven laps to her credit. Matt Barkley, sponsored by Orange Seal Cycling and Texas Cycle Werks, along with Greg Leschisin both rode eleven laps in the solo male category, with Matt pulling off the win with a lead of just over four minutes.

The duo women's category was taken by Helen Morell and Angie Cline – team Dirtgirlz – with seven laps total. Finally, the co-ed team winners were Jill Hueckman and Leslie Handy (Trek Store/Bandwagon) who pulled off 11 laps with almost 40 minutes to spare. Several other teams also managed to crank out 11 laps before the the sun set on the end of the race at the appointed 8 PM official finish time.

 But before that occurred, teams and individuals watched the encroaching weather and had to decide when to call it a day. Around 7 PM, hard rain was just over a mile away as it seemed to magically skirt the course itself as it soaked nearby territories. And though the rain was encroaching, the sun shone brightly underneath the cloud cover, forming a spectacular double rainbow that was breathtaking to behold.

Ultimately though, the race did not end early and the awards ceremony began promptly at 8:01 PM. Maybe a little luck was due to the hard-working crew of staff and volunteers that compose Zia Rides, led by Lindsay Mapes, who's organization has secured the location of the 2013 and 2014 USA Cycling Mountain Bike 24-Hour National Championships to be held in Gallup, NM. Poised at the cusp of what may be a meteoric rise to fame as one of the greatest venues in endurance mountain biking in the United States, those registered for this years “24-Hours in the Enchanted Forest” will have it to themselves for one more year before about 300 or so of the nation's best mountain bike riders meet there in 2013. Unless, of course, “the best” have been riding there all along... Only time will tell. See you there!

La Tierra de Santa Fe

I had the pleasure of spending part of a weekend in Santa Fe recently and was originally going to do two separate posts, but as I sit down to write this, I think one would be better as it would better highlight the contrast between the two places in which I had time to ride.
Taking the advice of a friend, I'd decided on riding in one place: La Tierra trails northwest of the city. His suggestion for figuring out where to ride in an unfamiliar region was to "ride where the races are". Makes sense to me, especially in retrospect. Just next weekend, the 2012 La Tierra Torture takes place and I had the good fortue of giving some of the trails a pre-ride. I didn't inspect the actual course map or try to follow the beginner's or pro's course in any way -- I just went out and did it.

Someone had told me that I would love Santa Fe trails because they weren't dirt and rock, but more like the crusher-fines you find in people's driveways. That was certainly the case, and I couldn't ask for a better surface. The terrain was much like the surrounding neighborhoods -- low to medium sized hills with some evergreenish vegetation (somewhere between a tree and a bush) along with the occasional cactus. But the trails! It was like one long, continuous twisty-curvy roller-coaster ride. I kept it slow, worrying about an imminent washout or some other hazard, but it never did materialize. Other than the lingering sun occasionally getting in my eyes or the couple of oncoming riders I had to keep and eye out for, it was like the dessert cart at a buffet: nothing but sweets!

I didn't take my camera with me on the ride itself, so the cell-phone pics will have to do. As far as racing there goes: well, that could be interesting depending on the course. The single track is very single, but there are sections that open up and allow for two or even three riders to ride abreast. Choosing when and where to pass could be dictated mostly by where one is able to pass. Make the wrong decision and blow a lung while climbing a steep hill and the rider behind d you may not be very happy with your decision... I'll have to remember to read the race reports.
Moving on then, to the second of my rides: the Chamisa Trail in the Santa Fe National Forest. Again with an element of randomness, I struck out east and hoped to find a place to ride. I found this trail just before Hyde State Park of NM 475. The trail offered easy access with plenty of parking and a couple of smiling, happy mountain bikers loading up their gear after a ride. I didn't see easy again while out on the trail. Apparently 'easy' decided to hang at the car while I went out and learned my lesson.
Here is a picture of me, the intrepid explorer, and the innocuous map-o-doom shown behind me, but in a close-up.

One of the returning riders pointed me in the direction of the trailhead. It looked more like what I liked to ride on, so I ignored the wide gravel path also leading away from the parking lot that people walking their dogs seemed to prefer. There were some rocks at the start, but nothing someone from southern New Mexico would even stop to sneeze at, so I plowed on up the hill. I eventually began to question the wisdom of my decision as the trail just seemd to climb forever. And it was narrow. And it was on a 45-degree slope. The voices in my head won and told me life would be much better on the gravel path. After all, I couldn't actually see any mountain-bike tracks on this trail. Surely I misunderstood the guy at the trailhead. Mountain bikes were obviously meant for the improved gravel path, to be shared with dogs, people walking their dogs and old ladies with walkers. I reversed direction and made my way back down.
Now back in my comfort zone, apparently (whether I was willing to admit it or not), I headed up the path and figured I would at least see some nice scenery and not end up becoming a training exercise for the local search-and-rescue group. The trail I was on though didn't really seem to behave either. Soon, it turned to single track rolling dirt and I was bouncing between my best granny gear and maybe one or two above that as I climbed. And climbed. And climbed.
Soon the trail began to get really difficult and I began to listen to the little voices in my head telling me about the string cheese waiting in the cooler back at the car. I ignored them. I hadn't really gone but a mile. Ok, maybe a half-mile. I wasn't done yet. So while waiting for a couple of hikers to slip and slide their way down the trail ahead of me, I told myself that this section was probably not representative of what lie ahead. Shouldering my bike, I made my way up and saw the trail did indeed look sort-of rideable. I kept on till the next series of tree roots and washout ruts in the trail that made me hop off and push my bike for a hundred yards or so.
Making light conversation with a woman and her husky, and trying to appear as if I weren't dying, I learned that the pass that led down to the next valley was indeed not too far ahead, and that it would be worth it to continue on. The dog had nothing to say to me at all. I learned that from the lady, who also assured me that she'd seen several mountain-bikers out that day. I wonder where she got ahold of my disbelief? Surely nothing I said...
Just up the path, under the guise of stopping to take a picture, I rested a bit more. Really, was this all that bad? That was probably the precursors of HACE talking. By the way, did I mention all this was happening in between 8000 and 9000 feet of elevation? Thought I'd throw that in.

I stopped at the top just ahead and found a contour map on a sign and tried to calculate how many feet I'd climbed in the last mile and a quarter. I finally narrowed it down to somewhere between 400 and a million. I decided against any descent other than back to the car. I couldn't fathom continuing on, down the other side of the hill, knowing I'd eventually have to make my way back. However, the original trail I'd set out on did meet up at this point also, so I took that option and made my way back, brakes imploring me all the way, "why are you making us do all the work!". Shut up brakes. Do your job and we all get string cheese and the privilege of living another day.
So, to wrap this up, what can I say? Is it all about my lameness and inability come to haunt me? Of course not. I would never draw such conclusions on scant data. Obviously, there is but one thing to assume: Santa Fe mountain bikers are all completely insane, steroid-humping masochists. It was pretty though. One last photo to show, hopefully, that I wasn't suffering from oxygen deprivation when enjoying the view. Now please excuse me, I need to see about revising my training plan...