24Hours in the Old Pueblo
an exploration in elective discomfort
In the moment, probably like many other people, I tend to choose immediate comfort over discomfort. There are various ways people seem to get around this very human trait, whether it be discipline, perspective, behaviorism. For myself, I like to sign myself up for things ahead of time, when the potential for discomfort is more easily eclipsed by potential for “rad times” and “cred”. Then, by way of contractual obligation, either social or financial, I find myself committing without issue.
One such event was this weekend’s 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo. A world-renowned event in which something like 4000 people congregate in the desert north of Tucson AZ to ride mountain bikes for a full 24 hours (whether as a team or solo).
As soon as I developed something resembling fundamental mountain biking skills, this event seemed like a must-do. Even better, I would be joined by a few of my close friends and cycling peers from ASU. So, $700 later, we are signed up.
Come event weekend: the feeling that occupies my mind is one of anticipation of good riding, leisurely socializing at the campsite and all-around good fun. As such, I have not so much as really considered what an overnight mountain bike relay would actually entail. The nature of my busy life leading to literally no mountain bike practice in the last month and a half. Add to that, all forecasts pointed to a wet, cold rainy weekend in southern Arizona. Despite all that, it was easy to deny any possibility of mounting trepidation. If I don’t give myself time to dwell on the realities of a situation, my capacity for denial can be fierce.
A combination of late arrival and disjointed camp locations diminished the amount of leisure possible Friday night. It was okay, cheap beers and socializing still took place. Due to an unfortunate tent placement, sleep that night was relegated to short stints between rolling and sliding off my pool toy mattress in the direction of the ground’s negative slope. Still, morning held promise of #coffeeoutside and group breakfast.
Somehow in the duration required to boil and brew an aeropress, all but 3 bites of breakfast burrito filling were cooked *and* consumed, leaving me slightly hungry.
The next couple of hours rushed by with registration and Team Captains meeting (somehow by virtue of having a credit card to pay the steep registration fee, I was team captain). I had my first sighting of Lance Armstrong #HEDUSPORT.
It was also decided I would be going last out of our five team members. Though the race started at 12 noon, this extended my fantasy of leisurely weekend til after 6. In the meantime I experimented with Rolling Rock and TANG (#povertymode beermosa/Papago Orange Blossom, you’re welcome). My college and bike touring companion Nathan came out with the intention of camping and partying with us. But soon a microcell of cold rain had a chilling effect on any feeling of leisure still left with us.
This outburst of weather also halted my plans to relocate my campsite to the RV spot, and the remainder of my pre-lap hours were dedicated to saving what I could from the threat of wetness.
As I dutifully and anxiously awaited my lap in the In N Out tent p/b in-n-out, my chances of riding in any amount of daylight dwindled. The minutes ticked by and I worried that my teammate Aaron was either dead or dying on the side of the trail somewhere. Truthfully, he simply had to learn the hard way that a Passione Celeste paint job does not make one immune to flats, especially when Cholla buds are present.
And so off I went, into the setting sun! The trail conditions were almost perfect, tacky but not sloppy. Light conditions were less perfect, but I knew the trail was not overly technical, and I wasn’t planning on railing corners anyway. Thanks to abundant layering and my water-proof Cadence jacket (this thing has truly paid for itself over and over again), the damp coolness of the desert night made for a truly sublime feeling in the air.
If you’ve never ridden desert (specifically southern AZ) trails at night, the first comparison that came to my mind was that of an old school PC shooter or role-playing game in the dark, wherein the draw distance is rather low thanks to the limitations of the graphics card. So you had baddies and dungeon features (aka mesquite trees and cholla cacti) popping into your visibility only briefly before disappearing behind you.
One feature of the 24HOP racecourse is a section called ‘The Bitches’. This refers to a series of steep rolling jeep-road hills. Their endearing moniker refers to the comparative length and difficulty of the climbs pretty early on in the course. Additionally, the descents can net you some decent speed, which is prudent to carry up the next hill, but can be dangerous if you aren’t paying close attention to the road. If you aren’t careful, you can blow yourself up trying to go to hard on these hills and have a lot less energy left for the last 12 miles, or catch a wheel in one of the ruts in the road. I can attest that I was definitely already feeling tired after this segment, but thankfully remained rubber-side-down.
The rest of the lap was filled with beautiful misty night time singletrack through the desert. I stopped at the whiskey tree to take a sip from my own flask. Aside from stumbling on a couple of semi-technical sections, mostly because of the dark, the lap finished smoothly (with no night rock-drop mind you, I’m not a risky person!)
Scott collected the baton and I headed back to the camper to eat and sleep before my next lap. I was greeted with a freshly cooked brat and the revelation that Aaron would not be riding anymore laps that night. My dedication to the prospect of a 24-hour run wavered and my motivational house of cards was weakened by this. “Scott Ben and I will do one more lap each and then make a decision about the rest of the night.” — declared Alissa. Alright! Decision making successfully delayed.
Regardless my potential 4-hour nap just got slashed by 25%, and faced with the prospect of trekking uphill in the cold dark night to my sloping tent, I decided to attempt a nap in the camper, subconsciously acknowledging I wouldn’t be riding any midnight laps. I managed to doze for several distinct nonzero lengths of time amidst stirring from the comings and goings of my vastly more dedicated bunkmates, Team Bonk (named, btw, for their fearless captain Alan Bonk, pun probably intended). I suffered some small anxiety knowing a modicum of responsibility for our team’s lapse in overnight participation rested on my own desire to rest, but ultimately I don’t really regret my (in)action. After all, we had nothing to prove, only stoke to cultivate, and that can’t be done on a powernap’s worth of sleep.
In the more respectable hours of the morning, I considered abandoning my repose (consisting of a thin down jacket across my legs in fetal position) in favor of the opportunity to see the sunrise, but my motivation was stifled by the knowledge that the morning is coldest just as the sunrises (when did I turn into such a wimp??). My indecision was cured by our fearless leader Scott Jones bursting forth into the camper proclaiming “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?? Who’s ready to ride! No one? Okay, here I go!”
I made breakfast for a few of us, and got ready to take my second lap after Alissa did hers. Fortunately for me, the continually-applied light rain and mountain bikers had turned the trail into a sort of slip ’n’ slide of mud. But for real, the traction was still pretty good, but these conditions were not going to be friendly to my bike or clothing.
And so I stood in the In N Out tent once again, for the last time. On this occasion, I was a fair bit colder, but thankfully the area heater p/b Pratt & Whitney was doing a great job keeping things toasty. Subconsciously I felt my anxiety climb again… who knows what the trail was going to be like?
This time around there was noticeably more potential for sliding as I made my way around the tighter singletrack at the beginning of the lap. When I made it to the trail fork for “The Bitches” and “Skip the Bitches” I chose the latter. And I’m glad I did! By avoiding the cascading fire-road climbs (the descents arewhat worried me most with the amount of mud on the road), I was rewarded with some great cresty and twisty singletrack with views for days (for DAAAAYS).
The rest of the lap proceeded without so much as a hitch. I found myself passing a few more people in the daylight than I did the night before, but still by no means setting fire to the trail. Lap #1, I had my garmin on in my backpack set to chirp every 5 miles, but I had no such indication of time or distance on lap #2, aside, of course from my legs, and my memory. I can happily say I cleared with some ease the mildly technical section that I previously had to walk in the dark. I knew after this portion, the end was nigh. My mission was simple: enter the transition tent before noon to allow our last teammate and standard-bearer for Team Drop Bar Army, Ben Mangilit. Knowing I was close to the end awakened a renewed energy in me, and I turned it up a notch or two for the homestretch. Not wanting to mess up a good thing, the risk-averse in me elected not to attempt the rock drop, even in the daylight (but I mean… it’s slippery this time!).
I cruised into the dismount area, rushed into the tent, saw Ben waiting for me. I fumbled around in my jacket and shortly produced the small wooden baton so he could carry the team home.
I exited the tent, reveling, not in any great success, but in finality and satisfaction in closure. To celebrate this, I knew I wanted to seal off my time in 24 Town with a beer. I got in line to buy a 4 Peaks beer ticket, but never had to, because the man in front of me bought one for me, likely in response to the mud caking my clothes and head.
I guess the main takeaway from this experience is this: you get out what you put in. If I had committed to riding my fair share of laps throughout the 24-hour period, I’d definitely have more to show for my weekend in the desert. I’d have felt like I accomplished something, and did something of note, despite the discomfort. However, I know I didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, and there is a limit to discomfort for fun’s sake.
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(Sorry I didn’t have more photos! I was busy being cold and wet and letting my iphone charge! Look up Damion Alexander Team on Facebook for candid shots of the event taken all weekend long)
Or, to see watermarked low-res photos, click the link below! https://www.sportograf.com/en/shop/search/3744 (race number 493)
