Whiskey Off Road

Cycling is a powerful drug: with a single taste, one is continually dissatisfied with their last high.

"Long" 3 hour rides turn into 4 hour rides, which turn into 5 hour rides, which turn into 6 hour rides and so on. Training turns from a casual organization of rides with buddies into an obsession with optimizing power and performance. Cross country races that left you shattered just a few years ago no longer provide the same challenge to your lungs, legs and mental toughness. Satisfying personal goals to move up one category sparks the fire that drives you to make the leap from the amateur ranks to professional.

It is not without coincidence that my addiction to cycling has led me to events like the Whiskey Off Road - a 50mi 'marathon' XC in Arizona's high country. This event sounded brutally challenging, so naturally i had to see what it was all about.

Lee, Kevin and I departed at 7:00am on Friday morning - heading towards the small town of Prescott, AZ.

I couldn't figure out why my tires kept losing air on the drive out.

Upon arriving, we unpacked our things, kitted up, and headed out for a cruise through town.

After picking up our race packets and schmoozing with the local cycling folk, Lee and I rode up highway 89 for a few miles to open up our car-cramped legs. It also gave me a chance to dial in my optimal saddle angle.

Well lets see now... the race!

I started in a field of 110 '50 proof' racers at 9:00am - including the likes of "Jungle" Jay Henry and Floyd Landis. The race started in the middle of town with an official police escort up the road to where the singletrack started. I was able to pick my way through the camelbacks, threadbare Pearl Izumi shorts and hairy legs to the top 15 where i rode for the majority of the race.

Myself and the lead singlespeeder - a Sho-Air rider named Mike - rolled through the dry, Altadena-esque singletrack, eventually hitting a long fireroad descent that dropped us from around 6500' to 4200'. We then turned around and climbed WAY up from Skull Valley to the highest peak Prescott had to offer. After being dropped like a bad habit on the penultimate 17mi climb, I'm pretty sure my body decided to burn brain cells for fuel. As i rolled into the final 13 mile singletrack descent i could barely react fast enough to keep from going ass over tea kettle on the shaley alpine trails.


As luck would have it, though, i managed to catch a second wind (maybe all those gels i scarfed finally kicked in) a few miles into the descent home. A drift here - a roost there - and i was jamming down a killer stretch of forested singletrack, mojo in full swing. Upon hitting a short intermittent climb, i passed two other '50 proofers' who had obviously cracked, and were walking their bikes. I rode past them without dabbing once, and kept it pinned all the way to where the trail spat me onto the paved road. From there i locked my fork, threw it into 11, and put my head down and time trialed to the finish.

I finished to an enthusiastic crowd in downtown Prescott - placing 11th out of 110 starters.

The boys got back to the motel about an hour and a half later, and we all headed into town and collapsed in the courthouse lawn, followed by a much-deserved mexican food dinner.

All in all - i have to say this was the hardest race i have ever done in my life. I've never had to dig so deep just to keep my legs moving. But as with any race like this - the satisfaction of knowing you finished, despite near-bonk hallucinations and severe fatigue, far offsets any temporary pain felt in the moment.