I awoke to my alarm at 5 AM.
I was giddy. Like a kid on Xmas morning giddy. I hopped out of bed, threw my pajamas that were sitting on the floor next to my bed back on, got the coffee going and started my typical all veggie breakfast. And then went about organizing the final items for what I hoped would be a day spelunking in the pain cave. I gathered the bars, made sure the water was sufficient and then started to fuss about what I was going to wear. It was cold out and I knew it didn’t really matter. I would be cold to start out with and then sweating for the rest of the day. Nonetheless, I laid out the clothes planning on a couple of wardrobe changes and then got dressed.
I had a deep sense of what lie ahead. After all, I had shown up half-assed, hungover and somewhat ready to ride a bike in 2020. This year was different. This year I was curious.
Ten on Zen
For those of you uninitiated in Making Mountain Biking Hard Again, Ten on Zen was born just over a year ago. JT and I were at the shop on a slow autumn day reminiscing about the time we went on a sufferfest that amounted to something stupid, like moving for 13 hours in one day. And how rad that was and we should do something like that again.
Why? I don’t know.
Anyways… we were chatting about this and that and somehow the fact that I had pitched the idea of a 24 hour race on Zen to the BLM recently as a joke and they thought it was the most brilliant, albeit, brutal idea came up.
Why? I don’t know.
John was all about it. And he has a certain level of stoke that makes it really hard for me to say no. There was some back and forth, you know the “inventing” stage, and we ended up with Ten on Zen. Or in other words, attempt to ride Zen trail for ten hours.
Why? I’m not entirely sure other than curiosity.
Lap 1
Last year, as I alluded to above, I was not exactly prepared or excited to try to ride around Zen for ten hours. I showed up thinking we would take as long as physically possible on each lap to make sure that we did somewhere around the minimum of laps to make this a thing. I hadn’t ridden singlespeed in a minute and showed up with one gear, a really low gear, and hoped for the best. The first lap pretty much did me in. I tried to stay up front and the pace of the folks behind me almost killed me.
This year, I knew I couldn’t let that happen. You know cuz I was curious.
JT jumped out front. The planner followed and I was super content to bring up the rear just chugging along at my own speed. Harrison wasn’t ready when the gun went off, so he was several minutes back.
Cold legs churned the pedals. The icy air kept the conversation to a minimum and we quickly fell into a rythm. A rhythm that worked almost perfectly for me. Within the first few minutes of climbing my legs warmed up and pretty soon I was feeling good. It may have been the giddiness I was feeling that morning, but all I wanted to do was pedal.
Oh yea and I forgot my battery so I was climbing with a headlamp strapped to my helmet. Not exactly the best method of illumination.
Shelby and John hit the Jacker Stacker. And then SOB hill. I gave it a real effort (the year prior was a symbolic one) and didn’t make it. And then we kept climbing. The cold air froze to my lips and my beard started to get a bit frosty. Commitment issues? Yup. Keep pedaling.
My legs felt good and pretty soon we were at the top of Zen watching a crazy orange sunrise explode on the eastern horizon. Being the only one on a gearless bike and a hardtail, I sent JT and the Planner down the hill first. I was cold and had zero intention to pedal downhill. They dropped me pretty quick. The frigid air made my eyes water and I just wasn’t in the groove.
We dropped the Zen Drop, climbed Hell Hole and headed in to finish our first lap.
The giddiness was still there.
Lap 2
We ditched the lights, the extra gear we had started the day with and waited. JD was just a bit behind us and Harrison was behind him. JD came through, marked his lap and headed right back out. We stuck around until we were starting to freeze and then began the pedal back up to the top. The temperature felt like it had dropped and my breath stung as it froze to my lips. Other than that it was pretty much like the first. Climb, check the overlook, descend.
It was a pretty typical lap on Zen.
Lap 3
In 2020’s version of this ride, Lap 3 was when things kinda fell of the rails. I wasn’t prepared to ride a singlespeed, but that’s what I showed up on. The first two laps were faster than I was comfortable with and by the third lap, my legs were done. I sought out cheater lines, walked things I never had before and essentially was moving, but had also pretty much given up.
This year, I refilled my bottle, ate some cashews and a bar, and then I was ready to go back out. The Planner had decided it was time to get some video and was fussing around with his GoPro. As I started to cool down, I knew I would be in trouble if I didn’t get moving. I told them I would wait at the top and began the climb for the third time.
To my surprise, my legs still felt pretty damn good. On the really steep stuff, I could feel the burn and was reminded that I had been moving for a couple of hours already, but overall I was good to go. I dropped the Jacker Stacker, walked up SOB (50/50 move for me, but didn’t clean it once during Ten on Zen), Commitment Issues, Bathtub and then I was at the overlook.
Shelby and John had been just a bit behind me the whole time and I waited for them to reach the top. They had started after me and been attempting to get the camera to work, unfortunately, the battery was too cold and it was for naught. Based on the first two laps, I knew they would descend quicker than me and I was starting to cool down. I told them to yell when they caught me and wanted to pass and headed down.
I was finally feeling the groove on the descent railing the corners and enjoying the drops. I was surprised when I started up Hell Hole and they hadn’t caught me, but I knew at this point I just needed to keep moving because once I stopped, I would be done.
And as I mentioned, I was curious.
Lap 4
There’s a moment when your brain kind of stops working. It’s always hard for me to pinpoint the exact moment this happens. Probably because it comes on slowly, blocking out certain moments, embracing others. Many talk about closing the door and entering the pain cave. I think getting in there is a bit more of a journey. It takes a while to walk down the corridor leading to the actual entrance. It’s a process. You can’t just show up, knock on the door and walk in. You have to go through a few hours of good, happy times before you find your vision has blinders on, your body isn’t talking to your brain anymore and you are in another state of mind. Just getting to the pain cave’s door can be hard.
Lap 4 was my walk down that corridor.
Lap 5
Having walked down that corridor before, I knew something of what was in there. Lap 5 was our last lap in 2020. We threw in the towel. We were done. It had turned into a social party and the beer lap came after 8 hours and nobody seemed to0 upset about that. This was the lap was where my questions were. Could I do 5 laps again? Most likely. How about 6? Could I have fun doing 6? Was 7 possible? It’s only been 6 hours, could I do 8?
I started back up the climb alone. It was actually good to be pedaling solo. It gave me the space to let my brain go, but most importantly, it let me pedal like I was on a singlespeed. When you ride a one gear with folks that have 12, the pace is almost always wrong. When they are hauling ass, you are barely moving. When they hit the Eagle button and slow to a pace that almost resemble moving, you need to be cranking on the pedals to gain momentum to get up the hill.
Every lap my head was in a place of question, was this going to be the lap that I would have to start walking stuff I normal rode. As I headed up the climb for the fifth time, the same questions were there. I knew things were sitting pretty good when I dropped Jacker Stacker and thought it was a good idea. I was still having fun.
My legs burned, my head was disconnected and I was still curious. Every social interaction felt strange like the words I knew to say were a periscope allowing me to view the things not happening within the cave I had dug myself into, but as soon as the conversation was over the flap would snap shut and I was in my own space rendered almost useless to do anything but keep pedaling.
My memory of the last couple of laps is a bit fuzzy. I think this was when I started to run into Kenny and Heather who were walking the course, snapping photos and delighting in the suffering they were witnessing. I’m almost sure that Zach was at the top when I got there. And maybe Curtis’ wife was at the bottom when I came groaning into the trailhead.
Lap 6
When the day started, I had two goals. Ride at least 6 laps to make sure I did more than last year and 2 attempt to ride for the full 10 hours.
This lap is even fuzzier than the last. I remember thinking that I felt like my vision was tunneled, like I had blinders on that were limiting where and what I could see. The one vivid memory I have is getting back to the top. I stopped, drank some water and thought, eight. I can do eight.
Lap 7
Rolling into the trailhead after Lap 6, everyone except JD was there. The Alliance was readying for the beer lap. I knew I could do 7, no doubt. My legs were tired, the downhills had started to be painful and I was struggling to process enough calories to stave off the bonk.
I’m pretty sure that I said I was gonna try to do 8 laps, but as everyone started to stash beers and get ready for the last lap (tradition has it that the beer lap is the last lap), I wanted to ride with them. I had already accomplished one of my goals, hit six laps. The other I could leave to keep my curiosity rolling for next year. I asked if anyone had a beer to spare…
Groans, involuntary shreaks and screeching are all things I regularly do when a move is hard and I am giving it my all. Lap 7 was an almost continuous stream of these sounds coming from me.
At the top, we pop the beers. It is all I can do to stay upright. I know this because Harrison snagged a pic of me, arms crossed over my knees, head on top, barely conscience.
We finish the beers and head right back down the mesa.
Hell Hole is my least favorite part of Zen. Somehow, I had managed to climb it 5 of the 6 times up to this point, and in my strange head space, for reasons still unknown to me, I was determined it had to be 6/7 for the day. Screaming, howls, some serious heavy breathing, a couple of rests, but god dammit, I made it up that little fucker.
I have a vague memory of someone yelling, “Asshole!” as I did it. Someone else will have to confirm or deny that fact.
I don’t remember almost anything from the last trip through Lower Zen. The other two climbs, the pedaly section, nothing. Next thing I knew, we were back to the trailhead, JT handed me a beer and I was done.
The Curiosity
As we were sipping our celebratory beers, the ghost we all knew was out on the course the whole time came rolling through. JD greeted us. Put his hash mark on the board, ate some food and headed out on his 10th lap. Yup, ten laps, ten hours. Damn Superman.
I watched him begin his 10th climb up Zen from the comfort of a camp chair. And as I sat there, my brain twitched on for just a second and I was curious if I could. If I could chase him up that climb one more time. If I could have done eight laps. Ten was clearly doable, could I?
Son of a bitch!
