I went to the Whisky 50, but all I got was this cool sun burn.
by Clint Hosman on May 21st, 2007
Riding 50 miles sounds easy enough right? Well I guess it isn’t that tough it’s just a matter of what you’re riding, who you’re riding with and the terrain you’re covering. Those seem like simple enough variables to adjust for, I mean after all I ride with some fast guys on the weekends, we ride 30 – 40 miles on Saturdays and heck the terrain we cover is tough it is the desert after all we got rough country in spades and there are rocks aplenty. So with this in mind I approached the Whisky 50 with confidence.
For those of you unfamiliar with AZ Prescott is a town right in the middle of the state in a zone that covers both desert and mountains in just a matter of a couple of miles. It’s a great place to just stop and watch the Wild West in real life. If you sit at the court house in the middle of town you will see just about every type of wack job imaginable. I’ll give you a for instance while Travis and I sat hanging out Friday night we saw California style hippies holding silent protest to end the war in one corner of the square. Circling them in a Chester the molester white van was a few white supremacists shouting slogans. Then across the street at Whisky Row outlaw bikers roomed between bars looking for a fight. Now I am not talking your “hey guys I have a hog too� bikers, I am talking the real deal. Now staying out of their way are all the fresh out of prison Nancy’s circling all the skinny REI clad mountain bikers wondering if they where up for a good time. This is the Arizona I love.
With the mood of the territory set I’ll move on to the actual race. The 50 milers headed out at 7 am rolled out by a police escort all the way tell the pavement ended. I thought from the beginning that I was screwed because within the first 3 miles my thighs where already screaming in pain. Not good I thought but I hung in behind the first pack as we separated ourselves from the rest.
Once on the single track we continued to climb. I had to yell at a few single speeders who jumped off their bikes and walked to get out of the way. It’s like people who clog up the fast lane on the freeway, get the hell out of the way. I settled in behind two other guys as we climbed and soon enough the tilt shifted and we where flying down hill through a scrub oak forest with tight switch backs. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind that I should back off riders I don’t know then the lead guy goes down on a right hand switch back. Number two goes plowing into him full speed and was kept from falling completely off the trail by the oaks and I slipped by them on the left and out of trouble.
By the time I hit the first aid station at mile 12 or 13 I was feeling better and I began the 8 mile decent into “Skull Valley� no joke, that’s the name of the town. That’s
how we roll here in AZ. I tried to block out the fact that this fire road I was descending at 40 miles an hour would have to be climbed as soon as I got to the bottom but soon enough that became the reality as I turned my bike back to Prescott.
My only consolation as I climbed the 12 miles to the top was that I saw Keith Bontrager descending as I was climbing and I knew I had the celebrity beat. 12 miles of climbing doesn’t pass fast though, you have plenty of time to contemplate why you do this to your self. I swore at one point I felt a little peace of my soul seep out of my ass. Near the top I began cursing the engineers who thought it wouldn’t be enough to climb the high mountain to the lowest saddle and then have it drop, no this obvious collage educated person had the wisdom to keep the road going all the way to the very top of the mountain. I mumbled incoherently to the mountain explaining how I understood it was a mountain, that “I get it that you’re high and steep but could you please stop now?� But it didn’t.
Once at the top you would think I would be happy, but I wasn’t. the single track descent was probably one of the most difficult I have done, not because it was technical but because I was wasted and keeping my bike on a little path was apparently out of the realm of possibility for me. Eventually though I made it down to the paved road for the last few miles into town.
Now here is where the crazy AZ people pays off because as soon as I jumped onto the road one of those Arizona outlaw bikers passed me in an old truck carrying a load of junk I guess to the dump. I pumped hard to catch him and as soon as I did I noticed him looking at me in the side view mirror and when he saw that I saw him he gave me the nod and it was on. I responded back with a similar nod and he began increasing the speed down the hill. I have no idea how fast we where going but it was scary. He led me all the way into the second to last corner and let me go with a wave.
I came into the finish line in 14th place with a time of 4:08, some hurtin legs and one sweet sun burn.
May 22nd, 2007 at 11:05 am
Awesome! Drafting a Biker’s pickup is classic.
May 22nd, 2007 at 3:04 pm
so was the police escort at the beginning of the race to protect you from the wack jobs locals in Prescot or to protect them from you crazy-ass mountain bikers and your tight spandex outfits?
May 22nd, 2007 at 7:55 pm
Got Brave Soldier..? Brave Soldier what? Who? Come on..Perfect burnt mellon to send to? Great job brother late.
May 23rd, 2007 at 8:15 am
To clarify, I don’t think they were real cops. You know, seeing as all they were wearing were S.W.A.T. helmets and strategically placed sirens. Oh and one of them gave me a ticket for “excessive sexiness.” Who knew the fine was 20 minutes of public spooning!?! One of those weird old laws I guess. It actually turned out to be a strange weekend considering I basically rear ended that dirty biker all the way down the mountain as well. Hell, Maybe its time to leave my wife and fulfill my life long dream of being a towel boy for the Mr. Universe contest.