Further Adventures of Don Gringo

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Kneeling by the skid I make eye contact with the pilot and give him the thumbs up. The turbine whines as the rotors spool up and the wash hits us. Once the noise and wind die down the three of us pow-wow around the map and confirm that the plan we made on the landing below lines up with the reality of where we now stand. I click my treeplanting bags to my hips and scan the spider web of over head slash and car sized stumps, planning my route towards the treeline and trying to figure out what the next run will look like. My shovel easily slides through the duff into the dark organic soil hidden below. The seedling cupped in my other hand slides down the blade as I pull the shovel out in one movement and close the hole around the roots. A life times worth of muscle memory take over as my mind starts to wander. Memories of Arizona circle themselves in my brain. I crawl over slash, popping seedlings in the ground in the heavy coastal air, breathing the high desert the whole time.



With my main adventure partner out of the mix due to work obligations I toss a Road Trip Partner Wanted ad up on social media. 10 days, 5000km, with the Picketpost Punisher 50 mile ride as the lynch pin. Stu sticks his hand up. The daily routine soon establishes itself with a Hudson's Bay start on the first day, crossing the border mid afternoon, drive for 7-9 hours, arrive in the dark, figure out a place to stay, bang out a ride in the morning and repeat, heading south by south east the whole time.




Two 40 year old xc dorks, refuges of the Sea to Sky corridor. The deeper south we get the more our language parodies the Flat Brim Mafia of our home land. We feast on the low angle single track scattered through the western states like later day Huns. Basking in the civilized, well funded infrastructure of our third world cousins to the south.


Out of the saddle, cranking slow rotations on my single speed, the road pulls an Alp d'Huez to the skyline as Yuri, a younger Mexican guy, and I yo-yo up. The 5 or 6 riders in front of us are only tracks in the dirt and the main peloton of riders is starting to splinter below us. Yuri and I agree that it is futile to try and close the gap with the leaders, 50 mile races are not won in the first 10 miles. So we put our heads down and enjoy the each other's company. Internally I quell the dark thoughts and ego that are so easy to slide into when you're bouncing around the pain cave.



With no entrance fees, no marshals and no prize money, the Arizona Endurance Series blurs the line between a race and a group ride. This course is a figure 8 and I am on my own I as start in the back half, following 3 or 4 tracks though a maze of sign posts and scrub, land rolling into the town of superior. After a brutal 4X4 road climb, past guys shooting assault rifles and locals out for a rip, there is only one track in front of me. A fast 10 miles of single track cuts back to the finish line. I roll across the line and write my time on a piece of paper held by a rock onto the back of an SUV. Stu and I load up the car and start heading north by north west.

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