The AZT crew - Scott, Cen and Nerys at Nogales, on the Mexican border.
So, after an epic time riding the Arizona Trail I’m now back in Flagstaff. Here’s just a few words and pics, more on what the AZT is all about as soon as I’ve sifted through the rest of my dusty memory cards.
In the meantime Josh, over at Bike Trailer Shop, is making me feel very much at home, giving me the lowdown on Flagstaff and introducing me to the local bike community here. And I have the visit of my folks to look forward to too…
Welcome to Arizona.
Land of many cacti.
Including my favourite, the beanpole saguaros...
And home to small town Americana.
Some gnarly riding. Steeper than it looks...
It was hot. 107 degrees farenheit hot.
Pavement ends. Arizona Trail begins...
Parched dry on the pipeline road to Oracle.
Hike 'n Bike, a phrase that became synonymous with the AZT.
As did the word Wash, which cropped up with ever increasing regularity as we headed south. Translation: a 3 mile push through deep sand under blazing heat.
Nothing to do with personal hygiene, Scott. Just like it reads on his sweat-encrusted jersey: friends don't let friend ride junk. Our bikes? A Moots, a Hunter, a Thorn and a Charge. Clearly showering proved less important than the wheels on which were rolled.
Now now boys. Behave. Clearly Cen's reputation in the Swansea courts proceeded him.
Sweet Flagstaffian singletrack.
Surprising splashes of colour amongst the pine forest.
Nerys v the mountains.
Cen v the babyheads.
Beginning the beautiful, beguiling climb up to Mount Lemmon.
One of our favourite wildcamps.
Hopping across an old railroad - the South West is steeped in frontier history.
Hm, which way next... Checking the sage-like GPS, a must for riding the Arizona Trail.
A buzzard soars over Apache Canyon.
Don't be fooled by Scott's impressive farmer's tan. It did rain. Once.
Last but not least. Emergency ride food. American-style.
Cen succumbs to the American mantra: supersize me...