I made it back up the hill this morning after hanging with local friends in Kleenix just yesterday at the FOTP. In a word, the day was moist. The unusual November monsoon from the night previous, that brought hail the size of marbles to my parents house, provided epicness for the following days ride. With moist trails and moist clouds, it all made for a top notch 13th annual Flight of the Pigs.
I was gently brought from sleep by the subtle thump of Black Sabbath at 5:30. Gathered, glazed, still slow. I pedaled down to the ‘local’ Circle-K for a cup of joe. I don’t really think it’s made of coffee anymore. I returned to a critical mass. The buzz across National that day was something to behold. Traction? Check. I watched multiple instances of Decori levitate across slick wet rocks, only to grab traction at the last possible moment. Moist. I got stoked. Up on top of National, we looked down on the clouds and a clear day in the valley. The rocks were soft and the sand tacky. So weird. The trails were in prime condition for shredding, and shredding we did. Everything was hitting. Berms from nothing. Before I knew it, we were already done with SoMo. The best part.
The lunch at Zoe’s went fast. Everyone wanted to ride. I ate my chicken and rice. We entered trail 100 around 1 where I snuck off the front with four others. I’m not a huge fan of t100. I guess I haven’t ridden there a ton. Maybe the rest were the same. We made quick work of it, reaching Tatum in under an hour, dodging pedestrians, hikers, dogs, and babies. I toed a line, and as more often than not, it’s always Bennett that stays on the gas. He likes it when the hurt sticks around and when it ended, there on that Tatum grass, I napped while the rest of the pigs trickled in.
Regroup complete, we leisurely strolled around Camelback, and at 5:45pm, all of us circled around the Pyramid at Papago to mark the unofficial end of the ride. 12 hours is what it took for 40-60ish people to successfully navigate the primary trail systems of the Phoenix Metro Area. Not too bad, and the mechancals were minimal. Not like years previous where frames were strapped together with tubes and ingenuity. mtb’s are durable these days. And, it was faster then previous years. I was cracked by the time Mill Ave Bridge came up… the city limit. All those locals just rolled on and left me. Everyone thinking of of themselves. No free beer, no free sprint.
Yes, the day was good & redeeming. It’s more than riding and self proclamations in the mirror. It’s hanging with people, introducing yourself, and not worrying about what they might think if you do. One thing can be said about cycling and that is, you’ll never know all the people in the world that ride, try to know the ones you can even if you think they’re smug. I bet they’re not. Then I heard:
“You know, as long as people are riding bikes, and you’re one of them, this place is going to get better…”
I held conversation with peeps I had never seen before. I said hello. That says a lot about my progress. I had conversation with old friends from the bike industry. I saw Julie Plummer (formerly Helquist) again after ten years. She reminded me of the time of Jon Card and the Plymouth team, Laney & Tullous, Russle the Muscle and Hayes McNeal. A breath of wild, fresh air as always, she rode the entire 80 miles on SS and rigid… hard as ever at 38.
Tyler Thompson and Josh Maul were there too. Those knuckleheads from the MBAA heyday. One of the last times I would ride with Tyler before this, was 1996 when he, Debo and I drove to Vegas where we gave it some stick, and still got our doors blown completely off by Floyd Landis. Poor Landis.
And yea, and I finally asked what Chris News’ name was. After continually seeing him on so many group rides the decade before, I got to the point. I wonder if he even cared. He’s an unmistakable traditionalist, rocking 80mm of headshock behind a 140 stemmed egg-plant purple killer-V with 996 canti’s both sides. He was the turtle. I passed him about a dozen times. He told me he wasn’t doing it on purpose… slowing me down. I said I wasn’t doing it to him on purpose either. He said ok, ” so maybe I am…”. We jived. I took pictures. Good times. Again, more progress. Then there’s my Tucson friends, other transplants, Yuri & Gordon & Cooper, but no Flo. poor flo.
Tapped and alone, I rolled over to the ‘local’ Circle-K on Fifth and University. So much had changed in the years since I wandered out of Tempe to find the real hate. Well, everything seemed the same really, plenty of hooters and bullshit f150’s, but all the while, it seems that culture was popping up around it, and the hostility level I once knew, seemed to be a thing of the past or diminished or maybe it was the weather or maybe me. who knows? I’m just a tourist. I bought the twizzlers and the gummy bears for 3 bucks. The perfect kick for the final 6 mile slog to back to the Home Sty.
I sat outside on the green slab next to the oil drip, against the window. 4 riders approached from west on University, but they were unlike any riders I’ve generalized about before. The leader sported a flat-brim white Yankee’s hat, sagging pants, White belt, white puffy gansta jacket and big shoes. The rest that followed him, looked same same but different. Rolling bright deep dish rims on white frames, they were all rolling fixed. Hip-Hop-Deep-Dish-Fixed… It was a sight for sore eyes. Hoods on bikes. Things are changing.
Twizzlers cashed, I rolled through the old hood, where I lived with Tim Hohmann and Joel. Where Snakehawk lived and broke shit down the street, and Domenics around the corner, where I toiled along side Snakehawk, the Angry Hippy, Nik the Dick, Big Jon, Yard Sale, Hamfist, Judy and an often spun out Domenic hisself. Where it all started for the most part.
I made it back to the party for an hours worth of the keg and awards. I think I was the last man in. Hummer was already 5 deep and slurring things about my mother. Two girls showed for the ride this year. That’s no good for posterities sake. The fully equipped Big Pig for this year weighed in at 275 pounds. A full one hundred pounds heavier than me and my rig. I have five FOTP pins now. I’ll never be the Big Pig.
After 13 years, the Flight hasn’t changed. Maybe you have, but it’s still the same clown show it always was meant to be. You’re wearing foam on your head after all. It’s still a mix of locals and tourists and at the end of the day, everyone is riding a bike and getting to know each other for what they are. Many big thanks to Jim for 13 years of soul. The same for Hoss and all who put in the effort. Hoss said next time I’m in town, to look him up for some pool skating. He’s 48 and shredding. Apparently phoenix is the shit, for riding pools now. Not a bad trade off in my opinion.
The Keg cashed, the remainders of the day were whittled it away by the fire out back. Incredible connections, Chris wearing Jims “Roman Leather Fuck Vest” and Janet feeding Brian all the shit beer, it was all good and social-like until 2am. I don’t spend much time in the valley anymore, but it was good to return again to know that people are still cool, no matter where they are.
November 29th, 2008 at 5:47 pm
now thats some fun i cold get behind.
November 29th, 2008 at 6:03 pm
awesome ride report, thanks for posting.
November 30th, 2008 at 10:33 am
Nice report, sounds like a good time.
Cool that this has been around for so long.
Gnome – when was the MBAA at it’s peak?
November 30th, 2008 at 10:41 am
96-98 I think. 2 days of racing and bud light as a sponsor back then, and in conjunction with the national/global popularity of mtb.
November 30th, 2008 at 11:03 am
word. i remember when i was making a crappy gate out of some huffy wheels or some shit, maybe an extra set of handlebars, and you came over to check the calamity. anyways. i miss the fuck out of that ride. i’m gonna shoot for coming out and rocking it cold with my girl in maybe like 2010.
November 30th, 2008 at 1:36 pm
Yeah, 1996 seemed like a big year, but then it was my first full year in AZ so I didn’t really know anything and figured the big fields were just the way it was.
Then there was the extra excitement with the Olympic MTB hype fueling things as well.
Thats when the AMBA started isn’t it, so there were actually two mtb series running in the state, for a brief period.
Certainly not the worst of times.
November 30th, 2008 at 3:27 pm
One of my favorite flights thus far. A whirring, blurring fiesta with friends. You missed out on the bourbon. I think.
November 30th, 2008 at 4:19 pm
I wish I was in America for this one. I always had a great time at the FOTP.Thanks for the report!
November 30th, 2008 at 8:41 pm
Chris News. I always wondered what that dude’s story was. He rocks it on that purple bike.