A 24-hour race through the Arizona desert? Why should bikers pay money to toil around the clock in an ultra-marathon - and even risk their own lives in the end? In search of the answer, BIKE reporter Henri Lesewitz mingled with the participants of the legendary 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo. A sleepless self-experiment.
Before the race - Phase 1, the scary phase
You can recognise the value of something by what you are prepared to give for it. Everything has its price. The fact that I am prepared to pay for this experience with my life makes me shudder for a moment. But there it is. In black and white. You can die. And I have signed it.
The note in my hand is the disclaimer for the 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo, one of the oldest and most legendary endurance races in the world. Once around the clock through the Sonoran Desert in Arizona. Which alone would be enough to exhaust a human body. Especially if you've booked the solo category, like me. The disclaimer lists the pitfalls of the race in detail. Darkness. Temperature fluctuations. Dehydration. The thing that actually worries me is summarised under the term "terrain". Rattlesnakes. Coyotes. And especially the nastiest of all cacti, the jumping cholla, which shoots its centimetre-long, harpoon-like spines into the flesh of its opponent at the slightest contact.
One of the great mysteries of the human psyche is why you would spend 325 dollars on such madness, which in the worst case could cost you your life. The answer is simple: endurance racing is one of the most intense and fascinating experiences a biker can have. That's why. The 2000 starting places for the 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo are always sold out within minutes. Everyone has signed the disclaimer. The horror is part of the anticipation. What's more, compared to your own home, the Sonoran Desert is the purest high-security zone. I once read that almost 8,000 people die in household accidents every year. Three times as many as in road traffic accidents. In Germany alone. A hard-hitting set of facts, but one that hardly manages to lower my stress hormone levels.
In the starting block - phase 2, the immersion phase
The race site is located on a huge, rugged desert area not far from Tucson. Stones, dust, cacti. A backdrop like that of a John Wayne western. The makeshift camp of tents and camper vans sprawls far into the hilly landscape. The snow that crowns the surrounding mountains gives a hint of the capricious climate.
It's just before 12 o'clock. I'm standing on a hill, squeezed into a crowd of people ready to start. Apart from those at the front, everyone is busy trying to avert any suspicion of nervousness and eagerness to place. The guy next to me has put a latex dinosaur mask over his head with his helmet built into it as an expression of his relaxed attitude. Now he is peering through two tiny holes in the ripped open maw of the primeval beast into the maw of a megaphone just centimetres away. "Make some noise!" shouts the mood whip to the crowd, and the crowd does as instructed.
The party atmosphere dampens my tension a little. But I'm still highly nervous. The monstrosity of the task to be mastered remains unchanged, despite the mood. 24 hours in the saddle. In a hostile desert full of dangers. A brutal challenge. But somehow also awesome. Whether it ends well or not depends on me alone. Like a knife blade on an onion, an endurance race peels away the rider's outer skin layer by layer until the inside is gapingly exposed: the true hardness of body and mind. The being beneath the appearance. I wonder what's coming out of me? A whiner? Or an iron-hard one?
The start signal relieves me of the agonising brooding. Shoulder to shoulder, the pack sprints off towards the bikes half a kilometre away. It's a so-called Le Mans start. My breathing reacts hysterically to the sharp change from standing around to running off. Great. I'm not even on the bike yet and I'm already short of oxygen. The moment is a bit like an apnoea dive. You jump into a dark, cold ocean without knowing how long you'll manage to hold your breath.
After the start - phase 3, the lactate shock phase
The route turns out to be a charmingly modelled single trail eight. A 25-kilometre-long fusion of bends, short climbs and descents. A magnificent place for a tour. A merciless one for a 24-hour race. The lactate shock that hits my legs shortly after the start leaves no doubt about that. The fact that the body produces lactate when there is a lack of oxygen is a kind of speed limiter. The pain in my legs reduces the pressure on the pedals, which prevents my heart from exploding. What is kindly meant by the body makes biking hell. Fire and acid seem to rage in your legs at the same time. Slowing down would bring relief, but that's out of the question on the narrow trails. You don't want to be the plug that holds everyone up.
On the other hand, letting faster ones past harbours the risk of getting too close to one of these jumping chollas. The beasts are just waiting to shoot their devilish harpoon spikes into my flesh. I have no choice but to pant along with the excited crowd. With a mixture of fun and desperation, I knead my way round the course. As soon as the field is torn to shreds by hills and speed, it will become more enjoyable. At least I hope so.
Taking part in a 24-hour race can change your life. The experience is worth every effort." - Todd Sadow, organiser of the 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo
After 7 hours - phase 4, the flow phase
7 pm, already seven hours in the saddle. The sun is glowing brightly behind the hills. Just under 100 kilometres have already made my legs pretty limp. Which was to be expected. You can rarely rely on your legs over such distances. Races of this kind are done with the head. In the eyes of outsiders, riding a mountain bike for 24 hours is as blatant as skinning yourself. But it's not quite that simple. If things go well, body, mind, machine, space and time merge into a magma-like whole. Then a 24-hour race becomes the most magical thing you've ever experienced. If things go badly and just one component - be it the weather, your mind or your legs - destroys the fragile balance, it can be the cruellest 24 hours of your life.
Everything seems to be going well for me. Although my legs are close to being knocked out, a deep sense of peace has settled inside me. It's as if I've stepped through the door to another galaxy. The everyday world with its appointments and duties is far away. I feel fully in the here and now. Pedalling, steering, breathing. That's all I have to worry about. I could go on like this for days. Marvellous.
Half-time after midnight - phase 5, the low point phase
At 1.30 a.m., the desert is as black as a pharaoh's tomb. Only the glaring cones of light from the bike lights eat their way through the darkness like white, fluorescent worms. With my pedalling now as soft as a nappy, I fight against the climbs, which seem to get steeper from lap to lap. The wonderful flow feeling of the evening hours has mysteriously disappeared completely. Not wiped out by muscle pain, but by a disgusting tiredness that slowly takes hold of every fibre of my body. It's the biorhythm's fault, that damned bourgeois for whom people belong in a cosy bed at night and not on a mountain bike. Regardless of the fact that I'm in the middle of a race, it simply shuts down the system. A bottomless cheek. Tiredness is the lactate of the head. Everything seems hostile now. The cold. The climbs. The distance. The cacti. Almost ten hours to go! A terrible idea. Why do people do this? The sober answer: because the road to marathon heaven always leads through hell. That's the whole point. I have to go through it now.
Last lap before the finish - phase 6, the euphoria phase
The clock shows 11:35. I was eagerly awaiting the start at this time yesterday. Now the final round: the returning sun has the effect of a defibrillator. As if the sleepless, freezing cold night had never happened, it brings back the energy I thought I had lost. Pedalling pressure, motivation, fun: everything is suddenly back.
Long-distance biking unfortunately has an image problem. For many, it is synonymous with pain and frustration. This is because very few people push themselves to the limit. Lactate and breathlessness are just the basic building blocks for that unique superhero feeling that you can't buy, simulate or google. You need patience to experience it. The high requires the previous low. The more brutal this is, the more strongly the happiness hormones react afterwards. As far as that's concerned, nobody here needs to worry. The exertions of the last 23 hours are written all over everyone's face. The team riders, who are visibly suffering but are still pedalling with vigour. But even more so, of course, the solo starters, whose faces look both feverish and extinguished. Carried by euphoria and relief, I pedalled to the finish line.
"Good job!", comments the moderator. I think so too. I've squeezed 270 kilometres and 4000 metres of altitude into my legs. Quite an overdose for a February day. I'm so exhausted that I struggle to get off the bike. My body is dead as a doornail. But I feel more alive than I have for a long time.
The road to marathon heaven always leads through hell. That's the concept. Only those who bite through the lows will experience that superhero feeling when they cross the finish line. - Henri Lesewitz, Reporter BIKE Magazine
Info: 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo
The race
The 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo is one of the oldest and most legendary of its kind. Next year will mark the 24th edition. The route in the outback of Tucson/Arizona is a 25-kilometre singletrack circuit that was specially created for the race. If you're looking to place, you can choose the direct route at a split shortly after the start. If you prefer to ride an epic trail, take the longer loop through the mountains.
You can ride as a team or solo. The race is so popular that the 2000 starting places are always sold out within minutes. Anyone who has ever taken part knows why. Although the Old Pueblo is a tough long-distance challenge, it is also a scene party. Some participants camp out in the desert area for the whole week. The race takes place in mid-February.
The pitfalls
The Old Pueblo offers a whole series of special challenges in addition to the actual route. The rattlesnakes only come out when the sun is beating down. But the fact that there could be one lurking under every rock is enough to make your head spin. In the usually freezing cold night, there is no danger. Some of the cacti that line almost the entire edge of the route are extremely treacherous. The Jumping Cholla, for example, can even pierce the soles of shoes with its spines. If you get too close to it, it shoots out its nasty spines, which is extremely painful.
The region
The metropolis of Tucson is located in a kind of mountain basin and is probably familiar to every western fan. Although more than a million inhabitants live in the sprawling city, the city centre is small and cosy. Cosy cafés alternate with small pubs and art shops. Hotels are available in all comfort levels and price ranges. We recommend resorts such as the Omni Tucson National, which has fitness rooms, restaurants and a pool area and is an ideal starting point for excursions in the surrounding area. Tip: the Saguaro National Park with its imposing, metre-high cacti.
The climate
Deserts have a special climate. Usually warm during the day, temperatures can drop to below zero at night. The best time to visit Arizona is between autumn and May. In the summer months, it gets scorching hot during the day. Biking is almost impossible then.
Bike tours
There are three large trail networks in Tucson alone. Simply park at the start and follow the signs. Whether on challenging terrain high up in the mountains or on flow routes along the mountain flanks, you can decide according to your mood. Provider Homegrown MTB Tours hires out bikes, gives tips and organises any kind of ride on request.
The perfect bike
The trails at the 24 Hours of the Old Pueblo and most of the other trails around Tucson are perfectly modelled. A sporty full suspension bike with a dropper post is ideal. If you choose the flow trails instead of the enduro variants, a hardtail will also be fine. Jumps are integrated into some of the loops. These can be bypassed. If you are looking for airtime, an enduro bike is the right choice.
The lighting
Our reporter used the race to test the new Lupine SL AXthe new, currently brightest StVZO-approved bike light from Lupine. The SL AX has 3800 lumens at its brightest level and can be used either in anti-glare mode or fully focussed. It offers wide, even illumination, which is a great advantage on narrow trails such as the 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo. If you don't ride on the brightest setting all the time, the battery lasts all night. To ride safely on a 24-hour course in the dark, a light should have at least 1500 lumens.
