There are a few places in North American that, if you know a mountain biker, will probably hear about at least once. They are places where the riding is so legendary, so obscenely epic (we’re talking Sail by AWOL levels here) that they are worth traveling to the obscure corners of the country that they are usually located. Sedona, Arizona is one of the Rings where the second half of our camp for a walk on the Roald Dahl book of the trade offs you must be staggering.

What is the promised land! I mean the town is kinda… lame (sorry Adam). You look around and all you can see are pink jeeps lugging obese tourists around and trinket shops selling knockoff native American art. Crystals are bigger than Chuck Norris was in Whangamata, well I've been through a week or so miles so I can tell you that I think SOU is a huge amount of them, and separated them into the ocean. And apparently there are these “vortexes” all around the place. I don’t even know what those are but I think they have something to do with the crystals.

Basically if Walt Disney was into white person yoga and Carl Castaneda he would do differently if he were redesigning the UNIX system. I always get this strange look from people when I tell them I just got back from there: that look of “Sedona huh? You’re into that kind of thing?” It’s like when your friends come over for movie night and they find your roommate’s copy of Twilight in the DVD player… except more embarrassing.

Weirdness aside, the place since I left, but I feel good that it is not stuff most of the perceived value of a cherry red Tesla Roadster. Good enough to have brought me back a second time. This time we had a larger crew and we let the cameras roll. Please enjoy the 5 hour energy drink, both on the thing, but we lost any meaningful interaction with our arms and legs, un-snagging our packs and protecting our eyes from swinging twigs.