Fame: CIRREM 2011

I wasn't going to write anything about regarding CIRREM last weekend because it didn't seem to be that big a deal. After thinking about it a bit though it does deserve some attention or at least I can't seem to get parts of it out of my head. Not so much the riding or course, which was fine, but other people's comments surrounding the event.

First off, it had snowed a bit the night before the race and was about ten degrees colder than expected. I was happy because I figured it would scare off the riff-raff. Even so 101 riders toed the line at the Cumming Tap.

I was getting a lot of congratulations on my Arrowhead a Trois achievement from those who knew about it. I'm still a little uncomfortable with that, but I tried to be nice even if it was nine AM and I wasn't quite awake yet. I really didn't want to talk, I just wanted to start the ride.

Apparently though word hadn't gotten through to everyone. As I was filling up my Camelbak in the bathroom with hot tap water I had a guy tell me that cold water was better as it wouldn't freeze as fast. I wanted to tell him that the Mpemba effect was a myth and that this was the exact same way I'd used the Camelbak at Arrowhead, where it was 55 degrees colder, without any problems. Not to mention that the water wouldn't freeze even if I used it wrong, only the hose would. It just wasn't that cold. Instead I said, "Nope." I guess that was a little too terse as he replied with something like, "Okay, tough guy," or something like that. I didn't feel like arguing that early in the morning.

I started out the ride somewhere near the back, I didn't want to fight in the main pack for the first mile or so. The roads had about an inch of snow on them and I didn't want to be part of a pile-up if things were slippery. I'd wait for things to spread out a bit and catch up. That was a poor tactic as it turned out. The roads were good and the front pack charged out fast. In the first few miles I picked off almost everyone between me and that front group, but there was no way I was going to catch them, though I probably could have stuck with them.

As I was passing a group one of them said, "Do you know who that is? That's Matt Maxwell." I didn't stick around to hear the conversation. I mean, who doesn't like compliments, but this is ridiculous.

The roads weren't too bad in spite of appearances. The inch of snow along with some fresh gravel made things a little interesting, but, at least for the first half it was easy going. I used the big ring more than I think I ever have on a gravel ride.

The only problem was my glasses freezing up. I'm not sure if it was mist in the air, snow kicked up by the tires, or breath condensing on them, but after a few miles I was struggling to see out of one eye. Riding without glasses was out of the question. I can't tell a car from a tree without them. I kept scraping at them to keep them clear enough, but it wasn't ideal.

At the halfway checkpoint I put my glasses inside my jacket for a few minutes to thaw and ate a cookie since I hadn't had breakfast. The glasses stayed thawed for all of a mile and ten miles down the road I was feeling a bonk coming on. I took a short break to eat some fig bars I had with me, but unfortunately I lost my riding companions, the Mables on a tandem, and had to start navigating by myself. I tried to follow tire tracks, as I didn't want to dig the cue sheet out of my pocket, and ended up making a wrong turn and climbing two steep hills before figuring out my mistake.

I rode the last few miles with Steve Cannon, organizer of the Winter Race Series. My right toes were numb, but okay, and I really hadn't eaten or drunk enough. My time of 5:08 for the 63 miles wasn't bad, but the detour and icy glasses probably cost me ten minutes or so.

After the ride I got a lot of "dude, awesome beard" comments at the bar. I sat down with a cyclist who I didn't recognize but who said he was also from Ames. We talked about riding around town, working at bike shops, and exchanged first names, but it wasn't until the next day I figured out that I am already Facebook friends with him. I think that says something about Facebook. I wonder if he knew the whole time and was just humoring me.

Another group was talking about how 'epic' the ride was. I don't know if my perceptions have changed, but it doesn't seem like a metric century is epic material anymore. At least not unless the weather is truly horrible. Maybe if it had been windy or we had had more snow I could agree to and epic label.

The Arrowhead congratulations and beard comments were a little too much so I went to talk with some folks I actually knew. Mark Stevenson told me that some of the advice I had given on mental training/tricks worked for him on the ride. I'm glad that not all of my advice has been bad. In talking with Steve Cannon I found out that he's a fairly accomplished ultra-runner which was cool to find out.

Crowded social scenes just aren't me and I hope I wasn't too much of a jerk to anyone and this blog post isn't too humble/pridefull. I do like talking about the Arrowhead and other races I've done and plan to do, but I don't quite feel deserving of the accolades. There are so many other folks out there who are so much better at this than me. Like these guys.

Truckin': Arrowhead 2011

The Arrowhead 135 has been my favorite race now for 6 years. Ever since first biking the race in 2006 I've come back every year. It's an obsession of sorts. But it wouldn't be the obsession that it is if I were coming back to the exact same race every year. I need it to be something different, something new, every time. Now weather provides different in spades up at the Arrowhead 135, cold and colder, snow and snowier, and I should be content with that, but I'm not. That's why coming in to this year's Arrowhead, the 7th annual, I had biked and skied and now I was running it.

Running is too strong a term. Most of us walk as running would be too tiring and too sweaty in the snow and cold. Many of us say we're going to do it "on foot" or something similar. It's the pedestrian class.

I was as nervous as I've ever been going into this years race. As nervous as last year when I felt I might actually finish on skis. When there's no chance of finishing I'm not nervous. When there's no question of finishing I'm not nervous. This year I knew I had trained as hard as ever (not very hard by most folk's standards) and the goal was within reach, but I wasn't sure. It looked like it was going to be the toughest race I'd ever entered. I was hoping for an easy year.

From the start at Kerry Arena I set a good pace. I wouldn't run, but just walk as fast as I felt comfortable. I don't know exactly how fast it was, but I'd guess I was approaching four miles per hour. Temperatures weren't too bad and I wasn't having any trouble keeping warm. Even my feet, which I was a little nervous about since I hadn't tested my footwear in temps colder than -10f, were comfortable.

There's not much to say about the first 35 miles of the course. It's pretty flat and easy. The snow was well packed down and even after a groomer went through it was pretty solid. The pack thinned out a lot and it didn't really feel like there were over 100 participants in the race.

Just before dark I made it to Gateway, the first checkpoint. I had visions of being in and out quickly so I brought in everything I thought I needed and made all my purchases immediately. Soup, hot dog, Monster energy drink, coffee. I ate, changed my socks (the first pair already had a hole in the heel), used the bathroom, and refilled my Camelbak and bottles. I got in and out about as fast as I could, but I later found out that I spent an hour at the store. It's all too easy to waste time at a warm checkpoint.

Back out on the trail I finished my coffee and continued my fast walk pace. So far I hadn't had any troubles with hamstrings or heels, both places I thought might be problems. Time passed and I made it to the Ash River shelter. I stopped in the somewhat hidden shelter and ate a pop-tart and rested my legs for a minute. I was feeling pretty good. As I left I noticed that there was a tent set up just beyond the shelter and they had a nice fire going. I figured it must be some causal "touring" cyclists, but it turned out to be the folks from EWS, the skipulk people. They had hot chocolate and if I had known it I could have rested in the tent, but it's probably for the best that I didn't know. I had been plenty comfortable in the shelter without heat. After downing a cup of hot chocolate I was on my way. I had another nine miles to my stopping point for the night, Black Duck shelter.

There were only a few people camped out at Black Duck. Fewer than in previous years. I could see Mike Stattelman's skis and a Salsa Mukluk leaned up against the shelter. The cyclist was sleeping inside the shelter and I figured there was room for one more. I used just my sleeping bag and pad and skipped the bivy sack. Unfortunately I had forgotten a pee bottle and knew I'd be getting up a few times in the night. Taking off my shoes would be a bit of a chore in the cold conditions so I merely stuck my feet into the sleeping bag's stuff sack rather than unlace them. I slept pretty well, all things considered, and only had some minor problems with chilly feet. I heard Mike get up to leave and Lisa Paulos catch up and pass me, but I reasoned, it's a long race and I needed my rest. After my third time getting up to pee it was time to go. I had slept about three hours. The cyclist was still snoring away.

The first thing I noticed after getting moving was that it was cold. I know I'm good to at least -20f with what I was wearing and so it had to be colder than that. I wouldn't find out until I arrived at Melgeorge's that it hit -35f that night. I put on my down jacket and army surplus over-mitts, both of which I had never used in anger before. In fact I had almost ditched the mittens at the last minute, I'm glad I didn't.

My pace was still good though I was starting to get a twinge from my right hamstring. I passed several runners just after the shelter and I was glad to have slept. I find that if I sleep for a few hours I can make better time on the first night than if I go straight through. Passing those runners only confirmed it. By the time the sun came out I was through the worst of the hills and only had a few miles left to Melgeorge's. I was still suffering from cold hands however. Every so often I would have to stop using my poles and make fists to warm my numb fingers. My fingers always came through though so it wasn't too bad.

I caught up with Mike Stattelman and Lisa Paulos on Elephant lake, just before Melgeorge's. Mike had carried his skis at least half the distance from Gateway. It was just too cold to get any glide. I know how awful it is for me to walk any distance in ski boots and figured he was done. Lisa was suffering from cold hands too and from chatting with her I could tell the long night and cold had taken a lot out of her. I was hoping she'd recover and keep going, but it wasn't to be.

I was relieved to be at Melgeorge's and glad to know I was halfway done. I stripped off my outer layers, shoes and socks. I had one blister on my right heel, but nothing too worrying. My feet were a little swollen and starting to get leathery. Nothing to worry about as I've been there before. I greedily ate some soup and a grilled cheese then went up to the loft for a nap. I didn't want to sleep long, but any time I could rest in a warm place I felt I had to take advantage of it. It couldn't have been longer than twenty minutes or so and I decided it was time to get going. I changed socks, refilled my water and restocked my food from my drop bag. I had, as usual, massively overestimated how much I would eat, but better that than underestimating.
Figuring that if it had hit -35f during the night it wouldn't be all that warm during the day I dressed for sub zero conditions and headed out the door. Mike, to my surprise, was heading out as well. I figured he'd catch and pass me during the warmer daytime conditions, but it never did warm up enough for efficient skating. He dropped out at Crescent just before the cutoff.

I had spent about two hours at Melgeorge's and that seemed about right. Rest had again done me good and I was once again truckin'. Speaking of truckin', this was the first time during the race that the image of Mr. Natural truckin' came to me and it was to help/haunt me to the finish. After Elephant Lake there are a few huge hills and then quite a few miles of flat. I formed a paceline with Carles Conil and another runner whose name escapes me.

Somewhere near the Elephant Lake access road I spotted something crossing the trail ahead of us. It looked like two large black dogs with white tails. Wolves? I had been noticing recent tracks in the trail since before Gateway, but this was the first I had seen anything. I alerted the others, but they hadn't seen anything and the wolves were gone. Perhaps it was just snow in the trees. I hope not.

Shortly after crossing the road Carles and the other runner picked up the pace and I couldn't hang with them. My hamstring was getting worse. Still, I didn't take many breaks and I overtook Carles a few times before we arrived at Myrtle Lake shelter. I sat down inside the shelter just to be "inside" for a while. It seemed warm with the sun shining on me and ate a pop-tart. Carles sat down outside and Marcio Villar caught up to us. Marcio shared some peanut butter crackers with us and we moved on.

It seemed all too soon and the sun was setting again. I geared up for another cold night, and put over-sized wool socks over my shoes then fixed them in place with Yaktrax. I also put on my down jacket and army mitts. Soon though my hands were getting cold and numb. It was a lot colder than I had expected. I started to panic a little bit. Luckily, Lynn Saari, who had dropped out, had talked me into taking a couple of chemical hand warmers at Melgeorge's. Now I was glad to have them. I opened them up and dropped them into my over-mitts and after a few minutes of faster paced walking I felt much better. Disaster averted.

I had forgotten just how many rolling hills there are in the second half of the course. I kept hoping to spot the Elbow Lake shelter, but it wasn't showing up. I was starting to hope that I had missed it, but I knew it wasn't possible. There are several distinctive landmarks, a trail junction and a bridge, just after it and I hadn't passed those. Now nothing was tasting right and I was starting to tire. I was getting a cotton mouth sort of feeling and I think I had slightly frostbitten the inside of my mouth with all the frozen food I was eating. Even though nothing tasted good, my stomach and my mind were both telling me to eat more and so I did.

Finally I arrived at the shelter. I hear that this is a very pretty place with a nice view of the lake, but I've never taken advantage of it. In '06 I didn't even see it on the bike and in '10 and this year it was dark and I didn't have time to stop. Carles was there though, just getting up from a nap. He mentioned that his favorite part of camping is just getting all the gear out. I wish I could have agreed, but when I get the gear out all I can seem to think about is how hard it will be to put it all away again. I kept moving and passed Marcio who was just settling down for a nap beside the trail. I asked him how he was doing and he said he was tired and cold. He asked whether or not he should take off his shoes before putting his feet inside the sleeping bag. I shrugged and said it didn't matter. If we had shared a common language I could have told him what I had done earlier with the stuff sack, but it seemed too hard to try to communicate that to him.

Finally I was into the real hills. Up and down without a break. My hamstring ached on the uphills and my knee ached on the downhills. I was feeling okay, but I had to use my walking poles like crutches to climb every slope. I realized I was slowing down a lot and knew it was time for a rest. I started looking for a place to lay out my sleeping bag, but I was a little picky. I wanted a spot packed down by a snowmobile, but off trail, and on top of a hill. I figured that'd be the warmest spot on this cold night. I kept saying to myself that I'd find it on the next hill and so several hills later I found something like what I wanted.

A snowmobile had pulled off the trail, but the spot was very unevenly packed down. Some spots were hard as rock and some very soft. I kicked at the snow to even it out a little, but I didn't try very hard. I set out my walking poles to mark the spot, laid out my pad and bag, then used my sled to block the entrance to my campsite. I didn't want any snowmobiliers running me over. I lay down at an angle somewhat like a recliner chair, but with a hole to my right that I'd roll into if I wasn't careful. It should have been uncomfortable, but I fell right to sleep. I woke myself up a few times snoring and found that I had rolled into that hole, but I didn't mind. I was warm and sleep felt great. After the third or fourth time waking up at the sound of my own snoring I decided, once again, that this was a race and I'd better get moving. I had slept for about an hour.

As I was packing up Carles came up the hill looking good and passed me once again. Marcio was just behind him, but moving slowly and not looking so good. I asked if he was okay and he responded, "muito frio." I know that much Portugese and asked him, as best I could, if he needed anything and suggested he try getting in his sleeping bag. "No. Drop. Snowmobile." he responded and I told him if I saw any snowmobiles I'd send them to him.

It was cold, and I had to pull my hands into fists around the heaters in my mittens from time to time. I could only do that on flat spots however as I still needed the poles to walk up and down hills. There were no flat spots. It was all hills.

Marcio caught up with me some time later. At first I figured I must be really slowing down, but I asked him how he was doing and he responded, "Maravilha," which I took to mean, "It's a miracle." He was warm once again and feeling strong. I'm glad no snowmobiles had passed us during that time.

We must be getting close to Wakemup hill (the last one), I thought. I started looking for it around every bend in the trail. I caught up with one runner who was melting snow for water. He had run out. I was thankful that I had increased my water load from 3 liters to 4 at the last minute. By insulating the water bottles with my sleeping pad I was able to keep them from freezing even in the cold temperatures we were experiencing.

Marcio and I passed a couple of trail junctions and I felt that I knew where we were. I told him in my Sesame Street Spanish that we had "tres kilometers" to go to the checkpoint at Crescent. He took off running at that, but I was wrong. Soon I passed Rick Wagar, another runner, who had a GPS and informed me that we had six miles to go to the checkpoint. I should have said, "diez kilometers."

Eventually we really did arrive at Wakemup hill and I was relieved to see it. I hobbled up to the top without taking a break (I had to take two breaks when I had biked) and then grimaced through the pain in my knee on the way back down. The trail wound it's way to the Crescent bar and last checkpoint.

I had hoped to make it to the Crescent by 3AM so I could get something like a good night's sleep before sunrise, but it was now 5AM. I'd still be able to sleep, but not much more than a nap. Carles was warming up by the fire as I got in and he informed me that runner Scott Myers had measured -42 on the trail. I figured he must have his units wrong so I asked if he meant Fahrenheit or Celsius. "It doesn't matter," he said, "it's the same." And so it is.

I ordered a pizza from the bar and ate the whole thing. I wanted more, but instead I laid down on the floor and right to sleep. Some time later I was nudged awake by one of the volunteers and told my hour was up. Apparently we were limited to only one hour of sleep in the Crescent checkpoint. I think it had only been about forty-five minutes, but I wasn't going to quibble. I was grateful to be warm and rested and I'm not sure I was really supposed to be sleeping on the floor anyway.

As I left the eastern horizon was just beginning to lighten. John Taylor was coming in as I was leaving. He isn't fast, but keeps moving and doesn't sleep the whole time. Amazing, no wonder he sees such crazy stuff on the trail. Marcio and Rick passed me shortly thereafter and I was on my own for the last twenty miles or so.

The long, straight, flat sections that typify the last miles of the Arrowhead Trail didn't seem to bother me. At least I was done with the hills. I got to the Cook turnoff and knew I had about 16 miles left to go. That felt good, but after thinking about it I still had at least 5 hours left on the trail and more like 7. Not such an encouraging thought. Still, I thought, there's nothing to do but keep walking. So I did.

Eventually the day warmed up a little and I traded my down coat and army mitts for a fleece vest and lobster mitts. I usually only use the vest and lobster mitts in sub-zero temps, so I know it couldn't have been too warm.

As I reached the last shelter it was time to deal with a problem that had been plaguing me for some time. I had been happily breaking wind since early in the race, but now by breaking wind I risked more than a minor stench in my shorts. Things were getting serious and I was expecting an outhouse at the shelter to deal with the problem. I was disappointed then that there was no such facility. I'd have to deal with this in the open. So I did.

Now that I was almost done the "truckin'" theme started to come back to me. Now not only was I thinking of Mr. Natural, but the Grateful Dead song "Truckin'" was getting stuck in my head. I'm no deadhead, but it wasn't too bad a song to be stuck with. "What a long strange trip it's been," seemed pretty appropriate lyrics.

I was tired and really slowing down. I was almost dragging my left leg down the trail and now I was using my poles like crutches much of the time. I wanted to bivy and sleep for a little while, but with the finish so close I wouldn't let myself. I arrived at the turnoff to the Casino and knew I was in the home stretch. I met Lisa Paulos, out for a walk, on the trail. I couldn't imagine just being out for a walk at that moment. Wasn't she tired from walking 70 miles? I was hurting a lot and no longer having any fun, but I was going to make it. I just kept truckin'.

Finally there was the finish line and Arrowhead banner across the trail. Apparently someone had gotten word to the finish that I was coming in and Nick, Caitlin, and Matt Long were there to meet me. I finished in 56:01 and not a minute too soon. I nearly swore never to run a race again. I think I did say I wouldn't do the Arrowhead on foot again.

Now, a week later, I am a little bit disappointed to have it behind me. It feels like it was too short. I wish it weren't over. Still, my leg is pretty messed up. I'm just now able to walk without a significant limp. I'm still in some pain though and having trouble sleeping because of it, but that'll get better.

Next year? I think I'm going to ski.

Busy Weekend

This past weekend I ran the Triple D and skied the Cumming Winter World Championships (aka. Iowa Winter Race #2). Triple D was to be my last race before the big one at Arrowhead and since it was "just" a training race I figured it wouldn't hurt to do a little ski event the day before.

I haven't been skiing much this winter so this was only my third time on skis and the first on this particular pair ever. I wasn't sure what to expect for the course or competition. It turned out to be about 10 skiers and approximately 5k of out and back on the Great Western Trail. There was about 4 inches of snow over asphalt bike path. Not ideal, but I don't think I've ever skied in ideal conditions. I started at the middle of the pack and pretty quickly moved up to the front. Once I took the lead I never gave it up. One woman followed me pretty close to the turnaround, but then I dropped her and put about a minute between us by the finish. It's my first contested win in a ski race and for that I'm happy, but I don't imagine that my competition was much. Hopefully I can make it to race #3 in the series and defend my title (such as it is).

After the ski race I had to book it back to Ames, pick up a car, pack my sled, and drive to Dubuque to give a seminar on winter racing with Lance Andre. I arrived a little late, but that didn't turn out to be a big deal. The seminar went well and several people commented that I had done a nice job. I'd say there were about 25 people there, most of them racing the Triple D the next day. For the most part we went over the mandatory gear for Arrowhead and Susitna. I don't mind talking in front of crowds about stuff I know something about so it was no trouble, but I was worried that there were people taking notes about the things that I said. No one should take anything I have to say on any subject that seriously.

The next morning I ran the Triple D. I've skied the race three times so it was fun to do something a little different. Since it was my last training race before Arrowhead I decided to run the whole thing without walking and see whether or not it would be feasible to run some of the AHU course. I was a little overdressed for the day and had to unzip my jersey and remove my gloves and hat from time to time. Conditions were exceptionally good with a hard trail and temperatures in the teens, the best of any Triple D thus far. While I didn't have any trouble running the 22 miles or so I was more sore than I wanted to be, probably in part because of the ski race the day before. I opted not to do the extra miles for a marathon or 50k. No need to hurt myself before the big race. I concluded that running at AHU probably wouldn't happen for me. There's just no way I can run any significant distance and still have it in me to do the whole 135 miles.

So, can I finish the Arrowhead in two weeks time? I honestly don't know. I think I probably can if all goes well, but there are a lot of variables. I'll be cutting it pretty close to the 60 hour time limit in any case.

Tuscobia 2010

This years Tuscobia didn't get off to a great start for me. First, I had broken the zipper on last years sled making it pretty much useless. I had to scramble and put together another one the night before we left. Second, I had forgotten my hiking poles at home and had to borrow some from Tim's (the race director) parents. They were 145cm, which would have been great for skiing, but I was walking and would rather have had 125cm poles. Finally, I had been fighting a cold for almost a week and while it had seemed to be improving, I lost my voice the night before the race. All of which had me thinking: when is enough enough and can I just quit now, before I start?

Of course I didn't quit, but it was tempting. Last year's race had been such an ordeal that I had hallucinations, could barely walk for a week afterward, and seriously considered biking the Arrowhead rather than skiing as I had planned. Hopefully this year wouldn't be as bad.


The start in Rice Lake wasn't bad. Temperatures were fairly warm and the trail was reasonably solid. For about the first half mile I was keeping pace with all the other run/walkers pretty well. Then of course, some folks started to run. I was pretty sure that if I took off running I wouldn't be able to complete the 75 mile race, at least not in the snow, so I kept up my walk. I promised myself that if I could I would start running after the halfway point, mile 38. By that point I figured I would know how I was doing and could wear myself out without too much worry.

For a while I leapfrogged with the only two skiers, Anne and Leah, but once they found their stride they passed me and kept going. I found myself going about the same pace as Darryl Saari and two other guys who were working together. I was pleased that I was keeping pace with Darryl, but I knew it was temporary. I knew that he could keep moving at a good pace when I slowed down or stopped, hopefully that would be a long way off.

We passed by the 150 mile racers a few miles in including Roberto Marron who I had run with at Wild Duluth in October. He told me not to go too fast so he could walk with me after the turn-around. He was jogging along at a steady pace so I figured he'd catch up to me at some point. He didn't, but did finish the 150 which is an amazing accomplishment, especially for his first winter race.

I was on my planned pace of 3mph when I arrived at the first checkpoint at mile 12 in Birchwood. I had hoped to sit down for a few minutes, but the other racers seemed to be getting in and out without pausing and I was feeling good enough to follow suite. After refilling my Camelbak with Carnation Instant Breakfast I was on my way.


The toughest thing about the Tuscobia isn't physical. The terrain and weather are pretty mild, but mentally it is a real challenge. For me it is mentally tougher than the Arrowhead 135. The trail is almost perfectly flat and quite straight. There are no hills to break up your progress into manageable chunks and the scenery never seems to change, just trees converging in the distance. At Arrowhead I can focus on making it to the top of the next hill or around the next corner. That doesn't happen at Tuscobia. To make it worse there are markers every mile that tell you exactly how far you have to go. It might seem like that would make it easier, but it just serves to frustrate when it seems to take forever to go one mile. The mile markers also don't let me zone out and just walk. I'm never pleasantly surprised that the miles have gone by quickly and I'm further than I thought.

Dark seemed to come all too soon. I had hoped to be further along, but I was stubbornly keeping my 3mph pace. I could only hope that time would seem to pass more quickly in the night as it sometimes does. I turned on my headlamp, and used it to help me find the most solid part of the somehow softening trail. I passed by a bar at Couderay where I saw a runner's sled parked by the front door. I wondered who it was and started to think that I could use a bathroom and maybe some water. Still though, I kept moving. A few miles further I came into the town of Radisson and saw Leah and Anne, the skiers, getting underway again after stopping at a convenience store. It seemed like a good idea to me as well and I summoned the courage to go all the way across the street (it seemed like a long way out of my way, but wasn't really). After using the bathroom and refilling my Camelbak I drank an energy drink for a mental boost, physically I was fine, and started off again. It turned out that the sled at the bar belonged to Lynn Saari who caught up to me as I was leaving the store. She passed me by as I loaded up and started moving again.

Just after leaving town the trail joined a road for a couple of miles and I finally reached the halfway point of 38 miles. I had been using this point as a carrot for quite a while and promised myself that I would start running when I got there. Now that I was there I gave it a shot. I ran to the next mile marker and while it seemed a lot faster than previous miles I just felt too tired to run much further. Disappointed, I started walking again. Again, I tried not to think too far ahead and focused on just getting to the next checkpoint in Winter at mile 46. Somehow I just kept walking and counted down the miles until town.


By the time I made it to Winter I was ready for a break. I my cold was starting to catch up with me and I was starting to cough more and have a runny nose. I hadn't sat down since the start of the race fifteen hours earlier. Lynn Saari was leaving as I arrived and the skiers were setting up their sleeping bags and resolved to sleep until dawn and then continue. I knew I didn't want to stay that long, but figured that three hours would do me good. After sitting down and having some soup I tried to lay down to nap, but I couldn't seem to manage it at first. John Taylor and a couple of other runners came and went and three more runners including the pair working together dropped at the checkpoint while I was there. Jan Roe who was staffing the checkpoint left me in charge for a while while she drove the dropped runners back to Park Falls. With a little quiet I was able to get a some rest. I slept fitfully for about an hour and a half inside the checkpoint while my cough worsened. Making things worse it seemed far too warm, I had to strip down to my underwear to keep from sweating, and there were weird programs on TV (which I didn't think to turn off) about serial killers and unsolved murders. Not the most restful situation. By the time Jan returned, even though my cold was getting worse, I was ready to get out of there.

At that point I was pretty sure I was the last 75 mile runner on the trail. I was surprised that Roberto, who was running the 150 hadn't caught me yet and I hoped he hadn't dropped. I told myself the good news that I only had 30 miles to go, but I knew that the bad news was that I had at least 10 hours left on the trail.

A few miles down the road I had one of those weird experiences that seem to happen in the middle of the night in races like this. Just as I arrived at a road crossing a jeep pulled up and stopped. I tried to wave him through, but rather than moving on a man got out and asked me, "Have you seen a little girl out here with two little boys?" I wasn't expecting that at 4am. I told him I hadn't and he replied, "Okay, just curious," and drove off. He didn't seem worried or any thing. Curious indeed.

I saw lights ahead and wondered who I was catching up to. It was a biker just packing up after camping. He started off just as I passed him and I figured I wouldn't see him again. It was a long slow slog to the towns of Loretta and Draper, the next landmark. This was where I started to have real trouble last year and couldn't ski any more. This year I was doing better in spite of everything and was still walking though I had to concentrate to keep my speed up. After passing through the towns the trail entered a spruce bog where I had had hallucinations last year, but this year I seemed to be better rested and in less pain.

As the sun rose I thought for a second that I was hallucinating again. There seemed to be a bike leaning up against a sign up the trail. No way of course, it must be a log or something, but it was. The same biker I had passed earlier in the night was camped out again. He must have been having some trouble like I had had the year before.

I finally made it to the spot, eight miles from the finish, where I had tried to quit last year, but couldn't get phone service. At this point my cough was getting worse, doubling me over a few times, my left hamstring was starting to act up, and worst of all my gloves were covered in ice from wiping my nose so often. Nothing worse than trying to wipe your nose with ice. Still it wasn't as bad as last year and I kept going.

About six miles out I had another run in with a local. A guy in Carhartts and Sorels was walking down the trail toward me. No snowmachine in sight. I said hello. He looked at me and said, "You're not from around here, are you?" I guess it shows.

Finally, with about two miles to go I saw a cyclist coming towards me. Nick, who had finished the 150 mile race on his bike the night before was coming out to look for me. I was happy to have somebody to walk with me and finally felt like I was going to make it. I picked up my pace a little and we also met Jan Roe again who was out on skis checking on the racers. I walked the rest of the way in with Nick and was relieved to have the Tuscobia behind me for another year.


Now, with barely four weeks to go until the Arrowhead, I still have some lingering questions that walking the Tuscobia didn't answer for me. While my hamstring injury doesn't seem to be serious, I'm over it already, how much worse could it get? Will it be a problem in the nearly twice as long AHU? Did the too long poles have anything to do with it? While I didn't have serious blisters like last year I did have some moderate ones on my heels that became a bit of a nuisance. Can I get my shoes/feet broken in before the big race or will I be fighting blisters there too? My finishing time of 29:06, while faster than I skied it last year, isn't too impressive. At that pace it'll be a close thing to finish the Arrowhead in under 60 hours. Could I have gone faster with shorter poles or could I have run more than I thought I could? How much did my cold affect me? Hopefully I can get the answers to these questions in the next few weeks and finish the big race this year.

How an "expert" builds a pulk

**There'll be a Tuscobia write-up sometime later this week. I managed to do the 75 miles in just over 29 hours with only minor troubles, but I really want to give it a more thorough treatment than I can right now.**

Lately it seems like folks have been asking me for a lot of advice on these winter races, especially the Arrowhead. It's something of a surprise as I don't really consider myself an "expert" on these things. I suppose I've been doing it for several years and had some success on both the bike and on skis, but folks seem to forget that I've failed just as many times as I've succeeded. As it stands I'm happy to answer as many questions as I can, but it should be remembered that I am not an expert or an elite athlete (as some have suggested), just a guy who kind of likes doing this stuff.

In any case, one thing I've been asked about is my sled. Here is how I built one on short notice when my old one had a zipper blow out. It's quick and dirty, but it got the job done for Tuscobia this year. I hope to make a nicer one before Arrowhead.

Step one: find a sled. A simple plastic toboggan seems to work best. Lots of room, light, durable, and cheap. Get it home however you like.











Step two: enlarge the existing rope attachment points to fit your rope. I used 9mm dynamic rope (stretchy) so that it would pull more smoothly and be stronger than I'd ever need it to be. Use what you like. It's not a big deal.



Step Three: Tie your rope in to the sled using a figure 8 follow-through. Other knots, like a bowline, would probably work fine (it isn't like you'll be hanging from it), but I can be a knot snob.

Step Four (no photo): feed your rope through a rigid tube of your choice. I used an old fiberglass ski pole, but others have used PVC pipe with some success. I like the ski pole because I know it won't weaken in the cold and it has a narrower inside diameter to more closely fit the rope. About two meters seems to be a good length for the poles.


Step Five: once you've threaded your rope tie a loop in the other end using a figure 8 on a bight (again other knots would probably work fine). I pull the rope tight and try to get some stretch out of it when I do this. It helps to keep the pulling system rigid and keep the sled from overtaking me on the downhills.



Step Six: toss a large duffel bag full of your gear in and strap it down. The strapping down could take a whole other blog post, but you could just tie it in with more rope. I have used parachute cord in the past, but on this sled I riveted nylon straps with buckles in to the sled. One downside to just tossing the duffel in is that snow can pack in around the sides.

Step Seven (no photo): attach to a waist belt with carabiners. I use a reversed fanny pack with loops sewn into the sides, but there are other options. I cross the poles and then strap them together where they cross. This makes for a directionally stable sled which is nice on downhills.



Step Eight: walk 75 miles with it. This isn't my ideal sled, but it was done on short notice and took less time than writing this blog post (about an hour).

Looking back on Arrowhead '06

Yesterday I was reading a blog that reminded me of the 2007 Arrowhead which led to me looking back on the race from that year (the line from blog to '07 AHU is not straight so I won't bother with it.) For those of you who don't know that was the year I made some serious mistakes and I had to be rescued on snowmobile. I suffered some pretty serious frostbite and, while it wasn't as bad as it could have been, my toes are still not quite right. Granted, it was a tough year with a combination of bad snow conditions and a serious cold (-35f), but it was nothing I wasn't aware was possible.

After that disappointment I was in quite a funk for a while and as a result I've never written about it or analyzed what I did wrong (although I did learn some things from it). The AHU blog from that year (especially the "To bivy or not to bivy" and "Drink water don't ration it" entries) makes some pretty heavy points about the race and it really got me thinking I needed to re-think what happened. Here's a rough outline of what I did wrong that year:

What I did wrong:

-My cycling shoes were not warm enough or roomy enough for the conditions.
--I had gotten frostbite the year before ('06) using the same shoes, but rationalized it as "not that bad." Any frostbite is too much, don't think otherwise.
--I tried to use heat packs in my shoes, but without any room to breathe in the shoes they didn't work.

-Not enough water
--My thermoses froze shut from spilled water freezing on the cap threads (I managed to force one open, but on the other I broke the cap trying to get it off and never did get it open cutting my water supply in half).
--I didn't drink because it was too tough to get in to the thermos in my pannier bags (even when not frozen shut).
--I didn't eat for the same reason. It was hard to get to the food. That and not drinking probably caused a lack of appetite
--Because I didn't eat or drink I had a pretty epic bonk about 50 miles in. I didn't have the energy to ride the bike and eventually couldn't even swing my leg over the top tube.

-I was in a hurry.
--I was trying to break 24 hours and stuck to it even though conditions dictated otherwise.
--This contributed to not eating and drinking along with not stopping at the Gateway store.

-I didn't stop at Gateway store 35 miles in.
--As a result I didn't warm myself up, eat, fix and refill my thermoses. All of which would have been possible at the Gateway store. I probably could have bought warmer boots there too (it's that kind of store.)

-I never expected or intended to use my stove.
--I had never tested my lightweight alcohol stove in cold temps (sub-freezing. I have since and the stove does not work well in those temperatures.)
--I hadn't practiced with the stove.
--I didn't melt snow to drink.

-I got lost.
--The Arrowhead trail is pretty straightforward and I didn't figure I could get off course...and I didn't, but I didn't know where I was on course. I thought I was ~5 miles from Melgeorge's (halfway/75 miles) when I was actually ~20 miles out.
--Because I thought I was closer than I was I kept moving rather than stopping to camp. I thought that at worst I had 2 hours of walking. In reality it would have been more like 8.

What I did right:
-said "no" when asked by a snowmobiler if I was okay. I got on the snowmachine and dropped from race. None of this would have been necessary if I had done just one or two of the major points above right.

The number one thing I can do to keep these things from happening this year as I attempt to run the Arrowhead is to practice with my gear. To that end I slept outside last night and, while the 6f temperatures aren't what I expect at Arrowhead, I got some good practice with my (much better) stove.

Me, proving my stove works with a hot cup of coffee.

24-7 and Septemper Overview

It's been a while. Here's what I did in September:

Over Labor Day weekend I rode in the Eighth Annual 24 Hours at Seven Oaks. I can't say it was my best effort. Maybe my third best over the five times I've ridden the race solo. Given that I was out of shape and riding a less than ideal bike though...excuses, excuses. I rode about 88 miles in a little less than 14 hours on a 26" wheeled, single-speed, rigid, Surly 1x1.

The bike generated astonishment from the peanut gallery of 29"er, 2x10, suspended, titanium bike riders, but I didn't feel like I was at too much of a disadvantage. Heck, I knew that by lap three most everyone would be walking the hills anyway. And really I thought the bike served me well. It never beat me up or failed me in any way. My lights though...

I was feeling pretty good going into the night laps, always a bad sign. The first night lap went well, and I had just started to climb the second big hill on my second night lap when I saw a guy walking backward on the course with no lights. His headlight batteries had died and was walking out, back to the campground. I told him I knew how that felt (happened to me in '03) and kept going. Not 100 yards down the trail I thought that my lights were getting kind of yellow looking, the first sign of a dying battery. I figured I was just fooling myself, seeing things, after all the batteries should have been good for about three hours and I only had a little over one on it, but shortly after that the light went dim and then died. Crud.

Well, I could ride out the course with my backup one watt light or I could follow the dude back to camp. The one watt seemed to be doing okay, but I knew the course was going to get more technical. I was also only about one mile into an eight mile course. But I didn't want to sacrifice my mental momentum. I continued on.

The lap went okay, but I was glad to get back to the camp and hook up my second battery. The bright light was reassuring to see. I started up the first climb with new confidence. Then the light went out. Then back on. Then off. A loose connection? I checked both ends of the power cord. It seemed okay, but if I shook the light it would go on and off. Bad sign. Somewhere in the lamp there was a short. I turned around and rode the short distance back to camp, light more on than off.

What to do. I figured my race was done, at least until the morning. Luckily there were two sturdy DBDers, Charlie Farrow and Jason Buffington from Duluth on hand. They weren't ready to see my race come to an end (though theirs already had). Jason Buffington lent me his headlamp and helped me zip-tie it to my helmet. It wasn't as bright as my old one, but better than nothing.

Two more laps and I was starting to fade. Physically I was feeling fine. My legs were still working (though my arms were tired from the single-speeding), but my mind was going. I was starting to focus on the negative and imagine that I was about to ride off the trail with my weak lights. In fact, I was having trouble staying on the best line. I could no longer tell where the center of the trail was and ended up hitting more than my share of tree roots and branches. At the end of that (eleventh) lap I knew I had to stop and at least take a nap.

I unrolled my emergency blanket and sat down next to a fire that Kyle Sedore's had burning. Before long I was half asleep and overheard a few comments about a "baked potato", but I couldn't be bothered. I slept for a few hours, and just before dawn I was alert enough to continue. But I didn't.

I looked up at the hill looming over the camp and knew that to get back on the bike meant riding up and down that hill again and again for at least an hour and probably more. I didn't have it in me. I couldn't imagine doing it. I was done for lack of willpower.

Talk around camp was that 1st, and 2nd place were still racing hard, while 3rd wasn't going to catch them. 4th however was at 11 laps. There were at least 4 of us with 11 laps. If one of us went out, we all had to. None of us were going back out.

The broken (but still sturdy) DBDers gave me a ride back to Ames, before they hurried back to Duluth to meet their fates. Shamed I too fled the state.


The rest of September:

While I was out of the state I did manage to get in a short hike the next Saturday. Sleeping Giant State Park in Connecticut was a surprisingly strenuous endeavor in the middle of a very lazy week.

Returning to Iowa I rededicated myself and ran 25k on Saturday the 18th and then raced Cyclocross on the 19th. Cyclocross isn't for me. It's a tough 45 minute effort, but it's still only 45 minutes.

Finally, on the 25th I ran about 10 miles then learned to play Snooker early on the 26th. That's an adventure right?

Seven Oaks Trial Run

I rode out to Seven Oaks and did a few laps last weekend. I wanted to get some miles in on the 1x1 and check out the trails before the 24 hour race. I managed about 65 miles in about eight hours with a fair number of stops. Not stellar, but about as well as I could hope given the bike and terrrain.

On the way out I rode through Ledges park. It's quite a mess because of flooding a few weeks ago. Most of the fords are washed out, the last bit of the road is under several feet of sand and mud, and the bridge on the Highway through the park is pretty much gone. I had to do a bit of walking, but it was fun to have a bit of adventure on the way out.

Once I got to Seven Oaks I was expecting some bad trail and so when I saw the caution tape cutting off the back 2/3rds of the trail I took it seriously. I did three laps of the top portion before I ran into somebody (whose name I should really know) weed-whacking the trail who asked how the back side was. He said that it was supposed to be open for the 24 and I decided to check it out.

Both bridges over the creek were out and I was definitely the first person through in a while (spiderwebs and trail debris indicated that). Fording the creek was actually a lot of fun and I kind of wished that the powers that be would make that part of the course. Of course it wouldn't be ridable, but that's okay with me. I'm not much good at riding anyway.

Most of the trail was in pretty good shape. Sure there were a few washouts and in two sections the hill had more or less slid away, but it looked like there were re-routes in progress. I finally found Tom, who I had hoped to help with some trail work, but since I had messed around on the front side of the hill for so long he was ready to go and so was I.

I rode back home across the Wagon Wheel bridge and through Boone. I was pretty happy with the way the ride went. I was afraid that riding so much gravel on an undergeared singlespeed (32x18) would kill my back and test my patience, but I managed it pretty well. Good to know those years of riding the 1x1 at the Arrowhead and winter commuting with a ridiculous gear (32x22) weren't a complete waste.

Adventure #5(?)

I'm beginning to think that the purpose of this blog is to show myself how little training I really do. I know that I can go out and ride a gravel century or run a marathon any time I like, but I also know that if I don't do it regularly it will hurt a lot more. I am not fast, but maybe I could be if I trained right. Last years success at the Arrowhead convinced me that I can stick to something like a training regimen and that it really does help. This year I'm hoping to run it, something I have even less experience with than skiing, and it will require that I actually train rather than just talk about it.

In spite of all this negativity I did get out and ride last weekend. I took a couple of the guys from the shop out to Fraser and over to Ogden where we stopped at a Casey's for some food and drink. Oddly, it was breakfast for all three of us (that's normal for me, but most folks are smarter than that). We hit a few good hills and managed 74 miles on a tough hot and humid day.

On the way back we took the Wagon Wheel bridge across the DesMoines river. I hadn't been that way in a long time (since before they built the new railroad bridge) and I wasn't sure that it would be open. Well, it wasn't, but we could cross anyway. We hopped the barriers and stepped over a few missing boards, but the bridge was largely passable. I expect it will undergo a long decline and in about ten years will be torn down. Until then I plan to ride it.

Updates

Here's what I've been up to the last few weeks:

August 1st: Rode the Skunk River greenbelt trail up to Story City and back. Very muddy due to recent rains. Lots of mosquitoes. A few trail re-routes. All in all about 40 miles on the Pugsley.

August 8th: Rode a few laps at Peterson Pits and McFarland park. Again, muddy with mosquitoes. I noticed that my chain was skipping about halfway through the ride. I stopped for a break at Ada Hayden park and saw that I had a broken chain link. Soft pedaled back home. ~30 miles. That's what you get for hard downshifting on the hills.

August 10th: Short gravel ride after work with Jared. ~20 miles easy pace with a little adventure riding through flooded roads and dodging thunderstorms. I tried out some new bib shorts on this ride and I have to say that they're fine, but not all that. I think I'd have to be a little bit larger to benefit from the relaxed waist. I promise never to ride in bib shorts w/o a jersey though. I won't be that guy.

In the meantime I've been checking out this barefoot running fad. It's pretty fun if nothing else, but I refuse to buy those Vibram Five Fingers shoes. I won't be that guy either.

Windstorm survey ride. (Adventure #2)

I skipped my adventure last weekend. I have no excuse for it really. Sure I was tired, it was my only day off, I had run a 50k the weekend before, but the truth is I slept until three in the afternoon. So much for my planned bike ride.

This weekend, despite similar obstacles, I managed to get up and ride fifty miles of gravel with Paul. Now, you might be saying, "That's not much of an adventure. Dave G. does more than that several times a week," and you'd be right, but I have excuses...it was hot, the wind was in our faces, there were trees blocking the road, I for got sunscreen, I was on a Pugsley for goodness sake.

Actually we were planning to ride out to Seven Oaks and do a lap or two out there. Combined with the ride out and back that would have been a metric century and I've been wanting to do Seven Oaks on the Pug for a while now. Unfortunately we had a pretty nasty wind storm last night that took down a lot of branches and trees (rumored winds of 71 mph). So we figured that the trails probably weren't in good shape (Seven Oaks is pretty bad when it's wet) and opted for a shorter gravel cruise instead.

I have to keep things interesting though so I managed to re-learn a couple of lessons. 1) Things in frame bags get shaken a lot. First it was the pop-tarts that turned to pop tart powder. This time I was prepared and brought crushed Fritos, but the bag broke and I had crushed Fritos all over my stuff. 2) Wear sunscreen. I burnt my arms again and now they're swollen like after TI3. Well, not quite that bad, but still not good. I should have learned that lesson by now.

Afton Trail Race (Adventure #1)

It turns out that that six hour goal was a little optimistic. I finished in 7:24:05 with a lot of room for improvement. I learned a lot about running ultras though and that was my real goal for this event.

The race started out at a slow pace and seemed surprisingly comfortable to me. I really expected something more like the bike races I'd been in where there's a hard push at the beginning to drop the weaker riders, but I guess that's not the way ultra runners work. I was really confused then when we hit the first uphill and everybody started walking. I'd heard that it was de rigueur to walk anything resembling a hill in ultras, but had always assumed that that only applied to 50 milers and more. A 50k is hardly longer than a marathon and no one walks hills in those. So I ran the hill. Not hard mind you, but at a comfortable pace, and hoped that it wouldn't come to haunt me later.

The first lap of the two lap race went really well. The course was extremely hilly. It was like running at Seven Oaks with a few gravel hills like Y-Camp thrown in for good measure. They were steep and long, but so long as I didn't try to run hard I was fine. As it got later in the morning the day started to get very hot. In the woods it was shady, but muggy and still. In the open fields it was breezy, but the direct sun was tough to bear. Still I made sure to run everything and try to keep a moderate pace.

I finished the first lap in about 2:45 and thought I might just have a chance at keeping it under six hours, but I doubted it. I had told myself that I'd run everything for the first lap and then see about the second, but though I probably could have run a few more hills I had lost my motivation to do so. I couldn't make myself. I was starting to have a little trouble gettling myself to run the flats and downhills.

After about nine miles of that I was starting to fall apart. I needed water, but I hadn't brought a bottle. I had figured that I was fine with just the aid stations every three miles or so. After all I often do runs of seven miles without water and I'm fine. With the heat and distance behind me I wasn't as fine as I thought I would be. Added to that I needed a bathroom badly. I knew that there was one in the campground about a mile ahead, but I wasn't sure I'd make it that far, besides it was up a big hill. My calves were also starting to cramp. I figured I'd make the railroad bridge ahead then stretch a little and try to regain some strength for the climb.

When I reached the bridge I stopped and started to stretch, but after just a few seconds I felt like I couldn't even stand. I had to sit. I wasn't dizzy or nauseous, just exhausted, I couldn't get myself to move. I sat for a minute to regain some strength. A few runners passed me and asked if I was okay. I said I was and got up to continue. The path circled around beneath the bridge and after just 100 feet or so I had to sit again. I needed water, rest, and a bathroom and wasn't sure which one I needed most.

It was only a mile to the next aid station and I knew there were bathrooms at the top of the hill, if I could make it, but I couldn't walk more than a short distance on level ground. I knew I wouldn't make it. A runner stopped and gave me all the water he had left in his bottle, just a mouthfull, and I admitted defeat. I knew that there was a shorter way back to the aid station along a level trail and I decided that was my best choice. I got up and staggered back up to the bridge and the rail trail along the St. Croix river.

Then I spotted it. A sign I had missed before that said "restrooms". One of my needs would be met after all. Just a few yards down the rail trail I found them and sat down inside. Immediately I felt better. Maybe I could make it. After a few minutes of sitting I was ready to try again. I walked under the bridge again and up the hill recovering along the way. By the time I was at the top of the hill I could run a little and shortly I was at the aid station gulping down water and HEED. I had figured I would need to lay down for a while, but I felt good to go. How much time was left though? It was 12:30 I had three hours to cover the next five miles, I was going to make it.

Running was barely faster than walking, but I'd still run when I could. When climbing hills I'd put my hands on my knees to help push me up (a trick I remember reading about in elementary school, but never understood). Before I knew it I was at the next aid station where John Taylor helped me with water and filled my cap with ice (felt great). All I had left was the "snowshoe loop" which was mostly singletrack and very muggy. I walked almost everything, but forced myself to run the downhills.

Finally I passed under the entrance road and knew that there was just one last long hill to go. As I climbed I made up my mind to run the last bit to the finish. Once at the top I started jogging slowly, but steadily until the finish line was in sight. With only 50 yards or so to go I sprinted for it. There was no point in conserving energy any more. I crossed at a run in 7:24:05.

Lessons learned: walk the hills, carry some water, and for goodness sake know where the restrooms are.

Thanks to everyone who organized and ran the race. It was good to hang out with old friends and meet new ones. Especially John Storkamp, Tim Roe, Angela Hill, Darryl Saari, Dan LaPlante, Karl Neuberger & family, John Taylor, and the blue mohawk guy.

52 Adventures

I haven't posted in a long time. That's because I haven't done anything lately worthy of a blog post. The most blog-worthy things I've done lately are a 100k gravel ride and a 25k run. Not much. That's about to change. It's time for a new beginning. I [will shortly] have a new camera and need to use it. So here's the plan:

Have an adventure every week for the next year and write about it here. 52 adventures in total.

Next weekend, for Adventure #1, I'm going up to the Twin Cities for the Afton Trail Race. It'll be my first 50k run and a difficult one at that. I've been training (at least a little) and although I've had to take some time off due to injuries I think I have a shot at finishing in six hours. That's the goal anyway.

I'll let you all know how it turns out in a week's time.

Slow day at CIRREM

I could say that the reason I finished over an hour slower than last year was because I rode my least comfortable bike. I could say it was because I used studded tires, or ran them at 30psi. Maybe it was because I rode with fenders and a rack. I could blame the weather, but really the only reason I was so slow this year at CIRREM is because I am out of shape.

As the longest ride I've been on since November I guess I should have been expecting it. Sure I've been skiing a lot and done well in three ski races (two of them longer than the 62 mile CIRREM), but my legs didn't seem to care about that. What really mattered was that I couldn't turn the pedals over like I did last year.

From the first moments of the race, as we pulled away from the Cumming Tap, I saw that I wasn't going to be in the top five like last year. The gravel, which last year had been soft and sloppy, was frozen solid. It was as fast as pavement for those who had had the foresight to bring their cross bikes (like I did last year), but slow for those of us who had anticipated warmer, wetter conditions that would favor mountain bikes. The pack started pulling away within the first mile and for a few seconds I tried to keep pace, but knowing my body as I do I saw that I'd blow up in no time if I did that.

Last year the weather had been nasty. A cold overcast day that cycled among just about every sort of precipitation. Rain, sleet, snow and lots of wind. This year it was colder, probably in the high teens at the start, but with the sun out and little wind it was much more comfortable for most folks. I would have preferred worse conditions to keep the riff-raff away. There are lots of folks out there who might be faster than me on a good day, but get demoralized and drop out when the weather turns. That's where I'm good. I am energized by bad weather. It makes the ride more fun for me and makes me focus on the here and now rather than the finish or competition.

Before long I was on my own. A few riders were behind me, but most were in front. My only hope was that there would be some folks who went out too fast and blow up when we came to the hills. Unfortunately once we got to the hills I found out that that person was me. Where last year it seemed like there were a few steep hills I found that every hill this year was steep.

Luckily my Arrowhead experience kicked in and kept me mentally focused and I started treating the race as a race with myself. I wouldn't worry about anyone else's race. I was going to finish and I knew that even a worst case scenario of six hours was nothing compared to the 54 hours I had spent on the trail up north.

At the halfway checkpoint there was a crowd of competitors milling around chatting. I rolled right up to the water jugs, refilled my water bottles and, refusing the offered beer, took off immediately. I couldn't believe that so many people were taking a long break in a short race like this. I figured that I'd be passed by a lot of folks right after the checkpoint, but surprisingly only a few did.

The sun had warmed the roads by this point and in many places the gravel was getting very sloppy. The wide tires didn't seem to make much difference in the slop and the fenders were both a blessing and a curse. They kept the majority of the mud from spraying me and kept me dry, but they kept packing up with icy sludge and rubbing on my tires. Occasionally the fenders would cough and spit out a chunk of frozen mud and there was a constant drip of somewhat more snot-like mud dripping out by the mudflaps.

Still, even though I was out of shape and miserable, the end came fairly quickly. It's strange how a six hour race can seem short these days. I rolled up to the bar and went inside expecting some kind of a greeting, but slow as I was, nobody even noticed. They were already on to handing out prizes and drinking. I had to ask someone where I should check in (the race director was busy with the prizes) and I was directed to someone behind the prize table who took my number. With that I was officially done with the race.

As much as I hate getting in so late that the awards ceremony is already over (this has happened to me twice now, the first time was in a road race. I won't be doing that again.) I can't really blame the race directors. The leaders had gotten in over two hours before me and some had already left. In spite of my pathetic finish, the course was great. Hilly and remote, it only crosses pavement twice in the whole 62 miles. The cue sheet and course markings (orange paint on snow shows up really well) were easy to follow and I was never in doubt as to where I was. If all goes well, I'll be back next year.

Arrowhead 2010

Headed into this year's Arrowhead 135 I was more anxious than ever before. I had put together and followed (mostly) a training plan, researched and bought gear, done training races up to 75 miles, but still I didn't feel ready. I suppose I never do, but in a way I had more to lose this year. I felt like I might actually have a shot at finishing, a feeling that I hadn't had since biking the course, and halfway wasn't going to be enough this year.

It was about -21f (-30C) at the start this year and I could just see the first light of dawn to the East as we started out of International Falls. From the start I set my own pace and decided not to worry about anyone being faster than me, even the walkers. For a time I skied behind Pierre Ostor, the race director and fellow skier, as he made his bid to become the first person to finish the Arrowhead in all three disciplines (run, bike, ski). He looked strong and I was jealous of his skinnier skis and lighter sled. I thought he had the ski race figured out as he pulled ahead.

Because of the new start line in I-Falls, the first eight miles of the course were new to me, but I knew them to be flat and I just plugged away, trying not to worry about anyone or anything. Before I knew it, as the sun rose and warmed the snow, I was actually kicking and gliding rather than just shuffling along. I still wasn't what you'd call fast, but the skis were actually an advantage over the runners. I passed up Pierre (I wouldn't see him again until the finish, he would have boot fit problems and drop out at Melgeorge's the next morning) and made the first shelter at about two and a half hours. I was back in familiar territory.

I don't remember much of the next eight miles, I must have started getting into the groove. I focused on eating and drinking as often as possible. Soon I was crossing Highway 53 and getting into what I used to think of as the race proper. By the next shelter, about 25 miles in, the temperatures had risen and the Polar grip wax I had been using was getting a little slippery. As I chatted with skier Tim Roe and a runner, I corked in some Green wax, ate some cheese and sausage, and was back on the trail in just a few minutes. Only about ten miles to go until the Gateway store.

The advantage of having been through this part of the course four times before was that I didn't have to guess how far it was to the Gateway. I knew I was a little ahead of past years as the sun wasn't as low in the sky. It looked like I'd make my (provisional) goal of 35 miles by sunset. There is a big white pine on the right side of the trail a mile or so before the store and I was happy to see it. I made it to the store with sunshine to spare.

The parking lot at the checkpoint was crowded with runners sleds and a few bikes. Inside was crowded with racers, but not as bad as I thought it might be with 102 people in the race. Took off my boots, bought a Monster and some potato soup, and sat down to rest for a few minutes. So far I was doing really well. I had thought I had felt some hot spots developing on the backs of my heels, but when I took my socks off it didn't look to be a problem.

I was wearing two layers of socks, one an extremely thin nylon dress sock and over that a medium weight Smartwool sock. The thin slippery sock allowed my feet to slide a little inside the boot without causing blisters while the outer sock provided insulation and cushioning. I had also finally found a pair of boots that worked with my feet. Many people use or recommend a larger than normal boot for winter use, to accommodate multiple socks or heat packs, but I had found that getting a boot that fit right, with minimal slop, was more important for skiing. After more than two years of failed experiments I seemed to have the boot fit and blister problem licked.

As I ate I again chatted with fellow racers. Runners Carles Conill and Alicia Hudelson seemed to be doing well. Brazilian runner Marco Farinazzo looked a little shell shocked. I saw all the skiers except Pierre pass through too. After four years of tough luck for skiers it seemed we might just do well this year.

Leaving the Gateway store is always a challenge. It's just too nice a place to stay, eat, and chat, but I had set a goal for myself to leave in half an hour. I'd guess I stayed three quarters of an hour. Not too bad.

After the store it was dark and there started to be more hills. Both of those made the time pass more quickly. In the dark you can't see how far you have to go and with hills you have mini goals to keep your mind occupied. About twelve miles down the trail I caught up with South African Doug Girling as we passed the Ash River shelter. Shortly thereafter I caught up to Tim Roe who had taken off his skate skis and was walking. He confirmed that we were making good time. Mike Stattelman was also out there and we skied together off and on until the Black Duck shelter at about mile 56 on the trail. It was about 12:30 or so and we both agreed that, although we could have pushed on, it was time to get some rest. Mike and I agreed to sleep until 4 AM and then wake each other to push on to Melgeorges.

I pulled out my sleeping kit and, because I had packed it together and uncompressed on the sled, had it ready for use in just a couple of seconds. I took off my Camelbak and refilled it from an insulated Nalgene in my sled, took off my boots and then stuffed both water bladder and boots into the sleeping bag with me to keep them from freezing. I ate a little cheese and sausage and tried to sleep, but instead I started shivering. By the time I warmed up I had to get up to pee and the cycle repeated itself. By 3 AM I had had enough. I got up and told Mike that I was leaving. He seemed to be sleeping soundly and I hated to wake him, but didn't want to just leave him behind.

The fourteen miles from the Black Duck shelter to Melgeorges is pretty hilly, but I was pleasantly surprised at how well my skis held on the uphills and how well I hung on through the downhills. I only had to remove my skis twice to walk up hills during this section, far less than last year, a testament to having learned how to wax properly.

Twice, on downhills, I ran across items that racers had dropped once a mitten and later a reflective vest. I tried to stoop and pick up the items as I sped by, but I'm not that good yet. Luckily, in both cases, the racer was only a few yards up the trail and I could alert them to their lost gear.

I reached Elephant Lake just as it was getting light in the East again. Skiing across the lake was where I started to notice a problem that would be my only real physical pain through this years race. My right ankle was starting to get sore where it contacted the cuff of my boot. It seemed related to ankle problems I'd had in previous years, but was coming on at a much later time and was more bearable than with my old stiff boots. In the hills it wasn't a problem, but when the trail widened and got rutted and bumpy on the lake it took more ankle strength to keep the skis on track. I was happy to arrive at the halfway cabin.

As usual the cabin was a little bit of pandemonium in the midst of a peaceful, silent race. I made sure to keep all my gear in a small neat pile off to the side and get my eating, waxing and resupply done as quickly and efficiently as possible. I was surprised to see several of the bikers still there, having spent the night in the warmth of the cabin. It was mostly that I was there so much earlier than in previous years and hadn't seen the overnighters leave. With all of my resupply done I laid down in the loft to try to get a few minutes sleep that I had lost the night before. I probably got in two fifteen minute naps before deciding it was time to move on. I ate a little more, thanks to the volunteers manning the checkpoint, and then left a little ahead of the other skiers who had arrived.

Leaving the checkpoint, I skied along the road to the trailhead. This is where I had my first (and not last) crash of the race. The road was surprisingly icy and when I turned to check for traffic I slipped and fell right in front of Caitlyn's van (the very van I had ridden in up to the race). It was a little embarrassing, but I was glad to get it out of the way.

I was happy to be on the second half of the course for the first time in four years. This time I'd be able to see much of it in the daylight that I had seen in the middle of the night in 2006 and I was looking forward to it. Soon I hit the first big hill of the course, a screaming downhill that I somehow managed to stay upright on. Then I saw the accompanying uphill. I walked. At the top of that hill, figuring that I had just started in to the dreaded hills, I changed into running shoes. I figured that with uphills I'd have to walk and downhills I'd be foolish to ski I was better off that way. One more killer hill seemed to confirm my decision, but then the course flattened out. I figured it was just a temporary reprieve and kept walking, but as time wore on Carles and another runner caught up to me and I wasn't making good time, not as good as skiing anyway. After about two miles of walking the flats I switched back to skis and was immediately glad.

The second half of the course was turning out to be much flatter than I had remembered, but that had been four years ago, on a bike, in the dark so I didn't worry about it too much. At the next shelter, near Myrtle Lake, I caught up to Doug Girling who was taking a nap. Soon Carles and the other runner caught up and we all sat down to rest and eat for a few minutes. Skate skier Jim Reed passed us as we were sitting there and we watched as he skied down the hill, then took off his skis and walked up the next. It looked like a skiable up-hill and when I tried it a few minutes later I had no problem climbing it. I was really happy with the way my skis were performing.

With that the infamous Arrowhead hills were underway. I yo-yoed between Jim Reed in front and Carles and the other runners behind for several miles. I could climb better than Jim, but not as well as the runners, while on the downhills and flats Jim could skate away from me while I skied away from the runners. It went on like that for perhaps five miles and then another flat section was in store. I hadn't remembered there being so much flat on the second half of the course. According to my map there would be a shelter coming up shortly and I'd be happy to see it just to have a measure for my progress. But the shelter never seemed to come. I kept skiing long past where it should have been and as it got dark and I put on my headlamp I figured I must have passed it up.

Then, just as I had given up hope, out of nowhere there it was, Elbow Lake shelter. Carles had caught up to me and we both sat down to rest. He gave me a Hostess cake and I gave him some chocolate coated coffee beans (my secret weapon for the second night). He said that the Orr trailhead should be coming up soon, but according to my map it was still at least five miles off. Imagine my surprise then when I started down the next hill and saw a trail junction. I was moving to fast to do a controlled stop so I did an emergency crash and checked my map and the signs. Sure enough it was the Orr trailhead and my map had the shelter wrong by several miles. I got up and started down again only to find a sharp turn in the trail and executed another emergency crash, then a third as the hill ended in a narrow bridge. I am sure Carles was wondering what was wrong as he saw me wipe-out three times on one hill.

I walked up the next steep uphill and down the next downhill, but my the struts keeping my sled from catching up with me had come out of place (probably in the crashes) and the sled would over take me, forcing me to spin around and chase it down the hill. Again I am sure I looked to Carles like a dog chasing it's tail down the hill. I paused to fix my sled and duct taped the struts back into place, but since duct tape doesn't work very well at -10f it was a partial fix at best. The best way to fix the problem was to ski faster than my sled and so I did.

I had come to the true monster hills of the Arrowhead trail. After a couple of hills I developed a strategy to make it through the worst of them. If the hill was too steep to ski straight up, but I could see the top with my headlamp I would herringbone, if I couldn't see the top I would walk. If I could see the bottom of the hill and I was in control I'd ski it out, if I couldn't I'd ski as far as I could in control and then intentionally crash.

Somewhere in there I caught up to Jim Reed, who was doing a lot of walking, and was passed by cyclist Christian Arel. For a second, as he cruised away, I wished that I was back on a bike. I knew we were getting close to the Tepee checkpoint and I was anxious to get there as soon as possible. The Crescent bar at the checkpoint would be open until 1 AM and I wanted to get inside and get some food if possible. I estimated that if I hurried I'd be able to make it.

As the hills petered out Jim was able to ski again and he caught and passed me. The trail wound through a very cold bog for what seemed like forever before I finally caught sight of Wakemup Hill. I could see Jim's lights high up on the hill and I knew I was nearly to the Tepee. The climb was shorter, but much steeper than I had remembered it on the bike. My sled pulled back just like the tire I had dragged during training and I silently thanked myself for doing those silly workouts. As I was climbing my headlamp flashed to indicate low battery. Once again I was glad that this was the last real hill.

At the top, though I knew it was foolish, I put my skis back on and tried to ski down the other side. I couldn't see the bottom and it was far steeper than anything else I had gone down. Once I felt I was way out of control I sat down for another "controlled" crash. I got back up and, still not seeing the bottom I went for it again. This time a rut or something caught the edge of my ski and threw me. Perhaps the first unintentional fall since the road back at Melgeorges. Once more I got up and finally I made it to the bottom. I switched my headlamp to low and skied the mile or two I had left to the tepee. It was midnight.

I was the last one in to the Crescent before they closed for the night. Skier Jim Reed was having a bowl of soup and I did the same. It was nice to get some hot food in me after a day out in the cold. I had been thinking of pressing on, but after warming up and eating I thought that it might be better for me to get some sleep. I still had approximately seven hours of skiing left to do and I didn't want to have a repeat of the exhaustion and hallucinations I'd had at Tuscobia. Jim and I threw out our sleeping bags behind the tepee as the bar closed for the night and went to bed.

As usual my bladder got me up at least three times during the night. Each time I'd have to get my shoes on and rush shivering over to a snowbank wearing only my Smartwool long underwear to relieve myself. Next time I will be bringing a relief bottle with me. I expect it will add significantly to my comfort.

At 5 AM I heard Jim getting ready to go, but I wasn't ready yet. I knew I had until at least dawn to get back out on the trail and now that I was warm and comfortable I wasn't in any hurry to finish. I went back to sleep and when I next awoke and peeked out I could see a little light on the Eastern horizon. It was time to get moving. I dressed, packed up, checked out with the volunteers manning the checkpoint and got underway.

As I started out I was cold, but I was confident I would warm up as I got moving and the sun rose. The day took a lot longer to warm than I expected though. Before long my fingertips were numb and I was getting worried about frostbite. I tried squeezing the ski poles and flexing my fingers. I tried tucking my thumbs in with my other fingers to keep them warm, but I knew it wasn't working. I had left my army surplus mittens behind to save weight and now I was regretting it. The combination of low temperatures, exhaustion, and probably mild dehydration was getting to me. Eventually the sun started to warm me and most of my fingers came back, but I knew I had some minor frostbite issues on the tips of a couple fingers, something I had promised myself I wouldn't let happen again.

With that all I had left was the long, very flat, ski to the finish. As in 2006 I started to get a little impatient with the terrain. There just wasn't anything to focus on, nothing to break up the monotony and make the trail seem shorter. Rather than let it get to me though I tried the same thing I did in '06. I focused on being present. This was where I wanted to be. I had chosen to be here. I was doing just exactly what I had trained for and dreamed about. I was having fun again.

I kept thinking I saw someone a little ways up the trail from me and after coming around a corner I found Mike Stattelman resting and eating alongside the trail. He had camped out on the trail after having missed last call at the bar. He was still moving, but pretty slow. I could see that stopping for the night had been the right choice. I was still moving along pretty good.

After I passed Mike it seemed like no time and I was at the turn off to the casino. A few snowmobile volunteers, including Don Gabrielson, congratulated me on my impending finish. I was pleased to know that I had done it and the last few miles through the tribal land felt like a victory lap. I crossed the finish line to the cheers of Lisa Paulos, volunteer and possible competitor for next year. I felt so good to have made it that I could have skied another fifty miles.

Now all I have to do is run it next year.

Arrowhead Finisher

I made it. 135 miles on skis in a little over 54 hours. I expected it to be the hardest thing I'd ever done, but, thanks to my training, it wasn't. Not to say that it was easy. Certainly I worked harder towards this goal than I have towards anything before (not that that's saying much). In any case, this is just to let you all know that I did it. I should have a race report done sometime early next week.