The Skiing I Do

It has been a terrible winter, but, out of desperation, I have gotten out a few times. Four times to be exact and the best of them had me skiing on gravel some of the time. None of those times were on groomed trails. Snowmachine trail, river, creek, golf course, field, deer trail; that's where I ski.

That, along with the ubiquitous "where are the mountains," comments have me thinking about what to call the kind of skiing I do (when there is snow). First off when I say ski I always mean cross country skiing, there are no mountains around here. The only downhill skiing I do is down hills.



Based on the lack of skiers at Arrowhead and the excuses I hear the "real" Nordic skiers won't touch anything that isn't groomed or might damage their bases. I don't have any skis that aren't rock skis. I did cringe a little once when I did three miles of gravel logging road at Arrowhead in '08 (it had pretty good glide), but it's an unusual ski where I don't garf up the base. The real skiers also won't ski if the temperatures are low (like green wax condtions. Low temps are par for me (polar wax, except this year).



I would call what I do "backcountry" if that name hadn't been taken by the ski mountaineer/telemark/AT crowd (speaking of telemark, you don't need telemark skis to telemark. Not that I have any room to talk I can barely snowplow). Apparently these folks are the only ones who take their skis camping with them too.

I guess what I'd like to see is some kind of a resurgence in ski camping, touring, fun in the woods, rivers, and lakes. I'd like to see what happened to gravel road bike riding happen to cross-country skiing. A ski mode for the unmountainous, untracked Midwest with attendant discussions, events, and gear.



Maybe it's out there already and I just don't know about it. I hope so.

Yritän oppia suomea.

A number of people have asked me what my next event is going to be. I didn't want to say anything before it was a sure thing, but I will be going to Finland at the end of this month to compete in the Kaukopartiohiihto ski race. It's a sure thing now. I have my passport, plane tickets, and I'm even registered for the race.

It may sound strange to many of you globetrotters, but this is a pretty big event for me. It required me to leave home and actually talk with people to get this done. It will be just my second time out of the country (the last time was to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls) and my second time flying (commercially). Maybe that makes me sound like a sad pathetic loser, but I don't care: I'm going to Finland!



I'm not even going to complain about the weather.

AHU '12: Part 2

I forgot to mention that somewhere between Gateway and Ash River shelter I broke my chain. No big deal. I am a professional bicycle mechanic by day.

So anyway: After eating, refilling my Camelbak and bottle, and talking with some other racers I was on my way. In and out in 45 minutes: a new record! It was dark and I didn't know how far I was going to make it before I had to sleep. I was hoping to get to Myrtle Lake shelter or better yet Elbow Lake and then take a nap, maybe even give the shiv-a-biv a try. After the first couple of huge hills the trail flattened out and I was riding easily. I was leapfrogging with a couple of other cyclists, but it was clear to me that they were faster overall.

Time and miles have a strange way of passing in the dark. Every mile seems to take forever, but before you know it you're there. I think it has to do with being unable to focus on anything but the here and now. It's a feeling I look forward to. I crossed the Elephant Lake road then stopped at they Myrtle Lake shelter for a few minutes to eat and sit for a few minutes, then Highway 23. After that the hills started back up in earnest.

I've gotten to know this section of trail pretty well, even in the dark, these past few years. I knew there were hills and I knew there were more than I thought (if that makes any sense). Somewhere in here I ran across Nick Wethington whom I had driven up with. He had left Melgeorge's as I was arriving and I was surprised to see him. We talked for a minute, but I wanted to keep going and he needed to eat.

Before long I passed the meadow where I had had to refill my Camelbak the past two years. I was looking forward to arriving at Elbow Lake shelter. Although I wasn't really tired I decided I was going to take a nap when I got there. I figured I'd put on my down jacket and snooze for a while then, in an hour or so, I'd get up and move on. Just to prepare myself for the hills ahead. Yeah, right.

When I got to Elbow Lake around 2 AM there were already two people there. One person was just leaving. The other was Charlie Farrow. Charlie is something of a hero of mine so to find him here in his sleeping bag was something of a surprise. I had figured that he would be almost to the finish by that time. I stuck to my plan, laid out my pad and put on my jacket. I slept pretty well for not being in my bag. I napped for a while, but just wasn't getting any rest. I was too cold. Finally I gave up and pulled out my full sleeping bag. That was the end for me. There was no way I was going to leave soon.

After a few hours of sleep I got up to pee. Charlie asked if I was going. I said I was going to pee. He may or may not have said something at this point like, "I'm staying until the sun is up." I may have said something like "Good idea, wait for the hills to go away." Who knows we were all tired, maybe it was a dream.

When I opened my eyes again there was light in the East. I started to get up. Charlie jumped up like he had just realized this was a race. We packed up. I gave my toilet paper to another guy who had camped out with us and we were off. Charlie dropped me immediately.



Hills, hills, hills. Sometime in the night a groomer had been through. There were only a few tire tracks in the soft trail in front of me. As I was going up my tires started to dig in and I'd lose momentum. Then I'd push. After a couple of those I dropped my tire pressure down to about 6 psi. I was back to riding the hills. I took some pleasure in riding over the footprints of cyclists who had walked before me.



My 24 hour goal was gone and my backup goal of 30 hours was unlikely. I sat for a few minutes and refilled my water at the Teepee checkpoint then climbed the final hill, Wakemup. From there on it was flat.



The trail was rougher, but harder and I pumped my tires back up to 8 psi or so. I was finally able to use the middle ring and push a little harder. It's true though, after wanting the hills to stop it is only a little while in the spruce bog before you want something other than flat. I made myself some cold coffee at the final shelter and rode in to the finish. No big deal.

As I've said before it was a bit of a let down. In 2006 when I finished it was my greatest achievement to date. Now it was old hat. Next year skiing or maybe someone is selling a Conundrum.

AHU '12: another perspective Part 1

If the last post was how I felt (emotionally, etc.) at Arrowhead this one is about how the race went pedal-by-pedal. Hopefully it is a little more positive or at least neutral than the last one.

At the start I lined up with the skiers, just because I wanted to see who they were and what gear they were carrying. Lots of mid size backpacks (~35L). Not too many sleds this year. I guess that's passe now. Looking over the skiers got me started at the back of the biker pack. Did I mention that I was biking this year? Maybe you missed it. A lot of people did.

The first nine miles or so to the first shelter (old turnaround) were pretty uneventful. Fast smooth well packed trail. Bikers spread out a little, but not much. My legs felt slow. I felt like I should be passing other riders, pushing towards the front, but I held off. It's a long race.

Two of the skiers passed me early on. The first one was carrying a tiny pack and Wassberging (V2) along like nobody's business . The pack wasn't much larger than 20L. I wondered how he got all of the required gear in there. Likely he had nothing more than the required gear. No warmer gloves, jacket, etc.. What would he do in a more severe year? Likely not ski, I think.

After the turn onto the real Arrowhead trail I managed to distance myself from some of the other riders. I don't like doing endurance events with others nearby. I end up feeling too competitive and racing too early. The trail softened up and got pretty rough at this point. This part of the trail has less traffic and more grass and willows were poking through. This is also where the trail first passes through bog-land. Without snow and cold there would be no trail.

It was slow going, but I made sure not to push myself. Any time I noticed my heart rate creeping up (when I could hear it in my ears) I made sure to drop down to a lower gear and spin more. In spite of the flat trail I was spending much of my time in the granny gear.

We came to Highway 53 (mile ~18) fairly quickly I wasn't sure of the time, but it was nothing compared to how long it took to walk last year. Soon we came to a mile or so of logging road, then back onto the trail, and to the second shelter. I stopped for a few minutes to take a photo of the second place skier, Mike Ziegle, who was resting and eat some of my secret formula (cheese and sausage). Then I was off to the Gateway store.



On the way I saw the familiar landmarks: the trail junctions, the hills, the shelter, and finally what I call the "friendly tree" a lone white pine amongst the spruces that pokes up just before the Gateway store (I don't know why it's the "friendly tree". When you ski or walk the Arrowhead I guess it's good to have friends).

I didn't stop at the Gateway store. As I was coming in I saw that fast skier coming back out. He had backed off to a comfortable Mogren skate (V2a) at this point. I was really missing my skis.

I was pretty good on food and water. I wasn't cold. I wasn't in any kind of trouble so I just went on. At this point I still had the idea that I might go the whole way without support. On I went into the hills. I was happy to be riding most of them, but I knew that wouldn't last. I was spending a lot of time in the middle ring which made me happy. I figured I had passed a lot of people at the Gateway store and my competitive spirit got a little boost. The distance between landmarks got longer as I ventured into territory I hadn't seen in the light since 2006. I crossed Ash River Trail then Homan Road and Sheep Ranch Road. Then up the hill to Ash River shelter.



The Ash River shelter is one of my favorite spots on the trail. It is hidden from the main trail and located on a little spur to the left. Most racers miss it and don't even know it is there. I only know because Pierre pointed it out to me when we rode together in 2006. I spent the night there with Scott Wagner in 2008 on my first attempt to ski; the year I earned the Myrtle the Turtle award. I took a little break and ate some more cheese and sausage.



I rolled on into the real hills and had to start pushing some. I wasn't going really fast, but I felt okay. I knew there were only about 25 miles left to Melgeorge's resort on Elephant Lake. I can't think of any good landmarks in this section. I have seen it in the dark too many times and there aren't any road crossings or "friendly trees" that I know of. Just lots of rolling hills.

Black Duck shelter came soon enough. I was hungry for some "real" food a this point and so I fired up the stove and cooked up some freeze dried Teriyaki Chicken. Since I had the stove going I melted some snow just for fun and to make sure I didn't run out before Melgeorge's, 15 miles away. Mike Ziegle stopped for a few minutes and I talked with him about skiing. He was carrying a more normal sized pack and mentioned that if he made it to Elephant Lake he would double his miles for the year. I guess I gave up on skiing too soon. Other skiers might have training and technique on their side, but I have (relative) youth and stupidity on mine. The weather and the trail were holding for the skiers.

It was dusk as I left Black Duck shelter and soon enough I needed my headlights. More and bigger hills were to be had, but I managed to gear down and ride most. Landmarks were: the hill where it was too cold to wax my skis, the hill with the suicide turn at the bottom, the first 5 miles to Melgeorge's sign, the second 5 miles to Melgeorge's sign, and ski jump hill. Then suddenly I was out on the lake rolling easily towards the resort. I knew I could have just checked in and kept going, but the lure of soup and a grilled cheese sandwich (American quesadilla) was just too much. So much for my goal of going unsupported.

In the next installment: What happened at Elbow Lake shelter?

Nothing Ventured Nothing Gained: Arrowhead 2012

The night before Arrowhead found me at the only Chinese restaurant in International Falls. I had just opened my fortune cookie and it seemed prophetic:


The only problem was that I wasn't facing defeat. I was taking the easy way out, not risking anything, by biking the race. I had planned on and trained for skiing all summer and fall only to be stymied by a lack of snow in December and January. It seemed like there was no other choice but to bike, but in the back of my mind I knew better. There was more I could have done. Days when I could have gotten out on roller skis, days when I could have skied on the river or on the golf course.

Even more prophetic was the back of the fortune cookie:


If ever there were a sign from the "master" this was it (I don't know about the numbers, maybe I should have played some roulette at the finish line casino).

The race was, in a word, uneventful. It was warm, too warm for Arrowhead. That took away some of the challenge, some of the cache of the race. It would be wrong to say that the race was easy. It wasn't, it was a hard ride and I was surprised by how difficult biking was, but it was too easy for my satisfaction. I never pushed myself to the edge of what I could do and pushing myself is why I go to races like this.



My goals for the race were not well defined. I had visions of doing the race in under 24 hours or at least under 30. Then I had ideas of touring the race, taking photos and not stopping to rest and refuel at any of the checkpoints. Those two goals didn't mesh well with each other and at different points during the race one or the other was ascendant. I didn't manage to accomplish either one. It was an unsatisfying way to race.

As the skiers and runners finished the race I couldn't help but feel somehow left out. Like they had had the full Arrowhead experience that I had denied myself.

All that said I did have a good time. It was great to see old friends and inspiring performances. Especially from Jason Buffington, Casey Krueger (who showed what a real skier can do), Lisa Paulos, Roberto Marron and Alica Hudelson. Those last three embody courage as the fortune cookie defines it. I will be back, just not on the bike.

This Lousy Winter

I have given up on skiing. At least as far as this race season goes. There simply isn't enough (any) snow and even if we got snow tonight I still wouldn't have time to get in shape for it. It looks like I'm biking at Arrowhead. I'm lucky that it's a bike, run, and ski event. Besides, the Pugsley needs to get out and stretch.

It wasn't really this warm. It only got up to 50f or so, but in the sun my thermometer was reading up to 65f.


Someone out there was more desperate than I was. I thought about riding on the river, but gave it up as a bad idea.

I stopped to cook some lunch on my camp stove. I needed to remind myself how to use it. It also served as a reminder that I need to tour more and enjoy myself rather than treat every ride as a race.

I would say that riding fat tires opens up new places to ride, but I've ridden here before.

Tuscobia '11

Tuscobia ‘11 was a bit of an adventure this year. Not so much in terms of physical difficulty or ultra-ness, but more in terms of unsuitable weather and mechanical/logistical problems.

In other words there wasn’t enough snow to ski and my bike fell off of a car. In an attempt to be a good blogger I brought along my camera, but in 115 miles of racing I didn’t take a single photo. Maybe my New Year’s resolution should be to take photos.

On the drive up Thursday the 15th we got a good look at the snow or lack of it. The western end of the trail had none and while it got better the further east we went it still wasn’t covering the grass. I was prepared though. I had brought along my bike along with the two pair of skis I hoped to use.

I had decided to bike the 150 mile race, but at the pre-race meeting I found out that Mark Scotch was planning to ski in spite of the conditions. Not wanting to miss out I quickly changed my mind and prepared to ski. Rumor was that the course was skiable all the way from Park Falls to Birchwood, more than 60 miles of the 75 mile trail. Honestly I didn’t figure I’d be able to ski 150 miles. I hadn’t been on snow and hadn’t been skate skiing in several weeks on account of ice. I would be happy to get 75 miles in.

We started in the dark at 6am and immediately the trail was rough and barely skiable. Mark and I were both doing a lot of double poling and I was doing more than my share of face-plants. I was the slower of us, but I can’t feel to bad about that. I’ve been skate skiing for less than a year. After a few miles the trail smoothed out enough that we could skate. It still wasn’t perfect. The snow covered portion of the trail was often too narrow to get a good stride on and in many places gravel showed through. Whenever I skated onto one of the gravel patches my ski would suddenly stop and I’d fall on my face.

After a while I started to get the hang of skating on the rough trails and occasionally I managed to get into a rhythm for a few hundred yards. I was even starting to get the hang of the (few) steep downhills on the trail. My double poling was inadequate though. I was trying to use too much arm strength and wearing myself out. Before long my arms were jelly and I learned through trial and error how to pole more efficiently, keeping my arms in and doing crunches down the trail.

(photo Roberto Marron)

The trail was getting worse though. Every mile west brought us more gravel and ice and less snow. Eventually there were bare patches all the way across the trail and we were forced to walk.

By the time we got to the first checkpoint at Winter 30 miles in we had had enough. Skiing wasn’t really an option anymore and we didn’t feel like walking 40 more miles only to turn around and do it again. We rested for about an hour and made the call to turn around and ski back to Park Falls. Since both Mark and I had brought bikes along we decided to abandon the 150 mile ski and enter the 75 mile bike race the next day.

(photo Mark Scotch)

We skied back 10 miles to the towns of Loretta and Draper where Anton Oveson stopped and offered us a ride in his car. I was stopping often to rest by that point and the ice on the trail was making it difficult to get a good push-off. We decided to take the ride back to Park Falls and rest up for tomorrow rather than face the rough trail in the dark.

The next morning I loaded my bike onto the back of a car for the drive to the 75 mile start at Rice Lake. I rode the bus with the other racers. About halfway there I got a phone call from Helen Lavin, the race director, that my bike had fallen off of the car. The front tire was destroyed and there was some more minor damage. I figured my race was over, but Helen called around and managed to contact Jason Novak who had dropped out of the 150 mile race. He generously agreed to loan me a wheel and my race was saved.

The rest of the 75 mile racers started while I waited for the replacement wheel to arrive from the other end of the race course. I spent the next two hours at the home of Jim and Liz Broome who own a kennel very near the race start. They generously offered me breakfast, coffee, and conversation while I waited. I was well fed by the time the wheel arrived. That’s one of the things l love about these races. A little adversity always makes for an interesting story and more often than not a good time. I started the race two hours late, but I figured I could still catch a few stragglers.

The first ten or so miles to Birchwood were fast on the bike. There was very little snow on the trail and I was averaging over 10 mph on the Pugsley without really trying. At Birchwood I passed all of the 75 mile runners. I made a slight adjustment to my saddle that made all the difference in terms of comfort and continued on at a good pace. Snow cover increased, but it still wasn’t anywhere near skiable. I was flying along and soon had my jacket unzipped and my gloves off. Biking felt a little like cheating compared to running or skiing.

I caught several bikers and arrived at the Winter checkpoint before dark, much earlier than I expected. After a break for chili I started the final 30 miles. The same 30 miles I had skied the day before. There were a few spots on the trail where my rear tire punched through crust, but by lowering my tire pressure I kept this to a minimum. Aside from some problems with my sleeping bag working loose from my front rack I had an easy time of it. I finished around 10pm and wasn’t tired or sore at all

(photo Chequamegon Canoe Club)

As I sit now, a week and a half later, there is still no snow on the ground and temps are approaching the 40s. Things are not looking good for skiing the Arrowhead, my big goal for the year. Perhaps I’ll be doing more biking this winter.

Pugsley Metric and Pre-Tuscobia

Nick and I got out the other weekend (Sunday the 4th) and rode a gravel metric on the Pugsleys. Like a good blogger I took my camera along, but somewhere around halfway I forgot about it and just rode. I have more of a race mindset when it comes to my endurance sports. I just can't seem to tour or sightsee or what have you. Oh well, someday I'll learn to take it easy.

In any case it was pretty icy in the morning and we had to be pretty careful on the way out of town. Once we were on the gravel it was okay with one nasty exception of a B road. We checked out the Chichaqua Bottoms greenbelt, but didn't venture in as it was the first weekend of shotgun season. Apparently we missed the main trail area of the park, but I figure that's just an excuse to go back some other time. We also stopped by Robison's Acres which has great ski potential if we ever get some snow.

The icy B road of death.

Riding at Robison's Acres

Pugsleys in what passes for snow these days.

Next weekend is the Tuscobia Trail Ultra. I'm signed up for the 150 mile ski event, but it looks like there won't be any/much snow. I'm going to take the bike along just in case. It might be a saving grace that I won't be able to ski. I haven't been on snow since last March and going straight into a 150 mile race is rather dumb. I think I'll just take it easy and try to "tour" it.

LHF/Survivor Cross

Two weeks ago I did the Living History Farms Race and afterward rode Survivor Cross. Two races, one on foot, one on bike, same course, same day. Very different races though.

LHF is a crazy race. Lots of people talk about how "tough" it is and how wet and muddy you'll get. That wasn't a big deal. The crazy thing about this race is that there are 8000 people on the same course at the same time. I had been warned to get to the front if I wanted to actually "run" the race. I lined up with the 8 minute mile folks, but when I saw the others lining up next to me (a couple in a tandem cow costume, a guy who admitted to having 30# of bricks in his backpack) I crept up a bit in the starting chute.

I guess I picked the right pace because I felt like I was running about as fast as I could maintain over the seven miles. Actually it was an uncomfortable pace for me since I'm used to running ultras, but I knew that ultra-pace was going to be too slow. I didn't get passed much and I didn't pass a lot of people.

I managed a top 500 finish which may or may not seem impressive. For perspective, I came in in just under an hour and there were still people coming through the finish chute and hour and a half after me. I was also beaten by a guy in a Sponge Bob costume. I'm not sure how I should take that.

As a side note, I guess some folks were upset by some of the costumes on course. All I can say is that if you encourage costumes and offer drink specials at the bar next door you have to expect some overweight guys to run in bikinis. As for me, if I were to run in costume I think I'd go as Anton Krupicka.

Survivor Cross was much smaller with a little over 100 people on course. I was expecting a tough race with many un-ridable sections. I expected to crash and have my bike covered in mud. Thus I brought my single-speed mountain bike. It was geared for climbing though and the 32x18 gearing was far too low for the mostly open course. I was spun out the whole time. The course was very ridable and the few stream crossings were easily managed. I would have been much better off on the cross bike. The worst I got was bashing my lower lip with my handlebars while shouldering the bike.

Both races were fun, but not my style. I doubt if I'll do them again. Too many people and too short.

P.S. Here's a great video of the bike race. Look for me at 4:40 passing on the left in the yellow shorts.

Memories on gravel.

I debated whether or not I should write this post. It's a little off topic for a blog that's about endurance sports, I'm generally not comfortable with expressing emotion, and it's two weeks late. Given all that I still think it's important to share.

On October 30th, while I rode the American Gothic Gravel Invitational, my grandfather died. Honestly I don't think there is any place I would rather have been.

My grandfather and I were never very close. We never did much together like some families do. No good reason really. I think we just led very different lives. He was a farmer who probably never rode a bicycle. By the time he was my age he owned his own farm and had more children than I'll ever have. I have no idea what he made of the life I lead.

The AGGI course passed by several places that he knew well. He farmed 80 acres on Heaton's Valley road. My uncle (his son) lives just off of Duck Pond road. His 85th birthday party was at the bar in Waubeek. Some of the gravel we rode I had been on before, but only on a hayrack or passed by in a canoe. I remember him, well into his 80s at the time, jumping off of the hayrack and running to close a gate at that farm on Heaton's Valley.

I knew he was dying as I rode. I didn't know that it would be that day, but I knew it would be soon. To say that I "dedicated" the ride to him doesn't make much sense, but I was thinking about him the whole time.

Gravel riding is and always has been a bit more personal for me than perhaps it is for many others. I am not a farmer, but to get out and ride past farms and fields gives me a good feeling. It is a connection to the land, to history, and to my family that I wouldn't otherwise have. I had, for several years, intended to ride those roads in Linn County and more like them in Delaware and Dubuque counties, but until that day I hadn't done so. I'm glad I did that day.

11 Utra-Lessons

Ultracycling legend and probationary DBD member Charlie Farrow has given us bloggers an assignment. Write eleven lessons you've learned from cycling with personal commentary. Well, I'm going to flaunt that assignment and write eleven lessons I've learned from cycling AND running AND skiing.

Lesson 1: Train I used to think that commuting to work and doing the occasional gravel road century was enough. I finished my first Arrowhead 135 with basically no training. I finished the Dirty Kansa 200 with basically no training. Heck, I ran my first marathon with absolutely no training. Skiing the Triple D shocked me out of my complacency. I barely made it through the 18 or so miles of flat terrain. Needless to say, I didn't finish the Arrowhead that year...or the next. The third year I put together a training program. Nothing special, just a guide to what I would do day by day to get myself ready. It worked. Last year I used a slightly modified plan to finish the Arrowhead on foot.

Lesson 2: Sell your rollers. Go outside. Ride in rain, sleet, snow, wind, and darkness. Ride on gravel, mud, snow, and ice. Run through mud and creeks, and over roots and rocks. Ski in the rain and on ice. Your races will be like this. When everybody else stays home or bails at the halfway point you will laugh and know that you've been through worse.

Lesson 3: Eat food, drink water. There are lots of expensive gels, bars, and powders out there. You don't need them. Sure, they probably work, but there are tastier, cheaper options. Fig bars, peanut butter sandwiches, trail mix, pizza, cheese and sausage. Energy drink? Ensure, Carnation Instant Breakfast, and soy milk. Chocolate covered espresso beans can save a race. Eat! Drink! Use them! It is better to stop and pee than stop and pass out.

Lesson 4: You can go farther than you think. In 2009 I skied the Tuscobia trail ultra. 67 miles into this 75 mile race I was suffering from horrible blisters, poorly waxed skis, and weird hallucinations. I had given up on skiing and was walking slowly down the trail. There was no way I was going to finish. I reached a road and powered up my cell phone; no signal. The race director rolled up a few minutes later and I told him I was done and needed a ride in. He said "no." Walking the next eight miles is the toughest thing I've ever done. I made it.

Lesson 5: Know the meaning of "quit." When you are pushing your boundaries and trying new things sometimes you get in over your head. When you feel like there is no choice but to quit ask yourself this: How will I feel in a week about having quit today? If the answer is, "terrible," then keep going. If the answer is, "like I did all I could," then quit. Be honest. You'll know if you're not being honest. Sometimes getting the Myrtle the Turtle award is a step in the right direction.

Lesson 6: The hardest part is getting out the door. Feeling sorry for yourself? Didn't finish that gravel race again? Seriously underestimated a 100 mile run? Ride across town to the coffee shop, run one lap around the park, get up and do something! Chances are you'll end up doing a 30 mile ride or a ten mile run and feel better.

Lesson 7: Savor it. In 2006, at my first Arrowhead, I was exhausted, cold, alone, and riding through a flat boring swamp. I knew I was going to finish, it was just a matter of time. So I stopped got out some food and water and just looked around. I said to myself, "This is why I came here. This is what I want to be doing." I felt great.

Lesson 8: Look out for old guys on crusty mountain bikes. It's not the young guy on the custom titanium rig who is going to win. That old guy is going to beat all the fatbikes to the finish line and set a record doing it.

Lesson 9: Commute. Ride to work every day. Walk if you have a trip to make that's less than a mile. You'll never be out of shape and you'll learn how to dress for the weather. Just remember: commuting miles don't count towards training (see #1).

Lesson 10: Be afraid.

Luke: "I won't fail you. I'm not afraid."

Yoda: "You will be. You will be."

If you're not afraid of the big race then you're overconfident. You will fail. Fear makes you prepare. It makes you train. It makes you learn everything you can. If you are managing your fear then you are on the right track.

Lesson 11: Call me a Sissi. You're not normal. You are doing things nearly everyone considers dumb. You wear tight pants. You will get made fun of when you're out there running in the rain. That's okay. When someone calls you a Sissi smile and tell them, "No, they're tougher than I am."

Moving on.

Since my disappointing performance at Superior I've turned my focus to the next big race: Arrowhead. It has been my #1 race for a few years now. All other races are somehow just "training races" for the big one in the Northwoods. I'm going to ski it again this year and I'm trying for better than my previous ski time of 54:21. In pursuit of that goal I've been doing a fair bit of roller-skiing.

On Saturday I skied down to Slater on the bike lane along county road R38. Not the best of places, especially on a game day, but the traffic was courteous. I had a mind to go on to the High Trestle Trail and get a few more miles in, but I was already into unknown territory on skis. I wasn't sure how my arms would hold out if I went that far. As it was I was getting pretty worn out by the time I made it back to Ames. Considering how I feel today though I think next time I'll go all the way to Woodward. I managed 22 miles in about 3:15.

(Me in Slater with the skis.)

A few weeks ago I threw my hat in the ring for the White Mountains 100 in Fairbanks Alaska. Unfortunately they have a limited number of spots available and a lottery system for figuring out who is in. I say unfortunately because I am #42 on the wait list. Meaning if 42 people (nearly 2/3 of those signed up) drop out then I'm in. That's not too likely and I'm a bit disappointed, but I'm in good company. Jeff Oatley didn't make it in either.

Now I have to consider if I want to sign up for Susitna or not. It would be less expensive to do, but is less than two weeks after Arrowhead and somehow Anchorage just doesn't appeal to me as much as the interior of Alaska. I'll probably have to do it.

(A little inspirational reading.)

I was more put out than I expected about not getting into the White Mountains so to get over it I went out for a ride on my new bike. Did I mention I got a new bike? Yeah, another one. A Cannondale Flash 29"er. That brings the total up to 8 right now. It's pretty fun, but it's taking some getting used to. I haven't had a bike with suspension for some time now and I've been doing nearly all of my singletrack riding on the 1x1 so having 30 (!) gears now is a bit of a novelty. I was a little worried about it overlapping too much with the 1x1 and Pugsley, but I needn't have worried. It is a very different bike and makes short work of some of the slogs I've put in on those other bikes. I've ridden the Skunk River Greenbelt twice now, once in the dark, and it is a blast on the faster parts of the trail where I can really get moving. Once I get the hang of it it will probably be fun on the more technical parts too.

(If you're interested I have a Cannondale Capo fixed gear, and an older Schwinn Voyageur road bike for sale).

Underestimating 100 Miles

There comes a time in every ultra when the only thing you want to do is quit. I didn't expect that to happen at mile 15 of the Superior 100.

The shirt says, "Rugged, Relentless, Remote" and it is absolutely right. From mile one it was like running an agility ladder. Every step was dodging roots and rocks interspersed with the occasional balance beam or teeter-totter of a bog-bridge. And those bog-bridges were the only flat spots. The trail was always headed steeply up or down. Sometimes it was steep enough down to make you want to turn around and face the hill. So much for the "easier than Arrowhead" run I was expecting.

However the real fault for my failure at Superior lies with me. I was overconfident and under-prepared. By looking at the numbers it seemed like I should have no problem and so I wasn't thinking of the race as it is.

It is a day-and-a-half race and I was mentally prepared for a half-a-day race. In a race like this you have to think through it and plan for the long haul. "How will I feel in the middle of the night and what will I do about it," is a question that has to be remembered in training and at the start line. At AHU I knew I was going to be out there a long time and I was ready to camp or slow way down if I had to. I had no such plans for Superior.

Because I was thinking of it as a half-day or training race I started off far too fast. I was running at 50k pace. Part of the reason for that was starting at the front of the pack. I often make the mistake at short races of starting near the rear. At Superior I made the opposite mistake. I started at the front. No one likes getting passed so I ran at the pace of the people around me. Some of those folks finished. Most didn't. There is a marathoner's saying: Start off slow and then slow down. I forgot that one.

I knew that the aid stations were about 10 miles apart and that didn't worry me, but I am still fairly new to supported runs. I carried just a few gels with me and had no solid food. I expected to eat at the aid stations. 10 miles is too far to go without food, at least if you want to keep running afterwards.

The heat surprised everyone that day. No one expects record highs of 84f on a September day on the North Shore of Superior, but it happened. I, and just about everyone else, ran out of water on the second section of the trail which took us from Split Rock to Beaver Bay. I thought that 2 liters would be enough, but five miles in, 15 miles into the race, I found myself out of food and water, standing atop an exposed granite cliff, overlooking a picturesque lake. All I could think about was how nice and cool that water looked and how great it would be to dive off into the water hundreds of feet below. I didn't, but I suspected that my race was over.

Five miles later as I stumbled into the Beaver Bay aid station I knew I wasn't going to make it, but I resolved to keep going until I couldn't anymore. I was already walking everything. I sat down ate, drank,and recovered a bit. In the next section to Silver Bay I was able to run a little as I belatedly formulated a plan for the night, but it was too little too late. I picked up my drop bag at Silver Bay feeling good, but the nearly 10 miles to Tettegouche humbled me once again.

I thought about dropping out at Tettegouche, but, thanks to Don Clark and Vicky Begalle egging me on, I started moving again. For a little while my walking pace was good and I as I crossed over the Baptism River I thought I might make it to the 50 mile mark at Finland. But before long the sun set and I was barely stumbling along. Lots of folks started catching up and passing me. I imagined every one of them to be the sweep runners shepherding in the slowest of us. At one point two runners passed me and mentioned that since we had descended quite a bit we must be getting near the County Road 6 aid station. I wasn't so sure. I've learned to be pessimistic about distances on the trail. Sure enough, before long I came to a cliff overlooking the aid station far below. I spent the better part of an hour switchbacking down to the level of the road and aid station. I dropped out as soon as I got there and no amount of cajoling was going to get me up again.

Looking back I can see that I could have gone the next eight miles to Finland, but I had just given up. Sure I would have gotten there slowly and past the cutoff, but it seems to me it would have been the honorable thing to do (if there is honor in trail running).

As far as under-prepared I have always poo-poohed long runs. I figured that long runs were just confidence builders and that really, if you can run 10 miles you can run 100. I'm rethinking that. Sure, fitness wise that might be true, but how else are you going to learn pacing, but from running 20+ miles. I guess it's time to stop being lazy and step it up.

The Superior 100 is in no way harder than Arrowhead, but it is so different that it is hard to compare. Next year I'll know better. I won't underestimate it again.

It was good to see all my ultra-friends (better than the Super-Friends) especially Kurt Neuberger, Matt Long, and Anne Flueckiger who all found me places to sleep when I was tired. It was actually hard for me to leave on Sunday morning. I really wanted to stay up there with the good folks of the Northshore. I'll be up to visit soon.

Rationalizing 100 miles.

The Sawtooth 100 is next weekend and I'm in. It'll be my first 100 mile run/walk and I'm a little bit nervous about it. Sure, I did the Arrowhead 135 on foot but that's a different animal. Regardless that's what I'm comparing it to. Here's how I'm rationalizing the race to myself:

The cutoff for the Sawtooth is 38 hours so to finish I'll have to average at least 2.6 mph.
100/38=2.6

Compare to my pace at this years Arrowhead:
135/56=2.4

Keep in mind that the AHU is cold, you're walking on snow, and carrying/dragging 15+ lbs of gear and food. Sawtooth could be cold, but not that cold, the surface should be good if rough at times, and you can carry minimal gear. Superior is likely to be hillier, but I'll deal. The last 20 miles of the AHU I was nearly dragging my left leg and moving very slowly.

Actually, I made it to Crescent at mile 110 in 40 hours:
110/40=2.75

I don't think I'll have any serious trouble finishing Sawtooth.

Finishing fast is another story. My goal is to finish in 32 hours. I think that's a reasonable pace and compares pretty well to previous finishers who run about my pace.

No use worrying about it now. It's time to just go out and do it.

But you are not a Jedi yet.

So by now you've heard that I got 3rd place at the 24 Hours of Seven Oaks. That sounds impressive. Here's why you shouldn't be impressed:

-I did this on a bike not on foot (just in case you were under some sort of misapprehension).
-I know people who can run farther faster.
-There wasn't a whole lot of competition. Only seven solo riders. (Which means that it could have been you. You should be there next year.)
-4th place had a broken pedal early in the race, had to drive into Ames, buy a new set, and still almost beat me.
-I am barely even sore today. I could have done more.
-I had plenty of time to go out and do another lap, but 4th place conceded and so I didn't.
-I didn't manage my goal of 17 laps/136 miles. I only managed 13 laps/104 miles.
-In the first 12 hours I did 9 laps. In the second 12 I did 4.
-I slept for 3 hours and sat around for the same.

Then again maybe you should:
-I did it on a rigid, single-speed, 26"er. The rest of the field was on suspended, geared, 29"ers
(okay, one guy did have a 26"er).
-This is one of the toughest courses around. Unrelenting hills, 95% singletrack, and virtually no place to rest (unless you want to just stop and lie down).
-I was only one lap behind 2nd place.

So how should you feel about my performance in this race? I don't know. I'm reasonably happy with how I did. It was better than previous years and my best mileage yet. I had a good time. I still feel like I slacked off too much. Decide for yourself when you ride it next year. I'm serious about you coming out and beating me. This race deserves more competition.

Round and round, up and down.

The 24 Hours of Seven Oaks has become something of a tradition for me. Since it's inception in 2003 I've raced in some form or other every year but 2005 (long story, but I'd be happier if I had made it that year too), usually in the solo 24 class. In fact in it's inaugural year I managed a podium finish and won $50. It was my first bike race and I haven't been able to find the magic since.

Every year since then it has been a downhill slide. I go in with good intentions only to lose the will to race around midnight. Some years I have had reasonable excuses, numb hands, broken lights, but most years, I pretty much just give in. Last year I just looked up at the big hill and couldn't will myself to go out there.

I don't quite know why it's that way or why I keep coming back. Some of it has to do with the nature of 24 hour racing. Round and round. It gets boring, and even if you quit halfway through you're still credited with a finish. I'm much happier doing point to point races with a defined distance rather than a defined time. At least it is close, a great course, with great people (though I could live without the thumpin' tunes from the Rassy's tent), and relatively inexpensive.

In any case I'm back. I'm probably better trained than I have been since...ever, even though I haven't been training with this race in mind. I'm riding a known bike that fits me and feels good, even if it is a rigid single-speed. I have lights that work. Even the race time suits me as it starts at 10am this year rather than noon. As for goals, I hope to be on the bike for 18 hours of the 24, get some good night laps in, make it a double metric, and enjoy myself.


(Hmm, maybe those thumpin' tunes could be my motivation to stay out on course. I won't have to hear them if I'm behind the hill in the woods.)

Afton Trail Run '11

My cardinal rule for ultra runs is: don't get hurt. Its corollary, don't do anything stupid, also has it's place, especially in more extreme conditions, ie. cold, heat, hills, rocks, mud. I've also heard ultras described as eating and drinking contests. That's true too. It's all part of the same thing really, take care of your body and mind and you'll get there.

Last years Afton Trail Run was my first ultra (if you call a 50k an ultra which maybe you shouldn't) and I made some rookie mistakes. I didn't carry any water and instead depended on aid stations. I ran the hills from the start and didn't pace myself well thinking that it was only 5 miles more than a marathon (I had only run two marathons, both paved and very flat). Those rookie mistakes almost cost me a finish when I fell apart ~25 miles in. I like to think I've learned from those mistakes and this year I had my chance to prove it.

Due to the follies of Minnesota's government Afton State Park was closed and the race had to be moved at the last minute to the Afton Alps Ski Area right next door (it also cost me my campsite reservations, but that's another story). The bike trails at the ski area promised to be more rugged and steep than the hiking/ski trails at the park and the heat and humidity were typically high for July. I was going to be smarter than last year and pace myself by walking the hills and stay hydrated by carrying a water bottle.

After a typical understated John Storkamp start I was jogging along with a pretty large pack. It wasn't breaking up as fast as I had hoped and so I picked out someone who I knew was a faster runner than I and made sure not to pass him. Soon enough came some hills and walking, The heat wasn't so bad, but the humidity and morning dew was making the trails and grass slick. I knew I had to be careful.

At the first aid station I filled my bottle halfway figuring that this would be enough to get me the 3.75 miles to the end of the first lap. The relentless wooded switchbacks of the first half gave way to open fields and climbs straight up the ski hill in the second half. The toughest hill of the course was saved for last as the trail led straight from the bottom of the hill to the top and then switchbacked down to the aid station/finish.

After the first lap I found myself out of water and in need of a bathroom. I took care of my needs and set out for a second lap. The day had heated up a lot and many runners looked like they had been out for a swim rather than a run. I caught up to the folks who had passed me during my short break and then, to my surprise, I passed the runners who I had been using as de facto pacers. I was a little nervous about passing someone who beat me by an hour and a half last year, but I knew I wasn't pushing myself. I had run one lap and knew what I was in for.

There was a little standing water on the only flat section of the course and there wasn't much choice but to run through it. That wouldn't have been so bad, but the humidity was so high my shoes and socks stayed wet throughout the course. I was worried that I might have some good blisters by the end of the race, but there wasn't much to be done about it. I made sure to fill my water bottle completely and found that I was still drinking it dry in the relatively short distance between aid stations.

As I was finishing up the second lap a 25k runner who had just passed me went down on the steep grassy downhill. He must have sprained an ankle or something because he was done. He couldn't finish the last hundred yards or so to finish his race and had to be helped down the hill. It was a good reminder to be careful, especially as the race wore on and I became more tired.

I was halfway done and feeling pretty good. The heat and hills were making it tough for everyone and I just had to keep eating, drinking and upright. I started to pass a lot of the slower 25k runners who were on their second lap. A lot of them seemed to be wearing VFFs which got me thinking that reading a book about running and buying the latest fad shoe does not make one a runner. Nothing wrong with running in VFFs exactly, but they aren't magical.

I stubbed a toe on a root, barely managing to stay upright, then a on the next downhill I kicked a rock with the other foot hard enough to knock my insole out of place. That hurt, but no real harm done. I was just getting tired and had forgotten to look where I was going.

As I walked the uphills on the second half of the course I started to pick out places where I'd push it and run on the next and final lap. I was starting to pick up some speed on the downhills as well staying loose and trying to take quick steps to minimize my chances of wiping out.

On the last lap I started to run some of the more gentle uphills and found myself passing quite a few folks. A few passed me as well, but on the whole I was moving up. On the last uphill I passed one guy who was crawling up the hill, which might give you some idea of how steep it was. I cruised on down to the finish and lapped a few 50k runners whom I recognized. I almost missed the finish line and went out for a 5th lap, but stopped myself. I did feel pretty good, I could have done another if I'd had to. My finishing time was 6:45:46, nearly 40 minutes faster than last year and on a much more difficult course.

I had definitely put more into the race than I had since the Arrowhead and that was a pretty good feeling. My legs hurt all over and it was difficult to walk for several days after. I think that's a good sign. When I have a bad race I tend not to be sore afterwards. It seems to mean that I didn't go as fast as I could have for some reason.

All in all a great weekend. I saw more folks puke at a race than I have since High School cross country and there is a trophy for the finisher with the longest beard. I'll see if I can't get that award next year.

Killer Bees

A ride/run/race isn't worth mentioning if everything goes perfectly. Two weeks ago I did two gravel metric centuries, but everything went well, so that's that. Yesterday though was a different story.

A group of us from Skunk River Cycles went down to Newton for the Renegade Gravel Race. It was originally supposed to be a team race with five person teams, but due to popular demand a solo division was created. As a consequence only two teams showed us and one other and the other didn't have five members, only four. I think that counts as some sort of moral victory on our part.

The weather forecast played a part in the low turnout too. 60% chance of thunderstorms. Well, we didn't get the thunder, but we got plenty of rain.

We hadn't had much experience working as a team and so we couldn't take advantage of team tactics (drafting mostly) as much as we would have liked. After the field thinned out we were able to make a paceline for 15-20 miles, but due to differences in skill and strength it was tough to hold it together. After the checkpoint in Kellog we mostly didn't bother.

It rained pretty steadily for most of the race, but we had a good group of people and there wasn't any complaining. I flatted about 45 miles in and told the rest of the team to go on. Fixing a flat in the rain was about as fun as you'd expect, but really not that big a deal. I did have trouble locating the cause of the flat and that bothered me, for several miles afterward I was constantly checking to make sure I wasn't losing pressure. I caught up to the team a few miles later as they contemplated the B road.

The roads were just fine, at least until we got to that one B road on the course. There was some discussion about killer B roads and my destroyed derailleur problems of earlier this year. We opted to be (B? bee?)cautious and walk if anything looked sketchy. It looked pretty sketchy. We weren't cautious enough. Less than 100 yards into the road Stephen's rear derailleur self-destructed. Well, I'd been through that before and luckily it was another Surly Cross Check so we had the option to single-speed. It took me longer than I would have liked to single-speed it, and we were on our way, walking.



Only later would we realize that this was the very same B road that destroyed my hopes at this year's Trans-Iowa. It looks different in the light, but it might still be evil.

Once we managed to push/pull/carry our bikes down a mile of sticky Iowa clay we cleaned our bikes and got back on. We had to stop a few times to adjust the chainline and gear on the kludged single-speed, but eventually we found a gear that worked and Stephen was able to finish the race.

We rolled up to the finish in last place, but we made it. Working with a team is certainly a different dynamic. With a little practice and one fewer wet B road we could do pretty well.



Photos C/O Wrecked'em Racing

Getting the X-Wing out of the swamp.

Those of you who know me know that I am a very habitual person. I tend to do the same things every day, eat the same things, go the same places. Recently I abandoned one of my usual haunts (several reasons) and it has been taking a toll on me. For the past week I haven't been eating well, I've been sleeping too much, and generally not been doing to well.

It all kind of came to a head this weekend when I found that I didn't have any reason to get out of bed on Saturday. I laid on the couch-that-hurts-my-back all day and read a schlocky fantasy novel even though I knew it would hurt my back and make me feel generally like crud. And it did. I felt like crud and my back hurt.

Today (Sunday) I did the same thing until I finished the novel and found that now I really didn't have anything to do. Of course I knew that I should be doing something. I had wanted to roller-ski on Saturday and run on Sunday, but I just couldn't find the motivation to do it. Finally at about 2 in the afternoon on Sunday I got out of the house, got some coffee and some internet and felt better.

We'll see if this lifestyle change is going to be worth the trouble or if I should just go back to old habits. At least I'm reading a better book now.

I did make it out to Ada Hayden and roller-skied today. It didn't go quite as I had planned though. I found that I couldn't skate like I had wanted to. I had always used the skis for classic technique and now I found that the skis really wanted to trip me up when I tried to skate. I'm not sure exactly what the problem was. It could be that I have the bindings mounted too far forward, or that I have floppy combi boots, or soft flexors. It could just be bad technique.

So I double-poled around the lake for 20k or so. I haven't double poled that much since attempting the Arrowhead in '08. I quit at 70 miles that year and couldn't lift my arms for days afterwards.

Since I've been doing some upper body strength work I think I did better than I might have otherwise. It was tough work, but I managed to be faster than all the runners, though slower than the bikers and skaters. By February I hope to be faster than at least half of the bikers.

I could rant more, but I won't.

I got a chance last weekend to practice my get-up-and-do-it philosophy of my previous blog post. Saturday I had to get up early (for me, 6:30) and provide support for the NABR ride. While I didn't do much in the way of physical activity (I drove around the course, fixed a few bikes, and picked up a crash victim) I did get a taste of what cycling is for some folks.

Don't get me wrong, most of the folks out there were riding, having a good time, and being responsible cyclists, but there were a number who didn't do any of those. Bike riding for them was an excuse to drink (a lot), complain about almost everything cycling related, and act like it was a "hard ride".

I have a lot more respect for the person who goes out on their decade old hybrid, does the 12 mile loop and finishes exhausted than the person who goes out on their '11 carbon & Dura-Ace race machine, does half of the the 42 mile loop, and then has to be picked up at the VFW because they're too drunk to continue. I guess everyone has their own way of having fun.

I was also surprised that there were at least three fairly serious crashes (as far as I know not alcohol related). I hardly ever see anyone crash on a gravel ride, but on clean dry pavement people still managed to go down. Two of the crash victims ended up in the ER with likely concussions. Luckily those folks were wearing helmets. However after the ride one person still had the gall to argue that helmets don't do any good and said you'd never catch him wearing one.

But enough complaining on my part. I had a good time helping out and seeing a lot of people whose bikes I fix enjoying those bikes.

Afterward, since it was such a nice day, I got out and practiced my in-line skating. I got a few miles in and gained a little more confidence on the skates. It's tough, but enjoyable learning a new skill and I hope my work pays off come winter when I get on the skis.

Sunday I got up at 5:30 after four hours of sleep to run the TIMTAM 50k. There was a pretty small turnout for this virtually unadvertised race, but who can complain about a nice low key race like this for $10 within two miles of home. The course is pretty flat and I was hoping to PR in both the Marathon and 50k. I don't know if I managed it in the Marathon as I don't know what my split was, but I did manage it in the 50k. I didn't have much trouble (as expected), but I did have to dig down a little bit when I wanted to walk about 25 miles in.

Recovery was good too. I'm back to 100% after just two days as I had hoped. All in line with my summer fitness goals. I want to be able to run a 50k or ride 150 miles of gravel without seriously tapering or hurting afterwards. Ultimately I'd like to expand this goal to include skating or roller-skiing, but I don't know what an appropriate distance is yet.