Why I run (and bike and ski and other bad philosophy)

(Apologies to anyone who is a pro or semi-pro philosopher or psychologist, this is sure to be cringe-worthy.)

I suppose every endurance runner/biker/skier/whateverer approaches the question of why they do it at some point.  Keeping in mind that the act preceded my reasons for it and that those reasons are sometimes contradictory and always elusive here are mine:

When I get down to it the primary reason for my participation in endurance events (I shy away from calling it sports and absolutely refuse to call myself an athlete even if those might apply here) is that old adage that you can only feel one pain at a time.  Have a headache?  Hit your thumb with a hammer, that'll cure it.  Same concept here.  If I'm miserable, feeling sorry for myself, or whatever I can run until the physical exhaustion becomes greater than the mental anguish. 

Once I've cut through the cynicism and self-hate that I'm prone to I find that I can see (more) clearly what is going on.  Sometimes a solution presents itself.  Sometimes I just see that what I'm worried about is not that big a deal after all.  It works a heck of a lot better than banging my head against a wall and I should know. 

I've been accused of being an "endorphine junkie" and maybe that's the case.  Maybe it is just escapism the same as drinking or something like that, maybe I have a problem, but it's a healthier problem than a lot of others that I could have.   Somehow people are more inclined to be forgiving when you tell them you ran 30 miles than if you tell them you're hungover. 

If it were just about getting a "runner's high" (which I don't feel I get anyway) then why race?  Why go any further than I have to?  Because I need that bigger goal to reach for.  I need an arbitrary outside motivation to gear my thoughts and training toward. 

One of the great things about endurance events is that it doesn't matter.  It is the thing without value that I give value to.  Nobody cares if I finish except me.  Nobody cares if I don't finish except me.  I do this for myself and no one else.  How many things are there that you can say that about?  How many things are there where you don't have to feel like someone else is depending on you?  My success in an event doesn't depend on anyone else and no one else is depending on me.  Maybe that's selfish.  I don't know, but I'm certainly of no use to anyone, least of all myself, if I'm miserable. 

The simplicity of being on my own is appealing.  During a race there is nothing that matters outside the race.  There are simple, discrete steps that have to be accomplished: eat, drink, keep moving.  Maybe there is a flat tire to deal with, a broken ski pole, but even that is straightforward.  Fix it, or not, and move on.  No avoiding the problem or passing it off on someone else.   And in the end you know whether you have succeeded or not. 

I am of the opinion that happiness is up to me.  No one else can make me happy, no outside event can either.  Maybe a stronger person wouldn't need to run or race or whatever, but I'm not that strong.  Maybe I will be someday.  Until then I'll be a selfish junkie.  

Why do you do this stupid stuff?

In other news: someone reminded me the other week that I have a folding boat so I decided to get out there and use it. 

It feels like this.

Photo by Ari

TI Training, Gear, &c.

Here are my thoughts with respect to what did or did not (mostly did) work for me at my successful Trans Iowa ride.  

Training: 

I did a lot of shorter rides this year.  Many weekend rides of just 100k and lots of evening rides of around 15 miles.  I probably did more miles in preparation this year, but fewer long rides.  I did a lot of running as well because sometimes it's just easier to get out the door and do that.  I think that running helps endurance and hill climbing, both of which I needed.  The warm winter didn't hurt my biking at all (it did hurt my skiing) and biking the Arrowhead reacquainted me with endurance biking.  A couple of weeks before the race I did a 100k ride that was at least half in a pretty severe thunderstorm.  I think that more than anything that reminder that I could keep going was good for me.

Equipment:  

I have been called a cheap-grouch and I think I have to agree.  My Surly Cross Check is not expensive or flashy, but it fits me well and I am comfortable on it for hours on end.  Having ridden this bike and set-up (sort of) for 11 years certainly helps.  Some highlights:

• I did build some new race wheels.  I am pretty easy on wheels compared to a lot of folks so I laced some Open Pros to DT 350 hubs with 28 14-15 butted spokes laced 3x.  That made for some pretty light (where it matters), but smooth riding wheels.  Pretty fancy for me, but nothing compared to what others are using.  
• For tires I stuck with Michelin Jets which are nice and light with a fast rolling tread (no need for flat protection on Iowa gravel) aired to 70 psi.  
• My WTB Rocket V saddle is nearing the end of it's life, but did fine.  
• Planet Bike 2 Watt Blaze on the handlebars and a 1/2 Watt blaze on the helmet (which I removed as soon as it was light out) lit the way for me and I didn't feel like I needed a torch like some folks had even on steep downhills, but that may be overconfidence born of too much riding in the Des Moines river valley. 
• I taped my bars with Planet Bike bar tape as always, but broke with tradition in two ways.  First off I put a little foam on the back of the handlebar from the brake lever around to the tops.  I rest my hands here 90% of the time so I wanted the surface to be a little broader to even out the load.  It worked great and I had no numbness in my hands!  The other break with tradition was the use of white tape.  It's pure decadence.  White looks great, but gets dirty easily.  Just something special for the big race.
• As always I taped over the speed on my bike computer.  Speed is just a distraction from how I'm riding.  It's all about how I feel not how fast I'm going and I feel better when I don't know I'm slogging along at 8mph.  
• My map holder is just a Ziploc bag reinforced with cardboard and duct tape.  It took me about 5 minutes to make and worked great.
• As far as the "YES" goes it could mean anything.  It's whatever I need it to be, "Yes, keep going," "Yes, you should drink," "Yes, you're going to make it."  

Mental Training/Attitude: 

I maintain that the best way to train mentally is to train physically.  Riding in that thunderstorm was big.  I also have a bit of experience to look back on for inspiration.  Thinking back to skiing the Tuscobia Ultra with huge blood blisters on my feet, walking the last few miles of the Arrowhead when my hips and knees were giving out made me face how much Trans Iowa was going to hurt.  Knowing how much it can hurt makes it easier to bear and even makes it easy when things aren't that bad (which they weren't this year). 

Food: 

I ate too much "performance" food this year.  I could have done with fewer Cliff bars and gels of all sorts.  I really wanted a Subway Sandwich or a plate of pasta at 1am, but I wasn't getting that.  String cheese did a lot of good and I could have used more towards the end.  Really though, I have learned that I can get by on just about any food so long as I eat. 

Clothing: 

I know that I am a more comfortable a little cold than a little warm so I kept clothing versatile and to a minimum.  At times I was down to just my Cannondale shorts and Skunk River jersey.  More often though I had on leg and arm warmers and for the wet or windy times I had my well worn Bellwether jacket.  Gloves were an old pair of Salsa full finger gloves with minimal padding.  I kept what clothing I wasn't wearing in my frame bag and food in my jersey pockets.  My Camelbak was just for water, no gear.

Shoes:
I used Pearl Izumi X-Alp Seek cycling shoes.  They're a little odd, meant for hiking off the bike as well as riding, but they have served me well.  The wider last and use of laces rather than buckles make it the most comfortable shoe I've worn (there is still room for improvement however).  I suppose they're a little heavier and not as stiff as some, but for hike-a-bike (of which there was a little) they are more than worth it. 

Why didn't I make it in previous years? Weather, sometimes it's just not up to you.  Poor planning, one year I forgot sunscreen, a costly mistake.  Navigation errors which resulted from following the herd, and on the other side not being willing to work with a group when it would have been smarter. I think I always had it in me, I just had to get everything together. 

Riding Trans Iowa

I'm recovering quite well from Trans Iowa.  My knees still bother me a bit, but I can once again ride without grimacing in pain, even sitting down.

This years Trans Iowa was more of a mind-over-matter kind of event for me.  I knew I was in better shape and had done more training than for any previous ride, but somehow I didn't quite feel prepared.  I suppose you never can for an event like this.  There is just too much up to chance.  Still, I knew that my body was up for it and if I could just get my head in it I'd finish if it was humanly possible.

There isn't much to say about the race that hasn't already been said, but I'll try to give my take on it.

Hearing the wind, rain, and thunder through the night sure didn't help me sleep.  A part of me wanted to call it quits even before it started, but I knew I couldn't do that.  I had set my alarm for 3:30 AM, but woke up about twenty minutes earlier.  I had everything ready so all I had to do was dress, eat a sandwich and ride to the start.  It's much easier when everything is laid out the night before.

The rain had quit by start time, but the roads were still wet and there was a stiff wind out of the west.  Once we got off the pavement I made sure to settle in with a group so I wouldn't be fighting the headwinds alone.  I'm not much of a joiner when it comes to riding (or anything else), but I felt it was necessary to avoid burning out.

Once we headed south about 30 miles in the groups broke up a little and I rode alone quite a bit.  For a while I rode with Jeremy Kershaw and Jay Barre, but by Checkpoint Alpha (Montezuma, mile 53) I was alone again.  After CP:A I caught up with Charlie Farrow and rode with him and the guys from Lincoln for a while.  It worried me that I was riding with Farrow as I know him to be a stronger rider than I am.  He mentioned that the folks at the front were pushing it too hard and he expected some attrition.  I had heard that one before, but it was a reminder to keep riding within my limits and not push too hard (actually it turned out to be true).

At some point Farrow dropped me and was riding alone again.  I really do my best when alone on these ride/races.  My mind stays more focused, I make better time, and I have a better attitude.  So for the next ~200 miles I rode mostly alone.  I went through the towns of Hedrick and Agency, then crossed the Des Moines river near Eldon (we really should have ridden by the American Gothic house).  At mile ~170 I reached Checkpoint Bravo (the middle of nowhere), sat for a minute, ate an energy bar, and was on my way into the night.

Around mile 200 I arrived at Checkpoint Charlie (not a German to be seen) in Attica where I was told that I had just missed a group of riders headed by Dennis Grelk (last year's winner).  Now I had a carrot.  I felt like I had only ridden 100 miles so I started pushing a bit more, hoping to see their taillights ahead.

There was a beautiful long hill outside Pella that I'd like to see in the daylight sometime.  I was able to spin up it in my lowest gear without working too hard and it seemed to go on forever.

I finally caught up with the group at the convenience store in Pella (mile 230?), but they were ready to go and I needed to fuel up.  It wasn't until ten or so miles later in Galesburg that I caught them for good.

As soon as I started riding with the group I found myself falling asleep.  I just couldn't keep my eyes open. It was as though, now that I didn't have any goals but finish, my mind just began to shut down.  I'd feel okay for a few minutes, then terrible for a few.  I drank a 5 hour energy and felt great for about 20 minutes, then I was nodding off again.  I'd find myself unconsciously charging up the hills, following Dennis and then falling off the back of the group. 

Eventually Dennis broke away and then Mark Johnson (I think) followed him.  At this point I felt it was safer to stay with the group.  There were bound to be headwinds down the road. 

By the time dawn came it was down to four of us in the group: Mike Johnson, Corey Godfrey, Charles Parsons, and myself.  The gravel was getting rougher and we were still heading away from Grinnell.  I knew that couldn't last.  It was looking like we were going to spend the last 35 miles of Trans Iowa battling the winds. 

I finally knew for sure where we were when we arrived in Melbourne. It was going to be all fresh gravel, hills, and headwinds back to the finish.  I was hoping for a convenience store, but I was pretty sure Melbourne wasn't the place to find one.  We rolled through town, but didn't see anything and kept on going.  As we headed out of town I called out that I was stopping for a minute and everyone else should continue (I won't give the details of that stop, but was a desperate stop and involved venturing into nettles and poison ivy).  I was left to battle the course alone. 

I made a plan to ride 10 miles, rest, ride 10 miles, rest, and ride the final 10 miles.  I made it seven and had to stop, then another five, but I told myself that every turn of the pedals was getting me that much closer to the finish.  Conditions were horrible, I was happy that there were hills so that I could rest in the wind shadow on the way up.  It turns out I'm a better at climbing than fighting into the wind. 

As I took another break, sitting in the lee of a hill, eating a Cliff bar, I saw three riders approaching from behind.  I was disappointed that I had been caught, but decided to wait and ride with them.  When they got close enough I saw that they were the same group I had been riding with all night.  Just after Melbourne they had spotted a convenience store and stopped there (it turns out my trip to the bushes was unnecessary).  We teamed back up and agreed to ride in together. 

Things were going as well as they can 320+ miles into a race when we came to a final, unexpected B road.  It looked like it might be ridable and Charles charged ahead.  Corey wasn't so lucky and his rear derailleur clogged and tore out.  Mike and I stopped, but there was really nothing we could do.  Corey would either be able to fix it and ride in or he would walk.  We left him and walked the rest of the B road to be safe. 

Charles was out of sight and Mike was riding stronger than I was so our group was shot.  I rode in alone, as I had ridden the better part of the race, and was ready to be done. 

Trans Iowa Completed

It only took me four tries, but I finally made it. 328 miles hurts just as much as you think it would. Actually up until about 250 I was feeling pretty good. Then I got sleepy. I tried a 5 Hour Energy and felt great for about 20 minutes if that tells you anything. The last 50 miles were absolute torture; hills, headwinds, and loose gravel. No major equipment or physical problems. I don't know what I could have done better. I'll have more to write later this week.

 Thanks to (in no particular order) Guitar Ted, Jared Morford, Steve Fuller, Jeff Frings, Mike Johnson, Dennis Grelk, Mark Johnson, Corey Godfrey, Charlie Farrow, and everyone else who helped me buck the headwinds.

What I liked about Finland.

This post got a little bit out of control. Very little editing has been done. Also, to preempt the inevitable "America: Love it or leave it" comments, I would like to say that I don't know anyone who doesn't think the US could be better in some way.

Possibly the best part of my trip to Finland, and the primary reason I went, was the experiencing a culture and way of life different (at least a little) from what I'm used to. I was lucky to have a local guide (Jani) who was happy to show me around. Without him I expect I wouldn't have seen near as much as I did. That, in spite of sleeping a lot and reading comic books for (too) much of the time.

So, what was different?

Public transit:
The US, especially the Midwest is a car dependent culture. I don't own a car and I get by, but really, if I want to go anywhere outside of Ames I need a car. My first experiences in Finland were taking a bus from the airport to Helsinki and then a train from Helsinki to Lahti. This was a far cry from getting from Ames to the Des Moines airport. I had to beg friends to drive me to the airport here. Crazy. Needless to say I am in favor of more public transit options in the US.



Apartment Living:
Lahti is a city of about 100k, similar in size to Cedar Rapids where I grew up, yet in size it feels about the same as Ames, a city of 50k (according to Wikipedia however there is actually little area difference, so...). A lot of this has to do with how people live. Here virtually everyone lives in a single family home, at least anyone who can afford it. In Lahti (and I assume elsewhere in Finland) most folks seem to live in high rise apartment buildings. Walking around town I don't think I saw any single family homes.



The apartments are small by US standards, but they are hardly uncomfortable. Efficient design helps. Bathrooms are much smaller and there is no tub (like you ever use it). The whole floor is tile and drains to the shower, simple and obvious. Single beds are the norm. I don't know if you can buy a single bed in the US. When I bought the smallest bed I could (at IKEA no less) last summer it was a twin.

I doubt that Americans will give up their sprawling lawns, three car garages, and king size beds, but I wouldn't be opposed to it.

Walking:
I did a lot of walking in Finland. Heck, I do a lot of walking here, but I'm weird like that. While walking I saw lots of other folks walking as well. Actually it was a little strange for me walking on crowded sidewalks. I'm used to having them to myself. A more compact city, less car traffic, and walk signals that actually mean something all make it easy to get where you're going on foot.



As a side note here, the Finns don't seem to use any salt on their sidewalks or roads. They do use a lot of gravel though. While the gravel does make the footing better it is not as easy as bare concrete. I suppose that because of our litigious habits here in the US salt is a necessity (with some businesses, notably banks, putting out so much salt that it seems there is more salt than snow), but people in Finland, even old ladies with walkers, seemed to navigate the sidewalks quite well. No one, with the notable exception of myself, ever slipped that I saw. I suppose an abundance of freshwater lakes make the idea of throwing salt in them more repugnant than it is here. We don't seem to much care where our drains go.

Public Space/Parks:
Even in town much of Finland is public property or at least publicly usable. When walking around Lahti we explored parks and green spaces of greater extent than I have seen in the US (Duluth might be the exception). A short walk from where I was staying there were ski trails with largely unrestricted access. Trails that in the US would have been either had limited hours and/or a day use fee. Not only that, but even on a day when world class skiers were out practicing the trails were open. In the US those trails would have been closed.

Relatedly, when we spectated the Lahti Ski Games we were allowed to get right up next to the ski trails. Here we would have been herded behind tape and into approved areas.

Again related, much of the Kaukopartio crossed private land, this made possible by Every Man's Rights. No getting chased off of private property by an angry man with a shotgun in Finland. I would dearly love to have something similar here, but even where laws allow stepping on private property here it is strongly discouraged.

Food:
For the most part the food was what I'm used to. Potatoes and carrots, ground beef, macaroni, but there were a few different things. Sweet pickles, while not too unusual here are a regular side dish. Muesli isn't just something you buy at the health food store. Bread is far heavier and darker than here. I now understand when a Russian friend from college complained about the lack of good bread in the US. There is nothing like it here, really, not even at specialty stores. No peanut butter. And no, there were no Soviet style bread lines.

And finally salmiakki. Salmiakki is weird and great. If you haven't tried it in candy or liquor form then you should and you will probably hate it. To say that it tastes like salty liquorice is an understatement. It is completely unique. It's too bad it's not available here. I'm hooked.

Sauna:
You may think you have been to a sauna, but you probably haven't. Hotel saunas with signs warning you not to throw water on the stones (löyly) don't count. After all, it's not the heat, it's the humidity. Second, you must be naked. Again, hotel saunas discourage this, but it's necessary. But with steam and nudity and a place to step outside into the cold or take an icy shower there's nothing like it.



Language:
Being naked around strangers is apparently no big deal for me (see above), but not being able to speak the language was deeply embarrassing. Fortunately almost everyone spoke English quite well which seems a little unfair. If you come to the US you'd best be able to speak English. Go to another country with a unique and difficult language, don't bother learning the language, just speak your own. In any case Finnish is apparently a very difficult language, but one I'd love to learn in spite of the fact that only .1% of the worlds population speaks it. I did manage to learn a few words, but mostly place names like saari (island), mäki (hill), järvi (lake), and katu (street) (in case you're wondering, "maki" means lemur). When I go back I intend to have at least learned my numbers.



Once again the good photos are by Jani, the bad ones by me.

On track skiing and the Lahti Ski Games

In contrast to the road and off track skiing we did at Kaukopartiohiihto we also did a little skiing at the Lahti sports center and at the ski trails in neighboring Hollola. These trails might be a little more like what you think of when you think of cross country skiing. Freshly groomed corduroy and set classic tracks. Needless to say this is the worst kind of luxury for someone from Iowa. It makes you think that if only someone would make some nice groomed trails maybe you too could be a contender.

These are the same trails where, while we were at KPH, world class skiers (including Kikkan Randall) were racing. In fact, the days before the race when we skied there we were skiing right alongside those skiers who were testing skis and getting warmed up for the races.

(more skis than I'll ever have)

These trails also made it clear to me just how bad of a skier I am. My classic technique is bad and skating is even worse. I suppose I shouldn't feel too bad. I don't have trails like this near home and have only been skating for a year (and a bad snow year at that).

(just a few of the fastest skiers in the world)

Since I cut our KPH experience short we were able to spectate at some of the Ski Games events including the ski jumping final and the 1.4k classic sprint races. Ski jumping is something I had never actually expected to see in person so that was a treat. All I can say is that the jumpers make it look easy. I expect that when you get to the top of the hill it doesn't look so easy anymore.

(he's there in the center of the photo)

Watching the sprint race reminded me how much different the on piste skiing is from the off track skiing we had been doing the previous day. On track skiing is all about double poling. So much so that the Vasaloppet was won this year by a skier without grip wax on his classic skis. He double poled the whole 90km. I have always been taught that since my legs are larger than my arms I should be using them to ski, a philosophy I agree with, but good double polers use their abdominal muscles more than their arms anyway. I'll work on my double poling (it needs it), but I don't think I'll ever be converted over from the kick and glide.

(now that's double poling!)

Note: The good photos were taken by Jani, the bad ones by me.

Kaukopartio Ski Gear

Great, you say, but what does Kaukopartio have to do with the off-track skiing gear discussion? Well, after struggling with the army issue skis for 30km or so I started to "get" them.

Yes, the boots are floppy, but they are waterproof which came in handy skiing through a section of overflow on a lake. In Iowa I am often skiing on relatively thin creek and river ice. I'm careful of were I go, but when the water is shallow and I'm close to home I don't mind risking getting a little wet. It would be handy to have fully waterproof boots at those times. Other times, not so much. In extreme cold or when working hard having a breathable boot would be much more enjoyable.

In spite of the poor fit and complete unbreathability I got no blisters after 18 hours of skiing in completely new to me boots. How does that happen? I don't know, but I'm impressed. It's something to think about.

The cable bindings are heavy, but the boots are quite walkable. Without a bail or duckbill on the front I would have no problem taking off the skis and walking a ways in them if I had to. Some ski boots I've used are very nearly dangerous to walk in. Too slippery. During KPH I didn't have to walk, but again for marginal skiing this matters.

The skis were heavy, but huge and tough. When skiing over downed logs, through brush, and over gravel roads toughness matters. As far as huge goes the float that the skis had on deep snow was quite good. Much better than skinny racing skis. That's what skis are for after all.

I know that some of you have suggested that the Altai or Marquette skis would be good for this kind of skiing. Maybe you're right. The Altais especially look promising. My main concern is that they seem to be more aimed the BC/downhill crowd. More of a go up and ski down kind of ski. Not a get there kind of ski. Maybe I'm wrong about that.

Soon: a look at the Fischer Country and Europa 99.

Kaukopartiohiihto

We were lost. It was sometime past midnight and I was lost in a swamp in a foreign country. I didn't speak the language and I didn't have the camping gear I would usually have been carrying in a situation like this. The antiquated skis we were using had felt heavy 14 hours earlier when we started. Now it took an feat of will to move them. We had to get found, but how? I couldn't remember the last turn we had taken, and now the logging road we were following was trending south. Our map told us we should be heading north. I thought the map was at fault and the road would soon turn. My two companions felt differently. Janne wanted to backtrack. Jani wanted to strike out cross country.

My trip to Finland for the Kaukopartiohiihto competition was my last chance for a good ski outing. All winter, throughout the Midwest, there had been low to no snow. In Iowa, with marginal skiing in a good year, I had only been out on skis four times. My plans to ski the Arrowhead 135 race in International Falls had been thwarted by a lack of training. Finland was supposed to be a capstone trip, an easy cruise. It wasn't turning out that way.

Brothers Jani and Janne Kohonen and I arrived at the Utti military base, just outside Kouvola, early that morning, signed in, received our maps, and checked out our army ski gear. The skis, made by Järvinen, Karhu, and Peltonen to spec, were 1985 vintage. Solid wood with a p-tex base they weighed at least two pounds each. Exel poles with huge baskets, cable bindings, and rubber boots resembling galoshes (and offering just as much support) rounded out the blast-from-the-past equipment. My confidence that we could get through 150km of off-track skiing was wavering.

Easy going early on.

The equipment was only appropriate though. Kaukopartiohiihto translates to long distance ski patrol. We were honoring the memory of those Finns who fought in the 1939-1940 Winter War and 1941-1944 Continuation War with the Soviet Union. Numerically outmatched, Finnish ski troops were reported to have out fought the Soviets 30:1. More than a race, the Kaukopartiohiihto is part military exercise, part memorial, and part pure Finnish sisu.

The route was a mix of forest roads and a single narrow snowmobile track through the woods. Four 75 km routes made up the course and participants have 48 hours to do as many loops as possible. Sometimes the roads we were sent down were too well ploughed for good skiing (though not clear enough for good driving either). The tracks in the woods were often icy and woven tightly between trees, often diving down into ditches and climbing back out again. There were, of course, no course markers. We were utterly dependent on the maps and our wits. While we could often follow the tracks of those ahead of us these often diverged and left us to decide which way was right. Not every ski track was even part of the Kaukopartiohiihto. In Finland ski tracks in the woods are not the novelty that they are in the US.

Where are we?

Heavy skis, floppy boots, and uneven tracks not to mention poor skills helped me crash many times early in the competition. Several times I found myself floundering in deep snow having once again fallen while dropping into a drainage ditch. A little instruction from my skiing companions helped me out. By giving up on subtleties and getting assertive with the skis I started to get the hang of the old equipment.

All too soon it was dark and route-finding became even harder. Several times we missed our turns and had to backtrack. By the time midnight rolled around we were tired and maybe a little confused. That's how we ended up lost in the swamp. After some debate we realized that the road we were on was not in fact a road, but a logging track not marked on our map. Striking out cross country seemed like a very bad idea. A good way to get even more lost. Backtracking it was. We found the fork where we had gotten it wrong about one kilometer back and took the correct road.

At four in the morning we were back in Utti. We had managed just one 75 km loop in 18 hours. Going out for another 75 km loop wasn't very appealing. Jani and Janne were good sports and offered to go out again, but I knew they didn't really feel like it. I know I didn't feel like doing any more. We called it quits and were awarded a bronze medal for one loop. It was a good finish to a poor snow year.

Sunset

Finland is awesome and you should go there.

I arrived back in town Thursday night after having spent a week and a half in Finland skiing and otherwise lazing about. It was great and, as my co-workers know well, I can't seem to stop talking about it. I haven't managed to collect my thoughts on it all, much less write them down, but I think I have come up with a sort of outline I want to follow to tell you about my trip. I plan on doing several separate blog posts each with a distinct theme. Here they are:

-Kaukopartiohiihto: that'd be the competition (it isn't really a race) that I participated in. Including Finnish Army skis, potato soup, being lost in a swamp, and some info that relates more or less directly to my earlier blog post about off-track skiing.

-Finnish Culture: including, but not limited to; language, saunas, salmiakki, tiny apartments, and crossing the street.

-Lahti Ski Games and how double polling is awesome: some talk about skiing with professional athletes, ski-jumping, spectating at a world cup event, and how bad I am at skiing.

Travel: Getting there by plane, train, automobile, and bus. Plus, why flying is still fun for me.

My plan is to get the first post on Kaukopartiohiihto up on Sunday evening. I'm telling you so that I have to do it.

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.