Life Is An Adventure Race
(With A Slice Of Humble Pie)
by Jim Farmer (farmerjp@bellsouth.net)
I know that cooking at higher elevations takes a
little longer than down here near sea level, but I never planned on discovering
how long it takes to bake a humble pie at 10,000 feet. Okay, I’m getting ahead of myself, as
usual. My adventure racing girlfriend,
Patricia Williams Smith, and I were invited to participate in the Raid
X-Adventure, 36-hour Adventure Race in Bend, Oregon, at the end of June as part
of Team Speleo Salomon Explorer. This
race was a qualifier in the Raid World Cup Series, an international affair with
a global race calendar and a points system for determining entries into the
world championships to be held in the Alps.
Team Speleo, based out of Poland, was looking to pick up qualifying points
and were short a few bodies because their “A” team would be racing in the Bull
of Africa expedition race during the same week. Patricia and I were honored by the invitation and we knew that
this would be an amazing opportunity that we couldn’t pass up.
As is typical, the race started long before the gun
went off. Having to deal with travel
arrangements and meticulously packing boxes of gear and clothes for the flight
out to the left coast was a royal pain.
Communicating with our two Polish teammates, Kuba and Artur, via email
and phone was no walk in the park either.
Their English is very good for being a second language, but when you’re
getting down to the nitty gritty details of preparing for a huge race then
differences in terminology and nomenclature can be frustrating at best. But we muddled through all the race
preparations and met our new teammates for the first time at the Portland
Airport on Thursday afternoon.
The Bend Adventure Racing Klub (BARK) had sent out a
request to their members looking for host families for the racers that would be
invading their town. Team Speleo must
have drawn the winning lottery ticket because we got hooked up with the Geisen
family in Redmond, Oregon, just north of Bend.
Jennifer and Michael and their six-year old daughter, Johanna, and their
three-year old son, Aspen, opened up their beautiful home to four adventure
racers and their minivan full of gear.
And boy was there a lot of gear: Bikes and bike gear, rollerblades,
crampons, snow shoes, packs, clothes, food, camping gear, and so on. We took over their garage, driveway and
front lawn unpacking gear and reassembling bikes and then repacking the Dodge
Caravan as efficiently as possible.
Needless to say that this vehicle is built for hauling the kids to
soccer practice and not for adventure racing, but we made the best of it. The Geisens are adventure racers themselves,
so they knew what to expect. However,
that fact, in no way, diminishes the amazing hospitality that this family
bestowed on us.
Front Row Left to Right: Jennifer, Johanna, Aspen and Michael Geisen
Although I really don’t get intimidated by people,
rubbing shoulders with the best adventure racers in the world at the gear
check-in and pre-race meeting on Friday definitely brought the breadth of the
situation to light. If the other racers
didn’t intimidate me then being the hired gun as navigator and dealing with two
booklets full of instructions and maps of differing scales and detail certainly
gave me some butterflies. Racing with two
strangers from halfway around the world in a race format completely foreign to
me definitely added to the pucker factor.
Throw in the fact that the race started at 6,350 feet and I have a
sketchy history dealing with high elevations, and you can see why I had a
little trouble nodding off on Friday night.
The Raid X-Adventure Series has an interesting
format for their races. Most adventure
races are continuous. You start at a
certain time and you race until you’re finished or you reach the cutoff time
which is “X” number of hours from the starting time. “X” is the length of the race; therefore, a 36-hour race means
that you have to be done in 36 hours in order to be considered an official
finisher. However, the Raid Series uses
a pseudo-stage format for their races.
Each stage has a first and last departure time. You cannot leave on the stage before the
first departure time and you must leave the transition area (TA) before the
last departure time or else you skip that leg and are penalized severely. They even build in some sleep time, but not
much, during the night. Although it
sounds like an “easier” format than a continuous race, it’s really just the
opposite. Your transitions don’t have
to be as fast since you’re essentially off the clock, but the intensity of each
stage is heightened. The standings are
determined by the cumulative time from all of the stages.
Another interesting twist is the fact that we had
four racers, but only three raced at one time.
This meant that one racer could act as the support crew while the other
three were on the course. However, this
approach is far less than optimal since the “support” racer is kept busy
loading up gear, driving to the next transition area and then unloading gear
and preparing for the next leg.
Replenishing energy stores and relaxing or even sleeping are much more
prudent. Turns out that we were the
only team without additional support.
Personally, I think the teams with additional support were big wusses…Okay,
that was jealousy talking.
At 6AM on Saturday, Artur, Patricia and I stood at
the starting line at the base of the Mt. Bachelor Ski Resort staring up a wall
of snow and lava rocks in front and above us.
You couldn’t see the volcanic summit from the village, but it was well
over 3,000 feet above us and we were heading straight for it in 3…2…1…Go! Artur sprinted like a madman right up the
side of the mountain as Patricia and I held on for dear life. At the start I was feeling the skin-tingling
sensation of lack of oxygen in my blood stream from being over a mile above sea
level without time for acclimatization.
That was when I was standing still.
Two minutes into the race and I was maxed out. I’m glad I don’t wear a heart-rate monitor during races because
it would have scared me to death.
Artur slowed down a bit before the first checkpoint
(CP) to let us catch up, and we got our first break as we approached the
mid-mountain lodge to don our crampons for the slog up the hard-packed snow to
the summit. The break didn’t help much
as my heart continued to race and the signs of altitude sickness began to
heighten. The nausea and disorientation
were tolerable, but the metallic taste of blood in my throat when I coughed was
making me question my love of team.
Having Artur tow me up the double-black diamond slopes in the Mt.
Bachelor bowl helped me tough it out.
Although I’ve never been towed before, it didn’t really hurt my pride as
much as I though it would. Maybe it’s
the fact that towing is standard fare in adventure racing and doing what’s best
for the team is paramount. However,
pride and bull-headedness require the use of brain cells, which in turn require
a good supply of oxygen. I had none of
the latter to spare. My humble pie had
been fully baked. Too bad I couldn’t
keep anything down or else I would have carved off a slice or two.
Reaching the summit was a miracle and I had just a
moment to enjoy the view while punching the electronic checkpoint device before
plummeting down the other side. Racing
at high elevations was new to both Patricia and me, and racing with sharp
implements attached to our feet was another new experience. Unfortunately, Artur had been doing this for
years, if not decades. He was a blur
sprinting down the impossibly steep slope full of snow and loose, sharp lava
rocks. Despite my lack of experience I
kept him in check, but Patricia’s lack of experience, combined with her shaky
legs from the climb, kept her from attacking the descent. Once out of the crampons though, Patricia
and I were in more familiar territory as we picked through the woods on our way
to Sheridan Mountain to the south.
Artur was still setting a blistering pace and I found it difficult to
keep track of our location and bearing while trying to keep up. This caused us to skirt slightly to the west
of the trail leading to Sheridan Mountain but we corrected our course without
losing too much time.
Running the cross-country skiing trails along the
valley allowed me to recover somewhat but we were soon heading straight uphill
once again and I was back on the bungee train.
The next CP had been modified at the start of the race and I hadn’t had
a chance to plot it properly so we simply pulled out our GPS and I had Patricia
read off the UTM coordinates from the device while I compared it to the
coordinates for the altered checkpoint and did the mental math to determine the
location of our objective. Yes, that’s
right, we were allowed to use a GPS for the entire race. I felt dirty using the dang thing since my
idealistic side says that map and compass are what you use in an adventure
race, not a GPS. But when in Rome…
Angling off of Sheridan Mountain through the thick
woods we made our way down to the Edison Sno-Park trail system and onto our
last CP before the transition area at the Sno-Park parking lot. Breaking all the rules of adventure race
navigation, we followed other teams through the maze of trails in the
park. Luckily, they knew what they were
doing. I could only muster enough
energy to keep Artur and Patricia in sight, so I gratefully accepted a tow from
Patsy for the last mile or so to the TA.
Carve off another slice of humble pie.
Arriving in the middle of the pack wasn’t bad considering my dead-on
impression of a lead weight during most of the first leg; however, Artur had
paid the price for towing me up the mountains and decided to sit out the 40-mile
bike leg that followed.
I got some food down, but my stomach was still
rocking from the altitude sickness as we started off on the rocky trails
heading west back towards Sheridan Mountain then south towards Wickiup
Reservoir along the Deschutes River.
After eight or nine miles of technical trails and steep climbs, along
with a spectacular endo by me into the trailside vegetation, we hit the jeep
roads that would take us to the reservoir and the several checkpoints along the
way. The 1:66,000 scale and the lack of
topo lines of the map given to us for this leg made it nearly impossible to
discern the elevation changes beforehand, but you can always safely put your
money on “up”. My weakened state zapped
my leg strength and I could only keep the pace on the relative flats and
downhills. The labored breathing and
high heart rate on the uphills brought back the nausea and delirium that had
plagued me on Mt. Bachelor. Kuba and
Patricia took turns pushing and pulling me up the never-ending rises. The sight of the next TA at the southwest
corner of Wickiup Reservoir was one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.
It was my turn to be the support crew and I got my
three teammates ready for the ensuing paddling stage. Blowing up a rubber canoe with a foot pump is not what I expect
to do at any race, but at least every team was saddled with the same floating
behemoth. Unfortunately, we had to
suffer with our heavy plastic rental paddles while other teams pulled out their
bent-shaft, carbon-fiber models. But
with two Polish workhorses in the front and back, I felt good about our chances
to make up some time. After shoving
them off from the beach I packed up the bikes, gear, clothes and food into the
Caravan and headed north to Osprey Point along the Crane Prairie Reservoir
where I set up the TA for the in-line skating leg that would follow.
Being at a lower elevation, I was able to breathe
better and keep the nausea to a minimum; however, the lack of adrenalin and
reduced activity level allowed my lungs to fill up with crud. Hacking up chunks of mucus with tinges of
blood was disconcerting to say the least, but overall I was feeling
better. I tried to take a nap as I
awaited the team’s arrival at the boat ramp, but I was rudely awakened by the
onset of another round of nausea.
However, this time I had no problem tossing my cookies into the
port-a-john. The stench of the pit
toilet made the convulsions that much more efficient. Although dizzy from the vomiting, my stomach felt much better and
I quickly downed some more solids, liquids and electrolytes to replace what had
been so violently removed from my innards.
The top teams took well over three hours to paddle
upstream on the Wickiup, portage over the dam and then continue paddling on the
Crane Prairie Reservoir to the takeout.
This meant that Team Speleo would be coming in at around 7:30 or so
according to my rough estimate. This
wasn’t an issue since the last departure time for the ensuing rollerblading leg
was 9:00PM according to the race rules.
However, the local sheriff, fearing that the mixture of rollerblading
adventure racers and Saturday night country road traffic was a disaster waiting
to happen, insisted that the racers be off the road before dark. This forced the race directors to push the
cutoff time for departure to 8:00PM. Of
course, Artur, Patricia and Kuba had no idea that they would be cutting it
close and I started to yell at them across the reservoir as they approached the
boat ramp just before 7:50.
If you’ve read many of my stories you’ll know that I
take great pride in the altruism, compassion and brotherhood/sisterhood of
adventure racers. But most of the races
I participate in are local or regional.
I didn’t expect this kind of display at an international race with pros
and semi-pros filling up the field; however, I was glad I was wrong. Total strangers grabbed our boat and
paddling gear and took it up to the van so that Kuba and Artur could catch a
much-needed break before their quick transition to beat the clock. Others helped bring our in-line skates out
to the road, refilled water bladders or helped Artur and Kuba out of their
wetsuits and into drier clothes. We
punched in at the departure point with only two minutes to spare.
With a total of three days of in-line skating
experience under my belt I was a little worried about keeping up with the
European duo that accompanied me. But
my worries were unfounded, as I simply had to keep the clock-like rhythm of the
guy in front while gripping the hand placed behind his back. The slipstream kept my inefficient stride
from being too much of a hindrance and we made great time without working very
hard while passing several of my fellow countrymen along the way. We pulled into the Lava Lake campground as
the sun began to set on the beautiful Oregon backcountry.
Despite my pleas to go out on the trekking section
that would close out the first day of racing, Artur wanted me to rest some
more. Having not raced with me before,
he had no way of knowing if I was just being bull-headed or had actually
recovered. Given my performance, or
lack thereof, on the initial trekking section, he had to make the call just
like a baseball manager pulling a pitcher who insists that he can strike the
guy out. It was a tough pill for me to
swallow since I’ve never done well sitting on the bench, but I understood his
decision and went back into my support crew role getting them geared up for the
long haul back to the Mt. Bachelor Ski Resort on foot.
It was completely dark by the time I got the van
packed up again. After a day of racing,
the vehicle was absolutely disgusting and completely disorganized. Because of the quick rollerblading section,
Patricia had no time to strap the deflated canoe back onto the top of the van
and was forced to shove it inside.
There was barely enough room for me in there once everything was packed. After arriving at the ski resort I proceeded
with the unenviable task of unloading everything from the van and reorganizing
our gear, clothes and food in the resort parking lot. Leaving the gear under a tarp, I prepared the van so that we
could all catch some sleep in a controlled environment.
The glow of headlamps began to appear out of the
woods and, once again, I tried to guess the arrival time of Speleo based on the
times from the other teams. I began
boiling water for coffee and pasta at a little after 1:00AM, but it wasn’t
until 2:00 when they arrived in the parking lot. A navigation error, along with their depleted state, had set them
back significantly. Hungry and cold, I
filled their bellies and warmed them up with the van heater before we bedded
down for three hours of sleep. Having
to clean up, I was the last one to hit the sack and I came close to contacting
the emergency staff as I watched Artur’s chest heave up and down trying to get
enough oxygen in his spent lungs. Being
over a mile high didn’t help matters for me either as I had to sleep with my
mouth open to stave off the altitude sickness.
Waking up after a full day of racing and then having
to do it all over again is not something I look forward to. To me, this is the downside of stage
racing. Although it sound ridiculous,
it’s much easier to race continuously and not have to go through the physical
and emotional swings of gearing down and then back up again. Although we had a full hour to get ready for
the next bike leg, Artur, Patricia and I barely made it out of the TA before
the 6:30AM cutoff. The cold morning air
made it that much more difficult to get a move on. But we made great time on the Sunday morning ride to Besson Camp
along the Deschutes River. Best of all,
“Normal Jim” was back in the saddle. I
was out in front and pulling hard.
Excited about my newfound strength, we hit the
smooth waters of the Deschutes in our rubber canoe as it wound its way north
towards Bend. We were paddling vigorously and passed a few teams on our float
to Benham Falls alongside the Newberry National Volcanic Monument. Our strong times on the first two legs meant
that we had to wait at least a half-hour before we could depart on the ensuing
adventure run along the river to the last transition of the race at Lava Island
Falls. Artur, once again, had to make a
tough decision about who would go out on the next leg. I was feeling strong and had regained his
trust and Kuba had sat out the first biking leg so he was relatively fresh, but
the question was whether to let Patricia join us or let her save her legs for
the last mountain biking stage to the finish line.
It only took about one hundred yards for Artur to
regret his decision to come on the run.
His breathing became extremely labored and he had to stop despite the
fact that the terrain was flat and we were not going very fast. We walked for a short distance and let him
recover a bit before I broke out the bungee and towed him up while Kuba took
his pack and lashed it over his own. We
kept a decent pace on the flat ground, but as is the rule of thumb in adventure
racing, everything must go up at some point.
I would temper my pace based on Artur’s breathing, backing off a bit
when he gasped for breath. At first, I
feared that we wouldn’t make it to the TA or, at best, we would have to walk
the entire thing, but Artur suffered through it. I’m not sure if I could assemble such courage and sacrifice myself
like that for the team. Kuba was also
feeling the effects of the second day of racing and we came into the TA looking
beat. Personally, I was on a mental
high from the fact that I could repay Artur for the tow from the day before.
Support vehicles were lined up on the dirt road
leading to the Lava Island Falls parking area, so we plodded along in search of
Patricia and the minivan and some much needed refreshments. Reaching the end of the row of vehicles, I
thought that we had somehow walked right past her. After calling her on the mandatory cell phone we had to lug
around with us for the entire race, it was not our inability to find the
Caravan that was the problem; it was Patricia’s navigational abilities that
were less than perfect. She was within
striking distance though, so our wait was not very long. She’s one of the strongest racers I’ve ever
met, but she’ll admit it herself, the best way to slow her down is to put a map
in her hands. But we had plenty of time
to spare before the final departure point so it wasn’t a problem, although the
look of concern on our faces when we couldn’t find her initially was genuine.
After some well deserved down time for Kuba, we made
our way to the departure point at the end of the road only to wait in a long
line of racers standing next to their bikes.
Because of the tight singletrack awaiting us, race officials were letting
teams go in two-minute intervals. It
gave us time to relax and socialize with the teams around us, all of which were
smiling at the prospect of crossing the finish line in a mere couple of
hours. Although I was prepared for some
tough navigation trying to manage the maze of trails and jeep roads
criss-crossing the Phil’s Trailhead mountain bike trail system, the last bike
leg ended up being marked with signs and flagging tape. Evidently, this is the MO for the Raid
Series. The tough navigation and backcountry
stuff is typically on the first day and the second day is easy, if not
non-existent, navigation and more of an off-road triathlon feel. That doesn’t mean it’s easy of course, but
it does give them a chance to highlight some of best that Bend has to
offer. The Phil’s Trailhead trail
system was a perfect example of this approach.
Although Kuba was not feeling his best and Patricia
does not excel at the technical single-track, we made good time on the rocky
climbs that highlighted the first part of the leg along the Storm King trail to
the first CP. Turning north we
descended and then climbed again to the second CP, passing a few teams along
the way, and then headed back east along the Grand Slam trail to the second to
last CP before getting on to the COD trail.
Although it was only three miles long, the COD trail started off with
some incredibly steep and narrow sections filled with boulders that had to be
snaked through with precision. We told ourselves
that we could easily ride these sections if our legs were fresh, but after
thirty-plus hours of racing we resigned ourselves to a hike-a-bike up and over
the short ascents. To be honest,
tackling some of these rises on my best day would be a 50-50 proposition. Once we hit the edge of the bluff though,
the trail flattened out and wound its way along the ridgeline through a meadow
of fragrant, flowering bushes before descending to Highway 46. We kicked things into high gear and
pace-lined it along the paved shoulder and through the Mt. Bachelor Village
Resort before hitting the riverside trails that took us to the finish line at
the Les Schwab Amphitheater in the Old Mill District of Bend.
I
always talk about downing a bunch of beer after long races, but I'm usually too
wiped to stomach it afterwards. When Artur
thrust a Pilsner Urquell, one of my favorites, in my face after the finish, I
gladly accepted. It went perfectly with
the chicken sandwich and potato salad served up by the race folks. We toasted our 29th place finish out of 50
teams. It doesn't sound that great, but
considering the competition and all of the obstacles we had overcome, we
couldn't help but smile and enjoy each others company while rehashing the
race. Best of all, Team Speleo moved up
into 3rd place in the Eastern European region of the Raid World Cup
Series. Mission accomplished...Okay,
given my political bent, that may not be the best choice of words, but I digress. This was definitely an unforgettable
experience for all of us and I learned a ton.
Most of all, I learned that I should probably stay closer to sea level
when adventure racing to avoid baking any more humble pies.
P.S. If you
think adventure racing is for you then check out our club website at www.TrailBlazerAR.com.