Life (And Family) Is An Adventure Race

by Jim Farmer (farmerjp@bellsouth.net)

My parents live in a small town in eastern Kentucky close to the Red River Gorge, famous for its rugged terrain and rock climbing areas. For the past two years, True North Outfitters has put on the Red River Gorge Adventure Race, affectionately known as “The Fig”, named after Don Fig, a legendary park ranger in the Gorge. Carol and I both raced solo in the inaugural event last year and we were both eager to do this race again this time around. My folks were also excited about it since they have become fans of the sport over the years and were excited about the prospect of another good adventure race in their area. They provided support for Carol and me last year and were set up to volunteer at the The Fig this time around. My parents have helped out at other races like the Greenway Challenge and the Riverbend Challenge, both here in Chattanooga, so they knew what they were getting into. They’re well beyond their racing years but they help out as much as they can. It’s a family affair for us.

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, I qualified for the USARA National Championships which happened to be scheduled for the same weekend as the Red River Gorge race. I would not be able to defend my title at The Fig but it would be an opportunity to bring my youngest brother, Thomas, into the adventure racing fold. The Nationals was being held in French Lick, Indiana (yep, Larry Bird country), right up the road from Louisville, KY, where Thomas attends the University of Louisville, much to the chagrin of the rest of his family who bleed blue and white. I know that he went to school there to spite us but he’s my brother so I still love him. If he starts liking the Yankees and the Dallas Cowboys then I might have to reconsider. OK, I’m getting off the subject (as usual). The point of the matter is that he had a chance to come up and see me race in one of the biggest races in the country. The family circle of adventure racing was complete. Oh wait, I have a sister living in San Diego. Oh well, maybe my next race will be in southern California.

The National Championships brought in forty-eight of the top teams in the country, representing nineteen states in all. Each of the teams had to qualify for this race by finishing at the top of one of the thirty-eight qualifying adventure races held all over the United States during the past year. Tom Sell, Heather Stone and I had qualified by finishing second at the NOC 8-hour adventure race as Team Enduralete.com. Our decision to participate in the Nationals was enhanced by the fact that the NOC would be putting $400 towards the $900 entry fee. Despite the fact that we were battling nagging injuries and were not in peak form we headed off to Indiana to see what we could do against the big boys in this thirty-hour endeavor.

Maps were handed out to the team captains at 5:00AM on Friday morning and the gun starting the race was to go off at 7:00AM sharp. This was an unsupported affair so Tom and Heather got all of our gear down to the ten-by-ten popup tent we had borrowed while I poured over the maps and the passport in our hotel room. Unfortunately, there were no UTM grid lines on the maps requiring the use of my yardstick in order to plot each of the twenty-two checkpoints. This is not a big deal, but when you’re pressed for time every mundane task results in less brainpower allocated to route choices and double-checking your work. I finished up around 6:30 and headed down to the field in front of the French Lick Springs Hotel where the multitude of popup tents and gear covering the grounds made it look like a military operation.

The first leg of the race was a two-plus mile run to the canoe put-in, broken up by two checkpoints, one of which resided in the middle of an incredibly ornate two-hundred foot domed atrium inside the old West Baden Springs Hotel. The structure was the largest free-span dome in the world until the Houston Astrodome was built and was a testament to the draw of the “healing” mineral springs in the area in the early part of the twentieth century. There was little time for admiration though as we wanted to beat the masses to the boats. This was definitely a smart move as we hit the tight confines of Lost Creek bordered by steep slopes on either side. We were forewarned of the multitude of “floating” logjams that awaited us, requiring us to swim our boats over the bobbing tree trunks and debris. The temperature hovering in the mid thirties resulted in a good five minutes of uncontrollable shivering each time we reentered the canoe until we paddled our body temperatures back up to something close to normal.

After less than three hours of paddling and swimming we made quick work of the next orienteering section on foot. The first couple of miles were difficult as our frozen and numb feet were all but useless while trying to balance on the single-track trails and cobbles in the creek beds. We were in sixth place as we entered the first transition back at the hotel. The dry clothes and food were just what the doctor ordered as we loaded up our bikes for the next leg of the race. Although most people think of Indiana as flat we quickly learned that the southern tip of the state was filled with steep ridges and plenty of rolling hills that can slowly drain you of energy. After a navigation bobble we got back on track and peddled our way to the lake paddle section. Luckily the temperature had picked up considerably and the sun hit our backs for our paddling session on Lake Patoka. We held our position in the high teens as we transitioned back onto our bikes.

Some more trail and road riding followed and we got back to the hotel around 9:30 that night. After refueling we headed back out on the bikes for a road ride up into the Hoosier National Forest for a difficult orienteering section that would seal the fate of most teams. We were not given the maps for this section until we arrived at the transition area in the forest. After dropping our bikes and throwing on the trail running shoes we had carried with us we headed out into the darkness. This orienteering section was called a Farsta course, named after the town in Sweden where it was invented. It entailed completing two loops of the same course with teams hitting some of the orienteering points on the first pass and the remaining ones on the second loop. The combination of checkpoints varied from team to team with the concept being that one team could not follow the other since their combination of checkpoints on a particular loop would be different. Checkpoints were well hidden which, combined with the difficulty of reading the terrain in the dead of night, made it an experienced navigators dream and an inexperienced navigators nightmare.

Making quick work of the orienteering section we passed several teams and came out of the woods in eleventh place; however, we would lose a couple of spots in the “Triad” section that followed. During the Triad each team was allowed one bike and one kick scooter for the eleven-mile push to the finish line. The last few miles were interesting given the fact that a team zoomed passed us and we decided to give chase. An all out sprint ensued as both teams gave every last ounce getting to the finish line. Tom was doing wind sprints most of the way but Heather and I couldn’t keep up the pace and we had to settle for thirteenth place. The fact that we were Team #13 made it a little more tolerable since I love staring superstition right in the face.

We had finished just before 5:00AM on Saturday morning and the post-race party and awards ceremony would not be for another thirteen hours so we decided to get a couple of hours sleep in Heather’s SUV before packing up and hitting the road. Given our early finish and departure I had Tom and Heather drop me off in Lexington, KY, where I rented a car for the drive to the Red River Gorge to surprise Carol and my folks. I arrived at the finish line just as the overall winner of The Fig was breaking the tape. Knowing Carol was still racing, I drove the course in reverse and soon found her in a pack of other racers making the long ascent on their bikes up to Nada Tunnel, an old logging tunnel cut into the mountain by dynamite and hand tools. I gave a smart-alecky “Hey good looking” as I passed her and got the “Get out of here you slack-jawed redneck” look in response. I made a u-turn and caught back up to her giving her a little bit more recognition time on this pass. I guess I should be glad that she treats come-ons from strangers that way.

Carol ended up winning the solo female division keeping the Farmer family winning streak going at the Red River Gorge Adventure Race. My folks arrived in time for the post-race party, consisting of chili, plenty of other munchies and free beer, which is always a plus. Even though I didn’t participate this year I was knee-deep in discussions about route choices and navigation problems with all of the racers. Other than actually racing, this is the best part of the sport in my opinion. Carol and I rounded out the weekend by visiting her parents in Lexington the following day before heading back down I-75 on Sunday afternoon. It turned out to be a long weekend of adventure racing and visiting family. Not exactly Ozzie and Harriet, but for Carol and me, that’s as good as it gets.