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Life is an Adventure
Race
2003 Beast of the East
By Jim Farmer
I usually try to combine several races into a single article in order
to reduce the number of articles I have to write and to keep from rambling
on and on about every little detail. However, when a race lasts three
and a half days it warrants its own article. The Beast of the East
was such a race. The “Beast”, as it’s affectionately
known, is perennially considered one of the toughest expedition adventure
races in the world. Although it’s a few days shorter than some
of its brethren, the ferocity of the course, tight cutoff times and
sadistic nature of the race officials make it a brutal test of mind
and body. This race is the flagship event of the Odyssey Adventure
Racing Company and their motto of “Your Pain Is Our Pleasure” was
evident from start to finish. As cruel as their races are, Odyssey
always puts on a top-notch event that is both well organized and fair.
This was no exception.
My three teammates and I had never done an expedition race before but
we were ready to take a leap of faith into this wonderful world of
pain and sleep deprivation. When Odyssey announced that the Beast would
be held in the Brevard area of western North Carolina this year it
was like a siren calling our ship to the reefs and sure doom. But we’re
suckers so we answered the siren’s call and signed up as Team
Chattanooga TrailBlazers for the 275-mile, 3.5 day Beast of the East
- Transylvania. They asked me what number we would like and I wanted
666 but they only had two-digit numbers available so lucky number 13
was the next logical choice. I always like staring superstition right
in the face.
On Thursday night at 7:00, fifty teams biked out of the Davidson River
Campground just outside of Brevard to start the 2003 Beast of the East
Adventure Race. After several miles of uphill grinding we dropped our
bikes at the Pink Beds parking lot to start a long trek up to and along
the Blue Ridge Parkway, crossing it several times in the process, until
we hit Checkpoint (CP) 1. That’s where the fun began as we started
the orienteering leg that consisted of three measly Orienteering Points
(OPs). Unlike checkpoints, that were required elements of the race,
the orienteering points were optional. Teams received a five hour penalty
for each missed OP but they had to make sure that they didn’t
spend too much time on the OPs or else they would miss the cutoff time
for the next transition area. It was a “pay now or pay later” decision.
Navigation was our strong suit so we decided to pursue all three. Although
successful in our endeavor it took us over seven hours to achieve,
never mind the energy used up and the layers of skin left in the rhododendron
thickets that we bushwhacked through. At one point we were on our hands
and knees for an hour straight trying to get back up to a ridgeline
that was no more than a couple of hundred yards from us.
By now we were pushing the first cutoff time and one of my teammates
was feeling the effects of a night of bushwhacking. With a 1,500-foot
climb up to the top of Looking Glass Rock ahead of us I decided to
pop a trusty, rusty Vivarin tablet and rig up the towing system between
us. With the caffeine coursing through my veins I felt like the Grinch
going up Mount Crumpet. “My heart grew three sizes that day.” We
made it to the top in forty minutes flat taking some of the pressure
off and allowing us to enjoy the five hundred foot rappel off of
Looking Glass into the valley below. The view was spectacular and
we felt invigorated
as we double-timed it for the last eight or nine miles to the transition
area making the cutoff with time to spare. After a short bike leg
and a refueling stop we jumped into our canoes for a seven-hour paddle
down the French Broad River.
As most of you know, it’s been a strange summer in terms of the
weather. The Brevard area has had rain every day since the start of
July. This made for a very swollen river with tons of debris and strainers
ready to grab unwary adventure racers at every turn. Saying that it
was not a leisurely trip downstream was an understatement, especially
when nightfall hit. Sure enough, I had a momentary lapse of concentration
and my teammate and I ended up taking a swim. The swift current and
our tired legs, combined with the shock of being dumped into the chilly
torrent, made it very difficult to get our water-filled canoe to the
bank. Luckily we had everything lashed down and didn’t lose
any gear. Disaster was averted but time and energy were lost.
We were well over a day into the race at that point and felt strong
enough to tackle the next bike leg before catching some sleep. I
was a little worried about sleeping in the transition areas because
of
all the hustle and bustle going on but I found out that after thirty
hours of racing all you need to do is shut your eyes and you’re
out like a light no matter what’s going on around you. Exactly
one hour later the alarm went off. There’s no snooze alarm on
my watch so it was time to hit the trails again. We did some map work
for the next trekking leg and got our gear together in anticipation
of a long day on our feet. A long and hard day at that. The trek took
us over twenty-two hours and was easily the toughest part of the race
up to that point. The route, which ran us through Jones Gap and Caesars
Head State Parks in South Carolina, was both beautiful and treacherous.
The one thing it was not was easy on our feet. Because of all of the
rain it was impossible to keep them dry resulting in a bad case of
trench foot making it difficult to deal with the ever-increasing number
of blisters and sores. Duct tape and moleskin can only go so far. According
to the race officials, the medical crew had to resupply four times
during the race to keep up with the foot problems they were encountering.
They apparently ran Brevard dry of super glue trying to patch racers’ feet
back together. The transition area looked more like a M.A.S.H. episode
than an adventure race.
Unfortunately, we missed the cutoff time for this transition area,
but because of the extensive rains and the fact that few teams made
the prescribed cutoff, Odyssey decided to create a second Pro Class.
The way it works is that teams that miss cutoffs are relegated to
the Adventure Class rather than the Pro Class and they are put on
alternate
routes or skip entire sections of the race. This gives everyone a
fighting chance to cross the finish line while making sure that the
elite teams
get their dues. Our goal was to finish in the Pro Class so we were
excited to learn that we would now be racing in Pro Class II. It
also meant that we would skip the next paddling section on Lake Jocassee.
Despite the fact that my feet were torn to pieces I was glad to skip
the paddle. It’s not our strong suit and I was afraid that I’d
fall asleep in the boat.
We were two and a half days into the race at this point and we were
going on one hour of sleep so we decided to bed down for another
hour to replenish our batteries. Now, being good old Tennesseans,
we just
loaded up a pickup truck full of our gear for the race unlike other
teams that had RVs, campers, trailers and the like. So while other
racers bedded down in the middle of their creature comforts we rolled
out our sleeping bags on the ground for our short-lived visits with
Mr. Sandman. That was just fine until the rain clouds rolled in.
Our support crew had purchased a small canopy tent in the early stages
of the race so we all huddled under it to avoid the downpour and
dozed
off. Unfortunately, we were parked on the steep grade of a gravel
road that soon become a torrent of water practically carrying us
with it
down the hill. I felt like Bugs Bunny in the episode where the flood
carries him out of his rabbit hole and to the Evil Scientist’s
castle where he meets the red-haired monster with no arms and ends
up styling his hair using sticks of dynamite as rollers and … Sorry,
did I mention the hallucinations. More on that later. A half hour
of sleep was all we could muster and the thought of putting on our
rain-soaked
clothes and gear for the next bike leg was hard to swallow. Nobody
said a word as we all stared into space while putting our gear together.
It was the lowest of lows but we knew that the end was in sight so
we trudged on.
Our packs felt unbelievably heavy, partly due to being on for almost
three days straight, but mostly because we had to have all of our
bike, climbing and trekking gear as well as food and supplies for
the last
segment of the race. We wouldn’t see our support crew again
until the finish line. After a few hours on the bike we hit the base
of Cedar
Rock Mountain where we put on our trail shoes for the hike up to
Cedar Rock.
After a small navigation error we found the right trail and made
our way to the first ascent along an angled pitch of slickrock. The
Dirty Dozen is the affectionate name given to the Odyssey ropes crew
and they always do a great job of keeping things organized and safe
for the racers and have a lot of fun in the process. After the first
ascent we hiked up to the Cedar Rock cliff where the real work began.
The ascent was about one hundred feet up a sheer rock face, which is
a daunting task for an inexperienced ascender like myself but made
even more difficult by a wet rock face from the morning storms along
with an exhausted body. After another long hike off of the back of
the mountain we refilled our water bladders and got back on our bikes
for the long haul to Black Mountain, the only major obstacle between
us and the finish line.
The sun began to set as we hit some gnarly single track near the
Mills River campgrounds, but we enjoyed it nonetheless as it was
our first
time off of the paved and gravel roads that dominated the biking
legs of the race. Once we hit the Black Mountain trail junction
we knew
that we had only seven or eight miles to the finish line. However,
in our blissful ignorance, we failed to look at the topography
lying between the checkered flag and us. You’ve probably guessed by
now that it was not pretty. The seemingly endless uphills were a series
of water bars and boulders too high to walk over in many cases. My
love for my mountain bike went out the window as I hurled it on top
of boulders before crawling over them. The downhills were no picnic
either. We had run out of water with no creeks in sight and our lights
had started to go out. If we weren’t so close to the finish I’m
not sure if we would have continued.
On one uphill stretch I got ahead of my teammates and decided to sit
down and turn my headlamp off to conserve my batteries. In the pitch
black, deprived of sleep and entering the first stages of dehydration,
the forest started to come alive. We experienced hallucinations in
other segments of the race, mostly seeing bridges, houses, parking
lots and people when the only thing there were trees and rocks.
Having
spent so much time in the woods our brains were desperate for any
sign of civilization. In our sleep-deprived state we were easily
convinced
that these things were real. One of my teammates went into a screaming
fit and starting jumping up and down thinking that a stick in the
trail was a snake. Now I know why sleep deprivation is a major
part of brain
washing techniques. You’re easily swayed to say the least.
As I sat in the dark, the trees and plants formed people and critters,
all of them talking to me. I quickly turned my light back on thinking
that draining my batteries was a much better option than insanity,
especially on a razorback ridge with sheer drop-offs on either
side.
The finish line was a sweet sight indeed. Finishing at two in the
morning, combined with the fact that adventure racing is not much
of a spectator
sport, meant that we were greeted by a smattering of applause from
the race officials and the few support crews waiting for their
teams to arrive. If roaring crowds and rabid fans are what turn
you on
then adventure racing is definitely not for you. These races are
about you
and your team accomplishing daunting tasks together for days on
end without killing each other in the process. The sense of accomplishment
and camaraderie is beyond words. We ended up finishing in first
place
in our division and somewhere around tenth overall. I’m definitely
ready for my next expedition race; at least after my feet get back
down to their normal size and the blisters subside.
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