tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1785779908492377002024-03-05T10:05:25.072-09:00sean salachdispatch war rocket ajax to bring back his bodyseanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.comBlogger138125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-2843317909081856252013-02-03T16:22:00.001-09:002013-02-03T16:34:10.640-09:00Tá Grady ar ais, ar ais arís.2 years and 10 months since my last post. Anyone miss me? Not sure why I lost interest, but for a while there, I did. So, let's see if I can sum up the missing chunk of time in a reasonable amount of space.
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2010:
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<br>
-Worked again for a municipal recreation department, the City of Palmer, Alaska. It was fun, but didn't pay enough to keep up with my spending habits.
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-Moved to a small log cabin at the base of Government peak.
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-Commuted by bike more.
<br><br>
-The whole family, (Mom, Dad, Norah, Siobhan, Mike and Gavin), came up to visit for two weeks. I had a blast playing tour guide.
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-Worked at Speedway Cycles on and off during the winter because I hadn't saved enough at my seasonal summer job to get me through the winter.
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-Crashed hard in the Sheep Mountain 150 fat bike race descending Belanger Pass. I was with the leaders up until that point. I bonked hard after the crash and walked most of the remaining 10 miles to the checkpoint, where I scratched.
<br><br>
2011
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-Raced the Susitna 100. Actually, raced the first half of it, then relaxed and hung out at checkpoints along the trail the rest of the way. I had a good time on a smooth and hardpacked course. Big change from when I first visited Alaska in 2008 for the Su 100 and ended up realizing I was in over my head and underprepared for the soft conditions that year.
<br><br>
-Raced the Ultrasport again. Couldn't get to sleep at all during the first few nights, despite trying at every opportunity. Ended up getting mild frostbite on two toes at -45 in the Farewell Burn. That convinced me my footwear wasn't up to snuff for the potentially colder conditions beyond McGrath, so I relaxed and cruised the rest of the way with Joe Pollock and Janice Tower, which was a fun time. Perhaps I'll get around to a full write up on it sometime soon.
<br><br>
-Started working for Mark Davis at Slana Surveys in Anchorage. Still work there. Mostly construction surveying, mostly in town. It's really fun work, both mentally and physically challenging.
<br><br>
-The commute from far northern Palmer was killing me. I was spending 2.5-3 hours of my day driving to and from work. I loved living in the cabin, and Palmer felt right to me, but I had to move to Anchorage. Moved in with the Monkees, Niko, Josie and Migsy, in their spare room. All of a sudden my 2.5 hour motorized commute became a 10 mile(+) each way bike commute on paved trails through a couple of different greenbelts. Good times.
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-About a month after I moved to Anchorage, my father passed away. Not good times. It took a lot of effort to keep from focusing on regrets that I had about stuff I should have said or wished I had done. There was a huge turnout of friends, family and neighbors for his funeral. It was really good to see how many people's lives he had touched in some way, shape or form.
<br><br>
-After returning from the funeral and some time spent with my Mom and sisters, I set about cleaning out the cabin for final move out. I left it clean, but did it poorly. The combination of bleach, steam and mold in a small, poorly ventilated cabin wreaked havoc on my lungs. All of a sudden I had asthma again.
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-Around this time I started cross country skiing in the local park. Mostly on singletrack trails that I either found or made myself.
<br><br>
-After the work season ended in early November, I flew back home to help my Mom out with cleaning and clearing at the house, and to finally attend the burial, which was delayed for almost a month due to massive flooding in NJ.
<br><br>
-I drove back up to AK with Chuck from Philly, in my Dad's truck. We stopped to briefly visit my cousin TJ in Kansas, then Chuck's cousin Mario in Boulder, before taking the most direct route north. As far as I can remember, we only got into one yelling match the entire 10 days. Pretty impressive if you ask me. The Canadian Rockies in winter is a drive I recommend to anyone with the nerve for piloting their vehicle along snowy and icy roads. Really gorgeous. Chuck was greeted in Alaska by temps warm enough to turn most trails to mush and cloud cover obscuring most of the mountains. We made the best of it.
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-Worked at speedway again over the winter.
<br><br>
2012
<br><br>
-Raced in the fat bike race at the Willow Winter Carnival. I was very limited by my breathing abilities during the race, and by the poor choice of running Nate tires front and rear. Those things are traction monsters, but have too much rolling resistance out back for most of my riding.
<br><br>
-I signed up for the Su100, and didn't start. My intention was to ski it. At the last minute, I convinced myself that skiing 100 miles when I had really only been skiing a significant amount for about 3 months, a week before starting the ITI, with respiratory issues, was probably a bad idea. Yes, I could have ridden it, but I didn't.
<br><br>
-Started the Ultrasport. The race course received 30" of heavy, warm snow during the first 24 hours of the race. I pushed my bike for 110 miles. I felt fine, and was pacing myself fine, but my shoes and rear tire were falling apart. I was worried that if I pushed further on, say to Rohn, and they became unrepairable, that I would be begging for a ride back to Anchorage, as there was no way I could afford an $800+ flight from a bush airstrip.
<br><br>
-Started my second season at Slana.
<br><br>
-Started the Homer Epic 100k race. Got through the first mini lap, but was having an asthma attack the whole time, so I scratched. At this point, I decided to refer to the season as my Quinter of 2011/12.
<br><br>
-Did a lot of crust skiing in the morning through March and April and even a bit of May. Really, really enjoyed it.
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-Did a lot of hiking and trail running over the summer and fall. Really, really enjoyed that.
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-Signed up for and started the Sluice Box 100 race in Fairbanks.... and actually finished! That was my only goal going into it after the astronomical amount of quitting I had done during the winter.
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-Skied a lot during this winter. The nordic backcountry skiing has been great so far and really exciting for me, since I suck at it. It's nice to feel like a beginner, learning something new every time I head out. I'm officially addicted to it.
<br><br>
2013
<br><br>
-This winters races I've signed up for:
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*Trio Fat Bike race in Talkeetna. A new, multi-lap, 60 mile race put on by Speedway Cycles, Backcountry Bike and Ski and WeCycle.
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*Homer Epic. I might, *might* do this on foot.
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*SKAN 24, a 24 hour xc ski race on groomed trails.
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*aaand one big one that I'm probably going to sign up for, but I'm not willing to lay that card on the table just yet.
<br><br>
So that's it. I may add some photos to this post eventually, and I'll try to update on a somewhat regular basis.seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-22991363167081933132010-03-17T13:38:00.003-08:002010-03-17T13:47:07.788-08:00The short raceFor those not aware, that's what I did this year and last, the short version of the Iditarod Trail Invitational. The full length version is 1100 miles all the way to Nome. 3 riders and two walkers took on that challenge this year, and they're all still going, with Phil Hofstetter in the lead right now. Not far behind him are riders Tracey and Jay Petervary, with Tom Jarding leading the legendary Tim Hewitt on foot. Phil's in White Mountain right now, @80 miles from home(he lives in Nome). I've been checking the updates several times daily, and it's pretty exciting stuff. They travelled down the Yukon river, through 100 mile+ uninhabited lengths of trail, and across sea ice to get where they are now.<br /><br />The message board here: <a href="http://kathih.websitetoolbox.com/">http://kathih.websitetoolbox.com/</a> is a great way to cheer them on, as they're able to occasionally check it at schools in the villages they pass through. They're a huge morale boost for racers on the course, and I encourage you all, whether you know them or not, to post something up there letting them know people are watching with interest. <br /><br />The main site for the race, with the Leader Board and Latest News updates is here: <a href="http://www.alaskaultrasport.com/alaska_ultra_home_page.html">http://www.alaskaultrasport.com/alaska_ultra_home_page.html</a>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-73699973246062403512010-03-16T19:44:00.002-08:002010-03-16T19:53:04.001-08:002010 Alaska Ultrasport Last 19 Hours, Bison Camp to McGrath2010 Iditarod Trail Invitational <br />Last 19 hours<br />Bison Camp to McGrath<br /><br />Rolling down that hill and into the long straightaway, I kept expecting the tussocks to show up around every slight bend and over every slight rise, but the trail was good. Really good. It was like a paved, white bike path. I stopped one or two more times to mess with the hose, trying to thaw it out. I finally relented and started drinking directly from the bladder. I didn’t feel thirsty, but didn’t want to find myself cramping in the middle of the tussocks, wherever they were. <br /><br />I wasn’t sweating, but was obviously losing moisture:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4416153938/" title="iti1005 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4069/4416153938_844d6e8e2a.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1005" /></a><br /><br />The trail from Bison Camp to just before Sullivan Creek Bridge is mostly straight. Long sight lines on those big long straightaways, and sure enough, I eventually saw the first of the tussocks a quarter mile or so up the trail. They basically started right at the sign for the BLM shelter cabin, which I hadn’t seen last year. I was a little apprehensive about how difficult they would be on a loaded bike, but it turned out they weren’t that difficult at all. They were fun actually, and I was able to keep a relatively good speed through them. I walked one short section of about 100 yards, and made it from the first sign for the shelter cabin to Sully’s bridge in just over 1 hour. I equate the tussocks to a long, furry rock garden. There were definitely good lines to be had through all of them, and they were probably the most enjoyable section of trail this year for me.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415386287/" title="iti1003 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4005/4415386287_96e11ceab6.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="iti1003" /></a><br /><br />As I made the ‘hard’ right turn with the trail toward the bridge I got excited and let out a “Yeaaaah!!”, which I’m not sure Sebatiano Favaro, who at the time was staggering around on the bridge, heard. Sebastiano is one of the Italian racers, and is just about the most pleasant person you’ll ever meet. He really, genuinely seemed to be enjoying every minute of the trip. I wanted to fill up my polar bottle with water from the creek, and before I had a chance to do it myself, Seb hooked up the bucket that’s always there and set about getting the water for both of us. I thanked him, but had to press on. <br /><br />A few miles down the trail, I noticed the water starting to ice over in my bottle, so I stopped and just chugged it all down. While I was stopped, I figured I might as well get my headlamp on, since the sun was going down. I reached into the pouch containing both my headlamps, to find only one of them there. Uh-oh. I looked around in all the obvious places on the bike, but couldn’t find the other one. I wondered if I had left it in Rohn. I hoped not. I put the one I had on, and when I hit the ‘On” button, nothing happened. I hit it again. Nothing. I must’ve put bad batteries in it. I tried unscrewing the battery cap by hand, but it was stuck. So I put it between my teeth, gently bit down and turned. It opened, but not by unthreading. It opened by breaking in half. Double uh-oh. Now I really hoped I hadn’t left the other one in Rohn. The trail was good and hard though, and the sky was clear and it had been a full moon at the start of the race. I decided to press on as fast as I could, and get to Nikolai hopefully before dark. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4416151960/" title="iti1002 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4032/4416151960_7aeca31533.jpg" width="500" height="301" alt="iti1002" /></a><br /><br />I charged off down the trail as fast as I thought I could manage for the next 20-25 miles. It wasn’t long before I caught Tim, and didn’t recognize him with his face masks on. Was it cold? It didn’t feel cold to me for some reason. Must’ve been though, his masks were covered in frost, and my beard was a block of ice. I had meant to shave it off before the race. I told him about my headlamp, and he offered me his small spare. I didn’t want to leave him without one, and was optimistic about reaching Nikolai without needing it, so I told him that I was going to press on, and that if he found me wandering around in the darkness up the trail, that I would take him up on the offer. The miles flew by pretty quickly, across swamps and through small poplar groves. It was starting to get too dark to ride. I could see the trail on the swamps, but not in the woods. I made it to Salmon River Fish Camp, and got off to walk through the wooded section after. I ended up walking across the swamp after it and then some as well before I saw Tim’s headlamp coming up behind me. He hooked me up with the headlamp and we rode off down the trail. It proved to be easiest for me to just ride behind him, with his powerful headlamp scanning the trail ahead, and his small spare, on my head, just covering the short distance between us.<br /><br />It was nice to ride with someone. We talked about our plans in Nikolai while stopping to admire the incredible planetarium overhead in the middle of one of the swamps. If I managed to find my headlamp somewhere in my gear, or repair the one I broke, I was going to press on, but if not, I figured I would be forced to wait till morning. He offered to let me just use his spare, but If we had to separate at some point along the way, I wouldn’t have wanted to leave him without his spare headlamp should his main one fail on him. <br /><br />Across the swamps, and through the woods in between, I kept trying to spot the place where I bivied last year. Never was able to pin it down, but I knew we were on that big swamp when we hit it. A bit more woods, with the smell of wood smoke in the air, and we dumped down onto the river and cruised for Nikolai. We stopped to chat with some locals, who welcomed us to the village and told us it was getting down around -20 on the rivers and swamps at that point. I would have never guessed it. We cruised up through the town, meeting a few other locals along the way, and finally pulled into the welcoming warmth of the Petruska household, our checkpoint. It was really great to see Stephanie, Oline, and especially Nick in good health. Inside there was one racer sleeping, Simon Honore. We found out that two of the Italians had pressed on, but I knew they must have been about as tired as tired gets. I set my sneakers by the stove to attempt, again, to dry them. Nick tossed clothes from the bladder spill that morning, now solid blocks of ice, in the dryer to thaw and dry them. <br /><br />We sat down to some moose stew, coffee and bread. It was nice to be there, and with my headlamp woes, the temps outside as they were, and me with wet sneakers, I decided that I needed to stay at least until my sneakers were dry. I didn’t want frostbite on top of immersion foot. As Sebastiano, Kyle, Tracey, Bill, Chris and Dave rolled in, Tim rolled out, leaving me with his spare headlamp and expecting me to catch him at some point during the night. If his ran out, he could just wait for me to show up, I could give it back, and find myself a convenient spot to bivy. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4439315305/" title="nikolai by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4063/4439315305_364a9e79ab.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="nikolai" /></a><br /><br />It was nice to chat with Kyle and Bill again, and for the first time really with Chris, Tracey and Dave. I planned to roll out with them in a couple of hours, whether my sneakers were fully dry or not. I was getting sick of sitting still, and wanted my mancake! Bill told me he had a pretty powerful second light that I could use if I wanted to, since I was cruising with them. I immediately took him up one the offer. I figured it would be nice to cruise the last 50+ miles with some company. Dave found his way to one of the bedrooms to sleep. Simon got up and left. Chris started falling asleep on the couch, and when the time came for us to go, he said he needed real sleep for a couple of hours. So it was Bill, Tracey, Kyle, Sebastiano and myself. As we were packed up and signing out, Eric and Lou came rolling in! <br /><br />This is where it got interesting. Lou and Tracey were the leading females in the race. Lou is a VERY accomplished and capable mtb racer. Tracey has some strong racing and riding under her belt as well. Seeing Lou put a little scare into her. She wanted the win, and definitely respected Lou’s ability to catch her. Eric and Lou needed rest though. <br /><br />We rolled out of the village in a paceline, keeping a pretty strong pace. I took first pull, and we seemed to be all keeping together, so I kept my pace up. I was liking it, we were moving quickly, but it eventually looked like we wouldn’t be able to stay a group if the pace didn’t relax a little bit. So we backed off to a comfortable pace. The trail was in great shape. Every now and then there would be a short section of drifts across the trail, but for the most part it was bomber. I was giggling at being able to ride it after the previous year’s slog. It just seemed like such a novel concept to not only be riding it, but to be riding it quickly. We kept the paceline going, everyone taking turns setting the pace. <br /><br />I really enjoyed those last 50 miles. The riding was enjoyably easy, the company was great, and the weather had warmed up to a very comfortable place. The skittles came out again, abut they more celebratory than reward. The finish wasn’t far, and neither were mancakes.<br /><br />The sun came up behind an overcast sky as we rolled along the last section of river. Riders were getting pretty tired at this point, but we all felt how close the finish was. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4439314565/" title="snow angel by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4038/4439314565_a8d83ab248.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="snow angel" /></a><br /><br />Up onto the swamps we cruised along, rookies Bill and Kyle leading the way as the little cardboard mile marker signs started showing up. My amazement at being able to ride this section this year continued as we sped across that last big open swamp, with the radio tower in sight, and veered left and out onto the haul road. We chatted and congratulated ourselves as we cruised down the road. I think I smiled almost the whole 3 miles or so. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4416149104/" title="iti1001 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4062/4416149104_f1453494db.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1001" /></a><br /><br />We finished right around 9AM, with Tracey taking 1st woman and setting the fastest female time EVER to McGrath, with Kyle, Bill and myself(and Tracey as well) tying for 8th place overall. Entering the house to find all the racers who came before us there to welcome us was great, and I was sat at the table with a stack of mancakes in front of me. Peter looked around for a beverage to offer me. He looked in the fridge, closed it, and as he started to head back to the storage room to look for soda, he mentioned that there was only beer in the fridge. Ummm, beer? Can I have a beer? My smile grew wider. I’ll drink a beer!! And so it was, I had a beer with my breakfast of mancakes and a monster omelet. It was beginning to look like I was to be the only one drinking alcohol at the table till Sebastiano, who had fallen off the back of the group, rolled in about 20 minutes behind us. After welcoming and congratulating him and setting him up at the table, he was offered the (verbal) list of available beverages, and his eyes swelled to the size of dinner plates when he heard Peter say “beer”. Woohoo! We toasted to our accomplishment. A few hours later, Chris, Eric and Lou rolled in, and Eric or Lou handed me my headlamp! They had carried it with them all the way from Rohn. Awesome!<br /><br />The next 24 hours were spent resting, eating, chatting, occasionally sleeping, learning all about the Evil Empire from Brij and strolling around McGrath with Bill, Kyle and Dave. <br /><br />This year was immensely easier for me than last year. I cut my time in half and then some, and didn’t feel spent at the finish. I think the Fatback had a lot to do with that, but the better training, more refined gear, and experience of having done it already all came together to make this year seem like a piece of cake in retrospect. I had some equipment malfunctions, but with a little refinement, I think I’ll mostly be bringing the same gear with me to Nome next year….seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-48527031085380263482010-03-15T23:23:00.002-08:002010-03-15T23:34:54.114-08:002010 Alaska Ultrasport Day 4, Pass Lake to Bison Camp2010 Iditarod Trail Invitational<br />Day 4<br />Pass Lake to Bison Camp<br /><br /><br />As we paused to eat across Pass Lake from the Perrin’s cabin, we visually followed Craig’s tracks turning left when they reached the lake, shooting across to the cabin, then turning around and retracing themselves back down toward Puntilla. He had come by us headed in that direction back when we were still a group of four. We had been thankful since to have Jay’s foot prints and tire tracks to push our bikes in. We could see that at the point where Craig had passed him on the return trip, Jay really wasn’t that far ahead of us. Maybe 2-3 hours. When we saw that he had turned back less than a mile from the pass proper, we felt for Jay, who would then find himself breaking trail entirely on his own for the last steep pitch to the top. It was definitely easier on us than it was on him, and I think we were all pretty impressed with his fortitude getting over the top alone in the same conditions we struggled through.<br /><br />From the top, it certainly became less difficult, being downhill with enough visible evidence of the trail to follow it easily, but that relative ease was offset by how ragged I was beginning to become from the effort expended to get to the top. I was running low on water, and my feet were really starting to feel the effects of my sneakers being wet for the entire race combined with the slogging of the last day+. This was compounded by the fact that all the open water on the way up caused us to be wearing our overboots. Mine were insulated. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415370869/" title="iti1019 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2730/4415370869_0c99c1caeb.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1019" /></a><br /><br />We were descending though, and making it over the top had brought a sense of closure to my difficulties last year, and with that sense of closure relief. I felt like could coast down the other side on auto pilot. “One foot in front of the other”, and Janice said. Besides, the 30 miles of trail from the pass to just after Rohn are, as far as I know, the most scenically beautiful section of the trail to McGrath. <br /><br />The three of us dropped down and around and into the small, rocky gorge where all those who had gone before me last year had struggled so much through the web of alders and deep snow. There was a trail for us though. We become more talkative the more tired we became. Telling and listening to our stories helped me focus on keeping my feet moving. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4416136614/" title="iti1018 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2756/4416136614_e1c9a523b4.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1018" /></a><br /><br />I was running low on water, and stopped briefly to fill up from a section of open water on the creek. It was incredibly refreshing water. About an hour after I filled up and took those first few sips I remembered that someone, maybe Bill, had told me that of all the creeks out there, that was one of the worst ones to fill up from. It was pretty much guaranteed to give you Alaska’s official state illness: Beaver Fever. Great. Oh well. <br /><br />I was eating. I was only mildly dehydrated. Whatever was in the water, if anything, would take days at least to have an effect. So the hallucinations and time lapses could really only be blamed on exhaustion. It started with occasional flashes of white light in the corners of my eyes(it was daytime out). I would say something to Lou or Eric, who I had not met before, and a minute later would either get an intense feeling of dejavu or the similarly intense notion that I had not actually said it out loud. I was stumbling. <br /><br />We stopped to watch some small avalanches on the peak we were facing. There was an impressively loud “BOOM” and then we would scan the slopes to see the shifting, dirty snow. I wondered how loud of a BOOM a really big avalanche would make. <br /><br />We slogged on, tripping through small alder branches that poked up through the trail. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4416090598/" title="iti1017 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4063/4416090598_39b350e496.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="iti1017" /></a><br /><br />Before long, I realized that I apparently wasn’t the only one so close to the end of my rope, as I was walking alone, and they were behind me. Noone would have minded if I pressed on at my own pace, but there was this tree on the side of the trail, with a sloping burl growing up out of the ground and ascending it’s trunk, and another fallen tree across it, and it looked really comfortable, and I wanted skittles, and waiting for my companions was a pretty convenient excuse to sit down. It was comfortable, and the skittles were gooooood, and I nearly spilled them like five times as I started dozing off. I woke again when they came by. <br /><br />I would find myself alone ahead of them again, but not out of sight, when Craig finally came through on his way to Rohn. He wasn’t too keen on the trail conditions. We regrouped again briefly and then, once again, separated on our way to the hill we knew was coming, and I both dreaded and desired. I desired it because it was the last real hill on the entire route to McGrath, and on the other side of it was the Dalzell Gorge, which had a good chance of being rideable, and was really close to Rohn. I reached the base of the hill with no one in sight. I put my bike off to the side of the trail to pop a mouthful of skittles. Skittles are my slog food. They’re my reward for pressing on, for dealing with situations that aren’t really completely ‘fun’. I popped a handful of the frozen morsels in my mouth, and as they thawed, and the tangy, sugary, acidic flavors saturated my taste buds, I plopped down in the snow next to my bike. The whole world was skittles at that point. The snow that had just gotten into my gaiters and was melting down my ankle: skittles. The warm temps and soft trail: skittles. The steep hill in front of me: skittles. Craig Medred’s paddle track: skittles. Beaver Fever: skittles. I wanted to just unroll my sleeping bag(skittles), pop another mouthful of skittles and call it a night(it was still daylight). <br /><br />Lou and Eric came by, and Lou, who was clearly struggling at least as much as I was at that point, didn’t sit down, didn’t park her bike or look at the spruce trees longingly, but exhaled a few times, put her head down and charged up the hill with all her might. Crap. Now I HAVE to go up the hill. <br /><br />Slowly but surely, I slogged away up it. The top eventually came, as I knew it would. The trail was occasionally pedallable for short stretches across the top, but barely. The downhill was rideable for Lou and Eric, but Eric’s a normal sized dude, and punched through as much as I would have in his position, which made it easier for me to just walk down it. The Dalzell Gorge was in my sights though, as the daylight faded. There was a good amount of walking for all three of us in the upper section. It eventually firmed up though, and Lou and Eric were riding quite a bit. I tried a few times, but was in such a mental, and I guess physical state, that I couldn’t control the front end of the bike when I tried. I decided, with all the delicate ice bridges, that It would just be safer to walk the rest of the way down to the broad Tatina River. The hallucinations continued. At one point I would have sworn to you that Lou and Eric, not 30 feet from me, were mooses, and my heart sank at the thought of two mooses tromping down the gorge and breaking the remaining ice bridges before I had a chance to cross them. <br /><br />After the last ice bridge, the trail was firm, and significantly flatter and straighter, and I managed to ride, catching the other two as they aired up their tires. Down onto the Tatina, and we put on our windshells, took a last drink of water and rolled along. It was rideable, and very flat. There was even good traction for the most part. There were a few glare ice sections that encouraged me to go as fast as I could in between them in order to maintain enough momentum to cross them without having to pedal. Within a short while I could no longer see their headlamps behind me. I thought about turning around to make sure one of them hadn’t fallen, but we were less than 5 miles from the checkpoint, if they didn’t show soon after I arrived, someone would go out looking for them. I paused for a few silent moments. I was sure if one of them were hurt or in a sticky situation I would have heard calls for help. The river was just sooo fast. I wasn’t sure where I got the leg speed from for that last 5 miles, but it felt great, and really boosted my spirits, lifting me from the bonk I was in. Up off the river and the trail in to the airstrip was, by far, the best section of trail I had ridden the entire race up to that point. It was scary fast. Gently winding around a bit before bursting you out onto the airstrip. Oops. We’re supposed to take the trail next to the airstrip. It actually took a while before I realized that it was the airstrip, being dark out. <br /><br />I rolled off the airstrip, turned right at the ‘roadhouse’ and straight over to the checkpoint tent, somehow in 4th place. Within seconds after getting off the bike, my mind started drifting back off into delirium. I began to remember how bad my feet felt, but I was still riding high on the awesome trail coming in. Bill was there, as was Rob, and they both made me as welcome as could be. Rob was pretty psyched to see me in Rohn this early after my late arrival last year. I sat down in the tent, on the big, 20(?) foot long bed of spruce boughs Bill and Rob had built, took off my overboots and my shoes and my socks. We were able to diagnose the condition of my feet as mild immersion on my left foot, blistered immersion on my right foot. I wasn’t concerned about it till I tried to stand up bare footed and nearly fell over. I ate some soup, drank some tang, and laid out my sleeping bag. I was deep asleep within 15 minutes of Lou and Eric’s arrival. <br /><br />Something to the effect of, “WAKE UP! I NEED ROOM FOR INCOMING RACERS! YOU GUYS NEED TO MOVE OUTSIDE!!” had the intended effect of waking me up. Well, part of me anyway. I had no idea what was going on. I was less than half awake as I crawled out of my bag and tried with a great amount of futility to stand up. I think someone ended up holding me upright for a minute. I remember checking my sneakers to find them, of course, still wet. I tried walking outside barefoot, only to be reminded by cold feet that it was in fact winter, in Alaska, even if it was in the upper 20’s, at least. I grabbed my overboots and clomped around in them. I must have been obviously struggling with figuring out what was going on because Bill ended up helping me spread some straw from a large pile on a tarp to lay down on. I don’t think I was in the bag long before passing out again. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4416151232/" title="iti1008 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2792/4416151232_12577e04b4.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1008" /></a><br /><br />When I woke, there were bikes everywhere, and people rummaging about, packing up. I drifted back into slumber. When I finally managed to get up, I my frozen overboots to my side, and my bivy sac covered in some of the snow that had fallen that night. I was awake though, and cognizant. I could think straight, and I could walk. I strolled inside to see a full house. The walkers had caught us up. Lou and Eric were still there as well. Phil, Dave, Chris, Tracey, Tim, Kyle, Brij and Simon were there. I found out that three Italians had pressed on after they got there. The crowd was too much for me. I couldn’t think straight anymore with so many people moving around. I ended up waiting till a group of riders had left to really dig into my drop bag and start packing everything up. When I saw Phil walking around, I barely recognized him. He had retained a bunch of water, and was planning on taking it easy and resting for a few more hours. He was trying to ride home to Nome, so he wasn’t about to push himself to injury. The walkers left, and I was, I thought finished packing up everything, so I left too. <br /><br />I passed them on the river. The riding was good. The trail was firm and I felt great both on and off the bike. The immersion foot was surprisingly easy to deal with when wearing properly fitting shoes. I had it last year with ill-fitting pack liners in neos, and it was a mess. I had planned at the start of this years race, to run up the “post river glacier” when I got to it, since I would be wearing my clipless crampons. But those were obviously now non-functional as crampons, having become makeshift flat pedals. When I got to the ‘glacier’, I discovered that one of them was no longer there. I also discovered that I had forgotten my gaiters in Rohn. I didn’t think long about going back for either. I hope someone in Rohn was able to put the gaiters to good use. This year, like last, there was an easily walk-able line of snow, grass, small shrubs and rocks up the left side of the glaciated overflow. After the first pitch, for some reason, it looked like everyone had crossed the sloping ice to the other side, where it butted right up against some protruding, exposed sections of ridge rock. I didn’t fall for that though, and continued walking easily up the left side on grass, though I appeared to be the only one to have done so. <br /><br />I finally caught sight of, caught and passed Dave, which made me feel good, because he’s a really strong rider. I stopped to either tighten my load, or ditch a jacket, or both, I forget, and Dave passing me back.<br /><br />The riding continued, I was pushing the pace to put a good gap on Dave, and thinking I would soon catch sight of the rest of the group, until I managed to lose one of my overboots. I stopped to look at my rack because it felt like it was swaying too much, to discover only one overboot perched loosely on top of my drybag. I figured it wasn’t to be far down the trail, so I propped my bike up against as tree on the side of the trail. I pulled out a bag of trail mix, and at it as I walked along. And I kept eating it as I kept walking, and walking, and walking. The boot must’ve been a mile back. I don’t know how the other one stayed on all that time. <br /><br />I had expected Dave to pass me but he didn’t. Another mile up the trail, I’m riding along happily when I begin to wonder why my belly and crotch are getting cold. Oddly cold. I look down and there’s water splashing out of my hydration pack hose(I was going to say “bladder hose” there, but that could be interpreted as something else…), and ice all down my front side. I said some choice words, and pulled over to the side of the trail. Unclipped my drybag with my spare clothes in it, stripped, dried off with the little towel I had brought with me, and redressed in dry clothes. I even changed my socks. I was dressed and packing my wet, heavy clothes into the drybag when Dave finally passed me back. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415383439/" title="iti1007 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2697/4415383439_94fa026053.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1007" /></a><br /><br />I caught him again at some slushy overflow, where we both put on our overboots, and saw him a couple more times while crossing the lakes, and then not again till Nikolai. I rode on as the trail did it’s thing, constantly expecting the dreaded tussocks we had heard about around every corner. The trail through this section is a bunch of short, rolling hills with swamps in between. My “bladder hose”, no not that one, the other one, with water in it, now had ice in it. I guess I had overfilled it in Rohn, and when it leaked, the leaking water had managed to soak the Thinsulate insulation around the hose, which combined to lead to a bunch of ice in the hose. I stopped every now and then and faffed with it for a minute or two, rearranging my layers to try to get it to thaw out on it’s own. It had leaked because I had removed the soft part of the bite valve before the race, and had forgotten to close the shut-off valve on it after taking a drink. I eventually caught up to Tracey, Bill, Chris and Kyle, and we rolled along pretty much together till the sign for Bison camp. Through the one section of tussocks we experienced together, I could tell that my North Jersey rock garden skills, the Moxey suspension seatpost given to me before the race(thanks Bill!!) and my gearing would make our paces incompatible through the long section of tussocks I knew was coming after Bison Camp. <br /><br />After the sign, I just pressed on without stopping till the top of the hill just after Bison Camp, which surprisingly still had all the tents up. I stopped for a bite to eat, another brief attempt to rearrange my bladder hose in hopes of thawing it out, and to grab a photo of the trail stretching out toward Nikolai.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4416154914/" title="iti1006 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4012/4416154914_8a37b02303.jpg" width="500" height="346" alt="iti1006" /></a>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-8860589989200909272010-03-13T12:32:00.003-09:002010-03-13T12:47:24.955-09:002010 Alaska Ultrasport Day 3, FinnBear Lake to Pass Lake2010 Iditarod Trail Invitational<br />Day 3<br />FinnBear Lake to Pass Lake<br /><br /><br />I hadn’t been inside long when Craig pulled up. He had pressed on after the next group of riders had come through. I relaxed inside for longer than expected, drying out and refueling/refilling. It wasn’t until I looked out the window and saw Brij approach the cutoff trail, then press on straight past it, that I felt a sense of urgency to leave. I had been there over an hour at that point. Time had kind of flown by chatting with Mike, Ingrid and Craig. I refilled my water bladder one more time with the delicious spring water, and hustled out the door. As Craig and Mike walked down the shoveled out path to Craig’s machine, Mike looks at his track and says, in a half shocked/half disapproving way, “Oh you DO have a paddle track on there?!”. Craig again expressed his regret, relaying that it was the only machine(rental I guess) he could get a hold of, and that he himself doesn’t like people on his local trails with paddle tracks. <br /><br />I know it sounds like I’m complaining/venting/harping on Craig here, and I am. But I do understand that “It is what it is.” Craig wasn’t out there trying to maliciously destroy the trail for us. He was just out there. All of the racers had to deal with it, not just me. The trail sucked only partly because of him. The warm temps and fresh snow were just as much to blame. It was just much easier at the time for (many of) us to direct our disappointment in the trail conditions toward him. Last year I had Marco Costa’s support crew ride back and forth in front of me a few times on the stretch from Shell Lake to Puntilla with paddle tracks, doing the same thing. So it could just as easily have been anyone else out there chewing up the trail. Dealing with trail conditions is part of the race.<br /><br />So, anyway, I marched along the ‘outbound’ cutoff trail to try and catch up to Brij. I was concerned about his unfair abilities to levitate over the soft snow, and was still in race mode, so I wanted to get ahead of him on the coming uphill push. When I got to the end of the lake, Craig came past. I looked back and could see the rest of the group turning down the cutoff toward Mike and Ingrid’s. I was happy both that the rookies in that group would get to know Mike and Ingrid, and that the only racer I would have to worry about for the next few miles would be Brij.<br /><br />I caught him up a quarter mile or so up the hill. We chatted briefly about how evil Craig is and then parted ways. As I climbed in elevation, the trail started to become more and more rideable. The downhills were no longer sketchy, and some of the flats could be pedaled as well. I sort of dreaded the long group of meadows approaching the checkpoint. They had been a slog the previous year. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4430446358/" title="puntillameadows2 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2774/4430446358_ccace3a17f.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="puntillameadows2" /></a><br /><br />When I dropped down the last steep pitch onto the first meadow, I was greeted with flat light on a windswept expanse. I could hardly see the trail markers, let alone the actual trail. Every now and then it would pop up out of the drifts though to let me know I was on the right track. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4430445778/" title="puntillameadows by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2760/4430445778_d7181e013a.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="puntillameadows" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415375369/" title="iti1026 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2707/4415375369_e459cb7490.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1026" /></a><br /><br />I knew I would be on meadows until I passed the first of the two big humps that reside on either side of Puntilla Lake. I also knew that if Brij was going to catch me before the checkpoint, it would be on this stretch. There’s a lot of gradual inclines here that are just ‘steep’ enough when the snow is soft to make me walk them with the single speed. I felt better than last year though, and seeing the familiar landmarks along this section of trail made me feel even better. Once out of the meadows, nearly everything was rideable right up to the Lake itself, which was intermittently punchy, so I just walked it. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415388451/" title="iti1014 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2724/4415388451_defd4d5fc5.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1014" /></a><br /><br />I added my bike to the lineup of Phil, Lou, Eric and Dave’s outside, and entered through that familiar door. I was determined not to stay long. I had been at Puntilla essentially for 2 ½ days in 09. I had knocked down some demons last year here, and it was time to finally knock ‘em out for good. Dan McDonough was our checker, and I had run into him a few months earlier in our local park. It took my tired mind a few minutes to recall the meeting though. Steven, one of the Perrins boys came in and we had a brief chat about last year. Then the floodgates opened. Either the trail had firmed up behind myself and the group I left Finger Lake right in front of, or the next group of Europeans had mounted a formidable charge, because 10 more riders stormed the checkpoint behind me. I was planning on setting out at midnight. Phil was planning on leaving at 10ish. I got no sleep in the hustle of the incoming racers. It was snowing and blowing, and Craig decided to head out and try to make it to Rohn so that we would have a trail to follow. I was pretty happy about that, because when the snow is whipping around up above treeline there, the markers can be very difficult to find.<br /><br />Phil got up and out of there around 10:30. He wasn’t gone 45 minutes when Craig came back. He couldn’t find the trail or see the markers. He said the two riders that had headed out were bivying. Lou and Eric had gotten up as well, and were planning on departing around midnight. I figured we would all leave together, but they were a little bit longer getting setup than I was. If the trail was that bad, it wouldn’t matter anyway, they would soon catch up. <br /><br />I set out in the darkness, passing Tim Stern in his comfortable looking bivy just off the lake. The trail really wasn’t that bad for the first few miles. Once it climbed up out of the basin, truly breaking the treeline, it became significantly more windswept, and in places I couldn’t see Phil’s tracks. I was just going from patch of ‘disturbed’ snow to patch of disturbed snow, wading through ankle to knee deep wind drifts in between. <br /><br />After climbing steadily for a bit, the trail dropped into a sump where the blowing snow conveniently settled and accumulated. The wind was non-existent down there, and I could see Phil’s tracks pretty easily. Unfortunately, I could see that his tracks were zigging, zagging, branching off, and occasionally walking in circles. I found it best to just split the difference, and take the most central line through his wanderings. A couple of hundred yards up the rise out of the sump and I caught up to him. It was now that I would get my real intro to breaking trail, as we took turns in the lead, trying desperately to stay on the hardpacked trail that was somewhere under the drifted in snow. We had made it maybe half a mile before we saw Lou and Eric’s headlamps descending into the sump. We talked about bivying till daylight, when we would more easily be able to see the tripod trail markers, and both agreed that the place to do it would be back in the willows at the bottom of the sump. It was pretty discouraging not being able to see any sign of the trail in the darkness. <br /><br />Lou and Eric were determined to press on at a steady pace though, and with 4 of us out there, the trail finding should be a lot easier. We pushed back up to where Phil and I had turned around, the last sign of any kind of trail. Without our bikes, we all fanned out in different directions till one of us found the trail. We would continue this for a few more hours till Craig came by. Apparently I wasn’t the only one to have said something to him about his tracks, as he made some borderline snide comments to Lou. Up untill then, his humor and demeanor had been pretty standard, jaded east coast sarcasm, which I appreciated, but his words seemed a little more along the lines of picking on her at that point. Maybe he was tired. I dunno. I don’t think it was appropriate though. <br /><br />I had apparently falsely assumed he knew his way along the tripods fairly well, and was hopeful as he sped off up the trail. Until his lights stop and his headlamp begin searching broadly from side to side, then cutting hard right and doing the same again. I found it humorous. Visibility was pretty low though, and would only be lower when traveling with any kind of speed. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves postholing in his tracks, clearly way off the actual trail. At one point we found ourselves on the south sideslope of a hill, a situation which I definitely did not remember from 09. We were getting kind of frustrated at this point, as it was easier when we were finding the trail ourselves. I left my bike and marched up to the top of the slope to find a trail marker tripod, and the trail itself, about 50 yards from where we had been struggling along. We all made our way up to it and our spirits lifted a bit. <br /><br />The bad news was that when Craig had passed us he told us that the next, large group of racers weren’t that far behind us. We had been putting out quite a bit of effort at this point, and I was getting worried that they would have a much easier time, and would eventually swallow us up.<br /><br />At one point Craig dropped down into the next sump, waaay off the trail. The snow through here was waist deep in places, and his track led us directly through a bunch of willows. When we broke through to the other side, with daylight upon us, and found the firm trail, it was time for breakfast.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415391031/" title="iti1013 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2789/4415391031_2b0f306bd5.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1013" /></a><br /><br />The next mile or so involved a bit of postholing, but not too much, till we finally reconnected with the trail that had been set in by Bill and Rob, the trailbreakers for our race. From there it was a push, but on trail the entire way, and was much easier than the night’s travels had been. Phil stopped at one point to tend to his feet, and told us to press on without him. Lou, Eric and myself told stories and chatted to pass the time as we pushed, and occasionally carried, our bikes across open water and up the toboggan run to Pass Lake. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4416157170/" title="iti1012 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2460/4416157170_c2b16a8084.jpg" width="399" height="500" alt="iti1012" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415389847/" title="iti1011 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4013/4415389847_0d58d973f5.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1011" /></a><br /><br />A blue sky shone down on us for about a half hour as we entered the mouth of the pass.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415389099/" title="iti1010 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4021/4415389099_927eb71c07.jpg" width="500" height="332" alt="iti1010" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415320339/" title="iti1009 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2687/4415320339_4b350f4fa1.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1009" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415371913/" title="iti1021 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2720/4415371913_cf9c871b28.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1021" /></a><br /><br />Looking back from where we stopped for somewhat of a short ‘lunch’ break, Phil was nowhere in sight.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4416138048/" title="iti1020 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4070/4416138048_a16a833a91.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1020" /></a>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-42817719017807723232010-03-12T22:51:00.002-09:002010-03-12T23:11:54.367-09:002010 Alaska Ultrasport Day 2 part 2Finger to Finn Bear2010 Iditarod Trail Invitational <br />Day 2 Part 2<br />Finger Lake to Finn Bear Lake<br /><br /><br />I woke at some point during the morning when I heard a disk brake squealing down the hill out of the checkpoint. No one else was stirring though, and I was fairly comfy, so I shut my eyes for a few more minutes. The next time I opened them, I could see Bill and at least one other racer(Nicola? Brij?) stirring and/or sitting up. Wake up time. Packed my gear, strapped it to my bike. There was about 5 inches of fresh, new, fluffy snow on the ground. I went off to pillage my drop bag. It really wasn’t so much pillaging as picking through. I took full advantage of the 10 lb limit on the bags, and since I arrived at Finger Lake in under two days, I had a lot of extra. The temps had been warm all race so far, so all of my hand/foot warmers got left behind. I had forgotten to take out cash to bring with me for the race, and only had about $45 with me at the start. Everyone was talking about getting breakfast, and I was worried that we only got one meal and had to pay for any additional ones. It was a great relief to find out that there would be no charge for breakfast. Food and lodging are included at each checkpoint from Finger Lake to McGrath, I just wasn’t sure how much food and lodging that would be. <br /><br />I knew I had slept quite a bit, and was anxious to get on the trail before Craig on his snowmachine. The light fluffy stuff looked somewhat rideable, but I had a feeling that wouldn’t be the case after he passed. After I ate and filled up on water, I headed for my bike. Bill was the only one outside, and was packing up his bike. I asked if he was ready to go, and he said “5 or 10 minutes”. I thought about waiting and taking off with them while walking to my bike. Everyone else had parked their bikes up by the lodge. I rolled mine down to the tent the previous night and parked it right outside. Once I had double checked everything on the bike, I stood and looked up the hill toward the lodge. It didn’t look like anyone was coming, and I was ready to move, so off I went.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4416087968/" title="iti1016 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4059/4416087968_30971d6fcd.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1016" /></a><br /><br />I was right, the trail was about 50% rideable, even with the new snow. Phil from Nome had been the squealing brake I heard a few hours earlier, and his tracks certainly helped. It was gorgeous out, with all the fresh snow covering everything. The only visible tracks being those of a bike and occasionally it’s rider’s footprints. Phil is a much more experienced snow rider than I am, and between that and his multiple gears, he was certainly able to ride a bit more than I was. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415320925/" title="iti1015 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2760/4415320925_b733fbb2b5.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1015" /></a><br /><br />I pressed on at a fairly quick pace, working up a sweat. I wanted to get as far down the trail as possible while it was still rideable. I had fantasies about making it to FinnBear before the trail got churned up by snowmachine. I hadn’t reached gotten to the Happy River Steps though before I heard the whining sound of a motor behind me. When I ran into Craig at the checkpoint the previous night, I had said to him, “I know you can’t help it, but your track tears that trail up…”. He said he knew it, and felt bad about it. He was out here on a job though, reporting for the race. “It is what it is”, as someone once said. Once Craig had come past, the trail was what it was, and that was a slog. Even the downhills where sketchy at best. Some of them I didn’t even bother trying to ride down. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415374919/" title="iti1025 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4062/4415374919_84df65b6ed.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="iti1025" /></a><br /><br />The pushing became a lot more strenuous. I was working harder, sweating more, and drinking more water. I got the notion that I might run out before reaching FinnBear Lake, so I started supplementing my water with snow. It was warm enough that hypothermia wasn’t going to be a problem, but those snow crystals do tear up one’s mouth. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415376875/" title="iti1028 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4046/4415376875_3cc23675b0.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="iti1028" /></a><br /><br />Craig was stopped at the bottom of the last of the Happy River Steps. Passing him, I stopped to ask if he had seen Phil(he had), and see if he had a way to get some water going for the group of racers behind me. I figured at that point that I had enough to get me the handful of miles to FinnBear, but that if I was running low, so might some of them. My hopes shot up again that I might be able to ride the flats and downhill parts from there to FinnBear.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4416140614/" title="iti1024 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2611/4416140614_43d8c0c225.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1024" /></a><br /><br />After the steps, you come down onto the Happy River for a few hundred yards, where you intersect the Skwentna River, again traveling a few hundred yards before climbing up off of it. The hill after it is probably the single most strenuous pitch of the course. It starts with a 8ft or so near vertical wall up the river bank. Last year I had to alternately lift and set my bike, and kick in footholds. This year, with all the new snow, I was able to wheel my bike right up, while quickly kicking in my footholds. Mike Schoder passed me right before the wall, no paddle track on his machine. For somewhat of a perspective on what each do to the trail, especially soft trail, I took a photo of his track, and a photo of Craig’s nearby. You'll have to forgive the quality, as it's the only way to get the definition to show up.<br /><br />Mike<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4429018922/" title="IMG_3710 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2708/4429018922_8b835bb1cf.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_3710" /></a><br /><br />Craig<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4428251631/" title="IMG_3709 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2738/4428251631_e9b2c8a2be.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_3709" /></a><br /><br />Neither are rideable where the photos were taken. Both tracks break down the structure of the new snow, but Mike’s doesn’t affect the base, and the resulting track sets up more quickly into a generally nice trail. If it’s warm out, the paddle tracks will dig down, occasionally disrupting the base and making an unrideable trail. And when that churned up, scrambled trail sets up, it’s far from smooth and far from fast. Not that it would set up in those temps until night time anyway. <br /><br />So, after the wall, It was a bit of a slog up the long steep hill, but I think maybe easier than last year. Last year it was icy and difficult to get a foothold, but the bike rolled easier. This year, foot traction wasn’t a problem, but the bike rolled a bit slower. 6 of one, half dozen of the other I guess. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4416139764/" title="iti1023 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4052/4416139764_771491f6b7.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1023" /></a><br /><br />On Shirley Lake, I took a sucker trail because the main one was all but completely blow in, and it looked like Phil had postholed down it. It eventually led back to the main trail, but added a little bit of distance. <br /><br />Up over the next rise, I knew I was really close to FinnBear, so I went ahead and drained the last of the water in my hydration pack. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415372625/" title="iti1022 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4020/4415372625_6dfebc675e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1022" /></a><br /><br />When I got down onto the Lake, It was blowing pretty hard and the trail was drifted. The mid-day, overcast sky cast a very flat light that, combined with the drifts, made riding futile for me. When I got to the sign for Mike and Ingrid’s, the cutoff trail to their cabin was completely blown in. Just gone. No signs of it at all. I thought about heading to the other side of the lake to melt snow, but knew that the cutoff trail generally runs in a dead straight line from a few feet in front of the sign to the cabin, so I went for it. I postholed maybe up to midcalf for a little while before eventually finding signs of the trail again and making it up to the cabin. Mike and Ingrid greeted me outside, and to my surprise, remembered me from the year before, despite the fact that it had been dark the only other time they had seen me. It was very comforting to see some friendly faces, and I planned to stay about half an hour or so, to chat and fill up on water.seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-65558077660718091612010-03-10T13:40:00.002-09:002010-03-10T13:56:12.510-09:002010 Alaska Ultrasport Day 2 part 1, Shell to Finger2010 Iditarod Trail Invitational<br />Day 2, Part 1<br />Shell Lake to Finger Lake<br /><br /><br />As we killed time at Shell Lake Lodge, stretching, eating, drying clothes and resting, riders came and went. Eventually I put my wet shoes back on and headed out to catch Tim, Chris and Kyle(Phil might have been in that group as well), who had left a minute ahead of me. Brij, Big Nicola and Bill had left a while earlier and were well ahead of us. We had been warned of some overflow and open water in the first meadow out of the lodge by Mike Schoder, and soon enough found ourselves at a big, wet rift in the trail. It looked deep enough to go around, so we walked and occasionally crawled through the deep snow skirting the edge of it. I’ve found that when I punch through into deep snow it’s easier and more efficient to just proceed by ‘walking’ on my shins till the trail looks like it firms up. I was walking in front of the procession, so rejoined the main trail before the others. I mounted my steed without pause and pedaled away. Mike had been grooming it all morning, so despite the fresh snow the night before, it was hard packed and rather fast, especially with the tracks of several riders in front of me.<br /><br />Last years travels through this section had felt like a bit of a slog, but actually ended up taking about the same amount of time as this year. I think the difference could be accounted for in this years slog from Skwentna to Shell, my gear woes in the middle of the swamp, and perhaps a longer rest at Shell. The swamps and meadows did seem to fly by under my tires this year, and I took no photos on this section. So I’ll add a few from last year to keep your attention. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4423618662/" title="IMG_0952 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2772/4423618662_b40b08127b.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0952" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4422855269/" title="IMG_0956 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4010/4422855269_49c30e9dbe.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0956" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4422856047/" title="IMG_0958 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4030/4422856047_2df939c5b5.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="IMG_0958" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4422856875/" title="IMG_0960 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2784/4422856875_9484f00bc3.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="IMG_0960" /></a><br /><br />Around the time it became justifiable to put my headlamp on my head, I spotted a brief flash of light a couple of hundred yards up the trail. Often, at night on winter trails, you won’t see another racers headlamp in front of you unless they look back. The headlamps we use are light and small, and usually not more than 100 lumens due to the reflectivity of the snow. Combine that with the trail being in somewhat of a trench most of the time and a rider could be 200 yards in front of you and you might not even know it. Squinting in the fading daylight, I was able to make out the shape of two riders not very far up the trail. I pressed ahead to see who it was(and to pass them, this being a race after all)… It was Lou and Eric, a couple of pros from California, who had done this race numerous times before. I had remarked at some point after last years race that getting myself to McGrath before a racer as accomplished as Louise Kobin would be a nearly insurmountable feat. Catching up to her and Eric on the trail gave me a bit of an adrenaline surge, and I pressed on at a quicker pace than I had been traveling at, thinking about my chances of maybe catching a few more racers. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4423621742/" title="IMG_0961 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4052/4423621742_3f607961bb.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0961" /></a><br /><br />It wasn’t long before I saw more headlamps and came upon Bill, Brij and Big Nicola. They were happy to see me as they had been setting in tracks through the churned up trail for quite a while. Craig Medred was on the trail reporting on the race, and unfortunately had a paddle track on his snowmachine, which really makes a mess of the trail and is difficult ride behind. So far it seemed like myself and the other racers mentioned so far had been playing leap frog with him since Yentna Station. It was only starting to get a tiny bit annoying at this point. By a stroke of luck, the point where I caught the three B’s was also the point where Craig had caught and passed Dave Pramann from Minnesota, so I had a track to follow for a bit. Unfortunately I was just coming down off the adrenaline fueled overexertion I had been cruising on, and my pulls were feeble at best as the trail continued to get softer for the last handful of miles into Winter Lake Lodge on Finger Lake. Brij summoned up his powers of levitation to calmly pedal away from the pedestrian travel of Bill and I, while Big Nicola fell off the back a bit, encouraging us to press on without him. Had a good chat with Bill as we made our way in to the checkpoint about 15 minutes behind Brij. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4422858493/" title="IMG_0964 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4064/4422858493_a1b04d807c.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0964" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4423623078/" title="IMG_0965 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4040/4423623078_ee67101858.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0965" /></a><br /><br />I had planned on pressing on a few miles before bivying, remembering the discomfort of trying to sleep in the weatherport last year at Finger Lake. As we sat eating our dinner, we found out that there were TWO heated tents this year, and that changed my attitude. Bill, Nicola, Brij, Lou, Eric and myself went to check out the second tent, with Dave sleeping soundly in the weatherport. It was warm, the floor was dry, and there were no fumes or odors, so I made the decision to join the group on the floor. Lou and Eric expressed the desire to leave around 2am, and I considered departing with them. I only had about a half hour of sleep so far though, and a good night’s rest proved too appealing when I heard them pack up and head out in the middle of the night.seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-60217809990939867752010-03-08T13:41:00.003-09:002010-03-09T10:46:15.347-09:002010 Alaska Ultrasport Day 1 Knik Bar to Shell LakeITI 2010<br />Day 1<br />Knik Bar to Shell Lake<br /><br />My attitude and emotions leading up to this year’s Iditarod Trail Invitational 350 were decidedly different than they were in ‘09. Last year saw disappointment in my physical condition and gear set up and resentment toward everyone I blamed for those. Mostly myself. Should have been entirely myself. I had wondered whether it was even worth showing up on the starting line. This year was a complete reversal. I came into the race with significantly better fitness, a more refined gear setup and an eye toward performing to the best of my abilities. I was actually nervous this year. Excited, anxious and nervous. Greg from <a href="http://speedwaycyclesak.com/"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Speedway Cycles/Fatback</span></a> hooked me up with a demo black aluminum Fatback for the race. I set it up SS using a tensioner, and it took no more than one ride for me to realize how foolish it is to ride anything less than Endomorphs for this race anymore. They simply roll faster on snow than anything else. Thanks, Greg!!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415381763/" title="iti1034 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4038/4415381763_2f692f7827.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1034" /></a><br /><br />I got a lift down to the starting line with Tony, Julie and Jill. Thanks!! Got there early and napped in the van for a bit while they joined Jenny, Taig, Charlie, Jamin and eventually Greg for a ride on the first few miles of the course.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4416142712/" title="iti1027 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4036/4416142712_4b2bd7499c.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1027" /></a><br /><br /><br />Hung out with Bob O, Tony and Paul, Erik, Roger and Bill and others as the clock neared the 2pm start. Quite a few people asked what my goals were for the race, and my main goal was a sub 5 day finish if the trail was good, and that being within 15% of the winning time would be a perfect race for me. The nervousness slowly dissipated, and by the time I was standing on the start line, I was relaxed and focused. The gun went off, and nearly all the cyclists went left, all the walkers and the skier straight. We fell into a long paceline for the first 8 miles. Tim and Jeff cut left at one point for a shortcut to the plowed road, and I briefly considered following, but had plans for my own shortcut a little later on. At Burma rd, the ‘peleton’ was still pretty much all together. I calmly hung out at the back of the line and watched all of them turn left. I turned right. I cruised up the rd wondering what would happen. I had options to bail out to the main trail if my shortcut didn’t pan out. There had been a bunch of fresh snow in the three days before the race start and I wasn’t able to get a trail report on the trail I intended to use. My shortcut involved a combination of several rds and trails which, if in good condition, would cut a huge chunk out of the first 20-30 miles of the race. They would also allow me to avoid Flathorn lake and the Dismal swamp entirely, neither of which I’m very fond of at all.<br /><br />I experienced my first setback when the second component of my shortcut turned out to only have two snowmachine tracks down it. Not enough to ride on, but not a huge setback. Just meant adding a couple of miles of paved rd to the route. It certainly made me nervous though, as I got closer and closer to what should be the next trail component of my route. The biggest problem, it turns out, was that I should have brought a map. I got lost. For about a half hour, I wandered around on some dead end roads as the thought that I might have to turn around and ride the 5 or 6 miles back to where the group had split and follow everyone else. Just as I was beginning to think that my shortcut was getting ready to kick me in the face, I found what I thought MUST be it. I followed the trail. It was going in the right direction. It was a little soft and mushy, but looked well traveled, so I assumed everyone else’s trail was soft and mushy as well. I really wouldn’t know if it was going to work till I got to at least the river, if not Yentna Station, the first checkpoint. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415380875/" title="iti1033 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2696/4415380875_1a5dce8443.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1033" /></a><br /><br />For the next 8-12 miles I switched back and forth between pushing and riding. The trail was mostly in trees, with lot’s of little ups and downs and the occasional swamp. Eventually it intersected another trail and became pretty bomber. Recently groomed and fast hardpack. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4417688697/" title="IMG_3691 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4072/4417688697_2fbdece978.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_3691" /></a><br /><br />As darkness fell, I started seeing signs for the river. Off the swamp and through the woods and down the hill out onto the Big Su. I could see another racer’s headlamp to the south coming up the river, the first sign of another racer I had seen in a couple of hours. Adrenaline took over and a raced off along the trail, wondering if I would see any tire tracks when the two trails intersected. When I got there, there appeared to be at least 4 of them. I motored on. I could occasionally see that headlamp behind me, but I was steadily putting distance between us. There was blowing snow falling the whole way there, but it was rather uneventful and mostly rideable. My crampon clipless system was starting to bother my feet. It was putting weird pressure points on the ball of each foot. I could tell that I was having an easier time walking than others were though when we were doing so. I arrived in Yentna Station in 6th, just as Jay Petervary was leaving. Considering the setbacks I experienced with my route, I was pretty happy with my position. <br /><br />I relaxed for a bit and downed a big bowl of french fries before taking off more or less with Bill Flemming. We jockied back and forth for a while. When I was able to stay on the bike, I seemed to be moving a little faster than him, but I crashed a few times, and got off to walk a few times to try and relieve some of the pressure the crampons were putting on my feet, and each time that happened he caught me up. We pulled into a rest stop that I skipped last year, where Bill hoped to get a nap in, and I planned to dismantle my crampons and turn them into platform pedals. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4418454614/" title="IMG_3692 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4071/4418454614_6be6ba931e.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_3692" /></a><br /><br />I left the rest stop a few minutes after Tim Stern pulled in. He informed me that Lou Kobin and Eric Warkentin had passed by not to long ago. I ended up walking a lot of the next section as my pedals just weren’t working that well. I had no traction on them and kept slipping off. Got to Skwentna around sun up and decided to take a nap for a while before trying something else with my pedals. I again got there as Jay was getting ready to leave. <br /><br />After a big plate of pasta I went upstairs and layed down for a while, but had a lot of trouble actually keeping my eyes shut. When Bill came in, I got up and went downstairs to see what I could do with my pedals. I tried turning the crampons around, since that would put more material in front of the cleat and relieve some pressure from the ball of my foot. It actually worked, as far as that is concerned. The problem though, was that I couldn’t unclip. If I came to a stop, I just fell over and had to lay there, struggling to get out of the pedals. I left before Tim, Eric and Lou, but they quickly caught me up. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4416146506/" title="iti1032 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4043/4416146506_065f0036dc.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1032" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415378935/" title="iti1031 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2733/4415378935_341216b3ba.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1031" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415378033/" title="iti1030 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2709/4415378033_ee4218ee18.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="iti1030" /></a><br /><br />The conditions were mushy, and we were all doing a lot of walking. I walk pretty quickly, so I was able to get about 1/3 of the way across the marginally rideable swamp before they and Kyle Amstadter passed me by. After about 10 minutes of fast walking as they rode away I finally decided to sit down in the swamp and have another got at converting them to platform pedals. This time I added one of the screws from the bindings to the bare crampon to add some traction. Chris Plesko passed me by while I was doing this, on a SS Fatback as well. I would stick to this setup the rest of the race. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it worked well enough to get me by.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415377219/" title="iti1029 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2695/4415377219_ee4fb74ece.jpg" width="500" height="249" alt="iti1029" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4415376875/" title="iti1028 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4046/4415376875_3cc23675b0.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="iti1028" /></a><br /><br />Here's a short video clip shot by Craig Medred of <a href="http://www.alaskadispatch.com/">AKDispatch</a> as I was pushing my bike up the Shell Hills:<br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/LX4aH6BHLTs&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/LX4aH6BHLTs&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />Everyone was walking uphill, so I caught up to the rest of the group of riders by the time we reached the high point where the trail crosses the Shell Hills. From there it became a lot more rideable down to and across Shell Lake to the lodge, where all but Lou and Eric rested for a couple of hours, with Brij Potnis and Phil Hoffstetter coming before long to join us.seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-39630787238070366972010-02-28T06:21:00.002-09:002010-02-28T06:32:06.344-09:002010 Alaska Ultrasport ITI-Alaska Ultrasport's 2010 Iditarod Trail Invitational starts in less than 8hrs. <br /><br />-I'll be on the starting line again, racing the short, 350 miles version to McGrath again. <br /><br />-I'm much more prepared, physically and mentally than last year. <br /><br />-More prepared does not necessarily mean better prepared. Wont find out how well prepared I am till I find myself in a situation I didn't prepare for. Which is likely.<br /><br />-I'm riding singlespeed again. <br /><br />-Greg, from Speedway Cycles, hooked me up with a demo aluminum Fatback to ride for the race!! The bike is sweet, and there's no way I'll be able to justify NOT buying one after just the one week I've had on before the race.<br /><br />You can follow the race at <a href="http://www.alaskaultrasport.com/alaska_ultra_home_page.html">http://www.alaskaultrasport.com/alaska_ultra_home_page.html</a>, where they have a regularly updated <a href="http://www.alaskaultrasport.com/results.html">Leaderboard</a>, a '<a href="http://www.alaskaultrasport.com/latest_news.html">Latest News</a>' section, and a <a href="http://kathih.websitetoolbox.com/">message board</a> where you can cheer me on or heckle me, your choice.<br /><br />I'll be able to check the message board maybe once or twice from the trail. I'm done sweating the details. It's time to go have fun on my bike.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4380654908/" title="spdbindings1 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2758/4380654908_9d997e8daf.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="spdbindings1" /></a>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-67635926733808024022010-01-05T19:34:00.002-09:002010-01-05T19:45:47.169-09:00Ultrasport slideshowI've been in New Jersey for the past week and a half, visiting family and friends and riding all I can.<br /><br />If you don't have the E-ttention span to read my entire write up(I probably wouldn't), here it is in photos and music:<br /><br /><object width="400" height="300"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=8567032&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=8567032&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="300"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/8567032">Untitled</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user2268738">sean grady</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-43769736984677172292009-12-25T10:56:00.005-09:002009-12-25T12:49:18.747-09:0009 Alaska Ultrasport Soggy Foot Slough to the ENDcontinued from: http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-nikolai-to-outer.html<br /><br />I woke, of course, a bit after first light along side what I have now decided to officially refer to as Soggy Foot Slough. A musher or two passed by as I was packing up my sleeping gear, calmly talking to their team. I got on the bike feeling defeated. I had no idea how far I was from McGrath. I was sore and completely drained of energy. My feet hurt just pressing down on the pedals. Wait a minute… I’m pedaling! Enough little paws must’ve passed in the night to pack down a just firm enough to ride trail, which wasn’t actually entirely brown and yellow, but in fact mostly white and entirely awesome. I picked up my pace a bit, to maybe 5mph until I heard the drone of a snowmachine approaching from behind. Before I had a chance to pull off to the side, the rider had ridden up off the left bank of the trail. He parked near me and introduced himself as Dan. I don’t remember much of the conversation that ensued, but I do remember that he gave me Tang, offered me food, and tried to sell me an awl he had shaved down from a moose shin bone. I explained that I had been on the trail much, much longer than expected, and really didn’t have the $20 to spare. I had more than $20 on me, but I had no idea how much I was going to need to spend in McGrath, and I really didn’t need an awl…. Then he just gave it to me. It was unexpected and I was grateful, and promised him that the next year, 2010, when I came through Bison Camp an Nikolai, I would look for him and give him $20. I do remember him talking about being at Bison Camp a few days earlier and breaking trail for some of the racers into Nikolai. He said that there had been a bunch of fresh snow, so he would break in the correct trail to Peter and Tracy’s house in McGrath, that I needed to take a left at the intersection on the swamp.<br /><br />He took off slowly to avoid chewing up the trail too much. And away I rode. <br /><br />I rode and occasionally walked with everything I had left for the next 20 miles. I really don’t remember much of it, but it wasn’t fast by any means, and was increasingly slower as I neared the finish line. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4213294999/" title="mcgrath37 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2721/4213294999_75bffa75cb.jpg" width="500" height="281" alt="mcgrath37" /></a><br /><br />There were places where I was chasing moose down the trail for 20 minutes before they had finally had enough and ran up the river bank. I kept waiting and waiting for the one last hill described in some of the Iditarod online literature I had read pre race. From there, I knew it was a slough, and one more little stretch of river before heading into the swamps. <br /><br />On one section of river, I had stopped for a Skittle and Tang break, which was probably more of a faff break, as I don’t actually recall being hungry. As I stood there, I was suddenly given the motivation to move by the unmistakable sound of a big truck jake braking down some nearby hill. There was a road nearby. The haul rd into McGrath! It was the sweetest sound I had heard in days. I got on and gave what I could. I would pick objects in the distance and pedal to them, stop, eat or take a photo, and do it again. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4213291177/" title="mcgrath32 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2576/4213291177_e15c414418.jpg" width="500" height="307" alt="mcgrath32" /></a><br /><br />Finally the hill came. I knew it as soon as I was on it. Through the entire slog from Nikolai to where I stood, I kept repeating the small section of text(or some version of it) in my mind, expecting it to be around every corner. I tried with all I had to ride up it, but of course couldn’t. I got off and feigned a run up the hill. Across the top and down the other side, where I had the only crash of the trip that I could really say was caused by exhaustion. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214056586/" title="mcgrath31 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2601/4214056586_62cbed7ddd.jpg" width="354" height="500" alt="mcgrath31" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4213289163/" title="mcgrath30 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4008/4213289163_8a4af57cc7.jpg" width="304" height="500" alt="mcgrath30" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214053068/" title="mcgrath27 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2544/4214053068_dbaed2a573.jpg" width="500" height="322" alt="mcgrath27" /></a><br /><br />I was thrilled to be on the river again, that ‘last stretch’ of river. There was what looked like a cabin at the far bend, and it seemed to never get any closer, no matter how far I went. I kept looking back, and forth, and again. I found a Zip-Loc bag on the ground that a musher had dropped with some Emergen-C’s and a huge ‘cookie’ in it. I pocketed the Emergen-C’s and took a bite of the cookie, which I promptly spit out. It tasted horrible. I think it might have been a dog treat. It took several BIG gulps of Tang to wash that taste out of my mouth…. I’m sitting here laughing as I type this, wondering why the hell I would put something like that in my mouth. It seemed like the best idea ever at the time though. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4213285955/" title="mcgrath26 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2649/4213285955_2a4b110da1.jpg" width="500" height="300" alt="mcgrath26" /></a><br /><br />The temp was warming up as it had the previous day, but I don’t think it got above freezing while I was on the river. There were small sections of frozen overflow on the trail, and I had to be careful stepping off the trail for any reason to avoid sinking up to my knee in the slushy grey stuff.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4213285307/" title="mcgrath25 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2567/4213285307_19a4862ef2.jpg" width="500" height="335" alt="mcgrath25" /></a><br /><br />This Musher, who I believe is Cindy Gallea, had a tough go of it back in the Alaska range. I think I recall hearing that she had smacked a tree with her face pretty hard. Tough woman.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214051038/" title="mcgrath24 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2670/4214051038_62e671e993.jpg" width="318" height="500" alt="mcgrath24" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4213283853/" title="mcgrath23 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4002/4213283853_edd475041b.jpg" width="304" height="500" alt="mcgrath23" /></a><br /><br />As I got nearer to and passed that little cabin, I spotted a cardboard sign on the side of the trail. I had been told there were mile markers coming into the finish, and here was the first.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214049884/" title="mcgrath22 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2699/4214049884_7da5a608ac.jpg" width="500" height="282" alt="mcgrath22" /></a><br /><br />Up off the river, and into the swamps. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4213282721/" title="mcgrath21 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2734/4213282721_c2ed386da5.jpg" width="500" height="293" alt="mcgrath21" /></a><br /><br />I really had trouble staying on the bike through the swamps. The trail was mostly just firm enough to ride, but I was losing control of the bike over the whoops. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214048538/" title="mcgrath20 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2733/4214048538_20a8966554.jpg" width="500" height="325" alt="mcgrath20" /></a><br /><br />Karin Hendrickson passed by and seemed genuinely, incredibly grateful to me for getting off the trail for her. Sven Haltman was right behind and gave me a reassuring look, telling me, “You’re almost there!!” It was the nicest thing anyone had said to me since Nikolai. Thanks, Sven!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214047692/" title="mcgrath19 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2531/4214047692_358b7be2e6.jpg" width="324" height="500" alt="mcgrath19" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214047244/" title="mcgrath18 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2526/4214047244_b88310b30b.jpg" width="297" height="500" alt="mcgrath18" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214046768/" title="mcgrath17 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2513/4214046768_8e8452ebcb.jpg" width="363" height="500" alt="mcgrath17" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214046312/" title="mcgrath16 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4012/4214046312_28b684965a.jpg" width="327" height="500" alt="mcgrath16" /></a><br /><br />The little cardboard mile/km signs couldn’t pass by quickly enough. It felt like it took an hour to get from one to the next, and it was all I could do to set each one as a goal with a reward of some skittles or chocolate when I reached it. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214045708/" title="mcgrath15 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2778/4214045708_1bc56572c7.jpg" width="500" height="301" alt="mcgrath15" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214044738/" title="mcgrath14 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2600/4214044738_3101f7d04b.jpg" width="340" height="500" alt="mcgrath14" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214043944/" title="mcgrath13 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4017/4214043944_24e796ca3c.jpg" width="500" height="301" alt="mcgrath13" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214042254/" title="mcgrath10 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4005/4214042254_a092d9a1df.jpg" width="500" height="500" alt="mcgrath10" /></a><br /><br />The final, big open swamp seemed endless, but with the radio towers in sight, I knew I was close to the haul road. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4213275569/" title="mcgrath09 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2730/4213275569_d4f79ee812.jpg" width="500" height="243" alt="mcgrath09" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214040648/" title="mcgrath07 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4041/4214040648_df1c5456d2.jpg" width="500" height="285" alt="mcgrath07" /></a><br /><br />Then I was there. It should have been obvious which direction I needed to go, even with the sign that was probably there buried under the new snow the plows had piled up. I stood there for a minute having a celebretory drink of tang. A smile and an improvised hand gesture conversation with this plow driver as he passed confirmed that crazy bikers turn right at this intersection. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4213273411/" title="mcgrath06 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4071/4213273411_d76ecd2dfa.jpg" width="333" height="500" alt="mcgrath06" /></a><br /><br />I dropped down onto the smooth, hardpacked surface of the road and pedaled along, laughing out loud at how easy it was. I quickly spun out my gear and had to coast, uphill, before getting on it again and repeating. I stopped only when the big trucks came by, making sure they had plenty of room. As I got closer to town, I started seeing people. One woman asked me a question, and for a minute I managed to forget that I was, in fact, almost there, and stopped to chat with her. I was pretty out of it at that point. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214039164/" title="mcgrath05 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2658/4214039164_07344998e6.jpg" width="500" height="334" alt="mcgrath05" /></a><br /><br />Then I saw it. The McGrath banner at the driveway to the house I had seen in all those photos from all those racers from all those trips prior on the web. It was immensely, overwhelmingly satisfying. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214038442/" title="mcgrath04 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4001/4214038442_24385fd00d.jpg" width="500" height="300" alt="mcgrath04" /></a><br /><br />I walked up to the door and knocked. There was no answer, but, it’s the checkpoint, so I assumed(correctly) that I could just go inside. I had no idea what time it was. The only electronic pieces of equipment I had with me the whole time were my headlamp and camera. No watch. As I sat in the doorway removing my boots, Mike came down the stairs and greeted me with a grin, a welcome and a congrats. He gave me the rundown on the house and hooked me up with some of the food Peter had prepared before taking off to catch a flight out of town. Turns out I wasn’t the only one with foot issues.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4213270973/" title="mcgrath03 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4071/4213270973_fb2e1320c0.jpg" width="500" height="359" alt="mcgrath03" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214060380/" title="mcgrath36 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2521/4214060380_20ea71fc10.jpg" width="500" height="349" alt="mcgrath36" /></a><br /><br />The Schniederheinz family dog was there to greet me as well. Can’t quite remember his name, but he was certainly happy to see me. Dogs do tend to like smelly objects.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4213269365/" title="mcgrath01 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2621/4213269365_e353dedc2d.jpg" width="500" height="311" alt="mcgrath01" /></a><br /><br />We looked at a clock as I sat there, and then two other clocks, and all read something different. We picked one, and wrote the time down on the check in sheet. The clock said 2:25. <br /><br />Before long Tracy, and eventually Peter arrived. I showered, washed my clothes, sent out some emails and sat down to watch some road race videos from the 70’s and 80’s with Peter. He had some people in town for whom he was tour guiding as the mushers came into town. Taking them out for a ride on his dog sled, I got to direct traffic for him. His dogs were incredibly fast as he commanded “GEE!!” out of the driveway then an immediate “HAW!” at the first turn. It was pretty cool.<br /><br />I woke the next morning after a good nights sleep to find Roger and George both in the house! They had made it. <br /><br />----<br /><br />A week after the race, I was thinking about it, and wondered if the clock had been adjusted for Daylight Saving time, which had occurred on the 7th day of the race. As my recorded time sat, it put me in Mcgrath a scant 25 minutes past the official 10 day cutoff. I emailed Kathi, acknowledging that it didn’t actually matter for anything and was more nit-picking that not, and I think she adjusted the time for me just to give me the benefit of the doubt. While typing this up, and going through my photos from the race, I did a little math. My camera was set to East coast summer time, so none of the times were exact. I found a photo I could use to figure out the difference. <br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3358405436/" title="ultrasport start by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3055/3358405436_c035c23839_m.jpg" width="240" height="181" alt="ultrasport start" /></a><br />This photo was taken on the starting line, 5 minutes before the 2pm start. My camera recorded it as 6:55pm. Subtract 4 hrs for time difference plus 1 hr for daylight saving time to get the actual time of 1:55pm where the photo was taken.<br /><br />This photo entering the driveway was recorded by my camera as 5:12pm. Subtract the 4hr time difference, and you get 1:12pm, 48 minutes before the official 10 day cutoff. Goal from Rohn accomplished. Barely. Scary part is, looking through the times on other photos, it appears to have taken me 2 ½ hrs to get from the river to the finish. A distance of only 9 miles….<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4214038442/" title="mcgrath04 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4001/4214038442_24385fd00d_m.jpg" width="240" height="144" alt="mcgrath04" /></a><br /><br />There’re a million people I could thank for helping me through this trip in some way shape or form, and frankly I’m sick of typing, and I’m sure you’re sick of reading. So, THANK YOU!! Yes, I mean you.<br /><br /><br />Longest Ultrasport write up ever??<br /><br />THE ENDseanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-17406920654598755592009-12-24T19:10:00.005-09:002009-12-25T11:37:32.613-09:0009 Alaska Ultrasport Nikolai to The Outer Limitscontinued from: <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-bison-to-nikolai.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-bison-to-nikolai.html</a><br /><br />I entered the spacious great room of the Petruska house, and immediately set about drying out/warming up what gear I could. Nick keeps the wood burning stove roaring hot, and I knew it wouldn’t take long. Next order of business was addressing my foot issues. I removed my boots and socks, and had a look. It wasn’t pretty. It appeared as though the skin was so saturated on the bottoms of my feet that it was starting to disintegrate. The blister forming on my right heal was alarming as well, but easily solved with a little duck tape. I had no idea what I was going to do with the soles of my feet. I walked outside barefoot to check out my rear tire. I couldn’t even feel the cold snow beneath my feet. It felt no different than standing on a carpet. <br /><br />I removed the rear tire and tube, and brought them and the back wheel into the mud room to work on. Replacing the tube was easy, and re-inflating the tire resulted in the same wobble that I had been watching slowly rub it’s way through the powdercoating on my frame for the last 300 miles. I looked at it more carefully, and the best diagnosis I could come up with was that the lip on the outside of the tire, that helps prevent pinch flats, was preventing the bead from seating fully on the rim. The flat had been caused by the tire rotating quite a bit and taking the tube with it, folding it over till it pinch flatted. I had no choice but to air it up a little higher than it had been to try to prevent it from spinning as easily on the rim.<br /><br />I was served a heaping plate of spigetti by Olene and Stephanie. Nick had gone down to try and see the first mushers in the Iditarod come in off the river. Olene seemed to really enjoy having the racers come through, and actually said she wished that people would stay longer, but they almost never do with the finish line so close. I thought about staying till dark in the hopes that the trail would firm up, but I just couldn’t. I had only woke from oversleeping a few hours earlier and I too was getting the finish line itch. And I don’t mean from not taking a shower for 8 days. After a failed attempt at sleeping, I got up, put on my now toasty warm clothes, and headed down to the riverfront to see the first three mushers and say goodbye to the Petruskas.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211739553/" title="postnik22 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4050/4211739553_b677b6f58c.jpg" width="500" height="243" alt="postnik22" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211739183/" title="postnik21 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2679/4211739183_b9130e578a.jpg" width="500" height="335" alt="postnik21" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4212501336/" title="postnik20 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2763/4212501336_6929710aa9.jpg" width="500" height="348" alt="postnik20" /></a><br /><br />Leaving town I felt a sense of urgency to stay in front of the dog teams. I felt like we leave a week early so that we’re out of their way, and here I was, in the way. I knew from watching the videos that they were capable of running steadily at 10+ miles per hour during an event like this, so I was really hoping for some rock solid trail. That just wasn’t in the stars though. The mercury was rising, and the trails were mashed potatoes. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211738365/" title="postnik19 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2788/4211738365_0e3b5aa100.jpg" width="500" height="326" alt="postnik19" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211738047/" title="postnik18 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4016/4211738047_1ed9d156f7.jpg" width="365" height="500" alt="postnik18" /></a><br /><br />For a while, I could see the tracks from Curiak and the walkers who had left Nikolai very early that morning. I thought that perhaps I had a fighting chance of catching one or two of the walkers, as the trail was marginally rideable. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4212500062/" title="postnik17 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2504/4212500062_ed2858d03f.jpg" width="326" height="500" alt="postnik17" /></a><br /><br />But then the first snowmachine passed me. And that was the end of that. <br /><br />Some trees of a type I had never seen before on the swamps.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4212499634/" title="postnik16 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4021/4212499634_d91f4ff2df.jpg" width="342" height="500" alt="postnik16" /></a><br /><br />There were a lot of awefully comfy looking bivies stomped out along this section of spruce.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4212498726/" title="postnik14 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4006/4212498726_609e2e7685.jpg" width="500" height="351" alt="postnik14" /></a><br /><br />The first musher to catch me was Aaron Burmeister. I got off to the side of the trail, as I had done for the snowmachines throughout the race. I got out my camera and snapped pics as he approached. It was all going great, and he spoke to the team as they got nearer saying “Keep going!”, “Go on through!”, or something like that. It was a long time ago, I don’t remember his exact words. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4212497328/" title="postnik11 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2789/4212497328_67ff999dc7.jpg" width="500" height="238" alt="postnik11" /></a><br /><br />Then it happened. The dogs got confused. One stopped, others stopped, they all stopped. I could see the frustration in Aarons face, and I could only assume it was directed at me. Half the dogs looked confused and scared. Aaron said, “I wish I had someone breaking trail for me.”, a statement which I only recently ‘got’ the meaning off. Initially, I couldn’t figure out what the hell he was talking about. He had a whole team of trail breakers on snow machines. Was he referring to the tire and foot tracks I was leaving behind?? I shook it off and wished him a good race as the team pulled him down the trail. Thinking about it recently, I came to the realization that his dogs had no scent from other dogs to follow down the trail. That would explain the confusion when the most recent scent they had been following, me, was sitting on the side of the trail. If he had a lot of dogs that hadn’t made the trip before it would certainly be the case. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211734695/" title="postnik10 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4065/4211734695_65d3cc1c99.jpg" width="500" height="286" alt="postnik10" /></a><br /><br />If I thought the trail was mashed potatoes before the dogs came through, it must have been scrambled eggs afterward. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211734359/" title="postnik09 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2758/4211734359_40677e2596.jpg" width="331" height="500" alt="postnik09" /></a><br /><br />With sauce…..<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211733635/" title="postnik08 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2784/4211733635_5c797f24bc.jpg" width="334" height="500" alt="postnik08" /></a><br /><br />Sled dogs don't stop for trivial activities like relieving themselves....<br /><br />Within a few hundred yards, I came to the conclusion that I would probably be walking all the way to McGrath.<br /><br />One more swamp passed beneath my feet before the second team passed me by. This team, compared to the antics of the first team, seemed composed, relaxed and happy. They cruised on through with their musher, Hugh Neff.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211733199/" title="postnik07 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4042/4211733199_9c45f584de.jpg" width="360" height="500" alt="postnik07" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211732691/" title="postnik06 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2554/4211732691_8e9f10455a.jpg" width="347" height="500" alt="postnik06" /></a><br /><br />A couple of minutes later, the team bearing musher Sebastian Schnuelle cruised through. They were nearly as composed and organized as Neff’s team, except for one tough guy on the line who took to barking at me as they went past. Sebastian looks at me with a combination of bewilderment and pity and says, “It’s soft trail, no?”. I laugh and nod my head. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211732229/" title="postnik05 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2617/4211732229_9ee4da8cc0.jpg" width="346" height="500" alt="postnik05" /></a><br /><br />“Very soft.” I replied, and away he went.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211731803/" title="postnik04 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2763/4211731803_603fe7c830.jpg" width="347" height="500" alt="postnik04" /></a><br /><br />The walking continued straight into darkness, across swamps and through narrow sloughs. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4212494068/" title="postnik03 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4025/4212494068_a2c5e4ce01.jpg" width="500" height="355" alt="postnik03" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211730915/" title="postnik02 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4024/4211730915_d3ec9fd55f.jpg" width="324" height="500" alt="postnik02" /></a><br /><br />My hopes were raised at the sight of this group of snowmachiners, but the trail wasn't any better for walking or riding behind them, it was just a different texture.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211730047/" title="postnik01 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2644/4211730047_b0b7f95cd0.jpg" width="362" height="500" alt="postnik01" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211741667/" title="postnik27 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2650/4211741667_d3600bb017.jpg" width="359" height="500" alt="postnik27" /></a><br /><br />Finally darkness descended upon interior Alaska as I made my way down onto Big River.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4212503690/" title="postnik26 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4060/4212503690_dc28238fa9.jpg" width="377" height="500" alt="postnik26" /></a><br /><br />In preparation for a long night of walking, I took my insulated bottle holders(with full bottles), and attached them to the sternum strap of my empty camelback, under my outer two layers, to keep them even warmer. I occasionally tried to pedal in sled track the mushers left, and it would occasionally work for a few yards. I pushed and pushed and pushed myself to exhaustion yet again. No mushers had passed me(that I remember) since Schnuelle, and I was looking off up the tall banks on the side of the river wondering how the hell I would get up them to bivy if it came to it. I had been walking all day on soft trail, then churned up soft trail peppered with dog feces and urine. And I pushed on, with dogged determination. I didn’t want to stop really, as I assumed that if I bivied, by the time I woke and a dozen or more mushers had passed by, that the trail would just be entirely brownish-red and yellow. <br /><br />Then….<br /><br />Then it got weird……<br /><br />In the distance, in the woods off the left bank of the river, I saw an intensely bright light seem to rise up above the trees. At first I assumed it was the spotlight on someone’s cabin. But looking around at the massive trees on the riverbanks, I began to doubt that. It seemed to be increasing in size, as lights generally do when you’re approaching them, but at a quicker rate than I was moving down the trail. Must be a helicopter. There was nothing else to really look at in the darkness, and I was fixated on this bright light. It seemed to be close enough that I should hear the blades of the helicopter spinning. But I didn’t. <br /><br />I stopped to take a drink of water, but before I could unzip one of the bottle holders, the light did something I did not expect it to do. It made a fast, hard, 45 degree turn and drifted slowly through the night sky over to the right bank of the river. I could make out that it was the shape of a small jet, but it had these lights all along the underside. Down the belly and out on the bottoms of the wings were these intense, circular lights. Not round like an incandescent light bulb, but circular like one of those florescent tubes that wraps back into itself. And it sounded like a jet. I was curious to say the least, but that curiosity quickly turned to slight alarm as it reached the right river bank and turned directly toward me. At this point I started getting a little nervous. It seemed to hover there for a minute(probably not even a second), maybe a hundred feet above the tree tops. It flashed the headlight three times. Which reignited my curiosity. So, using my hand to cover it, I ‘flashed’ my headlamp back three times. Upon my return volley, the aircraft seemed to turn on the high beams and rapidly increased it’s speed directly toward me.<br /><br /><br />“Oh.”<br /><br /><br />“Shit.”<br /><br /><br />There was a second of flat out fear before I finally threw up my hands and said aloud, <br /><br />“Fuck it! Just abduct me. I really don’t care at this point.”<br /><br />It didn't cross my mind till the last second to get my camera out. Hell, I had taken photos of just about everything else I had seen up until this point... So following in the great tradition of previous photographers of the unknown, I present my unrecognizable, kinda looks like it might be something, not very clear photo:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211740577/" title="postnik25 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4045/4211740577_2f19002bce.jpg" width="500" height="293" alt="postnik25" /></a><br /><br />And just like that, the highbeams were flicked off. It returned to it’s previous slow drift above the river, swaying back and forth from bank to bank as it travelled away from me. I watched it till it was out of sight. I grabbed the handlebar to stop my hands from shaking, and pushed on, constantly looking back over my shoulder. To my great delight, after a while, I saw the headlamp of a musher and heard his gentle calls to his team. I got off to the side of the trail as it entered a small slough, and looked back at the musher. It was Lance Mackey. He looked at me standing there, with my white headlamp, red taillight, and bits of reflective material scattered here and there on the bike, and said, “I was wondering what that was!”. He had seen it too, and I imagine could only reason that he had actually just seen me, my bike lights, and missinterpreted them for something else, something not quite normal….<br /><br />I continued walking as I debated whether what I had seen was just the delusional vision of a person who had pushed himself beyond the brink of exhaustion, or??? Experimental aircraft? Was there an airforce base nearby? <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211740405/" title="postnik24 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4059/4211740405_ab8cd390e2.jpg" width="426" height="500" alt="postnik24" /></a><br /><br />I heard whistling in the distance. I turned got off the trail and turned around to watch the musher come through. When he got within a hundred feet, I could tell it was Jeff King. “How’s it going?” I said with a smile. <br /><br />“Fantastic! It’s a beautiful night!” he responded. <br /><br />“It certainly is.” <br /><br />As his team cruised off, he turned back and asked “How far ahead is the next team?” <br /><br />My best guess, which considering the events that may or may not have just transpired, was probably not the most reliable, was “30 minutes or so.” I paused. “It’s Lance.” <br /><br />He waved as he disappeared up the river bank. <br /><br />So, let’s recap. Disintegrating feet, soft, unrideable snow, dog crap and pee everywhere, encounters with unidentifiable objects, that were more ‘hovering’ than flying :D, and then it started to snow.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211740113/" title="postnik23 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4008/4211740113_4d5f4d42a3.jpg" width="500" height="331" alt="postnik23" /></a><br /><br />I had had enough. If there was ever a time that someone ever HAD to bivy, It was now, and that someone was me. I walked on, intent on finding the perfect spruce to curl up under. It eventually came on the bank of a slough. I stopped, stomped out a path over to it through waist deep snow, and set my bike on the little path, near the trail. I think it was Paul Gebhardt, I recognized him from Kim’s Iditarod videos, cruised by, seated behind his dog sled. As he passed he looked over at me and shook his head with a slight smile, saying as he rode out of sight, “Man you guys are tough…” It made me smile. I felt more smelly than tough at that point. As I drifted off to sleep, a few more mushers passed. One of them, a woman(Aliy Zirkle I think), called out as she glided by, “Craaazy bikers….” They were the last words I heard as slumber took me to a much more comfortable place.<br /><br />It was pretty damn cool having that kind of front seat to the Iditarod.<br /><br />continued here: <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-soggy-foot-slough.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-soggy-foot-slough.html</a>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-38274405055565714842009-12-24T10:48:00.003-09:002009-12-24T19:37:33.679-09:0009 Alaska Ultrasport Bison to Nikolaicontinued from: <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-bivy-to-bison.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-bivy-to-bison.html</a><br /><br />The trail mellowed out little by little leaving Bison camp. There had been short rolling hills most of the way across the burn, and they were now becoming shorter, with longer stretches of marsh and meadow between them. The snow was becoming increasingly mushy under tire and foot as the heat of the day soaked in. I should have removed layers for the warm weather of the day, but I didn’t. I roasted, and I melted right along with the trail. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211045963/" title="nikolai13 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2721/4211045963_8bf995f689.jpg" width="500" height="296" alt="nikolai13" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211809522/" title="nikolai12 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4064/4211809522_18798bd9d4.jpg" width="500" height="294" alt="nikolai12" /></a><br /><br />The burn here reminded me quite a bit of some of the desert terrain I had ridden through in Baja. Especially the area around Catavina. The burned out spruce trees bore a striking resemblance to the Boojums down there.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211808966/" title="nikolai11 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4020/4211808966_5af0f309b5.jpg" width="500" height="330" alt="nikolai11" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211044157/" title="nikolai10 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4056/4211044157_b800ace1d8.jpg" width="500" height="317" alt="nikolai10" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211807780/" title="nikolai09 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2764/4211807780_d0956e0515.jpg" width="500" height="310" alt="nikolai09" /></a><br /><br />Boojum/Cirrus trees from my Baja trip long ago:<br /><a href="http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/page/pic/?o=RrzKj&pic_id=22955&v=2&size=large">http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/page/pic/?o=RrzKj&pic_id=22955&v=2&size=large<br /></a><br /><a href="http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/page/pic/?o=RrzKj&pic_id=22982&v=2&size=large">http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/page/pic/?o=RrzKj&pic_id=22982&v=2&size=large<br /></a><br /><a href="http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/page/pic/?o=RrzKj&pic_id=22997&v=2&size=large">http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/page/pic/?o=RrzKj&pic_id=22997&v=2&size=large<br /></a><br /><br />Before long I started to see Curiak’s tire tracks, and eventually his foot prints. It made me feel not quite as bad about the amount of pushing I was doing. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211806780/" title="nikolai07 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4024/4211806780_170f8392ec.jpg" width="415" height="500" alt="nikolai07" /></a><br /><br />Standing on top of one of the small knolls the trail crosses, I looked back and noticed something that seemed unusual to my eyes. Mt Foraker was to the right side of Denali, not the left. It was one of the neatest parts of the trip for me, seeing them from the other side.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211043099/" title="nikolai08 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2747/4211043099_1fcd0e116e.jpg" width="500" height="274" alt="nikolai08" /></a><br /><br />I kept moving on, knowing that it really wasn’t that far from the Runkle’s camp to Nikolai. I expected to make it there by dark. The soft trail and pushing gave me some doubts, but I just really couldn’t see it taking me that long. I was able to ride between the marshes, and sometimes part of the way across them. The walking hurt. My feet were toast. They had been repeatedly saturated in stagnant sweat for days now in my too-warm homemade boot liners, and had been beaten senseless in those same liners which I sized too big to ensure ‘adequate circulation’. They were not made for walking, it turned out. <br /><br />Coming upon the ‘famous’ Sullivan creek bridge, I got a burst of energy recalling the many times it had been repeated to me that from there it was only 11(?) or so miles into Nikolai. The trail was firming up, and staying in some sparsely treed areas, which held back the wind drifts and perhaps some of the sun’s heat, allowing me to ride. I didn’t bother filling up on water from the creek, thinking I would be in Nikolai in less than 2 hrs at the pace I was keeping.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211806282/" title="nikolai06 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2707/4211806282_e19727e9af.jpg" width="500" height="316" alt="nikolai06" /></a><br /><br /><br />Not a quarter mile past the bridge, I encountered a wee bit of an obstacle….<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211805790/" title="nikolai05 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4033/4211805790_dcaafd465c.jpg" width="373" height="500" alt="nikolai05" /></a><br /><br /><object width="400" height="300"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=8372444&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=8372444&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="300"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/8372444">Untitled</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user2268738">sean grady</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p><br /><br /><br />When she had gotten far enough down the trail, I got back on it and tried to ride. Her tracks were everywhere, and deep. They were unavoidable and each one I hit would cause my back tire to break through the trail and bog down a bit. It felt like ages before it ended, and unfortunately it ended at another treeless swamp, which had me walking. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211041107/" title="nikolai04 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2491/4211041107_f1dae629cd.jpg" width="500" height="345" alt="nikolai04" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211804354/" title="nikolai03 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4040/4211804354_9b6b52a1ce.jpg" width="343" height="500" alt="nikolai03" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211803522/" title="nikolai02 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2778/4211803522_7a9bcee2bf.jpg" width="354" height="500" alt="nikolai02" /></a><br /><br />I passed through groves of birch and another swamp or two before I spotted another sign in the distance.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211038599/" title="nikolai01 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4068/4211038599_e49d3a9b3c.jpg" width="500" height="314" alt="nikolai01" /></a><br /><br />As I got closer I could see a “2”, and a “miles” and a “Nikolai” and my spirits jumped. I was almost there!<br /><br />Then as I got closer, I saw that there was something in between the “2” and the “miles”. I don’t recall if it were a “1” or a “0”, but it was attached to the “2” and it broke my heart. 20 miles to Nikolai?!?!? The bridge was supposed to be 11? Did I take a wrong turn? Is the sign wrong? Is “11 miles from the bridge” a cruel joke they play on rookies? These thoughts were cycling over and over through my head as I progressed ever more slowly down the trail. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211049725/" title="nikolai20 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2748/4211049725_6812889c28.jpg" width="500" height="313" alt="nikolai20" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211049071/" title="nikolai19 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4011/4211049071_be0cdf2bb8.jpg" width="344" height="500" alt="nikolai19" /></a><br /><br />Eventually, I took the last sip of water from the camelback and was down to one last bottle. I drank it sparingly, not wanting to have to melt any snow. I should have filled up at the bridge. I told myself that once it got down to a certain point, I would have no choice but to use what little was left to start melting more. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211812370/" title="nikolai18 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2765/4211812370_600998f76a.jpg" width="500" height="317" alt="nikolai18" /></a><br /><br />Even passing Salmon River camp, which I was told was only 7 miles out of Nikolai didn't remove the doubts that little wooden sign had planted.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211811916/" title="nikolai17 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4035/4211811916_da59dc5f6e.jpg" width="500" height="304" alt="nikolai17" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211811382/" title="nikolai16 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4060/4211811382_30a2c73d1c.jpg" width="500" height="279" alt="nikolai16" /></a><br /><br />Finally that time came, and parked my bike and got to work. The stove did it’s job, melting the snow into water, but it took waaaay too long. Darkness was falling as I filled one bottle to the brim and continued my march. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211046945/" title="nikolai15 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2773/4211046945_3c5ec7bc0b.jpg" width="500" height="315" alt="nikolai15" /></a><br /><br />My will was broken, and my sore feet and stiff legs were begging for rest. I pushed and pushed and pushed. I had no desire to swing my leg over the saddle and ride the few portions that were rideable. Finally, I stopped in a grove of black spruce. I stood still and listened for what must have been ten minutes. I listed for the distant sound of a generator, a plane taking off, dogs barking, snowmachines doing what they do. I listened as carefully as I could, and yet I heard nothing. As I crawled into my sleeping bag in a hole in the snow about 5 feet off the trail, I believed that the sign saying 20 miles to Nikolai was right. <br /><br /><br />-----<br /><br /><br />As mentioned earlier, I have a problem with sleeping in when I bivy. <br /><br />It was only moments after nightfall when I had laid my head down, and now, as I was woken up by the drone of a bush plane TAKING OFF, it was nearly light. I must’ve slept 10 hours or more. I was still a little downtrodden at the notion of another 10+ miles to the next checkpoint, and packed up with no great urgency. The rest did my feet no good. I crossed to the end of one swamp, not ¼ mile of travel, and through some woods to the next. About another ¼ mile across it I encountered a snowmachiner from the village. He stopped and we chatted, and I finally asked him how far it was to Nikolai. He responded that it was maybe another mile or so, tops. My jaw dropped. I stood there in disbelief with yet another reason to kick myself. I had bivied not 2 miles outside of Nikolai. I could have made it without melting that snow, without the bivy. <br /><br />I jumped on the bike, rode off the swamp, and down onto a slough. Around a couple more bends, and there it was. Right there. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4211810474/" title="nikolai14 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2582/4211810474_0a1df63998.jpg" width="500" height="274" alt="nikolai14" /></a><br /><br />I felt a combination of elation, relief and idiocy. I rode up off the bank of the river and was greeted immediately by my wonderful hosts Nick and Olene Petruska, who, after welcoming me, told me I needed to wait a minute as I had dropped a bag on the river and someone was coming in with it. It was that same bag I had dropped on the first day, of course…<br /><br />I started to follow them back to the house when I realized that my back end was all over the place. I looked down and laughed at the sight of my flat rear tire, and got off to jog the remaining ¼ mile or so to the house/checkpoint. <br /><br />It had been an incredibly trying section of trail for me, mentally and physically. I arrived exhausted, but excited to be less than 50 miles from the finish.<br /><br />Something snaps in the next chapter: <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-nikolai-to-outer.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-nikolai-to-outer.html</a>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-57273940688562183382009-12-23T20:55:00.005-09:002009-12-24T11:24:01.034-09:0009 Alaska Ultrasport Bivy to Bisoncontinued from: <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-rohn-to-first-bivy.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-rohn-to-first-bivy.html</a><br /><br />I woke from my first solo bivy on the trail to a sky not quite as dark as I had hoped to wake under. There were no nightmares, no tossing and turning, just peaceful, restful sleep. It was becoming apparent that I really, really needed a watch, and that I have a problem with sleeping in while bivying. <br /><br />I crawled out of my comfortable home and munched on my peanut butter and honey log as I walked out to check the trail. The first thing I looked for, and didn’t see, were footprints or tire tracks. The next thing I noticed was how firm the trail seemed to feel under foot. I paused mid-chew. This might be rideable! I scrambled to get my gear packed up as the sky became increasingly as bright as an overcast sky can become. I got on and pedalled away. It was a good day of riding, and kept the camera tucked away in it’s case because I made myself a schedule which did not include faffing breaks. The trail was about 90% rideable out to and across the Farewell lakes. I love taking photos though, and there are some sights that simply need to be recorded in pixels.<br /><br />After days and days of white, black, and the subdued green of spruce trees, a big, bright, orangey object to the left of the trail certainly caught my eye.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4209726937/" title="farewell07 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2605/4209726937_a308bd40d8.jpg" width="500" height="346" alt="farewell07" /></a><br /><br />Not long passed when I found myself riding past the ruins of someone dream cabin in the wilderness.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4210490596/" title="farewell06 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2669/4210490596_33d59d7cc7.jpg" width="500" height="348" alt="farewell06" /></a><br /><br />Crossing one of the lakes, I encountered something unexpected. People. With cameras. I was baffled. Turns out they were camped out fans/friends of Martin Buser and were there to cheer him on and watch the race. I rounded another bend in the river and came upon their camp. I think they were as surprised to see me as I was to see them. We chatted for a while, and I wouldn’t find out till a week after returning to civilization that we had a mutual friend. They told me Mike had been through the previous night, pushing along. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4209724781/" title="farewell05 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2771/4209724781_410efe4bfb.jpg" width="500" height="364" alt="farewell05" /></a><br /><br />As I continued off the lake, I ran into yet more of them. Here I was in the closest thing to a huge expanse of wilderness on the course running into a dozen or so people. After a while the trail just continued to firm up and become increasingly enjoyable. It was certainly getting warm though. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4209723397/" title="farewell04 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4071/4209723397_69f7e2a43a.jpg" width="500" height="325" alt="farewell04" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4209722721/" title="farewell03 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4038/4209722721_507aa625fa.jpg" width="500" height="306" alt="farewell03" /></a><br /><br />I was having a blast, and time flew by as I cruised into Bison Camp. Some years this is an official checkpoint. This year, it was the reason for me carrying the camelback. Low demand for bison hunts meant the Runkles, who operate out of it, would not be around during the Ultrasport. I tried to find contact info for them on the internet and couldn’t. They used to be there almost every year, and would provide shelter and water for racers. They left the tents up though, and we were free to use one of them for shelter and warming up. I stopped to rest for a couple of minutes, but once there, couldn’t really think of anything I needed to do…<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4210486736/" title="farewell02 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2738/4210486736_30dae95047.jpg" width="353" height="500" alt="farewell02" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4210491992/" title="farewell08 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2534/4210491992_5ab1e09477.jpg" width="500" height="354" alt="farewell08" /></a><br /><br />I did get to check the thermometer outside though. It certainly felt that warm.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4209721289/" title="farewell01 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2706/4209721289_696f337d1f.jpg" width="341" height="500" alt="farewell01" /></a><br /><br />Rob came by, pulling a sled with the checkpoint tent in it. Roger and George had gone through Rohn and were somewhere back on the trail. He thought for sure I would catch some of the walkers. He took off, and I waited another minute or two, I guess hoping something would come up that I needed to do, since everyone seemed to do something there… Eventually I gave up on that and pressed on toward the Athabascan Native Village of Nikolai.<br /><br />Next chapter: <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-bison-to-nikolai.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-bison-to-nikolai.html</a>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-4831129512150929292009-12-23T20:18:00.004-09:002009-12-25T10:55:53.382-09:0009 Alaska Ultrasport Rohn to first bivy.continued from: <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-rohn.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-rohn.html</a> <br /><br />Riding out of Rohn I was a man on a mission, I had ground to cover and I wanted to cover it fast. I decided that I needed to be in Nikolai by the following afternoon at the latest, ideally the following morning. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207895696/" title="postrohn03 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4002/4207895696_fd040579fc.jpg" width="353" height="500" alt="postrohn03" /></a><br /><br />Riding across the Kuskokwim was fantastic. My tires squeaked as I glided across the ice. I even got to ride on some exposed gravel bars. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4209715507/" title="postrohn01 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4036/4209715507_97ed359f22.jpg" width="500" height="270" alt="postrohn01" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207134943/" title="postrohn02 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2697/4207134943_4c035565f4.jpg" width="500" height="317" alt="postrohn02" /></a><br /><br />The trail ducked into the woods and rolled some firm trail for a while, occasionally popping out onto icy expanses where creeks crossed and descended down to the Kusko. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207898948/" title="riverpan by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2529/4207898948_343490139f.jpg" width="500" height="111" alt="riverpan" /></a><br /><br />I was making good time, being careful to eat and drink at an appropriate rate. At one point, pushing up a too steep hill, looking down at the undisturbed tracks from riders who had come through the previous day, I noticed one set of tracks in the ski track from the snowmachine that had cut the trail. It was a weirwolf(tire) track, which meant it was Louise Kobin and/or Eric Warkentin, the only racers that year with skinnier tires than me. What confused me about this, was that I couldn’t even push my bike in that track without constantly getting it hung up on tree branches and even trunks. Were they riding it?!? <br /><br />After a few more rolling, rideable hills, I rounded a bend and descended into a deep snow drift. I stopped, got off my bike and looked up to see the infamous ‘Post River Glacier’. It’s not really a glacier, as far as I can tell, but a seep coming out of the ground or a small creek feeding into the post river. In summer, I would imagine it cascades over the rocks that it were buried beneath inches, maybe feet of ice before me. I had read horror stories from previous year’s races of riders needing to tie their pedals to their feet to use as crampons, or chip small pieces of gravel off the walls of rock on either side and use them for traction. This must have been a good year for it though, because I was able to follow an easy path up the left side of the ice, stepping mostly on snow and dirt. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207898910/" title="postrohn08 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4050/4207898910_ba17efac3c.jpg" width="366" height="500" alt="postrohn08" /></a><br /><br />Once to the top, I pushed up the side a bit before hearing the drone of snowmachines approaching from the direction I had just come.<br /><br />I saw them descend the drifted snow with ease. They stopped and looked at the ‘glacier’ for a second then simply gassed it and charged straight up it like it weren’t even there, popping out on top with a sled in tow. I stood watching in awes of how quickly and efficiently they were doing their job, breaking in, grooming and marking the Iditarod trail for dog teams that would be through in a matter of days. I didn’t move, just stayed out of the way. It was really impressive, and I now knew what Dee was talking about with regards to her trail crew. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207898192/" title="postrohn07 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2572/4207898192_bec2d8fc15.jpg" width="500" height="298" alt="postrohn07" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207897634/" title="postrohn06 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2518/4207897634_c7f733e5f6.jpg" width="500" height="311" alt="postrohn06" /></a><br /><br />They darted into the woods to the west of the glacier, but below the marked trail I was following, so I continued on to my first pleasant surprise, DIRT! Rideable dirt!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207897198/" title="postrohn05 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4020/4207897198_6edab03bcf.jpg" width="354" height="500" alt="postrohn05" /></a><br /><br />I would go back and forth from dirt to rideable snow for another couple of minutes before I heard the crew approaching from behind again. I got as far off the trail as I could and as they passed, most waved, nodded or smiled. I put my bike back down onto the trail, swung a leg over from the snow bank I was stood upon and pushed down on the pedal with the intention of propelling myself forward. But I went nowhere. The rear tire slipped and I put my other foot down on the trail to catch my balance. The trail beneath my feet had been churned up and reduced to sugar. My heart sank. I thought back to the tales from other riders about the trail only needing a few hours to setup again after a snowmachine pass. Sometimes people would just bivy and wait. It was too early in the day and I was too determined to press forward for that to happen. I walked on. And on. And on. My steps had no stability. It felt like I was getting nowhere. The trail rose and descended and twisted and turned, and still the snow refused to allow me to ride. <br /><br />After what must’ve been a couple of hours of pushing and cursing everything, the snow began to thin out. I could see dirt and grass. <br /><br />The only blurry photo of the trip, but it get's the point across:<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207136115/" title="postrohn04 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4001/4207136115_9a74cb4709.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="postrohn04" /></a><br /><br />I got on and rode. It was the strangest thing going from pushing through seemingly bottomless snow to riding on frozen and firm dirt, but there I was. There were even a couple of whoops and rollers that were pumpable and jumpable, though air time is frightening and fleeting on an overloaded and falling apart bike. For the rest of the afternoon, I would pass from dirt, to ice to more of the same sugar snow. I could ride some of it, but it was mostly a push. Then the dirt ended all together, and while the snow was getting a little bit less difficult to walk in, it was nowhere near trail that I would consider suitable for walking. I told myself that I would just keep marching on till I saw the right group of trees with the right amount of space underneath for me to stomp out a bivy and wait it out. It came eventually, of course, <br /><br /><br />It wasn’t even dark when I found it. I stomped out a spot, gathered my spruce boughs, laid out my sleeping pad, bag and bivy, and crawled in with my water and food. Disappointed in my progress and wondering if George and Roger would catch up to me in the night. I intended to wake up in a few hours. I should have brought a watch…<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4210485116/" title="postrohn09 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2627/4210485116_5c2d4d380a.jpg" width="500" height="352" alt="postrohn09" /></a><br /><br />to Bison Camp: <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-bivy-to-bison.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-bivy-to-bison.html</a>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-80765689629214630522009-12-23T17:00:00.005-09:002009-12-23T20:29:11.265-09:0009 Alaska Ultrasport Rohncontinued from: http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-rainy-pass-attack.html<br /><br />We slept like babies that night. It was my first real bivy of the trip and it alleviated a lot of my fears. I was warm. I slept well. I didn’t get buried in an avalanche or falling snow and I didn’t get trampled by a moose. In the months leading up to the race, that had actually been a developing fear of mine. It reached the level of nightmare inducing paranoia in the weeks proceeding the race. I had been granted a late start one Wednesday at work, and on Tuesday night I rode my bike out just beyond the little Susitna river with camping gear. It was my first experience riding out in the winter to camp. I found a good spot, stomped it out, set up my tent, and faffed about for a bit because I wasn’t tired. <br /><br />I was still sweaty when I crawled into my bag, and fell asleep shivering. I would wake up startled at every sound, in fear that it was a moose that didn’t see the tent and was about to trample me in my sleep. After a few relatively peaceful hours of sleep without shivering, I heard the loud sound of a moose tromping through snow. It got closer and I could hear it breathing right outside the tent. Then it happened, the moose started kicking the tent, and upon finding a soft, warm body inside, began trampling me, pounding my chest repeatedly as I helplessly tried to fend off it’s legs with my arms. I woke in a panic, throwing the bag off of me and charging out of the tent as quickly as I could to see a peaceful night with nary a moose track in sight. I crawled back into the tent and laid there, sleepless, listening to the distant drone of the generator at the pump station on Ayershire Rd, a couple of miles away. I finally crawled out of the tent and started packing up at first light. It was the worst night of sleep while camping that I’ve ever had. A totally irrational fear that I couldn’t shake. Having Roger and George nearby must’ve helped calm my nerves, because I fell asleep fast and stayed fast asleep through the night.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206388689/" title="srg15 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2654/4206388689_20566271f6.jpg" width="500" height="357" alt="srg15" /></a><br /><br />Upon waking on our mattress of snow above Pass Creek that morning, I found the other two still sound asleep. I walked around a little bit to check out the conditions further down the ‘trail’ It was easy enough to spot the tracks of the other racers that had come through. Finally Roger, then George woke, and I walked up with him to retrieve his bike. He was feeling much better, and looking forward to the opportunity to collect himself and rest in Rohn. We walked around as we ate our breakfasts, simply out of habit. It was really unnecessary as it was actually kind of warm out.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207145592/" title="srg14 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4051/4207145592_132e7b1a0f.jpg" width="500" height="353" alt="srg14" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207144692/" title="srg13 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4069/4207144692_241d7cb7dd.jpg" width="500" height="336" alt="srg13" /></a><br /><br />The days travels started with foot trampled singletrack that gave us all a bit of trouble.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206384927/" title="srg11 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2573/4206384927_d873d45708.jpg" width="360" height="500" alt="srg11" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207160188/" title="srg33 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4034/4207160188_fec6eaba12.jpg" width="347" height="500" alt="srg33" /></a><br /><br />I had walked on ahead a bit when I first spotted it. My eyes lit up and I yelled “Trail!!”! I jumped on my bike and was able to coast down 20’ or so of set in snowmachine trail, and was excited enough that I rode over the low log crossing on the trail before stopping and waiting to get photos of the other two as they found it. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206401227/" title="srg32 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2613/4206401227_582da906fe.jpg" width="354" height="500" alt="srg32" /></a><br /><br />I wasn’t entirely rideable trail, but it was trail, and we pushed on together for another mile or so. Finally it had firmed up enough and I gave riding a shot, with fantastic results. It was firm and fun. The first real rideable trail I had seen in nearly 4 days. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207158202/" title="srg31 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2758/4207158202_0bb0865d34.jpg" width="500" height="350" alt="srg31" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207157254/" title="srg30 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4052/4207157254_fdc300cb07.jpg" width="500" height="339" alt="srg30" /></a><br /><br />After a mile or two of riding ahead, stopping and waiting only to see Roger show up before George, I was baffled, and a bit frustrated. George was on Endomorphs on 100mm rims, which gave him a whole lot more float than me. He should have been at least right with me, and unquestionably ahead of Roger. Exhaustion and the trail were really taking their toll on George at this point, and he was stopping constantly to faff about with his GPS or Spot, or readjusting his gear. I’ve been in the same position and done the same, I know what it’s like. You get to the point that any distraction is a good excuse to stop and not move forward. When George finally caught up, with good trail beneath our feet and probably less than 5 miles of downhill riding to Rohn, we called it, and decided it was time to split up. I wanted to ride, Roger wanted to get a move on, and we all felt that George, while near the end of his rope, was on good enough trail that he could make it to Rohn on his own without issue. <br /><br />I pedaled away, thrilled to be on the bike again, enamored with the scenery and in love with the super fun trail the Iditarod trail crew had laid out for us. Alright, so they laid it out for the dogs, but they got it done in time for us, and I certainly appreciated that..<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206398529/" title="srg29 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4046/4206398529_000f6f6f98.jpg" width="500" height="318" alt="srg29" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207155774/" title="srg28 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2604/4207155774_5b74cc0388.jpg" width="500" height="358" alt="srg28" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206396883/" title="srg27 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4023/4206396883_1def8e3e2c.jpg" width="500" height="337" alt="srg27" /></a><br /><br />The trail criss-crossed the creek, occasionally on Ice, occasionally on bridges the crew had built by hand out of branches and snow. It was fun and fast and dumped me out onto the Tatina River all too soon. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206395773/" title="srg26 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2760/4206395773_52a10817ef.jpg" width="500" height="330" alt="srg26" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206395213/" title="srg25 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4027/4206395213_aa266abfed.jpg" width="500" height="325" alt="srg25" /></a><br /><br />From there it was fun ride on a wide, flat, frozen and windswept expanse of ice and gravel for a while untill climbing up off the river and through the woods to the wonderful Rohn checkpoint. I had made it, and I knew the rest of the ‘race’ would be a piece of cake. My new goal was to make it to McGrath before the official 10 day cutoff time for the race. I pulled in off the airstrip and asked the first person I saw where the smelly biker’s tent was. I spoke to I believe her name was Dee(?), who asked if I had seen her trail crew on the way in. I was a bit baffled, as I had seen no one. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207152542/" title="srg24 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2485/4207152542_fcddbf1d22.jpg" width="500" height="366" alt="srg24" /></a><br /><br />At the Ultrasport tent, I was treated wonderfully by Rob, who seemed to go out of his way to help me out and provide me with whatever I needed. He was supposed to fly out a day or two earlier, and was planning on taking the tent down later in the day. I dried some of my clothes, ate some food, and let Rob know that I intended to make a charge for Nikolai after at most an hour of rest.<br /><br />As I was walking toward the outhouse, the ‘trail crew’ rolled in. I couldn’t figure out where they had come from. The outhouse was something else. A divided double seater with styrofoam insulation as seats. It was the warmest, most comfortable toilet seat I have ever had the pleasure of sitting on. Whoever was responsible for installing it is an angel and a true hero and will forever be in my fondest thoughts. <br /><br />I let Rob know about Roger’s sled malfunction, and that he might need some help mending it well enough to survive the burn, and about Georges condition. He headed out on snowmachine to check on them and make sure they were both alright. I met another volunteer(Scottish?), who’s name might have been Dave, who had done the race a few years earlier, and had some cool stories to tell. Sorry if I got your name wrong!<br /><br />Before I took off, wouldn’t you know it, but Roger arrived! He had met Rob on the trail, and explained that the trail crew coming through had turned the good trail to sugar. I felt horrible for George and really hoped that he had made it to the river before they passed him. <br /><br />I had carried an empty 50oz camelback with me specifically for the burn, as there was no promise of water till Nikolai. With that and all my bottles full, and my food stores replenished from my drop bag, I bid farewell to Roger and headed out into the Farewell hills.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4209280077/" title="kuskopancrop by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2664/4209280077_a334b2e8d9.jpg" width="500" height="51" alt="kuskopancrop" /></a><br />with the above, stitched panorama, you can click on it to see a bigger version on my Flickr account, as you can with all the other photos here as well.<br /><br />Rohn to bivy: <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-rohn-to-first-bivy.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-rohn-to-first-bivy.html</a>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-78920021309673440952009-12-23T11:17:00.002-09:002009-12-23T11:21:01.199-09:00Trudging.This video shows a small amount of the conditions the racers in front of me had to deal with. It got much, much worse for them beyond the pass. I definitely had it easy.<br /><br />Filmed by Bill Merchant, race organizer, mostly at the Rainy Pass Hilton(roofless cabin)<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/bjsDLQh2-JU&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/bjsDLQh2-JU&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><a href="http://www.alaskaultrasport.com">www.alaskaultrasport.com,</a><br /><br />I'll have the next day's report up later today.seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-62382672736100031432009-12-22T14:54:00.003-09:002009-12-22T15:08:57.857-09:0009 Alaska Ultrasport Rainy Pass Attack #2previous chapter: <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-day-off.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-day-off.html</a><br /><br /><br />Faffing isn’t as dirty of a word as it sounds, though I suppose it could be used to describe something dirty….<br /><br />I awoke to an Australian accent(George) telling me that it was 2am, time to get ready and go. I had packed my bike up the previous night, so there really wasn’t much for me to do. I double checked everything, ate a solid breakfast, filled my water bottles and waited. That was when I first heard the word. Roger commented, “Well, we can get going as soon as he’s done faffing about out there!” with a big grin on his face. The meaning was obvious, though it was my first introduction to a word that I would hear repeatedly for the next 24+ hours. <br /><br />And so we did get going, as soon as George was done faffing about. :D <br /><br />I didn’t bother putting on my padded riding shorts, as I knew it would be a push nearly all the way. We were barely a quarter mile off the lake when the pushlock holding one of the poles on Roger’s pulk gave up the ghost. We stopped, looked at it for a minute, then set about fixing it with George’s knife and my bailing wire, all the while being serenaded by George's operatic rendition of Country Roads. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206382803/" title="srg09 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2772/4206382803_f249fe98c9.jpg" width="500" height="353" alt="srg09" /></a><br /><br />We marched on. I couldn’t believe the trail conditions. Some of it was actually rideable. And the rest was a consistent surface. We weren’t breaking through more than two inches or so. I was in heaven, and inadvertently started walking at warp speed. I just couldn’t help myself. It resulted in me sweating quite a bit, which was bad. I eventually learned to slow down a little and enjoy the steady pace. There were wolf tracks on the trail. They were bigger than your typical dog tracks.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207141126/" title="srg10 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2778/4207141126_d85f78b45f.jpg" width="392" height="500" alt="srg10" /></a><br /><br />George wanted to stop at the halfway cabin, and we looked for it, but passed it by in the predawn hours. As the sun came up though, we spotted it behind us. I figured we would just keep pressing on, but George was determined, and thought it a good place to try to warm up Rogers frozen fingers. The first hour after first light up here tends to be the coldest hour of the day, and it was in this that we marched toward the cabin. I’ve got to admit that I did want to see what was inside. <br /><br />By the time we were halfway back to the cabin, I myself was having trouble keeping warm. My fingers were starting to freeze. We got inside and George got his stove going, reheating up our water. We had some snacks, but Roger and I were both frozen to the point of shivering. We tried heat packs in our hands, on our wrists. George finally had us sticking bottles of hot water down our pants, which to my amazement, actually seemed to work! <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207139818/" title="srg08 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2623/4207139818_24ebf21754.jpg" width="500" height="335" alt="srg08" /></a><br /><br />Roger having an intimate moment with his water bottle. You've seriously gotta try this trick next time you're cold...<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207139092/" title="srg07 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2694/4207139092_902b5101fe.jpg" width="345" height="500" alt="srg07" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206380465/" title="srg06 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2653/4206380465_8c0a8719d6.jpg" width="364" height="500" alt="srg06" /></a><br /><br />After way too much time faffing in the cabin, we finally got our act together and back on the trail. We warmed up quickly as we started moving. You can sit around with heat packs and hot water bottles all day, but if you’re not moving, you’re not generating any heat. Eventually, we arrived at the collapsed snow bridge. I scouted out a better route. The next path the snowmachines had taken was starting to collapse as well, and I ended up gingerly bringing us across on a track from two nights prior that the boys had made. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206379609/" title="srg05 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2689/4206379609_4cb8e9c8e4.jpg" width="500" height="321" alt="srg05" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206378973/" title="srg04 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4014/4206378973_54fc84f18e.jpg" width="500" height="291" alt="srg04" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206377875/" title="srg02 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2763/4206377875_54b7e267a0.jpg" width="500" height="334" alt="srg02" /></a><br /><br />The trail conditions actually got better for the next mile or two. It was comfortable walking on TOP of the snow. No postholing, no breaking through. <br /><br />At the mouth of the pass, we decided to break for lunch. I stomped out a hole for our feet on the side of the trail and proceeded to mis-spell Rany Pass Café. George took one look and said, “ummm, Sean?”, <br /><br />“Yeah?” I obliviously responded. <br /><br />“I think there’s an ’I’ in there…” <br /><br />Oh yeah. I wiped it out and started over. In my delirious state though, I couldn’t remember whether or not there was and ‘e’ before the ‘y’. Neither could the other two. We decided that both were acceptable spelling and went with the ‘e’. Misspelled twice…..<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207151806/" title="srg23 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2776/4207151806_71a23680ed.jpg" width="500" height="372" alt="srg23" /></a><br /><br />George was getting himself into progressively worse shape as the trail continued. I notced before we sat down to lunch that he seemed to be staggering up the trail. I kind of chuckled to myself that it looked as though he were drunk. <br /><br />We shared a meal of biscuites, cakes, cookies, nuts, fat(cut from prosciutto) and trail mix. It was delicious. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207135128/" title="srg01 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2539/4207135128_33a712dbfe.jpg" width="500" height="350" alt="srg01" /></a><br /><br />And so we pressed on. As we got further into the pass, the trail all but disappeared. I would occasionally have to walk a few feet to either side of my path of travel to reassure myself that I was in fact on the trail. It was never really that bad though. I never punched through more than knee deep, and it was consistent. Consistent ‘postholing’ is much better than inconsistent trail any day of the week in my books. Knowing what the ground beneath your feet is going to do with each step is much more bearable than not knowing if it will support your weight or sink beneath you. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206392385/" title="srg20 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2742/4206392385_333723cc98.jpg" width="369" height="500" alt="srg20" /></a><br /><br />We climbed and climbed through corniced waves of snow. It was unbelievably gorgeous. We were making reasonably good time, and I was hopeful that we would make it over the pass proper before darkness fell. In fact, I was sure of it. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4207149508/" title="srg19 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2801/4207149508_09e825b70e.jpg" width="500" height="323" alt="srg19" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206392781/" title="srg21 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2569/4206392781_8a28564197.jpg" width="381" height="500" alt="srg21" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206393307/" title="srg22 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2493/4206393307_2ace6b6773.jpg" width="500" height="273" alt="srg22" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206390967/" title="srg18 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2711/4206390967_a37a230a5f.jpg" width="500" height="300" alt="srg18" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206389573/" title="srg16 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4008/4206389573_3f9bda029e.jpg" width="500" height="323" alt="srg16" /></a><br /><br /><br />There was a cabin up there somewhere, and while part of me wanted to see it, the rest of me hoped that we would miss it and keep going. I really didn’t want to sit and freeze again while we reheated water for the sake of reheating it. We had agreed that if one of us needed to we would spend the night in the cabin, but that option was becoming increasingly unappealing to me. I was sweating and knew I would spend the night cold. Roger was getting easily chilled, especially with his previously frostbitten fingers. Finally I saw it. I tried to walk past it like it weren’t there, a few hundred yards off the trail, but I was breaking trail at a much quicker pace than George was able to follow at. Not wanting to get too far ahead, I had to stop and wait. He saw the cabin, and needed the rest, and he did. So we pushed over to it. Roger and I both froze our tails off again as George melted snow at an Olympic rate. I joined in with my little stove just to give myself something to pass the time. <br /><br />As we were sat in the roofless cabin, faffing about, we noticed Curiak steadily marching his overloaded Snoots up the pass. George called out to him, inviting him in.<br /><br />Mike looked up to the pass, then looked back. He was thinking about it. “How long are you going to stop(stay?)?”<br /><br />Before George had a chance to say something silly, I yelled out “Half hour. Tops. I’m sick of breaking trail.”<br /><br />Even from that distance I could see the demented grin creep across Mike’s face as he replied, simply, “My turn.” and marched onward. <br /><br />I would like to say that I don’t know what kind of sick bastard relishes in the opportunity to push what must’ve been a close to 100# bike through unbroken snow up a mountain pass, but now I do. <br /><br />I would not see Curiak again for 4 days.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206390483/" title="srg17 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2542/4206390483_439773488e.jpg" width="500" height="314" alt="srg17" /></a><br /><br />Roger had finally had enough. He spoke up. He was freezing and simply couldn’t see any point in melting any more snow. George had hot water sitting in a pot and all of our bottles were full. I was freezing too, and voiced my desire to make it over the top and down to some trees on the other side of the pass before bivying if necessary. Roger wanted to march straight to Rohn. I certainly did as well. We started talking up the possibility of creating a camp fire if we found trees, and the idea of doing so obviously sparked Georges imagination, because he was instantly transported out of faff-mode and into push mode. The sky was darkening as we pushed back to Mike’s tracks, and I took off ahead at a rapid pace to get my blood flowing again and warm up.<br /><br />There was a minimal amount of postholing, but it was, again, mostly consistent trail, and it was AWEFULLY nice not being the one breaking it in. We weren’t far from the height of the land, the pass proper, so I kept my pace up, charging ahead on a mission to make it to the top. It was a while before I could hear Roger and George talking down the hill. I heard Roger mention that he though I might have gone on ahead(and kept going). I felt kind of bad at hearing that and jogged back down without my bike to walk with them up the last little bit. George got a burst of energy when I told him that the steep pitch in front of him was the last 100’ of the pass, and that it would be all downhill from there.<br /><br />Traveling downhill was a huge relief, and wonderfully easy compared to the climb up. The mountains were still incredibly defined against the clear, dark, night sky as we marched our way down the Western slope of the Alaska Range. Suddenly the light from my headlamp reflected back to me in two glowing green dots in the distance. It was some kind of critter, fearlessly walking straight toward us. We stood there for a while, wondering what it could be. The last tracks we had seen had been that of a wolf, which was a little frightening. It just kept coming like it had no intention of deviating from it’s path, despite the strange, bright lights ahead of it. When it got within 100 or so feet of us, I still couldn’t tell what it was, and was beginning think that I didn’t want to find out. So I proceeded to growl and roar in its general direction, and instantly it froze still in it’s tracks. I growled once more and it broke left and took a wide berth around us. It’s diminutive tracks in the snow were confirmed later to be those of just a harmless little fox. <br /><br />And so we continued on as George got worse and worse, stumbling constantly. He was well beyond exhaustion, and we were beginning to worry about him, but Roger and I were both also worried about ourselves bivying above the trees. George was the most well versed in bivying among us, but in his near delirious state, could we really trust his judgement? Through it all, George remained calm and amicable. Through all the insistence of Roger and I to press on, he never tried to insist on his desire to stop. He agreed to get down to some trees with us, to try and protect ourselves from the wind. He finally had to leave his bike in some low alders and we helped him carry his bivy gear further down to a more protected spot. He needed nothing but sleep. We stomped out a huge spot, and I stomped a little alcove off of it for my boots. George saw and exclaimed that it was a great idea. “A kitchen!”. When I informed him that it was for our boots and that we intended to get right into our bivies, he was a bit disappointed, and went off a few feet over to stomp out his own bivy with full amenities. As Roger and I zipped up our bags and said our goodnights, I looked over to see George sat there staring at his campstove like a zombie as he faffed about melting snow.seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-26977529258310458392009-12-22T13:15:00.005-09:002009-12-22T15:08:06.574-09:00Alaska Ultrasport Day off....<span style="font-weight:bold;">continued from the report of my retreat from Rainy Pass:</span> <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-2009-rainy-pass.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-2009-rainy-pass.html<br /></a><br /><br />When I had walked in the previous night, I couldn’t be bothered with my sleeping bag. I managed to wrestle my sleeping pad off the bike, throw it down on the floor, and simply lay down and pass out. I was a little chilly when I woke, a little depressed, a lot disappointed. My calves were inflexible blocks of wood. I couldn't really feel the floor under my battered feet. The day dragged by, and I tried to distract myself with conversation. There was going to be one flight out today, and the out of towners with flights to make had dibbs on it. So it looked like another night in the cabin for me before my @$500 flight out the next day. I ended up having to do some translation explaining to Marco that despite scratching, he had been disqualified anyway for having snowmachine support following him on the trail, and for another particular incident that to be honest, he should have been shot for, and the details of which I’m not going to repeat. I knew something was fishy when he seemed to be doing the entire trip with only two uninsulated water bottles mounted to his frame. We had spent a little bit of time together on the course, and had developed a little bit of a bond, but that bond was easily broken in the light of his shady behavior. <br /><br />Bill and his snowmachine had been extricated from the pass at some point in the day, and he had some great tales to tell. The conditions that made me turn and run the previous day were child’s play compared to the mess that everyone in front of me had soldiered through. The fact that Bill had been able to make it back, and the knowledge that I really didn’t have it so bad, made me want to head back out there. The fact that I had conceded to scratching, and that the price of other people’s airfare was dependent upon my presence on the same flight made me hold back and accept my decision. <br /><br />Then it happened. I don’t remember who arrived first, but the last two racers on the course, George Azarius and Roger Leavesly arrived at the cabin some time that afternoon. They were two days behind my arrival at Puntilla Lake, but they were determined and steadfast in their desire to press on. Their enthusiasm was contagious beyond belief. I WANTED back in. I knew I could make it over if I just did what Eric had told me to on the first attempt and stuck together with someone. The arrival of George and Roger represented my last chance to redeem myself. I knew that this was it. I was either with them, or taking my sorry ass back to Palmer. I spoke to the other remaining scratchers and expressed my concern at sticking them with a higher airfare. They assured me it was their burden to bear and that if I could go on, I should. <br /><br />I checked with Bill, and he told me to go, that I was still in the race if I wanted to be. It was well beyond wanting at that point. My heart was racing with excitement at the chance. <br /><br />Myself, Roger, George and the departing racers pooled all of our food and divided it up amongst ourselves. We pledged to stick together to Rohn, no matter what. To stop if one of us needed to, no matter what. We were three in one till we got safely over that pass. <br /><br />We treated ourselves to dinner in the lodge. The plan was a 2AM wakeup and subsequent departure. After dinner, we shared a few swiggs of Bill’s peppermint Schnapps to fortify ourselves and had a little bit of a chuckle at the legend snoring soundly on the floor of the cabin on the thickest thermarest I’ve ever seen.<br /><br />It took me a while to get to sleep I was so giddy with anticipation.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4206384029/" title="rainyfatties by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2635/4206384029_c94e629a1c.jpg" width="500" height="285" alt="rainyfatties" /></a><br />Above is the checkpoint cabin at Rainy Pass lodge surrounded by the bikes of(from L to R): Bill Dent, Marco Costa, George Azarius(obscuring Alberto Villaverde's bike), Rob May, Myself, and Catherine Shenk with Savino Musicco's pulk and Roger Leavesly's pulk out of frame.<br /><br /><br />I press on in the next chapter: <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-rainy-pass-attack.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-rainy-pass-attack.html</a>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-67104452832340847792009-12-21T12:52:00.005-09:002009-12-22T13:26:07.693-09:00Alaska Ultrasport 2009 Rainy Pass retreat.<span style="font-weight:bold;">continued from my day 2-3 report</span>: <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-2009-days-2-3.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-2009-days-2-3.html</a><br /><br />My decision to wait out the night and go in the morning from Rainy pass was based on a few pieces of input and some ‘facts’ about snowmachine trails. There was about 2 fresh inches of warm snow on the ground when I arrived there, and it was continuing to fall steadily. Marco C was determined and resolute, and wanted to press on. He thought I might head out with him, but I was hesitant to head out into fresh snow like that. Alberto decided to press on with him. Marco B is an unstoppable force and would head out no matter what. He had been to Nome multiple times before, and knew what he was doing. <br /><br />Frank and Bob showed up before long, both local cyclists who I had never really met before. Turns out Frank and I have a lot in common. Both former Philly Messengers and current Alaskan Survey techs. We got along well while he was there and swapped stories of Filthydelphia for a while before he and Bob pressed on. He was determined and optimistic. Bob was quiet, but seemed equally ready to go. <br /><br />Catherine had arrived I think before Alberto, and was in no rush to leave, with her breathing problems beginning to increase. She was doing a good job of keeping her composure though. They were followed by a steady stream of walkers and a few cyclists. <br /><br />Rob May was at the cabin when I had arrived. Rob’s a fast elite level xc racer from back in the mid Atlantic area, and we had quite a few mutual connections and acquaintances, so there were plenty of stories to swap there. He part times it between AK and PA, as owner/operator of <a href=“http://holitnariverlodge.com/main.htm”>Holitna River Lodge</a>. He’d had some difficulties with his body heading up toward the pass and was semi hopeful that he would make it over once he recovered, but I think having to retreat and let the race get away from him might have crushed him a bit, a concept I would soon experience first hand myself. He was biding his time, waiting for a window of opportunity for planes to land on the frozen lake and get him outa there. <br /><br /><br />Eric was a fairly experienced racer, as were the other walkers, and they all thought it was best to attack the pass well rested and with full bellies. Fresh snow would guarantee a push the entire thirty or so miles. My feet were already starting to suffer from my new wardrobe malfunction, but not that badly. More on that later. I decided the best thing for me to do was get a long rest on a comfortable bed while I had the chance and head out with the walkers the next day, hopeful that the storm would pass and that someone would travel one way or the other and leave us a trail.<br /><br />Snow was falling steadily as I finally laid my head down for a good nights sleep. <br /><br />---<br /><br />The next morning we awoke fairly early and set about getting out gear ready. I found myself increasingly jealous of the walkers and how easy it was for them to manage their gear in a sled. All they had to do at a checkpoint was arrive, unclip the duffel bag from their pulk, and walk inside with ALL their gear. It took me and most other cyclists 4 or 5 trips out to unclip indivual components and bring them in, and even then, half our stuff was still outside, on the bike. I suppose it’s only fair considering the ground we can cover when the trail is good.<br /><br />We treated ourselves to a big breakfast at our own expense in the lodge itself, got our morals up and proceeded to head out into snow much deeper than I had expected to encounter. Rich Crain, long time volunteer of near legendary status with the human powered Iditarod races, decided to head out on his snow machine to check on Bill M, the race organizer and trail breaker, who had been stuck in the pass with his snowmachine for several days by that point. That meant we would at least have a trail to follow. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4203867357/" title="rainy01 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2577/4203867357_415b5d4419.jpg" width="500" height="309" alt="rainy01" /></a><br /><br />Heading out across the lake, Eric and I were pushing strongly, and I was able to keep up with him, though I knew that wouldn’t last. Once Rich came around us, the walkers simply walked away from Myself and Catherine. Eric and the other walkers had advised that it would be best to go over the pass with someone, and that since they would probably keep a similar pace, and cyclists would probably keep a similar pace, that I should stick with Catherine over the pass. It was selfish and stubborn of me, but I refused to let that happen. I’m not a very social person to begin with. I like my solitude. I walk fast, and I walked fast away from Catherine. I would later come to be taught a lesson in patience by the pass itself, reprimanded for my lack of respect for one person helping another. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4203868167/" title="rainy02 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2521/4203868167_2c7abb40a4.jpg" width="500" height="314" alt="rainy02" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4203869195/" title="rainy03 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2688/4203869195_f8b45b35ef.jpg" width="500" height="339" alt="rainy03" /></a><br /><br />As we pressed on, about two miles from the lake, the wind picked up, it was miserable out, and what little trail I was able to see I was post-holing inconsistently in. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4203870081/" title="rainy04 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2500/4203870081_ddbee03407.jpg" width="500" height="308" alt="rainy04" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4203870613/" title="rainy05 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2578/4203870613_5e45078d23.jpg" width="500" height="331" alt="rainy05" /></a><br /><br />It was either mashed potatoes, sugar, or a deceptive crust that would support three steps, fail to support two, support one, fail to support the next three, and on and on and on. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4203872445/" title="rainy06 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2660/4203872445_a3de76c853.jpg" width="500" height="308" alt="rainy06" /></a><br /><br />At one point I saw Alberto walking down the trail toward me, no bike in sight. I asked him where his bike was, and he explained that he and Marco B had spent the night huddled up under one of the trail marker tripods, shivering. The falling snow had been too much for them to press on and they had decided to bivy. When the storm had passed and dawn came, they spotted the halfway cabin about a mile away and headed over to it to try to warm up. I was beginning to think that I had made a very good decision to stay in the cabin the previous night.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4203873143/" title="rainy07 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2704/4203873143_04ff547d52.jpg" width="500" height="320" alt="rainy07" /></a><br /><br />Continuing further up the trail, I could no longer even see the walkers I had left with, despite marching forward at as quick of a pace as I could manage. Marco B passed me with ease. I crossed the Happy river on a precarious ice bridge, and pushed on through increasing worse trail. The steps that would break through would sink me to my waist, with the bike falling on top of me. Before long, I saw the familiar, orange jacket of Marco C, and he too, was heading back down the trail toward me. He had made it nearly into the pass only to encounter chest deep snow. He had a freezing bivy the night before and was all but out of water. I had now switched from relishing in my patience back and the checkpoint to fearing what was to come. I had never bivied above treeline, and it didn’t look like it was much fun at all. Marco had decided bastante! He’d had enough, and was headed back. I could kind of tell he really didn’t want to go though. I said I was going to continue on, and his eyes lit up. He asked if we could go together, and if I had enough water and a stove. I said sure, as frankly, I was beginning to get desperate for some companionship over the pass myself. His knee was becoming increasingly worse, and he was ragged from his difficult bivy the night before. I would pick an object up the trail, push to it and wait for him to catch up. I offered to let him carry one of my bottles so that he would have easy access to water, but he said no, and continued to eat snow when I wasn’t looking, occasionally accepting sips from my bottle, but only if I had it open and was drinking myself. My enthusiasm at having someone to accompany me up the pass was quickly turning to worry that I would be dragging ‘dead weight’, so to speak, and would have no choice but to bivy and try to melt snow. My stove was untested to be honest, by me anyway. I had melted snow with both of my other stoves, but this was a super light little one I borrowed from my friend Kim. I didn’t really want anything to do with melting snow, and carried more than enough water with me to get from checkpoint to checkpoint.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4203873949/" title="rainy08 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2687/4203873949_a6740e15d5.jpg" width="357" height="500" alt="rainy08" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4203875517/" title="rainy10 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2609/4203875517_01eced517e.jpg" width="500" height="313" alt="rainy10" /></a><br /><br />Finally, I see Rich, again coming back down the trail toward me, and like everyone else I had seen that day, making a hasty retreat. His first words: “If you were any closer to the checkpoint I would tell you to turn around and go back!”. He had gotten stuck numerous times without even making it to the pass. He confirmed Marco’s report of chest deep snow. I decided that Marco and I should wait for Catherine and Alberto to decide what we were going to do. We talked about it for a while, and I become resolute in my decision to walk back at least to the cabin and see if the trail would be better that night or the next day. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4203874795/" title="rainy09 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2804/4203874795_9f74e0f945.jpg" width="339" height="500" alt="rainy09" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4203876205/" title="rainy11 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2745/4203876205_2f3891e089.jpg" width="358" height="500" alt="rainy11" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4204633508/" title="rainy12 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2713/4204633508_37780c84fb.jpg" width="500" height="367" alt="rainy12" /></a><br /><br />Catherine worried aloud that we were quitting, but I assured we were not, just falling back to try again tomorrow. So down we marched. Dallas and Steven, two of the family that owns Rainy Pass lodge, and our checkers, were headed up to the pass to check on things. They’re as local as it gets at rainy pass and with their light machines, had no problem speeding up the pass. The trail behind them turned to sugar, which frankly was better than postholing, but not by much. <br /><br />All of a sudden, I see Frank charging up the trail! Apparently he and Bob had spent the night in the emergency cabin halfway to the pass from the lodge, and were as optimistic and determined as ever to continue on. He tried to egg me into accompanying them, but I had made up my mind to wait it out a day. As we descended, the distance between myself and the other three increased dramatically. I was alone on the trail again, with sore feet, dead legs and some tough decisions ahead of me. After crossing the river, I crested a hill and looked back up the pass. I could hear the boys’ snowmachines coming back, and looked long enough to spot them. The other three riders were on the machines with them. They had dropped out of the race. When they passed me, they offered me a lift back to the cabin, but I couldn’t do it. Getting on a snowmachine for any reason during the race is automatic DQ. I was somewhat determined that I would be able to head out the next day and make it over. They also told me that the precarious ice bridge I had mentioned earlier collapsed as I believe it was Steven was going across it, pulling a sled. He basically had to jump the snowmachine across a collapsing ice bridge and he came through with flying colors. Pretty exciting stuff, and I kinda wish I had been back there to see it.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4204634170/" title="rainy13 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2641/4204634170_241a1a0820.jpg" width="500" height="342" alt="rainy13" /></a><br /><br />The further I got, the worse my feet got. The soles burned, my right heel was rubbing, my legs ached and my joints were stiff. It seemed to be a longer walk back to the checkpoint than it had been to where I turned around. My morale was really low, and I knew there was a good chance I was going to quit. It had been years since I had actually finished a long race, and here I was, considering dropping out of the grandest of them all. I could have stopped at the halfway cabin, but for some reason didn’t. I just kept marching down the valley, admiring the views and beating my feet to a pulp.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4204634800/" title="rainy14 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2598/4204634800_2cef2992bc.jpg" width="500" height="321" alt="rainy14" /></a><br /><br />When I arrived back at the cabin, at 11:00PM or so, Dallas greeted me outside. A bunch of walkers had shown up while we were gone, and a cyclist or two. I was near delirious tired, and hurt both physically and mentally. Then he asked the question and I broke the rule. The question: “Do you think you want to scratch?” The rule: “Don’t scratch before sleeping.” He was trying to organize flights out for the scratchers. I hmmm’d and hawed a little bit before finally saying, “yeah…”. My feet hurt to the point that I could barely stand. My calves were tightening into logs as I stood there. I put my bike down, walked inside, and found a place to sleep on the floor. I went out like a light. <br /><br />In this photo, you can see the hole Marco and Alberto had been curled up in. Gritty stuff.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4203878983/" title="rainy15 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2767/4203878983_76c6ab4425.jpg" width="500" height="357" alt="rainy15" /></a><br /><br /><br />Oh but it aint over…… <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-day-off.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-day-off.html</a>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-32148423205959920682009-12-19T15:43:00.009-09:002009-12-27T00:12:17.432-09:00Alaska Ultrasport 2009 Days 2 & 3Day 2 and 3<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">continued from my Day 1 report</span>: <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/slow-ride-alaska-ultrasport-2009-day-1.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/slow-ride-alaska-ultrasport-2009-day-1.html</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3357598551/" title="gorilla at yentna by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3441/3357598551_f60505d661.jpg" width="500" height="377" alt="gorilla at yentna" /></a><br /><br />Leaving <a href="http://yentnastation.com/">Yentna Station</a> with my insulated water bottles full of warm water and gatorade, I pressed on up the Yentna river toward the next checkpoint. Throughout the day I was able to ride pretty steadily, which resulted in me passing back all but 2 of those in the foot division. The sky was a crystal clear blue, and I would occasionally have great views of the Alaska range as I plodded along. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3357599541/" title="painsipp by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3423/3357599541_8e8ecdafea.jpg" width="500" height="313" alt="painsipp" /></a><br /><br />Yesterdays wardrobe malfunctions were thoroughly solved by some creative rearrangement of my gear on my rack. I was really starting to relax a bit and enjoy the trip. The riding was really good just about the entire way, and I made reasonably good time, getting to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skwentna,_Alaska">Skwentna Station bunkhouse</a>checkpoint just after dark. It was dinner time, so I sat down to a burger and chips. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3396270695/" title="more like 3 miles by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3576/3396270695_216b490252.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="more like 3 miles" /></a><br /><br />Pete Basinger, a multi-time winner of the bike division, who was skiing this year, was getting packed up to head out. I had decided while cruising along on the river that I would take this year as a tour. Take my time, learn the trail, see the sights, make all the stupid mistakes at a pace that allowed me to learn from them. He seemed to think that was a pretty smart idea, so I decided from that point on that it had been my intention from the get go. In truth, the thought had crossed my mind in my pre-start worries, but it was only a secondary option to all of my other, less ambitious ideas for screwing up my ride, like turning around at whatever point and riding back to the start, or just not showing up all together. So after my burger, I took the proprietors up on the offer to grab a bunk upstairs and get some sleep. I hung my sleeping bag up in the closet to try to dry it out as I had gotten into it sweaty the night before and shivered through most of my ’sleep’. <br /><br />The rest was good, and I felt great when I awoke. I took off just before dawn and pedaled out of town. The riding was pretty good across the big swamp leading to the Shell Hills. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4198951120/" title="spskwentna by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2765/4198951120_a4914030a3.jpg" width="500" height="328" alt="spskwentna" /></a><br /><br />It started flat and wide, with a heavy ice fog obscuring the view for more than 50ft at a time, but became deep and swoopy before long. Really fun. When the swamp came to an end and I saw the big rectangular construction of angle iron on the side of the trail I got a huge grin on my face. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4198950514/" title="magicmaker by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2493/4198950514_10852c393b.jpg" width="500" height="317" alt="magicmaker" /></a><br /><br />It meant the trail for at least a little while would be groomed and fast, and it was. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4198195987/" title="greattrail by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4037/4198195987_0682fb8a34.jpg" width="362" height="500" alt="greattrail" /></a><br /><br />Twisty turny trail through the woods with snow firm enough to stand and climb with a little power up the hills. It was the best trail I had been on yet, and I remarked so as I passed Rick and Rob, two of the same walkers from the previous day, again. Before long at all, I was crossing Shell Lake. I stopped at the lodge there and had a burger and another short nap. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3357621493/" title="shell lake lodge by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3547/3357621493_c0ac80b86f.jpg" width="500" height="313" alt="shell lake lodge" /></a><br /><br />I left before noon, and honestly, all I remember of the next leg of the trip to <a href="http://www.withinthewild.com/about/">Wintererlake Lodge</a> was a lot of walking across meadow after meadow after meadow, with a little bit of riding in between. The riding in between was fun, but brief. The meadows were occasionally rideable, but mostly a push. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3358444556/" title="meadows by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3566/3358444556_3dd43a81b0.jpg" width="500" height="312" alt="meadows" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4198949040/" title="meadow01 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2804/4198949040_3d96a4e02b.jpg" width="500" height="342" alt="meadow01" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3358445640/" title="break blow break repeat by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3445/3358445640_e9181b00b4.jpg" width="500" height="312" alt="break blow break repeat" /></a><br /><br />I didn’t feel so bad though, as I could clearly see that quite a few of the endomorph equipped riders somewhere in front of me were pushing as well. It wasn’t that bad of a leg though, and I still felt pretty good when I reached the <a href="http://www.withinthewild.com/about/">Checkpoint</a> just before dusk. I dug into my drop bag, grabbed most of the food out of it, and some out of the discard pile on the dresser in there. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3357629033/" title="fingerlake by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3469/3357629033_32452b0d1a.jpg" width="500" height="312" alt="fingerlake" /></a><br /><br />From this point on, the race provided a meal and lodging of some sort at each checkpoint. I ate my meal of Mexican food, and went into the weatherport to try and get in a nap before heading into the Happy River Steps. There were two cots inside, and both were already claimed. I was on the floor in the back of the tent. I think I had actually claimed what was supposed to be the changing room. I tried, but really couldn’t sleep. The ventilation was non-existent, and the tent was filled with a combination of 2 ½ day old sweaty clothes and the fumes from the propane heater. It sucked. It should suck though, as long stays at the checkpoints really isn’t the intention of the race. My clothes were dry when I checked them, so I packed up and headed off down the trail. The next section of the course was probably the most enjoyable section of trail on the entire trip for me. It was like real mountain biking. Steep climbs, steep descents, sharp bends, bench-cut trail. It was great, I loved every minute of it.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3357624305/" title="leaving finger lake by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3616/3357624305_468f9c81e4.jpg" width="500" height="377" alt="leaving finger lake" /></a><br /><br />Unfortunately, it also took A LOT longer than it should have, and by the time I reached the little oasis on Finnbear lake, It was after midnight. I stopped in to dry off and enjoy some of Mike and Ingrid’s wonderful hospitality. There were three other riders there, including the fella that picked up my bag for me earlier in the race.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3358442728/" title="trail archangels by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3432/3358442728_d5268e815e.jpg" width="500" height="312" alt="trail archangels" /></a><br /><br />We eventually left pretty much together right around dawn, but ended up spreading out a bit. Catherine and Alberto fell back, while I plodded along behind Marco, who was having knee problems, but still going faster than I was overall. Catherine was having new found breathing problems, which can be very scary for someone who has had no trouble breathing before in their life. Being a lifelong asthmatic, I tried to reassure her and offer advice on ways to mitigate breathing problems and avoid exacerbating them. The best thing you can really do is to try and remain as calm as possible. The worst thing you can do is let fear take over, as that will definitely make the breathing problems worse. <br /><br />The trail here was enjoyable as well, but softer than the steps had been. The trail at first was somewhat of a rollercoaster through thick alder tunnels with occasional breaks of spruce. The snow was mostly firm, but I still found myself walking most of the uphill sections. I did it partly to conserve energy, and partly because I had been having problems with axle slippage, even with a chain tug from the start. With the big 26 x 3” tires crammed in the back of my Karate Monkey, there was no room for that sort of malarkey and it resulted in my tire rubbing my frame hard once per revolution. Putting any sort of hard pressure on the pedal, as we do when climbing, resulted in the wheel slipping further. It was less of a hassle to just walk. Anyway, back to the course. The downhills here were super steep and often had tight turns at the bottom, this would normally not be much of a situation to worry about, but a lot of these turns had thick, glaciated ice across them, which made things interesting and fun. My downhill tires actually performed really well here, and I would find myself opening a bit of a gap on Marco. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3357678453/" title="IMG_0979 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3636/3357678453_8e42f6e92f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0979" /></a><br /><br />I managed to only go OTB once, in spectacular fashion:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3358493204/" title="IMG_0975 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3102/3358493204_dd477f47f2.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="IMG_0975" /></a><br /><br />That didn’t last long though when we got to the sparsely treed meadows. He quickly caught up to me and eventually passed me altogether. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3358495922/" title="IMG_0981 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3469/3358495922_2fb4fdfddb.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="IMG_0981" /></a><br /><br />I felt physically spent, and was stopping often, even though the trail was mostly rideable. Before long, as we were cruising down the trail, I spotted a mailbox in a tree! My first though was, “Sweet! We must be on the driveway to <a href="http://www.theperrinsrainypasslodge.com/">Rainy Pass Lodge</a>, the next checkpoint! Can’t be more than a couple hundred yards now!”.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3358497190/" title="IMG_0983 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3443/3358497190_a0329b342a.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0983" /></a><br /><br />Then I saw another one. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4198173059/" title="IMG_0984 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2713/4198173059_5fb5dab26d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0984" /></a><br /><br />And another one. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4198173837/" title="IMG_0985 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2610/4198173837_8e20473967.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0985" /></a><br /><br />And another one…. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4198175955/" title="IMG_0988 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2518/4198175955_a7db3c7a61.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_0988" /></a><br /><br />“How many friggen people live out here?!?” I remember remarking to myself.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4198176975/" title="IMG_1003 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4040/4198176975_ab8391a50d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_1003" /></a><br /><br />I stopped taking photos of them after 20 or so, and stopped counting after 30-something. By that time Marco had ridden off out of sight. Any excuse to take a break....... I would later find out that they were Martin traps. I've personally never met anyone named Martin that would fit inside a mailbox, but who am I to judge...<br /><br />Eventually the trail dipped back into the woods again, which allowed me to shift my focus from photographing strange objects mounted to trees, and concentrate more on the strange objects on the trail...<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4198193417/" title="otwrp01 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4041/4198193417_3dd2e5a06e.jpg" width="359" height="500" alt="otwrp01" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4198193985/" title="support by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2727/4198193985_f95783e598.jpg" width="347" height="500" alt="support" /></a><br /><br />I saw the landing strip we had been warned to keep off of, and descended down onto the lake as the snow started to fall. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4198192911/" title="rainypasslodge by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4005/4198192911_d9a2e44011.jpg" width="500" height="309" alt="rainypasslodge" /></a><br /><br />I reached the checkpoint cabin at <a href="http://www.theperrinsrainypasslodge.com/">Rainy Pass Lodge</a>, claimed a bed, ate some soup, and considered my options. I had been informed that the race leaders had been stuck up in the middle of the pass, waiting out a storm in a roofless cabin. Many that had left this checkpoint behind them had now caught up to them. Racers slowly filed in behind me. Catherine, Alberto, Frank Mcguire and Bob Ostrom on bike, walkers Eric, Rick and Rob and Todd and Marco. <br /><br />Marco on bike, Marco on foot, Alberto, Frank and Bob all decided to press on into the storm. <br /><br />Myself, Catherine, Eric, Todd, Rick and Rob all decided to wait out the night and go in the morning. The real drama begins in the next episode.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Day 4+</span> : <a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-2009-rainy-pass.html">http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-2009-rainy-pass.html</a>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-41783355970028363262009-12-18T20:19:00.004-09:002009-12-21T14:25:00.517-09:00Slow ride.... Alaska Ultrasport 2009 day 1During the first two weeks of March, 2009, I participated in <a href="http://www.alaskaultrasport.com/alaska_ultra_home_page.html">Alaska Ultrasport's Iditarod Trail Invitational</a>, more commonly referred to now as simply, the ITI. The ITI is a 350 or 1100 mile race across Alaska in winter, on snow. It’s the human powered version of the Iditarod dog sled race, taking off from the traditional starting location for the dog sled race, one week before the canine athletes do. Racers choose their mode of transportation, either bike, ski or foot. I, of course, was on bike. Which means I was also on foot quite a bit, but not in the foot division…. This is my write up, which is fittingly now about 9 months late.<br /><br />As I stood there, in the second-ish row back at the starting line, it really hit me. It really wasn’t untill that point that I bothered to ask myself, “What the hell am I doing here? What business do I have toeing this line, unprepared and seriously undertrained??”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3358405436/" title="ultrasport start by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3055/3358405436_c035c23839.jpg" width="500" height="377" alt="ultrasport start" /></a><br /><br />Seriously though, what the hell was I doing there? I have somewhat of a background with endurance cycling, through a few 24 hr races and some really long distance touring, but I didn’t have more than 100 miles of riding under me in the 4 months leading up to the race. I packed my gear the morning of the race. I had worked A LOT those 4 months, outdoors, so I was ready for the exposure, but my beer gut was reaching astronomical proportions, and I didn’t have any time on my new wheels and I didn’t have much experience with winter camping at all and I don’t have time to think about this crap anymore because Kathi just yelled “GO!!!”…<br /><br />And off we went, across the soft snow of Knik Lake. In the excitement and confusion it ended up being quicker to just hop off and run across the semi-soft snow than to try and stay on the bike. I broke left to get free of the traffic and took off with magnificent strides. I was actually in front of people! Woohoo! That’s when the overloaded fanny pack I decided to cram full of way too much food decided it would look better around my knees and promptly ended my enthusiasm with a faceplant in the snow….<br /><br />I got up, hiked up my ass satchel, held it in place with one hand and tried running again, pushing the bike with the other hand. That didn’t work, the bike was all over the place in the snow. So I cinched the butt bag up as tight as I could and tried both hands on the bars and a slightly more subdued trot, which again resulted in the fanny pack around my knees. Luckily I was moving slow enough that I was able to keep from falling on my face again, and decided that my best course of action was a cartoonish, bowlegged gallop to the end of the lake. That worked, and I pressed forward, ready to face the second 100 yards of the course with all I had to offer. <br /><br />We were off the lake now and into the short, gently rolling hills on our way out to the Big Su(sitna river). After a little bit of work passing some of the walkers and skiers that had passed me on the lake, I finally caught up with some other cyclists and was starting to feel a little bit more composed. Luckily I was on the back of the group when that #@$%!# fanny pack headed south again! This time It slumped down past my backside and grabbed hold of the back of my saddle, which, when I tried to dismount the bike to throw the bag and all my food as far as I could, resulted in me being stuck to my seat and falling over, awkwardly attached to my bike, into the deep snow on the side of the trail.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3358409154/" title="empujar by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3203/3358409154_d196305e84.jpg" width="500" height="377" alt="empujar" /></a><br /><br />The snow must’ve cooled my temper a bit as I decided to simply mount the bag messenger style around my torso and ride away. Again, I managed to catch up to some more riders, and we worked together for a while across the swamps, eventually spreading out enough to be alone. At one point, I decided to strap the fanny pack around my handlebar/bedroll, which worked fairly well for a temporary solution. Jill Homer, a cyclist from Juneau passed me at one point, It might have been on the slough leading into Flat Horn lake. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3358410476/" title="jilleo by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3658/3358410476_050484d0c8.jpg" width="500" height="312" alt="jilleo" /></a><br /><br />As I reached the ramp leading up to Kurt and Peggy’s cabin, I gave serious consideration to pulling a repeat of my failed attempt at the Su100 the year before, and hanging a left to take the quick way back my truck and calling it quits. I looked down at my bike, if only as an excuse to stand around a bit more and give myself time to concede to my quitter demons. It was then that I failed to discover the small stuff sac containing my super warm gloves, balaclava, hood, spare socks and some polypro pants. It must’ve fallen off at some point in the last what, 20 miles? WTF do I do? If I turned back to go get it, I knew that upon finding it, I would have just kept going back to the start, the bar, my truck. If I kept going without it, I was going to be without some fairly critical cold weather gear. I kept going, pushing along in the soft snow and headwind, hoping that someone would have picked it up somewhere along the way. I decided to ride to the first checkpoint at Yentna Station and wait, asking every racer that came in if they had seen it. <br /><br />As I traversed the edge of the lake, I could occasionally see other racers headlamps ahead of me as darkness fell quickly on the course. At the end of the lake, the trail entered a short stretch of alders and black spruce, and with the trail protected from the wind, I was actually able to ride on firm trail.<br /><br />A couple of swoopy turns and I see Juneau Jill off to the right of the trail, doing something with her lower pants leg. I ask if she’s alright, and she looks back at me and says something like, “Yeah, I’m just getting some stuff together.”. She looked embarrassed though, so I figured I had caught her peeing or something and tried to be non-chalant and said, “alright” and rode away. Girls get embarrassed about that kind of stuff.<br /><br />The riding didn’t last long, and upon reaching the dismal swamp I found myself pushing yet again. With the darkness came a really stiff headwind and a lot of cold. I pulled the hood of my windbreaker up, and would have to turn around every few minutes to let my face thaw out. There were headlamps on behind me, and I really didn’t want them to catch me. Eventually, one of them did. It was Jill. Good news. She wasn’t peeing. Bad news, she had stepped in a hole in the lake and her boot and sock were a block of ice. She couldn’t get the boot off back in the woods where I had seen her. Frost bite was a major concern with the wind and dropping temperature, and we discussed the option of her stopping to build a fire in the woods right before the river, thawing her foot out, and me riding ahead and sending help back for her. The other option was to ride hard to Yentna station and try to keep enough blood flowing to her foot to keep it warm. I was all set to offer her one of my spare sets of socks when I remembered that I had dropped them somewhere back on the course. When I reached the woods, she was nowhere to be seen, so it was obviously option B. I chatted with a skier, we shared some food, and off I went. The next while involved a little bit of riding and a lot of walking. The trail was marginally rideable, but I wasn’t marginally fit enough physically or mentally to ride it at that point. My hands were getting a little chilly, so I opened a heat pack, and would hold it on one hand for a few minutes, then switch, and back and forth.<br /><br />After a while, some of the riders I had been riding with earlier caught up to me, and I was thrilled beyond all belief to find that one of them had picked up my little stuff sac and carried it with them for me!! It was one of the Italian/Spanish riders and I thanked as best as my cold and tired mind could in Spanish. <br /><br />I ended up spending the remaining darkness hours on the porch at Luce’s Lodge, and upon waking, and upon the lodge opening for the day, went inside and treated myself to a big breakfast while my clothes dried by the fire. A few walkers were there as well. Turns out the rest of the competitors where only about 8 miles up the trail at the official first checkpoint, <a href="http://yentnastation.com/">Yentna Station</a>. When I found out how close I had been, I kicked myself for not continuing on to it. So off I went on a clear cold morning. I felt good, and was riding well. I made it to Yentna at I believe 11:30 or so, but of course, almost everyone had already left. By the time I left, day one of the 2009 ITI was just about over.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3358411718/" title="yentna station by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3458/3358411718_af80561a34.jpg" width="500" height="377" alt="yentna station" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/3357597149/" title="yentna by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3539/3357597149_c58b003181.jpg" width="500" height="377" alt="yentna" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-2009-days-2-3.html"><span style="font-weight:bold;">days 2 and 3</span>: http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-2009-days-2-3.html</a>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-14599511962017500712009-11-07T20:58:00.004-09:002009-11-08T20:57:24.930-09:00Talamh reoite, sonas ormWent for a little spin around Crev-Mo and Keppler today. First time on a bike since last weeks ass-chapathon. Wait, no, I played around a little bit the other day, but not for more than an hour... Anyway. Temps were right around 30, trails were frozen and fast. Threw the SSStump into it's girlie gear and left it there for the duration of the easy ride. <br /><br />Some instances of interest:<br /><br />Plastic shopping bags suck. Part of this trail system butts up against the Palmer dump. There's no odor that I've ever noticed, but the strong Matanuska wind blows hundreds upon hundreds of plastic shopping bags into the surrounding woods. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4084157109/" title="cmodump by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2561/4084157109_42fc7b5a36_m.jpg" width="240" height="162" alt="cmodump" /></a><br /><br />Seconds after taking this photo, I ran into one of the valley's chainsaw gnomes. Anchorage has chainsaw fairies, the Valley has gnomes. He was cutting out a bunch of the blow downs that were blocking the trails. I helped him get some branches off the trail, thanked him, and rode away. He was riding with an ancient looking frame pack and what looked like a 20" bladed Stihl... I ran into him a few times throughout the ride. For someone carrying a chainsaw and stopping to cut trees along the way, he was keeping a pretty damned good pace. Real Gnomes don't show up in photos, so I didn't bother.<br /><br />Saw some fungus.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4084914794/" title="cmoppfungus2 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2564/4084914794_0b79e142ff_m.jpg" width="240" height="160" alt="cmoppfungus2" /></a><br /><br />Had some fun.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4084914656/" title="cmombm by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2450/4084914656_d97f8e2287_m.jpg" width="161" height="240" alt="cmombm" /></a><br /><br />Fell down a bunch.<br /><br /><object width="400" height="300"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=7495311&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=7495311&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="300"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/7495311">Untitled</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user2268738">sean grady</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p><br /><br />Lost my keys. Purty sunset. Beer. The end.<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4084914448/" title="cmoss2 by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2557/4084914448_aa474c0710_m.jpg" width="240" height="140" alt="cmoss2" /></a>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-59884857185516710102009-11-02T17:37:00.005-09:002009-11-02T17:59:16.044-09:00The Manly Soap Review - Installment 1I stink. I'm a man, and if I don't keep on top of it, I have some rather strong odors that only I(and one particular ex-GF) seem to appreciate. So, in order to not ostracize myself further than my bubbly personality already does, regular bathing is a must. Now, when it comes to soap, I've developed some kinda picky quirks. I used to be vegan way back in the whenever ago, and the vegetable based soaps thing has stuck with me. I also can't be bothered with different soaps for face, hands and body. 'Natural' is also good, for whatever reason, as is not-produced-by-a-big-computerized-machine. I would also like to specifically not smell like I'm on my way to a club after taking a bath in some awful cologne. <br /><br />So, last week, I went about ordering a bunch of different handmade soaps from handmade soap shops on Etsy.com<br /><br />I looked around a bunch using the search tools, and started a thread in their forums asking to be pointed towards "Manly Soaps". Both yielded the results I was looking for, and within a day or so, I had bookmarked enough different soaps from several different vendors to, hopefully, last me the better part of a year. I ordered, and paid(in full) for the soaps on, I think it was, Wednesday of last week.<br /><br />I promised the vendors that I would do reviews on my blog of the soaps I liked out of the batch. Therefor, I present to you the first installment of:<br /><br />Sean's Manly Soap Review<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">And They're OFF!!!</span><br /><br />Received email notifications of the shipping of manly soap from 3 of the vendors I ordered from this morning. Went to the beer store, then the rent store this afternoon and when I came back, sitting on the kitchen counter waiting for me was the first package of manly soap from one of the other vendors I ordered from! A++ right off the bat to Kelly Fielder of <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/greenhavensoaps">GreenHavenSoaps</a> for supafast shipping! All of the soaps I received from her smell awesome out of the box. <br /><br />Here's a link to her shop:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/greenhavensoaps">http://www.etsy.com/shop/greenhavensoaps<br /></a><br />and her website:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.greenhavensoaps.com">http://www.greenhavensoaps.com</a><br /><br />This is not a mark against the other vendors by any means at all. It's just kind of like extra credit for Miss Fielder. <br /><br />I'll take a shower tonight, since, coincidentally, I happen to stink right now, and report my findings in the morning.seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178577990849237700.post-31843379447377203292009-11-01T10:36:00.004-09:002009-11-01T11:00:15.440-09:00luain lasrach, toin lasrach....Big group ride up over Hatcher pass and down to Meadow Lakes yesterday. Last year's iteration of this ride saw more than a foot of snow on the ground, this years, barely any. It also saw me making a hasty retreat with frozen toes before even making it to the parking lot at Independence mine. This year saw 14 riders, 12 fat bikes, 11 bikes with fat tires, two different fat tire tread patterns, @60 miles, over a pass, beer, bar-b-que and good company.<br /><br />I set my alarm for 5am in order to get myself and the Karate monkey shod and ready for the ride, after spending most of Friday breaking a sewing machine. Got up at 4:59, before the alarm, and was then woken at 8:11 by a phone call from Mark, of <a href="http://wildfirecycles.com/">Wildfire cycles</a>, offering me a lift to the 10AM start. So it was a speedy shower, breakfast, try to find clean riding clothes appropriate for the weather, and through the only completely assembled bike I have (the SSStump) in the back of the truck and try not to forget anything important...<br /><br />We barely made it to the parking lot before the group took off. Quickly got the bikes together, restaged the group start photos, and took off, immediately hitting a steep, 2 mile climb in the cold alpine air. That one hurt the lungs a bit, and while the SSStump is, in fact, a girlie multi-speed contraption, it's easiest gear is a 32f x 24r, so I was soon walking at about the same pace people were riding<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4064035493/" title="1stclimb by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2788/4064035493_44bfa5335e.jpg" width="500" height="307" alt="1stclimb" /></a><br /><br />It was refreshing to see a variety of fat tire tread patterns in the snow.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4064036835/" title="variety by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2449/4064036835_1a47dd0e08.jpg" width="477" height="500" alt="variety" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4064038219/" title="markclimb by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2431/4064038219_338a85fdc8.jpg" width="380" height="500" alt="markclimb" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4064039671/" title="bobspider by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3517/4064039671_5982e79681.jpg" width="344" height="500" alt="bobspider" /></a><br /><br />colorful fat bikes<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4064789608/" title="colorfats by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2482/4064789608_4bb1c883ce.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="colorfats" /></a><br /><br />colorful people<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4064790550/" title="billiebones by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2563/4064790550_536e5dd3d6.jpg" width="461" height="500" alt="billiebones" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4064044717/" title="smilesdhill by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2699/4064044717_9df85a32cc.jpg" width="500" height="334" alt="smilesdhill" /></a><br /><br />From the top of the pass, it was an incredibly fun ripper of a downhill. @3600' of elevation lost. Perfect trail conditions, frozen and fast without a hint of ice.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4064794468/" title="hairpinpeleton by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3501/4064794468_59fdcb4a72.jpg" width="500" height="306" alt="hairpinpeleton" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4064796570/" title="herningpeleton by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3504/4064796570_b815482ce8.jpg" width="500" height="284" alt="herningpeleton" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4064051695/" title="willowgroup by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2510/4064051695_d67ef82902.jpg" width="500" height="254" alt="willowgroup" /></a><br /><br />The group was dramatically reduced in size after the bar, and the rest of the ride was on bike path. My thighs were starting to burn by the time we got there, 30 or so miles in. The bacon cheeseburger and beer didn't help that as much as I though they would. <br /><br />just your everyday team of huskies pulling a four wheeler down the bike path....<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4064801366/" title="teamquad by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2487/4064801366_7448c6b3b9.jpg" width="440" height="500" alt="teamquad" /></a><br /><br />About ten miles from the Frank's cabin(the finish), we rounded a bend into a direct Matanuska head wind, laced with airborne glacial silt. My burning thighs became cramping thighs, and the SSStump was relegated to the wussiest two of it's 4 working gears. It was during this stretch that I also really began to regret forgetting to apply some shammy butter... We soldiered on through it though, and were rewarded with a feast of chili, brats, baked goods, beer, coffee and a warm cabin, all courtesy of our hosts and friends. <br /><br />The finishers: beer, bar-b-que and excellent hospitality were the reward.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/72475478@N00/4064054919/" title="finishers by anrothardonn, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2593/4064054919_a92889e355.jpg" width="500" height="339" alt="finishers" /></a>seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12741214740991909913noreply@blogger.com2