09 Alaska Ultrasport Rohn

continued from: http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-rainy-pass-attack.html

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.

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.



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.





The days travels started with foot trampled singletrack that gave us all a bit of trouble.





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.



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.





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.

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..







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.





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.



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.

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.

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!

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.

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.


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.

Rohn to bivy: http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-rohn-to-first-bivy.html

09 Alaska Ultrasport Rainy Pass Attack #2

previous chapter: http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-day-off.html


Faffing isn’t as dirty of a word as it sounds, though I suppose it could be used to describe something dirty….

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.

And so we did get going, as soon as George was done faffing about. :D

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.



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.



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.

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!



Roger having an intimate moment with his water bottle. You've seriously gotta try this trick next time you're cold...




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.







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.

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?”,

“Yeah?” I obliviously responded.

“I think there’s an ’I’ in there…”

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…..



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.

We shared a meal of biscuites, cakes, cookies, nuts, fat(cut from prosciutto) and trail mix. It was delicious.



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.



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.












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.

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.

Mike looked up to the pass, then looked back. He was thinking about it. “How long are you going to stop(stay?)?”

Before George had a chance to say something silly, I yelled out “Half hour. Tops. I’m sick of breaking trail.”

Even from that distance I could see the demented grin creep across Mike’s face as he replied, simply, “My turn.” and marched onward.

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.

I would not see Curiak again for 4 days.



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.

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.

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.

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.

Alaska Ultrasport Day off....

continued from the report of my retreat from Rainy Pass: http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-2009-rainy-pass.html


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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

It took me a while to get to sleep I was so giddy with anticipation.


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.


I press on in the next chapter: http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/09-alaska-ultrasport-rainy-pass-attack.html

Alaska Ultrasport 2009 Rainy Pass retreat.

continued from my day 2-3 report: http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-2009-days-2-3.html

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.

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.

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.

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 Holitna River Lodge. 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.


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.

Snow was falling steadily as I finally laid my head down for a good nights sleep.

---

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.

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.



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.





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.





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.



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.



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.





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.







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.

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.



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.



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.

In this photo, you can see the hole Marco and Alberto had been curled up in. Gritty stuff.




Oh but it aint over…… http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-day-off.html

Alaska Ultrasport 2009 Days 2 & 3

Day 2 and 3

continued from my Day 1 report: http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/slow-ride-alaska-ultrasport-2009-day-1.html



Leaving Yentna Station 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.



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 Skwentna Station bunkhousecheckpoint just after dark. It was dinner time, so I sat down to a burger and chips.



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’.

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.



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.



It meant the trail for at least a little while would be groomed and fast, and it was.



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.



I left before noon, and honestly, all I remember of the next leg of the trip to Wintererlake Lodge 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.







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 Checkpoint 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.



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.



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.



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.

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.



I managed to only go OTB once, in spectacular fashion:



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.



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 Rainy Pass Lodge, the next checkpoint! Can’t be more than a couple hundred yards now!”.



Then I saw another one.



And another one.



And another one….



“How many friggen people live out here?!?” I remember remarking to myself.



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...

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...





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.



I reached the checkpoint cabin at Rainy Pass Lodge, 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.

Marco on bike, Marco on foot, Alberto, Frank and Bob all decided to press on into the storm.

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.

Day 4+ : http://seansalach.blogspot.com/2009/12/alaska-ultrasport-2009-rainy-pass.html