Friday, November 19, 2010
None of gain or losses put in the mind
needs real strenght to prove.The Rao is the core of sword brigade, Wu Chen is also helpless now, snow can not go down again, five Hai persons storm casts covetous eyes UGG Boots on at the underneath and all probably attackstones oneself in the body at any time, if stop in the sky, ice snow of the big piece is endless to fall in, the spiritual influence is rapid in the depletion, the dint of working properly of everybody now not arrive 3 F.The God has no road and go into ground have no door.At this time, allow to fly Yu fiercely once the tooth bite, blunt Wu Chen makes expression of eyes, Wu Chen understands."Gather."Wu Chen shouts at top of voice.The flight that is quickly public to resist sword, gather to arrive together."What matter?"Wu Chen is brief to ask a way."Senior, shine on if this continues, we don,t lose can not."Allowed to fly Yu to briefly say 1.Scolding of turn son spirit 1:"His grandmother of, this group is still true unorthodox.""Do not talk, listen to the small Yu saying."If Wu Chen is outrage interrupted turn son and arrived now, Wu Chen is heart also some hasty.4 people part strain of stare at to allow to fly Yu, part awake head up hit the next snowflake."The matter also only has wager a till now, if I and small loose tie up to deal with 3 people, you can 4 quickly take down another 2 people?"Allow to fly Yu simple and direct say.Star chapter 35 of the third tomorrow gives up life one shot(beg to collect)"Your meaning BE?"Wu Chen had some to hesitate."I and small loose, we 2 tie up that core pupil, and two pupils of his the right side, you are four with all strength attackstone, can knock down two guys of the left side!""Ability!"The ghost sword nowise hesitates a way."But, words like this, are you not very dangerous?"Wu Chen makes it lively for a way."The big match just just started, although I before thoughted of, none of gain or losses put in the mind,had already hoped to can not give up, if admit defeat like this now, how to the pain that starts to get us this month, how to start to get teacher the uncles expectation to us?"Allow to fly Yu to loudly say."That is all right, you must be careful, really didn,t go us to admit defeat to calculate, can must not take into life, you have to know, this game is unlimited to make to kill."Wu Chen hard instructs a way."Trust, I from have a plan."Allowed to fly Yu to clap the shoulder of clapping Wu Chen."Wait a meeting, I descend first to go, you spot opportune
But become reality
wring into a piece of piece of mince, and dragon in the sky sends of the defense isn,t originally strong, dangerous larger.The territory of ice storm, the nature is the place that implies breeze snow, but imply breeze snow place, undoubtedly is the whole platform, five people if continue foolish in the on the stage, afraid of meeting moment dead, but snow platform, be admit defeat on one is own initiative, be eliminated to bowl out.Very critical moment, Wu Chen was the function of core pupil to suggest and yell 1:"Rise!"Directly resist sword to fly, another 3 people also quickly keep up with and fly toward half to get empty.The small loose figure is one Shan, arrived to allow to fly in the Yu shoulder, allowed to fly Yu to quickly resist sword to start to fly, stayed away this breeze blade."Hum!Think to fly to the air safety?"The core pupil of ice frost canyon sneers at a , immediately after a roars:"Ice snow floats zero!"Together the pupil of five ice frost canyon volley moves, the satisfied ray of light in white arrived to maximize, the snowflake becomes palm size, hard fall in in succession from the public head over the steel.Air of five personal quickly flick sword to resist, but the snowflake seems endless endless, continuously of downfall, will public make in most distressed, ghost sword and white is enjoying be all collapsed ground snowflake to make a few sons.Under the set of the audience directly saw silly, a stretches neck to hope, mouth big piece.The first elimination series, the battle is also a little aer lot too big, even recruited breeze snow to come out.A drum rings at this time, the third game beginning, but the audience has no 1 to leave, to them, this game was really too struck with fright or horror, too bloody, stimulate too much.They are enjoying this rare sense of vision royal feast.Here, ice frost canyon is that middle age man is noodles is expressionless to looking at this act, the expression is very easy.He has already guessed the final outcome that settles a dispute feeling, so is pure now the attitude for appreciating is lookinging at;Long Pai this place in sky, soars to the skies, flies in the void up the lookinging at of person misgiving air of public, can not help breaking out into cold perspiration for this helping pupil.Cold Anne is brain one blank, turn over to reply in brain go to only have a words:"To lose Yao wanted to lose, this how may, just started the first game losing."Other 5 for repair pupil to also worry of looking at public, devotes major efforts of the center of palms all have already emitted sweat, but perhaps is oneself up, also difficult escape a to hurt.This is the game, this is UGG Boots On Sale the mainland of Xuan Feng,the star of tomorrow,elite match, like to be the elite in the elite, how probably so easy, think up literally compare row several bottoms, then win, at last and more dream of true, became ten thousand many champions of attentions, this however is several imaginations in the heart of hundred million young men in the mainland just.Imagination, who all will, but become reality, that is effort that needs to be more than to imagine of, that
To saw one eye
-looking, but see with own eyes, still not from of marvel, five figures, heroic fighting, behind still follow the small tail in a black, really strange go to pole.In front once 5 people visit in the body that the opponent offend and quickly enlarge spiritual influence, input front teammate, finally deliver the other party that core pupil body.Once the that core pupil facial expression change and yell 1:"The shield of Ning frost!"Is satisfied to become transparent gradually in the hand, dissolve for the integral whole with air, after a second, the transparent circle shield of a Zhang remaining in front breadth presents, the circle shield is also transparent, and can be misty to see some traces.The front and back of the pupil in five ice frost canyon mutually arrives, the circle shield protects whole body and prepares a hard anti- to attackstone this time."Mao …… Mao ……" is five continuous the powerful sword spirit hurtle to the circle is in the shield and continue to bump shot shield at the circle up, although circle the shield bump of cave goes in a lot,still doesn,t break.The "Mao" small loose claw son knot burliness actually bumps shield at the circle up, living circle the shield broke open 1 F indentation, but also just break open indentation, be still can not again further.The shield of Ning frost defendoofs dint to strongly come from anticipating of owner, and under this kind of environment, the public speed was subjected to tremendous influence, the impact dint sent out is to greatly give discount."Ji Ji" is small loose to feel suspicious of touch cerebellum bag, Shan in eye one silk perplexed air."Back!"Wu UGG Boots UK Chen Di drinks 1 and jumps up to fly to back, rest 4 people follow backward a disease to back, small the loose figure is one Shan, also UGG Classic Tall Boots backed to go out.Five pupils of ice frost canyon, UGG Boots On Sale to saw one eye, surprise not already, the list all isn,t likely to arrive with their any one persons thus violent attack, but match 5 people is dint, but come to a the effect of half effort and double results.Five pupils to Long Jian Dui in the sky, and then organized to several times take the offensive, but all had no achievement but returned."Long Jian Dui in the sky is spiritual influence also consumed about."The core pupil of ice frost canyon tooks a look the opponent of tiny breather and has ready plans to meet a situation a way, " underneath should we made moves.""With great of the name of ice snow fairy, the ice storm, appear, expel your territory of these mole cricket and ants."Five pupil godlinesses looking at a dark sky, together the voice shouts a way.Five three Zhang remainings grow of the white breeze blade appear before five human faces without basis, the breeze blade book snowflake that wear to float in the sky, as gobbling up the black hole of creation, five pupils sending toward the dragon in sky take everything away.If the body run into these breeze blades and afraid of a meeting in a twinkling be gone in by book,
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Choking on the TV drama to speak of people smile and nod students
Mr Chen looked contemptuously, with contempt in mind that you still by Duan Panzi thirties living in wretched uncle, hold your breath, just a care in the opening
smile.
"You are what school, Ke?" This point was extremely ambiguous, direct to the other three girls spitting UGG Ultra Tall Boots out the mouth of the meal, straining patting his chest, one of
the little fat girl said: "Qing Lin University sophomore Literature ... ... ... ... "
Throat, choking on the TV drama to speak of people smile and nod students.
"Oh, Qing Lin University of ah. Good universities, good universities."
The girl stared fiercely at a glance, Sun Kelong face, nodded helplessly.
"Mr Chen!"
This is how the word sounds so sensitive
Chen made to hold a single cell plate, the Sun Ke the action to be ignored. Bent, body tilted forward the incredible 45 °, Couguo face, eyes closed, deep breath.
"Ah ... ... you still so fragrant! Or the taste of night."
Sun UGG Classic Short Boots Ke pushing hands, the body almost fell to the ground, and help students look at their own four. Only three of their Westernstyle care of eating pasta, drinking his
soup, from time to time raised his eyes, and rejoiced in watching Sun Ke, one of the shrug, Du Zhuozui, shaking his head.
Three hearts are with the care of Lehe: night? This is how the word sounds so sensitive.
"Oh, you, you ah in this work." Sun Le Xin regretted her screamed at that time.
"Ah, 是 ah." Chen back very simply.
Sun Ke was UGG Bailey Button in the heart made up his mind, the next dead do not come this breakfast!
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Primal Quest 08
Primal Quest Montana – The view from (part of) Too Much Fun Club, Team # 34 Written by Rick Bertasi
Race Day – Monday 23 June
Everybody was a bit nervous this morning. All the training, all the preparation, all the travel (from the east and west coasts of the US, and from the UK), all of it pointed to 10:00 local time on June 23rd. Actually, it pointed to 10:05, but who knew that in advance?
Our team was Sarah Bertasi (Captain), in her 4th PQ (Telluride, Tahoe, Moab and Montana) and 5th expedition race (Eco-Fiji); Jean Desrosiers in his 2nd PQ (Moab); Rick Bertasi (me) in my 3rd PQ (Telluride and Tahoe), and our outstanding rookie, Jeff Craddock in his first Adventure Race of any type. I know, can you imagine? What kind of whacko does PQ as his very first race? But hey, he was standing at the starting line ready to go, so off go we would!
Tuesday 24 June – Day 2
Once we were across the bridge and through CP6, we started our hike out past the Nine Quarter Circle Ranch, and as we walked down the road a few cowboys came the other way with what must have been a hundred horses. Now I was wishing I had listened to that lecture at the starting line, because there were a LOT of horses, and they were each way bigger and better rested than us and coming right down the road at us.
They were beautiful to watch. Tempting as it might seem, we had no desire to wrangle one and ride it to the next CP. Sarah’s horse had gone over backwards with her still on it at PQ Moab, so we gave them a bit of distance and just enjoyed the beauty of the moment.
At CP7/TA2 our support crew got the first taste of what it was really like to support four highly determined, well trained, well prepared racers – they got to watch other teams who got there before us. We arrived in no condition except poor. Jeff was a wreck and all of us were only too happy to sit and take off our packs. We looked ragged at best, and it occurred to me for the first time that maybe it wasn’t so good for Margaret to see her parents like this. It might cause a loss of decorum at the Sunday dinner table. It was a fleeting thought, not because it was of no concern, only because at that moment every thought was fleeting. Brain waves were more like brain nudges.
From this CP we were to transition to the River and whitewater kayaking. Pysched – a chance to get off our feet and maybe heal them a bit in the cold water (40 degrees F). Plus the water would provide the propulsion, so all we had to do was stay in the boat and keep it upright through the rapids. Unfortunately, here is where our race starting getting screwy.
We rested, ate, prepped and headed to depart the CP/TA in plenty of time to complete both the kayak and white water swim sections before dark fell and the river section would close (it closes each night for the night for safety reasons). Much to our surprise, we then learned that there were too few kayaks, so we could either a) wait in the TA, but we would be in line behind anyone who chose to check out of the TA, or b) check out of the TA, cross the road, and wait by the river. Sit and wait, that is, in the blazing sun. As it was, we took our chances by the river, and our crew was allowed to provide assistance there even though it was outside the TA. So Darroch and Bert assembled a tent there to provide us some shade, which I promptly crawled inside of. Jeff stayed outside, with Bert holding a canopy over him. This way when he vomited (mosty dry heaving, but some goodies were still coming up), this way it wasn’t on us, his teammates.
After a short hour or so, we had 2 kayaks and were off! We quickly caught a few teams and once again were starting to feel better. That is, 3 of us were feeling better. Jeff, who was in the bow of my kayak, was dry heaving. We were having some fun in the easy section of the river, building our confidence and paddling well as we headed downriver to the heavy water section, except Jeff was getting sea sick. He and I agreed though, that wherever the vomit went was of no great concern as long as he stayed inside the kayak. Jeff outside the kayak – bad. Jeff inside the kayak – good. Vomit – of no concern (hey, he had been dry heaving for hours. How bad could inside the kayak get?)
As we came around one curve, a crazy local was out on the river bank waving and yelling encouragement to us. We came little closer, you know, so he could get a good photo and we could bask in his enthusiasm and encouragement. Only, he wasn’t a local and he for sure was not too encouraging. He was yelling at us to get out of the river and abandon that section. Jeff and I pulled over, no easy task when the river is moving at 8500 cfs, but we pulled up on the shore and jumped out quickly and proceeded to help Sarah and Jean stop, plus the teams we had just passed. The river was closed. Too many teams in front of us, just in front of us, had required rescues. For safety Don Mann, PQ Race Director, had closed the river. Bummer.
In the insult to injury category, we had to haul our boats out of the river and to the road and wait for an official transport to be arranged. No hitchhiking allowed either. But wait, it gets worse. Transport arrived reasonably quickly and we were driven to TA4.
Now for a race rules interlude. Due to the small size of several parking areas, teams were forbidden to use RVs over 25’. It was written in the race updates to all teams months in advance. As no RVs under 25’ could be rented anywhere near Big Sky, we rented a 22’ RV in Salt Lake and Jeff and Bert drove it to Montana. Upon arrival, it was clear this rule had been optional. RVs were there ranging up to 30’, and there were no consequences. OK, lesson learned – next time we get the mega RV! Back to the race.
Due to the small parking area at TA4 Storm Castle, not enough RVs could fit there. So crews were not being allowed to leave TA2 until a fixed time after their racers had left. Since we were no longer kayaking, however, we got to TA4 in no time onnly to find our crew not there, and race officials unable to tell us where they might be.
Race officials are volunteers mostly, and they do a great job. Even the closing of the river, disappointed though we were, it was unquestionably the correct call. But this one, well, they needed some better communications on this one. I asked the officials to call TA2 and confirm our team had left, but it didn’t happen. When the crew showed up 2 hours later, I went over and let the officials know to stop searching for them, at which time I was advised they were about to make the call to TA2 to see if they were there. Better late than never I suppose, but not really any help then. Our crew was held in TA2, not allowed to leave, while we sat on the grass at TA4 in wetsuits and booties. It was demoralizing to be sitting there accomplishing nothing. But at least Victoria was there giving out free massages. Hey, it helped us spend a couple of wasted hours.
The Radioactive Beagles were kind enough to share some food and drinks with us while we waited. We knew Robert Beauchamp, Beagles captain, from prior races, and we saw him and his teammates repeatedly throughout the race, which was a combination of their challenges (one teammate had to drop due to injury), and the sequence of the course.
While waiting Jeff also got help with his stomach from the medical support. They gave him a shot and recommended 4 to 6 hours of sleep, so we relaxed and let him sleep. Of course, seeing as he was sleeping, we did the same.
We left CP 10/TA 4 as dusk and then dark descended on us. The hike up Storm Castle Creek was uneventful, though we paid some attention to it as we knew we would see this part of the course 2 more times. We turned up Telephone Ridge under the cover of solid darkness. There probably is a good reason it is named Telephone Ridge, but if so, it sure wasn’t too obvious in the dark. No sign of anything remotely related to the telephone part, but plenty of evidence for the ridge part of that name. The climb went from 6,000’ to 9,000’ and we climbed staright through the night. During the middle of the night we caught up to team HART who had passed us on the initial ascent to the ridge. Together we followed the sketchy trail and basically bushwhacked our way to the top of
the ridge, then turned northwest along the ridge to start the descent to 8,720’ feet and re-join the trail. The last 2 hours of the ascent were in snow, which made footing tricky and following the trail more of an aspiration than a fact. Unfortunately, this was the second poor navigating decision I made. We should have turned NW at 8700’ vertical and followed the contour, saving our legs from the extra 300’ vertical ascent and descent. In the felled tree forest at 2 am which was this ridge, we opted for the certainty and nav security of the ridge line.
We crested the ridge just before sun up. It was beautiful. Quiet, stunning views, and lots of snow e
verywhere. So, eager to descend, I glissaded several hundred vertical feet down into a snow bowl on the far side of the ridge. This snow was frozen from the overnight chill, so it was a lot faster and bumpier on the seat than our initial glissade on Lone Peak. Jeff followed me down, and we stood waiting for and Sarah. Oops. It turns out that poor communication resulted in a misunderstanding - we weren’t meant to go down this bowl. My haste for the easy descent meant we were in a bowl east of the intended course of travel. Well, it being a lot easier to come down than go up, Sarah and Jean did join us, but HART kept to the ridge in search of the trail. Sarah’s patience was tested this morning, but she still loved me. At least that was my operating assumption.
Race Day – Monday 23 June
Everybody was a bit nervous this morning. All the training, all the preparation, all the travel (from the east and west coasts of the US, and from the UK), all of it pointed to 10:00 local time on June 23rd. Actually, it pointed to 10:05, but who knew that in advance?
Our team was Sarah Bertasi (Captain), in her 4th PQ (Telluride, Tahoe, Moab and Montana) and 5th expedition race (Eco-Fiji); Jean Desrosiers in his 2nd PQ (Moab); Rick Bertasi (me) in my 3rd PQ (Telluride and Tahoe), and our outstanding rookie, Jeff Craddock in his first Adventure Race of any type. I know, can you imagine? What kind of whacko does PQ as his very first race? But hey, he was standing at the starting line ready to go, so off go we would!
We were pretty excited to get the race started. PQ Tahoe, in Sept. 2003, had been my last AR of any kind, and the last time Sarah and I raced together. While waiting they announced that snowshoes were now optional for this section, so we gladly relinquished them to our crew and waited for the start. We listened to the details about what to do if you encountered a horse on the trail, and waited. Our newest friends, the Ainsworth family of Big Sky, even turned out to see us off!
In a really small world twist of fate, good friends in London, Steve and Kate Day (fellow Dartmouth ’84 grads) had family in Big Sky in the form of Kathy and Walt Ainsworth. The Ainsworth’s were kind enough to let us ship our gear to their house in advance of the race, so we packed it all up and sent it out 3 weeks early to give UPS time for the international transport. In the end, only 3 of 4 packages arrived, my bike box having gone missing. Fortunately, with the extra time we had allowed we were able to replace the missing gear, most important borrowing an even better bike from past PQ teammate Larry O’Neill (it was returned in a slightly more used condition, but more on that later). The race started and we were off. At that moment we were as close to teams Nike, Merrel et al as we would ever again be until the awards dinner. And even then we weren’t this close to them. Up close and before the race they looked merely mortal. Afterwards, well, I am not certain. The opening leg was3600’ up to the top of Lone Peak, and then a thrilling glissade back down. I didn’t know it prior to Montana, but gl
issade is a French word which apparently means “butt-slide in the snow.” Jean and Jeff led the slide down and I followed Sarah. Given our relative attitudes towards crazy speeds, I caught her about half way down and we did a sort of tandem from there down. PQ photographers got a photo of us at the bottom and it even made the web site. We were famous! Well, actually, Sarah was. Once again the photo was a great shot of her, with a grizzly looking smudge behind her (moi). Anyway, Lone Mountain is beautiful, and the view from the top was spectacular. It was a great way to start the race, and great fun. We were 37th at the top of the mountain, and not too concerned about it. There was a lot of racing to go.
After jogging the trail portion of the descent we returned to the Big Sky Plaza, and met our support crew for the first time under race conditions. Jim “Bert” Craddock (Jeff’s dad), Darroch Greer (Sarah’s brother), Greer Michael (our 17 year old niece), and Margy Bertasi (our 15 year old daughter) were the crew. As you can see, it was a complete family affair.
We were a little slow coming out of the Transition Area (TA) as the crew was not quite prepared for us to be there that soon, and this was their first TA ever. Food was delivered, shoes were changed, a new trekking pole purchased, and off we went, pretty excited but now ready for the first real challenge – the hike to TA2 at Sage Creek.
The hike was 37 miles, heading up and over the ridge north of Big Sky to Check Point 4, then down the valley and south to Ousel Falls. FYI, there are two types of locations you must attend during a supported adventure race like PQ Montana. The first is a checkpoint. This is where you have to go en route to the next check point, and where, upon arriving, you continue in the same way which you arrived – keeping on either biking or hiking or whatever. He second is a Transition Area, which is where you
arrived doing one thing, say biking, and left doing another, say hiking. At Checkpoints you do not get support. At Transitions you typically get support since your crew has to give you the gear you need for the next section, and get back from you the gear you needed for the last section.
We passed a bunch of teams during the hike, and continued to jog or pick up the pace on flats and easy sections. The hike up First Yellow Mule creek was tough on me as the pace we were setting was fast going up hill, so Jean kindly gave me a tow. Even then we were catching and passing teams, so our enthusiasm was pretty high. You might even say this is when our fevered enthusiasm peaked.
As night started to fall we stopped at about 9,200 feet for a quick bite, 10 minute rest and to put on some warmer gear. With the sun going down, it was getting cold fast.
We got going again, and found that the snow in the bowl north of Buck’s Ridge pretty well hid all trails. We followed the pack of teams, got to the ridge and made a poor decision, courtesy of yours truly. We headed left, Southeast along the ridge, looking to then f
ind a spot to drop down from the ridge to get to the trail at the bottom. It worked well right up until the part where we put on our snowshoes (we had them with us for this section after the TA at Big Sky), and then started down the valley to the creek at the bottom and the trail on the other side.
I assume most of you have never hiked through a clear cut forest when the trees are still there, as it would be crazy hard work. Neither had I till this night. So imagine, lots of felled trees, lots of snow melt in the form of running water (pretty much running water everywhere), snowshoes, and a nice steep decline to hike. In the dark. And cold. And pretty soon wet. Yup, enthusiasm was going down quickly.
It really just was not too much fun just then.
After, oh, what seemed forever but was really only 1400 vertical feet, we approached the trail, got on it and started hiking. I’d tell you what time that was but I rea
lly have no idea, as my brain was well switched off by then. I do know that a few hours later we stopped about 3 miles short of CheckPoint (CP) #6 to get a little sleep. By then Jeff had begun vomiting, and it was decided that some rest and daylight would allow us to pick up our speed considerably.
For those of you who have ever slept on the ground, cold, wet, and exhausted, while teams walk past you in the dark, their feet hitting the ground about 4 feet from your head, you know it is not the most restful of sleeps. For those of you who haven’t experienced this, go ahead and try it. Let me know later if you disagree with me. But at least it was rest.
The funny thing about this was that at the pre-race meeting the nice lady from the Forest Service told us all about the grizzly and black bears we would encounter: how to use our pepper spray (it comes out at 70 mph and works up to 30 feet. Wait until the bear gets that close. If you shoot it when he/she starts their charge and are, say, still 50’ away, well then bad things are gonna happen), and not to use our food as a pillow while sleeping in the woods (bears like the food. If your head is in the way, other bad things could happen).
So we laid down to rest. With my food, safely inside my backpack, snugly nestled directly below my head. And I still have my head, and Sarah hers (she did the same. We even snuggled together, in case the bear would have to get both of us, plus it saves body heat and promotes a stronger marriage).
We rallied while it was still dark and headed out of these mountains! Jeff was still hurting, so we took his pack and set him loose trying to increase team speed a bit. As the sun rose we arrived at CP6, well, or close to it at least as we stood looking at it from the wrong side of Taylor Creek. We searched and then did find the bridge over what the map referred to as Taylor Creek. I need to talk to the MYTOPO.COM guys who supplied the map. It kept saying creek everywhere we went, but this was no creek (again).
In a really small world twist of fate, good friends in London, Steve and Kate Day (fellow Dartmouth ’84 grads) had family in Big Sky in the form of Kathy and Walt Ainsworth. The Ainsworth’s were kind enough to let us ship our gear to their house in advance of the race, so we packed it all up and sent it out 3 weeks early to give UPS time for the international transport. In the end, only 3 of 4 packages arrived, my bike box having gone missing. Fortunately, with the extra time we had allowed we were able to replace the missing gear, most important borrowing an even better bike from past PQ teammate Larry O’Neill (it was returned in a slightly more used condition, but more on that later). The race started and we were off. At that moment we were as close to teams Nike, Merrel et al as we would ever again be until the awards dinner. And even then we weren’t this close to them. Up close and before the race they looked merely mortal. Afterwards, well, I am not certain. The opening leg was3600’ up to the top of Lone Peak, and then a thrilling glissade back down. I didn’t know it prior to Montana, but gl
issade is a French word which apparently means “butt-slide in the snow.” Jean and Jeff led the slide down and I followed Sarah. Given our relative attitudes towards crazy speeds, I caught her about half way down and we did a sort of tandem from there down. PQ photographers got a photo of us at the bottom and it even made the web site. We were famous! Well, actually, Sarah was. Once again the photo was a great shot of her, with a grizzly looking smudge behind her (moi). Anyway, Lone Mountain is beautiful, and the view from the top was spectacular. It was a great way to start the race, and great fun. We were 37th at the top of the mountain, and not too concerned about it. There was a lot of racing to go.
After jogging the trail portion of the descent we returned to the Big Sky Plaza, and met our support crew for the first time under race conditions. Jim “Bert” Craddock (Jeff’s dad), Darroch Greer (Sarah’s brother), Greer Michael (our 17 year old niece), and Margy Bertasi (our 15 year old daughter) were the crew. As you can see, it was a complete family affair.
We were a little slow coming out of the Transition Area (TA) as the crew was not quite prepared for us to be there that soon, and this was their first TA ever. Food was delivered, shoes were changed, a new trekking pole purchased, and off we went, pretty excited but now ready for the first real challenge – the hike to TA2 at Sage Creek.
The hike was 37 miles, heading up and over the ridge north of Big Sky to Check Point 4, then down the valley and south to Ousel Falls. FYI, there are two types of locations you must attend during a supported adventure race like PQ Montana. The first is a checkpoint. This is where you have to go en route to the next check point, and where, upon arriving, you continue in the same way which you arrived – keeping on either biking or hiking or whatever. He second is a Transition Area, which is where you
arrived doing one thing, say biking, and left doing another, say hiking. At Checkpoints you do not get support. At Transitions you typically get support since your crew has to give you the gear you need for the next section, and get back from you the gear you needed for the last section.We passed a bunch of teams during the hike, and continued to jog or pick up the pace on flats and easy sections. The hike up First Yellow Mule creek was tough on me as the pace we were setting was fast going up hill, so Jean kindly gave me a tow. Even then we were catching and passing teams, so our enthusiasm was pretty high. You might even say this is when our fevered enthusiasm peaked.
As night started to fall we stopped at about 9,200 feet for a quick bite, 10 minute rest and to put on some warmer gear. With the sun going down, it was getting cold fast.
We got going again, and found that the snow in the bowl north of Buck’s Ridge pretty well hid all trails. We followed the pack of teams, got to the ridge and made a poor decision, courtesy of yours truly. We headed left, Southeast along the ridge, looking to then f
ind a spot to drop down from the ridge to get to the trail at the bottom. It worked well right up until the part where we put on our snowshoes (we had them with us for this section after the TA at Big Sky), and then started down the valley to the creek at the bottom and the trail on the other side.I assume most of you have never hiked through a clear cut forest when the trees are still there, as it would be crazy hard work. Neither had I till this night. So imagine, lots of felled trees, lots of snow melt in the form of running water (pretty much running water everywhere), snowshoes, and a nice steep decline to hike. In the dark. And cold. And pretty soon wet. Yup, enthusiasm was going down quickly.
It really just was not too much fun just then.
After, oh, what seemed forever but was really only 1400 vertical feet, we approached the trail, got on it and started hiking. I’d tell you what time that was but I rea
lly have no idea, as my brain was well switched off by then. I do know that a few hours later we stopped about 3 miles short of CheckPoint (CP) #6 to get a little sleep. By then Jeff had begun vomiting, and it was decided that some rest and daylight would allow us to pick up our speed considerably.For those of you who have ever slept on the ground, cold, wet, and exhausted, while teams walk past you in the dark, their feet hitting the ground about 4 feet from your head, you know it is not the most restful of sleeps. For those of you who haven’t experienced this, go ahead and try it. Let me know later if you disagree with me. But at least it was rest.
The funny thing about this was that at the pre-race meeting the nice lady from the Forest Service told us all about the grizzly and black bears we would encounter: how to use our pepper spray (it comes out at 70 mph and works up to 30 feet. Wait until the bear gets that close. If you shoot it when he/she starts their charge and are, say, still 50’ away, well then bad things are gonna happen), and not to use our food as a pillow while sleeping in the woods (bears like the food. If your head is in the way, other bad things could happen).
So we laid down to rest. With my food, safely inside my backpack, snugly nestled directly below my head. And I still have my head, and Sarah hers (she did the same. We even snuggled together, in case the bear would have to get both of us, plus it saves body heat and promotes a stronger marriage).
We rallied while it was still dark and headed out of these mountains! Jeff was still hurting, so we took his pack and set him loose trying to increase team speed a bit. As the sun rose we arrived at CP6, well, or close to it at least as we stood looking at it from the wrong side of Taylor Creek. We searched and then did find the bridge over what the map referred to as Taylor Creek. I need to talk to the MYTOPO.COM guys who supplied the map. It kept saying creek everywhere we went, but this was no creek (again).With all the late season snow melt, from where I stood it looked like the Mississippi River at Quad Cities, Iowa (you know, I have actually been to Iowa. It looks like this in Quad Cities:
Tuesday 24 June – Day 2
Once we were across the bridge and through CP6, we started our hike out past the Nine Quarter Circle Ranch, and as we walked down the road a few cowboys came the other way with what must have been a hundred horses. Now I was wishing I had listened to that lecture at the starting line, because there were a LOT of horses, and they were each way bigger and better rested than us and coming right down the road at us.
They were beautiful to watch. Tempting as it might seem, we had no desire to wrangle one and ride it to the next CP. Sarah’s horse had gone over backwards with her still on it at PQ Moab, so we gave them a bit of distance and just enjoyed the beauty of the moment.
At CP7/TA2 our support crew got the first taste of what it was really like to support four highly determined, well trained, well prepared racers – they got to watch other teams who got there before us. We arrived in no condition except poor. Jeff was a wreck and all of us were only too happy to sit and take off our packs. We looked ragged at best, and it occurred to me for the first time that maybe it wasn’t so good for Margaret to see her parents like this. It might cause a loss of decorum at the Sunday dinner table. It was a fleeting thought, not because it was of no concern, only because at that moment every thought was fleeting. Brain waves were more like brain nudges.
From this CP we were to transition to the River and whitewater kayaking. Pysched – a chance to get off our feet and maybe heal them a bit in the cold water (40 degrees F). Plus the water would provide the propulsion, so all we had to do was stay in the boat and keep it upright through the rapids. Unfortunately, here is where our race starting getting screwy.
We rested, ate, prepped and headed to depart the CP/TA in plenty of time to complete both the kayak and white water swim sections before dark fell and the river section would close (it closes each night for the night for safety reasons). Much to our surprise, we then learned that there were too few kayaks, so we could either a) wait in the TA, but we would be in line behind anyone who chose to check out of the TA, or b) check out of the TA, cross the road, and wait by the river. Sit and wait, that is, in the blazing sun. As it was, we took our chances by the river, and our crew was allowed to provide assistance there even though it was outside the TA. So Darroch and Bert assembled a tent there to provide us some shade, which I promptly crawled inside of. Jeff stayed outside, with Bert holding a canopy over him. This way when he vomited (mosty dry heaving, but some goodies were still coming up), this way it wasn’t on us, his teammates.
After a short hour or so, we had 2 kayaks and were off! We quickly caught a few teams and once again were starting to feel better. That is, 3 of us were feeling better. Jeff, who was in the bow of my kayak, was dry heaving. We were having some fun in the easy section of the river, building our confidence and paddling well as we headed downriver to the heavy water section, except Jeff was getting sea sick. He and I agreed though, that wherever the vomit went was of no great concern as long as he stayed inside the kayak. Jeff outside the kayak – bad. Jeff inside the kayak – good. Vomit – of no concern (hey, he had been dry heaving for hours. How bad could inside the kayak get?)
As we came around one curve, a crazy local was out on the river bank waving and yelling encouragement to us. We came little closer, you know, so he could get a good photo and we could bask in his enthusiasm and encouragement. Only, he wasn’t a local and he for sure was not too encouraging. He was yelling at us to get out of the river and abandon that section. Jeff and I pulled over, no easy task when the river is moving at 8500 cfs, but we pulled up on the shore and jumped out quickly and proceeded to help Sarah and Jean stop, plus the teams we had just passed. The river was closed. Too many teams in front of us, just in front of us, had required rescues. For safety Don Mann, PQ Race Director, had closed the river. Bummer.
In the insult to injury category, we had to haul our boats out of the river and to the road and wait for an official transport to be arranged. No hitchhiking allowed either. But wait, it gets worse. Transport arrived reasonably quickly and we were driven to TA4.
Now for a race rules interlude. Due to the small size of several parking areas, teams were forbidden to use RVs over 25’. It was written in the race updates to all teams months in advance. As no RVs under 25’ could be rented anywhere near Big Sky, we rented a 22’ RV in Salt Lake and Jeff and Bert drove it to Montana. Upon arrival, it was clear this rule had been optional. RVs were there ranging up to 30’, and there were no consequences. OK, lesson learned – next time we get the mega RV! Back to the race.
Due to the small parking area at TA4 Storm Castle, not enough RVs could fit there. So crews were not being allowed to leave TA2 until a fixed time after their racers had left. Since we were no longer kayaking, however, we got to TA4 in no time onnly to find our crew not there, and race officials unable to tell us where they might be.
Race officials are volunteers mostly, and they do a great job. Even the closing of the river, disappointed though we were, it was unquestionably the correct call. But this one, well, they needed some better communications on this one. I asked the officials to call TA2 and confirm our team had left, but it didn’t happen. When the crew showed up 2 hours later, I went over and let the officials know to stop searching for them, at which time I was advised they were about to make the call to TA2 to see if they were there. Better late than never I suppose, but not really any help then. Our crew was held in TA2, not allowed to leave, while we sat on the grass at TA4 in wetsuits and booties. It was demoralizing to be sitting there accomplishing nothing. But at least Victoria was there giving out free massages. Hey, it helped us spend a couple of wasted hours.
The Radioactive Beagles were kind enough to share some food and drinks with us while we waited. We knew Robert Beauchamp, Beagles captain, from prior races, and we saw him and his teammates repeatedly throughout the race, which was a combination of their challenges (one teammate had to drop due to injury), and the sequence of the course.
While waiting Jeff also got help with his stomach from the medical support. They gave him a shot and recommended 4 to 6 hours of sleep, so we relaxed and let him sleep. Of course, seeing as he was sleeping, we did the same.
We left CP 10/TA 4 as dusk and then dark descended on us. The hike up Storm Castle Creek was uneventful, though we paid some attention to it as we knew we would see this part of the course 2 more times. We turned up Telephone Ridge under the cover of solid darkness. There probably is a good reason it is named Telephone Ridge, but if so, it sure wasn’t too obvious in the dark. No sign of anything remotely related to the telephone part, but plenty of evidence for the ridge part of that name. The climb went from 6,000’ to 9,000’ and we climbed staright through the night. During the middle of the night we caught up to team HART who had passed us on the initial ascent to the ridge. Together we followed the sketchy trail and basically bushwhacked our way to the top of
the ridge, then turned northwest along the ridge to start the descent to 8,720’ feet and re-join the trail. The last 2 hours of the ascent were in snow, which made footing tricky and following the trail more of an aspiration than a fact. Unfortunately, this was the second poor navigating decision I made. We should have turned NW at 8700’ vertical and followed the contour, saving our legs from the extra 300’ vertical ascent and descent. In the felled tree forest at 2 am which was this ridge, we opted for the certainty and nav security of the ridge line.We crested the ridge just before sun up. It was beautiful. Quiet, stunning views, and lots of snow e
verywhere. So, eager to descend, I glissaded several hundred vertical feet down into a snow bowl on the far side of the ridge. This snow was frozen from the overnight chill, so it was a lot faster and bumpier on the seat than our initial glissade on Lone Peak. Jeff followed me down, and we stood waiting for and Sarah. Oops. It turns out that poor communication resulted in a misunderstanding - we weren’t meant to go down this bowl. My haste for the easy descent meant we were in a bowl east of the intended course of travel. Well, it being a lot easier to come down than go up, Sarah and Jean did join us, but HART kept to the ridge in search of the trail. Sarah’s patience was tested this morning, but she still loved me. At least that was my operating assumption.Wednesday 25 June – Day 3
Fortunately it was a beautiful morning, and we were all together and healthy. Plus, what I already knew was that CP 11, Bear Creek, was on the north side of the ridge in a drainage which we were now in, so as long as we headed downhill, following the creek, we would find the CP. After wandering about on a few snowmobile tracks for 10 minutes or so, we decided to contour west, find the trail intersection and follow it down to the CP at 7740’. We never did find the forest service trail, but we sure found a lot of snow footprints, and, deciding that they probably were other PQ teams, we jumped on them and headed to the CP. As we arrived, we caught up to Hart. Our adventure had cost us about 5 extra minutes in total, but the slide was a blast. And I got it on video (of questionable quality due to user ignorance). Hey, this is supposed to be fun, right? The glissade was way more fun and for 5 minutes, we’d do it again.
After we found the CP we started off to descend through Wheeler Gulch and find Cottonwood
Creek. As we did, we passed several teams sleeping at the CP. They were alternately laid out in the space blankets or just laid out completely asleep on the ground. By now the sun was up, the snow was melting, and we were happy to get out of the snow fields and down into the gulch.
The hike down was pretty, and generally an easy hike. Jean gave Sarah a tow for a section, and our team was doing well again. Though we had not stopped or slept at all the entire night before, everyone was alert, cheerful and fit.
As we descended the steep part of the gulch (circa 800’ vertical in a ¼ mile with no real trail on part of it – real thigh and ankle testing work), we had our first chat with team 54, Werewolves of Austin, as we passed them. We’d see them some more.
This is where we met Proffessor Jeremy, a Brit who teaches in Bozeman. As our team is registered from the UK since we live there, Jeremey had come out with his golden retriever to cheer us on! He had monitored our progress and timed it so as to find us on the trail. We were thrilled to see him, and hiked some of the decent alongside him, chatting and learning that he and his wife had lived in MT for a number of years, both taught at the university there, and were in the process of getting green cards. Way to go Professor! Imagine his dismay though, to learn that the only UK team was in fact a couple of US ex-pats. I felt bad we disappointed him after he went to all the trouble to hike out there and meet us. Not much I could do about it, though, except to talk about the UK and maybe make him feel like it had been worth it to find shared English experiences with these Americans.
We got to South Cottonwood Creek, and it didn’t look
like no creek in my book. In an effort to keep our feet drier, we elected to use a log crossing which another team had just completed. The log was small, too unstable and flexible to stand on, so we sat and started to scoot across. Jean went first, made it a few feet, and near disaster struck. He slipped and spun to the bottom side of the log, but hung on for dear life. He was under the log, hanging just above the water. A fall meant a fast trip down the canyon, and perhaps more than a little lost time on this section of the course. And the river flowed in the wrong direction from where we were headed! With a little help Jean was able to get scoot safely back to shore. He re-started, made it safely, and we proceeded across. When I went my big fear, beside a reprise of Jean’s experience, was my feet getting in the water and the force pulling me off the log. As my legs hung long enough for my feet to reach the water, I had to scoot across with my feet pulled up. It was a bit unsettling, but we made it. Werewolves had arrived just as we started across, and they were to follow us for the balance of the morning.
We started upriver along Cottonwood Creek, following the trail along the creek, climbing gradually until a sharp turn east began the real work of the
climb. At this stage Jeff gave me a tow and we quickly (a relative term) climbed a couple thousand feet to the top of the ridge. But the river crossing episode had caused some lasting damage, and we were just now beginning to realize it. When Jean slipped he had smacked his ankle on a rock or tree limb or other hard object. The adrenaline rush had him pumped enough that he hadn’t even realized it at the time, but after about half an hour and amid some significant swelling, he was starting to realize he had a lower leg problem that wasn’t going away any time soon.
At the top of the climb out was yet another ridge, this with a gorgeous meadow, with a
spectacular view, and some young woman sitting on a rock with her golden retriever. Unfortunately for us, she wasn’t a TMFC fan, didn’t provide inspiring encouragement, and was just a nature lover out to enjoy the beautiful day. We rested at the top (in the shade – the sun was scorching), and an elderly couple arrived from behind us. We felt pretty good about that as it meant the descent should be pretty do-able, and once the Werewolves arrived we started the descent. We chose wrong, again, because we were bushwhacking and there had to be a trail – that elderly couple hadn’t come up the felled forest we were hiking in. We finally found the trail and hiked out History Rock trail to Hyalite Canyon Road and the parking area at the trailhead. More on that road name later.
We rested there for 20 minutes (in the shade again), elevating Jean’s leg, letting Sarah sleep, and gathering ourselves for the hike remaining. While resting Jeff demonstrated his vast interpersonal skills, born of a life time living on Cape Cod. He chatted up every car that parked in the lot while we were there, getting some food and water from one young woman (out to hike with her dog), and striking up a long conversation with the couple from the ridge when they arrived. It turns out they live in Big Sky in the summer and in Arizona in the winter. I think they said Flagstaff, but I am not certain.
In any case, being residents of the desert, the gentleman explained they never leave home without 5 gallons of water in the car, which we proceeded to relieve him of. There was plenty of water on the course, but you had to treat it all and this was a chance for some without all the additives and floaters, so we loaded up and thanked them profusely. Jeff moved up several notches in the social skills scorecard after this parking lot!
As we gathered ourselves for the next leg of the hike, we knew we were in a bit of trouble. This trek was 45 miles in total, and we had estimated 17 to 20 hours to get to CP 13/TA 5, which meant through the trek AND the 36 mile bike afterwards. But by now we’d been out on the trail 20 hours, and still had about 40% of the trek remaining plus the 36 mile bike. We were low on food, and morale was low as we headed out. The whole team knew the score – we were exhausted, Jean was injured, we didn’t have enough food to do the next section justice, and it was mid afternoon, which meant it would be dark for the key navigational portion of the rest of the trek. These things weigh on you as you hike, and they for certain did on us.
As we left the parking lot we saw the Beagles again. This was where their injured teammate dropped out, and they were waiting for medical evacuation for him. We chatted, bid them best and set out.
So back to the road. The thing about a road named ‘Anything Canyon Road’ is that the name has tremendous significance. See, I have never seen a canyon road anywhere but the very bottom of the canyon. A ridge road, sure, a ridge road can be at the top of the canyon. But a canyon road? Only the bottom. So of course, this is a wilderness event. Trek sections don’t follow roads unless they have to. And, unfortunately, this one didn’t have to, which meant – crossing this canyon road and then getting the privilege of going back up the other side of the canyon. We had been hoping for Hyalite Flatland Road, but no luck.
Fortunately it was a beautiful morning, and we were all together and healthy. Plus, what I already knew was that CP 11, Bear Creek, was on the north side of the ridge in a drainage which we were now in, so as long as we headed downhill, following the creek, we would find the CP. After wandering about on a few snowmobile tracks for 10 minutes or so, we decided to contour west, find the trail intersection and follow it down to the CP at 7740’. We never did find the forest service trail, but we sure found a lot of snow footprints, and, deciding that they probably were other PQ teams, we jumped on them and headed to the CP. As we arrived, we caught up to Hart. Our adventure had cost us about 5 extra minutes in total, but the slide was a blast. And I got it on video (of questionable quality due to user ignorance). Hey, this is supposed to be fun, right? The glissade was way more fun and for 5 minutes, we’d do it again.
After we found the CP we started off to descend through Wheeler Gulch and find Cottonwood
Creek. As we did, we passed several teams sleeping at the CP. They were alternately laid out in the space blankets or just laid out completely asleep on the ground. By now the sun was up, the snow was melting, and we were happy to get out of the snow fields and down into the gulch.The hike down was pretty, and generally an easy hike. Jean gave Sarah a tow for a section, and our team was doing well again. Though we had not stopped or slept at all the entire night before, everyone was alert, cheerful and fit.
As we descended the steep part of the gulch (circa 800’ vertical in a ¼ mile with no real trail on part of it – real thigh and ankle testing work), we had our first chat with team 54, Werewolves of Austin, as we passed them. We’d see them some more.
This is where we met Proffessor Jeremy, a Brit who teaches in Bozeman. As our team is registered from the UK since we live there, Jeremey had come out with his golden retriever to cheer us on! He had monitored our progress and timed it so as to find us on the trail. We were thrilled to see him, and hiked some of the decent alongside him, chatting and learning that he and his wife had lived in MT for a number of years, both taught at the university there, and were in the process of getting green cards. Way to go Professor! Imagine his dismay though, to learn that the only UK team was in fact a couple of US ex-pats. I felt bad we disappointed him after he went to all the trouble to hike out there and meet us. Not much I could do about it, though, except to talk about the UK and maybe make him feel like it had been worth it to find shared English experiences with these Americans.We got to South Cottonwood Creek, and it didn’t look
like no creek in my book. In an effort to keep our feet drier, we elected to use a log crossing which another team had just completed. The log was small, too unstable and flexible to stand on, so we sat and started to scoot across. Jean went first, made it a few feet, and near disaster struck. He slipped and spun to the bottom side of the log, but hung on for dear life. He was under the log, hanging just above the water. A fall meant a fast trip down the canyon, and perhaps more than a little lost time on this section of the course. And the river flowed in the wrong direction from where we were headed! With a little help Jean was able to get scoot safely back to shore. He re-started, made it safely, and we proceeded across. When I went my big fear, beside a reprise of Jean’s experience, was my feet getting in the water and the force pulling me off the log. As my legs hung long enough for my feet to reach the water, I had to scoot across with my feet pulled up. It was a bit unsettling, but we made it. Werewolves had arrived just as we started across, and they were to follow us for the balance of the morning.We started upriver along Cottonwood Creek, following the trail along the creek, climbing gradually until a sharp turn east began the real work of the
climb. At this stage Jeff gave me a tow and we quickly (a relative term) climbed a couple thousand feet to the top of the ridge. But the river crossing episode had caused some lasting damage, and we were just now beginning to realize it. When Jean slipped he had smacked his ankle on a rock or tree limb or other hard object. The adrenaline rush had him pumped enough that he hadn’t even realized it at the time, but after about half an hour and amid some significant swelling, he was starting to realize he had a lower leg problem that wasn’t going away any time soon.At the top of the climb out was yet another ridge, this with a gorgeous meadow, with a
spectacular view, and some young woman sitting on a rock with her golden retriever. Unfortunately for us, she wasn’t a TMFC fan, didn’t provide inspiring encouragement, and was just a nature lover out to enjoy the beautiful day. We rested at the top (in the shade – the sun was scorching), and an elderly couple arrived from behind us. We felt pretty good about that as it meant the descent should be pretty do-able, and once the Werewolves arrived we started the descent. We chose wrong, again, because we were bushwhacking and there had to be a trail – that elderly couple hadn’t come up the felled forest we were hiking in. We finally found the trail and hiked out History Rock trail to Hyalite Canyon Road and the parking area at the trailhead. More on that road name later.We rested there for 20 minutes (in the shade again), elevating Jean’s leg, letting Sarah sleep, and gathering ourselves for the hike remaining. While resting Jeff demonstrated his vast interpersonal skills, born of a life time living on Cape Cod. He chatted up every car that parked in the lot while we were there, getting some food and water from one young woman (out to hike with her dog), and striking up a long conversation with the couple from the ridge when they arrived. It turns out they live in Big Sky in the summer and in Arizona in the winter. I think they said Flagstaff, but I am not certain.
In any case, being residents of the desert, the gentleman explained they never leave home without 5 gallons of water in the car, which we proceeded to relieve him of. There was plenty of water on the course, but you had to treat it all and this was a chance for some without all the additives and floaters, so we loaded up and thanked them profusely. Jeff moved up several notches in the social skills scorecard after this parking lot!
As we gathered ourselves for the next leg of the hike, we knew we were in a bit of trouble. This trek was 45 miles in total, and we had estimated 17 to 20 hours to get to CP 13/TA 5, which meant through the trek AND the 36 mile bike afterwards. But by now we’d been out on the trail 20 hours, and still had about 40% of the trek remaining plus the 36 mile bike. We were low on food, and morale was low as we headed out. The whole team knew the score – we were exhausted, Jean was injured, we didn’t have enough food to do the next section justice, and it was mid afternoon, which meant it would be dark for the key navigational portion of the rest of the trek. These things weigh on you as you hike, and they for certain did on us.
As we left the parking lot we saw the Beagles again. This was where their injured teammate dropped out, and they were waiting for medical evacuation for him. We chatted, bid them best and set out.
So back to the road. The thing about a road named ‘Anything Canyon Road’ is that the name has tremendous significance. See, I have never seen a canyon road anywhere but the very bottom of the canyon. A ridge road, sure, a ridge road can be at the top of the canyon. But a canyon road? Only the bottom. So of course, this is a wilderness event. Trek sections don’t follow roads unless they have to. And, unfortunately, this one didn’t have to, which meant – crossing this canyon road and then getting the privilege of going back up the other side of the canyon. We had been hoping for Hyalite Flatland Road, but no luck.
We crossed the aforementioned road and started the hike up canyon and over to and past Mystic Lake. The hike up was drudgery, made slightly interesting only because Jeff had the hair on his arms standing up for the last 20 minutes or so before we started down the other side. Jeff’s a bit hairy under normal circumstances, but you outdoors-types will recognize this as a bad sign about an impending electrical storm. Dark clouds had formed, there were some ominous sounds of thunder, and we were going as fast as our condition would allow so as to get off that darn mountain top!
We crested and headed down without the storm getting too close, and at the bottom of yet another 1,000’ descent we found several teams re-filling water and getting warm gear on. We took the opportunity to do the same. We had been forewarned at the last CP that water was scarce on this leg, so we figured to load up while we could. While filling up we called Team Technu back from their departure. Charlie, their navigator, was correct, the map showed the trail going to the right, but everyone else had left going to the left and none had come back, and so we told them, and so…they went left, and we shortly followed, around 6 or 7 pm.
Technu overnighted in the wood shed at Mystic Lake, and it was the last time we saw them as a full team. Doug got ill, was medically withdrawn, went to the hospital and took 22 bags of IV fluid. Even for a guy his size that’s a whole lot of saline. We saw Charlie, Iona and Nelson again several times later, and saw Doug every time we were in TAs, once he got discharged form the hospital, of course.
We passed Mystic Lake about dinner time, and continued on without stop. As we descended down towards two small lakes named Beaver Lakes, we had a tough decision to make. While planning the course out I had chosen a short bushwhack due east out of Beaver Lakes, which would put us on a jeep road, save some distance and elevation, and give us a more direct route out to the CP. When we got to Beaver Lake it was 9:30 pm locally, getting dark fast, and we couldn’t be certain my route would work. We were low on food, I was in zombie land and racked by self doubt.
As we stood and talked over the alternatives, I thought about quitting the race. My feet hurt, I was really hungry, and I was not excited about the next navigation section. I figured that if I radioed my resignation in, they could heli-vac me out, and my pain could end in no time. I looked up hoping to see the clear blue sky that would allow a quick helicopter ride to retrieve me,, and maybe I could make it int time for a steak dinner even – nope. Nothing but green and tree canopies above me. Darn. There was way too much tree cover for a helicopter to get in here. And that meant I would have to find a race official to tell him I quit. And the closest race official, I figured, was about 7 miles away, waiting for us at the very next check point. That was down right unfair. It was those 7 miles I most wanted to avoid! I couldn’t catch a break.
We talked for 3 or 4 minutes looking at the map, when the choice was made for us – along came the Werewolves of Austin! Never was I so happy to see 4 headlamps approach[1]. Paul Murphy, their navigator, is ex-British military, very precise at navigation, and so we conferred. Well, really he talked and I listened. He had seen the same route, but given the time of day and team conditions, we agreed the safer strategy was to stay on the trail. So off we went, assured there was more safety in numbers at night. Plus they had food. :)
And they had Ashley Edwards, a woman who has the least need of caffeine of anyone I have ever met. She badgered me into drinking more, and more and more. Of course, she was right, as I was partially dehydrated. Once she got me rehydrated, my brain kicked back in and I regained focus. Her energy level and ability to count steps this night helped all of us.
We picked a great bushwhack around 11pm that night when the trail switchbacked to climb a ridge. The route turned due north for what looked to be 1/3 to ½ mile, and then doubled back south the same distance. With Jason Maloney and Ashley scouting on the hill above us, they found the trail, everyone hiked straight up about 80’ and voila we were southbound. In the midst of this effort the Beagles blew by, the 3 remaining teammates hiking at a pace way faster than we were even contemplating.
The balance of our hike that night was a slow and challenging affair. We followed generally the recommended course of travel, but took care to affirm our location and kept picking the most direct route available. There were all sorts of intermingled trails, so trail selection was cautious and careful, and Paul led the decisions. Working with Paul and the ‘Wolves this night I learned a few more navigating tricks. As we got to the crux of the hike, we could see 3 separate teams, all bunched up and looking for the jeep road out to Trail Creek Road. We found it in about 5 minutes and were on our way out of this trek. We caught all of those teams on this last section, and walked into to CP 12, Trail Creek Road, at 1:30 am, some 31 hours or so after leaving Storm Castle. What we thought would be circa 17 hours had been nearly double that. And, as we approached the CP, the Beagles caught us again.
At CP 12 they gave us bad news – the flat water river section was closed. The intended course next included a 36 mile bike to a 70 mile paddle on the Yellowstone River. It was labeled a flat water section, but apparently wasn’t too flat, as the Yellowstone was well above flood stage which caused the Forest Service to shut down the river access. Instead we would get a 70 mile bike. Bummer. It’s refreshing to go 7 to 10 mph by floating down river. 70 miles of riding, while better than an extra trek, well, that was going to be 70 miles of work. 70 miles of floating, well, that was certain to be less work as long as we had stayed in the boats. Oh well.
CP 12 was what they refer to as an Un-assisted Transition. In practice this means that our support team had left our bikes, bike shoes and shorts, bike helmets, and some food and water laying on the grass for us. It also means there is no warm place to sit/lay down. After 30+ hours without sleeping, we laid down for a 2 hour nap, wrapped up in our space bags and space blankets. I had a space blanket, which covered me but had nothing below me. I nestled up to Sarah, who had a space bag, and tried to use her bag to cover one side and thereby get a little of the blanket under me and increase my warmth.
Immediately next door were the Beagles, snugly securing themselves in their tent. We opted not to use the tent as our strategy was to get up and complete the 36 mile bike just as soon as we had enough sleep to get our minds and bodies capable.
Thursday 26 June – Day 4
This strategy worked as I awoke less than 2 hours later. In the damp pre-dawn chill, I was just plain shivering so hard it woke me up. So I then woke Sarah, right next to me, then Jean and then Jeff. Jeff was pretty dozy and took a few tries. He finally woke up when Jean threw a shoe or something and hit him with it. It was pre-dawn but slowly warming to the dawn, and we packed and got going as fast as we could so that we could warm up by exercising our leg muscles.
Our ride to the next TA was uneventful. It required 3 or 4 turns in total, and mostly was just about putting our heads down and riding a pace line as best we could. For Jean and Jeff, this was like walking. They both have ridden road bikes professionally and could ride circles around me with their eyes close and using one leg. For me and Sarah it takes a bit more work, but we stayed in there. Along the way we passed several teams already headed out in the other direction, having already started on the 70 mile bike section. They looked good, in good spirits and better shape than the crowd we had arrived at CP 12 with. We looked hurt when we got to CP12, in large part because we were but, hey, as long as the trek was over and biking was next, I figured I might as well not quit, I would race another day and see where it went…
We arrived at the TA feeling well enough, given the prior day’s experience. We were really pleased to see our loving support crew, to get some food and rest, and to head back out for the bike-in-lieu-of-kayak leg of the race.
The bike section went through a check point on the east side of the Yellowstone River, crossed over the river, and then went into Livingston, and en route there the Beagles passed us again. They were making a real habit of this. They planned to stop for a burger, while we were planning to hit the first convenience store we came to. Sure enough, at some random gas station, we pulled up, hopped off the bikes and wandered inside.
Even at the best of occasions adventure racers aren’t too clean, and this was no exception. We looked pretty haggard – dirty outfits, helmets with mandatory lights mounted on them in the midst of the day, maps and whistles hanging off of us, and plenty of dirt to go around.
We picked 
out food – for me it was all about salt so I bagged 2 cans of Pringles and 3 bags of 
Fritos, a red bull and a swig of Jeff’s coca cola. Plus I bought some jelly worms and other candies to throw in the backpack. Jean wanted the burgers from under the hypnotic warming light, as did Jeff, and Jean devoured his first before I could even pay the young lady behind the counter, so we got him another.
While Sarah was in the ladies room, we took a brief look at a more male oriented establishment in the back of the gas station building, but decided against entry. It appeared less than of fine repute, and we didn’t think it well advised to wander in with our jerseys advertising our team number et al. Way too much accountability in that scenario. 
Nonetheless, this was a nice gas station – clean, well lit, with plenty of food choices in the mini mart too. And, when we went to pay, the young lady working was polite enough to ask if we wanted to get a 50% discount on a car wash. Jean and I looked at each other - the grit, the grime, the smell, all gone! But then we thought better of it and respectfully declined the car wash. Even when we paid for his second burger, we declined again. It was a funny visual, but probably less funny in action, and potentially damaging to our bikes.
We left the store temporarily sated and with detailed directions on the easiest way through Livingston – go straight, turn left around 5th, turn right after a few blocks, and follow that road. And it worked. We were soon headed out north of Livingston, enjoying the late afternoon tailwind and smoking along at 15 mph on our fat tires.
The noise behind us gave it away early. A quick glance over the shoulder and you could see them coming – 7 racers in a pace line, hauling. They were going maybe 21 or 22 mph anyway, on an uphill slope. As they got close we accelerated so as to duck into the rear of the line. With Jeff and Jean able to share the work at the front, we wanted to see if we could join in and make the remaining 50 miles or so a bit easier.
At the front of the line – Robert Beauchamp. With the Beagles, now 3, were Kagoma, a team we saw a few times but never when we could breathe enough to talk. This being one of those times.
We jumped in and pumped our legs, but the pace was too high to hold and as the group turned south onto route 89 we pulled up and let them go, as they headed south over the Yellowstone River bridge. Instead we stopped. I was convinced we weren’t supposed to cross the river again yet, so we checked our map, and realized that we were supposed to turn north there – across from where we stopped. Just in case we were wrong, we stopped the local UPS driver who pulled up at the stop sign, and he confirmed our analysis. So, with Beagles and Kagoma gone, we turned north and started riding. It took a while, but both teams realized their error, turned around and caught and passed us.
On this leg, just before we passed the Chico Hot Springs (we were tempted but did not stop) we had the best it-was-nearly-a-problem brush with wildlife of the whole race. We were riding abreast going up a gentle hill on a dirt road, and as we came around an easy curve to the left, Jeff found himself going 12 mph and just feet in front of a rattle snake who was sunning himself in the road, a little left of center and just around where you could see him as you approached the curve. Too late to turn. Feet clipped into pedals, short socks, lycra bike shorts. Lots and lots of pale white skin exposed from shin to upper thigh. Uh Oh.
Fortunately for us, the rattler missed. It struck at him just as Jeff ran over it, but the strike hit the back tire area somewhere. We immediately all stopped to make sure Jeff was okay and I ran back to get some photos of the culprit. I’m not sure what a happy rattler looks like, but I swear this one was not at all happy. He had just been thump-thumped by Jeff’s 2 tires, and had that forked tongue flicker thing going. He was facing me straight up and showed no interest of retreating to the safety of the edge of the road. Bravery being part of my character, I took pictures but from a rather large distance away. When we get photos back from the GoPro you’ll know the rattler is the little dot in the road. Hey, I’m brave but not stupid. Right then is when the Beagles caught up, and we forewarned them about the snake.
We continued on towards the next CP at Otter Creek. 
On the Interstate frontage road we came upon another team just getting up from some sort of rest alongside the freeway. I think it was afternoon tea, served with red bull, but I’m not certain. I am certain though, that it was the ‘Wolves again. We proceeded to finish the last 6 miles alongside our friends, laughing and enjoying the early evening and massive tailwind that had made this ride so much easier. It turns out they ran over the rattler too, which would account for why he was so very angry at the second time. I never heard of anyone getting struck, so either he opted to move off the road or was getting too beat up to hit what he was aiming for.
We rode into Otter Creek all 8 of us abreast, everyone in pretty good moods and 
feeling okay. We found the crew and inquired about food as we shook some of the dust off. They had some vegetables and a nice salad prepared. Salad. Hmmm. Not too many calories in a typical salad. 70 mile bike, following a 36 mile bike and that darn 30 mile hike, probably burned a few calories, probably want to replace them – what about it? Well, it was hard to get upset because it turns out the crew had only arrived about 10 minutes before us and really hadn’t gotten things ready yet. That seemed pretty reasonable, so we waited, got some frozen meals going and loaded up and then went to sleep.
Our strategy at this time, shared with the ‘Wolves, was to leave around midnight, bike the next leg, drop our bikes and hike the easy trail part before dawn, then have the sun help as we hit the harder part of our hike through the Crazy Mountains. Honest, that’s the name of the mountains. Alas we were about 30 minutes late departing, so the ‘Wolves went ahead and we didn’t see them the entirety of this next leg, though they were never more than 30 to 60 minutes ahead.
By the map this leg looked daunting. A straightforward bike, then three separate passes to trek over, and then a long hike out of the mountains and then still 6 more miles to the next TA. Team Nike had taken 17 hours. Team Merrill had taken 20 hours. We figured best case 26, likely closer to 30, worst case 40. It was going to be a tough section no doubt.
Friday 27 June – Day 5
We departed Otter Creek about 12:30 am on the 27th of June. We were a little late on the strategy as it turns out that there was a fierce, and I mean fierce, night wind coming out of Big Timber Creek Canyon. The wind was blowing brutally, and we struggled to keep up our bike speed going against it. It was a clear dark night with beautiful stars, but once we turned off the initial road and onto the dirt roads heading to the canyon, we really didn’t have the luxury of appreciating the scenery. Instead we had our heads down and just grinded forward. As the road dipped and swerved the wind would occasionally come across the bikes, and when it did, we would be riding straight forward with a 5 degree lean to windward to offset the force of the wind. It was depressing. Here we were, headed off into a section we thought would be 26 hours best case, and it was already more difficult than expected. And we hadn’t gotten to the hard part yet!
We slogged along, getting to the CP about 05:30 local time. T
he sun was already up, and it was going to be a gorgeous day to be in the mountains. We dropped our bikes and bike helmets and shoes, changed and grabbed some food, and were off on the trek. This particular trek was 32 miles, with significant elevation gain as we had to go over 3 separate passes to get through the Crazies. The elevation when we got on our bikes that early morning was 3,994 feet. When we dropped our bikes it was 1,600’ higher, and from there the first part of the hike took us up above 9,800 feet. And from there it promised to get more interesting. Very nice.
We hiked the first section on a gentle to stiff ascent trail, about 9 miles, until we got to the real climb. The trail section was pretty, and we caught a few teams and were able to make good time. When we got the first real climb we were above 8,000 feet and hiking in snow. Much of the 
early part of the push to the crest of the trail was through snow fields, though near the top we came out onto rock and some scree sections. At the crest were 2 teams resting and eating. We opted to press ahead and get down from the elevation as it was windy and colder up there.
Once over the top we found the trail and started down, only to find a beautiful virgin snow field that incredibly went straight down nearly the entire way into the next bowl, some 1,000 feet almost, without so much as a footprint in it. It was very tempting. After a brief team discussion, and some team/marital discord, we opted for the trail. As irony would have it, the trail switched-back and we returned to the snow field, needing to cross it to maintain the trail. As we stood reconsidering, the decision was made easy for us when, with a hoot and a shout, Brain Attack came screaming past. Well, actually I think it was Tim Watson of Team Brain Attack. Closely followed by Sean, Simon and Tim’s wife Doone. And lest you think I am making this up, check it out, they are team #13. They’re Canadians, which accounted for the hooting part I think.
In any case, as we stood in the middle of the snow field, we joined the neighbors and slid down as far as fast as we could go. And it was fun.
We hiked out of the bowl past Glacier Lake with their team, though I think they got nervous because I kept falling and sliding towards these holes in the snow at the bottom of which were rushing water. It was a weird site, all this white snow everywhere, with the occasional round hole 2 meters wide, and when you looked in, a river running under the snow, 3 or 4 feet down. The melt would cause these collapses occasionally, and you did not want to end up down there. I can attest to the water temperature as at one point my foot broke through the snow I was walking on, and I was suddenly up to my right hip in snow, and my right foot hung perfectly suspended out the bottom of the snow and into a river of 34 degree water. And that’s Fahrenheit. It actually felt soothing to the blisters and swelling going on in my foot at the moment, but all that wet was going to be a problem at some point.
We made it out of the bowl without material incident, though we had a close scrape at a river crossing. We were crossing on a downed log and I almost made it across, but lost my balance and ended up with a lunge and a prayer for the shore. One foot made it dry, but the right one was in the wet again.
On the plus side I got pretty close and personal with a pine tree while trying to jump to shore, and on it I found someone’s lost bear bell. A bear bell, as I had recently come to learn, is a little metal bell that is attached by Velcro to your pack/bike/instrument of choice. It hangs there, suspended so near to you, and jingles each time you move. The theory, I think, must be that bear’s are exceptionally afraid of small, jingling metal bells, and will cease all thoughts of consuming you as a late night meal at the mere sound of your approaching jingle. Because other than that theory, I cannot see a lot of use for the jingle bell except to say, “Hey bear, I’m here if you are hungry.”
I left the bell there in case its rightful owner should return for it, and even moved it from the bottom of the mud where I had mis-landed, to a proper branch where it might jingle in the wind so that’s its owner could find it more easily. I never heard if anyone claimed it.
We hiked down along the South Fork (the map never said the South Fork of what.
I fig
ured they ran out of names with all these darn Creeks around), and, at the 
junction with the Middle Fork (see?), we rested for 40 minutes. It was a 20 minute nap, and 20 minutes of medical as Jean soaked his swollen ankle in the aforementioned Middle Fork and I worked on my very wet very blistered feet. Jeff and Sarah slept and similarly got ready, and then, just like that, we were up and moving west, with a 2mile hike up to Moose Lake, about 800 feet higher up, from where we had another 800 foot climb to the east end of Campfire Lake for an unmanned Check Point at the east end of the lake.
I don’t think I have told you yet about the maps, have I? And now would be a good time, so…it turns out that we were given excellent topo maps by Primal Quest. MyTopo.com prepared the maps, there were 7 detailed maps, and 2 overview maps (East and West). The detailed maps were, of course, much better detail and much smaller scale. Mine are somewhere in UPS shipped but not yet here purgatory, maybe on a date with my bike for all I know, and so I cannot specify the exact scale. But they were good. And the overview maps, well they were much broader areas and much bigger scale. Great maps, just not as good on the detail, and tough to get too precise with.
The Crazy Mountain leg was covered on Map 4 and the East Overview Map. Which was good, since I had brought the East Overview map with me. But, in a fit of organization, I had prepared the maps before I went to sleep the day before, and, in what is politely described in Britain as “a bit of a miss then,” I omitted Map 4. The detailed map. The map which actually showed Campfire Lake as it existed, and on which I had marked the CP. So I apologized to my teammates, about every 30 minutes since dawn, and we trudged on. Not much else they could do really. There was no place handy for them to evict me from the team, and I managed to avoid a vote off the island, though I expect they were considering it when I was out of ear shot.
I did ask a few teams if I could look at their map 4 for a moment, and most were helpful. I had to bribe one team with a Reese’s peanut butter cup, which is my favorite candy after Twizzlers, but we passed that team late that day anyway, so I guess the map didn’t help them too much.
We crossed the Middle Fork at the very top of the creek, really at the drainage of
Moose Lake. Moose Lake was spectacularly pretty. Perfectly clear water, surrounded by snow, and really big, steep mountains alongside three sides of it with beautiful pine trees around the shore. But not on the steep sides. Avalanches had long since eliminated trees on those sides. Unfortunately we didn’t stay to appreciate the scenery.
We took the shallowest climb possible up from this lake and into the Campfire Lake bowl. It was an approach from the west, so his brought us out onto the east side of the lake, right at the southeast corner, and so we started the walk around the east side. This lake was still frozen over, though there was some melted snow on the top in the center of the lake. It was quite pretty to see, a see of white broken with a little bit of very, very clear water in its midst. As we walked through snow along the wide open shore, about 15 feet away from the first trees, it did occur to me that our hiking line might just actually be on the lake as opposed to adjacent to the lake. With the snow cover there was no way to know. So I moved a little closer to the trees and the team followed behind.
There was a team a bit behind us in the woods, and they were following us. Poor guys. Here they were, way deep into the wilderness of Primal Quest, and they were following probably the only team who didn’t actually have the map that showed where in the world we were going. I didn’t have the heart to tell them, so we just kept moving.
We got to the Northeast end of the lake, and voila, there was the checkpoint. Now, a manned checkpoint usually has a few scruffy looking race volunteers, sleeping in tents or their cars if access permits, and sitting around looking all the world like they are just waiting to see you. An un-manned checkpoint, however, has a small flag which does not reflect light. You have to look right at it from a very close distance to see it at night. And it has a hole punch device which typically you stamp onto your passport to show that indeed you arrived at the designated spot. I say typically because in this case that was going to be difficult.
The little orange flag was affixed to a tree branch. I stand right about 6’ tall, and this branch was an easy 3’ above my head and at least as far to the east. And as I was standing on the shore of, what else but a creek which was, of course, directly east of me. We contemplated this for about, oh, a second, and kept moving. None of us felt like swimming if trying to reach the flag went poorly, so we moved on without the punch. With the SPOT devices they would know we had been here, or at least so we hoped. It was 5pm and we wanted out of this last snow bowl before dark, and we had some more climbing to do to get there.
On the hike around the lake we could see other teams following the exit route from the bowl. As the entire place was covered in snow, a lot of snow, the trail we were to follow was not to be found. Instead earlier teams had simply started at the bottom of the bowl on the east end, and climbed a diagonal approach line to the ridge line and about where the trail should cross to the far side. No switchbacks, no turns, just a long single line of steps in the snow, starting at 8,570 feet elevation and climbing up over another 1,100 feet to top out at 9,640 feet elevation. We turned ourselves to the task and got going.
There was one team not too far ahead of us, less than 10 minutes, so we put our heads down and simply starting climbing.
Imagine, its now just after 5 pm, we have been hiking in snow pretty much for the last 7 hours straight, our feet, shoes, socks and even lower legs are wet. It’s been sunny all day, so we had the fortune to be warm, but we are climbing the west face of the bowl, and so the sun is rapidly going down behind the ridge we are ascending. It was pretty, but a trudge. It did get a little more exciting though.
Just past half way up we had passed the team in front of us, and were climbing, heads largely down and focused simply on the next step. Step, rest for a half second, step, rest for a half second, step, repeat. For 2 hours. Ascending ZZZZ feet. That’s about AAA building stories. After having already climbed over 2 prior ridges and done that gusty bike ride in the pre-dawn. Amazingly, as we climbed up the ridge almost directly in front of us, at the south end of the bowl, was an avalanche. It was maybe a quarter mile away, and it was enormous. Of course, never having seen an avalanche in person before, I don’t know if avalanche men would consider it big. But to me, standing as I was a little more than half way up the west face, it was big, it was really fast, and incredibly loud. The snow fell off an almost vertical face, and we could now see the rock more clearly, and the snow piled at the bottom.
We were walking Indian style, in a single line following the steps of the person in front. Sarah was about 5 feet behind me. Jean and Jeff, who had just stopped and put on warmer tops since it was getting chilly in the shade, were grouped together about 20 feet further back. They all had the same reaction I did. Once the snow stopped moving, we each turned and looked up high and to our right, up, up the ridge we were diagonally ascending. From where we stood to the top was an unobstructed snow field, steep enough to now qualify as a major moment of concern. Low and to our left, about 300 yards straight down the wall of the ridge, were alternately small stands of trees and rock fields.
During Primal Quest you have the opportunity to see amazing places in nature, to realize the immensity of the scale of the earth and the power of nature. PQ Telluride was really good at the scale part, with its 13,000 foot plus elevations and incredible vistas. The Gallatin River in Blue Sky was also good at that, with the power and force of the river at its flood stage just beyond comprehension until you were in it.
And this was another of those special moments. We were, collectively, an insignificantly small dot on the face of this mountain. The snow field we stood in was vast, and it was inspiring. In particular it was “fast-hiking” inspiring. We all had the same instantaneous idea – “Let’s get the h*ll off this mountain!” With renewed vigor we put ourselves to it and did not slow or stop until we topped out about 7pm. We took a 2 minute rest, and scouted a safer route down by following the ridge itself down a hundred yards and only then dropping into the west face of the ridge. At the top I waited to indicate to the team behind the safer route, and then caught back up to the our team. Unfortunately, in my haste to catch back up I punched my right leg through the snow cover, slipped, fell and broke my trekking pole. Again. It was the third one I had broken already, and it wasn’t one of those light weight, extreme sports ones. It was a heavy duty mountaineering pole. Darn. Those things were getting expensive.
Once on the other side we found small snow fields and glissaded through each, moving from one to another when the first batch of snow ended. These were more dicey than any of our earlier glissades, as those had ended while we were still in snow. Here they ended very abruptly in rock fields. A woman on the team behind us had too much speed, or not enough brake if you prefer, while coming down adjacent to me and went 4 or 5 feet into one of the rock fields. She was pretty stoic about it, but it sure looked like bouncing on those rocks hurt. Fortunately she didn’t break a leg or ankle, so we kept going. We were able to get down these smaller glissades fine, with Jean and Jeff taking one really long final glissade to the bottom of this ridge. Sarah and I followed and we four, exhausted, harried, and happy hikers started down the gully to find the trail and hike out to our next transition. It was 17 hours after we had left Otter Creek, and we were through the hard work of what we thought would take us as many as 8 more hours to this point. We were all pretty jazzed up.
The hike down the gully was uneventful, somewhat uninspiring, except that we passed 4 more teams, including Peanut Butter Cup map boy! Now my day was made.
The navigation at this stage was pretty much autopilot. Get to the trail (that took a bit of doing as without the map we started on the west and wrong side of the creek, had to hike a couple of hundred meters back up and across the creek and get onto the east side. A team on that side had watched us go wrong and said nothing. Very nice.), follow the trail, make the correct turn at the only junction, and then get out onto the local dirt roads for about a 6 mile hike to the transition area at Cottonwood.
Maybe half way down the trail we admitted to each other our next major worry. We were way ahead of schedule. Would the support team be at the transition when we got there? We talked through the likely scenarios – it was 9 pm on Saturday night in Montana. 
By my estimate our new ETA was 11:30 pm. Our original ETA that next morning equated to between 4:30 am for a 26 hour best case hike, 8:30 am for the most likely and 6:30 pm for the worst case. Sure, they could have gone to dinner in the nearby town, maybe a movie or something, but the girls were too young to go into a bar, so really, where could they go and how late could they stay out? If they thought we would be in between 4:30 and 8:30 am, it seemed logical they would get there after dinner or whatever and sleep there so they would be there and rested when we showed up. We put it in the back of our minds and hiked.
As we exited the trail we were delighted to meet up with Mike Hedges and a sister of someone from Team 29. Mike is one of the race photographers, has been at a bunch of these races, and it was so encouraging to see a friendly face. And Mike was also there, of course. Just Kidding. 
Seriously, it was great to see them and have someone to talk to for a few minutes as we hiked. Mike took some photos (you can see them on the PQ web site) which provide the first photographic evidence of Jeff’s wild and misspent youth. You can see it in his eyes.
Upon leaving the Crazy Mountains and heading for the TA, only to be disappointed.
The hike out and the walk to the transition area were harder than I anticipated. Jeff was starting to noticeably limp. The IT Band, a stabilizing muscle on the outside of your leg from hip to knee, on his right leg was strained and hurt. We had seen other racers withdrawing due to this injury, so it got us worrying. And Jean’s leg was also bothering him, enough that he and I slowed down. While Jeff and Sarah walked ahead, I took Jean’s pack, and he literally grimaced each time he put that foot down. Jean’s an extraordinarily fit guy, even among PQ athletes, a former Marine, and easily the strongest guy I have ever raced with. And though he toughed it out, the pain was very evident. I still think about that walk and cringe each time I recall how uncomfortable he looked as he walked, using his trekking poles as crutches to carry as much of his weight as he could.
The walk was boring, almost idiot proof (only 1 turn, which we got correct), and tore the skin off several blisters. I had no dry socks left, my feet were wrinkled up like off white raisins from being wet for the last 13 hours, and there was no choice except to get to the transition area. This was the section of the race where I did the most damage to my feet. I hadn’t thought to save a dry pair of socks for the road finale, and that was a mistake. Even my water proof socks had gotten soaked and were useless here. Another bit of wisdom. Unfortunately, I keep getting the wisdom after I really could have used it. Oh well.
Jean and I arrived at the transition area. Sarah and Jeff, 75 yards ahead of us, were still standing at the check in. Not a good omen. For sure they would have gone ahead to meet our crew instead of waiting for us, unless…Oh no. No Crew.
“I’m really sorry, but your support crew hasn’t checked in yet.”
“No, we really have no idea where they are. You can wait here in the med tent for them, we have a couple of chairs you can sit on.”
The race officials were fantastic. They sympathized with the 4 of us, standing there with 2 of the team clearly hurt, all of us damp and cold, and without dry clothes or hot food. They did what they could for Jean’s leg, elevating it and I think putting ice on the ankle. They sent Jeff off to someone’s tent as his leg was hurting and he needed to get off it. They let me borrow their cell phone, with which I did the most rational thing I could think of.
I called Bert’s cell phone and then Darroch’s cell phone, and when that didn’t work, I escalated the situation. I called Darroch’s mom. As it happens she is also Sarah’s mom, and my mom-in-law, so I thought this was fair play. It was by now closing in on 1 am in Montana, and midnight in California, so when I called, I got Mom Greer out of bed. Oops. Hadn’t thought about that. Sorry Mom G.
We were getting no luck though. Mom G didn’t know where Darroch was, or by extension where the support crew was. I asked her to call him until she got hold of him and please advise him to arrive here ASAP. In truth I was not quite this polite or genteel in my conversation that night. Mom G was asking about how the race was going, how were we holding up, what was it like, was Sarah okay, and all the sort of things she would logically be interested to know at midnight on Saturday when her youngest child is in the middle of a 500 mile race of fun and pain. At that particular moment, I wasn’t really mentally conditioned for a social conversation and, worse yet, was not at all self aware. When I hung up Sarah gave me a fair earful about being polite to Mom G as it wasn’t her fault her son was not there. After long and deep reflection, I now agree and so do not hold Mom G in any way responsible for this.
Sarah took the phone next and called her sister, Sydney, who doubles as Greer’s mom. No luck there either as Syd hadn’t spoken to them and didn’t know where they were. Syd started the social questions stuff, too, but Sarah was much more gracious and explained this was not an ideal time to fill in all the information and perhaps they could talk, say, after the race? Syd was good with it and they hung up.
But we kept dialing and had success, in some measure. Jeff’s wife Annie had spoken to Bert early that day, more than 12 hours before. The support crew figured it would take us the full 40 hours to get to the TA, and had gone off site-seeing at Yellowstone National Park. It was now 23 hours since we left Otter Creek. We weren’t too far from Yellowstone, maybe a few hours drive. But without getting the support crew on the cell, if they were thinking 40 hours, that meant it could be another 12 or 15 hours before they showed up. Things just went from bad to maybe a lot worse than bad.
The next leg of the race was a bike leg. Without our bikes, which were with our crew, we were as stuck as stuck could be. Had the next section been another hike, we could have begged some food and kept racing. But in this case, we weren’t going to get far until the support crew showed up.
At that point Jean, Sarah and I accepted a very gracious offer from Todd Lessard, one of the Lessard brothers who were the support crew of Team Brunton. They, too were from Connecticut, so we had a few things in common besides a need for sleep. Brunton had an enormous trailer and offered to let us wait in there. We accepted. Not only did it have a full bath inside, the trailer had its own wireless network. My idea of plush support vehicle was thus permanently re-defined.
We looked online at Team Brunton’s location. They were moving about in proximity to the checkpoint in Campfire Lake. But in the dark, it was going to be hard to see that flag. We explained to their crew the nature of the challenge the team was likely trying to sort out, and that it had taken us 5 hours to reach the TA from that point and we had the benefit of daylight all the way until the road section. At night it would take them at least a little longer, and maybe 50% more time, meaning an anticipated arrival 2 to 3 hours after sun up, and that was if they did not stop for sleep. Todd was kind enough to give us some hot soup, and we stripped out of our wettest clothes and tried to get some value from the lost time by going to sleep.
As we did so a certain rented recreational vehicle was careening through the dirt roads of Montana, en route to us. After a day of site-seeing in Yellowstone, the crew had dinner and checked into a hotel for the night. They planned on hot showers, a good night’s sleep, a full breakfast, and then the trip back to Montana and the TA. Fortunately for us, at 11pm Bert decided that before retiring he would get on line and check how we were doing. He logged in, saw that we were an hour out of the transition, and raised the alarm. I imagine it was quite an alarm, too.
I mean, can you imagine it? You have each flown to Montana for the express purpose of being support crew to this race team, to helping them get through Primal Quest, the world’s toughest race. You are there to feed and equip the team, to offer them solace and mental support. You are there to cheer them on and keep them going when they really would rather have a hot bath and a bourbon. And they are your family. But now, you are hours away from the TA, having spent the day site-seeing, fully checked into a hotel and bedded down for a good night’s sleep. And just to be safe as a last act before bed one of you checks and suddenly and irreversibly, you know that the team is almost at the checkpoint and you are not. You are hours away. And the team has gone nearly 20% faster than the best case time for that leg, which certainly implies an impending physical exhaustion. I expect there was some adrenaline and anxiety flowing as they left that hotel.
At about 3 am they had arrived, set up, and gathered us up and brought us over to our vehicle. Jean, Sarah and I hobbled over and each crawled into bed. It took a little longer for the team to find Jeff and get him inside as well, so we could all four get warm, get rest, and get going again. As we waited for them to show up, fearing the worst and not knowing if they would be there soon, in time for breakfast, or for lunch, Sarah and I had agreed discussing this now was not conducive to team harmony. So when we moved over to our RV, we ignored the elephant in the room and just said our good nights and crawled off to get some quality sleep. There was a lot of racing left to do and both Jean and Jeff were already injured. We needed to get positive and get going.
Saturday 28 June – Day 6 
We awoke Saturday morning, after 2 or 3 more hours of real sleep. Jean’s leg always looked better in the morning, and today was no exception. Jeff was enthused because today was a long bike section, 92 miles, with all of it on paved or dirt roads, and his leg seemed fine for the riding section. It was sunny, warm, and promising to get hot later in the day.
We left the Cottonwood TA about 30 minutes behind the Werewolves, who had arrived about an hour before us. We took a northern route out of the TA, cutting a few miles off the longer route out to Highway 89 and the ride North to Ringling. The route we took was shorter, and on more rural roads than the southern route. By rural roads imagine dirt roads which were pretty clearly used almost exclusively for the tractor/large pick up associated with the only structures we saw en route.
As we turned north 2 additional teams were coming out of the TA behind us. Team Sawbones did as we, turning north, catching us, and going by as they moved very well on the more technical sections. The other team looked to have gone south as we never saw them.
Once out onto Highway 89 we went by Sawbones, pulled over and fixing a puncture, and then caught up to the ‘Wolves. We joined up and started what was a much faster ride, with Jeff, Jean and Jason taking turns pulling at the front of the pace line.
Ringling, as it turns out, is a small town. I was expecting maybe a store or 2, a gas station, few houses, post office, etc. As it turns out, it was a few houses, but that was it. We almost went roaring past it, only recognizing it as we approached our turn because we could see the Checkpoint flags and several teams stopped there. We pulled in and refilled on water as the CP officials were very quick to point out that the water on the next leg was very limited. The race website shows us as there a little after noon, and that might be right. I know it was still early enough in the day the heat was still building.
At the checkpoint was caught up with Team Technu, in their remaining 3 person format, and wished them well today on the ride. They were moving a little slowly, but still moving to their credit.
From Ringling we had a 56 mile section left, most of which was through the Gallatin National Forest. It was on dirt roads, which generally were in pretty good shape. The ride was exceptionally pretty, cutting through pristine valleys with green fields, framed by running creeks, beautiful hills and mountains, and peaceful silence, excepting only the sounds of our 8 bikes and the conversations going back and forth among us.
We rode where we could in 2 lines of four, making pretty good speed on the flats and spreading out a bit on the hills, up and down. At one point in the midst of a reasonable descent Jason, a very good mountain biker, went by Sarah and I as if he had a motor on the back of his bike. He very nearly washed out in a rut, the rear wheel veering suddenly left and out from under Jason. But he recovered in style, and kept hauling downhill. Okay, so that should have been my warning. If Jason could lose control, even for just that moment, odds are good I would lose control. Unfortunately, this is one of those wisdom-after-you-need-it things I mentioned earlier.
A wee bit later in the ride we were progressing through a gorgeous valley whie riding on Sixteen Mile Road, with beautiful but small fields lining the jeep road and hills rolling out behind them. It seemed like an ideal time for some video, so I took the GoPro out of my little red food pouch and turned it on. The food pouch is, or in this case, was a small red zipper bag about 4 inches deep, that I clipped onto either side of my back pack straps. It thus hung in front of my chest and made accessing food easier as I hiked or biked. And in this case, it may the GoPro too temptingly accessible.
With the video recording we road along, comfortable in our speed and desire to get through the ride, but also enjoying the view. Unfortunately, as we went around a curve the road got quickly steeper and more difficult, and my right hand, previously held aloft to capture the spectacular views via the GoPro, was unable to return to the handlebars in time. So, with the front wheel of Larry O’Neill’s bike now at 90 degrees to the intended direction of travel, the bike decelerated to near zero in, oh, about a second. And in that second my body left the seat and I became an airborne projectile, with more than enough speed to comfortably clear the handlebars and descend directly upon the dirt road.
If you have never done this, rest assured bike manufacturers do not recommend it for good reason. If you have previously done so, then you know what happens next: No, not hitting the ground. That is coming, but first, since your feet are clipped to the pedals of your 2 wheeled chariot, the bike/body sequence when in normal and desired bike mode of travel is inverted to the body/bike sequence of an ‘endo’. For then, only after the bike is now pulled without choice by you, behind you, at equally high speed to your exiting of the seat, only then do you actually impact the ground, followed very closely by the bike impacting you.
In my case I hit the ground in a side roll, tucking en route and rolling immediately onto my back. This had the benefit of transferring onto my backpack the friction associated with sliding 10 or 12 feet down the dirt road. It had the misfortune of causing the bike to land in my lap, though in truth that didn’t really hurt too much and may have saved the bike from further damage, so all in all was probably net positive.
As I slid downhill on my back I also was very well positioned to see something for the first time in my life – what it looks like when the rider directly behind you has no chance to stop in time and, choosing thankfully not to just ride right over the top of the mess that was my bike and me, instead dismounts at full speed into the pile of body and bike sliding down the road. It was mostly a blur of additional bike and lycra clad body parts, but the impact was clear enough. I was fortunate enough to soften Ashley’s landing, keeping her from getting hurt, and her momentum carried our now joined-up slide further down and to the side of the road.
While still sliding Ashley asked, “Are you hurt?” “No,” I replied, “I’m okay. Are you hurt?” “No.” As we stopped sliding, I asked about the bikes, and, to our amazement, they were virtually intact. The pull bar on the left of the handlebar on my bike was torn off, the bike computer was no longer on its mount, the GoPro was way down the road, and the rotor on my front disc brake was slightly bent. Our teammates all rushed over and picked up the pieces and parts of the bikes and us. But otherwise, we were fine. Oh, and except the large chunk of skin removed from my left elbow, the smaller chunk from the top of my left knee, and the perfectly round hole 1.5 inch hole worn in my race jersey’s left sleeve, where my Suunto watch had worn through instantly upon making contact with the road.
I have had that Suunto watch since 2001, replacing the battery occasionally and the band on one occasion. On this occasion, it continued to work perfectly. And on the plus side, I can now pull that sleeve down all the way and still tell the time/altitude.
This was lucky. Not lucky because I was silly enough to try and video while moving on a route I did not know, but because neither Ashley nor I were hurt, a few flesh wounds not withstanding. As I write this the wounds have all healed up, though I expect they will remain visible for a few years to come.
At this stage we were up, walking about, got on our bikes and got going again. From then on Ashley road in front of me. In fact, everyone road in front of me from then on, except Jason. He road alongside and gave me encouragement, pointing out that the bike wasn’t quite set up right for me and caused me to sit up too high, raising my center of gravity, and contributing to the fall. It sure made me feel better to think it wasn’t entirely my fault. And, with the benefit of some time and a bit of distance, I have, in fact, decided it was totally my fault and had nothing to do with the bike. Oh well.
We rode to the end of the valley and then turned up Dry Creek Road. It was now mid afternoon, and darn hot. And, true to it’s name, it was a dry road with no water around, and when I say up, it is as it implies. Once again, we were going from the bottom to the top, this time ascending a ridge to the south of us. After some long, medium speed up hill riding we passed one team seated in the shade resting, and were approaching another team, which I think was the Canadians from Team Brain Attack again. But since collectively we were starting to suffer a bit, as we approached them we pulled off the road and sat in the shade of a rotting old wooden shack. The walls, floor and ceiling were wood, and who knows how old. It looked like it had been there since the 1800s. But though it looked like a solid storm would knock the shack over, a bunch of storms that winter hadn’t, so there it was, waiting for us just off the left roadside, and we road over and relaxed. We sat in its shade, going through the collective food and liquid supplies remaining among the 8 of us. What we had we shared, including some Pepperidge Farm Goldfish (very popular, though dry), some Jolly Ranchers of assorted flavors, a couple of Red Bulls (sugar free, though why sugar free in the midst of PQ I couldn’t figure), and some water. But not much water.
After about 20 minutes we got rolling again, soon crested the ridge line we had been ascending, and started down hill. At the bottom we turned right, and got going on .
We had a few navigation choices at this stage – follow Dry Creek Road (dirt and loose gravel) to the southwest, then turn southeast on a paved road, and then northeast for 5 or 6 miles to make our way to the transition area at Springhill. This was in essence riding a V shaped ride, from the top left to the top right, only with the V leaning a bit to its right. Or, we could turn at one of several left turns, head east, and pick up Route 411. The perils of this selection were it brought us much closer to the Bridger Mountains, located due east of us, and the southbound leg on Rocky Mountain Road could be more up and down as a result. The map looked like it would have only minor undulations, but each topo line was 20’ so a few lines could get interesting. [Note: undulation is a favorite race term Sarah and I picked up last year while riding from London to Paris last year. We learned then that an undulation is anything which requires vertical gain or loss, but which you refuse to be beaten into acknowledging is a mountain, or at least a large hill. The word undulation sounds so gentle, that it almost seems soothing when you say, “It’s pretty flat, except for a few minor undulations…”].
We were then out of water across the group, lips and tongues starting to stick together, and really feeling crummy. We chose to turn east on the second available road, Pass Creek Road, mostly since Paul and I were doing the nav then and were too far behind the lead bikes to tell them to turn at the first left on Morgan Lane. But fate was kind to us, and this turned out to be a good call. Not because of the undulations, but because of the neighborhood. Since we had left Ringley we had not seen any civilization to speak of. And that had been some 4 hours before. On this road we saw some houses and I advised Paul that I had to stop to get water. It had been over 2 hours without any water for me, and I was fading without it. I’m sure others felt the same, but each of us was in our own place, focusing mentally inwards, on the next pedal stroke, then the next, then the next and so on, to sustain momentum and just get through it. When a team gets this silent, it usually means there is enough emotional duress going around to suck the conversation out of the room, or they were recently navigationally challenged. In this case we weren’t lost, so I presume they all felt as I did. Either that or they just didn’t want to talk to me, I couldn’t tell and didn’t have the emotional energy to differentiate.
We came upon a farm house on the left side which had an enormous tree in the front yard, and hence lots of shade, with a hose bib clearly visible outside the barn. By the time I got there the first riders had dismounted, approached the side door and knocked politely to ask permission to use the garden hose for water. We got permission to use the well pipe right next to the house instead, and that was even better. It was a ½” well pump, and the water positively exploded out of the pump. It was extremely cold, extremely fresh, and the owners were extremely kind. They were an elderly couple, had lived there their entire adult lives, raised their children there, and were still farming. As we spoke the husband came in from the barn and joined the conversation.
It was a good conversation, pretty spicy as we all drank, put our heads under the pipe, and slowly came back to life. A lack of water has an enormous impact on your brain and body, and you don’t realize just how much of a different it makes until you experience this. One minute you feel like a zombie, staring straight ahead, focusing totally inward, with your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth and your lips increasingly sticking together. You breathe through your nose, trying to prevent the escape of any moisture remaining in your mouth. And then, cold water. Lots of cold water. It splashes into your mouth, you gulp it down quickly, then if ou know better, you stop. You stop so you don’t over do it and get yourself vomiting, which would be bad. So you drink slowly, hopefully mixing some electrolyte powder or tablets in, and within minutes you can feel the difference in your mouth, in your muscles, and in your brain. Its amazing how fast you can feel the shift from a completely inward focus, to one where you are aware of and enthralled by the surroundings, your teammates, your race colleagues, and your new best friends with the well pump. This was a moment like that.
I never got the name of the couple, but they were very kind and generous, offering to feed us if needed even. We didn’t need the food, but thanked them profusely and got back on those darn bikes for the rest of the ride to the TA. We had about 14 miles to go, and it was now late afternoon and we wanted to get on with it and get off these blasted bikes.
It was at this time that I realized just how bent the front disc brake was on my bike. When I lifted the bike and spun the front tire, a well balanced tire with brake clearance would spin for maybe 30 seconds or more and untold revolutions. Mine went about 3 seconds and a few revolutions before stopping abruptly. A real bummer, because it just meant pedaling harder to get the bike to the same place. Not much to do about it at this point but ride, and certainly no one else to blame, so I just shrugged and started out after the group.
Incredibly, when we left we didn’t fill the water bladders in our packs. We knew where we were, knew we had only about 14 miles, and so took only as much as we needed to get there, with maybe a bit more for safety.
At the corner of Route 411 we saw another team, scrambling behind a few shut buildings. They were looking for water, having run out as we had. Unfortunately for them, they had chosen the first turn east, not the second. They had not seen the lush farmhouse we had stopped at, and were off their bikes, looking for any kind of hose bib or pipe. And yes, we did tell them where we had gotten water, but as we rode by they showed no signs of interest in riding slightly back down Pass Creek Road.
The rest of our ride was true to expectations, with those undulations turning out okay. They went up, but not too badly, so with a little bit of head down and focus, they were over. And for each up, there was a down. So we undulated down the road until we were within about 6 or 7 miles of the final turn to the TA. At that point we had a very pleasant surprise – we caught a 5 minute downhill on a road that was part hard packed dirt and then became paved. The downhill was gentle, not really steep at all. But after all that riding, all that pain and discomfort, to go downhill where you don’t even have to pedal, for 5 minutes, well, it put a smile on everyone’s face. And, of course, we pedaled even harder as that got us going even faster downhill! And better yet, over the fields to our east we could see the tops of the support vehicles parked a few miles out to the east. We turned east at the bottom of the downhill, and road about a mile to the TA. We were all happy to arrive, but I think Sarah probably was happiest of all. Now she could stop worrying I was going to do a high speed dismount from my bike again. I swear I saw a quick smile of relief on her face when we turned into the field where the support vehicles were parked.
It was now about 9 pm, we wanted to eat, sleep, and get going on the next leg of the race. From here we had a long hike, up to the top of the Bridgers, south along the ridge (really the very top of the mountains), and then down to the M and into Bozeman. More on the M later. First, I had to get the gravel scrubbed out of my arm and leg, so I went over to the first aid station and had a seat.
Ever do a high speed fall from a low angle onto gravel? You kind of skip and then slide along the gravel. It hurts, and I am embarrassed to say I already knew this, having done so in PQ Telluride 3 years before. Nonetheless, done successfully, upon impact you spin to get off of any skin then in contact with the road and onto, say, anything else immediately available, just as fast as possible. In my fall, I had done that, rolling quickly onto my back pack. But in the initial contact, the road won in terms of both damage and residue inflicted. At the medical station a volunteer doctor inspected my outside forearm just above the elbow, and my thigh just above the knee. To no one’s surprise, he advised me that there was quite a bit of dirt in the cuts, including what he considered to be relatively number of pieces of gravel. With a nod of permission, he began rinsing them out with water squirted from a water bottle, then for the more refined dirt, with water squirted from a syringe.
This got most of the gravel and dirt out, and he then began, again with a nod of permission, to scrub the cuts with an abrasive brush of some sort. I say of some sort because at this point I chose to look the other way. It wouldn’t really do to cry, I mean, it is an adventure race after all, and if I looked the other way it was much easier to pretend it didn’t feel like he was removing all of the flesh from my forearm or knee. Plus, other volunteers were watching and I couldn’t well cry in front of them.
Once done inflicting significant bodily pain upon me, the doctor recommended that I get to a hospital or more complete medical facility and remove the remaining gravel, as he did not have the correct equipment to get it all, and that I leave it bandaged loosely so that it would dry out. I did leave it bandaged loosely while in TAs, but until the race was finished it stayed wrapped tight when on the course. Each TA departure would entail wrapping it tight to prevent easily infecting it, and each TA arrival would include pulling the then oozy and stuck bandage off, along with any attempt at new skin underneath. I never did see another doctor. The gravel has all fallen out by now, though you can see dimples in the skin mirroring the texture of the tightly wrapped bandages. From prior experience I know these will go away within a year or two.
While hobbling back to our RV, I saw the team from Technu ride in, looking pretty good in the process. This became important because upon returning I was advised by Jeff and Bert that my front brake was shot (knew that), and that Bert could probably buy the parts in town tomorrow and fix it, at a cost of several hundred US dollars, if he could get the parts. I grabbed Bert and we went back over to Technu. I knew Doug was out of the race and he had to have had a bicycle when the race started, so I went over, found Charlie and asked if I could borrow a tire. It turns out Charlie had switched to Doug’s bike due to some mechanical failure on Charlie’s bike, but yes, in fact, he had disc brakes on the bike he was no longer using and he would let us use it. With that he dug into their trailer, returned with a front tire, and I was back in the mountain biking business!
Ironically, the only reason we needed to borrow a tire from Technu, besides my fall I mean, was that we had leant out Bert’s bike to another team. Bert had shown up in Montana with a Specialized mountain bike with disc brakes which would have fit mine perfectly. But when one other team got in trouble earlier in the race, he had offered his bike up and it was now in use elsewhere! Good things happen to good people though, and Charlie was kind enough to lend us his. So we used it well, with no further mishaps and returned it to him at the final awards dinner in Big Sky.
We followed what was now becoming our usual routine upon arriving at a TA:
1. Make sure our support crew was in fact at the TA
2. Get medical support as needed
3. Eat
4. Eat some more while looking at the maps for the next section
5. Sleep
6. Eat
7. Get any further medical if required
8. Eat while confirming route, gear and ETD
9. Depart amidst hugs, kisses and well wishes
The medical support was mostly a male thing. I am not sure Sarah ever went to them, maybe once, versus Jean Paul, Jeff and yours truly, who visited repeatedly. I cannot help but wonder if this gender based ratio is as consistent for other teams as for ours?
Sunday 29 June – Day 7
In any case, at 2:30 AM we departed for a climb up Corbly Gulch to the top of Sacagawea peak, where there was another un-manned checkpoint at a trail junction. Just 10 minutes in front of us were Brain Attack, and 20 minutes in front of them were the Werewolves. We caught up to both teams in the dark, using their headlamps to help our navigation on the road to and initial sections of the trail, and in general the 3 of us did the climb in the dark together. It was encouraging to hike near other people in the dark, and we did our best not to fall off their pace at all.
At points the trail became tough to find in the dark, and at times when it criss-crossed the river it was particularly sketchy footing. On 2 separate occasions I did not quite make the step/leap/hop from the log/stone/branch to the far side, and my feet were therefore wet. But we progressed upward nonetheless, ascending from 4,773 feet to 9,650 feet and the top of Sacagawea Peak, over about 8 miles. As we came clear of the tree line and into the final approach to the peak, it was just becoming the dusk before dawn. We stopped for 3 minutes, I reloaded a bunch of water bottles from the snow melt at the bottom of the bowl leading to the peak, and we began the final push up to the top.
Just before the top of the tree line we passed a sleeping team. Safely ensconced within their yellow tent, set snuggly among some evergreen trees, and with their packs hanging from a nearby tree. I don’t know who they were, but I commend their diligence in hanging their packs.
With a bit of light coming on, the going was faster and we each started to 
switchback up the last bowl. I waited for Tom, and together we brought up the rear of the group. We saw an amusing site as we approached the top – a camper was sleeping in a bit of a cave under this rock outcropping. He had hiked up the day before, was camping there by himself, and was snug and warm within this sleeping bag. In contrast to us: we were working hard, had limited sleep, and were wearing most all of the clothes we had with us to stay warm in the pre-dawn chill.
At the trail junction each team’s SPOT carrier stood and reset the SPOT. This would allow the officials to know we had been exactly there. In this case it was easy – the junction was not covered by feet of snow as things had been in the Crazy Mountains. There was plenty of snow around, but in small pockets of shade mostly, as opposed to, oh, everywhere in the Crazies.
Once I had reset, we turned south and traversed just below the peak itself, aiming to avoid the last 500 vertical feet or so by intercepting the ridge line as it descended from the peak. All 3 teams moved along this line. Except that Jeff and Jean were not on the traverse line, as I realized with a long look over my downhill shoulder. A glance uphill found them – standing on the very peak. As Jeff explained later, “Couldn’t come all this way without bagging that peak.”
At the point we intercepted the ridge line we had a majestic view to the east, with the sun barely up into the sky, and us standing at the pinnacle of its light. We took team photos on our GoPros, and headed south. At this point the ridge was dirt, 5 to 10 feet wide at the top, and a pleasant day hike sort of place – views in either direction, barely a cloud in the sky, and an easy walk. Then that ended. 
Team Photo with Sacagawea Peak behind us, and the ridge line hike in front of us.
We could see one team in front of us where the dirt ended a
nd the rocks began. To our surprise they were heading west, down off the ridge and back into the bowl we had just ascended. After about 20 minutes we arrived at the same place and saw why they had chosen to descend. In front of us was a long ridge line of rock. What looked easy from a distance in fact was going to be anything but. The ridge was narrow, jagged in parts, very narrow, too steep to pass in parts, and did I mention really narrow? I misstep up here and someone would be taking the express elevator down – in the best case a fall would be 30 to 50 feet, and in the worst case it would be a long enough way that it would be hours before we could descend to the landing area.
As we progressed another team came upon us – going in the opposite direction! They had reached an impasse on a Class 4 section, and were turning back. By descending into the bowl they could pick up a trail that ran lower, was much longer, but would be easier and safer. We reached the place they described and had retreated. Paul looked high left, I went low right, and between us we decided that the safest route for the team was low right. It meant dropping about 30 vertical feet through large scree, immediately climbing the same on the opposite side of the rock fall area, and then having to do a quick climb down 15 feet before an angled ascent up a small seam to the ridge line. Of course, since the ridge line itself was climbing at this spot, it meant about a 50 foot climb to the ridge itself.
I sat atop the uphill scree field, coached the team through, and then sent them forward to Paul who guided them up to the ridge (it runs out Paul had done some real rock climbing in his day, and he proved very adept at route selection). We made it through safely, but it was time consuming as only one person went into the scree at a time. As we moved forward, our Canadian friends, following immediately on our tracks, decided to descend to the lower trail. With Tim with only one good arm, it would be too tricky for them if it got tougher. And it did get tougher.
The ridge was tough, no question. We were hiking/climbing along the spine of the mountains, with drops on either side and many sketchy spots. In the daylight, it had the effect of really focusing your mind though, and all 8 racers worked together to proceed through and along the ridge all the way to Ross Peak. It was an epic part of the race, and one of those pieces that afterwards you remember forever as a truly epic experience (for me: the fixed rope ascent and rappel through the Key Hole in PQ Telluride and the 1200’ night rope ascent of Calaveras Dome in PQ Tahoe are equal). But it was not without consequence.
Perhaps the best part of the hike along the spine of these mountains was watching Sarah 
proceed. Sarah was petrified of heights her whole life until the last 4 years. I think it was the climb up Calaveras and the 700’ rappel at dawn that changed her, but whatever the cause, she no longer had that fear. It was pretty amazing to watch – my wife of 20 years, who I knew for 2 decades to be scared of heights to near overwhelming anxiety, not just proceed along this ridge, but talking the other racers through it. She was coaching and reassuring them, in a way that women and mothers can do so well. She never blinked, stayed relaxed and outwardly focused on the team, and just moved along with everyone else. It was pretty cool.
As we climbed towards Ross Peak, we were forced off the ridge to skirt a particularly challenging spot on the ridge itself. Once off the ridge, our choice was to climb back up (and risk further similar events), or to traverse at a fixed elevation to the far side of Ross Peak, picking the ridge back up when it descended to the elevation of our traverse. This seemed the better choice, so off we went only to find tough passage and then, worse, a few scree fields. After PQ Telluride, Sarah and I weren’t overly concerned – it was daylight, the scree was reasonably large and therefore stable, and we could see the footprints where others had crossed already. Our passage was made complicated though as the group split – 4 racers including Jeff 
and Jean had dropped about 100 vertical feet lower on the traverse, and were entering the scree field below the remaining 4. Sarah and I, along with Paul and Tom, had remained on a higher line and were vertically above them.
We crossed one at a time to avoid kicking rocks down upon the racers crossing below us. On the high line I led across, scrambling to and then over a large rock outcropping on the far side of the scree, only to find the further side of the rocks far too steep to attempt without ropes. Jason and Jean led across the lower route while Sarah and Paul followed me across the higher route. From my perch high atop this rock, I could direct traffic a bit, and so asked Paul to go down along the outcropping edge, curling under its downhill face to meet up where Jason had crossed below us. It looked safer than climbing my rock and attempting the drops on its far side. I backtracked off the rock and Sarah and I descended similarly, hugging the cracks and edges of this large outcrop to keep from sliding too far with each foot step in the scree.
We were almost all across, when the fear we each felt suddenly was made tangible. Some might say reason won out, but I guess that is an individually determined perspective. Though we three were safely across, Tom refused to cross the scree on the high route. He turned back to find a way down to the lower line Jason had led. It took about 30 minutes to reverse course, scramble beyond the rocks and short cliffs, and descend to the lower line, with the net result of the same scree having to be crossed, just a little further down the mountain. From my perch, it was hard to see the savings or increase in safety. In the meantime, Ashley was having none of it and letting us know, loudly, of her position in this matter. Jason pulled back from scouting to help encourage Ashley across the lower route, and she made it in fine form, with no problems whatsoever. In retrospect, it seemed a classic Adventure Racing first experience – you don’t know what you can do until you do it, and until then, you just might doubt it. Ashley was way strong, never a doubt on our end that she could do this and in the end she crossed that field without a blip. But with fatigue and uncertainty tends to come fear. Later, she described her treatment by saying something to the effect of, “You put my life in danger and I will never trust you again,” with a few loving adjectives mixed into the phrase. Fortunately, this was not my cross to bear, though I’m certain her next scree field will be of less concern.
In the actual event, everyone crossed the scree very safely, without a single misstep, by simply walking in the same line that the leads had already compressed. But oh the time burned as we did this, and the strain on Jeff’s IT band was getting worse. And in the insult to injury category, we had hiked that darn ridge for hours that morning, and only when we were enmeshed in the scree field did the race helicopter come along looking for cool pictures. We waved and smiled, but they never saw us and we never did get the photo of a lifetime from that ridge. Oh well.
With Jason pulling back to talk Ashley across, I went ahead and selected a line across a semi-scree field which remained between us and our objective. It wasn’t even really scree. Scree, as I have experienced it, is loose rock which moves downhill when you walk upon it. Generally the bigger the rocks, say 2 to 3 feet across, the less they move. But if they do move, its very dangerous. In some cases with medium scree, maybe 12 to 18 inches across each rock, it barely moves, like the field we had just crossed. And when they move, it is a little less dangerous. Or, in some cases, it slides in a reasonably controlled manner, like the descent from the Key Hole in Telluride where the rocks were really a massive pile of pebbles and dirt, and each step carried you about 10 feet down the mountain in a telemark style glide. And then there are some cases when it moves in large quantities very fast and without warning, like later that same night in Telluride. At about 11PM and after I think about 19 straight hours of high altitude hiking, Sarah inadvertently swooped 18 feet down into a gulley, down scree steep enough to have been the side of an elevator shaft. Watching my wife accelerate away from me, I swore to myself that she was going to break at least one ankle/leg on arrival at the hard, flat ground below, but as it happened, she didn’t. As it turns out, all those rocks accelerating straight down were only inches across in size, and at the bottom they cannot just stop, they have too much momentum. Instead, they turn and expend their energy by flowing out onto the flat ground perpendicular to their fall line. And so it was with Sarah, who found herself, with a laugh, hoot and holler, sitting firmly on the flat ground, having taken the express route down an 18 foot descent.
Ashley quite readily agreed to hike the selected line, we traversed a bit further and there, some 50 feet below us, was the trail crossing on the ridge that we had been looking for. After a short rest each team started to move out. In a weird sort of way, each team hiked the next section alone. Maybe it was to let the psych wounds heal/move on from what we had just been through, maybe it was to get some separation, I don’t know. In any case it was getting warm, and we hiked the trail in 2 separate groups, leapfrogging each other any time one team stopped to rest.
We hiked the trail now, descending briefly into canyons where the deciduous trees provided canopy cover and a pleasant breeze flowed through the shade, only each time to quickly have to ascend the other side, popping out of tree cover and into the baking rays of the sun. On this section, there was no snow, no running streams, and lots of heat. We were all running low on water later that afternoon as we came down into a meadow and found, to our amazement, a trail junction with a water pipe. Where it got the water from, I have no idea. But there it was, a concrete tank filled with water that looked like it had been there for a few millennium and was not too appealing, and feeding the tank, a metal pipe, protruding horizontally from the side of the mountain, and trickling water out. We basked in the opportunity to drink from the pipe, filling water bladders, soaking heads, and relaxing for just a moment.
I chatted with Jason here until well after my teammates had started on, so I grabbed my last drink, mixed my bottle of Spiz, and started after them. Fortunately for me Jason was kind and stopped me after only about 30 feet to let me know they had correctly gone in the opposite direction. And to think I was supposed to be navigating!
We hiked the balance of the afternoon, covering the last 2 cruxes of the hike about dinner time. These were 2 short descents followed by immediate long, steep ascents through snow to the last high ridge line before we hiked out to the M. We came upon team 29 as we completed the second ascent, and each of us stopped to rest and sort our route for the push out of the Badger Mountains.
Paul and the ‘Wolves came up while we were resting, and he and I discussed the next choice – stay high and walk the ridge line south almost all the way out of the mountains, or stay on the trail and do a lot of up and down. Jeff was in pain at this point, and the scree field delays and anxieties caused us to prefer not to take the ridge line in the approaching dark. As I explained to Paul, “We’re trail people for the rest of today.” And so we were.
We parted company with the ‘Wolves who chose the ridge solution. Team 29 lingered apart, almost as if to not let us see their choice. We didn’t see, as we didn’t even look back. We started along the trail, and just gave it everything we had. Jeff, alas, was deteriorating. He was having difficulty going downhill. A lot of difficulty actually. His uphill speed was fantastic, and we had to be the antithesis of what you might expect – we were 2 to 3 times as fast going uphill as we were going downhill.
We took Jeff’s pack from him, re-distributed everything in it except some food and water, gave just that back to him, and sent him off in front. For some reason, racers in pain do better hiking in front than hiking in the back of the team. When in the back they tend to wallow in self pity and misery. When in front they tend to push harder to try and stay ahead of the group. Or at least I think they do, but I know for certain I do. In any case, we put Jeff in front and he did great for a guy in lots and lots of pain.
I was a bit possessed at this stage, trying to speed the team along by will and wanting to make sure we got down and across the single creek crossing before dark. I nearly ran trying to get fast and pull the team along, but in truth I wasn’t being smart. It would have been better to clip together and literally pull someone than passing Jeff and walking ahead. This finally occurred to me, and I slowed and waited for the team at the crossing, which we made comfortably before darkness fell.
We hiked the long, long, long, long, final ascent of the trail. At least it seemed that long because it was so much longer than I inferred from the map. After assuring Jean it wasn’t much further to the crest, he put his head down and hiked ahead. Unfortunately, it was much further and though he waited there for us, it was a long way to get there. Jean had just focused inward, pushed through it, and was waiting at the crest as the night started to get serious about darkness. When Jeff, Sarah and I caught up with Jean, he was putting on a warmer top, so we all took the time to do the same and grab a bite. We agreed to take a 20 minute sleep, though there didn’t look to be any too comfy spots. We were standing on a 30” wide trail, cut through the side of a hill sufficiently steep that you could sit on the trail, extend your elbow horizontal and hit the ground uphill.
But it mattered not. Sarah, Jean and Jeff all sat and slept immediately upon giving themselves the chance. I ate for 5 minutes, and then spent the next 15 looking over the map for the balance of the hike. I was afraid to fall asleep, lest we just sit here for hours until finally rested enough that one of us would awake. So instead I sat against a downhill tree, stuck my
feet uphill to drain, and tried to figure out exactly what and where the “M” was.
After 20 minutes I woke them, and we got up and got going. By then I had sorted out that we had one medium downhill switchback next, then one last little ridge to clear, and from there it was downhill to Montana State University, where an M was emblazoned into the mountain. We never saw the M, but I think it is made of white rocks, but I’m really not too sure.
We hiked out to the checkpoint which was just on the trail. As it turns out, it was well below the M itself, and our trail led straight to it. Good fortune on our part. We arrived in the middle of the night, and the checkpoint volunteer advised us he had been on line, watching us approach from the comfort of a nearby apartment, and when we got about 2 miles away he drove over. There was another volunteer asleep in the tent in case anyone showed up with their SPOT turned off, but this seemed to work well for them.
We left quickly, but not before I left my gloves there after removing them to sign the form. Once we left we hiked for 2 more hours to find the TA, a campsite hidden along a small lake on the northeast of Bozeman. Finding it took 90 minutes of hiking a road at 2AM, and then staring across the lake at what we knew was the campground, trying to figure out how to get there short of swimming straight for it. It turns out to get there we had to nearly fully circumnavigate the lake, which Jean eventually scouted and called correctly.
Amazingly, Bert met us at the entrance to the campground. We were, again, a wreck. Jean was doing okay, but his leg was swollen enough to be soft as a sponge
when you pressed on his shin. Jeff had made it, but the hike clearly hurt him badly. Sarah needed some sleep to reset, and I was physically and mentally exhausted.
From the moment we decided to hike on the trail until reaching the TA had been slow going. Jeff was doing his very best, but clearly with limited physical ability to hike. Jean, the strongest person on the team and that I had ever raced with, was able to get himself through the race, but his injury prevented him contributing as much as his strength and preparation would otherwise have allowed. As we hiked to the M, Sarah and I discussed the merits of continuing versus dropping out. We did not reach a conclusion, but it’s safe to say that for me personally, it was the second time in this race that I was ready to throw in the towel.
Monday 30 June – Day 8
After our usual sequence of medical, food, and sleep, we awoke to a pretty sunny morning. I went to use the porta-toilets, but it was a slow and very painful walk. Everything hurt, everything was stiff, and we were scheduled for a nice mountain bike ride of 50 miles, up over Bear Creek and back to Storm Castle Creek again.
Sarah had a tough time that morning, huddling in the RV with Greer and Margy to get some encouragement. Outside we could hear the girls talking to Sarah, but couldn’t hear her responses. They were clearly cheering her on, and I could tell Sarah was having doubts about the wisdom of continuing. So, that morning while eating breakfast we asked the crew to leave us four to talk alone, and we talked.
The simple truth now, was that the injuries had slowed us enough that the race would end before we could finish the remaining sections. I had done the math on the hike the night before, and under any scenario, I could not see how we could complete the course by the end of the race. We talked through the remaining race segments, the injuries, the desire to finish, the damage we might be doing, and openly discussed withdrawing. We had learned that morning that race officials were considering a short course option that would allow slower teams to skip the 40 mile Spanish Mountains hike section, but that was uncertain. This was, we were told, the hardest hike section of the race, and at 40 miles and slowed by injury, it was going to take us a long time to complete it.
It sounds so much better to say withdrawing than quitting, but that’s really what it would have been. For Sarah and I, this conversation was easy. We were both in pain, but we had both completed multiple expedition races. We didn’t need to finish to prove anything, and we weren’t going to finish the full course in any case. It didn’t seem right to obligate an injured teammate for less than a full course outcome. So we offered to quit if Jeff or Jean either wanted to or felt they should because of their injuries. Jeff spoke out first – he preferred to race until they made us stop. Even if we went slower, at least that way he would not have quit. Jean spoke next – he really had been looking forward to the climbing section and wanted to get to that section. In Moab he and Sarah had been precluded from the climb due to lightning and weather, and he was aiming for it here.
That settled it. I knew then and there that both of these guys were absolutely certifiably crazy. And that made them perfect teammates in an expedition adventure race. A race which we were still in.
We were a little slower getting out of the TA that morning, mostly due to our usual prep sequence and me getting a little extra TLC from the foot specialists at the med tent, but also in part because the pressure was off. Nothing we could do now was going to get us a full course finish, so we would race until we were stopped, be it by our inability to proceed or by the race officials. We hoped it would be neither of the above.
Before we left the TA, I did a little surgery on my bike shoes – pulling out my handy 2” locking knife, a tool that you carry at all times in these races, and cutting a hole in the mesh above the little toe on my right foot. That didn’t quite relieve enough of the pressure, so I reconsidered tactics. And then cut a really big hole in the mesh above that toe. Ahh, now that did the trick. A little breezy, a little more susceptible to water, but oooh so much less constant throbbing in the toe. It was a much better design for my right foot in its then current condition [Note: I just used those shoes again yesterday for the first time, and they work still work fine even without the throbbing pain].
We left the TA and took a short detour from the prescribed route. The prescribed route went straight south through the edge of Bozeman, down south of the town and then peeled west to a short stint on Highway 149 before turning off and heading for Bear Creek. Having not yet seen downtown Bozeman, we detoured through it and turned 
down to take Gooch Hill Rd to 149. This had no material time or distance difference, and put us out onto Highway 149 only 1 block away from the prescribed route, but it had a material effect on our morale. As we pedaled very slowly through Bozeman, careful to move with traffic and stopping at traffic lights, we were given numerous waves, shouts and cheers of encouragement. The people of Bozeman not only knew what PQ was and why we 4 dirty, smelly awful looking people with matching blue race bibs were there, they appreciated what we were going through and very vocally offered encouragement. We suddenly felt a little special, a little more loved, and that the pain and the grime were a little more worth it. That was when I fell in love with Bozeman and began my plans to return for a follow up visit. This one will be a nit more leisurely though.
It took us over an hour to get down to Highway 149 and then turn southeast on some smaller roads to head up to Bear Creek Cabin, out next checkpoint. As we left civilization we once again stopped at a house to see if we could reload our water before starting the trek up and into the mountains. Based upon our ride through the Dry Creek section, we were concerned whether or not there would be enough water out on the trail once we entered the more remote sections of the leg. So I rode into the driveway of perhaps the most immaculate little country house I saw in all of Montana. After dismounting and starting to walk around to the door, the owner came out of his garage and generously and immediately agreed to let us use the sink in his garage. And this was some garage. The floor was polished and sealed with that stuff they use in high tech warehouses so it really shines. The garage was several rooms, with a separate bath and shower which were larger than Sarah’s entire First Avenue apartment in New York City. The main room was several bays, with every toy, I mean tool, a guy could ever want, including a large electric overhead winch. And it was air-conditioned well enough that I was getting the chills while standing inside filling our camelbacks. He had obviously decided to make the house and garage his retirement hobby zone, and from what I could see he was doing a good job of it.
At this point our seats, and I mean the ones attached to our legs not the ones of the bikes, well, suffice to say they were plum worn out. It’s tough to get out mountain bike a lot while living in London, so I hadn’t done near enough bike training miles to build up the necessary calluses. Inevitably, this leads to saddle sores, and both Sarah and I had them pretty good. The disappointing thing is that you know before the race starts that this is going to happen, yet there is not a lot of choice – if you want to get through the ride and you haven’t done the training miles, those bike shorts are going to end up stuck to the wounds.
After a bit of lolly-gagging about in the shade of the pine tree at the end of the driveway, we got back onto the bikes and started the work part of the ride. It was now going to be up hill for the next 4 or 5 hours. We put our heads down and just started to ride. We split up slightly, with Jeff, Jean and Sarah riding together while I rode ahead, totally focusing on getting myself up the hill without help. As strong s Jeff and Jean are on the bikes, I knew they could tow Sarah and get themselves and her up the hill, so I just put my head down and focused on the next pedal stroke. We climbed a series of never ending switchback turns, coming around the corner of one to see the next, and looking ahead to see the next yet again when you turned back into the crease of the mountains. As we did I kept referring to the map to make sure we made the correct turns. It was not too difficult to estimate our location if I used the topography from the other side of the valley, so I could be pretty well certain where we were. That and since it was daylight and some of the junctions had forest service signs actually made it a pretty easy navigation. Nonetheless, I looked the map every 2 minutes probably, mostly out of nervous habit. I always worried we would go wrong and spend too much time and energy chasing off in the wrong direction. While we made many such mistakes, the nervous habit kept most of them to small transgressions instead of race ending errors.
We stopped for a 5 minute rest when about ¾ the way up the hill, just after passing a turn off which we were not taking. As we sat in the shade and ate some food, a pick up came along and we flagged it down to ask about the best route to the cabin. The driver was out looking for ‘fallen trees’ that he might be able to coax into this truck for firewood. Now that didn’t sound too legal to us, but being the outsiders visiting Montana, we thought better of qualifying this or of getting his plate numbers.
The cabin we sought was Little Bear Lake Cabin. It was up at 7,546 feet elevation, which was about 2,500 feet up from the house where we had stopped for water. The local we met was very kind, but wasn’t exactly sure if it was better to finish the climb, loop around the cabin and approach it from the access road behind and above it, or if we could turn off onto the trail below it which seemed to approach the lake from below, and perhaps went through to the cabin on the far side of the lake. In the instance, we decided to take the safe route and do the extra climb. It turned out just as well as we never did see where that lower route would have come in.
The passport books we had specified the checkpoint as the gate at the access to Little Bear Lake Cabin. We finished the bike climb, got to the gate and there was no checkpoint. In our rookie races this is where we would have panicked. The gate was unmistakable. There it was, a large metal gate across the jeep road. And there was certainly no checkpoint at the gate.
We have learned by now, however, that the exact location of a given checkpoint is frequently subject to the personal preferences of the person or persons who are working at the checkpoint. And, if that was me, I sure would be staying at the cabin, where I had a roof, 4 walls, a floor, a fireplace and stove instead of the gate, where I had my car and a chair if I brought one with me, and a view that went for miles instead of 6 feet to the other side of the road. So we rode to the cabin and there they were – race volunteers sitting outside with perhaps the prettiest view of any checkpoint crew in the race.
The cabin, as it turns out, is owned by the forest service or somebody like that, and you can rent it out for like $36 a week. It’s on a bluff, facing north with a view out over the mountain we had just ridden up, and in a place with solitude and quiet. We were there in the early evening, and it was very, very pretty. Much prettier than the gate, for certain.
After that we had a bit of climbing still to do to get to the south side of the mountain top area, and in a first for me, the mountain bike section actually still had snow on it. So here we were, riding along in mud, getting sprayed by our own tires and those of anyone you came up behind a little too closely, and then boom, there’s a snow field across the whole road that stretches in front of you for 15’. Jeff tried to ride through one and nearly got ejected from his bike, so, at each snow field, we had to stop, get off the bike, hike 5 or 8 or 10 or 25 steps, get back on the bike, and ride to the next one. It was a real pain. We did this for an hour or so, and then got to the turn back down to Storm Castle Creek. At the turn we paused to check helmets and reinforce our collective courage for ride to Storm Castle Creek was a bomber downhill ride. The descent was fantastic – not really single track but by far the most technical section of the riding. For Jeff and Jean it was going to be a joy ride.
Jeff led the way down. I gave him a bit of room as he was a lunatic on a bike – going crazy fast, laughing and in total control, the whole way down – and then I followed. Going into the second curve about as fast as I dared, the ride was bouncing violently enough that the small headlamp attached to the front of my bike broke the 3 zip ties previously holding it in place, whereupon it bounced down onto the trail in its silver housing protecting the small bulb, and the whole thing wrapped completely in hot pink duct tape to keep it from disassembling (legacy of my earlier bike fall and the handiwork of one Mr. Bert Craddock, support crew). It bounced 5 or 6 times, and then it was gone, somewhere quickly uphill behind me as I continued downward. It was a lost cause - I didn’t even consider stopping as I was going too fast and there were 2 more bikes hurtling down the trail moments behind me.
Sarah followed Jean down the trail, with Jean picking the line and Sarah following closely. When biking Sarah has always been the more rational of us in every adventure race we have ever done. Where typically I and other male teammates want to go as absolutely fast as possible on the downhills, Sarah tends to actually stay in control and avoid injury. As she sees it, the difference in time from her pace to ours is of no consequence. But a fall and a broken arm or taco’d front wheel, well those can end your race pretty fast (I don’t know where the term taco for a wheel came from, but just imagine taking the circular and metal front wheel, bending the two sides about 75% of the way towards each other where it then stays in perpetuity or until you throw it in the trash, and you see the similarity to those yellow hard shell taco’s they sell in the grocery stores).
As a result, after a bomber downhill like this, we usually hang out and wait for Sarah a bit at the bottom. Not this time. I got to Storm Castle Creek Road at the bottom of the hill, turned out onto the road, and 20 seconds behind me Sarah and Jean arrived, whooping and laughing hard. It turns out Sarah stopped on the second curve, retrieved my light, and then chased after us fast enough to launch airborne on one of the washing board bumps. These were no little bumps either. They were probably 2 feet tall, and apparently Sarah was going fast enough that by the second or third one she hit it with full speed and elbows/knees locked resulting in a full airborne position, with the bike angled facing off the trail. Uh oh. So, while still in the air, necessity begot skill development. In the one or two seconds available, Sarah turned the bike back to the trail, landed it and pedaled on, with a bit more adrenaline than planned. For Sarah this was a first, and with her confidence increased significantly, she nearly caught Jeff and I on the remaining downhill.
After PQ Tahoe Sarah’s significant fear of heights pretty much went away. She knew it was gone when she had race dreams months afterwards, always including free ropes and heights, and she would awake without the anxiety that had always previously accompanied dreams like these. After this particular ride, high speed downhill mountain biking might just turn out the same. But I can tell she’ll still be the more rational. I think that’s a DNA question frankly.
Once all four of us were down we started the 6 mile ride to the TA. It was on a wide road, very gentle downhill slope, and one we had already hiked en route to Telephone Ridge. So we knew the road well, and we road along in great spirits. We had just bombed the hardest technical section in the race, we were cruising downhill to the TA, and everyone was feeling well. Our time on the section was about 7 hours and 5 minutes, which was faster than we had anticipated, so our confidence was back up as we arrived there in late afternoon. 
We arrived at the TA, our crew was there (!), we checked in and got new maps necessary for the orienteering/rock climbing leg which was next, and went to the RV. While eating, icing legs and knees, and removing bandages I looked through the maps. We knew Jean really wanted to do the climb, and that Jeff 
was willing but going to struggle on any downhill hike.
The section started with about a 4 mile hike to the rock climb, which included an approach to the base of the wall.
For the approach you had to follow the trail then turn and follow little ribbons tied on branches to show the correct way up to the base of the climb. From there we would first do a moderate free climb, in the 5.5 or 5.6 range, then ascend fixed ropes to the top. Once off the ropes we could choose which orienteering checkpoints to find, and hike along Garnet Mountain Trail back down from the top, cross Strom Castle Creek Rd, climb again to more orienteering checkpoints, hike to the rappel site and rappel down to the TA. The rappel site was adjacent to the TA, so we could see teams when they came down.
In all it looked like about an 8 mile round trip hike, some really exciting climbing, and some tough up and down hiking. My best guess was it would entail about 3,000 feet of downhill hiking, plus the up hill and rock climbing which could get tough. Our strategy was to hike to the climb, have me ascend first, then Jeff, Sarah and Jean. While they were climbing the ropes I would move ahead to try and find two of the closer orienteering points. We would reassemble on the trail at 7,500 feet elevation, which meant we needed to sync the altimeters on our Suunto watches before we started up the ropes. The hike down would be especially tough on Jeff, so we would have to carry his pack and lighten his weight as much as possible, and see how he did before deciding what to do on the second half of the section.
As we laid down to sleep for 2 hours, we agreed on an 11:30 pm departure. It was going to be a lot harder to find those orienteering flags in the dark, but we really didn’t have much choice. About 10:45 Margy woke Sarah and then me up. After a few minutes of fog clearing, I realized what she was saying – the rain that was starting when we laid down was now a full fledged electrical storm. Race officials had circulated through the TA to tell teams that the climbing section was closed. Teams in the middle of the climb were being forced to switch to rappel and descend the ropes they had just worked to get up. Teams who had not yet started up the ropes were required to down climb and return to the TA. And they confirmed that starting at 9 am the following morning, teams would be allowed to skip the hike through the Spanish Mountains. Instead of being driven to the trailhead by your support crew, you could be driven around the mountains to the Ennis Lake TA for the final leg of the race. Once Margy relayed the news, Greer and Margy awoke the guys so we could talk it through. Though the choice had been largely made the night before, this was a different choice. We could leave shortly and have an extra 9 hours to do the hike, time that we had expected to spend on the climb section. For us 9 hours normally would equate to 18 miles of progress on tough terrain, as much as 30 miles on easy terrain, but could be as little as 9 miles on the hike we were facing. There was no way to know for certain. But even a minimum of 9 miles covered in that time would be almost 25% of the hike, so it was now conceivable that we could complete the hike and the ensuing bike. It became a consideration. For about a minute.
Once the hike was started, it was a commitment. There would be no easy way out of the mountains, no short cuts, and the best case scenario was we finished it with enough time to complete the bike leg remaining and thus secure a finish, although still a short course finish by virtue of missing the climb section. The worst cases were a combination of leg injuries either preventing our finishing it altogether, or slowing us sufficiently that there was not enough time for the bike leg remaining. These outcomes meant no finish at all, and the risk reward seemed balanced in favor of any finish being better than none. So we left the crew with directions to awake us at 7 am, and we went back to sleep, more sleep than I have ever experienced in one sitting in the midst of an Adventure Race.
Tuesday 1 July – Day 9
About 8:45 that morning teams started lining up to drive out of the TA. It seems the race had moved to motorized vehicles with the same intensity as the other means of travel. At 9 o’clock teams departed, and we started the parade to the Ennis Lake TA, elevation 4,839 feet. Lulled by the motion of the vehicle on Montana roads, I drifted off to yet more sleep. My subconscious must have been listening though, for when I awoke, it was to a sense of anxiety – we had gotten lost and missed a turn or turns en route to the TA. I awoke as we turned around to double back. I cannot comment on just how this occurred, having been looking only at the inside of my eyelids. Fortunately, we found the TA pretty quickly, and took one of the few remaining spots at the rear of the parking area.
We grabbed our bikes, did a final gear check and headed up to check out. At all of 
these TAs race volunteers go through a checklist for some or all of your gear to make sure you have mandatory gear. Teams are always either gaming the gear list to reduce the weight of their packs, or are simply too brain dead to realize what they forgot. The later category would include my leaving the maps behind on the Crazy Mountain leg. In this case, we took the bare minimum. We had a 33 mile bike to the finish, it was 10:30 am, and all we truly needed was to get to that finish line. So they checked our bike repair kits, our SPOT, our med kits and I think that was it. In other TAs they had checked our tent, or our sleeping bag, or our snow shoes, or matches or whatever gear they knew would be critical to team success should things get difficult or dangerous on that section of the race.
We started our ride alongside Ennis Lake, traversing the north side and then down the length of the eastern side of the lake. A bunch of teams had checked out in the 2 minutes prior to our check out, so we had a number of folks to chase. We passed the first two teams along the lake, then caught one more as we turned east onto Jack Creek Road and started the ascent toward Moonlight Basin. As we started the climb, for the first time in the race, we tethered Sarah’s bike to Jeff’s. We had set Jeff and Jean’s bikes up with bungy cords wrapped around their seat posts. The cord could be unwrapped, the end handed to a teammate who holds it into their handlebars or hooks it on them, and the slower biker towed by the stronger biker. And though I teased Jean about the bungy now being on Jeff and my bikes as our support crew must have realized I was the stronger rider, in fact I had no intention of towing anyone up 3,000 vertical feet of hill that day or any day soon. But Jeff did, and in this case it made an enormous difference to team speed.
Jeff was a gorilla on the bike, barely slowing down despite the fact that 10 feet behind him Sarah was holding a bungy cord. Sarah was probably 33% faster under this set up, and we started to make even better speed and passed a couple more teams. Along the way, I was riding behind Sarah trying to stay in her wind shadow, which was a silly thing since at this speed there isn’t too much wind shadow. Nonetheless, while doing so I provided some symmetry when I fell onto my right side on the dirt and gravel road. Earlier in the race I had a high speed, left side landing, and now I had a slow speed right side landing.
This one hurt, but with only miles to go to the finish, it was of no consequence. Except the pull bar part of the handlebar which broke off and I shoved into my pack. That now matched the left side, where the pull bar had broken off in the earlier fall. Again, nice symmetry.
We were doing great on the ride when we got our first flat of the race, about 10 miles into the section. Sarah’s rear tire went poof, and we had to stop to change the tube. At least I think that’s what we did, because normally Sarah had tubeless tires on her bike. I’m not sure because Jean and Jeff did the hard work while I sat and worried over the map. There really wasn’t much to worry about, but I did it anyway.
Once the tire was changed we started back up and quickly caught a few teams who had passed us while stopped. One of them, we noticed, were carrying fully loaded packs in addition to further gear mounted on rear wheel fender racks, the kind you put your school books on as a kid. My heart went out to them because they were making it so much harder with all that gear. It was 33 miles to the finish, all on decent quality back country roads. You could walk it before dark, and they had so much clothing and camping stuff it looked like they were heading out for 3 days or more.
We passed over ten teams on the ride, including Houston Adventure Racing. We went by them right after the gate to Moonlight Basin, and even caught up to the Dirty Avocados II who had a 20+ minutes head start that morning and hadn’t had a flat en route. We caught them in the last mile before the crest of the climb, but unfortunately for us, being caught motivated them into another gear. When they recovered their focus and went zooming back past me, I had nothing left to accelerate with and could not stay with them. And Jeff, after towing Sarah the entire way up this hill, he too let them go.
The bike climb was great fun for us. I rode at the front again, putting my head down and just grinding as hard as I could. With the full night of sleep that we had, it was so much easier than would have been the case otherwise. Plus I had learned how to hill climb last summer when Sarah and I did a London to Paris charity ride. That was the first time I had ever ridden a road bicycle 8+ hours a day. Over the 4 days it gave me a chance to try different styles of riding, and I discovered that by focusing my pedal stroke differently, I could climb the hills far better and catch riders who were much better on the flat sections of the ride.
Jean rode alongside Jeff on the climb, encouraging him the whole way. 
Meanwhile, Jeff towed Sarah on a cord which, when climbing under tension, stretched past 15 feet. It was hilarious to watch the look on other teams’ faces as we went by. First I would go by, casually offering a hello and some encouragement to them, especially to the rear rider who was typically working hardest to keep up with their team. Then Jean would pass, and then quickly Jeff, with this long cord extending from the back of his bike, and, then, a few seconds later, Sarah would go by. It was a tough climb, and to see someone riding quickly by you while also towing another person up the climb, well, it can be a little discouraging. And when we passed a team, I always focused on quickly getting us far enough ahead that we were out of view when they came around a switchback. I didn’t want to give them a target to chase.
As we crested and started the downhill, the race was all but over. With a mile or so left, all downhill on what had now become paved roads, it was time for the emotions to release. We stopped for a second, I took my Rudy Project glasses off and put on a pair Margy had given me for use – black, plastic, with rhinestones lining the heart shaped lenses. I wore these as the four of us rode into Big Sky ski area and lined up abreast to cross the finish line.
At the finish line we were met by a throng of people – race officials, photographers, and most importantly, family and friends, including the 
Ainsworths. It is too hard to explain the joy, the relief and waves of emotion that come over you when you finish, so I won’t really try. Suffice it to say that under the stress and physical duress of the race, emotions come very easily to the surface. Laughter, tears, stress and fear are present and overt during the race, and the finish line allows you to put many of the darker emotions away and to just enjoy the brighter side of the experience.
About 2 hours later we had checked into our condo, gotten showered and shaved, and started to l
ook normal again. Sarah went back up to the finish line to ask for a dinner recommendation, and ironically a race volunteer chastised her, saying that the volunteers were there to support the racers and their family/friends, and was Sarah in some way associated with the race? She could ask this in a straight face because once showered, the only signs that Sarah had even raced were the infected big toe nails on each foot. For Jeff, Jean and I, however, the fact that we had raced was more obvious. We moved with severe limps, more of a hobble than a walk really, and all had appendages bandaged. My arm was wrapped, and my feet were raw enough that I could not wear even my Tevo sandles because the straps hurt too much. So Margy and Greer had accompanied me from 
the finish line directly to the shop in Big Sky where I purchased a pair of hot pink Croc’s. They were incredibly comfortable, and I could get my feet into them with less discomfort than any other shoe I owned. I’m not sure why they make size 11 Crocs in hot pink, but they do and I am now the proud owner of one such pair. Jean’s ankle was also wrapped, and Jeff’s knee had been, though from this point on I only saw him in long pants.
We tried to go to dinner at some chain style restaurant place that reminded me of TGIF, but it was crowded and over an hour wait. Instead we went to Buck’s T4, and it was an excellent choice. The food was beyond fabulous, the service attentive, and we had an excellent dinner for nearly 20 of us. If you get out to Big Sky, I strongly recommend this restaurant over all the other places we ate. It was fantastic.
And so ended our race adventure, after 8 days, 4 hours and 5 minutes. We had a wonderful breakfast at the Ainsworth’s one morning, we packed and shipped our gear from the local UPS, Jeff and Bert took the RV back to Salt Lake before flying home, and Sarah, Margy and I flew off to Denver to spend 18 hours with our 12 year old son Ron hours before he departed on a backpacking trip into the Rockies. Looking at the race results, I have no idea how the time adjustments worked out, and frankly am not sufficiently concerned to learn. We didn’t win the race, but then we didn’t enter it to win. We entered it for other reasons, and those were eminently achieved. The race was over, but the memories, the learning, the adventure and the relationships developed at Primal Quest Montana are now permanently embedded into each of us.
Thanks for listening.
1. Team race site: http://team34.ecoprimalquest.com/
2. TMFC Video Montage by GoPro: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fLUfKWdE_0I
3. Werewolves Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3MbuO-pF7G0&feature=related (check out 1:02 into the video where we are hiking the ridge with them)
4. Team 65 Video (I don’t know them but they had some good footage): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aIGvNICByzg&feature=related
5. Buck’s: http://www.buckst4.com/dinings.html
TTFN.
[1] Perhaps other than the first night on our way down from Buck’s Ridge, but that’s another story.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)