A Race On April Fools Day
It was April 1 2006 and my team (2 guys and me) were all excited to be in the mountains of North Carolina competing in a 48 hour race called SMAR (Smoky Mountain Adventure Race).
The race started at 10pm with a hilly road ride. It was cold and dry, but the effort of the bike ride (as well as all the gear we were carrying) kept us warm enough. Four hours later we reached the canoe put-in, but by that time the weather had changed for the worst. We were now facing increasing winds and freezing rain. Climbing into the canoe (I was in front) we began to paddle (kayak paddles) away from shore. The night was overcast, very dark, very wet and cold right from the get-go and I knew that it was going to be a long and cold night. Within 15 minutes of being on the water one of my team-mates expressed real concern that if we pitched the canoe, he was afraid we would all be too hypothermic to swim to shore. At the time I was cold, but I thought he was overstating the situation..................
Hour after hour throughout the night we paddled on. The wind was unrelenting. The freezing rain was unrelenting. White caps splashed over the canoe in front of me. I was wearing my bike gloves throughout the paddle - they were not waterproof - and as the night wore on I began to realize that this was probably the most physically miserable I had ever been in any race to date. Gradually one by one we picked up the checkpoints along the way that we had to find. By the time we had picked up the last of them I felt gratified but also now wanted nothing more than to get the hell off the water and get into some dry clothes. I had no idea at that point what time it was - I was running strictly on "just keep forging ahead and get it done" energy. Not thinking. Just moving forward. So time had no meaning at that point. We were at the far end of the lake and made a straight shot paddle back towards the take out. We had a long way to go, and without speaking all three of our team just paddled on robotic, frozen, exhausted autopilot. By that time my team-mates "overstatement" was the truth. If we had pitched the canoe, none of us would have been able to safely swim our way to shore. We were too cold. We were too exhausted. And so we all worked hard to just..........stay steady.
At 7:30 in the morning we finally arrived back at the race take-out. I tried to climb out of the canoe and realized that I could barely move. When I finally got out of the boat I could barely hold the canoe steady so that my other team-mates could climb out. We could barely walk. When we arrived at the check-in we could barely talk. Race staff went to wake up our support crew (who would come meet up with us). At the same time all three of US hobbled up to the one heated rest room in the park. When we walked in there were thirty or so other racers all crammed into one small area - men and women both - all in various stages of undress - all shaking and hypothermic and being helped into dry clothes by their various support crews.
I tried to unbuckle my life jacket. I had no fine motor skills and couldn't do it. One of my team-mates fumbled with mine while I tried to warm my hands enough to fumble with his. Thankfully our support crew quickly arrived, got us all undressed and dressed again, threw us all into a heated vehicle and drove us back to where they had a campsite set up. One quick cup of hot chocolate, a quick sandwich each and we all collapsed, bundled up in sleeping bags for the next two hours. Support crews are the kindest, most generous, most welcoming, most selfless, most important component of a long race.......
Two hours after we had fallen into exhausted sleep, those same caring, kind, welcoming individuals woke us up, methodically got us dressed and geared up for the next leg of the race, stuffed a sandwich in our faces and literally pushed us out of the campsite. Which was a jolting experience but also a necessary component of being a support crew. The next leg of the race was a long bike ride high into the mountains. The bike leg started off in sleet, but as we continued to climb higher and higher into the mountains the sleet turned to light snow, then turned to heavier snow, then turned to heavy snow.
We continued to pick up checkpoints along the way but by the time we were six hours into the ride the world was truly beginning to get buried in snow, and a lot of the time we were hike-a-biking as opposed to doing any actual serious riding. Terrain features were buried by this time and we began to second guess ourselves in terms of where we were and where we needed to go. We had an increasingly dread feeling that we had missed a major unmanned checkpoint (and by default a major side trail that we were supposed to pick up).
All of us had brake pads instead of disc brakes on our bikes at the time (I went to disc brakes right after this race) and between the rocks and grit and mud and slush those brakes were really getting worn down. We stopped at one point to discuss our braking abilities - I had front brakes but no back, one of my team mates had back brakes but no front, and the other was still doing OK. Continuing on.............
An hour later we came to a major downhill. For the next 10 minutes I focused on nothing but staying upright on my bike. The guys were ahead of me and when I got down to the bottom of the hill I tried to stop, but just continued moving until finally I reached a flat surface where I could slow down enough to put my feet down and stop. Once at a full stop I turned to look back at the guys (who I had just coasted right by) and said "That's it - I'm out of brakes". Right after I said that I looked around me and it was an "Oh Shit" moment.
It was like the whole sky had opened up. The entire world was white. Heavy snow was blowing in sideways. Quick look around - no rocks, caves, bushes - nothing to provide any shelter. With that I climbed off my bike and pushed it over to the guys.
Huddling against the cold and shouting over the wind we quickly identified our current status. Missed CP. Missed trail turnoff. We were using a FS map from the 1960's and were standing on a paved road that wasn't even on the map. No brakes on our bikes. Snow. Cold. Wind. It would be dark again within the next hour. We looked at each other and then nodded at the team captain. "Do It!". His name was Vern and he dug into the bottom of his pack, dug out the double ziplocked and duck-taped emergency radio, broke it open, and called it in. We were DNFing (Did Not Finish).
After calling in to Race HQ we all broke open our emergency blankets and huddled together waiting for race officials to come pick us up. Ten minutes after our call an old blue really junky looking car unexpectedly appeared around the bend in the road. Stopping beside three freezing cold and snow covered adventure racers, an elderly woman smiled at us from behind the wheel and asked if we were alright. No Ma'am. We're not. With that, we spent the next 15 minutes in her wonderfully warm car until the race official showed up.
We loaded our bikes into the back of his truck, dejectedly climbed in, and felt like total losers as we slowly made our way back down the mountain. DNF are the worst three letters to an ARer. As we slowly made our way down winding, slick, snow covered mountain road I thought back to the team we had run into at one point not long after we started our mountain biking adventure.
They were young guys all from Nashville (my team was a combination of TN/GA/SC), and as OUR team had our heads together looking down at the map these guys happily chugged by us. They were wearing bright yellow dish washing gloves to keep their hands dry, and they had lost their passport. The passport was golden. Next to the map, you took care of your punch-passport above all else during a race, because it was the only proof you had that you had found the CPs you said you had found. Time and number of CPs determined your finish rank in a race.
When we asked them why they were still racing if they had lost their passport their response totally WAS golden. "Because we suck! Nobody but US cares where we finish in this race!". They were racing just because they loved doing what they were doing..................I understood exactly where they were coming from.
So.........feeling like losers and totally disappointed about DNFing. And then we hear another team over the radio calling into Race HQ. They're lost in the snow and need help. And then another team. And then another team. And then another. And another. Over and over again we heard call-ins from teams that were now stranded in the dark, in the mountains, in a blizzard.
By the time we got back to Race HQ, met up with our support team again and filled them in on what had happened out there, the race had been officially called due to weather. Search and Rescue teams from multiple counties in the region were called out to rescue stranded teams. It was almost dawn before the last team was safely out.
The next morning we headed further down the mountain - our team of racers and support crew - and found a restaurant to sit down and eat breakfast together before we all went in our separate directions. We were sitting at a booth by a window and as I looked out I saw two runners wearing shorts on the opposite side of the road. There was no snow down where we were, and the day was wonderfully warm and sunny.................
It was April 1 2006 and my team (2 guys and me) were all excited to be in the mountains of North Carolina competing in a 48 hour race called SMAR (Smoky Mountain Adventure Race).
The race started at 10pm with a hilly road ride. It was cold and dry, but the effort of the bike ride (as well as all the gear we were carrying) kept us warm enough. Four hours later we reached the canoe put-in, but by that time the weather had changed for the worst. We were now facing increasing winds and freezing rain. Climbing into the canoe (I was in front) we began to paddle (kayak paddles) away from shore. The night was overcast, very dark, very wet and cold right from the get-go and I knew that it was going to be a long and cold night. Within 15 minutes of being on the water one of my team-mates expressed real concern that if we pitched the canoe, he was afraid we would all be too hypothermic to swim to shore. At the time I was cold, but I thought he was overstating the situation..................
Hour after hour throughout the night we paddled on. The wind was unrelenting. The freezing rain was unrelenting. White caps splashed over the canoe in front of me. I was wearing my bike gloves throughout the paddle - they were not waterproof - and as the night wore on I began to realize that this was probably the most physically miserable I had ever been in any race to date. Gradually one by one we picked up the checkpoints along the way that we had to find. By the time we had picked up the last of them I felt gratified but also now wanted nothing more than to get the hell off the water and get into some dry clothes. I had no idea at that point what time it was - I was running strictly on "just keep forging ahead and get it done" energy. Not thinking. Just moving forward. So time had no meaning at that point. We were at the far end of the lake and made a straight shot paddle back towards the take out. We had a long way to go, and without speaking all three of our team just paddled on robotic, frozen, exhausted autopilot. By that time my team-mates "overstatement" was the truth. If we had pitched the canoe, none of us would have been able to safely swim our way to shore. We were too cold. We were too exhausted. And so we all worked hard to just..........stay steady.
At 7:30 in the morning we finally arrived back at the race take-out. I tried to climb out of the canoe and realized that I could barely move. When I finally got out of the boat I could barely hold the canoe steady so that my other team-mates could climb out. We could barely walk. When we arrived at the check-in we could barely talk. Race staff went to wake up our support crew (who would come meet up with us). At the same time all three of US hobbled up to the one heated rest room in the park. When we walked in there were thirty or so other racers all crammed into one small area - men and women both - all in various stages of undress - all shaking and hypothermic and being helped into dry clothes by their various support crews.
I tried to unbuckle my life jacket. I had no fine motor skills and couldn't do it. One of my team-mates fumbled with mine while I tried to warm my hands enough to fumble with his. Thankfully our support crew quickly arrived, got us all undressed and dressed again, threw us all into a heated vehicle and drove us back to where they had a campsite set up. One quick cup of hot chocolate, a quick sandwich each and we all collapsed, bundled up in sleeping bags for the next two hours. Support crews are the kindest, most generous, most welcoming, most selfless, most important component of a long race.......
Two hours after we had fallen into exhausted sleep, those same caring, kind, welcoming individuals woke us up, methodically got us dressed and geared up for the next leg of the race, stuffed a sandwich in our faces and literally pushed us out of the campsite. Which was a jolting experience but also a necessary component of being a support crew. The next leg of the race was a long bike ride high into the mountains. The bike leg started off in sleet, but as we continued to climb higher and higher into the mountains the sleet turned to light snow, then turned to heavier snow, then turned to heavy snow.
We continued to pick up checkpoints along the way but by the time we were six hours into the ride the world was truly beginning to get buried in snow, and a lot of the time we were hike-a-biking as opposed to doing any actual serious riding. Terrain features were buried by this time and we began to second guess ourselves in terms of where we were and where we needed to go. We had an increasingly dread feeling that we had missed a major unmanned checkpoint (and by default a major side trail that we were supposed to pick up).
All of us had brake pads instead of disc brakes on our bikes at the time (I went to disc brakes right after this race) and between the rocks and grit and mud and slush those brakes were really getting worn down. We stopped at one point to discuss our braking abilities - I had front brakes but no back, one of my team mates had back brakes but no front, and the other was still doing OK. Continuing on.............
An hour later we came to a major downhill. For the next 10 minutes I focused on nothing but staying upright on my bike. The guys were ahead of me and when I got down to the bottom of the hill I tried to stop, but just continued moving until finally I reached a flat surface where I could slow down enough to put my feet down and stop. Once at a full stop I turned to look back at the guys (who I had just coasted right by) and said "That's it - I'm out of brakes". Right after I said that I looked around me and it was an "Oh Shit" moment.
It was like the whole sky had opened up. The entire world was white. Heavy snow was blowing in sideways. Quick look around - no rocks, caves, bushes - nothing to provide any shelter. With that I climbed off my bike and pushed it over to the guys.
Huddling against the cold and shouting over the wind we quickly identified our current status. Missed CP. Missed trail turnoff. We were using a FS map from the 1960's and were standing on a paved road that wasn't even on the map. No brakes on our bikes. Snow. Cold. Wind. It would be dark again within the next hour. We looked at each other and then nodded at the team captain. "Do It!". His name was Vern and he dug into the bottom of his pack, dug out the double ziplocked and duck-taped emergency radio, broke it open, and called it in. We were DNFing (Did Not Finish).
After calling in to Race HQ we all broke open our emergency blankets and huddled together waiting for race officials to come pick us up. Ten minutes after our call an old blue really junky looking car unexpectedly appeared around the bend in the road. Stopping beside three freezing cold and snow covered adventure racers, an elderly woman smiled at us from behind the wheel and asked if we were alright. No Ma'am. We're not. With that, we spent the next 15 minutes in her wonderfully warm car until the race official showed up.
We loaded our bikes into the back of his truck, dejectedly climbed in, and felt like total losers as we slowly made our way back down the mountain. DNF are the worst three letters to an ARer. As we slowly made our way down winding, slick, snow covered mountain road I thought back to the team we had run into at one point not long after we started our mountain biking adventure.
They were young guys all from Nashville (my team was a combination of TN/GA/SC), and as OUR team had our heads together looking down at the map these guys happily chugged by us. They were wearing bright yellow dish washing gloves to keep their hands dry, and they had lost their passport. The passport was golden. Next to the map, you took care of your punch-passport above all else during a race, because it was the only proof you had that you had found the CPs you said you had found. Time and number of CPs determined your finish rank in a race.
When we asked them why they were still racing if they had lost their passport their response totally WAS golden. "Because we suck! Nobody but US cares where we finish in this race!". They were racing just because they loved doing what they were doing..................I understood exactly where they were coming from.
So.........feeling like losers and totally disappointed about DNFing. And then we hear another team over the radio calling into Race HQ. They're lost in the snow and need help. And then another team. And then another team. And then another. And another. Over and over again we heard call-ins from teams that were now stranded in the dark, in the mountains, in a blizzard.
By the time we got back to Race HQ, met up with our support team again and filled them in on what had happened out there, the race had been officially called due to weather. Search and Rescue teams from multiple counties in the region were called out to rescue stranded teams. It was almost dawn before the last team was safely out.
The next morning we headed further down the mountain - our team of racers and support crew - and found a restaurant to sit down and eat breakfast together before we all went in our separate directions. We were sitting at a booth by a window and as I looked out I saw two runners wearing shorts on the opposite side of the road. There was no snow down where we were, and the day was wonderfully warm and sunny.................