Spring Fatbiking at Its Best!

 

Post by Corrine

Eric and I had Denali-sized grins on our faces for pretty much the entire weekend. And why not? Great trails, sunshine, minimal wind, big mountains. What more could a person ask for?

For this mid-April weekend, we had planned a trip to Richard’s Cabin – the only cabin in the White Mountains National Recreation Area we hadn’t been to, but the weather forecast changed our minds. 

North of Fairbanks, the forecast called for 15-20 mph winds with gusts to 30 mph. On a whim, I checked the weather around Denali and Cantwell. Sunny, only 10 mph winds, and no gusts. I texted Eric from work, and we quickly decided to head south. It is rare that it is less windy down there than in the Interior, so we decided to take advantage of this anomaly. 

We decided to head down Friday morning. (I officially have Fridays off and sometimes it actually works out.) Our plan was to bike the Jack River Trail on Friday and the Stampede Trail on Saturday. Eric made reservations at the Aurora Denali Lodge in Healy, a good basic hotel that is relatively cheap in winter. So, we packed for staying at a hotel instead of a cabin. We are getting soft!

Jack River Trail

Starting a few miles in on the Denali Highway, the Jack River Trail heads south straight into a gorgeous Alaska Range pass. Several of our friends had biked it the last couple of weeks and posted amazing photos. We had heard of it before and had wanted to do it sometime. That time was now.

We got up early Friday morning and drove the three hours to the trailhead. (DOT stops plowing the Denali Highway there in winter, so it’s easy to find.) We were on the trail by 11 AM. The sun was shining, and it was warm but not so warm that the snow was melting. And there was almost no wind! 

The views were amazing from the highway, and they just got better. Mountains in all directions. Blue skies all day. 

The first couple of miles are a bit tricky due to some short, steep hike-a-bike climbs, and one big one over a ridge that detours around a canyon cut by the Jack River. Eric and I had once backpacked to that ridge in summer, a great place for a tent. 

Trying to push my bike up one of the short steep pitches

Still tricky but easier descending

Once over the ridge and onto the floor of the Jack River valley, the going was much easier. For the most part, the trail gradually follows the river up the valley. We wound back and forth across the mostly frozen river, which had some open leads. We were surrounded by mountains and blue skies. There was almost no wind. It was an incredible day! I know I keep saying that, but it’s true. We couldn’t have timed it better!

A little farther on, to avoid a tricky spot on the river, the trail diverts up a short, steep pitch that winds through some vegetation. I was pushing my bike when I looked over to see a moose standing in the brush. I think it was giving me the stink eye. I talked nicely to the moose and moved a little up the trail so that I wasn’t in its direct line of sight. Eric came around the corner and we quickly moved past it without any problem. On our way back, the moose was in the same spot but bedded down, so less intimidating. It just watched us as we bombed on by. 

Earlier we had seen a couple of other moose high up on the hillside. The only other wildlife we saw was a covey of about 50 ptarmigan that we flushed up several times while heading back down the Jack. And we saw NO people at all, even though there had been several cars and trucks at the trailhead (which is also the trailhead for the popular Denali Highway). It was only Friday, but I was surprised nobody else was out there. We had this beautiful valley all to ourselves.

We hadn’t really talked about how far we would go before turning back, but Eric knew the river led to a wide valley that we might be able to reach. The Jack River valley narrowed and by about 13 miles in we were biking through a narrow, winding canyon with rock outcroppings. We both thought the wide valley would be right around the next corner. Eric was just on the verge of giving up when, at 15 miles in, the canyon ended, and the trail climbed a little hill. We were there! We had broken out into Caribou Pass. Snowmachine trails continued on in the valley both north and south. 

Winding through the narrower canyon

Caribou Pass

I wanted to take the trail to the north. It would take us out to Broad Pass. Could we do a loop? We talked about it briefly, but we didn’t have any knowledge about that trail, and it would have meant a longer day than we had planned. A lot longer if we had had to bike all the way out to the Parks Highway and then back on that and the Denali Highway. Instead, we did the smart thing and turned around after a quick snack. 

The first part of the ride down the Jack River was much quicker. On the way up we had been climbing (though the grade was very gentle) with a mild headwind. On the way back we were going downhill with a tailwind. Whee!

Eventually, we reached the ridge at the mouth of the valley and had to hump our bikes over it. Then it was just a short ride back to the car. At the trailhead, we saw two BLM rangers, the only people we saw on our ride.

We had dinner at the Totem Inn and headed to our hotel, ready for a good rest. We wanted to start early on Saturday so we could be off the trail before it might soften up in the late afternoon. 

Stampede Trail

Made famous by the book and movie “Into the Wild,” the Stampede Trail used to be the home of the “Magic Bus,” where Christopher McCandless died. But the trail has been a playground and natural resource for locals for much longer. 

Eric had been on the trail twice years before, once on bike in summer and once on skis. Neither of us had biked it in on snow. We had the vague idea of trying to get to the bus site, though the bus had been moved by the state in 2020 because it attracted unprepared people from around the world. Several had to be rescued and a few died while trying to cross the Teklanika River. (The bus is now being restored at the UA Museum, where it will go on display sometime in the future. Learn more about that project here: 

During our bike ride I thought a bit about McCandless. I think he had mental health issues, but I also think he was woefully unprepared for his undertaking. With just a bit of research and knowledge, he might have easily had his adventure without dying. (He was trapped on the far side of the Teklanika by high water, apparently unaware of how to wait for lower water or how to find easier places to cross. He either starved or accidently poisoned himself.) 

McCandless would most likely have died in relative obscurity except for Jon Krakauer’s best-selling book, which became a Sean Penn-directed movie. From those, he became an idealistic hero. I’m not quite sure why he has become such an icon for so many people. But we weren’t on some romantic pilgrimage, we just thought the site would be a good destination, even if the bus was no longer there.

Once again, we had blue skies, minimal winds, great trails, and gorgeous views. And once again the only wildlife we saw were a couple of moose and some ptarmigan. However, the trails were a bit more “crowded” this time. We saw a few snowmachiners and one other group—three skijorers and a biker—but most of the day we were alone on the trail. 

While there is one Stampede Trail, in winter there are several routes you can take that diverge from it. Some are short cuts while others take more scenic routes. We generally followed the snowmachine trails to the south on our way out. We went from wide open windblown areas to fun narrow, winding descents in the woods. There were several lesser-used side trails, but at some intersections we weren’t quite sure which was the “main” trail. In the end, it didn’t really matter. Most ended up coming back together.

2 diverging trails come back together again

Here I tried to walk from one trail to another that was better.  I ended up sinking in to my crotch and had to crawl to extricate myself.  Eric was laughing so hard, I'm surprised he got a photo!

One nice surprise was that we could see Denali from parts of the trail. I had no idea it was visible from the trail, and Eric had forgotten about that. 

We crossed the still-frozen Savage River where we chatted with a local gathering firewood on his snowmachine. After the river we took the southern trail at the next fork, and we’re glad we did! That trail winds along a high bank of the Teklanika with lots of nice views of the river. Much of it was open and at one lookout we saw a cow and calf wading in the water. We also saw an eagle soaring high up. 

Cow and calf moose climb out of the river on the far bank

Lookout spot above the Teklanika River

Eventually the trail merged back with others and dropped down to the Tek. But that’s where the trail ended for us. We could see the trail continuing beyond the other side of the river, but there was open water in front of us. As far as we could see either way, the river was open. Ah well. We were still a few miles short of the bus site. We both had our Wiggy waders and could have crossed the shallow Tek, but we didn’t care that much. The drop from the top of the ice to the river was several feet and would have required some wrestling to lower our bikes down and back up again. We just decided it would be a good reason to come back again, maybe in mid-March next year. We headed back. 

End of the road for us

This time we took the more northerly trails. Overall, that was the shorter route, but we had a slight headwind, and it was mostly uphill. Still, we had big smiles on our faces. Our Denali biking trip had been amazing. Spring fat biking at its best. Firm trails, sunny skies, and warm temperatures. And we got to explore some new-to-us places, too. I can’t think of a better way to spend a weekend in April.

Sky Islands Hiking: Giving in to Momentum

 

post by Eric

Southeast Arizona has some great hiking opportunities – but only if you love sunshine and mountains.  

My mom lives in Sierra Vista, a small town southeast of Tucson. The surrounding flat scrub desert is punctuated by relatively tall mountain ranges called “sky islands.” These forested enclaves, rich in animal and plant life, are laced with trails. And the views! You don’t have to climb far before you can see for miles.

I love visiting my mom. We get along great and never lack for something to talk about. She’s turning 90 this summer, living independently, and doing great. I check in with her on her health and finances, and we talk about end-of-life issues. What a relief to be able to talk about those things with her.

Mom and me in the ridiculous little convertible I got talked into renting (for the same price
as the compact car I had reserved). That was a one and done. The darn thing
didn't do very well on forest service roads! 

When I visit, I usually have a variety of things I want to do, including birdwatching (it’s a birding hotspot) and being a tourist (Shootout at OK Corral is in nearby Tombstone), but if the weather’s nice (and it usually is), the “sky islands” call me. So, between visiting my mom and the hiking, I don’t have time for much else. 

Here are four hikes I did on a recent week-long trip:

Tumamoc Hill: A Paved Break Before Hitting the Pavement 

I selected this “trail” randomly from internet list of top Tucson trails. After a day of flying, I spent the night in Tucson and wanted a quick hike before driving down to Mom’s. 

At the edge of the Tucson urban area, Tumamoc Hill offers a 3.1-mile, all-paved, out-and-back hike from a city street up to the top of a butte in an 860-acre ecological reserve. The gradient starts gentle but gets steeper, with a flat spot about halfway on which sit some research-related buildings.

One of the aims of the preserve is to study the plant life, like the saguaro cactus. 

While there on a mid-morning Tuesday I saw at least 50 people. It must be crazy during popular times. But the path is wide, so I never felt crowded. The population was diverse, from Patagonia-clad hikers to look-your-best-all-dressed-up walkers to weight-vest-wearing gym rats. 

Start of the hike. 

The views were nice, and the trail had good interpretive signs, mainly about the plants and animals. All-in-all, it was pleasant, but I kept looking longingly at some dirt trails on the next hill over. From their layout, I assume they are mountain bike trails, and I did see a biker or two. Why am I so drawn to dirt trails? 

Tumamoc Hill Trail

Carr Peak from Miller Canyon

Carr Peak via Miller Canyon: An Accidental Summit

I didn’t intend to summit Carr Peak. For my first big hike, I planned a medium-distance hike in the Huachuca Mountains just west of Sierra Vista while getting used to the elevation. (Sierra Vista sits at about 4,600 feet.) The southern part of the Arizona Trail winds through these mountains, following the range’s crest. I planned to hike up Miller Canyon to the crest, take a snack break, then head down. 

I hiked up Miller Canyon Trail. Like many Huachuca canyons, the area is forested and attracts a lot of birdlife. I ran into a birding group early on and was tempted to stop, but the trail called. I figured I could birdwatch on the return. The trail climbed gradually, paralleling Miller Creek, which was mostly dry with some pools higher up. The trail grew steeper, and I slowed as I began to feel the elevation. 

The upper part of Miller Canyon is rocky and forested.

I finally met the Arizona Trail at the crest and looked for a place to eat my snack. While poking around I saw a peak to the northeast that wasn’t far with a trail that ran along its base. I figured I could follow that trail and scramble to the top of the peak. What the heck, I thought, I might as well eat my snack on that little no-name peak. I had some momentum.

As I hiked, I felt refreshed from my poking around. The trail gradient wasn’t too steep, and the views got better. I made good time. At the base of the peak, I found a spur trail with a sign that said “Carr Peak.” That’s Carr Peak?! I thought. I wasn’t quite sure. Maybe the trail went beyond this peak. 

I took the spur trail, which led to the top of that no-name peak, which was, in fact, Carr Peak (9,229 feet). Son of a gun! I grinned, knowing I had hiked to the second-highest peak in the Huachuca Mountains by accident. I aired out my feet and had a Clif bar while enjoying the views. Just to the south was Miller Peak, the highest in the Huachucas. Earlier I had passed a side trail to it, deciding it was too far. I began to rethink what was possible. 

My feet enjoying the view of Sierra Vista from Carr Peak.

While resting, I heard a loud swish. I wondered if someone was coming up the trail but saw no one. Then I heard it again and looked up. A swift! We have swallows in Alaska but no swifts. I pulled out my binoculars, but it was moving too fast to ID. I also saw a bluebird singing from a snag.

I headed down, feeling good, even running a little. I never did stop to do any more birding. It just felt good to move. I made it back to the car about 11 miles later, feeling satisfied. I had done more than I thought I could do. 

Carr Peak via Miller Canyon Trail

Miller Peak

Miller Peak via the Crest Trail: A Case for Extra Water

Two days later I decided to hike to Miller Peak along the Crest Trail from Montezuma Pass. I felt confident. This hike would be a tad shorter and started at a higher elevation. I brought plenty of water, as there would be none along the crest. But I should have brought more. 

A trail description (either AllTrails or Hiking Project) said the first two miles were steep then got more gradual. Lies! There were a few short gradual sections, but this hike just kept climbing. 

The views were awesome from the get-go and kept getting better. From this end of the Huachucas you get a great view of Mexico. It doesn’t look any different over there, but you can see part of the border wall, which looks insignificant from afar. 

The thin black line running left-to-right at an angle is the border wall.
The greenery of the San Pedro River runs across the middle of the photo.

I hiked steady, but not too fast. This hike had less shade. The temps weren’t bad – highs in the low-80s – but that dry weather sucks away your moisture. I didn’t want to run out of water.

Nearing Miller Peak, the trail had many steep switchbacks. Quite a grunt! But I had momentum. Eventually, I got to the peak’s spur trail and soon was on top! The views were again spectacular. Carr Peak had been a flat gravel summit, but Miller Peak (9,470 feet) was a bit rockier and had a flat concrete area. It used to house a lookout tower. 

Parts of the trail had a significant drop-off.

While on top I took a couple of selfies. I sent one with a mountain background to Corrine. I sent one with Sierra Vista in the background to my mom. Mom responded with “Different background! Very interesting! Looks quite desolate....” I texted her that it was her town in the background. “Eek!” she responded. She later said Sierra Vista didn’t seem so barren from in town. 

Carr Peak in the background

Sierra Vista in the background

On my way down I passed a few backpackers coming the other way. A woman said she was headed to Bathtub Springs. That rang a bell. At the headwaters of Miller Creek two days earlier I had seen some backpackers shouldering their packs at a flat spot with an old-style bathtub. Must be it, I thought. I talked with another backpacker about how dry the country was in this area and the need to carry plenty of water. 

One person I passed didn’t seem to be either a dayhiker or backpacker. He wore camo clothes, and his full-length pants were pulled up above his knees to stay cool. He carried a huge camo daypack that seemed packed full. He moved slowly but steadily. I stepped to the side, we exchanged brief pleasantries, and after he passed I started down the trail. Then he said something to me. I stopped and looked back. “Water?” he asked. “Do you have water for me?” I was taken aback and confused. He had said it as though I was supposed to have offered him water. “Sorry, but I don’t have much left.” He said OK, and we went on our ways. 

An old burn near the top of Miller Peak.

That encounter got me thinking. Was he a border crosser? Maybe a mule, carrying drugs or other contraband? Or maybe just someone looking for work? He had been polite and given off a gentle vibe, so I didn’t think much about it until after he had asked for water. 

Then I started feeling kind of bad. The only water I had was in my daypack bladder, and I’m never quite sure how much is left. I had been reluctant to part with any since I had several miles left in my hike. But later it occurred to me that he might have really needed it. I probably would have given him some had asked me right away, but I was already moving down the trail when he asked. I had momentum. 

I didn’t agonize over it, but I did ponder about whether it would have been right to give him water, since he might have been a mule. I decided that I since I didn’t know his story, I should have given him the benefit of doubt. I don’t hike near the border often, and I had never run into that situation before. I decided if I hike in a place where a similar situation might arise, I should carry a small bottle of water to give away. In retrospect, the guy wasn’t too far from Bathtub Spring, so he probably did fine. 

Miller Peak via the Crest Trail

Mount Wrightson

Mount Wrightson: Another No-Intention Summit

I left Mom’s place Saturday morning with the intent to do a small hike in the Mount Wrightson area, just south of Tucson, while driving to that city. I had booked a hotel room and was catching an early-morning Sunday flight. 

I had decided against a big hike. I wanted a leisurely morning with Mom, and I still need to get to Tucson and get ready for my flight the next day. All that would take time. I picked a couple of trails out of Madera Canyon and hoped to do one of them. Probably a 5-mile hike, max. After some delays, I finally got started on the hike at about 1:15pm. 

Fortunately, I lucked out on a good parking spot at the end of the Madera Canyon Road. And when I started up Old Baldy Trail, I was feeling good. I had been warned that the trail was steep, but it was less steep than the trails I had done earlier in the week. I started fast and kept up the pace, passing many people who were coming down. 

I immediately noticed a difference from the Tumamoc Trail. Everyone here had on typical hiking clothing, and all were friendly. Almost everyone greeted me and stepped out of my way before I had a chance to do the same. I was out-polited! The Tumamoc hikers were not unfriendly, but that trail had a city sidewalk vibe. Few people said hi or even made eye contact. Here I felt like I could stop to chat with almost everyone. Interesting difference. 

But I didn’t stop to chat. I was on the move. When I got to the top of Old Baldy, I knew I had time to take the lower leg of the Super Trail, an alternate but longer way back to the trailhead. 

However, a sign there said two routes to Mount Wrightson. From an earlier sign, I knew it was a 5-mile hike to the top. So, 10 miles roundtrip. I knew I had the ability, but did I have the time? I thought I had a Clif bar and headlamp in my pack but didn’t check. After all, I had eaten a Subway sandwich at the trailhead, and my phone has a flashlight app. I agonized over that decision for about five seconds and the charged up the short route to Mount Wrightson. I had momentum.

Nearing the top of Mount Wrightson.

I kept going hard and fast, feeling good, passing a lot of people coming down. But no one was going up. Was this wise?

I slowed a bit on the steep switchbacks, but the summit kept getting closer. Finally, I got to the 0.9-mile spur trail. You’re darn-tootin’ I went for it! I got to the top in 2 hours, 15 minutes, plenty of time to beat the sunset back down. 

Again, the views were astounding from the top. Gorgeous mountains and desert all around. I chatted with a nice fellow on top for about a half-hour, staying longer than I had intended. As I headed down, I started thinking about the longer route down, the Super Trail. Did I have the time? I would if I ran some of it. But earlier that week when I had tried running, a calf injury I thought had healed started bugging me. Maybe not such a good idea. 

Just one portion of the 360-degree view from on top.

I got to the bottom of the spur trail and looked at Super Trail. Go for it! I thought. I soon got to a place I could run. I tried it and felt OK. I made good time and traveled some new country. Awesome! 

On the way down views, views, and more views!

When I got to the next major trail junction I had to decide. Go back to the trailhead on the known, short route – Old Baldy, a little more than 2 miles – or the new-to-me longer route – lower Super Trail, about 4 miles. My debate lasted about two seconds. Super Trail. I had momentum. 

More running followed – or speed-hiking when the trail got rough. I kept making good time and got to the trailhead before dark fell – tired and sore but pleased that I had done a nearly 14-mile figure eight loop in just over 5 hours.

Google Maps accurately led me to my hotel as the sun set. I got all my tasks done, settling for a quick Filet-o-Fish and fries for dinner, and got to bed at a halfway decent hour. I was happy and beat. Thankfully, I no longer had momentum. 

Mount Wrightson hike

Back to Borealis - with memories of my WM100 races

 

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

I cringe when I hear my whiny voice on that video. Eric and I were halfway through our first White Mountains 100 endurance race back in 2014. We had decided to ski the 100-mile race together. We were taking a break on top of Cache Mountain Divide, the high point nearly 50 miles into the race. We had been skiing for more than 12 hours, the sun was setting, the temperature was dropping, and I was exhausted. How would I ever ski another 50 miles? But my whininess did not prevail. Eric and I did finish, and I was hooked. 

5 miles from the finish of our first WM100 race and still smiling

The WM100 is amazing. Participants of this multisport race—bike, ski, or run—get to travel through 100 beautiful miles of Alaska wilderness. I’ve either competed or volunteered at the race every year since (not including the last two COVID-cancelled years). This year I didn’t apply to enter the race, and I was regretting it somewhat. 

My Great Idea

Since I wasn’t racing and hadn’t officially volunteered, I got the harebrained idea to get one of the White Mountains cabins the night before the race and then ride the course backwards on race day, taking photos of all the racers. It would be great training for my May Cross-Washington bikepacking race attempt, and I could offer the photos to the race organizers. What a great idea!

Not! The only cabin available when I came up with this delusional idea was Borealis-LeFevre, 20 miles in. I haven’t been biking much this winter, so I’m not in great shape. Plus, I would have all my camping gear. I would have to bike 80 miles with a fully loaded bike on Sunday and still make it to work on Monday without being totally trashed. Really? What was I thinking? Obviously, I wasn’t. The weekend before, Eric, friend Jill, and I did the whole loop in four days. Day two—going over the divide from Crowberry to Windy Gap cabins—took me seven hours to go just 35 miles, and I was really tired!

So, I gave up on my grand idea, but since I had the cabin reserved and the weather forecast was great, I decided to go anyway. Eric had other weekend plans so it would just be me.

Borealis/LeFevre cabin

My First WM100: Ski with Eric 

On Saturday morning, as I biked the 19 miles to Borealis cabin, I thought about the first time I participated in the WM100 race. It had been a similar day—sunny, warm, no wind—and the trails had been great. Eric and I decided to ski together since neither of us had done the loop, and we really didn’t know what to expect. 

That was both good and bad. Eric was just getting over a nasty cold, so he was quite a bit slower than me and needed more rest. On the other hand, he doesn’t get down during long-distance races, so it was good to have him around when 1) I wanted to quit at Cache Mountain Divide, 2) we were freezing as we put on cleats to cross the ice lakes and 3) the temperature dropped to -20F and it took FOREVER to get from checkpoint 3 to 4, which was supposed to be mostly downhill but didn’t feel like it. Still, 32 hours after we started, we crossed the finish line together with a kiss! My feet and body were trashed, but my heart was full.

Our 100-mile finish kiss

Compared to skiing the whole race, Saturday’s easy ride to the cabin was a piece of cake. After making a fire, melting snow, and gathering firewood, it was still only 2 p.m. The day was sunny and above freezing, so I decided to check out Big Bend Trail, which runs 14 miles between Borealis and Colorado Creek cabins. As one of the last White Mountains trails to get groomed, it doesn’t get a lot of traffic. The ridge part of the trail is often windblown, but I decided to check it out. I had never been on it before, so I was excited to see new territory.

Starting down Big Bend Trail

My Second WM100: Fail

As I headed out Big Bend, I remembered the second time I attempted the WM100, just a year after that first finish. I thought I could ski it faster—maybe even in 24 hours—so this time I went solo. Eric was fine with that. He wasn’t interested in skiing it again. But he agreed to ski the first part with me. Unfortunately, conditions were icy, which really hurt my arthritic knees, especially snowplowing. After only 8 miles I could tell it was going to be too painful to continue for hours and hours. I didn’t want to have to be rescued. Sadly, I turned around. 

I cried a little when I got back to race headquarters and tried to explain to Jay Cable, who was volunteering, why I had to DNF. It was the right decision, but I was really disappointed. Poor Jay was clearly uncomfortable dealing with a crying racer, but he patted my back as I wiped away tears. I knew I would be back but not until after I had my knees replaced.

Big Bend – For the First Time

My replaced knees felt great while biking on Saturday as I started on Big Bend. The trail was a little soft, especially in windblown areas, so I had to keep stopping and letting air out of my tires. But I got a good look at the wolf tracks that I followed for a few miles over the flat terrain. 

In that area, Beaver Creek makes a 90-degree turn around the mountains—a big bend—but the trail eventually angles up and away from the creek toward a ridge. It’s a long 5-mile climb, and the views opened up more and more as I ascended. The trail also became more drifted, especially once I broke out of the trees. I would pedal a few yards, hit a soft spot, get off and push, then try to ride again. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Some drifts were so hardpacked I could ride over them, but many were not. I never knew which it would be, so I just kept trying to ride. 

About 10 miles in I got to the high spot. I could see the trail drop down a bit then head up a slight rise before dropping down again. The trail was even more unrideable, and I decided that it wasn’t worth it to push my bike downhill and then have to hike with it back up again. Like I often do, I had set a somewhat unrealistic goal: Make a loop by going past Colorado Creek Cabin, to Wolf Run and back to Borealis. If everything had been perfect, I might have been able to do it, but I was running out of daylight. So, just like my failed WM100 attempt, I sadly headed back. 

Near the high point on the Big Bend Trail

My Third WM100: Back on Skis, Trying to Go Faster

Back at the cabin before dark, I restoked the fire and made dinner. It was nice to relax in the warm cabin and think about the racers getting ready for their big day. I also thought about my comeback year on skis in 2017. I had my knees replaced the year before, and I had trained hard that winter. I felt ready for a faster finish time. Maybe 24 hours? I started the race with high hopes.

Feeling strong early in the race

I finished and felt strong, but my time was just about the same as when Eric and I did the race together. How could that be? I had some waxing issues the last 20 miles that slowed me down, but still I thought I should have been faster. I stopped less, I felt stronger. I talked to several other skiers, and they all felt it was a slower year: colder snow, less glide. Shalane Frost, who wins the women’s ski race every year, was a couple of hours slower than usual. Clearly, the problem was the snow. 

So, since I skied the course in about the same time as my first race, but the conditions were slower, that means I can say I was actually faster. Right? Right? No matter, I was happy to have finished again, but sadly gave up on the idea that I could ski the race in 24 hours. 

At the finish of my 2nd successful WM100 race - no faster but felt stronger

My Fourth WM100: A Blast on a Bike

The next morning, Sunday, I had a leisurely breakfast and waited for the sun to come up before biking back to the trailhead. As I relaxed, I thought about the racers arriving at the start and then taking off. 

Racers at the start of the 2019 WM100 race

I also thought about the difference between the times I skied the race and the time I biked it in 2019. On skis I made to this cabin (checkpoint 4) at about 6 a.m., just as it was getting light. When I biked, I was much faster, arriving in early evening while the sun was still up. 

Eric and I had volunteered in 2018 to reserve a spot in the 2019 race. Eric wanted to bike, since he would be the second person to finish in all three categories (foot, ski, bike) and the first to do it in four modes (he kicksledded one year). I also wanted to bike. We decided to ride our own races, but we ended up leap-frogging several times and finished only 15 minutes apart. (Not that there’s any competition between us, but I did finish first!) 

At the finish of our 2019 WM100 race

Not only that, I also nearly made my goal. My unrealistic goal! When I race, I usually have realistic and unrealistic finish times. The latter can be accomplished only if the stars align, and everything comes together perfectly. For 2019, my unrealistic time was 14 hours. Then everything came together. I had a great race. Trails were smooth and hard, overflow was minimal. I was able to finish just 13 minutes over my unrealistic finish time! I almost feel like I should never bike it again, because it will never be so good.

Eric takes a photo as he catches up to me out on the course

One advantage of being faster was seeing the entire trail during daylight. I especially enjoyed the limestone cliffs around Windy Gap. On skis I had passed through there in the middle of the night. The other advantage is that I got to sleep in my bed at a decent time! Much nicer than slogging through the night. 

I finally got to see Windy Gap checkpoint during daylight hours

Final Thoughts

After finishing breakfast on Sunday, I packed my things. I swept the floor of Borealis-LeFevre Cabin, knowing it would soon be packed with volunteers and racers. Leaving was bittersweet. But any sad thoughts were quickly washed away as I headed out around 9:30 a.m. into the sunshine. The day was beautiful. The temperature was warm -5F. It had been a great overnight trip. 

I smiled as I pedaled up the 2-mile grind out of Beaver Creek. I thought about all my friends who were out there racing on such a beautiful morning. I knew each would have challenges, but I hoped they all would have fun and reach any goals they set, even the unrealistic ones. Most of all, I looked forward to hearing their stories.