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Team Santa Fe Newsletter
September 2003
Subaru Primal Quest Lake Tahoe
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Sept 5-13th, 2003
Racers: Carl Gable, Pat Gallagher, Joel Krypel, Deb Werenko
Support: Dave Conlin, Caragh Barwise
http://www.subaruprimalquest.com/race2003/
Lake Tahoe, CA.
38th place, 9 days, 13 hours, 2 minutes
By: Pat Gallagher (Racer)
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Pat Gallagher
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Carl Gable
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Joel Krypel
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Deb Werenko
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Amphibious Landing
"They're sinking" a voice from our bow pronounced over the wind. I
don't know who figured it out, but after watching three kayak teams
get hauled on board rescue boats, I was still under the impression
that they'd just given up paddling against Lake Tahoe's increasingly
unfriendly afternoon waters.
I finally took a good look around. To our left a kayak slowly rolled
over like an ailing porpoise, spilling its quietly resigned crew into
the lake. A flare lit off to our right from a kayak with its stern
completely submerged. It too, soon flipped.
At the height of their empire, the Romans flooded the Coliseum and
staged full scale naval battles, pitting enormous, oar powered
triremes against one another. What was occurring around us seemed to
be the cheap plastic, modern version of such a spectacle. All around
us, the flash of paddles, whitecaps, purple flares, bodies in the
water. One kayak actually went to the bottom of America's second
deepest lake, taking its GPS unit with it. Another team, with no
rescue boat in sight, gave up trying to ride their unruly craft and
dragged it, swimming, for a mile.
"We're listing to the right" Joel proclaimed. It hadn't occurred to
me until that moment that we, too, might fall victim to what had
become a vast game of Battleship. We didn't appear to be listing, but
we were definitely riding much lower in the water, dragging our tail
much like the other boats we'd seen go over. Homewood, our
destination, was still two miles ahead. What had begun the race as
merely a slow; overloaded sit-on-top kayak was now an unholy, drunken
submarine/barge which dragged an imaginary anchor all the way into
Homewood.
Not two hours before I'd been thinking how we'd gotten off easy with a
paddle leg at the start.
Training Wheels
One of the many questions I've never been curious about is whether
scooters are faster than roller blades. I mean, could Mighty Mouse
beat up Under Dog? In addition to paddling sluggish, defective
watercraft, adventure racing places before you other challenges you
never knew you wanted to tackle.
The scooter/roller blade question was an easy one to resolve: my
sister had a Razor I could use for free. That, and I didn't know how
to roller blade. Everything was settled, that is, until the 4:00 a.m.
disaster scenarios came calling. What if mine was the only Razor in a
field of Venice Beach trained roller blader's and $600 kick bikes?
(This scenario turned out to be pretty close to reality). Visions of
the first mile I ever ran as a sixth grader haunted me.the wheezing
finish, a full lap and a half behind the rest of the field.
The day before I left for California my girlfriend Michaela, tired of
my scooter-based anxiety attacks, found a pair of used roller blades
for $50. They fit perfectly. An hour later I was gliding around
Greenlake for the second time in my life at 12 mph.with absolutely no
clue how to stop.
Two more practice sessions in Harrah's parking lot just before the
race quickly taught me two lessons. One; use ski poles. Two; forget
learning how to stop.
As we dragged our much despised kayak across the road to the start of
our scooter/roller blading leg, I overheard a crew member from another
team remark "Anyone who chose to roller blade is going to wish they
were dead". Dave, our crew member, confirmed this. "You have to
roller blade up to the top of Donner Summit", 2,000 feet of switch
backs.
Our team, a quirky formation of two scooters and two pairs of roller
blades, embarked down Tahoe's busy Highway 89 as night was falling.
As it turned out, stopping during the race was easy. I employed two
methods. The first was to hit some gravel, flip over backwards and
land on my water bag, which broke my fall by exploding. After that I
figured I'd stay drier and more hydrated by "docking" with Carl on the
downhills to parasitize his scooter's caliper brakes. I recommend
this to anyone who wants to recreate the feeling of crossing the deep
end of the pool on your fathers back long before you knew how to swim.
The most frightening moments of the race were during this leg.
Also frightening was the roasty-toasty welcome the good people of
Tahoe gave us as we scootered and bladed down their nocturnal
highways. I'll be the last to pretend we didn't look like complete
dorks, but night-scootering down one of California's most transient
alcohol alleys late on a Friday night was poor race planning in the
extreme. Having squads of $600 kick bikes blow past us didn't help.
By comparison, the moonlit ascent to the TA at Donner Summit, which at
first I thought would kill me, proved calming, even pleasant. Midway
up we were all struck with how modernity had made it possible for us
to roller blade up the same pass that condemned so many Mormons to
starvation a century and a half earlier.
In the future, everything will be possible, no matter how ridiculous.
Through the Wormhole
The best way to think about 110 miles of mountain biking is not to.
This avoidance behavior, essential to adventure racing, is greatly
facilitated by being half awake and not able to think about much most
of the time.
Nights on a bike are spent 'floating through the moment' in this
fashion. On dirt roads, a rider's universe is reduced to the narrow
wormhole of dimly illuminated rocks and trees that is continually
unfolds before them and evaporates at their passing. Look back and
even one's teammates evaporate...only silent, shifting constellation
of bright blue stars remain. As for other teams, one gets the sense
that they've not only left the field, they've left the universe. When
even the rocks and trees blur into a moving cone of light, its time to
lie down in the dirt under the cold stars and extinguish what little
remains of the world for a while.
We awoke in the chilly pre-dawn to the sound of another team
re-entering our universe, not really sure if we'd slept at all. We
resumed our ride as more and more teams crawled out from their hiding
spots in the forest like surviving soldiers.
By nightfall we had consumed nearly 100 miles and 10,000 feet of
elevation gain. Only 10 miles and one mountain stood between us and
the TA. By the time we had pushed our bikes halfway up the nearly
3000 feet boulder strewn jeep trail, it was apparent that the mountain
was culling the teams around us. We came upon one young racer who sat
wrapped in a space blanket, lotus position, staring blankly into the
distance. "Does he have enough food, electrolytes and water?" I
asked their team captain. He looked back and me, shaking his head.
"We've given him everything. He just can't move anymore. We're just
trying to get him out of here."
The mountain wasn't only culling us. Further up, an old blue
International appeared, perched fantastically on a boulder as if it
had been lowered by helicopter for an Animal Beer commercial. It's
young and still spirited drivers seemed confident they unbeach their
craft, although they couldn't articulate exactly how.
As the jeep trail flattened out, we came upon a sign with a big arrow
pointing right. A navigator from another team called to one of his
teammates who was walking the opposite way down a very obvious, wide
road "It's this way".
Sleep deprivation and fatigue are the proven instruments of
brainwashing, and in our highly suggestible state, we followed, as did
two more teams. Wind through the trees became much wanted highway
noise. Houselights appeared below us exactly where we wanted them to
be. We really wanted this trail to go to the highway, so it had to,
right?
The trail immediately narrowed to a rocky single track. I
over-deflated my rear tire, which promptly yielded a pinch flat, an
event that interrupted our punch drunk self delusion long enough for
some second guessing. Another team came upon us. I asked their
navigator about the trail. Sure enough, they had simply followed the
team in front of them. Fortunately, they had a topo map, which
confirmed that we were headed off on a trail that would take us north
and into the wilderness, far from any highway. Team No Boundaries
appeared, portaging their hefty tandem while issuing gentle
instructions."rock right, step down left." to Eric, their blind
member. They would not be deterred from continuing down the wrong
trail.
We only had to climb back up 350 feet, which took a mere 20 minutes.
One less fortunate team was lost on the same trail for 12 hours.
The TA at Kirkwood was a cold, windy outpost at 4:00 a.m. Poor Dave
and Caragh.what an hour to arrive! I grabbed some food, curled up
like a fetus and made the world go away.
Cruel Shoes
Familiar voices called me from beyond the crypt. I blinked the
sunlight into my eyes.it was mid morning and time to walk. I felt
like a new species. 21 easy miles, perfect weather.almost a gift. My
trail runners, however, unable to expand enough to accommodate the now
pronounced swelling of my feet, turned on me and gave me two matching
toe blisters. These shoes were completely broken in.for one day
training sessions only. Multiday races produce another level of foot
swelling, however, which can require larger sizes, modified insoles,
or slightly heavier trail shoes with larger toe boxes. Fortunately, I
was able to switch to the latter for subsequent walking legs. Not
accounting for this foot swelling is probably the number one mistake
even experienced adventure racers make. Many of the competitors I saw
with foot problems suffered through the entire race in the same pair
of shoes that gave them the problem in the first place.
Disorienteering
The downside of our schedule was, of course, that we had to begin the
orienteering leg at night. As we left the TA we met a team that
decided to come back to regroup because they had become utterly lost.
Certainly this would not happen to us.
Other than that the leg went as well as can be expected considering
that one of the checkpoints was just not where it was marked on the
map. After a couple hours of fruitless midnight searching we finally
just asked a team in front of us where the damn thing was. True to
the spirit of cooperation that makes adventure racing, at least at the
midfield level, a non-competitive sport, they happily divulged its
location (a few yards from where we were standing). After all, the
team before them had done the same. And the team before them. How
the first team to find this checkpoint did it remains a mystery.
By our third checkpoint we bedded down in the middle of a defunct
logging road for a chilly couple of hours of sleep. Team Night Train
woke us up. One of their members was limping along, bowlegged, on the
outer edges of her "bloody stumps", as she put it. I was sure she
must be finished, but in the most Napoleonic episode of the race she
not only outlasted her first team but two other unranked teams as
well, finally calling it quits only after three teams had been shot
out from under her.
Daylight quickened our pace considerably. It is amazing how well you
can find things when you don't have echo-locate. In addition we
stumbled across something that looked very much like a flying saucer,
but in our incurious state we failed to investigate it more closely.
Perhaps if something had emerged from it.
We skipped two checkpoints that were deep in the Bear River canyon,
incurring a four hour penalty, and probably saving us at least that in
time and energy. We then sent another team up a wrong road
(incorrectly believing we'd recognized it from the night before),
which made us realize we, too, were lost. After an hour of utter
confusion we were back on track to nab our final CP. We encountered
the team we'd sent into the wilderness coming the other way.
Fortunately, they were forgiving.
Bin Laden Strikes
It wasn't until we'd ridden to the base of the rock section that we
pieced it together; despite Dave's assurances to the contrary, we were
not going to see our crew after we'd completed the rock section.
Dave's promises of a surprise dinner, once we'd quickly dispensed with
the trifling nubbin of granite called Calaveras Dome, only worsened
the sting. We had no maps or additional food for the ride. It hit us
then like a bullet in the forehead: Dave was a terrorist.
Calaveras Dome rises out of the earth like a planet being born. It is
simply, well, huge. One must claw one's way up a thousand feet of
steep, cliffy forest, abloom with poison oak, to get pay homage to its
1,200 foot face. We were briefed and prepared for many hours of
waiting for the 24 teams that were in line for the ascent. When we
arrived, we barely had time to choke down a power bar before our turn
at the ropes came up. I went first.
Few adventure racers have anything close to big wall climbing
experience, myself included. The first 500 feet or so of the ascent
were overhung, which meant ascending on a rope dangling in free space.
Looking up, no one seemed to be moving up very quickly.some not at
all.
I set up my ascenders, with two symmetrical "inverted Y" leg loops on
one ascender and a chest sling on the other, and quickly fell into a
strenuous rhythm; three pumps, rest. Three pumps, rest. The guy next
to me was clearly stuck about 100 feet up. I asked if he was OK. His
leg loop was too short, and he'd dropped the only extra sling he had
to lengthen it. I swung over to him and handed him my extra sling.
I shortened my movements, which sped up my rate of ascent. The face
was broken up into four sections. Each racer climbed one enormous
rope tied off at a ledge atop each section. I passed the first knot,
climbed onto the first ledge, and looked up. It was topped by an
entirely new section of wall. I could only see one section at a time,
so I had no way to gauge how high the face wall really was.it seemed
like it might keep going on forever.
The higher sections laid back a bit. Once in contact with the rock I
was often able to take my leg loops off entirely and just rock climb
using small ledges and chickenheads, and so climb much faster. My
shoes had sticky rubber, which helped. The higher I got, the more I
found my rhythm. By the time I'd topped out, I wasn't even winded.
I opened up my space blanket bivy for the first time, and it promptly
shredded like confetti. Night fell and wind brought with it a chill
that triggered the worst asthma attack of the race. I stuffed my
aluminized confetti in my jacket, some toilette paper in my hat, and
curled up in the granite sand. Did I have a fever? The flu? The
team next to me tucked their spent space blankets around me before
they left; an utterly profound and tender act.
The rest of Team Santa Fe arrived en masse, rousted me, and we quickly
dove into the darkness to traverse around a cliffy gully to the rappel
station, 500 feet below and half a mile distant. I've bushwhacked
through some cruel terrain, but the vegetation atop Calaveras Dome, a
mixture of manzanita, scrub pine, and some acacia like bush with three
inch thorns occupied its own special category of nasty. There is a
special place in paradise reserved for those who first spot trails in
such a situation, and Carl won it halfway through the traverse.
After waiting for new ropes to be set up, Carl and I began the 600
foot rappel, attached together (in case one rope failed). The 40 lbs
of rope beneath us required some hefty pulling to pass it through our
rappel devices while descending the upper slabs. We then dropped into
the abyss: a long overhung section into darkness, towards the
disembodied voices of Deb and Joel.
Once off rappel the real fun began with a cliffy, poison oak infested
descent no climber in their right mind would normally attempt in the
dark. The climbing guides at the top had never been down it (there's
a road to the top of Calaveras Dome). Once back at the bikes Carl
obtained map info for the upcoming bike ride, we divvied up food, and
quickly fell asleep.
At dawn we groggily began our final push to make the white water put
in cut off sometime the morning of the following day: a 24 mile ride
to the caving section, followed by a 43 mile ride to Chili Bar on the
S. Fork of the American River.
Several miles into the first ride we face a decision point: Ride a
shorter route on rougher roads, or climb over the mountain we'd came
in on and follow highway 49. I lobbied hard for the highway, because
it was known to be paved (I was on slicks with zero tread) and
probably would offer gentler grades. After going down hard once, I
was loath to take chances by riding slicks on gravel, but I conceded
when Deb, a more confident downhiller, offered to swap front wheels.
Under Volcano
The caving section was essentially a straightforward orienteering
exercise through the scrubby oak woodland surrounding the tiny, well
preserved gold rush town of Volcano. Locals manned the checkpoints
and seemed genuinely pleased that our circus had come to town.
To save time and energy, we skipped the first cave which required a
time consuming rappel and jumar ascent (trading it for a two hour
penalty that was neither recorded nor served). The other three caves
required no more than 10 minutes to pass through. Aside from a heated
encounter with a yellow jacket nest, this leg (requiring about 7 or 8
miles of walking) passed quickly.
Ride of the Zombies
In the post-holocaust classic "The Omega Man", Charleton Heston wakes
up to find himself the sole survivor in a world devoid of life by day
and crawling with zombies at night. It's much the same in adventure
racing; only it is the night that is lifeless, and we're the zombies.
We drifted to the American River, through the moonlit netherworld of
the Sierra foothills, through obscure, seemingly evacuated towns, like
invisible spirits. Joining the ranks of the world's few nocturnal
creatures is perhaps the strangest aspect of adventure racing. Deep
into the night, civilization is abandoned wholesale by all but the
occasional owl or restless cat. The only portals that provide passage
back to a fluorescent facsimile of the familiar world are the mini
marts.
To enter a mini mart in the dead of night is a strange meeting for
both racer and cashier. In a single moment the racer passes from a
dim and chilly half-dream into a warm, brilliantly lit cornucopia of
stale coffee, day old donuts, and jo-jos. Microwave burritos, bagle
dogs, and Bugles...a cacophony of cravings only confuses the
possibilities.
The cashier's look of concern precludes a peek in the mirror. Will we
tear through the Ho Hos like rabid voles? If he knew how much we paid
to be reduced to our sorry state, he'd probably throw us out on
principle.
Swim Lessons
"Flip the boat!" the kayaker yelled as a rock struck me just above
the groin. At least I remembered to hang onto the paddle, but the
smooth bottom of our inflatable kayak was slipping from under my palm.
My feet dangled downstream of me in a decidedly non-defensive position
as I bounced from rock to rock, struggling to relax myself into
becoming a pliant, boneless cat. I caught a brief glimpse of Carl,
standing on a rock in the middle of the river.
"The holes! Use the holes!" Oh yeah, the self bailer holes. I stuck
my finger into one and yanked.
We had definitely caught the wave; a dam release that morning that
pumped the S. Fork of the American river up from 800 to about 1300
cubic feet per minute. Not huge, but enough to send our team swimming
three times.
We got off easy. Two other teams broke paddles, a significant loss
considering the excruciatingly slow 8 mile flat water paddle that
followed, dead into the wind.
The reservoir level had dropped so much that what appeared to be a
string of tiny islands on the map had become a long peninsula. Only
one team we saw noticed this and saved themselves more than an hour by
portaging across the peninsula. Other teams were attempting to
portage their boats over several miles of mountainous dirt road; a
good idea for winning Team Nike, perhaps, but clearly not for weaker
teams in the middle of the pack less prepared for such an undertaking.
At dusk we were still an hour from the TA. The crushing monotony and
frustration of paddling such ponderous craft hour after hour against
the wind was broken only be a few brief hallucinations. One steeply
wooded hillside transformed itself into an overhanging wall draped
with bushy fox's tails in varying, storybook colors. By the time our
bow touched the shore, my right forearm, just below the elbow, had
swelled up like Popeye's.
Dave and Caragh greeted us with warm hugs and Kentucky Fried Chicken.
The Canyon Tour
After a couple of hours of sleep we began our 44 mile journey through
the canyons, highways, and neighborhoods of the American River. The
sheer weight of the distance concerned me at first, but I quickly
numbed myself to it.
Right off the bat, we missed the turnoff to the first 9 mile section
of trail and opted for a considerably shorter route by road into
Auburn. Outside the rules, perhaps, but under cover of night, tired
spirits shall go where the winds take them. About daybreak, while
descending from Auburn's Overlook, Carl began to take on that certain
wobble in his walk characteristic to after-hour Dubliners and
adventure races. Weaving to a stop, he leaned backwards, and turned
around with a slitty-eyed look usually found only well into a Grateful
Dead concert. "Whoa. I thought there was a barbed wire gate." Nappy
time.
Carl is one of the most talented sleepers in adventure racing. Many
can fall sleep the second their head hits the pillow, but few can nap
while running a rapid or mountain biking.
Not that we all didn't try. At some point in an all night ride a
bike's headlight begins to veer wildly back and forth like
searchlights after escaped prisoners. If there's no traffic, you can
give into this semi-consciousness for a while and pretend you're
actually resting. An entire team meandering in this sinusoidal
fashion makes for quite a light show.
After a long, hot day of popping down into and back out of the N.
Fork of the American we descended through a rural neighborhood into
the M. Fork. The day had been hot, but the evening was perfect as we
quietly padded past families cooking dinner in brightly lit kitchens.
Once again we became invisible, nocturnal spirits as civilization gave
way to a darkened canyon.
During the descent we caught up with a team aiding a badly limping
member. "He tore his pinky off" their captain stated flatly. I
didn't ask for details. Later I learned that the medics had pulled
the injured racer at the next TA for a massively infected toe.
Darkness reduced the river crossing to the loud rush of a rapid
downstream and two white hand lines bowed across the smooth black
current. I went first, and when the water was up to my chest, let my
body drift with the cold, strong current and instinctively began to
hand over hand like mad.
We slipped into the TA at Cool sometime after 4:00 a.m., waking poor
Dave and Caragh at that unholy hour, and quickly fell asleep.
Final Push to Tahoe
By our 8th day, the race had become pure work. Our emotions were
frayed, and the general sentiment seemed to be to just get it over
with. A 50 mile uphill ride and 14 mile hike stood between us and the
final paddle across Lake Tahoe to our hotel rooms.
We left the TA at Cool and road all day to Loon Lake, which seemed to
be the most popular 4WD destination in California. Without a TA to
distract us, we transitioned quickly from to the hike, but as darkness
fell Deb became extremely hypoglycemic, a condition exacerbated by a
severe case of 'racer's tongue'.
Many racers contract sores on their tongue, and sometimes mouth,
during a long race. The cause remains unknown. Camelback nipples,
sugar, sun exposure, fatigue, acidic blood.everyone had a theory. We
had it. Other teams we encountered had it. Mine subsided midway
through the race, but Deb's got worse to the point where eating solid
food was extremely painful.
Carl instituted a feeding schedule of 300 calories per hour, but Deb
was already so far behind in her food intake that she wound up going
down three times that night. The jeep trail we thought would be a
road turned out to be a strenuous slog over sand covered boulders and
loose rock. We crossed the Rubicon, passed through a surreal 4WD camp
outfitted with a stage, then began the 1,300 foot ascent over the
ridge to Lake Tahoe.
I ate the last of my food during the ascent. Carl had already run
out. Deb and Joel still had a small supply left. I could feel my
blood sugar dropping, so I went ahead while I still had something to
charge with to the crest, curled up in a space blanket, and slept.
Better to bonk on a downhill than an uphill.
I awoke just before dawn to familiar voices, and we descended to a
parking lot. I'll admit right now that I rifled through an open Jeep
and borrowed half a bag of Ruffles potato chips.nature's perfect food.
Always make full use of course resources.
We trudged into the TA at Homewood to a warm welcome. A four hour
penalty, served in the parking lot, provided some welcome rest. The
team next to us, with 12 hours to serve, was not so pleased. During
our penalty, the wind died and the lake flattened.
Champagne and Miller
Tahoe was flat and windless all the way to Emerald Bay, but our paddle
was far from peaceful. When the boat wasn't weathercocking it's
warped hull pulled us to the right. With the center of gravity so far
forward, stern sweep strokes had little effect. Only bow sweep
strokes or oaring from the stern kept us on course. This produced a
steady string of escalating arguments between bow and stern, until the
moment Carl said "the water looks unfriendly ahead". Half an hour
later we were battling a 10 knot headwind and 2 foot chop in the
middle our 7 mile crossing to Stateline. Everyone pulled as hard as
they could, arguments ceased, and our steering mysteriously improved.
Poor Deb, in the bow, was taking face shots every few seconds. It was
a dark night with no boats in sight. I had just moved the flares and
smoke bombs to the top of my dry bag when a very welcome rescue boat
appeared.
"The kayaks are safe. If you have any problems, just pop a flare and
we'll be there in minutes."
"What about the team that sank not long ago?" I asked.
"They opened their cargo hatch. Keep yours duct taped shut."
Personally, I think the last hour was our finest. The hotel grew
slowly larger against the mountains. First we could make out cars,
then hotel windows, then cheering people on the beach, and finally
that delicious crunch of sand on our bow, our paddles high in the air.
We stumbled up the brightly lit sand runway as someone showered us
with champagne, handed us flowers, and escorted us to the stage for
photos. The medical team then wrapped us in blankets and whisked us
to the medical tent to help us off with our wetsuits. "Do you do this
for everybody?" I asked one of the docs. He laughed. "What the
hell, it's a slow night". Someone from the Costa Rican team, who'd
finished long before, shoved a Miller in my hand as I sucked on an
inhaler.
38th out of 80 starting teams. We made big plans that evening; a
lavish dinner, drinks.
I awoke the next morning with a half eaten Big Mac still in my hand.
Later we would learn that several teams aborted their crossings that
night. In what must have been a particularly heartbreaking moment,
the Navy team abandoned the race only four miles from the finish to
rescue a hypothermic team member. Our very different finish was a
gift.hard won, but a gift nonetheless.
Subaru Primal Quest Lake Tahoe
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Sept 5-13th, 2003
Racers: Carl Gable, Pat Gallagher, Joel Krypel, Deb Werenko
Support: Dave Conlin, Caragh Barwise
http://www.subaruprimalquest.com/race2003/
Lake Tahoe, CA.
38th place, 9 days, 13 hours, 2 minutes
By: Deb Werenko (Racer)
As the newest member of Team Santa Fe and a fledging adventure racer
this was a magnificent experience. My teammates tried to explain on
several occasions what I was getting myself into and I could never
have imagined what was coming the day I stood at the starting line. I
have to say that we had a most spectacular support crew, without whom
we would not have been able to finish. I realized that adventure
racing is like taking all of your favorite death marches, adding about
30% and stringing them all together. I dreamed for a week afterward
that I was still in the race and would wake in a panic, knowing there
was something else we had to do before we could sleep.
The race started with a LeMans start on the eastern beach of Lake
Tahoe (in front of the cameras). Carl and I ran down the beach and
swam out to Joel and Pat waiting with our four-person sit on top
kayaks. We used our wing paddles and they turned out to be an
exceptionally good choice for the 33-mile paddle counterclockwise
around Lake Tahoe. Everything went fine until after checkpoint two at
which time the wind kicked up and waves started breaking over the bow
of the boats. Many of the boats filled with water and many teams had
to be rescued. The GPS and satellite units were ruined and it was
quite a struggle to make it to shore. There were times we paddled and
seemed to be standing still. Our boat did take on water and listed
dangerously, but we were able to make it to Homewood before we sank.
From Homewood we used scooters (Carl and Joel had 12 inch wheels) and
in-line skates (Pat and I, Pat having been on his once prior) for the
next 30 miles. Those on scooters became very useful on the downhill
in the dark but neither seemed great on the final climb to Donner
Pass. Some teams had full bike wheels on their scooters and lots of
teams used in-line skates and running shoes for the uphill. Team
Nokia was fastest on scooters; my bet is they had the bike racing
wheels and good brakes.
We left our second TA at Donner Pass and headed for Kirkwood Ski area
on mountain bikes. Mere 110 miles. This took 29 hours. I'm not sure
why except to say it did. We rode through that night, sleeping for
the first time early morning and rode all through the next day and
most of the night. We found a lovely caf in the middle of nowhere to
refuel and that may be the most pleasant memory of the ride. There
was a 2 mile hike a bike up a rocky four wheel drive road that seemed
to come out of a nightmare (with Jason blaring Black Sabbath carrying
a man sized jack to loose his truck from the VW sized boulder it was
hanging up on, at two AM) and then the 2 hour "diversion" to check out
the cliff band on the other side of the valley from Kirkwood and the
many 5 minute power naps one of which became the gravesite for my most
favorite sunglasses. Who's to say where that 29 hours came from?
Things got a little better the next day when we trekked 28 mile up and
out of the ski area past Scout Carson Lake and to Black Lake Quarry.
From here we set out on the first orienteering section of the race,
looking for 8 checkpoints set in a maze of logging roads. Thanks to
the excellent navigating skills of Carl and Pat things went very
smoothly. We elected to skip two checkpoints at a penalty of 4 hours.
We felt it was a worthy trade off. The last two being located on a
cliff band. Some teams went the opposite direction to collect points
and this might have paid off by going down the cliff, especially if it
had been daylight. We felt that night would be more fun so we did
this whole section at night skipping the cliff.
At this point it became clear that the best part of every day was
seeing Dave and Caragh. They had to start kicking us out of the TA's
as they were taking such good care of us we didn't want to leave.
They were helpful with food and gear and they were great at gathering
"beta", filling us in on the next leg, having topographic maps custom
printed from Dave's computer program and printer on special map paper.
They spent hours in the local libraries researching the area, did our
laundry, made and kept warm food for arrivals at all hours of the
night and day. They were essential to our finishing this race.
The next event was a bike to the base of the climbing. This included
a 13-mile descent to the Mokelume River valley at the base of the
Calaveras Dome. A spectacular granite face, which we ascended. Again
we felt night time would be more fun so we did this in the late
afternoon and evening. It turns out that for me this was a good, as I
struggled with the exposure and not seeing the valley below was
actually OK. As it turned out we were able to get right onto the
climb without a wait, some teams waited all afternoon ahead of us.
Some got lost on the hike to the ascent. We got lucky and found our
way there easily and got right on. Instead of the Tyrolean traverse
across the gorge between the rappel and he ascent we ended up
bushwhacking through some of the thickest brush I have ever made my
way through (in the middle of the night). Joel turned to me as I was
trying to wedge my way through saying that it would be absolutely
impossible to explain what we were doing right then to anyone and he
was right. The rappel was 600 feet down into blackness and quite a
struggle to get the rope moving through the rappel device. Scrambling
down from the cliff face we cliffed out twice but eventually worked
our way down early the next morning.
We had not brought enough food for the morning bike ride and so we all
pooled our food and shared what we had. It turned out there were two
ways to get to the next TA one of them entailed going back up the 13
mile descent (this seemed like it would have been a page out of hell)
and going along a dirt road across some "rolling hills" along the
valley floor. In hindsight it may have been faster to go back up the
paved hill (NIKE did this).
The next section was at Black Chasm, which is an area riddled with
caves and poison oak. There were 8 checkpoints here and we skipped
the first cave (as it entailed more than two hours of rappelling and
ascending) and quickly checked off the others.
From here we rode 30 miles through 5000 feet of elevation gain to the
put in for the white water kayaking at Chili Bar. The ride was
through the night and through what seemed to be some beautiful
countryside (there was a full moon). I know we saw some spectacular
countryside in this race I'll just have to go back to Lake Tahoe to
appreciate it.
The kayak was down the South Fork of the American river and it was 22
miles of class 3 and 3+ rapids. How hard could it be? We spoke to
guides at the put in who assured us that there was no need to scout
and that we should just take the tongue down everything. They said
some of the worst were right here near the put in. They handed us a
1-page river map and wished us well. Things did go well for the first
hour. We were in 2 person inflatable duckies. They were amazingly
stable and turned out to be a good craft on the white water. Joel and
I had a wake up swim in a fairly easy class 3 rapid early on. We
righted the boat, retrieved our paddles and got back in shaken but
definitely more attentive. Then we hit the first of two class 3+
rapids. This was a large S turn with a drop off, some massive
hydraulics where the river turned sharply right and then another
massive wave where the river turned left with another big drop. Joel
and I were right behind Carl and Pat. They took a line slightly left
of center in the first drop and immediately went over after hitting
the massive wave. Joel and I had a split second to know we didn't
want to choose that line and we were able to choose a line more right
of center and managed to stay upright. We got to the bottom of
"Troublemaker", and waited while one of the race officials waiting for
just this type of accident helped gather boat and paddles for Carl and
Pat At this point we became far more interested in the map and what
was coming up. There was one more class 3+ rapid called "Satin's
Cesspool" which we needed to get through. They are so aptly named as
it turns out. Joel told Pat and Carl he definitely wanted to scout
(we had both decided there was no way we would have gone through that
raging torrent if we had seen it). I knew that we would decide to
portage if we saw the next rapid but Carl agreed to let Joel know.
Which he did right after we got through it. It was another sharp
turn, but it had a jagged man eating rock at the beginning, which we
managed to slide by, and somehow slid through the turn banking as we
went . Again we swore we would never have elected to enter that
boiling rapid if we had looked first. The white water section ended
after 4 hours. It was definitely the most fun of all (even dead
tired). Next came the flat-water paddle 8 or 10 miles in those pig
barges all the way around the lake to Rattlesnake Bar. The paddle
went on into dusk and had us following glow sticks into the TA. NIKE
decided to deflate their boats and walk the 3 1/2 miles to the TA.
That was strategic brilliance.
Out of Rattlesnake Bar we headed on foot for Cool. This turned out to
be a hike along a river bottom with quite a few river crossings of the
American River, one of which was through 5 feet of cold rushing water
that we had to use a hand line to cross in the dark. I had a lot of
trouble with trench mouth by this point, and was unable to eat
anything that required chewing. It was absolutely miserable and
almost a show stopper for me. This lasted for the last two days. We
luckily came upon a convenience store were we demanded all the donuts
in the case. The clerk could only wonder if there was breakout from
the state hospital when four filthy looking travelers all carrying
hiking poles and packs wandered bleary eyed and fell looking through
his store in the wee hours of the morning. Later I just ate anything
anyone had that could be swallowed without chewing and somehow made it
through with a little hurricane (lidocaine) jelly I got from the first
aide tent. I later learned the first ulcers on the tip of my tongue
probably started by constantly wrapping my tongue around the camel
back hose and that dental hygiene is terribly important issue (which
will be a primary concern next time). I also struggled with blisters,
which have only now started looking like my own skin again. Most time
for me in every TA was spent wrapping my toes, but I've got that down
to a science and will never unwrap another blister again.
After this trek we had a 50-mile road ride through some beautiful
territory and another nighttime hike. This hike was on another
four-wheel drive road. I will never look so casually at this marking
on a map again. This hike made new blisters on top of old blisters
and new ones that covered more of my foot than I thought possible.
Places it seemed inhuman to get blisters. Seeing the paved road after
walking over boulders and cobbles on feet fit to wrapped like a
Japanese geisha girl brought tears to my eyes. We had to serve a
4-hour penalty at the last TA and the last leg was a paddle to
complete the journey around Lake Tahoe. Naturally while we were in
the TA the weather was phenomenal and our first two hours were on a
glassy lake. Then the sun went down and as we watched the sun go down
the wind started blowing at us from the finish line. We thought of
the first leg and after securing our flares, headlamps and glow sticks
we never stopped paddling for even a sip of water for 3 hours.
Several teams behind us got blown back to shore and had to restart in
the early hours of the morning. Our paddling on the last leg was so
improved over the first leg that it seemed we weren't the same team.
We really worked well together and managed to finish without sinking
or having to be rescued. It was quite the accomplishment.
Subaru Primal Quest Lake Tahoe
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Sept 5-13th, 2003
Racers: Lisa Barnes, Ries Robinson, Jan Bear and Keith Bushaw
Support: Kim Bear and Robin Bushaw
http://www.subaruprimalquest.com/race2003/
Lake Tahoe, CA
DNF
By: Jan Bear
Team Stryker was the name of the second team from Team Santa Fe. We
had raced together before and were feeling nervous but good about the
race. We have a very experience support crew and team. The race
check in and skills checks went smoothly. We were ready.
The race started on the water our worst event, the navigation was
straight forward and we finished in the middle of the pack. We were
fortunate not to have trouble with our boat like several teams did.
The roller blade to Donner pas was difficult but we gained ground
steadily. Finally on top of the pass we met our support crew who as
usual took excellent care of us and we were soon off on the next leg
of the race.
This next leg was a long 110 mile mountain bike. Things started out
poorly with a flat in the first mile but biking is our discipline and
we were in heaven. During this stage we gained time on several teams
and by the time we reached Kirkwood Ski area we were in about 25th
place. Here we again met our crew who quickly got us on the road
again, this time on foot.
This section was a 21 mile trek, we took our first rest during this
section for 2 hours. We finished the section the next morning again
getting to visit with our support crew and re-energize. Now it was
time for the orienteering section.
Navigation we thought was one of our strong points, however this
section took us about 9 hours during daylight. Some teams had
completed this section in six hours but we didn't know if they had
skipped any points. Skipping up to three points was allowed but you
would have a two hour penalty for each missed point sometime during
the race. We were pleased that we bagged all the points.
Next was a short mountain bike to mountaineering section. Once at the
next CP we could see the lights of teams already on the wall, they
were way up there. The actual hike to the base of the climb proved
quite challenging and took us about two hours. The climb went well;
Lisa went first then Ries, me and then Keith. Once on top we
navigated to the rappel and got quickly on to the ropes and headed
down. Once off the rope we had an hour and a half hike back to the
CP.
Back on to our bike and off. We were feeling good we were now in 15th
place and moving well. Of course this is when stuff happens. About 2
hours into the bike ride I began to have some belly pain, with in 5
minutes it was worse, in 15 minutes I was on the ground, nauseated,
with severe pain. My team mates were worried, so was I. I was not
sure what was going on, sure I'm a doctor, but an orthopaedic doctor
we don't know anything about belly pain. Soon I was so back that my
team mates called for help and I was taken to a local hospital by
ambulance were I was diagnosed with a kidney stone. I still felt bad
but was happy to know that it wasn't anything serious.
I felt really bad for my team mates. They were in a groove and moving
so well and my kidney stone ruined it all. So we had a great 3 day
race but we needed about 3 more to finish. Team Stryker will be back.
Thank you to the following great Team Santa Fe sponsors; CW-X,
PowerLung, Wenger NA, Schrade, Thor-Lo, Lowe Alpine, Leki, Seal Skinz,
Polar HRM, Bushnell Sports Optics, Dermatone, WPC Brands, SofSole,
Wolf Whitewater, Genesis Pharmaceuticals, Princeton Tec, Terry
Precision Bicycles, First National Bank of Santa Fe, Montrail, Black
Diamond, Suunto, Petzl, Outdoor Research, NiteRider, Litespeed, Tomac,
Ortileb, Therma-Rest, SealLine, AXO Cycling, LP Composites and
Platypus.
444 Fun Run for St. Michaels High School
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Sept 28th, 2003
Racers: Jan Bear
Santa Fe, NM
By: Jan Bear
After the disappointing DNF at PQ I needed to do something on my
birthday. I figured that a 4 mile fun run with my daughters would be
the ticket. We finished in about 45 minutes and had a great time. It
was the perfect start on my 48th year.
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