My first 24-hour adventure race experience—the girl’s
rendition.
It all began one
beautiful, sunny spring Friday…the 7-hour drive (or sleep if you’re Andrew) to
Tell City, IN was filled with blue skies and balmy breezes…but we all knew
better…
As soon as
Andrew, Pete, and I checked into the hotel and went to the gear check, the AR
Gods decided to add a little bonus challenge to what was already to be a
significant feat of mental and physical strength and endurance…rain, rain,
rain, wind, and more rain.
Although conditions
were going to be less than ideal, we knew we had a strong team that would be
prepared for anything, and I mean anything, come race start. Plus, we
had faith in our sweet crew (Heather and Rod) that was en route and would provide
the support we would need to kick this races keister. .
Between gear check
and the pre-race meeting there was some time to kill, so we headed to a local
establishment where we enjoyed some so, so live music, some pretty stellar bar
games devised and mastered by AndrewJ,
a flamboyant waiter, and some meals to get fueled for the race, highlighted by
the ultimate potato appetizer…The ultimate potato appetizer? You ask. How is
this possible? So, you probably thought that after baking, mashing, and then
re-baking a potato, what more could be done to this spud? Well, I’ll tell you,
after the twice baking process, you can add cheese and bacon, yes bacon! and
then deep fat fry it! Add a side of horsey sauce to top it off and you’ve got a
royal way for a spud to go. Enough about food, back to the race…
From there, it was
off to the pre-race meeting to get the rules and our maps. Our rain-proof
course map was gi-normous and would have made a great shelter (…why didn’t we
think of that guys?! wink, wink) *more on shelters to come…
Anyway, with maps in
hand (and our ‘leave no trace’ certification) we headed back to the hotel to
finish prepping and packing our gear. Pete thoroughly plotted our CPs and soon
Heather and Rod arrived (with race goo and water) to help map our course and
water proof our mini-maps. (Gotta love packing tape!)
Finally we were off
to bed to catch a few hours of shut eye before race start at 8am. We got there at 7:30 and received our first O-course map where we were to choose a
route to collect any number of 14 available CPs (as well as random trash for
the ARFE bonus prize) which ranged from 1-7 points depending on distance and
location. The goal was to choose a course that would provide 15 total points.
We (Rod and Pete) chose the around the lake course to save our legs (especially
my knees) from running 13 road miles. Besides, who enters an adventure race to
do a road run?!! Bushwhacking is by far the more rewarding way to go, and with
Pete and Andrew’s navigation routine, we were right on and quickly and
efficiently collected our CPs, (or at least we thought so, until we encountered
some of the teams that would eventually annihilate the competition heading out
on the bikes at least 2 hours ahead of us. Yikes, maybe the road run would have
been the way to go…hindsight…20/20…you know the saying, whatever, we were happy
with our decision to take the more adventurous route.)
We also noticed the
quickly deteriorating bike trails that would soon be our route to the first leg
of biking…I was freaking out…honestly, this was the first time back on my
mountain bike since the SKMC back in the fall and I wasn’t a great biker then.
Heather can attest to my freaking out and reluctance to ride the trails that
we had just seen trekking, but after Pete coached me on riding through some mud
holes (Thanks Pete!), we actually cruised through pretty quickly…that is until
we entered the ‘something’ Ridge Trail which made for several miles of
‘hike-a-bike’ instead of ‘ride-a-bike’. The clay-like mud was 4-5 inches deep,
water-filled, and not so conducive for trail riding (Way to ‘leave no trace’,
right!?!). The hills were killer and we just wanted it to be over! The event
lost a large number of the 30-some odd teams that started in the first bike
section due to the downright shitty conditions. Team Fat Otter does not let
mud, ungodly hills, or a few navigation and mental error mistakes (Pete will
try to tell you that he should have prevented us from most all of them, but
truth is, Andrew and I didn’t speak up when we saw the blatant
signs that we should make a turn here, or a turn there. Either way, we always
found our bearings again and were right back on course without much time loss
at all…maybe, maybe 25 total minutes tops) stop them from racing…it
takes much more than that. *also to come…
Emerging from the
muddy trails was glorious, but we still had a ways to go to reach the
rappelling and traversing section. Many long and large hills later, after
being hungry, wet, and muddy, we arrived at the ropes course to the beautiful
sight of Rod and Heather…Andrew indulged in some much needed Hormel bacon—Jared,
eat your heart out…’Adventure Racer, Andrew Wells, newest spokesman for Hormel
bacon, the diet of champion adventure racers!’ Meanwhile, I lavished in my
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches…Pete, I’m not sure what you ate, but I’m
sure it tasted down-right fantastic (I’m sure a Red Bull touched your lips)!
Truth be told,
after about 8 tough hours, we were all a bit ‘out-of-it’ and didn’t exactly care
that Rod kept telling us that this was NOT a transition area and we could have
been D/Qed for eating, replenishing our packs with goodies, and changing some
wet socks. We were lucky, and next time will have to plan much, much better.
With climbing gear
on, we headed the ½ mile to the ropes, where we were greeted by some friendly
volunteers (gosh it was nice to see some other humans), and hooked up to the
ropes. I had never done a traverse, so the volunteer put me on the taut cable
instead of the drooping rope. No offense dude, but I could have done the
rope…either way, it was fun to sail across the little ravine, making sure not
to knock myself out on the tree right in the center. Pete and Andrew made it
across the rope with ease, glad to use their arms after the long ride and we
were off to the rappel. Not a difficult rappel, by any means, but when you’re
a novice like me, and the volunteer at the top doesn’t explain things all that
well, you kind of look like a jackass trying to get down the 30-feet all
awkward and gangly-like. Oh, well, I’ll learn.
Then it was off to
the next trekking section of the race. After about nine miles, 4 hours, a few
CPs, including the ‘gator’ punch near the swamp where we almost lost Andrew,
many more ups and downs through the mud, my first pee of the race (Not to toot
my own horn or anything, but in the words of Pete Semenchuk, I do have quite a
‘tenacious’ bladder.), some pretty nasty blisters on my feet, a pretty sweet
new walk/jig due to these blisters, some interesting conversation (“What are
your thoughts on immigration…more specifically Koreans, no, North Koreans?”),
darkness falling, headlamps getting turned on, Andrew conquering the uphills
(our ‘little engine that could’), Pete mastering the downhills, me in the
middle futilely trying not to complain about my feet, instead thinking
longingly about the grilled cheese and pizza pockets Rod and Heather would have
for us after the paddle, Andrew asking the AR Gods to send us a car to guide us
to our road that would take us to our canoe put-in, this asked-for car actually
driving by at that moment, some eating of snickers and beef nuggets, and making
fun of the camo-wearing team along the road, we (I, so I could sit down)
praised the heavens to see the canoe check-in.
At the time of
the put-in or the infamous paddle section as I like to call it, it was 9:30
(although the race site says 10:30, but they were having troubles with time
zones, so we went by Andrew’s watch), and we were in a solid ninth place (first
in the 3-person coeds, we think). Finally, we were on the water. It was
dark. It was foggy. It was cold. It was creepy…like something directly out
of a Steven King movie. I was creeped out, especially by the beady little eyes
along the shore…sure, they were only dogs, but who knows what else was lurking
along the shore, waiting to attack some yummy adventure racers.
Anyhow, we
couldn’t see four feet in front of our faces (Well, Pete couldn’t. All I could
see was the back of his head) and there was debris in the little tributary out
to the Ohio River everywhere. Pete was navigating directions to Andrew to
avert the debris and we were slowly making our way along the water.
Unfortunately, there just so happened to be a lovely branch just below the surface
of the water to halt our forward progression. Had we not been sleep-deprived,
mentally fatigued, and a bit less hasty, we may have been able to avoid…duh,
duh, duh…the tip in, Andrew and I to our waists, Pete to his neck. However,
before we really realized it, the canoe was dumped, flipped back over, and we
were in and paddling again, even warmed up from the shock of the cold on our
warn bodies trying to provide us with some heat.
A few wrong
inlet turns and backtracking later, we could at last see the tree line opening
up to the great Ohio and hear the howling wind blowing over its massive
expanse. At this point, we decided that more clothing would be a plus before
taking on 2-3 more hours of paddling up the wind laden Ohio. I opted to stay
in the canoe, because I did not want to remove myself from my warm fetal
position, but Pete and Andrew got out to put on more layers. Blood rushed to
their legs, and then the shivering began. I was fine for a little while. However,
without the physical exertion of paddling, my body started to cool down and my
teeth started to chatter. Not sure how he did it, but Pete got me out of the
canoe, up the muddy bank, and somehow managed to convince me that it would be a
good idea to take off my pack and some clothes…I’m usually not that easy,
but…j/k. He was giving me an extra base layer to put on and soon I had my top
layers back on. I was definitely not warm, but not freezing either.
Next, the silver
aluminum colored emergency blankets emerged and we all huddled behind a tree
together to try and get warm. We discussed going back on the water to warm up
with some paddling, heard the wind, continued to significantly shiver, and Pete
decided on a fire. Andrew and I crouched behind the tree, and Pete braved the
cold and went to work on building us a fire. I distinctly remember saying that
I would marry Pete for building us a fire! Without him (and his fully equipped
first aid kit with fire starter, a non-required item *key lesson: DO NOT SKIMP
ON YOUR FIRST AID KIT!), I would have been a wreck by morning.
While Pete
collected more drift wood, Andrew and I dragged the canoe up from the water to
create a wind block. Soon, the fire was blazing and all three of us snuggled
for warmth. In a short time, Andrew, my little baked potato in his aluminum
foil wrapping dislodged from the huddle and created his ‘sweat lodge’,
funneling heat from the fire to his entire body.
About two hours
after we landed ashore and started the fire, another team floated by us…we were
pissed and contemplated getting back in the canoe, but every time we were away
from the heat of the flames, the shivering would begin again and we just didn’t
want to chance 3 hours in the cold without any more fire starter in case we
needed to land again.
Plus, the girl
in me kind of took over the adventure racer in me…I was content with snuggling
by the fireside and even after a second team passed by a little while later
tracked by the little dog with the beady eyes, I was alright with drying my
clothes, cuddling, and being warm, so warm, that we even fell asleep for a
short while, dangerously neglecting our fire. Luckily, we noticed in time and
re-stoked the fire. For the next few hours, the three of us continuously
collected more drift wood, stoked the fire, fanned it with the huge map case
(you remember, the gi-normous map that would have been nice as a shelter, since
our aluminum wrappings had a tendency to disintegrate.) and wondered when someone
would realize that we were not that terrible of paddlers and something must
have gone wrong. The great barge noises on the Ohio resembled potential rescue
boats, but never did one come. We waited.
Before long,
morning came, and Andrew wondered why the water had risen and where our paddles
had floated to (silly, there’s no tide on the river). In his defense, because
of where we were sitting up above the shoreline, it did kind of look that way
and for a split second, we wondered how it would look if the rescue crew found
our paddles floating down the Ohio without us anywhere in sight. And don’t
worry, Rod, we were concerned that your sweet paddle may have been lost
forever. Happily, the water had indeed not risen and the paddles were where
they had been left earlier that morning.
So, feeling a new
vigor in my step from the daylight and the few hours rest, I decided that it
was time to ‘get motorin’, what’s your…’ oops, sorry got side-tracked with our
theme song. Anyway, before I could take off my jacket to start drying my base
layers, our rescuers arrived, finally. It seems, one of the other teams that
passed us in the night had to make camp along the river as well and were
rescued first. I don’t know how they survived the cold, since they were unable
to start a fire…? In any case, we started to collect our belongings and Pete
put out our fire…hmmm, fire—the ultimate no-no for a ‘leave no tracer’ and in
no time we were at the race director’s cabin, greeted by Rod and HeatherJ
All five of us got to
wash the grim off our sweat, rain, and mud-soaked bodies and then we were off
to breakfast back in Tell City to kill some time before the awards ceremony, or
more importantly the gear raffle. Turns out, we should have just hit the road,
since it would have prevented us the disappointment of winning nothing and
prevented Pete from offending the race director’s mom who slaved over
the post-race meal…he he he, I mean really, who doesn’t offer condiments with
post-race burgers?!? At least the sun was shining again (perfect timing, after
the entire race) and we had our nice little nests as Andrew likes to call them
all set up in the backseats of both vehicles.
It all ended one
beautiful, sunny spring Sunday…the 7-hour ride back was one for sleep,
reflection, and massage (if you were Pete and I in Rod’s car) or sleep and gaseous
discharges (if you were Andrew in Heather’s car. Poor HeatherL)
Team Fat Otter may
not have finished the race and definitely did not win any gear, but to
experience basic survival instincts at their prime was undoubtedly one of the
greatest events of this girl’s 24 years living.
Special thanks to
Rod, Heather, my teammates, Andrew and Pete, and the race directors of the
Planet 24…it was definitely a race to make a team more resilient, forge a
tighter bond among friends, and prove that even just surviving is a great feat,
one to be appreciated as much as coming in first. Fortunately the nostalgia is
out of my system and I am out for blood in the next one!
