Surly Bikes
2007 ARROWHEAD 135 WINTER ULTRAMARATHON RACE
The Arrowhead 135 Winter Ultramarathon is a 135-mile self-supported endurance race on a multi-use mostly-offroad trail from International Falls, MN to Tower, MN. International Falls, nicknamed "Frostbite Falls", can reach -60F degrees on rare occasions. Needless to say, this isn't a race for the average weekend warrior. Racers may choose to run, bike, or ski the hilly, scenic trail. A racer is allowed 60 hours to complete the course.
As usual, I waited until the last minute to get all my gear together for this year's Arrowhead 135 race. I built my front wheel on Friday night, completed the installation of a new fork and front Nice Rack at 3:00am Saturday morning, and finished packing my gear at 4:15am. My dad, Jerry, was at my door, to pick me up, at 4:30am to drive me and Pugsley to International Falls, MN for the mandatory gear check-in. Like last year, I didn't sleep Saturday night or Sunday morning.
We got to the International Falls Holiday Inn, for the gear check-in and pre-race meeting, by 10:30am. My Uncle Bob, who drove over from Grand Forks, ND, was there to meet us. My dad and uncle were there for me last year, too. I can't begin to convey how much I appreciate their company and support at this event. Thanks again, guys.
I brought my stuff in to our favorite gear Nazi, Don Clark, for the pre-race gear check-in. Here's the list of mandatory equipment required to compete in the Arrowhead:
My riding clothes filled an 18-gallon Rubbermaid tub. I set my clothes out and organized them for the next morning, so I wouldn't be scrambling to find anything at the last minute. I laid out 5 layers for my torso, 3 layers for my legs, 3 layers and chemical warmers to go inside my boots, neoprene covers and gaiters to go over my boots, 3 layers and chemical warmers to go inside my mitten shells, and 3 layers for my head and face. In my bags/on the bike, I packed an extra vest, an extra wind shell, a headband, a neck gaiter, wind pants, and an insulated coat. The neck gaiter got used; everything else stayed on the bike. The reassurance of having the extra clothing, even if I don't ever use it, is reason enough to carry it. If the need to camp arose, I would have used some or all of it.
I packed the same foods in my bike bags and midpoint drop bag: smashed potato chips, Gummi bears, energy gel, Cliff Shot Bloks, dried cherries, cashews, smoked almonds, chocolate-covered raisins, and jerky. I picked these items because they are easy to eat, contain a lot of calories, and don't freeze solid at low temps.
After dinner and a shower, I laid down and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow
around 10:00pm, I think. I slept soundly until the wake-up call at 6:00am Monday morning.
The old 7:00am mass-start format was changed to a staggered format. We could start anytime between 7:30am and 8:30am. So I had time to have breakfast at the hotel with my dad and uncle and still get to the start on time. My dad went out to start the truck, but it wouldn't fire off at -30F. I started to get nervous. Luckily, Uncle Bob's truck started. We got to the start area at 8:25. I put on my last few pieces of riding gear, got my bike out of the back of the truck, had a few photos taken, signed in, and was riding by 8:29. I didn't have any chance to get cold before the race. Perfect timing.
Because the trail isn't quite 135 miles from the starting line to the finish line at Bayview Lodge, there's an out-and-back section at the beginning, which is a convenient bail-out point for people who decide they aren't cut out for the race. I rode west for 7 miles to the first checkpoint shelter. PJ Ramstack was there nursing a frozen derailleur pulley. I poured some denatured alcohol on it, and that seemed to remedy the situation. So I turned around and began the long journey south and east, on the same trail, toward the finish line 128 more miles away.
Starting later allowed me to follow a packed trail from the riders that went before me. I tend to ride a little faster as I work to catch up to each racer in front of me. Sometimes there was a little chit-chat as I passed by...most of the time there was not, because it's too tough to carry on a conversation when you're breathing hard and your face is numb and/or frozen to your balaclava. I did chat with Mike Riemer a bit. It was Miker's first year at the Arrowhead. He was riding a Pug, and I was curious as to how well he and the bike were working. He said his legs were hurting, but he thought he could work through it. Miker made it to mile 69...ending up dangerously hypothermic. Check out his race blog on the Salsa site.
At mile 14, I crossed back over the starting line. My dad and uncle were waiting for me there to take some photos and make sure everything was OK. I needed to add a little air to my rear tire, but otherwise, everything was OK. I was told I was moving along at a great pace
even making up some time on Mr. Fast Guy
last year's winner
Dave Pramann. That gave me a little extra boost. I put 80 pumps into my rear Endomorph, said Goodbye to the cheering section, and moved on down the trail. The relatively fast pace I'd enjoyed to that point was short-lived. The loose, cold snow hadn't seen much snowmobile traffic and there haven't been any freeze/thaw cycles in some time. Much of the trail was like riding in coarse, loose sand. It was not conducive to fast riding. Unfortunately, these conditions persisted through most of the remaining miles.
Wolf tracks were prevalent throughout the length of the trail. I tried to imagine what the wolves must be thinking when they spot us on their turf. There were some wolf sightings during the race, but I've never had the opportunity to see one.
I didn't stop at the Gateway General store at mile 43, because I was warm and I thought I had enough water to carry me through comfortably to Melgeorge's... 31 miles down the trail. I was making steady progress, and I wanted to put on as many miles as I could before the sun started to set.
There are a few places on the course, at forks in the trail, where the signage is poor or nonexistent (unfortunately, the Department of Natural Resources (DNR) doesn't allow the Arrowhead organizers to add additional signage to the trail at those questionable spots), so it's nice to follow the tracks of somebody who knows the trail. When I'm out in the middle of nowhere, it's comforting to know that, if nothing else, I'm on the right trail. The additional stress of potentially being lost can further tax one's energy, and there usually isn't much to spare. David Pramann and Joel Cahalan were in front of me for the entire first section of the race, so I was able to follow their tracks whenever there was a question about which direction to go
well, until they both took a wrong turn at a poorly-marked trail fork and Dave backtracked to take the correct trail while Joel mistakenly rode the road a shorter distance to Melgeorge's checkpoint, resulting in a time penalty. I took the wrong turn too, but did a 180 on the road and followed Dave's tracks back to the correct route.
The last 5-mile section of trail, before Melgeorge's resort, was more challenging than the previous 69 miles. The snow was deeper, and there had been less snowmobile traffic on this portion of the trail. I'd run out of water 2 hours previous, and I was starting to feel the effects of dehydration. I rode on top of Dave's tracks as much as I could, but it was arduous at best. My energy levels were waning, and I wanted a drink of water more than anything else. When we finally got to the lake crossing, the last stretch before Melgeorge's, I noticed Dave's footprints in the snow. It's not like him to walk. I figured he must have flatted or his freehub body had stopped engaging the hub. At around 7:30pm, when I finally got to the resort, my dad and uncle were waiting for me at the boat launch where we exited the lake. They looked concerned. I must have looked bad. I actually felt pretty good, because I knew there was warm food waiting for me in the toasty checkpoint cabin, and I'd be able to drink a Frappuccino and Redbull from my midpoint drop bag to perk up a bit. My dad rented a cabin for me to sleep in; he assumed I'd be too tired to proceed, based on the long time it took to get to that point
3 hours longer than my time last year. But I made the decision, at that point, to continue on after a little food and rest. So he cancelled the reservation. I asked about Dave and Joel. Dave had been walking because he was feeling too sick and weak to ride, and Joel had arrived on the road. At least, they were safe. Just then, I noticed that my front tire was going flat. I made it to the check-in cabin with the rim barely bouncing off the ground. Good timing
at least I could change the flat inside. When I got into the cabin, Dave's expression said it all. He looked like death warmed-over. Dave decided to rent a cabin and sleep a bit, hoping to regain his strength for the remaining 61-miles of bliss.
My outer fleece layer was frozen to my wool sweater, and my beard and mustache were frozen into my balaclava and neck gaiter. Icicles were hanging from my eyelashes. I had to wait a while before my garments would thaw enough to allow removal. After I peeled my icy clothes off, I hung them up to dry. Dave headed off to his cabin for some rest. Joel and I ate and prepared our gear for the next session. Charlie Farrow arrived as I was into my 3rd food course
pancakes, which were preceded by a grilled cheese sandwich and a pound of exquisitely greasy hashbrowns. Charlie was in good spirits, as always
even though he had flatted his tubeless tire and used up all 4 of his CO2 cartridges. It was clear that he was prepared to go out again after some food, a tire fix, a little rest, and a change of clothing. So we took our time, ate, drank, and prep'd for the most difficult part of the race. Charlie didn't carry a pump, so he used Joel's to pump up his tubeless tire. Too bad that pump never made it back onto Joel's bike. More about that later. I fixed my flat and slowly started to put on my damp clothing. More bikers and the snowmobile crew started to arrive. It was getting crowded in the cabin, so it felt like a good time to make our move down the trail. My fleece jacket still had a quart of water absorbed into the pile, but I wrung it out as well as I could and put it on wondering if I'd made the right decision to carry on into the 26F night air with a damp insulating layer. Luckily, my other clothing was pretty dry. I put my lightweight Pertex wind jacket over my fleece to add a little warmth to my torso. After getting my wheel back on the bike, filling my bike bags with my drop bag goods, and donning the last of my evening attire, I was ready to conquer the steep hills that were soon to follow.
Joel, Charlie, and I left within minutes of each other...around 10:30pm according to the log book. We knew that it would be hard to ride together, so we didn't plan to do so. Joel and Charlie were riding 29ers, a Redline and a Gunnar, and I was riding a Pug. Each format has its inherent strengths and weaknesses, and manageable speeds can be vastly different over different parts of the course. Joel and I started off faster than Charlie but made a wrong turn into a dead end corridor. We turned around and got back on the Arrowhead as Charlie was approaching. After discussion about the supposed location of the right turn, we started off again. The Pug was doing well on that section of trail while the 29ers started to flounder a bit. I was able to keep my momentum in the loose snow and pull away from Joel and Charlie. I figured they'd catch me when the trail turned into a maintenance/logging road for a spell, so I kept going. After a while, there was no sight of them behind me. I thought they might have turned back, because their progress was too slow.
When the short road section ended, I was struggling to stay on the bike. I was getting tired and frustrated. When I stopped to eat some food and drink some water, I looked up and saw Joel coming down the trail. I was happy to see he was still trudging along and sharing the misery. Unfortunately, Charlie had flatted again without having any C02 cartridges or a pump on hand, and they realized that Joel had left his pump back at Melgeorge's. So Charlie decided to walk while Joel rode on ahead of him. We would have worried more if it had been somebody other than Charlie. Charlie has endured -60F temps in Alaska, so we knew he had the experience, skills, and equipment to stay safe through the night. It turns out that he found shelter, started a big fire, and bivied for the night.
It was at this point that I frostbit my nose. I'd left my gaiter pulled down while I ate and drank. I forgot to pull it up before I started riding again. After 5 minutes, I realized my mistake. I touched my nose and it was hard as a rock. Not good. I immediately pulled my gaiter back up over my mouth and nose, so my breath could heat up my face. It didn't take long for my nose to thaw, but the tip felt numb. I was worried, but there wasn't much else that I could do. So we pressed on over the now-moonlit trail. I found that I could ride/walk without my light most of the time.
Trail conditions worsened. One snowmobile had passed through at some point days earlier, so we could, at least, find he trail. But riding was out of the question in many areas. So we pushed our bikes, and pushed, and pushed, and pushed until we finally got to the groomed area of the trail. The trail was now rideable to some degree, but it was anything but fast. And we were still 50+ miles from the finish. We were both very tired and Joel's toes were uncomfortably cold.
Serious hills started to become the norm. Some were high. Some were steep
steep enough that I had to kick into the hill to gain a foothold. Some were high and steep. I didn't bother to ride many of them. It made more sense, from an energy-saving standpoint, to dismount the bike, push it up the hill, remount, and coast down the backside of the hill. Joel was doing the same thing most of the time, though he rode up more hills than I did. I still managed to hang with him, somehow.
After a few hours of the hillclimbing and descending routine, with another 40+ miles to go, the first rays of the sun started to peek over the horizon. I was happy to see the dawn. It meant warmer temps and more potential to see the fastest lines on the trail. At the same time, I noticed that my tires were softer than they should have been. I suspected that the valves may have got a little ice in them and hadn't fully closed. I was worried about pinch-flatting, so I tried to add air to the rear tire with my pump. The rubber grommet that seals around the valve stem was rock hard and wouldn't compress as I tried to lock the plastic lever into place. I gingerly put more pressure on the lever, hoping that the laws of physics would somehow change and allow that cold rubber seal to deform so the lever could lock into place. It wasn't meant to be. The lever snapped off and flung itself into the snow. Damn. Next year, I need to bring a pump and C02 cartridges or carry the pump in my jacket to keep the sealing grommet somewhat malleable. In the process of trying to add air to the tire, I actually let more air out. This wasn't looking good. I was already starting to plan my exit strategy. Could I ride out on the rims? It would be harsh, and the rims would probably be destroyed. But it would be better than walking another 40 miles. I closed both Presta valves as tightly as possible and hoped that the tires would stay inflated for a while. It was unsettling to feel the bike bounce at every pedal stroke.
Joel had taken a wrong turn onto a logging road, realized his mistake, and turned around to catch up to me as I was pondering my fate and eating some frozen Gummi bears. I told him about my tire situation and that I may eventually drop out of sight if I need to ride on the rims.
We started off again. More hills. Joel asked several times, How many more hills do you think there are? I always replied, Just a few, I think. I forgot how many damn hills there really are.
The sun was moving up and my spirits were lifting, despite the seemingly endless string of rollercoaster ascents and descents that were pushing my body to its limits. Some of the views from the trail are gorgeous. It makes me want to ride the trail in the summer when I can take in all of the beauty at my own pace without worrying about freezing my junk off.
At last, we'd completed the hilliest section of the course to face another trail fork dilemma caused by a lack of proper signage. I cursed the DNR, again. From his tracks, I could see that Joel had gone straight and I did the same for a while. But somehow I suspected that we were on the wrong trail. So I turned around and headed back toward the other trail, hoping Joel would do the same. He did. We were both still unsure if were going the right way, even after looking at the vague map. But we decided to keep going until we saw some type of sign that would tell us where we might be on the right course. We saw orange diamonds nailed to trees that indicated we were on a designated snowmobile trail, but nothing that indicated that we were on the Arrowhead trail. We didn't know if all snowmobile trails in the area used the orange diamonds, or if the orange diamonds were used specifically on the Arrowhead. That wasn't made clear at our pre-race meeting. We rode for 8 miles without knowing if we were on the right trail. Then we got to another intersection without proper markings. Apparently, the local restaurants and bars can post signs at intersections to lure hungry and thirsty sledheads into their places of business, but the DNR is unwilling to post proper signage to let us know where the hell we are. That's messed up. As we tried to assess our position on the map, I heard the unmistakable noise of a snowmobile coming down the trail toward us. Perfect timing. It was the first time I'd seen a snowmobile on the trail since I started the race. I flagged him down, and he confirmed that we were on the Arrowhead and showed us where we were on the map. As tired as I was, and knowing that we still had about 30 miles to go, I was so happy that we were going the right way. I finally had a sense of where we really were in relationship to the finish line. After one more big climb to the second-to-last shelter and a fun descent down the backside of the hill, the trail would essentially flatten out until Bayview Lodge
the finish line.
The remaining flat section is a yawner. It's not particularly fast or picturesque. We just put our heads down and cranked the pedals
stopping once in a while, together or separately, to eat, drink, take in Ibuprofen, adjust clothing, or, in Joel's case, check on cold toes. I could tell Joel was worried about his toes, but there wasn't much he do about it. He had a number of chemical heater packs adhered to the outside of his vapor barrier socks, and there wasn't room for any more. We were relatively close to the finish. The best option was to keep churning.
Joel's Redline 29er was more efficient than the Pug on this section of trail, mostly due to the Pug's ultra-low tire pressure. But I kept him in my sight the whole time, occasionally catching him when he stopped for a break. I was actually amazed that I hadn't been forced to ride on the rims. The tires were holding their less-than-ideal pressures. I'd later determine, after the race, that I was riding about 5 PSI in the rear and about 6 PSI in the front for the last 40 miles of the race.
With a little over 4 miles to go, we met up with Arrowhead Ultra snowmobile crew on their way out to find us and other racers on the trail. After exchanging information, we parted ways and Joel put the hammer down. I tried to keep up, but my muscles ached too much to stay with him. He stopped at the Bayview Lodge sign to wait for me. 2 miles to go. The turn was marked better than in year's past when I, and many other people, missed it and needlessly put on extra mileage before eventually finding Bayview. We headed north toward the lodge. After a lengthy flat section and few small climbs, we crossed the road to ride the final section of snowmobile trail to the Bayview driveway. We rolled down the icy driveway toward the finish line cabin where we were greeted by all the people anxiously awaiting our safe arrival. It had been 31+ hours since I'd started...an estimated 27-28 hours of actual riding or walking. I was so damned happy to see my dad and uncle and to know that I wouldn't have to pedal a bike for a couple of days.
When we got into the finish line cabin, we were treated like icy, stinky royalty. Food, drink, warm water for Joel's purple frozen toes
everything we needed was provided. It felt so good to just sit on the sofa while eating and drinking and relaying stories of the long, cold 31+ hour adventure. We estimated that we'd walked about 60 percent of the last 61 miles
about 35 miles, because of the snow conditions and steep climbs, and we figured the temperature probably dropped to -35F at the lowest spots in the trail during the night. Despite my slightly frostbitten nose, fingers, and thumbs, my aching knees, shoulders, back, ass, and neck, and the bruises on the bottoms of my feet
probably from all the walking and kicking into the sides of the steep hills, I'm in good shape. Was it worth it? Of course. Time will take care of all these aches and pains, and I have a 1st place trophy to remind me of the coldest ride of my life.
My sincere thanks go out to Pierre and Cheryl Oster, for putting on another great event, and to all the other people who worked so hard to make it happen. And, despite my bitching about the lack of trail signage, I have to thank the DNR for creating and maintaining the trail and allowing us to use it for a few days.
Next year, I'll be chasing Joel and Dave again. I'll pack a little differently. I'll dress a little differently. I might not wait until the very last minute to prep my bike and pack my gear. And, once again, I'll enjoy the company and companionship of my old and new friends.
Check out the Arrowhead Blog for more accounts of the race.
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- Minus-20 sleeping bag
- Insulated sleeping pad
- Bivy sack or tent (NO space blankets)
- Firestarter (matches or lighter)
- Stove to heat water
- 8 fl. oz. fuel at ALL times (either white gas, alcohol or 2 canisters of propane/butane 100 g. each or 12 Esbit tablets)
- Pot (min. volume is 1 pint)
- 2-qt insulated water container (filled with water, but the weight of water is not counted in the minimum weight)
- Headlamp or flashlight
- Flashing red light, both on front and back. The DNR requires that everyone have at least 10 square inches of reflective material on front and back for this race.
- Whistle on string around neck to call for help.
- 1-day of food at ALL times (3000 calories)
- 15 lbs of gear at ALL times
My riding clothes filled an 18-gallon Rubbermaid tub. I set my clothes out and organized them for the next morning, so I wouldn't be scrambling to find anything at the last minute. I laid out 5 layers for my torso, 3 layers for my legs, 3 layers and chemical warmers to go inside my boots, neoprene covers and gaiters to go over my boots, 3 layers and chemical warmers to go inside my mitten shells, and 3 layers for my head and face. In my bags/on the bike, I packed an extra vest, an extra wind shell, a headband, a neck gaiter, wind pants, and an insulated coat. The neck gaiter got used; everything else stayed on the bike. The reassurance of having the extra clothing, even if I don't ever use it, is reason enough to carry it. If the need to camp arose, I would have used some or all of it.
I packed the same foods in my bike bags and midpoint drop bag: smashed potato chips, Gummi bears, energy gel, Cliff Shot Bloks, dried cherries, cashews, smoked almonds, chocolate-covered raisins, and jerky. I picked these items because they are easy to eat, contain a lot of calories, and don't freeze solid at low temps.
After dinner and a shower, I laid down and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow
around 10:00pm, I think. I slept soundly until the wake-up call at 6:00am Monday morning.
The old 7:00am mass-start format was changed to a staggered format. We could start anytime between 7:30am and 8:30am. So I had time to have breakfast at the hotel with my dad and uncle and still get to the start on time. My dad went out to start the truck, but it wouldn't fire off at -30F. I started to get nervous. Luckily, Uncle Bob's truck started. We got to the start area at 8:25. I put on my last few pieces of riding gear, got my bike out of the back of the truck, had a few photos taken, signed in, and was riding by 8:29. I didn't have any chance to get cold before the race. Perfect timing.
Because the trail isn't quite 135 miles from the starting line to the finish line at Bayview Lodge, there's an out-and-back section at the beginning, which is a convenient bail-out point for people who decide they aren't cut out for the race. I rode west for 7 miles to the first checkpoint shelter. PJ Ramstack was there nursing a frozen derailleur pulley. I poured some denatured alcohol on it, and that seemed to remedy the situation. So I turned around and began the long journey south and east, on the same trail, toward the finish line 128 more miles away.
Starting later allowed me to follow a packed trail from the riders that went before me. I tend to ride a little faster as I work to catch up to each racer in front of me. Sometimes there was a little chit-chat as I passed by...most of the time there was not, because it's too tough to carry on a conversation when you're breathing hard and your face is numb and/or frozen to your balaclava. I did chat with Mike Riemer a bit. It was Miker's first year at the Arrowhead. He was riding a Pug, and I was curious as to how well he and the bike were working. He said his legs were hurting, but he thought he could work through it. Miker made it to mile 69...ending up dangerously hypothermic. Check out his race blog on the Salsa site.
At mile 14, I crossed back over the starting line. My dad and uncle were waiting for me there to take some photos and make sure everything was OK. I needed to add a little air to my rear tire, but otherwise, everything was OK. I was told I was moving along at a great pace
even making up some time on Mr. Fast Guy
last year's winner
Dave Pramann. That gave me a little extra boost. I put 80 pumps into my rear Endomorph, said Goodbye to the cheering section, and moved on down the trail. The relatively fast pace I'd enjoyed to that point was short-lived. The loose, cold snow hadn't seen much snowmobile traffic and there haven't been any freeze/thaw cycles in some time. Much of the trail was like riding in coarse, loose sand. It was not conducive to fast riding. Unfortunately, these conditions persisted through most of the remaining miles.
Wolf tracks were prevalent throughout the length of the trail. I tried to imagine what the wolves must be thinking when they spot us on their turf. There were some wolf sightings during the race, but I've never had the opportunity to see one.
I didn't stop at the Gateway General store at mile 43, because I was warm and I thought I had enough water to carry me through comfortably to Melgeorge's... 31 miles down the trail. I was making steady progress, and I wanted to put on as many miles as I could before the sun started to set.
There are a few places on the course, at forks in the trail, where the signage is poor or nonexistent (unfortunately, the Department of Natural Resources (DNR) doesn't allow the Arrowhead organizers to add additional signage to the trail at those questionable spots), so it's nice to follow the tracks of somebody who knows the trail. When I'm out in the middle of nowhere, it's comforting to know that, if nothing else, I'm on the right trail. The additional stress of potentially being lost can further tax one's energy, and there usually isn't much to spare. David Pramann and Joel Cahalan were in front of me for the entire first section of the race, so I was able to follow their tracks whenever there was a question about which direction to go
well, until they both took a wrong turn at a poorly-marked trail fork and Dave backtracked to take the correct trail while Joel mistakenly rode the road a shorter distance to Melgeorge's checkpoint, resulting in a time penalty. I took the wrong turn too, but did a 180 on the road and followed Dave's tracks back to the correct route.
The last 5-mile section of trail, before Melgeorge's resort, was more challenging than the previous 69 miles. The snow was deeper, and there had been less snowmobile traffic on this portion of the trail. I'd run out of water 2 hours previous, and I was starting to feel the effects of dehydration. I rode on top of Dave's tracks as much as I could, but it was arduous at best. My energy levels were waning, and I wanted a drink of water more than anything else. When we finally got to the lake crossing, the last stretch before Melgeorge's, I noticed Dave's footprints in the snow. It's not like him to walk. I figured he must have flatted or his freehub body had stopped engaging the hub. At around 7:30pm, when I finally got to the resort, my dad and uncle were waiting for me at the boat launch where we exited the lake. They looked concerned. I must have looked bad. I actually felt pretty good, because I knew there was warm food waiting for me in the toasty checkpoint cabin, and I'd be able to drink a Frappuccino and Redbull from my midpoint drop bag to perk up a bit. My dad rented a cabin for me to sleep in; he assumed I'd be too tired to proceed, based on the long time it took to get to that point
3 hours longer than my time last year. But I made the decision, at that point, to continue on after a little food and rest. So he cancelled the reservation. I asked about Dave and Joel. Dave had been walking because he was feeling too sick and weak to ride, and Joel had arrived on the road. At least, they were safe. Just then, I noticed that my front tire was going flat. I made it to the check-in cabin with the rim barely bouncing off the ground. Good timing
at least I could change the flat inside. When I got into the cabin, Dave's expression said it all. He looked like death warmed-over. Dave decided to rent a cabin and sleep a bit, hoping to regain his strength for the remaining 61-miles of bliss.
My outer fleece layer was frozen to my wool sweater, and my beard and mustache were frozen into my balaclava and neck gaiter. Icicles were hanging from my eyelashes. I had to wait a while before my garments would thaw enough to allow removal. After I peeled my icy clothes off, I hung them up to dry. Dave headed off to his cabin for some rest. Joel and I ate and prepared our gear for the next session. Charlie Farrow arrived as I was into my 3rd food course
pancakes, which were preceded by a grilled cheese sandwich and a pound of exquisitely greasy hashbrowns. Charlie was in good spirits, as always
even though he had flatted his tubeless tire and used up all 4 of his CO2 cartridges. It was clear that he was prepared to go out again after some food, a tire fix, a little rest, and a change of clothing. So we took our time, ate, drank, and prep'd for the most difficult part of the race. Charlie didn't carry a pump, so he used Joel's to pump up his tubeless tire. Too bad that pump never made it back onto Joel's bike. More about that later. I fixed my flat and slowly started to put on my damp clothing. More bikers and the snowmobile crew started to arrive. It was getting crowded in the cabin, so it felt like a good time to make our move down the trail. My fleece jacket still had a quart of water absorbed into the pile, but I wrung it out as well as I could and put it on wondering if I'd made the right decision to carry on into the 26F night air with a damp insulating layer. Luckily, my other clothing was pretty dry. I put my lightweight Pertex wind jacket over my fleece to add a little warmth to my torso. After getting my wheel back on the bike, filling my bike bags with my drop bag goods, and donning the last of my evening attire, I was ready to conquer the steep hills that were soon to follow.
Joel, Charlie, and I left within minutes of each other...around 10:30pm according to the log book. We knew that it would be hard to ride together, so we didn't plan to do so. Joel and Charlie were riding 29ers, a Redline and a Gunnar, and I was riding a Pug. Each format has its inherent strengths and weaknesses, and manageable speeds can be vastly different over different parts of the course. Joel and I started off faster than Charlie but made a wrong turn into a dead end corridor. We turned around and got back on the Arrowhead as Charlie was approaching. After discussion about the supposed location of the right turn, we started off again. The Pug was doing well on that section of trail while the 29ers started to flounder a bit. I was able to keep my momentum in the loose snow and pull away from Joel and Charlie. I figured they'd catch me when the trail turned into a maintenance/logging road for a spell, so I kept going. After a while, there was no sight of them behind me. I thought they might have turned back, because their progress was too slow.
When the short road section ended, I was struggling to stay on the bike. I was getting tired and frustrated. When I stopped to eat some food and drink some water, I looked up and saw Joel coming down the trail. I was happy to see he was still trudging along and sharing the misery. Unfortunately, Charlie had flatted again without having any C02 cartridges or a pump on hand, and they realized that Joel had left his pump back at Melgeorge's. So Charlie decided to walk while Joel rode on ahead of him. We would have worried more if it had been somebody other than Charlie. Charlie has endured -60F temps in Alaska, so we knew he had the experience, skills, and equipment to stay safe through the night. It turns out that he found shelter, started a big fire, and bivied for the night.
It was at this point that I frostbit my nose. I'd left my gaiter pulled down while I ate and drank. I forgot to pull it up before I started riding again. After 5 minutes, I realized my mistake. I touched my nose and it was hard as a rock. Not good. I immediately pulled my gaiter back up over my mouth and nose, so my breath could heat up my face. It didn't take long for my nose to thaw, but the tip felt numb. I was worried, but there wasn't much else that I could do. So we pressed on over the now-moonlit trail. I found that I could ride/walk without my light most of the time.
Trail conditions worsened. One snowmobile had passed through at some point days earlier, so we could, at least, find he trail. But riding was out of the question in many areas. So we pushed our bikes, and pushed, and pushed, and pushed until we finally got to the groomed area of the trail. The trail was now rideable to some degree, but it was anything but fast. And we were still 50+ miles from the finish. We were both very tired and Joel's toes were uncomfortably cold.
Serious hills started to become the norm. Some were high. Some were steep
steep enough that I had to kick into the hill to gain a foothold. Some were high and steep. I didn't bother to ride many of them. It made more sense, from an energy-saving standpoint, to dismount the bike, push it up the hill, remount, and coast down the backside of the hill. Joel was doing the same thing most of the time, though he rode up more hills than I did. I still managed to hang with him, somehow.
After a few hours of the hillclimbing and descending routine, with another 40+ miles to go, the first rays of the sun started to peek over the horizon. I was happy to see the dawn. It meant warmer temps and more potential to see the fastest lines on the trail. At the same time, I noticed that my tires were softer than they should have been. I suspected that the valves may have got a little ice in them and hadn't fully closed. I was worried about pinch-flatting, so I tried to add air to the rear tire with my pump. The rubber grommet that seals around the valve stem was rock hard and wouldn't compress as I tried to lock the plastic lever into place. I gingerly put more pressure on the lever, hoping that the laws of physics would somehow change and allow that cold rubber seal to deform so the lever could lock into place. It wasn't meant to be. The lever snapped off and flung itself into the snow. Damn. Next year, I need to bring a pump and C02 cartridges or carry the pump in my jacket to keep the sealing grommet somewhat malleable. In the process of trying to add air to the tire, I actually let more air out. This wasn't looking good. I was already starting to plan my exit strategy. Could I ride out on the rims? It would be harsh, and the rims would probably be destroyed. But it would be better than walking another 40 miles. I closed both Presta valves as tightly as possible and hoped that the tires would stay inflated for a while. It was unsettling to feel the bike bounce at every pedal stroke.
Joel had taken a wrong turn onto a logging road, realized his mistake, and turned around to catch up to me as I was pondering my fate and eating some frozen Gummi bears. I told him about my tire situation and that I may eventually drop out of sight if I need to ride on the rims.
We started off again. More hills. Joel asked several times, How many more hills do you think there are? I always replied, Just a few, I think. I forgot how many damn hills there really are.
The sun was moving up and my spirits were lifting, despite the seemingly endless string of rollercoaster ascents and descents that were pushing my body to its limits. Some of the views from the trail are gorgeous. It makes me want to ride the trail in the summer when I can take in all of the beauty at my own pace without worrying about freezing my junk off.
At last, we'd completed the hilliest section of the course to face another trail fork dilemma caused by a lack of proper signage. I cursed the DNR, again. From his tracks, I could see that Joel had gone straight and I did the same for a while. But somehow I suspected that we were on the wrong trail. So I turned around and headed back toward the other trail, hoping Joel would do the same. He did. We were both still unsure if were going the right way, even after looking at the vague map. But we decided to keep going until we saw some type of sign that would tell us where we might be on the right course. We saw orange diamonds nailed to trees that indicated we were on a designated snowmobile trail, but nothing that indicated that we were on the Arrowhead trail. We didn't know if all snowmobile trails in the area used the orange diamonds, or if the orange diamonds were used specifically on the Arrowhead. That wasn't made clear at our pre-race meeting. We rode for 8 miles without knowing if we were on the right trail. Then we got to another intersection without proper markings. Apparently, the local restaurants and bars can post signs at intersections to lure hungry and thirsty sledheads into their places of business, but the DNR is unwilling to post proper signage to let us know where the hell we are. That's messed up. As we tried to assess our position on the map, I heard the unmistakable noise of a snowmobile coming down the trail toward us. Perfect timing. It was the first time I'd seen a snowmobile on the trail since I started the race. I flagged him down, and he confirmed that we were on the Arrowhead and showed us where we were on the map. As tired as I was, and knowing that we still had about 30 miles to go, I was so happy that we were going the right way. I finally had a sense of where we really were in relationship to the finish line. After one more big climb to the second-to-last shelter and a fun descent down the backside of the hill, the trail would essentially flatten out until Bayview Lodge
the finish line.
The remaining flat section is a yawner. It's not particularly fast or picturesque. We just put our heads down and cranked the pedals
stopping once in a while, together or separately, to eat, drink, take in Ibuprofen, adjust clothing, or, in Joel's case, check on cold toes. I could tell Joel was worried about his toes, but there wasn't much he do about it. He had a number of chemical heater packs adhered to the outside of his vapor barrier socks, and there wasn't room for any more. We were relatively close to the finish. The best option was to keep churning.
Joel's Redline 29er was more efficient than the Pug on this section of trail, mostly due to the Pug's ultra-low tire pressure. But I kept him in my sight the whole time, occasionally catching him when he stopped for a break. I was actually amazed that I hadn't been forced to ride on the rims. The tires were holding their less-than-ideal pressures. I'd later determine, after the race, that I was riding about 5 PSI in the rear and about 6 PSI in the front for the last 40 miles of the race.
With a little over 4 miles to go, we met up with Arrowhead Ultra snowmobile crew on their way out to find us and other racers on the trail. After exchanging information, we parted ways and Joel put the hammer down. I tried to keep up, but my muscles ached too much to stay with him. He stopped at the Bayview Lodge sign to wait for me. 2 miles to go. The turn was marked better than in year's past when I, and many other people, missed it and needlessly put on extra mileage before eventually finding Bayview. We headed north toward the lodge. After a lengthy flat section and few small climbs, we crossed the road to ride the final section of snowmobile trail to the Bayview driveway. We rolled down the icy driveway toward the finish line cabin where we were greeted by all the people anxiously awaiting our safe arrival. It had been 31+ hours since I'd started...an estimated 27-28 hours of actual riding or walking. I was so damned happy to see my dad and uncle and to know that I wouldn't have to pedal a bike for a couple of days.
When we got into the finish line cabin, we were treated like icy, stinky royalty. Food, drink, warm water for Joel's purple frozen toes
everything we needed was provided. It felt so good to just sit on the sofa while eating and drinking and relaying stories of the long, cold 31+ hour adventure. We estimated that we'd walked about 60 percent of the last 61 miles
about 35 miles, because of the snow conditions and steep climbs, and we figured the temperature probably dropped to -35F at the lowest spots in the trail during the night. Despite my slightly frostbitten nose, fingers, and thumbs, my aching knees, shoulders, back, ass, and neck, and the bruises on the bottoms of my feet
probably from all the walking and kicking into the sides of the steep hills, I'm in good shape. Was it worth it? Of course. Time will take care of all these aches and pains, and I have a 1st place trophy to remind me of the coldest ride of my life.
My sincere thanks go out to Pierre and Cheryl Oster, for putting on another great event, and to all the other people who worked so hard to make it happen. And, despite my bitching about the lack of trail signage, I have to thank the DNR for creating and maintaining the trail and allowing us to use it for a few days.
Next year, I'll be chasing Joel and Dave again. I'll pack a little differently. I'll dress a little differently. I might not wait until the very last minute to prep my bike and pack my gear. And, once again, I'll enjoy the company and companionship of my old and new friends.
Check out the Arrowhead Blog for more accounts of the race.
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