I was so psyched for this event! It was my first attempt at cycling a winter race and I had high hopes...with a healthy dose of dread pending the local trail conditions.
It started off great with an unspectacular trip down to Park Falls, WI. With only a few miles to go I noticed a familiar looking rig pulled over on the side of the road. It was Charlie Farrow!...with a couple of new friends. Poor Charlie had a rear wheel rusted to his drum brake. Lucky enough for him, it was a hopping Friday night and the locals were out prowling their favorite watering holes. This gentleman was kind enough to stop and try to whack the snot out of Charlie's wheel...but to no avail. Within minutes, another good
Samaritan arrived...
He of course wanted to see Charlie's I.D. first...long story short...Charlie finally made it down to Park Falls but only after his battery died (after I told him it would be OK to leave his lights on during the wheel change...sorry buddy!)
Well...we all made it to The Edge O' Town Motel eventually. Rich Hendricks was coming in the morning after he decided to bravely fight his shop, bike stand clamp with one of his right hand fingers. Jason
Buffington made his usual family commitments look like child's play as he joined this group later on in the evening. Part of the fun of these events is being lucky enough to get together and share war stories from previous campaigns...be them work, play or other. We finally got to sleep knowing that wake up would come in just a couple of hours to meet the 4:30 AM bus departure.
Charlie makes sure that absolutely not one molecule of bike come in contact with his rig during transport. Jason laughs, once again, knowing that his bike is programmed to secretly steal race details from Charlie's
Pugsley.
Charlie and Jason discussing the merits of using a pee bottle or bag in case of an emergency en route.
Rich Hendricks and Jason
talk trail conditions as
Buffington readies his rig.
Farrow adds another lead bar to his frame bag..."just to make things sporting"...
This will be the last photo of me with a smile on my face for several more hours...the horror....
We all wanted to get this show on the road. Who knew that this would be the fastest 100 feet I would travel all day.
Well...it took only about 100 meters to figure out that this was going to be a very tough day. Conditions were such that my fat Racing Ralph tires were no match for the soft snow. This was a day strictly for the
fatbikes. Within minutes, several of us with just our summer rigs were walking down the trail taking our bikes for a stroll. Every now and then, one would get the courage to try a new line only to flail helplessly in the fluff.
Finally, Jason and Chris
Schotz decided to try the gutter, a one foot swatch of line right on the outside of the groomed trail. I followed suit. For a minute, I actually felt something like real forward progress. But as I watched Jason and Chris struggle on, I knew I would not be able to hang on. My
singlespeed gearing was just a hair too high to continue without going into the red. So I backed off and took a minute to assess my situation. Pulling out the map, I knew that I did not want to get stuck in no man's land between towns with no highway access. I decided to walk on to the next town, one that was 12 miles form the start, and hope that conditions improved somewhere in the mean time.
After a couple of miles, I was forced to deal with my blistering heels. My newly fashioned winter
Tuff Lucks were working great for pedaling but not so great for such extended walking. I stopped, and as I put on another layer of moleskin, another walker with sled passed me. It is tough to be passed by these courageous competitors on foot knowing that I should be miles ahead of them with my chosen mode of travel.
As I neared the town of
Birchwood, I knew deep down that my race was just about up. I climbed a small hill outside of town and I heard the tires of a cyclist coming up the highway that
paralleled the trail. He pulled up to the trail and I hung my head in defeat as I agreed to join in on the highway back home. As we stood on the shoulder, a couple more riders came up the road. As he passed us, he said he had heard that the trail was rock hard just outside of
Birchwood. Without a second to lose, I walked back to the trail and continued my bike push to glory. I was overcome with shame for having joined those that chose the highway of sin. I had sinned! I had acquired race information
illegally! I had been tempted by the easy road and I had given in! I was determined now to carry on and try to repay my
transgressions. Were my bloody heels enough of a payment to the cycling spirits? I promised I would never give in again. (these fellow cyclists on the highway were wonderful sinners none the less. One would happen to save my can just down the road.)
I optimistically trudged closer to town with notions of 7 mph in head. I reached the burg of
Birchwood and pressed on to the outskirts. As I was crossing the highway to reconnect with he trail, a trio of snow machines gunned it front of me. A blue-gray cloud of exhaust filled the air. I saw the trail turn into mashed potatoes.
It was no use. The trail passed town was even worse than before. I was watching the trail of Jason and Chris ahead of me alternately weaving between gutter and walking. I pushed my bike to the next highway and gave up. My heels were done.
I pumped up more air into my tires and hit the highway. I figured I could make it back to Park Falls sometime after dark. I could get a good ride in, at least.
After about 5 miles of highway, a truck pulled over loaded with bikes. I began to know how the cyclists in the Tour feel when the broom wagon pulls up and taps them on the shoulder. I threw my rig in the bed and scooted in next to
Schotz and the fellow that I had originally joined on the highway of sin. Now, it was just the highway of shame. I felt a little better knowing that I was sitting next to one of the best mountain bikers in the Midwest who had bravely carried on with his skinny tires until reason finally took over.
Schotz and his father would eventually drive me back to the start line where my car was. We had stopped at the halfway point to inform the race crew that we were scratching. We also learned that Charlie and company were making decent progress having come through not that long ago.
On the way home to Duluth, I looked forward to having a full evening with my family. I tried to rationalize the day by thinking we (Rich, Jason and I) simply did not have the right tool for the day. I
particularly limited my options with just the
singlespeed. The event was a lot of fun despite the physics of the day. I am determined as ever to prepare for the Arrowhead. The need for a real
snowbike is looming, though. Just how can I beg borrow or steal one for the big one? We shall see. In the mean while, thanks to the kind folks that helped get me home. Thanks to the Duluth Four. I had a good one. I learned a lot.
News Flash!!! Buffington finishes the race! Unbelievable! More details to follow!
