The race began at the Durango Mountain Resort.  We checked in on Friday and were given maps, coordinates, and stuff to read.  Saturday morning, the racers basically milled about the patio at the resort hotel until some guy with a microphone yelled, “Go!”  The cluster more or less meandered off through the mixed crowd of well wishers, confused tourists, and racers not yet on their bikes and headed for the first climb.  It was a less-than-exciting start to the 27 mile bike leg which began with a climb up a steep dirt road just beyond the ski area parking lot.  I saw this as the first test of my recovering butt injury.  Goal number one was to make it to the top of the hill without the butt going south on me. This was accomplished by quickly retreating to the lowest gear on my bike and staying there.  Speed was not an issue.  I was in preservation (of my butt) mode.  At the top of the hill the road began a long descent into a picturesque little valley where we were to find the first control point (CP).  The road was covered with loose rocks ranging in size from gravel to stones two inches in diameter.  Only the bravest of the brave pushed their bikes over about 25mph down the hill to the CP.  Just before the CP we encountered the first of several water obstacles – a sweet little mountain stream not unlike what one sees in certain fizzy-yellow beer commercials.  Only the most talented bikers could ride their bikes across the stream.  Most of us walked our bikes across and learned what cold water feels like.  The stream was perhaps 30 feet across.  By the time we reached dry land our feet were numb.  One team immediately sat down and change socks.  That prompted quite a chuckle at the next water crossing about a mile or so up the single track.  Jim noted that when water gets this cold in Arizona — it’s solid.  There were enough water crossings that we spent most of the single track leg pedaling with numb or freezing cold feet.

 

Jim and Jane had forged on ahead by the time I cleared the first CP and started on the 17 miles of single track to the ropes section.  As I trundled along the single track learning the physics of wet rubber tires tractioning across slippery tree roots and angulated rocks, a steady stream of racers roared up from behind and passed me.  They bounded across the slippery rocks and roots as though they did it every day. [Most probably did]  Eventually, the stream of racers faded to a trickle and finally ended.  I was now riding alone.  I rode for miles without overtaking any racers or being overtaken by any racers.  This was my first solo attempt and I found it strange to be out there alone.  It didn’t feel much like a race.  I really didn’t feel like I was in a race.  I had no my team mates to buoy my spirits or give me incentive to push myself.  After my second slip and fall on the wet angular rocks, I took a more conservative attack on the trail – I went slower and more tentatively.  This probably contributed to my third fall when descending a steep little draw my front wheel eased over a rock and abruptly planted itself against a second rock just below the first.  My front wheel stopped.  The rest of the bike and I continued with our forward momentum.  Fortunately there were no cameras in the area to record my very vocal recovery.  I gathered my wits and continued on.  Eventually, I came upon a racer who was carrying his bike in one hand and his back wheel in the other.  He asked that I advise his team mates as to his situation should I encounter them.  I agreed and rode on.  Soon the trail was too steep for me to ride.  I did what Team Ruination does so well – I got off and pushed my bike up the hill.  After cussing my way through quite a bit of discouraging push-a-bike I noticed the ground had more foot prints on it than tire tracks.  I was not the only wuss pushing his bike up the hill.  My spirits were lifted.  I pushed on.  Up over another rocky climb and I saw movement ahead.  It was another team pushing bikes up the hill.  I was motivated.  I knew these guys couldn’t have as much experience pushing bikes up hill as I have.  Finally, briefly, it felt a little bit like a race. [Is that as pathetic as it seems?]  Still, I pushed my bike forward.  I actually caught a team while pushing my bike.  According to my odometer, I was 26 miles into a 25 mile bike leg with no end in sight.  Finally things leveled off a bit and I was able to get back on the bike and peddle.  Very soon after returning to proper peddling mode I rounded a curve and came face to face with a camera guy.  I was so happy to be riding and not pushing the darn bike.  A little farther down the trail I arrive at the rope section.  There waiting in the queue were Jim and Jane.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hiked the 10 mile trek without stopping and without seeing any other racers.  Not one racer until I reached the boats.  I was in a non-race hiking alone through the San Juan Mountains.  I was not chasing anyone and no one was chasing me.  After a few hours I wondered if I was now truly in last place.  Soon, I started second guessing.  I wondered if perhaps I was not last, but lost.  I dug out my handy-dandy color 1/50k map and tried to orient it so I could confirm my location.  I was high on the ridge line, but could not see much through the trees.  There were no obvious terrain features and the sun was buried in a gray drizzly sky.  I was going to need my compass to orient the map.  Nuts.  The compass was in my pack.  I didn’t want to orient the map badly enough to dig out the compass, so I stuffed the map back in the map case and continued down the ridge line trail.  About a mile farther I came to an area where I could see pretty well and spied some small lakes below.  I remembered seeing them on the map.  I quickly oriented the map and confirmed that I was right where I thought I was.  Always a good feeling.

 

My butt was holding up wonderfully well, I knew where I was, and it was mostly down hill from here.  I began running down the trail.  I was not running because I suddenly felt like I was racing, I was running because I love trail running and my butt felt good.  When I got to CP10 toward the bottom of the hill I suddenly realized that I forgot to check out with the race official at CP9.  Nuts, nuts, nuts! I feared that I might be disqualified.  Spirits were down.

 

Trail running is good therapy when your spirits are down.  I ran until I got to the old highway and found private land between me and the boats.  Now I had to figure out which private drive was the one we were authorized to cross to get to the boats.  I tried one, then another, and another; finally I came to the correct drive and wandered into the Boat TA and CP11.  I was bewildered and annoyed at having to pick my way through private property.  After the race Jane pointed out that the address of the correct drive was provided in the race passport booklet.  Duh.

 

My first objective at CP11 was to find a race official and confess that I failed to check out at CP9.  I wanted to know if I disqualified myself. [Secretly thinking -- What a great way to get out of having to paddle 18 miles in ice cold water] The nice man running CP11 called headquarters and talked to a race official higher up the food chain.  Bad news, I was not disqualified.  Sigh.  I began putting on my cold water paddling gear.  One of my shoe laces malfunctioned and I could not get one shoe off.  I put a cold water sock on one foot and left the other one in its trekking sock. [It was a good test that proved the cold water sock really keeps the foot warm—should have had them on in the bike leg] As I was putting on my gear I sat down on the ice chest (jump all clocks ahead ten minutes).  Now, all warm and cuddly in my cold water paddling gear and sitting comfortably on the ice chest, I began articulating reasons why I should not bother paddling.  That’s when my determined support team captain interrupted me and practically commanded, “Dad, you have to finish the race!”  Ok, fine.  I got up, stretched, scratched a few spots, and lugged my boat to the river.  I forgot to go pee.

 

At the river I had to wait for a two-person 24 hour team to load themselves into their boat (an official race-provided Air Tomcat) and shove off into the icy rapids.  Once they were on their way, I reluctantly plopped my hard shell boat in the water and ungracefully grunted myself into it.  I pushed off from the shore, took a paddle stroke or two and looked ahead.  I saw something.  It was the team that entered the river moments ahead of me, but suddenly it was more than that.  It was a target.  After all these uninspired, lonely hours of riding and trekking, I had something to chase.  I could feel the surge of energy that was absent virtually the entire race.  Finally, I was racing.  Of course, the guys in the Tomcat were unaware that they had become my prey, and they surely didn’t give a rat’s ass either.  They were struggling to make the sluggish little Tomcat cooperate.  I, on the other hand, had a sleek, hard shell kayak.  I was the cheetah they were the wildebeest on the river.   I almost caught them at the second turn only to get myself embarrassingly stuck on some rocks in a shallow spot.  I grunted, scooched, and cussed until I eventually freed myself.  Back to the chase, I caught the Tomcat and pulled in behind it.  I humbly followed them as we tracked the fast water through the rapids.  They were one of the leading 24 hour teams and I was genuinely impressed.  I tried to chit chat at one point when I was paddling beside them.  They weren’t in the mood for idle banter with a jerk in a hard shell.  I understood.  I dropped back and kept my distance.  Once we cleared the rapids and hit the slow water I had to pass them.  My boat was too fast to dawdle behind a Tomcat [it was the boat that was fast, not me].  Besides, I wanted to put some distance between us so I could enjoy a Monster Energy drink and relax for a bit [Of course, I would have preferred a Ruination, but no beer during a race].  Once I was comfortably ahead of them, I popped my first Monster and chug, chug, chug – what a great way to paddle.  Then, a monster belch to cap a great drinking experience.  By now, I was drifting like a fat sleepy log down the slowly winding river.  I had to pee very badly.  After a while I saw the Tomcat gaining on me.  I took up the paddle and got back in the race.

 

Another turn or two and I noticed a little flicker of color far ahead in the water.  There it is again, a yellow paddle.  Another Tomcat.  The pursuit is on!  After a few miles I catch and pass Tomcat number two.  It was the guys I passed while pushing my bike.  Tomcat number three was already in view.  Except for the fact that I had to piss like a race horse, this was fun – a hard shell eating Tomcats for lunch.  The river was too slow and too wide to make it worth while tracking the fast water all the time.  I started cutting the wide turns and hitting the fast water only when it was convenient.  Lightening and thunder added excitement to the chase.  I thought about peeing in the boat, but I had on too many layers of clothes.  I passed Tomcat number three and could see a blue hard shell boat ahead.  I must catch that hard shell!  I had a nice kayak, not super fast, but it was faster and more streamline than the one I was now chasing.  I caught him and looked ahead for more targets.  I saw another Tomcat far ahead.  More lightening and rain as I chase down my next target.  I was gaining fast.  The Tomcat passed under a bridge.  I passed under the bridge.  There was a loud crash of lightening and they pulled to the shore.  I looked to see if they were ok.  Suddenly, I was in rough water.  I better pay attention to where my boat is pointing or I will be in trouble.  I start paddling to position for a large swell in front of my boat.  As I slam the bow of my boat through the swell, I see a guy on a big concrete structure waving a clipboard at me.  I see orange cones on the structure.  Oh nuts.  This is the take out point – nasty, bumpy water directly in front of me.  I paddle like a maniac to get to the shore.  The guy with the clipboard runs down to grab my boat and keep me from being swept down stream in the rapids.  Jim and Jane are there to secure the boat while I gather my gear and find my other Monster Energy drink.  That last 300 yards was exciting.

 

Now all I have to do is run my full bladder, paddle and other gear down a path to a bridge, cross the bridge, run back up the path on the other side to the finish line.  Jane runs with me to the finish line while Jim and Sean drive another racer back to the race start point to get his dry clothes.  Apparently he dumped out of his boat just as he reached the take out point and had no warm clothes.  Jane and I reach the finish line right behind a four person male team.  I clock in at 12 hours and 35 minutes.  I finished.  More amazing, I was not last.  Even more amazing, I didn’t pee in the boat!  One of the race officials told me how to find the restroom and gave me a veggie burrito and some chips which went well with my Monster.  The sacred bottle of Ruination would come later.  Paddling is my worst, most dreaded event.  Yet, the way things at Durango strangely unfolded it was the only part of the race that felt like a race to me.

 

Lessons learned:

 

1. Don’t sit down in transition areas.

2. Read the rules/directions.

3. Don’t race to finish.  Race to win and hope to do well.

4. The water in Colorado is cold.

5. AR is a team sport – it’s not much fun racing alone.

Old people need to pee before they get into their boats.

Gerry’s Race Report: Warning -- this is a long report.  It was a long race.  Take some no-doze or something.  I went to the race not knowing if I could even participate as I was recovering from a training injury incurred only two weeks before the race.  I strained my iliotibial band and a few of the usual butt muscles.  My primary goal was to finish the race without aggravating my injury.  I did not over do it, in fact, I probably under did it.  I met my goal and finished 26^th overall out of 39 total teams entered in the 12 hour race.

Jim’s truck heading to Durango Mountain Resort to check in and drop the boat.

An unspectacular beginning to the race..

Sean took more pictures of this little chipmunk than he did the team.

Racers heading out to hit the steep ski road to begin the 27 mile bike leg.

Jim reported that they had only arrived 5+ minutes earlier.  Jane explained that she too had difficulties adapting to the mountain version of single track.   While we waited our turn to get on the Tyrolean Traverse we drank and ate snack foods to prepare for the mountain trek soon to follow.  The traverse was uneventful.  It was about 250 feet across and a little steep at the far side.  A few grunt enhanced pulls and the final few feet of rope were behind me. I unclipped from the ropes, ran back to the CP to get my bike and continued on to the Bike/Trek transition area (TA).

 

When I arrived at the Bike/Trek transition area (a.k.a. CP9) I checked in with the race official (who told me to be sure and check out with him when I leave for the trek) and met my support team captain, Sean Whitsitt.  Sean had all my trek gear laid out on a tarp waiting for me.  I drank some Gator Aid, gobbled a bar, changed socks, refilled my water bladder, and dumped my bike and rope gear.  I was, from a gear standpoint, ready to go in a matter of minutes.  Then I remembered the Trader Joe’s Triple shot cappuccinos in the ice chest.  The next thing I knew my butt was firmly planted on top of the ice chest while I casually sipped a cold, refreshing triple shot.  The moment my butt comes in contact with a flat surface in the TA all clocks jump forward ten minutes.  It’s some sort of time warp thing.  Anyway, at some point Sean said, “Dad, shouldn’t you be going?”  Sigh.  I got up, stretched and meandered toward the comfort station.  About that time Honey Stinger came screaming into the TA.  These kids were scooting! (Honey Stinger/RockNRole is the 4 person coed team that won the 24 hour race).  Watching their precise, deliberate TA activity reminded me that I too was in an adventure race.  I headed up the road to pick up the trail over the mountains.  As I walked up the road to the trail head, the four Stinger bikes zoomed by me on their way to win the race.  Oh, to be young again.  Sigh.  Upon reaching the trail I gracefully stepped aside and allowed two other teams to proceed up the trail ahead of me.  One was the team I caught while pushing my bike.  After a few minutes they walked far enough ahead that I could neither see nor hear them.  I was alone again.

Jane plotting Control Points on the map Friday after check in.

A rainy Control Point 11 at the boat put-in.

Gerry sitting on ice chest at Control Point 11.  Putting on cold water gear and telling Sean why he doesn’t need to do the boat leg.

Gerry in kayak at start of boat leg.  First  Air Tomcat is down stream to the right.

Jim and Jane secure the boat as Gerry prepares for the final sprint to the finish line.

Team Ruination waiting for the race to start.  Gerry is fishing through his pill box for an OP pill (electrolyte tab).

Jane in her pre-race warmies.