A RACE OF SACRIFICE, STRUGGLE, AND SELFLESS DETERMINATION
2015 Primal Quest Tahoe | Team Journey : Julian Tonsmeire, Katie Ford Ferrington, Olof Hedburg, Fletcher Hamel (as told by)
I will preface that this is the perspective and opinion of one athlete and does not in anyway represent the full emotions or activities we encountered throughout our week in the wild.
It could be said that our 3rd place finish at Primal Quest Lake Tahoe was the culmination of year of racing and training, and I won’t argue that our experience as adventure racing athletes didn’t help us to this success, but I think that for me personally 2015 has offered up it’s share of reasons I shouldn’t have done so well…
Let’s take it back to winter, post holidays, when the reality of a tight family budget made the only opportunity of me racing this year at the expense of a generous team sponsor. While that realization drained some of my training motivation, I just kept playing in my new mountainous playground: the Wasatch, running & snowshoeing up Millcreek & the Cottonwoods.
I will preface that this is the perspective and opinion of one athlete and does not in anyway represent the full emotions or activities we encountered throughout our week in the wild.
It could be said that our 3rd place finish at Primal Quest Lake Tahoe was the culmination of year of racing and training, and I won’t argue that our experience as adventure racing athletes didn’t help us to this success, but I think that for me personally 2015 has offered up it’s share of reasons I shouldn’t have done so well…
Let’s take it back to winter, post holidays, when the reality of a tight family budget made the only opportunity of me racing this year at the expense of a generous team sponsor. While that realization drained some of my training motivation, I just kept playing in my new mountainous playground: the Wasatch, running & snowshoeing up Millcreek & the Cottonwoods.
My training picked up substantially after our team-training weekend. We were then selected via a video submission for a fully paid entry into the rebirth of Primal Quest and it was no holds barred. Lots of mileage, lots of vert. Little did I know I was slowly tightening and eventually straining my pubic-symphosis (that is as yucky as it sounds). This injury came in mid-May after two weekends of heavy running and I went through several weeks and therapists in order to figure out and eventually heal enough to continue training. I never mentioned this to my teammates, because let’s face it, I was going to PQ, whatever it takes…
While my running was hampered during this period, the biking was fine and I began doing lots of road/mountain climbing; rarely doing anything less 3000 ft. of vertical on any ride not a commute to work. This was awesome until… my bike was stolen right out of our garage overnight! Thus began my month of police and insurance dealings, as exactly a week later my car was stolen from our house as well. I was in a rage as my training ground to a halt (injured, no bike, no way of getting the boat to the water). Thankfully our insurance and the bike shop worked efficiently to remedy my whip, and I can’t say enough for my wife, Patty. Her patience and determination with the situation was a solid anchor for our family.
Finally, after all the personal challenges, getting ahead enough at work to leave, replacing another injured teammate and a solo road trip across Utah & Nevada, I arrive to race HQ to find my team and the apparent fact that we are late for check-in. (This couldn’t get worse, the race will seem easy after all this!)
While my running was hampered during this period, the biking was fine and I began doing lots of road/mountain climbing; rarely doing anything less 3000 ft. of vertical on any ride not a commute to work. This was awesome until… my bike was stolen right out of our garage overnight! Thus began my month of police and insurance dealings, as exactly a week later my car was stolen from our house as well. I was in a rage as my training ground to a halt (injured, no bike, no way of getting the boat to the water). Thankfully our insurance and the bike shop worked efficiently to remedy my whip, and I can’t say enough for my wife, Patty. Her patience and determination with the situation was a solid anchor for our family.
Finally, after all the personal challenges, getting ahead enough at work to leave, replacing another injured teammate and a solo road trip across Utah & Nevada, I arrive to race HQ to find my team and the apparent fact that we are late for check-in. (This couldn’t get worse, the race will seem easy after all this!)
Never say never. Olof, our super Swede athlete (that right, he is a 6’4” blond haired, former professional Nordic skier who considers anything slower that 6:30 minutes per miles not running), who graciously joined us less than a month before the event, WOKE UP RACE MORNING WITH A FEVER! He essentially told us we needed to race as a 3 person. We told him to shut-up and sleep, and we’d revisited it closer to the race start. We packed/prepped all his gear, spoke with the event medical, called his wife, and made a pharma run…whatever it takes. With a hot shower, netti pot, Emergen-C, and a village sized bag of Riccola throat lozenges, we got him to stagger to the starting line and keep us official if only for day 1. Ask him and he still swears that the first 24 hours of the race was the toughest.
I came to PQ with the understanding that the majority of the navigation would be my responsibility and in doing I would not be shouldering much of the team weight. This, of course, changed as soon as Olof was starting a 9day race dead on his feet. Julian I divided the team gear as well as carried several items from Olof’s pack including his climbing gear (which seemed an unnecessary weight to carry through the first bike & trek ~120miles of the race). Being a mule takes its toll as I’ll later explain, but and you should know it by now, whatever it takes…
I came to PQ with the understanding that the majority of the navigation would be my responsibility and in doing I would not be shouldering much of the team weight. This, of course, changed as soon as Olof was starting a 9day race dead on his feet. Julian I divided the team gear as well as carried several items from Olof’s pack including his climbing gear (which seemed an unnecessary weight to carry through the first bike & trek ~120miles of the race). Being a mule takes its toll as I’ll later explain, but and you should know it by now, whatever it takes…
Race started at the top of Heavenly Ski Resort after a processional through town and a gondola ride to where we would do our prerace ropes check. Shenanigans and emotions ensued as we prepared to embark on a historic re-launch of the biggest AR brand the US has ever had. We were given a ‘map’ and our passport book on the run after the gun went off. There was mass chaos following tape/trail/road, but we ended up getting wedged between Bones & Godzone right from the get-go. This first fast ~10miles was just to help spread the field for entry into water in what was described only as follow the east coastline north for roughly 6miles. We entered the water in 3rd/4th, but showed our flat-water paddling cards early, arriving at TA1 in 6th/7th.
We relatively quickly changed, ate, built bikes and mapped the first section of biking – which would prove our first several tests as we began an overnight ride along the Tahoe Rim Trail and its associated trail network. The ride started on tarmack as we followed highway 50 up through Cave Rock Tunnel and back toward Carson City. Our first checkpoint of the leg was just as we were to enter the TRT at Spooner Summit Trailhead… I believe we were back in 5th, but just barely.
There was a service road that followed and intersected the Rim Trail as we road south, and it was my plan to reevaluate whether to utilize it once we’d climbed up to the first junction. The TRT was ‘rideable’ (and probably more so in daylight), but the time it was taking us seemed unnecessarily long and strenuous, so when we hit the junction we switched to the road. It was slightly looser, but wider and straighter as a route. We made relatively good time for a while not realizing we’d passed 3rd & 4th by choice of route. However, I lost track of direction following the track and we ended up overshooting a turn by a ¼ mile. In the meantime, 3 other teams bunch up behind us making the same mistake. We regrouped, found the right turnoff and did our best to hustle down toward Kingsbury Rd. This was the first indication of Olof and my own discrepancy in navigation. I felt confident that if we were heading relatively south and downhill we were going to end up at or near the right spot as we had a giant paved handrail of a road. Olof, like many great navigators doesn’t like to loose himself on the map and tracks every bend and intersection for more frequent and minor catch features. Whatever it takes…
During our drop down to Kingsbury, we allowed team NorCal to gap us to the point of us loosing sight of them visually for about an hour. We bumped into our favorite podcaster and video man, Randy Erickson, as we were crossing the road and rallying for the climb back up to Heavenly. The pavement was a reprieve from the winding ruggedness of the TRT, but we knew it was only temporary. After a slight bobble we came across the first of several “trail angels” we encountered on this race. A gentleman stumbled from the local establishment curious as to what we were doing, we told him racing along the TRT up to to Star Lake. With wide eyes he said, “I know a shortcut.” He told us to say on the service road until we passed under the old diesel lift near Mott Canyon. We thanked him and sped off. His route was golden and we watched Norcal pop out behind us exhausted from the TRT hike-a-bike!
It was on this next section that things really began to take a turn toward further trouble…
We jockeyed for position again with Norcal for sometime, then (and I can’t recall the order) two team malfunctions occurred: nutrition + mechanical. Our team captain and strong man, Julian, hit a low spot decorating the trailside with an over-intake of water and I’m sure the delightfully gag-inducing Promax bars (I know I shouldn’t say this as they were such a great race sponsor, but this was only the first of many suspect digestive situations in connection to these provisions). I did what I could as we paused for a few minutes, wisely encouraging him to roll away from his vomit and providing some body heat (yes we were spooning partners throughout PQ) while he regrouped. I also took more gear/weight…whatever it takes. We got moving and found a rhythm, following Olof as he picked amazingly clean lines on the TRT in the early morning hours. Then suddenly he was off. Turns out his pedal had unthreaded throughout our ride. This normally wouldn’t be an issue (tighten it back down right), but he had either hit it against something or put some crazy Swedish torque on it because it was cross-threaded in a bad way. We grabbed our trail tool and each took a turn trying to rethread it, but with each attempt only stripping more and more of the crank arm’s thread away. It was then we realized it was time to macgyver a solution that would hopefully get us to the next TA or at least down to a bike shop. Using the strong stick and flattest stone we could find within a hundred meters, Olof and I replaced his pedal by hammering ‘nature’ into his $9k race bike. Stick spindle, rock platform, and all of our medical kit duct tape and we hobbled off – whatever it takes… and thankfully at the time, there was lots of hike-a-bike. Now as we debated about how to best handle the bike and whether it would be the end of a competitive race for us, we crawled into CP3 at Star Lake only to find celestially illuminated in the moonlight a brand new Trek and a volunteer who can only be considered the savior of our race, Phil. Julian, being his friendly and cordial self, offered $200 without the blink of an eye to borrow/rent Phil’s new steed for the remainder of the race. We could tell Phil was torn, but he eventually after consulting with the race director, conceded to not only loan us his bike with no immediate payment, but carefully return Olof’s to race HQ once he was done with his shift at CP3. Hooray! Our race was back on… time to catch a team!
There was a service road that followed and intersected the Rim Trail as we road south, and it was my plan to reevaluate whether to utilize it once we’d climbed up to the first junction. The TRT was ‘rideable’ (and probably more so in daylight), but the time it was taking us seemed unnecessarily long and strenuous, so when we hit the junction we switched to the road. It was slightly looser, but wider and straighter as a route. We made relatively good time for a while not realizing we’d passed 3rd & 4th by choice of route. However, I lost track of direction following the track and we ended up overshooting a turn by a ¼ mile. In the meantime, 3 other teams bunch up behind us making the same mistake. We regrouped, found the right turnoff and did our best to hustle down toward Kingsbury Rd. This was the first indication of Olof and my own discrepancy in navigation. I felt confident that if we were heading relatively south and downhill we were going to end up at or near the right spot as we had a giant paved handrail of a road. Olof, like many great navigators doesn’t like to loose himself on the map and tracks every bend and intersection for more frequent and minor catch features. Whatever it takes…
During our drop down to Kingsbury, we allowed team NorCal to gap us to the point of us loosing sight of them visually for about an hour. We bumped into our favorite podcaster and video man, Randy Erickson, as we were crossing the road and rallying for the climb back up to Heavenly. The pavement was a reprieve from the winding ruggedness of the TRT, but we knew it was only temporary. After a slight bobble we came across the first of several “trail angels” we encountered on this race. A gentleman stumbled from the local establishment curious as to what we were doing, we told him racing along the TRT up to to Star Lake. With wide eyes he said, “I know a shortcut.” He told us to say on the service road until we passed under the old diesel lift near Mott Canyon. We thanked him and sped off. His route was golden and we watched Norcal pop out behind us exhausted from the TRT hike-a-bike!
It was on this next section that things really began to take a turn toward further trouble…
We jockeyed for position again with Norcal for sometime, then (and I can’t recall the order) two team malfunctions occurred: nutrition + mechanical. Our team captain and strong man, Julian, hit a low spot decorating the trailside with an over-intake of water and I’m sure the delightfully gag-inducing Promax bars (I know I shouldn’t say this as they were such a great race sponsor, but this was only the first of many suspect digestive situations in connection to these provisions). I did what I could as we paused for a few minutes, wisely encouraging him to roll away from his vomit and providing some body heat (yes we were spooning partners throughout PQ) while he regrouped. I also took more gear/weight…whatever it takes. We got moving and found a rhythm, following Olof as he picked amazingly clean lines on the TRT in the early morning hours. Then suddenly he was off. Turns out his pedal had unthreaded throughout our ride. This normally wouldn’t be an issue (tighten it back down right), but he had either hit it against something or put some crazy Swedish torque on it because it was cross-threaded in a bad way. We grabbed our trail tool and each took a turn trying to rethread it, but with each attempt only stripping more and more of the crank arm’s thread away. It was then we realized it was time to macgyver a solution that would hopefully get us to the next TA or at least down to a bike shop. Using the strong stick and flattest stone we could find within a hundred meters, Olof and I replaced his pedal by hammering ‘nature’ into his $9k race bike. Stick spindle, rock platform, and all of our medical kit duct tape and we hobbled off – whatever it takes… and thankfully at the time, there was lots of hike-a-bike. Now as we debated about how to best handle the bike and whether it would be the end of a competitive race for us, we crawled into CP3 at Star Lake only to find celestially illuminated in the moonlight a brand new Trek and a volunteer who can only be considered the savior of our race, Phil. Julian, being his friendly and cordial self, offered $200 without the blink of an eye to borrow/rent Phil’s new steed for the remainder of the race. We could tell Phil was torn, but he eventually after consulting with the race director, conceded to not only loan us his bike with no immediate payment, but carefully return Olof’s to race HQ once he was done with his shift at CP3. Hooray! Our race was back on… time to catch a team!
Okay, I’m being told this is taking too long… so basically we caught Norcal (never saw them) somewhere between CP3 & CP4, where Matt, the super PQ volunteer defended the race and us from rowdy and irate campers. We passed Tahoe Helium to take 3rd on the climb up the ridge to the highway and a short section of the PCT we were allowed on. A mixed trail/road network later, we were at Lover’s Leap… but apparently the rappel was a placed a bit further down the cliff face. Olof found it and we bikewhacked in. 4th & 5th caught us but had to wait as we were now the guinea pigs for the craziest thing we did all race - descend 600ft with our bikes strapped to our backs (apparently 1st & 2nd were allowed to do this sans bike earlier in the darkness). This was stressful, painful, and a bit too impromptu for my likes, but safety tethered together Olof and I walked & jumped down the wall, until his harness broke (thankfully not a weight bearing loop). We then waited on Katie & Julian and descended down a gnarly climbers track and it was at this point we all realized how far gone the extra weight and declining caloric intake had put me. I was hurting – hungry & thirsty. We found a faucet and bartered for some Pringles and redbull at the campground before heading off. At this point I was relinquished of my navigation responsibilities and a bit of the pack weight. Olof and Julian decided to go a more conservative route than my original plan, adding miles to stay on pavement (a trend we deployed multiple times with mixed results). My first and biggest regret of the race was that I didn’t reengage long enough to suggest a very extreme route with an intentional bikewhack (which ended up being the fastest alternative). We made good time around to the river/creek crossing which literally meant wading our gear across to find some old dirt bike trails that had been hidden by a “few” years of abandonment and flooding. We ended up with a might long hike-a-bike that teetered on whacking all the way up to pavement leading into Kirkwood and TA2. Curious about how our route choice played out, we were disappointed to find we’d lost 3+ hours to Norcal & Tahoe. It reengaged me with a myriad of emotions, but mainly a drive to make up our mistake and more after a meal and a power nap in the heated bathroom.
Two hours on my back with my feet in the air, I arose packed and mapped our route – making my first of many miraculous recoveries at PQ. Olof and I worked together fairly well throughout this section, me making bigger – general route decisions, him executing the finer points. We got hung up a couple times, miscalculating the attackpoint at CP8 and on route to CP9 missing the turn to the grab the Long Valley Trail south of Bear River. We were once again low on water and energy, but as we bushwhacked off the spur near Ham Spring down to the landbridge at Bear River Reservoir, I found my stride - offtrail/”wooly”/downhill terrain. I guided the team down to the access point regardless of the conditions pushing us south of our bearing. We got some water on the run and Olof began acting as navigator/scout on our climb to CP9. A little miscommunication about intent on exiting and crossing the water further south on some natural crossings due to low water levels, and there were some “raw” team interactions. This was interrupted by the sounds of Swedish screams – we almost lost him again, this time to a very grumpy rattlesnake that got awakened as we cross the threshold of the damn. It guarded the access to us backtracking the way we crossed originally, so we kept heading down the western coast until we bumped into Norcal & Tahoe again. This was going to be a race for 3rd! We treated water and all headed in separate directions toward CP10. Our route had us off-trail again, which is where I excel, but stopping for food & layers, and then patching a ragged can-inflicted wound slowed us. We used roads as handrails as we climbed to CP10 finding it and a neighborhood hose fairly easily. We were slightly behind Norcal at this point and could occasionally catch their headlamps ahead of us. Katie & I were super tired, sore footed and out of it again as we descended toward Salt Springs Reservoir and the Calaveras Dome climb site, so we moved slow, but spotting our pipeline and a team bedding down revved us into gear… It was Norcal and our chance to once again move into 3rd! Making it to the ascent in our current placement was pivotal and we did so!
I was at my limit and the class 4 scramble up to the base of the climb was exhausting to my body and psyche (yes, I have a fear of heights). I was allowed a short sleep while Olof & Katie took the first shift on the ropes, but I quickly found myself face-to-face with one of my biggest fears – the abyss. The first 100 feet were fine; I could look at and touch the beautiful granite, moving steadily upward. However, once I reached the point of fully overhang, rotating in space and able to take in the “view,” I had my ‘come to Jesus moment.’ I realized without my ability/will to continue despite the nearly paralyzing fear; the race was done for us. I then literally focused on only the 12 inches in front of me – counting the stripes on the rope and mentally rationalizing every tiny fray as I pushed 3-5 moved and caught my breath. I made fairly good time up the wall all things considered but reached the last pitch and sub sequentially the top in the full sun & heat of the day. After a short rest and a walk across the top, I stumbled through a rough rappel down a small canyon only to be greeted by the reality that we had another 1500’ of gnarly descent before the cool of river would great our bodies and lips. I was in a bad mental/physical state, but based on what he’d seen earlier in the race Julian looked at me and told me that he knew I was hurting, but that I could move through this terrain incredibly well and I need to lead the team down. I’m not sure if it was his motivation or just pure desperation, but I began picking steep, fast lines down that frequently crossed and connected to the paths of either Bones or Godzone and before we knew it we landed at the river literally at the base of the bridge we needed to cross the river. We soaked and hydrated before our final 5k push to the TA and first foot care of the race.
We all got nourishment, Poison Oak baths, and foot care while building bikes and finding out that a race miscommunication was causing the staff to shuttle everyone ahead on the next bike according to some predetermined splits at CP10. We were just leaving the TA when Norcal hobbled in, Olof led the navigation through the road ride to Placerville, where we were met with the ringing of the town bell and some “real food”. We celebrated and then pushed on to the TA, know that the dark-zone would catch us and all the teams behind us up to a paddle restart the next morning – more rest = more speed the next day. We planned to carry only our required gear on the kayak and had our packs prepped for the following trek which made our transition the fastest of the group by nearly a half an hour.
The paddle was sensational. Due to awesome communication, river reading, and the genius of Julian to choose the slower and more stable inflatables, we were the only team to not swim this section (including a massive s-curve rapid call “Trouble Maker”). This kept our energy reserves much higher not exhausting ourselves with adrenaline inducing capsizes. While Norcal eventually passed us with a quarter mile of river left, we made the transition smooth and really leaned into the next trek like we wanted to finish playing leapfrog.
This was perhaps not the most “pretty” of treks, but we really came together during our “run” along the Western States Trail. A couple of ‘semi-clothed’ river crossings, the first muddy and second a night swim on the North Fork of the American that captured a trekking pole and water bottle also bonded the team… We could never shake Norcal though, their headlamps chasing us in the moonlight. We strategically stopped and treated our wet and damaged feet with baby powder, tape and lube eating a “meal of salami and tuna sandwiches that revitalized us and powered us onward. We finally crossed paths with Norcal as we were traveling from CP20 toward the town of Cool. We played up our exhaustion and injury, limping past them in deception only to pick up the pace again once out of sight… whatever it takes. This may have been bad for our Karma, as our route through the neighborhoods led us to Olof’s famous battle with a barbed wire fence (a semi-humorous story for another day). After patching him up and evading some very curious residents, made good time on the pavement to CP21. Bathroom breaks, a nap for Julian and a few other things we made our way with Katie’s help toward the river to find the old Mine Trail. For some reason there was some mistrust of my navigation at this point, but we banded together and took turns sharing attributes we found either endearing or impressive as teammates while staving off dilutions. We gained our final ridge of the trek and Olof would drop for naps around every corner, while I zigzagged back and forth across the trail see 12’ tall reindeer in the woods. We staggered down to the river bobbling a minor trail junction and having to backtrack or fight the blackberries vines along the river’s edge, eventually making one more rope assisted swim to the Ruck-a-chucky takeout and our shuttle for the Whitewater rafting. Amazingly we’d set a course to catch the first shuttle and join Godzone (2nd at the time) on the water! Whatever it takes!
This was perhaps not the most “pretty” of treks, but we really came together during our “run” along the Western States Trail. A couple of ‘semi-clothed’ river crossings, the first muddy and second a night swim on the North Fork of the American that captured a trekking pole and water bottle also bonded the team… We could never shake Norcal though, their headlamps chasing us in the moonlight. We strategically stopped and treated our wet and damaged feet with baby powder, tape and lube eating a “meal of salami and tuna sandwiches that revitalized us and powered us onward. We finally crossed paths with Norcal as we were traveling from CP20 toward the town of Cool. We played up our exhaustion and injury, limping past them in deception only to pick up the pace again once out of sight… whatever it takes. This may have been bad for our Karma, as our route through the neighborhoods led us to Olof’s famous battle with a barbed wire fence (a semi-humorous story for another day). After patching him up and evading some very curious residents, made good time on the pavement to CP21. Bathroom breaks, a nap for Julian and a few other things we made our way with Katie’s help toward the river to find the old Mine Trail. For some reason there was some mistrust of my navigation at this point, but we banded together and took turns sharing attributes we found either endearing or impressive as teammates while staving off dilutions. We gained our final ridge of the trek and Olof would drop for naps around every corner, while I zigzagged back and forth across the trail see 12’ tall reindeer in the woods. We staggered down to the river bobbling a minor trail junction and having to backtrack or fight the blackberries vines along the river’s edge, eventually making one more rope assisted swim to the Ruck-a-chucky takeout and our shuttle for the Whitewater rafting. Amazingly we’d set a course to catch the first shuttle and join Godzone (2nd at the time) on the water! Whatever it takes!
There was a quick change, and lots of food, but not enough time to pre-build our bikes before we got in Paul’s pickup road/slept to the put-in. We listened to instructions and carried the raft to the water. Our guide was awesome and shared what to do & why, but as you can see from the photos and video, it was all we could do to paddle when told. We went through a wild rapid called Tunnel Chute that required us to dive into the bottom of the boat. Once we made it through the big rapids, he gave us permission to sleep while he steered us down the river ahead of the water flow. We paused for 30minutes to let the levels rise and get good shuteye and an awesome glimpse of river otter in the wild! We finished this section and began building bikes and studying maps, but the heat and exhaustion had me making reckless decisions with regard to gear and especially food…
We were informed that a previously off-limits route was back in play and we took it. Again, not the most direct, but more pavement and the opportunity to pickup some fresh groceries. We climbed all the way up to Foresthill and the local convenience store, which again found me in a fully drenched sweat. If someone had just purchased food on my behalf, I’d have done fine, but my mush-brain and cravings left me with a random selection of heavy and disjointed calories that didn’t replace the sack I left at the TA thinking this ride would be only 36 hours. Sleep Deprivation was unknowingly setting in majorly on all of us – me especially. I began having what I thought were deja vu hallucinations, remembering in phantoms portions of this ride. After sketchily descending another portion of the WS trail, we decided to bed down for another two-hour rest. Three of us set alarms, but 3.5hrs later we awoke in a panic realizing we’d slept through. A long hike-a-bike and ride later we bumped into our trail savior (Phil) at the CP just past the cemetery to find out we were still in 3rd, but that Godzone was blazing the route. We stopped at a pump a half-mile later to refill/rehydrate and it was here that I realized I had indeed ridden this section a few years earlier as part of the Gold Rush Mother Lode (a part that I had blocked out as horrendous and never to be spoken of again…). We descended/ascended to and from the North Fork of the American River via lots of hike-a-bike with everyone, but Katie wrecking it some fashion – myself over the bars. We rode past several mines on our way to CP23, Matt the volunteer’s smiling face and ice-cold water!
Now my most major drop in physical performance came shortly after this CP as I spent all my time fixing bikes, getting water, and making sure my team was ready to go. I have enough wits about me to realize we were sorely short on food stash and had begun rationing earlier in the day. All of a sudden I just couldn’t keep up – I was bonking. We made it a little further before food and water weren’t enough and an unplanned sleep was in order. I ate more and crashed for an hour, then we slowly climbed from French Meadow Reservoir up to the CP24 at Hell’s Hole. We deployed a pacing strategy of 1k progress followed by 90sec. break as I was being towed by Julian at the time. We made it up the climb and into the CP with me on the brink and struggling to regulate body temp. Whatever it takes… we keep moving.
To correct any misnomer, the genius/crazy idea to go nearly 40 miles out of the way was Olof and Julian’s call. It was awesome while we descended the pavement (jersey open and cooling me down) down to the Rubicon River the first time. We decided to start the climb up the other side and made it about 1000’ up the ascent before we decided an actual sleep for everyone was in order. Two hours and an extremely loud logging truck later, we woke I grabbed a bunch of the weight I had shed the previous day and we were on our way… Within an hour I was again back against the ropes. It got so bad that Julian had me on tow and Olof took my pack (the ring) to keep us moving. I hated every minute of this. Being weak sucks! And I could recover even while spinning on tow. I would take off on foot at every break just to get a reprieve from the pain and embarrassment of the burden I was being to the team, but it proved that for all of us, this was a race of whatever it takes…
It was by now that the rest of Journey realized our desperate need for additional food, and Katie & Julian began a compelling campaign of campground and worksite begging. We finally made it to Loon Lake on the edge of the infamous Rubicon Trail and the newly dubbed Journey-Slackers (Sorry YogaSlacker, but we had to find humor in our calorie disparity and the connection to your regularly under fueled team provided much needed laughs) feasted on turkey sandwiches, watermelon, grapes, and a collection of granola bars. With food in my stomach and liquid in my veins, I began to truly feel myself again.
Now my most major drop in physical performance came shortly after this CP as I spent all my time fixing bikes, getting water, and making sure my team was ready to go. I have enough wits about me to realize we were sorely short on food stash and had begun rationing earlier in the day. All of a sudden I just couldn’t keep up – I was bonking. We made it a little further before food and water weren’t enough and an unplanned sleep was in order. I ate more and crashed for an hour, then we slowly climbed from French Meadow Reservoir up to the CP24 at Hell’s Hole. We deployed a pacing strategy of 1k progress followed by 90sec. break as I was being towed by Julian at the time. We made it up the climb and into the CP with me on the brink and struggling to regulate body temp. Whatever it takes… we keep moving.
To correct any misnomer, the genius/crazy idea to go nearly 40 miles out of the way was Olof and Julian’s call. It was awesome while we descended the pavement (jersey open and cooling me down) down to the Rubicon River the first time. We decided to start the climb up the other side and made it about 1000’ up the ascent before we decided an actual sleep for everyone was in order. Two hours and an extremely loud logging truck later, we woke I grabbed a bunch of the weight I had shed the previous day and we were on our way… Within an hour I was again back against the ropes. It got so bad that Julian had me on tow and Olof took my pack (the ring) to keep us moving. I hated every minute of this. Being weak sucks! And I could recover even while spinning on tow. I would take off on foot at every break just to get a reprieve from the pain and embarrassment of the burden I was being to the team, but it proved that for all of us, this was a race of whatever it takes…
It was by now that the rest of Journey realized our desperate need for additional food, and Katie & Julian began a compelling campaign of campground and worksite begging. We finally made it to Loon Lake on the edge of the infamous Rubicon Trail and the newly dubbed Journey-Slackers (Sorry YogaSlacker, but we had to find humor in our calorie disparity and the connection to your regularly under fueled team provided much needed laughs) feasted on turkey sandwiches, watermelon, grapes, and a collection of granola bars. With food in my stomach and liquid in my veins, I began to truly feel myself again.
We entered the Rubicon, a gnarly collection of boulder strung dirt jeep trail and slabby, granite slickrock. Riding and push our bikes through what should have been short mileage, but still hours to the TA. We stopped for amazing water at the Little Rubicon River and I asked for my pack back – “no.” We descended down to the ‘big’ Rubicon River, stopped for food and rest, backpack = “no.” As we passed through Rubicon Springs, a little camp where people literally helicopter in their jeeps, you imagine my frustration and appreciation of not having my pack. We began the long; steep hike-a-bike out of the river valley to the TA, where at times literally carrying the bikes on our backs was faster than pushing. This was a physical struggle, especially for Katie as she had the lowest strength to weight ratio in terms of bike size and heft, but the physical toll of having towed me and then carried my pack well beyond when it made sense was obvious on the face, body, and especially temperament of Julian. His usual joviality and steadfastness was replaced with a bit of resentment and exhaustion. Katie and I were concerned and her vocal inquiry into his condition only brought out a uncharacteristic verbal lashing of the difficulty of the day and an awkward silence that followed us for the next little bit prior to the TA. Having done races of this length, I knew that no matter how “well” we did, it would all be for naught if we couldn’t finish as friends, so I offered to clear the air, apologized for the burden I created on the team and expressed my frustration in being turned into a helpless, pack-less, mandatory teammate the last few hours as I was growing stronger. We regrouped emotionally and united in our goal to finish these last to legs strong, presenting a united front at the TA and for the media.
We had a ‘yardsale’ sorting gear and food for the last foot section. Being told Godzone did it in just over 12 hours, we prepared for 15-16, as we were feeling good at the time. Christie, the super nurse and her squadron of medical tended our wounds, mostly foot issues after all the hike-a-bike except Olof’s Tetanus shot to alleviate any complications with his barbwire battle. The media and staff chased us out of the TA with cheers and we set off in the fading light toward the toughest of all trekking points mentally as we all were more tired than we realized from the day Fletcher bonked his brain (& body) out. We stumbled down to Ward Creek in search of the CP just before Pine Meadows, but had to drop for yet another two-hour sleep. We awoke cold, swollen, and sore and our hopefully expectations were overshadowed by our desire to finish the damn race! We worked together to find the CP, and made our way down to Tahoe City where we knew a 24hr gas station awaited us and coffee to warm our hands and brains could be tasted miles off.
We had a ‘yardsale’ sorting gear and food for the last foot section. Being told Godzone did it in just over 12 hours, we prepared for 15-16, as we were feeling good at the time. Christie, the super nurse and her squadron of medical tended our wounds, mostly foot issues after all the hike-a-bike except Olof’s Tetanus shot to alleviate any complications with his barbwire battle. The media and staff chased us out of the TA with cheers and we set off in the fading light toward the toughest of all trekking points mentally as we all were more tired than we realized from the day Fletcher bonked his brain (& body) out. We stumbled down to Ward Creek in search of the CP just before Pine Meadows, but had to drop for yet another two-hour sleep. We awoke cold, swollen, and sore and our hopefully expectations were overshadowed by our desire to finish the damn race! We worked together to find the CP, and made our way down to Tahoe City where we knew a 24hr gas station awaited us and coffee to warm our hands and brains could be tasted miles off.
It was amazing to come into the glow of civilization once again, and I was stifled by it, again making slow and poor decisions on food. The coffee, while I enjoyed the warmth, turned my stomach and my condition gave my teammate hesitation in trusting any navigation advice I espoused. This precluded our biggest blow up of the race, I was once again excluded from the decision of route regardless of my performance or intended responsibility and I got whiney after we once again chose a long roundabout approach. Now if you’ve never seen a Swede cuss a person out, I can say it isn’t pretty. They don’t take emotions lightly, so let’s say a pent up Olof let words and walking sticks fly! And as much as I wanted nothing more at the time than to haul off punch him and anyone else in my way, I internalized my anger and pain, snatched the maps and put out a pace that kept the other three straggling behind. Thankfully the intense pace burned a lot of my emotions off, because as was my common mistake throughout the race, I ended up short on my route (I can attribute this mostly to spending the majority of my time on orienteering scale maps) and needed advice. As much as it pained me, I admitted to Olof that he was the better navigator currently and I likely deserved the harsh rebuke, but that our combined efforts, experience and styles made us amazingly good and that I couldn’t stand us not finish this strong together. We “hugged” it out as best as Scandinavians can do, and with the burden lifted once again we set off with a plan and passion. With my stomach settled and two Aleve in my gut (and feet), I knew I was the freshest and as much teammates moved steadily along the trail, I took the passport and gps and sprinted up and down Painted Rock like it was day one, dancing back down the bush. I informed the gang that we be making a couple turns and then dropping a few hundred metered, bushwhacking to a road to save nearly a mile of trail… and it worked – flawless! Now Katie, who had remained the most steadfast of the team throughout was moving quite a bit slower, mainly due to feet. When we hit the pavement I took her pack allowing us to, believe it or not, run. I carried it the next 5k+ to the CP at Watson Lake where we bumped into Randy Erickson. We refilled bottles again knowing we had only one more CP until our final TA. I now had Julian’s pack as we departed and climbed out of the lake. It became apparent, though that I need to take Katie’s pack again for us to move as a team. I also took the tent and first aide kit from Julian. We than began to run every downhill and power hike the ups. I made sure I was shoveling fuel into my system. 7 day in we finally figured out that Fletcher needs lots of calories and H2O to perform optimally. Olof led us down a few bends in the road once we reach it and then into an undeveloped neighborhood where we gathered our last written clue CP. We then needed to drop to the main drag and make our way past the shops, stores and gaping spectators to King Beach! I was concerned we’d hit the TA with only tepid water, so we made a stop at the local Tacobell for several refills of ice-cold Dr. Pepper and some soft-shell tacos allowing Outside TV time to interview us at length. Crossing the street, we entered the TA to cheers and impressed staff. Our ragged little team that barely made the starting line was now a “short” paddle from the podium and roughly 10 hours ahead of the nearest team… whatever it takes!
To smiles and stories, we methodically readied ourselves for the final voyage with food, layers, and music. It was a bit like walking into an old Eco-Challenge broadcast as we carried our kayaks to the water, knowing we just needed to touchdown safely on the other side. This was the last “fun” feeling on the paddle for sometime…
It immediately hit me how rough the waters were and how uncomfortable it made my big Swedish paddling partner (the only one of us not to procured a wetsuit for the race). He shifted over and over trying to get comfortable and nearly tipping us until he broke or inadvertently dismantled the rigging of his seat. We struggled with the boat and waves, needing to keep the bow pointed in a rake that prevented us touching our first and maybe second waypoint. Julian and Katie who have paddled multiple times together and had electronic jams didn’t quite understand or empathize with our eleventh hour desperation, but Lake Tahoe is big water and having 6’ rolling waves ride under, around and through the boat is unnerving, especially as night sets in and the seas get confused. The only thing I could eat fast enough to keep us steady and get fast calories were the Pure fruit strips, but I was rapidly depleting my glycogen stores for the umpteenth time during PQ. That partnered with the increasingly rough waters, and our frayed nerves had us make an emergency beaching against some rocks. Julian’s water knowledge and leadership allowed us a few minutes of shelter, food, and additional layers to get us through. We’d launch again with Outside TV capturing our evasive episode surely looking for that drama and panic only a late night, last minute capsize would induce, but it wouldn’t be so. There were still a few more close calls, but another problem arose shortly thereafter – sleep monsters. These are the worst on the water, the sway of the boat and rhythm of the paddle stroke as it dips in and out of the lake rocks even the most seasoned paddler off to lullabies. It was communicated that this was becoming a problem and we deployed our most strategic weapon against such maladies – the game ‘either or.’ It went something like this “Beethoven or Mozart?” Answer: “Mozart because his pompadour was most splendid by comparison.” It was an exercise in distraction through short thought patterns and talking and provided the team endless humor. We passed over and hour doing this, but horse voices and desperation transitioned our game to song. Olof and I sang several one bar chorus to bad rock ballads including Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” and culminating with what I knew was the ultimate Swedish forgiveness (“Let’s try this as it is something I share with Whitney & Mikael on long paddles” – Olof), Bohemian Rhapsody… And boy was it a glorious thing to behold! We did it all, every stinking little part! It probably helped that I grew up listening to Weird Al’s version incessantly, but either way it dropped into a final glassy and torturous half an hour as we watched the beach creep toward us. As we beached and drug the boat up the bank, I couldn’t even keep my balance; finding myself and eventually my teammates that were passing out congratulatory hugs upon the sand. Done – almost. We still had a soggy, and somewhat uncomfortable kilometer climb up to the finish line at the giant guitar in front of the Hard Rock Casino, where the nightlife thought we were carrying the stations of the cross (paddles) and hit on us within a block… totally emotional. Maria, patron saint of Expedition AR and Race Director Extraordinaire, greeted us with Hot Coffee and a pint of Sierra Nevada beer and we celebrated two-fisted style before getting exit interviews and finding something suitable to hotel sleep in. Whatever it takes.
It immediately hit me how rough the waters were and how uncomfortable it made my big Swedish paddling partner (the only one of us not to procured a wetsuit for the race). He shifted over and over trying to get comfortable and nearly tipping us until he broke or inadvertently dismantled the rigging of his seat. We struggled with the boat and waves, needing to keep the bow pointed in a rake that prevented us touching our first and maybe second waypoint. Julian and Katie who have paddled multiple times together and had electronic jams didn’t quite understand or empathize with our eleventh hour desperation, but Lake Tahoe is big water and having 6’ rolling waves ride under, around and through the boat is unnerving, especially as night sets in and the seas get confused. The only thing I could eat fast enough to keep us steady and get fast calories were the Pure fruit strips, but I was rapidly depleting my glycogen stores for the umpteenth time during PQ. That partnered with the increasingly rough waters, and our frayed nerves had us make an emergency beaching against some rocks. Julian’s water knowledge and leadership allowed us a few minutes of shelter, food, and additional layers to get us through. We’d launch again with Outside TV capturing our evasive episode surely looking for that drama and panic only a late night, last minute capsize would induce, but it wouldn’t be so. There were still a few more close calls, but another problem arose shortly thereafter – sleep monsters. These are the worst on the water, the sway of the boat and rhythm of the paddle stroke as it dips in and out of the lake rocks even the most seasoned paddler off to lullabies. It was communicated that this was becoming a problem and we deployed our most strategic weapon against such maladies – the game ‘either or.’ It went something like this “Beethoven or Mozart?” Answer: “Mozart because his pompadour was most splendid by comparison.” It was an exercise in distraction through short thought patterns and talking and provided the team endless humor. We passed over and hour doing this, but horse voices and desperation transitioned our game to song. Olof and I sang several one bar chorus to bad rock ballads including Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” and culminating with what I knew was the ultimate Swedish forgiveness (“Let’s try this as it is something I share with Whitney & Mikael on long paddles” – Olof), Bohemian Rhapsody… And boy was it a glorious thing to behold! We did it all, every stinking little part! It probably helped that I grew up listening to Weird Al’s version incessantly, but either way it dropped into a final glassy and torturous half an hour as we watched the beach creep toward us. As we beached and drug the boat up the bank, I couldn’t even keep my balance; finding myself and eventually my teammates that were passing out congratulatory hugs upon the sand. Done – almost. We still had a soggy, and somewhat uncomfortable kilometer climb up to the finish line at the giant guitar in front of the Hard Rock Casino, where the nightlife thought we were carrying the stations of the cross (paddles) and hit on us within a block… totally emotional. Maria, patron saint of Expedition AR and Race Director Extraordinaire, greeted us with Hot Coffee and a pint of Sierra Nevada beer and we celebrated two-fisted style before getting exit interviews and finding something suitable to hotel sleep in. Whatever it takes.
The next day was a semi-lazy breakfast with friends from Seek Adventure and Matthew Fox the wunderkind volunteer – who shared stories of past PQs and assured us that while the field of this race was smaller, the magnitude of the course was every bit as big as Primal Quest had ever been. We then hurriedly got Olof and Katie packed and on a shuttle back to the Reno Airport, then buttoned ourselves up, talked with family and watched as the final full course team (Tahoe Helium) arrived at the beach just after 3pm. Party, awards, reminiscing, a sketchy drive to Reno, and 5 hours of sleep were a perfect prep for what I would easily consider the hardest stretch of the race – a solo drive back to Salt Lake.
Thank God for my ever loving and patient wife, Patty, for talking me back over the last 3+ hours of my drive as the multiple naps and Redbulls were not enough to bring me home. At long last, 12 days after departing, I held my precious family in my arms. It’s been a rough reentry into work and life with me constantly falling asleep the first week back. And caffeine and sugar crash has wrecked my body more than the physical trials of the race. The only remaining physical reminder of PQs brutality is the numb toes I have from the countless hours and miles of hiking in shoes never intended for that purpose, but…whatever it takes.
A huge thanks to our sponsors (Altra, XX2i, Rudy Project, and the myriad of local vendors and practitioners that help us go 'primal'), the race staff and directors for a phenomenal event, the race media (Outside TV, Titanium for Social Media and especially Kaori & Legendary Randy Erickson for the awesome and highlighted within photos) for exceptional coverage, the tough competitors for pushing us to the limits, my amazing friends and family for your support, and lastly my teammates for your ability to see the best in me when I couldn't, carrying me when need arose and allowing me to share not only in the trials and competition, but in the joys of the journey. If I did nothing else right at PQ, it nailed the comedic timing and helped making it a memorable experience that had everyone laughing more than they have at any race ever before. Hey, if it isn't fun, it isn't worth it!