The Adventures In Utah

The lights flashed rhythmically across my face as my eye reached out the window for a few glimpses of the sky. I lay in the back of a Subaru letting the dull roar of the passing road lull me to sleep. Myself and friends where speeding westward in search of powder.

The search for powder as a Midwesterner is much akin to a patient fisherman. We scour the depths of meteorology information hoping to grasp the passing of the next storm and race for a mountainous location praying that a giant winter storm will swallow the mountains in a snow filled sky. And then there are the attempts in which we simply get skunked.

The asphalt of I-80 pass under us as we sped for the Wasatch mountains outside of Salt Lake City hedging our bets and awaiting the snow to fall. We arrived by the cover of night and woke by morning and  hurriedly rushed to Alta. But mount the lift the mere sound of passing skiers edges alerted us to the unsavory conditions. We found that hardened slush upon the steeper slopes and took to the groomers. Finally in desperation myself and Andre took the furthest and highest traverses and began to find some semblance of soft and steep snow. We made the best of what conditions provided and left feeling content and well exhausted.

Given the conditions on the slopes, it seemed more fitting to nordic ski. In the morning light, we made our way across the upland plateau to the rising mountains and into the quite vale of Sundance. The sun greeted us with it warmth as we took to the trails. Before long we had lost our shirts and soaked in the rays while cruising amongst soaring views of Sundance Mountain. The day came to a close with a trip to the local pub to satisfy our growing hunger.

 

 Warmth at Sundance!

When we awoke the next morning the uninspiring sight of rain was upon us and the weather reports indicated that the it was raining on the slopes. Disheartened we took the liberty of a slow morning and final embarked southward. On the way we stopped at the Homestead Crater.

 

Swimming in Homestead Crater

The second hand information we had gained indicated that there was a steamy hot spring within a small crater in the earth. As we drove up I saw before me a 70 foot high mound of earth with a small door tunneled into it's side. We paid are nominal fee and enter into a well lit and long rocky tunnel. Before us opened a unique seen. An ethereal light swirled amongst the rising steam cast from a round cavernous hole revealing the dim sky.

 Homestead Crater

Yet bright blue water of the spring where in stark contrast to the dark walls of the crater.  We slowly enter the pool and inflated the life vests we were require to wear. In the steamy water below us diving platforms resided as people often honed diving skills here. After a long soaking we, made for the open road again. Seeking better weather we drove south for Moab.

We arrived in the twilight and made for camping. Awaking in the morning the sun shone upon the red sandstone outcropping that accentuate the landscape of the Moab area. We pack and drove our way into Arches National Park for the day.

Arches NP!

As the day came to a close the weather reports were looking more and more favorable and we again headed northward to Salt Lake City. On the way we hiked a up a small wooded path for 2 miles up a small creek in search of a secluded hot spring we had caught wind of. Hiking up the stream it became apparent that the snow was lessening along it's banks. Before long the smell of sulfur hung in the air. We beheld a small water fall running into several pots of pooled hot springs. We basked in the heated pool amongst the sloping hillsides and felt like royalty. We sorrily walked away from the springs an continue northward settling into a hotel room.

 Hotsprings!!!!

The snows came and we woke earlier to hit the sloops of Snowbird this time. We an  came to find 6 inches of fresh powder and went to quick work searching for the steepest slopes and the best lines. Although it was not the massive amount of powder we had hoped for, the snow was none the less heavenly to a naive Midwesterner. I left the slopes too tired to think, grateful for snow, and skis to carve it.

We awoke the next morning and drove into the eastern sunrise. My other companion were beginning their homeward journey. Meanwhile my adventures were just beginning. In the town of Fruita, CO I waved goodbye to my friends as they drove away. There I sat waiting for my ride.... as I was soon to be climbing in Indian Creek.

Marathon Season: XC Ski Racing

February is a season of transition and culmination. It is the time in the winter when he cross country ski marathon season comes to pass and the winter of training comes to prove your fitness (or otherwise).

The season was particularly exciting as I helped out the Ely high school ski teams. Having witnessed the ski communities intimate support of their racers, I was moved as both Girls and Boys teams battle hard and narrow made state against their formidable opponents. A week later I went to the Minnesota State Cross Country meet to see them compete. Overcoming every expectation, the boys team emerged as champions ahead of the expected favorites. It was a story book season and a testament to perseverance and heart that the kids put into their racing.

With that inspiration I enter the race season myself beginning with the 58 km Mora Vasaloppet. I traditionally do this race every year and help out with the waxing service before hand. This year I was particularly unclear as to my fitness level and had a new approach to racing. I planned to go out slow take my time, stay relaxed, and build speed as the race wound down. And I did just that. I finished the race in a reasonable time of 2 hours 45 min. More importantly, for the speed that I was maintaining I felt perfectly comfortable throughout the race and not even the slightest sign of cramping. As the end of the race neared the end, I was able to tell my body to push hard as I jump skated the last hill and cruised into the finish feeling good.

Turning the corner for the finish of the Mora Vasaloppet

The next weekend I looked forward to a shorter fun race... Book Across The Bay in Ashland, WI. It is low stress 10 km race that takes one across Chequamegon Bay lit by the light of luminaries. As we drove furiously after work at the ski shop and arriving only 17 minutes before the race start I discovered to my dismay that I had forgotten my ski boots back at the ski shop. I frantically asked everyone I knew if they had extra boots of either classic or skate and found nothing. I was more than frustrated! It was suggested that I run the race or get the car and drive to the finish an spectate. Eight minutes before the start I lightened up and took a new attitude about the race.... I would turn it into a true adventure to be remembered. I ran and grabbed my skis and poles and found some twine in a garbage can. The clock was ticking..."5 minutes to race start" as I attempted to lashing my skis to my running shoes. The race started just as I had finished my extravagant twine work. I double poled through the masses and managed to fall on my face multiple times as I deemed the twine completely ineffective. I ripped it off and began running... I head to get in front of the crowds so I did have to maneuver so much. I quick threw down my skis and stood on them... nothing keeping me on them. The tracks were still clogged with skiers so I went ahead double poling in the skate lane literally surfing my skis to direct them and maintain balance. Soon enough I was ahead of the masses enough to find space in the tracks. I jumped in and found that I could really make time not having to surf my skis anymore. I pounded down the track passing folks left and right. Whenever coming up behind another skier in the track I had to ask them to jump out of my path and explain my story... "sorry I can't jump tracks, I'm double poling on my skis with running shoes on" I got some wild looks, some consternation, but mostly laughs and enthusiasm. I ended up finishing the race in this fashion in 46 minutes and as I hopped off my skis at the finish no one seemed to notice. It was a great adventure and a story that I will someday be able to tell my grand children.

The next weekend cam the race of all races, the largest in North America... the American Birkebeiner. The 51 km race from Cable to Hayward, WI is a nordic skiing cultural event and a yearly tradition I plan to never miss. The race also created considerable pressure as it is a seeded wave start and this was my last season to qualify for maintaining my 1st wave status. Yet once again I planned to use my previous strategy and take the race nice and easy off the start and build.

The morning of the race was shockingly balmy as I stripped down to my spandex and waiting to start. The race began with an explosion of skiers and I bided my time. The race turn out well for me as I climbed the hills with relative comfort, as I reached the final stretches of race crossing Hayward Lake I noted the time on my watch... I knew it was time to make myself feel more uncomfortable as a personal best time was within reach.

Climbing one of enumerable hills in the Birkebeiner

I gave a strong effort across the lake and burned into the finish coming in at 2hours and 38 minutes. I was happily surprised at my success and fitness level.

Charging for the home-stretch of the Birkebeiner

My last race of the season came the next weekend as we traveled North to Thunder Bay, Ontario for the 50 km Sleeping Giant Loppet. It was a new race for me and I had few expectations to be met. From the very beginning we knew the race would be warm as temperature had already been in the 40s the day previous. The race began in the sunlight and took the first 15 km fairly easy. I felt strong and upped my pace leading my pack of skiers and slowly surging ahead to catch others.

However when the afternoon sun reached it's peak the snow turn to sticky slush and at the same time the course began to climb. Despite the conditions I still felt strong and charge the hills as best as I could expect. However the last 10 km was flat and went excruciatingly slow. I finished in approximately 2 hours and 40 some odd minutes and was happy with my results.

The season came to abrupt close as the temperatures sky rocketed to full fledged spring feeling and the snow quickly melted away. It was a good race season for me and I was please with my racing. I was a bit shocked that I was in as good of shape as I was, and could only attribute it to long joyous skis in the BWCA! I look forward to the next season!

My Seventh American Birkebeiner

Myself struggling towards to finish line

Every year the season comes and the excitement begins as the American Birkebeiner ski race nears its start. The Birkie (as is often lovingly titled) is one of the United States biggest celebrations of nordic skiing. The 52 km race is a point to point journey that brings one over the hills of Northern Wisconsin from Cable to the main street of Hayward.

Rewinding to a week before the race, it rained as temperatures dismally rose above freezing for 5 days straight. Likewise ski trails turned into slush and when the temperature again dropped, became solid ice. So for the week leading up to the Birkie I had not skied much.

The days before the race were filled with time well spent friends from the tightly knit nordic ski community and also was able to spent time with my significant other. The night before the race was filled with nervous waxing, weather reports, and gear checks (and repairs in my case). By the dawn light of the morning of Birkebeiner I awoke well rested. I ate a minimalists meal before heading out the door of our lodgings. Myself and a friend arrived neared the start, parked the car and excitedly walked towards the start. The sky loomed grey and temperature hovered around 14 degrees. I did a quick warm-up of sorts before entering the gates of my start wave.

The Birkie has 6,000-7,000 skier each year and in order to prevent mass chaos they release us in waves according to our past Birkie performance (if you've never done the Birkie... you start in the back). This being my seventh Birkie, I was set to start out of the first wave. Guys and gals in the first wave tend to be a bit nutty. Many are citizen racers gunning to make into the elite wave with the sponsored racers, others have something to prove, and then their are many like me... politely out to ski their own race and their own pace.

This year I made the mistake of attempting to be in the front of the first wave. They released the "Elite" wave in ahead of us and the first wave skiers sprinted ahead to set their skis on the start line and get ready to go. In the sprint I managed to stabbed in the left calf by the ski pole of a less than sane skier. I shook it off and put my skis on and tried to keep myself warm despite the inherent lack of clothing that goes into wearing a race suit.

Only minutes passed before the gun rang out andthe dam broke as myself and the flood of skiers erupted forth onto the snow ahead. I conservatively skied my way along being conscious of keeping my poles from getting stepped or broken. The river of skiers coursed along and up the first set of steep hills and out into the woodlands. It took almost 10k for the racers to begin spread out. During that time, I was not not feeling good. I felt as if I was not getting enough oxygen when huffing up each hill and was hacking like mad to clear my throat. At 18 km I hacked so hard that I gagged hard... and my stomach sloshed violently. I pulled over feeling nastily nauseous, got on my hands and knees and vomited. It this moment this moment, I was ready to quit the race as I picked myself up and continued climbing up the trail ahead. I had never had a stomach this sort in a race, and whatever sustenance I might have had was left in a patch out on the snow. I continued on and tried to take feeds at the feed stations to make up for what I had lost.

Finishing off the race on mainstreet in Hayward

I managed to keep myself going as the kilometers passed by excruciatingly slowly. However, by 30 km my caloric deficit began to catch up with me. I could feel my legs begin to cramp and my pace slow. I fought to adapt my technique to rest my wear legs, but the hills would not allow for much. I fought on, shedding any pride, knowing that I'd be lucky to finish this year's Birkebeiner. As 48 km rolled around, my mind started to get a little foggy, my vision a little blurry, and my balance a little worse. I was hungry and had already eaten all the energy drink and gel that I had brought with me.

I skied down the last hill out onto Hayward Lake with a 1 km to the finish. The lake being flat require constant effort with little rest to fight the wind. As I went along, I was concious to keep my legs from locking in cramps. Each double pole my left triceps and should would tighten and cramp. As I turned the corner onto the main street of Hayward I gritted my teeth and pushed for an attempt of an strong finish. My legs to locked up and by the time I crossed the finish line I could not get my knees to bend.

Myself the last 100 meters of the race, legs locked, and in pain.

I tried to remain standing after crossing the finished line but fell over as my leg muscles would not unclench. Grunting, I grabbed my legs and forcibly bent them until finally they loosened up and I could walk to the food area.

After finding some food and riding the bus back to the start and eventually arriving at our lodgings, I was concerned about my recovery. However, the beautiful part of skiing is that it is forgiving on ones body. Despite my debilitating cramps, within hours and days after the race I had no muscle soreness... only generalized fatigue. My tiredness was relieved by a good meal, a beer, an hour in the hot tub, a nap, and good times with friend and my significant other.

I found out later that night, to my surprise, that my time was only 10 minutes slower than the year before. Looking back it was a challenging Birkie for me, but I'm happy that I did not give up despite the circumstances. Though I hoped for a better finishing time, I am satisfied despite difficulties. It was a memorable weekend and the time with companions was time I couldn't miss. I look forward to next years Birkebeiner!

Mora Vasaloppet

As the sun has risen earlier in the morning each day and winter has begun it's gradual thaw from the bitter cold of January, it has come to the season for cross country ski Marathons. I wasn't sure whether I would be skiing this weekend but as plans unfolded I found myself registered for the 58km Mora Vasaloppet ski race.

I arrive in Mora Saturday morning and as soon as a wax bench could be set up, was set to work waxing skis for the ski shop that employs me. I worked all day working skis to the fastest perfection until my hands were sore from wielding a wax scraper. The day ended with a posh meal of a new york strip with jumbo shrimp, in attempt to fuel me for the race the next day. I fell asleep with relative ease despite the anticipation of the morning.

I awoke and ate lite breakfast and headed to the start line. Once there, the nerves set in. I went out and did a quick warm-up and found myself late and rushing for the start line. Five minutes later the gates went up and like horses on snow the skiers poured forth. The trail was fairly ice and fast and the first few km's were merely to gain positioning. I found myself in a place that seemed reasonable with my skiing abilities and teamed up with a pack of 7 guys. During this tumultuous time, my poles were inevitably stepped on and in wrenching them back to me I broke a part of my strap. There was no stopping to be had and the only whining allowed was the expletives that were in my thoughts.

The trail wound on mostly flat through gently rolling farm fields, deciduous groves of maple, and over lakes and rivers. The trail was groomed well but had patches of dirty snow strewn about here and there depending on the section. The race coursed onward and the first 36 km went by with little notice of time. Yet at this time I slowly began to find that I was unable to keep with the pack that I was with. I knew that it would be the start of my decline and that the race had ended and the fight for survival had begun.

From this point on my body became focus on my energy. Every hill and every moment of effort I contemplated whether I was expending too much for the journey ahead. The km's started to pass with increasing duration as I began to look forward to and count there passing. I began to hear the sound of skiers creeping up behind me and was conscious to keep any pride from diminishing my race as I began to get passed by other skiers on the journey.

By 18 km left to go my stomach raised it's demands, and I became aware of a deepening hunger. Feed stops became more important and my trusty water bottle and energy-shot flask (in which I carried with me) became welcome acquaintances to my mouth. The thought of a greasy box of pizza sounded like the stuff of heaven, if only it were waiting for me at the finish line. Soon it was becoming clear that there wasn't food enough to replace what I was expending.

Me toughing out near the finish (a moment of anguish)

By 5 km to go I was moving slowly and I fought in my head with the anguish of my body and it's demands. As I crested the last hill and turned onto main street of Mora for the finish, I made a feeble attempt to push hard for the finish feeling the crowds eye's feed me with energy to make a last push. I finished the race and in time that I could respect in terms of my personal goals. I urgently made my way to the food station and must have looked much like the cookie monster as I stealthily enveloped 10 cookies, two cups of hot coco, and a banana.

Now as I write, my mind sits wide awake trapped in a body filled with fatigue. I will end this day content with its accomplishments and grateful with its memories.

Cascade River Skiing

Having passed through the fire of a tested and feeling freedom in my liberation from school for a three day weekend, I was eager for rejuvenation. So myself and friend drove up the north shore with our cross country skis on hand. As we drove fresh snow hanging from the trees grew in thickness while we noticed 4 inches lay on the ground.

Looking for groomed trails we found fresh corduroy along the Cascade River. I was outfitted by my friend with classic gear. I hadn't classic skied since I was 17 and even then it was sporadic at best. I awkwardly applied kick wax and skied away. My technique was clumsy and uncoordinated. My ability to get kick was poor. We threw on some warmer wax and I was on my way. My reintroduction was 8 km of climbing without rest from the incline. I was breathing heavy and feeling my legs were working different muscle than skate. Soon enough the groomed trails ended and we continued on. The trees rained snow as the wind blew it from their branches.

"Chastity" frozen

The way back was refreshing as we flew down hill; the landscape flying by. We abruptly took a hard turn into an ungroomed powder trail. Following the leadership of my friend we trudged down the steep banks to the river. With caution we skied along the river. As the banks became stone and river constricted, I stopped and listened. You could hear the ominous roar of the water in the depths and under the ice. We stopped on the precipice of the water fall entitled "Chastity". We climb back up the bank and skied back to the car.

We stopped to check out Onion River road on the drive home but it was lathered in 4 inches of ungroomed powder. We instead pulled into the Coho Cafe and ate a hardy meal before heading home to Duluth. It was all that I needed to be ready for the rigors of the week ahead.

Fall and the Winter Thus Far

The Autumn season brought the inevitable.... school. Yet despite being beseeched by the daily rigors of holding completely still in a class room for extended hours of fact studded lecture, I managed to get out a bit. I began to run a little more, out of the mere fact that it was accessible. I made it out to several of the NMTC Wednesday night runs and was humbled by my aerobic condition and at the same time was happy I wasn't more out of shape than expected. I also managed to get out climbing before the whether turned too cold. I found myself enjoying a little sport climbing at Sandstone quarry and was happy to be out and leading again.

The last hurrah at Wausau

I also managed to get a little paddling in before the water froze up too much. I hit up the last release at Wausau in September and got a good fix of playboating.Myself and a friend made one last run on the boney lower St. Louis a day before the dams would completely constrict it's flow to unrunnable levels. It was great to jump in the creek boat again and scrape my way down to the swinging bridge. Although I will say, after a summer of play boating I felt awkward in my creek boat. I even managed to get a last minute paddle in early November and played at first wave on Upper St. Louis. It was good just to be on the water. On a whim I also managed to throw myself into a roller ski time trial with St. Scholastica Nordic team. There I managed to further humble myself and my lack of conditioning but enjoyed the strenuousness of it.

Finally the season turned and the cold set in. I found myself stuck between seasons... to cold to paddle or climb, yet no snow to ski. I instead went hunting and managed to provide a freezer full of food for the winter for myself and family members. But winter came soon enough and colored the barren brown landscape with a gorgeous coat of white.

After being liberated from school and embarking about winter break I had my plate stacked full for time well spent. I managed to afford myself a telemark ski setup and hit the slopes of Mt. Bohemia in Houghton, Michigan and ride 96 inches of untouched powder. I made some valiant attempt to find powder at Duluth's Spirit Mtn.

Hitting the powder at Mt. Bohemia

I made two trips up the North shore for what I have labeled "soul" skiing. On each sitting myself and a friend would ski for three and half hours cover over 45 km of the beautiful trails near Tofte. As tradition called for, we sat and ate at the Coho cafe. Food never tasted so good than after a long strenuous ski.

Perfection: XC Skiing Onion River Rd.

The winter has thus been eventful and has kept my diet full of meaningful and adventurous days that have put me to bed at night tired and content!

The Birkebeiner: The Tradition Lives On

It was cold when I stepped out of the car. I felt unprepared for it as I skied over to the start area and quickly ran into warming tent to thaw my numb hands. The time before the start of any race is agonizing and Birkie is even more so than others: trying to stay warm, yet not over dressing for the race. Finally the time came near and I stripped my warm-ups and lined up at the start with 800 other skiers.

Having started medical school this year, it has been difficult to get out and ski as much as I had hoped. It has been a struggle to stay healthy and strong as in former years, because the lack of sleep, struggling to get enough/healthy food, and overcoming general brain fatigue that kills my motivation on daily basis. So I came to the start line this year with some doubts to my condition and kept the expectations for myself low.

The gun went off and river of skiers left the gates and flowed onto the course. It took at least 10 km for the race to spread out. I was feeling fairly comfortable with my pace, and was constantly monitoring my fatigue making sure not to "bonk" (a ski term for debilitating leg muscle cramps). The first half of the race went fast.

Things started slowing down around 30km the distance started to go by slower, I started to notice the first inkling of some muscle fatigue coming on. I quickly modified my technique as to rely more on my arms and polling, and increasing my tempo. By the time 40 km came around, I had officially began to bonk. On hills my legs stiffened up with knots in quads that I pushed through with a grimace. On level ground my legs would gradually loosen up. Around that time mentally things began to improve as the city of Hayward came into view.

Main street in Hayward:
It's never disappoints that in skiing your picture is captured
at the less than flattering moments, I'll give myself a break... I'm tired!

As I skied out onto Hayward Lake and 1 km left to go in the 51km race I was excited for the finish, a smile began to break on my face. I skated down the main street of Hayward with blue skies overhead and the sun shining bright and finished my 5th American Birkebeiner. Though it may not have been apparent from dazed expression on my face, I walked away from the finish happy. To my surprise I found out later that I had skied only not incredibly slower than years previous.