Raid X-Adventure Sun Valley 8/8 to 8/10/03

Rare

Adventure

Intense

Discoveries

Friday August 8^th

Arriving in Stanley this time around was far different than any other time I had ever been there.  This race attracted had attracted the big dogs, professional adventure racers from around the globe.  It was there I realized we would be one of only a few amateur teams in the entire race the equivalent of putting your normal weekend golfer up against Tiger Woods at the Masters. Frantically awaiting Brian and Brad’s arrival to make the 6 pm gear check, I could barely sit still.  Setting the tone for the rest of the weekend they arrived just minutes before the deadline.  We sat through the 7 pm briefing and got our maps and bibs.  Soon I discovered that the route was going to be even tougher than expected.  Over the next 36+ hours we would encounter

• 48 miles of trekking
• 89 miles of mountain biking
• 10 miles of canoeing
• 8 miles of inline skating

Few if any of these miles would be flat or easy.  We were joined for the early part of the evening by a reporter from the Idaho Statesman (Joe Kolman) and a photographer (Joe Jaszewski).  They were non-intrusive and provided a welcome change of pace.  Soon after they left, the adventure started.  While trying to cut the finger off one of his gloves, Brian damn near cut his finger off.  We remained calm while we assessed our options.  It was determined that a 1+ hour drive to Ketchum was the best option.  We wrapped Brian up and sent him with Mike (Our original teammate who had dislocated his shoulder the week before and was now unable to race) After finishing packing the jeep and the remainder of Brian’s stuff we turned in for a healthy 4 hours of sleep before embarking on our odyssey.  Brian and Mike returned at 3:45 and we rewarded with 30 minutes of shut eye before the dreaded alarm.

Day 1-Section 1 (28 mile mountain bike,  4,000 vertical climb)

Arriving at the 6 am start we affixed a bike light and lined up ready to take off.  Strategically it was decided that it would be best to have Jen sit out this section due to the technical nature of the singletrack.   The climb out of the creek was awesome, soon enough we were being road killed (passed).  Then we started to road kill, okay so they were having bike problems or stomach problems (but does that matter?).   We hit the 2^nd CP and started our descent, which is where it got interesting, stream crossings and technical sections, coupled with short steep hills amounted to a-lot of dismounting and remounting of the bike.  Due to Brian’s complete lack of sleep and painfully cut up finger, he was struggling with keeping on the trail and making the climbs.  Then the really steep stuff hit and Brian’s dodging of obstacles turned into a misfit balancing act as he would begin to go over the handlebars or off the bike and would hop on one leg to avoid crashing too hard while dismounting the bike.  Emerging from the Singletrack Brian and kicked it into high gear and unknowingly left Clint behind who had stopped to take a pee.  This forced me to backtrack and find Clint who had patiently waited where the road had forked.  This would turn out to be the only navigational mistake we would make on the course the entire weekend.

Day 1-Section 2-18 mile hike 4500 ascent, 5500 descent

Arriving at the checkpoint after 4.5 hours of biking we were ready to recharge and get ready for a change.  Brian was going to sit out this section and Jen was going to join us.  Grabbing our trekking poles and making sure we had as much water as we would need we set out.  Jen started out leading us and was setting a great pace.  We would run the flats and downhill’s (what few existed) and trek the up hills.  About a hour in, it started for Jen (The nausea) our pace slowed almost instantly.  Still feeling energetic we started the tow system and Clint grabbed her bag.  This worked well, but we still had to stop to have her gather her breath and control her nausea.  We reached the summit of Custer Lookout and were rewarded with some incredible views of the Sawtooths, White Clouds, and others.  The descent down was brutal, we continued to run what we could but the duration of the day was already taking a toll on all of us.  With about 2,000 vertical left we realized we were going to be very close to making the canoe cutoff.  Sparred by the thought of missing a early cutoff we found another gear. . . and blazed the last bit in record time. 

Day 1-Section 3-10 mile inflatable canoe

After a 4 hour trek a 5-minute transition is too much to ask, but that is what they produced, a full 30 minutes faster than the team ahead of us.  As everyone shoved off, they were a little wobbly, but a healthy tailwind would provide them with some much-needed support on the flat water.  After a quick soaking in the river we were off to the next transition.  I was trying to re-hydrate and load up on food as fast as possible.  Then it happened . . . Leg cramps.  Not one or two . . . both legs, quads, hams, and calves.  I would move to stretch one and another would cramp.  I continued to suck down sports drinks, tea, and water then dozed off for about 15 minutes.  I awoke to the news they were 15 minutes out.  15 minutes?  They were kicking some serious butts and were poised to do the paddle section in about 2 hours (Only 15 minutes off the best pro time I might add) Arriving fatigued (Clint looked beat and Jen was also fighting cramps) we geared up for the ropes section and our “ supposed 8-mile trek.”

Day 1-Section 4-12 mile trek  & ropes section

Setting off we had settled into last place and were comfortable with that.  We started the jog and I was beginning to feel nausea Clint and Jen had been experincing.  Then it got worse . . . deep breathing . . . walking . . . not was helping.  Stopping once I knew I was in trouble and then it happened.  Puking along the side of the road while your teammates are chomping at the bit to go is not my idea of a good time.  They were oh so patient and soon after I was feeling a little better.  We turned south up the canyon and were admiring the high walls, and talking about why we do this?  Conclusions varied from ego, to being different, to testing your limits, to it looked like fun.  Transfixed on trekking we looked up and discovered 400 feet above our heads lay a zip-line we would go sailing across before embarking on a 250-foot rappel.  Quite the sight and it quickly raised our spirits.  We had to trek around the backside to the first checkpoint and it was then I realized it was going to be a long night, Jen were really struggling with nausea. 

Approaching the zip line we clipped in and gazed far across to the other side . . . two thoughts came to mind 1) If I don’t die this is going to be fast and awesome.  2) Where is my camera?  It was decided that I would go first.  I received my instructions, said some final words, Like “What the hell am I doing?”  and let her rip.  It took no time at all to be sailing across the valley at an astonishing rate of speed.  To slow the zip line you have to twist the pulley on the cable and I neared the other side the safety personnel were indicating I better get on it to avoid slamming the cliff face.  I rapidly slowed and was forced to pull the last little bit.  WOW!  What a rush.  I untied and headed down to the anti-climatic rappel.  Lowering off the edge, I began my rappel and found it to be nowhere near as thrilling as the Zip Line.  After becoming entangled in some other ropes on the descent and pelted with small rocks I was happy to reach solid ground.

Affixing our headlamps we set out, I was in trouble from the first step.  The nausea was becoming too much . . . every time I would eat or drink it would get worse.  Jen and I were struggling up the mountain, but Brain had managed to recover from his ill feelings earlier that day had taken Jen’s pack and was far ahead.  In an effort to slow him down we loaded him up like a pack-mule with mine on one side and Jen’s on the other.  We then started a series of false summit, after false summit, trying to reach the checkpoint.  Hiking in physical pain I was still able to enjoy the scene that the almost full moon created over the landscapes below.  We spotted a group of headlamps down to our right in the gulch below (lost) and agreed it would suck to be in their position.

Bobbing and weaving up the mountain we went . . . struggling a little more with each step.  At one point in time Jen stopped to fix her shoe and the cramps came.  Seeing her calf balled up like a tennis ball, and the wince of pain on her face, illustrated just how tough this girl was!  We tried to help her shoe back on, which turned out to be tough with her blisters and inability to bend her leg due to the cramp.  Finally we agreed to just shove it in as fast as possible and set out.  We saw the headlamps approaching from the team that lost, and teamed up with them for the rest of the stage.  Team Go was from all over and like us was a group of normal people who were seeking out some new challenges.  They lent us their trekking poles (which we had stupidly left behind thinking we wouldn’t need them) and offered us food & water.  At the checkpoint we were joined by Gerard to guide us off the mountain he possessed a GPS and was working for the race so we figured he new where he was going . . . wrong!  He led us on up and down, back and forth on voyage across the mountain before finally finding a route.  At one point when we detoured from a well established trail and began bushwhacking I openly questioned his logic and was simply told we had “dropped into the gulch too early.”  (Later I found out the route I wanted to take was the shortest and most efficient) 

Descending off the mountain Jen was trodding along, cursing Gerard and her nausea was when we decided to take our own route.  This turned out to be much more effective and was still getting us to the same place in less time.  By this juncture Jen and I were both digging DEEP to keep moving ahead.  We could see the lights of the checkpoint way off in the distance, but that didn’t matter to us.  We were too focused on our steps and keeping the nausea at bay.  Brian was caught between keeping up with the “guide” and staying close to Jen and I, which gave us a feeling that we were out there alone.  Racing at the back of the pack is interesting, sometimes you forget you are in a race and think you are out on some death march.  The thought of quitting may cross your mind, but you are brought back to the reality that you CANNOT quit you need to push on for the team.  Before hitting the road I started seeing rocks that looked like steaks . . . no hallucinating they were red rocks with white marbling that looked just like NY strip steak.  God I was hungry and tired.

We tried to jog when we hit the road but had nothing left . . . so we laboriously walked around the private property and stolled into the transition.  It was almost 2:30 am . . . the supposed 8 mile trek had taken us the better part of 7 hours.  We had missed the bike checkpoint by 3 hours and were content with piling into the cars and heading for the camp area.   The first day had provided me with 17 hours of racing (out of a possible 20) and 15 minutes of sleep.

Day 2-Stage 7  14 mile- Mountian Bike

Arriving at the camp area at 3:30 teams we already stirring, getting ready for the 4 am trek.  Thoroughly exhausted we elected to take the slowest team + one hour time penalty.   We laid out a tarp in the wind and settled in for 3 hour of shut eye.  The intention was to get up at 6 and make the drive to the next bike section that would begin at 7:30.  When we awoke at 6:30 (We had slept through our alarms) we quickly packed the car and headed to the transition.  Arriving at the transition we were shocked to find no teams had come in yet.  Considering it took the pros the better part of 3.5 hours on this leg we would have been in serious trouble.  Jen, Brian and Clint loaded up and set out at 8am for the 14 mile bike hoping to make it by 9:30 for the 20 mile hike/bike trek. Only three teams had made it out on the bike/trek section and when they arrived looking, still fighting the nausea of the day before we were glad to miss the hike.

The drive over turned out to be another adventure, as we had to contend with losing a paddle off the jeep, and then a flat tire.  (all in a day’s work, right?)  Passing through Ketchum we stocked up on essentials (Pepsi, and coffee) and grabbed a paper.  Thinking we might find a blurb about the race we were blown away to find ourselves on the front page.  Reading about your accomplishments while in the middle of the race you are in was surreal.  Realizing what your teammates mean to you, and seeing in words just how much Erin (Brian’s wife who had died of cancer in May) had meant to Brian and Jen choked us all up, and gave us resolve to keep going

Day 2-Stage 10-8 miles of Rollerblading

Arriving at the much-dreaded death sticks section (inline skating) Jen was really nervous and Brian and I were not pumped either.  We baked in the sun (it was hot by now) and contemplated strategy.  The pros arrived at 1:30 (right before we were supposed to leave) the trek had taken them 4.5 hours, once again we were glad to have missed the section.  The course consisted of mainly flat rolling hills, where you could often times maintain enough speed on the downhill to get you up the uphill.  Jen was doing fine on the downhill’s, but was struggling on the up hills.  At the turn around it became evident that if we wanted to make the final stage we would have to rig a tow system (Something we had never practiced). The strategy we implored involved Brian and I hold the rope on each end while Jen grabbed the middle.  We would then pull her on the uphills, which was really bringing the nausea back for me and when Jen reached a point where she could not skate any longer things got desperate. The cutoff for the bike time was 3:00 but we figured that since they had started it 10 minutes than originally scheduled, we figured we would have till 3:10.  When we saw Walker running down the road, our hope of a 3:10 start evaporated.  He announced that we had 7 minutes to make it to the transition and clock in for the next stage.  We were drained. 

This was turning point, the point in time that defined the entire weekend for us . . . we were nauseated, fatigued, hot, and searching for that last little push.  The steady pace that we had been maintaining was all of sudden thrown into complete upheaval as we struggled to get Jen up the hill by whatever means possible.  When we became too tired to pull we resorted to pushing.  At the base of the last big climb, we dug once more and in our state of fury Brian clipped Jen’s skate, and she went down.  While trying to miss Jen, I too went down.  Lying on the hot asphalt with no time to spare I got up and calmly encouraged Jen to dig deep just one more time.

Jen said nothing, just rose from the ground and gave it all she had.  Fighting back the tears, and the frustration we pushed and pulled her up the hill.  Reaching the top I collapsed on the asphalt and went into spastic dry heaving coupled with an inability to get enough air.  But it was not over.  We still had to find the guy to check-in and then subsequently get on our bikes and get out of there.  I checked us in at the first CP, coughing, hacking, and heaving and went in search of the second.  I was told to go to the lower parking lot; there I was told to go back up to the road.  Finding the guy he was incredibly rude as he said, “Where are your bikes?”  As I pointed to them he said “Are you ready to ride?”  Nearly the cutoff to start the final bike section, standing in my barefeet, fighting nausea I tried to convince him that I was.  He then said “You must be on your bike” to this I replied, “That was not our strategy, you guys should have extended the cutoff time” I then thrust our key into the checkpoint box and dared him to disqualify a team that had just put forth that much effort.  He walked away shaking his head and muddling something in French.

Day 2-Stage 10-18 mile bike (3,000 climb-The Final Grunt

Jen was done . . . Clint was looking strong . . . Brian was eager to redeem himself from his previous ride, and I was dead to the world.  I must have looked horrible because people kept asking, “Are you okay?”  I tried to gather my self and prepare for the task at hand.  Clint kept saying “They say it is only a 10 mile bike” . . . having looked at the map I knew it was going to be almost 20.   Fastening into the bike, I let out a thundering belch and we were off.  Peddling along I tried to shovel down some food, on the wide gravel road (where I was able to use the tow system) that soon gave way to a narrow, unrelenting singletrack.  

The first part I was doing okay, having to stop and stretch and breathe to control the nausea.  Then we hit a slightly steeper section and I lost the ability to ride.  I had entered into a area where physical strength no longer matter, mental toughness was all that was going to get me through. Forced to time my stops to coincide with any shade that could be found was greatly slowing the efforts of the team.  Clint resorted to shuttling his bike ahead and then coming back for mine.  Brian was up ahead, so it was just Clint and I trudging through the heat and pain, trying to make it to the top.  For a guy who didn’t know me very well he was taking great care of me, making sure I was hydrating and continually trying to offer assistance and asking how I was doing.  By the end of the trek I had developed a sense of kinship with Clint that usually takes years to build.  Of the 3,000 feet and 18 miles I climbed I am sure a conservative estimate of the distance covered by Clint would range 25 miles and 4,500 feet.   Trekking up the final step switchback Team Go passed us, once again they had made a wrong turn and lost considerable time. 

Brian helped out for a while which greatly improved our speed, while easing the strain on Clint.  Then he disappeared for a while and I went back to pushing my bike to avoid taking anymore time then we already had.  Pushing the bike up the singletrack proved to be a test of pain and tolerance as branches would continually catch the pedals and send them careening into my shins.  Having to stop and drop the bike I would lay on my back and in a effort to regain my strength, then I would get up and push on again before the nausea would overtake me and force me down again.  At one point in time I asked Clint to “Make the pain stop” and hey calmly replied “I got a penknife in my pocket, but I promised your girl I get you home.”  Before the summit Brian rejoined us and took my bike for the final push.  Reaching the CP I glanced at the map and confirmed that we still had another ten miles to go.  Off we went, I was hoping that the downhill would be settling to my system but after a crash within the first 3 minutes I was already shaken.

Relying on time tested technique and praying for no more falls, I was finally doing okay.  We made it to the asphalt and started our final ascent. . . Exiting onto more singletrack and that is where I came unraveled.  When I stopped to control the nausea I started dry heaving, and then I started cramping (quads and calves) Having come to far to quit I would limp slowly, finding every last ounce of energy I had in my body to complete the odyssey.  Knowing we were nearing the end did not provide me with any more energy (because I frankly had nothing left).  I would fall, and instead of being able to lay and collect myself would have to get up and move to avoid the painful cramps.  We turned up and gulch and I told Clint I had nothing left.  He searched up ahead and reassured me it was a 10-foot climb that turned into a descent.  I pushed one more time, and soon we were at the final checkpoint.  Checking in I said nothing and started down the hill.  The final push provided us with one final hill of about 30 feet that took me several minutes to climb.  I could see the flags from the top and as we grouped up for the final leg.  There patiently waiting at the finish line were our friends and the medics.  I crossed the line allowed a quick group picture and immediately headed to the ambulance.  They started an IV drip immediately, and tried to test my glucose levels but I was too dehydrated for them to get any blood.  Drained and beat emotion took over as I tried to talk.  The immense feeling of accomplishment coupled with the devotion I felt to my teammates was incredible.

Our support was awesome from Brad who choose to give up seeing his girl, beer, and sleep for weekend of cranky stinky adventure racers . . . to Mike who was supposed to race with us and had dislocated his shoulder and unselfishly brandished his car for us to abuse.  To the Rushton’s who came to “see”  a stage and stayed the weekend unable to tear themselves away.  Seeing you guys at each segment gave us strength in ways we can’t describe.

I reflected back on what I had accomplished in the past year and quietly said to myself . . . “You did it”.  The dream I had in April of 2002 while sitting on the couch hung over watching the Eco-Challenge to someday do something like this had been realized.  I had changed my lifestyle and was a completely different person.  We had been out there far longer than any other team and had endured far more pain and suffering.  After three IV’s I got some of my color back, and was ready to move to the car.  It was over!  The acknowledgement of what we had accomplished would take time to completely set in.

After enduring extreme mental & physical stress I was free to return to my desk and the relative peace and quiet of everyday life.  38 hours of gel, vomit, tears, sweat, pain, cuts, expectations, successes and failures were now over.  We chose to put ourselves in situations that most human beings would never want to venture into and would succumb to failure . . . but not us, we had beaten it and succeeded.

Nic Stover

8/12/03