Arrowhead 135, Jan 30th to Feb 1st 2023

This is a nearly 10,000-word race report, so if you don't feel inclined to read it all, there is just one main thing I would like you to know about this race: You can never, ever afford to forget about the ever-present threat of snowmobiles on this trail.  However long it's been since you saw another human and however exhausted you may have become; if you can't see a bunch of trail ahead of you, you need to make every effort to anticipate a high-speed vehicle suddenly appearing and KEEP TO THE RIGHT.  This is a dangerous, dangerous trail...   However chill it may seem for hours and hours on end.   Take care out there.  Live to suffer another day!  Alright, then...  On with the race report ^_^

 

I couldn't really call the Arrowhead "tough," per se.  That wouldn't seem fair.  It was more "very flippin' tough."  Which is what I signed up for and endeavoured to remain grateful to receive during my time out on the trail.  And that's fully acknowledging that I undertook the pretty-much-undebatably easiest of six starting options:  Bike - Supported.

Getting ready for the Arrowhead was its own challenge.  A mental stressor of spiralling logistical facets.  I've been very much enjoying riding on our exercise bike of late, and the vast majority of my training took this form; mostly one-hour or shorter rides.  Hard, hard rides, but short.  I went out for a few miles on my fatbike during a somewhat cold snap to see how my basic race setup felt to ride, and I also did around 24 very easy miles in mild, 19F weather to see how I felt physically at the end.  I felt just fine.  Probably because they were 24 very easy miles with two long breaks thrown in.  So; basically just weird prep for a rugged 135-mile race in the bitter cold.  In a nutshell, I knew I wanted to do the race, but wasn't much in the mood for very specific race training, so I only did what seemed essential and otherwise just enjoyed my typical forms of exercise.

Out on a training ride to the Mississippi.  This was pretty much my race setup, though the orange bag on the back was certainly bulging with a lot more stuff come race day!

I'd actually been on the Arrowhead roster once before in 2016, but never made it to the start owing to feeling thoroughly rotten the weekend I was supposed to head up.  Though I didn't necessarily realise it at the time, looking back on it, I have a sneaking suspicion that the debilitated state I found myself in that weekend was a whole lot more mental than viral in origin.  Deep into this year's race, I thought back to how I'd missed the 2016 Arrowhead and felt some appreciation towards my brain's act of incapacitating me 7 years ago.  I wasn't sufficiently prepared.  So with that in mind, I would say that whether or not you have consciously considered just how ridiculously tough an experience this is guaranteed to be, your subconscious mind is well a-fucking-ware, and if you make it to the starting line determined to do what you can, then regardless of outcome, my hat is well and truly off to you.

Winter ultras are unique amongst endurance races, because you cannot only rely on digging deep and gutting it out to reach the finish line.  You'll probably still have to do that regardless, but if the weather is bitter and your gear preparation was inadequate, the cold will simply take the option of finishing away from you.  You will be a shivering/frostbitten mess needing either rescue on the course or removal from the race at the next aid station.  Factor in the monumental amount of variables over 135 frigid, often hilly miles on an operational snowmobile trail, and there seems to me to be no other way to get a finish but to throw at least some element of good fortune into the equation.  The amount of things which could go wrong is mind-boggling.  It is your job leading up to the event to foresee and mitigate what you can or want to, but come race day, the result is largely out of your hands.  There are prerequisites for gaining entry, and if you didn't have the mental fortitude to dig deep, you probably wouldn't find yourself toeing the line to begin with.  I suppose, as always, the only element still within your control after leaving International Falls is just how much you can endure.  And that can take you an incredibly long way, sensible or otherwise.  But it won't necessarily be enough on its own for this event.

Heading up to International Falls for gear check on Sunday morning, I briefly stopped at the Highway 53 crossing and found the trail to be in excellent condition; firm and well-groomed like a muscular poodle.  Gear check was a breeze, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that I got to choose between either a complimentary hip flask or insulated steel tumbler to go along with my bag of race goodies.  I chose the hip flask, of course.  Then admitted to myself that I don't drink and my wife doesn't drink liquor and my kids are at least a decade away from drinking anything, so swapped it out for a tumbler.  If only I could continue this slightly delayed trend of choosing sensible decisions over impulsive ones, maybe I had a shot at the finish after all.  Met a lovely volunteer named Mike at gear check, and he drummed into me the importance of looking after your feet.  Which gave me the fear and made me go find a sporting goods store before dinner to grab a couple more pairs of liner socks for my bag.  I am, after all, a sweaty man.  A sweaty, sweaty fella.  If I so much as look at a bicycle, the ground around me will turn into a massive salty pool, replete with tides and fragile ecosystem.  I am also prone to freezing-cold feet.  There is, it would seem, no changing this.  But I had a couple of ways to help mitigate it.  When I saw the extended forecast for race day, I knew I'd have to do something extra to my already-very-insulated Baffin Selkirk boots.  I also knew I was cheap and wasn't about to pay for professionally-made overboots with expedited shipping.  And lastly, I knew I had an old wetsuit that didn't fit me anymore, along with some scissors, glue, a sewing needle, and my wife's embroidery floss.  I think they turned out quite nice.

These boots are made for ridin', and that's just what they'll do

Anyway; there was a panel-style interview with four very experienced racers before the pre-race briefing, which was nice to listen to, and then the spaghetti dinner was fun, too.  Chatted with a delightfully exuberant fellow named Casey.  Huge amounts of well-channelled energy on that guy.  Spent the night at the Nomad Motel, which was an absolutely great place to stay.  Super clean, so I was glad I'd brought a fresh tarp to put on the floor for my bike to drip onto.  My last time staying at a motel before a race was down in Tennessee, and I'm pleased to report there were entirely less roaches swarming around the place at this one.  Nary a bug to be seen, in fact.  As I say; great place.  Spent a full Monty Python and the Holy Grail getting my shit ready to go, then walked to the local supermarket to buy some treats and was pleasantly surprised to get complimented on my ghetto wetsuit winter boots.  Fella even suggested I could make them as a side-gig.  Which is probably a stretch, but was nice of him to say.

Race morning I checked my phone and saw the current temp was -25F with a "feels like" of -40F.  And also C, I suppose.  Which made me excited.  Bumped my bike down the steps and made sure the 4Runner started (which it thought about for a couple of shivering cranks) before pulling just enough stuff off my bike to allow me to lift it--with great exertion--onto the bike rack.  Because my race setup was heavy.  Insanely heavy.  Like; "I could just about lift my bike off the ground, but there was absolutely no chance I could lift it fully loaded all the way onto my bike rack" heavy.  

On my ride, I had:

The mandatory gear
A 40 oz Thermos flask
A 64 oz Klean Kanteen flask
An awful lot of clothing - 7 pairs of socks, woolly jumper, down jacket, 3 pairs of leggings, 3 shirts, undies, bike undies, shorts, gloves, beanie, balaclava
A decent amount of food - 7 packs of Jim Dandy black label jerky (the flippin' best!), 29 Aussie bites (from CostCo, ya know), dried apricots, mild Slim Jims, gels
30 packs of good-sized hand warmers (in addition to the mandatory ones)
Other sundries - AAs and AAAs and crockpot liners and extra Esbit tablets and zipties and lubey-lube and spare tube and spare chain and pump and multi-tool and all that...

All on a steel-framed Surly Ice Cream Truck with 100mm Clown Shoe rims; 4.8" Big Fat Knard tires (which I've just seen they don't make anymore; which is silly, because they're all I ride these days, year-round); Dogwood Designs pogies (just the regular ones); Revelate handlebar harness up front; and 38L DrySpec bag on the back, mounted on an Old Man Mountain rack.

Though my fork is a Lauf Carbonara, so, uh...  Yeah.  That keeps the weight down, ay.

On my person, I had:

The rest of the mandatory gear, and
Feet - Liner sock, crockpot liner, very thick wool sock, hand warmer, boot liner, turkey roasting bag, rest of the boot, ghetto neoprene overboot
Legs - Hincapie shorts w/ chamois, very thick Minus33 wool leggings, old snowboarding pants
Hands - Just mid-weight gloves (though I fairly quickly changed this to a "glove, bread bag, hand warmer, very thick mitten, pogie" setup)
Torso - Thin merino wool t-shirt, 40 Below vapor barrier vest, 3L CamelBak, mid-weight long-sleeved top, insanely warm Columbia Echo Base parka
Head - Fleece neck gaiter, OuterU faceGlove mini, beaver fur trapper hat, headlamp, very long Dr. Who scarf knitted by a friend

You've probably heard the expression, "I'm not here for a long time; I'm here for a good time."  I took the opposite approach.

Though I'm being flippant, of course.  I was there for a good time, too ^_^

You have to check in again at Kerry Park Arena on race morning, which I did.  Spent a half hour or so smiling and milling around before everyone made their way to the starting line for 07:00.  I'd been looking forwards to seeing the fireworks before the big off, and they did not disappoint.  Just a beautiful moment.  I kinda wish I could go back and relive it, though I suppose it is the transient, ephemeral nature of fireworks which make them so fun.  And so boring if they go on too long.  Like a bass drop.  But these fireworks were just the right length to be magical.  And then it was, "Release the hounds!" and we were off.

I didn't care one single jot about speed or finish time.  Oftentimes one may go into a race with various tiers of potential goals.  I did not do that here.  All I wanted was to finish, and I was perfectly happy with the idea of being DFL for the bikers.  My game plan going in was to go very flippin' slowly and--if I made it that far--to treat it as a stage race.  The Arrowhead 72 and Arrowhead 63, separated by as much sleep as I felt like I needed at the complimentary Tamarack cabin--which the RDs had very kindly rented out at Melgeorge's for any racer to use--seemed like an almost theoretically accomplishable prospect.  Not guaranteed, by any means.  But a definite potential maybe, if you will.  And you will.  Or at least, I would.  Phwooar.  Ay?  Phwoooar.  Come on.

Incidentally; I feel like if you're still reading at this point, you're probably here for the duration.  It's lovely to have you along!  I probably lost most people at the muscular poodle line, wouldn't you say?  Probably, yeah.  Or long before.  But hey, let's plow on.  Like a late-night groomer merrily fucking up a nice, hard trail at Mile 67.

The race starts on the Blue Ox Trail and pootles along for 9 1/2 gentle miles before a lefthand turn takes you onto thee mighty Arrowhead.  Though I had misremembered that distance and spent the latter part of the Blue Ox miles wondering why it was taking so long to get to the turn.  Which started a general, overarching theme of not knowing where the fuck I was or how far I'd gone for the majority of the race.  I am not a techie, GPS-watch-wearing kinda guy.  And it's not like it made a practical difference, anyway.  I had no plans on bivying, so who cares, right?  You either keep going or stop.  Or stop for a little while, then keep going.

Anyways, I did get overtaken by a couple of runners whilst stopping for a pee break on the Blue Ox, which secured in my mind that my pace was probably right on the money.  Those first few miles were really very gentle.  Mostly hard-packed snow, but it was dirt for a bit as we passed a logging or farming operation of some kind.  Saw a few bikers pulled off to the left and seemingly dealing with various issues during this opening straightaway.  One had a front wheel off.  I felt bad for 'em to be dealing with stuff right out the gate like that.  Maybe if you find yourself having to appease the Bike Issue Gods at some point, it's better to get it out the way good and early, though.  Just so long as they are appeased.

I kinda scratched my head at some of the tire pressures I noticed people rockin' during this section, too.  After checking out the trail the day before and seeing how nice it was, I'd decided to go for a fairly solid 13 psi front and back just to reduce the rolling resistance.  Some others seemed to favour a bit more squish than that.  Each to their own, of course.  Later on when I was behind another biker on a hilly section, I found myself easily gaining on them during downhills with nary a pedal stroke and felt pretty good about putting so much air in my tubes.  Though maybe it was just the momentum of all my stuff dragging me down the slope making me faster ^_^*

I'd heard from a more experienced racer that the temperature will dip by 10-to-15 degrees going through the swamps, there, and sure enough, it was a pleasantly refreshing morning to be out riding.  I had initially planned on wearing my super-long Dr. Who scarf for predominantly whimsical purposes, but it actually turned out to be an incredibly useful piece of kit for keeping the tip of my nose warm.  Once the scarf had frozen from my breath, I found I could easily stop and mould it into a solid, wind-resistant wall to keep the area around my mouth and nose very effectively protected from windchill.  It became one of my favourite pieces of kit.  Plus, it's always a morale-booster to glance downwards and see multi-coloured scarf tassels bouncing off your knees while you're pedalling.  Couldn't recommend it enough.  Word to the wise, though...  If you're gonna stop to pee and you can't really look down very effectively cos there's a whole bunch of shit around your face and neck, you're, uh...  You're gonna want to make sure you move any long scarf-like objects out of the way of your fly area.  Otherwise you may find yourself wondering why your pee doesn't seem to be reaching the snow in front of you while your scarf seems to be getting progressively heavier.

Not that I have experience in such matters, you understand.  I just, um...  I just imagine it could potentially be an issue for some people, that's all.  So, uh...  Yeah.

It was fairly dark when the race started, but the sun was shining gloriously by the time I reached the turn onto the Arrowhead.  The area around the trail looked absolutely lovely.  It was fairly open and spotted with little spruces, heavy with shining mounds of snow.  There were still other racers very much around at this point, but another 10-miles-or-so later, I started to experience longer sections of being alone on the trail.  This I found preferable.  It's just nice when you don't even have to think about tailoring your riding for others' convenience.  You can just do your own thing and know you're not being a bother to anyone.  Plus, I didn't have my hearing aids in and had an awful lot of beaver fur over my ears, so I wasn't really equipped for anything more than at-best-frustrating communication with anyone nearby.  Saw some wolf tracks on this section of the trail, which was pretty cool.  Not something I'm used to seeing down in the metro area.

The openness of the trail started to die away, progressing into narrower sections with taller trees on either side.  Some hills started up, too.  I hadn't really expected much in the way of elevation before Gateway, but this was not the case.  Nothing too gnarly, but definitely enough for someone like me to notice that it sure wasn't flat anymore!  Chomped up some Slim Jims and took plenty of water breaks during this section.  Actually, I took plenty of water breaks whenever I was out on the trail.  The danger of getting behind on hydration was another thing that had been mentioned the day before, so I pretty much drank water whenever I thought about, whether I was thirsty or not.  I also realised very early on that I would have to find a way of cementing the knowledge in my mind that I'd blown the water back out of my hose after each time using my CamelBak, so I started saying, "Bubbles," out loud as a confirmation to myself that I'd heard 'em and we were good to go.  As the race progressed and I got increasingly knackered, this became a very useful way of reassuring my tired brain that I had indeed cleared the hose of water and didn't need to re-check it.  I definitely didn't want a frozen hose, but I didn't want to waste time stopping and blowing more air into an already cleared hose, either.  Might seem like kindof a weird deal, but it worked well for me.

Seeing the turning to Gateway was an absolute joy.  I was already finding the going pretty tough by this point and was happy to know I'd at least made it to the first checkpoint.  The only way I had of telling the time whilst on trail was by feeling and sun position, but now I have the benefit of looking at the results, I can see it took me 6 hours 43 minutes to complete the 37-or-so miles of that first section.  I'd hoped to maybe make it within about 8 hours, so I was pleasantly surprised to hear the time when I arrived.  I made my way inside and started my checkpoint routine.

- Took off boots and socks and let the feet dry off.  They were kinda pruny already, so this was an absolute must.
- Took off all my top layers, dried off my torso a bit, and put on a fresh base layer.
- Took all the stuff off my head, of course.
- Took off my snow pants to let my leggings dry off a little.
- Opened up 4 fresh hand warmers and let them heat up before swapping out the ones in my boots and mittens.
- Refilled my 3-litre CamelBak, which was pretty much empty (I hadn't needed to use any of my 104 ounces of insulated, bottled water, and that stayed out on the bike)

The guys at Gateway had made a big batch of chili available for purchase, and I got a large portion and a lemonade before sitting down on the floor against some shelving and taking my time with it.  Went down a treat.  Well tasty.  A tiny bit of kick to it, but nothing to make you too concerned for reprisals a few hours down the trail.  Slathered on some more Body Glide Foot Glide stuff, put on some fresh liner socks, and headed back out at 15:00 after 1 hour 17 minutes of chillin'.

Somewhere around Gateway, I think.  Not sure which side thereof.  Photo credit: Jenn Millas

There were definitely hills out the gate for this second section, but my time at Gateway had left me feeling much refreshed, and I merrily climbed up and freewheeled down as the miles ticked away.  I did my best to be present and appreciate where I was and what I was doing whenever I thought about it, but I'm not a master of meditation, and I found myself thinking forwards a frustrating amount.  Night gently fell.  I'd wondered before the race whether being out on the trail all alone in the inky blackness would bother me at all, but it turned out it didn't one bit.  If I'm riding through a park late at night here in the metro, I've found myself getting a little bit concerned about potential nefarious lurkers.  There was absolutely none of that nagging worry out on the Arrowhead Trail, though.  I mean, who's gonna be out and up to mischief in that area in those sorts of conditions?  I'd imagine there's far easier ways to be villainous than that.  Anyways; the miles seemed to be rolling away with such comparative speed that I figured I'd maybe gone about 20-or-so when I stopped to talk with John who was manning the Sheep Ranch Road crossing.  (I think he was named John.  I also think he said he was Ken's brother-in-law.  And I also think it was probably the Sheep Ranch Road crossing.)  I quickly found out this was not the case, as he said I still had about 23 to go.

This came as quite a blow.  Looking at the map now, it would seem that--if that was indeed Sheep Ranch Road--I actually had about 19 to go.  But either way, it was a little more than I had been expecting.  Sometime after this I felt particularly exhausted on one of the many uphill pushes and stopped walking my bike, sat down on the snow at the side of the trail, leaned back, drank some water, and shoved Aussie bite after Aussie bite into my despondently chewing face.  Then I got up and continued plodding until the Aussie intervention worked its gentle magic, like so many kangaroos rocking back on their tails and kicking me in the butt.  I saw one of the excellent snowmobile volunteers at some point, and while I forget how many miles he shouted I had to go, it was definitely less than 23, which was reassuring to hear.  I was thoroughly tired by the time I found myself doing a double-take at a sign pointing right which claimed there were still 5 miles to Melgeorge's.  I thought it had to be shitting me.  Maybe some kind of trail sign typo, where they'd actually meant to put, "5 minutes to Melgeorge's.  By bike.  Even if you're going walking pace.  Seriously, it's like right there mate."  But I guess it was printed correctly after all.  I'm not complaining, you understand!  I wanted a tough race.  I just couldn't fathom how I still had 5 miles left to go after what I'd already done.

This was also the point that I turned right and found all the other tire tracks and footprints of faster racers had disappeared.  The going also suddenly got a lot more difficult.  I circled back around to the turning and saw the swathe of racer tracks taking the same turn I just had, before being promptly erased from view.  Then I realised the trail must have just been groomed and I was the first one to hit it directly afterwards.  After finding my front tire suddenly washing out on me, followed by my body flying off the trail and into a snowbank at multiple points over those 5, slogging miles, I would say the snow conditions could best be described as, "Not entirely set up yet."  I ended up walking some of the downhills in this section, as riding and crashing and dusting myself off and checking over my bike was getting to be a fairly time-consuming process.  I was only rocking a rear brake, cos my front brake had issues last summer and I just took it off and never bothered getting a new one, so "downhill control" was at best a little illusory and at worst a total joke.  Plus, as much as I enjoy riding my Big Fat Knard tires, they are not exactly the greatest at holding course in soft snow.  But, hey!  All part of the fun.  And after 4 slow miles--during which the groomer passed me going back the other way at some juncture--I found myself at the edge of the frozen lake crossing to Melgeorge's.  When I got onto the lake I was suddenly hit by a strong breeze from the left, and this was the only time I found myself in a situation where a frostbite-induced DNF seemed to suddenly become a very plausible possibility.  The immediate brutality of the windchill on this lake was genuinely impressive.  It went from a tough-but-manageable ride and walk through the woods to an immediate, "Holy shit; we gotta get off this lake 5 minutes ago or my face is gonna burn right the fuck off."  I didn't even dare to stop and fish out my balaclava, but instead just hurriedly pulled my frozen scarf up high to the left side of my face and fuckin' rode as fast as I felt I could.  There was a runner just in front of me, and we were both clearly booking it across the lake to the best of our abilities.  I later heard that a racer got her cornea frozen crossing that lake a coupla years back; like a real-life Audrey in Christmas Vacation.  Jesus.  And then I also heard that, maybe it was last year, the windblown snow was so severe on the lake that you couldn't even see the next reflective pole in the series of poles guiding you to the resort.  Holy hell.  I tell you what; the elevation profile may be inherently kind, but that single mile of lake has pound-for-pound gotta be the most intense part of the whole course.

But we made it to the other side, and the runner and I, after a little searching around, eventually found the way to the checkpoint cabin.  Signage, it turns out, is not something which is particularly overdone at this race.  You'll probably get a few wooden poles with reflective bits on 'em if you have to make a turn.  You might not be quite sure where to go occasionally, especially in the dark.  Not a big deal.  All part of the fun.  

I arrived at this second checkpoint just after midnight.  The volunteers at the Cedar cabin at Melgeorge's were off-the-charts amazing.  I sat down, breathing heavily and feeling rather woozy, and was served a grilled cheese sandwich, a bowl of wild rice soup, and a cup of water.  I found myself contemplating the potential prudence of having a trash can nearby, but thankfully the wooziness didn't progress to being even close to that point and instead gradually subsided.  After a little while, I put my stuff back on and made the few-hundred-yard trek to the communal Tamarack cabin.  This was a good size, toasty warm with a roaring fire in the living room, and had a loft space and several bedrooms with beds.  After changing into dry clothing and spreading my wet stuff out near the fire, I checked every bed that wasn't behind a closed door to find them all occupied.  Which was actually kinda great, because I ended up just lying down on the couch near the fireplace and having a very pleasant couple of hours of sleep before waking to find other racers getting ready around me and trundling off to instead sleep in a vacated bedroom.  I got about 6 hours of sleep, all told, before finding myself lying awake at around 08:00 Tuesday morning and realising I was probably ready to have at it again.  Heading out into the living room again revealed the only other person still around was Casey from my table at the spaghetti dinner 2 nights prior.  We had a nice chat as we leisurely got organised, and he headed off before me, leaving me all alone in the cabin to finish my preparations.  I had brought my Thermos flask in the previous night and found it to be still completely liquid, but I figured I'd better check on the Klean Kanteen before heading out.  I was impressed to find that after around 26 hours in the very chilly cold, the water inside the 64oz flask (which had been room temp to begin with) was still all liquid.  This isn't a sponsored review or anything, but I thought that was pretty cool.  The view out over Elephant Lake from the couch was just lovely that morning.  Gloriously sunny and making you want to get out there and enjoy the trail again.

The view from Tamarack cabin at Melgeorge's on Tuesday morning

Despite spending the night over a chair in front of the fire, my parka was still a bit soggy.  But running wet seemed to be working just fine for me thus far, so long as I had my vapor barriers in place and made a point of drying out my hands and feet at checkpoints...  And my hands and feet had about 10 hours to dry out at this one, so I think they were good!

Got some coffee and wild rice soup for breakfast back at the Cedar cabin, remembered to take my meds, hit the head a couple times, and was off again at 10:05.  That was a fine rest stop.  The night before, sitting in Cedar cabin, a couple of racers had told me what to expect from the rest of the course.  Apparently, there were two good hills leaving MG.  Then a long section of easy rolling hills.  Then about 11-to-13 miles of seemingly neverending, very steep hills--which you apparently knew you had reached when you passed a trail shelter and very quickly came to a steep uphill.  Then you were pretty much at the Embark checkpoint.  Then it was Wakemup Hill and plain sailing to the end.

This all sounded great, but ended up being a little confusing when what I found on the trail didn't entirely match up with it.  I got through the two big hills and then spent a while rollin' through the easy rolling section, passing a few runners along the way.  Honestly, this section was such a joy; I was having a genuinely wonderful time out riding my bike in the sunshine through the lovely scenery after getting some solid sleep.  I kept on pushing my big, furry trapper hat back on my head so I could enjoy a few seconds of unobstructed viewing before it inevitably slipped back down to just over my eyes again.  Which definitely became a theme during the race.  Loooots of hat-pushin' and hat-slippin'.  But it sure kept my ears and forehead warm, so no complaints!  Saw a dude, who must have been unsupported, with his stove set up on the side of the trail, presumably melting snow.  Thought that was pretty cool, and he seemed plenty happy.  Doing this race unsupported is just amazing to me.  Then after a while of easy, reasonably fast pedalling, I passed a trail shelter and quickly came upon a very steep hill.  "Whoa!" thought I.  "I must only have about 15 miles to Embark!  Man, I must've been flying!"  Studying the detailed course map in my nice warm kitchen this morning, I can see that this must've actually been the trail shelter at Mile 86.5, meaning I'd only gone about 14 miles and the next checkpoint was still a solid 24 miles away.  As I say...  This would lead to some confusion.  The next section was very hilly.  Very, very hilly.  Which was fun.  I mean, you wouldn't want an endurance race to be overly easy, would you?  Imagine reaching the end of an endurance race and actually thinking it'd been easy.  What a letdown.  The sun was still shining as I pushed the bike up and freewheeled down the hills, often having to lay on my one-and-only brake with all my might for fear of washing out at the bottom.

It was in this section that I was slowly pushing up a very steep hill when, nearly at the top, I heard maybe a second of motor noise before a snowmobile came absolutely screaming over the crest of the hill and passed directly beside me at an incredible speed.  Absolutely zero time for either of us to react.  If I'd've been 4 feet to the left, that would have been Game Over.  No question.  If you leave this race report with any lasting impression, I hope it is this:  Unless you have a good view for some ways ahead of you on the trail, DO NOT STRAY LEFT.  If you are pushing up a hill, you need to KEEP RIGHT.  On the Arrowhead Trail, you can see nary a soul for endless hours and then have screaming death directly on top of you in the very blink of an eye.  It was only after this near miss that I realised just how lackadaisical I'd been with regards to the ever-present danger of snowmobiles.  You see maybe two, easygoing groups of snowmobiles over the previous two days, it's pretty easy to forget about them.  You kinda feel like you're just on a nice, deserted cross-country skiing trail.  But this is not the case.  You're actually on the Snowy fuckin' Autobahn.  And they're still out there, quiet as you like, just waiting to rip up and kill you.  I don't know how no one has been killed yet doing this race, but I'm very glad it's the case and can only hope it continues indefinitely.  The blinkiest of lights and the most reflective of vests won't do a damn thing for you in this situation.  Please.  If you can't see for a long ways ahead...  Keep right.

By some miracle, this bracing little encounter did not leave me needing a change of underwear.  Which was frankly fortunate, as it was still a little chilly for that kind of trailside stripping, despite the beautiful sunshine.  Apricity is a wonderful thing, but can only do so much for you in these kinds of temps.

One stretch of trail in this section was nothing but endless bunnyhop hills for maybe two miles.  Just uppy-downy, uppy-downy like a relentless little BMX course or something.  I figured this was a purposefully sculpted section for ATVers and snowmobilers to have a bit of fun hopping around on, but learned later that it was just ungroomed and had thusly become a whole bunch of little hillocks from the snowmobile traffic.  Weird stuff.  Was a pretty fun bit of variety to begin with, standing up and pumping through 'em a bit.  That said, I did not miss 'em once they were done.

A long time after passing the trail shelter which I thought had signified the start of the half-marathon section of extreme hills, I passed another trail shelter which was set pretty far back from the side of the trail.  And I remembered a racer the previous night saying the trail shelter before the half-marathon section of extreme hills was set pretty far back from the side of the trail.  And I also remembered the trail shelter I had thought signified the start of the half-marathon section of extreme hills was not set pretty far back from the side of the trail.  And I went, "Oh..."

This section after the Mile 98.5 shelter--as I can now see it must've been--really just seemed like more of the same, though.  I don't remember it feeling particularly more difficult than the preceding 12 miles, anyways.  I just took my time on the uphills and freewheeled the downhills, laying hard on my brake as necessary.  7,000 feet of gain doesn't really sound like a whole lot when spread out over 135 miles--or at least, it didn't to me--but it turns out it's actually quite a bit.  Especially, I guess, when it gets predominantly bunched up in certain sections.  Keeps ya honest, ya know.

Night started to fall.

The trail turned off to the right, replete with some wooden sticks and reflective stickers, and I was sure that signified that I must nearly be at the Embark checkpoint, but still I kept on riding.  I remember saying to myself out loud, "Don't you dare remember this race as being easy."  After a while, a snowmobile volunteer rolled up as a living, breathing reminder of the existence of other human beings and told me I had 5 miles to go.  While I felt absolutely fucked and this was more than I'd expected, it was really nice to have a definite number to focus on, and I spent nearly the entirety of those 5 miles just yammering away to myself like an absolute lunatic, talking about every single positive thing I could think of in a non-stop stream of jovial consciousness.  The trail had definitely become a lot easier by this point, too.  My CamelBak had recently been sucked dry, so I made a point to occasionally stop and drink from my Thermos, despite being so close to the checkpoint.  The only thing was, the cup kept on freezing in place, despite my intentionally putting it on really loose, so I had to bash it against various objects until it finally came free and I could get some water out.  My last time stopping to take a water break before the checkpoint, 3 ladies came strolling down the trail towards me.  We made some conversation while I was wildly looking around for options to smack my Thermos flask against, without resulting success, until I finally just looked in front of me and began beating the shit out of it repeatedly on the trail until the cup eventually unscrewed.  I was just an exhausted mess at that point.  I don't even know what those nice people must have thought of me, seeing me locked in what must have seemed to an onlooker like a very violent yet completely pointless act of attempted revenge on the trail itself.  They moved on, and I can't say I blame 'em, but only after telling me the Embark tent was just around the corner, not even a mile away.

Rolling up to the Embark tent was great.  A gal lit up some red sparklers and whooped and spun while people cheered me in.  I came to a stop with a fella dressed like a fox pointing a camera my way and saying, "Keep twirling!  Keep twirling!"  I didn't know what the fuck he was going on about until I realised he was looking past me at the gal with the sparklers and talking to her.  Anyways.  Found a leanin' post for my bike, as I did not want to have to haul that beast back up from horizontal unless absolutely necessary, got handed some hot mapley milk, uh, stuff?, then headed into the tent.  It was well cozy in there.  Just space for 4 folding chairs and a wood-burning stove with a chimney in the corner, plus a bit of shelving to rest a little wet gear on by the stove and then a row of huge water jugs at the back.  The race rules had told us not to plan on spending much time here, and that sentiment was certainly borne out by the facilities.  Though I certainly didn't feel hurried out by the foxman, who seemed to be the aid station captain and a very nice sort.  There was one other racer sat in the tent with me.  I tried making a little small talk and quickly realised he was in a pretty dark place, so kinda let him be.  Though he got talking to foxman and seemed to be perking up a bit before I left.  I checked the results and saw he did go on to finish, so good for him.  I got to the checkpoint at 18:48 and apparently stayed for 1 hour 4 minutes, though it felt, if anything, a bit less than that.  I dried out my feet, whacked on more Foot Glide, put on fresh socks, swapped out the 4 chemical warmers, refilled my CamelBak and--with help from the kindly foxperson--piled on more layers than at any point before and headed out into the night once more.  Then I saw the pathetically blinking state of my rear light, came back into the tent, changed out some AAAs, and headed out into the night once more, once more.  I'd made sure to ask directions before leaving and was told that I'd stay on the Arrowhead Trail the whole way, but that I would have to look for the casino spur and take that at some point...  Though how far exactly--or even roughly--that point would be, they knew not.

The piling on of a thick extra layer turned out to be quite a mistake, as I swiftly became swelteringly warm, and by the time I'd made it up Wakemup Hill a couple of miles later, I had to do some doffing and reorganising to get back to what I'd been wearing before the checkpoint.  This was partially due to my CamelBak now being filled with 3 litres of very warm--but still readily drinkable--water from the tent.  They'd been heating the water on the fire and there was just one temperature option for refilling your water supply.  Which was no bother at all.  It just meant that donning an extra woollen layer for the ride ahead was an extra-unbearable folly now that I had a super-cozy hot water bottle strapped to my back.  But once I was reorganised, we were good to go.  Whenever you do have to stop and do anything requiring dexterity in this race, though, you are absolutely aware that you are on a ticking clock towards frostbitten extremities and have to do whatever needs doing with deliberate speed.  There is simply no time for fucking around when it's -30F and all that's between your fingers and the air is a thin pair of soaking-wet liner gloves.  You gotta do what you're doing and get those fingies back in some heavy mittens with handwarmers as soon as ever you can.  Chatting with a racer after the race, he told me about a year he was pulled from the course at a checkpoint after getting frostbitten fingers packing up camp after a bivy.  It took him a little too long to get everything squared away and his race was finished because of it.  I can see just how easily that would happen.  It's another world out on the Arrowhead.

The view from Wakemup was great.  Some blinky red lights from a distant cell phone tower, some yellowish kinda lights from some faraway building, and a general sense of a dark, flat, tree-covered expanse stretching out before you.  With a grateful heart and a "Here I come!" I descended for the last 22-mile stretch.

About a year-and-a-quarter back, I got diagnosed with what is currently considered to be an incurable form of blood cancer.  Which sounds a little dramatic, I suppose, but it's treatable.  Multiple myeloma is the name, and being a dipshit to your bones is its game.  But I got chemo down at the Mayo and then underwent a stem cell transplant procedure back in April last year.  It's an interesting feeling, being absolutely gassed after four flights of stairs or walking round the block a couple of times.  If you even have the energy for that.  But things start picking back up nicely once your body really gets to making white blood cells again.  They gave it a couple of months, then did a biopsy, which revealed zero trace of cancer.  Best possible result.  Which was nice.  And people can get absolutely flippin' ages off a stem cell transplant.  And treatment's coming along all the time, anyway, too.  

After bottling it back in 2016, the Arrowhead felt a little like unfinished business to me.  I didn't know if I had it in me, but I at least wanted to give it a shot.  None of us know how long we have.  I think those of us who do dumb shit like the Arrowhead are probably more inclined than most to try and hold onto this certainty.  It's a privilege to be a silly sod with a bunch of expensive gear pushing themselves through an extreme, ridiculous situation not because they have to, but because they want to.  Not because we're fleeing a warzone or persecution, but just because doing something completely exhausting and challenging sometimes seems like a better option than being comfy and cozy.  Because it makes the comfiness and coziness something possible to come back to and actually enjoy, rather than something to just sit in and waste away from.

Some of us may not, it would seem, inherently enjoy "nice" things quite so easily as other people.  We may sometimes require personal suffering and perspective to be content.  We know this.  Maybe we would benefit some from professional therapy.  We probably know this, too.

The last 22 miles are pretty much flat, and I kept up a decent pace for some time.  The trail got pretty choppy when it was by a road for a bit, but thankfully that didn't last long.  Then it was long, tree-lined straightaway sections forever.  I saw the light of a runner ahead of me, and shortly before I got to him saw a running pole off to the side of the trail.  I caught up and asked if it was his, which it turned out to be, and he asked if I could go back and get it for him.  I told him to keep on trucking and swung back to pick it up before riding down the trail with it sticking out ahead of me, grasped in one mittened hand.  I only mention this because it was notably fortuitous that he dropped his pole only about a minute or two before I spotted it, and also because it briefly felt like I was jousting and that was kinda fun.  Dude looked in rough shape, and he said his stomach was giving him issues.  I feel very fortunate that my constitution allowed me to chow down on 6 packets of beef jerky, 23 Aussie bites, some mild Slim Jims, dried apricots, gels, chili, soup, and grilled cheese... all with nary a tummy trouble.  At least on this occasion it did, anyways.  From what I hear, that kind of nutrition plan might not work out the greatest for everyone on a race like this.  I feel like biking is a lot easier on the gut than running, as it doesn't shake you up in the same way, but not every biker was the happiest of campers when it came to their tummies out there.  Or their hubs, apparently.  I heard a lot of people had hub issues in the cold.  I was running the stock Salsa hubs that originally came with my OG 2014 Ice Cream Truck and had nary a moment of problem with 'em.  Got lucky again, I guess.  My bike really did do well.  The rear derailleur lever did think a little about rebounding from down-shifting as I got later into the race, but I guess it was just a touch sluggish from the cold.  It just sometimes took the lever a little while to be clickable again, was all.  Wasn't a problem for me, and that's about the only tiny mechanical issue I can think of experiencing during the entire race.  Yeah.  Well fortunate.  Anyway; duder with the dropped pole said his watch was telling him 8 miles to go, which sounded pretty good.

I was exhausted, of course, on this home stretch, but knew it was just a case of looking out for the spur trail to the casino and plugging merrily away.  I took comfort in how well my bike was performing and knew that I needed to keep on pedalling while the going was good and just hope for nothing to go catastrophically wrong.  I was also very appreciative of an arduous 135-mile race like this having a nice flat section for the final 20 miles.  That's a pretty sweet move, right there.  I did not feel in the least bit cheated!

Passed by a large building or group of buildings away to the left, which, because it was not the casino, was apparently not the casino.  As I kept on pedalling, I noticed my headlamp was slowly dying.  The moon was a large second-quarter gibbous, though, just 5 days from full, which certainly helped illuminate the trail.  It was a lovely clear night and the stars were beautiful, to boot, with Orion shining over us in all his glory.  I was kinda sneaky-hopin' for an Aurora, as well, but I mean you can't have everything, ay.  It was at this point I realised the folly of putting my headlamp's battery pack inside my CamelBak, which was hidden underneath both my coat and, more awkwardly, my midlayer of insulation.  I figured the 4 lithium AAs wouldn't need changing for the whole race, seeing as how they were pretty well hidden away from the cold and hadn't had to work for more than 7 hours the previous night.  Maybe with a new headlamp this would've been the case, but this one was from 2015, and it clearly was not.  I did have a little 3xAAA backup headlamp in a coat pocket, though, ready to pull out if needed.  But really...  "Ultimate lithium" my ultimate arse.  Not that I'm saying my arse is ultimate, of course.  I, uh...  Yeah, let's just move away from that one, I guess.

This final section was the only time I felt my toes start to get a little chilly.  Found out later the temperature had dropped to around -30F, and I was probably going consistently faster than I had been all race, so I guess those 2 factors added up.  Wasn't terrible, though.  Just something I hadn't experienced to that point.  This was also the only time I breathed a little too hard from my pedalling whilst chewing on some delicious beef jerky and inadvertently aspirated a bit, causing me to swiftly become a coughing, spitting, spluttering mess.  Still...  It's six days later as I write this and no sign of the ol' beef-induced pneumonia yet.

Around the time I figured I just had to be getting awfully close, when I was in a state of ridiculous exhaustion with my headlamp barely functioning, I came to an intersection.  There was a wooden pole with a reflective bit right by the righthand turn, and an ambiguous sign to the casino which seemed to be suggesting right, so I went right.  But as I pedalled, I soon noticed there were only two sets of bike tracks and zero signs of foot traffic.  I peered at the tracks before me and wondered whether maybe one of them was the same tire, just going back the other way.  It could have been; I just wasn't quite sure.  I remember pedalling onwards and being so tired and desperate that I was just shouting out into the empty night, "Is this the right way??  Is this the right way??  Help!  Is this the right way??" over and over.  Spoilers: It was not.  After maybe a quarter mile I decided it just didn't feel right and turned around, still yelling the same futile question to nobody in particular.  Reaching the intersection again, I peered around and saw another reflective stick which suggested I maybe should've gone straight instead of turning, then tried going that way and saw a reassuring mess of tire tracks and footprints all heading that direction.  It was a relief, for sure, and I felt extremely fortunate the groomer hadn't gone by yet.  I soon came to a road crossing with more signage to the casino, but nothing indicating how far.  I pulled out my backup headlamp, which once more bathed the trail ahead of me in glorious light.  What a difference.  It started to be a little bit hilly again, so I went back to pushing here and there.  Then suddenly, out of nowhere, I saw plastic orange snow fencing coming up to my right, and I knew this was it.  I got back on my bike and saw the casino rise into view, followed by the actual finish itself!  I pedalled along until I got fairly close, then did my best post-135-mile impression of a sprint finish to power up the final hill and cross the finish line to the celebration of the assembled volunteers.  What a feeling, man.  What a glorious feeling.

Photo credit: Jennifer Lahmayer

A volunteer named Jennifer snapped a couple of pics for me with her phone, as mine was doubtless frozen solid, and then she led the way into the casino and up to the hospitality room, where volunteers hooked me up with some soup, Coke, and a slice of pizza.  They also gave me a trophy and had me pick out a complimentary hat.  I'd worn my Hawaii Bicycling League jersey as a base layer for the final section, as I thought it'd be kinda fun for my finisher pic if I made it.  It was pretty impractical and rode up my back like crazy during those final 5 hours, but I think it was worth it ^_^  Not that I've ever been in the Hawaii Bicycling League, or even Hawaii for that matter.  I just got it used off eBay a few years back cos I thought it looked pretty.  The seller had described it as a women's jersey, and I was like, "I'm pretty sure that's a men's jersey, and I'm also pretty sure I'm getting it."  But I digress.  I crossed the line at 00:47 on Tuesday night / Wednesday morning, making for a total race time of 41 hours and 47 minutes.  I was the 46th biker of 77 starters, with the fella who'd been having a tough time at Embark finishing early the next morning and the other 30 bikers DNFing for doubtless assorted reasons.  The 2023 Arrowhead 135 had 149 starters overall, with 75 finishing and 74 not.  I'd guess Ken was probably a little pleased by this below-average finishing rate; even if he dichotomously wanted every racer to succeed on a personal level, what with being a nice guy and all.  At the pre-race briefing he had jokingly divided the room into halves and told us one half would get to finish this year and the other half in 2024.  Then it pretty much worked out exactly like that, at least for the 2023 part of that prediction.  Go figure.

Photo credit: Emily Wanless

 

It turned out there were no rooms available at the casino, so a few of us crashed on couches thanks to the hospitality of a kindly security guard--or possibly head of security--with affection for the race.  That was nice of him to turn a blind eye like that.  Then I was able to share a cab with 3 other racers Wednesday morning to get back up to International Falls.  Right before we left, Casey came striding up to me in the lobby and gave me a big hug.  I had no real doubts, but was still very glad to see that he'd made it.  Spent the whole ride north chatting with a fella named Phil, who had this year achieved his 8th Arrowhead finish of 15 Arrowhead starts.  Amazing stuff.  We talked the talk of two tired but contented people in a decidedly philosophical mood.  It was a lovely conversation.  The cab pulled into Kerry Park Arena to reveal my car where I'd left it.  The battery still worked.  The bike rack was still attached.  All was golden.

Listening to music on the car ride home was an absolute joy.  I felt a sense of pervading peace and contentment.

And this was all thanks to people I had never met working tirelessly to put on an absolutely incredible race.  The volunteers were flippin' amazing.  I'm so thankful for all the time and energy they expended just to help me and all the other racers go out and play silly buggers in the frozen woods.  What an amazing bunch.  And what an amazing experience.  Thank you to all of you who made it what it was.