By Murray Maitland (team pseudojournalist)
Another Team Verve race report for Desert Winds is at:
http://nevernevermiles.blogspot.com/2009/05/hot-times-at-desert-winds-adventure.htmlChapter I
Adventure racing is about choices! Everyone here has real freedom to make their own decisions compared to most other sports. You make your own bed, and then you lay on it. This is especially true here, since Desert Winds has very few rules even by adventure racing standards. There is a recommended gear list, and some minimal information about the course, but looking around at the other teams, there were clear differences in strategies.
Team Verve (Peteris, Christi, Miles and me) mingled with the other teams waiting for the pre-race meeting of the Desert Winds, near Temple Bar, Lake Mead, Arizona. Everyone seemed to have a different configuration of backpack. In preparation for the swimming sections, one team had half-filled air mattresses like you could imagine a bikini-clad, martini-sipping, hotel pool nymph using. Another team had square cushions that were made for buoyancy like you read about on emergency signs. Some people had such small packs, how could they even carry enough water for the desert conditions?
My pack was large compared to most of the others, and was the heaviest for our team by about 3 lbs. Part of my gear included energy-efficient snorkeling fins that protruded from the back. Maybe I was overly cautious. Doubts come easily to my mind with my pre-race jitters.
Decisions… like how you train, what you eat, your footwear… are part of the reason teams are successful, or not. These races are always races of attrition. Of 42 people mingling right then at the start line, 17 would drop out. Of the 15 teams that are about to start, only one will reach each and every checkpoint out in the Mojave Desert
Robert, the race director is quite a character. The pre-race meeting takes only a couple minutes, and at the word “go” our “day” of racing starts with jogging to find the maps.
Chapter II
The first leg of the race was forecast to be 30 km of desert trekking and swimming, and the first real decision came early, at checkpoint 1, just two kilometers from the start. We were the second team to arrive. Do we swim two kilometers across a large bay or attempt to travel around by the muddy shoreline? At another time of the year, or after some rain, the mud on the shore would have been impassable. On this day, we made the right choice by running, and we were soon over a kilometer ahead of the other teams that decided to swim.
We were on a straight-line course for checkpoint 3, when we met a 25 yard wide, azure moat. Deep blue fingers of Lake Mead intertwined with short cliffs here. Shades of blue-green snaked a short way into the grey-white desert. Fault lines of broken rock had collapsed into the water in places where descents and ascents through the cliffs were straightforward. It wasn’t a difficult decision about what to do here. Christi and I immediately jumped in with Miles and Peteris right behind us. The water was just over 60 degrees, and so you can imagine the refreshing, take-your-breath-away, swim – short respite from the desert heat.
Just beyond (after 2 more checkpoints), we reached a critical decision point, and this decision crushed some teams in the hot desert sun. It was probably the crux of the race even though it was early. At that point, I thought there was enough water in my Camelbak to get through the next 15 km of desert trek, but I was wrong. The gravel desert rolled forward to a broken ridge where we were to cross. Occasional animal trails made traveling easier. We jogged much of it despite the heat. As we started to climb to the ridge, I felt the vacuum, nothing coming out, oh crap, sensation on my mouth that indicated my Camelbak was sucked dry.
In a previous life, mountaineering, my brother and I had a slogan: “There’s safety in speed.” Our team took about 6 hours for the first leg of Desert Winds, and I was without water for about an hour during the desert crossing, sparingly sharing my team mates’ supply for that short time. The next fastest team took almost 2 hours longer for the first leg, and some teams took 4 hours more.
Finally, descending a long, curved white gravel dry creek bed, otherwise known as a “wash” in this part of the country, we came back to the edge of the lake. Christi threw off her pack and jumped into the cold water. I immediately drank a half-liter of water straight from the lake.
We were ecstatic that we now had a swimming section. Wet suits, fins, and boogie boards came out of the packs while running shoes went in. We even decided to swim further than we needed, since it felt so good. Christi set the pace using her modified freestyle stroke on top of the boogie board. Miles thought that he could do the ironman swim like this. I felt a little self-satisfaction because I could help the team in a small way, assisting Peteris with a little tow on a bungie cord.
Chapter III“It’s a bobcat! Do you see it?”
The wild cat was racing up a rocky, semi-cliff, out of the canyon bottom towards some hiding place.
Wow! A 5-foot long (OK, maybe it was 3-feet long), yellow and black snake slithered between us.
We were on the first optional trekking loop that was part of the biking leg: the 2nd leg of the race. The desert scenery was spectacular. Peteris didn’t seem all that attentive as I pointed out various colorful flowers to him, but I didn’t take offense since he was focusing on navigation.
The race director expected had planned for the loop to be done in the dark, but we were well ahead of sunset as we returned to our bikes. The sunlight made the navigation easier, but the physical exertion hotter.
Years ago, on one of my first training days with an adventure racing team, we rode our mountain bikes on deep, sand-covered, 4-wheel drive roads rather than on fast, groomed, single track forest trails that were in the same area. When I expressively questioned the team captain’s mental status, she said: “You just wait!” “No matter how hard you train, the race will be tougher”
So it was now, as we gradually gained elevation in the Mojave Desert. Soft sand made pedaling tough and high temperatures drained our energy, even though the sun was starting to set. My stomach started to churn, and I was ready for a snooze.
The biking was arduous…grueling… I am feeling like lead. Self-defeating, negative, internal talk…
Peteris had written an odd quote for our team on the Desert Winds webpage: “We know it will not be easy, but then again - is it supposed to be?” His foresight comes from experience, and understanding the psychological demands of the race.
There are lots of things I tried in the next 4 hours to get my positive mood back:
Practice smiling because smile muscles make a direct connection to the brain.
Shout, breaking the quiet monotony
Breathe through my nose instead of my mouth to reduce the sick feeling.
Focus on anything, the sapphire reflection of the spiders, the kangaroo rats, headlamps reflecting on the Joshua trees, glowing eyes of the nighthawks, to get my mind in a positive frame of reference.
Just before midnight we reached the top of Senator Peak, and returned on the out-and-back optional route from Bike Check Point 3. No one had made it to the mandatory bike check point yet. Where were all the teams?
Tums, Ibuprofen, clear water, electrolyte pills and caffeine might have helped along cooler temperatures and my other techniques, but I was recovering.
The rest of the bike leg, including the two additional option loops, was great, but there wasn’t anything that really stood out. An abandoned house here, a windmill there, here a ridge, there a gulley, everywhere sand, sand… The sun rose before I really expected. Time keeps moving on and so did we.
Descending from a ridge, we bike-whacked between two roads. It was a short traverse along a gravel slope. The occasional shrub ripped at my legs causing one small stream of blood to drip, then another one. In slow motion, Christi lost her footing on the slope and fell downhill with her bike. Reaching out, she tried to slow her fall with her hand on a shrub. Needle-sharp thorns pierced her cycling gloves and the skin of her hand. We all watched as she pulled them out one by one.
One more bike checkpoint and then the transition area to the last, short trekking leg. What could possibly go wrong?
Peteris was folding the bed-sheet sized map, while the rest of us cycled one hundred yards down the trail. Miles, Christi and I waited there and Peteris didn’t arrive. Like a scene from the Keystone Cops, I went back as Peteris went down a different trail. The three of us then tried to follow his track, and he circled back on another trail, without seeing us. An hour later, we finally got back together.
Chapter IVTrekking towards the finish line, we had 10 km of desert with one ridge to cross and five checkpoints to find.
Sometimes, we worked well as a team, and sometimes we could do better. This fact was manifest in the last few kilometers of the race. Walking parallel paths, Miles, Christi and I were following bearings across the flat ground. This was exactly how we should be working together in navigating on flat, featureless desert. Christi seemed to have all the energy in the world, which helped my energy too. The last three checkpoints were all about the same distance apart so we were using time and paces in combination with the bearings. Peteris was lagging behind, loosing his normal exuberance. We were taking extreme care in locating the checkpoints, trying to minimize navigation errors over the 1.5 km distance between them. Sometimes, race directors will place the checkpoints so that they are only visible from very close. In retrospect, we didn’t really need to be so precise because the race director was very nice kind to the racers. Robert had put streamers above the checkpoints which were visible from one hundred meters away.
In retrospect, I should have towed Peteris through this short section. Was I being selfish, or just unthinking?
We ran the last short stretch of dirt road, past an orchard. Then, it was over….
Team Verve had won the event – the only team to collect all of the 31 checkpoints. Like Peteris’ quote on the website, it is vaguely satisfying to feel a little beaten up. Typically, people who don’t do these races will ask me “What prizes did you win?” As I get ready to don the garbs of my alter-ego, that is a very good question.
