Togwotee Winter Classic

Togwotee Winter Classic: A Tale of Snow, Grit, and Unexpected Triumph

So, there I was, squinting at my GPS in disbelief. It cheerfully informed me I had another 8 hours to trudge back to Togwotee Lodge. The last glimpse I caught of Mo was way back at the starting line. And now, here I was, smack dab in the heart of a snowstorm that felt like it was personally out to get me. They did say, “Choose the 35-mile course, and you’re basically signing up to be a lone wolf.” Well, call me Mowgli, because I was about to dance with the wolves, or in this case, snow.

Enter stage left: a legend among mere mortals, the kind of person who probably eats Tour Divides for breakfast and Iditasport Invitationals for lunch. Jay Petervary was ahead, and I, like a diligent apprentice, shadowed his every move, soaking up the art of snow racing.

The opening act of the 2012 Togwotee Classic was less “classic” and more “comedy of errors” for yours truly. Picture this: everyone else is gracefully biking through the snow, and then there’s me, letting air out of my tires not once but a half dozen times, running alongside my bike like it’s a petulant child refusing to cooperate. Talk about a crash course in humility – and I mean that quite literally.

But as they say, necessity is the mother of invention (or in my case, desperation is the father of somewhat questionable decisions). I tried to keep up with Jay P, but the man was a blur on two wheels. My attempts to mimic his grace were akin to a penguin trying to fly – ambitious but fundamentally flawed. Then, in a moment that felt more like a scene from an action movie, I let gravity take the wheel on a downhill stretch. Suddenly, Jay was back in sight, but my energy tank was flashing red.

Cue Adam Leifelman, another rider who seemingly used my draft to close the gap. We exchanged war stories about trying to keep up with Jay. My contribution? A self-deprecating quip about needing to shed a few pounds to truly compete in this snow bike racing gig. Adam’s response? A laugh and a nod. Solidarity in suffering, my friends.

As the race progressed, something miraculous happened. Jay started to push his bike up the hills, and I – yes, I – managed to catch up. This was my moment. I shadowed his every move, learning the secret language of snow biking: how to read the trail markers, the art of the light pedal stroke to float atop the snow. And then, as if by magic, I found myself in the lead.

Carbo Rocket fuelled my veins, and for an hour, Jay was nowhere to be seen. I dared to dream. Could I, the underdog, the newbie, actually pull this off? With 15 miles left, I shifted into what I like to call “beast mode” (though it’s less roaring lion, more determined turtle). I navigated hills and valleys, always half-expecting Jay to zoom past.

But he didn’t.

Crossing the finish line at Togwotee Lodge, greeted by Mo and Dave, was surreal. I lifted my bike overhead, not just as a gesture of victory, but as a salute to every unexpected turn this race took. And guess what? I smashed my GPS’s 8-hour prediction by clocking in just under 7 hours. Take that, technology!

So, there you have it. My first snow bike race was a cocktail of chaos, learning, and sheer, unadulterated joy. And to think, it didn’t even take me 8 hours.