Tag: GAR

This is part 6 of a series of blogs on our adventure race

Mother Good Luck makes yummy cookies

My feet were light and it seemed that I could effortlessly trot up any trail. I felt like a runner, which I am not,  but last night I felt like one. My route took me up Mount Jumbo on the East side. The side hills were so steep I could barely keep my balance. Once on the Jumbo Saddle Trail I bounded up and over to descend on the Helgate side of things. Then just for good measure I did the “L” trail. Still I did not have enough so I sprinted along the side hill on the Rattlesnake side until the sun disappeared. The sun gave up and set on me. I averaged over 5 mph for the run and I am happy with that. Specially since none of the terrain was exactly built for speed. I had to REALLY slow down on the descents. I just will never feel comfortable going down.

But I had run out of daylight. When I started I was like, “Oh, how am I going to motivate and run for two hours”. And then by the time I finished I was wondering where the time went. I wanted to keep going. It was like the Grizzly Man Adventure Race when Dave and I really wanted to get a couple more checkpoints but we had ran out of time.

It seems that in 12 hours of racing you can either do things right and celebrate the win or mess some stuff up and then maybe HOPE for a decent result. Rarely can you fudge things up really bad in 12 hours. I mean, you get your leg caught in a trap. Then have to chew it off. Right? What does that take? like 25-45 minutes tops. Then you have like 10 or 11 hours to catch back up and get back into the game.

So what. We missed check point “G” and spent gobs of time locating some checkpoints. Yea, carrying snow shoes was not the best decision. Getting a flat tire or having to take a emergency break behind a tree certainly will not make or break a good race. Once we were looking for check point “C3” and found “W. That was unsettling but a check point is a check point. Right? Specially when you have 15 minutes to get back or be disqualified. Specially since that one last checkpoint would later make or break your chances at the podium.

Sometimes if your diligent and just do your best it is good enough. Benjamin Franklin once said, “Diligence is the mother of good luck”. I didn’t feel lucky, instead I felt unprepared and in a team situation that meant I was letting someone down. But then my team mate was Dave and it is against his nature to get all anal about a competitive event. I guess my luck was that I had teamed up with the perfect partner. In 12 hours we did enough stuff right and mother of good luck made us cookies.  And those were some good cookies indeed.

“Dave, we have like 25 minutes before the time cut off. What if we just take one more run up there”, I pointed up the hillside.

“And try to find C3?”

“Exactly … just one more look. You never know. If it doesn’t work out there is the tunnel and after that is the finish line.”, I pointed towards a culvert under route 200.

“Let’s do it”

Later on after we finished, chatted with other finishers, and picked up all our gear at the transition station we were sitting at the Lubriecht Experimental Forest woofing down some pasta and salad. So let us take inventory. 12 hours preparing, plotting, and planning. 12 hours of racing. And now around 4 hours of cleaning up ourselves and picking up our equipment; the boat had to be loaded, stuff like that. All that equals some tired adventure racers.

I couldn’t do the math in my head and I was trying to guess-ta-mate how many check points we found. Surely 20 I thought. Josh started calling up the winners and 3rd place was not team Bill and Dave. Then second … no, not Bill and Dave and they had 25 check points. I was bummed because I felt we had done well enough for second. No way we got first because there was this team way ahead and they were fast runners.

“Dave, how many did we do”, I looked over to him and noticed he was already looking at me about to ask the same.

“I don’t know, twenty … um … ”

He looked like he was trying to spell a long word in the county spelling bee when Josh announced, “And the winners of the 2011 Grizzly Man Adventure Race”.

I just wanted to tune out, gosh had we only obtained 24 check points?

“… with a total of 26 check points”, Josh continued. I looked back at Dave as he suggested we had somewhere in the vicinity of a upper twenty count. My heart started to pound. Could it be? Did we?

“Team Bill and Dave”

We hugged and celebrated. Then I saw it. I looked into my friends eyes, that glaze of accomplishment and joy. It is my favorite part of these things.

This is part 5 of a series of blogs on our adventure race

The Unknown

Sunday 9 AM. The adventure started out last Sunday when my eyes strolled through the map I have up on my wall at home. At first it was “I wonder if” and then “if only I could get here from there”. Before long the coffee I was sipping hit my pleasure centers and a decision was made to go for not only a route that I had not done before but three routes that I wanted to try. I decided to link up the Fish Creek Road, the Graves Creek Road, and the South Side Road in one big glorious loop. I quickly drew it on Google maps, ignoring the estimated length of 130 plus miles, and posted my plans on the interwebs. I was committed.

The ride was going great even though there was a gun shot incident just outside of Frenchtown. The weather was holding out and I had 9 hours of Carbo Rocket strapped to my back. Within hours I strung together and executed a route through the 6 mile and 9 mile valleys. I arrived in Alberton with high hopes of this magnificent loop and wasn’t slowed down by the hail storm stinging my face. Once I had to jump a fence twice and race across the interstate like a deer dodging multi ton bullets. I crossed a river and trudged along some rail road tracks. When I emerged from a train tunnel I realized this would be a true epic and I started to feel confident that I could endure at least a full attempt at completing this giant idea. The unknown disappeared to some sort of clarity.

I started thinking about “the unknown” and why it is so exciting as I spun down a paved country road. I passed a piece of property where the owners half buried kayaks in their drive way. A gate made out of kayaks. I thought to myself about how much those dudes must like the river and instantly my mind raced back to the Grizzly Man Adventure Race just a week ago. For me the unknown below the surface of a body of water is terrifying. What lies down the rapids at the next bend could be white water and a plunge into certain death. That scares me too. But these folks must think of it like I think of the unknown bike loop. Exciting and fun.

Many times on these big adventures my mind sticks to a theme and I can completely inspect each cornice and crevice of it. Today I thought a lot about my friends, specifically two of them that in the past year helped me overcome some fear that I manage to avoid. Jill and Dave are the friends that I thought about. I arrived at a sign at the beginning of Fish Creek. It implied a 31 mile journey to Route 12 and I knew of at least one mountain pass in between. Unknown … but exciting.

As I pedaled up the freshly dragged gravel road (freshly grated = spleen tingling bumpy ride) I though back to the Borah Peak climb. I have been at altitude many times on exposed ridges. Many times scared shitless. My thoughts are that I was with people more skilled and I just felt their enthusiasm interfered with my “overcoming fear pace”. Back on Borah, however, I went with Jill and Norm. Jill who had the same apprehension to exposed heights seemed to be at my pace. It was a good match and as we all topped out I realized that I had done something that maybe in the past I would of turned around on.  Most of that trip I had a perma-grin on my face. It was unknown if I could make it, which is exciting, and I did.

Sunday now 3:21 in the afternoon. I began climbing up a sustained climb. At mile 74 I was still on Fish Creek Road but found a similar perma-grin as the road went up and up and up. My mind started drifting again but only back as far as last weekend (sorry to jump around so much here folks). It was another one of those overcoming fear moments this time with my friend and teammate Dave. And surprisingly enough I had the same shit eating grin on my face as I presently had climbing up the switchbacks.

Grizzly Man Adventure Race. I hate water, I fear what’s under it and I fear drowning in it. Last Sunday as Dave and I approached “River Put In” I was completely distracted by all the events that had happened that morning. The morning “situation”, overcoming and capturing all those checkpoints, and all the trail running that we were STILL doing. This was going great. I was thinking about how much I love adventure racing but when we reached the end of our current heading. Running down a kayak access road. I saw all the boats and I panicked. “OH SHIT”, I screamed internally. This is the part we ….

“Start by putting on your dry suit and then your PFD”, Dave distracted my glaze at the river.

“PFD?”

“Personal floatation device.”

Moments later I was suited up, PFD attached, and helmet snuged down.

“don’t forget your paddle”, Dave seemed to be enjoying this part. But he was calm and didn’t show any enthusiasm. He was just giving simple commands. Simple commands that someone holding onto a cliff frozen in fear could understand.

“Grab the boat there, get in and face forward, now pedal, pedal pedal, keep it smooth”, are just some of the simple phrases that were seeping into my subconscious.

Dave is a master and he steered us through all the big waves. At one point I came out o
f my butt clench to actually crack a grin. In fact I started grinning a lot. I didn’t even mind that I realized he was actually guiding us over the “big parts” and at one time almost folded the boat in half. I may have even squeezed out a “Yeee Haaa” but I am not certain.

Sunday now 4:51 PM at mile 98. I had found Route 12, pedaled down it, and got almost all the way up Graves Creek to Petty Creek when I turned off to take a pee and a breather on a foot bridge. I was standing there starring out over the rushing water when my mind stopped drifting back. I was smiling again. Within a years time two friends, two fears, lots of very big grins. All that time reliving last weekends race and reflecting on it all. I hoped back on and proceeded to Tarkio where I would hook up with my final route along the South Side Road.

It all worked out. Later I found the South Side Road, a road I had been on before. I had biked all the unknowns for the day. I stopped to call my friend Julie to set up a ride finale standing in line at the Big Dipper Ice cream shop. I set it all up and continued on. As the sun set to my back and I coasted down Mullan Road past the big Wal Mart I glanced down at my GPS. 135 miles in 10 hours I whispered to myself as if I had to say it or it wouldn’t register. My mind was kind of fuzzy now and it drifted back in time. Back to the GMAR. One last time.

Grizzly Man Adventure Race. Dave and I had a brief celebration at the end of the white water section and began to drag our craft up the steep bank to the transition area. We had a handful of hours until the cut off time for the race. Where to next? We had some planning to do and some decisions to make. But since it was all unknown I was happy with that. I loved the unknown and my big smile represented so.

“So now what?”, I asked Dave. I had not even considered anything past the “water” part.

To be continued…

This is part 4 of a series of blogs on our adventure race

Hunting

“THERE,” I shouted, halting our white Dodge pickup. I had spotted a deer by a haystack across the field. As we crept out, Dad prepared, and soon, his shots rang out. Dad was an ace hunter, and I, the spotter, prided myself on my sharp eye.

Growing up in a hunting community, hunting wasn’t just sport; it was survival. Though I never hunted big game myself, my role was crucial. I carried parts of the catch and sometimes helped drag it back, but spotting was where I shone, earning my place even in elite hunting circles.

Decades later, during a race, I found myself shouting “THERE” again, but this time at a checkpoint. Dave praised my keen sight. That moment took me back, reminding me of the rare appreciation from my dad. Sharing this with Dave, I felt I was finally contributing meaningfully to our team.

Our race challenge was tough, navigating vast areas and tricky checkpoints, like the one hidden in a snow-covered thicket. I played a key role, ensuring we stayed on course. Yet, frustration hit at checkpoint “G,” where despite my efforts, we had to move on, a decision that irked me deeply. Time was tight, and even a bike flat threatened our chances, but abandoning “G” proved wise as we raced against the clock to complete our tasks.

As time dwindled, we needed to find another elusive checkpoint. My “deer spotter” skills were crucial, yet the pressure was immense. Another team’s discovery helped us advance, but I couldn’t help feeling I’d let my dad down. With the water challenge up next, my old fears loomed.

The race continues…

This is part 3 of a series of blogs on our adventure race

Essence of a Good Team

The two wheel track across the field just petered out. I silently panicked inside. To pull out the map right now at the start would just be a sign of weakness. I could just imagine the thoughts of all those headlamp wearing runners behind us, “look at him, he is lost already”. Damn, I am supposed to be the king of racing in the dark. I just kept going and pretended to know where I was going. I had a pretty good idea as I glanced over to a faint ridgeline coming down in the field. The sun was a hour out but twilight was setting the sky a deep blue and we could see the horizon.

“Lets jump the fence”, Dave suggested, and we did. Then we were on the right path.  And then we were not on the right path. And then we found the “Ice Hole”, a culvert under route 200 that I came through last year and almost killed myself on. Beyond the tunnel we ran down what I believed was a trail to the Blackfoot River. Dave had not been on that section and it was up to me to navigate us through it.

“Um, lets cut across that field”, which gave away the fact that I was panicking and bailing out. My memory was failing me. Dave calmly suggested we keep going until we hit the river. I agreed and decided to take my place as the wimpy team mate that needed to be nurtured through this thing.

I had other problems. The lack of “bathroom duties” before the start had rendered my lower intestine a tornado of death. I was certainly glad I had a stash of Action Wipes in my pack. I was going to need them. I didn’t want to slow down the team so I kept it to myself and quietly suffered. And then we found the river.

It wasn’t long before we got to the bikes at River Camp Transition Area. As long as I have known Dave he has been pretty laid back and if it were not for his casual non-running hike the damn adventure style I would of never made it through the MESSS last year. So I expected maybe he would take his time getting on the bike and I could sneak in a quick run to the port-a-potties. Not so, he seemed determined to get out of the quagmire of panicking people as soon as possible and started out on his bike.  Another panic set in.

In adventure racing you can not get separated from your team mates by more then like 300 feet or so. Running to the bathroom without Dave could get us disqualified. This would be the true test of a team … a team that shits together is a true team indeed. I was glad we were not co-ed.

But that was not my current panic. My current panic is that Dave was on his bike and pedaling away. I did everything I could to keep the legal distance. I was throwing on a backpack, putting on clothes, and running with my bike like a frantic baby duck keeping up with mommy duck. Finally I just jumped on and started pedaling. Exploding intestine, bare hands, and all. I started just following him.  This was not going well.

Soon I was ready to just throw it all in. My hands were exposed and the below freezing temperatures combined with the wind speed of a speeding mountain bike just made life a living hell. I had one more idea before I let Dave in on my predicament. Here I am this expert adventure racing 24 solo big shot and I was falling apart at the seems. My last chance would be to get my hands out of the wind. I pulled my jersey (wasn’t even wearing a coat) sleeves out and tied them off. At least my hands were protected. The biggest drawback of this technique is that there is no way to shift or break.

I figured that if I crashed it would be spectacular. I would launch over the bars and my intestines would explode at the same time. It would be like the fourth of July fireworks show. I just kept his pace which was quite fast. Next thing I know we rounded a bend and he declared, “This is it”.

I hadn’t even been thinking of doing my part as a team mate. I wasn’t checking our navigation, heck I didn’t even know where we were. I think Dave sensed this. Maybe that later on I might just come in handy. That or he was wondering why he hooked up with a wilderness wussy. In any case a good team is like a good family or relationship. Not everyone can be on their game. But there is always someone that just leads the way until you get back on track.

It was time to get off the bikes and start our orienteering hike. I sensed a good idea coming on.

“Dave, check the maps and get a some coordinates … um … and … I’ll go behind this tree and …”, I was going to come up with something like hide the bikes.

“Yea, no problem take your time”, Dave said calmly as if this was just another hike in the woods.

Moments (no pun here) later I was re-set, my hands had gloves, and I was certainly glad to have brought Action Wipes.

To be continued …

This is part 2 of a series of blogs on our adventure race

Which Path

Navigating modern society, you’re faced with the conventional path or the road less traveled. After high school, I chose the latter, engaging in adventures and endurance races, delaying a conventional career. This weekend, I pondered my choices.

I’ve competed in the Grizzly Man Adventure Race (GMAR) in 2008 and 2010, planning meticulously and securing victories. However, this weekend was different; decisions were made spontaneously, veering from my usual calculated approach.

The GMAR has evolved from a few hours of wilderness exploration to a grander vision of a 24-hour challenge. This year, we had 12 hours to find 59 checkpoints, hinting at an even larger event in 2012. I decided to treat this race as if it were a 24-hour ordeal.

The day began leisurely until my teammate Dave Chenault was en route, sparking a frenzied prep. We missed our pre-race ritual at The Bridge Pizza, rushing to Paws Up Resort to strategize with the gear we’d use for the “race portion.”

Armed with maps and awaiting coordinates, the scale of our challenge dawned on us—60 checkpoints over a vastly expanded area. Teaming with friends from the Missoula Thursday Night Mountain Bike Group, we plotted our course from a rented “box car,” a cozy cabin setup.

Struggling with focus, I leaned on Carbo Rocket to sharpen my concentration. Mapping out points was arduous, hindered by my wavering attention—a far cry from my previous precision.

As planning progressed, Dave proposed biking along the river, a plan I only half-registered due to exhaustion. Opting for rest over finalizing our strategy, I retreated, waking to a disorganized start. Missing gear and unprepared, the shotgun blast sent us off. Lost without my map, I relied on Dave’s direction. This new, unpredictable approach was thrilling despite the uncertainty.

“Take a right Bill,” Dave guided.

I obeyed, entering unfamiliar territory. The thrill of the unknown replaced my usual meticulous planning, showcasing that success can follow regardless of the path chosen.

To be continued…

This is part 1 of a series of blogs on our adventure race

My Favorite Part

In 2010 I won the Black Bear Challenge, the smaller version of the Grizzly Man Adventure Race. I won the inaugural GMAR back in 2008 but opted for the smaller race when kayaking was introduced. So there I was last year laying out on the grass. Sitting at Paws Up Resort soaking up the spring sun. I had finished in a little over 3 hours and was waiting for my friends to finish. My favorite part of these things is to watch my friends bask in their accomplishments. I love to see accomplishment.

My friend Dave Chenault crossed the line and he looked absolutely demolished. He said something about  running way to hard at the start and collapsed on the lawn beside me. His legs were coated in burrs so bad it looked like he should just throw them away. I started to entertain the idea of doing the full grizzly man race and downed another hand full of peanuts and M&Ms.

At the awards ceremony we were presented with some great prizes. Dave made the observation that teams actually were being regarded in a higher plain then solo. To me solo was the way to go. I mean, it is harder. Right? The teams got paid trips to the nationals and better prizes. Plus, they were put in a raffle for a new bike. Not saying GMAR specifically but in all of adventure racing circles, teams are where it is at. Dave looked at me.

“Looks like doing it as a team is the way to go”.

“Next year, you and me”, I said in return.

“hummm, interesting idea … possibly”

Of course I was lying out of my teeth. I do SOLO. But the biggest reason … water. No way I was getting in the fu&%$@ river.  No way!

256 days later we were crunching the numbers and realizing that if we did not get back to the start finish area we would be disqualified.

“Dave, we have like 25 minutes before the time cut off. What if we just take one more run up there”, I pointed up the hillside.

“And try to find C3?”

“Exactly … just one more look. You never know. If it doesn’t work out there is the tunnel and after that is the finish line.”, I pointed towards a culvert under route 200.

“Let’s do it”

Moments later we located “W” and ran back down to our bikes. Somehow we missed “C3” and found “W” but we at least got one more and it was 8 minutes to get to the finish line.

Later on at the awards ceremony I looked into my friends eyes and saw it, that glaze of accomplishment and joy. It is my favorite part of these things.

To be continued…