Latest reviews by William

(2016)
"Rambo Would Have Wept: How I completed my first “half ‘Iron-man’ distance” off-road triathlon, aka, The Half-Wilderman."
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The Half-Wilderman is an off road triathlon consisting of a 1.2 mile swim, a (due to muddy conditions) 62 instead of 66 mile bike course and a 16 mile run in and around the Pembina Gorge near Walhalla, North Dakota. The event is hosted by Extreme North Dakota Racing (ENDracing) based out of Grand Forks, North Dakota. The Half-Wilderman is run concurrent with the Wilderman which is the same distance as an Ironman® triathlon but is, again, off road.

Working from memory, I will try and capture for the reader the essence of the Half Wilderman. No, not really. I will relate my experience of the Half-Wilderman. The event took place on Saturday, July 16, 2016.

The night before the race competitors met at the Walhalla Country Club, a beautiful golf course with clubhouse about five miles down the road from Walhalla, to sign in and get last minute instructions. Walhalla Country Club served two types of pasta with a salad bar. It was plain fare and there was a lot of it—a perfect pre-race meal.

That evening racers then drove to Mt. Carmel Dam Recreation Area (or Mt. Carmel Lake and Recreation Area), about 15 miles from the country club, where we could drop off our bikes and totes. Race volunteers camped overnight at the lake to keep an eye on everyone's gear. After dropping off my bike and gear I drove back to Walhalla and had a prime rib dinner at the Walhalla Inn Supper Club. Considering the task ahead of me, a second supper seemed the right thing to do. I also spent the night at the motel next door to the supper club.

The race began at 7 am at Mt. Carmel Lake between Langdon and Walhalla, North Dakota. Most racers stayed in either Walhalla or Langdon, ND. Some camped out at the lake. Lake conditions were good. Winds were calm. The swim leg was an out and back: swim to the yellow buoy .6 mile out, come around the buoy back to the beach for a 1.2 mile loop. The Wilderman folks would do two laps.

The water was cool but not cold and the water clarity was a bit cloudy with algae but not terrible. This was my first time in the lake, or any lake, in a couple years. The swim was the easiest part of the race and going into it, I was confident this would be my best leg of the race. Despite a miserable performance, it was the best leg of my race. You may want to practice swimming in a lake, particularly sighting and swimming in a straight line after you sign up for this event.

My only other open water swim experience this year was a 36 mile down-river swim in the Red River of the North about a month before the Half-Wilderman , That race is also amazing, beautiful and difficult. For the Half-Wilderman (1), unlike the river swim, I had to do my own sighting instead of relying on my support kayak to keep me in a straight line. There was considerable zig-zagging.
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1. I DNF’d (my first DNF in 5 tries).

The bike leg began with a 15-20? mile gravel grind from the lake towards Walhalla on some paved then gravel road. The road from Langdon to Walhalla runs like a highway with a short attention span (or limited budget), giving up on asphalt ¾ of the way to Walhalla. Along the way one climbs, descends, and climbs again in dramatic fashion as one drops into the gorge and then climbs out of it before turning off the main gravel road to the minor gravel roads and then and back into the gorge and across its lips and shoulders through the woods, thick brush, and brief, surprising, sun drenched meadows along ATV trails in varying states of damp and ruttiness.

Due to three days of rain before the race our intrepid (no, really, these people are as tough as any of those racing, and twice as brave—they do it alone, in the dark, and don’t get any medals. And when it’s all done, they have to clean it all up and take it all down) race directors and volunteers re-routed us, cutting out a four mile segment to save us all a 4 mile hike through a thick mud puddle with a bike on our shoulder. The river crossing was still in play however.

Despite wet conditions, and thanks to our volunteers’ and race coordinators’ extra efforts, no puddle was longer than 5 yards, and most puddles were small and shallow enough to be ridden through without fear of harming one’s bike. Still, I managed to fall in at least a couple of the bigger ones while trying to get my feet out of my clips to walk through/around the puddles. Due to the thick brush and woods I usually had to go through as there was not enough room to go around the puddles. I took several mud baths on the bike leg due to poor planning and a lack of coordination or agility. Muddy and wet would be my default position for the bulk of this endeavor.

Getting back to the river crossing I mentioned earlier… there was a river, the Pembina River. It is, usually, I’m told, easily forded in mid-July due to dry conditions. This year was wet. Same goes for the creeks we ran in on the run leg. The river was pleasant compared to the creeks, but not nearly as exciting, but I’ll save that for the run section.

Racers would have to ford the river two times during the Half-Wilderman, once on the bike leg and once on the run leg. For our convenience and safety the race coordinators had strung a rope across the river for participants to hold on to while they walked across, carrying their bikes over their shoulder. The river got past my waist but stayed comfortably below my chin, perhaps peaking at my nipples near the middle (I’m 6’1” for scale). The current was strong and I was grateful to have the rope to hang on to. There was also a pack raft available to ferry one’s bike across if one wished, I did not. I made it across without having to swim or go diving for my bike and there were volunteers waiting on either side to assist if I needed help.

Sometime after the river crossing, if I remember correctly, I came to the first major bike checkpoint. Along the route there were monitors, volunteers and US Forest Service personnel, who would record one’s passing but, alas, had no snacks, so this first check point was significant. I took full advantage of the chair, the soda, the chips, cookies, gels, Heed, and so forth (I’m not sure, I may have also enjoyed someone’s lunch). Hammer Nutrition was one of our sponsors and so we were well covered in terms of fuels. It was a really wonderful spot to sit, visit and watch the clouds. After a ridiculously long time by racing standards, but a too brief visit to call comfortably call a picnic, I moved on, back into the woods, the brush and the mud. There weremore thrills and spills and then I came out of the gorge and back onto gravel backroads girded by vast canola fields and honeybee hives. Canola look like bushy green weeds speckled with lemon zest and seem a popular location for honey bee hives. Fortunately for me, and unlike several competitors last year, I did not get stung by any bees, though I pushed a bit harder going by them than at any other time on the bike leg.

Throughout the race there was traffic, most of it harmless and always very light. Despite everyone’s efforts, no one got run over and everyone was pleasant. I managed to dodge a Jeep that was accelerating to clear the top of the hill I was on the back side of while discussing the race to that point with one of the race directors. It was awkward to see a speeding vehicle swerving to miss another vehicle so as to aim its front end at me as the brakes locked up on the loose gravel. In hindsight, we all could have made better choices leading up to that moment, but it took my mind off my leg cramps for a little while and may have provided me the adrenaline boost I needed to get to the next check point.

The second checkpoint, the last before the transition to the run section, was one of the highlights of the race. Three things make racing great, in varying order depending on my mood: snacks, volunteers, and scenery. At this checkpoint, a gravel road at the bottom of a hill where a backroad merges onto the main gravel road (and a dangerous intersection to be camped at as the cars come zooming through unsure whether or not to turn, ultimately aiming for the sliver of land in the middle where the volunteers are waiting), it was the volunteers. A couple local guys who were well stocked with cheer, beer, whiskey, and snacks, as well as the usual racing fare such as water, etc. Since I brought my own beef jerky, I only took a shot of whiskey and topped off my camelback. As we chatted and they let me know they’d been concerned for me as the second to last racer had passed them a considerably long time ago. I was touched by their concern, though not surprised to hear that when they had called around to report my absence they were reassured I would be along eventually. My reputation precedes me.

On long races, like marathons, it’s nice to have a beer near the finish. It works well with the handful of ibuprofen and other junk one may have been ingesting the hours before and drapes a mellow glow over the aches and pains clamoring for one’s attention. When doing a half Ironman® distance off-road triathlon, whiskey chased with a mouthful of beef jerky at the twilight of the bike leg takes the trick. It gets you up the mile long hill at 8% grade (grades and lengths being grossly approximated, who really knows?)

It was a notoriously big hill and I’d have walked it if I thought I could push a bike that far, but I lacked the confidence, so I kept on pedaling; at one point exchanging light conversation with a lady getting her mail, as I kept on pedaling. This was my last major hill of the bike leg, it was all only slightly up or flat from here on out, just a low speed burn all the back to Mt. Carmel Lake and Recreation Area for my transition to the run (on the way out there was probably a climb and a descent, logically it would be the same going back, for some reason only the climb out really made an impression on the way back to the lake). Along the way it started raining again. It may have rained some before, but it wasn’t particularly important or noticeable.

The rain was just another bit of background I’d hardly noticed until the run section. I would become very intimate with the rain over the course of the run. We shared beautiful and terriblemoments together, and looking back I feel a sense of intimacy whose intensity has me questioning what I put in my coffee, or the practicality of skipping lunch.

The race description for the Wilderman and Half-Wilderman states that this event gets progressively harder. Pay attention to that when you sign up. This race gets progressively harder, but simultaneously progressively more fun (2). My goal was to finish the bike leg. Upon finishing the bike leg I figured I could walk the run leg and with the same cut-off times as the Wilderman, I had no fear of being pulled from the race for being too slow. I entered the run section confident that I could walk/shuffle/jog 16 miles, even though it was raining and there was some talk of a “creek section” I knew that at this point, this race was in the bag. Oops.

The run leg began just outside the Mt. Carmel Lake Recreation Area on a gravel road. A local land owner allowed us to put our transition area in her front yard. Local support from land owners and local US Forest Service Personnel were two key reasons this was such a fun, successful race. The terrain was flat, the roads were laid out with geometric precision intersecting one another at 90 degree angles and hedged in by vast fields of soybeans, and alfalfa. The blooming alfalfa lent a purple haze over the fields under the cloudy drizzling skies. It was pretty cool, nearing sublime, and despite reports that some Wilderman competitors were about to catch me, I felt pretty bad ass.

For the run, I had some collapsible hiking poles and fresh new shoes—having misplaced my old pair of trail shoes the week before the race. The road was damp, a bit squishy, a bit sandy, it was an easy if monotonous stroll for 2-4 miles until coming upon the creek section. A fellow ENDracer and friend of mine was hosting this checkpoint and he gave me advice on entering the creek (and loaned me a little dry sack to put my cell phone in, which was great for taking pictures, but thanks to very little cell reception, not very good for calling in a rescue if I needed one—I should have used it for my toilet paper), and assured me that the exit would be well and obviously marked. Good advice.

The night before I had been advised by one of the race coordinators—who had hiked the run section earlier that day with his wife—that it would be easier, and faster to stay in the creek bed in lieu of bushwhacking through the brush and the sucking mud along those rare open banks. He also strongly recommended hiking poles. Despite the meandering, the surprise deep pools, the downed trees, the small submerged boulders, the large submerged boulders, the non-submerged boulders (large and small) I fully appreciated his advice. It was indeed, mostly, easier to navigate in the creek than beside it. In previous years the water in the creek was rarely more than a couple inches deep. This year it was averaging about mid-calf and occasionally as deep as my waist. And the rain was with me, falling softly, keeping me cool but not making me cold. It was 45 minutes of active bliss. Wet, stinky, stumbling, child-like, playful bliss.

The following 2-3 hours in the creek were not quite as much fun and I briefly wondered if I missed the spot where I was to exit the creek. Had I not been in a steep, narrow canyon I may have tried to climb out of it and go for help. About then, I realized this race would make Rambo weep. But, I’m not Rambo. And I still had some beef jerky left, so I had no reason, or opportunity, to quit.
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2. Until it isn’t. Conditioning before-hand will go a long way towards enjoying this race.
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It also helped that I had Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger” and theme song from Rocky on my water-proof i-pod shuffle; not to mention the theme music from Star Wars, The Good The Bad and the Ugly, a crappy version of the “William Tell Overture”, and a couple pop hits channeling the seven year old girl in all of us, among others. At times, things got down right operatic, I freely admit (i.e. “Man from LaMancha” as opposed to “Madame Butterfly”).

Not far from dusk the creek filled canyon I’d been navigating opened up onto a flood plain as I rounded a corner and I saw orange surveyor tape in the branches of trees and then a bonfire stacked about six feet high with flames leaping higher as the rain fell gently. I had reached another check point and my second river crossing.

The two volunteers working the checkpoint looked comfortable and competent. They looked like dudes who can build a raging fire in steady rain, who can navigate the wilderness, who can go into the heart of darkness and still come all the way back(3) . They also informed me of a course change.

They seemed so confident and competent I didn’t have the heart, or the courage, to admit I didn’t follow anything they said. But they did say that the race coordinators were out re-routing the course to avoid the second creek section (2 miles?)—the section I completed was about four miles, or I’m hoping that was four miles because it took forever! Fortunately, I had no trouble finding my way as the re-route was carefully laid by line of sight with surveyor’s tape, and at the creek there was a sign with a light on it marking the detour.

The re-route became necessary as the steady rain had made the ridiculously boulder strewn creek too swollen and thereby dangerous to run in again— particularly in the dark. Note, I hadn’t been passed by competitors yet, so they were doing what I just did, in the dark, plus another ten miles of what I’m about to describe next(4).

The river crossing was easier without a bike over my shoulder, but the current was stronger and the river was higher. It was a pleasant bath and thanks to the hours of rain, and the slips in the creek I couldn’t get much wetter. Coming out of the river I was led back to the ATV trails, though these were less well traveled and therefore mostly overgrown with weeds and brush. The tracks were visible but not like the four foot wide trails I rode during the bike section.

I didn’t retain much of the directions I was given before the river crossing (and never got around to studying the course map before the race), but I did remember being told I would pass through three meadows at some point. I just couldn’t remember what that had to do with the detour. Still, I could often spot some bit of surveyors tape in the distance and usually make out some
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3. Imagine Merriweather Lewis leaving his crew of The Voyage of Discovery to set out alone for three days in what would become Montana, coming upon the Great Falls of the Missouri river, and there, beside the falls, were two dudes relaxing by a bonfire asking if he’d like some snacks and snapping his picture. Some surprise, a lot of relief, and the feeling like, hey, how did you get here and why do you look so comfortable?!
4. One may have passed me just at the beginning of the run, on the road. It’s all a bit fuzzy, but he would definitely pass me again later that night.

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kind of path before me between sightings of tape. And I did pass through at least three meadows. Coming out of the wooded brush into one meadow I spotted a full double rainbow. I tried to take a picture with my phone but the view exceeded my phone camera’s capacity and I only got it in pieces—I didn’t have the energy to go panoramic, but my feeling was the beauty of
this place exceeded my capacity of to capture it. It must be experienced. It was, again, sublime.

As the light was fading, so was the rainbow, and I pressed on into the next copse of trees, across another meadow and then into the woods, the weeds, the dark and the increasing rain.

At the transition to the run I had put on a windbreaker, mistaking it for a rain jacket due to its plastic re-enforced seams. It had just enough effectiveness to allow water to collect in the crook of my arms running down from my mosquito bitten hands as I was trudging with my poles. Whenever I would raise an arm over my head a rush of water would run down to my armpits and across my ribs. It was occasionally refreshing, but mostly annoying.

By full dark my hiking poles were collapsing and the grips were slipping as the straps were making my wrists bleed. I was climbing with my arms as much as my legs and needed all four points to maintain balance. And the rain kept on falling. This section felt like tramping up and down the side of a long ridge covered in thick woods and brush, likely because I was trudging up and down the side of a forested ridge, but it was dark, who knows what the hell I was doing, or where the heck I was going, I didn’t. But there was always a bit of surveyors tape to let me know I wasn’t lost.

Eventually, I caught up to race coordinators re-routing the course, laying out strips of surveyors tape along the overgrown canopied ATV trails hemmed in by branches that would gladly poke you in the eye given half a moment’s in-attention. These trails were now deeply pooled and rutted by run off. The grounds crew had excellent lighting and I envied them their ability to not drop into subtle pools like large gopher holes as deep as my knee as I followed them up the hill to a road and another checkpoint for an out and back. At this point I was told it was another six miles. Or eleven, or seven, or four; maybe three? Perhaps there was some disagreement as to how much was left, but it was likely about seven more miles, since later I was told it was only 1-3 miles to the finish from my last beer stop which would come perhaps 1-2 hours after that last checkpoint. There, I nearly ate someone else’s lunch before the volunteer stopped me(5) .

Around this time I was passed by one of the full Wilderman competitors (maybe for the second time). He seemed cheerful and I envied his bright lights and ability to move up such steep slopes at such a remarkable walking pace. I had a headlamp and a bike light I had attached to the front of my tri-suit thanks to a hole I had ripped at the base of the zipper. I had bought the tri-suit four years before, when I weighed less, after mistaking it for the equivalent of a wet-suit while attempting my first open water (down-river) swim. When the re-chargeable bike light looped around the hole just below the base of the zipper on my tri-suit went out I used my hand held wind up flash light and my headlamp to navigate the rest of the course. When you sign up for this decide either to get done before dark—like every other Half-Wilderman competitor, or bring
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5. If you volunteer for the Half-Wilderman, keep an eye on your snacks and don’t leave your sodas sitting around. And bring extra bug spray, because there’s a chance I’ll have forgot mine again.
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an abundance of light, like the Wilderman competitors. And don’t let yourself get distracted by your gear or you’ll be out there all night.

Not long after being passed by the first place Wilderman, I stumbled across another person, the wife of the 2nd place Wilderman contestant who was tramping merrily through the woodland cataracts while searching for her spouse. She was his pacer for the last leg of the race and so she went down the trail from the last checkpoint to meet him and she was expecting him to come along at any moment. This was after the detour, back on the original route and was the only time I had any reasonable doubt about where I was, where I should be, or where to go next.

I found my way and moved on. Not terribly long after I came upon a cabin in the woods. Surveyors tape hung from the branches near the back door of the cabin, so I was confident I was on the right path, but I missed the next piece of tape in the trees about ten yards to the left of that one and so ended up circling the residence. While I was trampling around the yard the owners stepped out and I enjoyed a long pleasant chat with them and had a beer. They offered to start a fire, I may have had snacks(?) and I considered another beer, a nap, maybe a look in their fridge, or perhaps use of their bathroom, but I thought it best not to linger any longer as I wanted to finish before dawn—I believe the last Half-Wilderman contestants—a bachelorette party of two--had finished the race around 7 or 8 pm on Saturday (one with a broken a wrist). I was creeping up on Sunday.

Shortly after leaving the cabin, trudging down-hill on a goat path/road hybrid the 2nd place Wilderman finisher and his pacer (wife) ran past me at an admirable pace. Taking advantage of both the privacy and the dark, I discovered my respectable amount of toilet paper had disintegrated. At the time I wasn’t sure what was more disheartening, that someone who had done twice as much as I did in the same amount of time is running faster than I can rested, or that my carefully hoarded tp stash was turned to slurry in my backpack.

That may have been a low moment. The warm beer glow was fading fast, the chill was beginning to seep a bit deeper, the aches were a bit louder, and now I’m hunkered down in the tall weeds on the side of a “road” in the wet dark praying I don’t cramp and/or slip backwards while trying to salvage something from the core of a disintegrating lump of wet toilet paper.

Still, that made the final leg of my journey look less terrible.

Coming off the road that lead from the cabin onto the main road there was a sign in the not too far distance saying the end was .9 mile away. Cheerful news. Except that was .9 mile up hill.

I slugged(6) up the hill. The asphalt gave way to gravel once again and as I neared the intersection that would lead to the clubhouse that was the finish—another though smaller bit of hill off a hairpin turn—a car that had turned around to go back the way it came (I assumed it had made a wrong turn) came back to offer me a ride or inquire as to whether I needed assistance. I was deeply touched by the concern (and a bit emotional from fatigue (7) ). I figured I must look like an
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6.Like a slog only slower and damper.
7.Not THAT emotional, give me some credit, but I was definitely feeling warmer and less guarded towards fellow humanity
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accident victim or an ax murderer—though I like to think more axe murderer than victim (I have my pride) so I was particularly touched that someone would ask if I needed help, but also wondered what I looked like that strangers would come back to inquire if I needed any assistance. Pride again. You don’t ask the guy in first place if he needs a ride, now do you?

I made my way to the clubhouse and was greeted by the co-race directors. I got my picture taken and with the ENDracing sign and the race was done.

During this race I was reminded there are some strong, brave, resourceful and compassionate people in North Dakota. Many of them volunteered to help out at the race, and a couple of them were complete strangers who had no idea there was a race going on. I was very fortunate to meet and interact with a few of them. And I got to join some of the finest athletes and their families and friends, among other interesting people from not only other parts of the country, but also the world(8) in a uniquely difficult endeavor.

The End (9) .
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8. Italy: a Wilderman competitor who finished 2-3 hours behind me after losing a pedal during the bike section.
9. I purposefully left out the names of volunteers and fellow racers, primarily to spare them the embarrassment of association. They were all exceptional people whose presence turned a great event into the event of a lifetime. If you would like to know who some of these people are go to endracing.com and check them out. Also check out all the other races ENDracing puts on throughout the year, or check them out on their Facebook page: Extreme North Dakota Racing.

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