Talk about intimidating. It's stressful enough to be driving to the venue of your first 36 hour adventure race, but to get there and see all the competitors already ready to go was unnerving. With so much to do to get ready for the race, we quickly parked and set about getting our gear organized for the start.

Myself, I brought very little. Basically changes of socks and one extra layer of clothing. Hard to believe that I was ready for every kind of weather from -15C to +35C. With only a single bin to rout through, it didn't take too long to have things lined up. The rest of the team had some fumbling around to do first and were slowed down when a brief rainstorm hit the area. It was further reminder that over the next day and a half of racing, just about anything could happen.

Night fell before long and everyone (eventually) lined up at the start. Nothing adds stress to a race director more than a bunch of racers who show up late and miss what's going on (poor Brian). I could tell that it was going to be a tough race when I made my first mistake before the race even started. In order to shuffle up the teams, the organizers had everyone navigate to one of two points, get a password and then come back and get on their bikes and go. The navigators had the option of which point to chose from (one was easy to find, but tough travelling, the other I suspect was easier to travel to, but harder to find). The contour lines looked small on the map, but they constituted three times up and down a 200 foot slope. I don't feel too bad, another team spent 2.5 hours looking for the other checkpoint (we were only 45 minutes or so).

First, we ride

Once we were on the bikes, the first section started quickly with some gradual downhill on some smooth double track. It was neat to feel the bike's suspension working underneath me as it rolled over the bumps and potholes at 35 kph. "Squish, squoosh." I started making sound effects as I hit the bumps. I clicked on the big lights I had borrowed from Derek and the whole trail was lit up as if by daylight. This was going to be fun!

After a slight detour to a tower that wasn't on the map, we located the power lines in question and continued cruising down the slope. It was about that time when I hit a big rock that jostled the bike and aimed the lights up into my eyes. "Ahhh!" I scrambled with my right hand trying to find the light while still ripping down the slope. I'd have stopped, but Chris was right behind me saying, "Mike, you should put your taillight on, I can't see you". "Let me get right on that," I thought wryly.

There were more hills ahead of us and many of them were what I would classify as technical. The instructions told us to cut to the left of the cutline that we were following in order to avoid a really steep slope. The trail led down to the creek where we were confronted with the alternative to the steep slope. I'm still wondering "how bad was that 'steep' slope?" The alternative was nearly a full on scramble. I guess it wouldn't be adventure racing if there wasn't at least one section where we had to carry our bikes on our backs.

We got back on the trail and eventually popped out onto an intersecting road. I fumbled around the area trying to find the next trail (not realizing that it was right in front of me). The trail climbed up the shoulder of a mountain, which meant a heap of hike-a-bike followed by a scary-steep downhill to the final cutlline that would lead us out of the woods. Wouldn't you know it, at the first checkpoint, Jen Silverthorn signed us in. It sure was nice to see a familiar face.

After leaving Jen's bug we entered a dual track in the trees. There were two other teams riding with us, so there was lots of cursing and joking when we found the mud bogs. Iris just about lost a shoe to the mud and flashbacks of Half Moon in September came to mind when another teammate of mine lost his shoes and socks to the same fate.

The mud relented to a steady dual track down hill and I popped ahead of Rick to use my laser beam headlights to their potential. It wasn't long before the trees were zipping by me at 40 kph while we cruised down this windy dual track. That's when Rick started with the commentary, "Does he have what it takes?" "Can Melnick stay ahead of the pack?" All the while Rick was sneaking up beside me. At about 45 kph in the pitch dark when he was next to me he yelled out "Forget the race, it's about the speed, Mike" and he let go of his brakes and pulled ahead. Gawd, what a rush!

The catching feature for us was a service road that led into Blairmore. Our team collected and we started down the road towards town. The wind had been blowing all night, but with us in the trees, we hadn't noticed it until now. Heading down the road put us square into the breeze. We started out pedaling towards town and that's when the triathletes within took over. Well, maybe crit-thletes because we formed a pace line and were making enough speed that we caught two teams on the section into town.

In the slowly brightening sky, we came around the corner to the highway crossing and wouldn't you know it, Frank! Back in May I raced another adventure race and at the end, I had chatted with a fellow out from BC. He took a bunch of pictures of myself and Derek Wilkinson (my teammate at that race) and emailed them to me. Well, I don't know why it was such a pick-me-up, but after a couple of hi-fives from that guy and brief chatting about where the other teams were, I felt awesome.

I still felt good as we rolled into Transition. Then chaos broke out. I'm sorry, but it was a little comical to see Chris fishing through his four or five bins trying to find stuff. Sorry Chris. I wasn't any better, in fact, I made the unfortunate decision to start working on the maps using one of Chris's bins as a writing surface. Needless to say, I got demoted to a small cooler. I waited to do the things such as food and clothes until I had the map sort of figured. Rick double-checked my work and after a short while (it wasn't that long, was it?) we were on our way again.

We'll make it up as we go

We headed out of the transition area feeling fairly decent. Next on the agenda was a trekking section. With all of us being runners I figured we should be able to make up some time after our pokey mountain bike ride, even if we only walk this trek. Ok, first climb part ways up a ski hill and then find a cart track (there was a lot of these) that kind of headed west. Ah yes, trying to find a goat trail 3 feet wide and overgrown with trees using a 35 year old map is all sorts of fun. We ended up climbing a bit higher than necessary and then bushwhacking downhill until we ran across it. Yay for us!

It was about a kilometer of hiking before we reached a gully and were caught by two other teams. Well at least we weren't dead last. It was starting to come clear that we weren't moving at our potential speed. We broke out onto a ridge and according to the map, a bridge that marked our next waypoint lay just across the valley. We started following a path/road that took us a long ways south of our intended track.

It wasn't long before we came across a bridge, but it was way south of the co-ordinates given. I decided this wasn't the right bridge and we pressed on up the road. About a half-mile later we found a sign pointing back the way we came. Fudge! Ah well, if all of our mistakes were corrected this quickly then we'd do well overall.

From the bridge to the next checkpoint was an opportunity to relax the brain and just walk, get some nutrition, etc. After checking in, we combed up and down the trail looking for the cart track shown on the map. It was hopeless, the track was obviously overgrown, so we struck out into forest and followed the contour of the slope, sticking to animal paths as best as possible.

More than a few times, the team would ask, "Are you sure Mike?" I have to admit that this was all new for me too, but we were guaranteed to hit something obvious, so I was sure. It brought me back to watching Eco-Challenge Fiji just a few weeks before. Ian Adamson made a big strategic gamble and directed the team into some really dense bushwhacking instead of taking the obvious route on the road and river. The gamble paid off and they gained some 6 hours and avoided hypothermia in the process. Our bushwhacking was nowhere near as difficult and I was pretty sure that every team had to do it, so we stuck to it.

We eventually did break out onto a cart track, but the next problem was that we weren't on the track that I was expecting. Another team was about 100 m to the west pondering the same problem: Which way from here? It was very tempting to just head west because that was the general direction we needed to go, but something wasn't quite right. I puzzled over the map and reasoned that we were in one of two spots when Iris asked, "Would the altimeter help us determine where we are?" The light bulb went on, I checked the watch and it saved us from a wrong turn. It was made extra difficult because the other team decided to head to the left. As we travelled away from our objective, the landmarks shown on the map slowly came together. Until the clincher, a small foot bridge across a creek, was located. There was no question anymore.

The cart track took a sharp left turn and headed due west. It was about two hours before we emerged on the road into the next transition, and it became immediately apparent that the paddling was going to suck. Why? Because of the horrendous wind, of course. We just about got blown away just walking. After checking in, we were told that the first section of canoeing was cancelled and that we had to load up the canoes and the support crew was to drop us off at the first canoe beaching site down river.

This was a tough transition. To start with, I was a little sugar-shy and wasn't as perky as I typically am. Many thanks for having Bev, an Ironman athlete who knows all about the sugar bonk, it's symptoms and it's cure. However, the toughest part for me was dealing with the despair of knowing that it took us 13 hours to cover 20 km of biking and 18 km of trekking. That was my lowest point in the race, trying to keep motivated and upbeat when I knew that we had a very slim chance of finishing. But no one else was giving up and I certainly wasn't going to admit defeat yet, so I just pushed the thoughts aside and focused on getting moving again.

Canoeing, but not yet

After packing up our vehicles, we drove over to the checkpoint where we would have beached and hopped out to figure out what was next. Hah! So much for dry feet, we had to wade across the Crowsnest River. Gee, these FMAC guys really have a thing for river crossings. So, with our paddling jackets, life vests and garbage bags, we waded through shoulder deep water to the other side of the water. Once on the ridge, we hiked along the same track that we had been on during our trek to the boats. My socks had turned into bags of water and had to be removed. I guess they're not so waterproof when completely submerged. I hung them on my pack to dry out for later.

At the end of the track, we broke out into the open and we could see the hill upon which the next CP was located. It was more or less uneventful until I reached the top and realized that one of my socks had fallen off my pack. Shoot, somewhere in that 3km of bushwhacking, my sock is still hanging out to dry. "Maybe we'll find it on the way back" offered Chris. "Fat chance", I thought, that baby's gone forever, the remaining one, an orphan. Sniffle. The group of us ended up on the same track along the creek and one particular hop across the water put us up against some clingy brambles and sure enough, the other sock was hanging there. There's nothing happier than a family reunion.

We connected up with the main track that headed down the escarpment and out into the flood plain. The road forked many times and each one was a guess as to which one to choose. I'm not sure if it was just happy coincidence that got us out of the woods, but we made it. We got to the canoe marshalling location and wouldn't you know who was manning it, Frank! It was easy to have the spirits come right up chatting with him.

We loaded up the canoes and carried them to the river's edge. "Goodness, so this is Class II rapids", I thought as I looked down the narrow canal at the rushing water. Rick and Chris pushed off and were quickly sucked away and around the corner. Feeling somewhat nervous I staged our canoe for launch. Just as I was about to launch, Frank told me to "watch out for the sweeper just before the first portage. Apparently it's dumped a few canoes." "What the heck is a sweeper?" I wondered. Ah, how bad could it be?

The first section was hands down the most exciting canoeing I've ever done to that point (I didn't know it was going to get more intense). Each corner was an adventure in how to keep the canoe from crashing into the opposite shore. Or at least keep it's passengers out of the bushes clinging to the shore. Despite my best efforts, we ended up getting dragged through a couple sets of branches anyways and we even ended up totally stuck on one large tree.

It was a few kilometers later when the water began to get rougher. I guess the start wasn't Class II rapids. Pretty soon, we were dodging rocks poking out of the water. Then I saw it, a big hydraulic that spanned the entire river's width and just beyond to the left, the takeout point. We pointed the canoe and plowed right through that baby. After pulling the canoe out of the water I was totally hyper. And that was the mellow section. Really.

The second canoeing section started out like the first one had left off (sans sweeper) and it petered out into a nice slow paced paddle. That was about the only time that I felt sleepy all day. The warm sun, the calm water and the birds singing were tremendously relaxing. However, it was the calm before the storm. The first section was only a warmup for the last kilometer. We rounded the corner and the rocks dotted the river. Suddenly we were paddling and trying to skid around these behemoth boulders. Eventually, they became so dense, that dodging them was impossible and we suddenly became versed in how to ride over a rock. The intensity didn't let up all the way down to the pull out. We even saw one canoe overturned and pinned against some rocks. Wow!

The wheels come off the wagon

At the transition, the next section looked relatively easy on the map. My biggest concern was that it involved a hike up Turtle Mountain (about 2700 feet) and one of our team members was having trouble with level ground. The only way we're going to make it up is if we split up her gear. After shuffling things around so that she only had her backpack and water container we checked out of transition. It wasn't long before we were on the trail up the mountain. That was when the role reversal happened. Instead of being behind us, Iris was in front and setting a blistering pace. The ascent didn't relent all the way to the top. In fact we recorded the 6th fastest time up the hill. After a brief check-in and a taking in of the view at the top of the valley, we headed back down, determined to be in the treeline by dark.

It was totally dark when we reached the bottom and after a brief gear re-shuffling, we struck out on the described path. There wasn't too much in the way of navigation, but wow, there was a lot of bushwhacking. We had about 500 m of width, to the left at the bottom was the river, to the right, the slope rose up at about 25^o until it butted up against Turtle Mountain. In front of us lay thick, low bushes with fallen timber waiting to grab your legs and poke at you. The topper was that this was all in the dark.

We had gone about half a kilometer and Iris was having difficulty. It's tough getting your head around the fact that it's been almost an hour and you haven't gone half a mile yet. I hung back with her while Rick and Chris tried to find the easiest travelling for the team. I felt really bad because there was nothing more I could do for her. The checkpoint was on the other side of this stuff and if we were going to continue, we had to get there.

It was 1am when we finally broke out into the open, but this didn't provide relief. Frank slide is nothing but boulders, most are solid and immovable, but a few will move on you when you step on them. It was kind of like hopping across a stream on stepping stones. However, if you're not in the mood to act like a kid, then the experience is a chore.

We caught up to Rick and Chris while they paused and surveyed the landscape in the dim moonlight. I turned to Rick and said, "We're not going to make it, you know." "I know" "It's my first DNF ever," I said. "Mine too." I felt like I was telling myself this and that I was somehow trying to convince myself that I should be more upset. The truth was that at that moment, it didn't seem to matter to me. "Well, there'll be time for soul searching later, I'm kind of sleepy" I thought.

Rick and Chris forged ahead and found the east side of the slide to wait for us there. It took over an hour for us to get across the rocks, but it certainly was a relief to be within site of solid ground. We took a moment to use the radio that the race organizers had given us to use in case of emergencies. It wasn't an emergency, but we might as well use it to make sure that they weren't worrying about us (Bev included).

There wasn't much left to do at that point. We busted out into an open field (made of dirt thankfully) and headed towards some lights in the distance. At 2:30 am we checked in at the checkpoint and I was suddenly very tired. Sleeping rose to the top of my priority. I quickly stowed my stuff so that that people wouldn't run over or into it while I slept. Then I crawled into my nice warm sleeping bag and stared at the roof of my truck and pondered things.

I thought about the things I felt I could have improved and I did the "what-if this and what-if that" thinking. But as I drifted off to sleep, I returned my focus to the things that I was really proud of. Not just cerebral things like navigating, mountain biking or the canoeing, but the final conclusion of what the race taught me about myself. An adventure race really wears down a person, leaving only one's true character showing. When I was tired and facing my first ever DNF, I still wanted to help my teammate. "Forget the race, it's about getting everyone out safely."

The next morning came quickly and once the sun rose, I was unable to sleep. Nor could anyone else, so Iris and I packed up the truck and made for Calgary. We chatted a lot about the race on the way home. Looking back on it now, I realize that it wasn't really any one thing that had caused us to not finish. We were simply not moving fast enough.

In a few weeks I have a second race of the same length. Before, I wanted to finish because I had some reason to keep a DNF-free record. Now, I want to finish simply because I think I should be able to. Hopefully, with some skills tune-up we'll have a chance.