Everyday epics!

Today's "revelations" about disgraced pro cyclist Floyd Landis and his overdue doping admissions got me thinking about a popular topic of mine, which is: We spend far too much time and energy (and ink) on "celebrity" athletes, and not nearly enough on everyday athletes. People like you and me! About a dozen years ago, when I first jumped into the freelance biz full-time, I did some work for a magazine called Outdoor Explorer. It was a first-rate publication, with a great tag line: "Real Adventure for Real People." Unfortunately, Outdoor Explorer didn't realize enough of a profit, and was sadly relegated to the scrap heap. But I've always loved the idea that people, while enjoying the vicarious thrill of reading about Mount Everest and other far-flung adventures, also really appreciate stories about events they can actually do themselves. Luckily, my good friend and editor Brian Cook at Pace Communications allowed me to do this piece for Toyota Connections magazine.

"Me Against Me"
For weekend athletes yearning to put body and spirit to the test like never before, it may be time to consider an “everyday epic”

I hear the finish line before I see it. A thick fog shrouds the rocky summit of New Hampshire’s 6,288-foot Mount Washington, the Northeast’s highest peak. I’ve been pedaling my bike, uphill, nonstop, through horizontal rain and nasty winds, for two hours, and my oxygen-depleted brain is wandering into dangerous places. Most of the 600 competitors in the annual Auto Road Hillclimb have finished, and many were on the roadside, cheering on the stragglers—like me.

With a final, excruciating sprint up a 22 percent incline over the last 100 yards, I teeter across the line. My wife, Lauri, and my two girls run to greet me. Eight-year-old Maddi flings her arms around my neck with unmitigated joy, while 6-year-old Brynne, worried that I'd been blown off the mountain, bursts into tears.

Those starkly incongruous reactions are a microcosm of my day, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

I’ve knocked off another task on my “Life’s ‘To Do’ List” and, now that it’s done, the accomplishment trumps all the suffering. I pull Brynne close, and tell her, “Don’t worry, honey. Daddy will ride much faster when we come back…next year.”

Lauri looks stunned. She shouldn’t be. This isn’t the first time she’s witnessed my suspect behavior. There was the Flint Hills Death Ride in eastern Kansas: five-plus hours pedaling more than 60 miles under a scorching sun. Or the eight hours of misery slogging through torrential rains and more than 8,000 feet of climbing during the Vermont 50 mountain bike race. Or the shoulder-searing task of The Blackburn Challenge, rowing 20 miles of open ocean around Massachusetts’ Cape Ann.

Each time, I swore I’d never do that to myself again. Inevitably, I do. Probably because I always end the day with a twisted, satisfied smile, and an unmatched sense of exhilaration. That’s what these “everyday epics” can do to people. Which is why you should try one.

Every weekend warrior dreams of a moment in the sun, of overcoming overwhelming obstacles. Whether your personal affliction is paddling, pedaling or running, there are events that will lay bare your fitness, your resolve, even your joie de vivre.

Laura Lavoie of Boulder, Colorado, was a competitive trail runner and mountain bike racer and a veteran of seven off-road marathons when two ruptured discs forced her to undergo spinal fusion surgery. Undaunted, Lavoie’s rehab pointed her to the infamous Leadville 100, a punishing off-road mountain bike race that starts at 10,000 feet, and climbs above 13,000. In the thin air of Colorado’s Rocky Mountains, Lavoie found a renewed focus.

“A few people really wanted to win it, but for the most part, everyone was out there saying ‘We’re going to do this for ourselves,’” says Lavoie, now 38. “For me, it was very much a proving point to say, ‘I can come back and I can do this.’ I don’t have to do it in a way that measures me against anybody else. It just measures me against me, and where I want to be.”

Though often disparaged, the “no pain, no gain” adage has merit. There’s something compelling about putting your body and spirit to the test, to see what their limits might be, and that typically invites suffering. But there’s also the undeniable endorphin rush of taxing your limbs—and surviving intact. The subsequent sense of achievement can be both sublime and spectacular. And addicting.

“These are iconic events,” says 34-year-old Nathan Rafferty, president of SkiUtah and a veteran of Mount Washington and the Leadville 100.

"It’s you against the course, and it’s the same course every year. It’s something you can go back and measure yourself against,” agrees Boston lawyer and cyclist Thomas Durkin. "I always wanted to run a marathon, but couldn’t, and I thought climbing Mount Washington would be the next most miserable thing,” he laughs. “This is a challenge, and for an aging athlete, those get fewer and fewer.”

That explains why almost two-thirds of the Mount Washington field is 40 or older. Durkin, 45 and a father of three boys, had hiked Mount Washington, and even skied the peak’s legendary Tuckerman Ravine. But the Hillclimb presented a unique trial. “Nobody’s getting any gold medals,” he says. “The goal is really to go home and have your kids say, ‘Dad, you kicked tail. While your pals just played 18 holes of golf, you biked up Mount Washington.’”

Need more reasons to try one of these epic events? First, most have a good-cause “beneficiary,” such as the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation for the annual American Birkebeiner cross-country ski marathon in Wisconsin. So there’s the consolation of knowing you’re helping others while you battle fatigue and leg cramps. Second is adventure. Many events are held in spectacular settings, from Vermont’s foliage-dappled hillsides to northern California’s Muir Woods, site of America’s oldest cross-country running race, the Dipsea.

There can also be the “guilty pleasure” draw, racing on trails or terrain that are normally off-limits. The Mount Washington Auto Road, for example, is only open to cyclists on race day in August (and a single practice run in July). Plus, you’ll meet hundreds of new friends who share your particular lunacy.

Finally, these events provide that all-too-elusive element for middle-age athletes: motivation. “They give you a goal for the season,” says Rafferty. “Every time you hop on your bike, you’re thinking, ‘I’d better push myself 10 percent harder, because I know Mount Washington is coming down the pike.’”

Dr. Penny Beach knows. A family physician in Boise, Idaho, the 40-year-old Beach targeted the Race to Robie Creek half-marathon when she decided to return to running. “I’ve never been a couch potato, but I was in less-than-ideal shape after I had my second child” she says. “Having an event as a goal definitely makes it much easier to train.” Not surprisingly, Beach strongly advocates pre-regimen physicals, heart-rate monitors and training partners for anyone looking to resume a more active lifestyle.

Ultimately, it’s all about having fun, and a chance to learn something about ourselves. That’s why I’m going back to Mount Washington this summer.

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Pack it up ...

One of the best things about being a writer covering the "great outdoors" and "lifetime sports" is that I'm constantly learning about new gear and new pursuits. I recently did a fun story on packrafts for Men's Fitness magazine. The published version can be found here. Below is the unabridged version.

Whitewater rafting, solo-style

The packraft is so elegant, so versatile – so damn useful! – it's puzzling that it hasn't taken off sooner. It is, in essence, is a white-water raft built for one. Lightweight, nimble, rugged and portable, the go-anywhere do-everything packraft is "the whitewater equivalent to the mountain bike," says Roman Dial.

"It's so simple, so stable and forgiving," says Dial, a professor at Alaska Pacific University who literally wrote the book on packrafting (see sidebar). "It really put the joy back into boating. There's this big group of people who just want to paddle their own boat, and they want to do something new and fun."

The concept, like so many adventure-related brainstorms, has its roots in the wilds of Alaska. Dial has been packrafting since the early 1980s, when he and his friends ran adventure races between villages. They needed to cross water, but canoes and kayaks were too unwieldy. They first made due with earlier models such as World War II surplus emergency rafts once used by fighter pilots, and then superior but short-lived boats produced by American Safety, which was absorbed by Sherpa Snowshoes. When Sherpa stopped producing their rafts, Dial and his cronies "nursed our Sherpas along for about 10 years."

Then, a decade ago, a college student, Thor Tingey, went for a post-graduate jaunt across the Brooks Range in Alaska. His inferior raft got shredded. Thor's mom, Sheri, a former river runner and gear manufacturer, knew she could build something better. Drawing on the expertise of other rafters, she did, and the modern-day packraft was born. "All these earlier boats were designed to float on a lake, not run a river," said Sheri Tingey. "But if you want to make the backcountry accessible, you've got to be able to run rivers."

Tingey's Alpacka packrafts are now the industry standard. These boats are equally at home on the lake as the river, and can handle whitewater ranging up to Class IV and beyond in the hands of a skilled paddler. They boast dual air chambers encased by a tough-as-nails polyurethane-coated nylon covering, an upturned bow and, for rough water, a spray deck. Best of all, they weigh less than many backpacks. While researching her design, Tingey said paddlers insisted on two things. "Everyone said, 'I don't care what I have to spend, I just don't want to fix another tear.' And they said they didn't mind carrying five pounds, but they didn't want to carry much more than that."

"I absolutely agree with that. I'm the ounce-Nazi here. I keep chopping stuff off," she says. "At the same time, you can't sacrifice the integrity or the sturdiness that you've built in. People are really counting on those boats to get them down the river and get them home."

The result is a hand-made, easy-to-use solo raft that can withstand the rigors of whitewater without creating a burden on your shoulders. "One of these little Alpackas, you can actually fold up, put it into a fanny pack and wear it on your waist," says Dial, who is not affiliated with the company. Even with a paddle, throw rope, wet suit (or dry suit), a personal flotation device and helmet, the total weight penalty is still minimal. "If you're set up to run Class III whitewater, in cold water like Alaska or springtime in New England, all your stuff will weigh between 15 and 20 pounds," says Dial. "That's everything, and it's still less than the lightest inflatable kayak, which goes about 17 pounds."

Though Alpackas are pricey, at a shade under $800 (plus $200 for a spray deck), Tingey says she had no choice if she were to produce a truly lightweight, durable craft. "My goal was to build a $300 packraft, but there was no way," she says. "There's no difference between a $300 boat and a $69.95 Wal-Mart special. When you look at cheap boats, sometimes the fabric tears, but a lot of times the seams just fall apart."

The packraft is as utilitarian as it is convenient, allowing paddlers to get deeper into the woods, while carrying a bevy of gear for extra outdoor pursuits. In the winter, that could be skis, snowshoes, or ice climbing gear. In the summer, think rock climbing, camping, bouldering, mountain biking, even fishing (a favorite is a Japanese method of fly-fishing called "tenkara," which employs a rod but no reel).

"I see packrafting as a wilderness travel opportunity to get me off of my feet," says Ryan Jordan, CEO of Backpacking Light in Montana. "A group of friends and I completed a 100-plus-mile traverse of the Bob Marshall Wilderness this summer by foot and packraft. By the time we are at Mile 50, we'd only walked eight miles – we packrafted the rest – so by the time we started the mountaineering portion of our trek, we were acclimated, fit, and had light packs from the food weight we lost. And, we felt like we were starting the hardest, and remotest, part of the trek on fresh feet."

Though few outfitters offer packraft trips at the moment, these craft are on their radar. "I bet you, within five to 10 years, you'll see more and more trips with one guide, and two or three little ducklings coming along behind them," Dial says "Instead of piling a bunch of people into a big boat who need to go down a Class III or Class IV river to feel some excitement, outfitters can put customers in their own boats, send them down Class II, and they'll be in control of their own boats, and they're going to be having the time of their life, because they're running whitewater on their own."

SIDEBARS

Choice Raft: The Alpacka "Alpaca" – Light, durable, and responsive in turbulent whitewater ($790; four pounds, six ounces; alpackaraft.com).

Choice Paddle: The Sawyer Packraft Paddle – Adjustable, light, reliable, and packable ($270; 29 ounces).

Top Destinations: Remote – The Thorofare River, Bridger-Teton Wilderness, Wyoming. Urban – The Deerfield River, Massachusetts (near the Boston-New York-DC Metropolitan Belt) Fly-fishing – The South Fork Flathead River, Bob Marshall Wilderness, Montana. Rock-climbing – The New River Gorge, West Virginia. Multi-day – The Brooks Range, Alaska.

The Bible: "Packrafting! An Introduction & How-To Guide," by Roman Dial.

Learn more: Bozeman-based Backpacking Light, founded by Ryan Jordan, offers packraft classes for beginning and advanced paddlers alike. The company also sell Dial's book. Further both Jordan and Dial pen extensive blogs on the topic, Simplifatico (ryanjordan.com) and The Roaming Dials (packrafting.blogspot.com), respectively.

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