Quadurday

All week the weather reports have been making threatening noises about inches -- nay, feet of snow falling on these parts on Thursday or Friday, and all week long we have seen nary a flake. When we awoke on Quadurday morning in the City of Grants to about an inch of freshly fallen snow I thought we were paying for last year's fabulous conditions. Oh crap. It's the day of the Mt. Taylor Quadrathlon and we had beautiful, tropical weather for the event last year. And now - it's bloody snowing!

This year's team was only slightly different from last year. My beloved did the run, my friend Dave the ski, and I did the snowshoe, same as before. Our previous cyclist declined our kind invitation, said he had a prior engagement. Something about washing his hair? Oh yes, I will razz you!

This year we recruited a new cyclist who was intent on making us proud. We tried to tell him we are just here for fun, but I suspect his lack of Quad experience meant that he took the race much more seriously than we did.

This year I packed everything. My memory of some of the more difficult parts of last year's Quad was still pretty fresh. I remember a lot of waiting, and a lot of variable conditions. Sure it was quiet and sunny and sheltered at T2, but T3 was hellish and cold. I brought all manner of clothing layers and food and warm things to drink.

My fears were short-lived as the sun rose, the fog lifted, the snow subsided. Still, it was cold - no question about that. We got on the bus at the start line, as usual. The modes of transport for the quad are as entertaining as the race - getting to the top of the mountain is an all day adventure. The bus travels to T1 along the race course, and on our way up I surveyed the bike portion of the course: wet in town, and lots of snow on the ground starting at about the Prison. This isn't like last year. This year our State has had something like 150% of our annual normal snowpack. This year we've had all the snow and then some.

At T1, the bike-run transition area, Dave and I got off the bus and into the back of a pickup truck that took us up to T2 - not the safest form of transport, and not the warmest. I surveyed the run course as we drove - no, this is nothing like last year. The whole course is snowy.

At T2, the run-ski transition area, we disembarked and set up camp (there's only one advantage to getting up the mountain early when you're on a team, and that's staking out the good spots for hanging out). After a nice long hang-out, and a few snacks, I unpacked the things I didn't need and strapped on my snowshoes and trekked the 2 miles up the hill along the cross country ski course to T3 - the ski-snowshoe transition area.

I forgot how hard it was, those two miles. For some reason I have a blurry memory of that part from last year's quad, perhaps not knowing what I was getting into made it easier. This year it was crystal clear - a hard 2 mile uphill trek to T3 in my snowshoes, that took me over an hour. The trek to T3 is about a 1200 ft elevation gain, it is like doing the snowshoe race portion of the event twice - before actually getting to the start of the race.

I had a sick feeling in my stomach when the first of the soloists started to pass me on my way up. I saw the first, then the second place contenders glide effortlessly past me on their cross country skis, just trotting up the hill as I huffed, puffed, sweated, cursed, and gasped for air. I knew that the teams, though they started 45 minutes behind the soloists, would be breathing down the necks of these guys soon. But there I was - still making my way to the transition area. I worried that Dave would beat me to the transition.

I got to T3 soaking wet from my own effort to find winds somewhere in the 20mph range. The helpful staff of T3 told me to expect gusts of up to 45 mph on the crest - dress for wind. I immediately started shivering. I had to change my shoes - from warm hiking boots to frosty tennies with storm socks - and my fingers stopped working. I took off a layer and laid it out to evaporate some of the moisture, then re-dressed myself, then somehow took off my boots, changed orthotics and socks, and put my snowshoes back on. It took several agonizing, freezing minutes - and I watched as more soloists came in.

Any minute now...

After I finished dressing, I had only about a minute of standing with a friend who was also doing the snowshoe before I saw Dave cresting heartbreak hill and gliding in. I turned to my friend and said, I gotta go.

I took the chip, handed off my coat, and off I went - only 1 mile to the top, but it's a good one.

One more mile, and then I can go downhill. One more.

Somehow, running up the last mile on snowshoes was way more fun than slogging up to transition. Maybe it was the gel I took in at T3, maybe it was the second gel I took at the Edge Of The World, but I felt good. Gels, by the way, do not go down well in those temperatures. It seemed to take forever to choke it down, but boy did it help. I rounded the corner at the Edge of the World (where they offer shots and loud music) and started up the last climb - it's about a a 400 foot gain over 200 yards straight up to the top of Mount Taylor, which peaks at 11,301. I call that last section the Escalator of Death.

It doesn't sound like much, but it is impressively steep in person. If you don't believe me, you can do what I did, or go the hard way and do a Solo effort. Oof!

I rounded the corner at the top, crossed the timing mat and headed back down the hill. Oh yes, it is a bit windy at the top! I was overjoyed to be headed downhill. I hoofed it back to T3 and passed the chip to Dave.

By comparison with last year, we were very organized - we had no hesitation, no delays. We were all business.

I was smokin' hot when I arrived at T3, and I didn't linger for a minute at the windy, exposed transition area - I got my things and kept walking downhill, done for the day. Where it took me over an hour to go uphill, it took about 45 or so easy minutes to go down.

6 miles of snowshoeing...check!

On my way down I talked to the skiiers headed up who looked like they were well past fed up with the ski portion of the race. I came across several who opted to take off their skis and hike up heartbreak hill. Only 2 more miles and you're at the top - don't quit now!

By the time I got to T2, the conditions were slushy and muddy. It had been so warm during the day that all the new snow plus some old - had melted. So much for the crappy weather we were supposed to get - it was possibly warmer than last year. After another snack at T2, we managed to catch one of the first trucks headed down the mountain for the day. There were still people running the race, but there weren't any more headed up hill.

And that's when things got kinda surreal.

We got to T1, where my husband was waiting. He greeted us right off the bus and told us that only minutes ago, the driver of a Forest Service truck had had a heart attack or seizure or something - he was leaving the transition area to head downhill. Apparently, he was suddenly overcome and he revved the engine and lost control of the truck. He plowed through several of the bikes lined up along the road as he drove off the road and into a fence. My husband told me it was horrifying and sickening to watch.

It's truly a lucky thing that there were no athletes in the way as this happened. I haven't been able to find anything out about the driver. There was an ambulance at the scene already, so he was taken away fairly quickly.

Though many bikers had already headed down, the part of the transition area where the truck drove through were mostly women's bikes. He'd driven through the bikes numbered 3 - 30-something; and the Quad gives the first soloist bib numbers to the women athletes.

I watched as my friends came into transition fresh off their 5 mile downhill run, ready to pick up their bikes for the last 13 mile ride down hill into town - only to find that their bikes were irreparably crushed. The State police had carefully arranged the parts and wheels and carbon fiber into organized piles.

My friends were good sports. What could they do? It's not as if this is anyone's fault. Things happen - and boy was this a freak occurrence. Nobody could have predicted something like this. With athletes everywhere, it's a wonder nobody else was hurt.

The goal we had this year of making up last year's deficient 13 seconds is gone, were were about 7 minutes slower overall. Our biker had a headwind both ways; the runner encountered snow he didn't get last year, the skiier fell on the way down. On the upside, my time for the snowshoe was about a minute and a half slower on the way up, but about 2 minutes faster down - so overall, about 30 seconds faster (probably because I didn't stop for a picture). Woo hoo!

Here's a thing to consider: our super-human four person effort of 4:31 would have put us at 11th in the male soloists. The first place male soloist came in at 3:36 - almost a full hour before us - for just one guy!

In the end, we finished 1st in our age group, 2nd of the mixed pairs, 3rd of all the teams. Though we were a lot faster than any other age group teams, the first two teams overall were several minutes faster than us. We'd have to do a whole lot to make up the 44 minutes to go up the rankings. We'd probably have to recruit a new skiier, perhaps a new runner, and definitely a new snowshoer. Maybe even a new biker.

But I think we'll try again anyway.