My First Adventure Race

““SEEING THE DELAWARE WATER GAP
FROM A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT ANKLE”

The Gap 24-Hour Adventure Race was held Sept. 6 and 7 in the Delaware Water Gap area of Pennsylvania and New Jersey.

This race represented several "firsts" for me:
- first adventure race of any duration
- first rappel
- first time riding with cleats
- first time riding on rocky single-track

I was a member of a team of three. Ken and Steve, my teammates, had completed about 10 races of 24 hours or more between them. Both have very good navigation skills, both are in great shape, and both were great guys to race with.


THE PRE-RACE RACE

The race, in a sense, started the night before the starter's pistol went off. The three of us had driven up together on Friday night for the 5pm-10pm check in and the 8:30pm pre-race meeting. As we neared the race starting location, we checked out the restaurants we drove past, considering our options for a good pre-race meal.

We arrived around 6:30 or 7:00, checked into the hotel, and checked in with the race staff. The race check-in involved several steps, including a check for mandatory personal and team gear, a ropes skills check, and a map skills check. All had to be completed before we could receive the maps and the race "passport," the booklet which contained the coordinates of the checkpoints and some special instructions. It became clear fairly quickly that there was to be no eating out, so we sent Ken for some take-out that we could inhale during the meeting, while Steve studied the maps and I retrieved some equipment from the hotel room.

The pre-race meeting didn't start until a little after 9:00, and didn't end until about 10 :30. We learned that the Delaware River was extremely swolen--fast, dark, angry. Course changes were being considered in light of the safety hazards the river presented.

After the meeting, we still had to change the tires on one of the bikes, and I had to spend a few minutes making sure I could get into and out of the new pedals, before we could deliver the bikes to the first transition area.

By 11:30 we had decided that our best move was to have one team member take the bikes to the River's Bend TA (transition area), nearly a two-hour round trip, while the other two studied the maps. I took the bikes and didn't get back to the hotel until close to 2:00am.

I didn't sleep well. I don't think I got more than three or four hours of sleep.

Up at 7:00. Steve was going to wear long sleeves (his trademark white shirt with all the stains on it) for the whole race, to protect from sun and poison ivy. Those are both issues for me, but I feel confident I can spot and avoid the PI, and I knew I was bringing sun block for my face, neck and arms. It was going to be mid-seventies...I opted for short sleeves. Ken was going to wear long pants...to protect from scratches, etc. while bushwhacking. I had my biking shorts on, and decided to go ahead with the nylon long pants as long as I didn't get too hot.

No time for breakfast. Had to get everything we were not carrying packed into the car, get checked out of the room, get down to the starting line check-in. Had some chips, some sports drink, some Boost. Couple of stops in the bathroom.

Near the start, we meet Steve's aunt and uncle, and Ken's girlfriend, who have come to cheer for us. Much thanks to them for being there--they stuck it out for the whole day and it was very nice having someone there pulling for us. By my watch, it was 9:00:03 when the starter's gun went off...


SO, THE HARD PART WAS OVER...

It is said that the hardest part of an AR is getting to the starting line, and after just this one experience, I can see how that might be true. Between the difficulties of finding a team, the equipment issues, training issues, injury problems, work schedules, financial issues, and family issues, it really is a challenge just to get to that point. I had significant issues in nearly all of those areas, and it really was a bit of a surprise to me that I was really there, hustling through the woods with a pack on my back, moving towards my first ever AR checkpoint.

We found CP1 at around 9:25, without any physical or navigational difficulties.


COMING SOON TO A QUADRANT NEAR YOU... "CP2: THE PHANTOM"

Finding CP2 was quite a different story. It looked very simple on the map. The maps we were looking at indicated that there was a single fire road, in a section of woods boxed in neatly by four paved roads. Hard to miss. Can't go wrong. The coordinates we had plotted indicated that at the end of the fire road, in the middle of a tear-drop turnaround, we would find CP2.

It took longer than expected to find what appeared to be the correct fire road. As we approached the end of the road, several teams were coming towards us, telling us "turn around. There is no CP down there."

Foolishly, we listened to them. This was not foolish because of who they were, or due to any doubt about their sincerity or their navigational abilities. It was foolish based purely on principle--a principle we as a team had discussed just the previous night. You trust your own Nav. You don't take anyone else's word for anything.

So we turned around. We took what was at least a 30 minute detour, trying to find a different fire road, or at least to confirm that we had found the correct one.

When we finally returned to the "correct" fire road, we found at least four other teams somewhat frantically trying to find the phantom CP. We began to speculate...to wonder...was it a manned checkpoint, or an unmanned one? If unmanned, could someone have moved it? Taken it?

Had ANYONE found it?

We scoured the woods, reviewed the maps, commiserated with other frustrated teams.....We went to the very bottom of the road, found a stream intersection that clearly confirmed we were in the right place....took a bearing and followed it at least 200 yards past the fire road, maybe 300 yards...still no CP.


DECISION TIME

Back to the end of the road, time to discuss our options. The other teams that had been searching for the CP had disappeared. We had not gotten confirmation from ANYONE that the CP was there.

So our operating theory was that either it was a manned CP and the volunteer had failed to show up, or it was an unmanned CP and someone had picked it up thinking, perhaps, that it was "litter" or an interesting souvenir, or whatever.

We made the painful decision to proceed to CP2A, where we could ask if anyone had found CP2. If so, we could pick up CP2A on our way back to CP3.

It was noon, three hours into the race, and we only had one CP to show for our efforts.

In addition to the time and frustration, our search for CP2 had cost me physically...jogging down the fire road, I had tripped on a tree branch, had fallen down, and had seriously aggravated an ankle sprain that I had thought was healed.


ON RULES AND RULINGS

Heading for CP2A, we obeyed the race rules, staying off of the road...as we bushwhacked along a steep bank, with no small discomfort to my injured ankle, we saw two other all-male teams jogging down the road, heading for CP3. We asked if they had found CP2 and they said no. We reminded them of the rule about staying off the road. They didn't seem too concerned about it.

We eventually found CP2A, a bit further off the road than we expected. The volunteer there, Katie, told us that "everyone else" had found CP2. We requested permission to go back for it and she radioed the race director for a ruling.

Like three daggers, his three words came back, "That's a negative."

Just like that, we were disqualified. It was only 1:45. All that goes into planning for, preparing for, and paying for a race like this....and one lousy checkpoint not where it was supposed to be (in the unanimous opinion of everyone we talked to) and our race was officially over.

Of course, we had the option of continuing "unranked," and of course, that is what we decided to do. But naturally, that changed everything about our mindset. It took a while to get our heads together. To get back into the flow of racing, or at least "pretending" to race. But we did. We kept going....


OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS

Through corn fields, and along the edge of the Delaware, we walked and jogged to CP3, to the boats... Not too hard to find our rhythm paddling, but surprised to find "rapids" in a few places, rough water that bounced us pretty good and splashed into the canoe.

Out of the water, we trudged up the hill to the checkpoint, and were greeted by the cheering of our personal fan club--Ken's girlfriend, and Steve's aunt and uncle.


"I LIKE BIKE"

Now, it is widely understood and often stated that you should never try something in a race that you haven't done in training. But I dunno, I guess we just figured that didn't apply to us. At my teammates suggestion, I had agreed to this little bit of bucking the aforementioned conventional wisdom: We had installed a pair of pedals that I had never used, and I wore a borrowed pair of cycling shoes, 1/2 size too big, with cleats that snapped in to the pedals.

So we headed out on the bikes, glad to be moving, enjoying the beautiful day. Steve and Ken's navigation here was terrific. We didn't miss a turn; we started nailing checkpoints the way we had planned to nail checkpoints...

At 5:00, we hit a CP covered by "Tex" (can't remember her name, the volunteer with the cowboy hat) and I announced that I had come to a couple of realizations. First, that there were 8 hours gone and 16 hours to go, and second, that I had already spent at least 90% of the physical reserves I had available to spend....

Scary thoughts….

After that, we did a lot of single-track riding. I guess that is what it is called--I had never done it before. Lots of rocks. Big ones. Riding my hard-tail, it was like somebody had a rubber mallet and they were (forgive me) trying desperately to reshape my tailbone. For six hours. Or was it two hours, I don't know, but it was long enough.

And, I was still struggling with the procedure of getting my shoes clipped in and out of the pedals. Not getting them in when I wanted to was frustrating. Not getting them out when I wanted to was frightening.

So I would struggle up a rocky incline, then barrel down the other side, completely out of control, locked into the pedals, scared to death, just waiting to be thrown mercilessly to the ground where I would be a puddle of blood, sweat, and broken bones.
A few stretches of hike-a-bike were a challenge. With my whole body so tired, and with cycling shoes on that weren't designed primarily for hiking on wet rocks, it was hard to walk without falling. I didn't fall, but I almost did--and of course, it was the same injured left ankle that took quite a whack and a scrape on the right ankle-bone.

Nearing the end of the single track, with my whole body exhausted from the tension, and the bouncing and bumping, I came to a sudden (unplanned) stop, front wheel against a large rock with not enough momentum to carry me over it, and I started to fall to the side. Yanking my right foot out of the pedal, I had a sudden severe pain in my right quadricep. A cramp. Totally seized up. And very painful.

So this is how my day ends, I thought. I can't keep riding. I can't even bend or unbend my knee without another spasmic cramp setting in. I stood there, trying to work it out.

Bend. (Pain.) Unbend. (Pain.) Repeat.

After a minute or two, I climbed back on the bike, got clipped in, and continued down the trail... I mean, what else was I going to do?

Back on pavement, darkness was setting in. I was still moving, but feeling very wiped out, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.

After having managed to get myself off the pedals whenever necessary on the trail, it was odd to fall over twice on the paved streets, feet stuck to the pedals...quite embarrassing, but good for a laugh, nonetheless. (And also good for a good whack and a scrape on the left side of my sprained left ankle, which was by then completely mangled on both sides.)

I did come to one realization, as we rode back on dirt roads, with potholes and rocks that should have been easy to avoid: I realized my lighting system was pathetic. When Ken was behind me, it was like riding in the headlights of a car. When he wasn't there, I could barely see where I was going. At a minimum, I should have stopped to install fresh batteries. Not doing so was a clear case of a fatigued brain not making the right decisions.

We did, of course, make it back to the River's Bend TA in one piece, and although it had taken a lot longer than I expected, we must have turned in a pretty good bike leg--not a single team had passed us on the bike. Though we were competing "unranked," we maintained our position in 11th place.

A little treat at the River's Bend TA--a slice of pizza for each racer.

We dropped the bikes, and headed for the canoes. None of us was wild about the idea of getting in a boat in the dark, on the rain-swollen Delaware River...but at 11pm, we chose our boat, clipped in our packs, and shoved off.

It was a full moon, or nearly so, and once on the river, visibility was pretty good.
With three paddlers/six blades churning in the darkness, it was perhaps inevitable that there would be a lot of splashing. The temp was probably around 50, and we were all getting wet and cold. Ken, in particular, was very cold, shivering, and we knew we had a problem—potential hypothermia. Ken put his rain shell on, and was still cold. We decided to stop at Smithfield Beach to get out and stretch a little, make sure we had the right clothes on, etc. After landing, I realized there were bathrooms which might be unlocked and warm, and furthermore, there might be hot-air hand-dryers there. Bingo! We spend 15 minutes trying to get warmer and dryer before getting back in the boat.

Up ahead we saw what looked like smoke, but as we approached we realized it was fog. The fog got more and more dense but was never a real problem for us, as we now know it was for others who came behind us.

All in all, it was a 14-mile paddle. At 1:15am we got out of the boat a little past the Route 80 "underpass."

The next challenge was finding the rappel. We got some instructions; basically it was up an unmarked or barely marked trail, hard to find in the daylight, much harder to find in the darkness, esp. when you are physically spent. We did a lot better than some other teams here, thanks to Ken and Steve. The steep hillside was extremely hard on my ankle and I didn't have the strength to do a lot of hillside exploring at that point.


DOUBTING YOUR EYES AND CROSSING YOUR TREES

So we arrived at the rappel site...at, I don't know, maybe 3:00 a.m. I had never rappelled before, and this was a 250 foot plunge into the darkness. I did have some butterflies, a brief moment of doubt, then I backed over the edge and down I went.

On the way down, I turned to look at what was below me, and it was too much to take...it was a LONG way down...and I decided all I really needed to see was the rock right in front of me.

Near the bottom, I was instructed to move to the right. This was difficult to do because I was fighting the natural direction of the rope, and more difficult because I needed to get past a tree that projected from the hillside, and I had already descended to its level, making it a challenge to get up and over it.

As I was making my way over to that tree, there was a crashing sound above me, the sound of large branches falling, and I knew what to do..."TREE! TREE" I yelled as a warning to those below... I hadn't knocked it loose, but apparently my rope had. If I hadn't been moving to the right, I might have been directly below the falling tree.


ANOTHER ROUTE ROPE-A-DOPE

Back on semi-solid ground, we stowed the climbing gear back in the packs, in preparation for climbing back to the top of the hill, and listened to the banter of the rope staff. Some team had failed to find their way up the hill, and was headed DOWN the hill to find a different route altogether. Shame, I thought, feeling bad for them and wondering what it was that made them turn around at this point in the race.

So we got our instructions..."just follow the rock wall..." There was a rope, we knew, to assist the timid and the weak (um...that would be me) with one little rock scramble, but the expectation of race management was that most of the racers would not need the rope. We followed the rock wall to a point not really very far from the bottom of the rappel, where there was a logjam of racers trying to figure out how to accomplish a major rock climb, with no rope in sight.

Had the rope been removed, or never installed? Or, were we in the wrong place? Or, were we just supposed to be able to do this climb with no rope?

Steve made the decision for our team that we were NOT going to attempt that climb. We looked for alternative routes to the top. It appeared that we had followed the rock wall correctly, to a point where we either had to do that climb, or fall off a cliff.
All of this was on a fairly steep hillside with lots of loose rock. My bum ankle compounding my fatigue, it was very difficult for me to move with any speed in those conditions, so I was of little help to my team in looking for other options. Eventually we decided (as did, I think, all the other teams who were there at the time) to backtrack down the hill. Down to Route 80, then several hundred yards west to the Red Dot Trail...


WE'RE ALL JUST BLIND MICE IN SOMEONE'S MAZE
...AND I GUESS WE GAVE 'EM A PRETTY GOOD LAUGH...

Five minutes up that trail, we encountered what I think was a team of four, who were still looking for the rappel--and had been looking for it for three hours. Ouch! They were looking, understandably, very frustrated. We told them what we knew and wished them luck.

A few minutes later, we realized that we were climbing the wrong trail...we didn't really want the Red Dot Trail, we wanted the Appalachian Trail. No big deal, I knew where that was, having been on that trail once a couple of years ago.

Glad to be off of the sloping rock and scree, I was finally able to move a little faster, and I was feeling pretty good.

At 5:00, we made a team decision to nap for 20 minutes, and plopped right down in the middle of the trail, rocks for pillows. At 5:25, we were up and walking again.

Shortly thereafter, we were passed by a co-ed team (who were they?) who were looking strong, which impressed me, but they were asking where the McDonalds was, which worried me. :)

Ken was struggling a bit, and Steve took his pack, wearing one pack on his back and the other on his chest for about 20 minutes. This break seemed to do Ken good.


IT JUST AIN'T THE SAME WHEN YOU’RE NOT IN THE GAME

We got to the vicinity of CP12, and thinking it was in the camping area, we walked on by without really caring to check in. We were unofficial anyway, and there were about five or six tents there...and we didn't want to disturb anyone.

It turns out CP12 wasn't in the camping area. Had we still been in the race, we would have looked and found it, but as things stood, we just kept right on walking.

When we found the trail junction for CP13, we had a team meeting to discuss what to do. The CP appeared to be somewhere down the hill, and Ken and I were concerned that the significant climb back up to the ridge might be too much. We were starting to look at the clock--though running unranked, we did want to finish before the cutoff time of 1:00 pm. Steve wanted to get the CP, but didn't want to go get it by himself, so we bypassed the hunt for CP13...

Somewhere, either at CP12 or CP13, I don't recall which it was, we missed the info about being allowed to follow the road as an alternate route, so we stayed on the trails.
Around 11:00 we arrived at the Mohican Outdoor Center, run by the Appalachian Mountain Club. It was clear from the map at that point that we had no chance of completing the course by the cut-off time. So we were ready to call it a day and accept a ride back to the River's Bend TA. We had chips and cold sodas at the Mohican, then quickly concluded we had no ride options available, and it was back into the woods...

At 12:15 we emerged onto Millbrook-Blairstown Road (???) and almost immediately were spotted by our old friend Katie, the volunteer from CP2A who had witnessed our DQ 22 hours earlier, the volunteer from the second canoe take-out who had instructed us on how to find the rappel 11 hours ago. We gratefully climbed into her jeep and rode back to the River’s Bend TA.


REFLECTING

Steve and Ken were great guys to race with, and if they'll have me, I'll gladly race with them again. Thanks, guys.

Officially, we failed to finish, and that is a little disappointing, but for me as a first-time adventure racer, I have to say that I am proud of what I accomplished. I was moving well for 27 hours. I covered a lot of miles, rode through rocks like I had never attempted before, did a major rappel, and despite the unfortunate DQ...WE DIDN'T QUIT.

So, in my mind...we did win, after all.”

“Great write up. Nice descriptions.

Fantastic effort.


Well done.


Sorry about the DQ on CP2 . . ..Any follow up on that from race organizers? Were the other teams just sh*ttin you . . .had they actually found it?


Quite an adventure (race).”

“So, did you ever figure out where CP2 was?

Great report. Glad you had a good time.”

“Good Job Fritz! Great report. At least you finished, how many teams dropped out?”

“Yes, great report. It sounds like so much fun! As long as you're a winner in your heart!! :D That's what counts.

Yeah, I would like to know too, how many groups did drop out?”

“Fritz congratulations that’s awesome.”

“Frickin great, Fritz. You da man, and congrats.”

“Thanks, everyone. It was a great experience. Can't wait to try again!

By the way, I don't think anyone found CP2 and lied to us about it. I think they just found it and quietly disappeared.

10 of 24 teams failed to finish the race. Most of those who finished missed at least one checkpoint.

Photo Page

Me”

“holy crap Fritz, that sounds SO HARD! congratulations for doing it, man. i'm sorry you guys got disqualified...”

“Oh, I should have included this info--at the pre-race meeting, they said this course was 98 miles long and included 11,000 feet of climbing (trekking and biking combined.)”

“Congratulations....great race, nobody died!

I understand the amount of grit it took to do this, especially since "officially" you were no longer in the race, you did it with style.

I too am interested about CP2, I understand the difficulty of setting one of these events up...things that seem obvious to the organizers can seem rather cryptic to those participating.

I also have one question....I helped man a check point for an event like this a few years ago, I was a safety officer...I was amazed at the number of people that arrived at the rappel station with no idea how to do it, we actually had to rig the rappel device for a couple folks before they could go over the edge....My question is, if you know you have do something as technical as repelling, why not practice it at least once? This is not meant as a criticism, just curious.

Once again, great race....I envy you.”

“I got together with a teammate three days before the race at his gym, where they had an indoor rock-climbing wall. He taught me everything I would need to know, and I practiced a litte, so I knew the basics of the technique, I just hadn't done it "for real" outdoors.

Most races have some minimum certification requirement for rapelling (as well as for some other disciplines.) In this race, we did have to demonstrate, the night before the race, that we knew how to get harnessed, clipped in, use a prussik, and rappel. This was actually down a fairly steep river bank behind the hotel where the race started and ended. So I suppose technically the ropes skills test was my first rappel and the one in the race was my second.”

“Sounds like things have improved over the last few years, much better preperation....at least you folks knew how to use the stuff.

Once again, great job.....when is the next race?????”

“I would love to see the pictures but I can't, it asks me for a password and login id.... :(”

“I'm exhausted just reading it. Good report. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Sorry Gem, I guess you just have to go through ImageExtreme.com. Once you get past their flash intro, look for the link to "The Gap" Adventure Race. (I can't remember exactly what it is called on their site but I don't think you can miss it.)”

“okay, now all of a sutton I get to it. Thanks Fritz. (still looking)”

“I think this one is Fritz...am I right?”

“looks like a lot of fun.

if I just could ride a mtn. bike. I think I would fall all over the place.”

“Wow Fritz, sounds like a great first race! Lot's of good lessons in that report, along with excellant descriptions.

Many of the probelms you describe are ones that Birch saw or had himself, in his last race. The clip in shoes and not bright enough lights on the bikes were two of the main ones. Birch finished his ride in pitch black darkness.

It's admirable that you and your team did so much of the race when you could have gone home, had a shower and a meal and rested your ankle. Good job!”

“Wow Fritz! I felt like I was there! You write very well.

Congratulations! My hat off to you. What a feeling to finish something like that. You should be very proud. I bet you feel like you can do anything now! Great job!”

“Nice job fritz! Way to stick it out with the injuries! Those clip in's are hard, until you get used to them. I used the slip-in toe clips and it cost me a broken knee. I think the best way to go is without any attachments at all, you lose power, but gain limbs.

Nice job dude, and great report!”

“Thanks again everyone for the encouraging words.

Buddha, despite my frustrations with the pedal attachments, I do still think they are the way to go, it just didn't work out well trying to learn how to ride with them during a race. I would think going with no attachment at all, not even toe cages, it would be very difficult to stay on the pedals over rough terrain, and therefore difficult to control the bike.

When is your next race?”

“Wow, great report Fritz!
Sounds like you had your share of challenges but still kept going - awesome!

I've biked in the dark after my light failed and it was scary. Also fallen over with my clipless pedals a couple of times, but I'd never give 'em up now.”

“Congratulations, Fritz, I think that what you accomplished is awesome! It sounded incredibly frustrating though, that besides all the physical endurance issues, lack of sleep and injuries, you also have to deal with a kind of complex treasure hunt where the item may or may not be where it is supposed to be. I really enjoyed your detailed and amusing report too. I think that you should work on it a little more and sell it to a magazine.”

“Great Job. Congratulations!!!”

“Fantastic! I second what everyone said, including "sell it to a magazine." I would love to do something like that, minus the parts that are beyond me, but with the challenges. I'll look at the pics when I have time for my soooooo slow computer.”

“Fritz, I finally got a chanceto read your race report. Man! What an adventure for sure. Its sucks to hear about CP2 no doubt. I spoke with some teams this wknd about some small and big probs at the race I did support at and it seems that these types of calls are fairly common and so are last minute changes and so are misplaced CP's. It all adds to the game but is hella frustrating to deal with no doubt. Great job pushing through no matter what, that takes some brass ones. GOOD JOB!”

“Wow, I missed this thread til tonight. Way to go Fritz! Man, I got exhausted reading it and you had yet to reach the starting line.”

“This is Landscaper, wannabp's other half. Awesome race, so tired just reading your account I have to take a nap. Made the Sierrapalozza[sp] seem like a cakewalk. Best of luck. jb”

“An MRI last week confirmed that I did that race last September with a piece of broken bone in my left ankle.

Not sure if the break occurred in the original injury (July/Aug) or in the fall I took in the first hour or so of this race.

It has bothered me on and off since the big race. Some days no problem at all, other days lots of pain, even pain that keeps me up at night. Tomorrow morning I will talk with the doc and see what the options are. Pretty sure they are (1) arthroscopic surgery, or (2) live with it.”

“Go with the surgery if it's possible Fritz. You're a very active person and the downtime that will be involved with surgery will be worth it in the long run (no pun intended).

Best of Luck, Fritzy!”

“Bobo's prolly right, just make sure you have a clear picture of the post surgery prognosis.

(wow a 50 cent word!)

Good luck!”

“Owwweeee!”

“Fritz, sorry to hear about the injury. Hopefully you'll find an exceptable solution.”

“OK, so there are actually two fragments...the surgery itself isn't a big deal but they want me off my feet entirely for 4 weeks minimum, preferably 6 weeks. This is so the surrounding bone areas can heal/regenerate correctly.

All totally optional. Most days I can do my activities without pain, but some days are pretty miserable. I am thinking....I'll probably do this after my last fall BP trip, whenever that is.

Bummer though. Oh well. C'est la vie.”

“That's BS Fritz.


I can do that surgery for you. Just get a copy of the Xray and I'll get a new swiss army knife.





These tpes of injuries are the things I worry about.”

“What is BS, lee?

The four weeks?

(I think I have elicited that response from you in the past, LOL, a little deja vu.)”

“Best of luck, Mr. Fritz. That sounds like a good plan to do it after your last fall backpacking trip. 4-6 weeks isn't so bad, when you think about it. It'll be well worth it in the long term, IMO.”