2019 NIAR, PART FOUR
Our transition was not fast. The weather was perfect – warm and sunny, a light breeze. I took a swim. We all had ice cream from the nearby store. There was a fair amount of dilly-dallying. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to do another trek. This one was only 25K, but we knew it started with a thousand-meter climb and ended with the same amount in drop – likely even steeper than the downhill that nearly ended our race before the whitewater rafting. We were extremely worried about how Kit’s feet would hold up, and so we vowed to take it as easy as necessary. Eventually, we stumbled out of TA, down a road, and through someone’s backyard into a thick patch of ferns that we cut through to reach a marked trail leading steeply uphill.
Kit and Kate took off. They were flying uphill and while Evan hung onto their tails, I had trouble keeping up. I was surprised at the pace, but apparently their foot pain did not occur on uphills. After working our way along forested switchbacks, we arrived above treeline and into a rocky escarpment that eventually tabled out into another beautiful alpine highland. We stopped briefly to refill water at an idyllic mountain pond. Spirits were very high. Then Evan spotted a dark cloud in the distance. We convinced ourselves it would blow over and continued up to a river crossing. We probably should have dipped down the 50-meter decline to a passable portion of the river, but we instead decided we didn’t want to lose elevation, and so followed the river around a bend, and then another, and then another, getting dragged out of our optimal line because the river looked too fast, deep, and generally scary to cross. Finally, we found a place we could ford, but by this time, the sky had darkened and it was very clear it was about to pour. We made it to a dirt road and began hustling down it looking for some cover as the lightning started. Just in time, we found a culvert big enough to fit the four of us, and we crawled in. Cold from not having time to don rain gear, we got out the bothy bag and had some snacks. It was warm and cozy and with no place to go, naturally, we got drowsy. Between the 15 second of Kit asking me a question and me responding, Kate and Evan were out. Then Kit and I agreed that we should stay awake because we couldn’t all sleep, and within the next 10 seconds, both of us were snoozing. We were only out for about a minute, but it felt heavenly. Since you’re not supposed to feel that way in an adventure race, I had a mini-panic and woke up with a start. I took a look through our window and it appeared the rain had stopped, so I roused everyone, we layered up and headed back out into the twilight.
The next 10K or so was all on a dirt road, punctuated by a couple of stream and snowfield crossings. Then we reached an icy lake and we left the trail in favor of a horrendous scree field, where we must have been moving less than one kilometer per hour. The CP was now a short distance away, at the top of a ridge past the scree field, but it felt like it took us forever to get there. The clue was mountain hut and we couldn’t believe that someone could actually build a hut on the top of the shaky talus we were crossing, but sure enough, once we got to the ridge, there it was, a cute little hut that was just a bit too inviting. Given it was 12:30 a.m., and that a scary descent lay just 5K ahead, Cliff made the suggestion that perhaps we sleep an hour or two in the hut to wait for more light. The suggestion was quickly accepted and we made our way inside the hut, to our great surprise finding it contained a number of creature comforts, including padded benches, a candle, and a cozy feel that made our choice seem all the wiser. We got to sleep around 1 a.m., after having some food and taking a close look at the maps so we could make a plan for the morning. We knew we had to be done with the following packraft stage by 3 p.m., and our calculations put us in without a problem so long as we moved at a decent pace once we woke up.
We bedded down and had an unexpected great couple of hours of sleep. We woke up at 3:45 and a little before 4 a.m., I poked my head out of the door of the hut to see how the light was. To my great surprise, I saw a human figure approaching the hut. Before I could get too freaked out that there was someone outside the hut at 4 a.m., I recognized the figure: It was Calle! A moment later, ARWS Safety Lead Brad and race volunteer Vanilla popped up onto the ridge, and we got the skinny: the fixed ropes on the descent had been removed and we needed to get a ride down to the end of the stage. And actually, the packrafting stage had also been canceled due to a disgruntled landlord issue, so we were to be ferried forward to TA 10. We all wanted to know: did this mean we were unofficial? We wanted to continue officially if at all possible. We were assured that we were still official, but likely to be put on a short course once we arrived at TA 10. A bit disappointed at turning around but knowing we had done our best, we retreated back down the heinous scree field then hiked out on the road back to the two waiting vans, which we boarded for a sleepy ride down the mountain and to the TA.
We arrived in the TA, which was a parking lot to a local trails system, worried about the gloomy, overcast morning sky and the threat of a downpour. But as we built up our bikes once again, the rain never came and we were able to make a decently fast transition. The 53-kilometer stage ahead looked straightforward, with just climb of what looked like 1,000 meters of altitude gain and then a fun 30K downhill cruise. The climb started not far out of the TA, beginning gradually and taking us past something we hadn’t experienced before – busy tourist traps featuring a lot of trolls. The road was narrow but there were a lot of cars, motorcycles and tourist buses cruising by at very high speeds, and it became increasingly nerve-wracking to ride on the minimal shoulder in our overtired state, with death buzzing by us just inches away. Eventually, the climb steepened and the delta in speeds between us and the passing vehicles increased to a level all of us wanted to avoid. So we made the choice of taking a hiking trail up the gut of the steepest part of the climb. The trail was beautiful but extremely steep, and we made very slow progress. After 300 or so meters of climbing, we popped out to a view of the road we were on and its stone foundations. An informational sign on the trail told us the road was built by hand. Motorized vehicle traffic was intense going through the switchbacks, and further up the pass, there were traffic cops positioned in tight areas that seemed to be prioritizing the big tour buses. We were relieved not to be on the road, but also knew it was probably costing us time. Further up the trail, it got really vertical and we had to shoulder our bikes for 100 or so meters. At one point, the trail got right up next to a 50-foot drop into a cauldron of a giant waterfall, and the whooshing rush of air and water nearby definitely got my nerves tingling. After that, we hit a set of stairs with an iron chain railing drilled into the rock, and took those up to the intersection with the road. We regrouped for a moment, then continued our climb on bikes, where the riding quality had improved, as the cars were going slower. Near the top, we had to stop for a few minutes per the directions of a traffic cop, as we waited for a tour bus to clear a tight squeeze. It was weird being stuck in a traffic jam in the middle of an adventure race – especially one where we hadn’t seen many people for four or so days.
With one last push, we made it to the top of the pass and turned into the parking lot of the visitors center. We parked our bikes by a bench and Kit started screaming. Her wife, Ashley, came running up and the two had a big hug. We obviously had no idea she was going to be waiting for us at the top, but we did know she had arrived recently in Norway and was going to find us somewhere on course. This was a great place for it. We walked out to the viewpoint and found the CP, took some pictures, then went into the visitors’ center for a bite to eat and a fun catch-up. We got some delicious (if expensive food) and as we were eating, it finally started pouring rain own – perfect timing! We took ourselves out of rush mode and actually started to chew our food a bit, and enjoyed the company of a clean, happy, non-sleep deprived person (also, Ashley is amazing, so that made it even better).
After about an hour’s stop, we continued down the road, bundled up expecting a long descent in the rain. Instead, the sun popped through the clouds, and not far down the road, we discovered we had another 100 or so meters of climbing, and we all started overheating until we pulled over and de-layered. Of course, not long afterward, we hit the downhill and had to stop again to re-layer. But it was worth it – the downhill was never-ending at the perfect angle to go fast but not have to use our brakes. We made great time, passing the place where the via ferrata would have been (they had closed that portion of the course, so we missed out), and around 15 kilometers of some wonderful-smelling strawberry fields (the region is famous for its strawberries). We cruised into the picturesque town of Valldalen and found the TA in a parking lot after a quick search.
We were supposed to get our short course maps here that would have guided us by bike to Alesund. However, when we pulled in, there were two NIAR-branded vans in the lot, and Marika and Otto, along with race photographer Kirsten Oliver, were waiting for us with sneaky smiles on their faces.
“We heard you guys wanted to paddle,” Marika said. “So…Do you want to go for a packraft?”
A big reason we had come to Norway was to paddle the famous fjords. We were all pretty excited about adding a third discipline to our race, even if it meant another night on the course. As an added bonus, we wouldn’t have to pay for an extra night at the hotel at the finish. Even better, it was a perfectly beautiful day with barely a breath of wind.
After putting away our bikes, Kit and Kate needed a snooze, so they put out their sleeping pads and got to it while Evan and I blew up the packrafts. We were in no particular rush, since we just had the 20K packraft and then an 80K bike to the finish, and we had until 6 p.m. the next day to do it. So we took our time, did a couple of longer video interviews, and got some food at the local South African restaurant – yes, there was a South African restaurant in the middle of rural Norway. Weird, I know.
A little after 3 p.m., as Evan and I were chatting away with Marika, Otto and Ashley, out of nowhere, a powerful gust of wind swept down the fjord and anything not weighed down began tumbling away through the parking lot. Evan and I scrambled to collect our stuff, cursing under our breath at our bad luck. We woke up Kate and Kit and after they got in their wetsuits/warm gear, we launched our boats into the harbor and aimed our bows down the fjord, struggling into the stiff breeze and whitecaps. Kirsten snapped some great photos of us making our way around a point of land and then we had a good solid couple of hours of paddling, making slow but steady progress.
And then, once again, the stage got unexpectedly tougher. The Kokopelli Twain I was in with Kit started deflating, and our inflatable seats unwedged themselves and began moving around. At first, Kit and I were laughing hysterically at how we were sliding all over the boat. We began screaming and laughing at the absolute silliness of the situation. We had been asking -begging - for a paddle since day one of the race and now, on day six, finally paddling, all we wanted to do was get out of the boat.
Then we started tracking our progress along the shoreline. And we were going nowhere. It took us about 20 minutes to get around a ferry that was pouring out a heavy backwash from its engines. Our boat was bending in the middle, allowing water to come in over the gunwales and creating a bathtub-like situation. That slowed us down even further. We got very frustrated. And I started yelling at Kate to slow down, to figure out how to help us. I must admit, it was not my finest hour.
Kate was patient with me, and in their Alpacka Gnu, Evan and Kate looked good and were paddling well, so they agreed to tow us to the nearest landing spot so we could fix our boat. We spent another 45 minutes paddling into the heaviest wind of the day, we got to a salmon farm and grabbed at the steel rig of the farm to secure our progress and not get blown backwards. Kit and I climbed out of the Kokopelli and hauled it up a ladder with us onto the farm’s platform. We drained and reinflated the boat, strapped our seats back into place and made sure to secure them, and climbed back in.
The difference was remarkable. We started moving at easily triple our previous pace. Not more than 30 minutes later, we arrived at another point of land where the NIAR crew and Ashley were waiting to greet us. Kate stopped to pee and we all had a snack and a chat. Life was much improved. We continued on into evening, realizing with more and more certainty that we would probably not make the last ferry ride across the fjord from TA 11, which we were allowed to take if we made it on time. We got to the TA right at 11 p.m. and watched the ferry sail off into the fading light as we went over to the NIAR van and checked in. We were offered hot chocolate and drained it quickly with hopes of returning to the boats as quickly as possible to get the last three kilometers of paddling done before it got too late.
Returning to the boats, it was twilight out, and the wind had finally died down. We then made very quick work of the paddle back across the fjord to the makeshift TA at the ferry station, where Otto, Marika, Kirsten and Ashley greeted us with friendly applause.
“We have a special surprise for you!” Marika said.
“What is it?” Kit asked. We were all ravenous and could have definitely gone for some of that famous Norwegian salmon, or at least some hot pizzas.
“Hot chocolate!” Marika responded.
We looked at each other, unsure how to respond. We were all slightly crestfallen. Finally, Evan answered.
“We, uh, already got some at the other TA,” he said. Marika looked as sad as we felt, seeing how her surprise had failed to bring us too much excitement. “But we’ll take more!” he continued, off the cuff, hoping to make her feel better.
We struggled a bit with this TA, as our bikes had at this point been taken apart and put back together so many times that their pieces weren’t sliding into place so easily anymore. In addition, we needed sleeping gear for the overnight but we wanted to travel as light as possible in the morning during our long-ish bike ride to Alesund. Making all of this more complicated was that our brains had turned to wet, useless mush. Knowing we wouldn’t have to deal with our bike boxes again until after the race, we threw all our extra stuff in them unceremoniously and waved goodbye to the relieved NIAR crew, who were at last able to retire and get some sleep. We did the same, camping out in the ferry station’s bathroom, which conveniently had changing room big enough to sleep the five of us (Ashley stayed with us). We set our alarms for 6 a.m., thinking that would be when the first ferry passengers would arrive.
Waking up was not as hard as we expected it to be, given it was now day seven. Maybe it was the certainty that we were going to finish that day, that all that stood between us and Alesund was an 80-kilometer road bike. Maybe we had just settled into our routine; it was similar to what I felt after a month of my Appalachian Trail thru-hike in 2005, when I would wake up knowing my day’s work involved getting 20 miles done, no matter what the conditions.
We were out of the bathroom and on the road by a little after 7 a.m. and we immediately faced a huge climb up from the coast and the access road to the ferry station and onto the road to Alesund. After at least 45 minutes of climbing, we got to the top, and all my morning energy was gone. In fact, I felt like I might pass out. Kate took charge of me and divvied up some of the weight in my pack; Kit and Evan were both kind enough to take some of the mandatory gear from me. We continued on and I coasted in the back of the paceline until I felt a little better. Perhaps using his last burst of energy, Evan became a monster, eating up the miles in front, creating a whooshing vortex behind him that made it easy for us to make good time. Kit’s navigation was solid as usual, and we found ourselves clicking off kilometers much faster than we expected.
The first half of the ride was beautiful, heading through rolling hills along a pristine fjord. Making great time and in no particular hurry, we made our final gas station stop of the race, getting cheese-filled sausages and cappuccino for breakfast. We sat on the curb outside and basked for a bit in the sunshine. It felt really good knowing we were so close to the finish of this epically long race.
We got back on our bikes, definitely feeling the miles our butts had absorbed on these seats. Our legs were now taking a little while to warm back up every time we stopped, and our knees were all pretty sore as we peddled. We must have looked like a pretty ragtag, bedraggled group of riders as we pedaled through the tunnels that led into a more urban area of Alesund – I’m sure many of those commuting into town for work were wondering what type of horrors we had been through.
We ended up on a two-lane highway with a very small shoulder, and once again, we started to get uncomfortable with the speed of the traffic and its proximity to us. Fortunately, right as things were becoming a bit unbearable, we found a nice side road that was empty of cars, and as a bonus, paralleled the sound south of the peninsula. It was nice riding for a bit, until things got very urban, and we found ourselves cutting up onto sidewalks and dodging and weaving to avoid parked cars, road construction, and unaware pedestrians. We knew we were close and getting closer but we tried to keep eating and drinking as our bodies were now running like high-efficiency engines (or blenders), instantly converting into energy anything and everything we put into our bodies. Without eating anything for 10 minutes, I’d start to feel hungry; after 15, light-headed. We couldn’t wait for the hotel dinner buffet!
Working our way into downtown Alesund, we saw the big hill and the observatory where the original finish had been located. It was quite a hill, steep and foreboding. We were glad we didn’t have to climb it. We turned up one last street into a local park, saw the Red Bull arch…and failed to figure out the correct way to cross under it. Apparently – and fittingly – we had come into the park from the opposite direction they had expected racers to enter from, because most of the teams were finishing with a kayak and a short walk up the hill from the harbor.
We did a big circle around and slowly neared the finish line. Ashley and RD Micke were there, along with a handful of volunteers, and they cheered us on. Pictures show us encountering a small boy at the finish, but I don’t remember him at all. I do remember putting our bikes down, enjoying a long team embrace, sitting down under a tent, and getting handed blankets and fed delicious lentil soup.
It felt pretty darn good to be done.
Kit and Kate took off. They were flying uphill and while Evan hung onto their tails, I had trouble keeping up. I was surprised at the pace, but apparently their foot pain did not occur on uphills. After working our way along forested switchbacks, we arrived above treeline and into a rocky escarpment that eventually tabled out into another beautiful alpine highland. We stopped briefly to refill water at an idyllic mountain pond. Spirits were very high. Then Evan spotted a dark cloud in the distance. We convinced ourselves it would blow over and continued up to a river crossing. We probably should have dipped down the 50-meter decline to a passable portion of the river, but we instead decided we didn’t want to lose elevation, and so followed the river around a bend, and then another, and then another, getting dragged out of our optimal line because the river looked too fast, deep, and generally scary to cross. Finally, we found a place we could ford, but by this time, the sky had darkened and it was very clear it was about to pour. We made it to a dirt road and began hustling down it looking for some cover as the lightning started. Just in time, we found a culvert big enough to fit the four of us, and we crawled in. Cold from not having time to don rain gear, we got out the bothy bag and had some snacks. It was warm and cozy and with no place to go, naturally, we got drowsy. Between the 15 second of Kit asking me a question and me responding, Kate and Evan were out. Then Kit and I agreed that we should stay awake because we couldn’t all sleep, and within the next 10 seconds, both of us were snoozing. We were only out for about a minute, but it felt heavenly. Since you’re not supposed to feel that way in an adventure race, I had a mini-panic and woke up with a start. I took a look through our window and it appeared the rain had stopped, so I roused everyone, we layered up and headed back out into the twilight.
The next 10K or so was all on a dirt road, punctuated by a couple of stream and snowfield crossings. Then we reached an icy lake and we left the trail in favor of a horrendous scree field, where we must have been moving less than one kilometer per hour. The CP was now a short distance away, at the top of a ridge past the scree field, but it felt like it took us forever to get there. The clue was mountain hut and we couldn’t believe that someone could actually build a hut on the top of the shaky talus we were crossing, but sure enough, once we got to the ridge, there it was, a cute little hut that was just a bit too inviting. Given it was 12:30 a.m., and that a scary descent lay just 5K ahead, Cliff made the suggestion that perhaps we sleep an hour or two in the hut to wait for more light. The suggestion was quickly accepted and we made our way inside the hut, to our great surprise finding it contained a number of creature comforts, including padded benches, a candle, and a cozy feel that made our choice seem all the wiser. We got to sleep around 1 a.m., after having some food and taking a close look at the maps so we could make a plan for the morning. We knew we had to be done with the following packraft stage by 3 p.m., and our calculations put us in without a problem so long as we moved at a decent pace once we woke up.
We bedded down and had an unexpected great couple of hours of sleep. We woke up at 3:45 and a little before 4 a.m., I poked my head out of the door of the hut to see how the light was. To my great surprise, I saw a human figure approaching the hut. Before I could get too freaked out that there was someone outside the hut at 4 a.m., I recognized the figure: It was Calle! A moment later, ARWS Safety Lead Brad and race volunteer Vanilla popped up onto the ridge, and we got the skinny: the fixed ropes on the descent had been removed and we needed to get a ride down to the end of the stage. And actually, the packrafting stage had also been canceled due to a disgruntled landlord issue, so we were to be ferried forward to TA 10. We all wanted to know: did this mean we were unofficial? We wanted to continue officially if at all possible. We were assured that we were still official, but likely to be put on a short course once we arrived at TA 10. A bit disappointed at turning around but knowing we had done our best, we retreated back down the heinous scree field then hiked out on the road back to the two waiting vans, which we boarded for a sleepy ride down the mountain and to the TA.
We arrived in the TA, which was a parking lot to a local trails system, worried about the gloomy, overcast morning sky and the threat of a downpour. But as we built up our bikes once again, the rain never came and we were able to make a decently fast transition. The 53-kilometer stage ahead looked straightforward, with just climb of what looked like 1,000 meters of altitude gain and then a fun 30K downhill cruise. The climb started not far out of the TA, beginning gradually and taking us past something we hadn’t experienced before – busy tourist traps featuring a lot of trolls. The road was narrow but there were a lot of cars, motorcycles and tourist buses cruising by at very high speeds, and it became increasingly nerve-wracking to ride on the minimal shoulder in our overtired state, with death buzzing by us just inches away. Eventually, the climb steepened and the delta in speeds between us and the passing vehicles increased to a level all of us wanted to avoid. So we made the choice of taking a hiking trail up the gut of the steepest part of the climb. The trail was beautiful but extremely steep, and we made very slow progress. After 300 or so meters of climbing, we popped out to a view of the road we were on and its stone foundations. An informational sign on the trail told us the road was built by hand. Motorized vehicle traffic was intense going through the switchbacks, and further up the pass, there were traffic cops positioned in tight areas that seemed to be prioritizing the big tour buses. We were relieved not to be on the road, but also knew it was probably costing us time. Further up the trail, it got really vertical and we had to shoulder our bikes for 100 or so meters. At one point, the trail got right up next to a 50-foot drop into a cauldron of a giant waterfall, and the whooshing rush of air and water nearby definitely got my nerves tingling. After that, we hit a set of stairs with an iron chain railing drilled into the rock, and took those up to the intersection with the road. We regrouped for a moment, then continued our climb on bikes, where the riding quality had improved, as the cars were going slower. Near the top, we had to stop for a few minutes per the directions of a traffic cop, as we waited for a tour bus to clear a tight squeeze. It was weird being stuck in a traffic jam in the middle of an adventure race – especially one where we hadn’t seen many people for four or so days.
With one last push, we made it to the top of the pass and turned into the parking lot of the visitors center. We parked our bikes by a bench and Kit started screaming. Her wife, Ashley, came running up and the two had a big hug. We obviously had no idea she was going to be waiting for us at the top, but we did know she had arrived recently in Norway and was going to find us somewhere on course. This was a great place for it. We walked out to the viewpoint and found the CP, took some pictures, then went into the visitors’ center for a bite to eat and a fun catch-up. We got some delicious (if expensive food) and as we were eating, it finally started pouring rain own – perfect timing! We took ourselves out of rush mode and actually started to chew our food a bit, and enjoyed the company of a clean, happy, non-sleep deprived person (also, Ashley is amazing, so that made it even better).
After about an hour’s stop, we continued down the road, bundled up expecting a long descent in the rain. Instead, the sun popped through the clouds, and not far down the road, we discovered we had another 100 or so meters of climbing, and we all started overheating until we pulled over and de-layered. Of course, not long afterward, we hit the downhill and had to stop again to re-layer. But it was worth it – the downhill was never-ending at the perfect angle to go fast but not have to use our brakes. We made great time, passing the place where the via ferrata would have been (they had closed that portion of the course, so we missed out), and around 15 kilometers of some wonderful-smelling strawberry fields (the region is famous for its strawberries). We cruised into the picturesque town of Valldalen and found the TA in a parking lot after a quick search.
We were supposed to get our short course maps here that would have guided us by bike to Alesund. However, when we pulled in, there were two NIAR-branded vans in the lot, and Marika and Otto, along with race photographer Kirsten Oliver, were waiting for us with sneaky smiles on their faces.
“We heard you guys wanted to paddle,” Marika said. “So…Do you want to go for a packraft?”
A big reason we had come to Norway was to paddle the famous fjords. We were all pretty excited about adding a third discipline to our race, even if it meant another night on the course. As an added bonus, we wouldn’t have to pay for an extra night at the hotel at the finish. Even better, it was a perfectly beautiful day with barely a breath of wind.
After putting away our bikes, Kit and Kate needed a snooze, so they put out their sleeping pads and got to it while Evan and I blew up the packrafts. We were in no particular rush, since we just had the 20K packraft and then an 80K bike to the finish, and we had until 6 p.m. the next day to do it. So we took our time, did a couple of longer video interviews, and got some food at the local South African restaurant – yes, there was a South African restaurant in the middle of rural Norway. Weird, I know.
A little after 3 p.m., as Evan and I were chatting away with Marika, Otto and Ashley, out of nowhere, a powerful gust of wind swept down the fjord and anything not weighed down began tumbling away through the parking lot. Evan and I scrambled to collect our stuff, cursing under our breath at our bad luck. We woke up Kate and Kit and after they got in their wetsuits/warm gear, we launched our boats into the harbor and aimed our bows down the fjord, struggling into the stiff breeze and whitecaps. Kirsten snapped some great photos of us making our way around a point of land and then we had a good solid couple of hours of paddling, making slow but steady progress.
And then, once again, the stage got unexpectedly tougher. The Kokopelli Twain I was in with Kit started deflating, and our inflatable seats unwedged themselves and began moving around. At first, Kit and I were laughing hysterically at how we were sliding all over the boat. We began screaming and laughing at the absolute silliness of the situation. We had been asking -begging - for a paddle since day one of the race and now, on day six, finally paddling, all we wanted to do was get out of the boat.
Then we started tracking our progress along the shoreline. And we were going nowhere. It took us about 20 minutes to get around a ferry that was pouring out a heavy backwash from its engines. Our boat was bending in the middle, allowing water to come in over the gunwales and creating a bathtub-like situation. That slowed us down even further. We got very frustrated. And I started yelling at Kate to slow down, to figure out how to help us. I must admit, it was not my finest hour.
Kate was patient with me, and in their Alpacka Gnu, Evan and Kate looked good and were paddling well, so they agreed to tow us to the nearest landing spot so we could fix our boat. We spent another 45 minutes paddling into the heaviest wind of the day, we got to a salmon farm and grabbed at the steel rig of the farm to secure our progress and not get blown backwards. Kit and I climbed out of the Kokopelli and hauled it up a ladder with us onto the farm’s platform. We drained and reinflated the boat, strapped our seats back into place and made sure to secure them, and climbed back in.
The difference was remarkable. We started moving at easily triple our previous pace. Not more than 30 minutes later, we arrived at another point of land where the NIAR crew and Ashley were waiting to greet us. Kate stopped to pee and we all had a snack and a chat. Life was much improved. We continued on into evening, realizing with more and more certainty that we would probably not make the last ferry ride across the fjord from TA 11, which we were allowed to take if we made it on time. We got to the TA right at 11 p.m. and watched the ferry sail off into the fading light as we went over to the NIAR van and checked in. We were offered hot chocolate and drained it quickly with hopes of returning to the boats as quickly as possible to get the last three kilometers of paddling done before it got too late.
Returning to the boats, it was twilight out, and the wind had finally died down. We then made very quick work of the paddle back across the fjord to the makeshift TA at the ferry station, where Otto, Marika, Kirsten and Ashley greeted us with friendly applause.
“We have a special surprise for you!” Marika said.
“What is it?” Kit asked. We were all ravenous and could have definitely gone for some of that famous Norwegian salmon, or at least some hot pizzas.
“Hot chocolate!” Marika responded.
We looked at each other, unsure how to respond. We were all slightly crestfallen. Finally, Evan answered.
“We, uh, already got some at the other TA,” he said. Marika looked as sad as we felt, seeing how her surprise had failed to bring us too much excitement. “But we’ll take more!” he continued, off the cuff, hoping to make her feel better.
We struggled a bit with this TA, as our bikes had at this point been taken apart and put back together so many times that their pieces weren’t sliding into place so easily anymore. In addition, we needed sleeping gear for the overnight but we wanted to travel as light as possible in the morning during our long-ish bike ride to Alesund. Making all of this more complicated was that our brains had turned to wet, useless mush. Knowing we wouldn’t have to deal with our bike boxes again until after the race, we threw all our extra stuff in them unceremoniously and waved goodbye to the relieved NIAR crew, who were at last able to retire and get some sleep. We did the same, camping out in the ferry station’s bathroom, which conveniently had changing room big enough to sleep the five of us (Ashley stayed with us). We set our alarms for 6 a.m., thinking that would be when the first ferry passengers would arrive.
Waking up was not as hard as we expected it to be, given it was now day seven. Maybe it was the certainty that we were going to finish that day, that all that stood between us and Alesund was an 80-kilometer road bike. Maybe we had just settled into our routine; it was similar to what I felt after a month of my Appalachian Trail thru-hike in 2005, when I would wake up knowing my day’s work involved getting 20 miles done, no matter what the conditions.
We were out of the bathroom and on the road by a little after 7 a.m. and we immediately faced a huge climb up from the coast and the access road to the ferry station and onto the road to Alesund. After at least 45 minutes of climbing, we got to the top, and all my morning energy was gone. In fact, I felt like I might pass out. Kate took charge of me and divvied up some of the weight in my pack; Kit and Evan were both kind enough to take some of the mandatory gear from me. We continued on and I coasted in the back of the paceline until I felt a little better. Perhaps using his last burst of energy, Evan became a monster, eating up the miles in front, creating a whooshing vortex behind him that made it easy for us to make good time. Kit’s navigation was solid as usual, and we found ourselves clicking off kilometers much faster than we expected.
The first half of the ride was beautiful, heading through rolling hills along a pristine fjord. Making great time and in no particular hurry, we made our final gas station stop of the race, getting cheese-filled sausages and cappuccino for breakfast. We sat on the curb outside and basked for a bit in the sunshine. It felt really good knowing we were so close to the finish of this epically long race.
We got back on our bikes, definitely feeling the miles our butts had absorbed on these seats. Our legs were now taking a little while to warm back up every time we stopped, and our knees were all pretty sore as we peddled. We must have looked like a pretty ragtag, bedraggled group of riders as we pedaled through the tunnels that led into a more urban area of Alesund – I’m sure many of those commuting into town for work were wondering what type of horrors we had been through.
We ended up on a two-lane highway with a very small shoulder, and once again, we started to get uncomfortable with the speed of the traffic and its proximity to us. Fortunately, right as things were becoming a bit unbearable, we found a nice side road that was empty of cars, and as a bonus, paralleled the sound south of the peninsula. It was nice riding for a bit, until things got very urban, and we found ourselves cutting up onto sidewalks and dodging and weaving to avoid parked cars, road construction, and unaware pedestrians. We knew we were close and getting closer but we tried to keep eating and drinking as our bodies were now running like high-efficiency engines (or blenders), instantly converting into energy anything and everything we put into our bodies. Without eating anything for 10 minutes, I’d start to feel hungry; after 15, light-headed. We couldn’t wait for the hotel dinner buffet!
Working our way into downtown Alesund, we saw the big hill and the observatory where the original finish had been located. It was quite a hill, steep and foreboding. We were glad we didn’t have to climb it. We turned up one last street into a local park, saw the Red Bull arch…and failed to figure out the correct way to cross under it. Apparently – and fittingly – we had come into the park from the opposite direction they had expected racers to enter from, because most of the teams were finishing with a kayak and a short walk up the hill from the harbor.
We did a big circle around and slowly neared the finish line. Ashley and RD Micke were there, along with a handful of volunteers, and they cheered us on. Pictures show us encountering a small boy at the finish, but I don’t remember him at all. I do remember putting our bikes down, enjoying a long team embrace, sitting down under a tent, and getting handed blankets and fed delicious lentil soup.
It felt pretty darn good to be done.
CONTINUED...
