May 2006 - Kokopelli Trail Race

Mountain Bike Racing at Its Purest

No entry fee. No prizes. No checkpoints. No outside support of any kind. This is the Kokopelli Trail Race, one of the purest mountain races that I have ever heard of. The organizer, Mike Curiak, believes strongly in self supported racing and that is what this event is all about.

The trail starts in Moab, Utah travels over the La Sal mountains, goes through the desert along the Colorado River and finishes up in Loma, Colorado, just outside of Grand Junction. For me, this race is an escape from life. Work commitments during the past six months forced me to skip the entire winter racing season and to skip a family vacation that was planned. With the work issues resolved, I knew that I needed some away time. Some people go to the beach in Mexico. I prefer Moab.

Pierre Ostor is one of only four finishers from the 2005 Kokopelli Trail Race. I teamed up with him to share in the cost of getting to the start line. In a race like this, there is no trail sweeper coming to pick you up if things go badly. You need to come up with your own emergency plan. Our emergency plan was simple: Hope that you are in cell phone range and call Cheryl, Pierre's wife, to come pick you up. Hopefully you have some clue where you are when you make the call.

We arrived in Moab mid afternoon on May 12^th. We checked into the hotel, assembled the bikes, and encountered our first problem of the race. This is not good since the race did not start yet. The pedal threads on Pierre's bike crank stripped during assembly making the bike unusable. Luckily, there are many bike shops in Moab so finding a replacement crank was pretty straight forward.

With Pierre's problem solved, now it was my turn. Every rotation of my rear wheel produced a strange clanking noise. Try as we might, we could not figure out where the noise was coming from. I decided to use a strategy that I once used with an old car that I drove. Ignore the noise and there is a good chance that it will just go away. This strategy worked about 75% of the time.

We went for dinner, slept for a couple of hours, and at 10:00pm started getting dressed for biking. Did I mention that this race starts at midnight?

Water is a major issue. There is only one guaranteed spot to get clean water and it is several miles off the course. I decided to err on the side of caution and carry enough water to last me for the entire race, 8.25 litres. That is 18 lbs. of water. I also carried enough food to last me for 27 hours, repair tools, a first aid kit, a Petzl helmet light, a compass, and a map. I own a GPS but had no reference points so I decided not to carry it. 

My strategy was simple. Finish unless your body or bike is broken. Based on last year's drop out statistics, simply finishing would place me high in the overall standings. This may sound like a very easy strategy to follow but the real meaning is not easy at all. It means that no matter how uncomfortable things get, you must continue. In events like this, things can get incredibly uncomfortable.

We arrived at the Slick Rock Trail Head in Moab at 11:00pm. I've been reading about this spot for years in various mountain biking publications. It is considered one of the best mountain biking trails on the planet. I was both excited and scared. Excited to be in Moab, scared of everything else.

Fear is normal before a race but I have not felt like this in years. Fear of climbing the mountain range in the dark. Fear of riding through the desert heat with no place to get water and no one to help in the event of a problem. Fear of getting lost and not being able to find my way to safety. Perhaps most of all, fear of failure.

I talked to Mike Curiak briefly before the start. The last ten miles of the trail were famous for not being well marked. I asked Mike if there was any trick to finding my way. "Stay to the right except for the places where you have to stay left." Very helpful.

Mike asked if Pierre and I would be travelling together. We had not discussed this at all. We looked at each other and both answered, "No." The self supported nature of this race was appealing to both of us. Intentionally travelling together would spoil that and to me seemed like cheating.

GO!

At midnight, 56 riders took off into the darkness. This is up from only 15 racers the year before. A full moon was out and it was so bright that no headlight was required on the uphill sections of the course. The air was cool but very dry. As soon as I started breathing hard, I could feel my mouth dry out. I sipped water and found a comfortable climbing rhythm. The first 13 miles of the course consisted of a 4000 foot climb so finding a comfortable pace was pretty important. Going too hard now would have very negative consequences later.

For a while I climbed with a local guy who lived just outside Denver. He told me a story about himself and his friend training on the trail two weeks prior. His friend became so dehydrated that his kidneys failed and he had to be hospitalized. The friend was not at the start line today. This only reinforced my decision to not fool around when it came to water. We rode together for a little while but eventually he dropped me and I rode through the night by myself. There were always lights ahead and behind me but not really with me.

The 4000 ft climb ended and the road immediately pointed down. I was using my medium powered light to conserve weight so it really was not adequate for fast downhill riding. I kept the brakes on and let people with the powerful lights fly by me. We descended about 2000 ft and the trail pointed up again. I shut the light off and climbed by moonlight again. 2000 more ft up. This was non-technical riding and was generally pretty easy, except for the up part.

The trail eventually turned downward again and became a bit rougher. I passed two riders standing beside the trail. I wasn't sure why they were there but they waved to me and I waved back. I found out later that one of them had a separated shoulder due to a crash. The second person, Steve Fassbinder, dropped out of the race to assist the guy. They eventually made their way to a road and got a ride.

Shortly after passing them, I began to think that I was on the wrong trail. This was a fast downhill section but no one was passing me. I also couldn't see any light ahead. I must be on the wrong trail. I turned around and started climbing back up the mountain. After about five minutes, three riders came flying down the hill. They must have wondered why I was going the wrong way. I turned around and followed but they were soon out of site. I decided to stop second guessing myself and follow my instincts from now on.

The trail became rougher and I was finding it really hard to see the deep ruts that periodically covered the trail. My wheel suddenly pulled left and I felt myself heading for the ground. First my right leg hit, then my hip, then my shoulder, and finally my head scraped along the gravel. My light went out and I laid there for a minute trying to figure out if anything was broken. When I stood up, my light came back on. Lucky. I checked myself over and found cuts on my leg and hip but nothing that needed stitches. My helmet wasn't cracked and my shoulder was sore but seemed fine. I hopped on my bike and continued on.

After only a few minutes, my right hand felt wet. I stopped to see what was going on and saw that it was totally soaked in blood. This can't be good. I used a bit of precious water to wash the blood away and found a tiny puncture wound on my baby finger. How could a cut so small bleed so much? I applied direct pressure until it stopped and continued on. I decided to put a Band-Aid on if it started bleeding again but otherwise do without. (The cut started bleeding again two days later during supper at a restaurant, weird.)

I continued down the mountain wishing that I brought my good light. I estimate that I could have gone twice as fast and been safer in the process. Daylight couldn't come fast enough, even though I knew that it would bring another problem, heat.

Dawn came and I was finally able to let go of the brakes. This is always my favourite part of the day to ride. I was having a ball. Great trail, cool air, fantastic scenery, food was still tasting good, the water situation was under control, and the bike was working flawlessly (except for the rear wheel clank which was ever present). I pedalled hard, trying to make up for some of the time I lost during the night.

By 6:00 am my sunglasses were on and I was stripped down to just shorts and a jersey. I started drinking water every ten minutes in an effort to stay hydrated. At one point I came to a high ridge and looked back at the trail behind me. I could see for miles. There was no one in view. I looked ahead and could see for miles. There was no one in view. As I snapped some photos, I realized that I had not seen another rider since 3:00am. I also came to the realization that I would likely be riding alone for the rest of the race.

 Sunrise on the Kokopelli Trail

At around 9:00am I did catch up to another rider. Actually, he was walking. The rear shock on his bike had blown up making the bike unusable. His plan was to walk to Dewey Bridge and find a ride from there.

Dewey Bridge is the only place that the race crosses the Colorado River. It is a bit of a milestone in the race because it marks the end of the mountain portion of the trail and the start of the desert. When I arrived at Dewey Bridge, it was getting really hot outside. I crossed the bridge and began climbing the single track on the other side. Shade was pretty hard to come by so when I finally came to a small tree I stopped to have a drink and put on some more sun screen. The heat seemed to radiate from the sky and from the earth both. It was unrelenting. There was almost no air movement.

I continued on, walking all steep hills. The energy expanded to climb difficult hills just didn't seem worth it. At this point I was caught by a rider from Michigan. He had been ahead of me but he stopped at Dewey Bridge for about 45 min so I guess that I must have passed him there. We were riding at pretty much the same speed so we travelled together for a while. 

Each small valley that we travelled through seemed to be completely empty of any wind. At the top of each hill there was a slight breeze which tried to evaporate every bit of sweat all at once. The cooling effect that this produced felt so good. Unfortunately, it would only last for about 10 seconds. Then the reality of the heat returned.

We rode together until a place called Cisco Takeout where we came upon a rider standing on the side of the road. When we stopped to see what he was doing, he told us that he had enough and he was calling his wife to come pick him up. We told him that the river was just down the hill. He could filter water and cool off but he wanted nothing to do with it. He said that the heat was killing him. We continued on to the river where Michigan guy wanted to stop to filter water. My water supply was still OK so I left him there and went on by myself.

About an hour after Cisco Takeout I stopped to pee. I checked the clock and realized that it had been seven hours since I last went. The urine was a deep, dark yellow, almost orange actually. This can't be good. I took a little rest, drank a lot, and tried to eat a granola bar but I was no longer producing saliva so it would not dissolve in my mouth. I chewed and chewed but the bar just sat there, almost like I had crumbled it up in my hands. I squirted some water in my mouth and this helped a bit. After about five minutes of this I managed to swallow the whole thing.

Even though I was drinking lots, it was obvious that I was badly dehydrated. I made the decision to head for Westwater Station even though it would take me a couple of miles off course. I had enough water to finish the race at my current rate of consumption. The problem was that my current rate of consumption was not nearly enough. I needed an immediate injection of about a gallon. Yes, a gallon would be perfect.

At the turn off to Westwater, two riders were there with a van. One rider's wife had come to pick them up. They were both dropping out of the race. I told them my plan to drink a gallon of water at the Station. The rider's wife offered me some of her water and when I declined, she realized that I would be disqualified if I accepted. "Oops! Sorry!" she said. That ice cold water looked so good. I double checked that I was going the right way to Westwater Station and rolled on.

Westwater Station is a small ranger station with a boat launch onto the Colorado River. The ranger station has an out door potable water spigot. I found it immediately and drank a litre on the spot. I tried to drink more but my stomach would not accept it. There was a picnic table in the shade beside the boat launch so I decided to take a break and force myself to drink two more water bottles. I sipped the water, ate a bit of food and laid my head down on the table.

I must have dosed off for a few minutes because I was startled awake by the sound of girls talking. I opened my eyes and looked out onto the river to see a raft piloted by five girls in string bikinis. If you have read any of my previous stories, you may be thinking, "Bill is hallucinating again." I thought the same thing but when they docked the raft right beside me, unloaded their coolers of beer, and talked to me, I was pretty sure that the whole event was real. Since I was now wide awake, I figured that I may as well keep going so I finished my water, refilled most of my bottles, and hit the trail again.

After about half an hour I caught up to Michigan guy. He was coming back down the trail toward me. I asked what was going on and he said that he was done. He could go no further. He leaned over the handle bars and showed me his legs. The muscles in his thighs were contracting uncontrollably. It is a sight that I have never seen before and will never forget. He was in very bad condition. I guy on a four wheeler came by and offered to drive Michigan Guy to Westwater Station where he could get more water and call for a ride. This was the first four wheeler that I had seen so far. Meeting him at this moment was a real stroke of luck and certainly saved Michigan Guy a lot of grief. I wished him well and headed down the trail to the next major intersection called Rabbit Valley.

Rabbit Valley is a desert recreation area so the closer that I got, the more complicated it became to follow the correct trail since there were a multitude of trails to choose from. On several occasions, I headed down the wrong path and had to back track when I realized my error. Eating was also still a problem. Even with all of the water that I consumed at Westwater, I still wasn't producing any saliva.

I met two riders just before Rabbit Valley. They were not part of the race but came to the area for the weekend to do some riding. We chatted for a while and I confirmed that I was headed in the right direction. They asked how long I had been riding and were shocked when I told them 18 hours. They said that I only had twenty miles to go which was nothing compared to what I had already been through. Even though I had already ridden for 120 miles, twenty more seemed like an insurmountable obstacle in this heat. I told myself over and over, "You didn't drop out in Alaska because it was too cold, your not dropping out in the desert because it is too hot!" This rant wore thin after a while but seemed to get me through that tough period.

At the Rabbit Valley parking lot, I stopped again to rest and eat in the shade. I closed my eyes and dosed off for about five minutes. I woke up and said out loud, "I need to finish this thing now!" There was no one there to hear me.

The trail out of Rabbit valley was smooth and easy to follow for about ten miles. Then it abruptly ended. Up until now the trail was marked with a specific marker but now there was none. I consulted my map, found a side trail that seemed to be in the correct location, and followed it into a small canyon. At the bottom there was a trail marker so I am sure that I was on the right path. After that trail marker, everything is a blur.

I followed the trail as best I could. I stayed right most of the time. I took the occasional left when it seemed appropriate. I have absolutely no idea where I was. At times it seemed like I was not even on a trail at all. At times it seemed like I was going in completely the wrong direction. It got dark which made navigating even more difficult. After several hours of mostly walking, I arrived at the finish line. I have no idea how I got there. It was 10:11pm. The race took me 22 hours and 11 minutes.

I looked for Mike Curiak's truck but could not find it so I went to talk to a guy sitting in a van near the trail head. He was waiting for his wife to finish the race. He told me that Mike left an hour before I arrived. He asked if I saw his wife and when I told him that I had not seen a female rider since 3:00am, he looked a bit concerned. "She is strong, she will be fine," he said. I hoped so. That was one difficult trail.

I called Cheryl to come pick me up and immediately fell asleep on the gravel beside the husband's van. When Cheryl arrived, I was startled and got up quickly to load all of my gear. I don't know why I was in a hurry. The race was over. Anyway, my body revolted. Actually, my stomach revolted. It did what I can only describe as an inversion, as in, turned itself inside out. I had to vomit immediately. There was nothing. No food, no water, no nothing. Nothing came up. My stomach was completely empty. Good thing I finished when I did because I was definitely running on empty.

24 riders finished out of the 56 who started. I placed 21^st. I know that I made some mistakes that I could correct and improve my time the next time. My rear wheel clanked all through the race but worked perfectly. When I arrived home and reassembled my bike, the noise was gone.

How hot was it? I've heard various reports about the temperature that day, the highest being +98F. Just another ordinary day in the desert.

Unfortunately, Mike has stated that he will never organize this race again. It seems that he witnessed some people who did not adhere to the strict self supported rule. This is a violation of the very nature of the event. It is beyond cheating. The disappointment of seeing this on more than one occasion has caused him to reconsider how he organizes events. There will never be another Kokopelli Trail Race.

Recovery

Once at the hotel I slowly started drinking and eating. At 6:00am I went for breakfast and at 9:00am I went for second breakfast. Between the two breakfasts, I drank five 16 ounce glasses of orange juice. It seemed like the more that I drank, the thirstier I became. At 1:00pm, Pierre and I went for ice cream at Wendy's and ended up ordering half of the items on the menu (Pierre finished just before midnight, one position behind me). At 5:00pm hunger struck again so we went for a monster meal at a restaurant in Grand Junction with some of the other people in the race. After supper we all went to a speciality ice cream shop for more dessert. When I went to bed that evening I still felt slightly hungry but mostly I felt satisfied at having completed a very difficult event. Most importantly, I had a great adventure and got the vacation that I was looking for.