I've been really looking forward to the annual "Peak to Pub" race. As the name implies, it starts at the top of the mountain and ends in my town of Methven, which down on the plains. You have to run 100m in ski boots to get to your skis, ski down a race course to the bottom of the ski area, mountain bike 12K down the rest of the mountain, then run 10K along the road back to town. You have to swim across an irrigation canal before you get to town.
What amazed me is how dangerous this race was, and how there's no way it could be held in the USA. I didn't sign any release form or anything.
The ski:
The men were up first. We had a short speech, the gist of which was "To finish first, first you have to finish." Basically the race organizer told us to be safe and that luckily there were only a few broken bones last year, which was apparently better than the year before.
On cue a helicopter flew overhead with a film crew, a guy fired a shotgun into the air, and we were off.
I started a few rows back, since the race attracts professionals from all over the region (of which there are plenty). I figured those people were a lot more serious about it, and since I was only there to finish, I would let them go ahead.
It was a mistake. Once we got on the steep, icy racecourse, it was carnage. There were about 50 of us going down through the gates at once. I'm sure most of the competitors were amazing runners, but they were god-awful skiers. People were doing the snowplow, snowboarders were falling on their face, and fast skiers weaving through at mach speed. It was completely unpredictable and there were bodies flying everywhere with everybody trying to go as fast as they could. I negotiated my way through the chaos without getting taken out and arrived at the bottom for the transition.
The bike:
I stripped off my ski boots and my jacket, slipped on my running shoes, swallowed some water, and took off on my bike. It was a rented junky mountain bike that was too small for me. Before I left, I double-checked the front wheel spindle to make sure it was attached securely. I had heard a story earlier in the day about a guy whose front wheel came off at warp speed down the road. He suffered a brain injury and isn't quite right any more.
The road, as I've mentioned in past emails, is ridiculous. Steep, winding, potholed, rutted, and covered with an entire winter's worth of cinders. One one side there is a near-vertical drop to certain doom a thousand feet down. On the other side there is a drainage ditch filled with the large pointy rocks that fall incessantly from the mountain above. You wouldn't want to go either way, but I guess I'd choose the ditch.
I banged my way down the road trying to stay in control. I couldn't really steer very well because of the deep cinders. Over bumps and rocks and potholes the bike shuddered and my hands would bounce around on the grips. On straightaways everyone was in a tuck with clouds of dust and gravel spewing behind them.
A guy passed me on the inside of a corner just as I was taking the same line. It scared me and after that I was looking around a bit just to get some awareness of who was nearby. I heard a sound behind me and looked back. Because I was wearing a full-face helmet and ski goggles, my peripheral vision was impaired. Therefore, I had to turn my head almost all the way around in order to look behind me. I looked back, then I turned my head back around forward. In that moment the next corner had come up and I was still going way too fast to make the turn. I tried to lean and turn but it wasn't happening because I was in gravel. I slammed on the brakes but was barely on-balance because the bike was too small. I scrubbed off quite a bit of speed, but in the end there was a big rock that I couldn't avoid. I went over the handlebars and flew into the ditch, rolling over some (pointy) rocks on my way down.
I was OK and the bike was OK, so I got up, pedaled to the bottom, and transitioned into the running part.
The run:
I dropped my bike, shed another jacket, put on my sunglasses, and started running. It was much more relaxing. Everybody was spread out and I was running by myself, past cows and calves and sheep and lambs. It was a gorgeous day and everything is turning very green.
About two-thirds of the way through, you had to cross the canal. I ran up and dove in. It was only about 25 feet across but it was ice-cold and had a very strong current. I resurfaced and saw that one of my co-workers was floating on a kayak to rescue people if they got into trouble. He later told me that he saved three people, one of which desperately tried to climb into his kayak. He whacked her on the leg with his paddle to get her back into the water.
When I surfaced and saw him, I said hello and exchanged pleasantries. Before I knew it, I was being swept down the canal. I had to swim hard against the current to reach some cargo netting draped over the wall, where I climbed up and over.
My skin felt like a rubbery shell draping my soft innards. The sunlight was bright because I forgot to take my sunglasses off and they were now at the bottom of the canal. I started running again and my legs didn't want to move. The course then went into the woods. It was a winding rugged trail criss-crossed with tree roots. We had to cross two barbed-wire fences. They had thoughtfully smashed the fence down so you could hop over the wires, but you still needed to pay attention.
We ran into town and people lined the streets cheering. We ran around the block before the finish line and saw the final challenge. The organizers had stacked a mountain of straw bales about 20 feet high. You had to clamber over the bales and down the other side. From about six feet up, you jumped into a pool of icy, muddy water. Then after climbing out of the pool, it was a short distance to the finish. A woman clicked her stopwatch, and simultaneously with crossing the finish, a guy slapped a bottle of beer in your hand saying "Good on ya!"
Me running into the bike transition:
As my Kiwi co-worker says, I "took off a little bark".
Video clip of the race:
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