Pierra Menta….The rest of the race

In my previous post I talked a bit about my little struggles with the first coupla stages of the Pierra Menta, which were frustrating if for no other reason than I typically have a great gut.  I drink lots of untreated backcountry and developing country water, plenty of street food, etc. with very few problems (though those “few” have been memorable!). And I wasn’t alone:  Colter needed some Immodium as well, and daughter Carson -who was competing in the 2 day junior event, had her own gut issues, and I know at least that Emilie Forsberg (Killian Jornet’s wife, who’s a pro enduro athlete as well) had to drop due to her partner getting sick.  Before the race began we saw a few athletes carrying in big bottles of water and boxes of food; maybe they knew something we didn’t?   In this case at least both times I seemed to recover from the GI issue pretty fast, if not my overall energy level, and Colter wasn’t too badly affected.  And though I at least was a bit compromised,  part of the warped incentive to carry on with the race was that the third stage was kind of the Queen Stage; in the middle of the stage we would top out on the Grand Mont, the biggest mountain in the area.  Though it’s an easy skin from one side (that we did after the race, with a 2000’ lift bump!) we were to ascend the NE ridge, which is not only kinda knife-edged but also has plenty of rocks to scramble on, and it makes for some exciting “racing” in a really dramatic scene, and I realized that by making the time cut and carrying on that we could get that experience and more.  So on to stage 3.  

The start of stage 3 was the same short-climb-short-descent to sorta spread folks out before we hit the skin tracks, and this time my skins stayed on and we seemed to be back in the fold of folks we shoulda been racing near earlier.  It bears repeating here that Colter was still trying to recover from RSV, and though he wasn’t coughing much during the stages, he was still racing hard and commenced painful coughing in the recovery afternoons/evenings.  He wisely kept the pace moderate for the first long (3000’) climb up above treeline, and up/down/up again commenced pretty well.  Finally we got to a spot where far above us we could see the Z’s of the skin track stop abruptly at the bottom of a ridge, and we could see the ants marching up the dramatic skyline of the ridge.  

It worked out well for us; our buddy Tom Goth got a 3 minute penalty for moving a ‘biner from one side of an anchor to another instead of clipping ahead before removing the prior ‘biner, which I did myself several times (though I’d never admit that) but apparently was not under the watchful eye of a dedicated official/volunteer.  Our ridge scramble woulda worked out well…..if my crampons hadn’t fallen off several times!  

As I mentioned, much of my gear was dated/dilapidated, so I borrowed the fancy featherweight cramps from Colter’s wife; they had come off on a previous ascent (and I just put them in my hand and carried them to the transition; that time I was caught and penalized but only 30 secs; far less than it woulda taken to put them back on.  But on the Grand Mont the cramps seemed helpful, and despite efforts to get them tighter (making them one notch tighter in the hotel room pretty much precluded our ability to get them on) mine kept falling off.  We took the time to put them back on (me standing there like a horse, with my ferrier Colter re-shoeing me) but as we hit the snowy, easy summit ridge I just left them dangling loose around my feet, which actually was a huge liability because I kept tripping on them!  But made it anyway.  

It was at this point that we faced the famous Pierra Menta bedlam.  We’ve all watched the Tour De France on the big climbs where the riders are pounding along and the crowd is leaning in and barely parting for the riders to come through, and those crowds are shrieking in the ears of the riders.  Well, Pierra Menta is the biggest race of its kind in the world and it is in France, so the skimo spectators want to react in kind!  Despite the fact that the top of the Grand Mont was a 1500 foot skin up from the top of the nearest lift, there were hundreds of people there, and the screams, whistles, huge cowbells, and horns (almost) drowned out the couple of chainsaws that doods hauled up there to roar in our ears!  It was nuts. 

And while exciting, also a bit unnerving as we transitioned, which takes some concentration to do it fast, especially since we had cramps (kind of!) on and the skinned-up skis on our back.  We finally pushed off and the bedlam faded…..and we charged down into yet another steep icy couloir that led onto a chundered up slope below and continued on for 2000 feet.  Concentrate!   Later I got to a spot that was easily accessible by chairlift and a popular place for spectactors, and again the crowd was deafening, of course Chainsaw Guy.  Though we were on skins the track went downhill, and I yelled at the official-looking guy “skins or no skins?!” I couldn’t hear his answer (probably in French anyway) and I thought it was a transition, so I ripped my skins, then shoved off without my toe in the binding and instantly faceplanted, and then through the screaming crowd I realized that it wasn’t a transition after all!  Shitshow…..

Speaking of concentrating, Colter suggested that I share a bit of what goes through the minds of racers in this kind of event.  There’s a lot going on:

“Where’s my partner?”

“Am I using the right skins for this section?”

“are the skins I used on the last climb sufficiently dried/warm in my suit for the next climb?”

“How much time has elapsed?”  

“Do I need to eat, drink now?” 

“How can I pass these guys to catch up to my partner?”

“Focus on the steps for the next transition!”  

“My suit is unzipped; did I drop my vital calories out when I bent down for the transition?” 

“My fingers are really cold; are they useless bricks or can I transition with them?”

“Holy shit this is really beautiful…but don’t look!”

“where’s my partner?!!?” 

“If I crash here I’m gonna get hurt!”

“Wow, that dood broke BOTH skis!”

“Can I fart with confidence now?”

“If so, am I okay with blowing out the guy (or girl) behind me?”

“Which steep boot pack track is less like fine sand?”

“I’m getting snowblind, but my shades are totally smudged with sweat!” 

“Omigod – this climb seems interminable!”

“But it keeps on going?!!?”  

“Where’s my partner?!!?!?”  

Some of the information that is helpful is on the fancy watches that everyone has, and I thought I was no exception.  However, on the first two stages my watch somehow transitioned to a “Points of Interest” mode?! Huh?  All I want is time and vert, and my watch is trying to get me to go to Points of Interest; a mode that I’ve never seen before nor could I get there if I tried.  Finally the watch just sorta clicked off, apparently disgusted with my lack of interest in said Points of Interest….

Finally – after navigating once again the “Death Gully” – our term for the end of the final 4000-foot descent that was kinda like the Porter Fork luge run (a Wasatch Classic) but way longer and way gnarlier, but at least there were spectators apparently looking for bloody crashes in really inopportune places – we again gratefully hit the finish line after too many hours in the red.  Okay, stage 3 done; one more – historically shorter – stage to go.  

So far we’d had great weather; flat light and challenging old snow on stage 1 (which I neglected to mention had about a 600’ descent clinging desperately to a fixed line), then new snow overnight with clear days on stages 2 and 3, but then a storm was moving in for the last stage.  When we headed out of the hotel to warm up for the stage it was full rain, but by the start/finish several hundred feet up it was snowing…but you get the idea; wet.  Shortly after the start we did a long, switchback-intensive climb up a steep gully, and while the Good Guys were up at the front with no traffic, back in the grupetto it was carnage;  everyone’s skins were failing, including ours. 

Being a Utahn I haven’t had the good luck to race – or even ski, really – in super wet snow, and I naively thought that the warm temps would keep the skins well-stuck to the bases.  But ‘twas not the case.  I had one Voile strap and used that to keep one skin on and then step gingerly on the other (as gingerly as one can when stomping up a steep skinner in a race) but Colter was working on skin pair number 3 when he got bumped by someone coming past him and he tumbled – without his skis – back down the hill!  I got to a flat spot and the familiar thought rang in my head as I looked back down:  “where’s my partner?!?!”  We finally got back together and tried to salvage our day, which was kinda working until we came blasting out of some woods on a fast traverse onto an open slope that I quickly scanned for a viable fast descent…..and hit Colter from behind at full speed!  His quads were on fire and slowed almost to a stop right when I was looking away.  Fortunately we were both startled but unscathed.  Both our goggles were a mess, so we were trying to blast our way down with the snowflake needles in our eyes, which actually made us relish the very end of the race; a 1500-foot climb to the finish.  

We couldn’t see many folks around us, and I thought that perhaps we were literally DFL, but checking the results later I realized that there were others who were struggling even worse than we were!    

Now were were over 2000 feet above the start-finish area, and in a weird move they said that we had 10 minutes to get from The Finish Line to the other finish line; probably to keep us all from getting hypothermic hanging out soaked up high.  So we pulled on the featherweight shell top and bottoms and headed down a groomer to the start/finish, but in a final coup de grace I realized that in the crash with Colter one of my ski brakes had bent and even with my boot in the binding the brake was doin’ its thing…..and I probably missed our ten minute window, but nobody cared and the hot broth and baked goods in the tent were much appreciated, as always.   Colter finally used the end of the race to go to a clinic, where after looking at x-rays and such the doctor suggested that he not do any more racing to let his bronchitis heal up.  

I’d probably be lying if I said that Colter and I weren’t a bit disappointed since we waited a long time for The Big Race and we ultimately came into it somewhat compromised despite having a good winter of training, but given the circumstances we were pleased to have finished it and been part of such an event.  We both felt like we were at least maybe 10 or 15 percent down, and had we been at that level we’da been more mid-pack than lower-pack, but then again, nobody cares whether we were 128th or 169th or 213th, or how far back we were from the (super!) fastest doods and doodettes.  It was a good challenge and we had a nice time supporting each other over a memorable week (including a nice mellow tour up the Grand Mont the day after the race to really appreciate it!),

we both learned a lot about high level racing;  whether or not we’ll put that knowledge to use is questionable; I doubt I will make the significant training and racing effort to do a race like this again, but Colter probably has the fun opportunity in the future to race it  – competitively – with his daughter (if she lets him!).  But it was a good excuse to whip myself into the best shape I’ve been in in years, and I’ve often said that “an event” that lies in the future is the best way to get (keep!) yourself strong over time and keep physical and mental barriers at bay.  

Important thanks goes out to Karpos, which is a signature sponsor of the race; I have learned that events like this don’t happen without signature sponsors, and Karpos is an Italian outdoor brand that in my opinion is far more “athletic” and progressive than any of the American outdoor apparel brands.  Also, Salt Lake-based Voile is still making skimo race skis and the SR61 http://voile.com/sr61 is a good replacement from their original Wasatch Speed Projects, and we skied them skis hard with no problems.  I think they are on par with any of the Euro-branded skimo races skis that are twice the price.   Also, a big thanks to Genis Zapater, a former World Cup level skimo racer and current coach for Uphill Athlete and IMGA guide who gave me some critical gear and advice. 

And of course, as I mentioned in the first post, I literally couldn’t have done it without Colter; he’s as strong and fun and patient a partner as I coulda hoped for for such a challenging event.  Fun!