Eszter Horanyi Arrowhead 135 Blog: What was I thinking?

Follow Eszter's adventure of getting ready for the Arrowhead 135, through the good and the bad.

Bad ideas are born in strange places.  Signing up for the Arrowhead 135 was a potentially bad idea was born in the camping field at Single Speed World Championships in Ireland while talking to a couple from Wales who were planning on coming over to the States to tackle the race, a snow-bike rally run outside of International Falls, MN., at the end of January.  In 2008, International Falls engaged in a legal battle with Fraser, CO., over which town could be called “The Icebox of the Nation.”  It's not a warm place.  At first I was intrigued, then, living in one of the coldest places in Colorado, which in my opinion is actually colder than Fraser, I convinced myself that the end of January was for desert trips to escape the frigid cold of the Gunnison Valley instead of heading to a climate even colder to race bikes on snow for 135 miles. 

But then I got rational, if there’s any way to rationally justify my actions and decisions.  Always up for a good adventure, living in the Gunnison Valley gives me the best chance to acclimatize to race conditions without heading to the Great White North as our temperatures tend to hover around -40 F for many mornings in late December and January.  Plus, this way, when I ride my bike the 8-miles to work while getting passed by people bundled up in their heated cars, I have an excuse, ‘I’m training.’  So I filled out my ‘Here’s proof that I have a good chance of surviving this,’ application and sent it in.  They accepted me and immediately, a wave of dread washed over me.  Clearly, I hadn’t thought this one through. 

I’d like to take you, dear reader, along as I plunge into preparing for an event that I have no business doing.  I’d like to preface this series of blogs by saying that I have very little idea what I’m doing with regards to snow-biking.  I’m not claiming to be an expert at this, far from it, but something tells me that getting ready for this event is going to be filled with comical, scary, and life-changing experiences and I’d like to invite you along for the ride.  The information I present may be right, it may be wrong, but it’ll be a semi-accurate representation (because I’m a firm believer of not letting the truth get in the way of a good story) of how I’ll be spending the next six weeks getting ready for this adventure.

I’m not a complete newbie to ultra-endurance bike racing.  I’ve done the Colorado Trail Race twice, I’ve raced more 100+ mile races than I can count, and in the winter, I’m a fan of hiking up mountains in order to ski down them, an activity that I think is going to help my chances of success at the Arrowhead more than any ability to pedal a bike.  As someone who hates being cold, I’ve developed coping strategies for sub-zero dawn patrols up local peaks, but the Arrowhead 135 website says to be ready for -40 F temperatures and I’ve definitely never voluntarily ventured outside when it’s that cold around here.  Though I did work lift operations last winter which not only proved that I can withstand extreme cold for many hours, but that I can also withstand extreme boredom, which I think is an admirable trait for many ultra-endurance races. 

My goals for this event are two-fold: Survive, and ride fast, with riding fast coming in a far second place to actual survival.  Thus, much of my preparation so far has revolved around trying to learn to stay warm on a bike.  During our first snowstorm this year, I donned what I considered was appropriate clothing for 30-degree weather (thick wool jersey, light rain jacket, chamois, leg warmers, rain pants, wool socks, hat, Nordic skiing gloves) and went riding behind my house.  I returned 45 minutes later, soaked from the inside from sweat, from the outside from the wet snow coming down, and frozen to the core.  It was an epic fail of an experiment.  I nearly cried as blood returned to my hands and feet.

My next attempt at riding in the cold and snow involved a thin wool base layer and a light down jacket.  Again, I came home whimpering, soaked, and chilled to the bone.  Things were not going well.

Drawing upon my scientific background, I examined the situation.  Riding took about the same amount of physical exertion as skinning uphill, only with slightly more wind-chill, and the only time I ever wore a down jacket, or anything more than a thin base layer and a soft shell jacket skinning, was when the mercury plunged well below negative 10-degrees.  So I threw out my preconceived notion that I needed to wear more clothing riding than I did skiing and rode to work in a base layer and my soft shell.  Paired with a light pair of long underwear and Carharts on the legs, I arrived at work 40 minutes later warm, dry, and happy.  It was two degrees out.  My hands, wrapped in down mittens were pleasantly comfortable, and my feet, with a single pair of ski socks, a pair of normal mountain bike shoes, and neoprene booties hadn’t uttered a single word of protest.

I think I’m getting somewhere, one cold ride at a time.

Next up, dealing with those pesky digits at the end of my feet and hands and discovering that everything the outdoor industry has been feeding us regarding wicking fabrics and breathable materials may be wrong.  Until then, I’ll continue to stave off frostbite and hope that the temperatures keep dropping so I can see what it’s really like to pedal in -40 degree weather.