MOAB 240: The Heat and Cold of The Utah Desert (Part 2)
In the first part of this report, we said goodbye after 230 kilometers and 55 hours. The experiences, impressions, but also the fatigue and pain, are slowly starting to merge into one compact whole. So let’s move on and find out what the next 42 hours of racing brought me.
Towards the mountains
The next station (sleeping) is 38 kilometers away. I get up and head down the road, knowing that I will be grilling myself until the evening. I am a little torn, because I know that I will freeze at night in 300-meter high mountains. After a short asphalt section, we turn onto a gravel road. At first it is quite interesting, but later it turns into endlessly long, drawn-out sections, mostly uphill. When I get really bored of it, I try to run. After a kilometer, I give up. I probably won’t be doing much better, because I’m being overtaken by a pair of obviously older runners, a couple, and I notice that the runner is a woman, whose pacer is probably her husband.
I put on my headphones and play Napalm Death. As time goes by, I’m doing better, even though the sun is blazing like a meaningless flame. I don’t keep track of the distances between checkpoints, so after each off-road wave I expect the next station, Road 46. In the distance I can see the road and passing cars, but it takes longer to get to it than you’d think. I reach the road – there’s heavy traffic; it takes me a few minutes to gather the courage to cross. The station is a few hundred meters away. I take off my backpack and sit in a chair. The sun is covered by clouds here and there and I realize that I’m just cold in the shade, which means it’s evening.
I sit and stare. They come to me asking what to eat. I refuse twice. I’m hungry, but now I’m thinking about the night and the climb to the mountains. I get up on my shaky and tired legs and change clothes. Another runner has his whole family with him next to me, but I don’t worry about whether they mind my bare ass or not. I’m dry and I’m getting the urge to eat. I order two large egg sandwiches and while they prepare them for me, I fill my bottles with fluids so that I can leave immediately after eating. I’m at the station for about half an hour. I could go lie down in the tent, but I don’t feel like sleeping. I set off with two other colleagues. First on the road, but before long we turn off into the terrain. Surprisingly, I’m faster. It’s starting to get dark. I put on my headlamp. The trail disappears and I move only according to the GPS and occasionally a ribbon confirms that I’m on the right route.
I go over rocky sections, forests, up and (surprisingly) down. It seems like I’ve been walking for hours. My eyes are starting to close, I’m not eating (I’m not carrying anything) or drinking (I don’t feel like it). I have no idea when the next station will arrive. It’s supposed to be somewhere up there. I’m surprised when I reach a fairly good dirt road. I’ve been walking on it for too long for it not to feel strange. I double-check the map. I’m right. I realize that the moment is approaching when I’ll start hallucinating – I’m having déjà vu. I know it here, I turned there, I’ve seen that rock here before. I’m climbing up again. And it’s steep. It’s obvious that it’s a road for cars, but more for off-road vehicles. It winds between steep slopes, I’m waiting for the next station to appear in a moment. I need it now, because the rocks are taking on human faces and the trees look like demons. However, I’m still in enough mental condition not to walk through a mini mud pond that has formed in one of the gorges. I save my dry shoes by climbing steep slopes among thorny bushes. I am again attacked by hallucinations, this time sonic, every now and then I hear loud music and I think the station is around the corner. It is almost unbelievable that in this state I am ahead of two colleagues.
Frozen in the mountains
Before I reach Pole Canyon, that is the name of another station, I have another mud and a million curses behind me. In the pitch black night, it turns out that the next noise is no longer a hallucination, but the hum of generators. Although it is cold, after hard pedaling I am soaked with sweat and that is a problem. I fall into a chair as close as possible to the fire, wrap myself in two thick blankets and try to warm myself. I start to shiver uncontrollably. I make the mistake of not changing into dry clothes, but instead trying to warm myself in wet clothes. I alternately wake up and fall asleep. There are about six of us by the fire and every time I wake up I am surprised that the brotherhood by the fire does not change.
After an hour and a half I finally decide to change into dry clothes. I try to stand up, catch my balance and am saved from falling by the promptness of another runner who catches me. Changing clothes in this state is a challenge (physically and mentally), the others are watching me with interest. I sit down and have some food. It is about four in the morning, I have been here for almost three hours and I am wondering if I should wait for dawn and higher temperatures. However, the version of not wasting time wins out, so in another thirty minutes I say goodbye and head towards the next sleeping station, Geyser Pass, which is at the 320th kilometer and Patrik should join me there and pace me for the remaining 60 kilometers.
My company in the dark is the narrow beam of light from my headlamp. Dawn is not long in coming, however. After a ten-kilometer descent, I start climbing again. The terrain starts to get technical. My dry clothes are soon completely wet. One of the climbs is particularly challenging, I feel like I’m in the Himalayas. A few steps, stop, breathe. It’s endless. When I’m at the top, I descend along a narrow path. Great for tired and sore thighs. I reach the road, a few cars pass me, and I feel that Geyser won’t be far away. The fact that the path is made more pleasant by piles of rutted mud can’t spoil my mood any more. The sun is shining, I feel that it’s pouring energy into my veins, which comes from who knows where, because I haven’t eaten or drunk for hours, and during the eight-kilometer climb I even overtake two runners.
I am driven forward by the excitement that after more than three days I will see a familiar face, because Jirka and Szilvia are far ahead of me. Several cars pass me, everyone honks their horns and shows thumbs up. I like that.
Geyser Pass – I have a pacer!
I arrive at the station. There are a few people sitting there, I remember them all, we have been chasing each other for at least two days (if you can call it chasing). I sit in the tent – I don’t see Patrik anywhere. Szilvia’s husband should bring him, they are supposed to follow me on the online map and coordinate it so that György can bring Patrik and support his wife at the same time. Oh well, I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that I will walk the last 70 kilometers alone.
I order my obligatory double egg sandwich and someone asks if I don’t feel like anything else. Of course – a beer! Everyone in the tent looks at me. Really? The lady asks if I’m sure, it’s clear she’s never heard of the Czech beer appetite. So I get a foamy beer, which I guzzle down with great gusto. That lifts my spirits considerably, and even more so when the tent curtain opens and Patrik appears. I hope he’s ready for anything… I check his equipment with my eyes, determination is evident on his face – no, that’s a joke. I see that he’s taking it as seriously as most teenagers do – what the heck, only sixty kilometers. So show yourself, I say to myself.
Well-fed and hydrated, I get up and head towards the wilderness. Generally, it’s supposed to be downhill all the way to the finish line, but of course it’s not quite like that. There are also plenty of climbs, although not that major, ahead of us. We descend along a pleasant path in the middle of a burnt-down forest that is starting to grow again. Here and there we traverse along the contour line and very nice views of the valley open up to us. When we climb a steeper hill, a few meters to the right I notice a large black shadow – it’s a huge, completely black cow. How did it get here? We both find out that cows graze normally here when we manage to step on their donuts a few times.
It’s about 32 kilometers to the next, penultimate station, Porcupine Rim. On one of the steeper climbs, Patrik has trouble breathing and has to breathe Ventolin. I feel like it’s going to be “fun”. We enter a gravel road and pedal hard. The road is strewn with small stones that press unpleasantly into the soles of our feet. I don’t mind it much anymore, after 340 kilometers my feet are sore, but it’s not so pleasant for Patrik. We exchange a few sentences here and there. My mood improves when I see an asphalt road in the valley below me. I even see a few houses, which seems a bit strange after being in the wilderness for so long.
I put on my headphones on the asphalt and start running. Patrik has no choice but to join in. I take a breath and pick up the pace. I sing out loud and I don’t really mind that Patrik must think I’ve gone crazy. We run up and down, it seems to me that I have so much strength because I’ve been slacking off. We mercifully don’t turn off the road into the terrain, but onto a rather pleasant dirt road. The sun is setting, it’s getting colder and we have a problem.
First, Patrik says that his bowels have started to work. It’s not completely dark yet, there’s no hide-and-seek around, so he uses my paper (he forgot his own). When I’m about to pick up the pace again, Patrik confides in me that he’s having problems with his legs. He’s getting cramps and his tendons are hurting. We probably overdid it with the heavy bags. He pedals heroically for a few more kilometers, but it’s clear that he’s reaching his limit. It’s about 5 kilometers to the Porcupine Rim station. I stop a buggy where a man is carrying a child and there’s room for another one, but unfortunately it’s not part of the race, so he won’t take him to the station. We set the slowest possible pace, I give Patrik minerals, water him, and get him to eat. We have a mobile signal for a short time, I call György to see if he can come get Patrik, but Porcupine Rim is inaccessible to normal cars, only to SUVs. So we decide to walk to the station and meet there. There’s no other option anyway.
In the middle of the night, illuminated ghosts appear around a bend, this aid station has a Halloween theme. We are greeted with loud applause. I immediately explain that Patrik is injured and needs to be taken to Moab to the finish line, because he is not able to manage the next 30 kilometers. I relax when I hear that it will not be a problem, but the car will not reach the finish line until sometime in the morning. So we sit down by the fire in the tent, we get blankets. As I have done for several times, I order apple cider and the same for Patrik. And of course a sandwich. But before that, Patrik lies down on a massage bed, where he receives medical care and massages. Then he sits down next to me. I am about to set off on the last leg soon, and for him this adventure is over. Thirty-five kilometers in difficult terrain without previous experience is certainly a respectable feat. I eat my food, hand over my unnecessary equipment to Patrik and we say goodbye. He has a whole night to spend in a tent with runners and volunteers.
Ending hardships
Before the station disappears into the darkness, I hug the doctor who two years ago gave me two blister treatments during BigFoot. He remembers me. And I remember the pain he caused me when he pulled off the patches with dried blood. Especially because I feel that a lot is happening in my shoes again. I haven’t dared to take them off for two days. And now it hurts more and more. I walk on very fine sand, I feel it getting into my shoes and doing its job.
Once again, my only company is my headlamp. I walk and walk, my sleep deficit is starting to show. Several times it seems to me that I have already walked a certain section. I am moving on something that they call a plateau, although in the dark I have no view of the surroundings at all. The only thing that wakes me up from my stupor is the occasional streamer, reassuring me that I’m on the right track. I have to follow the GPS because if there is a trail, it’s not noticeable at night, in the faint cone of light and in my mental state.
There are 20 kilometers left in the race. Only twenty, you might think. Oh well, but when the watch says 20 to the finish, then 19, 18 to the finish… and then 20 kilometers to the finish again, you know something is wrong. When it happens a second time, I know I really have a problem. I’m moving in circles and can’t figure out where I’m going wrong. I can see the ribbons, but I’m just doing something wrong somewhere. I decide to sit down at one of the ribbons, rest, and wait for someone to pass by to join. To save energy, I turn off my headlamp and wait in total darkness for about twenty minutes.
Finally, I see the light. I turn on my headlamp and there is a cry of surprise. It’s a woman, I remember her from the route. She is also relieved to find out that I am also in the race and not a straggler. I ask if I can join, and after a positive response we race forward. Yes, we race. I keep up with her high pace tooth and nail, the terrain is rocky, unclear, if I can judge by feeling. It turns out she is from Japan, so I brush up on my Japanese and we chat for a while. The battery in my headlamp is getting low and I know that if I change the battery now, my colleague will disappear into the night and I will be like a snail again.
There are 10 kilometers left to the finish line. I catch up with another runner who accepts my pace, but unfortunately my lack of sleep is now starting to show. My field of vision is narrowing, my pace is dropping, I have trouble getting over obstacles, and so the pair will soon disappear. What’s more, there are signs of the approaching dawn. I see (and maybe suspect) that I have a very technical section ahead of me. There are less than 10 kilometers to go and I am turning into a zombie.
With bleary eyes, I cross rocks, stagger on a narrow path – a steep slope up on the left (which is good), a steep descent down on the right (not good). I sit down, put my head on my knees and fall asleep. I wake up suddenly after I have carried myself forward and almost got a nosebleed. I walk about 100 meters and this time I lie down right in the middle of the path. A couple passing by wakes me up – they ask me if I need help. Of course not. I sit for a while, get up, walk 100 meters and fall asleep again. And then again. I think to myself in confusion: “I am 5 kilometers from the finish line, if I finish now, will they recognize me as a completed race, right?”. At least after a few nights of sleep I stopped seeing crocodiles and other vermin.
But with dawn I still consolidate the last of my mental and physical strength, get up and am rewarded when I see the road behind a nearby rock and hear the sound of passing cars. Doused with living water, I go down to (probably) a cycle path next to the road and with a shaky, uncertain step I head towards my destination. The path ends for a moment, I go onto the road and really appreciate how the Americans are driving about half a meter from my face. I release the excess pressure a few times with my raised middle finger.
The valley widens, I cross a bridge and the finish line is a few hundred metres ahead of me. No one is chasing me, so I walk calmly up to the main road and turn towards the finish area. I am relieved to discover that out of about ten people at the finish line, one of the people applauding is Patrik, who arrived by car about half an hour before me. Just like on Bigfoot, the finish line is quite civil. A few people, a finish photo, a belt buckle instead of a medal. We sit by the fire, have pizza and drinks and the whole route runs through my mind again.
It is time to get up and go to the motel. It is about 3 kilometers. We do not have a shuttle. When I climb the slight hill to the road, a typical large American truck stops and I hear the question of whether we need a ride. I say yes, but that I am dirty as a pig and I will soil the car. The answer is laconic: “The car is from a rental company…”.
In a few minutes we are at the motel and wake up Jirka, who finished 14 hours ago. After more than 4 days, a shower is an unearthly pleasure that cannot be spoiled by the pain of removing blisters that have dried in my socks. Before I fall asleep, we all manage a post-race refreshment, which for me stretches into 3 beers.
“Before and after” photos
Facts:
386 kilometers, 97 hours 1 minute
Thank you to all my loved ones for their support and tolerance. Thanks also to everyone who cheered me on and pushed me forward. It wouldn’t have been possible without it.
Equipment: Kilpi, H2Europe
