Since November 24th, Fairbanks, Alaska has been my home and will be until after the Iditarod Trail Invitational, February 25th.
Specifically, the Goldstream Valley. An endless snarl of perfectly intertwined
snow trails, laid in for months by the dog-mushers that train here, have provided
over a month of fat biking nirvana. Big climbs, far reaching valleys, single
track, double track, views that mandate a foot down, deep breath, eyes closed
moment of remembrance.
Jay P. (Race Founder and Director) had tirelessly laid in the starting section of trail which
was in solid shape, meaning we were all able to run tire pressures at, near or
above double digits. A few miles into the race it was obvious we were in for a
treat of a ride. Listening to the “old timers”, these conditions had never
existed prior. Bluebird skies, trails that just kept getting better, views that
kept getting bigger, this was one of those days. To find fault with anything
would have taken a great deal of effort and a very Scrooge-ish outlook on life.
No one on two wheels that day held any such views. Quite the opposite. These
were souls that could find joy in the bleak. Sooner or later we all would be up
to our neck in “it”. The race becomes our teacher. Where one person sees the
curse, another the blessing. The ability to remain in the moment, find the
positive, where it is not obvious, is a skill learned in these places and one
that serves equally well long after the race is done.
I seek out these adventures not only for the adventure and the
opportunity to do so on a Fat-bike but also for the people. Each who left
the giant wooden arch entry into the Pond’s Lodge behind them that day were seekers. They are not content
to sit idly by as spectators of life. A fire burns within them. A light glistens in their eye, the
end of each journey marking the start of days till the next.
In “White Men Can’t Jump”, with Jimi Hendrix blasting through
the radio, Woody Harrelson exclaims “I love Jimi!!”, which draws an immediate
rebuttal from Wesley Snipes...”You can’t even hear Jimi!!!”
In the
midst of all who come to these places and events, I listen with intent. They are the Fat Bike rock-stars and I’m doing my
best to hear their music. Each event entered I gain a greater understanding of
their “why”, their “how” and in doing so, clarify my own.
I’d entered the event with a few simple goals. Eat more, drink
more, smile more than all on the trail. These things I had a say in. It was a
worthy challenge amongst these folks. Control what I could control. In this
place, similar to Alaska, One realizes just how little, contrary to the belief
of the ego, we are truly in charge of.
Dumping into Harriman State Park, mere miles into the event, the
Idaho Wilderness enveloped us all. If one were to be dropped into this place
there would be no sense of civilization nearby. Were you told it was hundreds
of miles of wild in every direction, you’d believe it without hesitation.
Claiming complete comfort would be misleading. Awe? Yes. Excitement? Yes? It
was not lost on me however that this, unlike any winter event I’d entered yet
offered almost no easy bail outs. 80 miles to Checkpoint one, 40 plus miles
from there to West Yellowstone, from there up and over “Two Top”, a notoriously
bad trail, multi mile push up to 8200’ with stories of “I couldn’t see my hand
in front of my face” winter squalls, and maybe 15 miles more down the other
side to the “Man Cave”. The final checkpoint. As beautiful as all things were
at the moment, I could not deny the trepidation that was part and parcel of it
all as well. Achieving comfort in the uncomfortable, finding peace in chaos,
this was the classroom. Ruler slaps on the back of the wrist, hopefully, would
be few.
This concludes part 3
of Jay P's Fat Pursuit “Live, Learn, Finish, Return”
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Thanks for stopping by. #dreamBIGdreams
Steve
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