WLM
new angle like those black snake fireworks my little sister and I used to light.
At some point, it occurred to me that
50 miles on a mountain bike isn’t exactly a short day, and it wouldn’t even
mark the end of the race. I also noticed
I wasn’t the only one spending more
time out of the saddle, stretching hips
and quads less for the stretch and more
for the excuse to get butts off of seats.
After overcoming our first navigational snafu, the simple green and white
sign telling us we were in Casper revealed itself, followed by Poplar Street,
and then the finish line.
But Rev3’s plan took us to the finish
line, past the finish line, and back up
the Platte on foot for a few more mandatory checkpoints before returning
via water and crossing that line. My
quads expressed my sentiments as we
started our five-mile walk in the wrong
direction: unimpressed. It didn’t take
long for us to get the giggles. All these
days of map checking and route planning, and here we were walking away
from our destination, trying to stay on
course on the crisscrossed paved walkways.
Later than we wanted, we reached the
canoe put-in and were happy to let the
current pull our two canoes to the end
of the day. We’d heard shouts from adventure racers faster than us to portage
the rapids, and we had thought that
best to keep Karla’s wound dry and
clean. As we neared first rapids, Marina and I followed Shad and Karla to
river left, then shrugged and followed
them back into the current to tackle the
waves. We weren’t opposed to swimming—it was hot in those PFDs.
Encouraged by the sight of Shad and
Karla paddling smoothly away from
the third obstacle, we blasted through.
However, we just couldn’t get to shore
before our water-logged boat abdicated her role. We collected ourselves and
jogged downriver to pile into Shad and
Karla’s vessel and give chase to ours.
Again, the giggles struck. We were so.
darn. close. But first we had to catch,
push ashore, drain, and re-board an
overturned boat. Marina’s howls of
laughter echoed through Casper.
The above plan went awry, and Karla and Shad, who had navigated all
the rapids successfully, ended up getting dunked with us. When we finally
drained both boats, boarded, and set
off again—for the first time in miles
with all things in order and no obstacles between us and the finish line, I
didn’t dare think the thought, “we’re
almost there.”
But we were almost there. Around
a bend we spotted the inflatable finish line arch and our supporters. A
quick paddle stroke, a step onto solid
ground, and we had done it.
Our focus immediately became getting a dry bandage for Karla’s arm and
thanking the people who had cheered
us to this moment. The race director had to suggest we actually walk
through the finishers’ chute before it
| adventure
occurred to any of us. Shad uttered
the words we were all thinking as we
made the walk: the act was anticlimactic. I’ll always think of our finishing
moment as stepping ashore.
Sleep after an adventure race doesn’t
come easily. Excitement and pride
bring smiles to your tired face, the routine of pedaling straight to your bed
late at night leaves the body jittery,
and strange dreams surface occasionally. You can’t get enough. But as the
body and mind rejuvenate in the days
after, dreams of molten sunsets on a
reservoir you just conquered, roars of
laughter on a day of adversity, sweaty
backs as you race pronghorn through
the desert, and high fives with teammates you never would have been this
close with were it not for this challenge, you realize maybe it wasn’t all
about sleep, but about the wonders of
Wyoming and her people. WL M
•••
Photography contributed by Joan Dean of
Pinedale, Wyoming, who has been driving
all over the state of Wyoming following
her daughters to athletic events for years.
That trend didn’t change when they grew
up, and she tracked Casey Adams and her
team across central Wyoming for this event.
When she’s not cheering her daughters on,
she takes her own adventures, be it rock
climbing, biking, running, skiing, or trying
something new.
We didn’t tip that time, and neither did
our fearless leaders. Spe