Earlier this week, while Googling the phrase “addicted to endorphins,” I came across the blog of a lanky trail runner with knee-length dreadlocks who adopted the moniker “Ultrapedestrian.” Without yet knowing anything else about him, my first thought was, “Yes, Ultrapedestrian — what a perfect phrase to describe the running/ jogging / power-hiking / scrambling / shuffling / trudging / side-hilling / occasionally-sled-dragging combination that I practice.” Ultrarunning is not nearly descriptive enough when it comes to the beautiful struggle and challenge that is locomotion over long distances.

As I came to learn more about the Ultrapedestrian, Jason “Ras” Vaughn, I learned he recently completed a six-time traverse of the Grand Canyon, a triple rim-to-rim-to-rim in a continuous time of 68 hours and 10 minutes. The effort was part of Ras’s ongoing pursuit of “Only Known Times” — or completion of solo endeavors so outlandish that no one else has ever attempted them. Such unique challenges capture my imagination, and when I learned Ras was a vocal proponent of “slow running,” my intrigue was sealed.

The 41-year-old Rastafarian from Central Washington gave an interview to TrailRunner Magazine this week, expanding on his position:

“My philosophy of running/adventuring/bipedalism is to use the most efficient, enjoyable and sustainable form of movement for reaching the specific goal in those specific environs. I occasionally do put up a respectable time. … But for me it comes down to fast running not being sustainable running. Just like Nascar driving is not sustainable driving. A competitive runner may have only one or two goal races for the year, and they train and run according to that goal: putting up one or two outstanding performances a year. But I think most runners would rather run well a hundred times a year. From my experience, slower running correlates with fewer injuries and faster recovery, and is optimal for fat-based fueling versus carbohydrate-centric fueling.”

Ras entered the world of trail running as a backpacker who strove to increase his efficiency in order to achieve longer distances in less time. He admits the practices and accoutrements of road and track racing are foreign to him. “My worldview presupposes the need or desire to cover the same amount of mileage again this afternoon, and tomorrow,” he explains.

“But I am not against fast running,” he told TrailRunner. “I don’t think it’s wrong. I am as impressed and inspired by and in awe of the elite runners as anyone else, and I respect and admire them. What I take issue with is a culture that worships speed as the only standard by which to judge achievement. It’s time for Trail Culture to democratize running.”

Democratization of trail running — it’s a concept that makes you think. In trail running, as in any human endeavor, there are elite runners, and then there is the vast majority that is everyone else — as Ras aptly put it, “Running’s 99 percent.” Within the 99 percent there are a wide range of abilities, desires, goals, and limitations — and yet cultural conventions assume everyone aspires to mimic the 1 percent elite. Runners such as Ras occasionally step into the spotlight to remind us that it’s okay to be different, and it’s okay to aspire to unique and occasionally outlandish goals that bring personal fulfillment rather than parsing out the hierarchy of the 99 percent.

Ras’ philosophies are compelling, and could be seen as Zen questions for other runners searching for their own way in the democracy of trail running:

On trail running developing into an unhealthy addiction:

“Whether running can be an addiction or not is immaterial. Trail running predates the cultivation of poppies or marijuana or any other form of agriculture. It predates religion. It predates human speech. Trail running is an essential and quintessential human activity, an artifact from the Savannah, from when we were just distinguishing ourselves from the broader designation of ‘hominid’. Trail running cannot become an unhealthy addiction because it is neither unhealthy nor addicting. It is a proto-human behavior, a thing so deeply ingrained in us that the two cannot be separated, we from it. And there’s little profit in accusing us of being addicted to our own humanity.

On deciding to not use his usual minimalist shoes for a 200-mile trail run:

“When retrieving a piping hot casserole from the oven one uses an oven mitt; there’s no possibility of going ‘minimal’, one needs a tool to do something with one’s hand that would otherwise cause harm or damage.”

On relentless forward motion:

“Another mental technique I use when I am losing the drive to keep moving, or am tempted to stop, or feel overwhelmed by the distance, is that I consider Sisyphus. Rolling a rock uphill only to watch it roll back down, then again roll it up, for all eternity would be a rather brutal form of fartlek, a punishing type of interval, a star-crossed sort of cross training. In comparison, spending eternity hiking uphill simply to run back down and then began hiking up once more doesn’t sound all that bad. In fact, it’s a fairly apt trail description for the Wonderland Trail. If this was all I was going to do for the rest of eternity, I was okay with that. I could settle into that, find my pace, and keep moving.”

On finishing a 200-mile race:

“Ultrarunning is a search for one’s own personal limits. Before I began running crazy distances, I never thought I could complete a marathon. Then I did. But I still thought there was no way I could run 50 kilometers or 50 miles. But it turns out I can. So as I continue to find out what things I CAN do, the question remains; what is it that I CAN’T do? I entered this race partly because last year, before the start of the Cascade Crest Classic 100 Mile Endurance Run in Easton, Washington, race director Charlie Crissman had said, “If you have never DNF’d then you need to run harder races.” Well, Charlie, I still haven’t DNF’d. What’s the next test?”

On the future of Ultrarunning:

“Competitive Running will continue toward homogeneity. As sponsors invest more and more money into athletes and races, they will expect those athletes and races to produce more and more money. This will be accomplished not by bringing the average person onto the trail, but by bringing trail running into the average person’s living room via television and internet.

Multiple loop courses will become de rigueur because they facilitate broadcasting. The smaller the loop, and the more laps required to make the distance, the less race and media infrastructure will be needed to create a network quality sports show. A fleet of cameramen is far more affordable than a fleet of helicopters, which would be needed to film a point to point 100 miler. Profits will increase, and with them will come all the baggage and benefits of any professional sport.

Conversely, Adventure Running, running for challenge, achievement, and experience, will follow its bliss away from the trappings and limitations of Competitive Running.

I foresee the advent of the Age of the Non-Standard Distance, organic distances based on geographic features. Classic trails, mountains, and rivers will define race courses. Upon completion of the 93 mile Wonderland Trail around the base of Mount Rainier, in Washington State, one doesn’t think, “Just seven more miles and it would have been perfect.” Running around The Mountain is enough, and if 93 is the number, then 93 is just fine. In trail culture each trail stands on it’s own as a test piece. How does the Tahoe Rim Trail compare to the Rim to Rim to Rim? It doesn’t. It doesn’t have to. The trail, the environs, and the geographic features define the course. The measurement is an afterthought.

New paradigms of achievement will arise. Speed will still be valued, but not at the expense of everything else, more in terms of efficiency. Style, in the alpine sense of technique or methodology, will be more highly revered. Sustainability in every sense will become a paramount ethic; not only in terms of making use of the natural world in a way that preserves it, but also in a way that preserves the athlete and promotes their well being and continued striving. Unsupported, self supported, and multi-day events will proliferate, allowing fastpackers and hikers to participate in some of the same events as ultrarunners and trail runners. Fastest Known Times, Only Known Times, Thruhikes, and Peak Bagging will capture the imagination and ambitions of greater numbers of runners.”

Kate Leeming pedals her “all-wheel-drive” fat bike during a recent training trip in northern Norway.

In the past few weeks, at least two individuals and one team of two have announced intentions to ride a bicycle from the Hercules Inlet to the South Pole during the 2013-14 season. Daniel Burton and Todd Tueller of Utah launched an Epic South expedition, Kate Leeming of Australia revealed her plans to use an all-wheel-drive fat bike, and Spain’s Juan Menendez Granados announced his unsupported expedition to bicycle 1,130 kilometers while towing a 90-kilogram sled behind his bicycle. If all of these plans come to fruition, there will be veritable race to see who can reach the South Pole first. As of yet, no one has successfully ridden a bicycle from the coast to the South Pole.

When it comes to bicycles in Antarctica, I’m both an enthusiast and a cynic. Of those who have attempted an Antarctic bike expedition so far, no one has even come close to reaching the South Pole solely on a bicycle. Back in 2003, Doug Stroup attempted an Antarctic expedition with a Hanebrink bicycle, but halted his expedition after being shut down for too many days by bad weather and unworkable wind. British television personality Helen Skelton leaned heavily on kite-skiing to traverse her planned 500 miles in 2011. She rode a total of seven days and covered 103 miles total on a bike, even though her television production company heavily touted the bicycle as the focus of her expedition. Experienced polar explorer Eric Larsen made an attempt last December with a Surly Moonlander. He covered 175 miles over his 9 days out there. It’s the current world record for the most distance traveled toward the South Pole with a bicycle — and it’s no where near the 750 miles needed to reach the South Pole.

So far, no one has been completely candid about why their bicycle expeditions failed. Skelton claimed her bicycle worked “beautifully” while covering less than 15 miles over a full day of travel. Larsen believed he would move faster and cover nearly double the mileage per day, and he didn’t have enough supplies or time banked to complete the expedition safely. In both cases, winds were cited as a major obstacle — katabatic winds rush down from the pole toward the coast, ensuring near-constant headwinds that can blow up to 100 miles per hour. Strong winds slow any progress, but bicycles are especially susceptible to wind. Even when fat tires can achieve float on top of the hard snow crust, the combination of sand-like friction, uneven snow drifts, and heavy winds can create a wall of resistance that even the strongest cyclists will find difficulty breaking through.

I have no doubt that someone will take a bicycle to the South Pole sooner than later. Larsen already cracked the code for daily forward progress, and future self-supported expeditions only need to bank enough supplies and time to continue pedaling toward the pole. The Epic South team and Leeming seem to believe that supported expeditions with a guide and snowmobile support are the way to go. Leeming has an interesting concept with her all-wheel-drive bicycle, and just returned from a week of testing and training in Spitsbergen. She had this to say about the experience:

“On the whole, biking in the snow and sand is similar in that it requires a huge amount of strength to stay upright and energy to deal with the constant resistance without respite. However the snow and energy-sapping cold I definitely found to be at another level. To cycle in these conditions for a few hours is all very well, but to go for days, weeks and up to two months is what I had to decide was a realistic venture.”

So I continue to wonder — is 2 miles per hour the best a bicycle can do in Antarctica? And if so, why take a bicycle to the South Pole at all? The roster of Antarctic cyclists so far have included both experienced cyclists and experienced polar explorers, but as of yet no one with extensive snow biking experience has either raised the funds or signed on to attempt such an endeavor. I have embarked on loaded snow bike tours where I struggled to achieve a 4 mile per hour average on top of sandy, drifted snow in what would be considered light winds by Antarctic standards. I’m inclined to believe that the equation to turn a bicycle into an efficient Antarctic vehicle has yet to be solved — and that a successful expedition will be more a matter of luck with weather and equipment than the fact that anyone has found the perfect forumla.

It will be interesting to watch this year as the race unfolds. I recently interviewed Burton about his expedition and will post that soon.

I think most writers would agree that one of the most rewarding aspects of writing is the simple yet profound way words can connect you with other people. I’ve kept a frequently updated blog for more than seven years, and from time to time I receive a note from somebody who saw themselves in something I wrote, and felt compelled to reach out. The was the man who was preparing for a 24-hour race and decided to call his team “Liquid Gray Infinity” after one of my blog posts. There was the young woman who lost both of her feet to frostbite, and in researching others’ frostbite experiences, found a way to feel less alone.

One would think such notes from strangers would be ego-boosting, but I’ve found them to be just the opposite. I’m humbled by the scope of others’ experiences, and grateful that a few meager words have the power open a small window into their intriguing lives. Last week, I received an e-mail from a woman who recently read one of my books, “Ghost Trails.” Her words evoked the passion I remember from throwing caution to the wind and embarking on something outlandish. She reminded me that adventure is always around the corner — it’s just a matter of taking those first steps. Her travels inspired me, and I asked if I could share her story:

Hi Jill,

I hope this email finds you doing well. Although we have never met, I felt moved to email you. Several weeks after meeting Dave Kingsbury at the Whole Foods Leadership retreat, a package containing two books arrived from him: “Into the Wild” and “Ghost Trails.” The latter had a purple post-it note that read: “my friend Jill. Total stud + total inspiration.”

To give you some context, at my time of meeting Dave, I had begun making plans for a trip — one that holds no candle (or anything reminiscent of a flame) to the brutal intensity of your journey on the Iditarod in 2008, but I suppose you could say had similar origins. I had just put in my two weeks notice at my fun and comfortable job at a tech startup in Austin and purchased a one-way ticket to China to backpack through Southeast Asia due to some odd, undefined draw and calling. I was not escaping a bad job or relationship, or running away from any past. Like your “pre-Iditarod” days, I was happy with my own apartment, a puppy, and enjoyed the little things that make the “soft life” well, soft.

I had traveled to China four times previously, each for only four months. After reading your book, I can compare these trips to your sleeping in the backyard to test your sleeping bag. As my departure date came closer, I became elated with my absolute lack of plan, route, or purpose. Friends and family couldn’t quite understand what or why, but it was happening nonetheless. I felt I had to go — I had talked about doing a trip like this as a fantasy for a year, and just like your and Geoff’s obsessing eventually melted into your real lives, so did my hope to see more of Asia. The week before I left Austin, I sold all of my furniture, and with whatever I couldn’t sell, I held a makeshift free garage sale inside my apartment. I flew to Seattle with five suitcases (thank god for my helpful sister in law who flew down to help) and my 9-month-old puppy, Ellie. After four days in Seattle that were jam-packed with equal visits to favorite restaurants and REI, I flew to Shanghai on March 29 and am currently writing you from the Perhentian islands in Malaysia.

When I first received the books from Dave, about three or four weeks before departure, they were put on the back burner as there were so many logistics to be figured out. Because I deeply respected Dave, those two books were the only ones I brought with me (as I’m sure you understand, both space and weight are measured like gold). I was eager to read “Into the Wild” because I felt that parallels could be extracted from Chris McCandless’ aimless journey into foreign territory. To be completely honest, I was a bit perplexed as to why Dave had sent me a book about an ice-bicycle race, but I trusted him and continued to carry the book with me along my travels. I didn’t make much time for reading in China, but after being in Malaysia for six days, I crashed a scooter and found myself with a lot of down time. Excited to see why Dave had picked “Ghost Trails,” I started your book. Before I knew it, I had a pen out and was underlining certain passages and folding the ears of pages. The book that I didn’t necessarily expect to resonate with me was bringing me to tears. I identified with your need to go on this journey, even if you weren’t sure why. I laughed hysterically at your fears of being unprepared because I too, felt, and feel, the same way. Who doesn’t pack insect repellent on a tour of Southeast Asia? For heck’s sake, I didn’t even get my immunizations until week four in China, seven days before heading to Malaysia!

I am not too sure why I am writing you other than to say thank you. While reading your book, I continuously found my self identifying with your highs, and your lows; the self-discovery that only comes after combatting self doubt; the joy that can come from your previous life in the form as something as simple as a peanut butter cup; the appreciation for detaching yourself to gain a greater understanding of who you are and learning what you’re capable of. I appreciate your honesty in your difficulties and I hope you felt as rewarded as you should have — the entire experience must have been humbling and rewarding beyond what I can fathom. I applaud your strength, both physical and mental.

Thank you for your beautifully written account. I will hold on to it for the rest of my travels and then I plan to mail it to a man I met from South Africa who is planning a 5-year cycling tour around the world.

Thank you and again, major applause on a beautiful journey.

Beat Jegerlehner wears his favorite shirt in the 2011 Tour des Oisans, a rugged mountain race in France.

By Beat Jegerlehner

A large percentage of my running and adventuring gear is made by Skinfit — a small Austrian manufacturer — ever since my brother introduced me to the brand about 10 years ago. Since then, I’ve used Skinfit items in more than one hundred ultra endurance events ranging from fifty kilometers to a thousand miles of running — and even one lonely Ironman. One of my staple items is the Skinfit Aero short sleeve shirt, which I’ll describe here. Unless I go for extreme cold winter adventures (where I still bring lots of other Skinfit stuff), this shirt is always part of my gear.

What is it?

Most of Skinfit’s Aero line of clothing is skin-tight, soft and stretchy, however they’re not dedicated compression garments — which means their advanced material can do its job of transferring moisture, but at the same time it is comfortable and not constricting. The fabric looks matte — no spandex look. Recently Skinfit also started making loose-fit Aero shirts, and after trying one (in last year’s 200-mile Tor des Geants in Italy) I think you can’t go wrong either way. That said, I would encourage anyone to try out a tight-fitting shirt at least once. Given you’ll wear it in some awesome event most normal people wouldn’t be able to finish, you don’t need to be self-conscious.

What’s to like?

First off, durability and quality: I’ve worn Skinfit shirts under 20-plus-pound packs, let them sit in my luggage drenched in sweat for days, and very un-gently ripped them off my body when changing at aid stations (The only concession I make is that I avoid tumble-drying any of my sports clothing, since many dryers have poor temperature control and develop hotspots.) This shirt just doesn’t want to quit — it took me eight years and upwards of 25 hundred-mile races along with countless shorter ones to finally wear out my favorite one (a present from my brother.) And it wasn’t a seam that broke; I ripped a hole into the back. The fabric is extremely durable, and the seams are of top-notch quality.

More important though is the comfort and performance aspect — particularly the thermal properties: The aero material is, like many synthetic materials, very quick-drying. However, many shirts don’t cool enough or get too cold when it’s windy. I find this shirt to be perfectly balanced — it doesn’t heat me up — and if I do sweat has an efficient cooling effect, particularly in the skin-tight versions. But at the same time, it provides good wind resistance — wet or dry — so when getting into an area with a cold breeze I can still be perfectly comfortable. This allows me to use the same shirt in very varied conditions, something that is important especially in my mountainous runs. I’ve worn the Aero shirt racing in the desert in 100-plus-degree weather, and in cold and rainy mountain events.

Furthermore the Aero material feels nice — soft and not too synthetic. A maybe more tangible benefit is that I find I don’t chafe when wearing these shirts. That’s not because I am immune to chafing, which I occasionally find out wearing other kinds of shirts. Here I don’t need nipple guards, no lubing, and even with a heavy pack running for days I’m fine. The same can be said for the Klima baselayer shirt, which I found to work extremely well with the Aero shirt. Also, these shirts are indeed quite smell-resistant. Despite being synthetic, you’re not immediately developing your unique aroma like many synthetic materials help you do.

And they’re good for …?

I’m wearing the Aero shirt for pretty much most activities — hiking, training, short to multiday races, for temperature ranges anywhere above 20F (below 50F I usually add a Klima baselayer and possibly a shell), in humid or dry conditions. They’re also great for triathlon. I particularly liked the way the material dried out of the swim transition (Skinfit makes some highly functional one-piece suits too).

Anything I don’t like? Well, they are pricy. I think it gets offset by the durability though. The color scheme is … I guess European. Other than that, the shirt just works for me. During the past 10 or so years Skinfit has made improvements to it, but the shirt never took a step back in performance (as it sadly so often happens with “improved” versions).

Am I really that into it? Here are a few pictures over the years!

2005 Bear 100 in Logan, Utah

2008 HURT 100 in Oahu, Hawaii.

2009 Hardrock 100 in Colorado

2010 Headlands 100 in Marin County, California

Winter training in the Wasatch Mountains, Utah.

2011 Tor des Geants in the Italian Alps.

2012 Petite Trot a Leon in France. Definitely doesn’t qualify as “running” anymore.

Camping in the Laguna Mountains on the Pacific Crest Trail. Photo by Carrot Quinn.

It’s a bit of a quiet week around here, but there are plenty of compelling adventures happening right now to follow along as we build up stoke for summer plans. These are a few of the adventures I’ve been following, and think you’ll enjoy them, too:

Carrot on the PCT:

Portland resident and creative nonfiction writer Carrot Quinn is hiking the Pacific Crest trail and blogging her adventure with a literary flare. She’s out there experiencing the usual through-hiking misadventures of meeting new folks, looking for water, grappling with blisters, stifling heat, and fixation on food — but her descriptions have a way of drawing readers into her headspace, as though we’re hiking the trail alongside her. Read about Carrot’s trail adventures at http://carrotquinn.wordpress.com.

Another fun Pacific Crest Trail blog is Trail Fresh, another frequently updated blog that’s heavy on photographs.

And finally, The New Nomads. Kimberlie attempted to through-hike the PCT in 2012. Progress was going well until she reached a remote section of the Sierras, where she started to experience severe neck pain and pounding headaches. She rested in a camp for a few days as her condition continued to deteriorate. The next thing she remembered is waking up in a hospital nearly a week later. Doctors informed her that she had suffered a stroke. She was 30 years old with no family history of stroke, but she was several days from help, which was orchestrated by fellow hikers as she lapsed in and out of consciousness. She was lucky to be alive. But she made what appears to be a full recovery and is determined to complete her trek. She’s currently at mile 265. You can catch her updates at http://thenewnomads.com.

Sarah Outen in the North Pacific:

British adventurer Sarah Outen is currently attempting to circumnavigate the globe using only human power in her “Londen to Londen via the World” expedition. After pedaling a bicycle and kayaking across Europe and Asia in 2011, she set out to row across the Pacific Ocean. Her journey was cut short by Tropical Storm Mawar, when her boat capsized and she nearly lost her life. She spent the next nine months recuperating physically and mentally, and is determined to complete her expedition. On April 27, she set out again and hopes to reach the United States by October. Sarah has made several phonecasts to her blog, where you can listen to her daily report, musings about the scenery and stars, and learn more about the motivational powers of “happy socks.” Follow along at http://www.sarahouten.com/blog/phonecasts.

Eddie O’Dea at Hub Cyclery in Idyllwild, California, after he won the Stagecoach 400 in 39 hours and 27 minutes. Photo from Hub Cyclery.

This past weekend was a busy one for endurance mountain biking, with fierce racing in the Stagecoach 400, Trans Iowa, and Arizona Trail Race 750.

The Stagecoach 400 started Friday morning under clear skies and hot sun in Idyllwild, California. A field of about 35 racers dropped out of the San Jacinto mountains and into the Anza Borrego desert as temperatures topped 90 degrees.One of the co-organziers, Hub Cyclery’s Mary Collier, said they made several changes to the route this year to carve out some of the less rideable sections of trail. As a result, the leaders set blazing record times on the course, burning through the entire 370-some miles in a single sleepless push. Eddie O’Dea managed to incrementally increase his lead on local rider Guy Sutton and defending champion Jay Petervary throughout the long day. He rolled into Idyllwild at 11:27 p.m. for a finish of 39 hours and 27 minutes, carving more than ten hours off the old record. Sutton finished at 2:18 for a 42 hour and 18 minute finish, and Petervary came in three hours later in 45:15, still taking four hours of his 2012 time.

As of Monday morning, Tracey Petervary was en route to Idyllwild and in strong position to finish first in the women’s field. At least fifteen riders scratched from the race, with a handful of finishers trickling in. Alaska rider Josh Spice dropped from the Stagecoach after 117 miles, citing difficult riding conditions and complications caused by the heat.

“Cold weather Alaska boy got bad heat exhaustion and incurable dehydration,” he wrote. “I was only able to stomach 300 calories in those thirteen hours through the night. Couldn’t breathe deep without gagging, either. First 58 miles took six hours. Second 58 miles took 13! Roughest biking, hardest hike-a-biking, and softest sand you could possibly imagine. This route is not a biking route. I pushed my bike for 10 mi last night, in the dark, and almost as much during the day.”

Max Morris heads down the South Kaibab Trail on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon during the Arizona Trail Race 750.

In the Arizona Trail Race, Max Morris finished the 750-mile ride across Arizona Saturday at 9:30 p.m. for a finish time of about 8 days and 13 hours. While shy of record pace, Morris knocked six days off his previous time. He reported that fatigue caused him difficulty in the final miles, especially when he was required to hike his bike across the 24-mile stretch of the Grand Canyon. “I struggled getting the bike up the North Rim,” he said. Having also finished the Tour Divide in 2012, Morris encouraged endurance riders to take on the desert singletrack challenge. “AZT750 is a whole other world of hurt,” he said.

Aaron Denberg had a bout of bad luck when his cassette and freewheel fell off during the canyon hike. He tried to zip-tie the cassette, but the zip tie wore and broke, and he lost two of the ratchets inside. When he reached the North Rim, he had a nonfunctional bike. A driver picked him up on the closed access point to the North Rim, sparing him a 40-mile walk on the road, but he was forced to scratch from the race just shy of the finish.

Blake Bockius also finished the race in about nine days. Eric Foster, Forest Baker, Mark Caminiti, and Sheila Torres-Blank are still en route.

Portrait of a rider at TransIowa. Photo by Jason Boucher. http://imaginegnat.com/trans-iowa-v9-portraits/

Saturday’s Trans Iowa brought a field of 91 starters, including a record rookie field of 51 riders for the ninth version of the 325-mile gravel grinder across Iowa. A total of 36 riders finished, which is also a record finishing rate for a race notorious for its wet weather, rough farm roads, and tight cut-offs. Rich Wince was the first to cross the finish line at 5:11 a.m. Sunday time for an unofficial finish time of 25 hours, 7 minutes. First singlespeed racer Mark Johnson finished second overall at 6:32 a.m., Paul LaCva came in at 6:40, and first woman Monika Sattler finished fourth overall at the same time. Four women finished this year’s event, also a record as only one woman has finished Trans Iowa in the eight prior events.

“It was a pretty historical Trans Iowa version 9,” said race organizer Guitar Ted. “The weather was perfect and everything ran really smoothly.”

Beacon Press recently released the new memoir, Dirt Work: An Education in the Woods by author and “traildog” Christine Byl. Dirt Work tells the story of Byl’s years working as a traildog in the National Parks of Montana and Alaska.

In Dirt Work: An Education in the Woods, Christine Byl takes readers deep into the gritty and hardscrabble work of a professional trail builder. Dirt Work tells the story of Byl’s years working as a traildog in the National Parks of Montana and Alaska. In the book, Byl recalls long days of clearing brush, digging ditches, building bridges, cleaning up after forest fires, and blasting snow; offering the reader an intimate look at life on the trails. She explores the language, tools, skills, and fraternity of “traildog” work, writing candidly about the harsh living conditions, injuries, and insecurities that come with the job.

Byl wrote a guest post for Half Past Done as part of her online book tour. We also have one copy of Byl’s new book to give away. For a chance to win, leave a comment at the end of this post.

“The Long Haul” by Christine Byl

Alaska is full of endurance events and people who push themselves to their limits, from the well organized to the sponsored to the DIY (my neighbor’s statewide epics can’t be found online because she hardly knows how to use a computer.) The Tour of Anchorage ski marathon happens annually in our biggest city, a bedrock date of the winter calendar, and it draws participants from the pro ski-race circuit to grandparents out with their middle-schoolers. In the summer, hardly a week goes by without some adventure race or distance event, front-page news in the local paper.

But despite my admiration for endurance athletes and an annually postponed resolution to ski the Tour myself, my own performance history is not event-based, or even recreational. For most of my twenties, my only sponsor-banner was the National Park Service arrowhead patch. I was a traildog. Specifically, a member of a backcountry trail crew in Glacier National Park, one of the premiere mountain trail parks in the country.

A week into my first season on the job, I realized that this was no ordinary summer undertaking. Trying to keep up with the expert, fit, and no-nonsense crew I’d joined (late, and totally green) was going to take some serious grit. Luckily, in the absence of a bottomed-out resting pulse or any muscles to speak of, I had the excessive stubbornness and the desire to push myself that anchors any endurance activity. I was determined not to give up, though I had to settle for last in line, at least for a while.

The list of trail crew feats contained plenty of typical exploits—fast, steep hiking; long days carrying heavy packs; fording rivers—as well as some particular to the tasks at hand—massive rocks to move, a chainsaw on your shoulder for 10 hours, sprinting to stay ahead of the mule string and a grumpy cowboy. Despite my initial ineptitude, the combination of outdoors, camaraderie, and pure effort hooked me. I loved pushing myself. I loved the exhaustion at the end of a ten-hour day, not to mention a 10-day hitch, and I loved the gang I’d joined. Never mind that I spent more time with my hands on my knees trying catch my breath than anything. We were, as one ranger called us, industrial athletes.

It’s been almost a decade since my last backcountry season in Glacier. My Alaska trails career has been different. Still plenty of arduous labor, for sure: intense bush-whacking, bearing brutally heavy loads, but also mechanized work, and design jobs that require more of brain, less of lung capacity. I still think back on those epic Glacier days, though. That’s where I learned the blend that’s useful anywhere else, what suits anyone in pursuit of an edge: humble (this is gonna kick my ass) and tenacious (I can do it!)

I still get out on endurance trips as often as I can. I love long ski tours, mountain expeditions, and the occasional mushing trip (sled dogs: talk about endurance athletes!) But the Alaskan endurance customs that I love most are not recreational at all. The Alaska Native people who’ve made this lovely, severe place their home for over ten thousand years embody a dogged persistence blended with joyful celebration of effort in a way that underlies the state’s culture. Many Alaskans’ most consistent epics include the tasks that make up living: cutting, hauling and chopping ten cords of firewood; three-day sleepless dip-netting trips to fill the freezer with sockeye salmon; packing 500 pounds of moose meat out of a remote hunting camp. These statewide subsistence rituals are practiced from off-grid farmsteads to bush cabins to city apartments. Just like in my Glacier days, I love being a member of this crew. I love learning from experts, pushing past the wall when I want to quit, and falling deeper and deeper in love with a place. Breathless.

Book giveaway and call for comments: What is your favorite trail?

Leave a comment below for a chance to win a copy of Dirt Work: An Education in the Woods. Please make sure you provide a valid email address when you comment so that I can reach you. Contest open to residents of the United States and Canada only. The winner will be chosen randomly on Friday, May 3.

For a sneak peak, read the intro to Dirt Work.

Christine Byl

Check out Byl’s final stop on her online book tour on Saturday, April 27 at Hiker to Hiker. Half Past Done will post a book review at a later date.

About the author: Christine Byl lives on a few acres of tundra north of Denali National Park outside the town of Healy, Alaska, with her husband and an old sled dog. She received her MFA in fiction from the University of Alaska-Anchorage, and her stories and essays have appeared in magazines, journals, and anthologies. She owns and operates a small trail design and construction business.

Aaron Gulley at the start of the Arizona Trail Race.

Aaron Gulley, a writer and journalist from Santa Fe, New Mexico, won this year’s Arizona Trail Race in 2 days, 3 hours, and 59 minutes. After several unsuccessful tries on the Arizona Trail, Gulley returned this year to break the 300-mile course record by more than an hour. Here, Gulley offers some insights into his race and the beauty and exhilaration of riding the Arizona Trail:

HPD: Do you mind sending me a few thoughts on your race?

AG: It’s a relief and a point of pride that it all finally came together. I’ve been trying to complete the AZT300 since April 2010, and a combination of inexperience and bad luck prevented me from doing it. The first year I flew directly from an assignment in Korea to the start of an ITT and ended up sick from something I’d eaten overseas — think vomiting and severe diarrhea — and had to bail at Tucson. Year two, my Garmin 705 failed catastrophically at Colossal Cave and I wasn’t prepared to navigate without it. Last year I was having a great run but was turned back in the snowstorm on Lemmon after the police closed the highway. I’ve always known that I had it in me to do this route fast and efficiently. Getting through it this year I finally proved it to myself. I had the faith that I could do it, and finally I made good.

HPD: What was the hardest aspect of the trail for you?

AG: I’ve ridden Oracle Ridge before, and when you’re fresh it’s fine, if not enjoyable. But this year it was a nightmare. I don’t know if it was the lack of sleep — I started down after 24 straight hours of riding —the extra weight on my bike, the rising heat, or what, but I just flailed. Part of it was the fear of all the sharp rocks and rugged terrain. I just made myself walk a lot of it so I wouldn’t risk crashing or flatting. But by the bottom I was yelling at the trail and in a pretty foul mood.

HPD: Did anything happen that was unexpected?

Aaron Gulley during the Arizona Trail Race.

AG: Though I had a fairly smooth go of it, the section from Oracle to Freeman Water Cache brought the unexpected. I filled water at Kannally Ranch House, in the park east of Oracle. I topped off one bottle from the water fountain, and it was so slow that I decided to fill my 100-ounce bladder from the spigot below, which was attached to a hose. Four or five miles later, well past the Tiger Mine trailhead, I took a draw off my CamelBak and the water tasted horrendous. It had a strong chemical taste and was totally sour in my mouth. I basically couldn’t drink it. It was about 3 p.m., so approaching the heat of the day, and I started getting nervous about being out there without much fluid. I knew I had to drink so I forced myself to take small swigs from the bad water every 10 to 15 minutes. Each time I’d drink, I’d get a gag reflex, and my belly was bloating and painful. Meanwhile, I was really slowing down as well. I started worrying that I was poisoning myself. In the back of my head I knew that was probably histrionic, but I was also sweltering and sleep-deprived, so my mind was playing games. Finally I started vomiting, and I realized I had to stop for a while.

I threw up twice and rinsed my mouth from the good bottle of water on my bike. I took a 40-minute nap, and when I woke, though I didn’t feel a ton better, the temps were starting to cool and I knew I had to keep moving. I decided I wouldn’t drink anymore of the bad water. I considered dumping it but decided to save it in case of emergency.

I was just crawling along. I mostly couldn’t ride uphill, so I’d walk, and I rationed that last bottle, which lasted till dark. The section around Antelope Peak is notoriously hard to follow, which is why I had planned to hit it in the day, so now that it was dark I was making all sorts of wrong turns, too. Finally, a little after 10 p.m., having not had a sip of water in hours, I rolled into Freeman. I drank nearly a gallon of water straight away, and I was at last able to get some more calories in me. I ate well but very slowly, rinsed all my bottles completely, then got out my bivy sack for the first time in the race and took another 40-minute nap. When I woke, I continued the slow moving, deliberately packing everything up, tanking up on water, just taking my time. I finally rode out at 12:20. Thank goodness the Boulders section is easy, because my legs warmed up again and my body started moving. From there, I had a fast run to the finish.

It’s such a good illustration of how many things have to go right and how many variables there are. This was my own mistake: I should have tasted the water before I left Kannally. I did, actually, but only the bottle from the fountain, not from the spigot below. I assume there must have been something in the hose, but who knows. It’s funny how I chose to fill off the hose to save a few minutes but in the end it cost me several hours. Then again, I’m just grateful my body came back around at all. It was touch and go for a little bit there in the heat of the day.

HPD: Do you feel satisfied with your effort in the race?

I am content that I gave it my best. I had a mostly smooth run, and I worked through the water crisis and never lost site of my goal. I set out with the 48-hour mark in mind, so I was a little disappointed to have been off that. But I rode either exactly to or faster than my projected splits in every section of the race except for that Oracle to Freeman segment, so minus the water issue I did what I set out to do. The truth is it’s never been about a time or a record for me. I always wanted to just have a fast, smooth ride, and in that sense I succeeded. Except for those grim hours after Oracle, I had fun and never felt like I was suffering or miserable. It just felt like an awesome fast tour, and I was so psyched throughout. That’s a mark of success in itself.

I’ve also learned that it’s nice to have something still hanging out there. It’s motivation. This run proved to me that 48 hours is definitely a doable time for me if I were to have a perfect race.

HPD: Any favorite moments?

AG: What struck me was just how fun the entire experience was. People say to me, “Man, you must love suffering to do something like that.” But it wasn’t like that at all. There is so much great trail on this race, and the setting is just sublime almost everywhere, that you simply can’t help but have fun. Even when I was hurting so much on that APC stretch before Freeman, I kept looking up and seeing the big, open sky and thinking how lucky I was to be out there.

The last 35 miles, from the Gila to Picket Post, totally blew me away. This was the only section of trail I hadn’t previously ridden, and I was so glad I had not. Riding into a bit of the unknown made it feel like an adventure and also kept my interest. And I never would have imagined it could be this good. I don’t think there is any trail anywhere that is better for mountain biking. The fact that you can ride 48 hours and be totally sleep deprived and exhausted and still be amazed at everything around you … it just speaks to how good that trail is. I won’t say I didn’t want it to end — I was pretty knackered in the last miles. But I was definitely exhilarated by that stretch.

HPD: Is there anything you’d do differently if you were to do it again?

I’ll be more careful about checking my water before riding out in the future. But seriously, no — I pretty much got my logistics right. I finished with 200 calories and one liter of water. You can’t get it much more accurate than that.

I really enjoyed the solitude of the experience — I didn’t see another person after I passed Max Morris at the store in Sonoita. My wife and some girlfriends were out there camping, but I never ran into them. I like riding alone, especially this time because it felt like something I needed to do by myself. I can’t look back and wonder if I was able to do it because someone else was there pushing me along, or wonder if I could have gone quicker because someone was holding me back. It was all about me, my headspace, my fitness, my plan.

On some level, however, I regret that Kurt Refsnider (winner of the 2012 Arizona Trail Race 300) wasn’t in the race. He and I have had some really fun rides together, and I know he would have been there at the front with me and would have pushed me. I still think that his ride last year, when he went over Lemmon in six inches of snow, is probably the most impressive run on this course yet. He was only marginally slower in spite of the stress and strain of that weather — which is damn impressive. He deserved the course record for that effort. He faced down the race and the challenges as they presented themselves. So I kind of wish he had been out there to savor this relatively easier run. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him take another crack at it soon — he has a sub-48-hour ride in him. If not, maybe we’ll get to ride wheel to wheel on the course next year. That would be fun.

After finishing up a “monster hike-a-bike,” Scott Jones presents the “easy” button he’d been carrying for the occasion. Photo by John Schilling.

The stories that have emerged from this year’s Arizona Trail Race are gruesome and beautiful, often at the same time — a man using pliers to pry cholla balls out of his wife’s thighs; doctors surgically removing more than 50 needles from another man’s backside; shoes torn to shreds on a rugged hike-a-bike atop Oracle Ridge; Gila monster sightings; giant insects and creepy cacti; rippling mountain ridges and sunsets that drench the sky in blood light. If the reports serve as any indication, a grand adventure was had by all.

And a number of impressive performances emerged in this year’s race. Of the fifty or so riders who started the 300-mile race, 22 have officially finished with a few more still coming in. At least seven have gone on to challenge the 750-mile full distance of the trail, with Tucson rider Max Morris leading the charge. Aaron Gulley took an hour off the men’s record in 2:03:59; Eszter Horanyi shaved 15 hours off the former women’s record in 2:13:15, and was third overall. Pete Basinger arrived an hour ahead of Eszter for second place in 2:12:18. Aaron Boatman (2:17:31) and Dave Wilson (2:21:23) rounded out the top five.

“Aaron Gulley put to rest his AZT demons (he had multiple DNFs prior to this year) and came out over an hour ahead of record pace,” said Scott Morris, who has organized the Arizona Trail Race each April since 2006. “His persistence over the years is inspirational to see.”

“On the women’s side, Eszter Horanyi put in a near perfect race. She slept minimally, made no mistakes, and rode steady throughout.  This led her to take an astonishing 15 hours off the record.  I’ve never seen a rookie execute such a flawless race before. Second place finisher Pete Basinger admitted to hiding his lights when he saw Eszter’s in the distance behind him, fearing she would ‘catch and bury’ him. She finished less than an hour behind Pete.”

“Of course the 750 is still going on, with Max Morris in the lead. He looks to be on pace to finish in nine or less days, leading to a swift start to his Triple Crown. Aaron Boatman was ahead of Max, but dropped in Apache Junction.”

Morris said the weather during the first five days of the race was average for April, which is generally favorable for going fast. The third day was the warmest and racers were subject to the worst heat at some of the lower elevations on the route. Nearly half the field dropped from the race; many citing heat or dehydration as reasons they couldn’t continue. Others reported destroyed tires, stomach issues, too much hike-a-bike, boredom, and lack of drive as their reasons for scratching.

Self-portrait by Eszter Horanyi during her record run in the Arizona Trail 300-mile race.

“Physically, the hardest part of the course was along the Gila River the final day,” Horanyi said. “The temperatures were verging on unbearable and I had to scale back my effort big time to keep my head from boiling over. I definitely spent some time sitting in the shade feeling sorry for myself and trying not to lose my lunch. Mentally, the final seven miles to the finish were killer. It was dark and I was so ready to be done but the trail just refused to end. Oracle Ridge wasn’t exactly easy, but it was more of a mental challenge of staying positive while hiking my bike both up and down hill than a physical one.”

Still, beautiful photos and awestruck recollections of beauty outnumber the tales of woe from this year’s race.

“The sheer amount of fun that I had out there was a little unexpected for a race that has the lowest finishing rate of any of the major bikepacking races,” Horanyi said. “I had sort of braced myself for some pain and suffering, but the riding was so fun, and so much of it was so mentally engaging, that I spent at least 90 percent of the time simply having a really good time riding amazing trails on my bike.”

“I’m incredibly satisfied with how my race unfolded. I knew I had good fitness going into the event, but I had no clue I’d be able to put together that good of a ride. As far as race execution went, I made very few mistakes, wasted very little time, and minimized my trailside fits. While I’m sure I could find a few places to shave a few minutes here and there, I feel like I got pretty close to my speed limit on the route.”

Congrats to everyone who finished this year. The 750-mile race is still going on and can be tracked at http://trackleaders.com/aztr13.

Aaron Gulley and others take off at the start of the 300-mile Arizona Trail Race on Friday morning. Photo by Scott Morris

Aaron Gulley, a journalist from Santa Fe, New Mexico, appears to have finished the 300-mile Arizona Trail mountain bike race under the current record of 2 days, 5 hours, and 10 minutes. According to the race tracker, Gulley arrived at the finish around 1 p.m. Sunday, which would have shaved about an hour off the old record. Race organizer Scott Morris was still awaiting a call-in from Gulley to register an official finish time.

Close behind Gulley are Alaska rider Pete Basinger and Eszter Horanyi of Colorado, who is well on pace to break the women’s record of 3 days, 4 hours. Aaron Boatman leads the 750-mile race and is fourth overall.

Although the front runners appear to be having nearly flawless races, this year’s Arizona Trail Race has not been without its trials. At the start of the event, 51 racers were being tracked online. So far six people have officially bailed, citing stomach issues, sidewall tears, crashes, and dehydration. On the first day, Sean Allan of Foresthill, California, did a barrel roll into a prickly bear cactus and endured quite a few needle punctures, including some that were broken off and inches deep in his skin. In order to avoid an infection, he bailed on Highway 83 and went to the hospital. AZT 750-mile racer Justin Simoni received aid from a passing border patrol officer after stomach issues caused serious dehydration. He is also out of the race now.