I guess I will start off first by saying up front the best gear we brought was the umbrella Laurel used to keep us semi-dry or more accurately to keep the pelting rain off our heads for few moments. During the week leading up to the race I competitively checked the weather report on the web and it did not look too bad…rain was suppose to start around midnight and I thought this would give us at least 5 hours of racing under our belts prior to the rain beginning.

Race day looked pretty good with comfortable temperatures and low humidity… definitely not a typical Virginia day in late July. But these were race conditions at home in Woodbridge, VA, not where the race was going to take place [on the West Virginia boarder]. The first indications that the weather was not going to be as hospitable as we hoped were the looming storm clouds on the horizon as we drove West on Interstate 66. One hour into the drive we were engulfed in clouds and by the second hour it was raining. Gee, this sucks! The rain would not stop until well after we had completed the race and driven the entire 4 hours back home.

Frank kept repeating how much fun the race was going to be. This actually became the team mantra used to motivate both of us. This would result in a grim persistence to finish the race no matter what was thrown our way.

We agreed that we would arrive at the staging area around 2:00 PM because who would need four hours to check-in, have two sets of gear inspected, plot our course and listen to the race briefing?—certainly not us. This was not a good decision on our part, but in our defense we both work long hours during the week and were only racing to prove we weren’t completely out of shape. In fact, the less than complementary team name “Desk Fliers” is a fairly well known Army reference given to those of us who have moved from being deployed in the field, to those deployed to a desk.

When we arrived at the staging area, we surveyed the sprawling collection of SUVs, tents, and make-shift shelters we knew we had made a big mistake not coming earlier. Oh, did I mention that it was raining. I had brought camp chairs, and a tent but did not bring a tarp with poles mainly because I do not have any poles, and the weather report did not indicate—“a wrath of God Storm.” Well, I guess that I am wrong occasionally too. DID I mention thaqt it was raining?

The gear check-in definitely could have gone a little smoother. I carefully examined the individual and team packing list but unfortunately glossed over the support crew’s packing list which included a ridiculous amount—miles—of stretch gauze and ace bandages. I guess race management equated stretch gauze to be the medical equivalent of duck tape—you can fix any injury with a little stretch gauze. Presumably someone had needed 10 ace bandages over and above the bakers dozen ace bandages we had to carry as part of the mandatory race gear list. Unsurprisingly, a lack of ace bandages was a common theme for other teams at the check-in station. This, our only gear shortfall, was remedied by a fellow competitor who loaned the missing gear—provided we return it after the inspection. Knowing this was not a complete solution, we asked race management for alternates and you guessed it—duct tape was offered up as a stand-in for ace bandages—problem solved. I had brought 500 feet of duct and was sure this would meet the requirement—it did.

Our check-point booklet, which contained the directions and the grid coordinates for 12 check points, was made of paper as were our maps. Did I mention it was raining? In times past I had used large freezer bags as map cases for hiking and climbing in the rain, but this was not going to work in this situation. We had least four large maps that would require constant course checks. We quickly noted the experienced teams all had high quality map cases that fasten in front of the competitor so you can easily consult the map but not worry about loosing your directions. The last minutes before the race were consumed with plotting points on a map in the bathroom (the only dry place with a flat surface), running back and forth listen to the race briefing and staging our gear. Once again, had we arrived sooner we could have both had our coordinates plotted and listened to the pre-race briefing which included some late breaking directions for recording your progress and not getting your fingers cut off during the zip line—minor points. I guess.

The race started off at 7:00 PM with a bonus section called a prologue. This is “before” the race as if the race was not enough, and there had to be an extra “suck-factor” added to the race. This comparatively short section consisted of running up to the top of a mountain following orange surveyors tape, i.e. no trail. After a short pep talk by the race promoter the race began—let the suckathlon commence! As we rounded the corner to begin our ascent up the mountain all hopes of keeping our feet reasonably dry vanished as we careened headlong toward a stream that appeared several feet deep—it was. The marked ascent consisted of over 100 athletes scrambling up (and sliding down) muddy slopes, crawling over logs and dodging the fastest competitors as they ran back down the mountain through the rest of us heading for the top.

Frank had taken to mentioning the race conditions only by the code letter “R” as if saying the word rain would somehow make things worse which was hard to believe since the real and measure of absolute wetness was achieved long ago. I had long ago determined that the necessary and sufficient condition for absolute wetness was if the crack of your ass was soaked then that is wet as you possibly get—and I had one wet ass. After completing the prologue, we began the first leg of the completion consisting of walking or running to the first unmanned check point (“CP”). We made some good time trotting toward the first CP, and stopped for a quick map check. About this time a four member female team ran past us—they were the deciding factor for the map check. A few moments later we recorded the first CP and we were off seeking the next CP. Our travel to the second CP was largely uneventful, merely trudging to the next check point in the ever present rain. We reached the second check point around 12:30 AM in the top third of the field. At this point in the race we were feeling good and confident that we could complete the Pro course—an imposing 80 miles in 24 hours while the Sport class was 60 miles. Competitors had specific check points and mandatory cut-off times to remain eligible for the Pro class. At check point two we switched to bikes and pedaled off toward CP number three. The first bike segment started out with a steep downhill decent on a gravel fire road for several miles. We were looking for the trail that led sharply up the mountain to the left. We almost missed the trail—more like a rock strewn goat path than a trail. Oh, did I mention the fog? The fog was very thick as we advanced up the trail and we quickly realized that the trail was completely unrideable—very steep, rock filled and our head lamps were reflecting off the thick fog making choosing a good line all but impossible—oh, did I mention it was raining?

So, this section became the “bike push” which seemed to go on endlessly. Finally, reaching the summit of the mountain, we ended up on some trails in which the pedals were actually used and after a couple more climbs we arrived at CP number four and were still in the running for the Pro class. Here things went awry. When looking at the map for the next check point it indicated a metal forest service gate that we should stop at and then select another trail. Unfortunately, the gate was not closed across the road and with the cover night and fog—we flew past the gate in a pack of mountain bikes. So this blew a huge block of our time looking for the trail leading to the check. Only after examining the map and crossing our tracks several times we discovered our error. About this time the head lamp on my bike went out. So much for Pro class. Oh, did I mention it was raining?

After crawling to the top of yet another mountain to reach the fourth check point we collectively agreed to survive through the Sport class event. We made another navigation error which unfortunately resulted in a long three mile decent in the wrong direction. What goes down… I found myself falling asleep riding down.

Getting back on course there were a couple more completely ludicrous trail segments that were almost impossible to hike, let alone ride. 24 hours of constant rain had resulted in tractionless hills which more or less slipped and slid down. Arriving at the next check point Frank and I were like two popsicles.

The next leg of the race was the white water canoe event. On a normal summer’s day this could have been a fairly enjoyable event, but with the temperature still hovering around the 55 degree mark and the ever-present rain—it was not. Frank and I had received our required white water certification a few weeks prior, but still lacked the experience gained by days of paddling together. It rained so hard we were concerned with the amount of rain filling the canoe, but we ended up completely capsizing before the water became a problem. The only consolation was the great entertainment value we provided other competitors as our 18 foot canoe nosed behind a boulder and sent its stern straight up in the air.

After completing the canoe section we had another trail run or hiking section. Maybe the Pros were trail running but we certainly were not! In fact hiking sounds way too up beat—trudgeing was closer to what we were engaged in. This section truly sucked…up and down slippery hills. It had rained for over 24 hours and the ground was completely saturated making forward progress extremely challenging. Finally we arrive at the rappel and the zip line section which was actually enjoyable, albeit not too safe. Amazingly, there were no personnel to ‘safety’ the racers as the clipped in for the rappel. The worst idea since Ford engineers said, ‘Aw, shucks, let’s go with them Firestones. Clearly, some of these folks had never rappelled or done any climbing because a couple had managed a fatal hook. Luckily, we arrived on the scene before these competitors took the express route to the bottom. Once on the far side of the river it was time for another endless bike ride and the finish line. The last section was tolerable only from the stance point that it was the last section. It was still 15-20 miles of mountain biking. I recalled the route we drove to the camp and realized it would be almost all uphill—in fact it was a interesting geological trick to seemingly always go up even on the downhill sections. Finally, we recognized the terrain and knew we were close and the finish line was at hand--22 hours 50 minutes.