Report Written by teammate Dan Buehler
Chelsea Luttrall, Julian Tonsmeire, Tom McKeen and myself raced in the Cowboy Tough’s Inaugural year (2013), but not as a team. Chelsea and Julian raced as a co-ed duo and Tom and myself raced in the men’s duo category. We joined forces this year to race in the elite four-person co-ed division.
Just three weeks earlier, my teammates bushwhacked through the woods of Maine, racing in Untamed New England. I skipped the race to recover fully from some injuries as well as prepare for the high mileage we were going to confront in Wyoming. The New England experience, nonetheless, would come to have an impact on our race in Wyoming.
Chelsea Luttrall, Julian Tonsmeire, Tom McKeen and myself raced in the Cowboy Tough’s Inaugural year (2013), but not as a team. Chelsea and Julian raced as a co-ed duo and Tom and myself raced in the men’s duo category. We joined forces this year to race in the elite four-person co-ed division.
Just three weeks earlier, my teammates bushwhacked through the woods of Maine, racing in Untamed New England. I skipped the race to recover fully from some injuries as well as prepare for the high mileage we were going to confront in Wyoming. The New England experience, nonetheless, would come to have an impact on our race in Wyoming.
Although we all knew each other and sometimes raced along side each other over the last few years, Journey Racing is a new team for 2014. As always, developing a four-person team introduces factors that simply do not arise when racing with one other person, or venturing out solo. How do people respond to sleep deprivation, navigational errors, or mechanical catastrophes? Are they good with managing their calorie intake, hydration, and morale? Who can you depend on and for what when the wheels on the bus start of fall off or someone starts to lose their marbles? Expedition adventure races surface these issues as you cram nearly a year’s worth of living into several intense days. Fortunately, Tom and Chelsea had already raced a few times together and Julian joined them for Untamed New England—they were still friends when we headed to Casper three weeks later, pulling our #SpaceTrailer packed with four gear boxes, a paddle bag, and enough extra space for several cases of beer and two small children. The Cowboy Tough would be the first time I joined the group. My hope was that I would not be the turd in the punchbowl.
Day One After a three-hour bus ride to South Pass City, an old historical mining town nestled in the south end of the Wind River Range, we quickly readied our gear, dropped the kids off at the pool, and took a few photos of ourselves while we still looked dapper in our race kits from #StarlightCustomCyclingAparel. The prologue was a fun scurry in three disparate directions, a working mine where we picked up an ore sample, a venture down the Continental Divide Trail where we collected a gold nugget, which was traded for some Wyoming Whiskey (more on this later), and finally, in the opposite direction to an old mill site to collect another control. The highlight of this 40-minute prologue was the whiskey, of course. Only in Wyoming would you be offered a shot of whiskey before most people took their second cup of coffee. Julian and Tom manned up and took their shots. Julian would complain of heartburn later. The whiskey had a medicinal effect on Tom, temporarily curing him of his heinous cough, remnants of a nasty cold that he brought home from Untamed New England. Chelsea opted for the sweet tea, but mistakenly tossed back the whiskey much to her dismay. Having survived enough rugby parties at the University of Wyoming, I knew well not to imbibe in fear of meeting the Jackalope. Rumor has it that many of the local racers from our host state downed several shots in lieu of missing their morning orange juice. |
After finishing the prologue, we were psyched to make a fast transition and be one of the earliest teams out. In our momentary state of exuberance, we lost focus and missed a turn. Alas, Julian got us back on track by having us take only a slight scenic detour. Nonetheless, it was an important lesson learned. We made good time along the course as we rode to the optional checkpoints, which we chased down. Although it was early in the race, I struggled to run and keep up with Julian and Chelsea while gathering the optional checkpoints due to having too much weight in my pack. I would soon remedy this issue and learn to keep a lighter pack for the rest of the race.
Once we finished the optional checkpoints, we hopped on our bikes and headed toward the Wild Iris, which is when the ride got interesting. There were several teams loosely grouped together during this section as we rode. The all-male four -person team from Casper was a collection of climbers/new fathers who were well versed in the area and simply out to have a good time while getting from point A to B. |
The crux of this part of the race was the three major passes that we crossed, all of them involving stream crossings, hike-a-bikes, and endless climbing. Tom’s legs cramped bad; it look liked his quads were knots of muscle. As much as he massaged them, they refused to ease up. The next day, his legs would feel sore and achy from this episode. Julian, who is light on his feet, soldiered through this bike section as the heat beat us like rented mules. When I could tow Chelsea without having my front tire pop off the ground, I hooked her up so we could continue to make quick progress. With biking as probably my strength, I didn’t mind this part of the course for the landscape was spectacular, but I could tell the others were happy to dismount at the top of the third pass and start making time on our feet.
At this point, we were trading places with WABAR and would do so for the next 24 hours. While we were sometimes quicker to cover ground, small navigation errors or troublesome route selections would even us up throughout the day. The trekking section to Sinks Canyon was probably one of the most beautiful parts of the course. After riding over 100 miles on the mountain bikes, and already running nearly ten miles, we were looking at 30 more miles of travel, which included optional controls in Sinks upon our arrival at the top of the canyon. Along the way, we over-shot one of our optional checkpoints and ran into a Moose! After this serendipitous encounter, we quickly backtracked, gathered the checkpoint at the edge of a pond, and headed back to the main road for additional trekking. By the time we hit the final leg of the trek, we had been moving consistently for 11 hours, and were looking to run a large part of the trail, which paralleled the PoPo Agie River down to Sinks. We all were wearing our Altra Olympius shoes, which saved our feet. Although at the end of the race my feet would feel tender, this had more to do with mashing the bike peddles than the trekking miles logged on my feet. Indeed, it was always a relief to get off the saddle and ambulate. |
This section of the trekking went pretty well. Julian towed Chelsea while Tom and I used trekking poles to make time down the trail. Having never run with poles before, I am a convert. I used them as if I was skate skiing in the winter and this proved to make all the difference. My legs felt fresh and I did not take a single fall. The only hiccup on this part of the race is when we took the wrong trail to the falls overlook checkpoint, which we were slow to realize. Once we got into Sinks canyon, Julian had his game on and we efficiently grabbed all the additional night orienteering checkpoints. The last one we gathered was high on the ridge where some incredible 5-hard climbs can be found. Having spent a decade climbing in the Sierra’s, West Virginia, and several western states, the sight of these routes had me aching to come back and fetch some anchors.
After sweeping this part of the course, we settled down at 3:00 AM to catch a few winks, which was more than I anticipated. The first day was long, but we worked well as a team and Julian’s navigation sharpened over the course of the day, and would continue to do so throughout the race. I was worried about the first day with all the trekking, but I felt refreshed and ready for day two after our siesta.
Day Two The day started with a gunshot, literally. Wyomingites seem to have a casual relationship with firearms. While I jumped at the shot, the locals were non-plus about the bullet flying overhead. Off we went, running up Sinks Canyon to a hidden cave, which we sent Julian in to gather the checkpoint. Although we all could have gone in, for the sake of time, we waited outside while Julian crab crawled and squeezed through narrow slots—figures we would send Julian since he is built like a tree stump. Julian emerged no worse for ware. We ran down the road to feed the fish (as required in the race) and then headed up for the giant rappel, which offered one last spectacular view of Sinks. After we rapped, we headed to Lander, collected another control along the way, and looked at a 50-mile ride before hitting the first paddle section of the race. The highlight of the ride included a side trip in Riverton to toss hatchets into tree stumps. All of us had to stick it or the team would receive a 20-minute penalty. After Chelsea stopped doing her best impression of Nolan Ryan’s slider, she sank her weapon of mass destruction and we were off, but not before we Mavericked up with convenient store food and drinks. The rest of the ride to the reservoir was unremarkable. |
We arrived at the paddle section thankful to get off our bikes and hit the water before noon. Given that the reservoir was near capacity, navigation was made easier as Julian steered us efficiently up toward the dam. We stopped near midway to catch the additional optional checkpoints, which involved trekking to various not-so-high high points. Afterward, we soaked our bodies in the water before we finished the second leg of the paddle section. The heat would be our constant nemesis.
We pulled up to the end-of-day transition at 5:30, leaving us plenty of time to gather the optional orienteering checkpoints in the daylight. Again, Julian had us transitioning out quickly, gathering the most difficult checkpoints first. The most memorable checkpoint required us to traverse a train trestle above the Big Horn River to an abandoned tunnel. Feeling delinquent in our behavior, we opted to stay off the tracks and take the more airy pathway underneath. Chelsea rightfully expressed some reservations, but before any de-sensitization session could take place, we cat-walked across, swallowing any fears while we held dearly to the half-inch cable that offered a false sense of security.
We finished the day at twilight. Intrepid paddlers would be pulling at the waters all through the night and well into dawn. This would be the last time we would get any “sleep.” Although I cannot say I logged any serious R.E.M., I felt rested when I awoke at five and had a can of Denny Moore Beef Stew to feed the monkey on my back.
Day Three The day started with a modest run to the put in for a 15-mile paddle down the Big Horn River, which is distinguished by several class III and one fantastic class IV rapid at the finish. Paul, our guide, floats the river with anglers regularly and takes a leisurely 5-6 hours to complete. He was charged with only getting us through the rapids; the rest of the paddling was up to the racers. Two rafts departed with the leading teams, each containing nine racers. We floated the river with Yoga Slackers and a member from Silent Chasers. Although the canyon was spectacular and the river refreshing, it was hard to appreciate given that we were constantly digging, finishing this section in around two hours. Still, the conversation was light as Julian regaled us with stories from his days as a rafting guide on the Arkansas River. If I get a chance, I would love to come back and take a unhurried turn at this river with Paul and wet my hook along the way. |
After the paddle, we had a somewhat hectic transition—we had to pull out our gearboxes and bikes from the big rig, change clothes, and reload everything because we arrived sooner than anticipated. Nonetheless, we all were in the same situation and thus went with the flow. This section of the race involved over 100 miles of mountain biking, some of it through an undulating landscape marked with remote ranches, other parts pocked with classic gas and oil drilling rigs, and finally, a whole lot of nothing but wide open space. If you could turn off your brain or find a complicated question to ponder for the next six hours, the ride would be tolerable. This would be the day our team suffered, with Tom succumbing to the heat and doing his best impression of a zombie warrior. |
The first half of the ride went fairly well, aside from a flat tire and ample climbing. We hit the first water drop feeling good. We refilled our bottles, briefly chatted up the ladies at the aid station, and headed out as the heat index climbed relentlessly. The ride to the second checkpoint is when Tom started to feel the effects of the heat, and probably some of the fatigue left over from Untamed New England. I continued to tow Chelsea while Julian assisted Tom. We finally made it to the optional trekking section and approximate mid-point of the ride. REV3 offered up a bottle of Gatorade and water to each of us to wet our whistle, which we gratefully. The radiant heat of the sun had us cooking as we death-marched from one checkpoint to the next. The highlight of this section came by the way of a tip from Team Yoga Slackers regarding a cow pond worth visiting. After catching all the checkpoints, we were heading back and came upon the said oasis. My teammates decided to test the suspect water while I rested along the shoreline, not feeling the need to cool my core temp down. They enjoyed their mud bath and swimming along side Hanky Poo et. al., compliments of the local bovines who frequent the locale. We finished our march back to the bikes and got ready for the mind-numbing section of the race. A mark of a true teammate. Julian dug out a Red Bull from his pack and put it in the Medic’s cooler, with his permission, just before we headed out for the trek. Upon our return, Julian offered the drink to Tom, knowing how much he was hurting. At the crucible of a race, it is the simple gestures of selflessness that forge a team.
Although I have been told to go-to-hell on several inauspicious occasions and declined such offers, I can now say I have actually been there having suffered through the wastelands of Wyoming gas country. Aside from being visually assaulted with a vacuous landscape, the only element that enhanced the misery of the experience was the slight tail wind that eliminated any chance of cooling oneself while turning the cranks. We all put our heads down and slog it out. Once the sun lowered, and the heat eased up a degree, I hooked up Chelsea and Tom and we started to knock out the kilometers. Julian took on some of the towing duties too, but I was personally motivated to end our stay in purgatory as quickly as possible and at whatever cost. Eventually, we hit pavement, turned south, caught a cross breeze, and made our way to Hell’s Half Acre—an apropos destination given the day’s sojourn.
Our plan was to support Chelsea as much as possible so she would be fresh enough at Hell’s Half Acre to take the lead in navigation. This was her moment to shine and she did not disappoint. We headed down into the surreal landscape in the dark of the night, and would spend the next six hours locating 8 out of 10 controls. Fortunately, Tom would take a trekking pole to help keep him moving. Had he not brought this, I am not sure Julian and I could have carried him given that he is half a foot taller then us. Tom suffered in this section, not being able to keep any food down and having to sit or lay down anytime we stopped. I have raced with Tom for over ten years and I have never seen him so whipped. Tom would end up losing six pounds, most of it during the last 24 hours of the race, which is a lot considering his body fat is around 3% after Thanksgiving dinner. After spending 1.5 hours trying to find checkpoint 5 to no avail, we discussed the need to get out of Hell so Tom can rest at least an hour before we make our last push of the race. I am not sure how Chelsea did it, but she found a way out of this devilish playground that was both direct and along the route of several checkpoints. Had Tom been in better shape, I think we would of found checkpoint 10. As it was, getting Tom out and into his sleeping bag became a major priority as his condition deteriorated. After a long walk out through a seemingly endless wash, we had Tom in his sleeping bag at 4:00 AM. The medics gave him some miracle pill to settle his stomach and he managed to choke down a few hot dogs before he rested. We were up and moving again at 5 and amazingly, so was Tom—the guy has no quit. | |
Last Day Fifty more miles of riding, a six-mile amble up the river pathway in Casper, and four rapids and several swampings of the canoe, we finished the race early afternoon. Chelsea was tired from her navigational efforts and sought to keep herself up by downing lots of caffeine during the ride. Tom managed to propel himself forward with nominal support. Julian kept us moving in the right direction. I snapped the cable on my front derailleur, but continued to turn the cranks albeit more frequently in anticipation of a salubrious ending. |
Overall, I thought the Cowboy Tough was a great experience. I enjoyed racing on a four-person team and learned much from doing so. REV3 put on a great race and the tube steaks the support staff served up at Hell’s Half Acre was like manna from heaven. The medical support team was top notch and Mark set up a fantastic course. I am excited to see what dastardly plans he has in store for next year. Until then, happy trails. Dan Buehler Part-Time Adventure Racer Full-Time Dad Seasonally Employed Person charged with stamping out ignorance among our wayward youth. | Official Results |