Go West Young Man
An exclusive xcskiworld.com column by Levi Hensel. Find the complete index of columns by this author here
Welcome to the long distance (between race) drive, treacherous wagon train, cross-country ski racing marathon.
700 miles of blacktop Interstate, 3200 miles of rutted, unmarked Oregon Trail, and 50 kilometers of freshly groomed corduroy.
Pre-journey preparations begin. Trip to the convenience store, a tank of gas, coffee, Gatorade, Red Bull, M&M’s. Trip to the country store, 1000 rounds of ammunition, food for 12 months, 6 sets of new clothes. Trip to the pasta feed, bib-pick up, lay out race clothes, more concern with waxing than is necessary, prudent, or sane.
Rolling on out. Exceeding the speed limit on the on-ramp, pace quite illegal. Team of oxen start trotting, pace rather moderate to quite plodding. Starting gun goes off, pace quite higher than planned to stupidly fast.
Mile 50, run out of coffee, doze slightly, hit rumble strip, jerk wheel, hit pothole, alignment now way off. Mile 200, deep mud, wagon wheel stops, axle snaps, Little Sally falls out and breaks arm. Kilometer 2, over-exuberant man with poor technique, wearing disturbingly tight Lycra, steps on pole, carbon shaft splinters.
Mile 52, learn to compensate for 20 degree excess steering wheel rotation, drink first Red Bull. Mile 200 (still), rest for 72 hours to fix axle, get Little Sally’s arm splinted by toothless cowboy. Kilometer 3, grab new pole from bystander, resist urge to smack the ass of over-exuberant man while re-passing him.
Mile 234, cruise control, avoid speed-trap, making good time. Mile 622, pace even, everyone healthy, shoot buffalo on first shot. Kilometer 8, find a good pack to ski with, feeling strong, skis gliding well.
Mile 275, singing along with radio, fail to notice gas light is on. Mile 776, pace is to high, can only find rabbits to shoot, Little Tommy gets the measles. Kilometer 12, worried about staying with pack, miss first feed station, discover water bottle is frozen.
Mile 330, crawl into Chevron station, lower back feels awful, fill tank in “hunchback” stance. Mile 802, pace low, two oxen die, pace lower, Sally’s arm heals, Tommy’s measles gone, Sally gets measles. Kilometer 20, already eating “emergency” gel, hit wind-blown snow, skis feel like they are going backwards, skid out on ice, flounder in snow bank like beached whale.
Mile 410, decide ski bag in car counts as “second passenger”, fly past stopped traffic in carpool lane. Mile 1267, shoot plethora of deer, food stores full, survive river crossing on leaky raft, pace moderate to high. Kilometer 27, finished with first lap, find a good groove, breathing easy, pass pack, take lead, break pack apart, skis feel phenomenal again.
Mile 467, fiddling with radio, eating M&M at same time, piece of hard candy shell goes down windpipe, much coughing and erratic swerving, dump Gatorade in lap, trucker gives rude gesture. Mile 1774, Granny May sets the wagon on fire while making buffalo sausage, must sell half of ammo for repairs, Little Timmy burns hand while trying to save flaming sausage. Kilometer 35, get more Gatorade on chest than in mouth at feed station, start lapping slower skiers, plant pole between own legs on steep uphill, snow now packed inside of sunglasses. Mile 562, suck onto back end of speeding Mercedes, mile markers begin to fly by, wonder about strange sound emanating from muffler. Mile 2245, able to sell enough meat to buy new oxen, make it to Devil’s Rock in record time, Little Janey gets pneumonia. Kilometer 38, goodhearted volunteer hands out extra energy gel, make hard push to grab onto pack just up in front, rapid raspy breathing, wonder if it’s medically possible to get instantaneous mid-race pneumonia.
Mile 606, gas stop again, stand up out of car, leg cramps excruciatingly, flop on car hood like a goldfish out of water, gas station bystanders look on in bemused horror. Mile 2753, decide to ford river instead of taking ferry raft, big mistake, oxen cramp up, wagon tips, Little Tommy can’t swim, Granny May looks on in horror. Kilometer 42, try to cover sprint break, leg cramps excruciatingly, flop on one ski like epileptic flamingo, look at own leg in absolute horror. Mile 676, feel fade coming on, grab second Red Bull, switch lanes, mash gas pedal. Mile 2970, pace strenuous, rations meager, sustained only by squirrels, Timmy gets diphtheria, no time to stop. Kilometer 47, hanging tough, snag water bottle of flat Coca-Cola from trailside, feel sugar and caffeine force injected into bloodstream, pray for salvation from the evil forces of Bonk-ation.
Mile 690, end of road (and bathroom) now in sight, swerve to avoid plastic Barbie-esq compact car in right lane, make like Cannonball Run. Mile 3180, hit The Dalles, home free now, only the River Run (strategic float/slow motion swerve around the giant boulders) left, and you have to be a nincompoop not to make that safely. Kilometer 49, there’s the finish line just ahead, sprint hard, swerve to avoid the lady in the Barbie pink race suit.
Mile 700, butt only semi-concrete, successfully make it to the bathroom without peeing pants, raise arms in victory, collapse in heap of fatigue. Mile 3200, dock safely, end up having only lost 3 oxen and most of the ammunition, raise arms in victory, no time for collapse or victory dance, either begin homesteading, start over, or head back to math class (then collapse on desk in heap of fatigue). Kilometer 50, cross finish line, having lost only a few pounds of fluid, raise arms in victory, collapse in heap of fatigue, begin recovery for next one.
Ski on my friends, and until next time, keep your poles sharp, your wits sharper, and try to avoid long car trips across Oregon while drinking lots of Red Bull, because you’ll end up coming up with things like this. (And don’t worry, Timmy recovered from his diphtheria just fine.)
Levi Hensel lives in the skier paradise of Bend, OR where he races for XC Oregon/Therapeutic Associates Inc. He is proud to represent Fischer USA in his racing endeavors, and when not training vigorously, or writing absurdly, finds time to help coach, and drink a lot of coffee.
What do you think about this column installment? Log on to xcskiworld.com Forums and throw your two cents into the ring!
