The Wasatch Back Relay
Add to Del.icio.usHow to make friends with nocturnal wildlife and survive on energy goop and sports drinks for 24 hours
by Todd CoxSo, this is dark. I’ve seen
some dark stuff before, but this is really dark. Exceptionally dark.
Mind-bendingly, spirit-crushingly dark. The darth-vader sound of my
breath (in, in, out, out in time with my steps) is the loudest thing
I can hear. I try to concentrate on it, and not the imaginary bears
and moose in the darkness.
Somewhere or nowhere in the darkness.
I’m in East Canyon, Northeast of Salt Lake City, Utah. This is
my second leg of the Wasatch Back Relay, a 170 mile, 24 hour race from
Logan to Park City. The WBR is modeled after the famed Hood to Coast
relay in Oregon. Originally conceived and scouted by Steven Hill, the
WBR finally became a reality this year through the combined efforts
of Steven and his son Dan, who acted as the race director. With 22 teams
of a dozen people, 36 exchange points to police, and a herd of volunteers
to supervise, they had a lot on their plate but came through with flying
colors.
Outside Logan, Utah.
All this seems immaterial to me right now, chugging up East Canyon as
hundreds of eyes blink in the light of my headlamp. The entire animal
population of Utah is out to spectate.
The only thing piercing the darkness: the Petzl
Myo 5 headlamp.
The Wasatch Back Relay is broken up so that each of 12 team members
runs three legs of 3-6 miles each, which makes an otherwise daunting
distance and time manageable. Consequently, there is an amazing cross
section of humanity running, most of them faster than us. Teams range
from the self-described “Average Joe” and “11 runners
and a fat guy” to the inhumanly fast BYU and Weber State cross-country
teams.
Logan Canyon.
Two legs ago, Matt was running in a downpour with about three feet of
visibility and almost tripped over a skunk. One leg ago Alex had to
perform a flying long jump over a surprised porcupine.
I’m running on a combination of Carb-Boom
Energy Gel and good old “Everything out here but me has claws,
teeth, and horns” human fear. I finally reach East Canyon Dam
and the road mercifully levels out.
Mmmmm....Carb-Boom.
I think back to just before Alex started his leg. Sitting inside the
camper, getting my running Zen on, the screen window and open back door
do nothing to disguise Alex’s quiet voice.
The Montrail
Masai trail running shoe was one of the more popular footwear choices
for tackling 170 miles.
“You guys,” he whispers, “I was just talking to one
of the volunteers. Matt’s leg and mine are pretty easy, but Todd’s
is the really bad one. Don’t tell him, so he doesn’t get
psyched out, ok?”
The author and many of his companions opted to wear the
all-time favorite Montrail
Vitesse.
I stick my head out the back door, “I can totally hear you, dumb
ass.” Hopefully he’ll never make the connection between
me hearing him and my porcupine-voodoo-curse.
Back in the present, I’m running on the flats alongside the reservoir,
but I don’t see the line yet. “Todd, is that you?”
yells Scott Mason, our team’s ultra runner ringer. I turn my head
and see his headlamp a good 200 feet above me. Oh crap, the finish line
is up there.
The other prime shoe choice for the race: the Women's
(L) and Men's
(R) Montrail
Hardrock.
Fortunately, I’ve been climbing for 40 minutes now up this stupid
canyon, so the last little bit seems minor by comparison. I slap the
wristband (the race’s baton analog) onto Brian’s wrist and
he takes off. The fear chemicals finally start to wash out of me.
Never dismiss the importance of a good, comfortable sock
during a run. The Bridgedale
Trail Runner is one of the best.
I settle back in the camper amidst the piles of gear for the drive to
our campsite. We have about 6 hours to sleep before the other team hands
back off to us. Our superhuman camper driver, Dan Ernst, has been awake
since the race started, carting us all over creation and cheering as
loud as anyone. Nevertheless, he gets us to the campsite in one piece,
throws on the E-brake and nods off in the driver’s seat. We’re
all tired, sore and beat, but we aren’t done yet.
Sunset or sunrise? I can't remember...
Fortunately, our gear support was incredible. The
North Face tech tees emblazoned with the Backcountry.com goat logo
are awesome technically, look cool, and now smell bad. A brace of Petzl
Myo 5’s, which are beginning to smell, have been keeping us
in the light. Our Bridgedale
uber-comfy socks and Montrail
shoes are keeping our feet happy even as our feet keep them stinky.
The massive amounts of Carb-Boom
we’ve been sucking down don’t really smell like anything.
In case you hadn’t gathered, after 16 hours racing, we kind of
stink. Dan’s camper may never smell the same again.
The Wasatch Back Relay is simultaneously approachable and insane. The
camaraderie was palpable, the scenery breathtaking, and the hijinks
hilarious. Anybody with two vans, 11 friends and at least a mild dose
of insanity can tackle it. Above all, the race is incredibly fun, and
both veteran racers and total amateurs are sure to get a huge kick out
of it. Check it out at www.wasatchbackrelay.com.
