The 2010 Presidential Traverse

For last years Traverse info, click HERE And for more info on what exactly the traverse is, click HERE.

In the spirit of ultra-endurance events undertaken by the guys team lately, I guess there needs to be an update on the 2010 edition of the SLUSKI Presidential Traverse. While it seems like the Williams ski team guys have been doing some presidential exploring of their own, I'd like to think we started the recent trend of ski-team assaults on the White Mountains. This year the crew for the 23-mile journey was small; Kyle, Zach and myself. After parking the end-car and returning in a small thunderstorm to soggy gear and tents, we checked all our stuff over. Following former SLUSKIer Jake Birchard's method last year I had decided to bring a big fannypack instead of a backpack this time. While stuffing it with Snickers bars I remarked on a famous old saying passed down about fannypacks. "Sometimes useful, always stupid-looking" or something like that. But Zach actually remarked "I've used them a lot hunting, I've even killed a deer with one before". It came out weird. After suiting up the next morning in damp clothes and soggy trail running shoes, we set off. It was cold and windy (32 on top of Washington with the wind chill) but soon the clouds broke and the views were great. We even jogged some flattish parts, which we would soon regret on the steep downhill portion. We made it safe and sound, 9 and a half hours of hiking later. I even picked up my first hitchhiker at the bottom of the notch. Just when we were complaining about how tired we were from our long day hike, we pick up a dude who was hiking the entire AT from Maine to his home in Tennessee. Normally it's not my thing to pick up strangers, but this guy was clearly tired and hungry and I was confident that Zach could easily take him on if it came down to fists. We spent the night in more wet clothes, and woke up early enough to cheer on Teo and local pro biker/pro skier/pro Skirack man Jake Hollenbach in the Mt. Washington hill climb bike race (Jake took a great 4th place). As a bonus attraction, as we were driving back Kyle and I ran into a bear on the side of the road next to the campground. When the bear tried to attack an old lady taking pictures I ran out of my car, grabbed my fannypack and beat the crap out of it. All said and done it was just another epic SLUSKI adventure, with plenty more to come this fall I'm sure. Can't wait to get back to school tomorrow to see how much Ctown has grown, if the sauna is still kickin' and if the new Price Chopper still has bottle-and-can-returning machines. If anyone wants to come say hi I'm in Sykes this year. 2nd floor, look for the room with the brand new bearskin rug.


Kyle on the trail


I found a flag in a free pile (of course) on the side of the road. Decided to give it new life. Apparently an older couple had enjoyed watching me run around like an idiot from the next peak over while they ate their lunch.


The camera missed him going by, but Teo is on the far left in blue.


At the start of the men's pro race. Jake is in 3rd position here.


Bro's, anyone care to lax??

24 hours of Adrenaline

When the cannon shot rang out at 12 o’clock noon, I hadn’t yet realized what the ensuing 24 hours had in store. I knew that there would be a lot of pain, a good deal of exhaustion, some saddle soreness, and hopefully some excitement, however, what I didn’t know was how eventful the race would be.

Delayed for various hours by an exploded RV motor and the resulting consequence of having to be towed off the Mass TurnPike, my friend Matt and I once again began our trip north to Great Glen in NH. Here, on that the following day, we would begin a 24 hours mountain bike race.

The format was simple—a team, comprised of either 2, 4, or 5, raced an 8 mile loop over a span of 24 hours in hopes of completing more laps than their competitors. Though the rules were pretty straight forward, a good deal of strategy was needed as teams didn’t have to maintain a regimented race order and live timing was available to track everyone’s progress.

The race began at noon on Saturday, however my first lap, being that I was third in our rotation, didn’t come until about 2:30 PM. When the time came, I was pretty nervous as I hadn’t previewed the course and hadn’t really trained for the event. Despite my worries, I was on course before I knew it. Though much of the course was on hard-packed double track, the sections of technical single-track broke up the rests and proved to be quite tiring.

After the first lap I said “oh, [expletive], what’ve I gotten myself into” at the thought of having to do 7 more laps at what seemed to be full speed. Nonetheless, with ample rest between laps (roughly 2 1/4 hrs) and lots of carbs, I managed to maintain relative strength and speed through the afternoon and into the night. More importantly, my team, with the help of some consistency from my roommate and his brother, pulled into the lead (of our respective category) after just a few laps. With the live timing, we were able to track the other teams progress to ensure that we were doing everything in our power to maintain the lead. Through the night, even when sleep was sparse and temperatures were cold, we continued to attack and push onward. When dawn broke, we were all happy to put away our lights and continue riding by daylight. As the second day continued, it looked promising for us as we had gained a surprisingly large 35 minute lead over the second place team.

At 11:20 A.M I began my last, and the team’s last lap. Exhausted and with the win essentially secured, I took the final lap slow and eventually coasted into the arena with delight. And with cliché on my mind, I gave a strong fist pump to cross the finish and end our race.

Following the race—and perhaps the most deserved shower of my life—we packed up camp and prepared for the long ride home. Though I wasn’t able to stay for awards, my teammates stood atop the podium and celebrated the win. However, the weekend did end as all such events should—with a free tee-shirt and a whole lot of pictures.

Finishing the first lap (still fresh legs)

Hydration is key-George Flynn (My roomate)

Bart Flynn-My roommates twin brother

Descending the stairs at the end of the course

Bart Flynn

Patrick Barter-Teammate #4

Atop the Podium!

The Cowboys of Rock and Roll

Oops, editing problems, my bad. I actually wrote this near the beginning of the summer, but I recently made a another trip up the real "Freeman Test Route" of Sunapee after a visit to Maine with Steve and Bogden, which inspired me to go back and find and post this. Also nobody seems to have much to say about their summer, so here's at least something to read.

These days dangerous journeys, split-second decisions and the spirit of adventure seem to have gone the way of gunfights and swinging saloon doors. Maybe I can't recreate real wild west action out here in the East, but the least I can do is try to bring some of the spirit back. The problem is that people have forgotten what real cowboys are. “Back in the day in this town, things were different...” started my boss, John. It was already 87 degrees out at 7 in the morning and John, a 50-something tobacco-spittin', stone hauling machine who can shovel dirt like a human dumptruck and wield a backhoe like a 5th appendage, was telling another of his tales of how Shelburne used to be. Listening to his stories doesn't get old though, because each one isn't just a tale of how cheap gas was or how different music sounded. Every story is about people and places from a time when life was raw and unpredictable. “Now you're all set, Mick”, John assured me, spitting a wad out the window as we cruised down the road in our '88 Chevy Cheyenne pickup. I've just finished double knotting a bandanna with a Bald Eagle and the phrase This Bud's For You onto my forehead. Ever since I cut my hair I've taken to wearing a headband to work. They drain away the 5 gallons of sweat I produce daily I from rock hauling and brush cutting, and when I tie them around my forehead John is convinced that I'm a modern-day reincarnation of a young Mick Jagger. In the spirit of Mick, Hendrix, Moon, Bonham and all the other cowboy's of rock n' roll I decided on a whim Friday afternoon that it was about time for an adventure. At high noon I found out that Steve was racing in a triathlon in New Hampshire Saturday morning. I asked Steve if I could crash on his hotel floor that night and be a pseudo-coach for the event. Thinking I was joking, Steve replied “sure, we've even got an extra bed”. Within an hour of getting home from work I had packed my steed Big Red, found the town to get to, and pulled out of the driveway. “New Hampshire furdamshur!” I yelled, pounding the dashboard and gunning the busted muffler a couple decibels below rock-concert. Three hours later I was chowing down on a burger with Steve and discussing race plans. Despite some rain and a canceled swim leg, the Triathlon (now just a Biathlon?) went off with Steve having a great race.



The sun was shining by the time I left, but my adventure wasn't over. Driving down to the race the day before, I'd gone by signs for Mt. Sunapee. This ski mountain is where Kris Freeman, along with his brother Justin among others, have frequent hillclimb testing runs similar to our own trips up St. Regis. It was on. After taking a different route out of the tri course and ending up lost for about an hour, I pointed the wheels in the general direction of Andover and set off. Like writing cursive or doing math by hand, reading a real paper atlas or roadmap is a skill that seems to have gone to the wayside in today's world. I'm bringing it back. My plotted route took me right to the base lodge, empty and silent. I waited expectantly for a tumbleweed to gently bounce across the bunny slope. After running around looking for a trail I took my ten paces back, hit the watch timer and took off. I ended up running on a Kearsarge-Sunapee connector trail to the summit instead of the correct access road I discovered Freeman uses afterward (my sense of direction apparently doesn't work as well for vertical travel). Not much difference, it was gonna hurt either way. I hammered it out to the top of that hill like I was trying to break the course record. At the top I keeled over to puke, sat down on the lift chair and looked out across the valley and lake below. It seemed like my adventure was almost over. Putting a body through that type of pain and suffering just to be faster is another one of those experiences that seems to have gone to the wayside. But I'm bringing it back.