International Adventures – annieleoutside

Arizona Trail Race 300

April 28, 2019April 28, 2019
by Annie le

An ultra race can often blur into a very long indistinct line, punctuated with intense moments of joy, pain or misery. Often ones emotions can swing and change in a second. Ones thought process can become irrational and extreme very quickly, especially when feeling disorientated during darkness. Its quite funny looking back at what was going on in my head. This post is a record of my experience during the 300.

*7.30 am thursday* This is real, this is happening. Breathe, breathe! I’m surrounded by blokes on full-sus bikes in skin-tight lycra. Me and my little pink hardtail feel very out of place. Where are all the girls!?

*around 4pm somewhere near Gardner canyon* The trail is lined with bright yellow flowers and as I stop to take a photo, a sideburned 750 rider cruises by “it’s so beautiful”, he says. I laugh in happiness and agreement.

*sunset in the santa ritas* I feel awful and have done for a few hours, I’ve got a splitting headache and haven’t been able to eat since Kentucky camp. I get off to push up another steep climb and then pause and look around. The sun is low, casting beautiful golden light on the hills, the long grass glows in the long rays. Absolute silence surrounds me. I remember Kait’s cookies, and grab one out, delighted to find I can eat it. When I carry on everything seems that little bit better.

*10.30pm* Stopping on a ridge line to try and eat, I turn my light off to enjoy the dark. A huge moon casts a silver tint over everything and I can see the shadowy outlines of the hills. As I eat I become aware of a munching sound, I’m not the only one having dinner. Using my helmet light I find, a foot away from me, a very big mouse tucking into a prickly pear. Unperturbed by my light, Mr Mouse lets me watch him as I finish my wrap.

*11pm* Surrounded by coyote howls. the washes are endless. I’m feeling very disoriented. Where is the road?

*1am friday* I’m pushing my bike round and round in a wash. I’ve just crossed under a road and I cant find the trail. my brain wont work, I cant use my Garmin properly, I’m feeling so useless. Another equally tired rider joins me and we stare stupidly into the dark together. Eventually we see lights zooming by on our left. The trail!

*2.30am* Finally arrive at colossal cave campsite and have to ask where the spigot is. There are a bunch of riders stopping here and I decide to join them. After filling my bag of oats and protein powder with water I force myself to eat. This boost of easy to stomach food is my lifesaver on a day when I’ve eaten half of what I should have. Lying down I get about 20minutes sleep before I wake, shivering uncontrollably. Better get up then. In the bright moonlight, I move to the toilets for some privacy to apply chamois cream, but someones helpfully sleeping there, so I push a bit up the trail before getting my bum out. As I’m lathering on a handful of cream I hear a discrete cough and realize someone is bivving a few meters away, and the full moon bouncing off my buns was giving them more than they had bargained for.

*5am* The first light outline the hills behind me. Ahead the moon is starting to fade between the Sonora cactus. The road stretches right to the moon and the blushing sky. A young lad on a town bikes sits and watches the beauty too, I wonder if he slept up here last night or if he rode out for sunrise.

*7am rocking k mart* Why wont the shop open? Why today? Come on, we are waiting! Eventually we give up on the k-mart, I’ve been drooling for crisps, I’m so hungry but cant eat any of my sweet food. I do some math, optimistically figure i can make summer haven before the restaurants shut. I don’t know how to find another shop here anyway, my British phone doesn’t do data.

*10.30am* What is this track? This is awful. We don’t even have to do this, why are we doing this.? What is the point of this horrible loop? How do people even drive this? Argh! Wait, why is there a blue line on my garmin? Theres been no junction? Oh there was. GAHH!

*11am* I’m lost again. In another wash. This time with Bob for company. It might have been him last night too but I was too tired to tell. This is frustrating. But then, Gila Monster! Everything is forgotten as we rush to take a photo and watch this cool dude swagger about.

*2.30pm* We reach the creek before the Molina hike a bike. The water feels so delicious as I soak my feet in it. I’m bonking hard, as we rest in the shade and purify water I try force down more food and almost throw up in front of the boys. We start dreaming of how much food we will buy at the top. Fries, burgers, pizza, cold lemonade. I’ve never been so hungry, and yet unable to keep food down.

*4.30pm* Why the F are we pushing up trails when there’s a great big road right there!? Come on! I just want to ride my bike! I just want to get up this stupid hill!

*5.30pm* Im too hot, whens sunset? Come on darkness!

*6.30pm* Finally shade. I’m still to hot, cool down already! Why is this road so busy? Why does everyone have such noisy trucks? Why are you passing so close? Why am I only going 1mile per hour??

*7pm* Moonrise. How beautiful. And look at the lights of Tuscon. Its so stunning.

*11pm* I need a catnap. I hope there are no bears. I hope no one worries if my dot stops on the highway. Hah! No one is watching my dot anyway.

*12.30am saturday* What is this!? Is this a joke? The organizer has such a sick sense of humor, grin inducing singletrack indeed. Why am I pushing my bike in a stream, where are all the other tracks, did i get a booby-trapped gpx track? Am I going round in circles? Am I ever going to get out?

*1am* I hate this! I’m stuck, wheres the trail? S**t, there’s a huge drop there, cant go that way! Why does my GPX track have a road called help me? Have I been stitched up? I’m crying now, from frustration, anger, but I’m also a bit afraid, the canyon feels very exposed in the dark, I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t trust the gpx but i have no choice but to follow it. Better toughen up.

*1.45* The toilets at Summerhaven! Woohoo! I’m alive! I sit in a corner and shiver in relief for 20min.

*2.30am* Yes! Im amazing, just aced that ridiculously steep loose singletrack, i can totally do this sleep deprived riding thing.

*2.35am* No no no no that was the wrong way. Stupid Annie! ugh its harder pushing up than it was riding down.

*4am* Im gonna puke again. Lets stop and lie down and see if my stomach can settle. Wow, look at all those stars. The sky is amazing. I feel so small, who cares about how fast a tiny person on a bike on a tiny mountain in the middle of a huge continent can ride one short bit of trail.

*4.30am* Skunk!

*6am* Sunrise!!!! Look at that, is incredible! Im so happy, this is the only place i want to be right now. Look at it!

*8am oracle* CRISPS CRISPS CRISPS. Oh man that is so good! Food is so wonderful! Oh man food!

*10 am* This underpass is the best place in the world. Its so shady and cool and comfortable. I could live here. CRISPS!

*2pm somewhere before bloodsucker wash* Man its getting windy. I cant even push straight. And these spiky things are getting blown at me. I need a wee.

*2.05* Ouch! My bum is on fire! Oh S**T. My chamois is filled with tiny thorns. No no no no.

*3pm* Chollas to my left. Chollas to my right. Chollas on my tyre. Chollas on my grips. Chollas in my leg..

*4pm* Shade. Thank you Sonora. I love you.

*4.30* Bird. Wait, that looks funny. Black and white stripes. On the trail, i wander what it is. *bends down* SNAKE!!!!

*4.31* Please be nice mr snake. look, im going really slow, i didnt mean to scare you. I just want to go past in peace. Whew!

*4.45* WTF! WTF! *Jumps off bike* S**t S**t S**t its another huge rattlesnake. Mr snake if you had kept quiet id be long gone and you wouldn’t have to put up with me staring at you. Id have ridden right past and not nearly jumped on you! Stupid snakes.

*5pm* Ooh whats this dude? Hes so cute! Like a tiny, grumpy dinosaur. Hello!

*6.30 freeman road* Where the water? Why cant i find it? Hi Cow, can you show me the water please. Evan! Thank you, you’re so nice.

*6.45pm at the water cache* I chat to Evan as Liz and a singlespeed dude catch us up. Wow look at Lizs legs, they are incredible! She is super stoked and stops with the others to refuel as i head off.

*10pm* Emergency stop! Death mouse. Death vole. Death bird. Come on guys i dont want to hit you! Stop running infront of my bike please! (I dont think i hit anything)

*2am ripley ridge Sunday* Liz has stopped for a sleep but want to chat about packrafting. Im so confused. Where is her energy coming from? I need to keep going. Down and up, down and up.

*2.30am* I keep feeling like ive been turned around and am going backwards. I lie next to the trail for half an hour to rest my head. The ground is so comfy.

*3am* Will this never end! Why am i going up on a descent? Why cant the trail go down. I want to be at Kelvin!

*3.30 kelvin spigot* Hah, look chairs. So tempting. How does this spigot work? Please let there be water, why is there no water? Oh, you push down. I knew that. How much to take, i dont want to push an extra three kilos around the Gila.. hmm ill take 4 liters and get from the river later.

*7am* Pavel! “if you were faster, you could sleep more” Thanks Pavel, im doing the best i can..

*8.30* Ive messed up. I cant drink that brown water, i have no filter. Do i take some as backup or go with my 3 liters? Hmm, possibly 8 hours to the end.. in the heat… with only salty food… do i wait till evening when its cooler? Sign, board, tell me what to do! You make this next bit look ok. Ill go for it and stop eating. Who needs food?

*10am* Man its hot! Everything is sweating. Im so shiny.

*10.30* So Hot. must be nearly there. Sip sip, dont gulp. Save water. Just keep walking. 1.2.3.4.1.2.3.4. OMG percy pig! Sweets! Im not going to bonk.

*11.30* Top! yes, im going to make it! im not going to dehydrate and die! Ive done it!

*11.35* That wasn’t the top…

*12.30* Real top! Yaaasssssss! Downhill all the way baby!

*12.45* Why am i pushing uphill again? That signboard showed nice gentle downhill..

*1.30pm* Who built this trail? This is awful. Why cant it go down? Why is it so wiggly? This sucks!

*2.30* Last 750ml water. This really sucks. I hate this. Im never doing this again. Whoever built this should be shot. Where is the end? WHERE IS THE END?

*3.15* Im sure i saw the car park. Where is it? Why am i going up? Who put all these rocks here? Junction, which way? Up? Is this ever going to end?

*3.30* I think im done, theres the crew. Finally, that trail was horrible! oh look, i still have a full bottle and half a bag of percy pigs. Silly me, didnt have to feel so hard. A shady seat. Thank goodness. Can i cry now?

AZT300 was my first multiday ultra. I owe massive thanks to two incredible humans, Kait Boyle and Kurt Refsnider for all their advice, encouragement and for being at the end with a shady seat and a cold sprite.

International Adventures

Road Closed

February 4, 2019February 4, 2019
by Annie le

Crossing Iceland in spring 2016

I can hear the ice cracking and groaning on the sluggish river. My breath turns to to stardust and tinkles gently back onto my face. Through the open tent door, the night sky is alive, dancing, playing, a giant ever changing kaleidoscope. Im in the heart of the Icelandic highlands and this is probably the coldest night of my life. My water bottle is tucked into an armpit, the gas at my feet and the down in my bag grows ever crispier as as the new moon rises and passes across the sky. Next to me Huw looks much toastier in his posh PHD bag and in a moment of jealousy I consider waking him up to zip them together. The inside of the tent glistens as tiny ice crystals grow frantically and then drop off to cover us like sugar icing.

We had planned this trip for months, gained the skills we thought we would require through our Winter Mountain Leader training and assessments and we were here! Shivering through endless sleepless nights and loving almost every moment. Quite where our desire to fat bike across the icelandic highlands on snow came from im not sure, im a committed sun lover and Huw can get pretty grumbly when hes not comfortable for long periods. But we had booked our flights way in advance, whilst dreaming of dry, crisp winter mornings and there was no backing out. After spending a long few months stomping, digging and pacing through a Scottish winter, my stokens flying out to an equally sleety and windy Reykjavik were at an all time low. They were further sunk when the bus driver told us he was not allowed to stop at our hostel despite driving past it but would drop us off a kilometer away. In the dark and the rain with two 30kg bike boxes. Lots of swearing, sweating and being laughed at ensured before getting into the warmth and finding out there was a 24 hr supermarket near by. Perfect!

We knew that the Icelandic weather is even more fickle than our own and had arrived with no plan and every plan. Checking the forecasts every 15 minutes we decided to set off towards gulfoss and the start of the kjolur route into the highlands. Those first few days riding on the road were a nightmare. Goggles on, blizzards, drifting snow, mighty headwinds, side winds catching the frame bags like a sail and scary drivers. My Salsa Beargrease felt good, not too sluggish on the road, but she was desperate to find some snow. Our maximum elevation was a measly 200m but we felt as though on the Cairngorm plateau at 1000. Serious doubts were creeping in. Unfortunately our route was part of the golden circle tour, so every camera toting tourist was en route with us, not helping our mood. If you read my previous Iceland post you will understand our building frustration… To make matters worse the heavy bikes, big tires, head winds and residual tiredness meant a 30km day was success. We had been doing 120km days on rough dirt roads on our last trip in Patagonia and were feeling incapable and useless. The one bit of enjoyment, once we had stomped tent pegs into the frozen ground and got our first brew on was the camping. Icelandic wild camping is just pure bliss. Our very best Patagonian camp spot probably equaled our very worst Icelandic one.

After a very brief stop at the selfie stick shopping malls of Geyser and a quick spin over shifting tectonic plates at Pingvellir we made a break for the end of the tarmac.Our last chance to check the weather and thaw our feet was at the giant canteen of Gulfoss. As we arrived, getting blown around by the winds rushing off the icecaps, my thoughts were of going no further. If we were only achieving 30km on tarmac, how could we cover the next few hundred, remote, snowy kilometers fast enough not to run out of food or into a storm. We hadn’t had a chance to test the bikes either as they had arrived just days before we left and we were unsure of how they would perform on the mixed conditions we were expecting. With hot cup of tea and warming up by a heater we went through our list of forecasts (Over the month we were there we found YR.no and WindyTY to be the most accurate. WindyTY if of course just great to be mesmerized by, to stay in the warmth longer).

A weather window! Four days before the next big front, the winds dropping and spinning from North to South and there might even be a dash of sunlight. We had faced numerous Go Pros, worried Icelanders telling us we WOULD DIE and overpriced processed cheese to get here, to the edge of the highlands. With this forecast we had no choice but to go for it!

Our sensible heads still firmly screwed on, we decided to spend the rest of the day climbing up to a pass, seeing the conditions and camping just on the other side, that way we had more time to rethink and bail if the forecasts were lying. Passing the road closed sign, away from the crowds, leaving behind the weaving Jimneys, Ugg boots, trendy haircuts and faux fur collars was like coming back to life. Enthusiasm filled us and we began having fun as we slid and stumbled upwards.

Cresting that horizon, staring down and outwards for infinity across the empty vastness of the highlands is a moment i will never forget. The landscape stretched out on all sides, expanding into a white, mountain filled vista. We were going into it, all the way, further than we could see. We were going to do it! Do what we (and many others) thought impossible! Laughing and whooping we freewheeled downwards. Skidding and washing out as the snow changed under our tires and we adjusted to a new way of riding. The noise of the fat tires on the surface of the snow, cracking, swooshing, silent. We soon learned to read the snow by the sounds and were able to weave routes around the soft slab.

That first night in the highlands is where we rejoin the start of this blog, shivering in our mighty hilleberg palace..

We learnt a lot about cold, Scotland rarely gets below minus 6, here we though it might have been around -15. Our gas barely worked, our tent did funny things and got quite hard to pitch right, metal sporks are a bad idea, vapor liners in boots and bags would have been clever, cheese freezes, even plastic cheese and snow balls are not good loo roll!

The next few days passed in a blur of snowy wonder, rolling through the awe inspiring landscape, with only the sound of our tires and the distant boom of cracking ice on some hidden river. A thaw the week before had left perfect fat bike conditions, refrozen neve. It was one enormous icy play ground. We were cautious with our route, trying to roughly follow where the road went to avoid ending up on a suspect frozen loch or lost in moraine piles. The conditions could change rapidly so we worked to make time whilst we could, in case the clouds rolled in and we would be reduced to going walking pace on a bearing.

Stopping at Hveravellir hot springs we were amazed to find the hut open. Its the first winter ever they have stayed open. It would have been rude not to, so we splashed our budget and had the hot spring and hut to ourselves. And bought the entire supply of cookies. It was great to dry out sodden sleeping bags after some very long cold nights and drink endless cups of tea. We would have stayed longer but the weather was due to break so we swiftly left our comforts and headed out once more.

One more night and we dropped height, out of the snow and heading back for civilization. We had achieved our ultimate goal, of crossing the highlands!We know we were incredibly lucky with the conditions, it could so easily not have happened. Just a few weeks before some British guys had been all over the news for getting rescued multiple times but still going back. The anti idiot tourist sentiment in Iceland was high and we were terrified we would end up on that list.We played it very safe, having multiple get outs and having been about as prepped as we could. But the weather you cannot fool and luckily for us it was calm and benign.

With a couple more weeks we investigated some of Icelands other awesome places, hot springs, thermal outdoor pools, did some unloaded riding and ate as much skyr as we could fit in our belly’s.

Again Iceland was an incredible experience, the Icelanders are lovely, the landscape is weird and incredible and skyr is delicious. Now can someone please give me a job there?

International Adventures

Dust and Dahlbatt

January 27, 2019January 27, 2019
by Annie le

A bicycle journey through Nepal. December 2017

I’m in the heart of a rhododendron forest, the only sounds my harsh breathing and heavy footsteps. Around me are the beautiful, twisted, mossy trunks and ahead and behind, the steep rutted trail. Sweat drips down my face and I have a serious case of sweaty boob. Somewhere in front is Huw, further behind Rachael. We are all suffering in our own little hells as we carry bikes and bivi kits ever upward. In places the gully is too narrow for the bikes to fit, balanced as they are across our backs. In other spots, water has washed the trail clean away leaving fallen trees and big holes to be navigated. Fortunately no one is close enough to hear my swearing.

Why are we doing this? There must be more fun to be had in these vast mountains that make up the Nepal Himalaya. Well as anyone’s who has set out to a new place, without a guide and armed only with scant information and highly inaccurate maps, will know, plan A does not always work. Sometimes neither do plan B,C or D. after a mix of frustration and joy, we were now on about plan Q. Of course we could have followed the same tourist tracks, biked the Annapurna circuit with hundreds of others and probably had an amazing time. But all three of us wished to see a side of Nepal, less touched by western hands and ideals. We harbored no romantic ideas about rustic ways of life, but wanted to see how communities existed away from the tourist dollars and far beyond the roads and pollution of Kathmandu.

Loading the bicycles up into rice sacks and flying to Tumlingtar, we dreamed of high mountain trails and big glacial valleys. Our first few days riding were exciting, we raced tractors pulling big trailers filled with kids along pebbled river beds and crossed tiny, bouncy, suspension bridges high above ravines to villages tucked into the hillside. We rode narrow single tracks through rice paddies, passing porters carrying inconceivable loads of rice or goods and big mule trains that kicked up dust as they jangled their ways passed. Starting from only 400 meters those first long days were spent climbing, the settlements gradually fading into the odd lone house. Eventually, having left the last remnants of the dust road behind, we arrived at Gothe Bazaar, a porter’s bati, hidden in a dark hollow next to a loud, gushing glacial river. Here, inhabited by three intricately decorated ladies, faces lined with age but filled with extravagant gold jewellery and wearing big toothy grins, we ate dhal bhat late into the night with a mix of men, as they paused on their journeys to bring biscuits and shampoo to the remoter hamlets.

We were shaken awake that night by an earthquake rocking the wooden frame of the building. I thought of the huge devastation of the earthquake of the previous year and thinking of how remote we were, the trail behind us not much more than a trod carved out of the clay hillside by hundreds of feet and hooves, and how easily one could become trapped in a valley. The snoring of the ladies calmed my racing pulse and I soon drifted off.

With sunshine dawning the next day we headed off in high spirits, the trail became increasingly broken; we had to pass bikes up and down steep slabs and were soon carrying more than riding. Eventually after a few hours making only a couple of kilometres, we had to sit down and accept the reality that this trail was not for bikes. Even having started knowing we might have to bail, the disappointment sank deep into us. Sitting with weary faces, trying to be optimistic, we knew we had a long few days retracing our steps back out and some more planning to do. The initial excitement dissolved, and with it our energy. The steep carries that had seemed fun and adventurous on the way up were now fraught as we tried not to argue in our tiredness.

Our descent back to Tumlingtar was made more interesting by a celebration, a giant pig slaughtered in the road and the hair being singed off whilst everyone looked on. We tiptoed around trying not to step in the blood.

These lower hills, the hindu woman were seen as fleeting shadows, disappearing as we approached. Parmitra, a young lady in her early twenties was the first to change this. Seeing us sweating our way past on our uphill journey she came running into the street to greet us and try our bikes, a big infectious grin she managed to communicate better than we could with our dodgy Nepali and left us cycling away energised and giggling. Now on our return we stopped to see if we could find her. Walking slowly past the string of houses, collecting a gaggle of small boys, she spotted us from her shop and called us over, hot tea was ordered as she commanded her little sisters around. The afternoon disappeared fast as she gave us impromptu Nepali lessons and discussed her life as a single young woman. Once she discovered Rachael, nearly 10 years her senior was also single ,she sent the kids out on a whispered mission. Ten minutes later the eligible bachelors of the hamlet started arriving. Laughing, we decided to leave, but not before Rachael was persuaded to have selfies with several of the men.
Later we met three sisters, each quite unique, the oldest, uninterested in boys, keen to be a savvy businesswoman, the middle sister was the poser, whilst the youngest, still at school wanted to study. We stayed up eating late with them, practicing our nepali, they their English, whilst trying to see what weird foods they could convince us naïve foreigners to eat.

Racheal with the sisters
Parmitra

The next week or so passed in a blur of lumpy dirt roads, spectacular views, endless steep climbs and broken down trucks. We peddled past creaky houses, balconies dripping in orange pumpkins. We pushed through muddy ruts as men ploughed their fields with buffalo and woman sorted rice grain in big round trays. We ate instant noodles and drank sweet lemon tea in roadside shacks and met a hero in one, a guide returning home after a successful Everest summit with his stunning wife and child. Passing through orange country we were implored to take more fruit than we could carry, by smiling faces and friendly words. Chicken and goats ran free between our wheels and children tailed us through every village. Busses passed, loaded to the roof with people and livestock, the suspension groaning over the bumps, their drivers stopping to throw water over the brakes in every streambed. A commander with the Nepali army wined and dined us to his stories of training with foreign princes at Sandhurst. Finally the road took us to Phaplu, a string of houses on a dusty street with the first westerners we had seen in over a week. Boys played with a basic seesaw on a patch of dirt with Mount Numbur looming behind. And here it was that we met the eccentric Mr and Mrs Lama, at their little guesthouse and who told us stories of bears and mountain lions and suggested some routes.

And so we are sweating up this mountain, carrying for over 1000 vertical meters to reach a place Mr Lama suggested. The Duhd Kunda, meaning milky lake, at 4560 m is a place of worship, tucked under the Nimbur mountain range.
Eventually as the steep climb levels off, we regroup on a stunning sinuous ridge. Laughing in the sunshine, hardships forgotten we peddle along, amazed such wonderful trail exists here. Soon though, our bodies remind us of what we have exerted, and that we are now around 4000m and the altitude really kicks in. Trying to ride undulating technical trail on steep hillside is painful, burning legs, burning lungs. I feel wobbly and awkward on my bike and Rachael soon passes me. Gradually as the sun starts to fall and the temperature dips we have to push on faster to reach a suitable bivi spot. It’s a cold night, dinner is a simple affair of boiled egg and yaks cheese. I lie in my under-powered bag shivering, and watch the stars as they twirl slowly above my head. In this empty, silent valley it is hard to imagine the thousands of pilgrims who gather here in summer, with their laughter and cattle and campfire smoke. The altitude makes my head pound and I consider walking down to let it ease but stay, stuck under the weight of the enormous sky.

In the end it is Huw and Rachael who feel the altitude the next day, I scout ahead and bring them the bad news that the trail disappears into the glacial moraines. The bikes must yet again be abandoned. We walk slowly though the rock heaps, admiring the sunrise over Numbur. Finally we reach this place we have desired for so many sweaty hard footfalls. A mountain lake, tucked into this high corrie, beautiful, cold, overhung by seracs and the remnants of the glacier. Before we set out, this harsh barren mountain environment was what we imagined Nepal to be. How little we knew, and how lucky we were fate conspired to push us south. Our journey made so much richer by all the encounters, faces and friends from along the road. We might not have made it with bicycles, but now, to be here is enough.