Skinnyski Race Team Weekend Recap: Birkie Story

My two year old daughter informed me last week that she would not be competing in the Barnebirkie. Needless to say, after a year of training, I was none too pleased. All those early morning runs, endless days on the rollerboard and hours of watching videotape of Heidi Muelegg, the reigning Barne champion, would be wasted. But then Ellie pointed out that she was only two and the chances of victory would probably be slim. She made a good point - if you can't win the race, why bother?

This was essentially my attitude going into the Birkie this year. I had sacrificed all of my own training so that Ellie could have redemption in the Barne and now I was out of shape. My only assets were the fumes of past training and the wisdom of accumulated Birkies. My only goal was to maintain my wave start position. I had already conceded "the bell" - the highest honor I could ever hope to achieve at the Birkie.

I don't know who dreamed up the idea of "the Bell" originally. It is not even that nice as bells go - it's made of thin metal with a veneer of brass. It is embossed with the words "American Birkebeiner" on one side and "REI" on the other. No matter. The bell seems to be the most important part of the Birkie now.

Wherever it came from, the Bell goes to the fastest skier that stays at the Hanson or the Munger cabin for the Birkie. While that rule sounds simple, each year brings debate as to how it should be applied. For instance, a hypothetical debate might arise in the following situation: you miss your wave start by six minutes, but your official time with six minutes deducted is the fastest among skiers at the two cabins, are you entitled to the Bell for the year? I think the answer is obvious - of course you should have the Bell for the year. It's not my - er, I mean, your - fault that traffic was bad that year . . .

Important as the Bell is, this year I decided it was best to concede the Bell before the race even began. Training just hasn't been what I wanted this year. January was spent preparing for the City of Lakes Loppet - spare time went to my official day job. Then when the snow fell I became ill and had a hacking cough for almost two weeks. When illness and the Loppet were finished, being an attorney took over again . . . In the end, I couldn't see myself skiing fast - one race under my belt and an average of 3-4 training days per week - ugh!

I called Peter (Hanson) in the week before the race and basically conceded defeat: "My only goal is to keep my wave start position," I told him. Peter and I grew up near each other in South Minneapolis. Back then I used to look up to him. He is four years older than me and he was on the cross country running team at the time.

When I told Peter about my goals for the race, he just laughed. "You better get some rest," he said, "you don't want to ruin your chances of keeping your wave position," he added sarcastically. After that, I wore the Bell as much as possible - ringing it any time I had the chance in order to remind everyone that I was the reigning King of the Bell.

I still held out some hope, however. If I can't win the Bell myself the next best thing is to have it stay among my cabin-mates. And I had Piotr Bednarski staying with me - I figured if I couldn't win, Piotr could give Peter a run for his money.

When the morning of the big event arrived, I was pretty relaxed. I actually woke up in the morning and my first thought was whether I had an early meeting to go to that day (I have been working way too much lately).

I arrived at the start and found a spot in the second row. I figured that if I started in the second row I would be less likely to go out at some unrealistic pace that I could not possibly keep up. As it turned out, I had a moderate start - which I was plenty happy with.

As we progressed, I saw Piotr a little ways ahead and was able to ski past Peter - who was apparently biding his time on the flats at the start of the race. I figured that it would not be too much to ask of myself to stay in front of Peter until we arrived at the first hills on the power lines. A guy has to have some self-respect, even while racing with minimal goals. But sure enough, Peter passed me back on the first hill. "Where is Piotr?" he inquired. So much for respect - I wasn't even worthy of a second thought.

Against my better judgment, I decided to stay with Peter until I was truly tired out. Peter kept passing people fairly aggressively and we eventually caught up to Piotr. After a few kilometers I figured that I had better back off the pace or it would truly be a long day. I let Peter go and he worked his way to the front of the fairly large pack we were in while I hung out at the rear. As we approached the High Point, I decided that I had better notch down another gear in order to avoid dipping too far into my minimal reserves. When I reached the top of the hills there was a little gap between me and Peter's group. Sensing that leaving the group at that juncture would only lead to trouble (my strength lies in drafting - I am not much of a solo skier) I decided to stick with the group a bit longer, so I put in a little surge until I arrived at the back of the pack.

Soon I recognized some Factory Team groupies hanging out with their bottles waiting for the elite women to come by. I perked up immediately. Here was my opportunity for some sustenance. Sure enough, 50' later there was a full bottle strewn in the snow. I timed my swoop well and managed to snare the bottle as I skied past it. Taking a good drink, I decided that the Factory Team guys were way too serious - they were apparently willing to drink anything in order to improve their performance - the blue liquid I was drinking tasted like stale motor oil.

Continuing on, the group settled into a nice pace. I was still content to ski at the back of the large pack - as long as I could see Peter I had some hope of retaining the Bell. But coming out of the next feed station at Bodecker Road, disaster struck. Another skier stepped on my pole - and SNAP . . . the race was about to become more interesting.

I made some quick calculations in my head - we were at 18 k, OO would not come until after 22 k. Ben Popp quickly moved to reassure me - "Bruce [Adelsman] will have a pole at OO . . ." Still, I would have to stay with the group for four kilometers with only one pole.

There are certain moments in our skiing careers that keep us skiing and rollerskiing and driving all over the Midwest even in the worst years . . . I was about to experience a few of these moments. First, I was in a great group - surrounded by friends that feel like brothers when you are out in the middle of a ski race together. More than that, here I was with one pole, and for some odd reason it wasn't that hard to keep up with the group. I guess I figured it wasn't that far to OO and if the group dropped me I would never see them again. My left leg (I had broken my left pole) began to burn, but I was having fun.

Only as we approached OO did things become truly dire. It is one thing to ski the flats and down hills with only one pole. It is quite another to ski up the OO hill without a pole. As we approached the 22 k marker, my moments of fun began to fade and my left buttocks began to scream. The group began to ski away . . . Fortunately, before long I located a girl standing by the side of the trail holding a pair of poles. "Pole," I muttered. "Left pole," I clarified as she handed me a right-hand pole (equipment is becoming way too complicated).

"We're the Leeches, something something at the end," they yelled as I skied away.
"Hmm, what did they say?" I thought to myself. Skiers can be a little self-absorbed in the middle of a race . . .

A moment later I saw Bruce. Fortunately I didn't have to rely upon him for a pole - all he had was a camera. After I crossed OO, I saw the group up ahead. Drawing on all my reserves I made a good push and managed to climb back into the pack. If you have ever seen Breaking Away (my favorite movie), I felt like the main character, Dave Stoller. Dave idolized an Italian bicycling team - Team Cinzano. When Team Cinzano entered a local race, they were none too pleased to have the company of an uppity American. As the race went up a hill, one of the Team Cinzano riders changed Dave's gears on him and he fell behind. Working like crazy Dave managed to catch the Italians again - with the Barber of Seville soundtrack in the background. But I diverge . . .

The next 16 kilometers were uneventful (and thus fun) as no one pushed the pace. But as we approached Mosquito Brook Road, Chip Tabor decided to put in a surge. Ben Popp wanted to ski with Chip and encouraged me to catch up: "Chip's not skiing that fast," he said. Being a sucker, I surged up to Chip, but as soon as I arrived Chip seemed to re-double his efforts - V2ing up the next hill.

"I'm not playing that game," I told Ben as I pulled to the side in order to re-join the main group. That's when a great thing happened - the main group had mysteriously disappeared and I found myself with only two other guys. "Hmm, no Peter - this is a good thing," I said to myself. "I just have to hang on to these guys and the Bell (my precious) will be all mine." Although it was a struggle and I was near to fading into oblivion the whole time, I managed to stay with the two guys until we reached Main Street. At that point I could hang on no more, but I knew that the Bell would rest safe with me for the year. More importantly, I knew that I would not have to be executed for losing the Bell. Worse than refusing to do the Barne - Ellie has apparently lost the real Bell and I have been using an imitation from the Noquemanon. But don't tell Peter about that.