24 Hours of Telemark: My idea of "fun" By Mitch Mode The bartender is incredulous.  "There are crazy people out there," he gestures with his head toward the windows. "They're skiing all night long!" He shakes his head in amazement and disgust. Then he considers me across the bar. A faint frown, a questioning raise of the eyebrows. "Are you doing that?"
I 'fess up with a nod and the 'tender goes into
full-bore apology, insisting that not all those out there were crazy, that I certainly was not in that number. He gets very busy polishing glasses, wiping the bar; my new best friend. Then he can stand it no longer.
"What's the grand prize?" I admit I have no idea. That ices it with him. His eyebrows shoot up, his eyes open wide, his mouth drops in shock. "You're skiing all night long
and you don't even know what the grand prize is? You people are crazy!" He moves away from me in a hurry, as if what I have might be contagious. It's 11 p.m. on a Saturday night in January and, crazy I might be, but more to the point, I'm famished. It's just past the halfway point of the 24 Hours of Telemark ski race and all I want to do is eat. Pizza's all they've
got? Fine, make mine a pizza, a bar pizza, frozen in some distant fast-food factory and delivered microwave hot to a bar near you. I'll take it.
Outside it's as dark as a January night can be dark and cold, the temperature flirting with zero, predicted to go lower, and with a chill wind in the air. And indeed, outside in the cold there are people skiing, crazy people if you are to believe the bartender (and taken from a
rational point of view, he does seem to have a valid point.) Not only are they skiing, they are doing it willingly.
It's the third annual 24 Hours of Telemark, a ski race in name and conception but, more accurately, a ski event. While 24-hour races have flourished among mountain bike riders and to a lesser extent, runners, the 24 Hours of Telemark is the only 24-hour cross country ski race in America (there is at least one downhill race.) The concept is simple: See
how far one skier, or a team of skiers, can ski in 24 hours. Simple in concept; in reality, more difficult.
In truth, the 24 Hours of Telemark is a series of events, with races for 3, 6, 12 and 24 hours. Add to that a bewildering number of classes (solo, multiple-person teams, skate and diagonal classes) and there is, quite simply, something for everyone. It has attracted in January 2003 a mix of 200 skiers, a cross section of racers and touring skiers, classic skiers
and skaters, young and old.
I've heard about the race over the first two years, and the reviews had all been raves. "More fun than the Birkie," say some. "Man! It's just a great time," gush others. "Really, it's not that hard and it's fun," adds another. So I signed up with three others, old enough all of us to know better, but game to find out what it's all about. We will enter the four-person classic event. None of us are in very good shape; I've not
been on skis at all, so we're in it for, as they say, "the experience." Besides, it'll be fun. Everyone says so.
At the prerace meeting, besides the general notes of hows and whys and wherefores, was an ominous discussion of wind-chill factors, frostbite and a caution that if things got too bad, the race would be suspended until temperatures moderated. Such talk quieted an already nervous crowd. What next? seemed to be the unspoken question. As if we
haven't had enough to worry about.
For it had not been an auspicious leadup to the race for a very simple reason: There was not much snow to be had in the Midwest. There was, in most places, no snow at all. Not a single person in the room, no matter where they lived or what they did, had enough time on snow to be ready for this race.
In fact, the most amazing thing was that they would be able to have a race at all. Telemark Lodge, starting point of the Birkebeiner and one of
the most famous cross country resorts in the nation, did not have any more snow than anyone else. The talk in the weeks leading to the race had been about snow, about, more precisely, the lack of snow. How could Telemark pretend to hold a ski race? They had no snow!
Well, yes and no. What Telemark had was snowmaking gear, big snow guns mothballed since the downhill area had closed. In the week before the race, they wrestled those old machines into position and fired them
up. And low and behold, they made snow! They made enough snow to cover a 3+ kilometer loop (as opposed to the planned-for 10K course) and they put down snow deep enough to set a stride track, wide enough to allow for the widest ranging skater. On race day, the race course would be ready.
So that weekend when the crazies descended on Telemark Lodge, the 3K loop looked like a pearl in the dirt a white, gleaming diamond surrounded by the woods and fields bereft of any significant natural
snow. Artificial or not, there was snow, and there was a race course, and cold notwithstanding, there would be a race.
So it was that at the crack of 10 a.m. on that Saturday, the gun sounded and those assembled bolted from the line to start the journey that, for many of them, would last 24 hours.
The first thought of many is that if it's short, it must be easy. Many felt the 3K loop would be a cakewalk. That was not the case. The course
featured some lung-burning climbs, some snaky downhills and only a bare minimum of flat. Throw in to that mix some tight corners, and the 3K course measured up, in spite of its length, to a legitimate challenge.
Then there was the manmade snow. As any downhill skier can tell you, the machine-generated white stuff differs from the natural. The differences can be subtle, but one feature of the artificial has a distinct
affect on the XC ski crowd: The artificial snow is more abrasive. More abrasive snow may have a marginal effect on the faster, gravity-fueled downhill boards, but on XC skis that abrasive nature serves to slow glide and, for the classic skiers, rob grip wax. Our team quickly confirms the latter; our ski bases, after three laps, are white and dry.
So it was quickly apparent that it would not be a fast course (the cold alone would ensure that) and, for the diagonal skiers, it would be an
effort to retain enough grip wax. But then, nobody ever said it would be easy. Fun yes easy no!
Nobody ever says a 24-hour event will be easy. No matter what the discipline, no matter what the mix of teams or individuals, the challenge of doing something, anything, for 24 hours straight looms as a monumental task. Therein lies the appeal. In an age where we look for the extremes in our recreation, where longer is seen as better, when
more arduous is seen as ennobling, the 24-hour marathons of any ilk have established a foothold in our sporting life. For years some of the long, off-road running races, while distinguished by length, have required running through the long hours of darkness. In recent years, the 24-hour mountain bike races have become popular. Is it any surprise that a 24-hour cross country ski race should emerge?
Well, perhaps it is a bit strange. Two practical reasons work against the
24 hours on skis: hours of daylight and cold weather. While nobody can argue the difficulty of running or riding 24 hours, the simple fact is that the greater part of those 24 hours is daylight. A race in July may have 16 hours of light. Winter races during the darkest months are lucky to get nine hours of daylight, guaranteeing that the vast majority of time will be done under artificial light.
Then there is the cold factor. You do not calculate wind chill in the
summer. Nor do you wonder how far below zero the temperature may fall. In January, the cold becomes a huge factor. Exposure to the elements, for participants and workers alike, is a very real deterrent in January. The first two 24 Hours of Telemark dodged the cold weather bullet. The third would not be so lucky. Those who took the start on that Saturday were assured of a long, cold night.
But nighttime is what makes the 24-hour races special. Skiing after dark,
which is to say from about 5 p.m. until 7 a.m., is a unique and special experience. Darkness closes the world down to a smaller, somehow more manageable, size. Skis, never fast on this weekend, run slower in the cold of the night. The beams from headlamps bob and weave, climb and descend in the blackness. Sounds become muffled; the slap of skis, the click of poles, the totally unexpected sound of a no-wax ski on the abrasive snow. Several bonfires light the void and add the sharp,
wonderful smell of woodsmoke to the night. All the while, the night sky is lit with a myriad of stars, never brighter, never more pure and unwavering than on a January night. To ski at night is to take part in something special; to race at night does not take that experience away.
My team has taken a rather casual approach to the headlamp issue, choosing a variety of small, AA battery-type lights. It is not until later,
after the race if truth be told, that I read about the minimum power requirements of race-legal headlamps. The skiers who are really into this (and who have read the rules) use lights of high intensity that cast beams of white light through the black of the night. Watching them run through the woods, I am reminded of the headlights on a locomotive, large and white and powerful. In contrast, my batteries quickly wear down in the
cold, and after 45 minutes or so cast a faint light more reminiscent of a single candle on a birthday cupcake. We are skiing for an hour at a time now, and so the last laps are done as much by feel as anything else.
There were solo skiers during that night (the "solo freak" division and one wonders what the bartender would have said to that concept), soldiering on against all odds. But there were mostly teams, members
alternating time on snow with down time in the lodge. Each team had their own regimen of "laps skis" to "time off" skis. On this cold night, a skier finishing their time on snow would quickly get off their skis, head inside to their room, there to sleep or at least warm up and relax, until it was time to head out on the snow again. In the lodge, it was quiet, skiers passing in the hall with a nod, a soft "hello" and passing, one to the room
and warmth, the other to the snow and cold. In theory, everyone can catch some sleep during their break time, but if our team is any example, the best you can hope for is to close your eyes and rest; none of us really slept through the night.
At sunrise, the race sound system (which was playing nonstop during the entire event) greeted the dawn with "Here Comes the Sun," the old Beatles classic from another age, never more appropriate than sunrise
on that cold Sunday. While temperatures had dropped overnight (10 below was the talk that morning), it had never gotten so bad to curtail the race. After all, these are hardy Nordic types, and a mere 10 below on a dark January night is not enough to send them packing.
The day dawned clear and bright, only hours to go to the finish, and racers, invigorated by the sun, carried on with enthusiasm. The last hours went quickly, the 10 a.m. finish time arrived with a flurry of sound, of
spectators cheering, of skiers driving hard for the line. Pride was at stake, pride and for some the chance for a medal. Then it was over; the 24 hours had been run.
There were stories to tell afterward. There always are. Stories to tell, laughter and good times to share. Promises for next year, challenges tossed about, camaraderie and good-natured give and take. Thus it is with all good times. Thus it was with the 24 Hours of Telemark.
So was it fun? Was it a great experience? Would I, or most of the others, do it again? Well, actually, it was. It was a whole lot of fun, it was a great experience and most people I talked to would do it again. It was not a race for the fleet and the fit only. It was an event that drew skiers from a wide range of abilities and expertise. It was, as with any other event, what you make it. Most skiers on that weekend made it fun. Most skiers made it an experience on skis, not just a hyped-up
competitive event for the fast only.
In the light of day, I suspect my bartender friend was fast asleep, a sleep perhaps made restless with visions of the craziness witnessed the night before. I hope he slept well. As for me, I still don't know what the grand prize was. After all is said and done, I know it's not important. I also know that craziness is in the eyes of the beholder. So, in the end, is fun.
The 24-Hours of Telemark is Jan. 10-11 this season. For more
information, contact Kevin Eccles, Team Sports Events, W220N1560 Jericho Ct. No. 3, Waukesha, WI 53186; 262/549-6801, ext. 30; tse24nine@aol.com; www.teamsportsinc.com
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