A Korte and a Birkie
Back-to-back and
from front-to-back
Seventy-four kilometers of the 2005 American Birkebeiner NOTE: One time only out of respect for late wave Birkie skiers
American Birkebeiner race director Shellie Milford permitted me to undertake this adventure on the condition that I make it very clear this was a one-time event. I skied the Birkie after my registered Korte as a freelance writer for
Silent Sports, not as a racer. As Milford emphasized, the skiers in the later waves usually face much tougher skiing conditions than the skiers up front. They don't need to deal with significantly faster skiers overtaking them as well.
by Jim Smith During the 2005 American Birkebeiner, I had the unique experience of racing the Kortelopet and then immediately returning to the starting line
and skiing the full Birkebeiner. The conditions for this back-to-back challenge were magnificent, as were the people I met along the way. My experience taught me many new things about the Birkie, about human nature, and possibly, even about myself.
The idea to ski both the Korte and the Birkie was conceived at the top of the bunny hill at Trollhaugen in northwestern Wisconsin. At the time my original plan was to classic ski a safe and sane Kortelopet out of the
second wave and then ski the 23K course again from behind the 10th wave. In between I would take time to eat, drink, swap stories as usual. So 46 kilometers no problem. That sounded like a fun day of skiing.
Enter Ray, whom I blame for raising the bar.
After a strenuous climb to the top of the aforementioned bunny hill feeling good about the dry-land season behind me and looking forward to a snowy kilometer-filled season to come I ran into Ray, an excellent
classic skier and age group rival.
The conversation went something like this:
"Ray, how are you doing?" (What I really meant was, "Ray, are you in bad enough shape so I have at least a slight chance of beating you this year?")
"Great!" Ray responded. "It's good to be on snow."
I had to ask, "How's the training going?"
Ray grimaced. "Oh, I am so out of shape." I assumed he was lying.
"Been writing much?" he asked, changing the subject.
I told him of my plans to ski the Korte twice and then write about the experience for this magazine. Hearing this, Ray helpfully suggested I ski the Korte and the Birkie. "Do them both in one day," he said.
Thus the seed was planted.
I contacted Birkie race director Shellie Milford to get permission to do what Ray suggested. Two months later I was given a green light with the
stipulation that I make it known the Birkebeiner office would not be allowing this again. For the first and last time, the Birkie would permit someone to ski both events. The pressure was on.
So the plan was to race a classic Kortelopet, eat, change clothes, put on a 10th wave Birkie bib, pick up a small pack with a camera and set out behind the 10th wave of Birkie skiers.
Two months after that standing on that bunny hill I began to get mentally
prepared for my 74K day. But the Twin Cities still awaited its first 1-inch snowfall. To stay in shape, I endlessly skied two local artificial snow venues of 2.5 kilometers each. For the math impaired, to ski 74 kilometers I would have to complete 30 laps of one of these courses.
The thought occurred to me that this hair-brained scheme was just an elaborate means to cop a media pass to park at Telemark.
My usual race day preparations would be thrown off by the fact that
when I am done racing I would still have 51 kilometers to ski. Worries include kick wax for 74 kilometers and what to eat since I would be skiing the Birkie much slower and stopping to talk to other latter wave folks.
How should I dress? What if I hit the wall during the Korte? What if it is raining? But none of this would really matter. Once the Korte was behind me I would just be out for a long ski through the woods with friends. I just hoped there would be classic track left.
More than anything, I was excited to have the opportunity to experience the ultimate ski adventure, on my terms and at my pace.
Birkie weekend arrives
Sick the week before the Birkie, I felt better upon arriving at Telemark. The conditions looked fantastic. After some confusion as I picked up my two bibs "Tell me again why you need two gear bags, one for the Korte and one for the Birkie?" I secured a media pass and took off for a
friend's cabin for the night where we would wax (and talk about wax) until bedtime.
At 5:30 a.m. on race day, it was 9 below zero. Too late to worry about glide, I adjusted my kick wax, changed into my Lycra race suit and headed to Telemark. Two friends came along. One planned to ski the Korte and then drive my van to Hayward to pick me up. The other was a first-wave Birkie skier who enjoyed sharing the benefits of my preferential parking.
At 8:20 a.m., we took our places at the front right edge of the second wave like leeches in a leech locker (the sardine simile just doesn't sound the same in Wisconsin). At least our close proximity to one another fended off the unexpected chill. A handful of classic skiers crowded around the single track, while not to be denied first wave wannabes, myself included, jockeyed for position.
The cannon went off and the elites were gone. Our wave moved
forward with our staked out positions intact. Ten minutes in we repeated the process and huddled at the starting line. I could barely move.
At 8:40 a.m., our wave exploded from the gate like soda from a shaken pop can. Everyone around me stayed clear of everyone else, so no poles snap and no one falls. The cold is immediately forgotten as we, the minority of classic skiers, take to a wonderful and fast classic track.
Surrounded by other Nordic nuts wearing Lycra splashed with all the colors on an artist's palette, we skied under a clear sky, full of hopes and dreams for the day ahead. I am happy with my double poling, which means fast skis. I'm even happier upon arrival at the Powerlines and my skis climb effortlessly.
Mind games
At this point I started playing a little game in my head: Should I go all out in the Korte, and come what may during the Birkie to follow? Or should
I hold back a little and save myself for some of those later obstacles like, say, Bitch Hill?
The classic tracks proved exceptional. Just past the first feed station, congestion choked a long uphill. But I was able to pass some skaters until stopped by someone skating in the classic track. Usually I am not afraid to speak up, but because it was really crowded I stayed silent.
Suddenly the skater next to me yells, "Don't skate in the classic track."
As the offending skier moved out of the track, I flashed an appreciative look at the skater who sounded the warning. The world of skating has changed. Most of us who skate ski also classic ski, so the conscientious skate skiers stayed clear of the track. This would make a huge difference to me and others later in the day.
I took a quick rolling feed at the 9-K stop before branching off onto the Kortelopet trail. This was payoff time for Korte skiers. Leaving the
crowds behind, we skied into a magical wooded wonderland. The thousands of souls on the Birkie trail were out of sight and mind while we Korte skiers marveled at our sudden solitude.
A spectator informed me that only a few classic skiers were in front of me. The Korte racer in me pushed harder, until a third-wave classic skier the eventual winner of the classic race blew by me. At that point, the side of my brain anticipating the Birkie to come reasserted itself and
tempted me to slow down.
The Korte side of me won out, and I pushed with everything I had. I felt great as I looked forward to the long downhill slide into Telemark.
The Korte finish was great, but my mind immediately flashed to the Birkie. Looking at the clock I couldn't figure out my time. I made a wild guess and found myself disappointed. A few minutes later, I asked a spectator the time and was told 10:07 a.m. much earlier than it should
have been based on what I thought was my finish time. I would sort all this out after the Birkie, but now I had much to do.
One down, one to go
Folks congratulated me, saying, "It's over. You did it!" but I know better. The 10th wave had just left and I would have to catch up. I grabbed some soup and jogged past the buses to my van. I exchanged my Lycra racing suit for black ski pants, a fleece top and my 10th wave
bib. At the same time, I shoved food and drink into my mouth, added kick wax and packed a bag with extra food and wax. Finally, I was ready.
I made it back to the starting line at 10:45 a.m. The 10th wave had a 45-minute head start and the Italians were on the winners' podium.
Much had changed since my first start. The crowds were gone, replaced by workers taking everything down. Most of the tents were packed up; the outhouses loaded onto trucks.
As I approached the starting line one thing grabbed my attention: a beautiful classic track as far as the eye could see. In the glorious sunshine, alone and in last place by 45 minutes, I had a huge grin on my face. I snapped into my skis and started the trek to Hayward.
My spirit soared with the quality of the skiing. The classic tracks, both of them, were superb. And with warmer snow, my skis rocketed down the trail. I had to remind myself that this was no longer a race. So soon I
settled into a comfortable classic rhythm and reveled in the beauty of it all.
I skied alone until the first feed station where two people with Birkie bibs drank water while volunteers packed up. I met Karen Littlefield and Karl Dennis, the last Birkie skiers at this point. I suspected they might not finish although they did. The smiles on their faces were no different than mine or any skier enjoying exceptional tracks on a glorious
day. I took a drink, wished them luck, and chased down the next skier sporting a Kortelopet bib heading up the hill.
I was unprepared for whom I met next. Seventy-two-year-old Bede Pantaze traveled all the way from Glasgow, Virginia, to complete her 10th Kortelopet. If I thought it was sunny before, a real beacon of light was shining while I talked with Bede. The optimism and sense of celebration in her words competed with the sun for grandeur. I learned
much about the Nordic spirit from this determined lady. Meeting Bede is not just an affirmation of the Birkie experience, but an affirmation of life itself. In my eyes she is a true Birkie champion.
After leaving Bede behind, I met the last-place male in the Korte, Tim Whitmore, a new skater. Together we marveled at the wonderful condition of the course. Neither of us could believe 6,000 skiers had passed this way already today. The classic tracks remained excellent
throughout the course and the skating lane was firm.
I turned down the Birkie beads offered to me at the 9K feed, much to the consternation of the volunteers. I fueled rather than talked, concerned as I was about the 2 p.m. cutoff at OO.
I passed people zinging along on no-wax skis, woodies, some clad in knickers, some skaters, but mostly striders. A sense of awe filled me for the determination and joy these skiers displayed. Many had not trained,
more than a few struggled up the hills. I was sure waxing occupied a fairly small place in their psyche compared to mine.
Nevertheless, they were having a great time despite the physical trials that would face them for the next several hours. They made me proud to wear a Wave 10 bib.
Kilometer 46 (Birkie 23)
I cleared County OO with an hour to spare, so I took the time to refuel and rewax.
At this point, the feed stations looked very different. When racing near
the front, I would pause only for a few seconds to take a quick drink. But back here, people ate, drank, took off their skies, used the facilities and talked in a very relaxed atmosphere. The volunteers seemed able to read minds, bringing just the sustenance you needed before you asked for it. I also saw gracious, concerned medical personnel attending to at least one skier with cramps.
With 28K to go, I could imagine completing my journey. But something
gnawed at me. I had been easily passing a lot of skiers and I felt guilty doing so. I didn't want to dishearten any skier by blowing by them, especially on the uphills. So I slackened my pace, talked to more people, encouraged them to go on, and just tried to fit in with these determined skiers.
The moods seem to buoy after OO. The skiers were past the first cutoff and had renewed their efforts to finish. Thankfully the hills flattened and there were longer stretches of flat trail.
My double poling had always carried me farther than my legs. When I reached the 28K mark of the Birkie, I knew I had only the distance of a Kortelopet left to ski.
Kilometer 61 (Birkie 38)
At Mosquito Brook Road, I came upon the starting point of the new Prince Haakon 12K. I had heard a lot of grumbling at bib pickup about this event. But the Prince Haakon skiers had left hours before, so I couldn't see for myself how this noncompetitive event, ending on
Hayward's Main Street, fit in or didn't.
The skiers around me were talking much less and plugging away. The bib numbers changed as I chased down some seventh wave skiers. People looked tired, and some spent more time at the feeds. The volunteers continued to be great, energizing the skiers whether they were in first place or 5,389th. No one talked of quitting.
At 40K of the Birkie (my 63rd), I heard loud music and saw signs along
the left side of the trail in Burma Shave fashion. The first said "Real Birkie Skiers Go All The Way." I figured I must have entered the realm of the Bitches. I was delighted at the prospect of them greeting us instead of staying away to protest the Haakon race as they had threatened to do.
My joy didn't last long, however, for as I started up the infamous Bitch Hill, my right leg spasmed and cramped.
The Bitches have been an institution on this steep piece of Birkie real estate for over 15 years. Garishly dressed and loud, they make their presence known, which is just what the doctor ordered to take your mind off your screaming quadriceps. Near the top, the matriarch of the clan tried to keep the music going despite failing batteries.
I struck up a conversation about the Prince Haakon event. While the prevailing opinion was that the 12K event should not be on the Birkie
Trail, I sensed a real softening of the hearts of the Bitches for the participants. The fear that a bunch of young hotshots might whip down the trail and into town, thereby demoralizing the Birkie skiers, was apparently unfounded. Most of those skiers were novices, some of whom struggled to make it to the top of the hill. Also among their ranks was a 91-year-old man for whom everyone cheered.
Kilometers 64-70 (Birkie 41-47)
Everyone skiing around me was tired but the mood remained upbeat. In a very slightly downhill stretch, I watched a classic skier (back here the majority were classic skiers) slowly tip sideways like a giant invisible hand was pushing him over. I stopped for this younger comrade to see if he was all right. He grinned up at me and said, "I am fine. Just tired. Maybe I will just lay here awhile." We both laughed and I left him to his rest.
Skiing on, my world became smaller and more focused. My leg bothered me on steep uphills but everything else was going well. I had had nagging doubts I wouldn't make it to Hayward. I had feared this adventure would be more painful than fun. But it turned out I was having a gas. I had lots of double poling left in me, fast skis and a tail wind
And suddenly I was on Lake Hayward.
Kilometer 71 (Birkie 48) ...
I know my time and finish placement will not count, but it is hard to fight the urge to finish strong. With new-found energy, I double poled the rest of the way. I blocked out the pain and took off, amazed at how good it felt. People were skiing along at a decent clip as I passed them. I heard a few spectators comment on how fast I was going. Did they not remember the Italians of a few hours earlier? Regardless, everyone was yelling encouragement as I turned the corner and caught sight of the
finish.
There I also saw a skier sprawled across the trail and a few spectators helping him back to his feet. I took to the classic track on the far right side and pushed up Hayward's Main Street. No one announced my name as I came in, but that didn't stop the throngs of spectators from yelling encouragement.
I could feel the slight uphill grade and the 74 kilometers of skiing behind me. But euphoria swept over me as I crossed the finish line. I skied both
the 2005 Kortelopet and the 2005 Birkebeiner and I was elated. Not wearing a chip, this Birkie will not count toward my total Birkies skied, but I took a finishing pin anyway.
As I took off my skis, I saw a skier I knew and told him about my day. He joined my mini celebration. Then it was off for a dry shirt and some soup.
The longest and finest ski of my life was over. I covered the Kortelopet in about 1:25 minutes and then spent five glorious hours skiing the
Birkie, all classic. What a day.
The first four skiers I met on the trail all finished. The two Birkie skiers actually finished on the Kortelopet Trail. I found out that despite the medical teams urging her to drop out, Bede refused and finished in about seven hours. She was the last on the course but still took third place in her age group. May she have many more victories.
I share a love for Nordic skiing with all the skiers on the Birkie Trail,
from Marco Cattaneo and Lara Payrot, the officials Birkie champions, to Bede, the champion in my heart. I salute all those who skied that day with whatever motivated them. May you all fulfill your dreams. I thank race director Milford for allowing me to have this experience. But most of all, I thank all of those wearing a Wave 10 bib for sharing a part of yourselves with me.
Happy trails to you all.
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