Red Deer Runners

Mud, Sweat, and Gears: Surviving the Death Run Training Camp

by Bill Kossmann

Click here to see the pictures.

After more than six hours of early-morning driving from Red Deer, I pull into the parking lot of the Grande Cache Tourist Centre and get out of my truck to stretch and look around. What a glorious day: warm, sunny, a hint of a breeze, and spectacular mountains everywhere. All of a sudden I realise that I'll be hiking some of them and I frantically look around, wondering which ones they are. I sure hope it's not the one with the snow-covered sides (it's not, as it turned out).

I walk into the Tourist Centre and happen to see a running-type couple wandering around. I introduce myself, and it turns out that Simon and Julie are here for the training camp as well. They tell me about a cafe that sells great sandwiches, so I go there to grab lunch and a spare sandwich to stuff into my Camelback. By now, it's nearly noon so I head back to the Tourist Centre to meet up with the others.

I get out my bike and equipment, and put on loads of sunblock and an SFP15 lip balm. This weekend is going to be strenuous enough without adding the grief of sunburn. I brought insect repellent, but I didn't put it on, and in fact I wasn't bothered by mosquitoes or horseflies all weekend. Mind you, these winged nasties might be out in full force by August so be prepared if you go.

Soon other would-be Death Racers arrive: a large group from St. Paul, one person from Spruce Grove, another from Sherwood Park, and a couple more from towns that I can't remember. We meet Dale Tuck, our instructor (a.k.a. Dr. Death) and we review the training schedule for the weekend. Dale tells us we're going to bike the downtown portion of Leg 1, then we'll run Leg 2 (Flood Mountain). Yee-haw, let's go!

We start in front of the Grande Cache Hotel, ride past the hospital (sounds ominous, doesn't it?) and through the town. After that, we head north out of town on Highway 40 down a long hill. I lean over the handlebars of my bike to get as streamlined as I can, and just about the time I hit maximum speed, WHAP! A bug catches me right on the forehead. That smarts!

Turning off the road near the landfill and onto the trails, we head back to our vehicles at the Tourist Centre. There, we load the bikes into the back of the trucks and figure out whose vehicle goes where. At this camp, we need the vehicles to shuttle runners, bikes, and various supplies to the put-in and take-out points. No big deal, it just takes a bit of head-scratching in advance.

At about 1:00 we drive to the Flood Mountain aid station, which marks the beginning of Leg 2. There's no point in running, it's a long way up to the top and the heat is intense. Part way up Flood, Dale points to a distant mountain with a transmission tower on top: Grande Mountain. Yes indeed, we'll be there in about four hours. (You're kidding, right Dale?)

After about 3 or 4 kilometers of uphill travel, we arrive at a point in the hike where we leave the trail. I feel something bite me on my leg, so I give it a swat and look down: a spot of blood and no more, so I don't think much of it. We leave the trail and head directly uphill--even more uphill than before--to the summit of Flood, and boy is it steep. And hot. And humid. (The astute reader will have realised by now that this is a lot of work.)

If you're wondering about what kind of a pace you should keep in the race, be assured that unless you're wearing blue Spandex with a red cape and a big "S" on your chest, you won't be running the entire course. The trick is to run the level and slightly-inclined parts, and walk the rest.

Finally, we arrive at the summit of Flood Mountain. What a view! I mention something about a scene from a movie, and twirl and wave my arms around while croaking out a couple of bars from The Sound of Music. Only Julie thinks it's funny--I just get blank stares from the others. Oh well.

Of course we have to do the tourist thing and take lots of pictures. Here Dale explains "zero time" to us: even if you're not moving, the clock is still ticking. If you don't move for a long enough period of time then there's no way you can make up the time you've lost (zero time). Moral: always keep moving!

I reach into my Camelback and fish out my sandwich, which by now looks like a fist-sized ball of dough that someone threw into a compost heap. I'm so hungry I don't care, so I gobble it down in a flash. I wash it down with some water, and I realise with a twinge of panic that I've almost exhausted my water supply and we're not even half done yet. Dale says not to worry, there's water on the trail.

But I do have cause for worry--the bug bite on my leg now has a three-inch red mark running from it, and the whole works is surrounded by an extraordinary corona of white flesh. Oh, dear. Well, I can't do anything about it now so I ignore it again.

On the way down Flood, we come across a snow drift. Hooray! I grab a handful, toss it into my hat, and plop the works onto my head. Ah! That feels great! There's just one problem: I put the snow too far forward in my hat, so that as it melts it washes a mixture of sweat and sunblock into my eyes. Yeow, that hurts!

Down, down, down we go into an area called the Slugfest. This section of the trail is well named, by the way--some of this stuff is slide-down-on-your-butt steep. Dale tells us that for short sections, running down works better than hanging onto branches and gingerly stepping down. I try it and hey, it works! I also see why Dale and Steve carry hiking poles: they use them for balance, speed control, and to relieve some stress on the quads on long downhill runs.

Dale also tells us that when we're running downhill, we should run so that our feet are parallel to our direction of travel. If you splay your feet (i.e. toes pointed outwards) then you'll drive your tibia into the meniscus of your knee. Also, we have to remember to bend our knees slightly so that our quads absorb the shock of running downhill. And lift our feet--it's easy to forget when you're tired, but nothing gives you a close-up view of the dirt faster than tripping over a root or a rock!

About halfway through the Slugfest it feels like I have stones in my shoes, so I stop to check them out. Guess what: no stones, only blisters. I forgot to put Body Glide on, and now I'm paying the price. Idiot! Oh, well, I guess there's nothing to do but suck it up and keep moving. Some of the runners put moleskin on, but Dr. Death has the magic solution: duct tape! Unlike moleskin or bandaids, this stuff sticks on your feet when they're wet or dirty, and if you have an open sore, simply touch the adhesive to your shirt (to pick up some fuzz) and put that against the sore. Amazing stuff. If you remember to put either Body Glide or Vaseline on your feet you'll be very grateful you did.

We push on, and the terrain keeps my mind off the blisters--first it's up, then it's down. Then it's up and down. All the while, it's a wonderful mix of bog, roots, water, and generally tough going. Finally we come to a creek and Dale says we can fill up. By now I'm completely out of water and really thirsty, so I comply. It's not the greatest tasting stuff, but it's cool, wet, and refreshing.

Going uphill on the last part of the Slugfest, Bev tells us that we can give our quads a rest on every step if you lock your downhill knee for a split second. It takes me a couple of steps to get the timing right, but it does work.

We finally hit the shoulders of Grande Mountain and do some climbing. Okay, a lot of climbing. I notice the trees are kind of stunted, but at least there are trees. A rain storm is approaching us from behind, so we put on a little more speed. I finally catch Matt and Steve near the top of Grande, and we take a break. A little water, some Power Bars, and another photo opportunity.

A couple of minutes after we start our rest, there's a flash of lightning and we hear BZZZZT! on the overhead power lines--let's get outta here! Steve has done this leg before in last year's race and training camp, so Matt and I follow him off Grande. More lightning, and we're finally caught in the rain; the trails become muddy and slick.

Now, let me pause the story for just a moment. I'm sure that you've had all had an "ohno" experience, but let me explain my definition. An "ohno" is where you're about to have something unpleasant happen to you and you have just enough time to think, "Oh no!" (or worse) before it actually occurs.

Well, that's just what happened on the way down. Matt, Steve and I run down the slick, muddy trail in the rain and I have the first of four "ohno" experiences this weekend: I do a magnificent one-legged windmill, hang in the air for a split second, ("Oh no!"), flip onto my side and into the mud, and skid a meter or so down the hill. No harm to me, but I am worried about my Camelback. I check, and it's okay.

A couple of minor climbs and descents later, we're at the bottom of the mountain and we stop to rest at the gates of the Grande Cache cemetery. Bev and Julie catch up to us in a few minutes, and we take some pictures here--after all, it is a Death Race, right? I remember to check my watch, and the elapsed time is 5 hours, 5 minutes. Not bad, considering the amount of zero time we accumulated with pictures, water gathering, looking around, etc.

Once everyone arrives at the cemetery, some go to retrieve the vehicles while the rest of us hike back to town (to make sure we get the entire leg in) and check into our motels. I'm sure that more than a few of the locals wondered about us as we walked along the road.

Once in my room, I kick off my shoes--an uncomfortable effort because of the blisters on both of my feet--and look at my socks. Formerly white, they're now a kaleidoscope of grey and brown. Ugh. I'm glad I took three pairs of shoes and half a dozen pairs of socks! I shower, put bandaids on my blisters and Vaseline on my feet, change into my night running gear, and join Bev and Steve for supper.

During supper I mention the bug bite and the curious markings, and they convince me to go to the hospital to get it checked out. It turns out that it's not a tick (whew!) so the nurse marked the bite with a pen and said that if the redness extended beyond the ink I should come back right away. (It didn't.)

Finally, it's 11:30 and most of the group meets at the hotel for the night run; we drive to the spot where Leg 5 leaves the highway and heads into the bush. I snap on my headlight, and away we go. We take turns leading the group, and is it ever fun! The reflectors on the trees light up really well, and the cool night air is a refreshing change from the day's oppressive heat and humidity.

The path is good--it looks to me like a cutline with a high overgrown canopy (I guess that's why they call it "The Tunnel"). It's a bit steep coming from the highway, but it quickly levels out and you can run it the rest of the way if you're careful. Besides, we're Death Racers now and we're not afraid of a few measly hills and a bit of darkness!

Just so you know, my headlamp is one of those three-LED jobbies powered by three AAA batteries. I really like it because it's lightweight and gives off a good, even, blue-ish light. Julie, on the other hand, preferred her incandescent bike light that had, I guessed, about 4 or 6 C cells in an external pack. It gave off more light (and whiter) than mine, but at the expense of more weight. We traded for a bit, but quickly switched back. Everyone has their preferences, so if you're considering a headlight then try to borrow a couple different types before you buy one.

Anyway, a half hour later our four or five kilometer run is over. Too bad, I thought, because it was a great night for a run, and a nice cool-down run to end the day. But by the time we get back to town it's about 1:00AM and bedtime. Time to clean up and hit the sack. Ahhh!

On Saturday I get up early and slowly get my stuff ready to go for the day. From the hotel, we start Leg 3 by riding down Toboggan Hill, the very one that the kids run up for the Kids Death Race. I ask Dale about it, and he says that the run is a hoot! A 5-year old boy finished in 49 minutes, and a 6-year old girl finished in 1:09 (the cutoff is 1:30). Be sure to sign up your little ones if you're in the Death Race. Hey, if I can bike down with zero technical skills, any kid can run up! Parents can accompany their kids through the bush if they choose.

After Toboggan Hill, we cross the highway, wheel towards the landfill site, and bike up the hill. I can't bike all the way up, so I walk my bike (at least nobody passed me). Once on top of the hill, though, it's smooth sailing. For my first mountain bike experience, this is superb! The scenic trails, undulating path, and gorgeous weather all combine to make this a first-class ride. Naturally, with all this scenery around we have to take pictures--in fact, at one point I had no less than five cameras to operate! However, Dale reminds us about "zero time" and we push on.

The next few kilometers were uneventful, until we came to a creek about a meter across. I think to myself that this is within my limited biking skills, so I decide to ride across instead of walking. Yep--here comes "ohno" number two!

About halfway through, my front wheel hits a rock and turns to the right. To compensate, I naturally crank the handlebars to the left. Unfortunately, they're loose so they turn to the left while the wheel turns to the right, and I start to go over the handlebars. ("Oh, no!") Lucky for me, I was able to jump off the bike and land on my feet. Yes indeed, I get to embarrass myself in front of the others yet again.

The bike kept on giving me grief as we went; not only could I not trust the handlebars, but the gears kept slipping into the next higher one and it wouldn't reliably shift into the smallest front sprocket. If you're going to the camp, take a lesson from this and be sure to tune your bike before you go!

At one point, Dale shows us Mount Hamel across the river. Boy, does it look impressive! Dale tells us that we'll be at the top in about four hours--yee-haw, let's go!

After a couple more kilometers of biking, we came to the lowest point of the entire Death Race: a section of trail that was currently under knee-deep water. Being the clever Death Racers that we were, we take off our shoes and socks and hang them on our handlebars so that we can ford this stretch of water.

Surprise! This water wasn't just cold--it was brain-freeze, ankle-numbing, take-your-breath-away cold. It was so cold that, well, let's just say that I was glad that I wasn't a brass monkey. To my chagrin, some of the others could handle the cold water, but I had to get out every 5 or 10 meters to stand in the mud and warm up my ankles. Man oh man, that's cold stuff!

After we cross the water, it's on with the socks and shoes and away we go again. Naturally, after about one kilometer we hit another stretch of water. The folks ahead of me dismount and push their bikes ahead; they don't even bother with taking their socks and shoes off this time.

At this point, I realise that I'm going to get wet no matter what I do, so I think, "Oh hell, let's just go," and I start pedaling through this stuff as hard as I can. You guessed it: "ohno" number three! I manage to slug through about 3 or 4 meters when my front tire disappears into a hole. I balanced on my front wheel for a split second ("Oh, no!") before I tipped over--landing on my feet in knee-deep water, fortunately.

Finally we hit the old mine road and ride at a good clip towards Hamel Station on the highway. We're zipping along really well, and of course I try to streamline by leaning way over the handlebars. Normally this would have been a good idea, except that a chunk of mud flies off my front tire and catches me right on the end of the nose. Ow!

The old mine road, by the way, is smooth going but it's as black as the ace of spades. I'm guessing this'll be as hot as blazes if you happen to run it at midday. The course goes along the highway towards Hamel Station, and it's slightly uphill at that (racers, take note).

After two hours and 22 kilometers of biking, we arrive at Hamel Station where Dale's mother has brought us some pop and pizzas. We log some more zero time as we eat, chat, and load the bikes onto Dale's trailer. Some of the group heads for town; they're on relay teams and won't be doing Leg 4. I think it's a pity they don't come with us, but I guess it's up to them.

When lunch is over, Dale says, "The directions are simple: up." He's right on the money there! It's up, up, up we go for the next two hours. There's a breeze, but it's a hot, humid breeze that doesn't cool anyone off at all. The climb seems to go on forever, and then we hit a tiny, flat, open area. The wind, I notice, is several degrees cooler now (and much stronger). It feels delicious!

The climb to the shoulders of Hamel is mostly uneventful. I stomp a big happy face into the snow with my muddy shoes (nobody notices it) and as Charlene and I trudge up the trail, a grouse explodes into flight less then a meter from my feet. I nearly jumped out of my skin! There's lots of snow around, and I put some under my hat to cool down. I also melt some of the cleaner-looking stuff in my mouth (and spit out the water) to cool off some more.

At one point, Matt, Charlene and I had to hunt around for the trail markers; there's lots of snow and we're not really sure of the way. However, we remember Dale's advice to follow the predominant trail, and sure enough we find the markings.

Finally, we hit the switchbacks on the shoulders of Hamel. We can spot some of the others far below, and of course we have to shout and wave at them. The forestry tower that looked so far away when we started is only a kilometer or so in the distance, and gives us the kick we need to push on up the trail.

The wind, I have to say, is something to contend with. It's windy enough to blow the udder off a cow! To keep my hat from flying off, I cram it into my pack. Back and forth on the switchback we go. We're above the treeline now, and the only things growing on the ground are lichen and some tiny yellow, white, and purple flowers.

Suddenly we're at the top, and we jog to the ranger station to sign in. After chatting a bit, we decide to go to the turnaround point and wait for the others. The weather could not have been planned any better. Aside from the blustery wind, the conditions were perfect. Dale points out that as far as the weather goes, we're unbelievably lucky and we cannot count on these conditions on race day. Prepare for the worst, and hope for the best. In the race you must have a head band, jacket, and gloves to keep you warm--it's mandatory! Up here it can be sunny, rainy, snowing, calm, windy, hot, cold, or just about any combination thereof.

We gather around the small cairn at the turnaround, and Dale explains that the flags will be inside; we simply grab one, show it at the ranger station, and we can go. Seems simple enough.

Since we're nearby, we decide to look over the edge of the cliff to the Smoky River below. Rather, most of the others look over the edge; my dislike for heights compels me to look from a distance, and I spend my time perusing the local flora. Lots of sheep and goat droppings around too, by the way, but we don't spot any of these critters.

From the summit there's only one way out, and it's down, down, down. The descent seems to go on forever; some of the runners pull away and head straight for town. I go as far as the Beaver Creek Crossing and wait for Dale and the others. It's a nice break--I get to sit on a rock and have supper (a Power Gel) while enjoying the cool breeze and the chirping of the birds. For a lengthy event such as the Death Race, it occurs to me that Power Bars and Clif Bars are the way to go because they take the edge off your hunger, whereas Power Gels don't.

About 25 minutes later, the remaining Death Racers arrive and we hike to the Ambler emergency station. There's some confusion about the location of the others, so Dale and Steve wait in case they show up. Some of the runners walk towards the vehicles, but I decide to run the 7 kilometers, which is all downhill. Surprisingly, I feel great and I can go along at a good clip.

At the vehicles, Daisy tells me that everyone but her has returned to town so I hop in my truck to drive back and pick up the others at Ambler. The girls want to finish the leg (good for them!) and I drive on to pick up Steve and Dale.

Note to future Camp attendees: always plan ahead to make sure you know where your equipment is! Bev left her keys in the back of Dale's truck, which was back in town. We have to drive into town, get the keys, drive back to get her van, and then drive back to town. It's not difficult, but it is inconvenient.

After showering and changing into clean clothes, it's into town for a well-deserved supper, and it's midnight before I hit the sack. Thankfully I have a much better sleep tonight, and though my legs are tired, I'm ready to go. The blisters that bothered me on Friday and Saturday have toughened up considerably and I don't bother with the bandaids; I just gob the Vaseline onto my feet and I'm ready.

Just as an aside, once I got home some runners asked me which is harder: Leg 2 or Leg 4. In my opinion, I think that Legs 2 and 4 are about an even effort, so on a per-kilometer basis Leg 2 is harder (but Leg 4 is six kilometers longer). Leg 2 has one section of ugly trail--the 'Slugfest'--which makes it rather difficult, but on the other hand, Leg 4 is nothing but up, up, up for a long, long way right at the start. It's a tough call; even Dale Tuck can't decide, but the brochure says the harder leg is Leg 4.

By the way, on Sunday morning just about all my gear is wet, muddy, and kinda stinky in spite of rinsing them the night before. If you decide to go to the camp, bring at least two pairs of shoes to run in and one for walking around in, plus at least a half dozen pair of socks. You'll need it all!

At 9:00 on the last morning of the camp, we run the first 5 kilometers of the wilderness portion of Leg 1. It's a relatively easy trail, but once we turn off the cutline and onto the ATV trail we're confronted with a series of black mud holes. Matt, Steve, Julie and I manage to avoid slipping into them, but behind us we hear a shriek and some laughter. It turns out that Daisy slipped into a mud hole and lost her shoe.

There's about 600 to 800 meters of mud holes, and once we're past them the trails become easy to run. We're cruising now, and after a kilometer or so I manage to suck in a bug. Off to the side I go, coughing and hacking and retching. Steve asks if I can do that again now that he has the camera ready. Nice guy.

In all, we ran 5 kilometers in about 40 minutes. Not real speedy by any means, but we did take our time. On race day I'm sure that 30 minutes would be more realistic for this portion of Leg 1.

Once we finish the running portion of this leg, we cross the road to where we left the bikes about an hour before. This portion of the trails, which winds along the Grande Cache and Peavine Lakes, is some of the prettiest biking terrain imaginable. We had one creek crossing, and even I managed to ride across!

A steep uphill climb forces me to do the hike-a-bike thing, and as I approach the midpoint I hear frantic screaming from some of the girls up ahead. "What is it?" I shout, reaching for the bear banger on my Camelback.

"A toad!"

"WHAT?"

"A toad!"

Oh, for pity's sake. By now, Dale has arrived and makes a smart-ass remark about vicious toads with sharp teeth and pointy claws. I recall a scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail where the sage says, "That's no ordinary rabbit. That's the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered rodent you ever set eyes on!" Hee, hee, hee.

The remainder of the bike ride is much less hazardous. There's a very steep downhill that everyone walks, and I, of course, have to have one more "ohno" to round out the weekend. Just as we were emerging from the bush, my front wheel hits a rock and turns right. The handlebars, as you might have guessed, turn to the left and I get bucked off yet again. It's most fortunate that I land on my feet because I happen to land on an anthill that's at least a meter in diameter. Let me tell you, I didn't waste any time getting out of there!

After one more water hole that we have to wade through, we're back at the vehicles and we load the bikes. We're wet and muddy--again--but we made it! We rode about 9 kilometers in 40 minutes. Not bad at all.

Back in town, some of the Death Racers decide to head for home. Only Daisy, Charlene, Steve, and I are left to Dale's tender mercies. We say our goodbyes, and exchange e-mail addresses. Steve and I decide to have lunch on the patio of the Grande Cache Hotel; I'm much too dirty and smelly to sit inside.

As it happens, there are two tables beside us where some Death Race volunteers were sitting. They mention to us that we shouldn't depend upon the volunteers to transport our gear from aid station to aid station. It's best to have one or two people supporting you directly, because the volunteers are too busy with other stuff. At the very least you have someone specific to blame if your gear isn't where it should be at a certain time.

When Dale arrives at the hotel, he informs us that the river is too high to dare a crossing, so we'll run from a road to the top of the hill where Leg 5 comes out of the river valley. After a short truck ride, we're at the point where we put into the bush. A car pulls up and the passenger rolls down the window to tell us that there's a warning in the post office about a bear in the area. Dale tells us the trail was closed for a while about 3 weeks ago because of a grizzly. That's great--we avoid drowning in the flooded river only to leap into the jaws of a bear instead. Luckily, we don't run into any.

At the top of the river valley where we would normally hike up from the raft, Dale tells us that the climb is a very steep one, about 3 kilometers long. We take off along the Sulphur Rim Trail and into the Hall of Leaves, a picturesque and gently undulating path. Death Racers take note: there are a lot of roots here so watch your step, especially at night! Also, there are some wooden foot bridges across a couple of muddy spots that could be slick if it rains.

The view of the Sulphur River from the trails is simply stunning. For a while we run alongside the rim of the valley where we can see the river far below (we can also see the gathering rain clouds on the next ridge). We arrive at a viewpoint and like a bunch of dummies we decide to go on the wrong side of the fence to have our pictures taken by Dale. The others didn't seem to mind, even after I tell them that they put up fences like that for a reason. It gives me the willies, but I pose anyway and scramble out of there as soon as I can.

Once Dale takes our picture, he leads us on a quick run to the road in an effort to beat the oncoming rainstorm. Not only are there lots of roots, but at one point shortly after the lookout, the trail runs right beside a partially-collapsed section of the river valley. Note to Death Racers: keep to the left of the trail after the lookout until you pass the collapsed section, especially at night!

After a short run, we emerge onto a gravel road leading to town. To cool down, we walk along the road to town and take the race route to the finish line. (Dale says that we'll have one of the lanes in the road all to ourselves.) We run through the finish line--hooray, we're going to live! We finish the final 12 kilometers of Leg 5 in about an hour and a quarter.

Now the training camp is over. We've traversed 110 kilometers over a 2-1/2 day period, and man am I pumped! In fact, I was so hyped up that I was almost unbearable when I got home. I ran through a kind of terrain that I've never raced through before, and survived tired but uninjured.

The people in the training camp are terrific folks, and I'm looking forward to seeing them again in August. Our intrepid leader, Dale, is well suited for the job: he's energetic, patient, a fountain of knowledge, and he has a wicked sense of humour.

Would I do it again? In a second! Would I recommend the camp? Absolutely, but with one caveat: you must be in good physical condition! You're going to bust your butt for almost three days and you need to be ready for it. You're going to get wet and muddy, so get used to the idea. Oh yeah, bring a tuned bike that you know and trust. You don't need killer bike skills; if I can do it then practically anyone can.

Doing the Death Run training camp is the best way to check out the course, test your equipment, and see if you're up to the challenge. Train hard for the Death Race. It really is a killer!

Here are Bill's pictures in the order in which they were taken. Note that they've been reduced in size and resolution in order to keep them Web-friendly. If you want a full-size, full-resolution image, e-mail me.

Jocelyn, Viv, Charlene, and Dale prepare for the trek to Flood Mountain.
On the way to Flood, we look across the valleys to our next destination: Grande Mountain, way in the distance. Gulp!
Viv, Sasha, Jocelyn, and Bill ham it up for the camera on top of Flood Mountain.
When you're out of water and you're thirsty, you take what you can get. Here, Simon, Julie, Charlene, Christine, Kristen, and Dale fill up their camelbacks.
A rainstorm is on our heels as we head up Grande Mountain. Go, Death Racers, go!
Steve and Matt take a break near the top of Grande. Lightning and thunder ends it quickly, and we quickly scramble out of there.
Grande Cache gets a wee bit of rain.
We're nearly at the end of Leg 2; Matt and Steve take a breather to admire a rainbow.
What's a Death Race without a cemetery? Here Steve, Julie, Bev, and Matt pose at Death's doorstep.
Charlene, Sasha, Pat, Viv, and Matt at one of our many photo stops on Leg 3.
Yeah we log a lot of zero time taking pictures, but we won't have time during the race! Here are Bill, Steve, Sasha, and Pat on Leg 3.
Dale says, "See that? It's Mount Hamel, and we'll be at the top in four hours."
It's a bit wet at the lowest point of the Death Race; forget about staying dry.
I left my boat at home!
Charlene and Matt on the snowy trail up Mount Hamel.
Bill's standing just beyond the turn-around on Hamel.
The wind is brutal up here! You can't see it well here, but Charlene's jacket flaps in the wind like a flag!
Crazy Daisy, Jocelyn, Viv, and Charlene pose for the camera; Steve is in the foreground.
Dr. Death and Simon sweep Leg 1.
On Leg 1, you get a great view of Peavine Lake.
Steve, Daisy, and Dale on the trail beside the Sulphur River (Leg 5).
Who are these dummies on the wrong side of the safety fence? Why, it's Charlene, Daisy, Bill, and Steve on Leg 5!

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Thanks to Matt "the Rabbit" Blacklock for these pictures:

One of the water crossings on Leg 3; it's quite a contrast to this.
Charlene, Sasha, Pat, Viv, and Matt. Hey, this scene looks familiar!
The trails on Leg 3 are superb for biking!
This water is cold! Some of us had to stand in the mud to warm up for a bit.
This is another shot of Mount Hamel from Leg 3.
Is there no end to this water??
The Smoky River is high today.

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