Racing to the Race
Story by Carmen
Photos by Carmen and Matt
[Warning: This is a long story. The Klondike Road Relay was crazy, wild fun. I’ve never done anything like it before and I want to tell you all about it, but if you’re not up for a long read, the photos will give you the gist of it.]
When my daughter Hilary told me last June her company, ACS, might be sponsoring a team in the Klondike Road Relay, I immediately volunteered to be the chase vehicle driver and camp cook. Throughout the course of the summer, the makeup of the team changed as appendicitis and other commitments took their toll. It wasn’t until just before the deadline near the end of August that we knew for sure we were going.
Unfortunately, the team had an important company meeting to attend on Thursday afternoon, the day before the race. This meant we would have less than 24 hours to make the nearly 1,000 mile journey and get Hilary to the mandatory Team Captain Meeting at 3 pm on Friday.
The week before the race was hectic. My mother agreed to loan us her motorhome. Since the motorhome hadn’t been used in a couple of years, we took it in for service but didn’t get it back until Tuesday night. I took Wednesday off work to empty it out, clean it up, and carefully reload for the race. Although we also had a minivan making the trip, it was going to be crowded with food and gear for 11 eleven people. Planning the food was tricky. There would not be time to stop and fix meals, so I figured we’d have a lot of sandwiches on the fly. And if 11 people each have a sandwich -- poof, there goes a whole loaf of bread.
Early Thursday morning, I took the motorhome to the printer to have our “Team ACS” decal applied. Now we were official! We met in the ACS parking lot at 4 o’clock that afternoon, and by 5 pm we were on our way. Unfortunately, we only made it as far as mile 68 of the Glenn Highway when there was a loud crack! followed by flap-flap-flap-flap. We pulled over and found the tread sheared off the inside left rear tire. It immediately became obvious this team was from a telecommunications company. Smart phones were whipped out all around. At all times during the trip, someone seemed to know the exact location of the nearest cell tower. The charging ports on the dash always had a pile of electronics plugged in.
Even though nine of the team members were ACS employees or contractors, the company is big enough that all but three sets of pairs were strangers to each other. We were all new to the race with the exception of Bryan, who had done the race several times. The tire was our first challenge as a team. A search began for the jack despite the fact that none of us had ever changed a dually before, while Marty from the Legal Department began ploughing through the stack of manuals. The rest of us were on the phone. Unfortunately, it was after 7 pm and all the places in nearby Palmer and Wasilla that might’ve helped us were closed. In the manual, Marty discovered that the motorhome did not come equipped with a jack and we were advised to have a professional change the tire. Lars, who like Marty worked in Legal, called the insurance company’s roadside assistance and they located someone to drive out from Anchorage. Scott from Sales pulled out a hacky sack which passed the time until our tire-changing savior arrived. Meanwhile, the sun had set and we’d lost 3 hours.
As it grew dark, we hit the road again -- now better acquainted and pleased we’d conquered this hurdle. We drove through alternating rain, fog and dry patches. Team members began to think about trying to catch some sleep. A couple of people climbed into the overhead bunk and I glanced back once to see three bodies squeezed into the queen size bed in the rear.
We were about halfway between Chistochina and Slana when it happened again: crack! - flap - flap - flap - flap. This time it was the right inside read tire. It was close to 2 am. We were in a rare clear spot with brilliant stars overhead, the only lights visible in any direction. Traffic had died away to nothing, not that passersby could help us anyway. We had no jack and we no longer had a spare. “I’m sorry, guys,” I said, feeling terrible since I’d supplied the vehicle. “I think we’re out of luck.” The entire team was very gracious about this latest turn of bad luck, and not quite willing to give up yet. Stephen from the IT Department called roadside assistance again and stated that we were at Mile 58 of the Slana-Tok Cutoff. “What is the address?” asked the operator. Stephen repeated, “Mile 58 of the Tok Cutoff.” Apparently this did not seem like a satisfactory address, because next she asked for the cross streets. Patiently, Stephen explained that we were out on the highway and there were no cross streets, but we were at milepost 58. “Will you be with the vehicle?” she asked next. Sitting by ourselves in the dark in this remote location, this question struck me as hilarious despite our current plight.
Roadside assistance called back shortly to say they were unable to send anyone out with a tire. We considered our options. Even in Anchorage, the largest city in the state, it was unlikely we could locate a tire at this hour. And if we’d did, we’d miss the race by the time someone could drive it out to us. However, Tok was only about 60 miles away. As the first town after crossing into Alaska from Canada, they were bound to have motorhome tires. In both our tire incidents, the tires were not actually flat -- the tread simply sheared off. Mike, an engineering assistant working at the South Wire Center, had asked the man who changed the tire before if it would have been possible to limp on our bad tire. “Sure, as long as you go slow and check it often for overheating.” This now seemed like our best option. We took off cautiously at about 5 miles per hour. When we checked a few minutes later, the tire was cool. I continued to increase speed, the rhythmic flap-flap-flap getting faster each time, with someone calling the time for each check. We found the tire started to overheat and stink at 30 mph, but we could get away with 25 mph. I set the cruise control and we rolled slowly through the night.
Three hours later we limped into Tok, eyes peeled for anyone awake who could tell us some place to buy tires. We held another conference in the parking lot at Fast Eddy’s Restaurant. We were still not quite halfway to Skagway. The only option seemed to be to split up and send the first five runners ahead in the minivan. Chaos ensued as as we transferred people, clothing and snacks between vehicles in the dark, pouring rain. It was close to 6 am and after driving all night I opted for a nap.
When I awakened an hour later, it was getting light and things were looking up. We’d been directed to Young’s Chevron, where someone opened the business early to help us. We got their last motorhome tire and as a kindness, they fetched two more new tires from another business. I didn’t want to take a chance on any more tire trouble! Another hurdle had been cleared and we were on our way again.
I napped while Lars and Mike drove. When we drove into cell range in Canada, we got a text from our frontrunners saying the race officials had agreed to let Hilary attend a later captain’s meeting that was held specially for teams coming by ferry from Juneau. Kirsten, a wireless network specialist, turned out to have a flair for slapping together sandwiches in a vehicle rolling and pitching over frost-heaves in the Yukon. We calculated and recalculated our driving time. Teams were started in groups every half hour based on their estimated completion time. 
The slowest teams started first to try to make everyone arrive at the finish closer together. We figured we were within about fifteen minutes plus or minus of reaching Skagway by the time our team started in the second group at 7:30 pm. Then we got another text from our team captain: the race started on Yukon time, which meant our team would start at 6:30 pm Alaska time. It was lucky we had split up; there was no way we could make the start.
At Haines Junction, about 200 miles from Skagway, I took the wheel again. We pressed on through Whitehorse without stopping. We were now driving the race course in reverse, and the runners watched the terrain they would soon be covering on foot. I had driven this road numerous times between 2006 and 2009 when we had a Once in a Blue Moose store in Juneau, but most of the the team had not been to Skagway before. The highway starts at sea level in Skagway and climbs steeply up one side of a narrow river valley with the White Pass & Yukon Railroad tracks visible on the opposite side. A mere fourteen miles up the road is the summit at nearly 3,300 feet. The remaining hundred miles to Whitehorse is comprised of rolling ups and downs to end up at about 2,300 feet.
Bryan and I discussed our strategy. There were not many places along the steep drop into Skagway to turn around in a motorhome, especially not with the race underway. Around 140 teams entered meant 140 chase vehicles. We opted to drive all the way to Skagway, where Bryan had made us reservations at an RV park. We passed Hilary running leg one and the minivan on the way down the hill. Mike and I quickly dumped the holding tanks on the motorhome at the RV park and then we headed out again. We were just in time to see the last group of the teams start down the main street in Skagway before we headed up the road to catch up with our team.
Hilary had just tagged Marty at the first checkpoint when we arrived. 
Hilary was pleased with her effort on leg one, 8.8 miles with about a 1,500 foot elevation gain, though we had to pull over a couple of times to let her throw up. 
It was now fully dark and raining; Marty asked us to “chase” her, following behind to give her the benefit of our headlights. Marty was power-walking Leg Two, the shortest (5.6 miles) but steepest leg up to the summit. With Hilary, I noticed a pattern most of the runners seemed to follow: a short, exhilarated period of cool-down; change into dry, comfortable clothes; crash in bed for an hour’s nap; than bounce back to cheer on whoever was running.
Marty was also pleased with herself after tagging Stephen just past the US - Canada border. 
Stephen opted for “leapfrogging” instead of “chasing,” so we would drive a couple miles down the road and wait to offer water and encouragement. We were now in British Columbia. An interesting aspect of the KRR is that it covers one state and two provinces. The 7.8-mile leg three ends just past Canadian customs. A customs official boarded the motorhome and carefully checked all our passports but told us they didn’t need Stephen’s as they had a list of all the leg three runners.
At some point Hilary revived enough to remember that we were supposed to be keeping track of our times. Mike had started up his GPS but didn’t have the time on the first couple of legs. “I can get the time stamp off my digital camera,” Matt said. Did I mention this team was loaded with electronics?
Stephen told us that seeing the motorhome waiting and hearing us cheer for him had really helped, a comment that was repeated by other runners throughout the race. Nancy, our one runner who is not employed by ACS but whose boyfriend is, confessed to being wimpy about being alone in the dark and asked us not to go too far ahead as she started off to run 13.1 miles for leg four. “Not that close!” she called as she passed us the first time.
“Eerie” and “surreal” are the words that come to mind to describe the night portion of the KRR. I doubt there was anyone on the road who was not a part of the race; I mean, who drives from Whitehorse to Skagway in the middle of the night in the fall? 
Runners generally ran on the shoulder but often strayed into the traffic lane, so I drove slowly, eyes peeled for the two reflective bands moving in mesmerising rhythm that meant we were overtaking a runner. I could spot upcoming pull-offs by the lights of other waiting chase vehicles. We’d pull in and find the motorhome that said “Lunch Muscles” on the side and another with a tree outlined in Christmas lights on the back nearly every time we stopped. Their runners would arrive and off they’d go to the next pull-out while we waited in the dark.
Nancy tagged Matt and he took off for the next 13.9 miles of leg five. Matt, an engineer for ACS, wore a red light, making him easy to identify so that we weren’t accidentally cheering for a runner from another team -- something we occasionally did on purpose in the spirit of good will. Already we were talking about things to do differently next year, like ways to identify our runners and exterior decorations for the motorhome. Marty had brought a flashlight with a green cone on the end and Scott sat at the dinnette waving it out the window to help our team find us. I gave Matt the award for “best water bottle dropping technique.” He would extend his arm out to one side for a moment before dropping the bottle, making it easier for us to find and retrieve it in the dark.
We were roughly half way through the race and had passed into the Yukon Territory when Matt tagged Mike. Leg six is the longest -- 16 miles -- and ends at Carcross, the only town between Whitehorse and Skagway. Though the legs are of varying lengths and difficulties, 
I’m here to tell you that none of them are a walk in the park. We were finally getting the hang of the checkpoints, having learned the hard way that we needed to get there well ahead of our runner in order to find parking in the chaos. Each leg had a 1 km station which would radio ahead so officials could announce, “Team 60 is at one kilometer.” That was our signal to get the next runner up to the chute, but a couple of times we didn’t hear the announcement and were surprised to find our runner milling about in the crowd.
The sky was turning light as we approached Carcross and I was feeling the effects of driving all night for two nights in a row. Marty was refreshed from a nap and volunteered to drive while I hit the sack. I sawed logs while the team exchanged Scott for Mike and gassed up the motorhome. Scott ran the next 8.8 miles to Emerald Lake, where Kirsten took over for a 12.4 mile leg. When I woke up, we were at the checkpoint and Bryan was getting prepared to take over from Kirsten.
I believe Bryan was the only wheelchair racer in the KRR this year. He is a remarkable man who has been in a wheelchair since he was a teenager but has not let that dampen his zest for the athletic life. He has a special racing wheelchair. Leg nine was a good one for him, he told us, because it was about equal up and down. Too much downhill would give him an unfair advantage. Perhaps, but we were all impressed by the effort he expended on the uphill stretches.
At the intersection of the Klondike Highway with the Alcan Highway, Lars took over from Bryan for the last 12.1 miles. The race route leaves the highway to follow the Yukon River. Since we were unable to cheer for Lars along the river, we drove ahead to Whitehorse. We had a couple of hotel rooms and I parked the motorhome across from the hotel while most of the team ran to see Lars cross the finish line.
I had a lot of respect for anyone adventurous enough to sign up for this crazy event even before I met them. I was even more impressed afterward along with a certain affection for the team, and happy that every one our runners finished their leg triumphant that they’d done their best. No one felt they were off their game or should have done better. 
The atmosphere was one of “We did it!” I opted to go to sleep early when the team piled into a taxi to go the post-race party, since we still had a long drive home the next day. I heard later that Team ACS jumpstarted the party by taking to the dance floor en mass. I’m not sure where they found the energy! Knowing in their hearts they were winners, they didn’t stay for the actual awards ceremony and walked back to the hotel. This took nearly an hour on blistered feet and sore muscles, but there were no whiners in this crew.
Early Sunday morning I made short-order breakfast sandwiches and Matt whipped up coffee drinks of all kinds. Then we were on the road again, driving in and out of fog for a time until a beautiful sunny day materialized ahead of us. A party atmosphere prevailed in the motorhome. In the driver’s seat, I couldn’t always hear the conversation but it was punctuated with much laughter. Hilary sat up front and DJ’d a rotating succession of iPods. As I passed out a thick stack of passports at the Alaskan border, the customs officer asked if we had any runners aboard. A big cheer arose in the motorhome. The officer came aboard and began a roll call, handing the passports back as we identified ourselves. “Lawrence?” he called. There was a pregnant silence while you could almost hear us thinking “Who?” “Here,” said Scott. Everyone immediately rounded on him, to the amusement of the customs agent. “Lawrence? Your name is Lawrence?”
We stopped for lunch/dinner picnic at Deadman Lake campground. I had taco fixings ready. By now, the runners were all calling me “Mom.” The day was unseasonably warm as we sat out at a large picnic table. After the meal, 
we spent a brief interlude enjoying the warmth and peace out on the dock before hitting the road again. Just past Slana we stopped to admire Mt. Sanford and Mt. Drum as the Wrangell Mountains were unusually cloud-free. The sun was setting as we rolled into Glenallen, where other race motorhomes were also stopped for gas. 
It wasn’t until we were about an hour from home that the team expressed any interest in our official results. Matt pulled out a computer (I told you this was a techie crowd) and got online. Team ACS came in 106th out of 144. We were 18th out of 19 in the corporate division -- and happy not to be last. Looking at the corporate division, we saw it was a tough one, including the overall race winners sponsored by Skinny Raven Sports from Anchorage and a coast guard rescue team from Juneau. I would characterize Team ACS as ordinary people who had the courage to do something extraordinary. We parted from one another around midnight with hugs all around, strangers no longer.