If you don't know what to use the dark winter evenings for, I have a good suggestion. Signing up for a winter race requires so many new skills, so much new knowledge, and some new equipment, so you sit night after night, hour after hour, in front of the computer and research, reach out to people with experience and go out and try thing of.
The difference between riding an ordinary monutain bike race or bikepacking race, and then riding a winter race, is huge. First of all, you have to be able to find out how to take care of yourself. You have to avoid situations where you go out on the edge, because it is bad luck to accelerate very quickly in extreme cold. And then, of course, you must have a good, big toolbox of knowledge to be able to handle if something does happen anyway, so that you don't end up in mortal danger.
All these elements appeal to me. That you actually have to think about and master something. That's why I signed up for the race in Geilo. Before the race, the race director Nina also organizes a three-day camp where you can learn or improve techniques in winter races. I also signed up for that.
It was a great pleasure to meet the others who had also signed up for the camp. A good motley group with different motives and prerequisites. But all with a good mood and go-getter.
The 3 days the camp lasted, alternated between teaching inside and test trips out in the countryside around Geilo.
It was the first time I got really crunchy snow under the tires. And I was completely hooked on cycling around a snow-white landscape. It can do something completely different than anything else I've tried. I have both skied a lot and cycled a lot, but the combination of the two things was completely magical.
When we got to the actual race day, there were 30-50 of us fatbikers lined up at the finish line in the dark in the morning. This meant that when the morning light began to brighten the horizon, we had already climbed up the mountain itself. It was unbelievably beautiful to cycle through the snow while the morning light colored the whole sky around me.
I tried to give it my best shot and run the race as fast as I could. No doubt my bike was at the heavy end of the field, but nevertheless it went well. I was pleased with the progress.
Midway through the race, which was a loop, we came out to a lake which marked the turning point. It started to blow up before I hit the big open lake and I feared the worst. But it turned out when I drove clear of the trees and down onto the frozen surface of the lake that I would have a tailwind. I would like to admit that it was one of the most beautiful moments I have experienced on a bike, hammering across the frozen lake, with a strong tailwind, while the snow fell around me and a few trees stood out as silhouettes in the white landscape. I yelled “Look at me!!!” As loud as I could while tears of joy rolled down my cheeks. It was sublime.
Back on land, however, the tears of joy were limited for the rest of the day. The peak of the energy was used. It was a long way home. And I had to go up the mountain again, up some pretty tough climbs. I pushed hard and tried to remember the nutrition. But my body didn't want to eat, so I had to force every bite into me.
In my pogies, which are giant mitts mounted on the handlebars, I had lots of freeze-proof snacks, cut up into small pieces so I could just dump them in the drawer, and it definitely saved my run that I got some energy after all.
Just as I saw the sunrise in the morning, I also caught the sunset at the end of the day, and it was completely dark when I finally rolled over the finish line. Completely mast. Entirely. But with a huge smile on, from the great experience. Fortunately, there was both beer and food, and good conversations with the other racers who entered before me.
It was a 10th place and I was perfectly satisfied with that, in my first winter race ever, on the heaviest bike in the field.
