At first I wasn't planning to do the Balance Bar 24-Hour race. It was expensive, and Molly and I would have to find a third teammate. We usually race as a team of two. But as I read more about it on the Balance Bar website, I became more excited about the race. It sounded like a spectacular course, with one standout section -- whitewater swimming. We decided that if we could find a good teammate, we'd do it.

My friend Bill Wright answered my plea, although he is usually more interested in adventures of his own invention than in organized races such as this. For example, Bill's the one who first thought up such exploits as the "Sanitarado", a one-day traverse of the six peaks above Boulder, starting at Mt. Sanitas and ending with a steep bushwhack to the top of Eldorado Peak some 20 miles to the south. Bill was a bit concerned about the length and difficulty of the course, being relatively new to the sport of adventure racing. Knowing Bill's strength and boundless energy, I knew there was no way he'd be holding us back, and I tried to reassure him of this fact.

I signed us up in the non-elite division after a short period of indecision. With an unprecedented $60,000 up for grabs for the first place elite team, all the big players would certainly show up. Nike ACG/Balance Bar fielded two teams, with Ian Adamson captaining the second of the two, and Montrail, Earthlink, Balance Bar, and Epinephrine were all registered and ready for action. We'd be seriously outclassed if we entered elite. Plus, there was an amazing first prize in the non-elite division: a two-year lease on a Ford Explorer Sport Trac for each team member! It seemed too good to be true and too much to hope for, but it was fun to think about anyway.

Race day arrived before we knew it. Registration, gear checks, and certifications took up the whole day Friday, and we scarcely had time to plot points on our maps and hit the beds before the alarm went off at 1:35 AM Saturday morning. With my nervous excitement I don't believe I got a wink of sleep.

Thirty-seven bleary-eyed teams climbed aboard buses to be carried to the start line at State Bridge on the Colorado River. We huddled in sleepy clusters on the bus, unwilling to stand around in the cold night air waiting for the 4:00 AM starting gun.

Finally the gun went off and we jogged up the trail in the dark. We turned uphill, and the pack quickly spread out. We had 14 miles and 4000 feet of climbing ahead of us before we reached our first transition. Bill surged ahead, leaving Molly and me gasping for breath. He wanted to stay in contact with one of the front groups, but we just weren't going to be able to keep up at that pace. Soon we hooked a tow rope up to Molly and started motoring ahead. I struggled to keep up, but we found ourselves not only staying in contact with the group in front of us, but leaving most of them behind. I noted in amazement as we cruised past elite team Revo like they were standing still.

"Hiking uphill is my forte," Bill admitted modestly. What an understatement!

Dawn arrived as we closed in on PC1. For the last half hour we'd been traveling with two teams -- Timex and Salomon. We had been on good trails the whole time and were able to run everything but the steepest sections. A cameraman appeared up ahead -- a sure sign that the PC was near. He asked us questions about the course and which team we were as he huffed alongside us with his heavy video camera. We suddenly hit a T-junction. Timex veered left, but I'd checked the maps earlier and knew the checkpoint was to our right. Molly handed in our passport and was told we were in third place overall. Was this a mistake? If not, it was incredible and we were absolutely buoyant at the news.

Energized, we charged up the trail just behind our friend Adam Chase with his team Salomon. I was getting congratulated by my team for my navigation skills, and felt pretty good about myself at the time. But how does the saying go, "Pride goes before destruction"?

I had to pause to switch to a new map, and it showed us climbing up a hillside with few geographic features. At this point the trail had disappeared.

"Which way around this peak up ahead?" Bill asked.

I took a compass bearing. "We need to go further south, to our right."

We cut straight across to a saddle. The other side looked nothing like the terrain shown on the map, and furthermore it looked like we were in for some heavy bushwhacking ahead. Salomon had gone left around the peak earlier.

I stared at the map, trying to make sense of the terrain. Bill took a look, too.

"You're looking at the bike section!" he exclaimed, and in fact he was right. This part of the map contained both the current trekking section we were on, as well as the next bike section. We had already marked both routes with a pen, but I was following the wrong one!

It's both frustrating and relieving to discover such a mistake. The frustration comes from knowing you've lost time, and the relief comes from finally knowing your whereabouts again. We made the best of it and were soon back on track.

"Track" in this case was an overstatement. We soon found ourselves completely off trail, scrambling up a steep hillside, climbing over an endless jumble of fallen logs, and stepping through marshy bogs and streams. Mere hours after we'd had enough, we emerged from the forest onto a perfectly smooth, well-used logging road. And it was headed in the right direction!

Soon we were trotting downhill to the first transition area. A number of teams were already there, and more arrived soon after us. I guess we should have savored our few moments near the front, because that time was clearly over. We quickly unpacked our bike boxes, assembled our bikes, grabbed some food, and pedaled off. Hordes of hungry mosquitoes had provided additional incentive to get out of the transition area quickly.

Luckily, after a short period of rolling terrain, this bike section headed rapidly downhill, dropping thousands of feet on its way to the Colorado River far below. We were making good time, flying actually. Well, Bill was flying there for a minute when he hit something and crashed in singularly magnificent fashion.

He was ok, but both tires were flat. A quick analysis revealed two additional problems: first, he was running Schraeder tubes and we had only Presta spares, and worse, his tires were so old and worn that he had shredded one sidewall. The tube was visibly bulging out the side in three places. It would never last through the race!

"Bike maintenance is not my strong point," Bill said sheepishly.

No worries, we'd use the Presta tubes and hope they worked. And Molly saved the day with her quick-thinking solution; she used a Balance Bar wrapper to reinforce the tire's sidewall. She is so great at coming up with spontaneous and resourceful solutions. And it worked!

We arrived intact at the second transition area. Our next task was to load the bikes onto a truck and then clamber aboard an SUV for the "Ford Rally, Part 1". We had to direct our driver exactly where we wanted to go, which was PC4 in Kremmling. Along the way we pawed through the maps, trying to find the right ones before we missed any turns. Meanwhile, the whole team changed into wetsuits, packed our Camelbaks, and refueled while we nervously awaited the start of the whitewater swimming section.

It was Gore Canyon, as we had feared, home of some infamous class IV and V rapids, as well as numerous stretches of class II and III whitewater. We grabbed our boogie boards and swim fins, loaded ourselves down with life jackets and full Camelbaks, and waddled into the flat brown water. We were in for a long, boring, cramp-inducing swim before we ever reached Gore Canyon.

How can I describe the slow torture of this incessant swim? Within half an hour my calves and hamstrings began to cramp painfully with each flip of my flippers. The water seemed to average about a foot and a half deep, making it difficult to get a full kick with the swim fins.

To break the monotony and spread the cramps more evenly among other muscle groups, I experimented with different methods of locomotion. The basic stroke consisted of a simple flutter kick, relaxing with my upper body on the board. I branched out from there with a sort of freestyle stroke with my arms, although this had the disadvantage of causing the board to creep out from under me, necessitating frequent adjustments. Soon I found that the "Sea Turtle" stroke worked better in this regard (using both arms in unison stroking out to the sides), but it was strenuous. For the shallow sections, I used the "Crab Crawl", digging my hands into the river bottom and pulling myself forward inch by inch. Other methods included the sidestroke (quite funny looking with a boogie board, I might add), and the "Reverse Heel Dig", wherein I faced backwards, sat on my board and pushed myself along by digging into the sandy river bottom with my heels.

All these techniques may have looked quite humorous to the casual passerby, but thankfully there were no casual passersby. It is worth noting at this point that Molly and Bill seemed to be having a much easier time with all of this. I believe I only saw them use the first two -- more basic -- techniques. Regardless, we eventually heard the roar of the river up ahead, and knew that our flat-water monotony was about to end.

The first rapid was a fun class III run. We cruised through it with smiles on our faces. Then followed a long stretch of class II, but soon enough the portages began. We had mandatory portages around every class IV and V rapid. This required a lot of gear changes, as it's difficult to scramble over slippery rocks while wearing swim fins. It began to seem like every time we got into the water, we had to get right back out again.

But our spirits improved as we passed several elite teams along the way, including our friends on team Salomon. And interestingly, team Earthlink passed us on this section. Even though they were the ones passing us, we were psyched to have been ahead of Robyn Benincasa & Co. this far into the race.

We then arrived at the biggest swimmable rapid, a class III+. Volunteers on shore gave us instructions on which lines to take, and said we had the option to portage it if we wanted. No way. We continued straight into the fray. Adrenaline pumping, we tried to avoid the biggest rocks and pick a good line as the current swept us through the canyon. We'd drop into a hole and get sucked under, but eventually the hole would spit us out downstream. Usually there was enough time to catch a breath before the next hole sucked us in. What a way to experience big whitewater...swimming headfirst down the river!

We made it! Laughing, we kicked slowly down the river below the big rapid.

Rounding a bend, the impressive ropes section appeared. An amazing array of cables was stretched all the way across the canyon. The volunteers said it had taken them a full week to build. At one end we climbed a rope ladder to reach the cables, then we tightrope walked across the river using a chest-high cable for balance. It was a lot more strenuous than it looked. By the time I reached the other side, I suddenly found myself feeling the fatigue. Molly was next, and inched her way across, fighting valiantly to overcome the strain and reach the cliff top to join me. Bill went last, hoisting himself up with just his arms to reach the rope ladder (Molly and I had had the benefit of a boost from our teammates).

After a quick rappel, we were back to swim/portage/swim mode again, but now the portages grew longer and the swimming sections shorter. A clap of thunder ripped through the canyon, and in a few moments we were huddled under our boogie boards at the river's edge as Peanut M&M-sized hail pelted us. Boogie boards definitely make great shields for such an occasion, although you do have to be careful about your exposed fingers as you hold the board. We each got nailed a few times.

The storm quickly passed, and as we entered the lower part of the canyon we were able to swim more. Unfortunately, this section contained a large number of rocks hiding just below the surface. Carried along by the swift current, my knee would smack a rock. The pain seared through my body, and just as it began to subside I'd inevitably smack that same knee again with another rock. Molly's and Bill's legs got abused in a similar fashion.

Eventually we emerged from Gore Canyon and found the transition area, with kayaks waiting. The checkpoint volunteer informed us we were in 10th place overall! Not bad, but we had no idea if any other non-elite teams (competing with us for the Explorers) were still ahead.

We were to continue another 14 miles down the river to State Bridge, where we had started the race many hours earlier. This section had a mixture of flat water as well as numerous class II rapids and at least one class III section.

Our boats were Cobra Triple's, made specifically for adventure racing and used in all the Balance Bar races. They are large, but they're comfortable and handle surprisingly well. We negotiated most of this section adeptly, working together as a team and trying to refuel and rehydrate along the way. On a few occasions we hit rocks that capsized us, but we were able to right the boat and continue without pulling ashore due to the boat's self-bailing properties.

At State Bridge we dragged our waterlogged bodies onto shore and created a wet, sloppy mess of gear at the transition area. Here we discovered that we'd incorrectly plotted the next checkpoint. Luckily Team Salomon caught up to us at that point and we were able to follow them up a steep mini-mountain to a 130-foot rappel. After sliding down a ridiculously steep and loose slope back to level ground at the bottom, we hopped in a waiting Expedition for "Ford Rally, Part 2".

It was now dark, and we frantically tried to get organized for the next mountain bike section. Loading everything up in the SUV, we hit the road. Navigation to the next checkpoint could be difficult, because it was nowhere near any intersections or major geographic features. Furthermore, with the darkness it was difficult to see anything outside the vehicle.

Somehow we made it, but we discovered that another non-elite team had beaten us there! Thankfully one of the guys from that team came over and let us know they’d been hit with a seven-hour time penalty for skipping the swim. We therefore shouldn't worry about competing with them, he said. Such a nice guy, and he even offered us some chicken and ribs. For the moment, we were in first place in our division, but how long would it last?

Soon we found ourselves on our bikes headed uphill. The trail was rutted and overgrown, and ended at a private property gate within half an hour. This definitely was not the right way! Resigned, we turned around and pedaled all the way back to the start.

This time a handy ranch hand pointed us in the right direction...through an open gate that had previously been closed! If only it had been open earlier, we would have known it was the right direction.

Now began the longest and most difficult section. I started to get into serious trouble, getting that weak, woozy feeling I get when I'm starting to bonk. I handed the maps over to Bill, as I was in no condition to navigate. I tried to eat and drink some more, and Bill gave me several long pushes to help me up the hill. Before long my biggest problem became the sleep monster. I was having difficulty focusing, and I wobbled along on my bike in a half-asleep state. This continued for hours as we ground our way up the hill towards the checkpoint at 11,000 feet. Bill continued as strong as ever, and Molly seemed to be doing fine as well, although I could tell she was getting tired, too.

We eventually came to the end of the road, quite literally. We found ourselves at the top of a huge ridge overlooking the Vail/Eagle valley, and the dirt road we'd been following ended right there. Clearly we were off-route again. I roused myself out of my narcoleptic state long enough to stare at the maps.

"It's this way," I declared, pointing to the east. Bill and Molly shrugged and followed. Our bike lights had died at this point and we were down to one LED light. Riding was out of the question. We trudged along, pushing our bikes toward what we hoped would be PC11. Half an hour later we stared through the darkness at a small glowing green object in a field. The checkpoint! It was all downhill to Beaver Creek from here!

Unfortunately our troubles were not over. Molly and I were now at the point of hallucinating. We both saw Bill walking up ahead with his arm around someone (who, we did not know), when actually it was his bike. I noticed that there were hundreds of Quaker Instant Oatmeal packets growing in the middle of the trail, then later realized it was clumps of grass. Molly saw a large barrel of honey with a tin owl perched on top. This weirdness continued until dawn.

Dawn! Yes, how great it was. As I stumbled along, I noticed Molly rolling past me with ease. What!? Oh, she was riding her bike. Wow, it was finally light enough to make out the trail. I hopped on as well and soon we were riding through the frigid air towards the valley, still far below.

With Bill's navigation we successfully made it through the resort neighborhoods of Avon and up to the base village at Beaver Creek. At the transition area the volunteers told us we were still in the lead for the non-elite division. Foggy thoughts of driving a new car drifted through my head, but the race wasn't over yet.

Molly and I were moving in slow motion. We struggled to understand our final task. We were given one new map and told to plot the last three checkpoints. Next, we'd split up the team, each with a radio. Molly and I would find PC13a and Bill would find PC13b. Then we'd both meet at PC14 with the help of the radios and head to the finish in Beaver Creek village.

Our first checkpoint was a thousand feet straight up the ski slope. My right knee was giving me excruciating pain, and I could barely make my way up the mountain. Salomon, now on their way down the mountain to the finish line, waved cheerfully at us. Molly waited patiently with me, while Bill chugged ahead. We both had altimeters to help us find the checkpoints, but still it was a difficult task, as we only had one map between us.

By the time Molly and I found our checkpoint, Bill had already found both 13b and 14 and was waiting impatiently. Team Timex was on the mountain and catching up rapidly! I gritted my teeth and plodded up the hill. We finally met Bill.

"Couldn't you hear on the radio?" he asked anxiously. "We're about to lose!"

He grabbed our hands and pulled us rapidly to the final checkpoint. One member of Timex was already there, with the others on their way. We signed in and limped as quickly as we could back down the mountain.

Frantic now, Bill kept trying to get us to go faster.

"Look, they're catching up!" he yelled. I looked up the mountain and saw Timex chasing us at top speed. Our fragile hold on first place was about to slip away, but we wanted those Explorers!

Sprinting to the finish, we crossed the line as a team. I could barely believe it was over. And we'd beaten Timex by less than three minutes, after 29 hours of racing!

Yes, we had actually done it. We'd won the non-elite division and each of us would soon be driving a brand new Explorer Sport Trac. Unbelievable!