It was Friday morning, Feb. 16, 2007, and I stood next to my Ski-Doo MX Z 550X on the frozen ground near the Seven Clans Casino in Thief River Falls, Minnesota, shivering.

I was staged for the United States Cross-Country Racing Association Red Lake I-500, alongside 70-some other racers, waiting my turn to head onto the course. It was my first 500 and I had no idea what to expect. Just then Chad Colby, another racer who had been in my boots before, offered this nugget of wisdom: “If you finish it is something you will remember for the rest for your life. But just remember, you can’t win the race on the first day, but you can sure as hell lose it.” I would witness the truth of these words over the next three days. But at this very moment my sled was on the line and ready. But was I? Suddenly the flag went up and I rolled onto the gas and was gone. I was racing the I-500.




Begun in 1966 as the ultimate test of man and sled, the I-500 has captured the imagination, fear and respect of snowmobile racers around the world. With a list of past winners that reads like an all-star cross-country lineup, the I-500 is steeped in history and almost mythical in its lore. Despite some occasional off-years due to poor snow or a sagging industry, the I-500 has remained the granddaddy of cross-country. A win in this feature event has been one of the most sought after titles in snowmobile racing, with racers (and some manufacturers) spending entire careers aiming for victory. The current Red Lake I-500 doesn’t follow the point-to-point format of the original, but it still delivers 500 miles of rugged terrain over three days with a loop format in which racers start and finish each day at the casino. In some ways the race is more difficult, as multiple laps on the same loops result in nasty course conditions on the second and third days. And with $10K in cash for the winner, monster OEM contingencies and hefty payouts in just about every other class, the pace is as intense as ever. I’m no Pro racer, and I’m not here for the potential payday. Like most of the people who have tempted fate in the windswept ditchlines and uncertain river ways, I was there to fulfill a dream. Two miles into the race I realized how hard it can be to turn dreams into reality.






Dirt and Carnage
With tree branches whipping my sled and helmet and my arms pumped to numbsville from the sharp turns, I was worried how the hell I would last another 170 miles on the first day. Less than three inches of snow on the ground meant conditions were dreadful. USCC made the best of a bad situation by mapping a course consisting of mostly ditchline, logging paths, frozen roads and river, the latter of which spanned wide-open stretches and nasty primitive sections complete with deadfall trees and arm-wrenching switchbacks. We rode this loop three times each day with two fuel stops each day. On my first pass, it was already evident that many racers wouldn’t see the second day Sleds sat motionless on both sides of the river, some with dejected racers slouched on the seats and others abandoned. A few guys were walking. I gave a thumbs-up to ensure they were okay (cross-country protocol insists that you check the condition of downed riders), and each responded in-kind. It would be the theme of the day for me. Having left 64th out of 70-some riders, I saw most of the carnage left by the 30-some riders who wouldn’t finish the first day. With low snow on the course, we were racing on dirt along most land sections. Some stretches were flat and wide open, but hidden dirt kickers and/or logs would suddenly scare me out of any lull with a nasty WHAM! Other sections included unplowed, narrow forest roads that, at 80 mph, felt like zooming through a tunnel, but with dire consequences should you blow one of the icy turns. Would any of our sleds survive three days of this, I wondered? Following the second of two fuel stops, I headed onto the Red River where more busted sleds told tales of caution. My decision to not ride over my head, to keep a good pace and simply survive rewarded me with the finish line on the first day.









Fixing Sleds and Sharing Stories
At the end of each leg you get a one-hour maintenance session to fix what’s broke and double-check everything else on your sled. Scanning all the machines before we began fixing, my friend/mechanic/fueler Doug Green laughed at the contrast between my sled, which appeared brand-new, and the carnage that surrounded it. A fan of the I-500 and racer himself, Doug was eager to hear stories of what it was like on-course and we sat in Doug’s trailer before our maintenance session talking about what we saw, he at the fuel stop and me on the course. During our maintenance session it was a relief to only have to change the hyfax and carbides, tighten all the suspension bolts, clean the clutches, top off all the fluids and still have time left to polish the hood.






Seeing the frantic pace and pounding hammers of other crews, I wondered how many wouldn’t start (or finish) the second leg. I also wondered if I shouldn’t pick up the pace slightly. I would get my answer to this question a few hours later at the drivers’ meeting. Cross-county races are unique in the snowmobile world. Unlike snocross, ovals or drags, most the drama happens outside the spectators’ view. Every racer has a story (or two) from the day, and at the drivers’ meeting each evening, those stories are shared. A mixture of laughter, frustration and sympathy fills the air, along with ample expectation. After all, each racer wants to know their finish time. After the results were posted that first evening, I had another emotion to manage: pressure. I set the fast time in my class. Getting in the Groove Day two began with more ample forewarning about how to manage my newfound position. As crews warmed up sleds before the start, we heard one sled running on just one cylinder, and several others that sounded wounded. It seemed everyone around me was busted. Was this an omen? When my time came to start, I began the second leg a bit cautious, and tried to remember where the worst trouble spots were along the course. I stayed attentive and kept my pace fast but manageable, just like the first day. The 84 MPH I saw while running the river ice groove wasn’t fast compared to the liquid-cooled sleds and I wondered if it would be enough to hold the lead in my class. Other than a few close calls, my day would prove uneventful. The same couldn’t be said for perennial favorite, Cat racer Brian *****. We pitted next to him in the day two maintenance session, and watched him tear apart his entire sled to fix stuff he’d broken during the day. I still have no idea how he got it back together in 30 minutes. After an hour of working on our sled, Doug and I gazed over impound area. We counted 31 sleds still in the race. Over half the field was out and mine was one of five Ski-Doos left in the race. At this point I was starting to feel more confident and I was sure I could finish the race.




The Longest Day

The third and final leg of the 500 is the most exciting. Perhaps it’s the tradition of this famed race, during which kids were let out from school to watch racers speed through town on their way to some far-off finish line? Perhaps it’s the anticipation of the battles that stand between the start and the finish, that will claim some racers and embolden others? And perhaps it’s the culmination of a year’s worth of planning, dreaming and fulfilling a lifelong goal? I had been on the brink of this for over 10 years, imagining, planning, one year almost getting it done. Now I was finally here, ready to set out on Day 3. As I stood in staging watching the top-10 Pro class racers prepare themselves for battle, I was more a fan than a racer. Crashes and course confusion had eliminated several pre-race favorites, leaving Ski-Doo-mounted Ross Erdmann with a massive 8-minute lead over Yamaha racer Travis Hjelle. I-500 tradition has the racers leaving according to their time on the final day, so that the first racer to cross the finish is the actual winner. With Erdmann on course I watched Hjelle waiting and wondered, “What is he thinking right now?” Gabe Bunke was in third, set to leave a couple minutes after Hjelle. When Bunke fired up his Polaris IQ for warm-up, only one cylinder would fire! His crew and other riders took turns pulling it over, eventually getting it running on both cylinders. “Holy crap,” I thought. “I better warm up my sled!” I was so nervous about my sled at this point I was shaking. Was I doing all the right things? Could I actually finish? I still had the lead and was so close to finishing. Waiting sucks. I wanted to get on the course and get riding. Finally, after what seemed like forever, my time came to leave. I blocked everything out and focused on the course, talking myself through each section. I remembered the trouble spots, but my nervousness produced terrible arm-pump yet again. I kept anticipating trouble. When the course spilled onto Red Lake, some stray dogs chased the passing sleds. Ice heaves lay like traps all over the ice, one nearly claiming me. I spotted snow dust as I was getting ready to come off the lake and, coming into the second fuel stop, I caught the sled making the dust. It was the Yamaha of Hjelle. He had punctured a cooler. It looked like Ross Erdman had the win. I was happy to catch Chad Colby (who was in a different class) after the second fuel stop. We rode together for a few miles, which took my mind away from the fatigue that had settled after three days of hard riding. I almost wadded on a big dirt kicker, then blew a corner and slid into a drainage ditch just before the river. Once we got on the river he walked away from me on his liquid-cooled 500. The last 20 miles seemed to take forever, but when I saw the approaching ditchline that led back to the casino and finish line, I started shouting for joy inside my helmet. Chills ran down my spine. As I neared the last approach I wanted to jump my sled a mile, but I eased it over, crossed the road and pinning the throttle toward the finish line. Racing the I-500 was a dream that I wasn’t sure I could fulfill, but after 10 hours, 23 minutes and 56 seconds of riding I had just finished the Red Lake I-500!