RACE: Trysil Enduro 2023, The Hunt for Joachim & The Story of an Aquarium
The 5th edition of Trysil Enduro took place on September 16-17. The grand finale of a rather lean enduro season marked by extreme weather, cancellations, and general chaos.
So, when the Trysil crew promised a fun bike race that would challenge riders on Trysil's gnarliest trails, we couldn't do anything but ignore the old adage "old bones break easily," head to the mountains, and get ourselves injured. Who's riding?
After a wild and scorching Drammen Enduro in early summer, we were finally at it again. I had some unfinished business with my good neighbor Joachim, who beat me by what felt like an ocean of time. Now it was payback time. With only one completed enduro race this year for us, it was do or die.
Joachim is a beast, but I knew deep down that the goal was within reach. The question was who would have a good day, and in enduro, anything can happen. The bike was performing better than ever, and upgrades and adjustments were in place. This was going to be tight.
On Friday, September 15th, we packed the car with what we thought we needed, no more, no less. Preferably less, because I was strictly told that space was tight. But what do you really need? We're going to bike and sleep, and how cold can it really get in Trysil in September?
Apparently, damn cold.
For a thin Oslo resident like myself, without much fat or muscle, Saturday's practice day was a cold and character-building experience. I had done what one should never do: I had ignored the first and perhaps most important rule in both Lars Monsen's and Bear Grylls' books: You can be cold, and you can be wet, but if there's one thing the body can't handle, it's being wet and cold at the same time.
But there I was, wet and cold, in the middle of the forest, shivering. What an idiot! And I thought I'd been out on a winter night before.
I trudge through the day like a wet stray dog, trying to memorize the trails and remember the right things. Where should I be extra vigilant, where should I push it? But perhaps most importantly, when is that hot shower coming? I realize I've lost focus.
After a run-through of the trails on the east side of the valley, we head back to the facility for an extra run-through of the first stage. And it's on the chairlift up that I actually freeze to death. Sayonara. It's not entirely unexpected, as the Norwegian chairlift is one of the coldest places on Earth, surpassed only by the East Antarctic Plateau, which I've read can get down to something like minus one hundred degrees in winter. At the top, I try all the tricks in the book: hands down my underwear, arm-waving, and some serious pedaling in hopes of getting warm blood pumped back to my hands.
But my body has given up and refuses. It has sacrificed my hands to protect vital organs. Which is fine in a way, but I can tell you that riding in Trysil Bike Park without feeling in your hands is not ideal.
It takes an hour or two to get the feeling back in my body, and I can finally look ahead. What's the plan? I have no idea. And Joachim has seemed confident on the bike all day. This doesn't bode well.
Back at the cabin, I get a message from my dear partner. She's been on Finn.no and bought two goldfish from a Pole in Smestad. Why, you ask? We're two. But I don't have time to think about goldfish from Smestad. I need to focus. I need to rest. Tomorrow is the most important day of September.
Sunday. Race day. Ugh..
Enduro racing is a funny thing. Unlike other bike races, where you're constantly moving forward, uphill and downhill, in an enduro race, you have several opportunities throughout the day to slow down, think, and reflect on how incredibly badly things are going. Or, if you're having a good day, how incredibly well things are actually going. Both equally dangerous thoughts.
You won't know how it's actually going until the end of the day.
First stage, first mistake. I have PTSD from the practice day and find neither flow nor speed. I can barely find my way down. I've fallen into the classic trap called overthinking. I laugh at myself. What a dummy! My head is full of thoughts.
The rest of the group is high-fiving and talking about how incredibly cool it was. How old are they, five? I realize I'm the only adult here now, so I continue to be grumpy and adult-like. It's uncharming to be grumpy, and it makes me even grumpier to think that in addition to being grumpy, I'm also uncharming.
Second stage, second mistake. Maybe it's just me, but when I ride, I barely see barrier tape and trail markers. Everything becomes visual mush, and if it's not crystal clear where I'm supposed to go, I wander around like a half-blind sheep. Finally at the bottom, and somewhat dissatisfied, but a small piece of news makes the sunbeams a little warmer and more beautiful: Joachim has made even more mistakes than me. Talk about gloating over others' misfortunes. Pretty uncharming too.
Third stage! It's over before it starts. Was it 50 seconds?
Fourth stage. We push our bikes uphill in the forest and contemplate the trail. Near the top, we stand and watch riders passing through the upper section. Crash after crash after crash. The trail is a war zone. Rocks, mud, and trees do everything in their power to crush bike frames, wheels, and human bodies. I think to myself that I just need to get down in one piece, no matter how slowly it goes.
Fifth stage. It's probably the coolest trail of the day, and yesterday's practice run was enjoyable. But today, I'm completely a passenger, and it feels like I'm a cartoon character desperately holding onto the bike as it works its way down the terrain. Fine, I think, and just make sure the bike is going roughly in the right direction. It's not a beautiful or great achievement, but we're done, and that's something.
We mill around the area where results are to be announced and prizes are to be hoisted into the air to thundering applause. Shoulders relax, and there's beer in the sun. We wait. And wait. And wait. And then finally the news comes: There's been a mix-up in the timing on several stages. Everything needs to be double-checked and "quality assured." No results today.
What an anticlimax.
Like the top athletes we are, we fill up with McDonald's in Elverum and point our noses towards Oslo. And with my head full of thoughts about what happened at Trysil Enduro 2023, and my stomach full of ultra-processed junk food, I doze off in the car and have a dream.
I dream of goldfish. Of goldfish from Smestad. Or were they goldfish from Poland? They swim around in their aquarium happy and content. They don't care how fast they swim or what's around the next bend. They just take it as it comes. They float through life. It's a good dream, and for a moment I wish I could be a goldfish too.
I wake up as the G-forces in the car have increased after Fredrik is now looking for an alternative route to Oslo through densely populated areas. As we speed through the village, Fredrik talks about the days he worked at Bring, and I realize this is probably the most dangerous part of the entire trip.
The house is dark when I get home. It's usually quiet, but tonight I hear a loud humming from the kitchen. I smell a rat, and inside I find a sad little aquarium with a circulation pump that makes the walls shake.
The two goldfish from Smestad seem indifferent, but I immediately understand that this won't do. If we're going to have an aquarium, then we're going to have a proper aquarium.
The goldfish are exactly the distraction I need. A new project. I forget all about the Trysil thing and only think about fish. I google cool aquariums and immerse myself in aquascaping, fish, and plants. Trysil Enduro, what's that? Who won? Who cares?
The aquarium spark is by no means extinguished when I wake up the next day, and I put my partner, children, and goldfish in the car and head towards the place where dreams come true, PetXL at ALNA Center.
The aquarium guy at PetXL doesn't hold back and goes hard. Both the aquarium and the goldfish from Smestad are completely wrong. He's kind enough not to call us incompetent amateurs, but I can see that's what he's thinking. The aquarium is far too small, and the goldfish will only cause problems.
I know how to be a customer in a specialty store. You should be humble, eager to learn, and open. The result is always better if you listen to the experts and ask them what they would do. People become incredibly fond of you if you get them to talk about their passion.
The aquarium guy takes the bait and becomes our very best friend for forty-five minutes. He recommends the perfect setup. A setup he actually has himself. Everyone is just super happy. We laugh and joke. And I haven't given a thought to Trysil Enduro in almost twenty-four hours. Aquariums work!
We're having so much fun that the aquarium guy forgets to scan half of our items. He eventually realizes it, but just can't be bothered to correct it, and I think it's because he knows he has created new aquarium people, and perhaps because it's not his shop.
Now we're going home to prep our new aquarium and get it ready for fish. The aquarium guy says we can come back in a week, with some water samples, and he'll show us the perfect starter fish. But not some boring fish that everyone has. A really fun fish. A secret he'll only share with us. I'm smiling from ear to ear, imagining having a house full of fun fish. Because if anyone can float through the terrain, it's them!
Photo credits:
- Anna Brandsdal https://annabrandsdal.no/
- Zen Sykkel
