Hi,
I am interested in getting the tri club up and running again. Is there interest
out there?

I would like to hold a meeting to discuss this next month.
Please let me know your thoughts and feelings as I am new to town and don't
really know what worked or did not work in the past.

Thanks,
Marti Riemer-Reiss

THE GRAND COLUMBIAN HALF RON AND FULL IRON RACES NAMED 2005 USAT REGIONAL
CHAMPIONSHIPS – QUALIFIERS FOR 2006 ITU WORLD LONG COURSE CHAMPIONSHIPS IN
CANBERRA AUSTRALIA.


The USA Triathlon -  Pacific Northwest Region has awarded “2005 Regional
Long Course Championship status” to the Grand Columbian Half-Iron Triathlon
–  to be held at Grand Coulee Dam Washington USA on September 17, 2005.  The
Grand Columbian Half Iron Distance now joins the same day Full Iron Distance
as a 2005 USAT regional championship.  The Full Iron race is the 2005
USAT-PNW Ultra Distance Championship.  In 2004 these races, held in North
Central Washington gained instant notoriety for an exceptional quality
venue, professional attention to athlete details, and amazing community
support.  The Grand Columbian will soon enter the lore of great triathlons
as a “must do” race such as Wildflower, IMC or Vineman. Now as USAT regional
championships, the races are Team USA qualifiers and become a stepping stone
to attend the 2006 ITU World Long Course Championships proposed for Canberra
Australia.

As the 2005 USAT PNW Ultra Distance and Long course Championships, the top 5
to 7 USAT member finishers in each distance age group will be highly likely
to secure a spot on 2006 Team USA Long Course.  See www.USATriathlon.org for
details.  This Championship distinction allows top finishers at The Grand
Columbian to attend the “other” ultra distance world championship – 2006 ITU
World Long Course Championships in Canberra, Australia.  As a member of Team
USA the regional athletes will represent the USA in a truly international
competition at the ITU Long Course Standard.  This is a chance to experience
an “Olympics-like” event as a team member representing the USA.

The Grand Columbian is already an international event with a heavy draw from
interior and west coast British Columbia, Alberta and Ontario as well as the
US.  Steve King “the voice of Ironman Canada” will announce the race and the
event coordinates with a number of Canadian triathlon events in 2005. The
Grand Columbian thrives due the enthusiastic sponsorship of Coulee Dam
Federal Credit Union, Colville Tribe Coulee Dam Casino, Safeway, Carb-Boom,
Pacific Health Labratories – makers of Accelerade and Endurox, Weinstein
Beverages of Wenatchee, and the Grand Coulee Dam Chamber of Commerce.  In
order to ensure the best athlete experience possible the total combined
participation of both races is limited to 650 athletes.  These races will
fill in 2005.  All race information may be obtained at
www.thegrandcolumbian.com .  For more information on Team USA go to
www.usatriathlon.org.  For more information on other Regional Championship
go to www.usat-pnw.org

----- Original Message -----

From: Stlthtyr@...

To: BhamTri@yahoogroups.com

Sent: Thursday, November 04, 2004 7:38 AM

Subject: Re: [BhamTri] Victoria and a Bike

Wow, its been a long time since I have contributed to the club I started what seems like ages ago...good to see there are still some emails floating around. I hope everyone is doing well. Myself, I am now working on my PhD in Pharmaceutics (NOT PHARMACY!!) here at UW and the Seattle Marathon as well.

 

Wanted to mention to Allen that I have done the Victoria half...and what I can offer is that you will be riding a three loop bike course that is deceptive. It doesnt seem difficult but suddenly there you are, starting the run, and your legs are mysteriously stiff....oh wait, that was me...yeah, its a great course, run is on trails around the lake, two laps. Not very hilly at all. Just dont underestimate the bike course, its not easy. Its not the best organized beast ever, either. Make sure you pay close attention this coming spring for entry info because it fillsup super quick and they wait till the last minute, usually, to put reg forms online or mail them out. I suggest writing the organizer an email with questions.

 

Hope all is well in Bellingham. I miss it up there. I will be back racing triathlon in 2005, I took this last year off to go to Colorado for work and now I am ready to hit it hard!

 

I miss Barb and the masters swimmers. Give them a big wet kiss for me.

 

Aaron Moss

 

 

 

In a message dated 11/3/2004 11:31:12 PM Pacific Standard Time, pezman74@... writes:

Hello to all!  I have a couple of questions to ask of your vast
knowledge and wisdom.  The first is; Do you know where I can get the
most bang for my buck for a bike?  Mine was recently stolen
(exgirlfriend took it with her) and I am in need of getting a new or
quality used one within the next couple of months and am looking for
ideas.  My second question is; Has anyone done the 1/2 Ironman in
Victoria in June?  If so, how is it?

Thank you for your advice in advance!

Allen





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Hello to all!  I have a couple of questions to ask of your vast
knowledge and wisdom.  The first is; Do you know where I can get the
most bang for my buck for a bike?  Mine was recently stolen
(exgirlfriend took it with her) and I am in need of getting a new or
quality used one within the next couple of months and am looking for
ideas.  My second question is; Has anyone done the 1/2 Ironman in
Victoria in June?  If so, how is it?

Thank you for your advice in advance!

Allen

Could be; I haven't thought that far ahead. But I do like to do these
crazy 'adventure' races that occur in September, and I am also thinking
about that off-road IM in Virginia which I believe is also in September.

In passing, congratulations on organizing what I believe was a very
successful event. I hope it prospers.

Tjalling


-----Original Message-----
From: Jonathan Hoskins [mailto:jonathanhoskins@...]
Sent: Tuesday, October 12, 2004 7:36 AM
To: BhamTri@yahoogroups.com
Subject: RE: [BhamTri] Ralphs 1/2


Tjalling...in for TGC 2005?

Tjalling...in for TGC 2005?

>From: "Tjalling Ypma" <Tjalling.Ypma@...>
>Reply-To: BhamTri@yahoogroups.com
>To: <BhamTri@yahoogroups.com>
>Subject: RE: [BhamTri] Ralphs 1/2
>Date: Tue, 12 Oct 2004 07:58:11 -0700
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>
>I'm thinking about it - give me a call.   Tjalling
>
>
>
>-----Original Message-----
>From: SEAN . [mailto:sea_ney@...]
>Sent: Monday, October 11, 2004 7:23 PM
>To: BhamTri@yahoogroups.com
>Subject: [BhamTri] Ralphs 1/2
>
>
>
>Anyone signed up or wishing to do Ralph's 1/2 IM March 19th?  I'm
>debating getting signed up and with some cold workout days ahead it
>would be a good one to have a person, two, or more to train with in the
>months to come.
>
>
>
>Sean Hackney
>RE/MAX Northwest
>
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> Race Report: Bellingham Traverse
>
> We are fortunate to have a number of quasi-adventure multisport races in the
Northwest. These are races that involve kayaking, mountain biking and trail
running in addition to road biking, but omit the usual swim component of
triathlons. Most participants in these events race on teams, but there is always
a small group of  > '> solos locos> '> , my preferred mode of operation. The Big
Hurt in Port Angeles is the local archetype - it lives up to its name - and I
have also raced The Chase at Hagg Lake every year of its existence. In 2002 the
Bellingham Traverse was added to the list of such races, but until this year I
had not been able to fit it into my race calendar, so I was really looking
forward to doing it.
>
> The race starts at a genteel 10:30 am, but don> '> t be fooled - the preceding
hours are devoted to distributing racing gear around town, since this is a
point-to-point race. I dropped off my road and mountain bike gear at Lake
Padden, running shoes at the Teddy Bear Cove parking lot, and a kayak at Marine
Park. It had been raining and blowing hard for days beforehand and it continued
to rain intermittently throughout race day, so it was impossible to find a dry
spot for the race gear. The mountain bike course was clearly going to be a
mudbath, and the sea was a churning mass of broken waves stained brown by the
silt of the flooding Nooksack River. The weather conditions made the choice of
race clothing difficult; I went with tights and a windproof vest over polypro,
and left a wetsuit beside my kayak in case rough sea conditions warranted extra
precautions.
>
> About 25 soloists and twice that number of team racers lined up for the start
outside the Boundary Bay Brewery. There were lots of familiar faces amongst both
the racers and spectators, the latter including my sons who served as my support
team with the kind assistance of Harvey Varga, their designated driver. The
starting sign was given, the fast folks sprinted off down the road, and the rest
of us set off at a more sedate pace for a stately circuit of the Farmer> '> s
Market before heading down the coast on the South Bay Trail. Ten minutes into
the run loud blasts of a locomotive horn gave notice of a train about to cross
our path; half the field had to stop and wait for the railway crossing to clear
while the fast guys who had already crossed the tracks extended their lead. I
didn> '> t mind, since it gave me the opportunity to answer a call of nature
without really losing any ground to the competition. Then it was on through
Boulevard Park, across the newly opened boardwalk to the Taylor Street Dock, and
on into Fairhaven at an easy pace.
>
> Once we turned inland I finally began to make headway in the field, gradually
passing a succession of runners who had gone out a bit too fast. I felt strong
as we passed under I-5 and began the long climb to Lake Padden. I was glad to
get the steep hardtop road behind me, though the stretch up the graveled trail
beside Padden Creek also took its toll. The on-going rain and wind kept me cool
on my circuit of the lake to the bike transition at the softball fields. It felt
like more than the advertised 6 miles but it only took me 56 minutes to get
there, and the route is really very pretty. I quickly consumed a gel and tossed
my muddy running shoes over the fence to my sons before setting off on the
mountain bike.
>
> The > mountain bike segment was something of a disaster for me. I am not much
good on technical terrain at the best of times, and in these wet conditions I
really floundered. Stuff I can usually power through defeated me, my heart-rate
rocketed as I fought the hills, and I found myself plodding slowly over slick
obstacles and uphills instead of attacking them aggressively on the bike. I was
even slow and timid on the downhills; I rode the course like a wimp. Things got
better towards the end where the riding is less technical and I could use raw
power; I finally began to get up some speed, stopped shirking the mud, and found
the motivation to plo> ugh through the wallows and power up the slippery climbs
on the ridge trail. Though I finally began passing other riders I was glad to
have it over with when I got back to transition, having taken 50 minutes for
those 6 miles and lost much time to more competent riders. I was thoroughly
disgusted with my gutless performance.
>
> I only had to drop my mountain bike and grab the tri bike to be off again,
this time for my favorite part of any race: the road bike. The 16 mile course
was very familiar ground for me, and I know just how hard I can go on this
stretch. I began by dropping a bunch of racers fumbling about at transition,
catching a few more on the way up to Galbraith Mountain and the long descent
down to Lake Samish. The new chip seal on the road was an unpleasant surprise,
making my bike shudder wildly and causing me much concern about traction and
loose gravel. I rode cautiously but continued to carve my way through the
scattered field as we circled the lake and climbed steadily back up to the
freeway. It was easy to tell which of the racers I passed were soloists; the
mountain bike ride had left them covered in decorative mud streaks. The rollers
of Old Samish Way just begged to be hammered, and I was glad to oblige. By the
time I got to the Teddy Bear Cove parking lot I had restored some of my pride, I
had a bike split to rival that of the Cat. 1 riders in the race and I had fought
my way back into contention for division honors.
>
> I handed off the bike to my crew, donned trail shoes and set off for the three
mile run to Marine Park. The first uphill took some doing after my exertions on
the bike, but things improved as I ran down the familiar muddy trail through
Arroyo Canyon and followed the Interurban Trail to Fairhaven. I had passed
several fast-running friends on the bike leg, and was anxious to keep ahead of
them, so knowing this was almost the last run I pushed this portion as hard as I
could. I began to drag a bit as I neared the park, but the sight of my boys
beside my kayak, ready to hand me my gear, spurred on a final effort.
>
> The organizers had wisely decided to eliminate the Post Point buoy from the
kayak course due to the wild conditions out there, so I followed a stream of
boats heading in the general direction of the GP buoy. We couldn> '> t actually
see the buoy and nobody was quite sure where to find it, so we floundered about
in vaguely the right direction while trying to stay upright in the big following
seas. It was one of those days that show that my time as a beach bum in South
Africa had not been entirely misspent; I> '> ve made all the standard surf kayak
mistakes, as well as plenty of non-standard ones, and learnt to exploit the
waves rather than fight them. I made excellent progress surfing down the
wavefronts, though not without anxious moments when I would have liked to see
rescue craft nearby. I was relieved to pass by the GP buoy, where the marker
balloons had been destroyed by the weather, and head inshore towards calmer
waters. Just off the harbor we turned down the coast to run headfirst into the
waves, making me wish I had taken the time to fix a sprayskirt over the cockpit.
But I love to get water over the bow, feel the boat pitch, and hear the bow
smack onto the surface. The kayak cut through the waves beautifully, very little
water came on board, and as we neared the Taylor Street Dock the weather
suddenly turned dead calm. It was a classic sunny duckpond paddle back to
Cornwall Beach.
>
> Few things beat the delightful sensation of trying to run on battered legs
that have just enjoyed an hour of minimal blood circulation, motionless in the
tight confines of a kayak. It is really weird; you know you have legs but you
can> '> t control them. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I could stand up
as I got out of the kayak, but my initial attempt to run was laughable. I was
just able to stagger up the street, doing the drunken-man> '> s shuffle.
Fortunately I have experienced this before, so I knew things would improve in
due course, and they duly did. Once at the top of Wharf Street I felt back to
normal, there was only a half mile left to run, and I was not about to let
anybody catch me before the finish. I picked up the pace, dashed round the
Market, turned the last corner and opened her up down the finish straight as I
heard the race announcer say > "> And here we have another soloist> ...> uhm>
...> uhm> ...> whose name I can> '> t pronounce> "> . So much for my fifteen
minutes of fame. I came 13th out of 25 soloists, in a time of 4:16 and change.
>
>
>

> Race Report: Mt. Baker Hill Climb
>
> I always look forward to the September race calendar, even though the
triathlon scene in the Pacific Northwest is usually shutting down by then as the
water temperatures drop. To compensate for that we have a rash of other off-beat
events to entertain us and stretch the endurance racing season.
>
> Thus it was that I found myself on Saturday morning two weeks ago standing in
the half-dark and pouring rain as I registered for the Mt. Baker Hill Climb.
This is a bike race that replaces the now defunct DUMB ride (down-and-up Mt.
Baker, in that order - the acronym says it all). The event is very simple: ride
from Glacier to Artist> '> s Point, the highest point reachable by road on Mt.
Baker, climbing 4300> '>  over a distance of 24.5 miles on highway 542
(geddit?). It was amazing to see over a hundred people show up on race day,
despite extreme conditions on the mountain earlier in the week threatening race
cancellation, and the cold deluge on race morning itself. The ski area reported
that conditions on top were tolerable; I guess that means that it wasn> '> t
actually snowing yet, so the race was on.
>
> We lined up some way down the road from Glacier (to get in the exact 24.5
miles, you understand) and set off with the usual click of cleats into pedals
and jostling for position. Since my most recent ironman race was only two weeks
in the past I was not sure what my legs would be able to do, so I let the fast
pacelines go ahead. The field dispersed remarkably rapidly as I settled into a
comfortable rhythm and found my pace. It felt good to warm up after standing
around in the cold and wet for so long, though I was glad to be wearing a jacket
and tights in the continuing downpour. I soon found myself trading places with
Tammy Bennett, who was hammering through the early rolling sections of the
course at a very respectable pace. I had the advantage of aerobars, giving me an
edge on the flats and downhills, but she was pushing hard up the climbs. I
thought I had dropped her on the long fast flats just before the serious
climbing begins, so I was surprised to hear her right behind me as the road
headed skywards. She politely asked my permission to ride on my wheel for the
big climb, having had very little experience of pacing herself. I was of course
pleased to have her company and subtle pressure.
>
> The road was awash with water, and the air so thick with fog and rain that you
could scarcely see more than a hundred meters ahead. The world shrank to a small
gray bubble, with the glistening road running up the middle and dark cliffs and
trees shedding water on either side. The only sound was the rushing water, our
tires parting the waves, and our labored breathing. I sat in the small chainring
and maintained a steady level of effort, focusing on spinning smoothly uphill
while staying comfortably aerobic and relaxed. Despite the fact that I was
riding my triathlon bike with the standard racing cassette I found the gradient
surprisingly easy; the few times I stood on the pedals it was more to get a
change of posture and stretch the legs than a need to exert more torque.
>
> Every now and then a rider would emerge from the mists ahead; we would
gradually catch up, exchange greetings as we passed, and then he would slowly
disappear behind us. It was a process that was repeated again and again; our
deliberate pacing was spot-on and we spun our way past a long succession of
struggling riders while staying strong ourselves. It soon emerged that Tammy was
the leading female rider, and she got some respectful compliments from the guys
we passed - including her rather surprised husband - as we steadily advanced
through the field. I invited those whom we passed to join the train, but
apparently nobody could hold our wheels as we steamed up the wet hill.
>
> I still felt fine when the upper ski station emerged through the mist. The
last few miles from there to the top are steep and exposed, the rain was not
letting up, and the altitude caused the temperatures to drop to near f> reezing.
Fortunately there was no wind, so our exertions were enough to keep us warm. It
may have been a blessing not to be able to see much of that final winding climb;
life was reduced to sustaining the cadence up the relentless gradient into the
fog while disposing of a few more weary warriors fighting up the steep hairpins.
I recognized the last hairpin, pushed a little harder on the last long incline,
turned through the final curve and yelled > '> Sprint!> '>  to Tammy as the
ghostly figures lining the finish loomed dimly through the swirling gray mists.
We sprinted, and surged across the line just seconds under the two hour mark. It
was a new course record for the recreational women, set in impressively powerful
and controlled style in very trying circumstances: while I hadn't really pushed
myself I never backed off, and Tammy hung right in there. It was all the more
impressive in that Tammy has very little road riding experience, doing virtually
all her training by teaching spinning classes at the Y.
>
> It was terribly cold on top; I was told later that they measured 2.5 inches of
rain and a temperature of 40F at the ski lodge. Many of the riders, soaked with
sweat and rain, were hypothermic when they arrived at the finish and had to be
hurried down to the lodge in cars in order to recover. I had sent a bag of warm
clothing to the top, so I was soon wearing several layers of fleece and polypro
under a dry jacket and windproof tights. I needed lots of protective gear,
including woolly hat and waterproof gloves, because to enjoy the full race
experience it was my intention to ride back down to Glacier on the bike instead
of sharing a ride in one of the vehicles going down the hill.
>
> I must admit that the return journey was not a pleasure. I was shivering with
cold and felt near my physical and mental limits. The road was running with
water; bike control was extremely dubious and the brakes were largely
ineffective. It was a matter of crawling downhill carefully, never being able to
relax or allow any speed to accumulate. It turns out that this was fortunate; I
discovered the next day that my headset was ruined so flying through curves at
high speed might have had unpleasant consequences. It got steadily warmer as I
dropped down the mountain, but I regretted not putting on booties at the top -
sensation in my toes died long before I reached Glacier. I was wet and weary and
cold but nevertheless very pleased with myself as I washed back into town. I
felt I had ridden well, stood up to a tough test, and was delighted to have had
a role in Tammy> '> s triumph.

----- Original Message -----

From: Tjalling Ypma

To: bhamtri@yahoogroups.com ; steve@... ; rickjhill@...

Cc: iebe.ypma@... ; bypma@... ; cwn@... ; Teresa Sherwood ; Margaret Gegenhuber ; Esther Harris ; Donna Le Blonde ; Angela Vandenhaak ; jenbaer@... ; pdoyon@...

Sent: Tuesday, September 21, 2004 9:55 AM

Subject: [BhamTri] Race report: Almere Holland Long Distance Triathlon

> Race Report: Almere Holland Long Distance Triathlon
>
> You> '> d better like bananas if you do the iron-distance race in Almere, because that is the only food you get on the bike course. In a strange Dutch variation on Henry Ford (> '> you can have any color you want so long as it> '> s black> '> ) you can take your pick of the bananas offered at armslength at the aid stations -  I always went for the one offered by the prettiest girl - but it> '> s bananas or nothing. And when I say banana, I mean the whole thing; either you rapidly acquire the fine art of peeling a banana while riding your bike, or you starve. Having chosen survival, you then have to decide what to do with the limp peel left dangling from your hand; dare one risk a littering offence ?
>
> The challenges of doing an overseas race are many. They begin with the hassle of getting your bike there, involving much schlepping of outsize baggage through airport labyrinths, delicate negotiations to avoid paying excess luggage fees, and wondering where to find your trusty ride once you arrive since the bike box obviously doesn> '> t fit on the luggage carousel. Then you face the problem of acquiring new CO2 cylinders, which are forbidden aboard flights. There is also the question of what nutrition is provided on the course, typically featuring local drinks and gels of mysterious composition. Even knowing the product brand names in Almere was not very helpful, since the relevant product websites are strong on hype but devoid of useful data. Having brought along plenty of my own gels provided me with welcome relief from the unexpected banana diet, but I never did find out what was in the drink we were served on the Almere course, in terms of calories or electrolytes. And how many calories are there in a banana anyway?
>
> This was my fifth iron-distance race, the previous four all being Ironman North America productions. The Almere race was run under Dutch rules, which differ in at least two major respects from the USAT rules: the draft zone is 10 meters behind the rear wheel (you get 30 seconds to clear it), and you are not allowed to crawl during the marathon - no Julie Moss dramas here ! The time limit is 15 hours, and the entry fee is only E 125. The race drew about 350 competitors, of whom around 275 finished; it was disappointing to see how few women (at most 25) participated. Maybe the tighter time limit constrains the variation in levels of ability and hence the wider participation one sees at US events. One advantage of the small number of entrants is that things are generally low-key, with personal attention from friendly volunteers and officials for every athlete. On the other hand some of the organizational detail and information necessary for big international-level races was missing, and making incorrect assumptions left me to discover several important things (like the banana diet) the hard way. By virtue of a US home address I was treated as a foreign entry; your humble scribe (classified as Japanese by the US INS) is a citizen of the Netherlands, speaks the language fluently and has a name instantly identifiable as Fries, but has never had the pleasure of living in his native country.
>
> Almere is a very new town, featuring some interesting modern architecture and planning concepts. It is situated on the southern shore of the pancake-flat Flevoland polder, which was the bottom of the Zuiderzee until drained midway through the last century. Much of the course is accordingly below sea > level, there are no hills and few trees. Nor is there any shelter from the wind, whose omnipresence is attested to by the long line of wind turbines running the length of the dike. That wind put on an awesome display on the day prior to the race, churning the sea into froth and whipping the rain horizontally across the grassy transition area where we were racking our bikes. At the pre-race meeting, hosted by Dutch triathlon legend Rob Barel, there was no mention of canceling the swim if conditions were too rough; apparently we would swim regardless of>  the weather. We were however told that if we saw lightning while on the bike we should immediately lie down flat at least 10 meters from the bike and wait until the danger had passed. Failure to do so would result in getting fried or DQed; quite possibly both. Time penalties were to be served in the sin bin, prominently located in front of the bleachers and very much in the public and TV eye; the disgraced offenders would not be permitted to do anything whilst incarcerated except possibly, if they asked very nicely, go take a pee.
>
> Race day brought the first sunny windstill morning of the whole week I had been in the Netherlands; I was relieved at the sight of the calm seas. I discovered at the last minute that I could transition at either the bike racks or in the change tent, resulting in hurried adjustments to my transition bags so I could do most of the changeovers using gear left beside my bike. Then I was into my ancient wetsuit, over the timing mats and out onto the wooden jetty jutting out into the harbor where our swim would start and end. This jetty juts out from the inner quay of the harbor, a wide promenade lined with shops and apartments in front of which the race bleachers look out over the start and finish area. The harbor is more of a recreational marina than a commercial harbor, and many of the pleasure craft were packed with spectators for the race. We stumbled down steep stairs to the chilly water and swam to the start line on the other side of the jetty, with the pro> '> s getting only a five meter head-start on the age-groupers. Without further ceremony the starting gun was fired and the familiar thrashing commenced.
>
> The swim starts by following the twisting entrance channel between the breakwaters out to the freshwater sea. Finding your way down this channel when your eyes are at water-level and you are in the midst of hundreds of flailing arms and legs is something of a challenge. I did the usual thing: head in the direction of the majority of the heads and splashes ahead and hope somebody up there knows what he is doing. I found myself scraping over the rocks of the breakwater at one point, hearing the warning shouts of onlookers on the shore above too late, but fortunately came to no harm. Soon I was at the outside buoy where we turned eastward to swim a mile directly into the rising sun, once again rendering me navigationally clueless apart from following the bobbing yellow swim caps ahead. The small field dispersed quite rapidly once we got out of the channel, so there was relatively little body contact and not much opportunity to draft. The water, while very clean, only offered about one meter of visibility underwater.
>
> The Almere race is apparently treated as a training exercise by the Netherlands military. Rumor had it that there were 80 frogmen deployed in the water, and every rescue Zodiac in the country seemed to be lining the swim course. Every time I breathed I found myself staring into the faces of burly men clad in bright orange survival suits, eagerly looking for a sign of weakness so they could drag me out of the water to practice their resuscitation techniques. I was glad they were there, not least because they helped define the course. For most of the swim I had very little idea of where I was, mostly because the shore is so flat and featureless. The only useful landmark is a strangely isolated apartment tower located at the entrance to the harbor; I was pleased to see it come steadily closer on the return leg because I began to get very cold in the chilly water. I regretted not bringing my neoprene hood; in bad conditions things could have become very unpleasant. Blindly following the splashes ahead round the big yellow buoys I miraculously found myself back in the harbor channel, with hordes of rowdy spectators urging the athletes on to the end of the swim at the steep wooden steps leading back up to the jetty. >
>
> Standing up and then climbing those steep stairs was not easy; I felt very dizzy and was thankful for the volunteers who helped me up and kept me from tripping over my own feet. The time displayed on the race clock was disappointing (1:13) but probably reflected navigational befuddlement adding mileage to my swim. I stumbled to the warm showers rigged over the jetty, then tottered over to the tent to get out of my wetsuit and don an extra pair of bike shorts - no wetsuit peelers here! Feeling by then on slightly more even keel, I trotted over to the bike racks in bare feet to get the rest of my riding gear on. A quick dash to the mount line, a slow, unsteady trip over the cobbles and speed-bumps in front of the bleachers as I struggled to readjust to the bike, and we were off again.
>
> The bike course consists of three 60km laps. The route primarily follows minor country roads and bike paths; there are several very sharp corners, some twisty sections with limited visibility and some abrupt surface changes that keep speeds lower than one might expect on a flat course. The only elevation changes occur when you go up or down the dike or cross a bridge over one of the canals draining the polder. The big challenge here is the wind, almost always a westerly off the North Sea that strengthens in the course of the day. Since the return part of each loop is primarily westwards you are almost certain to be fighting a headwind for the last part of each lap, with the worst being saved for the final stretch back to transition. There is much incentive to cover the first two laps fast, in hopes of getting through them before the wind really picks up. That strategy, I was to discover, results in tired legs fighting into the wind in the closing stages of the ride.
>
> The first part of the ride is along a bike path on the seaward side of the dike, with the end of the return trip being on top of that same dike. There were lots of spectators sitting on the grassy bank, enjoying the sun, the passing parade of bikers, a race of traditional Dutch flat-bottom boats taking place just off-shore, and the music and race announcements booming from a succession of speakers strung down the length of the dike. Most of the spectators were armed with an information sheet identifying each racer by name and number, so we got personalized vocal support. I had the unusual experience of hearing my name pronounced correctly numerous times; US race announcers usually lapse into uncomfortable silence when facing that particular challenge. Once off the dike we wound our way through the polder, the surroundings alternating between farmlands and natural areas but always intensely green, sprawling under a vast blue sky, with the flat horizon broken only by the odd church spire, wind turbine, or dark green line of trees. It was a peaceful pastoral scene, dotted with a few cows and drainage ditches and pungent with the smell of manure and hay, making me feel deeply nostalgic for my homeland.
> 
> The field was sparse enough that drafting was scarcely an issue; the motorbike referees had little to do. For a while I feared that I might become a mechanical casualty, since my bike produced some ominous creaks and my left foot seemed to have difficulty retaining contact with the pedal. Fortunately nothing untoward happened; perhaps I had just set my saddle height incorrectly, or fatigue caused my foot to twist in the Speedplays. In fact I did not see any mechanical problems at all, not even a flat tire, all day; the course had been meticulously swept. All the sharp corners and intersections were carefully guarded, often by military personnel, and there was plenty of advance warning of obstacles and aid stations. The latter were much simpler than on the IMNA courses, often with just one person holding out a waterbottle and another wielding the inevitable banana.>
>
> Just before returning to the dike I encountered another unique aspect of the Almere race: there is a designated > '> coach area> '>  at which you can stop to get any assistance you want from anybody you have arranged to meet there. This spot just marked the onset of the last few kilometers for me, heralding a short climb onto the dike, a return to the wide open sea views, and the fast ride through the noisy supportive crowds and frenzy of the race announcer to that strange apartment tower at the harbor and the start of the next lap.
>
> The wind really picked up as the day progressed, making some of the very long straight sections of the course tiring on the last lap. I hunkered down on the aerobars and ground my way along, but my speed and strength declined and I found myself being passed by quite a few riders I had gone by earlier in the race. I still felt good but it was obvious that fatigue was beginning to accumulate, and the countryside lost much of its attraction as I just focused on making progress towards the finish. I was glad to get back onto the dike for the last time, thunder down the road through the crowds of pedestrians and booming sound system, bump my way back over the cobbles, and dismount at transition. I was again somewhat disappointed at my split; 5:51, but that was all my body could do.
>
> My run bag was waiting for me beside my bike, so it took only a quick shoe swap to get me back on the road. There was a little out-and-back in front of the bleachers and then we set off for the first of the three 14km loops we were to run. I do very few training runs of more than 15 miles, since my 50-year-old knees (beat up by many years of back-packing) can> '> t handle it, so the run is always the toughest part of the race for me. The plan was to shuffle along for as many miles as possible, while accepting that a walk was more than likely to feature in the program at some point. So I set off at an embarrassing 6 minutes per kilometer, giving me plenty of time to enjoy banter with the crowds basking in the sun and enjoying the passing scene from their vantage point on the dike. Much of the fun of this part of the journey was due to the commentary of these spectators, entertainingly blunt in their assessment of the passing athletes, particularly when they deemed the performance of their own family participant inadequate in some respect. Many of the good-natured and very colloquial comments were not only untranslatable but unprintable in a family publication; I had many occasions to break into laughter. Even somebody who does not understand the language could not fail to enjoy the supportive atmosphere.
>
> The run goes down the dike for about 3km, then does a 6km loop through a wooded area before returning to the dike for the last 5km back to the harbor and the turn-around in front of the bleachers for the next lap. This naturally breaks the course into short sections, thus making things mentally easier - particularly useful since the aid stations are not as frequent as in IMNA races. A nice Dutch variation on the standard aid station fare was chunks of currant-buns (krentenbollen) which went down quite easily and helped fill the digestive void though perhaps not providing instant energy. I trotted along comfortably enough, being passed by many other participants as well as the winning pro> '> s on their final laps. Looking at the race splits later was interesting; I had expected the Dutch to be particularly good swimmers and bikers, but in fact the run splits were more impressive than the swim and bike times. I was quite happy to complete my first lap in a very modest 1:30, beginning to tire but otherwise still feeling in good shape as I repeated the little out-and-back in front of the noisy bleachers where the winner had just finished his race.
>
> Back down the sunny dike I went, with many of the spectators now recognizing me at my third passage past them, and off into the woods once more. As I approached the halfway mark of the run my legs really began to tire, and in a moment of mental > weakness I made the fatal mistake of walking. Once in walking mode it is very hard to resume running, and so it was for me; most of the rest of the journey was in power-walking mode. I have no real regrets about this, though; walking made it a lot easier to appreciate the experience of being part of this event in my home country, enjoying the sunny day and the wide views over sea and farmland that come with walking on the top of a dike. You could see the finish area from any point on the dike, and the whole length of the dike was dotted with family groups having picnics and making encouraging remarks to the passing runners. It was really quite pleasant, and I happily ambled by the bleachers once more on my way to the final lap, telling my waiting family to get themselves dinner while I soldiered on.
>
> Things definitely became a bit more painful on that last lap. Familiarity with the course helped, as the landmarks marking my progress slipped steadily by. Back onto the dike I finally had the finish in sight, promising welcome relief to those aching muscles and joints. I made my last passage by the hardy spectators who had stuck it out on the dike all day, exchanging salutes as I went, and passed under the arch marking the transition area, enjoying the backslaps of the bystanders. I made the final turn towards the bleachers and the finish line. Then total confusion, because suddenly I found myself on one side of the barriers, with the finish arch on the other side of the fence, and it looked like I was going to be sent off to walk yet another lap! My brain must have been fried by then, because I couldn> '> t figure it out, but the one thing I knew for sure was that there was no way I was going to walk any further. I figured that somebody had misdirected me, and so I did the obvious thing: climb over the barrier. Officials scurried to correct me; it turned out that I was supposed to run past the end of the bleachers, then turn and run through the finish from the other end ! To the great amusement of the watching crowd I was ignominiously ordered back over the fence and sheepishly escorted down the proper channels.
>
> My irritation at the lack of direction quickly dissipated when I saw my three boys waiting for me at the turn-around. As I passed them and turned towards the finish they ran out to join me. Holding hands we sped down those last few meters, up the ramp to the arch, and over the line together. The memories of that very unique day and crossing the finish line of the premier race in my native land together with my sons will always be priceless.
>

> Race Report: Almere Holland Long Distance Triathlon
>
> You> '> d better like bananas if you do the iron-distance race in Almere,
because that is the only food you get on the bike course. In a strange Dutch
variation on Henry Ford (> '> you can have any color you want so long as it> '>
s black> '> ) you can take your pick of the bananas offered at armslength at the
aid stations -  I always went for the one offered by the prettiest girl - but
it> '> s bananas or nothing. And when I say banana, I mean the whole thing;
either you rapidly acquire the fine art of peeling a banana while riding your
bike, or you starve. Having chosen survival, you then have to decide what to do
with the limp peel left dangling from your hand; dare one risk a littering
offence ?
>
> The challenges of doing an overseas race are many. They begin with the hassle
of getting your bike there, involving much schlepping of outsize baggage through
airport labyrinths, delicate negotiations to avoid paying excess luggage fees,
and wondering where to find your trusty ride once you arrive since the bike box
obviously doesn> '> t fit on the luggage carousel. Then you face the problem of
acquiring new CO2 cylinders, which are forbidden aboard flights. There is also
the question of what nutrition is provided on the course, typically featuring
local drinks and gels of mysterious composition. Even knowing the product brand
names in Almere was not very helpful, since the relevant product websites are
strong on hype but devoid of useful data. Having brought along plenty of my own
gels provided me with welcome relief from the unexpected banana diet, but I
never did find out what was in the drink we were served on the Almere course, in
terms of calories or electrolytes. And how many calories are there in a banana
anyway?
>
> This was my fifth iron-distance race, the previous four all being Ironman
North America productions. The Almere race was run under Dutch rules, which
differ in at least two major respects from the USAT rules: the draft zone is 10
meters behind the rear wheel (you get 30 seconds to clear it), and you are not
allowed to crawl during the marathon - no Julie Moss dramas here ! The time
limit is 15 hours, and the entry fee is only E 125. The race drew about 350
competitors, of whom around 275 finished; it was disappointing to see how few
women (at most 25) participated. Maybe the tighter time limit constrains the
variation in levels of ability and hence the wider participation one sees at US
events. One advantage of the small number of entrants is that things are
generally low-key, with personal attention from friendly volunteers and
officials for every athlete. On the other hand some of the organizational detail
and information necessary for big international-level races was missing, and
making incorrect assumptions left me to discover several important things (like
the banana diet) the hard way. By virtue of a US home address I was treated as a
foreign entry; your humble scribe (classified as Japanese by the US INS) is a
citizen of the Netherlands, speaks the language fluently and has a name
instantly identifiable as Fries, but has never had the pleasure of living in his
native country.
>
> Almere is a very new town, featuring some interesting modern architecture and
planning concepts. It is situated on the southern shore of the pancake-flat
Flevoland polder, which was the bottom of the Zuiderzee until drained midway
through the last century. Much of the course is accordingly below sea > level,
there are no hills and few trees. Nor is there any shelter from the wind, whose
omnipresence is attested to by the long line of wind turbines running the length
of the dike. That wind put on an awesome display on the day prior to the race,
churning the sea into froth and whipping the rain horizontally across the grassy
transition area where we were racking our bikes. At the pre-race meeting, hosted
by Dutch triathlon legend Rob Barel, there was no mention of canceling the swim
if conditions were too rough; apparently we would swim regardless of>  the
weather. We were however told that if we saw lightning while on the bike we
should immediately lie down flat at least 10 meters from the bike and wait until
the danger had passed. Failure to do so would result in getting fried or DQed;
quite possibly both. Time penalties were to be served in the sin bin,
prominently located in front of the bleachers and very much in the public and TV
eye; the disgraced offenders would not be permitted to do anything whilst
incarcerated except possibly, if they asked very nicely, go take a pee.
>
> Race day brought the first sunny windstill morning of the whole week I had
been in the Netherlands; I was relieved at the sight of the calm seas. I
discovered at the last minute that I could transition at either the bike racks
or in the change tent, resulting in hurried adjustments to my transition bags so
I could do most of the changeovers using gear left beside my bike. Then I was
into my ancient wetsuit, over the timing mats and out onto the wooden jetty
jutting out into the harbor where our swim would start and end. This jetty juts
out from the inner quay of the harbor, a wide promenade lined with shops and
apartments in front of which the race bleachers look out over the start and
finish area. The harbor is more of a recreational marina than a commercial
harbor, and many of the pleasure craft were packed with spectators for the race.
We stumbled down steep stairs to the chilly water and swam to the start line on
the other side of the jetty, with the pro> '> s getting only a five meter
head-start on the age-groupers. Without further ceremony the starting gun was
fired and the familiar thrashing commenced.
>
> The swim starts by following the twisting entrance channel between the
breakwaters out to the freshwater sea. Finding your way down this channel when
your eyes are at water-level and you are in the midst of hundreds of flailing
arms and legs is something of a challenge. I did the usual thing: head in the
direction of the majority of the heads and splashes ahead and hope somebody up
there knows what he is doing. I found myself scraping over the rocks of the
breakwater at one point, hearing the warning shouts of onlookers on the shore
above too late, but fortunately came to no harm. Soon I was at the outside buoy
where we turned eastward to swim a mile directly into the rising sun, once again
rendering me navigationally clueless apart from following the bobbing yellow
swim caps ahead. The small field dispersed quite rapidly once we got out of the
channel, so there was relatively little body contact and not much opportunity to
draft. The water, while very clean, only offered about one meter of visibility
underwater.
>
> The Almere race is apparently treated as a training exercise by the
Netherlands military. Rumor had it that there were 80 frogmen deployed in the
water, and every rescue Zodiac in the country seemed to be lining the swim
course. Every time I breathed I found myself staring into the faces of burly men
clad in bright orange survival suits, eagerly looking for a sign of weakness so
they could drag me out of the water to practice their resuscitation techniques.
I was glad they were there, not least because they helped define the course. For
most of the swim I had very little idea of where I was, mostly because the shore
is so flat and featureless. The only useful landmark is a strangely isolated
apartment tower located at the entrance to the harbor; I was pleased to see it
come steadily closer on the return leg because I began to get very cold in the
chilly water. I regretted not bringing my neoprene hood; in bad conditions
things could have become very unpleasant. Blindly following the splashes ahead
round the big yellow buoys I miraculously found myself back in the harbor
channel, with hordes of rowdy spectators urging the athletes on to the end of
the swim at the steep wooden steps leading back up to the jetty. >
>
> Standing up and then climbing those steep stairs was not easy; I felt very
dizzy and was thankful for the volunteers who helped me up and kept me from
tripping over my own feet. The time displayed on the race clock was
disappointing (1:13) but probably reflected navigational befuddlement adding
mileage to my swim. I stumbled to the warm showers rigged over the jetty, then
tottered over to the tent to get out of my wetsuit and don an extra pair of bike
shorts - no wetsuit peelers here! Feeling by then on slightly more even keel, I
trotted over to the bike racks in bare feet to get the rest of my riding gear
on. A quick dash to the mount line, a slow, unsteady trip over the cobbles and
speed-bumps in front of the bleachers as I struggled to readjust to the bike,
and we were off again.
>
> The bike course consists of three 60km laps. The route primarily follows minor
country roads and bike paths; there are several very sharp corners, some twisty
sections with limited visibility and some abrupt surface changes that keep
speeds lower than one might expect on a flat course. The only elevation changes
occur when you go up or down the dike or cross a bridge over one of the canals
draining the polder. The big challenge here is the wind, almost always a
westerly off the North Sea that strengthens in the course of the day. Since the
return part of each loop is primarily westwards you are almost certain to be
fighting a headwind for the last part of each lap, with the worst being saved
for the final stretch back to transition. There is much incentive to cover the
first two laps fast, in hopes of getting through them before the wind really
picks up. That strategy, I was to discover, results in tired legs fighting into
the wind in the closing stages of the ride.
>
> The first part of the ride is along a bike path on the seaward side of the
dike, with the end of the return trip being on top of that same dike. There were
lots of spectators sitting on the grassy bank, enjoying the sun, the passing
parade of bikers, a race of traditional Dutch flat-bottom boats taking place
just off-shore, and the music and race announcements booming from a succession
of speakers strung down the length of the dike. Most of the spectators were
armed with an information sheet identifying each racer by name and number, so we
got personalized vocal support. I had the unusual experience of hearing my name
pronounced correctly numerous times; US race announcers usually lapse into
uncomfortable silence when facing that particular challenge. Once off the dike
we wound our way through the polder, the surroundings alternating between
farmlands and natural areas but always intensely green, sprawling under a vast
blue sky, with the flat horizon broken only by the odd church spire, wind
turbine, or dark green line of trees. It was a peaceful pastoral scene, dotted
with a few cows and drainage ditches and pungent with the smell of manure and
hay, making me feel deeply nostalgic for my homeland.
>
> The field was sparse enough that drafting was scarcely an issue; the motorbike
referees had little to do. For a while I feared that I might become a mechanical
casualty, since my bike produced some ominous creaks and my left foot seemed to
have difficulty retaining contact with the pedal. Fortunately nothing untoward
happened; perhaps I had just set my saddle height incorrectly, or fatigue caused
my foot to twist in the Speedplays. In fact I did not see any mechanical
problems at all, not even a flat tire, all day; the course had been meticulously
swept. All the sharp corners and intersections were carefully guarded, often by
military personnel, and there was plenty of advance warning of obstacles and aid
stations. The latter were much simpler than on the IMNA courses, often with just
one person holding out a waterbottle and another wielding the inevitable
banana.>
>
> Just before returning to the dike I encountered another unique aspect of the
Almere race: there is a designated > '> coach area> '>  at which you can stop to
get any assistance you want from anybody you have arranged to meet there. This
spot just marked the onset of the last few kilometers for me, heralding a short
climb onto the dike, a return to the wide open sea views, and the fast ride
through the noisy supportive crowds and frenzy of the race announcer to that
strange apartment tower at the harbor and the start of the next lap.
>
> The wind really picked up as the day progressed, making some of the very long
straight sections of the course tiring on the last lap. I hunkered down on the
aerobars and ground my way along, but my speed and strength declined and I found
myself being passed by quite a few riders I had gone by earlier in the race. I
still felt good but it was obvious that fatigue was beginning to accumulate, and
the countryside lost much of its attraction as I just focused on making progress
towards the finish. I was glad to get back onto the dike for the last time,
thunder down the road through the crowds of pedestrians and booming sound
system, bump my way back over the cobbles, and dismount at transition. I was
again somewhat disappointed at my split; 5:51, but that was all my body could
do.
>
> My run bag was waiting for me beside my bike, so it took only a quick shoe
swap to get me back on the road. There was a little out-and-back in front of the
bleachers and then we set off for the first of the three 14km loops we were to
run. I do very few training runs of more than 15 miles, since my 50-year-old
knees (beat up by many years of back-packing) can> '> t handle it, so the run is
always the toughest part of the race for me. The plan was to shuffle along for
as many miles as possible, while accepting that a walk was more than likely to
feature in the program at some point. So I set off at an embarrassing 6 minutes
per kilometer, giving me plenty of time to enjoy banter with the crowds basking
in the sun and enjoying the passing scene from their vantage point on the dike.
Much of the fun of this part of the journey was due to the commentary of these
spectators, entertainingly blunt in their assessment of the passing athletes,
particularly when they deemed the performance of their own family participant
inadequate in some respect. Many of the good-natured and very colloquial
comments were not only untranslatable but unprintable in a family publication; I
had many occasions to break into laughter. Even somebody who does not understand
the language could not fail to enjoy the supportive atmosphere.
>
> The run goes down the dike for about 3km, then does a 6km loop through a
wooded area before returning to the dike for the last 5km back to the harbor and
the turn-around in front of the bleachers for the next lap. This naturally
breaks the course into short sections, thus making things mentally easier -
particularly useful since the aid stations are not as frequent as in IMNA races.
A nice Dutch variation on the standard aid station fare was chunks of
currant-buns (krentenbollen) which went down quite easily and helped fill the
digestive void though perhaps not providing instant energy. I trotted along
comfortably enough, being passed by many other participants as well as the
winning pro> '> s on their final laps. Looking at the race splits later was
interesting; I had expected the Dutch to be particularly good swimmers and
bikers, but in fact the run splits were more impressive than the swim and bike
times. I was quite happy to complete my first lap in a very modest 1:30,
beginning to tire but otherwise still feeling in good shape as I repeated the
little out-and-back in front of the noisy bleachers where the winner had just
finished his race.
>
> Back down the sunny dike I went, with many of the spectators now recognizing
me at my third passage past them, and off into the woods once more. As I
approached the halfway mark of the run my legs really began to tire, and in a
moment of mental > weakness I made the fatal mistake of walking. Once in walking
mode it is very hard to resume running, and so it was for me; most of the rest
of the journey was in power-walking mode. I have no real regrets about this,
though; walking made it a lot easier to appreciate the experience of being part
of this event in my home country, enjoying the sunny day and the wide views over
sea and farmland that come with walking on the top of a dike. You could see the
finish area from any point on the dike, and the whole length of the dike was
dotted with family groups having picnics and making encouraging remarks to the
passing runners. It was really quite pleasant, and I happily ambled by the
bleachers once more on my way to the final lap, telling my waiting family to get
themselves dinner while I soldiered on.
>
> Things definitely became a bit more painful on that last lap. Familiarity with
the course helped, as the landmarks marking my progress slipped steadily by.
Back onto the dike I finally had the finish in sight, promising welcome relief
to those aching muscles and joints. I made my last passage by the hardy
spectators who had stuck it out on the dike all day, exchanging salutes as I
went, and passed under the arch marking the transition area, enjoying the
backslaps of the bystanders. I made the final turn towards the bleachers and the
finish line. Then total confusion, because suddenly I found myself on one side
of the barriers, with the finish arch on the other side of the fence, and it
looked like I was going to be sent off to walk yet another lap! My brain must
have been fried by then, because I couldn> '> t figure it out, but the one thing
I knew for sure was that there was no way I was going to walk any further. I
figured that somebody had misdirected me, and so I did the obvious thing: climb
over the barrier. Officials scurried to correct me; it turned out that I was
supposed to run past the end of the bleachers, then turn and run through the
finish from the other end ! To the great amusement of the watching crowd I was
ignominiously ordered back over the fence and sheepishly escorted down the
proper channels.
>
> My irritation at the lack of direction quickly dissipated when I saw my three
boys waiting for me at the turn-around. As I passed them and turned towards the
finish they ran out to join me. Holding hands we sped down those last few
meters, up the ramp to the arch, and over the line together. The memories of
that very unique day and crossing the finish line of the premier race in my
native land together with my sons will always be priceless.
>

Guys:

I need somebody to act as my 'second' on race day (Saturday 18 Sept.) That means
driving my van (and kids) around, dropping off and collecting bikes and kayaks
at various places, etc. Any volunteers out there ?

Tjalling Ypma

Can anyone drive my truck with the safety kayaks to Columbia River Gorge on
September 16th and return after the race?

If so contact Tim Niemier 360 715 9570 or tim@...


On 9/7/04 1:41 AM, "BhamTri@yahoogroups.com" <BhamTri@yahoogroups.com>
wrote:

>
> There is 1 message in this issue.
>
> Topics in this digest:
>
>       1. Grand Columbian Partner - Swimmer-  wants to find biker/runner for
> 'fun' relay
>            From: "Jonathan Hoskins" <jonathanhoskins@...>
>
>
> ________________________________________________________________________
> ________________________________________________________________________
>
> Message: 1
>    Date: Mon, 06 Sep 2004 17:47:08 +0000
>    From: "Jonathan Hoskins" <jonathanhoskins@...>
> Subject: Grand Columbian Partner - Swimmer-  wants to find biker/runner for
> 'fun' relay
>
> One of the entrants' wife is a swimmer who has contacted me.  She thought it
> would be fun to hook up with a biker (56 miles) and a runner (13.1) and do
> the Grand Columbian Relay (we currently have 11 teams).   Can be one person
> (both legs) or two.  Maybe the ad should be "swimmer looking for a long
> course duathlete" for a fun time.  contact me at info@thegrandcolumbian.
>
> 330 athletes have signed up in total.  We can accommodate 40 more half-iron
> participants and 50 iron.  Sign up today if you are interested.  This is
> going to be a great day.  Salmon post race, fantastic course, cool schwag,
> over 125 volunteers so far...www.thegrandcolumbian.com
>
>
>
>
> ________________________________________________________________________
> ________________________________________________________________________
>
>
>
> ------------------------------------------------------------------------
> Yahoo! Groups Links
>
>
>
>
> ------------------------------------------------------------------------
>

One of the entrants' wife is a swimmer who has contacted me.  She thought it
would be fun to hook up with a biker (56 miles) and a runner (13.1) and do
the Grand Columbian Relay (we currently have 11 teams).   Can be one person
(both legs) or two.  Maybe the ad should be "swimmer looking for a long
course duathlete" for a fun time.  contact me at info@thegrandcolumbian.

330 athletes have signed up in total.  We can accommodate 40 more half-iron
participants and 50 iron.  Sign up today if you are interested.  This is
going to be a great day.  Salmon post race, fantastic course, cool schwag,
over 125 volunteers so far...www.thegrandcolumbian.com

A cool poster / topographic map of the Ironman Canada race course.
Lots of detail.  2 ft x 3 ft hight so it fits nicely on a door.
Check it out at http://www.ironmap.com/

AJ

I just purchased a wetsuit deal Xterra Vortex women's for Lynne $100.00 no
tax, no shipping (from Virgnia). Retails $295 at TTUnitversity.
www.tribonzai.com under closeouts. Seemed to have good supply choices.

STANDARD REGISTRATION FEES EXTENDED UNTIL SEPT. 9TH
The Grand Columbian Triathlon is extending the deadline for last minute fee
increases.  Originally scheduled to be increased as of August 25th, standard
fees for the Iron, Half Iron and Relay will continue until Sept. 9th.  The
fees schedule for online registration has been adjusted accordingly.  Note:
the fees established for The Grand Columbian Triathlon are "all inclusive".
Fees include race day insurance and there are no additional charges for
on-line registration at www.eventsonline.ca.  USAT annual members, TriBC
members and Alberta BC members will receive a $9.00 rebate at check-in.
Check out the information at www.thegrandcolumbian.com

----- Original Message -----

From: Eric William Michaels

To: BhamTri@yahoogroups.com

Sent: Monday, August 16, 2004 10:06 AM

Subject: [BhamTri] Anyone need a roommate?

Hi,

 

I have recently come to the Bellingham area for graduate school and currently is seeking a place to live.  I am mainly a cyclist, but have dabbled in Tri's though nothing serious.  If anyone knows of anthing or anyone please do not hesistate to contact me, although I have no phone to be reached at so email me back.

 

Thanks!

Eric

 

---

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New and Improved Yahoo! Mail - Send 10MB messages!

----- Original Message -----

From: Eric William Michaels

To: BhamTri@yahoogroups.com

Sent: Monday, August 16, 2004 10:06 AM

Subject: [BhamTri] Anyone need a roommate?

Hi,

 

I have recently come to the Bellingham area for graduate school and currently is seeking a place to live.  I am mainly a cyclist, but have dabbled in Tri's though nothing serious.  If anyone knows of anthing or anyone please do not hesistate to contact me, although I have no phone to be reached at so email me back.

 

Thanks!

Eric

 

---

Do you Yahoo!?
New and Improved Yahoo! Mail - Send 10MB messages!

Update of Training – AUGUST 20,21,22
On Friday August 20 we will to set up a portion the swim course as
identified on the course map.  We will meet and begin swimming at 5:00 PM.
We’ll keep the course set-up through 7:30 PM
On Saturday August 21 athletes will meet at Coulee Playland Resort, Electric
City WA .  We will ensure support is available after 8:00 AM.  Some Iron
distance athletes may be starting at 8:00 AM and everybody else will meet at
   9:00 AM. From there they will ride the Grand Columbian bike course. Due to
the two loop configuration triathletes will have the option of riding 52 or
108 miles at your training level. The training day is an informal event –
self directed by all athletes. However, there will be water, hydration on
the bike route.  Bring sunscreen and hydration packs. Its going to be hot.
On Saturday night there will be an informal BBQ for all athletes, familes
and friends.  Directions will be given at the bike ride.
On Sunday, August 22nd athletes will meet at Melody’s Restaurant Parking Lot
in Coulee Dam at 9:00 AM and go for a run on the 12.5 mile out and back
course along the Columbia River. Water and hydration will be provided.
It would be helpful if athletes coming for the weekend notify us at
info@... or (360) 961-4904 in order to prepare enough
support. Currently it looks at though there will 12-20 people doing at least
the bike ride on Saturday