Yes, the Warrior Dash was fun. But a gimmicky obstacle course race every other weekend makes me grumpy.

The Warrior Dash was a great idea. Stretching it out a little longer into the Spartan Race … also a great idea. But now the participant sports world is awash in the Tough Mudder, the so-called Man Test (the puniest and most ridiculous of the bunch), The Rugged Maniac, etc. etc., ad nauseum ad infinitum.

Not only do they invite us to climb obstacles and get muddy, but now – also gimmicky add-ons like being jolted by electricity, hosed in cold water … and possibly leached and chased by mountain goats injected with family-sized beakers of Viagra.

Event promoters are hosing participants with a lack of creativity.

Event organizers, please try something original. By latching onto the obstacle course craze, you’re diluting the concept. You’re making it boring. You’re becoming another voice in the din.

Put it this way: The guy next to you is playing a violin. You can say “me, too!” and grab a fiddle.

Or you can be really ballsy and whip out a didgeridoo. You just have to use your imagination.

Spartans! Eat hearty, for tonight we dine on ... MUD! (Yes, I know I'm mixing my warrior classes, what with the 300 reference and the faux-viking headgear.)

So who out there did the Warrior Dash? What did you think? Was it really “a hellish 3.4 miles” of running, obstacles and mud?

I took a shot, as you might guess. It’s too fun to be hellish – but it is challenging … and quite a spectacle. I ran in the Arizona edition on May 1. It ran for two days in Florence, just southeast of Phoenix. (Find a Warrior Dash near you) Here are a few thoughts from being part of the 1:30 p.m. wave. Check these out, and let me know about your Warrior Dash experience!

• Don’t wear anything you plan to wear again.  And if you sink a lot of time into some sort of costume, be willing to destroy it. And have it hinder your performance. Except for the dudes I saw running in dresses – they were fast, and looked well-practiced at running in dresses.

Somebody needs a shower.

• Run the second day. The first day will help organizers work some kinks out. On Saturday, the Arizona race only had one water station. The organizers wisely added a second for Sunday.

• Bring towels and spare clothes. Don’t overlook this. A portable camp shower isn’t a bad idea, either.

• There’s a very convenient bag check. Drop your spare clothes/towel/keys/whatnot off there. Run. Come back and get it. Save yourself a long slog to the car.

• If you have time, enjoy the atmosphere. The electronic timing tag on your shoe gets you a free beer (though it’s beer fit for frat boys rather than warriors, so I skipped it).

Hose before Bros: Participants get their sins -and slime- washed away with a Warrior Dash baptism.

• I understand that not everybody is super-fit. I know that not everyone is charging hard for a good time. But please, people, this is not a Toys for Tots walk-a-thon. At least look like you’re trying. Jog bits of it. And do not, for the love of Odin, walk three abreast. Stay to the right and leave room for the faster people. Earn your plush Viking headgear! If you are not willing to get out of breath, sign up for something else.

• There are lots of scantily clad fit people. Just sayin’.

• We had to pay $10 to park. That was kind of grating.

• Speaking of parking … it smelled like the Rastafarian Army was camping near our parking spot. Both arriving and leaving, the smell of skunkiness filled the air.

So if you did it, would you do it again?

Yes, I'm muddy. What of it?

Specimens from whales on display

One false move, and I could wind up impaled on a taxidermied whale penis. The walls bristle with them. All species. All sizes.

There are also clear acrylic capsules filled with them. Floating in preservative, maintaining their original glory.

Yes, whale penises are the centerpieces of the Iceland Phallological Mueseum in Husavik. It’s Husavik’s star attraction, and rising in fame internationally.

You've come to the right place.

The building is crammed with penis specimens. Field mice, cetaceans … just about everything under the sun.

Human? Yes, it’s on its way. You may have seen news reports of the recently deceased Icelandic man who pledged his manhood to the museum upon death. I guess he beat out the guy pictured at the museum: an American, sitting on a stool. Wearing nothing but a smile. I’m guessing the room was chilly.

Ready for a whale of a time?

Iceland, by the way, is also crazy for team handball. You can see casts made from the members of the members of the Icelandic team after winning silver at a recent team handball World Cup.

When you enter, the curator gives you a thick binder and a “how to tell what sort of wang you’re looking at” primer.

This attraction is definitely worth ejecting a few krona. The lighting could be better for photography. And it should open earlier (we had a flight to catch in Akureyri in a few hours).

Husavik - a pleasant town in the far north.

We started our day in Reykjahliđ, our base for nearly three days of tromping around Myvatn. We broke our camp at Vogar and headed west in our Suzuki Jimney. We headed in the back way to Husavik, up Road 87. The Jimney gamely cruised along, even after the road turned to dirt.

We saw few cars. The scenery was green, but not exactly lush. No surprise there: Less than one percent of Iceland’s land is arable. Yet there was still the occasional farmstead and meandering herd of sheep.

A horse grazes near Husavik.

You have to be careful on unpaved roads, so it’s best to keep the speed down. Especially in the successor to the Suzuki Samurai! After a few hours, we arrived in Husavik.

30 Miles from the Arctic Circle

This is as far north as I’ve ever been. A chilly wind blew in from the water. Husavik is a very beautiful town, though. Since the Phallus Museum is ready for action until 11 a.m., we had some time to kill. We roamed the town, had coffee, petted horses.

More horses!

It’s very tranquil. Groups of kids going to and from soccer practice roamed around. It’s the sort of place where people probably don’t lock their doors – ever. Some rolling hills, beautiful views of the ocean, snow-capped mountains not too far distant.

We also hit a bakery for a few snacks while we waited.

Racing to the Airport

The harbor at Husavik.

I drove the Jimney for all it was worth. We pulled into Akureyri with time to spare, long enough to grab a falafel. We turned in our Jimney, boarded the plane and headed back to Reykjavik.

We checked back into Guesthouse Isafold, our reliable Reyjkavik base. And then we finally rested. Because our day isn’t over: Tonight, we’re running the Miđnæturhlaup, a 10k race that starts at 10 p.m. The name means Midnight Run.

It’s perhaps the most pleasant 10k ever: Two laps through the zoo/botanical garden area, followed by a nice free soak at the Laugardalslaug swimming pool we’ve come to love. All in nearly full sunlight, by the way. The clouds broke and we had beautiful temperatures in the 50s. With sun and sweat, that was perfect. And the hot tubs were crammed with our fellow runners and their families. Good times!

How’d I do? First American finisher! You can read my full post about it.

This is the sort of action you'll see at Crankworx. (Wikimedia Commons)

This is the first of three posts about the awesome times a mountain biker can have visiting British Columbia. Hang on and read on!

So here’s our situation: David and his friends are bringing their own bikes and plan to be in BC July 30 – Aug. 16. He assures me they’re skilled enough to handle all of what BC can hurl at them. They plan to hit Vancouver Island, Squamish and Whistler. He’s also hoping Teresa and I can hook him up with some non-mountain biking activities.

Alright, let’s take a look at what we’ve got here:

Squamish Valley - scenic and silly with great trails. (McKay Savage)

Squamish

Justin’s Quick Hits

Squamish is packed with outdoor activities. Mountain biking is high on its specialities, especially cross-country racing. Word is there’s something like 600 trails in the area. The Test of Metal race sounds pretty awesome. I would definitely like to spend more time in Squamish in the future. I was just there long enough for pit stops between Vancouver and Whistler.

Just getting there is a treat for the eyeballs, with spectacular views in virtually any direction.

Teresa Tells It All

One of the “must ride” trails is Half Nelson. Only one word describes this trail: FUN! It has a bit of everything that should suit everyone and is one of the BC Bike Race staples every year. Squamish has an extensive trail network and it’s hard to just pick a few trails to ride. Tourism Squamish has done a great job of posting videos and descriptions of some of their trails. They are the “go-to” place to find out more information to find out more information about the best trails to ride.

Airing it out on the Whistler jumps.

Squamish is also our rockclimbing mecca so when you drive past the Stawamus Chief (massive granite rock monolith, you can’t miss it) look up! You’ll almost always see people climbing the face. You can also hike to the top of the Stawamus Chief. If you have the time and energy after your ride, you’ll be treated to some pretty incredible views. And if you’re really lucky, you might meet a base jumper or two, as well.

Whistler

Justin’s Quick Hits

What can you do in Whistler: fishing, hiking, skiing (well, not in summer) … and mountain biking of every flavor. You’ll see cross-country hammerheads, dirt jumpers, downhillers, trials mutants and combinations thereof. It’s stocked with shops to dispense gear and advice. It’s a real mountain bike culture, the likes of which I haven’t seen before.

Something to keep in mind: Everything in Whistler seems absurdly expensive (my wife and I ate at a Mongolian-style BBQ place that set us back about $40 US – that’s about $16 in Arizona). I’d suggest renting someplace with a kitchen so you can save some bucks on food.

David’s schedule coincides with the  Crankworx festival, so he and his buddies can snag test rides on some sweet bikes and mingle with all sorts of bike nuts.

Teresa Tells It All

There is lots of great riding around Whistler and not all of it is in the bike park! Around Lost Lake there is a great series of trails if you’re looking for a shorter ride. Then there are the classics like Cut Yer Bars and Kill Me Thrill Me which are for the more advanced rider. Looking for something a bit more epic? Then you will want to check out the trail Comfortably Numb.

Whistler’s Bike Park is well known and for good reason. If dirt jumping is more your style, you’ll have an excellent time on Crank It Up and Heart of Darkness. Far too many trails to list here, but you’ll need a downhill or all-mountain bike and a full-face helmet for most of these trails.

I'm just your Average Joe rider ... among GloboGym racers!

It’s better to challenge yourself and come in last than it is to sandbag your way to victory. That said, I didn’t come in last in the Fat Tire 40 at McDowell Mountain.

But I was definitely bringing up the rear.

This event, put on by Swiss American Racing, brought a fast crowd of folks. Lots of people with lots of leg and lung power, for sure. Some had sketchy handling skills, especially at the Tech Loop drop-off and the T-Bone Hill climb. But most made up for it by motoring in the flatter sections. Me? Decent in the tricky climbs, good in the downhills, a lazy sod in the false flats.

As I mentioned in my earlier recap of the race, though, I had a tremendous time. And I hit a bit of a turning point.

Here’s the deal: So far in 2011, I’ve done four mountain races. Among them was a solo 12-hour effort and 24-hour race as part of a duo. My results have been unspectacular.

But I’m getting out there, and it’s paying off.

I finally achieved something that sent me home from a race feeling good: At about 25 miles into the race, I caught up with a guy. He was riding a shiny Santa Cruz Tallboy that made my 6-year-old Gary Fisher look like Fred Sanford’s jalopy. Which it pretty much is with its chainsuck-battered chainstays and leaky rear shock.

I passed him and thought I’d seen the last of him.

But he caught me about five miles later at a feed zone. I stopped to refill my bottles. He jettisoned his empty and grabbed a new one. I didn’t have time to drop an electrolyte tablet into my bottles without letting him get too far away. Instead, I wolfed down a banana one of the volunteers offered me.

So I chased his fancy-bike-riding butt. I caught him at The Ledge as he was pushing his bike over the obstacle. I went around him and got slightly tangled in a palo verde tree, but I kept going. I was feeling good, good enough to laugh and yell “no, don’t crash into the palo verde!” He panted a reply I couldn’t understand.

I thought for sure I’d left him behind. I was soon up on the South Ridge and putting on some distance. This was about three miles past the feed zone.

That’s when I hit The Wall – that horrible place where the easy becomes epic and your body no longer obeys your commands.

I had trouble steering in a straight line, much less breezing over obstacles like I had for the past 35 miles. I could feel heat building in my quadriceps. Oh, salt and potassium, how I needed thee! But there was just no time to fish a Nuun tablet out of my pack, unscrew a water bottle lid, screw it back on, wait for the tablet to dissolve and start guzzling.

It was just five miles to the finish.

I just had to hold this persistent, rising-from-the-grave jerk at bay for five miles (why won’t he give up and let me enjoy the rest of the race, already?!). I had the advantage. I’d already passed him twice. He was panting like a dog both times. He was in worse shape, right?

So I kept pedaling, kept descending.

Then my bike made a horrible noise. It reverberated through the frame. It sounded like the stable platform valve in the rear shock finally giving way. I still haven’t figured it out. But it made me more tentative in every descent.

But I kept riding. Sometimes, I heard my nemesis scratching along the ground behind me.

Finally, I got to the start/finish area. That meant I just had three miles left to go. Riding the Sport Loop backward was all that stood in my way.

Just a few hundred feet from the start of the Sport Loop, I looked behind me. He couldn’t have been 10 feet back.

I kept pedaling. Straight into the twisty singletrack. Climb a little, descend a little. Just focus on every little stretch of trail. The heat was building in my legs again. Keep in the low gears, just keep spinning the pedals. High RPMs. Ride smart.

But damn, my legs hurt. I just wanted to take a few seconds to stretch. But I kept hearing him. No. Just keep going as long as I can. If I blow up, I blow up.

Finally. Finally. Finally. I reached the bit where I could count on some easy descending. Keep spinning the pedals.

But wait. There were two hills on-tap. On every Sport Loop, they come moments from the start as two steep drops. Riding backward, that means my hammered legs had to go UP them! I reached the first and scaled my way up.

I got to the second. I got halfway up, hop off the bike and push us both up. I crest the hill as the other rider gets to the bottom.

I’m back on my bike in a flash. I spun the pedals like a madman. I tried to be smooth, controlled, confident. It’s all downhill from here.

I crossed the line. It takes more than a minute for my former antagonist to cross the line. That’s a gap I opened in less than a mile. I can live with that.

That guy made me suffer. He worked me like a dog.

And I’m glad he was there. He made me ride better than I could without him. He gave me some motivation. I’d like to think I did the same for him. I believe we made each other better, that we wrung the absolute best out of each other.

We weren’t the fast guys in this race. Both of us probably eat way too much cheese and chocolate to be as fast as the others.

But we rolled up to the line with the fast people anyway. And we both gave it everything we had to give on that Sunday.