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An average Jim races the I-500, page 1
SNO-X Magazine Vol 6, No 1, Sept 2007

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

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

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

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