Letter from member

March 15,2007

This year's Vasaloppet on March 4 took place in difficult conditions. The temperature was -2°C at the start but hovered around zero along the course. Furthermore, the absence of tracks especially in the first part of the course made it really challenging. 15700 skiers were registered, only 13367 started and 11027 finished. An Italian skier (Amabile Tatone, WL master 2003) sent us the following letter which reflects the disappointment of many skiers who dropped out:

Vasaloppet is a tough and beautifull race. Running the Vasaloppet is the dream of every skier. But for many, this year, it turned into a nightmare.

I must admit I was not in a great shape, but after starting at 8 from the bottom group I soon ended up trapped on the first slope among thousand of skiers. Nice people, by the way, trying to do their best not to punch your skis with their poles, nor to jump onto your tails, nor to flatten your tips.
Nobody complaining nor hurrying. All hoping silently that sooner or later they whould get out of that colorful and friendly mess to begin skiing.

I reached the top of the slope by 9 and after a few kilometers I realized that there were no grooves to put your skis in, but only a hard wavy icy ground covered with soft snow. The sort of track you would fly on skating but completely unsuitable (at least to me) for classic technique. I couldn't even manage to control my skis who forced my legs apart making it difficult not to fall down ridicously. You could see all around people striving not to fall down like children on their first day on the snow.

Hoping to find some sort of grooved tracks ahead (even a few millimeters deep, or at least a faint remaining of what they should have been early in the morning), I kept on pushing hard to get out of that nightmare. But when I reached Mangsbodarna I saw a lot of people walking on the tracks. A man with a strange smile on his face came close to me and, without uttering a word, leaned towards my right ankle and pulled my chip away. I was a bit surprised, but suddenly realized that I had been late at the first gate. It was as if he had shot at me, leaving just the time to see my blood pouring out of my hearth before to die.

We were taken to Mora by bus in hundreds. My only regret was that I had paid 173 Euro for tracks I could never find.

Late in the evening a friend, who had just crossed the finish, told me that only at the middle of the course he could find freshly grooved tracks. I wish I could find them in the morning, leading me to Mora slowly but proudly on my own skis.

This page was last revised on September 16, 2007