chameleon

Cactus Rose 2011

2011-11-25T17:24:00.000-06:00

Bandera Texas - 29 Oct 2011

The Rose threw a 5th year halloween birthday party with a perfect weather day. After a half year of unbearable sweltering heat, it was a nice treat to run in such a pretty day. We added a 4x25mi relay this year and the result was a very fast first of four 25mi loops for everybody.

In the 100 mile race, Steven Moore threw down a 4:01 for the first 25mi to move well into the lead and then backed down a bit afterwards to lower his own course record with a 19:28:32. Brian Hopton-Jones was a strong 2nd til the final loop, when Lorenzo Sanchez moved past him to take 2nd in 20:11:20. Brian held on for 3rd in 22:20:23. The women's race belonged to Rhonda Claridge from beginning to end, finished 3rd overall and 1st female in 21:49:28. Rachel Ballard was a very strong 2nd in 25:38:47, followed by Julie Grant in 28:55:50.

Eric Herzog owned the 50 miler, going out strong with a 4:02 25mi loop, and finishing with a 8:44:29. Greg Foreman was 2nd in 8:50:37, followed by Gregory Brant in 9:10:56. Anabel Pearson owned the women's 50 miler with a 10:03:00, followed by Shaheen Sattar in 10:43:25, and Amanda Alvarado in 11:55:05.

The relays set the pace this year with a couple of quick teams that hammered out 4 hour 25mi loops that never backed off. "The Right Stuff" took top honors with a 16:23:20, with splits of 4:01, 3:52, 4:24, 4:04. They were closely followed by Beauty & the Beasts with a 17:23:54. Their splits were almost as impressive: 4:22, 4:17, 3:52, 4:51.

Only 42 of 74 100 milers finished for 57%. 92 of 117 50 milers finished for 79%, with 27 joining the 50 miler finish list from the 100 mile start. It was a gorgeous day but the finish rate is never very high at the Rose. The endless rolling rock covered hills are just one of the thorns that give this beast its name. It was never easy nor was it intended to be. This is one deceptive course that is much more trouble than most expect it to be.

Joe Prusaitis: RD

Jemez 50mi 21 May 2011

2011-05-28T19:33:00.002-05:00

My heart drops, knees buckle, and I stop dead... staring at the front of my pack, where I had attached my wedding ring. It was gone. The strap was gone too. I was stunned. My hands had swollen very early on, so I had to take my ring off and attach it to my pack. Casting my thoughts back, the last time I knew it was there, was back at Caballo Base. My ring and the strap it was attached to had most likely snagged somewhere between Caballo and here in the Caldera. Rarely did I ever take it off my hand in 17 years.

There is something about Los Alamos and the Jemez Mountains that lights me up. These mountain races are what trail running is all about... to me! Elevation hangs entirely between 7000 and 10000 feet, with three 10-ers and a few other significant ascents, as well as a few tasty descents as well. The weather is to die for... between 40 and 60 degrees and gusting cool now and then.

The first 25 miles are forgettable, Guaje Ridge, Caballo Mountain, the high ridge overlooking the grand valley, and the steep drop down onto the Caldera. I forgot it all when I realized I had lost my ring. My perspective shifts, my eyes open and refocus, I wake up! My hands are still swollen, but my feet and stomach are fine. I realize I'm hungry, so I pull out the trail mix and shove some down, wash it down with half my bottle of water... and start running.

The Valle Grande aid station volunteers are in a fine mood and helpful. I have some food while they top off both of my water bottles. A track wore down by all those before me is beaten into the grass for more than a mile across the open meadow. The rock flow waits just inside the trails: big rocks, huge rocks, busted, and piled one on the other, and the flags mark our route directly up over them. My climb is slow and methodical, determined and patient. After the rocks, then the timbers, and after the timbers, the grassy tufts of the wind swept upper reaches of Cerro Grande. Only one hour to the summit, but it seems to go well.

Losing the ring has lit a fire in me, but this downhill is where I get back in the game. Six miles of downhill. I start easy and slowly get faster. My momentum slowly builds til I'm running full out... for the first time today. I haven't seen many people in a long time, so it feels strange to see each of the people I pass. Pajarito Aid Station is a full-on aid with a big crowd and lots of activity. I ask for a beer and get one. They top off my water bottle while I stash the spare bottle and get a bit to eat too.

The next section is not very tough, a gentle four mile rise, up along a creek, a shallow ridge, then along the Camp May Road. Power hiking keeps me moving well from Pajarito to the Townsite Lift. Ann offers to help and again I ask for a beer. I'm in an odd mood it seems, but beer seems the right choice. So, I have another while they top off my water and eat some orange slices. All the while, I listen to a guy who has decided to quit and is explaining why to his family. I ask him to come with me... but no.

Its all up from here. This is the last big climb and the final cutoff that needs to be made. Pajarito Mountain is the final test, so I dial in a good cadence and start moving. I'm bone tired, but it really feels good.... all of it. Being in the mountains, being this close to the final climb, knowing that I will get it done, it's exhilarating. I cross over and up a few ski runs, all of it steep, toes pointing at the sky. Into the tall trees, then in the open, back into the trees again, and repeat. Hard to say which way the trail will turn, but it's always up. I top out and thick the climbing is done, but I'm a fool for even thinking that way, because it has not been that way at any time today. One false summit follows another endlessly over and over again. The top of the ski lift is also not the top, even though I think this is it again. Past the green chair, and then a bit more up again. Then when we start down, we go back up again. It all seems to be twisted up in circles and I'm surprised that we don't cross over our same path.

The path does eventually go down a steep chute, then a bit more, and then the big laundry chute strait down the mountain. Its marked right down the middle, so thats where I go... right down the middle. The wind is gusting, so I pull off my visor and spin on down, passing a couple of people along the way. I roll into the Ski Lodge with 30 minutes to spare on the 5:00 PM cutoff. It feels so damn good to be here, right now. I am only 36 miles into the 50 miler, but because there are no more cutoffs, I feel like I'm done. Now, all I have to do is walk home the final 14 miles.

Mark Blenden is getting ready to head out and says he's not doing well, so I agree to hang with him. I'm no longer in a hurry, and figure to have a nice stroll and visit. Takes us about 45 minutes to reach Powerline, where we sit down to make ready for the night. I load my pack with jacket, gloves, and light, then change my shoes as well.

I force a brisk walk and hold to it, going up or down the rolling jeep road. There's a few climbers, but nothing really bad. The brisk conversational walk keeps us from thinking much about the time of day, but the sun is surely sinking. With lights in hand, its irrelevant really, but more of a curiosity. We leave the road for single-track trail that wraps around another ridgeline and deposits us into the Guaje aid station. Two people manage the station with one remaining silent and the other in a very talkative mood. It's very pleasant.

We enter the burnt out haunted forest next, but it's not so spooky in the daylight. I start pushing the walk pace a bit more now that we have tilted downhill again. I begin to wonder if we will reach the Rendija aid station at mile 48 before dark. I have heard that this canyon is beautiful and I'd love to see it. Los Alamos peeks at us now and again off to the right. With every step, we keep dropping down. Mark is having a really tough time, but mixes running and walking. He talks about backing off, but refuses to turn lose. I have it down, the high cadence forced downhill walk that keeps us rolling. Our trail becomes a road and then a mile later, back to a trail again. The small slot canyon is gorgeous, rock formations, and rock faces. It's a generous downhill that I am hard pressed not to run... so I walk even faster.

The light is fading quickly now, but we roll into Rendija with the last rays. Deb & Steve greet us with a cold beer, a warm hug, and friendly smile. It sure is nice to be with friends. It's a cozy gathering but we don't stay long. One last climb, a short set of switchbacks, and we're out and completely in the dark. With two miles to go, we have finally lost the light.

I like to play this little game where I go as long as I can without a light, so I keep moving. It lasts for 15 minutes before I turn on my light... more out of concern for missing a turn than I am about tripping. Funny how it is that when you turn on your light you see so much less. What I do see is one small spot just in front of me.... and thats it. Reminds me how much my focus shifted today.

After the tunnel, its lots of reflective markers, intersections, and choices. We mosy along taking our final mile casually... comfortably. Life is good... but what am I going to tell my wife?

Grand Canyon 2011 : R2R2R

2011-05-18T17:16:00.007-05:00

R2R2R (Rim to Rim to Rim) Grand Canyon, AZ 7 May 2011 joe prusaitis

The Canyon, like my life, is full of interesting characters, has plenty of ups ands downs, and the longer I'm in it, the slower I get. Without difficulties, you learn nothing, so I came back to the canyon for the 3rd time to grow and evolve. I need something challenging in my life to make me feel alive. It's not just about the accomplishment... but more about the journey. The jigsaw puzzle of my mind and body is a problem looking for a solution. What to do when my body begins to fail, or my emotions start to flake. The canyon is one of those places so big that it changes my focus... visually and spiritually. Like most desert places, the landscape is deceptive and hides the beauty in plain sight. Each bend in the trail hides the next bend, and the next... each false summit hides another, and another... The endless expectation beats you into a numb state of C' est la vie.

Because of the long uphills and downhills, one direction is not equal to the other. I know what to expect, but distance and time are distorted. My perception of the time it takes is way off the mark. The only thing I know for certain is... the canyon is big and I am small. I have already run this route twice: a permanent memory etched into my brain. But, the devil is in the details... and what I don't know is... all the small details: how my stomach and feet will feel after 48 miles of desert heat, altitude, warm water, hot food, biting horseflies, swarming mosquitos, sand in my shoes, and endless drainage bars. With all the difficulties that lie ahead, I plan what I can to make the trip as enjoyable as possible. I pack as light as possible: an empty water bladder, one empty water bottle, one full one, food for two light meals, apple, avocado, a dozen gels, gloves, and super-lightweight rain jacket. The pack is light for now, but it'll be much heavier after Cottonwood, where I plan to load up on water.

There are 49 of us (mostly from Texas), with 30 going for the R2R2R, and the rest have various other destinations: Indian Gardens, the River, Phantom Ranch, and Cottonwood. We're scattered across the South Rim in whatever we can find and afford. From our room, it's a 5 minute walk and a 3:30am start. Some start down South Kaibab, but most take Bright Angel, and all leave between 3am and 5am. Some are buddied up and some go solo, but once it starts, there's a long string of lights that I can see from rim to miles down. They all know the route and the logistics, but I can only hope they all make smart choices when it comes time to make them. This is a run you can't quit without some cost. The sign of the day that says it clearly... 'Going Down is Optional - Going up is Mandatory'

The only plans Joyce and I have are to do what we can. We expect to do the whole thing, but will cut it short if we must. It's a warm morning, so we start in shorts and T-shirts. We drop in and go down fast. Its pitch black and I can only see a few yards ahead in the direction I point my light. I wear it on my head, but its difficult to see well until I take it off and hold it down low in my hand. We swap places with Wade, JoAnna, and Les now and again as we each stop for various reasons. I take a look behind us during one stop to see dozens of lights spread across the night like fireflies.

From the top of the rim to Indian Gardens, the cross-trail drainage bars keep our feet from getting lazy. We skim the 1.5mi and 3mi rest houses, dropping 3000 ft like a rock, to Indian Gardens where we top off quickly and continue. We lose the drainage bars in exchange for rocks and more rocks. Being somewhat blind and running without glasses, you might think I should be nervous about running downhill in the dark... but it aint so. I love to run at night, and especially downhill, so we pick up speed and let it roll. The whole idea of running into the Grand Canyon seduces me to run faster. Out of the lower Indian Garden greenbelt and onto the Devil's Corkscrew, my aggressive downhill glide seems to instill confidence in Joyce too, as she doesn't miss a beat. A bat begins diving through my headlamp beam and then goes to play with Joyce.

The sun's ambient light reaches down to us deep in the canyon for the first time today, and we are close to the river, but we're still a long way from being touched by the direct light. We test our balance, hopping the uneven stepping stones across Garden Creek on multiple occasions. The sights and sounds of the cascading creek alongside the trail is soul soothing... an exquisite rock and water garden in the desert... an oasis.

We pass a group of boy scouts heading up, each wearing a pack bigger than they are. A few minutes later, we pass a sleeping bag in the middle of the trail, dropped by one of the scouts, no doubt. We reach the river at 5:30 AM, stop for a few, and continue with Les, who arrives as we start again. The trail traversing the south face is full of deep beach-like sand, and it's slow going til we reach the suspension bridge, but we are done with the long downhill anyway. I suspect we wont get anywhere near that speed again on this trip.

The visual look and feel of crossing the Colorado River on this suspension bridge is disorienting. You can see right through the metal grate floor and walls. Nothing blocks your view of raging river 100 feet below, the massive canyon walls, or the wind. The wind gusts are loud. You can hear them as they come at you, and they appear in sync with the rushing water of the river underneath. The sensation is of me being carried away by the waves. Its almost an out of body feeling, knowing damn well that I am well above the water and feeling like I am right on top of it. I try to quit looking at the water, focus on the hand rails that lead to the other side instead... and start running. I don't realize til I get to the other side, Joyce & Les are right behind me, having followed my lead. Minutes later, we're at the bathroom and pump on the north side, near Phantom Ranch, roughly 10 miles in. We top off again and load the 2nd water bottle too. Jon & Dawn come in as we finish up and head out.

At the intersection of the North Kaibab, South Kaibab, and Bright Angel trails, we make a left to start up the north side. The trail runs parallel Bright Angel Creek, with the campgrounds on the opposite side. We take the path that avoids Phantom Ranch, and are past it quickly. Inside 'The Box', walls rise strait up for as far as I can see. The rock walls are long sweeping turns that redirect the creek from side to side. We run on the east side for a few turns, cross a metal bridge to the west side for a few turns, and back again on another bridge. The water is moving very fast and dangerous, which explains the large retaining walls on some of the turns. As loud as the rushing water is, I can clearly hear a bullfrog's throaty croak echoing off the walls from one of the backwater swamp areas. I don't know where 'the Box' ends, as the high walls continue for a miles and only gradually begin to open up as we approach Ribbon Falls and the Cottonwood area. The whole time we have been gradually climbing up as the sun-line on the canyon walls has been dropping down, and I have been dreading what it will bring when we intersect. Minutes before we reach the comfort of the shade trees, it finally happens... and then we are at the oasis called Cottonwood.

David & Lino are sitting there when we arrive, so we sit with them to eat. I pull everything out of my pack, so I can load the 100oz water bladder and Two water bottles. The sunglasses come out as well as a sandwich and an apple. Quite a few others roll in and out during the 20 minutes we are here, but this is not a race... and we do get to visit with quite a few of our friends. The next part of our adventure... from Cottonwood to the North Rim and back is expected to be the most difficult for a couple of different reasons. ONE: The only water available for the next 12 miles is the Pump House just one mile in (possibly 5 hours). TWO: there remains 4000 ft of climb between here at the North Rim. THREE: The sun is bringing the heat. FOUR: The higher we climb, the worse the deer flies and mosquitos swarm. This, I wasn't expecting.

The Pump House is immediately after another of the metal & wood bridges that looks like a superstructure. These bridges were built to stand just about anything Mother Nature sends. I suppose they've had to rebuild these bridges so many times, they decided to build something semi-permanent. This is also where the switchbacks begin. We are now in granny gear. The already dynamic scenery suddenly gets even better in magnified close-up. A 360 panoramic captures perfect views at the same time Steven, Pete, Robert, & Megan come by us. They had started on the South Kaibab two hours after us, and are obviously much faster than us. Our uphill momentum is very slow and methodical compared to the speedy foursome.

The altitude, the heat, and the flies gang up to slow our march, and that's what it is now... a march. Joyce trails behind as we close on David, and then Troy & Kelli pass by. The higher we get, the slower we go, and the more beautiful the scenery. This has to be one of my favorite places on this planet. I can feel the energy... from the rock walls (sheer & tall), the crooked sliver of trail (bending upwards), the river of water (gushing out of the mountain side), the wind gusts (pushing me around), and the history (hundreds of years of explorers using this same path).

They're on us quickly, the little bastards... hundreds of deer flies and mosquitos. Maybe it's our sweat soaked clothes, the salt from our pores, the stink from all of it... or its just the right altitude for the blood sucking bastards... and we are barely moving (which implies we are nearly dead)... but they are here to stay. I can't shoo them away or wave them off. I have to smash them dead to get them off. They all bite and they all hurt. With so little energy to waste, arm waving and cussing is the final insult.

Past Roaring Springs, our trail swings left and right endlessly up, along many ledges and unparalleled beauty. Occasionally, we spot some of our friends in places where I'd never guess a trail existed. A bridge crosses a deep slot in the middle of nowhere... a landmark to remember... close to Supai Tunnel. This is where we start to see quite a few people coming down. I would rather be invisible at times like this... where they look so fresh and happy floating downhill, while I look and feel so rough dragging my body up. What a surprise to see an old friend (Bridget) we haven't seen in 8 years. She's almost as surprised as we are, except she's been running with friends of ours since this morning, so she's had some warning we were here. She's leading a pack of women when we see her. Hugs and memories take a long time... so we make it short and agree to reconnect when we're done. She needs to chase her friends and we're far from done.

Supai Tunnel comes at the top of a flight of rocky stairs... and I'm surprised how much it lifts me up, knowing how much closer we are to being at the top. We're still two miles from the North Rim, but it's a long two miles... and no easier. I heard that the pump here was off before I started, but I check it anyway. If it were on, I'd be able to unload a lot of this water weight on my back. I thought it was off, out of concern for snow and frozen pipes, but now I think maybe its just off til they open the north rim next week.

We dial in a slow steady cadence that inches us upwards, while our friends are coming down fast. More typically, I can gear up my mojo from the energy of knowing how close I am... but it aint happening today. Steven, Pete, Robert, and Megan yell us onward, then Jonathan, Troy, Kelli, and Joe. There is no easy section until we're on top, but it does eventually come to us. I remember the North Rim as being beautiful and serene... but it is none of that today. We can't see anything but the swarm of biting flies. We want so badly to take a break, to revel in our accomplishment, maybe lay down and close our eyes for a few shakes... but there is no time for any of that. We get our picture taken and get the hell out. David comes with us.

About a mile down, we sit in a shady area with some wind that helps to keep the bugs down while we eat. It's not the break we wanted, but enough maybe to sustain us til we get back to Cottonwood. The others are coming up in droves: Wade, JoAnna, Les, Pam, Guy, Charlene, John, Naresh, Bob, Roger, Tom, Brian, Darren, Fred, Jennifer, and Marlee. We move slowly at first... walking...which turns to waddling... and running. I can't seem to get it going. Mine is an awkward stumbling gait with a hitch in it. I might have the look of somebody running in cowboy boots with a pistol strapped to one leg. Sad looking for sure... so I leave my camera in the saddle bag.

The sun and the flies are not nearly so bad heading down. We're moving faster... so maybe they don't mistake us for being dead now. The wind has also picked way up... gusting very hard... tugging our hats off... and shoving us around. A few thousand feet down, we collect a few more friends, and a few group photos with Wade, JoAnna, Pam, Guy, and Charlene. Joyce, David, and I surge ahead and get to the Pump House first, where we stop to top one bottle and dunk our heads under the pump. That out and back was a beast! Always was... always will be. Feels great to finally be done with it. But we're still... very far from being done.

The trip to Cottonwood seems so long in comparison to the way out. Its possible maybe... we're going a bit slower now. Cottonwood seems to be our gathering spot for this day. As happened earlier today, once again, quite a few people roll in right on our heels. While we top off and get a bite to eat, at least 10 other people roll in behind us. A small party happens spontaneously, with bodies laying in every spot of shade. Putting away the water bladders to reduce weight, we're back down to using two water bottles again. Joyce & I head out with David in tow, but Joyce puts on the jets, and I try to stay with her, but we lose David soon after the humpback hill at Ribbon Falls.

The seven miles back to Phantom Ranch are relatively easy from recall, but nothing seems very easy any longer... and again it feels like it goes on forever. The sun is still cooking, so the cactus flourish, while we languish. It is interesting to note all the bright purple roses open to the sun that weren't open earlier today. By the time we're back in 'the Box', Joyce's stomach has gone sour. The tall canyon walls and the angle of the sun's rays on the sweeping turns have us alternating between sunlight and shade. At each turn, we look ahead at the high walls in hope of seeing anything that indicates an end to 'the Box', but each turn simply leads to another.

I had been told that you could buy a cold drink at the Phantom Ranch store, and this thought starts a craving that grows... but we arrive at 4:20 PM to find the store closed at 4 PM. I top off our water bottles at the pump in front of the store, while Joyce goes looking for some ice. It surprises me when she comes back with a small bag of ice in hand. She's not doing well, so the ice chips are critical to cool her down. She starts sucking on some ice while I load up our water bottles with ice and water. There is little else we can do... but keep going.

Fred and his crew come in as we head out for the final 10 miles... across the river and up the 5000 ft climb to the South Rim. I promise Joyce that we're done running... that we can walk it in from here. We stop at the last pump this side of the river and then cross the bridge. It's mostly sand, so we go slow and easy. By the time we reach the bathroom at Garden Creek, Les has again caught back up... and this time he keeps on going. We begin the climb, but Joyce is having a rough time, so we stop for another break, and I remove my shoes to soak my feet in the cold stream. Guy, Pam, and Charlene roll by us, and then Fred and his crew hook up with us. Moving again, we wind up through the Devil's Corkscrew. It's a beast of a climb, but we seem to do well with it. Joyce gets some of her mojo back and is moving much better. Not that she feels any better, but she is moving well again. So, we spend an hour or more with Fred & Char as we slowly make our way up the canyon.

David, Wade, and JoAnna connect with us before we reach Indian Gardens, but then we scatter at the benches near the pump. I load our water bottles and then lay down for a moment while Joyce does the same on a different bench. Only three minutes, then we're up and going out just as we lose the light. Its pretty dark at 8 PM, but we go 15 minutes without lights. Its comfortable until we start tripping on rocks, then we both switch on our lights... only to realize the trail dust is everywhere. We couldn't see it in the dark, but our headlamps highlight the dusty mist that completely surrounds us. It was the same way coming down, but I forgot about it until just now. Fred & crew are back with us again, but only in passing. They are moving quicker than us and keep on going. We can see their lights as they climb the switchbacks, and every now and then, I can still pick out Fred's headlamp more than 6 ft off the trail.

Alone in the dark, we climb the same trail we descended earlier today. Neither of us has the energy to speak, so we don't. Joyce is in front and keeps up a good constant stride, while I hang 3 yards back, content to match her pace. Every 3 feet - another drainage bar, so there's no possibility of a constant even stride. Each bar is high enough we have to climb over it, and some are easier to go around. An endless game of looking for the best place to put the lead foot so that we can get the trailing foot over. Done correctly, we manage a hundred yards without mishap... but of course there are mishaps. Joyce slips once, both feet fly out in front of her, and she drops onto her butt. A moment to repair, then up and many more to go. I lose my balance and my leg swings wide, aiming me towards the cliff... so I stop and back up, and try it again. Now and again, I catch my toe and trip, which typically leads to a second trip, and readjust to try again. It takes 40 minutes to reach the 3 mile rest house, which means we are walking 40 minutes per mile and a half. Three more miles to go and that means, another hour and a half... if we stick to this pace.

Of course, we don't stick to this pace... we stop a few times. We get fresh water at the 3 mile rest house and start again. A hiker closes in on us and as we stop to let him go by, he stops too, and asks if we mind that he hang with us. He's been out here all day alone and wants some company. He doesn't want to talk... he just wants to be with us. When we get up to go again, he does too, tucking in behind us and matching our pace. I can hear the clickity-clack of trekking poles scuttling right behind me. It's a bit unnerving at first and then I finally quit thinking about it and start thinking about the time instead. 40 minutes after the 3 mile rest, we reach the 1.5 mile rest house... and now we are within reason of reaching the top.

We don't find any magic in the nearness of knowing... we simply keep going the same. Joyce up front, with me in the middle, and clickity-clack behind me. We can see the lights of the buildings on the rim now. The first tunnel brings a subdued excitement just for the landmark being reached and knowing we are closing in. It's a long way from tunnel one to tunnel two, and that is all I can think of now. We stop again... we're at 7000 ft and 47 miles into a 48 mile run, and all that we want is to be done. We get up and continue as before, constant, stumbling at times, but slowly going up. We pass two guys sitting on trail side, one is blind, and the other has a phone... telling somebody they're heading back up soon. As we pass, they get up and pass us. A few minutes later, we catch and pass them again. We have to be close. How far could these guys have gone down? I begin to wonder what the Grand Canyon must have felt like to the blind guy. Could he feel the majesty of such a place... the immense-ness of it. In the darkness... there was little difference between what he and I saw and felt.

Our 40 minute pace holds true, as we reach the 2nd tunnel on que, and now we know for sure... we are done. We stop to take our own picture... and a few minutes later, we top out and are done. The hiker bids us goodbye and we walk to our room. We're cold... for the first time since we started. Five minutes later, we're in our room, wake Erica & Sean, shower, then make my way through no less than four ice cold root beers strait out of the frig. Steve, Megan, Rob, Jeff, Doise, and a few others are there to swap a few tales, but everyone is punchy as hell, so we each drift back to our own rooms and our own beds... for a very good night's sleep. Tomorrow... we head to Sedona in search of a brew pub to celebrate what we have done... all of us.

Guadalupe Mountains 2011

2011-05-03T16:41:00.002-05:00

Guadalupe Mountains
Pine Springs to Dog Canyon and back
Permian Reef Up and back
April 7-10, 2011
Joe Prusaitis

My SmugMug Pics

It has always been a mystical place for me... a place of quiet, where my spirit and soul repair and replenish. My totems are strong here, as are many others. One of the few things on my must see list for this weekend is a Horny Toad. Everything else is already on the plan... Hunter Peak, Bush Mtn, Dog Canyon, and Permian Reef.

It has always been April or May for our little running camp up in the Guadalupe Mountains. Not that this is the best time to go, but more because it is the right time frame for a summer mountain trail race that we are training for. It has been a training run for so many different people for so many different races these past six years.

Our caravan leaves Austin very early on Thursday for the 500 mile trip. Van Horn is the last stop for lunch and final necessities, but mostly gas, ice, & beer. The final 50 miles due north heads directly to our destination. We arrive around 2pm, check in at the ranger station, then set up our tents at the group sites. Because of the very high winds, its complicated putting up the tents. Two carport sized tents, with fenceposts pounded into the ground, and duct taped around tent leg & fencepost, then 2 inch wide tie down straps from cross bars to a few very large rocks. The last thing we do is carefully put on the tarp covers and side panels, making certain that we use every grommet hole or else the wind will grab a corner and begin to rip the entire tarp away. The wind is as strong as I have ever felt it here, ripping through camp and removing anything that is not tied down. Some of the personal tents are pushed down flat and pop back up between gusts. Two 3-burner propane stoves are set up with propane tanks and 3 tables for preparing the meals. Two large coffin coolers filled with food and all the other stuff that a chef needs to make a couple of very good meals and last but not least... the chef. Crash has been our man for many years now, creating some legendary meals the last few years.

Soon after the tent goes up, the gang also heads up... to Guadalupe Peak. It's an 8 mile round trip, and depending on their speed, may be back before dinner is served or not. Friday morning is always the 'long' day, so everybody settles down early to prepare their packs for tomorrow and to get some sleep before the early start. Most everybody is in a tent, but lately, there have been a few RVs coming along as well, but everybody is off to each of their own bedrooms soon after quiet time, which happens to be soon after dark.

Joyce & I never go into the mountains without a rain jacket, or almost never. With the drought hard into Texas, and no rain expected anywhere for the foreseeable future, we pack for the first time in many years without our rain jackets. It is our intention to pack as light as possible, but making sure we take what we need. It's a balancing act, guessing what we will or wont need. Water is the key component with each of us loading 100oz bladders into our packs as well as a hand-held bottle with another 20oz. Food for a 30 mile run in the mountains is tricky. It's not so much about the distance as it is about the time. It will take longer than usual due the rugged mountain terrain and the altitude... between 5000 and 8600 ft. It's not nasty high, but enough to kick you just a bit when added to everything else. It is part of the reason we are here. This site best simulates the races we are training for: Jemez, Bighorn, Leadville, Tahoe, & Hardrock.

I carry a variety of trail food for quick energy as well as sandwiches and avocado. A wear a headlamp, but don't really need it to start. Its more for... in case I get stuck out here after dark the next night. My camera is the only luxury item I load. Everybody has a copy of the waterproof maps I created with our route on it, and everyone is also buddied up with somebody they are required to stay with while they are in the mountains.

Start time is 6:30am Central Time, even though this little quadrant has somehow become part of the Mountain Time zone. We purposely ignore the time change. I give a couple of notepads and pens to the leading duo who are faster than the rest of us so they can drop them at key points for everybody to check into. The idea is that you never pass one of these books without writing in it your name, time, direction, and condition. It's our little way to keep track of each other without seeing anyone. Brandon & Duane head out exactly at 6:30, but the rest of the group waits another 15 minutes for Gordon and Shannon. It's a dark start as we head up Tejas Trails to Pine Top, but we're far from the top when the sun rises. The first book is there on top, so I sign Joyce and I in. Brandon is there already having done Hunter's Peak. Joyce takes a short break while I head over to Hunter's Peak alone. It's a 2 mile out and back and I cross paths with Duane as I start up while he heads back. I dropped everything back at Pine Top, so its free and easy lightweight running for this short out n back. I hit the top, turn and head right back. I figure Joyce should be getting cold by now, and I don't want her waiting too long for me. I see all the others as I head back down.

As I suspect, Joyce is ready to go, so I load up and head out with her. Our route from here is over Bush Mountain and back along Blue Ridge to Tejas Trail again. B & D are gone, so we follow their track, while I pull out a Powerbar from my pack and start working on it. Ya know... I feel good today. I did the climb to Pine Top rather well, starting dead last in our group, making sure everyone was on the trail, and then dialed it in and motored on up... stopping only once for a photo. I know its early, but I have a hunch that this is going to be a very good day for me.

The Bush Mountain trail is a rugged and rocky high altitude beast. Most of it rolls along around 8000 ft, with quick tilts up above 8500 and drops to 7000, over and over again. The trail is not well used, sparse in spots, and littered with jagged rocks and all variety of cactus. You have to pay as much attention to the prickly pear and ocotillo as you do the sharp rocks and ledges. I knew not to wear my wide brimmed hat as I usually do, with the high wind gusts, I'd have lost it already to the malevolent wind daemons. I wore a visor specifically so that if the wind did take it, it had little surface with which to sail it very far. The craggy open ridge left us exposed for the wind to shove about, but mostly it just kept us cool... and this works wonderfully for me. Joyce doesn't care much for it... but it keeps me cool and that is what keeps me on my game for so long. I keep surging ahead and climbing better than I have in a very long time. I stop about every half hour to eat another gel, starting with the chocolate before switching to the mountain huckleberry. We don't see a soul, but we can hear the voices of both John Sharp and Gordon Montgomery every now and then. But that doesn't mean they're even close as those two can both throw a voice without any wind.

We stop on top of Bush Mountain next to the radio repeater tower for a short break, and then drop off the other side where the trail all but disappears for a bit. This area is so dynamic a panorama view of the salt flats 6000 ft below and the rock hoodoos on the edge of the cliff. The gusting wind flying strait up from below is almost visible in its sound and intensity. I toss a pebble over the edge just to see which way it will go... up or down. We track further away from the edge soon after, take the Blue Ridge trail without stopping, and were making good time, when I suddenly hook my toe under a rock. The momentum of it would have been hard to describe were Joyce not watching from behind to describe it in detail. My toe tries to lift up, but it's a large rock and wedged into the ground pretty good, so I only partially lift it, and then my other leg came up and goes around my body, slinging me sideways. My arm swings over as well and around me as I crash into the rocky ground all cattywampus... more sideways and backwards. My hand slams into the rock pretty hard, while my knee gets a slight zing, but the oddest thing is the puncture wound in the back of my neck from the Sotol cactus. Ever notice now long it takes for the blood to come up when you scrape yourself up pretty good like this. I was up and running within seconds, so the blood didn't start until I was back on the run. It runs down my knee, pooling on my compression legging and off my hand to drip from my fingertips. It isn't bad, but it looks a lot worse than it is. I get my mojo back quickly, dancing through the minefield of rocks they call Blue Ridge. It isn't much of a trail really and might be hard to follow in the dark. Rocks everywhere and nothing has been moved to one side or the other in an attempt to create a trail or even some semblance of one. The trail is so minimal that I trust my instincts more than anything else. It just seems to be the correct way.

I know we're approaching the end of Blue Ridge when the trail grows perceptively steeper, going to switchbacks, and again dodging ocotillo as well as sharp edged rocks while we drop quickly. Odd how something like that fall will cause me to be more fearless and less careful... as if to prove that I'm not going to let it bother me. Something got locked in 'just so' with my psyche when I was a young boy. I can't explain it or understand why... but it is certainly 'just so'. I sit down at the Tejas Trail split to write our time in the 2nd book that the boys have left here. It feels good knowing that they're still on the right track and also that nobody had caught us up yet. Joyce asks how we're doing and I tell her 'we're doing great!'

I'm into the raspberry gels as we head north on Tejas Trail. More rock and lots of it. This trail is a beast for ankle twisting, artery slicing, sharp edged rocks and nearly impossible to avoid. The run is a lopsided affair of run, hop, skip, and run again in an unnatural sequence with no rhythm. It isn't smooth, flat, or straight and you still need to be wary of the cactus that claims some of the space on the trail as well. Ocotillo is the sneakiest cut-throat with its long strands that lean in and tag you now and then. With all the other obstacles, this section is not super hilly, so it doesn't take long to reach the McKittrick Trail intersection. Three hikers are lounging in the shade as we come in, trying to decide what they will do next. They're friendly enough and seem quite amused by what we are doing. We have no plan for McKittrick this weekend, but this is certainly a major landmark and intersection. This is where we drop into Dog Canyon and also the same point we come back up to. 4 miles down and 4 miles back up, and about the same amount of elevation change we managed from camp to Pine Top. We sign into the book and take a short break.

The drop into Dog isn't immediate, taking us on a roll for a bit before the bottom finally falls out. We barely get going when I spot a Horny Toad in the middle of the trail. What a treat! We stop to take a few pictures before continuing our rapid descent. We're on a controlled fall when we finally see Brandon. He's running up as quickly as we're running down. It's surprising to watch somebody actually run UP that trail. Simply amazing! We stop to visit for a few seconds and then continue in opposite directions. Soon after, we see Duane walking rapidly uphill in a very controlled measure. He's doing well, so we barely slow down to visit with him before continuing. It doesn't take long to clear the open areas and enter the trees, and the last bit of easy rolling slopes into the meadow for our destination: the water pump. This water is the reason we came all the way down here. Without it, everything changes. The plan was built around where we could get water, as much as for the distance and terrain. We pull up for a long break, clean off, refill our bladders and bottles, and of course... to eat. Avocado, apple, and a sandwich empty the rest of our packs, so there's little left for the return trip. But that was the idea: to fuel as much as possible early on and regularly. Not much was left between us but for a few gels and a powerbar.

Our Dog Canyon break cost us 20 minutes, but that was the plan and we're just fine with it. We are both a little surprised that nobody had caught us yet. It's mostly up for the next 4 miles, with few flat or downhill sections. We're well into the trees and just before the steep climb when we cross paths with David Land & David Jacobson. We stop for a short visit and then get going til we reach the beginning of the steep climb. We are not far into it, when we see Gordon sitting on a rock with his head in his hands. He says that Sharp turned back at Blue Ridge and he's in a low spot, but will be fine. This climb is a bitch, no doubt, but I refuse to stop. I get ahead of Joyce and turn to discover I can't see her. I sit down to wait, but she doesn't show up in the expected minute or less, so I get up and start back down. She's just out of view, standing up and holding her arm, crying. She had fallen and popped her elbow: the one with pins in it from the surgery she had a few months ago. We have to keep going regardless, so we get going, albeit... much slower. We're not far from the top, so this beast is almost beaten. Then we see Bob Klapthor and Shannon Mitchell, both looking great and heading down. I ask Shannon to pick up all the books on her way back home.

It feels good to be back at the McKittrick intersection... marking the end of the long and tough Dog Canyon section. Seems odd to be so exhilarated, when we're still so far from done. We check the book to see where everybody is and where they're going, and to add our two bits. It's interesting to look at the names, times, and notes to see who is doing what. I could only guess and assume up to a point. I only know what I see and what is in these books. Vicki, Trish, Ann, and Crash were starting after our main group this morning, and I can see in the book that they were here a few hours ago... and have long since headed home. Only 5 of our group are behind us, with the rest of the them well on their way home. I take my last gel during the short break.

The easy section from here to Blue Ridge doesn't seem as easy in this direction. The rock playground is much tougher to negotiate than it was earlier. I didn't realize it was downhill coming over here until now that I am going uphill heading back. Beginning to feel the mountain miles, a dull throb has been building in my bones, and the climb out of Dog has nailed it home. I wonder why I didn't notice, when it seems so dominant now. Most of the climb out of Dog was certainly a walk, but that seemed to be the intelligent thing to do. But now that we are on top and the trail is somewhat runnable, I don't feel so smart any more. We alternate walking and running, with no rhyme or reason to why or when we do one or the other. I want to run so I make myself run, but can't sustain it for very long. I try to compromise with myself by walking quickly. Lying to yourself never works for me. We pass by the Mescalero Camp site which brings to my mind the thought of the Apaches living here only a hundred and fifty years ago and I try to divert my rough feelings by talking about something other than the right here and now. That doesn't work either and the conversation dies.

We check the book at Blue Ridge and take a short break before starting the last little nasty section on this route home. There are three short steep climbs on the way back, and they start right after Juniper Trail. This part of the trail is deep forest, comfortable & serene, with pine needles and no wind... and it takes me a few moments to realize... there is no wind. And I also realize that without the wind... I'm getting harassed by a horsefly and then a few other flying insects. Damn... I start walking faster while I swat them away. Its darker in here with less sunlight leaking through the many tall trees. Its easy going for awhile and very quiet too.

At Juniper Trail, we take a short break, because I know what the next section is like and I need a short break before I fling myself at it. But...when we get up to go... I make it a goal to not stop til I top out of each of the three climbs. I push the pace, holding steady, even when it gets steep, trying not to lose my momentum as we start the switchbacks. I slow, but I don't stop, keeping the cadence the same, even if my stride is very short, I keep spinning, and going, til I make the next turn, and the next, and the next... til I top out of the first and biggest of the last three little demons. I sit on the same rock in front of a dead tree that I sit on every year... and wait for Joyce. She is not far back and takes a sit break on the same rock, and then we go after the next one. The 2nd one is much more rocky and rugged, with no switchbacks, but more ruts and rocks. Again, I refuse to stop til I top out and then I slow to wait for Joyce, but she is right with me again. One more, but this one is not right away. I can see Hunter's Peak through the trees and it seems so close, but I do remember the last little demon that I must climb before I can easily walk to Pine Top, so I keep going and hold my breath until the last one is done. And then we are on it and it too comes and goes quickly. I think it is easier because I knew it was there and I know that it is the last one, but they are all 3 done now and it is simply a short easy stroll to Pine Top.

We sit for our final break at Pine Top, back in the wind and the sun. We check the book and sign our name for the last time. I can see that almost everybody has gone down a long time ago, so there should be nobody on the trail below us to motivate me to chase. It is good though... as I'd like to go down a bit easier than usual and stay with Joyce as we have done all day. I check my bladder to dump the excess, but its almost empty so there is no need. This is one of those moments when we are not done, but know we will be... so we soak up the accomplishment and the day we just spent in the mountains... together. And I don't feel so bad anymore either. All the good that washes over us is a psychological painkiller. Simply put: success is a painkiller.

We top out and start down, slowly at first, but gaining momentum as we go. Joyce is right behind me the entire time as we take one sweeping turn after another on the 3.6 miles of downhill switchbacks. It's not til the trail runs between the two house-sized round rocks when Joyce announces she is done running. I know its still another mile or more but I don't think she knows, so I keep walking fast. I have a strong desire to be done, completely done, before I stop, and after about 10 minutes, Joyce realizes she's still a ways out, so she starts moving again. Dinner that evening is so very good, the camaraderie is perfect, and the sleep is even better.

Next morning, Saturday... we sleep in, because we plan to run Permian Reef out of McKittrick Canyon and they don't open the gates til 9am Central Time. Some want to stay and do Guadalupe Peak, but most of us drive over to McKittrick Canyon. We start in a pack, all heading up, and Brandon once again takes the lead. Most of us are reduced to a walk before very long, but Brandon is gone already, and Duane seems to be mixing a walk and run. I walk with Joyce for a bit and then we catch David and I go past, but she does not. Then I catch Gordon and another and so on til I am only behind Duane and Brandon. I can't work up a run, but I have a great power walk going. I keep going, making the rounds of each loop and switchback til I top out, just as Brandon returns from his one mile out & back to the overlook. The others come up in ones and twos, and Duane also returns from the overlook. We all sit and admire the view for a few minutes and then start back down. I go first, then Brandon... and I wonder if I can stay in front of him.

I start easy, get comfortable, and allow my momentum to carry me. The turns are easy, but its the rugged terrain that intrigues me into a faster effort. I can feel Brandon right behind me, but for now there is no place to pass. Cliffs and cactus merge with rocks and 180 degree turns to create an exhilarating run. I quit thinking about Brandon, instead focusing on where I'm going, playing chess with the rocks, thinking out the next three strides, while constantly scanning everything ahead. I trust that I can read the rocks at speed while I continue to build momentum. I make it through the nastiest section and then take a look back just before I crest a hump to start down the long face on the main canyon side: where's Brandon? I don't see him, but he has to be close, so I keep on keeping on. The trail is not near as rugged on the final descent, so I pick up the pace and stay focused, coming around the long sweeping turns and into the slot between the rocks. I have to hop up the steps and then twist through the ocotillo. The long straight line of rocks create an interesting sidewalk that clinks as each foot comes down on another rock. I have been down this path many times with many dear friends. It is familiar and friendly: a place of power for me. From the first time I crossed it, it has remained in my mind's eye, such that it makes me smile now as I cross it yet again.

When I reach the end of the long sidewalk, where the trail turns right and heads down, I glance once again over my right shoulder. There is no one, but I keep running, til I cross the creek and up the other side, left at the gazebo, and finally stop at the ranger station... in the shade. A couple from New Zealand that I remember from our camping area are there on the bench. We start up a conversation about their travels and then Brandon comes in... just a few minutes back. The others come in one at a time. It appears that they all got caught up in the mad chase off the mountain... or maybe not.

We are all still buzzing from the downhill run and it's a long time til dinner, so David stirs everybody up for a drive into New Mexico for lunch. The idea catches on and so we all end up at a pizza joint in Carlsbad. Of course, we are back at camp in time for dinner too. A few of the boys decide to run the Bear Canyon out & back, while John goes off towards Williams Ranch, and others are again talking about Guadalupe Peak or Devil's Hall. All in all, I think that everybody gets all that they want... and more.

Late in the day, the wind drives the desert into the sky and the air fills with dirt and debris. The wind has been very high all weekend, but now it is even worse, nearing 60 mph gusts or more. As soon as dinner is over, we remove the tarp roof to keep from having the wind rip them off. Its dark anyway, so there is no longer a need for sun cover. The wind continues to hammer away and we are just drinking beer at this point so we decide to take the sidewall windbreaks down as well, and when they are down, everybody decides to keep on working til the entire tent is down and packed up, as well as the stoves. When they are done, there is little to do in the morning but to load it up.

Morning comes quickly, and they are all ready to head home, so we finish loading up and head out. We have all done what we came to do, and now the wind and the sky filled with dirt chases us to the quiet and solitude of our cars. With the windows up and the air conditioning on, it is time for a break from the Guads. Its time to go home. The Guadalupe Mountain weekend every year is always classic, and I suspect that it will continue to be. The trails were exactly what we needed, the camaraderie was excellent, and the food was phenomenal. I am sure we will do it again next year.

Free State 100km

2011-05-02T15:01:00.002-05:00

Free State 100km
23 April 2011
Clinton Lake SP
Lawrence, Kansas

You have to understand the contradictions in me to get the gist of what I say. There is a very strong and deep love in me for running in the mountains, yet I live in Texas and I hate running in the heat. I don't care for boring courses that are flat with little variation in scenery and multiple loop routes give me the heebie-jeebies, but I am going blind, so a repeat loop is easier for my aging eyes to deal with. Much like one of those old parenting axioms about life that goes like this... 'Do as I say and not as I do'... and twist into 'What I say is not always what I do'. Thus I go to run a multi-loop course in Kansas.

Ben and Sophia have been running my Rocky Raccoon race for years, and they have been telling me to come run one of theirs as well, so I figure it is time. But I dont want to drive 800 miles for just any ol race... I want one that makes sense for my training. So, while setting up my own training plan for Hardrock, I roll it out and came up with Jemez 50mi and Bighorn 50mi, but also have room for something else too. I can't decide between R2R2R or Freestate, and like most ultra-runners, decide to do both. Freestate is more miles than I need at that time, but I figure it's ok because it's not as mountainous or as rugged as all the others... or so it seems.

I've run a few ultras in Kansas, so I've learned not to be surprised by the unexpected difficulties of running in a place that is supposed to be flat. Of course, I know better than to think that way. I've heard the entire course is single-track under the trees, alongside a lake, with potential for shoe sucking mud and slippery slopes, so I plan for a long tough day in rough weather. I suppose I even hope for and expect bad weather.... as a few of my buddies and I like to say... 'the worse the race - the better the story'.... and I like a good story.

I dropped off my wife, Joyce in Wichita for her nephew's wedding, and continue north to Lawrence on my own. I stop at the Econo Lodge where I reserved a room and I'm told that my reservation is for a smoking room with 2 beds & 4 people. No, not me, sorry... you made a mistake, here's my confirmation, I am sure. But we have no other rooms, so I leave without a room. I drive to Clinton Lake and check on camping, find the race start, but find nobody with the race, so I head back into town for packet pickup at Garry Gribbles Running Sports on Massachusetts Ave. It's easy to find and I check in with ease, and even bump into Sophia and have a short chat. I find a nice place for lunch around the corner and then get an unexpected call from Econo Lodge. We work out the problem and I have my single bed, non-smoking room back. So... I'm not camping after all. I drive back over and check in around 2pm. I had no idea I was so sleepy, but no sooner do I check in than I'm asleep on top of the covers. I wake around 9pm, hungry and too lazy to head out and find something to eat... so I simply called the pizza delivery that's listed on my hotel key card. It doesn't take long to destroy the small pepperoni pizza, shower, and go back to sleep. It should have all been so perfectly simply had I not woke up again at 2am for a bathroom break. Something as simply as sitting on a toilet in a dark room should be brainless... unless the door isn't closed all the way and you ram your forehead into the doorknob. Not only does my head hurt like hell, but that effectively kills my perfect sleep.

I try, but to no avail, so I get up and make better use of my time by packing my drop bags and arranging my gear for the race. Then, I pack all my things, load my truck, and drive to the race... earlier than I normally would. I roll in right in front of Sophia, so she gives me the 'rock-star' parking spot right next to the finish line tent and U-Haul truck. I'm already set, so I check to see if they need any last minute grunt help, but Ben has everything going already, so I sit back down and wait. I sure as hell won't be sleeping.

Must be 100 or more of us at the start, with half in the 40mi and half in the 100km. The 100km is subdivided into three 20mi loops, all on the north shore of Clinton Lake, with aid stations roughly 3 miles apart. I know that some of these are water only and unsupported, but more importantly, I can run very light, and only carry a single water bottle. My drop bags are just the opposite with a wealth of opportunities in clothes, food, and supplements, and located at opposite ends of the course for a look every ten miles.

Our herd charges down the road, from field to trees, and make a 90 degree right turn onto a narrow rolling single-track. Under a canopy of tall tress, the herd sorts itself out, dodging one another as well as a generous scattering of rocks. The early morning light casts odd shadows as it filters through the canopy. The energy of the herd is high, biting at the bit to go, and unleashed, surges faster than is reasonable early on. A wiser man, a person with some experience might know this and back off once this is realized and dial in an effort that lends to running 62 miles... but I left that guy at home this weekend. I hang with the young bucks and enjoy the camaraderie... if only for awhile.

Much of the course follows the contour of Clinton Lake, twisted up with the trees between the shoreline and the flat open meadows on top. Its not super hilly nor very flat either, but more of a meandering in all three dimensions. The rocks are not obsessive, but were you to not pay attention constantly, then you'd most likely hit the ground. Our congo line of runners stays pretty brisk and tight as we waltz around the perimeter of campground 3. After crossing a paved road, we climb a little up to Cactus Ridge. It takes awhile before I finally spot a few minuscule prickly pear cactus alongside the trail. The Cactus Ridge trail is more in the open but isn't out there for long before it turns back to cross the same paved road and then back to the same beach ramp where we started.

We are just 50 yards from the start aid station but we dont go up to it, instead crossing over and continuing in the same direction we were already going. The trail is relatively flat and straight now and again, but never for long, and suddenly changing direction, going up or dropping down, and then its into the rocks and flotsam right on the shoreline for awhile. A bit more care is taken to avoid twisting an ankle while we do some rock hopping. A short switchback marks the end of the shoreline trail, heading up to a staffed aid station. A few oranges and some banana fill my immediate needs, and then back into the trees.

Its all the same and its all different. I can't really tell where I am or where I'm going, but its all under the trees. I could be going any direction on the compus and I wouldn't be surprised. I can hear voices on the other trails, but have no reference of where they are in reference to me. We cross another road just as somebody else is running very quickly across the same road in the opposite direction. After a bit more meandering, we pop out onto a road, which this time, we climb up on its shoulder and continue to ascend while on a paved road. Once on top, we turn into a field and then wrap round to where we can see the 10 mile aid station managed by KUS. We skim by, back into the trees, for a 10 minute loop, and then back out to the same KUS aid station from the other side. This time, we can stop and I most certainly do.

I get my drop bag, while they fill my water bottle. I extract the avocado, and eat most of it in just 3 bites, then pack up and head back out, with a PB&J wedge in hand. 10 miles down with a whole hell of a lot more to go. My body is starting to adjust to the demands I am making, but not in a favorable way. A few aches, a few areas of tightness, and my psyche takes a hit, knowing that I feel like hauling ass the whole race, and realizing I dont have the bones to do it. I quit pushing so hard, telling myself its ok, lets relax and save some of that feeling for later.

Alone now, and a bit more conservative, I run a self-check and reflect on whats going on, feeling out the Achilles, IT band, heels, toes, and stomach. My stomach is fine, but my energy is low, and the Vasque Mindbender's just dont work all that well for my heels. My toes love them, and the rest of my foot is enjoying the comfort, but my heels say No! I'm gonna have to try some thicker inserts maybe. I cross back over the road where I saw the fast guy earlier when I can hear people all around me now. The marathon & half marathon guys are all around, passing me and also on the lower trail between me and the lake. It was so quiet just a moment ago. They all seem to be yelling at each other, or maybe its just very loud talking. They're coming through me in packs of twos and fours, most treating me as if I'm part of the terrain. It seems odd after running with the 100km and 40 mile runners. This group's primary goal seems to be just to get around me.

I stop at the aid station to get more orange and banana as a surge of runners roll in behind me. I wait for them to come and go before I mount up and start back out again. This section is just below the bluff, such that I can see the tops of campers and hear people up there every now and then. The weather has been fantastic, hanging in the mid 50s, with constant cloud cover, and just a pinch of rain. I've been going all day with a short sleeve shirt and very comfortable with it. I've been wearing some moeben sleeves, but the seems on one of them worn a blister in my underarm, so I roll them down and take them off. I think I like this section the best, but its hard to say exactly why. Maybe its a bit more rugged, a few more rocks, more twists and turns, or maybe its just me. I finish the 20 mile loop feeling a bit more used up than I need to be with 40 more miles to do. I walk up the slight uphill to cross the timing mat, with a time around 4 hours for loop one.

My truck sits right at the aid station, so I pop the tail gate and sit on it. I change shoes, going for the Montrail Hardrocks, while I eat more avocado, have some soup, while I consider a few more clothing changes. My stomach rumbles when I get up, so I wonder down the road to find a port-o-jon. This takes a lot longer than it should, but some things you just can't rush. When I leave, I feel as if I'm starting all over again, except... now I'm walking. I hook up immediately with two others who are also struggling to walk: blue-shirt and white-shirt. I am not a race walker, but it must look something like this, as we attempt to propel our bodies forward in a stiff legged upper body swing motion. Knowing how slow we are moving, each of us attempts to push ahead of the other and get some momentum going, but instead just leapfrog each other a few times before white-shirt works himself up to a run and leaves us behind. I had hoped it would be me, but it just isn't so. Blue-shirt and I manage a rolling walk/run and seem to be making good time but it's not pretty and its nowhere near what I'd call running. Blue-shirt pulls ahead at one point while I stop to suck down a gel and then I try like hell to hang on, while he tries like hell to push ahead. Its a silly game we play, but it's enough motivation for both of us to do more than back off and just walk. Funny thing is, after a few miles, we catch white-shirt and the three of us continue on as before, but a bit faster than the stiff logged stroll we were doing early in this loop.

By the time, we reach the aid station, we are running half decent again... not great, but better than it had been. By now, I've realized both the other guys are in the 40 mile and only going to the end of this loop, while I have another 20 miles beyond them. For some odd reason this seems to give me more power, so I pick it up a bit more and push ahead. White-shirt comes with me. and together we push the pace clean up to the KUS turnaround station. I eat a fair bit of food and load a few gels for the return trip, and then follow the white-shirt out of the station.

I'd like to think my pace is faster and stronger than anything I've done so far today, but reality is that in reference to what I had been doing, it just appears to be that way. Anyway, I'l really flying now, trying like hell to just hang on to white-shirt as we run everything including the uphills. This goes on for a few miles before I have an instant where I catch my breath and explain to him that I'm getting off the bus. Its too fast for too long and I still have a very long way to go... so I stop to eat a gel and also to separate myself from this way-too-fast pace. I start again, only a bit slower, dialing in a comfortable speed that feels good, and simply keep it rolling for a few miles until I catch white-shirt again... walking! As I pull up, he explains that he's hit bottom again. I knew that I couldn't sustain that pace for much longer, and I suspected that he couldn't either, but I also knew enough to keep that to myself. I went by him and kept on going and feeling pretty good about my wisdom in this case... especially after all the other poor decisions. Maybe this old dog can learn after all these years. I think I'm just trying to fool myself now. I suppose thats true in many cases, all in the effort to do whatever it takes to get me there as quickly as possible.

I finish loop two in five hours, which seems pretty good considering how slowly I turned the first part of that loop. Again, I walk up the hill, cross the mat, and sit down to eat. I had brought a lot of cold weather clothing, expecting a storm, rain, or some sort of mess to get me soaking cold and wet, but it has been a beautiful day so far. A constant mid-50 degree day, with no rain, a bit of cold breeze, and under cloud cover, allowing the sun to peek through only on a few rare occasions. Coming from Texas... this has been wonderfully prefect. No mud on my shoes, no gloves, hat, or anything else that required extra gear or weight. There is no reason to change anything except for my soaking wet shirt and bandana. The entire run has been with a single water bottle, topped off at regular interval aid stations.

I begin the final loop much the same as the last one, finding it very difficult to get going again. I cross paths with another guy who is also starting his third loop. I power-walk for a bit but cant seem to get my running legs. For the entire five mile loop out to Cactus Ridge and back, nothing changes, except for the overall dull throb of pain that seems to be everywhere at once. I sit down for a short break just below the main aid station to eat another gel and to take three tylenol caps. I'm hoping that the pain relievers will take the edge off so that I can get back to running again. My walking friend catches me while I sit, but I move past him again soon after.

At first, there is no change, but shortly, I seem to get my running legs back under me again. Only a little at first, but slowly they come around. I had started this loop with a headlamp wrapped around my wrist, not being all that sure that I could get to my drop bag before I lost the sunlight. And the way it started, I had even more doubts... but now I know for certain that I'm going to get to my bag well before time. Not that it matters anymore, as I have the light and I'm covered whatever happens now. I pass the midway aid station just fine and seem to pick up speed on my way to the final KUS turnaround. When I roll in, a guy asks me if I'd like a turkey burger and I respond with a smile. He runs back to the station with my order while I make the ten-minute loop out and back around to the station. They have my sandwich when I arrive and also an ice cold Freestate beer. Oh what a glorious meal it is! My walking friend comes in and grabs his burger as he heads back out, so I finish off mine and rush after him. He's a bit disappointed when I tell him about the beer, but one thing is certain, we're both heading home now, with about 9 miles left to go.

I know that I'm going to lose the light before I get back, and I know that I can go faster in the light, so this is when I really like to push it a bit, using the fading light as a motivator. And maybe it's the turkey burger and beer, but I really get it going again... running most of it, but walking the stiffer climbs, so as to not crash before I make it back home.

This is the time I enjoy the most, late in the run, the light going down, all alone, heading home, feeling all the pains and joys of this run... this day, and knowing it's all going to be over soon. Sure, it will be good to be done, but it will also be sad. This is what I came up here to do... run, play, enjoy, watch, see, visit, bond, hurt, smile, and live. Everything has it's cost and I don't mind paying for what this cost. The miles and hours of slinging my body down a trail certainly has it's cost, and I knew what it would cost before I started, at least to some degree. And I knew also what I'd find... more of my self. It is so much easier to see within after some degree of deprivation, some degree of exhaustion & pain. It's all good. I got what I came for, and it was not the buckle. The buckle is very nice, but I came for a feeling that I can only find out there.

I finish well, although my time may not reflect it. Ben and Sophia hand me my buckle and a hug. They are both genuine and wonderful people, good in so many ways. They took care of me and everyone else who was here. They put on a well thought out and professional race, loaded with their own special manner of care and understanding. Their volunteers reflect the same manner as they do, doing their best to care for each of us, and staying til the last runner is done. I would not change a thing, but from what I understand, the weather will do that for them.

Time for Me...

2011-03-25T09:15:00.005-05:00

Now that I have just about made it past the row of trail races Joyce and I direct... its time for me to do some running of my own. I have made a few plans just for me...

(4/07) The Guads. A 4 day weekend in the Guadalupe Mountains.
(4/23) FreeState 100km
(5/07) R2R2R with a few friends.
(5/21) Jemez 50mi
(6/17) Bighorn 50mi
(7/08) Hardrock 100mi

2011 Spring (January to March)

2011-03-25T08:14:00.005-05:00

It has been a BIG start for the year.

(1/8/11) starting with Bandera which was the 2011 USA Track and Field 100km Trail National Championships and part of the Montrail Ultra Cup. Made for a bigger than usual field of 711 runners with 186 in the 100km, 210 in the 50km, and 315 in the 25km. Dave Mackey in 8:16:48 and Liza Howard in 9:35:23 both set new course records, followed by a few others who also beat the old record.

(2/5/11) Four weeks later, it was Rocky Raccoon with a star studded field (Anton Krupicka, Hal Koerner, Karl Meltzer, Michael Arnstein, Mike Wolfe, Paul Hopwood, Hiroki Ishikawa, Zach Gingerich, and Scott Jurek) with Ian Sharman setting a new fastest trail time for this country at 12:44:33. 512 totals runners, 316 in the 100mi and 196 in the 50mi. Registration was up, but because of a bad winter storm of snow and ice, many could not make it to the race. Houston's airport and highways were closed for a few hours on Friday.

(3/5/11) Four weeks later, it was Nueces which was the 2011 USA Track and Field 50mi Trail National Championships and the the La Sportiva Mountain Cup with the 25km. The top 6 runners were all under the old course record. Jason Schlarb in 6:28:26 and Liza Howard in 8:09:59. 200 runners with 44 in the 50mi, 37 in the 50km, 77 inthe 25km, and 42 in the 10km. A cold front blew through the morning of the race for a very windy day but wonderfully cool.

(3/19/11) Two weeks later, it was Race to the Altar This was supposed a LITTLE fun race wrapped around Jeff Linwood and Cheri Woldt's wedding. A marathon, half-marathon, and 5km... all on trails at Bluff Creek Ranch in Warda. Well, the little race roared... with 150 runners combined. Geoffrey Whitfield in 3:20:27 and Landie Visser in 3:34:25.This race marked the beginning on the Texas heat that is now coming fast.

(4/2/11) And Two weeks later, it will be Hells Hills which should be a full blown barn burner in all aspects. I expect it to be hot, I expect about 350 runners, and I expect it to be another fun trail weekend.

Its been a great winter for Tejas Trails

2010-12-31T23:54:00.002-06:00

Since Hardrock... its been one minor physical issue after another. Nothing major, but enough to keep me from doing much. So I switched focus to the races we direct and of course there is always plenty to do with all the coaching. We landed 2 USA Track and Field National Championships for 2011. Bandera for the 100km and Nueces fro the 50mi. Still, I look forward to a few long runs & races in 2011 as well. So adios 2010. Welcome 2011.

Hardrock 2010 is over (for me) before it begins.

2010-07-09T10:34:00.002-05:00

High altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE) is a life-threatening form of non-cardiogenic pulmonary edema (fluid accumulation in the lungs) that occurs in otherwise healthy mountaineers at altitudes above 2,500 meters (8,200 ft).[1] What makes some people susceptible to HAPE is not currently known. The standard and most important treatment is to descend to lower altitude as quickly as possible... so I withdrew from Hardrock and drove home. Now worries. Life is good.

Pocatello 17

2010-06-04T09:09:00.004-05:00

May 29, 2010

Snow mixed with sleet smashes into us, driven by a 40 mph wind. Every inch of exposed skin on my left side stings from the assault. To protect my face, I pull the Buff over my left eye and snug down my hat. This leaves only one half-blind eye to find my way and two bare legs to do the walking.

Even though I worry terribly about Joyce, she seems to be doing fine. She's got 2 layers under a rain jacket, with mittens, heater packs, and a wool hat, but only shorts and leggings to protect the lower half of her body. I help her adjust the jacket hood for better protection, but now she can only look down and right. She raises her left arm to protect her face just a little.

We are on the wrong side of the ridge, a knife's edge, in the path of the hawk. There is no protection from the wind except for a few bushes and some scattered rocks. The wind blown sleet and snow turns the air white, reducing visibility to little more than 30 feet. I search for markers and have trouble finding any. Not sure if they're blown away by the wind, covered by snow, or I simply cant see them.

I go ahead to search out the route, but only far enough so that I can still see Joyce behind me. I sit behind a rock and wait for her, then I go again, and again. When I reach a ridge of broken rocks, I not only have Joyce with me, but also a few other ladies. Maybe they trust me, as I seem to be going the right way, but they wait for me to start again each time after I stop.

The wind is howling so loud I cant hear anything other than the sleet and snow pellets beating into the side of my face. My hands are cold and swollen, fingers numb and tingling. The inside of my right leg is bright pink and stinging like mad. I reach down to touch the skin, but can't feel my fingers... only cold. I need to get Joyce off this mountain. She has Reynauds Syndrome and must be hurting a hell of a lot more than I am.

I stop to adjust my gloves and the Buff, take the time to snap a few pictures of Joyce as she climbs up from below. I figure that a few pictures might do more justice that all of these words. They are the only pictures I will take. I try to use my fingers but they don't seem to be working correctly, so I push the button with the frozen nub of my knuckle. I notice the pockets of my pack are full of snow.

I am quite comfortable with running mountain races and thought I had taken all the right precautions with food, water, and gear, but this storm is a whole lot more than I had bargained for. A not so subtle reminder that in the mountains the weather can change in an instant. Nothing should be taken for granted... ever! Ok, so I have been duly reminded.

My hat is ripped from my head and flung down the mountain. I go after it and get lucky, then take the time to remove my pack and shove it inside. By the time I'm done with the diversion, Joyce and the others are well above. I hurry to catch up just as they top out and start down the other side. Our small group hurries down a snow covered jeep road, but we're finally out of the worst of the storm.

It's an awkward run on frozen limbs, sloshing in the snow and slopping in the mud. We bumble ahead searching for flags. Its almost comical, being stiff and cold, with the snow and the mud making every foot plant an iffy proposition. There is no certainty that one foot will stay long enough for the other to come round and replace it. Balance becomes a priority, with all muscles firing on every stride in order to stay upright.

Somebody is running towards us form the opposite direction and he stops to ask how we're doing. It's the RD and he's genuinely concerned. He tells us what to look for at the next critical turn that many have already missed. Following his direction, we go the correct way, and begin the long descent out of the cold.

Taking inventory, I note how my hands and fingers are still very swollen. I'd be in a lot of pain if I still had my wedding ring on. I'm so glad I removed it back at the start. It was such a minor thing at the time, the weather nice, the mood easy. We started the race at sunrise on the paved road with no warning of what was to come.

...just a few hours ago...

On a pretty single-track trail that rises easy enough for us to run, Joyce and I go around groups of 4 and 5 people at a time... until we reach a group running a pace we are comfortable with. Once on top, the trail settles into a simple traverse. In and out of each fold of the mountain, the trail runs fast and easy with excellent views all around. Its a beautiful morning... just a bit misty.

Ever so slightly, the mist turns to sleet. It feels pretty good coming from the Texas heat just two days ago. The only effect is a bigger smile. When the sleet starts to get heavier, we stop to put on our rain jackets and quickly hook back up with the same group of women.

Expecting the sleet to stop in a short time, it gets heavier instead. These mountain storms usually blow through pretty quick, but I'm all wrong this time. The beautiful single-track dirt trail becomes a sloppy wet slip-n-slide. We're ok with the mud and being wet, so we keep running, but it quickly becomes clear that we can't do as we please and just keep running. I bust my butt really bad, landing in the muddy path. When I get up to look behind me (to see if Joyce saw my comeuppance), I see her do the same... a graceful 180 half pipe, feet high, one handed landing, and face plant. Its so comical, we both laugh at each other.

I try a sort of ice skating glide when the trail is flat-ish, but more typically its rutted with one or two grooves. Its tough to keep both feet in the same groove and far enough apart for some semblance of balance. On the steeper descents, I simply stand still and slide forward. It becomes a game, a puzzle to solve, that I sink my thoughts into to. I check back to see how Joyce is doing and note that I'm either doing real well or she's not. I try to stop, but I can't, so I keep on sliding down the trail. The muddy mess becomes our new world all the way down into Gibson Jack.

I'm surprised that we're still under 2 hours. Without the mud, we might have been much quicker, so I'm pleased with our progress despite the handicap. Halfway to City Creek and feeling good, we stop to eat some food and top off our water bottles.

Going uphill on mud is not nearly as much fun, but it doesn't take long before we regain solid ground. The denseness of the sleet seems to be on the rise and its getting thicker, mixing with snow. We do not get much snow in Texas, so its pretty exciting. The markings take us off trail for the next turn and heading strait up the mountain. It's a non-trail bush-whack, but its easy to follow at first. All those in front of us have crushed the ground foliage to create a path through the rocks and cactus.

I love this sort of weather, the snow, and being out in the mountains. I'm feeling pretty good, climbing well, enjoying the run. I check behind me to see how Joyce is doing and realize she's back a good way, so I stop to wait. The snow is starting to come down pretty thick and its getting colder. Joyce is doing great and enjoying herself as well, so we push on. The snow is accumulating quickly on the ground and the wind is rising up as well. I stop to wait again, and repeat, as we climb to once again join the same small group that we've been with all morning.

Its so subtle that I do not notice exactly when it shifts, but the recognition is all at once when I realize that the snow is deeper and visibility is way down. Its about then that I feel the wind begin to bite. I go from comfortable to damned uncomfortable real fast. We're in a full blown blizzard before I recognize what's happening.

As nasty as it is, as cold as we are, we keep smiling. What an adventure! I know that what we are doing is dangerous, but still... we're living life at its fullest right now. Its exhilarating. Every time I check Joyce's mood, she's tuned the right way. Certainly, we'd rather our hands weren't so damn cold, but still, we're glad to be in it.

On the downhill side, heading to City Creek aid station, Joyce tells me she has no intention on going back out. We both have some gear in a drop bag at the station, but neither of us has blizzard gear: winter jacket, waterproof snow pants, waterproof gloves, wool hat, and goggles. As good as I feel, my fingers are still tingling and my feet have yet to thaw, so I know better than to head back out into the deep freeze. I tell her I'm done too. We're surprised to see all our friends waiting for us when they should be well ahead. Somebody tells us the race has been cancelled, that its over. We hear snippets of info about where everybody is and who is still missing, but it'll take hours before we know all of it.

They have a car warm and waiting for us, but we're covered in mud and soaking wet. We peel off a few of the muddy top layers, including shoes and socks, then climb into the heat. It's disappointing, certainly... but there is nothing we can do about it. Back to the hotel to hose off, then a large lunch and our entire gang retires for a few hours of bowling and beer.

Grand Canyon : R2R2R

2010-05-10T18:45:00.005-05:00

The Grand Canyon is one of those place that resides on everybody's bucket list. And to see it right, perfectly right, you should travel from rim to rim. And to create humility, add the double for R2R2R. Joyce and I checked it off our list on May 1st, 2010. It took is awhile, but we did get it done...

-------------

R2R2R (Rim to Rim to Rim)
Grand Canyon, AZ
1 May 2010

The plan to start at 3:30 AM is not my idea. None of it is. All of it is on Fred. He made the plans, booked the hotels, shuttle van, and even did the front work on the airline itinerary. It's hard to pass when somebody else makes all the arrangements, so Joyce and I sign up for all of it, including the 3:30 start. Turns out, there are eight of us are doing the double, with nine others doing some other variation of the canyon. Fly on Friday, Canyon on Saturday, Sedona on Sunday, and Home on Monday. Our hotel, the Maswik, is a sweet deal too: just a short 3/10ths from Bright Angel trailhead. We've been friends with Fred & Paige for a very long time and this is the perfect opportunity to stay connected. R2R2R with good friends is hard to beat. Joyce and I attempted the double crossing years ago on a very hot July day and aborted at Cottonwood, so I have an itch to scratch also.

South Rim to North Rim and back appears to be 48 miles. Add in Maswik and it's dead on. 24 over and 24 back. I've got plenty of time, so its really just about the water. I'm not sure what Fred or the others have in mind, but for the simplicity of it, and being able to use only two water bottles, I've split the route up from water to water. Indian Gardens, the River, and Cottonwood. And just to be safe, I stuff an empty water bladder in the bottom of my pack as well.

The forecast looked pretty cold, so I bring a variety of hats, gloves, jackets, and shirts. But, the expected cold freeze is not as bad as expected, so I scale down on my wardrobe for the day. Still, we are all bundled up pretty good when we slip into the canyon. And it doesn't take long before we peel off and pack it away for later. I usually run very well in the dark and especially love to run downhills, but I'm hanging with the group today, so I settle into a conversational stroll. We pass the 1.5 mile Rest House, and then the 3 mile Rest House in the dark. Everybody's pretty excited with finally getting started, so there's a lot of conversation back and forth as well as with a few other groups who seem to be all starting around the same time. Its still dark when we roll into Indian Gardens, so we try to keep quiet. Some top off their water and others rearrange their gear. For me, its the first of many stop and waits. We're only 4.5 miles into the canyon and have already dropped from 6800 ft to 3800 ft. Its not cold any longer.

This section below Indian Gardens is fun and the gang has picked up the pace, so we're moving much faster now. The rock and wood erosion control breaks on the trail are insane. Some stick out of the ground quite high, the ground is worn down low in-between, and there is no pattern to it, so a running rhythm is impossible. I'm skipping, hopping, and tracking left and right to avoid tripping and also trying not to stop. Its awkward and the thought crosses my mind that it'll be even worse going back up. The weather is perfect, but the half-light just before dawn is the worst visibility. A good time to be careful. Its also the kind of light a photographer might really like: bright edges crossing over dark. Most of us have cameras and they're all out now. Everyone is snapping pictures of each other, the sunlit cliffs, the moon, and whatever else the light catches just right. Something about this time of day seems to amp the energy up. We're all laughing, running, and snapping as we enter the Devil's Corkscrew.

I sprint ahead of Fred and James to get some shots of them coming down behind me. I snap a few, run ahead, stop, snap some more, and start again. I should know better. Like running with scissors, camera in hand, working the buttons, looking for the next best spot, running along a rocky trail littered with rocks, on a cliffs edge. I'm laying in the rocks before I even recognize that I've tripped. The camera in still in hand, but the lens is shattered, and my arm bloody. What a dumb ass. Hurts like hell, but the last thing I'm gonna be on this adventure is a problem for anybody else. I quickly hop up as Fred and James arrive to inspect the damage. A two second inspection: they see that I'm ok, nothing broken, but the camera, so we go on. I put away the busted camera and my cavalier attitude and join the others. The rest of the corkscrew is uneventful, and the next section is docile in comparison. A few creek crossings and then the river.

It's morning, but the direct sunlight won't touch us for awhile. The River Junction Trail climbs the south side wall, well above the river. After a few hours of downhill, my legs are not quite ready for this uphill. Its also as sandy as any beach I've ever been on. My shoes have a mesh top that slowly sifts the sand with each step. I try to shift gears, but the sand handicap and uphill reduces me to a walk. We're now down to 2500 ft.

We gather at the metal suspension bridge for a group photo and then run across it. The grate floor and chain-link waist-high walls do nothing to block my view of the fast moving water: the transparent effect creates a feeling there is nothing between me and the Colorado River. All of it overwhelms my senses: the size, the sound, and the power of it is disorienting. The sound of the beast beneath my feet reverberates off the cliff walls, wiping every other thought from my mind. It's wider than I expected, so I hurry to cross.

The trail passes by a mule corral in a shady grove on the way to the water pump and bathroom. This is a key reference point for us: marking the end of south rim section, about 10 miles into the adventure. Its another 8 miles from here to the next water, so we top off, take a short break, then start north. The trail runs alongside Bright Angel Creek, the campgrounds on the other side, then we skim past the edge of Phantom Ranch on our right. I make a note to remember the zig-zag where the burros are tied up. If we miss this turn on the return, we'll go through the middle of the ranch. No big deal probably, but why test it.

Bright Angel Creek and the North Kaibab Trail intertwine as they enter a narrow slot called "The Box". The Box is a unique setting, with solid rock walls shooting strait up for hundreds of feet, and barely enough room for both the creek and the trail between them. The trail itself is curious to me and I pay particular attention to its construction. I can see that quite a bit of work was done to keep the trail in place, from metal and rock underpinnings, to the solid metal and beam bridges bolted into rock with more than just a few bolts. At some of the bends in the creek, rock walls were erected to control the creek's flow, to keep it from washing away the trail. A lot of time was spent to make this trail what it is, and all of it blends naturally with the creek inside the walls of this breathtaking slot canyon.

The walls cut into one wide sweeping turn after another so that none of it is strait. The creek isn't strait and neither is the trail. Even the thin slice of daylight overhead causes unusual angles of light on the black and grey rock walls: a natural art gallery of rock, water, and light. The gentle uphill walkway hugs one wall for awhile and then the other, the overhead lights are soft and subtle, but its the piped in sound of a soothing mountain stream that holds the total effect together. I'd like to run, but walking seems more appropriate and it does provide more time to soak it all in.

We could have run, but we do not, at least, not at first. Past "The Box" and well before Cottonwood, our group decides to split. Before we do, Fred gives me Joyce's camera, which he had been using. Ross, Joyce, and I start to run and manage a good run/walk up until Ribbon Falls. This is where it starts tilting uphill, gradual at first, and then so much more. We reach a creek crossing with a traffic jam: backpacking hikers are lined up, removing shoes and packs, trying to cross a 6 ft wide creek that is not deep, but certainly moving fast. A head high guide rope is tied off for assistance, but this little wrinkle seems to have stymied the hikers. Ross, Joyce, and I each plow in, one at a time, and go around them, wading across, and continue without a hiccup. Cottonwood is just beyond the water crossing and our 2nd key reference point.

We're not sure of of the reports we've heard about water from here on, so we take our time to have a meal and top off our water bottles. I also decide to load my extra water bladder with about 40 oz just in case. Water is heavy and I do not want to overload, but I also do not want to run out. This may be the last water we get until we return to this same place 14 miles later. More importantly, it might have to last 5 hours. I fix a swiss and turkey sandwich on raison bread. Joyce cuts up an avocado to go with the sandwiches and chips. We packed everything we needed to eat, with water being our only need along the way. Its a great meal and when we leave, we're ready for it.

None of us have been this way before, so this next section is new to all of us. According to the map and directions, there are only a few side trails. Everything is so well marked that there is little concern, except for the altitude and the expected snow on top. We leave Cottonwood at 4000 ft with another 4200 ft to climb in the next 7 miles to reach the 8200 ft north rim. Ross hooks on to another guy going past and disappears, so that Joyce and I are now alone for the first time on this trip. And it seems perfect fine. The last time we were here, we stopped at Cottonwood. We are again at Cottonwood to finish what we left unfinished 8 years ago.

The Pump House is a wonderful little shaded area only a mile past Cottonwood. The comfort of the place is enticing and had we not just stopped at Cottonwood for an extended break, then I would surely have liked to sit a while. I need to remember this place for next time. This is the point where the trail turns distinctively upwards. It rises above the canyon floor on switchbacks as it hugs the rock walls. This section is not only the most difficult, it is also the most beautiful and captivating. Sheer cliff walls all around, roaring springs shooting out of a mountain side cliff, trails hanging on the edge of cliffs, water drips icing over rocky ledges, and all of it just gorgeous. Were it not for my difficulties in breathing, I might be taking a lot more pictures. But also, I know I'm coming back this same way, so they can wait. We are moving slow, not labored so much, as methodical. Approaching the split for Roaring Springs, and looking ahead, I cannot tell which way the trail will go. I can't make out any low pass, slots, or anything but sheer walls that reach to the sky. It has the look of a box canyon, and if I didn't know that this trail does climb out, I'd think I was going the wrong way. The trail twists endlessly up and left, finding a slice of rock that is invisible until you get to the next level. Rock formations hide some turns and others are hidden in plain sight by tricks of perspective. Its all very obvious when standing directly in from of it, but not until then.

We're surprised by Fred and James coming up from behind. They've left Paige at Cottonwood where she waits for them to pick her up on the return. And soon after, we're met by Patrick and Paul coming back from the rim. Patrick informs us we still have an hour and a half to the top. As Patrick and Paul head down, Fred and James go up. We watch both groups turn to specs as then move quickly away from us.

Supai Tunnel is a welcome sight: our landmark for 2 miles out. There's a water pump, but it's turned off. A loud rumble rolling down from above concerns me until we get nearer and see that the park service is removing some unstable rock. Past them, we cross an icy ledge and then we're into the snow. A little at first and then more as go higher. We pass a crew of two working a jackhammer to bust rocks in another slot. We can hear them singing a Joe Cocker tune "With A Little Help From My Friends". They seem to be making the best of their hard labor and the song brings a smile to us as well. 30 minutes later, we find Ross sitting on the side of the trail. He says, the top is only ten minutes away and he's waiting for Fred and James to run down with him. Ten minutes later, we see the boys coming back, and a few minutes later, we too are there.

The North Rim is beautiful and serene covered in snow. Two hikers are taking their lunch when we arrive, and we ask them take our picture. The right thing to do now would be to top off and eat, but it's too cold and we were after all, only half way.

It's slow at first due to the snow and the mud from the snow melt. Some of the ledges are icy too, but mostly we're just sightseeing. The view going down is awesome. We can see 12600 ft Mount Humphreys 75 miles away in Flagstaff. We can also see all the trails from above that we couldn't see from below. I take the camera out and stop a lot to take picture after picture. The jackhammer guys are gone, but the other crew is still there. Others are still hiking up as we head down. Even with all the picture taking stops, the descent is pretty quick. For the first time today, both my water bottles are empty and I start using the water bladder in my pack. We stop at Supai Tunnel for a bathroom break and I check the water pump again just to make sure it still doesn't work.

All the ledges and steep drops make for some dynamic pictures. Especially with the trail clinging to the wall and the Agave and Prickly Pear hanging over the edges. The thought crosses my mind to speed up so we can hook back up with Fred & Paige. But then the entire flow of this journey would change: from relaxed and easy, to something more focused and stressful. I let it go. We run a bit, then stop for pictures and repeat. We stutter run down the mountain, keeping the camera handy until Roaring Falls. From there to the Pump House, I put it up and run. It feels good to stretch out and go. We stop at the Pump House to top off one bottle.

When we crossed paths with Fred back at the North Rim, he said he'd wait for us at Cottonwood for 30 minutes, but I figured him to hammer down to where he left Paige. When we arrive at Cottonwood, I'm not surprised to see they're already gone. It was too cold for us to stop and eat on the rim, so we have gone longer than we should have without refueling. We take the time now, fixing sandwiches with avocado and chips. We clean up a bit under the cold water pump and top off the bottles. I also take the time to empty the water bladder from my pack. I wont need that much water and certainly don't need the extra weight.

This time, when we leave, heading downhill, we giddy-up and go. We find the water crossing soon enough and once again there is a traffic jam. This time, there are six hikers with packs in various states of putting on or taking off packs and boots. Same as last time, we rush right past them and keep running. The area around Ribbon Falls is wide and more open than most of this canyon. It has a few uphills, and flowering cactus everywhere. The most startling are the bright purple roses on the devilishly thorny cholla less than a foot off the ground. The thorns must be three inches in length and look real nasty: Mother Nature's most obvious "Do Not Disturb" sign. The next unique area we go through is thick with eight feet tall reeds and low bridges running over a swamp. The bridges appear to be simple sidewalks, but for the sound of water running underneath.

Now we're back in "The Box". The same narrow slot that we came up this morning. Its hotter now, but the sun is rarely on us, depending on the turn in the deep canyon walls, as well as the clouds. Its fun running from bright sunlight to deep shadow, from hot to cool, for mile after mile. The wind is gusting now, so I have to snug down my hat. We pick up speed through here, having fun with it, running with the sun, wind, and water. Damn but its good to be alive. This is WHY we do this, WHY we keep going back, looking for more adventures. These are the moments that make it all so perfect.

When everything is PERFECT, time seems to go so ridiculously fast. About the same time I pick out the mountain top I suspect is on the river, Joyce sees the sign, "Phantom Ranch - 0.3 miles". We push on to the bathroom and water pump, where we top off our water, then move on. We cross the river, walking! The sand on the other side again fills my shoes. We take our time along the river trail, walking and talking, enjoying the feel of the wind and the look of the light on the river.

We turn onto Bright Angel Trail and take our time walking to the first water crossing, where we stop and sit. I've been thinking about it for awhile and this is the place. I remove my shoes and socks and stick my feet in the cold water. It feels so good. We empty the sand from our shoes, wash off our feet, and put on clean socks. Soon after, we start up the Devil's Corkscrew. As steep and nasty as it is, we seem to be doing just fine. Must be the clean socks. Again, its time to pull the camera and start snapping away. I look for the exact location where I busted my ass this morning, but it all looks the same. Past the worst (or best) of it, we find Fred and Paige with a bonked out James. They look great but are concerned about James. We offer up some avocado, turkey, swiss, papaya, ginger, and advice, but its pretty obvious he wants none of it. Fred's concern is that he's either going to sit down and quit, or wander off a cliff.

The four of us take turns, herding James forward, upward, and away from the edge. We're beyond the Corkscrew now and the trail is beautiful. I go ahead and start taking pictures of this area just under Indian Gardens. Coming down in the dark, we missed all of this, but it really is such a pretty area. Its a large drainage filled with big cottonwood trees and the trail is solid rock. Because we're strolling along slowly, I have time to look around and study the area. We top off our water at Indian Gardens as the light begins to fade.

Fred and I go ahead and start up the first of the switchbacks leading up to the South Rim. We wait for the others to get to us, and then Joyce & I go ahead with James. The next major landmark is the 3 mile Rest House, and we're all anxious to know where it is. Its getting dark, so James puts his headlamp on, but neither of us do. I ask Joyce to go ahead to look for the rest house, but she can't. Her stomach is upside down and she has no energy left. When Fred gets next to us again, he asks me what I think about towing James. I think its a great idea, so he starts putting together articles of clothing to create a tow rope. We reach the 3 mile Rest House before Fred ties off to James and starts towing him. Fred, James, and Paige pull ahead up the mountain switchbacks quickly now. We can see their lights above us, moving much faster than we are.

Joyce is wiped out, stumbling about, falling backwards. I put my hand on her back and push her forward every now and again, especially on the drainage bar steps. She wants to sit down and puke, but I tell her to puke while she's moving. The higher we get, the cooler it gets, and its too cold for her to stop. We move slowly up the mountain at a snail's pace and it takes a while to register that we still do not have our lights on. We stop to put them on, and it helps a little, but our progress remains just as slow. I can see where a group of lights have gathered ahead of us and suspect that's where the 1.5 mile Rest House is. Fred must have stopped for a bit, but it takes us a long time to get to the same place. They're gone by the time we get there, but we stop for a short break also.

The steps made by the drainage bars are tough to navigate in our current state. Joyce struggles over some of them and falls backwards a few times. A red light approaches from above: a park medical person. We ask how far and he responds by asking how we are. We ask again how far and he says we are close enough for emergency rescue. We ask once more how far, and he says close to 2 miles. Knowing that we left the 1.5 mile Rest House awhile ago and knowing Joyce is not doing well, I quickly tell her its got to be much closer to 1 mile by now, so we keep moving up while he continues down. He's looking for people in trouble and we must have passed, but just barely.

When we finally reach the tunnel, Joyce says there are two tunnels, but I only remember one. Knowing she is delirious, I assume she is wrong and we're very close to being done. But the trail keeps going, and so do the lights above us. Ok, so there are TWO tunnels and we still have a bit to do. When I see the light from a window, then I know we're almost done. The window is part of the shop just below the rim. We make a right turn at the building, and finally arrive at where we started, back at the South Rim. The first indication is a very stiff cold wind. Our journey's end is bittersweet in the bitter cold. We might have stopped for a moment to revel in what we've done, but freeze the thought and keep walking: down to the road and up the sidewalk towards our hotel. Going past James room, the door is cracked, a thin line of light leaks out. We turn to it, thinking maybe Fred and gang stopped here. We knock and walk in to warmth and smiles. Everyone is here. Only then do we realize we are done and sink to the floor.

Were I to track my splits, I'd find large holes where I was standing still. But, I didn't care to track the time or distance. I wore a watch, but chose to ignore it, and my GPS devices were left behind. I was around many other people at various places all day, so I got the gist of how we were doing, but tried to avoid any discussion about - how long this would take. We started around 3:40. I know that we reached the river in 3 hours, the North Rim around noon, back to the river around 4:30, and back to the South Rim before 10. We left in the dark and returned in the dark, so we used the entire day to enjoy the sights, sounds, and smells of the Canyon. It truly was glorious.

the GUADS

2010-04-13T17:33:00.004-05:00

The Guadalupe Mountains are one of my favorite places to go and get some awesome big miles. 8600 ft of elevation is as good as it get in the state of Texas. We have a group of 40 people going with for 4 days of running and playing. All the pictures will end up on our smugmug account, so check there for the best pictures. Joyce & I leave first thing in the morning... Wednesday early. Be back on Sunday late.

Spring Plans

2010-03-27T14:27:00.003-05:00

My first real post is and should be our plans for the upcoming Spring and Summer. After Hells Hills is done and we move beyond our own series of Tejas Trails races, it's time to try our own legs at somebody else's races. 1st up is the Guadalupe Mountain training weekend and deep mental massage. A few weeks later is The Grand Canyon for the R2R2R adventure. A few weeks after that is Pocatello 50mi. Weeks later to San Juan Solstice 50mi. And then to the Hardrock 100mi. Thats as far as I got on the plans, but it leaves little room for anything else.

the races directed

2009-04-10T09:05:00.012-05:00

1 Bandera 100km/50km/25km; 8 January 2011; Bandera TX
2 Rocky Raccoon 100mi/50mi; 5 February 2011; Huntsville TX
3 Nueces 50mi/50km/10km; 5 March 2011; Rocksprings TX
4 Hells Hills 50mi/50km/25km; 2 April 2011; Smithville TX
5/6/7 Capn Karl Trail Series 60km/30km/10km; Jul/InksLake - Aug/PedernalesFalls - Sep/MuleShoeBend
8 Cactus Rose 100mi/50mi; 30 October 2010; Bandera TX
9 Wild Hare 50mi/50km/25km; 20 November 2010; Warda TX

Joe's pics on Smugmug