Thursday, August 21, 2014

Pikes Peak Marathon, Aug. 17th

Pikes Peak Marathon - Manitou Springs, CO - 08/17/2014

Distance: 26.2

Goal: 5:59

Results: 6:05

Website: http://pikespeakmarathon.org/

General Summary: I didn't have grand expectations going into this race, my eighth Pikes Peak Marathon (I've run three ascents and two doubles). I've only run to the top three times this year, twice from Elk Park and once from Devil's Playground. The last time I went up on the Elk Park Trail I struggled in the last three miles.

I started off slowly and managed my pace well, given my level of fitness and general dotage. I reached A-Frame in 2:35 and the summit in 3:47. Coming off the summit I ran very well, passing a dozen or so runners on the return to A-Frame. On the long traverse to the Bottomless Pit Sign I caught me toe once, but recovered, then I out and out fell. Got up dusted myself off with minimal damage, only to fall for real just past the Bottomless Pit Sign. Now that hurt! I bruised my ribs and my legs started cramping as I lay on the ground. Finally I got up and started to walk it out before starting a slow jog. Any step or drop in the trail brought pain to my side, but when the trail was smooth I managed a good pace, reaching eight minute miles on the lower trail. Somehow I held off three other age-group oldsters hot on my trail to sneak in there for 2nd place 55-59 year age group: the three clumped in within three minutes of me.

Things Done Right: Hydrated and fueled very well. I wore a pack with bladder (Cytomax), and carried two gels, a package of shotblocks, and ate about seven S-Caps. I also drank water at nearly all the aide stations. Didn't bonk!

Things Done Wrong: Got careless on the way down and fell too many times. Ouch!

Any Other Stuff: The race staff did an excellent job as usual and thanks to the volunteers! Also, a shout out to Friends of the Peak who had two work days in the week before the races to assuage the effects of the recent rains on the lower trail.

Tuesday, July 08, 2014

Operation Dark Snake: a clandestine ascent of Culebra Peark

Operation Dark Snake: The Poaching of Culebra Peak June 28-29, 2014

4:15 AM: it’s the hour before the dawn. I thought we were on our last peak, Mount Maxwell, and ready for a final descent along its east ridge to our vehicles parked at the end of the steep 4-wheel drive track. We had hiked all through the night, after starting at 5 AM the previous morning. I had tried to descend due east, but the way down was hellaciously steep, and then after a few feet it cliffed out. We tried a ramp that descended northerly, thinking it might bend eastwards. No dice. So, we hunkered down under a lip to the east, mostly out of the biting cold wind, and waited for the dawn.

How did we find ourselves in this grim situation? We had started 24 hours before under high spirits. We knew we had a full day ahead of us, but I thought we would finish before nightfall. The task? Climb Mt Maxwell’s east ridge, and then traverse nine 13,000’ peaks along a high ridge for about fifteen miles in order to reach the forbidden fourteener, Culebra Peak, 14,047’, then turn around and retrace our steps.

Culebra Peak is on private land. It is the only one of Colorado’s 54 14,000’ peaks on private land. The “legal” way to climb it is to fork over $150 to the present owners of a massive Spanish Land Grant that once passed hands for a case of whiskey, but in recent history saw $22 million in state funds unable to bring into the public domain. The access point for the “Taylor Ranch” is from the west. I have climbed Culebra four times now, twice from the east and now twice from the north. Both east and west and north and south of the peak for miles and miles is taken up by Spanish Land Grants. I think they are an anachronism and should be either adjusted to allow public access or be roundly abolished.

Now we’re back on the morning of June 28th. We summited Mount Maxwell a few minutes ago; the sun has just risen over the eastern horizon. We are traversing in a southerly direction, towards the next thirteener in a line of nine to go before Culebra. I look down to the east and spot eight bighorn sheep in the basin far below. Chewy the dog makes a half-hearted attempt to run down there, but gives up easily. Surprisingly a solitary hiker joins us, the only other person we would see all day. His name is John and he’s aiming for an obscure unnamed thirteener that is not on our agenda for the day. He lacks about 30 peaks to complete ascents of the more than 700 13,000’ peaks in our fair state. He disappears shortly afterwards, avoiding the summit of Mariquita Peak by skirting around it to the west. He had already “bagged” it on a previous expedition.

We have many more peaks to climb before we can even turn around and head home. We pass Whiskey Pass and I miss it! Wasn’t paying attention, so I didn’t notice the plane wreck from 1999, when near Christmas day a solo flyer hit a down draft forcing a crash landing. He survived and was able to radio for help. Beaubien Peak, Francisco Peak, the mild summit of Lomo Liso Mountain, then a long mild flattish traverse where we drop to 12,500’. The crux of the climb was coming up: Miranda Peak, featuring loose, moving slabs of rock on a steep slope. Not fun for humans or canines. I could see that our party was not moving fast enough. If we didn’t pick up the pace we would certainly be forced to hike through the night. I offered John and Sheila the option to quit then and turn around. I had already climbed Culebra three times. I had nothing to prove. No. They wanted to continue. Okay then. Before Miranda Peak was over and done with we had to traverse a mini-knife edge. Just walk the crack and lean into the mountain. Chewy? Move briskly and don’t look down.

Three more unnamed thirteeners separated us from the summit of Culebra. The penultimate summit was 13,701’ and featured a steep 700’ foot ascent along a ridge. This was the final crux, and we neared the summit of Culebra. When we reached the summit just before 5 PM (remember: we started at 5 AM that morning, so if we did even splits that would mean finishing at 5 AM the next morning) I mistakenly thought that it was a false summit. Farther south on the ridge was another highpoint. John and Sheila were not happy when I said we had to keep going. “Do you want to have come this far and not climb the actual summit?” Well, I was wrong. We added half an hour to our day by continuing along the ridge. On the way back to the real summit I realized that Red Mountain was that red mountain to the southeast. Duh! Sorry guys.

Our next object was to get past Miranda Peak before the lights went out. We knew it would be hard enough in the daylight, but in the dark who knew what problems might ensue. We just succeeded. The sun went down near the summit of Miranda Peak, and I sped ahead to climb the next high point where Sheila had left her poles. After a quick ascent I came back down and met them as they came off Miranda and showed them a traverse that avoided the high point. John would not be so lucky retrieving his poles: he donated them to the next intrepid party to trek this course.

We now had miles to go and several peaks to traverse before we slept. Indeed, we had more adventures ahead of us then we imagined at that time. If all went well, we would traverse Lomo Liso Mountain, Francisco Peak, Beaubien Peak, drop down to Whiskey Pass, then climb back up to DeAnza Peak, descend again and then climb up and over Mariquita Peak before descending then ascending the final summit of Mount Maxwell, after which we would descend its summit along the east ridge to our vehicles. If all went well I anticipated finishing around 5 AM or dawn.

Other factors came into play however. The wind from the west had been persistent all day. As night fell the wind picked up and it was colder. We were all exhausted and the urge to stop and rest was strong. We found spots out of the wind over the ridge to the east (the wind was westerly), but while they were a respite from the biting wind they didn’t bring warmth. We had no choice but to keep moving in order to fend off hypothermia. We had no choice but to keep climbing through the night.

Remember when I said that I thought that we would be done before nightfall? I had a strong headlamp with extra batteries, but I left them in the car to “save weight.” All I had was a handheld flashlight with low batteries that rather quickly went dim. John and Sheila had headlamps but no extra batteries. We had to share. Since I was leading this expedition, John gracefully gave me his headlamp and Sheila and I tried our best to shine the light in John’s path so he could make his way along.

By 10 PM it was dark. Lights out dark. No moon. My Garmin Fenix 2 GPS watch showed low battery, so I turned off the GPS tracking in order to preserve battery for the compass function. We really needed that compass in the dark! By tracking northerly I kept us mostly on track, but occasionally we found ourselves peering over cliffs. “Are we lost?” asked Sheila at one point. Or John asked, “What happens if you can’t guide us back?” I had no response that didn’t stoop to sarcasm, so I mostly ignored the questions.

Up and over Lomo Liso, then Francisco Peak, then Beaubien Peak and the long familiar flat traverse across Whiskey Pass. I was confident that we were on track; by constant consultation with the map and compass we stayed on course. I’m confident that we next ascended DeAnza Peak and started up Mariquita.

The distance between DeAnza and Mariquita was lengthy. Along the way up Mariquita a single-track trail tracked around the west side. We followed it a ways and I vaguely remembered it from my 2010 trek along this same course. I succumbed to doubts however when I noticed the silhouette of what I now know must have been Mariquita to the east. I thought it was Maxwell and to John and Sheila’s chagrin and protests I said we were going the wrong way and that we were going to retrace our steps. John’s feet were killing him, but he pushed gamely on.

Now I could see a silhouette of a peak that I thought was Maxwell. We climbed steadily to its summit where an elaborate wind shelter constructed of stones lent credence to the idea that this was indeed the summit. I checked my bearings on my watch and set our course “due east.” There was a problem with that though! Going due east down the peak was very steep with cliffs! No way! I decided to wait for dawn in about an hour to assess.

When dawn came I was mightily confused because I couldn't identify any of the peaks (except Culebra in the far distance). I wrongly assumed I was north of Maxwell because we had covered a lot of ground. I think when I went off the single track and backtracked we somehow came back towards Whiskey Pass. The drainage we were above was Whiskey Creek and the peaks that we could see were not familiar.

Sheila had been cold all night and was borderline hypothermic. I presented the alternatives to them: 1) we backtrack and try and find out where we had made our error, or 2) we drop down below treeline and bushwhack and look for a road to make it to Highway 12, and either hike back to our vehicles or hitchhike.

With the wind blowing cold and the exhaustion of being out all night we made a consensus decision to drop down below treeline. We were hallucinating with the lack of sleep and I thought I saw domesticated animals down below. Once down though there was no sign of them. As we followed a creek in an easterly direction I thought I saw a fence and a house. Nope.

Suddenly Sheila said, "John said he saw a road." I said, "Where?" John pointed north and Sheila pointed south. I still thought I had seen a fence and a yard implying a house. I now know that it was a hallucination, as was the road that John thought he saw, induced by being up for over 24 hours. We all know about those hallucinations. For example, the giant horse that both John and I saw in the predawn hour that turned into a mundane rock formation. To avoid the house I proceeded down an elk path for a couple hundred feet before turning north to intercept the "road." Not finding a road to the north, I backtracked and crossed the creek and went south until it was obvious there was no road there either. I then went back to the spot where I had last seen John and Sheila, but they were nowhere to be found! I looked around in concentric circles, but I was reluctant to call out because I still thought there might be people around and I knew we were on private property. I then went back to the creek and started going down the creek side, periodically going north and south in search of a road. After nearly a mile I noticed stumps cut with a saw and knew there had to be a road. After a bit of searching I found the start of an old logging road. I followed the road, running and walking quickly when after a couple of miles, a truck drove up with ranch staff inside, a man and a woman. I could have dashed into the woods when I heard their vehicle and probably could have avoided them, but at that point I didn't care if they found me.

The man was very belligerent and threatened to prosecute me. I explained the circumstance and why I had dropped down to the ranch. Namely that Sheila was borderline hypothermic and the best option was to get her down to where she could get warm again. Finally he told me to just keep hiking out and get off the property. I walked in the hot sun for another hour or more when they came back and the man said that "Pat" the woman had a kind heart and they had decided to take me back to the start of the old logging road so I could go get John and Sheila.

After a couple of wrong turns, I finally succeeded in finding the old logging road and made it to the end. The man said he would honk the horn three times and that we should listen to see if we heard a reply. I knew that it was too far to hear anything and after several more honk sessions, the man said that he and I would hike up to where I had last seen them. Pat said she was going to call the ranch manager on their radio to explain that they "had a situation." The man (who never told me his name even when I asked him for it) objected saying he didn't need any more decision makers muddling things up, but the woman overruled him. They had a strange relationship: very tense.

The ranch manager said no, we couldn't go look for them, and that Finally, John got cell reception and texted that they were walking down the road we were able to bring the episode to a close. I was about 30 miles north and driving home and was about to drive back to get them, when Julian offered to get them as he was getting close. I said yes, that was the better option because the longer I remained awake, the greater the chance that I would nod off while driving and get in a wreck.

Here is Sheila’s email to me with her version of what transpired following our separation: “When you asked where John had seen the road (I had no idea we pointed in different directions), I heard you say something, but didn't hear what you said. I was so confused as to why you weren't walking to the road. I told John that I was going to "run up to the road" and that he should chase you down and get you to follow. I think he yelled once (I might be wrong about that, though). There was no road--John said it must have turned into a trail, so we started to follow the water. I figured we'd come upon you soon, b/c you had been stopping to wait for us periodically. Then, we saw "a house." This was within a few minutes of being separated. I told John to follow the water and scream for you (as I bee-lined toward the 'house'), and he said that if we saw the house, certainly you did, too, and you were probably already there waiting. We went over to it, and of course, it was not a house. We followed the water for a ways and then it got pretty difficult, so we paralleled it in the forest.

“At that point, we figured you were long gone, but we were keeping our eyes open, hoping we'd see you. The forest really wasn't much better--it was dense, and downed trees were EVERYWHERE. I think each one took me 3-4 minutes to lift my legs over. Occasionally, we'd find a trail (sometimes just an animal trail, once or twice a trail that looked like it might go out to a TH). Always, the trail would end up just disappearing. We found what looked like old 4WD/ATV kind of 'roads' a few times, but they always became so overgrown you couldn't follow them. We did this for HOURS, and all we could see ahead was more forest. Throughout the day, we both were hallucinating like crazy. I cannot tell you how many times we thought we saw pavement that turned out to be a downed tree or a dirt road that was tree bark. I thought I heard someone whistle; John thought he heard voices; I thought I saw trucks a few times (once I even saw tires... that just turned out to be the ground underneath a downed tree); I also thought I saw two people sitting on a grassy knoll. Once, we both saw the same thing that looked like a house. After awhile, we were almost out of water, and we found a trail that headed steeply toward the river below, so we took that.

“We reached the river and saw a flat area between the other side of the water and the trees. Sure enough, it was a road. We had no idea we were on private property, and we had no idea how long the road was or where it led to, but we figured we'd walk on it while we still had daylight. John was checking to see if he had cell reception every 5-10 minutes, and FINALLY he had one bar and that was when we saw the texts from you and Julian and Rebekka.

“Thanks for showing us the route and for being so patient throughout the night. I don't think I have ever been so cold for so long--that was really rough, and when I saw John's feet (after we hit the pavement on Sunday) I felt terrible. His shoes had cut into the top of his foot, and the pads on the bottoms of his feet were really swollen. We both have the same sentiment--in a strange way, we're thankful for the experience--it is good to have to persevere through tough times; those kinds of experiences build character and confidence. That said, we're not exactly looking to repeat that kind of epic experience anytime soon (or ideally ever again). I don't think I will ever step foot on a mountain again without my down jacket. I hate being cold (that and being hungry are my two least favorite feelings in the world! I'd rather be roasting hot than even a little cold).

“We both were amazed at your speed and your stamina. Your efficient pace is incredibly fast, and you have good 'mountain legs' that don't change pace, regardless of terrain. Good for you for not wasting those strengths--you should be pursuing the craziest endurance feats out there. I hope you and Rebekka have a great time in Europe (and an awesome race)! Thanks, again, for a (mostly :)) fun weekend!”

Sunday, September 08, 2013

Wasatch Front 100-mile Endurance Run, Sep 6-7, 2013

What a long strange trip it’s been! Back from Utah and the annual running of the Wasatch Front 100-mile Endurance Run. My only goal was to finish. With no 100-mile finishes since 2011,I needed another current finish if I want to try for Hard Rock or the Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc in 2014. With no support (race crew or pacers) besides the aide stations I had to plan for all contingencies—that called for a drop bag for every station that allowed them--dry socks in each bag, ample food, gels, powder, even a couple asthma albuterol breathers, Hydropel for waterproofing the feet, jacket, extra clothes, headlamp, sunscreen, and so on.
Out on the course I was in defensive mode—that meant no getting exuberant and pushing the pace early on as I am wont to do. It meant changing socks often and monitoring the feet, applying sunscreen, and most importantly staying hydrated, fueled, and taking salt caps.

About five miles into the run--still dark at that point--I took a severe tumble with a knock on the noggin, bruise on the shoulder, scrapes on the elbow and right knee, and a terrific gouge on my right palm—with copious amounts of blood flowing. 15 miles later I finally got to an aide station to get it cleaned and bandaged up. Then a few miles after getting it fixed up, I fell again stabbing my hand on a root poking up--in the exact same place on my palm! Now I had a veritable fountain of blood spurting about. I took one of the extra gauze pads they had given me at the last aide station and applied pressure to staunch the blood flow, but it was another five miles before I could get it cleaned up again and re-bandaged--that bandage job was not very good though and I had to make another pit stop later to get it re-bandaged.

The run initially climbs nine miles from the desert floor near Kaysville, Utah, just north of Salt Lake City, up to a highpoint nicknamed “Chin-scraper” before leveling off along a ridge, then following utility roads to the Francis Peak aide station at mile 19. Despite my throbbing hand, I was doing well; staying hydrated, fueled, and running conservatively. By mile 39 and the Big Mountain Pass Aide Station the wound had to be re-wrapped because the bandage was slipping down—at the previous aide station rather than wrapping the bandage around the thumb and around, they had wrapped it straight across the palm. Coming in to the Big Mountain Pass aide station a volunteer asked me if I had a crew—no, I did not. She started yelling “runner without a crew!” and told me to have a seat. I thought someone would help with my hand. No one came though and after seeing the first aide guy tied up, I had to get up and continue down the trail, hoping to get it re-wrapped at the next aide station.

The stretch to Alexander Ridge, in the full heat of the day was draining. At one point I was so exhausted and over-heated I went off trail, found some shade and lay down for ten minutes. Not long after that, about 45 miles into the run, I became nauseated and lost all my water and fuel. A runner named Rodger came by and asked if I needed anything. “Rolaids or Tums” I answered. He dug some Tums out of his pack, and then asked if I needed any water? “Yes, if it’s pure water.” He pulled out a big bottle and told me to take a pull. I did and gave it back to him and he said take another one. Then another. That is pure runner’s spirit, helping out another runner when he’s down. I saw him again later that night on the course about 65 miles along and thanked him again for his assistance. Looking at the final results, I think it was Rodger Smith from Orem, Utah—he finished about an hour after me.

While getting fixed up at Alexander Ridge two friends from Colorado arrived, Wes Thurman and Bogie Dumitrescu. Wes looked like a salt factory and Bogie said he was feeling terrible. I wouldn’t see either one again. Leaving the aide station we had a long climb through a grassy meadow. I walked nearly every step as did the other runners around me—about halfway into the segment we had a long downhill run to the Lamb’s Canyon aide station and I got my running legs back on. Lamb’s Canyon is a major aide station with runner’s crews, lots of people, and it’s well-stocked and provisioned. When I stepped on the scale it read 147 pounds—a shocking loss of nine pounds since the prior day’s weigh-in—I’m 6’2” tall, and I don’t like to go below 156, so 147 is dangerously light. I still couldn’t eat though because of the nausea. Was I going back to the same syndrome that has caused me to drop out of my last two 100’s, Hardrock last year and Western States last June? Determined to finish, I asked a volunteer if I could lie down on a cot for half an hour to see if I could settle my stomach down. She thoughtfully put two blankets over me, and then went to her car to get her personal sleeping bag and put it over the blankets. I was warm and soon in a deep sleep.

She came to wake me up after half an hour as I’d requested, gave me a pasta concoction with potatoes and cheese and two cups of hot chocolate. I re-weighed and now up to 150 pounds felt like a million dollars. And I picked up a pacer! Andrew Hegewald, a local marathon runner wanted to experience the course and was looking for someone to pace. He turned out to be a perfect fit, keeping me going, reminding me to drink, and he knew the trails! He stayed with me for the next 22 miles all the way to Brighton Lodge. His knowledge of the trail system was fantastic, as he was able to point out Brighton Lodge across the valley some nine miles before we reached it, and once on an unmarked intersection (probably sabotaged) he knew the right turn to make.

At Brighton Lodge I took another 15-minute power nap and discovered the only fuel I could keep down—orange juice and orange slices were my sole source of calories from mile 75 to the finish. Coming out of Brighton at about 5 AM it was still dark and now I was alone again. After an hour I found myself staggering--a quick pull-off from the trail for a final 10-minute catnap and I was ready for the final push. Running all the downs and power hiking the ups I felt better and better and the finish line approached—finally on the last five miles of downhill into Midway Utah and the Soldier Hollow golf course I was accelerating, gaining nine positions and finishing the final segment 34 minutes faster than my predicted time from the online race calculator.

It wasn’t a great finishing time--32 hours 45 minutes--but it was a finish, and I accomplished my goal. Now all I had to do was get to the airport—a rather expensive proposition after inquiries found no one making the trip--I called a cab, setting me back $130.

Friday, May 10, 2013

Boston Marathon


In the last 22 years I’ve run 127 marathons. I’ve run the Boston Marathon three times, the last time on April 15th, 2013, when a celebration of life and community turned into a horrible nightmare. I had finished a little less than an hour before the bombs went off, and was walking across the Boston Commons towards my rental car, having just connected by cell phone with my friend Jose Aponte who finished a little after me. We had traveled together. Though he now lives in California, we had synched flights and shared a rental car and hotel, and now we were trying to link up in order to go to the airport, go home, and go to work the next day. While we were talking Jose exclaimed that two large explosions had gone off and he could see white smoke rising from near the finish line. He said they sounded like ordinance from Camp Pendleton. I waited for him to join me on the Boston Commons and we continued to the rental car, while we picked up conversations, watched every ambulance and fire truck and police car in Boston drive to the scene, all the while my cell phone filled up with text messages and voice mails from concerned friends, family, and colleagues.
I didn’t go to run Boston this year for a PR or even to run a fast marathon.  Indeed my time that day was my slowest road marathon ever. I wanted to run Boston this year for the Boston experience. That experience includes the spectacle of the expo, one of the largest and most exciting of any marathon. I bought a Boston Marathon jacket for $100 even though I surely don’t need any more jackets. As I waited for the race to start in the school grounds in Hopkinton I looked at the thousands of fellow runners and I thought “this is my tribe.” I had a pretty good seed, based on my qualifying time, so I started with the first wave. I knew though that I would not be running very fast because of some health problems that have affected my training, so I settled in to enjoy the day.
Everybody knows about Heartbreak Hill. Well, there are actually a series of three hills with the finale being Heartbreak Hill. Having run Boston twice before I knew what to expect and being from Colorado the hills were not an issue. It’s the five miles after Heartbreak that always kicks my ass. Muscles cramping, quads screaming, all while running downhill and the flats to the finish line, but every step of the way you’re running with your tribe, your friends. And spectators and supporters line every street and sidewalk to the finish at Copley Square.
There are more than 25,000 runners running Boston, and everyone has to qualify with a pretty decent time to run the event. In the 55-59 year age group I had run 3:17 at the Aspen Valley Marathon in order to qualify--the only road marathon I could squeeze into my schedule for a Boston qualifier was sandwiched between the Leadville Trail Marathon the preceding weekend and both the Hardrock 100 and Leadville 50 in the next weekend. But there are five times as many supporters, volunteers, cheerers; the entire race course is a festival. The Boston Marathon has been crafted by the citizens of Boston over 117 years. It is a uniquely Boston event and the entire city comes alive to celebrate life and community.
Why was this happy, joyful event attacked so brutally? We know who the perpetrators are, but we don’t know the answer to that question. Even if we were to get an answer, it wouldn’t help.
To overcome this kind of trauma takes time, time during which we need to look ahead positively. Revenge and scape-goating won’t lead to any real solution. We will remember the pain, and we will continue in our lives, accumulating the miles and the distance from that day as it recedes on the time horizon.  It will take time, but time is our ally.

We’ll remember those who lost limbs and life on Boylston Street by running.  The Boston Marathon will recover from its wounds, and soon those twenty-six miles will again be beautiful, natural, and joyous.

Thursday, November 22, 2012

November Ascent of Pikes Peak

Climbed the mountain via an obscure seldom traveled trail on the SW slopes.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

My Epic Weekend


My plan for the epic weekend was to run the Hardrock 100 starting at 6 AM on Friday morning the 13th of July and finish in about 36 hours: in time to drive (ride) six hours to Leadville in time to show up at the starting line for the Leadville Silver Rush 50 at 6 AM on Sunday the 15th so I could keep on track for a Leadman finish for 2012. I fell short of that goal.

Hardrock is hard! To reach 60 miles at Grouse Gulch (where I dropped) you have to go over five Hope Passes on steroids!! I was unable to hold down calories, vomiting up any calories I had taken in plus all my water every time I went over 12,000' in elevation. The last 15 miles took me and my pacer, John Courtney 10 hours to complete. Do the math. I was running on empty. I first took a 20 minute nap at Grouse, then I took an hour and a half nap. I was no better able to continue after that rest than when I first plodded into the aide station. Harry Harcrow had been at the Grouse Gulch aide station for eight hours getting sick and sleeping. I talked him into getting back on the course, which he did, finishing in 41 hours. He tried to talk me into getting back on the course too, but I was too weak and I still couldn't eat. I felt bad for Rick Hessek who had driven all the way down from Colorado Springs to pace me for the final 40 miles, but I just didn't have it.

I withdrew and we drove back to Silverton for breakfast. I ate only four bites of the food I got from the buffet, I felt so nauseous. 

Rebekka drove us to our room in Twin Lakes where we got a gourmet meal from the proprietors of the Twin Lakes Roadhouse. Really very well done! The gourmet meal was only for guests of the hotel. We went to bed at 7:30 and I just thought that I would show up at the starting line and see what happened.

Well, what happened is I started off slowly in the 50 miler then I accelerated to the turn around. I saw Clark Sundahl was about 200 yards ahead of me at the turn around and I got a little fire in my eyes. I kept him in sight until I finally reeled him at mile 35 and I just kept pounding it. Ran up the long hill passing another dozen or so runners and finally finished in 9 hours 7 minutes. Not bad for an old fart who struggled through 60 miles the previous day!

Friday, June 22, 2012

Tour de Pikes Peak, June 17, 2012

Last Sunday Larry DeWitt and I ran to the summit of Pikes Peak via the Barr Trail. We descended on the Cog tracks to just above Windy Point, where we dropped down to an old toll road that took us down to Boehmer Reservoir and lower lakes and eventually back to the Barr Trail.

Friday, May 25, 2012

Born to Run 50K, May 19th, 2012

Los Olivos, California

“The fog is welcome. Hope it lingers.” I offered as small talk in the early miles. “I grew up in Lompoc. I’ve got a love hate relationship with the fog.” Was the response from the guy running next to me. On the central California coast a few miles inland and north of Santa Barbara, on an 8,000 acre ranch, several hundred ultra runners competed on a 20 mile figure eight course. I ran the 50K which was one complete figure eight, followed by a repeat of the first ten miles and finishing with an out and back to round it up to 31 miles. The other races were a ten-miler, a 100K, and a 100 miler.

The race director, Luis Escobar is a mini-celebrity in the ultra community, having been featured in the popular “Born to Run” book. A month before the race ultra legend Micah True went on a run from his hotel room in New Mexico and didn’t return. He was found a couple days later dead beside a creek. When this series of runs in California were re-dedicated to his memory I made a snap decision to go run the 50K. Rebekka and I bought plane tickets, reserved hotel rooms, rental car and made it happen.

The first loop of ten miles included runners running only ten miles. Ten or more runners spurted out in front of me for an early lead and after five miles about four more passed me. I had no idea how many of them would be running the 50K or longer. I finished the first ten miles of trail in 1:18 and saw quite a few runners who had cashed it in after 10 miles. I asked someone how many were ahead of me, but they didn’t know. A couple miles later on the second loop at the first aide station I learned that only two runners were ahead of me. One of them was running the 100K.

For the remainder of the run, over twenty miles, I ran by myself ultimately finishing second in the 50K with a time of 4:16. The final 10 mile loop was identical to the first 10 mile loop. I ran the first loop in 1:18 and the last in 1:21. The last mile, an out and back, I ran in seven minutes. The winner ran 4:02.

 Along the way I saw about a dozen wild turkeys, a couple rabbits, and a recently dead cow with buzzards all over it. The cow had a dead calf half emerged from its birth canal and blood flowing from its mouth, so its death was quite recent. Eerie.

Sunday, May 13, 2012

May Ascent of Pikes Peak

This time I did it from the Southwest side of the Peak, on an obscure trail that goes up from Bison Reservoir.