Smile. Smile and look alive!

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

I can't lie to you. There have been times while hiking on monotonous jeep roads that I've considered reaching for my mp3 player. Just when I'm about to pull off my pack to fish it out, IT hits me: stillness. When the stillness really hits me, I halt my progress, hold my breath, and look. The tall grasses are blowing in a soft breeze. A few miles in the distance, I suddenly see a dozen different mesas. Each rises from the dry landscape around it, and proves that it dresses itself in different colors and jewelry than all of the others around. Sky extends far, far beyond in all directions and I quickly realize that this is far from monotomy.

Suddenly my walking is different. When I begin to move again, I find my footsteps are more relaxed. My feet are planted softly into the ground. Each trekking pole gently pushed into the Earth. No sounds can disrupt this silence.

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

WHERE HAVE ALL THE COWBOYS GONE?

If there is one thing I have learned about this trail already is that it is always changing. Okay; if there are two things I know about this trail, it's that it varies everyday, and there will be tons of solitude.

Q: How many people have I seen in 76 miles (3ish days) from Mountainair to Magdalena?

A: 5!!!

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

There's a whole lot of space out here for me and only me. And a few ranchers. A few birds. And apparently diamondbacks as evidenced by the creepy number of dens I've seen on crosscountry travel. I walked off into this newfound emptiness on the first of many ranching roads out of Mountainair. None of these guys are signed at all and most of the time ther are numerous 2-track roads "roads" that aren't even mapped at all. My map/compass/GPS were about to all become best friends, and best friends quickly. This is flat as country, and at first I was cruising and 3 to 3.5 mph. I would be able to do this everyday, until always hitting a wall late in the afternoon due to not being able to take enough breaktime. I'll blame all of this on the lack of daylight that shines these days...

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

Now standard HUGE views were all around, as were grey clouds. Thre have been threats of storms on 5 out of the 7 days I've been out here, but I've managed to stay dry in the day, and have my tarp get soaked at night. I had expected dry weather out here, but the cows and I will stay happy if our watering holes remain watered during these hours.

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

The tiny amount of drizzle that did fall that afternoon left a rainbow. Correction: a double rainbow in it's wake. For some reason I couldn't stop laughing and staring in intense disbelief. How could this trip get any more amazing? It always does...

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

Just before dark I arrived at the Thompson Ranch to ask for some tap water. According to my maps, he is a trail friend. When I asked him for water however, he only asked me in response "what do you need that for?" Despite my backpack shouldered and trekking poles in hand. He acted like he'd never seen a hiker out there before (there are very few on the GET), but still let me fill from his hose out front. He also offered advice in the form of "look out for diamondbacks. They're out there and about to return to their dens." Great.....

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

MY SHOES ARE DIRTY!

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

Next day would be a muddy affair on two track, but first I needed to find my bearings. The night before I'd started a x-c segment at dawn, and wasn't totally sure where I'd made it to in the dark. I was either in the proper canyon, or a minor drainage not far enough west. Both flowed south. GPS told me I was in the right spot, but after 2 shady readings, I'd come to only partially trust the thing. Turns out I was right (GPS too), climbed out of a side canyon, for more xc fun. 3 miles later I found myself on a muddy, slippery, eeewwwwww yukky road. Not soon after my shoes were the weight of Swedish clogs, an old-timer pulled on on an ATV. This is the only human other than my filthy self that I'd seen/smell all day.

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

"Whatcha doin?"
"Hiked out of the Manzanos. Headed to the Magdalenas across this land"
"You know these are all private inholdings don't ya?"
"UUUMMMMMMM"

Now the sweettalking began in earnest: "Beautiful country out here that you live in, eh?"

"Where you goin' again?" Then he goes on to tell me which roads on my map were county roads, and where to expect the roads to smoothen out.

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

And so I cruised on my way, enjoying another gray day. The day turned into the most navigation-intensive yet. Loads of of faint 2-track, to stock trails, then straight up xc with a compass bearing, to get to an unnamed wash. Tons of fun. I'm finding it is extremely rewarding to be on a trail where I actually need to use my grey matter.

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

My legs were throbbing and I had to stretch them out at the end of the day before I could cook my pot of generic Mac-Chee and chamomile tea. The stars are so bright until the clouds come and cover them all up...

ENOUGH WITH THE FLATS ALREADY!

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

sketchy ladder!

Today I finally let out my cry for diversity. The flats have been killing my muscles, and sapping my will to keep moving forward. First thing, I had to ford the Rio Grande. I'd spent a lot of the prvious day fretting over what would happen when I got there. There are two different bail-out options listed on the maps in case the water is too high and dangerous. With all of the rain the mountains had been getting, I was worrying that I'd find raging, chest-deep water awaiting me. It should come as no surprise that all I found was slow, knee-deep water. Disgusting, silty, muddy-bottomed, and pumped full of agricultural products. I'd wait 8 more miles to find a decent water source, thank you very much...

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

Still heading west, I entered San Lorenzo Wash, whose walls grew taller after a few miles to become the BLM jewel, San Lorenzo Canyon. This was the first bonafide canyon I've seen yet, deep enough to send me hiking up side canyons in search of slot canyons. Even more fun were the only 2 people I would see all day.

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

"Why would you want to hike here for?"
"I dunno. It's nice out. For travel. For adventure?"

His wife had to tap him on the shoulder with her cell phone to signal to him to just drop it.

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

Map studying in the laundromat rocking a tarp as a skirt....

Drive on...

From GET - Nuevo Mexico

La Luz (ABQ to Mountainair, NM)

Confirmation that life ain't all that bad:

A) On a single hitch, I got a ride from Salt Lake City to Albequrque. With bunk beds and a tv in the truck to watch Nacho Libre to boot!
B) The smell of juniper smoke floats around camp while I cook at night.
C) I traversed the crest of the Manzano Mountains

Over the course of these 5 days, the smiles have been piling up higher and higher...

Day One

You know a trail is going to be good when it immediately starts with a 4,000 ft climb. This climb was on the legendary "La Luz" trail up and through a canyon choked with the yellow leaves of aspens. The feeling of wearing a heavy backpack was amazing, and I was pulling up the steep climb with ease. From the top, 9 miles later, the views were unlike anything I've ever seen before. Well, that's not entirely true. Maybe the views were something like those in Southern California or Northern Baja, but much more extreme. Visibility was around 100 miles, 80 miles of FLAT AS desert, then mountain ranges beyond. Arizona likes to call their isolated mountain ranges the "Sky Islands", but these mountains in New Mexico seemed no different. Islands of rock poking up from a sea of barren desert. Muy bonita.

Day Two

4,000 ft up means 4,000 ft down to the valley below. That's 4,000 ft down on really sore feet and knees, on a body still not fully recovered from running 100 miles 5 days prior. I ate a sub at the Tijeras Subway, packed a sub for the road, and headed out into the most boring terrain yet. Maybe I've become a scenery snob over the years, but the climbs through Tunnel and Ontero Canyons just didn't do it for me. I saw loads of mountain bikers from ABQ on the trails, and I couldn't help but think that I'd rather bike than hike through here. It was in this section that I learned to always have my compass in my pocket to verify my direction amidst the sea of jeep roads. The route had finally topped out on some plateau, and there were unmapped jeep roads and trails and etcetera all over the place.

The road hit a deadend at a barbed wire fence. I started off following the fenceline like the maps suggest, but soon realized that there was a road that sliced through this fencewalk, cutting the distance in half, and getting rid of the overgrown and steep hiking. I hiked this as quickly as I could, with no breaks other than the now standard 15 second check of the map. Just when darkness came and required the use of my headlamp, I found the junction with another barbed wire fence that I was looking for. There was just enough time to cook dinner over a juniper fire and steep some chamomile tea before the thunder yielded a drizzle, and I was forced to crawl under my tarp.

Day Three

Today had to be better than the last. This is the beauty of each new day in an adventure like this. You never know what you will see and how it will affect you. To start the day I was only staring at another walk along a barbed-wire fence though. I was to walk a road up on this tree-covered plateau, paralleling the fence, then find a junction with yet ANOTHER fence. When I couldn't find this junction with the fences all covered in trees, I had to make it my own way. Plan "B" was to take said road half a mile, hope the fence, and take a bearing on the eastward and orange sun, until I hit that fence. Bingo! Now follow that and hop it at a petroleum at the USFS border for more fun roadwalking.

Water carries. I'd been getting by on only 2 different water supplies at this point, all from chlorinated taps. Now I had to find a tasty cattle trough up on this featureless plateau. GPS is always a last resort, and one that I haven't had to resort to just yet. I was ecstatic when I found a cattle trail which went off into the woods and toward my water. Nice yellow water that is. Another hour on the road found me hiking an hoest to G.O.D. hiking trail. It felt as if I'd never done this before, and the snapping of pine branches underfoot was irresistible. I found another spring, this one miraculously gushing out of the ground and running clear.

And here I saw people again. We all climbed seperately up to the crest of the Manzano Mountain Wilderness. Just like on the Sandia Crest, the 4,000 ft of relief gave huge views over terrain that I was becoming increasingly familiar with. To the north is the craggy spine of the Sandia, west was the green slice around the Rio Grande (fording this in 2 days), and further southwest was the Magdelena Mountains. Up high on the ridge the spine of the Manzano's was very wide. The route alternated through overgrown trail, and wide open grassy meadows with the way marked by ginormous cairns. My feet were getting more blistered, so I didn't feel the least bit guilty when taking a bit of lazy time to soak up the views and sunlight on that ridge. After a steep and thorny descent to find water at Ojo del Indio, there was an even steeper climb to Capilla Peak.

As soon as I saw that there was a fire tower on the peak at 9,200 feet, I knew that I needed to find a way to camp up there. With huge clouds building, I wanted to be up high for the show. Of course the tower was locked and there really wasn't a spot to sleep and stay dry. Even though there was a flat spot for camping, logic sadly got the best of me and I decided it probably wasn't in my best interest to sleep on the top of the largest peak around in the middle of a lightning storm. sigh. On the way back down from the tower's pearch, I saw the most beautiful, silky, pastel-pink sky I've seen in months. In 30 minutes that beautiful sky was dumping hail that was piling up by the fistful outside of my tent. A gusts of wind came, tore out a stake, and left me cursing while I scrambled to put on my shoes and fix the tarp....

Day Four

"There's a dead moth in my dinner. DAMMIT...I hate it when that happens!"

Duly noted: don't shine headlamp into mac and cheese as you stir it or it resembles the bright orange flames that they become martyrs in. Not even 217 moths could bring me down from my buzz as I stretched out under my tarp, juniper flame at head, and began to write this entry.

When I had awoken this morning, I arose with nerves about the hideous, fire-induced, bushwacks that lived on in internet infamy. My map marked the boundary of two different burns, comprising some 8 miles of trail. Listening to this, I had visions of 7 mile days and running out of food. It should come as no surprise to find that the hype was overblown and I still managed to hike over 20 miles. That doesn't mean today didn't provide the most overgrown trail that I've seen yet. Even while pushing my way through scrub oak and briar patches, the burnt trees left tons of open space between their missing branches for huge views. The trail was incredibly vague on the many switchbacked descents to saddles, but my sixth sense of "traildar" always surprisingly found the way.

After 30 minutes spent staring into space at the top of Manzano Peak, it was time to drop off the north side of the Manzanos, for good.

Bear 100 Race Report

From Bear 100

(Cute) girl with (cute)friend: "You're doing awesome and look great!"

Me: "If only you could feel my body right now."

::awkward silence::

Me: "ummmm, I guess that came out wrong, eh?"

GIGGLE GIGGLE GIGGLE


APPROACHING THE BEAR (aka The Bovine 100)


500ish miles of hitchhiking found me sharing the cars of conspiracy theorists, racist teenagers, and great conversationalists who shared my love of travel. Months of preparation and anticipation left me with only 4 hrs of sleep in my Super 8 motel room before lacing up and taking off

From Bear 100

170 or so runners waiting in the last minutes before the 6am start

From Bear 100

I found myself in the front 20 or so runners as we began the race, and funneled onto singletrack for the first 3,000 ft climb of the day. I was running with Matt, a guy from SLC who I'd met at the pre-race meeting. Matt had run the Wasatch 100 and enjoyed sharing stories and tips that he had learned from that run, his first 100. Soon we settled into a silent rhythm, and I was comfortably hiking at a fast comfortable pace. I'd decided to bring along my Titanium Goat carbon fiber trekking poles that I was already using. Bringing these along was a decision that would make life a hell of a lot easier when things hit the fan later on in the race...

THIS IS FUN (MILES 10-20)

Until then, everything was peachy. The trail was climbing and climbing up switchbacks out of the canyon from Logan and up to the ridge for sweet moon views at sunrise:

From Bear 100

Once up top, we were rewarded with some phenomenal running as the ridge dipped and wove with the valley staring from below. I was finally warmed up and began to pass a few people, then taking a break to photograph, and get passed by those same people I had just passed. My pace was pretty quick, but I never felt like I was pushing things too hard. Sure, I could have gone slower, but that wouldn't have been nearly as fun. Looking back, I should have followed the advice (forgotten on race day) of "Start with what you think is a slow pace, then divide that in half". With a goal of finishing in under 24 hrs, I figured I didn't have time to be too conservative however, and wanted to run relatively quick on the flats and downs. The pace stayed quick until we started an 800 ft climb up to the first aid station at mile 10.5.

The crew at this aid station was completely hilarious, one guy even asking me if I wanted a "rubdown". I hung around for maybe a bit too long joking with these people, and when I took off, I can't remember what I saw. Things have already become a bit of a blur and the first 30 miles or so have all been mashed together in my brain. The course profile claims that there was a climb out of that aid station, and then a descent. The aid station was nestled on a saddle above the first canyon that we had climbed out of, and at some point we started a really fast descent to the next aid station at mile 19.6ish. Jake from Stanley, ID came up behind me so I pushed the pace, using him as a catalyst for higher speed and a bit of friendly conversation. Jake was a really cool cat who I would wind up running with on and off for the first marathon, and then not see him for 70 miles. Bombing down this 6 mile descent was another instance of me pushing a bit too hard and too early....classic rookie mistake.

From Bear 100

This aid station was the first that support crews were allowed in, and it was a predictable zoo. Dozens of people on the side of the trail cheering us on as we came to refill bottles and gel containers. Here I started to get into the rhythm of getting one of the volunteers to fill up my hydration bladder with 40-50 oz of water, another volunteer to find my drop bag, and then I would refill my 2 gel flasks with the homemade energy gel waiting in my drop bag. When I was on the ball, I was always out of aid stations within 2 minutes. When I didn't care so much or worried about the clock, you could double that amount of time and blame it on good conversation. Going into the race I had intended to keep that number below one minute, but as time passed, I munched on fruit, talked, and just wanted to enjoy the entire experience...a quick adventure in under 36 hours really...

Leaving that aid station was an easy and flat 3 mile run up a craggy canyon along smooth dirt road, complete with magic light filtering thru fall leaves

From From Bear 100 Bear 100

. Everyone was cruising up the slow 500 ft climb until the cows hit. Earlier in the run I asked another runner how the Bear compared to Wasatch 100. His answer was "The Bear is cowier".
running:

From Bear 100

stopped by over 50 cows

From Bear 100

We'd hoped to scare the cows out of the way, but soon it became apparent that this wasn't just a group of 10 cows, and instead much more. After stepping off to the side of the road, we heard some cowboys behind on horses usher them through. Now it was time for another aid station, and another nice dose of singletrack. On the elevation profile this looked like an intimidating climb, but out on the course, it turned out to be quite tame, if not long. This is a theme that would develop over the course of the race. All summer my training was focused on getting in as much elevation gain and loss possible, usually finding me on steep 3 mile climbs of 2,000 ft. That's not quite the same as 2,000 ft climbs spaced out over 4 feet. I found myself putting my poles away during the race and running some of those ups since they seemed so much easier than I had gotten used to Again....probably a mistake that I'd realize later...

The canyon walls drew in closer and choked by trees. Not sure why I don't have any photos of this section. More memory blur and somehow the trail is back in the open again!

From Bear 100

Lots of signs of cows now, with doo-doo infested trails and their footprints all near the boggy water-sources. Glad to not be self-supported and drinking the water through here.

Since my memory is hazy for a little bit, the least I can do is explain the general layout of the course. Canyon bottom, 2,000ft+climb to the top at a ridge, 2,000ft descent to another canyon floor, repeat. Ad infinitum. Sometimes the ascents and descents would be on dirt roads which would make the elevation change seem like a lot less. Following this pattern, the course began a nice dirt-road climb up to a high rolling section, this time with loads of sheep up high.

From Bear 100

I played leaprog with a runner from Missouri for a while out here along a nice and rocky descent. The running was fun and I was feeling great. Rocky and narrow singletrack is always engaging, and when you throw in colorful UT foliage, it really doesn't get much better.

From Bear 100

Somewhere in here the course climbed and again descended. And on this descent I got my first real physical worry of the run. My quads had been feeling sore between miles 10 and 20. That seemed a bit early to get sore to me, but more running shook that soreness out and I was feeling invincible. Now on this particular descent on a dirt road the underside of the arch on my left foot was delivering sharp pains to my sense of invincibility. After running a mile of this, I decided to take it easy and walk for a few minutes. Not being able to swallow my pride so easily, I began running, slowly, again. The pain returned but I just kept running. Being new at this silly 100 mile thing, I was unsure about how much pain I should just be dealing with and trying to ignore, and what pains to be truly conservative about and walk through. Hell, I didn't even know what was wrong with me!!

ATV and truck traffic began to pick up on this dusty dirt road located seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Smiles and waves were of no help, people just kept their faces smug and drove by. Just when the traffic was beginning to annoy me, the course was routed onto some low singletrack near the sounds of a small creek

From Bear 100

With the lack of descent, my foot was fine with running on this rolling and flattish trail. Time for another aid station. Things were starting to get really hot now. I made sure to take plenty of water out of here, then rushed past the cop directing traffic around the race on Hwy89. Now the running was in nice grassy terrain, but I wasn't feeling so hot. My foot wasn't the cause for my woes, but instead my stomach was the culprit. I was feeling really bloated and it was tough to do more than a quick walking pace. This had bothered me after leaving an aid station earlier in the race, and it took a few minutes to dig at the root of the problem. Since I'd never had this issue in any of my long runs this summer, I assumed I must have been doing something different in the race. FRUIT!! I decided to eat pieces of fruit at aid stations...good stuff like melon, strawberries, and orange slices. Could that have been it?? I've got no clue, but after that point I never ate any more fruit, and I never again got bloated...

Now we were really starting to get into the race. It was around 3pm (??) and nearing the 10 hr mark. Mile 50 was starting to near it's head and I needed a bit of an energy boost. I zipped open a tiny compartment on my Ultimate Direction running vest/pack and pulled out my mp3 player. I had been trying to wait for either the 50 mile point or darkness to arrive to savor this moment. And here it was. The shuffle function played all sorts of amazing music and I was back into the run. Chewing a couple of fruity-flavored Tums helped turn my stomach around and I was feeling like $1,000,001 bucks. The trail was shaded from the heat of the sun, but not much too look at. I hadn't seen any runners for over an hour while I was struggling with my stomach, but finally I was running quickly enough to pass 3 other people, one guy looked like he was leaning over about to puke. Once the trail topped out on a ridge, there was a really fun and FAST descent to a lake. The lake was beautiful, but sadly tough to see with the now low sun burning into my eyes from that direction.

THIS IS REALLY REALLY FUN
Now I'd found my second wind and decided I'd run uphill. Chatted with a man taking his son out on a backpacking trip. Not only did we talk about the beauty of this land and the lake, but he told me about the "party" every year at the Franklin Basin. Duly noted, and would become important later on. Keep in mind that he told me this at mile 51, and this aid station was 10 miles away. How quickly everything would change...

From Bear 100

On my way up I met up with Paul, a new friend I'd made who gave me a ride from the pre-trip meeting to my motel the night before. He told me I was running better than anyone else he'd seen on the hill. Of course he may have been feeding me lines like everyone does at these races, but I was already feeling great and now felt better. Ran most of the uphill for the first time of the race and then began a really steep and rocky descent. I was singing LOUDLY along with my music and was surprised to find 2 guys behind me. How could anyonecatch up to me with the pace I was keeping?? 10 seconds after that thought one of those guys asked me if I wanted any unsolicited advice. That advice was "don't run the uphills". Although I felt like I was killing it on the climb, I obviously wasn't going all that fast if this guy power-hiked the climb and then caught up with me on the descent. I felt like a total moron and was mentally beating myself up for the next couple of miles. It was then, in my first mental lowpoint, that my mp3 player battery died. My energy was starting to wane around mile 55, and now it really began to plummet. There was another big descent of over 2,000 miles and I mentally didn't want to do the slog. My pace dropped a bit with the decline of my positivity.

From Bear 100

THIS (SORT OF) HURTS - MILES 60-80

The sun was starting to get low, and I arrived at the 62 mile aid station just in time to pick up my headlamp. The ziploc bag waiting for me also had a long sleeved shirt, warm hat, gloves, and a windshirt, none of which I needed just yet. I was able to run out of this stop fine, but soon everything went to crap. My quads had been sore on and off for the past 40 miles...not a huge deal. Now my right knee was sending sharp pains up to my hip and I didn't know what to think. Later I came to realize that it was my IT band...a typical injury, and one at the time that it mattered I didn't know what it was... The pain was so extreme that it was tooo much for me to run the downhills. I could walk, and that was it. Uphills were better and I could easily power-hike those. But those descents were pushing tear-inducing territory. So I walked waaaayyy too slow on the descents, but made it to the aid station at mile 69. This station was the "party" station that the backpacker told me about 20 miles earlier, and I know I'd stay here for a bit. I hadn't sat done once for the entire race, but 70 miles into it, and I caved and sat down. I stayed here for 15 minutes or more while volunteers filled my water bladder, brought me broiled potatoes, candy, etc etc etc. Before this I had a fear about sitting down. If I sat would I be able to stand again??? When the time to move had come, I found that my legs felt much better. There was a really fun rock-hop across a large creek (even more fun 70 miles into a race..) , and then another big climb. I hiked really strongly, even passing a couple of people before the 2,000 ft descent to the Beaver Mtn Lodge Yurt. Feeling so great on the climb had me experimenting with running downhill again.

From Bear 100

TERRIBLE IDEA. The pain in my knee returned with a vengeance and I found myself hobbling down the steepest descent yet. I felt like I was moving slower than 1 mph, possibly the slowest I've ever hiked in my life. With no music or daylight, there were no distractions to take me away from my frustrations. The only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that somewhere at the bottom was a warm yurt to sit down in and regroup. During the descent I caught multiple glimpses of the yurt lit up beyond. It really didn't look that far away. What it did look like was a huge drop to come, and then a climb up and out of another canyon to reach the yurt above. Definitely NOT what I wanted to see thru the trees.

Those next couple of hours spent hobbling thru the dark were a serious lowpoint, as were the throngs of people passing me by with a lot of pep in their steps. Finally at the bottom I was rewarded with a tiny ascent to the yurt, and air full of warmth. Hung out inside for over 15 minutes again, chatting, eating, and eating some more. My new theory became that my knee needed warmth so that it wouldn't tighten up. After a minute of stretching I went back into the cold. And cold it was after coming from the relative warmth of the yurt.


OK, THIS COULD BE THE LOWEST POINT OF MY LIFE (MILES 80 TO THE FINISH)

No telling what happened in this stretch. My knee felt terrible and I just kept hobbling along. The cold was getting more and more intense, and my layers were proving to be justtttt adequate. There was another aid station around mile 81 that was downright frigid. To the volunteers credit, they had a large fire to help warm us up near. Here I found another guy struggling to go on. He was just staring vacantly into the fire while his father tried to get him psyched for the remaining marathon left to run. We were told that the thermometer at this aid station was reading 26 degrees, and could only be colder in the narrow canyons to come. Hearing that made the air feel even colder to me until the sun finally rose hours and hours later.

The last few hours of the night are a complete blur. I never hiked with anyone else, was very very cold, had no music, and generally can't think of anything else to complain about. An hour before sunrise I made it to the aid station at mile 85 and stayed by the fire for nearly half an hour. Even when I was worthless around mile 75 I knew that I would finish the race. Now that I was only 15 miles away, I felt no need to rush and really wanted to spend time at the only thing there was to get excited about out here: FIRE! A good group of runners caught up, one who decided to drop out so close to the finish. Finally I got bored, packed up, and walked into the coldest hour of the morning.

The sun rose. The course went to the top of a nicely lit ridge, and then dropped down into another canyon and the Ranger Dip aid station.

From Bear 100

"Your IT Band is totally screwed up man" -Him
"Um....what's that?" - Me

Yea, apparently that knee issue is a really popular injury and one that was temporarily fixed with the compression strap that a woman had lying around to give to me. The guys at this final aid station were awesome, and even cooked up pancakes, bacon, eggs, and coffee. If I were actually racing this thing there was no way I'd put that food in my stomach, but thankfully I wasn't running. Those eggs hit the spot and I took off on the final hike with renewed vigor. People had been talking about how this climb was impossible and the toughest on the course, but it was typical hype. Yea it was steepish, but 800 ft over 1.5 miles really ain't that bad...

The final descent was completely brutal. You'd think that being at mile 94 and so close to the finish would have me fast and stoked to finish it all off. No way. With that new compression strap I made my best attempt at running. Finishing in under 30 hrs was still in the realm of possibility, but the rocky trail was pushing that realm further and further away. It was tough enough to pick me feet up off of the ground while walking. Factor in running with a knee that was tough to bend and the difficulty shot up a tad. My knee was functional for the first mile, but after that the pain returned and my hope in finishing in under 30 left.

Although it was only 7.5 miles from the last stop to the finish line, it took me over 4 hours to get there. If you're a math wizard, your brain probably already figured out that this is less than 2 mph. Pathetic right?? My thoughts exactly. Oh yea...I'd been awake for over 30 hrs at this point. My eyes were getting really heavy, and caffeine pills had finally found their limits. I began looking for a flat and shaded spot to take a quick nap. Lucky for me there were no good flat spots on this mountain other than the trail itself. Would I have ever woken up before the 36 hr cutoff if I went to sleep?? Instead of lying down, I sat down in the shade, folded my arms over my knees, and laid my head down on those arms. With my eyes closed for a couple of minutes, I rose with a trickle of added energy. At around 10 the heat started to kick in and I got even more tired. As I dropped in elevation the trail seemed to open up a lot, and I was getting baked by the sun. More and more naps were necessary. By the grace of some sort of God, I made it to the bottom of the mountain.

I could see Bear Lake oh so close, and a paved road to get there. Oh wait, there is ANOTHER climb! I saw the pink flagging branch off to the left, indicating that I needed to take an ATV trail up another hill. This made absolutely no sense since I knew I could just walk thru the gate in front of me, take a paved road to the highway, and take the highway to the lake. Was this some cruel joke by locals? We had all been warned that there were elk-hunters who weren't happy with the race and liked to remove course flagging as a form of revenge. Was this something similar??? Not wanting to cut the course short, I tried the climb anyway. My elation at reaching the bottom of the climb was immediatly reversed when I had to start another dusty climb. Would i EVER finish? Soon two other runners experienced in the ways of the Bear came behind me and confirmed that this was indeed the route, and that it was indeed a cruel, cruel joke by the race designers.

200-2,000,000 ft later, the road hit the top of the hill, went down to the river, and I soaked my feet and got some desperately needed water. Now the finish was in sight. I was (sort of ) hydrated, and to the best of my knowledge there would be no more surprise hills. In the 30 hours of this race, I had become one of those people who whine about going up and down mountains, sort of like lots of thru-hikers I've known through the years. I'd cursed rocks. Cursed my inability to pick up my feet. Now I was going to finish.

The views of Bear Lake situated in the surrounding barren landscape were beautiful all morning and afternoon. Finally I was surprised to find myself running the last quarter of a mile on that road while a few people standing around cheered me on. I'm still not sure how I was able to run again, but it was one of the surprising highlights of the run for me. All of my pain was gone as I turned off the street and ran the short stretch thru the park to the finish line.

31 hours and 54 minutes sure is a long time to be out there. I had been really frustrated with myself around mile 75 when I realized that my finish would be longer than 24 hours. After that point, I really didn't care about time anymore. Finishing was the only goal I had, and I knew that I could do it. For that last horrible stretch when I was progressing at a near-crawling pace, I whined to anyone that listened that "I would never run 100 miles again". "This is stupid" I would say. Now in the hours and days that have followed, I've changed that. In 30 hours, I felt like I had an adventure that takes days and days to experience while on a backpacking trip. The sense of total physical drain was frustrating at the time, but with flawless hindsight, there is something satisfying about giving absolutely everything that you have, and the physical feeling that followed. I'm not sure how much further I could have pushed myself out there without passing out. The heat of that 2nd day and my dehydration made passing out become a serious concern.

Is this all physical gluttony? Do I really want to put myself through the hell I experienced those last 25 miles? Was it really hell or was I just being a whiner all that time? I'm pretty sure I could do the run better if I got another shot. I wouldn't go out so fast my next time. No fruit would find it's way into my stomach. My mp3 player would be fully charged. If I'm in some of the best shape of my life again next year, my (now badly swollen) feet may be toeing the imaginary start line for another race in the American West...

Close enough to touch

Ready for the hitch to the starting line...

Goodbye CB

From Fall in CB 2010

Today was a good way to end my fall in Crested Butte.

Woke up next to Yule Lakes, at 12,000 ft:

From Fall in CB 2010

Climbed 1,500 ft off-trail:

From Fall in CB 2010

Summited Treasure Mtn (13,500 ft w/ change):

From Fall in CB 2010

rode back down a dusty and rutted Washington Gulch Rd with views like this:

From Fall in CB 2010

I can only assume that the colors in the canyons and high passes between Logan, UT and Bear Lake, ID will be every bit as good as what I saw today.

From Fall in CB 2010

Kerouac-style

Soooo many people hate hitching. You stand on the side of a road, thumb falling asleep, all the while getting baked by the sun. People play a silly game of cherades with you, trying to mime to you that they just don't have room in their car. Or perhaps they only have one more block to go, signaled by a thumb and index finger placed an inch apart. Usually those cars have an empty passenger seat, and the driver is about to pull onto an interstate with no upcoming exit for MILES.

I think all of this is quite funny, and it's all worth it when that person finally does pull over and give you the most stimulating conversation you've had in your life. I've had the classic ride sitting in the back of a truck with the grandieur of Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante flying by on all sides. Dogs which shed enough hair to make me sneeze have sat in my lap and licked my face while the driver is listning to some good Neil Young. Once, a guy drove me to his house, picked up his 60's convertible, and drove 3 hours out of his way to drop me off in Kanab, AZ. He did all of this solely because my own adventure caused him to want to do something out of the ordinary and go on an adventure of his own.

Looking at this map I can't help but get excited:

From Drop Box DINOSAUR, CO!!!! is damn right. Northwest Colorado is one part of the state I have always wanted to visit, and this time it's going to happen. There ain't much out there in them parts of CO. I like to daydream about what it may look like. Huge mesas extending 800 ft into the air on either side of the road. The smell of sage hanging in the air while one thumb is extended to the sky, the other occupied with reading "The Perfect Storm". Are there little oiling operations out there with their drills bobbing up and down, without a person in sight? Will it only be rednecks driving those roads, who when seeing me, scream "damn hippies" to themselves and look the other way when passing??

And then there are the Wasatch mountains, hopefully splattered with yellows and reds by the time I get into them. A closer look at the map reveals town names that you may recall from your reading of Krakauer's "Under the Banner of Heaven". Zooming in even closer in google shows a whole freakshow of Mormon sites to be seen in downtown Utah. I've been told there is a fine brewery in Park City that goes by the name of Wasatch; tasty, weak, and very Mormon beer to be found inside.

Starting Monday in the wee hours of the a.m., its finally time to find out...

A big fall

I'm not gonna lie, that elevation profile is intimidating. I've got not clue if I am even ready for a race like this, but constantly dreaming about doing it over the past 2 years has forced me to give it a go in less than 3 weeks. I feel strong. Have done runs of up to 14,000 ft of elevation gain. Those were only around 28 or 30 miles (lame I know), and only half of the total elevation gain of this race. Adding more fun to matters is the 12 hrs of night-running I'll be doing. I tasted a bit of this a few nights ago running down from the Ruby Range, and after an hour I was thinking that there was no way I could do 11 more like that, without losing the course and without losing my mind...

Once I finish with that silliness, and as soon as I can walk, it'll be time to tackle 730+ miles of this:


I've got 109 detailed maps printed of the route. The guidebook, which covers about 2/3 of the trail divided into 3 sections for maildrops. New pack. New tarp. New trekking poles. New GPS (gasp!).

My hope is that this trail will push me in ways that other trails haven't pushed me before. In the past I've done long hikes with navigational struggles with other people. This time I will only have myself to rely on, and I've improved my map and compass skills to the point that I do trust myself. The trail promises to be remote and offer solitude and a wild feeling that so many other hikes in the lower 48 can't always give.. And then there's the bushwacking in those lonely and underused wilderness trails...

Hopefully I'll get online once a week for 5 weeks until I finish this trail to upload a few pictures of the beauty of NM and AZ, as well as a few poorly-writted words. First there are peaks to bag, aspen leaves to turn yellow and be seen, trails to run, and 800 miles to hitchhike toward Logan, UT, and another 800 to Albequerque. Epic hitching and living for sure...