Stage 5 - The Recovery Run - Red Cliff to Vail

As we lined up in our chute, Doug reminded me that this was a day to take it easy. “No problem,” I responded. “It’s the longest and possibly the toughest stage. We have no option but to take it easy.”





The stage didn't go as high as Hope Pass but had almost a thousand feet more climb and was over twice as long and it included two peaks. At the trail briefing, we were warned there were stretches where the trail was very steep. After starting we went out the road we had used to enter town. I smiled when we didn't turn up the trail leading to the stream. Three miles with cold feet is okay twenty-three isn't!



After several miles of gradual uphill and again, after passing other teams we arrived at the bottom of our first steep climb. It reminded me of Sherman's Gap in the Old Dominion 100 - Straight up. Doug seemed to be laboring a bit so while 'imitating governor Arnold', I suggested we be 'girly-men' and traverse the slope. Doug's blank expression indicated he thought I had lost my mind. I planted my pole and hiked a forty-five degree angle to the truck trail and upon reaching the left hand edge, turning to the right. "Ah-ha" yelled Doug, "We will be girly-men and stem-christie to the top." I'm not a skier but had heard the term before... I'll hear it at least a dozen times in the next five miles - every time we passed another team


We broke through the tree line and arrived at the pass... what looked like a gypsy caravan and two shepherds appeared, but no sheep. We had been alerted to the possibility of encountering sheep dogs during the stage, and had been given specific instructions as to what to say if approached. "Back to the sheep - back to the sheep". I suspect some of the teams we passed on the mountain would be saying "Back to the goats" instead. We refueled at the aid station and continued on. I was growing stronger...



We began the next two and a half mile climb and it was apparent that my exuberance was not being matched by Doug. It was the first time he looked tired and he began to slow down. We were on a series of very long switchbacks where we could see other teams even though we were significantly separated. I saw two teams ahead of us but none behind. I thought we might be able to reel in at least one of the teams but my goal was to get Doug to the second peak... He continued moving up though obviously laboring. Doug would have made a hell of an ultra-runner in his day - there is little question which parent supplied Michelle's tenacity gene.

We began seeing chair-lifts and the trail crossed ski slope access roads. The ski slope boundaries were marked with multi-colored pennants. I was momentarily confused as to which route to take, but saw the Gore-Tex ribbons marking a sharp right hand turn. We later learned that a few teams had missed the turn and continued down the ski-slope access road... I spotted the white canopy of the aid station a couple switchbacks above - a couple of long switchbacks above. I waited at an outcropping and gave Doug a hand climbing to the top. The view of Vail in the distance was magnificent.


When we arrived at the aid station I waxed Philosophically about how wonderful it felt to be alive - little did I realize my musings would be highlighted on that nights video. http://transrockies.com/transrockiesrun/news/?p=115
In retrospect, those few seconds summed up everything the race and trail running in general means to me.. Decades ago, I paraphrased (very poorly) Carlos Casteneda who opined each man has a specific place on the planet where he became one with the universe. At the time I flippingly added "an ultrarunners place moves". I discovered, while on a mountain trail in Colorado that I was right

On the final gradual downhill, my shoe came untied. This would normally not pose a problem for a runner, but I have a problem. It's called an irritated Quadratus Lumborum (QL), and after I've been running a mile or so it has a tendency to seize, but only if I bend over... I bent over! Usually a few stretches will cause the muscle to stop firing and I can stand erect. If that doesn't work I have to jam a knuckle into the spot and press as hard as I can tolerate and hold it until the muscle relaxes. It didn't. If Annie had been there she would have known what to do. She wasn't! I stood as close to erect as I could and hobbled down the road. Doug by this time was almost out of sight. Fortunately, he saw the aid station ahead and waited, lest we be penalized by being too far separated. The QL gave one more sharp agonizing jolt and then as suddenly as its onset it departed.


We finished in Vail - and again only a few meters (in deference to my new European friends) from the patio of a great Mexican restaurant. Mas Fat Tires por favor. Doug gave me the fish eye, and with raised brow said "Recovery Day?" (you S.O.B. remained unspoken). I had to laugh... "Well, I guess you figured it out - I lied." I don't know if Doug really forgave me, but I do know he's mentally tougher because he discovered he can hurt without getting hurt.


Dinner that night was grilled steak, chicken, and portobellas, salads, and baked potatoes with any topping you could imagine... Annie was in her glory.