Old Goat's 50 Mile Trail Race

Ben Hian shatters the course record at the Old Goat 50 Mile Trail Race

Ben Hian (40) is back on the trails in Southern California and he announced his return with authority at the Old Goat 50 Mile Trail Race. Ben ran a 7:51:14 on what is arguably the most arduous course in California, taking twenty-seven minutes off the course record set by Akos Konya in 2008. Tracy Moore who finished second to Hian also came in ten minutes under the record. Both Ben and Tracy are members of the San Diego Bad Rats. The Rats took the first four places.

Ben was on the return from the mountain top turn-around when he saw Tracy only minutes behind. Ben later said when he saw Tracy he thought “Why did it have to be him? “– Of anyone in the field, Ben knew Tracy, a fellow San Diego Rat, was capable of blistering the last fifteen down-hill miles. With aid stations every two and a half miles on the return route both men discarded their extra gear at Gary and Pam’s Hilliard’s Aid station and put the hammer down. The last three miles of the Goat drop a 1000’ and many races have been lost after a tumble on the rocky truck trail… Tracy claimed he put everything he had on the line but couldn’t close the gap… He didn’t catch Ben but he leaped across the line overjoyed at also beating the course record. One hour later two more Rats finished. Scott Mills (57) and Jonas Hansen (32) tied in 9:16:09, but because this race respects old age, Scott took third and Jonas had to settle for the first ‘Kids’ award.

The women’s field was left wide open when Keira Henninger decided to forgo another Old Goat and Maria Petzold blew out a knee two weeks before at a 50K. That left Michelle Barton 9:58:26 with little competition – she enjoyed a wide lead over the second woman Theresa Apodaca. The third place woman Gretchen Evaul is now the only woman who has completed all of the Old Goat 50’s - only two more to go for the Old Goat belt buckle!

Oh my – I’ve died and gone to heaven. That’s what most of the 107 runners who started the Old Goat’s 50 Mile Trail Race were thinking when they arrived at the 35 mile Aid Station atop Santiago Peak. Members of the So Cal Trail Headz running club were dressed in wings and halos, and dispensed aid while Jean Ho, another Headz, played a concert harp. A far cry from the Hendrix riffs being blasted out at miles 21 and 47.

The runners had another reason to believe they were near the pearly gates – they had just completed a 4000’ continuous climb over the previous 7.5 miles. The Old Goat has earned its reputation for being one of the hardest… but, what is considered a ‘problem’ in any other venue is looked on as an opportunity by ultrarunners. The Goat gives them that opportunity to run what Ambrose Fisher described in his thank you e-mail as an “awesomely miserable” course. He is returning in 2010.

Another difference in this year's Old Goat was the addition of two full aid stations out in the wilderness. Shelli Sexton, a veteran Tevis Cup rider packed her horses with enough aid for two hundred runners and started out into the darkness at 5:00am. She was later joined by two volunteers who ran and marked the course in front of the early starters. Instead of one aid station in the first twenty miles there were three.

Michelle, Molly, and Alexa - Three members of the Headz cool their Bottoms on the last remaining snow on Santiago Peak!

Eighty-eight runners crossed the finish line and received their goat medals and membership into the exclusive Society of Old Goats (previously reserved only for runners over 50 who had completed a 50 Miler). The oldest goat inducted this year was 70 on race day and the youngest had to show ID to partake in the post race refreshments.

2009 Death Valley Trail Marathon

Titus Canyon in the Death Valley Marathon is spectacular… but when it’s raining Titus Canyon becomes Titus Rapids so the Forest Service closed the 2009 Death Valley Trail Marathon course. Dave Horning always alerts those entering the Death Valley Trail Marathon that the course may have to be rerouted if there is unfavorable weather. On race day this year it was the 2nd worst storm in memory so we ran Dave’s alternate course instead – an out and back on West Side Drive.

Don’t let the name deceive you though. West Side Drive sound like a street you would find on the west side of any metropolis, large or small… In Death Valley however, the West Side drive is a dirt road that meanders through the Devil’s golf course, the corn fields, salt flats, and the entire length is below sea level. In the summer the temperatures are routinely above 130 degrees. This year the mountains flanking the course were clothed in a blanket of new snow, and it was raining in the valley.

When Dave announced the venue change there were sighs of disappointment as many of the competitors came to Death Valley to get away from icy freezing rains. Those of us who had run previous Death Valley Trail Marathons had mixed emotions. Yes it was unfortunate that we couldn’t run Titus but the prospect of a ‘different’ course was exciting… especially a course unrunnable any other time of year.

My personal preference for a trail course is one that climbs several thousand feet and has numerous stream crossings. On this marathon the elevation difference was between 75 and 325 feet below sea level. It was twenty-six point two miles of puddles and mud, though the mud was never more than an inch deep. In one place the entire road was a sheet of shallow water which gave the impression we were walking on water or, at a minimum, running on a mirror.

The weather worsened for those of us near the back of the pack. It began raining in earnest and Dave’s Limo Service drove by offering free rides. He had few takers. The flats along side the road became large vernal ponds. With two miles to go we could see the busses and a few cars parked at the finish line – the ever receding finish line. Hah, I thought – before the rain started the front runners could see the finish from four miles away. We only had to suffer for two.

Annie, my wife and running partner, and I crossed the finish line, received our shirts and medals, and immediately got into a friend’s car for the short drive back to Furnace Creek Lodge. We were warned that there was a possibility of flash floods and we encountered several as we creeped back to the resort. In places the water, mud, and rocks rushed over the road. We managed to slowly drive through them without incident, though shortly after we passed the floods, another vehicle hydroplaned and flipped over… fortunately, the passengers only sustained minor injuries.

Dave later reported the forest service locked the gate onto West Side Drive immediately after the last finisher, and Cal Trans soon closed all of the roads leading out of Death Valley. Employees at the resort filled sandbags and constructed dikes around the ground floor rooms… At dinner Dave announced one eastbound road would be open for about an hour and the highway patrol would lead a caravan out. I looked around – no one appeared to ask for their check.

We finished eating and headed to the crowded saloon for the awards ceremony. I only overheard one negative comment. I couldn’t help but respond – “Are you kidding. For the next twenty years of Death Valley Trail Marathons people will brag about their run down Titus Canyon and you’ll say – But you should have been here in 2009.” Titus Canyon will be there for future runs but there will likely never be another West Side Drive in the rain!

Trail Running Etiquette

I have recently noticed that because of the explosive growth of trail running, many novices to the sport are not practicing basic trail etiquette. Most trail courtesy is obvious, but if the offender is recently from another sport (like NASCAR or road cycling) blocking another competitor may not only be acceptable it is to be expected! Trail running however, should be thought of as a team sport where everyone else on the trail is a member of your team.

Yield - always yield to faster runners, beasts, bikes, and motor vehicles. If being passed step to the side, if passing, loudly announce your intentions. Yield regardless of who may actually have the right of way. Do it cheerfully!

Wait – in a group training run have specific places where everyone in the group arrives before continuing. Dividing the group into subgroups based on ability levels is acceptable. A subgroup of one isn’t!

Accompany – never allow the slowest runner to run alone, and never leave in your vehicle while a lone runner is still out on the trail. It is very nice to have a designated partner in the event a person new to trail running shows up at a run…

Litter – don’t do it – and if you have a pocket, pick up after the last slob!

MP3s – Mean you are either a solitary runner or are anti-social… it is impolite to wear one during a group run. And, they are an impediment to hearing an approaching runner, beast (as in Mountain Lion), or vehicle (as in off-road maniac)… see “yield”!

Reliance - Don't rely on being rescued by someone else if you neglect your equipment or forget to bring hydration andor nutrition. Bring enough for yourself and someone else (even though they don't deserve it)!

Privacy – Never repeat any personal information shared with you during a run. What is said on the trail stays on the trail. Our sport is our therapy, our running companions are our therapists!

San Jacinto in the dark.

A fourteen mile jaunt said the run host Lambert Timmermans.. with about 4500' of climb. No problem said the Dawg - five hours max... Being wrong never entered my mind! After all, I have been doing this for almost 30 years. The Trail Headz group that had signed up for this run, LT, Beiyi, Shelli, Michael, and I left the Marian Ridge trail head at 1:30 pm. We had all of the basics covered with one small exception - the dawg left home without his headlamp. And instead of taking a little over two hours to reach the summit of Mt. San Jacinto, it took closer to three... which meant we'd have to be off the trail in two hours or we'd be on the trail in the dark... again, No Problem. I used to eat rocky downhills for breakfast...

Michael and I led the way back down - not quite as fast as the old days but respectable... until we dropped down into a canyon, I rolled an ankle, and went down! After a long string of profanities, I dusted myself off, took inventory (spectacles, testicles, wallet, and watch), and apologized to Shelli. (It would be the first of many apologies).

The sun set behind Saddleback and the glow on the trail was gorgeous... Other than stopping for a photo we continued down. Shelli dropped back to turn on her head lamp, but Michael and I continued in the fading light. The shadows distorted my depth perception. I stepped on the side of a boulder and my foot slipped sideways. Trip-fall-profanity. It got darker, the trail was getting harder to follow - Michael turned on his light. Now I stayed as close to Michael as reasonable as we navigated over rocks, roots, and an exposed pipe. Trip-fall-profanity. It went from being dark to being black. Trip-fall-profanity. I could no longer see the trail and relied on watching Mike’s feet as he maneuvered around obstacles, following in his footsteps where I could – stumbling when I couldn’t. At times the only thing that stopped me from T-F-P was lunging into Michaels back.

Clearly - we made it back to the vehicles. I, filthy from my six encounters with the trail, and chagrined that I had violated one of the basic rules of Mountain Trailrunning - be prepared for everything including having to spend the night. Luckily I was with a group of friends who tolerated my whimpering... that is when I wasn't inventing new swear-words.

As the bard said, all’s well that ends well – the only lingering injury from the multitude of tumbles was my reputation for being the voice of experience and a gentleman. I'm going to REI ASAP - the next time I leave a trailhead I'll be carrying everything including the kitchen sink, a bar of Ivory soap to wash out my mouth, and a six-pack of Fat Tire - OK maybe not the sink!

Crewing at the Angeles Crest 100

C.R.E.W. Cranky runner - endless waiting




I warned Annie before we departed for Islip Saddle, the 26 mile aid station, that our runner would likely be irritable but was a talented runner and we wouldn't have to wait too long for him. I was wrong on both counts.



Lambert Timmermans (LT) had faultered going up Mt. Baden-Powell and was reduced to a slow walk. He had been passed by over fifty runners while struggling with the mountain. Other runners reported LT was in trouble and that had taken twenty salt pills because he was suffereing from cramps. My concern went into high gear... taking one salt pill an hour is okay as long as it's followed by at least eight ounces of water. Taking twenty is a recipe for very serious medical problems... up to and including death. His cramping wasn't due to salt depletion but to dehydration - he didn't carry and drink sufficient quantities. When he appeared at Islip my first question was why did you take the pills, and I why didn't you stop at Little Jimmy Campground to restock your water bottles... LT looked at me with a blank expression and mumbled "I thought about stopping."


I grabbed him by the back of his shirt, explained that he needed a severe beating, and led him to the medical check point. "Only down two pounds," said the medical team - "good job!"

LT managed a coy smile "Yeah," I said - "you're only down two pounds because your kidneys shut down. I handed him a bottle of cytomax. "You ain't leaving this station until you drink three bottles and have to pee. He clarified that he hadn't taken twenty pills - maybe just twelve. He asked if we had anything with coffee so I gave him the monster drink I had packed for myself. It dissappeared in a few seconds. Annie and I filled three twenty ounce bottles and explained that the next aid station was only four miles away and he had better drain all three bottles before he arrived. LT was in better spirits when he left.


Kirk Fortini ran in while LT was departing.

Annie and I helped Kirk get prepared for the next leg. He seemed rested, cheerful, and asked a few questions about the next four miles. Up for a mile and then down to the road, then rolling up and down mostly down. Kirk left in good spirits.

When LT pulled into Eagles Roost he had followed my instructions and his bottles were empty, and he wore a broad grin. He had passed some people on the run, his kidneys had kicked in, and he was beginning to feel tip-top! We filled his Nathan and hand carry bottles with Cytomax rather than plain water. I explained that the next three miles would be along RT2 and he would turn onto a downhill singletrack that went into Cooper Canyon and from there a long and winding uphill singletrack to Cloudburst summit. We kept forcing fluids on him... "Don't carry any fluids into Cloudburst," was my last instruction... "and there's water at Buckthorn if you run low". LT took off. Annie and I waited for Kirk at Eagles Roost and upon arriving he remarked that the climb out of Islip had been brutal.... Kirk wasn't smiling. I gave him my last Monster coffee drink. We wouldn't see him again.


We loaded the SUV and headed down the road. We began passing people who had left Eagles Roost before LT and finally spotted him as he was about to turn into Buckthorn. Annie yelled out the window that he looked great. LT smiled and waved as he turned. Annie and I agreed that this was a different LT than the guy who we aided at Islip.

We waited at the top of Cloudburst summit, and although LT showed a little fatigue on the final uphill push, he was eating and drinking... he only stayed a little while. "What's next?" he asked as I escorted him down the road to the trail head. "About six or seven miles of gradual downhill - no uphill." LT turned down the trail and picked up his pace. This was the LT we had grown to know over the past months. He wasn't just running anymore he was racing. He had passed fifteen runners since leaving Islip. My only hope was he wouldn't burn himself out on the downhill.


I had always enjoyed the course between Cloudburst and Three Points - good footing and at a grade that didn't kill my quads. LT apparently liked it too. He passed about a dozen other runners on his way in. LT opted to repair his feet and change socks. He spent almost twenty minutes in the station - the dozen who he had passed on the way in departed before him, negating all of his downhill gains.... However, he passed those dozen and five more on the trail between Three Points and Mt. Hilyer, and another four between Hillyer and Chileo. LT had moved up to 79th.


Annie and I greeted him in Chileo where he met his first pacer. Beiyi had been worrying about her ability to pace. Don't think about it I explained. It's going to be dark and everyone will have to go slower. LT only spent twenty minutes refueling and getting ready for the night. I described what they should expect in the seven miles, including the technical descent and long climb up to shortcut. When he and Beiyi arrived he was beaming and couldn't stop raving about what Beiyi had helped him do. They passed another six runners. LT was now 73rd.
Beiyi handed LT off to Shelli Sexton for the long pull down to Westfork, up to Newcombs, and across to Chantry.

Instead of going to Chantry, Annie and I retired for the night, only stopping at the retaurant where Marisa was carb loading to wish her well. Upon arriving home we checked LT's progress one more time before hitting the sack. I rose early and went straight to the AC website. LT had cleared Sam Merrill and was running 64th. I knew most of the course from this point and was confident LT would be notching his first 100.


LT asked that I add the following: "I know it was after you (Annie and I) left, but since all three pacers were so terrific, you could add a Pre-Post Script mentioning that Shelli took me past another 6 runners and Marisa took me past 2 more and helped me stay in a holding pattern for the final miles. Beiyi, Shelli, and Marisa were terrific pacers and it was so enjoyable spending time on the trail with them! Every time we'd pass arunner, I'd say, "Sorry, she's just so brutal!"

Post Script: I have often counceled runners that they can't win a race in the first few miles but they can sure lose one... LT came close to proving my point. You can't drink too much at the start of an ultra and you would be hard pressed to go out too slow. I am overjoyed that LT recovered from his mistake and had a well deserved finish. I can guarantee if he does AC again next year he will shave at least three hours off this years time...

Reborn in the Rockies - The 7th Stage

The following is a copy of the first trip report I posted on the Trail Headz message board after arriving home... It is customary for a club member to write up a brief description of their activity after completing a significant run, be it a race or running adventure. The Transrockies certainly falls into both catagories!

To do justice to this event I would have to write seven different reports for the six day race (which I will post on my blog - which I did). The description of each days stage could easily take a dozen page views. The seventh report is the one I’m posting today. It has nothing but everything to do with the magnificent course, the outrageously beautiful scenery, the thin air, the perfect weather, and the tremendous camaraderie exhibited by our fellow competitors. This report is about my running partner Doug Malwicki. Doug recruited me to be his partner for the race. Other than beating me in a Winter Trail Series race a few years ago, he really had no idea of my running history. I was the long-haired fat guy who wore the straw hat with feathers.

He confessed after recruiting me that he thought I was at least as old as him… I’m old okay but not quite as old as dirt, but my running portfolio is extensive. I was one of the original OC ultrarunners, and at one time I was fairly decent, having logged a 20 hour 100, and a 2:50 Marathon. But, time and bad habits caught up with me – I was satisfied jogging a few miles – just enough to allow myself the illusion that I was still a runner – and then Doug extended the invitation to join him on the Transrockies. My immediate response was, “Thanks, but no thanks.” The idea of running 118 miles at altitude is daunting enough. Doing it in pathetic running shape is crazy. Annie and a few other ‘old friends’ called me an idiot for turning down the opportunity, and after a few beers I called Doug and asked if he still needed a partner? His response was ‘Absolutely’. In the five months between Doug’s invitation and race day I managed to lose about 30 pounds and up my weekly mileage to over 40 per week and to everyone's surprise, I cut my hair. Segue to Buena Vista, Colorado.

Doug had arrived a week early to get what he called his Mountain MoJo on (read acclimatize). I arrived the day before the race start. Doug was concerned how I would perform at altitude with no opportunity to adapt. “Don’t worry”, I responded. “I have drugs.” On Monday we reviewed our race strategy – “Not be last”. Strategy review ended!

The first stage was more an introduction to altitude than a trail race – at least for those of us at the back of the pack. The winners were out of sight before we turned the first corner. Doug and I jogged along, enjoying the scenery, passing a few other teams, flirting with the cute corn fed girls from Nebraska. A camera appeared; we picked up the pace and gave one of our soon to be repeated Old Goat “Baaaaas” which made the race highlights. See Transrockies.com and watch the videos. I found myself loping along easily – Doug labored a little. I asked Doug what his pulse rate was. “142”, he responded. Ooops, I thought - time to slow down to a power walk. Doug started running again when his pulse hit 124. For the remainder of the stage (and the race) we walked when his pulse rate was over 134 and ran when it returned to 124. We had a new strategy… which allowed us to pass ten teams that first day – seventeen by the end of the race. Out of curiosity I timed the duration from the moment his pulse rate peaked to when it returned to normal. 90 seconds… A twenty year old should have his heart!

On the second day, we began our first climb. Doug asked if hiking poles really helped. I handed him one of my hiking poles… I think I made a convert. The poles reduce the perceived effort of climb by almost 10%. Doug returned the pole at the end of the last stage… Doug improved every day only faltering slightly during the dual climbs on the fifth and sixth stages. He struggled to those summits without complaining though the effort was beginning to show... About a mile before the finish of the last stage, I stopped and hugged Doug… He may not have been aware but he gave me a gift I can never repay. He inspired me to return to the high country, he showed that being old doesn’t mean BEING old. Doug is a remarkable man with a remarkable future. He has signed up to run the Old Goat Fifty on his 70th birthday and is adding an additional twenty miles the following day… any of you kids want to try it?

Transrockies Stage 6 Vail to Beaver Creek Brother can you spare a C note?

Camping in Vail was heaven compared to the previous nights stay at the abandoned dump. Tent city had been erected on the manicured outfield grass of a baseball diamond complete with chain link fences and “No Dogs Allowed” signs. The only negative was Interstate 70 a hundred yards to the North. At dinner, a few teams voiced concerns the truck noise would keep them awake... I slept as if I were in my own bed and awoke refreshed and ready to tackle the last stage… perhaps this ‘camping’ thing wasn’t so bad after all!

Doug and I brought enough Old Goat shirts so we could wear a clean shirt every day, whereas some of the competitors wore the same outfit every day – I didn’t notice until that final line-up in the starting chute. I recalled the ultra-runners manta... clear mind - clean body… take your pick! We can only guess as to what the ‘millionaire’ population of Vail was thinking. Annie had already overheard two tight-assed scolds, complaining about tent city. They apparently thought we were homeless squatters or delegates to the Democratic Convention – probably both.

Unlike our previous city start in Leadville where we were clear of buildings in two blocks, this start took us through the village of Vail, under the Interstate, and through a neighborhood before we arrived at the trail head. The knuckleheads as usual bolted ahead… they apparently had an agenda… Not actually beat us, I thought. Hadn’t they learned the futility of that strategy yet?

I spent some time with the stage profile the previous evening… another two peak trek, and according to the organizers the second climb was going to be very steep. After five days of outrageous scenery, I thought it unlikely we would be wowed again. Wrong - this time it was a thick Aspen grove followed by flowering meadows. We could see Vail receding below if we cared to look – I did, and paid the price, tripping, and landing squarely on the top of my head before flipping onto my back. I momentarily saw stars! I liked the aspens better. Doug and three teams rushed to help me – they probably thought the old fart had croaked. Doug said, “Wow, that was great, you rolled like a pro. I gotta learn how to do that.” Thanks, I said as a couple of pretty ladies brushed off the dirt. I checked the top of my head for blood – dry – nothing to show for my gymnastic skills other than a bruised ego and a dirty shoulder.

One of the teams asking if I needed help was the team of Amy and Ryan, both wore all white because they were going to get married at the finish line. Heady stuff this long distance running thing, eh wot? At least they know the other can relate if one says, I need to go long and doesn’t return until the next day! They remarked that Doug and I were inspiring and I felt a little verclempt. They were just starting while we were in the homestretch. I said "When you come to that point in your life when you realize there are more trails behind than ahead, the next mile tastes that much sweeter." I would need to apply that mot of wisdom sooner than I thought.

I kept the pace slow because I didn’t want to repeat the previous days stage and burn Doug out on the first climb. We topped the summit with relative ease and began the long trek down towards Beaver Creek. The route departed from the jeep trail and followed an overgrown single track back towards the Interstate. I was a little concerned about Doug. Other than coming down from Hope Pass, and even when the course was difficult, he seldom dropped back on the downhills. After spotting Avon, Colorado below, I waited for Doug to catch up… We had about five miles to go and only one more hill in our way.

When we arrived in Avon we weaved our way on surface streets and traffic circles until we arrived at a large parking lot - the parking lot where visitors to Beaver Creek Village boarded shuttles. Had it not been illegal to take in too much oxygen without a permit we could have smelled the finish line. We soon arrived at the races last aid station, and the last climb of the stage. Doug asked the question one dare not ask. “How far?” In my experience, spectators are always wrong and aid station people are seldom right. “Only a short climb,” she responded. But, I could tell from her eyes she was speaking as someone who hadn’t already logged 103 miles. Her partner said something about 800’. “Hell, Doug,” I sang – “That’s only half of Horsethief. (the 1400 foot climb in the OG50K)”. We began the climb – straight up the ski slope – about a third of the way up we began the girly-man traverse, this time traversing the entire width of the slope. Even I was overjoyed when we arrived at a wide path at the top of the slope… That joy was short lived as we saw the path still climbed, though at a dramatically shallower angle. We trudged along, passing mahogany benches, multimillion dollar homes, carved signs, and other accoutrements only found where the rich and famous play. A few mountain bikers passed in the opposite direction... I didn't know Armani made cycling gear too.

We passed a sign that read “Beaver Creek Village 2 miles” and immediately picked up the pace. We started going down-hill and knew we would be able to finish even if we had to roll down the slope. The course left the groomed path and took off on the diagonal across a ski slope. We spotted the finish line. After several switch backs we entered a small patch of forest. I stopped, turned, and hugged Doug. I wanted to express my gratitude without an audience. Annie met us at the bottom of the slope and led us to the finish… The obligatory cheesy medal was draped around our necks and the knuckle heads sitting on the outdoor patio of a restaurant tipped their beer bottles towards us. They only knocked twenty minutes off our total lead, but had bragging rights at the awards ceremony.

The awards banquet was long, the thank-yous profuse, and the behind the scenes support crews got drunk… The food was great, the good-byes teary, and the prospect of a good nights sleep in a plush bed inviting… I was sad that it was over! So sad, that after a restless night in a plush bed, I arose and went for a nine mile run up a mountain with Annie.







THE START

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.

Gore-Tex Transrockies Stage Four Camp Hale to Red Cliff

Doug often wears his shirts backwards to insure that our sponsors see us coming and going!

This nights episode was similar to the night in Leadville except I only needed three pee breaks… but, it was colder, and the adjacent field was closer. That’s when I looked up and realized the night sky viewed from this altitude was as beautiful as any I’d ever seen – not beautiful enough however to compel me to stand in that cold grass any longer than it took to complete business.

We arrived early at the breakfast tent and discovered they were also serving inside the lodge where it was warm. We resisted the temptation to just park in front of the roaring fire and proceeded straight to the buffet. I was still feeling slightly woozy and knew I’d need to stock up on fuel for the next climb. I ate as much oatmeal with syrup as I could tolerate, and washed it down with at least one pot of coffee. We still had an hour to go before the start and rather than leave the warm confines I started picking at the other offerings at the breakfast buffet…

Doug was telling some of the other teams about how much I had taught him over the past three days, and how we pushed the pace at the end of yesterdays stage knowing that this days shorter sixteen mile stage would be a ‘recovery’ run - the term I used to describe a run where we saved energy that we would be able to apply in later stages. Doug, having bestowed the honorific “mentor” on me and, he being the team brain, embraced the logic of my strategy… and shared it with our new friends. Today would be our recovery run!

The start of the forth stage was identical to the previous stages. Doug and I hung back and started picking off slower teams when we hit the up slopes. We passed our rivals with good cheer stopping to take photos. Doug suggested we hang with the Knuckleheads on our recovery day, but I explained that because they were faster on the downhills, we should forge ahead and they could catch-up later. We began the climb and once again found ourselves distracted by the vistas. We topped with little perceived effort.

After stopping at the peak for photos we began the long jog down the path leading to Red Cliff. Doug wondered how long it would take the knuckleheads to catch up. I smiled. About halfway down we could hear a stream to our left. We learned the night before that we would be crossing it a couple of times during the run, and that we were sure to get our feet wet. At the first crossing there was a number of large rocks and a clear dry path to the left… That’s it? I thought. Step from rock to rock and then onto the bank! We had no problem getting across without getting wet. Success! And, then the path doubled back…. The first step into the icy stream was a little bit of a shock - the second not quite as bad, but I was glad to be across. We squished on but within another hundred yards the path doubled back again. This time we didn’t even look for a dry route… and there wouldn’t be one for another quarter mile. The stream bed and the jeep road had become one. It was a new racing experience, running downhill on river rock in calf deep snow melt. My feet went numb from the cold. I was having a hard time feeling my way through the rocks. I wondered how croc-lady would have liked this stage.

We emerged from the stream bed and shortly heard Mexican music…. Huh! The aid station people had adopted a theme. From the welcoming signs we knew that there would be questions asked and if we answered them using the sponsors name we might win something - we were too tired. When I was asked what I would like to have more than anything else I said I would like thirty years of my life back... and when asked what he wanted Doug requested a margarita. Personally, I would have preferred hot buttered rum. We received neither.

We continued down a jeep trail and into the town of Red Cliff. Annie met us in the last mile and jogged along, describing where we would be staying the night… it did not sound inviting. By now most of the teams recognized Annie. Some greeted her with a smile and explained that seeing her meant there was only a little way to go to the finish. She had become the very welcome human mile marker.

We entered the main drag, made a hard left and saw the finish line literally ten steps from the town saloon… I don't think we even stopped before heading inside. I discovered that Fat Tire Ale tastes good even if your feet are wet! We went to the bar’s roof dining area, drank, ate, and cheered on those who finished behind us.

It was almost a mile from the saloon to where the tent camp had been erected and the shower truck was too wide to navigate the road to the campsite. The race organizers solved that problem by paying a local to let the truck park in front of his house. Now the finish line, saloon, and showers were within a stones throw. Too bad it was a long walk on a dusty road to get to the tent. The tents were pitched on the only large flat lot in town - the site of the former dump.

At the awards ceremony Doug remarked that perhaps we had worked too hard during the run to actually recover. My response was. “Maybe – but we still have two stages left. We can use tomorrow as a recovery day!”

Gore-Tex Transrockies Stage 3 Leadville to Camp Hale

After finishing stage two Annie and I drove into Leadville while the last finishers loaded into the shuttles. This was going to be our first night in the tents… I anticipated the experience with some foreboding. We purchased a tent lamp and self-inflating ground pads from REI before leaving and borrowed a pair of sleeping bags from a friend. The dinner, awards ceremony, and video marked the end of the day. Annie and I walked from the Leadville gym back to tent city and immediately crawled into our bags. I laid awake for what amounted to about five minutes before falling into a coma. Had that lasted the entire night I would have been overjoyed – it didn’t.

I awoke at midnight with a bursting bladder. I was immediately reminded why I had previously concluded that camping is a form of medieval torture. Unlike regular camping where one only need seek the closest tree, I had to find my crocs (problem 1), find my LED headlamp (problem 2), find the damn tent zipper (problem 3), then pick my path trough tent city (problem 4), and lastly, trudge to the porta-potties… No problem except the drawstring on my pants was knotted. Upon returning to my tent – oh oh – which of the 75-80 identical tents was mine? I stumbled around for a few minutes then spotted our doormat – Annie thinks of everything! I was back inside and curled up and asleep in a matter of minutes.

Repeat the previous paragraph at 2:00 am, 4:00 am, and again at 5:30 - except the last time I stayed up! When I told the story to Famous Fred from the Knuckleheads he reminded me that I had mocked him for bringing a pee bottle… I would have had to bring a pee gallon!

I donned the day’s running gear except for the timing chip I had put in a safe place before going to bed. I was on the cusp of panic. The chip was still in its safe place and I had no idea whatsoever where that safe place could be. I reported my dilemna to the timing folks and they were kind enough to issue me another chip without calling me a blockhead… Note: Annie later discovered the chip fastened to the strap of my gear bag… the bag whose entire contents I dumped on the tent floor while looking for the f’ing chip.

We hung around the gym after another wonderful breakfast, only to leave the warmth after the call to start music was played. While in the starting chute several competitors were loudly complaining about the start of the stage. They had apparently scoped it out the previous evening and had concluded it was on concrete for the first six miles. To my recollection and according to the course maps, we would be on the road for less than 2.5 miles, and parts of that road were dirt due to construction. The music blared, the race began and we took off through the streets led by a police car with flashing lights – as if anyone would be on the roads in Leadville at six am.

This stage was our first long run, twenty-four miles, and most of it was above 10,000’. As expected, we left the road at 2.4 miles and began our first climb to 11,000’. Though day two provided spectacular scenery, day three was even better. We arrived at the aid station and discovered Michelle was still there – although she had officially dropped as a team she had recovered sufficiently to run slowly (for her) with another runner whose teammate had also dropped. Although several runners couldn’t finish every stage, the race management to their credit, allowed them to rejoin the race in subsequent stages.

After we left the aid station the course continued at altitude for another five miles, at which time we crossed the highway and began a leg on the Continental Divide Trail. Think PCT only through the Rockies. We meandered through woods and meadows on single tracks, constantly descending until we arrived at the perimeter of Camp Hale, we recrossed route 24 and began four flat boring miles of dirt roads… made more unpleasant by quad runners kicking up dust. Annie met us when we had about a mile to go to the finish..

Later, we learned that the Knuckleheads had seen us and were determined to catch us when we hit the flat. Fortunately we had seen two other runners gaining on us so picked up the pace... I used that stretch to discuss general racing strategy with Doug. When to run hard and when to keep out of view... But, it was for naught as the other runners reeled us in as if we were 'old joggers' (which we were). When they caught us we realized they weren't in the race but were race staff taking the opportunity to get in a few training miles...

We crossed the finish line and I headed straight into the café and lunch… a great casa dia washed down with a Fat Tire Ale. After lunch, I took a shower. I guess I should mention that hot showers were available every day – and not some piddley little canvas enclosure. It was a semi-trailer that had about twenty stainless steel shower stalls, and another eight sinks and mirrors.

After cooling my legs in the stream I went to the tent and laid down… that’s when I felt my first headache and felt a little dizzy. I remembered the last time I had altitude sickness and it wasn’t pretty. All I could think of was how it was going to feel climbing another 11,600’ peak in the morning. At dinner I only picked at a small plate of spaghetti and salad… Annie noticed and asked if I was ill. Just a little dizzy I remarked – followed by an immediate “I’ll be okay in the morning”. Doug asked my opinion about the next stage. “Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll use it as a recovery day.”

Transrockies theme song

http://transrockies.com/transrockiesrun/GORE-TEXKeepOnRunning.mp3

Gore-Tex Transrockies Race / Vicksburg to Twin Lakes

If the race director considers a thirteen mile dirt road with two thousand feet of elevation gain flat, just imagine what they call an uphill. That is what we faced on day two.

At the completion of the first stage at Transrockies the competitors were shuttled back down the road to a campground which was located only five minutes from the Buena Vista (pronounced Buwena Vista in Colorado – go figure) start line and even closer to the motel Annie and I stayed in the previous night. We perused the tent city and elected instead to return to the motel – one less night sleeping in a tent seemed like a good idea since my idea of roughing it is when room service doesn’t deliver after mid-night. This was the first incidence when I discovered the advantage afforded those who had crew. I had an SUV loaded to the roof with a wide assortment of clothes, chairs, mattresses, back packs, and other assorted sundries. Those without personal transportation were required to load ALL of their equipment into one 36” X 18” bag. No problem you might be thinking – wrong - that included their sleeping bags and pads.

Doug and I discussed which color shirt we would wear to that nights award ceremony and the again in the morning during stage two – Blue was decided upon. The dinner took place in a huge tent and wasn’t the ‘usual’ ultra pre-race faire, but there was a sufficient enough choice to satisfy the palate of all but the rabid lacto-vegetarian (there were a few). Most of the competitors dug into the meat as if carbohydrates were only an afterthought. I reminded Doug to stock up on Gu in the morning. The awards ceremony was lengthy and frankly quite tedious as basically the same three teams in six categories were recognized – over and over for the next five nights… Maybe we wouldn’t have been as disinterested if it were Doug and I on the podium. A slide show took place after the awards and we, like every other competitor, hoped our faces would be included. The first recognizable face was Annie’s. The slides were followed by a video http://transrockies.com/transrockiesrun/news/?p=91 which included, Doug and I doing our Old Goats mating call and his comment concerning the blonde’s asses – there – I said it and I’m not sorry!

Doug retired to his tent and Annie and I retired to a queen bed and DNC convention coverage on the tube. We knew breakfast would be served at 6 am and this allowed us to actually sleep longer than our usual 4:45. So far I liked the race. After sleeping in, we drove back to the campground and our first race breakfast which consisted of eggs, bacon, sausage, pan cakes, bagels, and all the fixings… I suspected I wouldn’t be losing weight on this run.

Because the actual start line was located about 20 miles from the camp the organizers arranged to bus us to the foot of Hope Mountain. Soon after alighting from the busses, the call to race music played and we all migrated towards the starting chute where we were queried about having the mandatory equipment for the stage. The mandatory equipment included, long pants, warm hat, gloves, rain gear, a trail map and ID. And, each team also had to carry a first aid kit and an emergency blanket. Any though of traveling light was dispelled.

Today we were going over Hope Pass and although the day’s stage was only ten miles, it included climbing four miles and descending six. Doug and I assumed our usual post near the back of the pack, but by the time we started up the hill, found ourselves passing the same folks we had passed the previous day. Back in the Mesozoic era I ran over Hope Pass twice during the Leadville 100, so I had an inkling of what to expect. Doug just put his head down, stuck in his pole, and continued up the single-track switchbacks up the mountain and up above the tree-line. Do you get the impression that the trail goes up? Once clear of the trees we could see a line of competitors trudging their way to the pass.

When we arrived at the pass at 12,561’ Doug reached into his pack and pulled out a small American Flag. It was a great moment to be in the Transrockies as we stood in the pass braving 40 knot winds at near freezing temperatures - which when described later to one of the race sponsors, earned us very nice Windstopper jackets.

We didn’t linger and soon began our descent down the East side of the pass and towards Twin Lakes in the distance. The alpine like trail was soon replaced by a steep muddy and root filled single-track. Doug, who never liked roots, picked his way down the path, using his pole for balance. This was one of the few times I would surge ahead and then wait for him to catch up. After clearing the tree line at the bottom we followed the path into a stream bed. We could see Annie waiting on the other side. We plunged into the icy water and emerged with less than a mile to go to the finish line.

Soon after finishing I explained to Annie that I was hungry – “You came to the right place.” She walked me across the road to a café where I ordered a half rack of ribs and a Fat Tire. After eating we went back to the finish line in time to see our ‘arch rivals’ the knuckleheads finish. They beat us by ten minutes during the previous stage but we beat them by over an hour over Hope Pass. The fact that one of their members was ill shall be ignored in all further discussions.

That nights award ceremony was held in the Leadville gym. The last time I had been there was when I received my buckle for finishing the Leadville 100. The awards ceremony was an echo of the first nights, but we discovered that we had bonded with other teams and was glad to see them represented in the photos and video. Annie and I retired to our tent… I suspected it was going to be a long night!

Gore-Tex Transrockies Stage 1 Buena Vista

The race director apologized that the stage had to be modified and rather than trail, the first stage of the Transrockies would be run on 13 miles of dirt road paralleling the Arkansas River. Some of the entrants complained, but I looked at it as an opportunity to adapt to the altitude without having to climb a mountain.

The previous nights BBQ had been interrupted by a heavy downpour and thunder but the morning sky was clear and the feared inclement weather failed to materialize. The air was filled with electricity but not of the kind supplied by Mother Nature. It was the electricity generated by 160 human bodies anxious for the report of the starter’s gun. I maintained my pre-race aloofness, as if I wasn’t churning inside, but Annie knew better even if the other competitors didn’t.

Doug and I moved back in the starters chute to a place we suspected we wouldn’t be trampled. After all, our agreed upon goal was to not be last. The race started and as expected all but a trekker from the South Bronx and his partner pulled away. I don’t know about Doug but I remembered a time when I would have been near the front. I felt somewhat embarrassed to be one of the “old guys’ in the race.

A hundred yards down the road I felt my chest tighten and I realized a good portion of the day would be spent walking. Doug reported his pulse was over 140. Good, I thought - an opportunity to walk. I slowed down to a fast walk but Doug was still having a hard time keeping up. It dawned on me that Doug and I had never trained as a team; otherwise we would have understood each others strengths and weaknesses. Doug couldn’t power walk (he got better). He segued between a fast walk and a slow jog, but insisted I maintain the pace. I asked what his pulse rate was… when he jogged it climbed up into the 130’s but was in the 120’s when he walked. We discussed our ‘new and improved’ strategy. Run according to Doug’s pulse.

We began passing other teams – and had I not had a bout of Buena Vista BBQ bowels would have passed more. When we arrived at the aid station there were several teams hovering around. I grabbed Doug and pulled him away from the buffet table. Wow, he remarked we must have passed five teams at the station… Uh huh, I replied and explained that getting in and out of a station fast was one of the secrets to race success… even if the difference was between finishing last or fifth from last. Doug was a quick study - he only lingered in a station once or twice for the remainder of the stages. He remarked that I’d be his mentor during the rest of the race… it was then that I realized Doug had never competed in an event longer than a marathon… he had a lot of ‘on the run’ training in store.

A camera man appeared on the road, and we picked up the pace. When near the camera we shouted our race mantra “We’re the old goats. We look bad. We smell bad. We are baaaad!” Doug added a statement to the effect the two young girls in front of us had very attractive glutes (not exactly those words but you get the idea). We passed the two sisters from Nebraska and Doug apologized in advance for his somewhat rude remark, just in case the video was shown later – which it was! For all to see at http://www.transrockies.com/ Stage one video.

Annie met us with a mile to go, and jogged ahead to take pictures of the finish… Our main rivals (the Knuckleheads) a team of 54 year olds out of New Jersey beat us by ten minutes, but we actually finished ahead of nine other teams and neither Doug nor I were worse for the wear. After the stage was completed, even the complaining front runners appeared to enjoy the run, particularly the opportunity to laze in the icy waters of the Arkansas before being shuttled back to tent city.

For those unfamiliar with the routine of the Transrockies, suffice it to say that breakfasts and dinners are catered, accommodations are rustic. Breakfast was served at six and resembled the grand slam menu at Denny’s. Eggs, bacon, sausage, oatmeal, bagels, with all the fixings… Dinner was a combination of meats, pasta, rice, and sometimes potatoes. One night it was steak, chicken, portabella mushrooms, and a baked potato bar. We slept in a tent city that was erected and disassembled and moved by the transRockies staff. I am not a camper but had no trouble falling asleep each night – even if middle of the night peeing posed a problem.

After the first nights dinner they held the awards ceremony for the front runners and then showed slides and a video of the days run. Doug and I appeared in several shots, including Doug’s remark about the girls posteriors and my “BAAAAAD”. In fact, our “Baaaaa’s” became our calling card. I can’t recall the number of times “You Old Goat” was shouted from a passing vehicle, spectator, or fellow competitor... By the middle of the race the Finish Line announcer stopped calling out our names and just said “The Goats are in the House”.