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!”