tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24934974683299825272024-03-03T17:26:06.851-07:00Greg's Running AdventuresRunning the Southwest and BeyondGreg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.comBlogger256125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-4931958049563308642024-01-30T16:10:00.001-07:002024-01-30T16:10:35.983-07:00Franklin Mountains 55K Trail Run<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I ran the Franklin Mountains 55K Trail Run this past weekend in the state park in El Paso, TX put on by <a href="https://humanpotentialrunning.com/?gclid=CjwKCAiA8NKtBhBtEiwAq5aX2FH62ag-Fd5grBkWPvDegOPLQ8v3CGCXDBJwEUPGYyd7LObXpaYayRoCq98QAvD_BwE" target="_blank">Human Potential Running Series</a>. It had been several years since I ran this course which circumambulates the Franklin Mountain Range with a climb to the highest point —N. Franklin Peak (elev. 7192’). The trail is rugged and gnarly with plenty of rocks to keep you on your toes (literally). The route is lined with jagged, prickly and pointy vegetation, but at least the rattlesnakes are mostly dormant this time of year…<i>MOSTLY</i>. The course winds up and down many steep hills, with some narrow trails with precipitous drop-offs. In other words, my main goal in attempting this race is simply to, NOT DIE!</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQf_W8sr-YbXhXEKcYM-9y0SRCqQs7znfXDM7aLfcJqWA0SHZazRpPDJQ9aLhGU0SRiyCezYFepqCLB5iQCnv69TpIePB45muQiwgInfjoGXhQbjGraXgfLyoV_c4w9W6yo9l4VJo5gKswyZtfoZcL7DVFGq3CIbO7mwaVK2PfMXCiL2pqiYw13VZRDyQ/s5184/P1080455.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3110" data-original-width="5184" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQf_W8sr-YbXhXEKcYM-9y0SRCqQs7znfXDM7aLfcJqWA0SHZazRpPDJQ9aLhGU0SRiyCezYFepqCLB5iQCnv69TpIePB45muQiwgInfjoGXhQbjGraXgfLyoV_c4w9W6yo9l4VJo5gKswyZtfoZcL7DVFGq3CIbO7mwaVK2PfMXCiL2pqiYw13VZRDyQ/w400-h241/P1080455.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPlLvh3phX7oOlyWem4eVFBXTnI2ep2KBaWNJDxBNi_IoCXte3biYhN-TrbCtUGbQ0L5y7ooqb9NstbUGehMtas-uSNC4h7cbN3Yc1QQs0C_AgpY8d88oB9Ze13_xLwLXthjrYbAqPeTYNCeliUB1B8a_eikLvyo-sXOM8fUBS0BdoyUmI6fmln6VECOc/s4399/P1080459.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3142" data-original-width="4399" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPlLvh3phX7oOlyWem4eVFBXTnI2ep2KBaWNJDxBNi_IoCXte3biYhN-TrbCtUGbQ0L5y7ooqb9NstbUGehMtas-uSNC4h7cbN3Yc1QQs0C_AgpY8d88oB9Ze13_xLwLXthjrYbAqPeTYNCeliUB1B8a_eikLvyo-sXOM8fUBS0BdoyUmI6fmln6VECOc/w400-h286/P1080459.jpeg" width="400" /></a><br /><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;">I took this pic of a mostly dormant rattlesnake by the wildlife underpass a few years ago</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">I have an advantage running here, in one of the largest urban wilderness parks in the US, because I train here in the Franklins almost everyday and have finished the 100K three times which is two laps around this ridiculously difficult course! This run should have felt like a stroll in the park, but it was far from it. I studied the course map since the direction and order of trails was a bit different than I had done in the past and I didn’t want to screw up and get lost. </div></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGqNYQfFXXj8TZQCUQVQ2afOe-NvSEc89PNypVE60GQXcigjy1IP2lltQEpPbj3BCxz9ax-WffzlqlF8xDrdjmC3zlfyZ4GQH8MU1fhQ7RUzQtps8sPPxRjXHcwOEwAf-nKXAmpnl9f5EqL9_itEVLbt03XZ3HJoJ6VpCWhrHoLzEGjziSt9p_ZmaHnQ/s4497/P1100383.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2698" data-original-width="4497" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGqNYQfFXXj8TZQCUQVQ2afOe-NvSEc89PNypVE60GQXcigjy1IP2lltQEpPbj3BCxz9ax-WffzlqlF8xDrdjmC3zlfyZ4GQH8MU1fhQ7RUzQtps8sPPxRjXHcwOEwAf-nKXAmpnl9f5EqL9_itEVLbt03XZ3HJoJ6VpCWhrHoLzEGjziSt9p_ZmaHnQ/w400-h241/P1100383.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The aztec caves<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">In discussing the map with some friends at the race start, I discovered my first error. We aren’t going to the Aztec Caves, they said. We always climb the steep trail up to the caves and then scramble above them to cut over to Mundy’s Gap which is roughly what the map showed. Anyway, just before the race start, the race director gave the proverbial last minute instructions to the runners, “1. Don’t be a jerk, 2. Don’t die and most importantly, have fun!”, he said. “Any last minute questions?” Well, I decided to ask, “Are we going to the caves?” He said, "No there’s another trail that doesn’t include the scramble section that you’ve done in year’s past.” I was still a bit confused, but knew I would just follow the other runners and course flagging.</span></div><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Here is a visual of the course. 12 hours of running reduced to 40 seconds:<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/GPXGWKJdu_w?si=lw0WDxvLoWXyUuMO" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe> </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After the short briefing, we took off from the pavilion start area and started towards the caves, but instead of the usual trail, we took a new one that I had never been on. Nevertheless, we were still climbing upwards towards the caves. Pretty soon, after much strenuous grinding, I could see runners passing by the first cave. Wait, I thought we weren’t going to the caves! I kept going for a while longer and then saw runners climbing through a dry gully skirting around the higher cave. In no time, I was passing directly in front of the first cave and then went down some high log stairs to pick up the steep gully. I had only gone one mile, and my legs were already burning and my heart thumping like a drum inside my chest. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghg0cxePxIBMXWEinjTRynvRTRfDYbV-5iSf39UrzPB4QxLhMxpX7xlB1KB_Kymhcivx1mJkFfILK31Ydx9sF9kslI3iFmwVq59Uw4SRK-huK7BfEm0Az1K8hppHhmLZ32EBbeZRMioAkyEI3-1TAvFi8KGS5SKjFXRyS3F3-D-9CJhJtw3Y1aMvqPwcM/s4169/P1100386.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4169" data-original-width="3284" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghg0cxePxIBMXWEinjTRynvRTRfDYbV-5iSf39UrzPB4QxLhMxpX7xlB1KB_Kymhcivx1mJkFfILK31Ydx9sF9kslI3iFmwVq59Uw4SRK-huK7BfEm0Az1K8hppHhmLZ32EBbeZRMioAkyEI3-1TAvFi8KGS5SKjFXRyS3F3-D-9CJhJtw3Y1aMvqPwcM/w316-h400/P1100386.jpeg" width="316" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo from previous race</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I guess my definition of going to the caves was different than the others’ definition of going to the caves. Never mind; it’s all good and we still took the high trail, above the caves with precipitous drops where death is virtually imminent. Anyway, I took my time on this part and eventually made it to Mundy’s Gap where I began the steep run down. </span><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-m24WRT-ssl2WzFZBb7IRLTirOiFWesk1Q1HuIsW26TUu-uGPxZoMmXytuVbORVD6jOJgAT8E1k5YpS902no4VkZgqGA1JglBSw2MMZpA5P5kH2ZDfAq2OwP-saVeKumSfcH78KU87R8l1tRKn-IYK3m3-o9B_tKJelJHaJ9cOUwvhxb4w4CDYO8Ylw/s4186/P1100403.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2990" data-original-width="4186" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-m24WRT-ssl2WzFZBb7IRLTirOiFWesk1Q1HuIsW26TUu-uGPxZoMmXytuVbORVD6jOJgAT8E1k5YpS902no4VkZgqGA1JglBSw2MMZpA5P5kH2ZDfAq2OwP-saVeKumSfcH78KU87R8l1tRKn-IYK3m3-o9B_tKJelJHaJ9cOUwvhxb4w4CDYO8Ylw/w400-h286/P1100403.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Runners climbing over to Mundy's Gap</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I bumped into one of the old timers that frequent this trail and said, “ONLY 34 MORE MILES TO GO!” He chuckled and wished me luck. Then I thought to myself, </span><i style="font-family: arial;">CRAP! I have 34 more miles to go! </i><span style="font-family: arial;">I made it down safely and then ran a loop along the Lower Sunset Trail back to the start area (pavilion) where I filled my water bottles. The next part was Schaeffer Shuffle, a steep rocky ridge with high steps of rock. I wasn’t paying attention while climbing up the scarp while using my trekking poles and accidentally stuck my head and arm into a prickly pear cactus that was hanging from above. I had thorns in my hat and sleeves so had to stop to pull them out. I crossed the top of a ridge and negotiated the horribly steep slippery descent while only losing my footing several times with a few minor skids.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS1pI35gEmfogMnAs1Jpmu0K-aOn5wwfvyP4Pwy_Y5QmfV4l0nU1p-jjcwoWyU9xEbq6jdQn5bcNS-zz38rE1qc3RxMDpiU3L5qrzJjpZuF7q8DnR2300GyQJx4scU2iOvV8RG4AAw-fqQpTg5S9IRkU5ahClC5qa1PPMXLTbBHDbyXc6JBNB03YCprTc/s5184/P1090753.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="5184" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS1pI35gEmfogMnAs1Jpmu0K-aOn5wwfvyP4Pwy_Y5QmfV4l0nU1p-jjcwoWyU9xEbq6jdQn5bcNS-zz38rE1qc3RxMDpiU3L5qrzJjpZuF7q8DnR2300GyQJx4scU2iOvV8RG4AAw-fqQpTg5S9IRkU5ahClC5qa1PPMXLTbBHDbyXc6JBNB03YCprTc/w400-h300/P1090753.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">The next section was flat and somewhat boring, but I made good time. I ran in and out of several arroyos and dry washes and then reached the West Aid station, around mile 15, where I filled up again. I was pretty tired so walked up the long dirt road and slogged up the many switchbacks to the Northern Pass. The climb was tough and I could really feel my age, but I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. </span><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4CgZGQ4mDttpATrGugOj4kEq5ziv_XQih3MM4a298TGbaEeonNmxPLDrp6vb6DYitDeg_M1BjllPo7FHkKjFT1LZayd1D5jEAWD7IlQGZysCBgnTJYJn0G3qjpFPiuRRMXItYbu4khmcUd0X8IBPWly7-vVe4gxTQsBADEOEfH5_k1R2SmCsE79pRBq4/s2435/IMG_5359.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2435" data-original-width="2435" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4CgZGQ4mDttpATrGugOj4kEq5ziv_XQih3MM4a298TGbaEeonNmxPLDrp6vb6DYitDeg_M1BjllPo7FHkKjFT1LZayd1D5jEAWD7IlQGZysCBgnTJYJn0G3qjpFPiuRRMXItYbu4khmcUd0X8IBPWly7-vVe4gxTQsBADEOEfH5_k1R2SmCsE79pRBq4/w400-h400/IMG_5359.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Once at the top, I had a great view of the vast desert floor below spreading out for miles; a long dirt road to nowhere snaking out of view. It was windy, cloudy and chilly up there which made my spirits slump. I ran a curvy trail around Hitt Canyon, where eons of monsoon rains have cut a deep gash through the desert. I ate some snacks and mandarins to try to boost my mood and energy. This trail is deceivingly difficult for reasons unknown to me. This area of the park is extremely remote and you can feel very alone where your mind plays tricks on you; like you’ve entered a wrinkle in spacetime where everything seems to stand still. </span><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfqGPQBOQxNvysCKeK_xczksstQxmKV-4Nvo7a4F1IPeqTs7-8MIL8XtlGxv_Ymbq9QettU6YUYaftJTwe8KqJI9ODUZGySyG4O_fPluX0ktKWsy2b2iQWu9-go8qguRRS_F8Qk2XM-jJN5aztGAO0BdI0EzkENbg_UatgJa88IHoftLuJHGVRfnkeVFM/s3603/IMG_5351.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2162" data-original-width="3603" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfqGPQBOQxNvysCKeK_xczksstQxmKV-4Nvo7a4F1IPeqTs7-8MIL8XtlGxv_Ymbq9QettU6YUYaftJTwe8KqJI9ODUZGySyG4O_fPluX0ktKWsy2b2iQWu9-go8qguRRS_F8Qk2XM-jJN5aztGAO0BdI0EzkENbg_UatgJa88IHoftLuJHGVRfnkeVFM/w400-h241/IMG_5351.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Nevertheless, I eventually reached the base of Newman’s Trail where a new warning sign was recently put in place. “STAY SAFE — STAY ON THE TRAIL” “Potentially Dangerous Munitions May Be Encountered In Off-Trail Areas” Did I mention that I was probably going to die in this race? </span><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTVlSUIiXlIxVaU1v7fvV3rh2gttm8qz8ADAe3Y5YRJUv0lg0uIjwMNq8Sq7AOHn6uAnPlD0jcvwYLpyU_gBeE-_o-JKh8krIXmdAKTQ4DOrX_t71pYvEWidpWQGwZ_kpIQSWSxeDKXhFtt_K12e-CG1N11DVRSRmIib6sEUx8cuqCzT0TRouVhT-QqBo/s3779/IMG_5355.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2699" data-original-width="3779" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTVlSUIiXlIxVaU1v7fvV3rh2gttm8qz8ADAe3Y5YRJUv0lg0uIjwMNq8Sq7AOHn6uAnPlD0jcvwYLpyU_gBeE-_o-JKh8krIXmdAKTQ4DOrX_t71pYvEWidpWQGwZ_kpIQSWSxeDKXhFtt_K12e-CG1N11DVRSRmIib6sEUx8cuqCzT0TRouVhT-QqBo/w400-h286/IMG_5355.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Some areas in the Franklin Mountains were formerly used as Army live fire ranges and UXOs are sometimes found. Mostly in the Castner Range, though, which is SE from this area. </span><a href="https://www.castnerrange.org/history" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Castner Range</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> was designated a national monument last year, by President Biden so we may have some new trails in the future once all the UXOs are cleared. I continued on my way making sure to stay on the trail. My energy level picked up and the climb up Newman’s wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated. I was slowly nearing civilization. </span><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgvQq21cD5SbI7UeZ2RkWSRjzhfy35SycTa2oiidTN6zh1CxqwPHntRbXo1zBFlLerGLtzJy6yvOQguqW_mOIQS5pWmg0e5CtbM4k_lpBaOjarPgC3KV2eJIu9dlXEBrPi1821wfaQ0UkJQffxMpJG2-s0h7juNkNxfQ33wPlz1Ar_nSg-Hq8DDY0-SZE/s3569/IMG_5362.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2141" data-original-width="3569" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgvQq21cD5SbI7UeZ2RkWSRjzhfy35SycTa2oiidTN6zh1CxqwPHntRbXo1zBFlLerGLtzJy6yvOQguqW_mOIQS5pWmg0e5CtbM4k_lpBaOjarPgC3KV2eJIu9dlXEBrPi1821wfaQ0UkJQffxMpJG2-s0h7juNkNxfQ33wPlz1Ar_nSg-Hq8DDY0-SZE/w400-h241/IMG_5362.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Northern end of the park where time stands still</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I made it to the Bowen Roundhouse aid station at about mile 23 and then ran along a smooth sandy trail to the old tin mines and base of N. Franklin Peak at mile 26. It was late afternoon by this point and the wind had died down and the sun felt welcoming on my body. I was excited to get the climb over with so I pulled out my trekking poles and started the long upward grind. The first part wasn’t too steep and I felt pretty good having caught a second wind. </span><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IiQiqK_xYF5fTqTVsTvqgccigLCLD2xDR7bJjH3OUQTO1GvgKKh44zzBwBW9GEJlc5oSQFvo-B5Q-uFJS5urKAkgG3nPldvwsojA_UPS8LvMLjldu0M8YtkkBpX1f1fJwuvLkQqj8TvADhdfPilUsFZI4eKDiIvgOei8w2w1taBVaW_jdvhhB_h2Q3E/s3763/IMG_5360.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2258" data-original-width="3763" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IiQiqK_xYF5fTqTVsTvqgccigLCLD2xDR7bJjH3OUQTO1GvgKKh44zzBwBW9GEJlc5oSQFvo-B5Q-uFJS5urKAkgG3nPldvwsojA_UPS8LvMLjldu0M8YtkkBpX1f1fJwuvLkQqj8TvADhdfPilUsFZI4eKDiIvgOei8w2w1taBVaW_jdvhhB_h2Q3E/w400-h241/IMG_5360.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;">In about an hour I reached the turn for the N. Franklin Peak Trail which is an out-and-back segment to the top of the mountain. My legs felt like lead and my heart was working overtime so I had to stop frequently to lean on my poles to catch my breath. I climb this mountain almost every weekend, but not on legs that have gone almost 30 miles! It’s usually a breeze, but not on this day. The last mile was especially taxing, but I was in good company as many others were struggling as well. After much effort, I slogged my way the final steps to the peak, having gone a mere four miles, from bottom to top, in two hours forty five minutes. </div></span><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0loBogBu4WHagTDUGs3BpDr4Ce0Y9-9cqz6AUdLJwGK2nmlPaTceCu6D3-SeIzHcF_OgonekGwZpDSkb8TDH7FQju9Hc5VnIz0vymYUqnDSvs9skXvWYuspE2XHYA2ffXViDooNPMAibsicIy4kWueoLEr3CS_t34clw2P0jOA74A0UoTWoW4Q5kiiK4/s3839/IMG_5369.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2303" data-original-width="3839" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0loBogBu4WHagTDUGs3BpDr4Ce0Y9-9cqz6AUdLJwGK2nmlPaTceCu6D3-SeIzHcF_OgonekGwZpDSkb8TDH7FQju9Hc5VnIz0vymYUqnDSvs9skXvWYuspE2XHYA2ffXViDooNPMAibsicIy4kWueoLEr3CS_t34clw2P0jOA74A0UoTWoW4Q5kiiK4/w400-h241/IMG_5369.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">The sun was low in the sky casting its rays on the jagged mountain range outlining the peaks in a silver hue. I tagged the antenna base that sits on the mountaintop and grabbed a summit wrist band to prove I had made it. I enjoyed the view for a few minutes snapping some pictures and then headed back down. </span><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiovVIS_WbZYn4wUYxI8sSilUPCUcLxqckZzfTCM65XGMEtnA528A8HQWWx4bUj9-MaoYIFjeY2CJlubx6zSfDHmGbfvHg1mnmfK_J1Nl9j4AFIXQHOEG4UkBqAw3AcMw6dqq5VbiZ3ORtOxSQIeqW2laP8yWVB_m0VBfiLoXYah09HQLSOLdwVV0Lv-08/s3730/IMG_5373.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2238" data-original-width="3730" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiovVIS_WbZYn4wUYxI8sSilUPCUcLxqckZzfTCM65XGMEtnA528A8HQWWx4bUj9-MaoYIFjeY2CJlubx6zSfDHmGbfvHg1mnmfK_J1Nl9j4AFIXQHOEG4UkBqAw3AcMw6dqq5VbiZ3ORtOxSQIeqW2laP8yWVB_m0VBfiLoXYah09HQLSOLdwVV0Lv-08/w400-h241/IMG_5373.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Going down is equally as slow because the terrain is so rugged. Jagged rocks make the footing precarious and there are plenty of nearly perpendicular rock outcrops that you have to negotiate. Several times my shoe slipped causing a sharp rock to stab the side of my foot. OUCH! By this point, I was out of water and still had several more miles to go before the next aid. </span><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEn-YVZKAnYUms-kKR7ZdOZ1HECxzeOEmWOI6e3-G5MJRskLnXyJji_UYeYcIZiVi9GrRS1_Fl-uvYqHURuX2ZSn7ov2ToZB3AnKjYCZfNRuVGA63Y2HlUKIpVB7hEAK7Xc8ej_TRemZkgGjqeEZV8-8IKRxavj4Zfo21u8V2I1Fsj9q1UIKm0uX2Rbj8/s4032/IMG_5378.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEn-YVZKAnYUms-kKR7ZdOZ1HECxzeOEmWOI6e3-G5MJRskLnXyJji_UYeYcIZiVi9GrRS1_Fl-uvYqHURuX2ZSn7ov2ToZB3AnKjYCZfNRuVGA63Y2HlUKIpVB7hEAK7Xc8ej_TRemZkgGjqeEZV8-8IKRxavj4Zfo21u8V2I1Fsj9q1UIKm0uX2Rbj8/w400-h300/IMG_5378.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching the summit</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I made it back down and hiked the short climb up to Mundy’s Gap while the sun slipped below the horizon. The next stretch was a real bitch because the trail is steep, narrow and slippery with many game trails crossing the slopes willy-nilly. It was almost dark making it difficult to see the path and course markings. There were runners in front of me with their headlights beaming so I could sort of see which direction to go. I spotted the giant cottonwood tree below, a sentinel who’s been watching over the Cotton Wood Spring here for decades. When it was almost completely dark, I reached the bench under the tree where I stopped to pull out my headlamp. </span><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwwxJpux6CTHark4jXyzNUh-cJwLDFS1mWEkrvgKC55mOcYH5Wvbo7-yC8Wml0vtHg8fTawgqney6rYE2HLdDCu5U5-MrY4PSf5dHoAEZGCAN93CvY-caxED0IQOgmM5lvwngKf4DsKAcHZ7nhBWfAIDg-sYlMfemyTkUC-4sGKLQVJcdevCpfLIIMNx8/s3174/IMG_5389.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1904" data-original-width="3174" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwwxJpux6CTHark4jXyzNUh-cJwLDFS1mWEkrvgKC55mOcYH5Wvbo7-yC8Wml0vtHg8fTawgqney6rYE2HLdDCu5U5-MrY4PSf5dHoAEZGCAN93CvY-caxED0IQOgmM5lvwngKf4DsKAcHZ7nhBWfAIDg-sYlMfemyTkUC-4sGKLQVJcdevCpfLIIMNx8/w400-h241/IMG_5389.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Now I could see…sort of. I climbed down some very high log steps where an enormous sun bleached limb; part of the tree actually, had fallen in high winds blocking the route. I had to kneel down to crawl under it and then my 60 year old body had trouble standing back up again. At this point I wasn’t sure which way to go, because there are two ways down and I didn’t bother to watch the race briefing video because I know these trails better than the back of my hand. </span><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1kiWal4s5oNpw-fDwnmH7s0vfUanKL-JIw8lldTVg2LGvY7ZnmfmoWkAzSrWh6IWruEfgNeJoKTe0VGcdEBZoTp1bkz27eP8TrqjrNIpGBQmXIIhFlUdu6oByGXNC4K2fAegaHTgfTUHzm2zi4P5UG1GsHoZLtMBGj0O8_MKzVzB6SwBe9qowGC3c5Ss/s3288/IMG_5384.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2349" data-original-width="3288" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1kiWal4s5oNpw-fDwnmH7s0vfUanKL-JIw8lldTVg2LGvY7ZnmfmoWkAzSrWh6IWruEfgNeJoKTe0VGcdEBZoTp1bkz27eP8TrqjrNIpGBQmXIIhFlUdu6oByGXNC4K2fAegaHTgfTUHzm2zi4P5UG1GsHoZLtMBGj0O8_MKzVzB6SwBe9qowGC3c5Ss/w400-h286/IMG_5384.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My running buddies, Angel and Isela gettin'er done!</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I started down the scree slope towards an old rusty stock tank because my brain said, <i>this is the easier and quicker way down</i>. Wishful thinking! I didn’t see any course flagging though, and became nervous. Of course, I didn’t want to cut the course and get disqualified, so I decided to climb back up to the last pink flagging. Then I saw more markers and realized we had to cross the scree field to High Newman Trail. I don’t like this trail because it’s narrow with a sharp drop-off and lots of rocky tripping hazards where a minor misstep will send you tumbling to the bottom of a jagged rock pile! I especially don’t like this trail in the dark, I do not like it in the rain or on a train, or in the wind or when I’ve sinned. I DO NOT LIKE IT SAM I AM!</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I told you I was going to die, right! Well, at least I had my trusty trekking poles; my security blanky to help keep me in an upright position. I traversed the scree slope and climbed up onto the trail and ran for a while. I gingerly negotiated several piles of shifting rocks of every geometric shape, using my poles to keep my balance on the precarious obstacle. Once across, I ran for a while where suddenly my toe caught a protruding rock and hurled me forward where I barely kept myself from tumbling off the edge. After this shock, I took my time, carefully reaching the last aid station at the bottom of the trail. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_KtoexWkof9RU6u50oW9tFcX7bKiMQmP3JGjiLVdLCbxf-PcLWyWzpDI1dppu0CxcF4B_9O2qzcM4LXAdwbWtLba5YhfK3J5IaXnwwNrQMwC4rrjFz5FFTwyQnNQL2Q3BE31souU7AqzZIzYBOIEt2Zj7-PJGu1fie-D0SMuoR0SpegKJr7V8eSi1Mao/s3715/IMG_5372.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2229" data-original-width="3715" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_KtoexWkof9RU6u50oW9tFcX7bKiMQmP3JGjiLVdLCbxf-PcLWyWzpDI1dppu0CxcF4B_9O2qzcM4LXAdwbWtLba5YhfK3J5IaXnwwNrQMwC4rrjFz5FFTwyQnNQL2Q3BE31souU7AqzZIzYBOIEt2Zj7-PJGu1fie-D0SMuoR0SpegKJr7V8eSi1Mao/w400-h241/IMG_5372.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Northeast El Paso</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I ran on the paved park road, picked up the very technical Upper Sunset Trail and power hiked up a steep rock outcrop lined with pointy shin dagger (lechuguilla). I climbed high stairs of crumbly rocks using my poles to push myself up. At the top, I ran when I could but there isn’t much of a trail here, just a rocky ridge with all manner of rocks to stub your toes on. After over 12 hours of running, I ran the final slope into the finish line. I was exhausted, but still alive. I guess I cheated death once more and had a grand running adventure in the Promised Land to boot! </span><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The Franklin Mountains Trail Run is a great event that includes a full weekend of runs including the King and Queen of the Mountain on Friday; 50 mile, 55K and 30K on Saturday and the 5K, 10K and Half Marathon on Sunday. Pick your poison carefully and try not to die, OK!</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZtiIF9E3wixhkn1flfADb3dApzv6rWSTU5XBIgB5CEkr2X7Sba4GMFrUPv37yKkeMNgUoaRhX_95On9y1TBGPNDIBTmvPZmiag7N-v-NoRJLrkgKYlssJEvPY0eBEouGQJ9WPyaGLaX4VswBR7cz275PtzbQbQ4RA8U6t3Pqx-WkjWEGCdpeHLAm7oE/s4421/P1110960.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3158" data-original-width="4421" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZtiIF9E3wixhkn1flfADb3dApzv6rWSTU5XBIgB5CEkr2X7Sba4GMFrUPv37yKkeMNgUoaRhX_95On9y1TBGPNDIBTmvPZmiag7N-v-NoRJLrkgKYlssJEvPY0eBEouGQJ9WPyaGLaX4VswBR7cz275PtzbQbQ4RA8U6t3Pqx-WkjWEGCdpeHLAm7oE/w400-h286/P1110960.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A summer resident, the collared lizard</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">See You on the trail</span></p></div>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-43476886734336072392023-10-08T11:23:00.004-06:002024-01-30T16:10:51.849-07:00Mt Taylor 50K<p> R<span style="font-family: arial;">ecently I ran the <a href="http://www.mttaylor50k.com/home.html" target="_blank">Mt Taylor 50K</a> in Grants, NM, which was my fourth finish on this sacred mountain that tops out at 11,300'. If you know me, then you understand that mountains, forests, deserts and rivers are my church. You could also call it your synagogue, mosque, temple or simply your happy place; It doesn't matter. Mt Taylor, known as Tsoodził (Turquoise Mountain) to the Navajo is one of four sacred mountains that mark the boundary of their nation. </span></p><p><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b></b></span></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96yoZDl8LQ8sVjNTRNPGfKQIL6sc9loZbTxCHbzhYmHqhMen7g00KRnVVWPVt0Xnf_xvYuOrFnwWIf-NouyRJ_eCopqVz5eoz5klAhY0hMgwMhHUIyWk2krsA1eceTfmplxPLV25z_KoGPnfly75ysb_mR9DcPHo2FZ4nma8Pl84LXeL5PPoPOaClF6Y/s1280/IMG_4950.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96yoZDl8LQ8sVjNTRNPGfKQIL6sc9loZbTxCHbzhYmHqhMen7g00KRnVVWPVt0Xnf_xvYuOrFnwWIf-NouyRJ_eCopqVz5eoz5klAhY0hMgwMhHUIyWk2krsA1eceTfmplxPLV25z_KoGPnfly75ysb_mR9DcPHo2FZ4nma8Pl84LXeL5PPoPOaClF6Y/w400-h300/IMG_4950.jpeg" width="400" /></a></b></span></i></div><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><div><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400;">According to author, </span><a href="https://ehillerman.unm.edu/node/1814#sthash.m3VxHyQm.dpbs" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: 400;" target="_blank">Tony Hillerman's</a><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400;"> version of Navajo mythology:</span></div><div><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400;"><br /></span></div>First Man buried turquoise in this range, hence its symbolic blue color... the chief of the Enemy Gods, Yé'iitsoh, once resided in this peak. When the Twin War Gods (Born for Water and Monster Slayer, sons of Changing Woman) killed Yé'iitsoh, his blood spilled down the slopes and hardened into the lava flows of El Malpais in the area surrounding Grants. The mountain features as a central and meaningful location for Blessingway and Enemyway ceremonies.</b></span></i><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14Kiy-h7vawIOELycVNDp8SwzlhT9VqTSh1pL5-ps9_1UZhpcrv3M_knRp3b58B0W3QddNYEZIFW91SoAUhdgbffAUbmp2XakD4WU2irBrb0c3cIrPQOFnaiZJxaSkF276iqJRJD3Znqp1EG82OGJy9GPP35QbakYbbjOjYVcYdmFuXWetoagHpKE_cY/s1280/IMG_4926.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14Kiy-h7vawIOELycVNDp8SwzlhT9VqTSh1pL5-ps9_1UZhpcrv3M_knRp3b58B0W3QddNYEZIFW91SoAUhdgbffAUbmp2XakD4WU2irBrb0c3cIrPQOFnaiZJxaSkF276iqJRJD3Znqp1EG82OGJy9GPP35QbakYbbjOjYVcYdmFuXWetoagHpKE_cY/w400-h300/IMG_4926.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><a name='more'></a></span>The weather was perfect for this race; breezy and not too hot. I was able to run comfortably for the entire time. The mountain scenery was stunning with leaves on the aspens changing to a beautiful shades of yellow and orange. The course is two different loops; each one returning to the start/finish area where you can leave your drop bag. The first loop climbs to around 10,800 in about four miles and then descends with many short up and down sections. Much of the course is on the <a href="https://www.fs.usda.gov/managing-land/trails/cdt" target="_blank">Continental Divide National Scenic Trail</a>, which traverses the US from Mexico to Canada, and also includes forest service roads. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNiB6HOSC-RrYUvlQvgVLNZINwnmHwmi4Avb_sgkFvxw0aUpS7D3iy3SGiryzca4CEG1M49iTc5cZzSZh12g4IMJd8FclWkZH8P9n-inD-2muRNKQAlWhLO8wnM6Kf3Hu9hawaCR3wh8lRAx_Liiqj44-2HYWkCouI1Q534977T15EPg0AIIdlgao2X5Y/s1280/IMG_4912.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNiB6HOSC-RrYUvlQvgVLNZINwnmHwmi4Avb_sgkFvxw0aUpS7D3iy3SGiryzca4CEG1M49iTc5cZzSZh12g4IMJd8FclWkZH8P9n-inD-2muRNKQAlWhLO8wnM6Kf3Hu9hawaCR3wh8lRAx_Liiqj44-2HYWkCouI1Q534977T15EPg0AIIdlgao2X5Y/w300-h400/IMG_4912.jpeg" width="300" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKieAoeB7edmMqSNgjfz-60ko6eXgBd9jvZOTE_LucOFmpYJUe8JtQYSzjCeRoTQbzegDypKnDwBNCd_aojbRvt4FrvlQdZqCX-fq6ZXP3HskrkdzCuUGjjqLNnJGHVq5UnMJL8eElBtVNapLiNEpTE9rDbqzgvmfR_17CsPdrhwUlFSA6le6_Fm0tZ04/s1280/MtTaylor_2023-TM-0147.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKieAoeB7edmMqSNgjfz-60ko6eXgBd9jvZOTE_LucOFmpYJUe8JtQYSzjCeRoTQbzegDypKnDwBNCd_aojbRvt4FrvlQdZqCX-fq6ZXP3HskrkdzCuUGjjqLNnJGHVq5UnMJL8eElBtVNapLiNEpTE9rDbqzgvmfR_17CsPdrhwUlFSA6le6_Fm0tZ04/w400-h268/MtTaylor_2023-TM-0147.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">The second loop takes you up Tsoodził; your climb starting at mile 20 on tired rubbery legs and gaining 2000' in around three miles! I just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other while using my trekking poles to help push my old worn out body upwards. All this effort just a few days shy of my 60th birthday! This isn't getting any easier and my times get slower and slower every year. 2016: 8:25, 2018: 8:26 (only 1 minute slower!), 2021: 9:11, but who's counting? I'm always grateful for any finish and for the time spent in my church, synagogue, mosque, temple or happy place.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJr3RLvppaIzV0IhKdoscTCw9ry3CgFbGf7tXGCU_Dg2CowRwkZVsZrXTC2iY7ZljI0gtCPQqoc10lSeWupcvdOtr0OhT2fC5Tid0uDunv5sBFdYs7KTMKlDGOxzBqaEJNYDA3RX-QDkS1Gkcc7CB-8ivDxiNdmB3_nQ8eyaafYDpqC5SEcwPp5rNRvHs/s1280/IMG_4915.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJr3RLvppaIzV0IhKdoscTCw9ry3CgFbGf7tXGCU_Dg2CowRwkZVsZrXTC2iY7ZljI0gtCPQqoc10lSeWupcvdOtr0OhT2fC5Tid0uDunv5sBFdYs7KTMKlDGOxzBqaEJNYDA3RX-QDkS1Gkcc7CB-8ivDxiNdmB3_nQ8eyaafYDpqC5SEcwPp5rNRvHs/w400-h300/IMG_4915.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Mosca Lookout</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjjfZQES3LDf51i58xjS2AzxcHlBwrv1qJz8UF5mVgU2hm9sq0qJ8VZY6oaVnzN6FKtqlZrGXeMLPdUvK6-cdhqMM1KUi2-xn8SUgs_0G7ESOYrPdgQDEmigpB1A5mlKWGhUjSVCO17CjunecbPZBmoqizv1lLEv2LPi_ZS17yawRa7mvmoi6i8DifudA/s1280/IMG_4921.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjjfZQES3LDf51i58xjS2AzxcHlBwrv1qJz8UF5mVgU2hm9sq0qJ8VZY6oaVnzN6FKtqlZrGXeMLPdUvK6-cdhqMM1KUi2-xn8SUgs_0G7ESOYrPdgQDEmigpB1A5mlKWGhUjSVCO17CjunecbPZBmoqizv1lLEv2LPi_ZS17yawRa7mvmoi6i8DifudA/w400-h241/IMG_4921.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Anyway, the grind upwards was tough, but I was in good company and able to share the misery with my fellow trail runners. The wind pummeled us as we crested a ridge that leads to switchbacks that take you to the final summit push. As always on steep climbs, I was passed by a few energetic runners while also passing a few struggling ones myself. We continued to leap frog while encouraging each other to keep going, which was a big help. I just kept reminding myself that the suck can only last so long and soon it will be over. Besides, the scenery was absolutely unbelievable —wide open grassy slopes dotted with evergreens and a ceiling of big puffy clouds that seemed close enough to touch. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl_PsyFBN6FBmDbbrnzMpl-okE5e_Sm-RTFg6czc0agA_O2H3wZn6o4xj7Sn10WjDhfKtQuM6Y_Ld_Tn7kYY-CNmRcvHneF5TAWJCcfjdtieUJBUqea2FAHNhybOMtOKSvKpgJkE58O0EuzlP0yC6Avr7yuDuIgFIrj-XDk_Fv7hw7O0lpih9-OnAUpPM/s1280/IMG_4931.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl_PsyFBN6FBmDbbrnzMpl-okE5e_Sm-RTFg6czc0agA_O2H3wZn6o4xj7Sn10WjDhfKtQuM6Y_Ld_Tn7kYY-CNmRcvHneF5TAWJCcfjdtieUJBUqea2FAHNhybOMtOKSvKpgJkE58O0EuzlP0yC6Avr7yuDuIgFIrj-XDk_Fv7hw7O0lpih9-OnAUpPM/w400-h241/IMG_4931.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-eVX_W_EDMV5A7NE2RPkCPlw0NCumd4KZcNUNIZnD1Nayig_AttOLzMoM01UpRu7r4n0fWy1bY7S8Wzpi2XSDOgl-rumj9I37miUNFmyP53FDAvsCyZq0wtVPjv3bsNXAkpPcOa6ojsVWHjD77D-1EYYfYKrpRsaDJQUioOaYRd1AsGK9cMgS4ziO6k/s1280/IMG_4942.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-eVX_W_EDMV5A7NE2RPkCPlw0NCumd4KZcNUNIZnD1Nayig_AttOLzMoM01UpRu7r4n0fWy1bY7S8Wzpi2XSDOgl-rumj9I37miUNFmyP53FDAvsCyZq0wtVPjv3bsNXAkpPcOa6ojsVWHjD77D-1EYYfYKrpRsaDJQUioOaYRd1AsGK9cMgS4ziO6k/s320/IMG_4942.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Once at the top, I posed for a few obligatory summit photos, soaked in the view and blasted off before the wind swept me off my feet. The descent was steep and treacherous in places due to crumbly sandstone footing and a narrow grass lined trail with a precipitous drop off to the side. A fall would really ruin your afternoon and I stumbled several times because the tall grass made it hard to see the trail (and rocks). Luckily I made it past this stretch without incident. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIksTF7Vp_K5FihD7Mo0BslLduTqhWNhAnB06nhElsdc7NW7gNCj7piV8xZJ3_Mv206uU-FilzV7AyWYx1Er4jbnJLh5hAcmA-qzXhuww1dZ23IOMd8uwkZvM4-k1UeIV7niy2MufE7xwB5ytZWfUc1gwatiacw0NRGlNH9TDs-b_ASXXBOTthEbeDBe8/s1280/IMG_4939.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIksTF7Vp_K5FihD7Mo0BslLduTqhWNhAnB06nhElsdc7NW7gNCj7piV8xZJ3_Mv206uU-FilzV7AyWYx1Er4jbnJLh5hAcmA-qzXhuww1dZ23IOMd8uwkZvM4-k1UeIV7niy2MufE7xwB5ytZWfUc1gwatiacw0NRGlNH9TDs-b_ASXXBOTthEbeDBe8/w300-h400/IMG_4939.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Nn_LM9TIPwQNCWME-mV8BLX214Qg6OA0dBzrNcjgBoffg90oWDfBH2_Ce2gdZ7GRHuh9LJyOsBe4JxCP1-UNnbOHBPFulOu53A5wHkWe-el-uWwaIT50VWqJNcxQFEF0cgPoaOedfepPRRloU8nt4g9WRvFNO0ywVVkjjWmPxIqYpvwWEdnqlcr1YDs/s1280/IMG_4968.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Nn_LM9TIPwQNCWME-mV8BLX214Qg6OA0dBzrNcjgBoffg90oWDfBH2_Ce2gdZ7GRHuh9LJyOsBe4JxCP1-UNnbOHBPFulOu53A5wHkWe-el-uWwaIT50VWqJNcxQFEF0cgPoaOedfepPRRloU8nt4g9WRvFNO0ywVVkjjWmPxIqYpvwWEdnqlcr1YDs/w400-h300/IMG_4968.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Mosca Lookout</td></tr></tbody></table>The rest of the course was downhill until it wasn't. At around mile 28, there was another steep uphill; the last thing you want this late in the race. I kept a pretty good pace though and fortunately it was over quickly, but then I was challenged by a steep downhill on a rutty slippery slope. I used my poles to keep from losing control and tumbling down the mountain. I continued on a rocky trail, finally making it back to the finish line in 9:25, a bit slower than last time. I couldn't have done it without all the help from the friendly aid station volunteers, course markers and race staff. Most importantly, thanks to the mountain gods and indiginous people of this land for allowing us safe passage through this hallowed land.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, lively, may you walk." </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTuE4yyVDkWDGUz2w6Y4B1EBV70Ghl_eCKAuY9ccACydknU0KSxDevwqJjL5MQwt65RIRf9jL0OeM5p7F0oUgZj_gwPWlXQfUyWlakt1P1NV2n_84dD779eB_kcIrxu-zGvV4saTToX5uPSO7VFVSUjCKMv52EQr42Wmu0bC7c4sEwpnocUxFHimbaWL4/s1280/IMG_4959.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTuE4yyVDkWDGUz2w6Y4B1EBV70Ghl_eCKAuY9ccACydknU0KSxDevwqJjL5MQwt65RIRf9jL0OeM5p7F0oUgZj_gwPWlXQfUyWlakt1P1NV2n_84dD779eB_kcIrxu-zGvV4saTToX5uPSO7VFVSUjCKMv52EQr42Wmu0bC7c4sEwpnocUxFHimbaWL4/w400-h241/IMG_4959.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the summit </td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTX5am3KQR1RCxeom-_Zeq3Zi1RSkklud-1HJZlQ_mqyMwQUQTeFOhpfNpQ49sdxHVnE4-WFodK0h4PP9MTV2XlgZFRU2lm5Fp4N9OyjSabvyzObUuJ4-K2_99BCByjapDGkwuFB8-QeZysEUkdOnEMDfdMdEUMnByY5G55a7uzypo4yoJCpbpJJB97Jw/s1280/IMG_4944.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTX5am3KQR1RCxeom-_Zeq3Zi1RSkklud-1HJZlQ_mqyMwQUQTeFOhpfNpQ49sdxHVnE4-WFodK0h4PP9MTV2XlgZFRU2lm5Fp4N9OyjSabvyzObUuJ4-K2_99BCByjapDGkwuFB8-QeZysEUkdOnEMDfdMdEUMnByY5G55a7uzypo4yoJCpbpJJB97Jw/w400-h241/IMG_4944.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Here is a beautiful Navajo way blessing </span><a href="https://www.aspeninstitute.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/11/Navajo-Way-Blessing-Ceremony_Walk-in-Beauty.pdf" target="_blank">chant</a><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span></div></span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>Today I will walk out, today everything negative will leave me </i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>I will be as I was before, I will have a cool breeze over my body.</i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>I will have a light body, I will be happy forever, nothing will hinder me. </i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>I walk with beauty before me. </i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>I walk with beauty behind me.</i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>I walk with beauty below me. </i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>I walk with beauty above me.</i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>I walk with beauty around me. My words will be beautiful.</i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>In beauty all day long may I walk. </i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>Through the returning seasons, may I walk.</i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>On the trail marked with pollen may I walk. </i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>With dew about my feet, may I walk.</i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>With beauty before me may I walk.</i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>With beauty behind me may I walk. </i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>With beauty below me may I walk. </i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>With beauty above me may I walk.</i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>With beauty all around me may I walk.</i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, lively, may I walk.</i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, living again, may I walk.</i></b></span></p><p><b><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"></span></i></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>My words will be beautiful...</i></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">See you on the Trail</span></p>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-57273648502415399562023-08-30T05:24:00.028-06:002023-10-09T08:33:07.326-06:00Cloudcroft Ultra Trail Run 53K 2023<p><span style="font-family: arial;">This summer, I ran several times in Cloudcroft, NM including the 53K trail race. The heat was unbearable in El Paso, TX this year, so I went up to the Sacramento Mountains in New Mexico to camp, train and relax in the Lincoln National Forest. The elevation is between 8-9 thousand feet and can be 40 degrees cooler than on the desert floor. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIKyNFI1N4OlzK3AbOEVcYeoGPZHunnT0RCbtZG4E8PCRKaxFBAkPSPvx40r5JPiRWdaQIZjzvy7Lz9AMgVXbSX9XcigPIvRjvl9UmOzuZtOdUkKp9lNSZaMGWj2SBFSQTMCyaYfEue2oELAMKxpSJ9_b-u7xyMTl0GXvnj5GWrhFAOE8aBJ1rV3upuU/s1280/P1120614.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIKyNFI1N4OlzK3AbOEVcYeoGPZHunnT0RCbtZG4E8PCRKaxFBAkPSPvx40r5JPiRWdaQIZjzvy7Lz9AMgVXbSX9XcigPIvRjvl9UmOzuZtOdUkKp9lNSZaMGWj2SBFSQTMCyaYfEue2oELAMKxpSJ9_b-u7xyMTl0GXvnj5GWrhFAOE8aBJ1rV3upuU/w400-h286/P1120614.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elk</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I did a 25 mile training run in June on some parts of the race course which is mostly on the Rim trail. I combined the Rim trail and Westside Rd (Forest Rd 90) by descending Heart Attack Canyon (T235) and ascending Alamo Peak Trail (T109) to simulate the steep climb that I would experience on race day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: arial;">I finished the race in 9:54 this year, almost 30 minutes slower than last. This year was hot and sunny compared to years past and the ascent on Alamo Peak is very exposed to the sun. I struggled on the climb and had doubts about finishing, but finally made it to the top. After a few slices of watermelon, I was good to go and was able to make the last 13 miles back to town. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">If you want more info on this race read my post: <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2022/08/cloudcroft-ultra-53k-trail-run-2022.html" target="_blank">Cloudcroft 2022</a> or: <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2021/08/cloudcroft-ultra-53k.html" target="_blank">Cloudcroft 2021</a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Here are some pictures I took this summer while running, hiking and camping with the family.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5Whq-e5Y40k-DfUXLAdZP8uaban9_F3H8vL7XvZXrwJ-5hxy4k1Ie10yN0K6AKUHgfp253QTDehBQ0SV39EQ0S8PjYcYCWzfIxoky-FLMH31d_JPLmCug8-q1smgnNLwHJOpsTuoN1vtXfXiCeTz-P1FbgJoV3JMZN096ZnjRnDlKyzJZ_43a_aBtlc/s1280/P1120500.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5Whq-e5Y40k-DfUXLAdZP8uaban9_F3H8vL7XvZXrwJ-5hxy4k1Ie10yN0K6AKUHgfp253QTDehBQ0SV39EQ0S8PjYcYCWzfIxoky-FLMH31d_JPLmCug8-q1smgnNLwHJOpsTuoN1vtXfXiCeTz-P1FbgJoV3JMZN096ZnjRnDlKyzJZ_43a_aBtlc/w400-h240/P1120500.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Westside Rd</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieuwoUlD1jPBQU5gCGU_bw2K1U0PX3yiLOxP5TB8YZSYWWZUxx4UM5h8B8Ql8r8w3kHFUntdrvSAutbeTyWpBxb3XpegaOAZCF9QjwyoDL0fW8g4zBMqwzt-p0yeb0CX1WPpWzETuNTxw/s1280/P1120546.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieuwoUlD1jPBQU5gCGU_bw2K1U0PX3yiLOxP5TB8YZSYWWZUxx4UM5h8B8Ql8r8w3kHFUntdrvSAutbeTyWpBxb3XpegaOAZCF9QjwyoDL0fW8g4zBMqwzt-p0yeb0CX1WPpWzETuNTxw/w400-h300/P1120546.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoaJ9euSQW6PM-JrtAfwF924QcJV6jtJhtxuS1_GLMazDSX1enJGNpy5IiEDImm2iebBNdgrT-5gZxUMZbH6uLUvqLszGBAmRdfEc9lclAT3V2EZrWgqA1xhTPEZZIowOafhiVAc5lRPh3BJmDfEAfIrn2l4HX9q1MV2J0dGGDtO_CiMVGWECdzgHVuPQ/s1280/P1120623.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoaJ9euSQW6PM-JrtAfwF924QcJV6jtJhtxuS1_GLMazDSX1enJGNpy5IiEDImm2iebBNdgrT-5gZxUMZbH6uLUvqLszGBAmRdfEc9lclAT3V2EZrWgqA1xhTPEZZIowOafhiVAc5lRPh3BJmDfEAfIrn2l4HX9q1MV2J0dGGDtO_CiMVGWECdzgHVuPQ/w400-h300/P1120623.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Horned lizard</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPKuI3eCAFvlYezn3obahcjVBbrSOKpS3OCO-nTdHqMY7pImdln-CWANpLvWtePhMtRySzXG4cU0vRQJxnTGjsCujy9UHdbnEfHxutW1ORxIYD8s1HEbwnjvI3Y_oVGoLqEnbs6gSoAxpTdqztAQED7NGEf9ByvjztXnR3DE9aNnYypaArv0Cw_CahWgI/s1280/P1120463.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPKuI3eCAFvlYezn3obahcjVBbrSOKpS3OCO-nTdHqMY7pImdln-CWANpLvWtePhMtRySzXG4cU0vRQJxnTGjsCujy9UHdbnEfHxutW1ORxIYD8s1HEbwnjvI3Y_oVGoLqEnbs6gSoAxpTdqztAQED7NGEf9ByvjztXnR3DE9aNnYypaArv0Cw_CahWgI/w286-h400/P1120463.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuHYQfrMpEr4ns6ZIUAkaxAjT0_d6d6GYWwy_OZQoWEoSiFZhpfKMWYXeIPJdlYDwAyLsce3reA8vfTcR06zSXkh7yf7a5xixT-BMPANWarsPWIOqzDCZuKrq4Y-MdjWP8ZtNl8wlj5hq_jGjiS3AYGg7Z5E9M61ZjlB1fqXa6VTcyVAjrLkrpZZ8mslI/s1280/P1120479.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuHYQfrMpEr4ns6ZIUAkaxAjT0_d6d6GYWwy_OZQoWEoSiFZhpfKMWYXeIPJdlYDwAyLsce3reA8vfTcR06zSXkh7yf7a5xixT-BMPANWarsPWIOqzDCZuKrq4Y-MdjWP8ZtNl8wlj5hq_jGjiS3AYGg7Z5E9M61ZjlB1fqXa6VTcyVAjrLkrpZZ8mslI/w400-h240/P1120479.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWwQSn0xBTcjHsYX4cVwrOGJh7XbzQda4WOfHXl5mn9FZJ6ncwjoeJcPS7SDphG4qY72-HaVNaqrbutoetb37tT_UyhqpBgQUNcAef4izfD9VE-5q9WMN4he2eXjZz6OWqbxtlbhGGI7k0R2vv8m7xyXVmmX5JFzksFo7t3epll8xKl5ZeGa7bgg4hiLU/s1280/P1120492.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWwQSn0xBTcjHsYX4cVwrOGJh7XbzQda4WOfHXl5mn9FZJ6ncwjoeJcPS7SDphG4qY72-HaVNaqrbutoetb37tT_UyhqpBgQUNcAef4izfD9VE-5q9WMN4he2eXjZz6OWqbxtlbhGGI7k0R2vv8m7xyXVmmX5JFzksFo7t3epll8xKl5ZeGa7bgg4hiLU/w400-h300/P1120492.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heart Attack Canyon Trail</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNAoahvyZK4rCRYMTWoco6mZAcYVgeRQQYyrrRHfNj66ooXEn0vmkVpyygezi5hKTMGLI35FumjEkHJ2lsrr4mej4fxQDwsygkN-9eC05YOEdfhxbXDd24vZ_PbNQblLlbl0aXFsIBOIHhlthwbksktTu_NcOooXf-JuAmwvwcc72SxEShcfXW7RzbjS0/s1280/P1120496.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNAoahvyZK4rCRYMTWoco6mZAcYVgeRQQYyrrRHfNj66ooXEn0vmkVpyygezi5hKTMGLI35FumjEkHJ2lsrr4mej4fxQDwsygkN-9eC05YOEdfhxbXDd24vZ_PbNQblLlbl0aXFsIBOIHhlthwbksktTu_NcOooXf-JuAmwvwcc72SxEShcfXW7RzbjS0/w400-h300/P1120496.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKRQVRHyygXG6msNi9MZ4hzvmzgiaE8OA3BDuUB-XE1aq90kdDd319QQI4TFjoII2pYEJkpZHX6J88VaRBmUaMPX-_xXO44yQIKwfXPjkkqWliC-WMiGxGm7-0XGyUYxoP7E6H6C1Vbx4-m4fDrIV2Deik19qTd_GY2f0rpw_0D4mn0Ybu7CjVcRMQYHo/s1280/P1120499.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKRQVRHyygXG6msNi9MZ4hzvmzgiaE8OA3BDuUB-XE1aq90kdDd319QQI4TFjoII2pYEJkpZHX6J88VaRBmUaMPX-_xXO44yQIKwfXPjkkqWliC-WMiGxGm7-0XGyUYxoP7E6H6C1Vbx4-m4fDrIV2Deik19qTd_GY2f0rpw_0D4mn0Ybu7CjVcRMQYHo/w400-h300/P1120499.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLh8En_Qzs35eq1Eb2aXAtcOkhjdz67v90HVERk6q8AzCnqUNy3dIjCHsj9jzYxyjLUEv7oP-lTrX-qhHWFo1r3UhBUvYXomJ7C7Z9mPQBf6G9gY3b0bwuf6xDFWJ8hrbYKCWC0T_ekLrzAWKBE-HVmwz0db2FGiMPEuMmvbeha0WYiSeOd_5G-l_yHAA/s1280/P1120502.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLh8En_Qzs35eq1Eb2aXAtcOkhjdz67v90HVERk6q8AzCnqUNy3dIjCHsj9jzYxyjLUEv7oP-lTrX-qhHWFo1r3UhBUvYXomJ7C7Z9mPQBf6G9gY3b0bwuf6xDFWJ8hrbYKCWC0T_ekLrzAWKBE-HVmwz0db2FGiMPEuMmvbeha0WYiSeOd_5G-l_yHAA/w286-h400/P1120502.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Horned toad"</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0W1LGMBnsjbUNT7UPByMp-s1P4Je0b89ogpFfbxWwAmGupStShZpD9O_3biAGID2qETwA_D52LRvR0bjDR1E1zdVdnPVtECKtFfFrlrWm7P_HT84gzMLDP6Xlnfss3-42_YezZAcnezuXhohJPwu5GgwYEN2Ub4kJdnpvRsHQE6JQJEecsfNU293LefA/s1280/P1120525.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0W1LGMBnsjbUNT7UPByMp-s1P4Je0b89ogpFfbxWwAmGupStShZpD9O_3biAGID2qETwA_D52LRvR0bjDR1E1zdVdnPVtECKtFfFrlrWm7P_HT84gzMLDP6Xlnfss3-42_YezZAcnezuXhohJPwu5GgwYEN2Ub4kJdnpvRsHQE6JQJEecsfNU293LefA/w400-h300/P1120525.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZJPshSIgYZ0UadYCLJbM_auYGiCfoaP0OoRH1ecq4s0lgk8EKFbM79-6Ng5VGHzadAvcE85vfkFk4Z1SHBwNTdkeBTw7nXlYZHMgHPeb6gvhWBNPSxkiemzIoE_y7cpNPXEGi3B-vRL1HYFqqxycjGu4fA6lp2I2RvT0Sp8htCwVTj2NpH2yEUp7L68/s1280/P1120522.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZJPshSIgYZ0UadYCLJbM_auYGiCfoaP0OoRH1ecq4s0lgk8EKFbM79-6Ng5VGHzadAvcE85vfkFk4Z1SHBwNTdkeBTw7nXlYZHMgHPeb6gvhWBNPSxkiemzIoE_y7cpNPXEGi3B-vRL1HYFqqxycjGu4fA6lp2I2RvT0Sp8htCwVTj2NpH2yEUp7L68/w400-h286/P1120522.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild roses</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihepCY5Hi-9TI9_aPXLNPWSIi0ZuPELlMhpoxWl7Wb8eWXS_2p5h3Q_zlpFSsDTNU9XBAXDTIra1i32q8GEJDsJGmugBx6uMBdwm3LVuXAX5HFMHZdV83scB4WwL1WSNvERuJgxBD92i9uDVFoQErXIsvkZRuxX7gBaHOUOENWSwe8waCVCid6on_SWaE/s1280/P1120515.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihepCY5Hi-9TI9_aPXLNPWSIi0ZuPELlMhpoxWl7Wb8eWXS_2p5h3Q_zlpFSsDTNU9XBAXDTIra1i32q8GEJDsJGmugBx6uMBdwm3LVuXAX5HFMHZdV83scB4WwL1WSNvERuJgxBD92i9uDVFoQErXIsvkZRuxX7gBaHOUOENWSwe8waCVCid6on_SWaE/w400-h300/P1120515.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alamo Peak</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUbOZK0aHPv0G2mXatGYT9lo2yv6PkrHxmRQuPdydfQiMohBs_0LnaspwLpWHJ527xiqSGWRP87YKM31UNw8kYidD_qTgU4Vc5xGSlm3jOznNS5ghIe7jSp2P7MehaYgNrkzWJAtked4mBzHb-iaWrJaXu7Rr_X_nDpamkCJzGScb5Dm47qm17XiY5d0s/s1280/P1120514.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUbOZK0aHPv0G2mXatGYT9lo2yv6PkrHxmRQuPdydfQiMohBs_0LnaspwLpWHJ527xiqSGWRP87YKM31UNw8kYidD_qTgU4Vc5xGSlm3jOznNS5ghIe7jSp2P7MehaYgNrkzWJAtked4mBzHb-iaWrJaXu7Rr_X_nDpamkCJzGScb5Dm47qm17XiY5d0s/w400-h240/P1120514.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2k_UkU8nBwfH3in3_xZu7IUBD4g8vML_F8b2x5ZkwKjEPASgmzHKZzq9cRwm1Kxf1fgCzYLHW8P_ntBXvSLuQGKy4IzEF9e42HuGb68qfjtlxOyLWnZRAP_W02ijywS2YhdCp8JAP4-c_KLpg1ry6p0DQeD7H4YpWLvtLJZ2wP7EPy2FVjsvC6F9ATro/s1280/P1120513.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2k_UkU8nBwfH3in3_xZu7IUBD4g8vML_F8b2x5ZkwKjEPASgmzHKZzq9cRwm1Kxf1fgCzYLHW8P_ntBXvSLuQGKy4IzEF9e42HuGb68qfjtlxOyLWnZRAP_W02ijywS2YhdCp8JAP4-c_KLpg1ry6p0DQeD7H4YpWLvtLJZ2wP7EPy2FVjsvC6F9ATro/w400-h300/P1120513.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gnarly part of Alamo Peak Trail</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjRtIMnq1lIb-T4T-uRrKOLtd5A1fAYp8plsbDyoh8fWWymjNo9cgpPuiqphgqSgSU9Q4oIfKIQx6BO05kZgP6GiDc9GtY94YM4hSRzm1hCinHNo-gmbuCGywGezFSfXdgsTaCQI4NvJKSg5HjeSbgyGz6ELTUPYYY1EJdBuV19cE_tu8JlcoRa-KVi_8/s1280/P1120552.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjRtIMnq1lIb-T4T-uRrKOLtd5A1fAYp8plsbDyoh8fWWymjNo9cgpPuiqphgqSgSU9Q4oIfKIQx6BO05kZgP6GiDc9GtY94YM4hSRzm1hCinHNo-gmbuCGywGezFSfXdgsTaCQI4NvJKSg5HjeSbgyGz6ELTUPYYY1EJdBuV19cE_tu8JlcoRa-KVi_8/w400-h300/P1120552.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWiCUtgMOdD5kwD1EM4keLiHhN-CRsf0vaPIu9Ccb91QkCnxUk225tw13OBcseAkAHGy_ZbyFQFBYU41iNaAj-jWpy0ouL-exB1_ekoL3LqzW3QOlp30VvsNSE3YR7uscMPLdhJFK1u6BNf_1W_FJQqIStYG7kbt55ELOc-khEcLzR5TdvknBQLc01Dpo/s1280/P1120609.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWiCUtgMOdD5kwD1EM4keLiHhN-CRsf0vaPIu9Ccb91QkCnxUk225tw13OBcseAkAHGy_ZbyFQFBYU41iNaAj-jWpy0ouL-exB1_ekoL3LqzW3QOlp30VvsNSE3YR7uscMPLdhJFK1u6BNf_1W_FJQqIStYG7kbt55ELOc-khEcLzR5TdvknBQLc01Dpo/w400-h240/P1120609.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleepy Grass Campground visitors</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-793fbcT6sXYmaX7soaeuGs5pFEIpnre83dYh8b4dxkgmYFyGDbGCKl7JMJ6eojovL-MxrhzFpcttM80smjc_MSJ4mJH75Dz0cyJjfhYXn66NoIa5dQP99HI5V3k552Cqw2NxVV0X5QP3hLgzKReo_WDEuFgoWSJB5HlCPQeld7zY3CbIbOS_9zu6F0/s1280/P1120616.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-793fbcT6sXYmaX7soaeuGs5pFEIpnre83dYh8b4dxkgmYFyGDbGCKl7JMJ6eojovL-MxrhzFpcttM80smjc_MSJ4mJH75Dz0cyJjfhYXn66NoIa5dQP99HI5V3k552Cqw2NxVV0X5QP3hLgzKReo_WDEuFgoWSJB5HlCPQeld7zY3CbIbOS_9zu6F0/w400-h300/P1120616.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-67722207097224792402023-05-27T20:48:00.208-06:002023-08-31T08:45:23.190-06:00Jemez Mountain Trail 50K<p><span style="font-family: arial;">I ran the <a href="https://www.jemezmountaintrailruns.org" target="_blank">Jemez Mountain Trail 50K</a> in Los Alamos, NM this past weekend, which is one of my favorite races. I keep coming back year after year to enjoy the beauty of the land and to test my mettle under the always challenging conditions. The terrain is tough, with short steep climbs in and out of deep canyons as well as a long slow grind topping out at 10,400’ elevation on the Pajarito summit. This event offers 50 mile, 50K and 15 mile courses, with staggered start times, so you can pick the level of misery you would like to experience. This year I chose the intermediate suck level.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZ3_XXwvTW_ESKJRgB9-us5tYp6o3-9hz4WIkmSV_DEbl8axInivpb0la-PQJvLrjmd7mTHlA0tKzV3VkFikpAaBYJ6_o9PJcmK4NnkAzE5oStMixbOYqNkr5b_GnDv89ArUzEsv6j5-5iy-J6CCQxtx3k8CnxyQWxr2wl5pZFZfL0PT2h2tNppAJ/s5184/P1020750.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="5184" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZ3_XXwvTW_ESKJRgB9-us5tYp6o3-9hz4WIkmSV_DEbl8axInivpb0la-PQJvLrjmd7mTHlA0tKzV3VkFikpAaBYJ6_o9PJcmK4NnkAzE5oStMixbOYqNkr5b_GnDv89ArUzEsv6j5-5iy-J6CCQxtx3k8CnxyQWxr2wl5pZFZfL0PT2h2tNppAJ/w400-h300/P1020750.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Valle Caldera National Preserve on a cler day</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This was my 9th attempt. In years past, I’ve completed five 50 milers, one 50K and have had two DNFs, one for runners being halted mid-race for a freak snow storm! I was running down the mountain in heavy cold rain while it was snowing on the peak. When I arrived at the the next aid station at the bottom, they informed us that the race was called off because some runners at the top were suffering from hypothermia and other cold related injuries.</span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UBTDyFun0puAy4idEnHlLsl4D2A84-u4f58lg2ECYr5S7d7DwTflnBExP4NQEZvr5vzyds-51zG7bCTWv6Nw3DUq61Tr8_x_m25Ijw97spTzcswaPpU_oWdzhny2Iv1rRbUMOFVoADX9Q7fZ2eq9je4ky4NmB4bNFWEGQem_LR4OhJUvtFm94fRK/s4032/IMG_4591.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2419" data-original-width="4032" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UBTDyFun0puAy4idEnHlLsl4D2A84-u4f58lg2ECYr5S7d7DwTflnBExP4NQEZvr5vzyds-51zG7bCTWv6Nw3DUq61Tr8_x_m25Ijw97spTzcswaPpU_oWdzhny2Iv1rRbUMOFVoADX9Q7fZ2eq9je4ky4NmB4bNFWEGQem_LR4OhJUvtFm94fRK/w400-h241/IMG_4591.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Los Alamos and the Jemez Mountains</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD_od7C36AXRlauPPs4h2vB-Y1JIV6Rp6WTqgcmohUP3Re0yMiNyg-H5Dz4PXZACIfWUdj02pQLS_gGkLkc9xjF8-cUsNiQH31e3xEX7EUPm8xqK576gXAr8KYrQVE0B315m3gYoNm8RkOXlZAjdFc7YeSR-CVqEbDIfzoohfKrYmYtpLa2lrR94Wi/s4032/IMG_4592.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2419" data-original-width="4032" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD_od7C36AXRlauPPs4h2vB-Y1JIV6Rp6WTqgcmohUP3Re0yMiNyg-H5Dz4PXZACIfWUdj02pQLS_gGkLkc9xjF8-cUsNiQH31e3xEX7EUPm8xqK576gXAr8KYrQVE0B315m3gYoNm8RkOXlZAjdFc7YeSR-CVqEbDIfzoohfKrYmYtpLa2lrR94Wi/w400-h241/IMG_4592.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: arial;">These mountains are not to be disrespected. I’ve had plenty of suffering and misfortunes running in the Jemez Mountains including a dislocated shoulder after a hail and lightning storm in the <a href="https://wildland52.com" target="_blank">Wildland 52K</a> race in Jemez Springs, NM. </span><p></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Read my post: <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2019/09/running-adventure-gone-wrong.html">Running Adventure Gone Wrong</a></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjADFjljgi54QcjN0Vhn5dRuUPDsLNhmn2Wg54BrS11QXYKTRM9LjobLcif-MoobDx6gDWCkvdlUnU3lCqR1tY4OwFhb-65eaEweUfru5ZQDDeAGk9HiwTsTH-gDt0ncasFdC9pvGfuhMPYGj-Tx2OQM6ypAP_yZ94RAlsesSlXUndIu3t_IgRoZ1iN/s900/4861c3_a050dfe36f6c4b7c94da95addb9086a4~mv2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="377" data-original-width="900" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjADFjljgi54QcjN0Vhn5dRuUPDsLNhmn2Wg54BrS11QXYKTRM9LjobLcif-MoobDx6gDWCkvdlUnU3lCqR1tY4OwFhb-65eaEweUfru5ZQDDeAGk9HiwTsTH-gDt0ncasFdC9pvGfuhMPYGj-Tx2OQM6ypAP_yZ94RAlsesSlXUndIu3t_IgRoZ1iN/w400-h168/4861c3_a050dfe36f6c4b7c94da95addb9086a4~mv2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Don't ask me about those charts at the bottom, these smart people work at Los Alamos National Lab) </span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I’ve run in every kind of conditions here including cold, rain, lightning, snow, hail, sleet, sneet, and heat; sometimes all of it in the same day! I’ve experienced the bliss of the spectacular view of the Valle Caldera, from the peak of Pajarito as well as suffered the misery of running on bruised aching feet in the heat of the day. One year, in the 50 miler, I almost missed an aid station cutoff time because I was farting around taking too many pictures. In my first attempt of the 50 miler, I got altitude sickness and had to quit at around mile 30. Heartbreaking!</span><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizfisyQkMlMkO0BfwB-6OqeUp9cd65YQ0pPJxt1jJ5utdw7I5tTwGt5ZKQpo6XQpDEaRTqUDU2jRyl5GAH1A3KsDyrdQAaR7iBO2JpQ98pQSqpeZc3gCiH2p9JqZYzl-L3sq177vv8J4oNLEdj8TMfd-vtn-EADagdNku6IUm4iyk3RYT_q6l-cz1/s1280/P1120362.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizfisyQkMlMkO0BfwB-6OqeUp9cd65YQ0pPJxt1jJ5utdw7I5tTwGt5ZKQpo6XQpDEaRTqUDU2jRyl5GAH1A3KsDyrdQAaR7iBO2JpQ98pQSqpeZc3gCiH2p9JqZYzl-L3sq177vv8J4oNLEdj8TMfd-vtn-EADagdNku6IUm4iyk3RYT_q6l-cz1/w400-h286/P1120362.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Fortunately, this 50K went smoothly, even though the weather forecast was calling for showers and thunderstorms all day. The morning was cool with the peaks shrouded in an opaque fog, so I packed all the mandatory gear; a rain shell with hood, gloves and hat in case of another freak snow or hail storm. My pack was bulging leaving little room for food. (I tend to bring my own snacks that are a bit healthier than aid station fare.) </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeAiTlzuOthbig_4bCBfD7Fx4QcQnsMVjgzS5rdtGybX5DFWXw0WQk54qTJxXrONivWOgO5D2iGXaFSdyoXLIeSmlwelnFvPah6lgh1LxS7dotGhkH0dYfHGoqZtVtVXYInjZV3CN7ksHL8CeTtK_zch2mBLuvZ2XgXp2meDAzc_JVGrCvMlmPk_aK/s1280/P1120348.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeAiTlzuOthbig_4bCBfD7Fx4QcQnsMVjgzS5rdtGybX5DFWXw0WQk54qTJxXrONivWOgO5D2iGXaFSdyoXLIeSmlwelnFvPah6lgh1LxS7dotGhkH0dYfHGoqZtVtVXYInjZV3CN7ksHL8CeTtK_zch2mBLuvZ2XgXp2meDAzc_JVGrCvMlmPk_aK/w286-h400/P1120348.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I felt surprisingly good all morning despite not sleeping well the previous night due to altitude (7300’). I passed a few runners early on as we ran through canyons and pine forests. Tall pock marked cliffs from past volcanic eruptions rose high above the trail on both sides. This area sits on the rim of a collapsed volcanic crater known as the <a href="https://www.nps.gov/vall/index.htm" target="_blank">Valle Caldera</a> with many interesting rock formations, some made of pumice, ash, and tuff blown out millions of years ago. These sometimes appear as flowing concrete and can be formed into interesting shapes and hoodoos like those in <a href="https://www.blm.gov/visit/kktr" target="_blank">Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument </a>between Albuquerque and Santa Fe. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjank48KMh1IjuQ6TwSAEDBrnBHEpFsd0OR0_0idVHFtaEvp113mlza-Z4kz2POJ2l_JSQwjequAgBPlVHLI0e4qA3n95eUfAVO_VLCCdxssawNtXrWb26Qc2HZ7djAtC-esGFlPkYFhpzGat2B7NQfLa6o6rOPTIjUVyi3p5WIvXc6qKN7OF0zq92G/s1280/P1120351.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjank48KMh1IjuQ6TwSAEDBrnBHEpFsd0OR0_0idVHFtaEvp113mlza-Z4kz2POJ2l_JSQwjequAgBPlVHLI0e4qA3n95eUfAVO_VLCCdxssawNtXrWb26Qc2HZ7djAtC-esGFlPkYFhpzGat2B7NQfLa6o6rOPTIjUVyi3p5WIvXc6qKN7OF0zq92G/w400-h300/P1120351.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b>The cone-shaped tent rock formations are the products of volcanic eruptions that occurred 6 to 7 million years ago and left pumice, ash, and tuff deposits over 1,000 feet thick. Tremendous explosions from the Jemez volcanic field spewed pyroclasts (rock fragments), while searing hot gases blasted down slopes in an incandescent avalanche called a pyroclastic flow.</b></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_IFS5pnYM83W1YuTP0smd1E1E_kgPK7HfqMbKKTrIiDt2vudYFXORI0sS9PQLGHNrlAgNV32z1DYKx44ja1u9SDSjMrKLZ-3vemUB_xexoCpIQ5mYK2EitDseB2-mxk9r8FXtrbFK7LuNSraHVMng_Q1dkiTh0cWWRuvmJL3LKHaD70eC1oEOoxcd/s1280/P1120394.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_IFS5pnYM83W1YuTP0smd1E1E_kgPK7HfqMbKKTrIiDt2vudYFXORI0sS9PQLGHNrlAgNV32z1DYKx44ja1u9SDSjMrKLZ-3vemUB_xexoCpIQ5mYK2EitDseB2-mxk9r8FXtrbFK7LuNSraHVMng_Q1dkiTh0cWWRuvmJL3LKHaD70eC1oEOoxcd/w400-h286/P1120394.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The race is run on every sort of terrain you can imagine, from hard packed dirt trails, smooth forest roads, rocky forest roads, rock filled gullies (called trails), bumpy tufts of grass and across slabs of hard rock. Did I miss anything? (Probably.) Three miles in, we began to climb and that was the trend for the next 10 miles, gaining almost 3000’. I pulled out my trekking poles and tried to keep a steady fast walking pace. I enjoyed the cool refreshing air under an overcast sky. Tall dead trees, from past, fires could be seen through the misty fog creating an eerie backdrop. Otherwise, there wasn’t much of a view. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmk_g5nK7igZxgDQvHdJbonKZVBoN62ej0HHH-W90s9_z6lSHQv_v1WDvJuijJOnKQ9jQv0-al3444W8_tOZHNQ2Ws_K5vSk41mu_vJTu105svBAd9LY9da7fhaCHxAYxfRRTFkjdtj9YOxvu6yVn0-X7--7AV3En4yhmEEXDj9TEOCQRuHlsJP7Pq/s1280/P1120357.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmk_g5nK7igZxgDQvHdJbonKZVBoN62ej0HHH-W90s9_z6lSHQv_v1WDvJuijJOnKQ9jQv0-al3444W8_tOZHNQ2Ws_K5vSk41mu_vJTu105svBAd9LY9da7fhaCHxAYxfRRTFkjdtj9YOxvu6yVn0-X7--7AV3En4yhmEEXDj9TEOCQRuHlsJP7Pq/w286-h400/P1120357.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">My legs were getting tired form the steady slog upwards, but I eventually made it to a crest and got some relief by running down a rocky road for a while where I cruised into the third aid station. I usually just fill my water bottles and keep going instead of lingering in aid stations. After filling up, I ran another several miles, mostly downhill, and then reached the Ski Lodge aid station. I took a short break here to strip off a layer since I was starting to get hot. I ate some of my food and took off to tackle the most challenging part of the race. </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6aMqUcrKTiExCfWA97B-DFed-zqMKysveQTi1R9YZMJqENViLVNpiF3HNLeT1oKYlU4duQZ73yACLPJPVnbqOKA0jop8_kJyeqYRJM_Z94XjbMCjireYJcSxj23TP2n8Ud7ZZdKlmA8FS3V-1rPnCSnQ6GS1bCReCGlR9I5VBHfbFBR8xsqBf9qPJ/s1280/P1120367.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6aMqUcrKTiExCfWA97B-DFed-zqMKysveQTi1R9YZMJqENViLVNpiF3HNLeT1oKYlU4duQZ73yACLPJPVnbqOKA0jop8_kJyeqYRJM_Z94XjbMCjireYJcSxj23TP2n8Ud7ZZdKlmA8FS3V-1rPnCSnQ6GS1bCReCGlR9I5VBHfbFBR8xsqBf9qPJ/w400-h286/P1120367.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pajarito Ski Lodge</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4YecgZM8UP1kovrUn9Fnq_164GZnB2gJSm4pvDhx43ZdChetHDY6oKV8Zw0m0NIgY5ohSYOxNxkYtAZYQYwunnPLF1hN9WP7Lq5v5ME-dB42JsZxQ24DoAZcYPcwTU2kxQUDDvocICaAs-Y6TARW9ICvjlwR8l8mWVaWBxZKTL2oisdR6e2tcbZCU/s1280/P1120369.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4YecgZM8UP1kovrUn9Fnq_164GZnB2gJSm4pvDhx43ZdChetHDY6oKV8Zw0m0NIgY5ohSYOxNxkYtAZYQYwunnPLF1hN9WP7Lq5v5ME-dB42JsZxQ24DoAZcYPcwTU2kxQUDDvocICaAs-Y6TARW9ICvjlwR8l8mWVaWBxZKTL2oisdR6e2tcbZCU/w400-h286/P1120369.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">This stretch is a 1000’ steep climb straight up a black diamond ski slope that is no joke. I reached the bottom and looked up where I saw what looked like a string of tiny ants slowly making their way up. Some people were moving steadily, while others were just standing on the slope, a miserable look on their face. I started my climb and had to stop every 10 steps or so to catch my breath. I began to gain on a few people which motivated me to take a few more steps before stopping. My heart was beating so hard and fast that I could hear it thumping inside my head. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIynKPKGXOUVu9yBYlz7dv3h0ez6gZVn7GbQdxZC1W8nCnJeZzUa4L7myprQ1fbNnrKklNgN4KNujZhAoETkbUtmoqy3VS0sjEdS-gGSDxEfLjoJzeugaX9JcqijDTWIl9nl8hzPHWbM1aA8r7xp6LFr1VPT2xhXQCiW1NWIRIS9LB5Ixe1O9rvFX4/s1280/P1120373.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIynKPKGXOUVu9yBYlz7dv3h0ez6gZVn7GbQdxZC1W8nCnJeZzUa4L7myprQ1fbNnrKklNgN4KNujZhAoETkbUtmoqy3VS0sjEdS-gGSDxEfLjoJzeugaX9JcqijDTWIl9nl8hzPHWbM1aA8r7xp6LFr1VPT2xhXQCiW1NWIRIS9LB5Ixe1O9rvFX4/w286-h400/P1120373.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I took my time, but still passed one guy who was really struggling. I looked downslope and a young couple were making fast progress so I stepped to the side to let them pass. My legs were burning and rubbery at this point and a few more folks passed me. Eventually I made it to a service road that went downhill for a little while. It wasn’t long though, before I was again climbing up another ski slope steeper than the first one. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKvtxNfv-A1FMTI3oQJ9ObaUksZnfjiOl5mgXlCltuECzIGcOlqLc7c7CDFaYsR6s2qvrXp2hgAGNUIA3I7fJDVc5afGQP0RI82llblUbgMYAfbH7DqF3rtJSMwaXHBeprqFCnTYn7kDHIh2Jl6ZOWoTmvktVvZTJuY9yAQd-aJQ66ODc_Jb63NlYu/s2560/P1110389.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1712" data-original-width="2560" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKvtxNfv-A1FMTI3oQJ9ObaUksZnfjiOl5mgXlCltuECzIGcOlqLc7c7CDFaYsR6s2qvrXp2hgAGNUIA3I7fJDVc5afGQP0RI82llblUbgMYAfbH7DqF3rtJSMwaXHBeprqFCnTYn7kDHIh2Jl6ZOWoTmvktVvZTJuY9yAQd-aJQ66ODc_Jb63NlYu/w400-h268/P1110389.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Caldera on a clear day</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz8zvjX_VtCPOSeYoRAfFpi2ccHPsA_zR5hQGccrBn058vALFN2edjKmeChCY-Z6B0LOQzlBFAzBb1aykDapJc5B_XnXCfLMOGHf8xvkouPDbi-WyPuFwn49b78TDMrOu8XFrvjq7TMlMyombwQ-jlXF_N0DVwBXTcgHuQ7nRIFzq7VHqpJtb7_jSi/s2076/IMG_4603.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2076" data-original-width="1483" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz8zvjX_VtCPOSeYoRAfFpi2ccHPsA_zR5hQGccrBn058vALFN2edjKmeChCY-Z6B0LOQzlBFAzBb1aykDapJc5B_XnXCfLMOGHf8xvkouPDbi-WyPuFwn49b78TDMrOu8XFrvjq7TMlMyombwQ-jlXF_N0DVwBXTcgHuQ7nRIFzq7VHqpJtb7_jSi/w286-h400/IMG_4603.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Finally I made it to the top and ran through some trees to a big open clearing on Pajarito Summit where sits a blue bench made of repurposed boat oars, skis and adorned with bicycle wheels. Usually there’s a spectacular view here that looks down into the collapsed volcano, a wide valley of lush meadows, surrounded by tree covered peaks. Sadly, the view was obscured by fog, so I asked a fellow runner if he wouldn’t mind snapping the obligatory summit picture of me sitting on the blue bench instead. He agreed and I reciprocated and then we continued on down the mountain. </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnOXyR-KcwNrY7gJBaU_Kf2-WbZ2uChxN66ioGlX-_ztRRGIWVnf43yuSK3NZpnMJgQJIAf0tO0RpyK8QlW0Gkhf2vuc7wkrEBaaVZL3pxJ99QznIgNeiCHsKt4reZ8S-7aKKTnUxQUMQpfM3Vp4TK9K1ib-lSd-4cyZtVUsSklOn0txs63KRGwbI4/s2207/IMG_4605.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1576" data-original-width="2207" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnOXyR-KcwNrY7gJBaU_Kf2-WbZ2uChxN66ioGlX-_ztRRGIWVnf43yuSK3NZpnMJgQJIAf0tO0RpyK8QlW0Gkhf2vuc7wkrEBaaVZL3pxJ99QznIgNeiCHsKt4reZ8S-7aKKTnUxQUMQpfM3Vp4TK9K1ib-lSd-4cyZtVUsSklOn0txs63KRGwbI4/w400-h286/IMG_4605.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Just climbed a mountain, still smiling!</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In no time we reached a short steep slope with a patch of slushy snow. I glissaded down while using my poles to curb my speed. I could have easily gone around this obstacle, but the course flag was at the bottom of the snowy slope and that would have been considered “going off course” (cheating). Besides, it was way more fun to “ski” down, increasing my chances of slipping and going ass-over-teakettle while my fellow trail mates watched in amusement.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh56e-flGH3MUvt5DhHgrNEPhnx_VG_Vdoqcpj4SmeA3OodcezXg7O0IqEEd8DnBmLL4o6HtvaS1C3mRgdpDgVnMh0flp36c1xjHBVaNe-WEMkZwlLo9LLnUVNggLuLZgt5-ceTPa6SxhHnxk-8zktsmXeH_-gQCbxEDmTCwy150kTcFDlg_XTQSqDG/s1280/P1120382.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh56e-flGH3MUvt5DhHgrNEPhnx_VG_Vdoqcpj4SmeA3OodcezXg7O0IqEEd8DnBmLL4o6HtvaS1C3mRgdpDgVnMh0flp36c1xjHBVaNe-WEMkZwlLo9LLnUVNggLuLZgt5-ceTPa6SxhHnxk-8zktsmXeH_-gQCbxEDmTCwy150kTcFDlg_XTQSqDG/w400-h286/P1120382.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Pretty soon I reached another ski service road and then picked up the Pajarito Canyon trail which led down the mountain. I passed one young lady who was limping along with make-shift poles made out of dead tree branches. I stopped to ask if she was injured and she replied yes, but said she could make it to the next aid station. I checked to ensure she had enough water and then continued running down, but was still concerned because it would be several hours before she arrived. At least there were plenty more runners on the course who could help her if she needed it. </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hLlaPAGTZfp3igp5TLyn0VZ3OSyQ8qUlcyaOgT-maOgPcgMirK-M32QCn3hlr2oo7ntsqth18516Px85SlCB6De1P3ncbsCXrsD5tX5GQL-YDoB93mjJF81tvqiM-2MviRF__5aWa87CqLytEocg87KUl6_rfFldYMuUQl3NuB8hytxcsKzjwPNz/s1280/P1120385.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hLlaPAGTZfp3igp5TLyn0VZ3OSyQ8qUlcyaOgT-maOgPcgMirK-M32QCn3hlr2oo7ntsqth18516Px85SlCB6De1P3ncbsCXrsD5tX5GQL-YDoB93mjJF81tvqiM-2MviRF__5aWa87CqLytEocg87KUl6_rfFldYMuUQl3NuB8hytxcsKzjwPNz/w400-h286/P1120385.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Los Alamos in the distance</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I kept a pretty good pace, despite a lot of ankle twisting rocks underfoot and was able to pass a few folks on the way down. I made it in to the next aid station at mile 21 and reported the injured runner to the volunteers and they said, “we’ve been looking for her!”. She was running the 50 mile race and should have arrived by this time, so while they were concerned that she was hurt, they were relieved that she wasn’t lost. No search party needed.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD80zidkfjwkCIH2cBE08MRWfk2pUua9c2zEk0IbUsvWdreIuQhjdF_98SlYW3pciMkiGDjUkqcsa-afAR0c43PiOuOITwHzCJHyZ6Rx-Y2qyAuDDoL90WB5cytTVlSo-wxSkjJUzJlj23F95cDSgVnIRoHM7T2ZDmkWlyPcFDfnhN9FMtDFHC6PO5/s1280/P1120365.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD80zidkfjwkCIH2cBE08MRWfk2pUua9c2zEk0IbUsvWdreIuQhjdF_98SlYW3pciMkiGDjUkqcsa-afAR0c43PiOuOITwHzCJHyZ6Rx-Y2qyAuDDoL90WB5cytTVlSo-wxSkjJUzJlj23F95cDSgVnIRoHM7T2ZDmkWlyPcFDfnhN9FMtDFHC6PO5/w400-h286/P1120365.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, it was pretty hot by this point so I filled up my bottles and took off. This section was mostly downhill with one steep precarious cliff where I needed my poles to keep from sliding on sandy slabs of rock. I fell here in a past race and lost a water bottle from my waist belt, so I took my time to avoid a hospital visit. After gingerly negotiating this steep descent, I arrived at a knee high cable running parallel to a highway with a one foot high bench conveniently placed underneath. Ironically, there was a volunteer crossing guard who instructed me to be careful using the step to get over the wire. “Is it electric!” I asked and he chuckled. How kind of them to provide this assistance after we have already climbed a 10,400’ mountain, traversed a snow mound, bombed down a steep baseball-sized rock filled gully; just having poled down a cliff face. Nevertheless, I used my sticks to help keep my balance while stepping over the wire. (I’m scared of heights, you know!)</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaaOSx8GkJWdGBurDzr7zoHjfPaRCohWyuOHUxUKhc1dOXMkZlDdhnNmYwLCMDxD7Nt1zTaToKvN1mOuKRjgo3hh2_9s4ZZCRAmbPX_b8dyz62UwDR19octxLSO27oMXrT1zZg-qJkXTgnfzsNFj8HFbSW930DN2qjbwT_vHWTWkLegUj1srnBAY8W/s1280/P1120389.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaaOSx8GkJWdGBurDzr7zoHjfPaRCohWyuOHUxUKhc1dOXMkZlDdhnNmYwLCMDxD7Nt1zTaToKvN1mOuKRjgo3hh2_9s4ZZCRAmbPX_b8dyz62UwDR19octxLSO27oMXrT1zZg-qJkXTgnfzsNFj8HFbSW930DN2qjbwT_vHWTWkLegUj1srnBAY8W/w400-h241/P1120389.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I made it across without incident and soon entered the Los Alamos National Lab of Manhattan Project fame. There was a sign warning runners not to take any photos, but I soon became distracted by a beautiful Mountain bluebird and I pulled out my camera. Luckily it flew away and then I remembered, NO PHOTOGRAPHY! At that moment, I expected to be gang tackled by the CIA. Soon I reached another very steep descent on a series of narrow switchbacks along a precipitous drop off, the county outdoor ice rink below. I took my time, because a fall here would really ruin your day. I don’t think you would stop tumbling until cratering on the hockey rink. I cheated death once again and safely arrived at the ice rink aid station, mile 25, where I filled up my water bottles again.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The next part was an equally steep climb up and out of Los Alamos Canyon, where my burning quads bore the brunt of the effort; my arms shoring up my lower body with my poles. I struggled to the top of the steepest part, but then the next couple miles continued uphill which was very disheartening after having already covered the distance of a marathon. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhkRSAUxJ2IBmgPAtoces5j2D3Z7qib-cFW-UscWaHOz20y10aC-JsfQFRHl8idbkDqMwgRLZxXPb3Z-AQx3O0BTXkQysJTfd1r9W-PvrCpxnHBNx7NP4KPfdKQ46eOmTdzRbMPDX1WHH_DXbDo5Sui9IAs3Z3O4phaZY1noT2ScA3l69T1VUO8Y7/s1280/P1120396.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhkRSAUxJ2IBmgPAtoces5j2D3Z7qib-cFW-UscWaHOz20y10aC-JsfQFRHl8idbkDqMwgRLZxXPb3Z-AQx3O0BTXkQysJTfd1r9W-PvrCpxnHBNx7NP4KPfdKQ46eOmTdzRbMPDX1WHH_DXbDo5Sui9IAs3Z3O4phaZY1noT2ScA3l69T1VUO8Y7/w400-h286/P1120396.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">My mood started to sink, so I pulled out a couple of mandarins and ate them while I walked. I began to wonder why I suffer through these races over and over again and then I remembered the wise words of the Vietnamese peace activist and zen master responsible for bringing mindfulness to the West. In </span><i style="font-family: arial;">The Art of Living</i><span style="font-family: arial;">, Thich Nhat Hanh writes:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b>I don’t exercise to get fit </b></i></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b>or be healthier; </b></i></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b>I do it to enjoy being alive.</b></i></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b>The happiness and joy of practicing mindful movements nourishes my body and mind. With each movement I do, I feel how wonderful it is that I can still do it. Exercising like this, I enjoy having a body; I enjoy being alive. I accept life and my body just as it is, and I feel so much gratitude. Even as we age and experience ill health or pain, we can still profit from the moments when the pain is not too strong. If you can still breathe, it’s possible to enjoy your breathing. If you can still walk, it’s possible to enjoy your walking. If you can get in touch with the elements of peace and freshness within you and around you, both body and mind will benefit, and it will help you embrace the difficulties and pain in your body…</b></i></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b>Recognizing impermanence allows us to cherish the days and hours that are given to us. It helps us value our body, our loved ones, and all the conditions that we have for happiness in this moment. We can be at peace knowing we are living our life to the fullest.</b></i></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In reflecting on these words, I realized how grateful I am to still be healthy enough to spend time in spectacular wild places; challenging myself, while living life to the fullest. As my body ages and I continue to adapt to the unpleasant changes, I have to constantly remind myself of this: the key to ultimate happiness is accepting <i>what is. </i>Just be what you are, not what you want to be. This moment right here is enough.</span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBNz5PMGwJAqGhn6MXCJ9uDUZfRmpCYxBgNk8DrWKiT8tqQDhpJjFOQSx_Y8nlp2TOCg4NcMoXdfFEj8WqBmq4svbYVjULmFsbWUboQYHxucTVK_O9XIBKW9JMHgB-5cfck2s_fymTf1ZYYar5iJzHMqKABA6M7PA997BVvbThD11XyZlzaky5anOd/s1280/P1120398.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBNz5PMGwJAqGhn6MXCJ9uDUZfRmpCYxBgNk8DrWKiT8tqQDhpJjFOQSx_Y8nlp2TOCg4NcMoXdfFEj8WqBmq4svbYVjULmFsbWUboQYHxucTVK_O9XIBKW9JMHgB-5cfck2s_fymTf1ZYYar5iJzHMqKABA6M7PA997BVvbThD11XyZlzaky5anOd/w400-h241/P1120398.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">My spirits eventually picked up. Perhaps because of this contemplation, or it simply may have been because I was running downhill again. At any rate, I cruised into the final aid station, mile 28, which was decked out like an Irish pub, complete with Guinness stout and Celtic music. I’m a very boring ultrarunner and passed on the stout so I could complete the last four miles in an upright position. It was grueling even though I was finally closing in on the finish line. I managed to pass a few more runners as most were walking at this point. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheMDBdFdh5_jwZdKSvPU8J1FZIhChdZiZL1Rxqn4Ut6GcTeYqcJjlmZ7JREkQ6pqpUL-5CZCkdDYen6_A-c9w0VrkY7Ohn2gml8JMxYQB2-A5PhxzqdfwyZuZ_pJwm4nQQcoZBgelUV-PqTDOTW9PIUKW1O4rgzLKr2fZmT26onYyQDUArme1M0dxz/s1280/P1120400.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheMDBdFdh5_jwZdKSvPU8J1FZIhChdZiZL1Rxqn4Ut6GcTeYqcJjlmZ7JREkQ6pqpUL-5CZCkdDYen6_A-c9w0VrkY7Ohn2gml8JMxYQB2-A5PhxzqdfwyZuZ_pJwm4nQQcoZBgelUV-PqTDOTW9PIUKW1O4rgzLKr2fZmT26onYyQDUArme1M0dxz/w286-h400/P1120400.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I reached town and skirted a few neighborhoods and entered a dry creek bed lined with tall pines. Just when I thought there couldn’t possibly be any more climbs, I started to ascend again, but just for a short while and then I ran along the side of a mesa on a windy hard packed trail. The last bit was through a steep narrow gully of eroded volcanic tuff that required the use of my hands in a few places, but I made it to the top and slinked into the finish line after about ten and a half hours. Ten years ago I finished the 50K race two hours faster which means that I will have to keep adapting as I continue to get up there in years. </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlJPULZeTw45fGuzipMeg9iSCcJw5k24L-SOBKDy0xX5MmnI7wcYNORiUXTVfDOhsrjLE-Mf-qdLC2I-Em-H9-B3GixE8tfeVaMd5BqNIdOftPOu5y20cGNTOghy9MaPdcbp8PwUVGT6UUDNMilc8b4AMQACVWjGaQua4Cz-0Z37l46oY10kAstE2n/s3495/IMG_4624.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3495" data-original-width="2496" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlJPULZeTw45fGuzipMeg9iSCcJw5k24L-SOBKDy0xX5MmnI7wcYNORiUXTVfDOhsrjLE-Mf-qdLC2I-Em-H9-B3GixE8tfeVaMd5BqNIdOftPOu5y20cGNTOghy9MaPdcbp8PwUVGT6UUDNMilc8b4AMQACVWjGaQua4Cz-0Z37l46oY10kAstE2n/w286-h400/IMG_4624.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Finisher pottery by B. Toya</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXY1ifVpDtgoQ0vNGfUMstC74OHeKOyt-ex7C96dk6aLqT5TMao_4FEACR59CGuQSnUueaCKwEkTgwj97wFd-iUrV61aCGdxHRYgJ5o-o6ddqAV3s8KqSjeIaetnt2Zg_2raRsVnulhPE1w8do_Oyo6soSueQwxXpZy_mxVWmbaKxMVhx6ArTsf0IM/s3501/IMG_4625.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3501" data-original-width="2501" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXY1ifVpDtgoQ0vNGfUMstC74OHeKOyt-ex7C96dk6aLqT5TMao_4FEACR59CGuQSnUueaCKwEkTgwj97wFd-iUrV61aCGdxHRYgJ5o-o6ddqAV3s8KqSjeIaetnt2Zg_2raRsVnulhPE1w8do_Oyo6soSueQwxXpZy_mxVWmbaKxMVhx6ArTsf0IM/w286-h400/IMG_4625.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">The Jemez Trail Run is a great mountain race for many reasons, and I am grateful to all the volunteers and staff who work so hard to organize this event. The awesome finisher awards are handmade pottery by the Toya family of the Jemez Pueblo. The Jemez people have a long standing history of running.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6zG-ZvchFQp41QOZNplq4vw_FGWedvGAN17JHKF14o2t-6eZO63LDNGr-EN5My3weOoyWiHGumq5Bbpetgkz7LEfe3JYBq-TWo_MnMmLsm0oenuYpqy-7e1PSqBttFQ2aaYKAJ2WaOIWilK_stKb5vA91TzKlCgdpnSjuEcAXMn4P34gGdudLFH7j/s3847/IMG_4623.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2308" data-original-width="3847" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6zG-ZvchFQp41QOZNplq4vw_FGWedvGAN17JHKF14o2t-6eZO63LDNGr-EN5My3weOoyWiHGumq5Bbpetgkz7LEfe3JYBq-TWo_MnMmLsm0oenuYpqy-7e1PSqBttFQ2aaYKAJ2WaOIWilK_stKb5vA91TzKlCgdpnSjuEcAXMn4P34gGdudLFH7j/w400-h241/IMG_4623.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>My collection, grateful to the artists</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b>Throughout history, the Hemish people have run for religious purposes, communication, health, travel, sport, war, hunting and to foster bonds between villages. Tribal men and women of all ages have participated in these running activities for generations.</b></i></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Read more <a href="https://www.jemezpueblo.org/about/runners-of-jemez/" target="_blank">here</a>. </span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">See you on the trail.</span></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><div><br /></div></div>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-61623584304765262672023-03-21T16:22:00.001-06:002023-05-28T18:37:46.429-06:00Sierra Vista Trail 50K 2023<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Earlier this month, I ran the Sierra Vista Trail 50K in the Organ Mountains National Monument in Las Cruces, NM. I’ve run one of their distances from 30K-100K many times in years past. The race is directed by the Southern New Mexico Trail Alliance, a team of volunteers who build and maintain trails here. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The route skirts the western base of the mountain chain winding through prickly vegetation, numerous rocks and through arroyos and dry washes. The weather was almost perfect; not too hot, but kind of blowy in the afternoon. I was mostly alone on the trail all day and really enjoyed the quiet and solitude. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I wasn’t too fast or anything since I have been recovering from a bout of plantar fasciitis and some achilles pain, not to mention that I’m old and getting slower each year. In spite of that, I finished in 8:30. I didn’t run much last fall, but was able to scrape through the Franklin Mountains Trail half mary in January. I was signed up for the 50K, but had to drop down since I hadn’t been training very much. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, here are some pictures from the race and I have included some links from past Sierra Vista adventures at the bottom. </span></p><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkXdHqKNWwpGVgA0_GSeVCQWsH4oecOO9MIOqTMk-j0zaFPpcdeTDL5Ep2EGt0ju5YE4jEUhp6cxtv6qOuCe_59Jtu3XughbTb-CddOK-JQpFyc6ey-ZwnQRvOXt96PLlM8mjMGrwjz1wMX4CNlZfGXYBDvZbCP6Jtsck6N6Q5Bl-15ybwaLlk5kVY/s1280/P1120234.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkXdHqKNWwpGVgA0_GSeVCQWsH4oecOO9MIOqTMk-j0zaFPpcdeTDL5Ep2EGt0ju5YE4jEUhp6cxtv6qOuCe_59Jtu3XughbTb-CddOK-JQpFyc6ey-ZwnQRvOXt96PLlM8mjMGrwjz1wMX4CNlZfGXYBDvZbCP6Jtsck6N6Q5Bl-15ybwaLlk5kVY/w400-h241/P1120234.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUu2VD67cUIOPbWSYLW0TJxkSQj_SrgwPXgNZ-Vwj10K5-Ydf1UEgs8tT1J2kxcA8KWxPlz8FdYZ8Zx9qBtAaGCgm8ppcVcdrsjgb21y70owWBD4p4kuNZxA3GOHF1sqLU69QgHoSfOauLOsIuwKcyORXn4rNO47B6IlGAy5P9g_OhZPXcrKbEKxn9/s1280/P1120170.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUu2VD67cUIOPbWSYLW0TJxkSQj_SrgwPXgNZ-Vwj10K5-Ydf1UEgs8tT1J2kxcA8KWxPlz8FdYZ8Zx9qBtAaGCgm8ppcVcdrsjgb21y70owWBD4p4kuNZxA3GOHF1sqLU69QgHoSfOauLOsIuwKcyORXn4rNO47B6IlGAy5P9g_OhZPXcrKbEKxn9/w400-h241/P1120170.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tortugas Mountain (aka "A" Mt)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMQfvkhz53JAmMGr9kBLrd32Or-octtihCHRp8wJBHk76mU9t3r6CO9ch4j7hj-QQ1PISZAFZA9jvRJNB5glhBcbSqxV7COeIKq_OynsDxR-Pbh_NFmtSD5Jr4gKxG2bNLio2IiArI9pfmVT2F0URLDOcrKKI4-RY52aQkv1Q-jT6nG7t-gXz35o8v/s1280/P1120228.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMQfvkhz53JAmMGr9kBLrd32Or-octtihCHRp8wJBHk76mU9t3r6CO9ch4j7hj-QQ1PISZAFZA9jvRJNB5glhBcbSqxV7COeIKq_OynsDxR-Pbh_NFmtSD5Jr4gKxG2bNLio2IiArI9pfmVT2F0URLDOcrKKI4-RY52aQkv1Q-jT6nG7t-gXz35o8v/w400-h300/P1120228.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLoedaz8bwJvWPwWq4IjNhGTWTf0NKlosXZLF4AOJ-cpKJqWm7P3Q3_1tk6MHAgH9NWvZ9bWLeSyenxYQdV6ZdvDVL28yB_UFJ4g5iqqy8BZJurmaNhfGVBzTIIFS-tI8tAQML7LRIZ-8_NoxHbh9oZVYHsJq1cGLgqmkUbCivqJo7w5Tgb8oW7YIY/s1280/P1120174.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLoedaz8bwJvWPwWq4IjNhGTWTf0NKlosXZLF4AOJ-cpKJqWm7P3Q3_1tk6MHAgH9NWvZ9bWLeSyenxYQdV6ZdvDVL28yB_UFJ4g5iqqy8BZJurmaNhfGVBzTIIFS-tI8tAQML7LRIZ-8_NoxHbh9oZVYHsJq1cGLgqmkUbCivqJo7w5Tgb8oW7YIY/w400-h241/P1120174.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58XrUCBbn2wdlDAvbLnp8oaEm-SZKbUtp18JTUEw7PZKF8uhtnHLjlUeh1jA9HytYB7rxLdXFVddeRCvebuO3qF1X5ipidxmsY709mWdrtJf-3t9PawwavNzyVO-okadheV8KuvGSF-Qk8kanpj33LurAI-hY2bWErww6edXEjmCEEOWi9qZtyMCc/s1280/P1120176.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58XrUCBbn2wdlDAvbLnp8oaEm-SZKbUtp18JTUEw7PZKF8uhtnHLjlUeh1jA9HytYB7rxLdXFVddeRCvebuO3qF1X5ipidxmsY709mWdrtJf-3t9PawwavNzyVO-okadheV8KuvGSF-Qk8kanpj33LurAI-hY2bWErww6edXEjmCEEOWi9qZtyMCc/w400-h286/P1120176.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A four barrel cactus for St Patrick's Day</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI09cfqvME5zfedL-ouEFP1Q_c1bPmkizftMyLvceyCChnq-_aKQpn-s5PJu34Ir-E7Kvqc-iMySuok8HPIJefY6ZprUNdOSI5mSroTyVRvsoD2xPIUOInCvo1yEwn0ntRoqrEacuFVqg3wdvr5n-nhCWKGjpCQ0Bb2-7b7f5oHp8Qy1cp1dRTfjXD/s1280/P1120180.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI09cfqvME5zfedL-ouEFP1Q_c1bPmkizftMyLvceyCChnq-_aKQpn-s5PJu34Ir-E7Kvqc-iMySuok8HPIJefY6ZprUNdOSI5mSroTyVRvsoD2xPIUOInCvo1yEwn0ntRoqrEacuFVqg3wdvr5n-nhCWKGjpCQ0Bb2-7b7f5oHp8Qy1cp1dRTfjXD/w400-h241/P1120180.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_afiOmAUhACNKyVdPct3Smr0qQ0Zi7-QP3_hpbhz9_pu169xHajx-cGvCUw98VRrVzc9qttInllkq9FX6N2QvsblfmTSvM_HkHEA9_ICqi8f0PKbrsTW7UeypO6DIqgInsvhmYlAz7h1JUyogunI7U1qU3p6AjzzaUMrvN4jz5xo56b2iovaM188/s1280/P1120196.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_afiOmAUhACNKyVdPct3Smr0qQ0Zi7-QP3_hpbhz9_pu169xHajx-cGvCUw98VRrVzc9qttInllkq9FX6N2QvsblfmTSvM_HkHEA9_ICqi8f0PKbrsTW7UeypO6DIqgInsvhmYlAz7h1JUyogunI7U1qU3p6AjzzaUMrvN4jz5xo56b2iovaM188/w400-h300/P1120196.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bishop's Cap Mt near Vado, NM</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz8k2WcJzaFPtNpJbssDdJhe0wlXv_wm7n-ipwEghSSjYwM8FBAy-Q4cz4Sgm78tPl0DS2NZj3G9edr-VyPf0YQMk8EodHmeP9kqpykwW_gxSr8MheE0f3xtY2e4Cj7wnoEd1tKhxBAi44Fd-wq1UY-jwJwBhWtfXQ2VMQbiWsn--gHg15MUFccXRE/s1280/P1120197.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz8k2WcJzaFPtNpJbssDdJhe0wlXv_wm7n-ipwEghSSjYwM8FBAy-Q4cz4Sgm78tPl0DS2NZj3G9edr-VyPf0YQMk8EodHmeP9kqpykwW_gxSr8MheE0f3xtY2e4Cj7wnoEd1tKhxBAi44Fd-wq1UY-jwJwBhWtfXQ2VMQbiWsn--gHg15MUFccXRE/w400-h241/P1120197.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3BmkTKCQLnwCpJO2pExp4Gd3yhTCaXtws5oVNiI-_XQ6VHAx0nHGfeQs_9jKUOSQ1lYkjv-mzQVyWUJTuZeg1emdVdO4Zr7Rdih6oQ2fquRkHR4ZOqT-aiOzqBSQ7H17ylF2dwBq6m_g4sczSa3ifnq3P7ByL7s3WZndWZMbBo463phM3LdOw376r/s1280/P1120204.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3BmkTKCQLnwCpJO2pExp4Gd3yhTCaXtws5oVNiI-_XQ6VHAx0nHGfeQs_9jKUOSQ1lYkjv-mzQVyWUJTuZeg1emdVdO4Zr7Rdih6oQ2fquRkHR4ZOqT-aiOzqBSQ7H17ylF2dwBq6m_g4sczSa3ifnq3P7ByL7s3WZndWZMbBo463phM3LdOw376r/w400-h286/P1120204.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>My friends from Team RWB</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxr59izHBFh4VhlfJgBsueaPdTE2r65fWeOdNKKAvO6yL0E-o2gfLgvDuSy8AV6dTyDBNfwu-T0hN45P5rKlb5-gju7aRf3LcsWU4Kvcr1a8aPjIuEYhuLoR_04d9CyZIA_3MrWr_CXb-Wr76g-zgVkzJJf0xsP5HYIBDU_3cnWMCq0HyBDTS5ibEq/s1280/P1120219.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxr59izHBFh4VhlfJgBsueaPdTE2r65fWeOdNKKAvO6yL0E-o2gfLgvDuSy8AV6dTyDBNfwu-T0hN45P5rKlb5-gju7aRf3LcsWU4Kvcr1a8aPjIuEYhuLoR_04d9CyZIA_3MrWr_CXb-Wr76g-zgVkzJJf0xsP5HYIBDU_3cnWMCq0HyBDTS5ibEq/w400-h241/P1120219.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Peña Blanca Mt</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ZYDbO6To1aN73vbRqROnpN5yHdSz8C6cSYJNnk07fAFbtdNRYGm_VIzAYEm4WhC4fIpJRQkidjg_9E6uQVyEiS-oamJ5VLTIptnB7yL8ECs0fgtQ6SC7UwjzUNVvrh5FmgY0buhV6MkaB4Xx2RIYjb4YEqsiGCcMBncKbwJa49OiW8QifJ3JYkx3/s4032/IMG_4427.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ZYDbO6To1aN73vbRqROnpN5yHdSz8C6cSYJNnk07fAFbtdNRYGm_VIzAYEm4WhC4fIpJRQkidjg_9E6uQVyEiS-oamJ5VLTIptnB7yL8ECs0fgtQ6SC7UwjzUNVvrh5FmgY0buhV6MkaB4Xx2RIYjb4YEqsiGCcMBncKbwJa49OiW8QifJ3JYkx3/w400-h300/IMG_4427.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Past years posts:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2022/03/being-time-sequel-sierra-vista-trail.html"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sierra Vista Trail 100K, 2022</span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2020/03/being-time-sierra-vista-trail-100k.html"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sierra Vista Trail 100K, 2020</span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2017/03/sierra-vista-trail-30k-with-team-red.html"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sierra Vista Trail 30K, 2017</span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2015/03/sierra-vista-trail-50k.html"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sierra Vista Trail 50K, 2015</span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2014/03/sierra-vista-trail-50k.html"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sierra Vista Trail 50K, 2014</span></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAZbxvtxFVG_FZqCobndiowSiX31UGQxYJZFbH3o_EqSxYYw4f5oR7plPPPdoitwXqU20T21jZvu_zreuNQYxPSn-Usmq53u3-wIJccUPuJRXxnVeV6hzpImTs8Sb0bcqVanbvrZUZDqw8s_eixaCYcUCrefDgwbnmhMlblBahHQbVRmtDuO7n8Orj/s1280/P1120235.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAZbxvtxFVG_FZqCobndiowSiX31UGQxYJZFbH3o_EqSxYYw4f5oR7plPPPdoitwXqU20T21jZvu_zreuNQYxPSn-Usmq53u3-wIJccUPuJRXxnVeV6hzpImTs8Sb0bcqVanbvrZUZDqw8s_eixaCYcUCrefDgwbnmhMlblBahHQbVRmtDuO7n8Orj/s320/P1120235.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">See you on the trail.</div>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-54014571333453555722022-08-15T11:24:00.035-06:002023-03-21T16:22:56.485-06:00Cloudcroft Ultra 53K Trail Run 2022<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">How can you escape the scorching summer temperatures of the <a href="https://www.nps.gov/im/chdn/ecoregion.htm" target="_blank">Chihuahuan Desert</a> in Far West Texas? The only way is to go straight up to gain some altitude. Therefore, you could drive a few hours east to Van Horn, TX and pay millions for a 15 minute flight on one of Jeff Bazos’ <a href="https://www.blueorigin.com" target="_blank">Blue Origin</a> rocket ships. Or, go the cheaper route and drive a few hours north to the cool pines of the Sacramento Mountains in Cloudcroft, NM (8,675′). The latter has been the preferred method for El Pasoans since the days of the Alamogordo and Sacramento Mountain Railway which reached Cloudcroft in 1900. The <a href="https://www.railstotrails.org/trailblog/2021/july/26/southern-new-mexico-s-cloud-climbing-trestle-trail-preserves-unique-piece-of-railroad-history/" target="_blank">Cloud-Climbing</a> rail has since been dismantled, but many sections have been repurposed into hiking trails by Rails-to-Trails Conservancy. This makes Cloudcroft an excellent trail running and hiking destination.</span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH9NS7siCmHatF1695g-0xUsxCl3SJFHsmz7ezAwEglZ-AJei1c0b3T1XZEKt49yIFXl1BXTJ0_jBjMevVBmZ8sGMZ1Xka4hdbMjxkupTMW0sEiaG52saW1qkXvKr_QiLkJEa783lAWPtv_kwJxJXVzmQyfPQwW63us7pZtUhB6B0Ujo8-mgXgUYWE/s1280/P1110685.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH9NS7siCmHatF1695g-0xUsxCl3SJFHsmz7ezAwEglZ-AJei1c0b3T1XZEKt49yIFXl1BXTJ0_jBjMevVBmZ8sGMZ1Xka4hdbMjxkupTMW0sEiaG52saW1qkXvKr_QiLkJEa783lAWPtv_kwJxJXVzmQyfPQwW63us7pZtUhB6B0Ujo8-mgXgUYWE/w400-h286/P1110685.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Broad-tailed hummingbird near High Rolls, NM</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Last weekend I ran the Cloudcroft Ultra 53K Trail Race put on by the good family that owns </span><a href="https://www.highaltitudenm.com" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">High Altitude</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> (your favorite little outdoor store). This is the second year that I ran this low key race which is an out-and-back along the Rim Trail with a lollypop loop, including a brutal climb, I might add, before returning to the village. About 50 of us started at the local park, running the first several miles through town on mostly flat paved and dirt roads and then picked up the Rim Trail once out of the village.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqLWDxJ2n6r7Jgr79sFvIuh6_8UN3TS9-Agj6Kobi5bydSlOSrRkt1S3rL0Qz-XX51TcLdOLZOZjUrbCiq44kTKS1HfZIk8r-07xParTRq4ciDiVkAzAyzNkXNtt3iZyIIDn9XoyA8argqII6nTAD8nPgcN3SUnG5_3vAbu3-qz8-zmuOMl9kaKkcT/s1280/P1110680.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqLWDxJ2n6r7Jgr79sFvIuh6_8UN3TS9-Agj6Kobi5bydSlOSrRkt1S3rL0Qz-XX51TcLdOLZOZjUrbCiq44kTKS1HfZIk8r-07xParTRq4ciDiVkAzAyzNkXNtt3iZyIIDn9XoyA8argqII6nTAD8nPgcN3SUnG5_3vAbu3-qz8-zmuOMl9kaKkcT/w400-h241/P1110680.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>White Sands in the distance</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0Tt8-bNncbpGU7Ml7yKKHifaoWYnkOVucPTsw3bhZJHdWRf0grkAy6zARXXHplGlqA5uc0j12534c70H-du7UvjMFexujiLQ13bIFeRWc8UfnXDeZ3uudPpWd34-_PM4qbUsFgiIzZQ/s3556/IMG_3910.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2134" data-original-width="3556" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0Tt8-bNncbpGU7Ml7yKKHifaoWYnkOVucPTsw3bhZJHdWRf0grkAy6zARXXHplGlqA5uc0j12534c70H-du7UvjMFexujiLQ13bIFeRWc8UfnXDeZ3uudPpWd34-_PM4qbUsFgiIzZQ/w400-h241/IMG_3910.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: arial;">The beginning is pretty smooth and flat, but soon there’s a descent with gnarly rocks everywhere. Before going down though, there are tremendous views of the desert floor, White Sands National Monument and Alamogordo, NM. Not far from here, down in the desert, the first atomic test, </span><a href="https://www.osti.gov/opennet/manhattan-project-history/Events/1945/trinity.htm" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Trinity</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> was carried out by a bunch of nervous mad scientists at precisely 5:30 a.m. on Monday, July 16, 1945. The atomic age had begun.</span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b><span style="color: #0b5394;">To break the tension, <a href="https://www.atomicheritage.org/article/manhattan-project-spotlight-enrico-fermi" target="_blank">Enrico Fermi</a> began offering anyone listening a wager on "whether or not the bomb would ignite the atmosphere, and if so, whether it would merely destroy New Mexico or destroy the world."</span></b><span> </span></i>—US Dept of Energy</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCnwQjzO5pTkJUzAsRqZaWFwUHwicdcTXQNMircXFBhsBklc74K7jKO_mgn16jq4IuJ57XYwGspnHT8CiQGCBaiY4wnY1EMZWO2vm25NtlsDIAnQWjvr4utwjWH8yGG4WxsUxyVSiYdUyWmLP6H7F4wbzHnNIWE74gGwzg8-v8bZdSvSvYZV6LJtbL/s1280/P1110703.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCnwQjzO5pTkJUzAsRqZaWFwUHwicdcTXQNMircXFBhsBklc74K7jKO_mgn16jq4IuJ57XYwGspnHT8CiQGCBaiY4wnY1EMZWO2vm25NtlsDIAnQWjvr4utwjWH8yGG4WxsUxyVSiYdUyWmLP6H7F4wbzHnNIWE74gGwzg8-v8bZdSvSvYZV6LJtbL/w400-h241/P1110703.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, I caught up to a group of runners on this stretch and passed a couple of folks where we leap frogged each other for a while. One guy, who was about 10 years older than me, commented that he didn’t like the technical descents and already had crashed once so told me to go ahead of him. I made it down the mountain without any mishaps and ran some smooth packed trail for a while.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXn_rb5PmzA6YcpEYFUfclsbo9xDD3LqKXVHOB4w-aCLCUYrIHu1X0UtluxCpktvcygujSoeZz4m6JbnXjpoMa7it9LFA6VduoF9WVr8YoYUXnXu6md3oIONXvuNn86B1BFtV382JeWCWvRgH5SfwBxtrt1-0ygOOgO6dpi3-FO0WBilqBKC4Kc8HK/s1280/P1110746.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXn_rb5PmzA6YcpEYFUfclsbo9xDD3LqKXVHOB4w-aCLCUYrIHu1X0UtluxCpktvcygujSoeZz4m6JbnXjpoMa7it9LFA6VduoF9WVr8YoYUXnXu6md3oIONXvuNn86B1BFtV382JeWCWvRgH5SfwBxtrt1-0ygOOgO6dpi3-FO0WBilqBKC4Kc8HK/w400-h300/P1110746.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Soon, we started to climb again where I caught up to a few more runners and passed. I decided to pull away from the pack, so I put it in high gear. Not that I wanted to try to beat anyone, but simply because I feel bad when I pass only to get in the runner’s way a little while later. I kept up this faster pace until I knew I had a pretty good lead on this group. The pack was thinning out and would continue to spread further apart throughout the day. I prefer the solitude of running alone anyway.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXeMqCuBMdoThDiaeCUEUonJFiz1r-_I9MAI81tdHEf4cTdBgXDlBvL8j76dAm8pLZTwLyulGoyj5il8agbWQH3BvLaDY_QT8IoLXiRyrkDy31JpFTbQ06suXmdWVFDm3dEJ4FdKHUNclX0tTWSsqfqS1rxV4pZkzdFjjTW01bKVubHSxU4BbCbx-p/s1280/P1110754.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXeMqCuBMdoThDiaeCUEUonJFiz1r-_I9MAI81tdHEf4cTdBgXDlBvL8j76dAm8pLZTwLyulGoyj5il8agbWQH3BvLaDY_QT8IoLXiRyrkDy31JpFTbQ06suXmdWVFDm3dEJ4FdKHUNclX0tTWSsqfqS1rxV4pZkzdFjjTW01bKVubHSxU4BbCbx-p/w400-h300/P1110754.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I enjoyed running under the tall pines, through some smooth fern lined paths and grassy meadows with plenty of wildflowers. I pulled out my trekking poles to use on the climbs which helped save my legs for later. I passed through a few aid stations where friendly volunteers helped fill my water bottles and offered some food. I declined the sweet goodies though, since I brought my own healthier snacks. After about 3:20 hours I was pretty hot and tired, but reached the mile 13 aid station where I grabbed some watermelon. This perked me up a bit so I took off on the lollypop loop. I would return to this spot after completing the loop at mile 20.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGf2iJomYJfMa2DmL87k6747v-OTxC7lJaqvF9X2SV_Y78G7zhqCW1rng0wZ-KaLG8cD7yIT5tS932tE0siqKHpnlcR_v37xvBrpMVz8KfB2iDzVbGkbCNzCk-JRdH0-j9vso5FL3g--CgpQ2F22UhJYNOI8bVRkBy5swiITvbNjjvi4x0IiqW78Vv/s4032/IMG_3911.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGf2iJomYJfMa2DmL87k6747v-OTxC7lJaqvF9X2SV_Y78G7zhqCW1rng0wZ-KaLG8cD7yIT5tS932tE0siqKHpnlcR_v37xvBrpMVz8KfB2iDzVbGkbCNzCk-JRdH0-j9vso5FL3g--CgpQ2F22UhJYNOI8bVRkBy5swiITvbNjjvi4x0IiqW78Vv/w300-h400/IMG_3911.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I power hiked uphill for about a mile and then plunged down 1500’ for the next four miles. At one point I passed a ginormous pine tree that was snapped at the base like a twig, the tall trunk cratered into the earth. I can’t imagine the force that would topple an enormous tree in such a manner. Lightning, a wicked snow storm, wind? I don’t know.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfoNnHATyZWClYh0Ss2c7TTzXYdqpzE4mCJlzyjaf7f0iQWREO26lXcDUZa7G9ls_64KjSqGX-zs4Wt8Xho3rsflXqCqYOOFRYWXqkWKtlBIobanfMm8HZrygajzDJbdsiWEsNXm194yxRWNMYMSiGglKJZnZHFPi0z5JwkR6W3-fvWrrke_tsNajM/s1280/P1110748.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfoNnHATyZWClYh0Ss2c7TTzXYdqpzE4mCJlzyjaf7f0iQWREO26lXcDUZa7G9ls_64KjSqGX-zs4Wt8Xho3rsflXqCqYOOFRYWXqkWKtlBIobanfMm8HZrygajzDJbdsiWEsNXm194yxRWNMYMSiGglKJZnZHFPi0z5JwkR6W3-fvWrrke_tsNajM/w300-h400/P1110748.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>What happened here?</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMUKf-CG62DRExZh_5jBmRMvkVH6p7DVBb5T0sLpuc-ayyS4HOh9mmYsTt5VQfwSdfYoPsG8Q8Vb3zWz_Ohipgk2-49wX8FAJD6DB0LtBOikfKNprIonb89Cy5rWdOZoAINtuVE1j_N0s662k-lI22CVgA-87CrEVw4mMqW_nOgppXDxeAiMTMyrMz/s1280/P1110750.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMUKf-CG62DRExZh_5jBmRMvkVH6p7DVBb5T0sLpuc-ayyS4HOh9mmYsTt5VQfwSdfYoPsG8Q8Vb3zWz_Ohipgk2-49wX8FAJD6DB0LtBOikfKNprIonb89Cy5rWdOZoAINtuVE1j_N0s662k-lI22CVgA-87CrEVw4mMqW_nOgppXDxeAiMTMyrMz/w400-h300/P1110750.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, I took advantage of gravity and kept up a fast pace where I passed several more runners; a few that looked half my age. Towards the bottom, the trail became an eroded gully filled with ankle breaking rocks so I took my time on this part. I was feeling spry and proud of myself for passing so many runners this morning, but I knew someone was bound to catch me on the brutal climb that lay ahead of me.</span><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLoVKE_qTZOiwYXNbv2yFG0YbqhOlQuX-OUNvNfUOO8vC3cSRl-mIuZ_IsEmcIajpPjQ0rBKWbbYRF1fEblsUSIgdFnAUn0OoX2xOmuGbAc_bIfc5rOBMwBYgGjI27EU4i7YRQGADSxk4Gt1Kc3akMBy1pQu7_BPO6HhPr2QYWibZjmwwCRpMoepNy/s1280/P1110759.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLoVKE_qTZOiwYXNbv2yFG0YbqhOlQuX-OUNvNfUOO8vC3cSRl-mIuZ_IsEmcIajpPjQ0rBKWbbYRF1fEblsUSIgdFnAUn0OoX2xOmuGbAc_bIfc5rOBMwBYgGjI27EU4i7YRQGADSxk4Gt1Kc3akMBy1pQu7_BPO6HhPr2QYWibZjmwwCRpMoepNy/w400-h286/P1110759.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Dark-eyed junco (red-backed)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I reached the Alamo Peak Trail, took out my poles and began the steep climb. My rubbery legs burned as I slowly plodded up the slope that was straight up for about the first mile. I had to stop frequently to catch my breath as my heart pounded wildly. The trail passed a series of springs and collection sites that provide water for the city of Alamogordo. I kept looking back wondering which runners were going to catch me. Before long I saw someone downslope gaining on me but I had no energy to try to stay ahead of them. My oxygen starved brain just didn’t care, so I just kept up a slow steady pace. </span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIERSaNOEeCnH2kxVMekZOvqzVqf5VCfwutIeUkmjrqqu4O7oUwP_QleUeuL04MgmLds0d_VRpRiMUxsC5AKfrcYOgefZf4ud0r50PjnaCcygf9OREBthMVi4uC611FmX53B43gRfI5x5e0aZ_c0JlkxXtiMWaLsN0syrnXVDivzMbthGmEZk-46Fx/s1280/P1110735.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIERSaNOEeCnH2kxVMekZOvqzVqf5VCfwutIeUkmjrqqu4O7oUwP_QleUeuL04MgmLds0d_VRpRiMUxsC5AKfrcYOgefZf4ud0r50PjnaCcygf9OREBthMVi4uC611FmX53B43gRfI5x5e0aZ_c0JlkxXtiMWaLsN0syrnXVDivzMbthGmEZk-46Fx/w400-h300/P1110735.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">In no time, the older guy that I had passed much earlier in the race caught up to me where we chatted a little and commiserated on the brutal ascent. This guy was absolutely amazing and just like that, in a flash was gone up the mountain as if he had levitated. I looked at the results after the race and this guy is almost 70! Amazing! </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Meanwhile, I struggled on the grueling climb, slowly grinding inch by inch up the trail; huffing and puffing all the time. Nevertheless, none of the younger folks caught either one of us; although It took me a great deal of time to finally get to the top. </span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When I finally arrived, I was greeted by the largest pair of balls of I’ve ever seen. On top of Alamo Peak are two weird looking green spheres that are part of the telemetry services for the US Air Force. Several Air Force bases operate fighter jets and other aircraft near here. I often hear them overhead as I’m running the trails in the mountains. The sound of freedom, as they say.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitKCMCZn0rjp2aaa-hLtc-iYrdyYn3QZR_GKhAoD12L6SoKLv_SsnyathEKoIsjWUfR2-D3EGYlzFJ3HiR3P_-t6SOH2qj8DjrnVSCuLSpt3gUnHXBSI-PGPyY8NRqrGxfuGUO-jH92lrOcVAM-1FFidOCW9Df6WAR-ILiSb4VqXmrGEQtWb0P72QL/s1280/P1110739.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitKCMCZn0rjp2aaa-hLtc-iYrdyYn3QZR_GKhAoD12L6SoKLv_SsnyathEKoIsjWUfR2-D3EGYlzFJ3HiR3P_-t6SOH2qj8DjrnVSCuLSpt3gUnHXBSI-PGPyY8NRqrGxfuGUO-jH92lrOcVAM-1FFidOCW9Df6WAR-ILiSb4VqXmrGEQtWb0P72QL/w400-h300/P1110739.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Telemetry balls!</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I transitioned onto a paved road that took me back to the aid station. My shirt was soaked through from the hot climb and I must have looked quite disheveled because the volunteers offered me a baby wipe to “freshen up” if I wanted to. I figured, what’s the point? </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">—</span><span style="font-family: arial;">I still had a good 13 more miles to cover and wasn’t going to feel fresh for at least another four hours or so. I ate some more watermelon and took off hoping to get the course finished by around 4:00pm (9 hours). I walked for a while and ate some food that I brought and then started running again. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I came up here last month for a long training run to get ready for this race. I left my campground before sunrise one morning and enjoyed watching a herd of 50 or more elk grazing by the <a href="https://www.newmexico.org/places-to-visit/scenic-byways/sunspot/" target="_blank">Sunspot Scenic Byway</a>. Once I reached the trailhead, I did a total of 28 miles including a 16 mile loop using a combination of the Rim Trail, Courtney Mine Trail, Westside Rd and the horrendous climb of Alamo Peak. My training must have paid off, because a second wind enabled me to catch up to the 70 year old super climber. He told me to go ahead of him though, because he was going to power walk most of the trail back to town since he didn’t do well on technical trails.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTMQ2VvDwlLqASd8hbYl3x2nu0PWxcfx5koBIHiLvcjtecRD1CG9014gh2aLaxky-6ombvdMf7LGcIUB0Lzk8_LQgMysgsIR9lU5ZBKc3SW1l9WnY82AM8faazTFQ7zuHbF-H7vjwVJZ0nfgDfXCIwzdKs9sGh6VpOPKSvWkexbkitJAWpSomRAyx6/s1280/P1110651.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="959" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTMQ2VvDwlLqASd8hbYl3x2nu0PWxcfx5koBIHiLvcjtecRD1CG9014gh2aLaxky-6ombvdMf7LGcIUB0Lzk8_LQgMysgsIR9lU5ZBKc3SW1l9WnY82AM8faazTFQ7zuHbF-H7vjwVJZ0nfgDfXCIwzdKs9sGh6VpOPKSvWkexbkitJAWpSomRAyx6/w400-h300/P1110651.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Elk</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6dM8IyBbVlvkrW8kiq1CPgLIstu7yKRByBA2-AMa1A3GFaZFJOcudiWEatS7wPXNOhCeftg5dgQYWDkRjqQxxR2wmzDc6w_nWm_J_g7rUUedD-IszVl_ay3zl-fB-UbJPQIudpM07NW7sD2YuVD1y2KNdOl8ahxYxevs732PNSZ_NcvgAimCwhhM1/s1280/P1110901.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6dM8IyBbVlvkrW8kiq1CPgLIstu7yKRByBA2-AMa1A3GFaZFJOcudiWEatS7wPXNOhCeftg5dgQYWDkRjqQxxR2wmzDc6w_nWm_J_g7rUUedD-IszVl_ay3zl-fB-UbJPQIudpM07NW7sD2YuVD1y2KNdOl8ahxYxevs732PNSZ_NcvgAimCwhhM1/w286-h400/P1110901.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">In addition to my long training run last month, I took a side trip to the Bridal Veil Falls in High Rolls, NM which is about half way down the mountain from Cloudcroft. Salado Canyon Trail is one of the new Rails-to-Trails hikes that follows the old cloud-climbing route. There are two trail head parking areas and the falls are only about one or two miles away (oneway) depending on which parking area you use. </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Ng1VZzXQ1Wtskzx9t-Rj1AA4YkMuwz_JSyRELyHdCtzjG8fn7LwPX3i8Xfqd08x6TcJGbMhWQlMjKs2ORqJjUha3BsjtjgvsrJFsQNpDe6kNkJ1UxvxNipBCC9mADtg4nyRr99R0h2STtMCAozFi52pr70BtBruyTfK6FeuGYKf2F7PmJZTquCKH/s1280/P1110767.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Ng1VZzXQ1Wtskzx9t-Rj1AA4YkMuwz_JSyRELyHdCtzjG8fn7LwPX3i8Xfqd08x6TcJGbMhWQlMjKs2ORqJjUha3BsjtjgvsrJFsQNpDe6kNkJ1UxvxNipBCC9mADtg4nyRr99R0h2STtMCAozFi52pr70BtBruyTfK6FeuGYKf2F7PmJZTquCKH/w400-h300/P1110767.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rail trail, High Rolls, NM</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Some trestle ruins are near the East parking area and a rebuilt trestle bridge that you can cross is closer to the West parking. The falls are spring fed so they flow year round regardless of drought conditions. The path is never very steep making the falls a good destination for kids and those sane people who don’t regularly run 30+ miles in a stretch. Clear cool water pours over a wide edge of a red cliff; ferns and other lush vegetation hanging onto the rock face —an oasis in the desert. This Forest Service </span><a href="https://www.fs.usda.gov/recarea/lincoln/recarea/?recid=72128" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">map</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> shows parts of the trail (T128) “under construction”, but the trail is now completed. </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-qhQGMfLjrP4IGYHeZSuFxk1VC4aLa1f8PhDCmjWGaR4Z73m00DVeBcrXJetSgmEjIjd_GiC7t5R811fTsJe7nVCa3T0B57wCxV9ymhFbKkfVzaX-xafBFsYAWYcVQS-YrO1wW_y115EwAX9hbEgQHOmoHoI608Y_ZuJEZ09O06ZrYnJj1flQaK_X/s1280/P1110771.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-qhQGMfLjrP4IGYHeZSuFxk1VC4aLa1f8PhDCmjWGaR4Z73m00DVeBcrXJetSgmEjIjd_GiC7t5R811fTsJe7nVCa3T0B57wCxV9ymhFbKkfVzaX-xafBFsYAWYcVQS-YrO1wW_y115EwAX9hbEgQHOmoHoI608Y_ZuJEZ09O06ZrYnJj1flQaK_X/w300-h400/P1110771.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bridal Veil Falls</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilyIjjMmpJC_zS66hyRcxQKLN3O0-yXvZff0CxDfqzm85R2FhjMF3Dm9LjQLIvahVycN4FOamMUCuU5UX3A2aOKHZJztei80JoyaV0IA53WKdBGL4a_LIJpEzWzLfu-pl7SZ5RL4W_WJ-HS4toWOeYe3OuHOBIYhiTeSNuJGfztLMnrKGk6hhx93M5/s1280/P1110792.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilyIjjMmpJC_zS66hyRcxQKLN3O0-yXvZff0CxDfqzm85R2FhjMF3Dm9LjQLIvahVycN4FOamMUCuU5UX3A2aOKHZJztei80JoyaV0IA53WKdBGL4a_LIJpEzWzLfu-pl7SZ5RL4W_WJ-HS4toWOeYe3OuHOBIYhiTeSNuJGfztLMnrKGk6hhx93M5/w400-h241/P1110792.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, I kept a pretty steady pace back to town until I hit the last big climb about five miles from the finish. This section is very exposed to the sun and I really struggled to get to the top in the heat of the afternoon. A couple runners passed me on the ascent, but I was able to overtake them once I made it to flatter ground and was able to run again. Many runners were walking by this point, including some youngsters who probably went out too fast. Never underestimate the terrain, altitude and distance of mountain ultras; they will destroy you if you aren’t careful. </span><p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQnz0r_fDaFozy_SHaStEQehjBmQFcpKr0Vyf27SpiZJs0rQ-1XO5Mfo1wOizu6BFgFJfwFNg3ZOaMvlIKETSY62jkZVyF9p6vaEW84fbYnmLTTPcDsWoE2_jxQ2SgQsTarscjn4gs5qI2LP4Sb7OepXqvL2eBg8xm-RWr4Ad63pj3V-OjnGXk30M/s5184/P1110911.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3888" data-original-width="5184" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQnz0r_fDaFozy_SHaStEQehjBmQFcpKr0Vyf27SpiZJs0rQ-1XO5Mfo1wOizu6BFgFJfwFNg3ZOaMvlIKETSY62jkZVyF9p6vaEW84fbYnmLTTPcDsWoE2_jxQ2SgQsTarscjn4gs5qI2LP4Sb7OepXqvL2eBg8xm-RWr4Ad63pj3V-OjnGXk30M/w400-h300/P1110911.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Elk in Sleepy Grass Campground, Cloudcroft, NM</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">On the other hand, I was able to pace myself and still had enough in the tank to run, or should I say, keep up an “old man shuffle", late in my race. I finally reached town and ran the last several miles, passing a few more exhausted runners. I was never so glad to see the finish line and was cheered in by my family when I crossed in 9:31. It was a great day spent in the cool mountain air; a much needed break from the 100+ heat of El Paso. And to think, it only cost me a fraction of the price of a Jeff Bazos rocket trip!</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">See you on the trail.</span></p></div></div>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-72534717693402025452022-07-09T17:14:00.003-06:002022-08-16T07:00:46.532-06:00Beaver Creek Colorado<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Well, if you haven’t heard, New Mexico is pretty much on fire with two of the largest wildfires in the state’s history still burning. Some monsoon rains moved in a few weeks ago though, which has considerably helped the situation. The concern now is flooding, erosion and mudslides in the burn areas.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Because of this, my spring race, the Jemez Mountains 50 Miler, was cancelled this year due to forest closures. This summer, we had </span><span style="font-family: arial;">planned </span><span style="font-family: arial;">a trip to Colorado because my kid was going to music camp at the Beaver Creek Ski Resort near Vail, CO. What's really amazing though, is that my wife said I could run and hike during the day while they attended her music classes. Well, that sounded like a grand idea to me!</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHO5Dzlpciu4EaNgmhW-oXO5XZn-nQiXDaeVIn-z8su8D5u57OYOC-L1qylkRZ4tl4kz3jxgZrqJ0UkDAdpTTCOlm1xG-9u8IbO8GjIAdLx0BnbwBjGfO7yy0MwNRVsj_UHUnrpw4yzPzgcJI36Tp6JlK-u8W1o-y79FL3WCLSJChYmmcY36l1mHjq/s1280/P1110299.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHO5Dzlpciu4EaNgmhW-oXO5XZn-nQiXDaeVIn-z8su8D5u57OYOC-L1qylkRZ4tl4kz3jxgZrqJ0UkDAdpTTCOlm1xG-9u8IbO8GjIAdLx0BnbwBjGfO7yy0MwNRVsj_UHUnrpw4yzPzgcJI36Tp6JlK-u8W1o-y79FL3WCLSJChYmmcY36l1mHjq/w400-h300/P1110299.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Beaver Creek, CO</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My first worry started when we pulled up to the upscale gated luxury village that was developed by oil tycoons in the 80s. I thought to myself, <i>there’s no way they are going to let the likes of me and my 15 year old truck into a place like this</i>. To me, luxury accommodations are a campground with a pit toilet. Five star camping includes a public bathroom with running water. (Glamping!) Anyway, we somehow made it past the security gate and checked into our fancy place which had everything under the sun including the kitchen sink!</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAa5_xEu4u_frz5zkD4R6CgZNaUl4Lw50R-L8SC_5tdQBjUOi13UFvNpWJk_iPxbVMbcTCpTuVEId5M0thAszqTLI22P9LNoLlsH6r3c4vByv2L2XI1rGxVon4504QZzHXZQxCHdHB0JIyIlVGTLc9sJNVJfTTNmXp9uv1QkdKY-QgRp812G2Imshf/s1280/P1110465.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAa5_xEu4u_frz5zkD4R6CgZNaUl4Lw50R-L8SC_5tdQBjUOi13UFvNpWJk_iPxbVMbcTCpTuVEId5M0thAszqTLI22P9LNoLlsH6r3c4vByv2L2XI1rGxVon4504QZzHXZQxCHdHB0JIyIlVGTLc9sJNVJfTTNmXp9uv1QkdKY-QgRp812G2Imshf/w400-h286/P1110465.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: arial;">The trails were just a short walk from the front door so I was pretty much in heaven all week. The first day I ran through the ski village and hit the Turquoise Lake trail, a 16 mile round trip to several high alpine lakes. I ran along Beaver Creek which was roaring and churning its way down the mountain from all the snow melt. The trail was steep in places and I climbed up from the creek bed where I ran along a precipitous drop off to the roiling stream below. </span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSzI8uQv1T8I6cxNxr3F0KbFfY4v1WqyoIYZktqfbdZtifmMpNQU3R_bMxvXVoV5VJWA4Xq4NLZmzf6Q41_PKu2xMVpZCbrF2T-zx6uDoroG_teYJcEd-RUrQLVl8odURXvwK81_lifelFfTa71VZcfTem-BYnaSZ5yRPIweviigH2KlYr0CXeD3xA/s1280/P1110214.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSzI8uQv1T8I6cxNxr3F0KbFfY4v1WqyoIYZktqfbdZtifmMpNQU3R_bMxvXVoV5VJWA4Xq4NLZmzf6Q41_PKu2xMVpZCbrF2T-zx6uDoroG_teYJcEd-RUrQLVl8odURXvwK81_lifelFfTa71VZcfTem-BYnaSZ5yRPIweviigH2KlYr0CXeD3xA/w286-h400/P1110214.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqmM9bqNTZzo1k5RrYd8jBLJajkpwTJ-yEq6w7M3xGkD4wmussEPblujrRio2WOw9iDJWIJV5jjq9_hxdIo1i55l-83HSYoO8FLpaCljCMI_pIRgcZzXcNwKT6QMrFM09FGDk1N54scsz20aO8L7f1ft6cSWtMRpB2609fEpMynE8KGu92LVtCZ42u/s1280/P1110205.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqmM9bqNTZzo1k5RrYd8jBLJajkpwTJ-yEq6w7M3xGkD4wmussEPblujrRio2WOw9iDJWIJV5jjq9_hxdIo1i55l-83HSYoO8FLpaCljCMI_pIRgcZzXcNwKT6QMrFM09FGDk1N54scsz20aO8L7f1ft6cSWtMRpB2609fEpMynE8KGu92LVtCZ42u/w400-h300/P1110205.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Soon I reached a sign to Holy Cross Wilderness. Mount of the Holy Cross has an interesting history. In 1873 W.H. Jackson took the first photograph of this peak which had an almost perfect cross of unmelted snow in the gullies of its rock face. The photo went viral (well, as much as a photo can in the 1800s) and all manner of religious folks started flocking to the area to get a glimpse of the holy omen. Many came to be saved or for healing of their ailments. Artists also visited and painted the image on their canvases which made the area so popular that in 1929, it was made a national monument. </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrL87bmzSxFfHtMIf8M5amgqFXJtzjPLG76PEqbOBM-EAUfsbkSP98b65Rrd86opIE08_zz1pCxopvXhoNUsfy-UdgX4FN-1hdCxAlQZ3S0qjwpfKRX6ix3PvSPGwI5bJNeOq_Cib4Opw-xWjVSZGcwhiJi_JQ64YbxSA9IQXHQrBnYbRWri_gJbH/s1000/IMG_3783.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="583" data-original-width="1000" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrL87bmzSxFfHtMIf8M5amgqFXJtzjPLG76PEqbOBM-EAUfsbkSP98b65Rrd86opIE08_zz1pCxopvXhoNUsfy-UdgX4FN-1hdCxAlQZ3S0qjwpfKRX6ix3PvSPGwI5bJNeOq_Cib4Opw-xWjVSZGcwhiJi_JQ64YbxSA9IQXHQrBnYbRWri_gJbH/w400-h234/IMG_3783.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mount of the Holy Cross (1873 W.H. Jackson)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNin4WiZ9ktW6bffP5i9_B2cDqsB5w4dIKZQC8kL3B-xAWo8mQizTPpjoSBRaR7j3al5JCttQIz21f4Q8vZOrKNgRbOp09q0pEkV_kXqc8JX9c5sgQiKpW4IipyoktzLAg5IS8qWA2g_CFoGsXNvnjSuUoJ3dzmgRN0Ya9P4fxeHPXvIIj34blW9AO/s1280/P1110195.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNin4WiZ9ktW6bffP5i9_B2cDqsB5w4dIKZQC8kL3B-xAWo8mQizTPpjoSBRaR7j3al5JCttQIz21f4Q8vZOrKNgRbOp09q0pEkV_kXqc8JX9c5sgQiKpW4IipyoktzLAg5IS8qWA2g_CFoGsXNvnjSuUoJ3dzmgRN0Ya9P4fxeHPXvIIj34blW9AO/w400-h241/P1110195.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Sadly, a rock slide eventually buried one of the gullies of the cross and the mountain’s popularity began to wane. By 1950 the area had lost its monument status which reminds us that we live in a forever changing world. For that reason, we should live today like it’s our last day on Earth. At the base of the Holy Cross Mountain is a lake known as the bowl of tears. However, as things are always changing, in 1980 congress designated this area the Holy Cross Wilderness. </span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b>…an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain. An area of wilderness is further defined to mean in this Act an area of undeveloped Federal land retaining its primeval character…</b></i></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: right;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;">— Wilderness Act of 1964</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNjtxtkz64k6wGPDa1gzvZxGWqyQo_d3A8elcbEiatv2kOoul6k8XXBb7cOmtGqtI64s-dP8_BmLsS258BT9XqRpe2qsirUUCUKC3aSiG-TGRX5AuJr03mCjojfldURtxPsECytpPfvt0QTXmR1D0ZCVszxqLVTud0dCUmBIcp0sw2NRKpyspEofIG/s1280/P1110169.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNjtxtkz64k6wGPDa1gzvZxGWqyQo_d3A8elcbEiatv2kOoul6k8XXBb7cOmtGqtI64s-dP8_BmLsS258BT9XqRpe2qsirUUCUKC3aSiG-TGRX5AuJr03mCjojfldURtxPsECytpPfvt0QTXmR1D0ZCVszxqLVTud0dCUmBIcp0sw2NRKpyspEofIG/w400-h286/P1110169.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>American globeflower</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I continued running through the wilderness and soon came upon Beaver Lake which is a popular day hike destination for tourists staying at Beaver Creek. The calm clear water is surrounded by pine trees and rocky slopes so I stopped to take a short break. Feeling refreshed, I continued on a gradual uphill grind crossing log bridges and passing by some large piles of rocks. Trees were down; blocking the trail in some parts, so I had to go around, over or under these obstacles. </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjk_rrDFzaan9F_0t2CY30hgPeIs3el2f5MrrFxRjh6jUH0RLDFMrrW3XdiVpx81n_hBBhDeDgPY65n0d3eqTt1qV85IBguWG3WmcjRe9qPcnDSgXFXUKHIA9kQ6j-4J67ugiseIqGHWJ9Lub6Kd2r4eE7GQMJPSzAlG-mcKyEQNcppDGXwhT2fvqf/s1280/P1110473.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjk_rrDFzaan9F_0t2CY30hgPeIs3el2f5MrrFxRjh6jUH0RLDFMrrW3XdiVpx81n_hBBhDeDgPY65n0d3eqTt1qV85IBguWG3WmcjRe9qPcnDSgXFXUKHIA9kQ6j-4J67ugiseIqGHWJ9Lub6Kd2r4eE7GQMJPSzAlG-mcKyEQNcppDGXwhT2fvqf/w400-h300/P1110473.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Beaver Lake</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9hJ1SX2AQkoGZXb5W5Oxj4WJLEmNtCZQieP9XPuJRJ1tqSz0-s8RW5VnHxWtaYIw9opbtJ4zDuhrwfG6RThbLNelxlftfaUICEAZJ2Vq9CuKaEiwqOoaSHSwucvFEMwb5lQZmNZ1cyvNYRfC_yYe7DDirKqHXzZDfb3NmhjpIG8D2uv3YTgmsqQF/s1280/P1110155.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9hJ1SX2AQkoGZXb5W5Oxj4WJLEmNtCZQieP9XPuJRJ1tqSz0-s8RW5VnHxWtaYIw9opbtJ4zDuhrwfG6RThbLNelxlftfaUICEAZJ2Vq9CuKaEiwqOoaSHSwucvFEMwb5lQZmNZ1cyvNYRfC_yYe7DDirKqHXzZDfb3NmhjpIG8D2uv3YTgmsqQF/w400-h241/P1110155.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">The closer I got to the Turquoise lakes the more snow I encountered with some quite deep in areas. I had to walk gingerly over the crust hoping to not break through up to my knees or waste. I used my trekking poles to probe the stability of the snow mounds and to help keep myself upright. Most of the crossings were short, but there was quite a bit of mud in places from the snow melt making it slippery.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXyIqYq4JxNmYnnI1pxa4nF9qe8GHX_ahIAlCfSnpJjA1AFMuYrpkuMzzGdoNgT2pR0xtjCFRdBLHdWOKz5ujpAiPEMseRgU3PtIVHHcBytTr_MR7PQMvTpdLk_TK3591nsxJvIXzfjYPV6EHxmTymkxBq5QmohpisvFb0gOS_2DjF5kOMpfuTkfPY/s1280/P1110186.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXyIqYq4JxNmYnnI1pxa4nF9qe8GHX_ahIAlCfSnpJjA1AFMuYrpkuMzzGdoNgT2pR0xtjCFRdBLHdWOKz5ujpAiPEMseRgU3PtIVHHcBytTr_MR7PQMvTpdLk_TK3591nsxJvIXzfjYPV6EHxmTymkxBq5QmohpisvFb0gOS_2DjF5kOMpfuTkfPY/w400-h286/P1110186.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lower Turquoise Lake</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Soon the trail took me out of the woods into a marshy area where I lost the trail completely. I slogged through the bog and back into the woods where I picked up the trail again. I reached the W. Grouse Creek Trail and was in a very swampy area again. This trail enables you to do a 27 mile loop towards Vail and back to Beaver Creek, but I had no intentions of tackling that feat on this particular day. At this point, I was near the Lower Turquoise Lake, but had to search for a way across the creek. Soon I found a makeshift log bridge, but also had to take a long flying leap in one spot to get to the other side.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8a1_pJYiAAuCD29C_daf_ns7nDHUlOO25rraTlhDzehtLGwtvGJTX8rIVubv5lxHCk2abm6Rv4xOVUmj075t4LNU_SzH1m-5lKRA6djM6ot4SE0e8wz3Qabc1-SS7OTUKAB78M8b8-f70zzAYEh_PlxSBr6C7oL9PxH0tkTr-gk04vnFxMslLGAs/s1280/P1110182.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8a1_pJYiAAuCD29C_daf_ns7nDHUlOO25rraTlhDzehtLGwtvGJTX8rIVubv5lxHCk2abm6Rv4xOVUmj075t4LNU_SzH1m-5lKRA6djM6ot4SE0e8wz3Qabc1-SS7OTUKAB78M8b8-f70zzAYEh_PlxSBr6C7oL9PxH0tkTr-gk04vnFxMslLGAs/w400-h286/P1110182.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">This area was breathtaking with the lake hemmed in by rugged snow covered cliffs on one side. The other side was a boulder dotted meadow surrounded by pines. Fluffy pure clouds drifted by effortlessly in an azure sky while not a sound was heard other than the occasional birdsong. I continued along a marshy trail through a meadow of Mountain marsh marigold flowers and crossed a few more snow mounds. I smelled a campfire and figured someone was camping out here. </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Kh23HQ7ehQK1WLNTN4-8mOFKDb6_8RVJrjRp4PFSoyAr5HWIkctyBlzzb6d4W7fEwuOdFcmCqROVFGbPU2W9bvv36TZR4h9gPy-boC8viHCUklHFXOvfWF3-Mt0qdGgAbAnEsQUyg_E_kr-5E-xuxYtheOVs9yUPTPPyiQU5fyAixQQBu-TRgNjT/s1280/P1110140.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Kh23HQ7ehQK1WLNTN4-8mOFKDb6_8RVJrjRp4PFSoyAr5HWIkctyBlzzb6d4W7fEwuOdFcmCqROVFGbPU2W9bvv36TZR4h9gPy-boC8viHCUklHFXOvfWF3-Mt0qdGgAbAnEsQUyg_E_kr-5E-xuxYtheOVs9yUPTPPyiQU5fyAixQQBu-TRgNjT/w400-h286/P1110140.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>American Globeflower</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv8tFJIdAy-0OWdCIhCnMLEJ6fNMwvb3-jZX24YU13DDhu809IGxV-QCOK041ydjyEII-QUlePTFcYKZsYPvNaAmL7dqWJKmBI37p48L2JpIKjdl_7sow1gMQ1OPYhXnlyLMlBAoxKdGmPWuajOhSLfrj1787Wwo2y-cqrtOlkj5DTIwNzgnBYZc52/s1280/P1110201.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv8tFJIdAy-0OWdCIhCnMLEJ6fNMwvb3-jZX24YU13DDhu809IGxV-QCOK041ydjyEII-QUlePTFcYKZsYPvNaAmL7dqWJKmBI37p48L2JpIKjdl_7sow1gMQ1OPYhXnlyLMlBAoxKdGmPWuajOhSLfrj1787Wwo2y-cqrtOlkj5DTIwNzgnBYZc52/w400-h286/P1110201.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mountain marsh marigold</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I reached the Upper Turquoise lake at 11,300’ elevation which positively had a turquoise hue to it. I started to take some pictures and then I heard a guy yell out, “Hello there!” I said, “Hello, I finally found the lake by following my nose. Is this where the taco truck is, I’m kind of hungry!” He laughed and then I asked him if that was his campfire I smelled. He said “Yes, I’m getting ready to head out soon.” We chatted for a few minutes and then I explored the banks of the lake taking in the view.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0s9ITP-6E6Y3eijzJf9c6Uj0Os6dXGB1mvkTvEMDZF1cuwXYlZjjrthNS_B7bU6CILCvq4BvW2fWXtxVN3VaB4J_EykFazMgvkz8sFtt6OfyR1OQdHC3jgVyL7NpUBuMtNvuh95XT44zYai8XBVM09TuVtuo_QlQwSeC1CuLFQcqL4vmZYuysp15/s1280/P1110164.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0s9ITP-6E6Y3eijzJf9c6Uj0Os6dXGB1mvkTvEMDZF1cuwXYlZjjrthNS_B7bU6CILCvq4BvW2fWXtxVN3VaB4J_EykFazMgvkz8sFtt6OfyR1OQdHC3jgVyL7NpUBuMtNvuh95XT44zYai8XBVM09TuVtuo_QlQwSeC1CuLFQcqL4vmZYuysp15/w400-h300/P1110164.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Upper Turquoise Lake</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">High barren rock walls were streaked with snow. A few avalanche protected outcrops had pine trees and other vegetation growing on them, but most of the talus slopes were stripped of all growth. A cool breeze blew across the surface of the lake carrying the scent of refreshing mountain air. There’s a certain feel to areas like this that cannot be experienced anywhere else. Maybe it’s the negative air ions created by the forest and melting snow moving across rock. I don’t know. After recharging my soul, I headed back the way I came. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUg0jRyuk3JCEzCev1y-XywIPZZBbLC83leAgpWfxFP0QcVg4SDdcr-ikIV9YqZQzNtiEQzkssGYhY2_bpQKWDvjFovBwjBHAihyk1FNpztXIlGKZKaO1TQuSjCGPPt-BNfOpO11SXMVWlhuS101lW8xyJQG0HKbhvJCNBe0d1UqmyU2Dz8C8imjr5/s1280/P1110176.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUg0jRyuk3JCEzCev1y-XywIPZZBbLC83leAgpWfxFP0QcVg4SDdcr-ikIV9YqZQzNtiEQzkssGYhY2_bpQKWDvjFovBwjBHAihyk1FNpztXIlGKZKaO1TQuSjCGPPt-BNfOpO11SXMVWlhuS101lW8xyJQG0HKbhvJCNBe0d1UqmyU2Dz8C8imjr5/w400-h300/P1110176.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I was able to keep a faster pace going back since I was running mostly downhill except where I had creek crossings or downed trees to negotiate. The lower I descended the hotter it became and I ran out of water. Luckily I had my Mini Sawyer water filter, so I stopped at Beaver Lake to fill up my bottles. I made it back into town where my gps watch read 16 miles with 3700’ ascent in 6.5 hours. That was a challenging run in a beautiful wilderness, but the out-and-back hike to Beaver Lake is only about 6.5 miles roundtrip from the Beaver Creek Village.</span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The second day of my trip, I took off through the ski area trail system and skirted the village. I climbed up on the Aspen Glade Trail where I had great views of the village nestled in the valley below. I reached a windy dirt road that took me higher, where I reached Paulie’s Plunge Trail which leads down the mountain towards the community of Eagle Vail. A Forest Service sign warned of a trail closure until Jun 20th to reduce stress on calving elk. I looked at my phone for the date and realized that today was opening day of hiking season in Colorado —Jun 21st, summer solstice! </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK82GrzQXhY8WqZeuyuG-NnmI8wGdihj_JQlQQqe-7rW_bdRng5Exgg-Sj_c31gzr2T1UIEGFJMN9hqBbpT9fyhlxOYzYK9KoEGNk9InRT7TkRhBfnmcdT0k7FI42mvvNXe2AhSqub-o0GSPl2eJWJcjt52metY4dhuXCsphP6ZEuWsHXcUfM2mik5/s1280/P1110238.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK82GrzQXhY8WqZeuyuG-NnmI8wGdihj_JQlQQqe-7rW_bdRng5Exgg-Sj_c31gzr2T1UIEGFJMN9hqBbpT9fyhlxOYzYK9KoEGNk9InRT7TkRhBfnmcdT0k7FI42mvvNXe2AhSqub-o0GSPl2eJWJcjt52metY4dhuXCsphP6ZEuWsHXcUfM2mik5/w300-h400/P1110238.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I went around the locked gate and headed down a series of switchbacks where I reached Stone Creek. A narrow bridge with a handrail spanned the creek where I stopped to take in the view and sound of a cascade pouring through moss covered rocks. I continued on and started to see a lot of hikers and dog walkers, so knew I was getting close to town. I was searching for a new trail that wasn’t on any of my maps, but I had read about online. I missed a turn and ended up on Eagle Vail Trail, but realized my mistake by looking at my Avenza Map App on my phone. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtoRElVqxlWsaJUcRUmcJK3Xwob-IzJHku2o92KV5M6YqqZIlBXEhmbepxB9M733KXCOT1YSW4eAlvcKAIcXQhNDlRzxxZwG-pSK_uUNwI4jiALtBFwi-c13SZ89fY-g8Wo7HNWcFP6ph-akibQ_3gsqXa11-ncYbJeAFae7IqvpnhgzKCkAsjjUtT/s1280/IMG_3711.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtoRElVqxlWsaJUcRUmcJK3Xwob-IzJHku2o92KV5M6YqqZIlBXEhmbepxB9M733KXCOT1YSW4eAlvcKAIcXQhNDlRzxxZwG-pSK_uUNwI4jiALtBFwi-c13SZ89fY-g8Wo7HNWcFP6ph-akibQ_3gsqXa11-ncYbJeAFae7IqvpnhgzKCkAsjjUtT/w400-h300/IMG_3711.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Eventually I found the </span><a href="https://www.eaglevail.org/Portals/0/Everkrisp%20Trail%20Information.pdf" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Everkrisp</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> trail that was just built in 2019 so named for the lettuce company that once grew produce on this hillside. This area was the lettuce capital of the US in the 1920s and 30s because ice from the mountain was available to keep the lettuce cold while it was transported by railroad. This trail is part of the 27 mile loop that includes Whiskey Creek, Mountain Meadows, W. Grouse Creek and Turquoise Lake trails. </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Qj9v_JGP24iUUQfq6uP_McnvisMtZWdfQY0VtVAcZ9ecqF80fF90jjZ6XeAPvn1_iUIgafiwLeoJe7pVPWJfTZHjLbsuePeCJ8WfWdLtWgcop_qS62y73v1tznXfyG4s9sCW6LRu0L4xKj1peFkK_MS2MxKgj0lR0Ewbz1SjxHnNGnXIXPiqPbpj/s1280/P1110248.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Qj9v_JGP24iUUQfq6uP_McnvisMtZWdfQY0VtVAcZ9ecqF80fF90jjZ6XeAPvn1_iUIgafiwLeoJe7pVPWJfTZHjLbsuePeCJ8WfWdLtWgcop_qS62y73v1tznXfyG4s9sCW6LRu0L4xKj1peFkK_MS2MxKgj0lR0Ewbz1SjxHnNGnXIXPiqPbpj/w400-h241/P1110248.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Stone Creek, Paulie's Plunge Trail<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie-1r_uwAummQwEu9ax-qzRkT_IdtBd9CJQbx2KrkET7Cjg0149QbaXqZMYAa_QgGtIvjHuJv9P5natsrv8u2BCILW_XSFt2u2AohLoiB8qPNRoZ8XfUREg5cHFD71g1O0iK00RBVoDFB9y17s9-PdODKi3t7akeNAnU1RM3QZsP2whD8qFGATtLfc/s1280/P1110272.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie-1r_uwAummQwEu9ax-qzRkT_IdtBd9CJQbx2KrkET7Cjg0149QbaXqZMYAa_QgGtIvjHuJv9P5natsrv8u2BCILW_XSFt2u2AohLoiB8qPNRoZ8XfUREg5cHFD71g1O0iK00RBVoDFB9y17s9-PdODKi3t7akeNAnU1RM3QZsP2whD8qFGATtLfc/w286-h400/P1110272.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Western wild rose bud</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I headed up the trail and soon discovered that there were a lot of trees down. Trail maintenance crews had not been able to get out there yet to clear the paths. I climbed over and under a few trees and then reached a section where 4 or 5 were down across the trail. It was time for me to head back anyway so I turned around. I climbed back up Pauli’s Plunge and sat beside the creek for a little while before continuing on. I looped around the village finishing my 12 mile run in over four hours with 2800’ of ascent.</span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Paulie's Plunge </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Stone Creek: </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="576" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/RE2RDRnr2nM" title="Stone Creek, Near Vail, CO" width="324"></iframe></p><div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The third day, I ran the Eastern Hillside Trail which is mostly an equestrian route for guided horseback riders. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be on it or not, but figured I’d get out of the way if the horse train came along. I had a hard time following the trail in places because there were a lot of social trails coming up from housing areas below. Again, I used my map app to stay on course.</p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhinA6Soc8dpZAmkK4eU_gY6VgvxC5ZKc2iE1scDt1pDIaVGJGTLaKTsOJqME17-pNZ7TIwmnE7aBUNp2qjDbvNb39CjfinZrAZwFjOZaJqIuCayXF6DPA6VLciBsrtrL8VSGQ6IySXkfiPuEhS-QjRCpoBR6AuUdJN2wuzAEzGbfrZKN9bXJW6SS1H/s1280/P1110329.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhinA6Soc8dpZAmkK4eU_gY6VgvxC5ZKc2iE1scDt1pDIaVGJGTLaKTsOJqME17-pNZ7TIwmnE7aBUNp2qjDbvNb39CjfinZrAZwFjOZaJqIuCayXF6DPA6VLciBsrtrL8VSGQ6IySXkfiPuEhS-QjRCpoBR6AuUdJN2wuzAEzGbfrZKN9bXJW6SS1H/w400-h286/P1110329.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Wild blue flax</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrJVuvE5weKDQt1mJw5WkzTlhIv-A9DVoiLqfoL9G-Lt7_0Br9aRxdnJeCd7u0gBUl3h8sw-_0ZqD9sXnl8h2QNyFLhqdFJd2L2DFSmgGvzBDcX-Z6GIYbFohmLDcbJW_F2WShePQhUV0Qb_SiP2BwQL9_Rxf4vsa-9GN6624Ew8X2pzGvzuMF_5yV/s1280/P1110339.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrJVuvE5weKDQt1mJw5WkzTlhIv-A9DVoiLqfoL9G-Lt7_0Br9aRxdnJeCd7u0gBUl3h8sw-_0ZqD9sXnl8h2QNyFLhqdFJd2L2DFSmgGvzBDcX-Z6GIYbFohmLDcbJW_F2WShePQhUV0Qb_SiP2BwQL9_Rxf4vsa-9GN6624Ew8X2pzGvzuMF_5yV/w286-h400/P1110339.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Scarlet gilia</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">This trail was really beautiful taking me through open areas dominated by sage brush. The wildflowers were abundant so I had a hard time running for want of stopping to take photos. I must have photographed a dozen different varieties of blooms. I had great views of the village below and the lush green ski slopes on the other side of the valley. There were a few short steep climbs, but mostly I ran along the contour of the mountain slopes eventually reaching grassy meadows and groves of aspen. </p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jh_1JpRXu-riL65wbMghq2eqA-MossRn9Qfd2Wj5f6X6AM1eFMQRfdXXkU5JN-Xq3uoece9fReQ59HhuJJMlZlmVCC8rSyk4wji_uDiGBboY6z_cA9di5jEU0xOWRBoPC5ZVMJJ9mSPhiaBZiymaMXSQpyOW6EPQcJlYKfNEeyIbpk7WS1jKXWHJ/s1280/P1110343.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jh_1JpRXu-riL65wbMghq2eqA-MossRn9Qfd2Wj5f6X6AM1eFMQRfdXXkU5JN-Xq3uoece9fReQ59HhuJJMlZlmVCC8rSyk4wji_uDiGBboY6z_cA9di5jEU0xOWRBoPC5ZVMJJ9mSPhiaBZiymaMXSQpyOW6EPQcJlYKfNEeyIbpk7WS1jKXWHJ/w400-h286/P1110343.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Umbrella Desert Buckwheat</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinv3CM-ae0ABhW5URFIJY00_f3ElH0cuFolmpBwZj621uXXcnBkHYbBEx24OuK3iUyJD5hUNVc0L1fhQN57FFxd2-cBnW0VCOFJskcd6xaJmHsW-xAZMcalBNz8UGIZm9r8zXxop-_7TIWQ68cypQbq_R6QupyeFmW687rRZWJtroUbJC1WX2ADfro/s1280/P1110363.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinv3CM-ae0ABhW5URFIJY00_f3ElH0cuFolmpBwZj621uXXcnBkHYbBEx24OuK3iUyJD5hUNVc0L1fhQN57FFxd2-cBnW0VCOFJskcd6xaJmHsW-xAZMcalBNz8UGIZm9r8zXxop-_7TIWQ68cypQbq_R6QupyeFmW687rRZWJtroUbJC1WX2ADfro/w286-h400/P1110363.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Blue and white lupine</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">I made it back to the ski area boundary where I took Allie’s Way and Overlook Trails to the other side of the valley passing several ski slopes on the way. A mountain biker was coming the other way and stopped to alert me of a bear cub that he saw higher on the mountain. “If there’s a cub then you know theres a momma!”, he warned. Well I wasn’t going that high on the mountain on this particular morning, but I made sure to make a lot of noise with my trekking poles. </p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdR6fK1zSAZm20Z04VJXMjHYhTsVPKXrzFRxvrDB10uo93LNBjF0n_pnoFtmTqEz3O7VC0Z1aDWdYt6tVlx6N5BadicNe8-wsmAD6hNLbiFVyFr_xrpocTRfXdQlHlrSFVVcJ9_iHWCuUnUIWSxnOGPs3US3KE9Rj7lVhFRmMGK5EP6yIrpbHeJVVQ/s1280/P1110303.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdR6fK1zSAZm20Z04VJXMjHYhTsVPKXrzFRxvrDB10uo93LNBjF0n_pnoFtmTqEz3O7VC0Z1aDWdYt6tVlx6N5BadicNe8-wsmAD6hNLbiFVyFr_xrpocTRfXdQlHlrSFVVcJ9_iHWCuUnUIWSxnOGPs3US3KE9Rj7lVhFRmMGK5EP6yIrpbHeJVVQ/w286-h400/P1110303.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Vetch</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">I had been running with my bear bell attached to my pack and had been carrying bear spray all week, just in case. Making noise is one easy thing we can do to help warn bears that we’re entering their territory which can help keep them safe. Wait, WHAT! That’s right; when a bear attacks a human they are hunted by wildlife officials so it is always better to avoid any bear encounters. Unfortunately, a woman was killed and partially eaten last year near Durango, CO according to the <a href="https://www.denverpost.com/2021/05/03/colorado-bear-attack/" target="_blank">Denver Post</a>.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Once a bear injures or consumes humans, we will not risk the chance that this could happen to someone else…We humanely euthanize that bear because of the severity of the incident.” <span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">—</span>CPW Southwest Region manager Cory Chick</p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHYx7cQkctRNRQYRjGT2cTqP4WjB9A00-Z6mKOpx9Vv_k1FyNawNd8xq2JgMFJlz8flbfKnnFgQvUo8uLEGTF-5uHx81Vs5SVqlYNXh6fLqfxS3eWbBWwDTs5dB95qeUnAGIbXx9UaxLXvwofuqDzheyYuqLz_a2M84nNNQDn-dDmdvudSqiSSUC6h/s1280/P1110523.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHYx7cQkctRNRQYRjGT2cTqP4WjB9A00-Z6mKOpx9Vv_k1FyNawNd8xq2JgMFJlz8flbfKnnFgQvUo8uLEGTF-5uHx81Vs5SVqlYNXh6fLqfxS3eWbBWwDTs5dB95qeUnAGIbXx9UaxLXvwofuqDzheyYuqLz_a2M84nNNQDn-dDmdvudSqiSSUC6h/w400-h241/P1110523.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Colorado blue columbine</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">I continued on my run and was spooked by any noises that I heard. A jet overhead sounded just like a bear growling. I continued to hear another unidentified noise over and over again. Was it a bear huffing or was I just hearing things? Eventually I figured out that it was the ski lift overhead that was taking tourists up the mountain to the Spruce Saddle Lodge Restaurant. I was certainly on edge, but made it past the ski slopes and back into the forest. Soon I heard a rustling in the leaves and brush; sure it was a bear ready to attack me. I stopped in my tracks and then a large chicken sized bird popped out. She was grey and mottled with tinges of white with a sort of orange eyebrow. I knew this bird as a Dusky grouse because I had seen them in the Jemez Mountains in New Mexico and also in the Big Horns in Wyoming.</p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwQzInXe-wrTnX3Tm1Pt8as246MvPnE2xYevYWqjkdvWMfPjGyFYZlRi7WE70Acz61O1xFSAKncwsJqIgyf4rwJzTC3Op7VbRrXE_dUivq6xILisQ7-VEi0kwb9qRMLPCnbmoVKIeFQ7biEREkRGDa1K4HNTH2Pz2xwfRzxgi3p6Vd5VYf5RRT35DX/s1280/P1110380.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwQzInXe-wrTnX3Tm1Pt8as246MvPnE2xYevYWqjkdvWMfPjGyFYZlRi7WE70Acz61O1xFSAKncwsJqIgyf4rwJzTC3Op7VbRrXE_dUivq6xILisQ7-VEi0kwb9qRMLPCnbmoVKIeFQ7biEREkRGDa1K4HNTH2Pz2xwfRzxgi3p6Vd5VYf5RRT35DX/w286-h400/P1110380.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Dusky grouse</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">Eventually I picked up Dally ski road where I heard a high pitched chirp that sounded like a bird. I knew better though, and started looking around for a rodent known as a “whistle pig”. I saw a large pile of boulders and figured there was a Yellow-bellied marmot giving his warning call that a predator was in the vicinity. Sure enough, I soon spotted the designated lookout, who was perched atop the rock pile warning all the others in the colony of my presence. I irritated this poor creature by taking some photos and video and then took off down the road. I finished this nine mile run by cruising into the village center where tourists and shoppers were strolling about. </p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYq_WdHr8Z2wEbCm7gbIo8u5RyyjkBAHDAudHelzHl7gOMwSsHpSfzL2pYtYNe7yPcsc8UIX8j8zm4qOpydxeQZt2wEmf8zQwbH-9V0w-Xo56PRp19s-rt7Zg65PF4tP0pbHq-Z3YYeKLvT4nR2TUfozSGD0X2BFgJcRnszMb8TwDNB8Nlqma4tRw/s1280/P1110389.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYq_WdHr8Z2wEbCm7gbIo8u5RyyjkBAHDAudHelzHl7gOMwSsHpSfzL2pYtYNe7yPcsc8UIX8j8zm4qOpydxeQZt2wEmf8zQwbH-9V0w-Xo56PRp19s-rt7Zg65PF4tP0pbHq-Z3YYeKLvT4nR2TUfozSGD0X2BFgJcRnszMb8TwDNB8Nlqma4tRw/w286-h400/P1110389.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yellow-bellied marmot:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="576" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/S-HmPthJ1YQ" title="Yellow-bellied marmot" width="324"></iframe></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial;">By my fourth day, I was ready to tackle the mountain, so I set out early to climb to the top of the ski runs. I was on the trail at 6:00am and took the Overlook Trail, climbing with my trekking poles. It was pretty steep and had some high wooden steps that were built to help ease the ascent. After a while, I reached a rock outcrop with a steep cliff below where I saw tremendous views of the mountains and ski slopes. Far in the distance was a large bald area with remnants of snow. </span></div><div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ8315RizqpeYBPRRn5RiD1pOzea0Q5y0AWkxx9PA8MsLjLSC734R0cHZ6eHF209kCYz7haChz4wmD7-QzCszgQjdmSupEuathghi0wOhd3qw8DYHlzScocydDy7Gw_NPozyrm4EfTm29ZTDTAgUh2plyGdnkAPBSe1-LrtagFPlHvNoUFmrg-xRco/s1280/P1110398.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ8315RizqpeYBPRRn5RiD1pOzea0Q5y0AWkxx9PA8MsLjLSC734R0cHZ6eHF209kCYz7haChz4wmD7-QzCszgQjdmSupEuathghi0wOhd3qw8DYHlzScocydDy7Gw_NPozyrm4EfTm29ZTDTAgUh2plyGdnkAPBSe1-LrtagFPlHvNoUFmrg-xRco/w300-h400/P1110398.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">I navigated my way up the spine of the rocky outcrop losing the trail in a few places, but never straying too far off course. Eventually I ran through some aspen forest and then popped out into a high meadow where I climbed up to the developed ski area at 10,200’ elevation. This is where tourists are dropped off after taking the main express ski lift up to the Spruce Saddle Restaurant. While it took me an hour and forty minutes to reach this spot, they arrive in about 8-9 minutes. During ski season, they can then pick up another lift that takes them even higher on the mountain. For hikers, a dirt road known as PHQ Hillclimb leads to the top.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKlW57oSeSXvSCrqRdoGxa0HG6WWv8bJRu9qECwEwo_aIVaWyCNFnwu1N5aw5oiCmH8GzsAmYNJMsLHa186x9Nchz-BXWeE-q4joeBec3JIOt81r5DgD_yen2dcWFg2KQ8rYkqz50f6xkPqlUIEsxLObZMGxa__293hj7n4mL18R7jDdcFrSh4VSNU/s1280/P1110404.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKlW57oSeSXvSCrqRdoGxa0HG6WWv8bJRu9qECwEwo_aIVaWyCNFnwu1N5aw5oiCmH8GzsAmYNJMsLHa186x9Nchz-BXWeE-q4joeBec3JIOt81r5DgD_yen2dcWFg2KQ8rYkqz50f6xkPqlUIEsxLObZMGxa__293hj7n4mL18R7jDdcFrSh4VSNU/w286-h400/P1110404.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">The area was completely deserted when I arrived before 8:00am and the lift wasn’t running yet. I had the whole place to myself. I started up this road with ski slopes all around me and saw what looked like a large mammal far in the distance beside the road. The sun was low in front of me so I couldn't see very well. I watched for a while and there was no movement, so I thought maybe it was just a snow making machine or some other ironmongery for maintaining the slopes or whatnot. </p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEq8Bljcnos_vp0QrKCBAtNhdjxDteHmB8B4AltUUUMpD8TVhJpsNb83sWSZIMrmkyrx6SXauq3hk9_YwE7yfEizwE6rr9DqNc9ivmQk3buu8DjwAvx5wuMxbGYg9LtoqxIzQLZTPxkVzXpEAYCEuHqqvrauLslrCcd0tBx1wGD_j9YMfv-i9HS54/s1280/P1110429.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEq8Bljcnos_vp0QrKCBAtNhdjxDteHmB8B4AltUUUMpD8TVhJpsNb83sWSZIMrmkyrx6SXauq3hk9_YwE7yfEizwE6rr9DqNc9ivmQk3buu8DjwAvx5wuMxbGYg9LtoqxIzQLZTPxkVzXpEAYCEuHqqvrauLslrCcd0tBx1wGD_j9YMfv-i9HS54/w400-h241/P1110429.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Spruce Saddle Lodge and Restaurant</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">Soon this animal started to move though, and was slowly lumbering along the side of the road towards me. Sure enough it was a bear; luckily pretty far away. It stopped and we watched each other for a minute where it didn’t seem too bothered by my presence. I backed up and moved up onto a ski slope to give it plenty of space. I unclipped the safety thingy on my bear spray canister and just waited there while snapping a few pictures. The bear continued towards me for a bit and then veered off the road into a small patch of woods. I didn’t feel like I was in any danger so I went downslope on the opposite side of the road of the bear and slowly made my way past it. I didn’t see it again and figured I was in the clear. I decided to continue to the top of the mountain knowing that the lift would be running soon and maintenance trucks would be driving up the road. I believe my presence was the bear’s cue to go to bed.</p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3luVJa3gQG_ZjMsmWjaeVec3x5rl64gxXfyrNbLIskHOk7Bwt_lSMN_jFdwpMRKhoMV7MGLM-fap11FsNY1X5Dk8jffNRn8-IMDrqXTzPJX7dfXMrPN1YJlaj5n4eaXSa8BxCgIeYilzazwWFUiU8UTScpUJijr77zKhqaCeCbpAxCnk1Ya-e6Xpl/s1280/P1110425.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3luVJa3gQG_ZjMsmWjaeVec3x5rl64gxXfyrNbLIskHOk7Bwt_lSMN_jFdwpMRKhoMV7MGLM-fap11FsNY1X5Dk8jffNRn8-IMDrqXTzPJX7dfXMrPN1YJlaj5n4eaXSa8BxCgIeYilzazwWFUiU8UTScpUJijr77zKhqaCeCbpAxCnk1Ya-e6Xpl/w400-h286/P1110425.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hello bear!</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">I continued on the gradual uphill climb and was even able to run parts of it. I had great views of Avon, CO below and the snow streaked Gore mountain chain in the distance. A few work trucks passed me along the way. In about an hour I made it to the top of the Birds of Prey and Raptor ski runs, the latter being a World Cup downhill course. There was a ski patrol shack flying an American flag with a patio and picnic table so I stopped to eat a snack and put on sunscreen. After taking in the view I took off running down the road. I made it back to Spruce Saddle Lodge where I went inside to fill up my water bottles. </p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqH9atfnyMl9HZKnDyqFWuntrgqRBpNgwqheJTr1OdhM77RGLp_YgiQokryCutgw_dA5oNFHCuUyP9LlN5b0gLgJ3FfSu-MDQRbPHA1rNojQC6rU49xp0uHY5DFH46k_605CBvoyWWNsARYIKHQn3EKM9zddt2KxD7A2lAE8Y3PYftWVJXvhUhIunV/s1280/P1110450.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqH9atfnyMl9HZKnDyqFWuntrgqRBpNgwqheJTr1OdhM77RGLp_YgiQokryCutgw_dA5oNFHCuUyP9LlN5b0gLgJ3FfSu-MDQRbPHA1rNojQC6rU49xp0uHY5DFH46k_605CBvoyWWNsARYIKHQn3EKM9zddt2KxD7A2lAE8Y3PYftWVJXvhUhIunV/w400-h241/P1110450.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bJilP7NJ5S5orMvUSBlMa5B5pd3I36JGz7Nwd8LDIt2sK5ks0cI2-Izsh2v6UWEB62dDwALPIQTNzPl-cYSnSsYIsIaWbmC-irf6xVO3Mpdk79xNediAW8xq_xoikaUYCUrjpIp3Wsi5DfPXXQS0zpHe5Qxlpi6EX6pMxqUFKyEtNs_Zoejik18P/s1280/P1110440.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1280" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bJilP7NJ5S5orMvUSBlMa5B5pd3I36JGz7Nwd8LDIt2sK5ks0cI2-Izsh2v6UWEB62dDwALPIQTNzPl-cYSnSsYIsIaWbmC-irf6xVO3Mpdk79xNediAW8xq_xoikaUYCUrjpIp3Wsi5DfPXXQS0zpHe5Qxlpi6EX6pMxqUFKyEtNs_Zoejik18P/w400-h283/P1110440.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">I wanted to get in 20 miles and was only at mile 9, so I decided to take the Royal Elk Trail, which cuts across the ski slopes, to Turquoise Lake Trail. I climbed up to Beaver Lake and sat by the shore and took a snack break. I was pretty hot and beat by this point, but luckily most my trip home would be downhill. I got some more miles on Village-to-Village Trail and then traversed the ski slopes again to finish on Aspen Glade. I finished in over six hours with 4300’ of ascent.</p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5HMloWU3DTGg8QSmSZ5IGL4cwuae_gYQuhq9_HKQfIZUHnRNzvAUaRKW5xOyAF41GhBz41BBKU4LV0B9Pr4Lbz8cPdOWJIifVV3owzaM1_IR0K4mMId-Q0GLXkG3yuGkhpNsvDFKR3tG9LhTuEiU_ode4NpsIg7cp7rl_3THdNCY_o02WAJRgaztT/s1280/P1110454.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5HMloWU3DTGg8QSmSZ5IGL4cwuae_gYQuhq9_HKQfIZUHnRNzvAUaRKW5xOyAF41GhBz41BBKU4LV0B9Pr4Lbz8cPdOWJIifVV3owzaM1_IR0K4mMId-Q0GLXkG3yuGkhpNsvDFKR3tG9LhTuEiU_ode4NpsIg7cp7rl_3THdNCY_o02WAJRgaztT/w400-h241/P1110454.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gore range</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0sGGZWOUZ5vpQoAdaP5kOgJ62sxcSX32qDF7_-k5gVn0v-hPRfLHrGLNSfW4GUP4T58jJBd9lw0zzdxO-dBroEvoD6YN5n1N4SejUvJoiq4a7UPSjh7ml_sjhIWDAdlFWfGC3df9IrJRLlg9e3pXAEaSZuOU1LdcMvC7QGsOYGt2pP7eAdGoNm9tu/s1280/P1110467.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0sGGZWOUZ5vpQoAdaP5kOgJ62sxcSX32qDF7_-k5gVn0v-hPRfLHrGLNSfW4GUP4T58jJBd9lw0zzdxO-dBroEvoD6YN5n1N4SejUvJoiq4a7UPSjh7ml_sjhIWDAdlFWfGC3df9IrJRLlg9e3pXAEaSZuOU1LdcMvC7QGsOYGt2pP7eAdGoNm9tu/w286-h400/P1110467.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Royal Elk Trail</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">By the fifth day at Beaver Creek I was worn out from running 57 miles in four straight days with almost 13,000’ of elevation gain! I needed a rest, but just couldn’t do it, so I set out for a nice easy run on the Elkhorn Trail. This trail leads down the hill to the town of Avon along the Eagle River. I started on the Lost Buck trail where I watched a deer for a short while and then passed by the backyards of some upscale homes. I crossed a bridge spanning a paved road and soon entered aspen forest with lush ferns lining the trail. It had rained the night before so the forest had a nice smell and the morning was cool. I only went about three miles before turning around. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8QEi8P1qn-umwqk0qfKVzBcB92AaFtdL9g7YuycYo5YgY97SjljdXpXldYs0fy1L1y99ClDJRSbaOOtGOj6phY7NAHS4B6nnJ_3ni2PzWBkDa5nmHt2FYYtjTk9eYIyMZPliR21UEQlt1aYnzzEsfy6dLL-QvM8aWdxQrvqDYzISvruOQJnr9td5/s1280/P1110503.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8QEi8P1qn-umwqk0qfKVzBcB92AaFtdL9g7YuycYo5YgY97SjljdXpXldYs0fy1L1y99ClDJRSbaOOtGOj6phY7NAHS4B6nnJ_3ni2PzWBkDa5nmHt2FYYtjTk9eYIyMZPliR21UEQlt1aYnzzEsfy6dLL-QvM8aWdxQrvqDYzISvruOQJnr9td5/w286-h400/P1110503.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">On the way back I heard the chirp of a marmot and watch it scurry into a drainage pipe that went under the road. I went to the other end of the pipe and waited patiently to see if it would emerge if I was patient enough. He was at the end of the pipe watching my every move knowing that he was safe. I tried to get a picture but grass was growing in front of the pipe preventing me from getting a good shot. I made it home in no time and spent the rest of the day resting.</p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZeUNdQmWQluDzkKambKe1mB_Ei8RAxgAo-MQeGrSo1-kHv5fLP4PKuf25bdY0vKfey1M-0UIkp1r46A0nkr3WCffAcFPJSZl1jAAW6RnoR7GbV7f4W1E4H-q_FSHQEDdIeq66uH2GYAcuO1mT3l_DTzQ5__8BIwdhwxxgptghlS0oJH_Ly1dVcbp/s1280/P1110517.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZeUNdQmWQluDzkKambKe1mB_Ei8RAxgAo-MQeGrSo1-kHv5fLP4PKuf25bdY0vKfey1M-0UIkp1r46A0nkr3WCffAcFPJSZl1jAAW6RnoR7GbV7f4W1E4H-q_FSHQEDdIeq66uH2GYAcuO1mT3l_DTzQ5__8BIwdhwxxgptghlS0oJH_Ly1dVcbp/w400-h300/P1110517.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Elkhorn Trail</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">I went for a cup of coffee and walked around town when a storm suddenly rolled in. I ducked into a shop to stay dry and realized that I had made the mistake of entering a high end art gallery. I was a bit nervous and made sure not to inadvertently knock over any Gib Singleton western or religious sculptures. There were all manner of breakable glass vases and other delicate modern artworks in this place. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNgUoXl6odqu3lAcvac0Sg5i8jkVfyroKkX8e0OydpivK7GNaLcuTNj5uryqwjVSjCVqTJoQocYefJrTakC2QIc8UvbhaJ1eeGBZ4k2JXn2E6feGqZ0qv23tsrRZEWIVigw_1wvBJYOynU7gwymdsJu587SCH6SDTqYhn0wWis-q1Hzw-8x-PIYSI_/s1280/P1110498.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNgUoXl6odqu3lAcvac0Sg5i8jkVfyroKkX8e0OydpivK7GNaLcuTNj5uryqwjVSjCVqTJoQocYefJrTakC2QIc8UvbhaJ1eeGBZ4k2JXn2E6feGqZ0qv23tsrRZEWIVigw_1wvBJYOynU7gwymdsJu587SCH6SDTqYhn0wWis-q1Hzw-8x-PIYSI_/w400-h286/P1110498.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I was particularly drawn to some wall sized framed <a href="https://davidyarrow.photography/about/charity/" target="_blank">David Yarrow</a> western themed and wildlife photographs including one with six frosty bison running through snow towards the viewer. I was interested until I saw the $69,000 price tag! Another giant picture featured the real "Wolf of Wall Street" (whoever that is) and was complete with a live wolf in the center surrounded by super models and an office filled with stock brokers; $100 bills and confetti raining down. To his credit, David Yarrow's passion is not only photography, but <span face="ll-unica77, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 16px;">philanthropy and conservation as well. H</span><span face="ll-unica77, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 16px;">is photographs have raised millions for charity in recent years. </span></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Read: <a href="https://www.cnbc.com/2019/12/06/david-yarrows-photo-wolves-of-wall-street-with-belfort-nets-200000.html" target="_blank">‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ photo, with the real Jordan Belfort, sells for $200,000</a></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Well, the storm abated shortly and I was able to get out of there unscathed; without having to pay for anything. Beaver Creek Resort is not only a great place to run, hike and ski, but also a good place to pick up a Gib Singleton <a href="https://www.gibsingletongallery.com/artists/30-gib-singleton/works/236-gib-singleton-wildcatters-at-spindletop/" target="_blank">“Wildcatters at Spindletop”</a> sculpture for that oil tycoon on your Christmas shopping list. </p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;">See you on the Trail</p></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="287" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/cYbOtXYMfYo" title="Beaver Creek, Colorado" width="511"></iframe>
<br /></div><div>Beaver Creek</div></div>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-91341575542482449502022-04-17T06:57:00.002-06:002022-07-09T17:15:11.279-06:00Spiritual Retreat, Grand Canyon R2R2R<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b><span style="color: #0b5394;">… in reality, mistakes are called learning, and the state of no mistake is called nowness. In nowness there is no before or after, no goals, agendas, or fixed direction. Like the meandering river, it twists and turns in accord with circumstances but always knows how to find its way to the great ocean. If you wish to travel like this, you must go alone, not carry any baggage, and trust yourself implicitly…*</span></b></i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>—Daido Roshi </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">These are the words I ponder as I embark on another epic running adventure. It’s around 3 am on a cold morning at the south rim of the Grand Canyon. After spending a restless, shivery night in my tent, I’m about as ready as I’ll ever be. Have I forgotten anything? It’s going to be a long day (and night) and I don’t want to make any mistakes in my steps crossing the grand canyon, TWICE! I take off from the Mather Campground all alone under a dark, star filled sky.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5JyUk3YpLe9RgFwDEvzRksErGFLrag6HI8fI1AKeREAZQMCS7NEQKIp7EwfszhTMvWaJHRY4c54cn_HsEg9TOaulQmdxEnHCbmC0LDBglLdUAuibqCMSdQFIsaX9ghg6lpJEuWMDTLZGsYy4xjKk_U6dYvuQE3knYtzHYCKKBKV1HfNoqnQLXq8SZ/s1280/P1100482.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5JyUk3YpLe9RgFwDEvzRksErGFLrag6HI8fI1AKeREAZQMCS7NEQKIp7EwfszhTMvWaJHRY4c54cn_HsEg9TOaulQmdxEnHCbmC0LDBglLdUAuibqCMSdQFIsaX9ghg6lpJEuWMDTLZGsYy4xjKk_U6dYvuQE3knYtzHYCKKBKV1HfNoqnQLXq8SZ/w400-h241/P1100482.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">In a couple miles I pick up the S. Kaibab trail where I start the plunge down into the heart of Mother Earth. Strong gusts of wind whip up out the canyon and hit me in the face. I switchback down the canyon wall along many terraces made with cedar planks and flat slabs of rock. My feet kick up a fine talcum-like dust that floats down into the beam of my headlamp as I turn each switchback, obscuring my view. My gaze locks onto the oval of light, where I concentrate solely on the trail. Although I can’t see it, I know there’s a precipitous drop just a few feet away, but I dare not look at it. I don’t want to make any mistakes and end up at the bottom of the canyon, so I remain focused and trust myself. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIaMhUxFjyIi5BS7OPIuGbWBn3GAig5XPDjDKuwVtwUqa7p_BhwKI7PVfIfGmaNRf9_OMucjm63RMD3ESoihfALFD83z8D-evgcDwYnLqAQgbvaiJih3vAfE0hXsrHR3iKgvcxcSRUDeAxuRocdBbdko6VCFyBOLtgziXwAvXhCSP6FgJGTW_Q4Qo8/s1280/P1100444.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIaMhUxFjyIi5BS7OPIuGbWBn3GAig5XPDjDKuwVtwUqa7p_BhwKI7PVfIfGmaNRf9_OMucjm63RMD3ESoihfALFD83z8D-evgcDwYnLqAQgbvaiJih3vAfE0hXsrHR3iKgvcxcSRUDeAxuRocdBbdko6VCFyBOLtgziXwAvXhCSP6FgJGTW_Q4Qo8/w400-h286/P1100444.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><a name='more'></a></span>Running down is tricky because some of the steps have deep depressions where mule trains have worn away the tread, causing my feet to suddenly slip into the pit. I avoid the middle part of the terraces where the holes are and opt for the edge or the planks instead. This seems to work, but the constant jarring of the stairs does a number on my back and joints. From the south rim to the canyon floor is a one mile vertical drop, about 5000’, while the climb up to the north rim is almost 6000’. Soon I’m hot so I stop to shed my jacket. I increase my fluids because the high temperature in the canyon is supposed to reach the mid 90s today. </span><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4XS7_PQ1rjofAWE4uQNdo34Bsvnhoeo3a5H6jpYI5qCRotuCDShdvHibkCdtnhTEoTvmYbF8IcAlxFAtYvAKX6TizgfmAyHxotfxoQYtFz4c2kvZpRduQvTjgeAT1b1feLzhrcR2KZ5eP7dPiJ1FLVzNlFRPfexkABrE1x2p1EMATgeq6nSgMQLTo/s1280/P1100669.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4XS7_PQ1rjofAWE4uQNdo34Bsvnhoeo3a5H6jpYI5qCRotuCDShdvHibkCdtnhTEoTvmYbF8IcAlxFAtYvAKX6TizgfmAyHxotfxoQYtFz4c2kvZpRduQvTjgeAT1b1feLzhrcR2KZ5eP7dPiJ1FLVzNlFRPfexkABrE1x2p1EMATgeq6nSgMQLTo/w400-h241/P1100669.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Black Bridge</i></td></tr></tbody></table>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I reach Skeleton Point, a large flat area with a supposed view of the river, but I can’t see anything in the dark. Paths go in all directions made by people looking for the perfect selfie stick angle. I lose the main trail here and spend a few minutes searching for the route down, making sure not to walk off the edge; eventually I find my way.</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In a few hours the sky begins to lighten and I can finally see the canyon, but only a dark silhouette of the prominent buttes, temples and shrines. Zoroaster Temple is the most recognizable because of its pyramid shaped peak. Other formations are named for deities and gods including Buddha, Vishnu, Shiva, Deva, Brahma, Isis, Thor and Apollo.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwgSBkr__va2a9Yv2v8GBFXO_bdJI1rB4aZGt-lUxHEuzSuY9WY80vVLgStzbhFK7dUplrAo9iI5U0o0sH6dX6RtM6PCDsOcI7aDsLaxagTo-oY_ZggA_7upZloJzsKEikxU-ZHo49gD2ePvZfnwHdLoeJYqpdDSrjBAlZ3gwCB1r_eWYGDHlD8a4h/s1280/P1100678.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="961" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwgSBkr__va2a9Yv2v8GBFXO_bdJI1rB4aZGt-lUxHEuzSuY9WY80vVLgStzbhFK7dUplrAo9iI5U0o0sH6dX6RtM6PCDsOcI7aDsLaxagTo-oY_ZggA_7upZloJzsKEikxU-ZHo49gD2ePvZfnwHdLoeJYqpdDSrjBAlZ3gwCB1r_eWYGDHlD8a4h/w400-h300/P1100678.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Zoroaster Temple seen in daylight</i></td></tr></tbody></table><a href="https://www.arizonahighways.com/article/sacred-temples-sacred-place" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Arizona Highways Magazine</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> writes, </span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><i style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>U.S. Army officer, cartographer, geologist and philosopher Clarence Dutton instigated this naming convention on a mapping survey in the 1870s. A worldly man, he noted that the most impressive formations were reminiscent of the ancient religious pagodas found throughout Asia. Greek and Roman mythological figures were also referenced for their epic symbology.</b></i></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In addition, Native Americans, who’ve inhabited this area for centuries, consider the canyon to be sacred. The <a href="https://home.nps.gov/grca/getinvolved/supportyourpark/upload/grcapark-themes.pdf" target="_blank">NPS</a> writes,</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>Many American Indian tribes have close and sacred cultural ties to Grand Canyon, including the Hualapai, the Havasupai, the Hopi, the Kaibab Band of Paiute, the Navajo Nation, the Pueblo of Zuni, the San Juan Southern Paiute, Paiute Indian Tribe of Utah, and the White Mountain Apache. Some of these tribes consider Grand Canyon to be their place of origin/emergence and homeland.</i></b></span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">So, as you can see, the Grand Canyon is the perfect place to experience a spiritual transformation; you can feel the energy of celestial beings as well as the ancestors who came before us. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOUHlCSmYqV5-MrpZ4wPsyFEo83GWuUdrP6oYlgWHzMJQMYohBn-oqUbu-ZAaL5qO4BNM_Qv2AcZxBLCHfThLJ6LvleZGcBbCiFFpvukZ4ED-IH_7v2PLxJ-wS3IN3O1gxS5bFOousLT19YjU9ZOb_b14LOnZPC4scjevmQLY9IwACvqVf-QeUryL/s1280/P1100508.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOUHlCSmYqV5-MrpZ4wPsyFEo83GWuUdrP6oYlgWHzMJQMYohBn-oqUbu-ZAaL5qO4BNM_Qv2AcZxBLCHfThLJ6LvleZGcBbCiFFpvukZ4ED-IH_7v2PLxJ-wS3IN3O1gxS5bFOousLT19YjU9ZOb_b14LOnZPC4scjevmQLY9IwACvqVf-QeUryL/w400-h286/P1100508.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Black Bridge</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Soon I catch up to a group of R2R2R runners and pass them. The sky continues to lighten and I can see a twisty ribbon of trail leading down to the Colorado River. The Black Bridge comes into view, I’m almost to the lowest part of my journey. I stop to snap some pictures and then reach the tunnel that leads to the pedestrian bridge spanning the river. The other group catches up to me so I ask one of them to take my picture on the bridge. We chat for a few minutes and then they take off, heading towards the N. Rim. I dawdle on the bridge for a while soaking up the moment and then stop for some food since I haven’t eaten anything all day. My breakfast of a boiled egg, potatoes and apple slices really hits the spot after my 5000’ descent. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX7e2Wtzi53TMvN8tUd82Oo2H7ltVk9XjfQUGnqqJeBgtLyx8UW3vK2yVkCGbAFP5jyAZcVThhAyl5rhFLaAwh7TKYZA4ZMhB7iSTng3Ay_Ps36r-6KvT7VH-BZMvRii6zzoeLiFVaGjTD1ceDzAQuz_5gDu7sNLJdYuCxkCz5H9lb0y6tUEwq1NYl/s1280/P1100500.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX7e2Wtzi53TMvN8tUd82Oo2H7ltVk9XjfQUGnqqJeBgtLyx8UW3vK2yVkCGbAFP5jyAZcVThhAyl5rhFLaAwh7TKYZA4ZMhB7iSTng3Ay_Ps36r-6KvT7VH-BZMvRii6zzoeLiFVaGjTD1ceDzAQuz_5gDu7sNLJdYuCxkCz5H9lb0y6tUEwq1NYl/w286-h400/P1100500.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I load my pack making sure not to forget anything and then run the sandy river trail. In no time, I turn right on the N.Kaibab Trail and run along Bright Angel Creek. It’s a picturesque scene with deer browsing in a meadow accompanied by the sound of the murmuring brook and morning chorus of birdsong. I arrive at the Phantom Ranch where guests can spend the night after a mule ride into the canyon. I run past a stone and chain corral where mules are chilling before their long ride out. All supplies; food, beverages, and even mail; are delivered by mule train. I stop in front of the ranch headquarters to fill up my water bottles. </span><p></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjak6lyzRLH_amZ-6f3yyoiE2QzfCbMVDDr8-DGyqmANA_HZSqNn7deWcOeY-bMmdLThLWjD11fmfvIavglE_gzcELvgzBNSXy814sPuf0Xszb6XuvbBaKcqRvLk1XMbjqFm__4KsET9RTbB567ik9YirSYk0l08hgIczYGr7eCkAyAcv4qAvZkpFZd/s1280/P1100515.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjak6lyzRLH_amZ-6f3yyoiE2QzfCbMVDDr8-DGyqmANA_HZSqNn7deWcOeY-bMmdLThLWjD11fmfvIavglE_gzcELvgzBNSXy814sPuf0Xszb6XuvbBaKcqRvLk1XMbjqFm__4KsET9RTbB567ik9YirSYk0l08hgIczYGr7eCkAyAcv4qAvZkpFZd/w400-h241/P1100515.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrWiXy7Tk-q8sXRclIrJdbKr_QMUfZDoNf0_EO6oBGUZHnodRhvBwI0mmVkY9wiRGvtS0RgGj5RFrwNdBomKtFpJVeSK9hzpKRY8Xd80uSIobyt6AFzKqH-jWssjyO_x6UZh94Mmj79JUwuSKKxDfsUj1Y0aa-B7T71r7f8ImcR6QBSJ2R2DLt-Z0Q/s1280/P1100518.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="961" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrWiXy7Tk-q8sXRclIrJdbKr_QMUfZDoNf0_EO6oBGUZHnodRhvBwI0mmVkY9wiRGvtS0RgGj5RFrwNdBomKtFpJVeSK9hzpKRY8Xd80uSIobyt6AFzKqH-jWssjyO_x6UZh94Mmj79JUwuSKKxDfsUj1Y0aa-B7T71r7f8ImcR6QBSJ2R2DLt-Z0Q/w400-h300/P1100518.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I continue on my way through the muleteer camp reaching a narrow gorge where I meander along the stream with towering walls above me. I crisscross the creek on the many bridges that have been built and run beside beautiful stone walls that keep the dirt path from washing into the creek. it’s pretty flat here, but I don’t get too excited because I know the climb up to the N. Rim is looming. </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Don’t think about it, just stay in the now</i><span style="font-family: arial;">, I tell myself.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkiFxQYvt2R00Z5GmnRqYNBpSd4BxbCk4nVgBpIvdLEsYaFqIH3-f-8LviNh4FSEEuBhCYm8mHc1KHV1YphnP8ku0jBFCii4vaTPw30Yudoe7b0-giiac9pp_gPbhfrJl57T3bF240V4xUrktmyt0Tf8qFql05m-rYjG328nKaBf4jTbeUvBJmb3gf/s1280/P1100529.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkiFxQYvt2R00Z5GmnRqYNBpSd4BxbCk4nVgBpIvdLEsYaFqIH3-f-8LviNh4FSEEuBhCYm8mHc1KHV1YphnP8ku0jBFCii4vaTPw30Yudoe7b0-giiac9pp_gPbhfrJl57T3bF240V4xUrktmyt0Tf8qFql05m-rYjG328nKaBf4jTbeUvBJmb3gf/w400-h241/P1100529.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7XSUvYCx0pYz4B4OdZsC3XD_2fZF3HVa_yyvgkciDtILw_DlbJDIl0VuFnxPRnfblQNC7dIH2Cvtqo0iJtTiCPT8OsNNv8eLygKtvzpNY0B1I7hzK6mgbFDoTuOVuZfMLJelH5XGKROrd1YxDomWLOVjdQQKCryKKRKBwlrHBrzuVWdXPuhOqeklI/s1280/P1100665.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7XSUvYCx0pYz4B4OdZsC3XD_2fZF3HVa_yyvgkciDtILw_DlbJDIl0VuFnxPRnfblQNC7dIH2Cvtqo0iJtTiCPT8OsNNv8eLygKtvzpNY0B1I7hzK6mgbFDoTuOVuZfMLJelH5XGKROrd1YxDomWLOVjdQQKCryKKRKBwlrHBrzuVWdXPuhOqeklI/w286-h400/P1100665.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div>In about five miles, I reach a direction sign for Ribbon Falls which is on the other side of the main stream —left via stream or right via footbridge. Well, the bridge has since been destroyed by flooding and been removed, so there is really only one way to cross the main stream to visit the falls. This reminds me of the quote at the beginning of this post and a zen <a href="https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/koan" target="_blank">koan</a> I’ve been working on. I ask myself, <i>What is the state without mistakes?</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><br /></i></span>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Here’s the situation:</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;">Zen master Sengmi of Shenshan crossed a river with his dharma brother Dongshan.</b></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b> </b></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>Dongshan: “Don’t make a mistake with your steps and slip into the current.” </b></span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>Shenshan: “If I make a mistake with my steps, then I won’t live to cross the river.”</b></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><br /></b></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>Dongshan: “What is the state without mistakes?”</b></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><br /></b></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>Shenshan: “Crossing the river with the elder.” </b></span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Face-to-face, there is nothing hidden, yet fundamentally, there is no way of explaining it all. No self and no other, then how can we speak of right and wrong? Dongshan and Shenshan are from the same household. Both know well the contents of the kitchen pantry…*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></b></span></i></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>—Daido Roshi </p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i></i><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Staying in nowness, I turn right towards the nonexistent footbridge. The trail is steep taking me up and away from the creek where, pretty soon, I run back down to pick up the trail beside the stream again. I reach Cottonwood Campground where there is a ranger station under a grove of cottonwood trees. Eventually the trail brings me to a water crossing above a waterfall. <i>Don’t make a mistake with your steps and slip into the current!</i> I tell myself. <i>Trust yourself implicitly. </i>S<i>tay in nowness.</i> …<i>no before or after, no goals, agendas, or fixed direction.</i> Fortunately, I make it across without incident. While the water crossing is low this year, in years past it’s been quite high where I almost decided to turn back.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU7iJ8jjvd8-a0PIWLjVEVrQmkClSZEqkQ7fhjv0wk3GzlxPY2Ybi40IEChXVtW6GH0NE_Ec4eQfTbQamIl1oGk3OhF4RY_PRLHR8HDR6p_nYYedpdn5EaSonrmK8AhjyGABVRN9RKPjQ8vShiHTrLi1WC99AarDXLEJ35vqkDLSvs7CgITwJgp6Z4/s1280/P1030221.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU7iJ8jjvd8-a0PIWLjVEVrQmkClSZEqkQ7fhjv0wk3GzlxPY2Ybi40IEChXVtW6GH0NE_Ec4eQfTbQamIl1oGk3OhF4RY_PRLHR8HDR6p_nYYedpdn5EaSonrmK8AhjyGABVRN9RKPjQ8vShiHTrLi1WC99AarDXLEJ35vqkDLSvs7CgITwJgp6Z4/w400-h286/P1030221.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Crossing the river with the elder in 2017</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIXsd2JchvFzyHXSCUVa5n90X0hyTyvlE27gWhP3FuaEm7L5D9cyYCAtgVLlBfIuPncW5kVriwSbWp83nfwTjc_s7EsaIiEWLhNvgweHIfWKK2Le4nItCtcpbdFXIrh1UZvSct6vOh8KoBc6J6SOBnSHaZkLwf5l9fYBAMokpd0-Lr1sIaT8d7-h-l/s1280/P1100552.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIXsd2JchvFzyHXSCUVa5n90X0hyTyvlE27gWhP3FuaEm7L5D9cyYCAtgVLlBfIuPncW5kVriwSbWp83nfwTjc_s7EsaIiEWLhNvgweHIfWKK2Le4nItCtcpbdFXIrh1UZvSct6vOh8KoBc6J6SOBnSHaZkLwf5l9fYBAMokpd0-Lr1sIaT8d7-h-l/w400-h286/P1100552.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cottonwood Campground Ranger Station</i></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, I keep running, crossing another bridge where I see several ribbons of water pouring over the side of a cliff. I make it to the Manzanita Rest House where I fill my water bottles again. This is where the trail leaves the creek and begins the steep climb up to the N. Rim. I pull out my trekking poles to assist in the climb. I pass Roaring Springs where water bursts out of a rectangle in the cliff face creating a series of falls and cascades. All the water for the park comes from this spring and is transported via pump house and a pipeline beneath the trails. </span><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIaUbyqAnq1HhAxzxH6bqB9SUpe9AkTDt5cFkyFMpTf_0w2giAb4PF99d2hS9H2GReVyyfJate6TI0R_NZ-pFTDLF_7WlC866bkIa2T4BIuDmgxj_MRdyT9kS4rP_Bb_qTagjlvGeNqx8etWRVu7XYzL7ADO0VYn4LtpT8KS9f3uYZku3Pz348qjUy/s1280/P1100559.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIaUbyqAnq1HhAxzxH6bqB9SUpe9AkTDt5cFkyFMpTf_0w2giAb4PF99d2hS9H2GReVyyfJate6TI0R_NZ-pFTDLF_7WlC866bkIa2T4BIuDmgxj_MRdyT9kS4rP_Bb_qTagjlvGeNqx8etWRVu7XYzL7ADO0VYn4LtpT8KS9f3uYZku3Pz348qjUy/w400-h300/P1100559.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Roaring Springs</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQSPWFJTqmROswXnfZHYSe74A-45eI8eHMnBA_G7FwqG7cb7a_1YV1H_8BxlTRGxAdFNktuxqzvEOnyuzJ79qDg1rr4n7WFY9lKrEbK9UorZ_NghuCh3yW_RQKOaz0iXsOVIFa6y2YWsw4oKTwBmctNcQBY3LI9NdVWk09g7ImoaEaJRpss4tyT52o/s1280/P1100627.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQSPWFJTqmROswXnfZHYSe74A-45eI8eHMnBA_G7FwqG7cb7a_1YV1H_8BxlTRGxAdFNktuxqzvEOnyuzJ79qDg1rr4n7WFY9lKrEbK9UorZ_NghuCh3yW_RQKOaz0iXsOVIFa6y2YWsw4oKTwBmctNcQBY3LI9NdVWk09g7ImoaEaJRpss4tyT52o/w286-h400/P1100627.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In a while, I realize that I have lost one of my 8oz water bottles that must have fallen out of my waist belt. I still have one more, in addition to my two 15 oz soft flasks in my hydration pack, but It will be a long time before I make it back to Manzanita to refill. The N. Rim is closed and the water is shut off this time of year. I think about going back down, but decide to wait until I return to look for it. My careless mistake, and it’s going to be hot as blazes this afternoon!</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK8I8Rl8hUMxFEnXnK2iy8kIO4soH7W7JlAh3yKKwMAb3cDXXqs057zXMXN4wEuRyAx0_r4KI0_RoYnF3rcjqueSaEZgnYvkef_b2vuytUeh7B_V-16lRaGQZ2y9JJKNW6TuEAMl6dMuKgwvgGFvRKHquZ4uxYDuoGXfenI2Y2IJXx2tdbSyWXgr4s/s1280/IMG_3422.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK8I8Rl8hUMxFEnXnK2iy8kIO4soH7W7JlAh3yKKwMAb3cDXXqs057zXMXN4wEuRyAx0_r4KI0_RoYnF3rcjqueSaEZgnYvkef_b2vuytUeh7B_V-16lRaGQZ2y9JJKNW6TuEAMl6dMuKgwvgGFvRKHquZ4uxYDuoGXfenI2Y2IJXx2tdbSyWXgr4s/w400-h286/IMG_3422.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I slowly slog upwards with towering red cliffs above and below me with scrubby vegetation dotting the hills and juniper and pinyon pines hanging </span><span style="font-family: arial;">precariously </span><span style="font-family: arial;">on the cliff sides</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> by exposed roots. There are many layers of different hues of rock eroded into pinnacles, turrets, hoodoos, and moss covered circular walls. The variety of rock formations is overwhelming at times; the beauty unsurpassable. The climb is tough though, so I occasionally take short breaks to let my lungs and heart catch up. I eat some apples and mandarines to boost my energy. </span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCouclActSsZtznjak7quWB6_IAZXCyeJ6JSOKpppnjTtSqLHcCQt8RGRbskCH4JV3s01_N7rV1DXOIBc5icexePhznYxD7ZInU_mURJn3w9c_Wk7Cfz6K8LOGhyGHKRK-HS0gZDOk5Qk1GdU120Iu97Cd8_qG90yUl2gSzz2zNuXQtn0Vawg2TobD/s1280/P1100613.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCouclActSsZtznjak7quWB6_IAZXCyeJ6JSOKpppnjTtSqLHcCQt8RGRbskCH4JV3s01_N7rV1DXOIBc5icexePhznYxD7ZInU_mURJn3w9c_Wk7Cfz6K8LOGhyGHKRK-HS0gZDOk5Qk1GdU120Iu97Cd8_qG90yUl2gSzz2zNuXQtn0Vawg2TobD/w286-h400/P1100613.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYgplFdJ44noO2b09TZiWZheqQWl2ZvWLu9iRS0tL9h8hbo3gdfrhMG1JhjtacW7H1HX3zkZObVDw18ZuxyDFwRmkbw38qbsuMdf9f29pK5o-CaHQbNadgOgS23VP-gCdn75RcZcj3waxM4h9itHrXm2Hx3T3NtduOlc3vDlewr7-pVT_licClYaKj/s1280/P1100614.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYgplFdJ44noO2b09TZiWZheqQWl2ZvWLu9iRS0tL9h8hbo3gdfrhMG1JhjtacW7H1HX3zkZObVDw18ZuxyDFwRmkbw38qbsuMdf9f29pK5o-CaHQbNadgOgS23VP-gCdn75RcZcj3waxM4h9itHrXm2Hx3T3NtduOlc3vDlewr7-pVT_licClYaKj/w400-h286/P1100614.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I reach a section of very narrow trail with a precarious drop into the abyss below and wonder how far down it is to the bottom. A mistake here would really ruin my morning so I make sure to hug the left side, as close to the soaring wall above me. Rocks litter the trail in places so I watch my footing carefully so I don’t trip and go sailing off the edge. After this hairy adventure, the trail goes down for a bit and crosses a footbridge spanning a wide gorge. After crossing the bridge I continue up the steepest part. I can see the rim, my destination, but there is nothing but cliffs above and all around me. </span><i style="font-family: arial;">How is it possible to get up there!</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> I ask myself. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBeutmd9mO2HfxUMv8z7aBvcyrHHsWh6wDLjxDuH9Q4BNUkI8Z4YecJcEpJgNGbE3fzg8abuWLRrRnhd1dAHmBPVLYHsBEiJz_7wYu6MJrOIqpixFreI4Nrz-WzpkKYYyAcSEeiHL1HCXLNvOBJWB18By8UwuJinbqgS3eWYbHLaNw3HoMYxkHE48_/s1280/P1100582.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBeutmd9mO2HfxUMv8z7aBvcyrHHsWh6wDLjxDuH9Q4BNUkI8Z4YecJcEpJgNGbE3fzg8abuWLRrRnhd1dAHmBPVLYHsBEiJz_7wYu6MJrOIqpixFreI4Nrz-WzpkKYYyAcSEeiHL1HCXLNvOBJWB18By8UwuJinbqgS3eWYbHLaNw3HoMYxkHE48_/w400-h300/P1100582.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I climb and climb while my leg muscles burn with each step, slowly making progress. I reach a rock fall area that was closed, due to trail work, the first time I attempted this journey five years ago. Trail workers were clearing the way and a lot of rocks were soaring down onto the trail below, so I had to turn back before reaching the rim. I came back several years later for a second attempt and, while some rocks were crashing down through the trees here, the trail was open. I had to traverse an unstable pile of rocks that blocked the path, but I was able to get through. On the way back though, the pile shifted wildly and I sent some more rocks tumbling down and over the cliff. </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEtM4lzbFGDtSF27cPw_SAHYeAwVdldeR-oIbMkUG7SeZgho9SW4H1dG3eTu4bCOlxUrLTDiSbi5ZSnCOmJMj24S7jDMth-Y7zW0w1NTNXtuQiqyLcKfXRNihUlHk5ujxkpfse-I6NXZ8BsD1VKgdx8WSCV-V9ZPgqJFutsdgG0Q3jEYLtsyCA0ltn/s1280/P1100588.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEtM4lzbFGDtSF27cPw_SAHYeAwVdldeR-oIbMkUG7SeZgho9SW4H1dG3eTu4bCOlxUrLTDiSbi5ZSnCOmJMj24S7jDMth-Y7zW0w1NTNXtuQiqyLcKfXRNihUlHk5ujxkpfse-I6NXZ8BsD1VKgdx8WSCV-V9ZPgqJFutsdgG0Q3jEYLtsyCA0ltn/w400-h300/P1100588.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Reaching this very spot today, there are just the largest boulders remaining on the trail, and I’m able to use my poles for balance to get over the obstacle. Melting ice above can dislodge “widow-makers” at any time so I move quickly through this area, so I don’t become the subject of the next Grand Canyon news headline. Now I ascend a never ending series of steep switchbacks and reach the Supai Tunnel that has been blasted through bright red rock. On the other side, in the distance is a white cliff streaked with various hues of grey, red, brown and tan topped with a forest of pine trees indicating that I’m getting close to the rim itself.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDndnEwlqvYiIXYF4TuDWg-k-UbaJYwuH5llMcfdjQT5n_lWY-DsfhmNqL3MLITASFvDJ4myGhAmyQ2OmY0lNY9zD_Zk7tIoWPAN211YlHK5rosOO_FCm2AYpXM6uxh99OoinwHasZX5r61qs4it2SBzodQZ6bDwlUsZv6imUHxI5M66bQOI76vEh/s1280/P1100591.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDndnEwlqvYiIXYF4TuDWg-k-UbaJYwuH5llMcfdjQT5n_lWY-DsfhmNqL3MLITASFvDJ4myGhAmyQ2OmY0lNY9zD_Zk7tIoWPAN211YlHK5rosOO_FCm2AYpXM6uxh99OoinwHasZX5r61qs4it2SBzodQZ6bDwlUsZv6imUHxI5M66bQOI76vEh/w286-h400/P1100591.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Supai Tunnel</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I slowly continue upward on another series of switchbacks and reach the Coconino overlook. In the background a snow capped 12,637′ peak looms over the Grand Canyon. </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Doko’oo’sliid</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> (Humphreys Peak) near Flagstaff is the sacred mountain of the west to the Navajo people and is the highest point in Arizona. Many other tribes consider it sacred as well, for this mountain provides life sustaining water to the desert below. The trail is lined with bands of remaining winter snow and a cool breeze brings relief as I continue to sweat my way towards the top.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3PK4021bx1xbGdi-gskU3j-KOJhUQsA0S8xpVFj4Y_QIPMg3k5GxYKi1ruTYCjzKgwEHv8MX8AI_pa0J6ILH3O35unIzHrLUMb5yZIBe0qCfpF51XYxsCByhw9s-2mjCQR_FkkkGgNWe7AfHBwAEV8cIcFl268FI1yzmG-fuxin6GZQuEqjE3CJU/s1280/P1100602.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3PK4021bx1xbGdi-gskU3j-KOJhUQsA0S8xpVFj4Y_QIPMg3k5GxYKi1ruTYCjzKgwEHv8MX8AI_pa0J6ILH3O35unIzHrLUMb5yZIBe0qCfpF51XYxsCByhw9s-2mjCQR_FkkkGgNWe7AfHBwAEV8cIcFl268FI1yzmG-fuxin6GZQuEqjE3CJU/w400-h241/P1100602.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk6W6xMNavplYyEpc6xG_3EyXZ4XAkV5fW8Qym0redS4x_ecfHzK_yHyZjXCHIO1v_snAwygRMT32lcQFOm_u84_o3h3d32xp6n-H8TXusv7AS07Qubjc0t40KXhquljcdcutlFs9ivrfZIPfE1vtwrCYwdylgu-Tb5NTAA3tFguVK0_yhz6w3-I8b/s1280/P1100599.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk6W6xMNavplYyEpc6xG_3EyXZ4XAkV5fW8Qym0redS4x_ecfHzK_yHyZjXCHIO1v_snAwygRMT32lcQFOm_u84_o3h3d32xp6n-H8TXusv7AS07Qubjc0t40KXhquljcdcutlFs9ivrfZIPfE1vtwrCYwdylgu-Tb5NTAA3tFguVK0_yhz6w3-I8b/w400-h241/P1100599.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Humphreys Peak</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Runners are bombing down the trail so I get out of their way as they let gravity propel them into the canyon. “Good job!” they say as they pass. “You’re almost there!”. Yay! I’m almost there, but it doesn’t feel like it, as my heart pounds out of my chest while I suck dry air into my starved lungs. I keep plodding upwards and finally make it to the N. Rim at around 8060’. Runners are hanging out eating and chilling under the trees. There’s still a fair amount of snow up here; this rim is about 1000’ higher in elevation than the S. Rim. I sit down to eat, but bugs swarm me so I take a few pictures and head back down. </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2MudtRzV6JACrl2WPQwWtPrjr6NG82URb-vqp96XO6kHvynQDebEC38YW4jPkPXPMkFoIEYV1sr6g-jZSOWIgUddftKg69zvwF5VzUbAxzxBeOO1gdeHRowqWJ6OZDwiJi85bb3EEF_MiDTyVNo9g8l-TTW50XOyfONY64e5LShYiZkExSXt25inP/s1280/IMG_3428.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2MudtRzV6JACrl2WPQwWtPrjr6NG82URb-vqp96XO6kHvynQDebEC38YW4jPkPXPMkFoIEYV1sr6g-jZSOWIgUddftKg69zvwF5VzUbAxzxBeOO1gdeHRowqWJ6OZDwiJi85bb3EEF_MiDTyVNo9g8l-TTW50XOyfONY64e5LShYiZkExSXt25inP/w400-h286/IMG_3428.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Once back at the Coconino overlook, I stop to eat and apply some sunscreen. It’s high noon and the sun is relentless at high altitude. I make it through the tunnel, traverse the boulder littered trail and cross the bridge. I’m almost out of water, but at least I’m going downhill and the breeze has picked up. In a little more than an hour I’m back where my water bottle went missing; completely on empty. I look around on the trail, but can’t find it. </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Maybe I left it at the rest house.</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> The lower I go, the hotter it becomes, but I make it into Manzanita and again look for my bottle to no avail. I take a big drink while reciting this poem:</span>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>Water comes from high mountain sources.</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>Water runs deep in the Earth.</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>Miraculously, water reaches us and sustains all life.</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>My gratitude is filled to the brim.</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>—Thich Nhat Hanh</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FU0eLWkmuGjeyu3krYGW1Q0CRrJK1LOu70-OOerAy9qZ7MiL4qwyz4sKQmeG_VhWQvAW3drd5uFIgtpkfQsci_Q8w2qRZyjBQjzxtjRiwHjaYv-HUaLyCB0m_ntBY3eRhKnAzAkNe8vdeDLRfhccMoi0gDbMIlytpdImRUM6M5_REdz8fKhhDyCf/s1280/P1100634.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="897" data-original-width="1280" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FU0eLWkmuGjeyu3krYGW1Q0CRrJK1LOu70-OOerAy9qZ7MiL4qwyz4sKQmeG_VhWQvAW3drd5uFIgtpkfQsci_Q8w2qRZyjBQjzxtjRiwHjaYv-HUaLyCB0m_ntBY3eRhKnAzAkNe8vdeDLRfhccMoi0gDbMIlytpdImRUM6M5_REdz8fKhhDyCf/w400-h281/P1100634.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrPT2bkSnFJYmySt57YRIZLfYxhpfMzt9ZDKIZjSmsbPKcAKhu0SaIKFUflkQbA8C8iuYc6KUHVMODhZ2FJs9YMhZTLF_z5Kxgod0jpMD-hy9VhMjentvjhc5Y6J4d6vmN8RRXO39NQKGVVuB-hOX_eo1uonf01rQqJux_QWfrU6Si-80M4E_ZKxg/s1280/P1100632.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrPT2bkSnFJYmySt57YRIZLfYxhpfMzt9ZDKIZjSmsbPKcAKhu0SaIKFUflkQbA8C8iuYc6KUHVMODhZ2FJs9YMhZTLF_z5Kxgod0jpMD-hy9VhMjentvjhc5Y6J4d6vmN8RRXO39NQKGVVuB-hOX_eo1uonf01rQqJux_QWfrU6Si-80M4E_ZKxg/w400-h300/P1100632.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>I eat some lunch and rehydrate before I tackle the hottest part of the day in the bottom of the canyon. I try not to dawdle because I still have a long journey ahead of me and it’s already after 1:00pm. I cross over the Bright Angel Creek via a footbridge and run beside the singing brook as I contemplate, <i>What is the state without mistakes? </i> <i>Nowness!</i> <p></p></span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hJCVpqkSQTej0AadQY6ubt72fQSyh-Y_i5OYBM-avztMX5IB2OxZDEKKq78DFwL6MDjYIwovQUvGrtXyx0dK836tEq4vgs1yAh7U0ce0H2XN8TA-DT5OrJKLpuv9QeLlgsGCvaHX5Uhpgg9dadSRwdU19P-ZzLugrPKvIYCnvBn3PBUMIPjR4umW/s1280/P1100664.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hJCVpqkSQTej0AadQY6ubt72fQSyh-Y_i5OYBM-avztMX5IB2OxZDEKKq78DFwL6MDjYIwovQUvGrtXyx0dK836tEq4vgs1yAh7U0ce0H2XN8TA-DT5OrJKLpuv9QeLlgsGCvaHX5Uhpgg9dadSRwdU19P-ZzLugrPKvIYCnvBn3PBUMIPjR4umW/w286-h400/P1100664.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaeV06Z5zsgXr6djGeMIbjaGBHCj7EzeDK1dh3AH-Tv-HVaN5Q2xV4k3yWz3wJlvn2ZzJa5Szghtu2zmFC4j_t9dtE7XUw0nEgXisn3Zxxeu6a2y0ROwlW8NmY9IOYGuiH2KStxtrm9aNCQbBpnZzSYsx8MRqu41Q9sdvPqgNw8FZxLZ3lMq6h-Lr_/s1280/P1100654.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaeV06Z5zsgXr6djGeMIbjaGBHCj7EzeDK1dh3AH-Tv-HVaN5Q2xV4k3yWz3wJlvn2ZzJa5Szghtu2zmFC4j_t9dtE7XUw0nEgXisn3Zxxeu6a2y0ROwlW8NmY9IOYGuiH2KStxtrm9aNCQbBpnZzSYsx8MRqu41Q9sdvPqgNw8FZxLZ3lMq6h-Lr_/w300-h400/P1100654.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><i>lechuguilla</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table>The trip back to Phantom Ranch is quite hot, but I have three things going for me. The first is that the wind has picked up creating a natural evaporative cooling effect. Two, there is occasional cloud cover and three, the steep canyon walls create some shade at times. Nevertheless my mouth becomes very dry and my water supply dwindles quickly. I have a <a href="https://www.sawyer.com/products/mini-water-filtration-system" target="_blank">Mini-Sawyer </a>water filter just in case I really need it, but I don’t want to stop to use it.<p></p></span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyRfwn7CLJARbQ-w2NLNwI0rjp4-xtKxjWuZIzhlzJYmq5SqTtn8P1M0yV5zKiGBvUmyUab2IvXjf7cKbsbU9R4LCalW_afbWJa74lL6grNbHt0MNmhiO5pMxnC90A6z1_FWtpAJYesUTlKNfMT3lIBvT5U-L0sgx-yz4-3Gf6tkFT303q-sh70lT/s1280/P1100637.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyRfwn7CLJARbQ-w2NLNwI0rjp4-xtKxjWuZIzhlzJYmq5SqTtn8P1M0yV5zKiGBvUmyUab2IvXjf7cKbsbU9R4LCalW_afbWJa74lL6grNbHt0MNmhiO5pMxnC90A6z1_FWtpAJYesUTlKNfMT3lIBvT5U-L0sgx-yz4-3Gf6tkFT303q-sh70lT/w286-h400/P1100637.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgedzge-0TWBtTG_Dyvqo-Nhau3AIpnHgQ3Gdd-IUymz2xJjzOtYDXoyt2W5Vo2QGG11mDbY4kZ454GsXS3BKkYRrPLTe61ZgOCQsAIlpynvPxh-v5DHHR290TvkHI10CpviuVmqGRWclON2mvPjjqSTbSOyWq8IImsPscc7aj_EeO6CGS36kNg-t0G/s1280/P1100576.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgedzge-0TWBtTG_Dyvqo-Nhau3AIpnHgQ3Gdd-IUymz2xJjzOtYDXoyt2W5Vo2QGG11mDbY4kZ454GsXS3BKkYRrPLTe61ZgOCQsAIlpynvPxh-v5DHHR290TvkHI10CpviuVmqGRWclON2mvPjjqSTbSOyWq8IImsPscc7aj_EeO6CGS36kNg-t0G/w286-h400/P1100576.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I enjoy wildflowers along the trail and the bright green lechuguilla stalks and tender yucca buds. I pass by a sort of living boulder adorned with a community of symbiotic organisms —lichens in various shades of green, orange and yellow. The </span><a href="https://home.nps.gov/grca/learn/nature/lichens.htm" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">NPS</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> writes, </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>A lichen is a simple biological “community” because it is made up of at least two mutually-dependent organisms…some type of fungi is found along with green algae and /or cyanobacteria.</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b> </b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>A lichen community is therefore stronger than either fungus or algae alone… the green algae uses the photosynthesis process to produce food for the fungus, while the fungus protects the algae from the elements and extracts nutrients from the rocks and soil.</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS5h70eQkZxTsN7-XbAjyQIupLkVTu-MTJK5nFxjRdKqggXh7xxCdFUbriOjonNb8wMGW2yYH0t46mh77dzXCjGvrI_GkDz81sapOwQUp3HQvmkUOScjZGaVDb6flT3zXoNKmsCUJ8pptzOE4-hdirGLbZ86jG-jalD3KrfdXia8QQOhgVrZSLwETR/s1280/P1100659.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS5h70eQkZxTsN7-XbAjyQIupLkVTu-MTJK5nFxjRdKqggXh7xxCdFUbriOjonNb8wMGW2yYH0t46mh77dzXCjGvrI_GkDz81sapOwQUp3HQvmkUOScjZGaVDb6flT3zXoNKmsCUJ8pptzOE4-hdirGLbZ86jG-jalD3KrfdXia8QQOhgVrZSLwETR/w400-h241/P1100659.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Living Rock</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Finally my water runs out, but I believe I’m nearing the ranch. I suffer in the heat as I undulate along the track. I stop occasionally to take in the view when the trail hugs the gorge wall, creating some shade. When I get to Phantom, I don’t waist any time. I simply guzzle some cold water, fill my bottles and am quickly on my way. In a short while I pick up the Bright Angel Trail and then cross the Silver Bridge. The view is awesome so I stop to take pictures and enjoy the wide Colorado River below and the Zoroaster Temple looming above. </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>..the meandering river, twists and turns in accord with circumstances but always knows how to find its way to the great ocean.* </b></span></i></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"></span></i></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt_0Aorb-F_xJbzI6dQKpJMPdcJRO5hYLUFwbqZPhj8QGrSYb6ULff1clD4w7DgOgdtjc-_O1zBc28nHC4VymhJiwaKKVOWcmT03dWl62CwqBPI5hCdzW101MP6EwFXJmnIcPSsn0DQKMIji2oRNGMLjqUto3q75tz1gXlN8LO-MvmeITkDTCDkhia/s1280/P1100683.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt_0Aorb-F_xJbzI6dQKpJMPdcJRO5hYLUFwbqZPhj8QGrSYb6ULff1clD4w7DgOgdtjc-_O1zBc28nHC4VymhJiwaKKVOWcmT03dWl62CwqBPI5hCdzW101MP6EwFXJmnIcPSsn0DQKMIji2oRNGMLjqUto3q75tz1gXlN8LO-MvmeITkDTCDkhia/w400-h241/P1100683.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Silver Bridge</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRL4cCWmDcvtuU7IckUXP7m3gXkFX1RQLvYVzDy1PQ3AuT7CM2aWSFIz5KYMGGVTzMyv2qrZDaApyK7Z3ybOySkBM17BbaKjB7zlA2Bbq19yNKbrfffgLPqsrqt_gp3QK4bhApUPR7HsMBU047AwJtL5oLaUb2brd0m1T2syRPOm5Ft8o-01c_HX9/s1280/P1100677.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRL4cCWmDcvtuU7IckUXP7m3gXkFX1RQLvYVzDy1PQ3AuT7CM2aWSFIz5KYMGGVTzMyv2qrZDaApyK7Z3ybOySkBM17BbaKjB7zlA2Bbq19yNKbrfffgLPqsrqt_gp3QK4bhApUPR7HsMBU047AwJtL5oLaUb2brd0m1T2syRPOm5Ft8o-01c_HX9/w400-h286/P1100677.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Zoroaster Temple in the distance</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">The next part takes me along the river through some sandy areas; up and over some rocky cliffs where there are good views of the river below. I reach the River Rest House and then travel along Pipe Creek. After a while, I cross the creek and begin ascending a horrendous series of switchbacks know as Devil’s Corkscrew. I pass some backpackers who look as miserable as I feel and one asks if I know how far it is to the Indian Garden Campground. I seriously have no clue. You can always tell people are really suffering when they ask how much further it is. Close/far, before/after, self/other, these concepts don’t exist in nowness. </span><i style="font-family: arial;">If you wish to travel like this, you must go alone, not carry any baggage, and trust yourself implicitly, </i><span style="font-family: arial;">I remind myself.</span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QUwz6hzKDmd87VcT2v4TSNmJB_wIOMxHkQXNpC7K5MeNnUWLEYH2JX1Wm2le4WVy1UQLmHpKLy120biqt-4Yl5KxWuf6slZTz252oGe9a6kpyycaKxlwOhB6V6q8kh-GGK4F-kajKDBnPPAa3SdODU-n7AQMjSY2tAvp_uo3hIeiWOKduvpXqMVv/s1280/P1100690.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QUwz6hzKDmd87VcT2v4TSNmJB_wIOMxHkQXNpC7K5MeNnUWLEYH2JX1Wm2le4WVy1UQLmHpKLy120biqt-4Yl5KxWuf6slZTz252oGe9a6kpyycaKxlwOhB6V6q8kh-GGK4F-kajKDBnPPAa3SdODU-n7AQMjSY2tAvp_uo3hIeiWOKduvpXqMVv/w400-h286/P1100690.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Devil's Corkscrew</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">The climb is tough and my legs burn with each step, but I slowly, very slowly, make headway. The views are stunning and are my inspiration to keep going. It’s not like I have any choice; there’s only one way out of here. The sun illuminates the red, brown, tan and green cliffs and I come to an interesting many layered rock formation that looks like a bunch of pancakes stacked on top of one another. </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsN67FWD0xoaZk9oRmIM-NR1z9w0k6bQ1_jE5GBA6vRQkNCTF8mOz17HRxWnqrUpmzwU6IyVvaltWLJWE1YVFCj7pfU4dP3ld_yVqkv3m9whe_D5jO__b6AUqcWnLOZDrwQUiZdb93WKkjolvQUIZOwfP8pzDU9o7Gmyv-D6sKAChhFOgPjYn_9kh_/s1280/P1100688.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsN67FWD0xoaZk9oRmIM-NR1z9w0k6bQ1_jE5GBA6vRQkNCTF8mOz17HRxWnqrUpmzwU6IyVvaltWLJWE1YVFCj7pfU4dP3ld_yVqkv3m9whe_D5jO__b6AUqcWnLOZDrwQUiZdb93WKkjolvQUIZOwfP8pzDU9o7Gmyv-D6sKAChhFOgPjYn_9kh_/w400-h286/P1100688.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZC-CSNPAHmEUsgWb_oakMReZafelmDKS_BIqdHFNrPCDEffGfJC7qahggWt7gGh2HWc-t8OMVndfqY-77ZV-1prq2bZXKfB-BDarogMdf-G-5gJDCUckb8tuq5JQgyYqpyGIWFrrYujEKs1y2Bi9-kxfTnqvAckDdWpauAfjNgNpoVPCiB6AzxBVl/s1280/IMG_3443.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZC-CSNPAHmEUsgWb_oakMReZafelmDKS_BIqdHFNrPCDEffGfJC7qahggWt7gGh2HWc-t8OMVndfqY-77ZV-1prq2bZXKfB-BDarogMdf-G-5gJDCUckb8tuq5JQgyYqpyGIWFrrYujEKs1y2Bi9-kxfTnqvAckDdWpauAfjNgNpoVPCiB6AzxBVl/w400-h241/IMG_3443.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Eventually the trail becomes very marshy and the vegetation lush; my indication that I’m nearing the Indian Gardens Campground where there is a water fill station. I pass another group of hikers; one of them asks, “How much farther is it to Indian Gardens Campground?” I tell him that we are almost there. I reach an interesting waterfall below the trail where a flat topped round rock slices the creek in two, creating a double waterfall. I get to the campground where I fill my bottles for the last time. Only five more miles to go, but unfortunately they are damn near straight up.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCxsVUBJvwje_qJvnoKXTXa4ZytzJqIrCUie9MZqvl-eJ4HFmoyseUNlBOshTfzs0OpzUNnEuPxnprcps3STj1lEBAsOhs4J225qhc0mIi8Rf_m6xdGiCSdTPNLs-oAFE1CihB8v5xqj211T-v72JKGXlcl4o7UjGAU7maql1_87gHXMcq1IHWHJh/s1280/P1100694.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCxsVUBJvwje_qJvnoKXTXa4ZytzJqIrCUie9MZqvl-eJ4HFmoyseUNlBOshTfzs0OpzUNnEuPxnprcps3STj1lEBAsOhs4J225qhc0mIi8Rf_m6xdGiCSdTPNLs-oAFE1CihB8v5xqj211T-v72JKGXlcl4o7UjGAU7maql1_87gHXMcq1IHWHJh/w400-h286/P1100694.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizr0F9g70L06Cfc4md9ZN9kx2IUSkJPQgdSwgiOUXZRzyFr8a5ZJkAWOBzI_13J0Srwc1Qk86g1w-VBL5dVI2QqlPIDRImfAbPWjqMmfConYu8S8HwwKsbaACCW8HTN-t1XTPwOBLeZSpbIXyoHSUMyCk8mmDw6A_QcIL0VwuxD9joRaoFwPzKKPgh/s1280/P1100695.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizr0F9g70L06Cfc4md9ZN9kx2IUSkJPQgdSwgiOUXZRzyFr8a5ZJkAWOBzI_13J0Srwc1Qk86g1w-VBL5dVI2QqlPIDRImfAbPWjqMmfConYu8S8HwwKsbaACCW8HTN-t1XTPwOBLeZSpbIXyoHSUMyCk8mmDw6A_QcIL0VwuxD9joRaoFwPzKKPgh/w400-h300/P1100695.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">The sun grows dimmer as I slog upwards and soon I have to don my headlamp. As the evening grows dark, stars fill the sky. Beautiful! My legs feel like concrete so I use my poles to help push myself along. My body overheats even though the air has cooled considerably. This is truly a soul crushing climb after already having completed over 45 miles. My mood sinks and I begin to doubt myself. </span><i style="font-family: arial;">How much further is it?</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> I look up and can see headlamps moving high above me, which is disheartening. </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Maybe there isn’t a top.</i><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizL4hBRo_4k2RZwxYqojb-XPgKT-LHLHzlmV_UjbQMntf_MQrXQLDcvRS2hXMVhZuFK1jkX4NMaYY6KJU6EhStsporY0CuGexTf4I1joy28GctPffXDS4XUEn-u3iFPeEJnHFBDPHh0hw04m3FmSLhaErQmKTcD1HvkS0AITcZJTTHvNxdFCF3bf9P/s1280/P1100685.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizL4hBRo_4k2RZwxYqojb-XPgKT-LHLHzlmV_UjbQMntf_MQrXQLDcvRS2hXMVhZuFK1jkX4NMaYY6KJU6EhStsporY0CuGexTf4I1joy28GctPffXDS4XUEn-u3iFPeEJnHFBDPHh0hw04m3FmSLhaErQmKTcD1HvkS0AITcZJTTHvNxdFCF3bf9P/w400-h300/P1100685.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I reach the 1.5 Mile Rest House and begin climbing the last series of switchbacks. My lungs burn and I can hear my heart thumping inside my chest. I frequently must stop to lean on my poles and let my heart catch up. I pass some defeated looking hikers sitting on the side of the trail. “So close, yet so far!” one of them says. The seemingly never ending climb goes on and on where one mile seems like 10, but each step is one step closer to transformation; one step closer to peace. Each step <i>IS</i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> transformation; peace is every step. </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3C7jD0Pv2QhQ5hsoSMe6VISJqYbPxsT1F2tFV2Kswh11J1m8eH_Pz7EktU9qKccJv5ICjMZne4Nm-KmeRL-desfEvdR7xMpPxUiZZrK3YlcimK5JVAldQcE09iKc9nfBjAeLLoVKuCQ9Cj3n73DY98TLsaAqHnz2KQIZisyrrIj-3PtX-IrwCHv39/s1280/P1100461.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3C7jD0Pv2QhQ5hsoSMe6VISJqYbPxsT1F2tFV2Kswh11J1m8eH_Pz7EktU9qKccJv5ICjMZne4Nm-KmeRL-desfEvdR7xMpPxUiZZrK3YlcimK5JVAldQcE09iKc9nfBjAeLLoVKuCQ9Cj3n73DY98TLsaAqHnz2KQIZisyrrIj-3PtX-IrwCHv39/w400-h286/P1100461.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The final tunnel</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I pass through a rock tunnel and continue the arduous task upwards, sweating all the time. Several ladies are sitting on a rock and one of them says to me, “Good job, will you do me a favor?.” “What’s that?”, I ask. “When you get to the top, will you shout out a WHOOOOO-HOOOOO!” I laugh and then answer, “I’ll try, but my throat is parched from sucking dry air all day and I’ve lost my voice.” I have zero energy and am completely drowsy after covering 50 miles in almost 18 hours. All I can think about right now is crawling into my sleeping bag. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KRzvXc7Ej4OkxbcMhmmG8wRv_aYUClNFy8PGDnHcbQ_chh-c5sxeK_MSHFl0IS1pep1-YHcChQ2vA9c6wcjn19y_jUgobH4GtTUBRHg2p_Iw67-jlNjAwlfyYEoM__isdhnhFmj3aBOtYG7RNpbu1U2JfgCeb6gmGV1Vxc3PGgYtIiCORfAuP930/s1280/P1100484.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KRzvXc7Ej4OkxbcMhmmG8wRv_aYUClNFy8PGDnHcbQ_chh-c5sxeK_MSHFl0IS1pep1-YHcChQ2vA9c6wcjn19y_jUgobH4GtTUBRHg2p_Iw67-jlNjAwlfyYEoM__isdhnhFmj3aBOtYG7RNpbu1U2JfgCeb6gmGV1Vxc3PGgYtIiCORfAuP930/w400-h241/P1100484.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>S. Rim</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Soon I pass through the final tunnel, making it back to the S. Rim on exhausted rubbery legs; a completely different person than when I left at 3:00 am this morning. Like the meandering river, through many twists and turns in accord with circumstances, I somehow found my way. </span><i style="font-family: arial;">What is the state of no mistakes?</i><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Capping Verse:</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>A hazy autumn moon, solitary and full,</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>falls as it may on the winding river ahead.</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>There are those who seek perfect clarity,</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b>yet, sweep as they may, they cannot empty the mind.*</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">See you on the trail</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">* From </span><i style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.shambhala.com/the-true-dharma-eye-1590.html" target="_blank">The True Dharma Eye, Master Dogan’s Three Hundred Koans</a></i><span style="font-family: arial;"> (Case 198) with commentary and verse by John Daido Loori </span></p></div></div>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-38486015965522155712022-03-12T16:26:00.004-07:002022-04-19T21:15:33.803-06:00Being Time, The Sequel: Sierra Vista Trail 100K<p><span style="font-family: arial;">What was your time? That was the question I was most asked after finishing the Sierra Vista Trail 100K two years ago right before the Great Pandemic of 2020 shut everything down. Well, my time was 256,003,967,220 instants, which was about 4,266,732,787 moments. How do I know? Because, a wise old sage has said that there are 6,400,099,180 moments in each day. One moment is equal to 65 instants and there are 60 moments in one finger snap. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I wrote about being time in </span><a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2020/03/being-time-sierra-vista-trail-100k.html" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">this post</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> following the race in 2020. I ponder what my time might be this year as I embark on another Sierra Vista Trail 100K. What is time anyway?</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9mtshIg-T6gICZXqJgcqYc_IfZJA_qqKSzin5uPnJAKyJYuXLOWjRmxGp-Vlo2Ok8ApxFXxYTNYsgjs2fKZG1N1GW2SKWn2H4Op6OrtGfZLyldoRjxO2xMV2FsZVllt0WJIxiRm9DfT9-G5crb2yW7UKNtJcFNng8afdnxKbPZkda50TEpqVY4zon=s1280" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9mtshIg-T6gICZXqJgcqYc_IfZJA_qqKSzin5uPnJAKyJYuXLOWjRmxGp-Vlo2Ok8ApxFXxYTNYsgjs2fKZG1N1GW2SKWn2H4Op6OrtGfZLyldoRjxO2xMV2FsZVllt0WJIxiRm9DfT9-G5crb2yW7UKNtJcFNng8afdnxKbPZkda50TEpqVY4zon=w400-h241" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Robledo Mts</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">About 15 runners are shivering, here at the start of the race at 6:00am. There will be many more 50K and 1/2 marathon runners on the trail later this morning. I am very grateful for the opportunity to spend the day and evening on this beautiful trail in the Organ Mountains-Desert Peaks National Monument in Las Cruces, NM. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The course is an out-and-back that runs south almost to the Texas border with one short loop at the beginning. Once the runners get under way, I hang back and make sure to pace myself carefully. There’s a chill in the air, but the wind hasn’t picked up yet. This is the windy season in the Desert Southwest with frequent days of blowing dust and red flag warnings.</span></p><span><a name='more'></a></span><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZqetZsyVzQ0elZ_Dpf0N0KlXIQPPdeAxavYuOoCV2gg1Roty7o5fatLewBq_qmPkQtkA7oxxseYc8Mu90OjU2pFIC6rgeo7JulQFpHNc0FV7nasvg3bR4TekMhXvU9m9hZXl3R86GQGrECmEHbQ8FlynaCJNwxz9mXe-iBsQZV-w94RxKeew0GEPB=s1280" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZqetZsyVzQ0elZ_Dpf0N0KlXIQPPdeAxavYuOoCV2gg1Roty7o5fatLewBq_qmPkQtkA7oxxseYc8Mu90OjU2pFIC6rgeo7JulQFpHNc0FV7nasvg3bR4TekMhXvU9m9hZXl3R86GQGrECmEHbQ8FlynaCJNwxz9mXe-iBsQZV-w94RxKeew0GEPB=w400-h241" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Organ Mts</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The jagged needles of the Organ Mountains are silhouetted by the rising sun on the other side of the peaks. Eventually the sun makes a full appearance and bathes Tortugas Mountain (A-Mountain), in a warm glow. I am reminded of the time, last fall, when I ran around it 15 times for a total of 60 miles during the <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2021/10/tortugas-mountain-24-hour-run.html" target="_blank">24 hour A-Mountain Challenge</a>. It seems just like yesterday; my how time flies!</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgl2Xzj5XE3SusAzMjD-VUpNSsFmNYyb8PU41C0yhuv7RtzrhGr_cgJE4aZBLev_k2hAk5a4p9sPQsuzWrtoedAig5FqKoCvh_Tuw4lnP3sfp67pWUnd1LJVQbQvgeAiNXB40pbCiDCWlrSOUVKqKRfJQHQ_9WJYmLPAXtn6vqDH6ZUy7AURimjYjYD=s1280" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgl2Xzj5XE3SusAzMjD-VUpNSsFmNYyb8PU41C0yhuv7RtzrhGr_cgJE4aZBLev_k2hAk5a4p9sPQsuzWrtoedAig5FqKoCvh_Tuw4lnP3sfp67pWUnd1LJVQbQvgeAiNXB40pbCiDCWlrSOUVKqKRfJQHQ_9WJYmLPAXtn6vqDH6ZUy7AURimjYjYD=w400-h241" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tortugas Mt, aka A-Mountain</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, I finally start to warm up after about 10 miles of running, and my pace is pretty fast so far, which means time is moving slower than if I was standing still. Wait, What! Time passes slower the faster you are traveling? Yes! In addition, time goes faster the higher in elevation you are. Time on Mt Everest (29,032′) passes quicker than time in Death Valley (-282.2′) because of gravity. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">According to <a href="https://www.nist.gov/news-events/news/2022/02/jila-atomic-clocks-measure-einsteins-general-relativity-millimeter-scale" target="_blank">this article</a>, scientists recently set a record by measuring “time dilation, at the smallest scale ever, showing that two tiny atomic clocks, separated by just a millimeter or the width of a sharp pencil tip, tick at different rates.” So, if you want your face to age slower than your feet, stand on your head or, better yet, sleep upside down! What is time anyway? It doesn’t pass at the same rate anywhere in the universe.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEro3uiNUaEoH2PqhA2_s7z7Uf0lAjlPNEQSU5D8TXa9WVgyteCumNt7zy8nQvY926kBk1m0-AXOZtkF8dXRt7t9G5L6vesTbweclamwL9CT7ii2EjLxVKQ6PtQe555k8EBOn1eVbrfjmWNCMuQqT7Vjbz5KbLpS-OAlxL6FFxBeXpD8tutpmFI17G=s831" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="544" data-original-width="831" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEro3uiNUaEoH2PqhA2_s7z7Uf0lAjlPNEQSU5D8TXa9WVgyteCumNt7zy8nQvY926kBk1m0-AXOZtkF8dXRt7t9G5L6vesTbweclamwL9CT7ii2EjLxVKQ6PtQe555k8EBOn1eVbrfjmWNCMuQqT7Vjbz5KbLpS-OAlxL6FFxBeXpD8tutpmFI17G=w400-h261" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Credit: N. Hanacek/NIST</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUBcB3n9vX_RLhouAsgTUmExkmdfQqR_3IbQA59us4CRpIsT2_kx3QWToc-4s9Qbd1pIMWPqwIBu8opVTp8UQkSVBK-g4vuFaCMigX6KAw0ErIJrvd31FVV8TlbT5w8Qfe-q15APTvWydWAMudv6QWV8eR86TzqBtmTh604i3efaXqhcnGX79DnCCk=s1280" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgUBcB3n9vX_RLhouAsgTUmExkmdfQqR_3IbQA59us4CRpIsT2_kx3QWToc-4s9Qbd1pIMWPqwIBu8opVTp8UQkSVBK-g4vuFaCMigX6KAw0ErIJrvd31FVV8TlbT5w8Qfe-q15APTvWydWAMudv6QWV8eR86TzqBtmTh604i3efaXqhcnGX79DnCCk=w400-h241" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>50K runners</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I run along the base of the Bishop Cap, a pointy pyramid shaped peak with an iron trussed tower on top, while I nibble some boiled potatoes and fruit. I zig and zag in and out of arroyos and traverse a rock outcrop with lots of beautiful cacti and other pointy plants like Spanish bayonet yucca, shin dagger, and sotol. Some of the deep cuts in the earth are narrow in places and full of rocks making the footing difficult at times. The wind continues to pick up making me chilly. I reach some power lines where a water table is set up for runners to refill bottles. </span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi3J3r7AiKMaWr09peU_V-8k02yxKveURS1Ls3tlr2JeQ-Z5iv7aIN0Wa3mpW3v3Q61WLF0x-u_L9ki_PMMEcpLFfxHJFbrR6XQolE273NUzV_LDsL3YAzxra2BN7lRzluKdhmsstJKPli97dK8spbZBM-vxQXB9Mas3LMA-HG7yDUVd5XULFZ6ToiU=s1280" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi3J3r7AiKMaWr09peU_V-8k02yxKveURS1Ls3tlr2JeQ-Z5iv7aIN0Wa3mpW3v3Q61WLF0x-u_L9ki_PMMEcpLFfxHJFbrR6XQolE273NUzV_LDsL3YAzxra2BN7lRzluKdhmsstJKPli97dK8spbZBM-vxQXB9Mas3LMA-HG7yDUVd5XULFZ6ToiU=w400-h286" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bishop Cap Peak</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1vn69ZSs8Eyvvo_6ecoye7qYYDST5p8hYKTnAOJXnoDtC19AHiPurL5me_fmoB2Wi-EAPdqRVTBkJCTZPNoyrSpjeDcuDuYdYjw05JouoSbYn5RhdK6R5jDrN0NhWR76T8ODn1QM_gD6ysdyCT6BbqBMsYp2q0tUpklWQBfVtMAVuDUU-Xnfy9eGC=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1vn69ZSs8Eyvvo_6ecoye7qYYDST5p8hYKTnAOJXnoDtC19AHiPurL5me_fmoB2Wi-EAPdqRVTBkJCTZPNoyrSpjeDcuDuYdYjw05JouoSbYn5RhdK6R5jDrN0NhWR76T8ODn1QM_gD6ysdyCT6BbqBMsYp2q0tUpklWQBfVtMAVuDUU-Xnfy9eGC=w400-h286" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Before long my stomach starts to rebel and my energy begins to wane. Is this going to be a really bad day or just a bad morning? I tell myself that it will soon pass as time goes on; just keep putting one foot in front of the other. For the time being, my mood sinks further as I reach a flat overgrazed cow pasture where I’m pummeled by gusts of wind. The overwhelming stench of dairy farms wafting in from the west doesn’t help my nausea. Nevertheless, I keep a running pace across the field and snake through a patch of creosote bush. The trail takes me up and over some sandy hills and then I run on a dirt road into the Vado aid station at mile 18 where 50K runners get to turn around and head back towards Las Cruces. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihRL3LHXoYz701FYJSKqp_FQ6th0g8Ky303hxkLwnQtQGB_-ZKbXDMpVxZEiW6T7ECCBbSVrN0hLTSQU7orKq5Q-KrbyFPUk_ayI0Iq0rmNrij4xt4UKIUPqMXuReXfC9A5B9ScW0G8_4ySCema7F8IIKBCVBw63GzuHxkNMlM7f4ykKdGtK5VdaQY=s1280" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihRL3LHXoYz701FYJSKqp_FQ6th0g8Ky303hxkLwnQtQGB_-ZKbXDMpVxZEiW6T7ECCBbSVrN0hLTSQU7orKq5Q-KrbyFPUk_ayI0Iq0rmNrij4xt4UKIUPqMXuReXfC9A5B9ScW0G8_4ySCema7F8IIKBCVBw63GzuHxkNMlM7f4ykKdGtK5VdaQY=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The "Rock" Garden</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjOeCWFlpFvqiXTro4f10FtOAuRYHO3CL3ZOJdXP_0KzIUdz3sXDhzL6q3K7ejlcDv0Ipr8GGEt5oQn0ZycyvcZq0TQP562SGDY_82apUZemP9iQLs578k-9O2vJGXs2wDZkDMwZO6Mcrkh7KewqTMLUKluUvpz-kofRbRe4O9HWB4f0FcBj9WsS1tb=s1280" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjOeCWFlpFvqiXTro4f10FtOAuRYHO3CL3ZOJdXP_0KzIUdz3sXDhzL6q3K7ejlcDv0Ipr8GGEt5oQn0ZycyvcZq0TQP562SGDY_82apUZemP9iQLs578k-9O2vJGXs2wDZkDMwZO6Mcrkh7KewqTMLUKluUvpz-kofRbRe4O9HWB4f0FcBj9WsS1tb=w400-h241" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Cow Pasture</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">100K runners, on the other hand, have the privilege of running the most unpleasant stretch of the course, an eternal straight road that roller coasters along some power lines that hum overhead. When you reach the bottom of each hill a sand trap awaits you. The sun is getting high in the sky so I stop to slather on some sunscreen. My energy has returned and stomach has settled. I run down a hill and then slowly slog upwards while heat radiates off the sand making me sweat. I make sure to drink plenty of water so I don’t dehydrate and end up a bleached skeleton half buried in a sand dune, vultures picking off the remaining morsels. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfFxCLs6DkAYS2TkUqO5dWxrALdMgkGPSDDIo1aLN7_dD1NqdeLeWOGFoMttMsbvq3buMDAbGlY3M52dpx-QfvWOOmg_6Cqh4Mh1-5tiUKzbD5rvMiNtvgnnPUUfRDf7tM5tkjoM7kWKUL97Vskkhmo7i9nQYb7fIyBida9TtW2oHAVW07DXRuxp9o=s1280" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfFxCLs6DkAYS2TkUqO5dWxrALdMgkGPSDDIo1aLN7_dD1NqdeLeWOGFoMttMsbvq3buMDAbGlY3M52dpx-QfvWOOmg_6Cqh4Mh1-5tiUKzbD5rvMiNtvgnnPUUfRDf7tM5tkjoM7kWKUL97Vskkhmo7i9nQYb7fIyBida9TtW2oHAVW07DXRuxp9o=w400-h286" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Eternal sandy road and Franklin Mts, TX</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Suddenly, I feel like I’m in a dream where I’m running as hard as I can through deep sand, but getting nowhere. Am I delirious? Just then, I realize that it isn’t a dream, and I really am running as hard as I can through deep sand, but getting nowhere. I start to walk, but it still feels like I’m going nowhere. Has time stopped? Maybe time doesn’t exist, I don’t know.</span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiov0NabAJz5TtPp5HKnT5ZE0_glRJXm28BhbRvsqGeAAhTns9OKvUdRD6cKkYK0WoNLvefaba-pKMxlSQkK81xBsHgPJEpN6BrNnBHIJ9YJ8ZJkMboQtFqSfCCDK0jlL4IbkZ4msoFjl-JNWfNaGXQrVILYbcET5beuQttSmUgt2pxF4GQw6wOnlD6=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiov0NabAJz5TtPp5HKnT5ZE0_glRJXm28BhbRvsqGeAAhTns9OKvUdRD6cKkYK0WoNLvefaba-pKMxlSQkK81xBsHgPJEpN6BrNnBHIJ9YJ8ZJkMboQtFqSfCCDK0jlL4IbkZ4msoFjl-JNWfNaGXQrVILYbcET5beuQttSmUgt2pxF4GQw6wOnlD6=w286-h400" width="286" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The thirteenth century zen master, Dōgen Zenji, in his <i>Uji</i> (you- shih), <i>Being-Time</i>, wrote that time doesn’t flow. Why? Because the past isn’t real; it is gone and the future doesn’t exist either, because when it comes, it is <i>NOW</i>, the present. Does <i>now</i> exist? If so, which <i>now</i>? The one at my feet or head? On Mt Everest or in Death Valley? Dōgen says, for the time being, you are being time. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><b><i>The time being is like this. Arriving is fulfilled by arriving, but not by not-arriving. Not-arriving is fulfilled by not-arriving, but not by arriving. Mind fulfills mind and sees mind; words fulfill words and see words. Fulfilling fulfills fulfilling and sees fulfilling. Fulfilling is nothing but fulfilling. This is time.</i></b></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: right;">—Trans. Kazuaki Tanahashi</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: right;"><br /></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQnvLUH_mDqTlXk_7io23yN-iScGSg7RiZYI8HizU6PzyuTwLhcQfruIEybOJ8L6Iir99z0w3vyCNNpg0vYbCIa8s5qsVtpZOzNYd6dvyI3MiVh68hTUPoADzI7DvpyhCvE4u2e8Jj2P_McjrHp3ATvR-726bUbaDi23ZWOnfgitxorD_gpYmZZ3YZ=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQnvLUH_mDqTlXk_7io23yN-iScGSg7RiZYI8HizU6PzyuTwLhcQfruIEybOJ8L6Iir99z0w3vyCNNpg0vYbCIa8s5qsVtpZOzNYd6dvyI3MiVh68hTUPoADzI7DvpyhCvE4u2e8Jj2P_McjrHp3ATvR-726bUbaDi23ZWOnfgitxorD_gpYmZZ3YZ=w400-h286" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This gives me much to ponder as I suffer through the hot sandy terrain where a throat parching wind whips through the arroyos. After much toil and misery, I make it to a wide sandy wash where I turn left. In a short while, I make another left and pick up a hard packed dirt road and head towards the mountain range. I slowly grind my way up to Webb Gap and run along a single track trail where a fast young lady approaches from behind and passes me. </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Where did she come from? </i><span style="font-family: arial;"> “I got off course,” she says with much disappointment. My guess is she continued through the wide sandy arroyo and missed the 2nd left turn or maybe the first one and continued on the eternal straight road. I’ve missed turns out here on training runs in the </span><i style="font-family: arial;">past</i><span style="font-family: arial;">, which doesn’t exist by the way. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDFY_UonHxgmOQ7LCRMXwOBoc-F9ku91joJag_GouYcFtTnkSXcKcZDZbmrTv9d8pQR_wuPkQXepehXABcSj2_M_JfgEr8MlWJMX1qzCxb9P9vUEQoowGcivxJQxtg--z5TkP6IrZu-Fep2uSpSlXGle-nncDPIkD9_3hw8il6xC7tpYQ2ZT8oNWfB=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDFY_UonHxgmOQ7LCRMXwOBoc-F9ku91joJag_GouYcFtTnkSXcKcZDZbmrTv9d8pQR_wuPkQXepehXABcSj2_M_JfgEr8MlWJMX1qzCxb9P9vUEQoowGcivxJQxtg--z5TkP6IrZu-Fep2uSpSlXGle-nncDPIkD9_3hw8il6xC7tpYQ2ZT8oNWfB=w400-h286" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Once I reach the pass, strong gusts of wind hit me in my face. I run down into another aid station at mile 28 feeling quite beat. This one is staffed by the Mesilla Valley Search and Rescue and, after a conversation with the fast young lady, a volunteer hops on a four-wheeler and takes off. Maybe there’s a runner in need of assistance. I fill my water bottles and keep running. I fast hike uphill for a while; running when the terrain allows. The Franklin Mountains in Texas come into view so I know I’m getting close to the turn around point at Anthony’s Gap. Sudden gushes of wind continue to rush down the mountains and stir up dust on the road; sand blasting my face.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhVKGe1-iqoqZragXr9ybPVJ89t-DQc-lZuPKp5XDHU1-C2sZAWrBtQJ1fvPISTt5IFaDG4FFA_Hl_tMx2jMLvASC0drgtOW6IN2B67k23hcpMPPGV3TOVjZt_3AC6GfVIrzz_FG5N5_nGxifl5Z2hwC4NzeONgI8PUPGms5pu1yvzM-gvG-4AcH-GH=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhVKGe1-iqoqZragXr9ybPVJ89t-DQc-lZuPKp5XDHU1-C2sZAWrBtQJ1fvPISTt5IFaDG4FFA_Hl_tMx2jMLvASC0drgtOW6IN2B67k23hcpMPPGV3TOVjZt_3AC6GfVIrzz_FG5N5_nGxifl5Z2hwC4NzeONgI8PUPGms5pu1yvzM-gvG-4AcH-GH=w400-h286" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I make into the aid station where I have a drop bag with some more food and a dry long sleeve shirt that I grab for the night part of my run. I tuck everything in my pack and take off. Another runner left a short while before me, but eventually I catch up to him. The wind makes it feel chilly and I can’t wait to get across the mountain chain again and into the sandy area where it should be less windy and warmer. The temperatures in the desert this time of year are extreme; going from freezing in the morning, to blistering hot in the afternoon. My saving grace is the outstanding mountain view, the </span><i style="font-family: arial;">sierra vista;</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> The Franklins behind me and the Organs in front.</span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEil9uu5t40D5L4-w-lN_GWc0GlnFMgMjgmfe5SOptNTR11ke8LQkcxcKgCtGKTmxavR89bAbx4v7ioMKXbBLvSScP1Na5yUYPjxEBjJHts1CGyG4f2orP3faYnFzVXV_7keR9u5JTTAbMgHkBBa6OSFrAXKXLpwodK7XFcNYwUDLF8Vl1zVEFQyCJJ-=s1280" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEil9uu5t40D5L4-w-lN_GWc0GlnFMgMjgmfe5SOptNTR11ke8LQkcxcKgCtGKTmxavR89bAbx4v7ioMKXbBLvSScP1Na5yUYPjxEBjJHts1CGyG4f2orP3faYnFzVXV_7keR9u5JTTAbMgHkBBa6OSFrAXKXLpwodK7XFcNYwUDLF8Vl1zVEFQyCJJ-=w400-h241" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mesilla Valley Search and Rescue</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Eventually I find myself back on the eternal dirt rollercoaster of hell. I keep reminding myself that this is the worst part and will be over soon. I dare not look at my watch, which will just confirm that time has come to a standstill. The fifth century Christian theologian, St. Augustine wrote about time in his </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Confessions, book XI. </i><span style="font-family: arial;">Like Dōgen, he says that we are always in the present, because the past is gone and the future has yet to arrive. He also believes that we are time. </span><p></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b>It is within my mind, then, that I measure time. I must not allow my mind to insist that time is something objective. When I measure time, I am measuring something in the present of my mind. Either this is time, or I have no idea what time is.</b></i></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiRgP1EAqHaQWs1fc-Un-mZtA8XyHNNYSDoKNxD7LhqCn0apWE-EJJeryXlrbYRIJxGFsM0sNtdLF_y7MhGdzhHG7qwW4FruGVtiqvcuGc0IhYPhVufctUyuWJQO5KVp2_rI_RYIIWaiXj7W866VirrSzsHehDAFHLpN6vciLir7fXlWUQWulIbylmq=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiRgP1EAqHaQWs1fc-Un-mZtA8XyHNNYSDoKNxD7LhqCn0apWE-EJJeryXlrbYRIJxGFsM0sNtdLF_y7MhGdzhHG7qwW4FruGVtiqvcuGc0IhYPhVufctUyuWJQO5KVp2_rI_RYIIWaiXj7W866VirrSzsHehDAFHLpN6vciLir7fXlWUQWulIbylmq=w400-h241" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Well, after many hill repeats and much sandy drudgery, I make it back to Vado where the sun is sinking lower on the horizon. The good people at the aid station take care of my needs and send me on my way. I get to the flat cow pasture and am greeted by a lone brown yearling cow. Where did you come from and where’s your momma? He playfully takes off running like a little puppy, coaxing me to play with him. Suddenly he darts across the trail and runs around on the other side, all the while watching me. Sorry little buddy, but I’m much too tired to play “tag, your it”.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiL5RG9pRihmc9YrVlf4V4FnX-LAiSfy3YT9Eq2pdf5BVPkFtQRJvyiZoCsbv6q7soc0Vmnzino2C2Gzcz8uoMIyZuH44ZY_j1peFsrZs05INBO0-GKKoAr3-CG61alRg38BareFpI1E6jlfOJUSyN0m1qL5nOe6Xl1pobqlZFI8KPoov8QS3U56S25=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiL5RG9pRihmc9YrVlf4V4FnX-LAiSfy3YT9Eq2pdf5BVPkFtQRJvyiZoCsbv6q7soc0Vmnzino2C2Gzcz8uoMIyZuH44ZY_j1peFsrZs05INBO0-GKKoAr3-CG61alRg38BareFpI1E6jlfOJUSyN0m1qL5nOe6Xl1pobqlZFI8KPoov8QS3U56S25=w400-h241" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Soon it’s dark so I put on my headlamp which casts an eerie shadow, making me feel dizzy. Having developed some balance problems in my old age, night running isn’t as easy as it once was. I have to watch the trail very carefully keeping my gaze on the oval of light directly in front of me. The trail is tricky in spots where it hugs the precipitous rim of an arroyo and then descends into the deep trench in the earth. If I trip, my head turns, and I lose sight of where I’m going which is very disorienting. I find myself staggering around like a drunk sometimes, but luckily it’s dark and no one is around to see me. In spite of this, I really enjoy the evening. The wind has died down, It’s very quiet and peaceful, and the sky is filled with stars. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEsuVyFKhJ1T34fuBIcsiB7tW5GqdP0teS9we5l_epccqufvVgacH-NirwhCmzk5uTFwAhB4AZ3t508AICgzJWn32sFGijxaOuhqJEYCvuMPXSoEAXdxCnwDLKb4Y79lyOYqVR_tzb3VNuIquAJ_tCX83ITu25pohUnq588mdjf7quBBnBvJCjFMsl=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEsuVyFKhJ1T34fuBIcsiB7tW5GqdP0teS9we5l_epccqufvVgacH-NirwhCmzk5uTFwAhB4AZ3t508AICgzJWn32sFGijxaOuhqJEYCvuMPXSoEAXdxCnwDLKb4Y79lyOYqVR_tzb3VNuIquAJ_tCX83ITu25pohUnq588mdjf7quBBnBvJCjFMsl=w400-h241" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">The starlight I see is actually several hundred to 2000 light years old, meaning I could be observing light that left the star around the time Jesus walked on water. WOW! What is time anyway? I’m reminded of my race here two years ago where I quoted Dōgen, </span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b>Everything whatsoever that exists in the whole universe is a series of instances of time. Since everything is for the time being, we too are for the time being.</b></i></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Dōgen Zenji says time doesn’t exist, but ultimately WE are time. St Augustine says time doesn’t exist, but ultimately WE are time. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Modern day physicists confirm what philosophers and spiritual masters have known since beginning-less time; that time doesn’t exist. Carlo Rovelli, the founder of loop quantum gravity theory, also believes we are time. What makes us believe in time is our memories of past events, the anticipation of future events and the fact that everything is in a constant flux of change.</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In his book, <i><a href="https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/551483/the-order-of-time-by-carlo-rovelli/" target="_blank">The Order of Time</a></i>, Rovelli writes,</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b>At the most fundamental level that we currently know of, therefore, there is little that resembles time as we experience it. There is no special variable “time,” there is no difference between past and future, there is no spacetime. We still know how to write equations that describe the world. In those equations, the variables evolve with respect to each other. It is not a “static” world, or a “block universe” where all change is illusory: on the contrary, ours is a world of events rather than of things.</b></i></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b>The surprise has been that, in the emergence of familiar aspects of time, we ourselves have had a role to play. From our perspective…we see that world flowing in time. Our interaction with the world is partial, which is why we see it in a blurred way….</b></i></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b>Perhaps the emotion of time is precisely what time is for us. I don’t think there is much more than this to be understood…When we have found all the aspects of time that can be spoken of, then we have found time. …</b></i></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: arial;"><i><b>And we begin to see that we are time. We are this space, this clearing opened by the traces of memory inside the connections between our neurons. We are memory. We are nostalgia. We are longing for a future that will not come. The clearing that is opened up in this way, by memory and by anticipation, is time: a source of anguish sometimes, but in the end a tremendous gift.</b></i></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">So there you have it. My memories of past events and my yearning for this race to end cause me to believe in time. Therefore, I do my best to simply dwell in the present moment as hard as that is. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibUojYRvQ7eh1xvSH-qcmXJCDs0NRU26RuUhVJj2b3Q3Be_E1WWFJLpPnQppAbD4-qW5W3BCr_GCn0MjgcukJoS7R_ldQi3ySaZFuBbtR_OT4yQLIcque0Z3uyjw8egLgpK-SmkZRQbim7XwYBg-REgmBRrt7CtDrytd0TJlquhelcw5cwWitEZmkx=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibUojYRvQ7eh1xvSH-qcmXJCDs0NRU26RuUhVJj2b3Q3Be_E1WWFJLpPnQppAbD4-qW5W3BCr_GCn0MjgcukJoS7R_ldQi3ySaZFuBbtR_OT4yQLIcque0Z3uyjw8egLgpK-SmkZRQbim7XwYBg-REgmBRrt7CtDrytd0TJlquhelcw5cwWitEZmkx=w400-h241" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">By this point my legs have turned to jelly and I’m completely drowsy, but I don’t give up. I’m inspired by the city lights of Las Cruces that blanket the desert floor in the distance. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">My pace feels painfully slow and I have to walk quite a bit, but eventually I reach the last aid station. I don’t even stop, because I know it’s just a few more miles to the finish. In no time, I run down a steep slope into an arroyo where I can hear the sound of a faint cowbell. I pop out on the other side and clammer up into the finish. What a relief! </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEga8eQGEnYzOz8CpLkhwmXHSdE5PdBcuaagGrGiVrFJTXjVPeY9iW6sIqh1PbVJQu3Lc1Q79hzuO3fXBd46QmZY4IXGoHISqHVYID5jhCFMQBmu7sAPV8aeITgO65D8suzJO2aaHCdUG9vBtp56stmbH6TI7fSxVcAPymYTz9K2hr1lqylVAwG0JT0X=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="961" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEga8eQGEnYzOz8CpLkhwmXHSdE5PdBcuaagGrGiVrFJTXjVPeY9iW6sIqh1PbVJQu3Lc1Q79hzuO3fXBd46QmZY4IXGoHISqHVYID5jhCFMQBmu7sAPV8aeITgO65D8suzJO2aaHCdUG9vBtp56stmbH6TI7fSxVcAPymYTz9K2hr1lqylVAwG0JT0X=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">It’s mostly a deserted ghost town at this hour of night, but I’m congratulated by the race directors, Peter and Dan. They put on a great race every year which raises funds for the <a href="https://snmta.org/mission-and-goals/" target="_blank">Southern New Mexico Trail Alliance</a>. Thanks to all the search and rescue volunteers, aid station workers, trail maintainers and volunteers for your selfless efforts today. This is a great race with unmatched scenic beauty in one of our great national monuments.</span><p></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">What was my time...</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">See you on the trail.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Be careful if you decide to go down this rabbit hole. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-6rWqJhDv7M" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-49469381396259049542021-11-21T07:39:00.004-07:002022-03-12T16:28:41.448-07:00Franklin Mountains Trail 100K<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When you greet an old friend on the trail during these disease ridden times, is it best to do a fist bump, hand shake or high five? We’ll try to answer this as we run the </span><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=81635" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Franklin Mountains 100K</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> today (and night) put on by <a href="http://www.trailracingovertexas.com" target="_blank">Trail Racing Over Texas</a>. This race, held in the Franklin Mountains State Park in El Paso, TX, usually welcomes runners with a big dose of weather. Cold, hot or wind, but mostly wind —the West Texas kind. Porta-potty tipping over wind! These mountains create their own energy, channeling the gusts down their slopes, through the accordion folds of the mountain chain.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPsYpAm61Y9QzAku-EB37GCP4EBGQWTepglP5HN9TmrsCvUEu0rTsT-Vu8ZeSZRC8-ZEZow7ej7BtBznajtWUAnVcdSBzVPRDsIEwfao0dw5oox-MqcnVk-KB88DzOK7OtXi1MRQ7B-g/s2048/P1090783.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPsYpAm61Y9QzAku-EB37GCP4EBGQWTepglP5HN9TmrsCvUEu0rTsT-Vu8ZeSZRC8-ZEZow7ej7BtBznajtWUAnVcdSBzVPRDsIEwfao0dw5oox-MqcnVk-KB88DzOK7OtXi1MRQ7B-g/w400-h300/P1090783.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Well, after many years, we finally have some good weather for the race today, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be any easier to finish. There’s still the jagged rocks, steep climbs and pointy vegetation to contend with; not to mention the waiting around, shivering at the start line. It’s about 40 degrees as I sit in the dark, but should get up to 75 later with skin burning sun and little humidity.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_9JDeCv7c9GV88xoe9V0LvaxtMHQMe8iXqwkKXeCqjK95O5oWW4sWYS3jU9U54X0Bb_6J3AOnluKZhwoKLKAr4gVdHA59XJ2cP6-B5tD0Yu3_y6a0eklO5T7BzziFrzB7_PZnQ95WYw/s2048/P1020883.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1463" data-original-width="2048" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_9JDeCv7c9GV88xoe9V0LvaxtMHQMe8iXqwkKXeCqjK95O5oWW4sWYS3jU9U54X0Bb_6J3AOnluKZhwoKLKAr4gVdHA59XJ2cP6-B5tD0Yu3_y6a0eklO5T7BzziFrzB7_PZnQ95WYw/w400-h286/P1020883.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>West Texas wind!</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">The race starts on the west side of the Franklins with a conga line of people climbing the steep Upper Sunset Ridge, a 1.5 mile shin dagger (lechuguilla) lined trail with broken slabs of rock and grueling high steps. I use my trekking poles to help push myself up the scarp and follow the trail of headlamps snaking their way up the mountain. The downhill parts are equally as tough because the rocks underfoot make running almost impossible. I start with my jacket on but, in no time, I’m hot and sweaty even though it’s still dark and cold. </span><div><span><a name='more'></a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihVXyAdsH_DY8H-J5SZmr8xc7WWz1bESPSLREdXosHLoaJ0pnSJC3HMhuYTfCcEj3bzs6jM1nVe2hc-2MEmBVh9Qe8EzxO-L3vFY50K5YB5zP0xJFgUixfDoCxvg-qDeamrdJcnOairww/s2048/P1090742.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="2048" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihVXyAdsH_DY8H-J5SZmr8xc7WWz1bESPSLREdXosHLoaJ0pnSJC3HMhuYTfCcEj3bzs6jM1nVe2hc-2MEmBVh9Qe8EzxO-L3vFY50K5YB5zP0xJFgUixfDoCxvg-qDeamrdJcnOairww/w400-h241/P1090742.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The start of the 27K on Upper Sunset</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">My progress is slow, but eventually I run down a slope of solid stone with protruding parallel veins of minerals of some sort where one wrong step will send you rolling down into the park pavilion in a heap of bloody skin and broken bones. Take your time! There’s no rush; I have something like 34 hours to complete the 63 miles, but I hope to finish in around 24.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I reach the pavilion and finish line, but have 30 more miles to go including a climb up to N. Franklin Peak (7192’) and a trip all the way around the mountain chain, and that’s just loop one! I take a left and transition onto Lower Sunset Trail which is much tamer than Upper Sunset. Twilight has arrived and I can almost see the trail without my headlamp. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB3HU5JcBE81byfhyphenhypheneTY72s6m_H1jaC2chwhPH0vInB8ucfTiylbwqr18z_5yspvM1RsfmvXjinRe7VIcWWimW2kfq_4di9bxuWRw7OqGkzwTcOJX-jcXaIlvYoLWL7RtuAv05ZEK736Y/s1083/100kcourse.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1013" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB3HU5JcBE81byfhyphenhypheneTY72s6m_H1jaC2chwhPH0vInB8ucfTiylbwqr18z_5yspvM1RsfmvXjinRe7VIcWWimW2kfq_4di9bxuWRw7OqGkzwTcOJX-jcXaIlvYoLWL7RtuAv05ZEK736Y/w375-h400/100kcourse.png" width="375" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Here's a visual for you</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I stop to strip off my jacket since I’m hot and then my old running buddy Leo, who I haven’t seen in several years, catches up to me. “Great to see you!” I extend a fist and look down; he extends a hand, so I do a hand and then he does a fist; then I do a fist and then a hand; next it’s hand, fist, hand, fist, hand. We shake on it and then laugh. After chatting for a few, I stow my jacket and light in my new <a href="https://ultimatedirection.com/mountain-vest-5-0/" target="_blank">Ultimate Direction Mountain</a> hydration vest which I may or may not talk about later. I also attach my poles to the straps since I won’t need them for this part.</span><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh16TsolpTe2Xsm4TBAkXHd3p-FP3c_yoSqhGVSTObi2AMOm48V41psT9U0NYqDwiNfkg3TGRrbfesq9mbnpCM6R3rM7goIJNJu9QyyrlDzZn9vNvUo8tOqjiFHE2YYeKh3u7lyvmWOHWQ/s2048/P1090764.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1463" data-original-width="2048" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh16TsolpTe2Xsm4TBAkXHd3p-FP3c_yoSqhGVSTObi2AMOm48V41psT9U0NYqDwiNfkg3TGRrbfesq9mbnpCM6R3rM7goIJNJu9QyyrlDzZn9vNvUo8tOqjiFHE2YYeKh3u7lyvmWOHWQ/w400-h286/P1090764.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Leo gettin' it done</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I thoroughly enjoy the trail since we are descending and the path is quite runnable, alternating between packed dirt and slabs of smooth rock. I run down into a gravelly arroyo and then climb up the other side wending along a slope of tilted sedimentary layers of ancient rock. From a distance the layers remind me of crispy phyllo (filo) dough; like a sheet of baklava sitting at a 45 degree angle. (I must be getting hungry.) </span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Texas Parks and Wildlife writes, </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><i><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: arial;">Precambrian rock, the oldest on the planet, is found in several areas within the park. Imagine—picnickers in the Tom Mays Unit eat their sandwiches and chew their energy bars while sitting in the midst of Precambrian deposits formed when life on Earth consisted only of one-celled organisms.</span></i></b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG9oI_6UJpdrQMvddhRHeVI4UpyYM3tZASUMj3By3LHT6GAustRXsElfPs015U6qZEp8GPa9tTwYujYEYU8R1Gh_Kir8bseBJyamiGrlC0fu3AgkL6aKTYU7FpzqhyLmoJst-d3UvOFRk/s2048/P1090808.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1463" data-original-width="2048" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG9oI_6UJpdrQMvddhRHeVI4UpyYM3tZASUMj3By3LHT6GAustRXsElfPs015U6qZEp8GPa9tTwYujYEYU8R1Gh_Kir8bseBJyamiGrlC0fu3AgkL6aKTYU7FpzqhyLmoJst-d3UvOFRk/w400-h286/P1090808.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Stratified sedimentary layers in the Franklins</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">After passing through another deep arroyo and climbing up the steep bank on the other side I run a smooth wide trail and reach the place where we started this morning (mile 5). 27K runners are starting their race; I can see a string of runners along the Upper Sunset Ridge. I cross the main park road and stop at an aid station to fill my water bottles — my new UD soft flask collapsible bottles which I may or may not talk about later. I get my poles out and extend them.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Let the climbing begin! I’m on my way to the peak which is four miles away with a good 2500’ of vert. The route is a rock filled gully at first that transitions to a giant pile of rocks streaming down the mountain. Jagged triangular rocks, ankle breaking trapezoidal rocks, squarish rocks, rhombus shaped rocks. You name it; it’s here. I reach the main scree field and slog over the heap, slowly grinding towards the West Cottonwood Spring.</span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3RZxiqXJxRw1mKZuLn9CiK5A6qT12AMsT2Bk0PsetsDDxLRVpT-QD8OqKIckBwrOqHkUvIVTuSaciHqqrt8EW6JAg9bWbL9Ym2AXwqr8mPLbtI0U1QyYYJc4zWJU-XFJm4xm6yq1xGP4/s2048/P1090749.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3RZxiqXJxRw1mKZuLn9CiK5A6qT12AMsT2Bk0PsetsDDxLRVpT-QD8OqKIckBwrOqHkUvIVTuSaciHqqrt8EW6JAg9bWbL9Ym2AXwqr8mPLbtI0U1QyYYJc4zWJU-XFJm4xm6yq1xGP4/w400-h300/P1090749.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">After passing a rusty cattle tank, I leave the scree field and clamber up an extremely steep gully where logs have been placed higgledy-piggledy in an attempt to create stairs. I stop frequently to rest on my poles since my heart is trying to jump out of my chest. A few large flat rocks and tree roots augment the log steps, but erosion has taken its toll and the route is more like a cliff. There are a few benches near the spring so I sit for a minute to regroup and let my breathing settle down. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7FedqdZLkFFobij-W-7GhaupPjvryrBd-sxnYz6QKIya-ufmPsmW91ougG2dJWPhe8T_6FgA1Ei6Hwy1ubZcFkJPGkNSm4teZCDZHnp3amBwc5qMaMbRkEgSP141DyC2OC1SxspLFxqU/s2048/P1090753.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7FedqdZLkFFobij-W-7GhaupPjvryrBd-sxnYz6QKIya-ufmPsmW91ougG2dJWPhe8T_6FgA1Ei6Hwy1ubZcFkJPGkNSm4teZCDZHnp3amBwc5qMaMbRkEgSP141DyC2OC1SxspLFxqU/w400-h300/P1090753.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Leo catches up to me and we commiserate on what a bitch this part is. How soon we forget, or else we wouldn’t keep signing up for this torture! I continue on, slowly and steadily up to the main Franklin Mountain ridge where I’m greeted by the bright morning sun. I hike down off the ridge’s east side to Mundy’s Gap and pick up a dirt road which carries me down to the Mundy's aid station. I start climbing the out-and-back trail to the peak while front runners are coming back down. I move to the side to let them pass since the trail is narrow and some are really flying.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9E5uR7mleSqWMQdXSgDIFbrrNp6hLKjK4KbdlNg0AE54wRLKCwEUnDAr_wdAxJcWLFHMuzCFrBOFrmzxWPlMFMUv-vidQLEkQ2VpTwu4MUHhSQHROzsKKq2PrW8-bJ1FkFYV3HKL3QAg/s2048/P1090758.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1463" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9E5uR7mleSqWMQdXSgDIFbrrNp6hLKjK4KbdlNg0AE54wRLKCwEUnDAr_wdAxJcWLFHMuzCFrBOFrmzxWPlMFMUv-vidQLEkQ2VpTwu4MUHhSQHROzsKKq2PrW8-bJ1FkFYV3HKL3QAg/w286-h400/P1090758.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Runners coming down from the peak</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">the trail is lined with tall brown grass. Just a few months ago this mountain looked like the Emerald Isle because of a heavy monsoon season. Here in the Desert Southwest, we get most of our rain at the end of the summer. We had a lot of gully washers this year and the flash flooding took its toll on the trails washing away part of the dirt road up to Mundy’s Gap on the west side. It also brought down a huge pile of rocks and debris which now blocks part of the trail. </span><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwA4cU3XUvsZiq1z2Pk8e-RaModTHFpxoBIBt3i9aOLtrr4mFv9c3wbrG6maj4HGnfGPsU2ODjrf0SBNduoDd-UgH27_pMG5KCCil8Y4rhp5pFTxKb6W5zW23AGf3RzNkBenVLdr8stfI/s2048/P1090113.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="2048" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwA4cU3XUvsZiq1z2Pk8e-RaModTHFpxoBIBt3i9aOLtrr4mFv9c3wbrG6maj4HGnfGPsU2ODjrf0SBNduoDd-UgH27_pMG5KCCil8Y4rhp5pFTxKb6W5zW23AGf3RzNkBenVLdr8stfI/w400-h241/P1090113.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Green Franklins during monsoon season</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8hd-iMvm44TuI55bypsFb8a3KjbwHu8B6Lqs84CqMT95222p-ZYm94P38J2O7nS2vomq1daPOzZ_k2OQx82HQoWpZS4SDm2eGvY3Tq8e2NAW4skoph0kGDs1vjJfU40Tp3sQ8dubdAJM/s2048/P1090343.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1463" data-original-width="2048" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8hd-iMvm44TuI55bypsFb8a3KjbwHu8B6Lqs84CqMT95222p-ZYm94P38J2O7nS2vomq1daPOzZ_k2OQx82HQoWpZS4SDm2eGvY3Tq8e2NAW4skoph0kGDs1vjJfU40Tp3sQ8dubdAJM/w400-h286/P1090343.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">The east side road to Mundy’s was also in poor shape which created a major headache for race organizers. Supplies and water, which are usually driven up by park staff, had to be hauled up the mountain by volunteers this year. Thanks to everyone who completed this sisyphean task! On the plus side, all the rain created a gorgeous mountain with plenty of wildflowers. How quickly everything turns brown again, though.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWafmpl5C7nTTi7xJasXdQXMA9B8y1JFHtzSQ2DjoukfbqrL0rqmhmODR024zN5UV64TM6H5su-CoXsdXH9zjeQLHj6K4XCKLIqJPY1dcsXnTFAmM9iPMpRBwNw8uopZqQCHsDKKIIgQ0/s2048/P1090382.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWafmpl5C7nTTi7xJasXdQXMA9B8y1JFHtzSQ2DjoukfbqrL0rqmhmODR024zN5UV64TM6H5su-CoXsdXH9zjeQLHj6K4XCKLIqJPY1dcsXnTFAmM9iPMpRBwNw8uopZqQCHsDKKIIgQ0/w400-h300/P1090382.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Green N. Franklin Peak</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I mostly take my time getting to the top of the peak since I will have to do this climb again this evening. I power hike making my way upwards. I know each turn and switchback intimately since I’ve spent a lot of hours training here lately, including a few double peak climbs. Eventually I make it to the top and look around at the cities below —El Paso, TX and Juarez, MX. I can see the entire Franklin Mountain range from here with the Organ Mountains in the background. </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDTa445L-LQPUHmR8c1Sci3v-l_vnrMzANxiV-S6v4oQTah7alYhupcSiwz55ALyfp2LP7GaY0cyxNc6SGFBBHlP0syz10eHNqANq5rYHPRX8z2eYaSEYqBnjqxP69yzPhW2Z05CaPQOs/s2048/P1090769.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="2048" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDTa445L-LQPUHmR8c1Sci3v-l_vnrMzANxiV-S6v4oQTah7alYhupcSiwz55ALyfp2LP7GaY0cyxNc6SGFBBHlP0syz10eHNqANq5rYHPRX8z2eYaSEYqBnjqxP69yzPhW2Z05CaPQOs/w400-h241/P1090769.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Brown Franklins with Organ Mountains in the background</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">An old </span><a href=" https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Union_Switch_%26_Signal" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Union Switch and Signal</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> railroad signal base, made in Swissvale, PA where I visited my grandparents as a kid, sits at the top. Attached is a radio antenna which, according to Wikipedia is, “a ham radio repeater and emergency locator beacon receiver maintained by the West Texas Repeater Association.” A torn and tattered American flag flaps from the antenna pole, perhaps a metaphor for how runners feel after their arduous journey to this spot.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7X8xBVBuk9HpNvNIMGjxgwjtUW-kMAXcZ0pZxerwzSA-BsjtOBE1QtP_ICCOt6maWRXmHsO7WNXg1GrepwIiFw4WTO9LN03399BU_et_NivXo6MvZ0a_0MwdpkqJDZUEFlLmqayuvbkg/s2048/P1090768.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1463" data-original-width="2048" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7X8xBVBuk9HpNvNIMGjxgwjtUW-kMAXcZ0pZxerwzSA-BsjtOBE1QtP_ICCOt6maWRXmHsO7WNXg1GrepwIiFw4WTO9LN03399BU_et_NivXo6MvZ0a_0MwdpkqJDZUEFlLmqayuvbkg/w400-h286/P1090768.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A West Texas wind battered flag</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I don’t stay long up here since I’m not even half way through my first loop. I grab a summit wrist band, to prove I was here, and head back down as more runners ascend. It’s a long way down with some very rocky and technical parts so I use my poles to help keep my balance. After a few near misses, a stubbed toe and a “JESUS CHRIST!”, I make it back to the Mundy’s aid station (mile 11) all in one piece. I fold up my poles, attach them to my pack and get some water. The rest of the way down is mostly runnable.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsawTWZDD3BXZujyWZhLKqKynh1vdS3pkxhSN0Lx9C1M3KnKYJlaDUML7Euu8U0EWR8Wivz0AznuTML9S9CAdf3kdF0nS2-zIqaCVdziSfVgrYYrMwTjNSYijPV0yQKvONVkaXaXaIARA/s2048/P1090774.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="2048" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsawTWZDD3BXZujyWZhLKqKynh1vdS3pkxhSN0Lx9C1M3KnKYJlaDUML7Euu8U0EWR8Wivz0AznuTML9S9CAdf3kdF0nS2-zIqaCVdziSfVgrYYrMwTjNSYijPV0yQKvONVkaXaXaIARA/w400-h241/P1090774.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tin mines</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">The lower I go, the warmer it gets and then becomes down right hot. I pass some old tin mines with grates on top and brown railings around them to keep cows or unsuspecting runners from falling into the shafts. I pick up one of my favorite trails, Scenic Rd which is smooth packed dirt for a long while. The trail follows the contour of the slopes so there isn’t much elevation gain. Sadly it ends on a crumbly caliche (hard pan) laden road leading down and away from the mountain range. There are round baseball sized rocks at first with slabs of uneven cement like bedrock. In a bit I come to a sign that describes the trail perfectly —Rock Shock. It is definitely a shock to my joints and only gets worse the lower I go, ending in a hot mess of rocks and boulders collected in the bottom of an eroded gully. I skirt to the left bank careful not to slip into the chasm.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpsvyl6Q2Q4LFThXh-L74WlF0P-ZiAJotEYHbScyDGi-sCKjDrXkCybcD_uIJJ6bhtLRrezI5nzT05yj9mUp_5-NpaLsAMFwADDLWmkqujNJvxPCpbmDXbPDpLfV9ZOf4VoWims2wOo8/s2048/P1090776.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpsvyl6Q2Q4LFThXh-L74WlF0P-ZiAJotEYHbScyDGi-sCKjDrXkCybcD_uIJJ6bhtLRrezI5nzT05yj9mUp_5-NpaLsAMFwADDLWmkqujNJvxPCpbmDXbPDpLfV9ZOf4VoWims2wOo8/w400-h300/P1090776.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Typical smooth trail</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Once past this obstacle I transition onto a smooth path that meanders along the sandy desert floor, worming its way through shallow dips and depressions along the way. I cross a little wooden bridge that spans one of the troughs and then I see the aid station tent. My energy is waning. It’s almost lunch time and I haven’t eaten much, but a few boiled potatoes and apple slices. I reach the Bowen Roundhouse aid station (mile 18) where some of my friends are cheering and ringing cowbells. This is cattle grazing country after all and you can never have too much cowbell in an ultramarathon. </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjABSYdqZ0Sz-1ML8kU4ezIWhoMD-jzbI_DOskmwQishSxTvOyWjfULeCY-3CD2jqD7tt5fRfKkXRdX9knVPjIhBRAnQ8Px4Ic1o9Cuor-mFMQWSHxR98ar7G09AeGDyvth0Ai-n74ONcI/s2048/P1090812.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="2048" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjABSYdqZ0Sz-1ML8kU4ezIWhoMD-jzbI_DOskmwQishSxTvOyWjfULeCY-3CD2jqD7tt5fRfKkXRdX9knVPjIhBRAnQ8Px4Ic1o9Cuor-mFMQWSHxR98ar7G09AeGDyvth0Ai-n74ONcI/w400-h241/P1090812.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Typical gnarly trail</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I get some high fives and then run into a long-time-no-see running acquaintance David, an accomplished masters champion and fellow Air Force veteran. “Go Air Force!”, he says. So I say, "Go Air Force!" and extend a hand. I look down; he extends a fist, so I do a fist and then he does a hand; then I do a hand; then it’s hand, fist, hand, fist, hand. We shake on it and laugh. I head into the tent because I have a drop bag here. I slather some sunscreen all over my skin to protect against the relentless desert sun and then grab some food out of my bag. I don’t like to waste time dawdling in aid stations; there’s too many tough miles ahead. I head out promptly and eat while I walk. </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigOz6nSBrno5TrCciEaIa5p1dmVxukdJXmTb5tsu9FgX28poowfYPakwpS8VLXZlTg5U6jQ96eFjA6X4nfyYAy_5J4PqIa8uWtu0Uqn_1C90Dup8VsMUh6PQoQmbAFoPRb8bFMDmimPgw/s2048/P1090789.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="2048" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigOz6nSBrno5TrCciEaIa5p1dmVxukdJXmTb5tsu9FgX28poowfYPakwpS8VLXZlTg5U6jQ96eFjA6X4nfyYAy_5J4PqIa8uWtu0Uqn_1C90Dup8VsMUh6PQoQmbAFoPRb8bFMDmimPgw/w400-h241/P1090789.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bowen Roundhouse and aid station</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">The next section is sandy for a while, but then climbs up to a grassy plateau at the foot of the mountains. The trail follows a long gradual hill with a few steep sections so I walk for a while. The sun is high and I’m sweating, but make steady progress up to a high pass over a side bump of the main Franklin mountain chain. I take in grand views of the peaks in the northern end of the park and then start to run down. The trail makes a lot of twists and turns and is very rocky. My bare legs scrape through thorny brush that has encroached on the narrow trail. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga44fEKAcJjObC_zEv_d71kyzTDrcP42iAiucKFcT7QhyQ-4kNwK_q_LRC9wHBsmHIfWOTmVQgDK6tnyB-nSJLFVBLzTQHSK2HIa6bvdBvBnZcyk8FXFTtMO080828wUhdAcbLiptScTc/s2048/P1090790.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga44fEKAcJjObC_zEv_d71kyzTDrcP42iAiucKFcT7QhyQ-4kNwK_q_LRC9wHBsmHIfWOTmVQgDK6tnyB-nSJLFVBLzTQHSK2HIa6bvdBvBnZcyk8FXFTtMO080828wUhdAcbLiptScTc/w400-h300/P1090790.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I get down and pass through a deep cut in the earth where water rushes down the mountain during heavy rainfall. I climb the other side and the trail becomes rough, with half buried ankle breaking red rocks sticking up like the fins of a dragon. I walk for a long while roller coasting along the slopes amongst the disarray of rocks. I reach Hitt Canyon, another deep cut through the desert floor. </span></div><div style="font-family: arial;"><br /></div></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;">The trail is smoother, so I am able to run along the rim of the canyon. However, the ravine goes on forever and heat radiates from below, creating an oven-like effect. My water supply is running low and I’m sweating profusely. After an eternity or two in a searing hell, I get to where the canyon meets the mountain and am able to cross through a jumble of boulders to the other side. This is the spot where a little garden gnome used to sit along the trail until monsoon rains swept him to his death. Do any of you remember him?</span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqJlrAhMdO_qnDQpWtkWckoiI89M3nGsATYfx_jy5SvdI1LZO10DQoqqNMksOfp0YzfVoMM0mDGMUBL4srH356UE304RNVwV_88bCPQodaKll2Xho5UFbKypBTrXKwhzlTR2T04E8Pg3E/s2048/P1090795.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="2048" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqJlrAhMdO_qnDQpWtkWckoiI89M3nGsATYfx_jy5SvdI1LZO10DQoqqNMksOfp0YzfVoMM0mDGMUBL4srH356UE304RNVwV_88bCPQodaKll2Xho5UFbKypBTrXKwhzlTR2T04E8Pg3E/w400-h241/P1090795.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The northern and most remote part of the state park</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, I keep going and reach the backbone of the Franklin Mountains known as the Northern Pass. The view is vast with desert and chaparral spreading out forever with the Rio Grande Valley in the distance. I cross over to the west side of the mountain range. Now the trail switchbacks downward; back and forth, back and forth, again and again. There are a few tricky parts where the route passes over rock outcrops with large steps down. I use my poles to help keep from tumbling off the rocks and then I run back and forth, back and forth. I reach a dirt ranch road and run down and away from the mountain. In no time I reach a wide gravelly arroyo and pick up the dirt road on the other side. I rise up and, just like that, BAM! The West aid station (mile 26) tent comes into view. I run in and quench my parched throat with cold water. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Op_JPlkt7qlJ7RKQ2asV5NCOoGhbUide369GBhIDjyndiVgw8YjHXt1M1B077eMvHIzQd-RbHRCXDgjrDOfdX6-jhRMcm7di2m6_JqH0fdMNE2zjw6Pfxrs4VFPV7gH6FfRX9Gf7tK0/s2048/P1090810.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="2048" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Op_JPlkt7qlJ7RKQ2asV5NCOoGhbUide369GBhIDjyndiVgw8YjHXt1M1B077eMvHIzQd-RbHRCXDgjrDOfdX6-jhRMcm7di2m6_JqH0fdMNE2zjw6Pfxrs4VFPV7gH6FfRX9Gf7tK0/w400-h241/P1090810.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">A lot of runners are sitting around resting and rehydrating, some with sullen looks on their faces. Perhaps they went out too fast or underestimated the toughness of this brutal course. Some are 50K runners who’s course has more vert and is a bit longer; probably 34 miles or so. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A guy asks, “How many miles till the finish?” </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The aid station volunteer replies, “Eight miles.” </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“WHAT! My gps watch already has 29!” the runner argues. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Well, they told us it was eight. It’s better to think it’s more; that way you’ll be surprised if you get there early,” the volunteer retorts. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">He’s right! Running an ultra is 90% psychological; the other 10% is mental. The 50K runners are getting testy. I, on the other hand, still have 38 more miles to go! BE PATIENT!</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygcONmrPA5hqpKLoJGXQk3fY81jktwpz0lnLjEPA0wPy7hc9mU13NHoxTQW6fqqEHHgDbTmYooRGbCeINVEc81KDyli0DyaTfrVMQ1vsHChgPOl8UQ1k9cW9boLHLCQhsNzGQMtGq2sE/s2048/P1090819.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="2048" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygcONmrPA5hqpKLoJGXQk3fY81jktwpz0lnLjEPA0wPy7hc9mU13NHoxTQW6fqqEHHgDbTmYooRGbCeINVEc81KDyli0DyaTfrVMQ1vsHChgPOl8UQ1k9cW9boLHLCQhsNzGQMtGq2sE/w400-h241/P1090819.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A wide wash that turns into a raging river</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I take off and run in and out of a bunch of arroyos. It’s really hot down here and my shirt is sopping wet from sweat. Occasionally a cool breeze blows down from the slopes chilling me. It’s a really strange feeling to be hot and cold at the same time. The extremely dry air and full sun causes an evaporative cooling effect. You feel the sun burning your skin until the wind comes and then you are cold from your wet shirt. You don’t get this feeling in a humid climate, you just have a constant hot and clammy feeling. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNdC8dLhkywZByfGe4LMpt-Icy2zAJ2_gdPnUAHERBud-CUdgS4TZYtlHJeEQFhyXfwiGrkhZywYJcyr4sgNt7pJl3N1ZMJk8Epj6IKIAkxSBabZrhnMJTUSVH1DqnTHNaeh9-_rlVBvc/s2048/P1090793.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNdC8dLhkywZByfGe4LMpt-Icy2zAJ2_gdPnUAHERBud-CUdgS4TZYtlHJeEQFhyXfwiGrkhZywYJcyr4sgNt7pJl3N1ZMJk8Epj6IKIAkxSBabZrhnMJTUSVH1DqnTHNaeh9-_rlVBvc/w400-h300/P1090793.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">In a while I reach a straight flat trail that brings me back up towards the mountain range. I force myself to run as much as the terrain allows because it’s easy to fall into a death march on this section if you aren’t careful. Anthony’s Nose (6,831’) comes into view and then the Mammoth Rock, so I know I’m reaching the finish line. I keep drinking to keep up with my hydration since we are in the hottest part of the day. I start daydreaming about how nice it will feel when the sun sets and brings some much needed relief from the heat. I try to eat, but my stomach is unsettled from heat and water intake; so I give up.</span><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbXyk6T-6kLhero8o4-YYneov-Qo6bPmY7ZcqfcYmsRlD2Z3JJTAGeLj8iCo7AJrYN3ZXRaMfqR8pKxyXN09uQ9MjYonQrGG9oyxGH-CmBPldd35TFp19HLBxfkcFr3kwt5PJ1hjAyvU/s2048/P1090822.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="2048" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbXyk6T-6kLhero8o4-YYneov-Qo6bPmY7ZcqfcYmsRlD2Z3JJTAGeLj8iCo7AJrYN3ZXRaMfqR8pKxyXN09uQ9MjYonQrGG9oyxGH-CmBPldd35TFp19HLBxfkcFr3kwt5PJ1hjAyvU/w400-h241/P1090822.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Finally I run down exposed bedrock which, having run this route many times in races and training, Is my landmark indicating that I’m almost back. I go through a wide gravelly wash and then make the final climb up Lower Sunset Trail. It’s a tough climb in the heat and I'm really quite beat. <i>Only 32 more miles to go</i>, I keep repeating to myself. When I near the pavilion at the top, I see and hear a lot of spectators cheering in their runners. I get a boost of energy and climb the final cement stairs into the finish in over 10 hours. My friend, Kenny is tapping in runners on an ipad which records their time. “Hey buddy, how are you!” I say and extend a fist. He also extends a fist so we do a fist bump. That was it; no hand, fist, hand, fist thing. “Great job, keep it up!”, he says. I wonder if I should I have done an exploding fist bump!</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhknvBYQ4_3qHG3jarw6zL7SRI1G-flI4hHobnrC0zBCMf8k8n4plHNtehnqmc7VBg5q4lRaVcT9D-U2p7CpsK9AmIqbUrR1W8Z7NSl6sq8TL8PKig-V5SIsnXqvXosv54sY9D6leiXiYg/s2048/P1090828.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="2048" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhknvBYQ4_3qHG3jarw6zL7SRI1G-flI4hHobnrC0zBCMf8k8n4plHNtehnqmc7VBg5q4lRaVcT9D-U2p7CpsK9AmIqbUrR1W8Z7NSl6sq8TL8PKig-V5SIsnXqvXosv54sY9D6leiXiYg/w400-h241/P1090828.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The finish area is bustling with activity so I quickly get my drop bag to get ready for the night portion of my run. I’m feeling a bit confused from lack of food, the heat and having just run 32.5 miles. I realize I have to get out of here quickly before I change my mind and decide to quit. I have to focus diligently so I don’t forget anything important like warm clothes or my big headlamp. I put on a dry long sleeve shirt and tuck another one in my pack. I get my power bank to charge up my gps watch on the trail. I try to eat; I nibble some cold salami and cheese from my bag. Suddenly I realize that I’m famished and several more slices disappear down my gullet in no time flat. The calories boost my mood and I start to perk up. I fill my bottles and check everything. Light, check. Spare batteries, check. Warm clothes, check. Poles, etc. Once I’m confident that I have everything, I blast out of there. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivEaCns3W9V1kWIBwrkUmZykFuRtbZ2n99Ca_GYX2cZygvbBwauWA1ToCRlkgVkp9YuzZkxnwe0IbR9pL5fmw8ta07iqS6mlAtcba-fTgwghlh3PfkdYzSzzONoNIhGqUbOdaTFzOwCGQ/s2048/P1090831.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivEaCns3W9V1kWIBwrkUmZykFuRtbZ2n99Ca_GYX2cZygvbBwauWA1ToCRlkgVkp9YuzZkxnwe0IbR9pL5fmw8ta07iqS6mlAtcba-fTgwghlh3PfkdYzSzzONoNIhGqUbOdaTFzOwCGQ/w400-h300/P1090831.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The last push to the finish line. Lower Sunset Trail</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">The sun is still up and I heat up pretty quickly, but at least it’s a downhill run for a while. My spirits are pretty high as I go thrumming along the Lower Sunset loop while watching the sun go lower and lower in the sky. By the time I reach the main park road the sun slips quietly and without fanfare, below the horizon. I stop to get my poles out and put my headlamp on when a chill hits me. Desert temperatures fluctuate wildly with swings in the 30-40 degree range. Once the energy of the sun is gone there is no humidity to hold the heat in and the air gets frigid fast. I get to the Trail Head aid station (mile 37) and fill up with water. </span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4alxLopEJMWm4ZPQVFPLP0j_yWPnChKxwzs-0GcJHCX-9aYc6AvmlRu2wgsqYGbOVTbEBk0HJdgIOZMcpOzITxr8GznLqvXMWwezpiUEuXwUBs0wgdSYoNuIsL-q_zPtPNAgC3JN_GY8/s2048/P1090823.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1463" data-original-width="2048" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4alxLopEJMWm4ZPQVFPLP0j_yWPnChKxwzs-0GcJHCX-9aYc6AvmlRu2wgsqYGbOVTbEBk0HJdgIOZMcpOzITxr8GznLqvXMWwezpiUEuXwUBs0wgdSYoNuIsL-q_zPtPNAgC3JN_GY8/w400-h286/P1090823.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I start the 2500’ climb to N. Franklin Peak for the second time today and my rubbery tired legs protest. I pace myself while ascending the rocky trail and then traverse the scree pile, taking frequent breaks to let my breathing settle down. It’s completely dark now and I can see other lights below me bobbing up the mountain. I just take one step at a time and focus on getting to the big cottonwood tree. I try not to think about the rest of the task ahead of me this evening. I make it to the tree and set the next goal —the ridge. This part is very steep and my feet </span><span style="font-family: arial;">frequently </span><span style="font-family: arial;">slip backwards in the crumbly dirt. Two steps forward, one slip back, two steps forward, one slip back, repeat.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I make it to the ridge and look out towards the northeast side of El Paso and the abundance of city lights are amazing; a big box of man made light which marks where the desert ends and the city begins. In contrast, a half moon glows above me with twinkling stars filling the night sky which reminds me of a quote from a book I recently read. In <a href="https://www.harpercollins.com/products/the-oak-papers-james-canton?variant=32139148951586" target="_blank">The Oak Papers</a>, James Canton writes, </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><i><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: arial;">And I do wonder what those ancient people, whose feet walked these lands so many years before, made of that vast circle in the sky. They lived in nature so much more than we do now. They felt the nature of the world about them.</span></i></b></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The mountain is very peaceful and quiet this evening with fewer runners left out on the course. I enjoy the solitude as I run and reach the Mundy’s aid station. I don’t stop, but keep climbing up towards the peak where the wind hits me in the face on each turn in the trail. Gusts come down over the ridges and through the valleys making it feel brisk at times. I become mesmerized by the oval of my headlamp with nothing in my peripheral vision as I slog up the trail. I stay in the present moment and focus on my breath to help reduce the burning in my quads. Occasionally a runner or two descend the mountain, but they are gone in a flash so I return to my breathing.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After much toil and many breaths later, I reach the last few switchbacks where I’m hit with strong gusts. I stop to put on another shirt for the final push to the summit. At last I arrive and am all alone. I have the whole universe to myself. I pause to take in the vastness of the city lights sprawling for miles in all directions, the outline of S. Franklin Peak in the foreground. The starry sky above, with Venus glowing brightly above the horizon is absolutely stunning. Millions of people are down there, on a Saturday night, watching their TVs and scrolling through Insta-chat and Klik-Klok while I’m up here in a remote corner of the world. Nothing else exists, but this moment —a <i>satori</i> moment. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ct5qKQCY8lmV07Xhf7Vy_RA9qgTw-oSfSHIOvqFgp5X5BoIWoTqv6o1h0KQowPW8cIJiaBGowzKkfXzHMbLOA4PW4zSzuTFsmm-FCfkODD0R6YeBYQ30cWbJLuoKJSclVsoCnhyk_5Y/s2048/IMG_2920.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="2048" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ct5qKQCY8lmV07Xhf7Vy_RA9qgTw-oSfSHIOvqFgp5X5BoIWoTqv6o1h0KQowPW8cIJiaBGowzKkfXzHMbLOA4PW4zSzuTFsmm-FCfkODD0R6YeBYQ30cWbJLuoKJSclVsoCnhyk_5Y/w400-h209/IMG_2920.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>S. Franklin Peak as seen from N. Franklin Peak</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">James Canton writes, </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><i><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: arial;">…when the facade of our normal existence falls and we see beyond, feel the possibility of enlightenment. We live each day of our life feeling, if nominally, in control of our daily journey through life and knowing our regular path in the world. Then, in such moments of wonder, we can only stand and stare. We can no longer see the everyday. We can only feel our presence here as light as air, our feather-like existence upon this earth as ethereal and fragile as a seed head in the wind.</span></i></b></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6);">Enjoy</span> a video of the view at night:</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MVN4p4tvWCw" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Suddenly the chill of the air brings me back down to earth. I grab my second summit wrist band and depart. The footing is twice as tricky in the dark so I take my time. I see a few runners coming up, but can’t see their faces. Leo approaches and recognizes me so we chat for a few minutes and encourage each other. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWOyAp5u4b5aUviYdIV730hUoLhH2AnTkyIT2db5Mfwg5NXw6zlelLRWinuZT0QH8Ro4Mdnh1EreWWK8T3mpXCp3Ch5CfvKm8R26piKoBFelQ2EL2QcLPKjXzg0HJJpyZPrX5DaHsjCY/s2048/IMG_2922.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWOyAp5u4b5aUviYdIV730hUoLhH2AnTkyIT2db5Mfwg5NXw6zlelLRWinuZT0QH8Ro4Mdnh1EreWWK8T3mpXCp3Ch5CfvKm8R26piKoBFelQ2EL2QcLPKjXzg0HJJpyZPrX5DaHsjCY/w400-h300/IMG_2922.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>W. El Paso. My neighborhood is down there.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I make it back to Mundy’s aid (Mile 42) and know that the worst is over. Just 20 more miles to go! I run down to the tin mines and take a walking break to eat a little; then a friend, Rosalba catches up to me. “Can I walk with you?” she asks. “Sure,” I say. </span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We commiserate about how tired and battered we feel and then I begin to run the smooth Scenic Rd Trail. I’m pretty sure she is faster and could probably pass me, but she stays behind keeping me company. The time goes by quickly and then we reach Rock Shock where neither of us has the energy to run over the obstacles so we walk down. At the bottom we run the smooth twisty trail into the Bowen aid station (mile 49). We freshen up a bit, eat some food and then are quickly on our way.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The next stretch is into the remotest part of the park where I never see anyone when I run out here. It can get down right spooky at night when you are all alone.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Thanks for staying with me,” Rosalba says. “I don’t like running this part alone at night. A guy told me he saw a mountain lion out here.” </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">(Rule #1 for running in mountain lion country at night: Always run with someone slower than you. That way, the cougar will catch the slower guy and you can escape while the lion is dining on your friend's flesh.)</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">So I say, “Well, you are smart to stay with me since you are faster, you should be able to get away while the lion eats me.” </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We are further away from the city lights now and the sky is filled with stars while the moon sinks lower in the western sky. The night drags on forever but we keep plodding along. I grow very drowsy and dream of hot coffee. Finally we reach the Northern Pass and descend the many switchbacks. We make it to our final aid station on the west side (mile 56.5). </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The volunteer lady is very cheery even though it’s around 2:00am. A young runner is sitting on an ice chest with no expression on his face whatsoever. He looks pale and lifeless; more like a zombie really. No one is home. Rosalba asks if they have any coffee and they do! We each have some which perks us up a little. Meanwhile, the guy comes to life and takes off without a word. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“He looked like a zombie,” I say. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“He sure did,” the volunteer agrees.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I hope he’s ok,” I say.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Me too,” she replies. “He didn’t take in any calories or drink.”</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, me and Rosalba are ready to take off on our last leg. Literally, on our last leg! The nice lady with the coffee, bids us adieu and says, “If you happen to run into that guy, pick him up and put him back on the trail.” We all laugh.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Our spirits are high since we know we will most likely finish the race short of a mountain lion attack or zombie apocalypse. The night drags on, but we make steady progress alternating between running the downhill parts and walking the hills. We reach the last climb up to the pavilion and I tell Rosalba to go ahead. Utterly exhausted and sleep deprived, I finally finish a few minutes after her in 22:26. It’s almost 4:00 am and all is quiet here with only a handful of people wrapped up in blankets. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCLjylPM2bcB9C82El62-4yGqL01KYQcjTe8EfEdUqjJYMK2U63iPUwb1TLnVZQQxVK2D4VS4d_23PGTT8nsk9_sq5vjn2OXz2-IdkGsAQ4R5sXKQTLbtoLsdj4W1o4YU7kA6txrrUEE/s2048/P1090836.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1463" data-original-width="2048" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCLjylPM2bcB9C82El62-4yGqL01KYQcjTe8EfEdUqjJYMK2U63iPUwb1TLnVZQQxVK2D4VS4d_23PGTT8nsk9_sq5vjn2OXz2-IdkGsAQ4R5sXKQTLbtoLsdj4W1o4YU7kA6txrrUEE/w400-h286/P1090836.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">A lady hands me my finisher’s buckle and congratulates me. I’m very grateful to have finished another tough race in the Franklins. It was a great day sharing the trail with all the runners. I’m very indebted to the volunteers and staff who helped keep us fueled and motivated throughout the race. No high fives, fist bumps or hand shakes needed. We are all too weary so I’ll just go home and collapse into my bed.</span><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">See you on the trail.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div></div></div>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-54234268724313225562021-10-29T10:07:00.023-06:002021-11-21T07:39:32.434-07:00Tortugas “A” Mountain 24 Hour Run<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">So, I did a thing. One I’ve never done before. I ran the <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=84667" target="_blank">Tortugas “A” Mountain 24 hour</a> run in Las Cruces, NM a few weeks ago. I’ve never run a 24 hour race before because most of them are usually run on a track or short loop course. The idea is to run for 24 hours to rack up as many miles as you can. Running on a track for a day and night never really appealed to me, but this race was on a four mile trail around “A” Mountain. Well, I decided to give it a try and since I had recently celebrated my 58th birthday I set a goal to run one mile for each year on the planet. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNhZFwQnuFIP_BCRzUTOS_jAPVkfQ9RUpTK5ygoFzBHMLZvyPuxsNmnCbar6QtjqCv9Fl18Ycokzp9xxzs0vT8ULGF94Blu8H69Vmu2zaH8ZllnkIGUWj2aJofElEVMI8J8pHUwloYLxQ/s1280/IMG_2831.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNhZFwQnuFIP_BCRzUTOS_jAPVkfQ9RUpTK5ygoFzBHMLZvyPuxsNmnCbar6QtjqCv9Fl18Ycokzp9xxzs0vT8ULGF94Blu8H69Vmu2zaH8ZllnkIGUWj2aJofElEVMI8J8pHUwloYLxQ/w400-h241/IMG_2831.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Organ Mountains as seen from "A" Mountain</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The race was sponsored by the <a href="https://snmta.org" target="_blank">Southern New Mexico Trail Alliance</a> who maintain the trails in this area and also organize the <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=84667" target="_blank">Sierra Vista Trail Runs</a>. This race, however, was run "fat ass" style, “No Fees, No Awards, No Aid, No Wimps”. We started on Friday evening at 6pm going clockwise around the mountain and reversed direction on each completed loop. Runner wrote the time they finished each lap on a board posted at the start/finish area.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ts3099jiP2-2oXFDSNJ5LEc9dGbULhnYN2UNJwP78bNoCOvNZcz8LwLp3E_Db1UR94KiW69NKea1Ge5IzYIy69N75a998ONG9U4gzdzMsWlgpZIJwSIwtcuySLZ_DtKL1JRLO874LnU/s1280/P1080351.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ts3099jiP2-2oXFDSNJ5LEc9dGbULhnYN2UNJwP78bNoCOvNZcz8LwLp3E_Db1UR94KiW69NKea1Ge5IzYIy69N75a998ONG9U4gzdzMsWlgpZIJwSIwtcuySLZ_DtKL1JRLO874LnU/w400-h241/P1080351.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tortugas Mountain as seen from the Organs</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: arial;">Tortugas means turtle in Spanish and the bump of a mountain protruding from the desert floor does indeed look like a turtle. Locals affectionately refer to it as simply “A” Mountain for the white A which stands for NMSU Aggies. In fact, New Mexico State University operates an <a href="https://astro.nmsu.edu/observatories/tortugas.html" target="_blank">observatory</a> on top of the peak that is around 5000’ in elevation. The <a href="https://tortugaspueblo.com/history-2/" target="_blank">Tortugas Pueblo</a> holds a three day pilgrimage for their Our Lady of Guadalupe Fiesta every December where they trek to the top of the mountain spending the day holding ceremonies. According to New Mexico Magazine, this is a recreation of an event in Mexico City in 1531 when “la Virgen appeared on a mountain to the indigenous lad San Juan Diego, forming an influential connection between Catholicism and Native spirituality.”</span><p></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Read: <i><a href="https://www.newmexicomagazine.org/blog/post/the-pilgrimage-84272/" target="_blank">The Pilgrimage</a></i> (New Mexico Magazine) </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYb0Fp1QeZ5jJ05g2_kUtKkXv58TaOUxqKqjafui91fEIIM1uYXb2-SVJLIIz_App93j2xBorhyphenhyphen-jilgSRy5vbHjLbNeraqbnoJaNHIlGLc5VI1-bNIzjS-bE0gENa4GVbN-Nyb0-ibfQ/s1280/IMG_2834.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="961" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYb0Fp1QeZ5jJ05g2_kUtKkXv58TaOUxqKqjafui91fEIIM1uYXb2-SVJLIIz_App93j2xBorhyphenhyphen-jilgSRy5vbHjLbNeraqbnoJaNHIlGLc5VI1-bNIzjS-bE0gENa4GVbN-Nyb0-ibfQ/w400-h300/IMG_2834.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Well, my plan was to run straight through the night and part of the next day without any long breaks to try to get 15 laps (60 miles). Some runners complete some laps Friday evening and then sleep in their tent, car or RV and then wake up early and run all day Saturday. The cool thing in these races is that you can come and go as you please during the 24 hour period.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I am training for the </span><a href="http://www.trailracingovertexas.com/franklin-mountains-trail-run" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Franklin Mountains 100K</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> which is next month in El Paso, TX so I wanted to get in an all night training run. This race was perfect because I had a lot of company on the trail at night and could hit my ice chest and food after every lap. I felt safer on the trail since I am scared of the dark and you never know if there are cougars, <a href="https://www.texasobserver.org/chupacabra-legends-texas/" target="_blank">chupacabras</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">or zombies lurking around the mountain. Not to mention that</span><a href="https://www.legendsofamerica.com/gh-lallorona/" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank"> La Llorona</a><span style="font-family: arial;">, the Weeping Woman of the Southwest, will surely be inhabiting the area since we are so close to halloween and Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead).</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1X6KERPX4kRVDDBDiX4283zoL72Pv5o3m_sX6hbPhMTqMQGbo_TWEiF076GVCSRf9MH886EiYXjoRuCW4QyA9nkb5dtiq75pS7inKQRof8Ptubry-WGEqZN8MPWRjPGJOMcgcVeYxB6c/s1280/P1090627.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1X6KERPX4kRVDDBDiX4283zoL72Pv5o3m_sX6hbPhMTqMQGbo_TWEiF076GVCSRf9MH886EiYXjoRuCW4QyA9nkb5dtiq75pS7inKQRof8Ptubry-WGEqZN8MPWRjPGJOMcgcVeYxB6c/w286-h400/P1090627.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Is that her!</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, about 40 runners started the race Friday evening by going down a steep path through a deep arroyo and then back up the other side. In less than a quarter mile we reached the main loop trail and began circumambulating the mountain in a clockwise direction. I mostly stayed in the back of the pack to avoid the crowd as well as let the front runners get eaten by a chupacabra or attacked by La Llorona first. What’s the hurry anyway, we are going to be out here for 24 hours!</span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKNWDdmwCbQO9-8yPSlN2rc2QfF-Q5NKg8YrSIcT5J5uxvTX-hqLOw9CabCyTVO3rYicRwcWZ4EHRet8O4v9WnQ14hC5v3lH2vfHuN7XrLs-aPVYdKWFpoftTmDqDfpbIhg9ktAkMP1h4/s1280/P1090660.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKNWDdmwCbQO9-8yPSlN2rc2QfF-Q5NKg8YrSIcT5J5uxvTX-hqLOw9CabCyTVO3rYicRwcWZ4EHRet8O4v9WnQ14hC5v3lH2vfHuN7XrLs-aPVYdKWFpoftTmDqDfpbIhg9ktAkMP1h4/w400-h286/P1090660.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">The trail was mostly runnable, but I was surprised at the number of hills on the course. There were a lot of steep, but short elevation changes even though the overall elevation wasn’t very high. Before long we reached a rough part that paralleled a precipitous rocky gully on one side without much of a trail to run on. Having developed a balance disorder in my old age, this made me feel a bit uneasy. I was picturing myself losing my footing and falling off the cliff into the deep cut below. While it wasn’t that long of a drop, a fall would have definitely ended my run. I made sure to keep my gaze forward looking at firm ground instead of into the ditch below. I was much relieved when I was past this obstacle, but then it hit me: </span><i style="font-family: arial;">I have to cross this 14 more times!</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> Oh well, it’s better than being terrorized by La Llorona, I suppose.</span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWC1Os8t212tOq2u6opoDRGZN0YJag0yzFECjohC00YqNkEOYal-EMbOpsU020yDAc0YHEgy4Sxfpy5PTgSyXohi153o8QcEx6PoywCds2wh9dqfWYrs3ULCe_mPI7P5XhxpSgp6_gsaQ/s1280/P1090631.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWC1Os8t212tOq2u6opoDRGZN0YJag0yzFECjohC00YqNkEOYal-EMbOpsU020yDAc0YHEgy4Sxfpy5PTgSyXohi153o8QcEx6PoywCds2wh9dqfWYrs3ULCe_mPI7P5XhxpSgp6_gsaQ/w400-h286/P1090631.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I continued along the trail enjoying the view of the jagged needles of the Organ Mountains which resemble the Dolomites minus the glaciers, of course. Once on the other side of “A” Mountain, I could see the towers and observatory on top of the mountain. I climbed another steep rocky hill and then came to the half way point where a table with a water cooler was waiting. After going down a steep eroded part, I ran through a sandy bottom and then climbed up again running past a boulder field. Once over the top of the rise, the trail became mostly smooth and easy, except for one steep somewhat treacherous part. And just like that, without much effort at all, I had completed loop one in about an hour. I wrote my time finished on the board and headed back out with my headlamp since the sun was setting.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOhfxyMXRE2pvVEtwKhIQGE3uElRhiuu9QYXok61FH37nAx-8L1P9ChtHaW5uRRc9urDNR_JZZj4YiVX-DML1yuLpMSd6ySSYi3DrZhGeb_oGGC6vo-zgERTpj4xRtFY-ojVhyphenhyphenJ4aipHc/s1280/P1090635.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOhfxyMXRE2pvVEtwKhIQGE3uElRhiuu9QYXok61FH37nAx-8L1P9ChtHaW5uRRc9urDNR_JZZj4YiVX-DML1yuLpMSd6ySSYi3DrZhGeb_oGGC6vo-zgERTpj4xRtFY-ojVhyphenhyphenJ4aipHc/w400-h286/P1090635.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">This time I went counterclockwise around the mountain which reminded me of a funny word, </span><i style="font-family: arial;">widdershins</i><span style="font-family: arial;">, that I came across in </span><i style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.harpercollins.com/products/the-oak-papers-james-canton?variant=32139148951586" target="_blank">The Oak Papers</a></i><span style="font-family: arial;"> by James Canton, a British writer. </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Widdershins</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> is a Scottish word meaning counterclockwise or away from the sun.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://artsandculture.google.com/entity/widdershins/m039kf2?hl=en" target="_blank">Google Arts and Culture</a> explains:</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: arial;"><i><b>The use of the word also means "in a direction opposite to the usual" and "in a direction contrary to the apparent course of the sun". It is cognate with the German language widersinnig, i.e., "against" + "sense". The term "widdershins" was especially common in Lowland Scots.</b></i></span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It just felt weird to travel counterclockwise around “A” Mountain. Most sacred objects and mountains are usually circumambulated in a clockwise direction. The most famous is <a href="https://sacredland.org/mount-kailash-tibet/" target="_blank">Mt Kailash</a> in Tibet where Buddhists and Hindus trek in a clockwise direction, however, adherents to Bön, the indigenous religion in Tibet, travel counterclockwise. While buddhists revere Mt Kailash as the abode of the deity Demchog and Hindus the home of the god Shiva, here on “A” mountain, on this particular night anyway, we just have a bunch of stinky runners and La Llorona.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_4Bz_Ii2X1DEexRzdBWe4bF5KlRGSIfbB7SBT6K2OMOATTiP-K7kgfUvxehMgbFg3wWp4Xio3TFq1sTcKSb1II6JrplVeQ4veasBuOMiVQw2g2GyjmQElV_GJhuscPxTouckDFSZEbac/s1280/P1090624.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_4Bz_Ii2X1DEexRzdBWe4bF5KlRGSIfbB7SBT6K2OMOATTiP-K7kgfUvxehMgbFg3wWp4Xio3TFq1sTcKSb1II6JrplVeQ4veasBuOMiVQw2g2GyjmQElV_GJhuscPxTouckDFSZEbac/w400-h241/P1090624.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Nevertheless, I headed </span><i style="font-family: arial;">widdershins</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> on the trail as the air grew chilly and the wind picked up. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other and made steady progress. I reached the scary cliffy part again and navigated the obstacle in the dark, with just my little oval of light from my headlamp. Two down; 13 to go!</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When I neared the end of the loop and began the descent towards the deep arroyo, gusts of wind hit me hard in the face. It was completely dark by this point and I became really chilled. Temperatures fluctuate wildly in the desert because there isn’t any moisture in the air. I started to shiver as I finished loop 2 which took about an hour. I ate some food and added another layer before heading back out.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnNGyHLw8XZyG0NDqaS4HxLiG3TN9T1VJALzWeNCoWm7QcyyEIWGsJMIABcFv7lwyNTQgz80UxHiotPpG_1yYkcNPLaVeHkcHDeZrKHr4bKi8IBIGuLJ9-U6Qc7WOCEj3c2DYBukSdOU/s1280/P1090653.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="959" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnNGyHLw8XZyG0NDqaS4HxLiG3TN9T1VJALzWeNCoWm7QcyyEIWGsJMIABcFv7lwyNTQgz80UxHiotPpG_1yYkcNPLaVeHkcHDeZrKHr4bKi8IBIGuLJ9-U6Qc7WOCEj3c2DYBukSdOU/w400-h300/P1090653.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Clockwise again, or </span><i style="font-family: arial;">deasil</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> (sunwise, in the direction of the sun.) Sadly, there was no sun, but I climbed uphill for a while and then became overheated. It wasn’t cold any more. What gives! The weird thing is that the higher you go at night, the warmer it gets. Since cold air is more dense than warm air, the cold air sinks down to the lower elevations while the warm air rises. In addition, the east side of the mountain seemed windier on this evening. Perhaps, the much higher Organ Mountains create downslope winds that effect the weather here on Tortugas; I don’t know. Anyway, this made it challenging to regulate my temperature, but I was too lazy to strip off a layer because I figured I would be down into the cold windy air soon enough.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When I reached a gravelly road that led to the top of the mountain I missed a left turn and kept going a little way up the road before realizing my mistake. The course was very well marked, but at night when you are on auto pilot it’s easy to miss the course flagging. Pay attention! I reminded myself. Lap three went by fast and, like the previous two, was completed in about an hour. Let’s see, only 46 more miles to go to reach my 58 mile goal. How hard could it be?</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhypNSccPAl49Djx9bXvQCMspE44_snvsC9KeXhPq_YhRkeoNlYrtHICwzuYnnzYVVoMBYheXpUwJRlsFnUK3ET2dgNFCavQ7Guq17M4w8wT5-BqhG9T6BmV8wmwcenNX9bYaeh9NFZg00/s1280/P1090625.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhypNSccPAl49Djx9bXvQCMspE44_snvsC9KeXhPq_YhRkeoNlYrtHICwzuYnnzYVVoMBYheXpUwJRlsFnUK3ET2dgNFCavQ7Guq17M4w8wT5-BqhG9T6BmV8wmwcenNX9bYaeh9NFZg00/w400-h300/P1090625.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Lap four was cold and hot and I became really hungry so I ate some boiled potatoes, coconut date rolls, and an oatmeal bar when I returned. This lap took a little more than an hour.</span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Lap five: cold, hot, windy, runny nose, chapped lips. Took more than an hour; my 4 mph pace is waning. Ate some more food.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Lap six: dark, quiet, golden 3/4 moon, surreal, very sleepy. Missed a turn, went 1/4 mile up a sandy road and realized my mistake. Turned around; all good.</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After finishing this one, I walked to my car to get some chapstick for my dry cracked lips. I was forward thinking and also grabbed my sunscreen since I knew I would need it tomorrow. While walking back from my car, I was looking up at the dark sky when suddenly, a shooting star streaked through the night leaving a long tail in its wake. Beautiful! One of the great rewards of running all night is stopping occasionally to take in the star filled sky. Before leaving for the next lap I grabbed a mason jar of black coffee from my ice chest and downed about half of it. </span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Lap seven: dark, dark, dark, mesmerized by the bobbing of my headlamp. Slow pace.</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Lap eight: I’m a zombie in a trance.</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Lap nine: Did I fall asleep while running? Is it morning yet?</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Lap 10: The sun should be coming up soon. Maybe I’ll get a second wind. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Yes! I enjoyed the sunrise on this lap. The warm glow of light on the mountains and desert lifted my spirits after a long, cold, dark night. When you deprive yourself of these comforts, you appreciate them that much more. Many runners had emerged from their cocoons and were back out on the trail. I immensely enjoyed seeing their shining faces and hearing their kind words of encouragement. This lap went by quickly.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0vyYV_Oum-ZYEWIDBlRVHHyORuIZ1hBOzyayZ5kbC0hNK7T1MfMyDf8yinqUNpX05Np9eXRoN9EHhnXBBGukoQKfgj-n4bh1y0JrVeg_wIirJKuW20fG6vwBl_S-q-0MA6gQfMwp5trE/s1280/P1090651.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0vyYV_Oum-ZYEWIDBlRVHHyORuIZ1hBOzyayZ5kbC0hNK7T1MfMyDf8yinqUNpX05Np9eXRoN9EHhnXBBGukoQKfgj-n4bh1y0JrVeg_wIirJKuW20fG6vwBl_S-q-0MA6gQfMwp5trE/w400-h241/P1090651.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Here comes the sun!</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Lap 11: Knee pain, probably because I hadn’t run this far (40 miles) in almost two years. It was on the outside, so perhaps my IT band was tight. I’d had this pain before, so was not too concerned. I kept going, focusing on the parts of my body that didn’t hurt. As I was slowly plodding up a steep sandy road, a mountain biker chick came out of nowhere, rocketing full speed down the hill. She turned a corner and finally saw me at the last minute. “Oh shit!”, she exclaimed and then did a little maneuver to keep from barreling me over. “Sorry about that”, she screamed after passing me. I bet she bombs down that hill every Saturday morning without incident, but our paths just happened to cross at that moment.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJbrSAgvV7_aAB8BI5jiY_lgXNJY8HA3xOCGSXMK_6kzgrzxtMWxhjoYOLsQaUso243kUkrfCXX8q8K6As9KnogTgo7AG3_r_7Jk1sRUnoa4Fe0eHt4_eS8j3gTaPvNyeTID2NAYx3ZWo/s1280/IMG_2830.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJbrSAgvV7_aAB8BI5jiY_lgXNJY8HA3xOCGSXMK_6kzgrzxtMWxhjoYOLsQaUso243kUkrfCXX8q8K6As9KnogTgo7AG3_r_7Jk1sRUnoa4Fe0eHt4_eS8j3gTaPvNyeTID2NAYx3ZWo/w400-h241/IMG_2830.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Lap 12: Knee pain and now discomfort on the ball of my foot. Am I getting a blister? What can you expect when you’ve been running all night? Just another day in paradise, I remind myself.</span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Lap 13: The sun is getting high so I put on sunscreen. My legs are exhausted and I average about 3.3 mph overall. I’m closing in on my goal! Can I finish a couple more laps.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I’ve forgotten about my knee and foot pain by this point. It’s still there, but my body has given up on trying to alert me that I should stop running. STOP RUNNING! It screams. I don’t listen; I’m too focused on my goal. If you run long enough, your body will eventually realize that you aren’t going to stop and the pain will subside, falling into your subconscious mind. Stay in the present moment as much as possible and don’t think about the miles ahead of you, but just the one you are in. Time magically slips by and, before you know it, you are at the next aid station or have finished another lap without having to do anything. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw6mZnETOUGyuHlVJAto_sBa7XwubjEVlnc5Msz6TRz4H3BBmO-YPokvaMv3PCrbnkaj32OWpWZt0TTlQ8bXaWe6udhl99V4kdsdenxRijFVeXxqm359BRz6SZY6oZe1O63gMYD9VMWEg/s1280/IMG_2825.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw6mZnETOUGyuHlVJAto_sBa7XwubjEVlnc5Msz6TRz4H3BBmO-YPokvaMv3PCrbnkaj32OWpWZt0TTlQ8bXaWe6udhl99V4kdsdenxRijFVeXxqm359BRz6SZY6oZe1O63gMYD9VMWEg/w400-h300/IMG_2825.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Birthday party with trail friends</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Lap 14: Stay in the moment! I meet some friends on the trail who give words of motivation. This inspires me to keep going. I’m still able to run flat sections and downhills, albeit with knee pain, but I walk all the uphills.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb7F8n8Mm4MP-gfG5h2TACuOUhYVOttzyUMhv3Wlbk-JVactwp-NkRP0stVXh8W4sAdIsyCX65NSbC0XgQ8GKi7sN5oLa2GTsK6mqAQYbb6uB3XwV_NhnSJmv8bAdZJMCdVIUhTfpcn9w/s1280/IMG_2826.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="961" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb7F8n8Mm4MP-gfG5h2TACuOUhYVOttzyUMhv3Wlbk-JVactwp-NkRP0stVXh8W4sAdIsyCX65NSbC0XgQ8GKi7sN5oLa2GTsK6mqAQYbb6uB3XwV_NhnSJmv8bAdZJMCdVIUhTfpcn9w/w400-h300/IMG_2826.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Isela and Team RWB, still smiling</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"></span><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When I finished this lap my gps was at around 57 miles and I thought about skipping the last lap and just running another mile to reach my goal of 58 miles. That seemed extremely wimpy though and the fat ass race rule book clearly says “NO WIMPS!” Therefore, I kept going for my final birthday lap. It was tough, but my spirits were high since I knew I would most likely finish short of falling off the cliff into the rocky canyon, being bitten by a rattlesnake or attacked by La Llorona. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUV5jMCHClJAA8qn0jegZJBB6Uklw7ERH2WQKPvg4Lz_ZfHdeGqjb2tluhB-zy_cDCCZ3jWUTB2FBZwe64_zE8-7lXtd6PGwLHSIePRcQM4udLlRDlLkORhB1F8J6uAPRpfXXAryrquI/s1280/IMG_2829.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUV5jMCHClJAA8qn0jegZJBB6Uklw7ERH2WQKPvg4Lz_ZfHdeGqjb2tluhB-zy_cDCCZ3jWUTB2FBZwe64_zE8-7lXtd6PGwLHSIePRcQM4udLlRDlLkORhB1F8J6uAPRpfXXAryrquI/w400-h286/IMG_2829.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Lap 15: The last lap was glorious; I got through the cliffy part without incident. I saw many runners out on the trail and had a lot of compassion for them since they were probably going to be running for another six hours while I would be finished shortly. I looked at my gps watch which read 58! I was grateful for the opportunity to participate in this run, never taking my health for granted. I relish every run, even the miserable ones, because it could be my last. “A” Mountain was a great place to celebrate my birthday and health. When I finished, my family was waiting there to celebrate with me. I covered 61 miles in 18:22. Maybe I’ll be back next year for 59 and you can all join me.</span><p></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">See you on the trail.</span></p><p> </p>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-44609461567002965862021-10-03T07:06:00.002-06:002021-10-30T05:45:09.087-06:00Mt Taylor 50K 2021<p> <span style="font-family: Arial;">The muffled sound of a hundred feet padding the rocky dirt road, a whiff of dust stirred up from the forest floor and the disorienting ovals of light from runners’ headlamps greet me at the beginning of the Mt Taylor 50K in Grants, NM. I carefully scan the road for rocks lest I break my ankle in the first half mile of the race. Mt Taylor (11,306’) or </span><i style="font-family: Arial;">Tsoodził </i><span style="font-family: Arial;">is a sacred mountain to the Navajo and marks the southern boundary of their homeland. According to the website <a href="http://navajopeople.org/blog/mount-taylor-tsoozil-navajo-sacred-mountain/" target="_blank">NavajoPeople</a>,</span></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“[<i>Tsoodził</i> ] is important in the Blessing Side ceremonies and the Enemy Side Ceremony. Mount Taylor was once the home of Yé’iitsoh (Chief of the Enemy Gods).<br />
Once the sun is up, sunrays are all around and Mount Taylor is adorned with sunlight.</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After thinking about what you want to do for the day, you start to plan your activities…Thoughts such as, “We want to progress,” grow from small plans to large plans and Mount Taylor has the power to satisfy that wish.”</p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBWWW8AJSl3P_u0rrai0RBNMNuDffqdAdbkTySI0qLCQxu81WO3wD0putqgEVmLgSy_2F5HyMBy41C1bruMv4e-kLvhKQjDv-np9B5thRfV1kTdPhfvm1c_98Z8ZJ9Ib2fnaaFUHfRJuo/s1280/P1090597.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBWWW8AJSl3P_u0rrai0RBNMNuDffqdAdbkTySI0qLCQxu81WO3wD0putqgEVmLgSy_2F5HyMBy41C1bruMv4e-kLvhKQjDv-np9B5thRfV1kTdPhfvm1c_98Z8ZJ9Ib2fnaaFUHfRJuo/w400-h240/P1090597.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>View from Mt Taylor elev. 11,302</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">My hope is that Mt Taylor will be kind to me today and allow me to progress up her steep slopes and to safely return to the race finish line. I’m barely awake and simply keep my mind focused on the path. I share the trail with about 150 other hearty runners, but I stay in the back of the pack and pace my self. Before long the road becomes steep and I shift into power hike mode to conserve as much energy as possible. I expect my journey to last about 9 hours.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmwfDmyO-BnPJornyEB8c5WSOHE8O8MAXCXX9JdnFmvX9YsdwErUhrYg8p5hnf1KfuVuOYyh2Dl0ppSXuMWoKYfByNkv21-LEXsLE0NoO5yVGGqmLtVH4R4zoVitmcHC23tzPo3Epw8rk/s1280/P1090586.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmwfDmyO-BnPJornyEB8c5WSOHE8O8MAXCXX9JdnFmvX9YsdwErUhrYg8p5hnf1KfuVuOYyh2Dl0ppSXuMWoKYfByNkv21-LEXsLE0NoO5yVGGqmLtVH4R4zoVitmcHC23tzPo3Epw8rk/w400-h241/P1090586.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>My energy flow is pretty good so far even though I’m at almost 10,000’ elevation. I ran the Cloudcroft 50K last month and also climbed Lookout Mountain (11,580’) to prepare for the high elevation of Mt Taylor. So far my hard work has paid off and I’m able to thoroughly enjoy the morning. The weather is perfect; about 45 with light wind, but the usual afternoon thunderstorms are a possibility later today.<p></p>
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<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">As the sky begins to lighten we pop out of the forest and transition onto a smooth graded dirt road that leads to a lookout tower adjacent to Mt Taylor. Our beautiful sun is bathing the mountain peaks with her warm glow. Golden hour has arrived which reminds me of a poem by Talbot Mundy:</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>Chant Pagan</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b><br /></b></span></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>When that caressing light forgets the hills</b></span></i></div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>That change their hue in its evolving grace;</b></span></i></div><span style="color: #b45f06;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>When, harmony of swaying reeds and rills,</b></span></i></div><b><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>The breeze forgets its music and the face</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>Of Nature smiles no longer in the pond,</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>Divinity revealed! When morning peeps</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>Above earth's rim, and no bird notes respond;</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>When half a world in mellow moonlight sleeps</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>And no peace pours along the silver beam;</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>When dew brings no wet wonder of delight</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>On jeweled spider-web and scented lair</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>Of drone and hue and honey; when the night</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>No longer shadows the retreating day,</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>Her purple dawn pursues the graying dark;</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>And no child laughs; and no wind bears away</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>The bursting glory of the meadow-lark;</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>Then — then may be — never until then</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>May death be dreadful or assurance wane</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>That we shall die a while, to waken when</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>New morning summons us to earth again.</b></span></i></div></b></span></i><p></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIMfv14RYGwYOhMDE9Mj3AMGJRDBdtH75CLAfDUTKyQpNRq_U1MwDzsPT8tM6gJ5LZGaf_xPE8D0g1ruXDOpygijS93KIdsrxiaGjEO4uT9KqstWbEKTmeivV3_RKgO5IPBniugxnD98Q/s1280/P1090512.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIMfv14RYGwYOhMDE9Mj3AMGJRDBdtH75CLAfDUTKyQpNRq_U1MwDzsPT8tM6gJ5LZGaf_xPE8D0g1ruXDOpygijS93KIdsrxiaGjEO4uT9KqstWbEKTmeivV3_RKgO5IPBniugxnD98Q/w400-h286/P1090512.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">I feel much alive as the new day dawns and wonder what adventures may lie ahead on the good earth today. In three miles we reach a grassy plateau dotted with evergreens. From here there are grand views of grasslands blanketing the valley below surrounded by volcanic mountains. The pack of runners has thinned out for the most part so I am mostly alone as I run down the mountain. The sun has warmed me enough that I need to stop and shed a layer.</p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpOuVaz0q381a2N1HuJNBAfSAEJ4FVoEqZdwv3_cRFqqJfysamcwRUpF9u7HGpcMKJbN3YqnT6GqWPqVER8SuFRypjYOtVASLPOph5KBpBTLxmtLnehzBror1cGefNw6W9Ntt6FEfIHUw/s1280/P1090524.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpOuVaz0q381a2N1HuJNBAfSAEJ4FVoEqZdwv3_cRFqqJfysamcwRUpF9u7HGpcMKJbN3YqnT6GqWPqVER8SuFRypjYOtVASLPOph5KBpBTLxmtLnehzBror1cGefNw6W9Ntt6FEfIHUw/w400-h241/P1090524.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Golden hour</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">Several runners pass me and almost everyone comments on the jingle of my bear bell on my pack. Yes, I wear a bell to give bears a warning that I’m running through their living room. Five years ago a woman was mauled by a mother bear protecting her cub during a trail marathon in the Valle Caldera preserve not far from here. She survived the attack, but was severely injured and had to be flown to a hospital by helicopter. I’m kind of old and slow; easy to pick off like low hanging fruit, you know? I realize bear attacks are extremely rare, but wearing the bell is an easy thing to do. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHCOQSfA4sbeKShNoVMK_YCY3wAqsPuOB-f3oLYzHv4dJJSWVPOHsMS4X9VUrkMMwFVDhr5dIa7m-qOvSQuc_RbWF1l6CGq7TTTFxaFA4TIRnyG3OKR5OVPdesm9zW4xWirBT6SBizF2s/s1280/P1090530.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHCOQSfA4sbeKShNoVMK_YCY3wAqsPuOB-f3oLYzHv4dJJSWVPOHsMS4X9VUrkMMwFVDhr5dIa7m-qOvSQuc_RbWF1l6CGq7TTTFxaFA4TIRnyG3OKR5OVPdesm9zW4xWirBT6SBizF2s/w400-h241/P1090530.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVmyRrZqBR6NX5AuOUodO1UMf0xGJGz-E6cYNqp8o_KkJYXHm5We__KdsBfR-MYUhE7IUtTkgrlLZcVnGHd9oW5vV4gxA0j0PnSb5t1_CFRXUdmF8vznvRpFTzrZ4y_Mgjd6RZpmFVT6k/s1280/P1090536.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVmyRrZqBR6NX5AuOUodO1UMf0xGJGz-E6cYNqp8o_KkJYXHm5We__KdsBfR-MYUhE7IUtTkgrlLZcVnGHd9oW5vV4gxA0j0PnSb5t1_CFRXUdmF8vznvRpFTzrZ4y_Mgjd6RZpmFVT6k/w286-h400/P1090536.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">Anyway, evergreen trees give way to groves of quacking aspen that are beginning to show their fall colors. I run through mixed forest and grow euphoric for many reasons. The scent of aspen leaves and pine needles as well as the cool breeze in my face gives me a runners’ high, but I don’t grow too excited. I have done enough ultras to know the feeling will wane eventually and I will be suffering immensely, probably later when ascending Mt Taylor. But for now, I enjoy effortless downhill running.</p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyhl6oy0DsQQqYe6jDWBx7IfGnvQu1BZ7cpsaahGzzk2p5515-wnuNjd6zyShp0-pkiPfYn5spDaalHPc0DhivslOuGuhuYXGxI3bMNS9ax5zY-OLcnECKapbOK71wta74AyLh2xiXiCk/s1280/P1090558.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyhl6oy0DsQQqYe6jDWBx7IfGnvQu1BZ7cpsaahGzzk2p5515-wnuNjd6zyShp0-pkiPfYn5spDaalHPc0DhivslOuGuhuYXGxI3bMNS9ax5zY-OLcnECKapbOK71wta74AyLh2xiXiCk/w300-h400/P1090558.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>On this beautiful path I walk in peace. <br />With each step a gentle wind blows, with each step a flower blooms.</i>—T.N.Hanh</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">Spending time in the mountains definitely has a positive effect on your mood though. The Japanese call it <i>shinrin-yoku</i> or “forest bathing”. Natural areas with streams, waterfalls, forests, oceans and glaciers produce negative air ions that effect our physical and mental health. Cosmic rays, sunlight, thunderstorms and lightning also create negative ions so spending time outdoors in healthy environments makes a lot of sense, minus the lightning storms of course. </p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">What are negative air ions (NAI)?</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">According to the paper, <i><a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC6213340/" target="_blank">Negative Air Ions and Their Effects on Human Health and Air Quality Improvement</a></i>,</p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>Air ions are electrically charged molecules or atoms in the atmosphere. An air ion is formed when a gaseous molecule or atom receives sufficiently high energy to eject an electron. NAIs are those that gain an electron, while positive air ions lose an electron. The natural and artificial energy sources include radiant or cosmic rays in the atmosphere; sunlight including ultraviolet; natural and artificial corona discharge including thunder and lightning; the shearing forces of water (Lenard effect); plant-based sources of energy.</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I always feel a sense of well being for days after spending a long day or weekend in the mountains. For now, I just roll with my pace and enjoy the ride down into the Spud Patch aid station at mile 10. I skip the food, as I have brought apples and boiled potatoes with me, and just get my water bottles filled. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUIcCr8RxshMMuM3kyosAAngoS2djcLQtBV8B5UZV-ddO3tYCWDd4uoEjQjASsqV9PzYswSab3rknkb9nhjsdBdt0r93-eo3bnl33u71x94DC5BelDCr9rA_EXA6mpX5NbZVcCVjZXLfk/s1280/P1090545.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUIcCr8RxshMMuM3kyosAAngoS2djcLQtBV8B5UZV-ddO3tYCWDd4uoEjQjASsqV9PzYswSab3rknkb9nhjsdBdt0r93-eo3bnl33u71x94DC5BelDCr9rA_EXA6mpX5NbZVcCVjZXLfk/w400-h300/P1090545.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">Pretty soon I pick up the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) which runs from the border of Mexico all the way to our border with Canada. Did you know we may gain another long distance recreation trail in the US called the <a href="https://www.greatplainstrail.org/about-the-trail/" target="_blank">Great Plains Trail</a>? This one goes from the Canadian border at either Montana or N. Dakota and ends in my neck of the desert at Guadalupe Mountains National Park in W. Texas. The trail passes through 3 national parks, 3 national monuments, 10 national grasslands, 5 state high points and 15 state parks! Sadly, due to private land, the route includes some paved roads, but it still sounds like a grand adventure, don’t you think?</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mEO4PddjS82-WJwndP3jdvBdEJTv_yew1Xf8xyG0QP3GRYKNl1D-yKYc0OVOhEQWT3DRGAStI0cP5554nkx6kiCIx1wa2BLndVTKykELQDAYIe8v8uhHtdQ1MIEmr36jeF7DM-_tnUc/s1280/P1090537.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mEO4PddjS82-WJwndP3jdvBdEJTv_yew1Xf8xyG0QP3GRYKNl1D-yKYc0OVOhEQWT3DRGAStI0cP5554nkx6kiCIx1wa2BLndVTKykELQDAYIe8v8uhHtdQ1MIEmr36jeF7DM-_tnUc/w400-h286/P1090537.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">The trail becomes steep right away and I struggle a little on the climb. Soon it levels out where I can run for a while, but then I have to negotiate a treacherous downhill part. Trees line the trail here so I grab onto their trunks to help keep from slipping on the slope. Other runners are ahead of me kicking up a bunch of dirt on the slide down and I inadvertently inhale some dust that sends me into a fit of coughing. Luckily it’s short lived and I am soon on my way. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZKNm44rJf5UEZb3ChIP8w8va3cGbrl1qF2XD6BlMRG1dzPB96GQtugUDI63TXlCOOR4Vd7vPUEoY30ygh0I4RwWM2O6iSdIbFsLrfLQO5Ts3P5kDaPRWu8JwFzYvLinuFJCerZi21SY/s1280/P1090545.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZKNm44rJf5UEZb3ChIP8w8va3cGbrl1qF2XD6BlMRG1dzPB96GQtugUDI63TXlCOOR4Vd7vPUEoY30ygh0I4RwWM2O6iSdIbFsLrfLQO5Ts3P5kDaPRWu8JwFzYvLinuFJCerZi21SY/w400-h300/P1090545.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">Eventually I make it back to the start/finish area at mile 15 where I get my drop bag. I eat some food and slather on sunscreen to get ready for the second part of my adventure. The course is two separate loops, the latter climbing Mt Taylor, so I pick up my trekking poles for the climb that awaits me. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwV1sujTt-YyxRTpfAsmreigCiFWtUM0jJpy1YIGlcWwSRRfpRa8ESgHmfK-Vc__bSNJtdo7AScj6fIiiu9zBQ3l9UAqP5SAx7mr5M5Jt1RBz3s-KZ8clBncvtfSvRBt6XTo4vKhtDCQo/s1280/P1090539.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwV1sujTt-YyxRTpfAsmreigCiFWtUM0jJpy1YIGlcWwSRRfpRa8ESgHmfK-Vc__bSNJtdo7AScj6fIiiu9zBQ3l9UAqP5SAx7mr5M5Jt1RBz3s-KZ8clBncvtfSvRBt6XTo4vKhtDCQo/w400-h300/P1090539.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">I take off and continue on the CDT where the undulating track leads me through shady pine forests. I still have a lot of energy so run when the terrain allows. I reach the 20 mile aid station and am met by a volunteer with a cowbell in one hand and a bottle of hand sanitizer in the other. Well, “cleanliness is next to godliness” as they say, so I take a hit and smear the glob around in my hands. Another guy takes care of my water bottle, but I skip the smorgasbord, because I prefer to eat on the trail to keep putting miles behind me.</p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RhryJTJgauycKLjOQxpdQEspayNh-67WtsMFgcOY4OP0W3OiVMwP_ppkf7CM12nR9PmlbovHpT9sK-Bg2AwKZh32MtRqRFmOJGC1a-LjHR0Mjs4IbG_KtQX-dmIMJ9VuxubcIINWXOg/s1280/P1090552.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RhryJTJgauycKLjOQxpdQEspayNh-67WtsMFgcOY4OP0W3OiVMwP_ppkf7CM12nR9PmlbovHpT9sK-Bg2AwKZh32MtRqRFmOJGC1a-LjHR0Mjs4IbG_KtQX-dmIMJ9VuxubcIINWXOg/w300-h400/P1090552.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gnarly trail section</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">The trail through the trees is rocky in places and I start to struggle on the climb. Before long the grassy slopes of the mountain come into view and then I pop out of the forest onto the sun exposed ridge. I pull my buff over my head and cover my face to protect my skin from the sun’s harsh rays. Runners are slowly slogging up the mountain stopping occasionally. I pass a few, but become very winded from the steepness and high elevation. I have to stop every few steps to give my old heart time to catch up. I use these opportunities to turn around and peer out over the vast landscape. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpEO3kBKsr_zq-_rTGkWNAiH8AYx-PUOTiN-ejgI20MdpWs31_b1I2zCM3R4Ap5-E_BbRoMiiBWdKNqxiXjQy6SpLKYRxI8p9uYp9xd-4oO4JUJoXpVNmGHeftxCWXAU0PiUJcUEGPtsU/s1280/P1090571.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpEO3kBKsr_zq-_rTGkWNAiH8AYx-PUOTiN-ejgI20MdpWs31_b1I2zCM3R4Ap5-E_BbRoMiiBWdKNqxiXjQy6SpLKYRxI8p9uYp9xd-4oO4JUJoXpVNmGHeftxCWXAU0PiUJcUEGPtsU/w400-h241/P1090571.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">The view goes on forever; volcanic mountains rising up from the brown grassy desert floor like wrinkles in the earth’s crust; puffy clouds billowing above. After much toil I reach the volcano rim and can see an eroded grassy valley dotted with evergreens of the Christmas tree variety. Further down the valley is a forest of yellowing aspens. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg125ltMEC0pwedZCRQOdftsknqTU8VKnVCYAKq38uspwocRso8aF5LENPKgFGlYSK2-K4SVTb2bOBx2GqEM6Ke3AXYvpqwwUs45ZrDxknhAbg0gt0Z7mblmcMz6z8Ocp1Bvgclb5rhjWE/s1280/P1090572.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg125ltMEC0pwedZCRQOdftsknqTU8VKnVCYAKq38uspwocRso8aF5LENPKgFGlYSK2-K4SVTb2bOBx2GqEM6Ke3AXYvpqwwUs45ZrDxknhAbg0gt0Z7mblmcMz6z8Ocp1Bvgclb5rhjWE/w400-h300/P1090572.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">I traverse the rim and continue the steep climb passing by a rocky mound rising up from the grassy hill. I continue upwards towards Mt Taylor, switchbacking through the tall golden grass. I can see people above and below me also struggling and some look completely miserable. I’ve done this race several times before and have always gotten an altitude headache on the approach to the summit. Today, I feel pretty good though, and am able to slowly make progress even though my legs are burning. I keep plodding along and the climb levels out a little.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoz5W0z-bpd9ljD1J-i3JCpksqRjZZxwT-C1BEl6puZL92nAFxJxCH1up-JNTWnXXdFU6HfMTWgc_E5GPcU6aUgI-Pg3zU0JtrDjsnDUJU1H4a6J8p33EeDpQkKqTnXyG2CC6JF6rW0eY/s1280/P1090578.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoz5W0z-bpd9ljD1J-i3JCpksqRjZZxwT-C1BEl6puZL92nAFxJxCH1up-JNTWnXXdFU6HfMTWgc_E5GPcU6aUgI-Pg3zU0JtrDjsnDUJU1H4a6J8p33EeDpQkKqTnXyG2CC6JF6rW0eY/w400-h300/P1090578.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">When I’m almost at the top, a photographer comes over so I take the buff off my head and face and try to “freshen up” to get my picture taken. He’s very friendly and has me pose by the Mt Taylor elevation sign. It is tradition, you know. By this point the wind is howling briskly, the air is cool and I can see bands of rain off in the distance. The view is spectacular though and so I snap some photos with my camera. I don’t stay too long because thunder is rumbling in the background and the weather appears to be taking a turn for the worst. Negative air ions are doing their thing.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4mFPeaK8MiRrYiux5qt7mky7M7fr5S02Kg4G6HfBttoc9lgz3g4O0rFdFsdGrd4avQOuU6qtnr7e-yqZX0Epq0bOrFSp1Ib9T1gsOX_qIGd9OedalZrf7DbjZKZwSNYpbkD3ZZGNpXuA/s1280/P1090600.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4mFPeaK8MiRrYiux5qt7mky7M7fr5S02Kg4G6HfBttoc9lgz3g4O0rFdFsdGrd4avQOuU6qtnr7e-yqZX0Epq0bOrFSp1Ib9T1gsOX_qIGd9OedalZrf7DbjZKZwSNYpbkD3ZZGNpXuA/w400-h286/P1090600.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">I take off and the trip down is perilous in spots so I use my poles to keep from tumbling down the mountain. The path is dirt for a while but then transitions to crumbly rock that is very steep and slippery. I take my time so I don’t lose traction. I then reach a narrow path lined with tall grass on each side which makes it hard to see my footing in places. There’s a precipitous downward slope to my right that’s making me anxious. A slip here would make for a really bad rest of my day. Therefore, I remind myself that Mt Taylor has the power to grant my wish of safely making it back to the finish line. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAbSkrO7kVhNAaKF4SjDbEBoKBXT80eyY_xh3mG9GrnmbtQQbKWrXSJo682j6ok6-U8g0sBI_uyXTQDL58N8J62eIvIDmGRR-1zxdtk2i7aSQTWvaktORTwA5aVSi1t3kFtat5EmUUPw/s1280/P1090583.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAbSkrO7kVhNAaKF4SjDbEBoKBXT80eyY_xh3mG9GrnmbtQQbKWrXSJo682j6ok6-U8g0sBI_uyXTQDL58N8J62eIvIDmGRR-1zxdtk2i7aSQTWvaktORTwA5aVSi1t3kFtat5EmUUPw/w400-h286/P1090583.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">From here, I can see the aid station and hear the whooping, cheering and clanking of the cowbell. There’s no such thing as too much cowbell in an ultramarathon. Before long I’m down on safer ground, but thunder rumbles in the distance. Can I make it six more miles before the sky opens up? I attach my poles to my pack, and leave the aid station (mile 25) as quickly as possible to do a four mile loop. I’ll pass back through here in just a little while.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfKkjUhiRDSRyNQrURbcHqXH5XVRvpcscg1Mcc76XwMn1z43-CxGut858SHRwq_rRZEQR7O_Rql7IwRgRrPYt_v-zgTXO9c5WLPQIoindeGEi8poob2-bqQjnxLJ9-XXqD3p8-CXUIepg/s1280/P1090605.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfKkjUhiRDSRyNQrURbcHqXH5XVRvpcscg1Mcc76XwMn1z43-CxGut858SHRwq_rRZEQR7O_Rql7IwRgRrPYt_v-zgTXO9c5WLPQIoindeGEi8poob2-bqQjnxLJ9-XXqD3p8-CXUIepg/w400-h300/P1090605.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmvPO1erzu697nVLB7mQAbfkbQzogjMjNFeELTPhKSKSrBkDG-OMubKTuV9J348mzcdXdmkuPJv4oVjuTZGzGc0UCFFBq0_TzRRTrzKycbfiDJ07pTeWwOs_rHPOn5YpccP8k_2FOd-Og/s1280/P1090606.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmvPO1erzu697nVLB7mQAbfkbQzogjMjNFeELTPhKSKSrBkDG-OMubKTuV9J348mzcdXdmkuPJv4oVjuTZGzGc0UCFFBq0_TzRRTrzKycbfiDJ07pTeWwOs_rHPOn5YpccP8k_2FOd-Og/w400-h241/P1090606.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Storm clouds building</i></td></tr></tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">This part is a windy dirt road lined with aspens. I still feel strong and am able to pass a few people on the run down. The wind picks up and the temperature seems to be falling quickly. In three miles I reach a series of switchbacks from hell that lead back up to the rim of the caldera. A caldera, Spanish for boiling pot, is the collapsed “mouth” of a volcano and I’m actually down in a large bowl. If you look at Mt Taylor in google maps (satellite view) you can actually see these features. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvVFlF7F9hCgiBjew2Q-vv52g8dSJOGnUnpXRY3N0Lo2WaKH9qYjiID7QKC5m6y3S1DOiEwCSbU83pihK_2Qli_0jsQVdCCsZhoi9weeeSkDxSTjJv9T__tLZ7VjEHneEt5zOzyPoGhg4/s1280/P1090609.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvVFlF7F9hCgiBjew2Q-vv52g8dSJOGnUnpXRY3N0Lo2WaKH9qYjiID7QKC5m6y3S1DOiEwCSbU83pihK_2Qli_0jsQVdCCsZhoi9weeeSkDxSTjJv9T__tLZ7VjEHneEt5zOzyPoGhg4/w400-h300/P1090609.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWHXQLExCLv5SuLjFf-lVyWx0pOKbtyUv3NXgthlfJQUqFgCQ-lq8q6A0OJGFQpRC7S5CFGVVD-WVbaWGWcRVUd4HUCpiuwtYgxAtjaZd7LDA5rN87jw_v65cDX0q9Zm5f-AgRF-bJ4c8/s1280/P1090584.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWHXQLExCLv5SuLjFf-lVyWx0pOKbtyUv3NXgthlfJQUqFgCQ-lq8q6A0OJGFQpRC7S5CFGVVD-WVbaWGWcRVUd4HUCpiuwtYgxAtjaZd7LDA5rN87jw_v65cDX0q9Zm5f-AgRF-bJ4c8/w400-h286/P1090584.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Switchbacks near Mt Taylor summit</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">Anyway, I start the climb without my poles because I’m being lazy and it is “only” one mile back to the top. Well, I huff and puff up the trail, legs burning with each step. My breathing becomes very labored, but I keep a steady grind upwards. Pretty soon the trail grows so steep that I give in and take my pack off to get my poles. They are a huge help, my arms taking some of the weight off my legs. The sky darkens as I go higher while the sound of thunder grows louder. It starts to rain and looks like it may downpour. </p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc5VIPG_TAv5Gu4owQ4tWxk0KUTFL6hSba0B6OZgbauc0PyIPXVOoTaJpkLYa3L5w74MO7vmw5xex_Kmoph958YEnUf3UjcmSpbQ2iprc6s8huIFoGPcw8vgXNOXITTnEbpkAaMRblARM/s1280/P1090596.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc5VIPG_TAv5Gu4owQ4tWxk0KUTFL6hSba0B6OZgbauc0PyIPXVOoTaJpkLYa3L5w74MO7vmw5xex_Kmoph958YEnUf3UjcmSpbQ2iprc6s8huIFoGPcw8vgXNOXITTnEbpkAaMRblARM/w286-h400/P1090596.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lupine or bluebonnet?</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">I hate the little annoyances of having to stop and take my pack off again and again, but I know the only way to make the rain stop is to don my rain shell. I used this strategy in the Cloudcroft ultra last month and it worked! Can I repeat my performance? It takes a while to accomplish this task and several runners pass me as I fumble with my gear. I waste precious time getting everything situated; camera in a waterproof bag, jacket on and zipped, rain hood, etc. It seems like a lot of trouble to go through, but I’ve been caught in my share of rain, hail and snow storms in the mountains and know the dangers of hypothermia. </p>
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<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Finally I get moving again and the sky spits and drizzles, the wind blows and everything pretty much sucks. I keep plodding upwards and grow clammy and claustrophobic in my hood because my glasses keep fogging up. My body has created its own atmosphere inside my shell and I imagine it feels similar to the inside of a wet baby diaper. Yuk! In a while, I approach the top of the bowl and realize the rain has mostly stopped. I reach the rim where the trail intersects with a dirt road and I approach the aid station. Almost home! I cruise past the smiling, cowbell ringing volunteers and put some pep in my step. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3geX_p4Uy8rGbdEPNcSp-6wMa1A4wpfkBpAJ_5fVJxIUQPZc_pc3e77oIrnSk4Ln0D4IgbbBCanuFTDEVwo0WQu6TfPE5oR8jo4AXqH4n3z1hTCYl16tvYQHKr_2v70q05BMs7_Whb64/s1280/P1090563.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3geX_p4Uy8rGbdEPNcSp-6wMa1A4wpfkBpAJ_5fVJxIUQPZc_pc3e77oIrnSk4Ln0D4IgbbBCanuFTDEVwo0WQu6TfPE5oR8jo4AXqH4n3z1hTCYl16tvYQHKr_2v70q05BMs7_Whb64/w400-h300/P1090563.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">Soon I come to a Vegas style sign with an arrow pointing the way to Mt 50K Cafe, so I follow it to heartbreak hill, a treacherous descent. My poles are very useful here, but a flying squirrel wing suit would be much more effective in getting off this mountain. There are deep ruts with slippery footing, but I manage alright and when the slope becomes runnable, I bomb down. The rain has completely stopped by this point, but I am overheating now, so I unzip my jacket to get some relief. I’m too close to the finish to bother stopping though, so I just suffer. I run down the mountain, through the forest and onto the final dirt road that brings me into the finish area. My time is 9:11, almost the same as last month’s 50K in Cloudcroft, NM. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgp0EA5Z6BFoCcpEruEwjb8qdgdB7MTdoC8_BwSzwIKAfRAWxZ5CqNB_Fe9qnvudU2_DG3NuB6YdG41h9jSxTJbaA9ndQVgH22UK6YVkNgvY0AvFT7mNOBZcDQCO2pXJS0LqIbScuKVP0/s1280/IMG_2766.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="961" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgp0EA5Z6BFoCcpEruEwjb8qdgdB7MTdoC8_BwSzwIKAfRAWxZ5CqNB_Fe9qnvudU2_DG3NuB6YdG41h9jSxTJbaA9ndQVgH22UK6YVkNgvY0AvFT7mNOBZcDQCO2pXJS0LqIbScuKVP0/w300-h400/IMG_2766.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">It was another grand running adventure and <i>Tsoodził </i>was gentle on me today. My energy was high throughout the day and I never felt too much misery. The scenery is unsurpassed here and the race staff and volunteers are outstanding. I love the layout of the course especially since you conveniently return to the start/finish area half way through the race. The post race food was amazing too and it was so great to be able to finally catch up with friends and other runners that I haven’t seen in several years. I’ll be enjoying the benefits of negative air ions for days to come. </p>
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<p style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;">See you on the trail.</p>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-48553192854199566602021-08-29T17:18:00.004-06:002021-10-03T07:07:00.409-06:00Cloudcroft Ultra 53K<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A weird urge came over me one evening and I thought to myself, <i>I wonder if there are any local road races this month.</i> This was really strange, because I haven’t run a road race in years; hadn’t even considered it. So anyway, I jumped on the internet to search for races in New Mexico and West Texas and the first thing that popped up was the <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=85645" target="_blank">Cloudcroft Ultra Trail Race</a> coming up in a few weeks. This race is usually held in May and I had no idea it was moved to August because I have, for the most part, turned off social media, news, TV, etc and have been happily living like a hermit while running in the Franklin Mountains.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg569FJfCcAcgKRLzCxgOU49M-X8slWaVxJ3meNc3oZCel7aA6WTv8uBBM8wNhmqubkdjPlk_Jrv8daan2XPfj-SffGlVMYkLkvzQ5tp99DmP8Jc-x6rN-ZwYklzoYnVECEl08kszoH9N4/s1280/P1090241.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg569FJfCcAcgKRLzCxgOU49M-X8slWaVxJ3meNc3oZCel7aA6WTv8uBBM8wNhmqubkdjPlk_Jrv8daan2XPfj-SffGlVMYkLkvzQ5tp99DmP8Jc-x6rN-ZwYklzoYnVECEl08kszoH9N4/w400-h286/P1090241.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Well, I was very excited about this gem, because I had recently done some training runs on the <a href="https://www.fs.usda.gov/recarea/lincoln/recarea/?recid=34408" target="_blank">Rim Trail</a> in Cloudcroft, NM to get ready for the <a href="http://www.mttaylor50k.com" target="_blank">Mt Taylor 50K</a> next month. So, here I am at the start of the Cloudcroft 53K in the Sacramento Mountains in Lincoln National Forest. According to the race website, “The Rim Trail was the first U.S. Forest Service Trail in New Mexico to be designated as a National Recreation Trail. It is a combination of old Indian paths, railroad grades, homestead trails and logging routes linked together by newer sections built in the 1960’s and beyond.” The course is an out-and-back between 8000’-9500’ elevation with a lollypop loop. </span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAvXvtmX6G9q1UfABMbfw-wlgNTEh3uL-6UDlOPGB4aGCtufFy-cDwAz7pAYGEHDKkgCd_rg9-kDkLmcJV6LX-S_Gk_bk0hO7kkckJzadOWZIoiLIk7R1K92PrHl6oBHTP-1R1XskrFJw/s1280/P1090298.jpeg"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAvXvtmX6G9q1UfABMbfw-wlgNTEh3uL-6UDlOPGB4aGCtufFy-cDwAz7pAYGEHDKkgCd_rg9-kDkLmcJV6LX-S_Gk_bk0hO7kkckJzadOWZIoiLIk7R1K92PrHl6oBHTP-1R1XskrFJw/w286-h400/P1090298.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: center;"><span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: center;">The weather is perfect here at Zenith Park, around 50 degrees with no wind. About 45 of us start out running through the town on a paved road lined with quaint cabins, B&Bs and inns. I stay in the back behind the main pack because I’m not in any hurry and want to make sure I pace myself. It’s going to be a long day for sure. In about a mile and a half we reach a tunnel that takes us under the highway. There are several campgrounds here, Deer Head and my preference, Sleepy Grass, which is where I camped last night. </span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJ7o3gUVhMl3a__t-QA16-htVW7L73SLvd0APKF082e4991Cy1U_uMG9-tY__nJrsw1acqfnuLTt3SLCanmE6Faj5pdtA-UYgFYkFpO8JeG9JWCLQEh-oME5Iz-ZnB2xs1tjTmUK57MU/s1280/P1090311.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJ7o3gUVhMl3a__t-QA16-htVW7L73SLvd0APKF082e4991Cy1U_uMG9-tY__nJrsw1acqfnuLTt3SLCanmE6Faj5pdtA-UYgFYkFpO8JeG9JWCLQEh-oME5Iz-ZnB2xs1tjTmUK57MU/w286-h400/P1090311.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Once through the tunnel we pick up the Rim Trail which is very smooth, flat and runnable. However, I don’t get too excited because I know what’s ahead of me <span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">— l</span>ot’s of gnarly rocks, roots, gullies, etc. that race legal waivers refer to as “uneven ground” and “tripping hazards”. Before long I’m all alone on the trail and settle into a nice easy groove enjoying the quiet and solitude. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYq9mb1k844hSFAD705EIH29F_mRJZapKUxtEJjJa4v29edCoAwtLP5MGd6hP8RqnUF7dkG8i2PZ65l1iGWy6eloXv2zE_zQ5km9ybDwbKd97WyWs3dg2Z4G4XysZDGZJFnkGC_wrzFU8/s1280/IMG_2614.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYq9mb1k844hSFAD705EIH29F_mRJZapKUxtEJjJa4v29edCoAwtLP5MGd6hP8RqnUF7dkG8i2PZ65l1iGWy6eloXv2zE_zQ5km9ybDwbKd97WyWs3dg2Z4G4XysZDGZJFnkGC_wrzFU8/w286-h400/IMG_2614.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">In a few more miles I reach a viewpoint where I can see down to the vast desert floor and White Sands National Park. The trail here is lined with low shrubs and blooming </span><a href="https://santafebotanicalgarden.org/plant-of-the-month-august-2020/" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">wild roses</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> in many hues of pale pinks and bright purples. Wild roses have been used for medicinal purposes by Native Americans; all the parts of the plant being utilized. According to the </span><a href="https://blog.mountainroseherbs.com/wild-rose-conserve-sweetness-spring" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Mountain Rose Herbs</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> blog, wild roses are good for many ailments including, “Strong or fetid body odor or breath not associated with organic disease, medication, or a particular food.” Well, I’ll be needing some of that when I return here later this afternoon. By mile 30, I’m sure to be in a “fetid” odorous state. </span><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlC0Y9AgBOGZgPjz1yZQP9dYldmZ-w08uJ8LL2ApeswwLZTs41SAhOxPoremO3BOHWyBhnujW_SoICJZRRBcvZcIldQ1-4Z0sOsP18UZ2ckQiUJQO5dc3TINeY5AJ6ffZ53oFq884r3X8/s1280/P1090030.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlC0Y9AgBOGZgPjz1yZQP9dYldmZ-w08uJ8LL2ApeswwLZTs41SAhOxPoremO3BOHWyBhnujW_SoICJZRRBcvZcIldQ1-4Z0sOsP18UZ2ckQiUJQO5dc3TINeY5AJ6ffZ53oFq884r3X8/w400-h241/P1090030.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>White Sands N.P.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYDyW4DmAY9XEBPSiOPMWn4R1RssWUXzHd0R57qGh7vN1FN3y_vWBGqVbYZQHYCN4wqJLmmA5Wd9t06qXHDqYuxMe1HkyXf10Ey-V87BbJ7tHovINx41gdisvcixaDQlnOwWdOBQWh8Yg/s1280/P1090295.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYDyW4DmAY9XEBPSiOPMWn4R1RssWUXzHd0R57qGh7vN1FN3y_vWBGqVbYZQHYCN4wqJLmmA5Wd9t06qXHDqYuxMe1HkyXf10Ey-V87BbJ7tHovINx41gdisvcixaDQlnOwWdOBQWh8Yg/w400-h286/P1090295.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Wild rose</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Now it’s time to run downhill. A few weeks ago, I ran this section very gingerly because I was recovering from a rolled ankle and there are a lot of rocks here. Today I’m able to let gravity do most of the work though, and I just ride along with whatever my body decides to do. At the bottom, I reach a smooth packed dirt section and then start a climb on a lush fern lined path. The trail is overhung with maple saplings and oaks creating a shady cooling effect which is much appreciated as the sun begins to warm the earth. This area, as well as West Texas, has seen a very wet monsoon season this year greening the desert and bringing plentiful wildflowers. The rain has intensified the fragrance of the forest creating a full bodied earthy aroma of wet detritus, notes of fungal spores with subtle overtones of unwrapped mummy.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin0d5m3T3739EI63yYXv324NNTjBaNWE833Vnd680rfn7_ExqFsaG9wiejqloes04yrmfQA3fz_4OPZtIA5Otm94GhpJ4fJCmH5FqyKP2IuYKf3GA1ONWW3kNaUMsvxt1p8nZN2nk_Od0/s1280/IMG_2611.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin0d5m3T3739EI63yYXv324NNTjBaNWE833Vnd680rfn7_ExqFsaG9wiejqloes04yrmfQA3fz_4OPZtIA5Otm94GhpJ4fJCmH5FqyKP2IuYKf3GA1ONWW3kNaUMsvxt1p8nZN2nk_Od0/w286-h400/IMG_2611.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTwLZV2tbcnlCOgzXXlyJkO_4U426w8EuAudlRT9MbMuwiUC0tjwvGCJrOauzFDBXgFCKwh5Z0bO5VxVYLEw0wFCVZq4YxD48aE6Pmus-cRAAQXSuAeXd8NgMvoe_M4qkWvgDpHOc4vOQ/s1280/P1090151.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTwLZV2tbcnlCOgzXXlyJkO_4U426w8EuAudlRT9MbMuwiUC0tjwvGCJrOauzFDBXgFCKwh5Z0bO5VxVYLEw0wFCVZq4YxD48aE6Pmus-cRAAQXSuAeXd8NgMvoe_M4qkWvgDpHOc4vOQ/w286-h400/P1090151.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;"><b><i>Defiled or immaculate, increasing or decreasing</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;"><b><i>these concepts exist only in our mind. </i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;"><b><i>The reality of interbeing is unsurpassed. -Thich Nhat Hanh</i></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">This climb nearly killed me earlier this summer when I came here to run. I hadn’t been this high in elevation in a year and altitude really affects me especially the first day. On the first night I usually have a lot of head pressure, bloating and poor sleep which happened to me on my first trip this summer. The next morning I had set out for a 26 mile run and my legs felt like rubber and my energy sucked most of the day. What’s weird is that altitude affects people differently and is not based on fitness level, but the body’s ability to adapt to less oxygen in the blood. </span></div><div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Here’s an article that explains:</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><a href="https://theconversation.com/how-does-altitude-affect-the-body-and-why-does-it-affect-people-differently-95657" target="_blank">How does altitude affect the body and why does it affect people differently?</a> </i></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJwEcEt85UAEFPMyxBAMMninrrlvos_5UEXkLax7AmtOYgValUm9FMYj_A-6p7bfz9Il-OD5JyoPRTdaamV22p4tVpF_SUzyB2KOi2RZz1rUkoaWVt0e2b6XpORvEQbww3-gbDk_IUts/s1280/P1090181.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJwEcEt85UAEFPMyxBAMMninrrlvos_5UEXkLax7AmtOYgValUm9FMYj_A-6p7bfz9Il-OD5JyoPRTdaamV22p4tVpF_SUzyB2KOi2RZz1rUkoaWVt0e2b6XpORvEQbww3-gbDk_IUts/w400-h286/P1090181.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I power hike up this stretch without too much difficulty, which tells me my training runs here in the past several months have paid off. Nevertheless, I know I better consume some calories because I haven’t eaten any breakfast yet. I rarely have the urge to eat while running especially at altitude or when it’s hot. I have a slice of smoked turkey breast and some boiled salted potatoes with a few apple pieces. I like to eat while walking uphill so I keep putting miles behind me. Downhill running requires too much concentration especially on rocky technical trails. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHU2ng_S177V7ULUmC4tgT4WL-_9GjZbHwfgCf5PBLa7mjvyBwcfE224G4MdwzzWJWvT8_pIdELrCnA1ZYP8lQJlbgq_tgiVWTKPlN6iWNihiD5zyW2f7uWzOhmvHrNDxx5Bx1LZ1a5f0/s1280/P1090292.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHU2ng_S177V7ULUmC4tgT4WL-_9GjZbHwfgCf5PBLa7mjvyBwcfE224G4MdwzzWJWvT8_pIdELrCnA1ZYP8lQJlbgq_tgiVWTKPlN6iWNihiD5zyW2f7uWzOhmvHrNDxx5Bx1LZ1a5f0/w300-h400/P1090292.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Typical trail</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I continue my upward slog with a few much welcomed downhill spots and the hours slip by. I take in the scenery around me and ponder the miracle of ginormous trees that have fallen across the trail and been sawed and cleared for trail users. The amount of energy these trees contain is mind blowing. How can a tiny Douglas fir seed transform into a dense 200 foot tall organism with a girth that takes three or four humans to link arms around. Several large trees have partially fallen and are leaning precariously against other trees waiting for the flap of a butterfly’s wings in Singapore to effect the weather pattern; sending a breeze here that topples the hazard onto an unsuspecting hiker. On the plus side, I run fast under these widow makers!</span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgOrmIWFI8zzIiWdxyOzEOE5o5Mlfjw0khp_CLmA_FGoaPhnC0p2XOsdpkLRPs6sFsA5QI0xT48bjXmFBU-5FpjLSN-YSTya6wX8BGokw_1cui_qo9H-lJVb-Ix16dqWJFG0oVPjWEq00/s1280/P1090200.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgOrmIWFI8zzIiWdxyOzEOE5o5Mlfjw0khp_CLmA_FGoaPhnC0p2XOsdpkLRPs6sFsA5QI0xT48bjXmFBU-5FpjLSN-YSTya6wX8BGokw_1cui_qo9H-lJVb-Ix16dqWJFG0oVPjWEq00/w400-h286/P1090200.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Soon I reach the mile seven aid station and only stop for water since I am carrying my race food in my pack. I keep climbing for quite a while and my </span><span style="font-family: arial;">mc<span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"><sup>2</sup></span> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">begins to wane. The tryptophan in the turkey is making me very drowsy, or maybe that’s a myth and it’s really the potatoes that are causing it. Perhaps it’s just the fact that I didn’t sleep well in my tent last night, not only because of the altitude, but also because I heard a strange growling noise in the middle of the night. I tried to ignore it, but I was too curious to see if there might be a bear lurking about. I unzipped my tent, bear spray in hand. I scanned the dark of night with my headlamp and saw three sets of glowing eyes close to the ground. Bear cubs? No, fortunately they were just raccoons. As for the growling, it was just the dude in the next campsite snoring. Well by this point, I was already awake so got up to pee and then I looked up. I was gobsmacked beyond belief! The heavens were filled with bright stars that seemed so close to earth — like I could reach up and touch them.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPPDPus5zX9JCkHQR48bVneQdBY6MrLBLlIwGGzDxQBL1xuY5ebNmPDWIgVTO5RwSUsTrfAisiyPDVWPA2sIkPtXbvBS2wRPUYDoJupOyQiOFQMNJ40LFElFx0XUz5sZrrUJYBYqPrvvA/s1280/P1090242.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPPDPus5zX9JCkHQR48bVneQdBY6MrLBLlIwGGzDxQBL1xuY5ebNmPDWIgVTO5RwSUsTrfAisiyPDVWPA2sIkPtXbvBS2wRPUYDoJupOyQiOFQMNJ40LFElFx0XUz5sZrrUJYBYqPrvvA/w400-h286/P1090242.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, I eat some apple slices in hope that the sugar will perk me up a little. After a while, around mile 12, I reach a dirt road where a shelter is set up surrounded by cars. A table with water coolers sit under the canopy but no volunteers. I become confused. Is this the aid station? Seems to just be campers so I keep going, crossing the road and following the course flagging back onto the Rim Trail. I keep plodding upwards and finally reach the mile 13 aid station in around 3:15 , 45 minutes before the cutoff time. I’m greeted by my running friends from Albuquerque who I haven’t seen in several years. Perky and her crew are always upbeat and a welcome sight. They take great care in filling my water bottles and sending me off with a smile on my face.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp_Jft-V6PFSQKBLGtTYJw0owl7tT1L7XlF3S3l0-2B4emvC-J-uvhhkHe2bvoq8LfeQk-i7457N_AQQOd7TgA_UMF9LjC6F0tDHIqDt9-AW2WVZatRjpa7UEF4IhkGlDpQDnDQh770Bc/s1280/P1090260.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp_Jft-V6PFSQKBLGtTYJw0owl7tT1L7XlF3S3l0-2B4emvC-J-uvhhkHe2bvoq8LfeQk-i7457N_AQQOd7TgA_UMF9LjC6F0tDHIqDt9-AW2WVZatRjpa7UEF4IhkGlDpQDnDQh770Bc/w286-h400/P1090260.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I keep going for awhile on the Rim Trail and skirt Atkinson Field, a cattle grazing pasture, and then pick up the Pipeline Trail. I’ve been dreading this lollypop loop because we go down, down, down and then up, up, up. About 1500’ in a small number of miles which means steep, steep, steep. Well, the sooner I get going the quicker it will be over. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The steepness is only part of the trouble. The Pipeline Trail is full of eroded gullies littered with softball sized white caliche rocks. According to gelogy.com, <a href="https://geology.com/rocks/caliche.shtml" target="_blank">Caliche</a>, also known as hardpan “…is a shallow layer of soil or sediment in which the particles have been cemented together by the precipitation of mineral matter in their interstitial spaces.” OK, but what does that mean for the runner? It means there will be "uneven ground" and "tripping hazards" that might send you ass-over-teakettle all the way down the mountain. BE CAREFUL!. It’s as if a dump truck poured a load of broken concrete all over the trail. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPDUdxiNYfH6JPCbbdG1Q1ntU3ySGbzrH8yZ2ZRTGzmK68E3QPjN9m8l5fGp1Lo3TrPm6_r3fY3er_HLB20Kinhc_kOjBtRjAqexS_bxDp7iyK3pKIQpJpqffoCrTpMJXrXzhVgBPEPS0/s1280/P1090255.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPDUdxiNYfH6JPCbbdG1Q1ntU3ySGbzrH8yZ2ZRTGzmK68E3QPjN9m8l5fGp1Lo3TrPm6_r3fY3er_HLB20Kinhc_kOjBtRjAqexS_bxDp7iyK3pKIQpJpqffoCrTpMJXrXzhVgBPEPS0/w286-h400/P1090255.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I pass several runners on the way down who are cautiously picking their way through the debris field. The sun is high in the sky by now and there’s no shade so the sun’s energy radiates off the caliche creating a convection oven like effect. A rusted iron water pipeline snakes along the old road on the way down. After what seems like an eternity, I take a right turn onto Alamo Peak Trail and begin the ascent. My legs are pretty rubbery by this point, so I just put my head down and give it all I got. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeuJyV1VZJRSjQr7Dc2h-H-QkNCVuW6x3doPs3t3EHN1tUSlKbj6LtbKL1nHnF9vrwmUQSaiK7xDtXQqmK3SJEBjgFdFDO_F1b-aMm2YlC6-ZTc8KDwUnkBasaWziFub8f3fDYUa9yvGs/s1280/P1090193.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeuJyV1VZJRSjQr7Dc2h-H-QkNCVuW6x3doPs3t3EHN1tUSlKbj6LtbKL1nHnF9vrwmUQSaiK7xDtXQqmK3SJEBjgFdFDO_F1b-aMm2YlC6-ZTc8KDwUnkBasaWziFub8f3fDYUa9yvGs/w400-h286/P1090193.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I forget about the task ahead and just focus on each tiny little step forward. Inch by inch I slowly creep higher. Occasionally, I stop in a shady spot to let my heart catch up and eventually the two runners that I passed earlier overtake me. The upward slog also seems to last an eternity, but what motivates me is knowing that once I’m at the top, the worst will be over. Soon I hear a trickle of water and realize there’s a stream below the trail and then I come to a series of springs that are surrounded by chain link fence. Perhaps the spring water is piped down the mountain through the pipeline, I don’t know. It would be nice to take a dip in that water about now, but I just keep plodding on. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr2AlrSTPaKNlIdxYQYhB0aCDSPXLQw_Ays5SmsPVFEa5PpDuXliKflIbWobiwjxsIgAjLc7srcIlk9AxFUXviWVaiYG8_zm8vFsk9GJsBBRx_dqTQwmTprjMcje5LNrTO6J5z-GczO0U/s1280/IMG_2605.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr2AlrSTPaKNlIdxYQYhB0aCDSPXLQw_Ays5SmsPVFEa5PpDuXliKflIbWobiwjxsIgAjLc7srcIlk9AxFUXviWVaiYG8_zm8vFsk9GJsBBRx_dqTQwmTprjMcje5LNrTO6J5z-GczO0U/w400-h300/IMG_2605.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpS3h9sXCkKz_g5-zti5yrVgLiRTEpllr4ViG8OGJyA1-rbWvzixFmaSupo1TaLPGMcQct_oiU6ObAahTBd_7PAhaxfI-So6MjHaUBJvPkjXhkmnsb9gwoTebxzjwZF5BCCAgerflbuqI/s1280/IMG_2608.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpS3h9sXCkKz_g5-zti5yrVgLiRTEpllr4ViG8OGJyA1-rbWvzixFmaSupo1TaLPGMcQct_oiU6ObAahTBd_7PAhaxfI-So6MjHaUBJvPkjXhkmnsb9gwoTebxzjwZF5BCCAgerflbuqI/w400-h300/IMG_2608.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Eventually I make it to the top where the trail spits me out onto the Alamo Peak Rd in a not-so-fresh state. The road is paved, not too steep with no “uneven ground” or “tripping hazards” so I should be running. Sadly my legs refuse, so I walk them out for a little while until I’m able to run again. Finally I make it back to the 20 mile aid station where I again see Perky from Albuquerque and her crew. I’m extremely hot and the first thing I spot when I reach the goodie table is fresh cut watermelon. There’s nothing better than watermelon after a long hot grind up Alamo Peak Trail in August! I visit the crew for a little bit while they fill my water bottles and I head back towards town on the Rim Trail.</span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZ2wrOMEkyGs7K8O-YD1S8TCdWbVshd_nh48idmZHnpxKDnZ6SIyMFFYR1GUi0VX8cHv6c6D4nMbdPJIHNo_ZDsMH7x3pDCPRhSwyygP-hHttD7fsK0ECnMfb8w8OoJK3Ij8QSxyz3Og/s1280/P1090285.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZ2wrOMEkyGs7K8O-YD1S8TCdWbVshd_nh48idmZHnpxKDnZ6SIyMFFYR1GUi0VX8cHv6c6D4nMbdPJIHNo_ZDsMH7x3pDCPRhSwyygP-hHttD7fsK0ECnMfb8w8OoJK3Ij8QSxyz3Og/w400-h286/P1090285.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Soon the sky starts to darken and I hear thunder in the distance. Showers are wicked here in the Sacramento Mountains during the monsoon and they pop up almost every afternoon. After some time, big drops of rain start to fall so I pull out may rain shell. I run in the drizzle and start to overheat from the humid air. Fortunately it doesn’t turn into a gully washer and eventually subsides.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgef0FVMFr-WV_Ir7VCO584ACOppDOUxRxzFY67MSDfgenTSGuC2mRXt-HkTGlBTt4KenIPwEimo-Q95liJaNrnbbPV2r-WwoSvoi1oPM9zoNSOUX8195HAaY5Z_P7A3SEfOsQ9IW3CR-k/s1280/P1090035.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgef0FVMFr-WV_Ir7VCO584ACOppDOUxRxzFY67MSDfgenTSGuC2mRXt-HkTGlBTt4KenIPwEimo-Q95liJaNrnbbPV2r-WwoSvoi1oPM9zoNSOUX8195HAaY5Z_P7A3SEfOsQ9IW3CR-k/w400-h286/P1090035.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I roll along the trail for hours on end sweating profusely even though it’s below 70 degrees. A niggling ache I’ve had between my shoulder blades all afternoon has turned into a full blown stabbing pain. My body’s way of screaming at me to quit. The sun is back out and I reach the last big climb. The one with no shade, but lined with wild roses.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It’s a laborious grind, so I muster all my physical strength while tapping into my inner self. I think of all the others all over the world who are suffering much more than I am right now. My pain is self inflicted; I signed up for this torture! But if we don’t experience the occasional discomfort how do we know when we feel good? By pushing ourselves and testing our mettle, we can strengthen our fortitude. I remind the one that I call my self that the pain and suffering is temporary and will end on its own. There is nothing I need to do but simply smile at my plight and it shall pass.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhltL2rg3akmEAkxsfFhHdh9qp4C5Ap2aEjUBFoXD6PAhaK8ynuo6f6DHoaS0qAIJ3dDthZewN-w4_SDGAIc3TVS_rp04h_xVoyrHUhcpZJ9RRaR0R-wBvLzN30COyDlh-2RdPA3q8ZpZI/s1280/P1090304.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhltL2rg3akmEAkxsfFhHdh9qp4C5Ap2aEjUBFoXD6PAhaK8ynuo6f6DHoaS0qAIJ3dDthZewN-w4_SDGAIc3TVS_rp04h_xVoyrHUhcpZJ9RRaR0R-wBvLzN30COyDlh-2RdPA3q8ZpZI/w400-h286/P1090304.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I finally reach the top and the tree canopy brings some relief from the sun. I walk while lifting my arms over my head; bending my neck down to quell the muscle tension in my shoulders. </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Only three more miles of mostly flat terrain to go,</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> I tell myself. </span><i style="font-family: arial;">I run twice that distance every morning.</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> I reach the series of campgrounds and realize I’m almost there. I go through the tunnel and along a soft groomed walking path and reach the town. Nine long hours have passed, I’m completely beat and extremely hot. Even so, I pick up my pace and run as hard as I can to the finish. When the park comes into view, emotion sweeps over me. How great it is to be suffering through ultramarathons again after so many months of isolation! I cross the finish line in 9:08.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBoZSwQj8OQ9kETuds2dQ03CllqBXAb2flexVQDsm2EK3rkW-SlWIvgN_F2aKLWnzj8kVyEKtpZ_gHxZjIOx90ZELn_niujz-wPmYiXLokHV1_y8wZDXB-DUCuVQ0z9vN8wlg8Sc5nW2E/s1280/P1090320.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBoZSwQj8OQ9kETuds2dQ03CllqBXAb2flexVQDsm2EK3rkW-SlWIvgN_F2aKLWnzj8kVyEKtpZ_gHxZjIOx90ZELn_niujz-wPmYiXLokHV1_y8wZDXB-DUCuVQ0z9vN8wlg8Sc5nW2E/w400-h286/P1090320.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Everything was just right for the Cloudcroft Ultra. The organizers did a great job making sure the course was well marked and aid stations were manned with cheerful volunteers. Hopefully I’ll be back next year for another grand adventure. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">See you on the trail.</span></p><div><br /></div></div>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-69365057089899491852021-07-03T06:12:00.001-06:002021-08-29T17:18:57.152-06:00Bull Creek Run<p><span style="font-family: arial;">I’m literally running in the Bull Creek! I started exploring this stream, in Austin Texas, early this morning since it will get up to the high 90s later today. <a href="https://austinparks.org/bull-creek/">Bull Creek District Park</a> is a popular area for wading during the hot months so I was sure to start early before the crowds arrive. So far I have seen no one. I started running the trail on the northern end of the park on Old Spicewood Springs Rd on the south bank of the stream.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX3EKDfzyhtPQhmxfY2CbXyw-OdRfR-q8nS7yth_EQ3-XpeoxWBwvDexxzMqGhyQSgo6YBFQ6kU2M67_C3kEgsEduPpBBBYRYXsOIM0cVekbyvrAcBYOLhzJnEExryMZyfh2H_rPr7qh4/s1280/P1090012.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX3EKDfzyhtPQhmxfY2CbXyw-OdRfR-q8nS7yth_EQ3-XpeoxWBwvDexxzMqGhyQSgo6YBFQ6kU2M67_C3kEgsEduPpBBBYRYXsOIM0cVekbyvrAcBYOLhzJnEExryMZyfh2H_rPr7qh4/w400-h241/P1090012.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>One of many waterfalls on Bull Creek</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The trail was hard to follow in places because people have worn a lot of side trails down to the creek looking for swimming holes. I didn’t have a map and have never been here before so I just followed the most well trodden and widest path through the woods. In about a mile the trail lead me into a tangle of overgrowth and brambles. What gives! I wandered around looking for a better route and came to the creek. I went along the stream climbing up and down dirt hills and came to a steep bluff. This can’t be the way.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWcAZi9sewgfo5XxZy8pMzDw_Is7rE6BTpxtOUoe_fAJuPT2hr55ldFR2yRM6Pv3Su0UYe382vgaA-bcayZqgljf6OzTa5lfa6Jk8bsuZ1cNfLtqLuTOLC5ecPwlTOGhKTu37JoHbHnv0/s1280/P1080954.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWcAZi9sewgfo5XxZy8pMzDw_Is7rE6BTpxtOUoe_fAJuPT2hr55ldFR2yRM6Pv3Su0UYe382vgaA-bcayZqgljf6OzTa5lfa6Jk8bsuZ1cNfLtqLuTOLC5ecPwlTOGhKTu37JoHbHnv0/w400-h300/P1080954.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Stream crossing</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: arial;">I backtracked and tried a few more little pathways that seemed more like deer trails. Finally, I came to an old wooden bench, weathered and mossy from years of humidity and moisture. How many people have sat upon its boards enjoying the wind rustling through the leaves, birds singing their songs of praise? This must be the way; why else would there be a bench here? I continued on for a few more yards and jumped over some downed trees and came to another thicket of brambles and vines. Dead End! Maybe I should have consulted a map before setting out this morning.</span><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSotOm4J4-jBcLlSFh8e184kAxvbblx6Z6C6Zx4zFgbcJP_GR1HD1zXmwivrtVoQ2-u3XRkODc1g9XW-8YT58tm95Fb7UFIj8m5QxlSk4a5tAXocW0nHHekta1OVW37ykCyzt05DZUAZc/s1280/P1090002.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSotOm4J4-jBcLlSFh8e184kAxvbblx6Z6C6Zx4zFgbcJP_GR1HD1zXmwivrtVoQ2-u3XRkODc1g9XW-8YT58tm95Fb7UFIj8m5QxlSk4a5tAXocW0nHHekta1OVW37ykCyzt05DZUAZc/w400-h286/P1090002.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Wildflowers line the trail in places</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-APmhFy-K7j43MNk6d9WnEjfm5AOn4K_JrrwQX6fujuMR0LOZp8ingte07VK_tRpuYDtm7BWb9sxg1sNM7GzVfjsXOqpzgGllWqAZI8XxLKGJi8JIMclpAVj5dXA7SLeX_RTZFw-Poss/s1280/P1090019.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-APmhFy-K7j43MNk6d9WnEjfm5AOn4K_JrrwQX6fujuMR0LOZp8ingte07VK_tRpuYDtm7BWb9sxg1sNM7GzVfjsXOqpzgGllWqAZI8XxLKGJi8JIMclpAVj5dXA7SLeX_RTZFw-Poss/w400-h286/P1090019.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I had my phone, so I opened up maps and turned on satellite view. Between the trees I could see more paths on the northern bank of the creek. Suddenly it struck me; perhaps I need to cross the creek to get to the other trail. Duh! Coming from the Desert Southwest, I rarely encounter water. Anyway, I turned around, circling aimlessly and eventually came to a beautiful waterfall with a metal bench so I stopped to take in the scene and listen to the sound of the rushing water. I spooked a turtle and watched him swim away totally in his element. </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmizyAWWAPPppnjgAWWgjLui7YYRaskbHF7oOnRVwE6ycih0rox1cLkKd4jU0HMRbXpKhQw6kGdyLPQuLnlR_bvL25xDb_AQxzCLejfrESaF1bRn0zQhnnOoHHyzNqvFbv_eg6zVC8QBw/s1280/P1080953.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmizyAWWAPPppnjgAWWgjLui7YYRaskbHF7oOnRVwE6ycih0rox1cLkKd4jU0HMRbXpKhQw6kGdyLPQuLnlR_bvL25xDb_AQxzCLejfrESaF1bRn0zQhnnOoHHyzNqvFbv_eg6zVC8QBw/w400-h241/P1080953.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I continued running downstream and came to a shallow part of the creek that looked fordable so I plowed right through the ankle deep crystal clear water. Now I’m on the other side, listening to my shoes squelch along the trail that continues downstream on the north bank. Before long, I reach a tall highway bridge overhead (Hwy 360) and have to cross the stream again, this time along a flat smooth slab of limestone. Once under the bridge I cross one more time to the north bank. I feel like a kid again splashing in mud puddles.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Here’s a montage of all the falls. Sound up, for the full tranquility experience.</span></p>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/VpojORUUT_M" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<div><br /></div><div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I reach a parking area and am greeted by another stunning waterfall. This one is very wide, with water flowing over a high limestone bench. This area is a fault zone with many natural steps and benches that define the Texas Hill Country landscape. The <a href="https://www.austintexas.gov/ecoweb/geology" target="_blank">Balcones Fault</a> is also characterized by karst, porous stone that holds water in an underground aquifer. There are many caves, sinkholes, springs and seeps too in this region.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_TDHm6IgHyf46qjZrj-uoOGQ4fbsU9Ji6g9s-gCHDsh6C8uJ_3imLsMaOX8Ugl5Ldv9DuePSpAlyjZFT6FecGb0SLGXGm8gfkCAsrL0mxIMOX2g5VfTqUlSfQBs_8yGzP1F5hPOMWepM/s1280/P1090014.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_TDHm6IgHyf46qjZrj-uoOGQ4fbsU9Ji6g9s-gCHDsh6C8uJ_3imLsMaOX8Ugl5Ldv9DuePSpAlyjZFT6FecGb0SLGXGm8gfkCAsrL0mxIMOX2g5VfTqUlSfQBs_8yGzP1F5hPOMWepM/w400-h300/P1090014.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Natural steps, benches and "balconies"</i> </td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I run through the park along the bank and spook a giant blue heron who takes flight like a prehistoric pterodactyl and flies directly over my head. There isn’t really a trail here, but a bench of smooth rock sometimes covered in slick green slime where water meets stone. After a short while, the stone ends abruptly with a drop down, so I clamber down the escarpment and slosh through some muddy wet areas on the bank. Soon I come to a trail that parallels a concave overhanging cliff carved by eons of floods. Moss adorns the moist wall creating a sort of “living” rock. Eventually I make it to a beautiful hanging garden where a spring pours down a smooth rock face pooling at the bottom. Ferns and other plants line the pool some growing right out of the rock itself. </span><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4iuLjNzVtdcyd_D-WOhJKsooiovBWe4vvzHKaCGpY81f9teQad1amkGw-dZh3fTW-D8eIotlPLjfdLejzHpTQh-0DfmXtB2JMypd5t21Uq1SbAkWH06Fsann5rlLXlYNBfrhjzEZYXtM/s1280/P1080965.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4iuLjNzVtdcyd_D-WOhJKsooiovBWe4vvzHKaCGpY81f9teQad1amkGw-dZh3fTW-D8eIotlPLjfdLejzHpTQh-0DfmXtB2JMypd5t21Uq1SbAkWH06Fsann5rlLXlYNBfrhjzEZYXtM/w400-h300/P1080965.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Living" Rock</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">The sound of the water singing over the algae laden rock soothes my soul and the sight of so much greenery inspires me to keep exploring this gem in the heart of Texas. What a contrast from the harsh brown landscape that I’m used to running. This change of scenery, for a desert rat like me, is very up lifting and reminds me that change is everywhere. </span><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ormEw4zCcnQPXiZznUha-DI6qEnveYqQD47aCIMR1AJBA15uXnQJw8WyfELk0qnTdBgKOXtmY4YOqqaXSa4tPc3Afpv3vD2JEqRJEq6N1JXRFZ2n_tlDigTI_BImsUElzKKzWaKLzKE/s1280/P1080971.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ormEw4zCcnQPXiZznUha-DI6qEnveYqQD47aCIMR1AJBA15uXnQJw8WyfELk0qnTdBgKOXtmY4YOqqaXSa4tPc3Afpv3vD2JEqRJEq6N1JXRFZ2n_tlDigTI_BImsUElzKKzWaKLzKE/w300-h400/P1080971.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging garden</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvzzeIPbVoRt_Fcc6uzb1p8V-AXsGaIfsJDqgUETLU3AtOgtjVHbafcbIlDJiqgcj6czDI71qXWh-0X2K4vWb2-tWI05TvrrMrvYxLe-EaQ-Da42y3jg-hhHpWj3ANMo4cbb_Nf6GT9U/s1280/P1080969.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvzzeIPbVoRt_Fcc6uzb1p8V-AXsGaIfsJDqgUETLU3AtOgtjVHbafcbIlDJiqgcj6czDI71qXWh-0X2K4vWb2-tWI05TvrrMrvYxLe-EaQ-Da42y3jg-hhHpWj3ANMo4cbb_Nf6GT9U/w400-h300/P1080969.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Brown/green, dry/wet, summer/winter, good/bad. Everything in our world is in a constant flux of change which means that anything is possible, therefore embrace the transient nature of your world. Even the suck, because eventually it will transform into bliss. Remember that the next time you are suffering through a hot long run where your legs feel like lead or you are running into a miserably cold headwind with numb fingers. Whatever is happening in your world, whether good or bad, isn’t going to last.</span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3XeVNVH-XXtdiG4p7WO0WxYI_Jrd5MMG9ZmwqP7Lg7v9dRke5ZNtMakm0QkcEzn5iurBQ824aJsxlc85a3JuVEnGDN5qjKh4YEXMsOkg6NZ87PiY7q5vK-L_2zk_gSxvnhtlBvRguyQg/s1280/P1080959.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3XeVNVH-XXtdiG4p7WO0WxYI_Jrd5MMG9ZmwqP7Lg7v9dRke5ZNtMakm0QkcEzn5iurBQ824aJsxlc85a3JuVEnGDN5qjKh4YEXMsOkg6NZ87PiY7q5vK-L_2zk_gSxvnhtlBvRguyQg/w400-h241/P1080959.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">In his book, </span><i style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/41429805-in-love-with-the-world" target="_blank">In Love With the World</a>,</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche writes about his four and half year retreat wandering the Himalayas and has this to say about change:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: arial;"><i><b>Once we move from the belief that things are unchanging to the experience that everything is transitory, the tension between our expectations and reality as-it-is begins to dissolve; then we can know that the disturbance of this moment will pass, and that if we stay with recognition of awareness, the problem will transform on its own. It doesn’t need any help from us in order to move on. The inherent nature of everything is change. It’s our preoccupation with a problem that nails it in place.</b></i></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: arial;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVnLKSE1BAyfrma3ss268zazUy8qd21LAwo7V1OlvRK7i-XadAKz-iLHVzEyZKns35nujBY9Id3MWNfHQIwg-yqtOjlkKYWh0ifxQHSdivJYSmbP3ZtHYmyR4S5r28rUPw1HiMKr-3PhA/s1280/P1090010.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVnLKSE1BAyfrma3ss268zazUy8qd21LAwo7V1OlvRK7i-XadAKz-iLHVzEyZKns35nujBY9Id3MWNfHQIwg-yqtOjlkKYWh0ifxQHSdivJYSmbP3ZtHYmyR4S5r28rUPw1HiMKr-3PhA/w400-h241/P1090010.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After taking in the sound and beauty of the hanging garden I keep running along slabs of smooth dry rock and, at times, through the creek itself. I reach another overpass with a marshy area beneath. I slop right through the mud, because my shoes and feet are soaked to the bone anyway. On the other side of the highway lies another park where water pours over flat slabs of limestone into a clear deep pool. Looks perfect for taking a dip on a hot day. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjFxfOsgJDdmJ3KqeHAGDb-ugNQ0sIBJt4E1LrVUIWbDI-rDpgXH88dLFX5mZzHv4nOKLToverr2D4UdMEcF2pTNZ8Ajn9D475SgCfUYvndriISBan0VuEXotyuN1YWQAROtvYFbaqGTI/s1280/P1080980.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjFxfOsgJDdmJ3KqeHAGDb-ugNQ0sIBJt4E1LrVUIWbDI-rDpgXH88dLFX5mZzHv4nOKLToverr2D4UdMEcF2pTNZ8Ajn9D475SgCfUYvndriISBan0VuEXotyuN1YWQAROtvYFbaqGTI/w400-h300/P1080980.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I take a quick look around and snap a few pictures and video the falls. I believe the trail continues downstream for a bit longer, but I decide to turn around. I backtrack the same way, sloshing through the mud and crossing the stream in places. After some time I become disoriented and can’t remember if I’m supposed to cross the stream or climb the rocky escarpment. I cross the creek and come to a dead end. Oh well, back through the water I go.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsDKa_SJqIYBbh3-HZ-WyCZkvxs54r0aWRj9Ok1FdhPMbodvJ-c3uDG5aORkmQLN6HLHLQEvZdjNWS1qPhH1L3V3HYxWE3XMCd07b1JyITEAHZEOW3l6wLcIa7JcAO9cF11bUrYxcNDt0/s1280/P1080957.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsDKa_SJqIYBbh3-HZ-WyCZkvxs54r0aWRj9Ok1FdhPMbodvJ-c3uDG5aORkmQLN6HLHLQEvZdjNWS1qPhH1L3V3HYxWE3XMCd07b1JyITEAHZEOW3l6wLcIa7JcAO9cF11bUrYxcNDt0/w400-h300/P1080957.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Water crossing</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">After several hours and six miles of exploring I return to my car. I load my gps track to my Suunto app and am able see that there are trails on either side of the Bull Creek. However, </span><a href="https://www.alltrails.com/trail/us/texas/bull-creek-park" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">All Trails</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> shows the route starting on the north bank and then crossing to the south bank which is almost the exact opposite of what I did! Google Maps also shows trails on both sides of the bank except for one short section where you need to cross the creek before reaching highway 360. Maybe there is a way to run the Bull without getting your feet wet, but that wouldn’t be as exciting, would it? Wet or dry? It doesn’t matter. “…the problem will transform on its own. It doesn’t need any help from us…”</span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> See you on the trail. </span></p></div></div>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-73110849918916859132021-04-11T05:45:00.002-06:002021-07-03T06:12:46.138-06:00A New Personal Trainer<p><span style="font-family: arial;">I hired a new personal trainer a few months ago because my old one was getting kind of old and grumpy. He has been coaching me for around 13 years and seemed like he was becoming lazy in his old age. (He’s 74 years old.) The last thing you want in a personal trainer is laziness. I need someone who’s going to show up on time and bring a lot of vibrancy to my runs. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9aL564mFn6IV3_qEkTkvgTXJPpoN153T_6BEod3QkDlb4gvf9rxrBDHAMDSxgymJF82ymzZjPsigEQ1Xe7lIUZFeEHFI_vQgep0gQkPqKjLoP7JHNiRpjA_wfrXLhaz8WFnuERVPLGho/s1280/P1080706.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9aL564mFn6IV3_qEkTkvgTXJPpoN153T_6BEod3QkDlb4gvf9rxrBDHAMDSxgymJF82ymzZjPsigEQ1Xe7lIUZFeEHFI_vQgep0gQkPqKjLoP7JHNiRpjA_wfrXLhaz8WFnuERVPLGho/w400-h241/P1080706.jpeg" title="Moonset over Mt Riley and Cox in New Mexico" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Moonset over Mt Riley and Cox in New Mexico</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ever since I moved to El Paso about 12 years ago, I have been running about five days a week on our local trails at the base of the Franklin Mountains. My coach and I usually cover between 5-7 miles on weekdays. On weekends, I run the Franklin Mountains State Park or travel to the Organ Mountains up the road in Las Cruces, NM to do my long runs. My personal trainer has been helping me achieve my goals for all these years so I felt guilty about giving him the boot. We’ve had a lot of grand adventures together as you can see by reading other posts from my site.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Xyl2jPpiBbQqvtfQ4Il0YOASYzEV1ZTwkUmeGiEKyXBn0pcsZO0qTKIojLyAGaV2Frtm0yY5rUkxhyccmTiSh2K1O0esBWa1OnyvVYVFWYB_7Bu8Dxzsuq6rFV89DtOOihPulC0EPAs/s1280/P1080695.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Xyl2jPpiBbQqvtfQ4Il0YOASYzEV1ZTwkUmeGiEKyXBn0pcsZO0qTKIojLyAGaV2Frtm0yY5rUkxhyccmTiSh2K1O0esBWa1OnyvVYVFWYB_7Bu8Dxzsuq6rFV89DtOOihPulC0EPAs/w400-h286/P1080695.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A full moon illuminating an early morning run.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sadly, he started to oversleep more often and wasn’t waking me up at the designated time in the morning for my run. Therefore, I went with a younger, more energetic lady with fewer miles on her. Junie B is up and raring to go at 5am licking me in my ear to wake me. Tail wagging, she follows me everywhere in the morning whether I like it or not. She even accompanies me into the bathroom while I take care of my pre-run business (for better or worse). She doesn’t let up for even a second until we are out the door and onto the trail. No wonder I rarely miss a day of training.</span></p><span><a name='more'></a></span><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hPc7qvWz8uNYYwh4NCaxWudWbL-F_6MZsjy3_3JJRIhqXCYuANxYsyWWIpW559B_leNC9SPQkDMBMvu6wmvaPbZ2R5C5iFgXY_25JUjU5aB2pEdI9TE3t0TdpC23FEIQZYH1PSVFk3I/s1280/P1080714.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hPc7qvWz8uNYYwh4NCaxWudWbL-F_6MZsjy3_3JJRIhqXCYuANxYsyWWIpW559B_leNC9SPQkDMBMvu6wmvaPbZ2R5C5iFgXY_25JUjU5aB2pEdI9TE3t0TdpC23FEIQZYH1PSVFk3I/w400-h300/P1080714.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lost Dog Trail area as seen from N. Franklin Peak</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Junie came to us from a friend who found her wandering the streets. We weren't looking for pet at the time, but somehow she found us. This is how we acquired all our dogs, two who have since passed on. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">We knew she needed a home so took her in. "June Bug", who is about a year old, didn't have any tags or a microchip and we had to get her spayed, but that's a small price to pay for a loyal running partner.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYkQlljm2HJXhK-UncCsrHS1w9WJrASVM0O0B1KSIKIc6O2DQnUqTzOOtc-tRUb3XfFPuoGm49YNWdzKJEJMSBAcH1-GDK5MiWe7FYGOpyXaAZg0IuKrggmQkZ_7xNL72Qmc-Z5a1LvI/s1280/IMG_2042.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYkQlljm2HJXhK-UncCsrHS1w9WJrASVM0O0B1KSIKIc6O2DQnUqTzOOtc-tRUb3XfFPuoGm49YNWdzKJEJMSBAcH1-GDK5MiWe7FYGOpyXaAZg0IuKrggmQkZ_7xNL72Qmc-Z5a1LvI/w400-h241/IMG_2042.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Junie B</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Our 10 year old daughter named her <a href="http://juniebjones.com" target="_blank">Junie B</a>, after a girl character from a children's book series of the same name, who's always getting into mischief. She is </span><span style="font-family: arial;">a small thin white and brown patched short haired dog, brindled on the white parts. The right side of her face is brown; the other white, which makes her look like she’s wearing a Phantom of the Opera mask. Her ears are always standing at attention and her eyes are brown with a pink tinge around the white side. She’s scrappy with a fierce bark at times and loves to fetch a tennis ball. She ambushes Taz, the old man, but he seems to be taking it all in stride. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb0zvoXq-KWhc85pbtVizOOe4cKMsqddOcPZ-2PA7P0ELumR6UHGCd2Vc4VPFz4_RSzserF2pwAsYbFEd7-7kSnVK1Aecv5ZFItw-_Xc_JJRKhwf_qcCBvNNGTTkO3aKkqsnIV87UJxho/s1280/P1080511.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb0zvoXq-KWhc85pbtVizOOe4cKMsqddOcPZ-2PA7P0ELumR6UHGCd2Vc4VPFz4_RSzserF2pwAsYbFEd7-7kSnVK1Aecv5ZFItw-_Xc_JJRKhwf_qcCBvNNGTTkO3aKkqsnIV87UJxho/w400-h286/P1080511.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Li'l Grasshopper, Junie B and Taz on an adventure</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyXzCAH5e6RZW5hV-BdtZlFPVu8gIgD6a3Lgng3SbupUjfwEJ8JtDDt53XCy8LFbvD7ZIzesMJS5t2cADcuPI2wixCVgpP863gFu08sGfkKD-ms2HxbfJGSW6xqZducWy0Xoa9a7yJZAE/s1280/P1080533.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyXzCAH5e6RZW5hV-BdtZlFPVu8gIgD6a3Lgng3SbupUjfwEJ8JtDDt53XCy8LFbvD7ZIzesMJS5t2cADcuPI2wixCVgpP863gFu08sGfkKD-ms2HxbfJGSW6xqZducWy0Xoa9a7yJZAE/w400-h300/P1080533.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I felt bad about firing Taz, our Mexican hairless dog, so we still let him tag along on our grand adventures. Actually, I think he’s relieved to be semiretired in his old age and he seems to enjoy being the trusty assistant coach. While Junie is young and frisky, she’s a greenhorn on the trail so Taz has been teaching her the ropes. The old man has been around the block once or twice having to learn the hard way. He’s been bitten by a rattlesnake and even cornered a javelina once. He had no fear in his young age, but is much more cautious now.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Read my post: <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2013/08/emergency-on-trail.html" target="_blank">Emergency on the Trail</a></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Last month we were out for an early morning run when my coaches spotted something in the distance. Junie was about to take off running after it when Taz said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Little Whippersnapper.” “And just why not, might I ask?”, she retorted. “Because that's a coyote; it will eat you alive!” Then he added, "Sometimes they drop anvils on their prey. I saw it on TV!"</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuzhTlz2nBvtEDRw9Nb6BskmXzSyKvQ7JP4S0N0tuLG_Sq2060KSUsOHD0OEwzKk4iv6dtMxN5jf511LzR1VmOnj2O3ZjlsztL0ee2HiN9QIs6X1gaYFLrjeeA_Q97mvwnhX-ebnoKIU/s1280/IMG_1925.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuzhTlz2nBvtEDRw9Nb6BskmXzSyKvQ7JP4S0N0tuLG_Sq2060KSUsOHD0OEwzKk4iv6dtMxN5jf511LzR1VmOnj2O3ZjlsztL0ee2HiN9QIs6X1gaYFLrjeeA_Q97mvwnhX-ebnoKIU/w400-h241/IMG_1925.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Junie and Taz, the Mexican hairless</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sure enough, there was a coyote checking us out and Junie was barking and going crazy. She started to bolt after it, but I yelled at her to “COME!” Luckily she listened this time, but I’m afraid she might do something stupid in the future, so I keep her on the leash now. Taz has been around for a long time and has danced with coyotes more than once in his youth, so he isn’t very interested in them now.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Read my post: </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2016/02/coyote-alley.html" target="_blank">Coyote Alley</a></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDUCqtSspwxqDFa2VxYZ7HlwHwvY4iGykQd14IxTCts-WT0W-3PQXdsLhHCKKo2sW24WZQTH8NysbQ6F4K7aabJke9AnCLyAV5DgCJGGnZVwcvX61yUdMEhQfYdAY3CBcZGosNwu0QCs8/s1280/P1060889.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDUCqtSspwxqDFa2VxYZ7HlwHwvY4iGykQd14IxTCts-WT0W-3PQXdsLhHCKKo2sW24WZQTH8NysbQ6F4K7aabJke9AnCLyAV5DgCJGGnZVwcvX61yUdMEhQfYdAY3CBcZGosNwu0QCs8/w400-h286/P1060889.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A coyote we saw by the Rio Grande last year</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">On another morning, we were on a routine run when I turned around to make sure Taz was still close by. Something didn’t look quite right. I counted three dogs running in a queue. There was Junie right behind me, some random dog and then Taz in the back. My first thought was, <i>stray dog, </i>but, on closer inspection, I noticed that it was a coyote. Then I saw several more following Taz. We were infiltrated by a pack of coyotes! They didn’t attack or cause a ruckus, but just seemed like they were curious and wanted to tag along. Well, I yelled at them like a maniac to “GIT, GO ON!” I raised my hands shouting all the time and they took off trying to escape from the lunatic runner. So, that was that, and we continued on our merry way. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkmBjNoX7YClihpQlRZJCWcEeoE_47X137HsznrFZRzSckJ4TSiYDrTJdzrO1kdlR_bUOdCmfOkGZqY6Rvyweuxrs72Sl7c1TC7_27Nt541Fo2IWtBpg_Q_ndT3t0dvrSXwKXWYct9GRs/s1280/P1080615.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkmBjNoX7YClihpQlRZJCWcEeoE_47X137HsznrFZRzSckJ4TSiYDrTJdzrO1kdlR_bUOdCmfOkGZqY6Rvyweuxrs72Sl7c1TC7_27Nt541Fo2IWtBpg_Q_ndT3t0dvrSXwKXWYct9GRs/w400-h286/P1080615.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Coyote snack, female Gambel's quail</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnInyybkXA0YZliR3GqYgriC8Y4TtIzjJbRwcUvbI0lyXNC3FOm_ceCUfsDICJvx9bcKGbunfoC3giwqcPcaHc1xEP5RmjkTyt7oC7YDVQGWTV1DumkGbj99vf_AmaJuyjugDoQgLFPJ8/s1280/P1080651.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnInyybkXA0YZliR3GqYgriC8Y4TtIzjJbRwcUvbI0lyXNC3FOm_ceCUfsDICJvx9bcKGbunfoC3giwqcPcaHc1xEP5RmjkTyt7oC7YDVQGWTV1DumkGbj99vf_AmaJuyjugDoQgLFPJ8/w286-h400/P1080651.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Male Gambel's quail</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">By the way, do you know how to calculate your dog’s age in human years? It used to be that you would multiply 7 times your dog’s age, but things are continuously changing on our planet that is hurling through the universe at around 500,000 mph! (Well, that speed actually depends on relative to what the earth is moving, but I digress.) My University of Google degree taught me that a dog’s age depends on many factors such as the breed and size of the dog, as well as the amount of exercise the dog receives, diet and so on. The American Kennel Club has a very good <a href="https://www.akc.org/expert-advice/health/how-to-calculate-dog-years-to-human-years/" target="_blank">article</a> on this topic and a useful chart which shows your dog’s age in human years. That explains why Taz can still give the “Li’l Whippersnapper” a run for her money when she starts to tussle with him in the back yard.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDP2QfyqfUNZo_eTbSDMjog_JDeGWsNVqM7sp0XUjaQI0SUJKgHKwBhF9AOyBVvTXRTPExI-V-2z1YaQou56nU8oICGjUkHcBB1xS1hNIqLoE0FtWoYNYVMpBdNls2ubYAW81aC_TjoI8/s2048/Dog_Age_Chart_Proof_01Blue.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1128" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDP2QfyqfUNZo_eTbSDMjog_JDeGWsNVqM7sp0XUjaQI0SUJKgHKwBhF9AOyBVvTXRTPExI-V-2z1YaQou56nU8oICGjUkHcBB1xS1hNIqLoE0FtWoYNYVMpBdNls2ubYAW81aC_TjoI8/w352-h640/Dog_Age_Chart_Proof_01Blue.jpg" width="352" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: <a href="https://www.akc.org" target="_blank">AKC</a></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">All this early morning training with Junie and Taz has paid off and I had several good solo long runs to the N. Franklin Peak last month. The temperatures are heating up already in the desert southwest so we went on a water caching mission with the L’l Grasshopper, my daughter. We hiked from the western side of the state park up to Mundy’s Gap, a two mile uphill slog. I have several personal water stashes in the Franklins to aid in my long training runs, so we hid some bottles of water in my energy efficient, all natural rock fridge.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3ZPRbDZshyphenhyphenG3J5na7O5n_u4mv4U1I_y_pi3uxSquzGKMa6Y1dJUaBAOifribpXWV8F_7U3Mc7xCB7Cc4xlijyJ9WGdGGtnAZa2dVvseJdq2ow5wgJGB4xPiKwmh_EZZrvcrZXyNwNPs/s1280/P1080455.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3ZPRbDZshyphenhyphenG3J5na7O5n_u4mv4U1I_y_pi3uxSquzGKMa6Y1dJUaBAOifribpXWV8F_7U3Mc7xCB7Cc4xlijyJ9WGdGGtnAZa2dVvseJdq2ow5wgJGB4xPiKwmh_EZZrvcrZXyNwNPs/w400-h241/P1080455.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Franklin Mountains as seen from N. Franklin Peak<br />Organ mountains in the distance</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My go to long run route of late is a mostly out-and-back from the edge of the Franklin Hills neighborhood on the west side, along the foothills over to the wildlife underpass on Transmountain road, a distance of about five miles. From there I head up to the peak, another 4 miles and then I run back. On several of these runs this winter, I ran into Fluffy, a rattlesnake who lives in a hole in the concrete beside the wildlife underpass. On my return trips, she would always be sunbathing in the warm late morning sun. You never know when snakes are lurking about so we remain alert trying to be as careful as we can.</span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH3w2dNxIY_CcB_uuYSO5j-UOoV0Q1tsAMul6ZuMQrABHK2mSCOE1t-PGd0paOBVtH7dlkkz_KkHv81VZ3PpcZSIsc6_mjPu_5vZ1FN-_ueOyxwuz7S0iUXMW-dP2Qjg74f3hBdiMabxk/s1280/P1080457.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH3w2dNxIY_CcB_uuYSO5j-UOoV0Q1tsAMul6ZuMQrABHK2mSCOE1t-PGd0paOBVtH7dlkkz_KkHv81VZ3PpcZSIsc6_mjPu_5vZ1FN-_ueOyxwuz7S0iUXMW-dP2Qjg74f3hBdiMabxk/w400-h241/P1080457.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>My friend, Fluffy</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I did this run every other week for several months, adding several miles each time by running the Lost Dog Trail area. Usually this time of year, I run the </span><a href="https://bataanmarch.com" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Bataan Memorial Death March</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> at White Sands Missile Range, NM, but it was a virtual race this year. I didn’t sign up for it because I have enough race swag, t-shirts, finishers’ medals, gaiters, headbands, hats, buffs, water bottles, wristbands, etc, to last several lifetimes. Instead, I ran a solo marathon; a 26 mile route to remember the victims and honor the survivors of the </span><a href="https://bataanmarch.com/about-bataan/" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Bataan Death March</a><span style="font-family: arial;">. I ran my usual long run route with a double N. Franklin Peak (7192’) ascent/descent. Once at the top, I ran down to the Tin Mines on the east side and then back up again. This was a grueling 8 hour adventure especially the second trip back to the peak on tired rubbery legs. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkyEqc38FvkQOY3baTNh7RlxPe2DY67MvMnLWQHDvCxJ_VNkkuFZgg6Kr-wWRKp2U2OpwGciLCtDs8xVRyHtwIrYfgcFt1kav3AE9IbpSOGjjzsS3XpSAMUXfZVKN4-5Ix1LaLl853KoQ/s1280/P1080535.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkyEqc38FvkQOY3baTNh7RlxPe2DY67MvMnLWQHDvCxJ_VNkkuFZgg6Kr-wWRKp2U2OpwGciLCtDs8xVRyHtwIrYfgcFt1kav3AE9IbpSOGjjzsS3XpSAMUXfZVKN4-5Ix1LaLl853KoQ/w400-h286/P1080535.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Leader of the pack</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">FAQ: What do you do with all that time spent on the trail? Answer: I just smile at my plight and stay in the present moment not thinking about the tasks ahead like climbing to the top of a mountain. I put one foot in front of the other even if it totally sucks. Just like in life, the misery isn’t going to last and eventually I’ll be flying effortlessly down the other side of the mountain. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Sometimes my mind wanders and I start thinking about stupid stuff like, </span><i style="font-family: arial;">how fast are we traveling through the universe</i><span style="font-family: arial;">? Or,</span><i style="font-family: arial;"> how old is Taz in human years</i><span style="font-family: arial;">?</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi80TInJSjJ2QkDhLshLmFZuim7KZBZbJw54z1ErSLWZm8OdxhTYL8bcFQiEpwAlgYuKDxZrhnYkLn3sQ0SJK0NzJuT3DHCx0EmYVyIa3-kThfvwHNi0zl0xMz-QcdVCJjn2tpP5tHKjME/s1280/IMG_1973.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi80TInJSjJ2QkDhLshLmFZuim7KZBZbJw54z1ErSLWZm8OdxhTYL8bcFQiEpwAlgYuKDxZrhnYkLn3sQ0SJK0NzJuT3DHCx0EmYVyIa3-kThfvwHNi0zl0xMz-QcdVCJjn2tpP5tHKjME/w400-h300/IMG_1973.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrNRjJ0Wb_pSijK3QAMImSOsjHbLOHIJ1aDgM6LnrWY7oIOgsd8AsZZ2PO57EmdLzz5Qa-FTJ8G_gOW_yBWr_NkwOW4Af5bPq-DVgnt1M87hprEBSQqJ2Od1wnd8TfMk0wAoRpCQkg1tY/s1280/P1080567.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrNRjJ0Wb_pSijK3QAMImSOsjHbLOHIJ1aDgM6LnrWY7oIOgsd8AsZZ2PO57EmdLzz5Qa-FTJ8G_gOW_yBWr_NkwOW4Af5bPq-DVgnt1M87hprEBSQqJ2Od1wnd8TfMk0wAoRpCQkg1tY/w400-h241/P1080567.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Sometimes I work with a zen koan which is a poem, story or question to help you realize the true nature of life and our world. The problem is that you can’t arrive at the answer by using your intellect, but must stop your mind from thinking. <a href="https://www.lionsroar.com/thinking-non-thinking/" target="_blank">Non-thinking</a> or thinking? Maybe it goes beyond thinking and not thinking, I don't know. A great paradox, you must abandon everything you’ve ever learned about “the way things are”! Here’s one for you to try on your next long run, because what better do you have to do while running for eight hours?</span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><i><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: arial;"><b>In the Sea of Ise, ten thousand feet down,</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: arial;"><b>Lies a single stone;</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: arial;"><b>I wish to pick up that stone</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: arial;"><b>Without wetting my hands.</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: arial;"><b><i></i><br /></b></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: arial;"><b>On the stone a name is inscribed.</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: arial;"><b>What is the name?</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: arial;"><b><i></i><br /></b></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: arial;"><b>On one side of the name it reads,</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: arial;"><b>“Cannot get wet.”</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: arial;"><b><i></i><br /></b></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: arial;"><b>On the other side of the name it reads,</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: arial;"><b>“Cannot get dry.”</b></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Now climbing to the top of N. Franklin Peak twice doesn’t seem as daunting, does it?</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">If you need help solving this one, read <i><a href="https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/The-Flowing-Bridge/Elaine-MacInnes/9780861715459" target="_blank">The Flowing Bridge</a></i> by <a href="https://www.globalsistersreport.org/column/q/spirituality/q-sr-elaine-macinnes-teaching-others-art-zen-meditation-45756" target="_blank">Sister Elaine Macinnes</a>, a Catholic nun, Julliard trained violinist and certified Zen Master. I know, weird right? Or is it? </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">See you on the trail.</span></p>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-9811546104931041212021-01-29T12:28:00.001-07:002021-04-11T05:45:53.026-06:00Baylor Peak, Organ Mountains<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last month I ran the Baylor Pass and Pine Tree Loop trails in the <a href="https://www.blm.gov/visit/omdp" target="_blank">Organ Mountains-Desert Peaks National Monument</a> in Las Cruces, NM. This is a challenging route that takes you over Baylor Pass (6400’) and down to Aguirre Springs Campground for a total roundtrip of 12 miles. From the campground, you can run the Pine Tree Loop which adds an extra 4 miles and takes you up to almost 6900’. The trail takes you high onto the eastern slopes of the mountains where you have spectacular views of the angular peaks of the Organ Needles with Ponderosa pines towering above you.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Read: </span><a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2016/01/baylor-canyon-and-pine-tree-trail.html" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Baylor Canyon and Pine Tree Trail</a></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi91dkFKnn2c3vorI4P02zExVcCJE2Q4PoL6ofUsu_1m0wkkZky2w7Rogl6h0QknXltfA_BESwiB52ZDemayuhjp3meYWmZed4OERrnH5wq-rA7QPiAGUVeeNThS6HU_zxXdU4huPssf30/s1280/IMG_1867.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi91dkFKnn2c3vorI4P02zExVcCJE2Q4PoL6ofUsu_1m0wkkZky2w7Rogl6h0QknXltfA_BESwiB52ZDemayuhjp3meYWmZed4OERrnH5wq-rA7QPiAGUVeeNThS6HU_zxXdU4huPssf30/w400-h240/IMG_1867.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Organ Mountains</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Every time I run this trail I ponder tackling Baylor Peak (7721’) which can be reached by following a side trail from the pass itself. This one has been on my bucket list for many years so I decided to return on a January day to give it try. I read up on the route and learned that there is a bit of route finding and scrambling to get all the way to the summit so I had some trepidation before beginning.</span></div><div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hpf_r0hiDXEeFplL0KQgLegEfHr4nYd9jOGz0M2AvX7RQVoFUhUPKnKp_QeRU7OgfUJj73a8xtophDcWZ-ShgCCRlsuM1ldd_0QC9_jby_yvqWLknp7TcMdqkgrkZcQMehlmpppMuTU/s1280/P1080305.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hpf_r0hiDXEeFplL0KQgLegEfHr4nYd9jOGz0M2AvX7RQVoFUhUPKnKp_QeRU7OgfUJj73a8xtophDcWZ-ShgCCRlsuM1ldd_0QC9_jby_yvqWLknp7TcMdqkgrkZcQMehlmpppMuTU/w400-h240/P1080305.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>I started out on the west side from the Baylor Canyon Rd parking area off of HWY 70 where cows were grazing lazily around the park sign that warned: PEOPLE HAVE DIED IN THESE MOUNTAINS, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH…DON’T HIKE ALONE, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH…LEAVE RATTLESNAKES ALONE…TAKE APPROPRIATE CLOTHING, YADDA, YADDA, ETC., ETC.<p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, I ran past the sign all alone and without any extra clothing, not knowing whether or not I would ever see it again. The flat trail in this area is quite eroded, but improves as you begin climbing into the canyon. Large round smooth boulders are scattered around willy-nilly; the trail weaving in between them. Cacti and other prickly plants line the trail and there are some high steps and water bars for erosion control that have to be negotiated carefully. In about a mile I reached a large mound of goblin-like smooth boulders where there were excellent views of Las Cruces and the Rio Grande Valley below.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWls12uBh0jUu07siIyosA_NdhhGNkemRmKH-pCjRHLajKfRT1DvbKoMBjhJBaAbJdL6cvBkOpIPq2U4w8BG_YQa6B1yun_lP4KGzh8kMv8S8S8_4k7nq288YfXORhlgES7TzfYQ-nhqE/s1280/P1080346.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWls12uBh0jUu07siIyosA_NdhhGNkemRmKH-pCjRHLajKfRT1DvbKoMBjhJBaAbJdL6cvBkOpIPq2U4w8BG_YQa6B1yun_lP4KGzh8kMv8S8S8_4k7nq288YfXORhlgES7TzfYQ-nhqE/w400-h300/P1080346.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi47JgQGQnIwwlBdw88H26U1XswpHzpEfFNKYDibVTAtToA1XrliyqxiGf_7ls0PeB-L_NkLqNTtgCaYmJpRMsuTA4IF1JDtzbB-Qs2ETVDAwoopPmPswiVUZnmLhsvv7NxEVRwdCCVmq4/s1280/P1080353.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi47JgQGQnIwwlBdw88H26U1XswpHzpEfFNKYDibVTAtToA1XrliyqxiGf_7ls0PeB-L_NkLqNTtgCaYmJpRMsuTA4IF1JDtzbB-Qs2ETVDAwoopPmPswiVUZnmLhsvv7NxEVRwdCCVmq4/w400-h240/P1080353.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I climbed the gradual uphill trail with huge walls of yellow, lichen tinged rock high above me. In about an hour and half I reached the saddle at mile 3.5 where I enjoyed fine views of White Sands Missile Range and the vast desert below under a bright azure sky with wispy clouds. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgIEIIuRRunTDwVYAyjaSnS89kix18zyOdaFtFGE3RRveBcDE1f0ePiuHi3SlIQS5bxqUkjmBVR9lOmvJvlkU-0YNpqW61zMjT6hGJtyOBwMbyD_zG_WgpSid44q3YEymwQaL3y3tDecE/s1280/P1080357.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgIEIIuRRunTDwVYAyjaSnS89kix18zyOdaFtFGE3RRveBcDE1f0ePiuHi3SlIQS5bxqUkjmBVR9lOmvJvlkU-0YNpqW61zMjT6hGJtyOBwMbyD_zG_WgpSid44q3YEymwQaL3y3tDecE/w400-h240/P1080357.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Did you know the sky appears a deeper blue the higher in elevation you go? The reason is that there are fewer water droplets, dust and other particles in the atmosphere to scatter light waves. A Swiss scientist named Horace-Bénédict de Saussure noticed this phenomenon while climbing in the Alps in 1786 and he even invented a devise for measuring the color blue. His <i>cyanometer</i> was a circular donut like ring with 52 shades of blue that you could hold up to the sky.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/a-scientist-invented-the-cyanometer-just-to-measure-the-blueness-of-the-sky" target="_blank">Atlas Obscura</a> writes, </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: arial;"><i><b>The color [Saussure] had measured at the top of Mont Blanc, he later determined, corresponded to a blue of the 39th degree; that measurement was later surpassed by the famous geographer Alexander von Humboldt, who took his cyanometer on journeys across the Atlantic… and also took the tool on an ascent of the Andean mountain Chimborazo, where he set a new record, at the 46th degree of blue, for the darkest sky ever measured.</b></i></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQVzwGs5mMNcvkJDcHqI6RxeJnGfAYteYPe137XLpO9mMRBA6MZehtZeOwk390czshAmk8MndGBeyTnjDXix51eelR9z3NnSTzZhp3fzwUua-bL7V0x7LP7z4ahQlIXUvLoaPZfs5NJME/s1280/P1080362.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQVzwGs5mMNcvkJDcHqI6RxeJnGfAYteYPe137XLpO9mMRBA6MZehtZeOwk390czshAmk8MndGBeyTnjDXix51eelR9z3NnSTzZhp3fzwUua-bL7V0x7LP7z4ahQlIXUvLoaPZfs5NJME/w400-h286/P1080362.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, I soaked in the blueness of a big beautiful sky and then pulled out my trekking poles because this is where the serious climbing really starts. I headed north following a trail that took me along the western slope of the main ridge line. I could see a peak above the trail and assumed that was my destination. Pretty soon I started to climb up the steep slope on a crumbly sketchy path. It was hard to follow in places and I had to traverse some slabs of rock.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCT1z4TBxejuD68DghkJGaxSeZtQzwl-wrOPZspfkjGBiq473N0JMYXyj9nSqnkjki9NcMrPc1tklqhZEZQWOdCiBx1ysTcZoqXcfM72Et5hcsJ6HVty_v46psjQjuxawCHs4Wuw0f1mk/s1280/P1080371.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCT1z4TBxejuD68DghkJGaxSeZtQzwl-wrOPZspfkjGBiq473N0JMYXyj9nSqnkjki9NcMrPc1tklqhZEZQWOdCiBx1ysTcZoqXcfM72Et5hcsJ6HVty_v46psjQjuxawCHs4Wuw0f1mk/w400-h300/P1080371.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Eventually I reached a little plateau with jagged rock outcrops where I continued on the main ridge up to the peak I saw earlier. I had to weave in and out of boulders as well as prickly pear and cholla cacti. In a few spots I had to use my hands to pull myself up and over some small obstacles. My poles came in very handy taking some of the pressure off my old creaky knees while I was climbing up onto rocky steps on the slope. I slowly plodded up the mountain that I knew to be over 7700’ elevation. I reached the top and looked at my gps watch that read 7500’. CRAP! False summit! </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVdDPrJFajgN6aqFzTijmYGKB1wTw0FO8aNQUiY5K9LUkhuK7zz_bIugN2QJYldH1fuNSRCeVGNf-4f0pbKFxGn4bSrXQoK8AV7VsBbjZtilppQ3kZ_Ea41CPqOGjyciPkq1tiP5-_qJ8/s1280/P1080374.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVdDPrJFajgN6aqFzTijmYGKB1wTw0FO8aNQUiY5K9LUkhuK7zz_bIugN2QJYldH1fuNSRCeVGNf-4f0pbKFxGn4bSrXQoK8AV7VsBbjZtilppQ3kZ_Ea41CPqOGjyciPkq1tiP5-_qJ8/w400-h300/P1080374.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>I looked around and could see the real summit further north and a couple hundred feet higher. It was steep, bouldery and ominous looking and not only that, but there was a precipitous ridge standing between me and the peak! How was I going to get over that ridge? I climbed up onto some boulders and started across a little way and made the mistake of looking down. Here was a sharp drop where a fall would really ruin your day. I’m not talking about an “ow, I skinned my knee” kind of fall but a “wow, I never knew a leg bone could bend in quite that position” kind of fall. </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-Kpf2u4CVG5PmuvR9N7017jyA7i6w21O5Z7ALZvIaNoPZGme-Qjoe2CAyOy0Drb7tWCvslttpS-XbKSNNZle3VX2aI5GfqNplJMSbDu88JZeVguyT2ojuSyNbrWK9-Ud-V9InSwdPWk/s1280/P1080388.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-Kpf2u4CVG5PmuvR9N7017jyA7i6w21O5Z7ALZvIaNoPZGme-Qjoe2CAyOy0Drb7tWCvslttpS-XbKSNNZle3VX2aI5GfqNplJMSbDu88JZeVguyT2ojuSyNbrWK9-Ud-V9InSwdPWk/w400-h300/P1080388.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The obstacle in front of Baylor Peak</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In addition, I began to second guess my decision to climb in running shorts without any extra clothes or rain shell in my pack in case I suffered an injury and became stranded on the mountain. The big yellow sign that read: WARNING! PEOPLE HAVE DIED IN THESE MOUNTAINS suddenly popped into my mind. I thought about turning around at this spot, but I was so close to my goal.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXRJEnhb7Pb4JZwKTJ2W1fU42JF0aBjy9RBB5IRw_sg9pz6n3_eKm3wOK4fFOWQ8cIza0bEHPQRfmA-HsBPhFJlJvEKKv9WLHbUPB9jTDO8sITfaHibTya5Jz-tklSaJfTVYp9zUml6Rg/s1280/P1080379.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXRJEnhb7Pb4JZwKTJ2W1fU42JF0aBjy9RBB5IRw_sg9pz6n3_eKm3wOK4fFOWQ8cIza0bEHPQRfmA-HsBPhFJlJvEKKv9WLHbUPB9jTDO8sITfaHibTya5Jz-tklSaJfTVYp9zUml6Rg/w400-h240/P1080379.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, I had read about the route on the internet and, as you know, everything you hear on the internet is true. Well, <a href="https://www.summitpost.org/baylor-peak/274010" target="_blank">“they”</a> say there’s a safe way to get across this obstacle by “staying to the left of the broad ridge. The east side gets very steep and cliffy.” Remembering this tidbit, I backtracked, climbing off the high boulders and found a route along the left side of the ridge. It was still a bit hairy in spots where a slip on the loose dirt would send you down, down, down to who knows where. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhUQBQhLr8GZ38FjeTHGtJZy0WB0rp4w5dTCbyB0T_atqXBuYVxHE8pX3hyphenhyphenpW21OED0PTmvmd1NihPet2GiandqVDJG7VrLZn7s4uKFnYT4j-a_bexCHOILAxvGT7D_HLWIyEuOeoL9o/s1280/P1080422.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhUQBQhLr8GZ38FjeTHGtJZy0WB0rp4w5dTCbyB0T_atqXBuYVxHE8pX3hyphenhyphenpW21OED0PTmvmd1NihPet2GiandqVDJG7VrLZn7s4uKFnYT4j-a_bexCHOILAxvGT7D_HLWIyEuOeoL9o/w400-h286/P1080422.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I gingerly made my way around this barrier and continued up towards the main peak. There were plenty of boulders and prickly plants to skirt and a few high steps to negotiate. Soon I reached a steep wide crack in the side of the mountain and had to use my hands to climb up through it. I plodded on following a faint path where the slope eventually leveled off. After much toil and a few terrifying moments I finally reached a pile of rocks on the summit.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNLdkj_OHIYEYgLFhWSF_Zl1xoZRfMF-o3OzQCUOCJEIohzjdqZl3hPt10pC9npxNZkWSNRjcj_6Xct1DpFtDz7dDX725-72Ra59Tv9QXuPGOb2gIbeeukyur1CkJh4PvxDeT1N3qU8LM/s1280/IMG_1865.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNLdkj_OHIYEYgLFhWSF_Zl1xoZRfMF-o3OzQCUOCJEIohzjdqZl3hPt10pC9npxNZkWSNRjcj_6Xct1DpFtDz7dDX725-72Ra59Tv9QXuPGOb2gIbeeukyur1CkJh4PvxDeT1N3qU8LM/w400-h286/IMG_1865.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Peak</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1u5DLdU9-GKgS-u6I-UvqtF5yGQSRWgjfCPInwNYad7RvoBTEsgqMSkiUqe0bijP6b8pUislsYB5BgZnAdkOknNW7wkX9G_Zn8s3eBzgDa9GKRS-V1F0q0edb0NYhXGq7DufFD6kKro/s1280/IMG_1861.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="359" data-original-width="1280" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1u5DLdU9-GKgS-u6I-UvqtF5yGQSRWgjfCPInwNYad7RvoBTEsgqMSkiUqe0bijP6b8pUislsYB5BgZnAdkOknNW7wkX9G_Zn8s3eBzgDa9GKRS-V1F0q0edb0NYhXGq7DufFD6kKro/w624-h181/IMG_1861.jpeg" width="624" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The 360 degree panorama was really stunning with mountain ranges rising up all over the flat desert below. In addition to the missile range base, I could see the <a href="https://www.nasa.gov/centers/wstf/index_new.html" target="_blank">NASA</a> facility. Here they have been testing rocket propulsion systems since 1964 including ones for the Apollo Command and Service Module and the Lunar Module. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja4eXsG_QbMByNLA4jxkOlC48xTMmvhOcseiLo7GmqISwhxgdBa47uLcpC90NPL2GMx0VErtSsQ9rN_LQyFG72gIl83seH0L7Eqt_aKvsLR5kKgjlCru8Eo1ngIym5fYEcH7PZw60OEvc/s1280/P1080407.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja4eXsG_QbMByNLA4jxkOlC48xTMmvhOcseiLo7GmqISwhxgdBa47uLcpC90NPL2GMx0VErtSsQ9rN_LQyFG72gIl83seH0L7Eqt_aKvsLR5kKgjlCru8Eo1ngIym5fYEcH7PZw60OEvc/w400-h240/P1080407.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>NASA White Sands</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">According to NASA, </span><span style="font-family: arial;">“Since the first rocket engine test in 1964, White Sands Test Facility has tested over 700 rocket engines in more than 4 million firings for NASA, other government agencies, and private industry.”</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rhJBq1ZnaoE" width="560"></iframe>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This facility also tested systems for the shuttle orbiters and is currently testing for space craft that will take man back to the moon and beyond in the coming years. It would have been nice to have had a rocket powered jet pack to fly off the mountain on this particular day, but no such doing. I had to descend the hard way. Sadly, most mountaineering accidents happen on the way down, so I had to really keep my wits about me. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUZ0Vyg89bozsO9L19_j5VOohmafktzMLdpIP3eJRLtY71q0dF6WnJt1jSq77Ct1EB9UurV_yG25Ik4ZdnHnjjN-Xh98eJx-U4h8AOrjMiQB92SGg_AxAYQbMF9R07Y2Zck6ZQ2U5UriE/s1280/P1080411.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUZ0Vyg89bozsO9L19_j5VOohmafktzMLdpIP3eJRLtY71q0dF6WnJt1jSq77Ct1EB9UurV_yG25Ik4ZdnHnjjN-Xh98eJx-U4h8AOrjMiQB92SGg_AxAYQbMF9R07Y2Zck6ZQ2U5UriE/w400-h300/P1080411.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I started down and couldn’t remember the path that I took as there were many faint trails on the peak leading downward. I cautiously picked my way around the cacti and succulents and used my poles frequently to keep from sliding on loose rocks. I made it down to the scary ridge and found a trail on the east side that seemed safe enough at first and then I crossed back over to the west side. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEfO7qIkGQZYl0QxqbYEWn5sISbplD164Qtsk16QKPTVjQnMZ_3g5f5Xk5SuWRoh6ST0iW94KUrhpoejiwnpaMXA_krEg9F9JfrJR0qUi_XCLtNfYvS9f8vr_8qK0BHiyGTtbwxNPbbgk/s1280/P1080425.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEfO7qIkGQZYl0QxqbYEWn5sISbplD164Qtsk16QKPTVjQnMZ_3g5f5Xk5SuWRoh6ST0iW94KUrhpoejiwnpaMXA_krEg9F9JfrJR0qUi_XCLtNfYvS9f8vr_8qK0BHiyGTtbwxNPbbgk/w400-h300/P1080425.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Scary Ridge looking south</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Once over this obstacle I slowly made my way down the slope by digging my feet in sideways to keep from sliding on the dirt. I lost the way several times, but usually found a well worn path to follow. I had to butt slide in several places and also sit down and use my poles to ease myself down off of the higher steps.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">At one point I lost traction and my feet slipped out from under me sending me down on my ass. At least I didn’t put my hand into a cactus like I did on my last big adventure in the Franklin Mountains. Nevertheless, I had a big strawberry on my bum from when I slid on the rocks. The descent took as long the ascent because it was so treacherous but I eventually made it back to the main trail at the pass. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc6iD3EYXDNnis3EJoRkRGu-k_1GUNIcRnNrmkKDUMhbaYh4Q5F_VMX0KwxduvX1exDIE_bHBh439lRdwjkzy6KQc1uraiMaW8W7e-3VVKrz42QVtpkrKmlsJR34P3KE38cg-iZ5xrl_U/s1280/P1080428.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc6iD3EYXDNnis3EJoRkRGu-k_1GUNIcRnNrmkKDUMhbaYh4Q5F_VMX0KwxduvX1exDIE_bHBh439lRdwjkzy6KQc1uraiMaW8W7e-3VVKrz42QVtpkrKmlsJR34P3KE38cg-iZ5xrl_U/w400-h286/P1080428.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I stowed away my poles and cruised down the mountain hopping down the steps of rock as I went lower and lower. I felt like I was flying because the climb to the peak was so painfully labored. Honestly, this was the first real running I had done all day. The trail took a lot of twists and turns along the side of the canyon and I reached a large mass of boulders stacked up on one another. A little sparrow was perched on top of one of them happily enjoying the wind ruffling its feathers. I stopped to take a closer look and it didn’t spook at all, it seemed happy as a lark enjoying the beautiful day. I also felt free as a bird and happy to be alive as I ran the rest of the way back to my car. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkxF7NC_WV4NK79RH4MLby5zupyljlxCfH5IHC_dOW377aIsb6BIiKX4uKMvnpKFNCR8ETJIqZpS7eKMaq4BJVt9-wy7FXuWQcWIiX_76y1is0-gbnhbJ6f1M5eyqs7iDyCcfOQ-BPm7c/s1280/P1080449.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkxF7NC_WV4NK79RH4MLby5zupyljlxCfH5IHC_dOW377aIsb6BIiKX4uKMvnpKFNCR8ETJIqZpS7eKMaq4BJVt9-wy7FXuWQcWIiX_76y1is0-gbnhbJ6f1M5eyqs7iDyCcfOQ-BPm7c/w400-h286/P1080449.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">There’s nothing in the world more liberating than spending a day in the mountains on a cool sunny day. The peace and quiet is unsurpassed here in the Organ Mountains and I was glad to have made it back to the “WARNING” sign with all my limbs intact and my body in one piece. This national monument is a vast desert and mountainous playground with a rich archeological history and an abundance of natural beauty. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">See you on the trail.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p></div><div>My Strava thingy:</div>
<iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="405" scrolling="no" src="https://www.strava.com/activities/4631989122/embed/6a3a87a68434b6cbd198dd6a45d2ff2b7f6876df" width="590"></iframe>
Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-80009308885472063202020-11-15T07:12:00.003-07:002021-01-29T12:28:04.333-07:00Franklin Mountain 50K 2020<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">While carefully descending a precipitous slope with loose golf ball-sized rocks, my foot suddenly slips from under me. I catch myself with my hand into a prickly pear cactus while also sitting on another cactus! When I regain my bearings and pull my hand out it looks like a pin cushion. There are large thorns protruding from, not only my hand, but also from my calf and shin because my foot slid into another cactus. 10 big thorns are in my palm and several clusters of those little annoying hair like ones in my fingers. Schaeffer Shuffle trail in the Franklin Mountains State Park, El Paso, TX is my least favorite trail especially the steep descents.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-pn-d2YYLC4I78ZZfvO1KLivJEs6rUP56zAbTJaPdft6li1O-C5QmV6XyL8oViBo6tcttyQxJSweKm2eiLxFrsy2nnhdgcnD47zb0Dg21gnQrHezsIqsSET6DSNtSMduc_43YVetC4u8/s1280/P1080071.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-pn-d2YYLC4I78ZZfvO1KLivJEs6rUP56zAbTJaPdft6li1O-C5QmV6XyL8oViBo6tcttyQxJSweKm2eiLxFrsy2nnhdgcnD47zb0Dg21gnQrHezsIqsSET6DSNtSMduc_43YVetC4u8/w400-h240/P1080071.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Franklin Mountains State Park</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I started in the dark on the Upper Sunset Trail which begins with a steep ascent on rugged terrain dominated by shin dagger and other pointy vegetation. The footing is rough with rock formations protruding from the ridge like the spikes and frills of a dragon’s back, making it nearly impossible to run. The morning air was somewhat sultry and the effort drenched my shirt with sweat in no time.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy8FYT7inThutMqB5LjjA4L1H9MXgBf8ETSKZ2z9Qv9djqb542cQ-yYFWIWY6zD9NMqaRE10yvdjmQ2Qw0c9Fhz-1c71SZK_yEO0JkD0oLcnIAHe5WGhXHDDaLtzgNLdmuv56xxUbeJgo/s1280/P1080030.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy8FYT7inThutMqB5LjjA4L1H9MXgBf8ETSKZ2z9Qv9djqb542cQ-yYFWIWY6zD9NMqaRE10yvdjmQ2Qw0c9Fhz-1c71SZK_yEO0JkD0oLcnIAHe5WGhXHDDaLtzgNLdmuv56xxUbeJgo/w400-h240/P1080030.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: arial;">In about a mile, I descended to the main park pavilion and then ran down the hill affectionately known as Big Bertha picking up Schaeffer Shuffle. I passed through an arroyo and ran along a rocky gorge below the main Franklin mountian range. The ascents here are also steep and gnarly with shards of perpendicular slabs of rock protruding from the earth. Now, if I could just get down this slope without another mishap.</span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwrN13TzEVVVjWWvlY9T7QIIh04t4jsg3NUwQ5JbhThpeDuSTjqS387rSMVb-3TOuUshqtiA_II6f4mU7maYVeYbLaesE3R1QBbHP-gaIGpGBN-bogMIH5EAHR2hz3IPx1o1eTsUcuqiU/s1280/P1080050.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwrN13TzEVVVjWWvlY9T7QIIh04t4jsg3NUwQ5JbhThpeDuSTjqS387rSMVb-3TOuUshqtiA_II6f4mU7maYVeYbLaesE3R1QBbHP-gaIGpGBN-bogMIH5EAHR2hz3IPx1o1eTsUcuqiU/w400-h300/P1080050.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sotol succulents</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I pluck the largest thorns out of my hand but several are completely imbedded having been broken off when I fell. I slowly and carefully make my way down the mountain and run the Lower Sunset Trail back up to the main park pavilion. I stop here to eat some boiled potatoes and apple slices while digging my first aid kit out of my pack. I pull out the most important item in my kit, a small pair of tweezers. I pluck the small thorns out of my hand and a few that are stuck in my ass. I’m able to dig out several of the large imbedded ones, but one is too deep so I give up and continue on my way.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQKNNsDWq3vUVIbJCKZeiP5fl4G1Fdz80T7g43yR3Glz4qG3P_hAg32SnuUvMvm6uag0rsxm2fDERSMfgD8OoOBxV7A29wdNitLLS5mk0bnuadYnq_pOAUr5F5s4vS2K7DqV-LA3D-Xk/s1280/P1080031.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQKNNsDWq3vUVIbJCKZeiP5fl4G1Fdz80T7g43yR3Glz4qG3P_hAg32SnuUvMvm6uag0rsxm2fDERSMfgD8OoOBxV7A29wdNitLLS5mk0bnuadYnq_pOAUr5F5s4vS2K7DqV-LA3D-Xk/w300-h400/P1080031.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjikjx13S69Ix6T7B6KjricIxVcy1IH5iltvLXKjY8yhbsvmvs9vqCzlQtjv7InU_1BJYwrP_qdrDUFDxNJzreHpxld1cmjGzyqouNtOBQqXZqunqUErVqO910wMsjIAmYC74Xr3sJ_qmU/s1280/P1080032.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjikjx13S69Ix6T7B6KjricIxVcy1IH5iltvLXKjY8yhbsvmvs9vqCzlQtjv7InU_1BJYwrP_qdrDUFDxNJzreHpxld1cmjGzyqouNtOBQqXZqunqUErVqO910wMsjIAmYC74Xr3sJ_qmU/w400-h300/P1080032.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Aztec Caves</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I cross the park road and begin my journey up to the <a href="https://tpwmagazine.com/archive/2020/nov/scout4_takeahike/" target="_blank">Aztec caves</a> which have nothing to do with Aztecs. In the early 1900s local El Pasoans found artifacts in these caves and misattributed them to the Aztecs who actually lived in central and southern Mexico. The sun is finally peaking over the range flooding the tips of the peaks in golden light. This trail gets steeper as you approach the caves especially after crossing a foot bridge spanning the arroyo. The caves are set in what looks like a big glob of molten lava that randomly fell from the sky; reddish in hue. After much toil I make it to the largest cave and step in to take the obligatory “cave-view-looking-out” photo.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF8KTDRinYCI9qAr-YFUNZoK7veehabxnBqIVfFmf7rEhdr-kZGeYE_Xiv22iIetm6dVe5pmndBC0ZJCfEfmggD0P1HeFH0K6RVSj0kkObeM_IZlR8yXydjOPyIyeCwXznn3woduBLElE/s1280/P1080037.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF8KTDRinYCI9qAr-YFUNZoK7veehabxnBqIVfFmf7rEhdr-kZGeYE_Xiv22iIetm6dVe5pmndBC0ZJCfEfmggD0P1HeFH0K6RVSj0kkObeM_IZlR8yXydjOPyIyeCwXznn3woduBLElE/w300-h400/P1080037.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cave-view-looking-out</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhixczuWzjabePnwMDyiFL8Vh23PP6DA5BCE5dM4R8q8UrqEQIjm6nlkokW9O6n28Gzi4zRSWv00o4I9XlbzjFXKb0PIDtcCDEsiCWgp8InJt6-dq6FTfbS50i_nQ4IOeVnLqgj4j9k0S4/s1280/P1080041.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhixczuWzjabePnwMDyiFL8Vh23PP6DA5BCE5dM4R8q8UrqEQIjm6nlkokW9O6n28Gzi4zRSWv00o4I9XlbzjFXKb0PIDtcCDEsiCWgp8InJt6-dq6FTfbS50i_nQ4IOeVnLqgj4j9k0S4/w400-h300/P1080041.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The scramble above the caves</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I clamber up a smooth steep slab of rock using my hands and reach a sketchy trail that takes me just beneath the backbone of the Franklins. The outcrops are an other planetary shade of red adorned with sotol, a succulent with narrow serrated leaves and ocotillo cactus which look like electrified hair standing on end. The view is outstanding, the sun bathing the alluvial fan stretching into and Rio Grande Valley below. The path is narrow in places and close to precipitous chutes where a slip would send you sliding off a cliff. I’m very careful and trying my best to not look down. In about a mile I reach the Mundy’s Gap Trail and run down the mountain.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipbPIjwflpb9s7lNjEMLGzg4WtXEVNFiLUFj0oFBjxN6Ln_DHLuz2D3m4kYDDa53U4Li4IYTrMiyvizUdCxoWMygIAxpRMbd6091_s1HBqfNe5zH7W8_0bWWPS4MU8T-_T_vQiX1ONUXM/s1280/P1080059.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipbPIjwflpb9s7lNjEMLGzg4WtXEVNFiLUFj0oFBjxN6Ln_DHLuz2D3m4kYDDa53U4Li4IYTrMiyvizUdCxoWMygIAxpRMbd6091_s1HBqfNe5zH7W8_0bWWPS4MU8T-_T_vQiX1ONUXM/w400-h300/P1080059.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSa316nme5EQ-t1YkpuAvq-X-1i_eDdt20xRAkC3tS_TtMR6d0wAcvsjufEVU1zjW3nwbb5UA0Uuneyqi50FrEUH_tTU4vGgrTf46nhu1E_dDXml3d0Q_REUOejhQGN9eWTE5nqTVOP5c/s1280/P1080061.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSa316nme5EQ-t1YkpuAvq-X-1i_eDdt20xRAkC3tS_TtMR6d0wAcvsjufEVU1zjW3nwbb5UA0Uuneyqi50FrEUH_tTU4vGgrTf46nhu1E_dDXml3d0Q_REUOejhQGN9eWTE5nqTVOP5c/w400-h300/P1080061.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I slip several times on loose gravel and make it to a steep section that leads to a narrow part of the trail where a cliff rises on the right and a boulder and wood filled gully on my left. A flood washed away much of the trail here years ago leaving a sliver of pathway in its wake. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I reach a huge scree field with irregular shaped, bowling ball-sized, ankle twisting rocks and attempt to run on them without much success. They shift and clack underfoot causing me to trip several times, but after an “F-bomb” and a couple of “Jesus Christs!” I’m safely down to the aid station in the parking lot. You may say, “There’s no aid station, the race was canceled!” But I say, NO IT WASN’T!” I can clearly hear the people cheering me in, cowbells ringing vigorously. My friends and other selfless volunteers are here giving out free hugs.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggC-G8nm8L98dQdTRxTJEzhAUOyx4BxeQsMuD7n8z317fWb2tVBbWx6bwJ0C2JzIvJ596VVrv3xsu4ohyPm7aJZiEy6tYQ7IMMoKLLSRiFH81dzM_Bfg9HBfidfMZkVY1qcYK_YZ6Kinw/s1280/P1080052.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggC-G8nm8L98dQdTRxTJEzhAUOyx4BxeQsMuD7n8z317fWb2tVBbWx6bwJ0C2JzIvJ596VVrv3xsu4ohyPm7aJZiEy6tYQ7IMMoKLLSRiFH81dzM_Bfg9HBfidfMZkVY1qcYK_YZ6Kinw/w400-h300/P1080052.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I touch the pavement with my toe and turn around to start my arduous journey up to N. Franklin Peak (7192’) turning onto the Agave Loop Trail. All the usual TROT racers are here too. The guy on the side of the trail pulling thorns out of his shoe where he inadvertently kicked a cactus, the girl puking in the bushes and that dude with Led Zeppelin emanating from his earbuds who is about to step on a rattlesnake. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway I slowly plod upwards crossing several small scree fields and then run down to a large tongue of scree pouring down the side of the mountain. I traverse this obstacle and then climb the steep stairs up to the giant cottonwood tree at West Cottonwood Spring. My heart is pounding out my chest so I stop to rest at the muddy seep below the tree. I begin the scramble up to the main Franklin ridge on a faint path and have to stop often to catch my breath. I like to use trekking poles on this section, as well as on Schaeffer Shuffle, but I didn’t want to carry them all day. Now I regret my decision.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSoSgEjvQiqB16uEMkdaWsSnnwsw3fnF5Dvnn2CrwkrAimATRE5Nb2s-9lfhrzu96ofxhsxAduXygLx9JFf1ZoWPi7uG0qmfGwiao4AfYmhpqP4c46YjpYgILInY7n0m_k7745LLgxc1k/s1280/P1080069.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSoSgEjvQiqB16uEMkdaWsSnnwsw3fnF5Dvnn2CrwkrAimATRE5Nb2s-9lfhrzu96ofxhsxAduXygLx9JFf1ZoWPi7uG0qmfGwiao4AfYmhpqP4c46YjpYgILInY7n0m_k7745LLgxc1k/w400-h300/P1080069.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Scree leading to West Cottonwood Spring</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I reach the top and can hear the cowbell coming from the Mundy’s Gap aid station where my friends are waiting to fill my water bottles. (<i>Yes, they are!</i>) I cross over to the east side of the mountain and can see El Paso sprawling across the desert floor below. A box of parallel and straight as an arrow roads, carefully engineered strip malls, neighborhoods and other infrastructure contrasting the chaotic irregular shaped landscape and treacherous terrain up here at 6000’ where everything bites, stings and scrapes. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibAYK2MCGaOtXnT9fvOM9shsvspnHuPxlSXggMTMvFJFmjq4pmMKv3YlfE6bpsOgzIYonrv8WggT4Vp4fJ5ngwAXNU3WfJRDu0QVZn2y5ORjKXyAUHpb_lolTCT9Q_g4cWyNwt834X03M/s1280/P1080079.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibAYK2MCGaOtXnT9fvOM9shsvspnHuPxlSXggMTMvFJFmjq4pmMKv3YlfE6bpsOgzIYonrv8WggT4Vp4fJ5ngwAXNU3WfJRDu0QVZn2y5ORjKXyAUHpb_lolTCT9Q_g4cWyNwt834X03M/w400-h240/P1080079.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>NE El Paso in the distance</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I clamber down off the ridge, hit a dirt road and then turn to start my four mile out-and-back to the N. Franklin Peak, the highest point in El Paso. The sun is full on now and I start to heat up as I climb upwards. It’s slow going and I can feel the burn in my legs while the altitude makes me light headed. I nibble some almond-stuffed-bacon-wrapped dates which beat sugary gels hands down. This gives me the energy I need to power hike up the mountain.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I get out of the way of the lead runners bombing back down, some with bloody knees and elbows from where they zigged instead of zagged, tumbling ass over teakettle down the mountain. I can’t see them, but I know they’re here, even the Tarahumara wearing nothing but a loin cloth and <a href="https://www.earthrunners.com/pages/tarahumara-huarache-sandals-ultimate-minimalist-footwear" target="_blank">huarache</a> sandals. This is a badass race indeed! </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRXLmCM8zSaXP4FSrPj4InwzKj6YM4jdSeVglv5p7pt9ms4cKS7z25g2BUH3ZrmfpHynuZ601G8MCqqz6d205sT5C05ddtazmfmJh0by-5QykTx3-duqlRw0zAJmPba3LW3P4nEeyzHis/s1280/P1080073.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRXLmCM8zSaXP4FSrPj4InwzKj6YM4jdSeVglv5p7pt9ms4cKS7z25g2BUH3ZrmfpHynuZ601G8MCqqz6d205sT5C05ddtazmfmJh0by-5QykTx3-duqlRw0zAJmPba3LW3P4nEeyzHis/w300-h400/P1080073.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Trail leading to N. Franklin Peak</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I reach a saddle and climb through a rocky gully and then switch back my way towards the peak. The closer I get to the top the gnarlier the footing with rocks strewn willy-nilly all over the trail. A Dark-eyed junco flits about right under my feet, hopping about as tame as can be. I feel like I could reach out and grab him, but he takes flight almost colliding with me. I make the final push to the top, pausing several times to rest my legs. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When I reach the top, all the racers are high fiving each other and taking selfies. Even a dude wearing a creepy medieval helmet holding a </span><a href="https://artsandculture.google.com/story/colorful-calaveras-for-the-day-of-the-dead/TQJyS0dYYCYCIw" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">calavera</a><span style="font-family: arial;">, the iconic decorated skull of the </span><i style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://dayofthedead.holiday" target="_blank">Día de los Muertos</a></i><span style="font-family: arial;"> (Day of the Dead) celebration. Those loved ones who’ve gone before us are never dead until we’ve forgotten them. You may say they are gone, but I say they are not. You can clearly see them if you look deeply.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqWD857fL6wdr-Z9pzAr1O7QOCbUOqjX6o_OIWe4XmHKa1DeDTnODHf9Lxuj7ebrPrPlzjjeCypKtf27FUUlW69JOxhZ-Y3vSV2O3Y3i7OdlYyLwtTzoxiz0KZz1_q_j9MidHbzeMqWs/s1280/IMG_5520.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqWD857fL6wdr-Z9pzAr1O7QOCbUOqjX6o_OIWe4XmHKa1DeDTnODHf9Lxuj7ebrPrPlzjjeCypKtf27FUUlW69JOxhZ-Y3vSV2O3Y3i7OdlYyLwtTzoxiz0KZz1_q_j9MidHbzeMqWs/w286-h400/IMG_5520.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Told you there was a creeping medieval dude</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, I take in the 360 degree view where I can see the mountains of Mexico, New Mexico and Texas. Indian peak, with its tiny rusty hut, is the bump to the east in the <a href="http://castnerrangenationalmonument.org/the-land" target="_blank">Castner Range</a> (formerly Ft Bliss). There is a local effort to clear this donated Army land of unexploded ordinance to create a national monument. If you'd like, you can reach the hut from the saddle by going past the sign that reads, “UNEXPLODED AMMUNITION DO NOT ENTER” and scrambling up to the peak.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhclppUulsX8c9zUWDV6iepzBhSYUhRnH4ZD10I4hvRRfg9iV95kElD5Oa8U56tHYRSDEyahg00QUYiNBOdsYpm3iTB-GcYjrgxvsVZiXh7vi3qAKEKG9Mqguzyspx9tqAKVJ2ZHehskWY/s1280/P1080081.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhclppUulsX8c9zUWDV6iepzBhSYUhRnH4ZD10I4hvRRfg9iV95kElD5Oa8U56tHYRSDEyahg00QUYiNBOdsYpm3iTB-GcYjrgxvsVZiXh7vi3qAKEKG9Mqguzyspx9tqAKVJ2ZHehskWY/w400-h286/P1080081.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Indian Peak</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKYjf5F5wR_JZvYa_VI957zSMIRTvEqOKMfPY8ywgru3MF9GMlAsP90mcfhAp576VLrCzfeNu0Mew-pfPTuPO6TEJ86OA9cUVO2GIkEkoLrleFf8aod5UKLJCJb9_DZze-ezgAyMJtjRE/s1280/P1050378.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKYjf5F5wR_JZvYa_VI957zSMIRTvEqOKMfPY8ywgru3MF9GMlAsP90mcfhAp576VLrCzfeNu0Mew-pfPTuPO6TEJ86OA9cUVO2GIkEkoLrleFf8aod5UKLJCJb9_DZze-ezgAyMJtjRE/w400-h300/P1050378.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bIcMmJ622Khbs8cplX9jWKdwbj7zsxVxVz8Qfnnvj8U2DMJS0MNTRrTWYmlhRZ27Zu2StwZrGaRqyY7d9mtjmD9pxdIoq8O2rMjr0iaqlyrUzAW3sHC9nCt63lK7-HCWcgdP_Xbt6Hs/s1280/IMG_0275.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bIcMmJ622Khbs8cplX9jWKdwbj7zsxVxVz8Qfnnvj8U2DMJS0MNTRrTWYmlhRZ27Zu2StwZrGaRqyY7d9mtjmD9pxdIoq8O2rMjr0iaqlyrUzAW3sHC9nCt63lK7-HCWcgdP_Xbt6Hs/w400-h240/IMG_0275.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>That time I went to the hut</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway, I don’t waste any time because I have a long day ahead of me on my circumambulation of the Franklin mountain chain. Going down the hazardous route is almost as slow as coming up and I trip and stumble frequently on the many obstacles in the trail. I’m able to keep myself upright for the most part though and eventually make it back to Mundy’s Gap where I stop to refill my water bottles. I proceed down the east side of the range continuing on a counter clockwise loop. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">People often ask me, “What do you do for hydration when you run that long in the desert?” “I save my own urine”, I tell them. Just kidding, that would be gross! I really have several caches of bottled water out here. I hike in a few miles from Anthony’s Gap in the north and from the Tom May’s Unit of the state park to stash my water in small rock “refrigerators” that I constructed. I also have my trusty assistant, aka my personal trainer, aka my life coach, aka my therapy dog, Taz to help stock my fridges.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyIxYkzTBY9hAQGptfOvEjeAcMi-IgFcjCRH5tzKjtq0mxsmDFIjnTzUk9oK51G-SdLw9Bgp4pAUk7WNnDB3Lv4-eWxPe8ZLn3wiFZss6c7s2P0LkhZJj5Z_Xjolu_XIyWcoLbao7tOsY/s1280/P1050419.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyIxYkzTBY9hAQGptfOvEjeAcMi-IgFcjCRH5tzKjtq0mxsmDFIjnTzUk9oK51G-SdLw9Bgp4pAUk7WNnDB3Lv4-eWxPe8ZLn3wiFZss6c7s2P0LkhZJj5Z_Xjolu_XIyWcoLbao7tOsY/w400-h240/P1050419.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Taz, my trusty assistant</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I run down a steep road past cliffs and rock protrusions and reach the base of the mountain where there are some abandoned tin mines. The official Franklin 50K course goes up and around these mines through a bunch of overgrown brush and arroyos, but there are several families with kids crawling around checking out the mines. Everyone looks a little virus-y to me so this gives me a great excuse to forgo this most unpleasant part of the course. I continue straight on Scenic Rd Trail, one of my favorites, because the footing is so smooth. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT5vn173FhhF0AFnyHVj2v5fN7Z9WpkGbgEea2126Zo0DWIV7n-gpUdezzXh0u0z_STnD9EIVKdjG9sFVS7SsVskJAKSGzTu-LFuD7H8aEbsaukZ8gJjDPOlC5hj1Qrb9o1ovY6mvvErc/s1280/P1080004.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT5vn173FhhF0AFnyHVj2v5fN7Z9WpkGbgEea2126Zo0DWIV7n-gpUdezzXh0u0z_STnD9EIVKdjG9sFVS7SsVskJAKSGzTu-LFuD7H8aEbsaukZ8gJjDPOlC5hj1Qrb9o1ovY6mvvErc/w286-h400/P1080004.jpeg" width="286" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I stop briefly to put on some sunscreen and eat some more snacks. Heat is my worst enemy right now, so I also make sure to hydrate often. I wind around the contour of the mountain with a few short uphill sections. I pass through a sotol forest with occasional barrel cacti with yellow fruits on top that resemble mini pineapples. They don’t taste like pineapples though and those little thorns are really hard to get out of your tongue!</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrgCQNkJnnaLAcWsCo3DNfrmkNCEm1CjWxAEOQD2PgPMvwQEhSV2Cot6JU5ur7e4gLUEvSUaOA7WMlLr0gQcAFdQwJUMhJ6GBW5b-8Hs6Yugg-xnT0uP1yskgzX4TrHk6n4Sr8p1WmvQ/s1280/P1080085.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrgCQNkJnnaLAcWsCo3DNfrmkNCEm1CjWxAEOQD2PgPMvwQEhSV2Cot6JU5ur7e4gLUEvSUaOA7WMlLr0gQcAFdQwJUMhJ6GBW5b-8Hs6Yugg-xnT0uP1yskgzX4TrHk6n4Sr8p1WmvQ/w400-h300/P1080085.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Barrel cactus, do not eat!</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I run through an area dodging smooth goblin like sandy rocks, serrated edges of sotol scraping against my thighs. I reach yellow-green rock and know I’m nearing the Newman Trail. I pass through a wide gravelly wash and pick up the trail. I slog upwards for quite a while finally reaching another pass. The trail down is a long and windy gradual descent. The lower I go, the hotter it gets though and my energy is waning. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVkxRJ1CeNzP1AyxdG3uJo6u5xJI1AlEaoIRUJDjlzXKgHUIzypLT2S3xTFhyphenhyphen5Xqs_m82oGqEog1my2n583J_VquEaKBt8h7XphzVaLx-Kh2E2nb5_RlA18JYsy5jsKZh7CtTEyhK5jjw/s1280/P1080086.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVkxRJ1CeNzP1AyxdG3uJo6u5xJI1AlEaoIRUJDjlzXKgHUIzypLT2S3xTFhyphenhyphen5Xqs_m82oGqEog1my2n583J_VquEaKBt8h7XphzVaLx-Kh2E2nb5_RlA18JYsy5jsKZh7CtTEyhK5jjw/w400-h240/P1080086.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Yellow-green rock</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I slog on and reach the Hitt Canyon Trail and slowly grind along the mountain. This is the most remote part of the park and I rarely see anyone out here. If you have a mishap here and become stranded the vultures, coyotes and cougars will devour your flesh before anyone even notices you are missing. Let’s hope today doesn’t turn into a running adventure gone horribly wrong!</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2n3KKsXsm1JyUb8f0bb2HTgGouMq0UF96_raOwcdVNS9f55DAUBPcdgtpoGmToshDyWAv4tbWtOIEkgXDMWgZ9tfHq8NWDUf2s8H7sh3T7qXs02lq4ukSBkbk6g1KZW_PY7IIZHmQVzM/s1280/P1080090.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2n3KKsXsm1JyUb8f0bb2HTgGouMq0UF96_raOwcdVNS9f55DAUBPcdgtpoGmToshDyWAv4tbWtOIEkgXDMWgZ9tfHq8NWDUf2s8H7sh3T7qXs02lq4ukSBkbk6g1KZW_PY7IIZHmQVzM/w400-h300/P1080090.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Northern end of the park looking into NM</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Soon I reach the Hitt Canyon and run along the rim trying to keep a steady pace. The Northern Pass over to the west side of the mountain comes into view, but I have a long twisty ribbon of trail to run before ascending to the pass. Mountain walls rise up all around me with wide open desert in the distance. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I pass several racers here because this is the place where runners who go out too fast come to die. On a hot day they may be out of water. This is the dumping ground around mile 25 of the race where their legs are limp, knees destroyed, feet blistered and dreams dashed. They limp into the last aid station waving a white flag and curl up in the fetal position. You may say the race was cancelled this year, but I say it was not! I can clearly see the misery on their faces. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_ZtndCHlIV3eMwtGDO5velMEwxGvc9wKS1rjmEu1XIJsy7NxONhS1AohLQb590h-U2kumEhDt12bwFfkuCeXIPLxpD6MlneBHkZJzR4WTouWjnLmzxqQrdIoCIWUWROsMk12OdInx-M/s1280/P1080092.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_ZtndCHlIV3eMwtGDO5velMEwxGvc9wKS1rjmEu1XIJsy7NxONhS1AohLQb590h-U2kumEhDt12bwFfkuCeXIPLxpD6MlneBHkZJzR4WTouWjnLmzxqQrdIoCIWUWROsMk12OdInx-M/w400-h240/P1080092.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Fortunately for me, I didn’t go out too fast and still have enough water to make it to my next cache. My legs are rubbery and I’m tired, but think I’ll be able to make it out before the coyotes and vultures get to me. Eventually I reach the Northern Pass where the desert spreads out for as far as the eye can see. I run down a series of perilous rocky switchbacks, one with a high step down that I have to negotiate carefully lest I fall on another cactus.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW__A-w-d7eLczJ_HWfZCWMNTUM11H_VJkPnc7iqveBkCg8VmGokcjKvOja5RmgDuRwZGxuRHf0w0RG8vuPfalt9o1kPm91RQ6OZjAukySprFGotpFWHTGcVMltbdHmTFxmZnxKSiU_ek/s1280/P1080098.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW__A-w-d7eLczJ_HWfZCWMNTUM11H_VJkPnc7iqveBkCg8VmGokcjKvOja5RmgDuRwZGxuRHf0w0RG8vuPfalt9o1kPm91RQ6OZjAukySprFGotpFWHTGcVMltbdHmTFxmZnxKSiU_ek/w400-h240/P1080098.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Northern Pass</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Once down, the terrain is pretty smooth though. Heat from the sun radiates off the earth and a dry wind blows down the slopes creating a natural oven and now I’m out of water. I run down an old ranch road and reach my water cache. I fill up two 20oz bottles and two 8oz ones and then, pick up the Lower Foothills Trail. My mouth becomes dry from sucking the hot dry air. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir11dRId1dzPtjOo8TSX7xZkETl1S5-XZtK_8FhmQwTVWxYeqBWAC61cDUh1EA8o6wpIKSVGeK-ncZZ4_getvkrNeNb76ygIQSv_XC6O-LnYlJjPUy-T_Nr72aLD3VSgyEyb5ws1dP-zk/s1280/P1080099.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir11dRId1dzPtjOo8TSX7xZkETl1S5-XZtK_8FhmQwTVWxYeqBWAC61cDUh1EA8o6wpIKSVGeK-ncZZ4_getvkrNeNb76ygIQSv_XC6O-LnYlJjPUy-T_Nr72aLD3VSgyEyb5ws1dP-zk/w400-h240/P1080099.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Anthony's Nose</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This is the most dreaded part of the entire 50K course, not because it’s steep or technical, but because it’s between miles 27 and 33 and it’s usually hot by the time you get here. It's called Tommy’s Revenge named for my friend Tommy who hates this stretch more than anyone. In fact, I can clearly hear him behind me bitching about how damn hot it is and asking if we will ever get there. The first part of the trail is interesting, dipping in and out of arroyos, but then I reach a long boring stretch that is on a gradual uphill. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32GMqUOySflV21bw3MJSidJBRailzRtKNPU9X2lvONInJOW2qcXvt2eodyIKu005sGXBU3DM1xOcRJQno5pkJ_vtRsoFXCQUJdOjGJJB1fJR9eZXL1qVdgZKhNGgQSZvjvn3RaREUGu0/s1280/P1080105.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32GMqUOySflV21bw3MJSidJBRailzRtKNPU9X2lvONInJOW2qcXvt2eodyIKu005sGXBU3DM1xOcRJQno5pkJ_vtRsoFXCQUJdOjGJJB1fJR9eZXL1qVdgZKhNGgQSZvjvn3RaREUGu0/w400-h240/P1080105.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This segment is somewhat featureless and you are far away from the main mountain chain rolling along open dusty desert with Anthony’s Nose in the distance. Eventually Mammoth Rock comes into view though, and my mood picks up because I know I’m nearing the end. Even though my body is wracked with pain, my feet are tender, and I’m hot and exhausted, the peace and quiet out here is unsurpassed. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOyfsOZ-kdmJUI86qfhkLLaasBE5sACJOXn13kaSErwhtF57-CQcc5BVIwY54Uu9gYh8lAGC0vOdkco_v5gx5BR-BKU-aa7Oe-KQD31ZJb7U_zitRg915BsbZMUjrqtneXeKerxLNJE0A/s1280/P1080101.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOyfsOZ-kdmJUI86qfhkLLaasBE5sACJOXn13kaSErwhtF57-CQcc5BVIwY54Uu9gYh8lAGC0vOdkco_v5gx5BR-BKU-aa7Oe-KQD31ZJb7U_zitRg915BsbZMUjrqtneXeKerxLNJE0A/w400-h240/P1080101.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mammoth Rock</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8mpYdJ4Usid_dxeixvdfBXSM0rwl4bYiz8I-XXoe5OkrE-HC0gfxWeEACVgh01dHYV2I-gzWTEp3Qv5iXnrPmLrNlCzCPx2uAcGP-If57K2U61e-pAP2WfHhaGu8q__NC5_btjisYBM4/s1280/P1080106.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8mpYdJ4Usid_dxeixvdfBXSM0rwl4bYiz8I-XXoe5OkrE-HC0gfxWeEACVgh01dHYV2I-gzWTEp3Qv5iXnrPmLrNlCzCPx2uAcGP-If57K2U61e-pAP2WfHhaGu8q__NC5_btjisYBM4/w400-h300/P1080106.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The last ascent to the finish</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I run along some rocky outcrops, in and out of a few arroyos and finally reach the dirt road that I ran this morning at mile three. I slowly start the climb back to the main pavilion where I can hear all the people cheering for the runners and ringing the cowbells loudly. (<i>Oh yes I can!</i>) How glorious to climb the final hill on an uneven slab of rock. My legs burn as I conquer the stairway to heaven, aka cement steps to the pavilion. All my friends are here and the cots are full of dead and injured runners some having their bloody knees stitched up; others looking pale and ghostly. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJzlhbh9v7yT7W3QVUWiloyPAzSSQpugNRPUlXKp0Apgzn3OPRI9-yY4pVkp-pdETc2Tzz6AcslTQiIrNR6FbJJkA4jU1_tpFzAUb93OcKRi5e3RTqaH_R_nM1pCfxJh3CNF29zdX-3zk/s1280/P1080107.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJzlhbh9v7yT7W3QVUWiloyPAzSSQpugNRPUlXKp0Apgzn3OPRI9-yY4pVkp-pdETc2Tzz6AcslTQiIrNR6FbJJkA4jU1_tpFzAUb93OcKRi5e3RTqaH_R_nM1pCfxJh3CNF29zdX-3zk/w400-h300/P1080107.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>N. Franklin Peak</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfdSCyDhYqEMUZ5-bCFvw73M6ISgG7ZgNzCtfKG0Zrwu61tZ_yodDe7eE1KV_8HfLAIjfn-Qo6Wt-usu3XjHQdVaFLQYMgjq0rgcdG2Laf_y0t69x1Q08v2ZBpMfuvnbJRBOjv74Mg4A/s1280/P1080113.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfdSCyDhYqEMUZ5-bCFvw73M6ISgG7ZgNzCtfKG0Zrwu61tZ_yodDe7eE1KV_8HfLAIjfn-Qo6Wt-usu3XjHQdVaFLQYMgjq0rgcdG2Laf_y0t69x1Q08v2ZBpMfuvnbJRBOjv74Mg4A/w400-h300/P1080113.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>New visitor's center</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My gps watch reads 33.6 miles in 10:40 and so I sit down at an empty picnic table to recover and cool off. I’m truly beat, but the journey was life changing as always. It never gets old no matter how many times I take on this challenging endeavor. Suddenly, I realize that my car is two miles down the park road and I have no way of getting there except by my own two feet. What’s two more miles after already running 33.5? </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">See you on the trail.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGdd5mAdZU5-US1Ensk62grP5b8LbUb5_UNQIWx7xSpBgC0S_7rwSIgzxKaQ_zIXVxzrkBS8QfyxYbfAxhRoHBGbqiKF5k5QHLyj5R528lTCR7bcJ42ya61CBmpZWzMjSNO3kjkNyZ7-E/s1734/Franklin+50K+Elevation.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="634" data-original-width="1734" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGdd5mAdZU5-US1Ensk62grP5b8LbUb5_UNQIWx7xSpBgC0S_7rwSIgzxKaQ_zIXVxzrkBS8QfyxYbfAxhRoHBGbqiKF5k5QHLyj5R528lTCR7bcJ42ya61CBmpZWzMjSNO3kjkNyZ7-E/w400-h146/Franklin+50K+Elevation.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elevation profile Franklin Mt 50K</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Franklin Mt 50K course on Strava:</p><p><iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="405" scrolling="no" src="https://www.strava.com/activities/4304853269/embed/094810420fb147db1c2ca28a22e39d70bdbf544a" width="590"></iframe></p>Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-85610297316089521432020-07-11T08:24:00.001-06:002020-11-15T07:14:34.253-07:00Camping in the Sacramento Mountains, NM<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">That sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach when you are in the wilderness and your truck does that whining, <i>rerrrr-rerrr-rerr-rer-re-re-click-click-silence</i> sound when you try to start it. That’s the worst, don’t you think? Well, I was four miles from pavement, camping in the Sacramento Mountains in the Lincoln National Forest near Cloudcroft, NM when it happened to me. I drove up the day before and ran a few miles with plans to run long the next morning. It was pretty chilly and windy at 9500’ elevation when I woke up so I got in my truck to drink a cup of coffee to get my heart started. My heart started just fine, but my truck didn’t. Luckily, I discovered my dead battery before I returned exhausted from a 20 mile run.</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Being stuck in the middle of the wilderness all alone is kind of disheartening and thoughts of starvation, dehydration, cougars eating my flesh and vultures pecking out my eyes did enter my mind. However, I had three things going for me. 1) I had a little bit of cell phone service, 2) there’s not much meat on my bones and it’s old and gamey, and 3) I saw some other campers riding around on four wheelers the day before. </span></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I was going to run long anyway so figured I would take a walk to find someone to give me a jumpstart. I had jumper cables with me too; another plus. So, I took down my tent and packed up the truck so I could take off for home if I got my truck started before the mountain lions got to me. </span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I went down the road and before long, noticed an elk browsing nearby; a much better tasting snack for a large carnivore. Anyway, in about a mile, I came to a group of RVs and trailers where I asked for a jump. A gentleman from Portales, NM obliged and I was home a few hours later. Whew, cheated death once again!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Wildflowers were plenty</i></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Lincoln National Forest has good campgrounds, but some of them are closed and others are at limited capacity due to the current pandemic. Because of this, dispersed camping is the best way to go right now, but my family is not too keen on pooping in the woods, except for my li’l running buddy, Taz. However, after being cooped up at home for the last several months, my wife and nine year old daughter started to warm up to the idea. Hanging out in the great outdoors with all that fresh air and vast distance between fellows humans might be just what we all needed. </span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Therefor, the next week, after buying a new truck battery, we loaded up and took off for a few days of camping near <a href="https://www.fs.usda.gov/recarea/lincoln/recarea/?recid=40310" target="_blank">Bluff Springs</a> off of <a href="https://www.newmexico.org/places-to-visit/scenic-byways/sunspot/" target="_blank">Sunspot Scenic Byway</a> south of Cloudcroft. We found a nice spot beside a narrow stream where the “Little Grasshopper” could play and splash around in the creek. Since we were at around 8500’ elevation, the temperatures were about 30 degrees cooler than the 100+ degrees in El Paso, a much welcomed change.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Little Grasshopper</i></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">One morning we were sitting around the campsite while Maddie was practicing her fiddle. Over yonder came the din of a huge gathering with no social distancing whatsoever. We looked down the road and could see a great commotion; dust cloud rising and it was heading our way! As it got closer we heard the distinct mooing of cows and realized it was a cattle drive. Well, in order to keep the herd from stampeding our vacation home, an REI Basecamp tent, and trampling on the Little Grasshopper’s fiddle, we jumped into the bed of our truck and watched the cow hands drive the cattle through our campsite and up into the canyon.</span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Here's the L'i'l Grasshopper playin' a fiddle tune fer the cows:</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">We also drove to the Bluff Springs waterfall a few miles away but it was more crowded than Disney Land so we drove down a mile and picnicked </span>under a big shade tree. Each evening we took a short walk, but otherwise we mostly just relaxed at stream side. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bluff Springs on an uncrowded day</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This flower was the size of a pencil eraser</i></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">Each morning I woke early and headed out for a run with my running coach, Taz. It was quite chilly; down to 40 and windy one morning so I put his Mexican blanket poncho on him since he is part Mexican hairless. We took off on the Willie White trail (T113) which was straight up, with 1000’ of elevation gain in less than a mile and a half. Once on the trail we saw several elk calves and two adults. The calves were brown with white spots like fawns. I took a few pictures from a distance, but they were blurry since it was dawn and we were quite a distance away.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Taz, my little running buddy</i></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">The trail was steep and full of rocks, but paralleled a quaint stream with tree cover overhead. There were several massive Douglas firs with girthy trunks towering into the sky and also stands of quaking aspen. It took us a while to reach the top of the mountain as I was sucking wind because of the 9000’ elevation. My running coach didn’t mind a bit though, and just scampered along like nobody’s business stopping every so often to pee on the trees. After reaching the top we headed down on a steep gnarly trail full of ankle twisting rocks that made the footing rough. I ran part of this trail several years ago, but started at the other end at Bluff Springs.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Read my post: <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2018/06/bluff-springs-lincoln-national-forest.html" target="_blank">Bluff Springs</a></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">The second day we decided to run the forest road </span>(5009) where we were camping. With smoother footing and a more gradual grade, we could run faster and enjoy the scenery a bit more. Again, it was really cold when we started out; I even wore gloves. In July! The road was lined with tall yellow coneflowers that attract all sorts of butterflies, bees and huge flies. It snaked along the side of Water Canyon with fine views of lush meadows below, threads of glistening water slicing through the pastures. The cows that we saw the day before were in hog heaven, calves sticking close by their mothers. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Water Canyon</i></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">Further up the road we saw a seep in the side of the mountain with a flourishing hanging garden of ferns and other vegetation. Tall thistle with deep purple stalks, spiny leaves and drooping wine colored flowers were interspersed amongst the ferns. The <a href="https://www.fs.fed.us/wildflowers/plant-of-the-week/cirsium_vinaceum.shtml" target="_blank">Sacramento Mountain thistle</a> has evolved to thrive in the limestone rich waters and high elevation here. This highly adapted species of thistle can only be found within a 75 acre area in the Lincoln National Forest and is listed as Threatened under the Endangered Species Act. Bees, butterflies and hummingbirds regularly visit the flowers. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hanging Garden</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sacramento Mountain Thistle</i></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">In a few more miles of uphill climbing, we reached the Sunspot Byway and turned onto FR 64 where there’s a cosmic ray observatory. This area is also home to the <a href="https://sunspot.solar/" target="_blank">Sunspot Solar Observatory</a>, a partial ghost town now, that was once bustling with astronomers observing and studying our sun. Today the observatory is somewhat shrouded in secrecy and conspiracy theories like much of the quarks in </span>quirky<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"> New Mexico. Think Los Alamos, Manhattan Project, <a href="https://www.atomicheritage.org/history/trinity-test-1945" target="_blank">Trinity Test</a>, Roswell, White Sands Missile Range and you get the idea. Sadly, I believe research money dried up here and sun science is being done by </span>more advanced telescopes and instruments elsewhere.</div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">Anyway, the forest road was pretty smooth and flat; a good place for camping especially if you don’t have a high clearance vehicle. Near here is also the Cathey Vista, an overlook that is a short hike from the highway. While trees have grown up around the view, you can still see the beautiful gypsum dunes of </span>White Sands National Monument and the town of Alamogordo on the desert floor below. In addition, about 75 miles NW of this spot, <a href="https://www.nps.gov/whsa/learn/historyculture/trinity-site.htm" target="_blank">“Gadget”,</a> the first atomic bomb, was detonated on Jul 16th, 1945.<br />
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">I’ve always been intrigued, albeit in a very strange way, by the Manhattan Project and Trinity Test. I suppose it’s because I’ve run races in Los Alamos and at White Sands Missile Range which was established just one week before the first atomic test explosion. I’ve visited the atomic museums and read many books about the project. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">In her book, <i>The Last Cheater’s Waltz</i>, Ellen Meloy’s colorful writing and sarcasm explores the natural beauty of this vast desert and the "atom wrangler's" desire to “blow up the universe”. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;">On the New Mexico desert in July of 1945, not only did rainstorms trigger a sex orgy among local toads, they delayed the test. Thunder rolled over the basin. Lightning lit up the shot tower, the inert pillar of steel that held the bomb, and threatened to short-circuit electrical instruments stitched to the desert with five hundred miles of wires. For the scientists who waited, the weather delay allowed time for nervous speculation on whether the bomb would ignite the entire atmosphere or merely incinerate New Mexico…</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;">…Few would return to the amorphous dread of nuclear anxiety, so absorbed are we in dreads with seemingly greater odds: cancer, heart disease, cerebral hemorrhage, bombs placed on airplanes for ideological purposes. Locust plagues and dire loneliness. Leaky breast implants, a diminishing supply of world sperm, electrocution by one’s turbo-powered tie rack. Fascists with Web sites. The frightening biological dystopia of the global economy. Planetary decline not by a couple of H-bombs but by the slow-cook of greenhouse gases and shredding ozone layers.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">Pondering these words, I turned around and headed back down from Sacramento Peak with my running buddy close on my heels. How is it possible that man, in just a few short years, was able to harness enough energy to destroy our planet multiple times over? IN THE 1940s! Equally possible then, in this day and age, must be ways for man to save it in just a few short years. Like the rest of the natural world, humans are amazing and can accomplish anything with the right mindset; even harnessing the energy of the sun.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Writing in her nature journal</i></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">On the way back down, I made mental notes of several good camping spots so I can return for a long run once I become tired of running in the heat of El Paso where the sun shines 300 days per year. I hope to make a twenty mile loop using forest roads and part of the <a href="https://www.fs.usda.gov/recarea/lincoln/recarea/?recid=34408" target="_blank">Rim Trail</a> (T105). Lincoln National Forest is a great place to visit while social distancing and the family thoroughly enjoyed their visit except for maybe the pooping in the woods part. Nevertheless, they agreed to come back!</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Well, I was about to publish this post when I decided to take one more trip to the Sacramentos because we are having a week long heat wave with highs in the 107 degree range. I ran 26.5 miles with almost 5000’ of vert using the Water Canyon Rd (5009), the Rim Trail (T105), FR 64D, FR 223, Benson Canyon (5005) to Bluff Springs and then over the Willie White Trail from East to West. The morning was very pleasant and I saw a lot of elk with little calves. There's nothing as uplifting as the unmistakable scent of warm pine in the backcountry so I took a forest bath while I was running. The Japanese call it <i>shinrin-yoku;</i> spending time in nature has shown to have great physical and psychological health benefits. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-style: italic;">Native evergreens are both aromatic and release a high concentration of phytoncides—airborne essential oils that provide a natural immunity boost. The health benefits of this phytoncide “shower” can last for weeks. </span>—<a href="https://www.nationalgeographic.com/travel/lists/forest-bathing-nature-walk-health/" target="_blank">NatGeo</a></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">The afternoon became quite hot, but I had dropped </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">off </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">some water on FR 233 which was about 11 miles into my run. I also filtered some water using my </span><a href="https://sawyer.com/products/mini-filter/" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" target="_blank">Mini Sawyer</a><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> at Bluff Springs, but didn’t need it. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Aliens are real!</i></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">You’ll never guess what happened when I returned to my truck hot and exhausted. The battery was dead! AGAIN! Even though I just replaced it. It only seems to happen when I go to <i>quarky</i> New Mexico. Maybe my battery is being drained from leftover radiation from the Trinity Experiment or Roswell Aliens trying to phone home. I don't know. Radio waves from the government spying on me or am I parking in the Twilight Zone? </span></span></div>
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Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-42425307602693998442020-06-14T08:08:00.000-06:002020-07-11T08:24:23.091-06:00Running With The Dragons<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This month I was supposed to go to Lake City, Colorado to run the </span><a href="https://www.sjs50.com/" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" target="_blank">San Juan Solstice 50</a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> miler, but like most events, it was cancelled. This is the second year in a row the race was called off. Last year was because of flood risk due to melt from a heavy snowpack in the San Juan mountain range and of course this year was due to the current Coronavirus pandemic. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Normally I would be disappointed, but I’m so lucky to have travelled every year to run in many beautiful places all over the west including the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, Yosemite, Zion, in the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming, the Front Range in Colorado and the Sierras in California and Nevada. While I love going on epic running adventures, there is a lot of planning and logistics involved; not to mention stress. </span></span></div>
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Here lately, I’ve actually enjoyed the travel break and have grown to more appreciate what I have close to home. The Franklin Mountains State Park in El Paso, TX is the largest urban wilderness park in the United States and the trails start at the edge of my neighborhood. I can drive 10 minutes to the trail head or simply run from my house to reach a single track trail at the base of S. Franklin Peak (6791’). </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQ1f8wywFxgvAopLGBXFsoAgWwdFZz498UuQz3wdqjhCXhgEqCw-6d4NxAMvKmaKrZeqHs1QugZzkuUNJ1TRFgoPPHBLT0okCo0hFf6RMoqwxcHLRCPLcg8AyFsXewGpkS1P1-WAEzdg/s1600/IMG_1116.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQ1f8wywFxgvAopLGBXFsoAgWwdFZz498UuQz3wdqjhCXhgEqCw-6d4NxAMvKmaKrZeqHs1QugZzkuUNJ1TRFgoPPHBLT0okCo0hFf6RMoqwxcHLRCPLcg8AyFsXewGpkS1P1-WAEzdg/s400/IMG_1116.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Turk's head cactus</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While I enjoy the challenge of finishing an ultramarathon in the highest ranges in America, I can be equally content running my six mile loop in my little neck of the desert. There’s something comforting about running the same familiar route on a daily basis especially in these uncertain times when the world seems to be crashing down around us. Out here in the quietude of the wilderness there are no worries except the occasional rattlesnake encounter. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKO5YB2YQ3Svy3WQ5XWUO8VSoKSsYSyAjyWjk7cqs9PKC7tzH85WG87QAOiWwgqNxmQU_-27wjlB_KD4xEtCjGqE3RgJi9gxLPyNPngkAnzynI_kIQNYDjppUJtX1K7Pa1Yg8W7-nyquI/s1600/P1070242.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKO5YB2YQ3Svy3WQ5XWUO8VSoKSsYSyAjyWjk7cqs9PKC7tzH85WG87QAOiWwgqNxmQU_-27wjlB_KD4xEtCjGqE3RgJi9gxLPyNPngkAnzynI_kIQNYDjppUJtX1K7Pa1Yg8W7-nyquI/s400/P1070242.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Collared lizard</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi89CGr8IR1xWIdhGBYTQe55nPH1yxh0Lqip-QuaaswHQZ7ozR3h5OvhVBy-_XtV_U29VduXWLbjH_ZmWYGaFvwsdDixsiPOwVJL-8eOo7wCuMrBOCit1d5T-l1pOvxJgKmMVmopMYQIWY/s1600/P1070232.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi89CGr8IR1xWIdhGBYTQe55nPH1yxh0Lqip-QuaaswHQZ7ozR3h5OvhVBy-_XtV_U29VduXWLbjH_ZmWYGaFvwsdDixsiPOwVJL-8eOo7wCuMrBOCit1d5T-l1pOvxJgKmMVmopMYQIWY/s400/P1070232.jpeg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lady bug colony, N. Franklin Peak</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It takes a lot of work though, to check your anxiety and wandering thoughts at the trailhead parking lot, but it is well worth the effort. Several years ago I read Sakyong Mipham’s <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Running-Mind-Meditation-Lessons-Training/dp/0307888177" target="_blank">Running With the Mind of Meditation</a></i> and have been learning to focus on being present on the trail instead of letting my mind wander aimlessly. I stop frequently to watch a bee buzzing around a flowering shin dagger (lechuguilla) stalk or to closely inspect the tiny leaves covering an ocotillo cactus stem.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5dv-4gflgJwi1JF-w-PS6QHlJXp45ZSsa-kq_jj8OtTzx-yKaY_R0Tev4I7cfeKuoRtl22lscy5x1tFFKf88K60rk1ESRgdm3iVYg89usrPxCvpwad4oS1w4I9UgQpNtQEoZe9PMKjs8/s1600/IMG_1164.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5dv-4gflgJwi1JF-w-PS6QHlJXp45ZSsa-kq_jj8OtTzx-yKaY_R0Tev4I7cfeKuoRtl22lscy5x1tFFKf88K60rk1ESRgdm3iVYg89usrPxCvpwad4oS1w4I9UgQpNtQEoZe9PMKjs8/s400/IMG_1164.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bee and lechuguilla (shin dagger)</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWqzI3CE8j8DDGetSxPQtyV1eTPLXOFX_GpXqwl6hTODjH_fte-dfvm6eUE9t7AUYtXQnWzjsvEsfA6K3fvqD2SMt6XZLTOcfTbQeiK1fWkDsJOvt2vGgFATjHuMAUvsT2a9TVOz_SGQ/s1600/P1070004.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWqzI3CE8j8DDGetSxPQtyV1eTPLXOFX_GpXqwl6hTODjH_fte-dfvm6eUE9t7AUYtXQnWzjsvEsfA6K3fvqD2SMt6XZLTOcfTbQeiK1fWkDsJOvt2vGgFATjHuMAUvsT2a9TVOz_SGQ/s400/P1070004.jpeg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Wildflower</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Besides rattlesnakes, I run into all sorts of wonders on the trail and enjoy the most amazing sunrises and moon sets. I greatly enjoy the gentle breeze in my face and am equally in awe of the raging gusts that roar through Smuggler’s Gap almost knocking me off the ridge I'm running. Bursts of color pop up all along the trail when the cacti and wildflowers bloom in the spring bringing a smile to my face. Songbirds serenade me and the fragrance of sweet acacia or the musty aroma of wet desert after a rain is therapy in itself. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRAOuOEs2kMCMU9q2RCMgrlPS9vshIXbxa4y53E79vODBwR-dhfLX9ZtF7LJ6tcLyBHREK8-868Ct29rZC_QaHrkL0D2a-eyCVbzztq1d6w7VippT_tEE845q6oADtHEUWMoMq2i6WDF4/s1600/IMG_1159.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRAOuOEs2kMCMU9q2RCMgrlPS9vshIXbxa4y53E79vODBwR-dhfLX9ZtF7LJ6tcLyBHREK8-868Ct29rZC_QaHrkL0D2a-eyCVbzztq1d6w7VippT_tEE845q6oADtHEUWMoMq2i6WDF4/s400/IMG_1159.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sweet acacia blooms</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3v_mJKBuAqxLNHCKc2C9HN7vlTza_mZxphGkdUx4nFMEgu_cz6bK-v-EQwBvKuQ99kvGHd3j-rdfAUhCVh25tiaYHL9loitEEYrGZePXPxbXlQOrfQ75EM3P-3yDghURVzTKmXPFR5o/s1600/P1070116.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3v_mJKBuAqxLNHCKc2C9HN7vlTza_mZxphGkdUx4nFMEgu_cz6bK-v-EQwBvKuQ99kvGHd3j-rdfAUhCVh25tiaYHL9loitEEYrGZePXPxbXlQOrfQ75EM3P-3yDghURVzTKmXPFR5o/s400/P1070116.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Skeletonleaf Goldeneye</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmG4Sn3aINwvZ7SJDNLf6v2oDK46zat3Lr6KokZh57zz0tgV3itPXrM766-kR7T_Vwpk-XkR9SmBv9ygRQFiWKJkJ_OoqSzJejpEU1NBOqo2S2Mm_SwiPXSEKNhR0TIgiRfU-Cq0bualU/s1600/P1070103.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmG4Sn3aINwvZ7SJDNLf6v2oDK46zat3Lr6KokZh57zz0tgV3itPXrM766-kR7T_Vwpk-XkR9SmBv9ygRQFiWKJkJ_OoqSzJejpEU1NBOqo2S2Mm_SwiPXSEKNhR0TIgiRfU-Cq0bualU/s400/P1070103.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Phlox</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I ran into a dinosaur several weeks ago. This thing looked like a mini triceratops, but the horns were facing backwards around its neck frill. There were pointy scales all over it and on its back were indentations about the size of a pencil eraser. Surrounding these holes were black spots with a white ring around them like a bull’s eye and a white thin stripe ran down the back of this dragon like creature. The overall color was brown, white and black and its body was flat and round like a desert rock causing it to blend in perfectly with its surrounding. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwdAuVMrXkwtV-xAIw2cLzyLDXqeJV7ZlzGYJUviNbdDjNGFcNp9zvmSjIWxqmuWJp2wRjEwLfQmD-ZIOXJGyZTExVQQGRsOQr-bA0CGnnyz66HnmtGW2C_eLPItQYgWsoroKdmWg0-rU/s1600/P1070053.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwdAuVMrXkwtV-xAIw2cLzyLDXqeJV7ZlzGYJUviNbdDjNGFcNp9zvmSjIWxqmuWJp2wRjEwLfQmD-ZIOXJGyZTExVQQGRsOQr-bA0CGnnyz66HnmtGW2C_eLPItQYgWsoroKdmWg0-rU/s400/P1070053.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Thistle</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When it saw me it froze, but I expected to see, at any moment, a burst of flame shoot from its nostrils in true dragon fashion. Well, this wasn’t to be, but <a href="https://tpwd.texas.gov/huntwild/wild/wildlife_diversity/texas_nature_trackers/horned_lizard/facts/" target="_blank">Texas horned lizards</a> can actually shoot blood out of the corners of their eyes as a defense mechanism. Once when I was running near our family’s ranch with a pack of dogs, I encountered another horned lizard. Several dogs sniffed it but kept running. Since we were on a paved road, I picked up the horny toad to move it to safety and that’s how I learned that these lizards can squirt blood from their eyes. Sadly, they are a threatened species so I feel grateful for the opportunity to have encountered them.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0FFkYNr38D8uhvkKvJApx7iJ3kYTyzQ2GEaKnRVJK6i5WeOs2cZgkLJcvBByjjhGEKOiiLR3rUnba29lNJqo-Otq3BzAgbBChXuFo3_PwjycrzNkIA8XUcRUf6CEDvlorKJ8j30j61PA/s1600/P1070019.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0FFkYNr38D8uhvkKvJApx7iJ3kYTyzQ2GEaKnRVJK6i5WeOs2cZgkLJcvBByjjhGEKOiiLR3rUnba29lNJqo-Otq3BzAgbBChXuFo3_PwjycrzNkIA8XUcRUf6CEDvlorKJ8j30j61PA/s400/P1070019.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Texas horned lizard</i></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgToCREev67yB6FR6u5GdyZ4Rlw1jg0oO0PHEuYB2kRe6p0HfCSWQUexfMe18NiFz1Gd9cWs0Rk_U87XdSe44vmNTkhmmwI3DMcXD1PNZ5sBESeeODtm-vxJbtjDcpmvkBavJVrB-AtgLU/s1600/P1070023.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgToCREev67yB6FR6u5GdyZ4Rlw1jg0oO0PHEuYB2kRe6p0HfCSWQUexfMe18NiFz1Gd9cWs0Rk_U87XdSe44vmNTkhmmwI3DMcXD1PNZ5sBESeeODtm-vxJbtjDcpmvkBavJVrB-AtgLU/s400/P1070023.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’ve also seen some beautiful green collared lizards as well as the greater earless and whiptail lizards. The greater earless is very colorful with orange spots and a rainbow pattern of black stripes enhanced with green, yellow and orange on the side of its belly. When it feels threatened it wags its tail, rubs its head on the ground and does pushups to make sure you know how badass it is. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Watch it do pushups!</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Several times this month I ran to the top of N. Franklin Peak (7192’) from the edge of the neighborhood, logging between 20-23 miles. I’ve been to the peak many times, but drinking in the vast view from the top never gets old. </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Surrounding the largest urban wilderness park are the sprawling cities of El Paso and Ciudad Juarez in Mexico. You can see the entire Franklin Mountain range and some of the Organ Mountains in neighboring New Mexico. Far in the distance, on a clear day, you can see all the way to Sierra Blanca Peak (11,981’) on the </span><a href="https://mescaleroapachetribe.com/" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" target="_blank">Mescalero Apache</a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Tribal Land.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7DYEFWs1brVttvWNaitJNRCpjqXBPEnjKRINupnkExzfExVY5cJlGGiIB_UlzRND_T9cknKCqcZ9VvdtztR4frRVt8tDYhxhJCq6ri1cc9JUqOCkvms8JLS2mEff-stckYN3nTcmWYXo/s1600/P1070063.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7DYEFWs1brVttvWNaitJNRCpjqXBPEnjKRINupnkExzfExVY5cJlGGiIB_UlzRND_T9cknKCqcZ9VvdtztR4frRVt8tDYhxhJCq6ri1cc9JUqOCkvms8JLS2mEff-stckYN3nTcmWYXo/s400/P1070063.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Apache plume</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzjswGDTou42oVq2NwODZ_C_LZRlh9R1GRkkIheNdNCIOGUP-kIAcB8Ng1-u2IaXRGJd5KZnKKQ0fkF1JEC_Xn-o0y4PCpJHx38lpis6iEBGGFfHS-nq8mXMtIGZR7rXd50sxKswCVOo/s1600/IMG_0763.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzjswGDTou42oVq2NwODZ_C_LZRlh9R1GRkkIheNdNCIOGUP-kIAcB8Ng1-u2IaXRGJd5KZnKKQ0fkF1JEC_Xn-o0y4PCpJHx38lpis6iEBGGFfHS-nq8mXMtIGZR7rXd50sxKswCVOo/s400/IMG_0763.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lyreleaf jewelflower</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Whether I’m doing an epic peak climb or a simple lowland loop, I’m equally content these days and just try to stay in the moment. A colony of thousands of lady bugs at the peak is as enjoyable as a millipede with thousands of legs crossing my path. In <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Zen-Trail-Hiking-as-Pilgrimage/dp/1614294445/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=zen+on+the+trail&qid=1592097808&s=books&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Zen on the Trail: Hiking as Pilgrimage</a></i>, Christopher Ives writes, </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>By directing our attention to how we hike as opposed to where we’re headed, and taking as our goal sitting quietly in a beautiful spot rather than summiting a gnarly peak, we can begin to shift from ego-driven doing mode to spirit-filled being mode, from proving something in nature to exploring how we are nature. In this way we can complement views out across the landscape with views of what’s going on inside.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sometimes, just a simple walk around my neighborhood with my family and our little buddy Taz brings me much peace. I can still look up at the moon rising above the Franklin Mountains in all their splendor thinking about the 12 astronauts who’v walked amongst the moon craters including the first two who hopped around in the Sea of Tranquility. Wouldn’t it be nice to get off our crazy planet and take a dip in this tranquil sea for a few days!</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Franklin Mountains with the Organs in the background</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Nevertheless, it’s what you make of your world that matters. In these most unprecedented times, get outside and enjoy all that nature has to offer. For your own sanity, John Muir says it best,</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><i>Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The wind will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.</i></span></span></div>
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Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-49014823127982268172020-05-24T10:13:00.000-06:002020-06-14T08:09:14.974-06:00Coyote Beautiful<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">While the trails here in the Franklin Mountains State Park have been closed due to the Coronavirus pandemic, I had to get creative to maintain my running routine. I detest running on roads because there are humans everywhere; not to mention cars and noise. Unfortunately, I had to run a fair amount on the roads this month, but did a few long runs on the Rio Grande River Levee trail as well. While state and local parks were closed here in El Paso, the river levee seemed to be a gray area since it is controlled by the International Boundary and Water Commission, a federal agency.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Coyote</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPFgJo6P_KEejEzQ1kK2l2s1-h8dNeQJnMFerU7ERgDDIFHpNf-EPrfwdAkwQjho2vcnVCzbdS1IvWi0oE0UNUd-GvaoGrUngwg3RIhB6u_yeJsE-qWNvcR6ntjT7oevQzGMpWKBv-oc0/s1600/P1060945.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPFgJo6P_KEejEzQ1kK2l2s1-h8dNeQJnMFerU7ERgDDIFHpNf-EPrfwdAkwQjho2vcnVCzbdS1IvWi0oE0UNUd-GvaoGrUngwg3RIhB6u_yeJsE-qWNvcR6ntjT7oevQzGMpWKBv-oc0/s400/P1060945.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rio Grande, El Paso, TX</i></td></tr>
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-kerning: none;">We have a great system of canals that bring irrigation water to cotton fields, pecan orchards, and subdivisions of the city. Dirt roads along the waterways are great for running, but you will get zero vert if you are training for a mountain race. The river levee, built for flood control, is awesome because it is traffic free and you can get a lot of distance by combining the canal roads with the river trail. In fact I have, several times in the past, run all the way from El Paso to Old Mesilla near Las Cruces, NM., a distance of between 35-40 miles depending on where you start in El Paso.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqC5FYREwQvZ5g10bgf7ynt-SZCcliBMkIOaIi1BGR5ugg7DxiLgfGkwbv0GCi5vip2ertWsKfRnxax9gdPzDCuzMxLmjuUyf8kBHAAsF7XLw7faN5AOFROueeo8XIe0mRrV4LJAn17RE/s1600/P1060854.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqC5FYREwQvZ5g10bgf7ynt-SZCcliBMkIOaIi1BGR5ugg7DxiLgfGkwbv0GCi5vip2ertWsKfRnxax9gdPzDCuzMxLmjuUyf8kBHAAsF7XLw7faN5AOFROueeo8XIe0mRrV4LJAn17RE/s400/P1060854.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Read my post: <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2014/08/two-states-run.html" target="_blank">Two States Run</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Read my post: <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2012/11/mesilla-valley-run.html" target="_blank">Mesilla Valley Run</a></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZeC7TZtqL4bBjoOl7EFJ06LZZSaDMYqLhyphenhyphen0JEU9F-lk6jovPAYYCTDMCp8xdxXV7XZ0Nv_gY6xfzBxsEOmjfmMJwt9mklyUUWqeiki9gRbM3p7ccqo2ly0oY4UdIlvbAsywPkdHJzdG4/s1600/P1060850.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZeC7TZtqL4bBjoOl7EFJ06LZZSaDMYqLhyphenhyphen0JEU9F-lk6jovPAYYCTDMCp8xdxXV7XZ0Nv_gY6xfzBxsEOmjfmMJwt9mklyUUWqeiki9gRbM3p7ccqo2ly0oY4UdIlvbAsywPkdHJzdG4/s400/P1060850.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHg8fgiSsxc2FB2mKEFAqKv5CBx1VpbHeOn43CWtrblzT-I0203v-HhduuTaJ2RjCgWVNY6F7njZ823YBVHtP33k1Dl6UjgqsSln0CiXsSqx3INkncDIm6ykSc2kYIFOriOXdW-9JyME4/s1600/P1060892.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHg8fgiSsxc2FB2mKEFAqKv5CBx1VpbHeOn43CWtrblzT-I0203v-HhduuTaJ2RjCgWVNY6F7njZ823YBVHtP33k1Dl6UjgqsSln0CiXsSqx3INkncDIm6ykSc2kYIFOriOXdW-9JyME4/s400/P1060892.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Anyway, I enjoyed some very nice mornings along the canals and levee running a 13 mile loop and then stopping back by my car to fill up my water bottles. I continued on for a total of between 20-26 miles. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">There are several huge cottonwood trees throughout the valley, but they aren’t as plentiful as they once were because the river is dry most of the year. Cottonwoods are known as the “water tree” because If you see one there is probably a water source nearby such as the West Cottonwood Spring in the Franklin Mountains.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cottonwood tree</i></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-AdAdKbe0JE06rm90PdZwZUKs-uUuuWYkfCE9Qf2ndXvk844egAt-fciqyZ9lAkjNJy3xVa1HkiyPvtEwaFCUy0IPrAgm3RDUz119-NqC3IWtCRfYPiRXm9lsWZmTA7PNlsZopOPqw3U/s1600/IMG_1101.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="961" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-AdAdKbe0JE06rm90PdZwZUKs-uUuuWYkfCE9Qf2ndXvk844egAt-fciqyZ9lAkjNJy3xVa1HkiyPvtEwaFCUy0IPrAgm3RDUz119-NqC3IWtCRfYPiRXm9lsWZmTA7PNlsZopOPqw3U/s400/IMG_1101.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Natural flooding helped disperse the cottony seeds before the river was dammed. Native Americans used the trees to build dugout canoes and also used many parts for medicinal purposes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><a href="https://www.inaturalist.org/guide_taxa/354910">inaturalist.org</a> writes: </span>“Cottonwoods are useful whenever aspirin may be used because it contains salicin, which is used to treat fevers and urinary infections. The bark makes digestive bitters used for indigestion, poor appetite and fevers. The leaf buds are used for muscle aches, sprains, and joint pain. You can prepare leaf buds in oil or alcohol and also use them for injuries, burns and thick mucus. Native Americans used the leaves for toothaches and cuts and scrapes.” </div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">**WARNING: Do not ingest a cottonwood tree if you are sick or injured! Instead, seek medical attention from a physician or hospital emergency room!** </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pink Primrose</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Sadly, in today’s day and age, I had to write that last sentence. T</span>he huge shade trees are a welcomed sight since I’m used to mostly running in the desert amongst the scrub vegetation, thorny cacti and jagged rocks. </div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Below one of the bridges in Sunland Park, NM just across the border from El Paso is a beautiful mural that has been painted on the pilings. It depict scenes of early settlers, a Native American with pueblo and the statue of Christ that sits on top of Mt Cristo Rey a few miles from the mural. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSr8AsmNY1GIhHEFX6pmwLEoZahxaBH_8pg-5Rj8KleB71fdy0fuR5vLHvd5b0fMIGRjpurn1iXmjAFJLKRiP0emtBOVjpWleibTp7JJH5v4xwuSVtayfayClwJ9_IVibZuRvvwM3Ihc/s1600/P1060863.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSr8AsmNY1GIhHEFX6pmwLEoZahxaBH_8pg-5Rj8KleB71fdy0fuR5vLHvd5b0fMIGRjpurn1iXmjAFJLKRiP0emtBOVjpWleibTp7JJH5v4xwuSVtayfayClwJ9_IVibZuRvvwM3Ihc/s400/P1060863.jpeg" width="285" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">One morning I was running along the river near here when a coyote ran across the trail in front of me. Usually when they see humans they take off for cover, but this one was different. He stopped near the edge of the brush and just looked at me as if he was as curious about me as I was of him. His fur was tan to dark brown with a V shaped dark spot outlined in white on his back. His big ears perked up like radar dishes and his snout was slender with a black shiny nose. He may have had a tick under his left eye and he walked with a slight limp. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxYXE-8rDUWI208asUWoBBEqDP0r0yDtUIjRd5RhbYg3DfXGt0p21v7HwEy6yY87b9yFzHf66RlLMWfytsn-98WTVgtNM1dgkP1lQwngJ3d8hsrPBOcIKQFnwXbozT8hnKI7DFXfxGh0o/s1600/P1060889.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxYXE-8rDUWI208asUWoBBEqDP0r0yDtUIjRd5RhbYg3DfXGt0p21v7HwEy6yY87b9yFzHf66RlLMWfytsn-98WTVgtNM1dgkP1lQwngJ3d8hsrPBOcIKQFnwXbozT8hnKI7DFXfxGh0o/s400/P1060889.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">He just stood there staring at me so I pulled out my camera and zoomed in on him. After a minute or two he sat down figuring I wasn’t a threat. Coyotes, once limited to western prairies and deserts, have moved into all 48 lower states, Canada and Alaska. In spite of government eradication efforts over the years, coyotes have thrived and are often seen in neighborhoods, golf courses and even urban areas. In the book <i><a href="https://www.npr.org/2016/07/07/485058681/-coyote-america-pays-tribute-to-an-animal-living-in-north-america-for-centuries">Coyote America</a>,</i> Dan Flores speculates that the extermination of the wolf enabled the coyote to expand its range into the north and east. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>Increasingly, coyotes have become animals of the inner city. And they've developed - I mean, they're so intelligent - remarkably intelligent, I would say - and so easily adaptable and cosmopolitan in how they can live that they've figured out how to live right in the midst of the loudest urban metroplexes in North America</b></span> —Dan Flores</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">This particular fellow must have been tired from raiding the chicken house or chasing the road runner all night because eventually he laid down in the dirt and did a big yawn. I must have watched him for ten minutes observing his mannerisms which were much like a domesticated house pet. What a beautiful animal!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>So sleepy now!</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Coyote beautiful</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">After running along the river for a while I came to another bridge where swallows have built a colony of mud nests. The structures resembled gourds hanging down with a bottle like opening where chicks were poking their heads out waiting for the parents to bring food. Hundreds of swallows swooped in and out with the swift precision and maneuvering of a military aerobatic demonstration team. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Swallows under the Artcraft Bridge</i></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_keR_xrRBC3t6XZ_BnuzdQ_65sAhhsCPw86w-A1KTwyIy462P5NL-OhAu3rE5-VzbFoiTfT8-iHYOUXjo7jxAfHeiFu8h0w6qJKyhhuKs-TdHLaHzLWGnD7NCIQdvKAcHY3wH6VWqSM/s1600/P1060920.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_keR_xrRBC3t6XZ_BnuzdQ_65sAhhsCPw86w-A1KTwyIy462P5NL-OhAu3rE5-VzbFoiTfT8-iHYOUXjo7jxAfHeiFu8h0w6qJKyhhuKs-TdHLaHzLWGnD7NCIQdvKAcHY3wH6VWqSM/s400/P1060920.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Again, I stood in awe watching these birds for at least ten minutes when I should have been finishing my training run. But for me, running is much more than training for the next race, PRing or collecting another finisher’s medal. I run because it brings me to the most beautiful places in the Southwest and I happen upon all sorts of amazing wildlife. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I was supposed to run the <a href="https://www.jemezmountaintrailruns.org/">Jemez Mountain Trail 50 miler</a> in Los Alamos, NM this weekend, but like all of our events, it </span>too was cancelled. This would have been my 6th finish in a row provided I was able to cross the finish line this year. A lot can happen in a mountain trail race though, so I’m grateful to have had so many past experiences in the Jemez. </div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">As America begins to slowly reopen, some of our trails in the Franklin Mountains are now open as well. I'm finally back on the gnarly singletrack amongst the jagged rocks, cactus and shin dagger; climbing steep precipices while hopping over rattlesnakes. Literally! I almost stepped on this guy this morning. Don't worry, I apologized to him (or her). All is right in the Universe. </span><br />
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See you on the trail.</div>
Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-37737005223144652532020-03-28T15:16:00.000-06:002020-05-24T10:13:56.992-06:00Charmin Covid -19 Marathon Race Report<div style="font-family: Arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Earth is closed until further notice! The Coronavirus pandemic is in full swing. Like every other human on our planet, I have been social distancing, quarantining, sheltering in place or whatever else you want to call it. For me this isn’t much different than how I operate anyway, so I suppose I’m lucky in that regard. We have been spending time at our family’s ranch in West Texas which is what we normally do over Spring Break. Hudspeth County, TX is one of the least populated counties in the US so I have to laugh when authorities say to keep a six foot distance from others. Out here it’s closer to six miles!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Ice Cream Cone, Indian Hot Springs Rd</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Anyway, I was supposed to run the <a href="https://bataanmarch.com/" target="_blank">Bataan Memorial Death March</a> for my 9th year in a row, but of course it was cancelled. Instead, I signed up for the Charmin Covid-19 Marathon that was run out here in the Chihuahuan Desert. About five of us hearty runners started out at first light for our 26.2 mile adventure.The weather was nice and cool in the morning when we began our run along a dirt road that runs near the border of Mexico. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Indian Hot Springs Ranch</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Inn Lobby</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ruins in Mexico</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">If you continue on this road for about 20 miles it eventually ends at the <a href="https://tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/rpi01" target="_blank">Indian Hot Springs Ranch</a>, a resort of days gone by. I had the privilege of visiting the privately owned property last summer. There are natural hot springs, several bath houses with tubs and an Inn. Native Americans used the curative waters in these springs for centuries and, following the Civil War, “Buffalo” soldiers went on scouting and mapping expeditions in the area.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Read: <a href="https://www.history.com/topics/westward-expansion/buffalo-soldiers" target="_blank">Who Were The Buffalo Soldiers?</a></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Buffalo Soldiers plaque (click to enlarge</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The road crosses several wide gravelly arroyos and then winds through hill and dale passing through several cattle ranches. </span>Cows graze in the grassy bottoms and the road is hemmed in by eroded cliffs. Wildflowers were abundant along the route and the yucca were beginning to bloom. Occasionally my best friends became distracted by a jackrabbit darting across the way and they would go off, running helter-skelter in a wild chase. In the mean time, I spotted a small hawk sitting in a tree so stopped to watch him for a few minutes.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Taz and Lucky</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gambler, my running coach</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hawk</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">After three or so miles we turned around to head back to the ranch. When we arrived home at about mile seven, I grabbed my hydration vest for the rest of the journey, but my friends became distracted once again; this time because they smelled bacon frying. It was pretty hot by this point so they quit the marathon to laze around on the porch for the rest of the morning. As they say," if you can’t hang with the big dogs, stay on the porch!" This big dog continued on his way all by his lonesome which was fine by me; I prefer the solitude while becoming one with nature anyway.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Texas wildflowers</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">For this leg of my marathon, I headed up towards the Quitman Mountains near Sierra Blanca, TX. Sierra Blanca, along I-10 is a sleepy little town, but has one of the most famous Border Patrol checkpoints in the U.S. This is where Wille Nelson was busted for seven ounces of pot, a felony, while touring with his band years ago. At the little adobe courthouse in town, the county attorney suggested that Willie pay his debt to society by singing</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain”. Eventually, Willie was mysteriously released on a misdemeanor charge. Al Reinert of Texas Monthly writes,</span></div>
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<i style="font-family: arial;"><span style="color: #b45f06;">At some point in the continuing investigation of Willie’s crime, it was discovered that the very same stash that had weighed almost seven ounces at the checkpoint weighed less than half that on the jailhouse scales. This reduced the charge against him to a misdemeanor and made Willie eligible for one of those $527 paraphernalia tickets, which is how the case was eventually disposed.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;">Two years later, when I asked [Sheriff] West about this discrepancy between his scales and the feds’, he shrugged. “They don’t always get things right at that checkpoint,” he said. “They probably weighed the container along with the dope.” This sounded just plausible enough to make me smile, and West smiled back.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Read: <a href="https://www.texasmonthly.com/articles/the-best-little-checkpoint-in-texas/" target="_blank"><i>The Best Little Checkpoint in Texas</i>, Texas Monthly</a></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A modernized windmill. Notice the solar panels?</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Anyway, I digress. We had a pretty good rain the day </span>before <span style="font-kerning: none;">my run so fog and clouds were pouring off the mountains and laying in the canyon between the peaks. This dirt road is part of the former <a href="https://butterfieldoverlandstage.com/" target="_blank">Butterfield Overland Mail</a> route that carried mail in 1858 -1861 from St Louis to San Francisco. This stretch is between the Ft Quitman and Eagle Spring stage stops where the coaches were occasionally attacked by Indians. </span>The road parallels a major arroyo that carries water over a plateau and down into the Rio Grande when we have gully washers during the monsoon season. All was calm and quiet the day I ran through the canyon.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Quitman Pass Rd</i></td></tr>
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Creosote bush and ocotillo cactus dominate the desert with blooming yucca interspersed between. Mt Quitman looms in the distance, an <a href="https://aermotorwindmill.com/" target="_blank">Aermotor</a> windmill at its base pumping water out of the ground for cattle. I ran the slightly uphill road for about eight miles where I crossed the dry wash. A bullet ridden rusty car with no doors, trunk slightly open, has been parked here for decades slowing deteriorating with each passing year. I climbed a pretty significant hill where there were protruding rock outcrops resembling the fins of a dragon’s back.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Yucca</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The weather was very hot at this point and all the fog had burned off, so I turned around to head back. The route was mostly downhill from here, but I was pretty exhausted having already covered 17 miles. I was running at a good clip because the road was mostly smooth. Without a lot of elevation gain, I wasn’t able to enjoy the hiking breaks that I usually get when running in the Franklin Mountains. When I hit mile 23, I got a stabbing pain between my shoulder blades and had to walk for a spell. It’s this pain and suffering that is equally as important as the bliss that one feels when running, hiking or participating in other endurance sports. It makes you more appreciative of everything you have, no matter how great or small.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">In <i><a href="https://us.macmillan.com/books/9780374170011" target="_blank">Hiking With Nietzsche: On Becoming Who You Are</a></i>, John Kaag writes,</span></div>
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-kerning: none;"><i>Hiking, unlike most vocations, is work with its own immediate reward, and its unpleasant aspects are often the most advantageous. The dull ache of lactic acid building in your quads and calves slowly reminds you that flesh—your flesh—is still alive. The control that one has over the pain is strangely affirming: Can you make it to the next rise, to the next outcropping of rocks? Life is often painful or bothersome, but the hiker, at the very least, gets to determine how he or she is meant to suffer.</i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69dWANRBiFDR2wNRMiil66ddKIcQycLkuQNwoH99XDVlU1jxa3P4yR3lcoujoKX9Mfw3w5KzQe4JqdqAoSr62lgRcrYDt8D7zmjCf_1h60PUrsbaDkP_f4A-ajKZZ9G_49xWHsTE5qck/s1600/P1060280.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69dWANRBiFDR2wNRMiil66ddKIcQycLkuQNwoH99XDVlU1jxa3P4yR3lcoujoKX9Mfw3w5KzQe4JqdqAoSr62lgRcrYDt8D7zmjCf_1h60PUrsbaDkP_f4A-ajKZZ9G_49xWHsTE5qck/s400/P1060280.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Dragon's Back"</i></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmEUm9JcKRDVcsrXodxor7vlbioXtBVp54m8lgA4oTjeXgftFPewnLdOSQBy3awoU_nqvIcAugGTfJMQqY8lDVxUVikjnsw8tMrT5E49ilxSiOihWjg4EQaQ6XxHslrCSG7xqkXYe5KKU/s1600/P1060275.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmEUm9JcKRDVcsrXodxor7vlbioXtBVp54m8lgA4oTjeXgftFPewnLdOSQBy3awoU_nqvIcAugGTfJMQqY8lDVxUVikjnsw8tMrT5E49ilxSiOihWjg4EQaQ6XxHslrCSG7xqkXYe5KKU/s400/P1060275.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I managed my pain by taking occasional short walking breaks and stretching my arms above my head and behind my back. This was the same pain that I always get during the Bataan Death March; a mere inkling of the pain and suffering endured by the heroes of this hellish march during WWII. I thought a lot about what these brave men did for our country as I was finishing up my marathon. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Arroyo beside the old Butterfield Overland Trail</i></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8azFFHBzpiNG0TAgTeYrzHwRJqhaGnIlGnebmYYpRsQEsDgCRFkCtFDCS4qY2CDdflnsFTrRp4gP4kOmh5Ya5YtTwnmPZa1YOELqOJPh3csG0K2LZcCs6VbetF1cxUADDUAF1n4bSGvo/s1600/P1060274.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8azFFHBzpiNG0TAgTeYrzHwRJqhaGnIlGnebmYYpRsQEsDgCRFkCtFDCS4qY2CDdflnsFTrRp4gP4kOmh5Ya5YtTwnmPZa1YOELqOJPh3csG0K2LZcCs6VbetF1cxUADDUAF1n4bSGvo/s400/P1060274.jpeg" width="285" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The sun was high and I was out of water for the last several miles. When I was almost home, I realized that I miscalculated how far my out-and-back should be and I was about 3/4ths of a mile short. I continued on the main paved road in front of the ranch to make up the distance. Amazingly, I came in first place in the Charmin Covid-19 Marathon where my gps watch read 26.2 miles in 5:45. My prize was a roll of Charmin toilet paper —Splinter Free Scent! </span>Unfortunately, I was also the last place finisher, but who's keeping track? I enjoyed a great day on the Butterfield Trail and the Indian Hot Springs Rd all the same.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The view of the US Mexico Border</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIfGdnu5SuSQPP2h3cfIlsr9YetdRrStVnYqyx0ry6jSUzvXH4In5tN_I2UVIn1RnVoeFfrMclqKJJmMGO9WMOyVfCxsExjB9vh1iwUzHkWaflVsr50x7U5II8uF9Kup4KKI3uhzI97PU/s1600/P1060443.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIfGdnu5SuSQPP2h3cfIlsr9YetdRrStVnYqyx0ry6jSUzvXH4In5tN_I2UVIn1RnVoeFfrMclqKJJmMGO9WMOyVfCxsExjB9vh1iwUzHkWaflVsr50x7U5II8uF9Kup4KKI3uhzI97PU/s400/P1060443.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Kayaking with Taz, my wingman</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">In addition to running this week, I have enjoyed some excellent bird watching and we have been kayaking on the ranch land that flooded around the border fence that was built a dozen years ago. When the wind isn’t blowing, the water is like glass creating a calm surreal scene. There is so much peace in this neck of the desert that I sometimes completely forget the chaos that is happening all over the world. Each evening I look out over the water and go to my happy place while watching the sky bathe the mountains in morphing shades of yellow, orange and pink.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYK9QV1CoFpoP3eKcMHu8YZJQnjkcq0J5EdCnrAH-s6gRgZGl2hqKIzUAfR4aCTBiVjsc714xY_TiHo4U2KhvIeLILNutpD12yuEbGg_tpK8izm_RsTVDp51DZiV7-wV4gCsEe3tzhzXo/s1600/P1060217.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYK9QV1CoFpoP3eKcMHu8YZJQnjkcq0J5EdCnrAH-s6gRgZGl2hqKIzUAfR4aCTBiVjsc714xY_TiHo4U2KhvIeLILNutpD12yuEbGg_tpK8izm_RsTVDp51DZiV7-wV4gCsEe3tzhzXo/s400/P1060217.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp57NbvID0b3r7OfPsdH9JTikKy9KL-RA6qFIvJanzZQ61ZAY6ID7cDoN0YmUj5TZdJM4V2Sds9hd1bjC4CnJ8CzsEVDY2kEWrmDA1NB2YV-ecZb0U6MkbRnwyp1is6aehqXPQe5rnomI/s1600/P1060567.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp57NbvID0b3r7OfPsdH9JTikKy9KL-RA6qFIvJanzZQ61ZAY6ID7cDoN0YmUj5TZdJM4V2Sds9hd1bjC4CnJ8CzsEVDY2kEWrmDA1NB2YV-ecZb0U6MkbRnwyp1is6aehqXPQe5rnomI/s400/P1060567.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJGiXcevVnVO9qyHz-Ab4WLNrjHhtlpkLtVU5EbuLgRrYeCH7z9I_AtVCquoqT5nOKYikNqVRuSBcse9_LEBgDCzihMXl_lnTPrsAQP93EKR8aX02dfsi1-ZhxzlFWLNtDng0iP8Hfhk/s1600/P1050734.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJGiXcevVnVO9qyHz-Ab4WLNrjHhtlpkLtVU5EbuLgRrYeCH7z9I_AtVCquoqT5nOKYikNqVRuSBcse9_LEBgDCzihMXl_lnTPrsAQP93EKR8aX02dfsi1-ZhxzlFWLNtDng0iP8Hfhk/s400/P1050734.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Killdeer</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">One day I ran along the paved road past where the levee border fence ends and picked up the dirt road that runs along the Rio Grande. Both sides of the road were covered in water for miles. While flooding is a nuisance to ranchers, it is a haven for waterbirds and other wildlife. I watched as a huge flock of pelicans took flight circling overhead. There were also plenty of American coots, a black duck with a white bill, who mostly stayed on the U.S. side of the river otherwise they would be known as Mexican coots. That was a joke in case you were wondering.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvGw2-uNhR4cxFQrDsp2Vc9ox4p5eWHAD7lWz0ROcx0fCiisrNSFYwTogf6ICK4l1nzfA2vPm875mGwvcNHe6sgzt_ScAp0Tq9yKUbkT7TdypVu7oEB5nhUm1-qUmPMb0HWBvn2iDEyFI/s1600/P1060598.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvGw2-uNhR4cxFQrDsp2Vc9ox4p5eWHAD7lWz0ROcx0fCiisrNSFYwTogf6ICK4l1nzfA2vPm875mGwvcNHe6sgzt_ScAp0Tq9yKUbkT7TdypVu7oEB5nhUm1-qUmPMb0HWBvn2iDEyFI/s400/P1060598.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pelicans</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLD2leGHLYhBhwp_i2wPFYCrZ13O_qNay0mou8QjOQn6n1MFIf-bDZyI_kG2fOBLgmEdDbUcPQk7GC51GRS_Kqen8vGSfrdLUY04HF-vBY9PXw4EEWSL6iHIIJ6FDA7_xdXIwq0eDYB28/s1600/P1060644.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLD2leGHLYhBhwp_i2wPFYCrZ13O_qNay0mou8QjOQn6n1MFIf-bDZyI_kG2fOBLgmEdDbUcPQk7GC51GRS_Kqen8vGSfrdLUY04HF-vBY9PXw4EEWSL6iHIIJ6FDA7_xdXIwq0eDYB28/s400/P1060644.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>American coot</i></td></tr>
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I also enjoyed observing a male ruddy duck with a blue bill bobbing his head up and down in courting behavior. A Great egret perched on a tree limb, but took flight as I approached. This week I have also seen killdeer, Gambel’s quail, Red-winged black birds,Vermillion flycatchers, King fishers, American avocet, an eared grebe and a <a href="https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Wilsons_Snipe/overview" target="_blank">Wilson’s snipe</a>. Yes, snipe are real birds contrary to popular belief. The Cornell Lab of Birds writes,<br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-kerning: none;"><i>Though the long tradition of “snipe hunt” pranks at summer camp has convinced many people otherwise, Wilson’s Snipes aren’t made-up creatures...The old practical joke of a snipe hunt involves getting someone to wait out in a marsh at night, holding a bag, with promises of flushing a snipe into the bag.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Birding is another great activity that we can all do while keeping our distance from each other. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Eared grebe</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2z4i_SxTfUbqsaWqs0J1-Uw7923r9gFLnC7R0ACQzayEhjQrHzsulGEBPmytmedC8q6zO-vpFMz5PLmTamLHuw5mto7l-RsNlSFxe3-_4lQ4kToEBPNBfVIeVvhPbb1KY72uDsD7DGRQ/s1600/P1060527.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2z4i_SxTfUbqsaWqs0J1-Uw7923r9gFLnC7R0ACQzayEhjQrHzsulGEBPmytmedC8q6zO-vpFMz5PLmTamLHuw5mto7l-RsNlSFxe3-_4lQ4kToEBPNBfVIeVvhPbb1KY72uDsD7DGRQ/s400/P1060527.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gambel's quail</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The world seems chaotic and uncertain during these difficult times, but it is exactly as it’s supposed to be. “It is what it is”, in other words. Earth needs a break, so nature is taking its course. With less travel and consumerism comes cleaner air and water if only for a short time. Humans also need a break and, for many of us, life has slowed almost to a complete halt giving us more time to reflect and appreciate everything we had before the world was upended. Unfortunately, those on the front lines; the medical community, food suppliers, etc, are still hard at work fighting the battle and providing for us. I feel the most for them, as well as for the sick, dying and their families. Eventually this will pass and we will all be better for it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">While things are scary, I’m optimistic, realizing that life is unpredictable and the more you try <b>NOT</b> to control it, the happier you become. Just roll with the punches and enjoy the simple things in life —a good cup of coffee, a walk around the block, the moon shining over head or the setting sun. I like looking at the big picture of things too and constantly remind myself of the words of one of today’s great walkers, <a href="http://An Interview with Paul Salopek" target="_blank">Paul Salopek</a> of <a href="https://www.nationalgeographic.org/projects/out-of-eden-walk/" target="_blank">Out of Eden Walk</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">When asked if he has a sense of doom because we’ve “entered an era when we’ve fundamentally altered the conditions of the planet to a point where there’s no return”, Salopek replied,</span></div>
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-kerning: none;"><i>So on the one hand that’s depressing and sobering, but instead of making me gloomy or even fatalistic, the weird thing about a literary project that’s premised on slowing down your life to a walking pace and then using the past as a mirror is that you quickly circle back from depression to a kind of informed equanimity. It’s not that you don’t care, that you’re not sorrowed, that you don’t want to effect change or try to share wisdom or gain wisdom, but there’s an equanimity that comes that’s very monkish and very pilgrim-like. One day, in a geological heartbeat, glaciers will come across the desert and they will sweep all of this stuff into a giant moraine full of junk, concrete, rebar, bronze, statues. All of it. Elon Musk’s electric cars and his rocket ships, all of it into a moraine and that will be one heartbeat. And then it will start over again.</i></span></div>
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Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-25663163741129978262020-03-08T13:24:00.000-06:002020-03-28T15:18:47.080-06:00Being Time: Sierra Vista Trail 100K<div style="font-family: arial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">A wise old sage has said that there are 6,400,099,180 moments in each day. One moment is equal to 65 instants and there are 60 moments in one finger snap. So what I wonder is this: how many instants will it take me to run the <a href="https://sierravistatrailrun.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Sierra Vista Trail 100K</a>? The race is held along the Sierra Vista National Recreation Trail in the Organ Mountains-Desert Peaks National Monument in Las Cruces, NM. I train frequently on this trail that runs through the desert and parallel to the Organ Mountains. The trail is about 30 miles long so the course is mostly an out-and-back from Las Cruces to Anthony Gap which is almost to the Texas border.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">About 25 of us stand around at the starting area on a cloudy cool morning; perfect weather for running a race. After a few thousand moments, the race director sends us on our way where we make a loop around the monument entrance road to spread out the pack before entering the single track trail. The path is mostly smooth and flat in the beginning, a far cry improvement over the 100K I ran a few weeks ago in the Franklin Mountains that had over 12,000 of elevation gain! I stay in the moment enjoying each instant as time propels me towards the finish line. It’s going to be a long day for sure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Soon the sun begins to rise when we turn onto a side trail which takes us on a flat loop towards a neighborhood where there is an aid station. I’m in the back of the pack by this point and thoroughly enjoy the view of the jagged needles of the towering Organ Mountains. The Organs, resembling the Dolomites of Italy, are unmatched in beauty with their pipe organ like protrusions reaching towards the sky at 5000’ above the desert floor. Organ Needle is the highest at 8980’</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">My pace is pretty quick since the terrain is smooth and flat. In a few more miles I make it back to the Sierra Vista Trail where 50K runners have now begun their run. I get out of the way because the leaders are flying down the trail. I let a large pack of runners pass as I snap some pictures and then continue on my way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The trail is rocky here so I have to watch my footing; then I descend a steep trail into an arroyo where I twist through the canyon; immediately climbing back out again. The countryside is dominated by creosote bush, many varieties of cactus, yucca, shin dagger and sotol, a waxy plant with long slender serrated leaves. Upscale homes, boasting fantastic views, dot the hillsides. I pass through a few more aid stations where I forego any food; I have brought all my usual staples in my pack —bacon wrapped dates, boiled potatoes, salami and apples. The trail is mostly downhill now and I really pick up my pace. This is good for the time being, but I will pay for it later. Having done the 50K race several times in the past, I know how much this hill sucks on the return journey. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">For now, I try my best to enjoy each moment of 65 instances while taking in the vast view. Pretty soon I reach Peña Blanca, a distinct yellowish rock formation at the base of the main Organ Mountains range. This is the site of Native American rock shelters where researches have excavated several hundred ancient mini corncobs revealing one of the earliest examples of maize cultivation in the Southwest. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;"><i>Peña Blanca</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Read: <a href="https://newscenter.nmsu.edu/Articles/view/13983/nmsu-researchers-collaborate-to-reveal-history-secrets-of-domesticated-corn" target="_blank">NMSU researchers collaborate to reveal history, secrets of domesticated corn</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The weather continues to warm and I begin to sweat, but I stay focused on my breathing and the pleasant sound of my feet crunching over the rocks and dirt. Tiny Mexican gold poppies bloom along the trail, a sign that Spring is already here in the Desert Southwest. I turn off the main trail down a dirt road into a trailhead parking area where there is an aid station at mile 12. Only 50 more miles to go! I try not to think about it and just appreciate the time being which is right now; this instant. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">After filling my water bottles, I take off back to the main trail where I continue my journey south. I climb down into a dry wash exiting on the other side; turn a corner and almost step into a big fresh steaming pile of bullshit! Suddenly I grow worried and wonder if I have gone off course and accidentally ended up on the Campaign Trail. This is an election year after all. I think for a minute and remember that, no that can’t be, this is mixed use land operated by the BLM where cattle grazing is permitted. Either that, or congress was out here for a tour of the national monument, but I digress. I continue on a little way and see pink course flagging so know I’m on the correct path. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The next prominent feature I come to is the Bishop Cap mountain near Vado, NM. If you travel on I-10 between El Paso and Las Cruces you can see it in the distance. When you start to smell the overwhelming stench of a dairy farm, start looking for the mountain. It’s the pyramid looking one with a very pointy peak. Perched on top is some sort of radio tower and along the base above the trail is a horizontal slot cave. A hungry mountain lion probably lives in there and is just waiting for nightfall and the return of very tired 100K runners; easy prey! </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRxB7kV_ioFYj3PIxPYvQXbsxUtiwVLQGQAUzy_12M7-JpsfhGmwYHeJTZ6NBgX8qmdFCFwvO4eCTRdIVGEKCgqsyPEPNmVDMGjzeRvy31R5ikBgrhP2KtfAlpWHiVKjIaJ6I8CN-jsk/s1600/P1050852.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRxB7kV_ioFYj3PIxPYvQXbsxUtiwVLQGQAUzy_12M7-JpsfhGmwYHeJTZ6NBgX8qmdFCFwvO4eCTRdIVGEKCgqsyPEPNmVDMGjzeRvy31R5ikBgrhP2KtfAlpWHiVKjIaJ6I8CN-jsk/s400/P1050852.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Looking south towards the Bishop Cap</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhXLbqcvrG47-Hv_IlkPcjYgrVdPFd0fGku3pZ_U-QC3NZ6rd92VwN8FDWKBoemyRF_2D-0kUnpZu3OrUDicAWgOSscr0FlTZbljNDcgPfvOcZorUW08CpDngKB4ALst5f1Sj9FdYms4/s1600/P1000479.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhXLbqcvrG47-Hv_IlkPcjYgrVdPFd0fGku3pZ_U-QC3NZ6rd92VwN8FDWKBoemyRF_2D-0kUnpZu3OrUDicAWgOSscr0FlTZbljNDcgPfvOcZorUW08CpDngKB4ALst5f1Sj9FdYms4/s400/P1000479.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bishop Cap and the slot cave</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The trail is tricky in a few spots because there are some rock outcrops to negotiate. Beautiful cacti grow along these rocks; one interesting variety has very long white opaque thorns covering green and red skin. I pass a few runners along this stretch and meet many 50K participants who are on their way back to the finish. Soon I reach a large flat overgrazed pasture where I can really open up my stride. I swing into the Vado aid station (mi 18) to hydrate and then hit the worst stretch of the whole race.</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">I pick up a straight dirt road running underneath some high voltage power lines that seems to go on forever. It undulates up and down like a roller coaster, but isn’t nearly as fun. I can hear a weird hum coming from the lines above, but I’m not sure if it’s from electricity coursing through the wires or from wind whistling over the lines. There are some scenic mesas in the distance, but otherwise it’s a barren desert with shifting sand dunes dotted with scrubby vegetation. In the lower bottoms there are dry washes with deep sand that make it difficult to run. I simply put one foot in front of the other, running when I can, to make my way through. After slogging up and down the road; in and out of the sand, I make a left turn into another wide dry arroyo.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The long dusty road</i></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Fortunately this one takes me towards a dirt road that leads to the mountain range and Webb Gap, but not before I sink into the sand for another few million instants. These arroyos turn into raging rivers when rain falls, sweeping everything down in its wake. I contemplate this as I cross the “river” making my way towards the mountain. Soon I’m out of the sand, but continue to struggle as I toil up the hill in a hot dry wind which grows stronger as I ascend. I make it to the mountain, where a new section of trail has been built, finally reaching the pass that takes me over to the east side. Having crossed a “river”, and climbed a mountain all is good just for the time being which reminds me of the words of a13th century zen master.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;">At the time when, proverbially, a mountain was being climbed and a river was being crossed, an I existed, and it was the time for that particular I. Since such an I existed, time could not abandon it. If time did not have the characteristic of ‘coming and going, being continually in flux’, then the time when this I was ‘climbing atop the mountain’ would have remained forever, eternally comprised of that particular ‘time when’. But, since time retains the characteristic of ‘coming and going, being continually in flux’, there is a flow of ever-present ‘nows’, each comprised of a time when an I exists. And this is what is meant by the phrase ‘just for the time being’.</span></i> —Dōgen Zenji, <i><a href="https://www.thezensite.com/ZenTeachings/Dogen_Teachings/Shobogenzo/011uji.pdf" target="_blank">Uji</a></i> (you- shih), <i>Being-Time</i></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A runner returning from Webb Gap</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I run downhill for a while and reach another aid station at about mile 28. Looking at my watch, I realize that I’m making really good time. If I can keep up this pace I can make it to the halfway point in around 125,354,764,000 instants give or take a few thousand moments. Anyway, the volunteers are very friendly and ask how I’m doing. Being the oldest person out here in the 100K, I know they are probing for signs of dehydration, soiled running shorts, or other ailments that can strike ultramarathoners. Because of this, I’m always cautious not to stumble, slur my speech or forget my name. I guess I passed the test because they let me continue on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The last stretch is mostly on a dirt road with a few hills. I catch another runner who really seems to be struggling. Perhaps he went out too fast or underestimated the difficulty of the terrain. The Franklin Mountains of El Paso, TX come into view and I know I’m nearing the turnaround point at Anthony’s Gap (Hwy NM404). I walk a few of the uphill parts and finally arrive at the last aid station at mile 32. I have a drop bag here with a little insulated lunchbox with ice and some more food for my return journey. In lieu of sugary gels and sports drinks, I prefer eating real food on my long runs. I chat with the volunteers and a BLM representative while I put on some sunscreen. In a few thousand moments I’m out of there and back on the trail.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The view going this direction (north) is spectacular because you are facing the Organ Mountains with a vast vista of wide open space in the foreground. This area is part of Ft Bliss Army training grounds and White Sands Missile Range where the Bataan Memorial Death March will take place next weekend. I keep a pretty good pace down the dirt road and pass through the aid station at the base of Webb Gap. The wind is really strong here so I waste no time and keep grinding up to the pass. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The view looking north towards White Sands Missile Range</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I make it back down to the sand trap where the heat is really intense. My mouth is completely dry in spite of drinking plenty of water today. I’m probably low on fluids, but I believe my dry mouth is mostly from sucking the hot windy air. It feels like a convection oven down here in the sandy arroyos, but I just keep plodding along as fast as I can. I try running in the deep sand, but it feels like I’m going nowhere. Like that bad nightmare you have where you’re running as hard as you can while being chased by creepy clowns, but getting nowhere. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAX0aCEwqOZGYEgtUm0sLvjvlaOAFy6T7_lfugH2DBVu9JbklTHbjclsRE0760LIs50NMFmqzI8R7nmvz37e41Eb4jDnldWysXkkEQuezW4E1ngy0boJS7hXhO_hDtoNHR1yF1bS9KiYU/s1600/P1050874.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAX0aCEwqOZGYEgtUm0sLvjvlaOAFy6T7_lfugH2DBVu9JbklTHbjclsRE0760LIs50NMFmqzI8R7nmvz37e41Eb4jDnldWysXkkEQuezW4E1ngy0boJS7hXhO_hDtoNHR1yF1bS9KiYU/s400/P1050874.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sandy side wash</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I hike up a few steep hills on rubbery fatigued legs and time seems to come to a standstill. The moments have stopped or perhaps I’m dehydrated and delirious. I see something up ahead though. It appears to be a bald eagle in the middle of the road. Eagles don’t live in the desert though. A mirage? No it’s an oasis in the desert —Mark’s Sandbox. A lone selfless volunteer is here providing water to runners and has his mascot, an eagle statue, to keep him company. Time hasn’t stopped after all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;">Mountains are of time: oceans are of time. Were there no time, neither mountains nor oceans could be. Do not think that time does not exist for the mountains and oceans of the present moment. Were time to cease to exist, so would mountains and oceans cease to exist: if time does not become extinct, then mountains and oceans too will not become extinct.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">In another few million moments the Bishop Cap comes into view and I’m back at the Vado aid station. The sun is sinking towards the horizon and the day is beginning to cool, a big relief after enduring the heat of the day in a barren desert. The trail is smooth and flat and I still have enough in my legs to run. I drink frequently to catch up on hydration. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mark's eagle</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The flat pasture and Bishop Cap</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Soon the grey cloudy sky turns orange and then red as the sun disappears into the horizon. Time continues as the silhouette of a Spanish bayonet fades into darkness. I keep running and walking and plodding and slogging. Night falls and all is quiet. I stare at the oval of light from my headlamp and become mesmerized. When I turn my head, the beam of my light casts moving shadows which startle me. Am I seeing things or is that mountain lion lurking about licking her chops?</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">My legs begin to throb as I reach the last big hill up to the final aid station, but I keep going even though I’m exhausted and lethargic. I look at my watch and believe I can beat my goal time of 4,266,000,000 moments if I can hold this pace. It’s a race against time!</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I keep pushing myself as fast as I can, but I have to walk some uphill sections. I reach the deep arroyo where there is a steep descent so I run down, passing one guy, but suffering all the while. The trail twists around through the canyon and then I have to climb back out. My quads burn, but I put my head down and power hike with all my strength. Soon, I see the lights of the finish tent in the distance and keep pushing, digging deep for every bit of energy I have left and that’s when it hits me! I AM FOR THE TIME BEING!</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="color: #b45f06;">In short, everything whatsoever that exists in the whole universe is a series of instances of time. Since everything is for the time being, we too are for the time being.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">After a long grueling morning, day and night, I finally cross the finish line. My gps watch reads 256,003,967,220 instants, which is 4,266,732,787 moments; a pretty good time for me. It’s so late at night that the finish area is devoid of people and completely quiet and peaceful. I’m greeted by my friends Dan and Peter who organize this race every year. They congratulate me presenting my finisher’s award, a Sierra Vista Trail Runs bandana. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Sierra Vista Trail Runs hosted by <a href="https://snmta.org/" target="_blank">Southern New Mexico Trail Alliance</a> is a great annual event that also offers a half marathon, 10K and 5K in addition to the 50K and 100K options. There is plenty of friendly support along the challenging course and no shortage of beautiful scenery.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">By the way, If you are wondering why I have been reading a lot of Dōgen lately, it’s because I have been reading a lot of Dōgen lately. </span></div>
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Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-15653779115010659762020-02-17T05:39:00.000-07:002020-03-08T13:24:42.586-06:00Becoming Mountain, Lone Star 100K<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>An old buddha has said, "Mountains are mountains and waters are waters."</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>These words do not say that mountains are mountains; they say that mountains are mountains. Therefore, we should thoroughly study these mountains. When we thoroughly study the mountains, this is the mountain training. Such mountains and waters themselves become wise men and sages.</i> — Eihei Dōgen, <i>Mountains and Waters Sutra </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">These are the words that I contemplate as I set off into the Franklin Mountains for the Lone Star Hundred 100K trail race in El Paso, TX. I’m fortunate to have the opportunity to thoroughly study the Franklins over the next 24 hours give or take a few. About 45 of us start off in the dark for this race put on by the good folks at <a href="http://www.trailracingovertexas.com/" target="_blank">Trail Racing Over Texas</a>. They also offer the distance of 100 miles in addition to a 200 mile and 200K race! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The morning air is cold and crisp as we begin our arduous journey to the sound of trekking poles clicking on exposed rock where, unbeknownst to most of the runners; right under our feet is a metate in the rock formed by Native Americans grinding mesquite beans or other grains. (Upper Sunset Trail North). </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Train of headlights as runners traverse Upper Sunset</i></td></tr>
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Straight away we begin a wind sucking climb on a treacherous rugged trail with high steps and loose rocks. A conga line of runners, illuminated by headlamps, steadily snakes up the ridge. When I crest the first hill I slow to watch a golden, full moon set below the horizon. Strangely, the lower it goes the more distorted and pixilated it becomes because of light being refracted through Earth’s atmosphere while passing through different air temperatures. This mesmerizing mirage brings me back to the words of 13th Century Japanese Zen Master, <a href="http://www.zen-deshimaru.com/en/zen/biography-zen-master-eihei-dogen-1200-1253" target="_blank">Dōgen</a> who writes,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Since the virtues of the mountain are high and broad, the spiritual power to ride the clouds is always mastered from the mountains, and the marvelous ability to follow the wind is inevitably liberated from the mountains.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>…Stepping forward has never ceased; stepping back has never ceased. Stepping forward does not oppose stepping back, nor does stepping back oppose stepping forward. This virtue is called "the mountain flowing, the flowing mountain".</i></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Weird Moonset </i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I continue along the ridge and am now one of the last in the conga line, but I don’t care. My race isn’t about winning, but studying the mountains to transform into a wise man even if it takes as many eons as 100 million times the number of rocks in the Franklin Mountains. I’m obviously not the sharpest thorn in the desert because who else would sign up to run 65 miles over rugged, rock filled trails, lined with prickly vegetation like shin dagger and Spanish bayonet and including over 13,000’ of elevation gain? </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Eventually I make it over the ridge having only gone a few miles. The sun is rising and I turn off my headlamp as I run down the Lower Sunset trail. I decide it’s time for breakfast so grab several almond stuffed bacon wrapped dates. I’m carrying all my own food even though the aid stations are always stocked with plenty of goodies. In addition to dates, I brought boiled potatoes, apples, salami and grain free banana bread; plenty of calories to get me through the first 32.5 mile loop. </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My goal is to finish in under 24 hours hoping to improve last year’s time of 23:45 if possible. I’ll run the flat and downhill parts and walk all the steep climbs. Running and walking in the mountains is my therapy so I take in the beauty stopping often to snap a few photos. The more time I spend in the mountains, the more I get to know my own walking and running. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>The mountains lack none of their proper virtues; hence, they are constantly at rest and constantly walking. We must devote ourselves to a detailed study of this virtue of walking. Since the walking of the mountains should be like that of people, one ought not doubt that the mountains walk simply because they may not appear to stride like humans…To doubt the walking of the mountains means that one does not yet know one's own walking. It is not that one does not walk but that one does not yet know, has not made clear, this walking…</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>…It is because of the baseness of the common person's point of view that we doubt the phrase "the blue mountains walk"; because of the crudeness of our limited experience, we are surprised by the words "flowing mountain". Without having fully penetrated even the term "flowing water", we just remain sunk in our limited perception.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In about an hour or so, I reach the base of N. Franklin peak where I start my five mile climb to the summit. I reach a scree slope with softball ball sized, ankle twisting rocks flowing down the mountain. There’s no trail, just the shifting rocks. My trekking poles help me stay upright, but I still trip and stumble frequently as I put one foot in front of the other slowly making my way up the slope to W. Cottonwood Spring. This is the mountain training.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I reach the spring and stop under a huge cottonwood tree where I sit on a bench and eat some food. The next part is very steep with loose dirt which causes my feet to slip out from under me at times, but my poles save me from stepping back and keep me stepping forward up the flowing mountain.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I make it to the ridge and run down a dirt road where I pass the Mundy’s Gap aid station to climb the four mile out and back trip to the peak. I’ve done it so many times, sometimes two or three times in a day, that it has become routine for me. Nevertheless, it’s as epic as ever. The trail is steep in parts and full of rocks, but the views of NE El Paso and the Franklin range are outstanding. So far I feel great, but try not to climb too fast; I still have a long day and night ahead of me and need to conserve energy to go another 50 plus miles.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXBYkZcTJqDg00dbOJTlFDHs8JG-Xx5aomYO4qmocu1Mgh7WT9ma52d6B51rJ9-k2CIWCKkt8VJ7mIerE7TitgqcIo1sqqZh8MMDq2dSGVfNXK8PeGsi5q8ARWf8IksPamqdfJDCOltxs/s1600/P1050527.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXBYkZcTJqDg00dbOJTlFDHs8JG-Xx5aomYO4qmocu1Mgh7WT9ma52d6B51rJ9-k2CIWCKkt8VJ7mIerE7TitgqcIo1sqqZh8MMDq2dSGVfNXK8PeGsi5q8ARWf8IksPamqdfJDCOltxs/s400/P1050527.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mundy's Gap Aid Station</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I run into a few running friends along the way, some are already descending the mountain. It’s a little windy in spots, usually when turning a corner near a ridge, but otherwise a perfect running day. I reach the peak at 7200’, elated that the hardest part of loop one is over. I sign the summit log to prove I was here, take in the view and promptly head back down, running when the footing allows. The trail is full of loose rocks in places and sometimes I have to run over uneven slabs of solid rock which makes the descent treacherous. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>There's always that one guy! Michael Rose, winner of the 100K!</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I reach a saddle, a good resting place, and stop to fold up my trekking poles. I attach them to my hydration vest and grab a few bites of food while several runners pass me. Now I’m ready to make up some time. I run down for a while and then approach another runner from behind. He kindly moves over into some loose rocks to let me pass. However, when I slow down to pass him, he slips and falls into me. I put my arm out to try to catch him, but instead, we do a little dosey doe and the Texas-two-step ending up on our asses into a hillside. Well, this is the Lone Star Hundred after all! Fortunately, there is no harm done so we both apologize and continue on our way.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSmOquuOl0heUkZ12t2DmzGRBDWuF9E096yQCjBF1zVrcOd1e-IAxQOGhFIorltHckNVlSmnixdlprJ9EE75Yq0wnTJ4Jth9MB0fWRLKL2crHMmlMEg2DaVt6RgZo68L_bpSUVdQjPkY4/s1600/P1040648.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSmOquuOl0heUkZ12t2DmzGRBDWuF9E096yQCjBF1zVrcOd1e-IAxQOGhFIorltHckNVlSmnixdlprJ9EE75Yq0wnTJ4Jth9MB0fWRLKL2crHMmlMEg2DaVt6RgZo68L_bpSUVdQjPkY4/s400/P1040648.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Typical Franklin Mountain trail</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I arrive at Mundy’s Gap, get my water bottles filled and continue running all the way down the mountain where I reach the abandoned tin mines. I pick up my favorite trail, Scenic Rd, a smooth rolling path that hugs the contour of the eastern side of the mountain range. I frequently gaze up in awe of the towering rock wall where a distinct line separates the drab gray of the upper part from the red bluff granite near the bottom. How many wise people have dwelled in these righteous mountains over the years?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>From the distant past to the distant present, mountains have been the dwelling place of the great sages. Wise men and sages have all made the mountains their own chambers, their own body and mind…However many great sages and wise men we suppose have assembled in the mountains…no one has met a single one of them. There is only the expression of the mountain way of life; not a single trace of their having entered remains…</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>The "crown and eyes" [of the mountains] are completely different when we are in the world gazing off at the mountains and when we are in the mountains meeting the mountains.</i></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Eastside Franklin Mountains</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Soon I head downhill again on a rocky path which takes me away from the mountain. I reach a flat part of the desert below where the trail is smooth and sandy; very popular with mountain bikers. I pass through a few dry arroyos and reach a huge barrel cactus, one of the tallest I’ve ever seen. Yellow fruit perched atop the barrel resembles tiny pineapples. I hear some bikers behind me so move over so they can pass. I reach the Bowen Ranch Roundhouse aid station and take care of the bare necessities and am quickly on my way.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The next stretch is tough, but I’m prepared physically and mentally having recently completed this 32 mile loop several times in training. I must move off the trail again to let more mountain bikers pass. I reach the Newman trail which is a long gradual climb on a rocky narrow path. It’s high noon and the sun is beating down now making me quite warm. I slowly grind up the path and eventually reach a high pass with nice views of Hitt Canyon. This part of the state park is very remote so I rarely see anyone out here. Finally, I have the trail all to myself and enjoy the peace and solitude. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bowen Ranch Aid Station</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I run down a sliver of a trail that makes a lot of twists and turns with a steep drop off on my right. It seems to go on forever and ever, but I finally get down and run a rocky ranch road. I pick up a single track trail and snake down into another arroyo and then climb out on the other side. The next part is deceivingly hard with gradual uphills and rough footing, but I run as much as I can. Hitt Canyon, a wide long dry wash, comes into view. The trail runs parallel to the cut leading to the Northern Pass which takes runners back over to the western side of the mountain range.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I come upon a couple who seem to be struggling. The lady is a 200 mile runner with her pacer. Yes, some runners have been out here for four days fighting to finish 200 miles in the Franklin Mountains! I merely signed up for the fun run. I congratulate them and wish them luck as I pass. </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I run along the rim of the canyon and soon reach another lady. I can tell she is bonking which is normal at this point of the race especially for folks who don’t train here. When I pass she asks what the distance is to the next aid station. “Just a few more miles. After the pass you will descend a bunch of switchbacks and then it’s just another mile or so. Keep it up, you got this!” I tell her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The trail smooths out and I’m able to keep a pretty good pace up to the pass. The view is expansive with the Potrillo Mountains in the distance, the Rio Grande Valley in the foreground and a long winding road slicing through the desert floor. I run down many switchbacks, the trail rough in spots with high rocky steps that have to be negotiated carefully. I make it down to the long and winding road and run into the last aid station, mile 25. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>View from Northern Pass</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The last part of loop one is through a series of arroyos along a twisty mostly smooth trail. Still feeling good, I pass a few more runners. This part parallels the mountain range with great views of Anthony’s Nose and the sedimentary layers of rock that flow across the Earth. When Mammoth Rock (S. Franklin Peak) comes into view you know you are getting close to the finish. I look at my watch and believe I can make it in less than 10 hours for my first loop so I pick up my pace running the gradual uphill trail. So far the Mountain Gods have been kind to me today. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Although we say that mountains belong to the country, actually they belong to those who love them. When the mountains love their owners, the wise and virtuous inevitably enter the mountains. And when sages and wise men live in the mountains, because the mountains belong to them, trees and rocks flourish and abound, and the birds and beasts take on a supernatural excellence.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>We should understand that the mountains are not within the limits of the human realm or the limits of the heavens above. They are not to be viewed with the calculations of human thought. If only we did not compare them with flowing in the human realm, who would have any doubts about such things as the mountains’ flowing or not flowing?</i></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pyrrhuloxia </i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWkoO5OlwaDmauNzQI1C0XdBUEgSIrotqA1_p6TH-yjtdBzzD7Onxe2RzrXFAc3lPsqSjHgd2T3FjSZYA9YyNBHs3xr6t37s5-wjaziotXwnfym6Cj2m5QRiAfbDTRDv6WTz9p0ZlwaKA/s1600/P1040641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWkoO5OlwaDmauNzQI1C0XdBUEgSIrotqA1_p6TH-yjtdBzzD7Onxe2RzrXFAc3lPsqSjHgd2T3FjSZYA9YyNBHs3xr6t37s5-wjaziotXwnfym6Cj2m5QRiAfbDTRDv6WTz9p0ZlwaKA/s400/P1040641.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rock wren</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The meandering trail leads me through a few more arroyos as I close in on the main part of the state park. I run across ancient uneven rock outcrops and make it to Lower Sunset Trail. I stop to pull out my trekking poles since I’ll be going over the Upper Sunset ridge soon. I grind uphill towards the park passing a few more runners and reach the ridge. The climbs heading south aren’t as difficult, but the descents are very treacherous so I’m grateful to have my poles. </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All the same, my feet slide on the loose rocks at times and occasionally my foot rolls across a Fred Flintstone softball just about sending me off the mountain to the gully below.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lower Sunset trail in the distance</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Fortunately I make it unscathed into the finish area in under 10 hours, my goal. I go to my cooler and drop bag to pack a jacket and warm clothes for the night portion of my journey. Wind is supposed to pick up and once the sun goes down the temperature will drop quickly. I eat some food and stow some more in my pack. In about ten minutes I’m out for loop two. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mammoth Rock and S. Franklin Peak</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The evening sun bathes the ridges and cliffs in a warm glow. My legs burn as I climb up the ridge for the second time today, but I make steady progress. I run around the Lower Sunset trail as the last rays of the sun reach me. I stop briefly to watch our star disappear below the horizon as our Earth continues its five billion year 1000mph roll. Pretty soon I climb the scree field back up N. Franklin Mountain. My legs are really feeling the miles so I take my time and stop frequently to let me heart catch up.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPgdIHQ58pwywTodHni4BX4La4Xt961fQ9d4n5HS2as6Z8RwVzgOyW51yfdMfpskDn8c37_Fqrd9hdCE3vTejWzQqF84YoLq8bef6k4ztS74zchY_GYOhVILj16HJE-M2MC_qlkuTQgE/s1600/P1050620.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="1280" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPgdIHQ58pwywTodHni4BX4La4Xt961fQ9d4n5HS2as6Z8RwVzgOyW51yfdMfpskDn8c37_Fqrd9hdCE3vTejWzQqF84YoLq8bef6k4ztS74zchY_GYOhVILj16HJE-M2MC_qlkuTQgE/s400/P1050620.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Upper Sunset trail, Organ Mountains in the backdrop</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I reach the bench under the cottonwood and stop to pull out some warm clothes. The wind is getting stronger and I’m approaching the main ridge which can be brutally gusty. I slog upwards and head over the ridge and down into the Mundy’s aid station. I hear music and see people dancing around and cheering. When I arrive, the aid station volunteers, my running friends, are having a dance party! Having done their gig before, I know how bitterly cold it gets up here at night so I appreciate their help very much. We chat for a few and then I take off to get the climb over with. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VGL9w2aBf8lxDgvxJU79Szh4TzjbUMzwQAVoXhi5pqZsjcIorROfcJzM-BLphuK5ijTk4sRuYv-CesMDdfgO-vT7wLqX0LQAwX8eMbJCb6SfXdBU6iQi4aeyH_8-U0g8qPbcgPBe2rQ/s1600/P1050507.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="1280" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VGL9w2aBf8lxDgvxJU79Szh4TzjbUMzwQAVoXhi5pqZsjcIorROfcJzM-BLphuK5ijTk4sRuYv-CesMDdfgO-vT7wLqX0LQAwX8eMbJCb6SfXdBU6iQi4aeyH_8-U0g8qPbcgPBe2rQ/s400/P1050507.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Millions of city lights sprawl across the land below forming a square in the Northeast where the city ends and the desert begins. A full moon shines brightly through a clear starry sky illuminating the trail so I turn off my headlamp and enjoy the natural light provided by Mother Nature. I can see perfectly as I climb and the beauty of the evening takes my mind off of my burning quads.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The wind is strong in spots, but the air is still warm from the day. I fight upwards stopping occasionally to rest. As I look up, I see bobbing headlamps coming down towards me as runners return from their trip to the peak. After much sweat and toil, I arrive at the top of the highest point in the Franklin Mountains and sign the summit book for the second time. 8:00pm. I take in the view and see city lights in every direction; America melding with Mexico, as I sit on an island in the midst of sprawling development for as far as the eye can see. How lucky El Pasoans are to live by the largest urban wilderness park in America. I’m all alone and for a few minutes dwell in quietude.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>N. Franklin Peak</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Time to head back down. I switch on my headlamp before running down the treacherous rock strewn trail. It feels good to have the hardest part of this race behind me. My feet feel much lighter as I run down. Gravity is amazing! Soon I’m at the Mundy’s aid station where my friends cheer me in and fill my water bottles. They are full of energy which recharges my soul.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The wind grows stronger as I continue down the mountain. Cooler air pushes the wind down the mountain, through gullies and canyons channeling it into strong bursts of energy which seem to whip out of nowhere. Calm one minute, gusty the next. The turbulence makes it hard to know how to dress and I’m hot at times, but then reach a windy spot that chills me through.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I arrive at the Bowen aid station, the tent looks more like a triage unit tending to mountain running casualties. Everyone is wrapped in blankets, drinking warm beverages. For some, their race is over, defeated by the mountain. Others are resting and will continue their life changing journey. I get some hot water in my water bottle and pour in some tea crystals. Hopefully the caffein will help me stay awake through the night. I dare not sit down for fear of never getting back up again. I thank the crew and head out.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rugged trail leading to Hitt Canyon and N. Pass</i></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizbSH-i7-6kLCzHyHdX-XbRlNtmxSHWEgRCi_jYwvyYUsULEnuHOpvF_JdGSkx5GD6ku7rhy3P_II4_ft8vOmhGUQ930XzFyKY-8pxHgrLysq86YrSX0T_7Ijq02PD2oUvNlAGhVFF4jQ/s1600/P1050587.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizbSH-i7-6kLCzHyHdX-XbRlNtmxSHWEgRCi_jYwvyYUsULEnuHOpvF_JdGSkx5GD6ku7rhy3P_II4_ft8vOmhGUQ930XzFyKY-8pxHgrLysq86YrSX0T_7Ijq02PD2oUvNlAGhVFF4jQ/s400/P1050587.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The grind up Newman trail is slow and grueling. I travel by moonlight again since I’m walking. After reaching the pass I turn on my headlamp and try my best to run, but even though my legs still feel pretty good, the technical nature of the rocky path is hard to negotiate in the dark and I trip frequently. I walk…and…walk…and…walk. I become hidden in time that stands still and suddenly realize…the mountain walks, the mountain flows and water is water. It is, what it is!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Water is nothing but water's "real form just as it is". Water is the virtue of water; it is not flowing. In the thorough study of the flowing or the not-flowing of a single [drop of] water, the entirety of the ten thousand things is instantly realized. Among mountains as well, </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>there are mountains hidden in jewels; </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>there are mountains hidden in marshes, </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>mountains hidden in the sky; </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>there are mountains hidden in mountains. </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>There is a study of mountains hidden in hiddenness.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Somehow, I make it up to the Northern Pass, but not before the wind gusting out of Hitt Canyon almost knocks me on my ass. I cruise down the ten thousand switchbacks as fast as I can while the wind howls and I finally hit the dirt road. I can run again, especially on the smooth downhill parts. I make it into the last aid station where one lone guy is braving the chilly night. He graciously fills my bottle with hot water and I pour in another packet of tea to help get me home. Only eight more miles to go! </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Anthony's Nose on the westside leading to the finish line</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I bid him farewell and take off right away. I look at my watch and believe I can better my time by 45 minutes if I run some of this next stretch. It’s hard, but I dig deep, focus on my breathing and channel my chi. It seems to work and I’m able to run down through the winding arroyo trails and the flats. I reach a long gradual ascent that I usually walk in the heat of the day, but am able to alternate between an old man shuffle and a walk.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I come up on a runner by the side of the trail and ask if he’s ok. “Yes,” he says, “I’m in the hundred miler, but I’m done. I’m just trying to get back to the finish.” “Sorry, brother,” I tell him. No doubt, there’s a lot of carnage and disappointment in this race. The Franklin Mountains are no joke and will eat you alive if you aren’t prepared. The rugged terrain, jagged rocks under feet and steep ascents are enough to test anyone’s mettle. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I make pretty good time and make it back to Upper Sunset for the fourth and final traverse of the ridge. While climbing up isn’t too bad, staying upright on the descents with rubbery legs is all I can hope for. Before long I see lights at the finish tent and look at my watch. If I hustle I may be able to finish</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> one hour faster than last year. I tell myself that a lot can happen; even in the last several hundred yards of a race so don’t do anything foolish. Be careful, because the last thing you need right now is to tumble off the last hill</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> landing in a Spanish bayonet yucca. It takes all the concentration and strength I can muster; any distraction, sneeze or fart is going to send me off the mountain. I use my poles wisely to get down the precipitous slippery trail and then jog a little bit passing one guy just before the finish. My watch reads 22:47; almost an hour faster than last year. My mountain training is over…for now. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="caret-color: rgb(180, 95, 6); font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;">...one ought not doubt that the mountains walk simply <br />because they may not appear to stride like humans...</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Studying the mountains has helped me realize that anything is possible if you keep your mind </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">open</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">. In order to learn though, we must forget everything we think we know. When you immerse yourself in the mountains; contemplate the mountains and then contemplate some more, you become the mountains.Things are just as they are and you are just what you are; nothing more, nothing less.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>“Mountains are mountains and waters are waters."</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>These words do not say that mountains are mountains; they say that mountains are mountains.”</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">See you on the trail</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="https://global.sotozen-net.or.jp/pdf/dharma-eye/hogen09/hogen09_07.htm" target="_blank">Mountains and Waters Sutra</a>, </i>Eihei Dōgen</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Translation: </i>Carl Bielefeldt</span></span></div>
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Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-67848277117479008562019-12-21T18:46:00.000-07:002020-02-17T05:39:57.612-07:00Ten Years of Blogging<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">It’s hard to believe that I’ve been blogging for ten years now. This project started as a mistake late at night while I couldn't sleep. While reading a runner’s blog post about the Tahoe Rim Trail Endurance Runs, I accidentally clicked on the Google “Blogger” icon. I didn’t know anything about blogging and was even quite new to Facebook and social media in general. When I clicked on the icon it said something to the effect of, “create your own blog” so I started poking around and, before you know it, I had a template set up and was on my way.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>W. Texas, wide open spaces</i></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH69RDxZ3a3KyFEL4oYfZnphbdr3_Xbv1qAueoGXLHAzfzp0rzYlmzExrxP7yvYpURYfcTHIPxSYe1KIPDmM8vkLeUWWF4sb4swI1vckNJCefnwIObzJrd0iKHCWWpO9mq-IEDH7bX2Jc/s1600/P1040750+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH69RDxZ3a3KyFEL4oYfZnphbdr3_Xbv1qAueoGXLHAzfzp0rzYlmzExrxP7yvYpURYfcTHIPxSYe1KIPDmM8vkLeUWWF4sb4swI1vckNJCefnwIObzJrd0iKHCWWpO9mq-IEDH7bX2Jc/s400/P1040750+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-kerning: none;">I sometimes refer to my blog as my insomnia cure, because most of my posts are certain to loll you to sleep. Nevertheless, every significant running adventure of the last 10 years is documented including race reports, adventures with my dogs, vacations to national parks and our family’s ranch on the border and other ultramarathon related posts. I get a lot of questions especially from non runners about why I do what I do. They find it strange that anyone would run all day, all night and part of the next day, but this is what humans have done for eons while hunting, gathering and living as nomads. Therefore, I created a <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/p/faqs.html" target="_blank">frequently asked questions page</a> to answer everyone's questions about my strange lifestyle. Like this one: Aren't you addicted to running?</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Taz sporting his new serape</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gambler</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">In 2009 when I began bogging there weren’t many books on ultrarunning so most of us learned how to run long through the internet; perusing runners’ blogs for information on how to train, fuel and hydrate while covering distances of 50-100 miles. However, shortly after I started my blog, Christopher McDougall released the famous book, <i><a href="https://www.chrismcdougall.com/born-to-run/" target="_blank">Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen</a></i> which started the trail running boom. Trail running exploded and many books about ultrarunning were published by elite runners and coaches. Crazier races started to pop up, new shoe companies were born and people even started to make their living by hosting trail running events.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-8ccmFK3edeRKQ0xJ1i0bDRxllALwUVfGxDxj-J7vO0dN1ACZKi18WFVj3wQXoi5Tgku5CvptDlWOLEPGzOjlxuMGkeaafv48I_k84SJGlUjO9C8rjur9MboyL8YXB2Wqu-j309IoKjs/s1600/P1020437.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-8ccmFK3edeRKQ0xJ1i0bDRxllALwUVfGxDxj-J7vO0dN1ACZKi18WFVj3wQXoi5Tgku5CvptDlWOLEPGzOjlxuMGkeaafv48I_k84SJGlUjO9C8rjur9MboyL8YXB2Wqu-j309IoKjs/s400/P1020437.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Franklin Mountains State Park</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86kmQhER5j8w9kwISqWWo2RDTyRsC68OLH6g8hyphenhyphenw2SeQgPYnzuM_qq5coVd_o250ngq7fsqrulRy5cKT2nSe6meI_bCKdKI09c1YYKxSUzUdAiiv4kVy16I1QwDoJWNUPB2z2oETxc6o/s1600/P1040219.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86kmQhER5j8w9kwISqWWo2RDTyRsC68OLH6g8hyphenhyphenw2SeQgPYnzuM_qq5coVd_o250ngq7fsqrulRy5cKT2nSe6meI_bCKdKI09c1YYKxSUzUdAiiv4kVy16I1QwDoJWNUPB2z2oETxc6o/s400/P1040219.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sweet acacia</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2LgXal2h60eLoDzhp-Gxiw4CP3zsbMuw0Vjr8vr30mJD_RJlCAY4azaz7JqQi5bpWedJZ4Sjkd2_t6KUI2iIM4McieTK7v4ItzP0qlkw1ejpPrCAdIx5v7k-NxNlyfVYWVf0muBN25SQ/s1600/P1040221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2LgXal2h60eLoDzhp-Gxiw4CP3zsbMuw0Vjr8vr30mJD_RJlCAY4azaz7JqQi5bpWedJZ4Sjkd2_t6KUI2iIM4McieTK7v4ItzP0qlkw1ejpPrCAdIx5v7k-NxNlyfVYWVf0muBN25SQ/s400/P1040221.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Texas spotted whiptail lizard</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I’m not writing as much as I used to, but am still running as much as ever and taking a lot of pictures that are featured on my <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/p/gallery.html" target="_blank">running gallery</a> and <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/p/wildlife-encounters.html" target="_blank">wildlife gallery</a> pages. Even though two of my races were cancelled this year due to heavy rain and snow pack, I still managed to run several races I had never run before and also ran <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2019/04/grand-canyon-r2r2r-2019.html" target="_blank">Grand Canyon R2R2R</a>. I also finished two of my annual events, the <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2019/06/jemez-mountain-50-miler-2019.html" target="_blank">Jemez 50 Miler</a> in Los Alamos, NM and the <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2019/03/bataan-memorial-death-march.html" target="_blank">Bataan Memorial Death March</a> at White Sands Missile Range, NM.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Barrel Cactus in bloom</i></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCKGjPlW3fCseR9d3teZL9pJitPc_N4ISFsLYTV8Fjtj2jptmjhJmLKeDZGae7_H2IBldV1ufblFDYb0Ze7UcbrIzC-nhrr2cF-nExkaOQz5DfLq4y3eVLk7OY2Cb8RueZVEv7GZSAZw/s1600/P1040285.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCKGjPlW3fCseR9d3teZL9pJitPc_N4ISFsLYTV8Fjtj2jptmjhJmLKeDZGae7_H2IBldV1ufblFDYb0Ze7UcbrIzC-nhrr2cF-nExkaOQz5DfLq4y3eVLk7OY2Cb8RueZVEv7GZSAZw/s400/P1040285.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Unfortunately, I had one DNF at the <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2019/09/running-adventure-gone-wrong.html" target="_blank">Wildland 52K</a> in Jemez Springs, NM when I fell near the end and dislocated my shoulder. I considered finishing the race, but thought better of it since I was using trekking poles and didn’t know how steep or treacherous the last five miles would be. My shoulder has mostly healed now and I plan to start training with poles again next month to get ready for the <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2019/02/lone-star-hundred-100k.html" target="_blank">Lone Star 100K</a> in the Franklin Mountains in El Paso, TX. I finished this race in 23:45 earlier this year and hope to better my time next year. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gambel's Quail</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I also had my first finish at the <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2019/03/old-pueblo-50-miler.html" target="_blank">Old Pueblo 50 Miler</a> in Sonoita, AZ south of Tuscon. A rare snowfall before the race blanketed the surrounding mountains in white, but made for an extremely wet course with somewhere in the neighborhood of 30 ankle deep stream crossings. Nothing like slogging through 50 miles with numb toes! The highlight of my 2019 though, was a life changing double crossing of the <a href="http://gregsrunningadventures.blogspot.com/2019/04/grand-canyon-r2r2r-2019.html" target="_blank">Grand Canyon</a>. The beauty of this natural treasure is unmatched and the challenge of climbing out of the deep chasm after covering 40 miles is enough to test anyone’s mettle. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Checkered garter snake</i></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZigGscrl6Sn_dmyHNNzslpbtoIGz8maVWJjhQ0VlDbJnwudEnqr7DmxKbbvqKBqODHx4oLyjTgonQSujDWOT6S39Naeobz5VgF4sF3OoxEP4EAviaQBitg4aEmuN1grHC4hRWcnwyo0/s1600/P1050080.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZigGscrl6Sn_dmyHNNzslpbtoIGz8maVWJjhQ0VlDbJnwudEnqr7DmxKbbvqKBqODHx4oLyjTgonQSujDWOT6S39Naeobz5VgF4sF3OoxEP4EAviaQBitg4aEmuN1grHC4hRWcnwyo0/s400/P1050080.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Recently I’ve been running with my life coach and personal trainer, Taz since the rattlesnakes have mostly gone into hiding to wait out the winter. He tags along behind me on my daily route at the Lost Dog Trail near my neighborhood. Taz is part <a href="https://www.akc.org/dog-breeds/xoloitzcuintli/" target="_blank">Xoloitzcuintli</a> or Mexican Hairless of ancient Aztec fame. Xolos were created by the God of Lightning and Death to guard humans and guide the dead into the underworld. Taz is always happy to guide and guard me especially since I’m the keeper of the bacon! Since he is hairless we bought him a new coat that matches his namesake; a poncho made from an authentic Mexican serape. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lucky</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Harry (Potter)</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I had a great Thanksgiving at our family’s ranch in West Texas where I ran in the borderland with the ranch dogs. I’m always most thankful for my health and opportunities to spend in the great outdoors soaking in the vast desert views and spectacular sunrises and sunsets. Downtime enjoying great food with family can’t be beat; so we did plenty of that too. I’m looking forward to many more running adventures in the years to come. Wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">See you on the trail.</span></div>
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Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2493497468329982527.post-92116329178215785162019-11-19T18:53:00.001-07:002019-12-21T18:46:37.273-07:00Franklin Mountain Trail Runs Volunteering 2019<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I recently spent the weekend in my backyard mountains volunteering for the <a href="http://www.trailracingovertexas.com/franklin-mountains-trail-run" target="_blank">Franklin Mountains Trail Runs</a> put on by <a href="http://www.trailracingovertexas.com/" target="_blank">Tail Racing Over Texas</a>. I volunteered as a member of <a href="https://www.teamrwb.org/" target="_blank">Team Red, White and Blue</a>, a non-profit exercise group that supports veterans. I train in the Franklins all the time and ran the 50K race last year. No matter how much time you spend wandering the Franklins (WTF), it never gets any easier. Franklin Mountains State Park, surrounded by El Paso, TX, is a rugged range with high peaks that reach over 7000’ elev. The trails are steep and gnarly with gullies full of ankle breaking rocks, scree fields and slick-rock cliffs. If you fall, you have no where to go but into prickly and pointy vegetation like cactus, shin dagger and Spanish bayonet. There are plenty of rattlesnakes to keep you alert and though I’ve never seen a mountain lion, I’m almost certain they’ve seen me.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Runners approaching N. Franklin Peak (7192')</i></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj8Z7gQkB24gmA0cM-RGRvXhy32nwLqRbJDwRk1FDT-5U3f39w2leYkVGsNcc-jw1Rf_Y1dvHVu8TBzLKVPwdgrM9zC_vXGH8bcajIOqTjD2lNhbOodD7-a-1z3QLdMoi-pmtoqkWpvLo/s1600/P1040465.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="1280" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj8Z7gQkB24gmA0cM-RGRvXhy32nwLqRbJDwRk1FDT-5U3f39w2leYkVGsNcc-jw1Rf_Y1dvHVu8TBzLKVPwdgrM9zC_vXGH8bcajIOqTjD2lNhbOodD7-a-1z3QLdMoi-pmtoqkWpvLo/s400/P1040465.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>First light on Mundy's Gap Aid Station</i></td></tr>
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">FMTR is more like a running festival with races happening all weekend. On Friday runners toe the line to see who will be the King and Queen of the mountain. They run from the base of the mountain up to N. Franklin Peak (7192’) and back, taking any route they choose. On Saturday TROT offers the 50K and 27K while on Sunday there are 5K, 10K and 1/2 marathon options. I volunteered all three days and enjoyed watching the runners achieve their goals. If you missed out on the fun and misery this year you have another chance to test your mettle in February during the <a href="http://www.trailracingovertexas.com/lone-star-100" target="_blank">Lone Star Hundred</a> 100K, 100K relay or 100 miler also run in the Franklin Mountains. If you are really feeling ambitious try <a href="http://www.trailracingovertexas.com/the-franklins" target="_blank">The Franklins</a> 200 miler or 200K also run in February. <b>According to the website, 2020 is the last chance to run these races!</b></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Indian Peak from N. Franklin</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>W. El Paso and Mt Cristo Rey below</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The weather this year was spectacular for running with cool mornings and warm afternoons. There was some wind and fog on the mountain early Frid</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">ay, but otherwise the visibility was spectacular. I worked at the N. Franklin Peak on Friday and Saturday which is a 4.5 mile hike one way with 2500’ of gain. I left in the dark both mornings to make sure I was in place before the lead runners topped out to get their summit wrist bands. I also carried the revered calavera or painted skull with me. After all, Día de los Muertos or Day of the Day was celebrated here in El Paso and across the border in Mexico just last week; therefore all the race swag and medals are adorned with colorful calaveras.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Skully"</td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Read: <a href="https://www.nationalgeographic.com/travel/destinations/north-america/mexico/top-ten-day-of-dead-mexico/" target="_blank">Top 10 things to know about the Day of the Dead</a></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Wildflowers aplenty</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The peak was hopping on Saturday with over 300 runners climbing to the top. The leaders of the pack simply grabbed their rubber bracelet and headed back down attempting a podium finish. Mid-pack runners stayed for a while to pose with "Skully" while enjoying the view of Mexico, Texas and New Mexico. Many were destroyed by the time they made the summit and a few looked like they were about to puke. I greeted the runners with, “Welcome to the top of El Paso, enjoy your stay!” I offered to take their picture with their cell phones which they really seemed to appreciate. TROT also had a professional photographer taking photos of runners approaching the peak.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Fog rising from the desert early Saturday morning</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk6fH9fb5rUuPGS9y2EVaJRCqk2ohXWKpv-hgnppcPNb6-Vw-LqcaWnUBEajWYOAw6t7LHT2_bkbj2KrPVqqZnznOjSgNLejZC0L7b-p1OoY3c33p2hhXy7nKtcrBtlB_k0RiSmlzN6Ls/s1600/P1040472.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk6fH9fb5rUuPGS9y2EVaJRCqk2ohXWKpv-hgnppcPNb6-Vw-LqcaWnUBEajWYOAw6t7LHT2_bkbj2KrPVqqZnznOjSgNLejZC0L7b-p1OoY3c33p2hhXy7nKtcrBtlB_k0RiSmlzN6Ls/s400/P1040472.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>S. Franklin Peak</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It got pretty crazy up there and a bit frantic when a lot of them arrived at the same time. One dude had a scary looking medieval helmet on and grabbed the skull holding it out like a viking after battle. I started to get pretty weary after a while and had to wonder what was more difficult, volunteering or running the race. I was glad to have the opportunity to give a little back to the sport I love though. When all the crazy trail runners finally left, the peak was nice and peaceful so I stayed for a while to enjoy the solitude. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Those loco trail runners!</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hawk hanging out over the peak</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTR6whZMt4jqqmOBciuOQf5wN_v-IIsO62H1a5BPGG9cFNumy_kT6HlQmTP8s-iNaVb9oMhyphenhyphensSJBgUkst4_BwG0suPAYDsREXUJXLV8mcmR1uiUvZLQidxwwgr75WIY561-NJag9Yp4Ro/s1600/P1040457.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="1280" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTR6whZMt4jqqmOBciuOQf5wN_v-IIsO62H1a5BPGG9cFNumy_kT6HlQmTP8s-iNaVb9oMhyphenhyphensSJBgUkst4_BwG0suPAYDsREXUJXLV8mcmR1uiUvZLQidxwwgr75WIY561-NJag9Yp4Ro/s400/P1040457.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Team RWB Eagle, Gustavo Ramirez King of the Mountain!</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Soon one lone latecomer arrived, having already missed the cutoff time lower on the mountain. He knew he was a DNF and left shortly after taking in the view. I stayed behind him to make sure he made it back down safely. When I reached the Mundy's Gap aid station halfway down, volunteers were packing up everything. I got word that many runners dropped at the next aid station (East) that was about 6 miles away. There were also a bunch more at the West aid at mile 27. The Franklin Mountains are no joke and will eat you alive if you haven’t trained properly or if you go out too fast.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzjCNNuKEbBIvY66ic9-q8gK8nMe6yNDjL_VkxJmfqXYb_ReB642kOEP1pEI9ghlIAgyqDAU5AVfMWqe-ElZV3RBkQCnLf2NTxFIgy6mKVxjDwcWGLM1UCOO1EW29-4SDe-REPkuU9kKg/s1600/P1040512.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzjCNNuKEbBIvY66ic9-q8gK8nMe6yNDjL_VkxJmfqXYb_ReB642kOEP1pEI9ghlIAgyqDAU5AVfMWqe-ElZV3RBkQCnLf2NTxFIgy6mKVxjDwcWGLM1UCOO1EW29-4SDe-REPkuU9kKg/s400/P1040512.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Typical Franklin Mt trail</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaHVkXRDO0VyjUpIYWG8WKdgnHl6YlicGRVOXy1F-bhymojYHmGDSjueCbAhf_LBV5IaHy3h3fHYkYR6JgayUYTFoiUNASC4jlDYe7KNpssZEDtR30z3Rd1VIdrXfYR3lgUR8ynM-qE3c/s1600/P1040580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="915" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaHVkXRDO0VyjUpIYWG8WKdgnHl6YlicGRVOXy1F-bhymojYHmGDSjueCbAhf_LBV5IaHy3h3fHYkYR6JgayUYTFoiUNASC4jlDYe7KNpssZEDtR30z3Rd1VIdrXfYR3lgUR8ynM-qE3c/s400/P1040580.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This dude almost didn't make it up the stairs at the 50K finish</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The last day of volunteering was easy because I didn’t have to hike to the top of a mountain. I worked the second aid station in the 1/2 marathon race at mile 8. Runners have a long gradual uphill grind before reaching the aid. Many road marathoners try their luck in this race and are surprised by how tough 13 miles can be. The race doesn’t go as high as the 50K, but runners have to tackle some of the steepest and nastiest climbs (Schaeffer Shuffle Trail) in the state park. After passing through the aid station they have to ascend the rocky and rolling Upper Sunset Trail. This one has several false summits so always remember —the climb ain’t over ’til it’s over! Ultramarathon trail races are 90% mental. The other 10% is mental! There were quite a few bloody runners who had taken falls on the steep and technical trails.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQa1fnzVFccPgg12iX08V35uZ0xVdnHXksiJ4ZGjE50HGbwxiX1i4ng8jboB6zhmB4MWebaJ10vnGWKmIDhDD-MtxLfdURQIIKljwJImlNBSIxUsmuMyUTQZU-rJBcCtJX6yDkQ56Zahk/s1600/P1040599.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="1280" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQa1fnzVFccPgg12iX08V35uZ0xVdnHXksiJ4ZGjE50HGbwxiX1i4ng8jboB6zhmB4MWebaJ10vnGWKmIDhDD-MtxLfdURQIIKljwJImlNBSIxUsmuMyUTQZU-rJBcCtJX6yDkQ56Zahk/s400/P1040599.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>1/2 Marathon, Upper Sunset Trail</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Jv2xFWgtH4WMo50eykCliSbw9V1lH5iCSZvaeUzxioeDVTSYenuFNrUmrPnd0q8SgGI6pq7lMYhv0SArUPNQ5hQfFFH87WJp1dEE1QhE-RR8bJaLnYVTMk3AphgW-PrQpIHNeMsodbc/s1600/P1040641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="1280" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Jv2xFWgtH4WMo50eykCliSbw9V1lH5iCSZvaeUzxioeDVTSYenuFNrUmrPnd0q8SgGI6pq7lMYhv0SArUPNQ5hQfFFH87WJp1dEE1QhE-RR8bJaLnYVTMk3AphgW-PrQpIHNeMsodbc/s400/P1040641.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Little rock wren likes to wrun too</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPpQnZyPSZIP86SwQPE-h4T3qAFrxrTL1Kzi-gQHlkxBXuN7-bawZAvBdW0u_nbKx853-BR0rDMEML7HURSI4Ynh-6qSXPYcdHq_92W1YOGH5TjudveczwODtN0kl-uCsBuXaBuFJXMxQ/s1600/P1040513.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="1280" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPpQnZyPSZIP86SwQPE-h4T3qAFrxrTL1Kzi-gQHlkxBXuN7-bawZAvBdW0u_nbKx853-BR0rDMEML7HURSI4Ynh-6qSXPYcdHq_92W1YOGH5TjudveczwODtN0kl-uCsBuXaBuFJXMxQ/s400/P1040513.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Come play in our backyard!</i></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I spoke to a lot of runners after the races and everyone seemed to have had a great time. The race director, staff and other volunteers are very friendly and will go out of their way to make your running experience pleasant. Well…as pleasant as running 50K in the mountains can be. Remember, without misery there can be no bliss! </span></span><br />
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Enjoy the view:</span></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">See you on the trail.</span></span></div>
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Greg Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11072839559580716896noreply@blogger.com0