The Good Stuff
Cayuga
I set out to run the Cayuga Trails 50 Miler with low expectations for a number of reasons. After backpacking the 350-mile Southern Appalachian Loop Trail in June, I only had one month to transition back to running fitness. Cayuga serves as the USATF 50 Mile Trail championships, so there would be stout competition. And the course itself was slightly intimidating – a double out and back through the gorges of Robert H. Treman State Park near Ithaca, NY. In the race reports I perused in the weeks leading up to the big day, one feature stood out: the steps. It seems no one could get more than a few sentences in without mentioning these dreaded steps. So I rolled out of bed on race morning still lacking a real game plan. Do I run the steps? Hike the steps? Will there really be that many? Soon enough the gun went off, we ran the first section on trails, and then reached the bottom of the steps. To our delight, there was a bagpiper positioned high up in the gorge, his haunting notes reverberating through the gorge and mixing in nicely with my labored breathing.
On the first out and back I enjoyed running with a Frenchman, who witnessed me trip and faceplant twice. On my way back to the race start I took a wrong turn and initially ran the wrong way through the state park, which took me past a group of women pole dancing in a grassy field, which led me to question if I’d lost my mind.
Before the race, I’d feared the monotony of a double out and back course, but as I began the second lap, I realized the benefits of this set up: instead of the opportunity for novel trails, I gained the knowledge of exactly what terrain I’d be dealing with for the remainder of the race. Thus, I knew how much to leave in the tank.
At one of the latter aid stations I remarked to Seth, who was crewing me along with my parents and Uncle Bob, that my legs felt great, I just couldn’t go any faster. In a peaceful wooded section, I crossed paths with a man out for an afternoon run. I commented on how fresh and springy he seemed, to which he replied, “Well, I’ve only been running for 30 minutes.” It was then that I looked at my watch, saw that I’d been running for 9 hours, and was struck by the absurdity of this sport.
I carried a family size bag of barbecue chips from the last aid station to the finish line, and just like that, Cayuga was done. I fueled well (1 Spring Energy packet every 30 minutes, supplemented with Clif Hydration mix and barbecue chips) and as a result, didn’t bonk – a first for me. I crossed the finish line feeling strong and healthy, just not fast. It was a day of small victories, and some clearly identified room for improvement. A good day indeed.
Road Trip
To move from North Carolina to Montana, Seth and I planned a grand road trip across the country. Our goals: to visit as many national and state parks as possible, and to avoid eating at chain restaurants or staying in hotels. With my few favorite plants smushed in the backseat amongst our camping gear, cooler, etc, we set off for Arkansas, first stopping in Natchez Trace State Park in Tennessee to camp for the night. You may be wondering how we selected Natchez…we used our secret weapon, a road atlas! I will never travel without one again! Anyways, Natchez was humid and deserted on a weeknight, not too much to write about.
We stopped for a few days in Dardanelle, Arkansas to visit with Seth’s family, and went for one hot, annoyingly technical trail run at Mt. Nebo State Park. On the road again, we blazed through eastern Oklahoma on our way to Kansas. I selected Kanapolis State Park on the road atlas, not expecting much of anything. We arrived just in time to go for a run at sunset, and were bewildered to find awesome rock formations in a totally foreign landscape. My bad, Kansas.
The next day we waved goodbye to Kansas and drove to Denver to eat dinner with a dear old friend. With no plans for lodging yet, and nighttime quickly approaching, we decided to head towards Boulder since we were meeting friends there the next day. I drove while Seth scrolled through freecampsites.net, and bingo, we found a spot up on Sugarloaf Mountain outside of Boulder. Sleeping at 9,000 ft was uncomfortable, and running at 9,000 ft the next morning was a slog. Happy to leave our high altitude abode behind, we visited with friends in Boulder, hiked Green Mountain, drank beers, and then rolled out of town.
Our next objective was Rocky Mountain National Park, but daylight was rapidly disappearing, and as we drove through quaint Estes Park at sunset, we decided to break our rule and get a motel for the night. This would turn out to be the only hotel on the trip, give us a break!
We woke early and drove into the park, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the magnificent views at each overlook. Eventually we arrived at the Timber Lake trailhead, where we attempted to run to an alpine lake. Seth made it, I didn’t. But to my credit, the trail started at 9,000 ft, climbed 2,000 ft to the lake, and was 12 miles roundtrip. Instead, I happily picnicked until Seth returned.
We loaded our sweaty selves into the car and braced ourselves for the next 4-5 hour stretch of driving. On the road atlas, I’d seen this little national monument called Dinosaur at the corner of Colorado and Utah. We knew nothing about it, and took turns doing research with the spotty service available to us on the road. As we approached the turnoff for the park, we passed a sign warning motorists that there’d be no gas available for the next 60 miles. Gulp.
Dinosaur has two entrances, about 50 miles apart, so when we got to the first entrance we pulled over and discussed. The internet made it seem that this first entrance would offer spectacular views, but warned of a gnarly, rutted out 15 mile stretch of road that is impassible in rain. We decided to go for it, and were more than rewarded. We drove down through three canyons, each more impressive than the last, before reaching a jaw-dropping campsite at dusk. We cooked under the stars beside an impressive headwall. We excitedly explored in the canyons for a couple of hours in the morning, feeling like we were scrambling straight into a desert landscape painting. At one point, I found myself looking up at the lip of the canyon to make sure there were no Star Wars sand people peering over at us.
Eventually we tore ourselves away, heading for the Flaming River Gorge in Utah, but were disappointed by the campsite we’d picked so kept on driving. In a hugely unfortunate 3 seconds at the wheel, I made eye contact with a prairie dog just before running him over. That one still haunts me. We drove all the way to Bridger-Teton National Forest, where we went on a sunset run with the antelope. I’m not exaggerating. On a short trail run the next morning we found stunning views of the Wind River Range. A train of pack horses approached us, led by one badass 60-year-old woman sipping a Coors Light before 9 am. We chuckled all the way back to the car.
After a scrumptious lunch at Teton Thai in Jackson, we braved the mass of humanity in Grand Teton National Park to do laundry and shower at Colter Bay. It only took one look at the Teton range for us to pull up maps and start planning a long run adventure the next morning. We camped in a national forest outside of the park, and then drove back in at sunrise to begin our route up Cascade Canyon.
What an incredible day. Those mountains reminded me of the Alps, even though I’ve never been. We swam in Lake Solitude, then struggled over the Paintbrush Divide before plunging back down to the tourists. All in all, a 20-mile day that my legs didn’t need – this would result in an adductor injury that would plague me for the next couple of months. Live and learn. We camped at a forgotten little river campsite in Idaho that night, before successfully arriving in Missoula the next day. We made it, the plants made it, and all was well.
The Bad Stuff
First DNF at UROC 100K
I was elated to run the Ultra Race of Champions 100K in May – a point to point race in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and the opportunity to attempt to run farther than I’ve ever gone before! Sadly, the race coincided with the first hot day of the summer, so I think just about everyone out there was caught off guard in the hot, humid conditions.
Early on in the race, there are back to back 11-mile sections without aid. As soon as I set off from the aid station onto that darned ridgeline, I began to suspect that I wouldn’t have enough water. What looked like a downhill ridgeline on the elevation profile turned out to be a ridgeline that steeply undulated in a general downhill direction. Not quick or easy running, to say the least. To add to the mental strain, once we tagged the aid station at the bottom, we’d have to turn around and head straight back up on the same ridgeline. As I slowly but surely ran low on water, I felt the all too familiar foggy head and sluggish step. Even though volunteers doused me with ice water at the aid station and I added my running vest fully loaded with water, I ran out of water a full hour before finishing the out and back. I hiked along, cursing the dry ridgeline and rationalizing my plans to drop from the race once I reached the mile 28 aid station.
To make dropping even more tempting, there were numerous runners lounging at the aid station who had already called it quits from the race after the tough ridgeline section. But when I emerged from the woods, Seth excitedly ushered me over to the cooler, where I sat in silence while he dumped ice water on me, fed me pickles and applesauce, and re-planned my hydration strategy for the rest of the race. In the face of such enthusiasm and positivity, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was about to drop from the race.
Instead, I told my crew (Mom, Dad, dear friends Jacky and John, and Seth) that I was going to take off running straight from my seat on the cooler. I swiveled so that my feet were facing toward the road, and took off down the Blue Ridge Parkway. For the next 12 miles I did my best, but the persistent heat reduced me to a hike/jog combo. I hadn’t sweated in three hours, and just felt pretty weird. I ultimately decided to drop at the mile 40 aid station. This was a tough decision because I definitely could have finished the final 24 miles within the time limit. But I was moving so slowly at that point that it was no longer fun, and not how I like to run races – joyful and with a smile. In deciding to drop, I chose to save my late race level of effort for another day. Even though it was my first Did Not Finish (DNF) result, I went to bed that night proud that I went 12 miles further than I thought I could.
That one night on the Southern Appalachian Loop Trail
I’ve already written about this one…I still feel exceedingly wet, cold, and gross just thinking about it.
Hiking steadily for the rest of the afternoon, we decided to give up and camp for the night just short of Rabun Bald. We hurriedly set up the tent during a thunderstorm, walked down the steep hillside to get water, and then jumped inside. Everything was wet. Everything. Puddles on the floor of the tent. Food wet. Hiking clothes soaked. In a moment which we now laugh about, but at the time was devastating, we took off our drenched hiking clothes and sat on the wet sleeping pads amid all of our soggy gear listening to the pouring rain. With a flourish intended to lighten the mood, Seth pulled out one pair of dry wool socks. The last dry item!!! We each took one and used it to dry ourselves off. I found myself at my upper limit for gross-ness, so we formulated a plan to bail to town the next day. We eventually fell asleep to thunder and the hardest rain I’ve ever heard in a tent.
You can read more about the SALT here.
Seth took all of the great pictures in this blog post! Check out his photography website here. I took all of the poor quality iPhone pictures. I don’t have a photography website, sorry. Dad took all of the race photos. He doesn’t have a photography website either.
