Hanna, Ike, Curly, & Me

While this is neither a detailed race report, nor an exhaustive illustrated travelogue, I feel I must write SOMETHING to make up for my lack of chatter last week. And while my exploits are not nearly as exciting as stories from Spuds this morning of tours of Beaujolais, or Yellowstone for that matter, ANY sort of travel for me is somewhat remarkable. To put things in perspective, with apologies to the younger and/or new to this country Bimblers: The last time Mrs. Forrest, Ja’son, and I got on a plane and went on vacation (other than to visit family), we were slowed at the airport due to tight security. It seems that some young man, the Governor of Arkansas, as I recall, was running for president! Yes, you DO remember your ancient history, the year was 1992, and, strangely enough, the trip was to the southwest…

Day 0: Saturday, September 6th.

I spent the entire day worrying about Tropical Storm Hanna, and what impact it would have upon Sunday race (Curly’s Marathon) and travel plans. I reserved just a little time to grumble about Bounce’s arranged 4 AM meeting and departure, and a little more time thinking good thoughts about Mr. Bimble’s and Ultra’s herculean efforts at the Wasatch 100. OK, and a little time packing, and a little time running.

Day 1: Sunday, September 7th.

The day started at an ungodly hour, with Hanna still in the neighborhood. Bounce was on the money about the right time to start. Note to Bounce: It is a good thing that you are a public servant, saving ‘Staveners from calamity, and the rest of us from bad beer (life’s too short, you know) and missed starter’s guns. But, you would make a poor politician, as you are willing to tell people, bluntly and honestly, about the hard sacrifices they must sometimes make.

On the drive up, we found out that Ultra had dropped at Wasatch (a wise decision, no doubt) and that IGGY’s return from Colorado had been delayed. Apparently Hanna didn’t want IGGY running at Curly’s. Two bits of good fortune upon arrival at Curly’s: First, the rain stopped, and the weather turned perfect; second, I ended my travel stress by deciding conclusively that I would only run the half. I said it loudly and forcefully for all to hear, so that I wouldn’t change my mind later (Hah! like that would happen!).

The race location was idyllic, a small open grassy field in the middle of a forest, with a spring fed pond on one end, and a great collection of Bimblers all around. In seemingly no time at all, off we went: El Toro, Bounce, Shellygirl, and Russ (the marathoners) along with Downhill, Hardware (a pleasant surprise), Ticket, and me (the half marathoners). It was a beautiful course with lots of variety and some impressive views, achieved in the normal way, via lots of climbing. I daresay that, excluding 100 mile Bimblers, some of us may have never encountered a hill like THE hill at Curly’s, and I am including The Bluff when I say that! I am upset at my foolish loss of the trail, and more upset that I took El Toro with me. Oh well, at least I was setting him up for a (virtually) guaranteed negative split! While ATVs detracted somewhat, they failed to diminish the fun of this first time race, and I am sure Bimblers will be back next year. Congratulations to all of the finishers! Scott Livingston has an excellent post on his blog, with pictures, here

After enjoying a refreshing dip in the pond, which bordered on a bath (I needed to clean up for my flight), I bid adieu to Downhill, Hardware, and Ticket after watching Ben Nephew zip across the finish line (the ONLY sub 4 hour finisher). Then, with excellent driving directions from Curly and Beth, I headed out (using the non-scenic route) for the Taconic State Parkway, on my way to LGA. Traffic was somewhat heavy, but with 6 hours before my flight, I was confident. I was, in fact, at the airport in plenty of time. An uneventful flight (including a stop in Cleveland with good Rock and Roll Hall of Fame souvenirs), a long wait for luggage, a long wait for the rental car, and the day that Bounce mandated to start at 3 AM ended in my being in my hotel room by 1 AM (4 AM Eastern time).

Days 2, 3, & 4, Monday-Wednesday, September 8th-10th.

Las Vegas, conference for work. Cooped up indoors at the Bellagio from 7:30 AM until 10 PM two days in a row. Monday afternoon Las Vegas got a year’s worth of rain, and I was glad I did not accept that outdoor dinner invite from another company with whom we do business. Day was long, but food and entertainment (just a little of both) were good. Tuesday morning, out for a sunrise run. Traffic was heavy, both cars AND runners, and it was hot, but not humid. Tuesday night, we were treated with an “event” at “The Bank“, which is the Bellagio’s “Ultra Bar”. Note to Chipper: You were right, I guess I had too high expectations of some of my peers. Can’t say more, ‘cuz “What happens in Vegas…”. Wednesday, I was freed at 2 PM. I went looking in vain for Red Rock Canyon for a little trail run, but after getting lost in square miles of foreclosed homes, I gave up. I got back to the hotel, by which time the temperature was hovering around 100 degrees, and decided to run on the treadmill, then go for a swim. A trip back to the airport to get the CORRECT rental car, a visit to a few casinos I had not previously seen, a quick dinner, and I was ready for an early bedtime so I could start my escape early in the morning. General observation: I do not like Las Vegas. It is not my kind of place. I do not enjoy gambling, and I eschew excess in all forms (except running). Having said that, I find it difficult to completely despise a place that is so utterly, often brutally, and usually shockingly, honest. Things really are exactly what they seem to be. No pretense, nothing coy, it is all “in your face” whether you like it or not.

Day 5, Thursday September 11th.

A relatively early start out of town. North on I-15 through the border town (casinos, cheap buffets, etc.) of Mesquite Nevada, a non-stop traverse of the northwest corner of Arizona (no need to change your clock, in summer), and a late breakfast stop in St. George, Utah. There is a fair amount of development, and a welcome center. This is a “jumping off” point for the back country of southern Utah, and the north rim of the Grand Canyon. A few more miles of interstate, and I could head for the wilderness (not that I-15 isn’t QUITE remote). It was interesting to see all the little towns in this area, like oases in the desert, at any point where the Virgin River traverses a flat area where irrigation can take place.

I then headed for Zion National Park, as recommended to me by Spuds and Chipper. Spuds particularly recommended a “hike” to Angel’s Landing. Just contemplate that name for a minute, and the fact that Spuds likes to sky dive in his spare time, and that I am REALLY afraid of heights. Do a Google image search, particularly for the “Step of Faith”, to see what I mean. I got to the top, in my sandals no less, cursed (and thanked) Spuds for a minute or two, then headed down. Once I completed the technical part, I put on my running shoes and ran back to the base, then up another trail to the Emerald Pools. The lowest pool has the best waterfall, which you walk behind and underneath, but the upper pool has the best pool, which is nice for cooling off. I then ran back down to the bus stop to get the shuttle back to my car, which was outside the park. I then drove my car back through the park, including the amazing tunnel leading up and out of the canyon, and out through the east entrance. Note of no particular relevance: Of the hundreds of people I met on the trail today, 90+ percent of them were from Germany. I would like to say it felt very, um, cosmopolitan, but no, it felt very Alpine. I then began a long search through the wilderness for a place to eat and sleep, heading towards Bryce Canyon National Park. I found both in the tiny town of Panguitch.

Day 6, Friday September 12th.

In the morning, I had to scrape a heavy frost off the car, before heading out towards Bryce. I was into Bryce before sunrise, and didn’t see too much. In the darkness, I couldn’t understand why the road was so slow and winding, then the sunrise illuminated these red-rock spires jutting up all around me, with the road weaving amongst them! I then headed out towards Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. This was an amazing place, without the crowds of the National Parks. I stopped at a couple of “scenic overviews”, in this area of Utah “slick rock”. At one such parking spot, I was fascinated with the imagined view from a small promontory no more than a few hundred yards from the car, down then up some not-too-technical terrain. I managed to safely reach that perch and enjoy the view into the canyon. I then turned around to go back to the car, no more than 100 yards away, and could find neither it, the road, nor the way back up over the steep slick rock slope! How foolish of me. I decided to wait for another car to drive by and use the sound as a clue. EVENTUALLY, another car did drive by, with the noise bouncing off all the canyon walls, giving no clue as to direction. Finally, a passing motorist decided to stop to enjoy the view, and when he walked to the edge to peer into the canyon, he became my trail marker, showing me the way toward the parking spot. Since this would be my “run” for the day, it should be, of course, immediately followed by a good cup of coffee. A few miles down the road, in the middle of nowhere, a sign appeared: “coffee, just ahead”. Really, no kidding, great coffee, great coffee shop, incredible view. The place is The Kiva Coffeehouse. I drove on, fortified with caffeine, through the southern Utah outback, repeatedly awed by my surroundings. Then I got hungry for lunch. In the absence of finding a likely lunch spot, I went for another bimble, this time in the Dixie National Forest. Awesome countryside, high altitude, total solitude, lousy trail markings (but I took my compass). There were at least a dozen “towns” on the map between me and my next destination, which was Huntington, where the Little Grand Canyon Marathon would be taking place, sort of. Well, most of those “towns” on the map were short stretches of road where the speed limit drops to 30 (a sheriff has to make a living, you know) and there was a boarded up gas station with the pumps removed. Finally, I passed through the town of Ferron. Most memorable to me was the lush green town park, in which you may not play on Sunday, as it is a day of rest (really, that is what the sign said), and an open restaurant of sorts called The Grub Box Drive Inn (and I am NOT making that up either). But I was REALLY hungry, and there was a customer visible through the window, so I stopped. So, what does one order here in the middle of thousands of miles of badlands and desert? Fish and Chips, of course. And, it was actually GOOD. Go figure. Soon enough, I found the gathering spot for my race on Saturday, the town park in Huntington. It was about 4 PM, and only about 20 miles further to my hotel in Price. I would have liked to scout the course, but I had no idea where it was. Packet pickup was in Price, from 6-9 PM. So, being the good Bimbler that I am, I rejected the 20 mile direct route to my hotel and took the 125 mile mountain road through a couple more National Forests. What an awesome drive (no more hiking at 10,000 feet, ‘cuz I have a marathon in the morning). I was slowed once in a high mountain pass by a bunch of cows crossing over the pass. They don’t like to move for cars. I was also briefly slowed by a bunch of sheep, but I found that they willingly get out of the way if you proceed cautiously forward. Finally, I arrived in true civilization, the college/coal town of Price. Mickey D’s, Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, Super Walmart, they have it all. My name brand hotel (Holiday Inn) even had internet access, which was perfect for finding out my Saturday night flight home was canceled due to Ike. Yikes! Arghh! An hour on the phone yielded a flight Sunday morning, and an opportunity (after securing lodging) to sleep in a bed in Las Vegas on Saturday night, rather than on the plane. A trip to pick up the race packet, a free carb-load at Pizza Hut (offered without prodding by the waitperson after I had to wait 2 hours for my dinner) and a successful search for my mandatory Friday night beans and rice (it is an addiction, a superstition, and a hearty meal all in one), and I was ready to race.

Day 7, Saturday September 13th.

The Little Grand Canyon Marathon The point (or excuse) of the whole trip, except for the important work done in Las Vegas, of course! As I checked out of the hotel a little after 5, it became apparent a lot of the runners were staying there as well. We formed a caravan through the pitch black wilderness south to Huntington. On arrival, the town center was bustling with more pre-dawn activity than i suspect it had seen in a LONG time, as this was the first year for this race. Slightly behind schedule, our coaches arrived to whisk us away from this little bit of cheerful bright activity, now buzzing exclusively with the still-waiting half-marathoners. Into the dark, cool, bleak countryside we went, not even sure of what compass direction away from town we were traveling. Suddenly, at a seemingly random point on a narrow, but paved road, we were ushered off the bus.

Of course, it was NOT a random point, it was EXACTLY 26.2 miles from an appropriately placed (?) finish line. The sky grew pink over some low cliffs several miles to the east, and with minimal fanfare, save a blast from the sheriff’s siren, we were off. The “locals” were easy to spot: they had little trouble breathing the mile high atmosphere, but needed several layers, and gloves and hats, to stay warm in the frigid (high 50s?) temperatures. Many of the non-natives were on 50 state marathon quests. Apparently, the “other” Utah marathon, in St. George, is VERY hard to get into. With no crowd to curb my enthusiasm, I fell into an ever-so-slightly unreasonable (for me) low 7 minutes pace, which caused me to quickly fall into 3rd place overall. Oh my God, this can’t be right. The leader ran away from everyone, but remained visible despite his many hundred yard lead on the arrow straight road on this featureless plain. The pavement turned to dirt quickly, never to return. The flat road started occasional small but steep undulations, which impacted me greatly in the thin air. After about 4 miles, I felt like I ran out of oxygen.  A runner passed me like I was moving backwards. A mile or so later, another did the same. The skies lightened, the temperature rose, and I could fully appreciate my surroundings. The distant low cliffs were slowly rising higher, and getting closer. There were NO spectators, as we were in the middle of nowhere, and the roads were actually closed for this event (except for race support vehicles). At each potential turn, a sheriff stood watch, keeping the runners going the right way, and traffic off of the course. There was an aid station every 2 miles, reliably and enthusiastically manned by pairs of students, who clearly had never done this before, but did an excellent job of both aid and cheering nonetheless. The mile markers without aid stations had porta-potties. Awesome, best placement I have ever seen, and the first marathon I didn’t need one! The buses carrying the half-marathoners came rumbling by, kicking up clouds of choking dust, but that was over quickly, and it gave hope that there would be more company, eventually, ahead among the slower runners. Another runner caught up with me, and we talked for a while. He was “local”, with a running club from SLC. His group would go home with MANY medals that day. We chatted a while (he chatted, I grunted), but eventually I had to let him go. He CLAIMED his plans called for a 3 hour finish. Mine did not, and his did not come to fruition. Finally I passed the half-marathon start line, now in 6th place, and we entered “the canyon”. The scenery was awesome, and fortunately the surface was smooth enough to look up quickly without tripping and falling. We started a long gentle decline, interrupted from time to time with a VERY gentle undulation. Now and then, the road would closely hug the canyon wall, sometimes providing welcome shade, but sometimes providing radiated heat to the already warm temperatures. Petroglyphs and dinosaur tracks abounded, along with the weary campers who sometimes stuck their heads out of their tents, asking “What the …?” with their expressions. Another runner approached from behind, proclaiming that he had been chasing me for the last 18 miles. I think my overly labored breathing compromised my hearing, because i never knew he was there. I did develop significant cramping/pain in the diaphragm, supposedly this is caused by exerting so much force breathing. He said he was from Golden, CO. I told him he should have NO trouble passing me, and that is what he did. A mile or so later, inspired by the random tall tree or field of lush grass in the wettest part of the canyon, I reeled this runner back in, and left him “in the dust”. In the end, the finish was lurking over a hill and around a bend, closer than I suspected. The finish line was directly in the middle of the bridge that crosses the river that carved the canyon. I was done, and glad for it.

Early marathon and half-marathon finishers were encouraged to board the bus quickly, as several return trips would be required to collect all of the runners. This was unfortunate, as the atmosphere at the finish line was festive, and it is fun to cheer people across the line, even when you don’t have a bell. I got on the first bus (I think), the driver got lost, and we wandered in the wilderness for an hour or so. Still, the bus was air-conditioned, and I had no interest in standing/walking. We could stay lost all day as far as I was concerned. Finally, we popped back out on the pavement, some number of “towns” away from where we belonged, and were back on the town green soon enough. On the town green, we were served a home-cooked, on the spot, “Luau”. The food was good, genuine, and sincerely prepared. More buses, lost or not, arrived over the next several hours, leading to a lazy, laid back, long meal lounging on the grass. People in a hurry were annoyed, but I truly enjoyed the slow pace, especially since my flight was canceled… Plus, I had to stick around because I had a hunch my first-ever medal for “placing” might be in the cards. No age division awards would be announced until they were all complete, so we had to wait a few hours. Lots of time to clean-up, rehydrate, talk to my fellow runners, etc… The whole thing felt EXACTLY like a trail race, without the trail. The winners awards (other than the cash) were some of the nicest I have ever seen anywhere. Finally, by 2 o’clock, I hit the road for Vegas. 80 miles of 2-lane, then a little over 300 miles of interstate to go before I rested. More spectacular scenery, but I was tiring. Country music seems just right in this environment, but a sophisticated blue stater such as myself can only take so much, you know? Mercifully, cell reception got reliable, and I had a nice long chat with Downhill and Ultra, which helped to get me wound up again talking about my week, my race, etc… Also, I gained an hour back at the Arizona state line, which meant I would get one more hour of sleep than I bargained for. Back in Las Vegas, shower, dinner, and sleep until 3:30 were on the agenda.

Day 8, Sunday September 14th.

Everything went ridiculously smooth. I woke up on time, returned the rental car, got through security quickly, and waited for my non-stop flight to Newark. Breakfast on the plane, a fun, bumpy ride through the remains of Ike (hah!), and a 2:45 landing. Feeling guilty about my carbon footprint (including the 1,100 miles I drove in 72 hours), I was determined to atone through mass-transit (ask Ultra, he will tell you how stubborn I was on this point). Airlink train to Amtrak/NJTransit station; NJTransit to Penn Station; #1 subway to Times Square; TS Shuttle to Grand Central; Metro North to New Haven; Shoreline East to Branford: What do you think of that, Barron? At no connection did I wait more than 3 minutes, which means I ran a lot. Which was OK, because I had no “run” planned. I was home eating dinner by 6:30.

A Final Thought (although I can’t believe anyone is still reading): A less-accomplished Bimbler can actually go out west and run high altitude trails without running 100 mile races. It is VERY enjoyable, and I hope to do it again.