"It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents..." - Edward Bulwer-Lytton
It wasn't even 8:00 AM and there were already more messages waiting in the Facebook group chat than I cared to go back and read. The group chat had been created around one runner's training for this race on a shortened schedule and had inevitably evolved into an online water cooler/hangout of sorts. It was now the day before Old Pueblo 50, and the conversation was all about the weather.
"No rain and cooler temps than last year. Sounds like a win/win to me," said one runner, followed by "Well ...looks like minimal rain in the afternoon at least." A quick check through the myriad of
weather sites confirmed his statements. The low Saturday morning was predicted to be in the low 40s, and the high Saturday in the high 50s, low 60s with 20-30mph wind gusts throughout the day. Only 0.25" of rain predicted all day with the majority of it falling in the afternoon and evening. Aside from the wind, the conditions looked promising, but this is Arizona; I would fully expect this system to pass us by and leave us with a scorching hot afternoon. I finished off my race plan by including a reminder to douse my hat/Buff and myself in water starting at California Gulch (mile 25).
A group of us, including my crew (my son Scott and Greg and his daughter), stayed in Tucson Friday night. The drive to the start of the race at Kentucky Camp in years prior involved watching the temperature on the truck thermometer drop from the mid to upper 30s down into the low to mid 20s. Something felt off as I watched the thermometer drop as we got closer to the race, but we were still in the 40s. "Yep," I thought, "this is going to be a hot day."
We arrived at the parking area above the starting line with plenty of time to spare. Opening the door to the truck, I was met with the 30 mph wind gusts the NWS promised. The combination of the wind, the humidity, and the 40ºF temps left me chilled as if it was in the 30ºF range. I quickly gathered up my gear and my crew and made my way down to the start. The buildings at Kentucky Camp are the remnants of a ghost town (now owned by the forest service) that was established back in the gold mining days of the late 1800's. It is a fitting place for 200+ runners to start and finish a race in pursuit of a beautiful gold and silver (colored) race buckle.
As we stood at the start, greeting and laughing with other runners, and taking part in the obligatory picture taking, Joe, the RD for the day, picked up the megaphone and started with the last minute instructions. "That there is the quietest megaphone I reckon I ever heard." I thought to myself in my best old west/gold miner voice. It really was quiet. I picked up that he was talking about ribbons ... weather ... meh, I've got this ...can't hear him anyway. Before long, and without much fanfare, the start signal was sounded and we were on our way up the hill to Granite Mountain aid station (mile 3).
From the start, Deron and I began running together at a nice, easy pace. Taking the uphill slow and power hiking anything that was really steep. Even the downhill was approached conservatively at this point. My allergies had been bothering me badly leading up to the race, and Deron was complaining about a cold. "This is perfect," I thought, "we can run together coughing and sneezing our way through the race." I'm not sure what it was, but my allergies never became a problem, and I began to pick up a little steam. Deron and I breezed through the Granite Mountain aid station to continue on to California Gulch at mile 7.
This section of the trail alternates between nice single track and some equally nice double track/jeep road. I remembered last year on this stretch seeing Mark Cosmas slow to point out the sunrise and made it a point this year to check it out again. I had slowly gotten ahead of Deron and found myself alone to admire the view. A Taster's Choice Moment ... by myself. The clouds were scattered in the eastern sky, and the sun was just peeking through them as it came up over the horizon. The desert floor was absolutely beautiful -- someday I may even bring a camera to capture that scened ...someday. Today, you'll just have to take my word for it. Just about any trail runner will tell you that you can't take long, while moving, to enjoy the scenery before the trail will remind you to pay attention. That was the case today, and I nearly ran off the trail while checking out the sunset.
In the mile or two before arriving at California Gulch, I caught up with Trevor Davenport and got to chat with him along this great section of single track leading to the aid station. I love the approach to the aid station. There's just enough visibility that the aid station volunteers and crew members can see runners coming and give them a world class greeting. As I approached, I was greeted by cheers, clapping, cowbell (a sound I love since I started running these races) and, of course, Greg's yell of "Nice job, Thomson!"
It's always a huge benefit to have an experienced crew to help out at these races, and Greg seemed to be making it a point to prove how good he was. After crossing the fence to the aid station, he ran with me a few yards to where the truck was parked. The tailgate was down and my drinks and gear were ready to go. Wow! I shed my jacket and beanie, gulped some water, put on my hat and sunglasses and continued on. That might have been my fastest aid station stop of all time. I hit the road and picked up running with Andy Frazier, a fellow westside runner and Western States lottery winner.
Andy and I had a lot to talk about as we made our way at an easy to moderate pace on the way to Wasp Canyon aid station at the half-marathon mark. Between our talking and the poor course markings (apparently maliciously pulled down before the race) we soon found ourselves on the way to the Old Sonoita Highway we drove in on. Fortunately, some other runners ahead of us had made the same mistake and were on their way back from the highway after asking some horse riders and drivers for directions. Oh man! This is never good. After running back with them for some time and picking up a bunch of other lost runners (I think our group was 20 strong at this point) we finally found someone with a map. A brief trail meeting was held and we quickly figured out where we missed the turn. There's no point in stressing too much about a missed turn after it has happened. The best thing to do is to pick up the pace a little and try to make up some missed time. Suck it up and move on, I thought.
When I finally got to the Wasp Canyon aid station, Andy was just leaving, and I figured that Deron and others I hadn't seen in the group of runners collected on the way would be well past Wasp Canyon. I was definitely going to be playing catch up. A quick Tailwind refill and some aid station fruit, and I was on my way. Some people think I'm crazy, but I really do enjoy climbing during these races. The climb up Gunsight Pass on the way to the Helvetia aid station (mile 19) is no exception. The climb was moderate enough to allow me to mix in some running with my regular approach of power hiking, and I was making good time and passing runners clear up to the top. Quick glances around on the way up and at the top are always rewarded with spectacular views. At the top, I was met briefly with a gust of wind and a freak wave of ...sleet?!? Where did that come from? The clouds were gathering, but there was no warning that any precipitation was going to hit me before I reached Helvetia. Hmmm ...moving on.
The run down Gunsight was quick and technical. The kind of jeep road that, if you're not careful, can leave you with a sprain, or worse. I have seen people bloodied up on this descent, but I wasn't going to be one of them. I made it down in great time and was able to pass a few runners on the way. I settled into a groove between two other runners and kept up a moderate but maintainable pace on the way to Helvetia. Soon before the aid station, the wind really picked up, and the dark clouds were threatening to empty on us. The aid station workers, in an attempt to protect the aid station supplies and staff and to keep the canopy from becoming airborne, had pulled their vehicles into a semi-circle formation around the canopy. Again, I made it a point to be in and out of this aid station. I must have timed it pretty well because when I hit the road, I realized I was surrounded by the same two runners I had entered the aid station with.
Sometime near mile 21, the rain started coming down. It wasn't pouring at first. More of a fine drizzle, but enough to soak my clothes and get me sufficiently chilled. About the same time, while climbing up a long hill, the sleet started falling again. This time, aided by the wind, it was coming in from the side -- completely horizontal. I found myself running with one hand on the brim of my hat and the other hand covering my ear from the mixture of sleet, rain and dust. The other two runners near me had stopped to put on rain gear (I didn't have any) and so I continued on and put a good lead on the two of them, passing a few others in the process. I wasn't moving terribly fast at this point, but maintaining even a slow run on the way to Box Canyon was better than a walk.
Box Canyon aid (mile 25) was a welcome sight. I was cold and was running low on calories. Greg and Scott didn't disappoint me and again had everything laid out for me on the tailgate of my truck. I gulped some water again, grabbed a new bottle of Tailwind and a peanut butter and jelly Bonk
Breaker bar and started the 4 mile climb up the dirt road to get to my last stop at California Gulch (mile 29). The first mile of this stretch involved me consuming the tasty Bonk Breaker bar in record time, and my stomach's inevitable response of "what do you think you're doing to me, nut job!" Yeah, I spent 3 of those 4 miles mixing in running and power hiking making the switch from one to the other based entirely on how likely I was to puke. Somehow, I managed to run 60% or more of that road and made it into California Gulch in record (for me) time.
Scott had my gulping bottle ready and was able to give me a ginger capsule to accompany the gulps of water. At this point, I shed my hat and sunglasses. It had rained and sleeted all the way up the road to 29, and there was no sign it was going to let up. I was wet and cold and opted to brave the elements briefly while I stripped to my shorts to change into warm clothes. The jacket was a huge relief and I could feel myself warming up quickly. I knew that keeping my feet dry was a lost cause and left my Altra Lone Peaks in place. At mile 25, Greg told me Deron had a 10 minute lead on me. Here at mile 29, Greg told me that Deron had "just left" and that I might catch him if I pushed. Yeah, I'm not going to try catching him. My stomach was still recovering from my ill-advised Bonk Breaker speed eating session.
I left California Gulch and began an easy to moderate run back to the Granite Mountain aid station (this time mile 33). This section was the same section I had run on the way out to mile 7 in the morning, but looked entirely different at this time of day. I knew my way along this section and made up some pretty good time. Before long, I passed a runner who, with his hat, sunglasses and gloves in his hands, walked cross armed along the trail mumbling about dropping as soon as he got to the aid station. He looked to be in rough shape, but assured me he would be fine. No sign of Deron yet though. Soon before Granite Mountain, the rain started to pour. This was the rain of "biblical proportions" that I had heard runners make reference to following the race.
I arrived at the Granite Mountain aid station canopy and discovered that it was FULL of runners. Best guess says there were 10-15 runners huddled under the canopy in various stages of either dropping or preparing for the slog to mile 40 -- Deron was among them. Nobody was in a hurry. I spent most of my time at this aid station trying to locate one of the coveted Glad bag raincoats that the other runners had acquired. As soon as I had my new gear in place. I yelled, "162 out!" and hit the trail again. I was followed by a number of other runners, including Deron and his new race buddy Andy from Race Labs.
I was in a hurry to get to the famous Cave Canyon aid station at mile 40. I knew from last year that this could be a long, exposed section and I didn't want to be exposed to this wind and rain any longer than necessary. Deron and Andy ran with me for a short way. I began talking to them and after carrying on for a few minutes, topped a hill and took a look behind me as I was coming down. No Deron or Andy. I was alone again ... talking to myself ... in the middle of the Santa Rita Mountains ... wearing a Glad bag. Don't tell me I don't know how to live.
I had long ago abandoned any hope of keeping my feet dry. Even if I had eight pairs of dry socks to change into at various points along the course, I knew my feet would be soaked a minute after putting them on. At this point, I had to decide to either do my best to keep dry, or to embrace the circumstances and dive (pun intended) in to the rest of this race. I decided on the latter and where there wasn't an easy way around puddles, I just plowed right through them. I wasted no time trying to find the easy way across or through the water and mud. I was committed. I passed only one other runner on this 7 mile stretch (if memory is correct), but I was having fun.
The Cave Canyon aid station at mile 40 is known for it's fanfare and I was excited to see how they would pull out the stops this year. As I approached the aid station, I heard .... nothing. No music. No cheering. Nothing. I came down the hill toward the river crossing expecting to see at least a few volunteers scattered about, but there was no one. One man in a white hoodie came halfway down the hill before I got to the river and I let out a whoop as I crossed right through the middle of the river and started running up the hill to the aid station canopy. The lack of fanfare at this aid station was more than made up for with the hot potato chunks and BACON! I grabbed a handful and stuffed it in my mouth as I went to find my crew. The kids had fallen asleep on the rough ride to the aid station and had just woken up. I'm not sure if they knew where they were or what was going on. Greg took care of me though. There was no point in spending much time changing clothes, but I did take this opportunity to change out of my makeshift rain gear to change into something more suited to the task. My bright yellow rain poncho would be my highly visible companion for the next 11 miles.
I left the aid station in high spirits, feeling good, just ahead of the volunteer who was placing the glow sticks for the runners who would pass through later. I was met about a mile and a half up the road by ... Andy? We were again confused. There were no visible confidence markings along this road, and Andy hadn't seen the turn off the trail to take us to the aid station at mile 46, Gardner Canyon. We decided to follow the instructions of the previous aid station and continue on to the end of the road. Their mileage estimate was off, but we found the trail. This section of the trail is beautiful. You wouldn't know you were in Arizona while passing through this trail. The trail is almost all uphill from the mile 40 aid station to mile 43 or so.
One of the highlights usually found at mile 40 is the guy (sorry I forgot his name ... especially after running with him briefly last year at this race) who yells, "NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' ABOUT!" as you run in to the aid station. He wasn't at mile 40 this year, but I did find him hunkered down in a truck at the top of the hill. As Andy and I approached, he jumped out of his truck, held up a bottle of Crown Royal, gave his token yell and then asked us if we wanted a shot. I whooped back when I heard his yell (I love this guy!) and politely declined the drink.
Andy and I ran another half mile down the road before my left shoe came untied, again, and I bent down to tie it up. He continued on, and I did my best to manipulate my shoe laces with nearly frozen hands covered in soaking wet gloves. As you can guess, it took me a couple of minutes to complete this normally elementary task. When I looked up, Andy was nowhere to be seen. I made it my goal to catch him but I knew the outlook was not promising. I also knew that my goal of coming in under 10 hours was out the door, but I was going to do my best to come in under 11 hours. I ran most of the next 3 miles, even the uphill and through the minor rivers that had formed and passed a couple of runners who were walking it in to mile 46.
The approach to the aid station was a muddy mess, and I could see where other runners had attempted to cross the ditch and the road and had left 2" deep footprints as a result of their efforts. Without even thinking about it, I walked into the aid station, found out about the hot potatoes and cold bacon and again stuffed my face. Hey, everything else was cold, why not the bacon, too? With a full mouth, I asked if they had seen Andy (the guy in the black jacket) come through. "Well, yeah, he was here a couple of minutes ago, but he didn't even stop. He just ran right through." Wait. What? Here I was wasting time at the buffet and Andy was putting miles on me. I thanked them and continued on my way.
Last year, I stiffened up really badly in this section and had a huge pity party. I was determined not to let that happen again this year though the trail conditions would have been excuse enough for another party. Not long after leaving mile 46 aid, I found myself almost knee deep in what is normally an ankle deep babbling creek. The creek was swollen and loud. Unrecognizable from previous years. I plowed my way through and stopped briefly on the other side to watch the water drain from my shoes. Amazing. This is Arizona? The remaining trail to the finish involved a couple of minor climbs, some very flooded single track and a long dirt road along the ride just south of Kentucky Camp. I ran everything I could, including the flooded trails. Water splashed everywhere. It was quite a mess. But I wasn't concerned with staying clean or dry. I had to come in under 11 hours.
As I hit the valley floor on the approach to Kentucky Camp, I started worrying about the people, friends who were still out on the course. Were they going to be able to get in before dark? I couldn't imagine running those trails in the dark, and they were only going to get worse as the night progressed. I put those thoughts temporarily out of my mind and ran my way to the finish. This year, with the conditions at hand, the approach to Kentucky Camp was quiet. It was truly a ghost town. As I got closer, I could see a few people under the cover of the porch and heard Greg's yell as I crossed the finish with absolutely no other fanfare. I didn't care though. I just wanted to get out of the rain and to change clothes.
The talk inside the cabin was all about the terrible conditions, course markings, those still out on the course, all the DNFs, and of course, the food. I heard later that runners who dropped at 40 and 46, and crew at those aid stations were stranded through the night. Search and Rescue was called out to look throughout the night for six unaccounted for runners. The last reports I heard indicated that everyone was eventually accounted for and safe.
Officially, only 61 of the registered 211 runners finished. That's roughly 30%. In retrospect, I am very happy about the result, considering the conditions, but I can't say if I would run it again if I knew the same conditions would be present. It certainly was an adventure.
"No rain and cooler temps than last year. Sounds like a win/win to me," said one runner, followed by "Well ...looks like minimal rain in the afternoon at least." A quick check through the myriad of
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| What ACTUALLY hit Old Pueblo in 2014 |
A group of us, including my crew (my son Scott and Greg and his daughter), stayed in Tucson Friday night. The drive to the start of the race at Kentucky Camp in years prior involved watching the temperature on the truck thermometer drop from the mid to upper 30s down into the low to mid 20s. Something felt off as I watched the thermometer drop as we got closer to the race, but we were still in the 40s. "Yep," I thought, "this is going to be a hot day."
We arrived at the parking area above the starting line with plenty of time to spare. Opening the door to the truck, I was met with the 30 mph wind gusts the NWS promised. The combination of the wind, the humidity, and the 40ºF temps left me chilled as if it was in the 30ºF range. I quickly gathered up my gear and my crew and made my way down to the start. The buildings at Kentucky Camp are the remnants of a ghost town (now owned by the forest service) that was established back in the gold mining days of the late 1800's. It is a fitting place for 200+ runners to start and finish a race in pursuit of a beautiful gold and silver (colored) race buckle.
*** THE START ***
As we stood at the start, greeting and laughing with other runners, and taking part in the obligatory picture taking, Joe, the RD for the day, picked up the megaphone and started with the last minute instructions. "That there is the quietest megaphone I reckon I ever heard." I thought to myself in my best old west/gold miner voice. It really was quiet. I picked up that he was talking about ribbons ... weather ... meh, I've got this ...can't hear him anyway. Before long, and without much fanfare, the start signal was sounded and we were on our way up the hill to Granite Mountain aid station (mile 3).
From the start, Deron and I began running together at a nice, easy pace. Taking the uphill slow and power hiking anything that was really steep. Even the downhill was approached conservatively at this point. My allergies had been bothering me badly leading up to the race, and Deron was complaining about a cold. "This is perfect," I thought, "we can run together coughing and sneezing our way through the race." I'm not sure what it was, but my allergies never became a problem, and I began to pick up a little steam. Deron and I breezed through the Granite Mountain aid station to continue on to California Gulch at mile 7.
*** California Gulch ***
This section of the trail alternates between nice single track and some equally nice double track/jeep road. I remembered last year on this stretch seeing Mark Cosmas slow to point out the sunrise and made it a point this year to check it out again. I had slowly gotten ahead of Deron and found myself alone to admire the view. A Taster's Choice Moment ... by myself. The clouds were scattered in the eastern sky, and the sun was just peeking through them as it came up over the horizon. The desert floor was absolutely beautiful -- someday I may even bring a camera to capture that scened ...someday. Today, you'll just have to take my word for it. Just about any trail runner will tell you that you can't take long, while moving, to enjoy the scenery before the trail will remind you to pay attention. That was the case today, and I nearly ran off the trail while checking out the sunset.
In the mile or two before arriving at California Gulch, I caught up with Trevor Davenport and got to chat with him along this great section of single track leading to the aid station. I love the approach to the aid station. There's just enough visibility that the aid station volunteers and crew members can see runners coming and give them a world class greeting. As I approached, I was greeted by cheers, clapping, cowbell (a sound I love since I started running these races) and, of course, Greg's yell of "Nice job, Thomson!"
It's always a huge benefit to have an experienced crew to help out at these races, and Greg seemed to be making it a point to prove how good he was. After crossing the fence to the aid station, he ran with me a few yards to where the truck was parked. The tailgate was down and my drinks and gear were ready to go. Wow! I shed my jacket and beanie, gulped some water, put on my hat and sunglasses and continued on. That might have been my fastest aid station stop of all time. I hit the road and picked up running with Andy Frazier, a fellow westside runner and Western States lottery winner.
*** GETTING STUNG IN WASP CANYON ***
Andy and I had a lot to talk about as we made our way at an easy to moderate pace on the way to Wasp Canyon aid station at the half-marathon mark. Between our talking and the poor course markings (apparently maliciously pulled down before the race) we soon found ourselves on the way to the Old Sonoita Highway we drove in on. Fortunately, some other runners ahead of us had made the same mistake and were on their way back from the highway after asking some horse riders and drivers for directions. Oh man! This is never good. After running back with them for some time and picking up a bunch of other lost runners (I think our group was 20 strong at this point) we finally found someone with a map. A brief trail meeting was held and we quickly figured out where we missed the turn. There's no point in stressing too much about a missed turn after it has happened. The best thing to do is to pick up the pace a little and try to make up some missed time. Suck it up and move on, I thought.
When I finally got to the Wasp Canyon aid station, Andy was just leaving, and I figured that Deron and others I hadn't seen in the group of runners collected on the way would be well past Wasp Canyon. I was definitely going to be playing catch up. A quick Tailwind refill and some aid station fruit, and I was on my way. Some people think I'm crazy, but I really do enjoy climbing during these races. The climb up Gunsight Pass on the way to the Helvetia aid station (mile 19) is no exception. The climb was moderate enough to allow me to mix in some running with my regular approach of power hiking, and I was making good time and passing runners clear up to the top. Quick glances around on the way up and at the top are always rewarded with spectacular views. At the top, I was met briefly with a gust of wind and a freak wave of ...sleet?!? Where did that come from? The clouds were gathering, but there was no warning that any precipitation was going to hit me before I reached Helvetia. Hmmm ...moving on.
*** PASSING THROUGH THE GATES OF HELL-VETIA ***
The run down Gunsight was quick and technical. The kind of jeep road that, if you're not careful, can leave you with a sprain, or worse. I have seen people bloodied up on this descent, but I wasn't going to be one of them. I made it down in great time and was able to pass a few runners on the way. I settled into a groove between two other runners and kept up a moderate but maintainable pace on the way to Helvetia. Soon before the aid station, the wind really picked up, and the dark clouds were threatening to empty on us. The aid station workers, in an attempt to protect the aid station supplies and staff and to keep the canopy from becoming airborne, had pulled their vehicles into a semi-circle formation around the canopy. Again, I made it a point to be in and out of this aid station. I must have timed it pretty well because when I hit the road, I realized I was surrounded by the same two runners I had entered the aid station with.
Sometime near mile 21, the rain started coming down. It wasn't pouring at first. More of a fine drizzle, but enough to soak my clothes and get me sufficiently chilled. About the same time, while climbing up a long hill, the sleet started falling again. This time, aided by the wind, it was coming in from the side -- completely horizontal. I found myself running with one hand on the brim of my hat and the other hand covering my ear from the mixture of sleet, rain and dust. The other two runners near me had stopped to put on rain gear (I didn't have any) and so I continued on and put a good lead on the two of them, passing a few others in the process. I wasn't moving terribly fast at this point, but maintaining even a slow run on the way to Box Canyon was better than a walk.
*** RUNNING OUT OF THE BOX CANYON ***
Box Canyon aid (mile 25) was a welcome sight. I was cold and was running low on calories. Greg and Scott didn't disappoint me and again had everything laid out for me on the tailgate of my truck. I gulped some water again, grabbed a new bottle of Tailwind and a peanut butter and jelly Bonk Breaker bar and started the 4 mile climb up the dirt road to get to my last stop at California Gulch (mile 29). The first mile of this stretch involved me consuming the tasty Bonk Breaker bar in record time, and my stomach's inevitable response of "what do you think you're doing to me, nut job!" Yeah, I spent 3 of those 4 miles mixing in running and power hiking making the switch from one to the other based entirely on how likely I was to puke. Somehow, I managed to run 60% or more of that road and made it into California Gulch in record (for me) time.
*** CALIFORNIA GULCH - THE RETURN ***
Scott had my gulping bottle ready and was able to give me a ginger capsule to accompany the gulps of water. At this point, I shed my hat and sunglasses. It had rained and sleeted all the way up the road to 29, and there was no sign it was going to let up. I was wet and cold and opted to brave the elements briefly while I stripped to my shorts to change into warm clothes. The jacket was a huge relief and I could feel myself warming up quickly. I knew that keeping my feet dry was a lost cause and left my Altra Lone Peaks in place. At mile 25, Greg told me Deron had a 10 minute lead on me. Here at mile 29, Greg told me that Deron had "just left" and that I might catch him if I pushed. Yeah, I'm not going to try catching him. My stomach was still recovering from my ill-advised Bonk Breaker speed eating session.
I left California Gulch and began an easy to moderate run back to the Granite Mountain aid station (this time mile 33). This section was the same section I had run on the way out to mile 7 in the morning, but looked entirely different at this time of day. I knew my way along this section and made up some pretty good time. Before long, I passed a runner who, with his hat, sunglasses and gloves in his hands, walked cross armed along the trail mumbling about dropping as soon as he got to the aid station. He looked to be in rough shape, but assured me he would be fine. No sign of Deron yet though. Soon before Granite Mountain, the rain started to pour. This was the rain of "biblical proportions" that I had heard runners make reference to following the race.
*** THE GLAD BAGS OF GRANITE MOUNTAIN ***
I arrived at the Granite Mountain aid station canopy and discovered that it was FULL of runners. Best guess says there were 10-15 runners huddled under the canopy in various stages of either dropping or preparing for the slog to mile 40 -- Deron was among them. Nobody was in a hurry. I spent most of my time at this aid station trying to locate one of the coveted Glad bag raincoats that the other runners had acquired. As soon as I had my new gear in place. I yelled, "162 out!" and hit the trail again. I was followed by a number of other runners, including Deron and his new race buddy Andy from Race Labs.
I was in a hurry to get to the famous Cave Canyon aid station at mile 40. I knew from last year that this could be a long, exposed section and I didn't want to be exposed to this wind and rain any longer than necessary. Deron and Andy ran with me for a short way. I began talking to them and after carrying on for a few minutes, topped a hill and took a look behind me as I was coming down. No Deron or Andy. I was alone again ... talking to myself ... in the middle of the Santa Rita Mountains ... wearing a Glad bag. Don't tell me I don't know how to live.
I had long ago abandoned any hope of keeping my feet dry. Even if I had eight pairs of dry socks to change into at various points along the course, I knew my feet would be soaked a minute after putting them on. At this point, I had to decide to either do my best to keep dry, or to embrace the circumstances and dive (pun intended) in to the rest of this race. I decided on the latter and where there wasn't an easy way around puddles, I just plowed right through them. I wasted no time trying to find the easy way across or through the water and mud. I was committed. I passed only one other runner on this 7 mile stretch (if memory is correct), but I was having fun.
*** I COULD HAVE REALLY USED A CAVE IN THIS CANYON ***
The Cave Canyon aid station at mile 40 is known for it's fanfare and I was excited to see how they would pull out the stops this year. As I approached the aid station, I heard .... nothing. No music. No cheering. Nothing. I came down the hill toward the river crossing expecting to see at least a few volunteers scattered about, but there was no one. One man in a white hoodie came halfway down the hill before I got to the river and I let out a whoop as I crossed right through the middle of the river and started running up the hill to the aid station canopy. The lack of fanfare at this aid station was more than made up for with the hot potato chunks and BACON! I grabbed a handful and stuffed it in my mouth as I went to find my crew. The kids had fallen asleep on the rough ride to the aid station and had just woken up. I'm not sure if they knew where they were or what was going on. Greg took care of me though. There was no point in spending much time changing clothes, but I did take this opportunity to change out of my makeshift rain gear to change into something more suited to the task. My bright yellow rain poncho would be my highly visible companion for the next 11 miles.I left the aid station in high spirits, feeling good, just ahead of the volunteer who was placing the glow sticks for the runners who would pass through later. I was met about a mile and a half up the road by ... Andy? We were again confused. There were no visible confidence markings along this road, and Andy hadn't seen the turn off the trail to take us to the aid station at mile 46, Gardner Canyon. We decided to follow the instructions of the previous aid station and continue on to the end of the road. Their mileage estimate was off, but we found the trail. This section of the trail is beautiful. You wouldn't know you were in Arizona while passing through this trail. The trail is almost all uphill from the mile 40 aid station to mile 43 or so.
*** THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' ABOUT! ***
One of the highlights usually found at mile 40 is the guy (sorry I forgot his name ... especially after running with him briefly last year at this race) who yells, "NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' ABOUT!" as you run in to the aid station. He wasn't at mile 40 this year, but I did find him hunkered down in a truck at the top of the hill. As Andy and I approached, he jumped out of his truck, held up a bottle of Crown Royal, gave his token yell and then asked us if we wanted a shot. I whooped back when I heard his yell (I love this guy!) and politely declined the drink.
Andy and I ran another half mile down the road before my left shoe came untied, again, and I bent down to tie it up. He continued on, and I did my best to manipulate my shoe laces with nearly frozen hands covered in soaking wet gloves. As you can guess, it took me a couple of minutes to complete this normally elementary task. When I looked up, Andy was nowhere to be seen. I made it my goal to catch him but I knew the outlook was not promising. I also knew that my goal of coming in under 10 hours was out the door, but I was going to do my best to come in under 11 hours. I ran most of the next 3 miles, even the uphill and through the minor rivers that had formed and passed a couple of runners who were walking it in to mile 46.
*** RUNNING ON BACON ***
The approach to the aid station was a muddy mess, and I could see where other runners had attempted to cross the ditch and the road and had left 2" deep footprints as a result of their efforts. Without even thinking about it, I walked into the aid station, found out about the hot potatoes and cold bacon and again stuffed my face. Hey, everything else was cold, why not the bacon, too? With a full mouth, I asked if they had seen Andy (the guy in the black jacket) come through. "Well, yeah, he was here a couple of minutes ago, but he didn't even stop. He just ran right through." Wait. What? Here I was wasting time at the buffet and Andy was putting miles on me. I thanked them and continued on my way.
*** I'M NOT HAVING A PITY PARTY, AND YOU'RE NOT INVITED ***
Last year, I stiffened up really badly in this section and had a huge pity party. I was determined not to let that happen again this year though the trail conditions would have been excuse enough for another party. Not long after leaving mile 46 aid, I found myself almost knee deep in what is normally an ankle deep babbling creek. The creek was swollen and loud. Unrecognizable from previous years. I plowed my way through and stopped briefly on the other side to watch the water drain from my shoes. Amazing. This is Arizona? The remaining trail to the finish involved a couple of minor climbs, some very flooded single track and a long dirt road along the ride just south of Kentucky Camp. I ran everything I could, including the flooded trails. Water splashed everywhere. It was quite a mess. But I wasn't concerned with staying clean or dry. I had to come in under 11 hours.
*** THE FINISH, BUT NOT THE END ***
As I hit the valley floor on the approach to Kentucky Camp, I started worrying about the people, friends who were still out on the course. Were they going to be able to get in before dark? I couldn't imagine running those trails in the dark, and they were only going to get worse as the night progressed. I put those thoughts temporarily out of my mind and ran my way to the finish. This year, with the conditions at hand, the approach to Kentucky Camp was quiet. It was truly a ghost town. As I got closer, I could see a few people under the cover of the porch and heard Greg's yell as I crossed the finish with absolutely no other fanfare. I didn't care though. I just wanted to get out of the rain and to change clothes.
The talk inside the cabin was all about the terrible conditions, course markings, those still out on the course, all the DNFs, and of course, the food. I heard later that runners who dropped at 40 and 46, and crew at those aid stations were stranded through the night. Search and Rescue was called out to look throughout the night for six unaccounted for runners. The last reports I heard indicated that everyone was eventually accounted for and safe.
Officially, only 61 of the registered 211 runners finished. That's roughly 30%. In retrospect, I am very happy about the result, considering the conditions, but I can't say if I would run it again if I knew the same conditions would be present. It certainly was an adventure.
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