Pikes Peak

The end of something old marks the beginning of something new. That’s the way I feel as I sit here and write what I hope is only a short entry to my blog. Nothing too special was accomplished this weekend; not in the big scheme of things anyway. No races that I took part in, though I am anxious to hear how my friend Kelly Ping did in the Treasure State Triathlon, which took place this morning up in Bozeman, MT. I know she will do well.
For my weekend, I took care of some unfinished business, climbing Pikes Peak. Funny thing is that I have lived in Colorado Springs since 1998, and I have climbed a few of the 14teeners by now, but for some reason I had never bothered to take care of Pikes Peak. Perhaps it’s because I didn’t think the ascent of the peak itself was going to be technical enough to satisfy my appetite for climbing. Of course I have climbed many times upon Pikes Peak; the ice climbs upon its north face and over at the Bigger Bagger too.
Since having seriously taken up running a couple of years ago, I have been able to look around Colorado Springs and say,”Yeah, I’ve run there”. Everywhere except for the most important spot, or at least the biggest one. So, it was on Saturday morning that I set out to take care of that loose end.
In front of the Cog Railroad depot was the spot we were going to meet at 6:00 AM; a bunch of us from our running group, the Attack Pack, after having suggested the idea earlier in the week for a Saturday long run. Knowing it was going to be insanely busy on Ruxton Ave that day, I parked down at Memorial Park at 5:40 AM and began a slow warm-up heading up to the depot. Ramsey, Dave, Monique, Brian, and Hope all gathered with me, each of us with a different distance in mind, as most of the group was only going up to Barr camp and back. It was neat also to see many other folks we recognized from different Pikes Peak Road Runner events; lots of folks it seemed were out today with plans of heading up on the peak. At about 6:20 AM we headed out on the trail too.
Having never run with any of the Attack Pack on the Barr Trail, I was wondering what kind of strategy everyone would have for the W’s. Normally I will walk up Ruxton from just above the depot, where the road is really steep, run a little to the gate at where the dirt road begins, where I walk to the first bend back away from the creek, and then run up to where the cut-off trail meets the actual Barr trail. From there to the top of the W’s, I run a little and mostly walk the odd or north facing segments of each switchback, and then run all of the even or south facing ones. No one seemed to be in the mood to suggest anything different. So, I was relieved to get a mellow start and not have to deal with anyone wanting to like totally run the first part of the trail. From the top of the W’s, we ran where the trail was rolling on up to No Name Creek, and then walked for the next segment until we got on top of the ridge and ran most of the way up to Barr Camp, except in a couple of the more uphill sections. Perhaps I should add that we also walked most of the section from where the ½ mile to Barr Camp sign is.
We got to Barr Camp in 1 hour and 40 minutes. Saying goodbye to Ramsey, I headed on up the trail, and was pleasantly surprised that Dave wanted to stick with me for a little while longer. I pulled out a chocolate peanut-butter sandwich and split it with him. Aside from the sandwich, my nutrition plan consisted mostly of Power Gel, Enduralyte Caps, and a hydration pack full of water. I was eating a gel and a cap each hour, and sipping water whenever I could remember to. I had brought along a 20 oz bottle of HEED too, but wasn’t planning on breaking into it until much later.
Dave stuck with me until we got to the trail that turns off for the Bottomless Pit. We said our goodbyes, and I headed off up the trail alone; Dave headed back down. Not that I was really alone though; there were what seemed to be almost a hundred other people out on the trail, with designs on climbing the peak that day.
The section between Barr Camp and the A-Frame is the roughest part of the trail in terms of how rocky and technical it is. Soon enough it passed by and I was at tree-line, where I could see the top of the mountain, though there was still a long ways to go. It is 3 miles from tree-line to the summit, and I walked most of it. The trail is much smother in this section, though there was still a patch of snow or two to be negotiated. I was amazed at the views, and also by some really nice looking cliffs where there would be some good climbing, if only it weren’t so far from the road.
The trail gets rocky again where the 16 Golden Stairs are to be found just below the summit. For the most part I had stayed pretty warm up to this point in only a short sleeved shirt and some shorts. At the top, a jet of cold wind was coming over the summit from the west, as is so typical of the weather on top of Pikes Peak. I stuck around long enough to talk someone into taking my picture, and to say hello to a fellow runner, Mike Shafai from Colorado Springs, who is also taking part in the Leadman series. Mike had left the depot about the same time I had, but is a much faster runner, and had gotten to the top I am sure quite a bit sooner than I had.
Not wanting to cool off too much on the summit, it wasn’t long before I said more goodbyes, and headed off again, this time actually running, as I was now headed on my way back down the mountain. So, I ran most of the way back down. Of course I stopped to walk in a few spots, where there were large rocks to negotiate just below the summit on the 16 Golden Stairs, and for the couple of snow patches. However, all the way back down the mountain I kept up a slow shuffle, only stopping to walk just below Barr Cap, where there is a slight uphill section.
I wasn’t embarrassed to pray to God for exactly what I wanted; to not trip and fall down and get hurt. A couple of times I stumbled when my feet hit upon a rock sticking up out of the trail. For the entire descent though, God kept me safe from all harm and danger, and for that I was very grateful.
By the time I got back down to Barr Camp, I decided to break into my HEED, mainly as an experiment to see how it would sit on my stomach after having wrung so much out of my body on the way up. So, I stuck with the gels and water on the hour, and started drinking some HEED on the half hour. It tasted good, but it didn’t set too well on the tummy. Mostly it just gave me some gas. I was thankful to not have any major GI distress. Maybe I need to find something else to try instead of HEED. I love the stuff, and drink it pretty regularly while I am on the bike, but it doesn’t love me when I run…
As I got further down the mountain I allowed myself to visualize what it would be like to run back down Manitou Ave and cross in front of the Coquette Creperie, where we always cross the road while running with the Incline Club on Sunday mornings. Except I don’t get to run with the Incline Club too much, because I usually go to church instead. Visualization became reality, and I eventually did cross Manitou Ave. and made it back to my vehicle at Memorial Park at 1:00 PM exactly. By my figuring, this was just about 7 hours round trip for a distance of 28.4 miles. My legs felt a little worn out as I walked a lap back and forth in front of the park as a cool down. Other than that though, I was pretty much injury free; no severe knee or foot pain and no blisters either.
Back to the beginning; where I started with the end of something old marking the beginning of something new. Today also marked the turning of a page so to speak in my journey for this summer. Next week, on July the 3rd, the Leadman series starts. How it will end, I can only hope is with success. I realize that this is a journey that not only will my mind have to accept, but my body must be a willing accomplice too. Can I hold up physically and mentally to see this through to the end? Will I discover that I truly enjoy and want to try other ultra-endurance races? Will I finish and say that’s enough for me? Or will I crash and burn, ending somewhere in between with a DNF? I place my faith in God that He always takes me exactly where I need to be. I’ll keep you posted along the way.

Mt Evans Ascent 2010

This year I got a really cool father’s day present from my son, Jubal. He volunteered to help me with the Mt. Evans Ascent, a race held each year about the same weekend as Father’s Day, which starts at Echo Lake, CO (elev. 10,600’) and runs 14.5 miles up the Mt. Evans Highway to the summit at 14,264’. This year was my first time running the race. What a great race it is, but more on that later.
On top of helping with the race, my son also volunteered to help make my day a little longer by ferrying the car over to the Guanella Pass trailhead so I could continue on from the summit of Mt. Evans and traverse over to Mt. Bierstadt via the Sawtooth Ridge. That was the special part of my Father’s Day present; that and being able to spend some quality time with him too.
We left Colorado Springs fairly early by racing standards; 4:00 AM. This is not so early for alpine climbing, where 4:00 AM might seem luxuriously late to others. However, the race wasn’t due to start until 7:30 AM. Maybe that is one of the luxuries of a running race; you get to the top of what you’re climbing a little faster than just plain hiking. It was still a little early when we arrived at Echo Lake; maybe just a little past 6:00 AM. Since we were not going to be parking our car at the start area, the nice folks at the race let us pull up temporarily right at where check-in table was set up.
So, we dallied for just a little while at the check-in area; picking up my packet, snapping a few pictures, and putting my drop bag into one of the 15-passenger vans that would be taking them up to the summit and then shuttling racers back down to the start after finishing the race. My drop bag looked a little out of place as it had crampons and an ice axe attached to it. I wasn’t planning on being shuttled back down from the summit.
Soon Jubal packed up into our vehicle, and we said our goodbye’s as he began the 1 ½ hour ride over to Guanella Pass. I felt a little nervous/committed at that point because there was going to be no chance to contact and tell him if my plans changed for some reason; injury, missing a time cut-off, bad snow conditions, etc. So, I had to make the traverse over from Evans to Bierstadt, no other options were practical.
Other pre-race activities had still to be taken care of, so I didn’t have a lot of time to sit around and worry. I stood in a short line for the porta-potties, stretched, and then went for a warm-up run on the Echo Lake trail. Maybe it was only for a few minutes that I had run down the trail before I realized I would need to make one more stop at the porta-potties. By the time I got back, the line had quadrupled in size, to the point I wasn’t sure I would get another chance to go before the race started. However, the time in line was well spent as a few of us socialized and realized that our paths would cross again in just a couple of weeks for the Leadville Trail Marathon.
Just as the race director was starting to yell at us through his megaphone about the race starting without us, I got into the porta-potty only to find there really wasn’t much toilet paper left. Other folks were frantically running back and forth outside asking if there was any toilet paper left at all. Some of the porta-potties were completely out. That was my only real gripe with the race; they could have had a few more facilities available at the start, and they could have been a little better stocked too.
Soon enough we all lined up at the starting line. The race director pointed out that he had not taken a lot of time to mark the course, only that it “went that way.”, as he pointed up the highway in the general direction of the summit of Mt. Evans. Just as the last of the spectator cars got through the fee station, the race started, and we were off!
My first impression, and one that still sticks with me, is that running the Mt. Evans Ascent is just like running Ridge Road back home, if only for 14 plus miles! If you have ever run in the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs, then you can probably relate to what I am saying. Since Echo Lake is at 10,600’ in elevation, it isn’t long until you break out of the tree-line and the views really start to open up. Hmmmm…. Up? Well, that seemed to be the mantra of the day. Shuffling along at a pace that wasn’t pegging my heart rate, I managed to actually run. I kept telling myself that I would run the next mile and then evaluate just how hard running at this altitude was going to be.
Many peaks have I hiked and climbed, but I have never purposefully run at this altitude. So, I really didn’t have a lot of experience to fall back on. Mile after mile started to go by. The race director was right; the Mt. Evans highway goes to the summit of Mt. Evans, and the mileage is marked very mile of the way. So, I guess he was serious when he said he didn’t go to a lot of effort to mark the course.
Aid stations were situated about every 3 miles or so along the race course. I made a point of walking through each one, making sure to grab a cup of water and a piece of a banana. They had some electrolyte drink available, but after working on my nutrition plan with one of my running partners, who is a graduate student at UCCS in the nutrition department, I have realized that something like HEED doesn’t sit well in my tummy if I drink too much of it. This is especially true when combining it with other sugary things, like energy gels. In fact it doesn’t sit there too long either as this combination has led to some major GI distress and many epic trips to the woods in some recent events. However, today my tummy felt perfectly dialed in, and I was happily sipping water and munching bananas and the occasional gel.
Up and up and up I ran. The only downhill section is coming into the aid station at Summit Lake, around mile 9. Time-cut offs are enforced at Summit Lake, where you have to make it there by 2 ½ hours after the start. I think I made it to the lake well within 2 hours. Continuing to take it easy with my pace, I was able to make it to just past mile 10 before I had to stop and walk for a bit. From there on to the finish, I used a strategy I had picked up at the point of exhaustion during the Wyoming Double Marathon, where I would walk to one of the reflectors along the side of the road, and then run to the next one, and then repeat the process all over again.
After Summit Lake, the highway really starts to gain some elevation. The views get more incredible as each bend in the highway gives way to next
. Way up above, I could see runners progressing towards the finish. Way down below, I could see the same. Finally the mileage signs started to count up to the finish. Miles 11 and 12 felt pretty long
. Mile 13 flew by for some reason. Then the sign for mile 14 went by, and I was able to kick it in for a slow, but purposeful shuffle to the finish. There I even broke into a short sprint; 2 hours 59 minutes, and 44 seconds after leaving Echo Lake. My finish was nothing to write home about, but at least worthy enough to spend a few lines on for this blog, eh? In the big picture for today; my place was exactly in the middle of the pack, right where I always am (147 out of 300 plus runners and 18 out of 36 in my age group).
At the summit I grabbed my drop bag and told the race folks about my plans to traverse over to Bierstadt. I wanted to make sure they weren’t trying to account for everyone, and that I wouldn’t cause any problems. Off to the side, I changed into some pants and a windshirt and put on my climbing face. Quickly I climbed to the last few feet to tag up with the summit, and studied my route as the West Ridge of Evans fell away to the Sawtooth.
Roach’s climbing guide said the West Ridge was only 0.7 miles in length, which I imagined would go by pretty quick when analyzed with a glass of wine while comfortably situated at home. Reality in the mountains is that few things are as straight forward as one would like them to be, and the ridge was no exception. The scrambling was nice, but very blocky, and I took a little extra time because I was in my running shoes, and didn’t want to slip and fall. Fortunately the snow wasn’t a problem with only a patch here and there, even a few spots had boot prints where I could take some comfort in that I was staying on the right course. Peeking over the edge of the north face of Evans at one point, I spied a couple of skiers delicately traversing over to the top of a hidden couloir, getting ready for a descent back to Summit Lake. To the other side, I could see several groups of hikers coming up from Mt. Spalding, just finishing up with the West Ridge and getting close to the summit. Lots of folks were out for a good day.
As I began to drop down off the ridge itself following a series of large carins, my iPod started playing Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, which seemed to set the perfect mood for the moment; the Sawtooth was ahead, Bierstadt was off to the left, and I was alone and in the mountains, in my happy place. Immersing myself in the music and the moment, the West Ridge was soon past. I began to traverse the large open slope that forms the top of the Sawtooth Ridge.
This was a point I had worried over a little bit, as this part of the route is fairly broad, open, and lacking in distinct features. If traversing from Bierstadt to Evans, following the Sawtooth is perfectly obvious. However, coming from the direction of Evans to Bierstadt, a crucial piece to the puzzle, a narrow ramp system that allows access through the sheer cliff at the end of the Sawtooth is unobvious, hidden from the eye of climber. Instead, a collection of large cairns must be found that mark the beginning of the descent on to the ramp. Fortunately, by angling slightly upwards as I traversed across the open slope before me, I totally nailed the start of the ramp, intersecting the end of the slope where the chasm of the Sawtooth drops away within 100’ of where the cairns were to be found. With relief I began to drop down onto the ramp, also feeling good about the lack of snow that I was encountering, as I was not having to put on crampons or break out the ice axe.
At the end of the ramp, I crossed back over to the opposite side of the Sawtooth, encountering what was probably the most technical section on the route, a short bit of 3rd or 4th class down climbing. I probably made it harder than it had to be, but the act of actually climbing and not just scrambling was fun. At the bottom of the Sawtooth there remained only a long snow slope ahead, separating me from the summit of Bierstadt
. Looking up I could clearly see someone on the summit; was that my son Jubal?
Because I was wearing my running shoes, and didn’t feel like putting on crampons, I did my best to stay in the series of rock bands to the right of the snow, which formed the summit ridge of Bierstadt. Maybe the snow would have been easier to slog up, and the rock was a little more technical, but I was enjoying every moment as the last of the mountain surrendered itself to me. Dodging back and forth across the sides of the ridge, gaining height towards the top, the wind began to increase whenever I was on the west side of the ridge.
Soon it was blowing hard enough for me to barely be able to keep my balance as I crossed the last few feet of the ridge. At the same time I also noticed the figure on the summit beginning to wave at me; it was Jubal! I waved back, pumping my fist in the air, as happy for him as I was for myself. It was the perfect moment, and also his first 14teener, which he had done all by himself. He was excited too, and we gave each other a big hug when we met on top. The wind was blowing something fierce. I knew Jubal had to be pretty cold. He told me he had been on the summit for about 1 ½ hours while waiting for me. The emotions I was feeling made this one of the best summits I have ever stood upon. Quickly we snapped a few pictures and began the descent back down the west side of Bierstadt towards Guanella Pass.
Getting from the summit of Bierstadt back down to Guanella Pass is listed as being slightly less than 3 miles in several of the popular guide books to Colorado’s 14-teeners. However, it seemed to me to go on for so much longer. Descending from the summit at first involved lots of steep, down-stepping, which was starting to feel a little hard on my legs and feet after having been on them for so long. Parts of the trail were pretty muddy too from all of the recent snow melt, which meant trying to pick a way through without getting my running shoes absolutely filthy. My son Jubal admitted that he was pretty whipped too, and that his hip flexors were really sore, since he hadn’t been out recently practicing a lot of hiking or climbing uphill. Fortunately the weather was continuing to hold and wasn’t going to be a problem at all.
After much hiking down the side of Bierstadt, we finally crossed Scott Gomer Creek, which left us only 1 mile through the willows to get back to the trailhead. By this time Jubal was really starting to slow down, so I got ahead of him by a pretty good ways and waited at the trailhead, reflecting on the day’s events and soaking in the views of the Sawtooth and Mt. Bierstadt. It had been a good day and some good training too. Soon enough Jubal got to the trailhead too and handed the keys to me, asking me to get our vehicle from the upper parking lot and drive back down to pick him up. In back of the vehicle I had packed a cooler full of good things for us to have a victory picnic of sorts. Jubal was a little too gone at this point to want to hang out and eat at the trail head, so we packed-up and headed back to Colorado Springs. I munched on some of our goodies while I drove. Jubal alternated between eating a few bites and passing out into a comatose like state of sleep.
Overall the Mt. Evans Ascent is a great race. The support for the race is really good with the way the aid stations are stocked and manned. The contents of the swag bag handed out at the check-in almost paid for the race entry fee; a bag of coffee beans, 3 energy bars, dried plums, Enduralyte caps, and a $35 card for downloading music from the Internet!

A Day at the Races; The Rocky Mountain Double Marathon 2010

The first order of business with any race should be to thank all of the volunteers and the race director/staff for letting us punish and put ourselves through a great deal of suffering, all the while generously giving of their time to lavish us with great support. The good people of the Rocky Mountain Double Marathon of course exceeded my wildest expectations and were fantastic in helping take care of us as we limped along throughout the course of the day; my sincerest thanks and gratitude to all of you.
With the passage of time, the exact memory and impressions of an event lessen, letting us forget in a good way exactly how much we suffered during a particular race, etc. However, my first impression is that a double marathon is harder on the body than a full distance triathlon. Funny thing is that a full distance triathlon takes me longer to complete, but the abuse to the lower body is just not comparable.
With that out of the way; the race was just great. A modest crowd, I don’t know the exact numbers, gathered near the Lincoln Memorial at exit 323 on Interstate 80 in 30-ish degree temperatures with a light breeze (by Wyoming standards) for the start of the race. After a few words of prayer, the race director announced in the most casual fashion that we could start.
From looking at the elevation gain/loss profile of the course on the race website, I was unimpressed with just how steep and hilly the course really is. OK, maybe I am just not the best at soaking up and interpreting that kind of information, but this course is a beast. Overall the course is pretty hilly, but the start/finish is a very steep. So, we began by running downhill, down a very steep hill at first, and then downhill some more for the first 4 miles or so to the 1st aid station. The first part of the race descends through a very pretty valley with a small stream and some beaver ponds; the kind of country it would be great to go camping in. The aid station was pretty modest, consisting of self serve water and Gatorade powder, potato chips, M&M’s, and a small assortment of cereal bars kind of things.
I made a point of grabbing a handful of chips and a few M&M’s at each aid station. Got to keep the calories coming in. Somewhere in first 4 miles, I also managed to munch on a quarter of the peanut butter sandwich I had stashed in my pocket. I had another one in the hydration pack I was carrying, intending to eat 4 of them over the course of the race, but I think I only managed about 1 ½ sandwiches total throughout the day.
After the downhill, the inevitable uphill section followed. It felt good, like a guilty pleasure, to be walking the uphill section. Walking uphill is a nice part of the strategy of doing an ultra; at least for the slower crowd that I hang out with. The hill is pretty steep and sustained, but maybe not quite as much as the start/finish. It seemed to last until just over 7 miles where the dirt road ended and we got on pavement for the first time.
The race website says that 77% of the marathon course is on dirt roads; let’s see that is just over 6 miles of pavement for the marathon, and well, you do the math for the double; something that I didn’t do beforehand. So, I was a little surprised at how long the pavement seemed to last. I gave it a nickname; Forever Rd. Actually, it was the service road that stretches along the south side of I-80. It was pleasant enough and rolling just a little, so you got to run most of it without any real excuse to stop and walk, except for just plain being whipped later on in the race. As we finally got to the next exit on I-80, we ducked down beneath the highway again and got onto Vedauwoo Road, where we encountered the 2nd aid station. My guess is this somewhere around mile 9, but then again I never rock a GPS watch, so that’s just a guess.
After just a bit more pavement, it was back on dirt roads again, this time in the picturesque Vedauwoo rock climbing area, home to some of the most sand-bagged, err challenging, crack and offwidth climbing to be found anywhere. Too bad it is also a great place for rednecks to come and cruise around in their big pick-up trucks, on ATV’s, and motorcycles while raising clouds of dust racing back and forth on the dirt road between emergency camp-site visits. I figure there must have been an emergency somewhere, otherwise why go tearing down the road raising so much dust? Once particularly impressive truck had “Honk if you think my truck is sexy” boldly scrawled across its back window, at least that is what I think it said through the clouds of dust.
Also, as soon as we got on the dirt road I had to hit the tree-line in order to relieve my first bout of GI distress; something that was going to dog me throughout the day. Don’t know what it is about long distance running and an irritable bowel, but they sure seem to go hand in hand with me. Once I got done and started running again, it was only a couple of miles downhill to the turn-around point for the marathon.
At the turn-around point there was the 3rd aid station. A nice volunteer signed our numbers, to prove we had made it so far, and then we were directed to turn-around and head back to the start/finish. What goes down must come back up. According to the course profile, we had been heading downhill most of the way outbound, and uphill was going to be the mantra for the way back.
Not much to describe what is different for the inbound leg of an out and back race. Well, you get to see who is in the lead, and you also get to see who is behind you. I usually try to be like Lot and not like his wife in a race and never look back. I ran into the leader of the race when we first hit the dirt road at Vedauwoo. I was a little surprised to see how many folks were behind me because I move so slowly. Leave it to say that the leader of the race was a good 4 miles ahead of me at less than half way into the race.
On the way back; Forever Rd seem to take, well you know… It was nice to run downhill for a good ways when we got back on the dirt road again after 3 more miles of pavement. After going through the first aid station again, it was uphill for a long ways to the start/finish. The group I was with did a run/walk for most of the uphill section; all of us being reduced to a walk at the last mile or so to get to the start/finish… hmmm I mean turn around point for us double marathoners. I sure had a case of serious envy when I was directed away from the finisher’s chute and told simply to turn around and start all over again.
Before I got started on the second lap I made sure to change socks, get something to eat, and to refill my hydration pack. I carry a 1.5-liter bladder in my pack, and had finished almost all of it on the first lap. Once I started running downhill again, it wasn’t too long before I had to hit the tree-line again for a little more GI distress.
What kind of impressions do I have from the second lap that are different from the first? Well, pain for starters; then throw in a little bit of exhaustion too. A book about ultra running I read, can’t remember which one, said that one attribute about the sport is learning about how to deal with the beast named exhaustion when it shows up. That part I think I can handle OK. The pain is what I get worried about; will it shut me down? Today was OK, so far nothing serious like IT band syndrome had shown up. Going downhill from the start/finish a pretty good pressure sore started to form on the top of my right foot. Later, some mild pain started to show up in my left hip. Knees seemed to hang in there all day. I thanked God for how good I felt compared to how badly I knew I could be feeling. A final bout of GI distress decided to show up just after passing through the second aid station. Somewhere around the marathon turn-around; let’s see that would be some 39 miles into the race, a blister started to form on my right ring toe. Forever Rd. seemed to take longer than forever as I was inbound back to the start/finish. I had to run/walk on the downhill sections by this time, both from exhaustion and to make sure that I didn’t further exacerbate any injuries that were just lurking in the background. That last uphill to the start/finish went on and on…
There comes a point in a long race when I can let my guard down just a bit, because I know that my finish is pretty inevitable, even though it might still be a ways off. All that separates me from crossing the finish line is just a little more suffering, which by this time I have gotten pretty used to enduring. I was pretty happy with thought of finishing my first ultra and looking forward to getting the finisher’s belt buckle. However, I was also a little disturbed by just how plain whipped I was. This race was only 52 miles. Later in the summer I am going to try the Leadville Trail 100. How am I going to do it?
I would like to tell myself that this distance might be like a half marathon is to a full marathon or a half Ironman is to a full Ironman triathlon. Psychologically these (half) distance races are pretty hard when you think about doubling the distance. However, in an ultra there are some physiological demands on the body, which I am sure will be different, in that going twice as far as 50 miles on foot will be a lot more physical and not just mental. Am I making any sense? I don’t know; I’ll get back to you on that one in late August.
At last I was heading uphill on the final stretch to the finish line. I summoned enough strength to actually run across the finish line itself and get my results from the race director; 11 hours, 30 minutes, and 55 seconds. After receiving my buckle, I hung around long enough to cheer the next finisher across the line. I wanted to stay for more, but I was too whipped, and slowly started to limp my way back to the car. Even in the short period of time I had hung out at the start/finish my body had already started to seize up, and a hobbling limp was all I could manage for the ¼ mile walk back down to where I had parked at the Lincoln Memorial rest area.
After texting a few friends with the results, I spent some time on the phone with my wife as I drove back to the Little America hotel in Cheyenne. We spent some time laughing about the GI distress I had that day; OK after 25 years of marriage we can enjoy a little potty humor with each other. I wasn’t going to try driving back to Colorado Springs that evening in my exhausted state. However I didn’t really enjoy a good rest that night either in the hotel room. Maybe I was just too tired even though the bed was nice; I ended up tossing and turning for most of the night.
There is a great group of folks that I regularly run with on Tuesday and Thursday mornings; the Attack Pack. I love all the folks that are in the group, as we have all helped each other push ourselves to new limits and make each other stronger than we would be individually. As I write this (on Monday), tomorrow morning seems way too soon for how I physically feel now. Maybe I will just show up and cheer them on. I can take some time to walk around Garden of the Gods and take some pictures instead.
Upcoming races are the Garden of the Gods run in 2 weeks; then I am entering the Mt. Evans run on the following weekend. The Mt. Evans run should be an interesting race; starting at just over 10,000’ and finishing up at over 14,000’ in just over 14.5 miles of road, all going uphill. After that I begin my quest for the Leadman 2010 with the Leadville Trail Marathon on July 3rd. It’s going to be a hard summer…

My First Ultra -Rocky Mountain Double Marathon

A little nervous here; tomorrow is a big test; my first real ultra marathon; the Rocky Mountain Double between Cheyenne and Laramie, WY. .
Drove up from Colorado Springs this afternoon, arriving in Cheyenne about 4:00 PM to stay at the Little America hotel. Little America is a wonderful place, but too bad I won’t have much time to enjoy it with all of the suffering ahead.
After checking in, I attended a nice pre-race dinner and packet pick-up. Got a chance to meet some nice folks who will be running the double tomorrow, who also might be at about the same pace my goal is; somewhere in the 12 hour range. Actually I don’t have a clue on how to guess at what my time might be like, having never done a race of this distance. All I am basing my estimate on is that both of my Ironman marathons have been just over 5 hours. So, double the time and add a little more for good measure and there you have my best guesstimate.
At the dinner I also got to hang out with Liz and her friend Julie. Liz is from my running group in Colorado Springs; the Attack Pack aka the Middle of the Pack running group. She and Julie, who is an Air Force Lt. Colonel visiting from San Antonio, TX, are both doing the marathon. We met Miss Teen Wyoming, who hung out at the dinner table too, and that made for some nice conversation.
The most interesting gentleman at the table was Ira Brown, who will turn 70 next year. He started running when he was 55 and has done all of the 50 states marathons twice! Just goes to show you that at my age (44), I have no reason to be making any excuses. Ira has done a lot of ultras and full of encouragement.
Well, between now and then I need to get some sleep and then a have an eating and drinking contest mixed in with a little exercise spread out over 52.4 miles… See ya on the other side

A Private Moment in a Public Place

Saturday, April 10th, 2010: For a while now, I have had an obsession with the West Point Crack; a 3 pitch climb located on the west side of South Gateway Rock in the Garden of the Gods. It’s not the prettiest climb to look at, and it doesn’t have the most aesthetic moves or anything like that. Compared to its neighbors, and to all the routes in the Garden of the Gods, it’s simply just another climb. I think what makes it more special to me is its rather modest grade; 5.8 to 5.10 depending on who you ask when taking into account all three of its pitches, combined also with its rarity in being a complete climb, ascending to the top of the formation upon which it is to be found. Not that a lot of routes don’t go to the top of the particular crag upon they can be found. Most climbs at Garden of the Gods, if they are multi-pitch routes that go to the top of a formation, tend to become run-out horror shows, lacking climbable features or protection, and often reach into the realm of being a much harder grade to climb. So, that is my qualification for why I like the route. What is my obsession with it?
Since I like to climb solo; climbing without the use of ropes, a belay, or any other type of protection, and because I often climb there due to its proximity to my home, it didn’t take long for a desire to build within me to add this to my circuit of Garden climbs. Only, the rock and the climbing are just not quite as sure or dependable as some of the other routes that I regularly visit there. For example, on many occasions I have started with the Cowboy Boot Crack, and advanced in no particular order through Potholes, the South Ridge of the White Spire, the north ridge of Montezuma’s Tower, New Era, and of course the 1st pitch of the West Point Crack. Since I carry a 7mm rope with me in order to rappel off several of these routes, adding in the 1st pitch of the West Point Crack didn’t seem to be too contrived. Well, I can’t say that I had whatever inside of me it was going to take in order to push it out to the top of the route either. OK, I do have a name for that; faith.
I bet I have climbed the West Point Crack with a rope and a belay 100 times; probably not, but it feels like that anyway. I have done it with a partner, by myself using a soloist, sewing it up with every piece of gear I can get to go in it, and with clipping only the fixed gear that is available on it. Whenever I get close to being ready to solo it; in my mind, as I lay in bed at night, I begin thinking of two sections; one on the 2nd pitch where a high foot smear provides the security necessary to reach up enough into the crack to gain a good hand jam, and the beginning of the 3rd pitch where a long step across to a greasy foot smear is required in order to bridge a fearful gap and reach left around an arête to a nice side-pull. Both give me the willies thinking of the consequences of a foot slipping on the soft sandstone of the Garden of the Gods.
Arriving midway through a pleasant Saturday afternoon, I encountered the typical zoo that is the Garden on a pretty spring weekend. A large portion of the Colorado Springs populace seems to be present and bent releasing whatever pent up desires or frustrations that Mother Nature has done her best to inhibit with the typical spring weather pattern we endure here on the Front Range of Colorado. Well, probably everywhere else too for that matter; beautiful on weekdays when you are at work and horrible over the weekend as another cold front storms its way eastward reminding us that winter hasn’t lost its grip just yet.
I caught up with some friends at the base of the Twin Spires just as they were topping out on the South Ridge of the White Spire. Quickly I soloed up in order to join them while they were rigging a rappel. Once back on the ground, I ran over to the other side of the Red Spire and ran a quick lap on Potholes. Meanwhile, my friends had rigged a top rope on the North Ridge of the White Spire, and I tied in for a lap. Climbing it, I found I was sketchy and hesitant, definitely not feeling the mojo I would need to think about soloing this one.
After packing up, we headed over to Montezuma’s Tower to get on the North Ridge. Arriving at its base though, we encountered the typical Garden of the Gods freak-show; 2 climbers completely lost at the top of the 1st pitch, bellowing at each other as they were in the process of lowering one climber back to the ground and then the 2nd climber rappelling from only a single eye bolt! Fortunately they made it safely to the ground without bringing any carnage upon themselves. Since there was already party waiting to start the climb, my friends decided to go find another route; perhaps either the West Point Crack or the Cowboy Boot Crack. However, the folks who were next in line for the route were very gracious and gave me permission to jump in front of them so I could run a quick lap up the route.
The whole time I had been keeping an eye on the West Point Crack. Most of the afternoon another party of 3 had been engaged in climbing its first two pitches. Now they were in the process of rappelling back down. I figured my opportunity had arrived.
Silently I spent a few moments at the bottom of the climb reflecting on what I was about to do. It would be dishonest of me to say that I was doing anything other than praying to God; thanking Him for the opportunity being placed before me, and affirming my belief that faith in God would be all that was necessary to see me safely to wherever He thought was best for me to be; either safely at the top or not… It’s really just that simple.
Just as silently I began climbing the 1st pitch, not saying a word to the folks who were finishing up with their rappel and sorting through various bits of gear scattered around the base of the climb. I have soloed the 1st pitch many times, and it went by smoothly, just as it should due to having memorized and often repeated the various bits and pieces of climbing that comprise it. At the beginning of the second pitch, I briefly contemplated the one way street I was entering; once I began the next series of moves there would be no reversing them, and as I did not have a rope or anything other than a chalk bag with me, it would be hard to change my mind and do anything much about it. Quickly and confidently I began the opening moves of the 2nd pitch, high-stepping, smearing, reaching, and jamming securely through the cruxes of the first 30 feet or so until I was safely established in the chimney that comprises the bulk of the 2nd pitch.
Looking behind me, I could see where a large crowd of tourists had gathered to gawk at the spectacle I was creating. That is when it struck me on how private a moment this was for me in such a very public place. Everyone below could plainly see what I was up to, fewer could really understand what I was doing, and perhaps to only my close friend Doug, who was presently on Cowboy Boot Crack and out of site, would it have made any sense. Doug had been very kind, patiently belaying me many times on the climb so that I could get the faith and courage necessary to go ahead and solo it since I had been thinking of so much anyway.
Turning away from the crowd, I directed my thoughts back inward and my hands and feet at the rock before me. The rest of the 2nd pitch went quickly by, and I found myself atop the spire that separates the top of the 2nd pitch from the rest of South gateway Rock, gazing across the chasm between me and the end of the route; only a few feet to go, easy with faith, and easier still to let doubt and fear gnaw away at the confidence necessary to surmount it. Faith and God would win this day!
With confidence I stepped my right foot across the gap, smearing it against the same greasy spot I had so often placed it before. Hucking my left hand upwards and reaching around the side of the arête, I grabbed a secure edge and simultaneously brought my left foot up and around to a precise toehold and slapped my right hand into a scooped-out hole in the rock so I could bear-hug the arête. Continuing in a smooth motion, I reached higher with my right hand to a nice jug; the same one of many nightmares about it breaking off and crumbling with my touch. In an instant I was securely established on the arête. Only a side-pull and a high step with my left foot separated me from being able to mantle up onto my right foot and solidly jam my left hand in a crack enabling me to stand upright, safely across the chasm and only a move from the top. The last move safely passed, and I breathed a sigh of relief, sitting for a moment to thank God for protecting me from all harm and danger, and seeing me to the top.
Walking back down the descent, onto the sidewalk that winds its way along the base of South Gateway Rock and through throngs of people to retrieve my gear from the beginning of the climb, I easily melded back into the anonymity of the crowd, the hustle and bustle of tourists and climbers alike, neither encountering or expecting any comment or congratulations. Emotionally I could have been walking 100 feet in the air above the sidewalk, but that was only a feeling of gratitude and peace inside me. The whole of the climb and descent had taken perhaps 10 minutes. In fact, the same folks I had encountered at the base of the route were still in the process of packing their gear. Without a word, except goodbye and good day, I packed my stuff and began the hike over to Cowboy Boot Crack to link back up with my friends.
Doug exchanged a look with me, and asked if I had taken care of business. I said I had, and he congratulated me, but I added that it was faith in God, or better yet, God’s shepherding of us, that should be lauded and boasted upon. He understood, because he has been such a source of spiritual growth for me, mostly by the example he sets. They were just getting ready to pull their rope from the anchors of Cowboy Boot Crack, and he asked me if I wanted to get a lap in. I responded with a no, feeling satisfied with what I had put behind me, and already looking forward to what was required next; getting in a few miles of running in order to keep the weekly mileage total up where it should be. Hmmmm… from the house to the top of Ridge Road and back sounds nice…

Bridalveil and Ames Ice Hose in a Day

March 6, 2010
Leaving my vehicle with the sun rising at 6:00 AM on Saturday morning, I set out on a quest to fulfill a long time goal; free soloing both Bridalveil Falls and the Ames Ice Hose, back to back, on the same day. These are two of the most classic and longest ice climbs that Colorado has to offer. They are both located in the Telluride, CO area.
First a little background may be in order. What is free soloing; it is climbing something such as rock or ice without the use of a rope, a belay, or any type of intermediate protection that would prevent the climber from falling off in case of a slip, letting go, etc. In other words, the climber is totally dependent on his or her own skills at keeping them on and getting successfully to the top.
Why do I do it? That is not as easy to place into words as defining what free soloing is as it relates to climbing. Suffice it to say that it is just a way that I enjoy getting out in the mountains, and that I have done it a lot. I keep a list of all the climbs I solo, and I am up to just over 800.
Previously I had soloed each of the climbs on separate occasions. I had read of where a few other folks had soloed the two routes back to back on the same day. I also knew it was getting increasingly popular to combine the two routes into a back to back effort with a pair of climbers that were roped together.
So, with having spent a lot of time recently on building up my endurance through running, swimming, cycling, etc; I figured that now was as good a time as any to give it a try. Leaving my vehicle I had a high level of confidence in my ability to pull it off as long as I could keep it together mentally and just stick with it.
The hike up to Bridalveil Falls is pretty easy as most of it consists of a groomed trail that sees a lot of snow cat travel. I made the approach in short order, and found myself staring up at the climb, but it was not in as good of shape as I had hoped it would be. In fact it looked pretty sick; most of the climb looking like disjointed roofs where features had broken off, leaving a complicated path that would have to be pieced together a single tool placement at a time. From the ground I couldn’t tell for sure that it would even go.
When I solo an ice climb, I usually carry a few things with me that leaves me an option to get back home if I find myself too far adrift in never-never land. In other words, I try to carry a few things that will help me get back down off the climb in case something goes wrong; these include 2 screws, 2 quick draws, some webbing that I can use for a V-thread, and either one or two 60-meter ropes, depending on the length of the climb and what type of rappelling options there are.
I sorted my gear and racked-up beneath a large boulder at the base of the climb. Slowly and with tentative movements I started the climb, but my comfort level just wasn’t there. I seemed to be scared to death of every move and couldn’t get into the comfortable flow of climbing I am so used to experiencing when I am soloing ice. 30 meters up the climb I came to a complete halt at the first overhang, not being able to convince myself to proceed any further. Since I was right beside where someone else had placed a V-thread, I went ahead and bailed off the climb, rappelling down to level and saner ground.
Back on the ground, I took off my gear and began to pace back and forth beneath the climb, seeking within myself some guidance about whether to just give up and go home… a still, small voice spoke up inside, like the way the voice of God so often shows up, saying to me; “Just have some faith.” I found myself putting my gear back on and heading back up the route.
At the overhang where I had previously been turned back, I slowly edged higher, taking the climb just one tool placement at a time. With each placement that I hoisted myself upon in order to place my other tool just a little higher, I deliberately repeated that same mantra to myself that I had first heard on the ground; “Just have some faith.” Slowly I started to make some progress, gaining height upon the climb.
At one point, perhaps it was the crux of the climb; I had to totally commit to some insecure hooking where the ice seemed like it was also slightly overhanging. Doubt surged through me, making me wonder how I would reverse the move if I couldn’t find a decent tool placement above. The still, small voice continued to speak; “Just have some faith.” So, I committed to the move and soon found myself above most of the major difficulties where the top of the climb was within sight.
One of the neat things about climbing Bridalveil Falls is when you get higher on the climb; many times there is a section of ice that is transparent, allowing the climber to peer through the ice at the dark, rushing water beneath, almost as if peering into the very soul of the climb itself, if it were to have one. Another way of trying to put the experience in words would be comparing it to a silent movie that was playing itself out beneath the ice. You can stare through the window of ice and sense the power of the water rushing down the inside of the climb, separated from you by only a few inches of transparent ice, but there is not a sound to be heard. It is always a special moment when you reach this point on the climb, as this phenomenon always seems to appear in about the same spot.
Not far above the window into the climb, I reached the end of the technical difficulties, with only a short section of lower angled ice separating me from the top of the cliff. I dispatched it uneventfully and paused to stare at the fixed anchors at the top, thanking God for being with me, protecting me from all harm and danger. The last time I had done the climb, I ended up walking off to the left, circumnavigating the power station that is situated at the top of the cliff. Since then, fixed rappel anchors have been added to the climb, making it a lot easier to get back down. However, I made sure to take a few moments to let the surroundings soak in, not knowing when I would be back here again.
Rappelling down to the base of the climb, packing my few things, and hiking back to my vehicle went by in the glow of the euphoric high of what I had just accomplished; 400’ of WI 5/6 ice. My time wasn’t anything particularly to be proud of; 4 hours and 50 minutes car to car, but I had kept it together despite having mucked around for a bit in a state of total fear and doubt. Having some faith had seen me through. The first half of the day’s journey was done.

Driving in my vehicle from Telluride over to Ames, CO, I snacked on a tasty buffet of items I had picked up at the City Market across from the Quality Inn where I stay in Montrose, CO when I am ice climbing in the Ouray/Telluride area. I had some olives, a ham sandwich, and a little bit of chocolate too, all washed down with a large bottle of Gatorade. I would need the fuel for the next half of the day.
It was only 11:40 AM when I parked my car by the power plant in Ames. I was totally surprised to see that I was the only car there. The day was one of those awesome blue-bird winter days in Colorado, where the sun was shining and there was not a breath of wind. I said a quick prayer of thanksgiving that I was the only one there on what has to be one of the most popular ice climbs in all of Colorado. Whether or not there was a crowd in front of me was going to be one of the make or break points of completing my day’s agenda. The Ames Ice Hose is a beautiful 520’ ribbon of ice snaking its way down a chimney system. If another party was above me, it would have been unsafe for me to climb below where anything they knocked off could come crashing down on top of me.
The approach to the Ames Ice Hose is a little more complicated than for Bridalveil Falls. You begin by snaking through the woods above the power station until you can climb up the hillside to access an old narrow gauge railroad bed that is traversed across the side of the mountain until the gully that leads to the base of the climb is reached. The climb up the gully can either be good if a donkey path has been stomped in or it can be a little slice of hell and quite dangerous too if the snow is deep, untracked, and ready to slide off in an avalanche. Luckily, the path up the gully was quite good. I had also made sure to check the avalanche conditions on the Internet for the northern San Juan Mountains and was confident that I had a safe snow pack for the upper part of the gully. It was here that all my endurance training really paid off as I raced up to the base of the climb in only 45 minutes from the time when I left my vehicle.
Many times the 1st pitch of the Ames Ice Hose can present the climber with a go/no go type of entrance exam for just getting on the climb. A normal year consists of about 100’ of dead vertical ice, only a few inches thick, thinly plastered to the rock beneath it. In some years there is not enough ice at all on the 1st pitch, causing climbers to scrape up rocky corner systems that lie to either side of where the ice should be. On this day, I found there was just enough ice. Not enough to where I ever felt comfortable, but just enough that I could link a series of tool placement together, reverting back to the mantra that had seen me so well up to this point in the day; “Just have some faith.”
The 2nd pitch, through the chimney/corner system, was much thinner than the previous time I had soloed the route. I found myself hooking on faith alone through some of the thinnest sections that felt like they were slightly overhanging; de ja vue all over again… from the morning. A few times I had to stem with my crampons upon slight, rocky edges I found on rock walls to either side. If I thought the difficulties were over, it got steeper again, making the pitch seem all of its 200’.
Once I got out of the chimney system, I scrambled to the top of a short snow slope and contemplated the giant sheet of dead vertical ice separating me from the top; only 200’ between me and my goal. I took my time climbing it, making sure each tool placement was solid before moving up on it to get the next tool in a little higher. A little bit of exhaustion was starting to set in for all of the swinging I had done over the course of the day. In a dreamlike sequence of tool placements the ice moved before my eyes and beneath my feet to the point where the vertical plain I had been clinging to suddenly reared over to become horizontal again. With a yell, I released the tension pent up inside me and rejoiced to God for such a wonderful day.
Carefully I made my way over the snow slope in a downward traverse to reach the tree that marked the beginning of the rappel route down off the climb. It wasn’t long for me to get the 4 rappels completed back to the base of the route, pack up, and begin the hike back to the vehicle. My total time for completing the Ames Ice Hose was only 3 hours and 24 minutes car to car; giving me a total time of 8 hours and 54 minutes car to car for the combination of both routes.
Jeff Marshall is a hero of mine from the Canadian climbing scene of the 1980’s and 90’s. If you are an ice climber and interested in the history of the sport you should know who he is or take the trouble to find out. Vividly I can remember an account of his in a magazine called Polar Circus from a day when he had linked together the magazine’s namesake along with the ultra classic Weeping Pillar. At the end of the article, while driving away from the trailhead in his truck, he asked himself, “So, was it a good day?” I knew that I could also answer for myself, “Yes it was!”