God Bless Our Barrio

Lady at the corner market in brand new Fila hightops, clutching a plastic covered Bible. She looks clean, she looks happy, she counts change to buy a mini-bottle of whiskey. She leaves the store, opens the bottle, says a prayer, and pours it down her throat.

Across the parking lot is a porta-john. Sitting next to it in a yoga pose is a gaunt shirtless man. He is barking.

You Found Me!

The authorities finally caught the bear, sedated it, brought it back to the forest, and dropped it off on some corner between trees.

The bear had already been tagged, which means it’s not the first time this has happened.

He’s probably just waking up now in some strange corner of the woods with a bad headache, wondering “Where am I? How did I get here? What the fuck happened last night?”

Listening to the story on the radio I had a real “there but for the grace of God go I” moment. I so related to that bear.

Colorado Rockies

Running Quad Rock 50 in Fort Collins there were a few moments where I thought to myself, “I expected this to be more beautiful”, or “these trails are better groomed than I’d like”. It was, of course, probably the most beautiful course I’ve run on, from start to finish, even if parts of AC100 are more majestic.

It was me being ungrateful and unappreciative. And karma got me for it, directly: I caught a flu that caused me to drop from the race and still has me sick a week later.

This weekend, I sit in my apartment with the flu. Meanwhile, my old running partner Maggie Beach is in South Florida running Keys 100 this weekend: 100 flat miles of most sidewalk and shoulder-of-the-road in Florida heat.

It sounds like my idea of hell.

She came in 3rd place female with a time just under 20 hours.

Also this weekend: Bishop 100K/50m/50K, in the beautiful Eastern Sierras, scene of my only other DNF, last year.

It is extraordinary that I can spend every weekend in the mountains, that I know the trails in the San Gabriels better than most, even though my explorations have only just begun, and that every weekend brings some new adventure. I have everything to be grateful for.

Me (in white cap) on the stairs. Photo by Steve Pero.

I headed out to Colorado to visit family and run the Quad Rock 50 in the foothills of the Rockies, just outside of Fort Collins. Put on by ultrarunner Nick Clark, the race is a 25 mile loop run twice, the second time in reverse, mostly on singletrack, with 11,000 feet of elevation gain (and the same amount of downhill). This would be the race’s second year.

I hadn’t been to Colorado in 30 years, and didn’t know what to expect. I was startled by how flat it was. I didn’t remember that this is the Great Plains butting up against the Rocky Mountains. There are no hills – it just goes from flat prairie to straight up, with next to no transition.

The Great Plains are known for their storms, and after a relatively dry winter the weather had been stormy, snowing just a few weeks before, and thunderstorms all through the week I arrived. I had no idea what to expect when I showed up at the starting line at 4:45am, after an hour’s drive up from Denver, and a wake-up that was close to 1:30am California time. I was tired, nervous, and just a little bit cold. I realized I’d forgotten to stash trash bags in my drop-bags in case of rain. There were a lot of runners. The Race Directors gave us a short course briefing as the sun rose, and then we were off.

Spreading out in the first mile

A few miles on road were enough for the runners to start sorting themselves out and getting in position. By the time we hit singletrack – a runnable, easy grade up through a meadow, with lots of passing room – positions and paces had been largely established and we all fell into place. All except Karl Meltzer, who was having a rough time, I guess. Karl and I played leap-frog until the first aid station. I passed him once as he was stretching against a tree or a fence. He sprinted ran past me a few minutes later and settled into a spot just in front, only to drop back, run forward again, drop back again…

Playing leapfrog with Karl Meltzer got me worried. I really should’ve been well behind him, even though we were only in the first few miles. As far as I could tell, I was positioned about right – towards the rear of the pack, with the 25 milers and the speedsters up ahead, but it was hard to tell for sure with such a large field of runners. My pace was a bit aggressive, but we were on an easy incline in a race that promised some long hard climbs. These were the stretches in which to pick up time lost elsewhere. My strategy was simple: take it easy for the first 25 miles, let anyone pass me who feels a need, and kick it into gear at the mid point and into high gear towards the end, not letting anyone pass me in the last 15 miles.

After a few miles of mostly non-technical singletrack we started the climb up to Towers, the first aid station. The trail turned into rocky truck trail, and the grade got much steeper. Towers aid station, mile 7-ish, was the last I saw of Karl Meltzer. My guess is he dropped there.

Me on the stairs. Photo by Steve Pero.

From Towers to Horsetooth Rock and back down was the most beautiful part of the course. It began with a long technical downhill on singletrack, with all the big rocks, roots, and, occasionally, “stairs” that give me such trouble because at 6’1″ my stride has to become unnaturally short to navigate some of these sections. The downhill bottomed out into aid station #2: Horsetooth Reservoir, and drop bags. There was no energy drinks being served at aid stations – just water – and so I’d mixed up my own little baggies of EFS and maltodextrin as refills.

Next came a long climb back up to Horsetooth Rock. On this climb, things started to slowly fall apart. My shoulders were aching, and my legs were starting to cramp. I wondered if it might be related to food. I’d not been able to convince my host/sister that it was important to eat what I normally eat and to load up on carbs. The discussions went like this: Sister: “Do you eat meat?” “Not so much, but yes, on occasion” Sister: “How about sushi?” Me: “Yes, but I really should eat what I normally eat before a race” Sister: “What is that?” Me: “I always eat pasta.” “Sister: “How about roast beef?” And so I went into the race low on sugars and fueled by protein. Could that be the problem?

I’d noticed a sore throat and a runny nose. They were both very apparent at the start of the race. I was tired. The stiff neck and aching shoulders were especially puzzling.

As the climb continued, the cramps got worse. My calf muscles were spasming, and the cramps moved down into my feet. I stopped to stretch and massage my legs a bit, and made a note to drink more and load up on bananas at aid stations. At the top of the climb I looked around and took in the beauty. This was really a stunning course. I also felt awful and started to realize I was done.

Bunched up on singletrack. Photo by Steve Pero.

Colorado is more liberal with their permits than here in Southern California, and as a result there were close to 300 runners on the course. This meant we were more bunched up on the singletrack than I am used to in a race. I often had someone drafting behind me, which usually pushes me a little. I tried to get something going on the downhill but I had nothing. The cramps were getting worse, and this technical downhill run was going to be a technical uphill climb on the return. I remembered the Mt. Disappointment sufferfest of 2 years ago and knew I did not want to go through that ever again, especially on a training run.

And then it started to rain.

Leaving Arthur’s Trailhead Aid Station

Unaware that my sisters were waiting at the Arthur’s Trailhead aid station, I blew through it without stopping. One sister called my name, but it was the one who’d lost her voice to the same flu I’d caught, most likely from her, and I didn’t hear her. I had 7 miles left to the 25 mile point, my body was not cooperating at all, my legs were cramping, my shoulders in knots, my throat sore, and my main goal in those miles was going to be to calm myself down enough so that I would not take out my frustration on anyone at the finish.

From Arthurs the trail headed back up, followed by some rollers, and then down. The downhill was one of the most runnable sections of the course, but as far as I was concerned I’d DNF’ed about 5 miles back, and was only on the course in order to get back to the start, so I took it extra slow. It was in this stretch that I began to encounter runners coming back on the second (washing-machine) loop. I was surprised that it was this far into the race. Towards the bottom of the downhill there started to be many more. If I hadn’t quit and had kept running, my position would not have been that far behind.

I often read race reports as reconnaissance. In that spirit, I’d like to describe the course as best I can. Unfortunately, I became so preoccupied with my cramps, soreness and weakness that I really didn’t take it in nearly was well as I usually do. Here’s the nutshell version: the course is probably 85% singletrack, with a few sections of rocky fireroad and, at the beginning/turnaround/end, smooth dirt road. Some of the singletrack is well groomed, very runnable stuff at a slight incline through meadows. Some is rather technical, rocky, and steep, surrounded by trees and, at the top of Horsetooth, spectacular views. It’s a tough course, but more runnable than the elevation profile suggests. The climbs, while long, are far from relentless because they switch directions, trails, and terrain, and for me those change-ups break up the monotony of a 3 – 4 mile climb. They keep me mentally engaged in the way that the long, tedious fireroad climbs of some Southern California races do not.

Storm clouds on drive back from Fort Collins

Weather can be a factor. Last year, runners dealt with thick fog, drizzle and snow. This year we had a beautiful, sunny-but-cool first half punctuated by a single brief thunderstorm, and a second half (for those who ran it) that included shower after shower, and a brief hail storm. California folk like me are used to long mild rain showers, but Colorado is still a Great Plains State, and the Great Plains are known in part for their short, sudden and violent thunderstorms. I’m told the course was very slick after the hail storm, and this slowed runners down, especially on the technical descents.

Race directors Nick Clark and Pete Stevenson put on a great race. The course was rugged, tough, and beautiful. It was also by far the best marked course I’ve run. This is important given my past propensity for meandering off course. I imagine I’ll take another shot at it next year.

Photos by Denise Cordner and Steve Pero. See Steve’s race gallery here and read his race report here.

Me in My Teepee at Camp Wolverine. Photo by Kista Cook.

My friend Kista and I went out for a run in Griffith Park. Kista wanted to head up to Amir’s Garden. We took a different route out that put us on singletrack down to Camp Wolverine aka the Griffith Park Boys Camp, closed until summer, a place that neither of us knew anything about.

This is one of the joys of Griffith Park. We’ve each been running it for years, and we still find new trails that take us to new places. At 4,300 acres, Griffith Park is 5 times the size of Central and much more rugged, especially once you get away from the tourist area of Observatory. It’s one of the largest municipal parks in the country, full of hills and even a mountain lion or two.

There’s a teepee at Camp Wolverine, along with a big canoe, and a little totem pole. When I was a little kid I had my own teepee in the backyard of our house in Calgary. It was meant for someone even littler than I was; if I slept in it everything from the waist down was outside. I also had an indian outfit, complete with feather headdress. I was a blue eyed towhead, but my father, from the Dakotas, was dark and had the nickname Injun Joe in the airforce.

Tomorrow, I head to Fort Collins Colorado to run the Quad Rock 50m. This is the second year of the race, which has Nick Clark as a Race Director, and it looks like it could be a fun race and good training for AC100. The elevation profile is the classic shark’s teeth profile that so many of us ultra runners in the West are so fond of. 11,000 feet of elevation gain, at slight altitude (up and down between 5,000 and 7,000 feet). I don’t know how much of it is singletrack and how much is wide trail or fire road, but I suspect it leans to singletrack.

It’s a mini family reunion as well, although I will be the only family member doing any running. Meals might be a challenge. One sister eats only meat and potatoes, the other leans that way but all gluten free, and I don’t really eat much meat at all and primarily live on fruit, vegetables and pasta.

One sister lives in Denver, the other in Nashville. I’m in Los Angeles. Colorado has mountains. Nashville – not so much. Los Angeles: many more than most people realize. The image of LA seems to be surfers, starlets, stucco. What isn’t as well known is that Los Angeles has the greatest change in elevation of any city in the USA, going from sea-level to Denver mile-high. Much of the city is hilly, and we are surrounded by mountains.

The last time I was in the Rockies I was driving from Denver to LA, a stop-over on a trip that started in Austin. We were moving rather suddenly, Atilla the Cat, Greely the three legged dog, my girlfriend Jean, and some random luggage, all crammed into a Karman Ghia. A drunk backed into us at a gas station and then took off. We called the cops, they didn’t show up for at least an hour, and when they did finally show up it was to ask us what we were doing, as the gas station had already closed. Somewhere along the way we ended up with a hole in the fuel line. Air was getting sucked into the fuel line, we couldn’t get the car past second gear, Karman Ghias are air cooled and at that speed in the summer, things weren’t cooling, if we stopped the car wouldn’t start again until it had cooled, usually 8 hours later, and so a drive that should’ve taken 2 easy days took a week.

That was 1985. It will be fun to go back.

Medical marijuana trail trash.

Pet Peeve #3: Stoner asshats who leave their empty “medical marijuana” containers on the trails. I will support medical marijuana when it is sold in real pharmacies and prescribed by real doctors for actual medical conditions. Being a loser stoner who listens to too much Pink Floyd or Snoop Lion is not an actual medical condition. I picked the first vial up with the hope of getting someone’s prescription info so that I might shame them, but unlike any real drug prescription, this being medical marijuana, there is no information on the label other than the name of the blend. Cherry Pie? Seriously?

I do not find discarded Lipitor or Musicinex containers on the trails.

The odds are very great against medical marijuana ever being regulated like a genuine prescription medicine. California’s Medical Marijuana laws are basically just some sort of half-assed end run around the Federal Government’s classification of marijuana as a drug. The California laws allowing medical marijuana are compounded/confused/made foggier by individual city regulations. The regulations in Los Angeles were largely written by a bunch of folks with a vested interest in medical marijuana (growers, in other words). This is why there are 3 medical marijuana dispensaries on the three block stretch of Sunset Blvd in Echo Park surrounding my work, and only one liquor store. Please don’t try to convince me that there are that many more people in Echo Park suffering from glaucoma or anxiety or AIDs than there are people who want to kick back with a cold beer.

Either make marijuana purely medical, and regulate it the same way Prozac or Wellbutrin or other mellow-me-out drugs are regulated, or else make it purely legal, regulate it like booze, tax the crap out of it, and enforce laws against consuming it in public so that we don’t need to be confronted by slacker losers standing outside the donut shop day in and day out, in a cloud of smoke, with their 6-year-old-son who should probably be in school. Pretty much whenever I am accosted by anoyone on the streets, it’s either an drunk looking for a fight or a pothead looking for “money to ride the bus”. I’m never accosted by anyone wanting to give me change for the bus or money for a beer or anything else, really. People who accost me never want to give, but always want to be given to, and drugs or alcohol are almost invariably involved.

I remember my junior high school stoner days, back in 1973, 8th grade, St. Michael’s University School, in Mt. Tolmie Park on the same trail we ran cross country on, a trail we called the Ho Chi Minh Trail, stoned on lids of pot we scored from one of the prefects in Harvey House. Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” had just come out, Steve Miller’s “The Joker” was a big hit on the radio, bands like Yess were making triple albums, and Robin Trower was just starting to make some of the best stoner rock that history will ever hear. It was a great time to be a stoner. We were, however, in my vague memories, respectful – at least of some things. Maybe not authority (I think we should be suspicious of any teens who are not disrespectful to authority, because those are the kids who are genuinely up to something) but nature, yes. We appreciated our little sanctuary on the Ho Chi Minh Trail, where we could sit in our little school uniforms like a bunch of miniature Angus Youngs, passing around a tight, thin (don’t bogart that) joint. It was beautiful up there. We didn’t want to fuck up a good thing by trashing the place.

I don’t know about these new medical marijuana stoners. Are these the same as the @ssholes vandalizing Joshua Tree? Or maybe they are just a bunch of privileged suburban white kids who have about as much respect for the nature they are hanging out, getting high, in as mountain bikers do, which is to say none?

Yeah, wow, man, like, nature. Totally. Whoa. Three words, @sshole: Discovery Channel. Pizza.

Men's winner Igor Campos, mile 18

The Inaugural Griffith Park Trail Marathon took place Saturday, April 13 in (you guessed it!) Griffith Park. I showed up armed with a hydration vest packed with about 20lbs of cameras (as well as gatorade) and the idea to get in about 15 miles, take a bunch of photos of the race, and support my friends, especially Kista Cook, who was nervous about running her first event since a hip injury sidelined her for a year.

For a full gallery of photos from the race, click here.

Race director Keira Henninger is an accomplished ultrarunner, multiple time winner of AC100 and Old Goats 50m, and race director of Leona Divide and Ray Miller 50/50, both high profile Montrail Cup races. The Griffith Park Half Marathon is also her race, and both Griffith Park races are marketed primarily at shorter distance runners and trail newbies. About a third of those who entered this race were running their first marathon distance ever.

Folks with a background in road racing often have hard-ons for things like pace, PRs, and courses that advertise themselves as fast. They think a dirt mound not worthy of a BMX rider is a mountain. In order to sell the course to these roadies, Keira threw in a 12 mile section of continuous flat. She emphasized that the toughest hill was in the first 2 miles, and understated the fact that the last 10 miles had scarcely a flat moment.

I saw the runners off and then headed out an alternate route to the first aid station, climbing up a steep singletrack that would get me there in half the distance so that I could set up and get photos. I got there in time for the front runners, stayed until most everyone was through, and then headed down to meet them on the flat. Igor Campos was well in front of all but a handful of early starters. I saw him a few miles from the turn-around, and then headed out in the direction the runners would be heading back, passing pretty much the entire field. From this point, I stayed on course, and settled in at the top of the hill above mile 18 to catch the front runners. Igor and second place runner David Villalobos came through. I got my photos and continued on behind them, parking again at the top of the last truly steep climb at mile 20 or so. Most of the runners groaned when they saw me, and a handful expressed genuine bitterness about being photographed at a spot where they were struggling. One lady threw a Justin-Beiber-vs-paparazzi tantrum.

You could tell the ultra-runners from the roadies. The roadies thought the hill was the worst part of the course, and the ultra runners thought it was the best. They cursed the long flat stretch, and it was the long flat stretch that did Kista in. She even managed to get lost on stretch – the trouble with knowing a course almost by heart means you sometimes stop paying attention to course markings. I ran the last 6 miles with her: an out-and-back towards the Hollywood Sign, the climb to Dantes, and the steep downhill on Hogback’s Ridge and then again on the “secret singletrack”.

She made good time on the climbs, and even better time on the downhills, passing at least 15 runners in those last few miles.

I ended up getting in 16 miles of mostly hills, and taking these photos.

Jorge Pacheco, coming down from Bear Springs

Old Goats 50M 2013 was a great day for some runners and a horrible day for others. Chris Price appeared to cruise in for a win and new course record. Keira Henninger looked focused and strong as first woman, despite running an extra few miles on the Blue Jay/Candy Store loop. Maggie Beach had a small lead over Keira at 20 miles, and looked strong, but when I saw her on the climb to Trabuco Peak, mile 41 or so, she was struggling. I ran her in, joined by Mari Lemus at the last aid station. Maggie was unable to hold down food or liquid. Every time she put something down, twice as much would come back up, and on a hot, exposed, hard 50 miler, that is disastrous. She needed medical attention at the finish.

Jorge Pacheco is everybody’s champion, but he had a tough race, too, and was actually behind Maggie for a while, catching her on the climb to Trabuco Peak. A lot of elites will quit if they are not assured of a win. Part of what makes Jorge a hero and role model to us all is that he won’t drop unless he has to. Bad hair days or his rank on ultrasignup don’t seem to be such a problem.

Deborah Acosta was working the Santiago Peak aid station. She writes “When Jorge got to the Peak with Maggie, he was very cool and collected and looked as if he was out for a training run. He wasn’t in a rush to leave and he was telling me how he debated to quit at the previous 2 aid stations but figured he might as well get the miles in. He was more concerned on getting Maggie taken care of rather than himself. He’s such a role model in our community and everyone can learn from him. He didn’t focus on being in the top 5, let alone top 10, he focused on not injuring himself and covering the distance once he knew his injury started nagging him. I commend him for sticking it out and crossing that finish line along with worrying if Mari would be upset with him. Love talking to him as he’s such a great guy.“

My miles with Maggie gave me a special view of her brutal suffer-fest. She was in pain, and every few minutes would double over to puke or dry-heave. Still, it looked until nearly the end like she would hold on to second place. Somewhere in the last two miles, Mari and I both looked back at the same time and saw 3rd place female Liz Onufer about half-a-mile back. We’d heard she was in pretty bad shape earlier in the race, but she’d gotten it together and was moving nicely. We looked at Maggie and then back and Liz and each decided to say nothing. There wasn’t much that could be done.

For the full Old Goats 50M image gallery, click here. Additional links: Kista Cook’s volunteer race report from 2012, Dominic Grossman’s 2013 race report

Rotted Tree on the Silver Moccasin Trail

The Silver Moccasin Trail begins at Chantry and ends at Vincent Gap. Comprised of a series of somewhat distinct trail segments, parts of which are shared by other trails, most of which used to be Native American trails, it’s 53 miles long, and there’s a Boyscout Patch named after it.

It begins at Chantry and heads up to the West Fork Camp Ground on a segment shared by the Gabrielino Trail. From West Fork it runs up to Shortcut Saddle, a 3 mile segment run in the reverse direction as part of the Mount Disappointment 50K course.

It crosses the ANgeles Crest Highway at Shortcut saddle, and then heads down and back up again, to Charlton Flats, a section that, like the rest of the trail besides Shortcut to Newcombs Pass, is all run in reverse as part of AC100. It was on the descent from SHortcut headed towards Charlton Flats that this picture was taken. Coming the opposite way, during AC100, it’s a 3/4 of a mile climb at about mile 60, and one of my least favorite segments of the race. The stretch just before it (running the AC100 direction), from Charlton Flats to the bottom, is one of my favorite runs along the AC100 course.

From Charlton Flats, the Silver Moccasin Trail continues to Chilao. Signficiant chunks of this section were badly damaged during the 2009 Station Fire, and it’s seriously overgrown with Poodle Dog Bush. Last year it was unrunnable from the time spring hit until a week or so before the race, when the Poodle Dog Bush was cleared by a teams as part of trail work required from all AC100 runners.

From Chilao there a short 5 mile stretch to 3 Points. During AC100 we run about 10 miles in this stretch, going up Mt. Hillyer, and only rejoining the Silver Moccasin Trail on the final 2 or so miles into Chilao.

From 3 Points to Vincent Gap are 4 segments totaling 29 miles, all shared with the Pacific Crest Trail, that go through Cloudburst Summit, Islip Saddle, up and over Baden Powell (via Throop Peak, Mount Hawkins & Mount Burnham), and down to Vincent Gap. The stretch between Vincent Gap and Islip Saddle is the elevation section, starting at 7,000 feet and climbing rapidly to 9,400. During AC100 we are running this is the opposite direction. Vincent Gap is at mile 13, Islip Saddle at mile 26, Cloudburst at mile 38, and 3 Points at mile 43.

I ran the stretch from Shortcut to Charlton Flats and back this past weekend. The trail was blocked in several spots by downed trees. There was still a little snow on the ground, despite it being in the 60s. From Charlton Flats I ran a loop along Silver Moccasin and along road, and then departed from the course to head up Mt. Vetter, where there is an old fire lookout that burned down during the 2009 Station Fires. On the way back down, I took a good fall. First blood of 2013.

Baden Powell Ridge

I took a pretty good spill running AC100. Running along the ridge after cresting Mt Baden Powell, around Throop Peak, somewhere around mile 20, I snagged my foot in some shrubs and went down. My calves started spasming, and my attention was drawn to my legs, so it wasn’t until I was approaching Islip Saddle that I noticed the middle finger on my left hand was bent at an awkward angle, swollen, and sore.

Eventually the swelling went down. Eventually I was able to bend the finger around my hand-held water bottles. The pain, which had become a big (and, perhaps, oddly welcome) distraction in the heat of mid-day was forgotten by Mt. Hillyer.

Now it’s winter. Every morning when I wake up, my left hand feels stiff and the middle finger hurts and doesn’t want to bend. Once I’m up and have had a coffee I can almost make a fist, but that hand is never going to be a fighting hand. Luckily I’ve never been in a fistfight, so it’s not likely this will ever really be a problem.

I will try not to fall when I run it again this year.