From lake to lake, and moon to moon, Sylvia and back again. Brown's Creek at the crossover by sunrise, and Flatside Pinnacle soon after. The blazed n bloody Ouachita Trail waits there. Off the dusty road and on the rocky trail, coming alive for the rugged surroundings and staying alert for the dangerous beauty. My feet energized with rhapsody, an uneven rhythm, dance lightly back thru the Brown's Creek to Sylvia. I connect and disconnect with one after another. Back and forth, depending on rise and fall of the tide, we slide past one another.

Drifting into Sylvia, this sweet ride ends at 17 miles. From years of experience, my wife waits, knowing when and what. I drop my water bottle and flashlight and slip on the camelback. She hands me some food and an Ensure. Uphill outa here on a long hard-pack dirt road. Time to eat and rest a bit. Turnin here and there, it's a long haul to the top. There are others, but no connections or interaction. A chalk arrow crosses over to the other side and drops down thru a muddy jeep road. A shallow mud lake waits at the bottom, complete with truck slid up into the muck. Climbing an earthwork hump just after, we dry cross a creek, using steppingstones. A rousing jaunt follows on a long, flat stretch. Left & right we dodge the mud ruts, rocks, and reaching branches. Desolate in its beauty, and quiet, I slip between packs of runners, each with their own agenda. Chrissy and entourage pass quickly, then another group, and I pass a few. Lots of run-traffic right here, right now. This'll look and feel a lot different tomorrow morning when I return.

A left turn and a short rise at trails end leads me into the Puppy Puddle Patch, along with a few others. A place of dogs, the smell of pumpkins, and some friendly smiling faces. A fistful of pumpkin and down the road again, a big dog follows me out. He patiently waits me out, and he knows he has me when I smile. With piecrust in mouth, he turns back. He knows I no longer have any pie. The rolling road rides rolling hills with but a modest amount of shade. Trees line the road, but very little shade hangs where I can reach it. I ramble along, in search of the next station and the occasional shade tree.

Electric Tower comes with a quarter done. I slip under the gate into a different world. All the shade has been saved up and presented to me here all at once. It's cooler in the shade and I can smell the mulch. The road is rugged and overgrown, littered with rocks, and hung with branches. And it's a load of fun to run wild, skipping over hurdles, and skirting rocks. Moving a few rocks with my toes, I manage to stay upright, and thoroughly enjoy the ride. Under gate and out the woods to the Hasher's House we go. Under another gate and then the Rocky Gate aid station. Not much to delay me as I have water on my back, so On! On! A short, steep climb precedes a long rocky fall. I connect with Paul of Ohio and begin to run my mouth and my feet each as fast as the other. We descend quickly. Lake Winona thru the trees looks so peaceful and cool. The cool comfort of the water hums its siren song as I run on down the road.

The sun warms the road and the truck tires lift the dust. Once up, it lingers before settling again. If not for the days of rain leading up, it might have been much worse. Archie joins us for a slow country walk and a leisurely discussion about life. Waiting at the spillway intersection, and covering more miles than me today, Stan waits and wishes me well. His wife has just gone by, and he is keeping tabs on her while he keeps tabs on the entire race events. The Winona station has moved down the road a mile, no longer using this area just under the spillway. I remember how cold it was here at night and will be thankful later.

On the sunny side of the street, I pull up and sit in the shade to eat, while Joyce tends to me. My Camelback is soaking wet, so she replaces it with our spare. I adjust the straps as I move back along the hard pack in the hot sun. This is heavier than I want, but at least it's dry, and I have plenty of water. Pig Trail sits just before a short, rocky, rutted, and rugged climb on a narrow road with branches reaching out, deterring us from any thought of a strait line ascent. A series of rollers follow soon after, of a similar nature, leading into a long fall into the Drop Off station, also known as Flamingo. In years past, half naked women wearing coconut bras used to wait here for us. The coconuts are gone, oh my! So are the half-naked women. The service is still wonderful and friendly, and 40 miles are done. I drink a Red Bull, and drop down a steep road on my left. An even longer and steeper climb follows quickly. This one takes a while and settles into a nice series of rollers, more tame than the initial monster. There is more shade now, but I have to choose between the short sunny route along the tangent or the long shady route along the side of the road. I'm so confused, alternating and taking the longest possible route.

A long slow descent leads us to the Smith Mountain station. Mickey's in a fine mood, with a large crew of helpers, and parked in the same shady hollow. A cup of coke, then up the road to a turn off onto the wild side. This section is a mixed bag of hazards & handicaps. My favorites are the earthwork humps at regular intervals, interspersed with mud holes, rocks, and narrow chutes created by the trees and brush that squeeze in on either side. Smith Mountain is more a collection of many rocks than it is one big one. Not a flat piece of ground anywhere to plant my foot, but a rockin & rollin stumble along a trail of rocks & boulders. A grand effort was performed to cut down the weeds and trim back the branches such that I can actually see where I'm dropping my feet this year, but it's still quite the stumble. With sky on either side, I think I'm near the top, but must be running along the ridge for a while as, I continue to climb. Topping out, we begin to roll downhill for a good distance before we roll under a gate and into the BM Road station.

BM is transformed. Ralphie's absent and Lou's in his place. A large enclosure complete with goodies and smiling faces. Lou even gives me a hug. All I ever got from Ralph was whiskey. Much too close to Powerline to dawdle, so off I go to the big station and major launching point. Archie is long gone, but Letha connects with Paul and I as we hurdle down the mountain. It can't be more than 2 miles to Powerline and it feels like less. We roll into the chaos and noise at 48 miles. I sit and eat, while Joyce spins about. I have my old lightweight Camel back on. Ensure in, pee out, and down the road I go.

To this point, I'm pretty confident that I have it under control, that my plan is going as intended. Paul, Archie, and Letha have just left, and Paul Schmidt and Monica have also. A half dozen of my favorite running buddies just in front of me, and it's mostly downhill for the next 10 miles to the Turnaround station. I'm ready to rock on down and reel in some of my buds to hopefully share a nighttime jaunt with them back around. Well ahead of my normal time and feelin' fine, I gave chase. The whole bunch must be doin' great, because I can't seem to catch any of them. Don't want to push it too hard and drop all the marbles all at once, but I'm giving it a good go… yet, they put more of a gap between us as the miles fall by. Joe runs by looking smooth, and then Scott only 4 minutes later. All of us are well ahead of last year's pace. 30 minutes later, another pack of four, including Allen Boyce, sans shirt, have just left Chile Pepper. These folks know how to make you feel comfortable. Football scores, margaritas, and burritos are the order of the day. I take some scores with me and leave the rest.

The road is clean, smooth, and fast, so I continue to roll along, while I fall further behind. They come in ones and threes, filing past and flying high, Max & Butch, Monica & Paul, the other Paul, Archie, then Letha. Smiles all around, everyone seems to be feelin' good & having fun. I always enjoy getting' to the Turnaround station for so many reasons. From here, 58 miles are done and I'm goin' home. I also get to see everyone else and how they're doin' as we pass. Joyce does a great job and takes good care of all of us. I'm only there for a minute as I have been very conscious about cutting down on my station time this year.

Back on the road, I can see Letha just ahead… but I'll not catch her again. Others come in as I go out, each of us wishing the other well. Down the road, turn twice and then on the long easy uphill. I run some of this uphill as its not too bad, but try to manage my energy so as not to push too much. I catch Archie walking along, and pull up to visit. Archie had been asking me about 100s for a few years, and we talked a bit before I finally told him to quit talking and just go do it. That was a year ago. I talk him into hangin' with me and push him along just a little. We're doing ok, when all sorts of things happen all at once. The sun sinks, darkness falls, temperatures drop, and my right leg tightens up quite a bit and begins to ache. Can't seem to shake the leg problem and unconsciously begin to limp, dragging it along. Wham bam - there I am! What gives? Been here before. I'll just wait it out and get goin' again when it works itself out. It's a beautiful night. Three-quarter moon with bite missing at one o-clock. Archie and I stroll along using the moonlight to light our way. With shorts and T-shirt, I'm getting pretty cold as the temps drop. We pull into Chile Pepper at 64 miles and I load up on two burritos and a cup o coke, and keep moving to stay warm. My stomach's ok and the food goes down easy, but the cold is giving me the shakes. We keep a brisk walking pace, charging along in the dark under the light of the moon, and talk of this n that n the other. Even as we approach Powerline, others are still going out the other way, each with a cheerful response to our best wishes.

Powerline at mile 68 from this direction is a welcome sight. Warm clothes and warm food! In me, on me, and around me. Socks and shoes as well. Joyce joins us as we leave. Up the road and through the trees on our way over Smith Mountain. At BM Road, Lou and the other ladies have put on some rather sexy outfits and feather masks. Then again, after 70 miles, and I have begun hallucinating already. In & out of the Twilight Zone, I'm feeling fine & felling foul, flying high & dragging low. We kick rocks all the way over Smith Mountain, clearing a smooth trail for all those who follow. Can't seem to get any momentum going. The funk has settled in. Joyce and Archie visit and tease, while I silently drag along behind, up, down, round, & round. Eventually, we find the road again and then Mickey's station. He gives Joyce a hug, and me an elixir of toad's tails. As long as it's hot, I love it. We pack up and roll on up the road. Lots of big rollers here. Hard, clear, and mostly downhill, including the one that drops from the sky just under Flamingo. A short steep climb takes us into the 76-mile station where I load up on Red Bull and Ensure.

Usually, a good refuel will perk me right back up, but not so tonight. The tank is empty and leaking steady. Only energy I'm expelling is gaseous. The heat rash and bun burn begin to scream for relief and laugh at the Vaseline applications. There is no relief tonight. Gotta keep movin'! One foot at a time and I'll hear no talk that leans to the negative. Archie tells us to go an, that he is going on more slowly. But we think it's just a ploy so he can drop, and refuse to leave him. Besides, there's no way he's going slower than me. While seconds may appear like hours to a snail, with reference to the rest of the world - we are going the same speed. The climb out of Drop Off is long, rocky, dark and mysterious. A truck passes by, forcing us into the bushes, as they pluck glow-sticks from the trees. I hadn't realized that they were all gone until just now. They're havin' a good giggle, not giving a damn, while we struggle along blind. Two fellows wait on us at Pig Trail and treat us royally to warm soup.

Moonlight fills the road while cloud mist drops down into the trees, creating an eerie effect. Eyes are drooping, legs are dragging, conversations die. We have descended to monosyllables. Winona looks and feels a lot different this time. Less people, less energy, less noise. Three guys are all over helping my gorgeous wife while Archie and I tend to our needs. We don't need much and skip out again quickly. Archie tells us to go on again, but we wait him out and drag him with us. 84 miles in the bank. A mile to the spillway and left up the road to a less used road, getting higher and rougher by the minute. Glow-sticks again. Looks like the glow thieves only did Drop Off to Winona. My leg is stiffer now and I'm flipping between way too hot and way too cold, but I'm almost asleep so it all feels surreal. Just a dream! I'm home in bed and will wake any minute. One of those dreams where you climb forever and never reach the top… and then we walk into Rocky Gap. Laid up in a lawn chair, Kimmy's bundled up like a mummy with only her face visible. We drink up and dip under the gate. Moonlight floods through the ghastly branches, spider webbing everything including the ground, which we trip across. Either the ground's rough and uneven or my mind is. At first I think it's me, until a few more zombies invade my dream and walk by dragging legs and staring ahead in their own trance. Attempts at conversation fall on deaf ears and maybe I'm not really talking at all. Joyce seems to be the only one alive. One fellow goes by muttering to himself unintelligibly and just before his light disappears over the next rise, Joyce decides to run ahead to see if he needs help. I think she's running ahead really just to get some sort of workout and relief from all this walking. She comes back in a bit with an empty water bottle. "I offered him a drink, and he drank it all", she says. (It's Elroy Whitworth)

And then we're out. Electric Tower at 91 miles means we only have 9 miles to go. On a real road again, we connect with more of the living dead, bumbling on into Puppy Puddle Patch at 94 miles. One of the bodies lays down for a nap, while Joyce and I get some pumpkin pie for the road. Arch wanders off into the bushes, so we wait for him and then continue. We turn right onto the last rough section of trail, but this one is flat. We pass mile marker 95 just as the sky begins to lighten up. We push on in, as fast as slow can go, down the trail, over the creek, round a mud hole, up the hill, and onto the road. We roll downhill all akimbo, stiff legged, and unbalanced. Pennsylvania rolls by with another in tow, and we hook on until we reach bottom. We keep our walk just under breakneck speed until the bottom, screaming past trees n rocks, trying like heck to catch our shadows. A paved road and Lake Sylvia off to the right, and we saunter on by, the three of us on a morning stroll. One last hill at the bend in the road. We inch up it, round the last bend, walk down the road to the finish line, and cross together.