It was a fast week – the time between races at Bandera and Big Bend. My trilogy was rapidly drawing to a close. Why I chose to run three 50Ks so close to one another in their event dates is still a mystery. (Mystery is a code word for kooky). But this was to be the last of the three – and then I could rest some tired legs.
I pulled out of Kyle around 0500A on Friday, 13-Jan. Lucky Friday the 13th. It was a beautiful day and if it had not been for me rolling a shopping cart over my toe in the Del Rio HEB (a provision stop), the day certainly did not warrant, nor did it live up to, its less than desirable reputation. Uvalde was gas and coffee. Del Rio was gas and the last of the “big city” grocery stores, and Marathon was gas and nothing else. Maybe I was a bit overboard, but I found myself wanting a full tank as the gorgeous lands (believed by some to be desolate) of West Texas became more commanding, more beautiful. After all Navy survival training had taught me little more then sleeping in a ditch while helos hassled you all night… so much for bankable desert skills.
Before I knew it, I had registered in the park, bought every trail map that they sold (without going “in the back”), and was making my way to set up Camp Snoopy (the traditional name for my home base during runs). For the duration of the adventure, Camp Snoopy came in the form of a room with a bed and a bath (and that’s about it) at the Chisos Mining Co. Motel, Terlingua, Texas. It’s a hodge-podge, with my abode having been chiseled out of what seemed to have been a really average mobile home at one time.
Just a word about Terlingua. It’s my kind of town. Talk about attitude. Reminds me of a whole population of smart-asses that just don’t give a hoot on what anyone thinks about anything. Hmm. Wonder why I like it. Another thing, location-wise it’s past the west gate of the park. Good thing race HQ was in Rio Grande Village (RGV) – the extreme east of the park. So what’s fifty miles between friends? Any how, I must have made an impression at Tracy’s Café. I was invited to go to the dedication of the new building for the Terlingua Chamber of Commerce that night. “Well, it’s not really a building… but a new room… and to tell the truth… it’s not going to be very fun…” Despite the generosity, I declined and enjoyed a dinner of chicken tacos at the Starlight Theater.
Saturday was my scope the park day. Breakfast at Tracy’s – the party, I was so informed, had been a success… wine in glasses and a convenient screwtop… more small talk and adventures of Eleanor the Cat… and then it was on into Big Bend. I drove. And hydrated. And I drove. And I drove. Lunch at the Chisos Mountain Lodge. Down the mountain – flash back to Pike’s Peak - “hot brakes fail”. And then I drove. And drove. And hydrated. And I drove. Incidently – Mazda Protégé vehicles should not be considered “high clearance” – and when the map says “unimproved” go ahead and take their word for it. And then I got gas (for the car, not because of the food). And then I drove. And hydrated. Pretty soon, after more pictures, more trails, and more driving, it was time for the pre-race dinner… huh… only 22 miles away…
Nothing too formal. I re-introduced myself to the race director, Carroll Voss and thanked him for the patience with emails, etc. The evening was a casual deal as people were straggling in from all over. Some were camping onsite – another tent city was forming. Others, like myself, elected to partake of the local color – and bedded down in the various communities that dot the outskirts of the park. The spaghetti was good and the salad fresh. I knew I was back in runner land – I still had on my hiking boots – but there was a proliferate of Nike Frees. And again, like Bandera, there was a grand display of everyone’s racing resumes – hats, shirts, jackets. I recognized some faces from the week before – but most had worked the aide stations. I only met one other that had been silly enough to run Bandera – and then commit to Big Bend. He was kinda eccentric. I heard there were others though…
My table mates were from Austin! Go figure. Sunmart veterans. A moment later another “Dan” joined us. Someone commented on his “Racing the Planet” jacket. He had done the Sahara, the Egypt, and the Chile runs… and is heading to the Gobi this spring. He was our guest speaker. I called him a slacker – but a wealthy one to be able to afford all of that… great guy. Very personable. He said those races are all about logistics. The running is challenging – but making sure you are ready to handle the climate, etc., is the real test. I missed the majority of his talk – I had to get back to Terlingua… again… some 50 miles to the west. Great planning… but I had a bed, not a bag!
Race day. Sunday. A bit cold… upper 30’s, but no heavy winds. I got up at 0430 to breakfast, dress, potty and drive that all too familiar drive. Race day clothing and gear consisted of: UT cap, an American flag bandanna, my under-amor top, my white Rogue Pike’s Peak “No Posers” sleeveless, Brooks gloves, my mid-thigh tights with Texas shorts, wool blend socks and Montrail Hardrock pair #3. A baggie filled with Tylenol and Electrolyte Stamina pills, along with two Hammer Gels, filled my short pockets. The Camelback had a half Gatorade / half water mix. Its pocket had baby wipes, another baggie of electrolytes and pain reliever, two more Hammer Gels, a package of Cranz-Ras Shot Bloks, and my car key. The only authorized drop bags were at the finish. So, if you needed it on the road… you carried it. Aide stations were a question mark – beyond water, Heed and Hammer Gel… I didn’t know what to expect. I was a little worried about nutrition… and hydration pinged me as the remembrance of Bandera cramps danced through my head. I asked the universe for a safe drive across the park.
The yellow banana shot out into the dark and onto Texas Highway 170. A few minutes later and I made the turn onto Highway 118 – the east/west passage through Big Bend. Along the way I had breakfast – a plain bagel and handfuls of Cheerios. Heck – I stuffed enough of them into my kids on trips – might as well join them.
It’s weird how headlights just seem to trigger a whole rash of pre-planned animal activity. I swear that the jackrabbits have some kind of advanced warning system. It was bizarre. At every mile marker between the west gate and Panther Junction (where the park HQ is located) one of those little bastards would play Russian roulette and scurry across the road…. and they always… always ran from left to right. It was synchronized – it had to be – a well planned skit to test the human’s reflexes and emotions. I could hear them on their little walkie-talkies, “Roger, Thumper, lights confirmed at number 18… we have Flopsy and Mopsy ready to rock at 19 and 20. Repeat. 19 and 20. How copy?”
…and they stopped. They stopped their subversive activities just as suddenly as they started. I pulled into Panther Junction for some bladder and bowel relief… and to stretch my legs before the remaining 33 miles into RGV. I had plenty of time. It was 0530 and the buses taking us to the start were not scheduled to leave until 0630. Boredom set in. Without the rabbits playing their own real world Frogger… thoughts of the race crept into my head. I really did not know what to expect. Soon I passed the start line at Glen Springs Road and thought it funny that I would be boarding a bus to come right back. Such a deal. I passed the time listening to a CD my son had burned. To my delight, Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger” was on it. I laughed for 30 minutes. Inside Rogue joke.
I pulled into the parking lot for the store at RGV and saw five Alpine ISD school buses waiting for us. Racers were coming out of nowhere… or perhaps the camping area next door. Lots of folks – mostly 25K racers with their bright red numbers… 50K folks had purple ones. There were a lot fewer. We left at 0645. I was beginning to notice a trend. I think all race events were scheduled to Terlingua time. When they happened, they happened… if they happened.
I caught some sleep on the twenty minute drive. The warmth felt good, but didn’t last – we were quickly dumped into the cool early morning desert air. It was kinda eerie, but very sweet… the mountains were still silhouettes – no one had yet to awaken them – and yet there was this tiny pool of people, this energy of life, milling about in the dark. I checked my watch 0710. Race time was at 0730. I got in one line… dropped my bag for the finish… got in another line… and waited… and waited… for the three porta potties on a trailer. I made small talk with my racing peers. I wandered near the start. The horizon grew lighter. Lots of grins and giggles. Lots of pictures. 0730 came, 0730 went. Hmmm. I was grateful for the time and went over the game plan in my head. Mine was simple. I divided the race into four parts – based on the general directions we would run – west, south, east, then north. I would take each cardinal direction on as its own deal and declare victory at every substantial turn. I also wanted to play with time and avoid dehydration. I decided to take life in thirty minute increments and was determined to have the discipline to either eat, or electrolyte, and definitely hydrate, on every hour and half hour. The final piece was to let the 25K runners go… if they had red numbers… I tried not to care. I had twice as far to go…
“Hey, Mr. Solid Waste Guy, wanna put a last in line sign up and close down the toilets?” A voice boomed from the bullhorn. Such is the “behind the scene” glamour of big time ultra racing. It seems that as long as you have a toilet open, someone will need to use it. The start was being delayed for biological reasons. Hmm. Soon it was official. Shut them down. “We gotta start this thing!” The ranger told us to be safe. Some other dude told us to be safe. Some other dude said start. So we did. I think it was around 0748. Whatever. In Terlingua, they probably weren’t even awake yet… why bother…
Starts are always so happy. Everyone joking and smiling. Not a care in the world.
“Yes. It’s a beautiful morning…”
“Hope the cloud cover stays…”
“Everyone is a winner, just for coming out!”
I was in the middle of a Walton’s episode. But wait… they were right. We were running in Big Bend National Park! What an honor that really was. Nugent Mountain (4530’ in elevation) from our start point (3150’) was to the west and was just catching some of the morning’s light. It was a fantastic sight… leading me to my usual conclusion of humans being pretty insignificant in the whole geological time table kinda thing. Those mountains - such majesty. And there I was on Saturday, stuffing a box of candy Hot Tamales in my mouth as I read the self tour on the trail. Back to the majesty. It almost made me forget that we were running on unimproved road… and would have that pleasure for… oh… the whole race. That was yet to become a factor. But it would.
After a quick, crowded mile to the south (hugging the mountain’s base), we turned west. Using my shrewd Holmes like instincts, I quickly learned that all things are relative to the Chisos Mountains – these are the landmarks of Big Bend – there in the smack middle of the park. Anyway… no matter where you are in the park, if you are facing the Chisos… you are on a net ascent. If you are facing away from them, you are on a net descent. So, by “turning west” we started to climb. It wasn’t bad – something like a 350’ climb to the mile, but you felt it. It started to separate the pack. I didn’t push it – I would run until I flirted with redline and then quickly pull off. Several others were doing the same. We would pass one another and then be passed.
This “westerly” portion was short and sweet. We soon declared victory and made a turn south. This would be the longest section of the race, my Part II. The elevation stayed about even (3250’) for about half the time. At this point, the trek had us on a near due south beeline from Nugent Mountain to Tally Mountain, hugging the western edge of the Chilicotal Mountain. It was the straightest part of the course and you could see forever. That was good and bad – you could see people ahead, I tried never to look behind. The “road” surface kept changing – from that loose rock, to sand, to hard rock, to loose. Kinda annoying. I picked out Elephant Tusk (a 5240’ mound of rock) to the southwest as a landmark and would use her as a rally point all day to try and gauge progress.
The first aide station. True to advertising, we had Hammer Gel, water, Heed. And to my surprise, some eats – some pretzels, peanut butter cookies. I swallowed some of the cookies, while the volunteers filled my pack with a half water – half Heed mix. On an aside, they had great volunteers. Some were from San Antonio, but there were a lot of local folks as well. Top notch, one and all. A word about Heed, I hate the taste, but I can drink it all race long (Gatorade gets sickening after about 12 miles) and I can feel the impact. It may not proliferate the yuppy 5 and 10K events, but I think Heed is a keeper for the longer races and their deranged participants.
At that point, my legs felt great. I felt a balance between Mother Earth (giving my legs energy) and Father Sky (keeping the clouds around) and thanked them both for the moment I had found myself in. It was a great point in the race – still fresh, still excited, and finally in rhythm.
I caught up to one of my new found Austin friends. I asked her how she got into running… and then spent the next thirty minutes or so listening to her tale. It was fascinating, right up until the point we flirted with the very end of Chilicotal Mountain… and had to tackle a rocky ascent. Memories of Bandera kicked in and I must have visibly slowed down. She laughed and waited for me to catch up, I did so… and we quickly found ourselves at the second aide station. This was the turn point for the 25K. So, I lost my companion, but gained back some quiet to assess my situation. Again, I refilled the Camelback and enjoyed grazing at the aide station. Our good fortune in weather was holding, so I stripped off the long sleeves and stowed the gloves. All in all – I felt good and was paying attention to my thirty minute program. Whoa. Dan Keitz following more of a race plan then just following the best looking female he can pace with??? Stop the presses… this is news.
So the 50K crowd went solo. Our trek turned southwest, as we pounded down Black Gap Road. It’s different from what we had been on. Its official classification was “Four Wheel Drive.” Glen Springs was a “High Clearance” road. The surface was more of the same… hard rock, loose rock, sand – but the “edges” were less defined and the elevation changes more pronounced. Some of the time I couldn’t tell the difference between the road and some of the dry creek beds – and must admit that there were more then a couple of times when I had to stop and think about which way to go. It added to the adventure.
I had asked about the terrain ahead… and, of course, bit it all – hook, line, and sinker. The volunteer had managed to keep a straight face while telling me that there were some ups and downs ahead, but the real bitch was the loose rock. Ok, I thought. A half mile later we went around a curve and were immediately on a steep switch back hugging a canyon face that must have dropped 250-300 feet. Some “ups and downs.” It was beautiful and a bit unnerving – you ran on the edge - but my legs felt great and I just let them turn going down the trail. And that’s where I saw my rabbits – three runners about a mile ahead – exiting the canyon bottom. I knew I was on the right track – or we were all lost. I was determined to keep a keen eye out for their shirt colors – two white and a red. That game would keep my sanity as my judgment faded with the morning.
The rest of the leg was characterized by short ascents and short descents… ten, twenty, thirty feet in elevation change. Nothing too hard by themselves… but there was just one after another. They took their toll. And lots of little curves… and creek beds. I finally realized that we were gaining the altitude back that the canyon had robbed – so it was a net climb. And right at the end was the third aide station. It was well placed after the last little rock climb. The white shirts were there, finishing their grazing. As I replenished my water, they took off. I was managing to keep my regime up – dividing life into thirty minutes segments. Hydrating. But I was starting to feel the race. The mileage was adding up. I had made a decision pre-race to go less on the gels (all of ‘em do horrible things to me) – and this stop was the first test. I was craving a quick jolt. But I went for a couple of potatoes and some cookies, an apple – thanked my hosts and I was off.
My old friend Elephant Tusk was now over my right shoulder… and the Chisos to my back. I had reached the flats. It was a subtle downhill all the way to the Rio Grande. I tried to concentrate on the mechanics… and pay attention to my stride – but the fact that we were really on a road came back to haunt me. I never could find its rhythm. It was unnatural. I got fed up with what tire ruts there were, and jumped to the center – but that was usually much more sandy – and my feet would slip and lose way too much energy after planting. But I could see the shirts – and they pulled me forward. I became way too aware of the clock – and was very impatient when my thirty minutes intervals took longer then thirty minutes. I knew it was conspiracy. It had become very important for me to have my twice hourly ritual – I had become addicted to it. I knew I was well past halfway, but it seemed too early to be getting that loopy and grouchy attitude. I felt for my Hammer Gel – but the sight of an aide station helped me avoid it. The problem was, the aide station was technically at mile 19. Sure, I could stop… but I was determined to get through the most sucky part of the course – a 1 mile long out-n-back that started / stopped at the station – before I did. I hate out-n-backs – everybody running in while you are running out (they are obviously ahead of you) feels compelled to say, “keep it up” or “looking strong.” I always respond with a “you, too” while in my head I am thinking, “shut up, fucker, you’re ahead of me… we all can SEE THAT! Now… leave me alone.”
I survived. I was pissed. And yet… as I was heading back to station 4 I saw the Racing the Planet dude running at me. He was ahead of me… why was he behind me? It perplexed me for 12 miles. I would find out later that he had had special permission to wander off the course and take some photos. He estimated that he had added about 2 more miles to his 31. Of course, from then on, I thought that he was out to get me… and every stray noise or voice was him catching up to me to pass. I really did not want that to happen.
After grazing, part II was done. Part III began – we were heading east on the River Road – marked as “high clearance.” I was into my shuffle. It hurt more to walk then to run – so I would run – kinda. I had reached that part of the race where nothing else matters. All you want to do is finish. My right hip felt like a bullet was buried against the bone and I had run out of my ibupropyn. The scenery was still gorgeous, the weather, ideal. But I was officially tired and I was hurting. The reserves in my legs were close to being spent – and I knew I did not have much built up since Bandera. The head games kicked in. I estimated that I had between 2.5 and 3 hours left on the course. My math was getting sloppy. I started hearing things. The trail skirted north of the Mariscal Mountain and then took a dive southeast toward Mexico. I made it through the ruins of the mining district and thank goodness the course was marked – but it took a lot out of me. The arrows blurred in my head and I had to really concentrate on whether they were pointing left or right. And I started hearing things. I always make a partial vacuum in my Camelback to prevent from listening to the liquid slosh, but that didn’t matter. No matter how hard you try, it’s always a partial vacuum, so there’s just enough space there to let the water shift… and it did… and my ears picked it up – a strange rustling from behind. I try never to turn around – but had to. I just knew that another runner was going to be there – ready to pass and rob me of my wind and energy. And if not a runner – maybe one of the park’s infamous mountain cats or bears. But there never was anyone, or anything, there.
The “shuffle” was in full gear. I would tap on my watch to make sure that it was running. It’s a Timex Ironman. It’s digital. What good would tapping do? I had lost the white shirts. I had lost the red shirt. Screw this. I started walking. I was in the middle of nowhere. For the third time I had “seen” an aide station and there was none. Between the cacti, the shadows play of distant hillsides, and my loopy state – I could convince myself of seeing just about anything. And that pissed me off. Screw this. I ripped the pack open. It was an Espresso Hammer Gel. My intestine cringed. My brain was jazzed. The immediacy of calories did nothing for my legs – but everything for my head. I seemed to be a bit less loopy. A truck passed. It was one of the volunteers from aide station four… seeing him meant that the last runner had come and gone. I grew more paranoid. They had to be within just a few miles of me. The “shuffle” sped up. I made it to the fifth station. It was not a mirage.
It had grown a little colder. The clouds had thickened – or maybe I just didn’t have the energy to keep myself warm. I forgot about my long sleeve wrapped around my waist. So… I made it a quick stop. I grazed on potato, pretzel, chips, another potato… and stuffed a vanilla Hammer Gel inside of me. Somehow, I had kept on schedule with my electrolytes. It was time to pull out my pill supply from the Camelback. Wait. That was what I had planned. This race was getting weirder by the moment. I was doing things that I had thought about – despite my head being less then fully engaged. I filled up the pack with straight Heed… and headed out. Part III was done. Part IV – my last part – had begun. I turned north. It was at this point when I realized that I was only about a quarter mile from Mexico. The Rio Grande was just a few short steps away. Fuck it. No sight seeing today. All I wanted to do was get my shoes off.
The trail was at its lowest – a bit over 2000 feet. The surface conditions alternated in their familiar pattern of hard rock, loose rock and sand. I was running in the center. I chose the sand as a lesser evil. My high of making the aide station quickly faded. I had entered a shallow canyon along Iron Mountain. Although not particularly deep, it would have been impossible for me to climb out. My paranoia convinced that this was the perfect place for a lion to attack, or for bandits to rob a runner of all of his valuables, or for a sudden downpour to fill the walls with swift and deadly runoff water. This was a place I did not want to be. I shuffled. I alternated between it and an ugly walk – marred more then usual by the pounding of angry muscles deep within my right ass cheek. I knew I had a pathetic limp. I had one more Hammer Gel. I wanted the kick. I thought about the long term cost – intimate time on the porcelain throne. By that time, the trade-off did not matter. It was another Espresso. I made great efforts to ensure that I got every bit of gel out of that package.
It must have worked. For the second week in a row, the last couple of miles happened with very little of my conscious memory paying attention. I don’t recall exiting the canyon and was very pissed when yet another truck pulled up behind me. I shuffled out of the way.
Its driver leaned across the passenger seat toward the open window, “You ok?”
“Yeah. Fine.” I used my cheerful, fake voice.
“You’re a half mile from home. You’re done.”
I waved. Yeah. Right. A half mile. I looked at my watch. I had missed the last interval – must have slept right through it. And then I saw it. One of those horizontal beams you see above the entrance to a ranch road. You know the kind, “Welcome to the Lazy Eight.” I thought it was another mirage. I kept shuffling. It stayed in place. I saw stuff around it. The tops of vehicles? And then I noticed it. The hill. So Carroll had a bit of a sadist in him. It was the finish line. There were trucks and there were people watching me through binoculars. Well, the people were watching… I don’t think the trucks gave a flip about my progress. It was real. And so was the damn hill. I was approaching the finish. The 25K guys didn’t have a hill. They ran on the road on top of the hill. 50K idiots got to run up the hill – just as a final “gotcha”. And it did. All I wanted to do was to make it up the damn thing without falling. It was rock. It was sand. Somehow the legs turned over. The few folks around applauded. I flashed a “Hook’em Horns” and noted the time. I had told one of my new friends that I would be happy with a seven hours show. The clock showed 7:03. Oh well, there is always next year. Big Bend, and my trilogy, were now part of my running history.
As always, too many lessons to write about. Hmmm. 1,273 road miles later, and many of them are still processing. I laugh as I recall the nay-sayers on the RunTex forum when I had posted my plans for the trilogy… and I still smile at those few that had given me the thumbs up since the start. As weird as it sounds, my legs never felt so strong after such a run. It was amazing. It was like Big Bend had stretched out the hurts from Bandera. The next morning I was tired, but I did not have the stiff joints usually associated with such an undertaking. I was pleased with my hydration. I was pleased with my nutrition – I had almost made it a whole marathon distance before hitting the gel – of course – I almost “OD’d” once I took that first package. Heck, I was even pleased that I had kinda actually planned some of the race – and executed to that partial plan.
This was my first running adventure away from the Rogue and the HCTR family – my first to just pack up the Hardrocks and head out. In that respect, it was a time of solitude, but not one of loneliness. I kept thinking about that family – and who would like, or dislike, different things about the race, the trail (errr… the road), the experience. I kept thinking about the other Big Bend runners – what attracted them to this very remote, but beautiful place – and what motivates them to be on whatever trail they seem to be on. Once again, I marvel at how the trail mirrors our lives – and how fortunate we are to have contracted this disease, this infection, this lifestyle – whatever you choose to call it. How fortunate we are to experience the products of creation through the workings of mind and soul and body – all pushed in their required functionality – so well beyond the tail of that normal distribution. How fortunate we are to share such experiences amongst the wonders of the universe and its earth, its fire, its water and its sky.