The course was designed as a double 8.3mile loop followed by a 4.1mile loop for 20K, thrice repeated for 60K. I learn later that the second loop was 1.4miles long (5.5 instead of 4.1), increasing the total distance to 41.4 miles. Upon close examination of the course outline, the top half looks like the torso and head of a man screaming in agony. I wondered about that! Must have been 100% humidity inside this cloud that encompassed the fifteen of us. We began on a dirt road, and then spilled over onto a trail which took us to a strait and flat jeep road. One fellow starts out much faster than the rest of is. He has no shirt, belt or water bottle, and even wears racing flats. I wonder if he’s that good or just crazy. Clyde drove in from Gonzalez this morning to run with me. He called last night looking for a long run, and I suggested this.

We start together and are joined by Frank from San Antonio. For the next seven miles we run up and down through a maze of trails, most of which takes us over the hills on their steepest slope. I know which way we’re going after a few of these climbs by just looking for the toughest looking trail up the side of the next hill. We can see them coming from some of the overlooks. The three of us hang together for awhile, and another twosome is close behind us. A table with water and food is near mile 3.5, but we’re all ok with our water so early on this first loop, and we skip on by. I’m a bit heavy, so I’m pretty slow going up hill, and for the same reason, pretty fast going downhill. I scream way out in front of my friends on all the downhills, and they bunch up behind me on the uphills. I tell them to get on by, but they refuse, at least for awhile. I can hear some of the other runners around us, but I can’t see far enough to make out anything. The early morning mist lasts well into the first hour after sunrise, but burns off completely before we even complete our first long loop. It’s going to be hot. Eventually, Clyde has enough of my lead and blows by. He was out of balance running my pace and needs to get back to his own. His ankles can’t stand the fast downhills and he’s just too fast on the uphills to be parked behind me. Unfortunately, Clyde has no sense of direction and this course twisted about so much that you have to pay close attention or you’ll get lost. I warn Clyde about following from the front, and then he’s gone. We come close to catching him near the end of one long downhill, but not quite. It takes us 1:32 to finish the first 8.3 mile loop and the only person in front of us is the speed burner. I reload my water bottle with Gatorade from the ice chest in my pickup, grab another GU and move out with Frank. Clyde takes off just in front of us and quickly disappears.

This 5.5 mile loop is initially much flatter, easier, and more boring than the big loop, so I figure Clyde will easily lose us in here. Frank and I take our time, slowing occasionally on slight rises because there aren’t any big ones to force us to slow. We waltz along next to a gorgeous creek lined with large shade trees on a soft dirt trail littered with rocks. But the shade was over the water and we aren’t under it, so it’s a terrible tease, and I make tentative plans to spend some time in that water on one of the next two loops. We cross the creek on some slippery stepping stones, some of which are not flat on top. After the water crossing, we bisect a paved road and then a field. The clean trail soon disappears and we’re routed along the park boundary fenceline, hopping on and off the trail. It looks like a tornado ripped through here. Trees are lying everywhere and we have to skirt around them. As rough as it is, it’s just about to get even rougher. It looks like we were finally clear of the mess and on a perfectly good jeep road, when a trail marking arrow points us to turn along a bend in the fenceline.

There is no trail, but there are plenty of ribbons and it’s rather obvious that this was the way I have to go. By far the roughest country I’ve ever run in, filled with Prickly Pear cactus, Spanish Bayonet yucca, Mesquite thorns, and brambles imbedded in a chopped up landscape of shattered lava rocks and foot high dried out weeds. It’s hard to make out the rocks from the weeds, so I hop from rock to rock, and hope the rock I land on doesn’t roll. There are spots where the stones aren’t too bad, and then I only had to dodge the things that scratch and sting. But then I hit a turn in the fence line and find the hill. It’s a good sized hill with the same terrain & fauna that I’ve already come to love and enjoy. An obstacle course seasoned with some of central Texas’s friendliest plants. They just want to reach out and touch someone… anyone! The sun continues to blast me as there is no shade to be found, so I hop, skip, and sweat my way to the top. I really don’t mind rough country that much and actually run better when there is some sort of challenge to tweak me mentally, so I manage to climb up ok, but realize when I reached the top that Frank has fallen way off. I wait just a few moments before I roll off the back side, falling, hopping, bouncing as fast as I could go until I hit bottom. Occasionally I hit something loose and as it slides out from under me, I ride it out, maintaining my balance until the slide stops, then just hop off and continue. The downhill through the loose lava rocks, weeds, and cactus is exhilarating and I bomb it like I have nothing to fear. I look back for Frank, but he has not reached the top of the other side yet. I’m sure he’s much safer without me leading the way, so I turn and continue alone. Out of the lava rocks and the cactus, it’s still rough terrain and I have to move left or right to get around bushes and trees. Another turn in the fenceline leads through a field of brambles, low and flat on the ground, but if your toe catches under one, a four foot long streamer of thorns will scrape across your ankle. I stop twice to untangle myself and manage to escape without injury. I pass a trio of lounging longhorns, and then stop to watch an enormous armadillo rooting about in the undergrowth, blind as a bat, just three feet away. As soon as I take off again, he hears me and dives for a burrow in some tree roots.

I finally land on good trail again and move along much better when I hear Clyde off in the brush. The trail I’m on joins another jeep road and that’s where I find Clyde with another runner. They missed the turn into the rough and continued on strait down the jeep trail. Clyde thought he was lost and went back up the trail a mile or so, before meeting another guy who had missed the same turn, and they had continued on together back to where I meet them. Together we run past a large burned field, around an abandoned barn, and down a steep slope to the main road. I can see the aid station from the slope just a half mile away. The road entering the park has a creek running over it, so we have to wade through the creek, but it’s so shallow that my feet don’t even get wet, and the final stretch of dirt road is a slight uphill. Clyde pushes on ahead, while I walk in. Total time for the first double loop was 2:32 I reload my bottle with ice cold water from the ice chest, take another GU, pop a few more E-caps, then sit in my chair and guzzle a quart of wonderfully cold water.

Clyde has already moved out ahead of me and I follow not far behind. We run together through the flats, and through the first few hills, but then he moves ahead again. The heat is beating me down pretty hard and I really should have more water on this loop, so I slow even more. I try to maintain a fast walk when I can’t run, but I’m certainly slower than my first loop. Just coming up to one of the really tough climbs, I hear Clyde yelling, “There are no flags. Which way do I go?” He’s on top of the ridge, waving his arms. There’s a few trails up, but the correct one leads down the back side and it isn’t marked. I yell up at him, “strait down the other side.” It takes me awhile to reach the top where I saw Clyde, but he’s long gone. I roll down the other side, up the next, and down another and another and another. There are a lot of hills back here. I don’t see another soul until I land back at the aid station in 1:53. Clyde’s girlfriend asks me, “where’s my little buddy?” I’m not surprised. “He’s not back yet? Must be lost again!” I had hoped he was well in front of me by now, but expect he’ll come in soon after. He may be directionally challenged, but he’s fast, and smart enough to figure it out eventually. I top off my water bottle with more life saving ice cold water, drink another quart while sitting there, and then drift out. I’m informed that I am in second place. I don’t really care.

In survival mode now, I just want to get it done. I walk out of the station in search of cactus and armadillos. I have the route memorized now and know all the turns without really looking for them. I drift along, mentally floating, everywhere else but here. My auto pilot must be excellent because I’m not very alert. I navigate by sense and association: cross the creek, turn at the twisted tree, right at the trail split, and so on. The desert jungle of cactus and lava is much tougher to manage this time and I’m even more careful through the stringers of stickers. A few more armadillos are rooting about and the same longhorns are still crazing. I’m too hot to be out in this heat. Coming into the station, I vaguely notice another runner coming up from behind. I stop to change my shoes. The ice chest full of ice cold water looks so inviting that I just stick my feet in. Man is it cold and oh does it feel good. I need one big enough to put my whole body in. I pull a can of coke from under my toes and gulp it down in one swallow. While I vegitate in my ice dreams, the woman coming in behind me goes out again quickly. The last loop took me 1:17 for a 3:10 double loop and total time of 5:43. I’m certain the next loop will be even slower. I can’t drink enough to satiate my thirst. My feet felt pretty good but my body energy is zapped.

I take the double water-belt and leave for my last big loop well behind the woman who had passed me in the station. I take my time, occasionally stop in the shade of a tree, and climb the hills much slower than usual. It’s after 1pm and the sun’s strait up. I manage to run all the downhills still, but the uphills are done at a snails pace, and even the flats are debatable. Lots of lizards are skittering about on the rocks, with their front legs extended and their heads held high, but they’re the only wildlife I see this time around. I’m drying up and feel myself becoming dehydrated. Moving slower than usual, I begin to hear things around me: the rocks moving and my beard growing. I pour a small bit of water on my head and face and repeat the routine every so often… water on head, face, lips, neck... then a long drink. Eventually, I make it though the last big loop, saying good-bye to each bend and turn, knowing I will not be back today. There are other people out by now: boy scouts, mountain bikers, and horseback riders. Only the bikers seem interested in what we’re doing. “So, why aren’t you running?”, one of them asks me. I finish the third big loop in 2:38. It’s after 3pm. I take a break and talk with Chuck and Chris, who have both decided they’ve had enough. They’re waiting for me so we can all go out and get something to eat. There are only 6 people left in the race, including the fast guy who has already finished. I still wonder about the lack of water he had to deal with. I take my time while Chuck reloads my water bottles with ice cold water. I lounge in a chair in the shade of my truck and ready myself for the last small loop.

Eventually, I walk out and continue to walk until the first slight downhill. Once I get my butt moving, it becomes easier. This flat section helps to keep me moving for a longer period, and I pass all my landmarks one last time. I start to go past the creek with the shade trees and remember the promise I made to myself many hours earlier. It has been teasing me for too long and I can’t stand to pass it again, so I make a left turn and wade in, sit down, and then lie down. Oh yea! Ecstasy! Reluctantly, I get back up and move on after only minutes. Ten minutes later, all my clothes are dry, including my socks and shoes. The rough and tumble cactus jungle and lava rocks await me and are as merciless and mean as they were on the first loop and I dodge them all with care one last time. I’m finally past the final hazards and back to the last good section of trail. The burned field lets me know I’m close, so I pick up the pace to a crawl. Coming in on the final uphill, I slow to a walk only to start running again for the last hundred yards to cross the finish. This loop was 1:13. Even with my creek adventure, it’s faster than my last one. My final double loop is 3:51 for a total finish time of 9:35. I’m third. My ice chest is empty and I need to get to some real food and lots of cold drink immediately. I’m dehydrated and need to drink lots of fluid. I quickly hose down, wipe off, change clothes, and find myself sitting in a restaurant in downtown Bandera with Chuck and Chris inside of 30 minutes. Lemonade please! Yes, another, and another, and another... keep ‘em coming, please and oh yea, thank you!