Jus' Ramblin'

Tiramisu -an essay in decadence

2011-12-03T11:59:00.000-05:00

Our good friend and ultrarunner Jenny hosted a wonderful dinner party for a few "Damascus-y types" just days before her BIG run at the Mountain Masochist Trail Run a few weeks ago. From hors d'oeuvres to dessert it was scumptious and matched only by her subsequent 9hr 45min finish time of those 53miles Masochist miles a couple of days later. Together -mind boggling, but she can tell that story.

Anyways, her dessert was tiramisu. I was inspired to try my own hand in the endeavor.

Besides, I've always been curious about its most ravishing of ingredients -that most excellent of soft cheeses -mascarpone. We have a share of a milk cow so fresh, raw cream is handy on a weekly basis. With a starter from cheesemaking.com, mascarpone is the easiest of cheeses to make. Heat a quart of cream to 86°, stir in the starter, pour into a clean mason jar, cover, leave 12hr at room temp to set, pour into a strainer lined with cheesecloth (fine), let drain for 12hrs, and voila. If you've never had it, promise me you will.

Our next accomplice in decadence is ladyfingers (recipe). Quite bland as far as cookies go. I lean more toward a brownie-type and ladyfingers are the opposite -light, airy, spongy, and the definition of persnickety to make. Fortunately, the ladies for tiramisu don't have to be beauty queens to work well. Basically, you whip egg yolk and sugar, sift cake flour onto the mix and let stand. Whip the egg whites ino a merainge. Gently fold the merainge into the flour/egg yolk mix so as to maintain a fluffy texture.

Put into a pastry sack with a half inch nozzle and pipe out 3" lines of the foamy batter.

Bake 8-10 mins. They will be a little crisp and and little spongy.

Now the filling (recipe). Essentially it is a dalliance of whipping fat and sugar into a lather of ecstasy.

After separating 6 eggs, put the yolks and sugar into a double boiler and stir constantly for 10 min.

Let it cool slightly, add the mascarpone, and beat until smooth and creamy.

In another bowl. beat heavy cream until stiff. I used store-bought cream this time but plan to experiment. By hand with a spatula, folded these two together gently, until just barely of one color and consistency.

Back to the ladies. Put them all in a covered container larger than a quart jar, but smaller than a washing machine. A gallon jar is about right or slightly smaller. Add about a half a cup of some combination of coffee and chocolate liqueurs. I love coffee flavoring, but erring on the side of chocolate is a weakness of mine. Tumble them around until all the liquid is absorbed.

Use pieces of the cookies to make a pie shell in a glass dish or a springform pan.

A 9" pan is too big for the volume these recipes produce. A 6" is probably too small. I'll have to experiment again on that also. You can drizzle in more liqueur if you think some are a little dry, but don't drowned them. Now carefully spoon about half the filling into the shell.

Dust the top with cocoa powder and put down another layer of ladies. (Yes, you can drizzle again.)

Spoon in the remaining filling, dust with cocoa powder again. Top the whole affair off with dark chocolate shaved off a bar with a vegetable peeler. You just made some of the best tiramisu on the planet.

I promise.

PS. Later in the day, Jenny, Dennett and I, attended our first Hash Hound Harriers ramble. THAT was an essay in decadence.

2011-10-02T17:00:00.001-04:00

Iron Mountain Trail Run

and Fall Camp-out 2011

VA Highlands

Since our annual event was to begin on a Friday this year, I tried to pull things together at work as early as possible on the day of, but it was well past noon before I could actually head home. To exacerbate the rush and general giddiness of the day, I had done nary a smack of packing. Counting on my standing pack to be more or less camp & run ready, I dragged it out of the attic and quickly shifted seasonal gear and garb from spring straight into winter barely touching the clutch. According to the forecast, the trickster weather we've been tussling with all year it seems was about to deal off the bottom of the deck again with a forecast of light snow on the mountains that were still just beginning to try on some new fall outfits. Last weekend several of the group had got an early autumn baking the last few miles of our long run back into Damascus. Our transition and weather acclimatization this weekend was to be as subtle as a pie in the face.

Beth, our fearless leader for this event and most all of them really, made the arrangements for a more formal camping destination this year and booked our nebulous sized group for Grindstone campground. It proved to be a prophetically wise choice considering some of our prior venues that we might have revisited. Grindstone is a quiet, clean government facility at the foot of Mt Rogers near the divide of the Tennessee Valley and New River Valley watersheds. Since she lives just down the street, we carpool to as many events as we can. So within an hour of my hitting my doorstep, we had my vehicle packed to the gills with camping gear and runner chow to last a couple of days. We headed for Damascus and the mountain beyond.

After an hours drive, we checked in with campground management and were directed to campsite 40. We set up camp, scavenged firewood from a nearby tornado patch, and brought the stew to a boil. Rob showed up from N. Carolina, and before dark, Jason who has been to several if not all the fall camp-outs, rolled in from Tennessee with a good supply of dry seasoned firewood. Jason is a mountain biker and was hoping to find a new trek to explore leaving us to the running. Several runners couldn't make it until the next morning but the four of us indulged in non-stop runner chitchat and unabashed carbo-loading well into the unseasonably chilled night. The weather shamans had accurately envisioned rain by 10pm and with temps slicing down through the 40s who knew what we might wake to.

My average weekly milage has been below what I've done in past years since last winter. I've gotten back to a regular schedule of running this past month hoping to let consistency develop into runs of longer duration. I'm beginning to feel safe and confident with mid-teens distance if I take it easy. For the first day this weekend, I planned to make an early start after daylight, 60-90 minutes ahead of the group and given their speed over ground, anticipated them catching me 12-15 miles into the 20 or so planned miles. The second day, I'd do a lot less, 8-12 if I hadn't broken anything the day before.

I had a good night's sleep. Light rain and drizzle for at least a few minutes it seemed about every half hour. I started putting my run together about 7 am. With the weather change , clothing becomes an issue. It seemed way too early in the season to be thinking about tights, but tights and shorts felt good,especially when then first sleet shower began just after daylight. Our elevation at campsite was about 1700' lower than the highpoint of today's course and with temps already flirting with freezing and wind a given, things could get downright nasty up at the top. Also making a return to the wardrobe -a compression short-sleeve and plain technical long-sleeve under a Torrent shell. Socks were short wool Icebreakers and tall Darn Tough wools. Shoes were Montrail Masochists -well beyond prime, a knitted wool toboggan, 1 20 cent glove and one $7 glove rounded out the clothing. Since I knew some springs along the way, 2 hand-held water bottles would be adequate even though I'd be out there 6hrs or more.

I started out alone just after 8am. The trail leading out of the campground up to the Mt Rogers Trail had caution tape and blocked by an official sign saying simply “CLOSED”. “How Closed” it did not say. Really? Very Closed? Mildly Closed? Closed to tourists in sandals? I ducked through the tape and kept on jogging. In a tenth of a mile I had only encountered a small blow-down or two until I came to the tornado patch. Last April, our region was hit by several very powerful tornadoes -quite rare since mountains are decidedly not tornado-friendly topography. The trail was closed after all. VERY CLOSED. CLOSED with sugar on top. There was in front of me a half dozen acres of twisted, splintered and downed timber -enough to make a chainsaw faint. I picked my way around the upper edge of the ruin and found the main trail leading up the mountain in less than a quarter mile. It was an easy bushwhack – about Class 2 I'd say – No trail, but open woods, not very steep.

Once on the main trail, I began to make a little better time, but wasn't feeling as spry as I would have liked, plus I didn't want to push too much to soon so I jog-walked the steady moderate grade up to the ridge shelf where the Lewis Fork trail would spur to the east and continue up to the crest zone. By this point I was picking up patches of snow on trees still green with summer.

Somewhat spooky looking actually. We've had enough unusual aberrations in the local weather this year, high powered tornadoes, several more 90°+ days than usual and now and early snow even for this elevation. None by themselves would make you think much, but the frequency of these events at least is giving weathermen job security.

After a little bit of downhill from the ridge shelf, I get on the Lewis Fork Trial -primarily a horse trail but not too many muddy patches. It has a good grade and is not too technical. The weather begins to lean more toward snow flurries and less drizzle as I climb. As I finally break into the crest zone,

I'm greeted by a small herd of longhorns -half a dozen mommas most with calves on them. The calves were totally curious, but the mommas were skiddish and easily scared off the trail. I used some diplomacy as you don't want a momma to feel like her calf is threatened -especially if she has 18” horns growing out the sides of her head. I took a gel-break as I came to the intersection of the Pine Mt Trail a little ways further. Turning toward Scales, between the snack and the downhill,I began to feel more in the groove.

It was 2 miles into Scales and I expected some activity there, but of three camping trailers, all seemed to be empty. Without really slowing down I proceeded southbound on the AT up Stone Mt. The wind and snow while by no means severe, weren't conducive to standing around gaulking considering the open exposure.

It's only a short climb to the open ridge line and a very pleasant mile or so through open fields. The trail then ducked back into the woods, which blocks the wind and the snow dies down as I drop elevation.

After a few minutes the sun popped out. It lasts about 2 minutes.

By the time I came out into the little clearing, just before Wilson Creek the season and scenery looked more like fall than winter. Near Wise Shelter I refilled my water bottles and a little later bumped into a person backpacking. He was doing the same loop I was on in the opposite direction.

As I began the climb up Wilburn Ridge, I met 4 more backpackers and by the time I went through Massie Gap it was a regular traffic jam of hikers and packers headed in both directions. I figured I might see a soul or two out today, but I saw at least 2 dozen. Wilburn Ridge with a little weather is good place to put a little polish on your Bad-ass Badge. It's a rocky, rocky, climbing trail -highly exposed with wind in your face or from the left, but about as good a view as you'll find in the east.

By the time I hit the high point of the run around 5300', the wind was whippin' in the clouds and fog, and there was still a little snow and ice to keep things interesting. I had been expecting the gang to catch me somewhere along through here. They might have gotten a later start, but even a half hour late they would catch me somewhere down the north face of Rogers. I figured traveling at 4 miles an hour for them and 3 for me we'd meet at mile 12 with my one hour head start. But by mile 14, I had seen no sign of them following me up the ridge. I left a mark in the snow to show them I'd headed down into the laurel on the Pine Mt Trail from Rhododendron Gap.

I ended up eating all three gels, a handful of dates, and drained my second round of 50z of water before I made it back. That was about right, as I never felt especially tired anywhere along the way. I was comfortable most all the way.

My cheap glove did as well as the expensive one -after mile 15, both hands suddenly got cold, but were only cold for a mile or two and then my feet got cold for a short spell too even though they already had been wet for several hours without notice. As I came back down into the bushwhacking section, I took a different short cut, otherwise it would have been a full 20 miles. By the time the rest of the gang showed up, I was standing under a hot shower at the campground bath house. They intentionally had taken a left at Rhododendron Gap which added about 2 miles to their route. I was close to 7hrs on my feet and I still felt pretty good at the end. So taking it easy paid off and I feel a marathon or 50k is not too far out of reach at this point.

We ate and talked and laughed continuously until turning in for the night. The weather dried some, but stayed cold all night. Jason fixed a hearty breakfast (including bacon) the next day but we decided that yesterday's run had been so special, that running anything today would detract from that experience. So, we packed our gear and headed down the valley.

Back in the Dirt

2011-05-14T23:00:00.003-04:00

It was a typical Saturday really, then off to the market early and back home for some cleaning. Dan came over to hang out Friday night. Beth had left already for the Massanutten 100 to pace Rick. Dan said Kayak John who lives up the river was opening his garden plot up to the community. Something may have clicked. I hadn't had the use of a proper garden plot in over twenty years, maybe I'll cabbage in on the offer. The next morning at the market, I picked up 18 tomato plants -Romas and San Marzanos, 9 pepper plants -mostly Corno de toro, 3 skinny eggplants and a dozen or two small basil sprouts. After the cleaning details I drove over to John's with the booty. It's on the way to Damascus if you take the scenic route maybe ten miles or more, but by Creeper Trail, only three.

John had a good plot of creek and river bottom plowed, tilled and already had a couple rows of peppers in. I didn't take long to get all of my plants in the ground. It was loose and damp - seething desire to grow with an ethereal pulse synced to rites of spring. Dan came over with a basket of seeds but I needed to run today and the afternoon was getting on, so I headed out for Damascus.

I got into town about the time the Trail Days parade was to get under way. I parked on the west end of town and stayed out of traffic. In a short while I was headed down Gov'mint Rd. with a pair of water bottles and not a care in the world. A slight warm breeze was brushing highlights in the juicy green pastures. Honeysuckle sweetened the air and the sky was overcast but, a little thundershower wouldn't have spoiled the day in the slightest. The pavement ended at the forest's edge and the climbing starts on gravel road. I walked the first hill, probably 3 furlongs, but was able to jog the next two or three until I came to the trail up Pond Ridge 3-4 miles in.

I turned off the dirt road into the thick woods as the rain started. It wasn't a heavy rain and the tree cover was of some shelter. The climb was a steep for the most part. Numerous small blow downs and growth in the trail made it feel almost like bushwhacking a lot of the time. The southern Appalachians are just shy of rain forest classification at normal rainfall levels -or so I've heard. I passed the pond about half way up where the trail takes a breather on a flat section of the ridge for a quarter mile. I suspect the pond is not a natural feature but was graded out years ago for some reason. Plop! Regardlessly, the frogs seem to enjoy it.

Pond Ridge tops out on Holston Mt 5 miles southwest of Damascus at the Appalachian Trail. It's all downhill from here -almost anyways. The trail is soft and springy with the soaking it has been getting fairly regular this year, but only slick in a few places -near perfect by my running standards. I passed a few hikers and campsites along the way but Trail Days, the haij of hikers and backpackers has already filled our Appalachian Mecca with those who walk with religious fervor.

Unfortunately, on the penultimate turn of my trek, not a 100yds before the trail meets the town, where I could join in the festivity, my right foot snags a small rock. I'm not that good at falling with my right foot. I get lots more practice with lefty being the faux paw. Couple of weeks ago, with the gang, I caught a stick with my left foot that I had pinned simultaneously and coincidentally to the ground with my right going down Buzzard Den ridge. I bounced off both water bottles and followed up with a 360° barrel roll, but had little blood or scuff to show for my efforts. This day, I reenacted the barrel roll portion with less success and my knee right knee, calf and haunch took some good rock rash. It broke the bottom strap off my favorite water bottle. I never did find it.

My good fortune always get the upper hand in the end. As I popped out of the woods a few minutes later, Aliese and Jim were on their front porch with some friends. I yogi-ed some chow and an ale after I had gone down to the creek to wash off. It's good to have friends that you can show up on their doorstep muddy and bloody and that not be so unusual or embarrassing.

It was a ten mile, or eleven, day. I was soaked and cooling off fast with the day -a little tired too. But mainly my knee was whining and I didn't feel like walking around, so I thanked Jim and Aliese for their hospitality and headed back to the car. Maybe tomorrow will be exciting too.

JJJ

MOLLYDAWG!!!

2011-05-08T09:36:00.010-04:00

You know I love my granddawg. So I was ebullient when my daughter, Jecholia, called and said she, Brian, AND Molly may be able to get down to the mountains this weekend. Molly is a Siberian husky, almost four, and we only get to see her a few times each year on account that Maryland is so geographically challenged in that it chose to exist on the opposite side my Virginia. They got in last night late, but Molly and I were up and at 'em sort of early for a Sunday. The three of them are engaged in the Couch to 5k running program which has put so many on the road to recovering and maintaining wellness. I'm triple elated.

The mornings here are are still pleasantly cool and this one has a generous cover of soggy, drizzly clouds hung overhead. But the world is green again, it would take more than drizzle to spoil it. Starting up our first hill I can tell Molly has been boning up on her running-on-leash technique though she's having some trouble holding back the excitement -well, me too really. The world is new for her. New smells, new sounds, new texture of ground beneath paw. She was doing well in the restraint department, but when we turned off the pavement into the woods, it was all I could do to hold her back.

We made it down the embankment to the Creeper Trail and even though it was steep and slippery we made it down without incident. For a while I thought running with a sled dog was too easy. Every time I had both feet off the ground it felt like she was pulling me an extra few feet. After a mile though, she seemed more relaxed and probably thought "maybe I'd better pace myself". There was still some tension on the leash but she was much more relaxed.

At 2 miles we took a stretch break in front of the new Alvarado Train Station. She drank a little from a puddle, I had a water bottle. Just before the turnaround, about a mile further, there's actually some slack in the leash. Molly's tongue is long and limp hanging from the side of her mouth and she turns and says,

"Roohroroh roh WTF roo! How Rooro EFFN far are we Rrogoing anyrorohways!?

(she has a bit of a potty mouth, probably from living in the big city.)

"Just 6 miles. We are about ready to turn around in fact", I said.

Molly thought for a second and then, "That's like almost 10 roroh k! I'm just on the 5k training schedule or did you not get that Roh message?"

Molly has also gotten better at metric conversions since I'd seen her last. We turned and back at Alvarado she took a long draught at the mud puddle. Some little dogs came from behind the station barking at the stranger, but she made friends with one of them. By the time we started up the hill back to the bridge at the confluence, there wasn't just slack in her leash, she was running beside me. As we got to bridge, I gave her a little pep talk which picked her up enough that we managed a little 200m sprint.. Molly likes the bridges best anyways. Her nails click on the wooden decking and it sounds a little like tap dancing.

It was a PR distance for Molly and except for some complaining in the middle I think she enjoyed it. Someday we'll make it to Damascus for some real traildawg runnin'.

JJJ

An eve of middle spring.

2011-05-06T06:26:00.005-04:00

I'm back on the trail after some lousy weeks jousting with a rhino virus. Beth and Joey picked me up about 5:30 at Sundog's in Damascus and we drove up to one of our favored loop access points on FS 832 near Beartree Campground. May is having a relapse and the temperatures have remained cool with some frost the last 2 mornings. It's good running weather really with a cloudless pure blue sky to boot. The first mile is an up mile on 832 and the grassy road bed is beginning to get shaggy. Joey recalled his last run on this mountain when we came up in January with 12" inches on snow on the ground. Today our only concern is not to get lost in the idyllic haze of spring with sweet ferns unfurling en mass and birds tweeting about god-knows-what. At a low spot on the ridgeline we take a stretch break on the AT just north of Saunder's shelter. I fortify myself with a gel as my lunch was pretty light.

As we turn north bound on the AT, some rhodys have already popped into purple bloom -it seems earlier since it's about a month until the one's in the high country debut. We're on the ridge of Straight Mt. and the trail has a good mix of footing for the couple of miles into Beartree Gap -some scree, nice leaf bed on switch backs, and a few rocky spots. Beth rolled an ankle and had to take it easy for a mile or two.

We left the AT on the south end of the Beartree Gap trail, but after a short stretch of grassy road, turned right on US58 at the crossing. A quarter mile of pavement brings us to the Straight Mt trailhead and back onto the dirt and up we go. Joey is back to full speed after some knee issues in the winter and Beth's ankle seems to be back in gear. I'm bring up the rear, but I love running with these young speedsters as I keeps me pushing myself and I owe my most of my running and general fitness improvement from hanging out with a young fast crowd on the trail.

By the time I finish the climb, I'm ready for a second gel. We start down toward Beartree lake on some some of the best trail around -an open woods of straight tall poplars with rhododendron understory. The sun is dropping fast and our own shadows are getting tall along side the poplars. There is nothing like a run through the woods to reset the soul and spirit to its natural state.

All too soon, we come to another asphalt interruption on the road in Beartree campground. Our final climb of the run starts here. After several furlongs of pavement we start up the Shaw's Gap trail on the Iron Mountain. It's less than a mile, and the climb is not bad, but I've never mind-melded with this section. It does seem to get shorter with repetition.

At the top, and yet another gel for me, we have come to the other end of the Beartree Gap Trail where it also meets the Iron Mt Trail on the ridge line. Beth dubbed it the Sweet Trail years ago. It has some short climbs but it's mostly fast footing on a moderate downgrade for a few miles. A feathery green grass lines the trail for the first mile and the ease of running feels more like floating than effort. Wood thrush song weaves and warbles over the spring evening and the needle-some empty mind chatter of the day easily gives way to a flow of peace.

The sun has dropped below the western ridge taking a few degrees with it. We get back to our start with 10+ miles in about 2 hrs and 10 -a reasonable time considering the breaks we took and the climbs I guess. Wet with a good sweat, the evening chill puts us in the truck heading back down to Damascus. A good day. A good run.

I can't wait to do it again.

JJJ

Mount Mitchell Challenge 2011

2011-02-27T19:41:00.016-05:00

It has been a long trail from proverbial “coach potato” to a creature that operates with delight on the physical plane. When once I might have disdained the human limitation of needing to occupy the Body to exist, I have come to relish body and the occasional blood that comes with it, with near fanatical, even eucharistic, mysticism. Sure physical limitations will always exist no question, but I no longer sit back and dolefully, mournfully accept them as bars that block and imprison what I thought my progress in life should be. Instead I slip on my trail shoes 3-5 times a week and rattle my cage with a delight that sometimes borders on ecstasy.

A few years ago I met a new mountain. Not really that far from my house, but I had plenty of unexplored mountain near by to keep me occupied with the occasional ramble. I bicycled with some friends down to Mt Mitchell and took an instant delight in the place. The thinner air, the fog, the flora, the stone, and silence drilled down into me like the longing gaze of a lover. The mountain loved me. I loved the mountain.

As a runner, though quiet late to the party, I decided to run the Mt Mitchell Challenge in 2009 being far more spry at 54 than I was at 34. Members of my running tribe were all doing it. It was a mountain and a challenge, negativism need not apply. At that Challenge I failed to complete the nominal 40 miles from the town of Black Mountain to the Mitchell summit and back, and settled on what turned out to be a 7+ hour marathon finish. Two years later, feeling even more spry, I sought a re-Challenge.

The 2011 race entry opened online last September and filled up in about 45 sec. The race is a rock star in more ways than one. Being again late to the party, I accepted a marathon entry and was put on the waiting list for the Challenge. I had no real fears I wouldn't get in come race day, so I've trained with the 40 miles in mind for the last few months. I'll admit I've been a less than avid trainer for the past year or so, but maybe a smarter one. I don't commonly run more than 5 times a week, so my mileage is more like 35-45 weekly than 45-55. With my best ever showings in the half and full marathon last fall, and generally fewer injuries, I'm satisfied with my training level for the moment.

A few weeks prior to the race I phoned some good, old friends and took them up on a standing offer to come see their new house in Asheville, just a half hour or less from the race. I stopped by Jus' Running, a race sponsor, on the way and restocked on gels which have been giving great results since Santa brought me a whole box for Christmas. My tribe, the IMTR, has been chatting up the weather for race day, the likely course conditions, clothing choices, all very helpful banter along those synergies since they are true veterans at the game. The weather was called and settled on a frosty but not frigid 7am start, to bloom into a mild spring like day for the lower elevations, around 2200'. The higher elevations, 6000'+, scale back that temperature 10°. Wind? Be prepared. Cold blowing fog? Not predicted but, Be prepared. It's not the mountains job to keep you alive while you're up there dabbling in your existential whimsies.

At way too early for regular folk, I suited up in my favorite hiking shorts, a piece of long sleeve compression wear, topped with a long sleeve merino wool shirt, wool mittens wool hat, one pair of wool socks and a Torrent shell against cold, wind and fog. Shoes. I used my racing pair of Montrail Masochist as oppose to my everyday pair which have become as limber as a pair of orange house cats over the last two years . On Mitchell rocks, I'd need the best and cushiest I had.
I wore a lumbar pack with my chow and a dry piece of fleece in case the weather man wasn't quiet accurate, some cell phones for camera and timing mostly, band aids, and a screwdriver of course.

I pulled into Black Mountain well before daylight and stopped at a convenience store for some Vaseline and a Double-shot. Half the Double Shot was for breakfast. The Vaseline for any of those body parts or places that don't respond well to up to 10 hours of serious joggling.

I parked at the finish and several of us walked a few blocks back downtown to the start. Half the fun of a race is meeting old and new friends at the starting line.

There was the question of why no kilt today that I always get a kick out of. It seemed like time just flew to 7am and RD Jay sent us on our way.

It wasn't long before I discovered I had an untenable problem at hand or under foot in this case. For the inevitable and well documented ice we would hit near the summit, I'd put screws in my shoes. But I found they were just a tad too long -for hard pavement at least, and there was a few miles of pavement at the start and a little more along the way -not to mention the many, many, many miles of rocks. I had not screwed them in the whole way hoping to avert the prickling sensation of several sharp objects stabbing you in the feet every step you take. But it didn't work. After 15 minutes of that, I plopped my self on the curb, took off my shoes, unburied my screwdriver and removed the 4 most offending screws, and adjust some others. Much , much better, not perfect, but I've learned to live with not perfect.

The pavement starts to uptick a little more aggressively as we roll through the hamlet of Montreat and then some serious uptick off the pavement into the woods on softer trail. I'm catching back up to the back of the Challenge pack. Steeper and steeper the trail gets and has many of us of more modest strength walking. Hoping for a first completion of 40 miles I'm playing conservative, but Jay had announce a different cut-off than I expected for the 15 mile Aid Station that would determine if you would be allowed to pursue the Challenge. 3 hours. That's 12 minute miles. Not as easy as it sounds when you factor in 3000'+ of elevation gain some of it un-runnable steep -most of it rocky. By the time I'd made it to the second AS several of us had only 45 minutes for the 4 give or takeish miles to the cut off. The trails was leveling out some, but the rocks were pretty bad, and getting worse. I made it through but with only a few minutes to spare. I wasn't tiring really and the weather was exceeding expectations to the good side. I'm just slow, but I made it through.

Now I can practically lollygag the rest of the way. I have a 7 hour pad with a little over a mere 25 miles to go. Sweet. And did I mention the weather was getting an A+ for being fabulous? I'd been to the top Mt Mitchell twice before, in May and June. Today's weather was by far the best. Stunning blue skies, marginal wind, a feel good radiant exposure, with temps at least approaching 50°.

The next section of trail was about 3 miles of wide horse trail –practically level, though swampy in several places. The mountain was thawing and coming to life. It felt you could have a taken a slice out of Nature's exhilaration and eaten if too. The only concern that remained was how much icing would be on the cake at the top. Two other guys and myself strolled into the Commissary Ridge AS, the last before the top. We turned straight up the ridge into an old spruce forest onto some deeply rutted, rocky and rooty, sometimes steep single track. The forest had a definitive Tolkein-esque attitude. Not merely a place, but an animation of mystery, beauty, and adventure wrapped in twilight and scented with a sweet mix of peat and the pungent resin of spruce. Any moment it felt an elf, dwarf, troll, or some other legend might spring from behind a rock and challenge you to a game of Dungeons and Dragons -with real dragons. What ever else the climb was, it was a mile and a half of challenge. Had we not had some good thaws of late, this section could have been a capitol Challenge. The snow drifts that I had envisioned had mostly receded but there was a ¼ mile plus of thick sheet ice and snow filling the luge-like trail. The screws in my shoes did finally get to redeem themselves. You could pick your way along the trail margins in most places, but I was more confident with a little extra grip.

As quickly as we had plunged into the forest, we popped out into the summit area into a brilliant 360°sky replete with an endless blue draping a horizon with a full set of mountains for teeth. The highest point in the eastern USA. 6684'. I still felt strong and even giddy though it had taken me 5:04 to cover the 21 miles to this promontory.

You could say it's all downhill from here. Not quiet true for the trail we'd be taking, but the sentiment definitely buoyed my spirits. There was more ice and much steeper trail to reckon with going down by a different route off the summit. I went down alone. The trail was not an easy read every step of the way and I was thankful for the occasional M&M or bit of snack food that the trail running Hansels and Gretels had left in their wake. I cleared the deep woods again at a place I think called Camp Alice. Some volunteers were on a gravel road directing us final few off the mountain. I took a longer than normal break to remove ALL the screws from my shoes and stash my shell in pack as it looked as if only smooth sailing would see me to the finish.

Well, that almost turned out to be the case. The next mile of smooth gravel road turned out to be ALL up hill to the inch. It was about a 3-4% grade that I suppose could have been run, if you're into that sort of thing. I decided to focus on just finishing instead of an arbitrary sub-this or that, and that seemed well within reach even at a stroll. The next AS was at the state park ranger station where we took to the pavement once more back down to Black Mt Gap on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Sans screws was much better, but I still enjoyed the soft grassy shoulder for impact relief in occasional spurts. It was a couple miles back to the third AS and with only 12-13 miles to go, pretty much all downhill for real this time. I'm just beside my self with mirth. All the AS volunteers at all the AS were a delight with friendly help offered freely. Here I got two cups of Ra-men noodles with a chunk of pork BBQ that really hit the spot. And I was on my way.

This first section back on the Old Toll road had a very moderate up tick, but turning down on the west side of the ridge the footing became downright surly. I hadn't noticed how rocky this section had really been. Maybe I just do better with up-rock than down rock-but after a mile or two my attitude took a steep downhill turn for the worse. I wasn't hurting that much or even exhausted. I was slowing down and getting impatient. I did take yet another caffeinated gel and that seemed to help, but the thin air giddy from the top was gone and this run was starting to be work.

I was looking forward to the final AS before leaving the woods. Probably on account a growler of local brew that had graced their table on the way up. By force of grace, gravity, or whatever, I made it back there with only one cup to spare. It was a delicious Porter that, with a few handfuls of potato chips, quenched the lingering down demons. But a another situation developed as I was spinning with delight on my virtual bar stool. The end of the pack, 4 younger dudes, showed up with the sweeper. Uh-oh. Serious prospects of a DFL swept my virtual celebration under the rug. They certainly looked fresher than I felt. We all left, almost together. I tried to keep up but soon they all were in front of me as struggled to keep the distance tight. We made it down a mile of STEEP too painful to think about. I blew off the last AS at the bottom now fully back in the escarpment of civilization -roads, cars, sidewalks, crowds of people who didn't smell bad, and all that exaggerated fear of disorder.

As I was slowly falling back, the accomplishment of merely finishing was caught in a demonic crossfire of rational and irrational pride. Ultra and trail peoples supposedly tend to be less about who's faster and placement and more focused the collective accomplishment -and to an extent this is true. But I'm not perfect. When I had nearly escaped the ambush and nearly come to a gentleman's agreement with my psyche that a DFL is still a finish, to look at the bigger than ME picture, 4 more sagging runners came into view. The odds now appeared greater that someone would lose steam along with me. I was plunged back into a second ambush. But this time I didn't return fire. I just ran.

It felt like we were running at least -probably looked more like a turtle stampede to the passing traffic. With less than a mile to go, two of my compatriots faltered and I didn't. My trail tribe was there to see if I would finish and I did. I downed two hotdogs, collected my finisher's fleece and Beth awarded me a finisher's cupcake that Jenny had sent along in her stead. I rolled out of town back to my host's house and took a long, long hot bath.

It was a Challenge.
JJJ

Paradise Triangle

2010-11-28T17:37:00.004-05:00

We were talking about dogs today over on Kickrunners.com and I did sorta almost have a dog event on my run.
Early on, well before the frost had submitted to the day's clear, blue, sunny sky, two big white Great Pyrenees sheep dogs seemed quiet eager to have a taste of me, but were thwarted by a wove-wire fence right next to the road. The computer info said they were a confident, patient, and good natured breed. Maybe this pair don't read much on the internet.

I had penciled in my mind to do a 40 miler/12 hour today but before I fell asleep, I came to my senses, and decided to reroute to something more modest.

It was my first kilted run of the season.
I loaded my pack, 2.5L water, 20oz chia fresca, 4 boiled eggs, a little can of pineapple juice, some gorp, shot blocks, 2 Gus, cellphone, headlamp, lighter, salt & IBU,. On my belt I hung my 12" machete, and a KaBar army -a little overkill in the cutlery department.
The temps were still in a the mid 20°s,when I set out at 8:30.
After a half mile out of the neighborhood, it was a mile and a half to Alvarado on the Creeper where I took to the pavement and headed straight for the mountain up through the Sweet Hollow community.
After few miles, I came to the Government Rd and took a right back back onto dirt and mostly walked a 3/4 mile climb before the road turned nicely down into Sharp Hollow.
I turned off road up the mountain proper into Sharp Hollow, mostly walking again, but on a good trail.
A pretty good climb for a half mile or so, then I turned off trail into the brush. It wasn't terribly thick brush, but the machete came in handy -a few sawbriers, mt laurel, and stuff. . I've been this way before.
It was a mile, maybe more with several very steep bits. I switchbacked wherever I could apprise a good path.
You could tell I was having fun because the sweat was freezing in the tips of my hair, and my breathe in my beard.
I finally made it to the top where the Appalachian Trail generally follows the ridge line. A few miles toward town, I took a break and chopped a 4" snag in two that had fallen across the trail, but that was the only trail maintainin' I could see to be done, short of a chainsaw in one other place.
It was about 7 miles, mostly downhill, to the caboose in Damascus at the Creeper. On this same route a couple of years ago at this point, I baled and called MomaBonn to come get me.

It was almost 9 miles back to the house on a mind-numbingly flat grade. But my mind goes numb pretty easily. The walk breaks got a little too numerous toward the end.

So, ~23.8 mile, in ~6:03,
almost equal sided triangular route, to the AT, to Damascus, back home on the Creeper,
I'm callin' it a day.
JJJ

Blueberries and Indian Taters

2010-08-15T20:46:00.008-04:00

It's blueberry season which means a trip to the Scales corral. After some volunteer work at Jenny Nichols' race in the early morning, Bonnie and I made our annual pilgrimage to the Crest Zone up on Stone Mt near Grayson Highlands State Park. We arrived about 1pm. Storm clouds were hunkered over the ridge lines in the east with and refreshing breeze from the same direction. I didn't think it would rain for at least a couple of hours. but we set up the tent anyways before threading our 6 empty milk jugs on our belts. Within an hour we had set up camp and walked to our favorite picking area.

The berries were plentiful again this year and large for wild ones. We had no trouble picking about 4-5 gallons before it was time to call it a day and head back in to fix some supper. I found two good sized limbs for firewood less than half a mile from the corral. And dragged them back with us. Last winter's ice and wind brought down more limbs than usual. Firewood is rarely a problem though most people tend to bring there own up the mountain.

I've been on a curry-kick this year, so I decided to go fusion for the evening meal -Cowboy and Indian. I chopped a good sized purple onion, thin sliced a couple of medium white potatoes, some sweet red and green peppers, and a nice sized green hot chili. We let the fire burn to a good bed of coals and melted a half stick of butter in a deep iron skillet. Then we popped, Manjula style, a scant handful of cumin seeds in the bubbling butter and gave the onion a head start. Well before they were soft, the potatoes were added and cooked until over half done. Finally the peppers and chili were thrown in with the usual suspects- turmeric, coriander powder, paprika, and chipolte cayenne with salt to taste. Stirring regularly for a while and then covered and set over low coals.

It was scrumptious.

A little rain did materialize about dusk, but next morning Bonnie had been able to protect some coals overnight and had flames dancing before I returned to camp with some fire wood.
For breakfast we re-heated the leftover Indian Taters, scrambled and hashed in 3 eggs. It was heavenly -even better than the blueberry pancakes for the second course.

We packed up early and headed back for more berries -saw a yellow necked caterpillar, listened to the wood thrushes and picked another 4 gallons. The bears had broken more branches out of the berry bushes than usual this year, but we never saw any bears -never have in thirty plus years.

By early afternoon we were headed down the mountain. Bonnie followed in the Trooper and I ran back down to the pavement in front of her. It's almost 4 miles. I had expected some Iron Mt runners to happen by and sure enough, when we got back to town, Jenny said she and Eric had seen our car at the corral as they had passed through on a trail run.

We stopped at Fox Creek, for a bath and found a few apples on a tree near the parking area. Much refreshed, we stopped for supper in Damascus.

I hope we can make it back for round 2 next weekend.

Chapter 4 The Cave

2010-07-16T16:19:00.005-04:00

The snow was deep –deeper than it looked. The dirt road out to the old farmhouse by the cave entrance had been caulked neatly into the hillside by the drifting snow. Trudging through the drifts was a novelty at first since winter rarely brings a lot to the southern mountains, but soon enough it became “just trudging”. The young man cut across the field, which was easier at first, but worse in the end. The combination of steep hillside and deep snow turned the trudging into crawling.

“This is just plain stupid”, he thought.

He looked back across the field to his grandmother’s house and there was a good smoke coming from the chimney. On the ridgeline beyond her house a farmer was in his barn loft throwing down hay for cattle. It had taken over a half an hour and he’d not covered a half a mile. Still, he was well over midway to the cave and the snow depth was seeming to lessen as he came round to the north side.

On the north side, the wind was combing the sea of broom sedge into whispering blond waves. In the east, the sun was chiseling cracks in the clouds here and there only for the wind to quickly, without effort, re-seal them. Before long the young man was standing at the mouth of the cave. Snow had almost half filled the deep, funnel shaped depression in the hillside that peeked into constant darkness.
Without much thinking, he sat down on the edge and easily scooted the 15 feet into the rocky fissure.

The Cave, as his family referred to it, had been a treasure for generations –a source for water, a natural refrigerator to store milk, a root cellar, an escape from July heat on a Sunday afternoon. The Cave is a permanent heirloom. It would be there long after the old home place would be a pile of lumber and tin riddled by corruption. Long after most could guess the purpose of implements like a tobacco spear, a froe, or a swingle tree. Long after the ghost stains on granny’s quilts could still speak their stories. The Cave would reach deep into the darkness beneath memory as time carries all things to dissolution and silence.

Inside the cave the young man dusted himself off and dug the snow out of his boots. Right away he was happy to be out the wind. The cave felt warm by winter standards. He loaded his lantern with carbide and water, stuck the flint and also made sure his small backup flashlight was working. Soon he had shadows cowering behind rock tumbles, in cracks and cervices, beneath ledges. The young man hadn’t been in the family cave since he had been permitted to tag along with a group of his uncles and older cousins at a family reunion when he was nine. In his mid-teens, caving became short after-school adventures on the farms near his home. Mostly, to avert boredom.

Why was he here today? He couldn’t answer. Maybe he couldn’t pose the question in a way that had an answer. In terms of knowing, language is often lost over the edge into a dark silence -the dark silence that has no purpose but to exposes the mind to its fettered being. The channel of the cave twisted through limestone tall and narrow in places, or wide and low in others. The senses of distance and time are unmoored from their terrestrial benchmarks and set adrift in a new current. It was a current of unfamiliar forces flowing through a sieve of flesh and bone.

The young man came to a place that was called The Kitchen. He had no idea why it was called The Kitchen, but he remembered it well. The channel that had been following a shallow creek opened into a large room. In size, it was not unlike a room in an ordinary house. He remembered this place because this is where his youthful expedition had ended and turned back. Instead of a continuing channel that allowed a more or less upright passage, the cave became a horizontal slit 2 foot high at most between smooth tablets of stone along the entire back wall. His light would just reach the far end of this crawl space to the lip of the ceiling. He thought about it. Before tackling that long of a belly crawl, the young man looked around the room for another way, poking around in the nooks and crannies. One of the nooks on the left had a low entrance, but was just big enough to squeeze his whole body into. So he did. It was like sitting in a broom closet, a capsule, a cocoon of clay and stone. He looked up. Instead of a ceiling, it was open. He stood up.

The back wall of the closet was open above his chest and a low narrow passage tunneled deeper into the darkness. It was level and the young man pulled himself up and began to crawl. In places the passage was larger, almost large enough to sit up. Sometimes it looked as if the tunnel would end only to make a sharp turn into another closet space with another exit and continue deeper into the heart of the mountain. The walls and floor were muddy and featureless.

After what seemed like the longer half of forever, the young man wormed out of the passage into a large room. The room’s side walls rose like a gothic arch to a rib just beyond the reach of his light. In front of him, a pile of stone ruble rose steeply to form the back wall, but on turning around he became witness to the most stunning mineral architecture he had ever seen. Hundreds, if not thousands of small stalactites dripping from the room’s back wall. Some were no longer than a fingernail and as thin as oat straw. The largest ones were about the length of, but slightly thicker than knitting needles. Colors ranged from the same muddy yellow ochre of the walls to almost transparent. But many were a warm, light ivory that gave the cave wall a striking likeness to the mouth of a monster chained here to gnash and gnaw on the bones of time.

The young man was exhausted from the crawl, but stunned by the pristine state of the formations. Despite the relatively large flow of people the main channel of the cave had seen over the years, he most certainly was one of a very few people to have been in this room. There was no vandalism or other sign of human activity. After studying the array for long while, he knew it was time to leave. He still had plenty of fuel, but it wasn’t endless. As he bent over to crawl back into the tunnel, BAM! He hit his head hard, and solid, on a ledge dropping down from the ceiling. He saw stars –bright ones. It hurt. A lot. Fortunately the light on his headband was only knocked sideways, but undamaged. He staggered back to a pile a small boulders and sat to regain himself. As he leaned back and planted his hand to brace himself…

“Hey! Watch what you’re doin’!”

Understandably startled, the young man reeled and bumped his head on another ledge.

“Yeah, I’m trying to get some sleep down here, so if you don’t mind… Oh. It's you again.”

The voice was somewhat familiar but pain and panic briefly had the better part of his brain functions occupied. Trembling he scanned for the source of the voice with his light.

“Calm down, I am right here -beside you” It was the salamander.

He’d almost forgotten the weird salamander dream by the waterfall. His head was throbbing. There was some blood on his hand, but not that much.

“Does this mean I’m dreaming?” said the young man.

“No, not necessarily, you’ve probably just been knocked unconscious for the moment by that nasty bump, and fall you took.”

The salamander seemed to have grown since he saw it last. Grown quite a bit -maybe 2-3 times larger. It also seemed to have a light about it, not a glow or beam, but a light that came from the inside to the skin, and no further.

“So what is it this time, Mr. Busibody Salamander. More insults? Insults with a pinch of mystery, maybe a dash of sarcasm? A few crumbles of bad advice sprinkled on top. Sara left you know.”

“Well, yes. Sara. Sara is prone to travel. You were afraid of her kitchen you know. Besides, she had other fish to fry. No, I just came to wake you up, otherwise you’ll never meet her.

“Oooww, cryptic metaphors and aphorisms now. Just pile on the hurt."

“Well, you are talking to a salmander.”

When the young man came too. He was in total darkness. Total darkness, as in an endless black hole of darkness. Can’t see the your hand in front of you face darkness. If darkness were an ocean there would be no shores kind of darkness. He was lying flat on his back, his head in a pile of rock. He felt his head –some blood but not that much. His carbide light and headband were missing. Before utter panic set in, he remembered the small flashlight in his pocket. It did work -not that bright but it was a light. He stood up and moved to the tunnel. There was the carbide light. The reflector was broken off and the gas jet plugged with mud. Great. He worked to repair it for a while, but realized the he was wasting time and far worse -light.

He made the return crawl through the tunnel without problem. The light wasn’t great, but adequate. It was just slow. Once he got back to The Kitchen and could stand, he found the flashlight was too weak to cast a beam that he could safely walk upright by. He squatted and began to waddle duck-like back through the labyrinth. Again, it was just slow. Sometimes instead of waddle, he crawled for stretches on hands and knees, through the creek, over rock bars or along narrow ledges. It seemed like hours and still no sign of the entrance. Finally, the channel left the creek and began to climb. First, there was a gray spot. It got larger, then he could feel some cooler, fresher air mixed with the damp earthy must.

The young man pulled himself out of the fissure into the funnel. It was almost dusk, and though in a twilight of shadows, the snow was blinding. Pulling himself up the funnel through the snow was nothing like the sliding down. Many times he lost his footing sliding backwards half his body length or more. By the time he made it to the lip, he was too exhausted to stand and he lay there in the snow without thought or movement -just breathing. Breathing.

Above, the sky was still packed with gray clouds, but just as the sun was to about to set, it cut a narrow slit just over the horizon and flooded the snowy blue hills with waves of electric orange. In no time it was gone and shadow reclaimed the land. His path through the field that morning had almost been blown smooth, and the young man chose to return by the road. It would be longer, but easier.

By the time the he made it to his grandmother’s back gate, it was dark. It wasn’t a wild, untamed darkness. It was a darkness that could be yoked with no more than a thin winter moon over snow covered hills, or a darkness easily fenced with a hayfield sky of dancing summer stars. It was a darkness without deceit unfurling a banner of peace and rest. It was a darkness that impatient spring lovers would gladly share with an infinite choir of frogs.

A Great 8 Days ---Day 8

2010-07-08T14:46:00.015-04:00

June 12, 2010

Varmint Half Marathon,
Burkes Garden, VA

Great Day #8

I revived fairly well, better than I expected really -with a few minutes of horizontal time. At least I didn’t collapse into a puddle of duct tape and body salt. I started juggling camping and running gear tossing out un-needed items from my mental merry-go-round until I thought I had just enough to survive one more night outdoors, wake-up, and run a couple of hours. Beth pulled into the driveway and soon we were headed north to the far side of Clinch Mountain up to Burkes Garden. I had never ran the Varmint Half Marathon, just never could coordinate the date. The race director, Charity McDaniels, came over to run an Iron Mt fun run back in spring so I made it a point this year to make it to her starting line this year. Beth had ran it a few times and has placed well enough to start a nice flock of handmade sheep dolls which serve as race trophies.

The original varmint of the Varmint was a coyote that several decades ago became an infamous connoissuer of sheep flesh. Stories about her exploits of speed and stamina evidently stood the test of time. She became the race mascot when the race began to be held annually in the early 90s.

In addition to general varmint lore, Burkes Garden itself has always peaked my curious side. In the midst a the southern Appalachian Mountains whose common and roughly parallel SW-NE ridges that define the local topology is a unique oblong bowl-shaped valley with a largely flat bottom. The bottom sits at an elevation of around 3000’ with the mountain sides pushing a rim up to about 3800’+. An overhead view does reinforce its local moniker of “God’s thumbprint”

It’s a couple of hours drive from Beth’s and my neighborhood to the old school house where the race starts, so we strategize to drive over early and stealth camp in the parking lot. That way, we would be fresh and rested for 13.1 miles of breakfast pavement. From Abingdon, we crossed the North Fork of Holston and crossed Clinch Mountain through Moccasin Gap past John Douglas Wayside. Near here, John Douglas and a few other men held off a large native war-party long enough for runners to alert the white folks around Black’s Fort (Abingdon) what was headed their way, otherwise local history might have taken a much different path. But that was a long time ago. Once across the Clinch we turn northeast up the valley through the communities of Lebanon, Rosedale, Belfast, Wardell, Claypool Hill, and finally through Tazewell before turning up the mountain for the gap into Burkes Garden.

By the time we had reached the schoolhouse, All the hot weather of the past week had drummed up a nice little thunderstorm to the west, north and east. It wasn’t exactly clear whether we would be spared a good drenching from a white column of rain that had just crossed Garden Mt from the west. The lighting in the east seemed to be staying put, however, the general cloud activity looked like something out of the Wizard of OZ. We considered pitching tents under the pavillion, but in the end an inside corner of the brick schoolhouse looked like it would turn the most weather. Also, the grass option looked softer than the concrete option. In the end, fortunately, it was an uneventful night. The storms missed us. I slept very well.

People started showing up a couple of hours before the race. Charity had made a middle of the night visit to the site to get several hundred T-shirts stacked and arranged. Race directing is a tough job that I don’t envy in the slightest, but I throughly appreciate the countless hours that they and all the volunteers put in to make it all happen.

The sleepy sun was swaddled in delicate fog and the cool misty morning was refreshing. Jenny arrived from her parent’s homeplace just a few miles down the road so she was spared a long drive as well. She and Beth strolled about scouting the competition and getting their race faces on.

They are currently in different age groups so two top places for Iron Mt are possible. I was actually considering dropping back to the 5k distance until Beth told me it wasn’t nearly flat and I tend to hurt as bad after a 5k as anything anyway. So not sure exactly how much gas was in my tank, I signed on the line for the Half.

The sky was clear but the fog was keeping the temperature reasonable. Too bad the sun moves. About 10 minutes before the start, the sun finally cleared the fog line and the Great Cook In The Sky turned the burners up to broil. We’re not talking Badwater broil here, just a typical pre-summer 80° give or take. Still, it was enough incentive for me to peel off my shirt. I had warmed up with some walking and some easy running. I felt OK, but not like champagne.
Charity gave the signal and we were on our way.

A good half mile of nice downhill starts us around the loop course. I’m holding back because I know there’s a whole family of Hills living on this end of the valley. Soon, I met one of the younger Hills but she was full grown –Sue Ellen I think was her name. At the first sharp left, I was confronted by Mama Hill. Mama Hill was none too happy to see me. She was about a half a mile of my sweat and suffering on 6% grade, then a flat section, and another little up before she turned me loose. Back down at the bottom, right away I met Papa Hill. He was sort of an ornery character too -about as steep and long as Mama with some ripple at the top before he finally let me out into the east end of the valley.

A little past Papa Hill, I recover and began to actually feel warmed up. This was in part due to a general loss of elevation for the next 5 miles. I could never get comfortable long term because Sue Ellen had relatives all over the valley –brothers, step-sisters, uncles, great aunts, first, second, and third cousins twice removed. It seemed I’d meet the whole Hill family before the sharp left at 10 miles.

I don’t normally run on pavement, but it is a faster surface no doubt. My best and only half I’ve ran on pavement was much more favorable running conditions, flat and cool. The heat and meeting the Hills put a lot of time on my clock. The bicycling of the passed 6 days may have left me less than fresh too I guess. On the other hand the scenery was fantastic, and Charity runs top notch community supported race. Besides, a trip around the valley is worth the effort no matter what form of locomotion you choose. I met the final and shortest Hill not far before the finish line, but Beth had already warned me his name was Everest. I hit the clock at 2:10:17. Not my best time, but an enjoyable and challenging one to say the least.

Beth and Jenny did in fact win their divisions and a sheep with overall placement of 31 and 26 respectively out of 197 runners.

I had had about as many great, uneventful days as I could stand and was plenty glad to make it back to my barn and hay.

Thanks for reading,
JJJ

(For best viewing select the terrain button and zoom out a little.)

A Great 8 Days ---Day 7

2010-07-01T17:32:00.006-04:00

June 5-12 2010

Great Day #7

Overnight the ravenous, all-consuming clouds of yesterday, turn into orange and pink tail-chasing puppies and purple kittens tumbling with balls of sky blue yarn on a well rumpled carpet of forest green. The morning views ranged from sublime to gregariously superb. We had about 30 miles to cover with over 25 miles downhill –25 miles -no joke. When you ramble off Mt Mitchell toward the southwest. There are a few small climbs to Craggy Gardens then 17 miles of swoooosh!

A few years ago this section of road had gotten so worked up and agitated in a storm that part of it fell completely off the mountain. They are just now getting it back in order. On this account, my ride down here 2 years ago ended at the campground on Mitchell. Today our plan was to glide off the mountain into east Asheville to meet our various and sundry ferries to home -assuming everything went well of course.

Right off the bat, the “everything went well” part was cast into Jeopardy.

“Alex, I’ll take Duct Tape for 100, please.”

“Can sometimes be used to field-repair this duplicitous rotating object of cyclical importance”

“What is a bike tire?”

“Correct!”

I had barely traveled the first half mile of the many downhill miles to come when a thup-whump, thup-whump, thup-whump was accompanied by the rear end of the bike weaving and swaying like a charmed snake. It wasn’t a flat. I pulled off the road. The outer layer of the back tire was delaminating in two places near the rim. This allowed the tube to make thup-whumping bulges. Essentially, the tire was swollen out of round and threatening a blow out. For some reason I had brought some 2” bandage tape. Kent showed up and had a sufficient, more practical supply of heavy-duty duct tape. I used the bandage tape first and the duct tape to reinforce. I wound it tightly around the affected areas and hoped for the best. The rest of the group kindly distributed most of my gear amongst themselves to lighten my load and increase my stability, also to decrease the chance of a blowout with a possible call to 911.

There was a tiny snag though. With the tape layers, the back brake had to be disconnected –not really optimal but I learned to apply the front brake just so for a reasonable braking distance.

The first few miles to the foot of the Mt Mitchell ridge were a bit hairy –getting used to the brake. Then we turned onto the Parkway toward Asheville for a few gentle miles.

At Craggy Gardens we stop to reassess the tire. The tape seems to be holding but there was some more delaminating. More Not Good and this is where the downhill gets serious and the road rougher.

I used pretty much all the remaining tape to cover as much of the tire as I could.

I massaged the brake for the next 17 miles. With every bump I dreaded a POP!, a loss of control, followed by abrasions and stitches, but in the end the tire and tape made it.

All things considered, the long descent was uneventful. We pulled into the Asheville Arts and Crafts Center on the Parkway, regrouped, and went for lunch at the East Asheville Deli. Our Abingdon ferryman, Barry, generously made the 100+mile workday trip to carry us and our gear back to Virginia. It was much warmer at the lower altitudes. I’m thinking 4000’ feet suits me much better.

I arrived home about 5pm.

Within a few minutes the phone rang, “Are you ready to go?"

I said, “Give me 2 hours and I think I’ll know.”

There was one more great day to make 8.

****

A Great 8 Days ---Days 5 and 6

2010-07-01T13:58:00.018-04:00

June 5-12, 2010

Great Day #5

Today's day would be our longest ride, about 43-45 miles ending near Crabtree Meadows. Hitherto my packing has been unruly. I just hadn’t been able to get the milk crate to ride in a calm, shiftless and balanced fashion. Also, my back tire had been getting just a little soft perhaps because I had no valve stem cap on it. I don’t know. But a few pounds under pressure on a tire can make a big difference on performance. I did finally arrive at a good bungie cord configuration for the crate and a packing system that kept my packed weight riding low with logical, easy access to items.

I pulled out of the campground first, even ahead of Frank for the climb across Grandfather Mt. There was only one mile of it that really seemed difficult. I occasionally stopped to take photos and listen to birds. Near the top of the climb, I bumped into a photographer we had met the day before. He travels hither and yon on foot with a backpack taking pictures and sells them over the Internet through a stock photo house. This trip, he has covered a couple hundred miles along the parkway. Sounds like a good job to me.

I stop to listen to a bird that I have since come to believe is a Veery. I’ve only recently been hearing the bird, a thrush type, typically in big woods above 3500’. It has a pleasant, rolling metallic warble that makes me wonder how much birdsong may be totally inaudible to humans due to the limited range of our ears. Maybe certain other species of birds can’t hear it either. I don’t know.

As I approach our breakfast rendez-vous , I stop and take a short hike down to Camping Creek just before Linville Falls and Famous Louise’s Rockhouse Restaurant. There really wasn’t much to look at. The hundred or so yards of trail had many blow downs across it from winter storms and the creek was nothing spectaular. Before I made it back to the pullover, Frank and Ed have caught up.
We make it to Louise’s at the best of all possible times -lunch and breakfast are both options. After trout, I have them fix for me 3 boiled eggs to go.

This year, the descent from Chestoa Overlook was uneventful in the sense that there was no thunderstorm and my front brakes didn’t fail this time. Still, it was a steep and curvy 3 miles with threatening but hilarious traffic safety signs. My back tire was getting just a bit softer, but I always fail to remember to put air into when I catch up to one of the group with a pump. It’s not seriously low or anything, just one of those small mechanical details that characteristically I tend to neglect in life as a whole. From lunch/breakfast, it’s another big honkin’ climb up to Crabtree Meadows, and the Campground, and more importantly, their Snack Bar.

I straggle in last, yet still forget to borrow a pump when I found the group at the Snack Bar.
This year we made it in dry, but there are some threatening clouds poking and prodding in the breeze. The Snack Bar has prominently and proudly posted its sanitation report card score of 100.0 which I figure is pretty easy in that they no long serve food. They do sell snackish foodish grocery-style items to the campground folks, and they have a public microwave and paper plates. I eschew their frozen 50 cent burritos for some canned pork ‘n beans with crackers.

It rains a bit. It’s hours before the Snack Bar closes and we can safely if not legally camp under their back porch. Going into the actually campground is not a popular plan as there is a large unnecessary hill to traverse. We are early again and there is general consensus to pedal a few more miles and maybe find a spot hidden in the woods along the road. With topo maps, the clouds, and breezes we augured for a possible camp site -flat, secluded, not too far, legal, and even dry would be nice. Outside, dicey clouds tumbled overhead as if they were shooting craps for a decent rainfall. We decided to take our chance and move on.

We won the crap shoot. As it turns out, the last shower of the afternoon was dying just as we rolled out. Within a mile or so, we found a perfect site –flat and on forest service property instead of Parkway property. So, I think we were even legal -sort of.

It was another uneventful night in the woods.

Great Day #6

This day we would ride to the campground on Mt Mitchell.

One of, if not the most beautiful regions in our area. It was a pleasant temperature, but somewhat overcast. Good riding weather really.

Having rolled my bike through the underbrush back to the pavement I noticed my pannier bungies had gotten mangled and tangled in my rear spokes. Not a real problem but then I noticed the support screw on one side of my luggage rack was missing –probably in the woods somewhere. This had to be fixed to move with a load. Luckily, it just so happens that the screws holding my pedal’s toe straps fit perfectly. I rob an almost redundant screw from one side and I was traveling in no time. I’ve never worn clip shoes or wire toe cages to bike, I’m sure they work fine. The straps are simple and seem to help. Even wearing sandals and sockless I had no problem all week.

Today’s only a 20 mile day, but since we are pedaling from 3700’ to 6200’+ you would expect some hills. Again, I had forgotten to pump my back tire. I think that would have helped and before I had reached the finally climb up the final ridge I was lamenting this perpetual oversight. Along the way, I was passed on a steep climb by 2 long distant cyclist wearing farm clothing. I wouldn’t say they were Amish but they just kinda gave that impression. Of course they might have said, "As we were getting close to Mt Mitchell, we passed a guy wearing a black kilt. I wouldn't say he was Scottish, but he just kinda gave that impression".

Everyone has a uniform I guess. Whatever they were, they were haulin’ it -upward and onward at an impressive steady clip.

I pulled off near the top of one of the intervening hills for a break and to survey the mountainscape with my map. Kent pulled in and we chatted a bit. He left and me soon after. I put on a rain top as a shower had just picked up.
About a mile or two further on I realized I’d left my helmet and my map lying on the ground at the overlook. Drat. I was not going back up a mile climb for them. Maybe good fortune would prevail and a ranger would help out or something. With only a few more miles to the campground that's a mile or so below the mountain top, I pulled in for another break. My tire was definitely on the soft side, plus on the downhills a small but noticable hump-thump, hump-thump, hump-thump was also coming from the back tire.
I didn’t know what it was, but it couldn’t be good. Fortunately Dale passed me and left his hand pump. That improved things immensely.

I straggled into the Park restaurant last -just as lunch orders were being taken. The views out the windows were incredible if you like cloud. Not many clouds, just the one we were engulfed in. It wasn’t near as cold as my first trip here, but the 20+mph wind made some layers feel good.

Afterwards, we hiked up to the summit along the pavement.

Still, everything, as Pink Floyd would say, was “Obscured by Clouds”.

I chose to trek back to camp alone by trail and met a fellow runner hiking up. She noticed my Five Finger shoes and said she had started to run in them as well. We are everywhere.

Bwahahahha.

At camp again, we chillaxed in the blowing cloud until another meal could be profitably and modestly taken.

Walking back to the restaurant, Ed may have given a few unsuspecting motorists an almost eventful start as he ran up and down the road in his infamous pink –purple polkadot tights.

But by midnight, Ed was restricted to his tent, and the wind was nearly still at the end of what I’d call an almost uneventful day.

A Great 8 Days ---Days 3 and 4

2010-07-01T08:04:00.013-04:00

June 5-12, 2010

Great Day # 3

I may have exaggerated on a few points concerning Day 2. It did rain. That is honest to gospel truth. And Mule Burgers were available at The Whitetop Grocery and they were made of balogna. But Ed, least of all people, is a taskmaster by any reckoning. Does he wear risqué clothing on these outings, Yes. Does he occasionally fall into ribald humor in mixed company, Yes. But generally speaking, Ed’s evil twin has a better shot at sainthood than myself.

It is Pastor Frank that you have to watch out for. He seems mild manner in most regards, but he has a fierce theological mind that seems hell bent on rocking the foundations of polite church-going society. Which leaves me safe, but I do pity his bishop. He has only been banned from preaching in one state –so far as I know. Church presses still accept book submissions from him. None of his prior books have been banned or burned on a wide scale basis –so far as I know. With few exceptions, Frank as a cyclist, is packed and rolling before the rest of us providing good motivation for the day. Maybe that's what makes him a challenging theologian as well.

From the church, the next few miles to the community of Sturgills, NC is one of my favorite stretches. It’s a gentle downhill along Helton Creek fresh off the slopes of Mt Rogers. In the early morning the woods are still, cool and fresh ringing with birdsong. At Strugills, we met a bit of disappointment. Our biscuit stop is out of business. As some would say, the tenacles of Wal-Mart are long. Onward to Lancing.

The day is shaping up on the warm side. Lancing was once a stop on the VA Creeper Railroad, but the NC portion of the Creeper was not developed as a rail-trail.

We chatted with a retiree from Canada who opened a gallery on Main St. Frank and I bought supplies at the grocer for snacks along the way then we continued on to the town of Jefferson. Well before opening, in contrast to it's neon sign,

we roll into the all-you-can-eat buffet that the group always looks forward to. The food is not bad.

After the early lunch, Glendale Springs is the next stop.

Over the decades the group has developed a good rapport with Michel the gift shop owner who allows us to use his lawn to stretch out and take a nap if we chose or just sit around and chew the fat.

With some spare time here, I slip on my Five Finger shoes to a take a short run -2 miles on pavement. After some inquiry into local restaurants, we roll along our way. We chose the local diner, who scored a whopping 93.5 on their State Sanitation inspection I might add. We ate an early dinner and headed up the Parkway for a few more miles before nightfall. Finding a good hidden camp-spot was not a problem to finish another 30 mile day -an uneventful day.

Great Day #4

Next morning, we rolled out of the woods. I was last leaving which is not atypical. I'm carrying a Hennessey Hammock –Expedition model. I’m finally getting the hang of it. I don’t use an under quilt beneath the hammock in summer weather, but take a Thermarest pad, minimally inflated, and folded in half beneath my sleeping bag. It’s just enough to keep the torso warm. Our plan for the day is to gather at Deep Gap and leave the parkway for a breakfast detour. But first we had a honkin’ big climb up past Jefferess Park. At each turn it seemed we would be coming to the top only to find another climb hiding on the other side of the ridge. Like hiking or trail running, biking has the mental challenge of long climbs as well. But we were rewarded with one of the longer, faster descents of the trip as well.

Having gathered at the Deep Gap interchange, we rode several miles toward the town of Boone for Thompson’s Fish Camp. We just made the breakfast cutoff.

Thompson’s had received a health department score of 94.5, so we are moving up in the clean vs. unclean department except in Levitical matters concerning bacon and sausage. I was already partly tired, but completely famished. A 44.5 score would have satisfied me. The food was good on my part (though not everyone’s), and I had them boil 3 eggs for a carry-out afternoon snack. From here, two years ago, we had to follow a detour a few miles, but this year we were back on the parkway in no time.

Generally speaking, we were getting early starts, and the weather was fair, so we made our mileage for the day sooner than my first trip.

Ed was first to make it to our sanctioned campground at Julian Price Park in mid-late afternoon. Dale lives just a few miles from this point and his wife, son, and son’s girlfriend brought us pizza, beer, and homemade brownies. It really hit the spot. Ed regaled us with a couple of stories of his checkered past with Discretion. His muskrat story is a classic involving an unruly trouser zipper, one of his female students, and an imaginary muskrat. But the nude water skiing adventure with his sidekick, Hoyt, was probably the showstopper. It’s funny how so many of the things we have done in our youth would not have been nearly as memorable had the police not gotten involved. I retired to my hammock strung next to the lake for a pleasant uneventful evening.

A Great 8 Days ---Days 1 and 2

2010-06-13T17:22:00.007-04:00

June 5-12, 2010

Great Day 1

Last Saturday a week ago, I skipped a campout and 20 mile group run with the Iron Mt gang through the Beauty Spot on the AT down below Roan Mt. My annual bike trip with the Mostly Lutherans was to begin the next day and I wanted a little extra time to make sure my biking gear was in order. I rode the bike I’d borrowed out to Damascus to get Wild Bill at the bike shop to look specifically at the brakes before we headed down to Asheville. He said the brakes were good enough, so I rode on up the Creeper Trail toward Straight Branch for a solo 20 mile loop run. Starting from Big Rock Falls, I did a mile on the Creeper before turning up to Beech Grove Gap, then north on Iron Mt and down at Shaw Gap, across Straight Mt to Beartree Gap, down to Creek Junction on the AT, and the last 7 miles back to my bike on the Creeper. I was well toasted by mile 15 and had to cool off in the creek a while just to enable a pitiful stagger-jog back to my bike. It was hot, humid and just barely June -maybe a long summer to balance the long winter past is in the works.

Great Day 2

I hadn’t heard a word from our bike trip coordinator, Ed, on the exact departure time. In keeping with past tradition, I assumed a noon departure from the Abingdon Creeper Trail head would prevail, but just a while before I was to saddle up he called and said they were leaving early. No problem since, I could just wait for them along the route at the Holston River trestle. I was pannier-packed and waiting when Edward lead the group into view –a fashionable 45 minutes late. They were packing barely enough for a day trip much less a 5 day camping excursion.

Seeing my loaded bike, Ed offered, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Harley is slack-packing the rest of us up the mountain to the church where we’ll be staying overnight. Since you weren't there...I guess you'll just have to make do. ”

He rolled his eyes at my milk crate bike trunk and wondered aloud if I was really set on trekking that monstrosity all the way to Asheville. Not being so persnickety, I assured him that milk crates have been endorsed by a couple of different trans-America bikers I’d met, and they, being homeless for a while or permanently, knew life on the road from a practical, rather than an mere ivory tower biking perspective.

We gathered and set out for lunch in Damascus at, of course, the Whistlepig.

At first Ed said stopping was a waste of precious saddle time with a bevy of threatening clouds currently circling the highlands in front of us. He wasn’t going to be responsible for starting the trip off on a wet tenor. He also claimed he wasn’t hungry enough to splurge on a whole meal so close to home and only relented after everyone agreed he could nibble a little from all our plates.

I did get a little wet a just few miles later. We were meeting some rain and Ed had scouted a good dry resting spot on the old caboose porch in Taylors Valley. He had rallied the rest of the group to dryness just as a brief but generous shower was breaking into Prelude to a Deluge in Gee, I’m glad we’re not wet major. I struggled but managed to get my bike and load up the stairs into the dry just a minute or so before the sun came back out.

With his professorial authority, Ed announced,

“Let’s go, guys. Next stop –Green Cove Station, 8 miles, mostly moderate climb. There’s a shelter there large enough to hold most of us and our bikes in case this weather comes back to haunt us.”
The group was well into the valley while I was still struggling to get my rig back down the stairs. Yesterday’s Great Day outing had left me somewhere well below energetic at this point, but I was determined to make the best of it. I used the pavement along the dirt, gravel, and grit of the Creeper for a half-mile to close some of the gap through the valley.

A few miles later, I caught up to John. Ed had cajoled him into swapping bike’s since John would be only riding one day with us and Ed would benefit the most from a much lighter bike for the rest of the trip once he got his panniers attached at the top of the mountain. Just as John and I came to the foot of the Whitetop mountain cluster and a significant increase in grade, the sky opened with actual strains of The Deluge. The wind section drove home its melismatic phrases with incessant waves of mountain-chilled, late spring rain. The timpani thundered on each downbeat of the conductor’s lightening baton. Soon the trail was awash. A literal wash. A thin and generous slurry of crushed black coal cinders filled the trail and poured toward us as we climbed the final miles into Green Cove. Ed was anxiously leaning from under the shelter and especially glad to see us since John was riding his bike. He was concerned about possible gear damage from the coal grit slurry splashing into the cogs. He used the last good spot under the shelter to park it and said I’d probably be fine under any of few large trees nearby since the lightening had all but ceased. Thankfully too, he noticed my lips were a little blue and said if I had any, I might benefit from some warmer, drier clothes if I wanted to avoid hypothermia. It’s great to have a leader atuned to the smaller but sometimes critical details that might lead to something that spoiled the trip for everyone else.

I did think about putting on a warmer layer underneath my rain top, but decided against it. I sensed the rain coming to a final cadence, and decided to risk setting out on the last and hardest climb of the day before the rain stopped. We leave the Creeper Trail and set out east on US 58 at this point. A car can handle a much stouter grade than a train and even a bicycle I suppose. There would be plenty of hill left to keep me warm and I might actually arrive at our next optional stop a little earlier than some of the others. I flipped on my red LED flasher and set out on the winding pavement cranking along in ultra-low gear.

Harley, having driven up from Abingdon, passed me in the slack wagon and gave me a thumbs up. A couple of the bikers did too, but most, including Ed, were still behind me as I finally rolled into the Whitetop Grocery Store -Gas Station-Delicatessen-Bait Shop-Beauty Salon & Chainsaw Repair parking lot.

The deli was advertising Mule Burgers - $2.39 on the sign out front. Sounded interesting -a little adventurous even. I had made it just in time. Turns out the deli cook was about to leave for the day, but said she’d cook one more order as she nodded toward the tip jar on the counter. Ed, I knew, would be looking for some good, hot food, but still hadn’t showed up. He’s a thrifty sort and since all the other burgers were well over six bucks, I took the liberty to order a Mule Burger for him and maybe get back to his appreciative side.
I ended up ordering a deluxe Swiss Burger for myself with grilled onions, peppers and mushrooms and stood inside watching at the window to stay warm and wait for the food.

A couple of the group skipped this stop and rolled past because it was only another 3 miles downhill to the church hostel and most had brought food to cook in the church kitchen for the evening meal. Ed showed up next and pulled in. Looked like the last climb had taken a toll on him. He dismounted, creakily unfolded to a walking posture and hobbled inside. He seemed pleased with my meal plan thrift and graciously offered to reimburse me for the Mule Burger -if I really wanted him to. Our order came up shortly thereafter and we sat down. Without so much as taking a breath he had eaten half his burger before he practically shouted, “What IS this?”

“It’s a Mule Burger”, I offered.

“I can’t eat this -this crap! It’s just fried balogna with mayonnaise on a stale bun!”

I was a little embarrassed at my slip-up and offered him my burger since I had barely taken a bite. He graciously accepted and in fairness, even offered the remains of the Mule Burger as trade. I didn’t think the Mule Burger tasted that bad, but the bun was a little stale I guess.

Ed finished the Swiss Burger and said it was one of The best burgers he’d ever eaten, so I felt partially redeemed. The others by this time were at the church no doubt since the downhill was fairly steep from that point. Ed said I should probably hang back behind him even though I was rolling way heavier and even if it required a lot of braking because John hadn’t remembered a safety taillight for his bike. With the failing light and fog moving in, my bike, with a safety light, would be much more visible to any car approaching from the rear. In considering the numerous blind curves, I guess he was right.

We made it to the church just fine. Frank was already there -more or less released from pastoral duties for the week. Harley took John and Charles back to town since they had only wanted a nice day trip. Ed preferred everyone sleep in the basement for no specific reason, which sounded like a snorefest in the making to me. I sneaked upstairs and had a quiet evening in the sanctuary.
*
*
*JJJ

A letter to galileeman1@gmail.com -support group for Carlos Goldberg

2010-05-24T10:00:00.005-04:00

Hello,
I'm JJ Jessee. I usually take an interest in speed record attempts on the AT since it is only a few miles from my home to Damascus. I also took up trail/ultrarunning a few years ago and have always enjoyed camping, being outdoors, etc. So it's a natural synergy I reckon. Following Carlos' journal, I've watched him make his way northward for the past couple of weeks. When he got close to Damascus, I thought I'd go out and meet him. I checked in the Damascus outfitter, MRO, late Saturday afternoon, 5/22 -just to be sure he hadn't gone through. At that point his last update was Friday morning 80 miles south of Damascus at Apple House Shelter. I knew at a minimum he would make it at least to Vendeventer Shelter -43 miles by Saturday night, but there would be a possibility he could make it to Damascus with back-to-back 40s since the terrain was more conducive to big mileage. I made my way down the trail thinking at any minute Carlos might pop into view. There were several NoBo thru hikers coming up the trail, and chatting with them, I alerted them to Carlos' adventure and to watch for him. Finally, about 10:30pm, I thought I might as well camp, since there was a fair possiblity he might be bivoaced along the trail out of sight and I would pass him unseen. At a bit before 7am Sunday 5/23, I was back on the trail and figured I might go a couple more miles to Double Spring Shelter or more likely on down to the Iron Mt Gap -AT crossing and wait if I hadn't aleady met him. I had only gone a few 100 meters and here he come's up the trail. I introduced myself and we were soon under way Damascus-bound. He set the pace and we chatted along the way. His feet are doing much better with the Goretex version of the Montrail Masochist. I understood him to say the support/shield is much better than the regular Masochist which is what most of us around here wear on the trail. He was out of food and his caloric intake has been one of my concerns along the way, but he says he only takes time for a good meal at the end of the day. I guess the bars and supplements have gotten him this far, but maybe he'll take advantage of food opportunities close to the trail that are more numerous as he makes his way into the northern part of the trail. His spirits were good, he had few complaints. His pace and gait were steady and sure. He ate half a large pizza and I encouraged him to take the rest for tonight's meal. He has a few scuffs on his arm and leg but no worse than any kid on the playground would have after a hard day. He had an espresso from Mojoes coffeehouse and seemed confident he could make it to Dalesville 250+ miles up the trail to the next resupply. We walked out of town and he headed up the stairs into the woods.
It was a pleasure to meet Carlos. He seems dedicated and is set on completing the journey.

Good Luck to the Galilee Man,
JJJ

ETA:
My camera was being stubborn when I first meet Carlos, so I didn't get any trail pictures until we hit town. But the day before I got a few of the trail.

Rhubarb-Strawberry Cobbler

2010-05-13T08:49:00.007-04:00

My favorite birthday dish, rhubarb, comes up about the right time of year.
I usually have to wait a few weeks to get fresh strawberries.

Put an iron pan on a medium fire and start heating a cup of water.

Take about 6 big stalks of rhubarb and peel some of the courser skin off the bottom end.

Cut it into 1-2" pieces and put it in the pan as you go.

Cook it down until the pieces are mostly broken down into a fibrous thick gravy.
Stir occasionally. You may have to add little water along to keep it from sticking. It should still have some whole pieces that at are just soft in it.

While its cooking put a cup of WW flour in a bowl with about 1/8 teas baking powder, 1/4 baking soda, 1/8 teas salt, 1 tbls raw sugar. Cut in a 1/2 stick of cold or frozen butter.

Mix until a grainy consistent mixture is obtained.

Stir in a cup of whole milk and mix into a batter, it will be lumpy on account of the butter.

Heat your oven to 350°.

The rhubarb should be about done. Sweeten it with about 2 tbls of raw sugar or to taste, but you stand to lose some of that tart rhubarbie flavor if it's too sweet.

Pour the rhubarb into a glass baking dish.

Cut about a quart of strawberries in half and poke them down into the top of the rhubarb.

Drizzle the batter evenly over the surface.

Sprinkle less than a tablespoon of sugar on it.
Bake covered for 40 minutes, uncover and bake a little while longer to firm up and brown the crust some.

Cool and eat.
I like mine with milk or cream on it,
but that might just be a southern mountain thang.

So, put that Ex-Lax, Geritol, and snake oil away.
This will have you kickin' up your heels in no time.

JJJ

Spring on Iron

2010-04-18T07:40:00.005-04:00

(aka the TMI report)
4/16/10

Cross Mt to Damascus on the Iron Mt trail.

Garmin Connect data

Just last weekend a group of Iron Mt Trail Runner’s met after dark in Damascus, Va to embark on one of our first night runs. That run set out southbound on the Appalachian Trail on Holston Mt for about 17 miles until the AT takes a hard left on aptly named Cross Mt for about 4 miles where it terminates on the Iron Mt ridge while the AT turns right continuing southwest. To the northeast another 20 miles, or there a bouts, brings us back to Damascus on the Iron Mt Trail. Some of the group had planned on doing only half the 40 mile loop, I had ambition to complete the 40, but dropped at the half with a ride back to town.

I had never been on the lower end of the IMT, the first 13 miles, and was a little disappointed at my lose. Beth the Bear Queen, who incidentally got her name by inadvertently running through a little family of bears on this section last year, encouraged me to fill in my missing section. So Friday morning I drove to Damascus, dropped my car, and set out with well loaded hydration pack, probably 10-12 lbs, to yellow blaze to my appointed trailhead. I had only walked a mile or so until my thumb had snagged a ride as far as the crossroads in Shady Valley, TN only a few miles shy of the trailhead. Shady is a beautiful farm community that was once a wilderness bog of native cranberry bushes until the Army Corps of Engineers fixed it decades ago. I thanked the couple for the ride with hopes of catching another to pick up the trail from last week.
Not much traffic. I enjoyed the scenery and as I got within a couple of miles commenced a slow, slow jog climbing several hundred feet up to the Cross Mt AT parking.

From here it’s only a bit over a mile, still on pavement, to the head of the Iron Mt trail. I had a feel from my maps as to where I might find it and Rick had told me to watch for the power line cut.

It appears the trail had been moved recently. There’s no blaze or marker at the relocation, but the trail is fairly obvious.

Once to the top the hill there is an official marker and there’s some idyllic trail running to be had.

My first reference point was Shady Gap, the trail had dropped off the ridge on a long straight away through a rhododendron tunnel.

I was a little buffaloed because I couldn’t pick up a blue blaze across the gap leading back up on the ridge, so I took the second best, an old logging road with a minimal amount of brush growing on it. This trail doesn’t see a near the traffic of it’s celebrity neighbor, the AT, so I reasoned a little patch of trail that wasn’t up to snuff to be expected.

After a quarter mile I re-reasoned that I had just missed my mark or something. I was still headed in the correct general direction -northeast and not down the mountain, but without consulting my map I knew I wasn’t climbing to the ridge quickly enough. “Go back?” “Just hope this trail loops around the ridge and meet the real trail?” As I was thinking and pushing through more and more brush, the road dead-ended into a glorious ogre-sized mass of saw briars.

After picking my way around it, I was left in this trail-less tangle with several hundred steep feet of it between the ridgeline and me. So much for running.

The warm spring sun, the climbing, and a scant bit of running have worked me into a decent sweat, but back on the ridge a brisk breeze is cooling and drying me very efficiently. Even at 4000’, spring is gradually gaining ground. The tree buds and modest flowers are bringing a little color to winter’s gray-brown palette.

The next gap is Battleham Gap, a wide, somewhat flat, open woodland buttressed by a long ridge to the northwest puts a rare twist in the trail before another climb back to 4000’. In less than a mile, the trail descends into Sandy Gap where US421 passes.

From the topo map, I knew this early section of the trail tended to roller-coast, and with about 8 miles behind me, I can now tell my legs weren’t as fresh as I’d hoped from the start. Another good climb and a couple of miles bring me down to a pair of streams at the head of a hollow breaking off Grindstone Ridge. I had planned to refill here and there was just barely enough water to do so easily.

I didn’t filter or treat the water since I was near the mountaintop and the stream was more of a seepage through a sandy gravel bed than open stream. I’ll let you know how that works out. I polished off my hand-held of chia, drank 20oz of straight water, mixed another batch of chia for the trail ahead, and replenished another liter and a half in my 3L pack. I had started the morning with a quart of chia for breakfast, and thought I been doing a decent job of the staying hydrated so far. Sweating under a strong sun, with a cool wind can do more damage than you might immediately feel, but I think my problem may have started much sooner.

About 3 miles into the run, I took a leak as is common for me. Within a mile, I thought I had to go again –but nothing, and again in another mile –but nothing. The recurring sensation passed. At about the mile 11 mark, the large draught of water I’d taken at the stream had worked through me. The frequent sips I’d been taking were keeping me on the trail it seemed, but not producing much extra. I stopped and urinated a bright red stream into the leaves.

“Dayum”

This is not good. I’m not feeling anything unusual,
but presumed it had to be something about inadequate hydration. I hadn’t read up on this particular matter, but I’d at least heard about it once as in last year, Dr. Horton was forced off a run in a speed record attempt on the Colorado Trail. At least in part by, bloody urine I think. It was pretty frightening and freaky to piss blood but not painful. I was feeling OK, but what next? I didn’t panic, not that it would have done much good anyway. I stopped running even the downhills and flats. There were 10-11 miles to cover with a bailout point about 4-5 miles up the trail plus a mile down into Shingletown if the situation were to deteriorate.

It didn’t. I just walked. Probably actually drank less than if I’d ran, but I felt OK with no recurring or additional signs of distress.

I had a headlamp in case it got dark if my pace slowed. I didn’t need it and was glad to see the little town of Damascus melting up through the trees at the bottom of my last descent in the late sun.

I read up on the matter when I got home and it seems the most likely cause of the blood was stress on an empty bladder. It’s not uncommon for distance runners to empty their bladders and then have the walls of the bladder rub together and produce blood from the general agitation of running if the kidneys are not filtering enough fluid into the bladder. If the blood disappears in 24-48 hrs, as mine already has, you’re probably OK. But if it doesn’t, it could be a number of things, or you could be subject to a bladder infection, or far worse, a kidney infection.

That can be pretty dayum serious.

So be careful out there.

JJJ

Why Ultra Running?

2010-04-15T11:26:00.001-04:00

UltraRunning from Matt Hart on Vimeo.

ReBars

2010-04-09T09:44:00.005-04:00

When they first appeared on the market, I loved Clif Bars, especially Chocolate Fudge Almond. Then I tried a ProBar. At that point, Clif Bars were history to me.
But Probars, though calorie and protein-rich, can get a little pricey if you need to stay on your feet all day with an even flow of 200-300 calories per hour.

So I gleaned the ingredients list off a SuperSlam ProBar and after several batches and adjustments have landed here setting out to make my own.

Friends suggested various names and I think that ReBar has stuck.

ReBars

This makes a pretty big batch you might want to half it.

Chop all the nuts and dried fruit,
mix in a large bowl with the dry ingredients.
thaw and mash the blueberries and add last.

...................CUPS unless noted

Mixed Nuts..........2 1/2
Rolled oats.........5
Rolled Rye..........1
Sunflower seeds.....1
WW Flour............1 1/2
Coconut, shredded.....3/4
Chocolate chips.....1
Sesame seed.........1 1/2
Hemp hearts...........3/4
Milled flax...........1/2
Wheat bran............1/4
Demenara or raw sugar...3/4
Dried apricots........1/2
Dried cranberries...1
Medjool dates.........1/2
Raisins...............1/4
Frozen Blueberries..1

Put these ingredients in a blender and blend until smooth

Rice syrup............3/4
Maple syrup...........1/2
Honey...............1
Canola oil..........1
Toasted sesame oil....1/8
Kefir or yogurt.....1 1/4
peanut butter.........1/2
sunflower butter......1/2
Almond butter.........1/2
Vanilla...................2 tbs
Water.................1/2
fennel powder...........0.5 teas
acia powder.............0.5 teas
fenugreek powder........0.5 teas
Wheat grass powder......1.5 tbs
Salt....................1 teas

If you don't have a particular ingredient, just use a near substitution, bump up another ingredient, or omit.
Mix the the wet and dry throughly and let sit 15-20 minutes
Spread in an oiled baking pan or dish or muffin pan
Bake 30-40 min @ 350° until the top is well toasted.
Freezing the whole pan or dish before cutting into squares helps.

Suggestions and advice welcome.

jjj

A Little More Sauce -Terrapin Mt 50K RR

2010-03-29T10:53:00.003-04:00

******

Sedalia, VA
March 27, 2010

When I arrive with my tent at the Sedalia Community Center mid to late Friday afternoon, rain showers were blowing sideways across the spring green, Virginia pastureland on a strong, cold wind. A pleasant relief from my last 50-ishK event in mid-February, but we won’t talk about that. Spring is ahead. The snow is almost gone -even in the high places. Think positive. The rain did stop and the wind laid. Race director Zealand and his crew were putting the finishing touches on the Start-Finish area. I found a place out of the wind to pitch my tent directly beside the parking lot. I was one slice of pizza shy of paradise and there were several stacks of cheese and pepperoni in boxes waiting to cover that trifling detail. OK, so I had a few slices – I’m a paradise junkie –what can I say?

I woke up at 5 and there was a thin glaze of ice on my tent fly. I milled about the camp on a bladder relief sortee. It was too early to get up and stay, so I scavenged a final pizza slice from a cheese box and returned to the warmth of my bunker. It was going to be an easy race morning. I had prepped three sacks with long run chow and fluid bottles before dark. Each sack had a couple of homemade energy bars, a few chunks of a new recipe I’m working on –Chocolate-coffee–almond bark, a piece of dried mango or date, and last but not least a bottle with some chia fresca concentrate.
I stuffed all these into my old Big Buzz bicycle pack and had the idea to haul it up the first ascent and leave it at the aid station since it conveniently serves as AS 1, 5, and 6. Even better, Kenny a friend from Promise Land ’08 who would be working at AS 3, said he would bring it back down for me after my last pass and I wouldn’t have to mule it across Terrapin Mt proper.

The Iron Mt gang stayed in town overnight. Tammy, and I had both ran the half marathon here last year. Beth and Rick did the 50k, Jenny is making a LUS series debut. By 6:55AM, 250 or so of my craziest friends are bouncing up and down at the starting line to generate warmth. Waiting for the……

GOOOOoooooonnnnnnnggggggggg!!!!!!!!

Clark Zealand’s gong is THE best-est way I’ve ever heard of starting a race. EVEN better than Cantrell’s cigarette smoke signal down at Barkley that would soon be sending almost 3 dozen (usually the entire entry list) stalks of Armageddon fodder to the most significant Did Not Finish of their race resume.

Our pack of runners lilt down a gently sloping first half mile of pavement. Spirits are high. The sky is clear and pleasantly cool. The course before us is over 31 miles. It will climb and fall, weave and stagger across rocky ridges, in and out of mountain coves like a pair of drunken lovers on an early spring picnic.

One of my main objectives in this race is simple - remain upright. In past years I’d take a fall now and again but, since last August, I’ve had more than my quota -scuffed knees, wrenched shoulder, and bruised ribs piling on with the more mundane pains of frequent trail running. Also, although it not a requirement, I want to finish better than the 9 hour cutoff. A few days ago I started to look closely at the course layout, elevation profile and aid station spacing to develop a pacing plan. I know 13 miles of the course, which helps, and training on very similar terrain helps even more. I plug in a few numbers and figure 8 hrs plus 5-10 minutes would be good. If things went really well, I might break eight hours.

The first climb has variety to the footing, but mostly it’s just rocks.

I planned on 20 min/mile average for a tad over 4 miles, then fill my chia bottle, and be out of the Camping Gap aid station by 8:30. That’s very conservative, but I don’t want to play catch-up so soon in the day. I ended up checking out with 24 minutes to spare, no pack, a bottle in each hand, a bag of treats in my pocket, and 5 miles of quad-toasting, downhill dirt road in front of me. The day is as full of spring as my footsteps.

To AS 2 the road is perfect for easy running; not so steep you feel the need to hold back, minimal rutting from the weather.

I focus on protecting the quads and heels, keeping my foot strike “behind” me, just butt-kicking with my heels letting the mountain do all the work. Another conservative 10 min pace was the plan, but I was in the lower 8s almost holding my breath. I let it happen without holding back or being greedy for more, stopped at AS 2 for a refill and two potato chips leaving with a total cushion of 30 minutes.

AS 3 is only a long 2 more miles of road at an intersection. Kenny is here. I ask him if I’m half way yet . That’s the end of the downhill for a while. I leave out with more cushion time added on for a total of 35 minutes.

Heading back up by a different route on dirt road, I take a long walk break to eat along the way, and let it start to pump my blood sugar back up before I start to pick and chose sections to jog. I’m aiming for 15 minute miles for the 4 miles back to what was AS 2 -now AS 4. That’s a brisk walk on flat ground but not too hard to maintain with some running thrown in. A question mark illuminates when we turn off the road into the woods. It could be technical and steep, and for me, could eat time off my cushion like a wood chipper. The last half mile had a fairly strong, moderately technical descent. I had to focus on my main objective of remaining upright. I drifted into and out of the AS at 9:48, still 37 min in front of my target.

Back up the good road to Camping Gap, I met Donna E. driving David H. back to Sedalia to see the finish, which would occur only an hour –fifteen from now. He just had some knee surgery is restricted to crutches for a while. They slowed down just enough to cheer me up the hill. Kenny, soon after, came up the road in his car with further encouragement. I had been disciplined with fluid and calorie intake. I knew it would pay off in the later miles. The allowance for this climb -a whole hour for 3.1 miles of easy up and I was able to run a little here and there. I topped out back at Camping Gap ready for more chia. Now, I was in fact, halfway. I added 8 minutes to my time savings account ready to continue the climb westward to the top of White Oak Ridge.

Kenny kept me company along the road out to the foot of the ridge. I meet lots of friends, including the most of the Iron Mt gang. They looked relatively fresh and 4 miles ahead of me headed back from this almost 6 mile loop. When we came to the trail at a fork to take us up on the Ridge, I instinctively chose the wrong one -the down hill. I was about to do a “maybe I’m lost but at least I’m making good time” maneuver, but I was corrected promptly by some runners coming toward me.

White Oak Ridge is really a pretty good stretch of trail, wide, grassy, mossy, still a little snow, not too technical, or steep. It just seems to go on and on and on –all the while we’re looking for an illusive number punch the RD instructed us to put to use when we passed. I meet Kenny again on the steep descent and we made pretty good time back to Camping Gap. Even though it was over a half mile longer than I’d allowed for, I only came up 6 minutes over my time budget. Considering a 1000’ of elevation gain/loss for this section and coming back into Camping Gap being about 5 hours into the ordeal at mile 22, I was still feeling half way sproinky.

Or so I thought.

Kenny took my pack back down to the finish and I started up the final knob of Terrapin. I hadn’t gone 30 yards up the trail before I realized I’d sheared a pin on my climbing gear. I was moving, but not with much power. The trail was steep and rocky followed by more steep and rocky. It was definitely not the road to Vanity Fair. I was making progress, just not a lot of it. Prior victims had dropped, spilled, or otherwise abandoned little stashes of pretzels, M&Ms, cookies and other goodies from the aid station just below. The items looked out of place on the rugged crag –just lying there -serene and surreal. I had traveled this path from mile 5 of the half marathon for the past 2 years. I knew exactly what to expect topologically, but the fourth dimension took me by surprise.

Eventually I climbed out onto the highest rock the mountain had to offer to get my second number punch. Even though it was down hill from there, the technical aspects of the trail wasn’t coughing up all the time it had eaten as it had on the other loops. Then I came to a real problem -Fatman’s Misery.

I’ll confess to a few extra pounds, but that wasn’t the problem. The Misery is a skewed, narrow slit between two substantial boulders. The first year I escaped the tunnel with just a scuff or two on the butt cheek. The second year I made it through unscathed, but I saw a runner fill their drawers with mud on an unplanned, spontaneous butt-slide to the bottom. This year I had a shoulder problem that compromised a range of motion and strength that would have been highly useful at this point. Luckily I found an old but stout chestnut limb about 10’ long that gave me some extra holding power. I gently threw my water bottles into mud and crawled in after. Standing with my back planted squarely against the lower rock, I inched my way down the dark, muddy chute kicking my bottles along and using the limb as an extra brake against slipping. An hour or so earlier, poor Jenny earned the Best Blood award by skinning both elbows.

On exit, I did my final number punch and hit the trail. Still some technical footing, but I’m feeling better with some run-able down grade for a while. But soon enough, the trail begins to drop too steeply for anything but “hold back at all cost” mode. With a final switchback, I am tossed into the Rock Bar.

The Rock Bar is a minefield of sole-mauling, ankle-twisting, toenail-biting, sock-chewing rocks disguised by other rocks. If this section were much longer than a couple of hundred feet, it could induce deep despair. I eased my way through passing another runner and a dog. Less than a long mile later, I coasted into the last aid station at the bottom of a cul-de-sac.

I was feeling OK as in “only 5 more easy miles to go” OK. All that was standing in the way was a half a mile climb to get to the “only 5 more easy miles”. I met a few runners coming down into the cul-de-sac. None looked exactly peppy until I got to the left turn, about a quarter mile back up, toward home plate. There was a couple, I remember a man running mini-switchbacks across the trail to brake, heading on down to the last aid station. Within another quarter mile the trail leveled enough to run here and there, in and out of small coves often with water flowing at the back corners. It’s fairly repetitive like this for a few miles. I had mis-gauged my ability on the prior section and came up about 35 minutes over my time allotment. Still I had almost 15 minutes in the bank to hit 8 hours. If I pressed extra hard I might break 7:45, or I might explode. There was no one around. The lay of the trail allowed you to see a good bit of ground in front and behind as you rounded the ridge tips. I just put it on cruise control and enjoyed the scenery.

About 2+ miles from the end, out of nowhere, I see a women coming up behind. She’s movin’. Maybe 400 metres back, but she’s movin’. She’ll catch me no doubt. About this time Kenny appears on the trail and claimed to have finished off the last of the post-race BBQ. I told him, “then I might as well quit.” We laughed and chatted along the way, The trail breaks into all down hill and we come to the wide creek crossing back at the Jeep trail. I could have stood in the creek a while, but there was a mile and a half to go –still, mostly down hill. It’s technical for the first bit, but not too long before hitting good packed gravel and I can lock into a steady unchallenged pace. But where’s the woman? She should have easily passed me by now. 7:45 was a still a slight possibility, but I didn’t have the sauce even with Kenny pushing and pulling. I don’t even think BBQ on a stick in front me would have helped. We crested the last little hill on pavement a quarter mile out. I could see the finish line and more importantly, the BBQ smoker. All at once the woman, again from nowhere, popped into my rear view. Now she was really moving. And gaining ground. Fast.

She passed me with a look of determination that could have cut through a tin can like a Ginsu knife. She eased ahead with a gracefully stride -a hundred meters to go. With a twinge of treachery, I held to her shadow. At the last possible instant I pulled up to finish at her side. It’s human nature or a fault of mine. I don’t mind finishing 3+ hours behind the front runner, I don’t feel it necessary to finish in front of anybody, but I’d rather not finish 3 seconds behind the person in front of me.

Jenny brought my finisher’s medal as I was making my way to the BBQ -7:47 and something to finish in the end.

The BBQ and I both could have used a little more sauce I think.

JJJ

Chocolate Espresso Almond Bark

2010-03-25T11:47:00.001-04:00

Don't know if this classifies as a food or a drug, but if you have teenagers, I'd
keep it under lock and key -especially in the spring.

If you like Chocolate-covered Espresso Beans, you can make this easily at home or on the trail if you are a cleaver camp-cook.

Chocolate Espresso Almond Bark

Take 8 oz of dark (72%) chocolate.

Find some dark roast coffee beans. If you can't find any that aren't appealing to chew as they are, try toasting them until they are very crispy. Don't mill them, but crush them leaving as coarse as possible. Err on the side of a few whole beans. About 4-6 oz should work.

3-4 oz of toasted almonds (or toast your own) again a very coarse crush.

Put the chocolate in Pyrex in a 200-225° oven until stir-able. It won't totally loss its shape so test in 15 to 20 min.

Mix in the dry components throughly.

Experiment with amounts and additional flavorings at will.

I spread the mix onto a piece of wax paper (lightly oiled just in case) and let it cool enough to put in the freezer.

Break into pieces, and try not to eat it all in one sitting.
Take it along for those last few miles of a long run or hike.

jjj

Turning the corner on snow & Pre-St. Paddy's Day Run

2010-03-09T10:06:00.006-05:00

I made a pair of snowshoes last week (bamboo and hemp).

Tested them up at deep snow elevation Saturday.

They failed miserably.
Oh well.

I was prepared to camp and I had a shovel.
So I dug a snow cave to sleep in.

Cooked over a small fire.

Inside about sunset, it was just barely big enough to get a sleeping bag in and sit up.
But it had a nice view.
It was a very comfortable sleep.

Sunday, went home for a few hours,

then headed up for our IMTR run.

We were checking out some new trail for a larger group coming to our St Paddy's Day fun run next weekend. (everyone welcome hint hint if you're in the neighborhood)
Lots of blowdowns and a fair amount of snow still -surprise surprise.

The weather was fantastic for the day.

Portion of the soundtrack -"Skating Away on the Thin Ice of a New Day" from the Warchild album Jethro Tull 1974

We had a blast. 10+ miles 2700' +/- elevation

J
J
J

14th Annual Elk Garden Frostfest

2010-02-28T16:05:00.002-05:00

Mark, Ed and I made it up to Elk Garden last Friday afternoon.
We were only there from 4pm to about 9 am Saturday -still it was memorable.
The bald area just north ot the parking lot on the AT was a firm, uniform, and nearly polished crust of snow and ice. Once we reached the tree line, we hit drifts of several feet. Back in the woods where we camped, just outside the Lewis Fork Wilderness Area, the depth was more consistent, perhaps 24" give or take. I do know our campfire sunk an 18" hole with out hitting ground. The wind drove us into the tent quickly after we finished off a skillet of taters, onions, sausage and some canned bread. Temperature stayed up in mid to upper teens through the night, which is not the coldest we've done over the years, but the snow and the wind more than compensated for a mid-winter thrill. The half mile walk back to the car next morning was intense and quite enjoyable.

I put together a little video of the year's trek, including a still shot of Whitetop at sunset from 2007.

Stay in touch by early January if you would like to attend next year.

JJJ
.

The Happy Tree

2010-02-25T14:58:00.004-05:00

.

Once, there was a tree

A very happy tree.

The happy tree lived in a forest by a stream
With many other trees

With plants
With animals

With the wind, the sun, and the rain.

When the rain would fall and the wind would blow

The happy tree swayed

The happy tree sang

The happy tree danced.

Once, a strong wind broke a branch from the happy tree

The branch fell to the ground with a crash.

The happy tree did not mind
It was a happy tree.

The happy tree grew and grew until its branches reached the sky.

Birds and squirrels lived on the happy tree
They ate nuts from its branches

Caterpillars munched on its leaves.

The happy tree did not mind
It was a happy tree.

A very, very strong wind came one day
And with a terrible crash blew the happy tree to the ground.

The happy tree did not mind
It was a happy tree.

Ants build a nest and began to eat the happy tree

Mosses, mushrooms, and ferns grew on the happy tree

Foxes and bears hollowed dens inside the happy tree to keep their families safe

Where the happy tree once stood
Baby trees grew quickly in the new sunlight.

Now, when the rain would fall and wind would blow
The happy tree could not sway

The happy tree could not sing or dance.

The happy tree did not mind
It was a happy tree.

.

China: Rainbow fire in Dhaingzoo province kills 17.

2010-02-24T15:11:00.002-05:00

....Or this from WWTF-Next? News

China: Rainbow fire in Dhaingzoo province kills 17.

Chong-hua, Dhaingzoo

A growing concern bordering on pandemonium is sweeping the countryside in areas around some of China’s largest industrial air pollution sources. Why? A few weeks ago, several highly agitated farmers rushed into their local police bureau to report they had witnessed a rainbow fire –yes a rainbow on fire. Two of the men were arrested immediately for public intoxication to which they freely admitted, but still asserted they had seen a rainbow on fire across a hill from their village a few miles from the city after an otherwise typical afternoon thunder storm.

At first, police made light of the story and joked freely. A week later, a second similar report came from the same village. Police, suspecting they were the targets of a broader hoax, sought to investigate and put an end to the matter. The second report was from a group of completely un-intoxicated women claiming not only had they witnessed a rainbow on fire, but also the fire had actually scorched some of their cattle for which they were seeking compensation from the government. The ladies gladly escorted a detail of suspicious officers to their field so they could examine the evidence for themselves. When the officers arrived at the pasture where the allegedly rainbow-scorched cattle grazed, they did note unusually colored burn marks on a few pigs and goats. However, they summarily announced the whole incident was a perpetrated hoax and further reports of rainbows on fire “would be dealt with severely”.

Yesterday, the city of Chong-hua itself, suffered a mysterious and deadly blaze in the central business district. Officials are calling it “a ruthless arson by an enemy of the people”. However workers from the nearby chemical factory on their way home from work tell a different story.

“We waited at the factory after our work day because of thunder showers, and on our bicycles we did not want to get wet. When the rain had passed we rode toward the city as we saw a very lovely rainbow directly over the city. We watched with amazement and fear when suddenly the end of the rainbow closest to the city burst into flames. The flames were frightening, but also, very pretty. Everyone had heard about the other “fiery rainbows” but we also thought they were only joking. Now we see for ourselves that this is no joke. The flames struck one building and then another. We were very frightened for the people and rode quickly to the city to be of assistance.”

With a large number of citizens reporting essentially the same details, government officials have stepped in to allay public fears from more "fiery rainbows". The public has keyed on air pollution from the government-owned chemical factory as a likely culprit in the tragedy and an outcry has erupted for an independent investigation.

“We don’t want our rainbows to burn. This is insensible. The public is harmed and the government tries to wish away their role in burning rainbows. It is an unnatural tragedy.”

“Rainbows belong to the people. They should not be forced to burn. People have died, but rainbows may go on burning, and the government continues doing nothing.

“I used to love rainbows when I was a kid, but now I am not so sure. Now my children ask about rainbows and rainbow safety. What am I to tell them?”

“I have always been frightened of rainbows. Even their beautiful colors do not comfort me. I told people this would happen, but no one would listen.”

Government officials refuse to comment of the role that poor air quality around the chemical factory may have played in the deathly rainbow fire and steadfastly point to the rainbow’s own responsibility not to burn in a populace area. Meanwhile, government scientists are being questioned, and then apparently sequestered, further enraging the public. Many people have already begun to avoid bright colors; some even contemplating repainting their homes and returning to more drab colored garments of yesteryears.

An official statement is expected within the week.

World Projected to Run out of Money by 2019

2010-02-24T10:49:00.004-05:00

You may have missed this article from WJNN...

A group of economist working at a think tank sponsored by the World Bank made this projection based of the limitations of silicone based computational and storage capacity to handle the massive deluge of electronic transactions that will inevitably result from the growing world affluence brought on by currently emerging 2nd and 3rd world economies.

“It’s not just the limitation of silicone chip production”, one economist said, “but one of inherent functional limitations in the underlying physics of electronics. As it stands now, we predict it would take a computer the size of France consuming a disabling portion of world electricity generation from current power grids. Silicone has had its day and reached its climax of computation : power consumption ratio. Other technologies are simply not maturing fast enough to avert this crisis. Nor is it a problem we can “drill” our way out of. Even with practically free energy sources, every conceivable investment we make in propping up or expanding the power generation grid to the Debit Computational System simply hastens the day of Total Money Collapse in all of our models.”

While a few “Cash is King” groups have raised this specter before, economist discounted their clamor as paranoid grandstanding. But with competitive financial infrastructures so heavily invested in a cash-less exchange system, declines from razor thin profit margins associated with handling cash are “not an option” report a number of banking officials on both the business side and regulatory side of the issue. On the business side, one bank board chairmen said,

“If governments were more willing to cover some of the cost in handling currency we might be more affable in continuing or even expanding our legacy money formats. After all, it is governments that print money and should be held accountable for it’s cost of handling in a free-market system. As it now stands, everyone is simply hoping their competitor will blink first and buying long term futures contracts on energy commodities and related financial instruments to hedge their growing cash-less exposure”

Economist of the study were quick to responded saying such behavior might actually compounded the problem by “adding fuel to the fires of economic uncertainty”. World Bank officials hinted the matter would be give “grave consideration” at their next meeting set to convene next spring in Antarctica.

2010-02-18T10:59:00.001-05:00

.
.
.
I climbed a mountain
And the Spirit said,
“Look. I am everywhere.”

I descended to the valley and stood in the river
And the Spirit said,
“Look. I flow without restraint.”

I floated into the sea
And the Spirit said,
“Look. You are embraced by my power.”

Emerging from the sea I stood in the gate of a garden
And the Spirit said,
“Come, be my lover.”
.
.
.

Patience

2010-02-15T13:34:00.005-05:00

Holiday Lake 50++ February 13, 2010

Appomattox, Va

My brief Holiday history:

2007- Camped, no snow, low temp ~12°, High ~22° clear. Ran one loop about 17 miles. With only a minute to spare on the cut off, I dropped out. 6 weeks later I completed my first marathon.

2008 – Stayed with my wife at a bed and breakfast in town. My first race in a kilt. Low 30° High 50° clear. Finish ~6:38 last year of old course.

2009 – Injured DNS, Camped, Volunteered at loop turnaround/finish line. Low ~30° High ~40° Clear

2010 – Camped, Low ~25° High ~35° Overcast flurries with clearing by noon. On the ground...

Snow.

Snow started at my house about the second weekend in December and has been fairly punctual in making it back about every weekend since. If it did miss a weekend, sub-seasonal temps have stretched it out to keep at least the surrounding ridge tops in their tighty whities almost every day this winter. Even the trail near my house is sheltered by the hills enough to keep it more white than muddy. I’ve had plenty of snow training run opportunities availing myself with quasi-religious fervor.

A weekend before Holiday 2010, the mid-Atlantic seaboard was hit with a major blizzard. The Appomattox area was spared the 30” that hit Metro DC, but from my Internet weather reconnaissance it appeared 12”+ did fall and little likelihood of thawing before race day. Race day weather forecast 10 days out called for: Low in mid 20s, high in mid 40s, sunny. By one day out: Low about 20, high in mid 30s, snow showers. That’s pretty much what happened. Be careful what you train for, you could get it.

Friday morning I loaded my camping gear for an over night. I enjoy camping at the races. In fact, the camping feature mentioned in race reports from Promise Land when I first started running in 2006, kind of sealed the deal for me on the Horton races. It sounds practical, natural, and all of that. It sounds like fun. I arrived mid-afternoon just in front of Haime. Haime and friends were camping on the field in his big portable dorm room. I’ve been working on my hammock hanging technique which I set up in a thicket near by. There didn’t seem to be as many people tenting this year. Go figure.

Haime had also had been asking me at prior races about a spare kilt that he might borrow since people might think it was unusual for him to wear his Santa Claus suit from Hellgate in February. Besides that, his sombrero from last year’s HL was too dangerous for oncoming traffic on tight single track. I was prepared this time to lend my Wallace hunting color tartan (think Scotch tape) and a small buckled belt. He was a bit reluctant to have to part with his Grindstone 100 buckle and belt. I told it would be best in the end and I’d keep Frodo from throwing it in just any old volcano if he wanted. I think he sleeps with it. I would.

By dark, most had arrived at the 4-H campground facility for an excellent pasta/lasagne feed as usual. Horton gave the final encouagement and warnings and tossed out door prizes.

Pre-race Horton directs the troops

Right away he announced, with a lump in his throat, that due to conditions beyond his controlled, he was compelled… he was compelled to (sniff)... he was compelled to extended the cutoff times by one hour. A hush fell over the crowd, women blushed, some of the men-Beasts fainted. Horton, the head denizen of Hellgate, had just become Horton the Merciful. This on top of only just last year, shortening the course from almost 34 miles to a mere 32.5 AND extending the cutoff from 7 hr 30 min to a full 8 hours. But ultimately people seemed happy with his decision, or maybe it was the cheesecake from dinner. It is difficult to run in snow or cheesecake to I suppose.

I hung around and listened to his instruction to first time 50k entrants like: “how to tell if you’re running to hard”, “why men need Vaseline and women don’t”, “how to avoid ultra-monkey butt”, etc. He gave one word of advice for running in snow that was very, very good. But I forgot what it was until after I needed it.

About 8:30ish, I crawled into my sleeping bag and right away could tell my rigging of an additional sleeping bag beneath the hammock was much better than a couple of weeks ago in Grayson Highlands where the temperature dropped to 8° and I got a little cold there.

Camp Kiltdmansawro

This night would stay in the 20s and I stayed warm. I did awake earlier than I would have liked. Under ordinary conditions I would fallen back asleep. There was a fine light snow with a gentle drone of white noise on my tarp, but my mind was already racing down snow covered trails in and out of wooded coves, across snow blown fields, along a frozen shoreline of Holiday Lake.

By 5:00 I crawled out and started getting things together. It just takes more time when you’re camping at least for me. I ate some of my homemade energy bars and a drank a good draught of relatively new concoction I’m playing with and calling Purple Rope –kefir, hemp hearts, blueberries, and honey (8:2:2:1 by weight, blend for 2 minutes) high in nutrients easy on the GI system. I pack a few vials for the first loop.

As the time of running approaches, the meeting hall of the 4H center becomes a beehive of chaos dripping with sweet race day energy. My Iron Mountain friends arrive, I pleat the tartan for Haime. He seems comfortable that he can do the loops in his first un-bifuricated run. He has the confidence of ultra experience plus a youthful je ne sais quoi to enviviate the challenge. I hope he has made the correct choice for underwear and not to be the subject of a major wardrobe malfunctions coming down the ice covered stairs at the dam. My cold weather garb this season has been a 25” x 8 yard light wool kilt over tights, running shorts, double socks, shoes and sometimes 3 top layers, double hat and double gloves for temps substantially below freezing. I pared that down for today’s run.

The pack is whooping it up and moving across the starting line before I’ve taken my place in the flow and get my gear well adjusted. At 6:30 many of us dawn headlamps to see our way to the twilight. It’s overcast with a very light snow falling. The first loop takes us clockwise, ¾ mile on pavement and an abrupt right turn into snow covered forest. Along the road as I’m juggling my camera, I later discovered it snapped a spurious unintended flash-shot toward the sky above.

Candid Tree

Trees never fail to inspire me when I take the time to look.

In the woods, the pack is moving slowly in tight single file over about 4-6inches of a slippery dry powder. This was once encrusted beneath a firm icy sheath of a couple of more inches, but the 200+ runners have carved a tight trench of a trail in it. For days I had fantasized that the snow would pack under their tramping into to a firm stable footbed. The fantasy vanished without an apology or forwarding address like most of my girlfriends from high school and college. The texture was just too dry. I was way back in the pack, not really unduly, but it seemed people should be moving a little faster. There were a few places in the tight undergrowth to pass other runners easily without risk while post-holing alongside the trench. Occasionally someone would find a spot and pass a few runners in the dense queue of thirty or so. I grew a little impatient. Watching the sides, I picked a spot and moved out of the trench go around a few. I made it a half dozen strides before I plowed face first into the white shield. It wasn’t that Hallmark snow that adds a peaceful fluff of gentility to their Christmas card scenes. It was more of a crouching predator ready to bare fangs on any witless intruder who stumbled along the way. It bit me. I was lucky and got off with a hand sized raspberry above the right knee and a smaller patch on the side of my left calf. Others I suspect weren’t spared. I followed small, sporadic, blood blazes along much of the trail.

It took far more effort to stay upright than you might think. Even with all the recent running on snow this winter I still felt like a hog on ice. Would yaktraks, screws or some other shoe amendment help? Probably. But there’s always a trade off. Snow has many different states and while it never became docile there were a few places it feigned tameness. By the time I came to the open fields and power line cuts, the traffic was considerably decreased.

Across the field

It seems I passed a lot more than was passed, but there always seemed to be person or small group to catch up to and this encouraged and propelled. At the aid stations I was doing well with just water in a hand held and taking a 3oz vial of the Purple Rope I carried.

I spent very little time at the aid stations. The volunteers were attentive, adept and certainly appreciated by us. I like working aid stations myself but they’re no picnic when the weather is dicey.

Looking back at the mid-loop Aid Station

I think about 3 miles from the turnaround or close to the lake our impromptu group started meeting the front runners. They had ran 19 miles to our 13 under much more labor intensive conditions. They had made our path -incredible althletes mentally and physically. Coming back to the lake however I noticed we weren’t meeting as many of the mid and front of the pack as I would have expected. We almost lost a runner in a tight spot where the trail dipped to just a few feet on the steep hillside above the ice ringed lake. It might have taken some effort to fish him out depending on how he landed. I don’t think the ice would have held him.

Everyone’s time was slower, but still there was something not right with my picture. I meet my Iron Mountain cohorts only about ¾ to a ½ mile from the turnaround. I would have been further back on a typical day. They were using good judgment and exercising patience and I was… That’s it -Patience. That was the word of advice that I’d forgotten. Patience. I was flailing along wasting too far too much energy for the first half of a long day.

I met Haime leaving the turnaround. He was wearing the kilt still, in good spirits and not bleeding. So I guessed it hadn’t sand papered him in any delicate spots. I was still feeling OK only about 30 minutes behind my previous time for this point, but I took a longer (i.e. toilet break) stop, ate and drank a good ration and headed back out. The long break may not have been a wise decision. Maybe I lost some steam on it’s account –hard to say. Anyway, my trail legs began to lose impetus. I have to say I hit a low point between miles 19 and 29. It was a long, dull, low point. Caffeine usually helps me, but I’d waited to long to take it.

I had been passed at the turnaround by Jean the Machine. She helped me more than she knows but I just couldn't keep up to her even, experienced pace that she patiently let come to her. She flowed along the trail with wisdom and grace in every well measure step (I hope that makes up for referring to her as that gray-haired lady I finished with in my Promise Land ’08 report). Jean’s patient methodical gait lent me hope. I had plenty of time to finish. I never felt like dropping. It was just tough.

The dry, slow, mushy snow of the first loop became the wet, slow, slushy snow of loop two. Some found it easier to negotiate, but not me. Overcast skies had yielded to a nice touch of radiant sun. I never felt cold really except from the ankles down. I had on thin and thick wool socks, my shoe weren’t tied too tightly, but I seemed to be unable to get heat to the forefoot. Thusly, they had all the agility of a pair of frozen herring. Could've been the water crossings. I’ve ran water crossing into snow all winter without problem, but something didn’t click today. I was less enthusiastic about the water crossings as I approached them a second time. But surprisingly, the water actually felt refreshing.

All the people I’d passed in loop one had passed me and then some or so it seemed. About 3 or 4 miles out from the finish, another fellow and I came upon Clare. She was in a bad spot. Her IT-band was cramping and causing her that raw-nerve, anti-nirvana of the knee that is typical for running in snow especially for the first few times I think. The other guy was especially helpful in talking her mind back into the trail. Clare started to move better and she encouraged him to go ahead. I stayed behind just to chatter and keep her mind off the pain at least until some ibuprofen had kicked in. I wasn’t exactly in the chase for a cutoff or PR. It was Clare’s first 50k run. She’s a student in Horton’s ultra running class at Liberty University. She said she ran the mile and 2- mile in high school and at the beginning of college, but then lost enthusiasm for running altogether. Horton restored her love of running, so here she is now in snow, ice, mud, pain and exhaustion enjoying herself once again.

We finished with a well-staged theatrical kick in the early minutes of extended cutoff. Clare was thrilled, Horton was thrilled, spectators were thrilled, and those who had already finished were thrilled. Except for some very, very, very sore feet, I was thrilled and hopeful, and determined to be more patient the next time around the Holiday Lake.

JJJ

TrailRunning(Parameters…ad infinitum)

2010-01-03T17:06:00.004-05:00

01/03/2010

Mr. Gottlieb says, “I’m going trail running, Honey.”

Mrs. Gottlieb turns from the kitchen hearth a silhouette illuminated by a pleasant, warm, seductive glow.

“How long will you be gone, where are you going, and who is going with you?”

“I’ll be back before….” He paused for a moment before he said, “I’ll be back before the Apocalypse.”

“Well I hope so, but that’s what you said the last time.” She turned back and adjusted her apron strings. “You know how I hate doing the Apocalypse by myself. Last time it was a fiasco -an absolute fiasco.”

“There’s no need to worry. Really.”

“People never blame you. I’m the one standing up there trying to explain. Trying to make some ultimate sense of it all for them. That’s what they expect you know. They believe you’re suppose to act like you care what they think. I could tell them a thing or too. And no angels…”

“I know you could, dear.” He bends to adjust a sandal thong. “I’m going to the high mountain desert. I just love being up there. I can’t explain.”

“Can’t explain. Well, you’re good at the unexplainable, that much is certain.” She continues to stir her bowl adding another dash of sarcasm and a pinch of scorn. “You’re all about your cold and your gloomy fog….your wind…your icicles. What would a little more atmosphere, and a real rain every now and then hurt?

“I just like the way ice forms out of a fog in wind on standing stone. It’s just hard…”

“Yes, I know. It’s just hard to explain.” She breaks two eggs into a bowl and beats them together. After a moment she raised her brow and asked, “And are all the angels going with you this time? You know it’s hell to try and have an Apocalypse without angels. The sky cracks open, every body just stands around gawking up at a big tear in space and time. Nothing. Waiting. More Nothing. Finally, a few naked cherubs fly out and some of the drunks start to snicker. It’s embarasssing I tell you. It really is.”

“No, just Mercy and Kindness are coming.” He stands and picks up a water bottle. Mrs. Gottlieb stares with a puzzled look. He offers,“You know. They were at the party last weekend.”

“OH. Those two guys”, she said and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about -those guys.”

Mr. Gottlieb began to rummage through a drawer for some batteries for his headlamp. He spoke, “Endurance said she would be there if she could get away, but you know, she had twins last month.”

With some animation, Mrs. Gottlieb begins to noticeably clang her bowls with her mixing utensils. “No disrespect to dogs, but that bitch must think she’s somebody’s gift to the universe. Twins. Again.” CLANG. “How many does that make her?” CLANG. “I wonder if she knows who the father might be this time.” CLANG. “Or even what color.”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know, but you could send her a gift -or at least a sign. It would mean a lot to her. She thinks the world of you you know.

Mrs. Gottlieb removes her apron and walks over to her husband. She lays her head against his white woolen beard, soft, pungent and warm. She said, “I worry in the not knowing”.

“I know you do, Dear. I know you do.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Trail running is new everyday. It can be new on the same trail you’ve ran a hundred times. Everyday the light is just a little different. Different times of day bring out different colors. The seasons change and the signs of life take to ground or mob across landscape in ecstatic riot. The air has a different smell with changes of humidity, temperature, and season. In a summer rain the trail will roar, and with a deep winter snow, everything is consumed in silence. Turn around and run the trail in reverse, and it’s new again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Yesterday I ran a race down near Almond, NC. It was in the Tsali Recreation Area just to the southwest of Clingman’s Dome on the south shore of the Fontana impoundment. Being so far south, I thought it would be warmer than at home, but the temperature barely made it to 28°. That was just in the sunny spots.

At 9 am a few brave souls started the first race of 50k. There was a skiff of snow on and a noticeable wind coming down off the mountain cross the lake. I got there early to see my buddy Pie Jones off on his first attempt at the distance. I tried the distance a few years ago in similar weather and only made it half way on an easier course.

My race started at 11 am – a 25k on some of the same trails. I had time to get everything in good order, took a walk and a warmup run getting back to the start just in time for a stretch. It’s a pretty young looking crowd, the RD starts us, and everybody blasts up the first hill on a dirt road.

Unfortunately, I did too. I was feeling good the cold wasn’t a real bother as long as you were moving faster than a walk. After a mile or so, the course dropped off the ridge onto well-groomed single track. We don’t get much well-groomed single track in hills around here. I hardly knew how to behave, so I didn’t. I pushed my pace just beyond my ability considering the additional parameters of distance, temperature, elevation change, etc. The up hills weren’t long and grueling for the most part, but they added up. My pace and most of my sense of race dropped off around mile 11 or 12.

Though I never felt cold until I stopped, I think the cold was eating more energy than I realized, and the two shot blocks I ate, probably weren’t enough. I managed a pace close to a recent 16-mile trail race that was easier with better conditions, so I’m not discouraged. I just feel I could have managed a few minutes better time tweaking a parameter here and a parameter there. You know?

JJJ

Don't get much snow

2009-12-07T12:36:00.001-05:00

The southern highlands don't get much snow or very often these days, but when it does, we try to make the most of it.
Saturday morning I started from the house and did an easy 10 mile run into Damascus on the Creeper Trail.

The snow was coming down. Hard at times, but it was not sticking too much for the first 30 minutes or so. As planned, it took me about an hour & 45.

The rest of the gang was already waiting at Mojoe's when I arrived.

(L-R Beth, JJJ, Lone Wolf, Jenny)

We headed out of town northbound up the Iron Mt trail.

At about two miles, we had made the ridgeline, almost a 1000' of climb, and many creek crossings if you know what I mean.

Instead of following the Iron Mt Trail further up, we drop off the other side and hit the AT on a short spur trail.

Beth is looking happy because she gets to run her first Hellgate 100k next weekend -lucky grrl.

It's a great mile of downhill into the Straight Branch area and Wolf makes the most of it.

We leave the AT here and head back up Iron Mt on the Beech Groove Gap Trail.

By the time we made the ridgeline, we've got a good 3" white cushion underfoot in most places.
We picked up the Iron Mt Trail and headed back

It was about 30° and no wind so it was very pleasant running, snogging, or whatever you wanna call it.

I wasn't quite as fresh as the others but they waited for me at the corners.

When we got back to the spur trail, we dropped down to the AT again, but this time headed back toward Damascus.

Stopped for a break at the Fork Mt overlook, but the east ridge of The Cuckoo was about all we could see.

After the ice melted out of mine and Wolf’s beards,
lunch was served up at the Whistle Pig Cafe.

The figure eight loop was about 8 miles.
WE HAD A BLAST!!

Delightful photos by Jenny and Beth

JJJ

Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! -The Liberation of Bent Creek

2009-11-15T19:46:00.001-05:00

November 14, 2009
Somewhere in North Carolina

No, hoards of kamikaze turkeys are not swooping down in a pre-Thanksgiving surprise attack on the Bent Creek basin in the North Carolina dawn. Or are they? It’s the 3rd annual Gobbler 50k Fun Run hosted by Adam Hill and the NC ultra krazy runners I’ve come to enjoy hanging out with during my running tour of duty. The come back from several seasons of mostly minor but nagging injuries has waylaid me from a full 50ks worth of running fun for this event. So along with most of the kamikrazies, many deployed from very recent endurance events, I elect to complete only the first loop of 14-15 miles.

It’s a couple-plus hours drive down to south ███████ville, so I picked up Beth about 0530 and an old sickle moon carved our flight path through a thick fall fog down the Holston valley. We landed at Rick and Tammy’s base about 0630 and waited on Clifton to complete our crew, then we set out for Bent Creek across Sam’s Gap on I-26 in the IMTR family van. There was much exchange of trail war stories and running reconnaissance gossip to digest. ████ is newly wed, █████ is in the trenches of her second tri-mester, and █████ was engaged even as we spoke at the battle for a Richmond BQ as she strafed the marathon throngs with blue PowerAde in her wake. Beth and Rick had ran the Mountain Masochist 50mile +++(+) Trail Run just last weekend flanked by some stellar performances from folks of the northern Can-Alaska Alliance, and where our own IMTR Doug Blackford won the 60+ division.

We landed in the cool, deep November shadows of the Bent Creek forest awaited by many other ultra troops already bounding about in running shorts and shivers. When a full platoon had been mustered and the sun had taken the ridgeline to our east, Adam our commanding Gobbler, distributed maps and last minute instructions to have fun. We pulled out onto Bent Creek Gap road and took a quick left on FS 479M (that’s in code –sorry, but that’s all I can say). The road was generous in girth and chamfered neatly into the rocky ravines bobbing, dipping, and rising cautiously toward the eastern blueridge crest. I was disposed to be the tailgunner and sweep our trail markers, partly because I’m a back of the packer by nature, but today even more appropriately, I was destined to make some obligatory lower GI maneuvers in the bushes during the early stages of our campaign.

After about 6 miles I was much relieved to have completed this duty, caught up to and passed on the sweeping assignment to Martha and Gayle. Our path took a sharp turn on to the MST at the ridge crest espying the ████████ Parkway (again, sorry for the redaction). This is some great running single track perched for miles above 360° blue ridge vistas. I caught my 3 IMTR travel companions at a trail intersection, otherwise I would have inadvertently strayed on to the designated route. Our short cut stealthily tunneled through a rhododendron thicket along an easy grade banked with lush moss. Here, we suffered our only casualty. ███ took a K-9 landmine hit to her right shoe. We should have been paying more attention since we were approaching the Sleepy Gap Overlook on the Parkway where many non-pedestrians park. Apparently, they allow their K-9 troops to relieve themselves at will along the trail.

When our casualty had recovered her composture, we took an even more onerous short cut down and down and down a trail that eventually brought us to a point exactly where we were 4 miles earlier in the loop. Things still looked safe and secure so we went back up and up and up and up. We made it back to the MST unscathed by additional short cuts but somewhat more depleted of troop strength. The predefined path emerged back onto Bent Creek Gap road at the gap’s overpass tunnel. It was only a steep 1.5 miles back down to our base. We cooled and restored hot, tired muscles in the little mountain creek that is Bent, ate and drank our field rations, and headed home.

███

All Saints Day

2009-11-01T13:57:00.006-05:00

Rest of Days

Death unclench your fist.

Let your fingers of pain unfurl

I will slip through them

And dance

Into the light

Across hills

Across fields

Through woods

Under leaf

Into ground

To take my solace

In clay and stone

For the rest of days.

Bahr!

2009-09-22T11:09:00.003-04:00

We have a dog in the neighborhood that actually belongs to a farm across the hill, but likes to come over and walk with people on their morning constitutional.
He enjoys chasing the deer, and rabbits too, but not as much.
He's a mixed shephard of some sort. I call him Fleabag, but I think his given name is Bandit.
As Bonnie and I were about finished with our morning walk, I asked Fleabag if wanted to come with me for a run on the Creeper Trail.
He seemed happy to oblige. We got to the trail and and headed up to Watauga.
Since I fell a month ago, the left and the right have been taking turns being obstinate.
My left knee has been a little finnicky lately, so I'm extra slow in warming up.
Fleabag and I have gone about a 1/4 mile and he sees something ahead up on the hill in the underbrush and takes off after it -a deer no doubt.
I keep on running a ways past where he turned into the woods and he's still barking.
I look up the hill, and there about 60' away, running through the brush beside me is a bahr.
It's a big one too -not fat, but I say as tall as me if he stood up.
Well, if we both keep going along about the same we're likely to cross paths within 50 yards,
so being considerate and all, I happily stopped to yielded the right of way.
In fact, I even backed up a little, hoping to give Fleabag a chance to flush him across the trail.
Well Fleabag, on having made a closer inspection, decided he didn't need to actually catch the bahr afterall, so he came out of the woods.
Or, maybe he was hoping to ambush it when it crossed the trial in the open.
We walk on,watching, and soon enough here comes Lawrence Dye on his bicycle.
LD was Assistant Principle at my HS and he was scoutmaster in my first BSA troop.
He's the most likely person you'll see on the Trail.
I stopped and I asked him if he'd seen the bahr and he said he had.
It had crossed the trail about 15' in front of him, just around the bend, and went down over the hill toward the river.
I figured it was just a matter of time before I saw it since it seems everybody in the neighborhood has seen it.
The rest of of the run was pretty uneventful, except I met Stokes and his buddy on bikes headed toward Alvarado.
I caught up with them on the river birdge. They gave me some chestnuts and we swapped bahr stories. That makes 5 this year.

7 miles total ~9:50 pace.
JJJ

*
*
*

Bays Mt Trail Race and Varmit Report.

2009-09-19T18:13:00.005-04:00

Hey folks.
For my current training and conditioning level I guess I had a fair to midlan' race today.

Beth and I struck out of Abingdon just before sunrise for the hour plus trip to Kingsport, TN.

JennD and the Grays were already there.

While I don't have a picture to back me up, Jenn did a much better job at parking. She had a whole week to practice.
The temps were better than the past two years -only made it into the 70's by the end, but it was very humid.
The first 4 and a half miles are a gradual climb and I didn't push too hard; hoping to have something left at the end.
I felt a little less creaky than usual when I woke up which is generally the case on any race day.
After a conservative start, I was mostly passing a person here and there through the first aid station at mile 4.
Then something very unexpected happened.
I noticed I had been gaining ground a group of 4 running together.
As I got within 20-30 yards of them. I simultaneosly saw and heard a swarm of yellow jackets and saw the group had stopped and started to writh in pain.
I got popped at least 8-10 times on the calves and butt meself. Ouch.
It took us almost a quarter mile to get them all picked off our clothes. The pain is not near as bad a honeybee sting, but it's no picnic either.
I took a double-shot gel about this time and within a mile or two with some good down hill single-track I was recovering fairly well. But as I started a long climb about the mid-point, a large horsefly took a fancy for a bite of me. I came out unscathed, but those varmits are persistent and will follow you quite a ways. You have to listen close to make sure they don't light on you un-noticed before they drill for blood.

Having passed the group of 4 in the single track, I started losing steam by mile 10 with 5 miles to go.
We came out on a couple o' mile stretch of gravel road and they re-took me.
I was really feeling the lack of any substantial long runs in my training this summer and lost quite a bit of pace during the last third -even though the trail is pretty good for running and only a couple of hills of any concern.
I finished under 2:59, about 2 minutes ahead of last year but still 8 minutes slower than my first year.
As in all 3 prior years of the race, someone reported seeing a bear.

I saw this dude at the finish line.

A Hickory Horned Devil, harmless.

Apparently, he came in just a little behind me.
Someday, maybe we'll both be butterflys.
JJJ

Bays Mt Preview

2009-09-14T05:01:00.004-04:00

Some of the Iron Mt Trail gang met at Bay's Mt park in Kingsport, TN on Saturday and ran the course for the race coming up next Saturday.
We pretty much knew the course but it's some fun trail.
There's a few miles of jeep road but not too harsh, and several miles of some really sweet single-track that's not very technical,
a couple of miles of gravel road, then back on even easier single-track.
It's 15 miles overall, we took numerous breaks.
I ran it in sandals and socks, which was fine, but will probably go with Nike Frees on race day.
I alternate between the two.

When the offical IMTR van arrived, one runner who, due to her parking prowess (which I thought showed a great deal of spontaneity), shall remain nameless, had already arrived.

Well, trailrunners tend to color outside the lines occasionally anyways.

(OKay, it was Jenny)

They had this fossil on display near the visitors center.
It could be a pile of worms or Pleistocenian pasta -you'll have to be the judge.

For a much better photojournalistic overview of the ordeal, visit the "She who parks with aplomb" FB album

JJJ

Chapter 3 The Storm

2009-08-21T15:42:00.004-04:00

Sara was gone. No trace. No trace forward. No trace backward. The young man inquired of the art teachers and was only able to discover that she had arrived late in the previous semester and had not actually enrolled at all. She had just been sitting in on their classes informally by their permission and kept to herself. When she failed to appear for the current semester, they weren’t surprised. They showed him a few projects she had started on canvas and had left them in various states of incompleteness. The young man had never seen any of her work except some of her sometimes elegant –sometimes frenetic doodling in a sketchbook that was always with her. The canvases were abstracts, and the young man thought they suggested her frustration with a fruitless search on some private inner plane and a fear of being pursued by something nameless on an outer plane of the common. Or maybe, he was just looking at himself. The young man had lost a best friend -maybe more than a friend. He had lost. He knew it. He felt it. For a week or two he went through the motions of school, always feeling he was dragging a huge burlap sack filled with a hundred pounds of feathers.

Winter came. In late January, it began to snow. It snowed almost everyday it seemed for weeks. It covered more and more of the muddled drabness and set the form of bare, mountain forests and voluptuous, hilly pastureland in sharp, pronounced lines that eluded to meaning without suggesting boundaries or awareness of desire. On a Friday morning when the forecast was “more snow, lots of more snow” the young man left school early and started across the mountain to see his grandmother. She was mostly alone now. His grandfather had died in late fall, but local friends and relatives checked on her regularly, and tried to help her with the farm when they could overpower her wide streak of independence. The morning of clear skies and temperatures struggling toward a thaw was an advertisement of deceit. By the time he had arrived in later afternoon, a dark and purple storm had flooded and drowned the western sun. Large pellets of wet snow started to blow in on a steady well-rehearsed wind.

The young man let himself in and called,

“Granny? Are you here?”

She didn’t answer, but he could hear her in the basement chipping on a lump of coal with her hammer. He went down and finished stoking the furnace. She went upstairs and started a fire in the cook stove for supper. Discreetly, he busted up enough coal small enough that she could just use a shovel through the next week. When he went upstairs she pretended to be unaware of what he had been doing.

In the time of their simple meal, darkness had set the night and all but hidden the storm of new snow. After supper, they sat in the front room and talked, the young man asking questions about the old days, about daily life before electricity, cars, and plumbing. She knew something was working in the young man’s mind and heart, but she pretended not to notice. Mostly, the young man just sat and listened. With her long wall of stories, she picked away at the evening like a miner following a seam of coal, pillaring along the way with nearly forgotten details of joy or hardship that hadn’t seen the light of memory in decades. Eventually, she would come to a place where words were too hard or the ceiling of memories too low to squeeze through and there would be a long silence until a gust of wind jarred and rattled door on the back porch.

The next morning saw no snow falling, just an exhausted gray sky hovering over her newest offspring. It was difficult to say if there was one foot, two foot, or three of new snow. The wind had modeled, scrapped, carved, and birthed a new landscape directly on top of the old one. In some places there were only a few inches and in others pure, creamy, foam drifts of six or seven feet. After the morning chores were done and things set straight as well as could be, the young man searched around on the back poach until he found his grandfather’s old mining light and a supply of carbide. He told his grandmother,

“Am going over to the cave, I’ll be back afterwhile.”

*****

Torrent Challenge 2009

2009-07-15T10:41:00.005-04:00

Pigs were roasted!

Slaw was made!

Brews were iced!

Inner tubes were floated!

Kayaks were rolled!

Yep, you guessed it.
It's the 4th of July at John and Terri's.
A sunny day brought the spirited to the crowded shores to see

-who

-would become

-the next

-Torrent

-Champion

-for 2009.

After an arduous, contentious, double-bracket of single elimination, best 3 of 5 bouts with meticulous impromptu referees on the banks of the mighty South Holston, the final bout roiled down to Kayak Terri and Eric the Red.

WHO

-will take

-the crown?

ALL HAIL ERIC!!!

THE NEW TORRENT CHAMPION of The MIGHTY SOUTH HOLSTON!

Cupcakes, Hayfield Go-Cart Racing, and bottle rockets followed.

jjj

Revolution

2009-06-07T19:29:00.005-04:00

Skyline Drive, VA
May 31- June 5, 2009

We are walking on the edge of circles whose centers are always shifting and whose turning leave us in stillness.

Rocky Top Overlook

JJJ slept here June 21, 1995

This year the St John bicycle group, the Pannier People, opted for a new venue. The Blue Ridge Parkway has birthed the route of umpteen trips of varying scope, but this year we agreed to go north. The Skyline Drive is an obvious choice as it extends from the Parkway near Waynesboro, VA, slicing through the Shenandoah National Park, and ends 105 miles north near Front Royal. Also of tremendous advantage, one of this year’s peddlers grew up in the area and graciously made all the necessary camping arrangements and led us into and through the two-lane wilderness.
The group of 10 converged from an distance of Columbia, SC to Philadelphia for departure directly after Sunday liturgy at Good Shepherd Lutheran in downtown Waynesboro.

Our leader, John HoffMeister Eckhart, aka ‘Moses’ seen here on the right is an unparalleled scholar of theology and as unassuming as a school bus driver. Whenever a need large or small arose, from tweaking my gear shifter to retrieving rider and broken bike ten miles from the trip’s end, he was always a step ahead. Those Israelites would have had a lot better luck getting to Canaan with John than that other guy.

The first day we peddled about 30 miles to Loft Mt. campground.

The ride was waterless and warm, mostly up hill it seemed,

but the ample shade and breeze at the numerous vistas helped me nurse my two hand-helds of water to a near draw with pleasant exhaustion.
Others pitched tents of sundry style, but I’m still exploring the qualities, limits and joys of tarp-dom.

After watering well, I got in a 3 mile run circling and looping through the campground, then cooked a pot of Kashi 7-grain for next breakfast and just snacked for evening meal. Everyone was tired and turned in with sundown or sooner.

A bright, crisp, mountaintop morning brought us to life just after sunrise. Everyone hit the road without much loitering except me. It was almost 7:30 before I headed down the steep campground road for the main route.

Ed, once again sported his vibrant tights for the cool morning, though he resisted the tempting comfort of the assisted living shoes he donned last year. As it turned out, he was the only one to see a bobcat that morning in pink tights. Ed’s somewhat brilliant novelty this year was to have a map of the Skyline cut into his own hair, depicting all the mountain gaps and overlooks. Pastor Frank is seen here quiet proud of and showing off the accomplishment on his first outing with hair clippers. It just shows you what can happen when talent and intelligence collide head-on.

The day’s 60-mile ride was bisected appropriately by a lunch stop at Big Meadows. Several of us whetted our appetites on sardines and Triscuits outside the camp store and grill as we waited on a quorum to roll in. Big Meadows is the premiere stop on the Drive -best food and facilities all around –even has a lodge and taproom which we’ll visit on the return. A dozen or so AT hikers were also resupplying here while we regrouped. Several of us enjoyed the grill’s Wild Turkey wrap polished off with blackberry cobbler and ice cream. The afternoon would have been a perfect one to waste on a full belly gazing over the large field of grass and fern, the does and frolicsome fawns. But, we had 30 miles to make into our next camp at Matthew’s Arm, and though the ride would not be too taxing, 2pm was as late as I dared to linger.

The afternoon ride had some fast and impressive downhill and overlooks. Almost equally impressive was the pair of young ladies on racing bikes pedaling up the mountain at about the same speed I was drifting down. As we were setting up for the evening at Matthew’s Arm, a few noticed a bear or two lurking in underbrush. We were especially careful to hang our food sacks and police the ground for bear-tempting treats. I kept a stout stick of firewood at hand under my tarp in case I awoke to something licking sardine sauce out of my beard. Thankfully the night was no more eventful than the constant bombarding of Gypsy Moth caterpillar poop pinging away on the tarp.

Not long after daybreak, I elected to do an early run and started walking up through the campground to warm-up. At the top of the hill, I came upon a trail and sign. I believe it said Overall Run Falls 2.0 miles, I knew it would be a tough climb back, but I decided to go with it. A broad generous fire road turned into a slightly overgrown and twisty, tight single-track. There were lots of blind curves. It was the last place I would have wanted to have a fender-bender with an ill-tempered momma bear stalled in the middle of the trail while scolding a pair of misbehaving cubs. Fortunately, I have better luck than my imagination warrants. The trail descended steeper and steeper. It turned into steps and final played out into a bare stone overlook. In the gorge, a fair-sized creek was twisting through a break in the rocks and spilling into an occluded basin about 100’ below. Midway, a large, bronze face-rock divided the falls left and right into brilliant sheaths of watery white hair. I felt I’d stumbled into a counsel of mountain elders –a people of stone from a time before the spirit became living flesh.

I climbed 2 miles out of the gorge with only a few places flat enough to run. I topped the hill and continued my jog down into camp. Just before making camp, about 25 yards over on the hill, was a young bear. He was maybe a year or two. By his slightly skewed posture it appeared he was taking a bear-whizz. He craned his neck around as far as it would stretch and watched me with fixed attention as I passed. My only other bear sighting occurred June 21, 1995 on a hot, hot Wednesday late afternoon at Brown’s Gap about 65 miles south of this spot. I was sitting beside the Drive playing a tune on a recorder when I heard a ponderous trundle in the brush behind me. About 25 yards into the woods was a large brown bear. It was arcing a path along the hill behind me. It eventually disappeared and when out of earshot, I double-timed it up the road. I had strapped onto my make-shift backpack several trays of day-old apple strudel and a large bunch of bananas from the town in the valley below. If this were the source of the bear’s interest, I wanted to put in some miles before crashing for the night. I never saw it again.

Moses stayed behind to help me adjust my chain. It had started to slip off into the spokes frequently when shifting to the lowest gear. After a few tries we hit on a fairly good tension if I shifted cautiously. He had arranged to meet a minister friend 20 miles away in Front Royal for lunch, so we had plenty of time. We stopped at several overlooks and talked about some scambling paths up some of the rockier crags he had done in years past. We were drifting down the road and he pointed out another young bear on the bank above the ditch. It was already trying to get out of sight, but I gave my bearhorn a little squeeze and scared the poor fellar. I felt kind of bad about that afterwards.

Following a hold on for all its worth 6-mile descent into Front Royal, we ate at a Subway and made our way around the north end of the south ridge of the Massenuttens and turned left up the valley through the hayfield heat of the afternoon. It looked like the 21st century and fair slice of the 20th hadn’t made to this beauty spot, which didn’t bother me at all. We were expected at a church camp for dinner, the evening, and breakfast. Once there, we took a dip in the lake before dinner which made me feel somewhat human again.

Several hours after dark, a thunderstorm hit and cooled things down to comfortable. I had time to squeeze in a 5 mile run before breakfast and we headed south up the mountain past FDR’s very first CCC facility.

From the top down into the Shenandoah Valley, it was another white-knuckle descent -crossing the river a few miles from Luray. The climb had burned through my breakfast like a field of dried broom sedge. Luckily, Uncle Buc’s on Main St. was still scrambling eggs. I had mine with a trout fillet, fried potatoes, and a biscuit. It was 4 miles out of town before the climbing proper began, then it was another 4 miles up to the Skyline, then it was another 10 miles of climb to the high point of… well you get the picture – a 40 mile day with several climbs.

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The second breakfast worked it’s magic and I made it to within a mile of the Skyline before I took a break for a bandana bath in a roadside spring.
Our evening rendez-vous was once again Big Meadows, this time from the north. We climbed without any real rush until some thunderheads began to bruise the sky here and there above the valley on both sides of the mountain. I stopped to swap my kilt for some running shorts as the rain was beginning to look certain. In the end we successfully dodged the rain as several of us rolled into Big Meadows together and gathered in the grill. But as the last two riders made it to through the doors, the sky opened –rain, hail, 50+ mph wind. There was a lull and it started again. This time, the lady in charge of the place came from her office and announced the county had been issued a tornado warning. It seems a funnel cloud or a microburst took out a trailer a few miles down the north side of the mountain in Stanley, but we saw no serious action on top. Tornadoes are very rare in the Virginia valleys and unheard of on mountaintops. I wasn’t too concerned but listened carefully anyways. The storm blew itself out in an hour or so. More high wind and rain was given for later in the night. Half of us, including me, elected to rent a couple of rooms, and the other half headed for the campground. After a couple of stouts at the taproom I turned in.

The weather was calm all night. I ran a couple miles down the road and back, enjoyed the luxury of a hot shower and hot breakfast the next morning. The fog was plenty thick and there was some talk that bicycles were being restricted from travel until it lifted. But someone said we had been given clearance to go and so we did. It was only a 30-mile day back to Loft Mt. The drizzle was generally light and no one had any close calls with the very sparse traffic, all of which seemed to be park work crews. I took several pictures and enjoyed the change in weather for the most part.

Bowman's Root

Shrouded Forest

Tulip Popular

[I]Sedum[/I] species

I call it Goat's Beard
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Different biking styles

I knew there was a laundry to dry out the dampness, so I didn’t fret much.

Years earlier, I had made it through here on foot, just on the front edge of the mother of all rainstorms for the Shenandoah National Park. In late June of 1995, specifically, the morning after I had seen the bear, the sky opened. I had slept along the highway, not knowing it was particularly illegal to do so along the Skyline. And the next morning a steady rain began to fall. I was walking the road and I joined up with some AT hikers doing the same. We were drowned after an hour or so and headed down to a ranger station where they said we could wait out the rain and maybe dry out a bit. The rain never let up. I talked to a ranger and told him I was from Abingdon. He said he knew one person from Abingdon. Frank, a Lutheran pastor, who was my pastor in fact at the time, the same one who now had taken to clipping maps into the hair of willing geographers though I believe he is yet to derive income from any such coiffure.

The ranger was very hospitable and offered to drive the soggy lot of us to the nearest trailhead not far from a shelter. I’m nearly hypothermic saved only by a heavy vinyl rain suit that held some heat. The shelter is packed, also a plus, and the lot of us wait out another day of rain –June 23, 1995, my 16 wedding anniversary. The clouds parted on Saturday and we all head north. At Swift Run Gap everyone but me continues on the AT. I head down the highway eastward off the mountain on toward D.C.

I told this story to John. It turns out his brother was a park ranger in those days and he and his brother were friends of the ranger who picked up the others and myself. He called up former ranger, Sean Greene, whose name I’d long forgotten and told him we were staying at Loft Mt. He arrived before dark, with a fresh strawberry pie. Yes, it was raining. He had difficulty in remembering me and I him of course, but we both remembered the storm of ’95.

(Sean is standing beside me, Moses is next)

The next day it rained us all the way back to the cars in Waynesboro. We had completed a 240 mile loop from a sunny Sunday afternoon to the following wet Friday. I had also completed a different sort of “wheels within wheels” revolution.

JJJ

Missing Tent Stake Throws Suspicion on Whitetop Corvid Gang.

2009-05-25T18:21:00.007-04:00

May 22-24, 2009
Buzzard Rock, AT

This past week I finally got the dragon oven far enough along to start building some small fires in it to “cure” it of lingering dampness. The clay inside was still surprisingly wet considering I applied it about 6 weeks earlier and had pulled out the sand mold 2-3 weeks ago. The firings were only 1-3 hours each and we did cook a chicken in a dutch oven, but nothing of a bread nature.

My main task has been to help Bonnie get few things ready around the house for a group of her lady friends who would be spending the weekend for their annual retreat. And since I had been politely asked to make myself scarce, the thought a weekend on a trail was really a little reward for me. At first I thought about paddling down S. Holston Lake and walking across the mountain to the Blue Hole, but my kayaking gear was not in order, so I decided on something more familiar for which prep was more of a second nature.

I’m trying to keep my little Go-Lite Lite-Speed pack more or less ready to go anytime. So really food and clothing are about all I have to customize for the weather and trip duration. My hiking shorts, kilt, a couple short-sleeved tech shirts and a l/s fleece, a pair of sandals and socks, and Five Fingers shoes seemed plenty adequate for Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday morning. There was a beautiful weekend forecast given for Whitetop, VA and I was determined to be there.

I usually like to experiment a little with camp cooking, but pressed for time, I just loaded a stuff sack with a packet of Kashi 7-grains, 3 apples, a couple of wraps and about 4 oz of cheese. Also, I mixed up half pound of an easy, impromptu gorp out of the family nut and dried fruit bowl. That sounded a little light on calories since I want to do 2 short runs on Saturday and about 5 miles sometime Sunday. But I had a pair of ProBars(375 cal each), a couple of espresso gels, and I thought I had some couscous and olive oil stored in my cooking kit. I didn’t really check, but since I was getting such a late start and there was really only 4 meals to cover, not including a chow-stop going and coming though Damascus, I didn’t worry about it.

Since next week is the some-teenth annual St John Bicycle Trip, I thought a little road test with a load wouldn’t hurt. So I bungied my pack onto the bike’s luggage carrier and headed over the hill to the Creeper Trail about 4:30pm. The day had been warm and pleasant with a nice little breeze from the east. Lots of folks were out on the trail getting a jump on a long spring weekend. Having replaced my warped back rim makes the 9 miles into Damascus well under an hour even with a 20lb pack in tow. I thought about skipping a chow stop at Fattie’s going out of town, but I had plenty of time, and the siren smell of burgers and fries was more than I could pass. They were doing a good business, but I compromised with a veggie quesadilla and a cold Dos Equis and was back on the trail in half an hour or so.

A few miles up, Big Rock Falls was still running seasonally heavy, but was down from prior weeks. The traffic has thinned, but a half mile latter a stout guy on a hungry looking mountain bike breezes past me from behind and says two more are following. Not 500’ around the next bend, I see he has stopped –probably to wait on his pals. When I pull up he said he had just scared a bear off the trail. It had disappeared over the stream bank into the laurel about 50 yds off into the woods. I’ve only seen one bear in the wild, but I wasn’t curious enough to follow this one, especially with the scent of fast food on me.

I hit the AT at Creek Junction and left the bike locked up at the provided rack. It was only 7:30, and knew I could do a few miles, but had no hopes of making 7 miles to Buzzard Rock before dark. My pack felt noticeably lighter than my trip last month, still, but that's not something to complain about. Its only about a mile and a half of easy trail up to the shelter on the flats of Lost Mountain but up is still "up" especially at the end of a day. There was still good daylight when I got there -a few tents around but no one in the shelter. A hiker directed me to the spring, which I wanted to check out for future running rambles. It was only 2.5 miles further to the SR-603 crossing. Last time I was there, was with Meltzer, his crew, Woodstock and PolkaDot, and Lone Wolf. LW had shown us the spring there, which I’d not scouted either. The twilight was almost deep enough to call dark, so I decided to camp at an easy spot rather than risk my quesadilla going flat on me half way up Beech Mountain. Campsites are not plentiful after the first mile and hard to find in the dark even with a headlight. I started pulling the innards out of my pack and discovered why it felt lighter -it was lighter –exactly one weekend food sack lighter. The last time I’d seen it was on my kitchen counter. That’s probably close to where it still was.

I wrapped one end of my tarp around a big healthy black walnut tree still in bloom and staked the other end down in the grass. I fell asleep counting the calories I had brought instead of sheep. I couldn’t make it much past 1000, before the sound of wind sweeping the treetops scrubbed my mind of all thought.

In the morning, I considered walking or jogging to Whitetop Grocery, but I couldn’t decide if it would be 3 miles or 6 miles each way. And of course I didn’t have a map –why spoil an adventure with a map -right? I could probably hitch a ride once I got to pavement, but was that 1 or 2 miles? Either way it sounded like too much of the day to waste on just a couple of thousand calories. So I fired up my alchy stove, cooked about ¾ cup of couscous and crumbled in some Probar, since there was no olive oil either.

In the past few years, I’ve been up and down Beech Mt enough to sort of know the trail. The first time, in late summer, I remember it as tough. The nettles were tall and sassy and acted like they hadn’t eaten bare leg of hiker in months. But every time since, it has gotten a little easier. Still, if the wild flowers don’t take your breath, the hill will. There are all the usually suspects blooming today: trillium, wood anemone, false solomon seal, jack-in-the-pulpit, yellow pimpernel, and white baneberry which I don’t see so often. Later in summer it appears turk’s cap lilies and angelica will be the main fireworks.

But today, it was the young nettles that were looking vulnerable and tasty to me. My grandmother said she’d eaten them. I might have picked a mess had I some butter and vinegar to tame them after a parboiling. Within an hour and a half I’d made it to the rock and along the way, munched on enough violet’s leaf and flower to squelch an appetite. The sun and wind had made short work of a thin haze of fog leaving the shamrock green valleys and hills for easy view 30 miles into the edge of blueness. With not a lot on my agenda for the day, or enough fuel anyways, I meander around Buzzard Rock. I found the Buzzard benchmark (set in 1979 and checked in 1991), talked to several hikers, some sectioning, some thrus. Most were thrilled with the view, as the spring has been extra moist and the mountain tops fog prone. I found an unbelievably good camping spot down near the eastern edge of the knoll. By some physics of wind and rock there was a dead spot in the draft though the place appears exposed. A pair of towhees took slight offense at my presence and left without being sociable, as did a pair of ravens tacking into the nippy east wind.

After the rest, I thought I might as well head on over to the spring on other corner of Whitetop’s south face. It’s an easy mile’s walk through a gnarled low woods. There was a group of half dozen strapping young men watering at the gushing piped spring. They had been shuttled up to Fox Creek to head southbound for Damascus. Sounded like they had had a little more climb and rocks than they had bargained for but were enjoying the trip. We were talking about camp spots, hiking stuff and I said something like, “Back in ’79, some friends drop my new bride and me off over at Elk Garden and we….blah…blah…blah......blah...blah....blah”. They were quiet for a few seconds and one of them finally said, “Man, how old are you anyway?” I wished them luck and told them to check out Fattie’s Diner when they made it town.

By now I felt like getting in my running allotment of three miles for the morning, so I stashed my pack down in a little beech thick and headed down the FS road. The Garmin said it was only 1.82 miles from the gate to pavement, but I remembered it more like 2.5. But continuing with a left turn, 3 miles total put me just shy of the AT crossing at Elk Garden parking. After a short rest, I walked the AT back up to the spring, got my pack and, headed back over to the Rock for the remainder of the afternoon.

Lounging around, nibbling on a Probar, did nothing to replenish my energy so I nixed a second run. I watched several family groups that made the trip from the parking lot near the mountain top down to the rock and back, most of the distance hikers seemed to have made it through in the morning. I pitched the tarp as a single-plane slab with about 18” of headspace in the quiet spot I'd found and enjoyed the sun, rest, and view. Even the significant fly-buzz had a certain idyllic charm.

My belly made it to 5:30 before firing up the stove, but just barely. At least I had my spice rack with me, so I doused the final cup of couscous liberally with curry, a little salt, and a couple of bird’s eye peppers to keep me warm for the evening. It was more than delicious -it was almost pyrotechnic.

The rest of the afternoon slid slowly under waves of fog drifting from the east, easing down the mountain’s top into my little apse at the south end of the meadow. I expected a clammy coolness to come with it, but with the evenings laying by of the wind, the temperature and dryness held up well. I fell into an easy restful sleep, and except for some minor tussles between the tarp and the wind, heard nothing until an hour or so before dawn.

It sounded as if someone was driving a tent stake into the ground just down the hill from me. As strange as that may be before dawn, it seemed even more odd since there were really only rocks below me –not much of a place to camp except for penitents. But I heard a distinct metallic pounding in a few series of 3 or 4 strike and fairly close by as plain as day -even though it was night. When daylight was barely certain, I crawled out to investigate my new neighbors, though I was pretty sure I mistaken, but still it was worth a check. It sure enough sounded like some one or something hitting a tent stake with a rock, but no one was there.

I ate my last tiny morsel of real food and decided to dole out the espresso gels on the trail as needed. Being in hunger, I was getting an earlier start today. As I got ready to take down the tarp, I noticed one of the loops had pulled off its stake. Before taking down the rest of the tarp, I pulled the empty loop over every possible place it could reach and still couldn’t find a thing. I scoured the ground with eyes, fingers and toes, several times, and couldn’t turn up the errant stake. Suddenly, it became obvious to me that it was stolen.

At first I thought the towhees were the culprits. But a towhee is not much larger than a tent stake, and neither of the two I saw looked particularly strong. Perhaps the wind had loosened the stake and the two of them together, one on each end, had gotten it to the edge of the bluff and dropped it over. Even that seemed somewhat far-fetched for a pair of malicious towhees. The pair I’d seen were not especially friendly but nothing really suggested malicious.

Corvids. Crows, ravens, and some of their kin are decided pranksters in legend if not fact. They are big enough to carry a tent stake unassisted, attracted to shiny objects, and ravens were seen, by me, were in the vicinity only hours earlier. In Virginia, with a soured jury, that much evidence could land you in the pen with a long sentence. So, suspicion falls on the Whitetop Corvid Gang.

I lamented my lose, but was too hunger to file a complaint with the Audubon Society or whoever would have jurisdiction in such a matter. As I headed off the mountain the fog began to lift along with my spirit. It was only seven miles back to my bike and then only 45 minutes to the nearest hot skillet for hire. I walked the few up hills, the technical patches, and some of the flat, but had a good 5 miles or more of easy downhill jogging mingled in. When I got to the bike I washed off in the creek, took the coffee gel, and I was in Damascus eating scrambled eggs, quicker than a raven could fence a hot tent stake.

So, keep an eye on your tent stakes when you're camping at Buzzard Rock.
jjj
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Breadzilla's First Fire

2009-05-18T22:49:00.003-04:00

We've had a good bit of wet weather that kept the dragon cloaked, but today was nice enough to add some more structure to the head. Having cleaned out the sand mold weeks ago, you would have thought the inside to be drier, but the clay was still very plastic.

We decided to risk a small fire to help move things along. At one point the paper mold in the chimney caught fire and made for a little fire-breathing drama.

There's still some detail sculpturally that I want to add, but after few more small fires, we may try a full firing and cook something -hopefully before the weekend

jjj
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Barefoot in Paradise

2009-05-03T09:00:00.005-04:00

With all system pointing toward go on the running front, recently a fellow runner just so happened to post an article on barefoot running. One theory has it that modern running shoes contribute to a large portion of running injuries on account that the shoes don't allow the feet and the attendant leg muscles to develop adequate strength due to excessive cushioning. Well maybe not everyone, but maybe I'm amongst the unlucky several. I'm reminded of Douglas Adam's, "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" bit on the planet Brontital where civilization collapsed when it reached "the shoe event horizon". ALL commerce was engaged in the production, buying, and selling of shoes. Shoes that were so poorly made that ultimately they made it impossible for people to walk. Gradually people evolved into feet-less birds and never touched the earth again. It did occur to me the other day, that it if the ultimate aim of evolution-civilization- or whatever is to immobilize a populace in front of passive entertainment, having instantaneous communications and within 30 minute delivery distance of a multi-national pizza manufacturer, then WE, in America, have nearly reached the ultimate, the pinnacle, of space, time and all that exists. It' a vicious spiral toward happy, well-fed entropy.

I bought a pair of Five Finger Vibrams a year ago, but never took the plunge and patience to re-train and adapt my feet to the minimalist approach. Then came the need to mix lots of cob for the bread oven a month ago. The Vibrams were perfect foot-gloves for tromping the mire. It helped with adaptation too. So with mileage for April barely above zero, I thought I'd re-try the "barefoot" approach as I rebuild my running regime -at least for a while.

Last Monday I started with half mile and have added a quarter mile to the distance everyday since. I always walk a half mile or more before the run. Due to lightness of foot or general freshness, I've ran a bit faster than I generally would. A day or two ago I noticed excessive tightness and soreness in the calves about the time I noticed my foot strike more toward the fore than the heel which is encouraging. With evolution some pain is expected, but finding the balance hurts.

Yesterday, with some of the soreness and much of the tightness gone I biked up to the AT where it turns up the Cuckoo just past Damascus. I had the pleasure of chatting with a backpacker as we hiked to the top. For casual biking, the Five Fingers are fine if you stay on your forefoot instead of your arch. Hiking was also no problem as I wasn't packing any weight. But I admit I did stumble a couple of times on rocks for no apparent reason.

As I turned back down, and finding a lot good trail bed, the experience of running barefoot in paradise was just shy of ecstasy. The near silence of the foot strike and that toe-to-soil connection awakens primal, non-linear consciousness daring words to defile. Even the brief uphills "wanted" to be run.

But there were rocks too, in places -the hard, sharp kind. Once my feet were blind, but now they could see. With some practice their sight will improve I'm sure, but you have to take some time in rocks that a shoe might not. Still, the extra stimulation after I finished was not painful and though I can still fell a little tingle this morning, it's not a bruised, achy feel.

After I rode home, taking a few flower photos along the way, I started on the dragon head for the oven. I found a good mix of the gold and red clay that was of a firm and supple body and begged for modeling. Again I'm poking in bamboo twigs as I go to reinforce.

I hope all this works.

Galleria

(couldn't resist tweaking this one. In flowers, I see stars, galaxies, and the wholeness of the cosmos)

jjj
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Imaginary Places

2009-04-19T21:02:00.010-04:00

I like to explore boundaries and places that cause imagination.

I'm really not a experienced backpacker, but I've been keeping alive this little ember to do a thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail since 1973. Over the years, I've gone out and packed a few miles with Bonnie and our children . Once, I walked across VA, but that's not a backpacking story. Bonnie and I took our honeymoon backpacking on the AT in the Grayson Highlands. It was a blessed 4 days, but distance-wise, it was only about 12 miles and for 4 of those we were lost. But in the attic I've got camping and backpacking gear dating back to my boy scout era that's too well preserved for it's age.

29 years and a trail running hobby later, I kind of got the AT bug rekindled when I met up with Karl Meltzer, an ultra runner from out west who is strong at the 100 mile distance, and his crew on a southbound AT speed record attempt last summer. I'd like to do it fast hike, but not 47 days-fast. For most thru-hikers, it takes 5-6 months to cover the 2100+ miles carrying a 30lb plus pack and re-supplying every 3-5 days. Karl's crew assisting him to the extent that he could focus solely on covering the 46 miles per day. He only missed the record by about 10 days -flooding and injury in the early part of trip set him back. Plus Maine I hear, is a tough place to break into multi-day adventures.

After reading some of the Runner vs Hiker online controversy surrounding Karl, I started to educate myself about how to "hike right" for mere mortals -like not carrying cast iron cookware, how to make an alcohol cook stove from litter, are hiking boots obsolete, do you really need a tent, does Dr. Bonner's peppermint soap make a good toothpaste as the label indicates --that sort of thing. It seems a natural thing that a trail runner and a trail hiker would have lots in common having feet as a common boundary, but it seems a lot of dedicated hikers are often perplexed and even mifted that someone might use their trail for more than merely walking.

Since my running has been truncated dramatically, most recently with a pulled piriformis muscle, I decided with it being nearly healed to cross the Runner-Hiker Divide to the hiking side this past weekend. Using topo maps, I plotted out a course from my front door over toward North Carolina through the tip of Tennessee. It was ambitious mileage and the route was completely trail free in a few places. Then the day before, I came down with head cold symptoms and was't feeling so great. But there would be several options along the way for cutting the trip short if needed.

It was Friday morning before I started really packing, and I felt well enough to give it a start. By noon I was on a beeline toward the AT and very soon snagged a pair of morels to add some wild to my diet along the way.

Since starting late, I didn't want to stand around "magic eye-ing" the ground for mushrooms, but kept my regular eyes to the ground and headed up Sweet Hollow Rd. Turning left onto Government Rd, I crossed one big hill and turned up an old logging road at Sharp Branch. My orthonics seem to let my feet "slip" in my shoe just enough for some hot spots to develop, but I sat down on a rock, taped them before the trouble turned bad, and had no further problems. The last trip up this way, I followed the logging road but went too far and it played out too low on the mountain and brushy, so today I turned straight up a sharp ridge line. There was only a mile to the top, but 20% grade, black flies and saw briers to slow things down.

Taking the AT from the top, I head north about 2 miles and drop off the other side down to Backbone Rock. Most of the Iron Mt gang has done this trail a few times, but it's new to me. There are several very steep places but there were some good bench portions on the ridge too. I walked across Backbone Rock, down into a picnic area and cooled my feet in the stream. It was getting on up in the afternoon and I wanted to get to the spring on top of Iron Mt and camp at Shingletown Gap. As soon as I started back up the next logging road, there were bulldozer tracks. It looked like someone had tried to fix the rutted out switchbacks. They left plenty of loose rock to twist runner ankles, but climbing was not to bad. I made it to the top by 7pm, pumped a couple of litres, and pitched my tarp. Daylight was fading fast along with me. Field testing my new alcohol stove was a success. I had cut bottoms off two aluminum drink cans, then forced them together with a cotton ball inside. I drilled about 12- 1/16" holes around the top lip and few in the indented top to accept fuel. Denatured alcohol is the best fuel, I carried about 6oz for the trip. You set the stove in another slightly larger can bottom that is much shallower. When you fuel up the stove you pour a little in this primer pan then light it. The prime pan brings the alcohol in the stove to a boil and pressurizes it. Then the jets self-light and you're ready to cook. It boiled a cup or so of water in about 5 minutes. I dumped in an equal volume of couscous with a little oil, and wrapped it in my homemade pot cozy -layers of canvas with aluminum foil sewn onto it. While that cooked I fried one of my mushroom and scrambled an egg with it. I mixed it with the couscous and seasoned with curry. It was tasty. As usual, I forgot to bring a spoon or fork, but the woods are full of chopsticks.

It was so quiet up there you could almost hear the sunset, but off in the distant, a barred owl began to sing. I built a small fire to smoke down the black flies and to keep me company. It wasn't too cold, maybe 45°, but I usually have a hard time sleeping the first night out, plus I was fighting a carppy head cold. I woke to one of the most intense 3 second dreams I can remember. All of the sudden Jecholia lifts a flap of the tarp and sticks her head inside and shouts "DAD!!!" Everything is twilight gray except she's wearing an intense red, velvet cap like a bishop and there's snow on it. I couldn't imagine how she found me, but she seemed to be trying to tell me about some emergency situation. I woke up, -to no emergency thankfully.

I packed, ate cold, and was walking by 8:15. I meet and talked to a turkey hunter right at Shingletown Gap. and headed down toward Laurel Bloomery, TN. The logging road is rocky and steep but you could probably manage with a 4WD. It hits pavement in a half mile. I turned east, but missed my turn down to Hwy 91 and ended up adding about a mile to my walk. But, I found a found a piped spring, and the luxury of no filtering might have been worth it. After three tries at finding a 3 litre water skin that doesn't leak, I think the MSR brand is going to work. I stopped in the A to Z Market and had a couple of egg biscuits and orange juice. They had dog food, cat food, feed blocks for cattle, fuel additives for cars, and a picture of Gentry Creek Falls which is where I was headed next.

It was an easy walk through the valley community toward the NC border. I picked some wild broccoli to munch on later, saw a very interesting rock formation,

and a Balm of Gilead tree which are not so common around here any more. After about 2 miles of pavement the road turns to dirt at a trail head that permits horse traffic and takes you up along the top of Rogers Ridge. I headed about another mile and a half to a second trail head for Gentry Creek Falls. There were some cars here and it was a great day for a spring-is-here type hike. The trail was blue blazed and an easy stroll, cris-crossing the creek on log bridges, and some times with a shin deep wade. I saw an new plant,

that I can't identify with my old Peterson guide. It's not a striking plant, but something is odd about it. I caught up to a hiking group from Boone, NC and meet another pair of gents coming back down. The last quarter mile was a little more difficult than than the prior 2 miles. Waterfalls and cascades have always been interesting boundaries to explore. This one was well worth the effort.

I had time for a shower before the group showed up, and I followed them around a break up to the second falls.

They headed back down, but my goal for the day was to crest out above the creek source on top of the ridge near the NC Corner. I climbed around the upper falls beyond the blazes -still there was a very old logging road through a large open woods. This area was big an wild, but after a long half mile the rhododendrons got the better of the trail. I waded the creek. It finally got the better of the creek too, so I started up the inner face of Rogers Ridge. It just a little ways thet I hit a trail again. I t was headed up the ridge but back down the creek. I took my chance back down on the creek with another half mile of bushwhacking before I yielded the gorge to its tangled green sentential for good.

From the creek to the ridge line was only about a half mile up with a 500' climb, but pinned most of the way between the rocks and the brush with 25 pounds on the back makes it more challenging. Every foot placement has to be considered and even a few steps ahead -sort like playing multi dimensional chess with rocks, trees and gravity. I was none to happy to make it to the horse trail at a place where it dipped off the ridge line in my favor.

I followed the road to the top of a small bald. There was some ATV traffic which surprised me. The weather and view was too good to leave so I camped just off the top out of some of the wind. There were lots of black flies, but luckily, they didn't seem hungry. I was exhausted. I cooked and ate, and crawled into my bag before sunset. I felt worse, but finally had a good long sleep after my feet warmed up.

The next morning I still wasn't so chipper, but was packed, and walking before 7:30. 16 miles the first day, 13 the day before, had a few new muscles mildly sore, but I was just out of steam mostly. The ATV trail took me down to the NC Corner which I'd wanted to see since I've made collecting these dilly-dallies a photographic hobby. VA and TN meets up with the northwest corner of NC.

The die man had his "O" in "CORNER" turned sideways when he punched it the first time - a very well preserved typo. After walking a little ways into a Christmas tree farm, I headed down into the Big Horse Creek system. There was some more bushwhacking, some good deer trail contours to follow and ATV trails along the creek through some swampy area. About 2 miles before Whitetop Station, I picked up a graveled state road through more Christmas tree farms. Once at the Station I knew a bicycle hauler would taxi me back at least to Damascus, but I lucked out and the next one through was from Abingdon. He swung by Alvarado Station and dropped me off leaving only a two mile walk home. 36 miles of walking and my own cooking took about 5 lbs off and me to some new imaginary places.
JJJ
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Insulation and Sculpture 101

2009-04-14T15:29:00.008-04:00

But first, how about a few flowers to get things rolling?

Christmas Rose, Helleborus niger, I believe it crossed with my H. orientalis
because it's white.

Virginia Cowslip or Bluebells

Bleeding Hearts

Now the dirty work
I got a little impatient and started trimming on my chimney before it was firm enough. Results - it collapsed. So I rebuilt it. This time I made the outer opening larger. I had some bamboo get knocked down over the winter so maybe I could use that for a door. Here's a preliminary.

It will need a piece of sheet metal on the back side and some draft control built in.

Its time to insulate the oven core with a cob mixture using lots of perilite in the mixture. Some straw is used for additional strength. I like to soak the perilite because it keeps the mixture wet for easier treading. I mix with my feet. Those Vibram Five Finger KSO shoes are excellent for tromping the cob.

When the mixture seems about right ingredient-wise, I stiffen and dry it out by adding a little dry perilite at the end. That stuff really sucks up water. I also have been adding some bamboo twigs for reinforcement

The insulation mix is easy to work with but its mush less dense. I'm adding a round or two at a time and letting it firm-up overnight before continuing.
Also, I'm gradually bringing the chimney height up, but there's lots of straw in that mixture.
The stripe down the middle is the critter's backbone with some bamboo re-bar for extending the sculpture higher than the insulation layer.

I never did any sculpture to speak of, so this is all new to me. Bonnie did ceramics in college and for several years after. She mainly threw things on the wheel. She has answered many, many questions about clay and forming.

I haven't had this much fun since Play Doh.
jjj
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Phase 3

2009-04-09T16:25:00.003-04:00

In preparation for the chimney, Bonnie and I made a support structure of bamboo and paper mache. There's lots of ways to cobble a support together, I just thought it'd be fun to give this a try. A chimney is not essential for the oven, but it fits my overall plans. This height will be trimmed down considerably in the end.

These cracks keep appearing and I keep filling and patching. The oven wall is approaching leather-hardness. The cracks worry me. I think I'll go ahead and start covering it with the perilite-cob insulation mix. This will allow the inner wall to dry more slowly, and perhaps crack less.

The chimney is essential the roof to a little vestiblue to the oven. Once you have a fire going in the oven you seal the outer door until the fire goes out and the oven is hot enough. You rake out the coals and ash, load the loaves and seal the inner door until they are done.

As I get closer to the top of the arch, I insert some bamboo reinforcement. The high-hay content of this mix also add lots of stabilty while building.

This is about as high as I dare go today due to the weight stress on the top of the arch. I'll have to insert bamboo sticks to shift some of the force to the outer walls of the arch and to add general strenght to the structure. Also I'll need to fine tune the shape of the entrance as drys and stabilizes, cut away the chimney building supports, and make a door for it. Soon, I'm going to need to start on a permanent roofed structure to keep it more or less dry. I mixed some test batches using the perilite. Interesting substance.

jjj
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Once More Until 8

2009-04-05T20:59:00.004-04:00

I woke up in some gas station parking lot in some Carolina. I could tell because the gas station was situated between a Bojangle’s Chicken ‘n Biscuit and a Waffle House. I figured it was the North one because the sky was that familiar athletic baby blue with pendulous pom-pom clouds jiggled over a piedmont. But just then, in my darkened state there came a persistent, tapping –a rap tap tapping on my auto door rousing me from some dreamy shore where I no doubt had unconsciously pondered where or when I might run once more. But it was just a newsboy peddling his pulpy ware -that and nothing more.

I rolled down the window to verbally dispense the sun-bronzed youth but he immediately stuffed his newsprint in my car, without request of monetary exchange, and jogged away pushing a baby stroller loaded with more newspapers and necessary articles of daily life related to –food, clothing, and shelter. With a slumber impeded curiosity I unrolled the fold and read, “The Ultra Running Inquirer –a rag about long distance running and other inquisitions.” The headlines were, “A Fast Field Takes to the Woods at Umstead”. The article goes on to describe a popular but 100 mile footrace somewhere in North Carolina. Apparently, the race was on-going as results were partial. It described the overall winner as a stocky, but well muscled young man, who ran as if chased by a legion of demons for over 15 hours and 5 minutes. Aid station volunteers soon learned to clear his path to the water cooler when his contagious terror sweep into the facilities at headquarters on the conclusion of each of 8 12.5 mile loops. He hobbled one pacer on the hard packed dirt roads in his penultimate lap, but another sacrifice was soon found.

One of several noted and notable performances included a highly focused and deft runner making his debut to the distance, Skip from Arizona, New York. He and the many others braved the possiblities, of heat prostration, dust storms, sleep deprivation, endorphine induced hysteria, electolyte imbalances, gastro-intestinal Armageddon, hallucinations, abduction by aliens, zombies, bears, the Second Coming, weird new diets, and general loopiness in order to complete the distance in less than a whole day. His laser-focused attention and machine like execution of his pre-race plan yielded superb results as he can be seen here receiving a special new buckle for his belt from a racey official for going to all the trouble of running a hundred miles all at once with all that that entails.

Rick Gray, virturally undaunted from this years Frosty 50k, Holiday Lake 50K++, The Uwharrie 40, The Mt Mitchell Challenge under less than ideal conditions, Terrapin 50K, and some customized training runs, finished 21:11, just barely off last years blistering 20:48 first showing at the Umstead 100. His beloved crew and soul mate, Tammy, was just barely less than pleased at be drafted into pacing her runner the finally two laps startng sometime before midnight. "It was almost a marathon of love", she professed but admitted that her consort dry-heaved a good bit of the way.

Rick is now prepared to get down to the business of serious running for the Massenutten 100 after a Promise Lank 50K warmup if he has the good fortune to make it off the waiting list. Those close to sources at Massenutten report that all the rocks are being removed from the race course (in fact the entire mountain!) this year and being replaced by one single rock of geo-megalithic proportions. There will be no course markings -only waystation checkpoints. Participants will be issued a chisel and a 5# hammer and be allowed to select their own way. Hopfully, the weather will be just as nice as last year.

Iron Mt friend, Doug Dawkins, tanned and trans-continental, trek-savvy from his Atlantic to Pacific jaunt late last year, was present and attended to runner's needs at headquarter's aid station offering intriguing stories about the trip and its mind boggling logistics.

I perused the remainder of the paper, but found nothing quiet so interesting with the possible exception of an article about how zombies have sometimes taken over the bodies of ultrarunners in the wee hours of nighttime events. And an article on the superior merits of duct tape over Vaseline and why some runners use both.

It was nearing 8:30am, the mountains were within sight, I started my car, and finished my journey home.

jjj
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The Core

2009-04-01T21:04:00.003-04:00

Friday, before I headed out to the races, I got down to the nitty-and very gritty but fun part of the building process --applying the oven liner.
Of course I've never done this, so I'm just trying to follow direction from the book, Build your Own Earth Oven.
The oven liner holds both the fire and the loaves, just not at the same time.
A fire is maintained for a few hours inside the oven to heat it up, the fire/ashes is swept out,
the oven loaded with the risen dough, sealed, then you have bread.
Simple supposedly. The clay mixture for this step is just clay, sand and water -mixed by foot.

Most of my local clay has sand in it naturally, but I add almost an equal part of common mason sand.
Adding water to produce the best building texture is a matter of experience --stiffer is more self-supporting, wetter makes few voids on the inner surface.
Its a balancing act, trowel and error I guess you could say .
I basically just applied double-handfuls at a time similar to the way a mason would lay brick, smoothing it as I go,

trying to keep a consistent wall thickness as the rings of clay build to the top.

Once the mold is covered, I fined tuned the shape to as much as possible and cover it from the elements with a tarp -rain and wind especially.

When I got back from Terrapin Mt, some cracks had formed. Maybe some can't be avoided, but these seemed bigger than I was comfortable with.
So after 2 more days for the clay to firm up, I mixed a thin, slip, almost a paint of clay and water, and forced it into the cracks.
With a wet trowel I smacked and smoothed the surface to "heal it".

At this point I could wait a week or two until this structure is leather hard and do some preliminary firings to finish drying the oven
and even cook some bread. But I feel the remaining layers of insulation and sculpture will bond better to this level of wetness.
Again, I'm just feeling my way around. I've started doing a little base-level sculpting along the sub-floor layer.

After all, every oven needs a tale.

Next step, I think I'll tackle the chimney, and look for some perilite for insulation.

jjj

Silver Lining - Terrapin Mt Half and VA Creeper Marathon Redux Part B

2009-03-31T13:09:00.001-04:00

The ride home was uneventful until about 40 miles out when a sudden gust of wind gave me a good tussle on the interstate. There was no rain, just a violent, pneumatic smack in the face. I remembered tomorrow’s forecast, WINDY, and thought maybe this front will blow itself out by tomorrow and we’ll have a lamb inspired ending to this lion initiated March. As I rolled into my driveway I noticed lots of branches, twigs and such have comedown and the front porch chimes are shredding with chaotic fury. The wind has blown the cover off the mud oven I’m building –cracks have begun to appear, reminded my of my winter training log.

After dinner, I thought I’d go pick up my race packet at the Days Inn so I could just bike up to the starting line and not have to check-in and shuttle, plus it would be a good 4 mile warmup. I bumped into Hrseez and her crew from Richmond in the parking lot, 4 of the 5 were running tomorrow. I headed back to the house and slept the night like another log.

I woke two hours early already mostly packed, had some juice. I felt pretty good, no worse than last year. It was 50° and there was some wind but no rain. Since I live only .4 of mile from the Creeper, I hopped on the bike and headed over to my trail access ramp. As I started riding up the trail, I felt something was missing. It wasn’t clothing or water bottle, watch, race number or anything like that. It was more nebulous, measureable, but not so. Like maybe Energy. I wasn’t tired or particularly sore. It’s just when I pressed on the pedal, there was no gas. My perk was kaput. My pizazz was perforated. My participles had been parched. My peacock was plumeless. My piper was unpaid. It occurred to me that this might be a tough day, but I pedaled forth, perturbed but hoping that a short ride might cause my inner kindling to catch.

I rolled into the starting area at the Watuagua Rd. crossing which was quickly filling with runners, volunteers, and sundry fanatics. I was just looking for a parking spot when…JENSPARKS!!! our beloved VRAA director tags me with a greet. Jen has traveled all the way from Boston with hubby, Chris, and two runner firends, Amy and Matt, just to run our little marathon of 100. Even though I have nothing to claim in helping with the event, its humbling to know that quiet a significant portion of the runners travel from a distance to run in my backyard. Maybe it’s the RD’s bad jokes, or the homemade cookies, or the dauntless volunteers, the curvaceous trestles, the cows and crows, the cliffs of karst, the confluence of rivers, the languorous hills, the characteristically poor weather, or just the green, but people by and large tend to enjoy this trail and its string of annual marathons. Just as Jen did, send in your $10 entrance fee before the date is announced to reserve your spot at the starting line next year.

Chris makes a group photo and I introduce them to Annette, our localish ultra-goddess from across the state line in Jefferson, NC, the other terminus of the VC when it is was just a railroad. She’s an extraordinary racer, but claims this is a warm-up for American River next weekend. I’m checking the crowd but not seeing Kevin, who ran the 50K at Terrapin yesterday, as he typically runs this marathon. He could probably start half hour late and finish 45 mins in front of me --well, at least he has in the past. But we have a late start and Kevin makes it with a few minutes to spare. Hrseez and her Richmond crew are present, and off we go.

I have developed a little bit of crowd-energy whilst chattering but after two miles of out and back on the pavement I’m already feeling more spent than spry. A water break and stretch helps and some down hill on dirt gets me settled in a groove before the first 2 mile climb. I know a 100’ per mile doesn’t register on some peoples hill scale, but it is on mine today. I tried to get halfway comfortable with a 10/2 run-walk scheme. On the way back from the into-town-leg, I developed some gut pain that was happily relieved in one of those fancy plastic outhouses at headquarters.

Since it was more or less 4 down hill miles to the turn around at mile 13.5, I fell prey to gravitational arrogance and let my pace try to cheat Newtonian physics. I stopped at the 11 mile aid station worked by Beth and others. I had some cookies that tasted pretty good. A lady asked me if I was a Civil War re-enactor. Maybe it was the beard, the accent, or the kilt –something just looked old about me. I said, “No, but maybe a Civil War relic.”

Beth said she’d me again in 5 miles. Before then, I would start to feel like a relic. I crossed the half split at close to PR pace, but I’d had over 7 miles of favorable grade that were about to turn on me like hungry wolves. I struggled back to Beth’s aid station where she incited me to do the newly obligatory, Iron Mt. leprechaun kick. I was game, but nearly got my left foot hung in my right sock. I’ve never been known for grace.

Hitting the Wall is bad enough, but when is falls on you, you’ve got problems. At 3 hours and mile 16, I could still do math, but only if involved zeros, ones, and maybe twos and fives, but complex numbers such as 3 and 7 were out of the question. My feet usually complain the most after about 12 miles, but I taped the arches and they are holding there own, it’s just that everything else in general wasn’t.

It was almost 2 miles to the top of the hill, I took some IBU for general inflammation, and Fig Newtons for their obvious Newtonian effects –energy in equals energy out. Still I was afraid I’d end up a few Fig Newtons shy of a marathon. With a great bust of mental energy, I calculated I could walk-in the 10 miles in another 3 hours if an over zealous undertaker didn’t claim me along the way. I walked 30 minutes solid and made it to the top of the hill. By then my F. Newtons and/or IBU had started to kick-in but running was difficult for more than half a mile at a time. It was a cardio/energy problem pure and simple.

I stretched at every trestle and park bench trying to wring the last bit of energy out of my rancid baloney legs. Hrseez was pacing her friend to her first marathon who was also having a tough time. But we finished, on a tough day for finishing. Kevin easily sub-4ed as his legs were no doubt well warmed up after 7500’ of gain/lose in his 31+ miles yesterday. Jen, just barely…well I’ll let her say. I snagged my second slowest marathon time in 5:41:41 or seventh fastest, depending on how you look at it. Annette and Amy finished first and second women. Congratulations you guys and all who braved wind and weather to do the distance. And a special thanks to the volunteers who cheered wildly and kept us fed and watered.

Hrseez’s crew invited me to warm up in their van before I headed home. They all headed out of town afterwards, but Jen and her crew, Bonnie and I meet for post race chow at Bella’s later on and had a wonderful visit. No matter how difficult the course, the distance, or the weather, it’s always great to make new running friends. No matter how thick the clouds, that’s the silver lining you can count on.

Hrseez and Sk8dog, Kevin, unless I come to my senses, I’ll see you at Promise Land.

Jen’s posting pictures I hope. My camera ran out of energy before the start.

JJJ

Silver Lining - Terrapin Mt Half and VA Creeper Marathon Redux Part A

2009-03-30T13:38:00.011-04:00

It was a cloudy weekend.

It’s has been a cloudy winter too. We’ve had average or maybe better precipitation for the past few months, and of course the clouds that go with. My training has also been cloudy for the past winter with time off for injury repair. I find it easier to discipline myself to a running schedule than an injury rehab schedule. But, I’m beginning to get religion on the importance of a thoughtful, proactive, scheduled approach to rehab. It’s just been a long time coming, and suspect some backslidin’ on my part may occur before I feel as able and free as a junco flitting through mountain laurel.

Last year Clark Zealand resurrected an old Horton race on Terrapin Mt. at the eastern edge of the Blue Ridge Mountains north of Bedford, VA. Both this year and last I chose the half marathon option. Last year I had developed a decent mileage base as I was just starting to break into the 50k distance at the back of the pack. This was to be paired with my backyard marathon the following day as pair of training runs to get ready for the Promise Land 50K about a month later. That’s pretty much my intention this year but I’m suffering from a lack of mileage.

Terrapin Mt overlooks part of the PL course and this makes an excellent warm up -–3200’ of gain/loss in 13.1 miles, steep, technical climbs and descents, creek crossings, and every bit the beauty only a little younger in the season. Last year, I ran the course with plenty of recent mileage under my belt, but slower (3:04:34) than I’d hoped. This year, same course, similar temperatures I felt fresher starting, but concerned about my endurance.

On Friday afternoon, I drove three hours plus in a heavy spring rain to arrive for check-in at the Sedalia Community Center just after 6pm. I chose the camping option again but wasn’t too thrilled about setting up tent in a cold rain. Some people had set up under the pavilion,and I was considering just sleeping in the back of the Trooper. Fortunately, the rain relented before dark and the temps started to improve so I pitched my tent on the wood chips in the edge of the playground. I was warm and comfortable before the rain started back up.

I slept like a log, woke at 5 for a 7am start, feeling good. The rain had stopped in the night and the temperature was just under 50. Several of the Iron Mt crew slept in town and were happy to see a better forecast and conditions than we ran in at the Black Mt – Mt Mitchell event(fiasco?) last month.

L to R: Eric, Robin, Dennis, Tammy, Rick, JJJ, Beth, Kevin, and Ann

I also got to meet a new Kickrunner, Hrseez, whom I will be running with at a couple more races in the near future.

I took the time to do a brief warm-up, just a quarter mile and then stretch. This has been very helpful on my training runs. At 7am the gong is struck and the 200+ runner combination of 50K and half marathoners strike up the hardtop road for the mountains. I try to strike a balance between a warm-up pace and making good time on an easy running surface. We turn off the pavement and on to gravel. At one mile, I stop and stretch for about a minute. At about 1.5 miles the gravel turns into fair sized loose and embedded rock and the grade picks up a good bit too. At two miles, again I take a brief stretch, and continue to hopscotch my way up the masochistic playground.

We take a hard right across a stream, nearly roll my ankle and almost go down before emerging onto a good single track that takes us up about a mile to the first aid at Camping Gap. Camping Gap is also Hellgate’s third aid station where I volunteered last December. The 50K splits down the north side of the mountain and the rest of us continue eastward up Terrapin on some steep but scenic single track through a laurel thicket.

If you’re an ultra runner or a hillbilly, this is the Promise Land

The course tops out on the second and highest knob of the mountain. The race directions call for clambering out onto Turtle Head Rock to punch your race number.

(sorry my camera has vertigo and fainted at this point. I didn’t revive it until the finish)

We were fogged in this year, so no pretty views unless you like featureless white. The next special race direction calls for spelunking through Fat Man’s Squeeze. I’m up a half dozen pounds or better this year but I still fit. I didn’t get scratched up this year, but the chute between the slabs of granite was muddy and I watched several people fall and end up with mud in their drawers and other places.

The trail start down the mountain zigging and zagging through another laurel thicket with bright velvety green shoulders of moss --I think my favorite section. The trail finally gets too steep to run well before it bottoms into a garden knee-deep in rocks –tough going but it’s only 50yds or so. The second and last aid station is at the low and eastern tip of the course. Though I feel been running stronger, I’m a couple of minutes behind last years split here. There’s another 3-4 miles of single track on an old roadbed that rolls up and down, in and out of the small hollows. We’re at the mercy of an envelope of fog with about 50 meters of visibility. A lady who grew up in Bend, Oregon is the only person whom I saw or passed me in the last section. She commented on my Southern Oregon Runner’s Club tech-tee that Johnny gave me last year. I like it so much, it’s not as white as it once was. I crossed the big creek back on to the Jeep trail and soon hit good running surface with about 1.5 miles to go. With a favorable grade, I picked up the pace a little below my target HM pace, but still couldn’t quiet get to last years time, finishing in 3:07:07. The time could have been worse given my splotchy training history of late. And I actually felt better at the end, so I’m not terribly disappointed even a little on the pleased side.

I ate, struck camp, and showered, as the 50K runners started to roll in

Rick got a little smooch even without a shower

Beth ran strong, finished ahead of the curve, and smiling in 6:28:43.
She has been volunteered to work at an aid station at tomorrow’s VA Creeper Marathon tomorrow. Kevin Townsend, who ran the 50K, Hrseez, and I have signed up to run it willingly.

Stay tuned.

Luv Child

2009-03-24T20:41:00.005-04:00

Today I'm starting the belly of the oven -from whence the knowledge of bread bears it fruit.
I'm not entirely pleased with my brick work. It's seems like I could have gotten them to fit tighter and be a little more on level. In the end, I think they will be okay. But I think, I could have done better, if I'd been more patient rather than let the ambiance and vigors of spring get the better of me.

Sand makes a good forming material. I just start by piling sand on the floor.

I'm making the highest point inside the oven 17" and the highest point of the inner door, 10 5/8". This is a fairly critical rule of thumb for making the oven door both a draft and a flue for the fire inside. Nature tends to multitask when an orifice is required. This particular ratio also reflects the "golden mean" -another one of nature's and my little obsessions. The shape of the oven itself is not absolutely critical, but flowing voluptuous curves with a reasonable amount of symmetry works best. Think of a woman's belly at 39.5 weeks gestation and you've got a good model. Avoiding flat areas and sharp angles yields structural strength and helps disperse heat evenly, giving the cook one less thing to worry about. While I've got golden means on my mind, I decide to shift the high point of oven 61% toward the back of the oval footprint -perhaps suggesting the shape of an egg.

At this stage the sand is on the damp side, but not wet enough to detail a good sand castle. I inserted a 17" piece of bamboo to let me know where the top is. As I get close to the final shape, I wet the sand more to give it some sculpture friendliness. The aim is to bring the wall up off the floor at near a 90° angle so more of the floor space inside is usable for cooking. After packing on and shaping the final volume of sand by hand, I use an ordinary mason trowel to pack and smooth the womb to it fullest and final shape.

Since putting the wet stiff clay of the oven's shell directly against the delicate sandy curves would compromise their integrity, a light, burnable, protective sheeting is called for. Wet newsprint would work, but we don't take the newspaper, so I used paper towels. I dipped them in clay water to give it a nice color and maybe it will be a little stronger when it dries. I hope they work.

I also signed my work. :-)

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The Floor

2009-03-23T22:37:00.006-04:00

At last I'm getting up to the floor.

Well ready to lay the floor at least. Saturday was nice outside. I made a small batch of cob to finish the sub-floor. After troweling it down, I scratched out a perimeter for the oven and laid a row brick for the floor.

This brings the floor thickness to about 12" covering the layers of glass bottles.
The bricks need to extend past the scribed line.

Today I laid the rest of the floor

and have bricks standing for the inner and outer door sides.

I chalked the oven permeter on the brick.
The the cooking space dimensions are roughly 40" wide by 44" long.

I will cut plywood templates for the doors and stand them in place as I pile the sand on the floor to form the oven mold.

A 16" pizza will slide in easily.

Mr Rogers Neighborhood

2009-03-22T16:12:00.005-04:00

Wilburn Ridge (aka Ponytown)

I made an excursion up to Elk Garden to do some blue-blazin' and running. I've never been down the Mt Rogers Trail (MRT) from Deep Gap down to SR603 near Grindstone Campground. It's about 2 miles from the parking area on the AT to the MRT. It starts at a place I call the Big Rock Switchback --its the first big rock and first big switchback you come to headed north on the AT inside the Lewis Fork Wilderness Area. This morning the sun was strong but the breeze still had a wintry bite and the ground was frozen hard in the shade. Even without a leaf, the thickness of the forest made for plenty of shade. From the top, the first mile of MRT has a little up and down and is still fairly technical on account of rock. It's not a lot different from the AT going around the other side of Mt Rogers, but the second mile has a lot flat ridgetop to run with few rocks and roots.

At the end of the second mile, 4 from the parking area, I turned down to the southeast on the Lewis Fork Spur trail, still very good trail(no blaze), good leave bed and grade. It's only a half mile or less to the main Lewis Fork Trial which, to the right heads back up the mountain toward Rhododendron Gap or to the left, drops down to SR603. The trail here is wide with some shallow creek activity down the middle of it in many places. The trial gets drier and more technical as you ascend to the crest zone and pick up the Pine Mt Trail (the Old AT) about a mile east of Rhododendron Gap --the 6 mile point on todays route.

From Rhododendron Gap I just followed the AT back to Elk Garden. Here's my all-time favorite AT section.

I've gotten out of sync with calories an hydration and today's run showed some weakness in those areas to watch for. Just lack of practice I was slower than I'd hoped, 3:30ish for about 12 miles. There was only 2200' of gain and loss which boils down to about a 7% average grade. The AT was muddy out in the sun on top, and a few pounds in my hydration pack added some time, but I've not recovered from my winter layoff, so I'm not complaining.

When I got back, a man with his 70 year old sweetheart was getting out their truck. He had a cultivating hoe. I asked him if he was headed out to gather some ramps. He was, but we all agreed it was probably to early. He said, "I like to bring me some milk and cornbread and pick 'em an eat 'em right on the spot." Sounded pretty good to me at the moment too.

Thick as a Brick

2009-03-20T21:46:00.005-04:00

I was scheduled to run 6 today, but was slow getting started this morning. I thought yesterday's water aerobics class would be lighter than running, but the instructor worked us pretty hard. So, I got right on the oven since I had good sized lump of mud ready to tromp. Yesterday I mixed just the clay and water, on the wet side, and let it soak and soften over night. The tarp made an excellent work area to stomp in the straw and sand. It's amazing how much straw can be added. I used my Five Finger shoes and just mashed it in. The shorter the straw fibers the easier it is to mix. This is I my first batch of real cob, so after some basic reading, its pretty much learn by doing.

After getting the whole batch to a fairly consistent texture, I laid down a little bit of a cushion, to set the hearth stone. The hearth is sort of like a porch on a house, not essential, but a helpful work area for things going in and out of the oven.

I picked this up last time I was in Crab Orchard, TN. I used a level to get fairly close using some small stones prop it up.

I picked up a pallet of large paver bricks at General Shale yesterday. They are fired to a higher temperature than typical facia brick for a building and resist extreme heat better. I thought about using true fire brick but I'd read they can absorb so much heat that "bottom burning" can be a problem. I sat three brick on the hearth to define the position of the outer door. Another brick faced on top of this brings me to the top of the sub-floor. At this point, I needed to start referencing the level as I'm filling the area.

I ran short on cob, but only need a layer about as thick as a brick to finish the subfloor. When the final oven floor is added there will be a good 12" of thermal mass. I have some more clay soaking now, so hopefully I can get it ready and troweled on and maybe even start laying the actual oven floor tomorrow.

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Oven --Phase 2

2009-03-18T18:53:00.004-04:00

With the pedestal almost complete, I brought home a load of local clay from work. It's definitely rockier than what I've been using, but it's a lot less labor intensive to use a front-end loader, than to extract it with post-hole diggers. This clay seems stickier and that a good sign. It's also a yellow ocher instead of the rich red iron oxide I've been using.

The tarp is from an old sign face that was being updated. Its heavy duty, reinforced vinyl, and free. It will be a good working surface for mixing the cob.

You would not believe how easy it is to chop straw using a chainsaw.

So with my final layer of bottles embedded, I've just mixed a little of the sub-floor cob using the straw and started to lay it up

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Clark Mt Trail - RIP

2009-03-15T21:11:00.005-04:00

Today was the 2009 St. Paddy's Day Trail Run, an Iron Mt Trail runners event. Jim, Annette, Rick, Tammy, Beth and myself were the turn-out --a little low, perhaps due to the 40° temps and rain. The meeting point was Straight Branch parking area on the Creeper Trail, except Annette who started in Damascus giving herself an extra 4.9 miles on each end.
I started early to explore a different loop on the farside of the mountain, but most ran the Iron Mt ridge line up to Shaw Gap, down through Beartree over to Straight Mt on the AT up to Creek Junction and back, 19 miles at least. It was barely daylight when I started up the Beech Grove Gap Trail. The rain was steady and the creeks were full, sometimes the trail too. By the time I topped out on the ridge line and started down a ways, about a mile and a half, I realized my map was still in the car. Well, I probably wouldn't need it, if I could find the trail heads of there would be no problem. But there was a problem. I couldn't find the second trail head, the Clark Mt Trail. So, I started bushwhacking. I'd never been on most of these particular trails, but I remembered that my overall loop measured about 15 miles and the second side of the loop started past the half way point. My Garmin was losing signal occasionally but seemed close enough. Also the main ridge line on the south side and the Forest Service Boundary would guide me on the north.

Occasionally I'd find a quarter or maybe half mile of a trail that was headed my way, but I didn't know sure if they were my trail. There were no blazes, but thats not unusual. After crossing 2 ridges in about 3.5 miles.I finally hit a good trail with a new blaze. It wasn't as far as I'd intended to go, but I lost so much time due to lack of trail, I thought I'd better turn back early. I headed up what turned out to be Wright Hollow Trail which I'd forgotten about. It brought me back up to within a mile of the main ridge line. I picked my way down the south side of the mountain on familiar trails.
My day was probably around only 12-13 miles. I got back early, snoozed in the car, and tried to reverse-engineer my route now that I had a map. Tammy showed up next, she had cut her loop to 15. Annette stopped by on her way home to say say good-bye, before the rest of the gang arrived. We stopped by a new eatery in Damascus, Fattie's Diner. Their custom specialty burgers and the fresh cut fries are great and put a trail runner's or mountain biker's appetite to rest in sizes ranging from 1/2 to 4 lbs. Wild Bill, the proprietor, serves a great meal stop and see him when you're in town.

Oven Update

2009-03-09T15:08:00.007-04:00

Starting from here this morning,

the oven pedestal is coming along

I added another layer of bottles and clay slurry.
I'll need another week or two worth of bottle collection, but I have a new source that should speed things along.

Gathered stone and brought the ring up to about the final height for the stone.

I'll have to re-read my instructions for reccomended thickness, but next comes the oven's cob sub-floor made from a much stiffer mix of clay,sand,straw, and water. After that, the actual floor of brick is laid in with out mortar.
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Pre-St. Paddy's Day Frolick

2009-03-07T23:30:00.000-05:00

Iron Mt gang pre-viewed the St Paddy's day loop today. We met up at Mojoes just as bicyling frenzy was sweeping the town. We bumped into Lone Wolf who seemed more spy than you'd think 7 days after quadruple bypass surgery. Rick, Beth, Dennis and Eva did the full 16+ miles while Tammy, Jenny and I got dropped off at Backbone Rock, about mid-way.

It was a polar opposite day of last weekend's Black Mt/Mt. Mitchell experience. Sunny and warm, spring-like throughout.
I stopped to clean out a spring at Shingletown Gap

on the Iron Mt ridge line. The ladies headed on back to Damascus and I scouted for the top end of FS300 just a little ways south. I found it, but Rick and Beth's last trip down 300 proved it not to connect with the bottom section. Further bushwhacking/exploration is indicated. I took time to build a little cairn

for no particular reason, it marks a short cut to the ridge line at the Gap is all. I hadn't been on the Iron Mt trail south of Damascus since 10/06. After rolling a few miles back toward Damascus on the rigdeline, instead of climbing Butt Mt, out of town,

we were downhilling on some fantastically runnable single-track back into the Dogville district. One way or the other there's some hefty climbing to get to this section. Overall the 16 miles on a computer map indicated 5900' gain/loss. That seemed a little high, but there's 4000' there easily. The half-loop crew took about 3 hrs and the full-loop crew only took about 4hrs.

Beth was the only one brave enough for a full ice bath.

Yet more re-carbonation at Bella's followed.
It was a fun day, but my feet still hurt too much to go as hard as I'd like. :(
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The Most Convenient Volcano

2009-03-02T12:36:00.004-05:00

Black Mountain Marathon and Mt Mitchell Challenge
February 28, 2009

Cast and Crew,

Beth – Challenge
JJJ - Challange
Doug - Challange
Jeremy – Marathon
Tammy – Marathon
Rick – Challenge
Martha – Marathon
Renee – Marathon
Chris - Challange
Will -Challange

Not shown
Kelly – Crew
Bonnie - Crew

Weather was once a force to be reckoned with by species of all rank and phylum without regard to class, genre or kingdom. As a force of nature, it assumed practically God-like status with its power to wield fire, water, and air, often simultaneously, with deadly force, mysterious cross-purposes and child-like whimsy. Setting a forest ablaze then dousing it with a cloudburst, or dispensing rainbows in the wake of impromptu tornado festivals. But a few hundred years ago, a certain fellow named Benjamin using primairly a kite and a key, taunted some smug and self-pious storm clouds plump with lightening into letting slip some divine details of something called electricity. From there it was merely a hop, skip, and a jump, on an evolutionist’s calendar, to central heat and air conditioning at a commercially viable scale. Ultimately of course, weather lost its deific status, and unless it behaved very, very badly, people could largely and comfortably ignore it with the simple twist of a thermostatic dial to the right or to the left and then finely tune themselves with an appropriate warm or cold beverage. In times past, hunters, gatherers, farmers and the like derived a weather wisdom from data arrays such as; the color of wooly caterpillars, the posture of cattle, the behavior of a certain wild, burrowing rodents on a specific day of the year, or the mating calls of very desperate insects. They then embedded that wisdom in nursery rhymes and catchy phrases.

Red skies at night –a sailor’s delight.
Red skies at morning -sailors take warning.

Rain before 7, ends by 11.

Thus armed with the latest in meteorological poetry, our ancestors rallied forward with a smug thread of confidence on which to hang their forecasting pedantry in the face of certain doom. But in our modern times, we prefer to launch satellites at our weather uncertainty. Putting them far beyond weather’s atmospheric tentacles, debriefing them moment by moment with clever automated, electrical algorithms to ascertain weather’s current level of malevolent plotting. And we, the curious masses more recently, hoping to remain unscathed by certain meteorological doom, watched nightly broadcast of arcane numeric recitations by beautiful TV virgins rather than simply tossing them into the most convenient volcano.

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Once upon a time there was a volcano. This one particular volcano was –mountainous, dusty, smelly, grumpy, prone to random acts of topological violence -perhaps because at the time there were no beautiful TV virgins willing to be tossed into it, but more likely because that’s the way volcanoes are any ways. And then it died. It had no friends to bury it, except mosses, ferns, and trees, and even they took their good sweet time. Then other mountains moved into the neighborhood, and a long, long time after that, people came also. Then the people, not suspecting it was a dead volcano, said, “Oh look, that very tall mountain looks like a black dome, let’s call it Black Dome because it looks like one.” Then some more people moved in and said this mountain you call Black Dome is our mountain now, we’ll call it what we want to. So they called it Black Mountain. Then this one man came and said, “Hey this mountain is taller than any other mountain close to here and I have scientifically proved it, so why don’t you name it after me?” So they did, and now most everyone calls it Mt Mitchell -for the time being at least.

For the time being, or the last 12 years at least, the town called Black Mountain, NC has hosted a pair of simultaneous foot races know as the Black Mountain Marathon and the Mount Mitchell Challenge.
The course starts at the old rail depot (2380’), and follows a hardtop road 3-4 miles up to and through the town of Montreat. Then the races continue into the forest on a single-track trail just past the Chapel of the Prodigal (~2712’). Within a mile or two the course merges with the remains of the Toll Road (3580)’. A a scenic by-way that was more popular when T-Model Fords had that new car smell. These days, bears and hunters on ATVs are its more common travelers. After about 8-9 miles of Toll Road the course turns right onto the pavement of the Blue Ridge Parkway about a half mile east of the entrance to Mount Mitchell State Park at Black Mt Gap (5158’). The runners who only prefer a marathon’s worth of this kind of running turn back and run largely by the same route until ending at a small lake on the north end of town in Black Mt. Runners who prefer more than a marathon’s worth of this type of running, can and often do make an additional loop of more than 11 miles on the east flank of Mt Mitchell, across the summit at 6684’, and back down to Black Mt Gap to rejoin the marathon course for a total of 37 plus miles. This race is called the Challenge. But this is just the terrestrial half of the course, the other half of the course is weather.

Feb 18,2009 10-day forecast for Mt Mitchell S.P.
High probabilty of rain, temps in the 40°s
Near 100% chance of runners numbering in the 200s

The Iron Mountain Trail Runner’s and Associates pooled resources and rented a house for race weekend. We lodged only a mile or so from the finish line. The price and accommodations were just right. On Friday, Bonnie and I had rolled into town early to shop a fabric store and sample the wares at Pisgah Brewery. Earlier still, we had stopped for lunch back across the mountain in Johnson City, TN at the Scratch Bakery. It turned into a most excellent lesson on building and firing wood-fired masonry ovens courtesy of baker and oven-builder, John. The pizza we had was a top 5 for me. It was a good thing the business end of his oven was covered because it was raining –not cats and dogs, but a steady drizzle, more like puppies and kittens in pre-meteorological terms.

With most of the consortium assembled, Doug and I made a growler run back to the brewery and looped into town pick up a load of pizzas. Back at the house everyone wolfed it down and 7 of us squeezed into Tammy’s van for a ride to the pre-race meeting at the White Horse Saloon. The Race Director, Jay, was succinct and welcoming, confident and easy going. His opinion on tomorrow’s weather at the summit was “It could be as bad as 35°, rain, and 30 mph winds.” But Rick later confided, “He always exaggerates.”

Again, back at the house, it’s time to assemble race gear. Beth and I mentally exhaust every possible combination of clothing and personal hydration assistance in our arsenal with the only real conclusion being that there were a lot more ways to get it wrong than right on this one. With no individual drop bags or crew on the course, we had only one guess to get it right, carry our backup choices, or suffer the consequences. Beth seemed confident she could finish the race, despite a hip problem that developed 2 weeks earlier at Holiday Lake. She’s been getting some rehab success from water running too. If I’d had any confidence at all that I could finish, it would have stemmed solely from blind, optimistic, naiveté. I’ve trained so little this winter, being under the weather of a variety of injuries, I didn’t even start Holiday Lake. Last week I developed a nasty heel-side blister on a 4-mile hike that still made walking and wearing shoes at the same time painful. By 10pm the lights are out.

I got a solid 4 hours of sleep and two more hours of slumbering anxiousness, dreamy gray visions of gale force wind and rain howling across the high forest, and the sound of a “cat’s and dog’s” downpour pelting the roof two stories above. At 4:30 when I did get up I felt pretty good overall except for the heel blister. Breakfast was two peanut butter cookies and a banana, with water first thing. Rick and Tammy help me with the blister tapping, -an ampuole, two Band-aids, some cotton gauze padding, and a generous crosshatch of Lueko tape. I’m a novice to blister taping and appreciated the help. But when I put the shoe on the irritation was still pretty distinct so I resorted to my backup shoes. Two days earlier I had carved a substantial notch out of the left heel from a retired pair of Montrail Streaks. On a five-mile run on the rail-trail the shoe notch worked perfectly, no pain and the shoe stayed put. So the only obvious problem was this run was mostly on rocks and mud, steep in places, and a lot longer than 5 miles. Against experienced counsel, I stayed with the old Streaks.

6:20ish, rain, 46°, and we head to the starting area. In addition to the Streaks, I’m wearing short Injinji socks, Pantagonia Hiking shorts, compression long sleeve top, a light nylon shell, an Underarmor fleece cap, a Big Buzz hydration pack with about 2 litres in an MSR bladder, a Garmin, and some gloves that seem to excel at soaking up water. In the pack I carried a warmer, tight fitting NB jacket, some cotton gloves, caffeinated gels, IBU, S-caps, a Starbucks doubleshot, and in my pocket a camera in a plastic bag.

As daylight was still struggling though the thick clouds.

We started at 7am. My plan was to just run as far as I could and hope everything worked out when I ran out of steam, or if some old familiar pain shut me down I could walk to an aid station if necessary. I took it slow and easy up the few miles of asphalt to warmup. The air was so wet breathing was noticeably effected. I stopped to stretch and things felt a little better. The overall cut-off pace worked out to about 16:30m/M. which boils down to power hiking and at least some jogging when it’s flat or down hill.

The last bit of asphalt is very steep, but once you get into the woods the grade is much better. In a few places, the ground was firm and well drained, but mostly it was rocks, running or standing water, fresh dead leaves mixed or covering a grease of black muck, or sticky yellow clay mud. I took my time, with an aim of hitting the Marathon turnaround in about 3:20-3:30 at about mile 14.

The day could not have been grayer. Gray clouds, floating above gray trees in drifting thick gray fog above gray stone boulders. The rain was not really torrential but it paced itself well. It took no stretch breaks and kept its nose to the Black Dome grindstone. If it ever let up there was plenty dripping from the stark tree-scape to cover for it. I wasn’t making good time by any stretch of the mind, but I was moving with enough vigor to stay warm enough to alay the obligatory wetness. The shoe I’d whittled on stayed in place very well without a rub. I took a little extra caution where I set that foot as the mud had some substantial sucking power in places. Gaiters would have been a wise pre-caution, but I had no large or uncomfortable debris get in either shoe.

As the gradually climb of the Toll Road took us above 4500’, the trail began to be more of a shallow mountain stream, just rocks and leafy muck. The temperature also began to drop. I began to see the red numbers of the front marathoners blazing down the trail toward me. The struggle on their determined brows and general be-draggledness made them look more like refuguees from a Grimm’s fairy tale. A mile or two from the marathon turn around, more and more runners were coming back down the mountain. I noticed a lot of black numbers of the Challenge racers and began to think “something is wrong with this picture.” Sure enough, in the next group Brain Bedoun meets me and says, “Man, they closed the Challenge course about 10am.” The park rangers had closed the whole park bumping the cutoff up for Challengers by an hour.
I stepped out of the woods onto the Blue Ridge Parkway. We were on a different side of the mountain now. The wind was picking up and the temperature lower than 40°. I made it into the turnaround aid station about 10:40am.
]
I felt Ok and alert though I may have looked otherwise as Dave, a volunteer, kept asking, “Are you alright?” He was very helpful in getting more clothing out of my pack and on me. Challenge runners were told if we made it to the finish line, we would receive credit and finisher’s fleece for completing the marathon. As pure luck of the weather, I had snatched a marathon completion from the jaws of a highly probably ultra-DNF, by simply making it back down the mountain under my own steam. So I’m not complaining.
Running down a rocky path is more painful than walking up one. Streaks while fun for easier stuff are not quite up to that course in my opinion. The rocks were so bruising I began to welcome the downhill stretches of mud. By 23 miles, I was beginning to get tired and stiff. I walked most of the last 3 miles, and ended up with about a 7:03 finish time.

Only 70 or so of about 120 runner had made it on to the upper section of the course. Weather at the summit had deteriorated more quickly than had been anticipated. It was 35°, 50mph winds and snow at the top. Rick, Doug, Will and Beth had made it through the cutoff -Will and Beth by just 90 seconds. At one point Rick said he was covered in snow and ice head to toe, but just on one side. After the summit, runners had a shelter to warm up inside, and decide if they had had enough. At first, medical volunteers had wanted to haul everyone off the mountain, but more generous spirits prevailed. In the end, only 14 were sacrificed to a warm ride down the most convenient volcano, probably due more to hypothermia than virginity. Of the 70 or so that completed the 2009 Challenge, only 4 were women.

Beth was one of them.

JJJ

Ouch, again.

2009-02-26T17:27:00.001-05:00

I'm still stuck in in the spin cycle of bangs and brusies that have prevented or scaled back training for the spring ultras I was looking forward to. I've already missed Holiday Lake 50k++ on the advice of my PT who wanted me to take a 3-4 week break for my PF and get use to some orthonics he made for me. They seem okay but the time off might have been some of the solution. PF is still hangin' in there. I've taken up a twice per week water aerobics class that is giving me some good work outs. I hope to carry on with this even when the PT turns me loose or gives up. Last weekend I went with IMTR from Backbone Rock up to Shingletown Gap on the Iron Mt. Ridge scouting trail. On the way up, I developed a bad blister, just hiking 4 miles. The shoes were not broken-in and I think they are actually defective as some of the plastic support seemed a little warped. Coming back down I worked my quads harder than I thought I would have too, and I was sore a few days. I persist in thinking I'm gonna at least start the Mt Mitchell Challenge on Saturday. So, I carved a notch in the left heel of an pair of old Streaks and went for a little run today.

(sock removed to reveal painful detail)
The shoe did very well, nothing to complain about. I'll tape like mad and give it a try Saturday, what else?

The Wood-fired Earth Oven, Construction -Part 1

2009-02-25T16:11:00.001-05:00

I've been working on an earth oven out front.

Start with hole.

6' circle to frostline deep, about 2' here

Fortunately, holes around here have lots of surprise rocks (remember Cracker Jacks?)

We'll need more rock, but gravel first.

But not this many. I ordered several tons extra for the driveway -to make the delivery worthwhile. The delivery man didn't fasten his tailgate properly, therefore most of the load can out in about 5 secs. Did he offer to help move them?

After I moved about 7-8 ton of gravel with a wheelbarrow,

I tamped the footer

And stared laying a 6' ring of stone for the pedestal.

The pedestal gets the oven up to a little better working height and allows you to insulate against the coolness of the ground.

Empty beer and wine bottles make excellent insulation.
We don't want the coolness of solid earth to act as a heat sink, and suck too much heat from the oven.
This type of bottle is readily available and kind of fun to empty too.
Bella's Pizza and friends have been saving them for me.

This particular medium is a cob mix (clay, sand, straw and water) that uses a lot of water and sawdust instead of straw. I found a spot out closer to the road at our house that has pretty clean clay about 12" down. I think I may look for a truckload of clean clay subsoil somewhere close by when I get to the actual oven and it's insulating shell later on.

As we fill the ring, the wall height will be increased to 24-30"

I have a few layers to go before getting to the actually sub-floor of the oven.

Happy New Year

2009-01-04T15:21:00.003-05:00

A nice warm day for January here -with sun even.
It matched nicely with a scheduled 9 miles.
I've been experimenting with various stretches and core exercises to get back on the trail. There has been a lot of progress, but there's more to go. With six weeks left to Holiday Lake 50k++, I'm cautiously, or perhaps naively, optimistic that I can get enough fitness back to make it.

fingers crossed,
and toes too,

JJJ

2008-three weddings and no funerals

2008-12-29T20:45:00.006-05:00

The year is winding down, and I'd have to say 2008 has been one of, if not the most pleasant one of my last 53. Looks like total mileage for the year with be just shy of 1700 which included about 10 weeks off for injuries and rest. I ran my first ultramarathon back in February, then another the day after my birthday in April plus a total of five marathons. I DNFed one race, but that just gives me a goal to keep reaching for. I ran a lot with the Iron Mountain gang and Adam's group from NC. I met a lot of cyber-running friends, made a trip out into the redwoods, and did a 6 day bike trip with my local buddies including my first trip up Mt Mitchell. The business ran well without much input from me on a day to day basis. Mary Jane and Valentin came to town for a few days, its always a treat to see them. All my children came home for Christmas. Running and vacationing in the northeast with Polly and her family, one of Bonnie's high school friends, was priceless. Bonnie received here LCSW licensure, and quit her job, and has made numerous quilted pieces, so we spend most of our days together. We bought a hybrid car. I have largely abandoned the confinement of pants in favor of kilts. I started fiddling with music again, and went to three weddings and no funerals.

Here's a clip of Nathan and Kyle playing at my kid's Christmas party, with granddawg, Molly, sampling the wine.

Also a picture for the day of the confluence bridge on the Creeper Trail.

I can't see far ahead, but things seem to be getting brighter.

If life can get better than this, I'll try not to stand in the way.

jjj

P.S.
Oh, and I started blogging.
And facebook :)

Helping out at Hellgate -an aid station report

2008-12-16T20:28:00.008-05:00

Hellgate 100k

Natural Bridge, VA

Aid Station 3,6,& 9

December 13, 2008

As a way of giving back to the sport of running, I decided this year to involve myself on the giving end of trail running and volunteer for aid station duty at a race. I chose Hellgate, because :

a.It is regional and I know a few of the runners
b.It has a unique "race-onality"
c.I have a genetic or mental defect that compells me to stroll about in the woods in sub freezing temperatures at night.

I’ve been under the weather of late, an injury has me sidelined, and though it’s early in the season I’ve also contracted a nasty case of cabin fever. So, signing up for duties at the Hellgate, seemed the perfect antidote. It’s Dr. David Horton’s crown jewel for the lunatic fringe of trail ultra running and racing. I guess trail ultra people kind of represent the lunatic fringe of running in general. And well, just running outside around the block in all seasons doesn’t get you any points on the normalcy chart in these days of video enhanced treadmills. The point-to-point course laces its way through the Blueridge Mountains from Natural Bridge to Troutville, VA like some meandering, desperately inflicted field stitches –bound to leave a scar. To my knowledge its at least 99.44% rock and dirt.

I was assigned to Laura’s team. Laura, myself and another, finished at the Promise Land 50k at the same time back in April. I’ve never had a lesson in aid station work and since each of three teams set up and break down three times in the course of the event, its more like a crash course in the subject. Maybe it also attunes with some latent gypsy nature and tendencies of mine.I had no real special duties except to show up, bring a lantern, a tarp, and my a EZ-up tent. We were to meet on the northside Lynchburg, and through the wonder of modern cellphones, four vehicles converged and began our caravan up US501 a little past 1 am. The race began on the other side of the mountain near Natural Bridge, VA a minute past midnight. We were to snake up the north side of Terrapin Mt to Camping Gap and set up AS #3 by 2am at 13.1 miles into the course. I thought this would be cutting it close as the course record time passes through this station at about 2:25am. Sure enough on our way up the forest service road we passed the first runner, Sean Andrish, giving us only about 2-3 miles of lead way. When we got to the top, the traditional Christmas lights were already strung up to a portable generator. I think this must have been the HAM radio crew that operated somewhat independently of the bread and butter patrols.

We hadn’t really got settled in when the first few runners started trickling in on record pace. The weather was reasonably good for Hellgate; mid 20s, an appreciable, but not demonic wind, clear sky and full moon, recent rain had packed the leave cover neatly into place exposing rocks to view. There was no snow on the ground. By the time we and gathered some twigs and had a good fire going the wind had died and the air was crisp but lacked real teeth. We had two runners drop here. One had been suffering from a cold or flu was not back to 100% and a Canadian lady had gotten wet to the knees at the creek crossing early on. She was shivering badly by now. We draped her in a sleeping bag next to the fire until a car warmed up.

It seemed we had barely established our position until it was time to strike camp and head to make AS#6 at mile 34.5. It was a good 30-45 min ride. Being barely able to keep up with Mario Andretti Laura, I followed dust clouds when taillights were obscured by the legions of blind curves as we snaked though tunnels of laurel on Virginia backroads. We wound up at a cul-de-sac near the top of Little Cove Mountain.

Thankfully, there was no wind as this location offered few features of terrain for shelter. After we sat up, I followed the trail past some traffic gates and stepped in a leaf covered drain culvert up to my knee. If I hadn’t had on several layers, the top edge of the pipe would have made a sizable laceration. I roped it off with a piece of caution tape I just so happened to have in the truck. Again, Sean Andrish shows up on record pace at 6:12am, but this time Jeremy Ramsey has closed the gap and arrives at 6:15. The race is on! I’ve been out in the woods running and have seen Jeremy once, gliding over tough technical trail with figure skating precision and grace. About daylight I noticed a little extra chill set in the air and all the food on the table and drinks in cups froze. The spigot on the water cooler froze and we had to be swapped out.

The noodle soup from the camp stove was a popular runner breakfast. Rick Gray, an Iron Mt friend, and Dan Lehman came in looking strong, though Dan’s beard was icing up some.

Dan, being a veteran here,wisely has on some clear glass to protect from corneal freezing which has been a problem in the past and I think it got a few runner’s this year too. Runner crews had access at this point and several made use of that benefit.

The bandwidth of runners has spread appreciably by the halfway point. Laura and I leave early to make sure AS#9, the last one, is ready for the pack leaders. After #9, it’s only 6 miles to the finish at Camp Bethel. 3 miles up though Blackhorse Gap on the Blueridge Parkway and 3 down to the camp.

The day had shed its wintry ruminations in favor of temps in the 40s and deep, clear skies of cobalt blue. First runner through is Jeremy. Sean has dropped and is there to congratulate him. Jeremy went on to finishwith a win in 11:41.

Over the course of the day the trail whittled away the 99 starters to 76. All the runner’s seemed happy to make it to the last aid station and even those who had been out there 16 hours with one more mountain to climb seemed to be in good spirits.

As the shadows of winter were growing long, and all runners had been accounted for, we packed it up and made a libation of sports drink to appease a thirsty ultra god, and to dowse the fire.For me, it was a fun and challenging experience. I hope to be back next year on the same side of the table, but someday, who knows, to run it maybe.
jjj

I'm going to Hell, no, not the one in Michigan.

2008-12-10T09:17:00.010-05:00

There is a Hell, Michigan with a foot race through said locale, but I will be going to Hellgate ; as a volunteer. It's it's a nightmare of an ultra marathon created by Dr. Horton that I've sort of been working toward. I'm still a year or two away from being strong enough to run the distance, the terrain, cold, darkness, etc., etc. This year I've volunteered to help out and have been assigned to work aid stations 3, 6, and 9. The race, 100k, starts at a minute past midnight the second Fri/Sat of December. It has become so popular in its six short years, that the 100 runner limit has almost made it an "invitation only" event to accomodate those runners working on The Beast or Horton's Slam series. It has all the features one expects from a Horton race; rocks, mountains, wicked single-track, rocks, a little nip in the air sometimes enough to frostbite your corneas, top notch trail denizens (runners and volunteers) and rocks. Oh yeah, there's about 7 hours of darkness too. What would Hell be without darkness? There's also an unavoidable creek wade in the first few miles to weed out those with common sense or depending merely on hope to see themselves through. (Horton thinks of everything. Dante would be proud of him).

So I'll get to spend some time in the wood this weekend, finally. Being hobbled since my Masochist meltdown, I've been fattening up like a killin' hog. Adductor(s), groin muscle, and plantar faciaitus have finally gotten some attention and rest but with only marginal improvement; at least, it seems slow to me. Then a BAD case of sinutitis set in just before Thanksgiving. I've started using a Neti pot, which feels great, but still, progress is slow. I have cleaned out my music room and orchestrated my mostly-junk synthesizers into a minimal studio of sorts. I did peck out a soundscape on my software sequencer this past weekend.

Tah, Tah,
jjj
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