Beauty Vs. Brawn

Sunday, we got a good downpour here in the land that seldom sees rain.  I know that we need the rain, but rain spoils things for me, especially since Mondays are one of the few days that I can get out and run.  As expected, all my local tails were CLOSED “due to wet and muddy conditions.”

Well, I had me a full tank of gas, so I thought, “Hell with it,” and headed up Ortega Highway in my beloved truck.  I know that I would have been better off staying home and putting in miles right out my front door.  I would after all, have time to get in some good mileage if I had chosen that route.  But what I wanted was beauty, not brawn. 

I pulled into Blue Jay campground an hour later, and felt calm and joyful being back to this lovely location.  The ground was still muddy, a few campfires smoldered beneath overly cloudy, cold skies.  Gosh, it had to be 50 degrees F!  (I’m so sorry – I know that isn’t cold for the rest of the world, but it is cold here).  Branches were strewn about; no trees were down, though a few widow makers hung precariously from branches above.  I felt so at home that I could have pitched a tent and stayed a week.  

I cannot adequately relay just how happy and peaceful I felt.

Since hubby had indicated that he would pick up the boys from school, I took off down San Juan Trail feeling like I had all the time in the world.  I did not see another soul on the trails as I made my way toward the San Juan / Old San Juan Trail junction.  But I was not alone.  The forest was alive with sound – critters scrambling through the brush, birds singing anonymously among the trees.  Listening to this music, I had no desire for man-made music, and kept my ear buds hanging over my shoulders. 

I spotted my destination, Sugarloaf Peak, a mile out.  It took some trial and error to find the path that leads to the entrance at the top.  Then it was climbing time, scooting over boulders, grabbing onto branches.  My legs were scuffed with scratches.  Oh the glory.  

I summited Sugarloaf Peak and took a seat on a large flat boulder. I could see Los Pinos Trail climbing up the mountain on my right.  I could see as far as the Pacific Ocean, with ridgeline overlapping more ridgelines reaching out to my left.  I had my beauty.  And it took some brawn to get it.  (The best of both worlds).

The wind picked up; the temperature dropped.  And I simply sat there on that rock and took it all in – the sights, the sounds, the chilling wind.  It was a little spooky, like the wind might swoop me off my rock.  I dug around in my pack and replaced my cap with a wool beanie, and I was good for the cold.  Then I sat some more.

Eventually, I felt that I ought to get going – not that I wanted to go (I could have stayed all day).  I just needed to get back to reality because I do have a wonderful family back at home (young sons that I desire to see, since I miss out on so much with this crazy work schedule).  And I also had a meeting with my boss later in the afternoon.  

I finally glanced at my garmin when my feet hit Old San Juan Trail.  It read 1:10.  Flabbergasted, I thought to myself, “This must be time elapsed – it CANNOT be 1PM!”  But, alas it was after 1PM (time elapsed was much greater).  One might think that since it was so dang late, that I would have picked up my step a bit.  But I did not.  Instead, I lackadaisically ran back (because that is the way roll) toward my truck. 

At the Old San Juan Trail / San Juan Trail junction, I decided to take a so-called short-cut by going straight up Old San Juan instead of meandering San Juan.  (Okay, we have two trails out here called “San Juan Trail”, not to mention an additional “San Juan Loop.”  We have an older, less travelled trail, the original San Juan Trail, that we call “Old San Juan Trail.”  And we have a new San Juan Trail that we call “San Juan Trail” or “New San Juan Trail”.  Just thought I’d straighten that out).  Now, speaking of so-called short-cuts, I know darn well that “short-cut” never really means that the trip is shorter in time.  In fact, short-cuts are usually much more difficult.  And that it was.  But it was a lovely struggle getting back to the truck.  All that beauty was well worth the brawn. 

Loopish Out-and-Back

I have not been well, and ended my 9 day running streak on Monday.  I would have ended it Sunday if it were not for my oldest son.  He offered to run a mile with me on Monday, so off we went.  I could tell he was frustrated with my pace.  I could barely run.  If it wasn’t for my lovely son, my streak would have ended on day 8.

Today marked a starting over of my streak with day one.  There was a group run going out of Blue Jay for twenty-something miles into Trabuco Canyon.  I wanted some solitude today and decided to run elsewhere alone.  I chose the Candy Store loop, which is more an out-and-back than a loop (but it’s loopish, with loops along the way).  Today though, I decided to run it in the opposite direction.  This way, I would run the uphill first, and hit the downhill for the last ten or so miles.

Same route, different direction: 

The sun had already risen by the time my feet hit dirt.  Solitude I wanted, solitude I got.  I saw this furry creature on my way down the San Juan Loop.  But I didn’t see a single person.

San Juan Loop looked much different to me running it in the opposite direction:

The run out, that is up to Blue Jay, was beautiful, uneventful and difficult.  But it wasn’t as difficult as when I run it for the second half.  The weather was cool, the trails were empty.  I decided at one point to search out the water stash my friends have told me about.  Every time I look for it, I can’t find it.  Today, I looked twice.  The first time, no luck.  On my relook, I found the stash off a beaten path.  Camouflaged well, I lifted the debris to see just how much water there was.  There was lots – not only that, but there was a brown mouse that poked his head out and scrambled down the bottles toward me.  Well, I let out a yelp (I hate mice – sorry I just do), covered the stash back up and high-tailed it out of there. 

I ran a several miles without music.  And I stopped several times to snap pictures I haven’t taken in a long time.

A dry Chiquito Falls:

I ran UP the Viejo Tie for the first time ever.  The ground was soft with leaf litter, and portions were extremely steep.  But it was all doable.  I still had lots of energy.  By the time I reached San Juan Trail, I was ready for Blue Jay.  Two miles of uphill rocky single-track still remained. I took it running and finally ran into Blue Jay with an empty hydration pack. 

Feeling no dread whatsoever for the second half of my run (like I do when I run it reverse), I rushed to a water source and filled my pack to the brim.  Lastly I took out a Larabar for breakfast to enjoy as I ran back down San Juan Trail.

My water source:

I ran through my “two deserts” (mentioned in my last Candy Store Loop post) and found it extremely hot and dry, yet delightful.  The sandy dirt was quite loose to the point where I fell.  I wouldn’t normally call this a fall because I actually slipped.  Slipping and falling are two different actions.  But since I landed on my butt, well, I guess it was a fall.

I continued onward through the shady forests of Chiquito feeling good, feeling strong.  I picked up my speed as I ran down toward the Viejo Tie intersection when suddenly I tripped on a root hidden in the leaf litter.  I flew through the air, like a flying squirrel.  I mean FLEW.  I landed face down in a patch of poison oak on top of a bed of leaf litter about six inches thick.  Talk about a cushy fall.  The first thing that came to mind was, “Get up!  Don’t let the hydration pack leak.”  So, I jumped up, found just a few cuts and scratches on my legs and was on my way. (If you’re a new reader, you won’t know that so far, I’ve been immune to poison oak).

The weather heated up immensely.  Still, by the time I came near the secret water stash, I still had probably a pack 3/4 full.  And that whole mouse thing creeped me out so much that I decided not to stop and refill.

BIG MISTAKE.

I ran the next few miles, up and down, up and down (though mainly down) on HOT, exposed trail.  The sun drained me, but I still drank up, fearful that I would run out soon.  I began to feel nauseated and had to stop and cool off here and there in little sections of shade.  My legs felt weak, like they couldn’t hold me up.  I kept running, because I wanted to get this portion finished as quickly as possible.

And then I ran out of fluids.  With about 2 miles to go, I ran the flats and downhills, hiked the uphills.  When I finally turned a corner into some shade, I came upon two male hikers.  “Don’t go out there,” I said. 

One of the men said, “I know, we were just there.”  His face was red.  The other guy was laying down in the shade.  I ran past them a couple feet and then abruptly stopped.  I HAD TO cool down.  Bending over, I grabbed my knees and was still holding myself up when the two guys took off ahead of me. 

After cooling some, I took off running again.  When I caught up with the two hikers, they were resting in the shade again.  They asked advice on the route back, and I told them to take the San Juan Loop to the right – it’s the shadiest. 

I passed the hikers.  Soon enough, they were up gaining on me.  I could no longer run.  That’s when one of the guys yelled out, “Miss, did you know your arm is bleeding?”

Sure enough a stream of dried blood streaked down my arm.  The hikers didn’t seem too sure when I assured them that my arm was alright.

The hikers and I continued like this for about a mile – stopping and resting, then taking off as long as we could.  The hiker about my age would just plop down in the shade and lay there.  I usually took off first because I HAD TO GET TO MY TRUCK FOR WATER. 

Eventually, I could only hold myself up when hiking or running.  Standing still I had a problem.  When I stopped in shade to cool off, I had to grasp a tree branch so that I wouldn’t fall.  I felt that I could not lay down for fear that I wouldn’t be able to get up.  For the first time in a long time, I worried about my well-being.  The only thing that stopped me from calling for help was the fact that I was only about a mile from the parking lot.  I decided to wait it out and see how I progressed before calling aid.  I paid close attention to my body and worked and worked at cooling it down.  At one point I oddly took off my hat.  Thankfully, I still had my wits about me to put it back on.  My breathing was rapid.  And I was hot, OH SO HOT.  But I still could think logically. 

We were was SO, SO CLOSE to the parking lot when the two hikers plopped down in the shade again.  Some hikers on the boulders above noticed us and waved.  That’s when I felt safe leaving the hikers behind and making the march back to the truck.

That march was miserable.  I stopped quite frequently, in fact, in every bit of shade.  Eventually, I had to sit in the shade.  Then my saving grace arrived.  On several occasions, it seemed like just as I sat, a strong cool breeze came along to cool me off.  That breeze gave me just enough strength to walk another twenty feet or so.  I certainly suffered from heat exhaustion.  The breezes cooled me of enough that I worried less over the possibility of heat stroke. 

I couldn’t believe that I let a little mouse stop me from getting more water some miles back.  That will NOT happen again.  I hiked those last 100 yards painstakingly slow.  Then finally!  I caught a glimpse of the parking lot curb.  I had made it.  I had my pack off before I even reached my truck.  My key in the door, I grabbed out a jug of water ASAP.  Then I turned on the truck and put the air conditioning on full blast.  Feeling too weak to drive immediately, I took swigs of the water.  I poured some over my head too.  When the salt dripped down into my eyes, I used some of that precious water to wash my face too. 

Well, I love an adventure, that’s for sure.  But dang it!  How many times do I have to learn the same lesson?  Refill at EVERY chance, even if I don’t think I need it.  This is my promise on day one of my running streak.

Elevation Profile (The route, San Juan Loop, Chiquito, Viejo Tie, San Juan Trail, Blue Jay Campground, San Juan Trail, Old San Juan Trail, San Juan Trail, Chiquito, San Juan Loop). 

The Great Struggle

On the 7th day of my streak I drove up Ortega Highway, the main road into our local mountains for one of my favorite runs – The Candy Store “Loop.”  It’s a twenty mile route, and though I referred to it as a loop, it’s mostly out-and-back, with just two loops in between.  Basically, it’s 10 miles uphill, 10 miles downhill.

I easily found a profile from my historical stats (see below, since my garmin is broken).   I begin this run in Blue Jay Campground and run back down to the highway, across the street from “The Candy Store.”  Sure there’s some uphills on the way out, and a tiny bit of downhills on the way back.  But it feels like 100% pure uphill for those last ten miles

First things first, I stashed some water off Ortega Highway, at the turnaround point.  I wondered (fleetingly) whether I could pull off today’s run after a relatively tough eleven miles yesterday.  I didn’t dwell too much on my doubt.  That’s how I am.  I just do it, whether I think I can or not. 

The skies were gray, the weather cool and humid.  The ground was rocky, but I can do it now – run that rocky San Juan Trail.  I took the whole trail to Viejo Tie without tripping.  AND, I saw my first tarantula of the year.  This one was a lovely black velvety creature.  I’ve only ever seen brown tarantulas.  As a young girl, I once allowed a ranger in Joshua Tree to put one of these spiders on my arm.  I was the only Girl Scout to volunteer.  The other girls screeched as the tarantula crawled up and down my arm. 

I don’t think I would have let this one crawl along my arm today.  But I was eager to get in close for a good picture:

I felt a bit anxious running without a garmin today.  I should have at least worn a watch.  I had no idea how I was doing for time.  But I felt okay running along San Juan Trail.  From there, I hopped onto the Viejo Tie, a wonderful up and down, single track.  I came upon two trail running acquaintances on the Tie, as they took my route, but in the opposite direction.

Going out – view from San Juan Trail: 

I hit Chiquito Trail in seemingly decent time.  I took Chiquito up until I hit the San Juan Loop.  I felt good, strong in fact on the entire trip out.  I got a bit of rain.  I handled the technical trail with stable feet.  I took San Juan Loop for the climb up into the parking lot.  The climb was tough.  But it was NOTHING compared to what awaited me. 

The Viejo Tie:

Chiquito Trail:

Feeling good on Chiquito:

I could not, and I mean COULD NOT face up to the run back.  It has always been a struggle for me.  I can do it.  But the upcoming struggle produced much unwanted anxiety today.  As I took out my breakfast bar, which I ate on the run, I came up with my plan.  I couldn’t think about what I had to run.  I needed to CONQUER THE GROUND.  That is, continue to get trail behind me.  This mantra, “Conquer the ground,” took away my anxiety as I ran San Juan Loop back to Chiquito. 

San Juan Loop:

I ran much of the uphill, though slowly.  Several times I needed to hike.  I pushed myself off from giant boulders.  I grabbed at branches for support.  I knew as long as I could see the highway, I still had a heck of a long way to run to my next point, Chiquito Falls (which are dry).  Every time I thought that I couldn’t see the highway any longer, I would look behind me or to my left, and sure enough, there was the tiny road, way down there.  It was killing me!!  Finally, I decided I must not look for the road. 

Somewhere on my way to Chiquito Falls, I abruptly stopped.  I don’t recall why.  I just stopped.  A second later, I heard the rattling, and at that moment saw the snake coiling up in the middle of the trail several feet ahead.  I stepped forward for a closer picture.  The snake slithered toward me!  Stepping back, I took my picture further from the poisonous snake.  Then I waited until it calmed down and slithered away.  He rattled during his entire exit.  Well, that added some excitement to my run.  It actually helped take away some of the misery of this great struggle back to my truck.

The Rattler:

FINALLY, I made Chiquito Falls.  “Conquer the ground” wasn’t working for me anymore.  With a few more miles, a few more long miles, I told myself, all you have to do is “Do the time.”  A song by rapper T.I. came to mind where he sings, “Do the time, don’t let the time do you.”  He’s talking about prison time.  But on my run, that line seemed much more apropos to the few miles left on Chiquito.  I had to take the trail, not let it beat me up.  Just “do the time,” and it would eventually be over. 

Some of the boulders that litter Chiquito:

Just do the time.  Just do the time.  “Do the time, don’t let the time do you.”  After about a mile, I made the mistake and began looking forward.  I looked forward to the next point, the Viejo Tie / Chiquito intersection.  I knew I needed to cross over the dry creek bed twice, before I was even anywhere close to the tie.  Even then, it seemed unbearably long to meet up with the Tie.  I hiked often.  I breathed in a gnat through my nose.  Then when I took a deep breath through my mouth, I swallowed one of those dang gnats.  It wasn’t pretty.  No, indeed.  I was no lady.

I continued on with flies buzzing about my ear with a wanting, an unbearable longing for the Viejo Tie.   Finally, through the thick green forest, I saw it – the post!  The post!!!  I flew on past the Viejo Tie/Chiquito post, then hiked the uphill to the next flat.

“Two more deserts, just two more deserts and I reach San Juan Trail.”  Still looking forward (it was just too difficult not to – I was tired, I was hot), I had a lot of uphill before my next destination.  In between me and that spot are two stretches of trail that remind me of the desert.  They are dry.  They are brown.  And they are hot. 

The first desert felt miserably long.  I must have been delirious when I began to wonder if perhaps I had already traveled through the first desert without realizing it.  No such luck. 

Desert #2:

FINALLY, out of the desert, ready to run San Juan Trail back to my truck:

I began to see hikers making their way about on San Juan Trail.  I tripped semi-frequently on the rocks.  And I met a friendly group of teens who told me my pack was unzipped.  As a young girl zipped it up for me, one of the males asked, “Where did you run to?” When I told him “The Candy Store,”  he shook his head.  “The Candy Store???  That’s about ten miles from here!!!” 

To this I groaned, “I know.”  I got a good chuckle out of the teenagers.  My heart did not lighten when they shouted, “You’re almost done!!!”  Though it was great to meet a group of smiling faces.

I COULD NOT stop looking forward.  Just do the time.  Just do the time.  Don’t let the time do you.  But I did let the time do me.  The time chewed me up and spit me out.  I finally made it back to my truck, chaffed, and dirty.  My eyes stung terribly from a dribble of constant sweaty salt.  The best part was, I was finished.  The great struggle was over.  I had done my time.  I did the deed.  The last step was my prize (not to mention the adventure along the way).  And I was glad.  So very, very glad.

Mmmmm . . . Candy!

This morning I woke at the ridiculous hour of 4AM.  Why?  So that I could drive an hour into the mountains and run The Candy Store run as the sun rose.  The drive up the windy mountain was uneventful as car after car raced down in the opposite direction from Riverside county, to jobs in Orange County.  I parked in lower Blue Jay Campground.  Tents were erected through out the grounds, but not a person stirred.  It seemed also that not a creature stirred. 

I took off on the same rocky trail that we took off on in Old Goat 50.  The skies were cloudy.  And as I descended down the mountain, I heard child screams and laughter coming from a campground above.  I felt like I was making slow time, yet I felt good.  I didn’t tape my arches, nor did I roll my shins beforehand.  I wound down the trail and made the first point of interest (the Chiquito / San Juan intersection) in about 37 minutes.  I consider 45 minutes very decent time for me.  I didn’t want to care about time on this run.  I wanted to enjoy.  Still, I couldn’t help but celebrate a tad.

I continued on San Juan Trail, which was shady and lush, climbing up toward the Viejo Tie.  Ear phones dangling around my shoulder and not in my ears, I desired complete awareness of my surroundings.  The trails were desolate.  I was completely alone, except for what lurked out there in the forest.  I felt relieved when I hit exposed trail because I had a better grasp on my surroundings. 

Memories from Old Goat flooded my mind as I ran.  I recalled where I fell.  I recalled when I passed, when I was passed.  The Tie went by very quickly, especially compared to the first time I ran it.  Still, I felt like I moved slower than I did during Old Goat.  Yet, I made the Chiquito intersection in about 50 minutes (1 hour is VERY decent for me).  Again, I felt accomplished.  So relaxed was I, the trails’ technical difficulty didn’t throw me.

I ran in and out of shady lush forest, on overgrown single track for the next few miles.  My mind wandered to all the things I needed to do (grade papers, make calls, pay bills, organize, organize, organize).  I thought a lot about our dying friend.  I told myself, “Don’t think!  Don’t think!”  I found this quite difficult.  That is until I told myself to do just one thing today:  call the hospice.  With that one thing resolved, I was finally able to empty my mind.

  The Viejo Tie (Or San Juan Trail just before the split):

The poison oak on Chiquito was unavoidable.  Even though I have been immune to the plant’s poison, I’ve heard that immunity doesn’t last forever. I’ve run through the stuff head-to-toe before with no consequences (knock on wood!).  This morning, I occasionally stepped aside from a bush.  But then my thigh would brush against several leaves.  Eventually, I realized it was useless.  There was no escaping the plant.

Chiquito Trail (notice the poison oak on the forest floor):

“The Candy Store Run” is approximately twenty miles, mainly downhill from Blue Jay to The Candy Store, mainly uphill on the way back.    Beginning this run at The Candy Store rather than Blue Jay, is the much easier way to go because you run the harder part on strong legs.  Both ways are long.  Both ways are lovely.  But I wanted hard.  Excruciating in fact.  This is why I began on the mainly downhill for an uphill climb on tired legs. 

I passed Chiquito Falls still feeling strong, feeling like I’d make The Candy Store in under 3 hours.  Then a funny thing happened on the way to the store.  I saw another person running up from the other way.  He wore all black, just as I did.  He didn’t startle me.  I could distinguish that he was a trail runner by the two handhelds.  But who? 

Why, this other runner was my friend John H.!!  I laughed out loud.  I mean, what are the chances that I’d come across someone I know?  We stopped and chatted for a good amount of time, laughing over the things we put our trucks through and how we both stash water in the mountains.  We talked about Old Goat (John was a sweeper who swept my friend, Emmett).  As we chatted, he helped put my mind at ease over finishing a fifty miler.  John seems quite “laid back” about running, whereas I tend to tense up.  Anyway, I didn’t worry about making The Candy Store in under 3 hours anymore.  It’s not often I get to talk trails and laugh out in the middle of nowhere with a friend. 

But then, I was off running again; John was off running again as well, in opposite directions. 

Out portion of the run, it’s still cool enough for my long sleeves:

Views of The Cleveland National Forest on my way down:

A quick glimpse of the many spring flowers along the way:

Toward the end of the out portion, I came upon a couple hiking groups.  One man looked at me as though I was crazy.  Another gasped, “Running?”  At the giant fallen tree, decomposing for years, I began my climb up to the parking lot.  The sun was out in vengeance.  The climb was difficult.  I finally ran into the parking lot in over three hours.  Across the street, The Candy Store was probably still closed (unless they sell donuts for breakfast).  I didn’t run across the highway to check, though I do love candy.  Instead, I ran over to my water stash in the brush.  After refilling, I set out for the return trip beneath an unrelenting sun.

Running back on the San Juan Loop, toward Chiquito Trail for the climb up:

It came as no surprise that the climb back out toward Chiquito Falls was miserable.  But it was a lovely miserable.  I climbed over boulders.  I ran the uphills in the shade.  Sometimes on exposed trails, I hiked.  I passed more hikers, some in small groups, some with walking sticks. 

Excruciating is a great word for the back portion of this run.  Much of it, before Chiquito Falls, is exposed, hot and rocky.  Tiny gnats swarmed my face.  But despite this, I still felt good.  No major aches or pains.  At one point, about half way, I heard the pounding of fast running.  Disoriented some, I was startled, thinking someone was running up on me from behind.  Turns out, it was John.  He wasn’t behind me.  He was in front of me.  We spoke briefly as I stumbled up the boulders.  Except for the last climb up to the parking lot, he had mainly downhill to look forward to, whereas I was looking at several more uphill miles.  Doh!

A big rock on Chiquito:

A simple view of the climb out:

Sleeves off, it’s now HOT, and I’m greatly looking forward to San Juan Trail because that means I’ve only got a few miles to go:

I came upon cyclists on the way out.  I gave directions to a father and son.  I could have cut the course short on a few occasions.  But I decided to sweat it out.  A cool breeze blew through the trees.  And though I felt fatigued, and pretty miserable, it was the good kind of miserable.  Seriously.  There is a good kind of miserable – it’s the kind of miserable when a difficult, yet gorgeous run is nearly over. 

Today’s elevation profile:

From above:

Los Pinos Peak

I think I prefer the odd goals that I conjure up, over training for long distance endurance races.  A 50k or 50 miler not only tries my body, but more so, they try my soul.  During these runs (and training for them) I must fight the toughest battle – the battle against myself, against those awful voices that nag, nag, nag.  It’s simply terrible.

On the other hand, a couple months ago, I decided to attempt Mount Everett’s elevation gain every month with my running.  That brought me great enjoyment – a goal that can be achieved in tiny steps.  I did it in February, will probably accomplish the task for March. 

I came up with another goal the last time I ran to Santiago Peak (actually, I kind of stole the idea from Jessica Deline, after she saw the photo of my feet on the peak’s surveyor’s mark).  Consequently, this new adventure consists of collecting peaks in my runs (and taking a photo of my feet on the surveyor's stamp as proof.)

Anyway, as I continue my wind down for Old Goat 50, which is precisely one week away, I feel relaxed.  At the same time, I am terrified.  I am terrified of Old Goat.  I fear the battle.  But, I am relaxed over doing my own thing in running now that “training” has ended – as I did on this cool March morning.

During this morning’s single digit run, I sought out Los Pinos Peak for peak #2.  I parked high up the mountain (in Blue Jay) and  headed up the Main Divide well before the San Juan 50k runners would be making their way up the same truck trail.  I did a run/hike combo and found that I made the exact time as when I did a power hike for the whole 1.5 miles. Hiking power continues to amaze me. 

Traversing the Main Divide:

At the Trabuco/Main Divide fork, there’s another prong to the fork, obscured by vegetation and fallen tree trunks.  That fork belongs to the Los Pinos Trail.  Rather than bushwhack, I hopped some turquoise colored posts and made my way to the trailhead.  Then I commenced to run up and down (mainly up) a gorgeous Los Pinos (The Pines) trail. 

My tortuous Mentally Sensitive repeats did me good today.  I found these mainly-up-rolling-hills amazingly easy (as easy as running trails can get anyway).  The views were immense, my home county obscured with thick clouds.  These are the trails that leave the world behind.

Before I knew it I arrived at the peak, or so I figured.  It appeared as if everything else was downhill from there.  Well, I looked around and thought, “Where can the mark be?”  Surveyor’s plaques are never in the middle of the trail.  And at Santiago Peak, it’s at the top of a pile of rocks.  To my left on Los Pinos trail was a natural looking pile of rocks.  I hopped up on them, glanced around.  Nothing.  And then upon closer look, I found a small circular plaque embedded in a boulder.  Without my glasses, I could barely read it.  And what I could read didn’t make sense.  But surveyor remarks don’t make sense.  I hopped around a bit more and found a larger circular plaque and was able, just at the perfect angle, to make out the words, “Los Pinos Peak.”  I had arrived. 

Los Pinos Peak:

Proof:

Peak Goof-Around Time:

On my way back down Los Pinos, I took an off-shoot that I noticed on the way up.  Since my mileage was less than expected I figured I had a couple miles to spare.  But this single-track trail descended at such a great rate that I feared it would eventually dump me out in the canyon below.  And then what a climb out that would be (surely making this run carry into the double digits)!  And so, I turned around and ran back up to the trail and made my way peacefully back to the Main Divide.  Since this portion will be the last remaining miles of Old Goat, I worked on my footing and form.  My shoes felt unbelievably comfortable.  So much so, I wished that I had trained in them. 

I met the San Juan 50k aid station trucks making their way up the Main Divide.  After stretching, I got into my truck, drove down Long Canyon Road and came upon the front runner of the San Juan 50k, Dean Dobberteen (spelling?).  I’ve seen him many times, usually the front runner.  Anyway, he made that Candy Store run that I’ve been training in TWO HOURS!!!!!  This is basically the same course (actually his was shy a mere two miles) that I finally got in less that 6.5 hours.  Wow.  (I won’t let that throw me.  He is among the best of the best.  I just want to finish, or at least try and finish). 

And such is trail running . . .