STT

Saturday, March 13, I got out early for some trail time after two days of rain. The storm brought snow to our local mountains. Though I love hiking through snow (a light snow), my only possibilities of hiking in the snow were: 1) Maple Springs out of Silverado (which was under voluntary evacuation due to mudslides), 2) Trabuco Canyon/Holy Jim (which is still closed from #HolyFire), or 3) Drive to the top of the mountain to Blue Jay campgrounds (which was not a good choice for a few reasons, mainly because I kind of hate driving the windy Ortega Highway, especially the part when I’m right up against a cliff and the driver behind me is riding my tail, pressuring me to drive faster!) All other locations, if it got any snow, I figured most likely would have melted by morning.  And so I chose a location that few people would choose mainly because there’s so few places to park – Santiago Truck Trail (STT). What a lovely, lovely desolate trail.

I was on the road early enough to find parking in a turnout up Modjeska Canyon not too far from the trailhead. Having checked the weather ahead of time, I expected cold. I didn’t quite imagine though that it would feel this cold. The weather reports said 38F in Silverado, so I’m going to go with that (but it seemed colder!)  I know 38F is not so cold for a lot of people. For this native Californian, it’s pretty cold. And I wasn’t prepared, so I had to walk back to the truck for more warmth. (I guess that means I was prepared being that I had warmer accessories back at the truck.)

And so, with an insulated beanie and much warmer buff (doubled up with my thinner buff), my journey continued to “Old Camp” via STT. It makes my heart glad to even think of the loneliness of this trail. From the start, I took the high single track, though it had been bulldozed and was difficult at first to locate. It’s important that I take this high trail on the way out – it’s my habit, and I love, love, love the “backbone” portion pictured above (first picture).

Talk about quiet. I saw only a couple of people in those early hours. They rode bikes. Through the clouds that covered the peaks, I could see snow on the slopes. The Main Divide I am certain was covered with snow. As for STT, a few small patches of melting snow dotted the shady side of the road as I approached my turnoff point at Joplin. That was it as far as snow. I could hear the creek flowing strong far below my trail and in the distance across the canyon a small waterfall flowed over the boulders (@ approximately mile 5) that I plan to try and reach some day soon. 

At times the weather grew so cold and the clouds so dark that it felt eerie. Hard to explain really. The word “spooky” comes first to my mind. Nature is surreal even more so during these eerie times. I was happy to see anyone that I met along the trail, as first, they were a confirmation that I was not so crazy to be out on this lonely trail by myself, and also because it was comforting to see the face of another person after travelling in silence for some miles. After mile 4, human sightings became rare. I came upon a group of several young men headed down to “Old Camp”. A lone male hiker with poles passed me at one point on Joplin Trail.

The turnoff to “Old Camp” @ Joplin Trail is at about mile 6 on Santiago Truck Trail. At that point, I’d already hiked some significant hills, so the joy was instant upon reaching this junction. The relief of finally reaching this point was short-lived however, because after a short descent, the ascent begins once again. It’s two and a half miles to “Old Camp” at this junction. A very long 2.5 miles. But the last mile, so delightful it was, doesn’t really even count. On that final mile descent into “Old Camp”, the moss appears in thick mounds beneath the trees which are also covered in a moss carpet. Lush green ferns fill in the spaces between rock and moss and the wonderfully aromatic Bay leaf trees begin to appear on the landscape in abundance. I stopped to cut a small branch of the Bay Leaf to take home with me, as I always do.

Heading Down Into “Old Camp”

By the time I arrived to “Old Camp”, the cyclists who had passed me along the way had already passed me on their way out. As expected, I was completely alone down in this little shaded paradise next to the stream. I remained in that general area for quite some time, knowing that I was pushing it as I always do time-wise. I ate breakfast, unpacked and re-packed, explored some, took pictures and I also just sat. I sat and waited. Waited for what? Nothing. I just waited. And I listened. And I prayed. It was spooky down there I admit. But it was also peaceful and a little magical. I will say that I was quite pleased when a young couple rode in on their bikes and set up their spot not too far from me, closer to the stream. It was nice talking to people after being silent for so long.

Total miles for this adventure: 17 with 3,000’ of elevation gain

The remainder of the story in pictures:

Down By “Old Camp”:

The long hike back:

A Little Help

Much of my life I have been the type of person who does not want help from anyone. In fact, I’ve been known to act quiet childish regarding it, by downright refusing help. This is not a good thing. One thing that trails has taught me, again and again, is that it’s good to take help from your friends. Monday, very early in the morning, I met my friend Kelly at the mouth of Trabuco Canyon. She hopped in my truck and we drove in to Holy Jim Canyon. Let me tell you – I felt like running like running to the top of the mountain like I felt like taking a swim across the ocean. I even more so didn’t feel like taking this run when I took those first steps and it felt like my legs weighed fifty pounds a piece. I could barely lift them!

Our Goal (as witness from about 3 miles up Holy Jim):

Left to my own devices on Monday, I would have turned around at the top of Holy Jim for a 10 mile out-and-back.  Yes, the mountains were green and beautiful and tranquil – but that wasn’t enough.  Every step was excruciating.  The Trek up The Main Divide adds three more uphill miles before reaching the peak, and it’s the pits.  But it isn’t so bad when you have a friend encouraging you, helping you to move on. 

I could not have been happier when we reached the peak.  It was far from my best time.  But heck, I made it, and that was a major feat in itself.  We trotted off to the ledge, took in the views, snapped some pictures and ate a snack.  We also chatted with a group of young cross country runners from Saddleback College who came up after us.  After that, it was all downhill – downhill for 8 miles!  All with a little help from a friend. 

Twin Peaks Ultra 2014

To bed at 8:30 PM Friday, I woke to a 2:30 AM alarm Saturday morning.  Less than an hour after the bars closed I was on the road, spotting more than one drunk driver, on my way around The Saddleback Mountains, to Indian Truck Trail in Corona.  Total drive time: 1 hour.

4:30 AM Briefing for early starters (photo courtesy Michael Perlongo):

I set up the mountain in the dark in my quest to conquer Twin Peaks Ultra   mostly alone.  But I had the company of a lovely lady for a while.  When she told me that she had run Nanny Goat, I jokingly replied, “That’s good, you know all about suffering then.”  She said, “No.  I had lots of fun.”  It’s then that I wanted to take her by the shoulders, look her in the eyes and warn her, “You are going to go to a Dark Place today.  DON’T WORRY.  It’s going to be OKAY.  You will get through it, and you will be better for it.”  Instead, I told her, “Just remember, you have all the time in the world.”  Since we were both intent on the 50k, we really did have all the time in the world, well, all the time that the fifty milers had – and that was good enough. 

The first leg of Twin Peaks Ultra is about 7 miles long, all uphill, along Indian Truck Trail, a dirt road over-looking Riverside County.  How did I feel?  I felt neutral.  I felt no fear; I was not anxious.  I was in “one-step-in-front-of-the-other” mode.  I reached The Main Divide in about two hours with cheerful aid station workers, and one lovely lady stating, “It’s Lauren on the Run.”  I cannot tell you how strange that feels.  People read this blog.  And when they see me, they smile.  I find that strange and odd.

The second leg was a short distance of rolling hills along The Main Divide, about three miles.  At 9 miles in from the start, the front runners who started at 6:00 AM began to pass me.  I ran much of this portion alone however, and it blessed me with tranquility. 

I met my friend (Chimera, Old Goat, race director), Steve Harvey at mile ten where he manned the Horsethief aid station.  I made my stop quick knowing what hell awaited me.   I met up with Greg Hardesty, on my descent, who took this awesome picture of me slightly loosing my balance as I made my way into Trabuco Canyon: 

This third leg of Twin Peaks entailed about five miles of very technical terrain (Horsethief and Trabuco Trails).  I took much of the Horsethief portion slower than I wanted, mainly because I feared falling on the fist sized rocks that rolled beneath my feet, and also because I needed to step aside for runners to pass.  This trail is a true single-track, with no room to pass. 

I reached Holy Jim, slightly slower than than I intended.  Still, I felt no anxiety.  As I told the lady on the way up, “We had all the time in the world.”  And looking at this run as the first long run in getting back to shape, helped a great deal.  This notion kept my usual evil negative talk at bay. 

The 4th leg, the Holy Jim leg, consisted of five miles uphill switch-back.  I cannot tell you how many times I have climbed Holy Jim. I have had good times, and I have had disastrous times with that monster.  But it has always, always been beautiful.  One person at the trailhead told me he had seen my video of a prior Twin Peaks and thanked me for the info.  I met another lady at the aid station who said the same.  I always feel a little embarrassed when someone tells me they saw my video or read my blog.  It’s like I feel I need to “measure up,” like they expect something better than I am.  And I am so not better than I am. . 

Anyway, I stocked up with calories at Leon Gray’s station in the Holy Jim lot and trotted into the canyon behind several of the regular starters who were now approaching by greater numbers.  (Mind you, this was a mountain trail race, so by greater numbers, I mean don’t mean very many – only 79 people ran this race).

My first steps onto Holy Jim:

Those five miles up Holy Jim were a bear.  I saw friends who passed me on the way up.  Their encouraging words helped some.  Still, I felt miserable.  Weak, and totally unable to move with any speed whatsoever, I felt some solace over the fact that I had all the time in the world.   And I felt solace in the fact that I knew every bend in the road, and exactly when it was all going to end.

It took me two hours to climb Holy Jim.  My best time (I think) is 1 1/2 hours.  My worst time is around 2:15.  This was one of the worst times.  But I was not a wreck when I reached the top.  Still determined to finish this thing out, I felt confident that I would recover enough to reach the peak. 

On my way up The Main Divide, I passed four runners hovering over a map, and asked if they needed help.  They had already reached the peak and were unsure where to turn on the down trip.  I told them to turn onto Holy Jim and could have sworn that I read doubt in their eyes.  So I said, “Trust me.  I may come in last, but I know these trails by heart.  I know this course by heart.  Turn down Holy Jim, run back up to Horsethief . . .  Trust me.”

After these departing words, I began leg 5 of Twin Peaks Ultra – a three mile, uphill trek to Santiago Peak. 

I wish that I had the words to adequately describe the pure and utter hell that awaited me on leg five of this ultra.  It was only three miles.  But I think I could have travelled those same three miles faster if I were to have dropped to the ground and rolled up to the peak.  I was not in physical pain.  Sure the bottom of my feet ached a bit.  The plantar fasciitis in my left heel was hinting its way back.  Overall, I was okay physically and mentally – I was just utterly, UTTERLY exhausted.   

The hellish leg five mainly consisted of exposed, rocky truck trail with a relentless incline.  I was alone for the first 1.5 miles, and therefore resorted to mind games to keep me moving.  “Where do you think a half mile ends?” I asked myself, and then forbade myself from looking my garmin until I reached my guessed point.  I came up short each time, .3 of a mile, .45.  Doh!  But the game kept me going.  Somewhere in here I began texting my husband.  I needed something outside myself to help pass the excruciating slowly passing time.  Thank God I had service and was able to communicate somewhat with hubby.  He was so positive.  Oddly, I had this terrible desire to convey what I really couldn’t convey, and that was, I WAS IN HELL. 

About half way through this leg, I came to a flat portion and found very little strength to even trot it.  But up the next incline, I saw my friend Emmett Rahl.  What a welcome relief!  Coming down from the Peak, leg five had done him in as well, which made him decide to opt out of the 50 miler for the 50k.  I felt sad to hear this, as he had conveyed his desire to complete the 50 miler.  Regardless, I cannot tell you how much a friendly face helped on the course at this point.  Emmett pressed his ice filled hand-helds against my cheeks to cool my face, and I was off again, on again, with Santiago Peak in my heart.  That’s the only thing I wanted in the world right then – SANTIAGO PEAK.

Runners coming down from the peak told me about ice, and Reese’s candies, and great food that awaited me at the top.  I really didn’t care about anything except for the agony to stop.  I don’t know how I was able to put one foot in front of the other.  Passing a group of hunters drinking Corona beers, I was tempted to stop and drink a beer with them.  We chatted as I tromped by, and somehow I kept on going.  I saw a tree that I recognized, and I remembered that last time I came up this trail a LONG time ago, it had many more leaves.  And then I saw this:

The sight of the towers nearly broke me down.  I teared up, overwhelmed with relief.  The end of my misery was near, so, so, near, but at the same time, so gosh dang far!!!  Just a little bit longer, about a half mile, and I had this treacherous race in the bag.  I picked up my step some, and then lo-and-behold, another friend, Randall Tolosa, came up from behind me.  We made that last miserable part of the trek together, thankfully, as he kept my mind off the pure torture that I was enduring. 

At last!  Paradise achieved! 

At Santiago Peak I refilled my hydration pack with water, ice and Nuun tablets.  I guzzled three or four small cups of iced cola.  I ate a handful of potato chips, and I shoved a Reese’s two-pack into my pocket.  Now normally, I would never allow myself to eat two whole Reese’s to myself guilt-free.  Not so running down from the peak.  I ate both of them before the first mile off the peak had ended.

Heading down from the peak, I saw the lady whom I had wanted to warn about The Dark Place as we headed up the mountain so many hours ago.  I could tell from her face, she was in that Dark Place.  Yet, still she smiled.  That’s what keeps us coming back I guess.  We go to that Dark Place, and we still smile.  I barely recognized her, as we had met in darkness.  She wore a hat now, and she agreed with me that the trek to the peak was “quite difficult”  (those were her words, my words were not so nice).   I also saw a young man, a slender young man, suffering terribly as he made his way to the peak.  He didn’t manage a smile.  I assured him that paradise awaited. And it really did.  I can’t think of anything that equates to the relief of finally reaching the peak, except for giving birth.  Yes, giving birth!.  The whole process is so terribly painful, and all you want is for it all to end.  And then finally, after so, so, so long of suffering, you are there – standing at the peak, or laying there with baby in arms. 

I headed down The Main Divide, then Upper Holy Jim cautiously, yet excitedly.  All I had to do was not twist my ankle or break any bones for ten miles.  Upper Holy Jim provided breathtaking views with steep, rocky and slippery terrain.  A couple of runners were making their way back to the peak for the fifty miler.  One of them shouted out to me, “Thanks for saving us earlier!”  He was one of the four guys I pointed out the way to at Holy Jim.  I smiled and told him how I thought they weren’t going to trust me, when to my surprise he hollered, “No!  I read your blog.  Great job, by the way, keep it up.”  That was the lifter I needed to carry on. 

Homeward Bound:

My goal down Indian Truck Trail, the last seven miles of this event, was to maintain a 15 minute mile.  I maintained between a 13 and 17 minute mile (downhill – 17 minute!!!).  I was that tired.  About a mile into the last leg, my phone rang.  Yes, my phone rang.  Without glasses, I answered the call blindly.  It was my friend Hank who had gone onward to work on the 50 miles.  He was hoping that I had finished the race because he was encountering some trouble on Horsethief (The man eater!).  To avoid telling his story before he does, I’ll just say that I worried a great deal.  I phoned Steve who manned the station at the top of Horsethief.  I didn’t get through but was able to leave a message.  Then after several attempts, and a great slow down on my part, I was finally able to reach Hank again by phone, and learned that he was coping. 

I finally crossed the finish line of Twin Peaks Ultra, the 50k option.  So happy am I that I decided to show up.  25k trained, I ran a 50k trail race with 11,000’ of elevation gain.  I feel like I gained a whole new family.  Twin Peaks is in my blood for good now.

The Beautiful Modjeska

I shut off my early morning alarm ONCE AGAIN.  But all was no lost Sunday morning.  I threw caution into the wind and pulled my truck out of the driveway at 9:30 AM.  9:30 AM!  An hour later I was winding my way through a little town called Silverado, driving 25 miles per hour, onward to Maple Springs Road.  With the weather warming up, I feared I hadn’t packed enough fluids for an afternoon run and stopped by the only market in town for a Gatorade – just in case.  

At the trailhead, I continued on driving up a single lane road until the pavement ended.  Parking my truck beneath a tree in the woods, I headed up the dirt truck trail at approximately 10:40 AM.  The heat was sweltering, and quite frankly, I wondered how I was going to manage a mountain run.  With a cold Gatorade in hand and 72 fluid ounces on my back, I moved on as I always do – one foot in front of the other. 

I hoped that I could run up to Modjeksa Peak because I have this thing about summiting.  Love to summit.  If the weather grew too unbearable though, I gave myself an out, with a turnaround point at “Four Corners,” which is 4.25 miles up the dirt road called Maple Springs. 

Thank God for shade.  The first leg of my mountain run went well – I arrived to “Four Corners” having finished the Gatorade but without dipping into my hydration pack.  My leg “injury” did not cause a problem either.  I did experience a slight ache though, and took two ibuprofen since I decided to venture onward to the peak. 

I ran straight through “Four Corners,” where three off roaders parked.  And the gnats kicked in just as I turned onto The Main Divide.  With little or no shade and gnats flying at my face, the rocky terrain proved difficult.  But who am I kidding – this portion of The Main Divide is always difficult for me.  So, it was business as usual – one foot in front of the other.

At a little over 5.5 miles travelled, I turned the bend in The Main Divide for a view of two main peaks in The Santa Ana Mountains:  Modjeska and Santiago, the far ends of the saddle.  Wow.  I still daydream about it even a whole day later.  Setting my eyes on these peaks makes everything all better, the gnats, the heat, the rocks . . .  This is an emotional spot in the mountains for me – the scene of so many victories and agonies as well.  It’s what I see back home, the backdrop for most of my coastal runs.  

I turned off The Main Divide and trudged up the sort-of-single-track to Modjeska Peak.  No more cars or motorcycles.  I had this part of the mountain all to myself – except however for biting horseflies that took tiny chunks out of my arms and legs, oh and lest I forget, swarms of gnats hovering about my face, focusing on my mouth, nose, ears and eyes. 

Heading up to Modjeska:

The final ascent:

At last!

Polish actress, the beautiful Helena Modjeska, whom this peak was named after:

A mountain biker once told me about a short-cut coming off Modjeska Peak that takes you straight down to “Four Corners.”  I’ve looked for it, asked hikers and other bikers about the trail, to no avail.  That is until I ran The Harding Hustle last month. I  don’t recall whether it was during my first or second trip up to the peak that out of the corner of my eye I noticed a  “do-not-go-here” trail marking.  Do not go where? I thought.  There’s only one way to go.  And that’s when I saw it, a partially hidden, true-single-track disappearing down the side of the mountain. 

This Sunday, I sought out that trail on the way down from Modjeska.  The trail seemed so obvious now.  Still, I felt a little nervous.  Bike tracks relieved me some.  If a mountain bike could take the trail, then I could take it.  Hopefully.  A lot of short cuts are short because they take you down the face of a cliff or something ridiculous like that.  Determined to focus, I shut off my music.  But I kept the ear buds tucked into my ears else the growing number of gnats drill through to my brain.  I could hear them crashing up against the buds, desperate it seemed to hit gray matter. 

The trail was steep, so steep that in some points the ground merely slid beneath me as I attempted to run the terrain.  It’s been a long time since I’ve ventured onto new ground.  The views were immeasurable.  The trails were shady.  They were rocky.  And they were swarming with gnats.  Fortunately, my short cut didn’t take me down a cliff.   But because I ran an unbeaten path, I was extra careful not to fall.  My cautious gait was so slow, I wasn’t sure if this was going to be a “short cut” after all.  But soon, very soon, I caught “Four Corners” in my sight, and it seemed as if I had cut a mile and a half or so off my trip.

The “short-cut”:

Sure enough, this trail dumped me off right at “Four Corners,” on a portion of single track so steep, I sat and slid down it.  Oh ya!  Only 4.25 miles to go: