RR: Vermont 50

Ah the Vermont 50, where to start. Saturday was classic pre-race routine. Pick up my race packet at noon, head over to Long Trail for a few drinks, then over to Harpoon for a few more. Then pick up a pair of meatball subs to share with my old man at our campsite. It’s a tradition that started 10 years ago and hopefully will continue for many more.

John, Sarah, Steve, Pete, Pete’s girlfriend/wife? and Gillian joined Leah my father and me around the fire and we shared our running tales. Talks of how the trails are going to be, think they’ll be bad? Will this be another 03? Hard telling at this point, the clouds had started to move in but after baking in the sun and drinking some of my favorite beers all day. I couldn’t have been happier to be out here. The wind started to pick up around midnight, and the rain started somewhere around 130, and when it rained, man did it come down. Hindsight being what it is, I should have purchased a larger tarp to go over the bed of the truck as Leah and I awoke at 430am to wet bottoms and tops to our sleeping bags. I caulked it up to typical pre-vt50 craziness, I told her it could have been worse, at least it was warm. One of the years I woke up with a heavy frost on my pillow.

With the standard pre-race meeting out of the way all we could do was watch the bikers zip out into the darkness and wait for our turn. As we were instructed to walk forward to the starting line Rik and I decided we were WAY to far forward in the pack and we milled our way quickly towards the back third as per usual. With a Ready, GO, we were off down the road and due to the change in the start; it was literally down the road. In the past there’d been the short climb at the start to spread the pack, this year, it was fast. And we knew we were going fast because we NEVER see the lead runner at the 2^nd turn of the course. NEVER!

We settle into a grove and start running with a fella from New Jersey. Seems to be a veteran at these things, not much of a talker, but the small talk helped the miles melt away. At the first hill a young woman named Kim matches our pace. I soon learn this is her first 50 miler; she’s up from Atlanta with her “fast friend” who just last weekend had put in 140 miles in a 24 hour race. DEAR GOD! I exclaim I must be running WAY to fast if I’m keeping up with you guys. She laughs, but there was certainly a hint of truth there.

Rik and I cruise through the woods, and reminisce about how 2 years ago that woman had broken her hip in this location. What a way to start a race. With Kim and her friend long gone we match another runners pace and tag along. This too, is her first attempt at a 50 miler. Danielle from Montreal, Rik puts on his fatherly shoes and talks about how he got me into this and how you just need to “run aid station to aid station, it’s as simple as that.” And that she’ll be fine at the pace she’s going. I grin knowing that those little tips are what will keep you going when you go through the lows. How strange those words would ring true as the day unfolded.

I came into the School house a bit ahead of Rik and rebuilt a bit, wolfed down a boost, smiled for the camera and pushed on. Sara asked me if the trails were really as bad as 03, because I guess people were already bitching about it. I laughed and told her isn’t not even close. Rik and I have a strange relationship at these things. We run together, kind of, but there are stretches where one of us will get far out ahead of the other and this apparently was my turn to pull him along. I ran the next few miles alone, through the “fern gully” single track trails. I was has happy as could be, slipping and sliding, but enjoying the woods non-the-less. The long road stretch into Garvin always makes or breaks my day. I know I SHOULD be running aid to aid, but I’ve done this race long enough to know that if I can get into Garvin (approx 22 miles) feeling good, I’m gold.

My knee is starting to nag me from the early downhill pounding of the road. I take some Advil and slow my pace to where Rik catches me. We pass a handful of bikers that obviously have dropped and have just decided to ride back to the start. We see Nate as well who’s coming off an amazing finish two weeks prior at Pisgah but a nagging hip took him out of the game today. It’s odd, that one would drop, and then run/ride back to the start. Why not just keep going?? Then again, I’ve dropped 3 times at this race. Some day’s it’s just not in the cards.

A familiar face catches up to Rik and me on the climb up Garvin. Nick Palazzo, with two rookies in tow. He reminds us that this is the highest point on the course. Rik wisecracks, “So this must be where I get my runners high then eh?” To which the appropriate comment of “depends on what pills you’ve been taking.” The course over Garvin had changed quite a bit but I enjoyed the new single track they had added to the backside. I was feeling fine. Rik on the other hand, was fading, and fading fast. I catch up to another fella who I dubbed “peg leg guy” and if you were there and saw this guy. You’d know exactly who I’m talking about. Apparently he either cramped up, or had pulled something miles prior but was still moving forward, albeit more like a pirate.

It’s at this point on the course where you come out into this field with a grand fire place and a beautiful view overlooking blood hill and the rest of the course. I synched up my jacket and sat down in the chair (breaking rule 1 and the quote on my shirt) but I had gotten far enough ahead of Rik that I was a bit worried. Rik catches up about 7 minutes later and we settle in with a biker, whose bike broke at mile 12 and decided to run as far as he could without it. IN biking shoes (for those who’ve never worn clip-in bike shoes, they generally have the padding/flexibility of a ski boot). We commend him for his determination. It’s kind of inspiring, seeing that he's still out here when at this point I’d counted at least 30 bikers that had already dropped out. He keeps up with us for a bit, but his shoes have him fall behind in the next run able road stretch. Rik and I jogged together into the next aid station half way up the next climb. The veteran staffed station (the same crew that has been here or at Garvin for as long as I could remember). I get in and out as fast as I could and holler dad to get moving over my shoulder as I marched up the trail. 15 minutes go by, then 20 I, stop for a bit. Still no signs of Rik, I’d been walking stretches where I’d normally run in hopes that he’d catch up to me. Nothing. Now ordinarily I just run this race, without a care in the world, but the two rookie ladies that had come past me in the last stretch were talking about cut offs, if they’d make the next station. And it got me thinking, and a bit worried. After missing the cut off at MMT earlier in the year, you’d think it’d be something I’d keep on my radar. I look at my watch. I start doing math. If you are counting that’d be 3 ultra no-nos in a matter of miles.

We roll into Smoke Rise with 30 minutes to spare. “ONLY 30 MINUTES!” I exclaimed. I knew we were going slowly, but I’d never been this close to the cut off at only 28 miles. I ask about Dugdales and she tells me we’ve got an hour and 20 minutes to go 4.2 miles. Piece of cake I think, I plow down ¾ of a can of coke and stuff salty potatoes in my mouth and walk on, again, calling back to Rik. He’s already in a death march. It’s too early to be death marching. Not good. I call back words of encouragement but find myself putting a lot of distance between us. I sat on a rock and broke down the time/distance what we needed to cover.

"If it's going to be close, go ahead."
I can't leave him. I hope it's just a low and he'll put out of it in this next stretch. Perhaps the coke he had will kick in and he’ll bounce back. We get to the top of the muddy horse trail into Dugdale’s and Rik tells me that he's going to drop, and he'll see me next week. I feel a pit in my stomach knowing that not only am I now going to be on my own, that I won't even be able to share the finish with him. He gives me a hug and yells out "Now go...Go my son!!"

So I turn, and start to run, fighting back tears and know that it's going to be me verses the clock for the next 20 miles. I look at my watch; try to remember how much trail I still have in front of me, I look at my watch again. I’m running hard, sliding and smashing into the deep parts of the mud, which I had been avoiding prior. There was no longer time to fool around. This truly was, turning into a race from aid station to aid station. I pass 5 runners and 3 bikers before I get into Dugdale’s.

I quickly fill my water; get a thing of coke, stuff potatoes and gummy bears into my pockets. The aid station is filled with people I see Leah and give her the scoop on Rik. She’s ready to have me change my shoes as I asked, but there was no time. I got into Dugdales with 12 minutes to spare. I quickly grab a kiss and stuff another boost and two ice teas into my pockets and run off towards Blood Hill.

I catch the rookie and Penny on the next climb. I ask her how her foot is doing. She ran Pisgah with us a few weeks prior, with what I overheard, was a broken foot. Now she’s out here again. I tell her she’s crazy, but that’s just what makes us ultra-runners I suppose. We chat and I tell them how the next stretch over blood is my favorite of the course. It’s the winding single track. Which generally I enjoy. Today however I know I’ve got 45 minutes to go 3 miles. Sure 15 minute miles seems like a breeze, but 32 miles and 8 hours into a muddy wet course with heavy shoes and with the single track feeling like I was running on a slip and slide. I thought I was sunk. I quickly left penny and the other woman in the dust on the switchbacks. I catch John’s friend Gilly on the climb into Fallon’s. She wonders if we’ve made the cut off. I look at my watch. Did we make it? Did we not? I wasn’t sure

The volunteers were packing up the station. They take my number down. I ask, "Did we make it?"“OH YEAH YOU MADE IT”
I look at the cut off time hanging on the table, we had made it by 5 minutes.
After getting some warm soup I run off as fast as I could, passing 3 other runners who were still eating. I've got an hour and change to get 5 miles. This is going to be tough. My knee is throbbing still from the pavement from earlier. I yell out like I always do "16 miles to the LOOOOOVVVVE shack" as the trail turns and climbs next to the tin roofed shed. I see no one ahead or behind me for the next 4 miles. I wonder where everyone had gone. If the runners behind me had bailed because they knew they weren’t going to make it. I run, I run more than I ever had in this stretch. Wincing in pain, but knowing it HAD to be done. This couldn’t, no this wouldn’t be the year where a Robert wouldn’t finish either of the VT races. The trail pops out onto the road that Goodman’s is on and I looking at my watch and let out a sigh of relief. I knew I had made the cut off. I run anyway, setting goals of run to this tree and you can walk to the next pole. Then upon getting to the tree yelling at myself, "common, you can go to the pole instead!"

I see the guys from skipix parked in a field and I continue to run, then I yell over to them "thanks for being here, I wasn't going to run this stretch but I didn’t want to be walking in the photo!"

Goodman's is a hustle, two bikers still at the station and the reaper there looking at his watch. I had 14 minutes to the cut off. I quickly restock, ask how far and how much time do I have? I had to get to Johnson’s by 6pm.
The next stretch of trail is always a show, muddy, slippery, new single-track, rocks, switchbacks. I blast away, passing two bikers, and catching 4 more runners. One runner was another father/son pair. The son had just joined in and was pacing him home. He'd never done a 50, and when prompted the question of why, "I have no fucking clue!" The son was having a good time, saying how much fun he was having. I told him to just keep him moving and he’d be fine. Glancing at my watch, at that pace they wouldn't make the cut off. So I pushed ahead again. Catching two more runners. On the next climb I caught the "fast" friend from Atlanta. She told me of her 140 mile 24 hour run the weekend prior and how tough this terrain was. I kind of smiled. I was having a ball. I guess if you are from the south, and haven’t been running on what has been a muddy trailed filled season, this would be quite the shock to your system.

She and I leap frog for a bit before I even leave her in the dust. I pass the father of the father, daughter pair. "She's just ahead, but doing better than me'"
I catch the daughter soon thereafter and tell her that she’s doing great and her dad is right behind her. I then run with a PT from NYC and we discuss the cut off time and how we got into these things. This was her first 50 as well. She'd come over from the dark side of road running and marathons. She senses my urgency to get to Johnsons and takes off. Turning my pattern of simply passing people into a dog race, and now I’ve got a rabbit. She’s fast, REAL FAST, for 45 miles she’s setting an unbelievable pace. I force myself to run across the landscape, through the huge puddle, now finally soaking my feet thru which I’d done a great job keeping dry all day
Leah awaits me at the top of the driveway into Johnsons. I look at my watch. I don't know if I made it

“DID I MAKE IT?”
“Yep!”
“How much time?”
The reaper simply held up 3 fingers.

I laugh, yell out YEAH, and do a little dance. I grab more coke and Leah hands me a boost and kisses me,

“GO GO GO GET OUT OF HERE!”
I hike up through the field, seeing bikers and runners just ahead of me on the trail
I look at my watch, huh, if I had 3 minutes there, then that gives me 48 minutes to finish under 12 hours. I start doing the math again. I pass at least 10 more bikers in the next two miles, their components worthless at this point.

I give them words of encouragement, telling them they made it. They can't be pulled now. It’s just a death march. One guy thanks for me for the encouragement. I catch two more runners. 2 miles to go sign. I look at my watch, I still might be able to do it... running when I can, I settle in again with the NYC runner. She can't run the downs like I can. I'm a bandit with wreck less abandon. I want my sub 12 and her pace wasn't going to do it. 1.5 miles. Shit another climb. My legs twitching and on the verge of cramping. I think I’m hosed; I pound down Advil, two more salt tabs and choke down the boost on the climb. Turn the corner and slide-run the single track. Looking at my watch every 2 minutes, crap, I’ve got a chance but it's going to be a miracle. I catch another runner, and another, then Danielle on a slippery section. I yell hello and call out "guess whose back from the dead!!" she mutters something about the dark and the single track being tough. I agreed, it was getting very dark in the woods, but I didn't care.

I made the turn, I could hear the finish, and I’m running sideways across one of the slopes, slipping several times and catching myself with my hands. I look at my watch. Crap, I missed, it, I had to have missed it. I start hauling ass just in case; I slip and land on the ground so hard it breaks my water belt. I look at it for 5 seconds, stunned at how hard I hit the ground. Do I leave it? I don't have time for this crap.
“DAMN IT!” I yelled while picking up the pieces and tucking them under my arm. I'm too close to miss this because of this stupid pack. I scream down the hill, the new finish line had to backtrack climb a bit that slowed me down just enough to hear the b52s playing love shack on the stereo below. I bellow out...”TINNN ROOOOOFF,” and Leah yelled back from the final turn, “RUSTY!”

I turn the final corner and I run as hard as I’ve ever run at one of these events across the finish line. I wanted to slide in but was afraid of cramping up. Funny after seeing the photos and talking to John he had the same idea and actually did it. I am congratulated with a "great finish" I ask, what was my time what was my time?
“1206”, Loni says from the end of the shoot.

Leah snapped a picture of us at the finish line. I look kind of defeated because I was still under the impression I missed the 12 hour mark. Danielle and a pair of bikers came in before we left the shoot area. I thanked and congratulated her. I wonder how many of the other runners I had passed had missed the cut off at Johnsons.

Leah, as a rookie crew was EXACTLY what I needed. She force fed me everything I needed when I needed them. I found out two days later when the results were posted that I actually DID finish under 12 hours. I had beaten the reaper, he was right behind me. His scythe figuratively cutting off my water belt. I crossed the finish line in a what Rik would have describe as, the ‘last man standing’ with a finishing time 11:59:52.

What a day, what a story, I can’t wait for next September.

Vermont 50 Preview:

Normally I don’t write previews, but this year it feels different. John always talks about his annual camping trip up to the Whites in the springtime where he feels reborn. For me, it’s the Vermont 50. Tomorrow and Sunday will mark a decade of these things. 10 years! It boggles my mind that i've been doing this race for 10 years. (9 starts, 3 DNF, 2-50k, 4-50M)

Sure the tradition has changed a bit, the first year Rik had to pick me up and drop me off back at college. Camping in the parking lot has come and gone over the years. But the heart of the pre-race still lives on. Sleeping on the ground, in the cold, splitting a 6-pack of Long Trail and wolfing down meatball subs. Waking up at 430 in the morning to frost on your pillow. Trying to get dressed while shivering uncontrollably. Standing in the huge port-a-potty lines. Seeing all of the familiar faces. The fog that covers the mountain in the wee hours of daylight as the first wave of bikers starts off down the road. I don’t know exactly what it does to me, but I love it. The Vermont 50 is the reason I continue to do ultra runs. The trails, the smells, the course, the farms, the memories, it’s…just…home to me.

This year I am happy to say that Rik will return to be running by my side after missing last year with injury. Loni will be heading out later in the morning to continue to try to improve her 50k PR in hopes to crack the 50 miler status in 2010. I will continue my personal tradition of getting to registration early, followed by a late lunch at the Long Trail Brewery and enjoying a few pints on the deck on the banks of the Ottauquechee River.

Looks like a cold rainy race day forecast, perhaps reminiscent of the mud bowl from 5 or 6 years ago? Here’s to hoping so.

Pisgah 50k - RR

Pisgah 50k - September 13, 2009

The Pisgah 50k has slowly become my second “home course” when it comes to ultra’s. Not only is it the closest ultra to me, but it’s the one I’ve done the second longest. What started out as a bet/dare between my father and I(to do two ultra’s in two weekends) 7 years ago, grew into a September tradition. This year would be no different as He and I would yet again, toe the line together. This year we’d have a bit more company then in the past though. Loni was going for her second finish in two tries at the 50k distance.

The weather couldn’t have been more perfect. Sunny and in the mid 70s. A complete 180 from the rain and cold we had last year. I couldn’t have been in higher spirits when at the start I got to catch up with Dave, Mike, John, Nate and the rest of the familiar faces. Loni was described as having a “deer in the headlights” look about her.

With the standard speech and the simple “ready GO” commands down the pavement we went. Rik and I quickly realized that today was a nice slow jog in the woods as our paces were both faster then loni’s so we were able to throttle back. Perfect I figured, I being severely undertrained and Rik still nursing his nagging leg and foot pains. The first stretch of the course is always misleading because it’s a nice long slow grade into the park. And every year I have to catch myself and slow down, because as much fun trucking down the hills are at this stage of the race, it always seems to come back to haunt you hours and miles later. 3-4 familiar faces match our pace and Rik and I tell our horror stories of how about 50% of the time we’ve run here we’ve been stung repeatedly in this stretch. As one would expect we receive looks of horror. After the first aid station at mile 4 our small pack starts to spread out. One of the pack that didn’t burn off ahead was a first timer named Martin. He had recognized me (kinda) from my dirty girl gators and that he’d seen me a few times at the WNHTRS. He was a semi local shorter distance runner that was trying his cards at an ultra. He seemed like he was holding a lot back, but at this point in the day, it was probably the smartest thing he could have done.

As the miles melted away I would run back and forth between the pack with Rik and Loni who occasionally would fall further back. She’s certainly improved a lot in the past year, but she still hasn’t gotten the ultra walk down so we’d pull away on the climbs. At one point we caught up to a Terri Hayes, a sweet southern woman from South Carolina and she spoke of how she’s the RD of many small time ultra’s down her way. As we spoke she mentioned how she’d been doing ultras for over 20 years and figured she was somewhere around 300 finishes. It was nice to run with her, she spoke of how she was envious of me and my father running together and how she couldn’t convince any of her children or grandkids to carry her torch when she quits. I tell her at the pace she’s running she’s still got plenty of years left on the trails to convince them. As much as it was sad that she isn’t able to do so, it really made me happy and lucky that I have that ability myself. The positive thoughts carried us back over Chestnut hill to the 17 mile aid station at the base of Pisgah itself.

Rik starting to feel his sugar dropping gets in and out of the station quickly and disappears down the trail. I restock my supplies and warn loni to do the same knowing the hardest climb over the mountain itself is next. Normally this stretch is long and grueling but today, with a cup of coke and as many fig newtons and oreos I could stuff into my mouth and hands it cruised by. I picked up a stick to use as a hiking staff and power hiked to the top. Stopping every minute or so to make sure loni was still moving. I had expected to catch Rik before the summit but he was already ½ mile down the decent when we caught up to him. He was really starting to crash now. This stretch is where he had locked up last year and had turned the afternoon into a death march. I did my best to make sure he was taking his salt and drinking fluids to get him out of the low. Loni however, who had been behind us all day darted ahead on the pond loop. Although she’s still a novice to the distance, her exposure to the events has left her with a veterans mind. Knowing well aware of the highs and lows of the race she decided to take advantage of the high. It took Rik and I about 2 miles to slowly reel her in. When we did we saw that she had caught up to Martin and the 4 of us shared the next few miles. He looked to be in fantastic spirits and shape for being 20+ miles into his first 50k. After we gave him the scoop on what lied ahead and a few salt tabs he took off down the trail. Now it was loni’s turn for her low, so the pace started to slow to what felt like a crawl. But, we were still moving, and the sun was shining, so I couldn’t have been happier. When we got back to the Killborn Pond Aid station we were told that there were 10 runners behind us. I didn’t believe them, but I was pumped to find out we weren’t the unofficial sweepers. Loni seemed in good spirits as I told her that there was no turning back now. There’s no aid until the finish, nor is there a quicker way to finish other than the 2 trails and road that the course followed back to the fire station. We made quick work of the first climb, and then trotted along the snowmobile trail. Noticing how much work they’d done to widen and change the path. The woods had slowly started to reclaim what was just destroyed last year. Then it happened, Rik took his eyes off the trail for one second and caught his foot on a root. Ordinarily, not a huge deal, he caught himself as he was falling. Unfortunately for him, his salt balance wasn’t right and this trip and catch subsequently turned into a rock hard calf muscle cramp exactly what he ran into last year. Loni watched in horror as he yelped in pain. I did my best to help him stretch his cramp out as fast as I could but the damage was done. At 29 miles and 7 hours into a day when you get a cramp like that it’s pretty darn debilitating and our pace continued to slow. As we passed the gate leaving the park, marking the 1 mile to go mark, we passed John the school teacher. It seems like every year I run this or VT he and I cross paths and some point. We don’t stay together long as I state that I can smell the BBQ and I’m ready for a burger and try to push the pace. Rik gingerly running now as to not re-cramp his leg, and Loni, still trucking along at what seems to be the exact same pace as her first mile. At about ½ a mile to go there is a group of people towards the end of their picnic in their front yard. A few still have numbers on, I assume locals that had perhaps run the shorter race. Rik calls for a beer and one of the guys come over and hands it to him. I laugh and tell loni, watch this, this is going to be like Pop-eye and spinach. She watches in disbelief as he gulps down half of it on the last little climb. “Apple don’t fall far from the tree now does it,” is the only comment I could muster.

As we trot around the last turn w:e can see the finish line, Rik and I hold up and let loni lead the way down the shoot. Official times 8:02:10 and 8:02:13 Not too bad. We took 15 minutes off of loni’s PR from the VT50 last fall and this course is much harder. Rik had survived injury free, aside from the tweaked muscle. I had just enjoyed a day in the woods with my family. I felt amazing. Fatigue sure, but that was it, no pains, no tweaks, no nothing. Sure, you can say I could have run it a lot faster, but in reality, they’ll be another day to run faster, never know when I’ll get another chance to run with my family.

Long Trail Section Hike #2 (Quick Links)

Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4

Long Trail Thru Hike (Quick Links)

Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Day 5+

MS Greenway Thru-Hike Part 2

Day 2
The Rain was still falling when we awake. We talked about how we woke up every couple of hours because it was just so bloody hot. We sat and talked about packing up camp or waiting for a bit to see if the weather would break, but in the end we figured with 10 miles ahead of us we'd be better of moving on sooner rather then later. We break camp and put on our pack covers for the first time. As Dustin hoists his pack i start laughing uncontrollably. His green pack cover and turned his overnight pack into a turtle shell which we dubbed for the rest of the trip as Donatello. I'm still giggling about his cover when we reach the Gorge 1/2 mile down the trail.



After a short jaunt up the trail from the gorge we reach a long road section. I'm sure it isn't too bad in the right conditions but with the rain pouring down the lack of tree cover wasn't welcome. The rolling stone lined roads and sprawling farms lands boosted my spirits a bit. I felt like i was in the heart of Vermont running the VT50 and/or the VT100. After a long climb we reached Silver Lake, a perfect spot for lunch, had it not been raining and humid. The trail soon turned from the familiar hard packed dirt to an old logging road. The rain was starting to break and we were both happy to be off the road and away from vehicles again. We marched on quietly until we were both startled to a halt by a turkey, who was equally as shocked to see us. As it crashed off into the brush we turned and caught our first glimpse of Child's Bog. With all of the rain we've gotten this summer the "bog" as it was described was filled to the brim and it looked almost more like a reservoir then anything. The trail passes to it's south below the dam, which gave us an amazingly perfect horizontal view straight across the water.
The sun, now fully exposed in a beautiful blue sky was heating up the woods. The trail still wet from the rain and the humidity in the air almost stifling at times. We talk about how great it's going to be when we get to Nelson(the small town that marks the half way point), and how hopefully they'll be a little convenience store there. As we come out of the woods we are greeted with another long stretch of back country road. As we march down this long dirt road i turn around for some random reason. I still couldn't tell you why. Back about 200' up the road a doe and two fauns march out of the woods and then back up the hill. Dustin looks at me like i had 2 heads. "how the hell did you know they were there?" Wish i knew, suppose it would be a good 6th sense to have if i was a hunter. At the bottom of the hill we reach pavement for the first time in two days. It means we had reached the small town of Nelson. A short jaunt up the asphalt, passed the ancient gazebo and we reached the town center, where we met two other hikers.

They must have overheard us talking as we walked over because one said, "nope, no store, i could have really gone for a coke too." I laugh and said that i was saying the same thing all morning. Tom and John were a couple of older guys that were heading southbound and on the third day of their thru-hike . With the 4 of us laying all of our gear over the mailboxes and parking stalls it must have looked like a yard sale to an untrained eye. As we eat lunch we get the scoop on what lies ahead and fill them in on the rest of their day. We are warned of the beaver pond crossing that is about mid calf deep and the exact words describing the rest was "rolling terrain." Sounds like a breeze right? We wish them safe travels and head out of town, after about 1/2 a mile we reached the pond. Dustin, took off his boots, as he had taken advantage of our lunch break and had dried out his boots to the best of his ability. My shoes were beyond drying so i marched right on thru and snapped a photo
With another 4 miles beyond the crossing and the guys saying "rolling terrain" we figured we'd be at camp in an hour tops. Be able to dry out the rest of our gear and enjoy the afternoon. Well, here's the thing, in one direction "rolling terrain" means what it sounds like, in another it means, long steady climb with a few short dips. We climbed for what seemed like an hour, with 50lbs of weight on your back, soaked shoes, and a water filled trail making ever step up seem like five. Then it hit us, a climb that dwarfed all of the climbs leading up to this point. A long dirt road that you couldn't even see the top of, looming in front of us. The sun beating down on this dry road as we consult the map. Yep, straight up it! and we've still got 2 miles to go. Dustin mumbles, "rolling terrain my ass," under his breath and we put our heads down and marched up. This thankfully was the last real climb of the afternoon. Once over the top we were on what seemed to be snowmobile trails right up to camp. And what a welcome sight that was, our hips and shoulders starting to feel the effects of two day and 20 miles of trail. With another shelter to ourselves we dumped our packs as fast as we could, set up shop and started hanging out whatever we could to get things dry. We spoke of how awesome tomorrow is going to be with the vistas, the blueberries and the non-official half way point of the trek behind us. Never mind the store that we knew was in Washington where we could get a taste of some food that didn't need boiling water. The site register had a Sodoku book and cards so we were able to entertain ourselves while our food cooked. I was curious why so many entries in the log book had mentioned critters until the sun went below the tree line. From what we could tell in the spots between the wall joists and the roof joists a few families of rodents had made home. It was a bit unnerving at first, but the munching and scurrying above your head soon became white noise. With no rain, and a clear sky we were treated to a fantastic nights rest. Good thing too, 14 miles, 3 summits and a lot of trail started first thing in the morning.

MS Greenway Thru-Hike Part 1

This all started when I was informed that my buddy Dustin and his wife want to thru-hike the long trail next year when she gets out of college. After some discussions I determined that neither of them had really thought much about the actual details of said trip. i.e. gear, and the training required to take on a 30 day trek through the wilderness of our home state. After I suggested that they perhaps start smaller, i.e. the Greenway we laid out a plan and on Wednesday July 29th, it began.

Day 1

When Loni dropped us off at the Marlboro Trail head we weren't sure what to expect. Our packs were heavier then either of us had ever carried, and with 5 days alone in the woods, the possibilities were endless. It didn't matter though, this was just what the doctor ordered for us. The cubicle fever was at all time high and we were ready for one hell of a journey. The morning was cool and crisp. We laughed thinking about how this was such a better option then sitting in the 8 o'clock rush hour traffic that both of us would be stuck in on this beautiful Wednesday morning. For those of you who've never hiked up the Marlboro trail on Monadnock there is a long rock and log stair section that knocks the wind out of you if you just have a day pack. With an overnight pack and supplies for 5 days we were sucking wind and stopping every 10 minutes, sweat pouring off of us. When we reached the top of the mountain the sun had broken free of the clouds that had surrounded the summit when we departed. Leaving us with a spectacular 360* view of the area. We looked north and way off in the distance we could see our destination. It seemed so very far away, but this is why we were here. The mayflies were horrendous at the summit so we snapped a couple of quick photos and decided to find a spot with a breeze for our early lunch.

As we chowed down our lunch at the intersection of the Dublin trail another hiker greeted us with a thick accent. Noticing our packs he commented, "you must be the two headed northbound on the greenway." After talking a bit with him he mentioned he had done it a few times and that he thought it was very underutilized. Fine by us, this was more of a journey away from people anyways. Dustin asked the guy if his accent was a New Zealand accent to which the guy prompted corrected to Australian. It made me laugh thinking about how Paul at the MMT 100 was so adamant about not being Australian and now this fellow was so adamant about not being New Zealand. Two counties separated by so little, with such a distaste for one another. We made our way down the Dublin trail with little effort, sliding and falling a few times, but with the sun beating us down the treeline was welcomed.
The fire road climb up to the Spiltior shelter was rough, the heat and humidity scorching down upon us. This summer here in NH being almost non-existent really hadn't acclimated either of us to this weather. We stopped and rested at the bottom of the hill and had to stop several times to dunk our heads in the rushing streams nearby. We joked about how we were sweating like "real men" should on a daily basis. The thing i noticed was that neither of us had gone to the bathroom yet today. With my history of not peeing during ultra's that couldn't have been a good sign, luckily today the hiking gods were on our side and neither of us had any dehydration symptoms. With the threat of an afternoon shower looming in the backs of our heads we pushed on fairly quickly to the shelter and arrived comfortably at 3:30. After looking at the map and reading the guidebook we see that there is a nice spot to pump fresh water from about a 1/4 of a mile down the trail. We shed our packs for the first time in 6-7 hours and laugh at how quickly we knock out the 1/4 a mile without them.

As we restocked our water you could feel the temperature shift, the storm we were warned of was closing in. We hustled back to camp, set up shop and started to cook our meals. As i scoped out a good branch to hang our food from Dustin worked on setting up his Jet Boil. What a surprise he had when melting plastic starting pouring down on the stump tabletop. Followed by a loud, "OH NO,....OH NOOOOO!" Apparently Step 11 of the instructions told you to remove the top AND BOTTOM plastic lids from the main pot. In his exhausted state, the bottom lid had slipped Dustin's mind and he had melted it almost instantly upon starting the stove. As the thunder approached we got our food all cooked and each took a shelter trail log and read for the next hour, sharing the ones that were the most hilarious and getting tips on what tomorrow section would bring from the prior southbound hikers. It's odd being out in the woods with no technology and living strictly by how you feel and what surrounds you. With the thunderstorms essentially blackening the sky and the rain pouring down confining us to the shelter we found ourselves crashed out by 5:30. The ping of the rain lulling us to sleep.

Off to The Crider Shelter tomorrow. Hopefully the rain breaks by morning.
Quotes of the day:
"Glisteny" & "Nom Nom Nom"