http://homepage.mac.com/jastangl/blog/May_08_Blog.html What if you could start every day with a ride? How would it feel to see more dirt than concrete? Is it possible to wear a camelbak more than slacks? Pipe dreams, I know... But what is life without dreams? ...and sometimes those dreams come true where a couple times a week, lanes aren't determined by yellow and white lines, but by bench cuts and mossy singletrack. Sometimes, we wind down our day with a helmet hair and dirty skins. Even occasionally, just before the sun goes down, flying down the side of a mountain is the reward for struggling to the top, and those things help put everything else in perspective. Sat, 26 Jul 2008 10:30:01 -0400 60 http://homepage.mac.com/jastangl/blog/May_08_Blog.html#rxe233376749
I read Bill Bryson's The Lost Continent after being unable to find A Walk In The Woods a while back and was not impressed. It actually made me hesitant to read A Walk, despite it being recommended to me several times. I would've missed out.

The book's about Bill's hike along a significant portion of the Appalachian Trail with a very out-of-shape friend. It's insightful, meaningful, gives a moving history of America's treatment of it's nature beauty (the good and of course the bad), but mostly it's just hilarious. A couple of excerpts I liked:

"All kinds of people have completed thru-hikes. One man hiked it in his eighties. Another did it on crutches. A blind man named Bill Irwin hiked the trail with a seeing-eye dog, falling down an estimated 5000 times in the process. Probably the most famous, certainly the most written about, of all thru-hikes was Emma "Grandma" Gatewood, who successfully hiked the trail twice in her late sixties despite being eccentric, poorly equipped, and a danger to herself. (She was forever getting lost) My own favorite, however, is a guy named Woodrow Murphey from Pepperell, Massachusetts, who did a thru-hike in the summer of 1995. I would have like him anyway, just for being called Woodrow, but I especially admired him when I read that he weighed 350 pounds and was doing the hike to lose weight. In the first week of the trail, he managed just five miles a day, but he persevered, and by August, when he reached his home state, he was up to a dozen miles a day. He had lost fifty-three pounds (a trifle, all things considered_ and at last report was considering doing it all over again the following year."

...he goes on to talk about motivation...

"A significant fraction of thru-hikers reach Katahdin, then turn around and start back to Georgia. They just can't stop walking, which kind of makes you wonder. In fact, they more you read about thru-hikers the more you end up being filled with a kind of wonder. Take Bill Irwin, the blind man. After his hike he said: "I never enjoyed the hiking part. It was something I felt compelled to do. It wasn't my choice." Or David Horton, the ultra runner who set the speed record in 1991. By his own account, he became "a mental and emotional wreck" and spend most of the period crossing Maine weeping copiously. (Well then why do it?) Even good old Earl Shaffer ended up as a recluse in the backwoods of Pennsylvania. I don't mean to suggest that hiking the AT drives you potty, just that it takes a certain kind of person to do it."
"It is such a strong contrast. When you're on the AT, the forest is your universe, infinite and entire. It is all you experience day after day. Eventually, it is about all you can imagine. You are aware of course that somewhere over the horizon there are mighty cities, busy factories, crowded freeways, but here in this part of the country, where woods drape the landscape for as far as the eye can see, the forest rules."

Spoiler (highlight between quotes to see text): "After dropping out of the hike, Bryson says "I had come to realize that I didn't have any feeling towards the AT that weren't confused and contradictory. I was weary of the trail, but still strangely in it thrall; found the endless slog tedious but irresistible; grew tired of the boundless woods but admired their boundlessness; enjoyed the escape from civilization and ached for its comforts. I wanted to quit and to do this forever, sleep in a bed and in a tent, see what was over the next hill and never see a hill again." ... "I gained a profound respect for wilderness and nature and the benign dark power of the woods. I understand now, in a way I never did before, the colossal scale of the world. I found patience and fortitude that I didn't know I had. I discovered an American that millions of people scarcely know exists. I made a friend. I came home.""

I hope to someday have that respect for the soil beneath me. I won't achieve it on some day trip or one-day event. A timeless feeling like that will take more than that... Someday...]]> Sat, 24 May 2008 22:52:28 -0400 http://homepage.mac.com/jastangl/blog/May_08_Blog.html#cdh232892269
Other interesting tidbits:

The GC is 277 miles long. It's 217 mile from Virginia Beach to Staunton.
It takes 14 days to raft the canyon from end to end.
The canyon was eroded away, not because of how soft the soil is, but how hard it is. Soft erosion levels land (like the midwest).

Impressive.
]]> Mon, 19 May 2008 08:17:48 -0400 http://homepage.mac.com/jastangl/blog/May_08_Blog.html#bis232821945
I knew I was going to have a weekend in Arizona and would probably go up to Sedona to rent a bike and ride the trials. I've done this many times in the past and have loved it, but it appears that Sedona might be getting over-devoloped is recent years. After talking to a friend about their trip to the Canyon, and hiking down a little ways from the rim before coming back up, I wondered how hard it would be to do it as a run to the bottom.

The NPS website for day hiking strongly suggests not going to the river and back in one day. But really, does that apply to me? There are actually signs that say 250 people are rescued every year and most of them look like this: and they show a picture of a 20-something fit-looking male with athletic clothes on. I did some research on others that have done it, but these are mostly ultra-marathons doing something like the Rim-to-Rim Run or the Double Crossing. Both of those are harder than what I was planning, but they were people in much better shape also. The route I was taking has been done tons of times and Gene Hanson (good maps and pictures) seems to reassure me that I could do it.

Saturday I drove up through Sedona and Flagstaff, checked into the Grand Canyon Inn because it was cheap and had a restaurant, though about 30 minutes from the rim. To scope out my little hike, I walked the rim for a hour or two, telling whoever would listen about my plans, which no one would believe. One very tired looking guy did say he had just done the route I was planning and it was very doable. We compared fitness as we were both concerned about my chances of getting out the next day. My preparations matched his and I was concluding I would do it when a ranger overheard us and reminding that you're not supposed to go to the bottom and back. She also pointed out the rescue helicopter below the rim. I was nervous, but I was going to do it.

After reading signs and exhibits, I left to catch the IMAX GC movie and some dinner before watching The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner back in the hotel room, drinking one beer, and setting the alarm for early.

Sunday, I was cutting it close to catch the 7am shuttle from the Bright Angel Lodge (near the trailhead I was finishing on) to the South Kaibab trail that I was starting on when 4 elk were near the road and I had to get out to take some pictures. The whole time I was thinking I was going to be late because of these things. I got to the bus stop about 2 minutes before the bus dressed in running shorts, my RSR shirt, a camelbak with bars, and that's it. Everyone else had pants, long-sleeved shirts, jackets, backpacks, walking sticks, water bottles hanging all over. I think I stood out a little. Waiting at the restrooms before starting down the trail, I was shivering pretty good, while everyone else was comfortable, yet I was more worried about them. 5 minutes into it, I'd be warm enough for the rest of the day.

The pictures tell you more about the hike than I could, so I'll just throw out some stats:
South Kaibab Trail: 7 miles ridgeline trail, 4700 feet descending, no water, 21% average grade.
River trail (not the real name, just runs between Black Bridge and Silver Bridge and connects to Phantom Ranch): 1 mile, level, water.
Bright Angel Trail: 9 miles valley trail, 4500 feet ascending, 3 water stop (two weren't working), 17% average grade.

A couple rough things did happen to me. I was running down hill at a good clip, but slowed when I came up on a couple hiking/standing. The girl was already crying with fear before I surprised her. I think she was ready to get out. Also, right at the half-way-down point, I really twisted my ankle. I looked down to see how far I had to go, then looked up to see how far I'd come. Not sure if I should turn back or not, I concluded that if my ankle was going to give me trouble, they'd have to rescue me no matter what way I went. I walked it off and continued down.

To be honest, I ran about 2/3 the way down, as some sections were just too steep and ran up about 1/3, as the rest was just too steep. I didn't rush it as I wanted to enjoy the views, take some time at the river, and get lots of photos. It took me about 6 hours and I had predicted 7. It also took me 5 liters of water, 3 Clif Bars, and about 150 pictures.

Photos
The "GC Photos" are essentially views/photography. Of course some are from inside the canyon and down by the river.
The "GC Run" are essentially the run/hike. Lots of trail pics and even some with me.]]> Sat, 17 May 2008 00:00:00 -0400 http://homepage.mac.com/jastangl/blog/May_08_Blog.html#smn232214982 Gallery]]> Sun, 11 May 2008 12:09:41 -0400 http://homepage.mac.com/jastangl/blog/May_08_Blog.html#mgj232207033 I had been in Pheonix for a couple weeks for work and been doing quite a bit of trial running at South Mountain Park. Today, we got out of class early one day and I decided to head east instead to the Superstition Mountains in the Tonto National Forest. I had decided on a ~12 mile loop that circled Weaver's Needle and thought, despite being long, should be a good run and scenic.

On the drive out, I made a wrong turn and ended up at a different trailhead. It took me a few minutes to figure this out, but after I did, the map (kinda) showed how to get to the one I really wanted. I headed further out of town, then down a 7-mile dirt road to get to the trailhead. Though this was supposed to be one of the most popular trails, there was only one other car there.

The route was basically up the valley, over the saddle of the mountain, around the needle, then back down the valley. I started slow because I knew my legs were still sore from previous runs, but the pace never picked up. By the time I was warmed up and feeling ok, the trail was so rocky that each step was like a dance either around rocks or cactus. Some parts were completely unrunable and I was constantly worried about twisting an ankle. After making my way to the saddle, I could see the needle and thought "wow, its a long ways around that thing."

I stayed on the trail, running what little I could, but the trail never changed direction nor got to the intersection I was expecting. I could tell I was still heading NorthEast, because I could see the sun in front of me getting lower and lower. Finally, I decided to skip the loop and just head back the way I came. Half way back to the saddle of the mountain, the sun had set completely and it was twighlight. (No Daylight savings time in Arizona.) I was moving as fast as I could but losing light fast. I checked the moon, just to see what light it would provide, but it was just a sliver of a cresant and barely higher than the sun was. By the time I reached the saddle, I was working with moonlight only.

Moonlight, in the desert with no other lights, even if it is just a sliver of a cresant, still gave me enough light so I could see my shadow, though faint. It wasn't long after I decended into the valley that it disappeared behind the mountain, though. Literally, all I had to work with was starlight. Being well outside the city, tons of stars, but they don't give much light.

To avoid panicing, I came up with my plan. Isn't that what you're supposed to do? I would follow the trail as far and as fast as I safely could until I couldn't anymore. If I had to, I decided that I would sleep in the desert until the sun came up and I could find my way out. Not very appealing since I only had on running clothes, no water or food, and was already thirsty.

The trail was mostly exposed and loose white limestone rocks. With so little light, I could pretty well tell where the trial was, but couldn't tell how big the next step was or if the dark spot beside the trail was a bush, cactus, or drop down into the riverbed. Still I just followed the trail, very very slowly.

The further I got into the canyon, the less light there was. I had to cross the creekbed (dry) several times and there were actually trees there (rare in these here parts), which made it almost impossible to see anything. On the last creekbed crossing, I lost the trail and ended up following the creekbed until it deadended into a bunch of shrubbery and cactus. I was on the verge of panic anyways, and this didn't help. The last thing I wanted to do was head back up the canyon looking for a trial I couldn't follow the first time. I sat down for a few minutes and reminded myself of my plan and that I was prepared to sleep, lost in the desert, if I had to (even though I wasn't). Knowing this and knowing I was still in the canyon helped a little. I started following the creekbed back up canyon and breathed heavily to try to help calm my fears. I really thought about calling it quits and just finding a comfortable rock to wait it out on until the sun came up. About 100 yards up and after seveal false trail sightings, I finally found the trail again.

Walking down the trial, I went over a waterbar and though "I remember that from the way up, I'm getting close" then though "dumbass, you can't recognize sh!t in this dehydrated, paniced, dark state." Turns out, I was right and about another 1/2 mile later, I finally came out on the trailhead at the car at after 9:00 (sunset was just after 7pm). My arms and legs are completely scratched up and my shirt and short have about a dozen snags each. I have a cactus needle buried in my leg that I can't get out, but I'm back at my computer with a Fat Tire Ale.

I can honestly say I've learned a couple things. Like: tell someone where you're going. and: don't try to squeeze in a long workout in an unfamiliar place while cutting it short on time.

I know, it's a long story, but I felt like I needed to get it out. You hear about people getting lose in the wilderness and getting hurt or dying, then end up being found near their cars. I think now, I can understand how this happens. At least I got some good pictures.]]> Sat, 10 May 2008 00:00:00 -0400