Wrong Way 5K

For a town its size, Fort Collins still retains an impressive handful of computer technology companies, such as HP, AMD, Intel, and Avago, as well as Broadcomm and LSI Logic. HP, where I work, still maintains a wellness coordinator and a free gym, two things for which I am grateful. Furthermore, HP puts on its own 5k run/1 mile walk twice a year for employees, aided with course layout and timing from Steve and Brad from local running store Runner's Roost. Finally, each participant recieves raffle tickets, entered in a drawing for prizes donated by local sponsors. How cool is that?

The race takes place in the parking lot and trail around the campus. This was my fourth (or fifth?) time doing one of these races. The course is always the same, and I won the last couple of times running it. Both of those times, another runner, Justin, and I pushed each other towards the end, and I had to keep my pace honest to stay ahead of him. Also, my coworker and friend Ray has had quite a fast year -- qualifying for Boston again, and even beat my half marathon PR by a couple seconds.

But Justin wasn't racing today, Ray was thinking 19-something...
...
And I got lost.

Anyway, the Spring race usually has a fun Hawaiian theme, whereas the Thanksgiving race is a turkey trot. The turkey trot race has a few designated pacer "turkey," who run 20, 24, or 30min paces. Beat your goal turkey, and get another raffle ticket. Last year, I did not run, and nobody beat 20 minutes (including the turkey). This year, I volunteered to be the 20min turkey, as I pride myself on hitting a pace with a standard watch (and often without one). However, the position was already taken.

Crap, I was gonna have to race it.

I did put a little bit of speedwork in the last few weeks, just to tune up and see how the legs were feeling. Plus, this was another perfect tuneup for the Thanksgiving Day Run here in town, so I might as well give it my best. My best, though, is still based on personal time, not interpersonal competition. I do enjoy a bit of friendly, close competition, only because of the extra push, but my main focus is the objective time and distance itself, not comparing myself to others.

It was a bit chilly but sunny, and I just had a singlet and shorts on, with numerous other folks wearing hats, gloves, etc. I just showed up ready to run, without much of a warmup, and we took off. Some kid in jogging pants took off like a bullet, but I quickly caught up with him, and I was alone. My pace was relaxed, and right at my goal: I would aim just under 6-minute miles, so as to hope to do the same in the 4-miler next week. I hit the 1 mile mark right on time, and was feeling great. Nobody was around, and I was determined to focus on pace and not turn my head back.
"Nobody's even close to you! You're making it look easy!" said Brad, cheering me on, as I looped back to the start.

Soon after crossing the start, I hit the 2-mile mark. This is also where I started mingling with the finishing 1-mile walkers...and where the confusion of the 2nd loop began. I remember being confused by this turn in the past. I think the first year I did this, there were 3 of us together, and 2 of us didn't know the right way, until the 3rd pointed us in the right direction. For some reason, I thought I was supposed to make a big loop around the building again. I passed a volunteer at the turn, who was quiet but saying nothing, and I said, "I go that way, right?" she said, "No, I think you go this way", which was correct...but I insisted on going *my* way! I don't why I did this, just that I mentally envisioned going straight for some reason, and I didn't think the mileage made sense if I went the other way.

A minute later, I hit the exit of the wrong turn, and I finally comprehended mistake, so I turned around, losing a couple minutes total. Now, there were 4 people in front of me. I didn't think I'd catch them, but I ended up catching the next two (and felt kind of bad about it), before finishing just under 21 minutes, and around 3.4-3.5 miles total, and I beat neither Ray nor the turkey.

I don't know how or why I made the wrong turn. I've been quite busy and distracted lately, and I even wonder if I sabotaged myself for some reason while running by myself. I have a feeling that if someone were close behind, I would have made dead-sure to go the right way. I seem to make mistakes when I'm lackadaisical about the details, yet stick to a plan meticulously when I take something very seriously. As it was, it was a good training run! Thanks to HP, Runner's Roost, and sponsors like Panera, Old Chicago, and Silver Mine Subs.

A Rough Journey along Devil's Backbone

Not really, but since I haven't contributed anything for awhile...

Coyote Ridge to Devil's Backbone, ~18 miles roundtrip

Saturday was cool, with cold threatening. I slept in, and snow was once again predicted for the evening. But by late morning the clouds were pregnant with it...and showing.

This front was quite nice because it was windless and calm. I felt comfortable in shorts, but brought warmer jacket, hat, and gloves. Since I've been running more local lately, I thought a little bit of hills in Devil's Backbone sounded like a good bet. I hopped on the Schwinn Probe (free junker that I brought back from Minnesota and have been riding daily for several months) and headed out.

First, I should note that this week, work on the Powerline Trail from Keenland down to Trilby began in earnest. Not only is the fence up along the entire path, but it is now bulldozed into a solid dirt road. I have mixed feelings knowing that much of our longstanding singletrack social trails is gone for good, but I suppose it will be better when they pour the foundation for the alter of Progress. Or something.
Being Saturday, I assumed there would be a respite from Useful Work, and that I could hop the fence and ride this ephemeral road to Trilby. I made it a half mile before I saw the machines were fully awake, not dozing, and that I had better get out of the way. I picked up my bike and tip-toed lightly over a Southridge Fairway, and hit the real road.

Soon I was off to Coyote Ridge. Here I will skip ahead, before skipping back, to note that once again, I was happy to return from running several hours to find my bike was unmolested.

To the run: I ran with a light pack today, which is rare, so as to carry my poofy jacket, and a thermos full of hot coffee. I implored the heavens to rain snow and crud upon me -- it was just one of those weeks -- and wanted to be prepared. As it was, though, the run to the DBB trailhead was uneventful but pleasantly quiet. Saw maybe a half dozen folks all day.

And one of them was an intrepid youngster survivalist. I know this because he and his mom told me. As I paused to swig some coffee and eat an orange, they were getting ready to hike. I asked if they were ready for snow, and the boy (all of 10 or 11) told me he was ready for anything. He knew how to build snow caves, and had garbage bags with him for emergency shelter.
"He could be the next Bear Grylls!" said his mom, but in a refreshing sort of pride built on a boy's genuine interest and enthusiasm, rather than an Honor Roll bumper sticker.

Soon, I headed back, and quickly caught up with them, and wished them well. Seeing my small pack and shorts, Bear Junior advised: "I hope you're prepared!"
I slowed a bit and replied: "I hope so, too, since I need to make it back to Ft. Collins!"
"You're from Ft. Collins?! How far is that?"
"9 miles or so"
"Well, I hope you're prepared! It's a rough journey ahead!"

With that, my spirits were briefly lifted, knowing that boys of any age can still find adventure and excitement outside. I hope he learns, even earlier than I did, that your legs can take you much farther than most people give them credit for. Even if it is a rough journey.

The run back was calm and even. A few flakes started to fall, and it was getting socked in towards Estes, but not up toward Fort Collins. In the final descent, I opened up a bit and let the legs fly. These lower mileage weeks and speedwork are making me feel a bit more fresh at the end of each run, which is nice.

I hopped on the bike, and then took a detour to watch a taped Badger game with some friends. I skipped the details on why I was wearing shorts in the snow on that side of town. Some drinks, a sunset, a Badger victory, and a few inches of snow later, I was cruising home through a delightful snowstorm.

Running on the Grid

Every good endurance training plan has elements of distance as well as speedwork.
Like many, I dread speedwork. Precisely for that reason, I figure it's good for me, and have brought back 8x800's on Tuesday's, ensuring that I feel like crap for the rest of the afternoon.

Speed, of course, is comprised of two components: distance and time. Time is easy enough: wear my wife's light blue $10 women's watch, or carry one of the numerous freebie plastic caribiner watches, plastered with logos of pharmaceuticals or obscure electrical engineering software tools, that I've somehow acquired. Distance -- ay, there's the rub.

Luckily, Ft. Collins has numerous resources for easy distance/pacing. Fort Collins's flatness, and Western new infrastructure, lends itself to a grid of square miles between major intersections. Many folks already have their favorite spots, but I thought I'd share for newbies and visitors.
Here are some of my favorite resources for "gridwork," without being plugged into the technological grid via treadmill or satellite. (OK, so you still need a digital timepiece, so my metaphor kind of breaks down quickly...)

* Urban multi-use trail system
The Poudre, Spring Creek, and Powerline Trails are numbered per quarter-mile. The Poudre and Spring Creek trails are centered on College Ave, with "E" and "W" designating East and West, respectively. For example, "PE3" is the Poudre Trail 3/4 miles east of college.
Also, the Boyd Lake trail is a fantastic resource between South FC and Loveland. Loveland's trail system also has quarter-mile numbering.
This numbering is also helpful in locating for emergencies or just for meeting spots.

* Major road intersections
(Kechter)/Harmony/Horsetooth/Drake/Prospect/Mulberry
Overland/Taft/Shields/College/Lemay/Timberline/Ziegler/(Strauss Cabin)
are *generally* a mile apart -- YMMV based on slight road curves and tangents.

Combining these two facts, besides the quarter-mile markers, there is a nice stretch of generally flat trail on the Powerline and Mason Trail, between Drake and Horsetooth.

* Minor road intersections
Since thousands of folks work and live in the SE corner of town, near HP, Avago, Intel, AMD, etc., it's worth noting the nice, popular grid around here:
- Harmony to Rock Creek is a perfect 1/2 mile along Lady Moon or Ziegler;
- Lady Moon to Ziegler is also a 1/2 mile
- Harmony/Strauss Cabin-Horsetooth-Ziegler-Harmony is a perfect 3-mile, with a nice hill in the middle

* Track
The track, of course, is a great way to pound out reliable speedwork. Some of the more popular options:
- CSU track: 800M track (inside lane) open to general public unless an event is going on. Tuesday mornings and evenings seem to be popular.
- CSU indoor track: Students only, at the rec center. 1/8th mile in the middle lane. If you're taking a class and don't otherwise think about the rec center, it's a great place for bad weather days
- Fossil Ridge HS track: Rock Creek and Lady Moon, open to public when not in use. Frequently locked, but you can acquire a key from the Poudre School District with proper forms and a deposit.

October Snow Days

20+ inches of snow, before Halloween


A big, early season upslope was upon us. The forecast called for rain changing to snow around midnight, Tuesday night, and continuing through Thursday but flakes were starting to fall after 8PM. Signs were looking good for the upper end of the forecast. More snow fell on Thursday; all told, we ended up with over 20 inches (although the warm ground meant that not all of it stuck).

Ski to Work

Anyway, Wednesday morning, I made the call without hesitation: there was enough snow to ski to work (just under 3 miles), and the forecast meant that there would be even more snow to ski back home. This being our 4th winter snow season here, there's generally a handful of days, at best, that are skiable for work. Many of the storms that dump enough snow are followed by immediately sunny skis that melt everything on pavement and concrete by the afternoon.

And pavement and concrete are the enemy.

The difficulty of urban skiing, you see, is numerous snowless crossings. Without taking off skis at every intersection, the way to handle this is to walk straight up and down like a duck, without sliding the skis on the pavement at all. The best conditions, on the other hand, is when there is a thin layer of solid ice on the road. But beggar's can't be choosers, especially when it comes to October snow.

All geared up, I made it to work in about 35-40 minutes, which is about twice the time it takes to run. Still, the fun is the journey itself, as it's nice to get the skis out, get the legs used to the motions again, and evangelize skiing and alternative transportation. Enough people smile or ask about it to make it even more fun.

As even more snow fell, I thought Thursday would be even better, so gave it another go. The ice on the roads was nice, but the deep snow in open fields was pretty tough. Snow kept falling all day, but the temperature stayed in the mid 30's. By Thursday afternoon, tragically, the roads and sidewalks were bone dry. Here I encountered one more sole traversing the desert: a female tele skier (the hat gave it away) with her skis on her shoulders!
"It's time to just give it up and walk!" she laughed as I crossed the road. She had skied in both days, too, but it looked like our ski commuting was done for this month at least.

Powerline South
My favorite spot for a quick, immediate run or ski (or even the beginning of a cross-town mt. bike ride) is what I call "Powerline South", which are the dirt trails directly across from our condo, running 2 miles N-S from Harmony to Trilby along the railroad tracks. There's a tiny bit of rolling here and there to make it interesting, and we can regularly see and hear coyotes in the area at night. This trail is slated to be an extension of the official city "Powerline Trail," which is bittersweet. I love the trail system, of course, but it is sad to see the fence go up, and the prospect of the trail losing its best characteristics: unofficial, dirt, numerous railroad crossings, etc. I hope the new trail doesn't destroy or block off some of the existing wildness.

Jess and I hit the trail a bit Wednesday night, as she got her snowshoes out for the new season. We made most of the new tracks through deepening snow. I played around a bit more Thursday and Friday night, under a nearly-full moon, finally getting a good set of tracks to stay (and saw a few others as well).

Coyote Ridge
Close-by Front Range ski access is a rare commodity. Fantastic, world-class snow conditions are easy to find -- if you drive 80-90 minutes. So all year, I try to pay attention to which trails might be good with some decent snow. These trails wouldn't be found in any local snowshoe or ski guide if they only have enough snow a couple days every other year. I've had great fun at Horsetooth (service road up to the rock), Horsetooth/Soderberg (Towers to Sawmill); Young's Gulch in the lower canyon; and Pineridge/Maxwell/Dixon Lake (but upper Foothills is too rocky).
This time, I decided to give Coyote Ridge a try.

The storm was moving out Thursday night, and the nearly-full moon was coming in, so I was able to ski without a headlamp. To summarize: conditions pretty much sucked for skiing, and would have been great for trail running instead. The wind alternated patterns of nearly dry trail with drifts, and rocks poked out everywhere. Every once in awhile I'd get a good stretch to ski, and I stubbornly persisted to the top of the ridge and enjoyed the view, but I can't call it good skiing. Oh well.

RMNP - Nymph, Dream, Emerald Lakes


By the weekend, everything around or near town was pretty bare outside of the trees. My hopes of trying out Bobcat Ridge, Devil's BB/Blue Sky, or Crosier Mountain, were pretty much dashed. Still, Jess and I were hopeful about good old reliable Bear Lake area, which was still showing 13 inches on Snotel, and has enough tree cover and traffic to keep the snow around. Plus, we wouldn't have the mid-season windchill and sometimes snow that's too deep to deal with, which has turned us around in RMNP before. After driving through the canyon in the warm sun, we finally got to Bear Lake, and weren't disappointed.

There was enough snow, and enough of it was fun, to make it worthwhile. Sure, traffic was a bit heavier than ideal, but it was nice to see lots of folks enjoying the day. It was certainly possible to hike in shoes, as many were, but the traction of the snowshoes certainly made it easier, and my skis made it more fun. There was plenty of sketch: narrow trail with blind corners, slush turning to ice as you changed directions, etc., but I made mental notes of the worst spots going up, in order to avoid them going down. Yeah, I banged my skis up and fell enough, but wasn't going fast enough to damage anything seriously.

We had not been to Emerald Lake previously, so we enjoyed the view:


Two minor problems with RMNP (as compared to Brainard Lakes or Cameron Pass), especially the popular/short trails: sharp corners/turns cut by hikers but not maneuverable by skiers; and total gaper fest stretched out across the trail. Still manageable on this nice day, though. I can't wait for Wild Basin to fill in more and to head back.

All in all, it was a fun 4-5 days of playing in the snow, and now it's all gone.

Halloween "Dog Days" Marathon

After this week's snowstorm, things were up in the air for Saturday. The initial plan was to carpool with some Ft. Collins folk and head to Boulder for a decent run in the foothills. I was looking forward to meeting some new folks and running on new trails...but none of us expected a couple of feet of snow. While I'm not opposed to running in the snow, if there's a decent amount, I figured I'd rather ski instead.

However, after scouting out the foothills, I was brought back to Colorado reality: local front range snow is a great novelty while it's still snowing. But, after that, a few things inevitably happen: the upslope low clears up, temperatures get back to average and the sun quickly starts melting the snow; and the vacating system often pulls in some drier air that pushes snow around and sucks it right up. So after a couple days, you're left with too-muddy/slushy for distance running, and not enough for skiing.

However, the roads, with associated urban heat, clear the snow right up. Since Saturday was shaping up to be a great weather day, it seemed that a road run was in order. By 11AM, it was warm enough to head out with a long-sleeve shirt and shorts, with only a vague notion of a route: head East over to the Environmental Learning Center; pick up the Poudre Trail heading northwest, and then keep an eye on the time before eventually heading back south.
If I wasn't going to be running the hills in Boulder, at least it seemed like a good day for a marathon.
And so it was. It felt great, and it was a pure reminder, again, of what I enjoy most about running: find a sustainable, enjoyable pace to run outside, checking out what's going on around town, the river, etc. without any particular concern for specific training for something. Runs like this have nothing in common with running inside or any sort of "obligatory" workout.
It's just fun to go for a run.

I decided to call this sort of run a "dog" run for a few reasons. The more pleasant reason is that I decided to randomly pick or modify the route based on whim. As I reached the Environmental Learning Center, I decided to checkout the loop around the natural area that I enjoy. I knew it would be snowy, and it turned out to be just the right amount of snow left for cushioning and traction. Even though it was mid-day, I didn't see any other people, but as I rounded the corner at the far edge, I kicked up a few deer. Nice to have some company!

So another reason for the "Dog Marathon" moniker is due to the melting snow. More specifically, when snow sticks around for a few days, lazy dog owners (of which there are, empirically, hundreds in town) either are too lazy to pick up dog poop through deep snow, or willfully ignore it because it's out of site. This means, during the melt...you got it. Not just unsightly, but sections of trail absolutely reek of it. These owners don't notice this (or don't care) if they don't spend the time on these trails, but I urge them to walk a mile (or a few dozen) in someone else's encrusted shoes to appreciate this.

So I hit the Poudre River trail and did a few other natural area spurs, but mostly stuck to the trail. After 15 miles or so and a couple hours, I knew I was committed, since I was on the north side of town. Alas, my trusty Rusty Meyer's bottle was empty, and I brought $2 but no food with me. $2 would be enough calories (when appropriately traded as legal tender for something edible, wiseguy), but I was also just a mile and a half or so from the in-law's house. I know it's annoying to be that brother-in-law that runs across town and then pops in unannounced -- sweaty, hungry, and delirious (doesn't everyone have one?), but thankfully, Christina was home, so I was able to refill the water, grab a banana and granola bars (thanks!). It's nice having them in town, and we enjoyed coming back there later for Halloween Turkey. I played with Bella a bit -- Dog Days Marathon -- before heading back.

I headed back to the Poudre River Trail West to Shields, before deciding to make my way South. By now, I had slowed down a bit, but still enjoying the day. I passed through some streets that I ran regularly when taking class at CSU, and was delighted to hear the church bells clanging at 2pm (I used to have a run that brought me past the church on the hour). I stumbled through campus, towards the Mason Trail. I was definitely getting a bit tired, and I didn't want the extra distance needed to hit the Spring Creek trail from Centre Dr., so I thought I could take a shortcut behind the Game and Wildlife Building. Well, that ended up being a mud and snow slogfest that wasn't a shortcut anyway, but I did scare up a few bright red foxes up close.

Finally, I hit the Mason Trail, and it was warm enough to finish the run shirtless. I cut straight down Harmony and called it a day, four-something hours later, which means it was some sort of ultramarathon distance.
Not bad for the Dog Days of October.

Ski to Work Day Poem

The snow 'snew
and a whole slew
of kid's kids
did
slide and sled
still

Sandboarding and California Peak near disasters!









It looked like another nice weekend coming up in Colorado high country.
"You up for something epic this weekend?" I asked Ben.
"Sure...how about boarding the Sand Dunes?"
I knew Ben had been wanting to do this for awhile, and it looked like fun, so we had the beginnings of a plan...

Great Sand Dunes National Park is one of the newest National Parks, having been designated in 2004 (upgraded, as it were, from a National Monument). It certainly seemed intriguing, but logistics from the Front Range lead to excuses. The easiest way is a 5-hour drive that curls around the Sangres, although backdoor 4x4 options can save 30-40 minutes. I've been within 30-40 minutes of the park several times -- heck, the previous weekend in Taos we went through Ft. Garland -- but never made the extra distance out there. In the summer, beautiful, starry nights mean brutal, 140-degree sand during the day, while December through April are out for obvious reasons involving frozen, crystallized water. Throw in autumn leaf-peaping, and that leaves late October/November and May "shoulder seasons" as the only reasonable times to go...
And clearly the best. We found the park to be uncrowded and gorgeous, with perfect weather and ample camping. But I'm skipping ahead.

In addition to the Sand Dunes, we planned on hiking California Peak, which promised a long class-2 ridge traverse up a 13.8k foot mountain. That seemed like a good combination for a Sunday with little chance of rain or clouds. Besides Ben, we piqued interest from his friend Sean, who was up for some sort of camping and outdoor adventure.

We left Fort Collins just after 3AM on Saturday. Instead of using Ben's old snowboard, he found a place that rented sandboards and sleds in Alamosa. Score! Plus, they agreed to drop off the goods near the NP entrance by 9AM, saving us the extra trip. Double score!

We picked up Sean in Thornton just after 4AM, and it turns out he had gotten about an hour of sleep. Looks like he had a long weekend ahead of him, but with the promise of a long drive in front of us, and plenty of sand siesta possibilities, he could certainly make it up. Since we didn't need to get there until 9AM, we were in no hurry...

Except we were. Ben passed a stopped car to the left. From my sideview, I saw the car pull onto the road and start following us.
"Uh, did you see a cop back there?" I asked, which turned out to be the magic phrase to turn red and blue blinking lots on the car behind us.
Crap.
This was the area approaching downtown where the speed drops down to 55, and we had no excuse. We were anxious and highly sober, unlike most of the other drivers at that time, but no dice. As a college student especially, that's the last thing Ben wanted. I couldn't tell if mentioning my previous tickets were helpful (Wisconsin...Wisconsin...Minnesota...California...Colorado), plus my lame parking ticket from Denver just a week earlier, or if we should drop the subject, but we did agree, unfortunately, that Colorado is pretty darn expensive.

Soon Ben was out of that funk, and dawn was breaking. Finally, we left I-25 and started heading West. We were still early, somewhat hungry, and after we passed a coffee shop in Ft. Garland, I asked if he didn't mind stopping there: both of my travel mugs were empty, my bladder was full, and we were early anyway. He pulled a U-turn, and we parked at Ute Creek Coffee House.

I'm a sucker for coffee houses. It turns out that the owner, John, is too, as he shared various stories about his background and starting the coffee house itself.
"Well, to make a long story short..." he was fond of saying, and the twinkle in his eye proved that he was aware of the irony.
We had time to listen to these stories while waiting for our made-from-scratch burritos. That's right, we glanced at the menu, saw burritos for $2.75, and asked about the ingredients. John's full-time worker (a nice 20-year old girl whose name we all remembered differently...Violet? Clarissa? Twilight?) told us we could have whatever we wanted in them. Sold!

While waiting, John told us about the various pennants and signs hanging in the coffee house, which were all delivered or sent by various customers.
"When I talk to somebody," he explained, "I can usually tell that they'll visit again. The only hard thing is getting them in the first time."
I asked if they had any stickers, as I've collected them from my favorite shops.
"No, but that's a great idea!"
I'll be back again, to Ute Creek Coffee House in Ft. Garland., to check.

Caffeinated, we were now on schedule to get to "The Oasis" just outside to pick up our boards. As we headed North, our view shifted dramatically. First, the last stretch of road is road-bike wet-dream smooth. Second, the view of the Sand Dunes is incredible. It just doesn't make sense: a vast playground of sand, piled between mountains and the San Luis Valley. With our boards in tow, we drove the car as far North as we could, to the "Point of No Return," and headed West to the Dunes.
Basically, our plan was to practice on a bunny hill, head for steeper ground, and hit whatever looked fun. Things went exactly according to plan. Once past the initial scrub and brush, it was an entire day spent barefoot.

At our first bunny hill, we tested out the gear. We were told to wax on every ride, and this ended up being good advice. The boards barely moved when unwaxed, especially on gentle slopes (between "Green" and "Blue" for major Colorado slopes), but absolutely flew when waxed appropriately. In any case, we were tentative but had fun on our first few rides. Neither Sean nor I had snowboarded previously, so we were quite cautious. But we were ready for bigger hills.

We headed in deeper, and found another promising hill. By now, we figured out a good waxing scheme, and hit the same run a few times. I was starting to get more confident standing up, and was finally able to make a run down. At this time, a woman and her pappilon dog approached. We offered to let her try the board, but she just wanted to take pictures. As it turned out, although several groups were trying plastic sleds, nobody else nearby was actually boarding. Since it was my turn, I figured I'd show off my skillz. And I did, making it all the way down...
Almost.
As I hit the bottom, I fell straight back. I know there's a brutal, bruising learning curve in snowboarding, but I landed on unforgiving ground. Make no mistake: a half inch of slideable sand is covering solid ground. Midwest ice would have been a blessing. For about 10 seconds, I was afraid of vomiting (or worse), or bleeding internally. I stood up, warily, waved "I'm OK" and trudged up the hill, and did a systems check. I knew I was bruised, and unsure if anything was broken, so I took it easy for a bit.

But, opportunities abounded, and I could still walk, so we headed deeper into the dunes, finding a long, steeper run to the West. I stuffed an extra shirt and jacket into the back of my pants, and was good to go. After a few runs, my confidence was back, and started having fun again, as I was starting to be able to shift my weight in either direction. After a few rounds, a family started making it's way toward us. Again, they wanted to check it out and take some pictures. This time, it was a man and 3 smiling, adopted children from Moracco: a young boy and his two teenage brothers. We quickly offered our gear to them, and the teenagers each took a test run. The younger boy, then, took his turn, and delighted us by flying down with absolutely reckless abandon! Soon, they were off, and Ben had one more idea: sledding down head first. We were skeptical, but it turns out this was the key to record land speed descents.

Now, late-afternoon, we called it a day, headed back to return the gear, and picked up some Tecate for the road. We asked the ranger for camping suggestions, and he gave us great advice on backpacking a couple miles from the lower Zapato Falls trailhead to the NF boundary. Then, in the morning, we would be that much closer to California Peak.

We followed this advice, and although the Zapato Lake trail had several social trails branching from it, we found a great campsite before dusk. We gathered our food and combined it: Trader Joe's Jambalaya, plus Ben's fettucini and chicken in a pouch, ended up being awesome like camp food always is. We forgot to bring rope, so we hucked our food remainders into a distant tree and hoped for the best. We worked our way through most of the Tecate, and headed to sleep under thousands of visible stars and the Milky Way itself.

Sunrise woke us up, and we packed up and stashed more of our gear. We continued heading NW along the trail, and then saw the official Wilderness Boundary sign. We crossed a few drainages, but some were completely dry, so it was difficult to determine where we were on the TI map, since the trail essentially involved crossing a few drainages between ridges, and then heading straight west on a less popular trail. The TI map, unfortunately, doesn't have sufficient resolution to show the various switchbacks we encountered, so we stayed on the main trail, figuring that the ridge to California would be obvious.

Except it wasn't. Even though California hits nearly 14k feet, the surrounding 12-13k ridges prevent a clear view of it from the Zapato trail. Finally, it looked like we were in a valley to the West of Twin Peaks. At this point, the trail became icy in the trees, and it didn't make sense to go further. We encountered a woman who was returning from the lake, so we knew we were past the ridge to California. We decided to turn back, and scout at the area near the NF boundary for evidence of a different trail. However, after we turned around and stared at the ridge in front of us, Ben and I decided that we should be able to scramble straight up it, thereby saving time and distance of doubling back. Sean was OK heading back to camp to rest, so Ben and I figured we'd make it up the ridge, run up the peak, and head back in no time.

After crossing a boulder field, we examined various gashes in the side of the ridge that looked promising. We chose one, and started working our way up. The rock, it turns out, was chossy and unstable, but we slowly made our way up. As we started dropping debris, we separated for safety reasons. At one point, Ben was below and behind a boulder, and I sent several rocks that ricocheted much too close to his head. We caught up, and it was his turn to lead (which made more sense anyway, since he had more rockclimbing experience). Unfortunately, the moves started getting harder, and now we were committed halfway up the ridge. We had both -- unbeknownst to each other -- decided that there was no way in hell we were descending this route. But we were almost to the top...

Except we weren't. With more experience, perhaps, we would have realized that the steep angle of the ridge meant we couldn't see what was behind it -- which was even more loose and dangerous climbing, 5.3-5.4 in Ben's estimate. Now, I am not a climber by any means, but I enjoy reading and learning about the sport from others. One thing I really dig is the idea of the "flow," being so caught up in what you're doing that everything else is blocked from your mind. While I've found that in other sports, I can totally see how this really applies to climbing specifically, where you're in an absolutely committed survival mode.

There's not much more to say here, except we eventually made it to the top of the ridge, when
....
Shit.
The "thing" up the ridge to our right was not as high as the ridge in front of us. That meant, instead of risking life and limb for California Peak, we were instead making our way up an unknown, unnamed ridge instead. We ambled to the nearest high point -- a pile of rocks -- took some pics, and assessed our situation.

We were essentially on top of an unknown knife edge. Both sides were equally steep, but the North side, unsurprisingly, was snow and ice covered. Climbing this ridge -- a stupid mistake for which I take responsibility -- now left us with an unknown risk of where to proceed, and the possibility of getting cliffed out if we picked the wrong direction. We both did not want to descend our ascent route, so our best option was to gamble and follow the knife edge as low as we could, and then head down.

It was slow going as we picked our way around boulders. We hit treeline again, but this only mean more obstacles in the way, as it was still mostly steep, loose rock. We had no choice but to start heading straight down, slowly. We came near a steep gully, and each choose a different side, so that numerous rocks sent downward wouldn't harm the other person. Eventually, our only choice was to finish up on the gully itself. There appeared to be about 4 cascades of downclimbing followed by narrow ledges, and the problem was, we couldn't actually see the last ledge. This was truly a test of faith, and Ben went first. Most of the time, I couldn't see him, but I could only hear occasional crashes of rock. Now that I was straight above him, I couldn't move at all: even a weight shift could launch a serious of rocks downward. Eventually, he reached a safe ledge, and called out.

I made my way down slowly as well. At one point, I took off my pack and contemplated pitching it, but couldn't count on it stopping at the next ledge, so I put it back on. Each hold absolutely had to be tested, and the only reason some of them stayed is because I didn't put full weight on them. Not much more to say here, but eventually I made it down.

Holy shit.

I will admit, several times, I just wanted to sit there and cry. But there was no option. We shouldn't have been in this position. I shouldn't have misread the map, of course, and we shouldn't have climbed an unknown route in either direction without protective gear and full visibility of the route itself, if not more experience. It's tempting to chalk this up as a learning experience, and I guess it was, but mostly I'll remember foolish unnecessary risks.

We got over it, and started heading back. Climbing the wrong peak took longer than we thought, and at least some of the cool, shaded parts of the trail were fun to run in late Autumn. We ran across another party, looking for the lake -- at 3pm, they were ~4 miles from the lake ??? -- and at least it felt a little better to bust out the map and show them where they were.

Finally, we met up with Sean, and were glad to see that nothing messed with our gear. On the way back, we quickly checked out Zapata Falls itself, which is a destination for many but just a 10-minute diversion after our other adventures. We made it back to the car, which was also undisturbed, and I was happy to sit down for the ride back -- since it was still incredibly painful for me to stand up after sitting down.

We figured we'd stop in the Springs for dinner, and I'd read good things about pizza and beer at "Il Vicino," so we sought it out. That ended up being a great decision, as the pizza and beer were awesome, plentiful, and affordable.
To make a long story short, we'll be back there again.