A Walk Through the San Juans

Although my legacy of distance running here in the San Juans has notice ably diminished in the last few years, I still try to keep my hand in it. The essay post today is a classic example of that.

For me, one of the highlights of summer here in the San Juans is helping out with the Hard Rock 100 ultra-distance race. Now a lot of people I know look at these folks as extremist wack-jobs. Who in their right mind would even think about running 100 miles, let alone doing it in the mountains where you’re hiking to the top of one pass, jogging down to the valley below, then turning around and doing it right after the previous saunter. I’ll never forget the conversation I over-heard at the finish line of the Imogene Pass Run back in the early days of the Hard Rock. A guy asked one of his friends what’s the big deal with this Hard Rock 100 Race. The simple reply from his buddy, “Why don’t you try doing Imogene Pass seven and a half more times, one right after the other.”

The Hard Rock 100 is not your typical ultra distance running race. Although I don’t run ultra distances myself, I’m proud of the fact that I’ve accumulated a huge plethora of cool facts and figures concerning the race that I love to rattle off. I quite enjoy telling tourists that doing the Hard Rock is like climbing Mount Everest from sea level twice. The race links up the towns of Silverton, Telluride, Ouray, and the Lake City all at once. It takes place in one of the most beautiful mountain environments you can think of, during the height of summer when it’s most incredible. All that rain tends to create this Shangri-la like environment of wildflowers and spectacular scenery that re-confirms one of my favorite maxims, “Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take, but by the number of experiences you have that take your breath away.” Talking to many of the Hard Rock 100 runners, I’ve learned this is definitely the case.

Over the years I’ve also accumulated all sorts of stories concerning Hard Rock. The thing I’ve done the most over the years is help out with the Aid Station in Telluride.

We basically have two versions of the Aid station in Telluride depending upon which direction the race is being run in that year. If they’re running it in a clockwise direction, then our station is at the 28-mile mark, and I call it the “Popsicle Year”. Why Popsicle? When the runners go through our station, a large percentage of them only want a frozen treat. I’ve mentioned this fact to our aid station director and urged him to buy a box or three of the icy confections, but year in and year out he continues to ignore me.

Now if the race is going in a counter clock-wise direction, I call it the “Train Wreck Year.” We’re at the 78-mile mark, and as you view the competitors coming into our little respite spot in the town park, you have the distinct impression you’re watching a train crash unfold before your very eyes.

Telluride being Telluride (one small step below Aspen in terms of the amount of $$-Dead Presidents-$$ floating around in the valley) I’ve also told our director that one of these Train Wreck years we need to offer the runners a plate of Chicken Gordon-Bleu. Accompanied of course by fingerling pasta in a nice demi-glaze sauce, asparagus picked only in sustain ably maintained chemical-free irrigation ditches, and washed down with a smooth drinking dry White. Why is it that he additionally continues to blow off this suggestion on my part?

The Hard Rock continues to lead a charmed existence. One year I was asked to pick up the metal trail markers from Telluride to the top of Oscars Pass the week after the race had taken place. The trail from timberline to the top of Oscars is totally exposed and time and again I kept thinking to myself that it’s amazing that over the years the race has only had a few competitors being hit by lightning. I’ve come to the conclusion that this is because the Hard Rock has good karma. Somewhat amazing when you consider the fact that I’m not Buddhist. I do believe that karma in all it’s incarnations is such an important ingredient in this large pot of gumbo we call life.

During the month leading up to the race, it isn’t that out of the ordinary to bump into one of the competitors training for the big race when you go hiking in the mountains. Time and again this has happened and the hike up to the top of Handies Peak one year brings back goose bumps as I got a chance to talk to the would-be entrant that day.

This brings up my final observation. I almost wish that ultra distance races came into vogue back in the mid-80s when I first returned from Africa. More than likely I would’ve tried to get into one of them. Particularly the Hard Rock 100. The key words in this instance being “would’ve tried”. Trying and actually doing being two totally different things in this particular instance.