Four Pass Loop

We were three men in our sixties. We were three men who hiked over Buckskin Pass to sleep under the view above of Snowmass Peak.

We woke up to a bit of snow at the Snowmass Lake Campground. Rob ported a flask of whiskey in his pack, so we found ourselves talking as we setup camp each night.

And you know me. I’m not a big talker. So, anything I share here probably came from either Rob or George talking.

We talked about our health. Because we’re men, our talk was graphic, and because it was graphic, it was funny.

We shared stories of our heroic wives for sending us out together into the remoteness of the Maroon Bells. They’re the best.

We told stories that only sixty-year old men could tell. Stories of what’s next.

Wild Turkey Loop

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I ran the Wild Turkey Loop today and guess what I saw? Yep, a flock of wild turkeys.

This wicked plant comes close to looking like the Sotol that I’ll be fighting in Bandera. I think it’s related, but smaller. Bear Grass maybe?

Pretty Flowers

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I like to pick pretty flowers…

I see my trail runs like a toddler turning two soon sees flowers. The trail is pretty. The Wapiti Trail is rocky too. Just like I imagine the Bandera 100K trails to be.

These photos are mostly a shoe-eye’s view of the Wapiti Trail to Ponderosa Loop clockwise and back.

If you have run the trails in the Hill Country State Natural Area, atop the Edwards Plateau, west of San Antonio, comment with photos you have of that course. I’m interested how well it compares to my weekend training course.

These rocks lead you back on the inner loops of Ponderosa and Wild Turkey. This is my second Saturday to run in Heil Valley Ranch. It’s my Saturday workout from now until the ultra. The plan is to groom my trail legs.

This intersection drops a path down to the Lyon’s trailhead or around the Wild Turkey Loop counterclockwise, but I steer right to return, first up and then back down the Wapiti Trail.

The trail up to Wapiti offers various textures. I call this texture – rocks.

Sometimes the trail gives back a little with a more pliable surface. This was nice.

But this section was mostly rocks.

And then, there it is, the trail down Wapiti. The heavy lifting is over. I tumbled down slowly and in control. Still finding my trail legs.

The path was rock after rock through the wildflowers.

Any wildfire trails out at Bandera?

Ending my run among the burnout was surreal.

I went dry in July with no drinking as part of my conditioning. I need to lose a few pounds and I need to be pulling all the old levers to see what helps. I no longer consider what works, just what helps. Still, I’m down 15 pounds so far for the year. It’s a slow pace, but I’ll get there. Besides, slow is the name of the game in ultras.

Where the Sotol Sing

It occurred to me this week that I’ve never run a 100K ultra. I ran a 50K (31 miles) about ten years ago. That was fun. This should be twice as fun.

I’m considering the Bandera 100K in the Texas Hill Country in January. Where the sotol cactus sing and the runners scream. Seriously, runners have to sign a waiver to not sue the race organizer after bleeding out from sixty-two miles of slashes from the sotol cactus that line the trail. Sotol isn’t actually a cactus, but it’ll take you out if you fall into one.

Thinking that I could run a 100K is pretty wild dreaming at this point, but I’m excited thinking about it. I ran a local trail today that has characteristics of the Texas Hill Country. I might not commit until I see how I do in the Boulder Marathon in October, but for now, it’s good to have goals. Ran ten Friday evening and nine this morning on the rocky Wapiti Trail where I imagined I was running through the Hill Country.

Brothers

My brother spied a BMW M440i xDrive online Friday night and just had to have it. Problem was, he was in Austin and it was in Spokane. No problem for a single guy though. He hopped on a flight and purchased it from the dealer by 7pm Pacific time. I’m not a gear head so I don’t quite get that. My neighborhood is rated 62 walkable and 69 bikable on Zillow, so Karen and I have been a one-car family for years. Steve and I walked to breakfast this morning.

He stopped by my house in Colorado this am on his drive home. I didn’t think to take a pic so here’s a photo of us together a few years ago at Gueros Taco Bar.

I couldn’t wait for Steve to leave so I could get my run in. With all the rain, the irrigation ditches are running strong. Perfect for dipping my hat into to cool off.

Lyle Lovett at Red Rocks

There is not a more magical place to listen to a concert on this planet than Red Rocks. The clouds to the north, on the left of this photo, backlit the stage with a playful lightning show Wednesday throughout the evening.

Karen and I met with friends for dinner in Golden before the show. First time to see Jed and Gretchen post-apocalypse. We had a blast.

I still have my Lyle Lovett CD from thirty years ago. This is the first time I’ve seen him play in concert. His voice was as sweet as Texas tea – experienced, melodic and enchanting. Imagine listening to a Texas country twang backed by the Colorado Symphony Orchestra. Great show.

The Slacker Half

Brit ran a two-hour half marathon Saturday from the Loveland ski area to Georgetown, termed the Slacker Half because it’s mostly downhill, but it’s also quite high in elevation. Meanwhile, her husband Eric paced his buddy Matt through the Western States 100 mile ultra in Tahoe. It’s a running family.

Karen and I took care of baby Margot in a comfortable townhome in Keystone while Brit ran. Great location just past Loveland Pass. When I drove Brit back over the pass for the race start, we saw deer crossing the road at an actual road crossing sign and a herd of big horn sheep near A-Basin. It was a good day for running.

Rainy Runs

I think Margot and I were both falling asleep in this photo. I can tell you that she lasted maybe ten more minutes with me stroking the back of her head. I’m still tired, but that’s age.

I’ll tell you what this cool weather and rain is good for. Running twelve miles on the LoBo Trail. This sign was my six-mile turn-around.

The rain has been good for the grasses too. Everything is so green. It was a good run.

May Flowers Under a Runner’s Sky

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Ellie texted this photo of her painting to the family chat and said it was going to be a painting summer. None of us are quite sure what she meant by that and we haven’t heard from her since. But, knowing what kind of summer it will be helps me to plan.

It’ll be a runner’s summer for me. I ran 8 miles today on the East Boulder Trail under an infantry of cloudlets marching toward the Front Range. The trail looked muddier than it was. The bridge is back over Boulder Creek, for pedestrian traffic but not for horses. The cement is still curing. I recall the old bridge to have had wooden planks. This is like a sidewalk.

Of course, in Colorado, Mother’s Day weekend is also about planting flowers. Or in the case of what we did today, hang flower baskets. Summer is coming.

Sunken Garden

When Jennie Butchart’s husband left a three and a half acre hole in her front yard, she filled it with flowers.

Karen and I visit Butchart Garden’s every chance we get. I count six times to date.

This was our first visit in April-May, the end of the rainy season in Victoria.

The crowds are sparse in the off-season and we could enjoy the sound of birds and falling water.

After spending the previous week among tens of thousands at a conference, this place renewed my introverted soul.

Victoria BC is our place.

I saw a Bear

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I saw a bear on the hiking trail today. Actually, quite a few bears.

Here a bear, there a bear, bears everywhere.

It wasn’t all bears, I did some hiking too.

It was a great day for hiking.

And a great day for sliding on the playground.

And a great day for bears.

The Niwot Loop

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My tulips and wildflowers bloomed this week.

They look at the snow as just a cold rain.

Spring in Colorado looks a lot like winter.

You have to get outside in it to feel the wetness in the air that ain’t there in the winter.

With the cool temps, I set out to run the Niwot Loop. I hadn’t made it that far in months.

This sign suggests I made it, six miles in and six to get back. It was a good run.

PSA

I don’t normally do public service announcements, but in case you don’t subscribe to AllTrails.com, this is an East Boulder Trail update.

I ran the three or so miles out to the bridge over Boulder Creek, despite having read the bridge-outage notice at the trailhead. I didn’t really know what the sign meant, if the creek was indeed passable. I needed to check out that bridge.

I would say the creek is passable. I didn’t care to climb down the slope and get my trail shoes wet, so I turned my planned eight-mile run into a six-miler. Boulder Creek is passable if you have to get to the other side, it’s not dry. In the photo above, which trail over my head do you think I ran?

I ran the outside loop, with the perspective of the straight, crushed gravel trail as my anchor.

Easter Birthdays, Bunnies and Eggs

Ellie and I celebrated our joint birthdays this weekend because I’ll be in San Francisco the last week of April and Canada the first week of May, and she has finals approaching.

But of course, today wasn’t about us. Today was all Margot Fay.

Wearing her mother’s thirty year old dress and baby Doc Martens, Margot sprinted around the grass in search of eggs.

The sky looked like winter still but the weather was quite warm and the grass was starting to turn green – perfect for hiding eggs.

We walked home from the park for brunch.

Margot’s first discovery was her new Minnie chair.

And then she was off to play a song.

Margot never tires of climbing the stairs, although she can do it now walking on her two feet.

At some point, she discovered her Easter basket.

It was nice having the family home for Easter.

Happy Memories

A dear friend passed away this week and it’s hard to hide from the melancholy thoughts, hard to find the cheer. The clouds have been hanging heavy over the neighborhood and I don’t see them lifting for a while. But I have to say, all my memories of Eve are so pleasant, as comforting as her warm personality.

I picture her and Jabe pedaling their bikes past my front porch on their evening rides down to the Left Hand Brew Pub. Those two rode their bikes over half of America, from Boulder County to Jamestown and Ward to the Texas Hill Country. And they always waved as they rode by.

Not sure why I’m so sad because all my memories are so good. They’d include me in their running gang and I followed them out to Moab four years in a row to run a half marathon along the Colorado River. Drinking beers after one of those runs, I recall Jabe teasing Eve with her storytelling. Not someone I associate with hair salons, Jabe said, “I’m thinking of getting hair extensions.”  With her dry wit, Eve responded, “They don’t come in gray.”

Those two were such a cute couple. The type that when you saw them enjoying each other’s company, you hoped your marriage was as good. It’d put me in the mood to flirt with my wife. It always made me feel so good to see them together.

The melancholy got me thinking about others in my life who have passed, and how I only have the best memories. I have such few memories of my father, he passed so young, six days after his thirty-seventh birthday, September 8, 1967. But the memories I do have are all good. I tended to get into trouble a bit and got my share of spankings. The only spanking I recall though is the one I didn’t get.

I’d been playing out in the street, something they let four-year olds do back in the sixties. I would stand on the curb and wait for a car to get close, then sprint to the other side of the street. Someone told on me, likely one of my five sisters. My dad walked me into my room and told me he was going to have to give me a spanking. As he took off his belt, he asked me why I’d done it. “Son, why were you running in front of those cars? You could have been killed.”

I responded, “Because I thought I could beat them.” He laughed out loud and told me he wasn’t going to spank me, but I’d have to stay in my room until dinner. That story gets better for me every time I recall it. He probably wasn’t gonna use his belt. He might have though. Catholic Fathers invented punishment.

I know Jabe will be telling countless happy stories from her memories of her life with Eve. When you loved someone and they loved you, those are the memories you are left with, countless happy stories.

ATX Half 2023

Nan and I returned to Austin for another half marathon. Well, she sort of lives there, so I returned.

We hung out at the Westin, two blocks east of the starting line.

Yet another sister, Sandy, and my niece Brook, and my brother Steve all participated. They walked the 5K.

Nan and I posed with the Rite Flyers around mile 10 because they sounded so good. That’s Steve Collier gripping the Fender Jaguar.

Just one big hill remained after crossing Lamar. Ask Nan about that hill.

It was all downhill on Colorado, west of the Capitol.

We finished together, holding our hands high.

Adelsverein

I’ve recently started a 4th novel. No, I haven’t yet finished my 3rd novel. This will be historical fiction from 1846 to present day in the Texas Hill Country. Let me know what you think of my prologue in the comments either on this blog or on Facebook. Be honest. I can take it. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, despite my last name, I’m over 60% German, mostly from Bavaria and the Black Forest per 23andme and Ancestry.com.

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Guten tag.  I’m Ellie-Kate.  My formal name is Katherine Elizabeth and I’ll get to how my name came to be, but this story on how my grandma, my mother and I exposed the most loathsome Mexican border crime in Texas begins much earlier than my prep school years.  This story spans generations.  

My fifth great grandparents gave birth to ten daughters in the 19th century spa town of Baden-Baden, in the Schwarzwald principality of the Holy Roman Empire.  What you might know as the Black Forest.  Germany didn’t become a nation until 1871, after the American Civil War.  I’m in Germany now visiting, expecting to meet up with distant relatives.  My fifth great grandparents were Johann Eduard Jordan and Marguerite Rose Jordan.  A popular Christian baptismal name throughout Europe after the Crusades, Jordan is Hebrew for “to flow down”, or “to descend”, as in the Jordan River.  Johann’s surname did not descend beyond his daughters’ generation as he had no sons.  And that’s okay, because this is a story of the strength, resilience and determination of the Texan descendants of those Jordan women.  The Hill Country frauen.  The Hill Country women.

Johann and Marguerite joined the Adelsverein, the Noble Society of German Immigrants, on a Norddeutscher Lloyd ship to America in 1846.  Before landing at Indianola, Texas, a coastal town long-ago wiped off the map by a hurricane, their daughter, my fourth great grandmother, Catharina was married by the ship’s captain to Mathias Zenner.  It’s possible she fell in love during the transit, despite bathing in nothing but sea water and sharing a communal bucket for the privy for three months at sea.  I prefer to think she excelled at numbers, knowing that she could double her fortune as her mate would be awarded twice the property stake once arriving in the Fisher-Miller land grant in the Llano Estacado upon arrival, if they were married.  If it didn’t work out, the average age of an American male in that decade was about twenty-five years. Doubtful she’d of had access to those stats in the 19th century, but anecdotally, she’d have known. She wouldn’t have to suffer him for long.  She did the math.

I learned all this from my Oma, my grandmother, Constance Fay Freitag Mountbatten.  When you grow up in the Hill Country, they teach you much about the early German immigrants who settled the region of Texas that reminded them of Schwarzwald in grade school as local culture and history.  Oma shared with me the past that they don’t teach to children.

Her story starts with the legacy of James P. Waldrip and his murderous hanging band of outlaws during the Civil War.  Die Hangebande as they were known in the German-speaking, Texas Hill Country in 1864.  J.P. wasn’t the ring leader, but he was very likely the most vicious of the gang of Confederate irregulars that terrorized Gillespie county during that time.

Understand that the early German settlers of the Hill Country voted overwhelmingly against succession from the Union.  Like Sam Houston, the first president of Texas and its governor before the war, well over ninety percent of Fredericksburg residents were pro-Union abolitionists.  Although this was less a philosophical and political statement.  It was more pragmatic.  There were only a handful of slaves in all of Gillespie county.  Townsfolk felt the military focus should be on defending against Indian attacks more than on fighting the Union. The Hill Country was the frontier. For his disloyalty, Houston was booted out of office and retired to Huntsville.  The Hill Country was placed under martial law by Governor Lubbock and suffered horrific depredations at the hands of the depraved outlaws among the Confederate troops.  

The night Waldrip arrived with his gang at the house of the Fredericksburg school teacher and outspoken critic of the war, Louis Schuetze became one of the many victims of the Hill Country violence.  The secret society Soldiers’ Friends who directed J.P.’s lynchings were well aware there was no greater threat to their aspirations than a school teacher.  Schuetze was found the next morning hanging from a live oak three miles outside of town along Palo Alto Creek.

A Runner’s Day

My day always begins with a fresh Margo photo to the family chat. Well, more often than not, it begins with an exchange of Wordle outcomes, but quickly followed by a ray of pictorial sunshine. A joy I could never have imagined fifteen years ago, pre-iPhone.

And on weekends such as this, I read, I run, and I write. Although we mixed it up this morning by listening to Ian play Bob Dylan at the Winot Coffeehouse. It was good to get outside today. The sun and air conspired for perfect running weather.

Last Run of the Year

I’ve been working out fairly well over the holidays, but mostly indoors on the elliptical. I got outdoors today, the last day of the year. It was a gorgeous day. The deep snow was slow and exhausting, but I got in six miles. I have big running plans for 2023 that include three marathons. I can’t run a marathon just yet, but it’s still 2022.

I’m making the most of 2022’s final day. A friend is coming over tonight to celebrate the new year. And I’m watching the Michigan vs TCU game now. It’s getting interesting in the 3rd quarter. I looked for Rice but they don’t seem to be playing in a bowl game.

Christmas, for me…

“Hello. Oh, it’s for you, dear.”

Christmas, for me, started early in the month, on some weekend when I watched Girlfriend Cult perform Christmas songs. It was my stage job to watch Margot Fay. This was when it started to feel like Christmas to me.

So, like anyone else on holiday, I began drinking eggnog every day from my moose tumbler.

I didn’t need anything for Christmas and failed in my task to share gift ideas, but I got some great presents. Tracksmith running gloves, a Tracksmith shirt, a desktop lamp, and a novel that I’ll read on my return flight. Oh, and eleven hours of sleep Christmas night, which is a modern day record.

I got in a Christmas run on Boxer day down on Town Lake.

Ellie strolled Margot while Brit and I ran a few miles.

Margot was tired because she’d been up at Aunt Nancy’s house since 3 am.

We walked along South Congress after our run and stumbled upon a Luddite movement among the hipsters.

While we were on the east end of the lake, my buddy Rob and his wife Sue were strolling through Barton Springs. They were on their way from Durango to South Texas.

We took Chad out for his birthday to Dos Salsas, but I’m pretty sure we made him pay for his dinner. Happy birthday, Chad.

The cousins spent quality time together.

And siblings got to catch up on what they’ve been doing the last 60 years.

With weather-induced flight delays, our Christmas time in Austin was too short, but we got to see family and that’s what Christmas is to me.

Craft Shopping for Christmas

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The thing about day drinking is you hope you don’t run into anyone you know. That Shoes and Brews also has a retail outlet where they sell running gear, lends plausible deniability as to one’s motives for attending the establishment. That she was exiting the bar door as I was entering the bar entrance erodes some of that delusional story. I’m certain Beth and Ken were Christmas shopping for local crafts. Chris and I were there for local crafts as well, which we found in ample supply at the bar.

Running sweats are never out-of-fashion at Shoes and Brews, so I was in a safe place wearing my daily uniform. The barmaid wasn’t impressed by Chris’s stash of free drink coupons. Hope we tipped well enough. I know we brightened up the barstool with our clever banter. At least, that’s how I felt after a local craft brew I can’t recall, followed by a Weldworks Upward Spiral west coast IPA at 6.6% ABV.

Chris and I spread Christmas cheer throughout the bar/runners shoe store for a couple of pints. We’ll meet up again for classic cocktails at the Stockerts in the evening.

A Slow, Late Fall Run

The danger in running the East Boulder Trail is the full sun exposure. In the cold air that welcomes winter, the full sun exposure is nature’s gift that supports running in shorts and a long-sleeved t-shirt.

The brown-on-brown fields were soft and gentle, when they weren’t pure mud from the melting snow. The neighborhood 5K turkey trot yesterday was fun. I’d been planning to go into Thanksgiving dinner with a calorie deficit. The post-run donuts and mimosas doomed that plan.

The lake is still far from frozen over.

Stopping to take photos of the coming winter helped me to run farther. I was enjoying myself so much, I didn’t notice I was four miles out, until I was four miles out. I thought it best to turn around after my discovery.

The snow typically offered the best traction. I would choose the snow over mud on some hills, specially where the deep ruts formed fairly technical tracks. Snow was always a better path over mud.

Some of the prairie dog fields looked like a dead part of the world. I have two words for those fat prairie dogs – over grazing.

Some trails were pure mud with few choices to navigate around. Other times I was forced to run over the slickest ice to avoid the mud.

Today’s conditions were amazing. Sometimes the snow-drip mud is too much. Today had the perfect mix of elements. I ran super slow but my form felt good. There’s an art to running slow.

November Runs

Depending on where the texture of the snow sits on the melting spectrum, sometimes it’s like running on a sandy beach. Exhausting. Glad I got out this weekend though, despite the temperatures. November is the month to get acclimated to the cold air.

It was shorts and sweatshirt running weather this weekend. I even started out wearing gloves the first mile on Saturday. The trail was lit by such a beautifully soft sun. I only ran four miles but it was my best run of the year.

Tech Debt

Musk borrowed $13B to buy Twitter for a total of $44B, but that’s not what tech debt is. Software developers use the term in various ways, referring to either features or bugs or unsupported software and systems. I think it’s a relevant term to understand in the debate on how Musk is killing Twitter.

I would argue the $13B in debt, while hemorrhaging advertisers, will be enough to kill Twitter. Ultimately. Musk has already publicly stated that bankruptcy is a possibility. But that just leads to all the half-way plausible stories of why he actually acquired the platform. It’s safe to say no one buys a media platform nowadays to make money. The irony there is that section 230 would say Twitter is not a media firm, it’s a technology firm. Right.

I’ve followed some of what Karen Swisher has been saying on Twitter. To the point above on whether Musk is trying to purposely destroy Twitter’s revenue model, she says to follow the money. The second largest investor with Musk is Saudi Prince Alwaleed bin Talal and his Kingdom Holding Company. There’s likely a good story there.

Swisher also suggested though that the employee exodus is not that critical. That Twitter can simply run on autopilot for awhile. This is where I take issue. Maybe for a short while, but you have to appreciate the impact of tech dept. It’s the entropy in the software ecosystem. In terms of features, if you’re not releasing new features, you’re dying. Regarding bugs and system currency, doing nothing quickly leads to unsupportable code. At a certain point of running deprecated software, you can’t release new features. And fall behind just a little bit on applying SW patches leads to breaches.

It’s hard to imagine Twitter could die overnight with 400M users. Especially if Musk doesn’t care about revenue. And to be honest, I sort of buy into that line of thinking. It’s possible he’s so out of touch with humanity that he doesn’t realize how he is driving employees away. It’s more likely he’s purposely downsizing. He believes the platform will remain relevant enough for him to own a global megaphone. I don’t think it’s going to work out. He’s underestimated the uber entropy exacted by tech debt. And without sufficient staffing, twitter is going to drown in tech debt.

The Runner’s Field of Battle

I have a death plan. I bet you don’t have one of those. I’m not talking about a living will, although I sort of think death plan would be a more apt name for those documents. I’m referring to my grand exit strategy.

I know that dwelling on such thoughts is morbid. And I can lean melancholy at times, but I’m goal oriented. I had a really good six mile run today and I still feel the vigor from the trail. And yet, I couldn’t help thinking about how I intend to die over the course of those six miles. And I think that’s perfectly normal for a sixty-year-old. A cancer here, a heart surgery there, the passing of one’s parents; whether you measure it in years or miles, it starts to add up.

I’m going to die gloriously on the runner’s field of battle. During a marathon or perhaps a mountain trail run. Ideally, a well-planned race so that there will be paramedics standing by to collect my body. My heart will be beating at max, until it’s not. My eyes will be wide shut, staring at a mountain sunset. I’ll lay down to rest in an alpine meadow and know the race is over.

I’ll admit, I’ve been planning this for a while. I think about it every time I sign those waivers as a part of online race registrations. Every time I run with abandon down a steep mountain trail slope. Stumbling over a rock is one thing running uphill but tripping over a tree root on the downhill can be a death-defying tumble. I somersaulted into a ravine once while running down the amphitheater trail in Boulder, shirtless with my car key in my hand. Fortunately, a bed of poison oak broke my fall.

To be sure, this is a long-term plan. I’d like to enjoy a few more podium finishes before I go and at my current pace of conditioning, I’ll need to still be running and racing in my eighties to win my age bracket. But like I said, I’m a planner. I have three marathons on my calendar for 2023 – Austin in February, the Colorado Marathon in May and the Boulder Marathon next October. Any one of those could finish me off, but I feel like I have many more miles to go before I sleep.