#runningpikespeak

[paddyrunsforboston]

Paige Blansfield and Richard Lovejoy Sponsored a 26-Mile Run!

Not long ago, a bunch of us gathered at an old warehouse in Brooklyn to see Paige and Richard jump the broom. Their wedding featured sweeping views of New York Bay, a Greek Chorus of loving friends...

[paddyrunsforboston]

Janine and Jonathan Wentz Sponsored a 26-Mile Run!

If, like Jonathan, you’ve been to Colorado Springs, then you know how Pikes Peak dominates the skyline.  Look any direction except east and you can’t help but see its bare, treeless summit looming above the forested slopes of the surrounding hills.  It’s the hulking dreadnought of the Front Range.  There are many other summits, but there’s never any question as to which one is Pikes Peak.

The mountain is named for Zebulon Pike, an intrepid army captain who led an expedition through the area in 1806.  Pike tried to climb the mountain but was foiled by waist deep snow and sub-zero temperatures.  Years later, he published a popular account of his travels that was an instant bestseller.  The mountain became further embedded in the national conscience during the Colorado gold rush of 1858 when westbound miners took up the slogan, “Pikes Peak or Bust!”  The Peak was a popular tourist attraction by the late 1800’s, and in 1893, the view from the top inspired Katherine Lee Bates, a college professor from Massachusetts, to write the poem “America the Beautiful” which secured Pikes Peak’s status as “America’s Mountain.” 

Until last year, I mistakenly thought Pikes Peak was the tallest mountain in the lower forty-eight states.  It’s not.  At 14,115 Feet, it’s not even the tallest in Colorado.  Still, the mountain has loomed large in my imagination.  I’ve been eager to see what the mountain is all about, feel the cold winds on its slopes, breathe the crisp, pine-scented air, and be surrounded by the alpine stillness of the forest.  Not least of all, I want to know what it’s like to stand on the summit and look down on the world.

With six weeks until the Pikes Peak Marathon, the time had come to dig in and do some tough running.  When I woke up at 5am last Monday morning, my plan was to run up to the A-Frame, a small shelter at the tree line about 11,000 feet above sea level.  Running up and back would make about twenty miles and be a good introduction to what the trail had in store.

At the foot of the mountain lies the offbeat, and progressively touristy town of Manitou Springs.  There’s free parking to be had next to Memorial Park, which also happens to be the starting line for the Marathon itself.  I locked the car and started running through town, heading up Ruxton Avenue towards the famous Cog Railway Depot and then up the cruelly vertiginous Hydro Street.  At the top is a small parking lot and from there, I continued my climb to the summit on the well-traveled Barr Trail.

The trail begins as a series of steep, gravelly switchbacks that cut up the face of the slope in a seemingly endless succession of zigzags.  Hydro Street had taken the wind of out me and I was in bad shape for the steep trail.  I ran as much as I could, but I covered most of the first four miles with a silly-looking power walk that, oddly enough, resembled that of my late grandmother.  The trail led through an arch created by two abutting boulders and, from there, climbed sharply for another half mile before leveling out on top of a ridge.  I was struggling.  My heart was pounding and my shirt was wringing wet with perspiration.  Most frustrating was that the trail was finally “runnable” but I was now too tired to run it.  I walked as fast as I could and wolfed down a Clif Bar while taking in my surroundings.  The air was cooler up here, which felt wonderful.  It was silent, too, but for the squawking of the squirrels.  At one point, the trees parted and I could see the peak, far off and impossibly remote.  It was only about seven miles away, but it looked unattainable, no closer than if I had been looking up from downtown Colorado Springs.

I actually enjoyed running this section and, after taking two hours to run the first five miles, it felt like I was positively flying.  Before I knew it, I arrived at the Barr Camp, a small campground that marks the approximate halfway point of the trail.  The main cabin was very quaint and rustic and a friendly sign invited me to stop in and sign the guestbook.  This being my first time on the mountain, that sounded like a cool thing to do.  The folks inside could not have been more welcoming.  I was even offered pancakes.  I scribbled my name in the guestbook and under the box labeled “Destination” I wrote “A-Frame.”  Before I left, one of the proprietors pointed me towards a cooler of Gatorade that was left over from a trail race the day before.  “Help yourself,” she said and I did.

Hydrated and ready to go, I started back up the path.  The trail got steeper and rockier again and my pace slowed as I entered another series of switchbacks.  I tried not to think about the distance or the time, just focused on putting my feet in the right places and not overexerting myself.  Before I knew it, I came to the A-Frame, a squat, three-sided cabin next to a pristine, mountain stream.

I was three miles from the top and feeling good.  I had plenty of water and food to keep me going and the weather was perfect; sunny, but at this elevation the air was invigoratingly crisp.  I decided to go for the summit.

Part of me felt a bit guilty.  I felt like the Marathon should be my first time up there.  At the same time, though, I wanted to be able to enjoy the peak, relax for a moment and take it all in.  I’m only going to climb this thing so many times in my life, so why rush it when I didn’t have to?  Finally, the guy who’d sold me my trail shoes suggested I spend as much time up there as possible.  “It does something to your body chemistry,” he said, “Even if you just sit and eat a doughnut.”

Over the previous mile or so, I’d felt slightly light-headed.  That was the altitude starting to affect me.  It got progressively worse once I cleared the treeline at 11,500 feet.  It was a bit like being drunk, but without the nausea.  And without the euphoria, too.  There were a few wide, straight places to run, but the minute I tried, I started gulping for air like a landed fish.  My grandma’s powerwalk, jaw set, back arched, arms swinging stiffly, was the best I could do.

The switchbacks led to a long traverse that stretched all the way across the concave slope and ended at the lip of a 1,500-foot chasm.  I stopped to peek cautiously down into it.  Clouds that had rolled over the top of the mountain spilled down into the void and in a few sheltered nooks, I could see piles of snow.

The final section of the trail is called “The 16 Golden Stairs” and refers to yet another series of steep, rocky switchbacks, probably the most rugged of the whole climb.  At this point, though, I could hear people talking from the summit and knew I was almost there.  The trail threw a few more steps and twists at me before leveling off and bringing me to the top.

I turned around and my jaw dropped.  The panorama was as beautiful as it was awesomely vast.  The stony pinnacle sloped down to green ridges that fanned out from the mountain in every direction.  Beyond those, the vast plain stretched all the way to the horizon.  It was overwhelming.  I wanted to jump up and down and pump my arms, but it wasn’t in me quite yet, so instead, I leaned on a pole and joyfully wept.  The massive scale of beauty overwhelmed me and tears were the only tribute I could pay.  I’d never get this moment again; I’d never run up Pikes Peak for the first time again and have it be perfect.

I eventually pulled myself together and walked over to the summit house, which contains a snack bar and gift shop.  It was crowded with tourists who’d driven up or ridden the cog railway.  I went in simply to warm up for a minute, but once I caught sight of the famous Pikes Peak Donuts, I decided that I needed a break.  “You need to take in some calories.” I told myself.  Sitting there, looking out over the vast expanse, my hot chocolate tasted sweeter, the donuts more delicious.  I felt like I’d earned it all, the food, the rest and the stunning view.

But that was only half the story.  After refilling my water bottles, I headed out the door and started making my way back down.  I checked the urge to barrel down as fast as I could go.  The path was treacherous and I was still loopy from the altitude.  I carefully picked my way down the Golden Stairs and didn’t actually run until I got to the traverse.  It seemed like no time before I was passing the A-Frame.  I had to slow down again.  The path was extremely rocky and for someone as prone to falling as me, a trip could spell disaster.  I took my time, paying attention to every footstep.

Soon, I was back at the Barr Camp.  I’d done almost six miles since leaving the summit, but it had felt like nothing.  I paused long enough to adjust my entry in the guestbook, scratching out “Destination: A-Frame” and replacing it proudly with “Summit!”

From there, the trail widened and I was shocked at my level of energy.  The downward slope helped, of course, but I felt good enough to push the pace and take the trail on!  Soon I was spiraling down to the rock arch and from there to the lower set of switchbacks.  They were as tiresome on the way down as they had been on the way up.  Rocks jutted up from the loose gravel and even though I was paying attention, I had two or three close calls, snagging my toe and nearly falling over.  It was more crowded here, too, as this section connects to the popular Incline trail, which we know all too well.  Still, I managed to make it to the bottom of the trail without incident and though the slope on Hydro Street tortured my already screaming quads, I was soon flying down Ruxton Avenue into Manitou Springs.

The town had woken up.  The sidewalks were crowded with tourists and Manitou Avenue, the main thoroughfare, was thick with traffic.  A final turn onto El Paso Boulevard brought me to my car and the end of the run.  I was tired, but oddly energized.  I’d just run up and down a freakin’ mountain!

So many thanks to Jonathan and Janine, though it may be a while before Jonathan has time to read this.  He’s building the set for The Alchemist at the Shakespeare Theatre of New Jersey, and goes into tech this weekend.  No doubt he’s burning the midnight oil on the Boulevard of Dreams!