I managed a late night (8:00 p.m.) 3-mile run along Main Street today.  Nothing special, but it did feel good to do it.

On this day in 2014, Wuzzam and I ran the Mahican Mohawk Marathon in 6:43:30.  We began and ended at Mohawk Trail State Forest in Charlemont, along the bank of the Cold River.  Our turn-around or midpoint was roughly at North Pond at Savoy Mountain State Forest in Savoy / Florida.

This was my 51st completed marathon.  Map of our route is included below

Running through Stafford Meadow

 

Red Pine Plantation, set in 1930's..

Up through the Red Pine.

Wuzzam at the first crossing of the Cold River.

Bog Pond, a long-time favorite area of ours..

Burnett Homestead Cemetery in Florida..

Second crossing of the Cold River.

Twenty Two-Years ago this month...

The Sixth Sneakered Sheik's Sixth Sheepdog's Sick

My introduction to the mystical world of Sneakered Trolls scurrying through the forest primordial began in New London at this year’s John Kelly Classic Road Race, my first ever.  (I mean first one foot in front of the other as quick as you can....  Ever.)

A mysterious Russian woman with legs up to my navel softly tapped me on the shoulder and asked me why I sprinted across the suburban lawns and hedges lining the route, treating the pavement like the Fool’s turf that it is.  I offered to reveal my darkest and deepest secrets if she’d give me her phone number.  “Go ahead, Mariana...  Give him OUR phone number,” intoned this Dolph-looking dude as he blotted out a good percent of the sun.  Gone in a flash was Vicente Ferrari Rico Suave and in his place stood the bumbling fumbling hillbilly with bad hair that I am.

I grinned like a madman and started croaking some lines to “Johnny Be Good.”  You know the one.  “Way down in Louisiana cross from New Orleans hum hum hum...  something among the evergreens.”  “Ah, I see, so you’re a boy of the forest,” purred Mariana.  I nodded my head like the Cocker Spaniel I am.  “Good then.  Perhaps you will come to Savoy, No?”  I turned to saltwater taffy watching her lips form the words.

“Savoy.... heh, heh, heh,” Olaf rumbled.  “Dah.  Savoy.”  His beard parted into a train tunnel and I peered in, hoping to find Dante himself moonlighting on Olaf’s molars with a miner’s light.  “It’s a Trail Run in Massachusetts.  Come.... if you like.”  And with that she and her 6’8” storm cloud were gone.

I looked up to see that I was standing in one of those post race Runner’s showers, water splashing me in the face.  Was this what they call Runner’s high?  But then I looked down.  Printed on the black tar in Mariana’s Pink Lip Gloss was the word SAVOY.  Water beaded up around it.  My destiny was sealed.  Savoy it would be.

So naturally I spend the next four days on the damn phone trying to find out where the hell Savoy is.  It seems nobody had ever heard of the place.  In fact, when I finally managed to locate a state park named Savoy, (I dialed information for Deliverance) and I asked Ranger Rick specifics about the coming Trail run, he chuckled and offered to give me the number of the Western Massachusetts's Psychiatric Counseling Hotline.  Click.  Oh boy.  Olaf was behind all this.

Mariana.  Maybe I could save her, rescue her.  She couldn’t possibly be happy with Bison Man.  I spent the night watching a Rudolph Valentino silent, chewing Ginseng Root and tying my hair in a bundle for the long voyage to the Northern land.

The next morning.  Savoy at last!!  Wet dew blanketed the red fur of my trusty bud and protector, Mr. Bear as he panted anxiously in the grass awaiting the starter’s gun.  Hopeful runners crossed their legs and waited in line for the bathroom, wishing they hadn’t had that mornings second cup of coffee.  But Mariana.  Where was Mariana?  How could I, why would I possibly run 20 kilometers if not to pursue a woman?  This was sheer insanity.  I read a poster above the bathroom as a loud rapping flatulent chorus boomed from the vent holes above the state park Bathroom stalls.

“Welcome to the Savoy 20 MILE Trail Race!!!”  20 Miles.....  20 miles.  I thought this was 20 kilometers...  20 miles...  HOLY SHIT!!!

“You got that right, bub.  Ahhh.” exhaled a weak but determined voice from inside the bathrooms.  Mr. Bear growled.  A crow laughed and swooped from high in the oak tree above.  He bulleted toward me, wings closed, looking for blood, daring me to write a silly Raven poem about his bad ass.  I jumped under Mr. Bear for cover, wearing him like a Chow-Chow skin cap.  PLOCK.  It landed in front of my nose.  The crow had dropped a single silver tube of Lip gloss, pink, with a little toothmark in the top.

A sign from the Gods!!  I ran to the starter’s line, carefully applied the lipstick, puckered up and adjusted Mr. Bear atop my head.  He would serve as my Lookout as I ran.

And we’re off!!!  My Siberian Love Nymph awaited.  Somewhere in the pack ahead...  I pushed and pushed, gasping for breath, nay, dear life.  This was true insanity.  The roots reached out to snap my ankles like dry twigs.  The sloped slippery rocks dared this long-haired punk to, “Go Ahead...  Make my geologic Eon.”  Branches sprung back from other runners whipped and scratched my face and eyes.  My nineteen dollar Kinney sneakers unraveled in a ball of polyester mud mush.  But still I ran.  Pop.  Pop.  Pop!  I cursed myself for not cutting my toenails.  They snagged on my socks and were torn off one by one with the force of my pounding.  Ah yes, indeed.  This was quickly becoming my own Savoy Death march.  No it couldn't be.  It had to be.  I couldn't forget her.  It was a LOVE MARCH.  I licked my cracked and bleeding lips to taste her.  Revlon summer shades.  My favorite.  Mariana, where are you?!?!?

All of a sudden I reached the crest of a hill.  The earth rumbled.  Bear growled atop my head.  The sun dimmed to a weak peach orb.  Cirrus clouds descended, swarmed grey and furious and made ready to rumble....  All very serious.  Footsteps clawed their way up the hill as I stood there and panted, trying to wipe the lipstick off my face.  Branches shattered.  I heard granite crumble like empty eggshells.  Oh lordy, was this to be my moment of judgment.  I thought back to all my past sins, trying to organize them all in my head, preparing myself for confession before Mariana's certain husband, this megalomonster coming my way.

Lets see.  When I was 7 I single-handedly massacred a village of carpenter ants with a magnifying glass and popsicle sticks.  I looked up.  Power lines were strung over the top of the mountain.  OH NO!  What if IT was a Mutant Carpenter Ant?  And then Bear did it.  He did the one thing Mr. Bear Protector and Ace Lookout number one Red-haired Dog Bunnies are not supposed to do.  He got scared and peed on me.

And suddenly the source of my Dolphian terror appeared.  Over the crest of the hill, this guy. I mean it.  This GUY, big face, bigger grin, dark hair, bout 220 pounds, old grey sneakers, black shorts, dirty socks, sack of dates, nuts and power bars over his shoulder...  I mean this dude...  "Hey there.  I'm FARMER ED!  Looks like you've been working up a sweat."  I slapped Mr. Bear.  He stopped peeing on me.

Well folks.  The rest is history.  Ed handed me a towel to clean up after Mr. Bear and I duly tiptoed behind The Farmer's great steps from there all the way to the finish as we finished in an epic, mythic, truly earth-shattering 6th and 7th place at Savoy 95.

And nope.  I never did catch Mariana.  Not yet...  But a funny thing happened at the post race buffet.  I went from cooler to cooler hoping to rehydrate.  All to no avail.  For every single cup tasted like....  Well you know....  I swear now.  I'm not kidding here.  Tasted like.....  Vodka.

Georgie Bear

The early portion of the day was spent at  a "call-in" for work, a computer issue, or more accurately a SCADA issue (Supervisory Control and Data Acquisition).  

My run was the same spot as yesterday, Metacomet at Phelps Road.  Today I went out to the 2-mile mark just prior to the dip at the ravine, for a total of 4-miles.  It was a bit warm and wasn't the easy run yesterday was.

At the trailhead along Phelps & Mountain Roads

Up late enough for the rain to have passed through, or at least the first wave of it, yet early enough to avoid any direct sun or heat.  In other words, I was at the Phelps Road trailhead for the Metacomet by 8:30 a.m.  

Beautiful day to be doing anything, especially an easy run in the woods.  A couple deerflies "bugged" me, but it made me think that this summer hasn't been bad at all for the pest.  

My body felt good for the entire 3.4-mile round trip.  I am thankful for that.

Some dark clouds to the west over Manitook Mountain

I'm still taking it fairly easy due to lyme symptoms and my necessary medications, so no running again.  Hopefully, tomorrow is a new day 😊.

Archives Department...  Also on this day in 2005, I completed my 28th marathon in Dubuque State Forest.  Referred to the Hallockville Pond Marathon, I enjoyed the company of Wuzzam and Tippi, with Old Farmer Tom meeting up with us on the Notch Trail by bike.

This was Tippi's 4th completed marathon.  Our time ended up at 5:21:16.

Music 2017...

Effort #25, Gloria...

Primitives live in 1984, with the full band enjoying new microphones. This was the same night as the "Love of Ivy" / "Sex Trouble" recording.

 

Fifteen years ago today I was in Dubuque State Forest, Hawley, Massachusetts enjoying the stone walls along Penobscot Road.

Lyme Disease isn't always easy to deal with.  3-mile run along Main Street in Suffield, after work.

One of many Tulip Trees (Liriodendron) along Main Street, aka "Yellow Poplar".

Music 2017...

Effort #24, Passing Time...

Original done over the span of a couple days, using fragments of guitar and a line that's been going through my head.

 

Beautiful cool day in the '70's with an amazing clear sky.  I didn't feel like running but the draw to be outdoors was strong.  I settled on a 3-mile run along Main Street, which was just enough to keep the rust off for today.

Along the way, there are many large sycamore trees.

Music 2017...

Effort #23, You You You...

A quick take of a tune I heard on a movie soundtrack (original song by the 6ths).  The song made me think of my wife, and the song also made me happy.

 

When I had some follow up bloodwork done in early July, I was still showing positive for Lyme Disease.  I honestly felt really good through, so we thought it may have been residual that would fade.

Beginning last Saturday, I started not feeling 100%.  I  thought it was just normal wear and tear, but as the week progressed I felt my Lyme Symptoms returning.  As it ends up, I am on another round of doxycycline for 21 days.

I'll see what I can handle for running as time passes, but today I am sitting out again.  In the meanwhile, here is some history from 15-years ago today in Hawley Dubuque State Forest....

Me and Tippi on Aunt Charity's Chair

Wuzzam refueling at Moody Spring

Blast from the Past...

On this day in 1996 I completed my 12th marathon.  My route took me along the Appalachian Trail, from Salisbury, Connecticut into Massachusetts.  My turnaround point was at the summit of Mt. Everett,   My time on the trail was roughly 6:27:53, which included a break for a lunch at Everett.

 August 2nd, 2002... Fifteen Years Ago Today Part 2...

Continuing from yesterday, my August 2nd pictures from Savoy '02 reveal a route from Burnett Pond, to the Carter Burying Ground, then to the Dunham Burying Ground.  From there, I imagine I took a trip to Tannery Falls and/or Tower 51, but I honestly don't have records of it or photographs to jog my memory of what happened after the Dunham Lot.

The fact that 15-years ago today I was running through the woods photographing old forgotten graveyards tells me something about my obsession with such things.  Realistically, I've been searching and finding old burying grounds for much longer in Savoy and Hawley.  It amazes me that the old settlements were positioned in much different locales than what developed later on.

These are locations that are very special to me... they were in 2002, as well as much earlier.  I continue to visit them and feel joy each time I am lucky enough to  arrive.

The eastern shore of Burnett Pond

 Tippi never missed an opportunity to swim or grab a stick

Tippi on the stonewall circling the Carter Burying Ground

 Clarence F. Maynerd, son of Eber and Amy, aged 5-years and 4-months

Emma A. Maynard, wife of Eber

Step through stonewall at Carter Burying Ground

Dunham Burying Ground

Dunham Burying Ground

Dunham Burying Ground