It's a great day to remember a couple old trail pals, Murphy & Tippi.

Soapstone Mountain

Took my first tour of 2019 in the Brandywine Swamp into Academy property for 3.1-miles.

Music 2019...

Effort #09, "Disorder".  Pieced together solo, a Joy Division masterpiece.

"...I've been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand;  Could these sensations make me feel the pleasures of a normal man?"

It's a great day to remember a trail pal, Tippi.

Tips

Drove out to Hoosick Falls, New York with K2 to meet my folks for our beef pickup.  We took the Mass Pike to Route 22, and along that drive north we passed Prosser Hollow Road, which reminded me of a run Run-Steveo and I did with my old spaniel Dusty, going back to around 1995.  We covered about 14-miles of the Taconic Crest Trail that day, with Run-Steveo's folks dropping us at Prosser Hollow.  Really great memories of that day, and a great reminder to get back out to that trail soon.

Once back to Connecticut, I rambled around the roads for 3.4-miles.

3-miles along Main Street in the early evening.

Music 2019...

Effort #08, "Don't Be Denied" by the Rev King.  My Road Warrior For Christ partner performs a real favorite performance for 2019.

Twenty-years ago today, the 2nd Annual Hawley Kiln Klassic took place under my direction.  This was the third and final race of the 1999 Southern New England Snowshoe Series.  We would soon become the WMAC Dion Snowshoe Series,

Dubuque State Forest was the setting, and we offered a 7-mile and a 4-mile option.  The courses shared an opening section before splitting, making the event "fun" for everyone.

Plenty of snow, 45 finishers in the long event, 5 in the short.  Two men broke under an hour for the 7-miler, which was pretty awesome.

2nd Annual Hawley Kiln Snowshoe Races
February 20th, 1999 - Dubuque State Forest, Hawley, MA

We would continue with snowshoe events in Dubuque for many, many outstanding years.

Met up with my old friends, Wuzzam and the Old Goat, to snowshoe a bit in Shenipsit State Forest.  Our plan was to run along the snow-covered road from just below the tower on Gulf Road to Route 83, but the combination of little snow-depth, many loose rocks underneath, and the brilliance of someone driving a four-wheel drive up and down along the road made things sketchy from about a mile after the Parker/Webster four-way.  At that point, we left the road and hit some single-track.

It seemed like we were in the low twenties, but with the bright sun shining down on us we didn't feel any negative feelings of cold.  Ended the day with 10-miles on the snowshoes, which nade all of us pretty happy.

Nicely maintained sign in the parking area

 Friends just below the Soapstone Tower

From the Archives...  On this day in 1995, the 1st Moby Dick Marathons were held.  This was my 5th marathon, with the 28-miles completed in 5:01:00.

It seemed like a good idea, but there are reasons why the event didn't last, especially as a 28 or 30 miler.  Bitter cold, difficult, no aid,  February on Greylock....  seems like there would be many additional "whys".

This run was really special for me, it cemented my friendship with Paul.  We ran the entire event together, and began to dream up our snowshoe series.  Paul and I ended up roaming the woods together for a very long time, we see the same things in nature.

 

 

Light snow today, 3" or 4".  Took a 3-mile run along Main Street as the sun went down.

From the Archives...

On this day in 1996 I completed my 9th marathon, the 2nd Annual Moby Dick.  It was a run on snow, and Georgie Hendricks and I wore snowshoes.  The event began at the Greylock Visitor Center in Lanseboro, Massachusetts, and ran up the snow covered road to the summit of Mt. Greylock, then down to North Adams, and back.  Covered the 28-mile version in 6:16:43.  

Here is my old friend's recollection....

ODE TO REAL COLD MEN

So I thought I had seen and done it all vis a vis running in strange places for insanely long distances.  Then the farmer called to remind me of Mount Greylock and his plans to conquer the beast in sneakers.  I looked out the window that morning and groaned.  True dead of winter stuff here, folks.  Driving through northern Massachusetts I looked over at the grin on this guy’s face and knew I was in for it.  I mean he’s Fitzcarraldo, the windmill dude, Dr. Strangelove, all of the above when he gets this look in his eye.  I knew there’d be no stopping him on this quest.

We arrived at the visitor center around 9 in the morning and dodged obnoxious snowmobiles as we walked toward the hospitable lodge.  I sat on the couch and admired the pretty park ranger while Ed ran his hands over the diorama of the Mountain, mentally tuning his Zen state for that morning’s fun.  No kidding now.  This was really the last place on earth I wanted to be.  At least that’s how I felt when I saw that Ranger Sally had a wedding ring.  Then our fellow ghouls straggled in and I could see that this was a for real event.  So I disappeared into the bathroom to write some graffiti on the wall and hoped against hope that Ed would forget I had driven up with him.

SADDLE UP, EASY RIDER!  His voice shook the stall.  I fell off the seat.  Here we go again.  Fortunately the crew had left 5 minutes earlier in pansy ass sneakers.  We Bulls would be lashing Snowshoes for this trek.  Only problem was that I had never worn snow shoes.  It wasn’t a pretty sight.  The first 7 miles to the base of the summit were, however, quite beautiful.  Ed and I even managed to smoke Dion, Joe and the boys.  I should have relished the moment.  It’d be the only Moment that day.  Because Lord Greylock was readying some payback for the proud.

Leaving the protection of the trees below the summit was like getting hit in the chest with a sledge hammer.  Naturally, I wore my 1930’s issue wool hunting uniform and I was soaked in sweat.  50 mph gusts of arctic wind sift through those fibers and find your very white blood cells in no time.  I knew my number was up at the summit, mile 8.  Bob Dion joined us at the top, allowing me a chance to pullback from the duo a little while I waited for the downhill section.  So I waited and waited and waited.  Mile after mile after mile and the damn mountain wouldn’t go down.  Truly dispiriting.  So I did the old, walk, trot, jog, walk thing until I met up with Ed and Bob coming back up the turnaround.  They looked like Chechen Rebels home from a night at the front.

“You don’t want to go there.  Don’t do it,” they warned.  I would have gone, really would have done the upright thing, finished the steep section, real man and all that.  But they had good food.  I thenceforth trailed them like a beggar, picking up scraps they’d toss over their shoulder.  Believe me you lose your pride pretty quick out in no man’s land.  That’s why they call it no man’s land.

It was a mutually beneficial run from there.  Bob and Ed set the pace just ahead, providing me with a little motivation to put one weary foot in front of the other.  And I gave them that healthy fear of failure, of being passed by a highly competitive opponent breathing down your neck.  Yea right.

At the junction leading back to the summit, we stopped to discuss making the extra 3 mile run to the top and back.  I fiercely argued that we had to go the extra yardage and finish the quest or we couldn’t live with ourselves.  Ed said something about bad luck visiting a mountain top twice in a day. Bob kept looking down the hill with an insane smile on his face.  I decided that this crew really didn’t have the je ne sais crois necessary to reconquer Greylock so I took command and ordered my men down the mountain.  Of course I trailed at a good healthy distance in case either of them fell by the wayside.  A really good healthy distance.

Bob and Ed bounded down the hill like kids at the final bell.  I stayed behind and ran to the summit on my own.  And I did it extremely fast.  Extremely.  Extremely enough that I ended up finishing the race in about 7 hours.  The latter hour of which found me crawling on my hands and knees as women in thongs and fine tan lines whizzed by on flaming green and red snowmobiles.  I must have looked pretty scary because nobody stopped to pick me up.  By the time I hit the parking lot, Bob and Ed were fast asleep in their cars inhaling carbon monoxide.  I pulled off my socks in Ed’s truck and watched as my toenails came off in the process.  Seems the crusty buggers had snagged on my wet wool socks.  I hadn’t felt the pain because of the frostbite.

So here’s a healthy Bronx cheer to those of you who decided to opt out of the Greylock quest.  I’m going to say that you really missed out on the time of your lives, a unique opportunity to test your primal bounds, to run with the wolves, to gasp on the edge of being, to wake up around oh....  11:00 on a Sunday morning, lounge on the couch in the sunroom and browse through the paper, enjoy a piece, two pieces of cinnamon raisin toast, take a nap, take another nap, watch an old movie with a pint of ice cream and some cute thing.  Ahhhh heck.  So maybe I made all this up.  But maybe I didn’t.  If any of you get a mouthful of hair when some freak streaks by you this coming season, just look down at his mangled toes.  You’ll know where you should be next February.

Took a drive to visit my folks, and managed a snowshoe through Savoy Mountain State Forest.  Temperatures in the 20's, with a beautiful bright sun.

Parked at the small lot on Upper East Hoosac Street, and ventured over to just south of Bog Pond on New State Road.  Total for the day was 7.4-miles of enjoyable adventure.

Adams - Savoy line on Upper East Hoosac Street

Snowmobile Intersection south of Bog Pond

Roadside Memorial just above Oak Turn

Roadside Memorial on West Street Goshen

Stuck to the roads due to the couple inches of snow covered by a crust of ice in the woods.  Late afternoon jog along the Hill Street Loop, 7-miles.

Damp lite rainy day, completed the "Mather" loop for 5.2-miles.

Dam along Stoney Brook

DL and I celebrated our anniversary today;  it's been a wonderful journey.

Twenty-years ago today, February 13th, 1999, I directed the second event of the 1999 Southern New England Snowshoe Series (which became the WMAC Dion Snowshoe Series).  

This time it was in Bigelow Hollow State Park, Union, Connecticut.  There was not enough snow to use our snowshoes, but a 5km running event did take place with 26 starters and finishers!  The event was then, and forever will be known as...

1st Frigid Figure Eight 5KM (Lack of Snow) Shoe Race
February 13th, 1999 - Union, Connecticut

We never returned to Bigelow Hollow for an official snowshoe race, but we have snowshoed regularly at this beautiful location for more than twenty-years.  Thanks to the Old Goat for setting up the alternative course on race day, it's good to have friends!